Spearit asked if crossbreeds were possible with unhumans. I decided early on (in my mental notes for this story - it's never actually come up) that crossbreeds are not possible in this universe.

Say Whittaker (before his death) and Cecilia had had a child; their child would have either been a nymph or a human (though "unhuman" is the stronger gene). Not a watered-down nymph-human.

Same thing with unhuman mates: assume for a second Blaine and Sebastian had children; each child would randomly be either a vampire or an incubus (50/50 chance).

I'm sure there's nothing in genetics to support such an assertion, but then again there's nothing in science to support the fact that David's change each month pisses all over the law of the conservation of mass.

My reasoning for this is that there would be way too many 'whatamacallit' subspecies out there (imagine one person with an incubus's sex draining powers, a vampire's charms, a werewolf's shapeshifting, a hag's magic, etc.) – it would just make things way too confusing.

Also, Powerlad asked about male nymphs – I've updated the previous chapter to reflect that male nymphs (rather, male nature spirits) are fauns.

xoxoxo

He was nervous: too nervous to do anything much more than stare mindlessly at his son and Moo Cow as they played in the living room. Kurt had unearthed an old laser pointer from the junk drawer in the kitchen and was using it to tease Moo Cow. While Kurt sat bent over on the couch, his head resting on his palm, his elbow dug into his knee, he used his free hand to limply dart the red light around the room. Moo Cow dug her claws into the floor as she scampered after the light. The tiny sounds of her claws snagging on the carpet fibers were just barely audible to Kurt. Alex didn't seem to notice the laser, but he was having the time of his life chasing after Cow and tackling and ramming into her side to knock her over.

The call from David and Whittaker hadn't much eased Kurt's nerves. Whittaker…that was the same guy who was in charge of David's case, wasn't he? How could he go from trying to put David away to taking him on a nice little vacation to Washington, DC? Something was wrong here, and Kurt wasn't entirely sure what it was. Kurt had made a few calls as soon as David hung up and was now waiting on a response.

Cow was crouched a few inches from where Kurt hovered the laser dot, her butt twitching back and forth as she got ready to pounce. Alex was the first to pounce instead, landing on Cow's back and prompting her to roll over so she could grab the sides of Alex's face with her claws her mouth wide open as she prepared to bite – just in case. Alex woofed in her face then bounced back, awaiting her retaliation. At that moment, Kurt's cellphone started blaring out part of the chorus of Shania Twain's "Whose bed have your boots been under?"
Whose bed have your boots been under?

And whose heart did you steal I wonder?
This time did it feel like thunder, baby?
And who did you run to?
And whose lips have you been kissin'?
And whose ear did you make a wish in?

It was Sebastian's ringtone. If he was able to come through for Kurt, Kurt might have to consider changing the weasel's ringtone to something slightly less insulting. "Sebastian?"

"Hey Kurt. I talked to my father."

Sebastian's voice was a bit wary on the other end of the line, as though he wasn't sure how to proceed. "And?"

"And, it isn't really great." Kurt felt his heart plummet. "According to my father, it doesn't really matter what the laws are. When the government doesn't like someone, they can sometimes just, you know, disappear. It doesn't even really matter that you know who David was with last; he's a werewolf. You can raise as much stink as you want if he doesn't come back; no one is going to care." Kurt wanted to cry. "That being said…my dad wanted to know if David was the one that was connected to that whole serial killer thing eight years ago."

"Yeah. He killed the serial killer."

"Ok, well that makes things significantly better. My dad heard in passing from another lawyer, a federal prosecutor, that the FBI fought with the federal prosecutor in charge of David's case to keep him from going to trial. If they wanted David out of the picture, they would have just let it go to trial; with all the hubbub following a trial like that, even if he had been able to get off – which is not likely – he would have been killed by angry mobs after the trial, probably. Unhumans aren't like other minority groups, we really don't stick up for our own kind."

"Sebastian! Get on with it! Why would the FBI fight to get him off the hook only to pick him up later?"

"They probably need him for something. Tonight's a full moon, you know? Maybe they need Wolf to sniff something out for them? Do some kind of legwork? I dunno. All I know is that they probably have some kinda use for him."

Kurt thought about that a minute. "No…no that doesn't make sense. Whittaker said he'd be home tonight."

"Well, then I dunno what to tell you. It doesn't look too hopeless." There was a moment's hesitation on Sebastian's end of the line before he added in, "Believe it or not, I wish you well, Kurt. Call me or Blaine when you find out anything." Then there was silence on Sebastian's end of the line. Kurt slumped back on the couch and let his head flop back. He stared at the ceiling.

xoxoxo

David, Whittaker and Grace enjoyed a nice lunch at the Atrium Café in the museum at David's prompting. The closer to the exhibits they ate, the more time David had to explore. Grace was all too happy to act as their docent, showing them around the museum while she talked to David. She candidly revealed to David at one point that even if he didn't take up Whittaker's job offer, she would be all too happy to help train him. She was a very nice old woman: one of those comforting grandmother types. When he told Whittaker that as they headed off to the FBI headquarters together, Whittaker had laughed and told him not to be fooled by appearances. Grace had been in the slayers for a reason; she was a tough, dangerous old bat if she wanted to be.

Before long, David and Whittaker found themselves getting checked for weapons as they entered the FBI headquarters. David could tell the security guard checking him was trying not to smirk as he placed David's stuffed squid aside: a souvenir for Alex from the National History Museum. He'd gotten Kurt an amber dragonfly pin.

Whittaker led David through the building, stopping or slowing every so often to greet a familiar face or friend. The building seemed to be at least as big as the museum had been, but significantly less interesting. It could have been any office building on Earth as far as David was concerned. At long last, Whittaker and David found themselves standing before a secretary. She made a quick call announcing their arrival, placed the phone down and led them to a door leading into another office.

Several gentlemen sat around the office, one behind a large desk, and one off to either side of the desk. The men stood when David and Whittaker entered, but not for David's benefit. Whittaker appeared to be personally familiar with each of the men as they shook hands and exchanged pleasantries. Once Whittaker had made his rounds, he introduced David to each of the men. "Executive Assistant Director for Human Resources James Godin, Executive Assistant Director for National Security Arthur Medlock, and Director Gerald Bratcher." David almost fainted. Director? As in the Director of the FBI?!

"Have a seat, gentlemen." Two empty seats were situated directly in front of the director's desk. Whittaker took the one on the left, leaving the one on the right for David. David looked around awkwardly trying to find a place to put the squid before bending over, embarrassedly, and placing it under his chair. "So, David." David swallowed heavily. "I suppose you know why Agent Whittaker has brought you here today?"

David opened his mouth to answer, but found his voice squeaked. Clearing his throat, he tried again. "I was told that werewolves are desirable by several branches of the federal government."

"That they are. They're the single most powerful breed of unhuman. Virtually indestructible unless you have access to weaponry generally reserved for the military; incredibly quick – both physically and mentally; and their senses put the greatest domesticated animals to shame." The director had his hands folded on his desk. Even with his expression blank and his body motionless, he appeared greatly intimidating. David had to keep reminding himself that he had been asked to come. They wanted him: not to hurt him. "Agent Whittaker has also informed us that you have an interest in joining the slayer unit of the FBI."

David licked his lips nervously. This was not the type of person you wanted to contradict. "I…I did. But, I've changed. I no longer want to hurt unhumans."

Medlock responded. "Being a slayer isn't about hurting unhumans. It's about protecting humans, no matter their species."

"I understand that. But I've decided…realized that it's my dream to be a doctor. I want to specialize in unhumans." David felt rather proud of himself for being fully willing to recommit himself to his earlier dreams of being a doctor.

The human resources guy – Godin – responded. "As is my understanding, you have a son and boyfriend to provide for. Do you know what the time commitment and medical school cost is to become a doctor? How do you plan on supporting your family?"

David felt rather smug about having a ready answer to that. "My father has squirreled away every single spare cent he's made since I was bitten to support me as an adult. Do you have any idea how much my father makes?"

The director shuffled through some pages lying on the table in front of himself before responding, "Three hundred, fifty seven thousand, eight hundred and fifty nine dollars a year, correct?"

David felt the blood drain from his face. He knew Whittaker had been keeping tabs on him, but to have the facts stated so bluntly, so matter-of-factly by someone David had never met before, it unnerved him. "Y-yes sir."

Whittaker craned his body so that he was pointed between the director and David, while he craned his neck even further to look David in the eye. "So what colleges have to applied to so far, David?" David swallowed and shook his head. The year had just been so…he hadn't had any real time to think about the next year. "What colleges do you think will accept someone with a 2.7GPA and nearly a month of accrued absences in the past year alone? Certainly not any medical schools I'm familiar with."

"I have connections, through my father. He can help me find a college."

"David." The director said his name in a no-nonsense manner. "Don't you think your father has done enough for you? It's time to grow up. Becoming an agent guarantees you and your family comfort for as long as you wish to remain a slayer. You will no longer have to worry about harassment or unwarranted violence against you, your boyfriend, or your son."

David felt his resolve weakening. "I really…really want to be a doctor. But, part of me still wants to be a slayer, also. I spent so long idolizing slayers." David shook his head.

"David…you killed a powerful werewolf at the age of ten during your first transformation without any issue whatsoever. You were able to conceal your identity as a werewolf for almost eight years. Wolf is calm, intelligent, and collected. You have a genius IQ and are exceptionally fit in your human form. Aside from the identity disorder – which Grace will fix – you have limited psychological issues compared to normal human teenagers, let alone werewolves. Anyone can be a doctor. You were built to be a veritable super soldier."

Medlock, from National Security had been shuffling through some of the paperwork on the director's desk while the others talked. He had a file in his hands and flipped through each of the pages before putting it down. "There have been roughly thirty incidents in the past five years where David could feasibly have been the tipping point. Sir," He pulled out a few choice documents and placed them in front of himself as he addressed the Director. "Could we convene sans David for a few moments? I believe I may have a solution, though I'd like to discuss it with you first."

The director seemed confused, though not entirely uninterested. "David, could you step outside for a few minutes?"

David nodded and stood up, looking between the faces of the high-ranking FBI agents in the room, curious to know what they had in store for him, for his future.

Time ticked away slowly in the outer office. The secretary typed away at her computer and occasionally printed out a few files that she immediately sealed in envelopes and placed in an outgoing mail tray. The minutes the Director had asked for slowly turned to a half hour. Then a quarter of an hour. Eventually, the intercom on the secretary's phone buzzed and David's presence was requested.

"David, you want to be a doctor but you also want to be a slayer. We don't need you fulltime, from what I'm reckoning." Medlock gestured to several documents spread out in front of himself, though David made no move to see what was contained in those documents. "We have part time agents. They typically work shortened weeks: 16-32 hours." He turned his focus to the director, who nodded approvingly for him to continue. "I'd like to propose an alternative form of the part time employment. The Army has their little weekend warriors, the National Guard, working one weekend a month two weeks a year. Why can't the FBI have our own equivalent? David, how would you like to work and train as a slayer during your off-time from school, as well as on an 'as-needed' basis? And then, once you finish school, we can reevaluate the needs of the FBI as well as you own needs. The FBI will assist you in getting placement in a medical school whose proximity is convenient to your position as an agent-in-training. In exchange, you – or rather your wolf, until you've gained control of him – will assist us with the more…'tricky' cases."

The director spoke up. "Of course, this is all contingent on our ability to make a written contract that is amenable to all parties. Godin, I'll need you to hammer out the details with the legal department. This will be a unique employment contract. David, are you agreeable to this arrangement?"

David was dumbstruck. "I…ugh…sounds good."

"Excellent." As the director pushed himself away from the desk and began to stand, the other FBI members followed his lead. There was another round of handshaking. "Once your employment contract has been drafted and finalized, Whittaker will see that it finds its way to your hands."

David nodded his thanks to each of the men. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Whittaker placed his hand on David's shoulder and started steering him towards the door, when the director called out for him again. "David?" David turned around to face the director. "Don't forget your squid."

David blushed.