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There was a bandage wrapped around Tallish's head. He had a cast on his right foot that almost reached his knee, and his arm had tubes running into it. A nurse stood behind Menia and held her by the shoulders. She brushed the hair out of the girl's face. The two of them were outside the room looking in through a window.

"Why can't I see him?"

The nurse opened her mouth to say "you can see him" but knew damn well that wasn't what she meant. "He needs rest. We're still monitoring his situation and the doctor asked me to keep you out for the time being."

"Why though?"

"It's his head. He took a hard blow and the doctor is worried about internal bleeding. He needs to remain relaxed until we can be sure it's safe for him to have any excitement."

Menia turned around and looked up into the nurse's face. Excitement? "What's that mean?"

The nurse looked down and smiled. Goodness, what was it about so many of these mix-race children being absolutely gorgeous? The girl's face was an array of soft and firm features. Her big green-brown eyes were bottomless forest pools fed by hidden springs and morning dew. Her ears, round, had the ever-so-slighted point at their peak while the detached lobes were studded with a trio of gemstone piercings on the left side, while a single small loop adorned the right. She had full lips, the bottom was a touch larger than the top giving her a perpetual pout. Combined with those beautiful eyes her face had the quality of asking a question with every look. Her nose was a little flat, one of those 'soft' features, the nostrils wider than most girls with her light skin complexion, but only just so. Her hair was a flowing waterfall of fall color, amber and chestnut, that made the roots look much darker than they really were. Her locks passed her shoulders and usually hung in a loose bundle over her left shoulder.

"It means," the nurse said, "that he'll be happy to see you and we need him to be relaxed, calm, quiet. Any stimulation could cause his brain to overact and that has to be avoided while we monitor his situation."

"Can't he see me though?" Menia stared through the window.

"No, it's a one-way mirror."

Menia put her hand against the glass. "Oh."

No, he couldn't see her. But he could smell her. He smelled his girl's scent the second she stepped out of the elevator at the end of the hall. The doctor was worried about his head, he knew that much, he'd heard them talking while they stitched his arm and set his ankle. To help stay calm he drew slow breathes in through his nose and let them out, slow as he could, through his mouth. It was something Clainin had taught him. It was a breathing practice every child from the far north learned early in life to help when the cold dropped to dangerous levels. Breathing this way, she said, calmed the body, evened things out, steadied the heart, and brought equilibrium to the body. Tallish had no idea if even half that was true, but it did feel better when he used his exes' breath technique.

A dark handprint appeared on the window and he knew it was Menia. He smiled to himself and lifted his left arm just above his torso and gave her a thumbs up.

Menia was sitting by herself in the medical center's cafeteria. It was late. The sun had gone down a couple hours back. She was sitting by herself at a far end next to a cracked window letting in cool ocean air. That was something she cherished. No matter where she went in life the briney scent of ocean water would remind her of a wonderful childhood spent in Stannik Fash.

She closed her math book, tucked it back into her bag along with the finished worksheet, and pulled out her phys-ed. book. She turned to the end of chapter seven where compatibility was first mentioned and scanned the text. It was everything Mrs. Cankson had talked about earlier that day in class. She finished reading the chapter and turned the page.

Chapter 8: Compatibility

A tingle coursed its way down her spine, up her chest, tickled her hips, and coiled itself between her legs.

She began reading but the words turned to mush in her head. She started and restarted the same opening paragraph a half dozen times, but nothing more than the first few words stuck around long enough to make sense. She tried a couple more times and still failed to get anywhere meaningful. She unlocked her phone and pulled up the school faculty list, scrolled down to the "C"s and opened a new message to Mrs. Cankson.

Menia: *Hi.*

Ugh, no. Delete.

Menia: *Are you available to talk?*

No. Delete.

Menia: *Is it too late?*

She stared at the text, hovered her finger over 'send' and, then huffed and tapped the screen. She waited, opened and closed her hands, tapped her feet, looked at the time, looked at her message's sent time, wondered if the number she'd messaged was even the right one.

A minute passed, then another five.

She got up and paced the cafeteria, making circuits that passed the table she'd camped out at. With each lap she took a peak at her phone and double-tapped the screen to see if there were any notifications. A half hour had passed without a single thing. She figured either Mrs. Cankson had gone to bed already or was too busy to respond. Or the number was wrong.

On the other side of the room there sat an elderly feline-anthro couple, an old tabby and his wife, a once-upon-a-time calico that was now gray-haired with hints of orange. They looked poor, their clothing was well kept but thin and well loved.

"Excuse me?" Menia said.

"Mm?" The tabby looked up from the pamphlet he'd been reading.

Menia took a look at the headline words. Whisker Replacement Therapy. Oh, that was sad, but not uncommon for felines their age.

"Oh, would you mind watching my things over there? I don't think anyone would take my bookbag, but," she turned her hands up. You never know. "I'm going to see how my dad is doing."

"Of course, dear. You won't be long will you?" Said the calico.

"Just a few minutes."

"That's fine," the tabby said.

Tallish kept on fading in and out of sleep. The smell of the sterile room bothered the everloving piss out of him. The medical center staff had done their best to mask the awful anti-smell with some kind of air scenter, but, in a way, that only made it worse. His nose kept twitching, it tickled, and he was hungry.

He lay there thinking about pressing the call button tied to his bedside with a band of woven twine, but didn't know what time it was. If it was the middle of the night he didn't want to bug a nurse unless it was absolutely necessary. That's their job though, he told himself. Job or not, I'd be annoyed if a patient buzzed me for something to eat. But you're hungry, you need food, you haven't eaten since breakfast.

The debate went back and forth and very well could have gone on until the sun came up or he passed out again, but a new scent caught his attention and pushed everything else aside. Menia.

He blinked himself into further alertness and tried to scoot himself up in the bed to not look quite so miserable. She'd just exited the elevator and was headed his way. Halfway down the hall he was able to hear the pattern of her footfalls. It was strange how a single night difference in their routine had been worse for him than this whole stupid accident. Not being able to have dinner, reading while she did homework, and giving her a lick goodnight was awful.

Her hands appeared on the one-way mirror as dark patches and framed her face. The light was much too dim for her to see him, and he could only make out the vague outline of her hands and face. He could smell her though. Her body scent, her delicate odor, her hair, even her breath.

He risked a soft yip and saw her shadowed form jump.

Menia looked down the hall both ways then went to the door and tried the handle. It turned and the door opened. She had no idea why she thought it would be locked.

"Dad." She took five quick steps to the side of his bed. "Oh, fifth dragon ... what happened to you?" She leaned forward, then back, lifted her hands to touch him, then pulled away. He was a mess. Bandages around his head and arm, a cast on his right leg. It was his head that scared her the most. His right eye refused to open all the way. It's because he's tired she tried telling herself and felt her lips tremble in disbelief.

"Jumped in front of some crates."

"What? Why?" She shook her head and scowled.

"Roger tripped and would have been crushed. A coworker, human. They were big crates. I don't know if he would have survived."

"Look at you," she almost added "though" but stopped short. Of course he risked himself to save someone else, what else was he supposed to do? Watch a man die?

"Yeah, I have been." He pulled his lips back in a snarl and looked past her toward the one-way-window. "I'd like to know why they thought that was a good idea, not letting patients see their loved ones. What do I need a mirror for? Who wants to see themself when they're in here?"

"Probably a lot ... to see how they're doing?"

Tallish grunt-growled. "I guess."

"How long do you have to stay here?"

"No idea. They keep saying they need to see how much head is doing."

"How do you feel?"

"Tired. Hungry. Worried."

"I can get you food. Why're you worried?"

"I won't be able to work for a while like this. We've got some savings and my dockhand insurance should help some, but if I'm out for more than a couple months I'm not sure what'll happen."

The talk of work reminded Menia of that message she still hadn't replied to. The one from a possible customer. Dog-walking didn't pay anything near what her dad made, but something was better than nothing. She made a mental note to see when she could start the moment she got back to her phone.

"You're hungry? What do you want?"

"Meat. Water."

"Alright."

"Yogurt if you can find any."

"I'll be back in a few."

She was gone for ten minutes. She told the feline couple what she was up to, and got a few things from the all-night counter. There was a refrigerated vending machine and she bought three pounds of jerky. Old-fashioned flavor, whatever that meant.

"Didn't find yogurt, but they had some cheese curds. How's that sound? I've got jerky here too, two half gallons of water too." She opened and handed him one of the jerky packs and set the other two on the bedside table. "Why didn't they give you anything to eat?"

"Probably thought I would be asleep."

"You want these?" She lifted the little tub of curds.

"Eh, not right now. Thank you."

"Miss?" A nurse had come into the room to check on Tallish and was giving Menia the 'just what do you think you're doing?' look. She was reptilian, her purple-green scales twinkled under what little light there was in the room. Coming from her that look was especially menacing.

"Hi."

"Your dad isn't to have any visitors. He needs rest."

"I'm hungry. I couldn't sleep."

"That's what I'm here for, sir. That's why we gave you a buzzer."

"Didn't want to bother you."

"It's not a bother, sir," she smiled and leaned over him, her firm breasts pressed against her scrubs. She checked his bandages and looked at the machinery with the tubes running from it to his arm. "It's my job, that's what I'm here for."

"See you tomorrow?" Tallish said.

"I don't want to sleep here."

"You don't need to, dear. Tell someone at the front desk you need a ride."

"Okay." She stepped up next to her dad and kissed his cheek. "Night."

"Hey," the nurse said. "No excite--"

Tallish's tongue darted from his mouth and licked the tip of Menia's nose. "Night," he smiled.

Menia locked the front door, set her bag down, rechecked the door, went and got a glass of milk, and checked the door a third time. She'd never spent a night alone before. She'd been away from her dad plenty of times for sleep overs or field trips, but there were always others with her. The house, modest as it was, felt massive. She sat at the table and sipped water, listening, smelling. Oh, that message. The thought popped into her head as she was looking at the fridge and saw a picture of her and her dad on a camping trip.

There was a new message notification waiting for her when she unlocked her phone.

Mrs. Cankson: *Menia? It's not too late. Is everything okay?*

Menia typed back: *Not really. My dad is in the medical center. I'm home alone.*

Mrs. Cankson was typing, then thirty seconds later her message read: *Do you want me to come over? I could stay with you if you're uncomfortable.*

Menia pursed her lips. She'd messaged her phys-ed teacher to talk about something else, not her dad. She'd planned on doing it through text, it was so much easier that way. But maybe in-person was better.

Menia: *Okay.*

She gave her teacher her address and while she waited looked at the message from the possible dog-walking client.

Unknown Number: *I saw your ad. I've got a four-year-old mutt. Bit of lab, bit of shepard, bit of doberman, some other stuff. He's a big boy. Closing in on seventy pounds. Is that something you've walked before?*

Menia: *No. I've never done this kind of thing before. My dad is canine-anthro. I'm good around dogs. I'd be willing to meet him. And you =] *

Fifteen minutes passed, no response came back. Menia jumped when the knock at the door broke the silence.

"Hello?" Menia said at the door. She fully expected the response to be her phys-ed teacher, but wasn't about to open the door without hearing the visitor's voice.

"Menia, hi, it's Mrs. Cankson."

Menia unlocked the deadbolt, the handle, and the floor peg. The additional security at the bottom of the door was due to the house having been thrown out of whack during the earthquake. Without the peg there was a tiny gap that let in air.

"Hi--" Menia swallowed. She'd seen Mrs. Cankson wear some rather revealing things before, but that was at school where she was required at, at the very least, feign modesty. After hours she could wear whatever she wanted. Or, it seemed, whatever she didn't want. Menia stepped out of the way and let her teacher inside.

Mrs. Cankson smiled and entered. She was wearing loose shorts that looked to be made of soft blue tissue. They were, for all intents, entirely see-through. Under those she had nothing. The shorts were long enough to cover her butt and front, but only just so and given their sheer quality they didn't exactly 'cover' anything. What they did was give Mrs. Cankson's ass and pussy a soft blue tint. They were a color filter and little else. Her shirt, if it could be called that, was a sort of lacey vest with a single tie holding it closed at the front. Semi-closed. The top, inside curve, and bottom half of the phys-ed teacher's breasts were quite on display.