Now

Kit surveys his pack.

There is Ronan (competent and commanding respect without ever being pushy or controlling), up at the altar - underneath a flower arch in the woods - looking solemn and collected.

Morgan, showing the guests to their seats with his customary shy, awkward sweetness, and tugging at his moss-green paisley bowtie (identical to the one Kit himself is sprouting).

Justin, always at his side, lovingly attentive and looking sleek and cool in his own fitted usher's vest, straightening glass jars filled with baby's breath flowers tied to chairs lining the aisle.

Darren, that brusque, ridiculous oaf, chatting up two pretty hispanic girls -

And Dan. Kind, faithful, firm yet playful, modest yet passionate - Dan. The love of his life.

He is speaking to Ronan gently, coaxing a smile out of his best friend. He looks good in his dark green velvet suit jacket, a perfect best man. Next to him stands Ronan's human younger brother in matching attire.

Kit feels his heart swell with fondness for all of them.

After moving in with Dan, Kit had found himself in the kind of domestic setting he'd never even dreamed of.

To his surprise, he had found himself enjoying it. They would cook together (Dan was good, Kit was terrible) watch movies, go for runs and hikes together in both human and wolf form, and talk about everything between heaven and earth.

And when Dan went to the gym or to one of his community engagements, Kit had found himself more often than not heading over to Darren's place.

There they would eat junk food, play video games, and take turns messing around with his guitar. Eventually, Kit bought his own and they played together. Dan called it 'jamming' and Darren snickered while Kit rolled his eyes fondly.

On the weekends the whole pack either trained defence under Ronan or hung out like a group of friends, usually at Morgan's or Ronan's house, or occasionally at Marvin's Bar and Grill.

Kit still worked there part time. But lately he had begun studying for the exam to get certified as a paramedic in Colorado.

During the last six months he had got his state driver's licence and started going to weekly group therapy meetings and doing cognitive behavioural therapy online.

Dan did a lot for his local community, as it turned out. He coached a middle school basket ball team and volunteered regularly at a shelter for the homeless, beyond going around to different schools as part of his job as a police officer. Kit had been reluctant to accompany him. He didn't feel up to it.

"Maybe one day," he'd said. "But not yet."

That all changed the day Dan brought him along to a local pet rescue. After that, they both spent one evening per week cleaning crates, fundraising, and walking the dogs at the shelter. And a few months later, they brought home a Staffordshire bullterrier mix with blue eyes and soft grey fur crisscrossed with scars.

"It's not going to be easy," Dan had warned his lover. "She's been abused - she's skittish, and has lots of bad habits. A puppy would be easier."

"I've got this, Dan," Kit had replied with much more confidence than he actually felt. "I can take care of her. And if I need help - you'll always be there for me, right?"

It wasn't perfect - it probably never would be. Kit still had nightmares (and sometimes daylight visions) so lucid he could barely tell them from reality.

He cried often. The tears would fall unprompted, without reason or warning, and slide silently down his face at work, at the supermarket, at home. Kit thought they might just be a part of him now - after so many years thinking he didn't deserve to cry, or couldn't afford to show that kind of weakness.

He still had cravings. He was still an addict, and still messed up.

But it was getting better. In small, slow steps. And they had each other just like Dan had promised. Just like he kept proving to Kit every day.

Kit walks up behind Darren and casually stuffs a handful of white rose petals down the back of his shirt. Darren yelps and spins around, grabbing for Kit who flits away, laughing.

"I'll never understand how you two ended up becoming best friends," Morgan says, smiling and shaking his head.

"Well, the pickings are pretty sparse 'round here - " Darren starts.

"Actually my standards are reeeally low - " Kit begins at the same time.

They stop, and Kit grins while Darren scoffs, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"It's because mentally they're the same age - ten year olds," Justin says calmly. "Now get to your positions before I ground you, brats."

Over the last six months Justin had become much more confident - with the help of Morgan's and Kit's gentle (and teasing) encouragement.

They manage to settle down just before the procession starts.

Everyone is wearing cowboy boots - that's the only dress code. The bride looks beautiful in pale peach lace gown with a flower crown in her hair. Before her, her two little nephews march with matching patterned bowties, and after her, her sister and best friend walk in short, forrest green dresses.

Around them are their friends, neighbours, family, and Pack. The bride and groom have eyes only for each other. It is a beautiful, clear spring day.

Everything is as it should be.

"Can I get you guys a drink? Anything you want - Beer, Darren?"

Kit holds up a bunch of bottles and cans in a tin bucket filled with ice. The sun stands low in the sky, the reception late and bustling, buffet dinner and speeches over, including Dan's best man speech and Kit singing La Vie en Rose to the accompaniment of Darren's acoustic guitar.

The pack lounges together on a group of garden furniture, feeling the pleasant heat of the day fade, while the bride is busy dancing with her family.

"What's up with you, Kit? Seeing you so docile is creeping me out," Darren asks suspiciously.

"I'm in a conciliatory mood. Since I was kind of an asshole earlier."

"Conciliatory, huh?" Darren scoffed, taking a can from the chilled bucket. "I'd trust a rattlesnake more."

"And you'd be right to. Rattlesnakes are very predictable creatures."

Kit narrows his eyes playfully, dumping the bucket on the grass in the middle of the group and sliding into Dan's lap, a raspberry soda in his hand - he is trying to cut down on the alcohol.

"They even warn you when they're about to strike." He nudges the bucket with his foot rhythmically, the ice cubes clinking against the tin, imitating the sound of a rattle.

"I'm more like one of those colourful little frogs. It just sits there, looking cute and blinking it's eyes. But if you touch it wrong, you die."

"I can see a flaw in your logic," Ronan cuts in, smiling and leaning forward to fish out a craft beer.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Well, for one thing, I have never seen anyone do a worse job of sitting quietly just blinking his eyes than you, Kit."

"Hah! You may have a point there."

"So," Ronan continues, eyes on the two of them, smile tugging at the corner of his lips, "When will your wedding be then, Dan?"

He asks it casually, popping the cap off his beer bottle.

"Oh, I assume we'll wait until Autumn," Dan replies, smiling.

Kit spits out his drink, spraying red soda across his lap and Dan's white shirt front. Darren snorts and the others laugh - even Ronan chuckles.

"Or whenever he's ready," Dan finishes, his hand coming up to stroke Kit's cheek, brown eyes warm and sparkling.

The badass Omega leans forward to kiss his mate in the midst of their pack, the taste of artificial raspberry blooming in their mouths.

The End :)