[Carriage House: Steve, Janus, Atticus]
[Atticus was feeling better. Wounds were almost healed. The wolf was as likely to kill him as it was to save him. Rapid healing. Was a good thing. Still felt sore. Old. Assumed it was harder to recover from gunshot- and BB-wounds at forty-something than twenty-something. Didn't matter if you were a wolf or a human. Age was age, and Atticus was feeling it.
Was back in the Carriage House now. Had some books and letters to work on. Was seriously considering taking a teaching job at the high school here. Would save him the drive to the University. Would keep the Vade curation, but that wasn't 9-5. Funny, because Atticus didn't need full-time. Would die with more money in the bank that it would take to bury him a thousand times over. Didn't have anyone to leave it to. But, for all of his laziness, didn't want to leave the academic conversation, the academic community. Was considering the switch.
But not today. Tonight. Was late. Looked at the time. Was very late.
Climbed out of bed slowly and with a groan. Wondered why Janus didn't answer the door. Didn't know where Billy, PJ, or Steve were, but knew Janus was here. Was a slow, slow walk to the door. Called out a few times:] Coming. [Voice was rasp and smoker-growl, and he passed Janus on the couch along the way.] Janus? [But Janus didn't answer. Great. Great. Just great.
Pulled open the door and leaned heavily against the jamb in sweats and a white t-shirt, bandages thinner now and nearly unnoticeable beneath fabric and over-long curls. Took him a second to realize who was there. Brightened.] Steve. Found your way home.