(no subject)
By the time Michael Knight reached the garage level, he was annoyed. It wasn't due to the bustle of techs and other FLAG employees that hurried to assist him, and who practically fawned on him in a manner that had nothing to do with Michael himself and everything to do with him being their boss. It wasn't due to Ms. Baker at the front desk calling him over and harrassing him about some mysterious temporary staff. And it had nothing to do ... well, very little ... with the shot of raw envy as he caught sight of Logan Maxwell's motorcycle parked in the courtyard outside.
No. The source of Michael Knight's annoyance was very specific, and that specific source just happened to be himself. And the fact that he'd ventured down to the garage so damn rarely that he had to stop once or twice and ask the way.
After all, he had no-one to blame for his lack of attention but himself. He could make all the excuses he liked - meetings, paperwork, long hours in boring conversations schmoozing up to councillors and politicians and rich bastards who wouldn't know real work if it took a piece out of their ... no, he couldn't blame them, much as he would have liked to. The real reason he hadn't been down to the garage as often as he should, the real reason he'd been neglecting - not ignoring, or so he told himself - his old friend Kitt, was a simple one. Michael couldn't face it.
It wasn't Kitt himself - God, no. There was nothing he missed more than Kitt. But the fact was that being with Kitt, talking with him, hanging out ... it brought all the memories flooding back. Chasing down the crooks. Leaping over trucks, skidding around curves. Long drives down the California coast. Arguing about music. Good natured snark about this or that pretty girl and how predictable he, Michael, really was. The good old days, back when. Back before ... before it all went to hell and Michael Knight just walked away. It was hard to face the past; and even harder to face the guilt. So he'd locked himself away in his ivory tower, behind his walls of paper and duty - passed the buck to Logan and Heather, looked away so they wouldn't see the longing in his eyes.
Now, though ... now. There was a problem, or at least Michael suspected there was one. Something was going on, and it was out of the ordinary, or what he remembered the ordinary to be. So in his role as the boss, as the CEO of FLAG NY, he was going downstairs to the garage to have a talk with Kitt.
If only he had the guts to go down there in his role as friend.
No. The source of Michael Knight's annoyance was very specific, and that specific source just happened to be himself. And the fact that he'd ventured down to the garage so damn rarely that he had to stop once or twice and ask the way.
After all, he had no-one to blame for his lack of attention but himself. He could make all the excuses he liked - meetings, paperwork, long hours in boring conversations schmoozing up to councillors and politicians and rich bastards who wouldn't know real work if it took a piece out of their ... no, he couldn't blame them, much as he would have liked to. The real reason he hadn't been down to the garage as often as he should, the real reason he'd been neglecting - not ignoring, or so he told himself - his old friend Kitt, was a simple one. Michael couldn't face it.
It wasn't Kitt himself - God, no. There was nothing he missed more than Kitt. But the fact was that being with Kitt, talking with him, hanging out ... it brought all the memories flooding back. Chasing down the crooks. Leaping over trucks, skidding around curves. Long drives down the California coast. Arguing about music. Good natured snark about this or that pretty girl and how predictable he, Michael, really was. The good old days, back when. Back before ... before it all went to hell and Michael Knight just walked away. It was hard to face the past; and even harder to face the guilt. So he'd locked himself away in his ivory tower, behind his walls of paper and duty - passed the buck to Logan and Heather, looked away so they wouldn't see the longing in his eyes.
Now, though ... now. There was a problem, or at least Michael suspected there was one. Something was going on, and it was out of the ordinary, or what he remembered the ordinary to be. So in his role as the boss, as the CEO of FLAG NY, he was going downstairs to the garage to have a talk with Kitt.
If only he had the guts to go down there in his role as friend.