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And this is the house where I

I feel alone

Feel alone now

(Beirut)

---

Backpack slung over my shoulder, I walked down the busy hallway. People rushed in either direction past me, trying to get to their classrooms before the bell announced the beginning of the next period. Others displayed complete indifference to such trivialities, gathering in small clusters to gossip until teachers chided them to get to class. Couples locked in intense PDA proved to the world and each other that they were more in love than anyone in the history of ever had ever been. The intercom called some troublemaker or other down to the office--it appeared the bathroom graffiti artist had finally been caught.

Me, I slipped through all of it more or less inconspicuously, nodding or smiling a little at people I knew as they passed. I rounded the corner and walked down the short corridor, ducking into the classroom with seconds to spare before the end-of-passing-period bell rang.

Crossing to the back of the room, I took my seat in the battered wooden desk in the middle of the next-to-last row. It squeaked a little. I hated World History, mostly because Mr. Bartlett was terribly boring, but also because the loud creaking of the desk at my slightest movement prevented me from really getting comfortable.

I took out my notebook and pen as the pudgy middle-aged panther shuffled to the podium at the front of the room. He was starting to go a little grey. Some folks said grey fur or hair was sexy, but that definitely wasn't the case with Mr. Bartlett. Maybe with Mr. Waaler--a total silver fox, in every sense of the term. I'd signed up for wood shop just because he taught it. There was a rumor going around that he was gay, but I refused to believe them. No, I was too busy planning our fantasy wedding to trouble with details such as that.

"That's a cute blouse!" whispered the robin behind me, leaning forward in her seat. "Where'd you get it?"

"They were having a sale at Pennyworth's," I murmured softly in response. "Pretty sure it's still on, I think. Wanna go with me after class?"

"I'd love to!" butted in a vixen sitting next to me conspiratorially. "I can take us. Just got my license,"

"Er, sure," I muttered.

Cheryl had really been trying too hard lately. I mean, she was nice and all, but jeez. Martha and I weren't even popular. I wasn't sure why Cheryl put in so much effort to wedge herself in with us.

Mr. Bartlett had begun to drone on in earnest about the Perpetual Wars following the Event, so our whispered conversation tailed off. I leafed through the pages of my notebook until I found a blank page. If I zoned out and just kept doodling, the hour of class would pass more quickly. I wasn't a terribly gifted artist, but I enjoyed making intricate little designs, swirls and swoops and patterns blending together in--

crak

My pen jerked to a halt and I looked up hurriedly, my ears tingeing pink in embarrassment. Fucking seat. I hoped nobody had heard. Mr. Bartlett's gaze flicked in my direction for a moment, but he didn't seem to take too much concern. Good.

I returned to my doodles, trying to get an oval shaded in just the right gradient so that it looked three-dimensional. With my free hand, I scratched an itch on my thigh. Shit. The material had torn a little. I'd just bought them, too. Fucking cheap-ass Pennyworth jeans. Maybe I wouldn't be taking that trip with Martha, after all.

CRACK

Gods damn it, really? I hadn't moved!

"Alright, Miss Crane. I told you I asked the custodian to look at the desk," Mr. Bartlett, his flat voice taking on a bit of a chiding tone. "You don't need to remind us all,"

"Sorry," I mumbled, barely audible. I could feel some of the other students glancing back at me. They tried to be inconspicuous, but I could still tell.

Mr. Bartlett nodded and returned his attention to the notes on the podium. He'd barely gotten a word or two in edgewise before my desk gave up the ghost and collapsed with a terrific crash. It dumped me unceremoniously onto the floor and I let out an involuntary little yelp of surprise. The others were no longer even pretending to look away. Ricky, who fancied himself the class clown, shouted out a comment about me 'laying off the cheeseburgers at lunch' or something.

"Now, now, that isn't necessary, Ricky," Mr. Bartlett said blandly. "Tabitha, if you'll come up to row two, you can sit in the vacant desk until we get you a replacement tomorrow,"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Bartlett," I mumbled wretchedly, unable to think of anything else to say.

Gathering my belongings in a pile, I got to my feet. My head hit the ceiling. And not just a brush, like one of the taller boys if he reached up, a solid thunk that displaced one or two of the stupid moveable acoustic tiles that they always had installed.

It wasn't until then that I became aware that my jeans fit more like capris than pants and that my blouse was quite close to violating the school's 'no midriff shirts' policy. My shoes weren't comfortable at all.

My legs seemed to have forgotten how to move, so I just stood there glued to the spot like a fool, gawking.

"Tab, what--what is going on?" Martha piped up behind me. I noticed that I'd accidentally batted her once or twice in the face with the tip of my tail and tried to stop it swishing.

"I--I dunno," I dunno, nervous tension starting to creep into my voice.

I could no longer stand up straight, the height of the ceiling forcing me to lean over, shoulder blades pressing against the tiles. My clothes were starting to shred in earnest, only adding to my panic. In my confused fear, my mind decided to flick to memories of the locker room, of not fully understanding how some of the other girls could be so cavalier with who saw them changing or in the shower.

"Class--everyone... up to the front of the room,"

Mr. Bartlett was trying and failing to remain calm. Granted, his instructions were somewhat of a moot point, as everyone had already hurried to the opposite end of the room, clustering against the whiteboard to stare back at me.

By that point, my growth--for that was what it had to be, I finally realized--had forced me onto my knees, leaning forward with my back brushing against the ceiling and my legs folded under myself. My clothes hung in tatters from my expanding frame, my legs and hips forcing the desks to either side of the room. I heard one or two start to snap and splinter as the force between the wall and the neighboring desks increased. I stared at my shrinking classmates and teacher in imploring panic, unable to say anything, but mentally screaming help me, help me.

"Okay, everyone out! Now! Now!" Mr. Bartlett barked, his instructions once again about ten seconds behind what every other person in the room was already doing.

Within moments, I was alone in the room. My breathing became short and shallow, my heart racing a million miles a second as I tried to force myself not to grow. It was a pointless effort; my body refused to obey, forcing desks and everything else aside as it expanded.

All too soon, I filled the room, forcing me to curl into as tight a ball as possible. My back, arms, and legs pressed against the walls and ceiling with ever-increasing force. It was clear there was nowhere to go but outwards and upwards.

Bracing my palms against the linoleum, I pressed upwards against the ceiling with all my might. With a terrific cacophony of splintering wood, rending metal and smashing masonry, I burst upwards through the ceiling and second floor of the school. My legs decided to follow suit, smashing outwards through the walls.

I was left sitting on my heels in the wreck of my school, blinking stupidly in the pale sunlight. Even though I was kneeling, the peak of the formerly intact roof barely reached the middle of my chest.

My hand reached up to brush the dusting of masonry and other rubble off my shoulders and back as my gaze fell towards the ground. I froze in mid-movement. Gathered in the lot was a huddled group of my peers and instructors. They stared up at me, some of them drawing back in fear while others remained rooted to the spot in shock.

It was just then that my brain registered just how enormous I was. Something in the very back of my brain must have at least been aware of that for awhile--I'd just sat up through a two-story building, after all. But it wasn't until I saw my doll-sized classmates cowering in fear that I fully realized my enormity. Had the people in the other classrooms been able to evacuate before I'd grown through the rooms? Or were there still people trapped in the rubble and the other rooms I hadn't yet expanded through? A fresh wave of panic swept over me.

Acting almost mechanically, my legs shifted underneath me, unfolding as I stood up. I felt like I wasn't fully in control of my body; I was numb, not fully able to process the situation. Standing in the remains of the school building, I sheepishly drew one arm across my chest and pressed my legs together in an attempt at protecting my modesty.

I heard a couple of screams from the crowd as I got to my feet. The group was beginning to react, drawing back as some just bolted. I tried to mumble something--an apology, an assurance not to worry, anything--but my lips wouldn't obey.

From my standing position, it became painfully apparent that my growth was still continuing with no signs of ceasing. The school building now barely reached my shins, and crept ever lower with each passing minute. It wasn't going to end. Hot tears welled in my eyes as I watched the world dwindling around me. I couldn't stay still. I had to go somewhere_, anywhere._

"Nice tits, Tabitha!" piped up someone from the crowd. "Guess you had to be King Kong sized in order for them to be noticeable,"

My eyes narrowed as I spotted the cat-caller. Ricky again. Guess I shouldn't have been surprised. Little fucker thought he was gonna get his own comedy talk show or something. Well, he had another thing coming.

Despite my shock and distress at my sudden changes, an increasing part of me was starting to enjoy--was that the right term? maybe it was--the situation. It wasn't like they could do anything to me. Might as well make the most of it. A grin flickered across my lips.

The crowd, probably unsure of how to react, shifted nervously as I dropped slowly to my knees. I stretched out on my stomach, bringing down much of what remained of the front of the school under my chest. Resting my chin on the backs of my hands, I kicked my feet up behind me, fanning them back and forth a little. Ricky stood at the front of the crowd, now only a few feet away from my muzzle. He staggered back a few paces as I grinned at him, but the wall of people didn't seem willing to give way.

"Bet it's the first time you've seen a girl, isn't it?" I winked at the petrified Ricky. "We both you know you aren't exactly much of a ladies man. I guess I'll have to step up to the plate, then. Good thing I've got quite the reputation as a total man-eater,"

Ricky whimpered as I snapped my teeth playfully at him. My muzzle inched closer to him as my growth continued. I could feel my enlarging body shifting rubble underneath me. I let Ricky quail for a few moments before rolling my eyes.

"Oh, don't sweat it. I'm teasing with ya. Or do you not know what a joke is? You're letting me down, here, class clown," I taunted.

Ricky toppled over like a board as I blew a puff of air at him. He was beginning to bore me, anyway. The whole crowd was, honestly. I had better things to do.

When I stood up, I was easily the tallest thing in town, and there was nowhere to go but up. Looking down at my dwindling classmates, an intoxicating sensation of power washed over me. I had been timid and insignificant all my life. Now I was anything but.

Lifting one foot into the air, I brought it down hard on part of the parking lot closest to me. Concrete and asphalt crumbled, cracks spidering out from around my foot. A couple of cars pancaked into the concrete. The crowd reacted in unison, turning tail and fleeing in a jostling mass away from me.

I beamed, watching them run. Then I began to walk after them. I took slow, measured strides, trying not to outpace them. My feet, wider than the streets on which I was trying to walk, obliterated everything that fell underneath them. The tip of my tail brushed against some of the rooftops of the houses and buildings adjacent, tearing off tiling and damaging rafters with each casual sweep.

Unable to control my excitement any longer, I cackled aloud. My laughter echoed across the town, lending counterpoint to the rumbling booms of my footfalls.

By the time I had made it a few blocks, the news of the gigantic ferretess making her way through town had spread to the majority of town. Perhaps I shouldn't have been all that surprised; nothing ever happened in town. I was the biggest thing to happen to Winthrop in a long time, in every sense of the term. And I wasn't getting any smaller any time soon.

My foot collided with a row of shop fronts, causing them to implode like a house of cards. I chuckled to myself. Something that had taken months to build only took a moment for me to destroy. I wasn't insignificant anymore. No, I meant a hell of a lot of something to these silly little people.

Thrilled with the sense of power, I dropped to my knees, obliterating several structures on either side of the street under my thighs. Reaching out, I scooped up a fistful of fleeing townsfolk.

I studied my catch through squinted eyes with a smirk on my lips. They were insignificant in my palm, minuscule and only getting smaller as I slowly but surely continued to grow.

"Fucking insects," I said dismissively.

Already bored, I allowed them to filter through my fingers, plummeting dozens of feet to the ground below. A persistent few clung desperately to the fur on my palm, unwilling to let go. I extended my tongue, licking them off my palm and swallowing them whole. They hardly tasted like anything at all. How boring.

"Looks like I've outgrown this stupid little town," I sighed heavily. "On to bigger and better things,"

Dusting the rubble off my legs as I got back to my feet, I took one parting kick or two on my way out of town. I paused for a moment to survey the damage I had caused. Even after only a brief traipse, I had carved a path of destruction through the town, leaving behind disaster, death, and despair. I could do better.

Turning tail, I set off westward, striding purposefully towards the mountains on the horizon. I knew that much better prospects lay on the other side and wanted to get there as quickly as possible. Though I will admit I took a detour or two to smash up a promising-looking town or two along the way.

By the time I reached the mountains, I rivaled even them in size. Standing with hands on hips, I studied the range, now like a fence before me. And you know what they say about the grass on the other side of the fence... Well, I suppose in this case, the skyscrapers are crunchier on the other side of the mountains.

But first, I had to have a little fun, didn't I? Reaching out a hand, I scratched my name into the side of one of the peaks with a fingertip. My mighty digit brushed away trees and boulders like dust, gouging deep into the side of the mountain. Soon, the letters T-A-B-I-T-H-A, hundreds of feet high, stood out on the face of the peak. A fitting calling card for a miles-high titaness on a cross-country tour of destruction.

Satisfied with my monumental graffiti, I placed my hands on the tops of two adjacent peaks, using them as leverage as I half-vaulted, half-scrambled over the barrier of mountains between my next romp and me. The earth shook as I landed heavily on the other side. I let out a little yelp of excitement as I got my first good look at my new surroundings.

On the far side of the mountain range lay a vast city. The metropolis sprawled as far as the eye could see in either direction, a glittering ankle-high carpet. A playground fit for a goddess. And I felt like breaking my toys.

Scores of city blocks crumbled under each of my footfalls, to say nothing of the damage caused by the shockwaves that radiated out from each step. From my towering height, it almost looked uneventful, a textured carpet crumbling to dust under me. I needed to get closer.

Dropping to my knees, I sprawled forward onto my stomach. Overwhelmed with destructive glee, I rolled back and forth, relishing the sensations. I was practically wet with ecstasy, but even the skyscrapers were too small to satisfy me now. I was a goddess. I was all-powerful. I was invincible, unstoppable...

I was sitting bolt upright in bed, breathing heavily and drenched in sweat. My heart raced a million miles an hour, threatening to burst out of my chest. I gulped for air as if I were drowning. Shaking violently, I fell back in bed, staring at the ceiling with wide eyes. What had caused that terrible nightmare?

*****

No matter where I looked, I couldn't escape the red circle marked on my desk calendar around the box for Friday next. It seemed to loom at me at the edges of my periphery even when my back was turned. It marked the day I would bring Reynard home.

Happy as I was that he was coming back, I couldn't escape the heavy sense of guilt that accompanied that excitement. I'd been sleeping with Andy behind Reynard's back, and worse still, I'd continued to fool around after I'd admitted my wrongs and promised it was over. I couldn't seem to do anything right.

I needed to find some way to distract myself from the plaguing guilt. If I didn't, I wasn't sure how I would be able to face my husband the next time I saw him, or any time after that.

A frown creasing my brow, I tapped my pen on the report I was supposed to be reading. Brookings submitted it just a day ago, following his first independent operation. But every time I got halfway through a sentence, my brain started to wander off back towards the hospital room where Reynard laid.

Just as I finished (on my third attempt) the last sentence of Brookings' rather long-winded operation overview (Two whole pages already, and he hadn't yet gotten down to the meat and potatoes of the damn thing? Seriously?), I heard a tap at the door.

"Come in,"

Morgan pushed open the door, crossing the room quickly before seating herself in the plastic bucket seat I kept near the desk for visitors to use. It was rather old and busted up, but I refused every time administration offered to replace it. By my logic, uncomfortable chairs meant shorter unwanted visits, which in turn meant a saner, happier Roger. Win-win. Or just win, maybe.

"What's going on?" I asked, dropping my pen onto the report in defeat.

"I'm just here to follow up on the status report from the R&D that was requested," the marten said, shifting the seat over a little.

"Status report?" I asked, arching a brow. "I don't recall ever asking for anything like that,"

Morgan shrugged, throwing her hands up in the air. "Karl told me to come down here and tell you what was going on," she replied. "That's all I know,"

"Well, first I'm hearing about it, too," I shook my head. "I will never understand the mind of Karl,"

I shifted in my (far more comfortable, if I do say so myself) chair, leaning back a little as I rested my knees against the edge of the desk.

"Long as you're here, you might as well give me the lowdown on what's happening, I suppose," I said, templing my hands under my chin.

"Not much to say, really," Morgan sighed. "We're in a bit of a rut at the moment as far as projects go. Tal is going to be presenting some sort of new project thing tomorrow, but other than that, it's pretty much tumbleweeds as far as activity goes,"

"How'd that date go with Tal yesterday evening, by the way?" I grinned cheekily, rubbing my hands together. "I need all the dirt,"

Morgan's ears flushed red as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "It... well... for one thing, it wasn't really a date, you know,"

I couldn't help but cringe. "Oof, that bad?"

"I made a total ass of myself," the marten sighed heavily, slumping in her seat. "I... well, Tal seemed to be getting the wrong idea about the whole thing, and I just, er, kinda overreacted,"

"What sort of wrong idea was Tal supposed to be getting?" I asked.

"I'm really just not all that into workplace relationships and all that,"

"So you decided to take him to a romantic-ass restaurant to... have a chat as friends? How did you think that would end up?"

"I wasn't thinking all that clearly!" Morgan snapped.

"Clearly,"

"Well, anyway, Tal started dropping hints, and I freaked. I told him I wasn't into that sort of thing. Suggested he meet people elsewhere--the gym or somewhere, I dunno. Maybe it came across a little cold,"

"So, let me get this straight. You brought him to a nice restaurant, told him you weren't interested in him, and then implied he was fat,"

"I fucked up, okay? Didn't handle the whole thing very well. No need to rub it in,"

"Is this going to affect your work?"

"No. Gods,"

"Well, I guess you'll just have to patch things up with Tal as you see fit, then,"

We sat in an uncomfortable silence a few moments. Morgan busied herself studying her hands while I glanced between the red circle on my calendar and the clock.

"So... how are things going with you?" Morgan asked, eager to change the topic of conversation.

"Well, the hubby's progressing well with his therapy," I smiled. "Doc says he's all set to get released this coming Friday,"

Morgan beamed broadly. "Wow, that's great! You gotta do something special for him,"

"Oh, I've got something special for him," I winked, biting my lip. "But I'm thinking about throwing him a bit of a surprise party to welcome him back,"

"You? Throwing a party?" Morgan smirked slightly.

"Is it National Be Really Godsdamned Judgmental Day or something?"

"I'm just saying you may not want to quit your day job far as party planning goes. Not after the last fiasco disguised as a fiesta,"

"Hey, it wasn't all that terrible,"

"Not sure how many parties you've been to, Rodge, but most of them don't get shut down by the fire marshal," Morgan rolled her eyes. "Tell ya what. I'll take care of the party arrangements. I could use a distraction anyway,"

"You would do that? That would be amazing,"

"Hey, no problem. Just make sure your pad is fucking cleaned up by that afternoon. I am not dealing with whatever crap you have strewn about,"

"Aye aye, cap'n," I saluted sardonically.

Morgan rolled her eyes once more and made her way out of my office. Damn. If only all party planning was that easy. Maybe I could get her to finish reading this report for me too, while she was at it.

*****

"I'm a lost cause. I don't even see why you're wasting your time sitting here and listening to me yammer," I sighed, readjusting the pillow and leaning against the headboard.

"You've been through a lot lately," Dr. Attwood said, tapping his pen on his pad of paper. "It's difficult to work through. But that doesn't make you a lost cause. That makes you like any other person,"

"I'm sure this is a common feeling after every other person has after they level a fucking town," I sniffed, hugging my knees to my chest. "And that dream..."

"... was a dream," the badger said gently.

"But aren't they supposed to... mean something or whatever? Dreams, that is," I replied, looking down at the psychiatrist.

Dr. Attwood had set up shop on my bedside table. He'd even dragged that damned armchair of his with him. Well, I'd lent a hand with that one (quite literally). He really was quite attached to that thing.

"Do _you_think it meant anything?"

I scowled. "You're the shrink. You tell me," I shot back

"If you spend much time at all with me, you'll find I don't buy into all of that Freudian dream analysis bunk all that much," the badger said. "And, it does look like you will be spending a fair amount of time with me, at least if I understand Roger,"

"More like the government. Fucking dragged-out psych eval,"

"I'll be honest. There were requests made. But Roger also had a hand in this. He wants for you to make progress. We all do. I'm here for you first, court requirements second. But you have to want it,"

"I just don't think I have anything to talk about," I mumbled, curling my legs around my side and draping my tail over my thigh.

"You brought up the dream. Is that something you want to discuss?"

"It just made me feel really shitty. I... I _liked_it so much. In the dream, I mean. I liked what I was doing then. And that really scared me. What if that happened, and I did all of those horrible things? That's awful,"

"Do you think that is something you would do?"

"No. I mean, I was a hell of a lot bigger than even now in the dream,"

"I don't mean that, necessarily. Do you think that you would behave that way in reality?"

"Of _course_not! That was monstrous,"

Dr. Attwood nodded to himself, sitting in silence.

"I just want things to be better. But I don't know how to begin," I said at length in hushed tones.

"Well, maybe articulating how you feel right now might be a way to start," Dr. Attwood suggested.

I stared in silence at the wall for a few moments.

"I'm really fucking lonely," I said at last in halting tones. "I mean, even with my three dozen best friends camped out on the front lawn. I just feel... isolated, you know? I did terrible things, so I deserve to be punished. But still..."

"It doesn't mean you have to face the consequences of your actions alone," the psychiatrist replied.

Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I crossed the room to the window. Resting my forearms on the sill, I stared out at the overcast sky.

"I don't think anyone would want to spend any time with me at all," I said. "Not after what I've done. Pretty sure the welcoming party on the front doorstep is enough proof about the majority opinion on my existence presently,"

"Have you thought about Ciaran at all?" Dr. Attwood asked. "Maybe you might want to consider talking with him,"

"I couldn't do that," I replied, my voice scarcely above a whisper. "Not after what I did to him. What good would it do, anyway?"

"It may help you to put things in the past and start moving forward by rebuilding bridges and getting in connection with people you know,"

"He wouldn't like that,"

"Have you talked with him?" Attwood replied. "How would you know that if you didn't at least give it a shot?"

"Because I threatened to kill him horribly the last time I saw him!" I said. "I fucked things up with him. He isn't coming back,"

I leaned against the wall, slumping slowly to the floor. The miniature (or normal-sized, I supposed) home I'd built Ciaran sat a short distance away. Reaching over, I gingerly picked it up, holding the shoebox-sized home between my hands. Tears welled in my eyes as I stared at it. Would it be too cliché to say he was the best thing that had ever happened to me? Because it was true.

"I wouldn't be so quick to write yourself off," Dr. Attwood said.

"That's nice of you to say," I sniffed. "But you don't need to lie to me,"

"I make it a point to maintain an honest relationship with my patients," the badger smiled. "Roger expressed Ciaran's desire to speak with you when he contacted me earlier. Just consider it,"

I set the home down next to me, looking across at Dr. Attwood, who was now standing beside his armchair on the edge of the bedside table. A smile played at the corners of my mouth.

"He--he wants to?"

"It would seem so," the psychiatrist nodded. "It might help you to start to move towards some sense of closure,"

"Thank you," I beamed, scrambling to my feet and hurrying back to my bed. I perched on the side of the bed, looking down at him.

Dr. Attwood just nodded.

"Can you let Ciaran know I want to see him? Soon," I said.

"Of course," Dr. Attwood gathered his briefcase.

I gathered up the psychiatrist's armchair in my hand. For a moment, I almost reached to offer my other hand to Dr. Attwood, but stopped short. I still couldn't bring myself to handle people. Sensing my discomfort, the badger clambered down the small ladder bolted to the leg of the nightstand.

As Dr. Attwood reached the doorway, he turned to face me one last time. I sat down cross-legged, propping up my cheek on my hand.

"Shall I see you next week?" the badger asked, adjusting his spectacles.

"Same time as usual," I replied. "Not like I've got that many things going on,"

"Do you have enough meds, or do I need to have your prescription refilled?"

"I dunno," I sighed. "I haven't been sleeping that well lately since I started the new thing,"

"The Dormatrex?" Dr. Attwood's brow furrowed. "All right. I'll see what I can do. Maybe a higher dosage will help. I'm sure you'll understand--an individual of your proportions... Even with mass calculated doses, it's all very much untrod ground,"

"Of course. I completely understand. Thanks," I said, smiling thinly as the badger pushed through the door.

I stretched out on my back on the floor, staring up at the ceiling. Alone again. As per usual. But maybe, if Attwood was right about Ciaran, I wouldn't be alone forever.

*****

For one week every month, field agents were expected to take on the duty of 'operative on call'. Needless to say, the weeks when it was my turn were among the worst in my life.

In a just and fair world, everyone would remain a normal fucking size after six o'clock in the evening. But instead we live in a cruel, cruel world, a world where people still grow to gigantic sizes and get idiotic ideas at oh dark thirty.

There was not enough caffeine in the world to get me through those sorts of times. And this coming from someone who lives in the coffee capital of the entire godsdamn universe.

As usual for on-call evenings, I was sitting on the couch, watching soccer on a muted television and waiting for the inevitable phone call. Long ago, I'd learned not to try and go to bed early on those days.

Sure enough, just as the match neared the end of the first half, my mobile went off. Sighing heavily, I picked up the buzzing and ringing device off my coffee table.

"Smith-White," I said.

"Hullo, Roger. This is Christopher Attwood," came a familiar, soothing voice. Seriously, did all psychiatrists have to go to radio announcer school for a few months or something? That fellow had some velvety damn pipes.

"Oh, hi, Dr. Attwood," I said, leaning back in the couch. Thank _gods_it wasn't a call summoning me away from the warmth of my living room. "What's up?"

"I'm just calling in to give my report on Tabitha's status. I... well, it's been a very busy week. I haven't yet had time to complete the report. I will try to have that in to MACRO within the next few days,"

"Not to worry. I know you're a busy guy. How is she doing?" I asked, brushing back a stray lock of hair from my eyes.

"Well, she's hanging in there," the badger said. "She's feeling really isolated, which is understandable given her house arrest. I've suggested she get into contact with Ciaran. I'm going to see if he is willing to reach out to her,"

"I trust you, but do you truly feel this is a good idea to follow through with?"

"I think it will be good for her course of therapy. Encourage her to make progress," Dr. Attwood replied. "At this point, I more concerned about her antidepressants,"

"Is she not taking them?" I asked.

I could never fully understand people who didn't take their prescribed medications. Why would you skip something that could help make you better?

"Oh, she is," Dr. Attwood nodded. "But they aren't working as they should. I must admit, I'm having a very difficult time getting the correct dosage,"

"Do they even make pills her size?"

"Oh, trust me. It's a major feat," Dr. Attwood chuckled. "But it's really rough. She's nine storeys tall and gods only know how many hundreds of tonnes. We can't exactly just give her a couple of 50 milligram tabs and send her on her merry way,"

"Is there anything I can do?" I asked. "I could call in a couple favors, maybe,"

"Favours? What, does the president of a pharmaceutical company owe you or something?" the badger laughed.

"In my line of work, you'd be really surprised," I snorted. "Gigantism in Saaduuts knows no socioeconomic boundaries. Puts you in some interesting positions, negotiations-wise, from time to time,"

"I'll be sure to let you know if I need anything," Dr. Attwood replied. "I've a few avenues I am considering. I'll be sure to let you know,"

"Thanks for the update," I said, ringing off.

Dropping the mobile back onto the surface of the coffee table, I resumed my vigil. Only a few hours until I could try and fall asleep...

*****

The Fox and Flowers Pub was one of those places my twin brother would probably like. Old tin signs advertising various breweries covered the wood-paneled walls and the long bar bore little plaques etched with the names of some people who were no doubt venerated long-time patrons.

A number of the aforementioned patrons sat along the bar and in a few of the booths. It was charmingly unkempt and homey. I made my way through the dim light, nearly bashing my head against the beams of the low ceiling once or twice. Okay, I didn't really need that aspect of the atmosphere... It wouldn't hurt to raise the damn thing a few inches. Seriously.

I sat down at the end of the bar, signaling for the stuffy old beagle who tended the bar to come over.

"I'll have a pint of the Schraderbräu," I mumbled, slapping a few notes onto the bar.

Soon enough, a frothing glass of delicious hoppy goodness sat in front of me. I took a swig, scoping out the area as discretely as possible.

My person of interest had taken a seat at the opposite end of the bar near a pillar. The panther nursed a pint glass with something dark in it. Producing a mobile from the folds of his long coat, he dialed a number, putting it to his ear. He seemed to be listening to something, maybe a recording. Well, either that or the world's longest prank answering machine message. But I didn't like the look of it.

"Cappuccinos don't go all that well with red ale, you know," came a voice from behind me.

Guillam sat down on the stool next to me, setting the lidded paper coffee cup down next to me. He took a sip from his own paper cup, shaking his head when the bartender approached us.

"_Some_of us don't start drinking at noon, and on the job to boot," Guillam sniffed in faux indignation when I arched my brow at him.

"We both know you just refused because this place probably doesn't make any of those fruity bitch drinks you so adore,"

"And what makes you think I like 'fruity bitch drinks'?"

"Guillam. The only things I've ever seen you drink at a bar have some sort of pastel coloration to them,"

Guillam glanced around the room, likely searching for a change of topic.

"Why are we in here? I mean, besides enabling your budding alcoholism," the cross fox said at last.

"See that guy at the end of the bar? I don't like the look of him," I murmured, pointing with the bottom of my pint glass as I took a swig.

"That panther?" Guillam said.

"Keep your damn voice down!" I muttered.

"I dunno. He looks fine to me," Guillam shook his head.

"He looked pretty damn shifty coming in here," I said.

"I think this job is making you really paranoid. Like more paranoid than the job description calls for," Guillam said, shaking his head. "You might--"

"--Hold it a second," I held up a hand to silence my partner. "What's that he's got there?"

The panther had put away the mobile and was presently producing a small file folder from his voluminous coat.

"That isn't unusual at all," I smirked.

"Some folks like to work at the pub," Guillam shrugged.

"I still don't buy it," I squinted. "There's something about him. I have a feeling about it. And my feelings are never off,"

"Almost never,"

"What if he's Broken Arrow? We were assigned surveillance, let's surveil," I urged, keeping my voice low.

"Wow, _that_escalated quickly," Guillam snorted softly.

"Just saying. It's a distinct possibility. Gotta check and make sure,"

"Well, you keep an eye on our terrifying panther friend here for a couple minutes. I gotta take a leak,"

Brass scraped on wood as Guillam pushed back from the bar. He strode off around the bar, brushing against the panther as he went. The panther barely looked up, too engrossed in the contents of his file folder. Moments later, he got up and left, pulling his coat around himself. Damn. So much for the surveillance.

Guillam seemed in a chipper mood as he returned, dropping onto his barstool.

"Took a little bit of a peek at his oh-so-suspicious papers as I passed," he declared. "Some highly dangerous spreadsheets going on there. Purchase orders or something like that. Good call to keep an eye on him,"

"Oh, fuck you," I growled. "He left in a pretty big hurry. I don't like it,"

"He probably just didn't like the fox sitting at the other end of the bar and glowering at him," Guillam sniffed. "Ought to try being less conspicuous,"

"Well, let's go," I groaned. "No point in staying around any longer. Let's blow this popsicle stand,"

Disappointed at the setback, I slumped through the doorway and out into the grey light of midday. It had started to rain lightly, a fine mist that beaded on my ears and the lapels my coat. Guillam followed closely after me, nodding to the bartender as we pushed through the heavy oaken doors.

"We can report to the boz and then call it a day," Guillam suggested as he slid into the car. "I, for one, have had quite enough of West Saaduuts for one day,"

I nodded grimly as Guillam put the car into gear and pulled away down the street. Glad as I was to leave the neighborhood behind for the time being, the events that had just taken place in the Fox and Flowers didn't sit right with me. Not in the least. Something was up; it had to be. I would just have to come back later and dig beneath the surface. See what was really going on.