What's this one about?

*hides face* This is...uh...my first attempt at an AU. Ever. From 2015. It's a bit rough. Ridiculous. Not well thought out. But darn it, I had fun writing it. I planned on it being a series like "Dragons", but it just didn't get farther than this. So enjoy!

Popoki a me 'Ilio (Cats and Dogs)

Hot, humid air flooded into the belly of the C-17 as the cargo door lowered down onto the tarmac. Heat waves already rippled in the early morning sun, creating blurry visions of the palm trees on the outer edges of the airstrip. With a heavy sigh he got to his feet and stretched subtly.

Home. This was home. Born and raised on this island. It had been a long time since he had set foot on this turf. For the past couple of years his feet had always been planted in the sands of Afghanistan, the mangrove swamps of India, and the thickly jungled forests of South Korea. He had been nosing out bombs and chasing terrorists, not eating fruit and riding the waves.

It was a high possibility that he wasn't ready for a calm life. Though grateful he was to be back, he didn't want to face what he was coming back to. He was half-tempted to dig in and stay on the plane.

But at a tug on his collar he followed the sailor on the other end of his leash out into the Hawaiian sun. As they walked away he cast a longing glance at the aircraft over his shoulder. He was going to be bored here, in his forced reserve position.

He didn't handle boredom well.

A truck was waiting in the parking lot for them. Well, him at least. His handler pulled to a halt and he did as well. There were a few words exchanged, pleasantries perhaps. He honestly wasn't really listening despite his penchant for constantly keep an ear trained on his surroundings.

Six months, three weeks, and two days is how long he had been with this handler. He was a good man by the name of James Chandler. A decent handler as far as handlers went, but he was his third handler. The first one was now retired and the second was resting at peace. He had been loyal to the latter two, but they were never going to be his first handler.

His leash was handed to the man standing by the truck. They shook hands and then his handler crouched down to look him in the face. He stood still tolerantly as he scratched behind one ear with a small smile.

"Be good, buddy, okay?" Chandler stood up and walked away.

Another handler down. With a slow exhale out of his nose he turned to the man holding his leash. This guy wouldn't be a handler, so what would he be? An owner? No, he really disliked the idea of someone owning him. He wasn't a pet. A companion? No, he didn't even know the guy beyond his name. Atticus Ford.

"C'mon boy," Atticus opened the passenger side door of the truck.

Easily he jumped up into the seat and sat at attention. The door shut and a few seconds later Atticus was climbing up into the driver's seat. He twisted the keys in the ignition, adjusted the AC, and pulled away from the airstrip. As he eased out onto the main road he glanced across at him, the muzzled mutt that he had just adopted.

"So, Steve, that's some nice ink for a dog."

Atticus' house was nice enough. It backed up against the ocean, which would be good for early morning swims. Open floor plan, which meant less places for bad guys to hide but less cover if something did happen. Trees shaded the front of the house and the backyard was covered in grass with a small garden in the corner next to the lanai.

Steve stood in place, swiveling his head around in an effort to get acquainted with his new surroundings. He looked up as Atticus kneeled down, the human reaching around his head and expertly undoing the clasps on his muzzle before snapping off his leash.

"There we go," Atticus set the pieces of equipment on the bench by the door and kicked his tennis shoes off. He hung his keys on a hook in the wall, gave his house a once over, and then looked back down at him. "Personally, I never liked muzzles, but I see where they have their uses. Let's just agree to not have to have a need for one in the future, okay?"

Giving a silent thanks, Steve cocked his head to the side in agreement. Atticus sauntered away into the living room. He followed him in a brisk trot, nose to the air. It smelled clean. Not in a sterile way, but fresh. Probably from the big windows across from the couch being open. He could also tell that another person had been in the house. On the way here he had become familiar with Atticus' scent, also clean and a little bit woody. But he could smell something light and flowery. A woman must hang around here sometimes.

He paused as he walked past a display shelf. Lots of pictures in frames fought for space on the four levels. With a small smirk of triumph he picked out a picture that had been taken somewhere out in the jungle with Atticus and a smiling dark haired woman in the center.

Steve shook his head as he turned away from the pictures. He was good at his job. He didn't get why he had been put into the reserves. His nose functioned just fine, his legs could still swim and run, and his teeth worked well. He wasn't broken.

He wasn't broken.

"Okay, so I put a big cushy bed here if you like that, or there's a camo blanket on the couch if you're more of a couch kind of guy," Atticus talking caught his attention. The thin scruffy man gestured to a dog bed that sat between the two windows and then to the blanket draped on the L-shaped couch. "Feel free to relocate them if you don't like where they currently are."

This guy was strange. He was very chill. Very much an islander, Steve realized. He had been gone far too long if he had nearly forgotten what the people were like on his island. At least it was more relaxing than some of the places he had been.

The tension he didn't realize he'd been holding in his shoulders slackened a little at the calm radiating from the human.

"And then there's outside," Atticus edged around the couch and past the kitchen and dining room to the lanai doors. He pushed them open and stepped out onto the deck. Steve once again followed at a brisk trot. A cool sea breeze ruffled the longer fur on the nape of his neck as he stood beside his new human. "I was going to put a dog door in, but I wasn't sure how big you were. So I'll put one in now that I know. I still need to get some dog bowls, but I'll get those from the store later today. And I promise I'm not crazy, even though I'm having a conversation with a dog."

Steve snorted. He stepped down the short set of stairs onto the grass and walked towards the shore. His feet sunk into the sand, paw pads relishing the feel of something natural over manmade flooring. It was different than the desert sand he had been trudging around in a couple months prior. Not as hot and gritty. It was cooler, wetter, softer. As he walked farther out towards the ocean beckoning his name the waves lapped at his paws.

Other houses butted up against the shore in either direction. They were all separated by bushes and trees, but the shoreline connected them like a line on a map. The ribbon of beach stretched straight to the left and wound around to the right. It looked strangely familiar. Where had he seen this shore before?

Suddenly he bolted, ignoring Atticus' surprised call.

Steve slowed his breakneck run as he got closer. He knew that he had recognized that stretch of beach. About a mile down shore was where he had grown up. It had taken him a little longer than he thought it would to get to the house because his muscles were adjusting to running in wet sand over the jungle he had been in before the flight home. He was panting heavily and the first smatterings of rain felt like heaven on his hide.

While he recognized the back of his own house easily, noting the trees in the backyard and the grass were only different in that they were a bit overgrown, his curiosity was on the house that was next to his. Yellow crime scene tape was an instant warning that something had happened. He wondered exactly what. The man that lived there had been a cop and was always friendly with him when he was a pup.

A man he didn't recognize was ducking under the tape. For a moment he paused, debating whether or not he should do something. A big dog barking could definitely scare someone off, or make them shoot you.

Hesitantly Steve continued on his way when he saw that the man was carrying a gun on his hip. Maybe he was a plain clothes detective, though he then wondered why he would sneak in the back way. And the man reminded him more of a sailor, more like the guys that were on his handler's team. Actually, upon a second glance, the man looked kind of familiar. Maybe he had met him before.

Shaking his head Steve trotted on up into the backyard of his childhood home. He knew that the people that had been in the house when he was a pup still lived here, he knew their scent by heart and as he edged around the side of the house to the front he recognized their car.

But it was quieter now at the house. No more dogs. Steve weaved between the car and the flowers down towards the street. He sat on the strip of sidewalk that edged the green grass and stared at the empty pavement.

He'd gotten word while he was away that his father had been hit by a car right in front of the house.

A couple years ago he could remember playing in this very front yard with the old dog and his sister. Then his mother had gotten killed by a drunk driver while she had been on a run with their owners. Everything went downhill from there. Mary Ann was adopted by a woman from the mainland and he was shipped off to train as a MWD. His father had remained in the K-9 Unit in the HPD.

It had been a shock when his handler had gotten a letter from his old owners relaying the information that his father had been killed. It seemed like years ago, but that had happened just under a month ago. Time could really drag when your world started to crumble around you. Had he been acting differently since he had heard? Is that why he was put in the reserves? It seemed like a waste, he could do more good out there than he could here on this island paradise.

And he was already losing his edge. He didn't even hear someone sneak up behind him.

"I can't believe it. Steve?"

Steve stood up abruptly and whipped around. A sleek dark brown cat sat on the lawn behind him. The feline looked familiar, maybe a bit older, but still….

"Chin?"

"Hey, he does remember me," the cat smiled.

"How's it going?" Steve let his hackles fall. He sat down again, feeling more at ease finally seeing a familiar face. "I heard that you started working alongside the K-9 Unit."

Chin's ears laid back and he turned his head to the side. "It's old news, but I've moved onto greener pastures. K-9 and I had a little disagreement about my job description. But enough about me. How are you?"

"Okay," Steve answered with shrugged shoulders.

"I heard about your dad. Sorry, brah. He was my training officer, and he was real good to me after I was let go," Chin leaned forward, knocking his paw lightly against the big dog's leg. "Hope they get it all figured out soon."

Something in the sentence struck Steve as strange. He cocked his head to the side. "What do you mean? Figure it all out?"

"Man, I forgot you that you would've gotten the humans' report on what happened," Chin exhaled heavily and rolled his eyes. His dark eyes settled on the stretch of street where the accident had happened. Supposedly. "K-9 doesn't believe it was a car that killed him."

"What?" he asked lowly, really more of a growl than anything.

"Duke's been spread kind of thin lately, but I heard that a haole detective got put on the case," Chin said. He shook his head. "He's fresh meat from the mainland, he won't be able to get around the other animals on the island very well."

Steve focused on the street for a moment. His chest felt tight and fire curled around his ribs at the dark storm of thoughts that began to swirl around his head. His father hadn't been the victim of an accident. He hadn't been hit by a car.

He had been murdered.

"Hey, Duke!" Steve barked out as he approached the chain-link fence.

An older German shepherd looked his direction, ears perking as he caught sight of him. Steve halted just on the other side of the fence and waited for the head of the K-9 Unit to reach him. Though he had grayed around the muzzle and didn't move with the same vim and vigor he once had, the old dog looked good since the last time he had seen him.

"Steve! It's been years since I've seen you," Duke laughed, craning his head back a bit. "You've gotten big."

"Duke, I'd like to catch up, but maybe later," Steve said apologetically. "I want to know what's going on with my father's investigation."

Duke shook his head slowly. "Steve, I was so sorry to hear about that. We've had a lot of trouble tracking down anything."

"I heard a haole got put on it," he pulled a lip up in distaste.

"Yeah, a transfer from the east coast," Duke nodded.

"Does he have anything yet?" he questioned.

"Steve, you know I can't share that information with you. It's an ongoing investigation," Duke gave him a look.

"As a friend. Please," he tilted his head to the side, trying his best not to use the puppy face. A trained MWD like himself didn't need to use a puppy face to get what he needed.

"I can't tell you. I'm sorry," Duke sat down, shaking his head slowly.

Steve grumbled, really hating police procedure at the moment. He respected the old dog and his integrity, but he needed to know who had killed his father. And why. That was the big question.

He turned to leave, fully intent on finding out on his own, when another voice hit him.

"Steve, it's good to see you."

"Governor," Steve stood at attention at the golden retriever flanked by a terrier and a Doberman walking towards them.

"I had heard that you were coming in on the C-17 this morning. I am so sorry about your father. He was a good dog," the Governor said sincerely. She looked across at Duke and tilted her head to the side before her eyes shifted back to look at him. "I'm assuming that you're trying to figure out what happened as well, seeing that you're at the K-9 Training Impound rather than mourning."

Steve glanced away for a moment before meeting her eyes again. "I didn't get the word that it had been a homicide until I went to the house this morning."

"I'm sorry about that. It's hard to relay a message properly through the humans without causing problems," the Governor explained, something that Steve already knew very well. "Your father's death shocked all of us, from those in a political position to those in K-9 and the HPD. Have you found anything out yet?"

"No," Steve cast Duke a stern look out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know much, but something about this isn't sitting right with me."

"I agree," she nodded. With a heavy exhale she continued, "Crime has gotten bad on the island. And I don't mean just with the humans, I mean it has gotten bad throughout the animal population, too. Dogs, cats, birds, boars, livestock. There have even been several cases of cross-crimes."

"Humans attacking animals on the streets for no reason, animals attacking humans for no reason," Duke clarified.

"I want to crack down on it, but K-9 is what it is. They work for the humans in HPD and don't have enough bodies or enough time to confront the problem head on," she said. Steve blinked, thinking he saw a glimmer of something in one of her eyes. She puffed her chest out and pulled her shoulders back. "I need a specialized task force that doesn't work for the humans, one that has the resources and the time. They would have blanket immunity from me and whatever they needed to get these beasts the hell off my island."

Steve's eyes narrowed at her. "And?"

"And I think a Navy Military Working Dog stuck in the reserves with idle paws would be the perfect head of it," she deadpanned. "Steve, how bad do you want the monsters that did this to your father?"

At first, he wanted to say no. No, he didn't want to have to work within K-9 police procedures or worry about a task force. He was trained to deal with military combat situations and not stray dogs picking on cats. But as he let the thought sink in, he started to wonder what he would do with nothing to occupy his time. He wasn't really a 'go to the park and play fetch with an owner' type of dog. His skills were sharp and valuable, his attention span and need for relaxation were small.

"Okay," Steve agreed hesitantly. He did have one stipulation, though. "But I don't want random dogs thrown at me. I want to pick my team."

"Granted," the Governor gave him a brief flash of a smile. "Duke, tell him what he wants to know."

Duke gave a sigh, relenting. "Last I heard is the detective's tracking a lead on the windward side, somewhere out by Waimanalo Beach."

"That's a big area," Steve said. It had been a while since he had been out there, but he really didn't want to spend hours sweeping the beach and surrounding area looking for someone he didn't know.

"He got permission to track a couple of birds, two Mynahs I think," Duke replied with a shrug. "Somewhere around Waimanalo Beach Park on the outer edge of the trees by the shore."

Steve nodded. That was much better information. Narrowed it down a little bit. "Thanks, Duke. Governor."

"Keep me updated," she said.

"Steve, wait," Duke called at the already retreating form of the Navy dog. "What are you going to do?"

Steve paused for a moment. His ears flicked back and the fur on his neck stiffened. Dappled sunlight poking through the rain clouds mottled his slick gray and black hide, highlighting taut muscles and faded scars and dark tattoos on his shoulders. Dark blue eyes flashed as he glanced at the old dog and the golden retriever over his shoulder.

"I'm going to find my father's killer."

The hunter's green Toyota Tacoma pulled into a parking spot in the dirt under the shelter of the trees and the engine cut off. Here in the trees the rain wasn't falling as hard, though it had dropped into an alternating pattern of sunlight and downpour. Unfortunately, he had to endure a one minute downpour on the way out to Waimanalo.

He hopped onto the edge of the truck bed and dove off before the people realized they had a hitchhiker. It had been a while since he had pulled that move. Usually he had a ride to wherever he needed to go.

Steve grunted as he shook himself vigorously and crinkled his nose. Hopefully no one here was trained in enemy detection because they would be able to smell a wet dog coming from a mile away. At least the damp ground softened the sounds of his steps as he wove his way through the tree trunks towards where the shore met the forest.

"Great," Steve huffed as he scanned the sandy soil on the edge of the trees.

There were birds everywhere.

A few pigeons were huddled on some low branches further down to his right, feathers fluffed out and exchanging quiet coos. One glanced his direction before going back to its conversation with utter disinterest. They must see a lot of dogs out here along this strip of beach. A couple of seagulls meandered around flipping over pieces of trash in that general direction as well.

Two spindly legged birds trotted through the wet sand, dancing around the waves as they came in directly in front of him. In the misting rain they stopped to pick at a wad of seaweed. More seagulls bobbed up and down, up and down out on the choppy water. He couldn't even pick out if they were talking or what they were saying if they were.

To his left a flock of sparrows all stood on a fallen tree and chittered under their breaths. He tilted his head to the side, ears swiveling to catch snippets of their words. A couple of them stifled a laugh at something he didn't hear. His eyes narrowed. Sparrows were notorious for being up to date on the local gossip, especially where it concerned the goings on across the line.

He stealthily made his way towards the piece of timber. Honestly, a crow or two would've been better informants. Those types of birds always knew about something seedy going on because of their stature and reputation. Even massive Great Danes and aggressive Akitas were superstitious of the black birds. But he would have to make do as he knew there were no crows on the island. They existed everywhere else but here. As much as he hated to admit it, he would have to relearn some of the ropes as long as he was staying in Oahu. So sparrows it was.

But he halted as he heard a voice much more raucous than the sparrows speaking.

"And then the guy asked, 'What kind of idiot names a bird Clarence?' The parrot looked him square in the eye and said, 'The same idiot that named the Rottweiler Jesus,'" the loud voice finished.

All the sparrows busted up in laughter, high twitters that rose above the sound of the ocean washing ashore.

Steve lowered his head and slowed his pace so the tags on his collar didn't jingle as he edged around the upended roots of the tree to see what the sparrows were all looking and snickering at. A bigger blackish brown bird with a yellow stripe behind his eyes was laughing so hard that he could hardly stand.

This was definitely a Mynah.

"Hey, you. I want to talk," Steve barked.

Laughter turned into confused chirps and flutters from the sparrows. The Mynah drug a feather under his eye like he was wiping a tear away before looking up at the mixed breed dog staring him down. He folded his wings, still chuckling.

"Gotta go!" Without warning the bird was running the opposite direction, wings flapping like mad.

Steve growled and bounded after him. The Mynah was almost out of his reach when he jumped up and snapped his teeth on his tail feathers. There was a panicked squawk as he yanked the bird out of the air, tossing him to the ground and planting a paw on his chest.

"I said I wanted to talk. Now are you gonna talk willingly?" Steve snarled.

"Look, pal, I don't know what you've heard, but I don't know anything about anything," the Mynah spread out his wings in a surrendering gesture. "I'm just a bird out enjoying the weather."

"All you birds talk to each other. I want to know if you saw a dog get killed a month ago," Steve snapped.

The Mynah laughed. "A dog get killed? Pal, I have seen a Chihuahua get run down by a Hummer, a Pitbull shot in the head by a gangbanger, a Cocker Spaniel drown in a riptide, a tabby cat tossed out a third story window, a bag of kittens thrown off a bridge, a dove get her neck wrung by a kid, yadda, yadda, yadda all in the past month."

"He was a K-9 officer, and he was murdered," Steve leaned down closer to his beak.

"K-9?" the Mynah's face sobered. "Sounds like something that would be hard to miss. But I didn't see no mixed mutt whacked."

"I didn't say he was a mix," he pressed down harder on the bird's chest. Worried eyes stared up at him, widening at the slip. "Now talk. Or I'll start plucking flight feathers. We'll see how long a grounded Mynah can last."

"Oh, come off it, pal, you're bluffing. You're some kind of heat, working for K-9. You can't do that," the Mynah waved him off.

Steve grabbed a flight feather in his teeth and pulled it clean out, earning a terrible shriek. He spat it out and let it float down next to the bird's head. "Talk."

"No!"

Another feather gone.

"Talk!"

"I ain't got anything for you!"

He went to grab two or three feathers at once when a very brash voice interrupted him.

"Hey! Hey! What do you think you're doing?"

Steve twisted his head around to the tree line just over his shoulder. That voice sounded like it belonged to a Lab or a Springer. What he saw made him pause for a moment.

"Get your paws off my CI, you mutt!"

He flashed his teeth threateningly. His hackles rose and he seriously considered abandoning the bird to attack. Mutt. It was a general putdown to all dogs, but it still hurt. It had always been used as a slur towards him and to this day it still rubbed his fur the wrong way. Only by his training in restraining himself was he able to stay rigid in his place and not rip into the newcomer.

For the newcomer's part, he was definitely not a Lab or a Springer. Or a dog. He was a longhair blonde tabby cat and not even a very big one at that. The fur along the ridge of his spine was raised and his tail was fluffed, but he held Steve's eye with an unwavering fierceness.

"Your CI?" both Steve and the Mynah questioned.

"He was about to be my CI until you came in all snarling teeth and loud barking, Cujo," the cat raised his voice. "Now get out of here before I have to arrest you!"

"On whose authority?" Steve growled. "Yours?"

"Yes, mine. Detective Danny's authority that was given me by the state of Hawaii," the cat replied tersely.

"Lieutenant Commander Steve, MWD. He's officially my suspect now," Steve stated.

"On whose authority?" Danny stepped closer, still in a defensive posture but seemingly wholly unperturbed by facing down a much bigger adversary. "The Army's?"

"Navy. And no, on the Governor's authority," Steve took a step towards him. The feline stayed, not moving back but not striking. Cats always ran when he growled at them. Strange. "This is officially my case now."

Danny narrowed his eyes at him and caught sight of the tags on his collar. His jaw tightened upon realizing he wasn't being duped. "You have got to be kidding me. You're hijacking my case? Why would the Governor let you waltz in and take control of a case you know absolutely nothing about without letting anyone else know?"

"Because John of the K-9 Unit was my father," Steve said.

"Look, I'm sorry about your father, but this is my case," Danny insisted.

"Not anymore," Steve put his foot down on the ground firmly, his tone leaving no room for anymore persuading or arguing.

Danny lashed his tail and pinned his ears back. He looked as if he was going to retort but kept his mouth shut. His fur settled as he angled back to walk into the trees. Steve's dark eyes locked with the pale blue ones as the cat shot him a dirty look over his shoulder.

"Your suspect is getting away, you Neanderthal."

Steve whipped his head around just in time to see the Mynah get enough altitude to evade his jump at it again. With a frustrated huff he looked back towards the cat, stunned to find that he was already gone. He growled and kicked the sand with one paw. All the sparrows caught one glance of his aggravated face and took to the air.

"Damn it."

The rain was coming down harder now than it had been before. It was still a warm rain, which made Steve feel like he was taking a shower rather than darting across a street to the apartment complex on the other side in the middle of a storm. He smelled like a wet dog again and had a feeling he would for a while.

Silently he wove his way around one complex's corner and padded down the grassy alley between the two buildings. A cluster of boxes sat under a small overhang towards the back of the alley. The owner must've kept them there either to recycle or for people to use when they moved. Though not as bad as some places he had been, like the slums of Mumbai or Laos, it wasn't something he could imagine a detective for K-9 living in.

"Detective?" he called as he craned his head up to look up at the stacked boxes that were really more of a Jenga tower.

A large refrigerator box flap opened on the bottom level and a straight face glared up at him. The first question that flashed through Steve's mind was how was the cat not even wet? The question that exited his mouth, though, was the one that he had come here to ask.

"I heard there's another Mynah bird that you asked to question?" Steve asked as he pressed past the feline into the shelter of the box.

"No. Please. Come in," Danny grumbled, snagging the flap with his claws and pulling it shut. He turned and sat, staring down the dog investigating his home.

"You have a daughter?" Steve sat down as well and looked at him expectantly.

"Excellent detective work. What gave it away? The tiny bed next to the big bed or the pink toy mouse?" Danny questioned.

Steve glanced at the bigger collection of stuffing and a blanket next to a miniature version of itself and the little pink cat toy. "No, I can smell another cat. But that just confirms it. So, the other Mynah?"

"I hate to break it to you, but this is no longer my case," Danny gestured to him with a paw. "You pulled it out from under me. So now it's not my problem."

"Yeah, but you are the only one that actually knows what's going on with it," Steve said. He inhaled deeply and cocked his head to the side. "Who is the other Mynah?"

Danny flicked his tail, eyes narrowing in the dim light of the box. "Goes by the name of Compass. He's the cousin of the bird you tried to torture today."

"Compass?" Steve furrowed his brows.

"He gives directions to those that can make it worth his while," Danny explained. "Hence the nickname Compass. The working hypothesis is that when our guys got to the island they had to figure out where your father was first. If you can get Compass to flip maybe you can get their names or descriptions or something."

"Wait, what do you mean our guys arrived on the island?" Steve questioned. This was news to him. It was one thing for someone on the island to kill his father, but for someone off the island? It wasn't easy for animals to get to and from the island under the humans' radar.

"Didn't you talk to anyone about this case before you sunk your teeth into it?" Danny snapped. At the dog's shrug he rolled his eyes. "The ME determined that a bite mark on your father's leg matched the dentition of an Irish Setter. All registered Irish Setters have been vetted already. Our guy could be a stray, but there's a greater likelihood of him being a dog that hopped a ship here."

But Steve wasn't listening anymore. An Irish Setter that wasn't from the island? No, it couldn't be him. The last he had heard of him was back in Afghanistan. But it would be a hell of a coincidence if it wasn't. He had to find the other Mynah bird before it was too late.

"C'mon. We're going to go get Compass," Steve stood up and brushed past Danny, waiting at the flaps for him.

"We? There is no 'we'. Not my case, remember?" Danny stayed planted where he was. "We are not partners."

"The Governor gave me permission to use whatever resources are necessary. Between visits with your daughter all you have is this job, and that means you're committed. And I need that," Steve stated.

"So now you're forcing me to be your partner?" Danny perked a brow.

"We're going to get along great," Steve said simply, smiling and then bolting out into the still drizzling rain.

Danny sat there in his box, wondering exactly what he'd just been dragged into.

Steve edged around a fruit stand with Danny close behind him. The hitchhiking experience had been different than what Steve was used to. He had had no trouble finding a truck going the direction they needed to go and getting the two of them into its bed. It was the ride over that was different. Usually it was silent. Peaceful. Steve had never met a cat that could talk as much as Danny could. And he couldn't even recall what the majority of the conversation was about.

"What now, pooch? There's our bird," Danny's voice shook him from his thoughts.

Between two stalls around the corner a Mynah stood conversing with a couple of sparrows. He wasn't as loud as the one at the beach and held himself with more pride, dark feathers meticulously preened and shiny. As he turned a tattoo of a compass became visible on one of his legs.

"We should recon the area," Danny said and gestured to the surrounding stalls, trees, and buildings. "This guy isn't typically by himself."

"We'll just talk to him," Steve said. He took a step forward and stopped when the cat snagged his back leg with partially sheathed claws.

"Hey! What about backup, huh? We need eyes in the sky or something along those lines," Danny pointed upwards in a sweeping motion.

"You're my backup," Steve pulled away with one strong step and disappeared around the edge of the fruit stand.

"I'm the backup, he says," Danny grumbled, flexing his claws and then joining the dog on the other side of the stall. "You're a nutcase, you know that?"

Steve ignored him. He crept forward along the side of the stall, eyes locked onto the Mynah. His ears strained to hear what he was saying as Danny broke apart from him in the opposite direction to box the bird in. Muscles taut, fur raised, and nose twitching he took a single step towards his target.

"Yo! Cops!"

Compass jerked his head up from the sparrows at the shouted warning. Steve and Danny both looked up, searching the tops of the fruit stands and the surrounding buildings for the source of the cry. A shadow zipped overhead and was gone before they could see what it was.

Steve focused on the Mynah just as the bird caught sight of him. "Hey, freeze!"

The bird uttered a couple curses that were unrecognizable to him as he took off into the alley. It was at that moment that the early warning yeller materialized from thin air with a screech. Danny hissed hotly as a peregrine falcon dove at him.

He rolled with the hit, yowling as talons dug into his left front leg and shoulder. Continuing his roll he kicked the bird in the butt with his hind feet and stumbled up, catching Steve's concerned eye.

"Go! Go!"

Steve broke into a run after the hopping bird. He was running along the ground and jumping every couple steps, like a crop duster plane that couldn't quite get off the ground. One wing was stiff, as if it had been broken and healed wrong. That would explain why he hadn't taken to the sky yet. It was a lucky break for Steve, but damn that bird could run fast!

"Stop!" Steve barked at him.

Compass paused as they came up to a chain link fence separating the alleyway from the street over. With a satisfied smirk he jumped onto the wires and slipped through a diamond shaped hole. He strutted out to the curb and turned to tip a wing at the big dog following him.

Steve sized up the fence in a second before he sprung from the cement. His toes caught in the wires and he used his momentum before he lost it to run the rest of the way up, teetering at the top. Years of practice let him land with his weight spread out enough to not snap an ankle. He stopped at the mouth of the alley and stared the Mynah down.

"Don't come any closer, mutt," Compass said, glancing behind him at the decently busy street.

"You need to come with me. I've got some questions for you," Steve said with barely bit back anger at the slang again.

"I'll jump out into the street," he warned and hung one foot off the curb. "Then you'll never know what you need to know."

"Okay, okay," Steve held back a little. His neck fur laid flat and his ears went into a rest position in an attempt to look a little more relaxed. "You don't want to do that. Look, I'm staying right here."

Thanks for reading guys!