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>Rebecca's neighborhood is nice, the suburbs quiet and cozy.

>Following her rental car around the smooth, clean streets is fairly easy, since most people are gone for work. The few you do see are walking dogs-- the four legged kind-- or tending to their yards or small gardens.

>She slows, and you see her pull into the short driveway of one of the squat homes, hers especially filled with vegetation and flowers. You nod, though you know she can't see you, and search for a place to park.

>When you two left the range, she told you that there wouldn't likely be room in the driveway for the two of you-- there certainly wouldn't be in the garage. But you insisted, not wanting to make her ferry you there and back to the gravel parking lot, even if the street she was on had poor parking.

>As you search, you think back a little on the range session the two of you had, trying once more to decide what happened.

>You called the tiger yesterday, after you'd organized a list of potential witnesses for Laura. The lusty lawyer, for all her faults, made a good point about her being the best witness of the actual event that you have. You've got no idea if Talia's testimony will be considered, as she's under investigation as well, so calling up the tigress and asking to meet seemed like a good idea.

>That and, you know, you promised you'd help her.

>Turns out that Aki had already taken her out to get a gun and go over the basics of ownership. Rebecca was more than happy to go out again with you, though. She'd picked up a Tridentia 30XL in .50AE, something much more befitting her size than your Tokarev. The soviet garbage slab let you demonstrate a few things, like grip and sight alignment, but the controls of the two differed significantly.

>Rebecca caught on quickly, and with something properly sized for her, shot much better than you'd seen Sunday. But you found yourself focusing on her, not her technique, as time went on.

>She was just as sweet as she was Sunday, listening eagerly, acting carefully, deliberately, and just barely being able to contain her joy as her groups improved, her confidence grew, and the blastwaves of the huge pistol fazed her less and less.

>You both became more talkative, joking between groups.

>When the only casings left were empty, and you gave her the 'here's what you can practice' spiel as you got ready to leave, she stopped you and asked if you'd come home with her.

>The way she, a ten-foot tiger, got embarrassed and quickly rephrased what she said was especially cute.

>She wanted help disassembling the gun and cleaning it; Aki had gotten her the tools and impressed on her how it was important to do it every now and then, but they hadn't gone through how to actually do it together.

>What you're wondering, as you walk the block or so to her house, is if there's not another reason for her asking you back.

>And for you saying 'yes."

>"Come on in!" Rebecca says, standing in the front doorway, "I've got everything on the table, I think there's enough light."

>The first thing you notice as you walk inside is the size of... everything. The door itself towers over you, probably 12 feet tall, the sloping ceiling getting even higher than that.

>The couch, the table, the chairs, all are waist high for the titanic tigress, which means they're all around shoulder height for you.

>But as her striped, swaying tail curves around after her as she rounds the table, you see one chair standing out, the seat not designed for someone the width of your car. You mount the little side-ladder it has without a word as Rebecca lets out a small noise, and drags a her-sized chair around to sit next to you.

>"I went with Hoppes oil-- is that good?" she asks as you survey the table:

>On a worn and stained towel lies Rebecca's gun, a multi-caliber cleaning kit, a small bottle of CLP, and a pile of similarly worn rags.

>Aki did well, not that you'd expect anything less-- you're reminded that she asked you to help her with something at the range tomorrow, and make a mental note to follow up with her when you're finished here.

>"It'll work just fine," you say. "Let's get started-- I'll walk you through it."

>The 30XL is heavy in your hands, even with the titanium frame. From your research, it's a fairly easy pistol to take apart.

>"First, always make sure the gun is clear."

>The gun is, of course, the meaty slide locking back with a chunk more akin to a heavy machine gun. You drop the magazine, setting it aside.

>"Now, for this gun, there's a trio of springs here, here, and here," you continue, pointing to a few rounded elements that run along the muzzle-end of the frame and slide. "They're what makes sure the slide goes forward and feeds the next round."

>You hit the slide release, and the gun snaps shut like a hungry animal.

>"When it's closed like this, the lug here lines up with a cut on the locking block, which is right under the barrel. That's why the barrel itself moves back a little bit with the slide, and combined with those two extra springs, makes the slide open while there's safe chamber pressure."

>You're about to go on about the system more, but realize that you're nerding out and not showing her what she actually needs.

>"--But I'm nerding out, and you don't need to really know all that," you say, looking up at her. "Just stop me next time it happens!"

>"Oh, no worries!" she smiles, "It was cute! It's fun to see people get passionate about their hobbies."

>"Well, maybe later then. For now, all you need to know is that if you press this button and push on this lever--"

>You're worried for a moment that the slide will shoot across the room, the three powerful springs more than capable, but to your relief the death grip you have on it isn't warranted.

>"--Whew. The slide and the barrel come loose, and you pull them off the front. There's your three springs-- ahh, I see now."

>"What?" she asks as you set the frame down, drawing closer.

>"See those bits? The springs are captured; they're locked in a compressed state, so they won't fully... 'spring out' when you take the gun apart."

>You chuckle a little.

>"I was worried they weren't, and the slide would go flying across the room."

>She chuckles a little as well, and waits patiently as you point out the different mating surfaces between the two parts, show her how the trigger and hammer works, and the way the beefy hinged-locking block operates and slides out.

>Partway through explaining the concept of short recoil, you realize how close she is to you. The tigress isn't in her chair anymore, standing behind your chair and looking over your shoulder, her muzzle just peeking into your peripheral.

>She's not quite pressing up against you, but you can feel the heat radiating from her, and spot her arms on the table far off to either side of you.

>You reassemble the gun slowly, skimping a little on the explanations before you get into a tangent. You almost get into one when you do the function check, but manage to restrain yourself.

>"Okay, now you try."

>You note that Rebecca doesn't move from her place, all-but pressed against your back as her arms glide in around you.

>She doesn't hug you, since her frame is more than wide enough for her to reach the gun without touching you. You have to look up a little as she picks it up, dropping the magazine and checking the chamber before letting the slide snap shut.

>She tries the disassembly lever without pushing in the button for a bit, though thankfully she's not trying to force it like you've seen others do. She's very ginger with it, actually.

>"Here," you say after a few moments, reaching up and guiding a finger to the button and pressing down.

>You see her stiffen as the gun shudders, and hear a slight hiss from above you. Looking up quickly, you think it was from a sharp intake of breath, her face looking more worried and sad than angry.

>"Sorry, sorry," she says, glancing down at you for just a moment, "I've got it."

>She does, sliding off the top assembly. You decide not to say anything about it, though it occupies your mind as she pulls out the springs and the barrel.

>"Do the locking block, you'll want to check it every now and then for wear."

>She struggles a bit with it, the right angle a bit hard to find, but she lets out a happy little hum when the piece drops out onto the cleaning towel.

>"Not yet," you say as she reaches for the Hoppes "put it back together first."

>Rebecca hesitates for a moment, but slips the parts back together, the locking block slipping back in after a little struggle and the springs only getting mixed up once.

>She struggles getting the upper assembly in the right spot to flip the disassembly lever back in place, but not the same way you did. Rather than struggling against the trio of heavy springs, it takes the tigress a while to find that sweet spot where it all lines up.

>"Shouldn't it be apart when I clean it?" she asks, setting it down.

>"Function check," you whisper, and she lets out a little 'Oh!' and gets on it.

>"Yes," you say to her original question as she fiddles with the pistol, "But it's going to be much harder when you lube it all up."

>You can physically feel her pause and look down at you; you don't look up, not wanting her see the pink on your cheeks.

>"T-that came out wrong."

>"It's okay," she says, laughing softly, "I get it. Should I break it down again?"

>"Yeah. Yeah, then we can clean it."

>Rebecca disassembles it much more easily this time, and you find yourself almost jealous when it comes to cleaning.

>"Feel free to take your time," you say as she brushes out the barrel, "I like to put on some music and just... relax when I do it."

>"Really?" she asks, looking down at you for directions.

>"Yeah," you say, gesturing to one of the Hopped-up rags, "It's therapeutic for me, almost like meditation. I can just zone out, make it clean, make sure it works."

>The tigress lets out a short purr above you, quietly saying "Might have to try that some time..."

>She reassembles it with minimal difficulty, the generous amount of CLP you have her use making things a little tough, but not impossible.

>"...Yep, all good. Just wipe it down with one of the rags, make sure it's nice and coated, then wipe it off with a dry one. That'll protect the metal."

>You watch her a bit, satisfied, then turn in your seat and make to go down the ladder.

>"Where are you going?"

>You look up to see Rebecca looking down, squeezing her chest out of the way with one hand.

>"Well, that's all there really is to it. I was gonna say goodbye, but--"

>"Hold on, Anon!"

>She pushes you back into your seat with a single, large finger, stepping back to give you another smile.

>"I can't just let you walk out like that! After all the help, you're at least staying for lunch."

>"Thanks, Rebecca, but really, it's--"

>"No."

>You now notice a slight strain to her tone, and that her tail has frozen, the end flicking occasionally.

>"I-- I'm taking charge now. We're going to have lunch, so I can pay you back."

>...If she hadn't been so sweet up until this point-- and if she didn't seem to have some aversion to touching-- you would think that she's planning something like Laura did the other day. But you trust that strained smile, the fangs not giving you the terror they probably should.

>"Okay, Okay. I'll stay."

>"Good," she exhales, deflating for a moment before getting right back up.

>"I've got some stuff I can fix up quick-- can you clear off the table a bit for me? Just set the gear on that chair next to you."

>She walks off without waiting for an answer. Rather quickly, you note.

>You have to almost crawl onto the table to do it, but you take care of the gun stuff like she asked. Setting it on the next chair isn't easy, but that might just be the four to five foot drop talking.

>When you manage it, you take a better look around as the tigress' purring reverberates throughout the house. It's spacious, even in the hallways you can see. The main room you're in seems to house a dining area, kitchen, and living room all in one, a set of large sliding doors leading out back. You can't make out what's there thanks to the bright midday sun, but you note the abundance of plants that crowd the one non-sliding pane. And the ones that take up most of the front windows.

>But it's the smaller details that really catch your eye; every door, every set of light switches, every drawer, even, has two pairs of controls. In addition to the giant-size handles and switches you know Rebecca uses, there's a matching set that's sized and placed for someone that's not ten feet tall.

>You consider calling out and asking her about it, getting the sense that she doesn't want you to get out of your chair, but something in her humming makes you hesitate.

>Your words about meditation come to mind.

>Instead, you just watch her as she busies herself about the kitchen, a pair of small plates already laid out and a few bowls as well.

>Her hips sway slightly, her tail curving in a slight upward arc with a twitching tip.

>She's still wearing that red sweater, and those short, short, jean shorts...

>Your eyes wander her form, her curves seemingly endless, the way she sways only making them more--

>"Goddamn fox..." you mutter to yourself-- though you're not sure it's entirely his fault.

>...you have to admit the tigress is easy on the eyes...

>"Alright, it's ready!"

>You sit up in your seat, quickly shifting your gaze up as she turns back around.

>"Pasta salad, a variety of fruit, and some chips," she announces, laying out the small feast. "Is water okay?"

>"Sure," you say, still a little in awe. "How'd you come up with all this so fast?"

>"Oh, it's real easy," she says, sitting down and beginning to dole out the greens and rotini, "I had all the parts in the fridge, most of that was just getting it plated. Tossing my salad always seems to take a while."

>She pauses mid serve, her eyes meeting with yours as her swaying tail stops.

>You didn't know tigers could blush.

>"N-not what I meant to say," she chuckles.

>"I get you wanted to repay me, but you didn't need to go that far..."

>Rebecca's smile returns to its normal size, and she hums happily as she continues filling your bowls with pasta salad.

>"So, I mean to ask earlier; did you take the day off for me?"

>The tigress searches your face for a moment as she sits back down, and shakes her head.

>"No, Anon. I've got summers off. It lets me do little things like this pretty easily."

>Before you get a chance to finish the bite of delicious, creamy salad and ask her what she does, she counters with a question of her own.

>"Did you take off to help me?"

>"No," you sigh when your mouth is empty. "Because the trial and everything, I only had work on Monday. They 'gave' me the rest of the week off."

>"Oh..."

>You see her ears droop, her tail no longer bobbing up from the edge of the table every now and then.

>"Well, let's not focus on that. What is it you do? Work at the range?"

>"I wish," you snort. "I work down at the library, have ever since college."

>"You went to NAU?"

>"Yep."

>She hums, putting a few fresh-looking strawberries on her plate.

>"When? I went there too a few years ago."

>"It's going to be three years come September, made the mistake of going into History."

>Her smile seems to falter a little more.

>"I got out around seven years ago, so we probably just missed each other."

>You can't tell if she's unhappy with what you said-- if she's sad that you two just missed each other or if that self-deprecating comment hit close to home-- but you don't quite know how to break the silence.

>After a few more bites, you decide to try and be a good guest and do so.

>"I noticed... human-sized door handles and stuff," you say, pouring a few chips onto your plate. "I mean, my tableware is too. You seeing someone?"

>The sound is what tells you something is wrong; chips hitting ceramic don't make noises that metallic.

>You look up to see the tigress has frozen, hands trembling a little as she stares down at the table.

>Her fork lies there, bent as though she tried making a fist with it in her hand.

>She keeps looking down at it, taking sudden, seizing breaths every few seconds. You don't take any.

>"I-- I was." she finally says, the words a struggle. She takes another breath, managing to look up at you.

>"But I'd rather not talk about it."

>"O-kay."

>The two of you stare at each other for a moment, the standoff broken when you slowly look back down to set down the bag of chips. Rebecca exhales, her shoulders sagging as she bends her fork back into place.

>You decide to just keep your eyes on your plate, and not say anything else for the time being.

>She does much the same for the rest of the meal, making things feel even worse. You glance up at her a few times, trying to get a read on her, but she doesn't look up.

>Your scalp begins to itch, like it always does when you're nervous; you may have just managed to screw things up with the one witness Laura said was going to be pretty important.

>Finishing your bowl of her salad seems like as good an excuse as any to make a break for it.

>"Hey, Rebecca?" you say, looking up to find that she's picking at scraps as well. "Thanks for lunch and all, but I think I'll get going now. Can I help you with the plates at all?"

>May as well try and do something to repair things.

>"No, don't worry about it, I'll handle them," she says after a deep breath.

>You climb down the chair-ladder, happy that it's got a solid base. You hear her get up as you head to the huge front door, but the clinking of plates is absent.

>"See you later, Reb--"

>As you turn around to say goodbye, you find her right there in front of you, her tail swishing furiously behind her. The tigress' big mitts wrap around your head and back as she pulls you into what you assume is meant to be a hug, your face getting pressed into the soft fabric that covers her lower stomach.

>"I-- I'm sorry about earlier," she says slowly; you don't move, or speak.

>"That was me. I-- I like you, Anon. You're kind, and caring, and... and you're doing more than you know."

>You're pressed harder into her red sweater, a faint herbal smell hitting you as you manage to breathe.

>The way she's holding you ensures you don't doubt what she's saying.

>Slowly, you reach your arms up, forced to trace the curve of her legs, and return the hug as best you can, arms just barely able to reach either side of her hips.

>The tigress, swaying now, lets out a soft purr, and you get the feeling that her eyes are closed as you feel her tail drift across the backs of your hands.

>The two of you stay like that for a minute or two, and just as you realize you'll give her as long as she needs, Rebecca pulls away. She looks down at you with a warm smile, green eyes sparkling slightly.

>"Thank you, Anon."

>"A-any time, Rebecca."

>When you walk out, your whole body feels light, that nervousness from before gone.

>As you walk back to the truck, you again wonder how much your celestial wingman was responsible for in that little interaction.

>If he's what just saved your ass, you'd actually like to thank him for once.

>After all...

>He had a bit better taste this time.