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It was a long time before the sobbing became the hushed tears of relief, and from there came the quiet moments of recovering from both the pain and the ebbing of pain. Through it all, Regan simply held the Pegasus close to himself, offering warmth and safety. A slight shifting of wings and arms, and he looked again into eyes so powerfully blue and shining with spent tears that even the darkness of the near-midnight room could not hide them.

"Thank you, Regan," Jeremiah whispered.

"You're welcome, Jeremiah."

The equine nickered quietly. "That's about how we started, isn't it?"

"Yes." The canine smiled, hesitating. "I'm not sure how to continue."

"At least that makes two of us." Slowly, the Pegasus reached a curious forepaw up to the dingo's face and, the silken feathers of his Clyde forearms almost tickling, cupped his cheek gently. "Is it okay with you that I want to talk some more?"

"I thought you might need to, and it's more than okay. I'm going to take one chance before you get started."

With unhurried tenderness, Regan moved his muzzle forward until his closed lips touched Jeremiah's. They stayed that way for many languorous moments, each moving his lips just a little, as if asking permission to linger just a bit longer, yet in no hurry to move beyond this simple expression of tender intimacy. When at last the kiss was broken, the dingo looked into eyes of the deepest blue, calm and open enough to glow with their own light, and he smiled affectionately.

"Now... tell me everything."

It took several seconds for Jeremiah to recover his ability to speak, after which he told that it had been a long time since he had been kissed, and that he had never been kissed so particularly well in all his life. Regan offered a small, self-deprecating laugh, hoping that the blush that he felt on his cheeks wasn't visible in the dim light of the bedroom. "Why so long?"

"Partly for the same reason that I'm alone every Saturday night that I attend these conventions." The equine had no need for more sobs, it would seem, but that didn't mean that the words he chose couldn't have a few in them. "It's the greatest paradox I've ever known. From the public perception, I'm supposed to be unassailable; the voice of the Cuddly-Wuddly Bear can't possibly be merely mortal, with the base appetites of the rest of sapientkind. You'd think I had no gender or genitalia at all. And yet... that crowd of furs that we managed to escape at the hotel? Mostly females, a few males. They weren't necessarily looking for autographs. Most keep a reverent distance, the kind that feels even more creepy than ordinary stalkers. There are those who want become some form of One And Only, at least for the weekend."

"And it's not you they really want." The dingo felt the pain as if it were his own. "They want some kind of prestige, bragging rights or something."

With a sad nickering, the Pegasus nodded. "There's a particularly crude term for it. I'll spare your delicate sensibilities."

"I've heard it." Regan felt his ears go back, ducking his forehead to touch the Clyde's firm chest in another offering to the young male. "Is there no one to see past all that, to let you be who you are?"

"You may be the first in perhaps three or four years now." Jeremiah's arms squeezed the dingo closely. "It's not for want of trying. Even before the whole voice acting thing, I was unsure of others' interest in me, just because..." He broke off, uncertain.

"Because you're a Pegasus," Regan finished for him. "You're rare as it is, and you, as an individual, are open enough to make knowing you even more attractive."

"Flatterer," the equine chuckled.

"Soothsayer," the dingo smiled in response. "Jeremiah, there isn't a mean bone in your body, from what I can tell. Nice guys have an attraction all their own, and coupled with your physical beauty -- if you don't mind me calling it that -- you probably have had more than your share of suitors."

"That's a kind term." He clucked his tongue against his teeth. "That's showing a mean bone, I suppose. I don't intend it like that; it's just that... oh, how can I say it nicely?"

"Try just saying it."

His voice entirely neutral, he said, "I felt like a checkbox on someone's rhymes-with-bucket list."

Regan lasted approximately two-thirds of a second before breaking out in a howl of laughter that might well have startled non-sapient creatures for a radius of a kilometer or more. Even before he could worry if Jeremiah had taken it wrong, he felt himself shifted and re-cradled in the arms of his winged guest, the better for them to share the laughter. It felt like a minute or more before the dingo could get his breath back. He found himself lying on his back, with his companion laying partly atop him, with one wing extended canopy-like over much of his body. Far from feeling claustrophobic, Regan felt particularly cared for, safe, comfortable. The very things he had offered to Jeremiah were being given back to him.

"I have to tell you," he said, "I'm deeply sorry that you were made to feel that way, but I refuse to feel guilty about truly loving that description."

"I'm glad it made you laugh," the Pegasus smiled. "It was meant to."

"Then it had the desired effect." Moving his forepaw to the Clyde's cheek again, the dingo looked into those deep blue eyes once more. "You've paid some very high prices in your life, my young friend."

"Hasn't been all bad. It sort of... crept up on me today, I think."

"Something to do with the mob of yowens that flowed into the delivery area of the hotel?"

Jeremiah cast his eyes downward. "I feel like I'm judging them. I know that, if it weren't for the fans, I wouldn't have this work, and I wouldn't have these paid-for weekends, and I wouldn't be at risk of being kidnapped by strange electricians." The velvety lips tickled Regan's cheek before continuing. "None of them is in any way bad, apart from those few who have that sort of list I mentioned. The deep irony of all that lies in how much they love a character that is all but genderless, in terms of innocence and non-sexuality, and they want to whisper things in my ears that would make a seasoned prostitute blush."

"Are they that bad?"

"The few are, yes. The rest..." The Pegasus blew air through his nostrils in a kind of snorting sound that was difficult for Regan to attribute an emotion to; it sounded like something that non-sapient equines would understand better. "They want something of me, but I don't know what it is. I don't think they know what it is either. Just a feeling I have. It's something like... wanting to be around me, as if being in my presence was somehow beneficial to them. Basking in my aura or something."

"You might not be far off, although what they may want is that blasted animated bear." Placing a forepaw to the great stallion's chest, pressing gently on the hide-covered breastbone, Regan lamented, "They want to be in his aura, and you are too much in his shadow. I'm so very sorry that they don't see you. They don't know what they're missing."

The dingo felt the arms around him pull just a little tighter. "Trying to make me start crying again?"

"Trying to make me not start crying."

Tenderly, the Pegasus raised the canine's muzzle back to his own and shared another warm, prolonged kiss. Regan gave himself over to the kiss, realizing that the gift of the Question and the Response was mutual, twice blessed, opening the space for each to recognize the other for his truest Self. When the kiss finally broke, neither was crying.

Bringing up a smile, the dingo said softly, "I think there's more 'everything' to tell."

"It might take a while."

"We've got all night."

This reply brought a snort that Regan had no trouble translating. "You lose one point for lack of originality."

"How many do I get for being sincere about it?"

"I don't think the scorecard can hold that large a number." Jeremiah nuzzled the dingo's neck fur tenderly. "How about I keep it to a single, general idea?"

"Entirely up to you." Regan smiled at the young Pegasus. "I really do mean 'all night,' if that's what you need."

"Just the one more thing. I guess we've been talking about it all evening, one way and another. It's the idea of respect. The way that you've respected me from the beginning of all this, and how you're respecting me now. The way that respect is violated by those few with the bucket list, or the star list, or whatever self-serving reason they may have." The equine paused, a hesitant sigh on his breath. "Perhaps even what you said about being in the shadow of that animated bear. I don't know if I'm respected in the industry, or as a performer, or much of anything else."

The dingo found himself petting the smooth white hide of his guest's long neck. "Does it count that you're part of the same actors union that so many other famous actors are part of?"

Jeremiah nickered softly in appreciation of the canine's touch. "It might, if I were part of the union."

"You're not?"

"The big players -- Disney and everything they've managed to gobble up over all this time -- they're forced to work by union rules. Animation groups like this avoid basing themselves in union states; they can hire their actors cheaply, avoid union hassles, and generally shove all the profits up their noses, if that's what they're into." The Pegasus touched the dingo's shoulder as if to ground himself. "The dark underbelly of this business, Regan. The money goes only into the pockets of the people who own it, not the people who make it work. At the company headquarters, where I do my recording, there's a banner over the doors to the bosses' offices; it reads, 'The fans don't matter'."

Regan's jaw hung open. "How can they have a business without fans?"

"Because it's a niche market, and they're the only ones to have the rights to it. I thought I was auditioning for one of the big companies that was trying to do a shoestring start-up for a new concept. Turns out that the creation came from Japan, that this garage-started company got hold of this kids show and wanted to make a buck out of it. No one thought that it would get this big, but the owners got hold of it for cheap, somehow, and it hit at the right time for this whole thing to take off. I got caught up in what was supposed to be a fun game of Let's Pretend, and it ended up being... well, this."

"You're telling me that you're not making a living out of this?"

Jeremiah shook his head. "I have to supplement it with whatever I can, to get by. Substitute teaching, mostly, based on my original desires to teach regularly. These convention weekends can eat into my budget. The cons themselves pay what they can for the transport, and they cover the room, the greenroom, often a dinner for the guests at a nice restaurant on the Sunday night, if the guests can stay that long. A lot of them appear sometime Friday and leave mid-afternoon Sunday. They, too, have 'regular' jobs to sustain them. It's no wonder they view the cons as a vacation. Some hide in their rooms unless forced into being on a panel or autograph session. That's just not right."

The statement hung in the air between them for a moment before Regan broke the silence. "You have strong principals, Jeremiah. A strong spirit."

"It's the other side of respect. It's a vacation, but a working vacation. They're paying for me to be there, hoping that my name will bring more fans to their convention. I'm there for the fans, because they make it worthwhile for me to do this insane voice. So I try to be accessible, the whole weekend long... except for certain instances of kidnapping."

"Naturally." Regan felt himself well hugged, with the added sweetness of Jeremiah petting his back with gentle tenderness. "I should be ashamed of myself, keeping you from your adoring public like this."

"Eek, help, police," the Pegasus whispered into the darkness, and the two of them giggled quietly, like teens trying not to wake someone's parents. "I think they'll take me back well enough. First, I'll have to find out what lies the company has told about my absence, then find a way to rework it so that neither the company nor the fans think I simply ran away. Even though I did."

"Sometimes, we have to. I would never blame you for that." Again, Regan found himself petting the Clyde's long neck with slow, tender movements. It felt calming to both of them. "And if they do, send 'em to me."

"What would you do to them?"

"I'm an electrician; I'd either rewire them or shock them."

"Got a camera on you?"

The dingo chuckled with little real mirth. "I wouldn't do that to you."

"I know you wouldn't." Another velvety-lipped kiss, this to the canine's cheek. "I hope I don't scare you by saying this, Regan: I want very much to stay here, with you, for this entire weekend."

"Thank you for trusting me enough to say it." The dingo proffered a slow, affectionate nuzzle to the equine's muzzle. "I'm not at all frightened by the idea. I just don't think you're going to do it."

"Why not?"

"Exactly what you said: Respect. It cuts both ways. You respect your commitment to the people hosting the con, and to the fiends who control your contract... but more importantly, you respect your fans. And since you are reluctant to say it, I'll say it for you. The con organizers probably are in it for the cash, your bosses certainly are, and there are a lot of fans who don't pay you the respect of seeing you instead of that blasted animated bear. However, you..." The nuzzle made itself a kiss to the cheek. "...dear Jeremiah, you respect your fans too much to take yourself away from them for long. Your integrity is very much the essence of your Self."

The ambient light was too little to see the Pegasus blush, so Regan felt more than saw it. "So little time I've been with you, and you know me so well."

"I've been listening. That's what you've needed."

"Someone to hear me." The Clyde tightened his embrace for a moment, and the canine followed suit. "I hope it doesn't sound like complaining."

"Keep going," Regan whispered. "Still listening."

Another blowing through his nostrils, not a snort but something like acknowledgement. "There's a voice actor who bitched about his fans, in the hotel lobby, with a dozen or so fans in earshot of his tirade. I never knew if it affected his popularity. Some guys have Teflon hides; whatever may come up about them, they keep getting the gigs. Might even make them more popular, in some sort of 'Rape of the Sabine Women' syndrome." This noise was definitely a snort. "I know... my education showing again. Thank you for letting me use it."

Regan kissed the equine's muzzle, but he didn't interrupt.

"You want to know the single most-asked question at a Q&A panel? 'How did you get started in voice acting?' And some of these jokers on the panel actually dare to roll their eyes!" A headshake, the flick of an ear. "I always react the same way, every single time: As if I'd never heard the question before or, if I have, it's been a long time. I try to come to it fresh. The story has been posted in a few online locations, I'm sure, and some version of it is bound to be in some company website location or another. The important point is that this furson hasn't heard it, and even if it's my umpty-first time to be asked, it's her first.

"Put yourself in her fur," the Pegasus continued. "She came to the con for any number of reasons -- to watch some new anime, to meet friends, to buy things from the Dealer's Room, to get the souvenirs that come with the registration package, maybe to meet the voice actors. She may not know that she's able to talk to me at any other point in the con, and I've pointed to her, for her to ask her question... to talk to me. She's screwed up her courage to talk to The Star, since that's what her eyes are telling me she's doing. She's put her life in my paws. How could I..."

Regan could hear Jeremiah swallowing past a lump in his throat, and he felt himself choking up more than a little. He reached up to cup the Clyde's cheek in his forepaw, feeling more than seeing Jeremiah's forepaw take his own very tenderly, turn it slightly, and move his muzzle down to kiss the dingo's palm with so much tenderness that Regan made a soft, surprised, joyous cough of breath. Eyes met eyes, and when their lips met again, souls leapt forth to entwine and dance in the starlight that filled the corners of the room...

* * * * * * * * * *

Jeremiah made himself smile as he clopped down the last block or so toward his destination. It wasn't difficult, really; he simply felt more melancholy than he wanted to let on to the rest of the world. He had said his goodbyes to Regan in a fashion very much like a bad spy novel -- in the most remote corner of a nearly-empty, multi-story office building parking garage about four blocks from the hotel. It was better for both of them not to chance being mobbed again, and the Pegasus wasn't the least bit sure what might happen to the dingo if he were caught in the middle of it. Aside from all that, it also gave them the privacy for goodbyes that were bittersweet, reluctant, and difficult enough to get through without the tons of questions that would arise.

It didn't take long for some fans to spot him. A tall, white-hided Pegasus tends to stand out no matter where he goes. They didn't shriek and attack him, but they were clearly quite excited to see him. Several of them spoke of hoping that everything was okay, asking tangentially about his whereabouts until he managed to get them to calm down enough for him to ask, "Hey, what's the matter? Didn't they tell you where I was?"

"Something about a family emergency," said a young vixen.

With a gentle laugh, Jeremiah plucked out one of the many fibs that he and Regan had concocted this morning. "I think they misunderstood me," he smiled, not having to cross his fingers for that part of the statement. "A cousin from Mykonos, who I'd never had the chance to meet in person before. I didn't even know that she was in the country! Her flight is leaving in about an hour or so from now; the only chance we had was last night. The couple who hosted her let me stay over last night."

"So everything's okay?" asked an otherwise shy-looking kinkajou.

"Everything's fine. I'm going to go to my room to freshen up, get a change of shirt, and we'll have a voice acting workshop panel in..." He glanced up at the digital display signs near the hotel's entrance. "...about twenty minutes, yes? I'll meet you all there!"

The small throng, growing slightly larger as he crossed the hotel lobby toward the lifts, was kind enough to let him ride up to his room on his own. Down the long, carpeted hall, he counted off the doors until he reached his own, and he let himself in. His things were as he had left them, and he hadn't time to dwell on the thought. He let himself out of his shirt and jeans, using a wash cloth and the hotel's fur soap to "freshen up." He rather liked the pine forest scent of the soap, but he regretted losing whatever bit of Regan's scent had lingered on his hide. The dingo would not be forgotten, nor would his touch, and that would make this day -- and future days -- easier to get through. Fresh pants, fresh shirt, a quick combing of his forearm and hoof feathers, a toss of his mane and tail, and he decided to call it good.

He preferred to be early for all of his panels, just to be available as the fans filed in. He was in the nick of time, and he moved briskly to his place at the table that had been set up before the rows of chairs. "Hope I didn't keep you waiting," he jested to his audience, a group of perhaps forty, who laughed good-naturedly and applauded him.

"Just so we all know where we are, I'm right here." Another laugh as he grinned at them. "Thank you all for coming to this short workshop on voice acting. I want to let you all know that I'm no guru, and I don't have all the answers. I have a few scripts up here, and for the bold and daring among you...!" He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. "We'll have you come up and experience what a 'cold read' feels like. I'm glad to offer pointers, but that's all they are -- suggestions, ideas. I hope they're good ones. The main thing for today is to have fun, to give it a try, remembering that you have as much shot as anyone else in this crazy business. I didn't have any background experience before I got the 'Cuddly-Wuddly Bear' job."

To Jeremiah's left, a plump female mouse looked faintly confused. He decided to open up the floor. "Before I get to talking way too much, does anyone have any questions about voice acting in general, or about auditions... Yes?" He looked to the mouse with the gentlest look he could manage.

"You... that is... how did you get the job?"

Before the Pegasus could answer, a voice from toward the back snarked, "Oh, _there's_a really original question!"

Without a moment's conscious hesitation, Jeremiah's eyes locked onto the large razorback who had spoken. "She has something very original. It's called 'manners,' and it's something you probably aren't familiar with. Why don't you leave the room and go look it up? And while you're at it, look up terms like 'curiosity,' 'intelligence,' and 'empathy,' which are other things you seem to lack."

The silence in the makeshift conference room was electric; no one had seen this side of Jeremiah before, perhaps not even himself. The razorback sat frozen in the equine's gaze, his maw slightly open.

"Go," Jeremiah commanded, perhaps unconsciously unfurling his wings slightly. "Now."

The porcine heckler did so, without another word. After the door closed behind him, the actor turned his softest gaze back to the trembling mouse. "Would you tell me your name?"

"C-C-Caroline," she managed.

"Well, Caroline, let me tell you how I got the job. After all, it might be how you get started, too."

For his forty-leventh time, and for Caroline's first, Jeremiah gently and compassionately told the tale of how he became the voice of the huggiest, snuggiest, Cuddly-Wuddly Bear that ever was.

* * * * * * * * * *

One of the few panels to last a full two hours, the voice acting workshop ended in time for Jeremiah to snag a sandwich in the greenroom and chat with a few of the staffers he'd gotten to know from attending this convention last year. He spent part of the afternoon in the Dealers Room, where he autographed a few posters and comic book versions of the bear in whose shadow he lived. He would have thought that the artists who drew the character would have made better guests, that their autographs would have been more important. He continued to smile at everyone, make jokes, to remember that this was a working vacation but a vacation nonetheless, and to remember to be grateful for it.

Another part of the afternoon included being part of a panel that was actually headlined by some of the company officials, the ones who said that the fans don't matter, as they unveiled their plans for a new set of releases that were reputed to be very popular. Jeremiah had no reason to be up there, save that the company wanted his presence as some sort of mutual endorsement. The company had purchased the dubbing rights to another whole line of Japanese anime, and they were going to start work right away. No one had mentioned if the Pegasus was going to provide a voice for any of it, so his presence there confused him, and perhaps others as well.

In the Q&A portion of the panel, a young stoat stood to ask about the practice of fan-subbing -- fans of a show not yet licensed in this country bringing over a favorite show and getting Japanese-speaking fans to create a subtitled version. Copies of the fan-subbed work would find their way all over the internet and, as a matter of respect to the needs of the industry, all fan-subs were withdrawn when the anime was licensed in-country. The owner of the company, himself a porcine-sized weasel, shook his head definitively. "Fan-subbing hurts the industry as a whole. It's illegal and should be shut down."

It took an immense effort of will for Jeremiah not to scream _That's shit!_at the top of his lungs. The weasel had used fan-subbing to determine what titles might be hot for production, so it was the equivalent of getting free market research. The odious discredit to all sapientkind had also used three different fan-subbed scripts to work out his own (largely pirated) script of a particularly abstruse bit of anime when he didn't want to shell out real money for a professional translator. The Clyde kept his tongue behind his teeth, kept his tail and wings motionless, sat completely still, his forepaws on his knees under the draped table, trying to keep them from clenching up. Since he wasn't asked to do or say anything that required his attention, he concentrated on slow breathing and as much relaxation technique as he could perform in a room where the very air seemed to be full of excretory odor from the lies and self-aggrandizing crap filling the air. Mercifully, it was a short panel, after which Jeremiah excused himself to the males' room, where he controlled himself enough to avoid puking.

Straightening himself out, he spent the rest of the afternoon sipping a bottle of ginger ale to aid settling his stomach and spending time in the halls and main area of the convention center, talking with anyone who wanted a chat, and obliging with autographs, often of material freshly purchased from the Dealers Room. Doing so irritated a few of the other voice actors in the industry; they insisted that they not be "harassed" by fans seeking autographs anywhere but at the assigned times where autograph tables were set up. Jeremiah didn't grant these autographs for the express purpose of annoying those other actors; he did it because he was grateful to the fans. Annoying those other prats was a side-benefit that, as he had admitted to Regan, he privately relished.

The thought of Regan brought back the melancholia, and he set the emotion aside (very gently) and went on smiling until it was time for his last panel of the day -- a post-dinnertime panel on improvisation. He knew next to nothing about the talent (save for the now-infamous television program), but he'd learned a lot about the old wolf who ran the panel, and the generous-spirited lupine assured him that he'd be fine. For ninety happy minutes, he learned from the wolf's brief instructions, played a few of the improv games with fans in the audience, and laughed along with everyone else at the antics, accidents, and outright silliness that ensued.

Before long, he got to that point of a "con Saturday night" when the choices were the DJ-led raves, the 24-hour animation viewing rooms, the hotel bar, and the "Unleashed" panel. It was, in other words, time to go back to his lonely room and be a good little wingey-horsey. It was an unworthy thought, but one that he had every "con Saturday night" that he'd ever experienced. There were things he could do; some cons had board game rooms, for instance, and nothing said that he couldn't get in on a game of "Ticket To Ride" or "Azul" or something. Usually, he opted for the quietude, grateful for it, at some level, yet always feeling just a little empty. Especially after...

"Mr. Brogan?"

Jeremiah turned toward the voice, finding that it belonged to a liveried member of the hotel staff. The equine smiled automatically, with a level of sincerity reflecting gratitude for being so formally addressed.

"This was left for you at the front desk."

The otter, also smiling, passed along a slender box, perhaps 30cm long, no more than 10cm on each of the remaining four sides. Jeremiah saw that it was sealed, bore his name, and had taped to it a familiar-looking business card that made him smile. He thanked the otter most graciously and took the lift up to his room.

Once alone and locked in for the night, the Pegasus set the box down on the dresser and took out his cell phone, entering the number on the card, saving it before dialing. Something very slightly less than two rings sounded before a sweetly familiar voice breathed, "McLeod Escort Service..."

Jeremiah laughed softly. "I'm a very difficult customer to satisfy," he grinned into his cell. "I'm really into dingo electricians who know how to kiss."

"Our specialty!" Regan's voice returned the chuckle. "I take it that you got my package."

"Migawd, what an opening..."

"And that's another one!" the canine countered. "How do you like it?"

"The box is terrific," the Pegasus teased. "I haven't opened it yet."

"I'm hoping that the box is small enough to fit into your luggage and strong enough to withstand the baggage handlers. I'm not at all sure where you live but, wherever it is, I figured you're taking a plane back."

"Sadly true. Hang on; let me put you on speaker." Suiting actions to words, Jeremiah set the phone down. "Still got me?"

"Just as long as no one's listening at your door."

"I hope it's not got that far. I'm going to cut open the seal very carefully." He withdrew a pocket knife from his denim jeans, opened it with an audible click.

"Is that what I think it is?"

"Gibbs Rule Number 9."

"Always good advice."

The Pegasus slit a seal along the long end of the box and opened it carefully. It unfolded perfectly, and what lay inside made the Clyde gasp softly. "Regan, I... did you...?"

"No, I didn't make it. I knew where I could find it. I couldn't get a vase for it, since that might not travel as well as the rest. I... well, I didn't want you to be alone tonight."

"Silk?"

"Organdy."

The stem was made out of something only slightly flexible, a perfect green to mimic its organic model. Jeremiah held it in his forepaws, his eyes never straying for a moment from the perfectly-designed fabric rose of a lush, deep blue.

"Regan?"

"Yes, luv?"

"Are you still nearby?"

Jeremiah waited through the pause. "I wasn't sure if I should be."

"Are you?"

"Yes."

"Five-twenty-seven."

"Are you sure, Jeremiah?"

"I'm sure that, if we don't, we'll regret it."

"Then I'll be there. Fifteen minutes at most. I just... Jeremiah, I want to say--"

"Say it when you get here. I want you with me, Regan."

"On my way."

Jeremiah closed out the call, still looking at the rose. No one would be doing a room-check; no one was watching him, and even the fans wouldn't be expecting to see him until an autograph panel nearly at lunchtime. He would likely be the only voice actor there not suffering through a hangover. Not an alcohol hangover, anyway. A glance at the clock showed him that, for the first time in years, he would be happy for an early bedtime.