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A/N - Another chapter for Y'all. Enjoy.

All characters & locations fictional.

Chapter 3 - Demons and Angels

"Things do not change. We change." - Henry David Thoreau

New London, NH

August 6, 2012

I still hadn't gotten used to my new senses. Just walking up to the fireworks shop sent my senses reeling, the acrid odor of gunpowder filling every breath, drying out my throat with each step. Now I knew why no one else wanted to get the fireworks from the shop for the night's festivities. Opening that glass door just heightened the sensory overload as hundreds of brightly colored packages greeted my eyes and the jumbled conversations of a dozen people filled my ears.

Honestly, I didn't really pay attention to any of it. My mind had my body on autopilot with a small smidgen of its capacity used to look for the fireworks that would make for an effective show that night, but the majority continued to mull over everything that had happened that day. Something didn't make sense

This wasn't my first duty shooting, nor was it my first death, but nothing added up. The shooters were completely inexperienced and did nothing that experienced robbers would do. Add that to the execution of both Wes and the bank manager and the fact that the two bandits' actions when I revealed myself were closer to a case of blue suicide as opposed to anything else. It just didn't feel right. Until I could get a good handle on what had really happened, my gut was going to continue to signal its displeasure with me.

With practiced eye and hand, I selected and rang out a couple hundred dollars worth of mortars, sparklers, pinwheels and other assortments of incandescent and explosive fun. Filling the rear of my truck with my prizes, I started the behemoth and turned it towards home. The trees raced by in a blur as my mind matched their speed, still trying to justify itself and make sense of the day, and everything inside it.

Pulling my truck into the small driving path up to our cabin, suspension squealing in protest against the rutted tracks that my wheels were now traversing as I slowed down, both because of the jostling, but also because I wanted to avoid hitting any of the animals that I knew took up residence around the cabin. It was mostly little critters, but we actually had a few deer that had grown into a small herd since I had left because of the strict policies of the town, and the fact that the presence of our pack held a lot or predators at bay, and far away.

We also had a two or four footed terror who had startled me more than once when she bolted out of the shadowy woods, far enough ahead of me that I'd be able to stop, but only by slamming on my brakes. Thankfully this trip was uneventful, the hot air streaming in through the open window as I heard the soft cries of wolves howling in the distance in an otherwise still wood, only the throbbing of my engine marring the tranquility. As I pulled up to the cabin, swinging my truck around so I had a quick egress, and easy access to the back of the truck, I saw an eager little grey furred wolfette standing on the front porch, dancing from one paw to another in anticipation of the toys in my trunk.

It was amazing, how in just a year, not only had that pup recovered from where she was when I found her cowering in fear on this same porch, but she and her family had taken such a liking to me that these folks I had only known for a year had become some of my closest friends. That was only in addition to the sheer volume of changes I myself had gone through, but with those changes came new responsibilities, and right now, as Amy stepped out onto the porch, I was reminded of the biggest new responsibility. Her brown fur was covered with a pair of loose sweats and an oversized Sherriff's department uniform teeshirt, but her gravid belly was still eminently visible, reminding me of just how soon that momentous day would be. Her badge swung around her neck, as she stood towering over the local preacher beside her. The preacher was dressed as impeccably as he always was, his black shirt and pants well pressed with the white hair and Roman collar standing in stark contrast.

As I stopped and stepped out of the truck, I was immediately met by a mass of eager young wolf who had apparently misjudged my parking spot and must have hurdled the railing to get here this fast. Leaving me in the dust, she sped around to the back of the truck waiting for me to open the gate. As I opened the gate and she saw the mountain of fireworks stacked within my trunk, I saw her jaw drop and eyes widen in shock and glee. Scooping her up under one arm, my pink skin standing in stark relief to her dark fur, I lifted her into the truck to help grab some of the packages from the deeper recesses. As she was digging through the goodies, I felt a pair of strong, furred arms wrap around my body as a tongue dragged wetly across the nape of my neck, a head coming to rest protectively on my shoulder.

"Are you okay?" came my mate's questing voice. "You smell tense...and scared."

"I'm fine," I lied, feeling her perking ears rub against my own dark, short-cropped hair. "Can we talk about this later when there aren't little ears around?"

"Of course," came her reply as her head lifted from my shoulder as the rear of the truck was quickly emptied by the eager little wolfette giggling inside. Feeling her arms give me one last, reassuring squeeze, I felt them drop from around me as slid my arm around her waist and guided her to the blacked out rear seat of the suburban, giving her a quick peck on the cheek as I helped her into the back seat of the truck.

Opening the passenger door for the parson, I offered him a hand, which he good naturedly declined as he lifted himself into the truck with less effort than someone of his age and stature would be expected to display. Moving around to the front of the truck, where I caught a wave from the young little wolfette and her father, both of whom were busily transferring the haul to the back yard and later to the woods for tonight's display.

Trundling my truck down that rutted path again, the truck stayed silent save for my truck's protestations and our breathing for just a moment or two as I got the truck onto the main road, pointing it back into town. A couple miles passed before the silence was broken by the parson.

"How are you doing, Mr. Hart?"

"I'm fine-" was my all too quick reply...one that was apparently all too transparent as a voice from the back seat broke into my train of thought.

"Bullshit, Mike!" came my mate's snarling reply from the back seat. "You reek of turmoil and confusion. What's eating you?"

I had learned long ago not to argue with her...particularly when she was right. I needed to tell both of them before we got to that house...to give them the truth.

A heavy sigh escaped my mouth as I told both my mate and the parson the story of the bank, not leaving anything out. I laid out the entire story, from the story of my near loss of control, to the strange actions of the two shooters, and ending with the sight of Wes, lying in a pool of his own blood.

"Nothing made sense," I concluded. "Those two shooters acted like they wanted to die...like nothing mattered. I wasn't an agent today. I was a weapon."

I heard nothing other than the droning of the engine for a moment as a heavy paw came to gently massage my shoulder.

"Mike...I..." came my mate's halting voice as her paw continued to rub my shoulder, surprisingly at a loss for more words as I explained what I had seen...what I had felt...what I had done.

Surprisingly, it was the parson who actually gave the first complete thought in response to my experiences.

"Mike, every man has parts of his life that he wishes never happened...that place where he needs to look into the eyes of the devil. Even Jesus needed to face off against Satan, to experience the human emotions of anger, the feeling of pain at Gethsemene, and even the darkness of death. The species of man is unique. We're not the only creature that has infighting and a seeming love for hurting our fellows...but we're the only one that has second thoughts afterwards. This is normal...what you should feel. Otherwise you are no better than the demons that we all fight."

Lifting a pair of solemn eyes from the road, I caught the kind, yet sad and distant blue eyes of the pastor beside me. "You sound like you've been here before."

"Khe San," was the surprising response from the old man, causing one of my eyebrows to quirk upwards at the sentence. "I was a field chaplain in the army...did more than my share of last rites those days...for boys in both colors of uniforms. Mike, sometimes there's a lot of bad in this world that we need to live with. I can't change that, you can't change that, it just is. Everyone else walked out of that bank today, who knows what could have happened if you hadn't intervened."

"I...I never knew that, and I guess you're right. I -"

"No shit, Mike," came a sarcastic snarl from the back seat, breaking any semblance of a poignant moment as I turned the truck onto the final road. "You didn't fuck up; you got fucked and it happens to all of us. I'm the fucking sheriff of the county and I got taken fucking hostage and it was your pissed-off ass that got me out of there. I was unprepared for the situation, got blindsided and let it get the best of me, but you managed not to in that case. Now it's your turn."

At her expletive littered pep-talk, I couldn't help but smile. It was an unconventional style, but it worked. Spying an unmarked Impala on the road, I pulled my truck behind the building and stopped, turning to look at both my passengers, a slight grin on my face after my mate's tirade.

"Thanks, both of you. That helped a little bit, although I still gotta work through my thoughts. It's that damned sense of numbness that I've never gotten adjusted to." Hearing and seeing that Impala roar off down the road, unquestionably with that pompous ass at the wheel, I pulled my keys and alighted from my door, opening the rear passenger door to help my wolf out of the car.

Our entourage was unmolested as we walked up to the rear door of the ranch home, rapping on the wooden siding beside the sliding glass door. Quiet footsteps were heard approaching the door before we were met with the tear streaked face of Ms. Williams. Her normally well coiffed hair was matted down and mascara had flowed like water.

I knew that she had been told before I got here when I saw that Impala, I had expected that Raskin would have been gentle. Apparently not.

She wordlessly opened the door, motioning us inside with a wave of her arm. I motioned the parson inside first, where he simply clasped hands with Ms. Williams...Margaret. I followed, taking the door from her grasp, seeing the pastor start walking with her to the parlor at the front of the house, her steps unsteady and tired.

Turning back to the door, I made sure to at least go through the motions of chivalry, even if I knew my wolf didn't really require it...and on a normal day didn't want it. Shutting the door as she quietly entered, meticulously wiping her feet on the provided mat before padding into the parlor where she sat on the couch in the corner, obscured from prying eyes outside.

As I turned to enter the parlor, I heard the shrill whistle of a teapot on the stove and saw the small tea tray sitting on the counter, already filled with teabags, cream, sugar and settings for two. Looking at my watch, I saw that it was about the time when the bank would have closed up...she was getting ready for an evening cup of tea with her husband...a cup that would never happen.

Taking the stainless kettle off the stove and killing the burner, I could hear the voices in the other room, Margaret's sobbing standing above the two other soothing voices in that room. Walking into that room, I was struck by the Spartan appearance. The parlor only contained a couple small pieces of furniture and a few framed photographs of the couple in days past. Looking quietly at the photos as I walked toward the parlor, I noted a small shadowbox on the wall, a folded American flag sitting in the bottom with what I recognized as an old German Luger and an old cloth patch from the airborne during the second world war.

Above the mementos was a group of three boys...no, young men who were standing in front of a concrete bunker. They were playfully mugging for the camera and posing with what I assumed were spoils of war, one with a Luger, one with a German Walther and the third with a Nazi flag held between his outstretched arms so that only his head could be seen.

For any normal person, they would have thought that that was Wes' father or older brother, but I knew better. One of the perks of lycanthropy was that when our bodies changed, they essentially reset. This significantly accelerated healing, even to the point of repairing damaged nerves or bones, but using this ability was usually avoided as it wore the body out quite a bit, and the body needed a template to revert to. The more commonly utilized side effect was longevity as most of the typical killers of humans were no danger to us.

The oldest recorded Lycan was 150, but we were not allowed to tell Guinness about it.

Walking into the parlor, I sat beside Amy, on the sofa, within easy arms reach of Margaret. She was still focused on the parson on the other side of her, arms slack at her side as I slid forward on the sofa to clasp my hands around hers, surprising even myself with how forthright I was being.

"Mrs. Williams," I began, "I'm sorry. How much did they tell you?"

"They...they...just said Wes was...de...de...dead," she sobbed, gripping back against my hands while her other hand supported her head, fingers rubbing at her temple, flipping through wispy grey hair.

"He was shot," I stated bluntly. "There was an attempted robbery at the Credit Union today. The shooters look like they killed him as soon as they got inside." I moved my eyes to catch hers, seeing the slightest tinge of amber flitting in those orbs as she fought to control her emotions. "I saw him Margaret. It was real quick; he didn't feel it." That was probably a small white lie, but no more than a couple seconds.

"You...you what?"

"I was there," I replied. "I was in the safety deposit room when it all went down. I wasn't able to save him or the manager. I'm sorry."

We all just sat there for a few more moments, a quiet, and almost unnerving silence filling the room. Finally, Margaret spoke up.

"Mr. Hart,I just need to ask...why?" Her eyes came up to meet with mine, a questioning emptiness standing within them.

As I met her gaze, her sobbing momentarily halted, I had to admit what I knew.

"I don't know. Both of the shooters are dead; they tried to kill me." I knew as I said this that she was not fulfilled and wanted more answers, but those were answers that I couldn't give.

"How do you boys deal with it?" The question, punctuated by a heavy, heaving sigh, caught me off guard, and I quizzically cocked my head in response to her question.

"Excuse me?"

"All of the death. How do you deal with it? I know both you and Wes have served your time, and both of you lost people that you cared about. We've been to three funerals this year already for Wes's squadmates...He...he...he was the last one from the war."

Raising a finger to the shadowbox I had noticed on the wall, she continued. "Crazy bastard, jumped into France, Holland and Germany. Never really told me what he did there; all I know is that a lot of his friends didn't come back under their own power, and those that did...there was a darkness that they couldn't explain."

"Mrs. Williams," I replied hesitantly, "There's no magic cure. You just have to grieve and remember what you had in the time you had." With a wave of my hand, I gestured toward the parson and continued. "As I'm sure the good father has reminded you this isn't the end, but merely the beginning of eternity." As I said this, a thought came to my head and I quietly rose from my seat, letting her hand slip from my grasp.

"Give me a moment," I simply said as my eyes met hers. Stepping away from the couch toward the kitchen, I heard my mate, the parson and Mrs. Williams begin a recitation of the Lord's Prayer, simply hoping for the peace that prayer could bring, but I had another, less ephemeral method that I hoped could help.

Reaching the kitchen, I laid a hand against the steel teapot, feeling it still warm, but no longer hot. Perfect, I thought. Retrieving another three cups and filling the small, china teapot on the serving tray, I started back toward the parlor, the words of the Catholic Prayer for the Dead greeting me as I approached from behind the parson and Mrs. Williams, my mate having taken my spot on the sofa and joining hands with the parson and Mrs. Williams.

"In company with Christ, Who died and now lives, may they rejoice in Your kingdom, where all our tears are wiped away."

I caught a quirked ear from my mate as she caught sight of what I was carrying, but she continued following the pastor's words as I set my payload down on the table before everyone.

"Unite us together again in one family, to sing Your praise forever and ever."

"Amen," We all concluded, with a slight nod from the parson telling me to go ahead. "Mrs. Williams," I began as everyone's attention turned toward me. "I guess you could call this a virgin Irish wake. If I don't miss my guess, you were making a cup of tea for when Wes got home when Agent Raskin gave you the news."

"Yes..." Came the faltering reply, punctuated with a short nod of her head as I saw understanding slowly dawning in the eyes of the parson and Amy.

"One of the things about grief is that most people don't want to inflict it upon others. If I don't miss my understanding of Wes, he was one of those people, right?" A rhetorical question, of course, but one that I hoped would help her

A slight nod was my only answer.

Taking that as my cue, I poured four small cups of the tea from the blemishless china teapot into the four small glass, adding just cream to three of them, and motioning toward the other two.

"Ms. Williams, how did you and your husband take your tea?" As I finished this statement, she reached to the tray and with experienced hand poured a dollop of cream and sugar into both.

As she finished, I made certain that both cups sat before her and raised my glass toward the ceiling.

"To Wes," I quietly stated before drinking the tea down.

As the four of us finished the tea, I motioned to Margaret to take the cup we had left out as an homage to her husband.

"Go, take it."

With a little bit of prodding, she finished that cup as well, a slight look of confusion on her face.

"Ms. Williams, there's a reason I had you do that. In short, and I know this'll sound corny and trite, but you need to realize that Wes needs you to go on; to continue living as you had before." With that, I simply gave her my hand, but she pulled me into a small embrace, thankful in some way even for the fact that I had tried, even if I had done nothing.

"Margaret," came my mate's voice from beside me, "If there's anything you need, just tell me and it will happen. When are you planning to howl for him?"

She was referring to an old Lycan tradition of death where the mate or children of a deceased Lycan traveled deep into the woods and bared their souls in grief in some of the most mournful sounds that anything could make. It was remarkably therapeutic and almost required for a Lycan who had lost someone.

"This weekend," was the quiet response. "My daughters are coming back from Boston for it."

"Well, give me a call if you need anything at all," was my mate's quiet response, with only a curt nod coming from me. As the three of us stood up to leave, the parson moving forward to give his own blessing, I was stopped by an arm on my shoulder.

"Michael," Came Mrs. Williams quiet voice as she moved to stand before me, garnering an offered hand from both myself and the parson in aid, "You remember that December moon?"

How could I not? That was the full moon that Amy and I were able to announce to the entire pack that she was with child...with pup, and it was also the site of one of my more...infamous mistakes, so to speak. As my mind shuddered back to that day, I remembered that I had actually spent an hour or so chatting with Wes about his Army day, the two of us spinning tales that likely didn't happen exactly that way, but he was always a damned genial guy, and it wore off. The fact that he had taught my fifth grade history class back when I had lived in town hadn't hurt, either.

"Well, Wes said that you had seen the same darkness he had, and since our own pups didn't want his collection, he thought you'd be a good choice."

I was rather dumbfounded as Margaret reached up and pulled down that shadowbox that I had found so interesting moments before, gazing reverently at the photo and murmuring under her breath.

"Margaret, I cannot accept this," I replied, trying to push back her arms. "Your pups have the right to it. I can make some calls if they are worried about the legal garbage down there."

"Mike," she began, "It's not that. Wes...Wes would speak occasionally of Normandy and of Holland, but never of that place. All he would say is that the darkness there should never be with anyone who couldn't expunge it. He made me promise never to give this to the pups, but...for some reason, all I can think of at this moment is that he would want you to have it." She thrust the box into my hands.

"Take it...and thank you."

As I took the box, I saw the luger and something just sent a chill up my spine; a feeling of almost dread emanating from that inanimate object. Shaking my head and feeling the sensation lift, I chalked it up to simple mind play as we all bid Mrs. Williams farewell and started the drive home.

The trees passed by, road passing by the mile as I sorta tuned out the other occupants of the truck, only responding with noncommittal, monosyllabic answers to questions as my mind turned to the box that Margaret had given me. I knew I had told Wes of some of my exploits, but nothing seemed to fit this. With the shadowbox sitting in the rear of the truck, I couldn't look at it further until I got back to the cabin, but something made no sense.

I was going to have to take a closer look, but as I saw the reddening sun dipping into the pine trees along the road and casting ever-lengthening black shadows along the road, I knew I had some other things I needed to do first, my growling stomach reminding me of the first and my roiling mind reminding me of the second.

Pulling into the dirt track leading to the cabin, I kept my eyes peeled for anything trying to jump out of the shadows as I pulled in front of the cabin and swung the nose of my Suburban around so that the nose was pointing out.

Helping my wolf out of the truck and picking up the box, I looked over to see the parson already having alighted from the truck and standing beside it, motioning for me to speak with him. Looking and seeing that my wolf had already made her way inside, I stepped closer to him. As I approached, his hand reached out, grasping mine.

"Michael," Came that soft voice. "Good Luck."

And with that, before I could even react he had started into the woods, no doubt to disrobe, shift and head home. That was still something I hadn't gotten used to. As I was turning to enter the cabin, I heard some movement in the backyard and started toward the source of that noise.

As I reached the back yard, I saw the trail of smoke curling up from the smoker on the back porch, and as I continued around, I saw David lounging on the deck, still in human form, idly watching his daughter playing with some of the sparklers in the back yard.

"I thought I was cooking tonight?" I called up. I could smell the delicious smoke curling out of that machine and my growling stomach started becoming even more adamant that it needed to be filled.

"I figured you'd be busy," Was the jovial reply that filtered down to me. "Plus," he continued, "I wanted to try out your new smoker. It'll be done in an hour or so."

"Good," Was my only reply as I continued up toward the cabin, heading to get changed so that I could work out a little bit of the steam in my head. "I'll be back in half that."

Quickly getting changed into a pair of shorts and a tee shirt with a pair of light hiking boots on my feet, I caught my wolf from behind as she headed out onto the porch to watch the sunset.

"I'll be back in a bit," I said, punctuating it with a quick lick to the nose. Without waiting for her reply, I started out into the woods at a brisk pace.

This was one of the perks of living in the middle of nowhere. I got to get out and away from the world and sometimes that's just what I needed. I headed out on a barely worn path, but it was one that my feet still knew well.

It was a path that I had often walked or ran with Amy when I was still a kid and teen, and it had always been somewhere I could be alone with my thoughts as the crunch of snapping twigs herealded my every step as I pushed along the path.

The trees were a blur as my mind walked back through the day's events. It had all started out so peacefully...so perfectly, but now I was again thrown into a world of death and destruction, even as my mate and I were about to bring a child into that world. Nothing that had happened today made much sense to me, so of course my brain was trying to piece it all together.

The manager had known something, but I couldn't think of what. It wasn't a payday robbery, there wasn't any penetration into the vault, and I was pretty certain that there hadn't been any delivery today so that there was no reason for the manager to be involved. It all just seemed so...absurd.

Those bandits didn't have a clue what they were doing, I could tell. Their decisions were haphazard, their abilities nonexistent, but they went about death with such cold abandon and desire that it almost seemed that the entire plan was built around mass murder of the witnesses. But there were much better places to do that, even in this small, rural town.

As the miles went on and my mind continued to look over the seemingly unsolvable puzzle plaguing it, I heard a snap from behind me. Slowing my pace slightly and letting my senses heighten slightly to try and detect what was following me, I restrained myself from shifting. It always took a lot more mental control than I wished, but that was the price I would pay for the gifts my new form gave me.

Before I could pinpoint my stalker's whereabouts, though, I caught sight of his furry body keeping pace with me, tongue hanging out panting from the exertion and the heat of the day still trapped within his grey fur.

"I thought you were makin' dinner," I panted out as I kept my pace up, the grey Lycan matching my stride.

"It's still cooking," was his reply. "Amy said she'd watch it, but she wanted someone to look in on you."

"I just need some time to get my mind around it."

"I know, Mike. I know you've walked this road before, so I figured I could at least offer you some company."

"I'll be fine."

"Mike, you know what your problem is?"

"Huh?" I asked, slowing my slide slightly.

"Mike, Amy told us how you nearly changed inside the bank. I think I know why, but it's gonna sound strange."

Slowing to a stop, I simply raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"Mike, you need to stop separating yourself. You are no longer a man, but you're not a werewolf, either."

"But I thought-"

"Mike, a Lycan is not a werewolf. We have both our wolven and human skins, but we have one mind, not two. You've gotta accept that and learn how to meld your instincts from your human life with the ones that come with the wolf."

"How do you-"

"Mike, you gotta start trusting 'the wolf' within you. If you can trust the instincts that are within your mind and trust your abilities, the ability to have two different forms will be nothing. You're afraid of this 'wolf' part of your mind, and the 'wolf' is afraid for you. That's why you always seem to be fighting it."

"So I need to give in?" I didn't like this one bit; I hated giving in to my instincts, forcing myself to temper them as Amy had trained me so that I could still act as a man in the world, and a wolf in the woods. Now David was telling me to do the opposite.

"No, Mike. You need to accept that these thoughts, instincts and abilities are always there. You cannot let yourself get blinded by instinct, by desire or by emotions or by training. What happened today was natural. You got nervous and afraid for your life and your subconscious tried to give you every advantage. In this case it wanted to shift into the wolf skin, but you managed to stabilize yourself."

"Mike," he finished, paw reaching out to lightly punch my shoulder, "You did good today, and you're holding your own. Right now, you just need to accept that and not beat yourself up over it. The problem isn't your abilities and self-control. The problem is your ability to believe in your own abilities and self control."

"I'll tell you what. You remember what I said about water and Lycans?" I nodded, confusion showing on my face. "Mike, The problem you have is the same one I have, just from the other side. I won't let my human side override the wolf and get in the water, and you won't let your wolven side help your human side. Tell you what," he said as he reached his paw toward me, "Let's work on this together."

Grasping his paw in my hand, I shook it, realizing that I needed to be able to deal with what I was now, but I did have one question.

"David," I started, "Why did you warm up to me so quickly?"

"Mike, I'm originally from Oregon. The Marshals moved me here when your mother changed because they were afraid that whoever killed her husband would come after her. Between her, Amy, and the rest of the pack, I heard a lot of good things about you, but..."

He simply trailed off and looked down at the ground for a moment before those amber eyes bored into my own again.

"Mike, you risked your life to save my daughter, not only from the Squad, but also from me when I must have looked to you like a monster. Between that and the fact that you put yourself in front of my daughter that night...Everything I had heard in this town was proven right right there. That's why you deserved my trust."

A silence descended on the path for a moment before David broke it again.

"By the way," he asked with a slight smirk, "Did you really try make a pipebomb in chemistry class?"

"Not intentionally," was my chuckling reply. "It was supposed to be just a smoke bomb but I made a mistake...Got in so much trouble for that one." I saw David's mouth twitch up into a slight smirk to match mine, although my teeth weren't that sharp.

As he did that, I saw those grey furred ears perk and swivel back down the path, doubtlessly toward some sound that I didn't hear.

Wait, was that a whistle?

"Let's head back, Mike. Sounds like dinner's done."

David's words played through my mind as we quickly jogged back toward the cabin to the smell of smoke playing across the yard as we came out of the woods. Looking out to the cabin, I saw that little wolfette shuffling around the deck, doubtlessly setting places at the table and putting food out.

Heading into the kitchen, I caught my wolf from behind as she moved to pull a bowl of pasta salad out of the refrigerator, my hands grasping it before her paws could reach it. I heard her keen nose sampling the air, a slight grimace flitting across her countenance as she stepped back against my chest.

"I think that's everything we need for tonight," she mock growled. "You go and put that outside and then go and shift."

"You want me in wolf form?"

"Of course I want my mate in his best form," she cooed, nuzzling her muzzle against my cheek. "Plus...you stink," she jabbed, wrinkling her snout at the statement.

Lifting the bowl of pasta salad, I caught her muzzle under my arm, hearing her sneeze as I did so.

"Ass."

"Of course I am," I laughed. "But, that's why you love me." I leaned down, giving her a quick lick to her nose as I walked around her and out to the back porch, setting the pasta salad down on the table, just next to a steaming plate of delicious smelling smoked salmon and the tossed salad.

On my way up to the bedroom, I heard the scrabble of gravel and a stopping car. Looking out the front window, I saw a sheriff's department SUV pulling up in front of the driveway. Once it pulled to a stop, I saw Deputy McKenna step out, a white box held in her hands.

I met her on the porch, the door swinging shut with a slap behind me.

"Afternoon, Dawn," I called to her as I stepped off the porch, the dirt of the road stinging my bare feet.

"Evening, Mike. I wanted to give this back to you." She handed that white box back over to me. Opening it quickly, I saw my pistol nestled inside, a strong scent of gun oil and cleaning fluid emanating from it as the engraving on the slide shone in the diminishing light. "We all know what those pistols mean to the two of you. Plus, the DA was rather direct today."

I merely cocked an eyebrow at that statement.

"He showed up an hour or so ago asking what had happened. Once we showed him the witness statements and the video... and told him who you were, he was on the phone to your boss. You're clear to work."

"How the hell did that happen?" This was the second time I'd had an almost miraculous return to duty after an event here. "I should be driving a desk for the next few weeks."

"Well," she replied a little evasively, "First, he's not stupid. When he saw the events on the tapes, and when we told him you were the one from the Squad debacle, he put everything together. Second, he knows Amy and when we told him you were her mate, he felt he had to help a fellow Lycan...plus he owes Amy a couple markers."

I just shook my head. Apparently I had become something of a little legend 'round here, and this was no real shocker when she explained it that way. I held my hand out for her.

"Thanks, Dawn. Wish I could have been just a couple minutes later, though. Caught them when they came in."

"Mike," she replied as she shook my hand, "You did the best you could. No one faults you."

"Thanks." With that, she stepped back into the SUV and with a wave, started back toward town as I stood on the porch for a moment, looking at the inscription on the pistol.

11/10/2011 - The Start of a Lifetime of Potential.

Letting out a short sigh at the high hopes that always seemed to be attached to me, I started back into the house.

Heading up to the bedroom, I tossed my shirt and shorts into the hamper and allowed the fur to begin seeping through my pores, that now familiar feeling of heat surging through my body. That prickling sensation brought with it a cacophony of new scents and sounds as my body slipped into its more feral form. As I felt my legs lengthening and reshaping, a tail pushing out from by spine and saw my muzzle pushing out from my face, I realized that after nine months with this body, shifting had gone from a painful, confusing process, to something of an expectation, albeit a uncomfortable one.

It was a little disconcerting to my still human mind, but I remembered what David had told me earlier and tried to accept it. It was merely another form, not another being and I needed to learn how to use it, not merely control it.

As I felt my change culminate with the shifting of my ears from blunt little things on the side of my head to large shells atop my head, I grabbed a pair of shorts and pulled them on, threading the tail through a cutout I had made before to make myself a little more presentable. Out in the woods, I loved to be in just my fur, but in public, even at home with other Lycans, I at least preferred a pair of pants.

Heading downstairs, I was the last one coming to the table, but I wasn't the only wolf. None of us were wearing our human skins, but I was surprisingly used to it by now. Stopping behind my mate as I walked to my seat, I gave her a short...okay, not so short, nuzzle that was interrupted by an impatient cough from a hungry little wolf pup, who then had the gall to sit and look angelic as I glared at her as I sat in my seat.

Dinner was amazing. Words couldn't really describe the taste and smell of the meal other than that. By the time we had all ate our fill, there was nothing left.

An hour or so later, I headed with David and his little wolfette to go light off some of those fireworks I had picked up while everyone else lounged on the deck to watch. Our escapades lit up the night, and I was glad that we all had good earplugs when a couple of them were...a lot louder than I remembered. It detracted a bit from the fun, but I didn't want my eardrums blown out.

At the brilliant conclusion of the impromptu demonstration, the two of us dragged the pup first to the hose to hose off the bitter stink of propellant that was omnipresent around us, and then back to the house to where everyone else was relaxing. As I walked up the steps, I moved toward my mate, who had a strange look on her face...one I couldn't place.

"Are you alright?" I asked, concerned.

"Yeah," was the pained reply. "Just some cramps. It always passes."

"Pulling a chair close to her, I just sat by her, nuzzling her neck and drinking in not only her delicious scent, but also the scents of her pregnancy. Just by sitting there, I felt her calm down and relax, a strange scent coming forward and becoming a little more prevalent, but still unrecognizable.

It was in this moment that I felt the vibration start in my pants. I jerked my head back in shock initially before I realized that it was my phone. Pulling it from my pocket, I saw Jerry's ID on the phone and realized that I needed to take it.

Sensing the change in my body posture, I felt my mate's strong hand grab my arm.

"Take it. I'll be fine." She didn't sound it, but she also could be as stubborn as I was. Walking just inside the cabin, I answered the still buzzing phone.

"Hart," I almost growled.

"Mike, it's Jerry," came the electronic voice from the other side of the line. "Got some news for you."

"Mmm-hmm" was my only reply, as I hated talking on the phone with a muzzle...It just never felt or sounded natural.

"Mike, we're gonna be down here for another week or so. There's nothing you can do down here, but we need someone to start training the new kid."

"New kid?" I asked. I was already the new kid on the team and they were gonna have me training.

"Yeah, Mike. We just got word that we're getting a new member. He was with Miami when they had a zombie attack a few months ago. We're up for the training rotation, this time...but I think it may become permanent."

"So, what's the plan?" I asked. I was probably the wrong person to start training a new guy, but I was going to be the only one available it looked like.

"Mike, you just gotta give him the basic primer for now. Tell him about mythos, see how he does on some of our scenarios, look at his thinking. You know the manual. This first week's nothing different than what you did before."

He did have a point. The first week was all paperwork and the basics. And it wasn't like I had a choice. With a heavy huff into the phone, I acquiesced.

"Okay, Jerry. I'll get him set up. What's the time frame?"

"He'll be being processed in Boston on Monday and Tuesday. The rest of the week is your call. My recommendation is bring him up north and work up there. I know why you're home this week, and seeing as I haven't heard anything...I assume it hasn't happened yet."

"Yeah, sounds doable. I'll - "

My next words were cut short by a sharp cry of pain from outside and what sounded like a flurry of activity.

"Mike! Get out here!" came David's voice, a little bit higher in pitch than normal.

"I gotta go," I said into the phone, not even bothering to wait for a reply before I dropped it on the table.

Rushing out to the back deck, I was met by the sight of my mate's face contorted in pain and David kneeling between her legs with his Mate holding Amy's hand.

"What's wrong?" I shouted out, a note of fear evident in my voice.

"Nothing's wrong, Mike," came David's reply. "But Amy's water just broke...and..." He paused and looked between my mate's legs again, ears perking in surprise as I knelt beside him.

"I can see a head."

A/N - Figured that was an appropriate place to end today. Thanks for reading. -

Now I gotta ask a favor. The more comments I get, the more active I am in writing...and the more active I am in writing, the less money I spend shooting. Please comment and help me be a good wolf and shrink my budget.