Knight Rider characters copyright Glen Larson.

Author's Note: Written after watching A Plush Ride. Devon's callous remarks towards Michael and Mi's expression left me with a feeling - one that turned into a dream the next night.
Thanks and love to Knightshade for the beta

This is not my usual fare. This is very dark, depressing fic.

Emotional Limitations
by Tomy

Michael slowly limped down the paved drive cradling his left arm to his chest. He slouched further, trying to protect what was left of himself. Did they not see what they were doing? He knew Wilton was the one that wanted him - but the others... was he really that bad? Was he so far from their expectations?

He continued his slow journey, not sure where he was going, or why - just that he needed to get away. To get away from Devon and his remarks, away from Bonnie's open hostility, away from Kitt's snide put-downs. Christ, even the AI who was supposedly programmed to compliment his personality couldn't stand him.

Michael stepped up onto the grass as he heard a car approaching. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to see him. Walking into the woody area, he propped his good shoulder against the trunk, allowing his head to rest against the bark. He winced as his forehead protested the pressure. He didn't change his position. Hell, how could they expect him to do the job, when he couldn't even remember not to lean on his wounds.

Then to top it all off, he'd discovered that the Foundation had blocked him from the people he loved. He couldn't even check to see if they were okay. Did they think he was so stupid?! Was it so much to ask for a little peace of mind?

He knew he'd told Stevie he loved her before he left; for that small grace he was exceptionally thankful. He longed for the little things. The small, familiar, loving touches, a real hug - he couldn't remember the last time he'd received more than the cursory thank-you-hug.

Why couldn't they have just left him on the roadside? Didn't they realise they were killing him anyway? His breath shuddered deep in his chest before catching in his throat.

He'd managed to find a pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt to hide under. But there was no comforting familiarity. Everything was new. No old, broken in jeans, no slightly torn shirts to lounge in. He missed the soft, cotton blend slacks he used to own. They were never tailored - they just fit him; which was incredibly odd considering his size. Stevie used to spend hours running her hands along his hips, over his backside and thighs just feeling him under the soft material.

What he would give for just a touch from someone who gave a damn.

Making up his mind, he began the slow journey back up to the mansion. It wasn't as if it mattered anymore.

Devon's office was as cool and comfortable as always. The older man was predictably sitting behind his massive desk with a mountain of papers set neatly before him. He looked up, somewhat disgruntled at the intrusion.

Like Michael expected any kind of a welcoming reaction.

"Is there something on your mind, Michael? Because if not..." the irritation shone clearly.

"I was just thinking that maybe it's time we parted company." Michael remained as far from the older man as the room would allow.

"Meaning?"

"Look, I get it. It's taken me some time, but I get it now. I know the Foundation can make pretty much anything happen - you've already proven that. So let's just cut our losses here, and I'll be on my way."

"What in the world are you banging on about now?"

The patronizing tone stung deeply. Taking a deep breath, Michael struggled to keep his rumbling emotions in check. "You've all made it pretty clear that I'm not the one for this - that I'm obviously not capable. So I'll just leave you to it, uh." He kept his head down, not wanting to see the reactions, not wanting them to know how much this failure hurt.

"It's not that easy..."

"I figured. Look, Devon, whatever it takes, I'll be out of your hair. You can find someone more suited. We both know it was Wilton who picked me, and obviously he made the wrong decision." With that, Michael turned, leaving a very stunned and concerned Devon standing in the center of his office.

"What the Hell was that?" Bonnie, who'd been working in an adjoining room, marched in.

"I think we may have overstepped a boundary."

"He can't leave, he's needed here."

Devon turned to the young woman he respected greatly. "And when is the last time - if ever - we have allowed him to see that?"

Her mouth opened, then shut abruptly as her face fell. "What have we done?"

He had half-assed expected it, but the turbine whine behind him was not a welcome sound. "Go away, Kitt."

"Your logic does not compute," came the prissy tone from not far behind him.

"Yeah," he snorted. "When's that ever been a new thing?" He sighed in frustration as the car followed him. He knew if he stopped, the beautiful black prow would be inches behind his calves. Without turning, he spoke over his shoulder, "Look, Kitt... We don't exactly get along, now do we?" There was no answer forthcoming. He had really hoped for one. He closed his eyes against the sting. Deciding to be as honest as possible, he forged on. "Kitt, you're wonderful, and you deserve someone far more suited to the needs of the job." He chanced a look back at the A.I. Then regretted it as his failures crashed in on him. He couldn't remember a time in his life when everything had been so negative for such an extended period. He cleared his throat. "You find someone who you can work with, someone you respect. Someone who can get the job done without taking you down in the process." With that he limped on, not wanting to hear anymore.

"Michael, I don't understand," the tone and inflections had softened.

He stopped once more. "What don't you understand, Kitt?"

"Why are you giving up?"

"Somehow, I don't feel like it's a matter of giving up. It's more like one more failure." He hadn't meant to reveal so much.

"Michael.... I...."

"Look, don't bother," he snapped. "It's not worth it anymore. You guys have made it abundantly clear how you feel about my presence. So I'll remove it." He began walking again, up the grass, away from where the car could follow him.

"Michael, you're injured."

"So what?! It's not like you care." He stalked off, hearing the confused rumble of a very powerful engine.

God he was going to miss this. At first he was sure he could live up to it all, Wilton's expectations, Devon's expectations, Bonnie's expectations, and most of all, he had wanted to live up to Kitt's. But how does a simple, grieving human live up to an AI? Was it humanly possible? Probably, just not by him.

Michael found himself heading back towards the wooded area, longing to be alone with his injuries - mental and physical. They couldn't know - logically he knew this, but it didn't stop it from hurting. He had hoped to remain busy - buried in work so he could forget. Fate hadn't let that come to pass. Instead he was here, hurting mentally, emotionally and physically on what should have been his wedding day.

"Stevie..." he whispered the name with deep longing. He hadn't made love to her before he left - that was just another regret somewhere on the pile. What he would give just to be around people who liked him. It was something he'd always had, now he figured he'd taken it for granted. He would give anything just to know those from his life before were okay. He knew he could never allow himself to get close again - Devon was right, it was far too dangerous for them to be associated with him in any manner.

Even just to see on a monitor typed out records of their daily actions. Kitt had turned him down flat - rudely for that matter. It was foolishness to expect Kitt to understand, to know what that refusal had done to him. He hadn't let anything show at the time, they traveled the rest of the trip in silence - which was not that unusual.

Didn't they see he was trying? He was doing his best? That he was trying to learn? Yes he had some experience in Spec Ops, yes, he'd been promoted to lieutenant at a young age, but when had that prepared him for these kinds of assignments? They expected results. But getting them was never good enough. Even when he got injured and Kitt didn't - like this last assignment. It seemed that being willing to die for others, for your own beliefs just didn't cut it - was no longer anywhere near enough.

"Michael!" Bonnie called, running to catch up to him. "Michael wait! Please."

Heaving a sigh - then regretting it as his bruised ribs complained, he stopped. What was the use in fighting anymore?

She stepped around him, ducking under his self-protective stance to try and catch his eyes. She was just small enough to do so. The haunted, dejected look in his usually bright blue eyes tore at her soul. How could she have been so blind?

Gently pulling his arms away from his chest - being very careful of his injured side, she stepped between his arms, reaching up around his neck, drawing him to her.

Completely caught off guard by her actions, Michael found himself wrapped in a tender hug. Her fingers splayed around the back of his neck, caressing the hairs at the nape. Having longed for this kind of attention, he leaned into her, his hands grabbing her waist, drawing her close as his head buried in her shoulder, his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the torrent he refused to unleash.

"I'm so sorry." She pressed her cheek against his, holding him tightly, feeling him tremble. "Michael, I didn't think." She shook her head gently against his.

He took another shuddering breath, wanting desperately to believe her, needing to believe her, but terrified to allow himself to. "Bonnie...?" God, if he let go of her, would she back away in disgust? Would things return to their previous state? A part of him never wanted to end this sweet reprieve from their daily interactions.

"Shhhh...," she whispered softly. "Let me finish before I lose my nerve."

He nodded slowly, his hopes rising - the cynical part of him ready for the crash.

"I never realised how difficult this must be for you." She let her fingers play against the back of his neck, wanting desperately to relive him of some of his stress. Wanting to feel him relax against her. But his body remained rigid, a stern reminder of their callous treatment. She closed her eyes praying he would understand. "When you spoke to Devon, it was a shock to both of us. One we needed. Come back up to the mansion, let's talk about this."

He pulled back, but she refused to let him out of her embrace "Bonnie, I...."

Her finger on his lips silenced his objection. Let her see the physical damage for the first time. How could she have not looked at him? Seen the beatings he was sustaining - physically and emotionally? Could she have left her life behind? Would she have survived the brutal shooting that brought him to them before Kitt was ready? If she were to be honest with herself, she doubted it entirely. To not only have survived, but to have kept his good humour and attitude as well - a part of him they had carelessly whittled down to nothing. "Please, can we talk about this?"

She met his eyes willingly, pleading with them. He sighed. Could he really risk his emotional state by giving them another chance? Everything inside him wanted to desperately. The old man had instilled his ideals into him before he died. Hell, they wanted the same things. If only the others would help him instead of knocking him down every opportunity that arose.

Heart heavy, he nodded slowly, hearing her exhale in relief. Her arms slid from around his neck, over his shoulders and down his arms before gently guiding him back towards where she knew the others were waiting.