#gonnabefine

“ Come on now, what’s with the sour face? ”  Maybe it’s an age thing; the life of a human a blink in comparison to what they live. Maybe it’s the fact he’s a punk kid in comparison. Barely legal in the eyes of the law ( the beard helps, adds a few years to what still seems like a youth that’ll never leave him ). “ Today’s like Christmas.... only with a little more... me. ” 

“Ye are aware, Mr. Francis, that standin’ about gawkin’ does nae actually make repairs go quicker.” The tone is as amenable as she can manage, considering she finds his presence grating. Scotty’s never been known for soft tones while at work, and it’s not about to start now.

The trouble with starship corridors is that they’re heavily reinforced, built to withstand phaser fire in the event of a boarding. That’s all very well and good, and it’s saved lives (and the ship) more than once, but when it comes to basic maintenance, the sort that keeps doors functional or turbolifts supplied with energy, it’s hard to access anything without dealing with the plating first, particularly if the issue at hand isn’t at the built-in access panel.

Meaning the full length of the hall has been torn up and just about gutted (delicately and safely-- there’s no reason to hurt her silver lady just because of some stray wiring). It’s simple work, could’ve been allocated to someone else’s duty roster, but nothing overly exciting has happened lately (Kirk has been behaving himself, or, more likely, gotten more luck than usual) and so there was the chief engineer, trying to work.

And there’s Francis. Doing something.

After spending all of her morning inside the Harvard lab where Walter gad been rambling on about the case (which was what she was actually interested in knowing), then he would go off on an half an hour speech about the formula of root beers and how he says ‘they aren’t what they used to be’. Even Peter could rarely get him to concentrate 100%. Once he was started on another thing off of topic she was surprisingly relieved when she heard her phone go off, almost hoping that she had to be somewhere else. Thankfully she did. With Broyles on the other end with the victims address and telling her to meet up with Agent Francis there.

She’s got the distinct feeling that flashing the badge isn’t going to do her any good now that she’s decapitated an eyeless monster with razor sharp teeth three rows deep. 

Scotty’s had time to realize that she’s lucky. Clara’s always argued it, always railed against it, gone all bitter and sulky and snappish. She’d hated what they were, kept her fangs blunted and claws trimmed. She’d smiled human and married normal.

Morcades knows better. Pretending is going to get Clara hurt. She knows what she is.

That’s how she’d been raised, with family that knew what they are, trained to keep themselves under control. Their father-- their mother, too-- had wanted them to be able to use their skills. Once y’hit 5 ‘r 6 they stop acceptin’ yer applications he’d warned-- he’d always wanted to write. Never got to go to school for it. They stop letting you in schools because yer scary. They start calling you in military drives, start askin’ you to learn t’ sniff out blood. Don’t you get inta that habit, girls. Don’t you let them get y’pinned in.

When ya bite, her father had insisted, y’better know why ye did it.

Always when, never if.

She’d never bitten anyone in her family. She’d wanted to dig her teeth in Clara’s stupid face, sure, but there’d never been a reason. Love always turned the bite to a snap, an annoyed growl. A nipping of the ear.

When she gets to America, packless and too nosy, she nearly rips a wolf’s ear off.

They tick her up from 1 to 3 in a day.

It’s not really fair, though. Outside packs, unfamiliar with each other, with only human intuition and wolf strength to establish who’s in charge, wolves clash badly-- it’s everywhere, true, but here she’s alone, no den to run to. Of course she’d bitten when she’d gotten scared in an alley, it had been the only way to make herself too much work to fight with.

All Scotty’d wanted was a nice walk.

It gets better when she has a job, the hierarchy gets clear-- everyone wulf wears their Tags openly. The boss is the boss and the humanity of it settles the wolf, even if it’s artificial, even if it’s unnatural, even if that’s not how a real pack worked. It’s not the best job, not with her head, but it’s improving, she’s getting noticed (years of a head of theoretical physics and now people realize she’s good.)

(sometimes the humans take a look at her throat and slip away, even if the bold 3 marks her, technically, safe. she doesn’t blame them-- ‘safe’ is a lie they’ve given humans to keep them tamed. any wolf can kill. but so can any human. the werewolf really isn’t any better than what makes it up.)

(sometimes kids pet her on a run, though, when she’s stopped to pant in the grass, so she supposes that’s nice)

She does alright, at least until there’s a brawl between a few mechanics that turns into an all out dogfight.

The human authorities will avoid dealing with them unless they hurt someone besides each other, but the wolves they’ve worked into law enforcement will usually show up if it gets too loud, politically obligated to deal with the mess. By the time someone does, Scotty’s helped a big wolf from accounting of all places haul the miscreants apart-- he vanishes before the questions start, probably scared if they think he started it they’ll mark him up and he’ll lose his job, and she feels that longing piece of her ache. She has no pack here, no family. No back up. If they decide it’s quicker to blame all of them, it’s going to be tiring to fight it.

Exhausted, she starts squinting for tags and numbers, knowing there has to be at least one wolf here, or they wouldn’t’ve come.

Police, military, security--- the wolves involved all wear tags several levels higher than their ‘real’ designation. It’s a safety thing. Teach a wolf to rip someone to pieces or hunt a man down, they start getting a little more twitchy, though it’s rare for a wolf so protective to hurt anyone.

Stress does things to people, though.

It’s why Scotty’s tried so damn hard to stay what she is. Keep her tag low and her head down. A small fight is okay, but if the humans get looking at you, you’re done for. Don’t scare ‘em. She’d never do well as a fighter, she’s always known that.

She rolls upside down in his bed, tangling herself in the sheets and, more importantly, thoroughly scentmarking it.

this isn’t coffee

in fact it looks decidedly un-coffee-like

screw it she’s tired

            3:30 AM cases are bullshit. Coffee is to be worshiped and loved. Her head’s a little behind, accent thicker than usual with sleep.