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I'm right here I'm your star-crossed lover

I lie here like a starless lover

I'll die here as your phantom lover

(Lykke Li)

---

My toast was exceptionally burnt that morning. I suppose the point of toast is that it's burnt bread. But there is a very fine line between 'toasted' and 'burnt'. And the charcoal briquette sitting on my plate was definitely on the 'burnt' end of the spectrum.

"How's it going this morning?" I asked, scraping a fine patina of butter across the charred bread.

"All right," Reynard shrugged, poking disinterestedly at his bowl of cereal.

"Your first day back on the job, eh?" I smiled. "Excited? Nervous?"

"I'm doing all right," Reynard shrugged again, adding a whole two words onto what appeared to be the full extent of his vocabulary of late.

I paused for a moment, the slice of toast hovering in front of my mouth before I gave up. Didn't want to take the risk and break a tooth.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" I asked, scooting my chair around the breakfast table so that I was bit closer to Reynard.

"I'm fine, all right?" Reynard grumbled, stabbing at the cereal with his spoon.

"It's just... you've been really quiet all week since you got home," I said. "If there's anything at all the matter, just say--"

"--Some of us don't feel the need to constantly fill the silence with pointless yammering," Reynard spat, tossing the spoon onto the table with a clatter. Droplets of milk splattered across the table. His face fell as he looked up at me, ears drooping. "Oh, jeez, Rodge. I'm really sorry about that. Didn't mean to lose it like that. I'm just really... on edge,"

I nodded, patting the back of Reynard's hand. My eyes were damp. I wanted to help, but all I ever seemed to manage was to piss off Reynard even further.

"I'm sure it's tough--first day back and all that. Not certain how things managed while you were away. But Ed's a good guy. He's been holding down the fort just fine for ya. And... Andy, too, I guess,"

I knew fully well how hollow my words were, and I think Reynard did too. They were just placeholder words, sentiments I could mumble even though I had no clue what to really do.

You need to see a therapist, I wanted to say. Get some help to work through all of these changes that are going on in your life.

But whenever I went to suggest it, the words dried up in my mouth. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, to make him feel like an idiot or a fuck-up.

"Well, I think I'm gonna head out," Reynard said flatly. "Bus will be coming shortly,"

The arctic fox pushed back from the table, chair scraping against the tiled floor. Desperately, I lunged forward and kissed him on the lips, my hand resting against his cheek.

"I love you," I said softly.

"Love you too," Reynard nodded, extricating himself from my embrace and shuffling towards the door, leaning on his cane.

As the door clicked shut behind him, I sank back to the table. Defeated, I tossed my so-called 'toast' into the garbage bin.

Halfheartedly spooning the remnants of Reynard's cereal into my mouth, I stared at the wall. I had Reynard back, but I felt more alone than before.

*****

The panther sat cuffed to the metal table. A solitary light bulb illuminated the barren brick-walled room, swinging back and forth slightly as I paced back and forth in front of the table. I paused momentarily at the end of each back-and-forth circuit to run my fingers through my tousled hair as if in thought.

"You gonna ask me anything, or you just work on your cardio?" the panther growled, drumming his knuckles against the tabletop.

"Oh, just gotta get my steps in for the day," I replied, patting the nonexistent pedometer on my hip. "Got a 10,000-step daily goal. Not as easy as you'd think, even with as much running around as I do on the job,"

"Wanna hurry it up?" the panther replied.

"Well, that's the other portion of the deal," I sighed, sitting down on the edge of the table and swiping my tail across his knuckles. "I just gotta figure out where the fuck I'm even gonna start with you. See, thing is, I've questioned a fair number of fucked-up people. But none of my perps have been terrorists on a some sort of hare-brained mission to destroy the fucking world or whatever,"

"No idea what you're talking about," the panther shot back.

"Oh, we'll just wait and see if you're keeping up that story in a little while here," I chuckled. "Ah! That reminds me. We're bringing in what one could call the 'big guns' for our little heart-to-heart. Nothing but the best for you, mate. Just because we care. Guillam, wanna come on over?"

The cross fox materialized from the darkness, stepping out of the corner where he had been leaning against the wall. He walked slowly over to the table, grinning darkly as he cracked his knuckles.

On the job, Guillam oftentimes walked the tightrope between overeager and psychotic, and interrogations really brought out the freaky best in him. I could definitely tell you I didn't want to ever end up on the other side of the table when he was doing the questioning, that much was for sure.

"This is my partner Guillam. He'll take it from here," I grinned, patting Guillam on the back as I shifted off the table.

I crossed the room, taking up the position Guillam had been occupying in the corner. Leaning up against the wall, I folded my arms across my chest. Time to kick back and watch the master at work.

"Look," Guillam sighed, adjusting his tie nonchalantly. "Let's just make this easy on ourselves, okay? What is Broken Arrow up to of late?"

"I've told you both over and over, I don't know what either of you are talking about," the panther protested.

The cross fox sighed heavily. "Alright. What if I told you I was the star quarterback of the Saaduuts Steamers?"

"Well, I would tell you you're full of shit," the panther scoffed.

"See? Just because you say something doesn't mean it's true," Guillam replied.

"I still don't know what you're talking about,"

"How about we start our heart-to-heart off with something easy, then," Guillam sat on the edge of the table, examining his nails. "Got a name?"

The panther squinted at Guillam.

"If you're as sweet and innocent as you're claiming, that shouldn't hurt you in the slightest,"

"Stark," the panther replied. "Shane Stark,"

Guillam nodded in my direction. Oh, goody. Fact-checking time. I opened the laptop Guillam had brought in earlier, tapping the name into the MX4 database. While the system chunked away, looking for a match, I turned my attention to Guillam's interrogation.

"Okay, so let's just assume that's true, Shane," Guillam continued. "Now. You wanna tell me anything about these? Recognize anything?"

Reaching over, Guillam slid a folder across the table towards himself. He opened it, spreading its contents across the table in front of the detainee.

"Er, they look like satellite photos," Shane shrugged.

"Ding ding ding! We got a winner," Guillam grinned, hopping off the table. He must have been showing the images of the Broken Arrow cell we'd visited. "Now. Do you know what the photos depict?"

"Haven't a clue," the panther replied without glancing back at the photographs. His handcuff chains clinked as he tapped the fingertips of his hand against the edge of the table.

"All right, then," Guillam sighed, stuffing the satellite photos back into the folder. "How about we turn to news abroad, then?"

Another set of documents emerged from the folder, this time a set of newspaper clippings and printouts from the Internet.

"You keep up with the news at all? No? Well, then, let me educate you. Surely you must have heard about a rather large dovess flouncing through the middle of Londinium? Pretty big news. Heh. I pun,"

More finger tapping. Gods, this panther had the worst tell of all time. Surely they'd find people made of tougher stuff than that. Then again, I guess Broken Arrow didn't host seminars on how to go through interrogations or whatever.

The computer beeped twice, finally finished with its search. I glanced at the screen, smiling in satisfaction. Stark came up with a match. Ooh, and he had a record. Mostly small things--petty theft and that sort of thing. But there were a few B&E raps that caught my eye. Seems like our dear friend had a penchant for breaking into government archive buildings and attempting to steal their contents. Hot damn, Guillam and I had managed to land ourselves the world's dumbest criminal.

"Peter. A word," I said, tucking the laptop under my arm and jerking my head towards the door. Guillam nodded, tucking the papers back into his folder.

"He's with them for sure," I said as soon as we were out of the interrogation room and standing in the small observation room (more of a closet, honestly) that adjoined it. "He's Broken Arrow. I can feel it in my fucking bones. And the evidence supports my bones. Like fucking espionage calcium,"

"What are you talking about?" Guillam frowned, staring through the one-way mirror at the panther shifting back and forth in his metal chair.

"What am I talking_about? I repeated back to him in shock. "Peter, you were the one talking to him. I was only watching and I could see he had 'guilty' written all over him. Purposefully vague in his responses. And that fucking _tell. I could read him like a godsdamned book,"

"He was nervous because we dragged him off the street and into a darkened interrogation room for no reason," Guillam protested hotly. "And that wasn't a tell. That was him drumming his fingers against the table. You're really starting to see terrorists in--"

"--If you tell me I'm seeing terrorists in my coffee again, I swear to the gods..." I snapped back. "How can you say it isn't a tell? I didn't even tell you it was the finger-drumming. What the fuck is going on with you?"

"Warren, even if this was a real perp, this isn't our job. The interrogation should have been passed over to Intel. We're on Surveillance detail. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have agreed to it,"

"Guillam, you know as well as I this guy has some shit on him. Look at his record. Nobody would break into the Archive Building unless he was involved in some serious fucking shit,"

I pulled the laptop from under my arm, opening it up, but Guillam was having nothing of it.

"All I know is that we hauled in some random guy on very thin pretenses and proceeded to ream him," Guillam snarled.

"I wouldn't exactly call what you were going 'reaming'," I shot back. "Have you gone fucking soft or something? You're letting him get away with hardly answering your questions. Not that you're really asking him anything, for that matter,"

"Let. It. Go," Guillam spat. "You were drunk in a pub when you decided that this panther was some sort of fucking criminal mastermind," he jabbed his finger against the glass of the one-way mirror.

"Fuck you,"

"Hate me all you want. I'm going to release this detainee from our custody before the higher-ups get wind of this whole charade and kick our asses. We'd best hope he doesn't file a complaint,"

I let out a strangled growl, pounding my fist on the wall as Guillam breezed out of the observation closet and into the interrogation room, undoing our detainee's cuffs. He escorted the panther out of the room, placing a reassuring hand on his back. As the panther passed the glass, I could have sworn he shot a glance at me. Fucker.

Well, shit. I was so close to busting the whole damn thing wide open, and yet I had never been farther.

*****

Adjusting my tie again, I stared out at the group sitting in rows of seats in front of me. Maybe I should have worn a darker shirt. I'd just have to make a concerted effort to keep my arms down as much as possible.

"So..." I began in what was probably the most stellar commencement of a presentation in recent history. "Research and Development,"

I stared over at the slide projected onto the screen. All it showed was a graph that I frankly didn't recall ever putting into the presentation. Why hadn't I thought to include more text in this damn thing?

"I am--we are preparing for the next phase--well, the first phase, really--of a project that could really change the game for how things are done here at MACRO. How things work out," I said,

I advanced to the next slide, which displayed an equally mystifying chart of some sort. Maybe it would be best to switch the damn thing off.

Then again, by the looks of it, that might cause me to lose the attention of the small fraction of the audience even aware I was presenting. Roger, for one, was staring through glazed eyes at the screen. I could have sworn a fine stream of drool was issuing from the corner of his mouth. Vote of confidence there.

"The million-dollar question has always been 'how can we prevent individuals from getting all huge and stuff?'," I continued. "Well, our department may be well on our way to developing a million-dollar answer. Heh,"

No response to my poor excuse for a joke.

"We intend to develop measures to counteract the... energy leaks that occur and cause the gigantification process. A gigantism vaccine, if you will,"

A third graph appeared on the screen, equally meaningless as the ones before. Seriously, where were these things coming from? Why had I thought any of this was a good idea while compiling the presentation?

"When I was... on the other side, I was, ah, punished for my behavior. But I managed to figure out how they did that to me. And I hope to be able to apply that knowledge to this vaccine.

"It's going to be tough, but we are confident that this is a step in the right direction if we want a permanent solution to this problem. This is huge for this department. Or maybe the opposite of huge,"

Roger clapped once in the back of the darkened room. I suppose that was as much as that terrible pun deserved.

"Well, thanks. That's my bit, I guess," I said in conclusion. "Questions?"

None, thank the gods.

I sat down next to Morgan as Roger wandered up to give the next presentation. The pine marten nodded, giving me a reassuring smile.

"I fucking blew it," I hissed.

"You did fine!" Morgan replied softly. "Nobody likes presentations, and you made us sound good. So that's all you could hope to do,"

I wasn't entirely sold, but it felt good to know Morgan thought I hadn't totally fucked up.

Things didn't look like they were going as well for Roger, though. Normally, he walked all over these things, the picture of suave, self-assured confidence. But today, the opposite seemed to be true. Leaning up against the podium as if it were a flotation device and he were stranded in the middle of the ocean, Roger read off his slides in a monotone.

"...so we're working on quantifying--clarifying--oh, whatever--fixing the stupid code system for our radios. Apparently Code Blue and Code Brew sound too similar on our piece-of-shit system. Not even sure why the fuck anyone thought 'Brew' would be a good idea for a code designation. So yeah.

"I have asked a few members to take on my duties while I'm away in Londinium cleaning up the mess over there. I'm not certain how long those changes will need to be in place, but they should be fine in the meanwhile.

"Not that any of this even matters, if this miracle vaccine puts us all out of our jobs or something.

"Look, you all have access to the slides. How about anyone who cares what I have to say just looks over it and emails me if they can't figure things out?"

Without bothering to wait for any other input, Roger, dropped the slide-advancer onto the podium and stalked out of the room.

Baffled, I glanced around at my coworkers. I wasn't alone in my confusion; many of them were shooting perplexed looks at one another. Even Karl seemed taken aback rather than grumpy for once in his life. Standing up, he shuffled over to the doorway and flipped on the lights.

"All right, people, it seems we are adjourning for the day," he said slowly. "I will update the minutes and will be posting them to the shared drive later this afternoon. Section leads, please see me in my office for a quick follow-up,"

Morgan shrugged at me and got up to follow Karl out the door. I gathered my things, filing out behind my colleagues.

The R&D department lay at the end of a long hallway lined with offices. The door to Roger's office stood ajar.

Perhaps against my better wishes, I peeked my head around the corner. Roger was pacing back and forth, stuffing papers and binder into a satchel.

"Is... is something wrong?" I asked.

Roger let out a high-pitched laugh, throwing back his head and showing his teeth as he stuffed papers into the satchel. He cursed loudly as one of the papers creased along the middle.

"Here, lemme help," I said, gently taking the folded papers from Roger.

"Don't you have some vaccines to work on?" Roger grunted sourly.

"If there's anything you want to talk about, I'd be happy to help,"

"Not asking," Roger snapped, slamming more papers into his already-stuffed satchel. He sat down heavily in his chair, pulling out his cellphone. "Look, I've got to get a metric shitload of paperwork together for this godsdamn Londinium trip. Got enough on my mind and my plate as it is,"

I nodded stiffly, mumbling an apology, but Roger was too busy fiddling with his cell to pay me much heed.

"Er, hi, Andy," Roger said, putting the cell to his ear. "I had a... proposition..."

Taking it as my clue to leave, I ducked silently out the door and made my way back towards R&D.

*****

My fingers trembled, struggling to maintain a grip on the pen as I traced it along lines of accounts. Everything seemed more or less in order. Edmond had remembered all of the intricacies of our records, faithfully detailing each supply order invoice and transaction. He was quite bright; I was lucky to have him as an employee.

I reached out for the tea on the side of the table, but my hand bumped into it, knocking the stoneware mug onto the ground. It shattered into a dozen pieces, splashing hot amber liquid everywhere.

"Shit!" I hissed to myself, cursing my clumsiness.

Why had they been so eager to dismiss me from inpatient therapy? I made a fool of myself on a daily basis. Everyone made a big show of being understanding and patient, but I could see the regret and frustration in their eyes. I was certain of that.

Finding a dustpan under the sink, in the back room, I set to work sweeping up the ceramic shards. Roger had given me that mug when we'd just been dating. Just a silly souvenir mug from a trip to Craggy Peaks National Reserve.

My vision swam as my thoughts turned to Roger. Separation from him had been so difficult while I'd been a patient at Bayview. And yet, now that I was back with him, it seemed so much more difficult. I wanted nothing more than to tell him how hard things were, how I felt like a shell of my former self, as if I were somehow inferior. But it was hard to say, so I didn't say anything at all, and my regret just became a ball of resentment in my gut.

I could see how much the silence hurt Roger, though. Maybe it was time to face the music and open up to him. He was my husband, after all. We were together, to share the bad times just as we shared the good.

Dumping the ceramic shards into a bin, I glanced at the clock over the front door of the shop. Damn, that late already? Probably about time to call it quits. I could go over the rest of the accounts tomorrow.

Pulling on my jacket, I locked the door and ducked down the street towards the bus stop. I checked the timetable. The bus wouldn't be there for another fifteen minutes or so, and it was rather chilly. The bakery across the street looked to be open still--fairly startling for such a business, but there you go. Maybe I could get some pastries or something. Food always made apologies a little better, and I knew Roger didn't mind being buttered up now and again.

*****

When I heard the knock at the door, I almost couldn't bring myself to answer. Maybe it wasn't too late to call the whole thing off. I could back out. I really _should_back out.

"Hi," I mumbled dejectedly as I opened the door a crack.

"Knew you'd want me back," Andy murmured, clearly deeply self-satisfied. Smug son of a bitch.

"Come in," I instructed, holding open the door for the jackal-god.

I glanced fleetingly up and down the hall before closing the door again, checking to make sure that nobody had seen my visitor.

Turning around as the door clicked shut behind me, I ran directly into Andy's lips. He kissed me, pressing me up against the door

"Andy..." I protested weakly.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Andy replied, his fingers running through my hair. "Or did you mean you wanted to sit around and have tea with me when you told me Reynard was pulling a late night to catch up on things and you really wanted me to come over?"

I kissed Andy back, if only to shut him up. I didn't need him talking, and I certainly didn't need reminders about Reynard. I just wanted meaningless physical contact, a distraction from everything else that was going on in my life.

Leading Andy by the tie down the hall, I took him to the bedroom. I pulled off his suit jacket, tossing it to the ground. Crossing to the bed, I started to pull off my shirt.

"You should take your clothes off," I instructed.

"Hey, you don't need to tell me to take my clothes off," Andy grinned. "But don't you want to have some fun? Play around?"

"Er, how about we do something other than that?" I murmured in reply.

Last time, 'playing around' had involved putting me in a dollhouse and more or less terrorizing me for the better part of the afternoon.

"Suit yourself," Andy shrugged as he pulled off his trousers.

I flinched at the mention of the name of my husband's business. Maybe I should have picked someone other than one of his employees as a fuck-buddy.

Andy walked over to me, draping his arms over my shoulders, craning his neck down to kiss me again. I kissed him back this time, allowing him to pull off my shirt and undo my belt. I ran my hands down his bare back, exploring the muscled contours of his body. At least Andy would pay attention to me.

Taking me by the hand, the jackal guided me towards the bed. Pulling back the covers, he laid me down on my back, stretching out next to me on his side and propping up his cheek on his hand as he looked over at me.

"I don't know what the fuck I'm doing," I blubbered. "I try to be good to Reynard. But he doesn't want to give me the time of day anymore. I'm going off across the ocean, but he doesn't give a shit. I know he's going through a lot, but I'm trying my fucking hardest and that isn't good enough. I just want to feel good,"

"I was under the impression you just wanted to mess around," Andy grinned, caressing my cheek with the crook of his index finger.

Andy sat on my stomach, thighs pressed against my sides. I ran a hand along the smooth ebony skin of his stomach, grinning up at him in the semi-dark.

"Just kiss me," I breathed. "I want to forget about all of this shit for a little bit,"

"Oh, I fully intend to do more than just that," Andy grinned cheekily, leaning his neck down to oblige my request.

As he did so, I saw that the light in the hallway had come on. Standing silhouetted in the doorway was Reynard. His expression blank, he stared at the pair of us in bed, jaw slack.

My mind went blank with shock and panic. Letting out a strangled squawk, I launched Andy bodily off of myself. The jackal went sprawling, landing flat on his back on the ground with a surprised and rather girlish yelp. He scrambled to his feet, frozen to the spot as he stared back at Reynard.

I couldn't move. There was no way this situation could come out well for any parties involved. This was a worst-case scenario wrapped up with a big cheating bow.

"Get the fuck out of my house," Reynard growled, his eyes locked on Andy. His arm shook as he steadied himself with his cane.

Andy remained motionless for a moment, opening his mouth as if to say something. Then he snapped his mouth shut, stooping to gather up his clothing in a bundle before sweeping out of the room without so much as a backward glance.

I quailed as Reynard turned to look at me. Rooted to my place in bed, I gathered the blankets defensively around myself. I wanted him to be angry with me, to shout and swear and kick me out, too, but he just stood there in silence, expression mercurial.

"Reee-ee-ey," I eventually managed, the word coming out choked and contorted.

I heard a soft thump as a bag Reynard had been carrying slipped through his fingers. He turned slowly on his heels, making his way listlessly down the hall away from the bedroom.

Pulling on my bathrobe, which lay in a heap near the bed, I padded after Reynard. I stopped in the doorway, looking down at the bag Reynard had dropped. My heart dropped even further. Poppyseed muffins. My favorites. He must have brought them home on his way home from work. Icing on the godsdamn cake.

Reynard stood in the kitchen, leaning against the fridge, massaging his arm and bumping the back of his head against the freezer door. I stopped in the entryway and stood next to the oven, unable to come any closer.

"They told me something when I started PT," Reynard said, barely audible. His voice had lost its normal silvery tone, sounding dull and cracked. "They said I might never fully regain all of my motor skills. But they told me that patients who did better usually had a sense of purpose and drive, they strove as hard as they could.

"Roger, I worked hard because of you. I missed you so terribly and wanted to get better to make you happy. I love you and I felt... guilty. Thinking you were lonely at home. I guess I needn't have worried,"

My legs threatened to buckle under me, forcing me to grasp onto the countertop. I opened my mouth to respond, but all that came out was a series of croaking sounds.

Reynard looked at me once more, icy blue eyes vacant and sad. The moment seemed to last an eternity, terrible and wrenching. I couldn't look away.

"I--I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," I choked out. I wanted to cry, but the tears wouldn't come.

"Oh, well it's all forgiven, then!" Reynard threw his hands up in the air, his tone dripping with mockery.

"Nothing I can say will make it better. But I'm so sorry it happened. I was weak,"

"I never understood that about you. How you think you can flounce through life and have all your fuck-ups just wiped off the record because you say you messed up,"

I sat leaning against the kitchen island, face buried in my hands. I couldn't look at Reynard any longer.

"People run into tough spots. Happens to everyone. But the thing is, most people can face their problems eventually. You just... don't. During our engagement, when we first started dating... Hell, even when you dropped out of grad school! Thought you were going to be some hot-shot shrink or something, or that's what you told me," Reynard sneered, his lip trembling.

"I told you before. There were problems with money, and I had to support--"

"Case in fucking point!" Reynard shrilled, pounding his fist into the wall. "You've fed me that line so many fucking times. It's always the money, or the family, or what-fucking-ever. Always an excuse.

"But you know what? It's just because you can't ever face tough times. You just run away. And this time, I guess running away involves fucking my employee,"

"Come to bed with me," I pleaded, face still buried in my knees.

Blindly I reached out toward Reynard, fingers grasping at him. But he was out of my reach.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

All of the anger and scorn that had been in Reynard's voice just moments before was gone, leaving just emptiness behind.

Reynard turned away, grasping his cane as he slowly made his way towards the door. He was leaving, and I couldn't do anything to stop him. The door clicked shut, leaving me all alone.

Somehow, I managed to find the strength to get back to my feet again after some time. I needed a shower--I felt dirty.

The water gushed hot and steaming out of the showerhead, soaking me to the bone. I stood there under the stream, shaking. Normally, a hot shower felt relaxing and calming, but now it just made me feel wet.

I found myself crying as I pressed my forehead into the wall of the shower stall, the water coursing down my face and mingling with my tears. I sank down, curled up in the corner of the stall with the water beating relentlessly away at me.

*****

I wasn't sure how much longer I would be able to bear being confined within my home. As far as square footage was concerned, I supposed it was quite large, but I was quite large as well. I felt trapped, suffocating within the four walls of my apartment. The group still gathered outside did nothing to quell my anxiety. I was doing a plenty good enough job torturing myself without having to listen to the muffled din of other people bellowing slogans outside.

Sighing heavily, I flopped down on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I needed to get out of my head for a while. Enjoy a little me time. That always worked to clear the mind, right? But there were limited ways I could do that given the confinements.

Maybe I could take a shower. Those always put me in a good mood--the relaxing warm water and soothing steam. Only problem was I wasn't technically supposed to be using water on Tuesday afternoons. Due to the high volume demands of my home's plumbing system, I was only allowed to take showers or participate in any other water-unfriendly activities during certain prearranged times.

Well, fuck it. Consider it my rebellion. Suck it, water pressure.

Turning on the shower to allow the water to warm up, I made sure all the drapes were closed. I slipped out of my clothes and folded them in a neat pile on my bed. Stepping into the shower stall, I closed the door. The warm water ran over me, relieving the pressure that had been weighing on my chest almost instantly. It felt incredible. I let my eyes close, smiling as I let the water course over my body.

After a disappointingly short period of time, the pressure began to tail off. Well, shit. Guess everyone else would have to make do without that much water for the next couple of hours. Sorry, suckers.

I reached over the frosted glass door, grabbing the towel I'd draped over the wall of the shower stall. Toweling off vigorously, I wrapped the material around my torso as I stepped out of the shower.

"Hi, Tab. I'd been wondering how long it would take,"

I just about jumped out of my pelt. Perched on the edge of the chair sat Becca. She grinned coquettishly at me, looping a lock of hair behind her ear.

"What in the fuck are you doing?" I asked, pulling my towel tighter around myself. Come to think of it, I should probably offer one to Becca as well. "What do you want, Becca?"

"Oh, nothing much," Becca smirked, shrugging. "Just figured I'd drop by for a little chat, giantess to giantess,"

"I'm pretty busy as it is," I lied.

"I'm sure the engagements are endless," Becca rolled her eyes as she made herself comfortable on the chair. "How's the house arrest going?"

"I'm just keeping a low profile. Nothing lasts forever," I said without all that much conviction.

"Your 'low profile' seems to be doing you a load of good," Becca smirked, jerking her head towards the doorway. "You know, you might want to get that infestation checked out,"

"Those are people, not insects," I insisted. "They deserve to hate me for what I did. Maybe they're my just desserts,"

"You _were_a pretty naughty girl," Becca grinned wickedly, leaning forward and propping her chin primly on her hands. "How many times have you had a break like that? Gotta say it doesn't seem all that uncommon.

"I mean, a girl has every right to lose it once. But damn, you're like clockwork. Boom boom boom. Smash and crash," Becca cackled.

"I'm not proud of any of that," I frowned.

"Ya know, there are only so many times you can say that before it just seems like a phrase you say to assuage your guilt,"

Becca pushed off the chair, draping an arm across my shoulders.

"Just embrace it. Give in to it all. We're better than those little runts," she grinned mischievously.

"That's bullshit," I spat, trying to wriggle away from Becca.

"Okay, maybe not better. But we're a hell of a lot bigger than they are, aren't we?" Becca murmured. Her hand drifted downward, slipping under the hem of my towel.

"Maybe it's time to just resign yourself to this. Because at this point, you've made this sort of destructive behavior a habit. And it can be attributed to one of several things. One: you're falling victim to the crazy ferret bitch stereotype. Two: you're crazy. Three: it's just a giantess thing, a natural side effect of being dozens of times larger than even the tallest normal person. Take your pick,"

"Get away from me," I pushed Becca aside.

I was a bit rougher than I'd anticipated, sending the other ferretess flying into the armchair. She let out a grunt as it toppled over.

"Get the fuck out of my house," I snarled, advancing on Becca.

Becca scrambled to her feet, staring at me, her expression a mixture of rage and triumph. Turning primly on her heels, she strode out the door.

I sank to the floor, shaking. I hugged my knees to my chest, tail curled around my legs. There was nothing I could do about it. Destruction was in my nature.

*****

The couch in the MACRO break room turned out to be a lot less comfortable than it looked. The faux leather squeaked with every movement and the short length forced me to curl my legs up against my chest.

I rolled over and over trying to get comfortable, but to little avail. The thin blanket I'd brought with me afforded me little warmth, and the night janitor had already shut off the heat for the evening during his last sweep.

I'd tried to fall asleep in my own bed, but it felt alien and unwelcome. I didn't belong there. I drifted off into a restless sleep with Reynard's voice echoing over and over in my head.

What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is wrong with you?

"Roger? What... what the what?"

My eyes blinked open, squinting in the fluorescent lights of the break room. Morgan leaned over me, a frown of concern furrowing her brow.

"I thought you were leaving for Londinium today," she said hesitantly.

Shit. She was right.

I launched myself off the couch, rocketing past the bewildered pine marten and made a reckless dash for my office. Smacking the morning mouth out of my lips and massaging my stiff limbs, I grabbed the briefcase I'd set out for myself the day before. My watch read 9:15. Good. Just barely enough time to get home, grab the rest of my luggage, and get to the airport.

On the bus to my apartment, I combed my fingers through my messy hair and tried to pat the wrinkles out of my trousers.

A wild plan began to hatch in my mind. It was a new day. Maybe that meant a chance for a fresh start. Reynard could come with me to Londinium. Yeah, that was just what we needed. Time for us to get away from everything else and work at making amends. I could catch him before he left for work.

I took the stairs up to my floor three, sometimes four at a time, practically tripping over myself in the effort. My apartment door stood at the end of the hall. Fumbling for my keys, I pounded on the door. Hopefully he was there, if he'd come back that morning.

After several fruitless moments, I glanced down at the floor. My heart plummeted. How had I not seen it before? My duffel sat packed next to the door.

"Oh," I whispered to nobody in particular.

That was that. No Reynard. I was going alone to Londinium.

Slinging my duffel bag over my shoulder, I turned and slunk my droop-shouldered way towards the stairwell at the end of the hall. Off to the other side of the world.