Hello everybody! Kind of a shorter chapter this time, but I wanted to get something posted since it's been a while. I hope you like it! If you did, leave me a comment! I love hearing from my readers. Hopefully, I will be able to write a little more now that midterms are over. Who knows? As always, thank you for reading. Hope y'all have a nice day! : ) ~YS

Kitt's literal puppy-dog eyes lit up when Michael's home came into view, then dimmed when he saw it was an apartment.

"You live in an apartment, Michael?" the dog asked with feign inquisition.

"Yeah," Michael replied skeptically. "Why?"

"I'm just not sure this environment is conducive to a canine. Does your landlord allow pets?"

"There's a weight or height limit or something," he muttered. "But since you're technically a service animal or something, I get a special exception."

When they parked, Kitt planted his oversized paws firmly against the window and surveyed the entire scene, tail wagging and tongue lolling. Michael opened the door and Kitt leapt out, landing gracefully. As they walked into the building, in perfect sync, the elevator dinged and a frail elderly woman hobbled out: with a ratty Shih Tzu scurrying at her heels. Immediately, the German Shepherd puppy went on the defense as the electric tension in the air spiked up his scruff.

The woman's dog, on the other hand, did not perceive any threat. His cross-eyed eyeballs stared dumbly in front of him. When he picked up on Kitt's scent, however, he gave a shrill yip and waddled over. Michael's partner growled and bared massive ivory fangs. The lap dog slithered around to his backside and without warning, quite rudely shoved his nose towards Kitt's butt.

"HEY!" he exclaimed, tucking his tail and whirling to face his assaulter. Then, remembering that he wasn't supposed to talk in front of others, he switched back to nonverbal canine body language. With all his power bunched in his hindquarters, he snarled at the ditsy dog.

Michael cleared his throat harshly in a sort of "calm down" gesture towards his hound. "Sorry, ma'am," he said to the old woman.

"What was that, sonny?" she bellowed. Michael only waved his hand and walked away, shooting Kitt a sideways glance of disapproval.

The dog took the stairs two at a time, stopping to wait for Michael at every landing. Finally, they arrived at Michael's floor. He led the dog down the hallway, and the pooch sniffed along its entire length. Even the super-dog couldn't keep his tail from wagging with anticipation.

Sadly, he was in for a rude awakening. Kitt had been daydreaming of his partner's house: open floor plan, fully renovated, with giant windows (and a doggy door, of course), and a room just for him with a miniature treadmill, a bin overflowing with toys, a giant feather bed, and towering bowls of food and treats.

What greeted him was, well, a bachelor pad. The only thing overflowing was the garbage can, and its presence made itself known immediately through an assault on Kitt's nostrils. Every surface was covered with clutter, and the clutter was covered with a thick layer of grunge. The layout was cramped and blocky, with little natural light. The corners of the entryway were padded with shoes, jackets, and dirty laundry.

Michael saw the disappointment in his dog's eyes. "Sorry, buddy," he whispered. "I'll clean up a bit. Obviously, I wasn't expecting anybody but me to be living here."

"You and roaches," Kitt sniped, earning an eye-roll from Michael. He put down the bulging plastic bags of dog supplies on the counter and pawed through them. First things first, he figured the dog should always have access to food and water. So he took out the two bowls, filling one with water from the tap and the other with a scoop out of the dog food bag. The bowl hadn't even touched the floor by the time the puppy leapt towards it. Immediately, Kitt inhaled the kibble with such gusto that Michael was afraid he would choke. In a mere 30 seconds, the food bowl was as empty as before the cop had filled it.

The dog licked his lips and sat back on his haunches with a satisfied burp.

"You've got quite the appetite, don't you, Kitt?" Michael breathed, mainly surprised that the little pup could pack away so much food in such a short time.

Kitt nodded. "When you're a genetically engineered super-dog, you've got a genetically engineered super-metabolism." Then his eyelids began to droop and the food coma set in. His paws scrambled to keep his new, bloated center of gravity. Warmth spread through Michael's chest as his heart melted at the sight.

He grabbed the dog bed off of the counter and led the pup to his bedroom. Kitt padded along, swaying slightly. The cop set the bed down in the corner of the room and fluffed it up. His Shepherd flumped down on the soft fabric and his eyes snapped shut almost immediately.

Michael snuck out of the room and left the door open a little crack. In the kitchen, he unpacked the rest of the supplies and put them away in various cupboards and drawers. Most just stayed on the counter in "organized piles."

For some reason, he'd lost all of his energy: just drained, fatigued. I've only been with Kitt for a few hours, he remarked. And he's already worn me out? If I have to live with him for years, how am I gonna handle that? The clock on the microwave read 8:12 PM. For any sensible man, that was too early to turn in. But hell, Michael Knight wasn't a sensible man. He had a talking K9 partner. If he wanted to adopt a preschooler's bedtime, he damn well would.

When Michael reentered his bedroom, Kitt's bed was empty. The officer's stomach dropped rapidly and his heart leapt into his throat. Oh no, he panicked. Oh no oh no oh no, where is he? Did I lose him? Did he run away?!

Fortunately, none of those theories were true. Kitt had curled up on Michael's pillow, transformed into a tiny, snoring ball of auburn fur. The ball inflated and deflated rhythmically with each of the dog's deep breaths, each exhale marked with a light snore. An unmistakable smile was spread across his muzzle. Every few seconds, his ears or paw twitched. The little guy was dreaming.

This sight was so cute, in fact, that Michael disregarded that a 5-pound puppy had taken over his queen sized mattress. The cop wiggled out of his uniform and into his pyjama pants, sliding into bed next to his dog. He laid facing the pup, with one hand draped across its back.

They fell asleep with their gentle breaths in perfect sync.