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Hehhey, y'all, and welcome to The Hockey Hunk's special Wednesday chapter! This surprise extra edition is simply part of my want to keep the plot going onwards smoothly, and this time I felt that an extra chapter would be in order. Hopefully you will enjoy the read, and leave a comment once you're read! Comments are the best gauge of the quality of my work.

That's about it for now, folks, see you on Friday!

Have a good read, and cheers to y'all!

G

*

I couldn't do much else but sit on my place and wait for dad.

I could hear the weak sound of the phone going off in the den, and that did not really work to improve my comforts. Ever since the accident...well...ever since I was discharged from the hospital and I got my phone back and could use it again, every time it rang, I'd jump, sweat, curse and rumble before I dared to look at who was calling. The possibility that it could be someone I REALLY REALLY REALLY wanted to talk to was always there, no matter how slim, and that's why I always reacted strongly whenever that little plastic device began to chime and resonate. It felt like some sort a strange Pavlovian response, me, the lion, conditioned to react in a strong physical manner whenever that certain signal set me off.

I couldn't blame myself, though. I knew why I was doing it.

I knew that I had messed up, and that to do anything about that required some time. I didn't know how much time that was, how much was needed, so that civil conversation could be possible between me and Victor. I knew that I had been thinking about that ever since our final conversation. I had spent enough time thinking about possible scenarios, too. Really, my head was full of potential dialogues between me and Victor, leading into various outcomes. I didn't even dare to start on thinking about those that didn't lead into an amiable conclusion, where we would come clean and explain everything for the best. It felt almost good to think about that kind of scenarios while lying alone on the couch in the dark den and staring into the darkness, trying to drift asleep.

Yeah, the Dobie knew how to haunt my mind in the good and the bad. I bet this counted as bad. It wasn't the kind of sleeplessness I wanted to associate with Victor, or with anyone.

But surely it wasn't him now. We'd agreed not to bother each other, and surely, though it was almost two weeks since the accident and everything that followed, surely that wasn't enough...unless...unless...

My stomach began to churn as I ran through all of my well thought out opening lines I had come up with, for answering that potential make better call.

"Hi Victor!"

_ _

"Hello Victor, how are you, I missed you so much!"

_ _

"Victor, hi!"

_ _

"Victor? Is that you? You alright?"

"Yo, man!"

"Oh Victor, can you forgive me? Please?"

_ _

"Victor..."

_ _

"IT'S YOUR FRIEND PETER CALLING!" dad's voice echoed from the great beyond.

My ears flopped briefly. Peter had been checking up on my pretty much daily ever since I was discharged and shipped away to Rome. I should've guessed that it was him calling...though usually he only phoned in the evening, when everything was more quiet, he explained to me. I knew he meant well, and I always felt nice after the calls, but I had to admit to myself that I was also, on some level, a bit disappointed that it wasn't Victor.

The sound of the phone ringing became louder, especially once dad appeared from the kitchen door. He was brandishing my chiming phone in an outstretched paw.

"Here you go" dad said as I took the phone from him.

"Thanks, "I said.

I lifted the phone up to my ear and answered.

"Hello?" I rumbled.

"Hello, Rowreeh!" Peter's voice came through the line, crisp, purr-tinged and soft, as always, when it was the normal voice.

Dad rounded over to his place on the table and picked up his plate.

"I'll go upstairs and check out the news on my computer," he grinned, "Let you guys talk in peace."

I nodded, and gave the remaining rasher and a half on the plate a longing look, before dad moved out of sight.

"Is that your dad?" Peter inquired on the phone.

I scratched my muzzle and took a deep cleansing breath, if only to get the distracting scent of the tempting meat out of my nose.

"Yep," I said, glimpsing the wavy tip of dad's tail as he walked along his merry soon to be bacon-snacking way.

"Did he stay in to look after you?" Peter asked, sounding somewhat worried for the moment.

"Nah," I said. "He just had a really short day today, I guess. He just came back and woke me up when he did. Made me breakfast, though."

Peter chuckled.

"Way to go dad!"

"He's gone now," I noted. "He went upstairs to sit on his computer and eat bacon."

"Also way to go, dad," Peter mused.

I chuckled mildly.

"Yep," I snuffled.

"How are you doing?" Peter asked calmly.

I tried to scratch my chest with whatever fingers were functional on my splinted right paw, and leaned back a little on the wheelchair.

"Well..." I noted, "I guess, to put it mildly, the only thing missing right now is the constant playing of Liberace records. Otherwise I would be clearly staying with Anne Wilkes."

Peter chuckled.

"Awww...want me to borrow you mine? To get you in the right mood?" the cougar purred.

I snorted.

"Oh no, my brother is taking care of the soundtrack," I said.

"Oh really?"

"Yeah, he's taken on a liking to something called...hmm...well, dad calls it 'could you please turn that down' music, but I think it's called...dubstep, or that's what Justin said."

Peter chuckled.

"Ooooohhhh that," he said.

"You know it?" I chuckled.

"Sure," Peter sounded like he was grinning. "It's the kind of music that makes you feel really old."

My ears jumped in surprise.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked.

"Well you know, every generation's music sounds awful to the older generation," he said, "I mean, think of the...uhh...New Kids on The Block."

I made a face.

"I never liked New Kids on the Block," I grunted. "I hope you didn't either."

"I liked the Spice Girls a little bit," Peter replied.

I snorted.

"Weren't we a bit old for that crap when they surfaced?" I rumbled.

"Not too old, as far as I recall," Peter mused. "We were what, sixteen? Seventeen?"

"And I know that I'm naïve," I snuffled.

Peter chuckled.

"Meoooow!" the cougar rumbled on the other side of the line. "Did the cat get up on the wrong side of the bed?"

I snorted.

"I sleep on the couch," I said, "It only has one side to get up from."

Peter was right.

This cat was having a meooow alright.

"I know," Peter said. "I think I've slept on that couch once or twice."

"Not this one," I replied. "Dad's got a new one now. Black leather and mahogany."

"How kinky."

"Sorry, it's a man cave, not a dungeon," I snuffled.

"I know, but you're attractive when you look outraged," the cougar replied. "It puffs you out nicely."

I chuckled roughly at his latest statement. No wonder I was feeling outraged.

"Well you really have an active imagination going, I must admit."

"How's the leg?" Peter obviously wasn't going to take the bait. "And the paw, obviously."

I tentatively patted my bad leg with my bad paw, and was rewarded with only a small twinge of dull pain, this time. It seemed like a hopeful presentation, and something to report to the cougar as potential progress in my recovery.

"Well I still shouldn't walk on it, obviously," I told him, "It aches sometimes when I move it even a little, but it's not too bad. The swelling has gone down in the paw. I even dare to move the fingers a bit."

"Are the drugs working alright?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm down to two pills a day. One for the morning and one for the night."

That reminded me that I still hadn't taken my pill for the morning yet. I had them on dad's desk on the den. Damn! The leg wasn't feeling too bad, though. I suspected that I could go some time still without any extra Vicodin in my system. It was probably for the best, too. Prescription drug addiction would not have looked good on my list of current worries.

"Well that's good," Peter said. "What's next with it?"

"More physical therapy and crutches," I said. "I visited the local hospital yesterday and they said that I was doing good recovery. There's good mobility and stability and all and whatever. You know how they talk. Hard to really know what they mean."

"You should Google it," Peter suggested.

I chuckled.

"Maybe I should," I mused.

"So when are you coming back then?" Peter continued.

My tail stopped its pleasant flipping about on the floor and laid still. My ears flicked sharply. It was too good a question. I didn't know what to say.

"I'm not really sure," I stalled for time.

Going back meant a lot of things.

I would be seeing all the familiar places, and in that environment, it would certainly be more difficult to not to think about everything that had been going on for the past few weeks or so. It felt as if it was possible that the very air back in Kirk City was contaminated with Rory-troubles, and going back there and breathing it would bring it all back to the surface, raw and bleeding. There was Victor, and work, and Mason, and the memories of what happened with Colin, and...I wasn't sure I could go back yet.

"Oh?"

Peter obviously didn't take that as a valid answer. I needed to tell him something better, and more convincing, too.

"When I can take care of myself, I guess," I tried again.

"You could still come and stay with me," Peter replied. "The apartment's easy access, and I'm always home, so you'll have someone to help you out at any moment if you need it."

I snuffled at his words and thought what I had told dad earlier today, about me not needing someone to guard me at all times. I knew Peter only meant his most loving best with everything he said, but still...it felt awful to impose anything on him.

I took a deep breath.

"I know," I said. "And thank you, of course. I just don't want to be any trouble to you."

"You wouldn't be trouble at all. My ankle's all healed now, I am back to normal and I'd have no trouble over a houseguest."

I knew he would say that.

"I know," I said, repeating myself, yeah, but what else could I say?

I knew him.

"It really wouldn't be any trouble, Rowreeh."

I sighed.

"I just..." I stared at the rain-streaked window and listened to the dribble of rain on the roof, barely audible, but there, as a constant thrumming now.

"Yeah?" he sounded cautious now.

What could I tell him? That I was afraid to come home, besides putting extra strain on Peter's obviously tentative mental health? That if anything was something I'd never tell him aloud, considering that I didn't really want to trip any sort of...events that would stress him even further. I knew that Peter was being taken care of by professionals, and I wasn't welcome to intrude into that area. He hadn't said it directly, of course not, but I knew. It wasn't my role nor my place. He needed a friend, not something else. I wasn't something else. I was a friend.

"Well..." I started again. "It's almost like a vacation here, you know, when they're not being annoying...it's been pretty ok for most part...besides being bedbound of course but...other than that, it's been almost nice. You know I don't visit too often."

"Of course I know, Rowreeh."

"Yeah," I huffed.

"And I know that you don't want to come because you think you'd be a burden to me, and I'd feel awful watching you suffer."

My heart began to thump hard. Peter's words didn't sound accusing, but they sounded...heavy...and obviously all too well aware that I had been trying to bullshit my way out of this with my earlier explanation.

"Yeah?"

"Don't 'yeah' all the time, you sound like an idiot," Peter replied.

I hissed.

"Yep," Peter said. "That's much better."

"I didn't even say anything!" I exclaimed.

"Sometimes even that is better," Peter replied.

I made a face to myself.

"Really?"

"Trust me," he said. "This world would be a much better place if we didn't talk so much crap."

"Don't have to tell me that, Peter, "I replied, as mildly as I could, despite my lingering unease with the fact that I was guilty as FUCK of talking a whole lot of crap and making all too many furs feel quite crappy indeed.

"So, no need to bullshit me, Rory," Peter said then, sounding quite normal, which was a relief to me. "I know that you're running."

"I'm crippled," I snuffled. "I can't run."

"Ba-dumtsh!" Peter declared.

I rolled my eyes.

"Bet you couldn't help yourself with that, Rowreeh."

"No, in fact I couldn't," I replied.

"I know," Peter said. "That's why you'll also know what I'm talking about when I say that while you can't run, you can't hide either."

My furs bristled quietly.

"Hiding, now?" I muttered.

"I know it doesn't help," Peter spoke in a soft voice.

"What?"

"Hiding. It doesn't help."

"What am I hiding from now, then?" I stated snappishly into the phone.

"In my experience, it's always from yourself," Peter said.

I snorted.

"Well I'm not you," I grunted.

The weight in my chest began to grow. Why did he have to be so fucking sensitive? He'd gone through a dozen layers of protective shields in an instant and left nothing but my raw fur and skin, open now for the onslaught of his infuriatingly wise wisdom. I shuddered at the thought of what he had to go through to gain even a fraction of that wisdom, and that made it ever the worse a thing to think about. Peter knew what he was talking about, and it showed in the way it made my skin crawl under my furs, as if I suddenly had a bad case of every fur's nightmare, fleas.

"Rory, you can't change the walls."

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" I groaned into the phone and tried to keep my voice still and steady.

"When I started to gather myself back together after George, I...I thought it'd be easier if I...packed everything up and stored it. Out of sight, out of mind, yes?"

I shuddered.

"Yes," I muttered.

"Well, it didn't work. I would lie in my bed and stare at the walls. Yeah. I put his books away and his clothes away and..." Peter paused, and I could hear that he was drawing a deep breath.

I almost started to ask how he was doing, when he continued, finally, after what felt like too long a pause.

"... I tried to put George into a comfortable little box I could open every now and then to remember him by, but I was staring at the walls and thinking that I could pack up his things but I couldn't pack up the walls. Sure, I thought about painting the walls or maybe moving out but..."

Another pause. His voice had been only barely louder than a whisper.

"...but I realized that there will always be walls, Rory."

"Well nobody has died now!" I snapped.

I regretted it immediately. That was a horrible thing to say, I knew as much. I bit my teeth together and moaned hotly. How could I say something like that, to Peter's face, practically, while he had obviously struggled to speak what he just did, in an attempt to tell me that it would get better, whatever it was that was causing you to be upset. I knew that he must have put in a lot of effort and thought into those words, and now I might have ruined it all with my snap.

He was quiet.

"Peter?" I said quickly.

Silence.

"Peter, I'm sorry."

I heard some sort of a growl from the other end of the line.

"Might as well have, Rory," he said, finally. "The mechanism's the same. You're feeling shit."

"Hell yeah I am!" I hissed into the phone. It felt hot in my palm after being held there for so long.

My belly complained.

"I've fucked up," I moaned.

My eyes burned. The familiar pain rose into my throat.

"I know, Rowreeh."

I bit my lip. It hurt. I didn't care.

"I just..." I breathed. "I don't want to think about it all the time..."

"And yet you still are."

"Yeah," I muttered.

Fuck, I said yeah!

"Yeah," Peter replied.

How could I even go home? How could I go into my own place, knowing that the bed was the very same one which in I had sex with Victor? How could it be that only two weeks ago the biggest problem to me seemed that Victor and I couldn't fuck when we wanted because Cobb was around and interfering with everything in his brother's life, let alone his sex life. I had fucked but hadn't fucked up, I hadn't messed things up with Victor, or Mason, or Colin, and I certainly hadn't had to cry myself to sleep with Peter, and I was still quite content with how my life was turning out to be. I had a hopeful spring, with things happening in my life, good things that were supposed to make me feel good, and not like a steaming piece of shit strapped into a wheelchair.

Of course Peter knew all that. He knew it without saying. I didn't want to assume too much, but I knew that he knew. He simply was good with things like that. Enviously good.

I knew I shouldn't be envious of him, either.

"Have you even tried to do anything about it, Rowreeh, besides moping?"

I hesitated to answer. That was something I hadn't told him about before, when he last phoned, yesterday.

Well, I couldn't fuck it up any worse, could I?

"I called him on Sunday," I said quickly.

"Oh?" Peter answered after a considerable pause. He sounded almost hesitant.

I breathed deeply.

"Yeah," I snuffled. "I called him."

"How did it go?"

...

_ _

...

*beep-beep-beep*

_ _

"Yes?"

_ _

"Uh...hi, Victor."

_ _

"Hello, Rory."

_ _

"Hello."

_ _

"Can you wait a moment, I'll have to ask Cobb to leave the room."

_ _

"Uh...sure."

_ _

"Thanks."

_ _

...

_ _

...

_ _

"...okay. He's out."

_ _

"Oh, alright."

_ _

So how are you doing, Rory?"

_ _

"Not too bad...I guess...still a bit sore...uh...you?"

_ _

"I got out of the hospital on Friday. I'm at home now and Cobb is helping me out."

_ _

"That's...great to hear, Victor! I'm staying with my parents, too."

_ _

"I see."

_ _

"Did they...uh...uh...did they have to use those leeches?"

_ _

"For a few days, yes."

_ _

"...ouch..."

_ _

"It doesn't hurt. It's just disgusting."

_ _

"That's great."

_ _

"Still hurts like shit when I cough and when I try to move my ear, but I'm not dying, nor have leeches hanging off my head."

_ _

"That's good."

_ _

"Can you walk?"

_ _

"Not really yet. Still wheeling around. Heh."

_ _

"Will your leg be alright?"

_ _

"The doctor says it will, yeah."

_ _

"Good."

_ _

"I...I'm glad you didn't lose your ear."

_ _

"I'm glad about that too."

_ _

"How...uh...how's Cobb?"

...

_ _

...

_ _

"I didn't tell him about us, Rory."

_ _

"Oh."

_ _

"He has very little faith left in the success rate of homosexual monogamous relationships after Ismail, and I don't want to hear him speak those same things again that he spoke then.."

_ _

"I...I'm sorry."

_ _

"I'm doing it for myself, Rory."

_ _

...

_ _

...

_ _

"I...I know."

_ _

"Well, I think he's spying on the door even now. I think I have to hang up."

_ _

"Victor..."

_ _

"Yes?"

_ _

"I'm sorry, Victor."

_ _

"I..."

_ _

"I'm sorry, Victor."

_ _

"I really hope you are, Rory."

_ _

"I..."

_ _

...

_ _

...

_ _

"Cobb sends his best...yes, Cobb, I told him...yes...yes...yes, Rory, Cobb doesn't believe that I told his best to you...yes Rory...let's...phone soon again, okay?"

_ _

"Okay..."

_ _

"Goodnight, Rory."

_ _

"Uh...goodnight, Victor."

_ _

...

_ _

...

_ _

...

_ _

"It went awfully," I told Peter, truthfully. "It was horrible."

"Why?"

"He still doesn't want to talk with me."

"Did he say that?"

"Well, not exactly, but it really wasn't the most cordial discussion between us."

"At least he answered the phone."

"That was the first time I called since the...the..."

The time Peter had to wheel me out of Victor's room pretending that I was hurting so badly in my leg that I couldn't continue talking with Victor, so that Cobb wouldn't find out why I was crying and covering my face with my paw.

"But you talked," Peter said.

I huffed.

"We did. For about three minutes."

"That's better than two minutes."

"Peter..."

"I know."

"Could you please stop saying 'I know', Peter?"

"You know I'm going to say it as many times I need to, do you?"

I chuckled.

"Well...I should say...'I know', but I'll say...yeah instead."

Peter chuckled. He sounded bright enough to make me smile, too.

"Okay."

"Sorry," I snuffled. "I know I sound like a Dr. Phil guest."

"That you do."

"So, how're you doing, Peter?"

"Like always," Peter replied. "Working for half an hour, lazing my ass off for an hour, then another half an hour of work...I'll probably work for half an hour after this call and then I'll go to the treadmill..."

My tail flapped against the floor with shock.

"Peter..." I warned him.

"I promise not to simulate steep hills this time, Rory, really."

"Okay," I snuffled. "Okay."

Peter chuckled.

"You feeling okay enough now, Rory?"

I knew that I wasn't. I knew that Peter knew.

I was resigned to my answer.

"Yeah, okay enough."

"Good," he answered confidently. "I'll call you in the evening."

"You checking on me?" I snuffled. "You don't have to."

"Maybe I'll want to have phone sex, and you're on speed dial," the cougar replied.

I flicked my ears and felt just a little bit better.

"Maybe."

"And you! Try to do something besides watching home shopping network, Rory, okay? Rowreeh?"

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled.

"Good job, Rory. I'll call you soon, ok?"

"Okay, Peter. Take care."

"Take care you too, Rory. And give everyone my best, will you?"

"Yes, sure."

"Heh, great!"

Uh...bye, Peter."

"Bye, Rowreeh."

I put the phone down and buried my face in my phone-warmed paw. I shook my head quietly.

I was messed up.

I'd had this kind of conversations with Peter throughout last week, and this one as well, and I always ended up feeling hollow afterwards, as if he managed to pull some sort of a plug in my heart that would then allow some of the bad blood to pour out. It would leave an empty, comfortable space, and it usually took some time for it to fill out again, and for the pain to return. I was extremely grateful for Peter for that fact, and I wondered whether I could ever say the right things to properly say 'thankyou' to him.

I leaned back on the chair and yawned massively. I felt so tired.

BANG!

"YO, ROOOOOOOORY! YO, DAAAD!"

My ears jumped in surprise at the sudden loudness that was my brother Justin, rampaging through the house without a care in the world.

Except maybe homework.

*

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