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Absinthe	By : prairiecrow Category: G through L > Knight Rider Views: 1144 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Knight Rider or any of its characters, and I certainly don't make any money from it.

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He'd first experienced absinthe's kiss in German-occupied France during World War II, while working undercover as a knife thrower in a circus. The bottle of emerald spirits had been produced with a flourish by the lion tamer, provoking squeals of delight and a rush to pass around the small elegant glasses and ornate sugar spoons which were such an essential part of the ritual. Devon had watched in fascination as cold water was poured over the cubes, turning the clear liquid cloudy and diluting it considerably; he'd heard rumours, of course, of absinthe's power to induce hallucinations and even madness, but his instructors in the art of espionage had assured him that such myths had no basis in reality. Therefore when he was offered a glass of his own he'd consented to drink, and had been pleasantly surprised by the smooth fire of it coursing down his throat, redolent of black licorice and a lingering floral sweetness.
The aftereffects had been swift and equally startling: he knew how to handle alcohol and the manifestations of ordinary intoxication, but the Green Fairy induced an entirely different state of mind — not a muddling but a sharpening, clarity rather than confusion. Every sense became enhanced to a degree that would have been painful if he hadn't felt so calmly serene — they even mingled to the point where he was breathing the musical cadences of Emilia's voice, hearing the alluring ruby of her lips and feeling the scent of her hair like velvet against his skin. Making love to her had been an experience unlike anything he'd previously dared to imagine, a sweetness intense almost beyond endurance, and in the aftermath he'd lain in the pool of their shared warmth thinking: My God, this is what love is, and I've never known until this instant!
Of course it didn't last. The Fairy's gifts vanished with the setting of the moon, leaving him smitten — but equally convinced that like all finer things, such transcendence was to be best enjoyed in moderation. For the next twenty-six years he had enjoyed one glass of absinthe a year, usually on the evening of his birthday, until he'd come to America with Wilton Knight and obtaining the drink had become legally impossible.
Still, the memories lingered, and he found that gazing into the clear inhuman intensity of KITT's eyes brought them back in a way that made his heart ache with regrets both old and new. This too was intoxicating in a way that made him feel sharper, clearer, infinitely more alive — this too was an experience that had come to him unbidden — and this too was equally forbidden by duty, and compassion, and the cruel laws of time that had separated them by almost exactly sixty years.
Or was it closer to thirty now? It didn't matter. He was too old to even consider playing that sort of game, especially with someone who needed him to serve as a wise and kindly mentor, not to engage in a foolhardy attempt to resurrect the bold and dashing young lover he'd been nearly four decades ago. That was Michael Knight's role now, if he'd wanted to take it up…
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… which he did not. Devon was sure of it. He'd seen Michael holding KITT close, comforting him after his initial rescue and during numerous rough patches since, giving the AI hugs and dazzling smiles of encouragement every step of the way, and while there was a tremendous depth of love there on both sides he could detect no trace of sexual passion.
He was ashamed to admit, even in the privacy of his own lonely bed in the darkest hours of the night, that he rejoiced in that conspicuous absence of feeling.
Shame and hopelessness notwithstanding, he still couldn't manage to deny it — nor the rekindled fire that smouldered in his flesh, from what should have been sedate and sober ashes.
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A rare overnight chill, and in the morning, a world of pristine white. Devon stood at his office window with a cup of hot tea, watching Bonnie and Michael and KITT play in the thin layer of snow. Michael had just pegged KITT in the back with a snowball, and was discovering to his sorrow that KITT was no mean marksman himself.
The sound of carefree laughter drifting up to his lonely keep made Devon smile indulgently. He had plenty of work to do, but the sight of KITT's joy was too powerful an incentive to resist. After all, the poor child had had so little of that since learning what human emotions really meant, and even if he was not the cause of that happiness Devon could certainly take comfort in its existence.
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Days turned into weeks, and the mystery of exactly what Peter DeVries had done to transpose himself with the most advanced artificial intelligence on the planet remained. The car itself was still missing, not even leaving a signal from its homing beacon behind: the Board was livid, but Devon managed to entirely shield KITT and the rest of the team from their extremely vocal displeasure —
— until the night when Jason Ridgeway, one of the outside directors, drove up to the estate and bluffed his way in by claiming that Devon had summoned him, then managed to find the robotics lab where Bonnie and KITT were trying to figure out how to return the AI to his original body if it was ever recovered. The first Devon heard of the whole affair was an urgent call from KITT's senior tech, who told him (over background noise which suggested that Michael Knight and Ridgeway were about to tear each other's throats out) that the Board member had stormed into the lab demanding to know what the hell was going on, then practically jumped down KITT's throat when the AI tried to give him an explanation. Later he would learn that if Michael hadn't arrived at that precise instant Bonnie would have leaped to the attack herself, but KITT's driver had beaten her to the punch and given her enough breathing space to place the call.
Devon easily beat his own previous best time for the journey from his office to the robotics lab, and burst in to find Ridgeway carrying on a spirited shouting match with both Bonnie and Michael, who were standing side by side between him and KITT. The AI, whose back was to the doorway, stood watching the altercation from about ten feet away with stiffened spine and clenched fists; when Devon came up beside him he could see that DeVries' body was physically trembling, every muscle taut, his sharp-featured face pale with either fear or rage — quite possibly both.
He spoke KITT"s name gently and barely got a twitch in his direction as a response: KITT was utterly focussed on the combatants, his slender frame undoubtedly awash in adrenaline and cortisol. Devon took hold of his shoulders and kindly but firmly put him further back, then stepped in front of the smaller man and squared his own shoulders before striding into the fray, uttering a demanding roar that refocussed Ridgeway's attention instantly and made his bellicose face redden even more. Within thirty seconds the flush had faded to deadly white, and thirty seconds after that he was in full retreat, covering his withdrawal with threats that the Board would "hear about this" — a serious prospect, considering that Devon had been deftly avoiding providing them with too much information on the KITT project's current state of affairs.
But he had other, more pressing concerns in the minute or so after Ridgeway's departure: with the immediate threat sent packing, the team had immediately turned their attention to KITT, who was still staring with eyes that showed white all the way around the irises. They got him into a chair and wrapped him (still trembling, still wide-eyed) in a blanket, but it wasn't until Bonnie tried to hand him a cup of hot chocolate that his frozen expression finally crumbled into a shattered wreck of emotions: grief, terror, anguish, all of the above. He covered his face with his hands and started to sob brokenly, each breath hitching painfully in his slim throat.
As Michael went down on one knee beside him and stroked his hair and drew him into his arms, gently hushing him, Bonnie turned back toward Devon with a grim expression and a piece of whispered intelligence: "Ridgeway called him a useless piece of failed technology. He told him we'd all be better off if he hadn't survived the transfer."
Devon's heart sank and began to burn: no attack could have been calculated to strike more deeply at KITT's insecurities. Schooling his own expression to calm sympathy, he went to KITT"s other side and reached down to lay a firm hand on the AI's shaking shoulder. It was all that propriety would permit under the circumstances. But when he got back to his office he picked up his telephone and immediately set the wheels in motion to repay Ridgeway for his contemptible attack on a guiltless target in suitable coin.
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All that night the memory of the haunted expression in KITT's eyes refused to let him sleep. He ended up standing at his bedroom window with a glass of brandy in one hand, staring out at the cold starry sky and wondering repeatedly, uselessly, if there was anything more he dared to do.
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Two months later Ridgeway was off the Board: he'd done their dirty work for them, but he hadn't been prepared for the degree of clout that Devon was capable of wielding when he chose to call in several high-level favours from the upper echelons of Knight Industries.
That, however, was a happy development destined for the future. The present was desperately dark in contrast — and when they finally recovered the car, it was only fated to fall into even deeper shade.
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Absinthe