#were!mac

You guys. Right. “Sir, it doesn’t work like that. Just because we’re both wolves, it does not necessarily mean we’ll get along, let alone build pack bonds. Just the opposite! It’s more likely that we’ll rip each other’s throat out, especially if we’re both dominant - and considering the guy joined Uncle Sam’s flock, the chances of him being a submissive are zero to none.”

Harrumphing, his CO grumbles, his tone exasperated, “So what do you want me to do, Dalton? Do you really want me to make a human a werewolf’s overwatch? Let a human watch a wolf’s back? The guys here, they learned to respect you, they even like you for some unfathomable reason, and I want to believe that my men can keep their prejudice out of the field, I do, but would you really entrust another wolf’s life to them?”

Jack sighs. He doesn’t like it but his CO is right. The interspecies tensions have been running wild lately, what with the rumors that a werewolf pack is aiding the enemy in their hit and run attacks. Still. Everything in him is complaining, I don’t wanna!

“I take your lack of response as confirmation of my fears, then,” the CO sighs, sounding tired and disappointed in his own people. “Look, this guy” --he opens the file on his desk to look up the newcomer’s name-- “Specialist Angus MacGyver, he seems like some kind of an EOD hotshot, real good at what he does, apparently. And personally, I don’t care if he’s a damn leprechaun! This unit needs someone of his caliber. Go and keep him safe. And, yes, that’s an order, Sergeant Dalton.”

With a sharp salute, Jack leaves his CO’s office, growling softly under his breath. His commander will never understand this, not being a werewolf. You don’t throw words like “pack” around lightly. Pack’s a sacred thing, precious, bonds that are meant to last a lifetime when entered freely. 

Jack would give anything, anything at all for a pack of his own. He’s been trying to find an alpha worthy of his devotion ever since he was a wet behind the ears recruit. Alas. And now he’s been saddled with a dominant wolf and expected to play nice with him. Christ. He’ll show the pup who’s the boss here from the get-go. He’s not here to play pack with him!

Jack rounds the corner of one of the dusty, sun-worn barracks and runs up the three steps leading to the main door that screeches and wheezes in the hinges when he opens it - and suddenly, he freezes, right there on the threshold, and his growling catches in his throat. Because there’s someone standing at his bunk and he’s fiddling with his stuff!

Buddy, you chose the wrong day to mess with Jack Dalton and his things, Jack thinks as he snaps a furious, “Hey! Hands off my stuff!” and takes a belligerent step further inside, ready to pummel the insolent whelp.

But when the man - a kid, really, blond and blue-eyed and pale - turns around, Jack falters, almost tripping over his own two feet. Because the guy’s a wolf, not a regular human but a werewolf, as Jack’s nose would’ve told him if he only paid attention to his senses instead of nursing his issues.

Angus MacGyver, it must be him since there’s no other wolf in this camp. The kid’s all lean, pent-up energy - and with the presence of someone twice his age. To his absolute shock Jack realizes he can’t stand to look the kid in the eyes for much longer, he’s overcome with the need to drop his gaze. If Jack were in his wolf form, he would roll onto his back and offer the kid his throat in submission!

Jesus Christ, MacGyver isn’t just dominant - Jack knows dominant, he eats dominant for breakfast, but this kid, this kid is completely out of Jack’s league. And the longer MacGyver stares at him with that disapproving frown, the stronger is Jack’s urge to hunch his shoulders and… grovel.

And that makes Jack furious. Positively livid. Jack Dalton doesn’t grovel. Jack Dalton doesn’t roll onto his back for anyone! He never has and he never will!

Baring his teeth, Jack snarls - and pounces!