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Time was only just scratching away at six in the morning, and the day had yet to really start, darkness a blanket that wasn’t likely to come up for another hour and a half at least. It was, without a doubt, Samson’s favorite part of the day. His father used to say ‘anything you get done before the sun comes up, son, is bonus.’ And then there was the ride of that old Helios himself. Those first few moments of light, when Earth’s life-giving star began to rise above the horizon line, were powerful. He could feel it on his skin, and deep inside his soul. Like some higher power was yanking right on the core of him, telling him to get his *** up and do something. And yet it was this simultaneously calming experience, that left the faintest tingle rippling through his powerful body; felt like goosebumps on his back, all the way down his arms, to the very tips of his fingers.He always took time away from whatever he was doing to watch it.

His home was a small cottage, that looked like it had been made out of stone, with dark wooden singles on the roof, and surprisingly large windows, to allow in ample natural light. The ivy had been allowed to grow over the pale rock, and from the lowest hanging part of the roof, out on the front porch, were numerous flowers and herbs, dangling either from the roofline itself or in hanging planters. For the most part, nature had been left undisturbed, because that was how Samson preferred it. His little slice of paradise was carved into a clearing with a little creek running through it, though all of his water came from a well. Electricity came from a generator, which was housed in its own containment area outside of the house, designed to look like a rock with little vents for the carbon monoxide to dissipate. He’d soundproofed it all the same, because he wasn’t too keen on the mechanical noise in his periphery. He eventually planned to swap to a mix of solar and microhydro, but having a generator as back up never hurt, so that had been the first system installed.

He was in his galley kitchen, with a hot pot of coffee to one side, and the stove on in front of him as he took a wooden spoon to some eggs in his skillet. He’d already cooked up some sausage, and the eggs were soaking up their grease nicely. The sound of Fleetwood Mac played softly in the background, and they were telling Samson he would never break the chain. Overall. However, beyond that, there was almost no sound. That was what he loved most about living away from the city. It reminded him of his childhood. How there was true stillness out in the forest. It was even better in the mountains, where trees sprang up green and lush with life. Where you could sit in silence for hours without ever once being disturbed by man or their offending noises. There was a serenity to living like that which was woefully undervalued, in his humble opinion.

But all serenity had a natural end, and Samson heard a yelp coming from outside. He glanced up from the food he was scraping onto a plate, and in a second, he was at the door. His gaze dropped to Missy (short for Miss Sunshine), a Golden Retriever who normally had the biggest, happiest face in existence. Noted. She was on the lighter side for her breed and with all that fur, she occasionally looked like a dopey cotton ball, but that was beside the point. One of her hind legs was twisted the wrong way about halfway down. She was getting older, but still liked to play rough with her brothers, so chances were, she had been trying to show off, and had managed to mangle it. Maybe from a particularly high jump or something.

He immediately went to calm her, handing her off a bit of the sausage he’d made himself for breakfast, his other large, mitt of a hand moving through her fur. Moments later, he had her picked up, leg supported, and carefully scooped into his truck. He knew there wasn’t going to be any vet office open this time of morning, but he wasn’t about to wait to see his little girl treated. So he went the one place he was pretty sure would see him.

Doctor Plato Albany lived a little out of the way by most standards, but he was surprisingly close to Samson. The man seemed to have his own nice little plot of land, and honestly the only reason Sam even know about the guy was because he passed his place whenever he went to town. Didn’t matter that it was six in the morning. Didn’t matter that the guy probably had an actual office somewhere in the city. Mr. Krahn was the type of man where, when he put his mind to something, it was almost impossible from doing exactly what he was set on. It didn’t take a few more minutes and there was a tall behemoth of a figure standing in the doorway of a house, knocking at it with enough force to visibly shake the entire frame, with a golden retriever held like a baby in his other arm.

Bare feet padded through the hall from the bedroom where the sheets were still warm from the single occupant body that reluctantly left it behind. Dark charcoal and black influenced the backdrop of king size high count cotton lined with white. It had everything in the generous space divided and defined in sharp lines leaving it appearing clean, minimal and impactful even in the absence of natural lighting. It didn’t end there. The castle and the man who ruled it was comfortable in his own skin. Perhaps too much so for some people’s comfort. Less is best was his motto. Except when a frantic knock was working on his door.

Speaking of skin. Why not? His could be counted on to be consistently warm in its tone, welcoming even in color. A size ten and a half right shoeless foot gave way to the leading and dominant left stepping over the gray self-cut and hand installed flagstone beneath. He was a hard worker and the interior of his home confirmed it. Quality. It was everywhere including his physical presence. All of him was routinely and thoroughly exposed to the healthy dose of daily outdoor rays that left no lines and even less to the imagination. The man of the early hours was well groomed but sporting the physique that could perhaps move a small mountain or two if needed. A bit of this and a whole lot of impressive that had him walking a fine line that would have those taking notice wondering if he was a city or country boy at heart. It didn’t matter. He was the real deal. So was his heart that would keep on beating.

Sir Albany was one of those rare warm, strong and willing individuals that at any given moment would step up, sleep deprived or not, to rise and do what needed to be done. It was one of the first things a stranger would pick up on which is why his door was having one hell of a time staying secure at the hinges supporting its current placement. He was a giver of time, patience and a few other things. Suffice to say if there was a fire raging behind his round top old world wood door then it would get it’s cool down in due time. He was working his way to offer that up if need be but everything worth waiting for needed it’s prime time.

Prime it was. The golden glow of early sunshine and the kiss of fresh air slipping in through the open windows had him questioning why he had not woke an hour ago. Closer to the need calling him he stretched one leg then the other while fastening the buttons that closed up the fly on his distressed black jeans. While all that was going on he happened to be leaving that hard to miss earth and spice, non-toxic, cruelty free and no sugar added scent. This, of course, was well trained at following him brought on by none other than the eight hours old application of the ingenious Phlur’s Hanami. Plato smelled delicious.

The flesh that gradually went about being covered was given careful consideration in its maintenance and care. Visible smooth shoulders stood out for their shape capped with the movement of thick cords of muscle working to disappear into the black loose weave sweater that was in his capable hands. The very same hands that worked far quicker after a cup of coffee but that wasn’t how it was going to play out. Not this time. Someone or something was about to be saved by the only vet in a hundred mile radius who still accepted house calls to his residence twenty-four seven three hundred and sixty five days or nights a year.

Plato Albany had been accustomed to the interruption of door bells going off and the barrier to the outside world being rattled with emergencies that couldn’t wait till he was in his office. Odd hours and moments of desperation were a thing since he went into private practice years back. A decade of building up his patients had him seeing it all. The three in the morning Toucan with a bad case of Skittles consumption came to mind as he moved through the dark space and found the warm morning rays greeting his unprepared eyes.

A massage of a right hand delivered a bit of relief while the left raked through what could be gathered of the mane of auburn that needed a decent brushing to work out the chaos that a night of sleep fashioned it into. Like anyone else passionate about what they were committed to in their chosen profession his surroundings were supportive of his given work. Shadows moved lazily brought on by the random in sleepy transit exotic and domestic canine sources. A tiny ball of hard to make out mass sat in a far corner next to a small pet door that was carved into the heavy wood that permitted it to be used all year round. It didn’t move as the door shook in response to the force of banging on the other side.

Plato may have been standing in his modest place outside Harper Rock but he was far from where he started out and where he was born. How many in the town he now called his permanent base could claim to have been born on one of the Thousand Islands in Ontario? Not many. He knew this because he had been asking. While pausing in front of the door Plato’s hands stretched through the weaved black cuffs that allowed him to reach for the buttons on the hip length sweater that could close things up. A few fumbles of his fingers had him giving up and left the job undone. Dr. Albany arrived to the point of no turning back as he took hold of the first of a series of deadbolts and released them one by one. Far from the islands that he grew up discovering and even farther from what he was expected to be, Plato was opening the door and exposing what he really was. A man with a heart and a soul that was dedicated to the creatures that most didn’t take the time to listen to. Human and animal alike.

“Morning.” His hand reached up and curled to hold the wood trapped between his fingers. Eyes that wore the hue of brilliant steel forged into the richest evergreen landed on a familiar dog he had seen before and in much better shape. Eyes were everything and his slowly worked their way up because there was no choice but to do so if he was going to get a good look at the unexpected visitor towering on his doorstep. Something could be said for being larger than life. Actually more than a few things. “You are just in time for coffee.” He stepped back with his hand dropping from the door and gave the duo the room needed to enter his living room without a second thought. His mood may have came off far more relaxed with the sight coming through than most would be but that was all part of what made Plato successful at getting to the bare bones of any issue presented to him. “Follow me.” He called out over his shoulder figuring that the door would close and the neighbor behind him with injured charge in tow would catch up with him as he headed to his onsite exam room conveniently off the kitchen.

Plato had his back turned and his feet anchoring him in front of the sink to cleanse his hands. A vigorous rotation of his palms together moved outwards, fingers weaving loosely and creating friction as they shifted top to bottom then back again. His fingertips focused on each palm with the rotation of his wrists and finished with working beneath each nail bed. This first step had him ready for the best but prepared for the worst case scenario. His wide shoulders rolled back as he worked the soap free from his hands. Everything was fluid, quick and efficient. Something about him would hint that he had a bit of a routine he followed with the start of every procedure and visit.

Ritualistic perhaps, or just a man that was thorough and confident about the way he did things. Either way it stood out. Whether it be how he pulled the recycled towels from the dispenser and dried his hands, or hooked his thumb beneath a jaw to get a deeper look into a set of eyes he was intending on possessing, he did it with clear and direct purpose. Plato was one of those silent strong types that didn’t wait for the green light to go. Sometimes there was a risk in that but so was a thrill worth gambling on.

As he turned to find the injured Miss on the table ready for his attention he realized he was having a hard time time letting go of the palmful of damp towels in his hand. What he was staring at happened to swallow up the backdrop of the animal in need of a little tender loving care. His whiskered lips formed a silent O as he managed to toss the handi-wipes brand into the waste basket and reach for another to shut the water off. That third towel disappeared as well while his eyes stayed on the owner.

“Good day, Miss.” Plato pulled his focus from Samson and addressed the golden beauty with the respect she deserved. Missy was the man’s baby, not Plato’s. First rule of thumb in his line of work was to keep the objective and professional lines intact. Even when the mountain of impressive male accompanying her was making him warm instantly without the benefit of the previously desired coffee. “I see you have discovered a little early morning rough play makes for a painful afternoon.”

He glanced briefly at Samson as he spoke to the well aged canine. His hands stroked her fur with a warm, slow welcome sending his energy he knew he possessed to soothe any apprehensions she would have to him making contact with her. He worked his way from her neck and back down to each leg which she was receptive to. The only resistance came when he finally arrived to the injured leg. His left hand guided her to lean with his assistance then lay down giving him access to the injury.

“Has she had anything to eat recently?” The out of alignment limb was dwarfed when both of his hands curled around it. She stirred but allowed him to inspect what he was holding. “How about you?”

A smile surfaced to his lips without looking away from the misshapen form in his hands. A gentle massage found warmth in the areas that would indicate that blood was flowing without interruption and that was a good sign as well as her willingness to allow him to do so. It was the owners that dealt with the issues that brought the pets into his office far worse than the creatures themselves. His right hand allowed the limb to settle and rest over the other beneath it. A step back hand him leaning his backend against the counter attached to the sink behind him. He rubbed his whiskered jaw with a set of fingertips while in contemplation as to which route would be best for what evidently needed to be done. In this case money was not his concern. Samson could have it or not. For Plato it was no issue.

And it really never was. That was yet another thorn in his family's side that was his own doing based on his choices on how he did things. Where they saw loss of time that meant money he saw profit in the trust, balance and quality of life he could restore to those who were otherwise considered expendable when a wallet wasn't half as full as the owner's heart who considered them family. Proof was outside the front door. He had a new fence around the pasture formed out of the materials he purchased but needed help putting up. The extra hands that put it in just so happened to be a family who couldn’t afford the typical outrageous costs of their dying mare’s foal being delivered than nature had left to work with.

“I can fix the leg an hour or two tops and have her back to dancing in a couple weeks. It will be a minor surgery to set it but it really needs to done.” His eyes stayed briefly on Missy as her head perked up as if she knew what was going on. Once the beauty dropped it back down to rest once more on the table Plato raised a brow towards Samson. "Would you be okay with that?” His hands reached behind him and nudged his body free from what had been supporting him. The color wrapped around Samson's arm had him thinking of submerging himself in warm water and the complete freedom it would bring. "I am going to step out and get you a cup of coffee. I know I can use one. That will give the two of you time to discuss it and decide."

Doing anything was worth doing it right as far as Plato was concerned on how the world worked. Preparing an epic eye opening cup of coffee in the middle of his kitchen was no different. The random brush and pass by of a shin high black cocker mix had him glancing down. His bare foot gave a brief caress over the back that was fading from reach. He tried to trap the wagging tail with a playful pinch of his toes. It failed and the drop of his foot said as much in the wake of defeat. Soon the canine with severe separation anxiety would be reunited with his owners. They would return from their month long holiday and the bachelor pad would be back to having no prince to help rule.

Steam clouded the air beneath him as he watched the process through to its completion. A simple grasp and pour from the piping hot clear carafe demonstrated that there was enough for two exact cups of rich coffee. Coffee that was potent enough to wake a dead man on any given morning or day of the week. His hands reached out in sync to have each hot mug in his possession when he got that sneaking suspicion he wasn’t alone. His fingertips pressed inward to fix tighter to the glasses in hand.

In some situations it was all about the pass and hand off. Plato’s game was typically pretty smooth like his bare *** but in this case he was buying time and glanced up just enough to get a bug's eye view of the male towering over him. A fierce halo of hair surrounding the face inquiring what was for breakfast carried the glow of early morning light. The lengths of nearly reachable strands were tempting.

But he resisted. His hands appeared to be full and it would likely be a bit presumptuous considering the purpose of the visit was an injured dog. He felt the stretch and pull of what kept his eyes in the sockets that framed them. Plato took in all that begged to be sorted out strand by unruly strand with a set of skilled fingers. A firm grip and pull wasn’t exactly what the neighbor came over for.

His right hand did the proper thing by offering the hot beverage while rising up as he turned. A brush of knit and denim covered hip delivered a whisper soft contact that was gone almost as quickly as it happened.

“I think she will feel much better once her leg is fixed.” Plato commented on the decision that was made. “And as for what I am making…” He paused giving the man close to him an appreciative sweep of his eyes. “I think there is a good chance we can have what I like to call a Hungry Man Special.” While the trade of hot cup to free hand took place Plato eyed the outside of his refrigerator as if he had the power to see through the door and visualize what items were stored within. “Eggs, hash browns, fresh sausage and toast?” He took a slow, cautious sip from the ceramic mug. “Or… I am pretty sure there is something sweet to be had if you are more interested in going that route instead.” The counter behind him was a great support to lean back on as he set his mug in hand down. He was fully prepared to get to work if any of the offers were accepted.

“You are missing out on one hell of a strudel.” Another sip of the hot coffee reminded him he was on the road to Alertville which meant bedtime was officially over. And the closer up view of Samson in all his love-the-mountains-and-they-will-bring-you-a-god look made that fact a crying shame. Between the coffee and the view he was so much closer to feeling fine. Which reminded him of the one who wasn’t. Golden Miss in the other room patiently waiting for some settling in until she could tolerate the surgical procedure the following morning. “Suit yourself. The grand slam it is.” He waited for Samson to make his move and when he did his eyes followed him positioned upward in their sockets more than down given the man’s height and all. “Let me get her tucked in and comfortable then breakfast it is.”

The mug was set down next Samson’s and he made his way to the exam room where the smiling, yes smiling, Miss was sitting patiently. He gave the silky head a caress as he picked up the extra large pillow bed in the corner of the room and brought it back to the exam table. A brief bend and scoop had Plato supporting the full weight of the one who he could thank indirectly for his near future breakfast dining companion.

Had it not been for the knock at the door it would have been a late rise and shine followed by the daily pre-polar bear club season dip in the nearby water just big enough to be considered a lake. He would check into his office via message service, check the security logs and video to see how the ones staying over at the office were doing. If all was clear then he would be known to take a hike, a run or even mountain bike into the city. Some sort of physical activity was how any productive day began in his book. It was then that he stepped back into the kitchen with Miss in his arms and the bed dangling from his left grip. A gentle toss had it landing perfectly out of the way but still centered where she would be able to keep an eye on her owner.

“She seems to be tolerating things well enough. Should she need anything later for pain I can take care of that here. No reason she can’t hang here until tomorrow.” The refrigerator door opened and a clear glass bowl was removed that contained fresh eggs courtesy of the hen house outside. “Not sure about you but nothing like a little rhythm to go with the creation of a feast. Pretty sure Miss favors a little jig now and then.” With that the tap of his finger as it passed by a control pad on the side of the hard wood cabinet sent the music flooding the space they were standing in. “Believe it or not it is a thing every morning.” The antisocial black cocker spaniel reappeared and the tail behind it was wagging enthusiastically. He held an egg in his right hand and motioned towards the spaniel who was clearly alternating its weight back and forth between all its feet that certainly appeared to be some sort of intentional move. “See that? Wait till her family sees that.”

The large cabinet hidden refrigerator door closed and effectively concealed its existence in the old world rustic kitchen. It whispered of places visited in Italy and of course the Tuscany wine valley. The heavy stone found in the open plazas of Umbria, the woods that were repurposed over centuries to carry on their history and stories of time served. Wrought iron handles and fixtures fashioned into sconces missing candles said part of the effect was in wait for something to be added to complete the look. Plato thrived in the elements that the world had to offer. He felt comfortable everywhere but where he stood gathering the various items for preparation spoke volumes of where he was most comfortable. A man in his own space, sharing it with another who was likewise comfortable in the skin he wore in. The random criss crossing of barefoot paths said even more about the man who was sharing his space and time.

“Any objections to a fabulous frittata open faced with nothing hidden?” Plato figured there was something to be said for asking his guest how he wanted it before he gave it to him. Before he cracked open the eggs to release them into the waiting bowl beneath his hands he glanced over to Samson who was difficult to not stare at. “I can be gentle and spare you the fire if you are more of a mild type and like to play it safe.”

Plato held two leftover baked potatoes with random curious glances to the taller male. Toast obviously had been in the works while he stepped out to bring in Miss and it was soon discovered. One thing that had him feeling all the more comfortable in his kitchen was witnessing someone feeling the same. Toast was proof. It was to be enjoyed and the food within it to be consumed without hesitation. A big guy had to have a complementing appetite so it really had no impact on Plato that he was already prepared to start things. The resident vet’s typical greeting to invited guests was to help themselves which the man obviously did. With the potatoes still in hand he stepped back to the prep space on the counter which brought him closer to Samson and the scene unfolding. Toast and a proactive guy, what could happen?

Plato expected Samson to relax and enjoy it. Perhaps sip on his coffee while he went about the steps of getting the frittata going. Instead it was impossible to miss the slight of hand trick that had the man swallowing the creatively cut toast like it was evidence that needed to be destroyed asap. Plato absorbed it as a sign and smiled a little pulling out a blade that would be used to slice and dice. Distracted he invested a moment in reaching for the mug of coffee he held claim to that was dutifully resting on the counter and took a sip. He figured the man was hungry for as fast as it all went down and more than likely after the large amount of toast he could use a few swallows of fluid before it lodged inconveniently somewhere creating a barrier that may need extraction. The power of physical suggestion didn’t get a reaction so he set his own mug down and went back to the prep.

A half a brick of expertly made Romano cheese was retrieved from the fridge along with a smaller portion of Monterey Jack. A small open dish with roasted red peppers came out followed by the last of a jar of olives and fresh kale pulled the day before from the garden. The fridge and cabinet door closed once he left the space that had been holding it open. The potatoes were sliced into sticks then squared. The peppers were sliced and the olives followed suit. The forgotten onion was plucked from a basket on the counter and peeled efficiently. As soon as it lost its unwanted layers it was diced in quick time with skilled hands and knife. A brush of his hand sent the small white sections free of the blade they clung to. Between glances at Samson he managed to pull out the grater and found another. Two for one prep meant they would be eating sooner. He passed off the brick of Romano and took up the task of shredding the Monterey Jack in a bowl large enough to collect the rewards of both hard at it.

“Samson.” He paused his hands and glanced up looking at him. “Family name?” He was given Plato for a reason so he figured perhaps there was something behind the name that was about as common as his for a first name. He was the first Samson he had come across. Then again he never came across a living Plato. The butter was quartered and dropped into a pan which was applied to the heat Plato set in motion with the twist of a knob. His arm stretched for the spatula as he used his left to guide the butter in a sliding spin around the pan. Once the squares became liquid he added the onions and began flipping them. “I like it. As for the rest of my day? I just plan on enjoying what I have of it.”

Plato wiped his hands on a nearby hand towel and wasted no time in adding the potatoes next. The sounds and scent of sizzling competed with the music in the background. A flip and shift with the spatula caught attention of a few who promptly wagged their tails in approval. A handful of precut kale went in next. The green leaves shrinked slowly but stayed strong as expected not wilting into dots of darkness like spinach was known to. A few minutes and a couple of sips of coffee later had the pepper strips landing into the pan along with the diced olives. A generous slow stirring was given to the creation while ribbons of scented steam rose for further temptation.

Six eggs were quickly cracked and whipped up like he did this as often as he brushed his own teeth. Once they were beaten into the desired consistency he added salt and pepper and mixed that in as well. A last reach into the cabinet door and the fridge hif-ding behind it had him revealing bacon and sausage diced and mixed in a bag. It was opened and sprinkled into the pan while the eggs and cooking ingredients were constantly stirred. Last to go on was the shredded cheese so he glanced over to Samson who was responsible for the Roman to Plato’s Monterey Jack.

“How are you doing over there?” Plato turned down the heat beneath the pan and stepped back. He picked up his mug of coffee and tossed the hand towel over his shoulder like he had nearly finished a masterpiece. “If you want to do the honors...go for it.” His brows lifted to encourage the distribution of cheese over the frittata. “Or you can hang tight for about five minutes while it melts and I get the toast.” He winked as he reached around Samson and pulled out some slices to put in the toaster yet again. Samson seemed more than capable of making things melt without any outside help. The thought gave Plato time to slide a finger between his chest and his sweater to pull it away from his skin.