We Were Friends
It was a cold, wintry night on the ocean, two weeks remaining before the world greeted 1920. The passenger liner, HMS Victory, had just finished their evening dinner and tea, and now the passengers wandered the decks of the luxury liner, wives with their arms wrapped around their husband's, single furs in search of company, and the occasional employee, rushing off to some emergency.
Rory observed this with little interest as he walked to the port side deck which, save for a few stargazing passengers clad in their finest attire, was empty. He strode to the railing, still dressed in his work uniform, having played the cello during the evening meal, as he did every night. His eyes looked behind the boat, to the east, and surveyed the vast darkness behind them, illuminated only slightly by the gibbous moon and stars.
Back there was home. Or it had been, until a month ago, when Rory had left it all behind.
"Look Mama," he heard a young voice squeak. "I can see the lights!" He knew that they would be arriving tomorrow, docking in New York City. There, he could start a new life. There, he could begin again-without him. As the crashing sound of the waves dulled his hearing, the fox-his orange fur dulled by the night sky-gazed upward at the growing moon and smiled softly. It all started with the gibbous moon, one year ago.
It was 1918, and the war was at its most tumultuous. While Rory had been fortunate enough to flee conscription, the fox soon found his luck ran dry. It was with a heavy heart that he found himself seated in the back of a convoy truck, his vibrant orange fur clashing with the greens of his uniform, his green eyes barely seen under the too-large helmet. He did not know where he was going, however he was feeling slightly safe in the knowledge that it would not be the front lines. While there was desperate need for men in that capacity, his talent with the cello had almost guaranteed he would be spared such torment and risk.
The other furs in the convoy, however, he was unsure of. He whispered silent prayers for each of them, young men in their early twenties like himself, knowing that the chances were they would never see their families again. The smell of terror was palpable, but the sense of resolve and determination was even stronger.
They reached a base on the coastline of Britain and disembarked. It was here that Rory would be bivouacking for the coming months, only deploying when the Royal Army Band was required to play at formal ceremonies, which were fortunately few and far in between. The base camp itself was rather Spartan, consisting of a few barracks, a mess hall, a location for physical training, and a few other assorted wooden buildings. Rory took this all in momentarily before giving a nervous breath and proceeding to the tent for the commanding officer.
Rory soon quickly adjusted once his paperwork had been sorted, and in the coming weeks came to enjoy his time spent there. While he could have done without the daily strenuous physical training required by his commanding officer, he did enjoy the amount of downtime he had, mostly spent practicing on his cello with a few of the other bandmates he had. He made a few tenuous friendships there, despite his own yearning for another man's embrace. He knew full well the policy about gays, and he did not want to become another statistic, let alone an outcast.
This all changed with Chaz.
Chaz was sent from the front lines to this base, his body initially weak from the surgeries he endured after being shot in the chest as he attempted to cross the line. While his use as a soldier was no more, once it was found he could play the bagpipes, the squirrel was sent over. His reception was a cold sort of cordial, his unit having been accused of raping and murdering innocent German women and children during a strike raid. While this accusation arose from events after his being shot, there was still many dark looks cast his way whenever he was in the public eye.
Rory, on the other paw, had nothing but looks of seduction for the squirrel. His fur, a chestnut brown, was always neatly brushed over his toned body. His tail, incredibly bushy for even a squirrel, was incredible to the fox, who found himself wanting more and more everyday to run his paws through it. It was made even more difficult that he found himself bunking in the same dormitory as the squirrel, who took to walking around in nothing but his boxer shorts. Fortunately, they had individual showers, otherwise Rory might have not been able to restrain himself.
This all came to head, Rory recalled, one afternoon when the band decided to play a game of football. They pumped up the ball, its standard whites and blacks stained with grass marks, and set about playing, none of them superb yet all competitive in the friendly match. Rory, being much faster than the others on his team, was set in the forward position. He gave a cursory look before the kickoff and saw that Chaz was standing off to the side, observing sadly, his injuries prohibiting him from playing.
The game progressed from friendly to much more competitive, and Rory found his infatuation taking a backseat to his lust for victory as he battled for dominance of the field. It ended suddenly when Derrick, a lanky tiger from India who was playing as a defender, kicked the ball out of bounds toward Chaz. With a dull thud, the projectile collided on the squirrel's chest, knocking him down. There were a few mild laughs from the impromptu pitch, but Rory looked with growing concern as the squirrel gripped at his chest with a paw, coughing violently.
Derrick ran over to Chaz and, for a fleeting moment Rory thought it was to check on their comrade. However, the tiger snarled at the coughing squirrel and grabbed at the ball, throwing it in the field in order to resume play. It was at this point that Rory made his decision. He high tailed it off the field and over to Chaz, who's meticulous appearance was sullied by the leaves and dirt.
"Let's get you back." Rory said softly as he knelt down, slowly helping Chaz to his hindpaws, supporting his weight as they slowly made their way back toward the medical officer's tent.
"Thanks," Chaz said, his Scottish accent accentuating the first word he said to Rory. The fox felt his heart swell at this, but kept a straight muzzle.
"Anytime."
Luckily, there was no lasting damage to Chaz physically, but he did have to endure several jeers and taunts in the coming days. This time, however, he had someone by his side.
Time, as it is wont to do, kept its steady march, and in two weeks time the two found themselves nigh inseparable. They ate together and, with a little asking about, managed to get bunks closer to one another. To Chaz, it was an opportunity to finally have a friend, someone who would not judge him off of supposition and hearsay. For Rory, well, it was entirely self serving, every moment spent collecting information and mental images to be used later in his more private time.
It was one night that Rory, unable to sleep, slowly rose from his bunk. He quickly threw on his uniform and slid out the door of the dormitory, his muzzle pointed skyward. He walked without real purpose, lost in his own thoughts. He knew that, at some point, he would have to tell Chaz about what he felt, but how would he respond? What was the feeling that enveloped his very core? Was he hurting, or was he sad? He cast his gaze toward the gibbous moon and took a deep breath.
Odd. The scent of cloves. He sniffed the air again out of curiousity, the silence soon thereafter broken by a soft chuckle from behind him.
"Head stuck in the clouds, fox?" The Scottish accent, so familiar, caused his heart to ache. He slowly turned in place and saw the squirrel standing a few paces behind him, cigarette drooping out of his muzzle in a lazy fashion.
"Didn't know you smoked," Rory replied softly, his legs seemingly made of lead as his mind quickly spun. There they were, all alone. No witnesses save for God and the moon above. Now was his chance; if he were spurned, well, who would believe a murderer-- a rapist of children even. It would be an easy task to simply spread such rumours and isolate the squirrel yet again. But--
"You okay?" Rory asked, a confused look clear in the moonlight. The embarrassed fox shut his eyes, knowing he had just zoned out during the squirrel's response to his question.
"Yes." The word came out slowly, hesitantly. Chaz smiled, slowly taking a seat on the grass, patting the space next to him. Slowly, Rory padded over and sat down, wanting to keep some semblance of normalcy.
"You know what I miss most about being here?" Chaz asked before taking a drag on his cigarette. He slowly exhaled, the acrid smell of burnt cloves intoxicating, almost smothering. "Freedom. I hate being looked at every moment of every second, told to go here, stand like this, respond like that. I miss that about being normal, you know?"
"I guess," Rory mumbled, his tail twitching slightly in the night breeze, involuntarily brushing against Chaz's. "Sorry," and with a nervous laugh, the tail was decidedly on the other side of the fox. Chaz laughed and wrapped an arm around Rory's shoulders, pulling him close.
"No need to be nervous," he said softly, sliding his tail around to rest on top of Rory's. The two sat in silence, Rory confused by this action, the closeness allowing him to take in the scent of the squirrel, a pleasant one despite the lingering smell of cloves. "When I was a wee lad," Chaz began as he tilted his head back, looking up at the moon, "me ma used to tell me that the moon was where the rain came from. When it rains, it's because the moon is sad and crying." Rory softly laughed at the naivety of it all. "I know, I know, how stupid to believe. But, I grew up thinking this." Rory took another pull off the cigarette, flicking it off into the darkness thereafter. "The rain made me sad, you see, because it meant we had done something to make the moon sad. It was crying at us all. So, I ask you," Chaz said as he leaned in close, "why are you trying to make the moon cry?"
Rory was taken aback by this, opening and closing his mouth a few times before looking at the ground. "Because what I want I can never have." He heard a faint laugh at his side and slid his gaze to see that Chaz was softly looking at him.
"Have you learned nothing in life? Only a perfect concerto can never be had," and with that Rory felt a paw on his face, gently tugging it into Chaz's direction, followed by the warm sensation of lips being pressed against his own. His surprise quickly faded to pleasure, marked by his fervent kisses. As the two lay down, the last thing that Rory saw before his passions overtook him was the moon above, brightly shining down its approval as they performed the most intimate dance in the moonlight.
And then--
"How long will it be, Mama ?" The young voice cut its way through his reflections, bringing him back to the present. Rory blinked, his eyes slightly damp with tears. He quickly composed himself before laughing bitterly. He had wanted to forget, to quell the tempest inside of him. How could he forget in such a short time, in a place and time like this, under this sky? Rory looked up at the moon and sighed softly, wondering if Chaz was looking up at the same moon and wondering the same things, feeling the same things.
Why would he, Rory silently chastised himself as he leaned his back against the railing, his breath forming mist which almost served as a portal back to that time.
When the armistice had been declared, Rory and Chaz had been sent over to Paris to play at the signing, along with the rest of the unit. Immediately afterward, they were to return back to Britain and be honourably discharged. Rory felt both relief and fear at this, wondering what would happen to both himself and his squirrel-- no, not his squirrel, but the squirrel he had come to love.
The two of them had, for several months, been meeting like they had on that moonlit night, sharing their intimacy in a dance under the stars, each kiss a waltz, every impassioned motion a brilliant tango. Rory had found bliss, or at least as close to bliss as he could arrive in such circumstances, and even though he and Chaz never really spoke or opened up in an intimate fashion, he was certain that would follow after the war was far behind them. However, the moment they were en route to Paris, Chaz became distant, seemingly finding excuses to be alone or to separate himself from the enraptured fox.
They soon arrived in Paris and, to Rory's dismay, were in different housing units. While he rationalised this could have been the decisions of the higher ups made at a whim, he began to doubt. However, in Paris it was almost impossible to be sad, so vibrant were the celebrations. They were surrounded by many others from many different cultures and countries, each having endured such great loss. He found great company in the Americans, who he found had a penchant for drinking which was a thirst second only to the Parisian prostitutes.
The armistice was signed the day after they arrived, and with that the war was officially over. He, Rory, was no longer a conscripted soldier-- he was free to live. They would return to Britain the next day, save for those who were traveling to the territories abroad. It was then that Rory made his decision; he roamed the Parisian streets until he found a jeweler who would sell him a simple band-- a golden ring that he would present to Chaz. With the war over, there should be nothing to stop them from being affectionate, save for the opinion of others.
Rory chose to do this when he could single out Chaz and get him alone. During the short trip across the Channel, it seemed as if Chaz was magic: one second he would be in front of Rory's eyes, the next completely gone. It was during this that he heard the rumours as others felt less restrictive-- Chaz was avoiding Rory, that Rory was a poof, a bit light in the loafers. While sensibility kept the question from being directly asked, there were several that inferred it, from his commanding officer down. Rory shrugged all of their accusations off-- he did not have time for that, his need to speak with Chaz becoming more and more frantic.
It was as they were disembarking that the chance presented itself. Chaz, as fate would have it, was walking in front of Rory, his bag hoisted over his back, his tail obscured yet still recognisable. Rory rushed forward in a quiet fashion as they soon approached the awaiting crowd. He reached a paw out, almost tentatively, but firmly gripped the shoulder of the larger squirrel.
"Hey. Why are you avoiding me?" He asked as he looked into the eyes of his lover for what seemed the first time in a year to him. Their gaze was quickly broken as Chaz looked to the side.
"Who said anything about that?" He asked in a voice that lacked the usual warmth.
"Everyone on ship." Rory shook his head as he regained his thoughts and control of the conversation. "Forget about that," he hastily muttered as he reached his free paw into his pocket where the golden ring was. "We need to talk."
"About?" There was a hint of nervousness in the question. All around them, the sound of bags being dropped on the ground, the cries of loved ones reuniting, the warming sound of laughter quickly rose in volume.
"Us." The statement hung in the air for a moment, the two exchanging glances, Chaz trying to find anything else to look at. "We need to talk about us," Rory repeated.
"Listen--"
"No. I don't need to hear apologies or excuses," Rory hastily interrupted. "If I did something wrong, I can change. These months together have been amazing." A blush rose on his cheeks, a blush that was not mirrored by squirrel who appeared to be getting more and more aggravated, his looks around them more and more frenetic. "When I was alone in Paris, I realised something-"
"You really need to--"
"I love you." He had said it. The fox breathed heavily at this, his paw idly fingering the cool contours of the ring in his pocket. The squirrel finally held his gaze, his mouth slightly ajar for a few moments before he swallowed heavily.
"You ne--"
"Pa!" A form, which the two had failed to observe, collided at Chaz's side and embraced him. "Pa!" The sound of sniffling could be heard coming from the small squirrel, dressed in a long white dress, her tail waving to and fro excitedly. Rory took a step back.
"No." He shook his head. "No, this can't be." Another figure approached and wrapped her arms around Chaz before bringing her muzzle close for a kiss. It was then that it all made sense to Rory.
"Baby," Chaz said softly, the warmth back in his voice as he embraced his wife and child. Rory felt like vomiting, continually backing up from the family in horror.
"Who's that?" Chaz's wife asked, her a light russet colour, her face scrunched in query. Chaz looked at Rory, a plaintive look on his face. Rory froze as all three were looking at him-- would he ruin his love, his liar, and become his greatest shame? It was when he saw Chaz's daughter, peering from behind her father, that he came to a decision.
"We were friends in the war," he said simply as he nodded his head to the family.
"Were friends ?" Chaz repeated.
"Yes, we were friends," Rory replied in a bitter fashion before walking off, cello case in paw, his bag secured to his back. As he walked past the crowd, none took notice of the ordinary-looking fox who walked with eyes clouded with tears.
Rory returned home, but found his heart was elsewhere. Everywhere he looked reminded him of his love. He worked for a few months after that, playing music at random locales, but found his heart was not even in his music. It was after he had stopped receiving requests to play that he knew he needed to act.
His world had changed. He, too, would have to change. He made arrangements and, at the end of November, boarded a ship, playing cello for the rich passengers who were traveling to America. This carried on for a month, the nights getting longer and the days getting colder, until the fox found himself reclining against a railing, tears streaming from his eyes as the new world approached.
His recollections ended, he found he was idly toying with the ring he had bought in Paris. As he looked at the ring in his open paw, the sound of children protesting being put into bed floated in the air. Is that what Chaz was dealing with, Rory wondered to himself.
"Mister," he heard a timid voice ask. He looked down and saw a young mouse, the voice the same that had been talking earlier.
"Yes?" His voice, still shaky, was still as polite as he could muster.
"You should go inside," the child mouse said as he smiled. "Momma says it is too cold." Rory laughed, despite his inner pain.
"I will," he assured. "Thanks," he added as an afterthought to the retreating back of the boy. He turned and returned his gaze back to the ocean, the reflection of the moon still visible through the clouds which had appeared over the time he had been outside. He took a deep sigh and returned his gaze to the ring in his palm.
Even despite his not knowing him, the young mouse had been considerate. While he had been hurt, he was not beyond hope, the fox realised. He was still capable of being cared for.
"I'm not sailing away from loves lost," he said to himself. "I am sailing to hopes unknown." His voice, still quiet, was firm with resolve. In a sudden movement, he cast the ring out into the ocean, the sound of the ring sinking into the water masked by the sounds of the boat, yet even he would not have heard. Rory, with his head high, walked back inside, a smile on his face as he faced the future, the dark past behind him.
And as the ship sailed on, the moon completely became masked in clouds and began to cry, its frozen tears blanketing the ship and the land they sailed toward-- tears of loss, tears of hope.