Happy Holidays, KR style
It had to be done. A Knight Rider fan fiction taglet for Christmas, based on the second season episode 'Silent Knight' (every series needs at least one Christmas episode!) Devon gets Argyle socks, but what did Kitt choose for Michael? I've always wondered. Only 1,000 odd words long, with 'lots of schmaltz', as Ed Harrison would say! (Unbeta'ed.)
For Vespurrs, Knight Rider fan extraordinaire.
Merry Christmas, Michael
“April, I need your help.”
April Curtis stopped typing and turned to face the Knight 2000. “Well, sure, Kitt,” she said, taking off her glasses. Any excuse to take a break from staring at a computer terminal was welcome. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong, but I’m afraid shopping is not one of my many capabilities,” Kitt told her, sounding rather sheepish. “This year will be my second Christmas, and I would like to share in the spirit of the season, if I can, and give gifts.”
“Why, Kitt, that’s a lovely idea!” April beamed, touched by the gesture. After a month of working with the advanced AI, Kitt’s humanity had ceased to surprise her. He was far more sensitive and thoughtful than a depressing percentage of the population, and his motives were always genuine. “Of course I’ll help you! What did you have in mind?”
“To tell you the truth, I don’t know. Michael ran off a list of items that he would not like to receive - men’s accessories, I believe he termed them - but didn’t suggest any alternatives.”
“It’s the thought that counts, Kitt,” she reassured him. “You could give him something that he might appreciate, like - oh -” April pouted, wracking her brains for an example, but the truth was that she didn’t really know Michael, or Devon Miles, or even Kitt, all that well yet. She shrugged. “Well, perhaps you’d be the best judge of that.”
“Not really, April. He seems to have an aversion to most of the practical gifts I was considering - aftershave, because he must get through a bottle a month, or socks in pairs that actually match.”
April giggled. “Sounds like you know him better than he knows himself, Kitt,” she said. “What can he have against socks?”
“Apparently, his family would always buy him the same gifts each year, presumably out of desperation,” Kitt explained. “He now claims to have a lifetime supply of cheap cologne and Argyle socks.”
“Well, I can sympathise with his folks - men are no fun to buy for,” she said. “What about Devon? Finding the right gift for someone is easier if you share the same tastes.”
“Do you think so?”
“Sure! What about music? Books? I know Devon likes to read a lot about history.”
Kitt processed this. “But how will I know what albums and books he already has in his collection?” he asked. “I doubt he would appreciate back-up copies.”
April smiled, shaking her head. “Want me to go on a scouting mission for you?” she asked, picking up her glasses. “I’m working in the office with Devon tomorrow, so I’ll do a little digging.”
“Digging?”
“A figure of speech, Kitt,” she said. “Don’t worry, he won’t suspect a thing.”
“Thank you, April,” Kitt said, “but that still leaves Michael.”
“Well, just remember that it’s the thought that counts, Kitt,” April told him. “I’m sure Michael will be happy just to know that you’re thinking of him.”
* * *
Michael shot another glance at Devon’s gift on the passenger seat. Kitt was watching him. Whenever they took a corner or changed speed, the neatly wrapped box shifted position, catching his attention. He knew what it contained - Argyle socks, struck from Michael’s own Christmas list - and why Kitt had chosen that item for Devon, but the unopened gift was obviously proving impossible to ignore.
Kitt knew what his partner was thinking.
“Thank you for picking up April’s gift for me, Michael,” he said to distract him. “Do you think she’ll like it?”
Michael looked up at Kitt’s voice box, and then his eyes slid back to the passenger seat. “Sure. Who helped you choose it?”
“Devon.”
“Devon?” Michael repeated, nonplussed. “You got Devon Miles to shop for April’s present?”
“Why not? I know that Bonnie liked the bracelet he bought for her birthday last year, on your behalf.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Michael muttered, flashing a wry grin at the dash. “So - April bought socks for Devon, because his ancestors are from Scotland, and Devon … ordered April a gift certificate from Radio Shack -”
“Michael!”
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he laughed. “But then who did double duty?”
Kitt blanked him. “I don’t understand.”
“Come on, Kitt, I know you wouldn’t leave me out,” Michael said, although Kitt thought he detected a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice. “You even asked me outright what I wanted!”
“And you told me how disappointed you always were with your family’s gifts, even though it’s supposed to be the thought that counts,” Kitt countered. “In the end, after consulting with April, I decided not to take the risk.”
For a second, the only sound in the car was the dull roar of the engine and the rush of road beneath the wheels. Michael was staring at the voice modulator above the steering column.
“You didn’t get me anything for Christmas?”
Kitt was about to point out that cars don’t usually buy gifts for their drivers when the expression on his partner’s face caused him to re-evaluate the situation. He quickly ran an analysis on Michael’s last response, and was alarmed by the level of genuine distress in his voice. Perhaps he had taken the joke too far.
“Nothing in a box with a ribbon on,” he clarified. “But as April explained to me, the best gifts don’t always have to cost the most money, or come in the biggest packaging.”
“True,” Michael agreed, semi-pacified.
“So I decided to get for you what I thought you would appreciate most - time off,” Kitt explained. “And Devon has consented: no cases, no errands, and no Foundation Christmas banquet, if you would still rather not attend.”
Michael was silent again, but the smile on his face was the only sign of appreciation that Kitt needed. “No Christmas banquet? No Duchess of Chipboard and Lady Moneybags?” The smile flourished into a beaming grin. “No rented tux?”
“Your time is your own,” Kitt confirmed. “And your wardrobe.”
“Until when?”
“The new year.”
“Thank you, Kitt,” Michael said, settling back into his seat. “I don’t know how you got around Devon, or what it cost to do this for me, but this is one gift I’ve been waiting all year for.” He patted the dash where it curved around the driver’s seat. “What do you want for Christmas, Kitt? Name it and it’s yours.”
“No car accessories, please,” he retorted. Michael laughed. “In fact, restoring Tino to the sensible care of his sister has shown me that the best gift to receive at Christmas can’t be bought or wrapped up, and we have a semblance of it right here. It’s family.”
“Happy Christmas, pal.”
“Merry Christmas, Michael.”