Disclaimer etc. in first chapter.

Author's Note: Yeah, I don't know why Jack showed up in this, but for some reason he wanted to be here. This chapter's pretty normal, but I should warn you it starts getting kinda weird after this. I meant for it to be scary, but apparently my brain can't manage that.

Also - I know the title stinks, but I was in a rush to get it up last night and couldn't think of a good one.

As John left the White House, he couldn't help but feel anxious. His meeting with the President had been brief – a "thank you" for his service on his last mission, a minute or two of small talk, and a "thank you, Mr. President" – but then one of the assistants, a pretty brunette with wide blue eyes, had latched onto him. She'd insisted on getting him something from the mess, and had followed him out to the lobby to continue talking to him.

John had met her kind before – girls who saw the uniform before anything else – but was somewhat surprised to find one inside the White House. Still, he flirted back, trying in part to shake his startling encounter from earlier that day. Playing the charming flyboy was second nature to him, and he carried on without much thought, until his brain belatedly recognized the words "dinner" and "tonight."

"I can't," he blurted out.

The girl looked surprised. She'd thought this was going well! "Oh, well, then..."

John realized how rude he'd sounded, and immediately started backtracking. "It's not that I don't want to," and here he had to glance surreptitiously at her nametag, "Jenna. I'd love to, but I already had plans with an old buddy." In this he wasn't lying. Whenever he had to come to D.C. he stayed with an old friend who had moved to the area a few years ago. Of course, his "plans" for this evening involved getting locked up so he didn't hurt anyone, instead of the usual beers and pizza.

She brightened some, and John, never liking to see a woman in distress (and as a result having been on more disastrous dates than he could count) found himself inviting her out for lunch the next day. They chatted for a few minutes more, before Jenna seemed to realize that she actually had work to do, and John finally was able to leave.

As a result, the visit to the White House had taken far longer than he'd expected. Now he had only a little over an hour until moonrise, and it would take nearly that long to make his way to his friend's house and secure himself to the wall.

When he burst into Jack O'Neill's house 58 minutes later, the older man was waiting for him in the hall. "Thought you weren't going to make it," he said.

"Thought so myself," John admitted, shedding his coat and shirt in the hall. He nearly tripped on the steps to the basement as he tried to take of his shoes, but soon he was down to nothing but his boxers. Jack followed.

"You going out?" John asked, positioning himself in front of the brick wall.

Jack nodded. The only one of John's friends to know his secret, Jack sometimes felt he should be there. But he had tried once, and learned that when the transformation happened, nothing of his friend remained. It had been painful and disturbing to watch, and since then, if John happened to be visiting Jack at this time of the month, the older man went out for the night and didn't return until sunrise. It was easier on both of them – this way John didn't have to worry about hurting a man who'd always been there for him.

As Jack secured the chains around John's wrists and ankles, sliding them several times through the rings he'd affixed to the wall for just that purpose, John once again cursed his condition.

It was supposed to be a milk run. A routine tour through Europe, attached to a four-star general. Part of the same detail, Jack had instantly befriended John, recognizing in the younger man his own irreverence and tendency to bend the rules. They'd been on leave one night, heading home from a local bar, when it happened. John had been hit by a bundle of muscle and fur, felt a sting on his arm, and before either he or Jack could do more than reach for their guns, it was gone.

Seeing the bite on John's arm, they decided it had been some kind of rabid animal. Several painful shots later, John had only a white bandage and some stitches to show for the encounter. Four weeks later, those were gone and John had all but forgotten the event.

The night of the full moon, however, brought it all back with clarity. They were staying at a chateau of some bigwig or other, and John had nearly destroyed an entire floor before he was subdued. Luckily, their host was an avid hunter who enjoyed the sport more than the kill, and so had plenty of tranquilizer guns on hand.

The wolf who was John had been secured in what used to be the chateau's wine cellar to await morning and removal by local authorities. No one could understand how a wolf had gotten into the building, let alone onto the third floor, without anyone noticing, but that was a matter for daylight. It was only when Jack realized he hadn't seen John in all the commotion that he started to wonder. Unable to find his friend anywhere, he'd gone down to watch the wolf sleep, and to think.

He was only slightly surprised to find that once the moon set, the wolf's form twisted and transformed, leaving a sleeping but unscathed John Sheppard. He'd snuck the other man back upstairs, then put in a call to a professor friend of his, Dr. Daniel Jackson, who specialized in mythology and legends. Within an hour, he had all he ever wanted to know about werewolves, and more.

Since that time, anytime John was visiting or nearby Jack during the full moon, the latter would help him find a secure place where he could wait out the transformation without hurting anyone.

Closing the last lock, Jack looked up at his friend. He jerked back, startled. John had cut it closer than they'd realized, and already his eyes were losing their humanity. Jack moved to the stairs.

Before starting up them, he said, "I'll be back in the morning."

John's head snapped up at Jack's voice, and he bared his teeth in a feral grin. "Go!" he growled, his voice deeper and harsher than normal.

Jack left.

Elizabeth paced her den, a secure attic room, waiting for the transformation to begin. She restlessly ran a hand along one reinforced wall. The door was reinforced steel and the room was soundproof. She'd had the work done by three different contractors, and had gotten permits for none of it. As careful as she'd been, however, she still worried sometimes that people would talk. And in city like Washington, such talk could be ruinous.

This room had been her safe spot for the past three years, ever since the disastrous camping trip in California with her boyfriend Simon. The boyfriend hadn't lasted, but the lycanthropy had.

She stopped at the door, making sure once again that it was locked. She knew that as a werewolf she didn't have the mental awareness to open locks, but she had still ensured that every one of them required an opposable thumb to open.

Her skin began to feel tight, and she knew that the moon was starting to rise. Raising her voice in a primal howl, she let the wolf take her.

The man surveyed his collection, pausing at a cage every now and then before moving on. The werecats weren't quite right for tonight. While they were excellent hunters, tonight he didn't need anyone brought down. No, tonight he needed a tracker. Yes, that was it.

He narrowed in on the third cage from the end, where a young woman sat shivering and naked on a bed of straw. She stared out at him with inhuman eyes.

"Now, my pet, don't worry. Tonight you get to leave your home, if only for a little while." As he spoke, he reached into a bag hanging from the door of the cage and removed a bracelet. Opening the door, he grasped her wrist and pulled her out, clamping the bracelet on her as he did so.

Standing and in the full light, it was even more apparent that she wasn't human. Her facial features had an unusual cast, the nose out of proportion with the mouth, the eyes closer to the hairline than they would be on a normal human. Her limbs hung oddly, as if her joints were in the wrong place. But dressed and covered with a long coat, out of the light of day, she could pass. She had before, whenever he needed her. He'd had to pay a fortune to have her brought to this realm, but she was worth the price.

"Tonight, my pet," he said, stroking her forearm lightly, "I will need you to find someone for me. Two someones – werewolves both. Find them for me, and return before daylight." His caress suddenly became a crushing grip. "If you do not, my sweet, I will use the bracelet." As he spoke, he used the hand not holding the girl to lightly touch a small metal box at his waist.

For the first time the otherworldly girl showed emotion. Her face twisted in fear and pain, and her arm jerked in his grasp. He touched the box again, and her expression smoothed into an unreadable mask once again. The man smiled at her, a kind, gentle, fatherly smile, then patted her arm once and let go. He pointed her towards the room at the end of the hall, where a kept a wardrobe full of clothes for his pets, and once she'd left to dress and begin her task, he turned away, forgetting her.

Soon he would know where to find his wolves. Until then, he would occupy himself with planning.