I do not own the rights to Knight Rider. I wrote this partly for a Halloween Story challenge; partly because there aren't enough Devon fics out there. I'm a sucker for secondary characters. Enjoy!
Devon Miles had come to relish nights like this one. Complete and total silence reigned supreme as he sank down into his leather armchair, with a cup of tea in one hand and an obscure biography in his other.
Michael was out somewhere with some woman, and for a change it was none of Devon's concern. Currently there was no mission to worry about, no disgruntled lawyers to deal with, no board members to meet with...not even a random charity event to attend...just a cup of Earl Gray and tome on the life of John Dalton.
The calm wouldn't last of course, and Devon knew that. Tomorrow there would no doubt be a series of frantic phone calls and he would be forced to ruin Michael's enjoyment once again. And the following day would almost certainly be spent riding in the semi with Bonnie, soothing her worries whilst being on tenterhooks himself. But that wasn't going to prevent him from enjoying his night "off" to its fullest.
As he set his tea down on the table beside his chair and opened his book, Devon listened to October wind howl outside his window. It was very fitting for Halloween, he mused as he donned his spectacles for reading.
Rain began to pelt the windowpane causing a pleasant background staccato, interspersed with periods of whistling wind. The pleasant cacophony outside nearly obliterated the soft sound of someone knocking on Devon's door.
It took a minute for the sound to register. Devon blinked up from his book and stared at the door with slight disappointment. He glanced at the page number, took note of it and gently shut his book and placed it lovingly on the chair side table.
The knock sounded again, this time more urgently.
"I'm coming." Devon called as he went across the room, tightening his dressing gown. He unlocked the door and looked at his visitor in the face.
For a split second Devon wondered what on earth had brought Michael back from his rendezvous with his Vivian or Valerie, or the like. Then the subtle facial differences struck home, and the worthy Mr. Miles was obliged to lean against the wall for support.
"Wilt?" The affectionate brotherly nickname came unbidden.
The figure in the hall grinned slightly. "What did you think, Devon, if I were to come back I would come back as an old man?" Stepping into the room, the young Wilton Knight surveyed his friend with some concern.
Devon wondered if perhaps he had finally lost his mind. He had often thought, facetiously, albeit, that Michael Knight would eventually push him towards the brink of insanity...yet to actually see it come to pass was disconcerting for the Englishman. Devon did manage to ask what Wilton wanted.
The dim light in the room illuminated Wilton's uniform, and his OSS pin glinted slightly. "I merely wanted to say 'hello' to an old friend." The serious blue eyes swept over Devon critically. "Are you quite alright Devon?"
"I'm fine." Devon managed finally. Wilton always managed to inspire within him an odd mixture of brotherly affection, respect, and irritation. At this moment he was feeling more irritation than anything else. "I suppose you are still experimenting, then." He muttered flatly.
Wilton laughed, a shadowy echo of a young man caught up in a war from so long ago. "Honestly Devon, I merely wished to see how you were faring with my foundation..." He sat down in Devon's chair and motioned for him to sit in one of the smaller chairs adjacent.
Devon sat and stared for a moment, his mind reeling. "If the paperwork doesn't kill me, your pilot will."
The same mischievous grin that Michael so often gave Devon lit up Wilton's youthful features. "How is young Mr. Knight managing?"
It was peculiar...almost perverse to hear Wilton speak in manner of an old man, when his voice and features were that of a young man. Yet Devon did his best to ignore the strange contradictions that this seemed to bring about. "He is doing well...better than I expected him to do." Devon added grudgingly. He supposed in a vague sort of way, he should have been more frightened or unsettled by the sudden appearance of his dead friend. Yet in some strange sort of way, Devon had been expecting to see Wilton around every corner since his death...the loss never truly registering. So seeing Wilton...even this ethereal youthful version of Wilton, seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
"So, I was right." He spoke with all of the smugness that a genius turned millionaire could afford to have.
"Yes, Wilton, you were right. It is rather like you to show up from the dead just to hear someone say that you were right and they were wrong. I'm rather surprised you didn't show up sooner."
Wilton ignored the Englishman's gibe. "And my car?"
"Beyond your expectations." Devon said smiling sadly as he watched ghostly form of his dear friend rub his hands together contentedly. He briefly considered telling Wilton just how far beyond those expectations KITT had developed; but it somehow didn't seem right to do so.
"I wish I could have held on long enough to see them in action. But it all worked for the best." Wilton reflected with a sigh. Then he studied Devon for a moment. "And now my well read friend, I am certain you know what comes next."
Devon pondered briefly why Knight could never come out and say what he meant. It was a frightfully irritating habit; he had always thought so from their first meeting. "No, I'm afraid I do not."
"Here is where I ask for a favor. Honestly, Devon, your nation is so well known for good ghost stories, I thought you'd be on top of this sort of thing."
"A favor?" So much for merely wanting to say 'Hello'. I should have known. "What sort of favor?"
"I wish for you to work for my foundation only as long as you desire to." Wilton said sternly. "I know you Devon, and if I don't say anything, that impeccable English sense of duty and honor will have you working yourself into an early grave. You aren't a young man anymore, Devon. I merely want you to promise me that when the time comes you will pass the torch on to someone else."
Devon felt a sudden pang that he couldn't quite place. "Thank you, Wilt." He said. "You have my word."
Wilton Knight nodded sagely. "Besides, when one of the higher ups die while still working here the rest of the employees usually want time off, and things get backed up...dreadful nuisance really."
"A terrible nuisance. We were backed up for weeks after our founding member's funeral." Devon responded dryly.
Wilton laughed briefly. "I shall miss this. However, you take care, Mr. Miles. I have no desire to continue these sessions for a substantial period of time." He reached over and clasped his long time friend's hand.
Devon shuddered briefly at the otherworldly touch. "I have no plans to hasten after you." He muttered, feeling sorrow wash over him. It had been difficult enough saying farewell the first time.
With a final squeeze to Devon's hand, Wilton released him and sauntered out of the room. "Until we meet again, you licentious Limey."
"Until we meet again, you yokel Yank." He shot back automatically.
The door swung shut with a sudden bang and Devon found himself alone once more. He hurried over the door and peered foolishly into the empty hallway. With a sigh he went back to his chair and picked up his cup. He sipped his tea, and pulled a face when he discovered it stone cold. His interest in his book gone, he began to make preparations instead for bed.
Once he was secure in the comforts of his bed, Devon fell to sleep almost instantly. He dreamed of the war. Thankfully it wasn't the horrors that plagued his sleep, but the absurdities...bad food, seemingly mundane orders, and exasperating Americans with devil-may-care smiles. Still he managed to rest well.
The following morning, he saw Bonnie walk by his office. She smiled and stepped in. "Did you have a fun Halloween?" Bonnie inquired, offering him a leftover pumpkin donut and cider. Devon declined the treats with a brief shake of his head.
"Fun...isn't the word I'd use to describe my evening." Devon replied wryly, taking a sip of his a-typical cup of coffee.
"Oh, well. It is a silly holiday anyway." Bonnie shrugged. "And there's always next year." She added as she left the office, still clutching her donut and cider.
Next year? Devon shuddered and took another long sip of his beverage. He hadn't even considered the possibility that Wilton would make his visit an annual one. The possibility was unnerving, unsettling, and yet oddly appealing. "Heaven forbid." He muttered dryly. "Heaven forbid."