Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mike wakes up and bounces out of bed. It’s a longer drop down and he ends up closer to the floor than usual, but he doesn’t really notice, because it’s morning! Time to be up and doing things! Time to get food.

A dirty sock on the floor beside the laundry basket catches his eye and he pounces, bites it, shakes his head vigorously and then flings it in the air to catch it in his mouth again. Then he pauses, making an uneasy noise. Something’s weird.

Everything feels great, but… he’s not sure, there’s something nagging at him.

Dropping the sock, he pads out into the hallway. Chuck will know what’s up, Chuck is the smart one.

Chuck’s door is almost shut, just a hair from the latch catching, and Mike lets out his breath in a soft, frustrated whuff. Then he noses firmly at the crack of the door until it pushes open a couple inches, at which point he can wedge his nose in the opening and shove his way through.

Chuck makes a quiet mumbling noise from under his blanket, and Mike bounces happily over—Chuck! It’s Chuck! Mike can’t wait to say hi!

He pokes under a fold of blanket and burrows his head in until he can prod Chuck’s bare arm with his nose. Chuck’s sleepy moan of protest turns into a much more awake yelp, and Mike jerks back at the loudness right in his ear.

“Mikey!” Chuck groans. “Wh’ the hell, dude, ice is uncool!”

Mike has no idea what he’s talking about, but it’s not important. It’s time to get up! He bounces a little beside the bed, waiting hopefully, but Chuck just pulls the blanket around himself more firmly and goes still again. Not good enough, he needs to get up!

Mike bounces again and makes a medium-quiet but demanding noise to point this out.

Chuck yelps again, much louder this time, and twists around fast before scrambling back on the bed to press his back against the wall, breathing hard. “Oh my god,” he says, faint and shaky, and the smell of his fear is sharp in Mike’s nose. “Okay, okay, there’s a stray dog in the hideout, don’t freak out. Okay.”

Mike goes very still. Chuck is still panting, smelling like he’s scared, staring at Mike like he’s what’s scary, and… a stray dog. Oh.

That explains why Mike had trouble opening the door! He knew Chuck would tell him what was going on.

Satisfied, he sits down and whines hopefully at Chuck, cocking his head. Maybe Chuck will get up now? Mike is being as harmless as he can, he thinks, unless he lies down, and he doesn’t want to do that because what if it makes Chuck think it’s okay to go back to bed?

“Okay,” Chuck says again, smelling a little less scared. “Um, good boy, girl, whatever, good dog, don’t bite me.”

Mike gives him an offended wuff and stands up again, dancing backwards towards the door, then turns toward it and looks pointedly back at Chuck.

“Much better, yeah, you stay over there,” Chuck tells him, “and, uh, Miiiike?” he calls towards the door. “You up, bro? Can you come in here?”

Mike barks more loudly about that, because he’s right here, thanks, and Chuck doesn’t seem very happy to see him. The bark makes Chuck flinch back against the wall again, though, and then Mike feels bad. He whines apologetically, gives up and slinks glumly back out into the hallway.

He’s thirsty. Oh, hey, there’s water in the little room over here.

Happily lapping, Mike is vaguely aware of Chuck edging into the hallway and peeking in the door behind him.

“Oh, gross! Don’t drink out of the toilet!” Chuck says, but he doesn’t try to pull Mike away, which is good, because Mike is thirsty and the water tastes fine. “Uuugh, Mike!”

Mike’s head jerks up hopefully, but Chuck wasn’t talking to him, has already turned away and is stepping through the door of Mike’s room. “Bro, do you know—oh crap, he’s already up.”

Mike finishes drinking and follows Chuck, sliding past his legs as he squeaks and jerks away. It smells good in here, right and comfortable and safe, but it’s even better with Chuck standing there. Even if he still smells uneasy.

“Huh,” Chuck says, frowning at Mike’s cowboy boots, and then at his jacket, tossed over the seat of the chair by the wall.

Mike gets up on his bed and Chuck snaps, “Hey! Get off, you’ll get the blankets dirty! Get down, go on!”

Mike isn’t dirty, he’s a perfectly clean dog! Hurt and offended, he barks a protest, sending Chuck flinching back nervously, and then feels guilty and gets down anyway.

Fine, if Chuck doesn’t want him around, he’ll go somewhere else.

Stairs are an adventure, on all fours, but Mike flings himself joyously down them and his paws sort themselves out without much trouble. Then he heads for the kitchen, because it’s time for food.

Jacob’s in there standing by the counter when Mike bounces in, and he jerks back in startlement, knife held high, before blowing out a breath and staring at Mike. “Well, where’d you come from, fella?”

Prudently Mike waits until Jacob puts the knife down before he goes over to say hi, wagging energetically.

“Aht, paws on the floor, don’t you bounce on me,” Jacob says firmly when Mike tries to rear up, but those clever old hands are busy rubbing behind Mike’s ears, so Jacob can’t really be annoyed. “Friendly guy, aren’tcha? Big boy, nice thick coat—somebody takes good care of you, huh. Mmph—stop that,” he adds, but he’s laughing as Mike licks his face, what’s visible of it between mustache and sideburns. Jacob is just great, Mike is so glad he’s here.

“Really friendly, good grief!” Jacob says, straightening up again. He gives Mike one last ear ruffle and frowns down at him. “But how the Sam Hill did you get in here? I thought I’d sealed off every last hole this place had, to keep the rats out, and there’s no way you came in through the entry tunnel…”

“’Morning,” Dutch says, stepping into the kitchen, and then stops dead, wide-eyed. “Uh! You got a, is that a dog?”

“He ain’t mine, but he sure is a dog,” Jacob says.

Excited, Mike starts towards Dutch, halting abruptly when Dutch backpedals. He doesn’t smell as scared as Chuck did, but still nervous. It sucks.

“Seems like a real friendly fella, you don’t have to worry about him bitin’ or anything,” Jacob contributes, and Dutch gives him an uncertain look. “Ah, I forget, you haven’t been down here long enough to get used to animals yet. C’mere, we’ll have a little Motorcity acclimation session.”

Dutch laughs a little, taking a single cautious step forward. “It’s been an age since we did that, man, I thought we were finished! Thought I’d got everything down here figured out already.”

“Well, pretty close. Just the one last thing, looks like.”

“Is that why you brought him here, to teach us how to handle a dog?”

“I didn’t bring him in,” Jacob says. “I’m guessing it was Texas.”

“What was Texas? Hey, Dutch, stop blockin’ the doorway, Texas needs his muscle mulch.”

Dutch steps aside and Texas saunters into the kitchen, sees Mike, and stares, open-mouthed. “We got a dog?” Without waiting for an answer, he bends over, grinning at Mike. “Who’s a good boy, huh?”

Mike flings himself ecstatically at Texas, licking his face and bouncing on him, and Texas laughs and rubs his neck and muzzle and pounds on his side with one heavy palm. It feels so good Mike flops onto his back, and then Texas rubs his belly and it’s even better. Mike’s leg twitches rhythmically and he pants with his tongue hanging out in bliss, tail thumping on the floor.

“Is that, uh, safe?” Dutch says uncertainly from off to the side.

“’Course, why wouldn’t it be!” Texas says. “Ohhh, right, Deluxe got no pets. You can pat him if you want, he likes it!”

Dutch hesitates, then comes over and slowly crouches down next to Mike. Texas pulls his hand away, making space, and Mike looks up at Dutch and holds still hopefully. One long brown hand reaches out and delicately lands on Mike’s belly, strokes carefully, then rubs back and forth with more confidence when he just wags his tail.

“Yeah, you love the belly rubs, don’tcha,” Texas says, rubbing under Mike’s muzzle and down the underside of his neck, and Mike’s leg starts going again. Dutch’s hand jerks back in startlement, then returns.

“Huh,” Dutch says. “Well, cool.” He pats a few more times before standing back up.

“So, Texas,” Jacob starts, “did you—”

“Guys, has anyone seen Mike this morning?” Chuck asks from the doorway.

Mike wriggles back to his feet and bounces up with a pointed bark. Hello, he is right here!

“Oh god!” Chuck yelps, jumping hard. “Why is the stray in the kitchen!? It could take someone’s arm off! Or, or give us diseases!”

“No he won’t!” Texas says as he gets to his feet, sounding as offended as Mike is.

“He seems pretty dang healthy to me,” Jacob says mildly. “And he’s no stray, either. Way too friendly and laid back for that, he’s got owners somewhere who are probably missin’ him. What I wanna know is, how’d he get here? You think Mike brought him in?”

“Only if he did it barefoot and without his jacket!” Chuck says, waving his arms. “His boots and jacket are still in his room, Mutt’s in the garage, and I can’t find him anywhere in the hideout!”

Mike barks again and bounces a little, trying to get Chuck’s attention, but that only makes Chuck shrink away from him. Dejected, Mike whines softly and leans against Texas’s legs, winning an absent ear rub.

“Well, he’s gotta be here,” Dutch says, pulling up a screen and tapping on it. “His tracker says… he’s here, he’s in the hideout.”

“I know,” Chuck says, “but unless he’s hiding under somebody’s bed, I don’t know where he could be! I even checked the storage closets.” Staring at Mike, he licks his lips. “What if,” he says shakily, “the dog killed and ate Mike?”

Texas starts a hot protest, but Mike doesn’t hear what it is because he’s so frustrated and exasperated he just starts barking.

“Quiet down!” Jacob snaps, and Mike subsides with a grumbling huff. Flopping down on the floor, he lays his head on his paws and whines at Chuck, who’s partly hiding behind the doorway, looking pale. Mike didn’t kill himself, he’s fine, this is dumb!

“I’m not like, an expert on dogs or anything,” Dutch says slowly, “but did that seem weird to anybody else? Like he knew he was being accused of something and got mad. But dogs aren’t that smart, are they?”

Lifting his head, Mike looks at Dutch and barks pointedly.

“Uh,” Dutch says, laughing a little. “Seriously, it’s like he knows I’m talking about him.”

“…Hm,” Jacob says.

“Nah, he’s probably just mad Chuck won’t pat him!” Texas says. “Get over here already, unless you’re gonna be a scaredy-cat about it.”

“I’m not—shut up!” Chuck says, straightening up a little and not coming any closer. “I’m being sensibly cautious about an obvious potential danger, not that you’d have a clue about that! That thing is basically an organic HOUND, it’s way smarter than it should be, and it has big pointy teeth! Jacob, back me up!”

Jacob sighs, and it’s a minute before he says, “An animal killin’ something is always messy. You just said you’d been all over the hideout, kid—you see any big blood spatters?”

“Oh,” Chuck says. “Well, no, but what if—”

“Plus, his breath doesn’t smell like blood,” Jacob goes on firmly, “and anyway I don’t figure Mike could fight off all Kane’s killbots for this long on the regular just to get taken down by a dog.”

Yes, thank you, Jacob. Mike barks in agreement, wagging his tail. Dutch’s eyes widen a little.

“But you kids sure are right about him bein’ smart,” Jacob finishes.

“What, so he’s like a dog genius or something?” Texas says.

“Bark once for yes and twice for no,” Dutch mutters to himself, smiling a little.

Even if he means it as a joke, though, it’s a great idea! Mike jumps up to his feet, turning to face Dutch, and eagerly barks once. Then he thinks better of it, because he’s not really a genius just because he’s smarter than a real dog, and barks twice more.

Jacob makes a noise like he was about to say something and changed his mind. Chuck slowly crosses his arms. Dutch glances around uncertainly, and Mike hurries over to sit down at his feet, whining a little. It’s not his fault it was a hard question! Dutch can’t give up on him yet, he’s gotta give Mike another chance.

“Okay, so, he’s a genius, but he forgot he wasn’t supposed to tell cuz it’s a big secret,” Texas says. “So like, are you a secret agent sent by the Duke or somebody to spy on us, or are you tryin’ to join the Burners so you can spy for us, or are you just, like, a real smart dog, I guess?”

Mike cranes his neck to look back at Texas and whines in confusion. That was so many options, and the first two were wrong but the third was kind of right, and he doesn’t know how to say that in barks.

“You gotta ask yes-no questions, man,” Dutch says, “one thing at a time, right? If we really wanna prove he understands us.”

“Or we could just—hey,” Chuck says. “Look at the ceiling.”

Mike obediently points his nose straight up.

There’s a brief silence.

“Good job, lil dude, you got it!” Texas says, bending over and holding his hands out, and Mike jumps to his feet to go get reward pats.

“That’s, uh, isn’t that kind of condescending, Texas?” Dutch says.

Mike looks over at him and barks twice before shoving his head under Texas’s hand for more ear rubs.

Chuck huffs a brief, startled laugh. “Okay, and he understands polysyllabic words, too. He, she? Do we know that’s a male dog?”

Mike barks once and Jacob snorts. “Well, I was about to say we got pretty clear on that while he was getting belly rubs, but seems like he can answer for himself, too.”

“Wait, we what?!” Dutch says.

“He’s got junk!” Texas says. “Lil furry balls, didn’t you notice?”

Mike should probably be paying attention to whatever they’re saying, but Texas just hit a really good spot with the scritches.

“Okay, well, anyway,” Chuck says, and goes on talking. Then there’s a pause.

“Well?” Texas says, and stops rubbing Mike’s ears. Mike looks up at him, hoping for more. “You gonna answer the question?”

Oh, shoot. Mike glances from Texas to Dutch to Chuck and whines an apology, thumping his tail on the floor.

“Texas, did you pat him so much he went deaf?” Dutch says, laughing.

Mike barks once, which makes Dutch laugh even harder.

“Okay, pay attention this time,” Chuck says sternly, and Mike sits up straight and looks at him attentively. “Just for the record, did you hurt or injure Mike Chilton in any way? Oh shoot, he might not even know who that is—”

Mike barks twice firmly, waits a moment, and barks once.

“You—are you saying you know Mike?”

That’s a weird way to phrase it, but it’d be weirder to say he doesn’t know himself, so he barks agreement.

“Well,” Chuck says slowly, breathing out. “Good, okay. Assuming he’s not lying, I mean—”

Jumping up to his feet, Mike barks twice at him in annoyance.

“Yeah, but you would say that if you were lying,” Chuck points out. Mike gives a grumbling huff and turns his back on Chuck, looking up at Texas hopefully.

“Oooh, snubbed!” Dutch says as Texas automatically ruffles Mike’s ears.

“Okay, but then where is Mike?” Chuck says, waving his arms and smelling angry-upset. “How are we supposed to—”

Mike whips back around and bounces towards him, barking excitedly, yes, yes, yes, the only way he can think to signal I’m here!

“Wait,” Chuck breathes. “Do you know where Mike is?”

Mike barks once loud enough that Dutch and Chuck both wince.

“So where is he, then?” Texas says.

“That’s not a yes or no—”

“Can you take us to him?” Chuck demands. “We’ll follow you, just lead us there!”

Mike spins in circles in the middle of the floor, claws scrabbling on the tiles, whining frantically. He’s right here, he can’t lead them anywhere else! If they don’t understand now, they’re not gonna figure it out anywhere else either.

“Hold up, there,” Jacob says, sounding tired. “Everybody calm down. Come over here, pup.”

Mike trots over to him, still whining softly until Jacob shushes him, stroking his ears back. “You know just where Mike is, don’t you, and you know he’s fine, right?”

A loud, grateful agreeing bark and Jacob’s the one wincing this time. “Quiet barking,” he says. “Inside voice, boy.”

Mike lets out a much quieter, repentant wuff.

Jacob pats his head and sighs long and quiet, staring into his face. “You’re Mike, aren’t you.”

Mike is so stunned it takes him several seconds to bark an ecstatic affirmative—too loud, again, and he licks Jacob’s face enthusiastically in apology and gratitude.

“Wait, but,” Texas says.

“That’s not possible,” Dutch says faintly.

“Wha,” Chuck says, and then, rallying, “Dude, whoever you are, don’t lick people’s faces when you just drank out of the toilet!”

“Mmph,” Jacob says, pushing Mike away and keeping him there with firm ear rubs. “Good to know,” he sighs. “Anyway, you kids wouldn’t be so quick to call anything impossible if you were my age. I remember back when floating buildings were a crazy idea!”

“Well, yeah, but,” Dutch says. “I mean. Other than Mike being gone and the dog being here, what makes you think he’s Mike?”

“Bunch of stuff,” Jacob says, straightening up. Mike doesn’t complain because one hand keeps idly patting his head. “For one, I don’t figure somebody’s pet who wandered far enough away from home to end up here woulda had a fun time of it out there. He’d be scared and dirty and probably hungry—”

Mike can’t help inserting a quiet, hopeful woof of agreement at that point, and Jacob frowns down at him, then snorts.

“Lemme guess, you’re tellin’ me you want breakfast,” he says, and Mike gives another demure bark. “Fine, we’ll see what you think of some liver.” He turns to the fridge and pulls out a container, and a delicious smell drifts out as soon as he opens it. Mike’s mouth waters.

“Anyway, a poor critter like that wouldn’t be bouncin’ up to total strangers like us trying to make friends, he’d be all crouched and slinking and maybe fear-growling until he figured we were safe,” Jacob says, picking up a different knife and starting to chop the liver. Mike leans up against his legs to make sure Jacob doesn’t forget he’s right here waiting, tries to poke his nose over the edge of the counter and gets a stern aht! and a hand pushing his muzzle down again.

“Meanwhile,” Jacob goes on, “this guy seemed like he knew us the whole time, and he doesn’t act like he’s anywhere unfamiliar: he’s totally relaxed and at home. Because he lives here. And I know you boys aren’t used to dogs,” he adds, glancing over from Dutch to Chuck, “but they gotta be trained to respond to commands, they don’t just obey off the cuff. They don’t understand English more’n a few words.”

“Yeah, no, totally,” Texas says, “but like—seriously? That’s Mike?”

“Mike, go over to Dutch,” Jacob says without looking up from his chopping.

Mike whines at him, because what about breakfast? What if Jacob forgets that food is supposed to be for Mike and eats it himself?

“Go on, I’m not done chopping this up yet,” Jacob says firmly.

Mike heaves a deep, downcast sigh and goes over to sit down on Dutch’s foot.

“Uh,” Dutch says. “Okay?”

“Good,” Jacob says. “Now go over to Chuck.”

Puzzled, Mike gets up and starts over to Chuck, wagging his tail a little and trying not to make any sudden moves. Chuck doesn’t step back, although he’s watching Mike carefully and smells nervous. Mike stops a little ways back, then edges closer, closer, and noses Chuck’s hand before it hastily pulls away.

“He wants pats, duh,” Texas says.

Chuck frowns down at Mike, then slowly and awkwardly lowers his hand to stiffly pat the top of Mike’s head twice. Mike wags his tail gamely, because any pats are better than no pats.

“So what does that…?” Dutch starts.

“Mike, go over to Jacob,” Jacob says.

Mike looks at him in confusion, because that’s a weird way to phrase it, but there’s gotta be a reason, so he goes back over anyway. Also, now he’s closer to the breakfast preparation and can keep Jacob from forgetting him.

“Did any of you introduce yourselves to this fella while I wasn’t around?” Jacob asks dryly. “Because I sure as heck didn’t. But he knows our names anyway.”

“I mean, to be fair, everyone in Motorcity knows our…” Dutch starts, and trails off.

“Yeah, but if we’re positing he’s actually a human in dog form anyway,” Chuck says.

“Right, yeah,” Dutch sighs. “Then it’s pretty crazy to assume he’s someone besides Mike.”

“So if he’s really Mike, why’s he a dog?” Texas demands.

“Why’s he act so much like a dog, too?” Dutch says.

Jacob shrugs eloquently.

“Huh,” Texas says. “Wonder if he still remembers how to drive a car.”

Mike’s head snaps over to stare at him, and then the delicious smell of breakfast is forgotten as Mike goes tearing out of the kitchen, past Chuck and his startled yelp, and down to the garage. He has to still be able to drive Mutt, he has to! He’s still him, he’s just a different shape.

The cars all look weird and wrong like this, but Mike can smell him and Chuck all over the long boxy one over here, even if it’s somehow gone brown instead of green. He trots over to the driver’s side door, noses at the handle, and looks around in dismay. How is he supposed to open the door without hands?

Lifting up a paw, he tugs at the handle clumsily, then scrabbles with both paws. Come on, it has to work! It’s his car!

“Aww, Mikey,” Chuck sighs, jogging up behind him. “Bro, you couldn’t even steer like this, you don’t have thumbs! Not to mention that you couldn’t reach the pedals.”

Turning to him, Mike whines in utter dismay, then goes and thumps his head against Chuck’s thigh. Chuck’s hand drops onto his head and strokes, a little too light, but still comforting.

“Alright, I’m convinced,” Dutch says, shaking his head from the edge of the diner landing. “That’s definitely Mike.”

“Hah!” Texas says, next to him. “Mike drank out of the toilet, gross! Hey, little guy, you gonna make him brush his teeth before he gets to kiss you again? After he gets back to normal, I mean.”

“What?!” Chuck yelps. “What are you—no?! I mean, we don’t, we’re not—Mike isn’t gonna kiss me!”

Distracted from his carlessness, Mike looks up at Chuck, who smells different suddenly. Frustrated and nervy and… sad, why is he sad? Mike doesn’t want him to be sad. Does he want a kiss? Mike’s pretty sure he can do that when he’s human again, that’s simple enough.

“What, you give it up without even makin’ him love on you first?” Texas shakes his head disapprovingly and Dutch elbows him, rolling his eyes.

“He’s saying they’re not together,” Dutch says, and Mike is almost sure he should be paying attention, there’s something there he needs to think about when he’s human and can think right again, but right now—what was it? He looks around, sees the car behind him, his scent all over it but he can’t drive like this—that was it! He’s got to get Chuck’s help so he can turn back human. If he can just figure out how, when he can’t talk—

“Hey Mike, you want this liver or what?” Jacob calls from the diner, and everything else goes out of Mike’s head in the urgency of food!

Liver is delicious. Mike licks the last bits up out of the bowl Jacob gave him, laps at the bowl of water next to it, and then gallops eagerly back down to the garage to see what Chuck is up to.

It turns out Chuck is standing with Dutch in front of a spindly machine by the wall near Mike’s car, which makes Mike go stiff and then plunge forward, barking intently.

“—Can find any kind of settings, we could—whoa!” Dutch says, staring at Mike. “Dang, man, chill.”

Mike bumps against both their legs, whining and barking some more, looking anxiously from one face to the other. He can’t talk, they’re just going to have to figure it out!

“Mike,” Chuck says, “is this thing why you’re a dog, now?”

Mike barks several times in relieved agreement, then remembers “yes” is—was it one bark or two? Frustrated, he lowers his head carefully and raises it again in a clumsy nod.

“Okay, so you did bring it back with you from the Undercity last night,” Dutch says, and Mike nods again. “We kinda figured, but—good, alright.”

“So why did you—” Chuck starts, and then remembers Mike can’t answer “why” questions right now and sighs, frowning at him. “Did you just bring a random machine up here? Or, no, if you triggered it—I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and say it was by mistake—while you were exploring down there… I think it must have a time delay,” he tells Dutch.

“Yeah!” Dutch says. “So it hit him with the dog beam, but the effect didn’t kick in until after he got back.”

“Yeah, and he brought the machine back because either he suspected, or he got lucky,” Chuck agrees. “So if we can just get into the settings, turn the delay off—”

“Hey Mike!” Texas says, and Mike turns to see something little bouncing in huge bounds across the floor and plunges after it. He has to really stretch himself to catch up, which feels awesome, he can run so fast like this, leap so high!

The bouncing thing is a ball, he realizes when he finally catches it on a rebound, Texas threw it for him! That’s so great. He trots proudly back to Texas with the ball in his mouth, tail waving behind him, and gives a muffled bark of demand.

“Well, you gotta drop it for me first, dude,” Texas says, “Texas can’t throw it while you’re holding onto it!”

Mike considers this, and unfortunately it checks out. With deep reluctance, he drops the ball at Texas’s feet, then backs up with rising excitement as Texas picks it up.

Texas hurls the ball, arm moving in a long arc, and Mike dives after—wait a second. There’s no bounce, nothing tiny flying away, what—? He looks back at Texas in puzzlement, and Texas is still holding the ball.

Unfair! Uncool! Mike bounces at him, barking vehement objections, and Texas laughs so hard he bends over, which puts his hat brim within reach.

“Hey!” Texas says when Mike dances away with the hat in his mouth. “Not cool, you’re getting dog spit all over Texas’s hat!”

Maybe Texas should’ve thought about that before messing with Mike. He ducks away when Texas lunges after him, and then Texas is chasing him and Mike is running gleefully—as fast as he can, at first, and then slower when he realizes Texas can’t keep up at all. It’s no fun if it’s too easy.

They play keepaway around the cars and into the dark corners of the garage and back out again, and Texas is starting to look red-faced and peevish when there’s a sudden yelp from across the garage.

Mike stops evading and whips around, ignoring Texas snatching the hat out of his mouth, and can’t see Chuck anywhere. There’s Dutch, standing shocked and still by the machine, staring down at—oh.

The skinny, long-legged golden dog in front of the machine whines soft and shivering before diving under the nearest work bench to hide against the wall.

Holy crap, Chuck is a dog now!

“Wait, so,” Texas says as Mike goes over to the workbench to investigate. “Did he wanna like, test it out or something?”

“No,” Dutch sighs. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t even get near the Execute button, he was messing around in the settings trying to turn off the delay. Which, uh, looks like he managed! But the stupid thing just went off on its own anyway—I guess that’s what happened to Mike. It’s malfunctioning.”

“Dang,” Texas says. “So how are we gonna turn them human again, if the dumb thing’s broken?”

“Um,” Dutch says, and sighs deeply. “I guess… I’m gonna have to keep poking it. And just stay over here to the side? Chuck was standing in front of it, so maybe…”

“If you turn into a dog, Texas promises to feed you and stuff,” Texas says in reassurance, and ignores Dutch’s mutter of “Thanks, Texas,” to come over beside Mike, who’s down on his belly on the garage floor to peer under the workbench.

There are crates stacked up under the bench, and Chuck is hidden in their midst, just a muzzle visible at one end. Mike whines hopefully at him, thumping his tail on the floor.

Chuck makes a very small whimper in response. He’s so scared and upset the scent of it stings Mike’s nose.

“Awww,” Texas says, crouching down beside Mike to peer under as well. “It’s okay, little guy, nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

Mike looks up at him in startlement: he’s never heard Texas’s voice so quiet and gentle.

Chuck gives that shivering little whine and Mike belly-crawls a few inches closer like that’s gonna help. He can’t shove his head in there after Chuck, it’ll just make the guy feel trapped, but Mike wants to help. He glances up at Texas and whines, then whuffs as quietly but peremptorily as possible.

“Yeah, yeah,” Texas says, and rubs Mike’s ears without looking away from Chuck’s hiding spot. “Come on,” he says, soft and coaxing again, “you gotta come out or Texas can’t give you pats. You know you wanna get those good pats, don’tcha? Texas gives the best pats, gonna rub your belly just right. You just gotta come out first or I can’t reach you. C’mon, lil guy…”

Texas keeps talking in that low voice, and Chuck’s muzzle pokes out a little farther, and then his eyes come into view, peering cautiously out at them. With a hopeful little woof, Mike wags his tail invitingly. Chuck doesn’t seem convinced, but Texas is clearly encouraged by the progress, and goes on.

Finally, after roughly forever, Chuck actually starts creeping out from between the crates. Mike bounces to his feet and backs away to give him plenty of space, and Texas edges aside a little and keeps encouraging him.

When Chuck finally emerges, sidling around Texas and skittering over to Mike, he’s a really pretty dog! He’s got floppy ears, a deep chest and a skinny little waist, and a golden fringe of hair at his elbows and his fluffy tail. Coming up beside Mike, he heaves a sigh and leans against him hard, and Mike’s heart kind of explodes. He braces himself against the weight and nudges Chuck affectionately with his nose, tail wagging like crazy as Chuck starts to smell calmer and less scared. Mike is way more strongly built, Chuck can lean on him like this all day.

“Hey,” Texas says. “So you gonna let Texas pat you, or what, little guy?”

Chuck un-leans a little and lifts his head to eye Texas doubtfully. Then he looks to Mike for reassurance, which is so cute and great and Chuck that Mike just has to lick Chuck’s muzzle thoroughly. Chuck looks baffled about it at first, and then he licks Mike back a little, and it’s the best.

“Doggie kisses, huh?” Texas says. “Thought you said you guys weren’t doing that, but it’s different as dogs or what?”

“Wait, what?” Dutch says from over by the machine. “Seriously? I mean—are they, is that what—”

“I mean kinda!” Texas says. “Like okay I guess dogs lick faces when they’re just friends, too, or like, family or some junk. They’ll sure lick your face enough if you let ‘em, if they like you. But c’mon, Mike’s tryna wash his face for him!”

“Okay, that’s pretty cute,” Dutch says. “Hey, get some pics, would you? I’m kinda busy here.”

“Texas will get the best pics,” Texas says, and Chuck nudges Mike gently with his nose, affection and comfort before he steps away. “Aw, seriously?” Texas adds, raising a camera screen too late.

Chuck eyes him and moves cautiously closer, and Texas absently takes a picture before dropping the screen again to hold out one hand.

“That’s right,” he says, his voice low and coaxing again, “c’mon over and get pats, huh?”

Mike stays close at Chuck’s tail in case he needs more reassurance as he edges near to Texas, sniffing carefully at his hand. He doesn’t seem to want to get closer, though, pulling back immediately when Texas reaches for his head, and Mike can’t stand it. He shoulders between Chuck and Texas and ducks his head pointedly for pats, and Texas snorts and then rubs his ears and scratches his neck while Mike pants happily. Chuck watches in bewilderment.

Mike gets his full share of love and then steps back and looks at Chuck expectantly. Glances at Texas and back to Chuck.

So prompted, Chuck edges within reach, head and tail low and uncertain, and Texas offers the back of his hand to sniff again before reaching out slow and careful to stroke Chuck’s head. Chuck is still and nervous at first, but he’s starting to relax a little, his tail rising to wag slowly, when Mike hears a familiar rumble.

Nine Lives pulls into the garage and Chuck backs away from Texas fast at the loud noise, cowering behind Mike with his tail tucked between his legs. Mike stays put protectively until Julie gets out, and then he can’t resist anymore because Julie! Mike likes her so much and she’s never here and she’s here now, it’s Julie!

Julie whips her plasma boomerang out to hold in front of her and stares at him, tense all over, and Mike’s headlong rush skids to a halt. Oh right, she’s not used to animals, just like Dutch and Chuck. Dang.

“Oh, no, hey, it’s cool!” Texas calls. “It’s just Mike!”

Mike wags his tail hopefully.

Julie’s dangerous frown takes on a confused edge. “The dog is Mike’s?”

“No, it’s Mike,” Texas repeats.

Mike dances a little from paw to paw, then stands still again when Julie tenses.

After a moment, she looks away from Mike to frown over at Texas. “Why did you name the dog after Mike?”

Texas starts to answer, but before he can get a word out Dutch calls from over by the machine, “Mike, look up at the ceiling!”

Mike points his nose up and stares at the upper reaches of the garage, lost in the dark.

“Okay,” Dutch says, “now go over to your car.”

Mike dashes over to Mutt, puts a paw on her side, and glances back at Julie, whose frown is a lot more wide-eyed now. He vaguely thinks her hair is different than usual—maybe she dyed it brown?

“No,” she says. “No way.”

“Totally!” Texas says. “He and Chuck got doggificated!”

“By this thing Mike brought back from the Undercity,” Dutch fills in, and Julie goes to join him by the machine, staring at Mike as she passes him. Mike wags his tail hopefully, but doesn’t get any pats. He starts to follow her and then catches sight of Chuck, standing by Texas and letting him rub his ears.

With an excited bark, Mike bounds over to them, licking Chuck’s face and making Texas laugh. Chuck’s tail wags more gently than Mike’s, but it’s still finally wagging, and his ears are relaxed, and when Texas’s hand shifts to scritch his ruff, Chuck tilts his head for it and sighs contentedly. He’s happy now, it’s so great!

Dutch and Julie are talking, Dutch saying something about the machine, but Mike is distracted getting pats from Texas, who’s got one hand on Mike’s ears and the other on Chuck. Chuck looks almost as blissful as Mike feels. Everything is awesome.

Dutch makes a triumphant noise, says something, and then there’s a quiet bip! from the machine and Julie gasps. Dutch doesn’t say anything else.

After a moment Texas glances back, then abruptly jumps to his feet. “Whoa! Wait a sec, where’d Dutch go?”

Mike and Chuck look over at the same time. Where Dutch was standing next to the machine, there’s a black and brown cat, tail lashing angrily.

“You are so pretty,” Julie breathes, staring down at the cat.

“Okay, no,” Texas says, “that’s not right! It’s a doggificator, not a catifyer!”

The Dutch cat looks over at Texas and gives a distinctly sarcastic sounding meow before moving to a safe distance from the machine.

“Just before the machine went off, he said he’d found the species picker,” Julie says. “So. I guess it does both?”

Fascinated, Mike goes over to the cat, who startles backwards a few feet when he sees Mike coming, then stops short and turns to vigorously lick his side like he’s embarrassed. Mike pauses, then sheepishly moves in much more slowly, since he is a lot bigger than Dutch now.

Dutch really is pretty, even Mike can see that, all black swirls against brown, and he’s fluffy all over, especially his tail. Mike waits politely until Dutch looks up, and then carefully puts his head down. Dutch delicately touches noses with him, and Mike is so overjoyed he has to lick the top of Dutch’s head, even though it makes the guy’s ears go back a little in exasperation.

“Okay,” Julie says, watching them, “that’s really cute.”

Dutch removes himself from licking range a moment later, and Mike bounces a little in case he wants to play instead. Judging by the dubious look, Dutch does not want to play. He goes over to Julie, puts a paw on her knee, and says, “Mraow?”

Julie’s face goes all soft and warm like Mike’s never seen it before, and she crouches down, lifting a careful hand to stroke Dutch’s head. Dutch flinches back from it and Julie goes still, pulling her hand back a little. Dutch looks at it, cautiously sniffs her fingers, and then lets her pat him and scritch behind his ears. Julie smiles, looking completely willing to keep patting him for the rest of the day even though Mike is right here and also in need of pats. She doesn’t even look at him until he dances a little and makes a hopeful noise.

“Oh, what, are you jealous?” she says, like that’s funny.

Mike whines at her, but isn’t quite rude enough to shove his head between her and Dutch, he just noses her other hand. Cruelly, Julie pulls it away and tucks it against her chest, where it doesn’t do anyone any good.

“Maow,” Dutch says, pulling away from the pats, and looks up at Julie and over to the machine. “Merr?”

“Uh,” Julie says, also looking at the machine. “I mean, I can try to mess with the settings like you were, but I’m not sure how much good it’ll do you when it just turns me into something else too.”

“Maraow,” Dutch says sadly, and hunches down on the concrete floor. He looks so miserable that Mike has to lick his head again, and Dutch just flattens his ears and lets him.

“Well, hang on just a second, here,” Jacob says from up on the diner landing. “I see two kids and two dogs. That’s not right. And where’s Dutch?”

“Chuck’s lettin’ me give him pats!” Texas calls.

“And Dutch is right here,” Julie explains, nodding at him.

“…I’m coming down there,” Jacob says.

After Julie and Texas fill Jacob in, with Dutch and Chuck helping by answering yes or no questions, Jacob sighs.

“And it never occurred to all you clever kids to set up a remote interface, if the machine’s so dang broke it keeps turning whoever gets close enough to tap the screen?” he says.

Dutch stares at him with round eyes, tips back his head and yowls in despair. Chuck goes belly-down on the floor and puts both paws over his muzzle, whining, and it’s not fair! They did their best! Mike barks reproachfully at Jacob, then noses Dutch in reassurance before licking Chuck’s ears.

Jacob sighs again. “Alright, alright, no use in pointing fingers now. Let’s see what we can do.”

He and Julie start talking as he pulls up a screen, and Texas gets bored and digs his fingers into Mike’s ruff, which feels great, and most of the conversation goes straight over Mike’s head. Texas rubs Mike’s ears and his tummy, and then Chuck shyly noses in and Texas starts rubbing his ears instead, which Mike allows because Chuck deserves ear rubs too.

When Mike looks around, Dutch is sitting by Jacob with his tail neatly curled around his feet, and Julie is holding a small holoscreen, walking towards the machine with a tense, determined look.

“Shouldn’t take it long to hook in,” Jacob says, “so you can just—”

“Place the screen and back away, I got it,” Julie says. She steps up to the machine, carefully positioning the holoscreen a handspan away from the machine’s own interface.

“Good!” Jacob says, eyeing his own screen as Julie takes a quick step backwards. “And there we go—”

Bip! says the machine.

Julie stares around and then says, “MihOW,” in a really annoyed tone.

“Daggone it,” Jacob mutters. “Sorry about that, kid. We’ll get you turned back in a minute here.” He starts poking the screen in front of him.

Mike bounces in Julie’s direction, then remembers how Dutch reacted to that and slows the heck down. As a cat, Julie’s about the same size as Dutch, but sleek instead of fluffy, the same brown as her hair, with little white paws. When Mike leans down to sniff her face—moving slowly and politely, like he did with Dutch!—those white paws turn out to move really fast, and one smacks him right on the nose.

Jerking back in startlement, Mike stares at her. At least she didn’t use her claws, but geez.

Julie’s backlaid ears ease upright again, and she turns to groom her shoulder with quick, ferocious licks. Then she straightens up, steps forward and rubs against Mike’s front legs in apology. Mike licks the top of her head, immediately forgiving everything.

“Aw, c’mon!” Texas says. “Why’d you turn into a cat instead of a dog? Dogs are way more fun!”

Julie narrows her eyes at Texas, turns her back and goes over to Dutch, who stands up to touch noses with her, then cautiously licks her ear. Mike watches in approval before going over to bounce at Chuck and try to entice him into playing chase. Unfortunately, Chuck is distracted watching whatever Jacob’s working on, looking alertly from him and his screen to the little screen still hanging in front of the machine, and doesn’t do more than wag his tail absently at Mike’s bouncing and play barks.

“So hey,” Texas says to Jacob, “you gonna fix it so it’ll turn you when you wanna be turned, instead of like, whenever?”

“If it’s even possible, I’m going to fix it after everyone’s back to human,” Jacob says, squinting at his screen.

“Hey, no?!” Texas says indignantly. “You can’t turn Mike back yet, I gotta be a dog too so we can run around and junk!” He stomps over to the machine and stands there with his arms crossed, glaring defiantly at Jacob.

Mike bounces excitedly because yes, that sounds awesome! Jacob makes an alarmed noise, though.

“Dang it, Texas—get away from—”

Bip! says the machine.

Texas is something tiny now, and Mike starts over in fascination to look closer, but Chuck lets out a yip of alarm and barges in front of him, shouldering him back.

“It’s not set on ‘dog’ right now,” Jacob growls. “So if you don’t wanna be some kinda mouse, stay away, Mike!”

Texas is a mouse now?! Mike stares at the tiny dot in front of the machine, and twitches when the dot lets out a long, high-pitched keen. It sounds kind of like a mouse war cry, so yeah, that’s definitely Texas.

Jacob lets out a long, annoyed sigh. “Gimme a sec and I’ll switch it back to dogs, just stay put. You go running around at that size and someone’s gonna step on you.”

Chuck whimpers softly and leans against Mike. Mike noses him comfortingly.

Julie’s ears are pricked forward with interest and she gets up, stretches elaborately, and slinks forward, stopping a healthy distance from the machine to sit down and stare, maybe a little too intently.

“Uh, hey now,” Jacob says.

Texas makes that tiny mousey shriek of defiance again, and then does a flippy hop that’s kind of impressive for a mouse. Then he charges Julie, who crouches low, every muscle tensing, ready to spring—

“Hey!” Jacob yells as Chuck starts barking wildly, and Mike bowls Julie over and gets smacked for it, claws out this time as she yowls in outrage.

Bip! says the machine, and Texas must’ve still been in range, because there’s an indignant squawk and a rustling flutter. Muzzle stinging as Julie skitters away, Mike looks over and Texas is a bird now, brown and yellow and blue.

“Red parrot,” Jacob mutters, “sure, why not.”

“Rawk!” Texas says emphatically, midair. He can’t seem to figure out the flying thing, but he sure can flutter, flapping unevenly into the air, nearly plummeting to the floor again and flapping up again in a hurry.

“Boy,” Jacob snaps, “if you don’t get your ass on the floor, that thing’s gonna turn you into a turtle and you will break when you hit the concrete!”

“Wa-awrk!” Texas says, and hastily flaps off toward the diner landing, well out of range, where he lands clumsily near the edge.

Jacob lets out a long sigh and goes back to poking his screen. Chuck flops down on his stomach on the garage floor with a little groany noise of relief. Julie is licking her front leg too busily to pay attention to anyone else, and Dutch, who had jumped to his feet in alarm during all the excitement, is sitting down with his tail wrapped around his paws again. He’s so pretty.

Mike goes over to stare up at the edge of the landing, and Texas hops along the edge, looking down at him. It’s cool that he has wings now, but it’s too bad he doesn’t automatically know how to use them better.

Texas cocks his head to one side and reaches down to nibble thoughtfully at the edge of the landing. Mike barks at him and goes down on his front paws, tail wagging, and then Texas barks back.

He immediately flails his wings like he’s just as startled as Mike, flapping clumsily, and then gets himself back on the landing and barks again more confidently. It’s a really good imitation for a bird! How did he do that?!

“Alright, there,” Jacob says, and looks around, sees Texas on the edge of the landing. “Now it’s set on dog, so you can come on down and get changed, Texas.”

Apparently Texas is still set on his dog plan, because he flutters down to the machine and then squawks excitedly, hopping.

And then he’s a dog!

Mike plunges forward to sniff noses with him. Texas’s dog shape is short-legged and really buff, just a rectangular little chunk of muscle, and as soon as they’re done sniffing each other he cannons into Mike’s legs, making him stumble, and then takes off running. Mike barks gleefully and chases after him.

-

Texas can’t run quite as fast as Mike, but he does his best, and it takes a long time before the two of them tire each other out. Finally, though, they’re both flopped on the cool garage floor with their tongues out, panting, and Chuck comes over.

Human-shaped Chuck comes over. Mike gives him a startled look, a little disappointed, and then Chuck crouches down and rubs behind Mike’s ears, and nevermind, this is perfect.

“I got it right this time, huh?” Chuck says, amused, and then sighs. “You’re really cute like this, but...”

Texas makes a low, indignant grumbling noise and heaves himself back on his feet to come stand expectantly on Chuck’s other side, staring at Chuck’s other hand.

“What, seriously?” Chuck says. He eyes Texas, then gives in and starts rubbing his ears, too. “I guess you did pat me pretty nicely. Fine.”

He doesn’t say anything for a minute, busy patting, and Mike is blissed out on the attention and has forgotten the “but” by the time Chuck speaks again. “The thing is... if we get a bot alert or anything, our response time is gonna be way worse than usual if we have to wait for both of you to be turned back human again.”

Mike tilts his head so Chuck has a better angle to scritch his neck. Sure, there could be an attack, but there probably won’t be right this moment.

“Aaaand you’re totally unconcerned,” Chuck sighs. “I have no idea why I didn’t expect that.”

Yeah, Mike doesn’t either. This is great, and if Chuck was still a dog he could just relax and enjoy life too!

There’s another pause while Chuck’s hands keep working. He’s still not as good at patting as Texas, but way better than before he tried being a dog himself.

“Well, I guess if you wanna take a dogcation from everything,” Chuck says slowly, “leave the missions to us for a day or two... you can do that if you want.”

Mike whuffs contentedly. Sounds good to him!

“We’ll have to figure out how to feed you guys,” Chuck goes on, and Mike goes still. Food is in question?

“But I guess me or Dutch can do all the deliveries for a bit.”

Mike likes doing the deliveries, though!

“And if you want to go out, I can always strap you into the passenger seat and drive—”

Mike’s head jerks up to stare at Chuck in horror. His car! He can’t drive his car like this! He’d have to be driven, and that just won’t stand, he refuses.

Jumping up to his feet, he hurries over to the machine and dances urgently from paw to paw, whining.

Up on the diner platform, Dutch and Julie start laughing. “I can’t believe that worked!” Dutch says.

Bip! says the machine.

Mike looks down at himself, and—hands! He has proper human hands again! He can drive Mutt now!

He takes one step in Mutt’s direction, registers what he just saw, and looks down again, eyes widening.

His own human body looks normal and fine, which he can tell at a glance because he’s only wearing his favorite old sleep shorts, which look a lot more worn in the light of the garage than he’s noticed before. Like, threadbare to the point of being kind of revealing.

“I’m—gonna go get dressed!” he says, and beats a hasty retreat.

-

After a quick shower and the rest of his morning routine—including a lengthy tooth-brushing and mouthwash session: he can’t believe he drank out of the toilet—he goes back downstairs. Back on the diner landing, loud kiais of “Kachaw!” and “Hwaaahhh!” are coming up from the garage, so Texas must be human again. Dutch, Julie and Chuck are standing near the edge of the landing, talking.

“—The whiskers,” Dutch is saying, “like, the sensory data, the expanded kinesthetic sense, it was so cool!”

“I think I had whiskers, too,” Chuck says, “but I didn’t really notice that as much as all the smells, holy crap.” He looks way more relaxed than he did this morning, shoulders less hunched than usual. Mike can’t help but wonder how he’d smell to a dog nose right now.

“Oh man, yeah!” Julie says. “The smells were crazy, and the claws. I could go for retractable claws. I was way too small, though, we gotta see if there’s a size setting or something. I wanna be a giant cat.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” Mike says, going over with a grin. “I’m not allowed to be a dog anymore, but you guys are all making plans to change back and have more fun!”

“Hey, man,” Dutch starts, “it was just—”

“Exactly,” Julie says right over him, nodding firmly. “I think after this Dutch is planning to become a cat full-time.”

“I, what, no?” Dutch sputters as Chuck starts giggling in his usual cute way. “I was saying it was neat, was all!”

“And you,” Mike says, narrowing his eyes at Chuck, “you sneak. You tricked me into changing back to human!”

“Right,” Chuck says, still grinning. “’Tricked you,’ by reminding you dogs can’t drive.”

“Yeah, it was some pretty obvious manipulation,” Julie says. “You didn’t have to make it that easy for him,” she adds to Mike.

“I think I—dog-me—wasn’t very smart,” Mike admits.

Julie presses her lips together, but can’t keep their corners from twitching upwards, and Mike finally realizes what it is that’s bugging him about her hair: it’s the same deep red as usual. She never dyed it at all, he wasn’t seeing colors right as a dog!

Chuck tucks half his bangs behind one ear, raising his eyebrows at Mike.

“Sure,” Dutch says, nodding amiably. “I mean, that would never have worked on you normally. You’re usually so casual and laid-back about your car and driving it. Right?”

As Chuck bites back a laugh, Mike opens his mouth, closes it again, and narrows his eyes at Dutch. “I’m getting lunch,” he says with pronounced dignity, and turns his back to head into the kitchen, ignoring the chorus of snickering behind him and Julie’s rejoinder of, “I think you mean early dinner!”

He’s halfway through assembling a large bowlful of a reasonably-edible-looking creation of Jacob’s when Chuck drifts into the kitchen after him. He looks more tense than he did laughing with the others, shoulders back in their usual hunched position. That sucks, he’s supposed to relax more around Mike, not less. Mike tries smiling at him, and his shoulders ease a little.

“So, it looked like you were having a good time, huh?” Chuck ventures.

“What, playing around with Texas? Sure!”

“Well, yeah. But also being a dog in general, right?”

“Yeah,” Mike admits, sticking his bowl in to heat. “I know you didn’t like it at first, but you liked the pats once you came out, didn’t you?”

“I guess,” Chuck says grudgingly. Mike looks at him and he heaves a sigh. “It’s just—Texas! Texas knows how to make a guy feel like that, but only if he’s a dog at the time!”

Mike grins ruefully. He’s about to say he could make Chuck feel that good too, then chickens out. He could, though, if Chuck would let him try—with Chuck as a dog or a human.

“And then the minute he was human again,” Chuck goes on, gesturing, “he gave me this disappointed look and told me I was cuter as a dog! He was nicer when I was a dog! What the hell, man!”

“Aww, that’s not true, Chuckles, you’re still plenty cute,” Mike says reassuringly.

“Uh.” Chuck brushes back his bangs to blink at Mike, ears turning pink.

Mike isn’t kissing me, he said, and he smelled upset.

“Well. Thanks,” he says, and Mike studies his face, trying to find any clear sign. “But like, why’s it make such a difference to him? If he’s that careful and like, quiet and stuff when I’m a dog, why can’t he be cool like that when I’m me?”

Mike sighs. “I dunno, dude. That sucks, though. He should be better than that.”

Chuck sighs too and goes quiet, leaning back against the counter, hands braced against it.

Mike frowns at a spill on the counter. Should he tell Texas again to be cool with Chuck? It never seems to stick, the guy always finds a new way to be a jerk without seeming to notice.

"Uh, so," Chuck starts, and is cut off by a beep.

Mike takes his heated bowl out and sets it on the counter. "Yeah?" he prompts when Chuck doesn’t keep going.

"Uh.” Chuck’s head drops like he’s eyeing something on the floor. “So, like how much do you remember from your... doggy time?"

"Pretty much everything, I think," Mike says, and then looks sharply at Chuck, who is oh so casually not looking in his direction. Mike's heartbeat goes into overdrive.

He steps over in front of Chuck, who tenses up again, his lips nervously crimped at one corner.

"Yeah, everything," Mike says, breathless, and puts his hands on Chuck's hips, leans in and up and kisses him. He means it to be a gentle, inviting sort of kiss, except when Chuck unfreezes a second later, he kisses back with this stifled little whimper at the back of his throat, and Mike might possibly lose his mind for a minute.

When Chuck finally pulls back, breaking the kiss to gasp for breath, cheeks all flushed and eyes wide behind his newly tousled bangs, Mike reluctantly stops with one hand in Chuck’s hair and the other at his waist where it was trying to sneak up under his shirt.

“Oh my god,” Chuck says, high-pitched and quiet, open mouth curving cautiously at the edges.

“Yeah,” Mike says roughly, and drops a kiss on Chuck’s jaw just to be clear before letting go. He strides to the kitchen door and calls, “Hey, Texas! You want lunch? Or early dinner, whatever—I was heating up food, but now I don’t have time to eat before I gotta get laid!”

“Mikey!” Chuck yelps behind him.

Dutch’s mouth drops open, but Julie just dissolves into laughter.

“Texas knew you nerds were bangin’!” Texas yells triumphantly from down in the garage. “Your skinny boy can’t lie at all, Tiny!”

“Yeah, yeah, you caught us,” Mike says impatiently. “Look, the bowl’s on the counter if you want it, I’m out.”

“Texas’ll take care of it for you!” comes the answer as Mike plunges back into the kitchen, grabs Chuck’s wrist and hauls him out the other door and through the hideout toward their rooms.

“You’re assuming I’m gonna put out like this!” Chuck says, trying for indignation, but he sounds more giddy. “You haven’t even taken me on a single date!”

“You want a date, I’ll take you out to lunch and dinner tomorrow,” Mike promises. “Assuming we feel like getting out of bed.”

That’s too much for Chuck, who bursts into thrilled giggles. Mike grins back at him, heart pounding like he’s about to take Mutt over a new jump. Chuck likes him back, this is incredible, the guy hid it so well. Mike never would’ve guessed if it hadn’t been for briefly having a dog nose.

“Just one thing,” he says, pulling Chuck into his room and closing the door behind them. “Will you laugh if I want you to pat me some more?”

Chuck does giggle again, but it just sounds like surprise. “Yeah? Like… how?”

Mike shrugs. “Rub my tummy, pet my hair.”

Chuck steps closer, smiling. “I think I can do that, bro. If, um.” He looks away, fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “If you can pat my hair too.”

“I can definitely do that,” Mike says, reaching up to prove it, and Chuck’s shoulders drop as he lets out a contented sigh. He bends his neck to kiss Mike, and Mike’s hand just stays there in his hair. Judging by the way Chuck presses in close, he doesn’t actually object to putting out tonight.

“You know what all this means, though,” Mike says eventually, breathing harder, and Chuck makes an inquiring hum, nuzzling his ear. “We’re gonna have to do it... doggy-style.”

The ensuing outraged beat down with Mike’s own pillow delays the sex longer than he would’ve preferred.

-

“Mike!” Dutch says the next day, catching his elbow in the hallway. “Yeah, I know you’re busy, stop having crazy sex for five minutes and listen. We’ve got an idea about that machine.”

-

“Mrrrrowrrr!” says Kane.