#handlerhound

I am reintroducing the GREEN TEXT for generalized military personnel, from this point forward. I may take time to go backwards and adjust it in previous chapters.

Content warning: Transphobia, slurs, transmisogynist violence

I didn't expect a room that mimicked a prison cafeteria. But what else would make sense? An organized path of food lines to tables, with the actual commissary store in a secondary space to the left of the double doors that Gaige pushed open with no hesitation or compunction.

As the doors closed behind us, and a few dozen pairs of eyes zoned in on the two Hounds who had just walked in, I felt a horrifying reminder of the cathedral luncheons I had been forced to attend.

Gray walls, sparsely painted, lights too bright and sounds too loud.

Every eye on me.

For approximately eight seconds, I was terrified. But I found myself, and most of the denizens of the commissary hall rapidly lost interest.

Not all of them.

Gaige snapped his finger in front of my face. "Hey. Pup. Stay with me. Breakfast ends in twenty minutes, we're on a timer."

I shook myself out of the trance of being in a new space, and followed him through the tables. I half expected the various soldiers, mechanics, operators, pilots, and med techs to stop us, taunt us, get grabby or violent, but none of them made a move for that. At least not yet.

Gaige waved to the personnel handling food, and we were presented with a list of what was available. I managed to keep my voice together, and asked for potatoes and biscuits and hashes of bacon. I knew I needed the salt, if nothing else, though I wasn't sure how much of the food I would actually keep down. I'd been given protein wedges and water for my meals for so long that I wondered if I could still taste anything.

"Pick a table," Gaige told me as we carried our trays away from the counter. "I'll join you in a second." He took a quick turn away and left me alone.

I selected a table nearby a disposal can, and far from most of the patrons of the commissary.

Now what?

I wondered if Handler had intentionally left the muzzle off of me this morning, for this reason.

Go with Gaige, She'd said, He's going to show you where you'll get your food from now on. No protein bricks anymore, for now.

I picked up the metal utensils the service personnel had handed me, and tentatively poked at the potatoes.

Oh goddess, real food again. I forgot all hesitation and tore into my breakfast.

Gaige came back with two cups balanced on his tray, alongside biscuits and chicken and gravy.

"What is-"

"You like coffee?"

I felt my face light up with a smile. "Fuck me, yes." I grabbed at the cup immediately after he set it in front of me.

I burned my tongue, of course, and had to let it sit for a few minutes. I was able to drown out everything that was not immediately between Gaige and I, ignoring the noise, the clash of dishes, the shouts and laughter and arguments of the other personnel, the scrape of silverware, as I housed almost all of the food.

"Haven't had real food in a while, huh?" Gaige commented.

I shrugged and went for the coffee a second time.

I'd had good coffee, I'd had good coffee, and I'd had terrible coffee. I was always prepared to accept terrible coffee, but whatever this was, it tasted like heaven. I hadn't had coffee in so long, I'd forgotten what the bitter black fluid could even be. I let it sit on my tongue for a minute, feeling out the bitterness and the darker, earthy notes of the flavors, before I swallowed. I chugged back the rest in a hurry.

"Caffeine is going to feel weird," I muttered.

"Yeah, good luck with the coffee shits." Gaige cackled into his own cup as he finished it off.

"Don't ever talk to me about that."

He laughed louder.

"Hey!" Someone shouted. A gruff voice. Masculine, it seemed. "Quit your barking over there!"

My heart sank into my stomach as my brain processed the social cue of opposition. Someone was annoyed with me. With us. I almost watched myself sink into the headspace of trying to make myself not exist. To be elsewhere, to be unnoticed, to shrink into a corner and hide from the public.

"Hey, fuck off!" Gaige responded.

Shut up. Don't draw attention to us. Don't agitate them.

The scrape of a chair. Footsteps.

I remembered the rumors circulating the cathedral about my gender identity. The bullying. The random, unpredictable, in-the-moment physical attacks. My heart rate picked up.

"Didn't know She let Her dogs talk back," I heard, much closer now. I stared at my empty tray. The footsteps stopped. The table shook slightly. "Heard you two boys were supposed to be good little puppies that stay quiet and do what they're told."

...boys? My heart crept out and curdled into blinding hatred.

"Boys?" Gaige said. "I'm the only guy at this table. Watch your fuckin' mouth, Operator."

"Don't talk back to me with that tone, you porn set piece. What are you gonna do, cry for Mistress?"

I glanced up at Gaige and met his eyes. He seemed calm. "If you want to get in on what we have, Operator, I suggest you talk to your Captain about it. But you don't seem the type."

"I'm not stupid enough to take a frame jack implant like you." The voice got closer. "And I'm not a faggot, so your Handler wouldn't like me."

I saw red. I turned to face him. "Do you have a fucking problem? I hissed.

"Yeah, I do." He moved around the table and got closer to me. He had a ridiculous beard cut and a messily shaved head. "I got a problem with men like you dragging the good name of our military through the fucking mud."

"I am not a man," I seethed. "Get lost."

"Prove it. Show me your cunt."

Gaige inhaled sharply. "Watch your fucking words carefully, Operator," he growled.

"I am not a fucking man!" I shouted, suddenly aware of the silence of the room. We were being watched. I tried to ignore it and focus on the problem standing in front of me. I felt the heat rising in my chest. My heart was racing.

"You don't get to pick," the lanky jackass muttered. "Just because you've got some redistributed fat on your chest-" he reached for me.

I grabbed his wrist and slammed it against the table, jerking it sideways as hard as I could. He shouted and grabbed for me with his other hand, getting a hold on my jumpsuit and pulling me backwards from the bench.

"Operator!"

I scrambled up from the floor and threw myself at him.

He clearly wasn't expecting a fight. I slammed my elbow up into his sternum, kicked his ankle, and followed with a punch to his dick as hard as I could. He flopped to the floor in a wheezing sound of panic, unable to breathe after I'd forced the wind from his lungs. "Don't you EVER misgender me again!" I screeched. "I will rip your goddamn balls off!"

A hand grabbed at my wrist. I whirled to the side and raised a fist to find Gaige staring at me. "Enough, Kalvya. Let's go."

"It is not enough!" I spat on the moaning man. "Fuckers like him should have died out two centuries ago! I didn't go through all the fucking bullshit to feel at home in my own body just to have a stupid jackass tell me it doesn't mean anything!" I pointed at him aggressively, and desperately wanted to hit him again. I wanted to choke him out, make him bleed, make him hurt, nobody gets to talk to me about my gender, I fought too hard for this body and this name and this-

I felt my throat close up. Don't cry.

"Kalvya! Gaige!"

The world around me stopped existing.

Handler stood at the door. "Heel," She ordered, Her voice echoing across the commissary.

All that mattered in the moment was contained in the space between Her and I. I needed to be beside Her. I was barely cognizant of Gaige behind me as I shuffled between the tables to reach Her, slinking to my knees and looking up, wondering how She might punish me for my indiscretion and violence in the new place I'd been introduced to. Was I supposed to restrain myself? Was I supposed to be a good little bitch and take it? Or was that just between Mommy...Handler, Gaige, and I? Was I allowed to fight back?

Her hand slid under my cheek. "Hello little one," She muttered. "Are you all done eating?"

I nodded.

"Good dog." She held up Her other hand and showed me my muzzle. "Sit still for a moment."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, embracing the strangely soft leather straps as they wrapped around my head. They tightened. Handler's hands released me. I looked up at Her with relief, appreciating the removal from the situation. I didn't have to make any decisions or fight anyone anymore. She was here. She would handle it. My heart had slowed. Handler was a regulator in my panicked and confused day; She was holding me in a place of safety.

"What happened, Gaige?" She asked.

He grumbled, his tone gruff and pained. "They misgendered Kalvya. Provoked her. She retaliated...appropriately."

"Is that so?" Handler looked behind us at the commissary hall. "I'm so sorry, little one. Him, on the floor?"

I tilted my head to catch him in my peripheral vision. He had rolled over onto his back and was trying to get to his feet. "Yes, Handler."

She crouched between us. "Did he touch you?" She muttered to me.

"He tried, Handler."

She nodded, and rose back up to Her feet. "Stay, pups."

"Yes, Mistress."

I said nothing. I was comfortable on my knees, and relieved to have the stress of the situation taken off my shoulders.

First time getting real food and I get in a fight in fifteen minutes.

"Operator."

I shifted my knees slightly to watch.

Handler slammed her hand against his chest and dragged him with shocking strength to his knees. "Did you touch my Hound?"

He didn't respond.

"Do you understand that you are a tool in this military?" Handler grabbed his face. "Do you understand that when you play with or damage tools that don't belong to you, that you are causing problems for your superiors? Do you understand that when you choose to touch my tools, you are choosing to interfere with my work? Tell me, Operator, because I need to know that we are on the same page here. My Hounds are my fucking property. You do not touch my property without my permission. You do not touch the weapons that have my name carved into them."

Handler tossed him back to the floor. "I need all of you to understand something!" She shouted to the entire hall. Dozens of eyes were drawn to Her.

As She deserves.

"My Hounds," She began, "are my weapons. My tools. If any of you break my weapons, or mishandle them, or cause them agitation, I will not take it lightly. This Operator here," She jabbed a finger at the man who was only now beginning to recover, "saw fit to agitate and touch my Hound. I will let this be your only warning, and I will trust you to spread this amongst your squadmates and comrades and fellow Operators. If you agitate my Hounds, no matter the method or reason, and they attack you in retaliation, I will not reprimand them for defending themselves. Am I crystal fucking clear, Operator?" She looked down at the man who had provoked me.

Her weapon. I felt my lips twitch toward a smile. That was a title I wanted. Handler's weapon. It made me feel powerful. Lethal.

His face was bright red as he got to his feet. "Yes...Yes Ma'am."

"Good." With that final word, She turned on Her heels and walked back to us. "Up. Come with me." The snap of Her fingers echoed in the commissary's silence.

Gaige and I rose to our feet and followed at Her heels without a word.

~~

There was real gymnasium equipment in the resilience room today. Gaige, rather than outright attack me, began showing me how to perform various exercises. It stretched out my muscles and worked through the righteous fury I had felt during breakfast. I had something to think about, a face I wanted to destroy, a target I felt an intense desire to kill.

Gaige had similar ire in his face. The conflict had pissed him off too, though I wondered why he hadn't taken the chance to beat the shit out of the old world asshole himself, especially given Handler's apparent approval.

Should I thank Her for defending me? Does She want me to come cry to Her if someone fucks with me? Or did Her statements mean I have to fight my own battles, handle conflicts myself? She said She wouldn't "reprimand" us for defending ourselves.

My mind twisted backward to the sortie launch. Was She giving me permission to defend myself then, too?

I remembered the feel of the brand new gun in my grip as I held the barrel between Her beautiful eyes. How could I have done that? How could I have considered ending Her life? A woman who, flawed as She may be, had my back and would stand as a pallisade between me and people who hate me? A woman who would enforce respect for my identity with an iron fist?

I would never consider that again.

I can’t lie though, punishing them is so much more fun than giving them all the affection they could want. Specifically if I’m rewarding another in the process.

"The clicker doesn't work on her at all?"

"No. She associates it with commands being given, but doesn't have a compulsion towards it."

"Well, you didn't exactly hand her treats and say gimme paw when you pushed the button."

"True. I thought she would learn to associate it with her fox and a systemic reward path, but, like always, there's a learning curve. And just because you respond to the clicker, doesn't mean all the dogs will."

"The fox won't be an issue anymore, you think?"

"No. It served its purpose, and I won't take it from her unless she makes a grave mistake. I know what she needs and I know how to push her there."

"And her pillars?"

"Her primary is a sense of security and privacy. She needs to feel like she has a space to retreat to when she is overwhelmed. Very classic neurodivergent behavior."

"And she associates the title Handler with a sense of security."

"She will over time, especially now that I'm not going to take her fox anymore. It served its purpose. Her secondary pillar is hatred. She needs something to feel she can fight against and resist, and that comes twofold. A competition-"

"Me."

"...Yes. You. The second part of that is a feeling of fighting her past self. Based on what I know of where she grew up, she has deep trauma related to religion, rejection, and her gender identity or sexuality. Common amongst a portion of the transfeminine individuals who identify as puppies."

"Mm. There's small communities of them around, I passed through and around them myself. Common on net message boards and forums."

"The trauma aspect of that still needs to be tested, I don't know how she responds to that kind of opposition. I've got ideas to try, I'll walk you through them tonight. You'll take her to the commissary tomorrow."

"Yes, Mistress."

"Her third pillar, connected to the second, is her sex drive. When she gets angry, she gets sexually aggressive and frustrated. Pissing her off runs parallel to teasing her; it gets her going."

"No shit."

"Don't pretend you aren't interested in her when she's acting like that. I know what you fantasize about when you think of her."

"You know all of my fantasies, Mistress."

"Yes I do, darling. Now, stop talking. I'm thinking out loud."

"..."

"The goal for her is to push all of those pillars together and coalesce them as a single piece. The persona of the Hound, for her, is angry and sexually aggressive, yet assured in her physical safety. I know how to trigger these things together, and I know how to make her feel like she is going to lose the stability of her primary pillar. She needs to think that I might still take the fox away, or keep her out of the mechs, or take away her hormone therapy. Dangling these three things over her head will keep her pacified."

"..."

"Commissary, tomorrow morning. I'll send you instructions on your tablet."

I heard it used to be the rising star type who showed a lot of promise, then settled into the title of ace, but since I joined I’ve been doing better than it.

Handler says I’m special.

It says I’m just a flash in the pan. I’m everything it used to be.

It looks at me with this fire in its eyes while Handler takes off her glove and palms me through my suit and I look down on it grinding on her boot.

And when Handler steps on its face and tells it to do better before kissing me, I can’t help but think, “Damn.”