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"May I speak with you, Doctor Graiman?"
"Of course, Kitt," the old man answered. He was leaning heavily on his cane, but after the accident, it was surprising he'd even lived. Mike was as much a risk-taker as his father, though in a way no one could've anticipated. The move he'd pulled had been wise enough. It had done what he'd intended; it had stopped the takeover of Prometheus, but it had left Charles Graiman very injured.
"I heard Mike speaking about his father's presence at the funeral," Kitt said. "Did you speak with him at all?"
Charles exhaled, almost sighing as he leaned against the Mustang's fender. "No, Kitt," he said. "I didn't."
The car was silent. The man shook his head and let his gaze wander across the nearby shelves. He'd never done well with awkward silences, especially he was usually the one to inspire them - precisely as he'd just done. He knew the question that was going unasked, and he knew the answer. With a true sigh this time, he finally spoke. "I'm sorry, Kitt. He didn't ask about you."
"I see. I did not actually expect him to."
"No." Graiman resettled himself against the shining black quarterpanel. "I didn't expect you would. You've changed a lot since he saw you last."
"I know." Nothing was the same as it had been then, except the colour of his shell and his scanner. Everything had been rearranged, upgraded, redesigned and reworked. He was in a Ford, for heaven's sake, and didn't even speak with the same voice. Michael wouldn't even recognize him. The thought was both heartening and depressing.
"He made his own choice," said the old man, interrupting the quiet.
"I know. And it does not have me in it."
Charles placed his hand gently on the warm hood. "Hey," he nudged. "What happened to the no emotions schtick?" His tone was gentle despite the words, a faint smile appearing on his face.
"It was a statement, Doctor Graiman." The car reassumed his formality. "I do not have emotions. You programmed me, and should know that."
Standing, Charles patted Kitt's hood heavily. "I know, Kitt," he said with his smile fading. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
With the assistance of his cane, the old man walked from the lab, casting a glance back toward the car he'd worked so hard on for all these years. The car was looking back at him, he knew, slightly more hurt than before. "Time heals all wounds," he murmured, then eased the door closed behind him.