The Not So Lonesome Knight: Mistake at the Motel

Enter Devon Miles

Where in the Devil were his employees? He can't help but wonder. They were certainly long overdue!

When they finally arrive at the restaurant, the Foundation's salt and pepper haired Patriarch is waiting and had apparently been doing so, for a good allotment of time. Devon Miles cast a vexed glance down at this wristwatch. His marvelous topaz eyes radiate impatience which, was tempered by a more merciful nature. His lips are pulled tight into a frown though the relief is evident upon his countenance upon catching sight of the distinctive hard-top taxiing to a stop.

"Kitt, you know the drill." Michael cheerfully states, shifting the gears into park. They'd been through this routine more than a hundred times by now. Plus, he had every confidence that Kitt would go into surveillance mode as they discussed the case. While, it felt like overkill, Michael really didn't want to lower his guard. Especially, if someone was preparing to strike out at the Foundation. His detective instincts knew it was a very real possibility.

He exits the cabin and skids his way over Kitt's hood so that he can promptly open the door for Bonnie. Sure, the day hadn't been off to the best of starts. Though, he really did enjoy the kiss. Gazing at her now, with that same embarrassed flush upon her face, made him all the more certain that he wanted to be with her or alone the rest of his life. But he can't imagine upsetting her. He had already come dangerously close to provoking her while they were getting dressed. So it is with earnest that he feels compelled to show her how he felt without the assistance of fancy words.

Flattery and chivalry weren't things Bonnie was fully accustomed to. So her hand instinctively had flown to the door handle but before she can grasp it, the door is swung wide open before her. She stares long at hard for a second at his proffered hand before allowing her own fingers to graciously curl around it. The grasp parts when she rises to stand upon her own two feet. "Thanks." The gracious word is imparted, just a hint louder than a whisper. The brunette can feel the tropical scorch rising back into the curves of her cheekbones. Internally, her heart gives a petitioning thud. Tell him, tell him. Her mind chants to no avail. Her tongue was unready and unwilling to gift any such nonsense a voice.

As they walk she can feel the reassuring pressure of his palm residing over the small of her back. He'd always done that for as long as she could remember. For some reason today it felt different. Dare she consider it a loving gesture? No. It had to be a silly trick of her sentimental imagination! Besides, when Michael had learned that she was the one he had been kissing, his azure orbs had almost vacantly searched her. She had interpreted that as Michael showing a polite indifference. Who was she trying to kid by fancying that last night would have any significant impact? Michael was notoriously allergic to attachments. He moved from one girl to the next in pursuit of the next hot fling. Bonnie didn't want that. She didn't want meaningless relations. Even more so, she didn't desire a lowly unimportant place in his life. Still, with his hand pressed against her, the mechanic allows herself to cling to a tiny shred of hope that she may still earn something more than his passing affections.

"My heavens," the elder gentleman starts, the very minute Bonnie and Michael were seated. The richness of his purely English accent slipping into every syllable. "I was beginning to think you two weren't going to show." His gracefully veiled reproach was well deserved given they were definitely more than one hour late. Fidgeting, he readjusts the cuffs of his tailored suit jacket before he picking up the menu to give it another once over. "What in the Devil kept you? I trust you have a good explanation."

He is met with bashful glances and two definitive apologies. Michael is the first to clear his throat. "It's my fault, Devon. There was a mix-up at the hotel."

"Oh?" Devon questions. His graying brow quirking just enough to show that his curiosity had been piqued.

"Well you see," Michael commences, ready to launch into the whole spiel when Bonnie interjects.

Bonnie, never really one to slouch, allowed herself to sink lower in the comfort of the booth. "It's a long and uninteresting story, Devon. Let's just say the front desk made the phone call to the wrong room." The excuse sounded plausible enough. Didn't it? She cast a worried glance at the two from over her own menu.

Michael looked as if he had been physically struck. His tongue was ready to dispute part of her explanation when he thought the better of it. Maybe, just maybe, she was right. Undeserved shame compels his head to droop. His mind considers the potential that he wasn't the great company he thought he was. Try as he might to focus on the menu, he couldn't. Her words kept rolling like a bowling ball down an endless lane, over and over in his mind. What had she meant by her statement? Why did it feel like she had been speaking in some kind of code? Or was he simply too unintelligent to decipher any message she was trying to get across? Why was it so hard to communicate with her?!

Bonnie snagged a glimpse of Michael. Her heart sinks inside of her chest as his expression bordered on the precipice of offended and angry. Had it been something she said? Worry grips tightly around the slowly thrumming muscle. Each of its beats dredged up fear that he loathed her. How could she backtrack now? Swallowing sharply she feels her appetite fleeting.

Devon, who to this point is still blissfully unaware, cheerfully prompts, "so what will you to be having?" He suspects that his lovely mechanic would resort to ordering something health-conscious and wise while, his haphazard agent would opt for something bathed in grease. His topaz orbs linger with considerable interest upon them.

Bonnie and Michael both had the misfortune of locking each other in the cross-hairs of their gazes when they went to answer. Immediately, they both allow their eyes to falter downwards.

"Well? We don't exactly have all day." Devon prods. He was beginning to suspect that something is amiss. They had been getting along so splendidly the other day and now they could barely stand to look at each other.

"Go ahead, Michael." Bonnie coolly states, in an effort to take some of the pressure off of herself.

Under his breath, he bitterly grumbles, "why don't you just tell me what I'm allowed to have and what I'm not." He thinks that it is said in a soft enough tone that it wouldn't be audible over the other lively conversations around them but it's not. She always criticized his choices. Particularly, when they came to food and women.

Bonnie's menu flops down onto the table with a click. "What is that supposed to mean?!" It was her turn to have confusion and offense tattooed to her countenance. Honestly. She can't even believe he said that!

Small sparks of repentance flicker through his gaze but are quickly snuffed out to something colder than ash. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "Well, its just that you..." The unfinished accusation sits like bricks in his tone. Catching a peripheral view of Devon, whose face clearly bespoke disapproval, he recants. "It's nothing." Like an admonished child he ducks behind the cover of his menu and he dwells there for several minutes in silence. "Guess, the double cheeseburger looks good."

"Nothing?" Bonnie prods, not fully willing to let it go. "Michael, if it was nothing you wouldn't have mentioned it. And now, I want to know." Want definitely was not a strong enough term.

The curly-haired agent's menu is dropped beside her discarded one and he leans across the table. His hands fold together like a shuffled deck of cards. "Well, you apparently know what's best for me. What was it you said a while back, you anticipate my every need?" Every yearning but one. The most important one. The one that revolved around her. "And everythin' I tend to order is considered junk or trash." He doesn't even remember where the hell he was going with his statements so he abruptly ceases. In the undercurrent of his discourse lay a deeper meaning. One he had tried to impart to her that morning. But it lodges stubbornly and quite painfully somewhere inside of him. It changes form and escapes as an unintentionally harsh rebuke that he immediately wishes he could erase.

Her words had been taken so far out of context it was hard to piece them back together. Where was all this coming from? She is so taken aback by his commentary all she can do is glower. In a low grievous tone, she quips, "it's none of my business if you want to poison yourself."

In that instant, Devon's suspicions were confirmed. Something had gone on between them since they had parted ways. Whatever it was, it didn't appear to be good. Astonished by the cruelty of their banter and wishing to save face for both of them Devon interrupts. "Yes. Well, to each their own. I'm sure you'll both make the appropriate selections." He only gives a pause long enough for their orders to be placed with the waitress before directing their attention back to the case. "About Kent Stevens..."