The Beach wasn't exactly a tidy place, but for lack of reason, Kitt found himself wandering the edge of the shore. His tires were buffeted rhythmically by the icy waves.
The beach was deserted, only the occasional seagull coming in for a landing to devour an unfortunate crab they'd caught somewhere further out or a fish carcass that the waves had delicately deposited on the sand.
Just them; a silent and unknowing audience, watching over the Trans Am slowly creeping down the beach…Under other circumstances, he probably would have been far more cheerful but not today.
There was hardly any room in his mind past mindlessly cruising the coastline — processing an endless war within him that threatened to overtake him entirely, leaving him statically screaming out of desperation.
He didn't want that.
So…He kept his voice tucked away, fearful of catching himself slipping and sobbing to the winds in ear-piercing static. There was nobody here that would have heard him, sure. But he didn't want to break down this time, have Knight Industries haul him away from home again, while he was subdued by his inner horrors that nobody could extinguish.
They frowned upon him already as it were and he didn't want to release more rumors into the wild for the better of his friends. Have them circulate the mansion grounds, question his mental stability, and bite back whenever or however they pleased. Better to keep his "lips" sealed than suffer under the spotlight of able hands awaiting to take him apart bolt by bolt at the first sign of weakness. Serve themselves a slice of his humanity just to later poke it in the labs and watch him twist in agony while their pens clicked.
He would not allow to be taken as a pitiful lab rat or a victim of dissection. He wouldn't allow them the satisfaction of replicating his complex inner workings either because they didn't deserve to know who or what he'd become.
His turbine hissed as he approached a deep tide pool, the Trans Am slumping to a stop to observe the trapped inhabitants awaiting the steady approach of the tides.
In retrospect, he was like them just that his "tide" of release was far too distant to be a real outcome just yet.
He had many years left within him, give or take plenty of decades — Plenty of time to heal some way or another. Maybe…He could only suppose because his loss was great and the "injury" worse.
He watched small fish dart from one shadow to the next, unbothered by his visit. He came often but he figured the fish had no real knowledge of what he was. He wasn't an immediate threat nor did he plan to be, not like the children who he sometimes observed along these places scooping and poking anything that moved.
In turn, he was more reserved than to dip even a tire into these freshly plucked environments cut off temporarily from their lifeline.
For again, he was like them — and that truthful yet painful realization was worth the merit of respect.
He gazed past the shallow pools and to the distant clouds collecting on the horizon's edge. Watching them flake off to reveal the golden sun's expressionless gaze caught on something far more abroad…
'I should have said something.' He thought to himself. 'I should have insisted.'
He sighed, aware of the repercussions of allowing his mind to wander backward to things said and done on such a dreadful day. To everything that couldn't be redone, for lack of a better term. Nobody could have thought something would go wrong that day — nor that there would ever be a "last" day.
He internally winced. He wouldn't comply with the "what ifs". Nor fail to keep his already teetering mental capacity from plummeting downward and letting himself go amis.
He didn't need that as it were. He didn't need to be locked away to steal himself together as had happened shortly after his driver had disappeared into thin air.
Words of demise and tragedy came and went but no clear answer to the disappearance ever came. No clear evidence that was.
To the rest of the world, Michael Knight had never existed and to the few that knew better, he'd passed away under the long white locks of foam the waves caressed and brushed against the Stoney cliffs.
He hadn't given in so soon to that notion. The body had never been found, and his loyal vessel was never recovered. No mast, no chunks of hull…no significant traces of black "blood" (lubricant, oil) collected over the waves in luminescent rainbow strips.
He was hopeful the man had survived somehow and was fighting to return — He was hopeful that his hope alone could carry the man back to them.
And yet the far-out cries of reality often came and sent him into night terrors. Sent his processor head over heels into such a plight that talk of humanely euthanizing him had made it to the ears of his friends who would not allow him to be taken without a fight. However much the board insisted, it wasn't his suffering the board wanted to put an end to but rather their own.
— Because he was dangerous…uncontrollable…chaotic…and something else…but he could have cared less what else had been etched into a tidy paper meant for Devon's eyes only.
In the end, the foundation had been bent to give him a year of recuperation. Of "therapy"; had been the excuse. More like a grace period to give Michael enough time to paddle his way home from the edge of the world and then later scold him for his tardiness. Kitt knew he wanted to, but beyond that, he would be more than satisfied with the man's dramatic arrival (or lack thereof) and move on from there. So long as he came back…
Until then, there was no moving on.
There were no missions, no distractions.
Just "healing" that was far too little to be enough to mend his internal suffering.
He shifted over the sand and darted further away from the dark silhouettes, suddenly arriving at the far end of the extensive beach, watching and tracking his every move now.
They'd come to collect him, minimally reminding him to come home but tearing him away from the beach too soon would prove catastrophic, and taking him too late would allow his heart to pull toward the sea enough to break him. Sending his progression in "therapy" behind schedule.
He stopped for a moment before spinning a few times around the wet sand.
It would do him better to approach them now and be homebound before the last rays of the sun disappeared.
After Michael's supposed death, he'd developed an uncontrollable fear of the dark.
He attributed his fears to the nightmares forcing him to watch Michael drown in a sunless, airless place deep under the waves where he could not reach him. Where he could not help him.
The board and scientific branches of the foundation had taken an unlikely interest in these nightmares since the first restless nights that plagued the car.
It was unprecedented and of course, it took every nail and tooth in Bonnie to keep them from unfairly prying into him to find how these things came to be.
Everyone wanted to know how it was he'd become so complex. Everyone wanted to know if it was useful or not. Computers couldn't dream, so why could he? What would the effects be? So on and so forth such a catalog would go on…
For him, it was far more a curse than an extraordinary development.
A torment that had no means of an end…
Bonnie had tried to rid him of them the moment he'd begged her to erase them but the more she tried the less anything could be done about them.
So the foundation applied more "therapy" but even that would probably seem futile as now the progression of this approach was starting to cave in.
Little by little, he found himself slowly rolling toward the silhouette awaiting his return. Two of them were just greedily writing away on their paper pads, he took no mind of them. They were only here to document his behavior and whether or not there was a chance for him to finally emerge from the hazy mind he'd hopelessly found himself trapped in. The other silhouette was much more welcoming than these.
With his pinky extended toward the horizon with a cup in hand and another hand neatly tucked under the folds of his coat, the man gave him a faint smile.
The two had grown much closer these days, inexplicably so.
"How was the sea?" He asked through chattering teeth as though speaking down to an offspring of some sort.
"It was…" Kitt pressed his mind for words. Nothing seemed to escape, words were no longer easy to come by. Nor were conversations, jokes… anything of the like. Michael's disappearance had all but taken that with him — to his watery grave perhaps? He winced…a sharp ping of distorted data traveling up his cables and inflicting simulated needle-like jabs into his processor only he could register.
" — Fine." He settled with 'fine.' The one word he didn't have to beat the bush for.
"It is very lovely out," Devon commented, solemnly.
"Uh —" Kitt answered, meaning to agree. Meaning to add a simple rudimentary description about the kinds of fish he saw or the tapestry of clouds he saw parting ways with the sun — but none of that came out. Nothing ever did.
Devon nodded, giving Kitt a gentle pat on the hood.
"The tide pools are of great wonder to me, did you find anything of novelty?"
Kitt found himself internally relaxed, some tension bubbled up inside deflating momentarily.
Devon wasn't like the rest, if anything an extraordinary man of humble disposition. Somehow able to read what it was Kitt desired to share even though he lacked words or a voice at the moment. It made him excited to be understood, least enough to want to add in something even if it were one word.
"Yes." Kitt cheerfully replied, ignoring when the two meddlers came closer to jot down something additional along the margins of their papers.
Devon leaned back over his fender, peering quietly down at his dwindling cup of tea.
"A fine example of persistence and perseverance," Devon added. "Don't you agree?"
Kitt held his "figurative" tongue, taking in the comment and cautiously translating it into perspective. 'If Michael's out there he won't give up, for you. For me. You should too. Don't give up.'
"Yes." Kitt agreed, a shimmer of hope shining through his voice, pleasing Devon. Relieving the man that he'd said the right thing to the hurting computer. Kitt, however, knew it was silly of Devon to consider caution with his words because the man never failed (as they say) to hit his target.
"Shall we go home?" Devon finally asked, collecting himself and motioning up a dusted trail toward the mobile HQ where Bonnie would surely be musing over when they'd return.
"No." Kitt firmly replied, finding it hard to break himself free of the helpless wail of the sea. To the silent murmurs only he heard in memory.
Devon sighed, letting his shoulders sag, eventually a nervous hand finding its way to his tie and straightening it up.
"10 more minutes then." The man answered gingerly, zipping away his protests in Kitt's Favor.
Kitt would take that.
"Hmm — " He made an effort to find the right words. "Thank —" And that seemed to be all that would come out but Devon did not push for further explanation or gratitude. He took it as it came. Kitt after all was still "healing" even though there wasn't much of that to show anyway.
They stood again, silently watching the sky shift from color. The sun's gleam gently sank under the foamy spread of the waves.
Would Michael see this sunset? Was it possible it was his last? Or would the remains of his vessel just barely see it as it sunk to the depths?
Kitt pushed forward, emitting a deep howl from his engine bay as if calling from the waves for the man to emerge.
It was a sure sign for Devon to cut the evening outing short and encourage the hurting Trans Am to the mobile HQ before more damage could be inflicted. Kitt had no objections, it wouldn't look well for him to have another meltdown or an anxiety attack out in the open where it could be documented and flagged as little to no progress on his mental health's behalf. If that happened he would surely be dismissed for euthanization even if Devon pitched a good word or fumbled through his contacts. Nobody would be able to do anything — Perhaps Bonnie and RC would pull through with their plan of stealing him away into hiding but that was a stretch of highway Kitt had no intentions of crossing. The two of them would suffer repercussions and for what? For him to lose his mind anyway and perish eventually?
He'd come to believe that he needed to get well first before he could finally conclude it was time to move on, he did after all have somewhat of a year left to dwell and grieve. Considerable time, quite generous really — suspiciously so. He hadn't looked much into it, given he had lost interest in looking over mainframe files and documentation in general, but he figured Devon had pulled his trump card at best. However, it was clear it had cost him something. It was hard to tell what that might imply but Devon seemed un-bothered over said topic and more concerned that Kitt recovered some of the normalcy he'd lost after news of Michael's apparent loss came rounding the mansion in an ugly and tattered crown Victoria shining its blues and reds in the middle of the night.
He meant a lot to Devon, he'd come to understand, almost as though he were Devon's child. A son of sorts. Though Michael had probably been more a son than Kitt would ever be, so he presumed; it seemed Devon was ill bent proving the opposite, however.
The Trans Am welcomed it. He welcomed the company and the constant comfort the man provided, he'd never felt so alone in his life and yet somehow Devon knew just how to lessen the wound from that unexpected blow that had left Bonnie in shock for days. Perhaps her shock unintentionally aided Kitt's mental falling, eventually dawning on him and spiraling into madness that had left him temporarily unstable — then, by order of the board, he'd been rushed away and chained. His friends had no say.
He was dangerous…or so the countless piles of redundant paperwork said.
A chill ran up the car's frame as he gently pulled up the ramp with Devon leading him in with dear smiles and sweet encouragement.
The day he'd been taken, had been one of the worst; up there with falling into a pool of acid and virtually dying. Though perhaps being chained and left to face himself in a never-ending torment had proved to be likewise horrific and maybe worse…the acid had eventually subsided, taking with it his awareness. Here, or rather now…he was aware of the fact his mind was racking a storm and turning against itself as though inflicted with illness. And maybe he was…There were theories…rumors…talk of ill-fated outcomes he'd been encouraged to ignore…
He left that trail of thought floating…sink, reasonably. Switching his attention to Devon's comforting smile. The computer found in it promises of a better tomorrow. Something better to hold on to he figured, for his mental health's sake and all that implied…
It was inevitable that a computer of such high cognitive functions would develop such a thing: health — And absolutely fundamental it be cared for, but unlike anything he'd experienced before.
It involved more than just changing some power-packs or giving him a fine-tuning. It meant…well it meant more than he cared to list because it was complex and with no principal answer. And in a way he hated that…not knowing the "right" answer…or simply the idea of having too many options annoyed him…All he knew was he'd taken after Michael and that was finding someone to divulge his secrets to…worries and dreams…
The job had befallen Devon, naturally, but the man had seemed aware of this all along.
For one, he had promised he wouldn't allow for him to be taken away again. A huge promise. Something he hoped for the man's sake, he could keep without somehow inflicting harm on his mind. He couldn't wish that on anybody.
— But the dust was just about settling for the Trans Am. Still, an ominous giant loomed over him, registering his every "breath" and stroll he took about anywhere.
He knew the board was unhappy about him being unoccupied with missions, unoccupied with finding a replacement. They would return, that was a given but when they decided to do so he hoped he'd be in a better state to defend himself and stand up for change.
That or…Michael came back.
He settled into his spot on the back of the trailer, examining Bonnie's face for unsaid inquiries or concerns.
She seemed settled and calm. Her face showed no blemishes indicating recent distress nor did her vitals reveal anything worrying. So the evening, as it seemed, had progressed unbothered. A rare thing for him as of late but something else to add to his list of steady progress.
"Let's head home." He heard Bonnie smile as she gave him a gentle tap and looked to Devon for encouragement before giving the older man a playful shove.
"Yes," Kitt answered the best he could, struggling to sound cheerful and on cue. Not much the way he used to, however. A loss he didn't think he would recover quite soon.
Before Michael had gone missing he distinctly remembered being agile with his words but now…All a distant memory. As though the Knight 2000's able voice hadn't ever been real. Losing its remarkable beauty of rising from ashes — A phoenix. That "baptism by fire" talk he heard attached to Michael's newborn strengths when Wilton paraded the laboratory halls; all gone. Another phoenix that was inexplicably burning out…washed out by towering waves…
It seemed he'd stepped far off from the person he'd used to be. Trauma…A mixture of shock…is all that the scientist had said to him. Though he expected more to be hidden from view in their bright yellow filing folders than they cared to share. But he eventually lost interest in finding out anyway…What good would that do? Just adding a label to whatever he was experiencing…and he got the gist of what it probably meant.
He hoped it was temporary and he'd be himself in no time, but then again nothing would be the same without Michael, be that forever or not.
He braced himself as the semi-truck pushed forward somewhere outside, hauling the trailer with it.
He tried to fight off some panic as the ground shook and hummed under him. Ugly sensations traveling up his processor…memories of fiction coming from the night before, biting at him…drowning…drowning…
He tried to manage by settling in his processor, blacking out, and clearing his cache memory. An automatic defense. Flushing the inflicting world of nocturnal fiction out but that didn't seem to help all too much.
And then Devon's warm, rich voice came to his aid. Smoldering him in an audible hug.
The old gentleman took a seat at the driver's side of his warm hood, gentle and quick to give the hood a reassuring rub. Kitt's panic momentarily melted away and allowed him to enjoy Devon's company evermore again.
"We'll be home soon."
Kitt allowed hope to blossom and grow. Settle a seedling of happiness no matter how small.
He couldn't fathom how happy he was to once more relish hearing those words.