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This is how May knows she hasn’t become her mother:
When she comes home to the sight of four pleading faces, she doesn’t immediately say no. She stops, hangs up her jacket, gets a glass of water, sits down at the kitchen table, and then, very calmly and reasonably, asks what’s going on.
When the kids explain, fumbling over each other in their haste, how the dog had just followed them back completely of its own volition, they swear, she doesn’t immediately say no. She asks, very calmly and reasonably, to see this dog.
And when they show it to her—still very much a puppy and already almost too big for them to lift, white and fluffy with tan patches over one eye and its back—she doesn’t immediately say no. She puts the dog in the backyard and, very calmly and reasonably, suggests that they discuss the situation as a family before the kids get their hopes up.
So, no, contrary to what Fury used to say, in that tone that never left her sure if he was joking or not, she had not become her mother.
“It really did just follow us back from the park,” Bobbi says, a sympathetic wince on her face.
“He,” Fitz corrects.
“And why did you let it in the house?” May asks.
“He,” Fitz says again, growing impatient.
“Why did you let him in?” May corrects.
“We didn’t mean to,” Jemma says, sounding like she means it, “but when we opened the door he just ran in.”
May turns to Bobbi.
She nods. “It’s true, we didn’t let him in on purpose.”
“I’m also assuming you didn’t go to great lengths to get him back out of the house.”
“You want us to just turn him out on the streets?” Skye asks, completely aghast.
“Well, that is where you found him,” May says. “Look, this dog belongs to someone. It- He, got out of a backyard or slipped his lead. Someone is probably looking for him.”
“Actually, I called the shelter and they said that no one has called in looking for a Great Pyrenees puppy,” Antoine says. “And there are no signs up or anything.”
“Great Pyrenees?”
“That’s what kind of dog he is, you can tell by the double dewclaws on the hind legs,” Jemma informs her.
“It-It was meant to be, mum,” Fitz pleads. He still doesn’t call her that often, not like the other kids do, and she knows he’s just trying to butter her up, but it does make her feel warm.
She fights to keep a little smile off her face, knowing she can’t show any weakness here. “Just because it happened doesn’t mean it’s fate.” Fitz opens his mouth to argue, and she holds a hand up to stop him. “Not the time.” His mouth shuts. “Kids, this isn’t even our dog, and you’re already getting attached.”
Skye turns wide eyes on her. “Yeah, but he could be our dog.”
May sighs. “A dog is a really big responsibility, a puppy especially so. They take a lot of time and effort, and it’s a long commitment to make. They need food, and training, and a lot of attention, and to be walked every day. I just don’t know if we’re ready for that.”
“We can be responsible,” Antoine says. “And it’ll be easier if we’re all working together. We can take turns doing all that stuff.”
“I promise we- we’ll take care of him.” Fitz has the watery doe eyes going on, and May feels her resolve weakening. “Even if I had- had to do it all myself, I’d do it.”
“I’ll help out too!” Skye shouts, hand flying into the air.
May evaluates the three eager kids in front of her. “Jemma?”
Jemma’s brows furrow in thought, her hands twisting together on her lap. The other kids watch her expectantly. “I think,” she says eventually, “that it would be really nice. A lot of families have dogs. And I really think everybody would do their parts, me included.”
May turns to Bobbi where she leans against the doorway. “Bobbi, what about you?”
“Me?” She sounds surprised. “Didn’t think I got an opinion here.”
“You’re the one that’s in charge of the house when I’m not here. This would affect you too.”
Bobbi shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind helping out, I love dogs.”
Everyone is quiet for a moment, waiting on May to make a decision. “Okay, here’s the plan. We keep calling the shelters, and we’ll put posters up around the neighborhood. If no one claims him in a week then I’ll take him down to the station and see if anyone there wants him. If no one does, then we can talk about keeping him.”
Fitz launches himself out of the chair and is in her arms faster than she can blink, mumbling a litany of ‘thank you’s against her neck.
“This isn’t me saying yes,” she says, resting her hands on his back.
“But it’s a maybe.”
She can feel his smile. And then Skye is bouncing excitedly through the living room, and Antoine is running outside to get the dog, and May can’t help but feel like this situation is already out of her control.
-
So no one ends up calling, and the shelter has no news for her when May asks for the 12th time. She hasn’t let the kids name the thing, because that’s a disaster waiting to happen, so they’ve just been calling him ‘the dog’ and interacting with him as little as possible. It’s easier that way, she tells herself. She doesn’t want them getting too attached.
Still, she kind of feels like she’s betraying something when she brings the dog down to the station in the hope that someone there can give him a good home. It’s just, the whole ‘four kids’ thing can still get to be a bit much sometimes and she’s not sure making that ‘four kids and a puppy’ is really something she can handle. She’s trying her best, but she has her limits.
Walking into the police station always feels strange. Like going off to college and never quite feeling right in your parents’ home again. After the incident, she turned in her badge and didn’t set foot in the place for an entire year, but now she stops by occasionally, to check up on things, not able to fully let go.
It’s different since she left. Some new faces, some old ones gone. She misses Fury, and though she’s always gotten along with Sousa, he brings a different feel to the place.
Right on cue, he walks out of his office with a smile, crutch in hand.
“May,” he greets, “always a pleasure when you come to visit. Who’s your friend?” He reaches out to let the dog sniff at his fingers.
“My kids found him. I was going to see if anyone here wants a dog. Interested?”
He huffs a laugh. “Violet’s a cat person. But you’re welcome to try around.”
“Thanks Chief.”
He gives her a wave and makes his way back into his office, and she wanders into the bullpen. A few officers stop to say hi, but no one takes her up on her offer of a free dog. She heads toward the back corner, where her old desk used to be.
Kara stares at her for a long moment, and then takes a sniff of her coffee. “Sharon, did you put something in this, or is Melinda May seriously holding a big fluffy puppy right now?”
May’s lips twitch. “Cute, Palamas.”
“I’m serious,” she says, motioning up and down May’s body, “what is up with this?”
“Give her a break, Kara,” Sharon says, leaning back in her chair, smirking. “She’s doing the whole domestic thing now.”
“Right. Right. I just thought that included a small horde of kids and not- sorry, what is this? A Samoyed?”
“Great Pyrenees,” May corrects.
“Mhmm. Yes. A Great Pyrenees puppy. I just didn’t know that was part of the equation.”
“It’s not,” May says. “I’m trying to get rid of him. The kids found him last week and no one’s called to claim him.”
Sharon holds her arms out, and May deposits the dog in her lap. “Why can’t you and the kids keep him?” she asks.
“Four kids,” May shoots back.
“Four kids and a dog,” Sharon says, like that’s obviously the better option.
May sighs. “The kids want to keep him, but that just seems like a lot.”
Kara waves her hand. “Division of labor, you’ll barely notice he’s there. And you can’t seriously tell me that all your kids want to keep this fluffy monster and you’re saying no. That’s cold.”
Sharon holds the dog’s face between her hands, squishing his cheeks and turning him towards May. “Lookit this little face, you can’t say no to that.”
“Neither of you have been any help at all. I don’t know what I expected.”
“What about Phil?” Sharon asks. “Why can’t he take him?”
May rolls her eyes. “He wants me to keep him. Says it’ll be good for the kids to have a ‘shared sense of responsibility’.”
Kara turns to Sharon. “She’s got literal psychology working against her, not to mention the cuteness factor—from two sides, actually, cause the kids and the puppy—and she’s still stubborn as a mule. How does this woman do it?”
“She gets it from her mother,” Sharon says.
May rubs her forehead. “Are one of you going to take the dog or not?”
Sharon holds the dog out with a pleasant smile. “I look forward to seeing him at the annual barbeque.”
Kara nods. “I as well. Name him something good.”
May positions the dog over her shoulder and leaves with as much dignity as she can manage.
-
She thinks she comes in quietly but all four of the kids and Bobbi are in the hallway within ten seconds, staring at her and the dog held in her arms. Fitz takes a cautious step forward.
“Is it-“ He stops, biting his lip.
She gives them a little smile. “Thought of a name yet?”
Fitz lets out something that sounds like a sob and then wraps his arms around her, face buried in her shoulder. Skye is next, an excited scream stuck in her throat, and then Antoine and Jemma follow, all of them crowding around, Bobbi laughing happily in the background.
Maybe this is doable, May thinks.
-
That lasts about fifteen minutes.
The dog pees in the corner as soon as she drops him (at least it’s on the hardwood, so it’s easy to mop up), and the kids have already started arguing about what they’re going to name him, and Bobbi has reminded them to use their ‘inside voices’ at least three times but it’s not really doing any good.
“What kind of name is Lancelot?” Fitz wails.
“A perfectly good and brave one,” Antoine argues.
“It’s British, actually-“
Fitz covers his face. “Oh my god, Jemma, I- I know who Lancelot is.”
“Who’s Lancelot?” Skye asks.
“He’s one of the Knights of the Round Table in Arthurian legend,” Jemma explains. “It’s actually pretty interesting-“
“Jem,” Fitz whines.
“-he was virtually unknown before Chrétien de Troye’s works, and featured as a main character in Le Chevalier de la Charette-“
Bobbi laughs.
“-but his history is actually greatly contested-“
“He uses a sword and he jousts and he gets the ladies,” Antoine says, voice rising. “He’s cool, okay? It’s a good name.”
“He does get the ladies,” Jemma confirms. “And causes a civil war in the process.”
“Oh,” Skye says.
“Why can’t we- let’s- why can’t we name him something normal, like- like George?”
“Ugh, Fitz.” Jemma rolls her eyes. “We’re not naming him after a monkey.”
Fitz’s fists tighten. “Fine! Then what- what ab-about Hunter?”
Jemma’s nose crinkles. “Hunter? He’s a livestock guardian breed, Hunter doesn’t make any sense.”
“Oh, b-but- but L-Lancelot does?”
“Okay,” May says. If Fitz’s stutter is worsening then it means he’s getting upset, and that wouldn’t be good for anyone right now. “We have two votes for Lancelot, and one vote for Hunter. Skye, what do you think?”
Skye purses her lips, thinking. After a moment, she nods. “Hubert,” she says gravely.
May holds in a sigh. “Okay. Lancelot, Hunter, and … and Hubert.” She turns to Bobbi, at a loss.
Bobbi shrugs. “You can name him Lancelot Hubert Hunter? Lance for short.”
“Oh,” Fitz says, deflating. “Lance. That- that’s not so bad.”
“Do I still get to call him Hubert?” Skye asks.
“We should train him to respond to one name,” May says, “but Hubert will still go on all his paperwork.”
“That’s agreeable,” Skye decides.
“That’s decided, then,” May says, before any of them can change their minds.
“We need to find a vet for him,” Jemma suddenly cries. “And get the essentials—we don’t have any supplies! We can’t keep borrowing food from the neighbors, and puppies need a lot of enrichment toys to stimulate their brains into healthy growth. Should we sign him up for classes-”
“We can go to the pet store this afternoon, Jemma,” May interrupts. “I’m sure the people there can help us get everything we need.”
“We have to get him a dope collar,” Antoine says.
“And enrichment-“
“We’ll get everything we need,” May says again. The kids stare expectantly for a few moments. “We’re going to go now, aren’t we?”
They immediately race to get their shoes, and May sighs.
-
Bobbi ends up needing to go home, so it’s just May by herself trying to wrangle the four kids while simultaneously keeping Lancelot from bouncing out of the cart. Fitz saw another dog and dashed as soon as they got in the store, she lost Skye to the ferrets, Antoine has already picked out exactly seven collars, and Jemma is squatted next to the bags of organic dog food, studying the ingredients lists. The cart, besides Lancelot, has a single tennis ball in it, which he doesn’t seem very interested in anyways.
May is stopped in the middle of the store, by the fish, trying to keep an eye on everything at once.
An employee approaches her, clapping her hands once and startling May. “Welcome to Petco! What can I help you with today?” Her tone is light and joyful, but she looks dead behind the eyes.
May motions to the cart. “We got a puppy.” She glances around the store. “My kids are … getting things.”
“Ah, I was wondering who those kids belonged to.” The employee gives an exaggerated wink, which May doesn’t really understand, so she doesn’t respond. “Well, I think we should start with the basics, then. Have you picked out a brand of food? I’m a Certified Nutrition Specialist, so I can help you pick the brand that’s best for your puppy.”
“Jemma,” May calls out, “do you need any help?”
“I’m looking for optimal fat to protein ratios,” Jemma calls back.
May gives a placid smile. “I think she’s good.”
“Oh. Okay, well. What were you thinking for toys? I can see you already have a ball, can I recommend-“
“Mum, all these are- are necessary,” Fitz says, running up from behind her and dumping an armful of toys into the cart, which Lancelot starts sniffing at immediately.
“How many is that?” May asks.
“I didn’t get a rawhide, he might choke,” Fitz says instead of answering.
“You know what,” says the employee, smile tired, “how bout I just get you folks the new puppy checklist and you can grab me if you need any help?”
May tries to give her an earnest smile. “That would be great.”
The employee walks away, and May swears she hears a sigh on her breath. Fitz goes to head back to the toy aisle, but May grabs the back of his shirt. “Where’s Skye?”
Fitz points, and she follows his finger to where Skye is trying to pick the lock of the ferret cage with a paper clip. May sighs.
“Okay. Go get your sister, and then we’re going to go through this list, and get exactly how much we need, and no more.”
-
They get a lot more than they need. May can feel the physical ache in her wallet. Lancelot destroys two of the toys in the car on the way home.
The kids seem happy, though.
-
That night, May is sitting on the couch, not really watching the TV, just trying not to freak out about the whole ‘another responsibility/huge expense’ thing, toys scattered around her on the floor. The kids are outside playing with the dog. She hears the glass door slide open and shut, and then Fitz is hovering next to her, chewing on his lip. She looks up at him, waiting for him to say something, but instead he leans over and wraps his arms around her neck.
“I love you, mum.”
May grins. “So all it took was a dog to buy your affection, huh?”
Fitz snorts, pulling away. “Kinda. But it- it’s- more than that.”
“Oh?”
He hesitates. “Well I- I mean. I know when we s-signed the papers last month, this became- it became official and everything, but … No, so-sorry, it’s stupid, f-forget I-“
“I won’t think it’s stupid, Fitz. What is it?”
She watches him as he twines his fingers together nervously. “I just feel like- like, if we have a dog, you’re- you’ll be-“ He pauses, gathering his words. “You won’t change your mind.”
“Change my mind about what?”
“Us.”
Her brow furrows, scanning his face carefully, but he seems sincere. “Fitz, I’ve always said that I’m in this forever. The adoption papers were a symbol of that.” She pauses, thinking about it. “But if you want your symbol to be the dog, that’s okay.”
He nods, relaxing. “It’s just- real- real families, they have dogs. And now w-we have one, so …”
“I think we’ve been a real family for a while.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. He points to the hallway. “I’m g-gonna go keep playing.”
“Okay, have fun.”
He darts away. May sits back more heavily into the couch, lets out a sigh, and smiles.
-
Lancelot grows fast. It seems like he hits 100lbs before May has even properly processed that they have a dog now. And a lot of it is good, but not all of it.
He seems keen on chewing up every pair of Antoine’s shoes (no matter how high up they keep them, or behind what doors), has pooped in the kids’ backpacks three times (even though they were pretty sure they were zipped shut), and is far, far too interested in Bobbi Morse. And he’s not the smartest dog. The kids gave up on teaching him tricks pretty early on. He knows how to sit and lie down, and he knows his name, but is remiss to actually answer to any of them. He’s loving, though, and very attentive. And he’s helping each of them, in their own ways.
(He always knows when Antoine is upset, for one, which is something that May herself hasn’t mastered. Antoine keeps all his negative emotions under lock and key, too afraid to share them with anybody, or even deal with them himself. She’s not sure what it is—a change in breathing, maybe—that Lance is picking up on, but he gets it every time.
Like when they’re watching TV, just the two of them and the dog, and something that comes on reminds Antoine of his grandmother. May wouldn’t even have thought of it, but suddenly Lance is jumping up, nudging at Antoine’s chest with his nose. Antoine gently pushes him away, but can’t keep his face from crumpling, just a bit.
May lays a hand on his shoulder, and he leans into it. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Antoine takes a shuddering breath. “I really miss her.”
“Your grandmother?”
He nods, and then loses his internal battle, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. He reaches for May, and she pulls him into her side.
“You’ve never told me about her.”
“’S fine.”
“No, I’d like to know about her, she’s important to you.”
He sniffles, face buried against her shoulder. “Okay.” He takes a few minutes to gather himself, and then tells her all about his grandmother. How she took him in when he was only four, how she was a nurse in the army, how she loved to bake but could only bake brownies. How she died, suddenly, of a heart attack when he was 7, and he was sent back to live with his dad, until the court placed him with Fury instead. Then he falls silent, like the tears streaming down his face, and just pets Lance. Eventually, the tears stop, and he gives Lance a hug, and they go back to watching TV.)
(Skye has come a long way in not trying to hide her emotions, but she has trouble not getting overwhelmed by them. Lance seems to ground her, more than anyone else can, far more than the breathing exercises and other little tricks Phil taught her do. Everyone can see when she has an attack coming—her face going pale, body shaking, breath coming quick—but there’s little they can do about it besides hold her and try to reassure her that everything is okay.
But lately she’s taken to seeking out Lance instead. She drops to her knees and he envelops her, his neck resting on her shoulder, head pressing against her back. Her fingers curl into tight fists in his fur. And he stays with her as long as she needs it, both of them still and steady. Sometimes there are tears, but there’s no sobbing or uncontrolled breathing like there used to be. And then, once it’s passed, she pulls back, presses a kiss to the tip of his nose, and they both go about their business.)
(Fitz, for his part, never has to be self-conscious around Lance. And he really has gotten better about it in general, but he still has days where he can’t seem to think straight, and not a single word in his sentences will come out right. Used to, he would lock himself away on those days, and refuse to interact with anyone.
Now, that’s when May designates Fitz to take care of Lance. Most of the time, verbal communication isn’t really necessary for them, they can go through the day without it just fine, and it helps Fitz to see he doesn’t really need it. And when he does, Lance doesn’t care how long it takes him to get out a sentence, or what order it comes out in, or even how long it takes Fitz to make a decision about what they’re going to do. He’s patient, but he can’t tiptoe around Fitz’s issues the way people do. That suits Fitz just fine.)
(And he helps Jemma cut loose a little bit. Usually the girl is so tightly sprung that May thinks she might pop, coming out in little bursts of anger that she’ll beat herself up for afterwards. She never seems to just relax like the other kids do, always anxious about something that May can’t quite pin down.
And then Lance gets into the garbage one day, the one with the rotating lid, like he usually does. Except he’s bigger now, and his neck is wider, so when he tries to pull his head out the lid pops right off with him. Rather than do anything about this, he decides to completely ignore it, and go about his day. May doesn’t take it off, because it serves him right, so Jemma finds him like that out in the backyard on the little hill, sitting proudly and surveying his territory, with the big black plastic lid like a necklace around his neck.
And Jemma laughs—not the soft chuckle that May is used to, or that one where she scrunches up her nose but doesn’t really make any noise—no, it’s a big, deep belly laugh, the kind where you can’t help but double over with the force of it. And she laughs until she’s crying, and then keeps laughing, because Lance is still ignoring her, and then May starts laughing too, because really, of all the situations.
And it’s not just the one time, either. Lance gets Jemma laughing all the time, mainly because he does stupid stuff all the time, to the point where May almost gets used to the sound of it. And it’s a good thing to almost get used to, something that May wouldn’t ever have expected.)
(And maybe he helps her, too. Just maybe.)
-
“Where’s Fitz?” May asks, in that taunting voice that makes Lancelot’s ears perk up. He tilts his head, and the plastic eyeballs that are attached to springs on the front of his glasses jiggle. “Where’s Fitz? Are you gonna go find him?”
Lance’s tail wags, and he gives a little boof, and then takes off down the hallway, toward the boys’ room. May holds her breath while she waits, and then there it is:
“Hey La-“ and then the high-pitched, girlish scream that she hopes Fitz never grows out of.
So, the dog is useful in more ways than one, she’s decided.
-
Lancelot nudges May awake with an impatient whine, and May groans, sleepily trying to swat him away. He jumps onto the bed and sticks his cold nose onto her neck, just under her ear, and she jumps, sitting up quickly. She glances at the clock.
“It’s 3am, what could you possibly want at 3am?”
He hops off the bed and stands in the doorway, looking back at her.
With a sigh she gets up, figuring he wants to go outside, but he leads her the opposite way down the hall, and then into the girls’ room. Little whimpers float to her ears, but it’s not coming from the dog. Jemma’s having a nightmare.
May sits down on the edge of Jemma’s bed, shaking her shoulder. The girl pulls away from her with a strangled noise, still asleep, so May tries again, shaking a little harder, mumbling her name. Jemma’s eyes fly open and she scrambles back on the bed, shoving herself into the corner of the wall, breathing heavy.
“Jemma, it’s me, you were having a nightmare.” May tries to make her voice soothing, not sure if it works.
It takes a few moments for the words to process, and then Jemma takes a deep breath and holds it. Only Skye’s dim nightlight lights the room, but it’s easy to see the wetness on Jemma’s cheeks. “Mum?”
May wants to pull her into a hug, but she knows Jemma doesn’t always like being touched when she’s upset, and always prefers to be the one to initiate contact.
“Yeah. It was just a nightmare, baby, it’s over now.”
Jemma lets out a few little sobs, and covers her mouth. After a moment of hesitation she climbs into May’s lap, and May cradles her as best she can.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asks, running her fingers through Jemma’s hair.
Jemma shakes her head, then: “Felt real.”
“I know it did. But it’s not, it’s over.”
“Thought I was back.”
Back at one of her old homes, May thinks. “You’re right here, don’t worry.”
A few more sobs spill out of Jemma.
Skye sits up on her bed, rubbing her eyes. “Jemma? You okay?”
Jemma just curls closer.
“She had a nightmare,” May answers for her.
Skye shuffles out of her bed and over to them, and crawls under Jemma’s covers, laying down near the wall. “If you have another one I’ll wake you up.”
Jemma sniffles. “Thanks.”
Lancelot jumps up as well and wriggles his way under the covers next to Skye, turning around underneath them so just the tip of his muzzle sticks out when he lays down. Jemma huffs a wet laugh and reaches out to tap him on the nose.
“He knew you were having a nightmare, he was the one who woke me up,” May informs her.
“Good dog,” Jemma says.
“Do you want to try and go back to sleep?”
Jemma clings to her, panic seeping into her voice. “No, not yet.”
“Okay, that’s fine.”
Jemma relaxes. “Can we just sit here for a little while?”
“Yeah. As long as you need.”
She lets go of a tearful sigh. “Thanks, mum.”
May presses a kiss to her forehead and pulls her a little closer. Eventually Jemma falls asleep against her, and she’s able to tuck her under the covers without waking her up. Lancelot stretches so that his head is pressed flush against Jemma’s side, and stares up at May.
“Come get me if you need me,” she tells him, and really believes that he will.
-
So, they do take him to the annual barbeque, which Sharon and Kara are absolutely delighted with. And they take him to Skye’s baseball games, and every time they go to the park. And May takes him on errands, and sometimes they go and walk around the hardware store, just to get them both out of the house. It becomes a separate category in her mind—Before Lancelot—just like there’s a separate category for Before the Incident and Before the Kids. It’s different, having him around all the time. May hadn’t lived with a dog since the early summers with her dad. But it’s good, it’s nice, despite the difficulties.
And she realizes, suddenly and violently one day, when they’ve all been together for a few years, that there might come a time when it’s just the two of them. Fitz and Jemma, only 12, are already seniors in high school, for god’s sake. They’ll go to community college for a while, but they’re going to be headed off to a university sooner than she’d like. And Antoine is going to get a job and an apartment, or a house of his own. Even Skye, her baby, is going to get older. She’s not always going to rely on May like she does now.
And that’ll be it. The kids will move out, and the house isn’t going to be as full as it used to be. May imagines what it would be like to be by herself again, completely alone, and she doesn’t like what she sees. But it’s not going to come to that, not for a while, she knows. Because she’ll have Lance, and he’ll have her right back. And she couldn’t be more grateful.