Work Text:
Devon had been quite upset that Bonnie was so keen on staying at the apartment after the murder had come to light. In some ways it made sense, why stay in an apartment that had so many bad memories? Why stay where she was unsure of herself?
The same question was why she needed distance from the Knight Foundation. She needed space, to think, to breathe, to consider her next step. It was her choice. He didn’t push after their conversation but she could see how his eyes examined the bags under hers – hear the strain in her voice. Bonnie was tired of it all. Tired of the nightmares, tired of the Foundation getting its claws into her work. Tired of the strange guilt of watching Michael –resurrected and sent out again and again with KITT– only for them both to limp back to their broken home to lick their wounds. And have her fix them up to send them back out into danger.
So Bonnie left.
The apartment slowly became more like a home. Her effects scattered about in what one could describe as on purpose or fashionable – if they only had half working eyes. She was an engineer, so order came in the form of controlled chaos. Only her tools were organized by job, size, and color on what in most places would be a dining table. Hers was littered with fine tweezers, a wrench and oil stained cloth, and magnified glasses for the intricate work of creating a mind from metal.
The more personal belongings she owned were in her room, which was still incredibly spartan. Her degrees, some books, an old blanket, and her clothes still half unpacked. Her apartment walls were blank and sounds echoed eerily sometimes, but she was still settling in. There was a postcard Michael had insisted was KITT's idea on her fridge. Next to it was a shopping list in Michael’s messy scrawl as well, from the last time she dropped by to play house and check up on Bonnie.
Michael Knight had gasped at the state of her fridge as all 6'4 of her gangly frame squeezed into Bonnie’s tiny kitchen and rummaged through her barren shelves. She was so upset by her pantry that she called KITT on her watch as a witness. KITT was kind enough to side with Bonnie for a moment before Michael went on a tirade and uttered an aggressive “okay pal!” into her wrist.
So sue her! She'd gotten busy and hadn't been shopping in a week! Bonnie had heavier things weighing on her mind, and didn’t need Michael swaggering in, oozing saccharine charm and worrying about her with her voice all low and quiet. Genuine concern coming from Michael rankled her, and she wished the older woman didn’t get under her skin so much. Still, it was a sight to see her back in her apartment. Michael had nearly smacked her head as she emerged from the fridge and part of her almost wished she would.
She appeared alien in Bonnie’s apartment, bringing too much movement and life into her empty, haunted space. Out of place and on her nerves, Michael would only temporarily be cowed by her expression. Bonnie had gotten annoyed at her latest escapades and how damaged she'd gotten KITT on the Foundation's business. Then she had the nerve to look hurt and started whining about how she'd done his best. Bonnie fixed her with a look when she had set her hands on her hips and glared back at her for all of two seconds before she turned tail and scampered off back into the kitchen.
KITT’s voice carried from Michael’s watch, but all Bonnie could make out was “-a tactical retreat, yes, of course, Michael.”
There had been a quiet cacophony of noise from the tiny galley kitchen and the whispered mutterings of scheming going on, but Bonnie was too tired to investigate or play host to the spectacle that was Michael Knight. She had made her comments and left sometime after Bonnie resettled at the table and gotten busy with her work.
The apartment had quieted again and Bonnie tried not to hate herself for hating it.
She failed then, and she failed at not hating herself for the joy she felt when Michael returned with her arms full of brown paper bags overflowing with groceries. Bonnie hadn’t been able to react beyond a startled look as Michael stumbled in like a wounded gazelle with a wild look in her eyes. Her hair was wild and the lines on her face crinkled as she beamed at Bonnie. Some inane one-liner was on her lips and Bonnie’s only saving grace was that the bottom of the bags were giving out so Michael had to flee into the kitchen instead of delivering it. And Bonnie hated that she missed the sound of her voice.
It wouldn't do to dwell on it. Michael was a stray cat coming to her for attention and affection in the form of their spats while Bonnie patched up her or KITT. Lanky, scarred, and overly friendly, one might think she didn’t know any better, but Michael was fiercely loyal once she decided you were worth her time.
That thought caused a tightness in Bonnie’s chest and she decided to ignore it and get back to her latest project. It was still one that benefited Michael, but at least she could turn her thoughts toward KITT instead. She lost herself in her work quickly enough at her table-turned-workstation when she was once again interrupted by Michael.
Bonnie had noticed her swagger in with something in her hands out of the corner of her eye, but ignored her. She knew to wait or ignore Michael. If she needed something, she’d make it known – one way or another. Then, proving Bonnie right, in typical Michael Knight fashion, she cleared her throat and waited for Bonnie’s response as she looked all too pleased with herself. It was only then that Bonnie realized she smelled something delicious and that her stomach realized too and roared its anger at her ignorance of her own needs.
Michael just stood there, grin on her face, hip cocked to the side, and a kitchen towel over her shoulder as plates of food steamed in his hands. Her hair was haloed by the fluorescents on the ceiling and her eyes crinkled as her smile broadened. The tightness returned and Bonnie’s throat had to remember how words worked.
“What?”
“What do you mean ‘what?’ You're a rocket scientist, can't you put it together?” Michael sauntered closer with the plates. Bonnie could tell the towel on her shoulder was new. How much had she gotten at the store?
Bonnie had glared up at her and the smug bastard had just continued grinning with only the tiniest crack in her cool facade. She set the food down a polite distance from Bonnie’s work and straddled the chair opposite her in the most inelegant way. It was like watching a deer slide on ice and not fall, but only barely. Her focus shifted when she aggressively stabbed at the food, breaking her reverie.
“I didn't have any sausage.” She said intelligently as she stared down at the food. Bonnie didn't have the energy or mental processing power to pick at her.
“You didn't have any milk, eggs, or bread either, but me and KITT fixed that.” Michael shook her head as she talked. Grinning at her, egging her on. The same song and dance they would play at the Foundation’s workshop except now in the sterile fluorescent of her half-empty apartment. An apartment that was warmed by the mere thought of Michael stopping by to crash on the couch.
A smile nearly formed on Bonnie’s face, but she tamped down the urge. “I’m not a rocket scientist. I’m an engineer.”
“Apologies.” Michael responded, in what was a terrible impression of KITT’s accent. “I do hope breakfast for dinner is suitable for you as an engineer. Us regular folks eat at 24 hour diners and miss the grease sometimes.”
At the mention of grease, Bonnie remembered to wipe her hands on a rag on the table before she grabbed the cutlery. The food was good, she thought. She was not impressed. It was just a nice, if overblown gesture for Michael to make eggs, sausage, pancakes, and hashbrowns.
“You got a lil–” Michael reached for her, and to both of their surprise, Bonnie let her.
Let her warm fingertips wipe the smudge of grease off her cheek, right below her eye. Let the small moment pass with a lingering touch that felt like a brand.
“Thank you.” Bonnie said, much too quietly.
Michael sat back and grinned again. She never seemed to stop smiling when Bonnie was looking at her. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Both of them hungrier than they realized. The sun had long since set. Bonnie eyed Michael’s bag by the door, sitting there like a dog unsure if it was welcome. She cleared her throat and sipped some water to buy herself some time.
Michael had whipped her head up at the sound of Bonnie’s voice. Her eyes wide and eager. Her whole body tense in faux nonchalance.
“I want to work on KITT tomorrow.” Bonnie started.
Michael deflated ever so slightly, but hid it well as she leaned her chin on her hand.
“Are you staying the night or will I need to find you at some motel?” Bonnie asked, less heat than she wanted. The barb slid harmlessly off Michael as her grin grew and she stood to clear their dishes from the table.
“I wouldn’t want to overstay my welcome–” Bonnie snorted a laugh “--but if you want me to stay…”
“Watch it, Knight.” Bonnie said as she watched Michael slink into the kitchen again. It was becoming a familiar sight.
“Yes, ma’am.” Michael saluted from around the corner, “Wouldn’t dream of any funny business. Not in front of Dr. Barstow.”
Bonnie groaned and threw a screwdriver in her direction. Michael laughed as she ducked and it clattered harmlessly on the linoleum.
“I do so enjoy your sleepovers, but please keep it down. Some of us are trying to get some sleep.” KITT called from Michael’s watch.