Journey into Darkness

Michael thumbed the control for the adjustable bed once more, this time raising the head a few inches. He had bought the bed shortly after Red Star: back then, he had usually been able to find a position that was relatively comfortable. Tonight, it wasn't working.

Not that he expected to sleep. Even with the low murmur and flickering light from the television, since his encounter with Stoner, sleep no longer came easily, even on a good night. This, most assuredly, was not a good night.

To be honest, it wasn't physical discomfort that was keeping him awake. Compared to the burns he'd suffered after Moffet's attack, the ache in his shoulder and ribs was little more than an annoyance. This was something else entirely.

It was ironic that what Moffet could not manage with Airwolf's entire arsenal, a Khmer Rouge loyalist had accomplished with a single rifle. Michael knew that his career was finished. Worse, it seemed increasingly likely that his life as he had known it was over.

He heard the light footsteps in the hallway, bare feet padding on the thick carpet. Reaching for the remote, he shut off the television as Caitlin appeared, silhouetted in the light from the hallway.

“Michael?” she whispered from the doorway.

“I'm awake.”

She stepped hesitantly into the room. “I thought I heard you. Can't sleep, huh?” Caitlin moved closer, reaching down to check his sling. “Are you in pain?”

“I'm fine,” he lied.

Even in the dim light, he could see the raised eyebrow and skeptical smile. “I've heard about your definition of 'fine'.”

He chuckled at that. “Sorry. Really, I'm all right. It's just a little hard to sleep when you're trussed up like the Thanksgiving turkey.” It was true, as far as it went.

“Can I get you anything? Dr. Marklin --”

He cut her off. “No. No drugs. Cait, you know the trouble I have sleeping. If I start taking that stuff, I'm not going to stop.” It would be too easy to start down that path.

“Okay,” she agreed, “No drugs. Is there anything else I can get you? Another blanket? Pillow? Glass of water?”

“No.” He shook his head slightly. “Thank you for offering, but I'm all set.”

“Well, I guess I'd better let you try to get some sleep, then.” She started to turn away.

There was reluctance in her voice. Something was bothering her. “Cait, what's wrong?”

Turning back towards him, she shook her head in negation. “It's nothing.”

“Yeah. And I'm fine.”

Caitlin snorted at that, a quick, dry sound. “It's nothing, really. Just a bad dream.”

“Something I have absolutely no experience with.” Michael patted the bed beside him. “Come here, sit with me.” He waited until she had circled the bed and settled carefully beside him, her legs folded under her. “Now tell me about it.”

She bit her lip. “I was back in Cambodia. It was different, though. I had flown there in Airwolf. Alone. There were gunshots and grenades going off around me, but I never saw any gunmen. I broke into the barracks, and I found Dom...” She broke off, taking a long, shuddering breath. “I can't. I can't talk about this. Not with you.”

Marella had briefed him on what had happened at Santini Air in their absence. He knew how Dominic had died. He could guess at the images that haunted Caitlin's dreams. He reached over and closed his hand around hers, not surprised to find her trembling. “The explosion killed him instantly, Cait. He never suffered. I doubt if he even had time to realize what was happening.”

She nodded. “And String?”

“Minor burns, mostly his arms. They weren't what killed him. Hawke had serious internal injuries. He didn't want to die in the hospital, so his brother took him home.”

“I'm sorry, Michael.”

“For what?”

“For bringing it up at all. I know it's too close to...” She didn't finish.

“To what happened to me at Red Star? Talking about it doesn't bother me. As I told you, I don't remember it,” he reminded her. His thumb idly caressed her knuckles, brushing lightly over the ring on her finger. *He hadn't noticed that she was still wearing that stupid Cubic Zirconia.*

She was quiet for a time. “The dream, it was so real.,” she said, finally.

“The worst ones always are.”

Caitlin refolded her legs, hesitant. “In the movies, spies carry cyanide pills in case they're captured. Do they in real life. Or is that just Hollywood?”

*Where had that question come from?* “Some do,” he answered cautiously.

“Do you?” Her voice was so low he hardly caught her words.

“I never used to.”

“You have since Stoner.”

“Yeah.” He caught the haunted look in her eyes, and suddenly knew what she was afraid of. “I wouldn't do that to you.”

Guarded relief flashed across her face. “I'd rather hear you say you wouldn't do it to yourself.”

“No. You'd rather hear the truth. I wouldn't do that to you,” he repeated. “Especially after the chances you took to get me out of that jungle alive.”

He felt the shudder that ran through her. “So much happened. Things went so wrong. There was so much blood. It was everywhere. Your shirt was soaked, my clothes, my hands. The Huey was drenched in it. You were bleeding and it wouldn't stop and you couldn't breath, and I was begging Marella to land so she could help me. When she told me what I had to do ...” Caitlin shook her head. “I didn't think I could. The last thing I wanted was to hurt you any worse than you were already hurt. Then we finally got out of there, and I found out about String and Dom. At the same time, you kept getting sicker and sicker. All the tubes and machines – I thought I was going to lose you, too.”

He wished that he had never taken her into Cambodia. But then, if he hadn't, she might have been the one flying that chopper at Santini Air. “I'm not going anywhere. You're not going to lose me.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Good.” Caitlin leaned forward, and her lips brushed his cheek. “Thank you.” There was a long moment's hesitation, and she slowly leaned forward again. This time her lips found his and held them. The kiss was anything but platonic.

She pulled back, and he knew the decision was his to make. He could let her go back to her room, or he could reach for her, draw her to him. Caitlin was a beautiful woman. The attraction had long been there, he realized, lurking just below the level of conscious awareness. In the dim light, she was alabaster perfection, pale skin and dark hair contrasted by the deep green robe that draped her figure in soft folds. Femininity personified. No outward trace remained to suggest that this was the same woman who had risked herself to drag him out of Cambodia.

Almost of it's own volition, his hand rose to touch her temple, fingers tracing the curve of her cheek, continuing down the smooth skin of her throat. His fingers closed on her robe, and he guided her closer until their lips met. Something flashed between them, something almost electric. He heard her gasp, and knew she had felt it, too. They kissed again, holding the contact until they both needed to breathe.

Michael pushed the covers out of the way, an unspoken invitation for her to join him. She eased herself closer, lying carefully against him, his arm around her. He buried his face in her hair, inhaling the soft scent of jasmine as he stroked the back of her head. Her fingertips explored his chest, those few spots that weren't covered by bandage or sling. It was as erotic as anything he had ever felt. He inhaled sharply, wincing as the wound to his chest protested.

Caitlin stopped, leaning back to look into his eyes. “Did I...”

“No, I just breathed a little too deeply. It's okay.” He brought his lips to her forehead. “Cait, I can't--”

She pulled away, sitting up abruptly. “What was I thinking? Of course you can't--”

“Cait--”

“You should still be in the hospital--”

“Cait--”

“You're in no condition to—”

“Caitlin.” This time, he raised his voice enough to get her attention. Once he had it, he lowered his tone. “Cait, what I started to say-- I can't roll over. That rather limits our options.”

She reached out and took his hand. “You mean, you want to...?”

He brought her hand to his lips, kissed the back of her knuckles. “God, yes. I want to.”

She edged back beside him. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“We'll be careful.” He released her hand, and found the control for the bed, raising the head until he was nearly in a sitting position. “There. That's better. Now why don't you take off that robe?”

She did as he asked, tossing it over a nearby chair. Unbidden, she moved back beside him. “How's that?”

With the robe gone, she wore only the matching camisole. The thin silk was cool beneath his touch. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”

Amusement flickered in her eyes. “You think so?”

“You're beyond beautiful.” Michael pulled her close, to where he could reach her with his lips. He began with the curve of her jaw, working his way upwards until he teased her earlobe. At the same time, his hand found her breast, gently kneading the nipple through the gossamer fabric.

He was rewarded by a low sound of pleasure that resonated from the back of her throat. “Oh!”

“Like that, do you?” he asked, repeating the motion.

“Mmmm.”

“I'll take that as a yes.” He reached across to tweak the other nipple. It was annoyingly awkward. “I can't reach you,” he complained. “Straddle me, Cait.”

She did as he asked, kneeling with one leg on each side of his. “Is that better?”

“Much.” He touched her, caressing her side. Fabric became an impediment. He drew back from her just a bit. “I want you naked.”

She laughed at that. “In that case...” she hooked a finger into the waistband of his pajamas. “These have got to go.”

“Sounds fair,” he agreed. “You first. I want to look at you.”

Caitlin slowly pulled the camisole over her head. She smiled, almost shyly. “Disappointed?”

“Never.” His gaze turned to her lean contours. She could stand to gain a few pounds, undoubtedly weight she had lost in the preceding weeks. Otherwise, she was perfect, her fair skin unblemished save for a few light freckles. His hand explored the curve of her breast, continued down her firm stomach, trailed along her thigh. “God, you're beautiful.”

She didn't answer, instead tugging at his pajamas. “Your turn.” Caitlin looked up into his eyes. “How are we going to do this?”

The easiest way would be for him to simply get out bed and take them off, but that idea had little appeal. He wanted her hands on him. “I'll shift my weight, you work them down.”

After a short struggle, he was free, kicking the pants onto the floor. Caitlin resumed her position and ran her hands along his thighs, continuing up to his waist. One fingertip playfully circled his navel. “You know, you don't look so bad yourself,” she teased. Still smiling, she kissed him, tasting his lips.

For once, he was grateful for the hours he spent in the Firm's gym. He kept himself in better shape than most men his age, and many who were considerably younger. The scars might not be attractive, but he knew his physique was nothing to be ashamed of. Longing for more contact, he wrapped his arm around Caitlin and pulled her against him.

“Michael, be careful,” she warned, trying to keep her weight off of him.

“Shh,” he hushed her. “This feels so good.” Whatever pain his movements brought was more than compensated by the warmth of her body against his. He crushed his lips to hers, then shifted his attention to her neck, feeling the shiver that ran through her. His hand worked its way between her thighs, and she moaned in pleasure. He explored higher, and found her damp, slick with her own juices. He raised his lips from her throat, leaning back so that he could search her face. “Are you sure? Is this what you want?”

“Yes.” She reached for him, stroking his hard shaft. It sent a spasm of pleasure racing through him. “I just don't want to hurt you.”

“You won't,” he assured her. “Ride me, Cait. Please.” He felt as if he couldn't wait another second.

Caitlin slowly lowered herself onto his length. The feeling was indescribable, her muscles contracting in waves around him. For a moment he felt as if he might burst, and he fought to control the sensations as she began to move, rocking gently against him.

“Slowly, Cait, slowly,” he warned. “Otherwise, this is going to be over before it starts.” Michael gasped as her fingernails brushed his skin, sparks of electricity arcing along their path. He breathed deeply, ignoring protesting ribs. Pain merged with pleasure and was forgotten, all that mattered was the heat of her body against his, and the tight grip in which she held him as he thrust deep inside her.

Time stopped: there was no future, no past. There was only the present. He inhaled her scent, her perfume laced with the pungent odor of their combined sweat. As he kissed her, he could taste the salt on her skin. Michael's blood raced, thundering in his ears as the pressure within him mounted.

She moaned, her back arching as she cried out his name, and he could hold out no longer. With one final thrust, he allowed himself the release his body demanded. The world around him grayed, spinning dizzily, and he felt his hold on consciousness slipping.

“Michael?” There was concern in Caitlin's breathless voice, and as he opened his eyes he wasn't certain whether or not he had actually blacked out. In any case, the spinning had stopped and the room had returned to its normal colors. “Michael, are you okay?”

“That was incredible.” He was exhausted and near the point of collapse. His ribs throbbed, pulsing in tempo with the thudding of his heart. The bandage was wet against his chest, he could feel blood seeping into the dressing and assumed he had torn stitches loose. None of that was important. Michael looked over at Caitlin, to where she nestled beside him. What had happened between them was well worth every bit of the pain. “Thank you.”

“You're thanking me?” Tousled, flush from exertion, she was still radiant. “Why on earth are you thanking me?”

He reached up with a shaky hand to brush a wayward strand of hair from her eyes. “For reminding me that I'm still a man.”

“You most certainly are.” She smiled, her eyes dancing. “If you were any more of one, I wouldn't be able to walk for a week.” At his answering chuckle, she slipped out of bed. “And with that thought, I think I'd better go back to my room so we can both get some sleep.” Caitlin started to retrieve her robe and camisole.

He reached out to her. “Don't. Stay here with me tonight.”

“You're not going to sleep very well with me sharing your bed.”

“I don't sleep very well anyhow.” Michael patted the sheet beside him. “Stay. There's plenty of room.”

“Well, if you're sure I won't disturb you...” She draped the robe across the chair and held the nightgown up, as if considering whether she should put it on. Apparently deciding against it, she tossed the garment on top of the robe. Caitlin slid into the bed, reaching to pull up the covers they had kicked aside.

He found the control and lowered the head of the bed. “That going to be okay?” he asked her.

“Fine.” She nestled against his side, pulling the blankets over them. Michael slipped his arm around Caitlin's shoulders, holding her close. “Are you comfortable?” she asked him.

“Yeah, are you?”

“This feels good.” Her fingernails lightly caressed his side. “I'm glad you asked me to stay.”

*He was glad she had agreed.* “No more nightmares tonight, not for either of us. Deal?”

“Deal.” She reached across him, taking his right hand in hers. Although he couldn't feel it, he could see it, and he appreciated the gesture.

Caitlin suddenly sat up. She looked as if she had seen a ghost. “Michael, do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Squeeze my hand.” She stared at him with a jumbled combination of confusion and hope. “I think I just felt you move your fingers.”

He considered it. Had he unconsciously responded to her show of support? There was only one way to be sure. Michael concentrated on trying to curl his fingers.

“Yes. Definitely. I was watching this time.”

He needed to be certain, to see for himself. “Cait, turn on the light. Please.”

She slid out of bed and switched on the lamp. The sudden brightness brought with it the usual flash of nausea that would, given time, become a splitting headache. He ignored it. For the moment, double vision was irrelevant. He hesitated, reluctant, afraid she might be wrong. Finally, he looked down. It wasn't much, not more than a fraction of an inch, but... yes, there was definite movement. “Thank God.”

Caitlin turned off the light and crawled back into bed beside him. “It's going to be all right.”

He was afraid to let his hopes get too high. “Maybe. And maybe that's all I'll get.”

“Pessimist.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “It's a start. You couldn't do that yesterday. So it's a start.”

“Yeah, it's a start.” Michael pulled Caitlin to him, cradling her against his side. “Thank God,” he whispered, as much to himself as to her. He buried his face in her hair, wanting nothing more than to roll her onto her back and enter her again. He knew he couldn't. He had already pushed his shattered body well beyond its limits. Instead, he laid back with his arm around her, holding her close until sleep took them both.

-*-
-*-

Caitlin woke early. She slipped quietly out of bed, trying not to disturb Michael. As careful as she was, he grimaced when she moved, making a low sound that could have been either a sigh or a moan.

Silently, she gathered up their discarded clothing. She pulled the camisole over her head, then folded his pajamas over the arm of the chair before retrieving her robe and tiptoeing from the room. At the doorway, she stopped, looking back at him. The dawning sun was rising on the other side of the house, but its early rays lightened the sky enough so that the room wasn't quite dark. Caitlin stood there for a long moment, watching him. He shifted slightly. Even in his sleep, Michael winced as the motion pulled at his wounds.

The man had a shattered shoulder and a hole torn through his chest. He had nearly died, first from blood loss and then from infection. He belonged in the hospital. What in the name of God had she been thinking when she threw herself at him? Michael was in no condition to be up and walking around, much less anything else. Caitlin shook her head, damning herself. She had seen the pain that even a single deep breath had brought. Despite that, she hadn't backed off. She had let her emotions take control of her, pushing him into a rash act that must have been pure agony. It was a wonder that she hadn't killed him.

He deserved better than that. Michael had tried to fulfill his promise to String, and it had cost him everything. She bit at her lip, and with one last reluctant glance, she headed for the guest bedroom. When he woke up, she would beg him for his forgiveness.

-*-
-*-

Michael reclined against the pillows, reluctant to open his eyes. The previous night's dream was still sharp and vivid in his mind, and he hated to abandon it so easily. If he tried, he could still feel Caitlin's soft hands on him, her nails scraping his skin, her lean body pressed tightly against his. It was amazing what the mind could create; the images were so clear and focused that he could almost believe that the two of them had actually spent the night together.

He could only put off the inevitable for so long. Reluctantly, he shoved the illusion aside and began the uncomfortable process of getting out of bed. He retrieved his glasses from the table beside the bed, even that simple motion difficult, aggravating his injuries. He was stiff and sore, more so that he had been in the hospital. The bandage pulled awkwardly at the surgical incision between his ribs. *Perhaps the target practice hadn't been one of his better ideas.* Sitting up, he looked beneath the sling, checking the dressing. He expected to find that the tape had become dislodged.

The adhesive was still in place, but traces of dried blood stained the gauze. It brought memories tumbling back; the hazy recollection of stitches tearing as he climaxed. *That wasn't real.* He convinced himself that he must have opened the wound in his sleep. Michael threw the covers back and swung his legs out of bed. Bare legs, he realized abruptly. He spotted his pajamas waiting for him, carefully folded. "No," he whispered. "Please, tell me I didn't..." *It wasn't a dream.* "Shit!" he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut to cut out the sight.

Memories that had comprised a wonderful fantasy formed a much less attractive reality. Caitlin had come to him in the night, lonely and looking for comfort. He had taken advantage of her, playing on her sympathy. He had used her to repair his own tattered ego. Opening his eyes, he pulled on the abandoned pajamas, wondering whether she could ever forgive him. Caitlin was a very special woman; her trust and respect had come to mean more to him than he could ever express. She had risked everything to drag him out of the jungle, and how had he repaid her? Treating her like that was unthinkable.

Rising gingerly to his feet, went into the bathroom, pausing to stare at his reflection in the mirror. An aging assassin glared back at him. What on earth had possessed him? Caitlin was young, beautiful, vibrant. What insanity had let him believe that she might be attracted to a beat-up spy almost twenty years her senior? He wouldn't blame her if she told him she never wanted to see him again.

He shaved awkwardly with his left hand, then splashed water on his face. Anything more could wait until later. Finished, he walked out into the hallway, looking for her. The door to her room was closed, but the heady scents of fresh brewed coffee and frying bacon drifted from the kitchen, and he followed them there.