There are very few accommodations that the CIA will make for him. This is one of them.

It all starts late winter. A festering feeling inside of him- an unbearable heat that strikes at the worst times. In the middle of a mission, while running from enemies, in the middle of interrogations. It's typical for him... Lady Luck had never been on his side. Regardless, this is the only time the assholes at the Sierra base are willing to take him in, place him in a holding cell and let the intense heat wear itself out. Rutting season. Absolute hell. He loses himself in his wolf for a week or two, his testosterone through the roof, aggressive as all hell. And he has to spend it alone... up until this year.

Six is pacing in the holding cell, in his wolf form. A large Gray wolf with black fur, his blue eyes striking and icy against the stark darkness of his coat. His large paws pad against the floor of the makeshift rut room. His mind is focused on one thing and one thing only: mating. Finding another wolf to mate and claim and fill to the brim with pups. Even if the normal Six wouldn't give two shits about any of that, his instincts have completely taken over.

The door suddenly opens, and Six is quick to snarl, ears pinned, lips pulled back and sharp teeth bared, his haunches rising as he assesses the threat. His nose twitches, determining who opened the door. Instead of a human, however, another wolf is dropped inside with him. The poor thing scrambles as they're dropped in, their ears pinned and tail tugged between their legs. Scared. Six sniffs the air. Oh... they're in heat. The program had never given him someone to help with his heat before. This makes him suspicious.

He doesn't relax just yet as he takes a few steps toward the newcomer, who looks terrified out of their wits. He connects telepathically to them, animalistic and simple, nonsensical. After one thing and one thing only.

Mate.