AN: Knight Rider and all related characters belong to Glen Larson and Universal. I'm just borrowing them for a bit.

Don't give up when you're all alone
You may fall but you can't let go
Don't give up
When you feel you can't take another night
Don't give up, make it all or nothing
Take it all if you just imagine
All the passion and love you have
It cannot be denied

And oh, just hold on to the dream inside
There are many more mountains in front of you
You need to climb
Oh, and all through of the darkest times
And through all of the danger
All the illusion
All the confusion you find
Don't give up

--Abraxas Pool

At the soft knock on his door, Devon glanced up from the letter he was writing. He flicked his gaze toward the digital clock perched on the desk: 11:43pm. Who on earth-?

"Come in."

To Devon's shock, Michael walked into the room, carefully shutting the door behind him. The lanky driver's long stride took him across the Turkish carpet to Devon's desk in just a few steps, and there he waited--like an errant schoolboy sent to the headmaster's office.

Oh, dear, thought Devon. What's happened now? With Michael there was no telling; massive amounts of property damage, a disgruntled boyfriend, a mad bomber, a jewel thief--it was all in a day's work for one Michael Knight, quasi-private investigator and FLAG employee.

"Devon, I...I need to talk to you about something." The normally cheerful voice was subdued; the laughing eyes were clouded with pain. Devon's confusion turned into genuine alarm, and he stood and moved around the desk to look into Michael's face.

"Michael, what's the matter?"

Michael was silent a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. Finally, he raised his head and fixed Devon with a sorrowful gaze. "Devon, I don't think I can do this anymore."

"What are you saying?" Devon frowned and laid a hand on Michael's arm as if to steady the younger man. "You want to leave the Foundation?"

Michael took a deep breath. "Yeah. I'm sorry, but...Devon, I just can't do it. Wilton was wrong; one man can't make a difference. Not by himself."

"But you have KITT--"

The tall ex-cop held up a hand to stop Devon's words in mid-sentence. "I know. And he's great. There's nothing wrong with him. It's me who's got the problem."

Devon sighed. "It's about Cassidy Johansen, isn't it? That's what this is about."

At the sound of the girl's name, Michael shut his eyes and turned away. "God, Devon--did you have to say it? She's all I've been thinking about for the past two weeks. I can't get her face out of my head; every time I close my eyes, there she is." His handsome features began to distort in anguish. "All I hear is her screaming my name, begging for me to--" His voice cracked. "...to save her." He let out a long, shaky breath. "I couldn't do it. I didn't get there in time, and now she's gone. Nineteen years old, and she's gone."

Devon's heart ached for the young man before him. A memory swept through the Englisman's mind: Garthe as a young boy, running to Wilton in tears over this or that disappointment. Wilton would kneel before the child, draw him into a comforting embrace, and let the boy sob out his frustration. Don't cry, son, he would say. Devon and I will make it right.

Devon sighed. Michael wasn't that boy, even if he wore that boy's face, and there was nothing Wilton could do now to make things right.

...Or was there something?

"Michael," said Devon, a sudden flare of hope giving intensity to his words, "there's something I need to show you. Wilton knew this day would come, and he prepared accordingly."

The young driver raised his head, heedless of the tears that tumbled down his cheeks. "What do you mean, he knew?"

Devon allowed himself a small smile. "Wilton was always thinking. He never claimed to be psychic, but he was always leaps and bounds ahead of everyone. He truly was a visionary." Devon gestured to the small sitting area. "Here, I'll show you."

Michael wiped his tears and did as he was bade, drying his hands on his blue jeans as he sat. Devon went to the wall safe behind the tapestry, opened the safe and withdrew a fat envelope. He gave the envelope to Michael, who gaped at seeing his own name written on the outside.

"Aren't you going to open it?" Devon prompted gently. "As you can see, it's addressed to you."

Michael turned his attention back to the envelope, and after a minute, carefully tore it open. Reaching inside, he pulled out a videotape. The black case was unlabeled, but a note was taped to the outside. Michael peeled off the note and handed the videotape to Devon.

As Michael scanned the few words Wilton had penned the day before his death a year earlier, Devon turned on the small television and loaded the tape into the machine. The screen was snowy for a moment, and then the picture cleared to reveal Wilton Knight, sitting in the chair beside the fireplace in the very room where they now sat.

"Hello, Michael--and hello, Devon, since you're probably watching this too." He smiled, and tears sprang to Devon's eyes at the sight of his friend.

"Hello, Wilton," Devon whispered.

"Michael, I gave specific instructions as to the timing of when you would view this tape," Wilton continued. "If you ever attempted to resign from your position, I wanted Devon to play this tape for you before you made your decision. If, after hearing what I have to say, you decide to leave the Foundation, I understand. This is not an easy task I assigned to you, and many capable men would have given up long before you ever would.

"However, you must understand that I chose you for this job--you specifically. I thought of offering the job to you as Michael Long, but the events of that night presented me with some options I hadn't thought of previously." Wilton stopped to clear his throat, and sipped from a glass of water on the table before him. "It turned out that I was able to kill at least three birds with one stone: Give KITT his body, by virtue of commandeering your Trans Am; get a partner for the AI that my company developed; and save the life of a man who deserved a second chance.

"So. Since this tape was only to be played in this particular circumstance, I can guess that something has happened that has tried you, beaten you, and hurt you badly enough that you want to just turn your back and walk away." Wilton leaned forward, his gaze sharpening. "Don't give up, Michael. You've got that fire inside of you that so many lack. So many people go through their lives never realizing their true potential. So many give up before they can even begin to make a difference. I'm telling you that you've got to keep fighting. Keep going, even when it looks like you're not making headway, because you are. People see what you do, even when you're not successful, and that gives people hope." He turned away, trying to quell a coughing fit, and took up the water glass with shaking hands. He swallowed painfully a few times, then put the glass back on the table.

"I don't have much time," he said softly. "I don't know how much of this I will be able to tell you in person, so that's why I made this tape for you. Don't let the world get you down, Michael. It's a dark place, and I brought you here to be a ray of light. Keep that light shining, Michael. Don't give up."

The picture winked out into snow once more. Slowly, Devon reached over and shut the machine off.

Michael sat silent for a moment, and then looked up at Devon. "The old guy knew how to give a pep talk, didn't he?"

Devon smiled. "He was a realist, but an optimist as well. He believed in hard work, but he had great faith in people's potential." He lowered his gaze to the carpet. "There were times when he seemed to run roughshod over people, but that was because he didn't want them to underestimate themselves. He could push too hard, but it was always with good intentions."

"Yeah." Michael stood and drew a long, white envelope out of the inner pocket of his jacket. "I guess you can tear this up."

Devon took the white envelope, but didn't open it. "Your letter of resignation?"

Michael nodded. "I don't think I'll be needing it."

With a grin, Devon clapped Michael on the shoulder. "Welcome back."

A familiar voice broke over the intercom speakers. "Hear, hear."

Michael laughed. "KITT, were you listening in this whole time?"

"Of course. I couldn't let you get away that easily. If Wilton Knight's entreaty didn't work, then I was going to add my two cents."

"Well, it'd be worth a lot more than that, buddy," Michael replied. "I'll see you in a bit."

"Promise?"

"That's a promise." The line clicked softly, and Michael glanced at Devon. "Thanks for showing me that. I'm okay now." He sighed and walked toward the door. "Cassidy's gone, and I can't help her...but maybe I can help someone like her. And this time, I'll be there."

Devon watched him go, then reached down and plucked the tape from the machine. "Well done, my friend," he murmured, slipping the tape back into the envelope. "Well done."

--END--