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Hehhey, and welcome to the amazing fourth chapter of HH for the week! It's been an intense trip this week, and I'm so glad so many of you have tuned in so diligently to see what happens next in my ongoing story.

My thanks to all who have read, and especially to you who commented, and took part in the Lurker Challenge- you sparked this extra creativity out of me! Woo!

That said, don't forget to comment now either. Things are getting very interesting in the story, and I like hearing what you're thinking.

Have a good read!

*

Oh.

So that's why the album was on the desk and not in the box by the bed. I must've been looking at it the last time I was home, but I couldn't remember that now. It became obvious for me at the moment, though.

That's why.

To see Peter, like this, on this picture, smiling and with an arm slung around the waist of the coyote, who had one arm over Peter's shoulders, and another over my own. I too had one paw resting against George's back, for a little bit of extra support, just in case. His eyes were very bright and his smile was just as boyish as you'd expected from someone who was 18 years old. He was looking at Peter, not me or the camera, and I couldn't blame him, not then, not now.

That was such a fun day.

"Isn't that Peter too?" Justin brought me back into the moment with his question, which made my ears jump with surprise.

I gave my brother's curious face a look, let my eyes flick back to the photo and then return to Justin, for whom I nodded slowly.

"Yeah," I said. "And that's George, Peter's boyfriend."

I pointed him out for emphasis, and Justin nodded. He looked a bit uneasy.

"But didn't he..." he whispered.

I nodded again.

"George died last November," I replied.

Justin's ears dropped. I felt the urgent need to put my arm around him and squeeze him close to my side, which I then also did. Justin didn't mind at all. I smiled to him very gently and then dared to look at the picture again, now that I had the physical support of my brother, too.

"I remember you talking about it, when you were home for Christmas," Justin rumbled.

"We did," I replied, "and I think I must have taken this photo album out, too, back then, so that I could remember George."

"Okay," Justin replied, his eyes still lingering on the picture.

I looked at the three faces on the picture and then smiled. It was a very genuine gesture, as much as the feeling was, that I could associate with that picture. There had been so much laughter and smiles.

"This is from 2007," I said, "somewhere around July, maybe. We were celebrating Peter's six-month anniversary, me, Peter, George, and Charlene, George's sister. She took that photo."

"Anniversary?" Justin said. "Like...uhh....Peter and George...dating or something?"

I chuckled and patted my brother's side gently.

"Well, they'd been together a bit longer than that already," I said, "but we were actually celebrating the all-clear six months after Peter had his new kidney. We thought it'd be good to have a party."

"Ohhh...was it a good one?" Justin asked.

I smiled and flicked my ears fondly.

"It was really nice," I told him,"we had a long walk in the park and then had a really nice meal at Peter and George's place and simply enjoyed being all together on a summer day."

It must have sounded so sappy, I know, and maybe my brother felt like that, too, but for me, it had been a perfectly happy day, too. Drama with Graham was past me for the worst part of it, Peter was doing well with his kidney transplant, and even George was...I'm not sure whether it was just nature, or his exuberant joy over Peter, or just plain luck, that he was feeling so bright and energetic all day. It was George who insisted that the fun ought to carry on into the night, too, but I don't think any of us three could have blamed him for that.

"Sounds fun," Justin mused.

I smiled back.

"It really was," I said, "one of the happiest days in years, I think."

The smile on my lips almost hurt.

"Were you really sad when he died?" Justin asked.

I gave him a surprised look. His eyes seemed quite normal to me, mildly curious, looking at the picture for most part. I didn't see any signs of unusual unease on them, or on his face or ears, either.

I nodded wordlessly and swallowed, to make sure that my voice would carry on functioning for what I had to say.

"I was, and still am," I said. "George was really important to Peter, and Peter is really important to me, so it is really sad to see Peter so sad over George. And I'm also sad that he's gone away because he was a good friend to me too."

Justin nodded sagely.

"Sorry you lost your friend," my brother whispered.

I gave his side another little pat and a rub and tried to smile very bravely, and not let any lingering unease and grief to sullen our very own day any further. There'd been enough crying today.

"I am sad that he's gone but I feel happy when I know that George was very happy. He was happier than he'd ever been, Justin, and that means a lot to me."

"That's cool," Justin opined.

"It makes me smile, yes," I smiled. "But I'm also sure there are funnier pictures, here, too...maybe more embarrassing clothes on me, huh?"

I elbowed my brother briefly, just because big brothers apparently were into that kind of a thing, and then turned the page on the album. Justin squirmed appropriately from my poke and hissed, though he didn't seem too displeased.

Well I'll be...instant jackpot.

It wasn't quite a waistcoat-beret-corduroy combo, I know, but still, a purple robe and a mortarboard probably didn't count as the coolest outfit in the world. It looked like a candid snapshot, too, because I was depicted mostly from the side and a few feet away, and it was somewhat lopsided, as if taken in a hurry. I was surrounded by similarly clad furs from all directions, and there was no mistaking the red brick building on the background.

"Wow!" Justin yelped. "Is that your graduation or something?"

"Yeah," I rumbled. "Mom was taking tons of pictures."

Justin snuffled.

"At least she can't do it at my spring assembly anymore," my brother rumbled.

"Why not?" I chuckled. "I bet she'd think you look great in there...maybe make you wear a tie."

Justin shrugged.

"Sorry, bro," Justin said. "Cameras aren't allowed on school grounds anymore. New anti-predator rules."

I shuddered at the sentiment, and decided to move on with a flick of my paw and a turn of the page. Surprisingly enough, the just before mentioned Gliese senior was starring in the next picture, along with yours truly, of course, for it was a photo of me and mom standing in front of her police cruiser. Judging by my height, me missing a front tooth and my Batman T-shirt, I had to be about six years old. The car might've been a clue to, due to its clunky 1980's design.

And mom had curls, pouring out from under her cap. I was smiling so brightly there, probably because of the natural tendency for cubs to feel like smiling when face to face with members of cool professions, such an astronaut, an airline pilot, a firefur or a police officer. The fact that it was my own mom there with a baton and a revolver on her hip probably made it only even cooler for me. Besides, at that age, your parents were supposed to be your heroes, whatever they did. It was only natural.

"Wow..." Justin chortled. "Mom looks so young!"

I chuckled.

"That's because she is young," I mused, "probably something like...uh...27, 28, maybe. Really young. The same age I'm now."

Justin gave me a bit of a weird look, just a quick one. I wasn't surprised. It was a funny thought, after all, the fact that when mom was my age, she had a six-year-old old son. She also had a great husband, a home, a permanent job, and generally a life worth to be proud of. To compare my own state to that was...difficult.

"Can't believe mom used to be on highway patrol," Justin shook his head a little.

I snickered.

"That's our mom," I said, "she only changed over to the desk job after you were born. Wanted to spend more time with us and have more regular hours of work."

"Guess that's cool," Justin's tail patted the floor, just about.

"It sure is," I said, "I remember often coming from school and mom was just getting out of bed after sleeping in after a night shift. It was a bit funny to eat breakfast twice every day, hah."

"That's weird," Justin snuffled.

"That's life before you popped out," I winked.

Justin made an "ewwww" face, and quite appropriately so, and I flipped the page.

*

I was quite comfortably positioned on my couch bed in dad's den for some good old boring time with myself and the computer, when mom came over.

"Hey, Rory," mom rumbled from the doorway.

She was clad in a relaxed shirt and some pants, and appeared quite pleased with the time she had spent with dad out shopping. I was glad about that, if you considered the amount of nerves we must have frayed during my early day...outburst.

"Hi" I let my eyes rise from the computer screen and to meet mom's.

"What're you up to?" mom smiled.

I closed my computer and let my paws rest over its warm plastic surface.

"Nothing in particular," I said, "just thought I'd check some news and just...relax...now that everyone's doing something."

Mom nodded and smiled.

"Well if you want to be alone..."

I smiled.

"I wasn't doing anything important," I said, "what's up?"

Mom chuckled and began to scratch her arm.

"Well, dad's doing the painting behind the garage now that he got the paint he needed, and Justin's probably doing something on his computer, and I just got the fish into the oven and thought I'd come to see how you're doing."

Hmm...so I warranted being checked upon now...

"I'm okay," I said. "Really."

Mom welcomed herself into the room and then planted herself onto dad's high-backed chair. She even pulled up a leg and folded it over her knee for some extra comfort!

"Hmmm now this is nice," mom said, "only thing missing is a nice cold beer, wouldn't you think?"

I snuffled.

"I don't drink beer," I said.

Mom grinned.

"Well your dad and I do, so I think that once he's done painting, we can share a couple of celebratory beers!" mom enthused.

I chuckled.

"That big a feat?"

"Dad's been talking about it for months now," mom smiled. "But something's always missing...weather...brushes...paint...thinner..."

I smiled.

"Maybe he just needs a project to keep his mind occupied," I suggested.

"Ohhh maybe," mom said. "You know how he is. Doesn't like staying still all day, even on a Saturday."

I chuckled.

"I guess I haven't gotten that trait from him," I rumbled.

Mom smiled cheerfully.

"Perhaps not," she said, "Though I don't think you've ever had much problems with your free time either."

I nodded. I never had any trouble being just lazy, either, unlike dad.

"Sure not," I said.

"Justin said you looked at some old photos when we were out," mom stated.

I nodded.

"Yeah, we did," I said, "I was just about to, when he came over and we ended up doing that."

"That's nice," mom said. "Got to spend some time together."

I rubbed my splinted arm with my good paw and flicked an ear at her.

"Yeah...well...he came to apologize, actually?"

Mom's ears flicked with surprise.

"Oh?"

"He heard the fight and he thought he had caused it," I explained.

Mom's face seemed to darken. I hurried to stop any further frowns.

"But it's fine now," I said, "I told him that it wasn't his fault and that it was just me acting...not so grown up."

"Well that's good of you," mom said. "That it was you explaining it all and not me or dad."

"Yeah," I said.

Mom seemed solemn for a moment before she spoke again.

"Are you alright now, Rory?"

I drew a deep breath and let it out with measured slowness.

"I'm hanging on," I said. "Getting there."

Mom nodded quietly.

"Is there something else?" she said.

I gave her a look.

"What do you mean?" I said.

Mom folded her arms about herself, as if she was hugging her own body, before her words came again.

"Well, your dad and I had a talk..."

I tensed. That didn't sound good at all. It meant that they had been ruminating me behind my back, and most likely come to some sort of a conclusion that mom had been chosen to disclose to me now. It probably wasn't going to be anything fun to hear.

"Yeah?" I hissed between my teeth, but tried not to show more of my discomfort, and to ruin the moment.

Mom took a deep breath.

"Have you thought that maybe you might be suffering from a post traumatic stress reaction?" mom said.

Now that certainly gave me a stop.

Where did that come from?

"Huh?" I frowned.

"Well...we were thinking about the time when I was shot at by that K-Mart robber and that I didn't sleep properly for weeks and I...would cry a lot and..."

I felt the tension flutter in my belly. Mom's face had turned a dark shade, and I knew that remembering that must've been painful for her even now, so many years later. I wasn't even sure when it happened, though I did know about the incident...but it must've been over 20 years ago. The very thought made me bristle some more.

So that was their theory for now...that I was still in shock from the car crash, and that kept me on the edge and crying like a cub all suddenly, and lashing out at them and...

I sighed.

"It's fine, Rory, it's fine," mom hurried to say, and I was almost surprised that she didn't rush to my side to hold my paw, "it just takes some time to get through something like that. It takes time to get over the bad memory."

I had to say, mom did deserve all the kudos for that speech, and the...hmm...conclusion of her think tank session with dad. It was so logical. The accident. Sure way to cause my sleeplessness and anxiety and emotionally fragile state. It was a fantastically good assumption on their part. It fitted so well, and it probably was true by about maybe...40%.

The rest was the rest of the shit that comprised my life at the moment.

But wasn't she right, though? It probably didn't require dodging bullets or almost having to be cut out of a crashed car to make you feel...fragile. I had had my share of drama lately. It made sense. It made an awfully lot of sense, really. I was dwelling on it, I was living it, and I...couldn't quite control it anymore.

I snuffled.

"I don't know, mom," I said.

"If you want to talk about it to us, you can, Rory...or maybe to one of your friends, or a professional..." mom suggested. "Or your...friend Victor? I'm sure he'd like the opportunity to...get through that thing together."

My belly began to ache. How right she was again...how it'd be good to get things through with Victor and...go on whatever way we were supposed to, whatever the outcome of that would be, then. I briefly wondered whether mom had been using some parental telepathic skills on me now and guessed that there was something else wrong too. I certainly hadn't told them about the drama with Victor...besides that we were having a bit of trouble staying in touch because of our respective health situations. It had seemed to be enough to satisfy them, but now...yeah.

"It's not shameful to need help with it, Rory, I know how it was for me."

She couldn't know what it was for me, though.

I rubbed my face with my good paw and sighed.

"I know," I breathed.

"But I know it'll be just fine, as long as you give it time and don't bottle it up," mom said. "As long as you do something about it."

That's what dad had been saying, too.

I gave her a quiet nod.

"Yeah," I said.

Mom smiled.

"I know you can make it, Rory," she said, "I never had doubt over your strength. Never had to."

I smiled a little, but left it at that.

"Thanks, mom."

Mom let out a small purr, and smiled, too.

"Anything on your mind now you might want to talk about?" she said.

Did I ever.

I...knew what I had to do.

"I'd like to talk about it," I said.

"Sure," mom smiled. "Anything you need."

I swallowed.

"But I think I have to call first," I said, "would you mind postponing our chat for about...maybe fifteen minutes? Half an hour?"

Mom smiled.

"Sure," she said as she got out of the chair and stretched out her arms. "Why don't I go and make us some coffee while you're at it? We can share a nice cuppa and chat, ok?"

I smiled.

"Sure!" I said.

Mom turned and went on her way, and I fumbled the floor by the couch for my phone. The plastic item was easily located and then flipped over on my palm. I held the small device there and gave it a quick look, while my heart started to thump a little. My tail batted the armrest of the couch.

I knew what I had to do.

A step.

Mom said that I should do something. I bet this counted as something. Something to do. A step forward, into the unknown, but still, it was motion, and that was what mom was saying. I shouldn't just let it bottle up, or I'd never get better.

I wanted to get better.

I wanted a lot of things, and if I was to get any of them into order, I had to get better.

I tapped the screen of the phone and hit the quick dial and lifted the phone onto my ear. The phone beeped.

"Peter Sinclair's Charity Sex Office, how may I help you?"

"Peter, hi!"

*

Thank you for reading! It's been an awesome Rory week, and I'm glad you've been onboard! Don't forget to comment now, all feedback is personally appreciated and helps me to improve the quality of my work.

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Cheerio!