Where the dead things Bloom [Chapters 6, 7]

6 The Vice

"So, uhm..." I began, searching for something to say to make the mutual washing process less awkward. “Doesn’t this mess with your… hrmm,” I tried to recall what I knew about huskies. “Hydrophobic coating?”

“It kind of does,” she shrugged. “Normally, baths are unnecessary for me, unless I get engine oil all over my coat or something. The problem is–dust and dirt isn’t ordinary anymore. Some of this shit needs to come off asap, it’s REALLY screwing with me… it smells wrong, is giving me bad dreams. I think that bits of dirt on me are… ehh… Entropic, gradually decaying something vital from me the longer it stays in my mane. That’s why I need your help to get it all out from the spots I can’t see.”

“Oh,” I said. “Well then, let me make sure it’s all out.”

“Thanks.” She nodded.

“So… is this normal for you?”

“What’s normal?”

“People who just met… washing each other without any... I don't know, hesitation?"

She tilted her head, considering. "Pradavarians are definitely more communal than humans. Grooming is social for us. Builds trust." She hesitated. "It's also me. I've always been... What did Mrs. Abernathy call it? Ah. ‘Extra-oblivious to human personal boundaries!'"

I snorted. "You don't say."

"Got me sent to the principal's office in third grade," she continued, leaning into my touch as I worked the sponge around her left ear. "Kept sniffing other kids' lunches without asking. Jacob Porter pushed me over it, and I bit him."

The casual admission of biting someone made me pause briefly, but I resumed my task. "Did you get in trouble?"

"Nah. Principal Hartwell—he was this old Saint Bernard—understood it was just puppy behavior. Made me apologize though."

I tried to imagine a world where the school principal was a Saint Bernard in a suit and tie, perhaps wearing glasses perched on his broad muzzle. The mental image was so absurd I almost laughed aloud.

"What's so funny?" Nessy asked, her ears swiveling back toward me though she kept her face forward.

"Just... trying to picture your world," I admitted. 

"It was nice," she said softly. "Normal. Boring, even. I took it all for granted. Now everything is weird and terrible. Except you. You’re the same. No… better! ‘Cus I can shower you with all of my best jokes and stories all over again!”

“Uh-huh.” I moved the sponge to her other ear, noting the way she leaned slightly into my touch. "I took my world for granted too," I said. "Didn't appreciate the little things. Simple stuff like... walking down the street without worrying about being disemboweled by playground equipment."

“Yess.” She chuckled, the sound vibrating through her back. "The simple pleasures!"

We fell into a comfortable silence as I finished washing her head, careful to keep soap away from her eyes. When I was done, she poured a bucket of water over both of us and shook herself vigorously, spraying water in all directions.

"Hey!" I protested, shielding my face too late.

"Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "Reflex." She turned to face me, her expression suddenly serious. "Thank you."

"For what? Getting water all over myself?"

"For helping. For not... rejecting me. For trying to understand." Her ears flattened slightly, vulnerability flashing across her features. "I know I'm a lot to deal with."

Something in her tone made my chest tighten. Beneath her exuberant exterior, I caught a glimpse of insecurity—a deep fear of abandonment that explained so much of her behavior.

"You are a lot," I agreed, finding it impossible to lie to those big, earnest blue eyes. "But I'm slowly getting used to it… I think.”

“Good, ‘cus I’m moving in,” she leaned back against me.

"Moving in to... where?"

"I dunno," she shrugged. "Where can I move into? What rooms do you have available and what are the rates?"

I pretended to consider this seriously. "I might be persuaded to offer a special rate. Payment accepted in the form of not licking my face when excited."

"No deal," she shot back immediately. "Face-licking is non-negotiable. It's in the dog contract."

"There's a dog contract?"

"Oh absolutely," she nodded solemnly. "We all stamp it with our paw at birth. Article 3, Section 2 clearly states 'All faces must be thoroughly licked upon reunion with pack members.' It's very official."

"And I suppose there's a clause about invading personal space too?" I asked, gesturing to our current situation—her still leaning against me in a kiddie pool.

"Article 5!" she confirmed cheerfully. "Personal space is a myth perpetuated by cats."

Despite myself, I laughed heartily. There was something disarmingly genuine about her—a complete lack of self-consciousness that made it hard to maintain any real annoyance.

"See? Bonding!" Nessy declared. "This is quality pack bonding time! The stronger the bond, the stronger the back!”

“A human and a dog counts as a pack?” I wondered.

“Always has been,” she said, pointing at the wall with a gun-hand gesture. "Man and dog are a particular type of a pack called ‘Synergistic’! It's the oldest one in history."

"Synergistic, huh?" I repeated, testing the word. "Like teamwork."

"Exactly!" She bounced slightly with excitement, causing small waves in the kiddie pool. "A Syn-pack! Humans provide the strategy and tool-making, dogs provide the nose, strength, speed and instinct. Together we conquered the planet!" She raised her wet paw in triumph. "First the wild, then civilization, then space!"

"Space?" I raised an eyebrow. 

"Of course! The Lunar Landing Pack of 1969!" She announced, almost smacking me in the chin with an elbow as she stood up and spun around to face me. “Neil Armstrong and Kira Pawstrong!” 

Her chest was right in front of my eyes now. 

“United States Lunar Mission had a dual command structure—one human, one pradavarian dog. It was symbolic, representing the ancient partnership that built civilization." She gestured animatedly as she spoke, water droplets flying from her fur. "Kira was a Border Collie, selected for her intelligence and problem-solving abilities. She trained for three years alongside her pack leader Armstrong…”

I tried to focus on her words, I really did, but her animated gestures were causing certain… round and pointy areas... to bounce distractingly close to my face. The fur covering her chest did little to diminish the effect of gravity on her very mammalian anatomy.

“...inseparable during training!” Nessy continued enthusiastically. “The first lunar pawprint based on the famous photo is showcased in the Smithsonian along with the first bootprint!" 

“Pawprint… in space?” I repeated.

“Kira’s space suit had stylized paw pads, duh,” Nessy clarified. “Agh! Getting distracted! Gotta wash you. Wash, wash, wash.” She hummed, grabbing the sponge from my hand and proceeded to do exactly that.

“What’s this face you’re making now?” She wondered sniffing. “Still embarrassed? Ha! You humans are so weird about bodies! See, we dogs only wear clothes for practical purposes or fashion, not this strange shame thing."

"Great, so I'm the weird one for wanting some basic modesty," I grumbled.

"Basically, yeah," she nodded solemnly, then ruined the effect by giggling. "You should see your face right now. So much blushing! Ha! It's the exact same expression you had when Principal Hartwell caught us climbing on the school roof to release those paper airplanes."

"That wasn't—"

"Wasn't you?" She waved dismissively. "Still funny though."

I could almost picture my young self throwing paper airplanes with a younger, skinnier, smaller Nessy. The memory was sharp, funny. I smiled. 

Great, she was incepting memories into my head now.

Nessy finally took pity on me and stepped out of the kiddie pool, grabbing a white towel and beginning to dry herself. I used the opportunity to quickly finish washing myself, keenly aware of her presence.

With the towel wrapped around herself, she padded over to check on her bib overalls.

"Still pretty damp," she reported, poking at the blue fabric. "Guess I'll be towel-clad till I discover which box has clothes. Hope this doesn't scandalize your silly human sensibilities too much."

I got up from the air mattress, stretching to hide my discomfort. "I'll live," I said dryly. 

Nessy flopped onto the air mattress with a dramatic sigh, adjusting her towel as she sprawled across the rumpled blankets. Her damp fur left dark patches on the fabric, but she seemed unconcerned, stretching her limbs out.

“Hey that song you were singing earlier…” I began.

“Another tune I wrote four months ago,” she replied with a sigh. “A sad one. About calling you over and over and never getting a response. Did you like it?”

“Yes,” I nodded. “It was sad but catchy.”

“Aww thanks.”

“There was something about a gun in it,” I said. “You can shoot?”

“I’m a small-town belle, you know. I had a whole stash of guns.”

“Those would be pretty useful right now, no?”

“They would,” she pursed her lips. “Had one in a belt holster and the rest in my backpack. All of em’ plus the cans and bullets got ripped right off me by a living magnet shaped like a giant lynx with legs made from junkyard crane bits. Barely got away from the fucker with my fur intact.”

“Damn,” I let out. “That sucks.”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “It’s not that big a loss… I can always find new guns with my nose. You know what's been the absolute worst?" she asked, staring up at the ceiling. "Gradually losing my Syn-pack. When you started to pull away from me, I started to go nuts.”

"Wasn't me," I said, settling on the edge of the mattress, careful to maintain a respectful distance despite her casual positioning.

She propped herself up on one elbow to look at me. "A human-dog pack isn't just a random pair that happens to cooperate—there's a whole psychological framework to it. We complement each other's strengths and weaknesses."

She sat up fully now, her towel slipping slightly before she adjusted it. Her expression had shifted from playful to earnest, ears forward in what I was beginning to recognize as her "serious discussion" pose.

"Every pradavarian dog is taught from puppyhood that finding your syn-pack is one of life's most important achievements," she continued. "Some have multiple pack members, some just one. But going packless..." she shuddered visibly, "it's like missing a limb. Like being half a person."

I found myself unexpectedly moved by the vulnerability in her voice. "You were packless after... your Alec stopped responding?"

She nodded, her ears drooping slightly. "Technically, no. The bond doesn't break just because we're apart. But functionally?" She shrugged. "Yeah. Might as well have been. Four years of barely any contact, and then none at all. Awful. Infinity out of ten, would not recommend.”

Her paw traced abstract patterns on the blanket, claws catching occasionally on loose threads. "When everything went to hell with the System, that feeling got even worse. It wasn't just emotional anymore—it was extra-physical. Like an actual unbearable pain in my chest. That's why I had to find you." She looked up, her blue eyes locking with mine. "And why I'm so stupidly happy to have my syn-pack back, even if it's... complicated."

I eyed her.

"Yes, yes," she waved a dismissive hand. "You think that you are someone else.”

“Nessy,” I began.

“According to your own words you died and bloomed back to life in a bathtub,” she said. “My dude, you got reconstituted from rotting flesh, fungal matter and humidity somehow turned into embryonic fluid or whatever. Yet you thought of me as a fake, System-manifested thing!”

“Because it seemed like the simplest explanation at the time,” I said. “Yes, I drew the line at a dog-person from another world. My bad for trying to stay sane in an insane situation.”

“Uh-huh. And now you have redrawn it at… being my Alec,” she said. 

“Explain then how I am your Alec when I don't recall you or any other pradavarians in my life!” I said, thinking that she would once again resort to the ‘head injury’ logic or something.

“My nose doesn't lie,” she said, eyes digging into mine. “Especially when using Scrutiosmia. If you are an Alec that bloomed from a dead version of you over God knows how long, then maybe your soul or your current body is more like… a tree.”

“A tree?” I repeated.

“Yes,” she nodded. “A tree of Alec-ness. One of the roots or branches of which was in a world where you and I formed a pack!”

“Huh,” I mused. “I… It sounds like you are trying to rationalize things, but it is an interesting theory.”

“You are the boy I lost,” she smiled softly, wrapping herself around me. “Lost and found. You have to be. He's in you, I'm certain of it now. You might not remember our promises, but I do. I remember it all for you, because you are my pack leader. Forever and ever.”

So much for letting go of her Alec. And here I thought that we made some progress yesterday.

I sighed. 

“You have serious abandonment issues,” I said.

“Yes.”

Her bluntness level was high. I fell silent for a minute.

“So do you,” her wet nose poked my neck, the tightness of her hug intensifying. “Sorry I wasn't here for you and you had to deal with a less sapient doggo.”

Her head slid across my cheek, rubbing her wet fuzz against me. 

“You're…”

“Being very clingy?” She concluded for me. “I know. And I'll keep doing it because that's how I roll. I need this… like plants need sunlight and water. I lost you for four years because I clearly wasn't clingy enough.”

The fuck kind of logic is that.

“Now I'm going to be like a vice. Forever at your side, guarding your every move, taking good care of your mental state,” she added. “I was supposed to be your protector and I failed you. I will not fail you again, Alec!”

Great. We've arrived at ‘Annie Wilkes: I will take good care of you. I'm your number one fan.’ vibes now. At least Nessy seemed genuinely kind, unlike the antagonist from the 90s movie Misery. 

“I should have gone with you to the city, shouldn't have listened to your order to stay in Ferguson! I should have been there for you! I don't know what happened, but now that I had some rest and bonding time, I realise that you couldn't have betrayed me, couldn't have left me on your own. Someone must have done something to you,” she growled. “And if and when I find who did it, there will be hell to pay!”

7 Relationship archetypes

Hell hath no fury like a dog-girl scorned.

There was something almost frightening about her devotion—the absolute certainty with which she'd decided I was her childhood-best-friend Alec, the fierce protectiveness that radiated from her.

"Nessy, you don't need to—" I began, but she cut me off by pressing her wet nose against my cheek, nuzzling harder.

"Yes, I do," she insisted, her fur rubbing against my freshly cleaned skin, leaving damp patches behind. "I'm going to stick to you like shed fur on a black suit. Like motor oil on mechanic's hands. Like—"

"Yes, I get the picture," I interrupted, trying to create some space between us. Her arms only tightened in response, clawed fingers curling into the fabric of my towel.

"Do you though?" Her head tilted, those blue eyes staring deep into mine with an intensity that made it hard to look away. "Because I'm not sure you understand just how important this is to me. To us.”

She shifted, somehow managing to wrap herself even more thoroughly around me, her damp tail coiling against my leg. The towel she'd been wearing was slipping precariously, but she seemed utterly unconcerned, focused entirely on maintaining and increasing the fur to skin contact ratio.

"You're suffocating me," I said, only half-joking.

"Am not. You're still talking, aren't you?" she countered, but loosened her grip slightly only to start rubbing all over me. "I just... I need this, okay? After everything I've gone through, I really need to know you're really here. That you're not going to disappear again. That you’re not going to vanish without an explanation.”

“I’m not sure if this counts as helping my mental state,” I said. 

“Eh. It’s helping my mental state which in turn should help your mental state,” she said. “If you want to stop ‘the marking’ then say so very sternly. Make it an order, not just a half-hearted whine.”

"Marking?" I asked, trying to process her words as she continued to distractingly rub against me. "Is that what this is?"

"Mmhmm," she confirmed, nuzzling her head under my chin. "Scent marking. So other predavarians know you're part of my pack. It's instinctual." Her wet nose traced a line up my neck to my ear, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.

"There aren't any other predavarians here to smell it," I pointed out, my voice strained as I tried to maintain some semblance of personal space.

"Don't care," she replied, her voice muffled against my collarbone as she rubbed her cheek against it. "Makes me feel better. Safer. More connected."

Her damp fur left trails of moisture across my skin as she continued her determined marking campaign. She shifted again, practically climbing into my lap as her paws kneaded rhythmically against my shoulders. The towel she'd been wearing had now slipped almost completely off, hanging precariously from one side.

"Nessy, seriously," I protested, trying to hold her at arm's length. "This is too much."

"Too much what?" she asked, genuinely puzzled. Her head tilted in that distinctly canine way, ears perked forward attentively. "Too much bonding? Too much comfort? Too much friendship?"

She was practically shoving me down with her weight now.

"Too much... unexpected mauling," I said, attempting to create a small gap between us. "Look, I understand you've been through a lot. I get that you're happy to have found me—or someone you think is me. But this level of... physical intensity is pushing it."

"Why?”

“Because I just met you yesterday, damn it!”

“Not from my point of view,” she laughed and then eyed my expression. “Okay, okay… I'll dial it back from eleven to maybe... a ten? That's my final offer."

"How about a three?" I countered.

She snorted. "A three? What am I, a cat? Nine and a half, and that's as low as I can go."

Despite being smothered by her body, I found myself smiling. "Four."

“No deal,” she said. “Just for that lowball offer, I’m bringing it back up to ten and a half. I will follow you everywhere. Even to the bathroom."

"No. That's where I draw the line!" I said firmly.

"Fine, I'll wait outside the door," she compromised. "Seriously though, I'm still not letting you out of my sniffing range ever again."

"You're going to get tired of sniffing me very quickly."

"Nope," she declared, finally pulling back enough to meet my eyes again. "Dogs don't get tired of their pack. It's against our nature."

“Nessy…!” I began

“Alec…!” She copied my tone exactly.

We stared at each other, locked in a battle of wills that I was clearly losing. Her face was inches from mine, her breath warming up my face.

"You're being ridiculous," I sighed.

"Ridiculously devoted," she corrected, resuming her rubbing with renewed enthusiasm. Her wet fur left damp trails across my shoulders and neck as she nuzzled against me. "Ridiculously loyal to the pack as is expected of me."

"That's not—"

"Shhh," she interrupted, pressing a fuzzy finger to my lips. "Accept it. I am going to be your shadow, your protector, your constant companion whether you like it or not."

She continued her thorough marking campaign, circling behind me to rub her cheek against my back, her tail swishing with satisfaction. The towel she'd been wearing had now completely abandoned its post, leaving her entirely unconcerned by her nudity as she methodically covered me in her scent.

"There," she declared finally, sitting back to admire her handiwork. "Now you smell properly like my pack."

"Thanks. I just got clean and now I smell like wet dog."

"You're welcome," she said cheerfully, completely missing or ignoring my sarcasm. "And it's premium wet dog, thank you very much. Top-shelf stuff! Accept no substitutes!"

She padded over to the mountain of boxes. Giggling to herself and wagging her tail she started methodically digging through it.

“Aha! Clothes!” She declared after a few minutes and padded back to unceremoniously dump a box of assorted outfits onto the damp air mattress. There were several t-shirts of various sizes, a pair of jeans that looked too small for me, some cargo pants that might work, and a flannel shirt similar to Calvin's.

"No underwear," she observed unnecessarily. "Guess you'll have to go commando." She winked, her tail wagging mischievously.

"Thanks for the update," I muttered, sorting through the options. "Could you maybe turn around while I get dressed?"

"Seriously?" she asked, tilting her head. "After we washed each other?"

"Yes, seriously," I insisted.

With an exaggerated eye-roll that involved her entire head, Nessy turned to rest her back against mine, still completely unconcerned about her own nakedness.

I quickly grabbed the cargo pants and a faded gray t-shirt with a lumberjack brewery logo and
“Beard Cultivator" tag on it.

"These will do," I pulled on the pants. The shirt was next, sliding over my head just as Nessy turned back around, apparently deciding she'd been patient long enough.

"Not bad," she assessed, circling me with a critical eye. "The t-shirt brings out the green in your eyes."

"I'm more concerned with functionality than fashion," I replied, adjusting the too-loose waistband of the cargo pants.

"Here," she said, diving back into the box and emerging with a belt. "Function and fashion, two birds with one stone!"

She approached me with the belt, but instead of handing it over, she proceeded to thread it through the loops herself, her face a mask of concentration as she worked.

Then she went to the pile of boxes once again. A part of me was expecting her to get dressed but she emerged with a bag of doggie treats and a pet brush.

She tore open the treats bag, thrust the brush at me and plopped in front of me. “Make with the brushing.”

I hesitated momentarily. "I don't exactly have experience brushing... Pradavarians."

"Oh please," she scoffed, looking over her shoulder at me. "You must have brushed one of your… pet dogs at some point in your life, yes?"

She waved the dog treats at me as if to illustrate her point. The package had a picture of a golden retriever with a wide grin, its tongue hanging out playfully. The bright red background of the package featured bold, white lettering advertising "All-Natural Ingredients" and "Tail-Wagging Flavor!"

"Well, yes, but—"

"Same principle," she interrupted, throwing the treats into her mouth and crunching. "Mmm. These are pretty good. N’ways, I'll tell you if it hurts, so it'll be even easier."

"Mkay.” I examined the pet brush, noting soft bristles on one side and metal teeth on the other.

"Just start at the ends and work your way up," she instructed. "Like you would with human hair. And use the soft side for now.”

I began brushing her. 

"Mmm, that's nice," she hummed after a few strokes. "Go a little harder, s’ all good."

I applied more pressure, working methodically through the tangles in her fur. It was oddly relaxing, this simple, repetitive motion. The brush slid through the smoother patches with a satisfying swish, catching only occasionally on the knots that had formed during her days of escaping abominations.

"So," I began, "in your world, what's the etiquette around this sort of thing? I mean, is brushing someone's fur as casual as you're making it seem, or...?"

Nessy made a contemplative sound. "Depends on the relationship. Family members, sure. Close friends, absolutely. Packmates, definitely. Strangers? Not so much." She tilted her head, considering. "It's intimate, but not necessarily romantic, if that's what you're asking."

"I wasn't—" I let out.

"It's okay," she laughed. "I'm just teasing. You're fun to fluster."

"I'm not flustered," I muttered unconvincingly, focusing on a particularly stubborn tangle near her shoulder.

"Yeah, sure. Your scent says otherwise," she replied smugly, her tail swatting at me. “You can’t hide stuff from me. I know you too well and you don’t know my weaknesses yet.”

“You have weaknesses?” I asked.

"Everyone has weaknesses," Nessy replied with a shrug that rippled through the fur I was brushing.

"Like what?" I prompted, genuinely curious. "Belly rubs? Tennis balls? Squirrels?"

“Yes,” she replied.

“Seriously?”

“I’d die for a good belly rub. Ball chasing is super fun and reinforces the pack coordination and the squirrel prad working the UPS counter at Ferguson drives me up the wall.”

“What a stereotypical doggo,” I commented.

"Uh-huh. Plus, I'm overly loyal to a fault. Too trusting sometimes. Really bad at letting go of things." She glanced back at me meaningfully. "Obviously."

"Obviously," I agreed dryly.

"I'm also terrible at cooking," she continued. "Like, spectacularly bad. Once I set my apartment on fire trying to make pasta."

"How do you set pasta on fire?" I asked, returning to my brushing task.

"Step one: forget you're making pasta. Step two: leave the kitchen to work on a motorcycle engine downstairs. Step three: remember you were cooking when the smoke alarm goes off." She wiggled her ears. "And I'm hopeless at lying. My ears and tail always give me away."

"I can see how that would be a problem," I commented, eyeing her wiggling ears. "Having physical tells that you can't control."

"Yeah," she sighed. "Made poker night at Will's Wheels a complete disaster. Lost two weeks' pay before they finally took pity and stopped inviting me."

I chortled and continued brushing, methodically working through her lush coat. 

“So,” I asked. “Were you actually cold last night?”

Her ears tilted back, tail momentarily pausing its motion.

“I just… wanted to be closer,” she confessed. “Fell asleep for a moment and had a dream that you weren't real, that you were just going to melt into a puddle of mushrooms. So I relocated closer for a snuggle to fall back asleep.”

“Freaking knew it,” I chortled.

She huffed at me. 

"Hey," Nessy said suddenly, twisting to look at me. "Your drawing last night. The one of me that... did something."

"What about it?"

"It feels like pack-stuff to me," she said. "Like, I can sense you through it somehow. And you can sense me through it, right?”

“Yeah,” I nodded. “Feels like a twenty fifth hand.”

“Not third?”

“Way, way removed,” I said. 

“That just means we need to make the concept and the art stronger,” she said. “Reinforce the pack! That’s what I’ve been doing by the way, if you haven’t caught on.”

“And here I thought you were hitting on me.”

"Why would I hit on you? You're already my Syn-pack leader! That's waaaay more substantial than any romantic dating thing between two humans or a relationship between a random prad and a human," Nessy huffed, her ears swiveling backward briefly. 

She dug through the pile and pulled on an oversized dark shirt and spun to face me. The shirt sat on her like a dress. She looked simultaneously ridiculous and oddly charming, the tourist logo "WELCOME TO LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE" stretched across her chest.

“Aight, brush the mane now,” she said.

“Sure,” I said, proceeding to deal with her curly, long hair. “So… umm… How do relationships work between different types of prads? Or between pradavarians and humans?"

Her ears perked up with interest. "Oh? Curious about cross-species dating, are we?"

"Just trying to understand your world better," I replied a tad too quickly. “I mean that’s where we’re going eventually, right? Pradavarian Ferguson? Wouldn’t wanna get there and act like a clueless idiot.”

"Uh-huh," she said skeptically, but continued. "Well, it's pretty common actually. Humans date dogs, dogs date humans. Dogs date cats and feathery raptors too, though that usually ends in some kind of drama. Small town pradavarians tend to stick with their own kind more, but city types mix freely."

"And is it... I mean, how does..." I fumbled, uncertain how to phrase my question.

"How does what?" she prompted, clearly enjoying my discomfort.

"Well, how does it work with the... physical differences?" I finally asked.

"Ah," she nodded sagely. "You're wondering about the logistics of interspecies intimacy. Verrrry scientific inquiry."

“Yes.”

She laughed at my expression. "It's actually pretty straightforward. We're all compatible in the ways that matter.”

“And kids? Interspecies kids are a thing?

“Yep.”

“Are prad-human hybrids a thing?”

"Nope," she shook her head. "Genetics don't work that way. A child is always fully one species or the other - the DNA doesn't mix to create hybrids. It's more like... certain genetic markers get activated or suppressed."

"So a dog and human couple would have either fully human or fully Pradavarian children?" I asked.

"Exactly," she nodded. "But with subtle influences from the other parent. Like, a human child might have sliiiiightly better sense of smell or marginally better night vision. A Pradavarian pup might have better abstract thinking. It's the small stuff that carries over, plus hair and eye colors.”

“I see,” I said. “So, circling back to the Syn-pack. What are you expecting of me, exactly?”

Nessy turned to face me. "Leadership. Direction. Purpose. Thinking. Plotting. Brainstorming. That's what I need from you as my pack partner. Dogs are team players - we're not meant to be making all the decisions. You set the goals, I help us reach them. You choose the path, I watch our backs."

"Feels like I haven't done any leadership," I commented. "You picked to go to Ferguson, you got me to wash and to brush you." 

"'Eh, you're still a bit of a clueless pup when it comes to your role," she said. "I'm dragging you back into the pack by my metaphorical teeth because that's what both of us need to survive Systemfall. Just like I dragged you out of the water back when we were kids."

As she leaned closer towards me, I stared at the angel wings pattern on her forehead. 

For a moment, I could almost feel the cold quarry water filling my lungs, the panic, the darkness—and then those wings reaching out through the suffocating gloom grabbing my shirt with teeth. Then there were paws. Hands? 

Hands pulling me to the shore. Hands striking my chest to restart my heart. Mouth closing around mine, giving me the kiss of life, breathing air into my lungs.

Her yelling. “Breathe damn it! I can't lose you! Breathe!!!”

Inhale, exhale, heartbeat. Opening my eyes to look at her tear streaked blue eyes.

What the fuck. That’s not what happened.

I blinked.

“Are you doing… something to my head?” I demanded, shaking the vision away.

“Hum? I’m not doing anything,” she said. “Just talking about important stuff. Our mutual goal is to reinforce the pack as much as possible by any means necessary, to make it unbreakable.”

As I considered her words, something dark stirred in my chest.

“Was your Syn-pack with Pred-Earth Alec unbreakable? Why’d he order you to stay in Ferguson?” I demanded, starting to feel annoyed at my twin from another world. “You’re so… devoted, protective, strong, funny… beautiful, damn it!”

She blinked at me, tail wagging intensifying.

“If he’s really me, if he’s made a blood pact with you, known you for so long… If you saved his life that day at the quarry, why the fuck would he… Why would I give up someone like you? Someone who straight up declared their relationship above mere dating?!”

I ranted on, frustration mounting as I tried to make sense of it all. "You're like this... force of nature. Like a hurricane of loyalty wrapped in fur. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their corner, fighting for them, believing in them. Hell, you crossed literal warped reality to find your friend! That's not something anyone just walks away from. Not unless something was seriously wrong."

Nessy's ears flattened against her head, her blue eyes widening. "You... you think I'm worth fighting for?" she asked.

"I think that if I had someone who cared about me the way you care about your Alec, I wouldn't have ended up drowning in a bathtub," I declared, the words spilling out with unexpected, painful rawness. "I think your Alec had something most people would kill for, and I just can't understand why he'd throw it away! Either he was blind, or something really terrible happened that made it impossible for him to return."

“Yeah,” Nessy let out. “Maybe.”

“Was your Alec an idiot?”

“No.”

“Was he mentally unwell or on drugs?”

“No.”

“Was he different from me in some horrendous way that you haven't yet told me about?”

Nessy's ears flattened even more, her expression shifting to something pained and complicated. "No... but he started to act weird right before he left for college. He became just a touch more distant, harder on me, more commanding. I trusted him with my life, and considered his orders near-absolute." She looked away, her voice dropping. "When I called, he always had different excuses. 'Too busy with exams.' 'Working on a project.' It was like... he became a different person. So smoothly and gradually that by the time I started to panic, it was far too late.”

I felt a chill run down my spine at her words. Did my older brother's cartel connections find her Alec, threaten him, forcing him to assume a new identity? I tried to picture a cartel with pradavarian thugs on call who could track anyone by smell for miles. 

"Maybe someone got to him," I said slowly. "Someone dangerous. Someone who made him cut ties with his past life, with you.”

“Maybe.” A low whine escaped her throat. "I should have been more persistent. Should have demanded answers as soon as I noticed the changes." Her claws flexed unconsciously, digging into the mattress. "But I respected his wishes and gave him space, hoping, praying that something would change for the better. I did try to visit once—surprise him, you know?—the campus security wolves said that I’m not allowed into the dorms. I tried to get in regardless and they electrocuted me with z-guns and hit me pretty hard over the head with their batons.”

Her eyes became filled with tears.

“I called him from the hospital after they stitched me up, told him about it and he replied that I was being an idiot and that they had every right to hit me and that I should go back home and wait for him to return like he ordered me to.”

She paused, breathing rapidly.

“Then… It was like something inside me broke and I just couldn’t push past it, couldn’t drive out again to the city. I felt messed up for a very long time after, and just couldn't get my shit together… until Systemfall.”

I reached out, pulling her into a hug. It felt like the right thing to do—the only thing to do—in the face of her raw pain. She stiffened momentarily in surprise, then melted against me, her arms wrapping around my middle, face pressing into my shoulder.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," I said, genuinely meaning it. "I don’t know what could have forced him to push you away like that, but you definitely don’t deserve it.”

She clung to me, trembling slightly. Her fur was damp against my skin, her breath hot against my neck. We stayed like that for several long moments, the silence broken only by her occasional sniffles.

Eventually, she pulled back, wiping her eyes with the back of her paw. "Look at me," she said with a forced laugh, "getting all emotional again, when I should be your support doggo. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “Let's go see if maybe we can locate some cold breakfast or something, yeah?”

“Yeah.”