Work Text:
Nine wasn't entirely happy he'd regained the ability to speak.
It was ungrateful of him, he knew. The Lady had gone to so much trouble to restore his mouth, he should always appreciate that. And he did appreciate having his fangs and his tongue; he was thankful, he felt abundant, enormous, endless gratitude, but still, sometimes, he grew tired of speech.
In his nightmares, that came every time he slept, his brother questioned him, laughed at his answers, exiled him from his home; his former brethren taunted him, poked and jabbed at him till he begged them to stop, and then ignored him entirely.
Not speaking, not being able to speak, not ever being expected to speak, had been restful. No questions to answer, unless given time and paper and pen to write the answer down, so that he could carefully marshal the words before committing to them.
Speaking was dangerous. Speaking could be spontaneous. He sometimes found himself speaking without having consciously formed the intention, unaware of what words would emerge before he heard them. He might say things that embarrassed himself, worse, he might say things that embarrassed the Lady.
So when Nine felt that way, he did the most natural thing. He shifted to his wolf form.
The humans didn't expect him to talk, when Nine was a wolf. He was as silent and watchful as ever, and when not on duty, he could run without the restriction of clothing, he could play without anyone thinking it strange -- Yuri, who was always leery of him in man form, would sometimes throw a ball for him to chase if he was a wolf.
And, best of all, when Nine was sleepy, in wolf form he could sleep in the most comforting place -- the Lady's bed. Yona had been stern with him when he was there in man form, making it clear he was not to do that again. And the Lady might -- sometimes, when she looked at him, Nine saw an expectation in her expression that he didn't feel adequate to live up to.
In wolf form, that didn't happen.
She was asleep. He hopped up and curled his blue furred back along her side, atop the thick blanket that covered her as she slept. He rested his chin on her ankles and closed his eyes. A wolf slept with his pack, and at long last Nine had what he had long since given up hope of ever finding: a pack, with a master with whom he felt safe and right.
Without waking, she turned on her side, fisted her fingers in his fur. Nine fell asleep and, for once, his dreams were happy.