Chapter Forty-Six

Dog Kin

General Malcolm Reed

I'm quiet as Liz wheels me to my room after my counselling session, and I think she senses something has happened because she doesn't try to engage me in conversation. She parks up my wheelchair just outside the door and hands me the Zimmer frame. I've made enough progress now to be fairly independently mobile in a room with sufficient seating capacity to allow me to quickly drop somewhere whenever my legs say, 'No.'

I go directly to my bed and silently allow Liz to remove my shoes while I pull off my jacket. Then I step out of my trousers when she pulls them down over my hips, and sit down on the bed when she lowers it enough that I don't have to boost myself up. I lie on my side, slightly curled up, and the moment the blankets are settled over me, Beans jumps on the bed beside me. She kneads at the blanket a bit, turns a few circles, settles in with an audible sigh, and snuggles close against me. Within a minute, I can hear her purring and feel the warmth of her small body seeping through the blankets.

My afternoon rest period, which we all refrain from calling a nap because a while ago I just got sick to the back teeth with being infantilised, was a hard-fought battle for my treatment team, but surprisingly easily won once someone used the words that for me were the magic incantation to make me buy into it. For weeks I resisted the very idea of taking additional rest. I was tired, yes, but willing to fight through the fatigue for the extra time in physiotherapy; but I was refused. A nap was part of the plan, so I was put to bed in the middle of the afternoon. So, I would sullenly lie in my bed doing isometric exercises for two hours trying to build strength and stamina while being denied the opportunity to perform any meaningful, productive activity.

Until the day Liz had quite enough of my obstinate determination to be constantly working my feeble frame every waking hour of the day. That was the day she explained to me, at considerable volume, how the endocrine system works.

"The only time most mammals produce enough growth hormone to be effective is during sleep, Malcolm," she informed me. "That's why children and puppies and kittens and most juvenile mammals tend to nap."

"Well, I'm not a bloody child, am I?"

"No! However much you may act like one, you are not a child, just an idiot!"

I tried to protest, but she was in high gear and just ran me right over.

"In adults, growth hormone is essential to repairing damaged organs, cells, and systems and to gaining muscle mass. You can exercise all you want, but if you exhaust yourself day after day and don't get sufficient rest, you will only grow weaker."

"Well, somebody could have told me that!"

"Well, now somebody has. The choice is yours. Be an idiot, or take better care of yourself!"

For bedside manner, I gave her a zero; for patient education, it was a ten. I haven't resisted my afternoon rest since then, and though I haven't dozed off as I usually do, I'm not resisting now.

I just have a lot on my mind.

So, after trying to nod off for a bit, I call out, "Liz?"

She usually occupies herself with reading, tidying, making notes, and other small chores while I sleep. I've come to find her presence and the small noises she makes as she moves about as comforting as the ones Ginny made that first day I actually participated in therapy were upsetting, and now I find it difficult to doze off without Liz 'puttering about' quietly.

"Would you…come and lie down with me?"

I have asked her this a few times now, often enough that it isn't the shocking request it once would have been.

She moves into my line of sight and asks, "Do you want me to spoon with you? Are you cold? I could turn up the heater."

The space heater Liz requisitioned for my quarters keeps the place at a balmy twenty-four degrees, which I realize is a tad warm for anyone actively moving about and doing something, but Liz insists that since they are my quarters, they should be maintained for my comfort. Anyone who gets too warm can just step out into the corridor for a minute or two.

"No, I'm not cold," I assure her. "I'd just…like some company."

She smiles sweetly. "All right."

Ever since the first time, less than two weeks into this latest, bizarre chapter of my life, that she offered to spoon with me for warmth, she's made a habit of very ostentatiously emptying her pockets before climbing onto the bed beside me. It isn't necessary anymore, but it's nice that she thinks to do something to put my mind at ease, so it makes me smile.

She toes off her shoes, and moves to the other side of the bed. I feel the covers lift, and then settle over the two of us as her warm, soft body snuggles in behind me. As ever, she is very careful to place her arms so that I won't feel restricted, and in moments, I'm relaxing against her.

Yet still, I can't sleep. "Liz?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you ever heard the expression, 'dog kin'?"

"Yes, Trip's used it in reference to me and a few other people."

"Oh."

We're quiet for a minute, but I can't help myself. I have to ask. "Liz?"

"Yes?"

"Do you have people in your life that you consider dog kin?"

"I never would've called them that until I Trip taught me what it meant, but a handful, yes. Why do you ask?"

"Just wondering. I only ever heard the expression today."

She's not going to tell me. I wish I could see her face right now. I've learned enough to know that I'd never find the derisive sneer I'd previously have expected, but would I see the blank look of someone who isn't reading the subtext or the teasing smirk of someone saying, 'I know what you want to know and I'm going to make you ask?'

I'm not going to be able to sleep until I know, though I flay myself for the weakness it will expose and it takes a couple of tries before I can even make my mouth work. "Liz?"

"Mmm?"

"It's perfectly okay to say no, but do you consider…"

"No, Malcolm, I don't regard you as dog kin."

"Oh…I see." I can't deny I'm secretly slightly hurt (though Lucifer knows why I should expect her to feel any kind of warmth for me), but more than that, I'm confused. Why else would she invest so much time and energy into caring for me? Why would she tolerate my all-too-frequent abuse?

"No, from your tone of voice, I don't think you do," she gently reproaches me. "You see, as I understand it, dog kin is all about obligation, responsibility, and duty. It's a bond you didn't choose and aren't permitted to break. It's someone you're stuck with, like it or not.

"I don't feel that way about you, Malcolm. I choose to be with you," she insists. "I told you before, I love you, and I don't care what Trip or anyone else says about dog kin, as far as I'm concerned, love's a whole lot stronger than that."

I know I should respond. I know what one should say in this situation, but I don't know if it would be the truth. After all these years, after so many betrayals, I don't know what love is any more, if I ever did, if I ever felt it for someone or from someone. But maybe counselling is starting to pay off, because the thought of answering her truthfully isn't nearly as scary as I would have expected.

"I wish I could tell you what you want to hear, Liz," I admit, my voice barely more than a whisper, because while the fear of being so honest isn't quite as paralysing as it would have been not so long ago, it's still very real. "But I don't want to lie to you, and my feelings are such a mess most of the time…"

"It's all right, Malcolm," she says with that infinite patience that so often infuriates me when I'm trying to get a rise out of her, but tonight, it's a soothing balm. "I'm in this for the long haul. You just concentrate on getting better."

"Thank you," I manage, and though it sounds woefully inadequate, when she snuggles closer and lick-kisses my ear, I know that it is enough.

"You should know, though, Malcolm, that Trip is first among those I consider dog kin, so please, don't ever make me choose between you. I would choose you, but it would break my heart."

I'm not ready to offer her any promises, but I do reach back and find her hand to squeeze it in gratitude for the reassurance she has given me.

And that is how I fall asleep.

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