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THEN: MARCH, 1991
"You okay?" Michael asked.
Bonnie turned her attention from the drab scenery outside KITT's passenger window to look at him. "As can be expected, after dealing with that bunch of vultures."
Michael reached over, patting her hand. He was grateful he and Bonnie had been able to share their grief in private, because Devon's funeral had turned out to be a nightmare of politicians, FLAG officials, and people Michael didn't know or want to, all more interested in seeing and being seen than in paying their respects to the man who had almost single-handedly kept FLAG running for the past decade.
"Michael, if I may interrupt," KITT said, his voice subdued, "there seems to be an undue amount of activity around Foundation Headquarters."
"Great," Michael muttered under his breath. "Bonnie, we can detour, drop you off at your apartment..."
"No. If something's going on, I want to know what."
There were numerous dark vehicles parked along the curving drive of the estate, and far too many dark suited men for Michael's liking. "Keep your scanners peeled, KITT," he murmured as they got out. The almost inaudible swish of KITT's primary scanner sped up, indicating his compliance.
A man stopped him at the foot of the main building's steps. "Mr. Knight? Miss Barstow?"
"I'm Michael Knight."
"Agent Perkins." The man flashed a badge, and Michael neatly took it from him before he could put it away. It looked, unfortunately, legitimate.
Michael studied the badge long enough for Perkins to become visibly irritated. "What's going on here?"
"The Foundation operates under a government charter. In light of the death of Mr. Miles, Foundation operations are being suspended pending an audit of your policies and practices, after which a new head will be appointed."
"Suspended? You can't do that."
"I'm afraid we can. Your services will no longer be required, unless and until you're reinstated." He turned his attention to Bonnie. "Likewise, Miss Barstow, since you were brought in to keep the Knight Industries Two Thousand operational, your services will not be required unless and until the vehicle, or another vehicle, is placed back in service."
"And what happens to KITT?" Michael demanded, before Bonnie could.
"The vehicle will be impounded until such time as its continued value to the program has been determined."
"You're not taking my car."
A small sheaf of paperwork emerged from the man's suit coat. "Mr. Knight, it is not your car."
"Michael." Bonnie's hand on his back stopped him from saying anything else. "Let's take KITT to the garage."
Michael shot Perkins a final glare. "This isn't over."
"Mr. Knight, it can be over far sooner than you would imagine possible, if you don't cooperate."
Michael almost retorted, but Bonnie's grip on the back of his jacket tightened. He looked down at her, then motion from the corner of his eye caught his attention, and he turned to see two men converging on KITT.
"Yeah," he muttered. "Let's go take KITT to the garage."
He strode across the drive, reaching KITT just as one of the men reached for the car's door. "I'll just put him away for you," Michael said, smoothly shouldering the man aside. The brief exchange gave Bonnie the few seconds she needed to catch up, and she neatly interposed herself between KITT and the man on his passenger side.
"Michael," KITT said when they were both safely inside, "what's going on?"
"I don't know, but I plan to find out."
"This is what Devon was working on, before..." Bonnie's voice broke. "I knew it was something huge, but I didn't know...Michael, we can't let them shut us down."
"No, we can't," Michael said. KITT's engine purred to life, and the car slid smoothly around the drive. "And we won't."
Over the following days, though, the temptation to give Perkins what he wanted and just leave grew almost overwhelming. He was, for all intents and purposes, confined to the guest cottage where he normally stayed between missions, without even his commlink. Bonnie had more opportunity to investigate what was going on from her apartment than he had right in the thick of things, and the frustration of not being free to act was compounded by not daring to speak openly to her on the phone.
But Michael Knight had never been a man who could simply walk away from a problem. Perhaps more importantly, he had never been a man who could walk away from a friend.
The garage, normally well lit and occupied by numerous technicians when KITT was present, stood dark and silent. Michael fumbled for a light switch; when he found it, it was...almost worse, seeing KITT alone in the middle of the harsh overhead glare.
"Michael?"
"Hey, pal. Sorry I haven't been out to see you the past few days."
"I'm sure you aren't supposed to be here now."
"No, not exactly. But I missed you, and since you haven't swung by for a visit... "
"They've disconnected several of my major systems, Michael. I can't move." He paused, then added wryly, "My sensors are working fine, though, and you should probably leave via the back way."
Michael winced; he thought he'd been more careful than that. "I promise, KITT, I will get to the bottom of this."
"I know you will, Michael."
Michael never quite forgave himself that his last words to his partner were a lie.
THEN: MAY, 1992
"Michael..." He could hear the tears in Bonnie's voice. "It's over."
Michael's hand gripped the phone harder. "What do you mean, over? KITT..."
"KITT's gone. They...he's been disassembled. The shell was destroyed, along with the CPU."
"Are you sure? Maybe..."
"The photos accompanying the report were very...graphic."
Michael closed his eyes. "Why?"
"Because they couldn't use him. His primary programming..."
"They wanted him as a weapon."
She made a tiny, affirmative noise that was more a sob than anything else. "They couldn't break him, so they killed him instead."
"Who?"
"Does it matter? We can't do anything about it, Michael. It's too late."
And she was right. They couldn't do anything to help KITT, and without KITT...
Michael wished Bonnie wasn't three states away, wished she hadn't had to break this news to him over the phone. They should have faced this together, he should have been able to hold her while she cried, comfort her over KITT's loss.
And, he admitted, as tears streamed down his own face, he could have used some comfort himself.
NOW: APRIL, 2009
When Michael opened his email to photos – blurry stills, frames from security cameras, some of them side by side with computer enhancements – he initially suspected some kind of sick April Fool's joke. All of the photos looked like crap, but you could still tell they were all of a black sports car, one that, if you squinted, just might be an early 80s T-Top.
Michael would have deleted them all if they hadn't been from Bonnie. The two of them had drifted apart since their failure to rescue KITT, keeping in touch via cards at Christmas and each others' birthdays, when they remembered, and more recently – since Michael had stopped resenting every computer he encountered for not being KITT – via email. As it was, he left them and came back to them for hours before finally reading the attachments that came with them: news reports, police reports, even a couple of FBI reports that Bonnie couldn't possibly have gotten legally.
A few of the photos had an odd red reflection where KITT's sensor light would have been.
By the time he was done, it was nearly midnight. He grabbed his cell, dialing the number he knew by heart from all the times he hadn't called it.
She answered on the first ring.
"What the hell is going on?"
"I don't know," Bonnie's voice shook, reminding him forcibly of their last conversation; his throat tightened in sympathy. "But I think we need to find out."