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Hehhey, everyone!

Welcome to read the ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY commemorative chapter of my ongoing furry series "I'm With the Hockey Hunk". I can't believe that I'm sitting here 76 chapters later, presenting this particular chapter. It's simply unbelievable, but here we are! What would be a better way to mark this date but by with an extra chapter to my diligent readers? The story goes on, and remember, next week we'll have two regulars updates, including on Monday - only have to wait until tomorrow for the next chapter!

I'd also like to note that this chapter also marks my 300,000 views on my SF submissions. Thank you everyone for reading, commenting, faving, and generally following my work!

Don't forget to comment after you read - it is the best measure of the quality of my work.

Have a good read y'all!

G

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The apparent commotion of their entry quieted down as the three leonine Glieses lined up by bed in a strange mimicry of a 19th century family photo, complete with solemn faces, black clothing and standing in a descending order of size, from left to right. They were quiet, and I looked up to them, and they looked down to me, seemingly unsure what to do with me now that they actually where here. Perhaps it was that they had found me lying on this bed upon into which I was secured with tubes and bandages and cables in inconvenient places on my person.

The first thing I really noticed was that they all smelled of coffee and French fries. Once I had blinked away my initial shock of seeing them, I also saw that each of them was holding a bulging white plastic bag.

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My stomach grumbled resonantly as the thick scent of greasy, and as a consequence, delicious, food assaulted my poor nose.

Jesus!

It made me feel horribly hungry. It must've been close to what, ten hours since I last ate, and my stomach was definitely empty by now. Judging by the nurse's insistence with the ice chips, I didn't see myself getting to eat anything proper for a while yet, and that certainly made me feel that sure as hell they hadn't brought their own lunches with them. I was seriously going to hiss at them if those bags contained leftovers from comfort eating during the long, harrowing drive from Rome to Kirk City. I wouldn't be surprised, really, if they'd resort to such a thing.

No wonder my family suddenly smelled like McDonald's.

It was dad who spoke first.

"Well...how're you doing there, buddy?" he rumbled.

It was something akin to a verbal version of a careful fatherly pat on the shoulder, very masculine and probably the pinnacle of any physical attempt of comfort coming from my father. He looked tense, even if he was definitely trying to smile bravely. I could tell it all by the small lines around his eyes, tension lines that brought his forehead into a crease even without conscious effort from dad's part. Still, even that wasn't as dire as the fact that dad's massive mane was burgeoning out of the folded collars of his coat in a messy heap of stringy furs. He looked unkept, and that spoke things on its own. He'd never usually leave the house looking like that under normal circumstances, not without at least a casual combing that would put the mane into order and highlight its size, and certainly he would never appear anywhere the way he was now, looking like he'd either stepped out of a wind tunnel, or the 1980's.

It was uncomfortable to see him like that. It reminded of conversations long past, when both knew that you had to have that conversation, but neither didn't know how to approach the topic at paw. A situation like this had thankfully not been experienced before, but nonetheless, I was at a loss.

I barely had the time to open my muzzle to speak a hello when mom cut me off, speaking in a quick whisper.

"Oh, baby..."

My ears fluttered in surprise at the word spoken. It had been a long while since I'd been anyone's baby, let alone my mother's. Though she was trying to sport a smile, just like father was, I could see that she was squeezing her gloves in her hands so hard that I could see the protrusions of her knuckles in prominence. She'd also taken her good pawbag with her, as evident by the black leather piece slung over her shoulder. That wasn't a good sign either.

"Hi," the smallest Gliese muttered from the end of the line.

My brother looked at me with bright, if cautious eyes. I could hear his tail swishing against the smooth floor, obviously another nervous gesture from this trio. His ears gave a hopeful flick as soon as he had spoken.

"Hey," I whispered between my rough, dry lips.

Their eyes were racing around the room. They saw me, the arranged medical equipment, the blank walls, the lamps, the nondescript ceiling, the windows with venetian blinds...Peter...

Oh, crap. Now Peter would have to bear the brunt of them, too.

"Hello, Patricia," Peter's voice rumbled into my ear from my right, as familiar as that of my blood relatives who filled out the other side of the room. There were no signs of hesitation. "Mark...Justin...hello."

The trio's ears flicked in such unisons that it could have been comical. It looked like they had only suddenly now registered the presence of the surgically clad fifth occupant of the room, sitting on the opposite side of the bed. A quick look confirmed that he was smiling mildly.

On the other side...well...it was interesting enough to see their faces, reacting to the familiarity of Peter's greeting. Dad looked like he always did, not quite sure what to say. Mom smiled. Justin...well...my little brother was simply being the 13-year-old teen lion that he was. I suppose the stoic face was either part of some sort of an emo phase, or discomfort from the homosexuality present in the room. It also could have been the fact that he was standing a foot away from what to me had looked like half a gallon of my piss in a plastic bag. I sure as hell hoped he hadn't seen that. I suspected that me lying in bed mummified in bandages probably didn't help much either.

Mom took action first this time, smiling politely.

"Hello, Peter," she said in a voice that reflected her smile. "I don't think we have met in a very long time."

"Hello," dad echoed.

"Hello, Mark," Peter replied.

I looked at Justin to see what was going to happen. I wasn't sure whether he was going to say something polite, too. Even if he was, his chance was blown when the door opened and the by now all too familiar mare nurse entered. Her expression was definitely more stern that I'd seen it to be before.

This was going to be good, I suspected.

"Is everything alright here, Mister Gliese?" she spoke from the doorway, her eyes alert and automatically checking all the medical equipment in the room, besides the abundance of lions plus one cougar.

"Is everything alright here, Mister Gliese?" she spoke from the doorway.

The row of pretty round ears jumped again, everyone's gaze turning to the nurse, as if they expected her questioning to mean that something wasn't alright with me, and that she could've as well rushed in with that machine that goes "CLEAR!" before you get your ass zapped.

I nodded carefully, mindful of my still stiff, sore neck.

"Yes," I rumbled from my dry throat. "Everything's fine."

The nurse nodded softly in my direction before she obviously turned her gaze towards the crowd by my bed.

"Excuse me, everyone, but this is the intensive care unit, and for the comfort of the patients, we would appreciate if only a limited amount of guests visits one patient at one time," she continued.

I could see an instant increase in the tension on the corners of dad's muzzle as he looked at the nurse with clear disbelief.

"Well, we've just driven over 130 miles to come and see our son who has been seriously injured!" dad spoke, louder now. "Are you really saying that we should leave him alone as soon as we came here? Are the visiting hours over?"

"Excuse me but..."

"Mark Gliese," dad delivered. "My wife Patricia and my son Justin. We are here for my son Rory."

He waved each of them in turn, and the nurse looked at each of them in turn.

"Mister Gliese," the nurse tried again. "This is the intensive care unit, and while we do not have strict visiting hours due to the nature of our patients, but we also treat very critical patients here, and we have to try to limit the number of extra furs in the ward especially during the nighttime to limit the extra workload on the staff."

I suspected that my parents might instantly start to complain about the standard of care at the hospital, but a strange clanking sound from my right put all of us into silence. I turned to look his way and saw that the cougar was already getting up to his paws, and he had his crutch standing by as well.

"Well, I think I'll go and stretch my legs a little, Peter said, addressing the whole room, obviously, before his attentive eyes turned to the nurse. "As long as I am welcome back here...am I now, Lydia?"

The mare's brow quirked in mild surprise, it seemed, deep in thought for a few seconds before she nodded, finally.

"Of course, Mister Sinclair."

"Thank you," he spoke before turning his eyes down towards me again. "I'll be back soon, Rory."

"Ok," I rumbled.

He turned about and made his way to the door, but then he stopped by the mare, and turned to look at my family.

"It was very nice to meet you all again," he spoke with a very polite, gentle flair that made me smile, very softly. Just a little.

My mother's ears flicked amiably.

"Thank you so much for calling me, Peter, and thank you for watching over Rory," she said.

My father simply nodded.

"Of course," Peter replied.

He looked like he was about to leave for good now, but the nurse seemed to have something more to say, too, and cleared her throat.

"Excuse me, but I will also have to tell you all that unfortunately we cannot allow any gifts at the ICU."

I could see her eyes linger in the number of plastic bags my family was carrying, and I could already see the shit hitting the fan.

"If you brought anything to Mister Gliese, I'm afraid you cannot leave anything here," the mare spoke.

Mom's eyes widened. The sudden added tension made the bag she was holding rustle. I could only imagine what kind of get well presents the bag was filled with, but now it seemed to me that the nurse was going to deny that pleasure from both my parents and me, the recipient of the gifts.

"What?" that was dad.

"It's a policy," Peter seemed to be compelled to take part into this stand-off. "It's a matter of hygiene. It's also not a good idea to have maw-watering food kept near furs who are not allowed to eat anything. They might accidentally do harm to themselves if they do eat."

Suddenly I couldn't help but think about Mr. Heartbear, the smiling teddy enclosed in protective plastic so that it could be brought safely into one of these rooms. Hadn't George's been much like this? My belly clenched, and once again I watched my Peter carefully for any visible signs of distress. He seemed steady enough for now, but that could be the drugs, of course. Didn't he mention that he had to take tranquilizers before coming to the hospital? I couldn't see anything good come out of that.

The mare gave Peter a surprised look, but she then nodded, afterwards.

Well, that did it. My prospect of getting a heap of get well chocolates seemed to diminish even further with that expert statement coming from Peter. I couldn't help but chuckle. It sounded rough and brought eyes and ears upon me.

"Weren't you supposed to be my ally in this, Peter?" I flicked an ear.

Peter snuffled, and to my pleasure, smiled mildly.

"Sorry, Rory, I have to keep my good reputation around here," he flashed his teeth in his smile, and I smiled back, just quickly.

"Heheh," I said.

Peter nodded once more into the room, rumbled a "Goodnight" and then disappeared through the door. His crutch made him sound like a pirate as he walked.

The nurse remained in the room.

"You may stay now, but I hope you will observe our rules," she said, "and I would also request that you do not stay for much longer than 15 minutes. Mister Gliese has had a very long day and he needs to have a lot of rest."

I could see that both my mother and father started to object, and it was dad who got there first.

"Thank you," dad said, but I wasn't so sure whether he really meant it. "We would like to talk with Rory and see how he is doing, and perhaps we will come back tomorrow to spend a longer time with him. Would that be appropriate?"

She seemed hesitant for a moment, at least to me she did, before she finally nodded.

"The on-call doctor should have time to discuss Mister Gliese's status with you tomorrow, if you wish, and with Mister Gliese's consent, of course," she replied. "But I would request that you come after midday, so that the morning rounds can be held without disturbance. It can be quite hectic at that time."

"Of course," my father spoke in his best voice.

"Please call the nurse with your call button if you need any help, mister Gliese," she continued.

"Sure," I said tiredly.

She left the room with a trained, quiet night nurse step, surprisingly so, even, for someone with hooves, I suppose, and there I was, alone with my family for the first time since last Christmas. Four days.

Peter got the New Year. It was so soon after George that I couldn't leave him alone.

I braced myself for the onslaught. I knew that it was coming. I could feel it in my whiskers.

Dad lifted his paw against his muzzle and did a small "cough-cough" before he put his paw down, drew a deep breath, blinked, and did all the other things he always did when preparing to speak, before he finally did.

"They...treating you okay, son?"

"Yeah," I breathed quietly.

Mom frowned.

"Are you in pain?" her eyes lingered in the huge lump that was my immobilized leg, under the covers.

"No," I breathed. "Not much. They're giving me something for it."

Justin's ears flicked.

"You mean, like drugs?" the teen lion rumbled.

"Yup," I replied. "Fentanyl."

Justin made a face.

"I'm a kid, I don't know what that is."

Well, I think it's morphine, I think."

His tail batted the floor.

"Wow, are you high?" he sounded alarmingly impressed.

"Justin!" dad didn't raise his voice, but you could hear the tone...that particular tone he must've used in his job, too.

"He said he was," Justin replied.

I snuffled.

"No, Justin, I'm not high" I said. "Just really sleepy."

The young lion nodded quickly.

"Did they have to shock you?" he spoke in a small voice.

"What do you mean?" I asked, puzzled.

"Well you know," he fidgeted with his paws as he swayed from one foot to another, "whenever someone's unconscious on TV, that monitor that's like the one you got goes BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP and then the docs shock you with that to bring you back from the dead. I saw it on Flatliners."

I chuffed incredulously. The boy had some weird thoughts alright. I wondered whether I was that weird at that age. Probably even worse. I couldn't help but smile.

"No, they didn't to do that to me," I replied hoarsely.

"What happened to your paw?" he pointed at it.

I lifted my paw very carefully, and was rewarded with a twinge of pain, but nothing I couldn't take, for a little moment.

"I broke a couple of fingers, but they'll heal."

"What about your leg, Rory?" now it was mom's turn to do fingerpointing, this time towards the splinted, padded nightmare that used to be called my right leg. "Peter said that you injured your leg in the crash."

"Well they didn't cut it off, did they?" Justin looked almost hopeful.

"Justin!" mother hissed.

My brother's ears dropped and he bared his teeth in a rude gesture at my mother.

"Andy!" he hissed between those teeth before he covered them with his lips again. No lion in their right mind would keep hissing like that for their parents for too long, unless they wanted to face being grounded.

Oh, right. He was still doing this adorable teenaged thing of wanting to have his own personality independent of his parents, and that new lion came with a new name. Though, I also suspected that a certain other famous Justin had made him like his given name much less than he used to, prompting my brother to go by his second given name, Andrew. Andy, for short. Girls probably liked that better. I decided not to comment.

Dad rumbled deep in his throat, but didn't speak a word. Mother flicked her ears sharply.

"Andy, don't tease your brother. He obviously hasn't had his leg cut off," she said.

Way to go, mom. What a cheerful thing to say to your son.

"No they did not amputate my leg," I said, feeling oddly left out of this discourse. "I dislocated my hip at the car crash, and the doctors had to put it back into place. It wasn't broken, though, so I was lucky."

Justin's eyes seemed to be gleaming.

"Wow!" his ears flicked eagerly. "I saw it when Dylan Jones dislocated his arm during football practice, it was GROSS! The arm went all floppy and stuff!"

Then he proceed to mimic such an injury to the best of his ability, by twisting his arm into an odd angle and then letting it dangle while he made a face that probably was meant to reflect his rendition of being in immense physical pain. My parents looked like they wanted to facepalm something serious, but I found it oddly...reliving. Normal, in its crude way. I had an extremely liking for normal as of late.

"Something like that," I said, and carefully, using my tubed arm, patted my good hip. "There's a really big joint here...uhh...it's like this...big ball, almost like a golf ball, on top of the bone, and it goes into a round hole in the big bone here..."

I gestured some more, and found a rapt audience of three upon me.

"Well, apparently it can happen in car crashes that the ball pops out of the socket, and the leg goes all..floppy and gross," I smiled mildly.

I could see flinches all over.

"Dude," Justin slipped out. "Dude, are you saying that you dislocated your ASS?"

"Justin!" dad hissed.

My brother snuffled, though at least he didn't bare his teeth, this time.

"Well that's what Rory said!" Justin complained.

"Baby, the hip is not the same thing as the...uh...butt," mom tried.

Justin slapped the side of his hip and snorted.

"I bet if I asked the doctors if it was the same thing they'd say yes."

Mother shook her head.

"Oh, Justin, don't be difficult when your brother is sick!"

"Hey! I raised my voice a little, though it remained hourse and rough, "I'm not sick!"

The trio gave me disbelieving looks.

"Well, not really!" I frowned a little. "I'm just a little bit banged up from the crash."

"So your leg is going to be okay?" dad spoke now. "No big harm done?"

I nodded.

"They put it back in place in the operating room, and told me that it's going to be alright in a few weeks," I hurried to tell. "I'll just have to take it easy for a while."

I wasn't sure whether they looked convinced.

"What about the others then?" dad said.

This was it.

They wanted to know who I was with in the car. I had no idea how much Peter had told them on the phone, about the circumstances surrounding the wreck. I didn't know if he had mentioned Victor, or, even more importantly so, elaborated on the nature of my relationship with Victor. Even thinking about the Dobie made my heart race a little once again. I really knew so little about how he was doing that I'd be uncomfortable sharing what I did have...it made it sound so much more serious, and as a result, it also made me feel much worse. I felt awful. I had no idea how I could get away with this.

I must've taken too much time thinking about it, because mom spoke in a very low and quiet, concerned voice.

"Rory...is everything ok?"

Everything was shit.

I wasn't going to tell them that, though.

I took a deep breath.

"I was in a car with a friend," started, as simply as I knew how to, " I was in a car with my friend, and we were dropping his brother off at the train station, and at some point, someone drew through red lights and slammed right on us. I really don't remember much of it, to be honest. I must've had some sort of a blow in my head or something, I really don't remember."

They didn't look too satisfied with my answer, and neither did I feel that. I hated feeling like this, being out of control of things, let alone losing the control of the faculty of my most personal asset...my memory. My experiences. I couldn't remember the accident, only...Victor's face, the loud noise, and a shooting pain...and then nothing, before Peter, and before...this.

"A male friend?" mom said, looking more curious than before.

Ohhhhhhffffffff...

Of course.

Of course.

What the hell...

"Yeah," I shrugged.

It didn't feel so nice.

"So how is this...friend?" dad now.

Oh, crap.

"He's being treated elsewhere in this hospital," I said. "He didn't get too badly hurt, and should be recovering. I haven't seem him since the accident, but I was told that he's alright. I don't know too much besides that."

I decided not to elaborate on Cobb. There was too much in their paws to begin with, and to add an extra dose of Cobb into it all might have tipped the scales from...tense but coping, to sheer terror over my horribly mauled state.

Mom frowned.

"What do you mean?" she said. "Why didn't they tell you more? Shouldn't they...I mean..."

Yeah. I knew what they must've been thinking. Wasn't it only natural to assume that if a gay man was in a car with a man, that man must've been the man's boyfriend...or something. Of course I knew that at least until noon today we had been in the category of "something", considering that Victor indeed was available for satisfying my homoerotic tendencies, but still...making assumptions like that always sounded off to me. I guess they couldn't help it.

"They only give information to the next of kin," I said, "that means family members, not friends."

"Not even boyfriends?" she pressed on.

My ears flicked sharply. She sounded so worried that it hurt me on the inside, too. Maybe she'd waited for a long time to be able to use that word again in the context of the Romantic Life of Rory Gliese. I hadn't had anyone since Graham...of course they wanted me to move on and find someone suitable...someone who didn't wear feather boas. It's not that Graham did wear feather boas, but...

Shit.

"They can't tell anyone outside immediate family without the patient's consent," I replied, hoping that would be enough.

"Of course they should tell you!" mother's voice rose higher now. "You're languishing here because you don't know how he's doing! Oh dear, is this some kind of homophobia, Rory?"

My eyes widened.

"Wow!" I called out. "Where did that come from?"

Both dad and Justin looked decisively embarrassed, and shared a look that avoided looking at me or mom. I wasn't sure which one of us was making them feel like that. Probably mom. I hoped.

Mom pressed on.

"Well if they don't tell you because you...you..."

"They wouldn't tell me even if I was a girl or even if Victor was a..."...

Ohhh yes.

There it was. Now they knew that he was called Victor.

I swallowed. I wish Peter was here feeding me some of that ice again. I wasn't sure if I could ask any of my family members to do that to me. It felt somehow...too much to ask.

"...even if one of us was a girl, they still wouldn't tell," I continued after a small, tense pause. "It's...a...well, like they say...a policy."

"Bullshit," dad grunted. "Keeping sick furs in the dark! What kind of a policy is that?"

His tail swished, almost hitting the IV equipment by the bed. I winced at the prospect of his tail tugging something off and causing an alarm. Having a group of nurses and doctors storm the place would probably be the final straw on my nerves.

"Look," I breathed, "it's just the bureaucracy, there's nothing we can do about it. Let's just... uh..."

I wanted to scratch my head, or my neck, or anywhere, really, to put some of my nerves into actual movement, so that I could relief the tension flowing through my body. No such luck, of course.

"...look, I know it sucks," I said, "I know it sucks that you had to drive all the way here to look at me like this but..."

Mom grabbed my paw and squeezed it firmly.

"We almost died of worry when Peter called and told us that you've been in the accident!" she spoke passionately. "Your brother nearly burst into tears when I had to tell him."

Justin's eyes went gigantic.

"I can't believe you just said that!" he threw his arms up in disbelief, all the while his ears and tail batted.

"Justin!" dad snapped.

My brother stepped over to the corner of the room to sulk there and launch wary looks at mom and dad.

I rumbled a little, drawing their attention to me and not Justin's fit.

"Hey," I said, "I'm okay!"

"But you were damn right close that you weren't," dad spoke in a low rumble and looked even more tense than before.

"And what's with your...friend...Victor...also getting hurt, it all must be overwhelming on you!" mom added.

If only they'd know.

I made a resolution to not to tell them about the rest of the stuff. I didn't even know if I had the right to talk about Victor in any friendly terms anymore, not after seeing that disappointed face in the car. It was unlike the...first time he had to be disappointed in me, when I lied to Haakon about how I knew Victor. It was so much worse, and my parents seriously didn't need to know about me being a total bastard who might have screwed up the most promising thing that happened to me in years.

I really needed to talk to Victor soon or I'd burst.

"I know it's a lot," I hurried to speak when mom's face scrunched into an ever deeper frown, and dad looked even more uneasy with this whole business. "But it happened...accidents happen."

Kisses and disappointments happen.

Dad coughed.

"But you'll be back to your paws in no time, heh!" he sounded so rousing that I knew that he had to be putting it on, to hide his discomfort with the situation. "And getting back to your friends at that bookstore!"

Yeah...including Mason, who I still hadn't talked with about the date that ended with him punching his best friend forever Haakon down to the floor and fleeing the scene.

"Yeah," I replied. "Just like that."

"Oh, baby..." mom stroked my arm, as if she was trying to heal a particularly big booboo that was Rory.

My throat hurt again, and it wasn't just the crash doing that, or the lack of water, or whatever else having to do with the accident. I wanted to snarl. I couldn't.

"I'll be fine," I grunted. "I'll be fine. Don't worry. I'll be fine."

I wished I believed myself.

*

We talked about little things for a few more minutes. I asked how dad and Justin were doing at school, and how mom's work was going. They asked me if I needed anything they could bring to me. I wanted to tell them that they could bring me Victor, unscathed and smiling and wanting to give me a get well kiss. I reminded them that they couldn't bring me anything to begin with. They looked disappointed.

I just wanted them to disappear so that I could be alone with my thoughts. I'd probably told them to go if the nurse hadn't come and reminded them that it would be appropriate for them to leave before the nurses started going around dispensing the night medications.

It was dad's turn to have a go at my paw. His squeeze was surprisingly soft, gentle, almost. Maybe he was being careful.

"I booked us a hotel room while we were coming here," dad noted. "Did it with my iPhone!"

He sounded oddly proud of this feat.

"We'll be staying for the night," mom said. "And we'll come back really soon, ok, Rory? Will you be ok?"

"Yeah," I replied quietly.

I was so thirsty again.

Mom kissed my forehead goodnight, and even Justin managed to pat my arm and say "good luck" before the trio of lions were finally ushered away by the nurse.

"I'll see them out," she smiled to me from the door. "The doctor will come to check you soon."

"Goodnight," I called behind them.

*

Hehhey!

Hope you guys had an interesting time reading! Remember to comment, and stay tuned for continuation tomorrow on Monday!

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Cheerio!