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"Why don't you guys go take your showers now," Jake suggested to Ralph, Quinn and Dunny, "I think we've got things covered here for now, and we'll need someone to watch Kip while we get cleaned up."

"Shouldn't we call an ambulance?" Quinn asked,

Jake raised an eyebrow at Sam that relayed the question. "We're doing everything I would if I were suited up and had an EMT unit sitting outside. He doesn't have any evident swelling or broken bones, no apparent internal injuries, and knowing how backed up the emergency rooms are these days, a trip to the stadium's medical center won't take nearly as long." He shrugged. "My professional opinion? He's getting better care this way."

"That settles it then," Jake said, "Hit the showers, and make it quick."

Rob knelt down and, with the help of the other two men, wrapped a dry towel around Kip's waist before removing Dunny's groundcloth-sized towel, careful to keep the smaller fur covered as best he could. Tucking the towel in so it wouldn't come loose, he padded off to take his own shower.

Kip squirmed a bit and gave a low moan. "Here we go," Sam said, "He's coming out of it, and ten to one, we've got about two minutes before he throws his guts up. We should get him to the bathroom."

Jake moved to pick up the smaller fur, and almost succeeded at toppling over when his legs refused to cooperate. Sam grinned. "That's what you get for knocking out so many big squats. Go shower, bud. I'll take care of him." Sam easily lifted the smaller fox in his arms and gently carried him into the bathroom. He had a feeling that this wasn't going to be pretty.

As light began to return to his whirling world, Kip put a defensive arm out. He knew that something wasn't right, but he couldn't identify what. His mind refused to focus on the simplest of thoughts, but through his disorientation, he knew one thing with absolute certainty - he was going to be sick. A gentle hand guided his outstretched arm to the cool porcelain rim of a commode, and from the angle, he realized that he must be laying on the ground. The same gentle hands helped move him to a kneeling position, and rested lightly on his back as he emptied the meager contents of his stomach into the thankfully clean toilet.

Kip was unable to move for long moments after he finished convulsing, his mind not yet ready to process more information than the cool, hard smoothness of the toilet bowl under his arms, and two drops of liquid hanging from his lips Gently, one of the hands put a tissue to his lips to take away the liquid, and for an eternity, all that remained in his world was the commode. What seemed like hours later but was probably only a few seconds, a calm voice floated down to his awareness like a feather gently floating down out of the sky. "You're okay, take as much time as you need. You're safe, and there's no hurry.". It repeated itself soothingly, and for some reason, Kip trusted it. He moved his arms so he could rest his forehead on them as he regained his senses.

"Oh my God, my head hurts," he said quietly, feeling the most massive hangover of his life pounding against the back of his head. But he hadn't been out drinking, he thought. In his own house he had a rug in front of the toilet, so he wasn't at home. He opened his eyes to slits for just long enough to see that he was in a stall, so he wasn't at anyone's house. Then he recognized the tile and the slightly musty smell - he was at the gym! And then the memories came flooding back in a shotgun rush that made him wish he could sink back underneath that warm, dark, unconscious ocean. He squeezed his eyes shut again as despair beat at him.

He pushed breath out, feeling for the familiar ache of a broken rib or, worse, a punctured lung. Nothing.

He ran his tongue around his teeth and felt them all in place, his tongue and lips unbroken and complete. In spite of this unexpected good news, he still felt wrecked. "What did they do to me?" he asked quietly, terrified of the answers that might be coming.

"Shh," the voice cautioned, "take it easy. You slipped and hit your head on the floor when you were coming out of the shower and gave yourself a nasty concussion. That's why your head hurts. Let me know when you're ready, and I'll tell you more."

Kip was grateful that the voice was so considerate. It knew before he did that he couldn't digest big bites of information right now. When he'd absorbed what the voice told him, he slowly nodded his head. The voice was apparently paying attention, and it continued. "You're not bleeding, but you were unconscious for about five minutes. When you feel able, we're going to get you dressed and take you to a medical center to have your head scanned to make certain there's no severe injury in there that we missed. Take your time," the voice reassured him, "there's no rush." The hand rubbed between his shoulder blades comfortingly, like his mother used to do when he was a kit.

Then the hand was lifted off his shoulders, and he could hear the man who owned the voice standing up. "I'm going to open your locker and set out your clean clothes, and then I'll be back. Don't try to stand up yet. Do you understand?" All Kip could do was nod his head blearily. He trusted this voice, and was more than willing to submit to its instructions.

Kip sat motionless, listening to the voices in the locker room. "Ralph, you still got his key?"

"Here." And then Kip heard the familiar sound of his key being shoved into the blue lock that lived in his gym bag. A quiet click, then sounds of the lock being removed and the squeak of his locker door being opened. The sound of the plastic feet of his gym bag hitting the wooden bench came next, followed by the rustling of cloth and clink of a belt buckle. Then footsteps coming back his way, and again the sound of a man kneeling down next to him.

"How are you doing, Kip?" The voice knew his name. Curiosity was returning. Who in the world was it? Probably one of the older men who frequented the gym - some of them looked kind.

"Better," Kip said, not really feeling better at all. In fact, in spite of what the reassuring voice told him, he felt as if he'd been given a solid beating.

"Are you ready to try standing up?" said the voice, and Kip nodded. Strong hands touched his arms, and he found himself being lifted into a mostly standing position, although calling it that was generous. He was hunched over like an 80 year old man wracked with arthritis, and the best he could manage back to his locker was a weak shuffle. But the hands that belonged to the voice were there to help, and he made the thousand mile journey without falling on his face.

Reaching out to steady himself against his locker, Kip half turned to see what the voice and the hand looked like. When he realized that they belonged to the Alpha dog's right hand man, the panic that had previously threatened to wreck him made one last frantic attempt to gain control over him before sliding away after finding nothing to hold onto. The voice had been kind to him, and right now he was just too worn out for panic to have any effect on him.

"You're very kind," he managed to croak through lips that felt like they were made of rubber. "Thank you."

"Don't sweat it, buddy. It's what we do for each other." Sam seemed perfectly at ease with the situation, as if saving strangers was something he did every day.

"How's he doing, Sam?" Kip recognized that voice attached to the morph who was coming around the locker bank, only it was different than it had been the last time he'd heard it. In some Jekyl and Hyde transformation, it had gone from belonging to a slavering animal to coming out of a man whose concern for him was obvious. Seeing that Kip was looking at him, Jake backed up a step. "I'm sorry to talk about you as if you're not even here, Kip. The last time I saw you, you were doing a fantastic impression of being dead." The impossibly large morph stuck a corner of the towel in his oversized triangular ear and wiggled it around to absorb the water in there. "How are you doing?"

Kip had his mouth open to reply, but Sam broke in. "You were right the first time, bud. Talk to me and give him a few minutes to get his brain working again before you start pelting him with questions." He looked at Kip protectively. "He's doing well, and we're getting him dressed so you can drive him over to the stadium. Now drag your stuff over here so you can keep an eye on Kip while you finish getting dressed." He continued, as Jake pulled his gym bag out of his locker and put it on the bench next to Kip's. "I'd love to stay here and talk to you for the next three hours, but I've got to get my ass moving if I'm going to get to work on time. That ambulance isn't going to drive itself, you know."

"Our hero," Jake quipped, watching his friend pad off to the shower stalls, the emergency of the day already behind him. When Sam was out of earshot, Jake said, more quietly, "I wish I was half as calm as he is in a crisis."

"What are you talking about?" came a voice from the next aisle over, "I'm the one that just stood there like my feet were stuck in stupid-glue."

"Give yourself a break, Dunny," said another disembodied voice, "who was it that covered him... Kip... up with his own towel when he was lying there naked? That's like giving him the shirt off your back, dude. You're a hero, too!"

The voice that belonged to Dunny said, "I guess so, but not the way Jake and Sam did." And then his voice climbed into a rough falsetto, "They're my heroes!" A sharp snap of a towel on thinly-furred skin put an end to their conversation, devolving it into yet another round of horseplay.

"Jesus," Jake shook his head at Kip, "they just won't shut up. Ever."

Kip wanted to grin, but his head hurt too much right now. "I appreciate your offer to take me to the doctor, but you don't have to do that. I don't want to put you out." Truthfully, the idea of being in a closed vehicle with the huge pack leader wasn't something he was looking forward to.

"Enough." Jake said, "I said you're going to the medic, so don't argue." Kip shot a glance in the big dog's direction in time to see the huge morph stretching what had to be a 3x tee shirt over his torso. It was a surprisingly tight fit. He couldn't see any animosity in the other man's face, only resolution. He was going to the doctor, and that was that.

Kip finished dressing as quickly as he was able, and by the time he zipped his gym bag closed and turned around, Jake was straddling the other bench, waiting patiently for him.

"Thank you." Kip said, hoping with all his heart that his eyes could convey the gratitude, shame, and embarrassment he felt at that moment. Even though the other man might intimidate the hell out of him, he still appreciated his help.

Jake looked straight into his eyes, rolled his massive shoulders and said, simply, "You're welcome." And in that instant, with just those two words, Kip knew that Jake understood him perfectly. "Come on."