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CHAPTER 8

WHY DON'T YOU JUST SAY "SORRY"?

Frank opened the door to his cramped, dirty little apartment, dragged himself the few short steps to his bed, and sat down heavily. What a terrible day this had been. A traffic accident up some highway had delayed a truck from making its delivery, which meant he had to sit, alternating between having nothing to do and being chewed out by his boss for not doing anything, for nearly two and a half hours. That would have been bad enough but, since he was keeping careful track of his hours to know where he could and could not afford to splurge on personal items, he knew that that extra bit of time out him dangerously close to the number of hours the warehouse gave to full time workers, which meant that he was all but guaranteed to have his hours cut next week.

The worst part was that Frank knew today wasn't done with him yet. He had had the dream about Kane and the table, a sure sign that something significant was going to happen today, and the thing with the truck couldn't have been it, since that had happened twice before without an accompanying dream. Frank didn't know when he started treating the dreams as prophecy. Maybe it had been after one of his talks with May. He had seen her two more times since the first visit, each getting into more personal topics, the contents of his dreams included. Dream analysis was another field of psychology, May had said, one that she hadn't paid much mind to, but she made a real effort of searching through what resources were available to her on the subject, even going so far as to purchase one of those expensive formal textbooks. There was no way the three trips Frank had made to see her had covered the amount needed to buy that book, even if she got it used, so Frank had started a plan to see her more regularly to make up for it. May might have gotten upset if he told her that was the reason he planned on seeing her more often, so he kept that to himself.

Frank put a hand on his forehead and simply sat for a moment, gathering his thoughts, when he heard a commotion from the hall. He was tempted to ignore it, as he had a pretty good idea of what it was, but made himself stand anyway. It was a laborious process; his energy had been completely drained at work. Poking his head out, he saw Mary and Ozzy heading toward the stairs. Ozzy wore his usual thin wool shirt and baggy pants, while Mary's more colorful outfit confirmed his suspicions about the nature of the noise. She wore a hockey jersey, team insignia bold and in the center of both the back and front of the shirt. Game night.

Everyone in The Homestead loved hockey, and everyone was invited to come down on game night, bring a couple snacks, sit around the new TV in the common room (the same one Frank had went to go get with Jeb), and take some time to enjoy themselves. Everyone except Frank. It had never been explicitly put to him that he wasn't invited, but he felt awkward joining in this tradition without first being offered, especially considering that the animosity between him, Mort, and Adrianne had yet to be resolved. There would be no chance of enjoying the game with that dangling over his head, so he contented himself with watching the others glide down towards the common, sighing as they departed.

Frank thought he had been quiet, but Ozzy's ears twitched at the sound, and he turned to find the sheep peeking through the crack of his door like a stalker. "Uhh, hey," said Frank, his cheeks flushing at being discovered. "What's up?" Ozzy put his hands into his pockets, lips shifting into his normal easy smile as he walked over to Frank, leaving Mary standing at the top of the stairs. "Nothing much," he said, "Just going down to watch the game. You wanna come?" Ozzy had a tendency to be direct, Frank was learning. The way he so casually brought it up made Frank think, for a moment, that his coming down might not be such a big deal, and he had his mouth open to agree before he thought better of it. "Thank you, but I'm not sure it would be a great idea."

Ozzy gave a hoarse laugh at Frank's obvious apprehension. "Why wouldn't it be great? This is something for the whole building. Everyone'll be glad to see you there." Staring past Ozzy, Frank saw the face Mary was making, clearly indicating that "everyone" didn't include her. As he was thinking of a polite way to refuse Ozzy, the hyena grabbed one of his arms and half dragged Frank into the hallway. "Come on, it'll be a blast. You'll see." Closing the door behind him with a hoof, Frank reluctantly followed Ozzy down the stairs, himself followed by Mary. He could feel her glare on his back, not daring to turn around and meet it. What in hell was Ozzy thinking? The man had a sharp eye for reading emotions, so why was he ignoring Mary, who might as well have had a neon sign hung about her neck declaring her feelings towards Frank?

As if in answer to these unspoken questions, Ozzy paused at the bottom of the steps to let the wolf woman pass, then leaned in close to Frank's ear and began talking in hushed tones. "Just talk to people. Be normal. You're a nice enough guy, and so are the rest of the folk here, if you give them a chance." Ozzy stood straight once he was finished, hands still in his pockets, then made a gesture to where the others were gathering on the three faded couches. Looking between the group and his friend, Frank felt a flutter of nerves in his stomach. "Ozzy, talking is--" he began in a whisper, then realized that, even standing on the tips of his hooves, he didn't come near the hyena's ear. Frank took one step back up the stairs, then tried again. "Ozzy, talking is what got me into this problem in the first place. Two neighbors pissed at me is bad enough; I'd rather not get the whole apartment against me. What if they get the landlord involved? I could get evicted!"

Ozzy placed a hand on one of Frank's shoulders, then looked him in the eye, still needing to tilt his head down slightly in spite of the added height of the stairs. "No one is going to do that to you, no matter what you say. Everyone here knows what it's like to worry about that and it'll take a lot more than being a bit rude to get us to get Shomer involved. Aside from that, you saw Mary. I'm sure you've seen how Ana and Sara are like, too. They're already upset. What's the harm of just showing up and watching a game at this point? It might give you the chance you need to talk to them."

Without waiting for a response, Ozzy turned away and marched over to take a seat on the couch. He was right, though. Frank had been feeling the weight of his confrontation with Mort for a long time now. Not just the one where he had said something to upset the polecat, but the one all the way back from when he moved in. It had been the end of summer at that time. Now, it was nearing the end of November. Obviously, this issue was not going to resolve itself. It was time to take the matter into his own hands. Maybe that was what the dream this morning foretold: making amends that had been too long in coming. He wasn't looking forward to doing this, so his mood as he entered the common room couldn't be described as happy, but he was filled with a kind of positive determination.

"Hey, hey, Hale!" came a sonorous voice with a Spanish accent, driving the positivity from his body from his body like a hammer. "Hello Ana," Frank said, suppressing a sigh and putting on a smile. The jackal leered at him as she sauntered over, hips swaying. "What do you think of my team pride?" she said, indicating her shirt, a match of the one Mary was wearing. "I've had it since I turned eighteen, you know. I think it still mostly fits, but it seems a bit tight around the chest. What do you think?" She tugged the shirt down as she said this, further emphasizing how closely the shirt conformed to her curves. Frank turned his head hurriedly, face flushing. "Yeah, I think it's good," he squeaked.

Laughing, Ana bent slightly, putting an arm around Frank to lead him to the couches. "You're too kind. Though, it is the style here. Jerseys can be expensive, to the point where I see them going for close to fifty dollars now, so most of the girls here ware a size or two too small. Ah, the guys, too, if you're into that," she added as an afterthought. Frank was about to tell her that he wasn't going to fall for such a stupid line when Sara came trotting up behind him, holding a plastic bowl, apparently left over from Halloween, judging by the skeletons that danced around the edge, filled with corn chips.

Sara turned to Frank only long enough to acknowledge that he existed, then shifted her attention to Ana, kicking up a spirited conversation about their expectations for the upcoming game. Frank was almost glad to be ignored, as he would have had trouble pretending that his eyes weren't bulging out of his head. Ana hadn't been kidding about the other women wearing shirts that were a size or two too small for them, and Sara's was definitely two. Even being more than a hand shorter than Ana, the wolverine had a bust of similar size, making the shirt stretch and strain. Frank turned to go to the couches, hoping that he would be distracted sufficiently once the game started.

As he approached, he noticed Jeb whom, despite being the biggest man in the apartment, was the only one who wore a shirt of an appropriate size. Maybe he had always been a big guy. It seemed May had always had a similar frame, too, because, while her jersey was a bit tight around the stomach, it fit her slight body well. Taking a seat across from the couple, he had just enough time to wave a greeting before Mary sat down next to him. "How you doing?" she asked, no hint of warmth in her voice. Frank took a deep breath. "Fine," he said, all the air coming out along with the word.

She towered over him, even while seated, staring at him with eyes like daggers. It was an effort to keep looking Mary in the eye. For one thing, it felt like his blood might freeze over if she kept staring at him that way. For a second, perhaps because she was the largest woman in The Homestead by a lot, she had a chest of comparable size. She must have bought the jersey she was wearing much earlier, as it seemed very constrictive right now. That had to hurt, right? Frank never felt comfortable unless he was wearing something at least a size larger than he was supposed to be. Mort walked in, followed closely by his wife, each carrying a two-liter of ginger ale. Mort's jersey clung tightly to thick cords of muscle at his arms and a well-defined set of abs, which Frank felt was unfair, somehow. Once the two of them placed the plastic bottles on the small table in the middle of the couches, Frank saw Adrianne in something other than one of her frumpy sweaters. It was shocking to see the normally conservative fox in something that clung so tightly to her chest, clearly outlining the curve of her breast.

Frank blinked. That's right, Adrianne had a breast. Not a pair of breasts. One breast. Singular. The shirt was so tight that Frank had no doubt that fox had only her left breast, while her right side was as flat as any man's. A sharp pain in his ribs made him look away. "Will you cut that shit out?" Mary said in a whisper. "I heard this was what started that fight with Mort, but I didn't think you'd be so God damned blatant!" Frank could almost hear all the thoughts in his brain come to a grinding halt. What the hell did this mean? There was only one reason he could think of. He had to talk to Ozzy.

Seated on the plaid couch, the one directly in front of the TV, Ozzy had started a friendly conversation with Mort of all the people. Shit. It would be better for this to wait for another day, then. Getting up felt like he was moving underwater. With a cracking voice, he made a quick excuse for himself, then walked on unsteady hooves back up the stairs. When he got to his room, he closed the door without locking it for once, then went to sit on the bed, sinking into the hard mattress. He wished he'd keep sinking. He wished a giant hole would open up beneath him and drag him straight to Hell. That would be better than dealing with this.

An unknown amount of time passed before he became aware of the sound of someone knocking. Willing calm, he moved to the door, still feeling like he was puppeting someone else's body instead of controlling his own. When he looked up after opening the door, he was dimly surprised to see the dark fur of a wolf. Mary gazed down at him with a complicated mix of emotions on her face. "You alright?" she asked with genuine concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost. What happened down there?" A clever way of asking what he wanted to ask, a way to bring it up casually, a way that wouldn't make him an asshole. None of these came to Frank, who stood with his mouth open, not able to form any words.

With a gentle hand, Mary guided him back to his seat on the bed. Sitting on the floor in front of him, she was still almost tall enough to look him in the eye. "Seriously, Hale, you look like you've gone hollow." Frank nodded, not even sure what she meant by that. With no acceptable ways of phrasing his question forthcoming, he gave up and asked it plainly. "Does Adrianne have cancer?"

Now, it was Mary's mouth that hung open. A flat "What?" was all that came out. Frank stared, unblinking, into her deep brown eyes, hoping they held an answer for him, an answer that made this misunderstanding go away and made him not the biggest dick in the state. There was no possibility of that, though. Frank knew what she was going to say. "Did Mort not...tell you?" Frank grabbed on to his horns, tugging at them as if he meant to rip them off.

"No! Yes! I mean, the word never came up!" Frank couldn't bring himself to say that word again. Saying it the first time had taken a part of his soul with it. "He told me I should be careful around Adrianne, but the way he said it, I thought he was, like, the jealous type, that he'd start a fight, maybe. And, thing is, she--Adrianne, I mean--she was being really nice to me, and I thought 'Maybe she's the kind of girl who might. How would I know?' Christ! It seems so obvious now. No wonder I've been getting hell from you and Ana." Frank let go of his horns. His whole body sagged limply, head down and arms dangling between his knees. He felt so awful he thought he might die.

From his lowered position, Frank could only see a bit of Mary's body, which seemed to be trembling with anger. He knew he had messed up bad. Adrianne had been the first person to show him any kindness when he first moved into The Homestead, before even Mary had, and he had repaid her by insulting her and getting into a fight with her husband. He could imagine the faces Sara and Ana would make when they found out. Would Sara even talk to him anymore? For that matter, what kind of face was Mary making right now, as she sat starting at this pathetic little sheep? Knowing he wouldn't like what he saw, he raised his head slowly, wanting to get whatever she was going to say to him out of the way now that there was no way to avoid it.

"I'm gonna die," Mary said, smirk hidden behind a fist, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. Frank stared up at her, face as blank as a sheet of paper. Catching his eyes, Mary had to quickly turn her head to keep from bursting. A knot of indignation welled within upon seeing a woman treat his troubles like a joke. "It's not funny," Frank said in a huff. That was too much for the poor wolf, who doubled up laughing, rocking and holding her stomach. "Seriously! I'm gonna keel over!"

The two of them sat there, one wearing a deep scowl and the other coming close to rolling on the floor, until Mary began to calm down. "Un-fucking-believable," she said, wiping away a tear. "That's too funny, man." Frank's face twisted up in a sneer. "I'm glad you think so." Taking a second to regain his center, Frank stood up from the bed and walked over to his coffee maker. It was too late in the day for this. He needed something to calm him down. Mary got up and padded along behind him, coming to lean against his fridge. "God, Mort's such a dick," she said, still giggling a bit.

Frank turned from pouring water into the coffee maker to look at her with his head cocked. "Mort's a dick? Not me?" Mary shook her head. "You, too, make no mistake, but Mort should have just told you what was up. Wouldn't have would up here in the first place if he had. Make me a cup?" She pointed to the mug Frank had just taken down with her chin. Frank took down another one, rotating it in his hands, staring at his reflection. "You're talking about this like it isn't a big deal. I can't just go back down there and say 'whoops, sorry, made a mistake'. Mary, I treated those two terribly and I didn't even know that Adrianne is--that she has--" He couldn't bring himself to say it.

"Cancer, yes," Mary offered, finishing his sentence for him. "Hell, it's no wonder you and Mort got into a fight. You're the exact same type of asshole." Frank took out a mug filled with hot coffee and replaced it with an empty one, passing the full cup onto Mary. "What is that supposed to mean?" Mary held the cup with both hands, letting the warmth from the freshly made drink seep into her palms. She blew the steam off, taking a slow sip as Frank stood by patiently. Mary stared deeply into the black liquid, considering her answer. "She isn't a porcelain doll."

Frank squinted his eyes, totally uncomprehending. "Who? What?" Mary placed her cup on the counter, then stood straight, arms folded under her breasts, fully assuming the role of a lecturer. "Adrianne is sick, yes, but she's still an independent woman. An adult. She doesn't need you to treat her like she'll break if you breathe on her too hard, because she won't. That's what you should be apologizing for, and so should Mort. He's got to know better than to start treating her like an invalid so soon. Half of everyone in this country gets cancer at some point in their lives. Did you know that? And lots of people die from it, true. But you don't become a statistic until you're dead. Until then, you're a person, and that's how you should treat Adrianne. Honestly, the fact that you were scared to talk to her just because her husband said not to was the bigger fuck up."

The sound of pouring liquid announced that Frank's coffee was done brewing, but he didn't notice. "So...you think it'll be okay if I just go down and say sorry?" Mary relaxed, satisfied that her words had taken root in his mind, and picked her mug back up, again simply holding it and letting it warm her hands. "Not right this instant, I think. You're going to want to talk to them privately, I think." The fist returned to cover another smirk. "Plus, you, uh, made quite the scene when ran out of the common with a face like you'd seen a dead body. Ana was telling the others that you'd probably shit yourself." A snort of laughter accompanied the end of that statement.

"I have to go back down," Frank said, feeling color creeping onto his cheeks. He turned to go, making it two steps before he felt claws clutching the back of his shirt. "Easy, Hale. The game's started by now and interrupting that, in this household, is no way to endear yourself to anyone. Do this tomorrow." Frank looked back over his shoulder to see the dark furred wolf smiling down at him. The first she'd shown him since his fight with Mort. With a sigh, he nodded his head. "Alright." He wandered back to the counter, going to lean against it, only remembering that he had his own cup of coffee when he saw a thin line of steam dancing in the corner of his eye.

Taking the mug in his hands, he took a long swig, trying to force some heat and energy into his body. Heaving another sigh, a contented one this time, he glanced at Mary over the rim of his cup. "You don't have to stay here," he said. "Go enjoy the game." Mary's eyes moved toward the door, staring at it for a while. "The team's ahead anyway. Nothing's going to happen even if they lose. Besides," she said, rolling her shoulders and reminding Frank that she still wore the too-tight jersey, "We haven't spoken in a month, now. Let's catch up for a bit." For the first time in a long while, Frank felt like the weight on his back was begging to lessen, even if by just a bit. "I'd like that," he said, hiding his face in his drink.

Moving away from the refrigerator, Mary squatted down to open the door. "Cool. You want some milk with your coffee?" Frank waved a hand in dismissal. "No, I just keep that for cereal. I aways prefer it dark." Grasping the milk, Mary stood to her full height, towering over Frank. She raised an eyebrow, but otherwise her face was totally blank. "Always?" she asked. For reasons he couldn't explain, Frank suddenly felt like he had been put in the hot seat. "What?" he said, a nervous laughter bubbling to the surface.

Mary remained utterly expressionless. "You said you prefer it dark?" she clarified. There was an edge to her voice that Frank was unable to place. It wasn't anger or any similar emotion, but there was definitely something dangerous about it. Not knowing what else to do, he simply answered honestly. "Y-Yeah," he stammered. Mary's smile was wide and toothy, splitting her face clean in half. "Glad to hear it."

Frank had had the dream with Kane two nights in a row. That meant there was no better time than now to make amends. Now's the time, he thought. Right now. Frank had been pacing in the hall leading to room 102, thinking this to himself for well over an hour at this point. The way Mary talked last night had made apologizing sound like it would be as simple as knocking on the door and showing a little contrition, but how was that accomplished? How did one turn a feeling of remorse into words? What Frank had said back then had come very close to calling Adrianne a slut. Even as a misunderstanding, Frank could see neither her nor her husband just letting that slide when he said sorry. More than that, Frank's encounter with Mort was weeks past at this point. Would they believe Frank had meant no harm after he had left the animosity between them fester for near to a month? Would they even be willing to hear him speak?

Frank stopped his pacing and stared at room 102. He recalled the time he had spent talking with Mary after they had finished their coffees. With no chairs to sit in, Mary had taken a spot on the counter, while Frank remained standing. They had mostly spoken of work, food, TV, and other inconsequential things, though Mary had peppered in some more less than subtle advances as the evening grew longer. Mary had gotten up from her seat with a yawn around eight, hoping to catch at least the last few minutes of the game. As she was leaving, Frank had stopped her with a question. "You were pretty mad with me, too, right? How did you know that I was really sorry? That I wasn't just saying things to get you off my case?" With her hand on the doorknob, she turned around without having to think on it, giving her answer as casually as possible. "You've got a face like glass. If you're honest, people will be able to tell."

Still staring at the flaking white paint on room 102, Frank felt his resolve solidify. He took a deep breath and let it go, then strode up and knocked before he had time to second guess himself. Immediately, Frank began to fidget, digging his phone out of his pocket to check the time, fingering the collar of his shirt, checking to make sure his pants were zipped up, checking the time again. It had been a minute. That wasn't long, but these apartments were small, so it wasn't like they had to walk long to get the door. Maybe they hadn't heard. He considered knocking again, but he was already starting from a lowered position and didn't want to lower it further by being obnoxious. The urge to run from this encounter, to put it off for another day, steadily began to work its way from the back of his mind to the front, and it was an effort to not simply slide away before anyone took notice that he was here.

Finally, the door cracked open enough for Mort to stick his snout out of. His nose wrinkled in distaste when he saw who had come. "Can I help you?" he asked. Mort was, and would still have been, even if Frank had done nothing to earn his ire, an unpleasant man to be around. Frank's natural instinct upon seeing Mort with his nose turned up was to throw his hands up and be done with the thing. Frank made a fist and let it go, flexing his hand as he made his response, hoping that would keep his mind from moving towards an angry comment that could land him in more hot water. "I was hoping I could talk to you and Adrianne," he said, voice managing to remain steady. Mort raised a suspicious eyebrow, prompting Frank to quickly add, "I was hoping to apologize?"

The polecat's expression remained unchanged. "I see," he said, voice flat. "May I ask what for?" Frank caught a flash of orange from behind Mort. "Who is it?" Adrianne asked cheerily. "Is it Ana? Did she get that DVD?" Mort let the door open the rest of the way so his wife could peek out. Adrianne's smiling face popped up over Mort's shoulder, but the smile quickly faded when she saw Frank. "Mr. Hale. Hello. To what do we owe the visit?" Adrianne made a better show of civility than her husband, though there was still a slight chill to her voice that made it apparent that she was none too pleased to have the sheep at her door.

Frank cleared his throat, covering his mouth with his left hand while the right kept opening and closing. "I was hoping to talk to the both of you and...explain some things, I guess?" Adrianne's eyes narrowed slightly. "You guess?" she said, tone still civil. She stepped out from behind Mort and took a place at his side, wardrobe having returned to one of exclusively over-sized sweaters. "I thought you were coming to apologize," said the polecat. Facing down the two of them at the same time wasn't good, especially with Frank still standing in the middle of an empty hall. Growing flustered, Frank started talking fast, words running into each other. "No! I mean, no to me guessing. I did come here to explain some things. I came to apologize, too, though! I'm here to explain why I need to apologize, and then do it. Make an apology, I mean." He finished with a nervous smile, spreading his arms in a gesture that he hoped showed he meant no harm.

Mort folded his arms, staring down at Frank, which was impressive, considering he was the only one in The Homestead besides Sara of a comparable height with the sheep. "I have a good idea of what you need to apologize for already," he said quietly, anger simmering in his voice. Despite not wanting to, Frank gave a short laugh. He had no idea what to say to that. The heat in the building barely worked, but right now it seemed to Frank that it was becoming unbearably hot out here in the hall. With his eyes fixed on Frank, Mort stood silently, waiting for a response. Mort's eyes were a dark brown color, with not the slightest bit of warmth or light in them.

No longer able to look at that hard gaze, Frank turned to the fox, hoping she, at least, would be willing to hear him speak before deciding to slam the door in his face. Hard brown was swapped for piercing green, studying him intently as if he were under a microscope. Frank certainly felt small enough to fit under one at that moment. After an intolerably long, awkward silence, Adrianne made up her mind about what to do with the sheep. Without turning from him, she spoke to Mort. "Let's let him in." Mort's eyes went wide with surprise as he turned to Adrianne, but he made no argument as they both stepped back into their room, leaving the door open for Frank.

Mort waited to close the door behind Frank, then led him the short distance to the kitchen to sit at a small wooden table, with two nice looking, if beat up, intricately carved chairs made of a darker wood. Mort offered Frank a seat, then disappeared for a moment, coming back with a gray plastic folding chair, apparently reserved for when guests came over. Thankfully, he placed the seat at Adrianne's side. If Frank had had to sit between these two, he wasn't sure he would have survived this encounter. Adrianne offered him a glass of water, which he refused, then got right to business.

"What, exactly," she began, knitting her fingers together and resting them in front of her, "do you feel such a dire need to explain?" Mort sat back with his arms folded and legs spread, carefully watching Frank. He looked ready to jump up and start swinging if Frank talked any more shit about his wife. Frank tried to keep on flexing his hand, but it seemed to be locked into a fist now. He hit it lightly against his knee three times, inhaled deeply, and began.

"Last night, Mary told me that Adrianne is--" He swallowed audibly, then tried again. "That you have cancer. Um, what I wanted to say about that is--" Frank stopped short when Adrianne held up a hand. "Mary told you?" Frank nodded. "Last night? As in, when you went up to your room before the game?" Another nod. Adrianne turned her head toward Mort, whose eyes didn't seem as dangerous as they had a minute ago. The polecat slowly moved his head to face his wife. "I thought you told him," Adrianne said. Mort reached up to scratch a cheek, staring at some spot on the counter to avoid looking directly at his wife. "Of course, I did." "Mort." "I did! I met him out shopping, gave him a ride back, and we talked about...you. I told him all about your condition." He turned back to Frank, anger now doing much more than simmering. "Are you saying I didn't?"

Frank blanched at the threat in Mort's voice, mouth going dry, but forced himself to respond. "No! No, no, no! It's just that..." His mouth felt too dry to keep going. Mort leaned forward, snout mere inches from Frank's face. "It's just?" he prodded. Frank really wished he had agreed to that water. Doing his best to work a bit of moisture back into his mouth, Frank continued. "Well, the word never came up. Cancer." He winced as he said it, but plowed ahead, feeling that he'd never be able to work up the courage to speak to these two again if he faltered now. "I mean, you told me to be careful around Adrianne and stuff, but I thought..." He had to say it eventually. It was best to just rip this bandage off all at once. "I though you were saying that just because you didn't want me to talk to her. That you were one of those husbands that worry about their wife hanging around other guys...The jealous type."

Mort's eyes went wide, his mouth twisting into a soundless snarl. "You think I'd be worried about Adrianne and you?!" His voice radiated indignation, was loud enough to almost be a shout, and sharp enough to make Frank flinch at every other word. "You think you had a chance with her? Some kid without ten dollars to his name? Have you ever even made a move on a woman that wasn't virtual? Huh!?" Mort slammed his fist into the table to punctuate that last bit, making Frank jump in his seat.

Frank put his hands on his head, behind his horns. "No! I don't know! I hadn't even been in this God-damned city for twenty-four hours! Then you come along, saying all this weird shit, speaking in riddles! I wouldn't be here if you just said 'Hey, my wife's sick! Be careful around her!' How am I supposed to know what the hell you meant?" Mort stood up, pushing his chair back with a scaping sound, and loomed over Frank. "So, you assumed I meant that I was worried you'd sleep with my wife? Is that normal? Are you what passes for normal up north, because, if so, it's no wonder things are so fucked up there! I should--" Adrianne tugged hard on one of Mort's shirt sleeves, making the polecat sit down heavily, drawing a grunt from him. "You both seem to have forgotten," she said, sharp canine teeth showing in a wide smile, "but this 'wife' you keep mentioning is in the room with you."

Mort grumbled something under his breath, then began cracking his knuckles, still eyeing Frank warily. The snarl remained on his face, along with the sense that he was ready to start a fight. Seeing that her husband had no intention of settling down, Adrianne sighed dramatically. "Mort, say you're sorry." The polecat sat bolt upright, head whipping to face Adrianne fully. "What the hell! You heard what he said!" Mort almost slammed his fist into the table again, catching himself just in time and bobbing his hand up and down to get rid of the excess of energy his rush of adrenaline had given him.

"I did," said Adrianne, a picture of serenity. "I also heard why he said it. Yes, what he though was really stupid," she flashed a glance towards Frank for an instant, making him blush, "but this was a problem created by two people, make no mistake. You should have just said I had cancer, instead of being all embarrassed about saying it. Frank's right about that; he wouldn't be here if you just said what you meant. Now: I want you to say that you're sorry, then I want you to stop acting all ashamed of me just because I'm sick."

The snarl disappeared from Mort's face at last, replaced by a look of guilt. "You know I'd never be ashamed of you," he said, reaching over the table to take one of Adrianne's hands and squeeze it. "Not ever." The fox brought her husband's hand up to her face, nuzzling it against her muzzle. "Morty," she whispered. A smile appeared on Mort's face, then quickly went away as he remembered they had company. He let go of Adrianne's hand to fold his arms again, expression becoming hard once more. "I'm not going to apologize, though," he said, with the tone of a man whose heels were firmly dug in.

Frank felt another nervous laugh bubbling up, only barely managing to suppress it. "It's fine," said the sheep. "Really, I'm just glad you accepted my apology." He said this even though he wasn't entirely sure Mort had. That was fine. Frank remembered the advice Ozzy had given him on the day they met: You're only winning until you lose. Leave while you're ahead. Frank made to get up when a sharp word from Adrianne made him stop. "You're not leaving until Mort says sorry," she said. Then, to her husband, "Mort."

Mort shook his head. "It's not happening." This time Adrianne stood up, leaning forward with her palms on the table. "Morty," she said warningly. Mort turned his head away, wearing an unreadable expression. Adrianne pushed back her chair quietly, stalking behind her husband. Mort didn't notice until she was right on top of him, rotating in his seat to look up at her in surprise. "Morty Shorty!" exclaimed Adrianne as she bent at the waist to grip him in a tight hug, tail wagging behind her. Morty Shorty? Frank must have been staring, because Mort felt the need to explain. "That's my name," he said, blushing under his fur. "Morton Short."

"And I'm Mrs. Short," Adrianne offered, sounding like she was bragging. It was impossible to stop the laughter this time. "What the hell," Mort muttered under his breath, growing a deeper shade of crimson. Still laughing, Frank shook his head. "No, no. It's cute," he managed in between chuckles. Gently pushing Adrianne away, Mort stood from his seat and offered a hand to Frank. "Yes, thank you, and I'm sorry. Let's shake on it, then you can leave." He looked over his shoulder at Adrianne, who was giving a thumbs-up.

Frank stood as well, taking the proffered hand and shaking it. "I'm sorry, too, man. I should have done this much earlier. No hard feelings?" Mort waved a dismissal, then began shuffling Frank out of the room. "Hey," called Adrianne once Frank was out in the hall. "Can we count on seeing you for the next game night?" This caused Mort, who was all ready for this to be over and done with, to sag his shoulders in exasperation, while Frank peeked around him to beam at Adrianne. "Yeah! Yeah, sure!" Mort rolled his eyes at the sheep. "Will you quit acting like a kid? How old are you?" Frank could see that, while the main problem between them was solved, he and Mort would probably never get along. Sighing, he put his hands on his hips. "Thank you for having me Mort, your company is a pleasure. And I'm twenty-two, if you must know."

This caused Mort to sag even further. "Christ! I was bullying a kid! Now I do feel like shit." Before he had a chance to respond, Mort closed the door on Frank, filling his vision with flaking white paint. He stood there, staring at nothing for a good minute. Twenty-two wasn't a kid! How old were Mort and Adrianne? He vaguely remembered Sara saying that she and Adrianne were in their thirties, but he couldn't believe that either of them was that old, considering how well they retained their good looks. Putting those thoughts out of his mind, he went out of the hall and up to his room, passing Mary, watching another awful cop show, in the common room. He flashed her a smile as he passed, to let her know that things had worked out, which she returned with a smile of her own. The only reason he had been able to go down and apologize was because of her. He'd have to do something nice for her soon. Taking her out to dinner, maybe. Humming a tune, he went to lay on his bed. This was the first night in a while where he'd get some good sleep.