The years aboard Enterprise had afforded Malcolm more than his share of tense moments, but he could remember nothing quite like the atmosphere as he walked for the second time into the breeder's house. He was aware of his children watching him, hardly daring to breathe as he settled down on the sofa to meet the newest member of his family. Hoshi was naturally also present, but keeping very much in the background.

Technically he still had the power to refuse the puppy – there was a waiting list for puppies from the stud, and certainly there would be an alternative purchaser available – but already in his heart he knew that he wasn't going to. He was no expert, but he'd done his homework: the O'Donnell stud produced fine, healthy dogs, and he trusted the breeder's promise that he should have the best male of the expected litter. More than any consideration of the quality of the puppy, however, was the utter impossibility of breaking his children's hearts.

Still, it was a big moment, for him as well as for them. His life as well as his family was changing, expanding – growing in ways he could never have conceived of ten years ago. He drew a long, steadying breath. He'd never been afraid of responsibility, but this... having three people so utterly dear to him, having a life so rich that losing any part of it would be worse than losing a limb; after all his life having so little, now having so much to lose... sometimes he felt like a tightrope-walker, never seeing the height until he looked down. And now there was to be a fourth life for whom he was to be responsible. Not as dear as the others, that went without saying, but most especially to the children, the dog's welfare would be so deeply important...

The door opened, and the breeder walked in carrying the puppy, which seemed to have been woken from sleep. To the sound of indrawn breaths from the two children, the drowsy creature was placed into Malcolm's hands.

Time rolled back. He had blood on his hands, and they held the tiny, newborn wolf puppy he had cut from its mother's belly. Nech... and the amazement on every face as he'd drawn the tiny puppy into view on his return to the village; on one face in particular...

But this was no pre-term newborn, fighting for life; this was a sturdy eight-week-old puppy, who'd been born into privilege and cared for in canine luxury. The strong bones under the black and tan puppy-wool held the promise of a big dog to come, as did the disproportionately large paws. There was no fear in the brightening brown eyes that gazed back at him, just the happy expectation of kindness. And that – as well as the appropriate discipline of course – was something that the puppy's future home could offer without stint.

Malcolm swallowed something in his throat, and tried to sound casual. "Hello, sunshine. You want to come and live with this pair, then?"

Charles spoke, his voice tiny with tension. "Dad ... you like him?"

He laid the pup across his knees and stroked his back, feeling the strong little body wriggling with joy at being fussed over; Jessa touched the damp black nose and immediately a long pink tongue washed her hand, so that she giggled.

It was time to put the final seal to his family unit.

"I think this is our dog."