3Truly a Mistake
Authors' Note: This takes place between "Forget Me Not" and "Hearts of Stone". This was written by both Deona Lindholm and Storm Dracona. Big thanks to Tomy for the permission to write this, to Knightsky for suggesting I ask Storm, and to my co-author, Storm, for writing with and putting up with me ;)
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There was trouble brewing.
Even if nothing came up on the several sensors that Kitt had, the AI, as well as the driver, could tell. One could almost say that it was rather…tangible.
Michael and Kitt had just finished a rather messy situation involving the president of one of the South American countries, as well as his daughter. The operative and his partner was barely able to prevent the president from being shot at an equestrian show…and added to the mix was an actress that had gained amnesia when she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
After a date with both women at the house that he had been renting for that very case, he had been on the way out when he came across someone that needed a ride home…someone that Michael knew well. He agreed, although he had a feeling that there was more on his mind than a ride home to the Foundation headquarters.
The operative looked over to the man in the passenger seat. After a discussion about expenses, he had been silent…at least verbally. His expression was one of stone, but there had been something in his eyes…almost like clouds…black storm clouds.
Yes, there was trouble brewing.
"Okay, what is it?" Michael asked.
"What is what?" Devon replied, voice carefully monotone.
"You've been clamming up tighter than shells ever since we left the house. Even on the jet from Millston, you weren't that quiet, even when reading a book. Now what's going on?"
"I haven't the foggiest what you're talking about."
"Like hell you don't."
"There is nothing to say that I haven't said before."
Michael thought for a second, then immediately pulled over to the side of the road and shut off the vehicle.
"What in blazes—"
"Look, Devon, something is definitely up. I've been in the military and the force long enough to tell that and when someone's lying through their prim-and-proper teeth. Now I'm not going anywhere until we have this out."
There was…something similar to a sound coming from within Devon at this. He had heard it a few times before, but this time, he couldn't quite understand it…due to the fact that, in truth, Devon was seething.
"Yes, that's the way you've always done things, isn't it?" he said coldly, "As I said in the semi some time back, a stubborn, bull-headed primitive. To hell with proper order and procedure, as long as you get what you want!"
"Hey, now, wasn't Wilton—"
"How would you bloody know what he was like? Before the incident in Reno, you didn't even know he existed, other than in passing, maybe."
"Devon, that's a bit low."
"And another thing," the Englishman continued, "I've quite had it with you and your methods."
"My methods? Devon, they may not be your pompous, uppity way, but things do get done and the criminals brought to justice."
That sparked fury. "Bringing wanton destruction in your wake, with no regard to anything!"
"Now wait a minute. Does this have anything to do with Camp Englehart? What happened to what you told the president at the base after the smuggling out of the nuclear tactical weapons?"
"The only reason you went ahead with that rogue misadventure of yours was because after Kitt's alpha circuit was repaired, you tricked me! You completely disregarded a case that was already waiting for you and was overdue."
"But it panned out in the end."
"That's your only saving grace in that…fiasco. The only reason why you even got involved was because you had run into another pretty face. If the president had not called over to the base when he did—"
"I already figured that out for myself."
Devon shook his head and muttered, "Wilton, I told you, didn't I?"
Michael's eyebrow shot up at this. "Told him what?"
Quiet, quiet.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I heard that. Now what is it you told him?"
"None of your business, Michael."
"I think it is."
His head snapped up and he snapped, "Fine! You obviously don't know when to leave well enough alone! Wilton should have listened when I told him that he was making a mistake when he selected you."
Michael's eye widened at this, mouth working silently. A mistake?
Don't say anything more, the sound warned and Devon blatantly ignored it. This was a long time coming and well deserved. The arrogant, upstart savage needed to be put in his place.
"That's right, a mistake! There were plenty other candidates that were being considered that were far more qualified than you."
"How?"
"You're sorely inexperienced, for one thing. Oh sure, I've heard about you being in Special Forces and the police force, but none of that qualifies you for much of anything that we were looking for."
Much of anything? He mouthed and thought, Just what does he mean?
"You heard me! In deep cover? You were caught and captured in Vietnam. As a matter of fact, weren't you undercover when you were shot in Reno?"
Michael tried to get in a word edgewise and failed miserably.
"You even have so little regard for Kitt that you not only dent him while in Millston, you throw circuits out of alignment just to tow another vehicle, use him in show stunts when you're not supposed to, and you manage to misplace the Knight 2000…and even stolen! You didn't think I found out about that, did you? Well, you're sorely mistaken."
"How did you—"
"I have never understood just what he saw in you, and I doubt that I ever will. There! Are you satisfied, Mr. Knight?"
The younger man sighed, mind reeling, and said, "Well…that's…definitely honest." He then started the car up again.
The rest of the trip back to the Foundation headquarters was in silence.
Devon was feeling guilty when they pulled into the driveway, the silent hurt from the younger man radiating at him in waves. He didn't know what to say as Michael stopped and parked. Even Kitt was still in stunned silence. Michael sat there hands on the wheel silent a moment. He hadn't been working at FLAG that long, but Bonnie always complained at him about his treatment of Kitt. Now Devon was as well, he continued to stare monotone ahead, mind reeling. Was he really that bad? He sighed as he shut the engine off and opened his door.
"I'll have my papers on your desk tomorrow morning then, Devon." Hell, if he couldn't do anything right in anyone's eyes then why should he stay, he thought. Kitt probably would be better off, and happier.
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The next day, other than when he had left papers on the case, Devon had seen neither hide nor hair of Michael. In a way, it seemed normal…but at the same time, the Englishman had what he could only describe as a very bad feeling inside him.
I haven't heard those whispers in years, he thought, and yet, I did yesterday…or something like them…and now this.
Even when it was tea-time, he had not seen the operative at all…but Kitt had assured that he had been on the Foundation grounds, with good vitals…the stress had been up, but otherwise good. Shrugging off both the bad feeling and the incident, Devon threw himself into the day-to-day running of the Foundation.
When he heard a knock on the door, it was very late in the day.
"Come in," he called out, a little irritated at being interrupted.
Michael came in, setting something on the floor, then closed the door.
"Yes, what is it, Michael?" he asked, the irritation in his voice.
"Well," the younger man replied slowly, "I just thought that I'd tell you something. I did a lot of thinking after that argument last night…and you're right."
"Right about what?"
"I've been causing nothing but trouble ever since I got here...and yeah, you're probably also right about mistakes."
Devon looked up, truly irritated now. "What are you blathering on about?"
"Just this: I'm going."
That surprised the Englishman. "What?"
"You heard me."
Devon shook his head and replied, "Of all the excuses that you've come up with, conniving me into grating vacation time, this has to be one of the most ludicrous I've heard."
"Excuse me? Hey, I'm not talking about a vacation here. You're right; I'm a mistake, and I'm taking care of that mistake."
"I don't believe this nonsense…" he snapped.
"Fine…believe it or not…but it's the truth. I'll say this much…it's been—" Michael said, pausing for a fitting word, "Interesting." He then lightly tossed something onto the table, picked up some things from the floor, then left.
Devon continued working on his papers until he saw that the sun was well into setting…and the bad feeling inside him had grown larger.
As he got up to watch the sunset, as he always did, he saw something on the edge of his desk: an envelope, with his name written on it, in Michael's handwriting.
The Englishman picked up the envelope and opened it. Inside was a letter.
Devon,
I'll get straight to the point. Yeah, you're right: I'm a mistake and shouldn't have ever been paired up with Kitt. I've been hearing it from Bonnie all the time, from Kitt himself, now you. The only thing I've actually done is cause trouble and do no real good at all. Sure, a few people were saved in these months, but it's something someone else could have done, with less hassles.
Now that we've established that Wilton chose the wrong man before he died, you can guess what this is. That's right, I'm resigning from FLAG. By the time you're reading this, I'm probably long gone…and once I leave the city, you'll never hear from me again. Period.
I only hope you'll find someone that'll be better for Kitt.
Goodbye,
Michael.
Devon read the letter two more times, feeling strong disbelief. Along with it was a more formal declaration of resignation. He shook his head and quickly punched in a communications line to Kitt.
"Kitt, where is Michael?" he asked, voice terse.
"He is in his apartments."
The British man murmured thanks and walked quickly to where he knew Michael was staying. Once he arrived, he knocked.
"Michael?"
No answer.
"Michael, open this door!"
Still no answer.
No…can't be, he thought and entered his access code.
The door opened and he entered immediately.
The living room was relatively empty, things that he had seen before were not there.
The kitchen was tidy, cleaned up…while the bedroom had all its furnishings…
Except that everything of Michael's was gone.
On the bed stand was a watch…his comlink.
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Michael wasn't fully sure where he was going, all he knew was he had to start over…again. He felt numb, which he wasn't surprised about. He had felt good that he seemed to have done some good, but after Devon's revelation…he realized it was in vain. One man couldn't make a difference.
At least this man couldn't.
He knew of an old hotel that didn't require real names, since he could pay cash. He'd be good for a week there, he figured, until he got on his feet. Maybe he'd join the local PD. He wasn't sure, but he'd make do.
For now, though…the rental car he had gotten, the last thing he would ever use the name of Michael Knight for, would get him to the uncertain future.
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Devon stared at the comlink on the bed stand. His mind was going over the entire conversation in Kitt, in the office…and the contents of the letter that had been left on the desk.
Now see what you've done! That came from the same source as what had warned him to be quiet yesterday.
The Englishman gasped and put a trembling hand to his mouth. More than any other emotion, guilt pierced him.
No, it wasn't merely guilt…just as much as that, Devon was ashamed of himself.
"Michael…"
Oh God, what have I done?
He turned and walked quickly out of the apartment, closing the door…then went out of the building and straight to the Mercedes at a dead run.
I have to—no, I need to find him before he leaves the city!
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Kitt was, so to speak, alarmed.
Devon had called him and asked, very tersely, where Michael was. He had tracked the comlink and told the older man.
Minutes later, he accessed the comlink. He had faintly heard shouting, then the sound of quick walking…followed by silence.
If he were a human, or had any actual emotions, Kitt would have had a very bad feeling about this. After all, he had heard the entire argument yesterday…including the very harsh things that Devon had said.
He quickly executed a more detailed scan of the apartment. There was only one life-sign inside.
A long moment later, he heard someone gasping in shock…then a quiet voice that spoke with realization and pain.
"Michael…"
That confirmed it: Michael was gone, and he had left the comlink. If he knew the man, it meant that he had decided to leave and never come back.
A second later, he heard the sounds of a quick walk moving away from the comlink. A few minutes later, he saw Devon running to the Mercedes, fumble with the keys with shaking hands, get in, then drive off…a bit quicker than he normally did.
This is your fault, he thought, directed at the departing Englishman, before he started looking through the records for any purchases or leases using the name of Michael Knight.
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Devon was driving down a street, planning on checking all the hotels in the area that Michael was likely to go to. After all, it had been close to sunset the last time that he had seen the young man, so it was very unlikely that he would be driving all night.
If I can't find him before he leaves the city, he thought, before I…can try to make amends…I'll never see or hear from him again.
That thought brought Devon more than a little pain. He blinked, then tried bring his thoughts under control…just in time to enter a lane, filled with traffic, with the light on red.
It was then that the phone in the car rang.
He took a deep breath and answered. "Hello?"
"This is Kitt," the voice on the other end, this time flat, replied.
"Kitt, I'm a little busy at the moment," the Englishman started to say.
"Yes, and if I am not mistaken, you're looking for Michael, though I wonder why, considering things. On the subject, none of this would be happening if you had been, at the least, a little less rude in your statements yesterday." The tone had, surprisingly, a couple of tinges of ice.
"I know," he replied, voice a little quiet and regretful.
"The one you need to apologize to is Michael. If you can find him before he leaves the city, that is."
"I'm well aware of that, Kitt," he snapped, irritated, "I doubt you called to remind me that this whole mess is my fault."
"That is only a little part of the reason," the AI replied flatly, "I may have found some information that could help find him."
"Well…? Out with it!"
Now Kitt's tone changed from flat to icy as he asked, "To put it bluntly, I do not see any apropos reason to tell you that information, considering the fact that you are getting precisely what you've wanted: Michael to be gone."
Devon closed his eyes. His voice broke as he said quietly, "Kitt…please…"
There was a long pause before the AI replied, "There is one recent record: Michael went to a rental car company earlier in the day, close to 11 AM."
"Do you have the address?"
There was a single moment before the AI gave the address and phone number.
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As he got off the phone with Devon, Kitt thought back to the argument the previous day. Yes, it was Devon's fault that Michael was now leaving…but some of the fault lay with all of them. Bonnie, for the demeanor that was as harsh as Devon's, Kitt himself for not trusting his pilot more, as well as the heated arguments they had gotten into…
That evening, Michael had been in his room, where he had been staying ever since the fateful argument hours before. Kitt had tried to start a conversation with him, only to get, as a sharp reply, to leave him alone…and that all they ever did was complain about him and take him for granted…
The argument had merely been the straw that broke the camel's back…and if Devon wasn't able to find him in time, the camel's neck, too.
I certainly can't blame Michael for what he's decided, he thought, the best thing I can do is to respect his wishes…but if Devon finds him and changes his mind, I fully intend on making him feel more welcome.
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While driving down a street, having left the third hotel in his mental list, Devon was talking on the phone.
"Yes, Michael Knight," he said, voice neutral, "Did he rent a car from you…?" There was a pause before he replied, "This is important. I'm trying to find him—He did…? What destination did he leave on record—what do you mean, confidential? This is a matter of high priority…it is imperative that I know where he went!"
As the light ahead turned from red to green, his eyes narrowed as he said, "Is that so…? I see. Thank you."
He cut the connection, then called Kitt.
"Hello?"
"This is Devon. Tell me, have you ever heard of a town here in California called Noman's Place?"
"One moment…as you are most likely aware of, Devon, there is no such human settlement in the state. It is a slight play on words for No Man's Place."
Devon frowned and said with a sigh, "I thought as much…though I was hoping to be wrong this once."
He glanced at the sky for a short moment…the last of the sun was setting, leaving only a few light rays behind, and the North Star was already in the sky.
I'm running out of time, he thought, If I can't find Michael at any of the hotels remaining on the list…it'll mean that he's already gone...
"Kitt…to make quicker work of this, I need you to call some of those hotels and see if you can find Michael in any of them."
"I'll get right on it…how many likely ones are left on your list?"
"Fourteen."
"I'll take the last seven. If I locate him, I'll call."
"Thank you," he replied, then hung up.
That cuts the list to seven, he thought, I had best see to calling them.
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Michael blinked, tired. It was starting to get very dark…and if he was going to be out of the city and well on his way before morning, he would need to do something besides sleep.
After all, the last thing he needed was to fall asleep…and be way off on his mental departure schedule.
I'm going to need a lot of caffeine, he thought, since I'm going to be driving all night…and some food to go with it.
He knew just the place…a certain diner he had seen, been to once…and never told anyone about it. It wouldn't be the sort of place that anyone he knew would go to…especially not prim-and-proper, pompous British directors.
As soon as the light turned green, he changed lanes.
What's even better, he thought, is that this place is virtually a hop, skip and jump from city limits. After I leave, I go to the northern part of the state…get some new ID for myself…then leave California for good. Once I get to the hotel in the other state, I'll see about getting settled into the new life.
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Devon hung up the phone and changed lanes again, heading away from a somewhat-common-looking lot.
Just a few moments ago, he had been in the last of the seven hotels, giving Michael's description. Nobody had seen him, not even the managers.
Devon could tell, thanks to his OSS training and war experiences, could tell if someone was lying…and he couldn't find any trace of falsehood in anyone that he spoke to.
Just then, he had gone into a parking lot and called Kitt, wondering if the AI had any better luck than he did.
Any hopes in those respects were dashed when he said, "I regret to say, Devon, that the seven hotels that I checked have never seen Michael, or anyone that vaguely looks like him. If you were unable to find him in your list of seven, then I am inclined to say that he is no longer in the city."
Those words repeated in his mind as he drove, now aimless.
I…Wilton, I've made a grave mistake, he thought, I said one thing too many…as you would say, crossed the line. Now…the operative you chose is gone, because…I drove him away. I didn't realize what he was telling me a few hours ago…and when I did, he had already left.
He found himself near the edge of the city limits when he found that his emotions were no longer under control, the pain tearing him apart…and that his eyes were beginning to burn.
There was no way that he would be able to drive reliably in this condition, and he knew it.
Devon pulled into a mostly-empty parking lot and shut off the engine quickly.
"I…I'm too late," he said quietly, Too late to make amends…if I had one last chance, I'd take it…if I had only listened…
He put his arms on the top part of the steering wheel, rested his head on them and cried.
A few people came and went would curiously look inside the vehicle for only a moment before continuing on their business, thinking that whatever it was that was causing the sight of someone weeping in such a vehicle was none of their concern. After all, this was a dangerous world where butting into someone's business got you hurt.
One such couple left the diner and went over to their vehicle, a maroon colored F150 '83 pickup truck. As it started up and began to leave the lot, there was a very loud noise that issued as the vehicle suffered a backfire.
The noise caused Devon's head to jerk up, first instincts from the war assuming the sound had been from a weapon. As he looked and saw no such thing, he realized that it had been from a vehicle. He used a handkerchief to wipe his face, which had been streaming with tears, then saw something inside the diner itself.
The Englishman peered at the form that he saw inside, disbelieving at first.
Can it be…is it…?
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Michael had just gotten his meal a bit before, which was a triple cheeseburger with the works and a big plate of cheese fries. He had already downed his fourth cup of coffee and was drinking a fifth.
If I keep this up, I'll need to change drinks…to something like sodapop. I know I need the caffeine, but I don't wanna burn out on the stuff, especially before I get to Oroville…where I can get the new ID.
He put ketchup and mayo on the burger (as best as it could get to one of those Whoppers, but with real meat instead) and had chomped into it.
Now this is what I call a good burger…too bad this'll be the only time I come here, he thought.
He had finished his burger and was getting into his fries when he heard a very loud sound from outside. At first he had tensed until he recognized it for what the noise was: backfire from a truck.
After I finish the fries and get one last cup of coffee drank, I'll pay the bill and go.
As he was about to finish the fries, he heard the one thing he never thought he would hear.
"Michael!"
The young man looked up…and there was Devon, standing near the booth. The suit was a bit rumpled, his hair was a mess…and his face…the older man's eyes were red and puffy.
"Whatever happened to you?" he asked.
"Just fatigue," was the dismissive reply.
"What're you doing in a place like this?" he asked flatly.
"Trying to stop you. My boy...I made a mistake." The Englishman shuffled a bit before, with a minor glance of disdain at the barstool that had seen better days, sitting next to Michael.
"I know you want nothing to do with me at the moment-" Devon continued when Michael started to open his mouth.
"But if you'd hear me out. If you still choose to leave...then I won't stop you." He finished, looking sincere.
"I said things that I truly regret-and in the end I know I am wrong, that I am not too proud to admit it. It wasn't Wilton who made a mistake but I." Michael gave him the weirdest look.
Okay who is this, and what happened to the pompous Englishman that would have gladly HELPED me leave FLAG?
"Why should I believe you, Devon? After your 'letting the cat outta the bag' so to speak. You were being honest, and you're right. Why are you going back on that? There's no reason to."
"Because after thinking about it, I realize Wilton was right and I was wrong for being closed-minded. I only hope that someday you'll forgive me for what I've done." Devon politely declined an offer for a drink from a waitress as he watched Michael's face. It was unreadable as the younger man seemed to soak it all in.
There was a quiet pause, the younger man's expression still unreadable.
"Hey, Devon…"
"Michael…?"
"What would you say about starting over?"
The Englishman blinked for a moment before a little smile appeared as he said, "My boy, I would be honored for such a chance."
Before anything could be said, there was a rather loud rumbling.
Michael heard it and asked, "You haven't eaten?"
The older man shook his head, "No. I ran after you minutes after you left my office…and I've been looking for you ever since."
"Figures." Michael grabbed a nearby menu as he said, "They don't serve snails or stuff like that, but I bet there's something on the menu close to your tastes."
Devon looked over the menu and smiled after a moment as the waitress came over to the table.
"I believe I will order something after all," he said to her, "I'll have a 6 ounce steak, well done, a baked potato with butter and sour cream and some tea."
After she left to get the order filled, the Englishman turned and chuckled at the sight of Michael's jaw dropping.
"Surprised?"
"That's an understatement."
Michael shook his head, bemused, then said, "I've got a lot to learn."
"We both do."
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Michael couldn't believe his ears.
He had been in Houston, on a case involving a pipeline from the city to South America, with the Corazones de Piedras, or the Stones, as the sellers of some legally made weapons that were being sold illegally. To this, he even used the name Emile Pavlon as part of his undercover background story. For the most part, everything was on schedule (a modern-day Romeo and Juliet mixed into things notwithstanding).
Then Devon had come and suggested that the buy be cancelled. Someone had busted Pavlon out of Torreon prison…and there was a good chance that the man that Michael had seen tonight had been Pavlon himself.
"Don't you find it odd that Pavlon breaks out of prison the day after you use his name for cover?" the older man had pointedly asked just then.
Michael was quiet, thinking of a way to explain the problems that'd happen if he did cancel the buy and pull out, and a stubborn look was on his face.
The Englishman said to him, "Michael, I admire your…dedication. I love your courage!"
The younger man was a bit surprised, but not as much as he would have been before a certain day, only weeks before.
He continued quietly, almost softly, "I do not, however, want to mourn your death."
Also weeks before, Michael wouldn't have believed that at all. Now, things were different.
Just as softly, Michael asked, "What about the deaths of innocent people in South America, Devon? What about them?"
There was a pause before Devon said, "As usual, Michael, the choice is yours." He started to walk off but in midstride, he gently touched the operative's arm and added, "If you do decide not to take that shot…call me."
Right as he reached the door, Michael asked, wary, "What if I don't make that call?"
Devon looked right at him and replied honestly, "Then we'll be on standby as agreed. Michael, whatever you decide to do…I'm behind you all the way."
Michael found himself thinking about the day and night that he had been only a few miles away from leaving everything behind. He and the older man had been at the diner, eating and talking about many things until the sun was rising in the sky.
Unlike weeks before, Michael knew that Devon truly meant what he was saying.
"Thanks," he replied, for a lot of things.
THE END