Wanda's having a weepy day.
Gemma has tried all the usual things — pushing her wet nose into Wanda's hand, licking her, laying on her feet, whining until Wanda gives her hugs — but Wanda seems too in her head about it today.
It's probably about her mom, and that makes it Gemma's fault. There's a lot the wolf-shape doesn't understand, or doesn't care about, but wolves understand family bullshit.
Gemma sneaks upstairs.
"Baby?" Wanda calls through the house, after long enough for the peaceful silence to become ominous, and Gemma answers with a little wuff! and a clatter of paws, then triumphantly trots back into the kitchen, nudges Wanda with her head, and pushes Wanda's old stuffed bear into her hands.
"Oh, baby," Wanda says tearfully, clutching the toy to her chest, and Gemma leans heavily against her leg, rests her head against her, and basks in head scratches for the several minutes it takes Wanda to say, "Wait. Wasn't this in the storage room?"
Gemma leans harder, and wags her tail.
"Shit," Wanda says feelingly. "You figured out round doorknobs for me. That's so sweet, and now we're going to have to babyproof that door—"
Gemma, who's a good girl who's been saving the doorknob reveal to distract Wanda with, wags her tail harder against the kitchen tiles.
She's such a good girlfriend.
