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shadowknight2008-03-02 01:56 am
sl_walker) wrote in shadowknight2008-03-02 01:56 am
Entry tags:
Fic - Don't Let Me Go
Title: Don't Let Me Go
Rating: G
Universe: Home
Timeline: November 16th, 2005
Written: November 16th, 2005
Summary: After catching up with Rick, Nance and the 'bots, and the subsequent confrontation, the next day finds a somewhat forlorn and adrift Mike trying to cope with it all. Another good piece, despite the sorrow.
It was late morning, and he'd had his ear to the phone for hours. First, they had to have Scott come and pick up the Cavalier, then go to Hopkins to get the Stingray. That involved calling the storage facility and convincing them to give the keys to a perfect stranger, no easy feat. Then it was calling Devon to get an update on the situation -- nearly all of ShadowKnight was in Minneapolis, with the exception of Devon and KITT. Even Bonnie had come along, probably knowing that they needed her more there than the lab did. Steven had been handed over to the X-Men, which was probably better for him considering, and everything was slowly becoming a little clearer.
The hotel was nice; they'd all booked rooms, leaving everyone to sort out where they would sleep. It was kind of a high class joint. That had involved another rent-a-car. Devon had suggested to Mike when he called that they stay in Minnesota for a few days... get away from New York, keep themselves inconspicuous, wait there until there was a better handle on the situation. Mike knew, instinctively, what Devon was really saying... "Stay there, pick up the pieces and come home when you're all ready to deal with these things."
Given how burned out he was, Mike was willing to entertain just about any suggestions, so long as he didn't have to come up with too many ideas on his own.
It was times like this that he really didn't like being the leader.
Being a leader meant being a rock, and he would be the first to admit that he wasn't very good at that. It meant being the emotional anchor, the calm voice in the storm. It meant being steady and strong and sure... and he had never been those things, at least emotionally. He could be the fire... that was easy. But he didn't know how to be the water, too.
Until more recent times, though, it didn't really matter -- he was able to bark the orders, and his team was there to be his anchor, but now everyone was in pieces.
He gave up on the idea of sleep... there comes a time when people are so far past the point of exhaustion that they don't know how not to be anymore. He hit that sometime after dealing with the storage company and didn't know how to go back.
So, Mike did what he usually did when he was suffering and miserable and alone... went to try to fix things. It was his Midwestern upbringing rallying to the forefront -- no matter how bad you felt, someone probably felt worse, so try to help them and you'll help yourself. Midwestern guilt was a funny thing; his forebearers lived on stoicism (which he usually failed at), and genteel love (always at arms length, which he usually failed at), and hard work (which he could do). It was the kind of guilt that made you feel guilty for even feeling guilty in the first place.
So he headed out into Minneapolis on foot. He knew where he was going; Dunn Bros. Coffee... the owners of the Freighthouse. He'd never been there, but Joel had brought it up a couple of times, and he figured that some roasted-inhouse coffee would do everyone some good. Plus, it was pretty close by.
The roads had been cleared, but the sidewalks were still slushy, and there were still flurries coming down here and there... it seemed to be clearing up, but hadn't just yet. He'd forgotten how cold it could get up here -- it made him ache a little, and he wondered sometimes when he'd started having those problems. New York had been fairly cool, but not like this when he'd left.
He managed to get to the Freighthouse before he froze -- his jacket was still wet from the night before -- and went in. He could see why Joel liked it there... it wasn't like a chain store. It screamed of community and the local color, a color that Mike was pretty familiar with, even after all this time.
He took a few minutes to warm up and ordered a bunch of pounds of fresh-roasted, fresh-ground coffee to go. He couldn't carry all of the cups back, and each room had a coffee maker and mugs, so he figured it was an acceptable compromise. And as he waited, he leaned on the counter and closed his eyes and listened... people talking. Professionals, blue-collar, a whole array of people in there.
In that strange, tired, surreal moment, he wanted to just be one of those.
Back at the hotel, the people he loved most in the world were all huddled alone or in small groups. Rick was probably worrying and eating himself alive with guilt... Nance was still probably pissed off, or at the very least, resentful. Kitty, Clay and Lorna were doubtlessly confused about how the whole situation ended up like this... Bonnie was probably doing what she was so good at, being a no nonsense force; one part gentle compassion, one part stern strength. Crow... Crow was upset still, he knew that. And he knew that Joel was probably feeling a lot like he was.
Tom he wasn't so sure about. Just thinking about the little red 'bot still hurt... raw grief. Guilt. Sorrow. Really, he felt that way about both of them, but it wasn't Crow that he'd cut loose on.
He still wasn't quite ready to see them grown up. Then this, on top of that shock, was just... too much. So, as he was apt to do sometimes, he lashed out. He was hurt and angry and he lashed out at one of the very people he would die for without hesitation.
It still hurt... moreso now. How do you apologize? How do you reconcile things like this?
How do you blink, and in one moment you're getting crayon-drawn pictures, and the next you're raging at each other? If this was how parenting was supposed to feel, Mike wasn't as sure as he had been that he wanted to raise children someday. Not if it meant feeling like this.
The order was done, and he took the bag and headed back out. In that short a space, the snow had stopped falling, and now the wind was blowing and cold and if he weren't so buried inside his own thoughts, he would have noticed it. As it was, though, he just tucked his head down and kept walking.
He needed to do something. He couldn't leave things like this... not with any of them. Things would get worse; rifts and divides within the team, people snubbing one another, anger remaining below the surface. In a practical sense, that kind of thing could get people killed... in an emotional sense, it was just pure Hell on Earth.
He had to try to be the rock, but he didn't know how. They were his anchor... his stability, his strength, and when they're all messed up, he was left adrift. And guilty about being adrift, because he was supposed to be the leader and the strong one. And lost, because he felt too guilty to just go to them and say the refrain that was in his head, "Don't let me go."
Somewhere faintly echoing was a voice that said, "Seems like more than one of us have crumbs on their beak now." And he had to stop inside of the hotel lobby to breathe and not break into a million pieces because of it. A good part of him wanted to, but it was that messed up Midwestern guilt again that kept him together.
Finally, he got back to their floor of the hotel... well, they didn't have the whole floor, but they did have their own hallway... and dropped off a bag of coffee at each of their doors. He didn't knock; he didn't want to wake anyone, but he figured that they would find the coffee when they tripped over it anyway.
Then, having done something other than talk on the phone, Mike went back to his own room and closed the door. Until everyone was awake, there wasn't much left for him to accomplish. He thought about seeking out Joel, or Kitty, or anyone, and decided against it... let them rest, don't interfere yet, not until you know what to say, or at least have a clue.
He dropped on the bed once he'd peeled the coat off and wrapped his arms around his pillow.
Maybe the coffee would help.
Rating: G
Universe: Home
Timeline: November 16th, 2005
Written: November 16th, 2005
Summary: After catching up with Rick, Nance and the 'bots, and the subsequent confrontation, the next day finds a somewhat forlorn and adrift Mike trying to cope with it all. Another good piece, despite the sorrow.
It was late morning, and he'd had his ear to the phone for hours. First, they had to have Scott come and pick up the Cavalier, then go to Hopkins to get the Stingray. That involved calling the storage facility and convincing them to give the keys to a perfect stranger, no easy feat. Then it was calling Devon to get an update on the situation -- nearly all of ShadowKnight was in Minneapolis, with the exception of Devon and KITT. Even Bonnie had come along, probably knowing that they needed her more there than the lab did. Steven had been handed over to the X-Men, which was probably better for him considering, and everything was slowly becoming a little clearer.
The hotel was nice; they'd all booked rooms, leaving everyone to sort out where they would sleep. It was kind of a high class joint. That had involved another rent-a-car. Devon had suggested to Mike when he called that they stay in Minnesota for a few days... get away from New York, keep themselves inconspicuous, wait there until there was a better handle on the situation. Mike knew, instinctively, what Devon was really saying... "Stay there, pick up the pieces and come home when you're all ready to deal with these things."
Given how burned out he was, Mike was willing to entertain just about any suggestions, so long as he didn't have to come up with too many ideas on his own.
It was times like this that he really didn't like being the leader.
Being a leader meant being a rock, and he would be the first to admit that he wasn't very good at that. It meant being the emotional anchor, the calm voice in the storm. It meant being steady and strong and sure... and he had never been those things, at least emotionally. He could be the fire... that was easy. But he didn't know how to be the water, too.
Until more recent times, though, it didn't really matter -- he was able to bark the orders, and his team was there to be his anchor, but now everyone was in pieces.
He gave up on the idea of sleep... there comes a time when people are so far past the point of exhaustion that they don't know how not to be anymore. He hit that sometime after dealing with the storage company and didn't know how to go back.
So, Mike did what he usually did when he was suffering and miserable and alone... went to try to fix things. It was his Midwestern upbringing rallying to the forefront -- no matter how bad you felt, someone probably felt worse, so try to help them and you'll help yourself. Midwestern guilt was a funny thing; his forebearers lived on stoicism (which he usually failed at), and genteel love (always at arms length, which he usually failed at), and hard work (which he could do). It was the kind of guilt that made you feel guilty for even feeling guilty in the first place.
So he headed out into Minneapolis on foot. He knew where he was going; Dunn Bros. Coffee... the owners of the Freighthouse. He'd never been there, but Joel had brought it up a couple of times, and he figured that some roasted-inhouse coffee would do everyone some good. Plus, it was pretty close by.
The roads had been cleared, but the sidewalks were still slushy, and there were still flurries coming down here and there... it seemed to be clearing up, but hadn't just yet. He'd forgotten how cold it could get up here -- it made him ache a little, and he wondered sometimes when he'd started having those problems. New York had been fairly cool, but not like this when he'd left.
He managed to get to the Freighthouse before he froze -- his jacket was still wet from the night before -- and went in. He could see why Joel liked it there... it wasn't like a chain store. It screamed of community and the local color, a color that Mike was pretty familiar with, even after all this time.
He took a few minutes to warm up and ordered a bunch of pounds of fresh-roasted, fresh-ground coffee to go. He couldn't carry all of the cups back, and each room had a coffee maker and mugs, so he figured it was an acceptable compromise. And as he waited, he leaned on the counter and closed his eyes and listened... people talking. Professionals, blue-collar, a whole array of people in there.
In that strange, tired, surreal moment, he wanted to just be one of those.
Back at the hotel, the people he loved most in the world were all huddled alone or in small groups. Rick was probably worrying and eating himself alive with guilt... Nance was still probably pissed off, or at the very least, resentful. Kitty, Clay and Lorna were doubtlessly confused about how the whole situation ended up like this... Bonnie was probably doing what she was so good at, being a no nonsense force; one part gentle compassion, one part stern strength. Crow... Crow was upset still, he knew that. And he knew that Joel was probably feeling a lot like he was.
Tom he wasn't so sure about. Just thinking about the little red 'bot still hurt... raw grief. Guilt. Sorrow. Really, he felt that way about both of them, but it wasn't Crow that he'd cut loose on.
He still wasn't quite ready to see them grown up. Then this, on top of that shock, was just... too much. So, as he was apt to do sometimes, he lashed out. He was hurt and angry and he lashed out at one of the very people he would die for without hesitation.
It still hurt... moreso now. How do you apologize? How do you reconcile things like this?
How do you blink, and in one moment you're getting crayon-drawn pictures, and the next you're raging at each other? If this was how parenting was supposed to feel, Mike wasn't as sure as he had been that he wanted to raise children someday. Not if it meant feeling like this.
The order was done, and he took the bag and headed back out. In that short a space, the snow had stopped falling, and now the wind was blowing and cold and if he weren't so buried inside his own thoughts, he would have noticed it. As it was, though, he just tucked his head down and kept walking.
He needed to do something. He couldn't leave things like this... not with any of them. Things would get worse; rifts and divides within the team, people snubbing one another, anger remaining below the surface. In a practical sense, that kind of thing could get people killed... in an emotional sense, it was just pure Hell on Earth.
He had to try to be the rock, but he didn't know how. They were his anchor... his stability, his strength, and when they're all messed up, he was left adrift. And guilty about being adrift, because he was supposed to be the leader and the strong one. And lost, because he felt too guilty to just go to them and say the refrain that was in his head, "Don't let me go."
Somewhere faintly echoing was a voice that said, "Seems like more than one of us have crumbs on their beak now." And he had to stop inside of the hotel lobby to breathe and not break into a million pieces because of it. A good part of him wanted to, but it was that messed up Midwestern guilt again that kept him together.
Finally, he got back to their floor of the hotel... well, they didn't have the whole floor, but they did have their own hallway... and dropped off a bag of coffee at each of their doors. He didn't knock; he didn't want to wake anyone, but he figured that they would find the coffee when they tripped over it anyway.
Then, having done something other than talk on the phone, Mike went back to his own room and closed the door. Until everyone was awake, there wasn't much left for him to accomplish. He thought about seeking out Joel, or Kitty, or anyone, and decided against it... let them rest, don't interfere yet, not until you know what to say, or at least have a clue.
He dropped on the bed once he'd peeled the coat off and wrapped his arms around his pillow.
Maybe the coffee would help.