Long Jump
He found a small, square table in the corner, near the windows, bobtail flicker-flicking as he took a quiet seat. Sorting his silverware and looking around for a moment. Before glancing back down. To his food. He had seen some of the rodents saying ‘prayers' before eating. He had always wondered: did it make the food taste any better?
The Mess Hall, around him, was only a third full, in spite of the rising hour. Which was very nearly noon. The crowd was never as robust, though, during lunch. Always bigger at suppertime. Always.
It was the main gathering area on the ship. For better or for worse. A clean and tidy place, the air cool. The aroma of baked goods and bubbling, boiling vegetables wafting about. The walls colored shades of white. Low-key blue, with some grey areas. Snow rabbit ships were generally adorned in cool colors.
"You are eating alone?" was the quiet, approaching question. The kind usually accompanied by a raised brow. Or, at the very least, some show of surprise.
Peyton didn't look up. He didn't need to, as familiar as he was with that voice. Her voice. Intimately familiar. And, yes, that dominating tone, too. The kind that could force even the most stubborn of males to get on his back and submit. "A keen observation. I believe I am." Silvery fork tines pushing into steamed-green broccoli bits. Broccoli and rice. Blueberries. A wheat roll. And apple cider. That was his lunch. Rather meager, actually. He wasn't all that hungry for some reason. He hadn't been, lately. Since he'd become involved with his chief engineer. Not hungry for food, anyway. It was hard not to think about her. Adele. And this confused him.
"I require a place to sit."
This time, he did look up, mid-chew. His back to the windows. With Majestic traveling at warp, on border patrol, the stars were streaking by. Like swords. Like javelins. Like scurrying suns. "Is that a question? Or a statement?" He knew very well which one it was. And it grated him. Especially with crew-furs within listening distance. Why did he always feel belittled by her? When he wanted so very much to have her support?
Annika cocked her head, pulling out the chair across from him. And primly, properly sitting, smoothing at her uniform and leaving the plates/utensils/everything on her tray. No need for proper decorum in a glorified ‘canteen,' after all. She'd always felt the overhead lights were too bright in here. By far. They needed to be dimmed some. Create more atmosphere. Make it more relaxing. Less business-like. She knew that most furs enjoyed this place, but she'd always been slightly wary of it.
" ... asparagus?" Peyton observed, wrinkling his nose.
"You disapprove?" She looked at him, briefly, before focusing her attention on her plate. A knife and fork. One in each white, black-padded paw. Slicing each asparagus shaft into little segments. Her tall-ears stood to attention, waggling slightly.
"It does not agree with my stomach. And it has a funny taste." A squirm. "And it has ... odd side effects."
"You should talk to the doctor about that." A bit of an eye-smile. "Your fear of speared vegetables."
"It is not a fear. It is a disliking." He bit into some broccoli and rice. Chew-chewed. Thinking that it could use some shredded cheese. But he didn't want to leave the table, now. It would've been too awkward. He half-suspected that every-fur in the room was eavesdropping on them. Simply because, as Peyton noted to Annika, " ... it is suddenly rather hushed in here. Don't you agree?"
"Perhaps they sense a coming storm." Such nonchalant body language. Like she had the upper paw. Like this was a contest, a competition. A war. And, really, it always was with her, wasn't it? Everything was a battle. She'd fought for so long that, even after the fighting had stopped ... she was still taking swings. Still kicking. And, Lord, she had a strong kick. Peyton had kick-boxed her once. And had wound up flat on his back. With sex soon after.
A blink, sipping at his cider. And swallowing, licking his lips. "Would you care to elaborate?"
"If you wish."
"I do."
A terse nod. "Very well ... " She reached across the table and casually swiped a few of his blueberries. Three, to be exact. And, popping one into her mouth, she leaned back. Eying him. "Our chief engineer has been ‘missing' for over a day."
"I believe she is still on the ship."
"Locked in her quarters? Are you holding her hostage?" Another blueberry flew into her maw, bouncing off her tongue. Chew. Chew ... " ... as security officer, I must investigate all crew disappearances. Do you have a ransom note?"
"Amusing," he said, with a cool, level tone. "You know very well she is on mandatory ‘heat leave'."
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I did know that." And she ate the final blueberry. Reaching, then, for his wheat roll. "Are you going to eat this?"
His eyes glowed. With familiarity. "After your paws have been all over it?"
A mew of mirth. " ... that has never stopped you before."
"It is stopping me now," he insisted.
"Your loss is my ... grain," she said, taking a big bite of the wheat roll. "I have been practicing my cheesy jokes. Do you approve?"
"No doubt Denison is a master of them."
"Mouses tend to be." A pause. "What are squirrels masters at? Anything? I hear they have excellent agility. That is their ‘advantage,' is it not?"
He felt his ears burning. And even beginning to bend over a bit. Why did she speak to him like this? With such bite? "Even when you are being nice, I feel ... intimidated by you."
"You are sleeping with her," Annika surmised, not allowing herself to be led on a verbal tangent.
"Yes."
She tilted her head. In a quirky, twitchy way. Not having expected such an easy, blatant admission. To be honest. Having expected, perhaps, some degree of evasion. " ... why ... why would you do that?" Her voice lowered to an accusing whisper. "She is not a snow rabbit."
"Because she needs it. And I am glad to give it." He shifted in his seat. "Is that so bizarre?"
"No. But selfish," she said, "perhaps. You are giving it? From experience, I know that ... you are very skilled at that. But I believe you are doing it more for you," she accused, "than for her."
"She is enjoying it. I make sure of that."
She squirmed in her seat. Nodding. " ... true. Again, you are extremely ‘talented.' I wonder, though, if she has heard some of the stories, the particulars, I mean ... of you sharing that talent."
He gritted his teeth, sighing through the nose. But did not lose his cool. "I care a great deal for my crew. I do not ‘use' crew-furs for personal reasons. Or personal gains. Or pleasures. Furs are not toys to me ... "
"But it is pleasurable for you, yes?" She was toying with him, taunting him. Biting into the roll. Again. Chewing, chewing ... swallowing. And biting. Before finally asking, "It must be incredibly good, what you are getting from her ... to ‘twitterpate' the likes of you."
He gave Annika a look. Squinted. And said nothing. Twitterpated. No doubt that was a mouse word. It sounded too cute not to be. Clearly, Denison ... " ... is rubbing off on you. How closely, I wonder?"
"We have not ‘consummated' anything. When we do, I will be sure to inform you."
"I don't doubt it."
" ... but we are close," Annika said, defensively. As if it bothered her that Peyton was breeding with someone else before she, herself, was. "Very, very close."
Peyton just nodded. Wishing this conversation would end. Right now, preferably, because he had a feeling that if she pushed him just a bit further, just a bit more ... he was going to let her have it. And it wasn't going to be pleasant.
"Rumor also says," Annika continued, interrupting, not able to let this go, "that you have not been performing your ‘duties' within the breeding party ... since you began to ‘help' Lieutenant Adele." A dainty pause. "You left it, then?"
"No," he said, immediately.
"You're either part of it ... or you're not. If you don't ‘give,' you're not allowed to ‘get'. I know the rules. Because I broke them, too."
He raised his brow. "Is my ... " He shushed himself a bit. " ... are my breeding habits any of your business? I thought you disapproved of ‘breeding parties' ... that you are, in your own words, part of the ‘New Way'?"
"Indeed."
"Then why would you object to my ... potential devotion to someone? To forgo casualness? Why the suspicion?"
"Because you have a reputation."
"My dear," he countered, locking eyes. Not even letting them dart a tiny bit. " ... so do you."
She blinked first. And didn't respond. Only an eventual ... " ... I don't believe you can devote to a single femme. ‘Potential' devotion is simply another way of saying: impermanent, momentary ... convenient."
"I wondered where my thesaurus went," he said, dryly.
"Even a mouse would not giggle at that." She tugged at her uniform-shirt. "As ship's first officer, and tactical officer, it is my duty to ensure the safety of this crew ... and I believe you are putting our resident squirrel's welfare at risk."
"I will not harm her, Annika. I assure you." He almost sounded emphatic. Like he was tired of not being taken seriously. He was the Captain! Not her. "Now, please ... "
" ... physically, no. But her heart?" She let out a breath, letting her tongue travel inside her maw. Pressing it against her buckteeth before saying, again, "Why would you feign devotion to her?"
"I am not feigning." He poked at his broccoli. Almost done with it, but not quite. Again, not hungry. He just couldn't bring himself to finish the meal. "The thought of being with a partner who is ‘promiscuous' ... unsettles her greatly. It makes her feel ... " A sigh. " ... it is strongly against her faith."
"But you are two are not mated. Obviously."
A hesitation. " ... no."
"So, the rules of the rodent faith have already been broken. Why not break them further? The lines are already blurred ... cross them. Do what you always do." And, somehow, even though it came off as ‘advice,' it obviously wasn't meant to be taken seriously. She was egging him on.
"I do not wish to hurt her feelings. She is fragile and lonely, and a senior officer. Just as I ask for my crew's trust ... they will ask for mine. And when they do, I am not in the habit of betraying it." A mutter-sound. "Contrary to the scenarios you seem to have conjured."
Annika rubbed her forehead. "I see."
"Is everything alright?" he asked, after a moment.
A weak nod. "Yes."
"Annika?"
"Yes," she said, more strictly. Exhaling. Lowering her paw. "Just a little tired. I have been ... having trouble sleeping," she admitted.
"Why? I thought you were sleeping with ... "
" ... not yet. I told you, we're ... "
" ... very close to doing so. Yes. But I didn't mean ‘sex-sleeping.' I meant just ... " A head-tilt. " ... sleep-sleeping. One normally sleeps better with someone beside them, true?"
She just nodded. Wearily.
An awkward silence between them.
He sipped at his cider once more, continuing, privately, "The other day, you saw a roomful of dead bees ... Denison was sobbing uncontrollably at their sight. The combination of the two events, in conjunction with your recent ‘thawing' and exploration of emotions ... could have unleashed something. Perhaps you are being overwhelmed? Perhaps you are stressed?"
A shake of the head so slight that it almost wasn't discernible. Rubbing her temples again. Quickly stopping. " ... the Doctor cleared me, health-wise, when we returned to the ship."
"I know. But ... " Such concern in his tone.
" ... do not worry about me," she demanded. And it was a demand, even if it had been put forth softly.
"Is it wrong to do so? I am your Captain. You are my crew-fur."
"But our relationship runs far deeper than that, and you know it ... we are not just officers. We are not just friends."
"No," he agreed, sincerely. "But this is a ship of furs. We're all ‘canoodling' with someone. No one aboard is ‘just officers,' or ever is ... on any star-ship. Our situation, therefore, is hardly unique. It is simply more pronounced."
She really wasn't eating her own food. Done with his roll, a blunt claw tracing the perimeter of her full plate. "Getting back to the original topic: I am simply concerned that you are ‘marinating your carrot' in her ... for fun, or the mere sake of it. Cause you cannot resist the opportunity." A breath. "You do not realize how delicate rodents are. How attached they get. You do not know what you are doing."
"That is too far too colorful and crude a euphemism," he said, quietly, of her carrot remark, "to graze the muzzle of one so feminine and fair. First of all. And second: you knew nothing of rodents when you became attracted to Denison. You are hardly an expert on them. And third? You underestimate me. I am not stupid."
"Just brash. A stereotypical male rabbit."
"And you are perfect? In many ways, your behavior is more male than mine: you are more aggressive, more violent, more ... "
She shook her head, not wanting to hear it. Not wanting to. Even if it might be true. Especially if it might be true. " ... but I have learned," she interrupted. "I pushed him away at first, yes. I kept him at arm's length. I got closer, and now ... well, the whole thing. The whole thing happened naturally."
"That is insulting. Your relationship with Denison is more ‘natural' than mine with Adele? I suppose that is code for ‘more righteous?' Do you not trust my judgment?"
No response.
"Because if you do not trust my judgment ... then how can I rely on you? As your commanding officer? And your friend. Or ... or whatever term you want to call us by."
A pause. "What are we calling ourselves, anyway?" he asked, as an aside. Hoping to lighten the mood at least a little bit.
And she eye-smiled slightly. Taking the opportunity to do so. To lighten things. "I have thought about it. I have come up with something that ... " A coy scratching of her own ear. " ... that I think fits."
"Yes?" He perked.
"Mutually desirous incompatibles."
Peyton pondered this. " ... hmm."
"Do you like it?" A raised, proper brow.
He met her gaze. "I believe I do," was the whisper. And, though hesitant to disrupt this sudden warm, bubbly moment, he knew it wasn't true reconciliation. That hadn't been reached yet. He wasn't going to let her off the hook so easily. So used to submitting to her (when, in fact, he was not really a submissive fur at all), he kept pushing. Kept talking. " ... do you know what this is ultimately about? Why are you sitting here right now?"
She looked at him. Waiting. Nose raising a bit.
"You cannot fathom that I, who would not even leave the ‘breeding party' to devote to you ... you. Whom I have a history with? Whom I have a passion for? Why I would not leave for YOU, but, instead, would think about leaving it to devote to a squirrel who thinks she's neurotic?"
She swallowed, looking at the tabletop. And then back up. "Are we really going to ‘go' there ... are we really debating this?"
"Yes." His bobtail flicker-flicked. His whiskers giving a singular twitch.
"Fine." She sat up straight. "I tried to so very hard to ... convince you," she said, "to be with me. I could have made it work. You resisted. You said no." A huff. "So incredibly stubborn. You would not change your ways. And then, what seems like five minutes later ... "
" ... it has been nearly four weeks since we ... "
" ... you're doing all the things you would not do with me ... with someone you barely know?"
"She is my chief engineer. Not a stranger."
"You know what I mean." A shaky breath. "I feel like I have been slapped in the face. Like my honor has been robbed from me."
"Honor is for predators. Not prey."
"I have slain predators. I have bred with them. I have known them living and dead. I am more predator than most rabbits can stomach." Her pupils narrowed. "I will have my honor."
He almost flinched at the steeliness of her tone.
" ... I just want an apology," she said, suddenly switching from scary/steely to prim/proper. "That is all."
The Captain sat up straighter, himself. "I refuse."
"Coward."
And Peyton noticed, suddenly, that the Mess Hall was dead silent. Just now. Dead silent. And his cheeks burned. His first officer, his Sub-Commander, his ... ‘mutually desirous incompatible,' had just called him out, putting him squarely, firmly on the spot. Forcing his paw. She was forcing his paw, and he was going to let her have it. "Do you know why, Annika, I did not want to ‘mate' you? Because even though I admire your fire, your strength, your determination," he said, almost losing his breath. " ... even though you are physically gorgeous to me? Even though I love the taste of your body ... " A swallow. " ... like I have not loved the taste of anyone else's? Even though I have memorized your curves ... "
She waited. Breathing heavily through her charcoal-black nose.
" ... we are both too dominant by far. Deep down. And, in the short term, a mate-ship would sizzle and sparkle. It would be sumptuous, surely. I have no worldly doubt. But over time, as we aged?" He trailed off for a moment, before admitting, "It would grow frosty. Sparks would give way to mere friction. Friction, then, would become dull ... dull and aching." He pushed his food-tray away, rubbing his face. He felt so flushed. "We have incredible chemistry in bed," he muttered. "And, as well ... I believe we have chemistry in conversation. Every time we talk, it is like playing tennis. Our words volley back and forth. We end up panting from mere moments of dialogue. It is exhilarating," he professed, lowering his paws.
She listened, her ears at half-mast.
"Chemistry may make a union. But it does not maintain a bond. Even as an open-breeder, I know that. Chemistry and compatibility are not the same thing. One is short-term. Like a lit fuse. With a bomb at the end. The other is long-term, like embers in a lasting fire." A sigh. Ending with, "And, to be honest with you: I am not sure that I fully realized this ... until just now. I want you. But I do not need you."
The words were stinging. But, as she heard them, she could not deny the inherent truths, no. Or, indeed, deny that she felt the same way in return. She wanted him, yes. But did she need him? Really need him? She wasn't sure. But what she did know was, " ... I am demanding. Because much has been demanded of me. I am hardened. Because my life has been hard. I am an iron butterfly. And if you cannot handle me ... just admit it. Do not make excuses."
"I am not."
"You're still a coward," she said. But it rang more hollow, this time.
" ... Annika."
She rubbed her own neck. Staring into space.
" ... if what I have said makes you sad, then," he started ...
" ... snow rabbits do not feel sad," she injected, not letting him finish.
"A lie."
She tilted her head, mouthing back, "A choice."
A silence befell them. For a good minute. Neither of them making much eye contact.
"So, you're going to mate Adele, then? You've decided?" she asked, piping back up, like nothing had happened.
"I have not decided. It could go either way. We are in a ‘trial period'. She may even join ... " He almost started to go into the details of their ‘bet,' but stopped himself. Just in time. Probably not a good idea. Adele wouldn't want others to know. She had said, herself, that she was insecure. She wouldn't want the whole crew knowing what she'd shook paws on. That she was desperate enough to join the ship's breeding party if Peyton wouldn't mate her.
" ... join what?" Annika asked, raising a brow. Confused. And putting on quite a calm guise. Just a moment ago, she'd been on the verge of some kind of breakdown. Snow rabbits who went through an emotional ‘thaw' ... often had such experiences, though. Didn't they? Emotions were incredibly chaotic to live with. And if you'd never lived with them? Even small doses of emotion could take one by surprise.
" ... join me for meals. When her heat has passed," he said, not knowing how else to save his almost-gaffe. "Then I will no longer eat alone." Lame, Peyton. But Annika's so distracted, she'll buy it ...
" ... charming," Annika muttered, paws sweating. She withdrew them. Off the table. And wiped them on her uniform. She felt a sudden wave of exhaustion. Had to close her eyes for a moment. This wasn't stress. I am not, she told herself, stressed. I can handle it.
The rest of the crew-furs in the Mess Hall, seeing that the ‘meat' of the conversation had come and gone, began to resume their chatter. Slowly and softly. But resume it, they did. Which made Peyton and Adele ease up a bit. Less in the spotlight. At least for the moment.
"Seeing as we are enjoying full disclosure today," Peyton said, "may I say something else? If you'll allow?"
"Go ahead."
"You never technically asked me to be your mate."
She gave him a look. Scrunching her features. "That is not true. I asked you repeatedly."

 "No ... no, you demanded it. You stated it." A breath. "You might as well have ordered it." He toyed with his spoon. Then dropped it. "Adele, for her part, is asking. Quite graciously, too ... " He pushed his chair back, still sitting in it.
"I have heard you say many times that you do not ‘fall in love.' You enjoy tail. You enjoy ... variety. You don't like being confined."
"You speak the truth. And, reflecting that, I am leaning toward remaining an open-breeder, but ... "
" ... you're curious? As to what all the fuss is about? Regarding love? And you're going to indulge that curiosity with Adele? This is a big experimental thrill-ride for you, is that it?"
"Adele and I are two mature adults. It is our concern."
"The concern should be all hers," Annika insisted.
A sigh. "We are talking in circles, now. I will not discuss this again. Stay out of my business, Sub-Commander," he ordered, pulling rank. "I worked very hard to become a Captain. I know you scoff at the fact that I was not on the front lines. I know you would be happier with a soldier-rabbit in charge. Your dismissal and distrust of my authority is more hurtful to me than you know ... "
"Spare me."
"Sarcasm does not suit you," Peyton insisted, becoming genuinely concerned. "I have rarely seen you so agitated. Perhaps I should order you to visit the Doctor. Please."
"Order me. But I will not go."
He stood up. " ... that is your problem. You always need to lead." He lowered his voice. " ... but you lack the ability to give up control. To let go. To trust."
"If you are upset at me for undermining your authority ... "
" ... you undermined us. Annika. You are trying, even now, to undermine me and Adele."
"There IS no you and Adele. You are simply fooling around. You are not serious about her."
"There you go again. Telling me what I am thinking, telling me how I am behaving ... this is not a battlefield. We are not at war with each other. You can stop fighting."
A twitch. She opened her muzzle, eyes pained ... a nerve struck. " ... I ... I do not know how. Sometimes." A swallow. "I confess."
He wished to touch her. But considering that he'd promised Adele he wouldn't so much as get the scent of a femme snow rabbit on his pelt, he ... had to restrain himself. Had to hold back. It was so very hard to do. A swallow, realizing that, besides, " ... you love Denison, don't you?"
"I think I am beginning to. Yes. He is most persuasive." A weak eye-smile. "He is most enchanting." A pause. "He wishes to mate me immediately. I have no reason to say no, but ... we are close, but ... " It hadn't been consummated quite yet. And she wasn't sure when it would. Tonight? Tomorrow? Next week, month? When? What was the point in waiting? What was she afraid of?
"I am happy for you. You know that? He will be good for you. His innocence, his faith, his gentility ... will do wonders for you, Annika."
She closed her eyes. Breathing deep. A deep, refreshing breath. "I know." She truly did know that.
Still standing, he lowered his head. To meet her eyes. Since she was still sitting. "I apologize if things got out-of-paw. I know the tension between us has not been solved, but ... better to start confronting it, correct? Then evade it?"
She tilted her head. "Such is the way of the good warrior. And the iron butterfly," she admitted, nodding.
"Does Denison believe you are those things?" Peyton asked, curiously.
" ... he believes I am ... an epitome of femininity. Worthy of swooning over and writing poems for."
Peyton, grabbing his food-tray, gave a eye-smiling nod. "Cute," he said, and moved off ...
" ... Captain," she said, using his rank out of respect. "Wait."
He stopped, turning. Ears standing tall.
"Do something romantic for her." A short silence. "Adele, I mean. Give her a gift. A very personal gift."
"Why?"
"Rodents are very sentimental. The gesture will mean much to her."
"Why are you telling me this?" A raised brow, suspicious.
"Because when you see how happy she will be? How touched? You will be a step closer toward making the right decision ... in whatever ‘game' you and her are playing." She believed there was more to their sudden liaison than met the eye. There had to be. But, for now, she wasn't going to press it. You have your own concerns, Annika.
"I am not feeling the ‘guilty cad'. I do not believe my current lifestyle is any less ‘right' than anyone else's."
" ... as you say."
Peyton, lingering, digested this and finally took his tray back, leaving the Mess Hall with a hop to his step. He still had a good half hour of ‘lunch break' left. He planned on getting laid.
But, with Annika's advice in mind, he had to fetch something, first ...
The doors swished open.
" ... y-you're here?" A mixture of relief and disbelief in her tone. The squirrel bounding up off the couch, her fluffy arc of a banner-tail bobbing and flailing. She scampered, foot-paws making soft sounds on the carpet, to the threshold of her quarters. And met him. Almost belly to belly. "Thank goodness. Uh. I was ... I was about to call you." She cleared her throat, licking her lips. And then licking her paw-pads. And, then, with further obsessive-ness, swiping at her twitchy whiskers. " ... need to groom. Sorry." And she put her paws on his sides. Realizing she'd just licked them, and ... " ... I got my ... saliva on your uniform. Eh."
"It is quite alright," Peyton assured, finding her neurotic behavior to be somewhat charming. Sniffing the air, he sighed. Sniffing her. Mm-m ...
"I thought you weren't g-gonna show up." Her paws went to his hips. And they clutched. "I, uh ... thought you might've found a pretty rabbit. Instead. On your way to lunch. Or, uh, ‘for' lunch." She was rambling, squeakily. Unable to keep still. In the exact peak hour of her heat. The exact middle-point.
" ... your scent is ... incredibly strong," he told her, somewhat ignoring her concerns. Not belligerently. He was just distracted (could you blame him?), tongue peeking from his muzzle. Eyes watering. Oh, gosh. He felt like ... like it was hitting him. Physically. Like it was actually affecting his equilibrium. It made him feel a bit dumb, really.
" ... P-peyton?"
He tried to think. What had he been saying? Or she, rather? She was the one talking. She'd been telling him something? Worrying. Yes. The way of rodents. Of prey. " ... your, uh, anxiety is unfounded," he finally said. Slowly. Nodding and swallowing at the same time. Struggling to get the words out. Lord. "You smell better than you did in the science lab," he whispered, hotly. Like it was some erotic confession. He reached out to touch her. Her arms. Fingers closing around her shirt-sleeves. He pulled her closer. So that, beneath her shirt, her bra-less breasts squished a bit against his chest. So that he could bury his nose in her cheek-fur and just breathe of it. Mm-m ... again. Mm.
"I, uh, wouldn't know. I honestly ... can't smell it. At all. I just feel it. I can't smell it ... " She leaned into him. At his insistence. She obeyed, and arched her back a little bit. Panting.
" ... I can," was his obvious mumble-mutter. His nose tingled pleasantly. A tad numb. Almost forcing him to breathe deeper just to make sure he was actually getting air. And the more he breathed, the more scent he got, and the more scent he got ... " ... diabolically ... delicious. Your feminine biology." A pupil-dilated eye-smile. "I love it so. God is to be commended ... "
For a second, she'd thought he'd said ‘I love you.' For a second. Upon realizing he hadn't, realizing he'd said he loved her body. Not necessarily her. She ... twitched. And nodded. " ... yeah." A pause. "But, uh ... " Panting, she awkwardly tried to hide her disappointment. But couldn't. " ... biology or whatever, my body's still ... not as good as ... " She trailed off, twitching.
"Nonsense," he assured, kissing her cheek. Swallowing. "What is wrong with your body? You are healthy, fit." Why was she twitching? I have upset her in some way, Peyton realized. And he felt a pang of something. He wasn't sure how to make it go away. Things were beginning to nag at him, lately. Things that, previously, he could've easily shaken off.
"Fit, but not ... " A breath. " ... not like, uh. You know. My backside isn't very ... s-svelte?" Was that a word? She'd never used it before. But had often heard it ascribed to female snow rabbits. "I'm not buxom, either."
"I like the ‘give' in your rump. It makes for good groping." And he did just that. Paws sliding past her lower back, the small of her back. And gripping her rump-cheeks. Her bare rump cheeks. "And your tail is beyond compare." He'd never handled squirrel-tails before. They were like luxurious, ornate banners. Living banners. "Your breasts? I detect nothing wrong there, either ... "
" ... well. Eh, h-heh." A nervous giggle. As one of his paws left her backside and began ‘fondling' her through her shirt. The front of her shirt. She moved one arm around his neck, loosely. Like she'd done before. And ran a single paw over her own sweaty forehead. The matted, red-brown fur. So flushed beneath it. Her paws were trembling. Short, short of breath. Dressed, as she was, only that loose, too-long shirt. Truthfully? It was ... well, one of the Captain's shirts. He'd left it in her quarters this morning. He'd spent the night. Uh. All night. " ... I, you know ... I gotta. Again. I'm sorry," she blurted. " ... breed? I mean? Please?"
"My dear, do not apologize for wanting sex. I am extremely," he assured, rabbit-purring, "willing to have it."
"I know ... " Yeah, big surprise, she told herself sarcastically. " ... but I c-can't take this. You'd think," she stammered, "that heat would be pleasurable for the femme? For me? I mean, it's probably burden-free for you. But me?" she repeated, voice tinged with squeaks. "To a point, yeah, but ... it just becomes so manic. So frantic. That it starts to become terrifying ... " She rambled on, squeakily, eyes darting. " ... it's like a fever. An all-consuming fever."
" ... hush. Hush, now," Peyton whispered.
" ... I can't." A head-shake. "No, I can't."
"Yes, you can. Another day, and it'll be over ... you won't have to deal with this anymore."
" ... wait, what?" A pained, twitchy look. "B-but ... "
" ... your heat. Will be over," he elaborated. "At least for another month. Yes?"
"Oh." A weak nod. "Yeah. Yeah ... " Part of her was worried that when her heat ended, then his interest in her would, as well. This ‘experiment,' this ‘trial relationship' would be over. And she really didn't want to lose their bet, and have to join the ship's breeding party. Even if she'd said she would. She was that desperate, yeah, but ... she wanted so much more. So, so much more. To end up with a committed mate. She'd made mistakes before. But she longed to be spiritually pure with someone.
A paw against her cheek. Tilting her head. And asking, "Am I allowed to kiss you yet? On the lips?"
A head-shake. " ... no." She whispered it, with fragility.
"Very well." A sigh. He wanted to taste her there. He looked around. Realizing, "I believe ... I am, uh, in your doorway. No fur has walked down the corridor yet, but perhaps we should fully enter your quarters before they do?"
"Eh, kinda careless of us. Of me. I didn't mean to jump you like that. Uh, ambush? You? Like, uh ... yeah, I don't have pants on. Or, uh ... underwear." She nodded, shuffling in reverse. Back-peddling. Taking him with her, arms around his back. Hearing the door swish shut. "Computer, lock doors?" she went. And it chirruped in response, complying.
An eye-smile. "Was that a question?"
"I don't know. I can't think about anything but ... doing it ... " Panting, now. " ... I think want to have a conservation with you in the worst way, but then I realize: I want sex more."
A mirthful mew. " ... then you are well on your way to becoming a rabbit, my dear," he teased. In that soft, restrained way of snow rabbit teasing. "Perhaps I am rubbing off on you?"
" ... mm, s-sir?"
"Yes?"
"What's ... what's around your neck?" She noticed the gold, decorating glint. The metal. The ribbon. "Is that real gold?"
"Oh." An eye-smile. He'd almost forgotten. "Yes. It is a gift."
"Like, a present? F-for who?"
A serene nod, looking to her. And then kissing her forehead. "For you, my dear."
She closed her eyes. "I don't understand." A breath. "I, uh ... I've seen that before. I know I have."
He felt her exhale against his chin. "In my ready room, yes."
A nod. "Yeah. Yeah, that's right ... " Panting, opening her eyes, and using a paw to lift the medallion off his chest. Or, rather, his uniform-shirt. " ... a gold medal? You must've won first place in something."
"I did."
She licked her lips, looking to him. Waiting. Curious.
He rubbed his neck a bit. Why did he feel sheepish? He had never felt that way before, had he? The way she was looking at him. Hanging on his every gesture, every word?
" ... well, as it happens," he said, still dizzied by her scent, and still confused by these subtle ‘feelings' that were beginning to creep, like droplets from thawing ice, into his consciousness. " ... it so happens I am the only underclass-fur to ever win the High Command Academy," he said, taking a breath, "long jump." An exhale, and a nod.
"Really? I mean ... " She looked down, and ... yeah, he had good legs. Great legs. Hips, thighs. Other stuff. Lower body stuff. Okay, okay: he had an awesome lower body. But she looked back up, trying to focus. " ... you did?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Well, why are you giving the medal to me? I mean ... you must've been really proud. Of doing that."

 "Extremely proud of it, yes," he insisted. "That is why I kept the medal on my ready room wall."
"Why are you doing this?" she pressed, twitching, confused. And wondering if he was just being pretentious or something. Or just trying to showboat for her. Ooh, look what I did.
" ... you asked me to take a leap of faith with you, yes? In this ... "
" ... say it," she demanded. "Experiment. That's what I am."
"You are not an experiment. Nor is this ... us."
"This ‘us'?" A blink. That didn't make sense.
He knew it didn't, but wasn't concerned about it. He just needed to say what he needed to say. Make the meaning of his gift clear to her. Before he lost control and started to ravage her. Cause, good heavens, he was so extremely close to doing so. Was she rubbing her toes up and down his shins? Did he have a hold of her tail-base? It was hard to tell who was doing what. Everything was beginning to blur.
"P-Peyton?"
"Yes? Yes, I, uh ... you see. Adele," he said, each word panting itself out. "You see, you asked me to take a leap of faith with you on this ‘venture' of ours. And I know you doubt me. I know you think I am not capable of following through. I'm aware of my reputation. I am not ashamed of it, but I am aware of it. And, though a decision has not been rendered yet ... I do want you to know that I take what we are doing seriously. That I take you seriously."
She listened, swallowing. She even stopped twitching for the moment. Halfway meeting his ice-blue eyes.
"And, so, I give you proof." He lowered his head. Snow-white paws (with charcoal-black pads and blunted claws) lifting, thumbs hooking beneath the ribbon of the medal. And he took it off his neck. Over his tall-eared head. And slowly, gently placed it around her own neck. "This is proof that I am capable of long jumping. Or, in other words: making great leaps." A slightly-vulnerable pause. "And giving it to you, I hope, will show you that I am willing to take record-breaking leaps with you ... to accomplish things that were not thought possible."
She looked down, holding her breath. A few fingers lifting the golden, metallic circle. The blue ribbon folding like velvet.
Peyton waited for her to say something. Like ‘thank you,' or ‘you shouldn't have,' or all those things that furs said when getting such things. But she didn't say anything. Didn't even look at him. And, squirming, he ... felt something. Another bit of something. Fear? Of rejection? How was that possible? Why would it matter if she refused to take the gift? " ... Adele?" he finally went, not able to take the silence. He gently lifted her chin with his fingers.
Her eyes watery and red, darting away from his in embarrassment.
"You are crying." His voice was faint. And surprised. His tall, antennae-like ears drooped over. Why do I always make her cry? Is it simply her heat? Surely, she will not cry as much when her estrus passes. Rodents cannot be that emotional, can they? I was only trying to make a warm gesture. I was not trying to hurt her!
" ... w ... w-what ... "
" ... are you alright?" His worry grew. "Lieutenant?"
" ... y-yes ... t ... t-thank you," she stammered. Nodding. Barely audible. He almost didn't hear the words. She sniffled and kissed his cheek. About five or six times. Until coughing weakly, trembling and leaning all of herself against him. Wrapping herself around him. " ... thank you," she said, again. "That's such a sweet ... s-sweet sentiment." She hadn't expected this. She really hadn't.
Peyton was, quite frankly, floored. He had never been on the receiving end of such an emotional moment before. Even when they'd first bred in the science lab, the emotions, while strong, hadn't been this ‘raw.' The way she was touching him right now ... was not only physically, biologically ‘heat-needy,' but emotionally, psychologically needy, as well.
"That's ... no one's ever given me something l-like this. No one," she continued, eyes shimmering. "They just give ... " She swallowed. " ... stuff they could've given anyone, or gotten from anywhere." She looked down, clearing her throat. Fingering the medal again. " ... this is special. A-are you sure you want me to keep this?" She looked back up, having a hard time believing it.
The snow rabbit could only nod. A gentle nod, hugging her. And shuffling her back, back ...
... and she back-peddled, beginning to tug, to rip her shirt off. Carefully extracting the medal, taking it off, too, but ...
" ... leave it," he whispered. Very, very close to one of her angular, swiveling ears.
"It'll get messy," she said, panting. Worried.
"It can be cleaned. And, besides, when you long jump," he explained, literally dying to breed, but ... b-but holding off just another few seconds. " ... you break a sweat, you get covered in sand and dirt ... your heart races. When they present you with your medal, you are still in that state. Keep it on. And let me show you what it feels like to hop like a rabbit." Alright. Sex, now. Uh-h-huh ...
... a tiny squeak, an airy gasp from her, melting, then. Nearly. Very nearly, and maybe she actually did. It was hard to tell. In her frame of mind, it was hard to know anything for certain. Other than the fact that her heart was leaping, and her breath was gone in a swoon, and she was naked except for his medal, and she was on her back, and legs being pushed apart, and no foreplay, no, just the meshing of pelts, bumping of ... m-merging of ... a-ah ...
... a soft, mechanical ‘hiss' sound.
" ... ow! That hurts!" was the wide-eyed squeak. Whiskers twitching every which way. Which way, which way. And he squinted at the overhead lighting, quickly sitting up. The blood rushing to his head. " ... w-whoa." He adjusted his posture to a sit.
"Not supposed to hurt. Long as you keep still," the kangaroo added. "I told you not to wriggle. Like, uh ... only about FOUR times."
"I can't NOT ... not wriggle." He rubbed his arm. Scrunching his features.
"That like a triple-negative or something? How does that work?"
"Can I roll my sleeve back down, now?"
"Denison, it's a hypo-spray. Hypo. Below. It injects ‘beneath' the fur and skin. Not through it. It's a proven technology. It doesn't hurt." A pause. "And, yes, you can roll it down."
He nodded, doing so. "It hurt. I felt a little ... a little bite-thing." Anxiety, now, creeping into his voice. Which lowered to a private whisper. "Like a bug-bite feeling."
" ... well ... you can sometimes feel it if you move. It throws the sensors off. Makes the injection more difficult." Briscoe turned. And tidied his medical equipment a bit. "But, even so, you're exaggerating. Doesn't matter if it's cute. You're still doing it."
"I don't know why I need this, anyway," the grey-furred mouse said, sitting on the edge of a bio-bed. His bare foot-paws not quite reaching the carpeted floor. He swung his legs a bit.
"Cause. Those bees on that ship were killed by decompression to the vacuum of space, true, but," the roo Doctor added, raising a single finger, pleased at his medical prowess for uncovering things that most would've missed, " ... but: they were infected with a sickness before that happened."
A twitch. "S-sickness?"
"It's going around with bees. No other insects. Never been a case of a mammal getting it, but I'd be a careless physician if I didn't at least keep you monitored for a day or two. Something could've slipped through de-con."
The mouse was quiet for a moment. "You think that's why the yellow jackets are trying to pick a fight with the bees? Cause they're in a weakened state? Cause of this health thing?"
"I dunno. I don't think this is a fast-acting problem, or that it came from the yellow jackets. It's very slow. Very gradual. Degrades the motor pathways. I mean, it takes years to show symptoms. Really, more like a degenerative thing ... which wouldn't surprise me. Considering their breeding habits."
"What do you mean?" The mouse's eyes, again, returned to a widened state. That innocence, slightly-naïve look.
"Well, when a single female ... their Queen, say, is giving birth to your species' entire population, you know. No matter how many males she ‘gets with,' it's still gonna cause problems down the line. I mean, I'd think so. At least when it comes to sentient life-forms."
" ... yeah." The rodent thought for a moment. "If there was only one female fur, I don't know what I'd do. Cause she wouldn't choose me. Then what would be the point of anything?" At times, he put females on a pedestal, it seemed. He adored them. And his penchant for romance was obviously very high.
"You don't know what you'd do, huh?" the roo questioned, cheekily. "Come on, Denison."
"Come on, what?" A blink.
" ... you're rather effeminate. You know that."
"So? Males mouses are." His voice sounding rather wispy. His posture always more submissive than not.
"Yeah, why is that?" A curious head-tilt. Blinking. His blunt muzzle and angular ears suddenly tilting the other way. The roo was tall. Buff. Not, like, muscles popping out, but he was definitely strong. Legs even stronger than a rabbit's. And, of course, that long tail. His fur, all over, was a sandy brown.
"You're the doctor. You tell me."
"Mm ... well, I don't know. But in the absence of femmes, I'm sure you wouldn't have a problem. Now, me? I'd die. But you ... "
" ... what do you mean?" His eyes got wider. "I'd be as sad as you."
"That's not the point. You know? You'd have other options."
" ... how?"
The roo waved a paw. "You're not THAT innocent, bud."
A stubborn head-shake. "If you mean what I think you mean, you're wrong. I don't ... I don't wanna do that."
"Not, now, anyway. Not when you're wrapped around a hot snow bunny's finger."
" ... don't say that!" Denison urged, seriously. "They don't like being called that. That's like ... " A stammer. Coming up with an example. " ... that's like if you called a mouse a critter. Or a varmint. It's degrading."
"Heh. Varmint." And another, even louder chuckle. "Critter!"
Denison squinted. Smoothing at his grayish fur, pink ears arching. Like dishes.
"I've heard rabbits call other rabbits bunnies," Briscoe eventually assured.
"Yeah, in sex programs in the holo-suite." A pause. "Not that ... I'd know. About that," he said, quickly, ears turning red.
"Heh!"
"I don't!"
"I think every fur has used ‘programs' at one time or another. If you don't have a mate, and you're lonely ... hard to resist. No shame there."
"It's a bad habit."
"It can be. But ... I wouldn't say it's bad to try. Now and then. Mind, the real thing's better. Those programs seem real, but you can tell. Psychologically, especially, it's not even close to being as fulfilling."
" ... anyway, that was the only lusty program I used. I usually ... " Mumble-mumble, mousey mumble. " ... romantic ones. But it was right before Majestic launched. At space-dock. They only had snow rabbit programs there."
"Bet that blew your mind. Among other things."
His ears got beet-red. The capillaries began to show round the rims. " ... don't know," he said, evasively, looking down. And then back up. "And I haven't done any of that since I found out Annika became free."
"So, you were attracted to her ... even before? Right away?"
"When she, uh, called me to the first staff meeting? The day we launched. We were the only two in the room, and ... and I don't know. I just melted. And she asked me what was wrong, and I said nothing was. And she said she wasn't familiar with mouse mannerisms, and that would I please control the flagellations of my tail, cause I almost got it in her fruit juice, and I asked her what flagellations meant, and ... "
" ... alright, alright. I get it." The roo held up his paws, and then sat beside Denison. On the bio-bed. "Love at first sight, huh?"
"Is that bad? Is that crude?"
"I don't think so. I mean, love is half physical ... you can't have romantic love, passionate love, without physical appreciation and interest. That's simply a part of it. Mind, the other half: the emotions, the personality? In a good mate-ship, they're just as strong. They gotta be. Cause they're gonna last a lot longer than the physical ... I mean, furs ‘do it' ‘til they drop, you know, but ... the breeding drive does slow down. All the same. When you get old. And if the body goes, you gotta have emotions there. Or there's nothing left."
A swallow, and a little nod. His big ears swiveling like dishes atop his head. Again. "The emotional half is there. It's just ... I didn't really know about snow rabbits, you know. I didn't realize, at first, that they ... I thought they were suppressing their emotions on purpose. I didn't know it was genetic. I didn't know they had no choice."
"They can thaw. They can choose to thaw. But they can't fully melt, no ... it would destroy them. They would turn feral." He'd seen it happen before. A medical condition. Radiation exposure. It had messed with the part of the brain that controlled that ‘freeze.' The result hadn't been pretty.
" ... yeah." A worried look. " ... do you think I'm too effeminate? Is that what you were trying to say earlier?"
"No, no. Mousey, it's not a bad thing. You're a submissive creature. Nothing wrong with that ... it's your nature. Mine? I'm somewhere between prey and predator. We're one of those ‘in-between' species. So, my approach to things is a bit of a mish-mash."
" ... mm," he went, smoothing his uniform-shirt. Looking down. "We're not even mated yet. Me and Annika."
"Have you asked her? Directly?"
" ... I've ... no. I don't know. I thought I did. I get too shy, sometimes. She knows, though. There's no way she doesn't know. I mean ... " A sigh. " ... I've made it pretty clear."
"Mm. It'll happen. Don't worry ... though you never answered my question."
"Which one ... "
"What if there was only a single option? I mean, look at the bees ... ninety-nine percent male? They got no females, realistically. How do you think they express their passions? Honestly?"
"Not thinking about it. Not thinking about it," Denison said, closing his eyes and shaking his head.
"Stubborn, stubborn."
"Am not," was the immediate blurt.
"No?"
"No." He crossed his arms and raised his pink, sniff-y nose. And then, easing his posture a bit, he confided, " ... I'm cranky." His whiskers drooped. "I'm sorry. I'm not usually this way."
"You need some tail, is what you need."
"That's crude to say." He shifted. "I want love. Companionship, affection, and ... all those things that can't be quantified in words. Only feelings."
"Tail helps, though. Gotta admit." A wink. "And, hey, I'm a married fur. I know where you're coming from." Briscoe was mated to the ship's helm officer. The pilot. Seurat, a goldfinch. She was also in charge of the shuttle pods.
"You do?"
"Sure." An easy nod. "Hell, I grew up in the desert, you know? In a tribe. Nomadic ... all the femmes were backstabbers. They'd sleep with you if you were the leader, but ... and I wasn't the leader. So, no luck. And forget about love."
"Kangaroos always seem so laid-back, though. Why would they plot like that?"
"Laid-back, yeah. But aloof. Bit of a swagger. Gets to our head. Heh ... anyway, you know, I was getting bored with it. No chance of advancement in a nomadic clan ... no intelligent conversation, either. I remember one time, a Federation shuttle-pod landed there. My world. To provide diplomatic mediation to a clan dispute. Well ... the clans ended up destroying the pod, sending the furs into the desert. They got rescued in time, but ... there's a reason the roo home-world is autonomous. Cause no one wants to admit them to any respectable organization. They're like pirates. No unified government. Just ... it was just aimless. So, I left."
"Just like that?" the mouse asked.
"Just like that. Didn't miss it at all." His long, limber tail, a balance to his hopping body, raised and lowered. Making a smack sound on the bio-bed cushion. " ... course, they tried to stop me." A dramatic pause.
" ... yeah?" The mouse swallowed, unblinking. Rapt.
"Oh, yeah. Yeah. Swashbuckling hijinks ensued."
"But I thought hijinks meant ... merrymaking? Good times?" A confused blink.
" ... it was good times." A grin and a wink. "Of course, I settled down once I finally got away, but ... and even mated. You know. When I was in the Academy. Seurat was originally the teacher's assistant for, uh ... h-heh. Piloting 101. You know? They want all officers to at least know how to land a shuttle-pod or something, or steer it ... in case of emergency."
"Yeah, I know. I didn't do good in that class. I got too panicky during the landings."
"So, she took me on a solo flight, right. Round the moons. And ... "
The mouse's ears started to turn pink. Pinker. Rosy red. He knew where this was going, and he started to stammer shyly, " ... uh ... eh ... "
" ... dark side of the moon, right? Was when we were off sensors for twenty minutes? Well, it didn't take twenty minutes. H-heh, heh ... but I was pent up, you know. And I had protection with me. I told her a good medical student would. That was the first time I made her laugh. She also liked that I was the only student in the class that didn't make a bird joke. You know, do birds know how to fly? Can you really fly this thing? So ... but, yeah, it was good. I lasted a lot longer the second time ... but that was after a nice supper. We mated within a week. See, I could never be a mouse: you guys wait ‘til you're actually mated to consummate things. Or you make it a point of trying, anyway." A shake of the head. "Yeah. Roos don't do that ... "
A throat-dry nod. Saying nothing. He didn't want to be hearing this. Roos were too sociable, by far. Once you got one going ... oh, boy, it was hard to shut them up. Goodness! And Denison kept opening his muzzle to intervene, but Briscoe kept on talking.
"Wasn't one of those romantic, candlelight, love poem ... mate-ships. Not at first. It was more, like, yeah, we liked each other, and why not? But, now? I love her dearly. I mean, I always did, but it's mellower, now. And ... I, uh, actually quite regret that I can't give her children. I should love to have a baby with her."
" ... you could always adopt. When we get planet-side, somewhere," the mouse injected. Finally getting a word in. "That's what a lot of mixed-species pairs do."
"Yeah, I know." The roo looked to his feet, kicking them a bit. "But I love HER, and want to make ... life with HER. Have it come from us. Is that so selfish?"
The mouse shook his head. "No. I, uh ... hope I can do the same with Annika."
"Well, you got a ten percent chance. It's been done. With mouses and snow rabbits. It's a zero percent chance with birds and roos." He put on a smile, saying, "But, you know, I have her, and that's enough ... not gonna get sad about that. I actually find it interesting."
"What?"
"Being in a mixed-species mate-ship. Not that I expected to wind up in one. I don't think anyone ever does."
Denison nodded. Her certainly didn't. He'd dreamed, always, of winding up with a sweet, rural mouse. A country femme.
"But that's the thing about being in the fleet. I mean, you look at a regular planet-side population: easily seventy-five, eighty percent of the mate-ships are same-species, or if not same-species, then ... offspring-capable. But you look on star-ships? And it's a flip-flop: only about twenty percent of the mate-ships on starships are same-species."
"How come?" the mouse asked. He'd honestly never really thought about it.
"Well, the population on a star-ship is both smaller AND more diverse than a planet's. So, if you're living in the country surrounded by more mouses than you can shake a stick at, and your family's all mouses ... you're gonna end up with a mouse. Or if you're a skunk living in a town with lots of skunks, and your family's all skunks, you're gonna ... and so on, so on. But if you're on a star-ship, away from all family and relations, without that influence and pressure to remain within your own ‘species circle,' and you're the only mouse onboard, or one of only, say, a paw-ful ... and you work closely, every day, with a snow rabbit? I mean ... "
Denison nodded.
" ... that's just how it works. It's fascinating, I think. How the statistics change once you get into space. How it alters furs' behaviors a bit."
Does Briscoe ever stop to take a breath, the mouse wondered? It was seriously worrying. Denison had to watch his nostrils flare, just to be sure.
"You seem a very earthy sort. Lots of roots," the roo observed, changing the subject a bit.
Denison's whiskers twitched. "Yeah. I cried when I left home. I miss the countryside, still. A lot. I want to go back to it ... eventually."
"So, why are you here? Why scurry into space?"
"I'm wide-eyed. Everyone tells me that. I don't know what it means, but that must be the answer. I ... I want to see things. I want to do things. In the heavens." He sighed and trailed. " ... I didn't think I'd meet an angel, though."
Briscoe rolled his eyes. Making a gag-gesture. "That's some sharp cheddar there, mousey. As in ‘cheesy'."
"It's romantic. She is like an angel ... Annika is."
" ... most furs on this ship know bits and pieces about her history. I don't claim to know more than most, but as someone who's run frequent medical scans on her, I'd say the wounds she carries beneath her fur ... physically? She's been roughed up. And I'm pretty sure she was doing some roughing of her own, so ... "
" ... what do you mean? Fighting? I know she was in the wars."
That's not what the roo had meant, though. During a physical, he'd noticed she had scar tissue ... in, perhaps, a sensitive place. And though Annika hadn't admitted it, the roo was worldly enough to know that she'd been raped. Or, at the very least, had been forcibly bred by a predator. And knowing she'd fought in the snow rabbit/Arctic fox war, it wasn't hard to imagine scenarios. But there was no reason to tell this to Denison. The mouse would undoubtedly get sick with worry. Probably freak out, even. He wouldn't be able to handle knowing that someone had done that to his love. If she wanted to tell him, she would.
"Briscoe?"
"Mm? Oh, yeah ... yeah, fighting."
"Well, I love her."
A small smile, and a gentle whisper. "I know you do."
"I'm not normally so angst-y and cranky. I'm normally brighter than this. It's just that ... I'm so close to being with her. Finally. And ... I'm all nerves. I'm just on pins and needles. I want it so bad. Every time I see her, now, I wonder if it'll be the time. Where we say the words. And take the vows. And where we come together in spiritual union ... to know each other as wonderfully as two beings possibly can." A soft sigh, eyes dreamily looking off at the wall.
He really is that innocent, Briscoe told himself. I'll be damned. Not immature, or naïve. He's sharp enough. He's an adult. He knows things, but ... okay, maybe ‘idealistic' was a better word. Or better yet, stating the obvious: romantic.
" ... I just think she's so smart and strong. And it makes me weak at the knees. And I can tell she's stressed out, and I want to take care of her. And help her to, uh ... to not be." A sigh. "I love it when she eye-smiles."
" ... I don't know if that injection I gave you worked after all, Denison. You clearly are sick. Lovesick."
A bright, dimpled smile. Whiskers a-twitch. "Heh ... eh, that was a good one."
"Yeah, I knew you'd appreciate that." A smile of his own. "Hey, did I show you my tribal tattoo?"
"No ... "
"Mm, look ... " The roo shifted a bit, lifting his shirt. "Between my shoulder blades. Wasn't my choice. They give it to you young."
"Looks like, uh, abstract ... black and blue shapes." It was neat. And the mouse said so. He also noticed, but didn't mention ... that the roo had a pretty well-defined back. Fairly toned beneath the pelt.
"Thanks. Symbols, yeah. Seurat likes it. She likes to trace them with her fingers. When I'm on my belly." He lowered his shirt back down, smiling.
"Mouses are pretty traditional about doing stuff to the body. Like, if a mouse gets their ears pierced, even though you'd think our ears would be good for it ... it's ... you know, a big scandal. Cause the ears are so sensual to us. I mean, I always liked earrings in femme-mouses, personally ... but I grew up in a conservative area. So, I didn't see any of that." A deep breath. Feeling better, really, than before. Hopeful. " ... uh, can I ask you something? Slightly different?"
"Shoot."
"What?" Eyes wide with alarm.
"Go ahead," the roo said, chuckling.
"I wanna do something for her. Annika. With, uh ... you're gonna think this is stupid. Or cornball."
"No, no. Go ahead."
" ... well ... I wanna, like, feed her fruit. You know, like ... romantically, laying down, dangling above the nose, and tracing the lips. Biting. The juice. Kissing. You know. We make out a lot. We just haven't gone, uh ... further. Yet. And I thought, you know, feeding each other would be sweet. I just don't know what fruit to use. I thought about cherries, but they have pits."
"Not if you get them from the food processor."
"I want something from the hydroponics bay. Something real. That makes it more special."
"Processor food tastes just as real to me."
"I grew up on a farm. I know the difference," the mouse assured. " ... now, they have strawberries in the bay, but that's kinda cliché, I thought."
"Mm." The roo rubbed his own chin. "Mm, yeah. It is, really. But you pretty much need something soft. You don't want apples or something crispy."
"Grapes?"
" ... heh. Too opulent."
"Pineapple?" the rodent wondered.
"Too sticky."
" ... mm." A squeak, squirming. "Uh ... oh. Oh, wait." He perked. "She's always eating blueberries. In fact, if someone else has blueberries, she'll take them. I mean, she'll nip a few." A bright, shy smile. "Blueberries. Plump, juicy ones."
"There you go, then," the roo said, nodding, and giving the mouse a big pat on the back. "Now, I think your lunch break is almost over. You are the ship's Ops officer, aren't you? Don't you have work to do?"
"Yeah, I do. I gotta get back to the bridge. But, uh ... thanks. For the chat. And stuff." The mouse slipped off the bio-bed, tail wavering behind him. Like a long, silky line.
"You're welcome." Briscoe, too, hopped off the bio-bed. "Just tell Annika to come in for her follow-up shot."
A hesitation. " ... eh, she ... said she's not going to. She doesn't want any more ‘damn scans'."
The roo understood why. But, again, didn't mention it to his friend. "Well, you can give her the hypo, then. Doesn't have to be me." He reached for an empty hypo, reloaded it, and gave it over. "Just return it, okay? I don't like losing equipment."
A quiet nod. And a deep breath. "Okay ... later," Denison said, scurrying for the door, and ...
" ... we are receiving a hail. Lieutenant?"
The goldfinch, stout beak clacking, turned with a chirp-chirrup. "What?"
"You are the ranking officer on the bridge," the snow rabbit said. From the communications station, with a silvery earpiece in his ear. Monitoring subspace frequencies. He was only an ensign. Humphrey. Proficient at languages. He had a good tongue. You only had to ask his ‘partners.'
"I'm at helm. I mean ... "
" ... the ship is on what amounts to autopilot at the moment. You do not do much piloting at warp. Only out of it." A nod at the streaking stars on the viewer. "And we are at warp. Do you think you can take the call?"
The finch rolled her eyes, fluffing her winged arms. "You're too logical."
An eye-smile.
"Fine. Fine, yeah ... where's the Captain, though?"
"In a very fertile location," said another snow rabbit. From the other side of the bridge. A femme, this time. There were only three furs on the bridge. The two snow rabbits and Seurat. " ... no doubt."
"Adele's quarters, then," the finch said.
"That is not what I meant," the femme said, slowly. But unabashedly.
"Yeah, I know what you meant." A dry twitter. "Okay, and I don't know where Annika is, but ... "
" ... the hail is repeating," Humphrey said. "Ma'am?"
Truth be told, Seurat was stalling. Hoping some higher-ranking officer would stroll onto the bridge. Where was Denison? He was supposed to be here by now. She hated taking comm-calls. "I'm only doing this if I get to sit in the Captain's chair while doing it. Okay? Seriously."
"That is your prerogative," Humphrey said.
Seurat, standing, spread her winged arms to full span. Her feathers were golden-yellow. Not as much as a male goldfinch's, but still ... with streaks of brown, black. Earthy, really, with a sunflower-y, autumnal glow. And she flapped everything a few times, bringing it all back down to her sides, talon-feet strolling across the carpet. She turned, shook her tail-feathers, and sank into the Captain's chair. "Alright, let's have it."
The screen blinked.
And, on it: the face of a bee. A honeybee (for he was to slender to be a bumble; and hairier instead of fuzzy). Yes, yes, a bee. Who said, before Seurat could register her surprise, "Greetings! Friend bird. I call from not so very far. A day's journey. I am hoping for a rendezvous. We have much to discuss."
The goldfinch squinted her dark eyes. Cocking her head. Granted her ears were only holes in the side of her skull, but she swore she heard ... music? Strings? Blaring in the background of whatever shuttle-pod the bee was in. And did he have paint on his wings?
" ... ah, yes, from your stares. I see. Paint and gossamer do not mix. But I have a surefire remover. It involves a honey bath." A sigh from the bee. Most good things involved a honey bath.
" ... um ... okay." Weird, she thought to herself. "And who are you? What do you want?" After saying this, the bird flinched. Uh, real diplomatic there, Seurat. You probably just set fur/bee relations back a decade or two. Well, hey, I'm not a public speaker. Leave that to my husband. Or the snow rabbits. I'm even hesitant to sing in the sonic shower. And I'm a natural-born singer!
"You found a ship of ours."
"That wasn't us."
A curious, antennae-waggling tilt. "Apologies, but Majesty insists it was. And Majesty is never wrong."
"Majesty?" A continued squint, and then a blink. "Oh. Oh, your Queen, right?"
"You found a ship." It was a statement of fact. The bee straightening up, his yellow and black caution stripes clearly evident. A stinger swaying behind him.
"Yeah, but what I meant was ... we didn't kill your crew. We didn't decompress the vessel. It was in snow rabbit space. It wasn't supposed to be, so we boarded it."
The bee's head bowed. " ... a vesper for my brothers. Yes." His head raised. "You no doubt discovered."
"Yeah, I'm sorry, uh ... " She rubbed her feathered neck with a winged arm. " ... sorry about your loss." She felt a little weird, suddenly. Some furs actually ate insects. Herself included. It was a necessary part of her diet. Birds, bats, et cetera, ate a lot of, uh ... bugs. Not sentient ones, of course. But, still ... she'd never had one talk to her before. And the more she thought about it, the more uncomfortable she felt. " ... uh, so ... the Captain's busy. I'm the helm officer."
"Helm?"
"Pilot," she supplied.
"Ah, yes, the flap and fly. The buzz-buzz."
"No, I ... I do it without the buzzing. I chirp, though. If that makes any difference." She clacked her golden beak.
"Ah, but your Captain ... is busy doing the love-make? No doubt? I hear that is what furs know how to do."
A frown. Or the beaked equivalent. "We know how to do a lot more than that," she defended, more lamely than she would've liked. Well, it's partially true, she told herself. Isn't it? We do, right? She cleared her throat. "Now, there's really nothing to settle in regards to your ship ... "
" ... but I carry information. Important as it is, about the yellow jackets. I know of their motives. Their plans. We can work together to stop them before they truly start."
Seurat felt a flare of anxiety. "We're only one vessel. There have been too many wars in these parts, anyway, last few years ... just leave us out of it."
"You do not understand. The yellow jackets do not wish war."
A squint. Surprised. "Then what do they want?"
The bee, compound eyes glittering, was swaying to a crescendo in the music. The part with the cello. Yes, that always got to him. Oh, yes, it ...
" ... hello?"
A buzz-buzz. Snapping back to attention. "I will explain all once I arrive to your snow ship." And he looked past her to Humphrey. " ... and hello to you. Friend tall ears. M-hmm ... " It was almost a sensual buzz-buzz-sound. Seurat had heard rumors. About what many bees went for (with their dire lack of females), but ...
" ... if you're done ogling?" Seurat squinted. "A day's journey, yeah? Well, we'll keep you on sensors."
The bee looked back to the bird. "I am coming from the opposite direction, so you needn't slow speed or change course. Just drop to impulse when we get into range. And I shall dock with you. Until then, snow ship!"
And the screen blinked off.
Seurat sighed. " ... I suppose, as ranking officer, you two are gonna expect me to fill in Peyton and Annika about all this?" She really didn't want the complication. She just wanted to go back to looking at star-charts. As she'd been doing while keeping the ship on warp auto-pilot.
"Correct, ma'am," the snow rabbits said in unison, bobtails bobbing.
"Well, in that case, I'm sitting in this chair for a little while longer." A slight, confiding whistle, looking at the viewer. At the depths of sequined space. "You get a good view from here, don't you ... "