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Taking the Stage Climax

(December 25th)

It never seemed to snow on Christmas.

At the very least: that was Jeffery's experience. He had more than a few white holiday memories -- some happy, most not -- but it seemed none of them fell on Christmas, itself. There was the year when a spring semester in grade school began late thanks to a sudden icy storm, and he spent those unexpected extra holiday hours in a snow-covered park. There was the now-long-distant, snowy New Year's Eve when his father laughed at him for spitting up the beer he'd forced the timid little cub to drink. And there was the night, just over a year passed, in early December, when he'd spat into the snow once again...watched the pristine white canvas in his back yard turn red and pink...watched the mist of blood and saliva speckle and dye the fallen flakes...

He touched his lip as he looked out the window of Hunter's farmhouse. That was another life now. Cruel laughter. Tainted memories. All behind him. And even though that wasn't to be his last bloody lip, it had still been a long time since he'd had one. It was a bit funny, though: how it still hurt.

He remembered the reddened snow. He remembered watching the still falling flakes. He remembered how they'd hidden it all. How the red slowly turned back to white. A metaphor touched his young mind for a moment: a poetic little thought. His blood disappearing beneath the snow. His old life disappearing beneath the new.

And he smiled.

And he frowned.

This year was supposed to be different. It was supposed to snow today, but there wasn't a flake in the air. At least the ground, in places, was still white from Monday...but it just wasn't the same. This Christmas was supposed to be different.

This year was supposed to be his happiest yet: the holiday to make him forget all the others. He would sit in his new home with his new fathers around his new tree opening his new presents and let the memories of his old life wash away. But then James had to have a plan. And Jeff, the genius that he was, had to support it. He knew it was right. He knew all about ideas like 'the greater good.' But right now? Here, alone, on Christmas day? He wished they'd listened to Scott.

The little gray cat turned away from the window. If he'd stayed a few moments longer, he'd have seen a familiar car coming up the old rocky road. He would have saved himself from a morning of embarrassment and shock. But he didn't know that Hunter and Stanley were on their way. As he'd soon learn: it was supposed to be a surprise.

And so, he trudged lazily over to the couch and spun as he fell onto his back. He laid out on the cushions, bare from head to toe. It was nice -- in this respect, at least -- that he was here by himself. At home, with Scott and James, he seldom bothered with even the barest stich of clothing. His fathers -- his masters -- liked it that way. And he'd grown quite accustomed to it, himself. But if he were living with Stan or with the Masters clan, he'd probably be expected to show at least a little modesty.

Well. Maybe not with the Masters. After all, Kris and Will weren't really so different from Scott and James. Perhaps they'd like having a 14-year-old wandering nude through their home. Easy on the eyes. Easy to touch. Easy to taste. Easy to bend over the arm of-

It wasn't until the door swung open that he realized his paw was on his sheath. It wasn't until the rush of cold winter air hit his sensitive flesh that he realized his dripping little thorn had slipped between his fingers. It wasn't until Stan's voice hit his ears, "Jeffery, we-Oh!" that he realized he was lying, legs spread, with his tightened little sack pointed right at the door.

"Shit!" the cat tumbled from the couch, landing hard on his forearms and knees, and he frantically groped for the nearest throw pillow.

His tail was high and stiff in panic with his ass turned directly toward his intruders, as Hunter followed Stanley through the door. "Well, merry Christmas to you, too, Jeff!" the tiger laughed as he kicked the door closed behind him, "Is that raised tail supposed to be MY Christmas present, or Stan's?"

"Hunter!" the rabbit quietly scolded his adopted son...

...as Jeff scrambled to his feet, holding a pillow in front of his throbbing shame, "Stan! I-I-I'm sorry I...I didn't know you were coming and-"

"It is quite all right, Jeffery," the rabbit smiled, and only then did Jeff notice the bags in Stan's paws, or Hunter's as well, "It was entirely my fault. I should have knocked. You have every right to be nude when left alone in your own home, which this, at the moment, is. And masturbation is nothing to be embarrassed about."

Embarrassed. That was definitely one word for it. Mortified. Ashamed. Humiliated. Those all worked, too. Though, it was curious. He was definitely embarrassed. So why exactly was he harder now than before they'd walked in?

"Aww!" Hunter groaned, mockingly, "He was pawing off, and I missed it?"

Stanley rolled his eyes, and Jeffery blushed under his fur as he stammered once more, "St-still, I'm sorry. I'll go put on some clothes." His little thorn pressed against the pillow, dripping into the fabric, "A-at least some underwear. Something."

"Oh, come on," Hunter argued. "Stan's a doctor, it's not like he hasn't seen it before."

"Doesn't mean I wanna' be hard in front of him," Jeff explained...

...and his tiger friend arched a brow, "Still hard then?"

"Hunter, stop it," Stanley scolded again, then turned back to Jeff. "Go on and get dressed. Finish your business if you need to: whatever makes you comfortable. Hunter and I will be waiting out here."

Whatever made him comfortable? He was most comfortable nude. He was most comfortable sitting this pillow aside, and spending his day in nothing but his fur. But he couldn't. It was one thing if he were just naked. But he couldn't sit here hard and dripping in front of Stan. Stan wasn't like Scott, James, Kris, and Will. Though...if he was...

Jeffery eyed Stanley as he and Hunter sat down the bags. He was quite...masculine for a rabbit. But in a gentle way. Fatherly. And he knew that they didn't have knots -- unfortunately -- but he'd be lying if he pretended he'd never wondered what a rabbit's...

Damnit!

He grunted, pressing himself against the pillow, "Yeah. I'll be back in a minute."

"Take your time," Stan chuckled...

...but Jeff just muttered, "Trust me: I won't have to," as he dashed out of room with the sound of Hunter's laughter at his back.

When Jeff returned -- which would certainly be no more than two minutes, three minutes at the most -- his visitors would explain the bags. They would tell him how they'd made a special trip to see Scott and James early that morning. He would ask them if that had been wise. What if Scott's house was being watched?

They would answer that they'd parked in Scott's garage, just in case, to make sure no one could see them loading bags into Stanley's car. But there shouldn't be anything suspicious about a visit, anyway. After all, they've all been working together on the media campaign.

Then they would go on to explain that almost every bag here was from Scott and James. They would relay the fox's and the raccoon's love, and they would let him know how much his fathers missed him...how much they wanted his Christmas to be a happy one, even if they couldn't be with him...and how next year would be different...

Jeffery would smile. He would cry, just a little. Hunter would mock him and get scolded for it by Stanley one more time. He would rip into his presents while the tiger and the rabbit watched on. He would nod and say thank you when Stan pointed out which few were from him and Hunter. And he would, shamelessly, unabashedly, gleefully let himself feel like a child again.

Sitting there in his briefs, Jeff would make the most of his Christmas. Outside, the promised snow would finally begin to fall. Somewhere far in the back of his mind, a speckled red canvas would slowly turn white. His old life would disappear beneath the snow. And this Christmas, at last, would be different.

But first, he REALLY needed to cum...

~

(December 26th)

Coast to coast: in living rooms, offices, car dealerships, and on display walls...

...television screens faded from black to the soft grin of a spotted cat. A leopard. A journalist. A national face on a national cable news network. Unbiased, but too friendly to please the Right. Open minded, but not radical enough to please the Left.

"The holiday season is no stranger to debate," he began. No greeting or segue. "This is the month when the Right speaks of the war on Christmas...when coffee chains are boycotted...when city councils argue about nativity and menorahs...and when even the letter X becomes politicized." A graphic appeared on screen beneath him: apples and pencils and letters written in chalk. And one word. Sibirskaia. "But the last ten days have seen a different debate across national television, with both sides claiming to fight on behalf of our children. And the town of Sibirskaia has been thrust into the spotlight."

The camera angle changed. A wide shot of the soundstage: of the table in front of him, and of the otter and husky seated on the other side. The husky flashed a nervous smile, while the otter leaned in on his elbows, calm and sure.

And the leopard continued: "With us, today, are two of Sibirskaia's citizens: William Masters and...forgive me if I butcher this, but...Kiliona Ano'ai?"

"Don't worry," the otter shook his head, "it's a difficult name."

"Well I'd still like to get it right. Was I close at least?"

"Pretty close, yeah. It's Anoa'i...ah no ah ee."

And the husky, William, interjected: "You got mine right, at least. You know, if you were worried."

Softly, as was appropriate for such a joke in such a setting, the host and the otter, Kiliona, laughed. And as the moment passed, the leopard pressed on to the subject at paw: "So, I must say that I've been a bit surprised by all this. I honestly expected this to be something people would have forgotten about, by now. No offense, but these small town stories just don't usually see so much traction."

"Oh, no offense taken," Kili assured him...

...and Will agreed, "Yeah, not at all. You're completely right. To be honest, it's taken us by surprise, too."

And the host continued: "It seems like this school board debate has become something of a symbol, though, wouldn't you say? As if both sides of the argument see your high school as a lynch pin for the whole country."

"Sounds about right," Kili agreed. "I think that preacher the other day said it best, for the conservative side of the argument. What was it?" He looked to the husky at his side, "Something about Sibirskaia being the last place willing to fight for what was right?"

"Morality and decency," Will specified.

"Yeah, that's it!"

And the host spoke up to add: "And the more liberal side of the argument-"

"Our side," the husky clarified.

"Your side has said the same. One side sees Sibirskaia as the last line of defense for our eroding Christian values. And the other -- yours -- sees a victory here as a stepping stone toward equality and acceptance."

"And both sides are right," Kiliona exclaimed. "I mean..." he turned to his friend again, "...Will, what was that word your brother used the other day, that I liked?"

William answered after a moment's thought, "Microcosm?"

"Microcosm! He said Sibirskaia is a microcosm of the whole country. Homophobia is alive...but it's not well. It's dying. There is a battle raging all over the country right now between the conservative Right and the so-called 'gay agenda,' and this school board fiasco is a perfect example of it." The otter waved a paw in the direction of the camera, and to the viewers on the other side, "To a lot of people, especially those in Sibirskaia, this is a big moment. If this wholesome little bible-belt town agrees to protect its LGBT students, how can it not seem like the whole country might fall in line?"

And the husky at his side amended: "And it doesn't matter whether you believe that's a good thing, or a bad thing. One side can use words like oppression and prejudice while the other uses words like morals and decency, but we're all still telling the same story."

"And stories," the leopard deftly segued to their next topic: "Stories are something the two of you know something about. You both worked at a publishing firm in Sibirskaia. Is that right?"

"We did," Kili answered. "I was middle management..."

"...and I was an agent," Will added.

"And tell us," the host asked: "why, exactly, don't you work there, anymore?"

"Well," William shrugged, "I'm not looking to slander our old boss."

"Is it slander if it's true?" Kiliona asked...

...and the husky just chuckled, "Either way, I'm not going to name any names or say exactly where we worked. But it was the same bullsh-uhm..." he paused, clearly catching himself before cursing, "...the same crap that's going on at the school. Sibirskaia, again, is a microcosm of this country's homophobia. But it's not just at the school; it's everywhere."

"And your publishing firm was no different?" asked the leopard.

"My boyfriend, Patrick Roark," a name which only a handful of viewers knew was the pseudonym of one Aaron Jones, "is a client with the firm. When my boss-"

"That's not me, by the way," the otter explained. "It's the big boss."

"Right. My boss's boss," Will corrected himself. "When he found out that Patrick and I were dating, I was asked to leave the firm."

"And ever since then, Mr. Roark has been heavily discriminated against," Kili continued the tale. "The firm's official stance is that Mr. Masters was in violation of some unwritten company rule about conflicts of interest. And they'll say that Mr. Roark is not being held back; he is being given the same chances as everyone else."

"But none of that is true," the husky scoffed. "I was fired for being gay. And anyone else who'd been working with the firm as long as Patrick has, would have been published by now."

"And that -- among other things -- is why I finally left. I got tired of watching the firm...or, actually, no..." the otter paused to rephrase: "I got tired of being PARTY to the firm discriminating against its clients and employees just because they didn't fit into the owner's particular idea of 'decency.'"

Finally responding to their story, the host mused: "Sounds like your little town has more than one battle coming to a head, as of late."

"Oh. This battle hasn't even begun," Kiliona smiled a devious little smile. "You see, policy change and media exposure are great, but I'm choosing an entirely different battlefield. I've chosen to fight this battle like a true capitalist. Starting in the next month or so, I'm going to have my own competing firm. A place where everyone -- client and agent alike -- who doesn't feel like they really have a place thanks to people like my former employer...will be welcome."

"Hmm!" the leopard turned his eyes on William. "Sounds like you might have a job, again, Mr. Masters."

And the otter added: "And maybe Mr. Roark could finally get punished."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, just yet," Will waved a dismissive paw. "But back to what you said a minute ago: you're right. There's definitely more than one battle going on in Sibirskaia, right now. We've talked about policy changes and bigoted employers," he leaned in on the table, "but I'd like to talk about witch hunts. Let me tell you about my brother..."

~

(December 27th)

Mic hoped Jeffery wasn't alone.

Or, if he was alone, that he wasn't watching the same show the hyena was. And honestly, it was becoming exhausting. Mic's mantra was going to be the death of him. 'He didn't know much, but he was a good friend.' That was so much easier to live up to back when he just had Hunter, Brandon, and Donald to deal with...especially since, back then, none of them brought along even a sliver of drama.

But now? Now he had so damned many friends to keep track of. Hunter, Brandon, Donald, Elliot, Jeffery, and Viri...and the only one who didn't need something from him was Donald! Brandon, as of late, was enough work all by himself. But now Hunter & Elliot had broken up. And sure, Elliot had plenty of support from Donald. But Hunter? He only had Mic. And that kiss last week...?

And it wasn't that he minded, most of the time. He loved to feel useful. He loved knowing that he made his friends' lives better. And he loved the...perks...that came from being friends with most of them, too. The problem was...right now, SO much of him wanted to pick up the phone and call Jeffery. He wanted to make sure that his new little friend wasn't alone and watching the news. He wanted to make sure that Hunter or Stan were there...or Elliot and Donald...or anyone. And if they weren't, he could be over there in minutes!

But, tonight, he couldn't.

He couldn't pick up the phone. He couldn't leave his house. Hell, he couldn't even leave his bed! Because someone else needed him right now. Sure, that someone hadn't been through a break up. He hadn't been raped. And even if he was separated from his parents, it had been his own choice. But tonight, nonetheless, his little black paws were gripping the fur of Mic's stomach. His head and its bright green headfur lay heavy on Mic's bare chest....

Right now, Viri needed this. Needed this love, this companionship, this comfort. This moment's peace and contentment. This private, blessed intimacy. And it was so easy. So easy for Mic to lie to himself. To pretend that any of that was true. To pretend that Viri was the one who needed it. But the truth of the matter was: this one time...Mic needed it. He spent so much of his time and energy taking care of so many other people. Every once in a while it was nice to put himself into someone else's paws. Tiny black paws. Fingers in his fur. Breath on his chest.

He hoped Jeffery wasn't alone. But that wasn't his problem, tonight.

And so he lay there on his bed with his folf in his arms, and he watched the surreal scene on the television before him. He watched on as -- seated in a stiff upholstered chair, beneath the bright lights of News Eight's local studio -- Brandon Sutela laid his every secret bare.

A month ago, Brandon's uncle Tony was arrested -- charged with molesting a student. But his crimes went much further than that. More and more children came forward. And less than two weeks ago, Brandon, himself, joined them. He spoke to his family. He went to the police. And he told them everything that Tony had done to him so many years ago. He did it for himself. He did it for a friend who couldn't. He confessed his past to finally put it behind him.

But Mic had never expected Brandon's confession to bring the wolf here: talking to this horse on the local news. But there, before the cameras, he recounted what his uncle had done. Bitter words passed his lips. Statute of limitation. Burden of proof. Tony's recent crimes were likely to see him put away for a very long time...but he wouldn't be punished for what he'd done to Brandon, specifically. So, instead, his nephew did the only thing he knew how.

He told the world.

In a few weeks, they'd be back in school, and everyone would know. But tonight, there wasn't a hit of fear in the wolf's eyes. He was firm and resolute. He was stronger and more confident than Mic had ever seen him. He wasn't the scared child or the wrathful bully of months past. And even his left paw, still wrapped up in its cast, seemed more of a medal, now, than a wound.

But while the stories of Tony's crimes were definitely headlines, they were far overshadowed by the narrative that was Sibirskaia...relegated, in fact, to being nothing more than an argument employed by the Right. On the national stage, Tony's victims were forgotten. Brandon and Jeffery and Brooksboro Middle School meant nothing in the face of venomous rhetoric:

'If our children are so safe being taught by queers, then how do you explain that coach, Anthony Sutela, over in Brooksboro?'

And so, of course, this little interview turned that direction, as well. And when it did, Mic finally understood. This scene wasn't as surreal as he'd thought. This was Brandon on his path to redemption. He had put Mic and his friends through so much over the past two months...and this was his chance to set things right. This was his chance to help, instead of hurt. When he'd met with them at Hunter's farmhouse a week ago? That was only the beginning...

THIS was his real apology.

"I'm so tired of hearin' that question!" Brandon groaned through the speakers of Mic's TV. "Does nobody understand how disrespectful that is?"

"You mean, of course...disrespectful to homosexuals?" Allan, the equine anchorman clarified...

...but the wolf shot back with a single piercing bark of laughter, "To start with? Sure. But it's more than disrespectful to gay people." He pointed at himself with his broken paw, "It's disrespectful to me, to my family, to Brooksboro Middle School, and to each and every one of Tony's victims!"

"Perhaps you could explain..."

And so he did: "The people sayin' that? The people sayin' that Tony did what he did 'cause he's gay? They don't care about me. They don't care about the kids at BMS. They couldn't begin to understand what we've been through. And the LAST thing on their minds is tryin' to keep it from happenin' again. They're just usin' us. They hate gay people, for whatever stupid reason they've got...and they think by remindin' parents about what happened to me and the kids in Brooksboro, that they can scare other people into hatin' 'em too. It's dishonest and disgusting, and I'm here to say, right now: I will not be their tool!"

Punctuating his declaration, Brandon pounded his left paw and its cast against the arm of his chair. Mic flinched on his behalf, and even the horse seemed to take notice, his gaze dropping toward the plastered paw, with a moment's concern. Taken off guard by the outburst, Allan coughed lightly, turning his eyes back to the papers in his hands to remind himself of what to say next...

Before he could, though, his lupine guest had one last thing to add: "Keepin' gay people from teachin' won't protect anybody. Tony didn't do what he did 'cause he was gay. He did it 'cause he's a monster!"

"So you're saying," the anchorman finally responded, "even if Tony were straight, this would still have happened?"

"The only difference woulda' been: you'd be talkin' to a girl right now instead of a guy," Brandon answered. "This happened 'cause of who he is, not what minority he belongs to. He is a predator, and he didn't need to be a coach to find his prey. He wanted to feel powerful. He wanted somebody to hurt. We were weak, easy targets, and he took advantage of us. Tony," he pointed for emphasis, "is the enemy here. Not gay people. Tony. And my teachers aren't Tony. Mr. Callaway isn't Tony. Mr. Hammond isn't Tony. The Masters -- Elliot's dad and uncle -- aren't Tony. And my friends, who my school doesn't seem to think it has a responsibility to protect? They will never BE Tony."

Mic grinned. Friends.

"Weren't you saying something very different at the school board meeting, last month?"

"Yeah. I guess I was," the wolf shrugged, before sinking a bit into his seat. "But I was wrong."

"What changed?"

"I learned..." he sighed, turning his eyes down his paw and its cast. His voice grew softer...darker than before, "I learned that anybody can be a monster. For me, it was my uncle. For those kids in Brooksboro, it was their coach. For some people..." he clenched his broken fist and flinched, "it's somebody they used to call a friend."

Allan crossed his legs and put his chin in his paw, leaning back as he asked: "You've had your words for the conservative Right: for those attacking your teachers and your friends. But what would you say to parents? Parents who aren't on television attacking anyone. Parents who are just scared for their children..."

"I'd tell 'em that I get it," Brandon answered without a moment's hesitation. "It's easy. It's easier to blame gay people. It's easier to believe that this whole problem has a simple fix. To ignore how complicated it is, and just say, 'If we keep gay guys outta' schools, then this won't ever happen again.' It makes the world seem like a safer place, if we just all pretend that it's easy. But believe me..."

He paused, scanning the studio for the active camera, and then halting his gaze directly out toward his unseen audience. Toward school board officials, teachers, and parents. Toward a hyena and the folf in his arms. Toward a little gray cat in a lonely farmhouse...

"...nothing about what happened to me is easy."

~

(December 28th)

Stanley Jones was conflicted

On the one paw, he was ecstatic. He felt victorious and petty. The child inside of him was absolutely giddy with anticipation: with the prospect of giving Hunter and Jeffery a well-deserved 'I told you so,' as soon as he was able. But on the other paw, he was more than a little frustrated and disappointed. Frustrated that the boys weren't here to witness this with him. Disappointed that he had no way to prove what he'd seen and heard. It was all fine and good to have his petty little 'I told you so'...but he needed them to believe him. And so far, that had been something of a struggle.

Of course, to be fair, he couldn't blame them. Because as much as he did truly believe that his and James's media campaign would be a success, even he was surprised by the scene that had just played out before him. After all, it was one thing to believe...

...but it was another, entirely, to actually see.

When he'd first glimpsed that rainbow fur on the screen, he'd expected things to go very differently. He'd expected annoyance and indignation. He'd expected disgusted sighs and muttered slurs. He'd expected to be forced to remove himself from the situation, to avoid confrontation. He'd expected Sibirskaians, frankly...to be Sibirskaians...

He was seated in a small café eating lunch when it began.

The television on the wall was turned to a cable news network. It often was in this place, but since Sibirskaia was so likely to be the topic of discussion lately, they never seemed to even change the channel, anymore. And Stanley, of course, knew what would be showing this afternoon, even before it appeared on the screen. Stephen, their little Aussie general, had been planning this ever since he'd stepped off the plane, and he'd finally managed put it together.

He'd called them 'spontaneous, on the spot interviews with the common folk,' but there was nothing spontaneous about them. These interviews were happening at the Bacchanalian -- the closest thing this little town had to a gay club -- and the first face on the screen was the Bacchanalian's most popular waiter, the former boyfriend of both Aaron AND James, and Sibirskaia's gayest citizen: the rainbow painted fox...

Nikki.

"You wanna' know what kinda' town Sibirskaia is?" the fox asked the unseen reporter, his colorful tail swaying in and out of frame behind him. "This place behind me is called the Bacchanalian. It's pretty much the only gay friendly place in town. The owner's a little less than straight, herself, and she marketed this place as a haven for all the other gays and lesbians around here. See, we don't have any gay bars or clubs, so this little restaurant is about all we got. Y'see how dead it is, right, now, though? How long've you been standin' here? How many people have you noticed walk in? Usually, we're pretty busy...not right now, though. You know what changed?" He paused to point directly into the camera, "This did. No one wants to be caught on camera walkin' into this place. And it's not like it's some rave club, either. No one's grindin' up on anybody in there! This is a family restaurant. Parents bring their kids here. Straight, gay, bi, pan...it doesn't matter. Everyone's welcome at the Bacchanalian. But it's still known as the town's 'gay joint,' right? So, no one wants to be caught on camera walkin' in. Their all too scared for their jobs and their reputations. So scared, that they won't even be seen NEAR the place, with a news crew around. Even if they're a hundred percent straight, the mere association could be professional and social suicide. Just for grabbin' lunch." He paused again and turned to the camera with a smile, "That's the kind of town Sibirskaia is."

For a moment, Stan believed his expectations were coming true.

First came the sound of a sigh from the table nearest him, almost the instant Nikki had finished speaking. Then, from farther away, came a more audible groan. And this was it. Homophobic slurs were sure to follow. Grumbled complaints about queers ruining the town...about shutting down the Bacchanalian...about firing Mr. Hammond and Mr. Callaway. And Stan would be forced to bite his tongue and silently excuse himself, lest he end up embroiled in a very public altercation.

But when the sighs and groans turned to chatter, his eyes widened. His ears perked and pivoted. He grinned as he listened in...

"Sibirskaia's first national exposure, and it's this shit?"

"What the hell is the school board thinking? What's wrong with a little anti-bullying reform?"

"It ain't like anybody's bein' forced t'be queer, or nuthin'!"

"People don't wanna' be associated with the Bacchanalian? I don't wanna' be associated with this TOWN..."

"This is makin' us look like a buncha' fuckin' backwoods hicks!"

"Is it really worth it? Making the whole country think we're homophobes?"

"Just askin' our kids not ta' pick on th'ones that ARE queer!"

"It's like this every time. The loudest voices are the craziest..."

"Y'know what? Fuck this shit! I'm goin' to the Bacchanalian for dinner. I don't care if they put a camera right in my fuckin' face."

"It's time to put a stop to this. It's just a little bit of school reform. Just give them what they want, already."

"Cain't even be civil to queers now! Jesus! Too scared it might make ya' look gay?"

"I mean, I'm not sayin' I agree with the liberals on this...but I damn sure don't wanna' be lumped in with the bigots on the other side of the fight."

And Stanley Jones was conflicted. He was victorious and giddy. He was frustrated and disappointed. And he was shocked silent. Because, after all, it's one thing to believe, but it's another, entirely, to actually hear. And it was true. It was happening. After all the uncertainty, he finally knew...

They were winning.

~

(December 29th)

Kris.

That damn smiling face. Robyn had taken the picture in happier times. Before she learned what kind of a dog he really was. Before he'd allowed their 14-year-old son such free sexual reign. Before she'd learned that Elliot had been molested. It might not have actually been William, and it probably wasn't Kristoff -- Elliot, at least, was adamant of that -- but even if they never laid a finger on him, they were just as responsible as whomever had. They were supportive of his behavior. They were negligent. They were wrong.

And now, every time her phone lit up when Kristoff called...every time she saw the smiling face of his profile picture, her stomach turned. She couldn't ignore him, though. She couldn't deny him the privilege of calling. She had temporary custody, but Kris still had this one right. And he'd been good. The lawyers reminded her often: he'd been good. He hadn't seen Elliot once in person. And he wasn't even calling his son on the boy's private phone. He was going through the proper channels: calling her and asking permission. So, it was in her best interest to grant it.

"Hello?" Robyn's voice was sharp. Hateful. She couldn't stand the sound of it. The sound of who he'd made her become.

"Evening, Robyn," he was exasperated already. "Can I speak with my son, please?"

On reflex, she opened her muzzle to argue. But it would do no good. He would remind of her how many days it had been since his last call. He would imply that their lawyers would hear of the refusal. And she would cave. So, with a sigh, she saved them both the hassle, "I suppose. We'll be sitting down to dinner soon, though. So, don't expect it to go on for long."

"Of course, of course," she could hear the relief in his voice, and the same feeling washed over her, as well. It was nice: things just being simple, if only for a moment.

But a spark flared up behind her eyes. And even as it happened, she knew it was a kneejerk reaction. She hated him. She hated herself for making him happy, even for an instant. And, again, she considered fighting. She searched for just the right biting remark that could set him off. If she could get him angry and cursing, she'd have 'every right' to hang up.

But she clenched her teeth. She stopped herself. And she called up the stairs as loudly as she could manage: "ELLIOT! YOUR FATHER'S ON THE PHONE!"

When she called him for dinner, or for a trip to town, or really for anything other than sending him off to school, she was lucky if he responded at all. And if he did, it was in his own sweet time. But when she mentioned his father...

"Dad?" Elliot called back near-instantly and appeared at the top of the stairs. "Y-your phone, o-or the house phone?"

Silently, she pulled her cellphone away from her ear and waved it at him, and he began bounding down the stairs. Before he could reach her, though, she heard her soon-to-be-ex-husband's voice through the phone, "Robyn?" and she brought it back to her ear.

"Hmm?" she responded, holding a finger up to halt her excited son.

"He still has a TV in his room, right?"

"Of course he does, Kris. The boy's not in prison!" she snapped...

...and on the other end, her husband scoffed, "Right."

With a growl, she thrust the phone forward at her son's smiling face, "Here." She should have hung up on him, before. Too late, now, though. Now, it would only hurt Elliot: teasing him with a call he couldn't actually take.

"Hi Dad!" he immediately turned and made his way up the stairs. "I miss you too..."

"Dinner will be ready soon," she called after him. "Make it quick!"

But he just waved a dismissive paw back at her and kept right on with his phone call, "Yeah! I know; Stan told me about it. I just turned it on. Thanks for calling to let me know, though." And she continued to listen as he ascended the stairs, eventually disappearing into his room, "What? No, there's no way she'll be watching. She can barely stand to hear your name. And I doubt she even knows about it, anyway..."

On the contrary, actually: she did.

Her lawyers had warned her the day before. Kristoff would be on the news this evening. Thanks to William and his otter friend's recent interview, the custody battle was suddenly news worthy. It and Will's old publishing firm had become footnotes of the larger story of Sibirskaia's school board fiasco. But nationally, Sibirskaia was just one story among many, and footnotes were nothing but colorful little details to be mentioned in passing. Locally, on the other hand, Sibirskaia WAS the news. And there was more than enough time to dedicate to every stupid little avenue and connection...

Castagnoli's old firm.

Anoa'i's new one.

William's job.

Aaron's book.

The Bacchanalian.

Anthony Sutela.

Elliot's network of friends.

The custody battle.

The divorce.

And tonight, Kristoff would be on the local news, telling his side of the story. Defending himself and William. Defending his son's right to be gay. Making himself look as sympathetic as possible. It wouldn't help him in a real court, of course, but in the court of public opinion it was certain to work wonders.

They'd discussed Robyn's options: she and her lawyers. She had every right to tell her side of the story, too. But should she? Once Kris was done, she would look like a monster. If any of Elliot's friends were questioned, it would only be worse. And after that, would anyone care what she had to say? Would she only come across defensive and angry? Would anything she said even matter? But she pressed, regardless. She would have her side be heard. She would dispute his claims, and defend her custody suit. She would have her own day before the cameras, soon enough.

For now, though, Elliot was wrong. She, in fact, WOULD be watching. She would hear what her husband had to say. She would consider her defense. And she would prepare. So, from the couch in what used to be their living room, she switched on her television, and she waited. Soon enough, Emily -- News 8's cheetah co-host -- introduced the segment: her pre-recorded interview with Kristoff Masters.

William's apartment. Bright artificial lighting. Her husband's solemn face.

"So, let's start with a little background information," Emily began. "Your son is one of the students at the heart of the school board controversy. Is that correct?"

"He is," Kris answered. "He was one of the kids who was being bullied. And there was a teacher -- whose name I've been advised not to mention -- who was turning a blind eye."

"Because your son is gay," the anchor added.

"He is."

"And he wouldn't mind you saying that on television?"

"Whether fortunately or unfortunately, I can't say," Kristoff shrugged, "but either way: it's not a secret anymore."

"But this teacher who was turning a blind eye? This was the catalyst for Mr. James Callaway's school board proposal, correct?"

"It was," the husky confirmed. "He wanted the faculty to be held accountable. He wanted sexuality and gender identity directly protected, just like religion, species, breed, and everything else."

"And you approve?"

"Of course I do. My son deserves to be happy and to be himself, no matter what anyone thinks."

Anyone. Robyn's hackles rose. He meant her. Being himself? Being happy? Would Kristoff be saying that if it were drugs that made Elliot so damn happy? Certainly, there are plenty of addicts who think they're just 'being themselves' too...

"But there's a lot more to this story than that, for you, isn't there?" Emily explained: "Your brother was on a national program a few days ago. He alleged that his publishing firm had discriminated against him and his partner. And then he mentioned you and your son. For those who might not be familiar with your particular story, could you elaborate?"

"Well, my son isn't just being bullied by his classmates. He's being bullied by his own mother, too. We both are." Bullied!? How is she a bully for protecting her son from predators? For wanting him to live a normal, healthy life!? "When I found out he was gay, I supported him. He has every right to live his life, and to love, and to date, and to be happy...just like all the rest of us did at his age. No matter who he happens to love."

Love? This wasn't about love! It was about perversion and sex and-

"But your wife didn't support it."

Of course she didn't!

"Actually, she didn't know. I didn't tell her, because I KNEW she wouldn't support it. I was trying to protect him." Protect him? From his own mother? What about from the husky who molested him?? "When she found out, though, everything changed. She filed for divorce and custody. She attacked me for allowing my son to be himself. She blamed me and my brother for 'making him gay,' for 'supporting his deviancy,' and for all number of other horrible things."

"Because your brother is gay."

"Yes."

"And you?"

"Am I gay?" Of course he was! "You know. For fourteen years, I was married to Robyn, and I never even flirted with anyone -- male or female. I was the very model of a faithful and devoted husband and father. What does it matter who I'm attracted to? What does it matter who I might decide to date now that she's left me?"

Oh, for the love of God. He couldn't just answer the question?

Emily held up a paw, "I'm only asking why she believed you were such a negative influence."

"Well, if you need a label. Fine. I'm bisexual," like that was any better than gay.

"And," the anchor repeated: "you say she filed for divorce and custody."

"She did. And my son was living with me and my brother until a decision could be made. His choice." His choice? Like a fourteen-year-old has any idea what's best for them! "Then she started throwing around the vilest and most unfound accusations she could manage against my brother and me." Vile!? Unfounded!? There was proof! "I've been told not to divulge any specifics, but the punchline is this: even though there wasn't enough evidence to support an arrest, let alone an indictment or a trial, she got what she wanted. For the remainder of the custody battle she now has temporary custody. 'For his protection,' they say."

"And there's no truth to the accusations?"

"Of course not!" Kris barked. "My son is the most important thing in the world to me, and I don't know if I'll ever see him again. He's been taken from me. And it's not because I'm a drunk or a drug addict. It's not because I'm violent or neglectful. Hell, it's not even because I'm poorer than her, and less capable of caring for him." No. But it wasn't like the what he actually WAS, was any better. "It's just because I'm...queer, I guess. I'm bisexual. My brother's gay. And I support my son being gay. And my wife, this town, and this state have such a problem with homosexuals, that they can't stand the idea of letting my son be himself. Of letting him live with the parent he chose. Of any less-than-one-hundred-percent-heterosexual father raising a teenage son." And what right-minded person wouldn't have a problem with that? What kind of example does that set?? "It's the same thing that happened to my brother and his boyfriend. It's the same thing that's happening at Sibirskaia High. Because some people are uncomfortable with who we are...they feel they have the right to screw with our lives."

"How long has it been since you've seen your son?"

"November seventeenth. They took him on November seventeenth. It's only been about a month and a half...but..." but he was going to make it seem so much worse, "...for over fourteen years I barely went a day without seeing him. I don't work for a job that expects me to travel, and he was never interested in camp or the scouts. So, except for a couple of times I left my brother to babysit him...every day for over fourteen years, he's been there. My son. And I knew that would change one day, but not like this! When he's 19 or 20, I'm supposed to send him off to a dorm. It's supposed to be HIS fault when he doesn't visit me for two months. It's supposed to be him growing up and becoming an adult. It's not supposed to be him...locked away in a house I can't even step a paw into...just across town from me. I'm not supposed to be scared of running into him in a public place and giving my wife an excuse to say I'm breaking court orders." Well, of course. But let's just ignore the fact that Kristoff brought all this on himself, right? "And...and November and December, of all months?"

"What do you mean?"

"The holidays, Emily," the camera zoomed in close. Robyn could see her husband's lip quivering on the HD screen. "I hate thanksgiving. I hate spending it with my wife's family. I hate all the effort that goes into preparation and clean-up. And I guess the game's nice, but I can watch football, any time. But still. He was always there, you know? When we cooked, we did it with him in mind. We'd play touch football outside, even though he never really liked the game, and only did it to hang out with his uncle Will and his cousins." Robyn averted her eyes. She remembered those games, too. Remembered her son in her husband's arms. Remembered the laughter. And she shook her head. No. This was all his doing. All of it! Who was he to complain? "But this year...it was just me, Will, a couple of friends...and an empty chair..."

"And then...Christmas?" Emily prompted, and Robyn felt herself wince.

"I can't even give him his gifts," tears collected in her husband's eyes, and his voice was weak. "For a decade and a half, I think I've looked just as forward to Christmas morning as he did. Getting woken up too early by him climbing in bed. Seeing him ripping open his presents. Seeing the smile on his face. Watching him run off to play with his toys as a pup, or his video games as he got older..." Robyn turned her eyes to her own Christmas Tree, and she saw Elliot's smile. Her presents may have been opened...but Kris wasn't the only one who didn't get to see that smile, this year. "You know what we did this Christmas, though? We talked on the phone. We talked on the phone for the few minutes we were allowed, until his mother made us stop." But, she had to. His grandparents were here. He couldn't spend all day on the phone. It's not like she... "His presents are still sitting under the tree, too. Waiting for him to open them, and I...and I honestly don't know if he ever will..."

The screen went black. The remote fell from Robyn's paw to the couch cushion below. She shuddered as she drew in a breath. Touch football. Scattered wrapping paper. A little, black & white pup laughing. Happy memories. Happier times.

She reached for her phone, groping blindly before she remembered that it wasn't there. It was upstairs with Elliot. She imagined him smiling. He always did when Kristoff called. And she plucked a card from her purse, stood, and walked across the room...

...where she lifted the house phone from the receiver. She dialed the number on the card. She wrenched her eyes closed. And she waited.

"Hello? This is Robyn Masters. No, that's right. Kharski. Robyn Kharski. It's about the interview we were setting up. Yeah...with the local news."

She opened her eyes again and looked to her Christmas Tree.

"I've changed my mind. Cancel it."

~

On the other side of town, Kristoff's face sat frozen. Frozen somewhere between, "What does it matter who I might decide to date now that she's left me?" and, "Well, if you need a label. Fine."

James Callaway and Scott Hammond, a few moments ago, had been sitting together and watching the interview in silence. James had watched with a grin that Scott didn't yet understand. The fox, though, had sat stone faced, waiting to see exactly where this interview was headed. Later, they would press play, Kristoff would speak of Christmas, Scott would think of Jeffery, and the fox would cry.

For now, though, the interview was paused on their DVR, because James had gotten a call.

The raccoon had greeted the voice on the line as Genevieve, a name which Scott knew. Of course, he knew her better as Mrs. Laika. She was a member of one of Sibirskai's husky families -- alongside the Sibes, Sivirskiis, Chukshas, and of course the Kharskis and Masters -- and she was also a member of the school board. One of the only two members of the school board, in fact, who had actually voted in favor of James's proposal.

James had taken the call out of the room, and Scott sat on the couch waiting for his return. Nervously, his footpaw tapped the carpet. Were they being reprimanded? Were they being fired? Was there a new hearing to determine their status? He knew Jeffery hadn't been found out. Mrs. Laika wouldn't be calling if it were that. Instead, there would be flashing lights outside. But it still had to be bad news. It had to. Why else would she be making a personal call?

He sat. He fidgeted. He waited.

And in time, James sauntered back into the room. But to Scott's surprise, he was laughing. James was smiling ear-to-ear...and laughing!

"Of course. Of course," the raccoon nodded, phone in paw. "I'll tell him right away. And thank you so much for calling me, Genevieve. You have no idea how much this means." He paused and laughed again, "No. I'm sure they won't be. Of course. Goodnight, Ma'am."

His phone beeped as he ended the call. But it was inaudible, drowned out by the sudden cackling rolling from his lips: a high pitched, belting, cheer of laugher. Paws high and nose to the ceiling, he bounced on the bare pads of his paws. And with a victorious little spin, he tossed his phone into the seat of the couch, beside his fox.

But Scott simply blinked as he stood, "What? What is it? What did she want?"

"We've won!" James rushed him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "Scott! We've won! We fucking won!!"

The raccoon gripped his lover with all his might, shaking him as he went right on laughing and bouncing on his bare paws. And Scott couldn't help but smile and laugh along with him. But gently, he took hold of his boyfriend's arms and tried his best to hold him still...

"Okay. Okay. Calm down," he forced the 'coon to look him in the eye. "What are you talking about? Won what?"

"My proposal!" James exclaimed. "The resolution!"

"Wait. Are you saying it's been passed?" the fox shook his head. "Sweetheart, the school board isn't even in session right now. It's winter break, still."

"No! I mean: yeah, I know," James stammered, before shaking his own head with a breath. "Let me start over."

"Okay..."

"That was Genevieve."

"So I heard."

"She said she talked to Harold." Harold Finley; lizard; President of the board. "She convinced him to have a second hearing: a second vote. First week of class! We're getting a second shot!" And again James began to bounce where he stood...

"Okay. That's good," but, again, Scott calmed him. "But hun, we failed last time. Two to three, remember?" Two to three. Finley and Laika voted in their favor. But the other three did not. "Why would it be any different now?"

"Right! Sorry," the raccoon took another breath, to steady himself. "Before she spoke to Harold, she spoke to Emma." Emmalee Banks; feline; swing vote. "She flipped her, Scott! You remember how on-the-fence she was about it? Not really for it or against it? Just worried about the controversy?"

"Yeah," Scott's eyes began to widen. "Yeah, I do."

"Well, all this media attention? This is exactly the kind of controversy she wanted to avoid, Scott." James looked him dead in the eye, and slowly laid it out: "She's. Changed. Her. Mind."

And finally, the fox was staggered by the news, letting go of his lover and reeling back, "Holy shit. We're going to win..."

"Three to two in our favor, Scott!" free of the vulpine's grip, James bounced once again. "I mean, the other two are lost causes, sure." Mrs. Philips; eagle. Mr. Sibe; another pureblood Sibirskaians husky. Bigots both. "But with Genevieve, Harold, AND Emma on our side?"

"It's going to pass..." Scott concluded...

...and James repeated in a glorious shriek: "It's gonna' pass!"

James, clearly, was elated. The news had been like a shot of adrenaline for him. For Scott, though, it had been quite the opposite. And as the raccoon danced about the living room, the fox collapsed back down into the couch. It wasn't that he wasn't happy, of course. He was ecstatic. It was just...a difference in expectations...

James had believed they were going to win. For him, these weeks had been building slowly toward his inevitable victory. He felt the tension...but never the stress. For Scott, though, it had been torture. His job was on the line. James's job was on the line. Jeffery had been forced into hiding. And even though getting this proposal passed, getting Jeffery home, and getting their lives back to normal had always been a possibility -- even though he hadn't believed they would fail -- this had been the best-case scenario. And there had been were so many possibilities for disappointment.

So, for James, this was a celebration. But for Scott it was the lifting of a weight. He felt drained and exhausted. He felt spent. And this, in its own way, was just as glorious as his raccoon's elation. But, along with his more sober perspective, also came the question...

"How?"

James spun to a stop in front of him and looked down, "How what?"

Scott looked up and caught his eye, "How did this happen? I mean...have you been watching the news? So many of the interviews have gone so badly. And so many opinions have been tossed around that..." He sighed, "I was really worried this wasn't going to work out."

The raccoon relaxed and smiled, dropping down to the couch beside his lover, and draping a paw over his shoulder, "I know. I know you were."

"But you weren't."

"Not really."

"You and Stan were always so damn optimistic." Scott exhaled and leaned into his lover's arm, "I just don't understand how. How did you know this was going to work?"

"How about I explain it to you, like Stan explained it to me?"

"Sure."

"There are plenty of Sibirskaians who think this proposal is wrong. There are plenty who think the boys deserve their bullying, Will deserves to be unemployed, Kris deserves to lose his son, and that me and you are just as bad as Tony." James shrugged with a little grin, "But they're in the minority. Most people, even if they're against us, take a more...mid-ground approach. They think that the bullying is wrong, but it's not as bad as bullying someone over their species or religion. They think Will can just go find another job. They think that, even if Kris isn't a bad parent, him being gay means he's at least not QUITE as good as Robyn. Basically: they don't think we should be outwardly discriminated against, but they still disagree with our lifestyles too much -- or just don't care enough -- to support protecting us."

"Like Ms. Banks?" the fox asked.

"Exactly!" James chirped. "Emma sympathized with us. She didn't agree with what Chaney did, and she damn sure didn't agree with Philips and Sibe. But we weren't as important to her as avoiding controversy."

"So, you're saying that the point is for people to...just get tired of the attention?"

"Partly. But it's a little more than that." The raccoon hummed for a second before going on: "See, these sorts of people aren't out to hurt us. But they aren't out to help, either. They react with their emotions and for their own self-interest. But the way Stan explained it to me was this: self-interest is where we'll beat them."

"How is it in their best interest to help us?"

"Image!" he chirped again. "Everyone wants to believe they're the good guy. They want to believe they're on the right side of the fight, and they want everyone else to think they are, too. So, when people like that -- with their mid-ground opinions -- get lumped with the actual bad guys: with people like Philips, Sibe, Chaney, or Robyn..."

"Or your badger..."

"...or your porcupine?"

And finally, Scott felt like he understood: "Then...it makes them look like the bad guys, too."

"Right!" James nodded. "My argument with that preacher, and your argument with the porcupine were actually, probably, the best things that could've happened to us..."

The fox nodded, as well, "Because it made the people on their side...look just as bigoted and homophobic as them."

"And not just look. Feel," the raccoon added. "Because, yeah: they don't want to APPEAR as bad as those people, but they desperately want to believe they're better than that, too. And when they're already on the fence...when they don't really see a problem with supporting us, but they're just too apathetic to care? That little threat to their self-image-"

"-or public image...."

"...is all the motivation they need."

~

(December 31st)

There are these two clichés.

'They picked up right where they left off, like nothing had changed.' Someone is reunited with a long-lost friend, family member, or lover, and it's like their entire relationship was never interrupted. They fall back into the same, old, established rhythms, with the same old jokes, references, and stories. Like they time traveled from a point years earlier, and with no new life experiences having shaped them and their world views, in any way, in between. It was a fanciful notion. But not much worse than the alternative...

'They'd become strangers.' Someone, instead, is reunited with a long-lost loved one, and everything has changed. Over the years, they've grown so far apart that they have nothing left in common. They live different lives in different worlds. Their experiences have molded them and steered them in vastly different directions. And all the interests they shared, all the love they once felt, and all the common experiences that used to tie them together? Gone. Anything and everything they once had is irrevocably erased. Perhaps this cliché was more likely. But if they were close enough, shouldn't something remain?

And so for Kristoff, neither held true.

For ten years, he and Stephen had been kept apart. They hadn't seen one another, hadn't phoned, and hadn't even spoken through text, online. In the decade, since, Kris had raised a son, and Stephen had moved across the country. Kris's life had become his family and his home: dinners around the kitchen table, school report cards, and a savings account for Elliot's eventual college tuition. Stephen's life had become his activism: working for gay rights organizations, politicians' campaign staffs, and with the media. Kris had taken the bisexuality he used to secretly accept, and stored it away where it would never matter, until his son brought it back out. Stephen had taken the bisexuality he used to vocally deny, used to claim was only experimentation, and learned to embraced it: admitting who he had always been and forgiving himself for his wasted years and his wasted opportunities.

They'd changed. Of course, they'd changed. They lived different lives in different worlds. But they were not strangers. They still came from the same small town. They still shared so many precious memories. They still remembered so many little inside jokes. They couldn't pick up where they left off, but they weren't strangers. They just had to figure out how they fit into one another's lives...now that so much time had passed.

And that was what tonight was.

Stephen had called it a celebration. Billy had called it a date. But for Kris, it was simply the answer to a question. Who were they, now, to one another? Who could they be? What WOULD they be when the media campaign came to an end? When Stephen flew away.

Of course, at first he didn't even want to agree to it.

Celebration, Stephen said! But celebrating what? It was New Year's Eve: another holiday Robyn had stolen from him. Elliot was still gone. Talk of criminal charges were long behind them, at least, but the final decision over the custody battle loomed ever closer...and looked ever bleaker. And no matter how optimistic James and Stanley were, the media campaign still seemed like a pointless stalemate at best...and an inescapable quagmire at worst.

But then...Billy called it a date. Stephen, Aaron, and Billy all ganged up on poor Kristoff. This night of celebration was exactly what he needed, they said. He couldn't spend another holiday locked up in his room staring at a picture of Elliot. He couldn't keep wallowing and brooding. He needed a moment's distraction. And what better than a date?

But then...that was the question. Was that really what this was? A date? Kris and Stephen had never even gone on a date in high school. They'd never allowed their relationship to become 'that gay.' Was this even something they were capable of? Who were they to one another, now? Were they even still friends? Really? Could they possibly be something more? Would it even matter when the kangaroo flew home?

"Are you okay, Toffy?"

The husky looked up from his empty plate, and his eyes focused in on the restaurant around him: on the walls, tables, and sparsely seated customers of the Bacchanalian. And he flashed an embarrassed smile at the kangaroo opposite him, "Sorry. I was just...thinking..."

"About?"

"Oh, nothing," he answered dismissively, only to roll his eyes and add: "And everything..."

Stephen sighed and offered his old friend a gentle smile, "You're not enjoying yourself, are you?"

"No! No, I am. Really," Kristoff assured him. "It's just...weird, you know? I never thought you and I would be doing something like this."

"You mean a date?" the kangaroo tilted his head. "You didn't?"

"Of course not. I mean: back in high school we were both so..."

"Yeah, I know," he nodded.

"...and then for the last fifteen years, I've been..."

"Yeah," he chuckled, lightly, "I know that, too."

And Kris took a breath, leaning in to look his date in the eye, "Well, did...did YOU ever think we would?"

"Go on a date?" Stephen shrugged. "Haven't we, already?"

"What? When?" the husky recoiled.

"Come on, Toffy. How many movies did we go see? Just me and you? No Billy, or Rimmer, or Josh...?"

"W-well..."

"Or, how many times did we eat out together, even if it was just fast food?"

"Uhm..."

And finally, Stephen lowered his voice and leaned in, as well, "And how many times did we end up naked together afterward?"

"Oh God," Kristoff's head dropped in shame, "we were dating for years."

"Now if your question is: did I ever think we'd have the balls to actually CALL it that? Yes and no." The kangaroo's finger touched the bottom of his friend's chin, lifting up his gaze, "In a way, though, I always wanted you to be the one who finally did it."

"Oh...oh I couldn't have done that," Kris shook his head.

"Why? Because I wouldn't have liked it? Because I was too scared to admit what I was? That's exactly why it would've needed to be you."

And the husky looked down, again, "Sorry I disappointed you."

"No. Please don't apologize. It wasn't your job to open my eyes. And if we'd ever admitted what we really were to one another, back then...our lives would be very different now." Stephen tapped the table, "And besides! You got a son out of the deal. One I hope to see again, soon. So it all worked out like it was supposed to."

Did it?

"What we really were to one another?" Kristoff looked back up with a smirk, "Sounds like an L word's hiding in their somewhere."

"Sounds like," the kangaroo smirked back.

"What about since then? What about the last decade? Did you ever think about this? Ever think about..."

"About you?"

"Yeah."

"More than I'd like to admit," Stephen sighed. "And for longer than I'd like to admit, too. I knew you had a wife, though. I believed we'd never see each other, again. So, it was all...nostalgia and libido. Hopeful fantasies of revisiting the past."

"So how's it working out for you, now that it's really happening?"

"Not sure," he smiled his gentle smile, again, and looked the husky in the eye. "How's it working out for you?"

"Depends. Are we talking nostalgia or libido?"

The kangaroo let out a belt of laughter in response, but offered no real reply. Instead, he simply lifted his wrist, glanced at his watch, and asked: "You done? It's getting close to midnight."

And Kris quickly looked at his own watch, too, "Oh! Shit. It is." He turned in his seat and waved across the restaurant at their waiter: the lithe, little, rainbow-painted friend of the family, "Nikki!"

Stephen handled the bill -- he'd always taken a more traditionally masculine role -- and they were off. Into Kristoff's car, and on their way to the lake. The drive was short, the parking was a nightmare, and the beach was crowded. But there were only the two of them and a tiny blanket. They weren't dragging along children, and food, and supplies. And they found a nice cozy place in the grass without too much hunting.

They laid out the old plaid blanket. They settled in atop it side-by-side and silent amidst the chatter of the New Year's crowd. They waited for the show to start. And even in the crisp, sharp December -- soon-to-be-January -- air, Kristoff felt warm. For a few blessed moments, he closed his eyes and let the world be as it should. He let himself feel comfortable and safe. He let this night become the beautiful, nostalgic memory he would no doubt look back on for years to come. He let himself feel loved and wanted in a way that Robyn had never made him feel. It didn't matter if the kangaroo beside him was only a friend. It didn't matter whether or not this moment was romantic or platonic. It didn't matter where Stephen would be in a few weeks' time. He was back with his best friend. Despite everything else, he'd found reason to be happy, even if only for a night. And that was enough.

A weight pressed against his shoulder, and he opened his eyes. Caramel fur. Long, pointed ears. Stephen's head on his shoulder. The husky blinked in momentary surprise. Stephen was always so dominant. So masculine. Seeing him take up such a vulnerable, submissive posture was a bit unexpected. But it was warm. It was comforting. And as Kris leaned his own head to the side, on top of his friend's...he felt loved...whether that's really what it was, or not.

And then Stephen's voice tickled his ear. Soft. Unsure. Words that had been in Kristoff's head all night...

"I know it's been a long time. I know our lives are...are very different now. I'm not sure if we're even the same people we were back then. I'm not sure...who we can be to one another now." Slowly, the husky lifted his head, looking down at the kangaroo's closed eyes as his friend went on, "And I don't know if it even matters anymore, but I want you to know that all throughout high school...through all our time together. I may have never said it out loud but..." he paused with a breath, "I always did, Kristoff."

Kristoff. Not Toffy.

"Did what?" the husky asked, breathlessly...

...as Stephen opened his eyes and lifted his head nose-to-nose with his dear, old friend, "I always loved you."

Fireworks whistled and cracked, rising over the lake, and shattering into a thousand shimmering shards of light. The water's surface sparkled in a rainbow of color. The beach flashed like a strobe light all around them. And their eyes closed. Their muzzles parted and pressed. Fire danced in the sky as their tongues danced between their lips.

Stephen worked in the media. Kristoff imagined how he might have planned this whole thing. The final closing shot of a gaudy romantic comedy. And as he synched his arms tight around his long-lost kangaroo, he thought...

...maybe some clichés aren't so bad.

~

And Sibirskaia continues...

* This particular chapter (and the rest of Sibirskaia) was written entirely by Oloroso Rhone. But it was based on characters and story lines I created jointly with my friend Phil Anthro Pist

If you'd like to go say hi to Phil, he's got an account on here at http://phil-anthro-pist.sofurry.com/ *

The media campaign finally seems to be paying off, and things, slowly, seem to be working out for out heroes in Sibirskaia! Will & Kiliona, Brandon, Nikki, and Kris's interviews all seemed to go much better than those that had come before. Kris has reconnected with his former best friend in a major way! Brandon seems to have finally gotten past all of his baggage. It looks like James's anti-bullying reform is going to pass. And even Robyn seems shaken and softened!

But what happens now? There are still many hurdles to jump. How are Hunter and Elliot handling their new single lives? What is going to come of Kris & Robyn's divorce and custody battle? What of Will and Aaron's careers? And though they've been promised a victory at the school board...it hasn't actually happened until it happens. Two chapters left! Who will come out on top? Find out in Sibirskaia 29, or "Taking the Stage" Part 3!

Thanks for reading! I welcome any feedback. Comment or PM me here, add me on skype, or email me at theottercoon[at]gmail.com

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See you around for the final 2 chapters of Sibirskaia!