Hey y'all! I am back! It's been a loooong time, sorry about that. Work was crazy, school was crazy, the weather was crazy, but now things are a TON calmer, which leaves me with more time to write! So I just uploaded a new chapter of collab fic (insert shameless plug here), and I wanted to update this one as well!
This chapter is a bit longer, and more serious. It features Kitt and Michael getting their first official case- yay! There might be some canon errors- I don't know much about law enforcement, nor do I really understand RC3's character. Please PM me for corrections or suggestions.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoy my work. If you do, please leave a review!
Kitt was right on time for the 6:30 AM wake-up call. Problem is, Michael didn't order said wake-up call. It was a pleasant morning surprise.
"Good morning, Michael," the dog barked, quite literally bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The cop on the other hand was a right mess: hair matted, clothes wrinkled, etc.
"U'wah?" he grumbled. "Kitt? Wuh time izit?"
"It is currently 0630 hours," he responded in as chipper a tone as ever. "At your normal pace, this schedule should put you arriving at the station exactly 15 minutes early. Right on time."
Michael stayed stubbornly in bed and managed to shake off a little of his fatigue. The force (of inertia) was strong with this one. "How can one be 'right on time' and also '15 minutes early,' Kitt?" he growled.
The dog growled right back. "As Lieutenant Miles always says, 'If you're not early, you're late.' And as of right now, we are late by anyone's definition." With that, the dog leapt off the bed and trotted into the kitchen. Michael followed suit reluctantly, shuffling along behind his K9.
The puppy was seated patiently in the middle of the tile floor. His wagging tail swatted dust bunnies and loose pieces of kibble across the kitchen and under the fridge. A thin string of drool began inching out of his open, panting mouth. Michael could even hear the little guy's stomach growl. His patient yet enthusiastic waiting was almost… adorable.
He set out a heaping mound of dog food, which Kitt devoured with ferocity. Michael left the hound to lick up the scraps and set to finding himself a spot of breakfast. There's that milk from yesterday, he thought. There was little else in his bare cupboards, but he managed to scrounge up a loose packet of instant oatmeal. It looked suspiciously like Kitt's dog food, which didn't shake up the officer's appetite.
After a few minutes of stirring the bland paste and watching it solidify on the spoon, Michael was sufficiently disgusted and void of appetite. But, when he looked down to check on his partner, the dog was gone.
"Kitt?" Michael called. "Where are you, buddy?"
The few seconds of silence struck fear into Michael's heart like an ice pick. Sure enough, however, the canine called back.
"Coming, Michael!" His voice sounded muffled as though he had something in his mouth. Hope he hasn't gotten into any trouble.
Quite the contrary. When the dog reappeared from the bedroom, he was carrying with him Michael's uniform: shirt, pants, socks, badge and all. The tiny dog did his best to keep the suit from dragging on the ground, holding his head up high in the process. Kitt had even managed to put on his own uniform. The vest fit snuggly on his barrel chest, which glistened with health and vitality. Kitt really was a prime specimen of the canine species.
"Why thank you, Kitt!" Michael gushed, and he meant it. Nobody had ever been so thoughtful and helpful. Well, no dog, that is…
"Anytime, Michael," the dog nodded. "Dr. Barstow sent me a message to my radio collar last night. Apparently, she has a new gadget for you. She'd like to meet with you for a few minutes and get it set up before Lieutenant Miles sees us."
Michael paused. "Lt. Miles wants to meet with us? Why is that?"
"To get our first assignment, of course!" Kitt tilted his head. "Did you not get the email?" The only response from his human counterpart was a blank stare. "Do you even check your email?"
"Look, home life is home life. And I try to keep work stuff at work. I mean, except for you."
The two continued preparing themselves for the day ahead. Michael had just finished up brushing his teeth when he heard Kitt whining in the kitchen. Was that dog already hungry again?!
Instead, he found Kitt sitting and squirming right by the front door. His nails clicked out a rapid rhythm and he shifted weight from paw to paw. He was whining lightly too, with his ears flattened against his head.
"What's wrong, buddy?"
"Michael," Kitt hissed, straining. "I need to go out."
Realization struck. "Oh… okay, um, just hold on until I get my jacket on." The human fumbled with his keys and coat, did a quick sweep of the foyer to check that he didn't forget anything, then pulled open the apartment door. Kitt bolted out and down the hallway, put had to stop at the stairwell door.
"I'm coming!" his handler reassured.
The pair took the stairs two at a time. When they reached the lobby of the building, the puppy dashed past someone who was walking through the door into the complex. He ran right up to the nearest tree.
In the meantime, Michael fiddled with his keys, popped open the door to his Trans Am, climbed in, and started the machine. Sitting in the driver's seat and looking over at the empty passenger one made him feel strangely lonely. But also glad. After all these years flying solo, he finally had a friend to share in his adventures.
Speaking of, his friend was now sitting outside the passenger side door, scratching it ever so lightly and whining to be let in. Instead of reaching over to open the door, Michael just rolled down the window and trusted that Kitt the Super-Dog could find a way in. He did, leaping up and scrambling through the opening.
Reading his partner's mind, the officer left the window cracked so that the dog could stick his head out and enjoy the blast of wind to his face.
Michael turned on the radio. Hearing that Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" was playing, he cranked up the speakers until he felt the car's chassis rumble from the bass. A devilish grin eked across his face. God, I love this car.
Kitt cocked his head dramatically. He processed for a few seconds, then whipped his head backwards and began to howl. The very soundwaves traveled through the cop's ear canals and stabbed them with sonic knives. Judging from his size, one would've expected Kitt to have a tiny, squeaky howl characteristic of your average puppy. But this one combined the timbre of a train horn with the pitch and intensity of an ambulance siren.
Keeping one hand on the wheel, the other of the cop's hands flew to his ear. "Kitt!" he exclaimed. "Pipe down, will ya?"
The dog snapped his muzzle shut. "Sorry, Michael. That was just instinct… The way that man on the radio was singing, I wanted to join in."
"Okay, buddy. How about you let Steve Perry sing this one, eh?"
He did. But the car ride was almost over, for the station was appearing over the horizon.
Once the pair walked inside, all heads turned. Word of the new K9 officer must have spread like wildfire through the department.
Kitt's ears perked up as he focused on several whispers. Knight… Cute… German Shepherd… lucky… Always on the alert, he padded carefully through the desks, sniffing each worker and tasting the air for flavors of danger.
Several hands leapt out at the little puppy, causing him to balk. It was as though caution itself was imbedded in his DNA. Trust nobody, take nothing for granted. There were threats everywhere. Especially that strange machine behind the secretary. Whole sheets of paper went in, and nothing but flimsy ribbons came out. Some kind of barbaric torture device?
RC3 came bounding up to the pair. Kitt saw Michael's acceptance of the man and gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"Hey, man," the strange cop greeted the other. "We heard you got a new K9, man. That's far out. What's his name?"
Michael grinned and nudged the dog with his shoe. "Yup, RC, this is Kitt!"
RC practically squealed. He crouched down and stretched out a hand to the Shepherd, who cautiously accepted the advance. "Hey little guy, aren't you just the sweetest! How did you get stuck with a washed-up cop like Knight?"
Fury roared up inside Kitt. Verbal abuse on his handler- he would not stand for it! But Michael was laughing. Maybe the threat went over his head. Nevertheless, the behind-the-ear scratch that the dog was receiving was absolutely delightful. A strange purring noise escaped his throat.
"You guys have any cases yet?" RC asked, directing his attention back to the fellow human.
"Not yet, bud," Michael responded. "Hopefully soon, though, I bet Kitt here is anxious to get out of training and into the field." He paused. "Me too, for that matter."
As if almost on cue, Lt. Miles called out for Knight and his dog. With a quick goodbye to RC3, they headed straight into their commander's office. He and Dr. Barstow were waiting for them.
The veterinarian immediately stood up and handed Michael a fancy and high-tech looking watch.
"Why thanks Bonnie," he said with exaggerated gratitude. "How did you know I was in the market for a watch, and a nice one at that?"
She rolled her eyes in good nature. "That, Michael, is a communications linking device. A ComLink, for short. It's something that my team has been working on. It just took a little longer, because some stuff came up." Kitt picked up on the strange exchange of glances between his creator and their boss. "Anyway, this device has a remote connection to the frequency given off by Kitt's cerebral microchip. It will allow you to communicate at greater distances. Try it out."
Michael strapped the watch onto his wrist, then flicked it with his fingers a few times. "IS IT WORKING?" he shouted into the microphone.
Kitt yelped, collapsed, and pawed at his ears that flattened against his head. "Goodness gracious, Michael, you don't need to shout!"
"Oh. Sorry, buddy." He tried again. "Kitt? Do you read me?"
The dog nodded. This time, his voice came out of both the collar and the ComLink. "I read you, Michael. Over and out."
"Good," Bonnie and Devon said in unison. The elder leaned into a desk drawer and pulled out a manilla folder. Oh man, Michael thought. The air grew electric with anticipation. The Case File. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kitt's tail start to wag.
"As you no doubt have guessed," Devon began in his characteristic soliloquy. "This is your first case. It's a missing person's case."
Both the cop and his dog took on a stern and attentive demeanor. Their desire to perform and please created a unified drive between them.
"The missing person is a teenage girl, Kayleigh McMannon. She lives with her divorced father, who describes her as a long-haired brunette, 17 years old, 5'5", 115 pounds. She was last seen 36 hours ago by her father, who filed the report, and notes that they had had a fight immediately before she left. He waited for her to return, but eventually had to go to his late-night shift, and assumed he would see her again after school the next day. Teachers say she was unexcused absent the entire day. Friends haven't seen her, nor have members of the community. We have already deployed several K9 units, but they have not turned up any results. Her father is beside himself with worry. We need to find his daughter."
Kitt jumped in. "Do you have something with her scent on it?"
"One step ahead of you, Kitt," Devon replied. From the same drawer in his desk, he produced a ratty looking ball cap, along with a picture of the girl for Michael to memorize. Bearing the logo of the Los Angeles Angels, it had faded from its brilliant maroon color to a grungy fire-truck red. Inside the bill of the hat was written one word in black Sharpie: Kayleigh. Michael's heart sunk. He couldn't even imagine the horror that man was going through. He ran his eyes over the photo. It appeared to be a photo from her sports team: baseball. Judging by the worn corners, the father had been carrying this picture with him in his wallet. And the girl- she was beautiful, and one could see the intelligence burning behind her eyes. She had the nose of a fox, sharp and intuitive. The corners of her mouth curled ever so slightly, just like the Mona Lisa.
Kitt raised his head up to the hat and made his way around every inch of its surface, inside and out, taking deep inhales and pausing to memorize every niche of the scent. After a minute, he stopped and returned to his haunches. "I've got it."
Devon slid the file across his desk. "Alright, you two. I'm counting on you. More importantly, Mr. McMannon is counting on you. Find his daughter. Find Kayleigh."
