On That Day
It was the only day of the entire year he could really get away with this.
The only day of the year when Devon would sign off on his vacation time without argument, when Bonnie would repair any and all incidental damage to Kitt without comment.
His sole 'Get out of jail free' card.
His steps were only a tiny bit unsteady as he made his way down to the garage. As always, the driver's side door clicked open as his touch, and he almost fell into the familiar warmth of the bucket seat.
He didn't even have to speak before he heard and felt the powerful turbine engine growl to life, the custom Pontiac smoothly backing out of the garage. He inhaled sharply as the TransAm spun tightly, an aborted gasp as the car executed a perfect 180 degree turn. His fingers gripped the joystick steering wheel, tightly enough that had it been human skin, it would have left a deep bruise.
The car seemed to merge with the darkness as it shot out into the night, driving with single-minded purpose towards the desert. There was no snarky banter, no sarcastic comments or clever comebacks. Not on this night.
Cold, ethereal moonlight played across the perfect black bodywork, its silver light the only illumination save for the flickering crimson glow of the scanner.
"Kitt..." Michael whispered, trailing off uncomfortably. The rest of the sentence went unsaid 'Don't let me lose it...'
"Yes, Michael." Kitt responded instantly. Michael had only ever had to say those words once, and never since. His partner understood.
He could feel the burn of whisky still on his tongue.
It matched with comforting ease the burn of his blood. The rush as he felt the tires screech over the loose sand and dust, the ceramic brakes easily catching the car before it span out of control.
A hot taste rose in his mouth, adrenaline rising up to claim the place of the cold emptiness stretching throughout his body. He welcomed the heat, the thrill, the burn.
Needed it. Craved it.
An addiction he could not kick and didn't wish to. Only here could he ever hope to feed it safely.
A cloud of dust and sand thrown up by the tires, screaming over the uneven ground, but never giving ground, never losing grip. For a moment the sky vanished, reappearing a moment later, starlight dancing across a midnight hood.
'A starry night in Nevada...'
The Knight 2000 came to an abrupt stop. Unseen heatwaves rising from the hot engine, the violent, beautiful symphony of wailing turbines and screaming tires dying away into the night.
Michael Knight gasped for breath, feeling his heart hammer against his ribs in an discomforting timpani, as though he had run a marathon.
Sweat stood out from his skin. His eyes, usually a warm, deep blue, were pale and haunted.
"Kitt..." He choked. His voice strained, painful. A rope on the verge of braking.
"Michael..." Kitt replied, somehow all the empathy and sympathy contained the whisper of his partner's name, "I know." Every year, since it happened. How could he not know, by now?
The AI offered the only comfort he could, speaking softly into the night, to soothe the soul of his all-too-human partner.
"I'm here," he whispered, "I'm here."
It was enough. It had always been enough.
End.