Author's Note: I will say one thing—I usually don't post any Knight Rider fics until I've finished them and scrutinized over the content for months. And although this isn't my first KR fic, I've decided that what the heck, I'll post it as I go. Honestly the entire story isn't completely worked out in my head, but I'm finding that I actually can figure things out as I go along ;) One thing that I hope I'm doing right is the times and stuff—years things happened and calculations of everything. I'm pretty sure its good, but if you come across something along the way that doesn't seem right, I apologize ahead of time.

Ah, and lastly, the disclaimer…if I owned Knight Rider I wouldn't be writing fanfiction…I'd be sitting here writing scripts to get it back on the air or on the big screen—hehe. Anyway, Glen A. Larson is the mastermind behind it and I love him for creating the best tv show :)

Light criticism is welcome, however this is fan fiction—no technical and stupid comments please because I feel I'm allowed to explore my artistic writing skills.

One Last Knight

Chapter 1: The End

"I presume I should already know where we are going," the computerized voice of the Knight Industries Two Thousand said as his front tires turned towards the right to go round onto a new street.

The car's driver barely gave a smirk as he looked out the side window. "Well, if your memory is as good as it was five years ago then you should know." Michael Knight leaned back into the plush beige-clothed seat, using only four fingers to guide the oddly shaped wheel.

"Michael, may I ask you something?"

"Sure, K.I.T.T, what is it?" Michael asked, trying to sound a tad bit more enthusiastic as to not alert his friend of his grief.

"Well, I was just wondering," K.I.T.T. said, his tone easy and gentle as it usually was, "after five years…does it still hurt the way you said it did back then?"

Michael was silent for several minutes. He didn't bother glancing down at the dashboard where the three-columned voice box that flashed as K.I.T.T. spoke. Did it hurt as much as it had when it all happened? Michael, now forty-one years old, let out a heavy sigh. "Yeah K.I.T.T., it does when I really start to think about it."

K.I.T.T. automatically picked up the sorrow in his dear friend's tone. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I shouldn't have brought it up."

"No, no," Michael said reassuringly. "You mean well, partner."

The shiny black Trans Am drove into the narrow driveway. Michael turned the wheel gently, the car barely coasting at ten miles per hour. Stepping on the break, Michael looked out the passenger side window, his eyes closing in on the particular spot he had been visiting habitually since that fateful day.

"I'll be right back," he told the car as he got out and gently shut the door. K.I.T.T. made no comment as the man walked away, his hands buried deep in his leather jacket's pockets.

Michael walked down the grassy isle, not bothering to glance at other stones that lined his path. About ten feet in he stopped and turned, his eyes shedding a few stray tears as he looked at the stone with his one-true-love's name on it—"Stephanie Knight." Michael knelt down and looked at the dirt surrounding the stone. The perennial flowers he had planted there were returning for a new season. Pretty soon the grave site would be brightened up with colors of Stevie's favorite flowers.

The day was still very clear. After years of not being with the girl he had loved so much, he had finally decided that it was time to commit himself to her and leave the Foundation for Law and Government. He had been tired of risking his life, nearly getting killed several times, and living alone. At that point he only had four friends, one of them being the car he had left sitting on the road.

It wasn't more than two minutes after he had kissed his bride at their wedding that she was shot. He still wanted to seek revenge on the man who fired that bullet—a bullet that had been meant for him. K.I.T.T. and he had found the criminal and put him away, but the pain that lingered in Michael's heart even now was still hard to bear. After that he had decided to remain with the Foundation, seeing that it was the life he was meant to live.

Michael kissed his fingers and put them against the cold stone. "I miss you, sweetheart," he said. "And I love you very much."

K.I.T.T. watched as Michael made his way back to him. He took it upon himself to open the driver's door, allowing Michael to be able to just sit right down. Instead, though, the man stood next to the car's back bumper and stared at the stone he had just left.

"Are you okay?" K.I.T.T. risked asking, though he knew that Michael would come around in a few minutes.

"Yeah," Michael said in a louder voice than he had been using on their drive to the cemetery. "Let's go home, huh?"

The drive had been silent except for the soft rock music K.I.T.T. played to keep Michael's mind occupied. They hadn't been far from their destination though, so only two songs were able to finish before they drove through the front gates of the Foundation's headquarters. Parking the car in the circular driveway in front of the mansion-like house, Michael sat still for a moment and stared at the intricate dashboard of the unusual car. Since Stevie had died he hadn't really thought much about his life until the past few months when things at the foundation had been going down hill, but as time rolled on, it was becoming a more serious manner. Of course he was still in great shape and perfectly healthy, but what was the point of running around chasing criminals and not giving himself a chance to do his own thing?

"Michael…" K.I.T.T. said to alert his friend.

"K.I.T.T., I'm alright," Michael said and got out. "Its just one of those days, ya know?"

"Yes, that's why I'm a little worried about you," K.I.T.T. said

"C'mon, buddy, you should know me by now," Michael replied, forcing a small laugh as he walked away.

"I do," the car said to himself. "And that's exactly my point."

Michael strolled through the main hall of the large house where the Foundation had set up its site nearly a decade ago under the command of Wilton Knight, founder of the organization and creator of K.I.T.T.. The man had been a genius and thought of the smallest, most definite detail with everything he had done before he passed on—including picking a man named Michael Long to continue his work and be the sole operator of the "miracle" car, as the spotless Trans Am had been tagged with when it was first designed on paper.

Michael Long had grown up with the desire of becoming a cop. He had been a good one too, but things led forward and got him into a situation where he nearly died. Having been shot in the face (a metal plate in his forehead stopping the bullet and preventing what should have been the inevitable), Michael had been brought back to the Knight Foundation under Wilton's orders. Plastic surgeons worked hard and the new face of the young police officer was created. With a new name, a new life and a new talking car, Michael Knight led the way to prove, as Wilton claimed, that one man could make a difference.

Eight years later, Michael had spent his new life fighting off criminals who operated above the law. It had been spectacular and exciting; the opportunity to have a choice to do this sort of work with the aid of a car that could not only talk, but analyze nearly anything, drive on its own, jump over trucks and ram through brick walls (just to name a few of its capabilities) was something Michael had never thought possible. To know that he was the one chosen for this kept him going, his faith in Wilton's dream and words keeping him going through any bad obstacles that hit him and his friends along the way.

It had been fine and dandy until about two years ago. Jennifer Knight, Wilton's daughter, president and owner of FLAG since her father's passing, had started to pull back funds. She had tried once before, but she learned that her father's dream wasn't all that phony and ridiculous as she thought. Now, though, things started changing. First it had been money, but now it was just a waste of time, in her eyes. Michael and K.I.T.T. were needed less and less for the high-impact missions they had been used to. Jennifer felt that Michael was starting to get a few too many vacations because work was slow.

All of this plus the anniversary of his wife's death swam in Michael's head before he opened the oak door that led to Devon Miles's office. Devon, a British man nearing 60, was the only man Michael looked up to and respected beyond anything else. They had had their brawls earlier when Michael was more arrogant, but they had developed a sort of adoptive father-son relationship. Devon was the coordinator of FLAG and basically ran the operation, but even he knew how it was slowly walking back down the ladder.

However, he always tried for optimism. When Michael walked through the door, the man's wrinkling face became pleased and he stood up to greet the younger fellow. "Michael, so good of you to return," Devon teased. "You're back later than I thought"

"I took a bit of a detour coming home," Michael admitted, but quickly waved his hand and smiled. "No, not that sort of detour; I just needed time to think."

"I see," Devon replied, a very small angle of sadness developing in his voice. "Well, I'm glad to see that you got Mr. James off the streets," he said trying to lighten the mood. He knew perfectly well what the day was and that certain things were occupying Michael's mind.

"Yeah, he wasn't exactly that hard to track down," Michael replied as he took a seat in front of Devon's desk. "I mean, Devon, the guy works out of his hotel room and only had one guy working on the inside. If we lost this one, I'd have to seriously think of retiring."

"I see your point," Devon said and sat down in his chair once again. "Anyway, there's a matter that we need to discuss."

"Look, I already know about K.I.T.T.'s booster pack," Michael said as he recalled last week's incident where he underestimated a landing that caused the booster pack to dislodge itself and malfunction. Thankfully it wasn't that serious and was easily fixable.

Devon smile. "I had actually forgotten about that."

"But I haven't," a woman's voice said. Bonnie Barstow, K.I.T.T.'s head mechanic and engineer walked into the office looking like she had since the day Michael met her. "If you weren't off gallivanting all day maybe I could've fixed it."

"And a merry greeting to you too, my dear," Michael told her with a childish grin. He always had a thing for Bonnie, but the two of them seemed to have disagreements on the other's behavior.

Bonnie took a seat in the second chair at the head of the desk and gave Michael the evil, but grinning eye as she sat down. Devon, however, let his smile fade away as he folded his hands on top of the oak desk.

"There's a serious matter we need to discuss," he said, his voice not as cheery as it had been only a moment ago. Michael shifted uncomfortably in his seat and looked at Bonnie, who glanced back at him.

Devon went on, his eyes not having the nerve to look at either of his two friends and long time co-workers. "FLAG is to be shut down by the end of the month upon Jennifer Knight's orders."

"What?" Michael said, his eyes widening in surprise. "You've got to be joking."

"I wish I were," Devon said solemnly. "But she is moving to France with her new fiancé and with his company and money, she feels that there's no point to keeping FLAG operational, and unfortunately the board of directors agrees."

"So what does that mean for us—for K.I.T.T.?" Bonnie asked, trying not to show how upset she really was.

"As far as I understand it we're all being given the golden handshake if we want it," Devon explained. "And K.I.T.T….well, he's property of the Knight Foundation. It's Jennifer's choice as to what happens to him."

"I'll tell you what'll happen," Michael said, his temper getting the best of him. "She'll throw him into a warehouse where he'll rot for the next hundred years."

"Michael," Bonnie tried, but Michael Knight had already walked off.

Michael had made his way to the back patio. His hands grasped the railing of the porch tightly as he leaned forward and looked at the gardens of the rear grounds of the house. He had known that this day would eventually come; he just wasn't prepared for it. Then again, he knew that he never would have been ready to hear those words Devon just spoke.

"Hey…"

Michael looked over his shoulder to see Bonnie approaching. He looked away as if he hadn't seen her.

"Look, I'm sure K.I.T.T. won't be forgotten about," Bonnie tried to comfort. "Devon told me the rest of the story. FLAG is being shut down, but the resources and everything else has been sold to a guy named Edward Stants. He's going to basically make a few changes and stuff, but the system will still run."

"No," Michael said. "It won't be the same. He'll come in here and wipe out everything as we know it."

"Michael, why can't you try to be positive?" Bonnie asked, her annoyance starting to show through. "You're not even trying to look on the bright side. I think you're just afraid of change."

"Don't talk to me about change," Michael scolded. "This place is my life. I have nothing on the outside. R.C. left when things started to slow down and it hasn't been the same since he's been gone, but I tried to look on the bright side. Now Wilton Knight's dream is being pushed aside like an old shoe. And that's exactly what's going to happen to K.I.T.T."

Though Bonnie opened her mouth to speak, she said nothing. Michael stared at her hard for a moment, his blue eyes looking cold and unforgivable. He hoped he was wrong, but he knew that the days of the man and his talking car were over.