Griplines: Part Four

by Brenda Jean Carlson

It was admittedly petty - considering the long-term significance of their situation, but then some people just handled stress with a more talented knack then others. Calm-headedness and rationality may have been all and good in theory, but they seemed wholly unsatisfying amidst the reality of insultedness. Which was why, at the moment, he was openly considering the merits of murder. And the above based solely on a box of defrosting steaks.

<'Oh get out of alpha-mode, Furball. Canines aren't even supposed to *have* this kind of testosterone.'> He could almost hear Tauni speaking the mocking words in the back of his mind. It was precisely the kind of thing she would have said, too; which was why it was so blasted irritating. After all, *he'd* been against her new position - hadn't liked how far away from home it took her. Naturally, then, this long predicted bail-operation - for all it's promise of finally seeing her again - *would* have to lead to the complete annihilation of his dignity. <'So now you're saying this is *my* fault?'>

Since when had she become the voice of his conscience? He would have covered his own ears with his paws at that moment if the gesture hadn't seemed so disgustingly human. <'Now it's true my memory's a bit spasmatic...I mean I've got way, *way* too much to keep track of. Still, though, Dres, I'm reasonably sure that sometime in the past seven years you *were* warned about yourlittle 'incisor-problem.'>

He finally snapped back. Let no one say he wasn't dog enough to admit it. A *small* part of this might be his fault: his four-legged side had been reeking havoc on him all day long. Given that he wasn't helping set up the IV, or at the very least barking out prescription-allergy warnings, he shouldn't have been surprised at this little medical apartheid: He wouldn't be *himself* if he weren't in the way.

<'You should have expected an eviction...you're three feet tall and covered with fur.'> It had been demanded by logic and sterile law, not to even mention the growing shortage of foot room. <'Given that, would you mind explaining what in heaven inspired the crazed Chiwauwau act?'> He hadn't gotten this territorially irrational since Tryp had asked him permission to take Emily out on that first date. <'And even then you lacked this particular 'anti-Lassie' flair.>

He buried his nose in his paws; wondering in that acerbic moment why he hadn't gotten any better at choosing his inner-conscience figures after all of this time. All sarcastic commentary aside, though, he'd be best try to figure out his motives - and quickly. Both because he needed to identify whether there was a real threat to be concerned with, and - probably more importantly - so he could prepare a defense for when his sleeping partner finally saw fit to wake up, and, after hearing about his latest little debacle, launch into her now standard, if repetitious, dressing down.

He winced in expectation of that moment. His younger cub was amazingly deceptive in her even-tempered - if generally sarcastic - nature. He still addressed her as a Younger on habit; mostly because it annoyed her so much. But that didn't mean that he hadn't learned to respect her uncanny seventh sense about people, or that he didn't generally regard her with an amazed and well deserved kind of terror when she saw fit to lay back those tinyhuman ears.

"You've got two weaknesses Dresden: one's your gut and one's your stomach. If you're gonna let either get out of hand, please do us all a favor and check yourself into your friendly neighborhood doghouse for the duration." The candid assessment had been stated after one of his worser days, and the half-sympathetic, half irritated words had made him shiver. Oh, the phrase may have seemed kind of trite - but the tone and facial expression had been perfect. Admitting it may have required more explanations then he was ready to give at the moment, but he also couldn't deny the fact that he'd heard the exact same chastisement before:

Nine years ago. From his partner's dead mother.

<'So you're spooked by a corpse who was never actually deanimated. Makes perfect sense - 'course Freud would probably have an absolute field day somewhere right about here.'> He sighed, With this group of people, he'd have been better off pretending he couldn't reason. The Hakanian penchant for intrigue was all but terrifying in it's logic based insanity: these nutcases he loved could talk their subconscious's into *anything.*

Though in truth, the mechanism had been in pure self-defense. Rationalization had been the only outlet available for his developing conscience when sentience had finally seen fit to cut in. But there were days he seriously wondered if he was equipped to deal with it.

And it certainly didn't tell him what to do when he craved listerine.

Speaking of which, *that* was a subject of itself. What, did this pack's leader *live* on bad coffee? Despite his companions' popular belief otherwise, human flesh was not considered a delicacy among his own kind. Not to mention how the aftertaste made him nauseous. Besides, he already had enough bad tastes in his mouth...

^Why are we letting her do this? She *needs* her cub...this is *wrong.*^ He'd only ever asked the question once: about eight or so years ago. He'd been standing on a cracked sidewalk curb at the time, watching his first real human friend get in her car. That unanswerable question had been his introduction to the general unfairness of life. Not to mention his initiation into the family conspiracy.

"She just gave us her daughter. Again. That should be reason enough. They lied to her, she lies to him and the two of us get to lie to everyone else." Natauni had swallowed hard and taken another drink, before glaring morosely at her glass. "God help us all Dresden - who started this mess? And more importantly, how in the heck are we supposed to remember how to exhale anymore?"

But Natuani had been wrong in that one thing: it was the breathing *in* that was difficult. The rigid adherence to the daily grind and monotony of life when the larger picture was so totally out of control. For almost a decade now they'd kept silent and waited, watching over their precious kitty in the bag...

No one had ever informed them it was actually a tiger.

------

Best as she could tell, she had about thirty minutes before she'd have to bid a permanent goodbye to her private apartment. It was hard to get overly attached to a room that smelled perpetually of dry rot and leaking coolant: even if the damp storeroom had been ideal when she'd found it two years ago because of it's location and lack of nosy on-site residents.

Emotional connections could come when she didn't have a charter flight she was already three hours late for. Not even with the knowledge that *there* she'd just retiled the floors.

Her other places had been *uptown* - where you'd expect a prestigious researcher to live. They'd certainly been far more in accord with the health code...even if they did lack the more personal memories: The peace negotiations she'd had to make with the family of rats that were living on this floor. And they'd become downright social after she'd rented and shown "The Secret of Nihm."

His canine highness would have snubbed his nose at such an act of frivolity. Of course in reality, all the sarcasm and bluster he let off would just have been a badly masked case of personal envy. Her furry colleague have never forgiven her for taking this post to begin with - she'd never doubted how much he hated the separation.

Okay, file copies - check. Her hard drive had already been wiped, then disconnected. The wires lay there barren, now - the metal CPU already having taken a well aimed suicide dive into the building's trash compactor. Most of her disks had gone that way as well...with the exception of a few that had 'conveniently' fallen behind the desk. She smiled at the thought of their eventual discovery: < I give 'em a good three years before they break Chance's code.> And that was assuming their computer technicians were up to a challenge.

She wasn't worried about her other labs: she misfiled and mislabeled deliberately on habit. Add to that the fact that the data in her 'at-work' labs was mostly tech spiel... Nobody would ever know why she really left - the lie was just to easy to believe. Especially with the little ...er...message...she'd left for McKenzie.

She only wished she could have seen her colleague's face when he started his computer this morning. She'd had no reservations about mailing a few important packages to selective members of the state's medical board. Their usual morning sparring session over coffee break were actually *worth* something now that he'd finally brushed up on his virology texts. And he'd never known how far some his little genetic discoveries had progressed her own searches. Bio-corp lists - check. Her work within two specifically had revealed connections with numerous others. Most of this was memorized, yes - but she'd kept jotted notes as she determined the hierarchical structures and intermixed relationships among them. She really wished she could have found a way to severance pay her old shredder for all it's faithful years of service. Its confidentially had been second to none.

Time was passing faster then she'd anticipated. She didn't know whether the sweepers from AMNI-SYN or SYNBIO would get here first, but the idea was to be out of here before either group arrived. Finding this one would be difficult, but she wasn't so arrogant as to think it couldn't happen. That was the whole reason for this apartment trash: hopefully the ransacked sanctuary would lead each group to think the other had arrived first. By the time both organizations went into lock-down as a defensive mechanism, she'd already be well out of Seattle.

Her meeting with Emily this morning had necessarily been canceled: The injury itself wasn't serious...though she'd have probably been better off doing stitches instead of using butterfly bandages. The truth was with the information she was carrying, her whole nervous system was on standby.

That thought led her to the heel of her treds - and the vial of liquid contained within its compartment. She'd have to order a pair made for Em...after all tomorrow was her twenty-second birthday. And a girl could only have so many different throwing blades.

<'That's the lousiest case of random thinking I've ever heard...would you mind getting back to the whole 'shedding hair thing?'> The voice that suddenly took it upon itself to lecture her sternly sounded all to familiar - she'd known her Godfather's influence anywhere. The later fact kind of discontinued the whole lecture affect.

And if the wasn't a full summation: The Hakanians really needed a group slogan. "We only look like we're well adjusted...please never forget that." There wasn't a single member among the leading constituents who wasn't at least slightly, if not *grossly* unhinged. But within a few days that would change. Because whether she liked it or not, if this sample was actually Stage One, then it would be time to call the family ghost back in.

-------

"You know the last I time checked, Danton, my position involves network security and communications. Watching *you* sulk to the point of obsession wasn't on the job description: or at least you never said it was back when I was foolish enough to let you re-recruit me." The stiff shouldered man didn't even bother acknowledge her, so the slate-eyed brunette reached out to give his white pony tail a few hard tugs, "Take a hint, Chance...the monitor isn't gonna change through the force of your glare, and faked aphasia is probably *not* most affective way to go about ignoring me."

"You've been spending too much time with my granddaughter, Elisha." The voice that finally spoke was laden with a mix of exasperation and annoyance as he turned from the main console, shutting down the screen that had held the tracking map as he did so. Chance Danton's pale skin didn't quite hide the pained wrinkles forming around his eyes as the albino Hakanian continued: "Though after further thought, I guess she could just as easily have *learned* the art of comeback from you or Natauni. I wasn't all that diligent at screening her role models, was I?"

"Score one for the Boss." Her tone was markedly dry as she extended a cup toward him calmly. She watched as her best friend's expression shifted from annoyance to pugnation, and then finally to something more closely resembling a whipped puppy as he correctly sensed her intent. This particular battle was almost a game between them now - a set of ritualized responses they'd perfected. Problem was, though, today she didn't feel much like playing her role. And whether he admitted it or not, neither did he.

"Oh just drop the pathetic act, already. You're in pain for no good reason. Now take your meds, or I'll shove em down your throat." She set her feet as she said the words, locking her features into 'stern' mode as part of the effort, Neither of them had the time or the energy.

But her silent pleadings were to be in vain. The man shook his head, and raised his chin. She saw it all, and all but groaned at the stubborn look setting across his features. "Took my dose for today this morning. I'm just a little tired, that's all. Have you heard anything more about either Tana or Emily?"

She sighed and grabbed both his wrists; lifting them up from his lap to hold them before him in plain sight. Knowing by now any verbal argument she could have offered on the subject wouldn't be nearly as effective as the undiscountable spasms they both knew he couldn't stop. "We both know you're lucky if first dose last till lunch time. You look like an junkie, for goodness sakes. So take them, please, and I'll secede the honorary points for ass-hoodeness. Fair enough, no - you win succession for free?"

He scowled and stared at his palms, but he couldn't stop the shaking. "We had a *deal,* Danton - now honor it and take the damn things. Or would you rather I let you take this up with your doctor or you granddaughter? I'd be all too glad to pass this torch to the girls."

She'd call the bluff - and he knew it. She'd had a decade to practice. She hated these confrontations - even if she always won them. Hated the tough love that made her trade those blasted necessary pills for what he had somehow come to consider his dignity. Hated what love had broken, and left sheer willpower to try and shore up.

"Remind me why I invited you, again? And why I haven't locked you in the aft closet, yet?" He all but growled the words as he swiped the cup from her outstretched hands. He threw the pills back in a single dry swallow, then held out his hand impatiently, waiting for her to surrender the juice box she kept habitually wedged in her back pocket.

She passed it over without comment, knowing it was best now to let him sulk his way past it. If she pretended it hadn't happened, he'd almost forget it himself. "You didn't ask me - I came because of Tauni. And the aft closet's a *weapon's locker* - enough said there. Now sit down, and stop pouting - or you'll have to find another lunch to mooch. As it stands, you don't deserve the one I brought anyway."

He brightened noticeably at the topic change. "Quarter Pounder with extra ketchup?" She rolled her eyes, "Turkey and bacon on Kaiser with extra tomatoes, cheese and lots of fat-choked, ripe black olives." The pout she got in reply would have been a lot more convincing if he hadn't finished half the sandwich she passed him before she could even bite into the piece of fruit in her own hands.

"Now this is a sandwich...all it needs is a little sweet mustard." She was surprised he didn't outright lick at his fingers before finishing it off and turning to looking at her expectantly. "You'll find Plochmann's and another double decker in the cooler behind you. Just be careful though, the one's without onions are for those of us who *do* get hives from them, so keep your non-allergic mitts *off,* already."

He retrieved the proper sandwich, smiling gamely, as well as an apple for himself. "I'm disappointed Liz: no corn chips - heaven sakes, not even a package of ho-hos?" She shook her head morosely, speaking to the air: "The man is a registered gourmet cook and he asks for the junk food. Doesn't this seem graphically*wrong* to anyone else but me?"

The conversation was back on safe ground now. She could see by the affable smile that he was trying to hold back. She sighed in relief - another pill-battle over, at least for awhile. "So San Francisco, you say? Your reputation for Sunblock kind of proceeds you. You sure you're not just trying to get me back on the beach?"

"Says the woman who ordered an floor heater for her Miami apartment." Chance leaned back again the seat cushions, sighing contentedly as he patted his full belly. "What is *with* this heat fetish, Elisha? As for the beach - this is San Franciso remember? With all the fog you don't have to worry about the sand... or the sandcrabs in this case... Heck, you could very well be drowned on Main Street."

She aimed a sharp kick to his right shin. Her duffel was propped against the rear wall of the main cabin, and opening the top when she reached it, she pulled out what was inside - in this case a crushed box of twinkies. "They're not ho-hos, I know, but hopefully they're enough to substitute. After all they're within the same family."

"You're forgiven." He offered her one, but she shook her head in negative. "No thanks. As it is, the sandwich and the apple were more than enough for me." His smile broadened as he ripped the outer wrapping. "All the better, I suppose: you always end up saying they're too sweet. I gotta wonder though, what kind of sick person doesn't like Hostess? I certainly haven't seen that particular gene variance in Natauni."

She tried her best to look affronted. "Well some of us eat like grown-ups. You know - we don't put ketchup on the table with the salt and the pepper." She smirked at his insulted expression before closing the flap again, and returned to the console beside him. Chance Danton didn't grace her a reply a second time - he had his mouth full of twinkie.

Thankfully his sweet tooth had always been a ready distraction. Chance Danton's moments of predictability were her greatest comfort - if only because the gave a weak sense of control.

"Grandpa thinks too much, doesn't he?" A six year old Emily had confided that to her once. At the time, it had taken every bit of willpower she had not to laugh at the serious little girl. It had been the purer *surety* of the assessment - both from a blind person and a child. the term 'out of the mouth of babes' didn't even begin to cut it.

"He's got a hero complex, incognito - and don't let him try and deny it." This latter statement had come from her own daughter, Natauni. "Don't believe a single word of his 'group effort' spiels...he's bound to save the world with good intentions and homemade chicken soup. See, no one ever bothered to inform him he wasn't made of Super Glue. And heaven help him if he ever runs out of parsley." Both their girls read him too well - almost as accurately as she and Karysha had, in fact. Chance Danton didn't just wear his heart on his sleeve - he kept it stapled to his forehead.

"Calling Copeland - do you read?" Chance Danton's hand on her arm made her jump. "Better do an iris check Ellie - your eyes are gonna start bleeding if they get any more burgundy." He tiled his head in exasperation, "You know there's not much point in trying to prod me out of my funk, if you're just gonna turn around and start obsessing *for* me."

She cursed and turned around to retrieve her backpack. "I *knew* I shoulda worn my contacts." How many years and he still gave her the creeps when he said that. "Honestly Danton - that was plain rude." She started digging in yet another pocket, "Haven't you ever heard of polite *subtlety?*"The tall albino refused to look even slightly repentant. "Well you're practicing blatant doubled standards - and you know it. Yes I'm tense - but you're probably even more so then me." He shook a finger in her face. "*You're* the one who's a human mood-ring - everything is the eyes, as they say. So don't bother trying to say you're more adjusted to this mess."

Her scowl deepened even further. "You'd be best to stop all this gloating. And as for the 'mood ring' dig - you really should't be talking, Buddy. At least *I* don't look like a six foot tall q-tip who cross-bred one to many times. A Q-tip in desperate need of a haircut, might I add well I'm at it."

"Now that's just an old argument" Chance was still very amused. "And I don't know why you bother rehashing it, anyway. I *know* you like the pony tail, Lee..." He chuckled at her skeptical expression, "Karysha quoted you word for word after that poker night - remember? And we both know you can't lie when you're drunk."

"The woman never heard any such thing...your wife could lie like a rug." Her voice was derisive as she checked the last pocket, still without success. "Your glasses are in the bathroom, Elisha - I saw them lying by the sink. And as for lying - wasn't that more *your* specialty?"

He hadn't meant the words to hurt, but she couldn't suppress a wince, nonetheless. Her choice to contact Emily rather than him had been deliberate, and if asked to do it again, she would do so without a thought. < I guess this is just one of those times when the right thing's the right thing, but it doesn't make you feel like any less of a louse in the long run.>

"Okay now she's turned muddy orange." A suddenly gentle voice cut into her ruminations. Any hope she might have harbored about him not noticing her reaction to the comment blipped out as quickly as any light on the computer's main screen. He put a hand under her chin. "Now what have I told you about all these negative emotions? Not only do they accomplish nothing constructive, but darling as I've said before, winter tones simply *aren't* suited for your coloring..."

It was an offer of...what exactly? Maybe not full forgiveness, but peace. She shook her head, "I'm still expecting a lecture for this, you know."

"Oh you'll get one," He assured her affectionately, "But I figure I might as well wait till we find the girls and know they're safe, first. That way I won't have to give it multiple times."

----------

He truly wished on days like these that somebody would explain it to him: < I mean is it really that unreasonable - am I asking too much?> He'd have gladly take the common male-orientated worry over simple things like hair loss or weight gain in stride.

he acknowledged ruefully. Time travel and insane super-villains bent on world destruction tended to be conversational deterrents of themselves, setting aside any involvement of one's family tree. He wouldn't even get into the issue of handling parental discipline.

< I almost got sorta...used...to it.> He liked to think he'd handled it quite well, all things considered. As long as he'd refused to think about the details too often or to deeply, he also managed to maintain a kind of fragile sanity about the man he called his son. The moments were rare when the buffers he'd established didn't hold against the plain facts of his life. One simply got used to not trying to explain the bizarre nature of reality.

But then there were moments like these. He wondered briefly why the thought didn't phase him in the slightest. He also didn't allow himself to dwell too long on the fact that best as he could tell, the canine in question was the seemingly rational one in the conversation.

No one present was suicidal enough to suggest the exhausted Cable might have been better off to hand the reigns over to someone with a little less emotional spasticity. Scott particularly understood the control involved: maintaining order was the only defense Nathan had left against the panic. A psi-link in chaos was like a never-ending heart attack, and given the pull he knew Nate had to be feeling toward his in-absent partner, he was just glad his son hadn't bolted off to conduct his own search the minute another medically-able telepath came through the front door.

Having been through similar experiences with his and Jean's link, he'd have been foolish to think otherwise. That kind of stress with that kind of power was just far too unstable - particularly when his son was the one in question. Nate had never lost his knack for proving how far he could go. His wife's secondary probe of the patient had echoed Nathan's own conclusion of psychic shock. It had been her next comment, though, that marked the greatest change in their son. "I'll watch her awhile - now MOVE IT, NATHAN. You're projecting aggression like a god-damned novice emergent. The team will keep looking for Dom and *you're* gonna meditate while we do so. Now go find your center, before you knock the whole west coast out."

If it had been anyone but his mother, they'd probably *still* be mopping the mess up from the floor. Jean Summers, however, had held the distinct advantage of inbred and enforced maternal fear. Nathan had actually grudgingly agreed - despite even Dresden's revelation. He'd disappeared for thirty minutes, and seemed much less short tempered for the effort...

^Careful hon - some things aren't how they appear.^

He started at the unexpected interjection, then turned to the woman beside him. ^He may not look it, but despite the rest he took, I'd actually say he's steadily getting worse.*^ Well so much for his apparent observation skills. He should have remembered a composed Nate was more deadly then a loud one. And they said comfort was found in the details.

The man in issue was pacing, back and forth across the tile floor: his tight face and posture the only clear outward sign of his frustration. Scott could understand the dog's defensive mindset, given that he was among strangers.

He'd just refered to a dog as a 'person' - it was definitely time to review his job options. Come to think of it - under other circumstances - the exchange in progress might have been funny in perspective.

They'd certainly taken the same course on sharing sensitive information.

He saw Nathan stiffen slightly from his spot beside him, and saw Jean shoot a warning look at him as she reached out to take Cable's arm. He must have broadcast the sentiment a little more fervently then he'd intended. ^Still, I think I earned that one, Jean... you were no more sympathetic toward me this morning when we woke up.^ Being dragged out of bed at three am was not his idea of a pleasure trip. Especially when his wife refused to say why they were going.

^I told you: Emily-Partner-Cub is in a mind sleep. She does not wake, yes...but it is not from her body's injuries.^ The massive canine yawned widely, shifting his back feet as they started slipping off the biobed. "Now I ask again: where's the other? Where's the older-cub who lives among you? She must be presentwhen EldestDanton arrives.^

He was talking about Domino. That much had been a fairly obvious guess to even him. The second comment, though, caught Scott distinctly off guard. "Are you saying we should expect people to come looking for you? Still there was one hope left in the possibility, and he voiced it almost to himself. "Could they possibly be with our missing colleague?"

The dog turned and looked at him after he spoke, and Scott had to remind himself not to be startled. Intense green eyes seemed to size him up for a moment and then the dog tilted his head before answering. ^It is as you say. Two are coming. ElderWolf and Liz Copeland. They speak for all the Hakanians...and for this cub in particulair. But as I've already said, they'll only be *looking* for her mother. Which is why it is very important that you find your 'Domino.'^

^Well that was certainly helpful.^ Scott pointedly ignored Nathan's telepathic retort. "All right, your leaders are coming - but we're still at an impasse about finding our mutual colleague. Was she going to be meeting with you when the accident first took place this morning? Is that why she disappeared? any help you can give us will only assure we locate her faster."

The canine snuffed in response; sending bits of fur in all directions. ^The elder-cub left the den long ago - we don't track her movements." He tilted his head, "It was unexpected to come here... I only recognized her scent when we arrived. Still, it's bad that you can not find her, since she's likely as sick as her cub at this point. Eldest Danton will need to see them both if he's to heal whatever caused this.^

"Ah guess we're gonna meet Domino's family," Sam's quiet voice broke the silence momentarily. A moment later, it was broken again by a hoarse chuckle from Nathan. "Thanks for enlightening us Gutherie...we hadn't figured that out. So tell me Dresden: other then biting, can you actually do anything *useful?*"

"Aw give him a break, Cable. He's doing the best that he can. He didn't ask for this, you know...Sam and Terry *brought* him here without knowing any better. We oughtta be glad he was even open to talking. He didn't have to, you know. For goodness sakes, when he got here we *muzzled* him."

The question sounded almost foolish just seconds after he thought it. After all, Tabitha had always been known for doing the slightly off-key. Still it was strange to see how quickly she came to the animal's defense.

"We did that after he got aggressive - it was a misunderstanding..." Nate didn't as much as twitch at Tabitha's comment as Scott continued cautiously. "We really aren't making accusations...we're just extremely concerned for our colleague. IS there anything helpful - even something small, you can tell us?"

^I have no idea where DomCub is.^ Now Dresden was beginning to sound distinctly annoyed himself. ^As I said, my job is to watch over CubEmily.^ He gave what sounded nearly like a snort as he looked at Dayspring. "Why do you lose your packmates so easily? Are you honestly saying you can't track your own *mate?*"

< I wonder if you kill a sentient dog - is that first degree murder?> If so, it was probably best he find his son a lawyer to keep on retainer just as quickly as possible. He closed his eyes and prayed the mental blast would take him quickly.

What he got was a sharp crack, then the tinkling sound of shattered glass. He looked up to see his son with a palm full of sharded crystal. "If you'll excuse me," Nathan's voice was monotone as he dropped the once full test tube of blood in the sink. "I have an old friend I have to track down and kill."

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