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I know I said I'd have this out on Friday, but I finished editing it on Tuesday, and I didn't see any reason to withhold it.

I would ask that, if you have time, you go back and read at least the last few paragraphs of part six to maintain the continuity of emotion between that chapter and this one.

Thanks, and happy reading!

Chapter Seven.

A soft knock on his door woke Dox. He'd apparently cried himself to sleep thinking about how much he'd just lost, and he was sure that his eyes were red and nasty looking. He didn't want to speak to anyone right now, but since his only alternative was to yell through the closed door like a drama-soaked teenage girl, he sighed and sat up. "Yeah?"

His door slowly opened, and his mother stepped into his room, looking as uncertain as he'd ever seen her. Dox turned back to his pillow and hugged it tightly.

"Dox, I..." his mother's voice faltered. Regaining a measure of composure, she sat on the edge of his bed and tried again. "I'm sorry, honey. I can see how much you mean to Jason, and how much he probably means to you, too."

Dox turned over in his bed to face her, but said nothing. He clutched the pillow to him like it was a life preserver. The look she saw on his face wasn't the anger she'd expected, but raw disappointment and hurt, which cut her even more deeply. She almost wished that he'd yell and scream at her. That would have been far less painful than the betrayal she saw in his eyes.

"I know I don't show it nearly enough, Dox," his mother continued, her voice more quiet and less self-assured than he'd ever heard it, "but I love you very much. I know I sometimes smother you and at other times I'm distant, but ever since you were little..." she stopped for a moment, looked him in the eyes and put her hand gently on his shoulder. "Do you remember in the second grade, when you came home from school with dirt on your face after someone pushed you down?"

Dox nodded, and she continued. "I tried so hard to get you to tell me who'd done that to you, but you refused to give them up. You kept saying, 'they won't do it again." Reaching down, she moved a curl of brown hair off his forehead. "I knew then that your heart was too big. I love you so much, but I don't know how to make you safe, Dox, and that just kills me." Now that she was saying what she probably should have said a decade ago, her voice was thick with emotion.

"Can I talk with you, adult to adult?" She asked, regaining a portion of her self control. Dox noticed that she had a tissue in her hand. She'd never asked him anything remotely like this before, and in spite of his depressed mood, it piqued his curiosity.

Dox sighed and sat up, his body leaden with depression. His mother reached into her pocket and pulled out a pack of Kleenex. Handing him one, she took another for herself and sat in his desk chair, facing him. "I never talked to you about this so I doubt you realize it, but your grandparents were not nice people."

Now she had Dox's complete attention. "You've never seemed comfortable talking about them, so I never pushed," he said. Of course he'd been curious, but it hadn't seemed right to expect her to talk about something that made her so anxious just to satisfy his own curiosity.

"I don't even like to think about them," his mother explained. "They weren't physically abusive, usually, but... well..." After ignoring the memories for so many years, she was having trouble ordering her thoughts. She backed up and tried again. "I was an accident that came along late in their lives, and the only reason they didn't abort me was that their religion wouldn't permit it."

"Did they tell you that?" Dox asked, horrified at the thought.

"They didn't have to," his mother said, favoring him with an ironic smile. "you know when someone doesn't want you around."

"Anyway, my brother was twelve years older than me, and when he died it just about killed them, too. I always felt like I was the anchor around their necks that kept them from doing what they really wanted in life." She dabbed at her eyes with the tissue, not exactly crying, but emotional.

"It wasn't a lot of fun growing up in that household," she said, grimacing at the memory. "God, I wish I still smoked. I could use one, right about now."

Dox barked a short laugh of surprise at this change in his mother. "I like you a lot better like this, mom. It's like I'm finally talking to a real person." Walking over to his dresser, he opened the middle drawer and, after reaching in and peeling a wad of tape off the back of the drawer, pulled out a crumpled, almost empty cigarette pack. "Here."

His mom chuckled. Dox knew she went through his room on a fairly regular basis, but she hadn't ever thought to look there. "Did this come from your football player?" she asked.

"You've got to be kidding me," Dox said, sitting back down on his bed. "His body is a temple. Herbie Miller got it from his mom's purse four or five years ago. I still haven't smoked it. Obviously."

Pulling out the single cigarette, she smelled it, closing her eyes at the fading odor of the tobacco within. She put it in her fingers as if she were about to light up. "Thanks. For the love of God, Dox, don't start smoking. It's a filthy habit, and it's hell to break." She pushed her hair away from her face with her free hand, and Dox couldn't help but notice that it was shaking slightly.

"It's not easy for me to let my guard down and talk about this," she explained, her tail twitching with anxiety, "and I guess... I'm sorry. I think when I learned that Jason was teaching you how to defend yourself, I got..." she paused for a moment, then let out a long breath. Looking him in the eyes, she made her personal confession. "I got jealous because I was never able to do that for you."

Dox nodded. He actually understood where she was coming from. "I get it." he said. More words would have been superfluous.

Looking at him closely, she said, "I believe you. That's the thing about you, Dox. You always do "get it". You've been the easiest child to raise. Your grades are always good, you never get into trouble, you're always home studying on the weekend when other kids are out getting trashed. I should have appreciated you more and I'm sorry about that."

"I'm home studying because I don't have any friends." Dox said, morosely.

"You've got one," his mother said. "I'd have to be blind not to see that Jason really cares for you."

"After tonight? I'm not so sure."

His mother chuckled softly and twirled the mummified cigarette in her fingers­. "Give him more credit than that. He's angry at us, not at you. How long have you two been together?"

The question caught Dox off guard, and he paused for a moment. But his hesitation had confirmed that the relationship between him and Jason was deeper than mere friendship, and it made no sense not to tell her the rest. And he'd heard no malice in her voice, only authentic concern. Besides, she had been open with him, so he owed her as much in return. "Since the first day of school, really. What's that - six weeks? Seven?"

"Oh, no," she groaned, holding her head in her hands. "This was probably the "meet the parents" dinner, then, wasn't it?"

Oh yes, Dox thought, she finally understands how important this was.

Her fingernails clicked on his desktop as she thought through their options. "You have his number, right?"

"Sure, why?" Dox asked, confused.

"Do us all a favor and call him? If you would, please tell him that I'm sorry and ask him to come back. Both your father and I would like to talk with the two of you."

The look Dox gave her was disappointed, and she amended, "Like adults this time, not parents and children. We want to converse, not lecture. And tell him I've got a hot apple pie and some vanilla bean ice cream that's going to go bad if he doesn't help us eat it."

After putting the ancient cigarette back into the pack, she stood up and self-consciously straightened her blouse. Dox got off the bed and, before she walked out, he hugged her like he hadn't done in years. "Thanks, mom."

"For ruining the evening?" She said, sheepishly, rubbing his back gently with her hands.

"For treating me with respect," Dox said. "That's all I really want."

She patted him on the back and broke the hug. "You got it, kiddo. Give Jason a call," she said, opening his bedroom door and walking out into the hall, "I'm going to warm up some pie."

Twenty minutes later Jason knocked on the Rayburn's front door, and this time it was Dox who answered it. "Thanks for coming back," he said, coming out on the front porch and closing the door behind him. "I wasn't sure you would."

"What are you talking about?" Jason said, as if Dox had said something completely irrational. "Of course I'd come back. You're here."

After a pause, Dox asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he said, "I know I shouldn't have done that." He had trouble meeting Dox's eyes, instead staring at the passing cars as if they actually interested him. The cool evening breeze ruffled the longer hair between his elegantly pointed ears as he stared away into the distance, making him look more handsome than ever in Dox's eyes.

"They're not mad at me?" Jason asked, after a moment's pause. "For storming off like that?"

Dox chuckled. "Believe it or not, I think you actually managed to impress them. How many seventeen year olds could have resisted doing a burnout on the front lawn after an argument like that?"

"It did cross my mind," Jason admitted. "Guess it's a good thing I just washed my car and didn't want to get it dirty, huh?"

"Yeah, thank God for small favors," Dox said, rolling his eyes, but not one hundred percent certain that Jason was joking. "Come on, babe, we should go inside."

The aroma of baking pie filled the house, but Jason could still taste traces of the bile that made his teeth squeak against one another. No amount of apple pie smell could possibly be appetizing when your breath smelled like barf.

This time when they entered the living room, Dox's parents were waiting for them. His mother, Jason was surprised to notice, didn't have on the the coolly superior expression that she wore like a mask on his first visit. In fact, she looked miserable. He hadn't quite known what to expect from her upon his arrival, but this wasn't it. Not by a long shot.

"Jason," she said, sheepishly, "I owe you a huge apology." Her voice caught in her throat, and it took a moment before she felt comfortable speaking again.

She blew out a breath and tried again. "The last thing I want in life is to be like my parents, but I'm afraid I fell right into that mold. And you and Dox were the victims." She wiped her hands on a kitchen towel and motioned to the living room. "I'm sorry. Will you please sit down with us and talk for a while?"

"Sure," Jason said, feeling confused, but better than he had earlier. He hated to see anyone cry, but in her case, he was almost relieved. At least she seemed human now.

And then Dox spun his world around by grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the other room!

Feeling Jason balk, Dox said, "It's okay, babe. They know."

"Could you have warned me?" Jason hissed, goggle eyed.

"I'm sorry," Dox apologized, "this is all happening so fast."

"You're telling me!" Jason said, successfully not yelling, although he did squeeze Dox's hand a bit harder in his agitation.

Dox's mother brought in a tray of pie and coffee, and with a clarity of perception experienced only by mothers, noticed that in this better light, Jason looked a little green around the gills. "Are you all right, Jason?"

"I... I was upset earlier," Jason fumbled, "and I.. well," Oh, God, would the humiliation never end? He sighed in resignation and mumbled, "I threw up."

"Come on," she said, taking him by the arm, "I have just the thing for you." Looking back over her shoulder at Dox and her husband, she said, "You two sit down. We'll be back in a minute."

As they entered the kitchen, Dox's mother heard her husband turn on the television, and the sounds of a football game filled the living room, accompanied by ESPN's brainless color commentary. She usually wasn't fond of the noise, but in this instance she was glad for the distraction.

Once in the kitchen, her motherly instincts kicked in. "You're not still feeling ill, are you?"

"Maybe a little," he admitted, "but its getting better."

"Here," she said, reaching into the refrigerator and pulling out a can of 7-up. She popped the top and poured a little bit into a juice glass. "Sip this. I'll be right back."

Jason did as he was told, and watched as she returned with a cellophane-wrapped toothbrush. Handing it to him, she dug around in her cabinets and brought out a box of baking soda. "Brush your teeth with this," she suggested, "we used to do this in college when we'd overdo it at a party. It gets rid of the nasty taste, but it doesn't leave a sweet taste in your mouth so you can go right back to drinking. Eating!" she corrected hastily, "Eating."

Jason grinned as he pulled the brush from its wrapper. "You must have been a party girl in college, huh?"

"Well, sort of," she admitted hesitantly, talking while Jason brushed the foul taste out of his mouth. "As soon as I got out of my parent's house, I just went a little wild for a while."

Looking towards the door to the living room and seeing that it was still shut, she confided something to him that she never had to her own son. "I don't want Dox to feel like he has to escape his parents the way I did."

She used Jason's temporary inability to speak to best advantage. "Tonight I realized tonight that even though I thought I was doing a good job of that, I'm really not. And then I attacked the one person who has helped him more than anyone else ever has.

"You might not have noticed, Jason, but I have. Dox stands up straighter, he walks with more confidence, and he's happier than I've seen him in years. And from what he tells me, it's all because of you."

"Damn it." She jammed another tissue into the corner of her eye, annoyed at herself for how emotional she had become.

Jason finished brushing and spat into the sink. When he looked up, Dox's mom was already holding a glass of water for him to rinse his mouth. "Thanks," he said, and they both knew that he wasn't just referring to the glass she'd handed him.

"Better?"

"Oh, yeah." he said, wiping his mouth. "Tons."

"Then let's get in there and eat some pie. Whoops," she said, turning back for a moment, "I forgot something." Digging around in a drawer, she came up with an ice cream scoop. Handing it to Jason, she pulled a carton of ice cream out of the freezer and carried it to the living room. "Now we can eat pie!"

The first thing his mother did after setting the ice cream tub down on the coffee table was to pull the remote control out of his father's hand and mute the audio. Pulling off the lid, she pushed the tub towards Jason. "You're the man with the scoop, Jason. Anyone here not want ice cream?"

Since nobody said otherwise, Jason scooped a large, white snowball of ice cream on top of each piece of warm pie that she cut, then handed the plate to its lucky recipient. As he worked, Dox's mom talked to them both. "I'm sorry I was such a pill, guys. I promise I'm going to lighten up a bit. Or at least," she said, noticing that her husband's eyes were still watching every move of the football game, "I will after I do this." Picking up the remote control for a second time, she hit the "record" button, then turned off the picture. "We're having a conversation, so pay attention! You can watch that later."

Dox looked at her with a slightly raised eyebrow, not quite capable of believing in her change of attitude just yet. His father saw his expression and finally chuckled, "Believe it or not, Dox, your mother was a pretty fun date back in our younger days."

"I can still be fun!" his mother protested. "I've just been so worried about doing everything right for the past twenty years that I forgot what it was like to just let my hair down and relax. God, this pie is good!" The expression on her face as she savored the contrasting flavors of apples, cinnamon and vanilla was borderline rapturous.

"I'm just sorry that it took something like this to make me realize what I was doing." She looked over at Jason. "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," he said, nodding his head slightly, "We're good. And I guess I need to apologize to you, too. I was out of line. This is your house, and I had no right to come in and challenge how you do things." He shrugged, "I guess I thought I had to prove a point."

"About how special our son is?" Dox's father said. "Sometimes it's easy to forget how easy we've got it. He's smart, talented, and he doesn't get into trouble. Nearly every other parent out there would give their left arm for a kid like him. But," he said, regretfully, "we still forget sometimes."

"A kid?" Dox asked, joking around with his dad to mask his annoyance. "Really?"

His father shrugged. "You'll always be our kid, you know. Nothing's ever going to change that. You could be a hundred and three, and we'll still gonna call you "kiddo"."

"But," he conceded, "you're old enough to get married, or go to war, or to do just about anything else you wanted, so I guess our relationship is going to start changing."

"And speaking of relationships," his mother said to Jason, trying to steer the conversation back to lighter topics, "I thought something was going on between the two of you, but I wasn't certain until you stood up for him as fiercely as you did." Her eyes widened at the memory. "At one point, I thought you were going to come over the table at me!" The look she gave Jason was oddly tender. "He deserves someone in his life like you."

"So how did you two meet?" His father asked, a little too enthusiastically, and looking a little uncomfortable at his own question.

Dox didn't miss his dad's discomfort. "In photo class," he said, "but if it makes you feel weird, we don't have to talk about it."

His dad sighed, rubbing his eyes. "We've known that you were...different for quite a while. But somehow, I always imagined that we'd be having this conversation with you and a girl."

"Well, that's not going to happen," Dox said, ruefully. "I hope you're not too disappointed."

"No," his father said, quickly, "not disappointed! Just..." he groped for the words to describe how he was feeling, "surprised, a little bit? Maybe?" He looked at Jason. "I don't want to put you down, or anything, but if Dox is ..." he stumbled, not yet able to force out the words that he'd only used previously when making a joke or putting someone down.

"Gay." Dox filled in for him. "The word is gay, and we've beat around that bush so much that it doesn't have any leaves left on it. I'm gay."

His father nodded, "Right. Sorry. I'm just... well..." he looked back at Jason. "If he's going to be gay, I'm glad it's with someone who's normal." At Dox's shocked look, he tried to explain. "You know, someone who's not all swishy and acts like a girl. I wouldn't know what to say around someone like that. I can relate to a jock, at least."

"Oddly enough, I can appreciate that sentiment," Dox said, humor in his voice.

"If this works out, can we go to a football game?" his father asked, unable to hide the excitement in his voice.

"Chris!" his mother said, her eyes sparkling with embarrassed amusement. "Slow down! The women are the ones who are supposed to be planning the wedding after a single date. Give it time!"

Jason laughed, "Sure, sure. I'm not planning on going anywhere, so if you want to go to a game, I'm up for it. But you'll need to buy three tickets, 'cause Dox will probably want to go too. He's been watching football with me on the weekends, and he's been to every one of our home games."

Now it was Mr. Rayburn's turn to look surprised. He turned to Dox. "Really?"

Dox shrugged and spread his hands wide. "Last year I just went to the games to take pictures, but now that I know the rules, it's pretty fun to watch, too." He thought for a second, then continued. "For some reason, everyone just assumes that if you're a guy, you automatically know the rules of football. Maybe straight guys are born with it? Whatever, I never understood the rules, and I was always too embarrassed to ask. And why bother watching a game when you don't know the rules?"

Dox cast a friendly glare in his father's direction. "And no, I'm still not going to try out for the team."

"You could make it, if you wanted to," Jason waggled his eyebrows.

"No," Dox demurred, "that's your territory. I'll stick to the sidelines and cheer you on."

"I sometimes hear you when I'm out on the field," Jason admitted, blushing like a little puppy. "It's kinda nice knowing that you're rooting for me."

"Okay," Dox's mom said, "This is getting sappy." But the look on her face was understanding.

She started gathering up the sticky plates, and Dox's father took that as a signal that their family interaction was over. Grabbing the remote, he turned the television back on and rewound the game to where his wife had turned it off. "Can you stay and finish the game?" he asked Jason, his voice hopeful.

"Sure," Jason said, handing Mrs. Rayburn his plate. He was surprised that he'd finished it all. He'd walked into their house sick to his stomach, and now he was ravenously hungry. His abused stomach gurgled with neglect, and the noises his belly made were audible even over the sounds of the game.

"You're not going to throw this up too, are you?" Mrs. Rayburn teased, "I worked hard on that."

"No," Jason reassured her, "I'm just hungry."

She walked back to the kitchen with the dirty plates, and reappeared a few minutes later carrying a pair of large roast beef sandwiches that she put in front of Jason and her son.

"Thanks, mom!" Dox said, a happy smile making his face shine. He couldn't remember the last time she'd spontaneously made him a sandwich. Or done... anything, for that matter.

"Where's mine?" his dad said, perturbed.

"You ate a full dinner, they didn't." She motioned towards the television. "So what's going on here? It's bad enough living with one football fanatic in the house. If I'm going to have three of you around, I might as well learn the rules myself."

Dox's father looked like he'd just won the lottery, and Jason shot a knowing grin to Dox. He'd taught him about football while sitting on this same couch just a month earlier, and now was going to do it all over again for his mother. "See that guy there, the big one on the left? He's a nose tackle..."

***

After the game ended, they walked back to Dox's room to pick up the books that Jason had left behind. Dox looked up at him. "I'm proud of you, babe."

"I'm proud of you, too, puppy." Jason took Dox up in a bear hug and proceeded to squeeze the stuffing out of him. The feeling of Dox's arms squeezing him back was nothing short of paradise for Jason.

On his way out, Jason shook hands with Dox's dad, then stopped by the kitchen to say goodbye to his mother. He immediately had a large Tupperware container shoved into his hands.

"Here," Mrs. Rayburn said, in a voice that brooked no argument, "Take some leftovers for lunch tomorrow. And don't forget to bring the container back." She gave him a hug and a pat on the back, then said goodbye and turned back to her dishes.

Dox followed a suitably stunned Jason out to his car. "Who is she," he asked, holding Jason's takeaway meal while the Shepherd dug in his pocket for his car keys, "and what has she done with my mother?"

"I don't know," Jason said, cocking his head to one side, "but I like her better than the first one! Do you suppose this is permanent?" He took the plastic box from Dox and carefully put it in the passenger seat. He hadn't looked inside, but he sure hoped it was more of that "dry-assed" roast beef.

"I have no idea," Dox said, a perplexed but happy look on his face, "but I sure hope so. If we never see the ice queen again, I'll be happy as a clam."

Leaning carefully against his fender, Jason spread his legs slightly, crossed his arms and proceeded to look damned sexy. "Let me get this straight," he said, slowly. "Your folks know about us, and they're not only cool about it, but your dad wants to hang out with us." He shook his head back and forth. "I feel like my head's about to explode."

Dox stood in front of of Jason, between his splayed feet. This close to the big jock, he could feel heat radiating from him, cutting the chill of the evening. He hadn't put on a jacket, but he was glad for that. If he had, he might not be cold, but he also wouldn't have been able to feel Jason's warmth. It was a tradeoff he was happy to make. "I know, right?" he agreed, "I feel like there's an invisible anvil hanging over my head, waiting to drop like it does in the cartoons." Dox jammed his fingers into his jeans, fighting the chill.

Jason saw the effect the cool night breeze was having on Dox and reached out to pull him close, resting his chin on the top of Dox's head. Unfastening the buttons, he wrapped his letter jacket as far around them as he could, and held it shut behind Dox's back with his arms. Bathed in his boyfriend's scent, Dox closed his eyes and nuzzled the lush hair at the base of Jason's throat, letting go of his inhibitions for just a moment. What did it matter if the neighbors saw them together? His parents knew, so he had nothing to hide. For the first time he could remember, he felt completely free.

***

Dox heard the footsteps behind him a half second before the books he carried were pushed out from under his arm, noisily scattering on the floor. "Where you goin', gay boy?"

Turning, Dox saw one of the punks that had been teasing him for years. Severe acne had left his facial fur patchy and irregular. It would fade with time and his hair would grow back, but right now it made him look like he had mange. He'd always seemed so much larger than Dox, but today he looked smaller, somehow.

Without a second thought, Dox dropped his backpack to the floor, walked up to him and stood chest to chest with his tormenter. The distance between their eyes was small, and Dox took full advantage of their proximity. The voice he heard coming out of his body was full of unaccustomed conviction and strength. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, Darrin, and if you so much as lay a hand on me again, I'm going to beat your ass."

It wasn't a threat, it was a promise. Since he didn't back off on his own, Dox gave him a firm bump with his chest to force him backwards.

Regaining his composure, pizza-faced Darrin laughed at him. "What are you going to do, twinkle toes, call your big, mean boyfriend down on me?"

"I don't need him," Dox said, casually, putting both hands up and shoving Darrin back against the wall of lockers with all his strength. "I can take care of this myself." The sound Darrin made when he hit the thin metal of the lockers was like a cannon shot in the tiled hallway, and his cage was severely rattled. "Stay off my back," Dox warned, "or I'll hurt you."

Without waiting for a response, Dox picked up his books and his backpack and continued down the hall. He didn't look back, but his ears listened carefully for the sound of running feet. If Pizza-face chose to pursue him, he wanted to be ready. To his relief, he heard nothing. Was it really going to be that easy?

He'd gone a half dozen steps before he realized that not only did he not hear the steps of pursuit, he heard nothing in the crowded and normally bustling hall but the sound of his own footfalls.

Looking back, he evenly met the curious gazes of dozens of his classmates, some of whom hadn't ever bothered to meet his eye before. With an enigmatic smile worthy of the Mona Lisa, Dox turned his back to them and walked out the door.

Watching the clock tick its way past the quarter hour, Dox was in serious danger of falling asleep in his Government class. He had a passion for the sciences and could study them all day long, but fifteen minutes listening to Mr. Jackson drone on about the Second Continental Congress of 1775 was enough to put a wound-up meth junkie to sleep. Dox thought that the big terrier looked surprised and maybe even a bit pleased when an office aide came into his classroom with a note. Perhaps he even bored himself.

"Dox." The teacher did not deliver the note back to him, he simply waved it in the air and waited patiently for a perplexed Dox to retrieve it. It was, Dox discovered, a summons to the administrative offices. Worriedly, he stuffed the note into his back pocket and escaped from the room, leaving his backpack and books behind. Mr. Jackson had resumed his monotonous drone before the door shut behind him.

The horse-faced secretary in the principal's office snatched the note out of his paw as if he had no right to be holding such a precious document, then glared at him as she settled her reading glasses on her nose. "Again?" she said, looking over the rim of her rhinestone-embellished reading glasses judgmentally. "Have a seat, Mr. Rayburn."

Dox sat on the uncomfortable bench and tried his best not to fidget. He knew why he was here, but...why was he here? The last thing he would have imagined was that the idiot who had bullied him for so many years would have gone running to teachers to turn him in the very first time Dox pushed back. How ironic was that? He had a strongly developed and deeply ingrained sense of right and wrong, and yet no matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find within himself the slightest shred of remorse.

The shrewish voice of the secretary broke him out of his reverie. "You can go in now."

Dox walked into Principal Brogan's office on legs that felt as if their bones had been replaced with jelly. "Sit down, Dox," the man behind the big desk said, shuffling papers on his desk while Dox waited. Dox understood that this was most likely a psychological strategy to make him uncomfortable, but that didn't do much to alleviate his unease.

Except to introduce himself to Dox's parents, the man hadn't said a word during his previous visit to the office. During the marijuana debacle, all of Dox's interactions had been with the police officer and the counselor.

Finally the sound of shuffling papers slowed, the scratching of the pen stopped, and the principal turned his attention to Dox. "Do you want to tell me what happened," he asked, vaguely, making a dozen inappropriate responses pop into Dox's head.

Choking them all back, Dox decided on something slightly less confrontational. "Are you referring to the constant bullying I've been experiencing at your school for the past two years?" As soon as the words came out of his mouth, Dox wondered if he'd really spoken them. Only weeks earlier, he would have cowered under the principal's glare.

Sitting back in his chair, the older man looked at him with grave seriousness. "No, I'm referring to your slamming Darrin Underwood into a locker bank this morning."

"Was he hurt?" Dox asked, neutrally.

"As a matter of fact, he was," Mr. Brogan said, opening a file folder on his desk. "This report from the nurse's office shows that he experienced some fairly significant bruising on his back from the locker latches."

"Good!" Dox brightened, "I'm sure you'll agree that a little discomfort will help him remember why it's not a good idea to push other people around, even if he does outweigh them by forty pounds." He looked at the principal expectantly, as if praise or approval might be coming his way. Of course he knew that nothing of the sort would happen, but if he played his part right, this might work out in his favor.

"I wouldn't be so cavalier if I were you, Dox. You're probably going to be suspended for this." The principal was far from amused.

"Cavalier?" Dox returned, "Hardly. When you're cavalier you don't care about what's happening, and it just so happens that I care a great deal." Dox felt the tips of his ears growing warm with anger, but instead of squashing it into a tight little wad and hiding his feelings deep within him self like he'd been doing for the past ten years, he allowed it to fuel him. "What I care about is that for the past several years, I've been dreading coming to school because people like that have pushed me, shoved me, kicked me, verbally abused me, and made me the butt of their jokes. My self esteem has been trampled in ways that you probably couldn't imagine, Mr. Brogan, and with the exception of Mr. Griffon, nobody at this school has raised a finger in my defense.

"All I have gotten," Dox continued, not letting his principal get a word in edgewise, "for the past two years, has been 'We can't do anything unless we see it happen'. I get abuse of this sort on a daily basis, and I'm through asking what you're going to do about it. I'm simply not going to tolerate it any more."

Dox was careful to keep the tone of his voice reasonable, but now that he had started down this road, his righteous anger wouldn't allow him to stop. "If you want to pursue this foolish course of action, I'm certain that you have every right to do so. That said, I'm also equally certain that every media outlet within fifty miles will have a field day with the news that, in this day and age where bullying has become a hot topic issue, you rewarded the person who has bullied dozens of children who were under your care, and have wasted your time and the taxpayer's money by prosecuting the victims of his abuse."

Dox felt his face grow hot with fury. If they suspended him, so be it. He'd use the time off to drag the school through so much mud, they'd never get clean. But he had said his peace, and now, he let the chips fall where they may.

After a beat, the principal said, "I can't let this go unanswered because Darrin Underwood's father is on the school board. I have to punish you."

"Oh," Dox felt the light bulb above his head flick on. "Now I get it. The reason I'm sitting in this office right now after having my complaints ignored for two years is that his father is on the school board and mine isn't. Is that correct?"

The principal fidgeted visibly. Somehow, he'd taken this situation that was already bad and managed to make it even worse.

"If you punish me," Dox said quietly, "you will be sending a message to the entire student body that if your parents are important enough, you can get away with whatever you wish. Or you could go on the offensive and be a hero by establishing a no-tolerance policy for bullying."

"And how do I explain away that I let you off the hook?"

"Explain away?" Dox said, in amazement, "Why do you need to explain away anything? Tell them the truth! Someone who had been abused for years finally stood up for their own rights. Tell them that bullies never win. Tell them that if someone is being abused, you will find out about it and, when you do, you'll be on the victim's side. And while you're at it, sack up and tell them that no matter who Darrin Underwood's father is, he's spent the last several years of his life being a creep, and that someone finally gave him what he deserved!"

Principal Brogan rubbed his face with one hand, "Sack up?" he laughed. "It's been a long time since anyone's told me to do that."

Sighing, he carefully took the glasses off his nose and carefully laid them on his desk. "As much as I hate to admit it, Dox, you're right." He pinched the bridge of his nose as if a headache was setting in. "I caused my own problem when I caved in to Mr. Underwood. I should have known better."

He twirled a pencil between his fingers for a moment, wishing he could spend less time on politics and more time doing what he was hired to do. "Go back to class, Dox. I'll have a talk with Darrin's parents. You let me know if he ever gives you the slightest bit of trouble. Me, "he emphasized, "not a teacher or a counselor, me."

"That takes care of Darrin, but what about the others?" Dox asked. "I'm going to tell you right now, the abuse is going to stop. I'm not going to take it anymore."

"Just come and tell me, and I'll personally put a stop to it," Mr. Brogan promised him.

Dox hesitated. "That won't work," he said, slowly. "Gaining a reputation as a little bitch who goes running to mommy every time someone steps on his tail isn't going to do me any good."

"I can't let you go on pushing other students around, or that will be just as bad as what's already going on."

Dox chewed his lower lip and thought about it for a moment. "I'll make this concession," he offered, "I'll come to you when they verbally abuse me, but if they lay a finger on me first, all bets are off. And you have to extend this policy to every student in the school, or it won't work. Everyone has to feel safe."

Mr. Brogan considered the short, dark brown dog in front of him, standing there with his chest pushed out and his shoulders thrown back, he was the picture of confidence. He was going to push for change in the school whether the principal liked it or not. Best to run with the leader, he decided. The view from second place was considerably worse. "Deal," he said, extending his paw to Dox.

Reaching out to shake his paw, Dox hoped that the principal was doing more than just paying lip service to justice.

"So not only did you not get in trouble," Jason said, between mouthfuls of some sort of lunch-room casserole, "you nailed pizza-face and you got the school to reform its abuse policy."

"That's pretty much it!" Dox said, smiling at his good work. "It's been a busy day." He attacked his lunch with gusto, feeling that it was a well-deserved reward for a job well done.

"What?" Dox asked. Jason was staring at him.

"You're amazing, puppy. You really are," Jason said, reaching across the table and taking Dox's paw in his own. And I'm really proud of how you stood up for yourself today."

"I couldn't have done it without your help," Dox said, "You're the one who gave me the confidence to do it." As much as he enjoyed the fact that Jason was holding his hand, and rubbing his palm to boot, Dox felt the curious stares of others in the room burning a hole in the back of his head. "Are you sure you should be doing that?"

"If you can be brave, so can I," Jason said, tracing a claw along the lifeline in Dox's paw. "They're already talking, so why not give them something to talk about?"

"What about the team? Won't they blow you crap about this?" Dox asked, pulling his paw back slightly. As much as he loved the feel of the big football player rubbing on his hand, Dox was worried about the uproar it might cause.

Jason felt Dox withdrawing and held on more firmly, not hard enough to hurt, just enough to keep him from pulling away. He wasn't about to force Dox to do anything he didn't want to do, but he was so tired of hiding who he was. "I'm just holding your hand," he protested, "It's not like we're doing it on the table, or anything." He gave Dox's paw one last gentle squeeze and grudgingly released it. "What kind of world is it where you can't hold the hand of the person you love?"

"It's a sad one, babe," Dox said, and his eyes held regret for a moment before brightening. "But it's getting better! If we can change one person's mind by making them understand how we're not any different than they are, we'll have made a difference."

Jason chuckled. "That's my little optimist! Finding bright skies behind the clouds wherever he goes." He smiled at Dox and picked up both of their trays. "Come on, sunshine. We're gonna be late for class."