Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ghost was certainly going to get in all his cardio today, no question about it.

It was supposed to be a quick smash and grab for some data, easy in and easy out. Life was never that simple though. It had an ironically sick sense of humor.

Price had sat Ghost down only hours ago, let him know it was a solo gig just for discretion's sake. And the tall Manc had no issues with this debrief. How could he? A sleepy town surrounded by a forest in the Scottish countryside, almost could be considered a holiday. A cake walk.

However none of these things were true.

The intel was bad.

“Ghost. Sit-rep!” The 141 captain barked across the comms, nearly drowned out by the strong precipitation. A flash of lightning froze the rain mid downpour for just a moment, an unwelcome flashbang at 2300 hours.

Through measured breaths laced at the ends with urgency, Ghost used a waterlogged glove to tap the receiver.

“Busy at the moment!” he insisted, hiking his knees higher than normal as he booked it through the wet grasses. The underbrush met him mid-calf as if the area needed to be mowed, only slowing him down as he could hear behind him his pursuers.

Persisting forwards into even deeper brush hitting him about hip height, the only thing that he could be grateful for was the men weren’t shooting at him.

It was just a flashdrive.

That’s what all this fuss was over…and honestly Ghost isn’t quite sure how the mission got messed up, but this was the reality now. Undercover Russians missed their dead-drop because of him, and in an effort to keep their own cover in the small town they were equally determined to prevent the SAS agent who slipped in under their noses from getting away. Twelve of them trailed him through the tall grass, equally as urgent.

Ghost wanted to knife them, drop them where they stood, but he had been told to leave no trace. Not to involve the locals. Thankfully most of the lights in the buildings were still out, the resident unawares. Thank goodness for small miracles.

Gripping the hilt of a particularly favorite knife of his almost for comfort, he saw a line of trees a few hundred yards away. Illuminated by the full moon, it was clear to him what his goal would be for the moment.

“Fuckin’ moon.” Ghost hissed, heart rate kicking up as he forced himself on. His wet gear weighed on him even more, forcing him to look alive. Ghost’s muscles burned in protest, but there was no other choice but to keep persisting on.

Ghost was going to blame the moon.

Stealth was a specialty of his but this huge ass full moon was not ideal. Even clad in full blackout clothing (minus his bone mask), he felt too exposed. Or maybe this mission was meant to go to shit the whole time.

“On the run, Captain.” Ghost took a deep breath and barked at his walkie. “Intel wasn’t as squeaky clean as we thought.”

Another flash of lightning and Price’s curse was in time with Ghost’s.

He was being gained on.

These thugs didn’t have supplies and gear weighing them down. They knew the lay of the land, and it pissed Ghost off. Little mistakes added up, he should have checked the area better, and now he was having to shift his path as they tried to pincer him.

He knew he was being herded. There was nothing he could do about it.

“Get out of there, and we’ll arrange your ex-fil.” Price assured.

Turning on his heel, Ghost ran through the last of the waist high brush and into the trees.

It was a fucking dark game of cat and mouse, and while Ghost wasn’t scared, he wasn’t exactly enjoying himself either.

In the forest there was more room to run, lower underbrush but the ground seemed equally saturated. Nevermind the vacation, he never wanted to come back here.

Boots squishing through the mud and scuffing through the moist foliage, Ghost made another mistake. So small but the idiot tax was high.

He turned to look back at those chasing him, while still moving forwards.

Ghost slipped.

As the pit of his stomach dropped out with one solemn realization, he knew what he had been chased towards.

A cliff.

It was that simple. Not a shot was fired, but this little game had been decided. Unable to stabilize himself, Ghost’s ankle gave out with a sickening sound amid the storm and his center of gravity pitched forwards.

With less grace than the Brit would like to admit, his body all but ragdolled down the sheer slope. It was mostly rocks, slick with tracks of mud, and his body was acutely aware of this, in more than one location on his frame.

It was probably only a handful of seconds in total, but the fall felt like eternity. Punctuated with a sudden stop that knocked out all air from his lungs, Ghost felt his head connect with the stone beneath him and then nothing at all.

Slowly, muted sounds returned.

The rain sounded so far away and muted but in the back of his mind Ghost knew it should be deafening. A warm trickle greeted him from one ear drum as he slowly focused, working on taking breaths consciously. He was seriously disoriented, and exposed. His blood ran cold, heart stuttering in fear.

A flash of lightning gave him a view through the moonlight of the ground under him and mentally he noted the sight of blood and filed it away.

He was vulnerable. He needed to move.

A deep breath steeled himself, and holding it Ghost forced his hands up to push his torso up. His body screamed and his vision swam, a gush of blood slipped past his lips as he spit his exhale and collapsed back down.

Bit by bit, sounds were coming back but not as clearly. It was enough though for him to hear the Russians climbing down the cliff face with utmost care. They had pulled out their phones and flashlights for this endeavor, the city hundreds of yards away and no longer a factor in the pursuit.

Another deep, painful breath. Black spots danced for a moment.

“Move!” Ghost demanded, using his voice aloud like he would speak to his recruits.

Roughly he got a knee under his torso and pushed off only to growl back a pained sound and collapsed back to the hard ground. Ghost didn’t have time to take stock of his injuries, memories fueling him to just GO. GO. GO. Pain in the rearview mirror was now closer than it appeared.

He wouldn’t be captured again. Never.

Using his forearms as he spit blood from his airway, Ghost started to move in a slow crawl; his ankle was clearly right fucked. The silence in his radio was apparent now, and a modest glance showed him how smashed it really was.

Just as Ghost tried again to get to his knees a rough hand grabbed the back of his tacvest and pulled. The world swam again as his body was tossed onto its back, pain clouding it all and drowning out the sound again.

“Fuckin’ hell.” He hissed, teeth clenching as he pulled out another knife on reflex and held it out towards his attacker. He faintly was aware there were more making it down successfully from the cliff and surrounding him like the wounded animal he was.

The glint of metal was unmistakable in the full moon, but in case Ghost has missed that the audible cocking of the weapons were not. This was not a knife fight, it was a gun fight now this far from town.

Ghost let out a few labored pants as his vision threatened to darken.

Another flash of lightning and the man directly in front of him was gone.

Ghost blinked.

Another flash of lightning and the man to his left disappeared, or had been knocked down. He wasn’t honestly sure, his body overwhelmed with trying to register everything through the pain, weather aside.

There were urgent yells in Russian, and the guns shifted from him towards the darkness on the rockface. The dark form moved, and the flunkies fired.

Using his forearm, Ghost wiped at his eyes uselessly, knowing the fog was coming from within.

One by one the men around him fell to the ground, each action punctuated by screams of terror. One or two worked on climbing back up the cliff, but were quickly hindered by conditions.

Ghost’s ability to comprehend time and the world around him was fading, the blow to the head was clearly the culprit. He felt his body relaxing against his will as what felt like a blink was evidently much longer than that as he felt his body halting faster. It was giving out, and he couldn’t do a fucking thing.

The final flash of lighting was so far away as Ghost’s eyes rolled back and he fell completely limp.

---

Moments before…

John had been hoping for an uneventful moon-phase related shift. He had packed his usual ‘survival kit’ for this time of the month but even that disinterested him. Laying curled up in the back of the cave, paws crossed, he rested his shaggy mane on it and let out a deep sigh through his elongated snout. This was miserable indeed.

He had just started to drift off to sleep, his massive hulk of fur rising and lowering slowly, when the sound of rocks scattering down the hillside caught his attention. Large ears turned in an instant as if radar dishes, picking up more noises.

A deep breath and twitch of his cold nose caught the scent of blood. There were multiple people moving in on his location. His first thought was that of a deep groan, mentally hoping his location wouldn’t be revealed, but the wolf in him bristled for a fight.

John just wanted to have this month’s mandatory body-swap of sorts be done. It seems the world had other plans.

One man crawled into view, clad in black with his face obscured. Clearly injured.

Immediately John was up on all fours paws.

His human mind trying to put together what his senses were telling him were soon overridden by his innate sense of justice. A few men circled the downed man, weapons drawn, their metal catching the moonlight through the storm.

John didn’t want to be noticed but he couldn’t simply stand by, regardless of what form he was in. If anything his identity too was obscured by a ‘mask’ of sorts, that of an overly large direwolf. Mentally, John whined at himself but his mind was made up. He had to intervene.

Without another moment's hesitation, John leapt from the shrouded cover of his cave. He had seen training combat before, but this was new. He also had the upper hand due to the element of surprise of an oversized wolf bounding from the darkness into the fray.

That wouldn’t have been on anyone's bingo cards, except maybe his.

Allowing himself to tap into his more feral nature as a wild animal, the side he normally suppressed, a new feeling surged through him. A sudden surge in pack mentality leaned against his mind, where he was making a decision based on the others around him and feeling strength from it deep inside.

Using his nature-imbued weapons, it was over in a flash. The gaggle of men had been dispatched by tooth and claw, and the ease with which they had been snuffed out was a bit concerning to John.

However he need not linger on those thoughts, after all it was why he was in his cave after all. Secluded. It wouldn’t happen again, he promised himself, tasting the metallic tang of blood on his maw.

But even those thoughts passed as he turned, the imposing beat he was, and turned to his quarry. The human he’d just saved. He needed to spirit them away back to safety before his thoughts could wander.

The injured man was tall, a human clearly larger than him in human form. However in John’s current shift he was towering above their prone body. SAS operator by the looks of it, some kind of night-op gear. Sticking his nose against the man’s back John snuffled into the fabric trying to learn more. He had yet to divulge the plethora of information he was able to skim in his wolf form, his human mind unable to process it all. But one thing was quite clear.

The man was badly hurt, and he couldn’t be left out in the rain. After all he had done, the least John could do was continue his mission to help the man.

Opening his muzzle, gentle with his teeth, he gripped the back of the hood on the man. Amused at the fact he was almost scruffing his target, John started to unceremoniously drag him into the cover of his grotto. There really was no better way to do this, without his opposable thumbs this was all he could do.

As he reached the middle of the cave John opened his mouth and let the man gently come to rest in his favorite spot to curl up. It wasn’t the warmest spot but it was the smoothest and most comfortable, at least in his mind. It was at this moment that it occurred to him that this was about the best he could do for his unexpected guest.

The feeling that he had been able to do something positive for the moment made his chest swell with pride. John was no longer bored. Something told him this masked man wasn’t a threat, at least not in his current condition. He wasn’t excited at sharing with him he was a freak of nature, but then again a man who dressed like he did wasn’t exactly normal himself.

Birds of a feather?

John entertained this thought as he carefully positioned his legs and curled around his new charge protectively. It was still going to be hours until he could light a fire, but for now his thick fur would make due.

For them both.

---

The storm continued, thunder was far away and the rain sounded down in relentless sheets. With a small grunt, Ghost’s golden brow furrowed as his eyes refused to open. Mentally, he demanded a sit-rep of his body and started down the line.

His skull felt like it had been cracked open, the pounding behind his eyes was strong and followed with waves of nausea. There was a trickle of wetness down the back of his neck, a sticky heat with a metallic tang he knew to be blood. Mentally he sighed and kept going because he wasn’t done yet.

While Ghost felt his whole being had been in a blender with rocks, his ankle felt even worse for wear. He noted it and moved on as his head demanded his attention more than anything in the world right now.

He also observed that he was warm, and while his clothes were still damp he could tell they wasn’t actively getting soaked anymore. Meaning he had been moved.

How?

Consciously willing his limbs to move, he found himself feeling something plush but muted through his gloves. Taking in a sharp breath through his nose and steeling himself, Ghost cracked his eyes open against his better judgment.

Enveloped in hazel fur, he came to the conclusion that it was in fact radiating warmth.

“Ugh…” he managed, the groan slipping past chapped lips, and immediately the fur around him moved as if voice activated.

Forcing himself to wearily blink, suddenly something cool and wet bapped Ghost’s cheek. Taking a moment to realign the blur in his vision, Ghost had a revelation that his body was too weary to react in a way he would consider proper in light of the apparition before him.

There was a wolf face, about four times the size of a normal wolf’s head, looking directly into his eyes. The small nudge had been its wet nose, and the cozy fur around him was the creature curled around him like a mother dog to their newborn pup. Its ears perked as it observed its charge, a light brush of the tail laying across the SAS’s soldiers lap expressing its approval.

“Fucking…” Ghost started, blinking deliberately, his vision clearing more with each insistence.

The wolf’s eyes were a striking shock of blue, with an eerie quality of knowing and light behind them. A errant streak of a fur cowlick seemed to run from the brow in a rough shape down its mane to the edge of its fluffed tail.

“...what the fuck are you?” Ghost managed, his lips feeling clumsy and numb.

Another bump of the nose to the side of his head and this time Ghost hissed at the jostle.

A whine emitted from the beast, large ears flattening, and it nudged again. Ghost clumsily swatted at it.

“ F’kin hell, quit tha..” he spat.

The wolf blinked and let out a low growl that stopped Ghost mid-swipe. He apparently wasn’t in the position to be making demands. He was being forcibly nurtured.

The wolf leaned forwards and with a calculated nip, caught the top of Ghost’s treasured mask in its teeth. With one fell swoop, the creature yanked it free.

Ghost saw stars and before he could respond or protest something lightly pressed against the back of his bleeding skull with measured gentleness. A calculated wipe, and then another, even more gentle than the last.

This fucking monster of a beast was literally licking his wounds.

The first few swipes stung, but slowly the methodic swabbing was actually lulling Ghost back under the claim of sleep. He felt his hair starting to stick up from the saliva but oddly enough it was helping. Headwounds notoriously bled profusely, and yet his had slowed considerably.

The rest of the pieces were falling together as Ghost blinked heavily.

This behemoth of a predator had saved him, taken out the enemies in pursuit of a pound of his flesh, and was now babying him in a fucking cave in Scotland on a botched mission.

It was all lost on Ghost for the moment of how or why, but his hind brain kept just telling him he was safe and it was okay. As exhaustion crept deep out from his bones into the rest of his being he just decided he was going to go with it because at the very least it was going to be a hell of a story.

---

The man had woken up before Johnny’s transformation had changed too much. Full moon transformations were slow and annoying in his humble opinion. There were no names exchanged, but it would do for now to know the man wasn’t dead. Or dying. Just injured a good amount.

It was the small things somedays to be honest.

Still, John was restless. Compelled to do more, it was torture to still himself to keep his guest warm. The thought of how much more the fire would do made John itch with anticipation, wanting to do his best knowing it wasn’t just for himself alone he was hiding anymore.

John’s large ears were starting to shrink, the rain no longer deafening but the sounds reducing to a more human standard of noise. John still was not used to heightened senses. Maybe someday, with more practice and time, and if he actually tuned in more and didn’t try to distance himself from that side of his being.

….maybe.

John itched to move but he forced himself to stay. He noticed when he started to lose his fur the man got colder. But there was nothing he could do just yet.

As more time passed, John shifted further away from wolf and closer toward human. This was the time he really felt like the monster he was, stuck between two forms and belonging to neither.

Long hairy arms, no longer covered in fur but still larger than normal, gently clutched the injured man. He was careful of his claws, that, at least, was giving something for him to mind. A way to direct his wiley attention, reign it in.

As John shifted further, the man grew larger in his hold. Knowing it was his shift wasn’t as comforting because John never quite had such a defined point of reference for his change.

Letting out a small groan, he wished he could grab some of his pain killers. Changing forms was agonizingly slow in either direction. John stared at his pack longingly, and then away to the cave entrance, his mind starting to wander. Slowly, the guest in his arms stirred.

Trying out a few mouth sounds quietly to himself, John was confident in being able to communicate with speech this time. He cleared his throat and waited.

---

The static in his ears slowly registered as rain once more.

Blearily blinking, Ghost took a deep breath and winced.

“Easy now…” a voice encouraged softly, forcing Ghost to freeze.

A reassuring pat gently applied pressure to his chest, the size of the hand was massive and clawed.

“...Ye been out for a while now. Jus’ go slow.”

The alarm bled out of him as he let out a slow exhale through his mouth. Muscles not tight with contusions released and relieved some pressure in his form.

“Who are you?” clumsy lips managed, voice rough with disuse and sleep.

“MacTavish.” The reply was so simple, it took Ghost aback. Was he supposed to know this…creature?

“What are you?” He followed with.

Another small reassuring pat from the large hand was followed by an affirmative hum.

“I’m what most people consider a werewolf.” The man’s bluntness caught him off guard, sharing something from storybooks and legends as a cut and dried fact. Ghost looked him up and down, noting the otherworldly features his rescuer was currently sporting.

“Oh. I see.”

But Ghost really didn’t.

He didn’t know why he had answered so flatly and matter of factly but then again, everything about this whole ordeal was surreal. Turning his head, with a wince, he inspected his savior with tired eyes.

Instead of a large fully lupine creature about the size of a hellhound, the being designated MacTavish had a more humanoid face at this time. A longer nose with still more fur than skin, his countenance had shifted to something more anthropomorphic in appearance than before.

Upon making eye contact with his charge, large ears tilted forwards eagerly, and the brush of fur against the cave floor was audible. A tail wag.

His hands were more human in shape than paw-like, the digits tipped with sensory pads and claws still accented the large appendages. Ghost was being gently cradled against the broad chest and belly of the creature, fur still in abundance that ran down from shoulders past his hips and to his hocked animalistic legs.

This was fine, Ghost thought lazily. Because what else could it be? If the creature had intended to harm him, it would have done so already.

The werewolf radiated warmth like that of a furnace, and while Ghost’s clothes were still reasonably moist the damp was being staved off enough for his liking. He let out an audible sigh, and as he relaxed a sudden thought entered his mind.

Price.

Stiffening a hand went up instinctively to his gear, touching the communicator mounted to his tactical vest.

“It’s broken, mate.” The words seemed cluttered coming from his muzzle, but still understandable in his addled state. “Sometimes there’s static but nae a word comes through.”

Ghost sighed, dropped his head back, and immediately winced. Right. The concussion. MacTavish huffed and then snuffled at the back of Ghost’s skull.

“F’k off.” He swatted, wincing again and MacTavish huffed dramatically through his snoot. For the longest time all there was between them was the sound of the torrential rain.

“Ghost,” he offered. Another gentle wag of fur against the cave floor welcomed the word. “Call me Ghost, MacTavish.”

“John. John MacTavish, at your service….Ghost.” The words were rough hewn but laced with honesty and integrity. “I got your six.”

“Not another John,” Ghost mumbled to himself. Price was his commanding officer and he didn’t need another basic ass name in his inventory. These two people were completely different and he didn’t want them assigned the same rumination in his mind. “That won’t do.”

Ears perked up and as MacTavish was just about to ask about the operator’s ramblings, he had already decided what to call his new friend.

“Johnny…” Ghost managed, testing out the name in his mouth. A small smile caught the edge of his mouth. Yeah, Johnny. It felt right, and more comfortable in his mouth. Knowing it was just him trying to have some semblance of control in the moment, Simon shoved that thought away and kept going.

Between the warmth and sound of the rain mixed with the beast’s heartbeat he took a deeper, more even breath. Adrenaline was leaking from him, and his previous claims to unconsciousness were unwelcome but this time it was a gentle restful sleep calling to him.

“...you smell like a wet dog.” He finally finished his thought.

A string of Scottish curses marred with wolf tongue hit his ears just before sleep claimed him once more.

---

Johnny?

A nickname? For him? Oh hell, he was in trouble.

Johnny’s pack instinct was getting stronger, and he was needing to keep care of his Ghost he saved. The man was large and sleeping like a rock even as Johnny’s body shifted and clicked beneath him. Like some sort of sick transformer made from organic material, their ratio changed enough to the point it forced Johnny to slip out from underneath Ghost’s bulk. The weight was starting to make it hard to breathe, and John was starting to get cold himself.

Most of his fur had dissipated in favor of his human form, leaving a chill that threatened to get into his bones if he didn’t act soon.

It was once again time for clothes.

Digging into his pack, Johnny found his jacket that he normally didn’t need but still kept just in case. Tossing that aside as his lower half shifted, almost like a race against time and indecency he found his joggers and quickly pulled them on. The hem stopping at the crest of his tail was not unusual. If anything he looked like those animated characters with ears and tails in this stage of transformation.

Rustling through the bag also yielded him a shirt he’d stashed earlier. It was a larger sleep shirt that had somehow made its way into his pack but anything was welcome at this point. It wasn’t yet time for shoes, but that wasn’t a problem at the moment.

Looking around the cave, Johnny spotted the discarded jacket and while he wasn’t cold he decided to put the item to use. Unzipping it, he carefully draped the fabric across Ghost’s chest. It wasn’t as good as a furry space heater but it's all he had on offer at the moment.

Sitting down and curling his arms around his knees, Johnny considered Ghost’s form as the man slept. Rising and lowering slowly it really showed how at peace the man was, despite everything that had happened that night.

Johnny wasn’t sure, but he would put money on the fact that the man didn’t get much rest. That and if he finally did, the man slept like the dead. His tail wagged and he reached around and grabbed it in a firm fist to stop its noise. Curling it around to his front, Johnny hugged it to his chest to keep it quiet.

If Ghost woke up it wouldn’t be because he startled him awake in any way. Ghost needed to rest and Johnny was content to guard him while he did so.

For once he felt his beastly skills and form had done some good, and this warmed his heart. It had been so long since he had felt like anything but a bad luck charm.

---

This time, it was restful blackness. Ghost welcomed this new development. Pain that had blossomed seemed to fade away as he floated in his mind palace. Seemingly aware he was sleeping, it was healing in comparison to his fall hours (days?) earlier. For whatever reason Ghost had the world's largest guard dog on his side and he wasn’t about to question it. He owed MacTavish his life and it occurred to him he was now grossly indebted with no idea how he could repay him…but that was a worry for later.

Right now he was engrossed in the best sleep of his life.

The warmth that soaked his bones was all encompassing. His breaths were deep and even, drawing in healing energy and expelling the tenseness of his muscles and joints. A few sticking points like his head and ankle still reminded them of their distress, but Ghost was reveling in this development.

Slowly though, Ghost was dragged away from this oasis, until he awoke shivering.

The rain hadn’t changed. If anything, more water was pooling at the cave entrance.

A new object was draped across his shoulders as he lay with his back against the cave floor. A shock of worry flashed through his chest.

“Johnny?”

“Aye. Over ‘ere Ghost.”

Numb fingers braced against the cold rock as Ghost slowly pushed himself into a sitting position. The light fabric draped across his torso fell away, and another rush of cold hit him making Ghost very aware of how cold and damp his frame truly still was.

Huddled a few yards away, in the darker side of the cave, was a blur of man and wolf. More humanoid than before, MacTavish was more Ghost’s size than any shape he recalled seeing Johnny in before. A loose shirt hung on his body, still excess fur popping out here and there. Gray joggers were tied at his waist, trying to cover his legs which while somewhat deformed resembled that closely more to human appendages now.

“Turning back is rough, I didnae want to disturb ye.”

Ghost rubbed at a blurred eye and focused on the werewolf again. The rain one again buffered the silence.

“...does it hurt?” Ghost finally decided.

Johnny blinked, and then looked down, rubbing at one arm almost sheepishly.

“A bit uncomfortable I s’pose. Ye get used to it.” Blue eyes looked away, more than a hint of pain crowded them. Ghost chose to let it go.

There was so much to talk about between them but then again the SAS agent wasn’t a master of conversation. He wanted to know more, like how he became a werewolf. Why was he here? Why bother saving him? So many fucks he needed to give and yet it was all far from his mind.

A sudden sneeze rocked Ghost’s form, causing a small pained moan to creep out of his mouth. It felt like a minor flashbang if he was entirely honest, but wouldn’t admit that out loud.

The small set of wolf ears glacially changing to humanoid ones still tensed and jumped to attention. Crawling from the shadows, Johnny pulled a backpack with him. Pulling the zippered closure open, a very well stocked medical kit was spread out. Ghost sniffed.

“The painkiller probably wore off, let me get ye another.” Fingers with long claws fumbled with a small injection pack of morphine. Ghost huffed.

“Shifting doesn’t hurt, huh?”

The young man was prepared, as if this was routine for him minus his current company. The fully stocked kit with several types of pain relievers and enough equipment to field patch a few people. Clearly the clothes had been deliberately planned and hauled along, as well as the jacket draped over Ghost’s lap.

“Ye needed it more than me.” He took the small vial and injected it into Ghost’s thigh. “Grade four concussion, and a right fucked ankle. Not to mention various contusions, not that I checked all those.”

“If it weren’t for you, I'd also be full of holes and rotting away out there.” A small nod of Ghost’s head motioned to the torrent outside. Johnny said nothing and turned to root through his kit. Ghost felt the warmth of the injection move through his veins, shivering with the warmth of it. While he appreciated the werewolf’s jacket, it wasn’t going to cut it with how right fucked his body and gear was. The damp fabric was drawing warmth from him at an alarming rate with the loss of his personal heater.

“Let me get a fire going,”

“Fire?”

“Aye,”

A small bundle of twigs was plopped in the shade of the cave. And as Ghost watched Johnny with method and familiarity prop the pile between them and spark up the dry branches with tinder, he used context clues and then spoke again.

“This is routine to you,” Ghost stated flatly, starting to feel the warmth of the fire as Johnny blew at the embers to kick up its blaze more. Judging by the distance to the cave entrance, the way the airflow was funneling the smoke safely away, and his preparedness…this was par for the course for the werewolf.

Quieter this time. “Aye,”

The wolven ears flattened to his buzzed skull, the mohawk that sprouted between them more prominent. What a strange haircut, Simon’s mind idled, and when MacTavish cleared his throat, he realized too late that he was staring.

“I’ll check that leg for ye.” He shuffled over, settling back to the open med kit he had begun to spread out.

“It’s not that bad.” Ghost objected, watching as Johnny looked from one ankle to the other. The size difference was noticeable even between the laced upper shafts. He looked up at Ghost and stared for a moment, then set to carefully unlacing the boot anyways.

For some reason Ghost suddenly felt exposed. Acutely aware of his mask being lost somewhere in the cave, bloodied and shredded. He wasn’t some persona to this werewolf, just some guy who fucked up a mission and had a string of bad luck. Honestly it was fortunate Johnny was there, even by accident. He should thank the man, but Ghost was still unsure, mostly of himself. It could wait, he convinced himself.

Oddly, he was calm around MacTavish, in a way he couldn’t exactly explain. Some sort of Florence Nightingale effect? Maybe it was in fact that BOTH of them were very exposed at this moment, each seeing the more intimate sides they’d both tried to hide. Ghost’s face was not meant to be seen, but somehow this stranger in this circumstance was an exception he was willing to be open to. He really had no choice but to roll with the punches and welcome it.

That or the warmth and concussion laced with the morphine are getting to him. Ghost was going to assume the latter.

Clearly MacTavish was willing to accept the same mutual level of exposure. He was in a remote place for all things considered, trying to hide away while he went through the awkward cursed changes his body had no control of. Similar to how Ghost hid his face from the world in general.

Ghost jumped into that denial with open arms, awkwardly adjusting the coat draped across his torso.

The tail protruding between Johnny’s sweatpants and the large top he wore swished while he concentrated. His lower lip worried by his teeth as he gently unlaced and relieved pressure that Ghost had seemingly just gotten used to. The repetitive sound of fur on rock stopped, and with a fell swoop Johnny gripped the heel of the shoe and popped its frame free from his arch.

Even with the morphine working its way though his body, Ghost hissed.

His sock was soaked with water and blood, and possibly a number of other fluids. He had to have a blister or two by now, and by the look of things, they also had clearly burst.

“Sorry mate, hold on.”

With long pointed claws Johnny hooked under the top of the sock and slowly peeled it away from Ghost’s skin. The fabric had been compressed and molded so close Ghost felt an eerie awareness like a layer of skin was being removed. The sensations were mixed, the wetness of the sock was sickeningly warmed from his body heat. The cave was cold and damp in air only, the fresh air hitting his soggy skin. Clumps of mud fell away, revealing marbled bruising on his flesh.

All varieties of colors from the contusion were present from red to purple to a smattering of blue. No yellow yet, the wound too fresh for any signs other than trauma.

Suddenly Ghost had a deeper appreciation for what people in the medical sector dealt with on a regular basis.

“It's pretty bad.” Johnny confirmed, quickly unlacing Ghost’s other boot and yanking that sock off. Unceremoniously dropping all of the SAS’s operator’s effects by the growing fire to attempt to save them, the wolf turned back to his charge.

“I’ve had worse.”

Blue eyes met hazel, for a moment, and then regrettably turned downards.

“I can tell,” his sensitive lupine nose wiggling, the dark tip remnants of his full elongated snout from earlier. “Nobody calls themselves ‘Ghost’ for light reasons.”

The scars on Ghost’s face were rough hewn and burned with memories that flashed up in recollection. He reached up with trembling fingers (from the cold only, surely) and touched them in recognition. They weren’t friends but they were companions now for him, that he carried and bore wherever he traveled.

Ghost couldn’t conceal his marred skin here, anymore than Johnny could hide his werewolf side.

There were even scars on his feet, from various exercises and deployments, and he knew they patched their way up his leg as far as Johnny could see. The mud or blood only served to accent the valleys and marks on his flesh.

“Simon,” he finally offered. “...I used to be Simon.”

Ghost’s words had been hushed, but acute wolf senses, not completely stowed away yet, caught them.

“...want me to call ye that?”

The pause between them was unbearably pregnant.

Ghost nodded, just the smallest of motions.

A tail wag.

“Well, Simon…” Johnny cleared his throat. “I want to check if you’re more broken than ya look.”

Another quiet nod.

Everything was overwhelming right now. The raucous clutter of the rain, the punctuation of the fire consuming the wood, and the blood in his ears making his faculties flood with staggering turbulence. The distasteful look of his flesh was remarkably unpleasant but the werewolf didn’t flinch.

“Take a deep breath.” Johnny instructed, trepidation in his tone. “Let me start from the ankle.”

Pushing up the hem of his pant leg even more, velvety tipped fingers gently caressed swollen skin. The pads on MacTavish’s fingertips were fading, as if his body was re-absorbing them for later. The pointed claws had started to flatten out and blunt, brevity aiding him in this inspection.

Sliding his thumb while pressing with consideration for the swollen appendage, the pressure climbed until Johnny could gently make contact with the bone below.

“Another breath,”

Simon found he had braced and held his air within his lungs in anticipation of more irritation to his senses. While uncomfortable, Johnny’s prodding wasn’t painful. If anything it was with calculated measure, with some hint of skill.

He was field trained, Simon realized. This wasn’t just self taught, some of this was textbook training for SAS recruits. Field triage.

“You know what you’re doing,” it sounded stupid but honestly, Simon was impressed. That was his indirect way of showing it, and he wasn’t going to change it now. Not after he’d already exposed himself so much in the past day. Has it even been a full day?

Johnny was silent, sliding his hand down to the ankle past a particularly bruised spot, adjusting the pressure in a clinical manner. The warmth of his palms soothing the abused skin and made Simon sigh almost content. Morphine in full effect, this was becoming far from an uncomfortable experience.

“I don’t think it's broken,” he concluded. “Just a nasty sprain.” Reaching into the bag he gripped an ice pack with one hand. Squeezing it, not only did the pack inside pop but the whole unit popped as well. Unceremoniously a shower of the inside chemical pellets littered the floor like glitter. Simon blinked, registering what happened.

Tail tucking under his crouched legs followed by a sheepish laugh (that came out rather like a small bark), Johnny reached into the bag and produced another ice pack and offered it out to Simon. “Don’t know my own strength I suppose.”

A lie? Maybe. Johnny had been so careful only moments before but maybe that’s why sweat had marked his brow. The werewolf form was evidently much stronger than a normal human, as displayed by when he sent the Russian agents flying. Simon had marked some of that up to his concussed haze but now it had just been confirmed.

Johnny was a very resilient individual, Simon concluded.

Taking the pack and popping it in his palm, Simon passed it back to the werewolf. Gently laying it across the apex of the swollen appendage, Johnny sighed and looked at it once more with relevant consideration.

“Did your team leave you behind?”

A cold shock lit through Simon’s chest, and he shivered against gooseflesh once more.

“I was solo,” he confessed. “I need to radio in for exfil.”

While highly classified, it wasn’t going to hurt the entirety of the mission to tell this one civilian. Also, what would be the use in lying? If he had not been alone, maybe things wouldn’t have gone as tits up as they did in the first place. But that was neither here nor there anymore. Saying that technically broke protocol, but then again what rules of engagement were there for a werewolf encounter?

Johnny looked to the busted radio on Simon’s shoulder, ears perking in thought. Wheels were turning.

Between them the fire crackled, echoing in the cavern. A loud snap echoed as the flames popped off some bark from the branch and consumed it greedily.

Johnny opened his mouth, but then clamped it back shut. It opened once more and as he took a breath, the calm was broken by a loud squeal of Simon’s stomach. It was audible as all fuck above all the ambient noise which left Johnny to laugh a quick clipped but genuine chortle.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Simon cursed, letting out a huff accented with frustration. Trembling fingers reached into his tacvest pocket on the side and managed to pull out a small ration bar. Examining the single serve unit led to another curse.

Apparently in his graceless tumble down the cliff the wrapper had been compromised and now it was soaked through. Johnny's eyes were on the spoiled meal, and found the flutter of disappointment on Simon's face before his expression smoothed over once more.

“I….I have...snacks,” he offered haltingly. Simon’s stomach protested again, louder. Considering his ankle and the bout of nausea threatening to rise once more he let out another resigned sigh.

Reaching out a hand with his palm open, Johnny eagerly turned back to his backpack and dug deeper, past the first aid kit. His tail wagged eagerly.

“Here,” he smirked, almost in a chuffed manner as he gleefully plopped a wrapped bar of beef jerky into the waiting hand. Little fangs showed past his lips as his face broke into a genuine smile. “I actually made it myself.”

Simon considered the offering for a split second before opening the crude wrapper and taking a sizable bite. Tearing away the chunk from the whole flat of meat, a nice burst of flavor hit his tongue. Chewing hastily, Simon quickly swallowed the hunk and took another famished bite.

Johnny was watching him the whole time, beaming with pride. While his ears and tail had gotten even smaller and he looked the most human since they’d met, there was still a welcome aura of being carefree in this moment as it existed. He was radiating positivity out of his very being in this moment, outshining the fire beside them.

Exhaustion creeping in, Simon gave up his core workout and slowly laid back onto the stone floor of the cave below him. While cool to the touch, the cold was starting to be staved off through the small rolling fire beside the pair. Almost bearable, he thought idly while he chewed.

Letting out a satisfied grunt, Simon took another bite and started working the protein through his jaws even more deliberately. Savoring. The salt reminded him he was also thirsty despite still being fairly soggy overall.

“How long do we stay here? Until your…features revert?” Simon was making more than an educated guess on this one. Clearly the young man was keen to hole up until his blighted transformation passed.

“Aye,” Johnny nodded, sobering fast into reverence as he touched his furred ears. “Just a few more hours I think.” The remnants of his tail tucked under against his legs.

Simon took another bite and stared at the opening of the cave. Water beaded up on the overhang and dropped into the large puddle at the doorway.

The rain seemed to be letting up slightly for the first time all night. Clouds still filled the sky and rumbled with thunder in the distance, a reminder of what had just passed. Thankfully the flashes were over; Simon’s brain, still traumatized through blunt force, was especially grateful for this.

Would they be parting ways? How does this work? None of this was in the handbook. Simon mulled these thoughts over bemusedly, even as discomfort crept into his chest and took a seat. Made itself comfortable.

Both men looked at each other at the same moment, then immediately away with a full turn of the head.

More silence.

“I have a flat in town,” Johnny finally offered. A distant rumble chased his words.

Simon considered him past his downcast lashes. He looked down to the dried meat, considered it, and then popped the last piece past his lips.

“It's not much, but…you’re welcome to wait for your…friends there,” Johnny motioned generally towards the current setting. “Instead of ...here.”

Simon finished off the last bite, chewed it completely and then swallowed thickly. A piece had stuck between his teeth. He sighed.

“Got any proper tea in this flat of yours?”

“Fuckin’ Brits.” Johnny smirked under his breath, and exhaled quickly out his nose in an almost snort.

---

The rain eventually tapered away as Johnny let the fire begin to die. A gentle hue to the sky was letting them know the full moon was passing and the sun was threatening to peek over the horizon.

By now Johnny looked virtually human, save for a few spots that seemed more hairy than normal. Or maybe he was just a naturally bristly guy, who was Simon to say.

Johnny tied off the boot on Simon’s good foot, leaving the other sad one at least socked up so it was covered. While Simon’s clothes were caked in mud it was better than wearing nothing in the morning chill. Still he let out a shudder as the fire’s heat abated, and while pathetically small it had actually made a difference in their stay in the cave.

Johnny shoved a few more of his supplies into his pack, and then stared at Simon almost thoughtfully. Leaning over he tugged at the tactical vest on his shoulders and frowned. “Best take this off,” he instructed. “My neighbors don’t need more reason to give me grief.”

Simon blinked, and without a word started to unhook the equipment from his chest. The weight lifted from his form as he held it out to Johnny expectantly. The smaller man took it and stuffed it hastily into his sack and zipped it up snugly.

Simon was very much out of his element, and wasn’t about to argue with the one who saved his ass. The request was reasonable, and he was really starting to hit a wall in terms of fatigue. He was a soldier who knew how to follow orders. Maybe that’s part of how he got into this mess, but that was the past.

The present now was relocating to a more suitable and safer location.

“My place isn’t too far from here. It's a brisk walk but I think you’ll manage.” Without another word Johnny knelt beside Simon and patted at his shoulder. “Here I’ll help ye.”

Simon looked him up and down and then reached an arm around Johnny’s shoulder. His hand grasping Simon’s wrist he counted to three and together, albeit clumsily, they stood.

A few spots kicked up in Simon’s vision and he must have let out a sound.

“Sorry about that.”

“Just…give me a second.”

Reaching his other hand behind him Simon pulled his hood up over his wound, and in anticipation of the morning sun. Hopping for a moment on one leg, it was an awkward endeavor but they managed to stay standing.

Mentally Simon noted Johnny was much stronger than he looked, and felt a slight heat rise through his cheeks to his ears.

He was just impressed. Surely.

Together it was awkward but they found a rhythm that both kept them moving forwards and his janky ankle from more harm. The mud was solidifying, and Johnny was helping them navigate the wooded area with ease making their progress steady. To Simon’s embarrassment there was a steep but walkable embankment no more than 30 meters away from where he took a fall.

“We’re not going to talk about it.” Simon instructed, as they reached the top of the slope. Johnny’s shoulders shook lightly with amusement, but he didn’t utter a sound.

Simon put a hand up signaling for them to hold, as he sucked in fresh air greedily. Mentally he was trying not to beat himself up but he really had done a number on himself this mission. Talent.

The sun was starting to hit the dew-covered grass, lighting them up like sparkling diamonds. All Simon saw was a still daunting walk that would mean soggy pants. Letting out a sign he nodded and the pair once again moved onwards.

“You live here long?” Simon asked idly, trying to fill the buzzing in his skull that was starting to build.

“No, not really. Maybe half a year,” he estimated out loud. “Was starting to think about moving on if I’m honest.” There was weight behind those words but Simon let it go.

“Life must be rough when you spontaneously change into a werewolf.” he mused back.

Running a hand through his mohawk, Johnny's mouth quirked. “You can say that again.”

They hobbled down into the town, transitioning from gravel paths to more paved cobblestone. Scant puddles were the only remaining sign of the storm that had passed.

“Just up there,” Johnny breathed heavily, both starting to run out of steam. Simon nodded wearily.

As the front door of the small gathering of flats, Johnny bristled and Simon immediately turned to look at him. “What?”

A low rumble in semblance of a growl vibrated his chest and Simon followed his companions gaze. There was a small gaggle of men outside the building, all grouped together. Arms crossed, making stark conversation, and looking around the neighborhood in expectation.

“Friends of yours?” Simon asked, snark evident. Johnny snorted.
“Neighborhood council.”

After steeling himself, the pair hobbled in closer to their goal to confront the roadblock ahead.

“McTavish!!” The one man who presumably looked to be the leader of this little pack of humans greeted them with open arms but malice in his grin. “How good to see you again.”

“James.” Johnny responded coolly, muscles tensing.

The men started to step closer into a semi-circle, and Simon quickly sized them up. None of them had ever served or were combat ready, in his state he could take them out if need be but it wouldn’t be pretty. He wasn’t keen on looking for a fight but something was off in the air.

“Me ‘n the boys were waiting for ya. After ye didn’t come back last night we tried again this morning.”

“I was out.” Johnny responded coldly, offering them nothing more.

The man he had called James looked the two of them up and down before opening his mouth again.

“I see that.”

The muscle in Johnny’s neck tightened as his jaw clenched. Simon tried not to bristle at them himself, but was caught watching Johnny’s reaction. Was that a flash of fang under his snarled lip?

“Anyhow I'm not here to judge your nightlife, I'm just here to serve a notice on behalf of the neighborhood council.” He nonchalantly pulled out a piece of shock yellow paper on formal letterhead.

Simon could feel a tremble and a slight cracking under Johnny’s shoulders. A strip of fur sprouted between his shoulder blades under his braced arm.

Oh fuck.

Johnny was starting to shift.

“30 day eviction notice.” James continued, looking down his nose at the pair. “We list a couple of reasons but I think you’re aware of some of the unlisted ones.”

“Livestock going missing, noise disturbances…” another man offered, as if emboldened by James' words.

Simon felt Johnny’s nails start to dig into his skin as they sharpened and started to grow. It split his pale skin, but Simon wasn’t even concerned about that right now.

“Johnny.” Simon urged under his breath. “Calm down.”

For all Johnny’s heightened senses, he wasn’t seeing resolve. He was seeing nothing but red. There were no weapons in this fight but there was still a threat hinged on past interactions. That much Simon could tell.

Clearly this group had a history of interactions that were less than favorable in the end for Johnny.

“...you’ll hear from the clerk soon but I wanted to deliver this news as soon as possible.” The man rambled proudly.

Johnny’s grip on Simon’s arm and side tightened, and he let out a light gasp. Johnny’s muscles against him were rippling and growing stronger under his human facade, and Simon could feel them all as he sagged against Johnny for support. A small crackle sound and a tip of a tail sprouted at the back hem of Johnny’s shirt, the feeling was sickening alone but it moved Simon to action.

At least verbally.

“We get it.” Simon barked, reaching out his free hand and snatching the paper. “If you’re done with this display now it’s time to get lost.”

Johnny bristled, his legs tightening as the sprouted hair on his back rose even higher.

“You heard me.” Simon said, waving the paper at them before shoving it in an oversized pocket. “Fuck off.”

James looked taken aback as he looked Simon up and down. Even wounded Simon had a more commanding presence that this sorry lot did in one hand. His eyes narrowed as he felt Johnny still poised and coiled like a trapped animal. Emotions were high and triggered Johnny in more ways than one.

Just fucking leave!! Simon mentally demanded them, as the group exchanged glances and started to shuffle off.

“Thirty days MacTavish!” James yelled over his shoulder as he passed through the trimmed hedges trailed by the other men from the council. As they trailed out of sight Johnny let out a huge breath he had been holding tight in his chest.

“Holy fuck Johnny.” Simon patted his free hand against the other man’s chest, trying to get his attention. “Just breathe for me.”

Johnny nodded, taking in one deep breath after another as his muscles slowly loosened and found slack. The hair on his back seemed to dissipate and reabsorb almost instantly. Nails receded back to flat human shape, and with a pop of a joint the small tail nub also disappeared.

“Yeah. Yeah,” Johnny panted, slower and slower until his breath was once again caught and even. Simon finally nodded.

“Good man.”

Johnny nodded his head at the door.

“Let’s just get you inside okay?” Clearly he was thankful to have a new goal to shift his attention to.

“Alright.” Simon agreed.

---

The door to the flat slammed behind them, and Simon was unceremoniously deposited on the floor as his good leg gave out. The pair of them hit the carpet and were just breathing, taking deep breaths and trying to get their bearings.

It was so warm and dry Simon could have wept. The cold stuck to his clothes making him more aware of his compromised state. His skin was clammy and the implications of that didn’t thrill him in the slightest.

“We made it.” Was all Johnny managed. Simon nodded readily in reply, some caked dirt dropping on the floor around him. He tugged his hood back and just let himself lay there, grateful for the soft flooring instead of the cold cave rock.

“Alright. One more run.” Johnny said, reaching for Simon's arm. He pulled it away impetuously, determined to stay right where he had been deposited.

“Si. Give me your arm.” Johnny said, voice laced with a tone of speaking to a child. “I know it's not much but I’m going to keep this flat clean. Life or death experience not-withstanding.”

Simon let Johnny grab his arm and he groaned obnoxiously as he once again tried to pull him over his shoulder. Simon was not in the least helpful, completely on purpose, making sure he was thoroughly limp dead weight.

“Steaming blood Jesus Simon.” Johnny placed his hands on his hips and huffed. “Fine.”

Threading one arm under the larger man’s legs and one firmly against the middle of his back, with a slight waver to his grip Johnny hoisted Simon up off the floor into his arms.

“...oh shit.” Simon remarked quietly, feeling the heat creep up his cheeks again. He was perfectly cradled in Johnny’s arms and he could honestly say this was a first for him.

“It’s bath time. Let’s get this done before we lose all momentum.”

They moved decidedly slower than when they were a huddled tripod of arms and legs but they still reached the bathroom with purpose. It was small based on the limited size of the flat but it was efficient for what they would need.

With a grunt Johnny placed Simon down on the cool tiled floor and he shivered at the contact. Johnny yelped as he stood back up, stretching his back with a few audible clicks.

“Si you’re heavier than you look.” He laughed, looking down with a grin. “Lucky I’m here.” Johnny’s smile was stunning, Simon realized. He felt like he was in real trouble again and there was a flutter in his chest. It wasn’t life threatening danger, but it was like playing with fire all the same.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Simon hissed, rolling over onto his side as he pushed himself up to sit against the side of the tub. His body creaked in protest, the momentary reprieve lost as he struggled with his sore muscles.

“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Johnny reached over, starting to unzip Simon’s hoodie with a comfortable familiarity that caused them both to freeze.

Both their eyes met for a moment and then they both looked away.

“Sorry I didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine.”

Johnny froze, and then turned to look back at Simon slowly. Simon was already waiting for his gaze to return.

“Go ahead.”

Johnny swallowed thickly, nodding carefully as he reached back out. Slowly, they worked together to remove the encumbered clothing as Simon eased himself through it. He was starting to stiffen up, so the help was welcome.

Stripping his shirt off was like removing a second skin. Shedding it revealed the patchwork of bruises from his fall that had bloomed in a large variety of colors. Purple, blue, red, all mottled together and postmarked with scarred flesh. Simon took the opportunity to take in some deeper breaths, experimenting with the flourish of pain each time.

He knew Johnny was staring.

A large part of him didn’t care.

“Does it hurt?”

Simon paused, and then a flicker of a smile crossed his lips.

“A bit uncomfortable I suppose.” he tossed MacTavish’s words back at him. “You get used to it.”

“Haud yer wheesht.” Johnny exclaimed playfully, giving Simon’s arm a nudge knowing full well what he was referencing. Their conversation in the cave was not long forgotten. Simon looked down at his hands, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“You want me to run the water for you?”

Simon just nodded casually, a generic bob of his head.

Reaching over the edge of the porcelain tub, Soap cranked on the water and then reached over to plug the drain. They both knew without speaking, that there was no way in hell Simon was going to be able to stand to shower. The soak was going to be so good for his sore body anyways, helping to soothe and heal his injuries.

Simon looped his fingers in at the top of his jeans, trying to pull them down and then winced. Johnny turned back from testing the water, feeling the man flinch beside him.

They both looked at one another and hesitated.

“Do you -”

“Could you-”

Both paused.

Looked away and then looked back.

“Can you pull at the ends?”

Johnny just nodded and reached for the hem at the ankles of Simon’s pants. With a deep breath and pushing himself up with one arm, Simon pushed down at the hips as Johnny pulled and the trousers slid off without much else. Letting out a shiver, Simon felt truly exposed now. Nothing but his black boxer-briefs were left, save for his filthy dog tags.

They both hesitated again, looking away.

The pair of them were really ill equipped for this kind of situation. This whole awkward interpersonal interaction was a bit much. Simon felt his face flush, and upon a glance he saw Johnny was flushed with embarrassment as well.

“Let me just help you in. Then I’ll head out so you can…get….comfortable?” Johnny proffered, sure of himself but still pausing his words.

“Yeah.” Simon agreed, a stunted confirmation.

Suddenly Simon was wishing he was falling down another cliff elsewhere to hide from this whole situation. This was definitely not going into the mission report he would submit to Price. No way. This didn’t need to be a state secret.

Offering Simon his hand, he accepted as they both got him to his feet enough to ease into the filling water. It was a little awkward but as the hot water hit his skin as he sat down and sunk into the heat Simon bit back a moan.

Soap tugged at the shower curtain closing it a bit, and sat back down his back to the tub.

A few moments later, there was a wet plop as Simon unceremoniously dropped his soaked briefs next to the tub on top of the pile of clothes.

There was nothing but the sound of the running tap between them for the longest time, as steam silently clouded the space.

“Thanks.” Simon offered.

Johnny’s eyes fluttered, and he slowly smiled to himself.

“Don’t mention it.”

Simon sank further into the water, letting it cascade over his battered body. The warmth was chasing away the deep chill in his bones, working through layers of the thrashed muscle. Exhaustion was creeping in fast, and he had nothing to fight it off with this time.

Reaching over after a moment, Johnny gathered up the sodden pile of clothing wrapping it in a tight bundle.

“Let me toss this in the wash, I’ll be right back.” he proposed. “Help yourself to whatever’s in there while I’m gone.”

Simon said nothing, just giving a mild affirmative sound as he closed his eyes. The water was already changing color around him, blood and mud swirling into the pool around him. His brain filled with static as a voice in his skull proffered a signal of truly being safe. A fuzzy feeling. Almost content.

Footsteps left the room, and after a few long moments Simon forced his eyes open again. This mission wasn’t over, he really needed to wash himself. Soaking was half the battle.

Tired eyes scanned the ledges and wire racks in the bath and he snorted hotly at the scene that confronted him.

For a man with only a mohawk, Johnny was loaded to the gills with bath paraphernalia. Various bottles, jars, and containers greeted him. A variable rainbow of labels assaulted his eyes, and even the bars of soap were assorted in their sizes and colors and scents.

Suddenly it seemed to make sense, Johnny’s urging to clean up before resting.

His werewolf savior was a neat freak. Bemusedly, Simon wondered how many lint rollers the man went through in a week.

The shedding had to be horrible.

Smiling at his own joke, Simon picked up the nearest bottle and gave it a tentative sniff. Dumping some into the water, he lathered at it until it bubbled up covering the surface. This was acceptable, and now he felt a little more covered.

Strategically placed bubble bath.

Time was harder to track in his addled state, but after a few more minutes there was a light knock at the door.

“Did you drown?”

“Fuck off.”

Opening the door slowly, Johnny headed back inside the washroom. Simon pulled the curtain back a bit and gestured broadly.

“The fuck is this?” Simon asked in an accosted tone.

Johnny looked at him, looked at the array of bottles and then back to Simon.

“Dinnae tell me, ye use 3 in 1 on yer base.”

“What’s with all the soap?” Simon questioned changing the subject, pointing to the largest bottle in the space. “This would last me a year.”

“Well excuse me for liking to be clean, and smelling nice.” Johnny stated, kneeling down and reaching over the bubbled water he grabbed a specific bottle and held it out to Simon.
“This one's for cleaning your hair, it’s called shampoo.” he said in a patronizing tone, clearly enjoying himself. Simon snatched the bottle.

“Yeah yeah, thanks ‘Soap’ MacTavish.”

Johnny snorted in amusement. “If you’re not sure about how to use it, instructions are on the label.” Johnny watched as Simon plopped an excessive amount into his grimy hands and wiped the blob onto his pale curls. Starting a habitable excessive scrub Simon suddenly flinched up in the water and hissed.

“You forgot about your head wound.”

“Yeah no shit.”

Johnny sighed and pushed aside the shower curtain completely. Picking up the discarded bottle and squeezing a much more reasonable amount into his own palms, he motioned with one finger for Simon to turn and face his back to him. “Jus, let me help.”

Simon plopped his hands back into the water, looking more drowned and assaulted by his own efforts to clean himself than anything. He sighed and turned around in almost defeat. What would be the use of fighting right now?

“Soap, in his natural element.” Simon sighed, back facing the edge of the tub. He had knocked some of the scab that had formed loose, leaving a small trail of watered down blood marking his back and broad shoulders.

“What happened to Johnny?” MacTavish asked, gently starting to apply the shampoo to Simon’s slightly curled locks.

“Nah right now you’re Soap.” he murmured, feeling a warmth in his chest for the consideration he was being given. Simon knew he was a stubborn ass, and he wasn’t going to change it now. He could be grateful without saying it again…couldn’t he? It was probably fine.

With calculated precision, Johnny worked the grime, dirty, sweat and blood from Simon’s hair. Reaching over from the sink he grabbed a cup and ran some fresh water from the tap and used that to dump over his bruised scalp. The split in the skin wasn’t too bad, it would need some stitching which Johnny would be happy to offer but thankfully it didn’t look infected. Just irritated from when Simon had grabbed at it foolishly.
Johnny reached across the tub and after waving a hesitant hand over the display of bottled he plucked one with confidence from the lineup. “This,” he showed Simon the container like it was a fine wine at a restaurant. “Is conditioner. You put it in after the shampoo to keep your hair strong and prevent more damage.”

Simon rolled his eyes gratuitously, but suddenly found himself enveloped in a pleasant scent as Johnny applied the hair balm. Notes of vanilla, honey, and wildflower melted into the air, layered by the swirls of steam.

Okay, this was nice. Simon lowkey felt schooled.

With blunt nails, Johnny worked the conditioner in deeply, making sure to coat every strand that had just been cleaned with the shampoo. Johnny’s hands were gliding effortlessly through his scalp, massaging at a few points here and there as he worked.

Simon was in trouble. He held back from leaning into the touch, but only just barely. This tenderness was something he could get used to, but a pang of coldness in his chest just reminded him this wasn’t permanent. It was just a courtesy from a still near-stranger.

Johnny was just his emergency contact in this case. They weren’t domestic.

As Johnny rinsed the last of the conditioner away leaving smooth ribbons of texture down his body Simon waved his hand away.

“I can take it from here Soap.”

Johnny hesitated, and then set the cup back down.

“Right. Yeah of course.”

Placing his hand on his knees Johnny straightened up, and brushed off some imaginary dirt. He reached up and grabbed a towel off the top shelf and plopped it on the closed toilet seat.

“I’ll just head out then, let me know if you need any more help.”

“I got it.” Simon assured him briskly. How had he gotten so comfortable?? Mentally he scolded himself, feeling more exposed than ever before despite what the pair had been through already.
There was a small click as the door shut, and Simon just stared at the swirling bubbles on the top of the water. They were as haphazardly strewn about the bath as his feelings were in his mind. The static was back, and he knew this time he wouldn’t be able to blame the fog of the concussion.

Reaching over he grabbed the least scented bar of soap he could find and began to briskly lather up and scrub at his skin. He worked it hard, trying to get each speck of dirt and grime off his body as rapidly as possible. Showing no mercy as he worked over the bruised skin, they ached at him pleading to let up. Simon kept going, using the ache as a distraction from the confusion in his brain.

He’d need to find a way to contact Price. His secure channel was down but, maybe he could send some kind of signal to let his team know where and how to pick him up for exfil.

Exfil.

His mission had been fucked up but it was almost over. Simon should be happy it was time to return to base. So why wasn’t he?

---

Johnny closed the door, and paused with his hand still around the handle. Shifting his weight, he leaned against the smooth surface for a moment and quietly let out a breath he had somehow carried through the threshold. His grip tightened for a moment.

“Yeah, cheers.” He admitted, letting his hand fall away as he kicked off his boots towards the foyer. Reaching behind his head, with one hand Johnny tugged at the fabric of his shirt and pulled it over his shoulders. Padding his way into the kitchen, he tossed the offending item into the corner so it pathetically landed against the linoleum. Reaching over he grabbed a sad tea towel that he had been meaning to replace anyways, and ran it under the cold water in the kitchen sink.

Giving it a gentle squeeze, he tossed the rag over his neck letting its moisture laden fabric slap against his skin. Johnny gave it a quick scrub, still feeling the phantom bristling of his hackled fur as they had entered.

“You’re a dumbass MacTavish.” he said to nobody, as he leaned over his sink like a mother contemplating her whole life at 3am with a glass of wine. “What have ye done?”

There was a stranger in his house, who also knew his secret. A stranger HE felt responsible for, and was now attached to in more ways than one. It was supposed to be a secret he kept so close to his chest, nestled away that it almost impeded its steady beat. It had been laid bare, and suddenly Johnny wondered if he could even trust the man. The man named Simon…or Ghost, who evidently kept secrets of his own.

He sobered himself up with another aggressive wipe at his face with the sopping rag, letting rivulets run down and soak the waistband of his joggers. Slapping the towel back into the sink he ran more cold water. He didn’t want comfort right now, he needed to wake the fuck up.

This was dangerous. More threatening to his very existence than the men with guns had been to Ghost.

He could have just let them kill him. Stayed hidden and left well-enough alone.

Johnny could have still been safe.

Alone.

He fought back a small whine at that thought, the emotion a torment to him and kept scrubbing. The faint smell of wet dog always made him laugh. He couldn’t avoid his lupine shadow anyhow. What would he have gained if he didn’t take this stray to his home?

More of the same, he supposed.

Done with the brisk wipedown feeling more chilled than he’d like, Johnny also tossed the rag into the floor. Placing his hands on his hips he took a deep breath, steeling himself. Small splashing sounds came from the bath, the leaky faucet in the sink reminding him of the work-order he never filled out, and he came to the conclusion that something was missing.

With a sigh he turned and opened the cupboard and pulled out his kettle. It was a little dusty, so he just ran the whole thing under the tap. Filling it up a generous amount he plopped it on the stove and lit the flame underneath the burner frame.

He honestly didn’t know if he had tea, but that was a problem for future Johnny after he changed.

As he crossed the threshold from the linoleum that separated the carpeted area from the rest of the studio flat, he tugged open a drawer and suddenly recalled that he guest would need clothes too.

With a small nod he was thankful at least he’d done the wash before the last full moon. Last month he’d forgotten and it had been a mess.

This month he had forgotten to shop for food beforehand. It was a tradeoff he supposed.

Rooting through his clothes Johnny found some that he assumed would fit the behemoth of a man currently in his bathroom. It was all he had, and it was something he could provide.

For a moment he hesitated, as he set the folded set of clothes down beside himself on the bed. There was a small warmth in his chest, a rewarding feeling that he hadn’t been privy to in ages. He tried to pin it down, putting a name to the emotion.

Kinship with another creature. Accomplishment in his abilities. A feeling of pride in being able to look after someone else.

Johnny had done that with his family but it felt like it was ages ago. Honestly, he hadn’t been sure he would ever feel these sensations again. Johnny had written them off as a luxury a monster like him couldn't’ afford.

Humans and wolves were both very social creatures, who did the best in a small circle, or pack of others. He had isolated himself for so long, this sensation was so intense for him having lack of exposure.

Johnny was so out of practice, but he didn’t feel alone. It was clear Simon was the same.

Letting himself smile for a moment, there was a clattering in the bathroom that made him change his clothes rapidly. It was time to jump back into action, he was a host after all.

“Hold yer’ horses.” Johnny rushed, gathering up the offering of clothing in his arms and hurrying over to the bathroom. After a light knock, Johnny opened the door slowly and after a few moments with no protest, tossed it open all the way.

The very sight that greeted him forced a bark of a laugh out immediately.

“I didnae think I had to tell you how to use the shower step by step…”

“Shut it Soap.”

Simon had tried to pull himself up by the curtain, forcing some of the rungs holding it to tear and pop and tangle him in its clingy configuration. A smattering of the carefully curated bottles had crashed to the floor and slid helter-skelter among the suds.

Simon looked drowned, but much cleaner. Johnny knew the man was beyond tired and that even the adrenaline had worn out at this point. Reaching over he grabbed a handful of his remaining towels and upon opening a few plopped them down among the swamp water of his bathroom. Taking the clothes in his hands, he showed them to Simon before placing them on top of the closed toilet lid.

“I hope these fit ye, it’s all I got.” Then he placed the last largest towel on top of the clothes. “If you need help I can-”

“Negative.” came the immediate response.

“Aye.” He smirked, closing the door gently behind himself once more. He had already expected this, there were a lot of points of pride in that man. But, he was the same.

But as Johnny again stood there, hand holding the door handle this time he smiled.

There weren’t walls between them, not really. If they had fallen on purpose or accident he wasn’t sure, but it also didn’t really matter. Johnny’s wolf ears perked and that’s when he realized they had popped out again. Running his hand through his mohawk he let a little chuckle rumble his chest, and he sighed. Did they emerge from wanting to be alert to hear if Simon needed help, or was he just comfortable and content?

Happy even?

Emotions guided his wolven form outside of the moon phases, and it had been so long since he smiled and laughed even as much as this.

Reaching up to the ceiling stretching out his back as it popped a few times, Johnny also felt his long tail give an encouraging wag.

Johnny didn’t feel like looking into the details of his feelings anymore for the moment. Right now, they were both safe and he was keen to leave it at that.

Just as he considered what to do next, the kettle whistled loudly.

There was his answer, and Johnny padded off to the kitchen to literally forage for some tea.

---

The sound of the kettle made Simon wonder what Johnny was up to, but quickly turned his attention back to that of carefully dressing himself.

The clothes provided were a little snug but still comfortable. He wasn’t going to complain because he was on the verge of actual exhaustion. There was next to nothing left in his bones to keep himself going.

Limping towards the exit, still hearing clattering in the kitchen, Simon opened the door and let the built up steam billow out into the one-room flat. The air was more stable and conditioned in the main area, and after being in a freezing cave and a scalding bath it was heartily welcomed.

“Soap.” Simon said, propping himself in the frame of the doorjamb, feeling his good leg shake a bit. “Can I get a hand?”

Immediately dropping what he was doing, the younger man trotted over in haste and slipped under Simon’s extended arm for some support. Wolf ears were out and perked up, listening intently. A gradual wag was coming from the tail that sprouted between Johnny’s gym shorts and tank top. Grasping Simon’s wrist to keep his arms secure over Johnny’s shoulder, the pair once again moved with practiced motion towards the sofa.

It was more worn than the bed, clearly where MacTavish liked to spend a lot of time. The dog hair scattered about in the fabric of the cushions made Simon just shake his head lightly in amusement. Together Simon lowered himself down with great effort.

Letting his head fall back gently keeping aware of the wound on his scalp, Simon let out a huge exhaled sigh.

For the first time in possibly days, most pressure was off his joints and it felt downright sinful. A little moan died in his throat, but Soap’s wolf ears still flickered.

“How you feelin’ Simon?” Soap offered, trying to check in. Simon didn’t respond and just let his eyes slip close.

“Simon?” Johnny asked again, his gradual tail wag halting.

The only answer came with the slow rise and fall of the larger man's chest, the slow breaths sustaining him in rest.

“Goodnight Simon.”

---

Johnny smiled, and felt his tail wag. Now finally, his guest could get some real rest. Pride came from the sense of having been trusted to look after Simon, and his chest swelled in affection. Nodding to nobody but himself, Johnny decided he would do just that.

Kicking his duffel bag aside, he reached into the hall closet for an actual first aid kit. His SAS basic training had covered enough that he felt comfortable using each aspect of it in turn. He would have preferred Simon be awake, but there was no time like the present to set to work on his wounds. Letting time pass could prove detrimental to his damaged flesh besides. Infection would be the worst.

Setting down beside his head, Johnny pulled the already propped up tv-tray closer and placed the first aid kit on it. Flipping the larger case open, he pulled out the supplies needed to suture the traumatized wound.

It was a simple matter of pulling on gloves, ripping open the alcohol pad, and prepping the needle with sterilized thread. Simon’s head was mostly turned, exposing most of the contusion and broken skin. A little patch of blood had soaked onto the pillow, but honestly Johnny didn’t really mind. Apparently he was moving out soon anyways.

It was an awkward angle, but slowly with steady hands and precision Johnny was able to catch the skin and mend the split shut. Knowing he was better than the average human at this, he also knew because of the size and angle this wound would leave a scar. Something he noted, Simon was not a stranger to. As he worked Johnny was able to admire the man further.

The marred flesh told a story, one that Johnny could imagine from many different angles. Clearly Simon was a seasoned military man, and pain wasn’t something that frightened him. Pain was also something that Johnny was used to himself. Not quite by choice, and he could assume the same of Simon. The shredded mask in his backpack was evidence of that.

Simon’s relaxed face smoothed out his wrinkles and tension, leaving him looking years younger on the surface. But the small shocks of silver in his loose blond curls told Johnny otherwise. If anything, years had been shaved off his life in the service.

Johnny had wished he had been able to serve the same as Simon. Shortly after maturing and joining the SAS as a recruit…he had been forced to leave. Not because there was an elephant in the room, but rather because there was a wolf.

His ears flattened against his shaved skull as he finished his work, thankful to not have woken Simon. It wasn’t his best work but it’ll do. Pulling off his gloves Johnny started to gather the remnants to toss in the bin in the kitchen. There was so much more he was going to have to clean, but he let it be for now. He was tired too after all.

Days like this would do anyone in.

Getting up and tossing the bundle from his hands Johnny padded back and sat on the sofa beside Simon again. The huge man was still dead to the world, nestled into the cushions. Reaching over he grabbed the throw blanket that was actually his personal favorite, and gently draped it over Simon’s prone form. It was the last of what he could do in the moment, and with a small nod, sauntered back into the kitchen.

Johnny’s cup of noodles had started to go cold.

With a sigh, Johnny dumped them from the foam cup into a bowl and quietly tossed them into the microwave. Watching it, he stopped the timer a second before beeping and pulled out his miserable meal.

There wasn’t much in the flat in the way for two. He would leave the eggs for Simon.

He finally had someone to share with, even if it was by some accident and he was eager to please.

Settling back onto the sofa with the warmed noodles in hand, Johnny worked on getting the ‘meal’ into himself without fuss. After shifting he usually ate, making up for the energy expended. And he did have to admit he was quite hungry, but he too wanted to sleep more than anything.

Tossing his arm up over the back of the sofa, he shifted his butt down to the end of the cushion in an attempt to lean back. The bed was right there, as for as much as this was his home…his den, it didn’t feel right to lay in his bed with an injured Simon on the sofa.

Had Simon stayed awake he was going to offer him the choice but that time had passed and his guest had already decided by proxy.

Suddenly, a shudder went through Simon’s body.

Simon turned again this time, head rocking from one side to the other as if shaking something off his body. His muscles tensed in his sleep, rippling with their constriction.

“Simon.”

Another body spasm.

“Simon!” Johnny urged, reaching out and stopping.

Were you supposed to wake a person having a nightmare?

Simon whimpered, and Johnny’s wolf instincts overrode his train of thought. Reaching out he patted Simon’s shoulder with urgency.

“Simon, I need you to wake up.” The tension entering his tone was very evident to himself. He didn’t want the sutures to rip. He didn’t want Simon to be in distress. Johnny couldn’t hide it.

Another thrash.

“Simon!”

---

Bronze eyes blinked wearily, the only remaining remnants of eye black was scattered in his lashes flaked away further. Above him blue eyes stared back, relief flooding them.

“You fell asleep.”

Simon could hear the smile twist Johnny’s lips as he exhaled fondly. Simon’s lips almost quirked..

“You were dreaming,” he said, with somber tones.

Simon’s brow furrowed. Putting the pieces together was easy, clearly his sleeping state had been disturbing Johnny. While he hadn’t recalled dreaming anything in particular, he knew he was prone to night terrors. It's why he had his own private sleeping quarters back on base.

“I didn’t-” he started, but Johnny put up a hand to stop him.

“It's okay, you need to rest. Just…” he sat down on the sofa near Simon’s head and pulled a pillow onto his lap. “...Come here.”

With a grunt, Simon pushed himself up with his elbows and one good foot to land his head gently on the targeted space on Johnny’s lap. Feeling his stitches shift on the back of his head, they pulled slightly on his scalp and he hissed.

Johnny reached a kind hand under his head between the pillow and carefully adjusted his blonde curls so the wound wouldn’t pull. Resting his hand for a moment on the crown of Simon’s head, he brushed some curls off his brow. Johnny’s human hands were so soft, warm, and calming.

“Hmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, but really there was little activity between his ears at the moment. Everything was fizzling out to white static.

“Maybe like this, you’ll know you’re not alone and…ye can rest,” Johnny offered, fingers carding through the freshly washed locks. Gentle, repetitive movements were a soothing balm that Simon focused on as he exhaled and sank further into the ugly sofa. The light brushes were pleasant and tempered him to his bones. When Johnny paused for a moment, Simon tilted his head to follow after the hand, seeking his warmth. His touch.

Johnny’s chest bobbed with a silent chuckle, and resumed his stroking of Simon’s mane. From the slightly worn hair around his ears from years of headphones rubbing through his balaclava, around the short clipped fade from the nape of his neck which rose into a decent height at the top of his skull, Johnny explored it all. Tracing scars in small spots where the follicles no longer grew, gently rubbing a tense spot in the long flat muscles of his skull. Simon melted, blissing out feeling his heart the fullest it had been in ages.

This was such a nothing place in this shitty little flat in a town in Scotland, but right now to Simon it was the world. This whole current head-in-lap situation was more absurd than the fact the one assisting him into this trance was a werewolf.

Simon’s breaths evened back out with haste, and his eyes slipped fully closed as Johnny began to hum. It was a tune Simon didn’t recognize but it seemed the Scot knew it very well. The lilting combination brought him down faster than any flashbang or door breach knockback ever could as he sauntered off to sleep once more.

---

Just as Simon stirred awake he felt his stretch translate into stirring awake Johnny.

“Mornin’,” Soap smiled down, his hand still gently resting in Simon’s hair. Simon felt the corners of his eyes crinkle as he smirked back. Despite the nightmares in one part, he had to admit the sleep had been amazing overall.

“Yeah.” Simon added idly, eyes searching the room. It was a typical single guy dwelling, no wall ornamentation or clocks anywhere to be found. “What time is it?” he fought another yawn.

Johnny reached over to the table beside the sofa, and blearily stared at his cellphone as it illuminated his face in the dark.

“2am.” He announced unceremoniously, plopping the device back in his lap. Simon nodded quietly to himself in acknowledgement. He really needed to get back. He should have asked what day it was, but he no longer cared.

Price would be worried at this point, instead of wanting his head.

“Mind if I borrow that?” Simon asked, pointing to Johnny’s phone. The man shook his head and deposited it into his open hand. It was already unlocked with a cracked screen protector facing him.
“I need to send a note to a friend, get me a ride back…home.” He searched for the words clumsily.

“Yeah.” Johnny agreed quietly, starting to stand up without jostling Simon’s healing head. Looking down as he stretched his back more like a cat than a dog, Johnny noticed the ripe colors of Simon's ankle still on display.

“Ah shite, we should have iced it again.” He motioned, pointing to the appendage blooming in colors. Simon was opening his e-mail app and typing away, saying nothing. A moment later he handed the device back. “Can you drop in the address?” Simon knew this wasn’t a secure channel but it was something. Price would know what was up, that’s all that mattered.

Johnny looked at the note and blinked. It was so cold.

Need a ride. Address below.

Johnny just sighed and as he walked towards the kitchen he tapped in the address to his flat and clicked send.

It wasn’t a secure channel, but it was all Simon had right now…so it had to do. It was a loose suggestion of formal communication when others were shot.

Johnny slipped the device back in his pocket, as he re-filled the kettle. Setting it on the stove to heat up he went back to the fridge. Time to make food.

“You want eggs?” Johnny offered, a slight hesitation in his query. “It’s kinda all I got.”

“That’s fine.” Simon mumbled across the room. He could eat anything right now.

Quickly cracking the eggs Johnny had left for Simon the night before, he scrambling them together in an unceremonious fashion. While he was fishing through the rest of the fridge looking for things to add, a small vibration in his pocket distracted him.

Johnny pulled out his phone and snorted at the note that had been promptly returned.

“Your friend called you a fucking muppet.”

“Then he’s on his way.” Simon replied, still slowly stretching parts of himself against the sofa, testing his body. He knew Price was relieved, and he could tell him of the mission’s success through more secure channels when the time came.

Shaking his head, Johnny reached into the freezer and grabbed a bag of peas. That was all that was left, but it would do anyways. Wandering back over to the sofa he gently plopped it down on Simon’s ankle, and the man flinched.

The two made contentious eye contact for a moment through the sudden touch and then both exhaled.

“So you’re going back then?” Johnny’s tone came off more as a statement than a question. It was a strange thing to say, but then again…what else was there. He turned back to the kitchen and worked on stirring the eggs.

“Yeah. My mission is over.” he supplied, examining the ceiling.

The cold of the peas was soothing against his inflamed flesh. Simon wasn’t quite sure there wasn’t a break there somewhere. Medical was going to run him through the gamut of tests, he just knew it.

Simon could hear Johnny working at the stove. According to the smell he had found a bit more to put into the eggs. His mouth watered.

He swallowed thickly.

“...wouldn’t mind picking up a stray dog though. Bring it back with me.”

There was a clatter from the kitchen as Johnny dropped his wooden spoon he was using in his non-stick pan.

“We could always use the new blood.”

“You mean…go with you?”

“Yeah.”

Johnny didn’t even ask where Simon was going. He just was silent. Simon started to mentally kick himself in his brain’s ass when Johnny spoke.

“...okay.”

Simon suddenly pushed himself into sitting up. Johnny had said it half-heartedly, almost like in a joke. But his response had abruptly thrown the vague proposal into serious with one word.

“I’ll go with you.”

Johnny padded over with a plate full of eggs and handed them to Simon. Simon just stared at the other man almost in disbelief. Then he smirked.

“Why was the stray dog afraid of meeting new people?” He finally asked.

Johnny’s ears and tail had long disappeared but he still cocked his head like a confused pup, in the form of a silent question mark.

Simon reached out his right hand towards Johnny, and slowly the man took his hand. Simon gently shook their hands as if they had met for the first time.

“Because he never learned how to shake.”

“Awa an bile yer hide!”