Shirley woke to the bright stab of sunlight in her eyes. She blinked and tried to yawn, panicking briefly until the events of last night came back to her. She clawed at the clip pressing into the back of her head and within seconds the muzzle slipped softly onto the floor. She stretched out her jaw, her tongue curling against the roof of her mouth, and let out a nervous whine. A quick shake and she'd loosened the leash enough that all she had to do was lower her head and it joined the muzzle.

She felt…better. Physically at least. Her head was pounding, but her chest was nearly all healed. Her leg was fine. It would take the fur a bit to grow back though. Damn vet. Right now, though, she had other things to worry about.

Glancing toward the doorway to John's bedroom, Shirley tilted her head and listened. Soft, rhythmic snoring and the steady thump, thump of his heartbeat. He was still asleep. The fact the door was closed did not escape her notice, though she couldn't exactly blame him and she certainly wasn't about to complain over having a solid barrier between them. Even if he could just open it.

Snorting, she trotted to the front door and grabbed the handle in her jaws and twisted. Locked. Not a flippy kind of lock either. An honest to goodness with a key kind of lock. Humph. Well then, window. But she couldn't find one that led to a fire escape. These people were crazy. What if there was a fire? Did he expect to jump thirty feet to the ground? The more she looked, the more frantic she became. The only thing that kept her from freaking out entirely was a grounding pressure in her bladder.

She quickly found the bathroom and closed the door behind herself, noticing with some satisfaction that this door did indeed lock with a lever. Maybe the key had been lost a while back and the lock replaced with a new, modern type? Maybe they just cared less about the front door or thought an older lock provided old school security? Whatever the stupid reason, she could use this as a place to hunker down if she had to. Though, the window didn't lead anywhere and he could probably wait her out. Not to mention the fact that she didn't plan on staying. Still, it was nice to have some small piece of safety.

She clambered awkwardly onto the toilet, untrimmed claws slipping on porcelain. It'd been a while since she'd done this and she was less than graceful, but she managed to keep the mess where it should be. Feeling even better, she flushed, and turned on the faucet. The water wasn't cold, but it was the best thing she'd ever tasted. This was fantastic. If her eyes could've produced tears, she'd be crying with joy. It was amazing how something so simple as using the toilet or controlling her own water could make her feel human again. A little, at least. Speaking of which, with hands, maybe she could climb down the side of the building? It'd be risky, but what choice did she have? It was either that or go pick the key from John's pocket, and there was no way she was doing that.

But she wasn't sure she could change. Everything human had been ripped out of her and recorded over with bullets and blood. It was like a dream she'd woken from only to have it slip through her hands faster the more she tried to grab it. And even if she could change, it'd been so long. What if she didn't like it? Her ears went back and she reminded herself to stop being stupid. You are human. You are human. You are human.

Taking a final drink, she shut the water off and stalked back into the living room.

Breathing slowly, she sat down and closed her eyes. Her heart fluttered with an adrenaline fused cocktail of joy and anxiety when she felt it: the pulse. It was still there, weak, threaded, but there. She beat the drum and willed it louder, invited it to flow through every vein, every follicle of her being. A shiver, a twitch, but nothing more. Frustrated, Shirley grabbed the beat and forced it upwards only to cry out when pain seared down her legs and spine.

There was a loud thud from behind John's door and it quickly flung open. Shirley rushed behind the unused armchair and glared at him. His face was hollow, eyes sunken in from lack of sleep and he had to blink a moment to catch his bearings. The first thing he noticed was the muzzle and leash on the floor. His fingers twitched. He found Shirley a second later and sucked in an uneasy breath. It looked like it was going to be another staring contest, but instead he cleared his throat, nodded, and looked away.

Shirley was proud of the way she didn't flinch when he stepped into the kitchen, giving her hiding spot a wide berth. She watched as he busied himself rummaging around the fridge. The rigid set of his shoulders told her he was most definitely still aware of her and plenty nervous himself. He grabbed a carton of eggs, and some bacon and set to work cooking. He scrambled the eggs with milk and a bit of cheese and poured them into the pan. The bacon was sliced open with a steak knife and lined up in careful rows on a skillet.

It…smelled…heavenly.

The longer he worked, the less tense he became and the more out of place Shirley felt. It was so surreal. This wasn't the way a master behaved. There was no gun, no cage. She'd attacked him and instead of a beating, he'd offered her space. It was obviously a trick. The second she trusted him, he'd turn out like all the others. The thought was a strange, but familiar comfort.

Her stomach growled loudly and she found that all the sudden she really didn't care how weird this was. That looked like far too much for one person, certainly more than she'd eaten in a long time. But then, he was a guy and if she remembered correctly, men were garbage disposals. He probably had some kibble and broccoli tucked away to throw at her.

She laid down, watching him grab two plates from the cupboard, stop, put one back, and take out two bowls instead. Her ears perked forward. He filled the plate and one bowl with equal parts of eggs and bacon and checked the bottles the vet had given him. He glanced her way before popping open three of them and mixing the pills into the food. He set both bowls down carefully inside the entrance to the living room after filling the second with water from the tap. He poured himself some orange juice and sat down at the table with his breakfast.

Inch by inch, Shirley crept forward, eyes on him the whole way. Her heart was pounding. She hardly dared to breathe, lest she ruin this rarity of a pleasant dream. John sat tensely and nibbled on a piece of bacon, doing his best not to look at her. By the time she reached the bowl she was drooling. Nostrils flared, she took in the wonderful amazingness about her breakfast before unceremoniously tipping the bowl and its contents all over the floor. She scarfed down the food, eating around the pills with practiced skill. John sniffed and she jumped. He was looking at her annoyed, but hadn't moved. She scooted back to gobble up the last few mouthfuls and sprang back into her hiding spot. When she was done, he was still looking at her. Her ears folded back.

"I'll have to get you a proper collar." He popped some egg into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. "And a tag."

Shirley didn't feel so good.