Disintegrate

Title: Disintegrate
Author: knightshade
Rating: R+ (see warning)

WARNING: Rape and aftermath with a very nasty twist. If you would like more information before deciding to read this, a spoiler warning is located at the end of this chapter.

Disclaimer: Knight Rider and its characters are the property of Universal. I just took them out for a spin. Okay, I put a couple of dings in them, but I'm not the first one to do that. By KR2K they were already looking a little worse for the wear.

Thank you, thank you, thank you to Tomy. This story would never have left my hard drive if it weren't for you. I'm not sure if that's a good or a bad thing, but we'll see. ;-)

Note: This story takes place a month or so after Knight Rider 2000. It is canon to the movie but everything you need to know is spelled out. It is firmly a Knight Rider story - Russ and Shawn are only mentioned in passing.

The ~~~~~~~ symbols mark a shift in time. The asterisks are a normal scene change.

Disintegrate

American Heritage Dictionary:
dis•in•te•grate
verb
1. To become reduced to components, fragments, or particles. 2. To lose
cohesion or unity

Cambridge Dictionary:
dis•in•te•grate
verb [I]
to become weaker or be destroyed by breaking into small pieces

Michael sat down at Devon's desk, overcome with the sense that there was too much unfinished business, that things ended much too soon. He really didn't want to rifle through Devon's things, but then, he sure as hell knew he didn't want Maddock doing it. If anyone was going to sort through Devon's personal effects, it was going to be him, or no one. Michael had managed to go through everything else, but for some reason Devon's desk bothered him. It was the only major item that Devon had had shipped from Los Angeles to Seattle -- for some reason, he had left the rest of his belongings behind. The desk looked completely anachronistic in the modern glass and steel building, but it was Devon to a tee. The warm, old wood and the carefully selected pictures resting on it gave Michael the sense that Devon was about to walk through the door and scold him for having no respect for privacy.

And for the first time this morning, it occurred to Michael that there was someone missing in all of this. There wasn't even a picture of her on Devon's desk. Michael knew he should have called her, but a part of him couldn't. It had been too long and he didn't think she'd want to hear from him. She had probably gone on with her life and wouldn't want to look back. But at the same time, how would he feel if Devon died and no one told him about it? He didn't think he could get to a point where that wouldn't tear him to shreds. But then, things had been different between them. He couldn't blame her for wanting to put that part of her life entirely behind her. It was probably best to leave her alone.

Sorry old friend, Michael thought, as he carefully slid open the first drawer. It was filled with Foundation papers and a couple of letters. Michael reverently laid them on the floor, sorted into business and personal piles. He found a few pen sets and a pocket watch that he vaguely remembered Devon carrying from time to time. He flipped it over and noticed that there were the tiniest remains of an inscription on the back. It was unreadable, having been worn almost completely smooth. Devon must have carried the watch a lot more often than Michael had realized.

He took his time, not wanting to rush through the task. Kitt was out on a case with Shawn, and Maddock had wisely left him alone. He knew this was the last time Devon would be able to say anything new to him, and he wanted to take his time and hear everything.

Michael worked his way around the desk, tossing out pens and carefully sorting papers, until he got to a drawer with an old fashioned lock. He hadn't run across any keys among Devon's other effects and this one probably would have stood out. He pulled the the lock picking set that he had had the foresight to bring with him. Inside the drawer there was a lockbox and a couple more letters. He flipped through them and stopped, feeling his heart sink. This was definitely something he didn't want to find. He stared down at the plain, off-white envelope. "Bonnie Barstow," it said, clearly in Devon's handwriting. Damn.


Michael leaned back against the wall and rested the envelope on his knees. Now he had to decide what to do with it. He had no way of knowing when Devon wrote it, although it looked like it had been handled frequently. The envelope was creased and folded, worn smooth in some areas. He didn't know if it was something that Devon had ever meant to send or if it was one of those letters that gets locked up in a drawer to keep the angry feelings at bay. Michael was afraid it might be something hurtful or even cruel. It was probably better to just throw it out and nevell hll her it existed.

But what if it was something else? What if Devon had finally found the courage to apologize, to try to make everything right? What then? He had no right to open it and he knew he wouldn't be able to deliver it if he did. But what if this was Devon's last chance to make things right. He couldn't deny his friend that opportunity.

Michael leaned his head back against the wall and tried to rein in his wandering mind. He really didn't want to think back to that night. He had scars as well, and too often, they gnawed at him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael and Kitt arrived at the semi in a storm of dirt kicked up as Kitt slid to a stop. Michael flew out of the car and ran to the side door. It had been kicked open and there were several bullet holes puncturing the metal. Michael carefully peered past it and saw that office area was a mess. "Kitt?"

"There's no one inside, Michael. But there is a message for us on the table."

"What does it say?" Michael asked, looking around.

"'Why don't you join us? Old Knight Industries compound in Lancaster. I'm looking forward to having the gang all here. Garthe,'" Kitt read.

"He's got Bonnie and Devon, buddy."

"You know this is a trap."

"Yeah, but we don't have a choice. How long to Lancaster?" he asked, jumping down from the semi and trotting back to the car.

"Twenty-two minutes," Kitt replied.

Michael was frustrated. He had had an idea that Garthe was behind all the little incidents of sabotage they had been suffering the last month or two, but part of him couldn't believe that Garthe had survived going over the cliff in Goliath. Michael had wanted to believe he was dead, but Garthe seemed to get way too many second chances. Michael wished he had listened to his instincts on this one instead of reasoning them away.

Kitt drove most of the way at high speed but once they arrived, Michael wanted to take some time to think things through and size up the situation. They stopped on a barren hill overlooking the compound.

"Garthe probably knows we're here, so give me everything you can get. Can you locate Devon and Bonnie?"

"My sensors are being scrambled. Whoever is down there, knows the frequencies I use."

Michael sighed. This was not going to be easy. "More proof that it's Garthe we're dealwithwith. So you can't see anything?"

"No, Michael, I'm sorry."

"That's okay, buddy."

They watched as one of the garage doors opened and Garthe appeared, flanked on either side by his hired muscle.

"Hello, Michael. Kitt," Garthe yelled across the desert sand. "Wonderful to see you again."

Michael hit the button for the external speaker. "The pleasure's all ours Garthe. What do you want?"

"Well, for starters, I'd like you to get out of the car. Secondly, I'd like Kitt to drive through the open door here. I've made several upgrades to this place. I think you'll like the lead-lined garage."

"And if we don't do as you ask?" Michael asked.

"Oh, you're a smart man, Michael. I think you can figure that one out for yourself."

A few more men appeared at the entrance, pushing Devon and Bonnie, holding guns to their heads.

Michael punched the speaker button off. "Any ideas buddy?"

"I'm afraid not. It seems likely that anything we do will get Bonnie and Devon shot."

"Right," Michael said, not liking the situation at all. They were likely to get hurt one way or another unless he could get to Garthe, but right now his hands were tied. Michael pushed open the door. "Be careful, buddy."

"Do we have a plan?"

"No. We're going to have to play this one by ear."

"But in a lead-lined garage, I won't be able to communicate with you."

"I know. Just stay alert, pal. And try to think of a way to get us out of here."

Michael slowly got out and shielded his eyes from the sun. He started walking down the sandy road toward the compound.

"That's right, keep it slow and easy, Michael. When he's done, Kitt, I want you to slowly drive toward the garage. And don't try anything," Garthe warned.

Michael reached Garthe and was promptly pulled in front of a machine gun. Kitt slowly drove down the road and disappeared into the shadow of the garage. They all watched as the heavy door closed ominously behind him.

* * *

Michael, Devon, and Bonnie sat huddled in a cell, with nothing to do but wait.

Garthe was preening in front of them, thoroughly pleased with how clever he was. "I've done a lot of work on this place, trying to make it homey. I had this jail cell specially constructed, just for you. I have this thing for prison motif."

"We'd be happy to send you back to jail so you can get a look at the latest styles," Michael quipped.

"Not necessary. I've spent enough time there," Garthe said as he walked back and forth in front of them, pacing restlessly. "So, you left me for dead. Oops, or maybe not. The famous Michael Knight gets careless."

"Don't worry, I won't make that mistake again," Michael said keeping his voice calm.

"You won't get the opportunity." Garthe's voice had a low, threatening timbre to it. "Try to entertain yourselves, kids, I'll be back later for the real fun."

He disappeared from their field of view and flicked off the lights, leaving them in total darkness.

"Are you both all right?" Michael asked, this being the first opportunity they had to talk.

"Yes," Devon's disembodied voice responded.

"Any idea what he wants?" Michael asked.

"Nothing more than revenge, I'd say. He wants to torment us, scare us a bit. I don't know if he has any grander plans against the Foundation, but it seems that this is personal."

Michael lifted the comlink. "Kitt, can you hear me?"

The only response was a crackly silence.

"I guess Garthe wasn't kidding about the lead-lined garage. We need to find a way out of here," Michael said.

* * *

Garthe flipped on the lights and sauntered into the room, an unreadable expression on his face and two lackeys with guns at his side. "Take her," he said, motioning toward Bonnie. Then he sized up the two men. "And take the one who defiles my family name."

The guards grabbed them both and hustled them through the cell door. Garthe smiled wickedly at Devon. "Be back for you later, Miles. You're just going to have to wait your turn."

Michael and Bonnie were led through a narrow, dimly lit hallway and roughly pushed through a door on the left. "What do you want, Garthe?" Michael asked.

"I want my life back. But, since I can't have that, I'll settle for making your life a living hell."

Michael wsed sed to Garthe's delusions, but this time he was worried. Garthe had nothing left to lose -- not even a grand plan to take over the world. It made him dangerous.

Garthe flicked on the lights in the room and Michael's fear started to grow. It had no windows or other doors. There were heavy chairs, tables with restraints, and what looked like medical instruments, scattered around the room. In the back of his mind, Michael had assumed that Garthe was going to torture him, but he hadn't taken it seriously until now. He felt his stomach tighten. There were plenty of ways to create a living hell. He looked over at Bonnie and saw that she had gone a shade paler and was staring at a set of long, nasty-looking needles that had been spread out on one of the nearby counters.

"This is another one of my customizations. It took me a while to find just the right implements." Garthe laughed, seeing Bonnie's expression of horror. "Oh don't worry, I have no intention of marring your pretty little face . . . tonight. Actua it\ it's really too bad April isn't here. I liked her. She was who I had in mind, but you'll do," he said, stroking Bonnie under the chin. "I think he likes you better anyway."

Now the hair was standing up on the back of Michael's neck. This was not good. It was bad enough to be tortured himself, but he couldn't stomach the idea of Garthe hurting Bonnie. Michael desperately wished he had a way of contacting Kitt. They needed to get out of here now.

Garthe pushed Bonnie back toward an empty corner of the room. "Have a seat," he said before sharply punching her in the stomach. She doubled over, gasping, and he hit her again, forcing her to the ground. One of the guards stepped forward and put a gun to her head. She looked back up at Michael, clearly terrified. Michael wished he had some reason, any reason to reassure her, but there was nothing he could do right now.

"So, Michael, you're quite the ladies man, or so I hear. Seems you've got one of those faces." Garthe laughed darkly, amused with his own joke. "So, the deal is, you're going to put on a little show for us tonight. The boys have been out here a long time fixing the place up, and we don't get any of the good cable channels, if you know what I mean."

Michael felt ill as the reality of what Garthe was after sunk in. "Not going to happen, Garthe," Michael said, feeling a surge of adrenaline. If Garthe hadn't had a gun pointed at Bonnie's head, he would have attempted to overpower him. He flexed his fingers and waited, hoping that Garthe would let his guard down for half a second.

"That's your choice. But if you don't, her brains will be all over that wall there. Dead or fucked -- it's up to you."

Michael recoiled inwardly at the word but tried not to react visibly. He couldn't even look at Bonnie; he didn't want to see the look on her face. This was worse than anything he had been preparing for. "As I'm sure you know, it doesn't quite work that way." He tried to keep the shake out of his voice.

Garthe's smile was hideous. "Better find a way to make it work if you want her to live."

"No."

The gun clicked as the guard made a show of removing the safety.

Garthe lashed out and kicked Michael hard in the back of the knees, dropping him to the floor. Michael looked up and saw that Bonnie's eyes were squeezed shut and she was shaking. He couldn't do this. There was no way. But he couldn't let Garthe kill her. There didn't seem to be any other options at the moment. He had to at least stall. But a frightened part of his mind wondered what there was to stall for. He was the one who was supposed to come he rhe rescue.
cra crawled over to her and gently touched her hand. Bonnie's eyes snapped open and the direct eye contact was too much for him. He wished that Garthe had made killing him an option instead.

She swallowed and squeezed his hand. "It's okay," she whispered. "We'll get through this."

* * *

Michael was roughly pushed back into the room that was their cell. He couldn't bring himself to look at Devon.

"Your turn, Miles," one of the guards said as he pulled Devon out of the cell and callously escorted him from the room.

When they were gone, Michael leaned his head against the bars of the cell, feeling the cool, round metal against his forehead. It was something of a comfort, but not much. He felt like he was going to be sick, and his thoughts were racing a mile a minute, trying to catch up and make sense of what had happened.

But he didn't want to make sense of it. He didn't want to think about it at all. It sickened him, and there were too many images seared into his mind that he couldn't bear to look at again.

Slowly, in a haze, he walked over to the wall and slid into a sitting position. He put his head in his hands, grateful for the quiet solitude. He couldn't face anyone right now; he felt like a monster. He wished that Garthe would turn the lights out again. The dark would be comforting now - a cloak to hide his shame and fear.

He didn't know how long he had been there before his comlink beeped. He hit the button and was rewarded with a burst of static. The noise continued for a few seconds before he could faintly make out Kitt's voice. "Michael . . . can you . . . Michael. . . hear . . . ?"

He held the watch up to his mouth. "Yeah, kind of, Kitt."

"The . . . seal isn't . . . cracks . . . boost power . . . comlink to get through."

"You're really hard to understand, but keep talking. Do you have any idea how to get us out of here?" Michael said wearilyndinnding that he just d't h't have the energy to have this conversation. It seemed almost pointless now.

". . . trying to . . . local authorities but . . . Where are . . ." filtered through the static.

Michael was suddenly hit with a horrible thought. He looked at his comlink, afraid to ask the question. "Can you scan now too?"

"No . . . enough to allow for . . ."

Michael bitterly thought that he had never been so relieved to have one of Kitt's functions incatatetated. "Kitt, we need to get out of here as soon as possible. If there's anything you can do."

"The garage is . . . could turbo boost . . . if I try, he'll kill you."

"Probably. Can you get a message to either the Foundation or the local authorities?"

". . . try . . . too far . . . very limited."

"Try. If that doesn't work, we'll have to think of something else. We have to get out of here tonight." Michaes afs afraid to attempt a breakout knowing that Garthe had Devon and Bonnie. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to think. If Kitt made a break for it, Garthe might kill one or both of them right there. If they tried to escape when Garthe was asleep and they were all back in their cell, it might give them enough buffer time to get out alive.


* * *

Michael shrank into the darkness that blanketed the back of the cell when Garthe returned with Bonnie and Devon. He had been dreading this. He just couldn't face them, and from the way they were staring at the ground, he was afraid they weren't in any better shape than he was.

"I hope you all had as much fun as I did," Garthe said, in his low, rough voice.

Michael glared up at Garthe from his spot on the floor, wanting to kill him. He hadn't felt this strongly since Durante had killed Stevie. The hatred was eating at the back of his throat, curling up in his stomach, making his head pound.

The guards opened the cell and shoved Bonnie and Devon inside.

"Get some rest tonight, I've got more activities planned for tomorrow."

"'ll 'll pay for this, Garthe," Michael said in a low, eerily calm voice.

"I doubt it." Garthe eyed at him evilly. "I just gave you what you've always wanted."

Michael couldn't help cringing. Garthe laughed as he and the guards walked out, leaving them alone. Devon turned and claimed the far side of the cell, away from Michael. Bonnie hesitated before folding up and sitting somewhere in the middle. There were acres of space between them.

* * *

The silence was painful. It went beyond tense or uncomfortable to the point of being a constant irritant in Michael's mind, chaffing at all of his thoughts. He wanted desperately to break it, but he didn't know what to say. He was completely lost. They had gone over the plan shortly after Garthe left. Kitt was going to break out of the garage once they felt that Garthe had let his guard down and possibly gone to sleep. After that, there had been nothing but silence. Michael knew what he was feeling and had a pretty good idea that Devon was feeling something similar. But he had no idea what was going through Bonnie's mind and that scared the hell out of him. He was trying hard not to think about it.

For the third or fourth time, he heard her take a deep breath, like she was about to say something, but then let it out, the words unspoken. Each time, he tensed, afraid of what was coming. "What?" he asked softly, finally reaching the limit of what he could take. "Whatever it is, say it."

"It's just . . . This is exactly what he wants. For us to be sitting here, not able to talk to each other," she said in a flat voice.

Michael knew she was right, but he still didn't know what to say. It was just too much right now. Her words hung there, unanswered.

* * *

Michael checked his watch -- 3 am. If they were going to catch Garthe off guard, now was as good a time as any. He hit the button on his comlink.

"Kitt, go for it. We're in a little room on the south side of the building."

"I'll . . . find . . . when I'm free . . ."

They waited several long minutes, and then an alarm sounded, followed by yelling and footsteps. Garthe burst into the room with two guards. "Give me the comlink! Now!!"

Michael slowly stretched his arm out in front of him, but before he could remove the watch, there was an enormous crash, followed by Kitt's prow obliterating the wall on the far side of the room. Kitt slid into position, knocking Garthe and the two guards to the ground. He microjammed the locks on the cell and they all quickly ducked behind Kitt as Garthe whipped around with his automatic weapon and started firing. He quickly rethought his strategy when the ricochets darted off Kitt's shell.

Michael took the opportunity to rush forward and slam into Garthe, shouldering him hard in the stomach. When he doubled over, Michael hit him between the shoulder blades, knocking him to he floor. Then he stomped on Garthe's shoulder to keep him down. Michael kicked him onto his back and pounced on him, hitting him several times. He felt the satisfying crunch as Garthe's nose broke. Then Michael stopped and backed up, suddenly overwhelmed with a desperate need to just get out of there.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael was surprised that he had gotten away with borrowing Kitt, and with Maddock's permission, no less. He had played the Devon card and told Maddock that he was running an errand that Devon would have wanted done. Michael didn't know how many more times he would be able to get away with that, but he'd take it while he could.

It was nice to be on a road trip with Kitt again. It gave them a chance to get reacquainted, without Maddock and the Foundation interfering. It would have been nicer if the circumstances had been more pleasant. They were somewhere in the middle of the country, on their way to a suburb in Boston. Michael was getting the sense that Kitt's anger at having been dismantled was slowly burning away with the miles. It felt like Kitt's attitude had softened and Michael hoped that maybe Kitt was even willing to forgive him.

Michael felt horrible about how he had left things with Kitt ten years ago. He had been selfish and so wrapped up in his own issues that he hadn't seen what was clearly on the wall for Kitt. He had pretended that Kitt would just get a new partner and carry on, not because he had believed it, but because it was easier than dealing with his responsibilities. If he had known that Kitt was going to end up dismantled, sold off, or junked in a wooden crate, he couldn't have left. Or at least, he hoped that was true. He knew at the time he was so overwhelmed that maybe he would have just left, damn the consequences. But Kitt deserved so much better than that from him.

Michael had just gotten tired of being responsible for others. And he had gotten to the point where all of his relationships with people were so strained. He had been tired of friendship being so difficult.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Michael stepped out onto the veranda and stopped when he spotted Bonnie sitting at a table in the far corner, by herself, staring at a cup of coffee. They hadn't talked since that night and it had been over a week. It was funny, he had always thought the Foundation grounds were huge, but it was amazing how much they shrunk when he was trying to avoid someone. He hesitated, but it was stupid to keep running away from the situation; they were going to hav dea deal with it somehow. It was just that he was afraid of what would happen if they did start talking. Sometimes he thought the uneasy silence would be better than about half the scenarios his mind came up with.

It was late in the morning so there were only a few people sitting on the veranda. Michael made his way over to Bonnie's table, noticing that she had picked a spot away from most everyone else. He stopped awkwardly in front of her. "Mind if I join you?"

She looked up with her eyes, without moving her head. It almost looked like she didn't have the energy to lift it. "Not at all."

He sat down, lost about where to go from there. She was sitting with her hands folded around the outside of the saucer, still staring into the cup that was resting on it.

"Look, Bonnie," he started and instinctively put a hand on top of hers. He was startled when she immediately jerked her hands away, spilling her coffee, and causing the cup to clatter against the saucer. Michael quickly pushed back his chair. "Nevermind," he managed to force out abruptly and turned to make as quick an exit as possible. He was surprised at just how deeply that stung.

He had gotten to the door when she called out, "Wait. Please don't go."

He paused.

"Please. I'm sorry." She said it in a plaintive voice.

He turned around hesitantly, noticing that a few people had looked up, but most of them were engrossed in their newspapers or conversations. He walked back over to the table, stopping to stand next the chair he had just pushed back. He watched as the spilt coffee slowly seeped into the linen tablecloth.

"I'm not . . . I'm not afraid of you . . . or anything like that," she said, haltingly. "I just. I've been jumpy lately. I haven't been sleeping well and I didn't expect that. I'm sorry."

Michael nodded, still wary. He didn't want to sit down. The patio and table were too confining. He wanted to be able to move and he didn't want to have to sit across from her -- it would be better if they didn't have to face each other. "Can we take a walk?"

"Yes," she said immediately, sounding relieved. She folded up her napkin and quietly followed him down the porch steps and then along the reflecting pool.

They walked quietly for a while. Michael didn't know where to go or what to say, but he just couldn't let things stay the way they were.

"I hate feeling like I can't talk to you," he said, tentatively.

She nodded.

"So what can we do about that?"

"If I knew, I'd tell you," she said sadly. "I don't know where to start either."

She stopped and sat on the stone lip of the reflecting pool. He had wanted to keep walking -- movement was comforting for some reason -- but at least they weren't sitting at the table.

Michael took a seat next to Bonnie, and the horrible silence that separated them returned. Maybe if he just started talking, it would all tumble out and this awkwardness would be over. But he couldn't even think of the first few words.

"So what are you afraid of?" she asked.

It took Michael a long time to decide on an answer. He could have brushed off the question, but maybe it was one way to start talking. There were so many things that scared him, but at least he could name them. "I'm . . . afraid that you hate me."

She looked up sharply. "Why would I hate you?" she asked.

"Why wouldn't you? You have every reason to hate me. I. . ." He took a deep breath but couldn't continue.

"I don't hate you. Not at all. It was a horrible situation and there was no good way out of it. You're one of the most important people in my life, which is why this hurts so much." Her voice cracked.

"I want you to know, Bonnie, I would never, ever have done anything like that if he hadn't had a gun to your head. I swear I wouldn't . . ." "I k"I know that," she said forcefully, looking up at him with very troubled eyes. "Michael, of course, I know that." She looked like there was more she wanted to say, but she stopped and looked away.

There was another long pause before Michael decided to continue listing the things that scared him. "I'm afraid to talk to Kitt."

She nodded. "I don't even want to think about that right now," she said, her head down. He let it drop. That was something they were all going to have to figure out. Right now there was too much to settle between the three of them, much less trying to add a fourth person to the mix.

"I'm afraid that only a hideous person would have done what I did," he said, very softly.

"Michael, you didn't do anything wrong. This was done to all of us. We were all. . . raped." She took in a deep, shaky breath and released it. "You were forced to do something horrible and you did it to save my life. And it makes me feel so guilty." Her eyes welled up.

Michael sighed. In a lot of ways, it was a big relief to hear her say that. "Don't feel guilty, Bonnie. This is terrible and awkward, but awful as it is, its better than mourning you." He looked at her with very sad eyes. "We'll get through this."

She wiped away the tears that had started to overflow her lids and stared off in the distance.

Michael wanted to keep the conversation going. "So what are you afraid of?" he asked.

"What am I not afraid of?" she asked, desperately. "I'm afraid of everything."

"Like what?" He wanted to get her talking too.

"I'm afraid you think I'm a horrible person."

Michael smiled bitterly. "That sounds familiar. You aren't. The situation, remember."

"But, I was the one who, who basically made the decision."

"It was a mutual decision, Bonnie. We both decided."

There was another long pause. "I'm afraid of Devon."

"Can I ask? Was it. . . was the situation the same?"

She nodded.

"I assumed, but . . . I was hoping not. Have you talked to him at all?"

"No. I haven't seen him for days." More quiet. "I'm afraid of what he thinks of me."

"This wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything any of us could have done."

She turned to sit sideways and ran a hand over the water in the reflecting pool, looking miserable. He reached toward her, wantto sto stroke her hair, but remembered her early reaction and stopped. She wasn't able to hold back the tears anymore and brought her hands up to cover her face. Then she slowly leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder. "I'm afraid that things will never be the way they were," she said.

Cautiously her wrapped his arms around her. "All we can do is try, sweetheart. We just have to keep trying."

He was relieved when he felt her body relax against him, returning the hug.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

(Continued in Chapter 2)

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SPOILER WARNING: Garthe forces Michael to have sex with Bonnie at gunpoint. Then the scenario is repeated with Devon and Bonnie. None of it is described, but it is firmly implied and the rest of the s is is how they deal with it. (man, I cringe having to spell it out like that)