Some people would argue that family started and ended with blood. They'd say that no matter how close you were to your friends, that would never be family. Others would argue that you could, and should, choose your family. Not everyone knew their blood relatives. Not everyone liked their blood relatives. Some had been disowned or had to disown their blood families for any number of reasons. Michael firmly believed that family could be chosen. He'd held that belief since his mid-teens, watching a friend's parents tear each other and their son apart. Ethan had spent more time with Michael and his mother than his own parents during their freshman year of high school. Blood ties hadn't meant much during the divorce. His time in the army and with the police had strengthened that belief.

Then Michael Long had been shot in the face and killed. He couldn't engage with his blood family (or even his old chosen family) without putting them in serious danger. Michael Knight had done what he could at the start to keep the people he worked with from becoming family. He liked them well enough, worked well with them.

And then there was the car. His car, or so he'd thought. From the moment he first sat behind the wheel, he knew it wasn't really his car. For starters, the dash looked like something he'd expect to see at NASA. If you could overlook that glaring issue, the rest of the car was also brand new. The seat had yet to be worn in, and the interior reeked of new plastic, new upholstery, new everything.

Michael's old car had certainly never driven itself or spoke. Devon said the on-board computer had been showing off for Michael. Why the hell would a computer want to show off? Why would it matter to a computer if Michael liked it or not? So why did Michael feel guilty that night? Why did he feel like he had somehow hurt the computer's feelings? Above all, why was he even willing to entertain the notion that that computer had feelings? But there he lay, staring up at the ceiling and unable to sleep because somehow, some way, he might have hurt a computer's feelings.

Michael made it quite clear that he considered these people and the AI as colleagues only. He was grateful for the second chance, grateful for the job and the fact that he never had to pay rent, but at the end of the day, this was just a job like any other. He returned K.I.T.T. to the Foundation at the close of each case and drove his own car, a non-descript brown four-door sedan, to the apartment he rented nearby.

Michael had little interest in engaging with K.I.T.T. beyond was each case required. He had no doubt it could do everything it said it could, but Michael couldn't stomach not being the one in control. Not after that night. The AI didn't seem offended by this, and Michael found himself wondering once again why he cared if he offended it. Despite the expressiveness and warmth of its simulated voice, K.I.T.T. was a computer. Lines of code couldn't spontaneously develop feelings. Or so Michael kept telling himself.

And then he fell asleep behind the wheel, a mistake that could have killed him and potentially other people. K.I.T.T. had taken control of the car then. They had a deadline to meet after all. When Michael woke up and found the police on their tail, K.I.T.T. had kept Michael out of trouble. Play deaf, pretend he'd been daydreaming a bit and not noticed the squad car. That sort of behavior didn't fit Michael's current model of the AI. He wasn't quite sure what to do with this revelation, so he set it aside until he had more information. It could have been a setup, something to get him to have a little more faith in the AI. The AI that was supposed to be his partner.

But time wore on, rounding out the sharp edges of Michael's hostility and mistrust. He moved into one of the guest cottages on the estate grounds. At the time, he insisted to his team and himself that it was for conveniency's sake. It certainly wasn't because he'd come to consider Devon and Bonnie as friends and wanted to be closer to them. And it most certainly wasn't because he'd become attached to KITT. He didn't enjoy taking the Trans-Am out for a spin when he needed space. He also didn't enjoy letting KITT take control, marveling at the AI's precision and skill in handling the car. It really shouldn't have been that surprising, Michael reflected. The car was KITT's body after all. Of course he should be in total control. Another thing Michael had noticed: somewhere along the line he'd come to consider KITT as a 'him' rather than an 'it'. He would never be entirely sure if that was something he'd started doing on his own or something he'd picked up from KITT's chief technician and mechanic, Bonnie.

Bonnie. Michael didn't know how to feel about her. Sure, he considered her a friend, but he doubted she felt the same. He rarely saw her outside of when KITT required maintenance, and those were almost never pleasant encounters. Bonnie never held back as she fixed what Michael had broken. Michael accepted her anger, even though it cut deeply. She believed he was reckless, playing too fast and loose with KITT. He couldn't argue too much because he often was reckless with KITT. He pushed the AI and the car to their limits because he needed to know he could count on them. He needed to know what KITT could and couldn't do, what KITT wasn't willing to do.

Michael was reckless with himself too, though he'd never admit it. KITT had chastised him for it, calling his actions everything from harebrained to suicidal. Again, Michael found he couldn't really argue. He hid his injuries from Devon and Bonnie as best he could. What he couldn't hide completely, he downplayed as much as possible. He even tried to hide injuries from KITT, even though he knew his partner (when had KITT become 'partner'?) was monitoring his vitals at all times. Hell, KITT even knew when Michael had slept wrong or when and old wound acted up. KITT nagged Michael about his health a lot. It had been almost unbearably intrusive at first, but Michael assumed Kitt had just been programmed that way.

It wasn't until their second year working together that Michael realized Kitt nagged so much because he cared. Because Kitt had realized that Michael seemed quite content to just work himself to death sometimes.

The first time Michael had been seriously injured on an assignment had come as a much-needed wakeup call. Of course, Bonnie and Devon had seen him come home with a wide variety of scrapes, bruises, and other such superficial injuries. The worst he'd allowed them to see until then was a broken arm. Kinda hard to hide a cast, and even harder to hide since he'd broken his dominant wrist.

Once he'd been cleared to return to duty, Michael wondered what Kitt had told Bonnie. She no longer tore into him as much when he brought Kitt back all dinged up. Oh, there were still times she tore him a new one, but he knew he deserved those. The most recent lecture had come about because Bonnie found seaweed tangled under Kitt's hood. Michael genuinely did try to be more careful with Kitt. He knew most of his partner's limits by now. He knew Kitt could be trusted to keep them both safe.

Michael still fell back on old habits sometimes. He'd withdraw from his team and only interact with them as much as was absolutely necessary. The first anniversary of his death had nearly killed him. He'd gone AWOL. Even left the commlink behind. He thought he'd be able to work though the anniversary, lose himself in the assignment, but it had been an abnormally quiet week for FLAG. Michael found himself at a loose end. Usually, he'd just find Kitt and the two of them would go for a drive. Sometimes they talked. Sometimes Michael just slept. Kitt had become a haven for Michael without him even realizing it.

This wasn't 'usually', though. Michael hadn't slept much during the week leading up to his unplanned and unannounced departure. He couldn't think clearly. Couldn't really think at all. He did know that he needed to be anywhere else right now. Michael Long found himself surrounded by a stranger's things. They were his things, souvenirs he'd picked up on assignments, clothes he bought. It all belonged to him but couldn't be his because he wasn't him.

The commlink around his wrist, normally a comforting weight, suddenly felt unfamiliar and restrictive. He fumbled with the clasp for far too long but finally got the damn thing off. He left it on his bedside table along with his wallet. He couldn't have known that, on the other side of the estate, Kitt had been woken by the abrupt loss of contact. That Kitt had then contacted Devon in a panic. Michael was long gone by the time Kitt got to the cottage.

Michael had no idea where he was going. He just chose a direction and walked, numb to the world around him. Had anyone been of a mind to do so, they could have killed him quite easily. He'd made numerous enemies, and not all of them were behind bars or dead. The clouds that had been gathering through the day now hung heavy in the night sky. The wind promised rain before the sun rose.

Michael found himself at his own grave. Rather, he found himself at Michael Long's empty grave. If anyone bothered to exhume the grave, they'd find an empty casket. Michael wondered if maybe he should have been cremated instead and had his ashes scattered. Nothing left behind to suggest that he'd done anything but die that awful night. He hugged himself tightly and squeezed his eyes shut. He hated his. Hated Tonya, hated Wilton, Devon, and Bonnie. Hated Michael Long for getting himself killed. Hated Michael Knight for crumpling in a heap on an empty grave and sobbing. The one person he couldn't bring himself to hate pulled alongside the curb, unable to get any closer but willing to wait until Michael realized he was there.

Michael's throat felt raw and his head ached in sympathy with his heart as he said his first and most significant goodbye to Michael Long. Michael had seen enough of death and grief to know it wouldn't be easy. He'd never dealt with his own death. How was he supposed to grieve when he was still alive?

As much as he didn't want to move ever again, the skies finally opened and the rain drove Michael to seek shelter in the car that had been waiting patiently. The driver door popped open while he was still a few feet away and closed behind him once he'd collapsed into the seat. He wasn't surprised that Kitt had come alone, just grateful. Michael wasn't sure he could talk at all right now. Kitt, who communicated through the use of silences as much as words, simply darkened the windows, embracing Michael the best he could.

Kitt put the car in gear and drove off. Michael didn't know where Kitt planned on taking them, nor did he care. After a good while, he cleared his throat and asked in a hoarse whisper, "How'd you know where I'd be?"

"I didn't," Kitt answered softly. "Not at first. You left the commlink behind. You didn't want to be found too easily, or maybe you didn't want to be found at all." Michael shrank back in the seat a bit more. Kitt continued with more tenderness than Michael would have ever thought possible. "I knew you'd be here because there was nowhere else you could be tonight. You may not be dead, Michael, but you still need to let yourself grieve this loss." Michael didn't respond. What was he supposed to say? He had no experience with this sort of thing to inform his actions now.

Michael did the only thing that felt reasonable. He leaned forward and draped his arms around the steering wheel to return Kitt's embrace. "Thanks," he mumbled.

Kitt drove aimlessly until Michael fell asleep. When Michael woke up, they'd returned to headquarters. "Morning, Kitt," Michael sad. He still felt like shit and figured he would for the rest of the day. He noticed that Kitt didn't follow his usual morning startup routine and wondered if his partner had slept at all last night.

"Good morning, Michael," Kitt said warmly. "How are you feeling?"

Michael mulled the question over. How was he feeling? Well… "I feel like I've been run over by an entire army of tanks." He hoped Kitt would understand the expression. Idioms and hyperbole were a gamble with Kitt. "My head is killing me and my throat burns." Michael shook his head. "Look, Kitt, I'm more grateful than you could ever know that you found me last night. Dunno what I would've done if you hadn't. But I can't talk about this –" he gestured loosely to himself, then the estate, "– right now." He didn't know if he'd ever really be able to.

"It's okay, Michael. I understand." Michael watched the modulator flicker as Kitt spoke. He wondered if Kitt really did understand on a deeper level. Hesitation dogging his words now, Kitt spoke again: "I… Michael forgive me if I've crossed any boundaries, but I asked Devon and Bonnie to not push you too much. To let you say as much or as little as you want." Michael was once again struck by the absolute miracle that was his partner. This brilliant amalgamation of circuitry, coding, and machinery had, of his own free will, gone looking for Michael and found him on the first try. Even Bonnie had confessed to being utterly stumped by Kitt's growth as an autonomous being, by the very human soul he'd developed.

"I, uh, I don't know what to say, Kitt," Michael finally admitted. A teary-voiced "thank you" was all he could manage. He smiled for the first time that week. It was a weak, wobbly smile but genuine nonetheless.