~A Verdict in Time~

"Get in here fast, we need your help!" He shouted into the comlink. The fragrance of fresh cardboard tickling his nostrils the more he ran threatened to overwhelm him. His feet pounding below him as he tried desperately to pull a much meek and terrified Marty along.

They ran headlong down the warehouse aisle, reaching a junction.

He wasn't surprised to see another forklift bearing down on them. They were outnumbered and completely surrounded after all. Treading enemy territory.

Yanking Marty next to him and giving him a hard shove into a narrow corridor between two large shelves, he couldn't help and feared the man wouldn't make it on his own. He didn't exactly give off confidence. If anything he was uncontrollably shaking and muttering something under his breath as he gave Michael a worrisome glance as though begging him to follow.

Michael paid him no mind, running out of options as the forklift drew closer. They could not keep this up any longer, not when Gil's men were bent on possibly pinning them both to a wall for "decorative" use.

Just as a forklift loomed over him, Michael attempted to dart further down the junction. Leaving Marty to his own devices in the narrow passage.

All the while, Michael's heart pounded vigorously in his chest. He made a quick double-take of the situation, fighting to keep traction on the cold slippery concrete floors. He should have thought better than to bring such dross shoes. He wouldn't make enough progress in time to put a reasonable space between him and the vicious forklift driver who probably wouldn't care if Michael got crushed or not.

Having nowhere to go and with the forklifts closing in on him, he chose to take his chances and climb up a pile of tall boxes. It was a long shot but better than giving himself up to the enemy.

Raising himself over the edge, and standing upright to make a new stand of the situation he hopelessly balanced on his heels as the pile began to ascend.

The main honcho, Gil Casey's had finally caught up to him and for all purposes was intent on Michael's demise. A wildfire burned in his gaze threatening to devour Michael and Marty into its flames.

The boxes teetered and shook but Michael kept his footing. His jaw clenched as the smooth hydraulics of the forklift extended upward.

He watched the ground rear away from him. A fall from here would be devastating, and he had no intention of meeting up with the additional repercussions awaiting him down below.

The boxes kept rising, and with it, Michael's heart pounded in his ears even more. He could hardly hear his thoughts. His face burned hot with sweat.

His eyes met briefly with Gil's.

Victory seemed to pull at the corners of his mouth, his eyes pinning Michael hard. The man holding onto a stoic expression. Examining his features thoughtfully …probably what he thought would be the last time he'd set eyes on this intruder alive…visions of dumping Michael into the harbor for quick disposal flashed before him.

— But Michael knew better, well if the Trans Am would hurry up already!

He reached for his com. Squeezing his wrist anxiously as the boxes continued to elevate higher and higher. The anxious buzz of luminescent light fixtures rang in his ears as he was drawn closer upward. The teetering was getting slightly worse.

"K - Kitt." He gasped, having trouble catching his breath. And if the car had been apprehended? Or could structural interference be affecting their communications?

He grasped his wrist harder, taking a moment to gasp for another breath of air. Examining his surroundings over the whirr of machinery down below. His body aching from the sudden exertion.

"Kitt — Get in here buddy, I need ya." He finally managed, hoping the Trans Am wouldn't be too far. He was counting with his very being that the automobile would pull through – but what was the holdup? Had Kitt fallen ill from micro-jamming the power? Had he been completely overpowered by his intoxication and roaming the ally like a drunk? Could computers even get drunk?

Perhaps it'd been a mistake at all to allow Kitt to microjam the place. Bonnie hadn't mentioned anything about whether or not it would be dangerous for the user: Kitt. Or that there would be any drawbacks of any kind. Clearly, she'd overlooked that possibility.

He racked his brain remembering how Kitt had sounded last he'd divulged in the intoxicated sensation of electricity — what if Kitt had run a fuse? Fried himself to death out there?

Michael's heart sank as no sweet voice came from the comlink — no cheerful answer of help being on the way. And if the computer had simply died?

He knew in the past when he'd been Long, he'd been responsible for intoxicated friends from a rough trip to the bar once or twice. He'd never let them out of sight during these "babysitting" hours but nothing of major consequences had ever occurred. Should he have done something similar with Kitt? Shouldn't he have waited out the intoxicating effects of micro-jamming before proceeding with his plan?

The silence prolonged itself and the boxes continued to rise, the man finding all his weight collecting at his heels as the boxes began to lean backward. The stack would soon topple from instability and he had nowhere else to seek better shelter. He could always scramble up the mountains of boxes looming behind him but once somebody retrieved a gun all would be lost. He'd be out in the open, an easy kill.

The hair at the back of his neck stood on ends as metal scraped onto steel. A loud bang vibrated in his skull over the loud growl of an engine shouting overhead.

A frenzy built up on the far wall. Shouts and footfalls followed the grumble of the hurried engine, echoing off the warehouse ceiling.

Michael suppressed a smile leaping off the boxes just as they began to give in and tumble downward. He landed on his stomach on the nearest shelf, bracing himself with both hands instinctively as the shelf vibrated violently. He groaned a little, attempting uselessly to regather a helpful breath of air. It had all been punched right out of him.

He suppressed a sneeze while dust filled his nostrils. Instead, he unintentionally inhaled it through his mouth, swallowing dust bunnies scratching at the back of his throat. When was the last time anybody had come up here to clean?

Even with his achy throat and scorching thoughts, he managed to stand upright and begin his assent off the shelves.

Gil seemed too occupied with the stack of boxes collapsing over his forklift to take note of Michael's new approach, providing a small window of time for Michael's escape.

Just in time too, as Kitt came crashing from under shelves of boxes. Dragging a few before inevitably running them over. A burst of glass and plastic jetted out of a few. Other boxes were far fortunate, briskly pushed aside as he rushed forward.

The squeal of tires overtook the warehouse. Making Gil do a run for it, the Trans Am was ready to slam into the forklift as he approached in a determined side sweep.

Michael winced as his arms gave a complaint, finding his way down. His feet found it hard to seek cracks or big enough footholds as he scrambled downward. He sliced his palm against the smooth paper edges of a few boxes, and his fingers tingled as he pushed his weight around as he descended.

Not the best "rock" climbing experience he'd had by a long shot.

He finally touched the ground and didn't hesitate to dart toward Kitt, flinging the driver door wide open.

"What took you so long?!" He shouted, clearly distressed but more so content to see the car was still okay. He settled in the seat, closing the door.

"I came as quickly as I could." Kitt addressed his complaint politely.

The man nodded faintly, deciding he'd breach the subject of intoxication after they'd left the warehouse in the dust. There was no sign of Marty. There was hope then, that the frail man had made it out somehow.

Suspecting a comment from Kitt…

"Kitt, Marty is gone. Let's get out of here." He muttered as he floored the accelerator, rushing Kitt backward from where he'd come from. The steel panels of what had previously been a garage door scraped the t-top as they hurried back through its gaping hole.

They hurried through the evening sky.

Michael kept his tongue pinned on the roof of his mouth while gaining space between him and his assailants.

"What took you so long?!" He found himself shouting again, while the car jerked and bounced off uneven alley roads.

"There were complications regarding my arrival," Kitt responded frankly, keeping his air of confidence tightly placed.

"Which were?"

"I required a quick clear out of my entire system to reach appropriate functionality due to unforeseen error," Kitt informed him helpfully.

"So…" Michael thought of the implications, his mind helpfully painting a picture. "You —? What happened?" He dared. Surely this had to do with the intoxication somehow right? Or could a computer just suppress it and move on?

A silence settled over them briefly just as the last rays of faint gold slumped behind a huge building.

"We can discuss this further in Bonnie's presence," Kitt remarked meekly, as the car bounced upward before jerking down a narrow trek of street.

Michael held his tongue but decided to just let it loose.

"Kitt, you got a hangover that fast?" He asked, ignoring the previous comment. It must've felt awful he figured, actually he was surprised Kitt wasn't being so miserable right now. Or demanding to be taken home for repairs.

Kitt kept quiet, the glow of the dash keeping steady. He masked his embarrassment as he gazed thoughtfully at Michael. But the man knew better and was able to pick up on a subtle tic from the dash indicating the car was least holding onto some sort of trouble.

"I do believe some fine-tuning of the micro jammer is in order." Kitt agreed, finally. "Regarding your inquiry, however…"

"What did you — did you 'throw up'? Blew a few fuses? Just balked at the wall?" Michael impatiently mused.

"Computers don't develop hangovers, Michael." Kitt cut in hastily. Eager to change the subject. "My system is up to 100%"

" — But you can get intoxicated?" He asked with a flick of his wrist, unable to buy Kitt's complete account of what had occurred. The computer kept silent, and for a moment Michael was worried Kitt had shut down or something. "Pal, you alright?" He added as the dash grew dim.

"Yes," Kitt answered, plainly.

As he saw it, there were two ways he could go about this. Persist and get the full story or brush it off — Or wait, for…?

A little tinge of jealousy slipped into Michael's stomach.

He pulled the car over, settling along a deserted curb. Satisfied with the distance between them and Gil's place. If Marty had escaped, he was probably long gone. He wouldn't worry about it just yet. He needed to attend to the car first…

"So, you're not gonna tell me, now? But the second we arrive at the Mobile you're going to spill your heart out to Bonnie?" He stammered somewhat upset…though he didn't really understand completely why. These things hadn't bothered him much in the past. He'd always assumed he didn't mind Kitt sharing his concerns with Bonnie — He usually wasn't present anyway and they usually discussed his overall unruly nature, so why bother? He'd never win —

Kitt was silent for a moment before his voice modulator lit up in panic.

"Michael, this isn't a priority." The computer rattled off in a rush. His voice significantly lowered as though apologetically.

It caught Michael off guard. Why was he even insisting on knowing what had happened? Kitt had arrived, albeit late but had arrived and period. End of discussion. Move on.

Bonnie would find out the rest…but that didn't sit right with him. Not now…why?

— Why was he being pushy about this? Why did he really want to know? In the past Kitt had received a few scapes or two and the computer often wouldn't divulge the full embarrassing discomfort until they got home. Michael wouldn't complain then.

What made this any different?

Why did he have to know now?

"Michael?"

Michael blinked. Furrowing his brows in confusion as his eyes met with the modulator once more, having been gazing outside preoccupied with his thoughts.

Where did this issue stand then? It was the first time…he'd realized…that Bonnie's "unruly" (because she really wasn't) judgment had come back to severely bite Kitt! Was that it? Was it really the first time he found himself blaming her mistakes for "hurting" his…car?

— Partner.

His mouth shuddered in worry.

— His partner..

He placed a ready hand on the shifter.

But hadn't he hurt Kitt enough times too?

Back in the warehouse, he'd feared losing Kitt. He clearly remembered feeling worried about what state the car might be in, given what he'd last said. 'Stay sober!'

He rarely feared Kitt getting severely hurt. Kitt was invulnerable! Or…was he really? He was always getting hurt but it usually wasn't too bad. Was it?

The man swallowed, trying to face a slight fear growing in his gut.

He was growing attached…much more…far more…way more. Was he ready? To actually accept a new partner?

"Michael, your vitals are worrying. Should we visit —?"

"What happened out there?" Michael crossed his arms. No matter how hard, he needed to know — So he'd be better suited to protect Kitt. They were partners, right? So he couldn't let Kitt just kill himself off accidentally to one of Bonnie's most recent additions to the car while he was away. "Is the micro jammer faulty?" He asked gravely. "Did it hurt you?"

It definitely caught Kitt off guard. Michael wasn't entirely the grave type, definitely not like this. Was this an interrogation? — Kitt had never been in the center of an interrogation before, especially by Michael, had he done something wrong?

"My system was simply overloaded, it was very pleasant at first, and then — I'm not sure what happened," Kitt confessed. "All I registered was hearing you after my systems restarted,— and I left to find you," Kitt added.

"You blacked out?" Michael asked in concern. Would there be permanent damage? "How do you feel?"

"Computers don't black out, Michael." Kitt insisted quite thoughtfully.

" — but they freeze." Michael sighed. "And you were intoxicated, wouldn't that have been why?"

Kitt regarded this for a moment.

"I still insist, but I do agree that the microjammer will need further calibration," Kitt reported helpfully.

Michael eyed the dash with a teasing smile.

"Were you drunk or not?"

"Course not!" Kitt burst out, somewhat annoyed with the topic. "I wasn't."

" — but you were "intoxicated" from all that electricity." Michael pointed out, gently brushing some dust off the dash while he gazed expectantly at Kitt for rebuttal. Surprisingly…Kitt agreed.

"Yes, I was," Kitt answered with some pleasure.

"Then you were drunk, and you're not microjamming anything until we get that fixed. Understand? I'm not letting you become an electro-holic. Got it?" Michael sermoned the car.

The outburst caught Kitt off guard. Was Michael worried about him becoming an addict? Actually, why was Michael severely worried about him anyway? Didn't they need to find Marty about now?

"Michael, is everything alright?" The computer asked, somewhat confused. Why was Michael rather insistent over his "health" all of a sudden? Wasn't it Kitt's job to worry about the man's health and not the other way around?

"So long as you're okay pal, I'll be fine." Michael let out a breath of relief, finally gunning the engine and heading off toward the city. They had to find Marty and fast. " —- But we're partners and we gotta care for each other. Don't know what I'd do without you."

Kitt internally smiled. Feeling a little giddy about this revelation. Was his driver starting to open up?