Shirley eyed the piece of chicken John had thrown on the floor and snorted. He sat cross-legged in front of the table, her food bowl was piled with tiny chunks of chicken breast between his knees. The collar and leash he'd gotten her rested by his right hip. Instead of just feeding her and being done with it, he'd chosen to disrupt their usual routine with this weak attempt at cornering her.

"Go on. That's it," John encouraged and Shirley reluctantly leaned forward to gobble the offering.

John smiled and threw another piece, a little further from her and a little closer to him. She narrowed her eyes and lifted her upper lip just enough to show one fang. When he'd ignored the fact that she used the bathroom, she'd assumed he knew, but the way he talked to her, the things he'd bought… Either he was purposely humiliating her or John was just plain stupid. This newest stint pointed to the latter. After two weeks of proper food, she was in much better condition. Her weight was improving. She was getting sleep. Her fur was growing back. She'd long since ripped out her stitches. It would take an idiot to try this crap now. She could tear through his throat in a second.

So it was a surprise to both of them when she took a step forward, bent down, and slurped up the chicken. Inch by inch. Pace by pace. It took a long time, nearly and hour, and there were a few setbacks, but Shirley was within John's reach. He made no move to touch her nor did he go for the collar and she had to admit she was perplexed. Her dinner was done. All he had to do was grab her. He raised his hand slowly. Shirley flinched back, but didn't growl. John froze, his expression calm. His scent, however, told a completely different story. He was terrified.

Shirley blinked, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception or aggression. Her heart was pounding. She took a cautious step toward him, ready to spring back or bite if he tried anything. John sucked in a breath. Her ears went back, but she didn't stop.

Shirley's nose ghosted the tips of John's fingers and they both jumped. He felt…warm. Up close his scent was safe and strong, a far cry from David's wild, sick aggression. He was smiling like an idiot. She stretched forward almost eagerly this time, pressing her nostrils into his hand and breathing deeply. Tension and excitement rolled off him in waves, but a quick check proved that excitement was winning over.

He curled his fingers, rubbing her nose with nearly imperceptible pressure. The contact made her shiver and she wasn't so sure she liked it, but she didn't not like it either. A huff. John pulled back. The phone rang and they sprang apart. Shirley ran back to her bed and John let out a tense sigh. He got stiffly to his feet and hurried to the phone. After a short conversation , he seemed happy, relieved even.

"Be right back," he said, grabbing his coat, and he hurried out the door.

Shirley trotted back and forth until she was sure she'd worn a hole in the carpet. What was she doing? She couldn't trust him. He thought she was dog and that's all she could ever be to him. This wasn't love. It wasn't even friendship. How could it be? He could never know her, not the real her. They could never go beyond dog and master.

I am human. I am human. I am human.

Shirley closed her eyes and beat the drum, biting back against the pain that ripped through her body. When nothing happened she tried again, and again, and again until everything ached she could barely move. For a while she just laid there in the middle of the floor, eyes forward, seeing nothing. Was she human? Was she really? She'd played a different part for so long it was hard to tell. She remembered flashes of her old life, a cut on her hand, her mother's smile, her sister's hair shinning in the sunlight. Their voices. Panic fluttered in her chest. She couldn't remember their voices.

John returned to find Shirley curled up on her bed with her back to the door. He jangled his newly returned keys at her, but she didn't even twitch. That night she didn't eat her supper, nor her breakfast the next morning. Two days later she still wasn't eating. She stopped using the toilet. She barely slept. She hardly even moved. Whenever John got near her, she snarled and snapped at him, though she didn't run like she had when she first came. He gave her all the space she wanted.

.:...:.

The apartment was dark except for glow of the T.V. John had left it on a show about the kinds of jobs dogs do, and she was stubbornly tuning it out. He'd already gone to bed and was snoring softly. His door was open. He'd stopped closing it at least a week back.

The front door downstairs creaked open and Shirley's ears shot forward. A floorboard groaned and an uncomfortably familiar scent wafted into the apartment. She could hear him breathing. Her hackles rose. Her head came up. A low, quiet growl rumbled in her throat.

The door to John's landlady's apartment opened and Shirley shot to her feet. Without even thinking, she ran into John's room and jumped onto the bed. He all but scrambled over the side when saw her silhouette above him, but any worry over her was immediately drowned out by Mrs. Hudson's scream.

John sprang out of bed, Shirley right behind him. He unlocked the door and barreled down the stairs. Shirley took them in two jumps. By the time she got to the bottom John was already inside the other apartment. He'd barely gotten through the door when a dark shape bulldozed right through him, knocking him flat on his back.

Shirley's ears went back. Every hair stood on end. Something click, click, clicked and broke inside her. Rage washed over her, flooding every crack of her shattered psyche. With her superior night vision, she could see the attacker and she recognized him.

Derek flung the front door open and burst onto the street with Shirley right behind him. She jumped forward, sinking her teeth into the back of his calf. He spun around with a yell and slammed his knuckles into the side of her face. It sent her reeling backwards. By the time she was back on her feet, Derek was throwing himself into the driver's seat of an old, grey, Volkswagen. It peeled away with Shirley in hot pursuit. John was shouting her name, but she ignored him.

It was nearly a block and a half before she gave up the chase. She skidded to a stop, panting hard, fur bristling. A frustrated snarl tore from her jaws. What was she supposed to do? If she stayed, John was in danger. If she left, John was in danger with no one to protect him. Fuming, she turned and stormed back towards the apartment. John met her halfway with the slip lead. She paused when she saw him. Her heart fluttered. He moved forward slowly, talking gently to her with one hand outstretched. His eyes widened when she ducked her head and trotted right up to him. He looped the leash over her head and the two of them walked back to the apartment in silence.