Knight Rider
Journey through the Knight
Mike jumps awake in the dark, pulse pounding frighteningly loud in his ears as he thrashes against the sheets tangled around his legs. Terror floods, sharp and bright, through his veins as caustic as poison and just as deadly because he'll always be a soldier at heart and nothing gets you killed quite as quickly as losing your nerve. He feels panic mix with adrenaline in his gut, a flash of fire under his skin as devastating as a missile hit because his memory is still far less than stellar, three years of his life reduced to a handful of disjointed, painful flashes.
He remembers desert sand and screams carried on dry, dusty air, tastes blood, hot and coppery on his tongue, and hears the phantom whine of high powered machine guns. The cotton sheets wrapped tight around his knees morph into hands on his shoulders holding him down and there's a syringe glinting in the uneven light of a burning hanger and just for a moment he can't breathe because he might have a three year gap in his memory but he knows what's coming next.
He fights, curses, manages to get an arm free long enough to back hand one of the soldiers holding him down hard across the face, but there's half a dozen of them and he realizes distantly that he's dazed already and his limbs are sluggish and slow to respond. They pin him again, quickly and far too easily, and he can't move, can't breathe, as the syringe dips closer and the contents burn through his veins like wildfire.
"Michael?" It's KITT's voice, alarmed and sharp as he pipes it through the speakers in the pod room that Mike's claimed as his own and he startles, painfully because he's tumbled off the room's narrow bed and onto the floor in an un-gangly heap. "Michael, is everything alright?"
The lights come on then, painfully bright and his eyes burn at the sudden harshness and he's gasping for air, trying to get his lungs to work in some facsimile of normalcy. The adrenaline is still rushing, twisting his insides and Mike flails hard against the sheets that are tangled around his legs, holding him in place, before he forces himself to breathe deep for a moment and just not panic.
"Michael?" KITT asks again, the AI's voice is tight with worry in a way Mike never thought a computer possible of, except his partner is so much more than that, so much more human than half the flesh and blood people that he deals with on a daily basis. "Hold on. I am calling Sarah for assistance."
"No," he croaks, half surprised he's managed to find his voice at all but holding firm in a tone that he knows KITT will listen to because he doesn't need anyone else seeing him like this, especially not Sarah. It's bad enough that the AI monitors his vital signs every minute of every day, the last thing he wants is Billy or Zoe or his former fiancé knowing about the nightmares or repressed memories or whatever the hell this is.
"No," Mike repeats once he's gotten a better hold on his voice and breathing. He still sounds terrible and he knows that KITT can hear it in his voice, but it's the best he can do at the moment. "I'm okay, KITT."
"Your heartrate and adrenaline levels spiked drastically," KITT responds in a tone that bleeds disbelief. It's clear that the AI doesn't believe him, but Sarah hasn't come pounding on his door yet so at least KITT hasn't ratted him out, "Perhaps your definition of 'okay' requires revision."
"Oh, snap," Mike chuckles, scooting backwards to prop his shoulders against the side of the pod room bed. His breathing and heartrate have relatively returned to normal and Mike raises a hand in front of his face, watching as it shakes with pent up adrenaline and the aftereffects of his nightmare. He's getting good at this, Mike thinks distantly, because these flashes of memory have become common place since Charles Graiman's death. This is the first time it's dropped him kicking and screaming out of bed though, and he wonders if he shouldn't be worried about the fact that apparently it's getting worse instead of better.
"I swear I'm fine now, KITT." He explains when the silence stretches for several seconds. He could have disconnected from the audio feed by now, but Mike knows him better than that, the same way he knows that the Mustang keeps at least one scanner tuned on him constantly. He supposes he should be more annoyed at the invasion of privacy, but that attentiveness has gotten them out of more than one tight spot in the past and he can't bring himself to protest KITT's concern. "It was just a nightmare, pal."
"I understand, Michael," KITT answers slowly before he lapses into silence again and Mike smiles because they've managed to become partners despite being so vastly different and he knows with a certainty that's oddly comforting that KITT can watch his back and keep his secrets, even the ones he can't remember having.
There's something else though, Mike can hear it in the AI's projected voice as easily as he can read Sarah's mood in her eyes and the set of her shoulders. He tips his head back against the bed to stare at the surveillance camera in the back left corner of the room that's pivoted to watch him, the red light on top blinking in a pattern that's oddly reminiscent of KITT's scanner and Mike rolls his eyes at the video feed that he's sure the Mustang has tapped into, "What is it?"
There's a momentary burst of static that on anyone else Mike suspects would be a sigh before KITT admits, "There is a situation that requires our attention."
"Of course there is," Mike murmurs into his palms as he scrubs a hand down his face in exasperation because KITT's already woken him up twice this week with a hostage situation and an armored truck robbery. "What time is it?"
"5:14 a.m." KITT responds immediately, sounding far too chipper for it being an unholy hour of the morning, "Michael?"
"Hold your horses, supercar," Mike huffs, hauling himself to his feet and narrowly resisting the urge to wave a middle finger salute at the camera that his partner's commandeered. "I'm coming."
"There were never any equines involved, Michael," the AI snips back and Mike stops moving long enough to throw a slanted eyed look at the surveillance camera that's slowly swivelling back to its original position because it's entirely too early in the morning to get sassed by a Mustang.
Fourteen minutes later Mike staggers down the stairs to the main floor of the SSC's operational room and drags his fingers through his still wet hair. He weaves between the sofa and Billy and Zoe's workstations in front of the big screen to the ridiculously complicated, WiFi enabled coffeemaker that sits beside Zoe's keyboard, and discovers that there's half a pot already waiting. He shakes his head silently and grins when Lisa clicks and warbles before pushing a travel mug into his hands, either KITT's taken to hacking the coffee pot or he's bullied the other two into doing it for him, because the Mustang definitely isn't above pulling rank when it comes to things that require thumbs.
Mike pats Lisa on her hydraulic arm, pours liquid caffeine into his mug, and swivels on his heel to glare at the most advanced artificial intelligence in the world, "So what's so important that it can't wait until a decent hour?"
"Good Morning to you too, Michael." KITT huffs, the teasing edge in his tone only enhanced by his usual computerized aloofness and Mike grins despite himself as the Mustang's door pops open under his waiting hand.
"Morning, KITT," he singsongs as he slides into the driver's seat, his coffee held carefully in one hand to stop it from spilling, and glances over at the blue globe of KITT's voice modulator, "Happy, now?"
"Very."