"Keep Holding On (Cause We'll Make It Through)" by shinchansgirl
Fandom: Stargate: Atlantis
Pairings: pre John-Rodney, others unspecified, only hinted at.
Rating: PG-13
NOTE: yes, I know that this *could* be the first fic in a much longer series, but I have no plans for that to happen as of right now. Right now, this is *it*. Title comes from a song by Avril Lavigne, "Keep Holding On". This song is most definitely recommended listening material while reading.
Therefore foresight, thought for the future,
is always best: he must abide much
of good and evil who lives for long
in these woe-filled days in this dark world.
-Beowulf, ll. 1059-1062
A lonely howl broke through the night air, rousing an answer from the pack. They knew it was nearing the time when the lone wolf's exile would come to an end - his actions of late had approached the unforgivable. Blackfur - better known as Kavanagh when in his skin - had not yet infected a person, nor had he crossed that thin line between threatening and hurting. He'd not yet killed - he was not that far from the pack yet.
But he had threatened, and even attempted attack. He had tried to hurt humans. He was most vicious towards his colleagues at
the research center - where he worked when not out prowling. He envied their relationships with each
other, and their intelligence when compared with his own. He never could stand someone smarter than
himself, and his patience with those who were was growing thin.
The pack was restless with fear and anxiety. They would have welcomed Blackfur back, even
if they did not forgive him for his misdeeds.
As it was, he did not want to return.
He did not seek to end his loneliness, but to continue it - and that was
what made him snappish, and even more arrogant than he had been.
Snapper whined at her alpha, dipping her head and looking
towards the sound of the howl. Snapper
was pretty while in her skin, but the alpha did not want her - never had. He cared for her like a litter-mate, and she,
in return, was one of the fierce fighters that worked to protect the pack's
weaker members. It also worked to her
advantage, as she was fond of Scottie - a member of the pack who worked to
supply most of the income for when they walked among the humans. He was a vet, known to the humans as Dr.
Carson Beckett, and Snapper worked hard as his personal secretary, helping to
make him the best in the business in the quaint little town where they had
settled - despite the fact that he was the only vet for miles, it did not serve
to make him lax in his practices.
The alpha rubbed his head briefly on Snapper's shoulder,
showing his understanding. He, too, felt
the loss of Blackfur. He, too, felt the
other's pain. They all did.
There was a hole in the pack dynamic now that he was
gone. Blackfur had been smart. Not wise, maybe - not like Check, the small
Czech wolf of Weir's pack. Weir was a
rare female alpha, and she had gathered her pack well. Check was wise, smart, and inventive. Blackfur was only smart. They did not despise him for his failings,
but he felt them just the same.
Weir's pack was far away now, in their own settlement. On the other side of the mountain, which was
currently covered in a light spattering of snow from the coming winter. Their allies could not help them retrieve the
lost member of their pack - Weir's helpful pack-mate Doll could not help either. Doll was good at listening. When in her skin, it was what she did - she
was a therapist, and she listened.
Humans called her Kate.
The tension in the air seemed to thicken - worry filled the
whines that followed the howling answers.
Worry for what Blackfur would do in his anger and resentment.
Skippy paced the clearing, obviously itching for something -
anything - to do to release the anxious energy he held inside. He was always full of energy - in his skin it
was helpful, as he played the part of a bright young waiter and student known
to his peers simply as 'Ford', but now it only added to the weight of the
night.
Ronon - a late-comer to the pack who had yet to gain a
wolf-name - suddenly lifted his head from where he was dozing and growled. The alpha stepped towards him, curious -
Ronon had a very sensitive nose, even in his skin - but stopped as he, too,
recognized the scent the wind carried to him.
It was distant, but strong.
There was no hiding what it was.
Blood.
Infected blood.
With a snarl, the alpha jumped through the tree line and
raced after the freshly-spilled scent to its origin.
John Sheppard's pack ran behind him without question,
graceful and silent as the wind blowing lazily through the trees, eager for
justice.
If he needed something done right, and done right now, he did it himself. He double-checked his associate's work, and
loudly pointed out their mistakes. He'd
made more than one girl break down in sobs in the middle of the lab. He hadn't meant to, he just didn't seem to
understand that gentle was sometimes better.
Today he had been bemoaning the loss of Zelenka, his
second-in-command research scientist who had returned to his home for the
winter. The Czech was the only one even
remotely able to keep up with Rodney's mind - as Rodney constantly reminded his
crew - and the loss of him every winter was a severe blow to their research
capabilities. And once again Rodney had
failed to convince him to stay.
Rodney sighed as he shut down his computer. Kavanagh had not reacted well to Rodney's
constant complaints over the lack of the smaller man - and not even Rodney
would admit that it was because Zelenka was missed - and had stormed off in the
middle of the afternoon, leaving Rodney to pick up the slack. He'd stayed as long as he dared to complete
the equations, but hadn't the energy left to do so. The formulas danced around his head, elusive
and incomplete, an unwelcome compliment to the hum of the computer completing
the shut down sequence.
The clock read
He yawned, pushing the questions down once more. The clock ticked over to one minute after the
hour, and Rodney swayed as his stomach reminded him of his hunger. He hadn't dared eat from the cafeteria for
dinner, and he hadn't expected to stay so late to make up the slack, so it had
been a long while since he'd last eaten.
He wondered if he'd make it home before his sugar plummeted,
or if he should stop by the 24-hour store on his way. He wasn't shaking yet, but it had been hours
since he'd had even a power bar.
The howl that echoed outside made him shiver. He didn't believe the stories of a wolf
terrorizing late-night walkers - stories to frighten children, obviously - but
he wouldn't deny that the sounds were somewhat eerie. There really were wolves in the woods, but,
like all sensible animals, they stayed far away from the town.
It was a decent walk back to his home - not long, but
decent, and he hadn't had the money left for a car after pouring all of it into
his latest project. He'd walked the path
hundreds of times before, so he wasn't afraid as he locked the doors behind
him, and the crickets chirping their last songs before winter truly hit did not
bother him. What bothered him was that
no one would hear him scream if something happened - for safety reasons, the
project had to be a fair distance away from the town, just in case something
happened. Now he was wishing he had
hitched a ride with someone; it was chilly, and the nights here were always
somewhat scary.
It wasn't until he felt the pain that buckled his legs and
made him fall face-first on the cement that he thought to be truly afraid. His mind entertained thoughts of muggers and
assassins as he scrambled to turn around and see what had hit him.
A black wolf.
The animal charged at him, and Rodney did his best to fend
off the beast, struggling to stand and run.
Teeth sank into his calf, ignoring the arm that smacked across the
animal's muzzle to sink past the thick denim and into soft flesh. Rodney tried to scream, but there was no air
in his lungs for the effort, tears welling up in his eyes as his lungs
tightened.
He was able to breathe again as the wolf began tossing his
head, digging dirty canine teeth into Rodney's calf and spilling blood. Rodney was gasping, panting, and this time he
did scream as he flung his arm towards the wolf's head.
No one was around to hear him. He'd just locked up the empty research
center, and even if those houses closest to him were thin enough that his
screams might reach someone's ears, he wasn't near loud enough to rouse the
owners from their sleep.
He felt the tears fall from his eyes, overflowing with the
sudden increase of pain, and he scrambled to get away as the animal briefly
loosened its grip. Something was wrong
with his leg - it didn't want to move, and it was starting to go numb - but a
moment later felt the teeth sink in further, the wolf hanging on
desperately. Rodney briefly wondered if
this was how he would die.
And then there were more of them. Wolves of all colors and sizes surrounded
them. One of the newcomers attacked the
black wolf, looking like a blur against the darkness of the night. Rodney's leg shook as his attacker was forced
from the limb, and he let out another scream.
He heard the tussle, though he didn't see it behind the
spots in his vision, and he hoped that they wouldn't come after him again. He turned to try once again, but came
face-to-muzzle with another wolf. He
gasped, but held still. The wolf wasn't
very large, and, now that he had the chance to think about it, they looked more
like dogs than wolves. Not that there
was a lot of difference - but he fancied that he could see intelligence in
those eyes staring at him, not rage.
It made him wonder if he'd gone mad from the pain and shock
of the bite - or maybe it was just blind hope in the midst of fear. Animals weren't supposed to be smart.
The fight between the two wolves ended, the black one
properly cowed and whimpering, and Rodney turned his head to watch the pair
warily.
The seconds seemed to pass like minutes, and Rodney turned
back to the wolf - dog? - that was so close he could feel the heat of its
breath on his neck. He could always
blame it on the shock later, he told himself - and hadn't he talked his cat
down from the bookshelf once? "Look, I
know you�re probably just going to eat me or whatever, and it's been a really
nice life, and I can't really blame you or anything, but could you please just
make it quick? Not that you can really
understand me or anything, but I'm not really into pain, and my leg hurts like
hell right now, and really, I'm a scientist, I'm not meant to deal with wild
animals, and injury, or even people, really, and I'm feeling somewhat sick, so
you may not want to eat me anyway - and I didn't get to leave any notes for
Zelenka! Not that he couldn't figure
things out eventually, since he's almost as smart as I am, but who knows what
could happen with all the trained monkeys that work there, and I really am the
smartest person there, even if I can't deal with people very well, and I think
I might just be panicking a bit, and I'm really, really hungry, which is odd,
but true, and - oh god that
hurts!" Rodney winced, curling inwards
as he accidentally shifted his injured leg too much, dragging it painfully
across the cement.
The wolf in front of him had cocked his ears forward, as if
listening to him, and now turned his head slightly, regarding him with
hazel-amber eyes that seemed to glow slightly in the night.
Slowly, he stepped over the scientist�s shaking body,
brushing against arms and torso, and sniffed at the wound. Then he began pulling the denim out of the
skin with slow, careful nips, and - just as slow, just as careful - wiped away
the blood with his tongue.
Rodney clenched his fists, enduring the treatment for a moment before simply giving up - and passed out.
John glared down at Kavanagh, his hazel eyes flashing with anger. For his part, Kavanagh did not look very repentant; in fact, he looked almost smug.
"If I didn't know better, Blackfur," John snarled, "I'd
think you were proud of the fact that
you may have killed a man."
The long-haired man flushed, not raising his eyes to meet
John's. "I just meant to scare him,
really, and I got a bit...carried away. I
went too far...but it was nothing that wasn't deserved. That arrogant excuse of skin finally got what
was coming to him - he was bound to piss someone off sooner or later. Maybe it wasn't planned, but it's not
unforgivable either."
"That is still up for debate - and not for you to decide,"
John snapped, voice hard. "It is my
decision that will determine your fate, and I can tell you right now a large
portion of that depends on the state of the man you've brought into our fold. Know now that if he dies, I will not hesitate
to break your neck as well." John
paused, letting his words sink in as Kavanagh shifted uncomfortably in the hard
chair of the animal hospital's lobby. "Tell me, Blackfur: was it worth the risk of your own life to get revenge?"
The dark eyes closed as Kavanagh - Blackfur - leaned back,
his head hitting the wall behind him. "It was never my intention to risk my own life or his. He will die, I do not doubt that - McKay's
weak, and too much of a coward to hold on.
I can only beg forgiveness for my own weakness."
"If I were you," John growled, his voice low and deep, eyes
flashing with the reflected light, "I would start praying that I was
wrong. If he dies there will be no
forgiveness - you knew that we would welcome you back and help you work through
your issues, and still you did not take what was offered, instead lashing out
at innocents."
"So what should I do then?" Kavanagh shouted, clenching his
fists.
"Pray," John answered. "Pray to the Moon and all the Heavens that Scottie is as good a doctor
as he is a vet, and pray to every God you know that this 'McKay' is stronger
than you think he is."
John turned and stormed off before the other could reply,
snarling at Ronon, who trailed at his side, to stay with the troublesome man
and keep him in the clinic. Taking a
deep breath to calm himself, he pushed his way back into the emergency room of
the vet's building.
The man on the too-small, too-cold table was pale, but
breathing steadily. "How's he doing,
Doc?"
"Better than expected, worse than I'd hoped," the vet
answered, his familiar Scottish accent thick with worry. His dark hair was wet with sweat, his mask
pulled down around his neck and away from his mouth and nose. The gloves were bloody as he pulled them off,
but that was the only sign that the man on the table had had open wounds. "He'd lost quite a bit of blood, and I've
none to give him to replace it. Blackfur
very nearly cut the man's hamstrings with his teeth - it was a close call, but
he was lucky in that his leg will still work.
"He will, however," the vet continued, "have a limp from all
the muscle damage. There was simply too
much damage to repair - but the good news is that we got him here quickly
enough that I was able to do a lot more than I would have otherwise. The pain should be minimal once he recovers."
There was a sigh, catching John's attention. He looked up from his gaze to meet the eyes
of one of the oldest members of his pack -
"What do you suspect?" John's voice was soft, soothing.
Scottie - Carson Beckett - collapsed into the chair kept in
the back of the room for those pets that needed the owner's presence to stay
calm during surgery. He looked
exhausted, and John didn't blame him; John was tired himself. "It's late, and I've no way of knowing how
long he's been up. It could be simple
exhaustion, it could be shock, it could be low blood sugar or blood loss, it
could be an adverse reaction to the bite or the gift - lord knows, not everyone
can handle it - but the truth is..." the doctor paused, looking sadly at the man
laid out awkwardly on the table. "The
truth is I just don't know."
"Is he stable?"
John nodded. "Tell
Red what you need, and she'll see that you get it. We can keep it on-hand, as well - just as a
precaution, of course."
"Of course."
"Tell her to do whatever it takes to get everything
tonight. I want this guy to make it."
"Alpha?"
"No one should die because of another man's jealousy - and
that's all this is. Blackfur is out
there smelling like a pleased kitten over scaring this guy...and resigned to the
fact that McKay will die. I'd rather not
lose both of them."
"Oh dear."
John nodded. "Make
sure he makes it, Scottie. I need to go
run - I need to think. Such aggression
is not acceptable, and I cannot simply let it slide."
"Aye. I'll have
Snapper sit with him; she should be able to keep an eye on things here while I
talk to Red. Do what you have to,
Alpha."
John nodded again. "And get some sleep yourself - I need you to be in top shape to care for
him."
It was just him and the wind and the sound of the pack beside
him. He let his paws dig into the dirt,
thrumming a jolt through his legs with each stride. His lungs filled and his head cleared. The night was his.
Twenty minutes later, he stopped and howled his grief to the
new moon. The pack joined him, guilty
and tired but too nervous for real rest.
They needed to be together for comfort, the entire
pack. But Red was out getting supplies,
Scottie was too tired, Snapper was sitting with McKay, and Ronon and Kavanagh
were - no doubt - exchanging growls inside the clinic. They were too far apart, too scattered by the
change.
There was more than one reason to hope McKay lived. Kavanagh's revenge was pointless, yes, but
John was certain Blackfur was just angry and confused, not really aware of the
consequences of his actions. He'd said
it himself - he had not intended for McKay to die. The grief if he did would be excruciating -
for all of them. Beyond that, it seemed
as if this McKay guy was smart; maybe he would be what this pack needed to
become a solid unit. Maybe they could do
more than just survive. And maybe they could teach him a thing or two
about being a part of a pack.
McKay also seemed to know Check. It was hard to say if it was close or not -
or even friendly, considering the circumstances - but it was there. If McKay was half as smart as he claimed...
Maybe they could finally reclaim the land of their dreams,
with enough land for his pack and Weir's to run together again, separate but
together under the Atlantis moon.
Maybe.
The clinic had to open as normal, of course, although
Scottie tried to put it off for as long as possible to give both himself and
his workers the chance for a short nap.
Twenty minutes wasn't really enough, but it was all the chance they had.
McKay - Rodney, Scottie corrected himself, having read the
copy of the man's medical charts that Red had so gracefully retrieved for him -
was hooked up to an IV containing nutrients and hydration for his body. Quick blood tests had shown that the sugar
level was low, but not dangerously so; he now also had a proper bandage on his
leg to prevent disease setting in.
Considering that the charts showed a history for hypertension and sleep
deprivation,
He was actually very lucky, Scottie thought. If Rodney had kicked any harder - thrown the
angle of the bite off in the slightest - he might never have been able to walk
again. Hamstrings just couldn't be fixed - by anyone - and there was no telling how much damage Kavanagh would have done
before he'd realized what was happening.
Rodney was now as comfortable as possible on a cot in the
back room, away from any animals the chart claimed he had an allergy to - which
could prove to be problematic if true.
He would never be pleasant if he was allergic to his own fur, but the
gift might ease or even cure such things - if it didn't kill him first.
Red - Teyla - was the one who had volunteered to keep an eye
on their human patient while Snapper and Fetch helped him to keep up with the
animal patients. It wasn't easy when he
had to examine each and every one himself - and all of them, human and animal,
could sense his weariness.
"Are you sure you're all right, doctor?" asked his latest
visitor - the owner of a particularly snappish feline, who had been
respectfully compliant for once.
It was a question he had
heard many times already, and that only added to his fatigue. "Aye, lass," Scottie answered, thoughts still
on Rodney. "I just had a wee bit of a
late night with an unexpected patient."
It was the answer he'd given all the other questioning pet owners. He'd perfected the story early on, informing
Snapper and Fetch to keep inconsistencies down.
There was so much work, and so little time.
"Did someone's pet get hurt?" It was rare, but it did happen.
Scottie shook his head. "More like I found a wee little lost kitten with a nasty bite. He seems to be doing all right now, though,
and I might be able to set him free again soon so that he can find his way
home."
The girl raised an eyebrow in surprise, picking up her own
cat. Of course, like most cat owners,
she wouldn't let it go at that. "You
aren't going to try and find the owner yourself?"
Scottie shook his head again. "This isn't the type of cat you want to keep
as a pet, lass. He belongs in the
forest." True enough - if the gift
took. Of course, he wouldn't be a cat
then, either.
She nodded in understanding, though, cuddling her own
pet. "I heard the wolves last night - I
wonder if it was them. It must be hard,
living out there."
"Aye, but don't you worry.
The animals out there know how to survive, and can do well enough
without us keeping an eye on them. I
just couldn't stand to leave him there alone.
Now, if you don't mind, I've got a little furry friend to examine before
I can lay down for a bit - and I think I'm going to need it. Lorne is at the desk, and can get everything
settled for you." Not that Fetch liked
it; he preferred being out and running.
"Of course; thank you, Doctor Beckett."
"You're welcome."
Scottie sighed as the woman left - the last one before his lunch break, and
then, if there were no emergencies, there were no more appointments until
three. He'd eat first, and then have a
short, two hour nap.
But first to check on Rodney.
Teyla greeted
"He woke up for a short while earlier, and managed to eat
something. I did not wish to disturb
you; he insisted on calling in sick, and asking someone to feed his pet. He managed to spend ten minutes yelling at
someone before I was able to retrieve the phone from him and explain that he
was ill, and needed someone to look after his home," she reported. "I did not explain why he was not there, nor
to him what had happened last night. He
seemed agitated, and fell asleep shortly after the end of the phone call."
"It's all right, love," Scottie told her, holding Rodney's
wrist in one hand to check his pulse. "I
get the feeling that he's going to be a most unusual patient. It's likely that he's simply too tired and
confused to be polite; he should recover given time and rest."
"You are tired yourself, are you not?"
"Aye," Scottie smiled, amused at the almost-repetition of
the question so many others had asked.
Teyla, however, knew why he wasn't at his best. "I need to keep an eye on this fellow here,
though. I think it's safe to take the
IVs out now, if he's able to eat, and he seems to be settling down well
enough. I don't think we'll have any
more major problems.
"If you could tell Swift to send Alpha a message while I fix
Rodney up, I'm sure he'd be pleased to know that our patient is doing
well. Not only will he live, but I
suspect he'll make almost a full recovery."
"What do you mean, 'almost'?"
It was the first time Scottie had heard Rodney's voice, and
it was both snappish and cutting as he had expected. Patients - animal or human - didn't like
being in pain, and didn't like being attacked; Scottie had dealt with enough
patients after surgery - and enough snapping turtles - to not be deterred by
the tone. He could see the worry
underneath, could smell the panic the other couldn't quite hide. "I'm afraid you're always going to have a bit
of a limp with that leg, son, but nothing that should be too troublesome."
Scottie almost found himself mesmerized by the relief that
showed itself in those blue eyes. It
wasn't that they were particularly beautiful or expressive, but they caught his
attention and held it, just the same. It
was like the snapping turtles - they hid more than they showed, but they could
hold your gaze for hours without blinking. "And then there's also the gift," Scottie found himself saying, "but
that is for the Alpha to explain to you."
"Why can't you?" Rodney asked, eyes narrowed. "And what happened to doctor-patient
confidentiality?"
"Well, for one, it's not my place," Scottie said, turning
his gaze away to start the process of removing the IVs. "And as for the second, I'm a vet - not a
physician. You'll have to ask the Alpha
for questions about the gift, but I can answer what I can about your
health. Now, are you up to eating
anything? I promise - no citrus."
It was a plus that Rodney wasn't sneezing from the cat-hair
on his lab coat. He hadn't changed after
the last patient, so he hoped that it was a sign the animal allergies were
lessening. It was another good sign that
he was up and eating on his own, and that the IVs could come out.
Scottie really, really wanted that nap, though.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" Rodney snapped. "I thought you said you were going to feed
me?"
True to his name, Swift was swift, and he had John back at
the clinic within ten minutes of being told he had an errand to run. Scottie was relieved to see the lean, tanned
form stride into the room and kick a chair around so he could straddle it
backwards, his arms resting on the backrest so that he could lazily watch the
new patient eat.
Scottie couldn't blame John for his worry. Yes, they did have new pack additions, but
they had all been graced with the gift for years before being welcomed; Ronon
had been a lone wolf, nameless but for his human appellation, and Teyla had
only recently lost a good deal of her pack.
She and those who had remained had joined John, eager for the protection
of a larger pack.
Rodney was the first to have been bitten on John's watch in
years - ever since the fiasco with Mitch, might he rest in peace.
It took a few moments for Rodney to speak to John, but he
didn't blame Rodney for his concerns either.
If the records were right, he was slightly paranoid over his blood sugar
levels, and had been ever since a cousin of his died from a sugar crash. Of course, that cousin had been diabetic, but
Rodney had been only five at the time, and all he had understood was that his
cousin hadn't eaten on time.
"Who are you?" Rodney's voice cut through the silence and
Scottie's thoughts, causing the veterinarian to jump slightly in surprise.
John simply smirked, and held out his hand for the other to
shake. "They call me John Sheppard," he
said, not at all perturbed by the icy tone Rodney had given him. "Though I'd have wished for better
circumstances, I think it's safe to say that I'm pleased to meet you, Mister
McKay."
Rodney didn't take the hand.
He made a snorting sound and plucked at what was left of his food until
John dropped it. "You probably just want
to know if I'm going to press charges - of course, that's assuming that mangy
mutt was your dog, but that's the
only reason I can see that you'd be here."
John frowned slightly. "I hope
that thing got put down, he probably had rabies." Real fear cut through the room like a heated
blade, sharp and fast, as Rodney turned towards
"Calm down." John's voice wasn't loud, but, then again, it
didn't need to be.
"Scottie," he continued slowly, "did you check for
rabies?" It was meant only for Rodney's
comfort; their kind could not carry such diseases.
"Aye," Scottie answered, bowing his head slightly as he
answered, turning it to the side so his vein showed. And it was true enough - Scottie had tested
Rodney's blood for any disease he could think of, not just rabies. "He's clean.
Only the gift took to his blood, and even seems to be relieving a few of
his natural ailments."
"Good. Why don't you
go take a nap while I see to things here?
There's no need to run yourself ragged."
Scottie let out a sigh of relief - he was just so tired - before leaving.
Rodney swallowed, and hunkered down on the cot, making
himself as small as possible.
Considering the fact that he was a decent sized man - with a bit of a
soft belly, John couldn't help but note, and not a lot of coordination or
muscle - the attempt was pretty feeble.
He avoided John's eyes, playing with the blanket for a moment to stall
for time; it was obvious that he wasn't used to such situations when he
suddenly blurted: "I won't, you know.
Sue. I mean, it wasn't your fault
it went rabid or whatever. And...and I
won't get you in trouble over it."
John waited half a moment before answering. "That's good to know."
The room was quiet.
Rodney squirmed. John didn't need
the gift to sense his nervousness. "Surely you have questions," he stated, keeping his voice gentle. John reminded himself that the man on the cot
had just gone through an attack, and was probably unsettled enough already.
Rodney nodded in response to the not-quite-question, but
didn't voice his curiosities.
John sighed. "Well, I
guess then I'll just have to say what I can and hope I answer them. A long time ago, people believed in the true
Gods - "
Rodney snorted disbelievingly. "Oh please.
Next you'll be telling me about elves, fairies, and werewolves. I want answers, not a bedtime story,
Sheppard. Kavanagh could do better."
John was silent, suddenly still and tense.
"Oh, all right," Rodney gave in after a moment, uncertain
what button he had pushed to cause the other man to freeze so completely. "I'm sure it was going to be a good story, with rightly evil vampires,
benevolent gods, and scary ghosts - I've heard them all before, Sheppard, and
there's no need to repeat such nonsense.
I'm no child."
John didn't answer, his gaze fixed on Rodney's face.
"And Kavanagh's an idiot.
Any trained monkey could do better than him - well, except maybe
what's-her-face, Kusa-something, but she cries half the time, and that's just
not fair."
John almost let out a laugh, but kept his face straight.
"You were going to
tell me a story, right?"
The dark-haired man gave Rodney a smirk, letting his
amusement show. "I guess you'll never
know now, will you? I wouldn't be so
quick to dismiss such things, McKay - they may just prove true."
"There is no solid evidence that any such mythological
creatures exist - "
"Nor is there proof that they do not. I know enough about
scientific theory to know that it's near impossible to prove a lack of
something that can't be seen or measured."
Rodney stared at him for a moment before looking away. "Believe what you want, I have work to
do. How long before the psycho-vet lets
me leave?"
John watched him. "Not for a while yet, I don't think.
You need some rest, as does he.
It has been as difficult for him to treat you as it has been for you to
suffer through this. It is not always
easy to receive the gift."
"What is this gift that everyone keeps talking about?" Rodney asked. "And what's so great about it anyway?"
John stood, giving himself a moment to collect his thoughts,
and patted a blanket-covered ankle as he walked by on the way to the door. "It's too soon for you yet," he said. "I'll send in some company for you." He was gone.
A few minutes later, a large dog pushed through the swinging
doors and hopped up onto the cot, mindful of Rodney's wrapped leg.
"Get off, mutt!" There was the slightest hint of panic in
his voice.
The dog settled down beside him, the large brown head on
Rodney�s thigh as the tail thumped against the bed by his feet. The dog was large, even if he was lean.
It was easy to see how Rodney had mistaken him for a wolf the night
before.
"I'm allergic, you know."
Calmer.
The dog whined, inching forward to shove his head under
Rodney's hand.
Rodney let himself give the dog a tentative scratch behind
the ears, calming further as the animal showed no signs of aggression.
The tail wagged with the small concessions, and Rodney
sighed.
"I guess, since you did
save me from that other mutt last night, you can stay for a little while. But if I start sneezing you're gone."
A soft, happy 'arf' was his answer.
Rodney couldn't figure out the dog that Sheppard had sent
him for 'company'. He knew it left
sometime after he fell asleep, and came back shortly after he woke up and ate
breakfast. It didn't stay for lunch, and
seemed to have the odd ability to order
That was the vet's name, he'd found. And he was
fairly proficient in human medicine, he just preferred working with animals.
But the dog...the dog watched him like a hawk. A hawk with large, sharp teeth.
Four days had passed since John had first visited him, and
Rodney had been whining since the second that he was fit to leave - or at least
work on his laptop. Since he wasn't about
to give anyone at the clinic the keys to his house, however, and since no one
had yet to come and visit him despite knowing he was ill and where to contact
him, Rodney didn't get it.
So instead he found himself working out problems in his
head, reciting theories out loud to the dog, and worrying about his cat. He'd clamp his mouth shut if anyone came in,
and made it a point to annoy them with whines about leaving and complaints
about whatever project the trained monkeys in his lab were messing up.
On the fifth day, John showed up again - before his mutt had
a chance to make an appearance. "Feeling
better?"
"Yes, no thanks to you.
Your voodoo vet can't keep me locked up here forever, you know. I've already missed a week of valuable lab
time, and soon I'll have to start submitting grant applications - I can't do
that from in here, at least not without my laptop. And that's not counting the racket my cat's
going to put up for being without me for so long." Because, no matter what, his cat loved the
hand that fed it - even if Rodney hadn't been that hand for a few days.
"I'm sure he's getting plenty of company from the people you
sent to feed him."
Rodney looked away, not voicing his worry that the lab techs
had forgotten his pet.
"Would you like me to look in on him? Maybe bring him in to
Rodney didn't answer, still wary of handing over his keys,
but growing more concerned over his pet as he didn't hear a thing from his
coworkers.
"Maybe later," John conceded when the silence threatened to
grow awkward. "Are you feeling up to
walking for a bit?"
"Of course!" Rodney snapped, indignant. "What do you think I've been telling these
morons for the past few days?"
John held out his hand. "Come on, then."
"What? Wait - don't I
get crutches or something?"
John smirked. "You
get me. Considering the fact that I
carried you all the way here, I don't think you have anything to worry about;
I'm stronger than a crutch, and smarter too."
"That's debatable," Rodney shot back, looking John up and
down. "And you look like a twig. No offense."
John's eyebrow twitched, but he kept his smirk firmly in
place and held his hand steady.
"If I fall, I really will sue."
John didn't move.
"I - "
"You're going to have to trust me, McKay," John
interrupted. "It's not far. You said yourself that you wanted to get out
of here, and I think
Rodney hesitated a moment more.
"I promise I won't let you fall."
Rodney bit his lip and took the hand, turning so that he
could let his legs down over the side of the bed on his own. John pulled Rodney's arm over his shoulders,
crouching down so that the injured man didn't have to stand just yet, and
wrapped his other arm firmly around Rodney's waist.
"You ready?" John asked.
Rodney nodded, not looking the other man in the face.
"Okay then - one, two, three." John lifted and Rodney pushed himself
up. Within moments he was standing on
unsteady legs, one foot firm while he gingerly tested how much weight his
injured leg could take on.
Not much, but some.
Enough.
"Come on," John urged, pulling Rodney towards the door. "Let's get some fresh air, and, since you
weren't getting many visitors, I want to introduce you to someone."
"Who said I wasn't getting any visitors?"
"A little birdie told me," John told him, voice light while
his face revealed nothing.
Rodney frowned, but didn't push, instead devoting his energy
towards the odd walk-limp-hop he was managing to pull off with Sheppard's
help. There wasn't really a reason to
argue after all; any one of his 'caretakers' could have told the other man
about the lack of concern over Rodney's supposed illness. He quickly banished the thought that the
scientists were celebrating his absence - even they weren't that cruel. They probably just thought that he was
slacking off, or going off on one of his tangent projects and didn't want to be
disturbed. Hopefully they had remembered
his cat, though.
"I do need to get home," Rodney mentioned, more for a moment
to stop and catch his breath than to voice further complaints. They'd only made it down the hall and around
the corner, but hopping along on one foot wasn't easy, even with John taking
most of his weight. "Make sure those
idiots fed
"Is your work really that dangerous?"
"When you work with morons like I do? Of course.
I may be a genius, but I'm not a cure for stupidity in the lab. I swear last week what's-his-name - Smiters,
Smith, something like that - was trying to do some damage by initializing the
remote radio sensors before the reactions were finished." There was no doubt in his voice that this had
been an incredibly stupid move. "I'd
swear they all got their degrees from a Dollar General store."
"Maybe they just can't keep up with your intelligence."
"Of course not.
Didn't you hear me when I said that I was a genius?"
"And so modest, too," John teased. "Well, genius, are you ready to move again?"
"What?" Rodney gave him a blank look before remembering that
they were standing in the middle of the clinic's hallway. "Oh.
Right. Is your hair always like
that?"
"What?"
"Well, last time I thought it was just because it was the
middle of the night. You know, bed
head? But it's all..." Rodney waved a hand at John in the general
direction of his hair.
"Yes, McKay, it's always like this."
"Huh. Another
oddity."
John didn't comment, instead pulling Rodney along the last
few feet to the clinic's back door - the closest of all the exits to the room
he'd been staying in.
The ten minutes it took to get out and seated on the wooden
bench seemed to take hours in Rodney's mind.
His left leg, unused to taking the brunt of his weight, felt shaky and
weak; his right arm felt sore from where it was thrown over John's shoulders,
bracing his body against the other man's.
He'd broken a sweat before they'd even made it to the back parking lot.
John helped him to get comfortable on the bench, throwing
his light jacket over Rodney's shoulders and crouching down before him. "Still think you can make it on your own?"
"Oh ha ha, very funny Sheppard," Rodney snapped, clenching
his hands in the leather. "Remind me to
laugh once I catch my breath."
John let his lips quirk up in a strange sort of smile. "Well, maybe I can see if someone can stay
with you. Someone who knows how to
change your bandages and can put up with your snark."
"Why do you care, anyways?"
"Why shouldn't I?" John shot back, not looking disturbed in
the least.
Rodney gave him a funny look, like he couldn't quite
understand the man with the fly-boy hair and hazel eyes.
"Wait here for a bit," John said as he stood, once again not
letting the silence drag on too long. "I'll be right back."
Rodney almost mentioned that he couldn't go anywhere, but bit his tongue against the comment. Slouching down on the bench, he huddled into
the jacket that smelled faintly of the man who had worn it - and how he knew
that he never could have guessed. It was
clean, but that only reminded him of how grimy he had felt. He hadn't had a shower in days, and had
refused to allow
He couldn't really pay for the treatment as it was. It wasn't like Carson was an actual doctor - and he still wondered about
that, occasionally, but had accepted that he wasn't going to get any answers
until John felt like giving them - but he didn't doubt that the man would
expect some sort of fee.
The rent was due in a few weeks, the water and electric
bills he'd gotten just before he was attacked.
There were probably more in his mailbox even now. It was going to be tight this month - being a
scientist hadn't really paid off the way he'd expected it to; only the military
paid that well, and they didn't want theorists from Canada, they wanted scientists that
worked with weapons.
He fell asleep wondering if John would let him go home just
because he smelled bad, and running the equations for the experimental
worm-hole theory he'd found in the library's more-recent but less looked-over
files.
John let a rare full smile grace his face as he ran his hand
through Rodney's hair. Once more
crouched down before the scientist, he wondered if maybe he should let the man
rest a while longer. Rodney had fallen
asleep in an awkward position, though, with his head falling forward and his
body slouched down so that his spine pressed into the wooden back of the bench - he was asleep sitting up, oddly enough.
The short walk had, apparently, completely worn him out.
Carding his hand through the receding hairline, however, was
enough to stir Rodney from his doze.
"Hey," John greeted, morphing the smile back into a familiar
smirk.
"Sheppard?" Rodney asked, sitting up straighter.
"How are you feeling, buddy?" John's voice was gentle as
Rodney rubbed his face with one hand, the other holding on to the jacket John
had covered him with.
"All right, I guess."
"That's good; I want to introduce you to the biggest part of
the gift today, which is also the hardest for outsiders to accept. First, though, I need your keys."
That got Rodney's attention immediately. "Why?" he asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I managed to swing by your house and take a peek in through
the windows - I got the address from your medical records, since
Rodney immediately dug around in his pockets for the right
key - if they really wanted it from him, he thought to himself, they could take
it from him anytime. "He's not..."
John waved off the concern. "He maybe missed a meal or two - not many - probably as a result of staying
home alone so long. Heaven knows, I
would be lonely if I were cooped up alone all day. Still, it's better to be safe than sorry -
and I'm sure he'd be happy to see you."
Rodney held out the key, but held on to it a moment when
John made to take it from him. "If
anything's missing when I get back..."
"You know my name, my friends, and where to find me," John
finished for him. "I'm not a thief, McKay;
you have nothing to fear from me." The
key disappeared into his jeans, tucked safely into a pocket. "Now, the gift. Are you ready?"
"As I'll ever be," Rodney grumbled.
"Ronon, Red - come on out."
At John's command two large dogs made their way out of the
woods and came to sit on the cement before Rodney and John. The first was smaller, female, and covered in
red fur. She moved with a sort of grace
that the second dog lacked, a grace that was almost feline, smooth and
deliberate in a way that Rodney had never seen before in a dog.
The second dog was more of a giant of its kind; he had
large, powerful jaws, large teeth, and strong paws. Despite his size, his movements were just as
quiet and deliberate as the females; he reminded Rodney of a hunter.
"I'm sure by now that you've noticed your allergy to dogs
has been mostly, if not completely, been cured?" John asked.
Rodney nodded. "I
don't see what that has to do with this, though."
John moved to sit beside him and took Rodney's hand in
his. "It is one of the lesser aspects of
the gift - a way of easing it for those less capable of accepting it as they
are. Now, the best way to explain the
gift is to show it, but I need you to not panic - no one here will hurt you,
okay?"
Rodney gave him an odd look - a look John had come to
associate with Rodney's confusion, and feeling that his companion was a moron. "There's only you and me here."
"Trust me," John repeated his earlier words. "Watch the wolves." Rodney turned his head to keep them in his
sights. "Listen to them as carefully as
you can - every sound. Watch their every
move. Tell me what you see." His tone was expectant.
"A pair of mutts that have been running through the woods
and that probably have ticks," Rodney answered, frowning. "Are they really wolves?"
John looked displeased as Rodney took a quick glance at his
face, and Rodney got the feeling that he had, for once, failed at something. Which was ridiculous, since he hadn't
actually been doing anything. "It's been
a long time since I've had to do anything like this," John said, voice
resigned, ignoring Rodney's question. "It was easier when they already knew the stories - already suspected
they knew what the gift was."
Rodney thought for a moment. "You mean that ridiculous bedtime tale you tried to feed me the first
night?" Rodney asked. "What good could
that do?"
"Think of it this way," John said, brushing off the
question, "and just humor me for a few minutes.
Picture yourself as a wolf - something like these two before us. Think of yourself as something like a
werewolf, but with the ability to change yourself at will. Please, McKay, just do it and don't ask
questions," he said in response to the sour look on Rodney's face.
"You do realize that this is insane, right?" Rodney
asked. "And that you are quite possibly
insane as well? Werewolves - or whatever
mutation you'd have me believe this is - don't exist."
"I believe you are mistaken, Rodney," came Teyla's sweet
voice. "Our werewolf kin are not yet
extinct, though some might wish it so."
The smaller red wolf was gone, and Teyla stood in her place,
completely naked.
"I was trying to break it to him gently," John almost growled,
his hand tightening around Rodney's. "But thank you, Red," he conceded. "I'm afraid his thick skull just wasn't letting it sink in."
"Indeed. If it would
please you to see Ronon change, Doctor McKay?" Rodney shook his head in answer
to Teyla's question. "Then Ronon and I
will leave you to the Alpha's care. If
you have need of us, you need only call."
He watched her shift back, the hair shifting across her skin
as fur, bones rearranging themselves in her body, her spine stretching out to
make a tail, her nose and mouth morphing into a muzzle, her hands hitting the
ground as paws and her legs shifting angles and shortening. It wasn't long before the two wolves were
trotting off into the woods.
"McKay?" John's voice was soft, probing.
Rodney swallowed. "I
want to go home."
"Look - "
"Take me home!" It
was desperate, needy.
"Okay." John put a
hand on Rodney's shoulder, as comforting as he could. "Okay.
I'll take you home."
Rodney buried his face in his hands.
The ride to his house was ominous in its silence. John didn't like it, but he tried not to let
it get to him.
Rodney had made it to the car, and was probably tired - he
had fallen asleep on the bench, after all - but John didn't think fatigue had
much of anything to do with the scientist's quiet. John could almost hear the wheels turning in
the other man's head, examining and rejecting theories; he knew that whatever
Rodney was thinking about wasn't good.
John didn't argue against it, or try and set things right. It was natural for outsiders to question
things, after all. It was just a part of
accepting the gift.
Sometimes it didn't turn out so good, but John had hope for
Rodney.
Rodney allowed John to help him into the house and settle
onto the bed. He didn't even complain
about needing to stop and rest when he was obviously tired; John simply slowed
his pace, and let Rodney take his time.
John locked the door behind them and made certain that the cat had food
and water while Rodney reacquainted himself with his room. When he thought it was safe to check on the
man again and see how Rodney was, he found the pale man sitting on the bed and
running his hands through his cat�s fur, smiling slightly at the little purring
sounds the animal was making.
"If you'd get me a change of clothes, I'd like to take a nap
now." It was the first Rodney had spoken
since 'take me home.'
John went to the chest of drawers and began searching for
something appropriate. "McKay?" he
probed softly when the other man seemed lost in thought.
"Was it someone I know?" Rodney asked after a moment.
"What?"
The injured man was quiet for a moment, and John put a clean
pair of boxers and an undershirt on the bed - it was all he had found. Rodney didn't look up at him. "I'm not stupid, you know," he continued,
hand stilling on the cat's back. "It
doesn't take a genius to figure it out.
So I want to know who it was."
"It's against the rules to attack someone like that - to
even mingle with humans at all in our fur.
We knew he was upset, but we didn't know he'd...lash out like that. His actions won't go unpunished, but," John
paused, taking a breath, and tried to get a glimpse of the blue eyes that had
been so elusive since he'd put on his skin. "Well, I told him his punishment was pending your recovery."
"Who?"
"Kavanagh."
"He hasn't been allowed to return - and that will continue
until you are able to go back as well."
"And my 'company'?" Rodney asked.
John hesitated a moment before answering. "Myself," he said softly. "Just me."
"And you insist on staying, no matter what I say?"
John nodded. "It's
not safe yet to leave you alone, for you or for us."
Rodney frowned, letting the cat jump down from his lap. "There's a guest room down the hall. Don't eat my cat."
John accepted the dismissal for what it was - Rodney did,
after all, deserve some time to himself to rest and sort things out on his own.
The full moon was approaching, however, and they had not escaped
the fate of their werewolf kin. The
night of the full moon, John knew, Rodney would be a wolf whether he liked it
or not. John tried not to think of the
alternative.
The guestroom was smaller than the master bedroom, and
sparsely furnished. The bed was a futon,
and looked like it never got much use - it was almost new, if not for the layer
of dust on the sheets. There was a
nightstand with a lamp, and a short chest of drawers with a standing mirror,
but aside from that not much decorated the room. From the look of things, Rodney had spared no
expense on his own bedroom - on his own house - but when it came to the comfort
of others, or even the luxury of a car, he baulked. John wondered for a brief moment why, then
realized that it didn't matter. He would
have plenty enough time to get to know Rodney once he was one of the pack.
John opened up the window by the bed, letting in the fresh
air and clearing out a bit of the dust.
He could hear the sounds of his pack, roaming the forest without him. Teyla would keep them in line, much as she
had been doing for the past few days - more? - while he was distracted by their
newest member.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would help Rodney exercise and
build up strength in his injured leg.
Tomorrow night, he would help Rodney transform - and reveal to him the
consequences of failure. They would do
what they could; John had had enough of not being with his pack.
Stripping off his clothes, the alpha wolf let the change
take over him. He would not be running
with the pack - not now, and not later tonight - but he would have this. Rodney would not want him in the room -
although he doubted the other man would kick him out - and so he had to prepare
himself for a long, lonely night.
He howled out the window at the sun, reminding both himself
and his pack that they were not alone, and reminding Rodney of what they
were. It was a reminder that, somehow,
they would all pull through this, and that everything would be all right soon.
John didn't know if he believed that, but he had to have
faith in it. They all did.
Feeling better, he returned to his skin and dressed before
heading towards the kitchen. He would
need to examine the food situation before Rodney woke up, hungry for lunch, and
he would need to find some clean sheets for the futon in the guestroom. Considering that no one had been in the house
for a week, John hoped that there was still something edible in the house. No doubt, there would be a need for grocery
shopping soon as well.
The cat - what had Rodney called him?
"Hey buddy," John greeted, ignoring the mess in favor of the
cat. "Bet you and McKay didn't much like
that racket I made, huh? Sorry about
that."
"I don't have any treats for you, sorry. Maybe Fetch will remember to get you some
when he gets food for me and your owner."
John picked
"A very long day indeed," John sighed, tying the top of the
bag and hefting it up to take it outside.
"Come on, tiger," John cajoled. "You're going to have to work for your
lunch."
Rodney groaned.
"I know, frozen dinners aren't all that appealing to me
either, but Fetch doesn't get off of work until five, and most of your food was
spoiled. I could whip us up some
spaghetti, if you'd like?"
Rodney made a face, but nodded.
"You still need to get up and walk to the kitchen; we can't
let that leg get too weak now, can we?
I'll go ahead and start the water while you get yourself together, and
then I can help you. Would you like a
pair of pants, or are you fine in just your boxers?"
"In the closet - there should be a pair of jeans hanging
up."
John found the pants and set them on the bed within Rodney's
reach. "I'll be back in a few minutes,"
he said before leaving the room.
Rodney sat up gingerly before attempting to put on the
comfortable denim jeans. He'd been happy
to discover earlier that changing wasn't really that much of a chore; his
problems only really started when he tried to walk.
But, eventually, he would have to once again walk on his
own. The problems he had weren't going
to just disappear because he wanted them to, he knew that, but he also knew
that he was an expert at focusing on one problem at a time and ignoring all
else - when he was able to, of course. A
pain in his leg was rather hard to ignore, after all.
It was still a skill he planned to put into use for as long
as he could, and he doubted that anyone would think poorly of him for it.
At the moment, he planned to focus on building up the
strength to walk again without assistance.
With that in mind, he used the nightstand to heave himself onto his
feet. He'd grown better at avoiding the
pain in the few short trips he'd already made, and somewhat more used to
it. The naps had helped, far more than
he was really comfortable with.
Still, Rodney was somewhat proud to make it all the way to
the bedroom door before John came back to collect him for lunch - and he was
suddenly pleased with his decision to buy a house that was only a single story.
"Would you like some help," John asked, "or would you like
to try and make it on your own?"
"Crutch," Rodney answered, not needing to explain that his
stronger leg wasn't yet used to the jarring hop-limp his injury was forcing him
to make. Rodney had never been good with
injuries period, no matter what form they had taken.
John slipped under the unresisting arm. "I'll see what I can do about getting you a
real crutch tomorrow - until then, I'll have to be a substitute."
Rodney didn't comment, focusing instead of making his way
down the hallway and into the kitchen without falling on or over top of
anything. It was a short trip, again -
not even as long as the trip from the car to his bedroom - but Rodney was
beginning to realize that everything seemed to take longer when you were
injured.
John waited until Rodney was seated in the chair at the
table before putting the noodles in the pot and opening the jar to heat up the
sauce. Rodney hadn't even remembered he
had it; maybe someone had left it when they came over to feed his cat.
"How much longer until I can go back to work?" Rodney asked,
reminded of the job he had left unfinished.
John started at the question. "So long as you're off your feet most of the
day, until your strength in that leg builds up...I don't see any physical reason
why you couldn't go back as early as tomorrow.
I'm sorry I have to tell you that you're not going to be able to, though."
"Why not?"
"I need to teach you how to change; I can't do that if
you're gone all day, or too tired to really try."
Rodney glared at him. "And I have work to do that I've been forced to put off for nearly a
week. The people I work with are morons - I've probably been set back twice as long, and that's time I can't afford to
lose."
John stirred the noodles as he thought, making Rodney
twitchy with irritation and nerves. John
had to know that, if he didn't drive Rodney to work, there was no way the
injured man was going to make it there on his own - the scientist didn't have a
car of his own, and the walk was too far for him to make for another few weeks
yet.
"I'll drive you to work tomorrow if you can show some
progress with the gift tonight, after dinner."
"After lunch."
John shook his head, still not facing Rodney as he kept his
attention on the saucepans. "You're too
wound up right now, and I'm not calm enough to show you. It would never work. The point is to relax and accept it -
otherwise you end up like the werewolves, hating what has been given to you and
having the change forced upon you until it drives you mad."
"Fine," Rodney said, a slight pout evident. "After dinner - but I get a half day tomorrow
no matter how much 'progress' I do or do not make."
John let out a sound very near a growl, but Rodney didn't
back down. "Two hours guaranteed - after
lunch tomorrow, but that is it." He
slammed a bowl down on the counter before draining the noodles and dumping them
in it. "Lesson one of the pack, McKay:
I'm the alpha here, and there are no arguments and no negotiations against what
I have said." The sauce joined the
noodles in the bowl, and John stirred them together roughly. "We've been slack on teaching you our ways
because you are both new and injured, but know that fighting with me is a good
way to get your nose bit; I don't take well to others ignoring my orders. Now eat." The bowl, a plate, and a fork were
slammed down in front of Rodney, one right after another, just before John
stormed off.
He wasn't really that
bad, Rodney thought. At least, not for a
guy that howled at the moon. And he knew
how to make spaghetti, which was a definite plus - and meant that they didn't
spend their spare time off hunting down raw meat to tear apart.
Still, Rodney knew he would have to be more careful around
the man. John could, literally, bite his
head off - like Kavanagh had tried to do.
He was so not letting that
black-haired beast near the radioactive minerals, if they ever got any at the
center. Or any cleaning products for
that matter.
And maybe he could work towards having citrus banned from
the premises?
Not to mention the fact that he still had to work out the
equations that Kavanagh had been meant to do, but never completed.
Numbers started dancing around his head as Rodney took a bite of his lunch. Maybe he could dig out his laptop - it was an older model, but still capable of handling the necessary equations...and his room still received the wireless frequency from the neighbor's internet...
John and Lorne - Rodney just couldn't think of the man as 'Fetch' - were sitting in his living room trying to help Rodney with his 'gift.'
It didn't feel like much of a gift at the moment.
"Look, you just need to relax and focus, okay?" John told
him. "Just accept it; it's simple once
you get the hang of it."
"Simple enough that you're asking me to do two contradictory
things? Last time I checked, Sheppard,
relaxing had nothing to do with focus!" Rodney snapped.
"Calm down and try again; you're getting too
frustrated. We're not going to leave you
here until you show us something."
"What are you, a drill sergeant? Well I'm sorry, sir, but maybe I'm just not cut out for this!"
John frowned. "You
know, I think I like 'colonel' better than 'sergeant' - or maybe 'general'
would suit me better? Then again,
there's so much paperwork to do when you're that high up, and you don't get as
much time out in the field, where all the real action is."
"I'm so glad you find my failure so amusing."
"You can do this,
McKay," John urged. "The gift would have
killed you otherwise. Now, watch Fetch
again and try to follow him."
Rodney huffed, but watched Lorne sit on the floor again -
still completely naked and completely uncaring, and that bothered Rodney for
some reason. The first noticeable change
came to his ears, where they began to lengthen, point, and grow fur. Next was his face and teeth, and then the
change seemed to ripple down his body in a wave of complex shifting. His change had been the same every time
Rodney watch it, and yet it was different from Teyla's, where she had made
small changes first and larger changes last, and where hadn't seemed to matter.
"Follow him, McKay," John's gentle voice was behind him,
urging him and pushing him softly onto the path. "Focus on the ears, the easiest to
change. Start at the top, where they
come to a point, and then cover them with fur and allow them to move. Feel them
grow and stretch to catch the slightest sound - "
Rodney stood, cutting John off. "I can't do this," he said. He took a limping step away from the
pair. "I just...can't."
John smirked slightly. "But you are."
"What?"
Lorne raised a paw to cover his own wolf-ears, and Rodney -
in a panic - copied the motion with his own hand.
They were still human - still skin.
"You can't fear the change, McKay," John frowned. "You need to let it come to you."
"I don't need to
do anything you say!" Rodney
protested. "I need to go to work, I need
to sleep, and I need to keep the lab from turning into a danger zone, but I
don't need to follow every absurd
order you give!"
Lorne growled, stalking forward, but a quick, cutting hand
motion from John stopped him where he stood. "You're right; you aren't going to make any more progress tonight. Not while you're like this, anyway. And I can't force it on you - the gift
doesn't work that way."
Rodney was silent. He
didn't have to admit his fears to the other man - to the other wolves - in the
room. John could see his hands shaking,
and Lorne could smell it on the air.
"Why don't you get some rest," John offered, still keeping
his voice low, steady, and gentle. "It's
been a long day, one that has been too stressful by half for what we are
attempting."
"Then why did we even try?" Rodney let out, his voice a
desperate plea for a satisfactory answer.
John didn't have one - at least not one that Rodney liked to
hear. "You were the one to insist on
trying today," John reminded him.
"Perhaps we will have better luck after you've been able to spend a few
hours in the lab."
"And why would that make a difference? Not that I'm complaining, of course."
"Something familiar might help to ground you," John
explained, then abruptly changed the subject. "Did you need some help getting back to your room? You're shaking..."
"I'm fine!" Rodney snapped. "I can make it on my own..."
But even Rodney could tell that he didn't sound that happy
about it, and so he wasn't surprised when John moved to let Lorne out the front
door for the night and then came back to act as his crutch for the short trip.
It wasn't until he'd made his way into the bedroom and was
under the comforting weight of the covers of the bed that Rodney spoke again,
just as John was reaching to turn off the lamp at the bedside. "What if you're wrong?" he asked. "What if I don't have this...gift?"
John sat down on the bed so that he could look Rodney in the
eye without trouble. "We aren't wrong,"
he said, and there was no doubt in his voice.
There may have been hints of amber in his eyes, but his voice was strong
and steady. "The only test for it
settling in the body is your survival - if your body had fought against it, you
would be dead now. As for knowing that
the bite contained the gift...we can smell it."
Rodney's face scrunched.
"It may not be exactly scientific, but it is completely
accurate, without fail. We can smell one
of our kind even through the hindrances of human flesh. The infection is a wound that smells foul and
festering - but then it transforms into the gift, a wonderful blend of wood and
trees and water."
Rodney frowned, a look that quickly turned into a pout as he
looked at the floor. "My cat doesn't
hate you."
Indeed,
John took the change of subject for what it was, and picked
up the feline with a light laugh to place
John turned out the light and stood again. He was almost out the door before Rodney's
voice once more stopped him from leaving. "If...if you wanted, there might
be enough room for a dog in here, too.
But only a dog! A man would
definitely not fit."
John smiled, not daring to tease. "Goodnight, McKay."
A few minutes later, he was stretching out his wolf body
beside the other man's.
Rodney smiled in the darkness as he shifted to accommodate
the animal's body in his bed, and then gave John a quick scratch behind the
ears. "Goodnight, Sheppard," he replied - late, but that didn't seem to matter.
It was almost a relief to spend some time with
"What's he so afraid of?" John asked himself, mumbling as he
stared at the false wood of the table-top.
"What was that?"
"Just wondering about Rodney," John said, breaking apart a
set of chopsticks and poking around in one of the boxes.
"Still no progress then?"
"Why?"
"It's something about the mental aspect of the change,"
"Red?" John scoffed - even if it was just an analogy, it was
amusing. "More like red for 'warning -
do not touch.'"
"Check said that it was Murphy's Law. Basically it boils down to 'if something can
go wrong, it will.' Rodney is the type
of personality that sees something drastic failing or not changing right,
leaving him dead or debilitated. And
it's not just because he's a
scientist, either - it's just the way he is.
At least, from what I've come to see of him."
"So he'd rather the moon forced herself upon him?"
"I don't think he wants to go mad, John,"
"Yeah, like the rest of us mere mortals don't fear that,
too." John played with the chicken bites
he'd taken out of the box for himself, knowing he should eat but not really
hungry. "It's just so frustrating, you
know?"
"Give it time,"
John frowned.
"I can see the wheels turning, John," Scottie scolded after
a few minutes of silence. "Are you not
going to tell me what it is that's got you thinking?"
"What if...he can't change because he doesn't have faith in
himself?" Which was, John thought after
a moment, pretty much the same as what Scottie had said before.
"You mean he doesn't believe he can do it right, or that he
can do it at all?"
"At all," John answered. "Now that I think about it, he's been asking questions like that. I've told him time and again that I know he
has it - I've seen peeks of it coming out, for crying out loud - but he still
seems to...doubt it."
"It's rare, but might have an effect,"
"And rarer still that the victim survives when it is," John
agreed. "Still, maybe there's something
I can do to reinforce the fact that the gift has taken hold."
"What?"
John paused. "I'm not
really sure yet, but I'll think of something."
"After all, if we accept him, and if even our pups can
manage the change, what has a genius like McKay got to fear?"
"Exactly. Now eat up - you're much too thin."
John dug into the take-out before him, hungrier than he had been since Rodney had first been bitten.
Rodney rubbed at his eyes wearily before looking back up at
the clock for the fifth time since the hour had changed. It was after four; John was late - two hours
and twenty minutes late, to be exact.
Too late for it to be a simple accident like traffic or losing track of
time. Rodney wondered if maybe something
was wrong - or if maybe he'd done something wrong, something that had royally
messed things up between him and the other man.
John had always picked him at two - dropped him off at
twelve and returned at two like clockwork, even if it meant having to drag
Rodney off while the computer was still running simulations and working through
equations.
"Doctor McKay?"
Rodney looked up, but he already knew that it wasn't John;
it was one of the younger lab assistants - Mark, or Clark, or something like
that. "What is it?" Rodney couldn't help it if he sounded tired.
"I have the results from the last simulation we ran while
you were gone this morning - and the mail."
She handed the sheaf of papers over a bit reluctantly.
"This is postmarked for last week," Rodney told her after
setting the entire stack down on the center of his crowded desk and pulling off
the top envelope, stamped 'top priority - confidential' in irritatingly red ink. "Why am I only getting this now?" The return address was a military base in
"We only got it yesterday, after you left. It was sent to the wrong address first..."
Rodney glanced down and saw the simple zip code mistake -
transposed numbers. Somewhere up-state
had received it first then, and had been nice enough to pass it on. Hopeful, Rodney tore it open - maybe they
were getting a fresh shipment of mineral, or some new equipment to test out -
but his face fell as he skimmed over it.
"To the doctors McKay,
Zelenka, Kavanagh, and their associates," he read aloud. "I am
sorry to inform you that your request to work with Naquahdah's radioactive
isotope, Naquahdriah, has been denied.
The reasons are detailed in the accompanying survey of laboratory
conditions; we have also received complaints from your coworkers, who wish to
remain anonymous, that the atmosphere is unsuitable for handling more explosive
elements. These complaints were taken
into consideration when your involvement with the project was reviewed. Please remember that, while we do value your
expertise and experience, we are only looking out for the safety of your team
and the feelings of your families. In
light of all this, we have decided that, in order to further the research you
have been providing for us, the grant allowance you will receive for the next
quarter is five thousand
Rodney slumped in his chair, hardly feeling his head hit the
desk as the papers crinkled in his hand. "Kavanagh's a fool," he told the cold metal - while the letter had said 'anonymous', it couldn't be any clearer to Rodney who could, and would,
complain about the 'atmosphere'.
"I'm sorry, Doctor," the assistant said - and for what it
was worth, she did sound truly sorry. "We did try."
Rodney waved her off.
"Should," she paused, as if considering if she should
ask. "Should I send in your visitor?"
Rodney waved her off again; he never got any visitors, and
he didn't see why he should need to see one now, when everything was going
downhill. His day was bad enough without
another crisis landing on top of it; it was probably the fireman coming to tell
him that his house was burning down.
Or - even worse - someone coming to take away what little
bit of material they had managed to acquire, through much demanding, pleading,
and just plain begging. They didn't have
enough to split it down and make a working reactor, not one that put out
sufficient power, anyways.
A hand came down on his shoulder, rubbing it soothingly in a
familiar way. The voice was equally
familiar when it asked: "Bad day?"
John. Finally, John
had come to pick him up from work - but it was too late, wasn't it? The damage had already been done.
"They cut our funding," Rodney announced - to anyone that
would listen, John included. 'Classified
government materials' didn't mean much to Rodney at the moment; he was still
trying to work through the hurt and the reality of the situation. "Those stupid, arrogant, military-minded assholes cut our funding to less than
half of our former grants." Right now he
was working on 'anger'. It seemed a good
stage to be at.
John was still there, calm and supportive as always. The lab seemed oddly quiet, and Rodney
wondered if everyone had left before he'd had a chance to get started.
"We were so close to making a break through on the power
generators - a few more months at most, and we would have had a working model
to go from." He didn't voice his fear
that he wouldn't be around to see it happen.
He didn't want to hear more of John's pretty words about that; the fact
that John hadn't shown up to take him home on time - had waited long enough
that their afternoon practice-session-with-the-gift was no longer possible -
told Rodney enough about what the other man thought. It more than told the story of his progress,
after all: none.
"It'll work out," John said.
Pretty words indeed.
"I won't be able to keep all the researchers," Rodney said,
unable to keep the bitter tone out of his voice. "And I'll need to cut their pay - cut my own pay, even. Maybe sell the house and see if I can move
into a cheap apartment. And that's just
to keep this place running; I'll never be able to make the upgrades we
wanted. Not this quarter, anyways."
"It'll work out," John repeated. "And I'll bet you won't even have to sell the
house. After the moon, you and I can go
see whoever sent you that letter, and talk to them. I'm sure once they see how brilliant you are,
they'll see where they went wrong."
"She. It's a 'she'. Major Samantha Carter."
"Even better - I can win her over with my charm."
Rodney smiled at that, almost daring to let the light mood
take him. "Your charm makes you sound
like a drill sergeant," he teased.
"I really was a Major once - maybe that�ll help some."
Rodney sighed, pulling his arms in for something softer to
rest his head against. "I was listed to
work on the classified materials she's working with. They told me it would be science unlike
anything I'd ever seen, a real breakthrough in the world of astrophysics,
chemistry, and real-world physics."
"What happened?" John asked when Rodney was silent for a
moment too long.
Rodney raised his head so that his chin rested on his arms,
looking at all the equipment that was scattered around the lap. Neat and tidy tables stared back at him, his
desk the only island of chaos in the sea of order after everyone else had
left. He and John really were
alone. "My sister got married, and I
told her I would never speak to her again.
Then I got my second doctorate.
Something must have tipped the USAF off, because things started falling
downhill then. I was only in the states
on visas and permits - but that wasn't good enough for the military. You're too much of a security risk if you
aren't a citizen. They were considering
going multi-national, but the last I heard that project was still in the debate
room."
"Sounds like you've had a rough time, then. Rougher than most."
"Yeah - a real carrot-and-stick scheme."
There was a warning in John's voice as he drawled out
Rodney's name. "McKay�"
"I don't want to hear it!" Rodney shouted, finally sitting
up straight as he went from dejected straight back to anger. "Go on Sheppard - leave. You've made it clear you want to. I may be dense but I'm not stupid; I know when someone's going to
leave me. It eventually happens anyways
so why don't you just go now and spare yourself the trouble."
"McKay," John snapped again, his voice threatening, but
Rodney was already standing and reaching for his crutch.
"Don't try to kid yourself into thinking you're doing me a
favor by hanging around; you're not.
I'll try to stay out of your way.
If you clear out of the building now, one of the janitors will lock it
up when they leave."
John stormed around the chair and knocked the crutch out
from under Rodney's arm. He then
proceeded to pick the man up and throw him over one shoulder.
"What are you doing?" Rodney shouted, a hint of panic in his
voice as John turned to walk towards the door as if the man over his shoulder
was nothing more than a light basket of flowers.
"Keeping you from doing something totally stupid," John told
him. "I'm going to assume that you�re
just having a really bad day, and that it's that bad day that just snapped back
at me, so I suggest that you shut up before you really stick your foot in your
mouth, and I decide that I need to show you just how an alpha runs things in
his pack."
The scent of fear was sharp and clear, but Rodney dutifully
shut his mouth and went limp in John's grasp, letting the other man carry him
wherever John wanted.
And if he was a bit more afraid of the alpha wolf just then, even more so than when John was in his fur - well, who wouldn't be?
He felt even worse when John answered the look out loud
with: "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid." He almost huffed at the insult - he was
anything but! But then again, he almost
felt he deserved it, too.
Being slung over one man's shoulder like you weighed nothing
and being carted around like some Neanderthal's version of dinner wasn't giving
his intelligence much credit, after all.
And he had been unnecessarily short with John earlier, as well.
Rodney had expected to be left alone once John met up with
the pack, the rest of them running off into the woods to do wolf-like things in
private. Maybe he'd get a guard or two,
to make certain he didn't wander off and get lost - or worse, eaten - but the
last thing he'd expected was for the entire pack to stay there. But that's what happened; they were doing
wolf-like things right in front of him, as if he were one of them.
A gentle tug on his jeans invited him to sit down, and he
did so, leaning against a large, sturdy tree next to the gentle reassurance of
the red wolf that laid pressed against his thigh. It was awkward getting comfortable with one
leg that did not like to move quickly, even if the pain had lessened to near
nothing; after a few moments, however, he was able to settle comfortably.
One wolf - he thought it was the one he'd designated the 'hunter' at the vet clinic, while John had called him something like 'Conan' -
was a large, powerful, sleeping presence at the edge of the clearing, near the
tree line. A few of the younger wolves -
adolescents? - were darting in and out of the bushes and trees near the larger
wolf, playing some twisted version of hide-and-seek that involved tail-biting
and pouncing.
Another Rodney thought he recognized as Lorne was laying on
top of a fallen tree trunk, overseeing the entire group. Rodney thought that he might also be guarding
the entrance to a 'den', if the group had such a place.
He had managed to
do some research on wolves, after all - he just wasn't sure how much of it
really applied to the group he was now watching.
John, recognizable by the just-fell-out-of-bed look that
never seemed to leave him even when he was in his fur, was rolling around in
the freshly fallen leaves and dirt with pups that must have been children when
in their skin, no older than four or five - no, Rodney thought, correcting
himself; with the dog-year conversion they might even be as old as seven. Older, if the 'gift' made a difference in the
ratios - less, if it worked the other way around. Considering the way these people acted,
however, Rodney thought it more likely that the gift was lengthening their
lives instead of shortening it.
He didn't want to think what his own age would be when he
changed - too old by half, he thought, and that was just considering things
like his asthma, allergies, and high blood pressure, not his actual age.
The gift had eased some of that, but not all - he hadn't
tested how far it had helped him.
Teyla's nose found its way into Rodney's palm - at least, he
thought it was the red wolf John had called Teyla - and Rodney sighed.
Her ears perked up, her tongue lolling out as she watched
him.
"It's just been a long day," he said in answer to her silent
question. He saw the wolf he thought was
Kavanagh sulking in the grass, looking ready to bite anyone who came near him.
Rodney ignored the black wolf.
Teyla whimpered, and laid her head on his thigh again,
amber-tinted eyes rolling to look up at Rodney in a silent show of comfort.
Rodney let out a soft laugh as his hand fell on her
shoulder. "Sorry. Disappointment makes me stupid sometimes."
John trotted over, the little ones trailing behind him,
yipping and nipping at his heels as they tripped over themselves to try and
keep up. John rubbed himself against
Rodney's side, sitting beside the man with his tail curled around his legs.
"Yeah, I'm sorry," Rodney said, as if the action had been a
question. "Not as sorry as Miss
high-and-mighty Samantha Carter should be, but I...shouldn't have snapped at
you." John pressed against his side
again, and Rodney found that it was easier to talk when the other man was a
wolf - when he didn't have to see John's face. "I told you I wasn't very good with people; I don't know why you
expected that to change when the people were...well...whatever you call yourselves."
John moved forward to pick up the last of the pups, who was
having trouble climbing over the mound of Rodney's legs, and deposited the
wriggling ball of fur in Rodney's lap with the rest of her litter. Rodney let his hand fall into the mess of
fur, petting the little ones as they yipped at each other and wrestled in his
lap, one clambering up to stand on top of Rodney's leg and shakily try to walk
up it towards the man's stomach. Another
ran down to where he saw a shoelace laying in the dirt, and pounced on it,
pulling at the string with teeth too small to break it.
"I don't know how you do it," Rodney admitted. "I just don't get it, and that's something that's entirely new to me."
John moved forward to give Rodney's face a few cleansing
licks, and then laid down beside the man, his nose pressing lightly against
Rodney�s shirt, his tail coming to lay down over top of Rodney's leg in a silent
gesture.
Rodney only wished he knew what it meant.
He didn't understand why the little pups liked him so much;
he wasn't a good storyteller, he didn't play with them - he wasn't much more
than a big playground. Inevitably,
though, the moment he came into the clearing, they would run over and paw at
him until he sat down and they could climb into his lap to wear themselves out.
And when they were all safe with their parents, John would
come to collect him from the spot he had claimed as his own and take Rodney
home. John would cook dinner and Rodney
would feed
It was four days without any pressure from any side on
Rodney about his 'gift', and about changing into his fur. Four days without any 'practice'.
Rodney found himself writing notes to be delivered 'in the
event of death' on the fifth morning - including one to his sister, another to
Zelenka, and a last one to Major Carter, begging her to let his scientists
continue even if he was unable to.
When he realized what he was doing, he broke down and threw
the letters in the trash, ripping them to shreds. He didn't cry - he was a man, after all, and
men didn't cry - but he did decide to take his shower before they left for the
lab, and if there were salt water tracks down his cheeks for a good portion of
the time, he didn't seem to notice.
Mostly what he did was shout. He shouted to the ceiling that God hated him;
he shouted to the walls that it wasn't fair; he shouted something into his pillow
that Rodney couldn't even hope to voice aloud - inarticulate screams that had
no meaning.
At least the neighbors hadn't heard; at that point they had
all left for work.
John had heard
him, though, and Rodney could tell that the other man was worried from the look
on his face.
On the sixth day, close enough to the full moon that Rodney
was starting to feel uncomfortable about his lack of progress, John took Rodney
straight to the clearing, not even bothering to stop by the research center;
apparently he had decided that Rodney was no longer fit for work.
If pressed, Rodney would have been forced to agree with him - his work from the past few days had been shabby at best, nothing like his
usual genius.
This time, though, John didn't change into his fur the
moment Rodney had settled down, as comfortable as possible against his
tree. Instead, John sat down beside him
in his skin, watching over his pack from a distance. The pups seemed to notice the change as well,
because, even though they sent longing looks over at Rodney every now and
again, they stayed well enough away from the pair.
"Why do you even bother with me?" Rodney asked after a
moment of silence.
John leaned back against the side of the tree closest to him
and closed his eyes as if this were just another normal, sunny afternoon they
were spending in the park with a picnic basket at their feet. Rodney personally thought that it was a bit
chilly, and that it had been for quite some time, even if it was unusually warm
for the season.
"Maybe I think you're worth the bother," John said - and it
took Rodney a moment to realize that it was the answer to his question.
"But why?"
John was silent for a moment, and Rodney almost thought that
he had fallen asleep, but the answer did come eventually. "I don't leave a man behind." John's voice was unusually serious, and hard.
"I'm not one of your men," Rodney felt compelled to point
out.
"If you believe that, then you're deluding yourself. Every member of this pack is one of my men,
and like it or not you are a member of this pack."
Rodney didn't have a response to that.
"You could go over there and play with them, you know," John
said, motioning towards the wolves rolling in the last fallen leaves of
autumn. Winter would be setting in soon,
in full force, but it was still going to be a mild year. "They don't bite to hurt, and the pups love
you."
"I'm afraid I�m a little too wary of teeth to join in a game
like that."
John scoffed at the idea. "You just think that you're too old for messing around."
"Actually yes, I do."
John smirked, rolled over, and attacked.
Rodney was unprepared for a full-grown man who had spent the
last three nights discovering all his ticklish places to launch himself into a
play-fight. Rodney found himself laughing
involuntarily - a sound Rodney could hardly remember; a sound no one had heard
loud and rich in years.
Rodney felt their bodies tumbling through the dying grass
and leaves, but couldn't stop their movement without giving more of an
advantage to John's tickle-attack. When
John finally did let up and let Rodney breathe, the scientist was on his back
in a pile of dead leaves, panting heavily in an attempt to regain the breath
he'd lost.
"You're never too old for a bit of fun, McKay," John said -
and then he was a wolf in over-large clothes, the change taking over him almost
instantaneously, everything shifting at once.
John stepped out of the no-longer necessary pants and boxers to lick at
Rodney's face, nuzzling the man's neck in a familiar and comforting way.
Rodney tried weakly to push the wolf off. "Yes, yes, you made your point - I'm a
scrooge who never got enough presents as a child. Now let me catch my breath before you try to
smoother me with your fur."
Rodney could have sworn the wolf was laughing at him, those
amber-hazel eyes dancing in the afternoon light.
"Why you - " and Rodney lunged at the animal, rubbing under
the shirt in quick motions that had nothing to do with tickling or hurting or
anything really, besides making Sheppard feel good in his fur. It was more a way to get rid of his excess
energy and let John know just how good he felt at that moment, unconcerned
about his lab or his leg. Rodney found
himself pulling the t-shirt off the wolf in no time, then laughing as he fell
back down in the grass when John pushed against Rodney's chest. It had been a long time since he'd done
something so...pointless.
John hovered over him again, human and naked and as close as
Rodney had imagined a lover would be. He
was hardly even sweating from their games, which made Rodney slightly envious
of the alpha. "Try it now," John
urged. "Try the gift."
Rodney closed his eyes, breathing deeply and sinking into
the dirt. He didn't want to see the
disappointment that would flash across John�s face if he failed, but he didn't
want to not try, either. He couldn't
deny John another attempt - not now.
He heard the happy howls, but was afraid to open his eyes to
see what had caused them.
And then they were everywhere around him, brushing against
him and licking him and he had to
look - had to see his own paws up in the air, roll over and wriggle out of his
clothes to see his own tail and fur, even the scar where he had been bitten
seemed new and exciting.
It was a mass of fur and tongues and happy barks that
surrounded him, the pups tripping him up under his paws - and above it all was
John's happy face smiling down on them.
Rodney let out his own pleased bark and pushed his way
through the pack towards the other man.
The limp wasn't as bad when he had four legs instead of two, and he
wasn't as cold with a layer of fur to fight off the autumn chill.
Like John had done to him before, Rodney brushed against the
human skin of John's side - a silent 'thank you' he would never dare to say
aloud.
John leaned over Rodney to dig his hands in the fur, feeling
the thick pelt and scratching the wolf's side in a way that felt like
heaven. Rodney's tail wagged, and he
leaned into the touch. He was only
marginally surprised when he both heard and understood John's words.
"Welcome home, Rodney."
He was home.
THE END.
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