handling this just as smoothly as the og series would have :) this chapter's probably gonna see a rewrite
The fifth anniversary was more painful thank Michael had expected. It was just another year like the others, so why did it all feel as raw as it had that first year? The pain of his own death had faded as Michael adjusted to and even came to love his new life, but he could never reconcile his guilt over Muntzy's death. So much had gone wrong that night, Michael knew it wasn't reasonable to try and shoulder all the blame himself, but since when was guilt ever reasonable?
"You can't blame yourself forever." Somehow Kitt had once again cut right to the heart of the Michael's pensive silence as they cruised down a rather deserted stretch of highway at a sedate 95 mph.
Eyeing the now-dark modulator suspiciously, Michael asked, "Are you sure you can't really read minds, pal?" He was stalling, hoping to distract Kitt, get him going on a tangent about mind reading.
"Can we not do this right now, Michael?" Kitt asked. Michael slumped back in the seat, hands slipping from the wheel in a quiet admittance of defeat. A soft beep assured Michael that Kitt had taken control of the car. "Thank you." Kitt spoke tenderly.
"Can't believe it's been five years," Michael said, if only to fill the ensuing silence. Tears burned his eyes, and he wondered if maybe he'd be able to let them fall this year. Gods, he hoped so. He was so tired of this godsdamned cat-and-mouse game he'd been playing with his emotions the last five years. In his defense, this was the first year they hadn't been actively fighting for their lives. They were in between assignments, heading home to California. It had been an unfortunate coincidence that their chosen route had brought them through that part of the desert. Michael had gone silent mid-sentence and floored the accelerator when he realized where they were. Distracted as he was, he knew Kitt would keep them safe. The drove in silence for nearly an hour at the breakneck pace Michael had set.
Kitt slowed the car down as the lights of a small desert town came into view. The change in speed had been just enough to bring Michael's attention mostly back to the present, and Kitt had chosen that moment to break the silence.
"Yknow, Kitt … I, uh, I'd always thought –" He took a shaky breath and tried again. "I thought it'd hurt less by now." The first tear dripped down the side of his nose and landed on his hand. He leaned his head against the window, grateful for the coolness of the glass. "Hadn't…hadn't thought it could hurt worse now but it does." His jaw trembled. "How come it's gotten worse?"
"I'm no expert on grief," Kitt began, as he so often did when speaking on subjects he considered outside his expertise. Michael chuckled weakly even as the tears began to fall in earnest. "Five years is a long time, Michael. Even in the lives of normal humans, a lot can happen. Your life is hardly normal. Most humans have the opportunity to surround themselves with a relatively stable and unchanging network of friends and family. They can fall back on this network for support.
"I'm afraid the transient nature of our lives prohibits that. 'Home' for us is the open road or a hotel more often than not. We travel too much and never stay in one place long enough for bonds of that depth to form." Michael took comfort from Kitt's choice of a plural pronoun. He didn't have the wherewithal to suss out if Kitt genuinely included himself in that 'we', or if he'd just chosen the plural to as non-accusatory as possible. He didn't really care; just appreciated the consideration. "But that doesn't mean you have to go it alone. I'm not just talking about myself, either."
"Devon and Bonnie," Michael supplied in response to Kitt's unvoiced question. "I can't … They don't …" He had no idea what he was trying to say. Kitt eased to a stop at one of the few stop signs in the blink-and-you'll-miss-it town. Ever one to follow rules even when no one was around, Kitt stopped as if they weren't the only ones on the road before continuing their journey.
"Of course they don't know," Kitt said. "They can only ever know what you tell them." Kitt's tone was firm but had yet to turn accusatory as Michael feared it might. "You don't have to tell them anything, but please remember: they're your family just as much as I am." They drove in silence as the lights of the last few houses faded into the night, Michael mulling over what Kitt had said.
"Grief can't be programmed away," Kitt added. Michael couldn't identify the emotion trembling under the smooth surface of Kitt's voice. "We've spent so much time together that your grief is my own." Michael pressed the tips of his fingers to the modulator as the last of the lights faded. He'd never in a million years have guessed that Kitt could have not only felt his grief, but taken it upon himself to try and share the burden.
"I ever tell you how wonderful you are?" Michael asked.
"Not often enough," Kitt teased before turning serious again. "I can't change the past, Michael, and I'm not entirely sure what I can do in the present, but I do know that I won't let you blame yourself forever. You can't get rid of me."
Michael sniffled and wiped away the last of his tears. "God knows I've tried just about everything to get rid of you," he joked back. "Kitt, you have no idea how much you mean to me." He half expected some smart-ass quip, but Kitt held his tongue. "You still find ways to surprise me, too. I never thought you'd end up grieving with me."
"Of course I do," Kitt said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "You're my brother. And I'd be an awful brother if I let you grieve alone."
"Guess I was wrong about never having another human partner, huh, pal? And don't you dare give me your usual bullshit about not being human. It's way too late for that one."
"I had only planned on agreeing with you," Kitt said with mock demureness.
