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Caine found many things about Her Majesty’s lifestyle bizarre. First, and most obvious, was Her Majesty’s penchant for politeness. She always said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ when demanding — no, she said, asking — things of Caine. (“Asking”, as though he was going to refuse a direct command from an Entitled Jupiter.) Second was her decision to keep cleaning other people’s houses, despite being the owner of Earth and everything on it. (She continued to work for her family, despite having learned she could call upon her allies in the Aegis to provide her with all the Earth-based wealth she needed. “My family wouldn’t understand where the money came from,” she explained one evening. How her family was relevant to her decisions he also didn’t know, but he nodded respectfully. Her Majesty’s ways were strange.) Third was her choice to continue to wear the least flattering clothes possible, rather the bright colours or flowing dresses preferred by the other female Entitled of Caine’s unfortunate acquaintance. (“Where would I wear them?” “Anywhere Your Majesty wished.”)
But the most bizarre, by far, was that Her Majesty brought a tiny dog into Her Majesty’s accommodations and did not immediately explain to both him and the dog how their pack would function effectively. Clearly, of course, Jupiter was the Dominant, the one both he and this… this chihuahua would listen to and obey in all things. But this tiny, useless, loud, demanding dog seemed to think that it (“Her name is Mouse, Caine.” “Of course, Your Majesty. Like the ones we set traps for.”) her place was above his, and that was intolerable. Something needed to be done.
Caine waited through the first week that this interloper sniffed everything in Her Majesty’s accommodations when Jupiter was at work. He waited while it rubbed itself on everything it could find, smearing its scent all over the things Jupiter allowed him to use ( “These are your things.” “Of course, Your Majesty.” “No, sincerely. I’m not letting you use them. They belong to you.” “Of course, Your Majesty.” “I— I’ll try again next week.” “Whatever Your Majesty thinks best.”). He waited while it peed on the front step of their building, on every tree, on every care tire, on every garbage can they walked near during the walks Jupiter took him and it on. Jupiter, however, seemed oblivious to what was required of her position. Her Majesty was often oblivious to what was required of her position.
Clearly, as a proper Second-in-Command, it fell to him to properly discipline this dog and let it know where it belonged within the pack.
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Her Majesty had chosen to draw on some of the Aegis’ abilities with Earth currency to find accommodations that suited her desire for privacy. (“I love my family,” she told Caine one night while he brushed out her hair. “But I love them more when there’s a bit of space between us, you know?” Caine nodded as though he understood.) When she came home after working with her family, the first thing she wanted to do was shower, and the second thing she wanted to do was eat. Caine had learned to time things perfectly so her sandwich - chicken, honey mustard, lettuce, salt, pepper - was on one of the nicer plates, cut in half, and sitting on the table for her. Her Majesty always smiled, always thanked him, and then insisted he must sit down and join her.
“Of course, Your Majesty. I’ll make myself something and be back momentarily.” Caine always waited until she had started eating before making food for himself.
The dog, however, had other ideas. As Jupiter was just beginning to bite into her sandwich (he could hear her moan in pleasure at the flavour), the dog was at his feet, staring at him. No, staring at the meat he would use to make his own sandwich. It growled as Caine reached for the meat, making its intentions clear. The dog believed it got to eat before Caine.
Caine looked at the dog. Caine growled at the dog, low. The dog growled back. Caine narrowed his eyes, showed his teeth to the dog. “Mine,” he said, his voice low and deep. The dog ignored his words, continued to growl, showing her own teeth.
This would not do.
As Caine considered the best way to discipline this dog and remind it where it belonged in the pack order, Jupiter walked into the kitchen, heading towards the fridge. “This sandwich is amazing, Caine,” she said as she grabbed a bottle of beer. “Thank you. Oh, hello Mouse! Hello Mouse!” Her voice changed to the higher pitched, almost baby-ish voice she put on when talking to the dog. “Are you hungry, Mouse? Are you hungry? Is big mean Mr. Wise not giving you any food? Are you going to starve to death if you don’t get any food right now?”
The dog went from growling to immediately friendly, dancing around Jupiter’s feet. “Well, we can’t let that happen, can we?” Before Caine could say anything, Jupiter grabbed a slice of the chicken from Caine’s plate. “Sit! Good girl. Now, lie down!” The dog obeyed quickly, easily, and Caine found himself having to fight the urge to do the same. “Such a good girl!” Jupiter fed Mouse the bit of Caine’s chicken and gave the dog scratches behind its ears. “Such a good girl!” She turned suddenly to kiss Caine on the cheek. “I know it’s wrong to give her people food,” she said, “but just a little bit of chicken can’t hurt, right?”
Caine looked down at the dog. The dog looked back up at Caine. The dog clearly felt it had won that round.
“Of course, Your Majesty,” Caine said.
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Her Majesty, Caine, and the dog took three walks together a day. Caine felt it was excessive. The dog was small. It did not need that much exercise, especially since the dog wasn’t doing anything that required regular exercise. The dog slept. It ate the special food Her Majesty insisted on buying for it. It barked, loudly. Occasionally Her Majesty would scoop the dog up into her arms, kiss it on the head, and let it lick her face. Her Majesty clearly did not understand how unsanitary that was. Or perhaps she did, and didn’t care. Her Majesty was, after all, a specimen of prime health.
Regardless, Her Majesty was insistent that many walks a day were good for the dog, and since he would not allow Her Majesty to go out without protection, he walked with the dog as well. It was an opportunity to see more of the people Her Majesty had fought so hard to keep safe from Balem. He struggled to understand her decision, sometimes ( “Look, I know most people are assholes, but there’s a reason Soylent is a terrible name for a meal replacement drink.” “Of course, Your Majesty.”) , but this was true of many other things so he paid it little mind.
Three evenings a week she had dinner with her family. It was loud, boisterous, and overwhelming to Caine with cryptic comments, conversational undertones he didn’t understand, and regular shifts from English into Russian. Caine understood Russian - he understood all Earth Languages with the help of technology - but he knew that these comments were not for his ears. When he attended, he mostly kept quiet, watching Her Majesty interact with her own people, seeing her tense and relax in turn. Usually, he stayed at Her Majesty’s home, where he was more comfortable. The dog went with Jupiter.
Caine used his time alone in Her Majesty’s accommodations to ensure everything was tidy, that things were put away in the spots Her Majesty preferred, and that the smells the dog insisted on leaving everywhere were suitably lessened. He would also prepare Her Majesty’s sleeping quarters to be as she preferred, with the lights low and the bed made with fresh, cool sheets. Jupiter often returned from these visits exhausted, wanting nothing but quiet, finding even Caine’s presence (and the dog’s insistence on seeking attention) too much for the first hour.
Caine took the dog with him during this time and sat in the main living areas. The dog, of course, pined. Caine, of course, was not pining. He was… waiting. Quietly. Patiently. He was not pining, because pining was ridiculous. He knew his place in Her Majesty’s life, and he did not need to pine at all. Not like the dog, who clearly did not know its place.
Caine often spent this time contemplating getting a cage for the dog. Or perhaps a muzzle. Or perhaps a shock collar.
“Caine?” Her Majesty’s voice carried out from her sleeping quarters, after an hour of alone time. “Can you come here and keep me company for a while?”
“Of course, Your Majesty.” Caine stood up. He ignored the dog. The dog had not been summoned, but of course the dog decided that it had been, and was at Caine’s feet at he headed towards Her Majesty’s door.
With a hand on the door knob, Caine looked down at the dog. The dog looked up at Caine. The dog clearly thought it was not only going to join them, but that it was going to enter Her Majesty’s space first. Caine glared at the dog, narrowing his eyes and growling low in his throat. The dog glared back. It also let out a low growl.
“Sit,” Caine ordered quietly.
The dog didn’t sit.
“I said, sit,” Caine said more firmly.
The dog pushed at the door with its nose.
“Caine?” Jupiter called.
“Coming, Your Majesty.” He glared again at the dog, pointed at the floor. The dog looked at the door, and it’s butt almost touched the floor. Caine considered this a victory, and opened the door.
Before he could step in, Jupiter looked up. She smiled at him, still looking tired and a bit sad. Then she saw the dog at his feet, dancing and getting into his way before he could enter. “Mouse! What a good dog, Mouse! Come up onto the bed, sweetie!”
The dog slipped through his feet and was on Jupiter’s bed faster than he could move. As Jupiter petted and praised it, it looked back at Caine and sniffed at him.
Caine began to seriously consider buying a cage. A small cage. Suitable for a small, unimportant dog.
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Technically, the dog had a dog bed. Technically, the dog had a place to sleep that was not in the same space that Her Majesty slept. Technically, the dog was aware of this. When Jupiter wasn’t home to impress, the dog often retired to its special bed and pouted while waiting for Her Majesty to return home. Caine, of course, never indulged in such theatrics. Caine had other things to do with his time, since Caine had an actual purpose in Her Majesty’s life. Caine was not ornamental. Caine was useful.
As Jupiter prepared for bed, Caine looked over his security measures. He checked the front door, even though he was certain that few people who wanted to hurt Her Majesty would come through the front door. He checked the windows carefully. He visibly checked the Earth-based security system that made Jupiter feel safer, and then checked his own security system, the one that would actually keep Her Majesty safe. He ensured his guns were at hand and ready to be fired.
Finally, after everything seemed as safe as he could make it without a pack of highly-trained professionals led by Stinger, he came to bed only to find the dog lying on his pillow, having made a nest of it.
Seeing the dog in his space, rather than at the foot of the bed or (better yet) on the floor where it belonged, left Caine with little choice. He growled, baring his teeth at the tiny, useless, ornamental dog taking up the part of the bed that Her Majesty had given over to him.
Jupiter, who had been facing away from the door while pulling on her sleeping clothes, turned quickly to face him. “Caine!” she snapped. “Are you growling at Mouse?”
“Your Majesty,” he said formally, not letting his eyes off the interloper on his pillow. “Sure you understand that it does not belong in that spot.”
Jupiter stared at him. “Are you… are you jealous?”
“What?” He looked away from the dog, at Jupiter’s face. “Jealous? Of course not, Your Majesty. There is merely a right and wrong order to these things, and that… that dog is not following the right order.” Surely she must understand this.
Jupiter shook her head and smiled. “This is absurd,” she said. “Here.” She picked the dog up off his pillow. “Mouse,” she said, in that baby-ish voice she only used to talk to the dog. “You can sleep next to me tonight. Then you and Caine can be separate, okay?” She patted the dog on its head.
Over her shoulder, the dog gave Caine a look. The look clearly indicated that the dog knew who was Second in Command. The dog clearly understood that it was not Caine.
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A few nights later, as Caine was brushing out Her Majesty’s hair while she gave the dog scritches under its chin, Jupiter suggested, “I think we should get a second dog.”
“Your Majesty?”
“Maybe a big dog this time. One of those Standard Poodles. No, I know. A German Sheppard.”
“Why does Your Majesty think we need another… dog?” Caine asked carefully, not looking at the chihuahua in Jupiter’s lap.
“I think Mouse is lonely. She needs a bigger dog, someone to boss around, you know?”
The dog sniffed and curled up in Jupiter’s lap. Caine continued brushing Jupiter’s hair and didn’t think too much about the dog’s abilities to be both commanding and ornamental. “Of course, Your Majesty,” was all he said.