FSE

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Clarissa Acheson opened her eyes and looked around the room. Nothing seemed familiar, but such was to be expected. What was it now? Day twenty-three, or was it twenty-four? She'd lost count. Sitting up, she brought her black-furred hands up to her face and wiped the sleep out of her eyes. She glanced over at the clock.

"SHIT!" she exclaimed. It was already five-thirty. She had to be dressed and in the reception line in less than an hour. Exploding into action, the vixen stripped off her jacket, blouse, skirt and underwear and tossed them on the bed. She dashed over to the bathroom. Fortunately, the hotel's bath was equipped for both a traditional and sonic shower. She chose the latter setting, grabbed a heavy brush and begin cleaning herself.

The soft, sub-sonic tones gently lifted the dirt particles from her fur which she then brushed out. Clarissa picked-up a small spray bottle from the sink and gently spritzed the liquid across her body, eliminating any unwanted scents. Switching brushes, she carefully pulled it through her long, thick, hair, adding just enough conditioner to give it the sheen and bounce she wanted.

Surveying herself in the mirror, she smiled, pleased with her appearance. Though only five foot two, not counting the ears, she had a well-proportioned and toned body. It was something she worked hard to maintain. Her hair and fur was white on white except for her tail-tip, hands and ears, which were black. Her mixed vulpine heritage of fennec and arctic fox gave her a unique, almost exotic look. A pair of simple gold earrings and some gloss on her lower lip completed the picture. Now the only question was what to wear. She turned sideways, then front again and gently pushed her breasts up and together. Yes, something soft and daring, she thought, but not too provocative.

Slipping into a pair of white, silk panties, she began going through her clothes, looking for something that fit her mood. She found it without much trouble. Clarissa examined the blue, ankle-length, sequined gown. Not only would it lift and tuck in all the right places, it was comfortable. She slipped it on easily, the memory fabric adjusting precisely as she ordered.

Picking up her clothing from the bed, she smoothed it out and hung it up, then paused. Gently, she reached into the closet and removed a medium blue satin dress complete with cape. She had not remembered packing it. She looked at it for a long, quiet moment as her mind went back to the last time she'd worn it, almost two years ago.

A face swam into view, that of a wolf with a winning smile and tired, slightly haunted eyes. She ran her hands almost reverently along the fabric, smiling, and whispered a name. "Bron." She started to replace the dress in her wardrobe then a thought crossed her mind. Claire removed the cape and held it against her dress. The differences in color and texture were subtle enough that the two pieces matched. She quickly clipped the cape into place and examined herself in the mirror. Perfect! She would wear it as a tribute to him. After all, his inspiration was responsible for her being here this evening. She happily gathered her purse, slipped on a pair of dress shoes and exited the hotel room.

* * * *

"You're late!" whispered her publicist. Claire calmly looked at the female raccoon skeptically. Colleen Petrel was one of those young, enthusiastic interns within the media industry who never seemed to rest or run out of energy. Standing only three inches taller than Claire, she had medium gray fur all round, save for the lighter gray flash than ran down the front of her neck, chest and abdomen. Black stripes ringed her tail, and black fur covered the tips of her ears, her hands and masked her eyes. Though not as curvaceous as her employer, Colleen had the naturally slim figure that many supermodels would kill to possess. Her ebony hair was done up in a tight, professional looking bun. The reading glasses perched on her muzzle made her look more like a librarian than the vamp she could be. The fact she was wearing a simple, yet stylish ankle-length dress with a minimum of jewelry only enhanced the effect.

"How can I be late?' whispered Claire. "They haven't even opened the doors yet."

"Everyone was supposed to be in line five minutes ago. You missed the order of introductions."

"Do I look good?" asked the vixen.

"What?"

"Do I look good?"

"You look fantastic," the raccoon answered. "Why?"

"Well, then the five minutes were well spent. Besides, you were here," she replied, smiling. "Just whisper a name and point me in the right direction. I'll improvise the rest."

Colleen sighed tiredly as she slipped the vixen a small, unobtrusive ear bud. Two months working with Claire Acheson and there were still things she didn't quite understand about her. There was more she wanted to say, and would have, but she didn't get the chance. The doors to the reception hall opened and guests began filtering into the room. One by one they made their way down the reception line, shaking hands with their hosts.

The vixen was one of ten writers who had been invited to this year's annual Bestseller's Banquet. It was the public's chance to get close and personal with their favorite authors for the paltry sum of five thousand credits a plate. The money of course went to charity, making the extravagant expenditure more palatable to public sensibilities in general and tax deductible for the participants. More importantly, it was a chance for the writers to make contact with others in the media industry, thus potentially advancing their careers.

The line of guests passed rapidly. To the raccoon's surprise, Claire had already memorized most of the faces and names from the guest book, so she had little coaching to do. Things went well until almost all the guests had been greeted. At the end of the line was a youthful looking fox wearing the uniform of a soldier. As he worked his way down the line, the vixen whispered over the com link to Colleen.

"I need some help with this one... What's his name?"

The publicist skimmed through her index, then shook her head. "I don't see his name or face anywhere on the list," she quietly replied_. "He must be legit though, otherwise he wouldn't have gotten through security."_

Claire studied him as he approached. His uniform was the same as Bron's, a simple navy-blue tunic. Unlike the wolf however he wore a formal set of five medals, four in line above his left breast pocket, and one hanging just below the raised collar of his tunic. Three gold bars along his collar marked his as an officer, though the vixen wasn't certain what his official rank was. Shifting to his face she could see lines around his eyes; Lines, which, considering his youthfulness, should not have been there. His gray fur was washed and nicely groomed, but didn't have the normal sheen one would expect.

The fox approached Claire and held out his hand. Unlike the rest of his body, it was a much lighter, almost mis-matched, gray color. "Ms. Acheson?" he asked. She nodded modestly. "It's a pleasure to meet you! I've read your book and it is one of the most insightful I've ever come across!"

The vixen smiled "Thank you, mister...?"

"D'Amado... Captain Benton D'Amado, late of the 21st."

"The 21st Light Infantry? Then you must have known Sergeant Bronson Val'kiera," she said, taking his hand

"Yes, ma'am. He was my company's lead NCO."

Claire went silent for a moment or two, uncertain of what to say. "How long did you serve together?"

"Three months," the Captain replied. "He was one of the finest sergeants it has been my privilege to work with. His loss was deeply felt."

Upon hearing this, the vixen's face suddenly became somber. She looked down, letting his hand slip out of hers as she closed her eyes. It left the fox with the uncomfortable feeling he'd hit a nerve.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you..."

"No, no!" Claire responded, looking up. "It's not you. I knew Bron had died, but up until now it didn't seem... real. I mean I knew it was real, but it wasn't... I... I just didn't... really... KNOW it." She sighed, trying to wrap her thoughts around what she was saying. "That doesn't make much sense," she muttered.

Benton smiled ruefully, recognizing the slightly confused look on her face. "I know what you mean," he replied sympathetically. "It's the same kind of feeling that hits me from time to time when I think about those who've died under my command."

She gazed at his face, noting the sincerity behind the words. "It must be more difficult for you. I mean being there on the front lines and having to deal directly with the loss of a comrade."

"It's hard," he replied honestly, "but you push your way through because that's what he or she would do for you. You take care of what's important first, and save the grief, and the remembrance for later."

The vixen tilted her head slightly. "The way you said that... you sounded very much like Bron."

"I guess most of us grunts would," he chuckled. "It's a pretty simple viewpoint, though not many civilians appreciate it the way you do."

Colleen stepped forward at that moment and softly placed her hand on Claire's shoulder. "Sorry to interrupt, but everyone is taking their seats for dinner now."

The vixen looked at Captain D'Amado. "Which table are you sitting at?"

"Table thirty. I'm afraid I didn't register for the banquet until the last minute."

Claire turned to Colleen. "Do we still have room at our table?"

The raccoon shook her head. "I'm afraid we're booked," she replied. Looking between the two she smiled. "But since it looks like you both have some things to talk about, I can switch with the Captain here."

The vixen gave Colleen a quick hug and smile. "Thank-you," she whispered.

The publicist deftly switched tickets with the soldier and headed for the far table.

Claire and Benton were escorted over to one of the tables near the stage and seated next to each other. The fox courteously held the chair out for her then signaled one of the waiters. When the young fur arrived the Captain handed him several credit chits and a note he had scrawled on the back of one of his business cards. He whispered a few instructions then took his seat as other table servers began delivering the appetizers.

"What was that about?" Claire asked

"I asked him to go to the hotel's florist shop, buy your assistant a corsage and deliver it to her with my thank-you note."

"That was gallant of you," she said. "I've met a lot of males who'd take advantage of someone's courtesy without a second word or thought."

"That's not the way Mrs. D'Amado raised her sons."

"So you have a brother?"

"Four, actually," Benton replied. "Brian, Bosworth, Boman and Burleigh."

Claire chuckled. "It almost sounds like a law firm."

"Mom had a thing for alliteration," he replied, "and you're not far wrong. My brother Burleigh is a lawyer in TycoCity."

"Any of them follow you into the military?"

He shook his head. "Brian's a college professor, Borman's a doctor and Bosworth became a minister. Being the youngest, I had the fewest brains so I joined the army."

"Interesting," the vixen said. "You seem to have split the five classic professions equally between yourselves."

"Pardon?"

"The five classic professions..." Claire repeated. "Law, education, medicine, the clergy and the military."

"I'd never thought of it that way," he chuckled. "I guess we share more of our mom's sense of the esthetic than I realized."

"It must be wonderful to have come from a large family."

"It has its points. I take it you have no siblings?"

Claire shook her head and smiled. "I'm afraid I'm a third generation only child. No brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, nieces or nephews."

"Sounds like your family tree's been rather drastically pruned."

"That's an understatement. Any relatives I have are so distant I could probably marry them," she chuckled.

The two vulpines bantered lightly back and forth throughout most of the dinner, exchanging pleasantries with some of the other guests. Claire quickly discovered that Benton was both witty and gregarious. He enjoyed exchanging humorous stories with the other people at the table and when he laughed, there was s sparkle in his eyes that put everyone around them at ease.

Inevitably, the conversation turned to writing. Claire found herself discussing her own book and the inspiration that had led to its publication. She told them about meeting Bron and how he had opened her eyes to what it meant to be a soldier. The book had been her way of sharing his insights, and those of other service furs she had met, with the rest of the world. As she was talking, one of the hostesses came over to their table and whispered something to Benton. He nodded briefly, then turned to Claire and excused himself, promising he would return shortly.

The lights in the room dimmed slightly and the banquet's Master-of-Ceremonies was introduced. The speech he gave was humorous and succinct. At various points he roasted nearly all the writers being honored. Claire found herself laughing along with everyone else, even when she became the focus of his gentle jibes. As the speech ended, the vixen begin to wonder where Benton had vanished to. The answer was quick in coming.

The Awards Master stepped up to the podium. "Ladies and Gentle-furs, I'd like to take a moment to deviate slightly from this evening's program for a special presentation. With your permission, I'd like to introduce Captain Benton L. D'Amado of the Commonwealth Army."

There was a polite ripple of applause as the gray furred fox stepped forward. Claire's mouth dropped open slightly in surprise. He had assumed an utterly professional and formal manner as he unfolded and read from a piece of paper.

"Attention to Orders!" Benton paused for a moment to clear his throat. "For her contribution to and elevation of moral within the Armed Services of the Terran Commonwealth, and for the insightful, positive and uplifting quality of her book, 'Sacrifice,' through which a bridge of understanding has been created between the Military Forces and the Civilian population whom they serve, the Distinguished Service Star is hereby awarded to Claire Acheson of Terra; with the sincere gratitude of the Terran Commonwealth, its citizens and the people who serve it."

The room exploded into applause. The ovation was so unexpected that it momentarily overwhelmed the vixen's normal sense of decorum and instead of rising and walking to the podium, she simply remained seated, caught like a deer in the headlights. Fortunately, Colleen was quickly by her side, gently urging the vixen to her feet and getting her started toward the stage. Once moving however, instinct took over guiding her past the momentary faux pas.

Within moments Claire found herself standing next to Benton who was by now holding a small rectangular box. He deftly opened it and removed the decoration. It consisted of a seven pointed gold star framed by a silver wreath, attached to a red and blue ribbon. Setting the box aside he paused, searching for a way to pin it on her. The low-cut nature of her gown gave the todd an excellent, and much appreciated view of her cleavage, but made it difficult to attach the medal without bruising the decorum of the ceremony. He finally settled on pulling the edge of her cape forward enough to pin on the decoration. As he did, the back of one hand brushed lightly against Claire's fur.

The vixen noticed the inside of Benton's ears blush slightly when he secured the ribbon's clasp. A modest smile came to her lips and she fixed her eyes on his. In that instant something passed between the two furs that neither one had expected to feel. Claire felt a shiver of excitement run down her spine, momentarily ruffling her tail. Time seemed to stop as she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into his gaze.

The applause thundering in her ears quickly brought Claire back to reality and she stepped up to the podium as the todd stepped away. She wasn't truly prepared for a speech so she kept her comments brief, thanking the audience, Captain D'Amado and the military for the honor; as well as all who had served in the armed forces for the inspiration of their devotion and courage that made her book possible. Claire stepped back from the podium to another round of applause as Benton offered her his arm, and then guided her back to their table.

The program continued, first with the keynote speaker, then the award of several prizes. Through it all neither Claire nor Benton seemed to take much notice, focusing instead on each other. She told him about her life, raised in privilege and not truly appreciating its value until traveling off-earth to gather research for her graduate thesis. It had opened her eyes to how others lived, loved and laughed, even in the face of deprivation and poverty. She discovered she liked talking to people, regardless of their social standing and learned to appreciate the life lessons they had to teach. Then she met Bron.

Though they had been together for less than a week, the battle-weary soldier had helped her understand what faith and dedication could mean and how it bound people together in ways even they could not always see. She told Benton how they had met, how his insight, his quiet pain and sacrifice, had been the inspiration for her book and its modest dedication. It was a story she had always kept close to her heart and had never told anyone else, that was until now. Somehow, talking to Benton about it seemed as natural as breathing.

Listening, the todd could only smile. He remembered standing watch one lonely evening with Sergeant Val'kiera and hearing a more modest and subdued version of the story. The sincerity of his words now rang doubly true and the fox had to marvel at the kismet which had set him up, here and now, as the staff officer assigned to present Claire with her award; just as it had played its part to bring Claire and Bron together on the same transport ship at the same time two years earlier.

"There are times," Claire said, "when I wonder if my relationship with Bron could have been more, I don't know, permanent. Since meeting him, I've always felt as if he were a very close friend. A fur I could trust and confide in without fear of negative criticism or judgement. It's just that our physical connection was so brief, so transitory. Knowing I wanted to be a writer he even joked about being two "ships" that pass in the night. I sometimes wonder if we weren't destined somehow to be together and I messed it up."

"Do you really believe that?" Benton asked. "Because unless you absolutely know something, deep within yourself, it's likely not true."

Claire thought about it a moment, then smiled. "No... It's more idle speculation on my part. Things I discuss with myself to pass the time. Deep down, I know we were intimate friends, but nothing more was there. I still miss him though."

"As do I. People like Bron are those rare, bright sparks of light that shine no matter what they themselves might be going through. They illuminate the world for us and inspire our own inner light. I know, because he made me a better officer than I might have been otherwise."

"How?"

The todd chuckled. "By threatening to kick my ass every time I came close to making a stupid mistake. He once said that a good officer always seeks out the best NCOs to work with, then listens to them, and that goes for everyone from Lieutenant to General."

Claire laughed at the image of Bron kicking some General in the ass. It seemed absolutely believable. In the background a small band had begun to play. The tune was a popular, rather melancholy song.

A thought crossed her mind. At first she hesitated putting it to voice, but eventually a deep desire to find a long delayed answer to a question she'd had brought it to the forefront of their conversation.

"I've often wondered," she whispered quietly, "how Bron died. Not the unpleasant details, but the general circumstances of what happened."

Benton became quiet and his face took on a purposefully stoic look. He sat for several long moments, stirring the cup of coaef before him. Claire became worried that she'd tread into a subject that the captain wanted to avoid. When he looked up at her though, his eyes lacked any sign of being haunted. Instead, they were full of strength.

"Our company was ordered to recon forward of the battalion's left flank and try to find out where a series of rebel outposts had been established. At first, there was no resistance. When we paused our advance, the company commander called all the platoon officers together to lay out how he wanted us to adjust our line of advance. Bron, being the company NCO was at his side. It was just then that we came under mortar attack. One round landed right in front of the command post. It killed or wounded everyone in the immediate vicinity. I remember crawling towards Bron. He was lying on his back. The last thing he did was look me straight in the eye, smile and say 'Give 'em hell, sir,' then he died. The whole thing was very quick and I could tell he felt absolutely no pain."

"I'm glad for that," the vixen whispered softly. What happened then?" Claire asked.

"I really don't remember. Every time I think back on it the whole thing feels like a dream. We moved forward as ordered and drove the rebels back, breaking their line and triggering a full on retreat. I was told afterward that I took over command of the company and led the assault, despite being wounded several more times. One of the surviving non-coms said it was the first time he'd ever seen anyone lead a charge on their hands and knees."

"How?"

"I don't know. The only thing I can say for certain was that I could feel Sergeant Bron by my side the whole time. The psych guys all think I was delusional. Maybe I was, but none of them were there. When it was over, I was bundled off to an aid station, then a hospital. I was out of it for over a week, and when I woke up, I found this thing pinned to the pillow of my bed," pointing to the medal that he now wore around his neck.

The todd noticed the intensity on Claire's face. "I'm sorry. You asked me about Bron and I wound up talking about myself."

She smiled warmly looking at Benton. Throughout the story, his voice had remained firm and controlled and his expression clear. It dispelled a vague fear she'd felt earlier in his story. Unlike Sergeant Bron before him, the captain was not broken. "Thank-you for telling me all that. Not just about Bron, but yourself as well."

He returned her smile. "I can see why you're such a good writer. You project an empathy that makes it easy for people to open up with you. You'd make an excellent shrink."

"Well, writers are supposed to understand the 'human' condition. Otherwise, we couldn't connect with our audience."

"The human condition?" Benton asked. "I've never heard that phrase before."

"An ancient, pre-evolutionary term that's still used today. It refers to the elements that make us both sentient and emotional creatures."

"In other words, that which makes us 'human,'" he said humorously. "Except of course for the fur, muzzles, tails, ears, footpads..."

"I was speaking from a psychological level," she chided him, giggling. His sense of humor was infectious. It was yet another reason Claire felt more than a little attraction to him. She suddenly had the urge to break away from their conversation and do something spontaneous, to share a part of herself with him. The band had shifted to slow, dance music and several couples were already enjoying themselves.

The vixen stood and abruptly took hold of the captain's wrist, bringing him to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I feel like moving around a little. Would you dance with me?" she asked.

"But I... I can't..."

"Nonsense. I'll teach you," she insisted. She stepped forward and brought him into her embrace. "Now just count with me. One... Two... One... Two..." Claire swayed seductively back and forth very slowly; gently drawing Benton along with her.

His first dozen steps were a bit clumsy but he quickly adapted, measuring himself to the simple pattern. A small part of the vixen's more analytical mind wondered how he could hold her correctly yet still be unsure on his feet. His face was a mask of concentration and Claire smiled at him. Despite his hesitancy he was trying hard to please her and that made him all the more exciting.

They swayed to and fro for several minutes and he relaxed, then smiled. The music changed to a slow waltz tune.

"Okay," Claire whispered, "stay with me. One, two, three... One, two, three... One, two, three..."

Benton struggled to shift pace. "I don't think this is a good idea..." he started.

"You're doing wonderfully," the vixen replied, hugging him tighter to herself for encouragement. "Just think less and move more."

"But..."

She pressed a finger to his lips and she guided him through about eight more rolls. Then it happened.

The fox's feet seemed to tangle with each other and he began to fall towards Claire. Realizing this, and not wanting to land on his partner, he twisted himself so they came down in a heap with her on top. The vixen recovered first, sitting up and giggling joyously.

The couple next to them paused and graciously reached out to help Claire regain her feet. She turned towards Benton, eyes glittering, then stopped. The captain was having trouble standing back up. He waived aside offers of help and managed to plant his feet and push himself clumsily upward. As he did so there was a soft, audible machine sound. The vixen noticed that the blousing of his trousers had pulled back from his dress boots, revealing a metallic surface where there should have been fur.

Benton saw the look of shock on Claire's face. He glanced down, then realized what had happened. Turning toward the vixen, he extended his arm and smiled in a quirky sort of way. "I guess I'm going to have to find out if they have an app for my processor that includes ballroom dancing."

The todd didn't limp or walk awkwardly as he guided her back to their table, moving skillfully through the other dancers, most of whom hadn't even noticed their graceless spill.

Claire, for her part, didn't say much as she struggled with a flood of emotions that had replaced her previous exuberant mood. Even as the captain held out her chair and she seated herself she couldn't think of a way to respond to what had just happened. Part of her was angry for pushing Benton into dancing, despite his subtle warnings. She was also disappointed with herself for having been shocked to discover his injury. She loathed the feeling of pity that had replaced his attractiveness, and the slight sense of revulsion she felt knowing that the todd was indeed "broken," just like Bron.

"NO!" she thought to herself. Not like Bron. The wolf had been broken in spirit. His soul shredded by months spent on the line, watching other soldiers die even as he continued. Benton may have been wounded, severely, but his spirit remained intact. Her reason and emotion were all tangled up and she didn't feel good about it.

"No, what?"

"Excuse me?" Claire asked.

"You said no, but I didn't offer a question," the captain said.

"I'm sorry. I was talking to myself."

He smiled. "I know the feeling. I used to find myself engaged in such one-way discussions, especially when making a decision."

"Used to?"

"Sergeant Bron taught me that inner monologing at the wrong time often resulted in undercutting self-confidence, which always led to poor decision making. It's one of the bad habits he drilled out of me. It was something he said he learned by talking with you."

"With me? But I don't remember..." Claire paused. She did remember talking with the wolf. It was after his breakdown. A breakdown that had happened when they'd made love. They'd both drifted off to sleep, but in the middle of the night Bron had begun having nightmares and she'd made the mistake of waking him. Reacting on instinct, he'd knocked her across the room.

When he realized what he'd done, he shattered. The powerful, self-assured soldier was turned instantly into a scared, whimpering cub, trapped within his nightmare. It took hours for him to come around. That was when they'd talked, literally for days. She didn't remember every detail of what she may or may not have told the sergeant, but it had helped him and it eventually became the basis of her book. Now, the story was coming full circle.

Tears of shame moistened her lashes and she buried her face in a napkin. She had always prided herself on being open-minded and now that had been called into question. She didn't want Captain Benton to know how much of a hollow, empty headed vixen she was. The shock, those doubts about him. They were all so meaningless. He'd sacrificed just as much in his own way as Bron, and now he was reminding her of all she'd given the sergeant, and how close they'd become as intimate friends. It hadn't exactly been love, but in some ways it was more pure, more honest.

She felt someone take her hands and gently pull them away from her face. She wrung the napkin between her fingers and looked up. Captain Benton was down on one knee, muzzle level with her own in spite of their difference in height.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to make you cry."

"It's not your fault," she replied, sniffling. "I shouldn't have pushed you so hard to dance. I embarrassed you in public because I was being selfish."

The todd looked firmly into Claire's eyes. "Why would I be embarrassed? Because I have a pair of cybernetic legs? They aren't a weakness. Hell, maybe I can't dance, but I can outrun everyone else in the battalion, if I had a mind to. What happened, happened. It's in the past and not worth a second thought, though I'll freely admit to cussing like a stable-fur during the seven months of therapy and fitting out process."

"But..."

He pressed a finger to her lips. "Less guilt-tripping, more listening," he said in a firm, yet gentle voice. "You weren't being selfish. You were sharing something you liked with me, something that is a part of you. And just for the record, I was enjoying myself, up to and including the tumble."

Benton cupped her face between both his hands and used his thumbs to brush away the tears on her cheeks. "Now... no more crying, okay?"

On impulse, Claire leaned forwarded and kissed him, closing her eyes. The todd was momentarily surprised, but quickly leaned into the kiss himself. They held themselves together like that for almost a minute before being abruptly brought back to the real world by a waiter who was carrying a large tray.

"Please excuse me, gentle-furs, but we need to serve the desserts. Would you like yours now, or perhaps later?"

The two foxes looked at each other, smiling, then up at him. They began chuckling. It spread quickly to the other guests at the table. The waiter merely pursed his lips. "Was it something I said?" This caused the chuckle to turn into mild laughter.

"Well... I guess later would be better," the waiter mused. "I'll be back in a few minutes." With that, he headed off to a neighboring table.

Reflexively, Claire took out a small mirrored compact and examined her face, noting the thin tear lines that now marked her eyes and cheeks. "Would you please excuse me for a moment while I fix this?"

The todd stood and pulled out her chair. "Certainly, but only if you return with a smile on your face," he whispered. She nodded to him and, whirling gracefully, the vixen headed for the nearby powder room.

Once alone, Claire quickly brushed out her facial fur and redabbed her lower lip. Looking at herself her mind wandered easily back to the todd. He was so different, yet so much like Bron. They were almost like two sides of the same coin. Different on the surface, yet struck and shaped from a similar material. Thinking on it, and the kiss, she realized how much she really liked Captain D'Amato, and how much she wanted to kiss him again.

A thought flashed across her mind, feeding her love of the spontaneous. Her hand reached up and adjusted her cape. Fingers caressed the medal she'd been given earlier that evening. Everything she knew of him hinted at a warmth, compassion and intelligence she found hard to resist. She hadn't felt such a connection with any other fur in a long time.

He wasn't perfect, but he didn't have to be now that she'd pushed her own prejudices and fears back into their box. Claire turned and left the powder room, tapping on the comm link in her ear.

Back at their table Benton waited nervously. He was a little scared that returning her kiss as passionately as he had might have scared the vixen off. That and his legs. It wouldn't be the first time in the last year that an attractive female had rejected him because he was "damaged goods "

Fifteen minutes went by... then twenty, then twenty-five. The todd was on the verge of giving up when a grey furred raccoon sat next to him.

"I wanted to thank-you for the corsage," she said, smiling. "Small tokens like that make my job worthwhile."

"I'm glad I was able to be of some small service." He looked passed her towards the powder room but could still see no sign of the vixen. "You wouldn't happen to know where Claire is, would you?"

Instead of answering, Colleen took a hold of Benton's hand. She then whipped out an autograph pen and scrawled something across his palm. Replacing the pen in her purse, she leaned forward menacingly, her eyes bright and alive.

"I'm warning you," she said. "Come tomorrow morning, if Claire is not joyously happy, I will come looking for you. I will find you. And I WILL kick your ass across the lobby." She rose, smiling sweetly. "And this hotel has a VERY big lobby!" The raccoon turned and sauntered away, her tail swinging in syncopation to her hips as she hooked the arm of a male panther who was patiently waiting nearby.

Benton looked down at the palm of his hand. Written there was a room number and a single word. "Dessert?"

Smiling, Captain D'Amato rose from the table, bid good evening to the other guests and calmly made his way out of the banquet hall and towards the guest tower of the hotel.