FSE

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The echoes of an explosion reverberated around Alyssa's apartment. It rocked the dining room table and set the pictures rattling in their frames on the walls. Grandmother teetered in her urn on the mantle. She'd fallen off last week, and Alyssa had spent an unpleasant afternoon sweeping as much of her as she could from the faded carpet. With barely a thought, she steadied the copper urn on its unsteady base. Everything else that could fall already had, and had been packed away until times were better.

Better, that was the operative word. Times had never been good. Good was what the Upworlders had. No, they'd never been good, but they'd been better. She used to be able to sleep through a night without being woken by gunfire. She used to be able to have friends by for dinner. She used to be able to walk to the market for fresh bread and vegetables alone. They hadn't been good times, but they had been better.

Alyssa checked the hooks on which Rigby and Tomas hung. They had fallen when it all started, too, but their frames were sturdy, and the carpet was soft. She'd re-sunk the hooks into wall studs behind the plasterboard and hung the pictures by sturdy wire to prevent them from falling again. They still rattled in their frames, two smiling coyotes that were so similar that they were almost identical. They were stuck together, immobilized and immortal. They would have liked that. Her brothers had always been close.

The ringing echo of the explosion finally faded. For minutes after, she could hear silence. It was always quieter after a blast. At least there was that. Her neighbors to one side had always been Moaned up and playing music too loud to sleep through, but the explosions had silenced that. Noisy places had a habit of attracting attention, and even the junkies knew well enough to keep their heads low. Anyway, there hadn't been any Moan since it had started, even for people with connections like her neighbors.

A chirpy voice sang a soaring pop-aria. Feeling guilty even though there was no one in the room to see her shame, Alyssa slapped her palm down on her phone. It continued to vibrate beneath her fingers, but at least the serenade had ceased. Excited beneath her nervous blush, she pulled it close before she flipped open the lid. The display was cracked, but she could still see the letters underneath. "Charles", it read. It was him.

"Still home, Lyss?"

She nodded her head as if there were someone else present. Dexterous fingers danced over the keypad as she rushed a response.

"Yes"

Once she'd sent off that message, she started on a longer response. She didn't want him to think that she'd gone, or been hurt, or worse.

"Another boom. Not 2 close. U still sure you won't go home?"

Minutes ticked by. Alyssa stared at her phone, willing him to see sense. He needed to not be here, right now. It was a mess. There were juiced-up kids in the street with high-powered rifles. It didn't matter if you were a Faction soldier or an innocent local. If they didn't recognize the cut of your ears, you were fair game.

The phone buzzed again. "Coming here wasn't my choice in the first place. Now that I'm here anyway, there's no way I'm leaving without visiting you."

Alyssa felt pleased. It was a guilty pleasure. He could be killed out there, and it'd be her fault. No, she reminded herself, not really. He said he had to be here, and she had just been serendipitous luck. It didn't feel that way, though. It felt like he'd traveled all the way out here to her little neck of the woods just to steal a moment with her, danger be damned. It made her flush just thinking about it.

"Door locked, but open it if u call my name." She knew he hated it when she abbreviated and shortened her words. She did it now, not because she didn't know better, but because she liked the way he'd sigh and send her a scowling emoticon. On the few nights she'd been able to call him, he'd sounded smart and metropolitan, just as proper and exact as the texts he sent. When she read the messages he'd sent, her mind read them in his voice.

"Understood. I'll be there soon. I can't wait to see how beautiful you are." She hugged the phone to her chest, then placed it back on the table. She'd finally get to meet him. Her mind drew pictures for her to enjoy while she waited. At first, she'd thought he was a businessman. She'd imagined him in a smart jacket and tie, hefting a briefcase and a palmtop computer that handled all his professional contacts. In that fantasy, though, he always had a ratty old phone, the one he messaged her from. He seemed more real that way, more believable, and it amused her to think that she was perhaps his guilty pleasure, his wild escape from the world of dollars and cents.

But recently, that image had fled in favor of a new one. No business executive like would let himself be bullied into being dropped into a war zone. Anyway, he hadn't just been sent here, but his job was here. Downtown had never had much of a thriving business sector--it'd been mostly local stores and companies. No, instead she imagined him as an intrepid war journalist, with a neat little hand-held video camera close to his fingers at all times. He'd be here recording the plight of the rebels, disorganized and inexperienced, fighting to save their homeland from the invading Faction soldiers. She pictured him with an eccentric hat fit between stylish ears and a pen gripped in hand. She hadn't seen anything in print that wasn't on a digital display since her childhood--and even then it'd been a dinosaur--but somehow the image of him with ink-stained fingers was appealing.

But she wouldn't have to imagine much longer now. He'd be here soon, and things would be better again. Maybe not good, no, but better. She imagined her little home, with the old stained carpet replaced, and blessed silence for once. Well, perhaps not complete silence. Some kids would be playing down in the street, but at least they wouldn't be carrying rifles. It was a fantasy, she knew, but she imagined life without the blasts--without having to sweep grandmother up off the floor, or catch Tomas and Rigby before they fell and their frames shattered again.

And there was Charles, shuffling around half-naked in the morning. Creeping up behind her to steal a good-morning kiss and scare her half senseless. Was it too much to ask that he be handsome? Look at me, getting ahead of myself, she caught herself. We've done nothing but chat, and here I am imagining him like a piece of furniture to adorn the hall. A naked piece of furniture, the sexiest and most desirable one in the district...

She forcibly reigned herself in. That was no way to think about him before he arrived. Anyway, she knew he'd be here soon. He'd be here soon...

With a sudden burst of panic, she scampered into the kitchen. There were dirty plates, and she hadn't set the table yet. What had she been thinking? He'd be here soon, and all she'd have to show him was a dusty flat with drywall flakes knocked loose by the explosion dusting the carpet and an unkempt kitchen! What would he think of her?

With her arms wrist-deep in tepid water (it hadn't been hot in weeks) she paused when she heard a knock at the door.

"Lyss?"

It was him. She grabbed a faded dish towel and wrung her hands. They were shaking.

"Alyssa?" He knocked again.

She dashed to the dining room that adjoined the front of her flat. Passing the mirror above her mantle place, she stopped. Was that really her? What was he going to think? She was almost boyishly cute for a coyote, an almost identical match for her brothers hanging in their frames. But older, whereas their pictures would stay forever youthful. Worse, today she wasn't nearly so photo-perfect. Her fur was speckled grey with crumbled plaster. There were small but noticeable bags beneath her eyes--she hadn't had a truly good night of sleep in weeks. Even her whiskers and ears betrayed her with a slight droop.

"Alyssa? Is everything okay in there?"

There was no time to worry. He was here, and, well, whatever happened, happened. She licked her palm and smoothed back her whiskers, then she took the last few steps to the front door. Fumbling at the locks, she threw the door open.

Then five stunned seconds later, she threw the door closed again.

Charles knocked again, and she heard his voice from the other side. "Look, Lyss, I know it's a shock, but please, open the door."

He wasn't a reporter. No, he wasn't a businessman either. No, no... He'd been gorgeous alright. Handsome and tall, muscled and lithe with that fantastically rangy coyote look. His soldier's fatigues hung just right. And for that spark of personality she craved, his ears had stuck out at slightly wrong angles from the military cap that fit over his head, and staring out at her from above the hat's brim like an evil third eye had been the Faction insignia.

"No... No, Charles, tell me I didn't see what I just saw." She whispered, though it must have been loud enough for him to hear from the other side of the door, because she heard a thump as he leaned against it.

"I know, I should have told you before now. I'm sorry, alright."

No, it was not alright. He was a soldier. He was Faction. He was one of them, landing on her peaceful little town and killing all the men, and making the boys take up their rifles like toys, and... "No. Go away, Charles." Her voice was calm. Soft. Why was her voice so calm? It shouldn't be. She wasn't.

"Lyss, I didn't tell you earlier because I was afraid you'd lock me out. Just like this. Please, open the door."

"Open it? So you can do what? Come in and kill me?" By the end of the sentence, she heard her voice cracking. Alyssa put her back to the door and slowly sank to the ground. She hugged her knees tight to her chest.

It was long moments before Charles responded. "Kill you? Lyss, we've been friends and... Well, friends, for months now. Why would I want to kill you?"

"Isn't that what you do? You're a soldier, Charles. A god damnedFactionsoldier!"

She heard another thump against the door, then fabric sliding. Charles was on the other side, and his voice muffled a bit. He let out a sigh that echoed strangely in the hallway. "Yes. Okay, you're right. I'm a soldier, Lyss, but we're not monsters. We're here to-"

"You're here to kill!" Alyssa jammed her elbows back against the door, and it was with some satisfaction that she heard Charles jump on the far side of the wooden divide. "Soldiers don't get sent to district worlds to be nice and hand out fucking ice cream." She covered her face. This wasn't real. This wasn't happening.

"I'm not here to kill. We're not here to... Dammit, Lyss, open this door, I-"

"Or you'll what? Shoot it down?"

"I'm not even..." The voice muffled again, then he whispered against the door. "I'm not armed, Lyss. I don't have a gun."

"Go home, Charles." She whispered back. "Go home. This isn't the place for you." It had been, right up until he'd shown up in in that uniform. Oh, he was so gorgeous, so tempting, but that Unified Faction insignia on his shoulder... If he crossed the doorway into the room, Alyssa half expected Grandmother to rise from her urn and slay him. Then slay Lyss for letting it happen.

"Home?" He whispered against the door, as quiet as she was. "Home is so far away you can't see it even on a dark night here. Home is a dot in a telescope. Not even that. Home isn't anymore, Lyss. This is home."

"This isn't your home." She growled. "You aren't wanted here."

"You invited me, Lyss. You wanted me here." He wasn't shouting, but she could have heard him from across the room. He was getting angry.

"I didn't invite a murderer here, Charles. You're... You're not you!"

"You mean I'm not who you expected? What did you expect, Lyss? Who else would feel safe enough to come visit you, all the way out here? The rebels don't dare shoot at me. They're afraid we'll call fire down on them. Hell, they're spending more time shooting at locals and each other than they are 'rebelling' against the Faction."

"Shut your lying mouth." She wouldn't let him speak to her fears. She knew he was right, but she wouldn't take that, not from him. "They've got a cause. That's more than your damn Faction has ever given us." There was silence from the other side of the door for so long that she thought he'd gone away while she was speaking. Or maybe he'd fallen asleep. Or maybe the ground had opened up and swallowed him.

"I have a cause, Lyss." His voice was quiet again. "My parents were on the Omaha."

Memories flooded back. It'd been years ago, before all of this insanity had started. It'd been an isolated incident, far offworld somewhere between the stars. There'd been a hastily sent message from the super-starliner Omaha, with a hundred thousand tourists and holiday-makers on board. "This is for home and this is for freedom," a scraggly looking jackal in the message had said. "This is for the people of my district who never had a voice. Well, hear us now." And then there'd been nothing.

It'd taken almost a year to confirm what had happened, but when debris that had scattered in an arc wider than the space covered by an entire solar system had been recovered, it only confirmed what had been initially suspected. Five rebels, just five insane lunatics calling themselves freedom fighters, had caused the deadliest and most costly starliner wreck in remembered history. Alyssa had watched the interviews with the scientists that had explained in detail what happened, how safeties had been overridden, and things done to the engines. Most of it had been far too technical for her to really grasp. What she understood is that everyone had died. This was space; there were no survivors.

"They were on their way to Cassiopeia for their anniversary." Charles' voice hitched a bit as he spoke, but he bullied his way through. Alyssa couldn't interrupt. He was too sincere, the pain too raw. She could tell, even separated as they were by inches of unyielding wood.

"I don't have any brothers or sisters, Lyss, and my grandparents died before I was born. Can you imagine the-" His voice stopped. "I guess you can. Probably anyone here in the district can. But they meant the world to me, Lyss. Mom was smart. Brilliantly smart. She thought the schools were too weak, too slow, so she taught me math before it even came up in class. I ended up looking like the bright kid in class even when I'm not really."

"Charles, I don't-"

"No, let me speak. If you don't want me here after I've had my say, Lyss, I'll go. But don't you dare deny me my right to be here."

Her ears folded down, though when she remembered that he couldn't see her, she gave voice to her momentary submission. "Okay."

"Lyss, I'm a soldier, so if I need to, I'll... I can do my job. But as I was about to say, my dad was a doctor, and I've carried on in his footsteps. I wish I could make sure that everyone's boys get to go home from this. Failing that, I'm here to save who I can. That means your local boys too, stupid as they are about it."

She didn't mean to snort in derision, but it bypassed her brain and escaped from her throat regardless. He must have heard from the far side of the door, because he chuckled.

"Don't lie, Lyss. You've told me in great detail just how stupid you think they are. You can't go back on that now."

He was right. Damn him. What right did he have to be right about the local boys? He'd come all the way out here to kill-

No, that wasn't fair. If he was telling the truth (and only if!) then he was as much to thank for them coming home after the Faction's wrath had visited them.

"It's not fair, Charles." She whispered just loud enough for him to hear.

"No, it's not. But... Look, Lyss, can you open the door, please? Your neighbors are giving me some funny looks out here."

She stood and opened the door. His uniform was almost as much of a shock this time as it had been the first time. She steeled herself, then stood aside for him to enter.

"You've come all this way, it'd be disrespectful not to offer you a meal before you return."

He nodded shortly and strode in. She caught a strong whiff of him as he passed. She could smell foreign chemicals on him, bleach and chlorine and other cleaning agents, plus a hundred she couldn't identify. There was also blood, his or someone else's, she couldn't tell. It was old, and it'd been cleaned and covered up with chemicals, but she had a smart nose. He was just as alien as she'd feared.

Yet beneath all that Faction other-ness, he smelled earthy, and male. That was... Comforting. And he was everything she'd dreamed of, when she'd imagined him adorning the room wearing nothing but... Well, nothing. Gorgeous tan fur, a sharp, incisive muzzle, ears that flicked to-and-fro with every evidence of alertness. If only he hadn't arrived wearing that damn insignia, the same one she'd seen burning in makeshift effigies down on the street, where the local boys bled their rage into symbols and icons.

"Sit, I will bring food." She gestured to the table.

"Lyss, I can help. Just tell me what to do and I'll-"

"It isn't done, Charles. You're in my house, now these are my customs. I'm both a female and the host; I will bring you your meal." When he declined to comment further, she went into the kitchen. The meal was all she could scrape together from her ravaged larder-local bread, dried and smoked meats, and pickled cabbage. She arranged it as pleasingly as she could on faded stoneware plates.

His eyes never left her as she walked back into the front room. "It's simple, but it's the best I can offer, given the times."

"Then it's more than enough." He took a bite from a piece of bread and chewed with transparent enjoyment. "All we get down on base is rehydrated and repackaged slop from off-planet." She flinched when he mentioned the military, and he had the decency to look apologetic.

She stood while he dug into his meal. She couldn't watch him. It was giving her ideas. She knew her emotions were being driven by hormones, but he wasn't the demon she'd expected every Faction soldier to be. Instead, she turned to Tomas and Rigby. They would give her comfort, they always did.

"Are they your brothers?"

She flinched again. He must have good eyes if he can see the similarities in the pictures from the table. Or, no, it's just basic deduction. Who else would she have pictures of on her walls? She considered lying, but couldn't see how it would help.

"Yes. That's Tomas, and that's Rigby."

He paused in his chewing and swallowed audibly. He had the manners not to speak with his mouth full. "Are they down in the streets, in the resistance? That would explain why-"

"No!" He stopped at her vehement refusal. "Well, yes, but... They were."

"Oh." When she looked back, his ears had fallen, and he couldn't meet her gaze. There, now he understood.

"They were good boys, Charles. They always obeyed Papa, and were kind to strangers. Little Tomas, he was a wonder with the animals, back when we had animals, and Rigby was a musician. He would play for local men when they were all down in their drinks. We were all a happy family back when things were better. Go on, eat up. I'd hate to think that all that food went to waste."

Charles stared guiltily down at his plate. He picked up and chewed half-heartedly at a strip of smoked meat.

"They were my brothers, Charles. They didn't deserve..." She put her hand against the wall and shielded her eyes. "They didn't-" She was going to say it before things fell apart again. Charles needed to know that they were good people before. "They didn't deserve to be-"

There was a scrape of the chair and strong arms wrapped around her from behind as she started to cry. It'd been two years since they'd been caught. It wasn't normally so bad, but Charles had brought it all back with him, like two ghosts hanging over his shoulder.

"Lyss, oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"No." She wheezed out. The tears were bitter, but quick. "No, you couldn't have. They were just two more idiots down on the street, burning Faction flags and pointing guns around like they expected them to solve all their problems."

He held her tightly and let her finish. It was cathartic; she hadn't had someone on whom she could rely and trust for years. Even if the shoulder she was crying onto bore a Faction insignia, well, who was there to see it?

"Lyss," Charles' voice whispered in her ear. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring all this back. I should go."

His arms started to slack around her, but she caught his wrists and pulled them tight. "No. Please, stay. I'm sorry for how I treated you when you arrived. It was unkind."

"I should have said something. I was just so afraid you'd shut me out, and I'd never get the chance to explain."

"You'd have been right." She turned in his grasp and snuggled her muzzle into his neck. This close, the chemical tang to his scent disappeared, and all she could smell was coyote. She closed her eyes and lost herself in his aura of calm. Slowly, the vague anticipation crept back, slinking along under the radar until she finally felt... Better. Not good, but at least she felt better. Maybe even she'd let some of those fantasies, dreamed before she'd known Charles' allegiance, play through her mind. Let herself remember why it was she'd wanted him here beforehand. In them, he'd lower his muzzle, just like he was doing now, and he'd know that she was ready to-

Then the world went momentarily white.

The echoes of sound more felt than heard reverberated off of achingly thin walls, and even the floor rocked in sympathy with the tortured frame of her building. Plasterboard dust rained down on them as the walls rattled and bucked. It was as if the inanimate had been given life, as the abandoned silverware meandered off of the table and onto the carpet, followed closely by the stoneware plate with the remnants of Charles' forgotten meal.

Alyssa knew where her priorities lay. She spun, still half entangled with Charles' arms, and reached out to stabilize Tomas and Rigby's frames. It was favoritism, she knew as soon as she caught them before even their modified hooks let go. She had only so many pairs of hands. Just enough for her brothers, but not enough for Grandma.

But Grandmother seemed to have acquired a new champion. She perched precariously in Charles' hands, teetering on the edge of the mantle just millimeters from spilling into the carpet again. With an apologetic grimace, Charles tipped the urn back onto its unsteady feet as the rumbles from the explosion passed as quickly as they came.

"Thank you, Charles." She meant it. He didn't know how much her family meant to her, he couldn't... Well, she thought as she remembered his story, maybe he could.

"That really was close." He shook his head. "I should get back to base, there's going to be more wounded coming in, and-"

Alyssa lifted a hand a put her finger to his lips. "No, silly soldier. You should stay right here." She brushed the fine mist of plasterboard from the bridge of his muzzle, then she kissed him.

Her ears started ringing, and she couldn't honestly say that it was because of the recent explosion. It was just a kiss--just a silly little meeting of lips, yet everything felt as if she'd been caught too close to a blast. The room span comfortably, and her head swam through the ringing silence. It was electric, and explosive, and a betrayal. Generations of district-bred hatred had manifested in her, yet all she could feel was a heat rising from her belly that made her fur stand on end.

This should be wrong. Everything she'd been raised with told her to stop--to refuse and resist. She could feel the combined weight of her family's scorn descending on her. The first male she'd invited up to her achingly lonely house, and he was Faction. He should be vile and demonic, horns and scales and the smell of burning and the taste of sulphur. Instead, he tasted slightly salty and there was something waxy about his lips--maybe lip balm to keep them from cracking in the hot district days.

When they finally separated, Charles was gazing at her. There was a question there, one he was too polite to ask out loud. She understood. It was the same question that, if she hadn't seen that gaze, she'd be asking herself. Should we? Can we? Is it okay if I?

Alyssa didn't stop to think. Thinking would ruin the moment, and she might come up with a reason she couldn't. She freed one hand and reached to the wall behind her. With careful, familiar love, she turned the pictures of Tomas and Rigby against the wall. Oh, how they would hate her for today. But they'd been idiots. Headstrong kids waving their rifles around and burning effigies to a cause they didn't really believe in. But after all, they were still her brothers, and they didn't deserve to see this.

She turned back to Charles. He had a bemused look on his face that he was too smart to give a voice to. She reached out and pulled him close. Whereas before it'd just been a hug, a tentative show of support, now she let it become more. Her hips closed with his, and even through layers of rough fabric, she could feel that he was hard. Desperately hard.

He fumbled with her skirt, but she pulled his hands away. He grinned sheepishly, then let her lead. When she unfastened his belt and tugged at the buttons of his trousers, he gave a gasp. She shook her head. He'd always seemed so competent when they'd begun to be intimate online and in chat, so in-control. She'd never imagined that he'd be so fresh and inexperienced.

She didn't fumble when she removed his fatigues. They were left in an untidy lump on the floor. Finally free from his Faction accoutrements, Alyssa finally allowed herself to look with all the pent up need and longing nestled within her fantasies. He was gorgeous. Now that her eyes weren't constantly being drawn to the insignia on his shoulder, she could drink in his lanky frame, long sinewy limbs and thin body overlaid with just the right amount of lean muscle. The soldier's lifestyle must not have given itself to body fat, because there wasn't even a hint of paunch around Charles' midsection.

And he was excited. It felt somehow wrong to be standing in her family's lounge and admiring a naked male with such a hungry eye, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. Not after it'd been so long, and after her family had left her with nothing but portraits on the wall and an urn on the mantle. This was her time now, and she was going to be selfish. She wanted Charles. She wanted every inch of that gorgeous coyote that was standing so cutely innocent and perfect in her lounge.

She took his hand and pulled him close. It only took one hand to unfasten her knee-high jeans, and a quick shrug to let her undergarment sink past her knees. She grabbed for Charles, and he let out an anxious whine that bordered on desperate. He pushed her to the wall with his body. She could barely breathe. It felt better than she'd felt in... No, it wasn't just better, it was good.

Good, the way he bit at the side of her neck as he growled. Good, the way he prodded slickly at her as his hips rolled. Good, the way his hands caught her thighs and lifted her off the floor, pinning her to the wall in his excitement. His fingers tugged at her fur, and she felt carefully clipped nails dragging through her pelt. He pressed and throbbed against her wetly, first against the inside of her thigh, then against her lower belly. Her fur cooled where he left wet patches. Then she felt the sensation of smooth flesh against flesh, then a slight stretching along with a smooth, silky rush.

Her body gave an involuntary shiver as their hips met. Charles stopped moving for a moment. He gave a soft whine, and she felt him tense. He didn't feel good anymore. He felt great. He filled her perfectly, twitching and throbbing fitfully. His tongue found one ear and pulled it into his muzzle. It was an intoxicating feeling, enough to make her head spin with delight. Hot breath streamed around the delicate webbing of her ears, accompanied by soft vocalizations of Charles' pleasure.

The pace was slow, tender. Every time he pressed himself to her he paused, as if in a recurring state of surprise at the way she tugged and gripped around him. For her part, Alyssa dug her claws into his rump cheeks, squeezing each time the glorious sensation of being full made her fingers and toes curl. She felt liquid, hot and slick, dripping down from where their bodies joined, soaking her rump and tail.

She rolled her head back against the wall, touching the bridge of her muzzle to the drywall. This was better than she'd imagined it could be. It should feel bad. It should be symbolic; the rape of the district's people by the evil Faction's soldiers. She should cry. She should scream.

So she did. "Charles!" It felt divine--no, not heavenly. Hers was a religious family, and this was nothing she wanted to share with her family. It felt devilishly good. Sinfully good. It should be wrong to feel like this. It should be criminal. Was this to be her little rebellion? Yes, she thought. That's exactly what this is. I'm a whole new breed of revolutionary, and my little personal empire begins here. Now.

Charles responded as she called his name by biting her ear and growling. Alyssa went rigid, losing control as she started to shiver. The walls seemed to crash down around her, and her ears stung as if an explosion had been set off in her living room. Her soldier grunted, and she felt him twitch and shudder inside her. It was beautiful, velvety and soft, and at the same time rough as the growl that echoed in her ears. His smell had changed. He was much stronger now, and musky. The smell of sterile chemicals was so overpowered by his sweat and musk and sex that all that was alien and foreign about him seemed to slough from her memory.

He shifted, and a rough tongue lapped at the inside of her ear. She giggled and batted at his muzzle. It felt unique. Not the licking, although that was interesting as well. No, the laugh. It had been a long time since she'd had a reason to giggle. It made her feel childish.

"Oh, god-"

Alyssa put her finger to his lips. "Don't say that." Then she leaned up and kissed him again. "Did it feel like the ground moved for you too, Charles?"

He shifted about. It tugged at her in the most intimate of ways. He'd tied. She felt wonderfully full, and maybe just a little sore. He laid his muzzle next to hers and panted softly. "Well, yes, but it might have been the explosion."

She blinked blankly at him.

"I'm sorry, there was no way I could get over to catch it. Not with, well, you know." He gave a little tug with his hips. She looked where he was gesturing. Laying on its side in her faded carpet was Grandmother's urn. It wasn't catastrophic as it had been last time, but at least a little of the black ash had escaped and was coloring the gray rug.

She buried her muzzle in his shoulder. She must have missed it, or perhaps it had blended in with the fireworks in her skull. Oh, Grandma, I've let it happen again. She should feel sorry, but instead she felt a little exasperated. She'd finally had a little moment to herself, and here came her family again, ruining the moment.

"Don't worry, Lyss." Charles tugged at her muzzle and licked at her whiskers. "I'll help you clean up, and I won't take no for an answer this time."

"Thank you, Charles, and-" she hesitated. She might be a rebel now, but what she was about to say was nigh treasonous. "I'm sorry. For slamming the door on you, for being mean when you arrived, and for everything." She let that hang. He'd understand, wouldn't he?

"I won't accept an apology." She froze, but he continued, "Not for things you didn't do. Slamming the door, being a bitchy when I arrived, those I'll take, but everything?" He smiled at her. He did understand. "You're hardly to blame for everything."

She laid her head against his shoulder and let his embrace warm her. The sun was setting, and since the room was lit by the windows in two walls, it quickly darkened. By the time Charles had softened enough to slip free, it was dusk. She didn't say anything. Nothing really needed to be said. She felt silky as she moved along. She could still feel him inside her, sliding sensually every time she took a step. Without bothering with her jeans and underwear, she stilted her way to the kitchen and fetched the dustpan and two hand brooms. Charles accepted one, and they bent to their task.

This was love, she decided. Someone who would help you clean Grandmother up from your rug. It wasn't good yet, not completely. He still had a lot of questions to answer. And they weren't in the clear, not by far. What would they do when all this was over? Where could she, a poor coyote from the districts, go to be with him? And he still had to fight. The siege was far from over.

No, it wasn't good. But, she told herself as they pushed Grandmother upright and secured her again on the mantle, tonight it was going to be better.