FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

---

Hehhey, guys,

sorry that this is a bit late, but the little delay gave us an extra 1,500 words, and I think they'll be well worth it : )

Have fun reading, and don't forget to comment!

G

*

"Rory?"

I didn't want to move.

"Rowreeh?"

I didn't want to be disturbed.

"Rowreeeeeeeehh?"

Something, or someone, was tugging on my left big toe. The pinching feeling made my toes curl and my tail flap weakly against the bed. It must've fallen out of under the covers, and now hung to the side.

"Rory, wake up!"

Another tug and squeeze on my toe.

"Hhmmmmr!" a rumble rose from my throat at the unpleasant feeling.

My tail batted the bed.

"Rory, come on!"

I made a sound that sounded something like "BLAAARRGHHGAHGH", smacked my lips and forced my heavy lids open.

I blinked, and caught the blurry sight of someone standing on the foot of the bed. I blinked again, and the image became more clear, and provided me with the visual evidence that it was none other than Peter, who had been molesting my paw, and who in fact still had his fingertips closed around my protruding big toe.

I made my best WTF face and grunted at the sight of his smile.

"Good morning, Rowreeh!" Peter said all too cheerfully.

I scowled and batted the bed with my tail, in a clear sign of annoyance.

"Fuck off," I grunted and tugged on my covers. "Let me sleep."

"Nope," Peter pinched my toe again. "I was thinking of waking you up with a blowjob, but now that you were so mean to me, you can forget getting any kind of fucking out of me, including fucking off."

My eyes opened a little more as my ears flicked with annoyance and shock at the previous statement, but otherwise, I wouldn't budge.

Neither did Peter.

"Fine," I rumbled. "I'll sleep anyway. Don't mind you being there at all."

I closed my eyes and wriggled my ass into a more comfortable position on the mattress that was warm and cozy from my lying there in my perfect lumber.

"No way," Peter grunted, "you've been sleeping for so long that I almost had to start you on L-DOPA."

I rumbled and let one eye to open to give him a suitably "WHUT?" glare, one-sided like that.

Peter tickled my toes and smirked.

"You know, the movie where Robin Williams resurrects coma patients with a miracle drug."

I huffed.

"I don't like Patch Adams much," I growled.

Peter chuckled.

"It's not Patch Adams, it's Awakenings!" Peter licked his lips. "The even less funny 'Robin Williams as a doctor' movie."

I shrugged.

"Whatever. Stop teasing me now, "I yawned. "Need some rest."

"Not a chance."

I closed my eyes defiantly, but managed to keep them thus aligned for only a few seconds, before a sudden breeze rushed over me, and I realized that Peter had just yanked the covers off me. My eyes exploded open, and I almost jumped out of the bed, and I caught the sight of him standing on the foot of the bed again, though this time with the bundled up covers in his paws. I hissed at the unpleasant sensation on my bad leg from the sudden tension that had rushed through me. My paw fell over my thigh and I grunted.

"Hpmhp!" I grunted.

Peter tossed the roll of stolen bedclothes onto my side and then simply stood there, with his arms folded over his chest. I could see the tip of his tail flicking high up.

"You've been sleeping for sixteen hours, Rory, I think it's about time you got out of bed. And I must say I'm surprised your bladder hasn't exploded yet."

"Huh?" I grunted.

What was he saying? Sixteen hours? Surely he was joking, I felt so tired that I can't have been in bed for more than...well, I didn't really know. I just knew that I had fell onto the bed so exhausted after last night's...problems, that I really didn't want to do anything but pull the covers on me and disappear.

"It's Wednesday morning," Peter said," you slept all evening and all night."

I groaned and rubbed my paw over my face. The smell of my breath that I caught during that maneuver told me that I had gone to sleep without brushing my teeth. I made a face and sighed. My tongue didn't taste so savory either.

"I did?" I huffed.

"Yeah," Peter replied. "It's nine in the morning."

"Wow," I grunted.

"Breakfast will be ready soon, if you want any."

I shook my head, so that my ears flicked against the pillow.

"I'm not hungry."

Peter snuffled.

"Yes you are," he said. "And once I get the coffee going, you won't be able to resist it."

My stomach grumbled and gave me away. The mention of the hot, soothing drink seemed to remind my bladder of its full state, too, and I suddenly, and painfully, became aware of the fact that I really, really needed to take a piss soon.

"Humph," I humphed.

"I mean it," Peter said. "You're getting off that bed within the next 5 minutes and we'll be going out in 45 minutes' time."

I frowned and yawned some more.

"I'm not going anywhere," I snuffled, determined to stay in and wallow in my misery for as long as I wanted to, and judging by the way I felt, a few months might suffice for starters.

"Ohhhh yes you are Rowreeeh," Peter slurred and sounded extraordinarily happy, all told, "We have an excursion to make."

"I'm too tired," I snorted. "You go alone."

Peter flicked a sharp ear at me.

"And you'd let poor, vulnerable me go out into the big angry world on my own?" the cougar rumbled and pouted a great deal. "That's not the Rory I know speaking, I'm sure!"

I shrugged and began to scratch my T-shirt-covered chest slowly with my good paw.

"I'm not the man I used to be," I huffed. "I want to sleep."

Peter rounded the bed and came to stand by me, so that he could better glare down at me disapprovingly, I suspected, as I met his eyes, looking up to his all too calm expression.

"If you sleep any more, someone will mistake you for a cat mummy and wrap you all up."

I snuffled and folded my arms over my chest, so that my paws were resting on my shoulders.

"I'll promise to come back haunting you as a diabolical cursed mummy," I snorted and closed my eyes, ready to assume my position as Pharaoh Rorenkhamun The Idiot.

I could nonetheless hear Peter's disapproving click of tongue.

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you're high on something."

Only in misery and defeat, but Peter surely knew that, too, so I didn't even bother to mention it.

Peter tapped his tail against my belly. I harrumphed at the odd feeling, and opened my eyes only to see Peter's slightly tilted face and bemused expression. His ears flicked occasionally.

"Hello," Peter said.

I huffed.

Peter wrinkled his nose.

"No breathing on my face, please. You might have fungi in your lungs."

I bared my teeth instead and grumbled.

"That's better," Peter reached out to ruffle my head furs, in a sudden gesture that I couldn't predict. It made my ears jump and brush against his arm.

I didn't stop him, though. At least it was a friendly touch in this suddenly very desolate and unfriendly, cold world I lived in.

"Good morning, Rory," Peter repeated his sentiment, and he was still smiling.

"Morning," I managed.

Peter's thumb rubbed my forehead slowly.

"Come on, Rowreeh," he said. "Go wash up, and then I'll give you some breakfast, and then we'll go out."

"Where?" I snorted.

"I have to deliver some stuff to Professor Hartnell," Peter said, "and I wouldn't mind having a bodyguard with me when I go to Taylor."

I made an incredulous face, and quite rightfully so, I thought.

"You know that I limp, right?" I stated. "I hardly make a good bodyguard at the moment."

"I'll still always love youuuuuuuuuu-uuuuuuuuuu," Peter crooned.

I snorted.

"Oh, God," I grunted.

Peter smiled innocently.

"What's with the pop culture puns now?" I yawned and scratched along my chest, simply because I like it. "They're coming left and right today."

Peter snapped his fingers.

"Damn!" the cougar yelped. "And here I thought I was being subtle."

"Nope," I shook my head.

Peter pouted.

"Well, you were asleep for so long that I had a lot of time to think of possible pun-like reaction to everything you're bound to say in your hissy fit state," Peter said. "You know that being a sarcastic bastard is one of my few remaining pleasures in life."

I couldn't help but chuckle softly.

"Fair enough," I said.

"Come on," Peter tapped my good hip with his tailtip, "don't make me pounce you or something. And I only like pouncing you when you're ass up on the bed."

I made a face.

"No pouncing at this state, please," I grunted, "I'm pretty sure the doctor banned me from being on my knees, too."

Peter licked his lips.

"Being flat on the belly works too, though it tends to make the bed squeak a lot, "Peter said.

I puffed out my cheeks and let the air flow out of my lungs slowly.

"Do you also only think about sex?"

"Well I had to pass the time watching porn when I was waiting for you to wake up, and I think that this hot sexy lion hunk Roger Longman is my new favourite erotic performer."

I made a face and snuffled appropriately.

"Do I need to know?" I said.

"Probably not," Peter rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "but it wouldn't be funny otherwise."

I yawned.

"I guess so," I huffed.

"Come on, Rowreeh," Peter clapped his paws together. "That breakfast will spoil if you don't come soon."

"I'm not hungry."

"Yes you are," Peter declared. "And in need of coffee, and some fresh air, and seeing someone that isn't my ugly cortisone-swollen face."

I opened my muzzle to retort something, but Peter decided to spin around on his heels and walk out of the room, so that he left me simply lying there with my jaws open, and staring at the swinging tail that trailed the cougar.

I sighed.

Oh, crap.

It was a bit difficult to believe that I had really slept for so long, and probably Peter hadn't joked about it, either. My phone was one the small bedside table, but I seemed to lack the strength, or will, to do so. It didn't matter. I didn't have to check the time to see whether Peter had made up the story about sixteen-hour sleep or not. All my limbs, and my tail, felt heavy in that particular way they did when you slept for so long that you actually felt tired after sleeping, due to the associated grogginess. I knew that feeling, as of recent from the hospital, too, and I had no doubt that this was the case now, too.

How I had managed it, I didn't know. I had been so agitated last night...well, all afternoon and evening, more like, since I went to bed early after...after sufficient amount of sulking and weeping and generally denying myself any comfort, until I exhausted myself with misery. The sleep had been empty and dreamless, and I was glad for that.

I was too tired to fight.

I was almost too tired to get to the bathroom, too, but the demands of my body were something that were less easy to ignore, and that's why I grunted manly to myself, sought out my crutches, and made my way to the guest bathroom just in time.

I sighed deeply at the relieving sensation, and it almost felt like some of the tension in my body was removed along with the splashing stream coming out of me. It was a bit of a balancing act, considering I had to have one crutch to keep me steady, and needed one paw to hold Rory Junior's aim, but I had gotten the hang of it, out of necessity, and managed to get my bladder emptied without accidental watersports.

I gave the white-tiled shower a longing look, but decided that in my current state of things, I didn't want to bother with the acrobatics of washing without putting any pressure on leg. Peter's guest bathroom wasn't fitted for easy access, either, unlike his own, which I could've probably used, if I promised to scrub it with chlorine afterwards...but that seemed an awfully lot of work in exchange of a shower I didn't quite so desperately need.

I finished with my bathroom service and then hobbled over to the sink to give myself a good rinse on my paws and my arms, to feel a bit more clean, and to conform to Peter's surgical suite-grade pawwashing standards. The washing gel coming out of a pump bottle operated with your elbow sure smelled strong enough to kill everything that might be lurking in my paws, and it made my nose wrinkle seriously. I was surprised my eyes weren't watering.

I gave myself a look on the mirror and winced, while my ears flicked along to the sound of running water. My eyes looked a bit red, and definitely not very bright or cheerful or happyhappy at all. I grunted to myself and made the mirror fog up. I looked a mess.

"I look a mess," I declared.

I closed the tap and grabbed a couple of paper towels from the dispenser, and patted my paws as dry as I could. This would have to do.

I made my slow way back into the bedroom, and could already smell the coffee. It caused my stomach to grumble again, and remind me of its existence. Guess it was no wonder that I was hungry...sixteen hours of sleep and not eating...well, anything for most of yesterday, after losing my appetite after...

I bit my teeth together and reminded myself to not to think about the unfortunate phone call and the breakdown that followed. I had no strength left for that now, and didn't want to go back into that state of mind. Not now, when things felt a little bit hopeful, and I didn't want to lay face down on the bed and snarl.

Getting a pair of pants on did require a bit of snarling, though, I discovered when I sat down and struggled to get my legs in where they belonged, but a couple of minutes later I could present myself, in my four-legged state, to Peter, who was sitting on the kitchen table and eating muesli dry from a bowl.

I have no idea how he did that, but he seemed to like it well enough, and even grinned at me when he saw and heard me coming.

"Just sit down," he said as he got up from his chair, "I'll get you some coffee."

"Thanks," I snuffled.

We passed each other, both on our way to our destinations, and soon I was sitting down in relative comfort, on a pillow, while Peter placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of me. Peter had a glass of apple juice, besides his muesli and a carefully peeled orange. I took an apple from the plastic box on the table, which contained the fruit.

"I'll get some fresh food delivered today," Peter said once he had returned to his seat, "Is there anything you'd like me to order for you?"

"Nope," I snuffled.

Peter flicked his ears at me.

"Alright," he said.

I picked up my spoon and placed it into my coffee mug for the purpose of stirring it, and began.

"When do you want go then?" I rumbled.

"I've called the cab to be here at 10 sharp," Peter replied after swallowing his brittle mawful of muesli.

I looked up at the wall clock and saw that it was 9:36 now.

At least we weren't in a hurry.

"Okay," I rumbled.

Peter scratched his arm.

"We usually do everything by the phone and on emails but Hartnell wanted to talk about his next project with me, and I guess he wanted to do it face to face. I guess it's easier for him that way, too," Peter mused.

"Yeah," I mused, "guess you can't really email reel to reel tapes."

Peter snickered.

"He still plays them to the first year students," Peter replied with a happy smile on his lips, "On Introduction to American Dialectology."

"I'm surprised he still has a player that works," I replied after a sip of my coffee.

Peter always made great coffee, even though he didn't drink it himself anymore. I was practically purring by the time the hot liquid reached the back of my throat.

"I think he hoards them," Peter mused. "He has a couple of them piled up in the corner of his office, I think, next to the big fireproof safe filled with reel to reel tapes."

"Gotta love that office of his," I replied, well recalling the Aladdin's cave quality of the grizzled beaver's personal rooms in the faculty of English.

"That's why I'll be wearing a mask there," Peter said. "So much dust and so many term papers in stacks...full of pawprints from sweaty students."

"Mine's probably still there somewhere, judging from the speed he reads them," I suggested.

I might as well play this game, too.

"He actually showed me mine last time I visited," Peter said.

"Oh?" I batted an ear.

Peter took a big gulp from his juice and did a little "aaahh" and clicked his tongue once he was done.

"Yeah, he said he'd been looking at it recently," Peter said, "I don't know why, really, but he said he thought it was nicely written."

I shrugged.

"I don't think mine's been read even once after it was graded, "I snuffled. "I sure haven't."

"Bah," Peter breathed. "I'm sure some senseless undergraduate will once get his or her paws on it while searching for research about Tess of the d'Urbervilles."

"May have to brush off the spider webs first," I made a face.

Peter smirked and batted my ankles with his tail, under the table. I gave him a look.

"What would you say about some fish today?" Peter suggested.

I snuffled.

"We haven't even finished breakfast," I said.

"Well I have to take it to defrost in the fridge if I want it to be ready in the afternoon," Peter replied.

"I'll leave it up to you then," I mused.

"Sure," Peter smiled. "You can trust me on that."

"Yeah."

Peter thrummed the tabletop with his fingertips and gave me a look.

"Cheer up, Rowreeh," he said. "You've sulked enough yesterday. Don't spoil this day as well. We'll make it a good day."

I tensed.

Peter probably meant that to be something reassuring to say, I was pretty sure of that, but judging from my bristling neck furs, it had the opposite effect. More like, I was starting to feel even more determined to remain in the confines of my bed and spending the day thinking about the mess that was my relationship with Victor.

If there was a relationship left, anyway. I wasn't so hopeful anymore, not now that Victor had decided to share all our troubles with Cobb...even when he had explicitly said earlier that he didn't want to tell his brother about our problems, because he didn't want Cobb to be involved...to meddle things up even further with his own theories about it all.

Guess it didn't matter anymore. He'd decided to tell Cobb, and Cobb told me exactly what he was thinking, and that had been hard enough on me that I'd spent almost all of yesterday sulking and without the will to speak with anyone. I didn't want to moan to Peter, I didn't want to beg Cobb's forgiveness, and I didn't even want to call Victor, to tell him that Cobb had told me his mind. Quite simple as that.

I needed to think about something else.

Even if I was rebelling against Peter's attempts to make me do so, I knew that it was exactly what I needed. Everything he was saying was true, of course it was. Peter knew how to deal with sulking. He'd seen me sulk before. I'd seen him sulk, and grief, and everything in between.

It was he who came up with the idea to phone Cobb, too, so that I would have had a reason to stop sulking.

I couldn't hold that against him. He'd only meant well, and it was a logical thing to do...but based on my warped assumption that Cobb was still oblivious about the...state of uneasiness that existed between me and Victor. My naïve disposition had now been proven to be at fault, and with a price. I almost felt like I did after I woke up after the car accident...battered, rejected, and endlessly tired.

And again Peter was here, by my side, telling me that I should stop worrying about it and just do something.

How could I ever tell him how much that meant to me?

Well, the least I could do was to appreciate his effort, and say as much.

I swallowed.

"Thanks," I said in my rough voice.

"Is that a promise?" Peter said.

I quirked my brow.

"Promise of what?" I asked.

Peter snuffled.

"That you'll allow yourself this one day without sulking about everything ok?" he stated.

I had to bite my teeth together before I answered.

"Ok," I whispered. "I'll try."

Peter's tail flicked against my ankles again, and tickled them. I almost jumped again, but managed to be careful with my bad leg, and prevented another unfortunate incident with it.

"If that's the best I'll get out of you, I better be happy with it," Peter said.

I didn't really know what to say to that.

*

I had my crutches between my knees as I sat on the backseat of the cab and kept my eyes mostly fixed on the back of the headrest on the currently empty passenger's seat.

"Been a long while since you went to the university, Rory?"

I turned to look at Peter, sitting by me, with a leather suitcase resting on his lap. He was already wearing a surgical mask over his muzzle.

Fuck.

"A few weeks," I replied. "I met Colin at the library, back then."

Of course he had to ask that question. Of course I had to have that answer to it. My paws curled firmly around the cold aluminium of my crutches. I had to hold back a rumble.

Peter's brow furrowed immediately.

"Sorry," his ears fell. "I didn't think about it."

I shook my head quickly.

"Never mind," I said, determined to keep up to my earlier promise, for now. "It's fine."

Peter patted my arm, and I let him.

You sure it's okay?" he said.

I shrugged and kept on staring ahead of me.

"Too late now, anyway."

Peter squeezed my arm.

"No, it isn't," he said in that oddly muffled voice that was due to the mask he wore. "We can go back if you want, and I'm really sorry that I didn't think about it. Forgive me."

I shrugged again.

"Doesn't matter anymore," I grunted. "I'll rather just do this."

"Are you sure?" Peter whispered.

"Of course," I snuffled without looking at him. "I'd be ridiculous if I didn't do this."

Peter's paw didn't leave from my arm, and I didn't tell him to take it away, either, even if my neck pricked and there was a weight in my chest.

"I guess you're right," he said.

"I know," I breathed.

Peter's fingers squeezed more gently on my arm.

"It'll be fun," Peter told me in an assuring tone, "you'll see the old Mackintosh building, and the dorms, and the student cafeteria, the new one, of course, and you'll see what they did to the old Payne courtyard. It's pretty cool now that they dug up the old cobbles and made it all neat and spiffy."

I rumbled from the corner of my muzzle and gave him a glance.

"Spiffy?" I stated.

Peter winked.

"I think so. You can see the med students jogging through it now every now and then. They still have their own athletics circle...and what wouldn't be nicer than watching a nice row of buns going round and round and round..."

Peter made a round and round and round gesture with his paw and appeared quite amusement by his own humor. I wondered whether the cab driver appreciated Peter's sentiment about homoerotic jogging, but decided not to ask the non-descript wolf about it.

*

The town traffic wasn't very busy today, and it probably didn't take us more than fifteen minutes at most to navigate our way through the city center and into the corner of a suitably parking lot hidden behind the liberal arts building of the Taylor University. Peter had told the cab driver to drop us off there rather on the front, since, as he claimed, it was a shorter way to walk from there, and I was grateful for that thoughtfulness, as much s for everything else the cougar did to ensure my wellbeing.

My ears flicked at the sound of the cab accelerating behind us, but my ears were fixed at the positively Victorian red brick walls of the university, rising five stories high in front of us. A pair of glass doors waited on the end of a ramp, which was probably there more to facility transport of goods rather than disabled access, but it still seemed nicer to me than some steep stairs.

"See that?" Peter pointed at an area on the wall, on the side to our left, where part of the building was covered in steel scaffolding and plastic drapes.

"Uh huh," I mused as I put one paw ahead of another in my new, slow fashion.

"They're fixing up the Baker wing," Peter replied, "doing a total renovation on it, thanks to some big shot donation. I wonder if they're going to change the name to reflect the new owner of the plumbing there."

Peter snuffled cheerfully, and I chuckled, too, once.

"Wonder how much I'd have to donate to get something named after myself," I mused dryly.

Peter winked, and I was sure he was smiling ruthlessly under his mask.

"You might get a toilet stall or a cleaning closet for a hundred bucks, maybe," he said, "but you'd probably only get a piece of paper taped on the wall rather than an engraved brass plate."

I snorted at the outrageous sentiment, and wondered whether anyone would like to visit the Rory Gliese Memorial Bathroom.

"Any repairs done on the Mackintosh wing?" I noted, which held the English department, and which was to our right, in our current alignment, and towered in its red brick glory about a hundred yards away.

"They're working their way up," Peter replied.

My crutches made clicking sounds on the concrete of the ramp.

"They did the German department about a year ago and have been doing some stuff on the Romance floor, but haven't reached the third floor yet."

"Typical," I mused.

The doors in front of us opened automatically, much to my surprise, with a whirl of unseen electric motors. I felt a rush of air and hear the WHOOOSH of air conditioning equipment which made me feel positively chilly during the couple of seconds it took us to traverse the entryway and then into a badly lit corridor which I knew to run in a roughly cross-shaped way through the ground floor of the building.

"Here we are," Peter declared once we were beyond the range of the deafening airstreams, "any home sweet home feelings, Rowreeh?"

"Not yet," I rumbled.

Peter patted my shoulder with his paw.

"Come on," he said, "down this corridor, then we took a right and walk to the elevators, and we'll get us right up to the English department. It's not a long way at all."

"Well I still know the way," I rumbled as we started trekking along the wide corridor, "unless they've changed the floorplan."

"I don't think they could, you know," Peter replied, with a cheerful sway to his tail, "I think this part of the university is protected. It has to look the same as it always did."

We walked past some decisively non-19th century couches, complete with a couple of sprawling students tapping on their iPhones, and I decided that Peter probably knew what he was talking about.

We must have walked about thirty yards before the turn Peter had alluded to before came on us, and now an even longer, and broader corridor opened in front of me. It was still very quiet along the big corridor, which I think we used to call The Mall, back in the good old carefree gay student days, none the least because there was a small cafeteria there, and the stationery shop, which I could already see at the distance, and indicated by the relative bustle around their exits.

I walked as carefully as I could, and made sure to keep an eye on Peter, too, to see how he was coping with being around with so many furs, some of whom might be...you know...coughing, or doing some other things that would not do much good for Peter's fear of crowded places and germs. He seemed to be doing okay, walking there with his leather case, and he certainly didn't seem to be caring about the occasional curious looks his surgical mask attracted. Maybe the students were used to seeing furs in outlandish gear...and I guess when you could see someone wearing a skirt that looked like it was made out of loops of green garden hose walk past you in a corridor, like that girl who just passed us, I decided that he probably wasn't so much of a freak here.

"Doesn't look so different here," I commented as we went along.

Peter nodded.

"Why would it?" Peter mused. "Nobody cares about the student cafeteria."

"Is the food still the same?" I asked.

"I daren't try," Peter flicked his ears.

"Figures," I snorted.

"How're you doing?" Peter asked once we had passed the stationery shop.

I wondered whether I looked like I wasn't doing well, but didn't ask him that.

"I'm okay," I replied. "Not tired yet."

"We'll get you down on a nice couch and with some soda once we get up to the third floor," Peter said.

"You brought soda?" I asked curiously.

"We'll get you a can from the machine.

"Gee, thanks," I snuffled.

Peter patted my shoulder quickly.

"Don't worry," he said. "I promised to take good care of you, and that's what I'm doing."

"Thanks," I smiled a little happily.

The reassuring sight of the shiny elevator doors met me soon enough, and I felt a certain amount of relief at the thought of soon perhaps finding my ass resting on a couch once we reached the third floor and Peter could go on to his business. I didn't mind the wait that would be inevitable. It probably would do me good...contemplation outside my normal circle of existence. Besides, maybe I'd run into a familiar face...get into a chat...sip some soda Peter promised for me...stretch my legs a little once I felt rested enough...anything to distract.

"Can I ask you to do something, Rory?"

"Huh?" I asked.

Peter pointed at the elevator in front of us, now that we'd reached the small lobby area on the end of the corridor.

"Could you press the call button, please?" Peter said.

My ears flicked quickly.

"Sure," I said, and didn't think anything else of it, as I balanced myself and made the quick pat of the lighted button.

"Thanks."

We spent a couple of moments in a familiar silence, me trying to find a nice posture for my arms so that I could rest a little while leaning my weight on them. There really wasn't anything to say to fill such an empty moment, and probably no need to, either. I was still relieved when the electronic BING! signaled to us the imminent arrival of the magical moving box.

A fox and a bear exited the lift, and once they were clear, I took my hobbling self into the mirror-walled mobile rectangle, closely followed by Peter. I wondered whether his dislike of crowded places extended to recently used elevators, but he seemed to be...alright, when he stepped inside and positioned himself by me.

"Would you press the button for third floor, Rory?"

I glanced at the small panel near the door that contained the buttons, and nodded.

"Sure."

I made my move.

"WAIT UP! INCOMING!"

A voice clattered into my eyes, and made me turn my head towards it, so that my eyes were looking through the elevator doors and into the lobby area.

Someone was coming in with quick, striding steps, and waving a paw, while the other carried a black leather case.

"Hold up, please!" the sonorant voice repeated, coming from the quickly approaching male.

"Oh my fucking..." that was Peter, exclaiming in that muffled voice.

My paw froze against the elevator buttons, and I just stared at the approaching green beret-wearing feline with wide, lost eyes.

"God..." I added.

"WOW!"

Him.

*