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The ride back to campus had largely been quiet. At first, nether Bobby nor Malcolm really wanted to say too much, since they'd been talking all weekend, to each other, to Mal's parents, to his brothers (Daniel had insisted on taking them to lunch before they got on the road), and partly because the two had been hugged all but senseless before departure, and there as a kind of familial afterglow that neither wanted to break. Bobby sensed more than knew from words or actions, but he was sure that Mal didn't really want to leave, even though it would be (for him) only another few weeks until he would be home for "the Christmas hols," as some of the British writers would call it. They still had each other, of course, and Bobby's room in the jock dorm was as close to sacrosanct as they could make it. Even so, there was at least a few months of pretending left to do, and then it would be time to make some choices.

The lion looked out at the late afternoon sky, eyes half-lidded, the tip of his tail thapping a bit against the leather-lined bucket seat of the car that, as he had learned this weekend, was a "hand-me-down" from Duncan, who had received it (quite unofficially) from a certain football scout. Bobby had to wonder if such gifts were in his own future. They say that college athletes don't deserve to be paid because they're being "given" an education, and that they'll make all their money when they turn pro. Statistics said less than two percent of college athletes even get the chance to turn pro, as Daniel - who was passed over in the never-ending struggle for "top talent," despite his superlative record (as good as Duncan's) - would attest. In some ways, Bobby was lucky, since his college career really was "full ride"; a lot of guys got free tuition, then had to struggle with paying for books, room, board, all the rest. Some guys had to work out on empty stomachs, because they couldn't afford lunch.

Happily, he realized, Coach Stackhouse wasn't one of those overpaid loudmouths who let his athletes suffer. The stupid thing was that, according to the rule books, the players can't even accept someone buying a lunch for them, especially if it's a coach, agent, scout, or whatever. It's why he had to keep "going Dutch" with Malcolm, or paying for both of their meals. In that sense, it was even worse than being in the closet.

He glanced over at his tiger lover and smiled softly to himself. Not for much longer. Mal's whole family had taken him in almost from the moment that he arrived. The tiger had snuck into the guest room late on Thursday night, after the parents had gone to bed, and they cuddled the night away. The knock on the door the next morning frightened him at first, not knowing what to expect. Lisa's voice sang out, "Excuse me, Mr. Harris, but I can't seem to find my son. I was wondering if he was misplaced, or merely mislaid."

Neither of the younger felines could stop their braying laughter, so any possibility at secrecy was thrown out the window. When they calmed down enough, the grin in Lisa's voice was apparent. "Breakfast in fifteen minutes; we've got a Black Friday special at the Center, so all paws on deck."

"Ma'am, yes, ma'am!" the two chorused.

A snort from beyond the door was followed by a single word: "Wiseasses!"

There in the car, Bobby's gentle chortle attracted his lover's attention. "Something funny, luv?"

The quarterback reached a paw to touch the tiger's headfur softly. "Your mom, what else?" He grinned along with Malcolm. "The only thing wrong with this weekend is that it's over too soon."

"Not completely over," the freshman grinned. "I'm hoping to help you cram for your exam tonight."

"What exam?"

"I don't care; pick one. It's the cramming I'm more interested in."

"A shame I can't Gibbs-slap the driver!" the lion laughed, then murred slightly. "Not that I object in any way to the sentiment."

"Good to know." Malcolm glanced away from the road for just a moment, his eyes filled with tender regard. "They like you a lot. Everyone does. I hope you don't mind me wanting you to become part of the family on a full-time basis. If I'm not rushing things too much, that is..."

"Maybe just a little," the junior admitted, reaching over to squeeze the tiger's thigh. "But I like it."

"What else were you thinking about?"

Bobby blinked. "What?"

Another quick sideways glance from the driver, a soft expression not quite a smile. "On the way up, you were worried about the idea of coming out. I thought... I don't mean to try to tell you that you're ready for that, not at all, I just meant..." The young tiger paused, his ears slightly splayed, eyes on the road. "You've met my family, at least, and... we're all in your corner, Bobby. I'm not telling you to do it, just wanted to talk about it, if you..." He sighed. "I feel like I'm kinda screwing this up."

"No, you aren't. And I'd kiss you to prove it, but that whole distracting the driver thing..."

"Bad idea."

"Yup." The lion chuckled softly. "You're right, though. I was thinking about that. I know I can count on you, Mal, and Lisa and Dave and Duncan and Daniel are there too. That's a lot. Might even be enough to live with, but..." He inhaled perhaps half a bushel of air and sighed heavily. "Right now, all I can think of is one last game, then finals, then getting through the holidays without you, at least a little. My dad will probably expect all of us kits to show up, just as always. The whole pride, as he'll never let us forget it's called. For once, I'm not really looking forward to it." He looked over at the handsome young male who was now his lover... possibly his mate, if fate would be just a little bit kind. "I still don't know what to do, browncoat. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't. I promise." Taking a forepaw from the wheel for just a moment, Malcolm reached out to squeeze the lion's arm gently. "I think you're right. I hate to sound like Twelve-Stepping, but the whole one day at a time idea - or just one step at a time - is probably good for us. I may not be the most patient guy around, but I can get through it." He smiled wanly. "I'll miss you over Christmas. I think everyone else will, too, but we'll get through it. And you'll still need a tutor in the spring, right?"

"Who can teach me everything."

"I'll do my best."

"I have every confidence." The athlete grinned. "Look at me, talkin' all fancy!"

"That's one way to use your tongue."

Bobby glanced over at the tiger, who looked as if he was about to burst from repressed laughter. "Careful there, stripey-butt... you'll find out just what this tongue is good for."

"Eek, eek, help, police, murder," Malcolm said softly, grinning.

The lion licked his lips with exaggerated lasciviousness. He was deeply gratified to see his lover squirm slightly in his seat, as if his pants had suddenly become a little too tight for comfort.

* * * * * * * * * *

"You really ready to go?"

Parker looked up from packing his duffel to consider the Saluki standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, forepaws stuffed into pants pockets.

"I thought you'd be glad I'm leaving."

"I'd have thought so too." Eoin smiled a little. "I've managed to find enough soft spot for you to want to make sure you're all right. You've got one helluva right cross, and I'd hate to think it might get unleashed on anyone else."

The Akita felt himself blush, his ears splayed. "I'm sorry about--"

The grad student held up a forepaw. "No, I'm sorry. It was supposed to be a joke. Probably didn't come out very well. Maybe what I mean is that I'm hoping you don't feel like you might hurt yourself or..." He looked down, his own blush flaring up under the white-gold fur. "I'm just making it worse. Sorry."

"I understand. Or I think I do." He put away the last of his shirts, freshly laundered in the almost futuristic-looking washer and dryer in the mansion's basement. "I'm sorry it happened, but it actually helped. Sounds weird to say it." He managed a smile of his own. "And no one's ever bested me with just a thumb before. That's pretty fancy."

"Maybe I could show you sometime." The ghost of a smile still played on the Saluki's lips. "We could always try another fartlek. The last one was pretty good, for the most part."

"Yes." The former footballer zipped up the duffel, let it lay there on the bed, looking softly at the other canine. "Eoin... I'm not good with words. 'Yet,' as Benedict would say. He's very encouraging. Almost makes me feel smart."

"You are smart. Or if you can't believe that one, let's just say that you're smarter than you give yourself credit for." The grad student shifted, as if he wanted to come into the room but had the good manners not to insist. "Benedict wouldn't let you leave if he weren't sure you'd be okay. And I'm sure he's told you that you can call him at any time, for any reason. I just want you to know that, for my part... you can call on me too."

"Why?"

"The drawing."

Parker felt the blush starting up again. Eoin had gone so far as to put the sketch into a kind of clear plastic sleeve, the kind of thing used in scrapbooking the Saluki had told him. It wasn't really a drawing of him; even the Akita knew that. But the grad student asked if he could keep it, and he had given it a special holder and careful placement on the wall of his workroom. He had also insisted that the athlete feel free to ask for it back, if ever he should want it.

"Who do you think it is?"

Eoin only smiled softly. "It's someone important, Zachary. Maybe that's all any of us knows, at the moment."

"Think I'll ever figure out who it is?"

"I think you will. And maybe that's another reason I want you to call on me if you need me. I'm curious to find out who he is, too."

"Do you think he..." Parker shifted on his hindpaws. He felt his forepaws trying to ball up into fists, and he knew that he wanted to punch something. Eoin didn't move, neither toward nor away. Looking into his eyes, the Akita was, for a moment confused, then angry, then some part of him actually took back control, and he found himself breathing in very deeply and exhaling slowly through his nose. As he watched, he saw the Saluki nodding.

"Just as Benedict taught me."

Parker felt the rueful twist of his muzzle. "I didn't think you had a temper."

"I punched Benedict once." Eoin nodded again, quickly. "No, I'm not kidding. Did you wonder where I got the phrase, 'That's your one'? It was exactly what he said to me. And I was stupid enough to try to punch him again. And to answer your question, no, I didn't know how to fight with pressure points - what you called my 'thumb trick.' I just tried to pound on him. I'll wager I didn't hurt him in the slightest."

"What happened?"

"Oh, very dramatic. I broke down crying. He knew that I wasn't trying to hurt him; I was just lashing out, wanting to hurt something as much as I was hurting inside. Somewhere between the consoling and the counseling, we became lovers. He taught me a lot, including how to catch myself from being used by my own emotions. He borrowed the word from_Star Trek_ mythology - arie'mnu, the Vulcan word which means 'passions mastery.' Leave it to a dragon to be both real-world counselor and sci-fi geek."

Despite himself, Parker had to laugh. "I guess I'm lucky he didn't try to make me into his lover."

"He didn't force it on me."

The Akita caught himself, his ears and tail drooping a little. "I didn't mean... I know he wouldn't, I just meant..."

"Zachary..." The older canine sighed, his own tail drooping a little. "Look, I'm going to end up saying this all wrong, so forgive me in advance. I feel as if you really are freaked out by the idea that you might be gay. Just because I don't understand it doesn't make it wrong. It just means that I don't understand. I want to, though. And that's another reason why I want you to call. If you need someone to talk to, or go for a run with... just call me. Nothing gay about going for a run. I promise not to call it a date."

That made Parker laugh all over again, and this time, Eoin joined in. Parker stepped away from the bed and offered a forepaw to the Saluki. "It's kinda lame of me," he said softly, "but for now, it's the best I can do."

"Not lame at all." Taking the forepaw firmly in his own, Eoin shook solidly, honestly, looking Parker in the eyes the whole time. In those eyes, so warm and gentle and set amid the lush white-golden fur of the Saluki, the young canine felt something turn over in his heart and race madly in his mind, two sets of thought-feelings that tried to create a war within him so large that they threatened once again to take the top of his head off. He didn't realize that he was trembling until Eoin spoke his name again, and more than once.

"Zachary, are you all right?"

The forepaw in his own was gripping him as tightly as he was gripping it, tighter than was necessary. He tried to speak, looking into those eyes and wondering, trying to have a thought, trying to remember something, remember someone, remember, mustn't remember, have to remember, mustn't, can't, have to...

"Zachary! Can you hear me?"

The eyes... they never left his own, and they were so concerned, so very strong, so very familiar. And the feeling... the one that was trying to swim away from him, trying to make his mind too confused to work right, trying to make him turn away...

"Zachary! The mantra! Use the mantra!"

Mantra. What a weird word. What does that... it means something...

"I know Benedict gave you one, but I don't know what it is, I can't tell you, you have to remember it, c'mon, remember it, Zachary, use the mantra!"

Mantra. Word. Words. Saying. Something about... he tried to make his jaw work, something about... "Roses..."

"Keep going! Say it! Whatever it is, say it!"

"...aren't roses..." Such a stupid damned rhyme, such a ridiculous thing, something about...

"Come on, Zachary!"

The thought broke through, and the words poured out in a rush. "Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erron-e-ous-ly..."

"Moses he knowses his toeses aren't roses..." Eoin grinned like a fool, clearly recognizing the lyric to the song. "...as Moses supposes his toeses to be!"

The two of them began to patter in rhythm, going through it together, eyes locked on each other as they chanted the lyrics again: "Moses supposes his toeses are roses, but Moses supposes erron-e-ous-ly... Moses he knowses his toeses aren't roses, as Moses supposes his toeses to be!"

By the third iteration, they had their forepaws on each other's shoulders, grinning at each other, almost muzzle to muzzle as they went through Gene Kelly's lyrics, until they collapsed into each other's embrace, laughing almost hard enough to hyperventilate. It took well over a minute for them to get their breaths back. Parker spoke first, still grinning. "Did he give you the same thing?"

"No," Eoin managed, still breathing quickly. "It's from_Singin' in the Rain,_ a classic movie musical. I've loved it for years."

"Stupidest damned thing I ever heard." The athlete was still smiling.

"Sort of the point." The Saluki nodded. "It breaks the pattern of your thinking, breaks you out of the downward spiral. It..." He paused, his muzzle taking a more sober form. "It gets his claws out of your head."

The shudder that passed through Eoin's body was mirrored in Parker's own. Neither had to ask who the pronoun referred to. "What's yours?"

"What?"

"What's your mantra?" The grin felt sort of frozen on his muzzle, yet it somehow didn't feel artificial. "I showed you mine, so show me yours."

Eoin barked a laugh of surprise, then seemed to realize that they were still clinging to each other's shoulders. He removed his forepaws a bit self-consciously, then said, "The chalice from the palace has the pellet with the poison; the vessel with the pestle has the brew that is true."

"Another song?"

"Not really. From a film called_The Court Jester._ Pretty funny stuff."

"I'll have to see it sometime."

"We've got the DVD. How about a movie night sometime?"

"I think that might be good." It took Parker until that moment to realize that he was still holding the Saluki's shoulders, as if afraid to let go. He struggled with something in himself, then before he could think about it too much, he pulled Eoin into a tight embrace, hugging him close for several seconds as the older canine returned the hug warmly. The athlete separated with a combination of reluctance and clumsiness, but Eoin didn't seem to notice, or at least not to mind. He looked into the Saluki's deep, dark eyes, and found there something he didn't quite know the name for.

"Friends hug, too."

The Akita nodded slowly.He means it doesn't mean I'm gay. In fact, he felt sort of stupid for having the thought actually cross his mind, but as Benedict had told him, any step forward was the right direction to go. He managed to smile a little. "Pencil me in as a friend?"

"Already done." Eoin let the embrace slip away slowly, gestured to the door. "Not trying to throw you out or anything..."

"I need to get going." Moving back to the bed, Parker got his duffel and followed the Saluki to the front door.

"Benedict's got the car ready. You've got our numbers in your cell, yes?"

"Yes." He managed a grin. "And I'll bring Moses."

"I'll bring the chalice." The Saluki grinned back. "Come back anytime."

Parker turned at the sound of the car's horn, a three-note chord that Benedict had told him was the hallmark of Cadillacs, long ago. He started toward the car, then turned back. "If we go on runs together, does that make me a fartlekker?"

The look on Eoin's face was enough to make the entire weekend worthwhile.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Your choice is a simple one, Jerry: Stay at my home for at least a few days, or stay here and enjoy the hospital food."

The young otter looked at the cremello-colored mare who stood, arms folded across her not-insubstantial bosom, daring him to contradict her. He didn't feel like having a confrontation; after last Thursday night, he'd had quite enough to last a lifetime. He had never felt shame about who or what he was, from his personality and sexual proclivities to his professional and academic abilities. It wasn't shame that he felt. It was more like raw terror.

"Don't you think that my shacking up with a female will ruin my reputation?"

"What about mine?" the mare quipped. "I'm already thought of as being too old to find a male for myself, and now I'll be called a fag-hag. That'll look well on my CV."

Jerry snorted in spite of himself. He winced at the pain it caused his bandaged ribs. "Would put you in good stead with Benedict."

"Maybe you'd rather go home with him?"

"My few liaisons with him were exhausting enough when I was still in one piece."

"I'm sure he wanted more than one piece of you."

"True enough." He shook his head, gently. "Cory, it bothers me. I just feel it's imposing on you too much."

"To quote the famous detective, pfui." Her pastel blue eyes fixed on the otter with something between command and a beseeching common sense. "I have a spare bedroom not being used. My house has only one story, and no steps or stairs anywhere, front and back porches included. I can cancel office hours to work from home for a few days, and I've had various offers from mutual acquaintances to cover times when I can't be there. Benedict, you might guess, was quite eager; I had to assure him that you'd be well taken care of in other senses than the ones he was no doubt contemplating. Doctor's orders are that you have someone available at all times for the first few days out of hospital; by Wednesday, you can probably be left on your own for short periods, but you're still to get bed rest, relaxation, and assistance with various maneuvers such as getting up and down from bed, chair, and so forth, until you can start using your arms and chest muscles properly. So... do I get all Yiddisher mama on your tuchis, or are you going to cooperate enough to get through this and be able to get into your own apartment again about, say, Saturday?"

Jerry sighed a bit, managing as much of a smile as his still-tender lips would allow. "Better than that vulture at the insurance company explaining why they won't cover any more days in hospital. Very well then, Dr. Wind Runner. You've just gotten every professor's dream: A live-in student assistant."

"Good attitude! Let's get you out of that backless gown and into something a bit more fashionable."

The otter felt his eyes pop and his small round ears splay for a moment before he began to blush enough to register as a rising temperature on his finger-sensor.

"A few reminders, Mr. Bunting. We're both adults, you're a gay male, I'm an older female who's playing mother not mistress, and you're a bit too fragile at this point to measure up to my usual standards. The shy bit is right out. Deal?"

"No. I can't promise not to be shy. I_can_promise to try to get over it."

"Done and done." The professor managed a grin. "The doctor instructed you; I've got an idea from when I had some fractured ribs. Tell me what you need."

Through words, motions, and a few false starts, Jerry accepted the mare's tender assistance in removing the vaguely humiliating hospital gown and putting on loose-fitting fleece pants and an equally loose-fitting long-sleeved Henley jersey shirt about one size too large, all for the ease of doffing and donning with as little strain as possible.

"One more reminder," Cory raised an eyebrow at the otter. "No complaints about how this simply doesn't suit your wardrobe. It's only temporary, and we'll make sure no one sees you in it."

"Don't make me laugh," he grinned a little. "Still hurts."

She helped the young male to stand on his hindpaws - perhaps one of the few sites that his assailant hadn't crippled - and kept an arm gently around his shoulders to help his circulatory system get used to being vertical again. "Baby steps, Jerry. Just little steps to transfer you to the chair first."

"You sure that's a good idea? Doesn't look comfortable."

"It isn't. I've sat in it for a good number of hours this weekend, along with Benedict and everyone else. It's just to get you used to sitting up until we can get Patient Transport to get you out to the car. Now come on..."

"I'm not entirely helpless," he grumped, pretending that his hindpaws were cooperating. He welcomed getting to the chair with just a bit too much relish which, as he quickly discovered, the mare did not fail to notice. "Okay," he allowed. "I did use the adverb 'entirely,' leaving the presumption of some partial helplessness."

"Yeah, you're an English major. Or a lawyer."

"Bite your tongue."

"Someone call for a taxi, mon?"

Otter and mare turned toward the almost too-cheerful voice to see a tall, young panther guiding a wheelchair into the room. The feline's fur was the color of the finest dark chocolate, not quite true black, setting off his twinkling yellow eyes and shining-white-toothed grin to their finest.

The mare returned the smile with genuine affection. "That's what I call good timing. They still got you stuck in Patient Transport?"

"T'ink I de only one dat know how to drive dis t'ing! Now, who da patient, hey?"

Cory stuck her tongue out at the panther, still grinning. She looked to Jerry. "Jerry Bunting, meet Deval, a little bit of Jamaica who came to visit and couldn't find his way back."

"Nice-ah here," he said. "Dey don' make me have t' eat all dat fruit dey show in da commercials!"

"Dare I call that a straight line?" Jerry wondered aloud.

"No 'fense meant, bruddah. Take all kine, dis world, ya?" He patted the wheelchair's wide leather-appearing back rest. "Brought the Cadillac for ye."

"I'm not that big."

"Dey tell me de ottah, he need to get to de fron' door. I hear tell de ottahs, dey don' like to cramp up dere ruddah in de tiny chair. Put your tail here, bruddah, lotsa room for all you got."

Jerry looked up at Cory. "Complimented or insulted?"

"Don't get him started," she warned him. "When I had my stay here, I thought he was going to have me hoisted by a crane onto a forklift."

"You tellin' stories on me, big ooman?" The panther grinned, taking any sting out of his slang.

"Your days as a rent-a-dread are safe with me, I promise." Cory nickered as the panther laughed out loud at her riposte.

"I dun teach you too good!"

"C'mon, Jerry; let's get you home. Or at least to a reasonable facsimile."

With Deval's and Cory's help, the young otter found the transfer to the wheelchair as painless as possible, given his remaining injuries. His genetics were in his favor, as well as his inherently supple nature; he bones would heal quickly, and his musculature, though bruised, saved him from truly devastating injuries. As instructed, he tucked his powerful tail properly around himself. He hoped that the hospital orderly (or whatever he was) didn't notice that his tail-tip couldn't seem to prevent itself from expressing a certain satisfaction at the comfort.

It wasn't long before he was made equally comfortable in one of the spacious back captain's chairs of Cory's minivan. "I couldn't fit in anything much smaller," she admitted. "Equines do have a few strikes against them in this age of the small and svelte." She brought out a firm pillow about the size of Jerry's chest and placed it against him. "In case of sudden stops, this'll help prevent any bruising to the ribs."

"You think of everything."

"How we brought my dad back home, after open-heart surgery."

"Ah."

The mare looked at him with gentle eyes. "He lived a good long time afterward, Jerry. There are reasons to be careful. It keeps you alive longer."

"I didn't expect you to lecture me."

"I'd have left it for Benedict, but he had other plans. From what he told me, it went quite well." She touched his shoulder gently. "Tell you later."

The drive was short and quiet, each seeming to be lost in thought. Jerry really didn't need a lecture from either Cory or Benedict. He had made himself drunk on his own paranoia and self-loathing, using just enough alcohol to blame it on that when in truth he'd drunk more and suffered less on other occasions. He still needed to talk to Parker, to make it right somehow. No matter how he tried to think otherwise, Jerry was certain that he was the cause of Parker's meltdown on the football field, and he had to make it right. If that was even possible. He might not ever know. It would have to be up to Parker to talk to him now. He couldn't just stalk the pup and tackle him or something. He might never have the chance to talk to him, and then what would the young otter do?

Statistically, he thought absently, Christmastime - compared to other times of the year - had the highest suicide rate of all.