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Eoin McCraken had not pedaled his bike harder or faster in all his life. He was plenty winded, and the biting air of the cold, clear New Year's Day morning attacked his lungs with ice spears. He was beyond caring; he only knew that he had to get back to Benedict as fast as he could. He careened into the driveway, nearly skidding into the van that waited to one side, rear doors open, the large and luxurious skunk's tail expressing an irritated flick before moving with the rest of the body to reveal Royal's lean frame and frowning visage.

Before the saluki could speak, Zachary Parker also came to a stop behind him. Eoin had wanted to come back on his own, but both the Akita and Jerry and insisted. Not quite as desperate as the grad student nor as strong as the undergrad, the otter nevertheless was not far behind; a recumbent bicycle can achieve great speeds when not hampered by traffic.

"Eoin, are you all right?" The skunk released the 10-liter catering urn that he'd been about to carry into the house, turning fully toward the young saluki.

"Benedict?"

"Inside, and this isn't an ambulance. Get your breath; what are you doing, exercising like that without a scarf to breathe through?" He looked past the grad student, seeing the Akita and, after a moment, the otter riding up. "Go park your bikes," he said. "Get inside and get warm. I've got this."

"Back here," Eoin said to the others, trotting through the slush on the blacktopped driveway toward the back of the house. He was only beginning to see the sense of what Royal had been talking about. Had the temperature been several degrees lower, the air being pulled into his lungs could have set him up for pneumonia; as it was, he was hoping that his overall health would prevent that.

He chained his bike to the bar that he usually used for stretching before a run... like I did with Zachary that morning, he thought. Something in him felt as if he were closing a circle, but he had no idea what that could mean. There was plenty of room for the other two; he knew that Jerry's recumbent bike probably cost a packet, but it should be safe here in broad daylight. "Front door should be open," he said, still panting a little. "C'mon."

The saluki forgot his manners a bit, gaining the portico at the front door ahead of the other two who, he noticed, had gone to help Royal. He was about to turn back when he heard the door open and a familiar voice speaking to him. "Come in, Eoin; they'll be fine."

Dean Nelson Williamson was always imposing, leaning toward intimidating, depending on the circumstances of the meeting; the chestnut-furred wolverine's stocky build was strong, and the force of his personality was something that Eoin was glad that he'd never had to experience as a transgressor of collegiate rules. Now, however, the look in the dean's eyes was both warm and worried. Somewhat unexpectedly, he took Eoin into a warm embrace and whispered in his ear, "I'm glad you've come back."

The saluki returned the hug. "Is he all right?"

"Remains to be seen, but your being here will help immensely." The older male pulled back, his forepaws still on the slender grad student's shoulders. It was then that Eoin realized that the dean had been crying.

"What in...?" Too shocked and moved to remember his self-presumed place, the saluki cupped the wolverine's cheek with a tender forepaw. "What's happened? Are you all right?"

Nelson, smiling a little, place his forepaw over Eoin's. "Let's just say that I've known Benedict long enough to realize what a stupid prick he can be." He turned his muzzle to give a kiss to the saluki's palm, then took the forepaw away gently. "We should talk, you and I, but Benedict first. He's in his bedroom, which may still stink to high heaven. At least I got him to bathe and dress, so I'll hope for the best. I'll take care of your friends. I think maybe we'll need them as well."

Eoin was about to ask a question when Nelson squeezed his shoulder and jutted a chin toward the back of the house. The saluki paused, then nodded and walked through the entryway and into the wide hallway. He could only imagine that the door the master bedroom was open, as the wisps of scent hit his nose before he was even halfway there. In his few years with Benedict, the young dog had learned a great deal about dragons, not the least of which being that regular, thorough ablutions were recommended if the saurian wished to venture out in public at any time. When submitting to a state equivalent to a self-induced coma, in order to rest after intense exertion (such as staying awake for several days in a row for some particular reason or project), a dragon's anatomy creates an automatic means of self-maintenance and self-protection. Ridding the body of various toxins and undesired biochemicals provided both, as the resulting stench from what, in mammals, would be considered "sweat" was often close enough to the smell of putrefaction that it would put off most of those whose curiosity had gotten the better of them.

The smell itself was less bothersome to Eoin than to most. For one thing, someone -- probably Benedict himself -- had seen to clearing it up somewhat; for another, Eoin had dealt with it before. On four occasions (three of them, holidays), the dragon had exhausted himself enough to want his "beauty sleep," as he jokingly called it in good times. Having discovered both the physiology involved in these intensive "naps" and the desire to keep the drake's usually fastidious hygiene at least partially intact, Eoin had taken it upon himself to provide the equivalent of a sponge bath at least once per day. A trusted presence, the saluki was able to move about and to touch Benedict without disturbing the deep sleep. He was never sure if the dragon was able to acknowledge anything said to him during those times, but Eoin made certain to announce his presence softly before beginning the bathing and always to say "I love you" as he departed. He would sometimes talk about his day, about friends, about his feelings for the drake. Perhaps some part of the dragon's brain registered it.

Entering the master bedroom, Eoin found not the prone form of a dreaming drake but instead the almost comical actions of Benedict attempting to apply a fitted sheet to his oversized bed. All of his furniture was custom-made, for obvious reasons, and fixtures and fittings had to be the same. For the purpose of accommodating the dragon (and whoever else might be joining him), the bed was fully 230cm on each side, and although the fitted sheet should (in theory) be equally square, thus allowing any corner of the sheet to fit any corner of the bed, the maker of the sheet sets knew perfectly well that the width was very slightly more than the height.

"Tags," Eoin said softly.

The dragon jerked up his head so quickly that the saluki was worried that it would pivot a full circle before stopping. The eyes that beheld him dug a hole in the younger male's heart; he saw worry in them, uncertainty, hurt, and most startling of all, fear. The dog felt his blood chill. He was looking into the eyes of someone who never let himself be seen without his shields, but who stood now without even the slightest pretense of such protections.

"What?" Benedict finally managed.

"Tags." Reaching out carefully, Eoin managed to take the sheet from the drake and search for one of the two corners that had a tag sewn inside. This, he took around to the right-paw side of the head of the bed and tucked the thick mattress into the pocket, tossing the rest of the sheet toward Benedict on the other side. After only a moment's hesitation, crimson claws managed to fit the opposite corner with ease, and both males moved to tuck in the end of the bed at almost the same time. The sheet had lost a touch of its crispness during Benedict's tussle with it, but it smelled delicately clean (the household's preferred surfactant was only very lightly scented, something like mild flowers) and it shone yellow like the sun. It was the dragon's paean to the great fictional detective whose gastronomic expertise and love of orchids rivaled his genius for solving particularly complex mysteries.

Without speaking, the dragon handed two king-sized pillowcases across to Eoin, who took up the pillows on what had been (still was?) his side of the bed as Benedict made short work of his own. The two unfurled and set a flat sheet, a particularly sumptuous blanket, and a fine, paw-made quilt that (if he was to be believed) Benedict had commissioned from a fine Amish clan in a neighboring state. With the bed made up, the room looked neater and, perhaps for the waving of clean cloth through the air, smelled fresher besides. Silence lay heavy as the two simply looked at each other.

"Are you okay?" Eoin asked softly.

"A question whose answer is a matter of conjecture."

The saluki stood quiet again. What astonished him into that silence was the sensation of a quaver in Benedict's tone of voice. He had the distinct impression of the dragon attempting to don emotional armor and finding that it had slid off of him and now lay in a crumpled heap upon the floor.

"I got here as fast as I could."

"From young master Zachary's apartment?"

A note of rancor, an attempt at a whiplash that held no sting to it. Keeping his voice carefully modulated, the saluki answered. "He and I were at Guy and Cole's house, for their afternoon New Year's party. They asked after you. In fact, Annabelle asked after you."

Benedict only nodded. "And what did you tell them?"

"I told Annabelle that her g'anpa might show up later, and I told Guy that I was becoming seriously worried about you."

Something in the dragon's demeanor seemed to shift, although Eoin couldn't say what it was nor in precisely what way it had shifted. "Were you indeed," he said somewhat flatly.

"Yes, Benedict. Yes, I was."

"And now?"

"I still am. Can you tell me?"

After several moments, Benedict asked, "What did Nelson tell you?"

Another delaying tactic. Eoin wasn't so petty as to number them, but he was well aware of them. "That it was time for me to come home. That's all."

The dragon looked down at the floor, or at his hindclaws, or at nothing. The saluki felt certain that the long lifespan of his species meant that Benedict measured time differently from the rest of the world, and that huge gaps in the conversation were, in some ways, merely a means of maintaining control. Perhaps it was intentional, perhaps not. In this instance, it was the final straw that made him take an action that, for years afterward, he would come to believe was the most daring thing he'd ever done. With three rapid, economical steps, he rushed up to the drake, grabbed his head by his cheeks, and pulled him into the most passionate kiss that he could muster.

Benedict's arms flew up in surprise, and even though he tried to pull away from the kiss, he could not break the grip that the younger male had on his face. Whimpering, whining, Eoin shut his eyes, willing all of his love, his frustration, his desperation, his need, pushing all of himself into the kiss, absolutely certain that this was the moment when he would either win what he desired or be told that he would have to survive his life without it forevermore.

* * * * * * * * * *

Jerry had last visited Professor Spencer's amazing kitchen only a week ago, and he and Zachary had again taken up one of the well-padded benches in the breakfast nook, this time surreptitiously holding forepaws underneath the table. Dean Williamson and Royal had finished setting up the portable coffee urn and setting a variety of edibles onto plates and setting them on the table.

"I wasn't sure if you'd had breakfast," the dean offered, his velvety baritone voice still ever so slightly sensuous to the otter's ears. "Please help yourselves. I'd offer an omelet, if there were any eggs left in the house; the last dozen disappeared down Benedict's gullet a few hours ago. I'd be happy to see what else I might prepare for you, if...?"

"There looks to be a lot here," Jerry observed, "unless it's all for Professor Spenser."

Zachary looked a little perplexed, and the dean helped to fill in. "Benedict has been... fasting for several days. It's a dragon thing. He doesn't usually eat everything in the household for breakfast. I'm sure there will be plenty. Please, help yourselves. Milk? Juice? Coffee?"

Jerry was far from ready to have the Dean of Students wait upon him so attentively, but Williamson was pleasant, chatty, and had gotten a few secrets about last night out of the otter's maw before he was fully aware of what had happened. For someone with a reputation of brooking no nonsense from furs who had broken the rules, the well-dressed wolverine was exceptionally easy to talk to. That, the young grad student realized, was probably part of his administrative arsenal as well.

"I'm glad that the three of you were able to ring in the new year amid such good company." His smile was soft and in no way condescending as he looked to Jerry. "Your confidences are safe with us, young furs. If I may put it this way, thank you for looking after Eoin."

His tail flicking a bit petulantly, Royal stepped over with a pair of coffee mugs, matched in style and different in color, to tell them apart. "I think you've both tried the Pitch Blend before; just in case, I'd suggest adding the Cornish cream and a healthy dose of sugar besides. This batch is unstinted for use on his crimson majesty."

It was Zachary who managed to murmur, "I'm guessing something's wrong."

The skunk, now standing at the large preparation island in the kitchen shook his head. "I apologize," he said. "I feel like I've gotten up on the wrong side of the floor this morning. I didn't mean to take it out on any of you."

"You haven't," Jerry said graciously. "I think we're all concerned about Benedict. Your call was very short, Dean Williamson, and Eoin said nothing other than that he had to get back here right away."

"And you all came with him."

"How could we not?"

The wolverine smiled again. "If I may say, thank you for your loyalty as well. Eoin has chosen his friends wisely." He set down a plate with a variety of fruit Danish, indicating gently that the two should follow his lead and take at least one for themselves. The three sat quietly while Royal finished his preparations and joined them, taking a raspberry Danish for himself. Chewing took up a few minutes as they sat in a companionable silence. Jerry, knowing that his tail was his worst tell, actually sat on the tip of it as he tried to remember his table etiquette, his ability to breathe, and his patience all at the same time. He felt only moderately successful.

"They seem to be taking their time talking." It was Royal who broke the silence, his own tail offering another faintly irritated flick.

Smiling softly, the dean observed, "Let's hope that's a good sign. If we heard furniture crashing about, or other sounds of carnage and devouring, we'd be up to our pupiks in paperwork."

Jerry was about to ask what a pupik was when a familiar rolling baritone filled the room. "Are we to resort to Yiddish, Nelson?"

"What finer language to speak of near-catastrophes and worrisome uncertainties?" The wolverine looked carefully, sternly, at the crimson dragon. "Are we awake?"

The drake's nostrils twitched. "Getting better every moment." He moved without his usual grace (Jerry thought) to fill a large mug from the portable urn. Without waiting for the liquid to cool, nor for the polite offering of a toast or other acknowledgement, he upended his cup into his maw and seemed to swallow the still-steaming liquid without even the slightest gulp. After righting his muzzle, he refilled his mug as if it were his first pass at the brew. Jerry noticed, with a touch of amusement mixed with faint consternation, the tiny wisps of smoke rising from his nostrils. Logic told him that it couldn't be from the coffee, but the idea was too easy to imagine.

"I apologize, Royal, for treating your finest brew so shabbily," he said, topping off his cup. "It is an occasion when I must first be awake enough to appreciate it. I've almost arrived at the point where I could even feign civility." The dragon managed a smile that looked reasonable for someone still emerging from what must have been a deeply profound sleep. "I wish a good morning to all, despite my ill manners."

"Good morning, Professor Spenser," Jerry offered. "I think we're all allowed a little leeway when we first wake up."

The large crimson head sketched a short bow in Jerry's direction. "Thank you, Jerry, although I think we're at the 'Benedict' stage by now, aren't we?"

The otter felt himself blush a little. "Only after enough coffee."

Chuckling a little, the professor raised his mug in salute. "Touché." He looked to the rest of the table as Eoin entered, seeming to Jerry to be an odd combination of flustered and determined. "Good morning to you, Zachary. I'm very glad to see you. Happy New Year to you all."

Royal set the remaining plate of pastries before the dragon with the gentle admonishment, "Try not to inhale them all at once."

"I shall resist mere gluttony in favor of greater appreciation." With a touch more drama than strictly necessary, he took the skunk's forepaw into both of his and kissed it, speaking gently and with deep sincerity. "Thank you, Royal. I hope that I never have to face the possibility of waking up without your assistance."

"That's as may be," the mustelid almost whispered. It seemed to Jerry that he took his paw back just a little roughly. Something, clearly, was damned wrong here, and he was starting to feel that he was the only one who didn't know what was going on. He shifted a little uncomfortably, then felt Zachary squeeze his forepaw under the table. The Akita looked to Eoin, then to the dean, and finally to the skunk.

"Royal," he said softly, "if you don't mind me... I mean, we've hardly met..."

"Royal's fine," the skunk nodded, "thanks for asking."

"I try to have a few manners. Like now. It's rude to exclude someone from the conversation... I just want to ask..." The young dog looked to the dragon with an expression that was stronger than the situation would have merited. "Is everything okay? You called for Eoin, and he's been really worried about you, so..."

"I'm okay, Zachary, thank you. I'm glad you're here too. I was going to call you. I may have some information."

The Akita's gaze seemed even more intense. "Do you know?"

The professor paused to sip some more coffee before he answered. "No... but I think I know how to get you to tell me."

Jerry felt Zachary squeeze his forepaw tight, and he returned the gesture. There was no mistaking the click in the dog's throat when he swallowed; everyone heard that. He slumped in his seat, and the otter moved quickly to put an arm around him. Jerry had the feeling that everyone in the room, save him, knew what was going on. He looked around for some kind of explanation, then he felt Zachary's forepaw to his chest, asking for a moment.

"Royal, I'm not sure if this question will make sense to you. Do you know what Benedict is talking about?"

Pausing, looking to nearly everyone but Jerry, the coffee entrepreneur finally managed, "Only a little."

"That only leaves you." The Akita startled Jerry by turning to plant a sweet and tender kiss to his muzzle. "I'm still not good at all this. The emotions thing. Benedict's been helping with that, a lot. Counseling. There's been... Jerry, I've been... I think there's something really wrong with my mind."

"Not quite true," the drake admonished gently. "Your mind is strong. It was interfered with. I think I've found out why and when. I already knew the how."

"How...?"

"Royal," Nelson asked, "without saying it, do you remember the name that we spoke of?"

The skunk's eyebrows merged for just a moment, then loosened again as his eyes widened to look at the Akita with something like terror in his eyes. When he looked back to the dean, the wolverine nodded slowly.

"I want Jerry with me," Zachary said in a voice that brooked no argument. He looked then at the otter and said, "I want you there when I finally understand this... whatever's happened to me." Turning his gaze to the saluki, he added, "Would you be with me too?"

"Of course." The white-furred dog managed a smile. "I wouldn't let you down at this point."

"I think Dean Williamson should hear it," Benedict said softly. "He has, in effect, been my own counselor and confidant, and for the same reasons as Royal."

"I don't have to," Royal began, "I mean... I don't think I..."

"Would it help you?" Zachary asked quietly. "I don't know why it would, but it looks like you've somehow become part of this, and..."

"Jerry," the wolverine took pity upon the otter's agitated movements. "I apologize on behalf of all of us. We don't mean to talk in riddles." He nodded to the Akita. "What happened to Zachary at the football game is public knowledge; his therapy itself is private, but you've been told something of it from Zachary himself, is that right?"

Jerry could only nod.

"Benedict has uncovered," the Dean paused slightly on the word, "information that he thinks will explain what has happened to Zachary, why he behaved as he did. He believes that part of what happened to him involved a dragon who Royal has met and, to some degree, has been affected by. The six of us here -- that includes you because of the relationship that you have been nurturing with Zachary -- are involved in varying degrees with all that has brought Zachary to this point. The thing that we've all been hinting at is that we may be able, finally, to help Zachary with the very cause of what has happened to him."

"And when that finally happens," Zachary said, "I want you with me. You and Eoin both. I'm going to need you both, a lot, I think." Again, the Akita swallowed. "I'm really afraid of what's in my head. I feel like I've been breaking down a lot of barriers, and it's... well, it's been hurting. There's been so much weird going on in there, and you two have been helping me, caring for me so much..." He paused, a blush forming under the fur of his cheeks. "It's that whole feelings thing again. Best word I can use is that I felt safe with you two. You almost made me... no, you did make me forget how scared I was. And now I'm..." The undergrad made himself take a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Guess I'm still not sure how to ask. Will you be with me?"

"Of course," Jerry said, hugging him tightly.

"Me, too," Eoin agreed.

"Least I can do is bring the coffee," Royal said softly, trying to smile through something that still frightened him. "Say when."

"Now, or later?" the dragon asked softly.

"That's awfully binary thinking, isn't it?"

Jerry felt a change in the room. Zachary's arm twitched, as if he'd had a static shock. Benedict frowned, and even the dean seemed faintly concerned. The otter felt himself not quite in control, as if he were watching something significant without knowing what it could possibly be.

The Akita frowned. "That was weird."

"What was weird, Zachary?" The dragon's voice sounded calm, controlled, soothing.

"It's... I know that word, it's just... it doesn't come up for me. It's not really a jock word, is it?" The young dog managed a chuckle that sounded about half forced, half hysterical. "Not sure where that came from."

"You're just smarter than the average jock," Jerry smiled, gave the Akita's forepaw a quick squeeze.

The drake leaned forward in his seat, his eyes firmly on the undergrad student. "Zachary, do you remember a conversation that we had a while ago, about the room?"

The dog blinked slowly. "The white room. I remember."

"Can you tell me what you remember?"

"Doors." Even as the word was spoken, Jerry felt the athlete's paw spasm involuntarily. "Three doors. White walls." Another audible click as he swallowed. "Is there something wrong? The walls, you said the walls might... are they--"

"It's all right," Benedict almost whispered. "I'm here, no matter what happens. What are you feeling?"

Eoin had stepped around the table to be at Zachary's other side, and he placed a forepaw to his shoulder. "We're here. All here with you. Go ahead, Zachary. Whatever it is, it's okay."

The Akita whimpered softly. "Feels like pressure. Like something trying to push through."

"Nelson, Royal, would you be so kind as to go into the living room and make some comfortable space ready for us? I think we should all sit down and talk in quieter circumstances."

"Zachary?" asked Eoin softly. "Can you stand? Let's go into the living room."

"I'm not sure, it's just, what happened, I'm not... I'm not..." The Akita's eyes seemed to lose their focus even as they sought out Eoin's and then Jerry's. "I'm not supposed to... I can't... I mustn't... he won't let me... what I did, he made me, I don't... I mustn't, must never... I can't remember what..." The dog seemed to shiver once through, his brows coming together. "What is... something burning... something car burning... Carmen... what does Carmina--"

"Oh holy gods," the skunk whispered.

Jerry felt his lover trembling. Getting worse. He leaned in to help nudge the Akita off of the bench seat. "It's okay, Zachary. We're here. Let's go. Just hold on to me. I won't let you go, no matter what. Hold on to me, Zachary. I love you."

The moment froze in Jerry's mind to an extent that he would swear, even years later, that it lasted for a pawful of heartbeats. Zachary's eyes went wide, and his head spun around to Eoin, and he started to scream, some word, part of a word, part of a name, and then his body went rigid as he began the most horrible keening that the otter had ever heard. Royal dropped the mug from his forepaw, his eyes seeming to bulge from their sockets. Nelson had risen to his hindpaws almost instantly, and Benedict had shoved his own foreclaw toward the violently quaking athlete and screaming something about a computer number, and Jerry himself sat transfixed with no understanding whatsoever of what had just occurred. All he could do was to hold the suddenly limp form of his lover as closely and tightly as he could, refusing ever to let go, no matter what might, just as he promised, no matter what might happen...