My Retreat; Your Defeat

Another day at the beach; another case they'd been able to walk from in more or less one piece.

The sun was holding up its own when they'd arrived and was still furiously beating down over the crowds of people plaguing every boardwalk or square inch of water that wasn't already taken by circular inflated donuts.

Michael was amongst these people; for once no different than the common Joe hustling from one shop to the next. Enjoying the tan he was applying to his usual light perplexion while he marched from sand dune to sand dune in the most obnoxious swimming trunks Kitt could have ever set visuals on.

He was gone several hours and while the man had insisted the car take a leisurely drive along the shore, Kitt found keeping an attentive eye over Michael to be much more prudent and worthwhile.

Obviously, they were off duty but Kitt could never be too sure.

He kept tabs on Michael so consistently that sometimes he even surprised his driver. A little skill he'd been able to fine-tune in the last months.

In this case: the man was speaking to a younger gentleman who was having trouble throwing a football into the sea of humans all competing for a slice of the sun — at the next moment…he'd caught a dark silhouette amongst the white and sun-bleached sand standing idly a couple of yards away. For everyone else, this was a major inconvenience to have to go around but for Michael, it seemed his "lifeboat" would not be sleeping on the job.

Kitt was ironically an eyesore between all the people rushing from one end of the beach to the other. Disturbing the distribution of traffic that had been passively functioning within controlled chaos.

At first, Michael thought it was rather peculiar for Kitt to go all out and be so protective. The car tended to stick to boundaries, the ones that prevented him from going past what the car could realistically tackle — like choking on sand for instance. It was the weekend and they weren't on duty — he could have a normal life for at least a day, couldn't he? With or without a talking car?

So then maybe he was somewhat harsh when he approached Kitt and told him to get lost.

He was upset. He didn't need a babysitter or a partner that was overly protective. If anything it was Michael who needed to be. It had been him who'd lost one if not the best wingman he'd have ever asked for.

Of course; Michael's petty remarks were the norm and the car decided to answer with his own witty response.

"If I get lost I suppose you'll be walking to the mobile unit?" Kitt answered while Michael gazed inside the open cabin window while thousands of individuals brushed by the car in annoyance.

Michael growled.

"Look, I didn't come here to be watched." He snapped.

Kitt would have answered with his own counter remark if it wasn't for what he'd detected in a nano-second coming out of a long barrel.

At first, Michael hadn't registered the blow…or that Kitt had literally just blown the wind out of him by pushing him briskly down with the passenger door.

He ended up on his back. Watching dust fly as the thousands of people plaguing the beach turned into a full-on stampede after a second terrifying sound riddled the air.

Naturally, Michael wanted to get up and seek the gunman to give him a piece of his mind but Kitt had him expertly pinned between the door and the cab.

It took Michael a considerable amount of time to notice Kitt was speaking to him in a hushed tone, fondly comforting that he was going to be okay.

Well — what for? He felt alright. Nothing was broken, other than maybe his pride. He had just been surprised and attacked by his car after all.

Michael gently crouched, seeking some visual through the space between the driver's door and the hinges.

The beach had become a desolate mess, with all belongings having no equal measure of value as their owners' lives.

Sirens quickly punctured the air and Michael figured it was time to leave…

He climbed into Kitt wondering where he'd left his shoes, his disc…shirt? Everything had gone south and the beach was unrecognizable now. Only a small stream of people scampering from where they'd face-planted into the warm sands getting up and heading toward the parking lots.

"Any sign of who —?"

"Too many discrepancies for me to make an accurate match, Michael."

"I was afraid of —," Michael gazed down at his feet, bemused …the carpet was damp? "You went swimming or something?" He found himself asking as he led the car to higher ground.

"No," Kitt's voice mumbled, lowering down to a whisper. " — you've been wounded."

Michael jumped in his seat pulling up his feet to find that he indeed had been wounded! It wasn't bad…it was just the graze of a hot projectile. At least, it looked to be –?

"I've mobilized Mr. Miles and Doctor Barstow. The appropriate equipment to bandage your wounds has been obtained, and a medic is being dispatched to intersect us. Everything is currently on standby." Kitt informed him hurriedly. "Michael, please make it easy on us…don't faint."

Michael chuckled. Finding the car's humor quite bland.

"As if I would."

"I'm being serious, you aren't registering the bullet are you?" Kitt asked, displaying an immediate x-ray of his leg region. It half startled Michael to death as he couldn't tell apart what was bone and what were shattered bits of lead embedded into his foot!

"Bullet!?" Michael reached down to his shin, running his fingers over the cut…pain just shot up his leg unannounced all of a sudden. "When did this —!?"

"Nevermind that," Kitt interrupted. "The mobile HQ is just ahead."

Michael was far more mellow than everyone had expected but maybe it was the fact he couldn't stop staring at Kitt's little mischievous grin. The little critter had really saved his life — for the hundredth time, or maybe the thousandth? Sighing and shaking his head while the appropriate measures were given to his foot, he couldn't avoid and give Kitt a faint wink and grin of his own.

He was grateful for a car. To a car…What were the chances…?