FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

"Feels like Witness Protection."

Mal looked up sharply at Bobby's comment. The handsome lion quarterback stood to the side of the front window of the apartment, peeking through the curtain like a spy in the old thrillers of the sixties, doing all he could to avoid being seen. When he glanced back at Mal, though, there was a bit of a grin on the lion's face - slightly forced, perhaps, but a grin nevertheless.

"They still out there?" the young tiger asked.

"On the sidewalk, as commanded by the cops, but yeah, they're still out there. A dozen or more at least."

"I wonder what the collective noun for reporters is." When the lion looked at him quizzically, Mal grinned. "You know, like a kindle of kittens, a murder of crows, a gaggle of geese?"

"A scoop of reporters?"

The freshman giggled a little. "I like what Dr. Spenser called them: Vespa journalistis. Vespa is the Latin word for wasps."

Padding softly away from the window, the lion took up his tiger lover in his arms and held him close. It would be difficult to say which needed the reassurance more. "I love you, Mal. That's what I'm hanging on to right now. That's the only thing I'm sure about."

"Love you too, Bobby." Malcolm didn't like to get all teary-eyed on Bobby, but it wasn't easy to avoid, in the circumstances. So much had happened so fast, and it wasn't likely to get much easier, not for a while at least. They had both spent the night in the apartment, spirited away like refugees after the team doctor had decoyed the press crew by having them follow the otherwise empty ambulance to the hospital. Coach Stackhouse had driven them here himself, lending them an "emergency supply kit" - soap and towels for the shower, detergent to wash their clothes, some protein bars and snacks to last until they could bring in some proper food, and an extra blanket. He discreetly declined to ask about sleeping arrangements, but Mal noticed that there was only the one, king-sized blanket. The washer and dryer in the small utility room allowed them to dress in clean clothes until their things arrived. Bobby said that he felt silly still wearing his uniform, but at least all the pads had been left at the field house. It made the shirt seem over-large and slack, but otherwise was comfortable enough. The only strange part of it, for Malcolm, was that the coconut and lime scent of Bobby's usual mane conditioner wasn't there. Right now, it smelled only of ordinary soap, although underneath it, he could catch a whiff of the lion's scent, tinged with only a little fear. He was fairly sure that the footballer could find a similar smell from himself. At this point, everything was different; they were truly strangers in a strange land.

The knock on the door startled them both.

"It's Coach Stackhouse," said the highly-recognizable voice on the other side. "My advice is to unlock the door, knock, then back into one of the bedrooms. We'll wait a few seconds before entering. There's paparazzi out here like you wouldn't believe."

Giving his lover a quick squeeze, Bobby turned and executed the directions to the letter. From the front of the two bedrooms, Mal heard the door open, allowing in the sounds of a bustle of activity and shouts from voices sounding anywhere from angry to demanding, with words like "photos" and "interviews" and "statements" being bandied about the most. Glancing in the front bedroom, the great Leonberger smiled at the felines. "Don't worry, you won't get mauled. We're just keeping them at a distance. Where do you want all your stuff?"

Neither answered for a moment, then Malcolm suggested, "Maybe just stack it against walls in the living room; we can sort it out later."

The Leo nodded. "Good plan. Did you get any breakfast?"

"Coach Carbajal brought us a fast-food smorgasboard a few hours ago," Mal smiled. "I'd never had a breakfast pizza before."

"I sometimes think he's a secret partner in that place," the coach smiled back. "Never misses an opportunity to go there. Listen, Bobby..." He passed over a canvas bag, not too heavily packed. "This was in your locker at the field house. I'll buy you a new lock; we cut it open. I wasn't sure what you might have in there, and I really can't imagine anyone breaking in, but I was afraid that..." He sighed a little, his huge pendant-shaped ears drooping in much the same way his tail did. "Your cell phone's in the bag. I think you have some messages. If you want my advice, don't listen to them, or maybe let Malcolm be your intermediary. I didn't mean to pry, but when I picked it up, the screen showed the names of recent callers. Some are reporters - gods only know how they got your number - but a few looked like family. I hope that..." He trailed off, then stood a little straighter. "I'll help carry things in. The Dean and I got your stuff, Malcolm; Holm, Velasquez, and a few others took care of Bobby's room. Back in a minute."

Almost in a daze, Bobby took the bag and moved to sit on the twin bed. It crossed Mal's mind in that moment that he was grateful that the place was furnished; each room had a bed (the larger bedroom did indeed have a king-sized bed), desk and chair, chest of drawers, good-sized closets. The living room was large enough to be comfortable, and there was even a small dining table in an alcove near the kitchen. If they had to hide from the world for a while, Mal was sure that there were worse places. At least they would be together.

The lion rummaged through the bag, seeking out the phone, his tail twitching anxiously. His fingers moved quickly through the touch screens, and the look on his face, as far as the young tiger could ascertain, was more a pretense of a mask than anything else. The freshman stood rooted to the spot, unsure quite what to do. "Bobby..." he began softly.

The powerful young quarterback nodded a little. "I know. And you're right - calls from family are in here, along with a bunch of others. I'm not sure what they'll all say, and I can't pick and choose the order that I hear them in, but..." His eyes softened slightly. "Beth called... twice."

"Your youngest sister?"

"Likely to be my best ally. I'm going to try calling her."

"Want me to stay or go?"

Bobby stood and embraced the tiger again. "Probably should talk alone, but don't go too far. Think I'm really gonna need you."

"Goes double." Mal kissed his lover's cheek. "I'll supervise in the living room for a bit."

"Stay clear of the door and windows."

"Count on it."

Malcolm made sure the coast was clear enough that he wouldn't be visible through an open front door and went in to meet everyone. A cheetah with the build of a marathon runner set down a box near the wall and looked up at the tiger's entrance, then moved up to him, smiling. "Hector Velasquez. You're Mal?"

"Yeah," the freshman admitted softly. "You're Bobby's wide receiver, I think?"

"Sounds like you've been keeping up." The cheetah's smile broadened as he put out a forepaw to shake. "You can probably guess why we haven't heard much about you."

Malcolm had no idea what to say.

"This is Abe Holm," the cheetah waved to a tall black-tailed jackrabbit, about the build of a welterweight wrestler, who looked about as uncertain as Malcolm felt. "He's our center."

"The Easter bunny delivers the egg," the tiger freshman managed to say, quoting Bobby and trying on a smile. Hesitantly, the hare shook a forepaw, his long ears pivoted slightly askew, his muzzle not quite readable, but his eyes taking in every aspect of the young feline. Malcolm, slightly mesmerized, turned when he heard his name called.

"Dean Williamson," the wolverine offered. "I think we've met before, but just in case... and if I may ask, does your mother drive a pale green van with a company logo on it?"

The freshman blinked. "Yes. My folks run a family fun center called Stripers."

The Dean nodded. "I'll be right back." He hurried out the front door so quickly that Malcolm wasn't sure if that was good or bad news.

"Can I ask you somethin'?" the hare asked softly.

Malcolm braced himself a little. "Sure."

"Are you guys okay? Or maybe... I mean..." The pink lining of the jackrabbit's long ears turned nearly beet red, pivoting slightly as if not quite sure what sounds to focus on, or maybe just in an embarrassed twitch. "Look, I'm just a jock, and I'm not sure I understand all this, but it's not right that you guys are being ragged-on like this. It's nobody's business, and..." The hare's shoulders slumped a little. "I don't know what I'm sayin', I'm sorry."

Pausing for just a moment, the tiger said softly, "I'm not sure if this is what you want to hear, but I can promise you that I'd do anything for Bobby. And we're okay, or we're going to be. He's still the same lion you knew before."

"No, he isn't."

Velasquez wore a shocked expression and appeared to be about to rebuke his teammate when the hare spoke again.

"He's more." The lepine shrugged slightly. "I don't know exactly what I mean. Maybe..." He seemed to think about his wording. "Maybe I'm just trying to say, take care of him, okay?"

Malcolm managed to relax a little. "He's not going anywhere. And if I have anything to say about it, I'd like..." The young tiger's voice broke a little as he made a final dare with himself. "I'd like to have a chance for all of you to come see us. Soon. The whole team. Or as many as want to."

"More than you think," the cheetah assured him firmly. Then he grinned. "And if we still have as much trouble with English class as we did last year, you may be tutoring the whole bunch of us!"

"Deal." Malcolm grinned, then meeped slightly as the wide receiver took him into a jock-style hug and pounded on his back with genuine friendliness. After releasing the tiger, Velasquez stepped back and glanced at Holm, who hesitated, shifting from one large hindpaw to the other. The sensation that the freshman felt wasn't fear or rejection, just uncertainty. "It's okay," Mal offered softly. "Not everyone's a hugger."

"Maybe I'll learn to be." Abe offered his forepaw again, then put his other forepaw onto Mal's shoulder, resting it there gently. "I don't know how well I know Bobby, but I know him well enough that he wouldn't settle for anything less than the best. So... thanks."

"I won't let him down. Or you. Thank you."

A bustle of noise from the front door caused all eyes to turn in that direction. The Dean, his strong arms bearing two boxes bearing the "Stripers" logo that Malcolm had long been familiar with, was followed quickly by two equally-laden tigers. All set down their burdens, and Lisa Lamar burst, politely yet firmly, through the small crowd to engulf her youngest son in a hug that might, with less tightly-restrained control, crush the rib cage.

"At least I know that you have excellent crowd control," a voice observed to the Dean. Malcolm realized that it had to be his brother Daniel, as Duncan wouldn't have been quite so quick off the mark with a quick comment. "Thanks for helping us get in."

"As one of our colleagues might say, we've had a spot of bother with some of the local news crews. I don't think they'll likely be harassing anyone anytime soon. Has your mother always had such a strong right cross?"

"Don't let her Gibbs-slap you; you'll remember it."

When his mother finally let him up for air, Malcolm greeted her with a kiss to her cheek, daring to grin the slightest bit. "Not the Dean, I hope?"

"Not at all," the wolverine assured him. "But there's a tabloid reporter that is likely going to wish he had some oxycodone for the pain in his jaw, when he comes out of his daze."

"Just came down to bring you a few things," Lisa said, a slight tremor in her voice that Malcolm wasn't used to hearing. "Make sure you're okay. Where's Bobby?"

"Front bedroom. Phone call to his sister."

"He okay?"

Malcolm nodded a little and looked over to his older brother. "Duncan with you?"

Daniel cleared his throat, his ears splayed. "He and Dad are watching the park for the weekend. I think..." He paused, tail twitching anxiously, then stepped forward and took his little brother into his arms. "He's afraid you're going to blame him for all this."

"Of course I don't," Malcolm whispered.

"I know it's hindsight," their mother said quietly, "but I should have known something was wrong. I'm not used to cameras in phones, although I suppose they all have them now. It just... it never occurred to me, Mal, and I'm sorry."

"It's nothing you did."

All eyes turned to the lion standing in the bedroom doorway. Lisa walked to him slowly, and it was Bobby who put out his arms to hug and hold her. Mal's mom wasn't one to break down easily, but her emotions were always strong. The two stood embraced for a long time, the others in the room silent and as patient as they could manage. When they pulled apart, it was Bobby who kissed the tigress on her forehead, as she had done for him when they had first met and talked.

Mal padded quickly over to his lover and embraced him tightly. He felt the lion's emotions as if he could actually smell them - fear, uncertainty, so much pain. The two felines gripped each other tightly, and again, the room was quiet while the long moment slowly passed. The tiger stood to Bobby's side, his arms still protectively around him as he nodded to everyone else in the room. When he saw Daniel, the lion smiled a little. "Did Duncan finally pull his head out?"

"You could hear the pop for a dozen kilometers," Mal's brother said. For the benefit of the others, he added, "My twin's Thanksgivings Day date was the one snapping the photos that got onto the Internet."

"Is she still alive?" the Dean enquired mildly.

"Apparently."

"Someone should correct such an oversight." The wolverine's smile showed just enough teeth that all knew he wasn't serious, but that, in a just world, he would have done the job himself.

"Don't tempt us," Velasquez growled through clenched jaws.

"I should remind everyone that the police keeping the reporters at bay are, indeed, still police. While the situation is still volatile, shall we all agree that we won't say any such things where they could be heard outside?" The Dean raised an eyebrow meaningfully as heads nodded. "You can think such thoughts all you wish; just don't open your muzzles to express them. Believe me when I say that I know how difficult such orders are. I shall have to obey them myself, and it's going to be difficult for me not to dream up some sort of vengeance." He sighed heavily. "My position is a powerful one, and I'm probably not entirely incorruptible, but I do my best."

"Sir?" Malcolm said tentatively. The Dean looked at him, not coldly, but frankly, honestly. The young tiger could see that he was mightily and deeply upset by all this madness. "Thank you. For everything."

For all his regal bearing, the Dean was momentarily speechless. The expression on his muzzle softened, and he simply nodded once, his dark eyes telling Malcolm more than the young tiger could figure out just at the moment.

"Let's let the family have some time for themselves, shall we, gentlefurs?" Stackhouse, his huge frame and all-encompassing gesture impossible to ignore, neatly guided the footballers, the Dean, and himself toward the door. He looked back at the remaining felines. "The press is being given a formal statement from the university and from me," he said. "We are stressing that neither of you wishes to be interviewed at this time, nor at any time in the future, if you so choose. The police will maintain a presence only as long as the press is still swarming; after that, we'll have a discreet watch on you through the weekend. You might want to stay indoors, not for safety so much as privacy. If you need anything..."

"Got it covered," Lisa offered. "Daniel and I will go back tomorrow afternoon. And no," she added, glancing at her son and the lion, "we're not taking up the couch - there's a nice motel nearby, and the Dean got us a university VIP rate. In a little while, Daniel and I will get groceries and stock you up for a week, if you need it."

"Call on us if you want bodyguards," Velasquez quipped, indicating himself and Holm. "It's what we do on the field anyway, right?"

"I'm down with that," the jackrabbit affirmed. He looked to Bobby and smiled softly, nodding a little. "Teamwork."

"Thanks, guys."

The cheetah took the opportunity to give Bobby a hug before leaving, and although Mal shouldn't have been too surprised by it, so did the center, the Dean, and the coach. Stackhouse also took the moment to address Lisa briefly, asking for the opportunity to take her and Daniel to dinner that evening. "I'd enjoy getting to know you," he said simply.

"Yes, you would," Bobby grinned.

"Gibbs-slap warning."

The lion put up both forepaws in mock defense, causing a good laugh to exit on. In moments, save for the wholly uncivilized shouting of the supposed representatives of the Fourth Estate reverberating outside, the apartment was down to two tigers, a tigress, a lion, and more boxes of junk than the two youngest felines thought would have been possible to accumulate in two small dorm rooms. It was Mal who finally broke the relative quiet.

"Did you talk with Beth?"

"Yes. She says she wants to meet you soon." Bobby snugged his lover a little closer. "How long do you think it'll take to get my computer set up and running?"

"What do you want to check?"

"Email."

"I wouldn't," Lisa said softly. "Beth is your sister?"

"Youngest of the five of us."

"Did she send you email? Or is it from someone else?"

Malcolm looked at his mother, then Bobby, then back again. Neither said a word for a long time. Whatever brainwave they were sharing, it seemed to be working. "Beth was warning me about an email. Several, in fact."

"Relatives," the tigress said flatly.

Bobby only nodded, and Malcolm felt punched in the gut.

Lisa looked around, as if taking in the measure of the apartment. "Two bedrooms? I'd suggest one as a workroom and one for sleeping. Or whatever." She smiled at the younger felines. "I've brought a set of pots and pans, some dishes and bowls and such; I'll work up the kitchen, and you three start shifting some furniture about between these two bedrooms. When it comes time to get the desks in place, then you can worry about setting up the computer. You can do that when I'm out getting groceries for you; start working up a list."

At this, she stepped up to kiss her youngest on his forehead, then did the same to the young lion.

"Bobby," she said, stroking his full, lush mane gently. "Handle those messages any way you want, except for one thing. If you read anything negative about yourself, you're not to believe a word of it. It will be nothing but ignorance and lies, and I won't have you thinking badly of yourself. I've raised my sons to respect themselves and others, and to expect the best this world has to offer. For Malcolm... that's you."

The youngest of the tigers broke first, and the lion shortly after. Tears fell, from grief or relief or both, none could say. The four felines gripped each other tightly, holding on to each other as Lisa all but whispered her last words into the lion's ear.

"Welcome home..."

The soul would have no rainbow, If the eyes had no tears. --Native American Proverb