Journey into Darkness

Michael's idea of a night on the town was an evening spent on the Sunset Strip. He had hired a limo; it dropped them off, and would meet them again at the end of the night. Dinner was at an Italian place, still relatively quiet early on a weekday night. After tiramisu and coffee, they strolled down the street, window shopping and listening to the music that drifted out of the various clubs through open doors.

They paused outside one establishment, and Caitlin found herself humming along with the music. “So, you're a Phil Collins fan, are you?” Michael asked.

“I like the song.”

“Want to go in?”

She looked up at him. “You like this kind of music?”

“That surprises you?” He led her into the club.

“I would have picked you for classical. Jazz, maybe.” String had teased her about her taste for popular music. Michael was older, she hadn't expected him to enjoy it any more than String had.

Michael grinned. “I have eclectic tastes.”

They sat down at a table, and a waitress came to take their drink order. Caitlin wasn't sure she believed him about his tastes in music. A new song started playing. “So who's that?” she asked, testing him with a smile.

“The Pet Shop Boys. Do I pass?”

“You pass.” She eyed him. Michael was a handsome man. The dark dye was fading out of his hair, and his mustache had grown back. Caitlin had searched the recesses of his closet and dressed him in a red shirt and black pants, probably something he had bought for some undercover op.. At any rate, it looked good on him.

The waitress brought their drinks, and he sipped at his wine. The music changed again. “And that's Cyndi Lauper. 'True Colors'.” He stood up and reached for Caitlin's hand. “Dance with me.”

She was tempted, but shook her head. “You're supposed to be resting.”

“I'm not planning to do the Rumba. Come on.”

Caitlin rose, and he pulled her to him. She was still reluctant. “What about your knee?”

“What about it? It's stiff when I first get up, and I don't need the weatherman to tell me when it's going to rain. Other than that, I don't think about it.” He held her close, and they moved in time to the music.

She knew that he hadn't carried the cane since Cambodia. She had asked him about it once, and he had joked that with his arm in the sling, he was running out of hands. It was obvious that he didn't need it. Caitlin relaxed into his embrace. She laid her cheek on his left shoulder, her fingertips idly stroking the fabric of the sling. *Being with Michael felt right.* She wished the song and the night would last forever.

They danced the slow dances, sipping wine at their table in between. The evening passed too quickly, and eventuality Michael gestured to his watch. “I'm afraid we're going to have to go, if we're going to catch our ride.”

The limo was scheduled to meet them two blocks to the west, but Michael had allowed enough time for a leisurely stroll. The night air was cool, and she shivered, wishing she had brought a sweater.

“I'd offer you my jacket, but you didn't have me wear one,” he teased.

“Every jacket you own is white. It would have ruined the look.” Caitlin was every bit as capable of teasing as he was. “It's fine, it's not that cold.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“I had a great time. Thank you.”

“We'll do it again some night.”

She was feeling adventurous. “Next time, you pick the music.”

He laughed. “You're a brave woman.”

Caitlin cringed. “Oh no. What have I volunteered for? Mozart? The opera?”

“What do you think?”

She considered it. “Honestly, I haven't got a clue.” Every day, she felt she knew him better, yet predicting anything about Michael was still nearly impossible.

“The Doors. Cream. Moody Blues. Maybe a little Pink Floyd.”

“The oldies, you mean.” She laughed at his scowl. It really wasn't what she would have expected of him. “I think I can live with that.”

They had reached the limo, and he opened the door for her, following her into the car's warmth. Caitlin wished that he would move closer, but he maintained his distance, staying on his own side of the car. She debated sliding over beside him. The evening had been wonderful, but there was a part of her that wished for something more. *No.* Michael might not be willing to admit it, but he still had broken bones in his shoulder. The memories of seeing her hands drenched in his blood were still vivid. Worse, she could still remember his words. *It never should have happened.* Words she wished he hadn't said.

-*-
-*-

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Caitlin turned, looking over her shoulder at him. “If Dr. Marklin knew, he'd have a fit.”

Michael's hand rested on her back, and he guided her forward, keeping her moving toward the far side of the garage. “Marklin knows me. He wouldn't be surprised. He'd just sigh and mumble something unintelligible. ” He opened the passenger door of the Ferrari. “Lloyd would have the fit.” He gestured toward the seat. “Come on. Get in.”

She did as he asked, obviously reluctant. Michael closed the door and walked around to the other side of the car, opening it. He reached up with his left hand and slipped the sling over his head, easing his right arm free. He tossed the fabric into the car, and followed it himself. Keys jangled as he passed them to Caitlin.

Michael propped his arm up carefully, resting his hand on the gearshift and making sure the position was comfortable. He glanced over at Caitlin. “Fire her up.”

The look she flashed at him was still dubious. “You're sure?”

It had been a little more than a month since he had gotten out of the hospital. Lloyd's elaborate torture devise that had kept his arm strapped to his body had been replaced by a simple cloth sling. Increasingly, around the house he didn't even wear that, tucking his hand into his shirt when his arm tired. Caitlin had taken to calling him “Napoleon.” He looked over at her, grinned. “Yeah, I'm sure.”

She leaned over and twisted the key. It annoyed him that he couldn't do it himself, but reaching the ignition was out of the question. He still had very little movement in his shoulder. The doctors had promised him that as the bones healed, it would get better. He would never get everything back, he had come to accept that. He had no feeling in his ring and pinkie fingers, and they predicted he would only have seventy to eighty percent range of motion in his shoulder. It would be enough. It would have to be.

He reached across with his left hand and released the parking brake. Without being asked, Caitlin thumbed the remote to open the garage door. “Cait? Back me up.”

“Hmm?”

“Put your hand over mine. If I have trouble...”

“Got ya.”

Michael felt her hand cover his on the shift lever. He pushed down on the clutch, trying not to flinch. Driving the Ferrari still played havoc with his knee, but he'd be damned if he would give it up if he didn't have to.

Shifting turned out to be easier than he had feared, and soon Caitlin removed her hand from his. He missed her touch, momentarily considering grinding the gears to get it back. *No.* If he did, she would give him a hard time about driving. Instead, he turned the car and headed out of town for a stretch of road that he knew would be quiet at this time of afternoon.

They blasted down the empty highway. “You're going to get a ticket,” she warned.

“I don't think so.” Not taking his attention from the road, he chuckled. “You used to be Highway Patrol. Didn't you ever run a plate--”

“Oh,” she interrupted him, her voice conveying a tad of disapproval. “You've got one of *those* license plates.”

“The Firm has it's perks.” Despite that, he let the speedometer drop back. They were getting close to town. “How do you feel about Chico's tonight?”

“Fine. I take it you're in the mood for Mexican?”

“Something like that.” In reality, his choice had more to do with the restaurant's location away from downtown traffic and with their valet parking. He wasn't ready to try parallel parking on the street.

-*-

After dinner, Michael asked Caitlin to drive. He had proven what he needed to prove to himself. “Where are we headed?” she asked, starting the car.

“Anywhere but home. You decide.” It had, technically, been Caitlin's turn to pick the restaurant and the entertainment. Earlier, he had let her talk him into going shopping, That was how he had ended up wearing a deep blue shirt. *A deep blue, she claimed, that matched his eyes.* Somehow, he had managed to convince her that white pants would go nicely with it.

He glanced over at her. *She would be gone, soon.* Back to her own world, her own apartment. It had been some time since he had actually needed her help. The skin had healed, there were no more dressings to change, and he had enough use of his arm to do most things for himself. She had offered to go, once, and he had stalled her, complaining about boredom. That excuse wouldn't work forever. The house would be damned empty without her.

He felt the car slowing, and he snapped himself out of his musings. “The beach?” he asked, mildly surprised to see where they were.

“You feel like walking?”

“Sure,” he lied. After not having driven the Ferrari for nearly two months, the clutch had aggravated his knee, but he wasn't going to admit that. Caitlin parked, and retrieved the jackets she had remembered to bring.

They walked the length of the boardwalk, pausing at the far end. Michael stood at the railing, looking out at the ocean in the starlight. Caitlin joined him. “You're awfully quiet tonight.”

He shook his head slightly. “It's nothing.”

Despite the darkness, he could see the rise of her eyebrow. “Nothing?”

He looked back toward the water. “I used to be something of a beach bum. Spent a lot of time here.”

“Used to be?”

He scowled. “My back can't take the sun.” He didn't add that he had no intention of showing that much skin on a beach full of people.

“God, Michael, I didn't think...” She reached up, touched him, her hand light on his shoulder.

It would be so easy to turn into her embrace. Wrap his arm around her waist. Lower his lips to hers. *No.* He didn't want pity. Especially not from Caitlin. He forced himself to pull away. “Come on, let's head back to the house.”