Everything that you want and more
It's gonna fall, fall down
One day when you are alone
All you'll have left is what you've done
~Cry Wolf, Jonathan Thulin
unbeta'd, so any errors are mine.
AU (Bonnie doesn't leave, disregards any later KR series). Two major character deaths.
Kitt had pondered immortality in his youth, when Michael's death seemed so far away. To live forever would have been interesting. He often forgot that Michael couldn't be with him forever. The relatively few times he'd almost lost Michael served as poignant reminder of his partner's mortality.
Kitt knew before Michael did that Michael was running out of time. The two had worked together for fifty years. Kitt knew Michael's vital signs as well as he knew his own. The deterioration was clear to the AI. All Michael had was a feeling that it would be soon. He went out of his way to spend as much time as he could with Kitt, wishing Bonnie was in town too. He and Kitt talked about everything and nothing, joking and sharing things they'd kept secret from each other. That Saturday night, Michael had stayed with Kitt much longer than usual. They didn't talk much. There was nothing either one could say that hadn't already been said. Breaking the silence would have been sacrilegious.
Shortly before midnight, Michael bid Kitt good night. They both knew this was the last time they'd see each other. Michael walked once more around the car that had become family, taking in the familiar lines and watching the red scanner that had always been such a comfort.
Kitt had watched Michael leave, proverbial heart sinking. He kept his attention focused solely on Michael and marked it when, at 4:31:29, Michael Knight died peacefully in his sleep.
Michael's funeral was a small, intimate affair attended only by Bonnie, RC III, a few old friends, and a sleek black T-top. The funeral director had nearly had a heart attack when Kitt pulled up on the grass next to Michael's casket, but he had relented when he learned that Kitt was Michael Knight's oldest, closest friend. The ceremony was short and sweet, but the reception that followed felt hollow. Bonnie knew why. Michael wasn't there to complain about all the stuffy people in uncomfortable suits. Kitt wasn't there either. He had remained beside Michael's grave, wanting to say his final goodbye in private. Try as he might, the words wouldn't come. Feeling as though his CPU might burst, Kitt pulled forward so his right front tire was just touching Michael's flat headstone. He couldn't process the sensation running through his system. It felt the way Michael had described grief. When Kitt finally found his voice, all he could say was, "Goodbye, Michael." He wanted to say more, thank Michael for his friendship, pour his CPU out, but nothing more could pass his vocal simulator.
After the reception, Bonnie returned to Michael's grave, knowing she would find Kitt there. She knew he was just a car and incapable of showing emotion, but he looked dejected, scanner tracking slowly and irregularly. "Hi, Kitt," Bonnie said. The driver-side door popped open in response. Bonnie sank into the familiar seat, glad to be alone. The door closed behind her and the windows darkened. Bonnie wrapped her arms around the steering wheel and leaned her forehead in the center. The engine turned over and Kitt pulled off the grass, turning toward home.
That night, Kitt had begged to be shut down permanently. Michael's death left a massive hole in his CPU and Kitt couldn't shut down that part of his system. He wasn't allowed to. Upon learning this, Kitt hid himself in the furthest corner of the garage he had come to consider his and retreated deep within his programming. He hadn't been this deep since the acid pit and he'd been fighting to survive. Feeling a little more secure, Kitt began trying to process the day's events as well as Michael's death. Each time he'd approached that bit of data, his systems had screamed warning after warning at him. As Kitt slowly dealt with the trauma of losing Michael, he found an unfamiliar file. After scanning it and deeming it safe, Kitt opened it.
It was a letter from Michael. Bonnie must have slipped it in when she updated his operating system. Hey, buddy, the letter opened. I figured you'd find this here. Figured you come here after my death. Kitt, you have no idea how much the last fifty years mean to me. The note rambled a bit, but it was ultimately Michael thanking Kitt for those fifty wonderful years. Michael's irrepressible sense of humor laced the letter until the last paragraph. Kitt, I know you're not going to want to go on without me, and I understand that now. I didn't when I was younger, but I do now. And Kitt, if you want to terminate after my death, I don't plame you. Kitt, thank you. The last fifty years have truly been the best of my life. Kitt closed the file. The last time he'd brought up the idea of him terminating after Michael's death, Michael had shot the idea down.
An hour and a half later, Bonnie came into the garage. She'd hated having to tell Kitt that he had to go on without Michael. Even she hadn't really considered that as a viable possibility. It had always been Michael and Kitt, Kitt and Michael. She'd been arguing with the board over keeping Kitt alive. Of course Kitt could be reprogrammed to protect another driver, but it would be incredibly difficult. The program that had first identified itself distantly as the Knight Industries Two Thousand had become totally self-aware over the fifty years he'd worked with Michael. He identified himself as Kitt now. In Bonnie's mind, reprogramming Kitt would be no different than lobotomizing a person. When she said that, the room went dead silent. Most of the board members didn't realize that Kitt, unlike the three other AIs in their employ, was just as human as the woman pleading his case. They told her they'd talk about Kitt's future and give her their decision the next morning.
"They said they'd reconsider reprogramming you," Bonnie said, voice barely above a whisper. There was something sacred about the silence permeating the garage.
"Thank you," Kitt said just as quietly. "I found Michael's letter." Bonnie nodded. Michael had sent her the file but asked that she not read it. Bonnie opened the passenger door and settled into the seat, one foot still on the garage floor. Even though the configuration of Kitt's dash had changed over the years, the lines of the interior were still hers.
The two sat in comfortable silence for almost an hour. Bonnie watched the reflection of Kitt's scanner on the garage floor and smiled. Michael had fought to keep that scanner. It wasn't necessary due to advances in technology, but Michael used it to keep an eye on Kitt's emotional state (the AI had completely given up protesting his lack of emotions halfway through the fifteenth year of their partnership). The scanner had slowed considerably since Michael's death, the light duller. Bonnie hoped it was just Kitt grieving, but she knew Kitt was dying too. She also knew that the board would rule that Kitt needed to be reprogrammed. Tomorrow, she would talk to the president and try to explain that Kitt was dying. That reprogramming him would kill him anyway. That if they reprogrammed him, she would quit and take vital information with her.
"They're not going to give me a choice," Kitt said finally. He'd run through every possible outcome of the board's discussion, and each one ended with him being reprogrammed. Maybe he was just being pessimistic...
"You know I'll keep fighting them until they give you that choice," Bonnie said emphatically.
"They won't have to," Kitt said. He sounded distant. Bonnie bowed her head; she knew why.
"I know, Kitt," she whispered. "I saw it in some of your periphery programs Monday." Saw it in his programs four days ago and noticed it in Kitt's behavior the moment Michael died.
Kitt's programs were shutting down. He'd been created to protect Michael, and for fifty years, that's what he'd done. Now that Michael was dead, Kitt had no purpose. He didn't want to be reprogrammed, but he also knew that he couldn't work with anyone else.
"Have you told the board?" Kitt asked as Bonnie got out of the car.
"I planned on telling them tomorrow," she said with a laugh. "Wait until it's done and they have no choice." She patted the sleek black hood.
"You'll stay with me, won't you?" Kitt asked. There was none of the fear he'd associated with a total system shut-down in his voice. He sounded calm, sure of himself.
"I'm not going anywhere," Bonnie said. She sat on Kitt's hood, and the two talked about their life together, reminiscing and laughing.
Bonnie wasn't sure how much time had passed before Kitt said, "It's time, Bonnie." Bonnie stood and crouched in front of his scanner, tears burning in her eyes. "I've enjoyed talking with you. You've been a wonderful friend." He paused, and his scanner slowed further. "I love you, Bonnie."
Barely able to speak around the lump in her throat, Bonnie said, "I love you too, Kitt. I love you too." Kitt's scanner flashed solid red, then faded to black. Bonnie slowly lowered herself the rest of the way to the ground and leaned her head against Kitt, sobbing.
A minute later, the garage door slammed open and a young tech sprinted through. She'd been monitoring Kitt's decline, hoping and praying he would stabilize. His total shut-down sent her into a panic. She skidded to a stop at the scene before her, and suddenly it all clicked. Kitt's gradual decline had been more than grief. Something she read about people who'd been close for a really long time dying within months of each other came to mind.
"Is...is there...?" She directed the question toward the older mechanic. Bonnie shook her head, drying her face on her coat.
"He's gone, Lucy," she said.
The next day, FLAG's president came to see Bonnie personally. Lucy had emailed him and explained what had happened early that Friday morning. Even though Matthew Miller and Kitt's first mechanic didn't always see eye to eye, he respected her a great deal. He knew that without her, the other three AIs wouldn't exist. "I'm so sorry," he said.
"His funeral's next Monday," Bonnie said abruptly. This was news to Miller.
"I'm sorry," he said, tilting his head and clasping his hands behind his back. "Funeral?"
"Yes, funeral," she snapped. "I'm not letting you do anything to him post-mortem." Miller pursed his lips. Yes this was news, but it was hardly surprising. He'd actually been expecting something like that. What surprised him was how willing he was to accomodate her wishes. When he woke up, he planned on telling her that Kitt's CPU would be wiped and reused. The closer he got to her room, the shakier he got. He couldn't do that to her. She was going on 84. He doubted, without cruelty, that she would be around much longer. So he'd stopped at a hall table and written a large check to cover Kitt's funeral. He would have laughed off any claims that Kitt was human had he not stopped to talk with Kitt on a couple occasions. Like Devon Miles so many years ago, Miller believed it was important to be actively involved with those working for him.
"That's why I'm here," he said, maintaining his professional air. "I'd like to give you something." He pulled the check from his breast pocket, unfolded it, and handed it to her. Voice softening, he said, "I know how much Kitt meant to you. Honestly, Dr. Barstow, I planned to come here and tell you that-." She shook her head. "I know why you were coming," she said. "Both Kitt and I knew that you weren't going to let him go." Despite her best efforts, her voice shook. "Thank you." He nodded and left before he was late to yet another meeting.
Three days later, Bonnie stood over yet another fresh grave. There were no human remains in this casket. The small, nearly indestructable black box that held Kitt's CPU, his brain, sat at the head of the child-sized casket. Kitt's scanner rested where a human's heart would be. Bonnie had always liked to think she could read the emotions behind the speed and intensity of the red light. Part of her wanted to keep those things with her, but she also knew that Kitt deserved to finally rest.
Bonnie's phone chimed in her jacket pocket. She pulled it out so she could see the screen. Of course. She had paperwork to file concerning Kitt's death. Not even the death of a loved one could stem the flow of paperwork. With a weary sigh, Bonnie bid Kitt one last goodbye.