Lance
Lance sighed as he got into his car and drove back to his house. God, he didn't know how much longer he could do this. Damn Blakesley to hell! Wanting to see how alien physiology reacted to extremes in heat...what a godawful thing to do to someone. He pounded the steering wheel as he drove out of the gates of the compound with a wave from the gaurd. He passed the FBI training facility and headed into the town. When he pulled up in front of his house, he was looking forward to a cold beer and maybe a run around the back with Bets, his Malamute.
"Hey, Bets, good girl," he cooed to her as she barked in welcome. He tousled her ears and went inside, the enormous dog following at his heels. "You know, Bets, I became a scientest to help people..." He pulled a beer out of the fridge and popped the lid. "Don't know how much longer I can do this...that poor girl." He walked to his living room and turned on the TV. Bets got up on the lounge with him and laid her head in his lap, ears pricked. "You know how we had to come back early yesterday? Well, this is what had happened at work..." he confided all of what had happened to Bets's listening ears. "I can't believe that no one else there sees a problem with this!" He got up again and stalked through his house. "Going to bed, Bets." He shucked his clothes and slithered in between his sheets, falling alseep quickly.
Bets went out of the house, and howled. Mouse! Found her! Tell Taylor Hanson that Mouse is in Quantico! An irritated yell chased her inside again. Thank god she had a kind master, who cared about people. Otherwise...she'd never have been able to get the message off.