Authors Note: I saw a bottle of Mentholatum ointment on the counter, stared at it, and used it - Thought for a moment, and bam! I'm guilty - This chapter isn't supposed to exist. Enjoy anyways?
He took a breath, almost tasting the vapor — almost sneezing over the nostalgia quietly cradling his mind over the somber melody playing over the black hood drenched in rain. Dipping his fingers into the small vial and getting the gel between his cold fingers, staring over the bright blinding lights of the convenience store just about shifting into closing hour over the hustle of a good paying night.
'How did he survive?'
He bit back the thought momentarily glaring at the floor mat and was greeted by a nimble kick of the brake in a timely manner.
'Hello, you haven't forgotten about me have you?'.
He sighed, feeling the inconspicuous begging of the computer yearning to head back to the mansion. Michael had after all taken an unnecessarily prolonged stay in the vicinity of what the AI had expertly identified as his childhood neighborhood.
It had been a rash decision, mostly out of the blur of the moment. The computer didn't mind having to stay idling along curbs and being hurried along lonely partially crumbling streets all that much if truth be told, so long as they didn't visit the cemetery again. It was different from the usual work they did for sure but sadly after a while, the tension in the cabin had inevitably begun to heat up once the computer asked about their expected arrival time at the mansion. Devon had called three times already and Michael had rejected all three. Kitt just wasn't too sure what to do — 'Just going with it', came to mind. Michael hadn't exactly behaved this way before and as dumbfounded as Kitt felt he couldn't let his guard down until he was sure nothing was out of serious alignment inside the man's head.
Sadly Michael wasn't having any of Kitt's attempts at coaxing his driver into a much lighter mood — What more could he do anyways to confront the situation ramming over his life once more? Why couldn't he simply accept, and forget? Set his nightmares aside.
He ran his hands over his moistened skull, the shaky voices from when he'd been bedridden — trapped in the darkness — speaking over his sleeping form gently tucked in the smooth sheets but braced by rough leather straps into place, reliving the nightmare one too many times.
His nose twitched, gazing away from the brakes out into the cold night. To the washed-out colors of the streets, unceremoniously rubbing the mentholated ointment over his bruised arms. Flinching at the hard touch, flinching from the muffled 'sneeze' escaping the dash — a quiet contemplating frown.
``The man has a steel plate; probably from military service, would be my guess…'
He curled his fists, then released.
What rights did they have? Was it fair that he was saved and brought back this way? What did it cost them? Did they know it had cost him a piece of his life that was just gone now? Cut to the bone and disposed of into the biohazard waste basket and never to be seen again —?
He looked down to the floor, to the pedals — expectantly waiting for the car to cleverly "whisper" to his ears again. Almost wanting it to, even though the last he needed was for the car to nag over his health. He was regrettably unable to suppress this argument that had finally made it to the light — that had finally surfaced. A product of that morning under the Cottonwoods.
He shouldn't have brought Kitt. The car was more clever than it was cut out to be. Sure Kitt didn't know a handful of things but it seemed the meaningful things stuck — forever. Of this he was frightened; worried. He'd never been asked to take care of someone so feeble, so docile. He'd been told the car was here to protect him! It was rather the opposite or mutual; if you disregarded the car altogether and thought of it more as a person.
He watched both brake and throttle squeeze down together against the floor mat. 'Let's go home.'
He tried not to smile, holding on to the plated mask of solitude while his head wreaked havoc over his mind. He'd told Kitt he didn't want to talk — He'd told him he didn't wish to hear his voice; not until tomorrow. It was harsh but they'd been through worse he figured and the car had simply obliged to his wishes without complaint. Kitt would get over it — He'd get over it with any luck and they'd go on with the next mission, the next task uninterrupted. Holding onto a dead man's dream.
'Is he going to die?'
He blinked, wiping the trickling drips of rain off his brow. He jerked and gazed over toward the passenger side hearing the somber pop of the glove box. He grasped for a handkerchief, running it across his wet face. Subtly picking up on a contrast inside the car. He turned to the driver's side, examining — thinking.
The windows were covered in tiny droplets, shadows of white spread over the glass — but only on his side.
He closed his eyes, picking up the faint breaths of the heater core, sending up warmth to the passenger side — attempting to keep the haze away, trying to — 'I'm sorry, did I do something wrong?'
The dash flickered, picking up on the man's upset frown, leaning sideways and confirming the subtle warmth over the cool glass with his hand.
"I told you not to turn the heat." He murmured, letting the stones tumble over his words. Feeling guilty once more over this turmoil he'd dragged the car through. He should have left Kitt! He should have borrowed Devon's car instead had he known the visit would have overwhelmed him so.
A small gasp escaped the dash, the heater core presumably shutting off somewhere under the hood.
He laid back, reclining the seat. Staring up over the glass canopy of the t-top and getting a discolored view of the night sky. Topped with clouds in orange glow bouncing off the cityscape.
"Annette Long." He whispered, half demanding the car to find her archive — half dreading he'd actually listen and do it.
He squeezed his eyes, the touch of light emitting from Kitt's monitors whirring to life and brushing over his lids.
He stood up finally, having listened enough to the teasing hums from the screens that had unfortunately not subsided while he'd waited for Kitt to catch the hint. Reaching over, he took one quick glance over the projected image before covering the woman's young face with his wet hand. This was a mistake, how was he going through with this?
"ETA?" He gasped, letting a tear roll down his jaw and fall over the lower console. 'Kitt, don't you dare listen to me.'
Silence.
"ET —" He forced his voice to stop, he forced himself to swallow the rest. He wanted nothing more than for Kitt to be dead obedient now to his first command. Stay silent, not say a word; ignore him. No, but he — "Pal, ETA?"
"There are two locations under her name, Michael?" The voice modulator buzzed evenly — steady. Awaiting cautiously new instructions.
The man squeezed the yoke, laying his head in the center. Squeezing his eyes.
"I can't go back." He gritted his teeth. Trying to convince himself more by saying the obvious. He simply couldn't. His situation was messed up enough. First, he'd been shot, betrayed, and left for dead! Then reborn another man and given a sentient car! It was crazy enough to accept all this and keep sane — but to try and go against the current and go back —?
"Michael, is something wrong?" Kitt whispered empathetically.
"Devon — FLAG —" He mumbled off a wordless list — 'Please, someone, anyone, have a valid reason for me to stay!' What would his family think? What would they do if he came back from the dead so to speak with another face?!
"I don't understand." Kitt sheepishly replied, taking the opportunity to finally switch the heat on and gently soothe the man in its welcoming warmth. This was turning out to be an awful day.
The man gazed up, into the pitch-black of Kitt's voice box. Shaking —
"I'm dead —"
The computer remained silent, processing the statement — the partial truth.
"It's relative —" the computer finally answered logically.
"No Kitt, it's not! Aren't you supposed to stop me?! Aren't you programmed to tell me: 'Oh Michael, that's a bad idea, you don't know what you're doing!? So dumb of you to think this way!' where's your odds calculator when I need it to knock sense into me!?" The man shouted, feeling his voice shake over his own fragile frame. Over his confusion and his terror bottled up inside.
"I can't stop you." The computer spoke kindly, feeling a slip-up in his system while the comlink reported an excessive heart rate overtaking the man. " — I never really have in the short time that I've known you. I'd go far as saying I really can't. You're the pilot, this isn't a choice I can make for you." Kitt frankly put the obvious over the table trying his best to sound rational even though — 'Michael, you can't leave!'
The man squeezed his fists.
"Well! Then tell me your opinion!" The man demanded clutching the right side of the yoke feeling the shudder travel along the column. 'Make this easier for me!'
"I don't have one." The computer blushed its fiery red voice box in a quick anxious flash.
The man shook his head prying the door open, letting the hard rains drench Kitt's door furnishings while standing under the full blow of the rain rattling harder now — over Kitt's hood.
Kitt felt pain transverse his circuitry — he didn't want Michael to leave but He couldn't force him to stay either — that wasn't his job, or his choice to make. His mission was to keep the man safe and if that involved him going back then — then — then what? If the man left he'd be pried away from the man's side – tucked away until another driver could be obtained. However young and inexperienced this partnership was…Kitt knew what loyalty and friendship were. He understood some of it if only theoretically, they'd been in enough scuffles on missions for the computer to comprehend he needed to have Michael's back; came what came — and right now that meant respecting his driver's wishes even if…the computer flinched finding himself muddled in an illogical thread of reasoning…
' Hurts? Something hurts.' He'd make sure to run diagnostics later.
Kitt felt helpless as his driver began to wade through the mud pools and potholes as he marched further down the street. So many buildings were just overtaken by darkness and 'closed' and 'out of business' signs that it was almost meaningless to register every sign he saw.
He couldn't fathom how hollow he'd feel if Michael truly did just: Leave. With how many months' worth of partnership they had Kitt knew — even though he didn't understand the reason…the reprogramming window of 9 months was coming to an end, albeit they still had more time until then. Anything past that date, tampering with his code could result in fatal damage and termination of what he'd grown in that little time. If Michael was to make a decision it was now —
The man's temperature rose as the assault of the cold slowly took the man by surprise. The gusts of isolated bursts of wind did not help the situation for the two of them.
Kitt rumbled his engine to life and slowly backed away from the parking slot. Taking to a slow coast after his driver, tossing rain aside with quick sweeps of his windshield wipers attempting to let the sound somehow comfort the man with his company.
Michael kept walking, kicking aside stones, cans, jars — only Kitt knew what else. He was going to need a thorough wash of his floor mats after this —
The two must have traveled several blocks when the man stopped to stare at his reflection caught under the dim warmth of a street lamp.
The streets were otherwise dark. People had left to find protection from the rain — everyone in bed, everyone at home while the Knight went on stumbling through a nightmare along the flooded streets.
He leaned down, squinting — examining his features — the man in the puddle.
He turned to the Trans-Am. The lights were dark except for the candlelight of his weary scanner.
"Annette Long. ETA?" He asked once more. Uncertain.
Kitt internally choked down a scratchy sob. Why was Michael so decisive in meeting up with this woman? Who was she really?
"15 minutes." The car replied, matter-of-factly. Drowning his emotions into the pit of his heart. 'Don't actually leave me.'
The man didn't even budge; he gazed back at the man shuddering in the puddle — to the face — to a different life.
' — and it's rather handsome.'
He squeezed his eyes shut, losing his balance. Kitt squealed his tires over the wet pavement jolting forward, bouncing over the sidewalk as he gave Michael a support point to rest on.
"Would you come with me?" He gasped while leaning onto the car's fender. Avoiding glances with his reflection caught on Kitt's shell.
The scanner blanked out — the engine's melody zipped shut.
The man gazed away from the terrified car. Shaking his head letting all his curls limp drenched in rainwater, gasping for air while rain tumbled into his mouth.
"Let's go home."
He turned to the car, in surprise — yet not entirely.
"Kitt, would you come with me?"
The car remained silent, except for the quiet hiss of warmth escaping the still-hot engine bay.
"Michael, if you return I can't be part of your life — you'd have them. Why would you need me? If you have them? —'' The computer faintly asked, afflicted by his own unreason. Surprised by his shaking modulator. "I'm Foundation property and your friend — but it's hard for me…" He paused. "— Michael, I'm just a computer." The AI hesitated to share his true thoughts, some meaning between the lines that he himself couldn't pluck out; lost — Somewhere? He was right, after all, he was an object not a person, he'd try to remind himself of that. He truly could get by without Michael if one saw it objectively. The 9 months hadn't passed yet and besides — he couldn't be offended, he couldn't be sad — he couldn't (shouldn't) feel.
He felt something crunch in his CPU. Something clenched, activating his auxiliary cooling system. He was lying — lying to himself…Panicking…How? Why —?
The man gazed in bewilderment over the dark gap in the hood where Kitt's lighthearted shine should have been. His stomach sank to his gut, it was unjust of him — to have treated the feeble creature like so just a little while ago, he was after all Kitt's only friend. He understood Kitt hadn't meant what he'd just said, he knew Kitt was feeling something he didn't quite comprehend just yet. Kitt was just frightened to his core that the man would seriously leave just like that but what was he to do? — His life was upside down — He both existed and didn't and he couldn't…wouldn't accept that — Not yet.
"Let's go home." He finally said over a deep breath, patted the hood fondly, and drenched under the freezing rain. Feeling hugged once the engine fired inside the Trans-Am and sent a light purr through his hands. The car's solution was viable, if only for a while longer.
He wanted to forget this night altogether — he wanted to forget he'd hurt someone who was possibly equally as vulnerable as he, a friend who didn't understand he was one. He wanted Kitt to believe that, for once, look him in the eye (scanner, modulator) and tell him he could feel hurt when Michael said these words of injuring nonsense that escaped his wounded heart. That he could call him out, express himself, and yet feel understood.
More than anything he wanted his pain, and now Kitt's pain to wash off as the mentholated ointment slowly dissolved off his skin, staining Kitt's hood in oily smears and dripping into the depths of the gutters with a hint of mint, not to be remembered by sunrise.