What Keeps You Up at Night

A Matter of PoV

 Bonnie's POV

There are secret passageways contained in the corridors of Dr. Barstow's heart. Places where memories become tangled, rip open gashes in flesh, and hemorrhage without hope of fully healing. Not even the sum total of her mathematical equations or numerous conjured-up inventions could flush them out entirely. Instead, they lurk, preying relentlessly upon her mind till sleep becomes far from her.

Instead of wasting time laying fruitlessly in bed, she rises and steals away the garage to put her restless mind to good use. Bonnie's work must have taken on a volume that exceeded her expectations because the next thing she knew, there was a figure hovering over her. She'd know that lanky shadow anywhere.

"You're up late," comes a cordial greeting to her poodle-permed co-worker. Her turquoise orbs behold him with traces of concern flooding their concentric confines. He appears fine and so she turns back to her work. "Everything okay?" She questions.

Turquoise orbs flit downwards at his genuine inquiry and her lower-lip is drawn inward, resting between her teeth. There are a thousand different ways in which her reply could be rendered and twice as many lies that could traverse passed her lips. Bonnie is keenly aware that he can read her far better than anyone else that walked this earth save for her sister.

Bonnie polished a stainless steel veneer over feelings and memories and then buried them so deep it would take a backhoe to uncover them. She took pride in having armor that was virtually impenetrable. Or it was until Michael and his empathetic spirit came along. The truth is owed to him. He asked an honest question and deserved a genuine answer in return.

A huff is slowly expelled from her mouth as she sorts her thoughts. "The things I can not change but wish I could." She pauses long enough to check her work before returning her gaze to him and standing. There were so many times that one split-second of a reaction could have changed a case's entire outcome.

"And the fears that one day..." It's difficult not to choke out the rest of the revelation because it tortures her, "I might not be able to save you or KITT." She's carried that chip on her shoulder for so long that its imprint feels indelible. Close calls were happening with alarming frequency, at least in her opinion. With the speaking of that thought alone, came the recollection how it felt to discover his battered frame in the twisted wreckage. How her heart nearly drowned in the shadows of despair at the first glimpse shot at the mangled mess only to discover him slumped over in his seat. She could even vividly recall the tidal wave of relief that washed down every vertebra in her spine when his beautiful long lashes flickered open revealing his splendid eyes. Losing Michael Knight would have been the equivalent of a slow, quiet suffocation the likes of which, are often suffered by uprooted flowers. She doesn't ever want to feel that way again! With a little luck, she prayed, she'd never have to.

Determining she did not want to dwell on that thought any longer, she turns the tables on him. "What about you, Michael?" Her gaze is leveled on him now. "What keeps you up at night?" 

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Michael's POV

For most silence is craveable, worth more than its own weight in gold. However, for Michael Knight, the quiet is intrusive. An invading force that extends its wicked tendrils into corners of his life he'd prefer to leave undisturbed. He had enough personal demons plaguing him without reawakening those wicked wraiths left to slumber in the wakes of the past.

Stirring, walking, and working forced those unsettling spirits to remain cast out to bay where they belonged. Observant azure orbs behold Wilton's garage, taking note of the thermal pools of light exuding from within. Michael pauses outside the industrial doors, his fingers clasped around the solid steel handle. Dare he interlope on the work being done within? Would Bonnie be receptive to the encroachment on her territory at this hour? Or should he travel onwards like the wayfaring soldier he was? Warring deliberation is evident upon his striking face though it rests in the realms of darkness. The unyielding urge to investigate eventually wins over.