AN: Thank you kindly to those of you that reviewed the story—I really do adore comments and it makes me want to get the chapters out faster ;) Keep them coming! Though please enjoy these next two chapters irregardless. Ciao!

Chapter 2: Picking up the Pieces

The waves crashed gently over the sand on the beach. The sun had been up for several hours now and the day looked like it was going to be crystal clear once again. Already the summer day was warm and cheerful, and tourists started to emerge onto the streets to head to the water or roam the town to do their daily shopping.

Michael Knight, though, would just take this as another day in paradise. He had already seen the morning arrive for the new day, having had a cup of coffee while sitting on his back porch that overlooked the beach. He did this every morning, and he enjoyed it. Soon, as part of the routine, he'd be heading downtown to a small diner where he met with some local friends and shoot the bull over breakfast.

Michael stood in front of the mirror, shaving off the three days of facial hair that had grown in. There had been a time where he would have shaved every morning to keep his face smooth, but he had given that up years ago when he decided impressing the ladies wasn't as important anymore. The life he led now had been nearly the same for the past six years and he was content.

After showering and combing the snarls out of his curly brown hair, Michael pulled out a pair of faded jeans and threw a black t-shirt over his head, topping off the outfit with a white, collared shirt, without taking the time to button it up. Stuffing his wallet into his back pocket and his cell phone into one of the front pockets, Michael grabbed the keys to his '57 Chevy and headed out.

It was near ten in the morning now and the diner was full of people. He needn't wait, though, since the two men he met every morning were already saving a spot for him at a corner booth.

"Morning, Michael," a man of Michael's age greeted. Will, a short guy with wavy black hair, a mustache and dark eyes moved over to give Michael some room. He handed the menu to the new company and leaned back on the seat.

"Get that headlight fixed?" Steve, the other man across from Michael and Will asked as he glanced out the window at the blue Chevy.

"Yeah, the part came in Friday after I left here," Michael replied as he skimmed over the breakfast menu. "Guess it'll be scrambled eggs again."

"Told ya my pal down at the shop would come through for ya," Will said with a smirk. "Burt has those sort of connections since he picked up the tab for that place last year."

"Yeah, thanks," Michael said and closed the menu just as the waitress, a girl named Missy, arrived. "I'll give you three guesses, sweetie."

"Scrambled eggs, two slices of bacon and three sausage links," Missy said with a smile. "White or wheat bread?"

"Let's make it wheat today," Michael replied. "Did you get your exam grades?"

"Not yet, but I'm hoping they'll come in today's mail," Missy said as she finished writing down Michael's order. "And you guys?"

"The pancake deluxe," Steve said. "Extra maple syrup, remember."

"Just for you," Missy smiled. "French toast or pancakes, Will?"

"Double Steve's order, but leave out the extra syrup," Will told her.

Yes, each day was just a repeat of the one before. Michael and the others saw Missy three days a week and she knew them pretty well, but he figured when she got her test grades she'd be heading off into the real world and away from the life college dealt her.

Michael knew Steve and Will from his time working in a combined hardware and auto parts store. He figured that after the time he spent running around chasing bad guys he needed time to relax and earn himself a little extra money. Working the job he had until six months earlier gave him the money and the discount on parts he needed for the classic car he decided to fix up as his hobby. Will had owned the place and Steve had been one of the original employees. They were both older than Michael by two and seven years, but it didn't matter much. Michael was happy with the way things were going and he wasn't about to look back and wonder how it could've been if things hadn't changed.

Two hours later, after sitting and talking with his buddies over two extra cups of coffee, Michael returned home to wax the car as he had planned on. He pulled out a small radio and set it down on an overturned milk crate, tuning into his favorite station. The car saw a bath nearly every week, and a wax job usually every two or three. It was his hobby. This is what he loved to do.

Half an hour into drying off the car from the quick rinse, the cell phone that had been placed next to the radio started to ring. At first Michael was going to let it go, but after it kept going, he gave in and answered it.

"Hello," he said with a smile—something that rarely left his face these days.

"Michael, how are you?"

The smile on Michael's face lessened, though he did welcome the friendly voice of Devon Miles. "I'm doing great," he answered truthfully. "Just spending some time shining up the old girl in the driveway here."

"Ah, how's she coming along?" Devon asked.

Michael could practically picture the older man sitting in a suit behind some desk, the tone in that British accent telling him he was doing pretty well. "She's coming along nicely. And how's things over at FPLI?"

Michael had heard after leaving the Foundation for Law and Government that the new owner, Edward Stants, had renamed the organization the Foundation for Private Law Investigation. He had been offered a job by Stants, as did Devon and Bonnie, but after hearing that K.I.T.T. wasn't going to be part of the team and the work wouldn't be the same, Michael quickly threw in the towel. A year later at a dinner reunion with Devon and Bonnie, Michael discovered that his predictions had come true-- K.I.T.T. had been put into on-site storage, but with a promise he wouldn't be deactivated permanently.

Devon, though, had stayed on since it was what he did. He was named the company director, meaning he accepted and declined clients under the rules of Stants's new operation. "Oh, things are going well enough," he said. "Of course it hasn't been the same without you and Bonnie."

"Devon, don't take this the wrong way, but I hope you aren't going to try to persuade me to come back. We've been down this road before," Michael reminded him.

"How about we meet for lunch?" Devon asked quickly.

"Devon, I'm telling you right now—"

"Michael, you're much too suspicious," replied the Englishman. "How about it, eh?"

Michael let out a sigh and looked at the Chevy drying in the hot afternoon sun without his consent. "Alright, I'll give."

"Marvelous," Devon replied and Michael knew the smile that went along with that sort of word. "Where would you like to meet?"

Michael thought for a moment and then smirked. "There's a place called Count Marshall's on Southwest Main Street," he said finally.

"Count Marshall's," Devon said, seemingly taking down the name and location. "How's tomorrow around, oh, say noon?"

"I'll be there."

xXx

As arranged, Michael arrived at Count Marshall's Grill and Bar at exactly 12:05 the next day. He knew that Devon couldn't have possibly expected him to be on time, since it was never his strong point during their working days together. He also knew that poor Devon would probably frown the moment he stepped out of his car at the site of the restaurant.

Count Marshall's was a fairly new joint that was opened by a man from Texas who specialized in any sort of food that was noted to be bad for you and high in cholesterol. Michael, though, thought that was the best sort of place to go to. Besides, Devon should know that by not picking the place himself would result in eating extremely greasy and very mess one-serving courses.

When Michael walked through the over-polished door of the brick building he looked around the dimmed atmosphere for his friend. Of course Devon would pick a booth off to the side where few people would notice him. With a big smile, Michael walked over and pretended to look around as if he had never seen what was inside the place.

"I should've known I'd be dining on fine Michael Knight cuisine," Devon replied as he set aside the menu with a small look of sourness.

"This place has the best burgers," Michael said sitting down, saying what he had only to push the mood Devon was in from the choice of restaurants.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said dismally. "But away from that, how are you?"

"Good," Michael replied honestly. "Things have been really good around here."

"I'm so glad," Devon said. "In fact, I'm so happy for you I have a question."

"Getting right to the point, huh?" Michael answered, expecting what was on the older man's mind. "Devon, I already told you…"

"Yes, yes, I know you already told me," Devon said, "but you don't know what I'm going to ask."

Michael chuckled. "Devon, it's been thirteen years and the last time I heard from you in person was at the reunion with Bonnie and RCIII."

Devon let out a weighted sigh and folded his hands on the table, but before he could say anything the waitress came over wearing a rather skimpy rodeo-queen outfit. "What can I get you boys?" She asked, clearly trying to pretend she was a cowgirl from Texas.

Once their orders had been placed, Michael remembered that Devon was just about to pull out the cue card. He didn't want to hear it, but in a way it was a bit curious as to what was so important that Devon Miles would want to ask Michael in person.

"Now, where were we?" Devon said as he sipped the water that had been brought to them when the waitress arrived to take orders.

"You were about to ask me to become the Michael Knight from the '80s again," Michael reminded. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Ah," Devon said, but paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Before I start, know that I wouldn't be asking you anything unless I felt strongly about this—"

"Devon, just cut to the chase," Michael interrupted.

"Do you remember Nicole Turner?"

Michael searched his memory for a long moment and tried to picture the face that went with the name. Then it dawned on him and an image of a fiery young woman with wavy brown hair and a pretty smile came to his mind. "Yeah, she was having problems with her ex-husband and confess that me killing that biker guy was an accident and self defense."

"Yes, and she had a daughter named Natalie who was kidnapped by Nicole's ex-husband, Harold T.," Devon continued. Michael nodded and Devon paused yet again, but this time to give Michael a chance to think about that incident with Harold T. and rescuing Natalie from him.

Devon folded his hands as he had done so earlier and set them on the table, leaning over slightly to address Michael in a more private manner. "I received a letter from Nicole, now Nicole Westfield since she apparently had remarried. She seems very concerned about her daughter and I fear that it may be a little more serious than even she's letting on."

"I see," Michael said nearly reaching the border of sarcasm. "So why not let FPLI handle it? Devon, you know I'm not into that and stuff anymore—I gave that up over a decade ago."

Devon gave a sad, yet hopeful nod. "I know and trust me I completely understand where you are with your life. Michael, I wouldn't ask you if I didn't have to, but I'm afraid Edward Stants won't allow the organization to take on something as small as this, mostly because it's not profitable in his eyes. Nicole won't let out any details on paper and that's not a good enough reason for the organization to check into things."

"Well only Jennifer Knight would've sold her father's dream to a man whose money hungry," Michael replied.

"I'm afraid Wilton Knight's dream has deteriorated, almost entirely. Unless its beneficial for the company, Mr. Stants doesn't see the purpose of…interfering, shall we say, with what he considers police-rated work."

Michael's brow furrowed and he leaned forward as well. "Then why are you still there? I know you can't stand the guy—that's something I've known from the start of this whole stupid FPLI thing."

Devon sighed and looked at his hands. "Because it's my dream to see that a small part of FLAG can remain living, even if it's the smallest of parts."

Michael leaned back again and put both hands flat on the bench he sat on. He looked around to see their waitress talking to the bartender, but he thought nothing of her. Did he really want to get involved with that line of work again? He knew the answer to that—no. He was happy not thinking about whether he was going to live to see the next day…but there was still that desire to live on the edge. He missed his friends—his family. Though the thing he thought of the most right now was Natalie Turner. He remembered her as a cute little five-year-old with pigtails and a pretty little pink dress. She was a real sweetheart that had gotten caught up between her mother and father's messy divorce.

Finally Michael returned his gaze to Devon. He tried not to smirk, but it was hard to keep himself focused on any uncertainty he had. "Alright, I guess I'll give you a hand with this. If Natalie's in trouble I want to make sure she gets out of it. But if I do this for you, though, then there are two things I want understood right now."

Devon smiled and clapped his hands on his knees. "Name your price."

"There's no asking me to stay on with that jerk's stupid company," Michael stated clearly. "And I want to work with my old partner."

AN again...: I just wanted to let you guys know, in case you don't remember, that Nicole and Natalie Turner were from the last episode in season 1, "Short Notice." I love it when little kids interact with K.I.T.T. and she always stuck out in my mind when, at the end of the episode, she asked K.I.T.T. if she'd see him again and he replied that he certainly hoped so. So that's why I chose her.