Unknown - The_Growing_589064

“Please,” she repeats, in a voice just above a whisper. “Tell me what to do.”

There is a muted “thunk” as the trap and chain slips from Koda’s hands. She follows it down, collapsing to her knees and burying her face in her hands. Her whole body shakes from the force of her sobs. “Wicate,” she murmurs over and over into her hands. “Wicate. Too much. Too much! Wicate. Too much!!” Her head tips back and she howls.

The sound chills Kirsten to the bone. She can feel the wolf-pup still in her grasp respond, struggling weakly against her hold. She looks down, then back at the grieving, howling woman. Gently, tenderly, she unwraps the pup from his blanket and, taking slow, calm, deliberate steps, closes the gap between herself and Dakota. Then, just as carefully, she lowers herself to her knees and waits, the pup held tenderly in her hands.

Dakota’s howl tapers off like a toy whose battery has finally run down. Her head drops, hanging low between her shoulders. Her tears drip into the snow, melting it.

“He needs you, Dakota,” Kirsten whispers into the profound silence left behind. “Look at him. He needs to you care for him, to love him.” She swallows, suddenly understanding. “Like you loved his father.”

After a long moment, Dakota’s head lifts, and she looks down at the tiny, defenseless pup. A trembling hand lifts, hovers, and then drops back down into the snow. “I—can’t.”

“You can. Yes, you can.”

“You don’t understand!”

“Yes, yes I do. I do understand. Dakota, you’ve never turned away from anyone who’s needed your help. He needs your help now. He needs you.”

Their eyes meet and hold. Kirsten feels tears welling yet again as she reads so easily the bone deep grief pouring from Dakota’s soul. Cradling the pup in the crook of her arm, she reaches down and grasps the other woman’s hand, bringing it, palm up, between them. With sure movements, she places the pup into Dakota’s hand, then takes the other one and places it on top, securing her grip. “Help him,” she whispers, still staring into the liquid pools of Dakota’s eyes.

Dakota looks down at the tiny life in her hands. Her face dissolves as fresh grief flows through her. Kirsten does the only thing she can. Using one arm to brace Dakota’s own, she slips the other around a slim waist, melding their bodies together.

Dakota stiffens, then relaxes, leaning into Kirsten’s quiet and gentle strength. Her head bows and rests against an offered shoulder as her tears continue to flow.

*

Kirsten looks up from the desk, a desk she’s starting to believe she’ll grow old and die in (picturing herself as a gray-haired old lady with hearing aids in her implants and coke-bottle glasses, staring at line after line of code) as the front door slams, shaking the entire house down to its foundation.

“No!” Maggie’s demand rings loudly through the home, obviously continuing a disagreement begun prior to entering. Kirsten cringes a little at the sound of it; not in fear, but rather in pain, as it adds to a headache which has spent most of the past twelve hours building, though lack of sleep and tension enough to fell a rutting elk have supplied more than their share as well. She’s tempted to turn off her implants—both for the fact that she’ll at least have some blessed peace from the noise, and because she half-suspects she might be unintentionally eavesdropping on a private conversation—but something stays her hand.

“Will you at least respect me enough to pretend you’re listening to me??”

Kirsten winces at that one. She deduces that the resulting silence is Dakota (who else can it be?) stopping, turning, and fixing Maggie with a glance so emotionless it might as well be carved from the side of a mountain. Kirsten knows that look, having been on the receiving end of it from the moment they left the small glade the night before.

“Dakota, listen. You—what you’re proposing to do here is—it’s…crazy! No wait! Please. I didn’t mean it like that, okay? It’s just—damnit, Dakota! Think about what you’re doing here!”

“I’ve thought about it.” Her voice seems to be coming from the bottom of a very deep, very dark, very cold well.

“And?”

“I’m going.”

“But—!”

“I’m going. End of discussion.”

It is the silence during a gathering storm. “Fine! You want to kill yourself? Be my guest. I hope you have fun doing it.”

Kirsten shoots to her feet as the door slams once again. Wasting no time, she shoots around the desk and out into the short hallway in time to see Dakota disappear into the bedroom. She stares after her for a long moment, undecided, then turns the other way and trots outside. “Maggie! Wait!”

With exaggerated movements, Maggie slows, stops, and turns. “What?”

“I…heard the argument…at least part of it. What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Kirsten comes to a stop before the older woman, feeling the anger radiating off of her slim form.

“What happened last night?”

“Excuse me?” Kirsten asks, brought up short by the apparent non-sequitor

“Last night. I know you followed her out of the gates, and I know you came back with a wolf pup. What happened in between those two events?”

Kirsten ponders the question, unsure how much to reveal of the evening’s proceedings.

Maggie sees the hesitation and throws up an elegant hand. “Never mind. I don’t need to know the particulars. It’s just…I’m afraid for her.” Her gaze is intent, beseeching. “It’s like someone ripped out her heart and put a stone in its place. She’s been like this all day. No matter what I do, I can’t get through to her.”

“There’s something more, though,” Kirsten intones, needing to get to the meat of the matter as quickly as possible. She senses time is definitely of the essence here.

With a heavy sigh, Maggie nods, proud shoulders slumped against the heavy weight they carry. “Yeah. Your friends—Franz and Anna, is it?—they remembered the name of the clinic where they were housed. Dakota’s gotten it into her head that she’s going to go up there, alone mind you, and bust everybody out like in some goddamn Wild West shoot-em-up movie or something. Fuck!” She drags a hand through her short-cropped hair. “It’s suicide. Goddamn suicide.” The beseeching gaze comes again, mixed with a tiny hint of swallowed pride. “Can you…talk to her maybe? See if you can talk her out of this nonsense? I don’t—we can’t lose her.”

Kirsten nods and turns to leave, then turns back, just catching a pained gaze, swiftly masked. “Maggie, I—I promise, when this is over, I’ll tell you what happened last night. Or at least I’ll try to get Dakota to tell you. It was—not good. She lost something…someone…very dear to her, though I don’t think any of us will ever know just how dear. Except, maybe, her brother. Okay?”

Maggie tries to summon up a smile and fails. “Okay.”

Kirsten feels her heart clench. It’s a new experience for her. Compassion has never been her strongest suit, though she suspects it would take a heart of stone to miss the misery playing itself over Maggie’s noble, handsome features. She reaches out and touches the other woman’s arm, giving it a brief squeeze. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see.”

And because she can think of nothing else to do, she turns fully away and trots back to the house, well aware of the eyes at her back.

She steps inside just as Koda exits the bedroom, pack swinging from one fisted hand. Their eyes meet. Koda’s drops quickly away and she crosses the room, moving as if to brush by the young scientist without a word of parting.

“Wait,” Kirsten murmurs. “Please.”

Unintentionally miming Maggie’s earlier actions, Dakota stops and turns. Annoyance is the only expression that can be read on her face. “What is it.”