You're an angel. You flit around with this aura of light and happiness, a carefree demeanor accompanied by a ditzy attitude that never fails to both confuse and endear him. He thought you were annoying at first, until he learned to embrace the light you bring to his life instead of trying to dampen it with his own cold, darkened perspective. After spending the majority of his life being abused, punished, muzzled, leashed, forced to kill, becoming nothing but a dog, a killer for the CIA...

He's learning that sometimes life can be filled with rolling around in soft grass, laying in the sun, getting treats for doing nothing, and sleeping in front of the warm fire on plush beds, under heavy blankets. The life of a hybrid in the CIA wasn't pretty; using his canine teeth to rip through targets, being caged, beaten into submission, training for hours without a break. Being seen as nothing more than a rabid animal, resigning himself to his fate.

Then, he hurts his back, and the CIA throws him away like garbage. As if he hadn't been their best hybrid operative for ten years. And the pound had been cold and hard and isolating, but it was nothing he wasn't used to. There was a cold, dull ache in his bones, a crushing feeling in his chest. A hollowness. Then the man showed up with gentle words and a soft hand, and brought him far out into the countryside where there were green, rolling hills. A small farm, a warm house, and... you.

A sweet hybrid who was rescued from being a breeder at a puppy mill. You were playful, light, affectionate, kind... everything he wasn't. And he wanted you. And he protected you from danger that wasn't even there out on the warm farm, where he had no responsibilities but to enjoy life.

Now, on a cold winter night, with snow falling in sheets outside, he's laying on thick blankets in front of the fire place while the kind man- Fitzroy- fixes dinner. He's curled around you, strong arm around you, ears relaxed, tail curled over your hip. Keeping you close because you're his.