A/N: Thanks to Gumnut and Sara for offering advice and approval in equal measures!

Outside on the forecourt she paused, listening to the soft silence of evening. The absence of activity was so different from the days leading up to the completion of the Knight 2000, barely six months earlier. Wilton Knight had suddenly started piling on the pressure, demanding more from his engineers and programmers, insisting that the car needed to be ready within the month, the week, the next forty-eight hours. Bonnie had known about Michael, the cop fighting for his life in Wilton Knight's mansion, and how he fitted into the project they were all working flat out to finish, but lacked even a spare second to speculate about him. She had been entirely focused on Kitt, connecting him to the car, helping him to adjust, programming him to take orders from a stranger who might not even survive. Michael Knight had been nothing but a name to her then, and only a sub-routine to Kitt.

Now –

Bonnie turned. There was no mistaking the shrill whirring of Kitt's turbine engine, which was getting louder and nearer. She suddenly wanted to run or hide, but the higher pitch of the turbine was soon accompanied by the bass growl of the exhaust and there was no time to escape. Bright headlights bounced around the corner, taking the curve up from the drive with too much power, so that Michael – she knew who was driving – had to compensate sharply with the brakes. Kitt's tyres made a chirruping sound on the concrete as he rolled to a stop in front of the garage.

"Do you have to drive like that?" she demanded when the driver's door opened.

Michael Knight unfolded himself from the car, rising up to his full height. He smiled down on her and she took a step back, taking in his damp hair and the clothes he was wearing.

"What's the point in owning a car like this without having a little fun?" he grinned. "Besides, Kitt and I like driving like that."

Bonnie shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "The watch is on the bench in there," she sighed. "I'll see you both tomorrow."

He caught her arm. "Doctor Barstow – Bonnie –"

"What?"

Michael peered into her face, those bright blue eyes of his shielded from the glare of the security light by long, dark lashes. Bonnie looked away, but he held onto her.

"Come on," he said finally, steering her by her elbow towards the car. "We're going for a ride."

"Michael, I can't just –"

She started dragging her feet like a child, but he got behind her and pushed her along, his hand on the small of her back.

"Michael, what on earth are you doing?" Kitt asked.

"Introducing myself," he told the computer.

Bonnie folded her legs and dropped onto the driver's seat in time to save her head from connecting with the MBS of Kitt's frame. Once inside, she kept her feet firmly on the ground, glaring up at Michael. "Are you nuts?" she hissed.

"We need to get past this, Bonnie," he explained patiently, leaning on the window to block her escape. "We're supposed to be working together."

"Do I have a choice in the matter?"

"You're in the driver's seat, Doctor Barstow," he said, indicating her location with the open palm of his hand. "What are you worried about? Kitt's here, after all."

Bonnie turned her head slightly towards the dashboard. "All right," she said. "Let's get this over with. Where do you want to go?"

"Where do you usually go?" Michael asked.

She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"Oh come on," he challenged her. "You built this car. Are you trying to tell me that you've never been behind the wheel?"

"I didn't build the car," she told him with more confidence. "Wilton Knight's team of engineers designed and constructed the Knight 2000 before I started working here."

Michael shook his head. "That's not what I asked."

"Fine," Bonnie said, swinging her feet inside. "Since we're all working together now, let's go." She reached for the door. "Are you ready?"

He smiled at her and gave Kitt's t-top a friendly pat. Bonnie slammed the driver's door shut about an inch away from his fingers. She had to adjust the seat manually, sliding forward until her feet rested comfortably on the pedals. When she glanced up, he was watching her through the windshield, unsure whether to step in front of the car.

"What does he think I'm going to do, run him down?" she muttered to Kitt.

"Or leave him behind," the AI put forward.

They watched Michael skirt quickly around the sculpted prow of the car, the red beam of the scanner sweeping over his legs, and hurry towards the passenger side.

"Thanks for waiting," he laughed, slipping into the empty seat.

She was closely aware of him sitting beside her, his knees pressed up against the dashboard, one hand holding onto the curve of the instrument panel ergonomically designed to accommodate his tall frame. Heat seemed to be rolling from his bare arms, and in the small space of Kitt's interior she could smell whatever shower gel or shampoo he used.

The car was facing in the wrong direction, but Bonnie executed the neatest three point turn of her life, and without Kitt's help, to show Michael that the Knight 2000 could be driven sensibly.

She turned to check the rear window before backing towards the garage, and caught him watching her hands on the wheel. "Afraid I'll damage your car, Mr Knight?"

He smiled again, that infuriatingly friendly, encouraging smile that no one could be offended by.

"No, I was just thinking how well you handle the controls," he told her. "Guess this isn't your first time in that seat after all."

"I didn't build the car, Michael," she said, shifting into drive," but I spent every day and night for six months working inside and underneath it, and I know every engine part and circuit board and the wires and relays that connect them."

Michael held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I wasn't questioning your ability, Bonnie," he calmed her. "I know what you must have put into this car, and why it matters so much to you."

"I put Kitt into this car," she said, lifting her foot off the brake pedal. "That's why it matters."

The Knight 2000 surged forward, leaving Bonnie struggling to turn in time. She felt the wheel shift in her hands, aware that Kitt was helping her steer right towards the driveway, and glanced at the man in the passenger seat. Michael was focused almost pointedly on the high beams of the headlights, not paying any attention to her driving. Bonnie wanted to kick herself; she knew she could handle the Knight 2000 better than this. Tracing the same path that Kitt had taken barely half an hour previously, Bonnie settled back, wrapping her fingers around the controls, and concentrated on operating the safest, strongest car in the world.

Human interaction confounded Kitt. He was programmed to work with Michael Knight, executing and even anticipating the commands of his driver, and of course Bonnie had written that code, but their behaviour towards each other defied logic. Michael was trying to gain her compliance by route of kidnap and interrogation, while in return Bonnie aimed to teach his partner a lesson, driving the car with empirical precision. Stuck in the middle of this battle of wills, Kitt found himself reduced to the level of a captive witness, neglected yet observant. He was learning a lot from the experience.

The Knight 2000 merged seamlessly with the late evening traffic on the Pasadena Freeway, darting in and out of the narrow lanes with a high-speed confidence that Bonnie normally lacked. Kitt studied her face in the flickering artificial light and shadow of the freeway at night, reading the set line of her lips and the way her eyes were locked on the windshield. Only occasionally did she shoot a quick look to her right.

Michael was also watching the road, mapping the lane ahead and checking on the other cars around them. He belonged behind the wheel, and was uneasy in the passenger seat.

"What was it like, working with Wilton Knight?" he asked her.

"I have no idea," Bonnie returned, glancing at him. "You probably saw more of him than I did."

He said nothing for a minute, studying her profile, then looked away. "I was out of action for three months, remember? The first time I saw the old man was when the bandages came off, and by then he was pretty sick himself."

"I'm sorry," Bonnie said quietly. "I remember, but that doesn't mean I knew him any better than you did. He hired me to do a job, that's all."

She returned her attention to the road, leaving the freeway to join the 101. The dashboard before her was alive with indicator lights and status displays, all designed for the instruction of the driver, but Kitt knew that Bonnie trusted him to control the car. At all times, he was aware of the speed limit and when to go faster, how much traction to apply on the roads in wet and dry conditions, when to switch on his lights and wipers, not to mention finding the quickest route to any destination plotted into his navigational system.

He knew where Bonnie was taking them because the directions were stored in his memory banks, but her choice of location was yet another example of the fuzzy logic employed by humans. Kitt didn't understand her motivation, but he would follow her judgement.

"Why did Wilton pick you?" Michael asked, gazing out of the side window at the city lights. He kept checking the signs and lane markers as they flashed by, but didn't ask her the obvious question.

"Why did he pick a woman, do you mean?"

Michael rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit, will you?"

"But isn't that what you thought, when you saw me in Devon's office?" she challenged him. "You didn't see a technician, or a scientist, you saw a woman."

"Yes, I saw a very attractive woman in white coveralls," he admitted, "but I also heard Devon introduce you as Doctor Bonnie Barstow. Why can't you be both?"

Bonnie said nothing. She turned her head to check the side mirror, and Kitt was ready for her to signal and move into the slow lane, but instead they continued onward at the same speed.

"Bonnie, the exit for Beverly Hills is coming up," he warned her.

"Damn it," she muttered, throwing the car across two lanes of traffic.

In the passenger seat, Michael braced himself against the dashboard. "Where the hell are we going in such a hurry?" he called out to her over the squeal of protesting tires.

"We're going home," Bonnie announced. "Back to the start of one man's dream."

Hidden from sight and still heavily guarded, Wilton Knight's mansion estate continued to protect the old man's secrecy after his death. The Knight 2000 swept up into the canyons above the city, headlights flashing past the iron gates and high walls of sprawling, secure properties set miles apart from their neighbours. Michael took in his surroundings with quiet unease, remembering his recent stay in these hills.

"Did Knight have a family?"

"There's an ex-wife and a daughter, I think," Bonnie told him, "but the house is empty, and anyway, that's not where we're going."

When they reached the gateway to Knight's grounds, she slowed and turned onto the broad sidewalk, nosing the car up to a guard post. There was an intercom, card reader and biometric scanner on the hi-tech security panel next to the driver's door, but Bonnie didn't even wind down the window.

"All right, Kitt, let us in," she told the computer.

Michael watched the red pulse of Kitt's scanner trail back and forth over the ornate railings, and then the gates started to swing open. He turned to Bonnie, who was waiting for a wide enough gap to drive through, and noticed the green glow of a digital readout on the panel telling them to 'ENTER'.

"That's one hell of an electric gate opener," he laughed.

"I have full access to the security system, Michael," Kitt informed him. "Bonnie, I have sent a message to the guardhouse telling them to expect us," he added.

"Thanks, Kitt," she said. "OK, Michael?"

"I don't know," he answered truthfully. "This place is like a mausoleum – the old man is dead, the house is shut up. There's nothing here for us anymore, except memories."

Bonnie guided the car along the driveway, triggering motion sensors on lights hidden amongst the greenery. "History, not memories," she corrected him. "This is where Kitt came online, in Wilton Knight's private research facility."

Michael recalled the old man coming to his room, checking on the patient. He used to stand at his bedside, leaning heavily on his walking cane, and talk to him about the past and the future. Apprised of Michael's condition by the medical staff, Knight would then cross slowly to the French windows and move out onto the balcony. If Devon was with him, the two would talk in hushed tones about the status of the 'project'. When Michael was back on his feet, curiosity had drawn him to the balcony, to see what they saw and guess about the 'project' they were working on. Almost directly behind the mansion, dominating the view, stood an immense structure like an aircraft hangar. The larger access bays stayed closed while Michael watched, but Knight Industries technicians in hardhats and white overalls were continually milling in and out of a smaller access door. Perhaps Bonnie had been one of them. Answered with more questions, Michael had set out on his first covert investigation since Wilton Knight rescued him from the Nevada desert, and broken into the mysterious complex. What he found inside was beyond his wildest expectations.

A red light focused on him in the dark.

His old car, or so he had thought, waiting for a driver.

The Knight Industries Two Thousand, and a new life for Michael Knight.

Bonnie circled around the mansion, now an empty shell with blank windows, and headed towards the utilitarian garage structure behind. When they passed the stone staircase leading up to the terrace, Michael's eyes were drawn to the house while his thoughts turned to the recent past. He remembered running until his muscles burned and he could barely breathe, running in circles that always brought him back to the same place because there was nowhere else to go. And he remembered Wilton Knight, watching him from the steps with a pair of binoculars, monitoring his progress.

"I must have covered every path on this estate, trying to get back in shape," he said. "All the way around the perimeter and back to the house, every day for two weeks. I nearly killed myself."

Bonnie stopped the car, switching off the engine. "I know the feeling," she told him.

Michael turned to face her. He had been staring blankly through the side window, lost in his thoughts, but the tone of her words brought him back. She spoke openly, treating him like an ally if not a friend. "What do you mean?"

"Wilton Knight was pushing my team to work harder and faster, too," she explained, looking past Michael to the floodlit wall of the garage beyond. "We had to be ready when you were." Her eyes met his. "I guess we were all feeling the burn, in one way or another."

"Bonnie –" He was afraid to tell her the truth, but found he couldn't lie to her either. "I wasn't training, I was running away. When I got strong enough to fight, I was going to leave this place and never look back."

The sharp look of disbelief, of disgust, on her face hurt Michael more than if she had screamed or hit out at him. "Strong enough to fight who?" she asked instead, the edge back in her voice.

"Strong enough to fight for myself," he told her.

"What about us?" she demanded, then added, "What about the man who saved your life?"

Michael shook his head. "I know," he sighed. The underside of the dashboard was starting to bite into his raised knees, and there was nothing for him to focus on or occupy his hands. He glanced over at the muted lights of Kitt's displays. "I'm not proud of how I treated the old man, but he got what he wanted in the end – me and Kitt."

"'Got what he wanted'?" Bonnie echoed. She was gripping the wheel with such force that her hand was trembling. "You have no idea what 'the old man' wanted, Michael."

Michael said nothing, waiting to hear what she had to say. He had forced her into this corner, and if he backed down now, they would always be at odds. Plus he had no intention of walking back to the Foundation.

"Michael, when Kitt was in development, we hardly ever saw Wilton Knight in the labs or the garage," she told him. "He was only interested in keeping you alive."

"I was an investment," he shrugged, "a project, just like Kitt. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for everything he did for me, but he saved my life for a reason."

"And I programmed Kitt to protect your life, Michael," Bonnie said. "Wilton Knight gave you more than a second chance. I can't believe you wanted to throw all that away."

He stared at her, trying to figure out her mood. "You know, for someone who was only 'hired to do a job', Bonnie, the old man and his dream obviously mean a hell of a lot to you." They faced each other in tense silence for a second. "Are you jealous, or something?" Michael asked, not unkindly.

"Of you?" Bonnie said, smiling for the first time that evening. "No, Mr Knight, I am not jealous of you." She settled back into her seat. "You're good at what you do, and so am I – that's why we're here."

"So what's the problem?"

"Wilton Knight fought for you, Michael," she told him, frowning at the dashboard. "He could have found another driver, and reprogrammed Kitt to work with a different partner, but instead he spent time he didn't have on keeping you alive."

"You sound like that's a bad thing," he joked, trying to bring that lovely smile back to her face.

"No, I'm glad he was there for you," she said, looking at him. "Your life was the key to his dream, but he genuinely cared, Michael. Nothing else mattered – the car, the technology. Kitt." Her eyes turned back to the dashboard, and the silent intelligence lurking beyond. "Devon Miles kept Wilton up to date, but the whole project depended on the survival of one man. So if you want to accuse anyone of selfish motives, start with me – I wanted you to live so that Knight Industries would continue to fund Kitt's development."

Her confession caught Michael by surprise. He knew how she felt about him – calling him names, criticizing his driving, and keeping her distance – but he had put her hostile attitude down to professional pride. Now he wasn't so sure. Kitt inspired trust and friendship in people, but the bond between technician and computer was obviously a lot stronger, and went far deeper, than Michael was able to grasp.

"I'm not accusing anyone," he told her. "My motives for staying on are not exactly blameless, either. I wanted revenge, Bonnie. I wanted to make Tanya Walker pay, and that's why Wilton Knight picked me to fight his battles. Using his name, and his money – and his car – was the fastest way to clear my debt to him."

"So you used each other," she noted derisively. "Why are you still here?"

"A lot of reasons, some more honourable than others," he hedged. "In the end, I got a lot more out of this deal than payback, including a good friend." Michael nodded at Kitt's voice modulator. "So I guess I owe you too, Doctor Barstow."

Bonnie studied him. "You don't owe me anything."

"Yes, I do," he smiled. "I owe you for all the work you do, that I don't begin to understand but already rely on," Michael explained, spreading his arms to take in the car's interior. "For Kitt."

He covered her hand with his. "Thank you, Bonnie."

She let his fingers rest over hers for a second, and then slipped her hand free. Michael watched her press the power button, activating the sequence of lights above the voice panel. He could feel the engine rumbling through the car's frame, and wanted to feel that power at his fingertips.

"Do you want to trade places?" Bonnie asked him with a smile.

Michael eyed the steering yoke. "No, that's OK," he decided.

"May I suggest a compromise?" Kitt interposed. The drive mode display below his voice modulator switched from 'Normal' to 'Auto' with a resolved beep. "Allow me."