The Space Between

by elfin

 

 

He came to feeling like he had the worst hangover of his life.  His head was pounding, his throat parched, he was hot, too hot, sweat sticking his clothes to his skin.  There was something hard in his back and for a moment he was reminded of waking up one morning at the academy in a friend's bathtub.

Opening his eyes to see where he was he squeezed them closed again a moment later, the blazing, early-morning sun leaving a bright yellow flash on his retinas.  He opened his hands, carefully and slowly, and warm sand ran through his fingers. 

It all came flooding back.

Oh God.  What had he done? 

Shifting his shoulders, turning his head, he risked looking to see where he'd ended up.  The Passive Lazer Restraint System must have failed, he realised, and he was lying half-inside, half-outside the car which was on its side.  Could have been worse, Kitt could have been crushing him.  A hollow dread made itself known in the pit of his stomach at the thought of his partner, he felt along his leg and into the car, patting the leather inside the door.

"Kitt?  Kitt, are you all right?"  He knew he would never forget the ear-piecing sound of tearing, screaming metal as the sharp corner of the MBS-protected juggernaut had sliced into them, causing him to lose control, a collision between the back of the car and a huge wheel flipping them over, sending them into a heavy roll.  "Kitt?  Kitt, come on, Buddy.  Talk to me, huh?"

Nothing.  There was a possibility that the jolts had disconnected his voice modulator.  Could have disconnected any or all of his functions, his systems… components in his CPU. 

"It's my fault," he admitted to his partner, not knowing whether or not he could be heard.  "I over-matched us."  Reaching up, he stroked his hand over the warm glass roof.  "I over-matched you."  What the hell had he been thinking?  Just one of that monster's wheels was taller than Kitt and yet there had been no argument, no backing off.  He'd said they could take out a wheel if they angled it right and Kitt had taken his word for it, even though every system he had must have been telling him it was impossible.  He curled his fingers, as if he could claw a hold of his partner, hang on to him, keep him from slipping…"I'm sorry."  So sorry, Kitt.

"I'm afraid we zigged… when we should have zagged… Michael." 

Kitt!  He smiled, laughed, his first reaction one of utter relief.  "Hey!  You're all right, huh?"

A pause, and the joy fell from him.  No.  Kitt wasn't all right.  He could hear it in that voice he knew better than any other. 

"All right hardly seems appropriate, Michael."  Kitt sounded like he was drowning.  He had to do something constructive.  Kitt's systems were offline, and along with the damage being reported, Michael had to wonder about that which wasn't.  How much wasn't his partner telling him?

Mindful of his pounding head, the fire in his chest and the stabbing cramp in his legs, Michael gingerly wriggled out from the car and pulled himself upright.  Stepping around in front of the hood he could see the jagged rip along the upper side of the car, metal more precious than any other torn open by a stupid, stupid action taken by his over-inflated ego.  He was high on the idea that nothing on Earth could hurt him, not while he had Kitt.  He'd started to think of them as immortal.  Well they weren't; neither him not the unique AI entrusted to him. 

"Michael… you sound… terrible."

"Don't sound so hot yourself, Kitt."  He could hear the tears in his own voice and tried to swallow them.  The hood - that beautiful, smooth, shining hood he took so much pleasure in trailing fingertips over when he thought no one was watching - was dusty, crumpled, one light exposed by the disfigured metal like a popped eyeball. 

He ran his hand over that twisted mess - over that injury.  "I'm so sorry, Kitt."

Pulling the passenger side of the roof away, Michael grabbed the schematics from behind the seat and dropped back to the sand in the cool shade the car, rested on its side, was providing.  Something about that felt wrong - immoral somehow - but in Vietnam he'd quickly learnt to take advantage of any situation, no matter how horrific.

He was starting to wish he'd spent more time listening to what Bonnie had to say rather than admiring her more obvious attributes. 

"I've never felt like this before," Kitt stammered, and Michael twisted to look over his shoulder, at the disjointed red lights on the visual voice panel, "so vulnerable."  His heart cracked open.  "Do you think I could cease to exist?"  It broke.

"Kitt....  You're not gonna die.  I'm not gonna let you die." 

"You may not… have a choice…."

"NO!  You hold on.  I'll get us out of this, I promise."  He returned to the schematics, pouring over them until he thought he might know which one was for the basic engine and which was for the turbines.  Prising open the hood, silently apologising yet again, he stared at the ravaged engine.  The turbines were shattered, presumably by the first heavy impact with the MBS protected goliath they'd hit.  But as he looked between the blue-prints and what was left of the petrol V8, an utterly insane idea popped into his mind from absolutely nowhere. 

A ram-jet.  Something that absolutely, definitely wasn't supported by Kitt's exhaust system.  Sure, there was a good chance it would propel them out of the desert.  There was also just as good a chance that it would cause some permanent damage to parts not already broken by the collision.  Kitt agreed, in a voice filled with panic, but it was the only choice they had and once he'd started work, his partner kept the protests to a minimum, fragmented words fading eventually into the odd, isolated whimper which cut into him like razorblades.

The sun was dangerously high when he finally finished, and he clambered into the driver's seat of the up-turned car, glancing at the dark dash. 

"Kitt… I'm gonna apologise in advance.  If this hurts you… I'll make this up to you, I promise."

They moved, faster than he could ever remember travelling by land before, and almost completely out of control.  It was all he could do to hold the steering wheel straight against the force of the sand.   

"Can't we slow down?"  Kitt's voice was pleading, full of fear, but there was nothing he could do.  He had to get them home.  He had to get Kitt to safety and refuge.  His partner needed a garage and a technician far more than he needed a hospital and a doctor.  "Michael!"  More than fear this time.  Real terror.  Real pain.

"I'm sorry, Kitt… I'm so sorry."  He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes as tears made tracks in the sandy dust on his face. 

~

Relief didn't cut it.  Michael ran his hand over the jet-black fender, meaning it, fingers following the smooth lines, letting his partner feel him, feel what he couldn't express in words. 

"You're beautiful," he murmured, fingertips on the hood, once more shining, reflective perfection.

"Thank you, Michael."  That wonderful familiar voice was back, its soft lilt underlined with surprise and a little oh-so-human embarrassment. 

"And I'm sorry for what I did to you, to us.  I won't do it again."

"You will.  But it's all right."  He walked around the front of the car, hand following the curve, up to the slope of glass in the window as Kitt opened the driver's side door for him.  "For example, I very much doubt you'll be leaving Garth and Goliath to rampage through Red Bluff." 

One hand on the steering wheel, the other on the flawlessly repaired dash, Michael tried to think of a suitable answer and failed.  He knew Kitt was right.  Kitt was usually right.

"Kitt… just want you to know… life wouldn't be right without you." 

It could have been the first time since they'd met that he'd known his partner to be lost for words.

 


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