"Don't wait up."

Leaving behind that icy command, the deranged son of Devon Miles's deceased boss shut the door behind himself, having dragged April beyond its frame, leaving Devon drowning in the worst feeling of helplessness that he had ever experienced in his life as the lock to their cell clicked shut.

Garthe Knight had actually taken April with him. The confounded girl had demanded to speak to the snake-like enemy alone, presumably to bargain for the life of her boss with her own self-respect as the currency. He had tried to prevent the resulting action, but Garthe moved in for the kill with such anger and hatred, that April had thrown herself at them in an undignified attempt to squeeze between the fighting men and prevent tragedy.

"I have the right to make my own decision!" She had shouted these words to quite obviously save his neck, for Garthe seemed intent on strangling his enemy then and there. The look that Garthe cast her direction as his fingers let go of the older man's throat sent a chill down Devon's spine and bright red fury into his vision. He bit his tongue to prevent another outburst from his gentlemanly lips, tasting blood. Garthe's face carried the look of a hunter advancing on his helpless prey, taunting it to run.

Devon's attention then turned to April, the glance that he gave her at those brave words, so rare for the petite, gentle April, had clearly indicated the terrible truth that he knew in his heart - he had to trust her. Where manly brawn and bluster had failed, perhaps womanly charm and finesse would win. The very idea made him feel ill, but he knew the only other option that either of them had would be to fry to death in a burning house. Devon would not have allowed her bargaining, had the blonde actually consulted him first. Once glance at her desperate, pleading eyes had told him that she was willing to give everything if it would save him, or at least buy some precious time to give Michael a chance to arrive with KITT an save them. He would have scolded her, explained how preposterous the idea was and that he wouldn't hear of it in the least, but he could also not take the chance that resistance would result in the foolhardy plan not working at all. He touched his bruised throat ruefully. Realistically, they were running out of plays to make.

As he sank down on the bed when the door shut, defeat making his shoulders heavy, Devon clasped his hands tightly and tried to focus on sounds outside the door that held him prisoner. He put all of his energy into the feat, receiving only a lightheaded wave of nausea and ringing in his ears from subconsciously holding his breath. His own blood rushing trough his veins was too loud in the small room and he had no idea if Garthe and April were still beyond the entrance or if they had gone. He hoped for the latter.

The simple desperation that washed over him along with the blinding pounding of his blood pressure nearly ripped his heart from his ribcage. It would have been less painful than thinking at this point. The idea of sweet April in the hands of such an evil mastermind, a life thrown away in the simple act of being a hero, churned in his stomach and for a moment, he could focus on nothing else except taking the next breath. But he knew, however brutal and gut wrenching it would be for April, at least she would be alive and Michael could save her. He rubbed his face in his hands, annoyed at the lack of better options.

The door swung open violently, and April was tossed unceremoniously through the opening into the room, the momentum carrying her like a leaf tossed in a gale. She could not catch herself, and landed forcefully, falling in a heap upon the bed. Her fingers clutched the thick woolen cover that draped across the cot, and she couldn't bring herself to neither look at or speak to him -partially due to embarrassment that such a base, self-depreciating offer on her part could have bought them freedom, and partially because she had not been successful in her attempts to bring about their release and she could not face him in her defeat. Her muffled sobs of failure wrenched his kind heart.

He moved quickly to her side, his kind, pleading voice telling her it would be okay, that it would be alright, and he caressed her brave head with careful hands. The idea of the fiendish Garthe touching her in any capacity made him feel nauseous. "It will be okay," he promised softly.

He moved backwards to allow her to sit up, brushing back her tousled hair, his fingers colliding with hers as she attempted the same motion. "Now then," he spoke more bravely than he felt. "Come, April, let's put our heads together and try to think of something else, shall we?"

Her hands fell to her lap and she shook her head, tilting her face away so as to hide the lone tear that fell brokenly down her right cheek. "Not enough time, Devon."

He knew she was right. The yellow bulb that made up the single light on the wall had begun to slightly flicker in its socket. It was simply a matter of time before the circuits could not handle whatever increased voltage that they were to be fed from the main control room. Eventually, the walls would burst into arcing, sparking flames, and it would be a blind gamble whether the flames or the smoke got to them first.

He laid a larger hand over hers, noting as if for the first time how fragile that she was. He blamed the lack of previous observation on the fact that she was such a versatile person, always able to switch between glamorous assistant and coverall-clad mechanic for the KITT car without a hitch or a complaint. Underneath all that blonde hair, lipstick and curves, he had forgotten that women were usually fragile. He was supposed to be the protector. He was supposed to be sacrificing himself for her. But he had nothing that Garthe wanted. He couldn't build a car of KITT's intelligence. He couldn't flip to the 'evil' lifestyle and be a coldblooded henchman. Garthe knew it wasn't in the Irish man's nature to even give acknowledgement to the side of the enemy. As he caught a glimpse of the crystal tear poised to fall from her slightly trembling chin, he knew that she would have done anything to save him, paid at the greater price of her dignity. Begging and pleading, appealing to the diabolical baser instincts of the glittering-eyed snake in the grass, she had laid their last card on the table. The offer had obviously been rejected.

"He wouldn't do it," she whispered softly. The tear fell onto the back of his tanned hand and ran down the sloping skin to his thumb. Its dampness seeped between his skin and hers, and it was cold as he reached up to brush back her hair again. "I tried, Devon. He offered me my freedom, but would not guarantee yours in any capacity. So, instead, I told him what I thought of him."

Devon's eyes were soft with understanding as he smiled. There, that was the spark of April, still alive. He was proud of her. She had chosen to die with him, rather than save only herself. It was a bitter pill, and one he wished she had not taken.

"You could have escaped eventually." He pointed this out, speaking in a low tone in an attempt to hide the cracking of his voice.

"At what cost?" She finally met his gaze with barely concealed incredulity. "Devon, I would rather have died than become his throw-away plaything. How do you think Michael would have felt if he makes it here and finds you, practically his father, dead and me gone."

Devon clasped her smaller hands in both of his, and tilted his head in thought. "Well, he knows that it would have been how I wanted it to be. April, I would rather take whatever Garthe has to offer in these last moments and die knowing that you were safe. I - I think I could bear it more easily if you were not here suffering with me."

A confused glance from her eyes made him consider the words that his mouth had just spoken. Just how much did he care for the blonde?

"I would rather you not be alone," she replied in surprised and bashful understanding of his statement. "I would rather die a thousand deaths than think of you spending your last minutes in this horrible place alone." Had he just indicated a bit of a liking for her? It wasn't like the classy gentlemanly Devon to make such comments. She noted within herself that she wasn't at all bothered. It was kind of - nice.

"Maybe Garthe will just take you with him if I ask," Devon mused thoughtfully, having not heard her pledge of loyalty. "I could save you. Michael will find you, I promise he will." having made up his mind, Devon lunged from the bedside and moved toward the solid door. "Garthe!" He pounded on the metal with a closed fist, the sound echoing in the little room. "Garthe, you preposterous devil, get in here!"

"Devon, no," April threw herself at the door, in one motion sliding between his chest and the smooth surface that separated them from freedom. "Devon, please, no."

"April," he spoke in a scolding tone, trying to gently move her aside, "I am trying to save your life!"

"Devon, I don't want you to!" She begged desperately, looking up into the regal Irish face. "Devon, please."

His hands moved from a clenched fist resting above her head on the doorframe, to gently grasp her shoulders. "April, I can not imagine standing here and watching you suffer in this hell-hole having done absolutely nothing to be involved in this mess. This isn't on you, its not even on Michael. It's on me, all me."

Another tear gracefully tumbled down her face and she shook her head. "No, Devon, I took this job knowing that it was an unusual position. I knew that there would be danger, and I accepted the offer. I would be a fool to back out now when the trouble comes. Michael never does, does he?"

Devon's eyebrows flew up at that statement and he frowned at her. "My dear girl, do not follow in Michael's footsteps. The man is hardly an example of decent restraint and orderly conduct. He marches to an inner drum that was built by his life experiences. The man harbors both angels and demons. Danger is practically flowing through his veins."

"Well, Devon, I took the same drug when I signed my name to that offer letter. I am part of this foundation. I have served you and your mission these last few years with no complaints and no rebuttal of any service I was asked to perform, whether in the office or in the garage. I am not about to do so now. I am afraid. Yes. Yes, I am. But I am not a coward and I do not run. I have served beside you and your dream. Let me die with it, if that is the way this will play out."

The single light danced with the heightening voltage, casting the same glow as a flame might, lending a eerie 'burning at the stake' touch to the scene. Devon smiled, mostly to tighten his lips so their trembling might not be detected. With care, he pulled her away from the metal door, knowing that the overloaded circuits would charge everything in their immediate surroundings with electricity, and he nodded once. So they would die together. There was no other way.

"You are brave, April."

"No I'm not," she replied through teeth clenched into a smile, a brave expression plastered on her face, but her eyes were terrified.

"Me neither," he replied softly, his emotions undetectable in his tanned face.

The acrid smoke of electrical wires drifted lazily through the air, and a few sparks leapt from the bulb on the wall, followed by an ear piercing shattering as it burst into shards and tumbled across the bed they had been sitting on moments ago.

"It begins," he spoke softly, lowering his head to rest on the top of her head. He did not want to watch the growing anxiety that darkened her eyes. He could do nothing else to save her. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her solidly against himself, determined to protect her with his own body as long as was possible. Death by suffocation was preferable to fire, but he would take the flames if it gave her the smoke. She accepted the movement and allowed him to embrace her tightly, the pounding of his heart echoing in her ear and mirroring her own, as she rested her head against his broad chest.

"So it does," she whispered. The tension between them was almost as palpable as the zinging song of death that was growing louder within in the walls. A slight burning began in the back of their throats, the air becoming heavy with the scent of melted plastic and singing insulation.

"Thank you for being here, Miss April," he murmured against her hair, noticing for the first time how tiny her shoulders were, and how easily they fit in his arms. He could have kicked himself for waiting till this kind of moment to think such thoughts.

"Wouldn't have it any other way, Mr. Miles," she responded barely above a whisper, the shelter of his embrace not lost on her. A lone tear again ran down her cheek as she realized that he was offering her the shelter of himself as his own sacrifice.

"I have been a fool, Miss April," He spoke again in a tone that she was not meant to hear.

Over the pounding of the blood in her ears, she heard it.

"A gentleman, maybe, Mr. Miles, but never a fool," she spoke softly, tilting her head back to look up into the kind eyes once more.

They smiled down at her and he dared to lean down and kiss her forehead. What could a display of affection cost him now? Most certainly not any dignity. When one is surrounded by throat closing smoke and sparks, all dignity has gone flying out the non existent window.

Death was upon them, glaring teeth of acrid air biting at the consciousness they desperately clung to, just as desperately as they clung to each other. The marching drums of the voltage in the walls intensified with each passing second.

It was up to Michael now.

I do not own any of the characters. I try to return them all mostly unharmed. As always, read and review! Let me know if you want a followup...not sure how many Devon/April shippers are out there...