Finding Home

Warren hummed slightly in acknowledgement of her words, but didn't truly reply to them, merely listening. It was something he did rather well and something that had followed him since he was a child - listening. He'd barely spoken that first year he'd been with Cleo, but after four more, she was the only one who COULD get him to talk more openly and usually about nothing at all. Perhaps that was why he'd trusted her enough to talk at all.

Now the werewolf spoke to whomever he chose without fear or hesitation, but most knew him to be quiet, abnormally so. Always listening and observing. Rarely speaking. Those who knew him would be astonished to know there was one person who could get more than a debriefing out of him.

"Expectation to be something else. Lack of opportunity. Lack of desire. Perhaps it just never occurred to you to try." he answered absentmindedly to her last question, but his attention was caught on one of her drawings. A wolf on a forest background. It was simple, not a werewolf of course, but Warren found himself touching the canvas with his fingertips anyway, feeling something tighten in his chest before he let his hand drop and took a step back before remembering where he was and turning his actions into a turn that took him back to the couch. The blond half-flopped into the cushions and tried to shake the nostalgia from his mind.

His gray eyes met Cleo's brown and Warren's softened just a bit. "Jethan would be proud of you, C.B.. I know he would."

He and Jethan had never been close like Cleo and Warren were, but the werewolf had at least thought Cleo's brother was a decent guy and he'd had no problems with him. And he knew Cleo missed her brother more than she would ever say or could ever say.
 
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The young Squier only nodded silently, still somewhat stuck in her thoughts. What he said was true, it usually always was. If Jethan hadn't disappeared her grades would have never dropped, and she would have ended up in some law firm. Most likely sorting papers and such around and nit picking through contracts so that loop holes wouldn't be found.

Her eyes met his and he spoke the words that tugged at her heat painfully. She couldn't meet his eyes much longer, unshed tears filling her own. She moved her arm over her head to hide before chuckled sadly, acknowledging the fact she still hadn't quite gotten over Jethan's death. She probably would never fully recover, but she knew she had to live her life. Jethan would have wanted her to be happy. Some people told her that time heals all wounds, but she disagreed. Time only helped you cope with it, not get over it. The scars and phantom pain would always remain.

"I don't know what good thing I did to get you as a friend, Warren, but I am so very thankful I did it," she whispered in a light enough tone that he could still hear her.

She meant what she said too for Warren was her supporting pillar that no one else could be. He had her back through thick and thin, even when she had pushed him and everyone else away. She owed him so much, and yet he kept giving to her, even now giving her supporting words that made her want to cry and laugh all at once. With each and every comforting word he gave her, she realized how little she had actually given him.

Usually this was the time where she once again slipped into the depressing thoughts about how bad a friend she was, but she recognized that thinking and dwelling on it would not make her any better. Acting on it and being more supportive would do twice as better than any thought she had.

Her voice was still quiet but swelling with emotion, "You know what, Warren? No matter what, no matter where. If you need me, I'll be there for you. I know I have never said it before, so I just wanted you to know."

She still couldn't look him in the eye for multiple reasons. One, she was still fighting the tears. Two, she was embarrassed beyond belief. Three, she just couldn't meet his eyes because she was afraid of his reaction.

So instead of waiting for whatever he might say she stammered, "And I am not pms-ing on you, I swear."
 
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Anything he might have said initially was smothered by a light laughter at her last comment and Warren shook his head before giving a sigh and leaning over to where Cleo was. Moving her arm away from her face was rather easy, both because she wasn't expecting him to and also because he was the stronger, though, he took great care not to harm the human who was far more frail than he was. Gray eyes met brown and Warren smiled softly, a look he gave to no one but her, though, Cleo would likely not know that.

Then again, she was far more observant than he sometimes realized.

"Cleo, I know. I've always known that." the werewolf assured her. He tapped her on the nose then, careful to keep this moment light and happy...and to not reveal how very much he wished to touch her face and kiss her lips, to curl around her protectively and make sure she knew how very much she was cherished.

No. He couldn't do that. So he'd settle for this. He'd settle for being her friend, for always being there, watching out for her. Comforting, making her laugh, keeping her happy. He only wished he could make her see that she'd been far more of a friend to him than she could ever know.

"You didn't have to say it, C.B., but thank you."

The werewolf grinned impishly then, gray eyes lighting up with an idea. "Can I cash in on that favor now and devour something from your kitchen?" Meat would be preferable, but he'd take what he could get. Besides, cooking would get them back into a more lighthearted atmosphere again. That's all Warren wanted before he had to leave; was for Cleo to remember tonight fondly.
 
Cleo was not predicting that he would steal her hiding place away from her, her anxiety increased when she met his eyes with her own, but she relaxed as he didn't seem to take her previous words, the ones before her denial of any pms-ing, as some said attempt at a pathetic joke. The tapping of her nose made her sniffle and blink away the tears before smiling.

The highly emotional moment was gone in a flash, though she wasn't sure if it was because Warren was truly hungry or he had noticed her immense discomfort. Either way was logical in her mind; one would have to be blind to see that she was not ready for such deep and sentimental thoughts, and he had puked whatever he had in his stomach prior to their arrival at the apartment. Maybe it was a little bit of both, but she was glad for the distraction no matter the reason behind it.

"Of course. My messy home is your messy home, Warren," she declared. "Although I'm not the best cook. If anything I'm mediocre at best."

She could remember trying to bake cookies in her youth, and burning them too a black crisp. Santa Clause got charcoal for that Christmas, and no one had commented at her failure for she was a tad bit sensitive that her first try was not a success. That and she was ashamed of giving Santa such a worse than amateur snack, the jolly old man was quite swell about it though. Seemingly eating every single one and leaving a polite thank you note. Her hopes and dreams were quickly crushed when she found the burnt cookies in the trash and the Santa costume in her father's closet,

Mumbling, "On the bright side, I can at least make decent non-burnt cookies now."

She rolled to her stomach and slid off the couch with a practiced ease, showing that was how she regularly lounged on the poor couch. If she recalled correctly, she had an assortment of fruits and vegetables in the fridge along with the common dairy products. In her freezer, she had a couple of steak and hamburger meat too. She had ran out of bacon earlier though and had yet to replace the crispy treat.
 
Oh, he knew how bad she'd been at cooking when they were younger! He'd had to pretend to like some of the things she wanted him to try...and then suffer the hits afterward when she saw through his ruse...which just led to laughter and second-attempts. It had been fun and he remembered it fondly....even as he still remember the very, very bad tastes said attempts had caused upon his tongue. Cleo's cooking was not something to be forgotten lightly.

Hearing her self-proclaimed success now made the werewolf laugh as he simply vaulted over the back of the couch, meeting Cleo on her way to her kitchen. "Hmm, now that I would like to see." he teased good-naturedly. It was already nice to be doing something so familiar as cooking together. Even if everything they made was burnt to a crisp, Warren would still find it the best day in the world simply because Cleo was in it.

--

It was well into the night - and dinner had been a success for the most-part; only one batch of burnt cookies! - now and wine had been brought out long before. Neither Warren or Cleo were drunk, per say, but there was definitely a more relaxed, playful and intoxicated vibe in the air. Stories had abounded, even on Warren's side, though, his were more kept to things he'd seen in his travels and vague stories of some people he'd worked with. He never gave names or locations, but some of the stories were hilarious nonetheless and laughter was contagious between them both.

The werewolf was careful about how much he drank, though.

He'd been drunk once and if not for a vampire that had seen him losing control, he would have caused a great deal of damage to the secret of the mythical species...and then they would have killed him. And most-likely any humans who'd seen him. Sure, the vampire had called him an effing idiot and given him a few good hits just so he'd remember that stupidity the next day, but it had ended better than it could have.

Warren wasn't looking to make that big of a mistake tonight and so he watched what he drank, allowing himself to get buzzed, to relax, but not to exceed that. He was now sitting on the ground, back against the couch, head tilted back on the cushion as he looked at the ceiling and then to Cleo on the couch itself, a smile on his lips, gray eyes almost seeming to glow in the dim light, something he was having a bit of difficulty controlling. But she was drinking, too, so she'd probably chalk it up to that the next morning.

"I missed you."

He'd meant to say something lighter, happier, but while this wasn't heavy or sad, it had come out anyway and Warren didn't much feel like taking it back. It would be kind of awkward to anyway. "I missed this. You always could make me laugh."

And she had no idea how rare that was.
 
Cleodora was more content with a drink in her hand and chattering about pointless things and stories or enjoying their companionable silence-which usually wasn't long lived since they both couldn't seem to control laughter-. It was a lot nicer when they weren't tip toeing around each other, unsure what had changed and what new topic was the thing to avoid. She had gotten to know her adult friend a tad bit more than she did previously.

Her very heart tugged at his words, and her cheeks felt overly warm. Though her flushed face could easily have been her being tipsy since Cleo had little alcohol tolerance probably because of her size and lack of background with it.

It was unexpected, and she was glad she didn't have anything in her mouth or she would have spurted it everywhere or choked on it for him saying such a thing took her by surprise. Cleo was not one to talk about her emotions, and she knew for sure that Warren was not one to talk at all. Well usually he wouldn't talk, or at least he didn't talk much in the past.

Despite her initial shock she replied slowly as if testing the words, "I missed you too, Warren. More than you can imagine."

It was more true than she had thought, and she realized something after uttering the words.

While her other friends were great, they could never replace Warren. As much as she hated to admit it, if any of her other friends had gone through what Warren did as a child, being passed around and all, she doubted they would have stayed friends. But Warren and her, they had somehow made it. He always came back to her, and that was what kept her mostly sane.

Somewhere deep down she was happy he had yet to find someone else, which also made her all the more guilt ridden. While she was honest in her previous statements on how she wanted him to be happy and find someone, she didn't want him to leave her behind. She had seen what having a partner changed a person, and how it made friends drift apart. It had happened to her and Tanya when Jared came into the picture. Though she didn't despise Jared for it, she sometimes was missing one of her good friends.

It was that same selfish part of her that always expected him to call her, not the other way around. That was glad that he decided to spend his time with her, instead of someone else, before he went incommunicado to the world. She didn't want to lose her best friend, but she didn't want to hold him back either. She wanted him to find love, but she didn't want to share him. It was frustrating, completely contradicting, and absolutely human.

Cleo knew she wasn't perfect. Hell, if anything she was far from perfect! She was terrified of dogs of all sorts, had abandonment issues as well as commitment issues, and was way to emotionally unstable to even stare at a picture of her brother without bursting into tears. Yet she had always thought she could at least be able to wish the best for her friend wholeheartedly. It was a disappointing and shameful to her.
 
Warren had been forced to leave as the hour grew late, but he'd left with a light and happy feeling in his chest, something not felt in a long time. He'd promised to contact Cleo as soon as he could, had teased her and said goodbye reluctantly, but in the end, he'd known that leaving was for the best, especially overnight.

Still, it was with determination to get back to the human as soon as he could that the werewolf left to his next job...if it could be called that.

--

Warren hated the taste of his own blood, but maybe that was just because it was constantly in his mouth. He coughed it now, watching it spray across the cement as he stumbled toward the helicopter waiting to take him away from here. The agents closest to him knew not to reach out and try to help him, but there was always that newbie, and Warren barred dangerous, bloody fangs at the human as he reached out, his growl heard even above the blades of the chopper. The man back-tracked quickly at the feral look in the werewolf's gray eyes and Warren ignored him after that, climbing into the aircraft.

He coughed again, uncaring that blood was getting on the seats and metal. It had happened before and likely would again.

Breathing was hard. They'd broken ribs and the multiple lacerations across his chest, stomach, back and arms hadn't healed over yet. The blood loss made him dizzy, hungry, irritable. The pain just made him want to lash out at everything around him and the agents who'd been through this before knew it. They wisely kept quiet and eyes averted, leaving him be.

The ride back to Los Angeles was far longer than he wanted it to be and Warren was nearly slipping into unconsciousness when they landed. There was a medical team there, immediately rushing to get him on a stretcher and much as the werewolf wanted to protest against them, he knew that they'd merely sedate him if he did and then there was no telling when he'd wake up.

He'd rather suffer the pain than be at the mercy of drugs.

So he'd long ago struck up a deal with the doctors that he'd behave and not attack any of them and they'd keep the sedatives away from his bloodstream. So far it had worked...but only when he decided to honor it. Sometimes doing so was a struggle that he didn't win. Oh well. This wouldn't be one of those times, though, as Warren was already drifting off, whether by his will or not. He was too weak to stay awake, in too much shock from moving and forcing himself to function to fight the blackness that crept up on him.

Being locked up and beaten for three-something weeks would do that to anyone, though. Even a werewolf.

Still, the first thing Warren had asked upon being retrieved by WPA was whether the family he'd been guarding was safe. Having that confirmed, seeing visual confirmation that the 'bad guys' were dead, it had put him at ease and he'd known his job was done.

Blacking out now was perfectly acceptable.
 
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As the young man left, she tried her hardest not to tear up. He had teased her for it, but she did not take it to heart. Although made her angry that she was so emotional when it came to him, but she was more than glad to blame it on the alcohol consumption this time.




Cleo's life went back to the average routine from that point on. She was working, going to school, doing her own self assigned projects, and visiting friends. Before she knew it, life was so busy and her free time was nearly gone. It was so easy to fall back into the tracks she had placed before, and if she thought back to Warren, it seemed as thought it were all a distant dream.

Then all semblance of the normalcy came crashing when she received a phone call two months after her friend's visit.

It all started with a phone call late at night from an unknown number. Cleo was not prone to answering with those factors, but her curiosity got the best of her as usual. So she answered the phone even though she knew it wasn't anyone she knew well for they would never call her at this time.

That was her first mistake.

Her long lost uncle Jimmy had contacted her with 'urgent' news. She had barely gotten a word or two in his jumble of conversation before he had hung up on her. Uncle Jimmy had always been the catalyst to something 'abnormal' happening. He was the black sheep of the family, a bit on the crazy side, and known for his drug abuse. He was thrown in jail back in her childhood for it, and the Squier family hadn't heard from him since. All in all, it was suspicious and utterly stupid to go to the area he had mentioned, but he was family and if he needed help, Cleo would try to provide it. As long as it was legal.

That was her second mistake.

So despite all common sense, Cleo found herself packing her taser and pepper spray and heading out to a twenty four hour diner. There he was, fairly clean cut and seemingly sober. Uncle Jimmy had short brown hair and stood to about 5'9 with a slim frame. He would have even been a fairly attractive man at some point in time if he wasn't missing a few teeth. When he started talking about her time in law school, she should have just turned tail for it seemingly sounded as though he was pushing the lines of "legal". Yet she was curious and stayed.

That was her third mistake.

She didn't even flinch when he took out a fairly large duffel bag from under the table, but her mouth dropped when he took out a bird cage. It wasn't the cage that caught her attention. Oh no, it was in the cage that made her mouth drop. It was tiny, about four to five inches at the most. It had sparkly wings, sharp teeth, and a tiny but proportional body to its head. But it screeched like a rabbit caught in a trap as soon as it saw light. Cleo didn't fair any better than the small creature, screaming her head off as well. For what was in front of her, in a small bird cage, was what looked like a child but shrunk down quite a few times and had glitter wings glued to its back .

Not leaving then was another one of her mistakes.

Of course the waitress rushed over to see was wrong and promptly fainted. Most of the other employees there did not fair any better, and the little thing would NOT shut up either. Cleo was absolutely flabbergasted, unable to even utter a word. Uncle Jimmy explained in short and chopped sentences, telling her a reporter would be here soon for he had called, and he wanted her to be his representative or manager of sorts. He would be famous, he kept repeating, grinning to his niece as though he had did something like curing cancer. The camera crew showed up along with a reporter, and after giving them a quick glance of the creature, they were being interviewed.

What was once supposed to be only an interview became a live interview that was being streamed directly to the world. After having the creature being video recorded for quite some time it got 'boring to listen to the thing cry' -according to the reporter-, and they pulled her uncle away for a few quick words. She wasn't left completely alone with the creature, for there were bystanders watching from afar that were staring in awe.

In that moment the creature actually spoke to Cleo, pleaded with her, and whatever sense of familial loyalty went out the door for her when she heard the thing speak. This was a person. Something living that was captured in a cage of all things. It made her sick to her stomach when the creature begged, and before she knew it she was faking an excuse for it and blocking the view of the crowd. She opened the cage quickly, letting the creature hide in her t-shirt pocket before draping her jacket over the cage so no one would notice the missing creature. With another fake excuse and a plead to a random stranger to watch the cage, she was out of the door and running. Running where, she hadn't a clue.

That was the one thing she did right that night.

Next thing she knew, she was stopped by some people whom the little creature seemed to know, and they were being ushered somewhere. Cleo was so deep in shock that she hadn't even asked where the destination was. They asked her questions, and she answered. Not knowing exactly what else to do. The little creature at taken a liking to its supposed savior, offering words of comfort and trying to ease her into the reality that things like it existed. When they stopped at an ominous building, they brought her in and ushered her to a couch telling her her parents would be there soon. Her parents lived a state away though, so she was terribly confused as to why they were coming. She didn't understand a thing and just sat there with that wide eyed look. Just trying to let it all sink in.

She stayed at that place for weeks, her parents joining her at some point, but they were split up not long after they got there. Her fairy companion, the little creature she had saved, was returned to his mother who thanked Cleo profusely. Cleo was fairly quiet, unsure how to take the gratefulness when her uncle had so blatantly abused her child. She hadn't quite got the whole concept of the supernatural -which was one of the reasons she did not speak-, but was slowly getting used to it after being so exposed to it all. Her mind still spun sometimes, yet she could talk to the slightly odd people who were not human. It took her a while, but she managed.
 
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"What the hell took you so bloody long?"

Warren snarled the words the minute his superior came in. The werewolf had been laid up for three days, but his cuts were more-than halfway healed and while his bones were still severely cracked and fragile, they were mending nicely. A fresh supply of meat, a couple of faeries gifted in the healing talents, proper fluids and some rest had rebooted his own regenerative properties and Warren felt more...well, the phrase was 'more human' but that didn't really count for him.

Whatever.

Michael, a vampire with dark, slicked-back hair and pale blue eyes as cold as his demeanor, didn't reward Warren's tone with a quick reply, instead studying the werewolf in a way that made the blond male bristle. He knew that look and had decided long ago he didn't like it in the least. "You are healing well." It was an opening phrase, a practiced move and Warren's fangs closed together, a growl rumbling through his chest, gray eyes hard as flint. "I always do. Whatever mission you have planned, you can shove it up your-"

"We were delayed, Warren." A feminine voice interrupted his words and a red-head walked in, dress professionally, carrying a clipboard and while the werewolf didn't ease up on his glare, the growl died down....just a little. "Explain."

The human woman smiled in thanks and then spoke again, clipboard to chest. "The tracker we implanted in you worked, but there were some complications while you were...otherwise engaged."

Warren snorted. "I was tortured, Grace. Again. Let's not mince words."

Grace looked faintly agitated, shifting her weight before she went on, glancing at Michael. The vampire hadn't so much as blinked. The human cleared her throat. "Yes, well...here. This will explain better to you what's going on." She approached the bed and lowered the clipboard a little, giving him her phone, already loaded with a video. Warren frowned, confused, but took it and started to watch. It took only a minute before his gray eyes started to widen, his skin paling in shock and then he looked up at the other two, questioning. "This...this is real?"

Grace took her phone back, lips pressed together tightly, swallowing before she answered. "It's been ongoing for nearly a month now. It started here, but we think it was planned because other countries soon followed America's example. Mythicals everywhere are being exposed, whether they wish it or not. We are trying to bring some sort of order to all this, but...it's difficult. We didn't mean to neglect you, Warren. We-"

"There were far more pressing matters at hand." Michael stated bluntly, fixing the werewolf with his glacial blue eyes. "There still are. We have another job for you."
 
Cleo was lounging awkwardly on a bed in some room that a light haired, paper white man with feathers covering his arms ushered her into. She didn't even ask what type of creature he was mainly in fear of offending him, for he was nice enough to her in the past few days. She had seen enough people that ranged in colors, sizes, forms, and shapes that she could have never imagined before.

At least she got over the panic attacks and fainting fits when something unusually scary came up to her and started talking. Well, for the most part. When she saw a decently person turn into a dog, she just about had a heart attack. Of course she felt terribly guilty for reacting in such a way. Not all of them were terribly frightening though. She had met a charming little brownie whom she gave her sweets to whenever someone remembered to bring her food, and when she saw someone turn into large jaguar, she couldn't help but gush. She almost started to believe that nothing could shock her anymore after witnessing so many different species of walking talking people.

While all the fuss was going on in what she now called the "hideout," she had begun to worry about work, school, and friends. She hadn't been able to contact any of them, supposedly for her own safety. It had her worried and made her wonder how in the world was she to explain a disappearance for a month without word. Questions like would she ever get to return ran into her mind on a daily basis, and she felt a slight resentment for being cooped up like a child. If it weren't for the kind but strange people there in the "hideout", she would feel like being held a prisoner.

She was slightly going mad with all the containment.

Cleo was not one for cages, not anymore. After quitting law school and finding a career in art, she learned that caging in any forms was bad. The dislike for cages was reinforced by how Uncle Jimmy held his hostage. The mere thought gave her the shudders at how he could so crudely do that to a child of all things. No matter the race, species, gender, or occupation of the person, they were still indeed a person with feelings too.

But back to the reason why she was in the room in the first place. The feathered man had politely escorted her to a holding room, or what she assumed to be a holding room. She didn't quite understand the situation or what was to happen, but she was assured that she had nothing to worry about. Then again, it could easily be her ignorance talking. She was told something about relocation and protection, though she wasn't sure for whom or what. Everything was a hazy memory for she was terribly confused at the time. Even know she was still slightly hindered in the mental department.

She mainly couldn't understand why she needed protection.

At the mention of protection, she recalled one of her two best friends. Her taser and pepperspray.She sorely missed them more than anything, but since she wasn't "mentally stable" when she got here, they had to take it away from her. There was no need for a panicking human to start electrocuting and squirting harsh liquids into innocent people's eyes, and she couldn't quite blame them for that.
 
They'd explained it to him, quite clearly, what they wanted.

He was to guard the niece of the person responsible for outing the North American Mythicals. Apparently she'd gotten mixed up in it mostly by mistake, but had saved the Mythie involved with the revealing. That put her in WPA's good graces, unlike her Uncle. This niece had other family that had already been relocated and placed under protection, but it was not them that WPA was worried about. It was the girl they felt would be targeted and as this was a highly sensitive case they wanted only their best on it.

Warren knew what that meant, what they didn't say.

They wanted someone to take her place should they fail in their job of protecting her. With the werewolf's Replacing power, they could have that. The girl would be safe and he...well, they'd come to get him eventually. Or he'd get out himself. It all worked out in the end, right?

It was on the tip of Warren's tongue to tell them just what they could do with this plan, this 'request' of theirs. He wasn't even healed fully yet and they wanted him to do more? It was unreasonable....but then again, so was the rest of the world right now...and all he wanted to do was make sure that Cleo was surviving it all right. No, he didn't want this mission. They could find someone else. They could-

"Warren." Grace's brown eyes caught his gray and she looked like she wanted to touch his arm, to reassure, but wisely did not act on that inclination. "You will want to take this mission." Her words were so simple, should not have convinced him to do anything at all, but....Warren knew that Grace didn't lie. And despite the fact that he wasn't close to anyone here, she was someone he semi-trusted and she never abused that. So if she was saying he'd want this mission....perhaps there was something more to it than what he was being told?

Looking from Michael's cold blue eyes and Grace's hopeful brown, the werewolf felt like he was committing his soul unto hell....but then, he'd already done that coming to work for them in the first place, hadn't he?

"Fine."

--

The doctors had NOT been happy to learn their patient was being discharged so soon, but they hadn't had much say in the matter. Warren left the hospital section of the building in his own clothes - jeans and a black shirt, barefoot and no one commenting on it - and under his own power, though, he would only admit to himself that he just wanted to lie down again the moment he truly started to use his body. He could have done with several more hours of sleep.

Especially knowing he wouldn't be using the drugs the doctors had given him. He tossed them in the nearest trash-can as they passed through a crowded lobby and neither Grace nor Michael said a word. WPA didn't allow their active agents to be on medications that could make them drowsy or slow to think. The doctors hadn't needed to know that Warren was going immediately back into active status. They would have caused more of a fuss that way. Michael certainly had not wanted to deal with THAT.

They'd come to a door now, a holding room where some clients met their guards - depending on why they were being guarded - and Michael stopped before opening he door, the vampire giving the werewolf a hard look. "Do try to remain professional." His words had Warren frowning, puzzled but they were walking through the door then and the question died on his lips.

That smell.

He knew that smell.

Cleo. She was....wait. Cleo?

Warren blinked, stared for a long moment as it sank in, as the dots connected and he felt a wave of horrible realization sweep over him....and then he just felt cold as Michael spoke, completely uncaring of any damage he might cause.

"Miss Squier, this is Agent FangRunner. He is the Mythical we've assigned to guard you based on his unique and rare talent. He will keep you safe."

Gray eyes closed slowly as Warren felt the world spin out of control around him, a cold numbness spreading through his veins that he understood all too well. He'd felt the same way when his pack - his father - had banished him from the pack. Only a child, the trauma and fear of it had overwhelmed him. The werewolf felt the same thing threatening now and tried to breathe. He only realized that Michael was looking at him, waiting for some kind of response to some unanswered question, when Grace just barely touched his arm, trying to get his attention.

Warren nearly jumped out of his skin, flinching back and then biting down on a whimper from both pain at the sudden jarring of his body, and panic, the sound only half concealed. He steadied quickly, too quickly as if it was trained into him, and focused his dilated gray eyes on the vampire. "I trust I can leave you to explain things?" Michael repeated himself and Warren had to clench his fists - claws biting into his own skin - to keep from attacking the other male.

The werewolf gave a jerky nod and the vampire left without another word, Grace in tow, but looking back with some worry before the door closed, leaving Warren and Cleo in silence...and the werewolf struggling with meeting the human's eyes, afraid of what he'd find there.
 
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Cleo sat up abruptly after hearing the faintest click of the door opening. She examined the people who walked in through the doorway by the order they entered. They weren't completely different like some of the other people she had seen, if anything they appeared a bit normal

An alluring dark haired man with sharp blue eyes, he seemed like either the cold and calculating type or the brooding type. Warren. A female with gi- WAIT! What? Warren?

Cleo did a double take, her eyes filtering in the image of Warren Forester indeed standing with the other male and female in the room. Had he somehow gotten into this whole mess? Was it because they were close friends? Did he search for her? Well, it wasn't surprising really. Warren always seemed to find where she was even if she hadn't told him where she was going. His visit to the museum being a prime example of that. She was slightly concerned that he somehow dragged himself into this mess too. There was one thing she knew all too well now. Warren did not like being caged in or withheld from something. Being forced to stay here would kill him.

Then the dark haired man spoke, completely blowing her mind.

It was a joke of course. Oh, it had to be. He was pulling on her leg! The universe was poking some fun at her for believing nothing could surprise her. Right? Right? Wrong. She knew she was lying to herself because Warren would not meet her eye. The dark haired mystery had all but had Warren confirm he had been lying to her most of her life, and she felt her whole world damn near crash down. Any doubts were confirmed by the ginger haired woman with brown eyes staring at Warren with sympathy. Mystery man droned on, but it was all fuzzy to Cleo. Like she was underwater and listening in on a conversation she did not take part in.

Something in her snapped, and she didn't know what.

Cleodora did not know how to act, what to say, what to even do. She wanted to slap him across the face for leading her on. She had thought they were friends, that she actually meant something to him. Was it all a farce? Even when he was a child? Was this some type of game to him? That last thought hurt her the most, making her physically flinch at the prospect. Her eyes wavered over to him, but she couldn't bare stare at him for long because of the physical and mental pain it brought her.

He looked remorseful at least. Maybe that was a lie too though. Maybe he was just expertly pulling on her heart strings trying to get her to soften up and get her to trust him again. She wasn't angry. She wasn't even sad. It was like when Jethan died at first. Hell, that was the perfect example. If anything her best friend had died, let alone the fact Warren Forester never truly existed. It was all some stupid game of some cruel a**hat that thought it would be funny to pull on some human. Then his fun came crashing down when she became his next job.

How long would he have pulled it off for? Another year? Six? Seven? Till she died? Every moment she hugged him, told him she was there for him, how much she missed him, he was laughing behind his sympathetic mask. She felt a tightening of her chest after that, and she took in deep breaths and slow exhales, trying to get the oxygen to her brain. Yet deep inside she felt like she was hyperventilating and her brain was going foggy.

Her voice was quiet and emotionless, "Is your name even Warren?"

She clenched her hands into the bed, knuckles turning white with the force put into it. Betrayal. Loneliness. Abandonment. All the things she feared oh so much came flooding in so fast that she didn't know how to react. But she wasn't mad. No, she wasn't mad at all. She let go of the sheets, folding her hands gently in her lap. She didn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her broken up about this, but she had so many questions to ask.

"Were you enjoying this little 'thing' you put on? This lie. Were others into it too? How long would it have gone on? Would you have kept lying to me until something like this would have occurred? Did you even feel the slightest amount of guilt? Don't lie because I think I already know the answers. Gosh, I should have known something was up since the beginning."

She paused for a moment, unsure how to word it,"Was I ever really your friend? Even for the slightest moment?"

She wanted to have him to tell her it was all some crude joke he had pulled on her. That she was nothing to him. That is was all some screwed up lie that he derived some sort of sadistic pleasure from. If so, she could be angry. She could hate him, she could be mad. She wanted to be those things. She needed those emotions because they confirmed that she was indeed in reality and these whole few weeks were real. That she was being played for most of her life.
 
Her first words were like a burning knife through his chest.

The tone she took twisted deep inside him, hurting like no kind of torture had ever done and with each sentence, each question, he felt the pain grow, the knife run deeper and deeper, trying to carve out his very soul, causing as much damage as it could inflict upon the way. The werewolf held a near-constant, low whimper in his throat as Cleo spoke, but she hardly seemed to notice and Warren tried to keep it that way...though, he couldn't stop the overwhelming and instinctive reaction to flinch at every question as if he'd been struck.

He'd known she wouldn't be happy if she ever found out. He'd expected shock, disbelief, anger...but not for Cleo to assume he was playing some sick game with her emotions. That he had not thought about and he'd never wanted to. Hearing it now, it threatened to shatter his heart. Cleo could not know how similar her accusations were to the ones he'd heard years ago, as a child, before his whole world was turned into a nightmare.

Gray eyes, wracked with guilt and with pain, but still filled with that same softness they'd always held when brought to meet her brown ones, looked to Cleo at her last two questions and Warren spoke quietly, hardly daring to speak any louder.

"You have been the only person who could claim to be my friend since I was eight years old." They'd met when he was eleven, but that didn't change the fact of his statement and the blond struggled to hold her gave, instinct telling him to back down before Cleo. She was female, upset and he was semi-part of her 'pack'. He deferred to her in situations like this...or at least the wolf part of him did. The intelligent part of him knew that if he looked away, she'd think he was lying. The wolf part of him considered staring to be a challenge, though, and didn't want that.

In the end, the intelligent side won out, but Warren nearly felt nauseated with the tension it created within him. He struggled to speak without letting his voice shake. "I didn't play you. I'm not...I...you are my friend and anything I have ever said to you, I meant it. Every...every word of it. I...I wanted to tell you, but...I couldn't. If I had, I'd be killed. You'd be killed and....I didn't want to scare you."

Gods, above everything else, he hadn't wanted to scare her. He'd not wanted to lose her and now...Warren was terrified of just that.
 
Cleo didn't want to believe him.

Why would she want to believe him? What if it was a last ditch attempt to salvage whatever tatters of false friendship that remained? It would be so much easier to just give up on him now then forgive him only to end up right in next twenty years. The heartbreak at losing him, because she definitely lost Warren, was a pain that hit her worse than Jethan. Would the game he so adamantly denied, but she was still suspicious of, go on if she accepted him as he was? Would she even be able to accept him as he was?

A painful twist ran through her chest, and she couldn't meet his eyes at all. She would have been able to accept Warren Forester, the human, without a thought of hesitation. She would have forgiven Warren Forester in an instance. No matter what he did. He could have chopped off her arm, and she would still have blindly followed him into hell. Yet she knew Warren Forester would have never put her through that.

But Warren FangRunner? She didn't know him at all. She didn't know what he was. It had less to do with the species, and more to do with the actual personality of FangRunner. What he wanted. How he acted. What made him mad. His ticks. His habits. She didn't really know anything about the real him. Even if it wasn't some sick game, he was hiding behind a different name and species. He was not the same person for he had to hide things from her, not small things either. Big things that affected how he acted. Warren Forester and Warren FangRunner were two completely different people to her.

But the biggest question that ran through her head was not whether she could look past this or not. It wasn't who he was, or what he had done. Actually, it had less to do with Warren and more to do with Cleo.

Could she live without him?

Warren Forester had always been a stable factor in her life, even though he faded in and out throughout the years. He was always there when she needed him, even when others weren't. Would she be able to give him up? Or would she crumble like a building without support pillars? She was in such turmoil, and it was mentally taxing. Her head swirled worse than when she found out mythological beings were real.

She was certain about one thing though, and she finally whispered, "I-I just do-don't know what to say. What to think. What to believe. What to do."

Was she being overemotional? Maybe. Overreacting? Possibly. But then she had been through so much mental shock as of late that it would be hard to blame her. The poor girl had gone to meeting her deranged uncle with a mental problem and a drug addiction, to helping a captured fairy, to moving into a strange building with stranger people, to having little to no social contact other than a small brownie and a person that changed into a cat. Finally, she learned that her childhood friend was a completely different species then her AND that she most likely knew nothing about him. She was allowed her mental breakdown.
 
He felt both relief and panic when she looked away and reacted to neither, simply closing his own eyes tightly for a long moment as he listened to her words, to her breathing so ragged in her own throat, to the erratic beat of her heart as she fluctuated between false calm and racing thoughts. Her scent, usually so comforting to him, now reeked with fear and uncertainty and the werewolf wanted so badly to go to her, to fix it somehow, but he knew he couldn't.

Nothing but time could fix this.

And maybe not even time.

"I understand." The words rasped from his throat, painful and Warren drew in a harsh breath, telling himself to give her space, to....to let her come to terms and decide if she still wanted him. Michael had said to be professional and while Warren never listened to Michael, he found himself considering that angle now. But no. He couldn't just....act like Cleo was nothing more than a job. She was nothing like that, anything but that. She was his world and his world was starting to crumble.

Warren was not blind to the fact that Cleo's had already crashed down around her....and there was nothing he could do about it. He was part of the cause and he hated it.

He raked his hand back through his hair, willing himself not to tremble in reaction to the fear and nausea he felt, tried to ignore the sudden pain that had awoken from the wounds on his body still not healed. He ignored the way raising his arm pulled on his cracked ribs. None of it mattered. That Cleo was so distraught mattered. Nothing else.

"I...my name is Warren. That...that is true." He gave a soft growl in lieu of clearing his throat, doing it without thinking at all, and spoke again, trying to sound more steady for her sake. "They're going to let you go back home. I'm assigned to guard you, but if..." Warren struggled here and finally closed his eyes as he spoke, maybe fooling himself into think that it would be easier to say the words that way.

It wasn't.

"If you'd rather have someone else, I can get that arranged."
 
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Cleo snapped her own eyes shut, trying to find an answer to that. Did she still want him around while she was trying to sort this whole mess out in her mind? The selfish part of her said yes. As previously stated many times before, Warren was her supportive pillar. The selfish side wanted him to back her up till she decided to push him away or try to mend their friendship.

As of late, she had been mainly thinking about herself.

The whole time she was thinking about how she felt. How much she wanted to paint Warren in a bad picture -not literally- so she could hate him. It would have been easier for her, but what about Warren Forester? How would he feel? A tinge of guilt hit her, and she felt ashamed as well as confused. He had said her knowing would put both their lives in jeopardy, but that didn't automatically forgive him of it all. If anything, it could have been an excuse.

She spoke hesitantly, putting time between each word spoken, "I need to think. To process. To sort things out. I don't know if you need the same thing, but do what you want. I don't know if you will want to be around me, especially now."

God, she really needed something to drink right now. Something to hide behind to avoid her numbness and pain especially if he went with her. That and she needed a very good explanation as to why she disappeared for a whole month. The days ahead of Cleo were most likely going to be long and painful. All she wanted to do was go back in time where everything was simple. Too bad she had yet to meet a genie.

"Can I go home now? I really need something familiar. Normal," she said tiredly.

What a mess everything was. She could, at this moment, easily understand why the mythical beings kept it a secret, if only to avoid situations like those of her and Warren. She wasn't angry, she wasn't sad. If anything, the dull throb in her chest and mind were the only things that reminded her that she was alive. The rest of her body was tingly and numb. The feeling was something she knew fairly well after the fairy ordeal.

A question popped into her head, making her curious. She had yet to see a human that actually worked in the building, most who showed were being shuffled here and there much like herself. The dark haired wonder had practically admonished her that he was something different by calling him an agent, but he had never specified what. Or at least she didn't hear him say anything.

"And one final question. What exactly are you, Agent FangRunner?"
 
Her silence was deafening to his sensitive ears and Warren felt he could barely breathe as he waited for her words. They hurt when they came. She wasn't telling him no, but neither was it a yes. She was making it his choice, essentially saying she'd be fine without him if he chose to back away. But then, should that have really surprised him? Cleo...she had a life, friends, a job, hobbies, routines...she had survived his absences before, had thrived and gone on.

Had she ever really needed him at all?

Warren knew he needed her, far more than she could know, could even fathom, would ever suspect. He needed her like he needed the blood flowing through his veins.

But that didn't mean she felt the same way and it was that realization that hurt the most. But it wouldn't stop him from going with her, protecting her. Even if she didn't want to be friends in the end, even if she never wanted to see him again...he'd always make sure she was safe. Always. No matter how much it hurt him, he'd always be her shadow, someone she could forget about as the years went on, as she found someone to love and had children, grew old. She'd never see him again, but he'd be there, ever loyal but invisible, always keeping her safe. The werewolf had resolved that to himself without even having to think about it and right now, with that decision firm in his heart, he moved to the door and opened it, going out, leaving it open for Cleo to follow in wordless answer to her query about going home.

It was only when she spoke her next question that he stilled, his back to her. Warren's entire body stiffened at hearing what she called him and a shiver ran through his well-built frame. Agent FangRunner. That's all he was to her now, wasn't he? Not Warren. Agent FangRunner. He stared at the far wall for a moment, feeling like she'd hit him. Not the fake, playful hits he loved so much, but an agonizing strike that made him want to whimper and cringe away. Warren stayed very still and his voice was quiet.

"I'm a Werewolf."
 
She followed after him, stopping when he did so she wouldn't collide with him. After a few painstaking moments, he answered. It was in such a quiet voice that she struggled to hear him, but she did barely. Yet her brain couldn't fathom what he had just said.

Werewolf. Warren turned into a canine. A dog.

Her fists clenched, and if it were in any other situation, she would have laughed at the coincidence. Of course he had to be one of the things she feared most of all. Her eyes snapped shut, trying to will away the image of her friend, if she could even call him that, ripping away into a dog of all things. She withheld the shivers, mentally slapping herself a few times. God had the funniest sense of humor, pairing her with him.

She could do this. She had gone through therapy. She was managing her psychological issues with dogs, a particular phobia called cynophobia. She was getting better. She just prayed to whatever higher deity out there that Warren did not change into a giant wolf in front of her, or else she may lose it. Goodness gracious, this was a mess. She knew he knew about her particular phobia, and if Cleo ever felt like a b****, it was definitely now. He had somehow managed to not comment on her estranged fears of all things canine throughout his years of knowing her.

The human could only manage an, "Oh."

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of some simple jeans she was given, but as she walked, her mind was filled with images of Warren turning into a large dog. It scared her, of course it did, but she was also aware it was irrational. Warren Forester would have never hurt her, she knew that for sure. She had her doubts about Warren FangRunner, but she did not feel as though he was a physical danger to her. Yet her mind would not stop flashing images of him.

She calmed her breathing as much as she could, but it could not stop her racing heartbeat. It drummed in her ears, and she felt as though everyone in the whole building could probably hear it. As much as she regretted asking, it was probably for the best. Learning it later could put even more strain on their relationship, mainly because seeing her friend go wolf on her without the warning would probably set her off on a full blown panic attack. Panic attacks were never good for her, and they probably weren't good for Warren since he was forced to deal with her.
 
If Warren was prone to crying, he might have done so now at the way she said that one word, at the instant smell of fear that came over her, at the rapid beat of her heart as she tried to control that fear. Something he'd always dreaded happening had now happened; she'd found out he was the one thing she was most scared of. It was cruel and unusual punishment, and the sad thing was that Warren knew very well what he was being so severely punished for.

Their deaths had been his fault. If he'd just been stronger, faster, more...just...more, they'd be alive and...but they weren't and it was his fault. So this was his punishment; to lose everyone he cared about. He'd been foolish to think that he wouldn't someday lose Cleo, too. Warren just hadn't thought it would be so...so painstakingly slow and brutal, watching as word after word, revelation after revelation tore her further away from him.

But then...had she ever really been HIS? Or just Warren Forester's? The human she'd thought he was, but could never truly be? He'd hidden so much because he'd HAD to, but now that she knew, would she accept such things? Let Forester and FangRunner become one person or would she simply push him away because it was too difficult?

Warren would have liked to believe the former.

The werewolf had given up hoping for his own sake a long time ago.

--

The ride back to Cleo's apartment had been in the back of a bullet-proof SUV with dark tinted windows, comfortable leather seats and the vehicle purred like a kitten. And Warren HATED every second of it. He'd endured Cleo's car with good grace because it was CLEO, but he could not even rely on her now, let her calm him as she was nervous and agitated herself - if for other reasons - and as soon as the vehicle stopped, he was bolting from it.....right into the flash of cameras. The werewolf was startled and stressed enough that a fierce growl erupted from his mouth and the nearest reporters moved back, alarmed. It gave Warren the time he needed to turn around, place his hand on the roof of the car and vault over the thing completely. He landed on the passenger side as Cleo opened her own door and his body shielded her from the first blast of flashing lights.

His ribs screamed their protest at his action, but Warren ignored them, his focus on Cleo instead as he shrugged out of his jacket, still carefully in front of her, the door blocking her body as well. "Cover your face. WPA will get them out of here quickly, but you don't want to be seen in the meantime."

Gray eyes met her brown and whether there was still any trust left in Cleo for him or not, Warren was going to take care of her. "Stay close."
 
Cleo was a person of art, she enjoyed the flashing of cameras. Well, as long as she wasn't the subject of attention. She knew how harsh reporters could be, and was more than happy when the werewolf offered her a source of cover. Though she debated whether the fly over the car move was absolutely necessary. If they were on better terms, she would have teased him for showing off, and the mere thought issued a ghost of a smile on her face despite herself. It quickly dropped though when the questions and the flashing processed in her brain. She took his offered jacket slowly, placing it over her head slightly, enough so they couldn't get full access of her face but she still had visuals over the ground. The last thing she wanted was to fall over and get trampled.

Thoughts of him going werewolf on her was pushed to the back of her mind, for she was much more focused on trying to follow Warren and get the hell out of there. Her life was not supposed to be some stupid storyline to make the next hottest topic. If she hadn't come to resent her Uncle Jimmy before, she had now.

Would it be like this for a while?

She dare not think of it for she had work to do and classes to go to. Unless the chaos of the mythical creatures being discovered somehow suspended everything in the world, although she highly doubted it. Nothing could stop a history exam. She knew that for a fact, and she dreaded having to return to classes. Maybe her teachers would grant her amnesty considering the circumstances, they tend to lean on the more merciful side. She wasn't all too concerned with work. They had probably shut down in all the hype and went out for fantasy inspiration. Most of them were a tad bit cuckoo anyway, but terribly nice people once you got past it all. Her friends were another matter though. She knew her home phone would be bombarded with messages from them and whomever informed the media most likely. A month with not contact and most of them probably went into a panic unless they had somehow gotten into contact with her parents before they too were sent off.

Marching up the apartment steps, she fiddled with the keys she got back from the WPA. She opened the door to happily find her apartment seemingly untouched. Well except for the dark haired man with sharp green eyes and dark skin that was caramel colored. He was not overly tall, nor was he short. A happy medium with a lean build with not bulging muscles of any sort. He was simply sitting on the coffee table, staring at the door.

"Cleodora Bandit Squier! You do not answer my calls! You do not reply to my texts! I call and call, yet you do not reply to my heartfelt worries, mi vida! How dare you play my heart like this," the man accused while pointing a finger at her, but it was hard to take him seriously with his r's rolling due to his strong accent coming out for the man was very angry.

"A month, mi cielo! A month since you disappeared. I ha-," the green eyed man stopped and stared at the werewolf who was behind her with question in his eyes. "You brought home a dog, darling? How unexpected. That would explain why it stunk before."