Finding Home

And Warren thought things couldn't get any worse.

He'd smelled the feline shifter the moment he'd come into the apartment, and while his first thoughts had been simply that WPA had been in Cleo's house to make sure no threats - like bombs and far more....mythical means of killing someone - were planted, and that he was just smelling someone who'd been here, that was quickly proven wrong by the fact that the male was still here. Oh, WPA HAD been here, Warren could tell by the tiniest inconsistencies in the room that Cleo wouldn't catch on to, but this shifter wasn't WPA.

No, what he was, apparently, was a friend of Cleo's and a rude one at that. Still, arrogance always was befitting a cat.

The werewolf growled, low and deep, and decidedly unfriendly at the feline shifter, not trying to hide it - what was to hide anymore? - and his words were nearly snarled back as he moved past Cleo and then past the male entirely, not caring for a name or a greeting. "It's wolf, not dog, Or would you like me to call you kitten? You are a Jaguar Shifter, right?" That last statement he threw over his shoulder before disappearing into the bathroom.

Let Cleo realize he wasn't the only friend who'd been keeping secrets. At least he wouldn't be alone in the rejection. The sooner the cat was gone the better. It wasn't like felines were the greatest smelling creatures on the planet themselves!
 
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The dark skinned man pouted at the 'wolf' who had blew his cover before he could. He leaned forward from the table onto the couch back, staring at the human girl with sad eyes.

"Ah ah ah! Mi vida, before you get oh too prickly let me explain, no? I came here to tell you specifically, darling. For the beans have been spilled already! I am officially safe to come out of the metaphorical supernatural closet! Be proud of me, mi amor," the jaguar explained.

Cleo was mind boggled. First Warren and now Yaotl. But then again, Yaotl wasn't much of a surprise for he was slightly weird. The only reason she ever met him was because Tanya had introduced them in high school, and even Tanya's meeting was sketchy at best. He had plain out licked her friend's cheek, winked, then ran away. It was her job to track down the mystery assaulter, and she found him. Well, he found her, thankfully he did not give her the sloppy greeting as he did her friend. Just a rather sloppy kiss to the hand and cheek.

It clicked in her mind, and it only made sense. They way he moved, acted, and even spoke sometimes was catlike in manner. How he lounged in chairs, his walk, his rumbling voice. She even swore he hinted at it sometimes, but her mind has brushed it off as a bilingual mixing up his words. Her mind had brushed off a lot of facts. Things that showed Warren wasn't human. His head cocking to the side was something he often did. Weird growl like sounds that slipped from his mouth. It should have been obvious to Cleo, but she acted blind to it.

It all gave her a major headache in one blow, and she leaned on the kitchen table still facing Yaotl.

"Ok, mi hombre hermoso," she stated slowly.

Cleo did not know Spanish at all, oh she hadn't a clue how to even say what her name is. Yet Yaotl was a stubborn man and demanded everyone call him an endearment, for reasons unknown. Cleo's being roughly translated to, 'her handsome man'. It would most likely soften him up so he could take her kicking him out in a stride. She really didn't want to deal with it.

"Ah ah ah, Bandit. I know what you are thinking. You will not kick me out! If a little wolf gets to stay, I am staying," Yaotl protested.

"Yaotl," she sighed and spoke in a quiet voice. "It's Warren. You don't have to worry about him doing anything."

The bilingual man sighed, moving towards her to place his hand on her cheek. His fake facade dropped, and his voice lowered an octave. His lips were set in a grim line, and he let his hand drop seeing the resolve in her eyes.

"Fine fine, Cleo," he gave. "But you will call me as soon as you can, okay? Tanya, Jared, Alice, Lawrence, and Kristin are worried. Do not make them wait, Bandit. Or I shall have your skin. My people were known as the jaguar warriors for we hunted them and wore their skin as a sign. You know this. I am adequate in skinning creatures."
 
Despite where he was, Warren had been keeping a close watch on Cleo's scent and listening for any raised voices or signs of distress. He smelled none, heard none. In fact, she was speaking rather calmly and somehow it twisted the blade already firmly lodged in his heart. Why was finding out he was a Mythical so bad, but finding out this cat was the same fine? He didn't understand and it wasn't fair, and it hurt.

But then, everything always hurt. Warren knew that well and he knew it again as his weary gray eyes inspected the damage to his back in the mirror. Some of the cuts, jagged and deep for his captors hadn't been going for elegance, had come open again and now bled freely. That incriminating red had already stained his shirt, but it was black and had not been detected, though, he was sure the Jaguar had smelled it. Hopefully the cat would keep his mouth shut.

Warren knew he wasn't in any danger of bleeding out. The myriad of scars that littered his body gave proof to his knowledge of such things. There was a reason he'd never, ever gone shirtless in front of Cleo. The whip-scars especially would have been very hard to explain. At the moment, though, he was more concerned about the cuts that had been made over those scars and Warren haphazardly staunched the blood with some paper towels, unable to reach them without it being awkward, but he managed as best he could. He knew the bleeding wasn't going to really stop, though, until they were re-bandaged, but the pads he'd just taken off were soaked through.

Stars, Emilia was going to kill him. The doctor had been rather stern in her warnings and she didn't take having to retreat a patient with good grace. Still.... Warren pulled out his phone and quickly dialed her number, knowing it by heart now. The doctor answered...already knowing why he was calling.

"Did you break a rib already?!" No 'hello', no greeting of any kind. Just that and Warren winced.

"Actually it's-"

"I told you not to tear your back open, you blasted wolf! You've been gone two hours! TWO HOURS!"

The werewolf was very quiet for a moment, tempted to just snap the phone shut, already overwhelmed, but in the end, his defense mechanism kicked in instead and the canine's voice was decidedly facetious. "At least I haven't broken my record from last year. That was ten minutes, right?"

"I'll be over in twenty." Emilia growled the words, a werewolf herself.

"Bring a new shirt." Warren shut the phone without answering, not needing to. Instead he looked again to himself in the mirror, focusing on his back and not his face. The person there...he didn't want to see him, see the haunted brokenness in his eyes that would be hidden as soon as he left the small room or the sheer exhaustion that hung on his frame, also skillfully hidden. He wanted to forget that person existed.

Warren slipped his shirt back on, knowing it would be wet with blood soon enough and Emilia would not be happy, but that's what the new shirt was for. He gave a slight smirk at the thought and then sighed, breathing in deeply afterwards before he opened the bathroom door and exited, bracing himself for once again facing Cleo.
 
The jaguar man rubbed his face into the young Squier's neck appreciatively, purring slightly. He placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek and narrowly missed an open palm coming at him at a quick speed. Realizing she wouldn't be slapping him anytime soon, she huffed and wiped her cheek as though she had somehow obtained cooties. The dark haired man only laughed, inching away from her.

"Remember, mi vida, call me," Yaotl purred, stretching out the word 'call' dramatically. "If you don't, I shall visit you every day until you do and confess my undying love."

Cleo was too tired to even respond to his teasings, let alone think anymore. Her mind was swirling for she had obtained too much information that day, let alone the whole month. Drama everywhere, emotions skyrocketing, and hurt feelings everywhere. She couldn't find it in herself to feel betrayed at Yaotl, mainly because they weren't that close anyway. Not like her and Warren.

No one was as close to her as Warren Forester. No one at all. She could take it from Yaotl, mainly because he never tried to hide it in the beginning. The dark haired man never lied or denied it, but then again Warren didn't either. It threw her into a deep turmoil.

She thought slowly and carefully, "Why does not knowing that Warren was a werewolf bother me more than not knowing Yaotl was a jaguar? A jaguar shifter? A jaguar warrior? Well, whatever Yaotl is." Silently chastising herself, "Keep on track, Cleo."

No matter how hard she thought about she could not come up with any other answer than 'No one was as close to her as Warren Forester' or 'I'm just too tired to even care anymore'. Even then, those answers were not exactly viable. It made her want to bash her head into a wall. She would have to sort these feelings out somehow, sometime, and sooner was better than later, yet she dearly wanted to procrastinate.

It would be the easy thing to do. Push things off till he demanded an answer from her. How long would he stay before she would be considered safe? How long would she be able to monopolize his time before he gave up on her or she gave up on him? Maybe monopolize was a slightly crude word to use, but at the moment that is what Cleo truly felt she was doing to him.

She was getting no where fast, driving herself into circles for no apparent reason. She could not deduct a logical reason as to why she had not been affected by Yaotl, but had been so emotionally hurt when she realized Warren had hid something from her. It even made her the slightest bit guilty because since she had no logical reason to back it, it wasn't exactly fair to Warren or Yaotl.
 
Warren was relieved to find the jaguar gone when he left, but had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't the last time he would see the cat. The thought didn't please him, but the werewolf knew he had no say in it or who Cleo chose to be friends with. In truth, he wouldn't wish to control that anyway. He liked knowing Cleo was free to do as she wished, that she could choose what made her happy. He just wished that he still did that, but he knew it would be a long while before she looked at him without fear, without feeling betrayed. If she ever could look at him without those feelings again.

It was with such thoughts in mind, wanting to be very careful that he didn't alarm her or do anything wrong, that Warren took a seat at the small kitchen bar, the thing between them as he kept his arms on the counter and his head down, trying not to agitate her further. And he didn't sit on the couch to avoid getting blood on it. He didn't think Cleo would appreciate that.

Warren didn't know what to do, what to say and hated that feeling. He'd not felt that way around Cleo since they'd first met and she'd quickly banished that wary uncertainty inside his eleven year old mind. It struck him much harder now as a twenty-five year old adult and the werewolf wished he knew how to fix it.

In the end he decided to just try and put her mind at ease regarding her safety, keeping his voice very quiet and only glancing at her for short periods of time, for all the world behaving like a canine caught doing something wrong. If he'd had ears and a tail right now, they would have been tucked against his head and under between his legs respectively.

"You can make calls if you want. Your phone lines have been secured. No one will trace them and WPA will have the reporters gone soon."
 
His mild interruption caught her attention, and she glanced back to him hesitantly. She stared at him for a bit, blinking once then twice, before she realized and processed what he had said. Her mouth formed an 'O' shape, before it whizzed shut.

She opened her mouth again, as if to speak, but couldn't come up with the write words. "Ah-" Trying again, "I- Uh. Thank you."

She looked away from him, her eyes glancing over the paintings, drawings, and other projects left scattered amongst the room. She didn't know what to say to Warren, she didn't know what to think. Because of that, she was terribly frustrated. The anger she so longed for earlier came in large waves, but instead of directing it at the werewolf that hung awkwardly in her home, she aimed it at herself. She didn't know what upset her more, her lack of brain capacity or her inability to be angry at the wolf in her home.

How could she be mad at him when he was acting like a kicked puppy?

Although the species was close, the comparison made her stomach twist in an uncomfortable manner. He had so harshly corrected Yaotl on the fact that he was a wolf instead of an average canine, and that almost seemed to concern her more. Wolves were wild and not tameable. Was Warren FangRunner wild? Was he dangerous?

Even despite their strained relationship, Cleo could not imagine the man in behind her, FangRunner or Forester, being a danger to her in any way or form. Then again he held or actually was a beast in sheep's clothing. Hiding behind the facade of a man was indeed a wolf, and when the time came, because she knew it would, would the beast override the Warren she once knew?

Was she afraid? Yes, of course she was afraid, canines were her biggest fear. Yet she was not only afraid of the beast within Warren, but for Warren himself. Would he lose himself to be beast one day? She didn't want to imagine him losing himself, or at least what she knew to be him. Despite the possibility of pushing him away, Cleo would always care for the man she knew. He was engraved so deeply in her heart, it would be impossible to forget him, much like Jethan. While she cared for him, she wasn't sure if she would ever be able to trust him, and if that were the case then pushing him away would be best for both of them. Or so she thought.
 
Warren merely nodded before folding his arms and simply resting his chin upon them, then deciding that wasn't comfortable enough and laying the side of his head across his forearms instead. His eyes closed against his will, the exhaustion he'd not yet cured pulling on him, tempting him to sleep where nothing hurt anymore, where his heart wouldn't ache and his back wouldn't throb with small pulses of fire. Years of training kept him from giving in to that coaxing darkness that lapped at his mind and instead he let himself slip into a state of awareness and yet blankness, turning his senses on and his thinking mind off.

In that way, he knew that eventually Cleo moved away to do what she felt needed to be done, perhaps some cleaning or making calls, checking her mail, going back to a project or maybe to take a nap. He didn't pay close enough attention to know, but kept her constantly in his 'radar' so he'd know if she was in distress.

The blond stayed that way until there was a knock on the door and he jolted back into awareness, head raising, a growl caught in his throat on reflex. Very much like a canine warning of a stranger's approach...only this wasn't a stranger, at least not to him and the werewolf stood with fluid grace that he made less of an effort to hide now, though, complete abandon to his werewolf ways was going to take some getting used to.

Answering the door, the male was greeted by a gorgeous female with loose ringlets of blond hair and acid green eyes. She was no older than he was and her arms were crossed under her chest, her glare already baleful. She pushed past him and into the apartment, already speaking in her snapped, growled tone.

"I swear, FangRunner, I'm going to chain you to that hospital bed if I have to make ONE more 'house call' because you've torn your fu-" She cut off, catching sight of Cleo and glanced from the male werewolf and the human female, brow raising. She spoke to the human despite Warren's warning look.

"If you can't stand the sight of graphic wounds, you might want to go into another room." With that, she turned and looked pointedly to the male werewolf, clear command in her voice, ignoring entirely how nervous, even scared Warren appeared. She wasn't here to coddle him, only to make sure he didn't bleed out or die from infection...not that he was likely to do either, but WPA was rather stern about bandaging up what they sent to be broken in the first place.

"Shirt off. Let's see what damage you've done. Judging by the amount of blood I smell, quite a bit."
 
Cleo had sent out phone calls responding to each and everyone of her friends' frantic messages. She even texted Yaotl for the sake of keeping him off her back for the rest of the day. She had contacted her boss, who was so caught up in the supernatural gist that she easily accepted Cleo's apologies and told her to get back to work. She was happy to know that she did not miss any exams or tests, and that Alice had gone through the trouble of hounding her classmates for notes. So in all the chaos, at least she didn't have to worry about school and work.

At the knock of the door, she slipped out of her small art room and went to answer the door, but the werewolf beat her to it.

When a woman who had alarmingly beautiful eyes stormed into her house with venom in her voice, Cleo slipped back towards her art room. She didn't leave of course because that would be impolite, but at the mention of graphic wounds, she fled back into her room with her mind swirling with questions. Before she shut the door lightly, she couldn't help but give a worrying glance back at Warren before going into hiding without a word.

He was injured? What happened? Why is he working in such a terrible condition? Was he going to be okay? Has this happened before?

She didn't want to leave him behind, but she also assumed he would want some privacy for whatever would occur. She was not delighted when someone witnessed her pain, and she assumed he would not wish her to stay to see him in such a condition. That and if she stayed, she would have asked a billion questions, and he would most likely answer none of them which would leave them both terribly frustrated or her at least. She didn't need any frustrations, and clearly neither did he.

The silence only fired up more questions withing her though, and her mind flew. He needed to rest and recuperate. She was the only reason he was working and not doing something, or maybe she was being a tad bit too self centered. Either way though, he should have not taken the job. Before he said that he could get someone else to do it, was that option still open?

The last thing she wanted to happen was Warren dying or something while trying to protect her. Oh god. The mere thought made it feel as though someone had placed a elephant on her chest. She winced, grabbing a hold of a drawing table to keep her steady on her feet. She would never be able to live with the guilt if he died because of her.
 
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He felt relief to see Cleo go.

She'd already been through so much today, he didn't want this adding to the strain. She was frightened and confused, overwhelmed and tired, and he just wanted her to be happy again, to relax and know that everything was going to be all right. The fact that he was nearly bleeding onto her floors and not at all fine himself didn't come into Warren's mind so much. No, he was focused on Cleo and only Cleo. He always was, even to the exclusion of his own needs.

And right now he felt the need to voice the pain he was in, but his teeth clamped down on the sound, not wanting to do anything to alarm the human in the next room.

His shirt had come off, the back nearly saturated by this point, and Emilia for all her ranting, had surprisingly gentle fingers. She was the only doctor Warren had ever allowed to touch him while he was conscious for that reason. Right now, though, even her skilled actions could not lessen the pain of the stitches she was now replacing in his back.

"Just breathe, FangRunner."

A growl, low, rumbling through the room, answered her and the she-wolf gave her own soft snarl back on principle. She finished up repairing the damage and bandaged him again before moving to check his ribs. "You shouldn't be up yet, much less on an assignment. If all this entails is guarding one human, you should get someone else to cover it for you. Your body isn't ready for this." Emilia's voice was factual, professional and Warren hissed as she prodded a tender spot, his gray eyes closing, fangs bared.

"I'm fine. I can do this."

Acid green eyes rose to look at him, a brow rising over them. "You're never so eager to take a mission." Those fierce eyes narrowed. "You care about her." Emilia smirked as gray eyes, hard and blank stared back at her and she shook her head, straightening. "Guardian Wolves don't form attachments for a reason, FangRunner."

There was no response and the she-wolf left it at that, heading for the door and tossing him the shirt she'd brought as she went. "Try not to open them up again. You know how much I hate coming to the city." And like that she was gone, leaving Warren to look at the shirt in his hands for a long moment before he slipped it on gingerly...and then simply looked at his hands, willing himself not to cry or scream, or react in any kind of way at all to the swirling mess of emotional chaos within him.

The werewolf simply moved to the couch and unlike the last time he'd been here, this time he didn't hesitate to curl into an almost impossibly small position, both a way to protect himself, a futile attempt to stop the pain inside and from habitual instinct alone. He'd been doing it since he was a child.

And while Warren knew he couldn't sleep lest he shift, he did allow himself to doze, hoping that Cleo might feel more comfortable if she didn't feel like she was being watched the entire time he was here.
 
She dare not admit she was too afraid to exit the room to walk into something she dare not want to see, or something Warren didn't want to her see. So she sat on the table, twiddling her thumbs and questioning herself as to how in the world was she going to word it all. She still felt shocked about his whole lack revelation, and a little hurt as well as confused. Mostly because she hadn't a clue if she actually knew Warren.

Yet she had found her resolve as well as came to the point of finding a conclusion.

She assumed she was doing the best for him, and it would do plenty for her conscious if she could just come out and tell him what she had concluded. Sure, maybe it wasn't the best for his career, but since everything what going to hell, it probably didn't matter anyway. Anyway, they would be able to forgive him eventually. Or her. But then again, it was completely unethical for them to allow such a thing to occur. She just had to tell him how she felt.

She was terribly worried, and he needed to go somewhere safe to recuperate.

If they denied his or her request for a different agent, she would just have to go without one. Avoiding the cameras couldn't be that hard, and if anything bad really happened, she always had her parents bank card stashed away under the cabinet of her bathroom, taped to the roof of it. Moving wasn't impossible, and she could start a new life. Make new friends, live normally. Her heart ached uncomfortably so.

Just without Warren in her life.

Sure, it would be hard knowing he was out there and injured somewhere, but at least she'd know he wasn't doing something crazy that could get him murdered. Like she had though previously, Cleo wouldn't have been able to survive if Warren had died. At least this way she'd know he was alive and had a chance rather than out there reopening wounds by jumping over giant cards, or so she assumed.

It possibly would only be for a little while too, but Cleo wasn't sure for she had yet to work out that part yet. Her whole accept Warren for how he was or push him away had yet to be solved, and with reason. Him dying was a much more pressing matter especially since she wouldn't be able to do either if he ended up dead as some crazy human's wolf rug. She shivered.

When would she make her move though? Now, later in the day? Tomorrow morning? She just didn't know when to ease into the topic. Would he be angry? Would he even care? She had mostly gotten past the paranoid fact that she was just a game to him, but it still picked at the back of her mind like a evil pest.
 
In the end, Warren failed to stay awake. He was too tired, too stressed and too injured to fight it, but in the end, it was the weakness of his body that spared him a shift and he stayed in his human form during the nap he took.

It was a nightmare that woke him with a strangled cry caught in his throat. His pupils were dilated severely with fear and fangs had taken the place of normal teeth, bared into something between a scream and a snarl. Warren's claws had torn the small pillow his head had been on, but he'd not noticed that, staring ahead at nothing as his hitched breathing tried to come under control again. Only once it did that did he realize the damage he'd done and his claws slowly shrank back into nails, fingers hesitantly touching the torn shreds of what remained of the pillow. The werewolf's fangs slowly disappeared as he trembled and then slowly looked toward where he knew Cleo to be from smell alone.

That and he could hear her pounding heart.

The lingering fear hadn't quite left his gray eyes when they met her brown and Warren spoke quietly. In fact, he'd not spoken in any other tone to Cleo since the revelation that he was a werewolf, as if he was terrified of scaring her if he spoke in a normal tone.

"I'm sorry. I'll....I'll pay for it and...I won't sleep here again. I'm sorry."

He'd gotten lucky this time, not shifting his wolf form but that wasn't going to happen again he was sure and Warren, the last thing he wanted to do was scare Cleo. She'd been through too much in the last month already, things she'd not been prepared for. He'd grown up in this world. She was just dipping her toes in and unwillingly at that.
 
Somehow, Cleo convinced herself to get out of the small room. It took her quite some time to figure out something to say to him, to explain, then it took her twice as long to come up with the courage to say it. As she hobbled out of the room, she walked into the living room.

Only to have the very living daylight scared right out of her.

Warren had let out this terribly sound, something that would most likely echo in Cleo's mind forever. She had flinched back by instinct, but pressed forward with worry -and maybe a tad bit of fear- in her eyes. It wasn't something she could stop for it was an automatic reaction that stemmed from her subconscious mind. Trying to lighten the mood, she looked halfheartedly to the pillow before letting out a small comforting smile.

"I hated that pillow anyway. Don't worry about it," she consoled quietly.

She hadn't quite gotten over the 'I'm a werewolf, surprise,' incident. Hell if anything, she still hadn't a clue what to do with it all. Yet here she was about to say what she was about to. It was important for her and him, especially him. It would give her time to figure things out, and give him time to choose to distance himself from her. It would be a struggle for both of them, but Cleo knew they could both do it. Or at least try.

"I-uh-um. Are-no," she stuttered.

It was frustrating, to say at the least, to consistently stutter in such a case. Cleo was not one to be known to stutter, and as of late that was all she was doing. Was she going to be a person forever stuck this issue around Warren? She was not prone being in such a way, and it bothered her and made her feel weak and inferior to her past self.

She finally spat it out in a somewhat clear mumble, "Are you okay?"
 
The smile, small as it was, even somewhat strained on her part, soothed some of the ache within Warren's heart and he relaxed just a little to hear her words, comforting in a way that went beyond just the pillow. That she was even trying was the point and it assured him that she might still be upset and confused, but she didn't hate him. Right now, it was enough.

He could practically smell her frustration and there was a tense undertone to her voice when she spoke, like there was something building in her chest, something she was not saying and it made the werewolf nervous. He wasn't at all used to Cleo not simply spitting out what she thought. Oh, he knew she didn't say everything, but if it was important, she usually didn't hesitate. That she did so now showed him just how much everything - himself included and probably the biggest factor - had rattled her.

It didn't please him in the slightest.

He wanted to ask her the very same question she was posing to him now and Warren was silent for a long moment, unsure how to answer. Honestly was a duh, but...how honest? Not brutally so. She didn't need to know that he'd been tortured or that he'd dreamed of the day his brother was killed, or even that he'd almost shifted on her couch. No, she didn't need to know that, but he could answer truthfully without giving too many details that would only scare her.

"Not really, but...I will be."

He'd looked down at his hands at some point, but now returned his gaze to Cleo's and Warren tilted his head in that familiar, canine-like way that would probably make far more sense now. It was purely habitual on his part now and the werewolf didn't even think about the gesture. "And you? I know all of this is...overwhelming, but you have something you want to say. I can see it, sense it." Warren's voice grew softer, gentler, much like it had done when her brother had died and he'd tried so desperately to comfort her somehow.

"You don't need to be afraid to say whatever you need to, C.B."
 
Her eyebrows knitted, and she fell into a deep thought before returning to him. Deciding she would not beat around the bush for her sake and his own, the young Squier merely blurted what she had on her mind.

"I think you should find someone else to do this job," she stated. "You are injured, and you need to recover."

She tried her hardest to put as much of a demand in the words, but it still came out as almost a plead. Cleo didn't want Warren to get hurt. It would crush her to bits and pieces, and if he were to get hurt because of her? She would be mentally destroyed in one blow.

So she hadn't tip toed around it, mainly because he knew she had something important to say. If she wasn't all so confused with what was going on, she would have been entertained by the fact that he knew even the smallest things about her. He knew that something was on her mind, and it probably would not leave her alone until she at least said something about it.

"It's doesn't have anything to do with what is going on, I just feel as though you really need that break," she mumbled.

It was true for the most part. He most likely did need a large and very comfortable break. Hell, she absolutely knew that she needed one and one soon. This whole mess was impractical. The guarding was maybe a tad bit excessive, and she didn't need Warren's death on her hands.

She grasped her fingers nervously, trying to imagine his reaction. Would he be mad? Hurt? Sad? Happy? Stoic? Whatever he was, she was doing it for their best interest in mind. He needed a definite break and she needed a life of normal for just a little while so she had time to think and comprehend.
 
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Warren almost wished he'd not asked her what was wrong for he knew the moment she started to speak that he was not going to like what she said. But he'd never censored Cleo before, not even when some of her words hurt him - though, she didn't really know this - and he wouldn't put a gag on her now. Especially not now. Still, her revelation made him look away, keeping the guilt and sadness that entered his gray eyes from being seen. He'd done it so many times before that it was hardly thought about, merely instinct that made him react.

The rest of her words did little to ease the sharp pain in his chest, the sting of rejection, no matter how illogical such a feeling was. The werewolf didn't protest the human's explanations, though, simply nodding slowly after several silent, awkward moments. This....wasn't what was best for him. Cleo WAS his break. She didn't understand that, but Warren knew it without question. She helped him relax, forget everything, helped keep him sane. She was...she was stability and love to him. No, the best thing for Warren would be to stay right here, near her.

But it wasn't the best thing for Cleo and Warren had always strove to put her needs above his own or anything else.

Such was what he did now as he rose from the couch, speaking quietly, controlling the growl of discontent in his throat, keeping it out of his voice. "I understand your request, Cleo. I will inform the Agency." He moved toward her then, but hesitated as he was about to pass the human, risking after a moment touching her arm with his fingers, gray eyes finally meeting brown again. His own gaze was carefully guarded so she would not see the storm of turmoil within him.

"Do not hesitate to call me if you need anything."

Warren left then, knowing if he stayed it would only be harder to go. Besides, he had no intention of leaving Cleo entirely even though she might think so. The truth was, though, that Warren had NOT said he'd get someone else to guard her. He'd said he understood her request and he'd tell the Agency her request. He had not assured her that the Agency would listen or that he agreed with her request. No, the werewolf would tell WPA of what Cleo wanted and predictably, they'd tell him to stay where he was. Lodging would be provided for him and what he'd need to keep any eye on Cleo. He'd simply be incognito in his task of guarding her instead of the human being aware.

Yes, it was bound to backfire at some point, Warren knew that, but he was willing to face the repercussions for that as long as it meant Cleo stayed safe.
 
Cleo's heart twisted at him leaving for many different reasons. He was more stoic than usual, and although it wasn't exactly a surprising reaction, it still hurt nonetheless. Even though she had pushed him away from her on multiple occasions, she always imagine he would come back. She deserved it, she supposed. Reacting in such a way to him, and then telling him she wanted another person to guard her should easily incite anger or at least disappointment. She was losing her only sense of stability in this mess of a world.

Was she expecting him to put up a fight?

Maybe just a little bit, but then she would have adamantly pressed on anyway. He did need his rest, even she could see that the werewolf was hurting. Then again it could be because his friend was so terribly afraid of him. Would it be self centered to assume that he was emotionally hurt because of her confusion and her previous crossness with him? Some of her words were not kind or friendly, but she could not imagine taking them back. She was angry and hurt at the time, she still was even now.

People often lashed out when angry or hurt.

Warren had never done such a thing, at least not that Cleo could remember. He was always kind and patient with her, never once angry. It wasn't surprising really for she had never known Warren to be anything but kind, then again she also didn't know he was a werewolf and didn't like cars. This indifference was new to her, and as shocking as it was, she could understand as well. She had done the same to him only moments ago.

Her fears were quelled momentarily as he placed his fingers to her arm as he passed by. He wasn't mad on her, and he hadn't given up on her. He was just giving her the time and space she needed to figure out this mess. To figure out what to do, to say, to think. Her heart twisted uncomfortably when the brief contact stopped, but she tried shoved the feeling away and reminding herself that if she were to completely push Warren FangRunner away that she had best get used to it.

She needed to know that she could live without his support if she had to. She needed to know that she wasn't completely dependent on the fact that he was around. She also had to prepare herself for whatever the future held for her. Her uncle had exposed the supernatural world to the average human, it would not be completely surprising to know that someone did not appreciate her or her family. She would have to steel herself for the ire of the world lest she become lost.
 
-----

A week had Warren's back healed up completely, nothing but new scars to show the story of his latest capture. His ribs were stable now, even if they were also tender, still partially cracked and some sleep had done the werewolf good. He'd not gotten a lot of it, able to hear nothing but Cleo's initial words to him after finding out what he was when he closed his eyes. Between that, the nightmares and keeping an eye on her, he didn't sleep more than a few hours and even those were broken up.

Still, it was something Warren was used to.

As promised, WPA had gotten rid of the reporters within a half-block radius of Cleo's home, though, legally they could not move them further than that. It did give the human some privacy, though, and it made Warren's job easier as no one could just pose as a reporter and slip into the building under the guise of the crowd.

The werewolf himself had been given an apartment right across the street, able to look across the street and view his friend. Of course, there were also the cameras that WPA had installed when they'd done the sweep of her house, but Cleo didn't know about that. Warren tried to be careful to not be, well, creeping about viewing the footage. He checked in on it periodically, making sure everything was all right, but the truth was that it was something completely different than his senses that he used to keep track of whether Cleo was all right or not.

It was a connection he could not explain and it wasn't as strong as he would have liked for it to be, but it WAS there. It was something he'd not felt since his brother and Warren found that comforting....even as it scared the crap out of him.

All in all, though, he stayed out of sight, but continued to do his job, either waiting for the storm to break open upon them or for Cleo to make some kind of indication known that she wanted him to come back, to see him.
 
Cleodora had spent the last week trying to figure out what in the world she intended to do. After days upon days of just contemplating and getting caught up with school work, she had somehow managed to get absolutely no where. Sort of at least. She had learned one thing out of this whole ordeal.

She hated parting with Warren on bad terms.

It had never really occurred before since neither of them often picked at each other till the point of annoyance. They weren't the type of friends that were borderline mean to each other, nor were they sickeningly sweet to each other, or so she assumed. They just respected each others' boundaries and built the relationship from there, and Cleo had begun to think maybe that was a mistake. Maybe she should have picked at him more, tried to get to know Warren better than the occasional tidbits he had fed to her.

She often found herself getting caught up in what she 'should have done,' much like before.

Despite her realization that she needed to stop living in the past and move on with her life, she found herself backtracking so often it was sickening. Old habits were truly hard to break, and she knew if she kept thinking about what she should have done, she would never find out what she should be doing. Much like her previous realization of how she always thought herself to be a bad friend but never did anything to change it, she had still yet to do anything to prove her changed set of mind. Sure, she said a few sweet words, but those went right out the door when Warren decided to come out of the supernatural closet. That simple fact made her feel oh so very ashamed.

So much for being a friend.

Back to how her week had went without Warren. If she imagined the fact that the WPA had cleared out the area of reporters, never watched TV, and wore clothes that completely hid her features, she could almost imagine it being normal. Almost, except that sick feeling in her gut and chest. Yaotl's every day visit consisting with gifts of mint ice cream and Chinese food. If she didn't love her friend dearly, she would have accused him of trying to get her fat.

Speaking of the Aztecan jaguar warrior, she had accepted his species in a breath when it was just the two of them. Why was it so much easier for her to accept Yaotl for lying to her, but it hit so hard when she found out Warren had avoided telling her something? She had concluded that it wasn't because she knew Warren longer, but because they were a lot closer than she was to Yaotl. Or she thought she was so close to Warren.

He supposedly thought so too.

She had contemplated the words that he had told her before, his answers to her heartbroken questions. He had said she was the only person he had considered being a friend in a very long time. He told her he had kept the secret for her safety as well as his own. It had made it slightly easier on her with that thought, but it still was hard to accept. She could not see her friend as a wolf. A wolf. A thing very much related to one of her biggest fears. Warren was half of her biggest fears. How in the world was she supposed to cope with that fact?

Back in current time and out of the young Squier's thoughts, her phone rang in a high pitched bell. It made Cleo jump out of her skin and almost fall off the bar stool in which she had found herself sitting in. Rushing across to the living room, she managed to answer it right before she missed it. She should have checked the caller id for the voice that graced her ears was not a voice she had come to appreciate over the past month.

"Cleodora, I need your help," a gruff male voice whispered in a hush voice over the phone.

Dear old Uncle Jimmy had contacted her.
 
Warren would wish later that he'd listened to the conversation Cleo was now having.

WPA had tapped her phones, of course, but every time Warren had listened in, there had been nothing to hear. Friends worried about Cleo, work telling her that the delay was fine but to get back into the game, and Yaotl. Always the jaguar shifter that made him bristle and want to snarl with pure hostility. He'd stopped listening a while ago when Warren realized most the calls were from the cat. He didn't need to hear those calls, to hear Cleo sounding so relaxed, curious, accepting of the feline shifter.

It tore off a little more of his heart in ragged pieces every time he did.

So the werewolf didn't listen to this conversation, barely stirring when Cleo, on the screen, lunged for the phone. In fact, Warren eventually moved away from the screens completely, suddenly determined to force himself to eat something. He couldn't remember the last time he had.

Later he would curse himself for not staying, for not paying closer attention to the expressions that came over Cleo's face. He'd regret letting emotions get in the way later, but right now, everything just hurt and like a hound pining for its master, Warren was not at all himself right now. For a wolf, though, it went deeper than that. Cleo was pack to him. She might not have accepted him in the same way, but on his end, she was pack, the only one he'd known for quite some time and to be rejected was a blow to not just his mind, but his spirit, too.

Warren was never meant to be a lone wolf, much as circumstance had forced the issue and he didn't function well in that mold. It messed with his appetite, his thinking, his instincts and right now said instincts should not have been so dull, especially concerning Cleo.

It was a mistake the werewolf was just going to have to learn from, though.
 
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Cleo's eyes squinted and a scowl had become a strong feature on her face. She knew deep deep down in her heart that interacting with Uncle Jimmy would only get her into trouble, but then again he was still family. He had come to her when he had thought he was going to be at the highest point of his life and now he was at his lowest and still going to her. Her strong sense of empathy led her to lean towards helping him this time around, but her intellectual mind argued against it.

Her silence must have invoked the older man to speak, "I know I made a mistake, Cleo. Now's not the time to scold me. I just need a way to get out of here and go away for a while. Disappear."

Cleo's strong scowl lessened to a deep set frown, and her brown eyes flickered from her window to back to the phone she held in her hand. The WPA had not sent another agent, but she had no troubles doing the everyday chores she had to do. They hadn't contacted her nor told her to not converse with her crazy uncle, but she also did not want to test her limits. They only accepted her innocence because she had helped the small fairy child escape, or so she had vehemently assumed.

"Please Cleodora," Jimmy begged in a desperate tone of voice that tugged at her heart strings. "I don't need money from you, trust me on that at least. I just need someone to pick up the tickets and stuff because people are not exactly keen with me at the moment."

Picking up airfare tickets would not be hard, and like she had previously stated, she was not breaking any rules that had been set for her that she knew of. She was only innocently helping out a man who had too much trouble concerning his life and needed a fresh start. He had seemed honestly apologetic for what he had done, at least enough to let her believe he held some regret for kidnapping the small supernatural child. Even if his remorse was over the fact that he had been caught, it was still a step closer to the ultimate goal.

"Cleo," he pleaded hopelessly.

Her lips pursed and she set out a slow breath of air. She couldn't believe she was somehow going to convince herself to help him. It went against all, if not most, of her beliefs that people had the tendency to screw you over when they had the opportunity to. Here she was, about to screw herself over by accepting to help the said man she knew very little about, but held some familial tie to.

Her voice was a quiet hesitant whisper, "Where to?"
 
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