The first few weeks were rough. Tim was nervous around the dog...hell, try terrified.

Jethro seemed to sense his unease and kept a polite distance. When Tim finally worked up the nerve to offer him a treat the shepherd took it from his fingers with delicate care, then snuffled at his palm for more. The touch of his whiskers made Tim chuckle and Jethro brightened at the sound, the furry plume of his tail wagging slowly.

Despite his misgivings, Tim could admit that Jethro was a good dog. The kind of dog he'd always wanted as a kid. He had an expressive doggy face and a wide doggy grin that didn't look in the least threatening despite the big white teeth on display. Tim eased his way from treats to petting, and finally to the rib thumping only possible with a big dog.

Jethro groaned in doggy ecstasy and leaned into Tim so hard he staggered.

Slowly but surely, Tim lost his fear of the dog. He could pat the shepherd's head with confidence, could scold him for stealing a defrosting steak from the counter.

Jethro in turn seemed to be settling in, all that fierce canine loyalty transferring so easily to the very man who had nearly killed him. When Tim slunk home with his figurative tail tucked between his legs after a long day spent absorbing Tony's taunts and Abby's demands, Jethro was there to greet him with his very literal tail wagging wildly.

They settled into a routine. Tim hired a dog walker, figuring it was hardly fair to expect a big, active dog like a German shepherd to spend the majority of his day cooped up inside. After work they headed out to the local dog park. It was a pleasant excuse for Tim to let his mind rest, his only worry defending Jethro's honor when Busky the pug mix tried to resume his ongoing romance with the shepherd's leg.

Then it was back to the apartment for dinner (kibble for Jethro, a TV dinner for Tim, and sometimes he thought he was getting the raw end of the deal.) As the evening wore on, Tim might spend a little time uselessly pounding at the keys of his Remington before settling down to watch Battlestar returns or play Warcraft. Wherever he sat, Jethro would be there at his feet, content to gnaw on a bone and occasionally offer up his opinion on the action with a sneeze.

And it was...nice. Not be alone.

A man, his dog...it all seemed so idyllic. Tim hated that it wasn't, that his own weakness got in the way of even this simple pleasure.

He still dreamed of the attack sometimes. Not even the pain so much as the shock of it, the weight holding him down.

Waking from the nightmares was a brutal affair, leaving him spent and gasping. He'd huddle there in bed, arms wrapped around his knees, biting his lip to hold back his whimpers. So much like a child afraid of the monster in the darkness.

But this monster was real and just on the other side of the closed (and locked) bedroom door. Tim could see the dog's shadow pacing, could hear the rasp of his nails when he pawed at the barrier. Jethro was showing more concern at Tim's distress than his human coworkers ever had, but knowing he was lurking only made Tim shudder.

A month had passed, and he should have been over it by now. Hell, according to the others he should have been over it before the blood had dried. It was disgusting, embarrassing...weak.

"McWuss," Tim whispered into the night, "McChicken."

He forced a watery laugh and staggering out of bed and to the door. Jethro hovered in the doorway when it opened, anxious eyes looking over Tim as if searching for signs of injury.

"I'm fine. Come on."

Jethro didn't wait for a second invitation. He scrambled into the room and flopped down beside the bed like he belonged.

Tim didn't sleep again that night, straining instead to catch the noise of the dog's soft snores. The second night was only a little better.

The third Tim woke screaming.

But finally, weeks later, came the night when Tim fell into bed after three straight days of tracing records for a case. He was exhausted and headachy and didn't spare a thought for Jethro.

Sometime after midnight the mattress shifted and Tim blinked open bleary eyes. The dark shape of the dog loomed over him, a prick-eared silhouette. Hot breath touched his cheek.

Tim lifted an arm. Jethro crawled under it and snuggled close, leaving Tim's nose pressed into the shepherd's thick ruff.

Tim smiled and went back to sleep.