AN: Pits were once known as 'nanny dogs'. Our Edgar, for what it's worth, is a lousy nanny, but we've all got faults and that's okay.

Meli-Mel150-THE DROOL IS REAL. You don't know reflexes until she shakes by your plate. It's so gross.-Jason

EchokittyCat-She took half my bed, ate my lemons-multiple times! I had to hide them!-and barked at a child. I would fight Bane for her.-Jason

Jason stumbles through his window at two in the morning, left hand clutching his side. Somebody got lucky with a knife, nothing awful-awful, but it needs stitches. He's going to have to be careful stretching any which way for a little while, maybe no tug-of-war with the dog.

Lemon tries to follow him into the bathroom, bumping at his leg with that big head of hers, and he manages to nudge her back and lock her out. Last thing he needs is fur in the cut, or slobber, or whatever. And the bathroom is small. They don't both fit without a bit of Tetris.

He tosses his jacket into the shower, followed by his hoodie, and starts working at getting his body armor off. Outside, there's snuffling and a few hesitant scrapes at the door.

"M'okay, baby," he says. "Just be quiet, okay?"

Almost got it…

There's a sudden howl from outside. SHIT NO-

"Lemon!" Oh, that does look nasty. "Shh!"

More scraping. Jesus, okay…

He opens the door, just a little so she can't smash into his side. Not that it stops her from trying; she sees the crack and promptly tries to wedge her head through.

"S'matter, sour girl*?" Frantic whining and more pushing. "You can't come in, I gotta fix this up. Be quiet, I'll be out in a few minutes."

He tries to shut the door again and she starts howling. Crap. Okay. This...this is a little bad. His neighbors will come for him with mops, he'll be distracted, she's clearly miserable...um…

Oh! He got a baby gate, when he was still telling himself she wasn't permanent, to keep her out of the kitchen. The cast made her a little slippery. It should be under his bed or something...maybe that'll be a happy medium.

He nudges her out of the way and shuffles, slowly and painfully, into the other room to get it out. It takes him a minute, and it takes him another two to get it so she won't just knock it down, but finally, finally, she can see him without getting in the way.

It's unnerving, he decides. She's literally sitting there, staring at him and periodically nudging the gate to see if it'll fall down. A task that has once been done in tired silence is now being done in awkward silence.

"Somebody just got lucky," he explains, only feeling a little silly about trying to justify himself to a dog. "I was distracted and they came at me with a knife. Nothing to worry about."

Yeah, he might actually stay in tomorrow, or at least keep it light. Grappling is already kinda painful-his shoulders don't like it too much-but now? Ngh. He's ground-bound for a few days at least.

"I'm not gonna die," he continues. "I've had worse. Electricity? That hurts. This's a. A paper cut compared to that." More whining. Another nudge. "Almost done, sour girl, then I'll take you out for the night. Maybe have a smoke."

There. It's not pretty, exactly, but honestly, he can't bring himself to care. What's one more scar in all the other ones, huh? No one's going to see it except the dog, and she doesn't care.

"Lemme just get a shirt on, okay?" He'll shower when he gets in. It's always a damn production when he's got stitches. "It's cold, I don't want to go out like this, nobody else wants me to come out like this, it's just better. And we gotta get your coat on too...and your hat…"

Ten minutes later, he can go outside without frightening the children and Lemon's bundled up like Randy from A Christmas Story. His side's still numb, but the rest of his body's aching and he hopes, he really hopes, that this isn't gonna take a year. Sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes she has to sniff fifty rocks, gaze at the sky like it holds the answers to life, and try to befriend a beetle. She's an idiot. He'd fight Bane for her if he had to.

Tonight, it does not take a year. It's too cold, apparently, because she sulks the entire time and gives him a filthy look when they finally go back in the elevator.

"Don't give me that look. I told you it was cold," he says. She huffs at him, tired and wet because everything she does is wet. He's gotten very good at shielding his food when she shakes her head. "Well, you don't have to come back out now. Happy?"

After the earlier fiasco, he doesn't even bother shutting the bathroom door. He just gates her out so she doesn't try to come into the shower-and she will, given half a chance-and spends a good half hour warming up.

He'll be honest. It's kinda nice to come out and find her still there, staring worryingly at the bathroom. Makes him feel fluffy inside.

He feels a little less fluffy when she ignores her fancy-ass dog bed in favor of taking half of his, but at the same time, she's very warm and there's something comforting about her settling between him and the window. Nothing's ever come through it-though there was one time that she woke him barking at it like someone was gonna try-but still. There's a measure of security there.

"G'night, Lemon," he mumbles. "Sweet dreams, big girl."

All in all, he's had worse patch-up nights.

THE END

*While 'Sour Girl' is the name of a Stone Temple Pilots song-and Jason knows that-he's using it here because Lemon, well, eats lemons. She's not bright. :p