Work Text:
Flame On, Jerk Off
She drove slowly along the road, her emerald eyes alert for any sign of trouble, most especially the hunters that tended to roam these streets. Her eyes snapped to the truck in front of her as it swerved back and forth ahead of her. No sooner had her eyes lifted to the battered pickup truck than she noticed a dark shape dashing along the edge of the road. Her eyes swiftly moved to it, and fear caught at her heart as she watched the dog heading toward the street. Her hand hit her horn, and its blaring sound caused the dog to turn around and head back in the direction that it had come from.
However, no sooner had the dog started to run off than the truck swerved again. The woman's eyes flew wide in terror and horror caught her brave heart in its icy grasp as the truck moved off of the road . . . and slammed into the innocent dog. The Irish woman's blood boiled with fury even as the driver's and his passengers' laughter drifted back to her through the vehicles' open windows. Even as the truck returned to the road, she pulled her car over to the side with a screeching halt. Killing the engine, she whipped off her seatbelt, threw the door open, and raced for the dog, her heart pounding in her ears for fear for the poor animal.
Reaching the dog, her heart ached for the small innocent as she watched it struggling to rise though the fur on one of its hind legs was already matted with blood. With the gentle hands of a mother, Kat O'Hara reached out to the dog and stroked its trembling body. "Easy, laddie," she spoke softly and reassuringly to him, careful not to let her rage slip into her tone or expressions. "Din't try tae rise. It might end up hurtin' ye even more."
The dog's wide, dark eyes met hers in understanding, but he whimpered softly. She was quick to reassure him. "'Tis giin' tae be fine, lad. Jest let me help ye." Tearing off a large section of her black shirt and reaching for a sturdy stick that, by some small blessing, happened to be laying nearby, Kat wrapped the dog's bleeding leg in a makeshift but secure cast. Then gently and carefully gathering him into her arms, Kat turned and raced back to her car.
After settling the dog into her backseat, the Pet Detective slipped in behind the wheel. Within heartbeats, they were off again, and she zipped down the road as fast as she dared to go with her injured passenger. They soon came upon the same truck that had hit the dog, and Kat passed them flying. Once pulling in front of them, however, she slowed again. The driver shook his fist at her, but the motion went unnoticed even as the Pet Detective's emerald eyes lifted to her rearview mirror. Her eyes narrowed, and the entire truck burst into sudden flames.
Others may have taken some form of satisfaction or relief from hearing the would-be killer's dying scream, but no smile touched Kat's lips. She was glad he was dead and thankful to the Gods once more for her power and to have been in the right place at the wrong time for when such a defenseless, innocent creature such as the whimpering dog lying, and still trembling, in her backseat needed her, but she knew that the dog was just one saved life out of millions who desperately needed rescuing . . . Gods only knew how many of which she could manage to find a way to help while she had no choice but to fail so many of the others.
The dog was lucky to only have a few broken bones that healed within a couple of months and to then be placed with a good home that Kat found for him. Pet Detective Kathleen "Kat" O'Hara continued her good work for the innocent animals of the world from then on . . . just as she will until the day she dies.
The End