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Transitions (CA - Uno, Mark, & the Shepherds)

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Once upon a time when I was five years old, I wanted to be a police officer or a fireman. I may have also wanted to be a superhero and wear a cape, but the memories are hazy.

Then I wanted to be a werewolf hunter and rid the lands of the scourge of the earth.

Then I became the scourge of the earth and worked on wanting to be alive.

And now I was back to the original aspiration of being some donut-eating cop.

The application was right where I'd left it by the tax returns.  It also turned out I'd made absolutely no mistakes and could have mailed it in months ago (except for the tiny ketchup stain in the corner). I could mail it in right now, if I wanted to. I could, but there was one more thing I had to do before my own head would let me.

And that involved standing in front of Chapman's door mid-morning. I could have called ahead. I should have - he was probably out.  But I'd been in the neighborhood, and it was just the funny way I tricked myself into doing something I'd been dreading. Chapman always said we only came with bad news. Which was true. And this wasn't even bad news, but maybe it was something by association.

Taking a deep breath, I rapped my knuckles against the door and waited.

The house was far from empty. The cars were parked on the side of the two story home. From the belly of the house, a chorus of voices hushed. Bob's muffled voice came up on the other side, the boisterous boom of it unmistakable.

The door was unlocked and opened, and perhaps all at once Uno would catch the scent of several werewolves inside. Bob seemed unshaken to see Uno standing there and smiled in his usual warm way, yet put himself between the door of the home and Uno, closing the door behind him. Bob had been tasked by Steele all of those years ago to assist after Uno and Robin's final and gruesome run in with Darius' pack, and understood their unease around new werewolves; especially pack units.

"Some of mine inside, all good folk-but we can talk out here if you'd like. Your call... and actually," Bob raised a pensive eyebrow, "this concerns you, too."

Inside, four werewolves sat in various arrangements around the living room. Mercer, a taller, later middle aged man with black hair, green eyes and a lean build, looked quietly to Clay - a man of roughly the same age, but was instead dark complected with a bald head and stronger, shorter build. He blinked his tawny eyes in response to the look. Tara leaned back and stared towards the door with her brown eyes-she was of a light olive complexion, tall and slender, with dark long hair in frizzy curls. Reggie sat nearest to Mercer, he was both tall and broad in stature, with dark hair, brown eyes that hosted a red sheen, and a warm brown complexion.

There was a trepidation about the room, hardly on account of Uno's presence. Clay's voice, deep and thick, came first, breaking the silence.

"One of the loners," he observed.

Mercer nodded. Tara leaned forward and extended her long fingers, putting out a cigarette in the ashtray before clasping her hands together.  "He's got his granddaughter up in those mountains." she said, her voice soft and quiet.

"Not to mention the welp in the belly of Pinerich." Clay added.

"What happened to that group? The "Red Lions", right?" Tara asked, eyes turning on Mercer.

"Internal conflict... " Mercer responded.

"They picked a terrible place for a camp, with those flowers up there in the mountains. I still can't believe we found that woman and her son." Tara changed the subject as quickly as she introduced the last one. The rest of the group was used to her way of conversation by now and went with it easily.

"Is it such a bad idea..?" Clay asked with a raised eyebrow. The room became silent as they pondered the idea.

Reggie fiddled with his fingers and shifted anxiously. He hadn't said anything as of yet. The others noticed his silence, but knew the reason for it, and there was nothing that could be said at the time to put him at ease.

Whether or not Bob called himself an alpha, these were his betas. Although he referred to them as Captains, and himself as a Chief (now officially retired from the actual position). Each of the Captains had no less than four subordinates below them, none of which were present for this meeting.

The smell of other were's wafted and there was a momentary freeze in the tracks of my brain.  But all things considered, it wasn't the weirdest thing that could be found at Chapman's house.  Chapman knew, of course, of mine and Robin's hesitation around groups of our own kind.  But if I spent my life wrapping bubble wrap around everything that bothered me, I'd probably never get down the street.

"It's fine," I said, setting aside the little bubble of panic. I focused instead on the sound of the voices inside, and the tones of their conversation.

I frowned. This just got a whole lot more complicated than asking for Chapman's blessing (and advice) on a career move. But with Chapman, when wasn't it?

"What's going on?"

Then, almost laughing at myself when I said it (because I knew it was a loaded question besides), I added, "And how can I help?"

"Oh, nothing out of the usual." in spite of Val's reassurances, Bob wasn't ready to go directly back inside. Instead he put a reassuring hand on Val's shoulder and guided him along to the side of the house, strolling along it casually.

"As you know, I'm officially retired as a public servant. I'm getting on in years and the kind of work we do, well- you need a good back and a healthy heart." he chuckled loudly, putting his hands behind his back.

"Eleanor and I are tired. Now, this doesn't mean I'm not going to be working in the background.. but I do need to officially appoint my replacement by January. As both an officer and leader of this unit, this is a serious matter."

They were at the back of the house now. It had a deck and a grill, and Chapman came to sit on the steps of the deck.

"Clay in there has the qualifications for the official position, but he's going to need a replacement as Captain prior to his promotion.."

Chapman looked forward into the fields cast long and far behind his country homestead. If Val thought the silence was going to last - he was mistaken, but surely he knew how long winded Bob could be. His lungs clearly weren't suffering for his age.

"You have a good heart. You've been in the dredges and you've seen the likes that we defend against, and those who are in need of protection.. guarding the threshold is a serious, and often grim matter. You've seen first hand what happens when you get too close."

"I know this is asking a lot of you. But you have a support system in there ready to help, however that may be. The paperwork is easy and we can get you to where you need to be quickly.. but I would need to know that you're willing. There are no sore feelings if you choose not to, but you're my first choice."

I never knew how Chapman did it.  You thought you were talking about one thing and suddenly it was the other - or somehow, he plucked the thoughts out of your brain right when you thought you were being original.  I followed him along the side of the house and sighed deeply.  There really was no going back.  But it wasn't like I could ever have gone back to any of my other lifetimes, either.

".... You know just what to say, don't you?" I watched him steadily, meeting his eyes.

I glanced side-long towards the road I'd come down and glanced at my new car parked on the street thoughtfully, "I doubt Robin's had a chance to tell you where my head's been at lately, but I actually was going to ask for your blessing to fill out an application for the academy.... If I can make even one person's life half as miserable as mine's been at the threshold, I would. You know that".

I frowned, turning back to Chapman, "I personally don't think I'm in any way qualified for what you have in mind.  But if it's the best way to help someone, I would".

Chapman's eyes got an eager glint and his face lit up.

"Good!" he exclaimed, giving Val an overzealous slap on the back.

"We got the application taken care of already." he stood up now with a sheepish grin. "I mean, sure, you can turn that in. Don't worry too much about the technical stuff though. I hate paperwork. Tara is in charge of making sure that all gets sorted."

"Oh, there is one other thing.. not a deal breaker by any means. But I'd like you to see the family therapist. He's in town right now. I'll set you up. You've been through a lot, and we can't ignore that it's given you some unique perspective, but there's a lot that goes along with that. You need to have a clear mind."

Chapman's enthusiasm unnerved me.  I thought I knew what I was signing up for - and then just some part of me was doubting it.  But then again, I doubted everything.  May as well do something half-way productive while I doubted it.

I braced his enthusiasm with something I meant to be a smile, but probably came out more like a dead-man's grin.

"Uh-huh...." I replied absently, not really paying attention as Chapman babbled on about his magical paperwork backdoors. Why would I be surprised? He'd probably have me in a uniform by next week.

I almost missed the second part, "What?"

Chapman's last "family therapist" had been his own daughter, Rebecca.  It wasn't that I was adverse to it - but it was well, I was a little adverse to it. Someone I didn't know, just pulling apart all the little strings I stitched myself back together with.

"Who are they?" I asked with a frown.

"He's human. He's good at his job. Just meet him over coffee and if it's not a fit, that's fine."

Bob responded evenly. The health of the mind was equally as important as the health of the mind and soul.

"Do you want to meet them now or wait..?" Bob asked, glancing sideways at the door.

I gave Chapman a double take but ultimately offered a noncommittal nod to his request I meet the man for lunch.  I couldn’t shake the feeling this poor man might be somehow more misled than me in the entire affair.

“I’ll meet them,” I confirmed as it related to the group inside and tried not to make it sound like I’d just agreed to sit in the dentists chair, “But first, there’s something else. Something sensitive and on the topic of thresholds”.

 

I watched his expression carefully while simultaneously keeping mine neutral, “Do you remember Lyra Torres?”

 

 

"Of course," Bob gave something of a half smile, some reservation on his face, then some hesitancy, then the expression transformed to clearly perplexed. "Hold on, how do you know her?"

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