Thanks to Tomy for beta reading and sharing my insanity.
Note: This was a response to a challenge to write a scene starting with ‘It was a dark and stormy night’ and ending with ‘And it was all a dream.’ Tongue is firmly in cheek.
It was a dark and stormy night and Michael Knight couldn’t sleep. He was in bed, trying to recover from a nasty set of injuries he had received in the course of his last case. The bruised ribs were healing, but the broken collarbone was still painful and he couldn’t sleep sitting up, no matter how many pillows they piled under him. He should have stuck to his guns about sleeping in Kitt, but Devon and Dr. Alpert had insisted that he stay in bed. Not used to this much inactivity, Michael was going stir crazy. He needed to get out. And soon.
Michael stared at the alarm clock. 5:30. AM. He’d been watching the red block numbers all night long. Other than that and listening to the rain against his window, there was little to keep his mind occupied.
Finally he decided he’d had enough. At least Devon and the good doctor were probably sleeping and he could get away with a little stroll. Too bad it was raining. Michael carefully pulled himself out of bed, his chest and collarbone protesting vigorously. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants one handed and rummaged through the closet until he found a button down flannel shirt. He gingerly threw it over his shoulders and ventured out into the hallway.
He had to pass Devon’s office, but, as he suspected, the light was out. The tile that made up the hall floor was cold on Michael's bare feet. He wished he could go outside, but anything was better than sitting in that bed.
Michael opened the door to the garage and fumbled around for the light switch. The high overhead fluorescents cackled to life and Michael blinked in surprise. In front of him sat his beloved partner of 5 years, looking pristine and beautiful, except that he was purple. Purple?! Michael shook his head to clear his vision and tried again. Yep, still purple. The striking black Trans Am that housed his partner, was definitely purple. And there was a gaudy white racing stripe running down the middle of the hood.
“Michael, you’re up. It’s so nice to see you. I would have come visit you, but it’s a bit hard to get up the stairs.”
“Kitt, ahhhh,” Michael floundered, “you’re purple.”
“Yes, don’t you love it? Purple is sooo my color. I had Bonnie repaint me earlier in the week. I thought it would be a nice surprise when you were feeling better.”
“It’s certainly a surprise.” Michael’s face just couldn’t recover a normal expression. “But, I thought you always loved basic black?”
“It was fine for its time, but really, Michael, black just doesn’t hint at my superior capabilities. A car of my intellect and talents should be bright and flashy, don’t you think? I decided that black was way too ordinary.”
Michael stared at his partner. “We kind of wanted it that way, remember. We keep the bad guys off guard by not drawing too much attention to ourselves.”
“Well, really, Michael. As if you don’t draw attention to yourself all the time. That hair? Those jeans? Come on. I decided that you shouldn’t get to be the only one to show off. And I hope you aren’t saying you don’t like my new style. I sat through hours of spray painting and detailing for this. The least you could do is complement me.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “It looks fine, Kitt.”
“Fine? Is that all you can say?”
“Kitt, come on,” Michael said, frustration evident in his voice. “I’ve been in bed for five days with a broken collar bone. I get up to come visit you and all I get is grief. You look good. I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
Kitt harrumphed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Thank you, Michael.”
Michael was relieved when Bonnie rushed into the garage. He was hoping she would bring his partner back down to Earth, but she looked frenzied, like she had way too much to do.
“Hi Michael. Good to see you up and around again,” she said.
“Thanks. I’m a little surprised by Kitt’s new coloring though.”
“Why?” Bonnie asked, a little too seriously for Michael’s tastes.
“Ahh, I wasn’t expecting it?” he ventured carefully.
“He said I looked ‘fine,’ Bonnie. Can you believe that?” Kitt said from his parking space, clearly indignant.
“Michael, it took a lot of courage for him to decide to change color after all these years. You could have at least been supportive. Besides, he can’t exactly wear black to my wedding, now can he?” Bonnie asked while waving a bizarre looking diagnostic wand over Kitt’s scanner.
Again, Michael was at a loss for words. And amidst all the confusion, a twinge of jealousy poked its head up. “What?”
“The wedding. If he’s going to be the ring bearer, I really don’t want him in black. It’s morbid. And purple will go nicely with the bridesmaid’s dresses.”
“Bonnie. . . when did you get engaged?”
She perched her hands on her hips. “I know you’ve been out of it, but I would have at least expected you to remember that much.” She stared at his blank expression. “Last weekend?!” she answered. “I supposed you’ve forgotten that the ceremony is next Saturday, too?”
Michael swallowed nervously. “And . . . who are you marrying?” he asked, sheepishly.
He thought she was going to throw the wand at him. “That is NOT funny, Michael.” Bonnie slammed down her equipment and left the garage in a huff.
Michael turned his attention back to Kitt, but he wasn’t finding much sympathy there. “Oh, Mary! I can’t believe you asked that. A little sensitivity, Michael. It’s not that hard.”
Oh, Mary?! Michael thought. That did not sound like Kitt at all. In fact this was all insane. He was starting to wonder if the pain medication had fried his brain.
“Michael, Devon’s calling,” Kitt said, popping open the driver’s side door for him.
Great, Michael thought. Now he was going to get in trouble for getting out of bed. He was starting to think that he should have stayed there. He gingerly sat down in the familiar bucket seat and watched as Devon’s face appeared on the video monitor.
“Ahh, Michael. Good to see you up and about,” Devon said, from behind his mahogany desk.
“It is?” Michael asked. He was beyond being shocked.
“Yes, of course. I have a new case for you and Kitt. You do remember Marvin Braggs, don’t you?”
“Devon, my collarbone hasn’t healed yet.”
“Well, you seem to be up and around. It can’t be causing you too much trouble,” Devon said, arching an eyebrow.
“Devon, yesterday, you wouldn’t let me out of bed. Today you’re sending me out on a case?!”
“Five days should be a long enough holiday, wouldn’t you say?”
“No,” Michael said emphatically. “Devon, it wasn’t a holiday. I was injured. I AM injured. I can’t go after Braggs with a broken collarbone. He’s a martial arts specialist.”
“Really, Michael, anything for a vacation. Sometimes you’re shameless,” Devon said, rearranging some papers on his desk.
Michael was too angry to speak.
Finally, Devon sighed dramatically. “Very well, you win. Talk to your contact, Martha Simon. Kitt has her address. After that, you can have the rest of the day off.”
“Thank you,” Michael said somewhat sarcastically, unable to believe he was having this conversation. Not too long ago, he had been dying to get out of bed, now he wanted nothing more than to be back there. He couldn’t believe Devon would send him out in his current condition. He’d never pushed Michael like this before – normally it was Michael pushing himself.
He put the car in gear, but let Kitt drive – he was in no mood to himself. Instead he stared out at the road, trying to make sense of what had happened today. Michael still couldn’t get used to the view over Kitt’s hood. The purple was startling in the way it caught and held his attention. It just didn't look right. And that racing stripe was truly hideous.
They passed by a neighborhood park where children were playing on the slides, yelling, and running. At least the rest of the world was still normal. It made him smile, and reminded him of something else.
“So, who is Bonnie marrying?” he asked.
“You should know that, Michael.”
“Well, obviously I don’t.”
“Think about it. I’m sure it will come to you.”
“Kitt!”
“Michael, I’m not going to grace a question like that with an answer. Figure it out yourself.”
Michael set his jaw and resisted the urge to press every button on the dash just to irritate his partner. He was slowly grinding his teeth together, waiting for his frustration to pass. Kitt had never been this petulant before. He idly wondered if there was something toxic in that purple paint.
They passed a set of houses and then a park where there were kids playing on a slide. That caught Michael’s attention. He looked around and realized they were back to the same park they had passed fifteen minutes ago. “Kitt, where are we going?”
“To meet with Martha Simon.”
“But we’ve been this way before. It looks like we’re going in circles.”
“Why would we be doing that?”
“I don’t know, Kitt. You tell me. You’re driving.
“Fine. If you must know, do you see that little red Ferrari that just turned left down the side street up ahead?”
Michael turned slowly, mindful of his injured upper body. “Yeah, so.”
“Isn’t it a hot little number? I mean, check out the spoiler on that car. Mmmm-mmm.”
“KITT!! We’re on a case!”
“That’s never stopped you before. I don’t see why you can gawk and chase after women and I can’t do the same with hot cars.”
Michael couldn’t believe his ears. Kitt had never expressed any sort of sexual attraction for anyone, much less another car.
“Fine. I’m driving.” Michael stabbed the manual button above the gullwing steering wheel. There was a pause and for a brief, infuriating second, Michael thought that Kitt was going to override him. But then the button lit up and Michael put his good hand on the wheel. He stepped on the accelerator only to be reminded that he was still barefoot -- the pedal was cold and hard. He made an awkward U-turn and headed back towards the main road.
“You could have at least let me find out where the Ferrari was from,” Kitt grumbled.
Michael rolled his eyes, afraid to let himself answer. This was the day from hell and the sooner they talked to Martha Simon, the sooner he could go home and curl up back in bed.
The landscape of the city slowly faded away to reveal the craggy, barren hills of the high desert. Kitt plotted a map with the most direct route and displayed it on his video monitor before retreating to the quiet of his CPU. Michael had turned on the radio, hoping it would discourage further conversation with his partner. He had never felt this way about Kitt before. He normally loved spending time with him. It was starting to remind him of the time that Marco Bario had taken control of his personality. He decided that he should have Bonnie look Kitt over when they got back -- assuming she would still talk to him.
They came to a junction and Michael turned onto a dirt road leading back into the mountains. The road was wash-boarded, causing the car to skid and bounce.
“This sand is probably ruining my new paint job,” Kitt groused.
“You have the MBS. Nothing can ruin your paint job.”
“Well, I’m getting dirty.”
They crested a hill, and Michael was shocked to see a sprawling compound, complete with barbed wire, guard towers, and missile batteries. “What in the hell?! Kitt, we were supposed to be meeting with a contact. What is this?!”
“This is where our contact is. Didn’t Devon mention that we have to free her from Bragg’s hideout first?”
“No. He forgot that tidbit of information. Why didn’t you mention it?”
“I assumed you knew.”
“Kitt, I’m in no condition to go storming a compound.”
“I don't see why not. I’m doing most of the work anyway.”
Michael took three deep calming breaths. There was no point in fighting this. They were here. He tried to make his voice sound neutral. “Right. Okay. Plot me a course to avoid the missile batteries.”
“That will take us through a minefield.”
“Mines are better than missiles.”
“Easy for you to say,” Kitt mumbled.
“Kitt, just plot me the course,” Michael said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.
A highlighted, symbolic map appeared on the video monitor. Michael wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible. He stepped down on the accelerator, cursing his lack of shoes, and roared down the side of the hill, toward the minefield. As they smashed through the outer gate of the compound, a whole host of sirens squawked to life, repeating in an endless blare.
Then the machine guns started.
Michael banked hard to the left and barely missed a mine as it exploded just behind them. The back of the car shook and bumped loudly.
“Michael, be careful.”
Michael jerked the gullwing back to the right and they just missed another mine. It threw up a nasty spray of dust and sand.
“We could still get out of the mine field and approach by way of the missile batteries instead,” Kitt said, pointedly.
“We are not going to take on the missiles, Kitt. That doesn’t make any sense. We’re already halfway through the mine field.”
“I disagree.”
“I don’t care.”
The auto light flashed and Michael stabbed the manual button again. “Don’t you override me!!” Michael shouted.
“You’re screwing up. And I’m the one who’s going to get damaged!” Kitt yelled back.
“I am not!! Why would you want to take on the missiles?”
“Because then we only have one threat. Right now we are facing mines and machine guns.”
“Kitt, the guns are NOT an issue. They can’t penetrate the MBS.”
“But have you seen the scorch marks they’re leaving?!” Kitt cried shrilly. “Look out!!!”
The car few over a bump and veered off course, causing another mine to explode next to it.
“THAT’S IT!!!” Kitt cried.
The T-top above Michael slid back menacingly and the light under the left eject button illuminated.
“Kitt, nooooooooooooooooooo!” Michael’s ‘o’ rose in pitch as the thrust of air under his seat kicked him up through the open T-top and he flew tens of feet above the car. He could hear the air rushing by his ears, the roar of the machine guns on top of the compound, and the ever-repeating wail of the sirens.
The world seemed to slow down. Michael had time to look around him as he stopped accelerating upward and started sinking back towards the ground. Idly, Michael wondered if he was going to land on a mine or if the machine guns would get him first. He watched with horror as the sandy ground got closer and closer. He sucked in a last breath of air and wondered what the hell had gone wrong, just before he felt the lowest part of his body make contact with the earth.
Michael’s eyes flew open and desperately scanned the darkness around him. He couldn't shake the sensation of hitting the ground and he could still hear the sirens. In a panic, Michael wondered what had happened. Then he realized that the sirens were really his alarm clock. It was 6 AM. Michael's head flopped back down onto the pillows and he sighed. It was all a dream.