"They are cute as buttons. Sometime I hope I have a chance to answer Henrietta's questions about planes." He's packing up his laptop as he talks. "Unless you have a better idea, I propose we sit guard outside the kids' room."
"Take it in turns," is Alex's counterproposal. "You're right, but someone needs to be alert. They could get in too quickly." Laptop dealt with, he opens his gun safe to get a holster, so he can stop carrying his sidearm around in his hand. "As soon as this is over, I'm having the ground floor windows replaced with bulletproof, I don't care how much it costs."
Aspera taps out, I'LL PAY. When he sees Alex determinedly climbing the stairs, he sighs and wrestles loose the nearest couch cushion. Growling a little at the strain on his bullet wounds, he drags it up after Alex, then insists he sit on it.
"Very kind," Alex says as they sit in front of Bel's bedroom door with Logan. He reaches up to the doorknob, cracks the door and peeks in. Bel is half-sitting in bed, rifle across his lap and phone to hand, with two pretty-much-identical wolves sprawled sleeping across his legs. Alex says softly, "We're keeping watch, Bel, you can rest." Bel just puts his finger to his lips and shakes his head. Alex smiles and closes the door. He's a bit misty-eyed as he arranges himself so he can see down into the great room and watch the entrance from the kitchen hallway. Of course Bel won't rest while people he cares about are in danger. "Why'd I have to go and raise a hero," Alex sighs. "It's stressful."
You're woken up from a deep sleep by your dad. He's leaned over the bed and Bel's legs to pull on your ears. "How're you doing?" he wants to know. "Sleepy," you growl. "You can sleep more in the van. Right now we need to get that foreleg of yours into a sling and bundle you downstairs." "Van?" you want to know. "You lot are getting evacuated to a safehouse for the full moon. Vehicle's downstairs and everything, it's all worked out." "Well." You muzzily think it over. "Good, I suppose... Bel, you're coming too, right? They're not letting you hang about and play action star?"
"Even if they let me, I wouldn't," you say firmly as your dad comes to the other side of the bed. "Not if it meant ditching you." Dad reaches for you; confused, you hand him your rifle. He sets it aside and reaches again, and you get it -- he wants to help you up. "I don't know how much longer I can stay human," you tell him, worried. "Where are we going? I need my phone charger, and my tablet --" "I'll take care of everything," he says soothingly. "Here, give me your phone, and then you can change if you want." "What are you going to do?" You're starting to feel panicky at the thought of being out of the loop. "Reg's agency is handling things. You're needed at the safehouse, not here." You scowl. You know when you're being handled. But then Pancho looks up and yawns a great big doggie yawn, and looks around in confusion as if she thought being turned was a weird dream and she's baffled to find it real, and you give in. Dad might be giving you a made-up assignment to convince you to stay safe, but Pancho did just go through a traumatic life change, and you have the opportunity to make sure she doesn't have to blunder around lonely and scared the way you did. "All right," you say softly, and let Dad help you out of bed. "Eyes averted, anyone who doesn't want to see my naked ass." You drop your pyjama pants, and then you drop into fur.
A thought occurs to you suddenly. "That other smell, the woman, the housekeeper," you say urgently. "Her smell's all over, she must come on often, if they've seen— if they know—someone's got to protect her." "Oh, damn," your dad says, "should have thought of that earlier. I'll pass it along, we can probably keep the regular human agencies busy arranging protection for all the associated civilians, so it's a win for everyone." You sag in relief, and let Alex gently bind your shattered foreleg up against your chest with loops of gauze. "I wanna be carried down the stairs," you let him know. "I hate stairs. No more stairs." You are carried down the stairs, wagging gratefully. There's several serious older men and women milling about and doing important-looking things with paper and electronics. The van is the sort of big-box-on-wheels humans use to move from one house to another, with the garish full-color letters and numbers and pictures and everything. You approve of the clever disguise, and also that the back part is full of squashy old furniture and each piece smells intriguingly of a different dirty alleyway. Unfortunately, a tarp is spread over the couch they put you on, for hygenic purposes, and also probably so that you don't forget yourself and roll around on anything and fuck up your foreleg. Bel and Pancho look a little overwhelmed with the pungent splendor of your transportation box. Pancho gets put on the tarp with you. You're a little mollified about tarp quarantine now that both of you are stuck in it. "You are going to have to roll on all the smelly bits for us," you tell Bel sadly.
"I'm a little tired, but I'll do my best," you promise. "For now, though, I have an overwhelming urge to lick ears. Prepare yourselves." Changing helped a bit with the aches of your healing injuries, but you're still tired as hell, and all you want is to curl up in a pile with your boyfriend and your army buddy and get to know them all over again. They budge over, and you flop down on the tarp with a satisfied huff and get started on Pancho. "Feels weird," she observes, but it's not an objection. "God, this van is the olefactory equivalent of an art school student show. It's splashing neon colors directly on my brain." "You get used to it," you reassure her. "Bummer. I'm kind of enjoying tripping out on it." "That's because you're a big weirdo." "Says the guy with his tongue in my ear." "You're so lucky Erskin's the one who changed you. You've got big adorable radar ears like his." "I'm picking up Good Morning Shanghai on these things, it's great."
You pause in licking Bel's haunches, surprised. "You think my ears are cute? They're terrible, they're straight coyote. They're practically straight fennec. I've got many excellent and handsome features, but honestly, the ears are a bit of a miss." You add, awkwardly, "Yours are very nice, I'm sure, Pancho. They'd be nicer if they were balanced out by being a two hundred fucking pound russian death machine. Shame you lot don't really get to pick bits off a menu when you get the condition."
"No, your ears are cute as hell, final word. Bring them here," you command, and begin washing them for him. Logan is handed in, leashless, and begins investigating all the smells excitedly while the door slams. The truck's engine vibration changes, and it begins to back out of the driveway. You tense, waiting for bullets -- these panel trucks are so flimsy, even police safety rounds would go through them like pins through paper -- and you're unarmed -- you don't have hands -- but when you make yourself take a deep breath, you smell Erskin and Pancho being near and safe and okay, and it calms you to an amazing degree. Apparently, that's what 'pack' feels like. "Don't try to insult yourself without insulting me," Pancho is saying, "we're pretty much identical, that's a bit of fancy dancing I don't think any of us could manage without tripping. And I am the Cutest Puppy, which makes you probably the Second Cutest Puppy by a very small margin." "What about me?" you fake-pout. "Aren't I a Cute Puppy?" "No, you're a two hundred pound death machine, I'm with Erskin on that." "You should see me in a sweater though."
"He's a very cute death machine in a sweater," you agree. You enjoy Bel's attentions for awhile, glad to have him back in proper shape. It gets tiresome to translate all his speech and gestures and expressions over from human, things are so much more immediate and comfortable like this. There's a small, squeaky rustle from an armchair in the corner, and you perk up out of your cuddle-doze. "Oooh, mice," you go, delighted, and the dog launches herself into a loud excitement dance. "I want mice!"
"Are mice good?" Pancho says skeptically. "Surprisingly, yes. They're little crunchy umami snacks. Like pizza rolls. Want me to get you some?" "If Logan leaves us any." "Oh, she will," you say confidently as you ooze off the couch. "If she's going to be part of our little posse, she needs to understand that she's not in charge." Logan looks up, wide-eyed, at your approach, and scoots back from the mousey chair, a cringe in her posture. "I get it!" she assures you. "You're the boss, boss! Hi boss, I'm a good girl, you're the boss of me, are we ok?" "Yeah, we're okay. Good girl. Let's get Pancho some mice." "MicEMICE MICE!! !" "For Pancho." "Okay!" "And Erskin." Logan's tail hesitates in its wagstorm. "Erskin's an asshole." "Erskin's mine." Cringe. "Okay boss." "Good girl." After that, she's surprisingly helpful. Mice Quest is successful, and you are able to bring squeaky snacks to your friends without too much flipping out on Logan's part or escaping on the mice's. It's cute how proud she is to bring food to her Pancho. Pancho eats the first one with the game bravado of a soldier being dared to try foreign food -- which is pretty much exactly accurate -- and makes a surprised noise of appreciation. After that she snarfs them eagerly. When you bring mice to Erskin, you tell him they're sandwiches. "Honey ham and provolone on caraway rye," you announce, and, "Mesquite grilled bacon burger with roasted garlic aoli." "Stop that," Pancho grumps. "My mouth is hallucinating."
"So, since when are you the boss?" you ask lazily, after a few crunchy snacks. "I thought I was the boss. You're not so tough." You get your available foreleg over his shoulders— it helps that he's standing beside the couch you're sitting on, so you're actually at level for once—and gnaw at his shaggy mane. "Come on, let's fight it out!" "See," Logan huffs to Pancho.
"Shush, I was keeping the dog from eating your mice. I mean sandwiches." You get distracted by nuzzling and gnawing at him, a gentle tussle careful not to jostle his injured leg. "Do we have to have a boss?" Pancho muses. "I'm feeling no more urge to defer to Bel than I was on two legs." "I do outrank you there as well," you point out obnoxiously. She sniffs. "You're not the Captain of me." "You're not the Captain of me!" Logan echoes, then cringes when Pancho gives a disapproving rumble. "You're my good doggie who does what she's told," Pancho corrects. "Yes Pancho! You're my Pancho! I'm good!" Logan hops up on the couch to clean Pancho's fur, and Pancho accepts the attention graciously. "Whatever you say, Sergeant," you drawl, just because you know she won't take you seriously. You hope Erskin will be well enough to play for real soon.
"I've been a wolf the longest, so I'm the Most Alpha and you should all respect me as Supreme Leader," you put forth as an argument, though it doesn't particularly impress. Bel gets your face in a muzzle hold and you laugh and let him push you back on to the couch. You put your paw on the side of Logan's face. She twitches it off. You put your paw back on. Her ears go back in annoyance. "Fuck you, Erskin," she goes, trying to keep her attention on Pancho. You put your paw back on her face. This is an excellent game.
"Don't tease the dog, you big bully, she's just a dog," you scold, but it's pretty much pro forma. Logan did call him an asshole, after all. "Pancho, what's your bid for boss status?" "What's yours?" "I'm large, obviously." "So's a cow. And don't mention your rank again either, Erskin's not in the army." "I'm good at math?" "Ooh." She considers this seriously. "That is persuasive." "So what's yours?" She scoffs. "Let's be honest, boys, if I told you to do something you know you'd do it." "Because I'm nice!" "Does it matter why?" Impressed, you can summon no reply.
"Niceness is a very important quality that I am way too powerful and cute to cultivate," you put in, then yip delightedly when Logan gets fed up with your nonsense and bites your paw. She lets you go and looks completely abashed in the next moment, tensely waiting for a reprimand from Pancho, but before she can stop being fun you put your paw on her face again, wagging. Her tail slowly starts to wag, too, as she snaps at you again. "I'm going to kill you, asshole," she declares experimentally. "No, you aren't, on account of, I am too handsome and fast, and you are a kitten." "No!" "Yes! Look, I got your face again! Too slow." Bel bites your leg. You howl in heartsick betrayal.
"You big baby," you laugh, but lick his leg anyway. He puts his paw on your face. You shake it off and hop up on the couch back so you can look out one of the small vents near the ceiling. "We're on the freeway already," you say, surprised. "I can't believe we actually managed to get all distracted and chill while literally under threat of our lives. And my dad's still under threat. I feel pretty sure I'd be a lot more upset if I had hands." Pancho makes an agreement noise. A bit distracted by Erskin and Logan's game, she muses. "Okay, so, the Alpha Male bit is bullshit, obviously, but pack instinct is a thing, isn't it? Because, like, Erskin, I hardly know you, and normally you'd still be kind of on probation emotionally. Hell, I don't think I would've re-bonded with Bel this fast if you hadn't changed me, we hadn't seen each other in six months and he never emails." "I do too!" "Photo dumps don't count."
