Maxwell 2

Saturday, July 23, 2001

The great golden bear sat in one of the large, high-backed booths at the back of the local draft house. It was one of the reasons that he liked the place - they had furniture and space to accommodate the Ursine of Royal Proportions. This particular location within the establishment was what the staff had nicknamed his "usual table," and nearly every member of the waitstaff knew him on a first-name basis, or even just "Bear." He never minded it, because as the old song said, it's nice to have a place where everybody knows your name... or at least your food order. They had a large glass of ice water with lemon at his table almost before he could sit, and if he said "The usual," the only remaining question was "Diet soda or beer?" He did quaff one, once in a while, but he had to be in the mood for it.

Tonight, he had held back on ordering, because he was meeting someone. The idea had been Grayson's, which was a little surprising. Not the location (most of the staff knew him as well as they knew Max), but simply the invitation itself. Up to this point, it had always been Max who had suggested getting a meal. The fox took the initiative this time, which of course sent Tess positively over the moon. "I was about to take a shot at him myself, if you kept fobbing him off! Honestly, you great muscled muttonhead, don't you think it's about time the two of you had at least an attempt at the tango?"

"It's not like that," the bear had said. "He seems... different, lately. Like he's got something on his mind. I think he wants a shoulder to cry on."

"You certainly have the largest shoulders around, Max... and a heart to match." The lion, risking his certification in Modern Office Environment Sensitivity Training (of which he had none), had kissed the bear's forehead softly then gazed into his eyes. "You deserve someone as wonderful as me. I'm afraid to cross that boss-employee line; it tends to work out badly. But I love you no less, you big ol' bear, and I want to see you happy. So let him talk, and give him your best. Listening is love, too."

Max felt that phrase more than any other: Listening is love, too. Maybe that's all that this was about. Worrying that it might be something more was just that - worrying. That wouldn't help Grayson or himself. It would be better just to wait.

"Not eating tonight?"

The bear smiled as he turned toward the friendly voice of the draft house's manager. The older razorback wasn't quite as big as Max, but he still functioned as owner, barback, head chef, and bouncer-when-needed. His tusks, nearly perpendicular to his muzzle, were short but effectively intimidating when needed. His chest and arms were muscular, and his slight pot-belly was hard enough underneath to withstand a punch or two. If you were on his good side, the worst that you had to fear was being hugged to the point of gasping for air.

"Waitin' on a friend, Kasey."

"You have a friend? Stop the presses!"

Max laughed with his friend. "You're getting as bad as Tess. Suddenly, everyone is Dolly Levi!"

"How is His Royal Magnificence?"

"Just as you say. How's the missus?"

"Clem's great. On the grill tonight, so if you're looking for your usual, it'll be supersized."

"Sounds fitting."

Bear and boar regarded the newcomer, both with smiles. "Good to see you, perfesser," Kasey said. "Funny you two not having come in together before this."

Grayson grinned and shook Kasey's forepaw with gusto. "Didn't want to upset the staff, having to face both of us at the same time."

The razorback laughed, clapping Grayson on the shoulder. Max, meanwhile, was wondering how in the world the fox was able to look so perfectly dressed-to-the-nines when wearing merely khakis and a polo-style shirt. Maybe it was the colors against his fur; the shirt was a kind of deep purple with a darker tinge, a color that had become known as "eggplant" for its presumed similarity to the vegetable. Tess had corrected him carefully about the subtleties: "Eggplant is more brownish, more subtle, than a royal purple. That's what separates royalty from the peasants." Whatever the nomenclature, the color seemed to make Grayson's arctic white fur even brighter, and the spun gold highlights in his headfur and mantle were richer by comparison.

Somewhere in his meticulous ursine brain, a tiny list-maker said, Looks good to me no matter what - check.

When Grayson turned his eyes directly to Max, the bear had a strange and utterly certain feeling: _He's hurting like hell._He forced himself to smile and take the fox's forepaw (easier than getting up from his bench in the booth, and somehow, Max knew that hugging Grayson right now might actually be more hurtful than helpful). After the professor got himself settled in, the host turned into a surrogate waiter. "Know what you want, doc, or would you like to look at the menu?"

"Got any specials?"

Kasey rattled them off as Grayson considered. "Swedish meatballs and noodles sounds great."

"Good choice; Ikea doesn't make it as good as we do. Iced tea, sweet, right?"

"How is it that you can remember what everyone drinks?"

"Some say I have the soul of a $200 hooker. Max?"

"Since Clem's makin' it, the usual is great. And a diet."

"Drinks out in a flash," the boar grinned. "I'll be sure to let Clem know you're both here."

Left to themselves at last, bear and fox settled themselves in, looking at each other for a moment with smiles that were within an ace of being genuine but in fact were four-flushing with worry. The sounds of the draft house were pleasantly raucous and happily distant from this back part of the dining room area. Some manner of pro sports was being shown on every screen in the place, but only the bar area had sound. Those who had come to dine were given some peace, and this furthest-back booth was best, whether Max was there to eat and read one of his ubiquitous books, or to meet a friend who clearly had a problem on his mind.

"I'm glad to see you, Grayson," he tried as an opener.

"Thank you for meeting me."

"Good excuse for good food."

"And good conversation." Grayson smiled again, a little more genuinely, but still troubled.

After a brief pause, the young bear asked, "How can I help?"

The fox's smile spread as a chuckle escaped his lips. "No flies on you, Max. What gave me away?"

"With that tail? Never play poker, Gray."

"Fair enough." Grayson looked for a moment at his forepaws, clasped on the table, then back up, the smile on his muzzle turned more sardonic than not. "Shall I spoil our appetites, or our digestion?"

"You won't spoil anything, as far as I'm concerned. Take your pick."

"Okay. Pleasant banalities until the food gets here. You tell me wonderful tales of the insanity of running a tech business while we eat, and then I'll take over the conversation as afters."

"Pleasant banalities." Max considered the term for a moment before saying, "My, but we're having a bit of a heat wave this summer, eh wot?"

"And them KC Royals is fightin' above their station."

"The Cubs? Ain't won a series since 1908, what the hell?"

And so it went, the two friends using the pretense pleasantly enough until Kasey swooped in with two huge platters of food. Max dug up a few stories from recent weeks, and an old one that he'd never gotten a chance to tell Grayson before, and they both tucked into their meals with reasonable gusto. Clementine had gone all out, providing a portion to the fox that was undoubtedly above and beyond the usual (bringing the take-out box for leftovers with the meal was a bit of a giveaway). Max's "Big-Appetite Destroying Burger - On Your Own" (or BADBOYO) was made exactly the way he loved it, with 95% lean beef, turkey bacon, bleu cheese, tomato, extra red onion, light thousand island dressing, and the three-part seven-grain stone-ground wheat bun to carry the two 150g patties that came out toothsome and juicy with Clem's "special marinade" of Worcestershire sauce, touch of wasabi, touch of teriyaki, touch of cumin, and probably something exotic like eye of newt for all he knew. Even the bear's maw had to open extra wide to accommodate that much meat... as both Clem and Kasey never tired of teasing him.

By the end of the meal, with fully half of Grayson's plate being put into the take-out container, both furs had more than a little case of postprandial narcosis. The tension was lessened considerably, but Max still felt it, like just a hint of static on a radio station frequency a tad out of proper tuning. The conversation, still amiable, was becoming very slightly stilted. Ultimately, the fox sighed, attempting a smile. "My turn, I think."

The bear settled back in his seat, forcing himself to keep his arms limp at his side. To clasp them across his chest or belly, though possibly comfortable, could signal blockage or unwillingness to listen; to put them in his pockets would be to withdraw; to place them on the table might seem aggressive. He owed more than a little of his economic success to reading body language from tip to tail. He also knew how to apply it himself. "I'm listening, Grayson," he said softly, perhaps superfluously, although the use of the fox's name did provide an extra measure of reaching out. Millennium, Profiler, Criminal Minds, serious books on the subject - they all helped.

Grayson settled back, a bit more slumped than merely relaxed. Max couldn't see the fox's tail from this position, but the splayed ears and general demeanor told enough. "I'm providing some unofficial counseling for someone. There's no sort of doctor/patient privilege here, so in theory, I could tell you everything."

Max shook his head. "You wouldn't do that. You don't betray your confidences."

"I could be compelled by law, I suppose, but that would be hearsay, so there's no point in trying to get at me that way. It's not the point, actually. Do you know the phrase quis custodiet ipsos custodes?"

The ursine nodded sagely. "It means 'who watches the watchers.' It's used most often, at least lately, to question political power, the decisions made behind closed doors."

"Happily, that's not the case here. Sadly, however, no one has asked qui consulit consiliarios."

"I'm going to take a shot in the dark that you're saying 'who counsels the counselors.'"

"Full marks."

"I'm good at context."

"I'll have you reading Anthony Burgess yet."

"Horrorshow."

"Spasibo, me droogie."

Max leaned forward, placing gently interlaced fingers on the table. At this point, the body language would signal interest and focus, although he wasn't fully conscious of the action. "Tell me whatever you need to, Grayson. I'm here for you."

The fox heaved an impressive sigh, rivaling one of the bear's own. "A young male was nearly raped, a few weeks ago. I was nearby at the time, and I stopped it before... shall we say, too much damage was done."

The bear felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop slightly.

"The male who attacked the younger male was of age, and he was charged as an adult. Assault and battery, aggravated assault, attempted rape, statutory rape, damage to property--"

"Wait, wait ... statutory rape? The victim was underage?"

"Yes. He turned 16 only a week ago. This happened on the Fourth, at a sort of block party. The yowen was assaulted in his own home. His own room."

"How did you...?"

"I was invited, by him and his parents. He was in my AP class at the high school, spring semester. He'd gone back inside his house, and I was going in to ask him if I might use the bathroom. I was preceded by his assailant, who was clearly drunk. I only held back because I wasn't sure if I might end up interrupting a lover's tryst."

"The yowen is gay?"

"Out loud and proud; part of his LGBTQ group at school. A junior. I heard a door slam, and even then, I wasn't entirely sure. Eagerness?" Grayson shook his head. "What I heard, Max... the words... I know that verbal abuse could be part of love play for some, but this went far beyond that. It was worse than foul; it was degrading, violent, and when I drew close enough to the door, I heard R--" The professor caught himself. "I heard the yowen's voice, muffled, trying to scream, so I walked in. It was clear that there was nothing voluntary happening. I pulled the... the other male off of the yowen, pinned him on the floor. The commotion brought others, and they helped restrain the drunken bastard, as well as keeping the yowen's parents from ripping him to shreds... although I'd probably have been on their side."

"Was the yowen okay?"

"Bruised, shaken, his clothes ripped apart, some minor cuts from claws... but 'the worst' didn't happen. He fell into my arms and cried, cried so hard, cried so much, cried until he finally passed out. I put him to bed, staying near in case he woke up. His parents let me sleep on their couch in the den. I spoke with him a bit when he woke up, and since then, I've been an unofficial counselor to all three of them... sometimes together, sometimes just... the yowen."

Max took a long moment to absorb all this. The term "yowen" was universal, spanning youth of all species; it was more discreet than pup, kit, fledgling, buck, anything at all. The victim was underage and male, that was all Max knew... and all he needed to know.

"The attacker was looking at 10-20 years just for the statutory assault; with the violence and other charges, attested to by combined statements from R-- ... from the yowen, the family, and the various adults who witnessed the aftermath, he could have faced several decades, if they were served sequentially instead of concurrently. He cut a plea bargain of 15 years, hearing for parole in five, with good behavior. I wouldn't count on him getting out in that short time. He'll be sent to prison as a child molester, and most inmates don't take kindly to that. 'Short eyes,' that's the usual term. And even when he gets out, he'll have the stigma of 'sexual offender' for the rest of his life. Every search engine in the world will bring that up; there are even some that specialize in it, with a perverse pride that should itself be criminal. His choices of where to live, where to work, what to do, will be almost impossible for him to control. He's doomed."

The bear physically shivered with the use of those words. He recovered enough to ask, "How are they, Grayson? That may be a stupid question, but..."

"Not stupid at all." The golden-white fox took a moment to rub his face and eyes, his forepaws shaking slightly, a frustrated tinge of red showing on his cheeks. "The parents are better reconciled, more out of a need to be as supportive to their yowen as possible. They really would have torn the... the assailant apart that night; since they didn't, they have no charges to face, or even to plead a self-defense or home defense case. Since the assailant confessed, in order to accept the plea bargain, there was no need for the witnesses to appear in court. The prosecution filed all witness statements, the defense stipulated, the guilty plea was entered, and the assailant stated his allocution, as required. I've not seen the transcript, but I get the feeling that he bungled it; if you use the wrong words when explaining what you did, it can really screw up your chances of parole. I get the impression that he's not too clever about how to use words. Chances are that the first time at parole, even if the young victim doesn't show up, the bastard wouldn't get out, even if he used his prison time to get a college degree and became a priest. Which, if you think about it, isn't very funny."

"I'm not laughing," Max offered quietly.

"I've become both counselor and legal surrogate for the family. I've been given limited power of attorney to act on their behalf, in regard to this. Any communications from the assailant, from the prison, from the DA's office, or the Public Defender's office, all of it comes to me. I've become something of a buffer for them. I know there's a definition of it in computer tech, but I think of it more in terms of being part of the buffers-and-chain system used in rail transport. I'm to keep everyone - particularly the yowen - away from harmful news or sudden shocks. If the System actually requires anything further of the family, I'm to get the news first and deliver it in my own way. I don't expect anything; I doubt that the assailant is the writing type, and there's nothing more for either side to do about the case itself. So the family, as a whole, is taken care of.

"The young one himself may take more time." The fox closed his eyes, fighting back tears, shook his head as if to erase unwanted memories. "The two of them were lovers, or at least the older visited the younger often enough that the older was the younger's first experience with being penetrated. The older is probably more Kinsey 1 - rather have a female, took the yowen when other opportunities were unavailable. Apparently, violence had happened once before - not an attack, by the yowen's understanding of it, and certainly nothing that compared to the recent events. That first time, the older male had gotten some alcohol, meaning someone had broken the law and bought it for him, and he spent a few hours spouting about how unfair this female at school had been, and when R--" He stopped himself again, and the bear simply nodded, understanding. "When he offered comfort, the older male took him brutally and passed out almost immediately after. The younger lay curled up nearby, terrified, shaking, wondering how he was going to explain torn clothing, a bruised lip, a black eye..."

Max whimpered as if the pain had happened to him personally. "Why did he go back? The younger. I have the feeling that this happened a while back."

Grayson nodded. "Perceptive, bear; always thought so. The first attack was early fall of last year, as I reckon it. The older claimed to remember nothing; he lied, cajoled, pleaded, moped, whined, and eventually managed to let the yowen's own hormones do the rest. It was on-and-off, no jokes intended. More or less cut off at the end of this school year, when the older male graduated. The young one had his suspicions about the sudden ending of the affair; I think he credited it to the idea that the older was supposed to go off to college, and he was making a hard break of it. However... the older male showed up at the party, drunk, and apparently jilted by some female, and..."

The great golden bear simply nodded. It's not that it was sensible, but it made sense. He could see the reasoning of the insane mind, rationalizing everything. He knew better than to ask, but he'd have bet both of his full, ripe plums that the word "slut" was involved. "The yowen thought it was his fault, didn't he?" To the fox's slightly surprised look, Max said, "I know some of the psychology. Happened to a friend of mine, except in his case, it was supposed to have been a sex game. It started to get out of paw, he used the safe word several times, and the other guy just kept going. My friend thought it had to have been his fault, somehow, that he did something to deserve to be treated that way, or that he deserved to be punished for having done something wrong."

"It's a horrible thing." The professor's breath caught just a bit, then he continued. "We're still talking about it. I think he's started to accept it mentally, but emotionally, he's still got the scars. They'll take a lot longer to heal. I think he will. He's pretty hardy."

"Okay," Max said softly. The story was spun, including the latest outcome from the parties concerned. All but one. "So, Grayson... how are you doing?"

"I'm fine."

"Another whopper like that one, and I'll personally head-slap you into next week." The bear's voice was velvety and soft, as was the tender smile on his muzzle. "I know that quis custodiet ipsos custodies_is correct. My Latin is almost non-existent, but I'm going to make a guess at _quis consolatur ipsos consolationem."

After a moment, the fox smiled softly. "Close. I'm not entirely sure myself, but I think the reflexive is out of place. I'd say qui consolatur qui consolateionem. And you'd be right. 'Who consoles the consolers'."

The silence between them stretched. Max let it continue for as long as he imagined was at least marginally healthy. "Do you have someone, Grayson?"

"I just told you about it."

"That's not what I mean."

Another stretch of time, as the golden-white fox looked the golden bear in his eyes, unblinking, not breaking contact for a moment. "I'm starting to wish you hadn't read that."

"Honestly... me, too. But I have, and I know... or at least suspect. And you're not seeing anyone now, are you?"

It felt like minutes before the fox slowly shook his head.

"Grayson, how long has it been since you cuddled up and watched a good movie?"

"I'd be terrible company for a date."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not asking for one, isn't it?" The bear smiled a little. "Come over to my place, and let's watch something not too sad and not too funny. Have you ever seen The Four Seasons? The poster has the comment, 'Here's to our friends... and the strength to put up with them.' Alan Alda starred, wrote, and directed, with Carol Burnett, Len Cariou, all-star cast. And just like Alda, parts of it are hilarious, and parts will bring on the tears."

With a slight smirk, Grayson managed, "Alda might want you to rephrase that slightly."

"You're not too far gone, then."

"Max, I don't think--"

"Good. Don't think. Just watch a movie. If nothing else, it'll add another great one to your list. And besides, where are you going to find a movin' pitchur house that offers specially-seasoned cheese popcorn, free soda, and a big bear pillow to lean on, all for one low admission price?"

"And what price is that?"

"You don't take your computer anywhere else for repair."

"I'm doing that now."

"See what a bargain that is?"

Grayson finally gave up and laughed. The sound filled Max's heart to bursting, and he felt particularly grateful for it. He would never be able to forget about what he read in Another Lonely Knight, and he may be the only furson, apart from the actual participants, to know about the fox's disastrous relationship, the mental rape at the paws of another, and the years he had spent being so unsure about his value as a furson, much less a lover or mate. The bear's only motive in hoping that Max would finish the novel was the hope that it would be, indeed, finished - an end to all that pain. Counseling someone about being raped must have been the most difficult thing for him to do, and that the victim was a minor, and worse, that the fox himself had been there be able to stop it... A hero's cloak is a tight fit at the best of times. Even Bruce Wayne knew that his life was not some noble struggle against evil, but an attempt to assuage the guilt over not being able to save his own parents.

"Would you let me pick up the check?" the fox asked.

"Only if you're sure. The BADBOYO ain't cheap."

"You're worth it." Grayson took the check and glanced at it quickly, considered, then grinned. "Yeah... still worth it."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Three couples, walking in a snow-bound, new-born day, tramped across a frozen lake with their backs and tails to the camera, squabbling back and forth as they'd done in various ways throughout the film, until the unmistakable voice of Carol Burnett said, "Hey, we really ought to come back here next year." Cue music from Vivaldi and roll credits. The Four Seasons was over.

Grayson laughed out loud as he lay upon his bear-pillow, and Max cuddled him gently, enjoying the laugh with him. It was one of his favorite films, and sharing it with the fox had been a wonderful treat. After all that food at the draft house, neither of them needed popcorn or soda. They had plunked themselves down on Max's supremely comfortable, very large sofa (made, Max liked to think, for a supremely comfortable, very large bear) and settled in to enjoy the movie. The performances, story, and dialog had the desired effect, giving Grayson something intellectual and enjoyable to focus upon.

The fox would not be distracted by mere entertainment; his mind needed something to gnaw upon no less than did his vulpine teeth. The professor had once described himself as "polyphasic," meaning that his mind tended to work on multiple levels at the same time. He could enjoy the film for its own sake, even as his writer's mind dissected the dialog for deeper meanings or how particular words were chosen above others. He would appreciate ways that a scene or point of view changed with camera angles, and wonder at the director's choice to put together the film in exactly this way. He viewed how the lighting worked, how the music affected a scene, how the set designer had constructed the objects and props of a scene, the dynamics of actor to setting, actor to actor, actor to action. And the entire time, anyone watching him would think he was just watching a movie.

"So howdja like them apples?" Max asked jestingly.

"Perfect," Grayson grinned. "Bonus points for a spectacular choice. I'll have to make sure this one is on my DVDs-to-collect list." The fox yawned grandly, and for a moment, he seemed about to leave the bear's gentle embrace, but he settled back into it again. "I really need to pee," he said, "but if I jump up now, it would be an insult to the best pillow I've had in years." He wiggled slightly against the bear - nothing the least bit sexual, just an expression of contentment. "Thank you, Max. You've been very sweet."

"Sugar Bear ain't got nothin' on me." The tech grinned, planting a kiss gently on Grayson's ear-tip. "And if you've got bladder issues, I won't take it personally. I've never tried watersports, but I think it's something better planned than accidental."

"Good point." The professor shifted to regain his hindpaws. "You're golden enough as it is, I daresay. I'm guessing it's just down the hall, or do I need to go downstairs into the shop?"

"We're very modern here - indoor plumbing and everything. You don't even have to go out to mark a tree."

"Don't tempt me!" Grayson laughed. "The moon was full last week, and it was all I could do not to strip to the fur and go a-howling."

Max chuckled quietly as the fox made his way down the hall to his desired destination. He caught himself briefly imagining that indulgence of nature. What a sight it would be, the fabulous white fur of the fox, thick and full and gleaming, Grandmother Moon's light making the faint golden highlights of Grayson's headfur and mantle shimmer like quicksilver. He very nearly embarrassed himself when he thought not just of the lush, full tail but all that might lie near it, fore and aft. He didn't so much push the thought aside as carry it carefully to a comfortable chair in the corner and politely ask it to be quiet for a while. The bear would treat nothing of the fox badly, including an errant thought that he'd probably be better off not having, especially if he was going to proceed as he had thought that he might even before the movie had started.

Familiar sounds from the bathroom indicated that the professor was on his way back to the living room. The bear remained seated to see what direction his friend wanted to take.

Grayson padded toward the sofa and stood for just a moment before sitting down, properly, on the part of the sofa that the bear didn't take up. He sat without speaking for a while before saying softly, "I don't quite know what to say, Max."

The great golden bear nodded a little. "I know, Grayson. But I have a suggestion, if you'll take it. I'd like for you to stay here tonight." His forepaw touched the fox gently on his shoulder. "I have a very comfortable guest room, and I make great French toast. Consider it a late dessert. It would give you somewhere other than your home to be in tonight. Like a miniature vacation. I'm not expecting anything, Gray. It's just my way of saying I care."

The fox chuckled gently. "That's a pretty elegant solution."

"I've been working on it all evening."

"Being the gentlefur that I am, I have to ask if I would be intruding."

"It would be worse if I let you go home alone tonight." The bear sobered slightly. "I'd be worried until I heard from you tomorrow. You've been through a helluva lot, Grayson... and not just the recent stuff. I guess I'd just feel better if I knew that you had someone to turn to, if you needed him. And I also know you're far too much a gentlefur to call me at four a.m., even if you needed me." The smile returned. "Etiquette, after all."

"A fox's greatest protocol. Even the sluttish among us must have some measure of panache and style to their outings. Our famous artist Taurin Fox proves that." The fox, who Max knew to be not the least bit sluttish, nodded. "I think I'd like that, Max."

"Feeling tired? Want to stay up? As your host, I am at your service to make you completely comfortable."

"Holy gods, what an opening!" Grayson laughed.

Max joined in, and the two spent a little while talking, no heavy topics, mostly about other films or shows that the stars of the movie had been in. Len Cariou had just had his first season in the series Blue Bloods; shortly after the movie came out, Jack Weston had gone on to feature in the not-very-successful TV series based on the film; and, if the tabloids were to be believed, there were rumors that Carol Burnett was thinking about touring with a one-woman show. They recalled old laughs from The Carol Burnett Show, and Grayson was an absolute walking encyclopedia of film and television trivia. Max was completely entertained, and even the fox seemed much lighter in his mood by the time both expressed themselves tired enough to sleep.

With the bear being a consummate host, and the fox being a guest of no lesser caliber, arrangements were swiftly made. Grayson thanked his benefactor with a final hug, and they separated for the night.

After his usual nighttime preparations for sleep, the great golden bear settled into his oversized bed (little choice but to have bought one custom-made; those over two meters tall end up spending more for specialty items like beds, sofas, clothing, towels, blankets...). The tiered window was vented open at the top to let the heat out, and at the level of the bed, the screened window let a soft summer breeze tease its way into the room, stirred by the ceiling fan some three meters above. He inhaled deeply of it, let it out slowly, and let his mind relax as he did so. He smiled in the darkness, feeling good about the time that he had spent with the fox tonight. It felt good to do a good turn, of course, but more, he felt that he had built some closeness of a sort that he'd not had the chance to do in a very long time. Perhaps Tess was right after all. It was far too soon to think about that too seriously, and let's be honest here, this was not a date; this was comforting a friend who very much needed comforting for far too many reasons than could be counted easily.

Shifting a little, Max thought again about what he'd read in Another Lonely Knight. He still felt guilty for reading it, but that couldn't be undone now. And whoever this Patrick guy was (Max felt sure this was a substitute for the real name), he'd better not get within five miles of the bear. All he'd need was to confirm the identity, lock the scent into his mind, and he'd track that weasel bastard to some lonely spot and tear him into pieces that even DNA analysis couldn't identify. Once more, he took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. He wasn't a violent furson, in ordinary circumstances. Besides, there was little chance that he'd ever find out who the guy really was, and he certainly didn't need the adrenaline in these moments before sleep.

The bear listened to the stirrings of his heart for a moment. In a lot of ways, he'd have the same defensive thoughts for any friend, but with Grayson, it really felt more personal. Perhaps he was falling for the fox after all. The tiny list-maker in his meticulous ursine brain hesitantly showed him the checklist for all the things that make someone an attractive candidate for a mate, and the column for Grayson was pretty well filled from top to bottom. He noted, with some amusement, that Tess' name was on there also, and his column had quite a number of check marks, although there was a big red "X" near the notation _Falling in love with a co-worker._He couldn't afford to give up his business in the name of love, and besides, Edward VII did it for Wallis Simpson, back in 1937, and you just don't try to out-do the British aristocracy. Simply not on.

Smiling in the darkness, the bear had to admit that he might not have known that bit of historical trivia if Grayson hadn't recommended the film The King's Speech. It had only come out last year, and it was well worth watching, for the history as well as for the acting. If one is lucky, one has a friend who is the personal "font of all wisdom," or at least the one who knows about a variety of important things, or trivial things, or perhaps things fabulous (in the dictionary sense of the word); someone of Gray's wide range and scholarly level of knowledge was rare, and Max appreciated it. It was wonderful to share it once and a while, and he had the feeling that making it a daily occurrence would be a good idea. That was, in a way, a case of WTMI, but the thought had occurred and, interestingly, it felt too good to ignore.

"Max?"

The sound was so soft that he wasn't certain that he'd heard it at first. Turning toward the doorway, he saw the fox hovering there, still dressed. Even in the mild glow of the waning moon, the bear could see the tremor that seemed to shake through the vulpine from tip to tail. He sat up quickly. "Grayson, are you all right?"

"No."

Again, hardly a whisper of breath. "How can I help?"

"I'm scared, Max. I'm asking too much..."

"Grayson, you haven't asked anything yet. But if you want to come hold me, come over here. That's what teddy bears are for."

"I need... Max, I don't want..."

"Gray," the bear nearly whispered. "Come over here."

The fox padded slowly toward the bed. Max had never seen the professor be anything other than strong, confident, assured, in charge of himself. His heart shattered to see the vulpine actually shaking from fear. He hadn't been sure before, but he was now; the Question needed to be asked.

"There's a sweet summer breeze cooling softly, and you need a teddy bear." He paused. "Grayson... would you share your fur with me?"

"It is warmth to us both."

The Response to the Question sounded too much like something automatic, and Grayson hadn't moved a centimeter closer. It felt to Max as if the fox was somehow disconnected from himself. He had been through so much, and he'd been strong for a little bit too long.

"Grayson, can you hear me?"

"Yes."

"Listen to me." The bear spoke more slowly, more gently. "May I share my fur with you?"

A longer moment passed, and something like understanding could be heard in the fox's voice. "It is warmth to us both, Max. And I... I need..."

The vulpine took a step closer to the bed, plucked gently at his shirt.

"Only if you want."

After a long moment, the fox slowly and shyly doffed his clothes, finally slipping beneath the covers. The great golden bear tenderly scooped him into his arms and just held him close. Grayson still shivered, then began a soft, agonized keening that was truly terrible to hear. Max felt hot tears against his chest, and he found himself crying as well, and in those moments, he vowed that, however he could make it happen, the knight would never again be lonely...