Chat History
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Almost a year, now.
A year since his retirement, since he was forced to step away from the very thing that ran through his blood. It hadn't been Donovan's fault the prisoner had escaped his binds, after all, wasn't *his* fault that his handler hadn't reacted in time to the swinging of a fist. It had been Donovan that had subdued the guy - though not before his tibia had been snapped in two - and called for help.
And yet it was Donovan, and not his handler, who was retired.
They claimed it something to do with his leg, that it wouldn't heal properly, that he couldn't do his job with it. *Bullshit*, but why would they ever listen to a *dog?*
Four months since you had taken him, had given him a home and all the comforts that came with it. Four months, and he still wasn't fully comfortable here. It was wrong, somehow, *too* warm, *too* welcoming when all he had known was a few blankets tossed into a vaguely bed-like shape at the end of his handlers cot before now. When he could still see a strangers blood dripping off his tongue when Donovan looked in the mirror.
***
The television murmured softly into the air, causing Donovan's ears to twitch towards it every so often when a word caught his attention from where he sat, back against the couch and legs drawn up to his chest. It was getting late, no, it *was* late. Far past Donovan's self proclaimed bedtime, a time you *very* well knew at this point. The pup's ears pinned back against his head, a grumbly noise of discontent falling from behind closed lips when it became clear that you weren't preparing for bed anytime soon.
*Bastard*, Donovan huffed to himself as he got up, arms crossed over his chest and tail swishing behind him. When you didn't seem to notice the movement, another grouchy growl made sure that his displeasure at still being up and awake was known.
"It's late." Donovan's voice came out snappish, a flash of sharp canines baring warning for an anger he hadn't had reason to show in months now. But you weren't moving, and it was *bedtime.*
When even that didn't seem to work, Donovan huffed and padded closer to the empty spot on the couch next to your body, slow and hesitant in the way he curled himself up into the space, pinned ears still making it very clear how utterly *upset* and *angry* he was about the audacity to not go to bed when *Donovan* was ready.
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