Title: Child of the Phoenix
Author: Gumnut
Fandom: Knight Rider 2008
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He didn't have the right to know.
Word count: 1,560
Spoilers & warnings: Knight Rider 2008 up to 1.01
Author's note: This one is backtothelight's fault after a comment she made in this post - community./thekittchen/157210.html - (lots of spoilers, be warned). Also, I admit that the title of this fic is a little too grand for such a short one, but hey, I couldn't resist. Also, I'm not too sure of the emotion in this, it kinda wandered off on its own and took me for a ride.
Child of the Phoenix
By Gumnut
26 Sep 2008
"Michael!"
He jumped, his knee hitting the dash and one set of knuckles mashed themselves across his window. Even after all these years, he slept like the dead. Sure he would dream, but he would be locked into those dreams, sometimes screaming to be let out. Fortunately, Kitt had long since determined exactly which frequencies were most effective at shaking him out of sleep.
Unfortunately, they always surprised him into injury.
"Ah-ck. Erh. God damnit, Kitt, what?!" It also made him grumpy.
A fact Kitt usually ignored. Cool, but still rather alarmed. "See for yourself." The car's primary monitor lit up with a news article. Cameras flashed, text touted an all too familiar name and a place.
A dead body draped in black plastic was trundled off screen.
Michael's heart fell through the floor of the Trans Am.
Kitt's engine roared to life and they were moving before Michael could issue the order. "I have attempted to contact Kitt. He is not answering." Frustration and concern bounced back and forth in the cabin. The speedometer buried itself in the three hundreds. Michael hadn't even noticed Kitt's transformation.
He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.
"Michael?" Kitt's concern suddenly redirected itself at his driver.
"D-details, Kitt."
"I have been seeking information since I first encountered the story. Homebase refuses to send an explanation. Sarah Graiman is incommunicado. Doctor Graiman is incommunicado. Local authorities claim he was deranged. An FBI agent was forced to fire to prevent him from injuring a civilian."
"An FBI agent? Name?"
A moment. "Carrie Rivai."
"Rivai?! She shot him??"
"Killed him instantly."
The facts were simple and danced across the air between the dash and his brain, but they were so much more. Somewhere in the last few minutes he had stopped breathing.
"Michael?" Are you alright? It was unsaid, but implied. And in either case a stupid question which was probably why Kitt hadn't asked.
His son was dead.
Nothing was alright.
"Destination?" He knew where they were going, but the cabin was too quiet for his heart to keep beating.
"Homebase. ETA three hours and thirty five minutes." The speedometer was attempting to reach four hundred. The countryside blurred.
But not entirely due to speed.
-o-o-o-
They hit the tunnel doing three hundred and eighty miles an hour. Kitt left specialised rubber in the hanger and even through the intense soundproofing of the cabin, Michael could hear the warning alarms.
Three hours and thirty-five minutes was too damned long. They made it in two hours fifty-three.
The fact Kitt approached the tunnel at such a speed only demonstrated just how upset the AI was himself. They still hadn't been able to contact any of the team on single channel and homebase refused to send any further detail, warning them off.
Michael didn't care.
He knew pairing up Mike with Ki3t had been a bad idea. Idealism was his own downfall and now he had passed it onto his son. Sure, he hadn't exactly been a proactive father, but he had still watched, hovered in the background as much as he could. It had hurt to leave his little boy, but it had been the only way. Kitt had made sure he was kept up to date on his son's activities and when Ki3t had been born and the two had met, Kitt and Michael had become a pair of doting parents. As doting as they could be at such a distance.
Michael had shunted his concern to one side, pushing fear away, and choosing instead to revel in his son's accomplishments. After all, he was more qualified to drive for Knight Industries than Michael Long had ever been.
He had everything going for him. He would be safe. He had to be.
But he wasn't and now he was dead.
They opened the doors a split second before Kitt would have ploughed straight through them. They had obviously learnt since the last time. You don't argue with a pissed off AI.
The heavily modified Trans Am slid to an abrupt stop beside the sling that held Ki3t. Kitt didn't kill his engine and for a moment, Michael stared a little dumbfounded through the windshield at the other AI.
"K3, why have you not responded?" Kitt's tone was harsh and clipped. Michael didn't hear the AI's response. "Excuse me?" Okay, that was outright disgust in Kitt's voice.
He didn't wait to hear more. A cold anger climbed up his throat as he returned the stunned stares of the pit crew. Climbing out of the car, he scanned the crowd looking for Rivai. He was shocked to actually find her at her desk. She was looking up at him, a little too calmly. His long legs made short of the distance between them.
"Why?" His voice was cold with pain.
She blinked up at him. "I'm sorry, what?"
He didn't hit women as a rule, but he came ever so close to injuring her in that moment. Instead he trembled a little under his black jacket, the leather hot with perspiration. His voice reduced to a harsh rasp. "Why did you kill him?"
Her eyes widened in realisation.
"Michael!" Kitt's voice rang out across the still deadly quiet room. Something moved just out of sight and he spun.
To find Mike backing up just a step, his hands raised in placation.
There was utter silence for a moment and Rivai was forgotten. "Mike?"
"Michael, what are you doing here?"
So much emotion was spinning around inside his skull he was getting dizzy. "You're alive."
Another dose of realisation. This time on his son's face. "Uh, yeah. Long story."
Anger began to surface above everything else as it always had. Anger meant survival. "Will someone tell me what the hell is going on?!" Kitt's engine revved up a few extra revolutions for emphasis.
"Perhaps we should take this discussion somewhere a little more private." Rivai. He shot her a glare, but said nothing further as she led the both of them into one of the meeting rooms. A hand waved in Kitt's direction silenced the aggravated AI, the absence of his rumbling engine leaving a gap that was soon filled with everyday chatter as the pit crew returned to work. Though Michael did notice as he left the room, that they all kept an extra step away from the Trans Am.
-o-o-o-
The door clicked shut behind him and for some undefinable reason he wished Kitt could have fit in the room beside him.
"You faked your death." The evidence led to only one conclusion.
"Hey, wait a minute." Mike threw up his hands in innocent denial. "I had nothing to do with this."
Michael pinned his glare once again on Rivai. "Either someone tells me what happened or, to get my own answers, I'll revive a few techniques I haven't used since I left Vietnam."
"Threatening an FBI agent isn't good for your health, Knight."
"Listen, lady, I don't care if you're FBI, CIA or the President himself. I've been working above the law long enough to know the law doesn't mean shit when push comes to shove. And I can tell you, I feel like shoving you through the nearest brick wall. For Christ sake, you shot my son!" Okay, too much information, too much emotion he had no right to own. He backed down a little and returned to the question he had started with. "Why?"
She shifted from one foot to the other, defiant even against a man of his height. "I thought you would remember Michael Long."
He blinked and the obvious finally hit home. "You didn't." But he knew she had. He turned to look at Mike, his heart in his throat. "Damn."
"Michael?" Even after all these years, he still looked for the comlink on his wrist, only to encounter his fancy, but far from spaceage watch. The earpiece hidden in his ear somehow lacked the coolness of speaking to his wrist.
"I'm fine, Kitt."
Mike's eyes flickered a little in surprise as he looked up at his father.
"Why didn't…" You tell me? He left it unsaid. He had no right to be involved in the younger man's life. A swallow cleared his throat. "Who are you now?"
Was there hesitation? "Michael Knight."
"Mi-" Somewhere between syllables, Michael lost his voice.
A breath and he turned and left the room. He shed his jacket as he strode quickly across to Kitt, an unfamiliar claustrophobia had a grip on him. Throwing the garment into the backseat, he started the car, shifting it into reverse.
"Michael!" Mike approached his window.
Michael hesitated just a second. Long enough for Mike to get a grip on the windowsill.
"I'm sorry we didn't tell you."
Mike's face blurred and Michael blinked. Embarrassment at his now obvious vulnerability heated up his throat. "It's need to know." He swallowed. "I didn't need to know."
Confusion hit Mike's expression and his fingers loosened on the sill.
Michael found his voice again. "Just be careful." Son The Trans Am moved and Mike let go. Michael spun the car around and left a little rubber on the cave floor.
He ignored the stunned figure in his revision mirror.
Ignored the echoing vastness of the hanger.
It wasn't until they hit the interstate that his grief finally overcame him.
-o-o-o-
