Check out my blog (Fanfiction Haven) I will be going to this site if (when) Fanficiton Police start hating on my lovely smut stories. Link as follows:

eveneefanfict . wordpress . com

Transformation

Reese pulled up to the curb on the street one block down from the Miller's home. He skipped through a few yards and found himself leaning against the back wall of the gate fence that guarded the entire Miller home to not risk being seen entering. It was damned hard to get over, even with his amazingly new prowess in agility and high jumping. He crept through the back yard, cautious of any triggers or alarms. The back door was left unlocked, never a good sign. Precise, steely blue eyes scoured the edge of the door. On the lower right hand corner was a small pressure trigger. Reese smirked inwardly and slid one of his picks against the trigger. He held it dormant and in place as he slipped in and shut the door.

The living room was plain, not set up for a child yet. There were a few things scattered, an open notebook with cursive throughout it, another drawing notepad with faint sketches of a family of three, what seemed to be the makings of a stray dog, and a shady man. On the bottom of each was Samantha's initials. Reese knelt by the notepad and carefully looked at the sketch of the shady man. Behind him were a few more, non-descript characters and off to the side was a small design. It was a bridge with the letters N and Y repeated throughout the structure. The man looked to be of no distinct descent so Reese was sort of at a loss. He took a few pictures, leaving the setup undisturbed due to the fact of the Miller's apparent paranoia. He sent the pictures to Finch and dialed up his favorite computer engineer.

"You there, Finch?"

"Always, Mr. Reese. I'm assuming these are leads you want me to follow up?"

"I doubt I can get a scent off a drawing."

"Hm, trying to humor me?"

Reese laughed softly and started to look throughout the house as Finch tapped away on his keyboard, exceeding Reese's technological abilities. He hid one listening device in the living room, hidden far enough away from the television in the binding of a book on the massive bookshelf. He skipped the kitchen and headed upstairs, wary of any traps or triggers. At the top, he searched the hallway, placing a mic carefully on the backside of the framework of a painting while noting the number of rooms and the steps to each turn if he had to return in the future at a less opportune time. There were four rooms along the hall, two bedrooms, a bath and a den. The den was the farthest down on the right wing of the hallway. The parents' bedroom housed the left wing, across the hall from the den. Samantha's room, scattered with barely any toys and bare walls with no art or old pictures, was next to the staircase on the left side of the hallway, adjacent to the parents' room. The bath was across from her door.

Reese headed into the dark den, pausing at the unusual lack of illumination in the room. The shades were drawn and sealed off all outside light. There wasn't even a switch on the wall. Not particularly prepared for scouring the darkness akin to a forgotten cave, Reese flipped his phone open to bring some light to the room. It was any classic family den. The wide, square space was barely half filled by a fireplace, propane fueled so no chimney, one large deep, abyssal blue armchair, a fine, plain burgundy rug before the fireplace, and a faded black bean-bag chair on the rug, the indent facing the armchair. A long bookcase lined the wall away from the door, filled with a wide array of books, new and old, all novels without a single glimpse of a child's book. Reese found a single book set in the armchair's seat and flipped the cover open. With a crooked glance, Reese turned the next page, then another. All of the pages were blank. Then, slowly, the parts where he touched began to bleed ink across the page in the form of his partial fingerprints.

"Damn it!" Reese let the cover fall shut and glanced at his fingertips. Small lines of black etched across his index finger and thumb. The book was a decoy.

"What's wrong, Mr. Reese?" Finch had that absent worry in his voice, a hazard of being in acquaintance with Reese for so long.

"It's like invisible ink. On the book and my fingers. Fuck it," he snarled, a growing feral hint to his voice.

"Rubbing alcohol, Mr. Reese. Check the bathroom but try to not touch anything with those fingers. Dab it on your fingers, then, carefully lift whatever had the ink on it with a clean cloth to keep the oil on your skin from activating it any further. Use a small amount of the alcohol on that as well. You should be fine."

Reese didn't like being tricked, or nasty surprises, sparking a heat that coiled in his stomach and spiraled out through his veins, heating his blood. He took a deep breath then looked up at the ceiling. His fedora fell back off his head, letting his large, dark wolf ears to fan up fully erect. His tail swished beneath his overcoat, catching his hat on the very end of the furry appendage as it nearly touched the floor at full length. A sudden, metallic taste filled his mouth which it instantly registered as blood. His instincts flared and he growled lowly at the addicting taste on his tongue. But, that was his blood. Pupils narrowed and eyes wide, Reese flinched at the loud, buzzing noise in his ear from the earpiece as his senses awakened to the animalistic feeling coming over him. His body shook a bit, bringing him to his knees, head thrown skywards, back arched, a howl growing in his throat.

"Mr. Reese?"

Reese shook his head like a wet dog, forcing the animal in him to settle. He sat back on his heels and looked down steadily at the red colored carpet. It calmed him, as well as his other half, bringing his senses back but leaving the physical affect. He absently wiped a bit of blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

"The longer the ink stays on your skin and the page, the harder it will be to remove. Are you there?"

"Yeah," Reese responded hoarsely, prodding his mouth for abnormalities. It withdrew his finger with a small hiss, a small bead of blood forming a small ball at the tip of his pinky finger.

The half wolf operative shoved off his heels to his feet, swaying with a sudden lightness to his step. He felt like he was weightless even though his steps rang audibly in his ears as vibrations throughout the wood flooring. He managed to maneuver himself to the bathroom, skipping finding a light switch because his eyes now adjusted easily to the darkness. With his pinky in his mouth, sucking the addicting sweetness of his own blood, he looked up into the mirror above the sink. His mouth set open wide, revealing the gleam of long, intimidating incisors. They had torn two small holes in his tongue which were already sealed. His pinky healed as well. Through the darkness, his gaze was caught by his slightly twitching ears, taut and attentive, picking up every little sound, the creaks of the house, the cars passing by on the street, the woman screaming next door at her husband. Reese whipped his head up, angling his ear in their general direction. He groaned quietly, palming his left temple with his unmarked hand.

"I'll have to come back. Who lives directly behind this house?"

Reese pulled the mirror open and looked through the medications and rolls of gauze. He found the alcohol and snagged a cotton ball. Tail swaying back and forth, rising higher the more he listened to her cry for help, Reese dabbed his fingers a few times until the ink faded away. He dabbed another cotton ball, put everything back perfectly and went back to the book. The same effect happened to the pages in the decoy book in the den. Reese stuffed the cotton balls in his pocket to avoid leaving evidence and carried his weightless body into the hallway. As he passed by, he glanced out the window at the end of the hall, his eyes catching the dark, silhouetted figures moving behind the shades of the room the screams were coming from. It made a growl curl on his lips like someone was impinging on his territory. Deadset on helping this woman, he went out the same way, through the back door, careful of the trigger. There, he had enough sense to wrap his enlarged tail around his loosened belt as he eyed the darkened window.

"Well, the Crawfords live there. One child, a son of 8. It looks like the mother has visited the hospital quite a bit. Ah... Oh, Mr. Reese, she's being beaten," Finch said with a shudder to his voice.

"I know. Call Carter to the location." Reese flipped his fedora from his tail onto his head, fitting it to a slant before pushing off the stone laid patio into the grass in full sprint for the gate fence. He made the height of it in a single bound, rolling safely in the grass of the Crawford's back yard. He continued up at the same speed, taking another inhuman jump to the top of the shed pressed to the back of the house below the room the screams were coming from. Reese grabbed onto the edge of the shed and easily pulled himself up to land on his feet. He went over to the white paneling on the side of the house and glanced up to the window.

"Alright, she's on her way. How did you know?"

"Some people can't ignore a scream for help, Finch. I don't want your list getting any longer," Reese responded as he rubbed his hands together and stared up at the window.

He pressed his foot to the paneling and pushed up, nearly scaling the wall. He grabbed onto the window sill with one hand, using the other to work his gun out of his waistband. Without a second thought or qualm about a misunderstanding, he bashed the butt of his gun against the center of the lower half of the window. It shattered with ease. Reese pulled himself up, sliding into the room.

The morning breeze made the shade flutter out of his way, an astonishing entrance that halted all movement in the room. His fedora hid his face but he saw it all. The young, emaciated woman was on her knees before a large, built man with his hand raised up, ready to strike. Behind the woman, cowering with a stuffed animal clasped tightly to his body, was the young son. He was crying, tear tracks leading up to his reddened eyes. He sobbed quietly, "Mommy."

Reese clenched his gun tightly, staring the man door that was looking at him a bit confused. Reese relaxed his death grip, exhaled, and craned his head towards the boy. The boy looked up at him, teary eyed. Reese lifted his hand to cover his eyes, gesturing to the boy to do the same. And, the boy did, lifting his stuffed bear in front of his face. The mother collected herself and shuffled back at the sight of Reese's gun, wrapping her body over her son's but still watching.

"You son-of-a-bitch! Who do you think you are?" The man lunged at Reese, throwing a right hook at him. Reese sidestepped, grabbing the man's forearm and using the momentum to force the man head first into the window frame. The ex-operative took a few steps back, creating a shield between the man and the two fragile and bruised beings huddled on the floor.

As soon as the man straightened up, trying to find Reese through his daze, Reese outstretched an arm in the blink of an eye, grinding his knuckles into the man's nose. The nose broke on contact, the force of the punch busting a few teeth as well. The man fell back against the wall, delirious. He struggled to get up. Reese loomed over him, swiping his foot into the side of the bloodied face and knocking the man to the ground in the shattered glass, unconscious.

Reese turned back to the young woman and the boy as he set his gun in his waistband. Glass crunched under his soles as he approached them and crouched by their sides. He reached out slowly, brushing the woman's hair back from her bruised and bloodied face. She trembled and slapped him across the cheek, instantly apologizing and holding her boy tight. Reese fixed his fedora from the slap and held his hand out palm up like you would to a scared dog. The woman shook her head, holding her boy tighter and tighter.

"Mommy," the boy whined, bringing his hands around his mother and holding her the best he could.

Reese felt a pang in his heart, an insistent throb. With the sound of sirens growing louder in his ears, he bent onto a knee, sweeping the woman up in his arms bridal style. The boy was still huddled in her arms. To Reese, as he left the room and carried the two down to the front door, both bodies felt weightless, nothing really. He started to imagine how Finch would feel, how much more fragile the man would be. No, Finch wasn't fragile, he was a delicate case that required a special kind of touch. Reese had that touch, he was certain of it.

He reached the ground floor and managed the front door open, met by a startled Detective Carter. Behind her were a few other police cars and an ambulance. Reese nodded to her and started for the ambulance. The police line behind the cars pulled their guns on him. Carter took a moment but called them down.

"He's upstairs, down the hall, first room on the left."

Reese started again for the ambulance. As he walked, he glanced down at the mother. She was staring at him now, eyes hazy and drowned in weakness. She was straining to keep herself conscious. Her body eased against Reese's chest as she held her boy who was crying as he hugged her.

Reese laid the woman on the gurney and backed a step away. As he did, the boy wailed out, trying to stay with his mother as the medics tried to lift him onto a different gurney. In the process he dropped his stuffed bear. Reese bent to pick it up and interjected between the fussing medics. He handed the boy the bear and held his arms open. The boy instinctively dove into Reese's open arms. As soon as Reese closed the hug around the boy, he calmed and was trying to curl into Reese's body heat. Something about hugging a dog just gets to you in a good kind of Reese calmed the boy, the mother was lifted into the ambulance and was hurried off to the hospital.

"Trying a new style?"

Reese turned to Carter, who wore a wide, mocking smile. He rocked the boy gently and worked up a smile. As he did, he realized his canines faded and his eyes reverted to their normal sapphire blue. His ears stopped pressing hard against the inside of the fedora and his tail slimmed and shrunk, unwinding itself from his belt.

"Do you like it?" He said very softly, his voice a dark velvet sound that made Carter instantly blush.

The detective shook her head. She looked around for something, anything to look at but him. She turned to the house. The father was being dragged out, just coming to. As he did, he looked up to Reese and barked out some curse words. He jerked his unsuspecting police escorts off and bolted towards Reese. Carter tried to grab her gun, knowing it wouldn't be fast enough. The man attempted to headbutt Reese, because his hands were cuffed. Reese leaned back on his left heel, raising his right leg up and slamming it down on the back of the man's head, smashing his face into the asphalt. Carter stumbled back again, stunned. Reese just nodded to her as he tapped his heel on the road to get the bits of glass out. He eased the now sleeping boy into her arms and touched the rim of his fedora formally.

Carter was speechless as she looked down between the calmed boy and beaten man. When she looked back up, Reese was gone.

On the other street, slipping into his car, Reese exhaled deeply as he let his body relax from the lingering rush.

"Still there, Finch?" he panted.

"Always," was the only response he was gifted with. Finch didn't ask if it went well or if he planned on finishing placing mics throughout the Miller home.

"I know why kids get high these days," Reese half laughed as he ran his hand back through his hair, coming down from the sudden adrenaline rush a transformation gave him.

"Oh?" Finch snorted almost, lost at what Reese was implying.

"Yeah... How much more time do I have anyway?"

Finch took a moment then answered, "They will all be home very soon for lunch. They seem to keep to their hidden Italian heritage and still meet for lunch and dinner every day."

Reese looked down at his stomach that gave a growl at the mention of food. He rubbed it lightly and watched as the sedan turned down the street. Not wanting Mr. Miller to recognize him, Reese turned the car on and pulled down the street immediately to his left, avoiding the police at the Crawford's as well.

"How about lunch, Finch?" Reese smirked as he changed course for the library, somehow knowing his voice would have the same effect on Finch as it did on Carter.

"You're cooking. We have two hours until you can resume your snooping. I'll send you the address of a house I just stocked."

Reese was stunned. Not only had Finch agreed, he invited Reese over to one of his houses, willingly no less. An excited feeling filled Reese, sparking his body to shift again. His tail batted happily against the car seat, surely loud enough that Finch heard.

"You're near the location already. Why don't you start cooking and I'll be by soon."

"Yes, Mr. Finch," Reese called confidently in response as he checked the address Finch just sent to his phone.

In his earpiece, he heard the computers being shut down in the background and Finch's off step as he retrieved his jacket.

"Well, it's a date," Finch responded, not entirely understanding what he just said.

Reese took it as he wanted, not even considering allowing his boss to recant the statement later. This was going to be an eventful two hours.

Going to establish a bit of 'contact' in the next chapter. (Next chapter should be up in a week or so. Stay tuned!)