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Chapter 1: Introduction

"Anon."

"Talia."

The she-wolf hardly looks up from her "SURVIVAL" magazine as you lug your gear by the little RSO shack. She doesn't check your membership card, now a year out of date. It's not surprising -- she is your "partner," after all. Getting into the shooting range for free is just one of the perks.

"I sent a newbie to your bay," she calls after you, "mind helping her out?"

...But you do try and help her out now and again. It's only fair.

"Sure thing."

"Name's Rebecca," the she-wolf says. "Oh, and watch out -- those yeens are back in bay 5."

"Great," you sigh. One or two found out about the range a month ago, and now there's a pack of them that come in. You're not sure which is louder: their laughter or the stubby AK's they bring in with breaks.

Fuck, you can hear it from here at the entrance, even with your ears on. The cougar in bay 1 certainly isn't making all that noise with her pinked-up poly-pistol. Contrary to what you normally see, her pastel piece isn't just a fashion accessory. It matches her compression outfit -- which is trying it's best to contain her -- but she's actually shooting from the bench. So either her shooting ability is on par with her fashion sense, or she's trying to catch the handful of humans that come to the range.

Like yourself.

The way she flashes a smile when you approach makes you think it's the latter. You give her a little wave, spotting the slight white on her muzzle; she's a cougar in both senses of the word. She sets the gun on the bench, getting up as you try to slip past her through the small shooting shelter.

"Hey there, sweetie," she says, her rumbling voice cutting straight through your muffs, "Need a lane?"

"Nah, wouldn't want to bother you," you say. You try again to slip by, but she leans against the wall, completely blocking the pathway.

"Don't say that! I'd love a *little* company," she says.

She leans down, seeming to fill the tiny shelter even more.

"I could spot you... you could... check my form..."

You swear her purring rattles the casings on the floor. The air grows thick with vanilla as she looms even closer, partway above you now.

"Maybe some other time," you say, avoiding her eyes as you freeze. "RSO wanted me to check on someone in bay 6."

The cougar's ears flatten and she draws back, letting you breathe again.

"I didn't think they let humies work at ranges," she says, giving you a suspicious eye.

"I don't. She does," you say. "And she's my partner."

There's a small flicker in her eyes, but it's not disappointment.

"So..."

She doesn't move; her nostrils flare a little. You stay still, not breaking the gaze. You're freaking out inside, but you know letting her in on that would be a terrible idea. College, your library job, and plenty of time on this range has taught you that. After a moment, the cougar finally steps back.

"Okay," she says, crossing her arms, "but I'm not letting you through without getting your name. I'm pretty new too."

You doubt it

"Anon," you say.

"Well, Anon, I'll be here a while. I'm Laura, by the way."

"See you around, Laura," you say as you pass by, feeling her tail brush against you. One of her big mitts wraps around your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks.

"Offer still stands," she purrs, before letting you go. You get out of there as she loads up another magazine. Hopefully she'll be gone by the time you come back -- that was too close. You're lucky you were handloading before you got here. If you didn't smell like gunpowder, you'd have been fucked. Either from your nervous sweat, or the lack of Talia's scent on you.

All the more reason you're glad you're at the range.

You pass by bay 2, not even thinking about stopping. Not after what happened last year. You pause as you approach bay 3, the staccato of apparent autofire echoing around the range. The bench full of expensive, tactical toys confirms that it's Aki. You've never been able to pin down where she gets her cash from, but you know she's not an ordinary university student. You set your bag down and watch as she finishes her drill, targets and barricades filling the normally vacant bay. She's behind one with various cutouts near the center; the awkward angles don't slow her down at all. The cheetah darts between targets in a blur, sending bursts of fire through each. Every string lands in the A-zone, every time.

And you know she's only using semi.

The supersonic crack of her last shot is still ringing off the earthen walls of the bay when she checks her targets. She doesn't smile, like every other time.

"You know, I think there's no automatics allowed on this range," you say as she nears the bench, striding with those long legs of hers.

"Ha-ha," Aki sighs, setting her MP5 down. "That's just as funny as the first 20 times you said it, Anon."

She starts loading magazines, glancing over as you watch her.

"What? You finally get a sense of taste?"

"You left the safety off," you point out.

"Psh. They just--"

"Slow you down," you say with her, "I know. But it's on the bench, Aki. You can be slow."

She snorts, continuing to fill up various magazines with frightening speed. Probably to show off.

"Just because you can't have fun doesn't mean I shouldn't," she says.

"I'll have you know I like my guns better than yours," you shoot back, grabbing your bag.

"Don't lie," she laughs, "If the state let you, you'd get something made in the last 50 years... wouldn't you?"

You shrug, shaking your head. Aki sighs again, turning her attention back to her gear, reloading her vest with mags.

"That's why you haven't tied it off with Talia, huh?"

"Not quite," you say. "We're just taking it slow. Unlike other people I know."

The cheetah blows a raspberry, pistol spinning in hand.

"Uh huh. And what's that gotten you so far?"

"Free admission and an employee discount from FF Supply?"

Aki pauses, the pistol snapping to a stop.

"Fair enough," she says, sliding a magazine in. "But I was referring to your other feminine admirer."

You snort.

"Not even gonna give that a response," you tell the smiling cheetah. "Gotta go, Aki. Got someone in bay 6 to help out."

"Whatever," she says, a teasing edge to her voice as she racks the slide. "Catch you later, slowpoke."

You've always liked Aki. She's focused, fast -- and not quite as lusty as the rest of the clientele. Even if she can't seem to appreciate historic pieces like you can, she at least appreciates you. When you reach bay 4, you wonder if Talia screwed up where the newbie went. You've never seen the fox that's out on the range before. The way she's flinching with each shot persuades you to check. She at least looks normal as you approach, dressed casual but appropriately with jeans and a shirt. It's a nice middle ground between Aki's hyper-tactical 'high-speed no-drag' setup, and the inevitable low-top booty-short combo the yeens next-door are going to flaunt.

Fucking yeens, you can hear their cackling in high-definition now. You wait for the fox to finish the mag in her Sig before getting her attention.

"Are you Rebecca?" you ask, coming up beside her

"Uhh, no, my name's Jen," she says. The reflective shades make it hard to read her face.

"Oh, sorry. RSO said there was someone new she wanted me to help out, and..."

You trail off, gesticulating; Jen laughs a little, nodding as she takes off the glasses. Purple eyes.

"Don't worry, I understand," she chuckles, "mister...?"

"Anon."

"Mister Anon," she nods. "I'm new to the area, but I've got a basic grasp on all... this."

She does a bit of gesticulating herself, sharing a small laugh with you.

"But, if you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here? I thought humans could only use firearms with their wife?"

"Not quite," you say. "The law is a modification of an old human one. We can have 'curio and relic' pieces -- basically anything older than 75 years."

You could go on. Not knowing your way around gun law and its history makes you easy prey for the state, so you try to stay informed. Surprisingly, Jennifer doesn't look bored to tears by it, but she still moves on.

"Ahh. So, you're not here with anyone?"

"I'm partners with Talia," you say, a little disappointed.

"That explains it," she says. The look on her face is still one of interest, not lust at least.

"You know, I moved here for a managerial position at the New Apple Museum," she says; your ears perk up.

"One of the tasks I have is organizing our collection and figuring out what we have. I haven't gotten to know the staff there real well yet, but I doubt any would have a specialty in human gear."

She pauses, catching the smile on your face and mirroring it.

"I take it you'd be interested?"

"Hell yeah!" you say.

"Good! If you want to swap numbers, we can set things up later. I know you've got a newbie to attend to."

The two of you pull out phones and start setting up new contacts. You can't quite believe it's real. You wouldn't, if it weren't for the 'Welcome the new Director!' email you got from the museum a while back. As you and the fox rattle off numbers to each other, you start feeling like there's something familiar about her. You haven't been to the museum since she took over, and you've never seen her here before -- you can't put your finger on it. You still don't have it when you say your goodbyes, turning to leave when she calls your name.

"Oh, wait a sec Anon! You mind if I get a quick picture of you for my contacts? It'll make you easier to find."

When you nod, she pulls you in for a selfie. She's strong for her relatively slight size. She muscles you around a little, taking her time getting the right angle and getting you to smile with her as her phone clicks.

"There," she says, releasing you. "I'll send you a text when I'm finished up here."

"Okay, thanks," you say, smiling back at her before getting your gear from the bench. Your heart soars; previously, your chances of getting into a museum or historical center felt near-zero. And now, you might be working in your specific field of interest. No more dealing with buncels moping around the library and trying to catch you when security is on break. As you move on to bay 5, you realize what it was that seemed so familiar about Jen. Her... scent? Perfume? What she smelled like. Like coffee. You hate the stuff, but love the smell. That was probably it.

Speaking of odors, you're able to smell the yeens as you walk into bay 5. Your hopes of sneaking through are quickly dashed; their small fleet of rusty shitboxes fills the space between the back berm and the shooting shelter. There's only three of them there right now, the rest downrange. One of them is oddly small -- like, your size small -- but the other two are closer to average at seven to eight feet tall.

You grit your teeth, grip your bag, and head in. Just gotta act harder than you feel.

"Oooh, whada we got here?" one of them croons, leaning down to you along with the other big one.

...Aaand there are the too-small crop tops.

"We got us a little humie, Shay," the other says, "What you doin' here all by yourself, little guy? You get lost?"

They cackle, stepping in your way as you try to slip by.

"I just want to get to the next bay over," you sigh. "You've seen me before, now just let me through."

"Ooh! Hear that, Kris? He's makin' demands!"

This makes them cackle even more. As you wait for them to finish, you realize you can no longer hear the staccato of shitty AK knock-offs. Your heart sinks as the rest of them return to the shelter, grinning faces all around as they set down their guns. Soon you're surrounded, and you swear the temperature rises ten degrees. There's gotta be at least ten of them packed in here.

"Look, I just--"

"He's makin' demands," Kris says over you, "he wants ta get through! Whadya think, girls?"

Cue a cacophony of laughter. They lunge for you; the only thing delaying the inevitable is the fact they're all trying to grab you at once.

"Oh, we can make a deal, lil' man," one of them says, "but you gotta do it for each of us."

They all like that suggestion.

"Look!" you shout, "I'm with Talia! The RSO! She wants me over in 6, and if I don't get there, she'll--"

A hand covers your mouth from behind, and you're pulled back against a plush body. There's an audible sniff as the yeen smells you, wet nose pressed to your neck. She shoves you away with a laugh; another grabs you and does the same thing.

"Don't smell like you are, humie," the first one says as you're bounced from hyena to hyena. "Smells like you're loose."

"And we like loose prey," the last one growls, her grip tightening.

"Back off, Roxxi," a less growly voice says, cutting through the laughter. The yeens go quiet as the small one pushes her way through, all eyes on her.

"You know B gets first dibs," she says.

"She ain't here," your captor grumbles. "She ain't gonna know if we have a bit a fun."

"She will," the little hyena says, crossing her arms. "Let him go."

Now growling fills the air rather than distorted, yipping laughs. It's bad enough you're going to get passed around like a pleasure toy. Now you're going to have to watch this poor girl get her shit pushed in, and--

Roxxi drops you to the ground.

...Or maybe not.

"Fuck you, Jamie," the big hyena says. She breaks from the circle of yeens and snatches an AK from the bench. The others all snarl similar expletive-laden threats and follow Roxxi, letting out bellows and growls as they magdump into trash. You stay frozen as Jamie approaches you, unsure what to do.

"You can relax," she says, her voice somewhat softer than the others'. "I'm not gonna fuck you."

"...Didn't think I'd be happy to hear that 'till now," you manage.

"Come on, you need to move," she says, grabbing your hand and yanking you along toward bay 6. "Once they've let off that steam, they're gonna be back for more."

She pulls you at arms length -- not at all possessively. And unlike every one of the others, she's not wearing obnoxiously risque clothes. It's strange, but welcome. You wait until you're both between the two bays to speak.

"Do I want to know what happened back there?"

"Probably not," she sighs, glancing down for a moment. "It's... kinda my fault."

Stranger and stranger, this little yeen.

"There's not really any good ranges in New Apple," she says, "so we -- our pack, I mean -- were just kind of doing it where we could. Places we probably shouldn't have."

Her dish-like ears pull back in embarrassment.

"Anyway, I did a little looking around and found this place. I- I went on my own at first, but then the others found out, and now, well..."

She sounds and looks guilty, like she can't do anything about her sisters. But then what the hell happened earlier?

"Who's B?" you ask.

"She's... the queen," Jamie says, still not meeting your eyes. "She leads our little pack. She didn't come today because she's taking care of some business, but she's gonna hear about this."

Finally, she looks up at you with apology written all over her face.

"I'd stick close to Talia next time you're here."

With that, she walks back to bay 5. You watch her for a moment, and sigh. Hopefully she's not gonna end up as a stain on the ground. You take out the can of spray deodorant from your bag and spritz yourself. It's been living in your range bag ever since the yeens started showing up; you might need to add in a can of mace for next time.

Once you feel like you don't smell like the set of a YEEN'D video, you go to the shelter in bay 6 and set down your gear. The fact that there's no other stuff on the bench tells you Rebecca is indeed new. When you look out at the range, you realize she's *really* new. Five yards away from the nearest target stands an enormous tiger in a sweatshirt and shorts, all bunched up and leaning back. She flinches when whatever she's holding goes off, sending a spray of dirt up on the berm. You approach cautiously, trying not to spook her.

"Rebecca?"

She pauses as she turns to you, consciously pointing the pistol downrange.

"Yes?" she says, her voice surprisingly soft. "Are you Anon?"

"Yeah," you say, just now getting a look at her pistol. "Good job being safe!"

She smiles a little; the little sub-compact looks tiny in her huge paws.

"That doesn't exactly look comfortable," you say gently.

"No, it's not," she sighs. "I can hardly use it."

"Do you mind if I take a look?"

Rebecca nods, handing it over to you; the Glock 42 is still warm from her grip.

"So, this is your first time?" you ask, clearing the gun.

"Yes," she says, watching you with clasped hands.

"Is this your gun?" you ask. The range doesn't do rentals, but you never know.

"Yes," she says again. "I got it and the bullets from a pawnshop."

You sigh. You don't want to know how much they ripped her off.

"You might want to get something else, unless you want it for your husband," you say, handing it back. "I think it's a confiscated human piece."

"Oh."

Her ears prick, and she freezes a moment before her whole body droops. You realize what 'confiscated piece' sounds like in the context of a pawnshop, and hastily clarify.

"You can still have it, it's legal and everything. It's just--"

"I'm too big for it," she finishes for you, the gun disappearing in her grip.

"No, there's nothing wrong with you," you soothe. "You're not too big, the gun's too small."

It doesn't do much for her mood. Even with all the State propaganda, you don't think you've ever seen an anthro look so... human.

"We can still make things work," you assure her, reaching for her arm.

Rebecca pulls back in a flash and bares her teeth, her fur bristling. You scarcely have time to jump back yourself before her expression changes to one of great concern

"Oh God," she says, taking a step toward you, "I'm so, so sorry. I- I just--"

"It's okay," you say, more to yourself than her. "If you're okay, I'm okay."

She nods after a moment, doing her best to appear smaller than she is.

"Let me go and grab my pistol," you say. "It's big enough that it'll be easier for you to use."

Rebecca nods, and follows you back to the shelter.

"So... humans can have guns?" she asks.

"Yes, just old ones. Which happen to be what I like."

"Oh."

"My turn," you ask, "why did you decide to get a gun, Rebecca?"

She's quiet; you glance back, seeing her tail flick.

"You don't have to tell me, just curious. If you have a specific purpose in mind, we might want to work on specific things. And look for specific things in a new gun."

"Oh," she says again. "Can we just do more... general stuff?"

"Sure."

As the two of you arrive to the shelter, you're greeted by a familiar face -- your other 'feminine admirer.'

"Hi Pat!"

The german shepherd just scowls at your false enthusiasm, as per usual.

"You address me as Agent Birch, you little shit."

"Oh, but Patricia," you say as you dig around your range bag, "you always come to check on me! I figured we'd be on a first-name basis by now!"

The ATF agent looms over you as you leisurely pull out your Tokarev and a box of ammo.

"Rebecca, this is Patricia," you say, slowly laying the pistol down. "She's upset that Talia has first dibs on me, so she's trying to bust me and get me put into corrections."

Patricia lets loose a menacing growl.

"You're living in a loophole, Anon. And when I find a way, I AM putting you away."

You make sure the Tokarev is unloaded and present it to Rebecca, bringing her bewildered expression back into focus.

"It's safe," you say. "Give it a try, see how it feels in your hand."

The full-size pistol looks like a compact in her paws, but its a hell of a lot better than her old Glock.

"Better than the other one?" you ask.

"Yes, much," she nods, smiling softly.

"Let's have you try that, then. I can -- oh, wait."

You grab your bag away from Patricia as she looks through it, earning another snarl.

"Pat, in the interest of teaching safe weapons handling, I'm temporarily going to handle Rebecca's gun, which is a prohibited weapon," you say, being technical and legal in the most condescending way possible.

"Is that okay?"

"No," she grunts.

"What if it's unloaded?"

"...Yes," she concedes. The murderous glare doesn't leave her eyes.

"Anon, quit poking the bitch and go do what I told you!"

You and Pat turn to see that Talia has arrived, looking more pissed than usual.

"Yes ma'am," you say, dropping the cocky attitude. If Hollywood wasn't full of predators -- even more than before the State takeover -- you'd consider acting. The two canines start arguing as you lead Rebecca back to the targets.

"Does this happen often?" she asks.

"Occasionally. Neither of them does their job and they know it, so they get like this."

You go through the basics with the tigress; now that she's got a handgun that actually fits her huge paws, she does well. She looks happy when she's got the hang of it, not leaning back or trying to close herself up.

"Thank you, Anon," she says when she hands back the Tokarev. "Really, thank you. I think I'm going to try a different shop and get something nicer."

You take a quick inhale.

"Maybe try a proper gunshop. Or at least let me tag along."

Her eyes go a little wide.

"No, you don't have to," she says, "I wouldn't want to impose."

"I want to," you say. "Whatever you're doing this for is important. I wanna make sure that you're getting something that works for you."

Rebecca stares for a moment before grabbing you in a hug. You can't tell if the softness you're pressed against is from the sweatshirt or from her.

"You're too sweet, Anon," she sighs after a moment, before letting you go with a slight "Eep!"

You follow her gaze back to see Talia and Patricia, now coming out to the targets.

"I -- I didn't mean anything by that!" she stammers at Talia, "I just--"

"Don't bother," Patricia snorts, "It's all fake anyway. Isn't it, Talia?"

"You'd like it to be, wouldn't you?" the she-wolf growls, getting one in response.

"It's fine, Talia," you say. "She was just happy with her progress."

Talia gives you a look before nodding. Fake relationship or not, it's nice having a big she-wolf on your side.

"You wanna see the gun I was talking about?" you ask, seizing the chance to legitimize things in front of Pat. Not that it'd do much to convince her. She nods, getting the game instantly. The three anthros stare as you dig through the range bag, finding the tiny box. You feel them crowd in when you set it on the small field table, watching as you open it up. Talia for the act, Rebecca from interest, and Patricia out of malice. Inside sits the glorious result of at least a year's worth of saving and searching: a Kolibri Model 2, the smallest centerfire handgun ever made. You hold the tiny piece aloft for the three of them to see, glowing with pride.

"It's a Kolibri Model 2," you say, plucking up a cartridge. "Chambered in 2.7mm -- the size of a single grain of rice."

Patricia just keeps up her scowl, while Talia and Rebecca at least indulge you with a closer look.

"I definitely don't want to try handling that," the tiger says, while your 'partner' just scoffs and asks how much it cost.

"Plenty," you say, beginning the delicate process of loading the magazine. "Most of it was the ammo. The gun itself needed repairs, so it was cheap."

Patricia's ears perk up.

"Are you saying you modified that gun?"

"No," you sigh, "I repaired it. If I was going to convert a piece of history into a machine gun, Pat, it wouldn't be the gun smaller than my palm."

For once, she doesn't growl. You slide the magazine in delicately, thumbing the safety slowly. It's smooth, the tiny mechanical parts reveling in their first coat of oil since last century. The guttersight is barely usable, but you're not standing more than five feet from the target. The cardboard will probably stop the bullets -- they'll be going slower than a BB gun, after all. The trigger is oddly smooth as you slowly squeeze.

*SP-P-P-P-P-PK!*

Slowly, you turn the gun; the slide is locked back, the chamber empty. As is your previously topped-off magazine.

"HAH!" Patricia laughs, louder than any of the yeens next-door. "I finally got you, you cocky little asshole!"

Your face turns red and your chest feels light and hollow. You crouch down, counting out six brass grains of rice in the sand while she continues gloating.

"You just made an illegal machine gun and lied about it to an officer of the law!"

She moves in to grab you, but Talia shoves her away.

"Simmer down, Officer Bitch," the she-wolf growls. "I'm the RSO, and I determine if it was intentional or not!"

"You're not protecting him this time, cunt!" Patricia laughs, not fazed by the shove. "Conflict of interest! Being his 'partner' doesn't work out so well now, does it?"

Talia growls; you feel like curling into a ball.

"That means you've got no say in the investigation!" the shepherdess jeers. "All you can do is be a character witness -- but oh, wait, you two are a 'couple?' Sorry, conflict of interest again!"

"What about me?"

The three of you turn to look at Rebecca; her expression is firm, if a little frightened.

"Stay out of this," Patricia says. "I've been trying to catch these two for months. You don't know what they've been up to."

"Exactly..." you say, gears turning in your head. "She doesn't. We just met today. No conflict of interest."

Patricia growls, taking a step toward you. She flinches; the regulator chip must have given her a shock. One of the few totalitarian decisions of the state you actually agree with.

"Well, Rebecca," Talia sighs, "I guess it's up to you. If you make a statement, you're getting tangled up in this."

The tigress nods, taking a deep breath.

"I don't think Anon meant for it to do that," she says. "He likes older guns, and he made a good point -- I don't think something that tiny would be a good machine gun."

Patricia is shaking with rage, but she contains it after a few breaths. You wish you could do the same to the anxiety gripping you.

"What's your full name?"

"Rebecca Maldovich."

"Well, Ms. Maldovich," Patricia says in a controlled manner, "be that as it may, Anon committed a firearms negligence offense. As such, this event must still be investigated."

"Bull-fucking-shit!" Talia yells. "That doesn't cover mechanical failure! And if you're so eager to actually enforce the law instead of harass us, why don't you go the next bay over and deal with the fucking yeens that I reported seven times already?"

"Calm down, Ms. Grilliz," Patricia says with a savory smile. "The state's priority -- not my priority -- is human offenders. Now, Anon, do you have anything to say?"

You've got about a thousand things, but you know none of them are gonna help. Most would probably hurt. You shake your head; Patricia huffs, a little disappointed.

"Apparently you know your rights. Come along."

She reaches for you, and again Talia shoves her away.

"You're not taking him away," she growls. "I know my rights too. Nonviolent violation, at my range, under my supervision; he only goes if I say, and I say he doesn't."

Pat's smug look falters for a moment, but she laughs again.

"Can't wait to take you down too, Talia."

She walks backwards away from the three of you, making sure you get a good look at her smug mug.

"You've got a week."

Damn it all.

"A week?" Rebecca asks.

"Before the trial," Talia growls, staring daggers at the shepherdess.

"The show trial," you correct her. "You know the court system is rigged. We've got one week before my rights get stripped and they put me in mandatory assignment."

She can't say much to that, and neither can Rebecca. Slowly, you pack your gear back into the range bag.

"What are you doing?" Rebecca asks, still in a daze.

"Going home," you say.

"Now?" Talia hisses. "I'm in this too!"

"I know."

"Then what are you running for?" she asks, grabbing your arm and getting in your face.

"Right now, the only way we get out of this is if we get a civil union," you whisper through grit teeth.

She pulls back slightly, locking eyes.

"For both our sakes, I -- I'm gonna see if there's another way out."

She lets you go, walking back off down the range. You sigh; it's going to be a long week for both of you.

---

You wake up for good to the 'ping!' of a text.

All the other times were from the usual things: being too hot, too cold, your arm falling asleep over your head... and the impending sense of doom that's been hanging over you since yesterday. You check your phone, finding the message was actually an email. One with state priority.

The subject line reads "Notification of Investigation for: Multiple Charges."

"Dear ANON ANONERSON,

This email is to inform you that you are currently under investigation for the following charges: 1 count of Firearms Negligence (Negligent Discharge), 2 counts of Illicit Possession (Manufacture and Possession of an Illegal Machinegun), 1 count of Perjury (False Courtship Claims), and 2 counts of Non-violent Obstruction of Justice (1 count of Harassing an Officer; 1 count of Perjury during Investigation). This investigation began yesterday (Sunday, 7/13/2050), following events occurring at the Shoktan Shooting Club (WCS Sector 11).

The potential consequences of these charges include: loss of firearms privileges and confiscation of any associated property; accelerated State Evaluation schedule; and mandatory enrollment into the Civil Matchmaking Services System (CMSS). The investigating officer (Patricia Birch, ATF) has also recommended you be classed for Special Assignment in the CMSS system: due to your charges being non-violent, normal immediate restraints/restrictions will not apply during the course of this investigation. However, should you be found guilty, all normal Special Assignment restrictions and procedures will apply.

The court date for this investigation is: Sunday, 7/20/2050. Arrive at the New Apple Municipal Complex at 10am. You will be escorted to the lower court by on-premises staff. In accordance with the indigenous beliefs of your sector, you will be afforded a public defendant to speak on your behalf by the State if you do not have a lawyer on retainer. If you have entered into a Civil Union prior to this court date, it is important to bring a copy of your certificate and/or your application form, as well as your spouse. This would dismiss one or more of the charges against you (False Courtship Claims, Illicit Possession)."

You skim over the next few lines, full of the stock-standard state assurances and reminders: "remember that access to firearms is a privilege, not a right"; "the State allows for the preservation of some historic practices in your region, not all."

And of course, the ever popular "The Anthro-Guided World Regulatory Commission has only your best interests at heart."

The last few lines at the bottom catch your eye:

"The reporting officer (Patricia A. Birch, ATF) has elected to release her contact information to you and the immediate witnesses of this case (Talia W. Grilliz, Rebecca T. Maldovich). Note that any communications with Officer BIRCH will be monitored and may be used during trial due to one or more charges against you (Harassing an Officer).

Have a pleasant day,

WCS 11 Justice Division"

You groan, tempted to throw the phone. You settle for tossing it on your bedside table. That bitch is taunting you. If you try blocking her number, you'll probably get another obstruction of justice charge. Your phone lets out another 'ping!' You tell yourself not to respond to the shepherdess as you pick it up, relived to find it's from Talia.

'Bitch got started early-- it's fucking 8am'

At least this bullshit hasn't gotten to her sense of humor.

'thought your text was from her,' you reply back.

'No such luck. Didn't come up with anything last night, either. You?'

'No. Half worried they're gonna send someone down here based on my search history alone'

'Could make so many jokes, but I'm not in the mood,' she sends back after a minute. 'We gotta figure this out.'

"No shit," you say to yourself, but resist the urge to snap at her via text.

'I know,' you write instead, 'are you actually being charged with anything?'

'courtship claims, harassing and obstructing an officer.'

'Same for me, but add firearms negligence and possession/manufacturing a machinegun.'

'Makes things a little easier to cover,' she sends back.

'We need a good fucking lawyer,' you respond.

'More to it than that. Lawyer can argue all they want, but the state can throw it out if there's no good evidence or witnesses.'

You groan, rubbing your eyes.

'You make it sound so bright and cheery'

She goes quiet for a while, giving you some time to make breakfast before your phone goes off again.

'Lets make another deal. I'll find someone who can help with the firearms charges for you, and you find someone who can work the perjury and harassment ones for the both of us. I've got people I can ask from being an RSO.'

'And I've got...?'

'Work to do. Talk to legal people, witnesses, secure evidence-- whatever you can'

'...You sure it wouldn't be easier to just get a CU?'

'You can get one,' she sends, 'just not with me'

You sigh. It was worth a shot.

'Keep in touch. I'll update you at the end of the day.'

You close your phone and clean up; at least you started the day early. All the more time for you to use.

You're going to need as much as you can get.

Chapter 2: A Pistol for Reb-O

You take another look at the fateful email, hoping something you see there will spark an idea -- a favor to call in, a memento that could be evidence, anything. Something that might prove more productive than your frantic internet searches last night. Sure, you figured out what most of your charges would be, but not exactly what you can do about them. You didn't see 'Harassing an Officer' and 'Perjury while under Investigation' coming, though. Patricia adding those on was unexpected.

And a bit laughable.

You read through all the charges again, writing them down on a piece of paper. Doing some more focused research might help you about to search up the exact charges when something near the bottom of the email catches your eye: it wasn't just Patricia's contact information that was sent to you. Talia's is there as well, though you have it already. But what matters is that Rebecca's info is there.

She's listed as an 'Immediate Witness' along with Talia, but your gut tells you that she might be more valuable when it comes to testimony. The fact the she-wolf is your best friend is going to work against you. Aside from the fact she's also under suspicion, the phrase 'conflict of interest' looms large in your mind. Rebecca, though, had just met when it all went down. If anyone is gonna be your key witness, it's her.

You add her info to your phone, carefully reading the email again; your communications with Pat are going to be monitored and used in court, but nothing's said about the other two mentioned in the email. You start to look up if there's anything wrong with doing it, then close the tab. You offered to help the girl find a new gun. That's not related to case at all. If she happens to like you more because it, well, there's not a damn thing they can do about it.

Probably.

But tigress seemed so sweet that you're not entirely worried. If there's anyone that'll make this inevitably terrible week start off a little better, it's probably her.

'Hi Rebecca, this is Anon. I bet you got an email from the state earlier too, right?'

You don't bother staring at the phone waiting for a response, doing more legal searches instead. It takes her a little bit, but your phone pings as you're midway through a case-history doc.

'Hi anon!' her message reads. 'Yes, I got a notification from the state that I'm a witness. I hope you're not too worried'

'A little,' you lie, 'I'm working on trying to build my case. I'm no lawyer, but I think a lot is going to come down to testimony.'

You regret the text as soon as you send it. It's blatantly self-centered, not exactly the kind of first impression -- second impression -- you want to make. You type out 'no pressure,' but stop yourself from sending it, thinking about the impact of your words a little bit this time. You get up and put on some hot water; it's early, and you slept like shit. A bit of caffeine should help you think straight. Considering what's at stake, you opt for black tea.

The coffee you prepare is the same el-cheapo instant crap you always use. It probably tastes terrible, but all coffee does to you. What matters is that it smells good, makes you a little more calm. Rebecca's next message comes as you pour the water, filling the little sake cup of coffee powder.

'Oh!' it reads, 'Well, i'll do what I can!'

You close your eyes and hold onto your steeping tea, the warmth giving you a chill, even if it is summer. You take a minute to think about your response this time and type it out carefully.

'Actually, it's kinda convenient getting eachother's contact info like this -- if you want to look into getting a new gun, I'm available. Took a bit of time off of work after everything that happened yesterday.'

By the time you hit send, the tea is ready. You force yourself to take slow, small sips, letting the earthy flavor run over your tongue. It's still a little hot. Your phone goes off again, and this time you leave it. It goes off again as you continue drinking, feeling the warmth settle in your chest. When you finish, you take the phone to the bathroom and prep a shower. You check it as the water warms up.

'Oh, sure!' the first message reads, and then: 'I've got time off too, actually. When would work this week?'

You check the water as you type back -- it's always cold in the mornings...

'If you're not too busy, how about now? I can drive' you send.

The water's almost warm enough now. Just enough time for a quick addition.

'I could use a break from the legal stuff for a little bit...'

You strip down, about to get in when your phone buzzes. You step partway past the curtain, then curse. It could be time-sensitive. You wipe your hand on your discarded clothes before tapping at the screen.

'Okay!' Rebecca's text reads, 'I need a little time to get ready, but today works. Here's my address:'

You chuckle, dropping it back into your clothes as you get in. You need a bit of time too. The shower is certainly a comfort, that warm feeling from the tea spreading all over now. It's cleared your head up a bit, too; you're focused instead of jittery. You're thinking about what gun would best suit her, what'll be easy for her to learn on. Which shops around here have those sorts of guns, plus ammo and accessories. And which place will give the best deal -- on that stuff and on her old piece.

You wonder a little bit about her, too. Her having time off as well is certainly convenient, but it makes you wonder what she does. Her address looked to be in the south-west suburbs, so probably something white-collar. It's a nice part of town. You just hope she's not wasting a sick day on you or anything. She seems really nice, but the way she reacted when you went to pat her sticks out. That and how she was quiet when you asked why she was doing all this.

You brush away the thoughts as you dry off, reminding yourself you're doing it all for a reason. She was nothing but cheerful otherwise, and you made a promise. Whatever her reasons, you want her to have a gun she can actually use. Her being cute is just a bonus.

...Oh, and she's your key witness. That's important too.

The drive to Rebecca's place takes a bit of time, but you don't mind it. A good half of it is in the suburbs, which are a nice change of pace from the urban center where you're renting. It's nice to not worry about some yeen or rat trying to make a move at a stoplight. It actually makes you feel a little out of place, actually -- and not just because you're the only one driving a stubborn old shitbox. Everywhere you look it's well-manicured lawns, shaped bushes and flower gardens, summer decorations in windows and stuck out along front walks. All the cars are new or new-ish, shining on concrete that seems like it just set yesterday.

If it weren't for the lack of humans walking around, you'd mistake the place for the picturesque descriptions of pre-state America. There were anthros back then, you know, but the ratio of them to humans was a bit more equal. You do see a few of your kind out on the sidewalks, but they're all in company of what you presume are their spouses. There are lone anthros, but no lone humans. They look happy and slightly older for the most part; some are on their own, others are walking dogs... You try not to think about it too hard as you pass a large doberman lady walking a tiny mutt of some kind. You imagine they try not to think about it either.

After a few twists and turns, you find yourself at a rather small house, pushed up near the sidewalk. A small willow tree stands alone in the yard, its bed filled with flowers. The light orange paint on the siding is bright, and a small buffer of bushes lays just below the windows. There's no real room in the driveway, since the attached garage is just as pushed-up as the rest of the house, so you make do on the street.

You can't quite make out anything inside as you approach the front door, the windowpanes all getting a good glare. As you get closer and see that it's around 12 feet tall, all doubts about this being the right house vanish. The doorbell gives a bright chime when you push it and wait; the literal 'Welcome!' mat is a nice touch. You realize there's two sets of handles and locks, a normal set around the height of your waist, and another larger set around head-level. Definitely new construction.

Soon enough the tigress answers the door, looking down at you with a smile. Her outfit is a little different from yesterday, her sweatshirt and shorts replaced with a red, woolen sweater and a pair of short jean shorts.

"Hi Anon!" she says, "Thanks for coming!"

"No problem Rebecca," you say, standing awkwardly on the stoop. "I've got the time, and like I said, I could use a break."

"I'm happy to help," she says, pushing you out toward the street with her presence alone. "It's the least I can do."

She pauses as you unlock the door to your truck, and it takes a second for you to realize why. Standing there with the pistol case looking tiny, she's taller than the cab by a good three feet. She's wider than the door without a doubt, and she might be thicker back to front, too. Her tail flicks low behind her, her ears drooping a little as she lets out an "Umm..."

"Maybe we should take your car?" you suggest, trying to hide your blush.

"It's in the shop, actually..." she says, her hands flexing around the pistol case's handle. "I dropped it off yesterday, after the range..."

You sigh. It's funny-- you've used the light truck's small size to avoid giving rides before. The bigger Anthros from the range -- usually the big predatory species, but sometimes hefty herbivores -- seem to always have their vehicles malfunction when you're around. And naturally, they're a bit harder to say 'no' to than the just-a-little-tall rodents or the lanky buncels from the library. You may have teased some of them with it, leading them on to watch their face fall when they saw the cramped cab. Then their car would magically start up again.

You feel a little bad about it now.

"Here," Rebecca says before you can speak, holding the pistol case out to you. "You go ahead. I trust you to get something better for me."

"Rebecca, it doesn't work that way," you say, choosing your words. "The State requires the owner to be the one actually buying the gun. Plus, all I can really get are pre-State guns... and..."

"...And we know those are too small for me," she finishes with a nod, though she's still frowning. "Most pre-State stuff is."

"Yeah... Well, it's got a bench seat. we could throw the case in the bed, and you could try to squeeze--"

"No, no, I'm not putting you through that!" she says, waving away your suggestion. "I'll go in the bed."

That wasn't what you expected to hear at all.

"A-are you sure?" you ask, trying to read her face; nothing but serenity. "We could always wait until your car is fixed."

"No," she says, putting her hands on her hips, "you said you needed a break, and I said I'd give you one."

Before you can protest, she drops the case in the cab with you and throws a leg up into the bed. Getting in is easy for her, tall as she is, but the ancient suspension complains loudly. You watch the rear end bounce a little as she settles into place with her head near the cab, but the stubborn machine holds.

"Come on!" she says, a bright smile on her face.

"Can't believe none of the others thought of this..." you mutter to yourself, turning the key.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

The truck moves sluggishly, but moves all the same. You keep it in the lower gears, all your turns and stops nice and gentle for your passenger. The engine isn't giving you much choice -- you don't know the Toyota's tow weight, but you imagine the tigress is near it. If you felt out of place on these streets before, you're certain you are now.

Rebecca fills up your rearview mirror, even though she's leaning to the side near your window, practically hugging the cab. Hell, she fills up your bed; the tigerstripe of her thighs cover the width of it and threaten to spill up over the side, her knees bent and her feet dangling lazily above her like she's making a phone call rather than riding down the street. Your eyes roam up over the hem of her shorts and to the generous curve of her rear, her tail sweeping across it now and then with the slight wind. Another question comes to mind: why is she wearing a sweater in the middle of the summer?

"A-Anon, there's a--"

"Shit!" you hiss, stomping on the breaks for the fast-approaching stop-sign. A cyclist flips you off as she swerves around you -- you didn't think you could cycle with hooves, but that pissed-off doe just proved you wrong. You hear -- no, feel -- Rebecca's chest thump against the rear glass as the whole truck lurches to a halt, right behind your head.

"S-sorry, I zoned out," you manage, "trying to think of the best way to get there without taking the highway."

She laughs a little nervously as you start up again, her rumble a bit louder than the pickup's.

"That wouldn't go well," she says, grabbing onto the roof and the edge of your open window; you're pretty sure you hear claws punching into the steel.

"Where is it we're going, exactly?"

"'Double Action Sports,' they're an indoor range and a store. They've got a good selection of anthro-sized handguns. More than most of the other places I go, anyway."

She gives a little noise of affirmation, then goes quiet. When you get on a stretch of calm, open road, you take a glance behind you: thank God. The rear window is somehow still intact.

There's no other incidents on your way to the store, your eyes completely on the road this time. You see a few heads turn, but no one causes a fuss. The parking lot is filled when you arrive, but thankfully everyone is already inside. The two of you are spared a little dignity as you find a spot, but Rebecca still blushes. As much as tigers can, anyway; her tail and ears flick, as she gets out. She holds the gun case tight to herself, looking down and biting her lip as the two of you walk towards the sleek storefront.

"You okay?" you ask.

"Yeah," Rebecca says, shaking herself a little, "It was a little fun, actually."

"Wanna take the highway back?"

There's a pause, then she chuckles.

"You're funny, Anon."

You've been to this place once or twice before, though you can't remember why. It hasn't changed much, everything white, black, or tactical brown and green. The shop portion of the store is nearly as big as the range, separated by soundproofed glass. Firearms take up the majority of the showroom, though there's the mandatory apparel and other knick-knacks section off in the corner near the counter. The range itself is fairly busy, muffled thumps of gunfire providing a second beat for the radio. The showroom itself is empty, but the staff are all busy at the counter, trying to get a younger-looking group set up for a range session. They give you a glance of acknowledgment, but that's all.

"Good," you say to yourself, "We're on our own."

"Why is that a good thing?" Rebecca asks quietly, following you to the rows and rows of display models.

"We'll be buying instead of being sold to," you say, taking in their inventory. Everything is modern and organized by brand. Glock, Tridentia, Lupine Arms -- even HK, the standard supplier for the state. What's important is that they've got a good variety of models, including oversized pieces. You look at Rebecca; she's just a little overwhelmed

"So now I need to know a little about what you want, Rebecca," you say. "Let's start easy. How big do you want it to be?"

"Big enough for me," she says, still trying to take in the sea of gunmetal, finishes matte and shiny.

"Don't worry, they're all probably big enough for you to use. Something smaller will be lighter, have more concealment options, but they've got less mass. Bigger ones will be easier to handle, but they're bigger, and --"

You stop yourself, catching Rebecca staring down at you.

"Bigger ones are easier to hold onto and shoot softer, but smaller ones are easier to hide. Sorry, nerded out."

"That's okay," she says with a slight chuckle. "I think I'll go with something bigger, then.

"Okay," you say, simplifying your thoughts, "next question: do you want more shots, or more power in each shot?"

"Can't I have both?"

"It's a tradeoff," you sigh, "always has been. The middle-ground isn't usually an improvement."

The tigress makes a soft sound, leaning down to look at a Sig 520 and its display.

"Well, what do you think?" she asks, clasping her hands behind her back.

"...You're a big girl," you say after a moment. "You can handle a big round."

She stands back up, cracking what you now know to be a nervous smile as she tries to shrink herself down.

"It's a good thing," you reassure her, reaching out to pat her arm before remembering what happened yesterday. "Last question: what's your price range? Low, middle, high?"

"Middle," she says, her tail flicking a little. You nod and take stock of their inventory again; you want something high caliber, extra-fullsize, and median price. HK is out for being too pricy, Lupine Arms for the opposite reason. Sig and Tridentia are about on par and both have the right size, but Glock has more options when it comes to chambering. But giving her something without a proper safety might not be the best idea. In the end, though you're not the one deciding. You point out the various models that you think would fit and have Rebecca pick up the display models. The store staff glance over at the two of you now and then as she racks slides and pulls triggers, but they've fortunately still got their hands full.

"I think this is it," Rebecca says after a while, having come back to the Tridentia 30XL. It's certainly a better choice than the Gobi Eagle she was infatuated with -- .99GE is probably a bit much, even for her. Say nothing about price. The 30XL is quite similar to it, actually; a simple, steel-framed autoloader, one of the only other hammer-fired models on the market. But you've always preferred DA/SA. The progressive decocker/safety isn't bad either, though you'll have to make sure the tigress doesn't get overwhelmed. You go through the list of chamberings with her, and settle on .50 Beo-Short. If she were anyone else, you wouldn't recommend the caliber to a new shooter, but you've got a feeling the titanic tigress will handle the round just fine.

Another positive is how common the model is. In fact, you bet there's some stuff in the little gear section of the showroom that'll fit it. You take another look at the counter while Rebecca continues handling the sizeable semi-auto, and see that they're still busy.

"Okay, Rebecca," you say. "If that's the one you'd like, let's get you a ticket. We can see if there's anything else you need while the line at the counter thins out."

"Oh! Okay," she says, setting the gun down, "-- what other things do I need?"

"You know, ammo, cleaning supplies -- stuff like that."

She nods, and you walk through getting a ticket with her. The mini kiosk things are just like the ones they've got at FnF -- they're pretty straightforward, but Talia's walked you through them before. She works the gun counter, so it's one of the few things she can do to kill time when you hang out there on-shift.

With a fresh ticket in hand Rebecca follows you over to the apparel and accessories area. Looks like the ammo is behind the counter, all the shelf space here being taken up by tactical knick-knacks, some more useful than others. You search together through them, though you doubt you're looking at the same things. The tigress is eyeing up the tacky t-shirts plastered with things like "Gun Bunny" or "Pistol Packin' Momma," and rolls her eyes at the handbag covered in MOLLE straps. The only thing that somewhat tempts you is the overpriced, extroverted coffee that's mandatory at stores like these.

"Hey Reb?" you ask. "Were you thinking about carrying the gun?"

"Like... outside the range? Can you do that?"

"If you're a State employee or were at one time, yeah."

"...Well, I guess yes."

You nod, and bring her to the selection of holsters, checking the different size charts for ones that'll fit her Tridentia. She tells you she wants it 'hidden,' which shouldn't be a problem; she's big enough that even the 30XL should disappear pretty easily. What you're most concerned about is getting the right style for her. You don't know how she plans to carry the gun, and because it's such a personal thing, there's little you can really say besides 'try them all out.'

"What's this one?" she asks; you turn to see her holding a mess of velcro and straps like it's some kind of unknown sea creature.

"That's a shoulder rig," you say, watching her untangle it, "...you can try it, but I don't know if it would be the best choice for you."

"Why not?" she asks, putting it on. "This one even fits!"

It does indeed, and she even put it on right. The black straps arc across the back of her red sweater, tucking the holster and mag pouches under her arms. They might be a little bit high up, but more concerning is the enormous bust that'd be in front of her draw. The very, very enormous bump on her red sweater.

"W-well, you'd need to change your outfit if you want to conceal it," you say slowly, "And I'm a little worried about your draw."

She gives you that same cute look from the range, one of confusion but concentration.

"How you draw the gun," you say. "I'm worried you're a little..."

You cough as you gesture around your chest, sure you're blushing.

"...Well developed."

It takes her a moment to figure out what you're saying. When she does, she lets out a tiny sound of embarrassment. You look away as she hastily takes the shoulder rig off; when you look back, she's squeezing herself in a futile attempt to hide her assets.

"What would you suggest, then?" She asks slowly after a moment, looking anywhere but down at you.

"A-Appendix," you say, also looking anywhere but at her. "O-on your belt, I mean. You won't need to change your outfit, and it's easy to access."

She makes a soft sound of acknowledgment and grabs the holster you offer up. Her tail swishes as she heads to the counter; you keep your distance. You try and force your blush down as the two of you wait for the counter to open up. You can't tell if she's offended, angry, embarrassed, or some combination of the three; it's not good for your star witness to be any of those things toward you. Especially when she's like 10 feet tall and a couple hundred pounds... and you've got to take her home.

You've got the sense to not try and explain yourself to her; you *really* were thinking about the holster, and not about her chest. It really is big enough that you think it'd be an issue. Her boobs look bigger than your head, after all.

Each. Each one is bigger than your head.

You sigh-- definitely a good thing you didn't say any of that out loud...

"...oh. Are you sure?"

The soft sound of her voice brings you out of your thoughts. The pack of youngsters have cleared away from the register, and Rebecca is talking with the polo-shirted anthro at the counter, trying to appear not twice as large.

"Sorry, ma'am," the bulldog says, "but that's the best I can offer. We don't really cater to humans, so..."

You notice the tiger's new Tridentia is already bagged up along with the goodies you suggested, but that's not what they're talking about. The Glock 42 -- human-sized -- is laying there in its case, the barely-used box of .380 next to it on the counter.

"Okay," Rebecca huffs with a sad tone. She sweeps the case and the bag into her grip and grabs you hand with the other.

"Come on, Anon."

You're a little surprised as she leads you out the door -- her grip covers your hand to the wrist, but isn't overly tight. She's not tugging you along, keeping you at her side.

"I thought you said it would be worth $400?" she asks when the two of you are in the parking lot. "They only offered 125!"

"Well, they had a point," you say. She lets you go, her tail flicking as she deposits her purchase in the cab.

"If their customers are going to have about as much fun with it as you did, then they're not going to want it."

Rebecca grumbles, sounding like a thunderstorm as she slides into the truck bed.

"Fine," is all she says when the suspension shuts up. She crosses her arms and puts her back to the cab; you decide it's best not to point out she's blocking the rearview mirror. The truck splutters to life, and you take your chances backing out. She'll yell if you're going to hit something, you figure. You stay quiet for a few blocks before taking your chances at a long light, sticking your head partway out the window.

"Hey Reb?"

"Yes, Anon?" she calls back. You can feel it throughout the cab; she sounds more tired than unhappy.

"We could try one of the stores I usually use. I'm sure we can get a better price there."

She's quiet for a bit, then the truck buckles and the suspension makes a noise like chipmunks having a rave. You turn forward and grip the wheel as her chest thumps against the rear glass again, and she half-hugs the cab once more.

"Okay," she sighs, settled into place now.

You're just glad she did it before the light changed.

"Anon! Good to see you!"

John greets you at the door, as always.

"...and I see you've brought some company with you..." he adds as Rebecca squeezes in through the small doorway, case in hand.

"Yeah," you say, scratching your head. "She's a friend of mine. Someone sold her something a bit too small for her."

"I can see that," John says, watching her pop in from the doorway. The tigress still has to stoop a little to avoid the ceiling when she's inside.

"Rebecca, John. John, Rebecca."

"Hi," she manages, gingerly taking the old man's offered hand.

"Nice to meet ya, 'Becca," John says, giving her firm shake. "Were you looking to sell the gun to me?"

"Y-Yes," she says, offering the case to him.

"Ahh, a Glock!" he says, opening it up and taking a look. The pistol looks tiny even in his old hands.

"Yep. Can see why a little lady such's yourself would prefer something else."

You try to catch John's eye as Rebecca lets out a nervous laugh, again trying to shrink herself down.

"Let me just go check my books..." he says, heading for the back before pausing. "Oh! Anon, I had something for you to look at."

You follow him, glad he caught your look.

"Just make yourself at home out here Miss," he says to Reb as she looks around hesitantly, "this won't take but a minute. Take a gander at what I've got. Lot of it's from my personal collection!"

That seems to calm the tigress down somewhat. She takes a look at the old taxidermies that line the walls as you head into the back room. It's a small store, and the back room is even more cramped than the front, full of tools and extra inventory. The old man grunts, setting the case on a stool before trying to clear some space on his workbench. The place smells like old wood and grease, especially so back here. It's comforting.

"I thought you were with that Talia chick?" John says, setting the gun on the bench and starting an inspection.

"That's not what this is," you say.

Somewhat for yourself.

"I'm in a load of trouble, John."

"Oh?" he asks, figiting with the bright tabletop lights.

"Pat finally found an excuse to start an investigation. It's bad."

The old man pauses as he disassembles the 42, but waits for more.

"The Kolibri ran away on me, and she's claiming I manufactured a machinegun."

He laughs, nearly losing the striker as he pulls the slide apart.

"Yeah, ha-ha, it's real funny. If she gets her way, I get everything taken away and get shipped off to Special Assignment."

You can't tell if that sobered him up, or if it's because he's eyeing up the Glock's receiver guts.

"Rebecca is the primary witness. She was new, and I was helping her out when things happened."

"So you're buttering her up for court," he asks, "not bed?"

You sigh.

"If that's how you wanna put it, yes. I already took her out to get a proper pistol for her size. We stopped by here because they didn't want a piece that small."

"Well, I'll certainly take it," he says, turning to you. "How much?"

"They're around $400 on the used market."

John lets out a quiet groan, snapping the case shut.

"I'll give her five. Just because I don't want to lose a good customer."

That lifts a weight from your shoulders.

"Thanks, John,"

"Yeah, yeah. Come on," he says, getting up, "act like we never talked."

The old man blathers on about a hunting trip from decades ago as he half-pushes you back to the front. Rebecca is looking at one of the big-bore rifles John has hung near the ceiling, but turns to the two of you attentively.

"You mind getting the cobwebs while you're up there?" John jokes, setting the case back on the table. Rebecca laughs again, and blows on the ceiling before shuffling back over to the counter.

"So, I can give you $500 for it," John says, readying the paperwork. "That okay?"

"Y-yes!" Rebecca says, nodding after a moment, "yes, that's okay with me!"

"Alright, then let me walk you through these forms..."

John gives you a look as he guides her through the convoluted State forms. Even though he deals mainly with curio and relics, he still files everything he's had and sold. Having a wife deep in the body of the Anthrostate will do that. You don't know the details, but you suspect it's part of why he's able to run the shop at all.

The look says that you owe him a favor or two. You brush it off, pretending to look at one of the many racks of shotguns. Whatever it is he's expecting -- more than likely to get a better price on your next purchase -- it's well worth standing a chance at trial.

Half an hour later he's sending the two of you out the door, laughing his ass off when he sees how you got here. Rebecca's laughter in response is surprisingly genuine; either she's really happy about that deal, or she likes the old man's brash sense of humor.

"Hey Anon?" she says, leaning in close to the window.

"W-we can take the highway if you want."

You turn to see her smiling, fangs glinting in the midday sun; somehow, the sight fills you with joy rather than terror.

Rebecca's fur is ruffled and her hair-like mane windblown when the two of you arrive back at her place in the suburbs. You decided against the highway, compromising on the Subsector Mainways. You're not sure the Toyota could get up to 70 right now, but it had no issue with 45. Even at those speeds, you could still hear her occasional laughter through the wind, shaking the cab around you as she pressed into it.

"That was fun, Anon," she says, taking the Double Action bag as she slips out from the bed. Your suspension cries out in joy; you're more focused on the joy written on her face.

"The shopping trip, or the drive home?"

"Both," she chuckles, leading the way up to her door. "Both were fun."

The two of you stop in the threshold, something pulling you back.

"Well, I should probably get back to the case now," you say. "But when that's over, we can definitely do this again sometime."

"Of course," she says, tail drooping slightly, "I suppose I've kept you long enough."

"Hey, I had fun too."

"Good." she purrs, looking down at you. Like, really purred. You think you saw the windows flex in the corner of your eye. The two of you sit there for a breath, staring at each other, before suddenly you get a faceful of sweater.

Soft, warm sweater, with a slightly floral scent.

"Thanks, Anon," she says as you register her paws on your shoulders, holding you close in the closest thing to a hug she can give while leaving you on the ground. "I'll see you again, I hope?"

"At the trial, at least," you say into her stomach. She lets out a sad, quiet laugh, letting you go slowly.

"Well, see you later, Anon."

"Bye, Rebecca."

As the door closes and you turn back to the empty truck, you find yourself wishing it went on longer.

All of it.

True to your word, you spend the afternoon and into the night educating yourself on the convoluted mess that is the Anthrostate legal system. Which, from your studies, is hardly different from historic ones in its needless bureaucracy and jargon. You're just glad you're not in Sector COW way out west-- you'd probably be in some sort of intensive deradicalization therapy already. The courts here in WCS are still slanted toward the state, but not insurmountably so. If you can clearly disprove all your charges, then you should be safe. Assuming Talia can make your weapons charges go away, the rest are all going to come down to eyewitness accounts.

You've got plenty on your side when it comes to harassment charge with Patricia-- hell, most of the people at the range would probably vouch for the same charges against her. The perjury charge for her investigation (you assume about the 'machine gun') shouldn't be too hard to shake either: you've got a reputation for historic preservation. All it should take is a few more people on your side.

The kicker is courtship claims. Eyewitnesses won't cut it for that -- at least, that's what you've read. There's so few cases of it ever coming up that there's almost no precedent for it. It's hard to prove or disprove, which means the state is going to favor its own side. A civil union would be the easiest way out, with Talia or anyone else. You've read the fine print, though: as soon as divorce or separation papers get handed in, you're considered guilty on all counts.

That's the one solid precedent that's been set.

Your phone rings as you finish a sheet of notes for your public defender -- whenever they're finally assigned. Perfect time for Talia to ring. You pick it up and answer without looking, offering an exhausted "hello?"

"Anon?" a gentle voice answers.

"Reb?" you ask, her voice pricking you awake. "Hi, what's up?"

"I wanted to call and check in on you," she says, "...and see if you'd be free tomorrow, by any chance?"

"I'm not sure," you sigh, "I'm hoping they'll assign me a lawyer soon, so I can talk things through with them. Other than that, like I said, I took the week off."

"Well, I was thinking..." she starts, trailing off. You can picture her face, the shy smile and clasped hands.

"Yes?"

"If you need testimony, you should go to the range. See if anyone from yesterday came back. I could come along, and maybe you could walk me through this new gun a little?"

"Umm, sure," you say, "Yeah, that actually sounds like a great idea!"

"Great!" she says. Then a bit quieter: "It also seems like it might help you... you know, destress?"

"Yes," you chuckle, "yes, it will."

You take a breath, and push the legal notes away for a second.

"I think most people will be there a little later in the day, if they're going at all-- should I come get you at 4?"

"Sure," she answers.

"Okay. See you then, Reb-- you don't mind if I call you that, do you?"

"Not at all," she says, the warmth in her voice coming through clear over the phone. "Bye, Anon."

You set the phone down as it goes quiet, feeling a bit better than before. You've got something of a handle on your situation, and your key witness is certainly seeing you favorably. You feel a lingering sense of warmth, and something tells you it's not from the beef stew you're eating at the computer. The tigress' cute smile comes to mind again, the little flick of her ears. All the soft sounds she makes.

The 'ping!' of a text snaps you back to the present: Talia wants to check in.

'Any progress?' she asks.

'I think so,' you send, and then: 'I talked with Rebecca some; she seems sympathetic, at the very least.'

'Good. I'm going to be making some calls at the range tomorrow, getting advice from a few people.'

'Might see you there, actually. From what I can tell a lot of this is going to be about witnesses: Reb had the idea to go to the range and see if we can't drum any up.'

It takes the she-wolf a little bit to respond to that one.

'Solid. Check in with you then.'

You go back to your legal research for a little bit after that, but there's not much more that you can find. It doesn't feel as bad as it did last night. You don't feel guilty as you read a bit in bed. The pre-State history book is excellent bedtime reading -- and not just because it's fairly dry. You soon find yourself drifting off, much more easily than the night before.

And this time, you're actually looking forward to tomorrow.

Chapter 3: Three Bullets for for Reb-O

You take stock one last time in your living room, looking over all the gunmetal and wood.

The long-guns go in the two backpack-cases, the revolvers in the Plano one, and the other pistols go in the old camera bag. The range-bag itself has everything else, but all you feel is the lead. Getting out the front door is a struggle between the weight and the awkward length. You groan as you approach the old central staircase; it's not just some manly macho-urge to get it all done in one go, but necessity. The Hilux doesn't have a covered bed, and you don't trust that some street trash wouldn't try to nick the guns from the cab. You do live in Chutseville, after all.

Ordinarily it's not a problem, but you don't ordinarily bring your whole arsenal. You've got a good reason to; your oddball guns garner plenty of attention individually, so bringing them all should attract a lot. You're gathering potential witnesses, so attention is what you need. Letting people try out the weird guns won't hurt either.

That, and part of you worries this may be the last week you'll have with them.

You sigh, setting the last case in the truckbed. You shouldn't think like that. Rebecca had a point yesterday about needing to de-stress. Going into this with a more positive mindset will help you actually enjoy it. You smile as you pull out of the parking lot; you're certainly looking forward to working with the tigress. She's pleasant to be around, and she was plenty eager to learn on Sunday. A gun of her own probably means she's even more so today.

You think idly about some of the other details as you drive to her place, the afternoon sun high in the sky. It sounded like she worked for the State or still does. With how expensive her house seems, it makes sense. But the time off doesn't, and neither does the way she treated you. No high-level State employee you've met acts like the way she did yesterday or the day before that.

The more raw bits come to mind, and you wonder if that has something to do with it. The way she reacted when you touched her, how she got embarrassed after you talked about her breasts, even via euphemism. How she made that tiny noise of surprise when Talia caught the two of you hugging on Sunday, and worried about Talia taking offense to it. That last bit doesn't sound like something a self-righteous State zealot would worry about at all.

You wonder why it is the tigress decided she needs a gun.

As the verdant greens and bright, sparse concrete of the suburbs begin to surround you, you remind yourself not to ask. She didn't want to talk about it on Sunday, and that probably hasn't changed.

Rebecca comes out as you pull up to her place, locking the door as you unlock the truck's. Her red sweater is bright as yesterday, and you're reminded of how hot out it is. The extra short jean-shorts make sense, but the sweater stands out. She smiles as she approaches, tiny pistol case in hand, and you smile back.

"Hi Rebecca!"

"Hi Anon," she says, pausing when she reaches the sidewalk. "Where should I put this?"

"You can just throw it in the --"

You pause, looking back at all your gear in the bed. Right where the titanic tigress has to sit.

"Shoot," you say, hopping out of the cab. "Sorry about that, Reb. I kinda forgot."

She makes a soft sound, watching you heave one of the cases from the truckbed.

"It's okay. Should I just put it in front with you?"

"Sure," you reply. Rebecca slides her pistol case in through the passenger window as you play tetris with the two-rifle soft-case. The Toyota's bench isn't wide enough that you can just lay it down, and you don't want it sticking out the window. There's just enough room to stand it up, though. You go to the bed for the next case and find it empty; the door handle c_hunk_s as Rebecca tries to open the passenger-side, your bulging range bag casually hanging from her other hand.

"Oh, sorry," she says, her ears flattening with embarrassment.

"No problem at all," you say, reaching over and unlocking it for her.

"You're bringing a lot today," she says, stuffing it in for you. "Do you usually bring this much?"

"No, not usually," you reply, helping her maneuver the shotgun case. "But I figure these will turn some heads, get more people to come over."

You pause when the suspension screeches again, Rebecca's weight lowering the truck a few inches. You turn forward as her bust fills the back window -- that thump you heard is probably her hands on the roof, not her breasts on the glass. Not at all.

"T-that and I thought about what you said. About de-stressing."

The tigress' purr mixes with the engine as you start it up. Only way you can tell the difference is the rumble on the back of your seat.

"I'm glad," she says. The car shifts as she settles into place, once again half-hugging the cab.

"Ready."

You nudge the gas and coax the Toyota into motion. The trip yesterday makes you confident it'll hold up, but you're still going to baby it. The truck is older than you, it deserves it.

"How long have you been into guns?" Rebecca asks, looking at you in the side-mirror.

"Six years, I guess. Couldn't get my hands on them until three years ago, but I studied them before that."

"Studied?" she asks.

"Yeah. Studied, researched -- I was interested in them, is the point. Seriously interested, I guess. I --"

You pause. Probably don't want to tell her about dad. Doesn't matter how sweet she is, no high-level State employee needs to know about that.

"I was going for a history degree, and one of my projects ended up being about them. Found myself really interested in how they developed, and now here I am, a bunch of books and guns later."

"Oh, a history degree!" Rebecca says. "Do you work at the museum?"

"I've worked there before," you say, "but just for research. A paid internship, basically. The field is a little... small."

"Oh," is all she says. You can see her expression fall a little, her whiskers drooping in the wind. But she still smiles.

"So is all that research how could fix the little gun from Sunday?"

"Well, I still have tinkering to do, but yeah."

You find yourself turning the Kolibri over in your head, trying to figure out what caused it to malfunction.

"It was incomplete when I got it -- basically all the ones on the market are -- but it was mainly the internals. Little parts that don't require special machines, just a lot of patience. The tolerances on it are incredibly tight. The guy that designed it was a watchmaker, so it makes sense. That could be what's causing the problem, but I'm sure I --"

Then it clicks.

"Yeah, that could be it!"

"What?" the tigress asks.

"It's got to be the ammo!" you say. "When I made those parts, I triple checked the tolerances and did a function check. Everything worked like it should in a normal firing cycle. But when I added actual live ammo, that's when it malfunctioned! The ammo I used Sunday was stuff I'd made from empty casings, since there was barely any original stuff left. That and it's over 100 years old, so the reliability is questionable."

Rebecca's head tilts in the side mirror. Her smile is still there, but you can tell she's not getting everything you're nerding about.

"Anyway, the point is the ammo I made is what made it slamfire. I think. There's less data on the ammo than the parts, so I could've overloaded the cartridges, which in turn could rattle the internals out of alignment, and make the striker not recatch."

She nods, closing her eyes as she smiles.

"You can tell me to shut up if I go on about stuff for too long, by the way," you say.

"No! No, it's okay," she laughs, her tail flicking behind her. "I don't mind. It's nice to see someone talk about what they're passionate about."

You chuckle a little. Her closed-eye smile is warm in the mirror.

"Sure. Thanks, Rebecca," you say. "I haven't had the chance to really think through it. I've actually got some things I can try with it on the range, now."

"Good! I'm glad!"

You again feel her purr through your seat, though you can't hear it.

"What about you?" you ask, "What sort of stuff are you into?"

"Oh!" she says, blinking. "Well... I enjoy gardening. I've got a lot of plants in the back yard."

"Ahh. So like flowers and stuff?"

"A few," she says, "but mostly produce. Vegetables and herbs, things like that. A lot of work now that it's warm out!"

"That's cool. Bet it saves on food bills."

"Yes it does," the tigress chuckles. "In more ways than you'd think, too. I've been getting so much I've started going to the farmer's market."

"Really? That much?"

"Uh-huh," she nods. "Actually, I should've sent you home with some yesterday, for all the help you gave me."

"No, no, that's alright," you say, waving her off. "You don't have to do that!"

"Well, I want to," she says, drumming her fingers on your door.

"Really, Rebecca, it's alright. You don't have to -- I just wanted to help out."

"And I appreciate that," she says, "and I'm going to give you something to show it."

You sigh, sinking into the seat with defeat.

"Okay," you say. "I suppose it'll give me a chance to go over taking apart the gun with you."

The tigress' ears pop up, and you see her whiskers stiffen in the breeze.

"Just to clean it," you say. "You should clean your gun every time you take it out shooting. It should be easy, too -- it's a common enough gun that you could probably find videos and steps online, but... you know."

You look her in the eyes.

"I want to make sure you're happy with it. That you're confident in doing it on your own."

She stares at you a second before her arm comes in through the window, hugging you to the seat tighter than your seatbelt.

"Thanks, Anon."

You hum in acknowledgment; you manage to stroke her sweater-covered arm twice before she pulls back with a stifled sound.

The ride to the range is quiet after that. There's no air of awkwardness like yesterday, much to your relief. Rebecca asks you to wait when you're at a middle-of-nowhere intersection, and shifts onto her back. You don't blame her. It's a nice day out, and the countryside is beautiful. The fields are full of life, corn and grains waving in the wind while greens and alfalfa turn the gentle hills a vibrant green. The bits of forest between are lush with vegetation, the trees just spaced enough for bushes and grasses to grow beneath them.

The pop of gunfire greets you far before the range itself does. The Hilux has more traction on the gravel road and parking lot than usual -- having a few extra pounds of tiger in the back helps. You can feel the whole truck lift when Rebecca gets out, the suspension sighing in relief; you remind yourself to check it for wear later. By the time you unbuckle and reach over in the cab for a bag to take, there's nothing there.

"Ready to go?" Rebecca asks, standing there with everything.

"Sure."

The tigress lets you lead the way to the counter, where a familiar she-wolf lounges. Talia nods at you, then stares at your towering gear toter.

"You bringing everything?" she asks.

"Yep."

"Hi Talia!" Rebecca chirps with a wave.

"Hi Rebecca," the she-wolf says, forcing a smile. The customer-service face fades when she turns back to you.

"Made those calls," she says. "You want the news now or later?"

"Later," you say, "I was going to walk Rebecca through her new Tridentia."

"I wondered," Talia says. "6 is open last I checked."

"Alright -- it should only take like half an hour or so. You're fine with that, right Reb?"

"Sure," the tigress nods. She's stooped over slightly, just shy of the shack's ceiling. You notice her tail is curled up around her leg, like she's trying to be smaller.

"Well, good luck," Talia says. "Better get there quick. It usually gets busy around now, people getting off of work and all."

"Oh, yeah," Rebecca says with a soft noise of concern, shuffling out from under the shack's roof.

"Part of why we came here now, actually," you say to the she-wolf. "If anyone we know happens by, tell them I'm down there, alright? Hoping to drum up a few witnesses for Sunday."

Talia gives you a grunt and a nod. Rebecca lets you lead again, sticking close. You walk along the worn two-track that runs behind the shooting shelters, not wanting to disturb anyone. You snoop a little, making eye contact with the few people that notice you and wave, but that's about it. The first two bays are full of older, mainly human club members, ones you don't know the names of but know by sight. Talia can send them your way later. Shooting the shit -- and shooting shit -- with them could be fruitful, but you've got a promise to keep. The rapid fire rattling around bay 3 tells you Aki is there before you even get to it. The mess of gear on the table confirms it. The cheetah is standing out in front of the bench by a few yards, fiddling with a rifle.

"Hey, Aki," you call out. She turns and gives you a smug smile.

"Hey, slowpoke. Watch this!"

Aki turns back to the range and raises her gun -- a little high, you think. The reason becomes clear when you hear a distinct bloop. The cheetah lowers her M4, smiling as the chalk grenade explodes on a target 100 yards out.

"Where the hell did you get an actual underbarrel launcher?" you ask as she saunters over to the bench, popping the spend 40mm shell out one-handed.

"Surplus," she says simply. She nods over at Rebecca. "Who's this?"

"Aki, Rebecca; Rebecca, Aki," you say. "We met Sunday when I walked her through things for the first time. Now she's got her own gun, so we're gonna test it out."

"Congrats," the cheetah says, giving Reb a smile. It's a little muted when she turns to you, though.

"Talia told me about what happened on Sunday," she says. "I'm sorry, man. I told her I'd be happy to pitch in whenever you two get a lawyer."

"Thanks, Aki," you say. "It means a lot. If you want to try any of my stuff, we'll be over in bay 6. I brought it all today"

"Nah, that's alright. Wouldn't want to chew through your ammo," she says. "I've got enough toys to play with right now, anyway."

She pops a mag in and slaps the bolt release, her smug grin returning.

"Nice to meet you, Rebecca," she says, turning briefly to the tigress. "If you want to try something a little more modern, hit me up."

"Sure! Thank you," the tigress replies. Aki gives the two of you a nod before turning back downrange, walking towards the little shooting course she's got set up. Rebecca's eyes linger on all the matte black and gunmetal on the bench as you continue to Bay 6.

"Shouldn't she have her stuff... locked up? Or have someone watching it?" Rebecca asks.

"Yeah," you say, "but folks are pretty respectful here. You don't really have to worry about it. Plus, it's Aki. She's got superpowers."

"Oh?" Rebecca asks with a chuckle.

"Yeah, she's like a dragon. Knows the instant someone touches any of her gun stuff."

The tigress laughs some more, the sound soft and light. It's at odds with her build, same as her voice. It distracts you enough that you don't smell the inhabitants of bay 4 until it's too late. The hyenas hold their fire, sniffing the air and slowly turning your way. Your heart sinks when the three of them see you. Even the smallest one looks taller than you, and the biggest -- Roxxi, maybe? -- is on par with Rebecca. Both in height and curves.

Rebecca's laughter stops when theirs starts; they've again blocked the two-track with their shitboxes, meaning you'll have to go through the shooting shelter.

"Hey there humie," Roxxi says, cocking her hips. "You change your mind 'bout havin' a good time?"

"No," you sigh, "I'm doing the same thing as Sunday, I just want to --"

"She don't look same as Sunday," the medium one says, pointing to Rebecca.

"And I thought you said you were with the wolf?" the shortest adds. She leans on a post, filling the last bit of space you could possibly slip through.

"I am. I'm helping out a new shooter here. So please, just let us through."

The three of them look you and Rebecca over, those shit-eating grins still plastered on their faces. They're undressing you with their eyes, little yips of laughter coming every now and then. You don't dare look back at the tigress. If you do, they'd pounce.

"'Guess we could try another deal," Roxxi says, leaning down. Her breasts strain against the spandex of her top, threatening to fall out. She snickers, reaching for your hair.

"But it'd only be for --"

"Back off!"

Rebecca's rumble makes you jump; it takes you a second to realize it's her. Roxxi pulls away, all the attention now on the tigress. Her ears are flat, her hands off to the sides, her tail bushy and lashing. The fact she's been trying to shrink herself down becomes very apparent, because she's not doing it now. The yeens' lips curl as they size up the tigress anew. The smallest yeen attempts to say something but gets cut off by Rebecca's green glare, her growl making the tin roof shake.

God, you wish you the Tokarev was in your pants instead of the pistol bag right now.

Roxxi lets out a snarl, but grabs her two sisters and pulls them off to the side.

"Fine, bitch," she says. "Go on. He don't put out, anyway."

Rebecca doesn't move for a moment, then grabs your shoulder. She stays staring at the yeens while she pulls you tight to her, putting herself between you and them. Even so, you feel them stare. Only when you're past the side-berm do the yeens go back to shooting, and only then does Rebecca let you go. She sighs as she does, shuddering slightly; she wasn't just holding her breath. Her eyes are closed when you turn to her, her fur just starting to come back down.

"Thanks, Rebecca."

She flinches, but relaxes when she sees you're not reaching out to touch her.

"O-of course," she says, giving herself a quick shake. "I slipped by them on Sunday. They didn't give me any trouble then, but I guess I'm not... what they're looking for."

You manage to chuckle slightly, and you see her relax. Bay five is thankfully empty, as is six. You help Rebecca lay the gear out, readying your Tokarev while she sets up her 30XL. You keep an eye on her, silently checking her work. You've done training like this before, handling new shooters. Most of the time it's with Talia, for protection. Just in case. But you don't think you have to worry about that with Rebecca.

The tigress listens diligently as you go over the controls with her. When you're finished, she tells you she went through the manual last night. She's sweet about it, though, apologizing and saying she didn't want to cut you off. You have her load up mags while you staple a few different targets to the stands. After going over the fundamentals, you start her off with some slow-shooting at 10 yards.

"It's looking a little high," you say after the first group. "What's your sight-picture look like?"

"Sight picture?"

"How your sights look. Here, come up to the target with me."

You sketch a diagram of iron sights, reminding yourself not to get too into the weeds.

"Do your sights look like that when you aim?" you ask. Rebecca squints, then nods.

"I have the front one between the back ones," she says. "That's how it should be, right?"

"Yeah...where are you putting them? Right on the target, or under it?"

"Right on the target."

"Alright," you say, standing up. "Let's go back and try again -- that thing's probably zeroed for a little further out. Try putting your sights right below the bullseye."

Rebecca nods, loading in another magazine. Her shots pull much closer to center; it takes a few groups, but soon she's getting everything within the first couple rings.

"Okay, I think we're ready for the next step," you say.

"Going back further?" she asks. Her eyes widen a little when you shake your head, and nod over to the next target.

"Distance is good, but figuring out what you have to work on is better," you say, shifting over to the diagnostic target. The tigress looks a little lost, staring at the different labeled sections.

"Just shoot at the center, like you were before."

She nods, and fires off another group. You go up and investigate, finding most are in the 'Jerking Trigger' section. You translate that to English for her, and go through her trigger pull with her until she can identify the wall. Rebecca's ears flatten when she tries again; her shots are closer to center, but still in that section.

"Don't get caught up on it," you tell her, "it takes years to get it right. Here, watch."

You put a few Tokarev rounds on target, the holes about half the size of hers. They end up off to the right.

"See? Still gotta work on how much trigger finger I use," you say. Her expression brightens a little, making you smile. You have her move on to the last target, one meant for rifle sight-in. The fact you're using pistols doesn't matter. It has six bullseyes for her to shred, and that's what you care about.

"Hey Reb?" you say as she's loading mags. "You can load those up all the way now."

She looks to you for direction when she's done, the Tridentia ready in her hands. You simply gesture to the target, and say "It's all yours."

You stand off to the side and simply watch her go. She's a bit closed off, still hunched over with her arms ramrod straight. Her tail flicks lightly between shots, her pace slow and steady.

She looks pretty cute when she concentrates.

You give her advice between mags, more or less reminders of what the two of you covered before. Her stance and groups improve as you watch, her shots getting faster as her tail continues to flick.

"So, how do you feel Reb?" you ask when she's finished, all her brass now spent. She lets out a small sigh as she stares downrange, now 15 yards from the target. It's a happy sigh.

"Good," she says, turning to you with a smile. "Thanks, Anon."

She slides her pistol into her holster and reaches for you, but stops half way, cringing slightly with a soft sound.

"You good?"

"Yes!" she says, "yes, I'm -- I'm sorry."

She deflates a little, her head hanging low. You reach for her but stop halfway as well. You sigh and go over to the target stands, pulling the targets off.

"Here," you say, holding them out to her. "If you want them. Sentimental value, and all that."

Rebecca's expression brightens a little, and she gives you that cute closed-eye smile as she takes them. You look back at the shooting shelter, spotting a few folks lounging around the benches. They wave back when you wave to them; probably came over at Talia's request.

"Hey Reb?" you say, "Could you help me set up a few more targets? I've got a lot of guns back there to go through, and it looks like a lot of people, too."

"Sure!" she says. She again carries the gear, following you out to the 100 yard stands.

"So, what's the plan?" she asks when you arrive. You staple some hi-vis bullseyes up as you respond.

"Go back there and talk, I guess. It looked like the folks we saw on the way in, so I imagine they'll want to talk about the pieces I've brought."

You tug at the target a little, making sure it's secure before standing back.

"I'll try and steer the conversation towards the trial, try and get their contact info in my little range book."

"Range book?" the tigress asks as you begin heading back.

"Yeah, my range notebook," you say. "You don't need to worry about one. I keep it in my bag in case I need to write something out -- helps to take notes when you've got a bunch of finicky old guns like mine."

Rebecca hums in acknowledgment. She stays quiet as you set the targets up at 50; you clear your throat on the way to the ones at 25 yards.

"If you have to go, just let me know. Don't want to keep you if you've got something going on."

She makes a sort of cooing noise.

"I appreciate that, Anon, but don't worry. I've got time."

You can feel her watching while you staple up the last few targets, choosing her words.

"We can stay as long as you need. I want you to actually enjoy some of your time here, and not just spend it all working with me."

"Hey now..." you say reflexively, looking up at her. She's smiling, but you reassure her anyway.

"Working with you was fun. You might be a terrible student, all ornery and arrogant," you say, making her giggle, "but it feels good to watch you improve."

Her eyes widen a little at the last bit, though her smile doesn't falter. You find yourself lost in her expression, her green eyes warm as sunshine. Her whiskers shine in it, cutting across the stripes framing her face, the orange and black mesmerizing. She blinks slowly; you think you hear her beginning to purr.

"A-anyway," you say, forcing yourself to look away, "let's not keep the people waiting, huh?"

"S-sure," she responds.

The aging crowd greets you in the gruff sort of way their generation does, and you respond in kind. You introduce Rebecca as your friend and student, fresh from her first outing with her own gun. She gives them all a tiny wave and a soft "hello", pulling that cute closed-eye smile again. The small crowd greets her back, offering some congratulations and tips you already told her before turning their attention back to you.

"The wolf-girl at the front gate told us you had a favor ta ask, Anonerson," one says. "Somethin' about a court case?"

"Yeah," you sigh. "I can't get into details about it, but if you wouldn't mind being a character witness, it'd really help out."

"You can't give us any details?" an old woman asks.

"Well..."

"Come on," a skinny man says, "give us somethin'! We gotta know what we're meant ta judge you about, right?"

"Alright, fair enough," you say, raising your hands in defeat. You stroke your chin a little, choosing your words. "It... it has to do with my attitude towards firearms. About conservation."

A dozen heads nod, sounds of acknowledgment filling the little booth.

"She also said you'd be shooting off those funny guns of yours, the wolf-girl did," someone says. "And that maybe we'd get to, too?"

"Well, I don't know..." you chuckle. "How about I give you all a little demonstration first?"

The group gives a rowdy cheer, and Rebecca smiles. They all crowd in close as you set up the ZH-29, Rebecca looking over their heads. You go through the weird bits of the rifle with it's trigger bolt-release and offset sights, not going too deep into the historical part. You take a few shots to prove it still works, even if the bolt locks sideways; there's a few whistles and some laughter when someone checks your work with binoculars, your shots close to the bullseye out at 100 yards.

Your two takers from the crowd don't do quite as well, though they both keep everything on paper at 50. You demo the rest of your collection in a similar way, keeping things brief. More people take you up on trying the 1901 and the Webley, probably because they're the more recognizable guns in your collection. They're also easier ones to get ammo for, so you're more than happy to let them all have a go. Rebecca stands off to the side, watching quietly. When the crowd has had their fill and say they're gonna get going, you bring up the trial again.

"If you could, I would really appreciate your support as a character witness for this Sunday," you say. "I've got a little notebook right here if you want to leave your name and info."

A chorus of "of course"s and "good luck"s follow, along with a lot of back-patting and hand shaking as they say their goodbyes. When you look at the notebook after they've all cleared out, there's a whole page full of names and numbers.

"Now all I need is a lawyer..." you mutter to yourself. You can feel Rebecca come close, looking over your shoulder.

"Did it go well?" she asks.

"I think so," you say, shutting the book. "Still waiting on my DA to be assigned. These names aren't worth a whole lot without someone to coordinate everything."

"I'm sure it'll work out," the tiger says; her tone makes you believe it, a little. She pets your hair, and you stiffen slightly. Her paw is massive and warm, her touch gentle. It's only a second or two before she pulls back with a quiet cat noise, her tail flicking wildly.

"S-sorry!" she says, clutching her hands to her chest, "I -- I didn't mean -- I just --"

"It's okay, Rebecca," you say. You reach, but she sucks in a breath and shrinks away, tensing. "...You can pat my head, or pet it, or whatever. It's fine."

"W-what about Talia?" she asks, still tensed. You almost ask "what about her," when you realize what she means. You and the she-wolf are 'in courtship' after all. You sit there verbally stumbling for a few moments, coming up with the right words.

"I think you meant it in a... friendly way," you finally say. "I'm fine with that. I'm fine with my friends doing stuff like that. We're friends, right Rebecca?"

She closes her eyes and nods with a long exhale, letting her hands drop back down to her stomach.

"Yes," she says. "We're... we're friends. I'm glad we're friends."

The two of you stand there in silence, both wringing your hands. You get lost in her expression for a second before reminding yourself why you're here. You're here to make sure the trial goes well, not to woo her. The tiger wanted help, and giving it to her means her testimony will be solid and favorable.

Hopefully.

"Anyway, you want to do anything else? All my guns are still out if you want to give one a try."

Rebecca offers you a smile, though her ears droop.

"I would, Anon, but they're all too small."

"Hey, you managed to make the Tokarev work," you say, pointing to the soviet garbage-slab. "I'm sure we can make something work. You carried them all in here, it's only fair that you try one if you want."

The tigress looks over the bench a moment, squeezing her hands. Then she turns back to you with a nod. You survey your collection, trying to think of which gun is the easiest to use with your thick winter gloves. The long barrel of the 1901 Winchester glints in the sunlight, poking out from the overhang of the shelter.

"Okay, I got it," you say. The rolling-block action echoes throughout the bay as you open the lever and load up the tube. You keep the lever open when you hand the weapon off to Rebecca, and it looks like a BB gun in her hands. She doesn't ogle it, though, looking down at you for direction.

"That's a lever-gun," you say, "when you close the lever, it puts a shell in the chamber and makes the trigger live. After you shoot, you rack the lever to go again."

You reach up and tap the extended lever for effect.

"Normally, you'd put your hands inside the little space here, but what you can do is grip along the outside. You might only be able to get a finger or two on it really well, but that's okay, as long as your trigger finger is where it's supposed to be."

"Not on it until I'm ready to shoot," the tigress says with a nod. You smile, nodding back at the serious, striped woman.

"Exactly."

You watch as she shoulders the shotgun. She's chicken-winging it, but there's not really much she can do about it. The bolt rattles as she pulls the lever home. The tigress lets out a small grunt of annoyance as she works to get her fingers in place, but she makes it work eventually. Her shoulder hardly moves when she pulls the trigger, and it's not just due to her stance.

"A bit high," you say, watching Rebecca rack the lever. "Try getting your face lower on it."

The tigress tries, then shifts her thumb with another grunt, letting her cheek actually press into the wood. She fumbles less with her finger this time, another shot ringing out. She stays firm, though you can't help but notice the jiggle in her shorts and sweater.

"How was that?" she asks. You look out at the target, clenching your hands and trying to force down any blush.

"Better," you say, "give it another go. Should have two left."

Rebecca's last two shots are nice and tight, the slugs sending up big sprays of sand. she lowers the gun slowly and smoothly after she's empty, looking down at you with a smile.

"That was fun," she says, "not perfect, but fun!"

"I'm glad," you say, smiling back. "Anything else you want to try?"

She makes a soft sound, looking over the bench one last time before shaking her head.

"No, I think I'm ready to go if you are."

"Alright. Let's start packing up, then. Got a lot of guns to put away."

The tigress nods with a slight chuckle. You have her put away the boxes of ammo and spent brass while you check to make sure all the guns are clear and safe. She finishes fairly quickly, and you start showing her how to check the guns, making sure to keep your nerding-out to a minimum. You're about halfway down the line when the tigress lets out a soft 'Oh!'

"Anon, what about the tiny one?" she asks, "you said something about testing the ammo."

"That's right," you say, snapping your fingers, "thanks for reminding me, Reb."

She gives you a smile and another soft cat sound, watching you go over to the Kolibri's little case. She leans in close as you pop it open, watching over your shoulder. You try to ignore the warmth coming off her as you pull out the magazine and go through the tiny cartridges. The original rounds are wrapped in an ancient piece of cloth; you've only got three to work with. You let out a sigh, and gingerly load two. You'd like to test more, but the last one is getting taken apart for study when you're home. As you click in the tiny magazine, a thought occurs.

"Hey Rebecca?" you ask, feeling her pull away when you turn. "You have your phone on you? It might help to record this. You know, for evidence."

"Sure," she nods. The tigress goes off to the side, crouching to get a better angle. "Okay, it's going."

"Alright," you say, "Going to go through my theory first, for the record."

You clear your throat, look at the camera, and begin.

"This is my 2.7mm Kolibri. When I bought it, it was in need of repair -- I can go over the details later. In short, some internal components were missing, worn, or broken. I made replacements myself using the best measurements and materials I could find. The reason this trial's happening is because when I test-fired it, the gun ran away on me and slamfired."

You take out the magazine, holding it up for the camera.

"After some thought, thanks to my friend Rebecca --" who smiles behind the phone camera -- "I'm thinking it was the ammo that was the problem. I was shooting my own reloads when it malfunctioned, and overloading them could have cause the internals of the gun to jar out of alignment while it was cycling. These, however, are original cartridges."

You slide the tiny magazine in and rack the slide.

"They've got the dimensions and specifications that the Kolibri was intended for. If I'm correct, there should be no malfunctions," you say. Then you turn back to the range, taking aim at the nearest target you set up for your other pocket pistol. You adjust your grip with a sigh, say a silent prayer, and --

"Oh no."

You look up at Rebecca, then follow her gaze past you.

"Mr. Anonerson," Patricia says, strutting up with an evil smile. "Taking everything for one last spin?"

You flick the tiny safety and lower the Kolibri, thoughts rushing through your head. She's right, but maybe this is a chance to prove your innocence. She probably won't bite, but it's worth a shot. Plus, your key witness is standing right there.

"Not exactly, Pat," you say, "I --"

"'Officer Birch,' perp," she growls, putting her hands on her hips. Her ears perk back up when she sees what you're holding.

"Oh, perfect. That's what I was coming here to confiscate."

"Confiscate?" Rebecca asks; the ATF agent looks up at her with a frown, seeming to realize she's there for the first time.

"The machinegun is evidence, Ms. Maldovich. Now back off, like I told you earlier."

"Actually Ms. Birch," you say, getting her to snap back to you, "I was just about to test something. I think I understand why it did that on Sunday."

"Because you wanted it to?" she snorts.

"It was because of the ammo," you say, ignoring her. "I was shooting reloads that I made. I think what happened is I overloaded them, and the extra force rattled something loose. Just enough that the striker wasn't catching."

Patricia's expression doesn't change, her arms staying crossed. One of her ears flicks as she looms over you.

"I don't care, Anon. You're still faking your courtship, and that gun is still a machinegun until I say otherwise. Now hand it over."

"But I can prove it to you right now," you say. "I've got the original ammo loaded already, one in the chamber. Just let me fire, and --"

"You pull that trigger and I'll add 'tampering with evidence' to the list of charges," the shepherdess says. She takes a step towards you, and you feel a hand on your chest.

"Officer Birch, please!"

Rebecca puts herself between you and the ATF agent, keeping her paw on you.

"Give him a chance! He hasn't tampered with anything, I saw him take it out of the box. He couldn't have changed it at all!"

"That's not my concern, Ms. Maldovich," the shepherdess growls. "He admitted himself he modified the gun. Now I advise you to step aside -- you might've submitted yourself as a witness, but you don't need to engage with him any further. You hardly know him."

The tigress stays right where she is.

"I know you're being harsh," she says, her tone edging on a rumble. "He just spent an hour showing his collection to strangers and letting them try his guns. He's a kind young man, and -- and I don't understand why you're choosing to be like this!"

The two of them stare at each other, the range once again silent. Pat's tail is stiff while Rebecca's lashes behind her, brushing up against you every now and then. Both their ears are pulled back, both their stances are tense. Pat's gaze dips, checking the tigress' hands. You don't like how long it lingers on the one on your chest.

"Well," the shepherdess says, voice cool, "maybe that's because I'm not the one he's 'cheating' on Talia with."

It hits you harder than it should. She said the same thing Sunday, but it irritates you more.

"You know that's not true, Pat. Me and Rebecca just met on Sunday. We're just friends, that's it. Right, Rebecc --?"

You look up to see the tigress has frozen, her ears completely flat. Her breaths are short and shallow; when you go to touch her hand, she yanks it away. She backs into one of the posts of the shelter, her pupils small and her hands in a low ready. You're not sure who she's looking at, but her claws gleam in the sun. You jump when Pat snatches the Kolibri from your hand, ignoring your protests as she shoves you aside to put it in the little metal case. You look back to Rebecca, finding her staring blankly downrange.

"Pat, what the fuck did you do?"

You turn back and Talia's there, doing her best to try and loom over the ATF agent despite being the same size.

"I caught your 'boyfriend' in the act," the shepherdess says. Her tone is overly professional as she drops the bagged-up Kolibri into one of her belt pouches. She doesn't flinch when Talia presses in close, wrinkled muzzle inches away from her own.

"What did you do to Rebecca, and why the hell are you touching Anon's things?" Talia asks, growling low.

"I'm confiscating evidence, Talia," Patricia says. "Just his machinegun. You try and stop me, and you'll get another obstruction of justice charge."

Talia doesn't budge, her growl deepening in tenor. Pat smiles. The she-wolf breaks away with a snarl, but steps aside. The shepherdess' teeth glint as her grin widens.

"Be seeing you Sunday," she says, strutting off. You let Talia stare daggers at her; you're more worried about the tigress. She's still up against the shelter's post, her eyes now closed. Her breaths are more full than before, but she's still tense. Even her tail is static.

"Reb?" you say softly, then a little louder. "Rebecca?"

No response. You reach out for one of her hands, hovering near her stomach.

"Rebecca, she's gone. You're o -- "

She jolts the instant you touch her, making you jump back; the expression on her face is burned into your mind. Her fangs are bared, her eyes narrow and ears flat. Her claws are raised in an impromptu guard, and her stance makes you realize how big she really is.

The hiss is something you won't forget either.

It's only a few seconds before the tigress' eyes widen and her claws retract; it takes a little longer than that for your heart and lungs to start up again. A few more seconds after that, she manages to speak, her words soft and struggling.

"I -- I'm -- s-sorry..."

You nod, and she closes her eyes with a sigh, wilting before you. From the corner of your eye, you see Talia's hand drift away from her belt.

"...You want me to give you a ride?" the she-wolf asks. The tigress opens her eyes, looking at you expectantly. There's a little shimmer to them.

"No, you, Rebecca," Talia says, getting her attention. "Do you want to ride with me?"

The tigress looks back to you, opening her mouth just a little. Then she swallows, and nods.

It's all you thought about as you packed up; it's all you thought about on the drive home. And it's what you're still thinking about now, some three hours later. Even cleaning your equipment isn't helping. You do it anyway, trying to find peace in the oil and gunmetal. Your phone sits on the table beside you, still waiting for a message from Talia. You haven't heard about whatever fruit her calls bore.

Or about Rebecca.

You don't know why the she-wolf volunteered to take the tigress home. Maybe it's an anthro thing, or some form of 'women's intuition.' Either way, you're not sure how to feel. You still can't figure out what it was that Pat did -- or if you did something yourself. You wanted to comfort the tigress, and still do. But you realize that maybe it was best she wasn't stuck in the back of your truck after whatever that was.

You're in the middle of greasing the Webley's hinge pin when your phone goes off; it's a text from Talia.

'Got good news from those calls. Got a guy that specializes in firearms law, he agreed to take care of things for us.'

You wipe off your hands. You've got a lot of questions you want to ask, but you start with the one that makes you the most angry.

'Why didn't you warn us that Pat was coming? Why didn't you stall her?'

You force yourself to wait a little bit when her response comes through. When the Webley is finished, you allow yourself to look.

'I was a bit busy dealing with our DA.'

'We have a DA?' you ask.

'We do now. He said he called you, but you must've been shooting.

We've got a meeting with him tomorrow. Check your email for deets.'

You open your phone's browser and sure enough, there's a new notification. You close it and switch back to your messaging app, staring at Talia's last words. It takes you a while to work up the courage, but you don't hesitate when you finally do write it out.

'What about Rebecca?'

It takes her just as long as you to come up with a response.

'We can talk tomorrow at the meeting.'

You sigh, and put the phone down. Doesn't sound like you'll be getting the best sleep tonight. Even after spending a few more hours meticulously cleaning your gear, you feel the same way. The empty space in your firearms chest taunts you. It's actually a little nice, a bit of a distraction. Then your phone rings again, the contact picture being a default letter in a circle.

You don't need to look to know which 'R' is calling.

"Hello?"

"A-Anon?"

Her voice might be raw, but it's too soft to tell.

"I'm here, Rebecca," you say. Then, after some silence, "...Are you okay?"

"I -- I tried to take apart my gun," she says. "I remembered what you said about it being important, and -- and I tried, but I think I broke it."

You think you hear a sniffle.

"...How?" you ask after a moment. "You made sure it was unloaded, right?"

"I did, but it -- the slide won't move. It doesn't want to go forward or back. Anon, could you please... come over? Help me fix it?"

You hardly breathe, looking over at the clock: it's practically midnight.

"Anon? Please, I -- I promise that -- what happened at the range isn't --"

"It's okay, it's okay," you say. "It's okay, Rebecca. But it's late. I can come over first thing tomorrow morning. Is that alright?"

The tiger is quiet for a few seconds, then sighs "Yes."

"Okay. See you first thing in the morning then. Alright?"

"Alright," she says. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight," you reply.

The call ends, and you find yourself staring at the blinking numbers. Not even a minute and a half. You shake your head, and go start a cup of magnolia tea. It's supposed to help with sleep.

You're definitely going to need it now.

Chapter 4: Reb-O's Big Night

The parking garage of the law firm offers a little privacy. The sounds of the city and echos of engines force you and Talia to stick close to hear each other; anyone trying to listen in doesn't have a chance.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"He... He seems fine, I guess," you say. "I don't know. I don't know how much him being good matters. It sounds like the case is just going to be hard."

The she-wolf grunts.

"He said he would look into the character witnesses we mentioned."

"It's not the gun charges I'm worried about," you sigh. "Those are fine. Hell, I was a second away from proving it yesterday."

Talia sighs.

"...I'm worried about the courtship stuff too."

The lion lawyer had been impressed with what you'd managed to scrape up in your legal research, but he didn't have very many comforting words for you. Like you thought, the 'harassment' and perjury can probably be dismissed with good enough eyewitnesses, but courtship claims are more tough. Neither you nor Talia have anything to really substantiate the relationship, and your coworkers or fellow range members saying 'they've been together for two years' isn't going to cut it. About the only upside Lyons gave you was that Pat's claim was weak; you'll get normal Assignment instead of Special.

The two of you laughed when he suggested tying the knot.

"Anyway, I got stuff to do," you say, breaking the silence.

"Me too," Talia replies. "My shift at FF Supply starts soon."

She's halfway over to her truck by the time you work up the nerve, blurting it out when she starts to wave goodbye.

"What did you and Rebecca talk about yesterday? On the ride back?"

The she-wolf stiffens. She turns slowly, her shoulders rising and falling in a deep sigh. Her expression is serious, like it was yesterday when she offered said ride.

"We... didn't talk much. She kept apologizing, and I kept telling her it was okay."

You look Talia in her amber eyes; there's more to it than that.

"What else?"

"She invite you over?" Talia asks after a pause. You try to figure out what she's feeling for a moment, then give up. You nod slowly; the she-wolf sighs again, slightly rumbly.

"Her freezing up wasn't your fault." Talia says. "She really likes you, Anon... She's worried it's too much."

You've known the she-wolf long enough to tell she's not lying, but little things stand out to you. The angle of her ears, the way her tail is stiff.

"Is it?" you ask. Talia turns, heading back to her truck.

"I suppose you'll find out."

She doesn't wait for a response, hopping in the old F350. You do the same, starting up the Hilux. You can worry about the she-wolf later -- you're already late for helping another anthro out. You find yourself going slow and easy on your turns, being surprised at how spry the old Toyota is without a half-ton passenger in the back. It makes the trip to the Old Italy restaurant faster.

The whole situation whirls around in your head, and you still feel a bit bad standing there in line. You should've checked Lyons' email before heading to bed -- you could've told Rebecca earlier that you'd be occupied. It wasn't anyone's fault; Talia didn't know when Lyons called, and the lawyer's schedule was exceptionally tight. The tigress was understanding regardless. You think. It's hard to tell after only exchanging less than 20 texts, but her single digit replies still make you nervous.

That's part of why you're picking up lunch. It wasn't the original plan, but you also weren't expecting the meeting to go this long. By the time you make it out to her place in the suburbs, it'll be nearly noon. You sigh when your number comes up, checking to make sure the order's right. Last thing you need is for that to go sideways too, like the shower did this morning. Water pressure was all weird. Happens occasionally, but it's an old building.

Traffic isn't too bad for midday, giving you plenty of time to stew. You're finding yourself more worried about Talia as time goes on. Rebecca sounded concerned over the phone, but you're hoping a good night's rest dulled... whatever it was that happened the day before. But the way Talia got when you asked about the car ride sticks out. You turn the words over in your head, trying to remember all the little bits of body expression. She wasn't lying, but you don't think she told you everything.

Whatever Talia omitted concerns you; the fact there was an omission at all does even more.

Rebecca isn't there to greet you this time when you arrive. It feels strange walking up to her door with the warm bag in hand, like you're some kind of delivery boy. The doorbell is bright and cheery when you press it; you wish the tigress that answered was too. More so, anyway.

"Anon," she says, giving you a small smile. She cocks her head a little at the take-out bag.

"Hey, Rebecca... I felt bad about the whole appointment thing, so I got lunch."

The tigress' eyes widen a little, and some laughter bubbles out.

"Oh! That's -- That's very thoughtful of you, Anon!"

She beckons you in and takes the bag from you. You take a quick look around her home; it's a large, open space, the slanted ceilings making it seem even more so. The kitchen and living room are connected and open concept, separated only by the transition from carpet to tile. And everything, of course, is sized for her. Rebecca pulls a chair out, the seats at chest level for you. The tabletop is somewhere around your head.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like," you say, trying to figure out how you're going to sit, "so feel free to take whichever."

"Oh Anon, Old Italy?" she says, looking down at you. "You didn't have to..."

"Like I said, I felt bad. And just getting some TacO' Clock wouldn't feel right, either."

Rebecca chuckles. She points out a small ladder attached to one of the chairs, and goes about emptying the bag. As you climb up, you note that it's designed for someone your size -- the base is wide but the seat itself is small. There's still steam coming off the takeout trays, everything laid out by the time you make it up. The tigress studies a small candle in her fingers, the restaurant's logo molded into it's plastic base. Her tail is stiff save for the tip.

"Didn't know they even made things like that..." you mutter.

"Me either," she says. She relaxes a little as she sets it down, grabbing a fruit and veggie platter from the fridge. As she tucks away the panini al carne and you work at your chicken alfredo, you realize why. The sandwich may as well be a slider in her huge paws.

"Sorry if it wasn't enough," you say, soaking up white sauce with a bread stick, "didn't see any... supersized stuff, I guess."

The tigress makes a small, soft sound, her ears flattening slightly.

"That's alright," she says. "You didn't have to in the first place."

"Didn't you say something yesterday about showing appreciation?"

Rebecca offers a small laugh, but you see it get cut off as yesterday rears it's head. You cringe; that's not how you wanted to broach whatever happened with Pat. You can practically feel the lump in her throat as she tries to speak.

"I -- Anon, what happened at the end... It's not --"

"It's okay," you say, meeting her gaze. "You... you don't have to tell me."

You swallow hard; she stares at you.

"I just don't want you to be uncomfortable. And if I had anything to do with that --"

"No," she says, voice firm. "No, Anon."

She reaches over the table, taking your hand in her paws.

"It's not your fault at all."

That makes you feel a little better. You sigh, and she lets you go. The two of you finish eating, the air a little more clear. Knowing you're not the one that caused her to freak-out is good enough for you; the tigress doesn't have to tell you the details. If she wants to talk about it, you'll listen.

"So, shall we take a look at that handgun?" you ask instead.

"Sure, sure," she says. "Don't bother getting up"

You go to make the token effort anyway, then realize how high up you are. The tigress chuckles softly as she clears off the table. She stands next to you when she returns with the Tridentia, carrying it gingerly in a rag. You take a cursory look while Rebecca goes off for the other supplies and the manual; magazine is clear, there's no visible damage, and the disassembly lever is down. It looks about like it should, except the barrel and slide are only halfway off the frame.

"Did it make any weird noises?" you ask, running a finger over the loaded chamber indicator -- clear as well.

"No, I-I don't think so," she says. Then, after a moment: "Are springy noises weird?"

"Not really," you reply, testing the slide a little. "It's basically brand new, they might be a little stiff. Actually..."

You run a finger over the rails, first the ones on the frame and then the exposed ones on the slide; it comes back nearly clean.

"I think I know what it is," you say, handing the gun over to her. "You weren't pushing on it very hard, were you?"

"N-no?" Rebecca asks.

"Try going a little harder," you say with a nod, "I think it must've been older inventory. The factory grease is hardly there anymore. Might be a bit stiff until we oil it."

She looks hesitant, but the tigress nods. Her paws come close to swallowing the thing. Rebecca chirps when the upper half comes off, and you have to dodge her elbow as it jerks. She, of course, is apologetic.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't hit you, did I?"

"No, we're okay," you say. She lets out a slight sigh, and repositions.

"I just -- I didn't think I'd have to push that hard!" she says, standing behind your chair. Her hands are still in front of you, but her arms are bowed around you as she leans over, her chest so close you can feel the heat coming off it. Your cheeks are probably turning red as her sweater when you reply.

"G-good hardware can be like that. Nice and tough."

She chuckles, setting the two halves down.

"So... can you walk me through the rest?"

Her green gaze is down on you, but you don't dare look up.

"Sure," you say. You go through the little bit of disassembly left, taking the captured recoil springs and barrel out of the slide body. Her hands frame your workspace as you get into a light lecture on how the thing works, distracting yourself with the mechanics of short-recoil and hinged-locking blocks. Soon you're out of features, though. You apply a thin film of oil to the rails and put the gun back together, finishing off with a quick function check.

"Okay," you say, setting it down and looking up. "Now you give it another try."

Rebecca gives you a nod before her expression turns serious. Her arms glide in around you; you can practically feel the gravitational pull of her bust behind your head as it's squeezed. The tiger's focus is all on the Tridentia, thankfully. Disassembly goes much more smoothly this time, and the upper half comes off easy. You have her do it an extra time for good measure before actually cleaning it, to make sure she's go it. You nerd out more about the different components of the gun as she works, coating them and brushing out the bits of brass and carbon. You catch her smiling a little as you go on and on.

"...I told you, you can tell me to shut up," you say.

"And I told you I don't mind," she replies, voice warm now.

You quiet down regardless, letting her finish up in relative quiet. Rebecca wipes off the gun, the darkened titanium and steel shining in the filtered sunlight.

"You good?" you ask when she sets it down. "More comfortable with it?"

The heat behind you suddenly envelops your head, the tigress's arms gently wrapping around you.

"Yes," she says. "Thank you."

You don't move. For a while, neither does she. It's not quite as good as the hug she gave you Monday, but you still don't want it to end. When it does, the tigress pulls away smoothly, slowly. You turn in your seat to find her green eyes half-lidded, just one ear flicking. Her paws are on the back of your seat, and you think you see her kneading.

"...So, what now?" you ask. Rebecca blinks, then pulls back.

"Well, I -- I suppose that's it," she says, putting the gun and the supplies away. "I think I've got it beyond that."

You watch her striped tail trail behind her as she walks off down a hallway. She's back by the time you manage to dismount, the chair thankfully plenty stable.

"Actually, Rebecca," you say, "you mind showing me your garden?"

"Oh! Sure!" she chirps, her ears pricking up. "We can do that, and you can show me what stuff you want to take home!"

You sigh as she walks over to a bright sliding-glass door at the back of the room.

"Rebecca..."

"No!" the tigress scolds, turning to you with a smile and a wagging finger. "You're going to fill a basket, and you're going to go home with it!"

You can't help but smile back when she hands you one made of slatwood.

"You got me lunch now, too," she says, sliding the door aside. "It's only fair."

You accept defeat, and follow her out into the sunshine. The sudden wash of heat makes you realize how high the tigress had her AC. You blink a few times, finding yourself on a cozy patio with more tiger-sized accouterments. Beyond it lies the most impressive garden you've ever seen, separated by a small patch of grass. Plots of all sorts take up the entire back half of her yard, pressed right up against the fences. Vines creep up those as well, dotted with flowers and growths of all sorts. And in the center of it all sits a small peach tree, branches heavy with fruit.

"Jesus..." you breathe, staring out at all the green. Rebecca smiles, hands clasped behind her back.

"Would you like a tour?" she asks. She hums happily when you nod, still taking it all in.

"How -- how can that thing even grow up here?" you ask, pointing to the tree. "Isn't it too cold in the winter?"

"Not quite," she says, leading you to the garden's edge. "This one is a 'Reliance' strain. Much more hardy and resistant."

She reaches up, checking one of the branches; you realize she's just a few feet shorter than it.

"...But I cover it during the winter, too. Come on, I'll show you the rest!"

Rebecca opens up as she guides you along the stone paths, which criss-cross with buried hoses, marked by vibrant patches of grass and wildflowers. The tigress tells you all about the different plants you pass by, her pace somewhat brisk as she talks about soil and seeds. Both in speed and in speech.

As she gets into the specific genuses of tomatoes she has, her tail stiffens, her paw drawing away from one of the fruits.

"...But it probably doesn't matter all that much to you," she says, looking down with a smile.

"No, tell me," you say. "I like seeing people passionate, too."

The tigress chuckles before resuming her tour, her ears and tail raised high. As she goes, explaining why she planted this here and that there, she picks samples and forces you to take them. She doesn't force-feed you, but she comes close. As you follow Rebecca through her garden, you see no trace of nerves. Her tail is fluid, her face a constant grin, and her tone has lost the slightly restrained edge it always seems to have. She doesn't slouch or hide her size, and yet she hardly brushes against the leaves. Rebecca has been mostly cheery since you met her, but this is different. She's cheery and relaxed.

It makes you happy.

"...And that about does it," she says, turning to you again.

"Thanks, Rebecca," you say. "It was really neat -- you should be proud of it!"

"Thank you," she says. She gives you a closed-eye smile, her tail flicking smoothly behind her. "Did you pick out everything you wanted?"

"Yeah."

The tigress gives a slight hum as she leans down. She's too busy checking your basket to see you getting an eyeful of her bouncing sweater.

"I don't think so, mister," she says, standing back up with hands on her hips. "There's hardly anything in there!"

"But I don't want --"

"Anon."

She's got a smile as she chuckles, but there's a firmness to her tone; you notice how well her curvy form blocks the way out.

"You're going to fill that basket before you leave this garden," she says.

"...I don't know where all the stuff is," you try. The tigress sighs --

-- and takes your hand.

"I'll show you, then."

Rebecca's paw is big and warm. Her grip is firm -- a little too firm. There's little give in it as she escorts you to the various plants in the garden you request. Her free hand plucks whatever produce you desire, from the largest ear of corn to tiny blueberries, her claws and pads deft. The cheery attitude doesn't leave her face, but you see a tension in her eyes that wasn't there before. You see it in the glances that last just a second too long or short, in how she moves, not smooth like before. The tigress is focused; you're guessing it's on staying in control.

You don't mention it. You just try and pick a variety of food you'll have a chance of actually eating before it goes bad. The fact it takes you two across the garden a few times wasn't intentional.

"Rebecca, please," you finally say, "it's full now. It's filled up, and my arm is getting tired. I don't need any more."

The tigress glances down at your basket, giving it a once-over before letting go. You can see her relax.

"Alright," she says with a smile, "I suppose that's filled enough."

You watch her as she leads you out of the garden, her striped tail swishing lazily. The tension is gone, you think.

"You have any paper bags or something I can put this in?" you ask. She looks down at you for a second before she gets why.

"You can keep the basket," she says, closing the sliding door. "It's okay."

"No, no --"

"Yes, it is!" she insists, standing tall again, "it was ten dollars, it's okay. I've got a lot more in the shed."

The two of you stare at each other a few seconds before you relent with a sigh.

"Fine," you say, "but I'll be returning it to you."

The tigress smiles, and pushes you back into the living room proper with her presence alone.

"And when you do, you'll fill it up again," she says. You think about fighting for a second, then let it lie. Her smile of victory slowly fades as the two of you stand there in her living room, waiting for something.

"...You sure you're happy with your gun?"

"I am thanks to you," she says, her voice warm as her eyes. She reaches down towards you, but pauses. Her ears droop as she pulls her hand back. You feel sick as her smile turns sad; you want to reach up and comfort her, but yesterday looms large in your mind.

"Anything else you want to do?" You ask instead.

"I -- actually, yes," she says. The nerves subside, just a little. "I could use a run to the grocery store, and my car is still in the shop."

She clasps her hands, swaying slightly.

"So, if you didn't have anything else going on..."

"Just waiting on the court case," you shrug. "Just remember that I, uh, won't have that much room."

The tigress chuckles, her tail swishing as she grabs the basket from you.

"Don't worry, it won't be too much," she says, putting it in the fridge. "Only things I can't grow from here."

That gives you some comfort. You meander to the front door, looking idly at her decor before you hear the meaty sound of a slide being racked.

"Uh, Reb?"

"Yes?" she asks, standing by the table, Tridentia in hand.

"You sure you're ready to carry that?"

"A-am I not?" she asks, her whole body sagging.

"No, no, I'm not saying that," you gush, "I just -- carrying is different than shooting."

Her expression stays mopey.

"Are you comfortable with your holster?"

"...Yes, mostly."

"Are you confident in your draw?"

"...No," she sighs. You walk up to her, almost patting her on the arm before you restrain yourself.

"It's okay, Rebecca. You've only had the gun for two days. It's better to wait until you're comfortable with it before you do that."

Her tail flicks as she looks down at you, lowering the piece.

"But what if something happens?" she asks, voice small.

You look her up and down, all ten feet of her. That's how much of her there is, even if she tries to hide it.

"I don't think you'll have to worry," you say gently. She stares down at you a second before nodding.

"Okay," she says, emptying the gun.

"Tell you what," you say, watching her put it away, "when we get back, we can go through your setup together. How does that sound?"

"Okay," she says after a pause. You sneak glances up at her while the two of you walk out to the truck; you can't tell if she really is okay or not.

"Really, Rebecca, you're doing well," you say, getting in. "I just want you to be comfortable. And sometimes, that takes time."

She waits until your suspension stops complaining to respond.

"I get it," she says. She sighs, sinking against the cab. You glance at her through the side mirror -- she's got her back to it.

"I, uh... where are we going?" you ask; you can feel the small 'mrp' she lets out in response, and the truck creaks as she turns over in the bed.

"Woodson's," she says, her chest hitting the rear window with a familiar thump. "You know the way?"

"Nope. Not in this part of town very often."

"Well, I can show you."

She pauses as the Hilux rattles to life, letting you coax it out of park before giving you directions. The tigress stays facing forward; you take it as a good sign.

"Where do you live?" she asks.

"Chutesville," you say. Her hum of concern rattles around the cab. "Lived there for around 5 years now."

"College?"

"Yep."

The tigress is quiet for a few blocks before she speaks up again.

"Are you... comfortable, there?"

"As comfortable as I can be," you sigh. "It's not ideal, but... It's what I've got."

You chuckle a little to yourself.

"Part of why I don't mind chauffeuring you around," you say, getting her to join in. "Maybe I should pick it up on the side."

"I don't know, you might need a different car," she replies. "The truckbed experience isn't for everyone, I imagine."

"Oh no, that's extra."

Rebecca lets out a full laugh this time.

"Extra?"

"Yeah," you say, "it's a... premium service.

The tigress hums, drumming her fingers on the roof.

"Well then," she says, "I suppose it won't be a problem if I pay you with a little dinner tonight?"

That throws you for a loop. You look at her via the side mirror, watching her fur ruffle in the light wind. You start and stop a few times before finally saying "fine." Rebecca purrs, her hand sliding in through the window.

"Good boy," she says, palming your head. She doesn't quite get to petting you before she pulls away, the soft noise she makes barely drowned out by road noise. She shifts so you can't see her in the mirrors; you don't mind.

You don't want her to see you blushing.

It dies down by the time you reach the grocery store, fortunately. You try not to think about it too much as the two of you head in, but there's only so much you can do. You barely come up to Rebecca's hips, and the store has mega carts for extra-large anthros like her. All she'd have to do is grab your hand and you'd look like mother and child. Her sweet demeanor returning only adds to it; you hope that's the reason the other shoppers are smiling at you two. Rebecca asks what you'd like; you go with her first suggestion of fajitas. You're more focused on what Talia said in the parking garage. And whatever it is she didn't say.

The possibility of finding someone has never come up between the two of you. Not seriously, anyway. You and the she-wolf agreed you'd 'take it as it comes.' You weren't expecting to find someone at that point, and Talia's always been independent. It was stupid of you to think things would stay that way.

You shake your head, hoping Rebecca doesn't notice. Four days. You've known her four days. You shouldn't be considering it at all; you're probably only doing it because of the trial. And that wouldn't be fair to her. But at the same time, you're only considering it because it's her. You like Rebecca, genuinely. Not just because she's a key witness or because she could be a way out. The woman is forcing you to stay and have dinner with her then go home with a giant basket of fresh food. She's not doing it with threats, and she's had every chance in the world to take you for her own. And if you're honest, you probably wouldn't resist if she did. She's packing more curves than her Tridentia.

You don't reach a verdict at checkout, nor on the quiet ride back. You talk idly with the tigress, mainly about how you can help in a kitchen that's too big for you. What concerns you is how she feels about the whole thing. Talia said the tigress liked you, that she maybe liked you too much. But half the time you think you two are getting close, she shuts it down or recoils from you.

You sigh; maybe it's another anthro thing.

Or a woman thing.

You decide to treat it like a first date while washing grape tomatoes for her. If it goes well, you'll bite the bullet. How exactly you're not sure, but you'll make it work. Maybe something along the lines of Lyons saying you and Talia may be forced apart after the trial. There's a twinge of guilt, and you excuse yourself to the restroom before everything's ready. 'I'm gonna find out,' is what you settle on sending to the she-wolf.

While you're there, you notice more human amenities sticking out. A second towel rack set lower, the toilet having a second, smaller flip-down seat. The way the pool-sized bathtub has an in-set step for you to get in. You don't recall a ring on Rebecca's finger, but that's not the only way to show bonds anymore. As you mount the stool to wash your hands, you notice something else: there's a flat cable on the cabinet doors under the sink. It's attached to one door, the other having a similar-colored patch of plastic on it. The cable rattles as you flick it, a plastic cap wiggling on the end. It takes a second before you recognize what it is -- mom and dad had ones just like it when you were a kid.

You grip the edges of the sink for a moment, head spinning. Christ, you're glad you didn't push about why she wanted a gun. You don't have everything, but you've got enough to make a good guess. Fitting a house with human sized-stuff like this wouldn't have been cheap; there very clearly was someone else. But not anymore.

"Anon?"

You nearly fall off the stool.

"Yes?" you say, turning on the water.

"It's almost ready!"

"Okay!" you call back, finishing up quickly. You throw some water on your face, trying to get a hold of yourself. You're sure as hell not bringing it up, but you're not gonna quit, either. If the time comes, you'll deal with it then. You clear your mind as you leave and go back down the hallway; you don't want to ruin dinner. Rebecca beams at you as she finishes laying things out.

"What would you like to drink, by the way?" she asks. "I've got a little fruit cocktail I made from the garden."

"That sounds good," you say, climbing onto your chair. You can't help but chuckle a little at the plates. Yours is normal, while her tortilla looks like a placemat. The two of you serve yourselves when she returns, piling on chicken and various bits from the garden.

"So, what do you think?" the tigress asks a few bites in.

"It's nice," you say. "Not too dry, and the peppers are perfect."

Rebecca lets out a happy hum. You wait a little bit before breaking the silence.

"I don't think I ever asked, but -- what do you do, Rebecca?"

Her ears prick, but she doesn't freeze up.

"I'm a teacher," she says.

"Ahh! So that's why you have time off?"

She nods, half-finishing the sentence with you. And with all teachers being State employees, her carrying makes sense -- though maybe not on the job.

"What subject?"

"All of them," she says, "I'm elementary level."

...and now the bright demeanor makes sense, too. You notice it fading a little as the tigress focuses on her food, so you steer the conversation away. You ask about what she reads, having noticed a small library on your way to the bathroom. While her interests don't exactly line up with yours, you have some common ground in Pre-State writing. Rebecca has a number of fiction books from before the takeover, before the reprints and digital 'remasters.' Possession of them is a gray area, and you're happy the tigress seems to respect that. She talks about them with appreciation, which makes you even more happy.

You go back and forth about different ways of getting the old books through the rest of dinner, sharing your favorite finds. Rebecca isn't surprised when you mention you collect other media as well; she has a limited collection herself, a few movies on disc and stored on old jump-drives. Before you know it, you're going through the miniature library with her. As you stand there with her, joking about how disorganized it is compared to work, you remember you're supposed to be gauging her for a CU. You suppose that's a good sign, but something still holds you back.

"...but I don't want to keep you. It's getting late."

You're about to respond when you glance out the window -- it is getting late, the sky turning a pale orange over the suburbs.

"I -- I guess so," you say, looking up at her. She smiles down at you, tail swishing.

"If you ever want to come by and use my little library, you just have to ask," she says, and you nod.

You lead the way back into the living room, about to turn and say your goodbyes when your phone pings. Rebecca laughs a little when you both jump.

"Have your volume on high?" she asks.

"I thought I had it off," you say with a shrug, checking your phone; it was. There's a new message notification at the top.

"Everything alright?" Rebecca asks as you sigh.

"Yeah, should be," you say opening your phone. "Got something with an 'urgent notice' thing on it, probably just a -- shhhit."

'RESIDENT WARNING,' the notification reads; 'BURST WATER MAIN ON Glendale AND 15th. YOUR UNIT MAY BE WITHOUT Power, Water, Heat. PARKING LOT MAY NOT BE ACCESSIBLE. CITY SERVICES ARE WORKING TO RESOLVE THIS ISSUE, AND UPDATES WILL BE PROVIDED AS AVAILABLE.'

"What is it?" Rebecca asks, eye wide.

"A water main burst by my apartment," you say with a sigh. "I probably don't have water or power now."

"Ohh, Anon... for how long?"

"Don't know, sounds like the parking lot got torn up too."

Rebecca lets out a long, low sound of concern as you reread the text, willing something more to show up.

"Glad it got here now and not when I was on my way back," you finally say, switching over to the phone app. "I'll make a few calls, and see if --"

"No," the tigress says, lowering your phone with a massive paw. She's hunched over by you, features gentle. "You don't have to, Anon. You -- you can stay here for the night."

Your heart skips for a second.

"A-are you sure?"

"Positive," the tigress nods, straightening up. "My couch is plenty big, and I've got some extra sheets and pillows."

She pauses as she looks down at you, wringing her hands.

"Let me go find them," she bursts out, bolting off. You stare, then give yourself a shake. You can roll with this. You're still hesitant to make a move on her, but now you've got more time to try. More time to think of a good way to 'break up' with Talia.

Rebecca returns with a bundled-up blanket and pillow, dwarfed by the pair in red wool.

"Here you go," she says, setting them on the couch. "I wasn't expecting -- when do you want to turn in for the night?"

"I usually stay up a little late," you say, "but if you're a real night owl, I'll try to do my best. Wouldn't want to take over your living room if you've got something planned."

"Oh no, I get up early," she replies, chuckling a little. "Sorry if I fall asleep on you, actually -- I-I wasn't expecting an overnight guest!"

"I wasn't either," you shrug. There's a pause, the two of you staring at each other a moment before you break the silence.

"So, anything you want to do? I'd be happy to just start on one of your books if you're busy."

"...Not anything in particular. I've got some puzzles, but --"

Rebecca lets out a soft 'oh.'

"What about what you mentioned earlier, about going through my gun with me? With how I carry it?"

In your mind, you sigh with relief. This is something you know, something you can escape the awkwardness with.

"Sure, let's do that."

You and the tigress spend a while in her living room messing around with her holster and gun. Beyond going through carry conditions, you can't really do much except advise. Getting the gun in the right spot is mostly up to the wearer. Rebecca has plenty of waistband to shift the holster around on, thankfully. When she's got a spot that feels comfortable and doesn't print much, you have her practice her draw, slow and smooth. She's consistent by the end, and that matters more than speed.

"The rest is all repetition," you tell her as she puts the gear away. "Just a little bit every day and you'll be in good shape."

"I'll try," Rebecca says. "Is there anything you wanted to do, Anon?"

You wrack your brain, trying to beat the nerves before they take hold.

"How about a movie? You had a lot of old ones, you said?"

"Sure!" the tigress replies, "they're all in the cabinet. You can pick something out while I put this away."

You take a look, barely hearing her footsteps. The movies are as organized as her library, clumped up roughly by series and genre. The blank cases and labels written in sharpie are familiar -- her second-hands are genuine, that's for sure. You pluck out The Princess Bride as Rebecca returns, and she pops it in while you go make popcorn. She giggles when she looks back at you, seeing you half-way up on the counter to reach the bowl she was talking about.

"You see this one before?" you ask when you return, jumping up on the couch.

"Once, a while ago," she says, stretching a little. "You?"

"Not recently."

She hums, sinking into the couch. "I'm glad."

As the opening plays, you notice how relaxed the tigress is. She's no longer holding herself or trying to appear smaller than she is. You don't talk much -- never been one for chatting during a movie -- and she doesn't either. It gives you more time to think things through. If you do take a shot, your alibi needs to be tight. Rebecca already seems caught up on the fact you're 'with' Talia, and you don't think 'cheating' will work, considering what happened with Pat. You can't just tell her the truth about you and Talia, either; she's still the key witness. If she says no, and maybe even if she says yes, you'd be fucked.

It's as the hero is getting captured on screen that you pull yourself out of your own head, looking over to the tigress for the first time in a long while. You can't tell if she's awake, the screen's glare the only light left in the room.

"Reb?" you whisper. She turns your way with a soft, deep groan. 'Animalistic' is too harsh a word, but it's close.

"Reb, are you --"

A loud chuff interrupts you, and she mumbles something as she leans over towards you. You try scooting out of the way and off the couch, but the cushions are too soft, too sinky. A massive paw grips you and you feel her pause, grumbling as she shifts closer. You stay frozen as Rebecca sets the popcorn bowl on the floor before laying on her side with a sigh, dragging you with her. Her other arm wraps around you as you slide into her depression, your back pressed up against soft, warm sweater as she shifts a bit more.

She lets out a sleepy grunt when you try and free yourself, her arms tightening around your shoulders; you can feel her sweater-covered bust wrapping around your head. A leg is thrown over your own, then a tail as she pulls you close. You can't quite believe it when she finally stills, her chest rising and falling against your back. Slowly, as the rest of the movie plays out, you reach up for her hand, squeezing the back of it. She tightens slightly, murmuring. You grab her tail gently and start to stroke it.

Her quiet chuffs and purrs echo through your body, resonating in your chest and spine. You keep going, feeling yourself sink deeper into her huge, red hills. As you start to drift off yourself, you think you've made your decision.

But it can wait until morning.

Chapter 5: The Hills Run Red

You can't tell if you're dreaming when you wake.

You felt Rebecca's warm embrace the whole night. Sometimes you were in a bed, and others you were out in the sun. But every scene that you drifted through, it was you and her. Together.

The sensations are even more vivid when it's real. The little things make the difference, like the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The slight variations in her texture from sweater to jeans to fur, all backed by generous padding. The way she almost covers your entire body, to the point you feel her more than the couch beneath you. You sit there for a while, letting it all wash over you.

"Rebecca?"

She doesn't respond. The rhythm of her breaths doesn't change, her embrace doesn't falter. You reach up and grab her hand. The tigress hardly shifts. Her hug stays firm. You hold her hand and reflect, watching the morning light filter into her living room. You'll tell her you and Talia are reconsidering your relationship. If the two of you were truly in love, you would've gotten a CU to end the trial. It's not that you don't like her, or that she doesn't like you. It's that neither of you likes each other in that way.

You'll be telling the truth, kind of.

You'll tell Rebecca that every time you parted, you've looked forward to seeing her again. Yesterday was one of the best days you've had in a long time; you pray she feels the same. You know it won't always be like that, but it's worth it. Whatever comes up, you'll find a way through it. It's sappy, but it's how you feel.

She's worth it.

The only real debate you're having now is if you should wake her up or not.

You decide not to after a little more time. You'll just return the tigress' affections. Slowly, you turn yourself around in Rebecca's arms. The couch is almost as soft as her curves. If they weren't so plush, it might've been impossible. You're even more lucky her red sweater is a little loose, or you wouldn't have been able to breathe. She notices your shifting and tightens her grip with a sleepy groan, locking you in place. A deep hum rumbles through her when you go still, breaking into smaller chuffs when you hug her back. Or attempt to, anyway -- her torso is twice the size of yours. The way she squeezes you suggests she appreciates it regardless.

Rebecca's embrace is much more consuming when you're facing her. The one leg she threw over you now pulls you in, and the way the red-covered hills of her chest envelop your head is intimate rather than lusty. Even her arms across your back feel tighter than before, locking you in place. It's easy to let yourself fall deep into her embrace. You feel Rebecca twitch beneath her clothes when you stroke her side. She rumbles again, her low groan piteous as she sighs and presses into your hand. A similar sound escapes you -- though much more muffled. You nuzzle into her sweater, sliding a hand beneath her to hug her tighter. The red wool is soft and warm, and you're sure the knit pattern is going to be printed on your face. It takes a little effort to breathe, but you don't mind. She smells stronger than when she hugged you Monday, like flowers and new growth.

Eventually, the tigress' chuffing stops. You feel her shifting, trying to stretch without letting you go as she yawns. Her voice is deep and rich, a far cry from it's normal soft tenor.

"...mmmorning," she mumbles.

"Mm-mm," you reply, head still in her chest.

Rebecca squeezes you tighter, her hum making your spine tingle. Her paws trace over it as she shifts a little, preparing to get up.

"...haven't slept so well since --"

You feel her tense up half a second before the knives enter your back.

The two of you yelp at the same time. You try and push away, but Rebecca's paws are wrapped firmly around your torso. Her claws tear your flesh when she flings you off the couch. Your limbs knock together as you clip the coffee table, and you tumble across the carpet, ending up sprawled face-down in an aching heap.

"A-Anon!"

You groan, trying to orient yourself.

"Are you -- why did you --?"

You hear her heaving as the room comes back in focus. When you try rolling to your back, the gouges make you hiss.

The tigress' breath hitches.

It's painful getting to your hands and knees, your back aflame and everything else tender. Rebecca's claws are still out, digging deep into the couch. She's braced against it like you're the one who threw someone across the room. Her eyes are wide and her pupils small as her chest heaves; you don't say anything. You're wondering if you're bleeding on her carpet.

The two of you sit like that for what feels like minutes, eyes locked as your ragged breaths fill the air.

"A-are you okay?" she finally asks.

"Yeah," you lie. She can tell, but she doesn't care.

"Why did you do that?" She asks instead.

"Do what?"

"Sleep with me!"

"Because you forced me to! You fell asleep on top of me!"

Rebecca stiffens, her neck-fur poofing out. But the shock is only temporary. Her look of anger returns in moments.

"Then w-why didn't you wake me up?!"

"Because --"

You break into a raw groan, the bruises and punctures settling in fully now.

Her words don't help.

"Because I thought it was what you wanted!"

The tigress' ears flick up slightly, no longer plastered to her skull. She lets you breathe, her claws stabbing you again with every rise of your chest.

"I can't -- I can't figure you out. Every day since we met, you seemed so happy to see me, just like I was to see you. It didn't matter what we were doing, just that we were doing it together. Yesterday was the happiest I've ever seen you, and -- and you deserve it. You deserve to be happy."

She tries to stay angry.

"But I -- there's always something off, Rebecca. Every time I think you're getting close to me, that you're not just sweet, you freeze. You go cold, then act like it never happened."

You take a breath; her expression hardens.

"I know something happened, Rebecca. You can't hide it."

She bares her teeth.

"...And I want to know what."

The tigress stares at you, lips curled and hackles raised. She tries to talk, but all that comes out is a series of rumbling growls. Slowly, the wrinkles of her feline face smooth out and her lips go back to a thin frown. She closes her eyes, forcing a breath before standing up. Even from across the room, you're reminded of her size.

Rebecca's voice is barely even when she speaks, holding back both rage and sorrow.

"You want to know?" she asks. "You really want to know why I am what I am?"

You don't dare reply. She's wracked by another seizing breath; her green eyes glitter in the morning light. Rebecca turns around and scrunches up, her shoulders sagging. But you see her tail is straight and stiff.

The red sweater coming off gives you pause. You take her in, your eyes roaming over her bare fur unconsciously. It's a sea of orange, interrupted by her stripes and the thick back of her sports-bra. She lets the mass of red fabric drop; you realize it's not a sports-bra she's wearing, but a breast binder.

"When I was young," she says, voice still tense, "I dreamed of having a family."

There's something off with her stripes. Her legs aren't the same as her back and arms, the black lines highlighted by white centers.

"It's what the State said I should do," she continues. "But every day in the foster home, they said it wouldn't be easy. I was too big, I could hurt someone."

Her fists ball up.

"They were right."

The stripes on her back ripple as she forces herself to relax. Her voice is a little less teary when she next speaks.

"Still, I tried. I thought I'd done it when they let me teach, that I proved I wouldn't hurt anyone. But I was still alone, and seeing so many kids made it hurt even more. So I volunteered for Assignment. I knew someone from the agency, and I went to them first. They -- they asked if I wanted to help, and I said I did. I always did."

She hugs herself, still not facing you.

"I went into the Special Assignment pool."

Your breath hitches, and her ears flick.

"They had my match in less than a week. An anti-statist, specist, angry young man. They told me everything the foster home didn't: I was so calm and so sweet, he'd have to see the light. I worried it was a lie when we first met. He hated me. He hated that I was a school-teacher, I was 'poisoning innocent minds.'"

The tigress goes quiet for moment, her ears flattening even further.

"But what he hated the most was that I didn't fight back. Every time he yelled, every time he called me an irredeemable monster, all I ever had were soft words. That's all I ever used, all I ever did. I never forced him to do anything, never used my size. And after a while, it seemed to work. He started sleeping on the couch instead of the garage. Then in the guest-bedroom, then my bed, then my arms."

Her tail lashes, something between a whine and a growl slipping out.

"I was so... proud. I helped him. I made him happy. I got him to smile at me and hold me back. He said yes when I told him I wanted to have children, and he was with me right up to the ER."

She breathes slow, shifting her arms.

"When we got back, everything was perfect. The crib was already set up at the foot of our bed. I wished we didn't need it. I wanted to hold her in my arms as long as I could."

Rebecca swallows hard.

"I remember waking up in a haze and seeing it empty, feeling my wrists and ankles bound. He was standing there, holding her in his arms. He rocked her while he told me he couldn't figure me out. He knew anthros, he said. And somewhere deep down I was a monster like the rest. Just an animal."

Her fists clench again.

"Then he pulled out the knife."

The lines on her back seem to shimmer.

"When he was finished with her, he moved to me. He cut out my stripes. He told me he was wrong; I was no predator. I was just a housecat."

She's quiet for a long time. You don't dare move or speak, holding your winces in. She looks up and takes a normal breath.

"I don't know if he was going to kill me. They shot him before he could finish. For a long time, I wished they hadn't."

Rebecca finally turns, looking down at you. Tears wet her fur, but her expression isn't one of anger or sorrow. Not quite.

"I don't anymore," she says, voice firm again. "I want to move on, Anon. I like you a lot -- more than anyone I've met since then. But -- I don't know if I can do it. If I could go through that again."

It finally feels safe to breathe. You cringe at the holes in your back as you do, every breath making it feel like she's stabbing you again. Rebecca winces, almost taking a step towards you. You wave her off and struggle to your feet, everything ebbing.

"I thought you wanted to," you say.

"I -- I do!" she says. "But I can't just -- do it!"

You sigh. She stares at you before looking away, her ears flattening in embarrassment.

"Besides, you're with Talia," she says. Her voice falters as she says it, but her stance is still firm when she picks up her sweater and pulls it back on. You grit your teeth, trying to ignore the sticky spots on your back.

"If that weren't true," you ask, "would you still want to try?"

Rebecca's face wrinkles.

"No, Anon. Don't do that."

"Why?"

"Because it wouldn't work!"

The tigress' doesn't quite shout, but her tone still shakes you. It's a second or two before her ears and tail droop again.

"It wouldn't work," she repeats, quieter now. "I want it to, but... I couldn't."

You search her face, trying to process what she said. You think back throughout the week, and it begins making sense.

"I remind you of him," you say; Rebecca looks at you with anger and concern.

"Don't say that. You're nothing like him."

"But you're still afraid whenever I get close."

"It's not your fault, Anon."

"But it still happens."

She jumps when you lurch towards the door, baring her fangs for a second before hastily covering it up. You grab the door handle tight as a wave of vertigo hits.

"Anon --"

Her face is all you can see.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I -- I didn't know."

She takes another wracking breath when you slip out. The morning air is warm, and you realize you're light-headed. You hear the door open when you flop into the truck, keys shaking in your hands. You don't look back and stomp on the gas. You try to ignore the red figure in the rearview. It's not her fault; you hope she gets that.

You don't deserve her after everything you put her through.

The drive home is rough. Every bump sends a new wave of pain through your back, and the stoplights drag on as you bloody your seats. You can't tell if the truck feels sluggish or if it's you. When you get back to the apartment, the street's closed. It takes you a second to remember why. There's barriers up, but the few construction vehicles on site appear abandoned. There's no jets or puddles of water, so you take a chance.

Mounting the curb brings a small smile to your face, even if it shakes the aches anew. You doubt anyone will report you for bouncing into the parking lot, since it's Chutesville. The sound of peeling fabric fills the cab as you get out. You only realize how bad it is when your legs wobble and your hands can barely lock the truck. The thought of blood in the air forces you on -- it's Chutesville, after all. Someone might smell it.

Only when you make it to your room do you relax. You lean against the closed door and just breathe, trying to make your head stop spinning. You didn't think she'd clawed you bad, but your body says otherwise. Your shirt sticks to your back when you unbutton it in the bathroom, the gouges in your pecs deep. The sight makes your head spin again, and you have to grip the wall to keep focused. You pull out your phone and call Talia, putting it on speaker as you fumble for the sink. The ringing echoes slightly as you wet a hand towel and get to work. You growl when it goes to voicemail, dabbing harder at the marks on your chest.

"Talia, I need you," you say after the tone. You try to keep the grunts and winces quiet, but you know they'll go through. "I -- I got banged up, and I can't patch it all up myself. Please, just hurry."

You hang up, cursing as blood gets on the phone. The thumb-wounds seem to have slowed, but you hold a towel over your chest anyway. The first-aid kit accompanies you to the couch, and you slap gauze and bandages over your chest. You lay down; you can't reach the marks on your back, so the only pressure you can give is your bodyweight. The shirt will have to be gauze enough. All you can do now is stay focused, stay awake.

Even with the pain, it's not easy.

You think about Rebecca. How you asked her to be a witness. How you got closer to her each day. How you held her close because it was what *you* wanted.

It helps a little, like salt in a wound.

You don't know how long it is before you hear the she-wolf pounding on your door.

"It's unlocked!" you yell, weaker than you'd like. Talia practically throws it off its hinges. It's hard to focus on her face, but her paws on your skin are firm, pulling away your shirt and probing your crappy bandage-job.

"What did she do, dumbass?" she asks. Her voice is thin, forced calm.

"Nothing," you say, wincing when the she-wolf peels back a bandage. "She didn't mean to."

"Cut you pretty deep for not meaning to," Talia snorts. "Looks like you cleaned it fine -- you use alcohol on it?"

"My back," you grunt, motioning for her to roll you over. The quiet sticking noise when she tries says it all.

"Christ, Anon," she growls, letting you fall back. "Stay there."

You weren't planning on moving. You watch her scurry off, claws scraping the wood floor. She slams the door shut and goes to the kitchen, returning with water, booze, and pills.

"It was my fault," you say, reaching up for her. "It wasn't hers. It was --"

"Shut up and drink," Talia says, grabbing your head and putting the glass to your lips. You do it, letting your eyes close. She makes you empty it before starting on the booze. You hiss when she presses the vodka-soaked rag on your chest.

"Yeah, it's gonna hurt," she says, holding you down.

"Could you at least -- let me drink some?" you ask.

"No," she growls, giving one last push before pulling away. "You need water, you've bled a lot. Alcohol would make things worse."

"It'd hurt less," you grumble, letting her reapply the bandages. She pours out some painkillers and shoves two in your mouth, leaving you to swallow while she finishes her work. The she-wolf takes the glass when she's satisfied and fills it again.

"Drink," Talia says, handing it to you. "We need to turn you over, so drink."

The she-wolf doesn't force you this time and lets you hold the glass. When you're finished, she grabs an arm and a leg.

"I can turn myself over," you complain, but wince as she flips you. It turns to a hiss when she pulls off your shirt. She says nothing as she tears it off at the sleeves. The air feels cool on your shredded skin, a brief respite before the burning sensation of Talia's touch. You grip the cushions as she wipes away the blood.

"I did it," you say after a while. Talia doesn't respond, dabbing at your wounds.

"I fucked up. It's my fault, and --"

The burning of alcohol cuts you off. You yell, and Talia's hands tense. You squeeze your eyes shut; you think she whimpers.

"There, there, we're done," she says, wiping the rest off. "Just stay still."

It's hard, the fire set in your skin.

"Does it need stitches?" you ask. The she-wolf lets out a shaky growl.

"Probably."

You take a few breaths, trying to steady your back. The cushion is soft against your face as you turn to the side, looking up at her.

"Get the stapler, then."

Talia's expression is firm when she pulls it from the first-aid kit. She hesitates, looking between it and you.

"Do it," you say. She sighs, setting the stapler down and grabbing the vodka. You don't refuse when she puts it to your lips and gives you a shot.

It doesn't help much.

Each pinch sends a shock down your spine, setting your tender flesh alight. You bite into the couch cushion to hold in the cries of pain. Not for your pride, but for Talia. You can see her in the corner of your eye, her ears laid back and her movements shaky. You can feel it in the way her dull claws pinch your flesh together, hastily pulling away when the staples are in.

It takes a long time.

The pain loses its sting after a while, each punch of the stapler not scattering your thoughts. You think about the tigress' words. You think about the tremors in her voice, the way she tried not to cry. You think about the lines of white, rippling on her back and arms.

You should've just let her be a witness and nothing more. You shouldn't have tried to --

"Anon, stop crying."

Talia's voice pulls you to the present, her hands on your shoulders.

"I have to put on the bandages. Try and stay still."

You close your eyes; the fabric by your face is wet. You twinge as the she-wolf finishes up, your flesh still tender. Her touch is ginger as she taps on the sticky, sterile pads. They feel like a mold on your back when the she-wolf finally pulls away.

"There," she sighs, sitting on your coffee table. "That should do it."

You don't respond, just feeling everything stretch and rub as you breathe. You hear her claws on glass; the ragged breath seconds later tells you she took a swig of spirits.

"How much did you know?" you ask.

"About what?"

"About Rebecca."

Talia stays quiet, and you crank your neck to see her. She's staring at the bandages, looking through them with bottle in hand.

"Some," she finally says. "But not everything."

"What happened on Tuesday?" you ask. She looks at you, expression harsh.

"You talk first," she says. "You sent that text last night -- 'I'm gonna find out' -- what the hell did that mean?"

She motions to your back with growing anger.

"And tell me how this is your fault."

You sigh, letting yourself relax into the cushions.

"I stayed the night," you say. "We were just going to take apart her gun, but I ended up staying. I -- I wanted to, and when the water main burst, she told me I could."

You remember Rebecca's face when she said it, soft and motherly before it fell.

"I spent the whole night trying to decide if I should ask her to be together, Talia. When she fell asleep on the couch with me, I was so relieved. I -- I thought I wouldn't have to. It all felt so right. But the next morning, she threw me across the room when she woke up."

The she-wolf growls.

"It wasn't her fault, Talia. She didn't know I was there, she'd passed out. All she knew was someone was hugging her."

You swallow.

"And the last person she let get that close nearly killed her -- and killed her kid."

The she-wolf stays quiet.

"She had a State husband, Special Assignment. Didn't end well. She told me -- she told me she really cared for me. That if things were different, if you and I weren't together, she'd want to be with me."

You swallow.

"When I asked her why she didn't want to try, she told me she couldn't. And then everything from the past week made sense. I'm why she seized up, Talia. I remind her of him, any time I get close."

You look up to Talia. Her expression is unreadable beyond 'severe'.

"And I made her suffer through that the last four days."

You turn away, feeling like trash.

"I left. I don't think she wanted me to, but I did. And now I'm stuck deciding if I should ask her to be in the trial or not."

"...That's what you're worried about?" Talia asks after a moment. You turn to her, your voice raw.

"I drag her back to that night every time we get close, Talia. I'm not putting her through that anymore. But Lyons said she was our lynchpin, so I --"

Your words devolve into a groan, and your face sinks back into the cushions.

"She said she knew someone in the Assignment system," you say after a moment. "Maybe we could work something out, get the charges dropped somehow."

Talia sets down the vodka, and you hear her claws shifting on the floor. A paw is on your head when you turn to her again.

"You want to know what Rebecca was apologizing about on Tuesday?" she asks, stroking your hair. You nod as she brushes the hair from your face.

"She told me you were perfect. She said you were so kind, so helpful, so patient. And she told me she was so sorry she was thinking about you that way. But she couldn't help it."

"Shut up."

The she-wolf doesn't growl, but forces you to look at her; there's no lie in her amber eyes.

"I told her it was okay, but I couldn't convince her it was. She told me she'd fucked it all up. I'd hate her because she liked you, and you'd be afraid of her because she lunged at you. You want to know what I told her?"

You don't nod, but Talia sees it in your eyes.

"I told her you felt the same way about her, and that you wouldn't be afraid. You're too dumb."

"Fuck off."

"You know it's true Anon, you said it yourself."

"Yeah, *now*. I told you I was into her now, not then."

The she-wolf's eyes are piercing.

"I saw the way you looked at her, Anon. Right from day one, when you two first met. When you made plans with her Monday night, I wondered. And when you came to the range with her, I knew for sure. Before I let her out, I told her. I told her it was okay -- that with the trial going on, I was rethinking if we were serious or not."

You stare at her, unsure what to say. Her gaze is harsh, her paw on your head soft. "Why?" is all you can come up with. The she-wolf breaks, turning her head and scrunching her eyes as she grips your hair.

"Because I want you to be happy, dumbass."

It takes a second for you to process what she's saying. It only makes you feel worse when it hits. You hide your face in your elbow, clenching your fists.

"Great," you say. "I fucked that up, too."

"You can still try, Anon."

"I don't deserve her. It was selfish, trying to get close to her."

The she-wolf growls.

"So you're going to give up on everything?"

You pause, then get up on your side. It doesn't hurt as bad as before. Talia's eyes are wet as she stares down at you, her expression one of anger and disappointment.

"I'm not giving up."

"You love her, Anon."

"And that's why I should stay away," you growl. Her eyes go a little wide, but you don't budge.

"I don't want to hurt her, Talia. Asking her to stay on the trial would be selfish. Everything I've done this week has been selfish. If I have to make some backroom-deal with part of the Assignment Office, I'll do it. As long as she doesn't have to go through any more."

Talia's ears stay flat, her eyes on yours. She glares at you, willing you to say something, to understand. After a few moments, she looks away with a sigh and gets up from the table.

"Lay there, get some rest. Drink water, don't overdo it on the booze," she says. Her fluffy tail bobs as she makes for the door.

"What should I do, Talia?" you ask.

The she-wolf huffs, looking over her shoulder.

"Do whatever makes you happy."

"Neither will."

"Then think about it," she says, walking out. "You've got time."

She isn't wrong.

You lay there on the couch most of the day, passing in and out. The aches slowly subside, but your back stays tender. You're reminded of Rebecca's claws every time you get up for the bathroom or water. Food isn't a concern. What the hell you're going to do is. Your phone never lights up, providing you no easy answers from the tiger or the she-wolf. You don't ask them for any.

You're not sure if you're worthy of either of them, now.

Talia's words echo in your head, and Rebecca stares when you close your eyes. The she-wolf is right: you love the tigress. It makes her giving you an in -- one you squandered -- sting even worse. The bad actions pile up as you reflect, and it makes you consider just taking it to the chin. You don't deserve Talia or Rebecca, but getting thrown to the Special Assignment pool. Who knows, maybe it'd even work out.

Rebecca was in it, after all.

You try to laugh, but it only hurts worse. It wouldn't work. You can't throw the case and drag Talia down anymore than you have. At the same time, you're not going to ask Rebecca to stay on as a witness. Not after what you did.

Around 8 -- when you can't bare the hunger pangs any longer -- a memory hits, and an idea strikes. You fire up your computer and tear through your search history. The TV dinner you just heated can wait. It's cold by the time you find the article you were looking for, one of the many jargon-heavy legal documents you've looked over in the past few days. It's got your solution.

"...At any time, a member of a Relationship of Courtship may rescind their participation in said relationship. This member of the party has a duty to report to any person acting on State Authority the details of rescindment, including the reason(s) for doing so. If abuse or other illegal activity is cited, a full investigation will be held; the rescinding party will not be subject to any of the charges of their former partner. Conversely, if the reason stated for rescindment is suspect, the rescinding party will be investigated; their former partner will not be subject to any charges."

You read the lines over and over, spooning up cold mashed potatoes and corn. This might be your ticket, if you're reading it right. Declare that you're not in courtship with Talia anymore when the day of the trial comes, give them a bullshit reason, and you'll end up with all the heat. She and Rebecca won't have to deal with the mess you've made. You'll still need Lyons to look it over, but --

Your phone pings; it's an email from the lawyer himself, blissfully unaware.

"Dear Mr. Anonerson,

I have gathered initial statements from the majority of your witnesses. While I cannot guarantee your success on an innocent plea, I am willing to say your chances look good. Mr. Halbrooke and his associates have been working diligently on your firearms charges, and I have full confidence in their abilities.

Still, it is my duty as your State-Appointed Attorney to inform you that should you file for a Civil Union -- with Ms. Grilliz or any other eligible party -- your charges would all likely be dropped. I have attached the necessary paperwork if you are interested in pursuing a CU. Given the date of your trial, it would need to be submitted by Saturday. I would be happy to help you fill out the form if you require.

If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to reach out.

-Steven Lyons, Attorney At Law."

Chapter 6: The Return of Reb-O

Your shots echo around the bay. The range is strangely quiet otherwise, nearly empty. It's mid-afternoon on a Friday; there should be more people here.

It's as though the world shares your feeling of apprehension, right down to the gray clouds above. You load the Tokarev again, the box of ammo haphazard on the bench. You considered bringing everything again. This will be the last time you'll have any of it, after all. Couldn't do it tomorrow since you still have the rest of your mini-museum to take care of. The assortment of old-world items deserve just as much care as your guns.

You rack the slide; the heavy chunk of the handgun is almost forlorn. You let out a breath and stare downrange. The 200-yard steel is smaller than your sightpost, but you try anyway. If you can hit the 100, you can hit 200.

It'll just take a few dozen mags.

"You know there's closer target stands, right?"

You sigh, letting the last bullet fly. The steel remains silent as you turn to the she-wolf. "Talia."

"Anon," she replies. "What are you doing?"

"Shooting,"

"Bullshit. You're throwing bullets away."

"I hit the 100 earlier," you say, loading the mag. "I'll hit the 200 eventually."

The she-wolf grabs your shoulder and spins you around, looking down hard as she asks, "Anon, what did you do?"

You swallow.

"I forced her to be with me so I could --"

"Not that," Talia growls. "What's got you doing this? Sitting here, wasting ammo?"

Her amber eyes flicker between yours. They stay firm as her words soften: "what did you say?"

You agonized over what to say all last night. Only this morning did you realize you wouldn't ever be satisfied with your text. The situation is shit, not your words.

"I told her I didn't want her in the courtroom," you say.

"And what did she say?"

"Nothing."

Talia's eyes are piercing, but it's not a lie. The tigress hasn't sent you anything because you blocked her; Talia doesn't need to know. The she-wolf huffs, letting you go.

"So you told her to stay out of the courtroom and nothing else?"

"More or less," you reply.

Talia growls when you go back to loading the mag.

"You wanna talk about it, or are you just gonna keep me out?"

You want to. You want to tell her how you're hollow inside, that you're sorry. How you're shooting your collection away for the hell of it, and how you're going to spend tomorrow giving it away so the State doesn't melt it down. But that'd mean telling her you're 'breaking up' with her to take the heat; real relationship or not, she wouldn't let it fly.

And after last night, you're thinking it was more 'real' than you'd thought.

So you stay quiet, slide the magazine in. Try and ignore her as you line up your sights. The she-wolf stays right behind you, glaring. You flinch at the Tokarev's kick; you wish you could block her too. Disappear so it won't hurt as much on Sunday. You've already caused her enough pain, just like Reb.

"Right."

You glance over at the she-wolf, finding your binoculars in her hands.

"You shot right, dumbass."

You grunt; spotting with a pistol won't do shit. You know exactly what she's trying to do, and you're not going to let it work. You're not going to go back to that day in the fall when you started 'dating.'

"Left," she says when your next shot rings out.

You think about what you sent Rebecca. The words come easy, burned in your head.

'Rebecca,

I'm sorry I don't have the courage to call.

I care about you a lot. You've made this week wonderful.

But I don't want to hurt you and I don't want to push you.

I'm sorry for what I put you through, and for what it's worth, I don't want to block you after I send this.

But I'm going to.

If it's better for you that we don't try anything, that we don't talk, and that you don't come to the trial, then that's what I want.

Because I care about you.'

"Anon, you're empty."

You blink, and the Tokarev clicks. It blends in with the soft sound of rain on the shelter's tin roof. But that's not why you wipe your eyes. You drop the magazine and set the pistol down; Talia groans when you start loading it again.

"Anon, quit being a dumbass," she says. "Tell me. Let me help!"

"You can't," you mumble. "We should just focus on the trial."

"Fuck the trial!" she yells. She slaps the magazine out of your hand and grabs you again, spilling 7.62 all over the bench. "I want to see you happy!"

"I can't be!"

Your shout echoes around the bay. Talia's ears pull back, and she doesn't resist when you shove her away.

"I can't," you say, controlling your voice. "I either put Rebecca through more pain or I do it without her. Neither one makes me happy, Talia. At least this way she won't suffer more."

You turn back to the bench when she says nothing; the Tokarev rounds are everywhere. You crouch down and gather the cartridges one by one, wiping them off.

"It's not your fault, Talia," you say after a moment. "I'm the one that started it. I'm the one who had the gun."

The rain begins droning harder as you stand; you don't plan on leaving. Talia is quiet when you start loading again, but her presence is insistent, encroaching. You tap the full magazine with a sigh.

"Don't worry about me," you say, turning slowly, "I'll be fi --"

The magazine falls to the ground.

Rebecca fills the shelter behind you, red, blue, and orange filling your vision. She pins you with her green eyes, her ears pulled back.

"I thought I'd find you here," she says. Her voice is soft, trying to hide a ragged edge. "I -- I wanted to apologize."

"Rebecca, I --"

"No," she says, a little tremor coming through. "I could've hurt you. Bad." Her ears flatten as she pauses with a little sound in her throat. "...I-I didn't, did I?"

"A little," you manage. "But I'll be alright."

The tigress' chest freezes for a moment. She glances over you as her tail twitches, her hands tight to her stomach.

"Rebecca, you shouldn't be here," you say. "I meant what I said. If --"

A low, thunderous rumble stops you. You haven't heard her do that since the yeens caused problems earlier in the week. Her chest falls after a moment, as does her tail.

"I-I'm glad, you're okay," she finally says. "I wanted to make it up to you, Anon. I'll make dinner."

Dinner brings Wednesday's events to mind. Guilt washes over you like rain, but you don't let it show. You know she's not going to take 'no' for an answer; the text didn't deter her, after all. You hesitate, trying to put on a good, believable face.

"Sure," you say, picking up the Tokarev magazine. It's barely 4pm; you can come up with some way to give her the slip before. Rebecca closes her eyes with a sigh.

"Good," she says. She relaxes for a moment, and you think you're in the clear -- but then she opens her eyes.

"Talia, could you take care of Anon's things?" she asks, looming over you with determined eyes. You freeze when she picks you up and hugs you to her chest. You hear Talia whine as Rebecca turns to her, probably as flustered as you are.

"Yeah," the she-wolf says, her voice shaky. "Yeah, I'll deal with it."

Rebecca doesn't reply. She sets off with you tight in her arms, surrounding you in soft fabric. You're not sure if the rocking is on purpose as she carries you through the growing rain. The warm summer shower wakes you from your stupor, and you try to pull yourself free.

"Rebecca, please," you manage; the vibrations of her growl run through you. She winces as you stiffen in her arms, but she doesn't let you go.

"Please don't move," she says.

You feel her chest rise and fall, much faster than yesterday morning. What the hell is she doing?

You feel yourself squish into her, the red sweater soft against your skin. What the hell are you going to do?

You hear Sally say something in her drawl, and Rebecca responds with a grunt.

...How are you going to say 'no'?

"I thought we were doing dinner later?" you ask as the ground turns to parking-lot gravel.

"We're doing it now."

A car door opens; you expect to be set down or shoved inside. But the tigress doesn't let you leave her now-damp embrace. You're made to sit on her lap, legs stretched to the limit straddling her thighs. One arm stays around you even as she starts the car, holding you close. She doesn't look down when you pull back enough to speak.

"Rebecca, please --" her grip tightens -- "let me turn around."

She sighs; her chest deflates beneath you. But her embrace loosens, just enough for you to turn around in her lap. You try to ignore the way you sink even deeper into her. You try to ignore the thigh fur on your bare legs, the plush curves acting as your backrest, and the arm holding you more firm than the oversized seatbelt. The whole car is oversized; you feel like a child when you peer out the windows into the gray.

But you doubt safety is why Rebecca's got you here.

"I'm sorry," you say. The tigress huffs above you, but lets you go on.

"I shouldn't have been so forward. I should've just let you be a witness, I shouldn't have pried."

"The only thing you have to apologize for is blocking me."

You look up in surprise, but her chest is still in the way. Regardless, her voice tells you she's serious.

"I blocked you because I didn't want to hurt you anymore," you say. "How'd you even know I'd be at the range?"

The tigress rumbles, squeezing you.

"Because I know you, Anon."

She grabs one of your hands, engulfing it in her paw.

"I know that you're kind, that you're caring, and that you would never mean to hurt me. I wouldn't have asked to shoot with you Tuesday otherwise."

She jolts when your other hand drifts to hers.

"Y-yesterday, I -- I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure that I could do it. I wasn't lying when I said I wanted you, Anon. But I thought about it, and --"

"No, Rebecca, no."

Her paw stiffens in your grasp.

"I don't want to push you. I don't want you to do that for me. I --"

"Anon, I want to."

The edge in her voice makes you quiet down. Not from fear, but something else.

"Those dreams I had -- of being a mother, of having a family -- they never went away. That's -- that's why it all hurt even worse. I was worried it'd never stop. But when I met you, I felt hope."

She sniffles, squeezing your hand and squeezing you close.

"It -- it felt stupid, since you were with Talia, but I held onto it. Because I knew if there was anyone that I'd even remotely trust like that again, it was you. Even yesterday, I felt that way. It was me I was worried about, Anon. I didn't think I'd be able to bear it for you."

A seizing breath wracks her. It doesn't seem as bad as before.

"But when you sent me that text, I realized I should at least try."

"Rebecca --"

"No!"

You're pressed deep into her curves, an arm braced over your chest.

"Let me, Anon!" she says. "I saw you at the range, I know you hurt! I know you did it for me Anon, now let me do this for you!"

She swallows, her hand again finding yours and squeezing hard.

"Let me hurt for you."

You shudder at her rumble. It hits you in the heart, just like her words. You stroke her arm with your free hand, wondering if the fur beneath her sweater is just as soft.

"Rebecca, that's not what this is," you say, gentle as your hands. "I don't want you hurting for me."

"Then why did you block me?"

"Because I didn't want to hurt you."

"And did you ever think that disappearing might hurt worse?"

"I --"

You sigh.

"I care about you, Rebecca," you say. If you really think this will help, I -- I'll try it."

"Good," she huffs. Her arm falls to your waist, her embrace loosening. "I was worried you'd need more... convincing."

You chuckle despite yourself. Rebecca looks down, letting out a small noise of surprise.

"The physical kind?" you ask.

The tigress' arm tightens around your waist as she looks away, claws kneading at her sweater. You don't need words to know her answer; you don't know how it makes you feel.

But you know her curves against you feel good, and her arm around you feels right.

You stay quiet the rest of the ride, letting yourself relax into Rebecca. You're drowsy when you arrive at her place, the combination of the warmth, softness, and security of her arms sapping your will. The gentle drone of the rain disappearing is your only cue. She shushes you when you try getting up, turning you sideways in her ample lap and cradles you close. Her arm glides along your back and strokes your neck. Though your face is pressed into the side of a breast, you feel her lean down and put her nose in your hair. A sleepy groan escapes you; she chuffs and rubs a cheek against you. It's all more overwhelming than you could ever hope for.

The illusion is broken when your hand drifts to her breast. Rebecca stiffens with a gasp, and her claws poke into your leg. It's not as severe as last time, but you still yelp and try to spill from her arms. She lets you this time -- or tries to, anyway. There's nowhere for you to go but her lap. The two of you stare at each other for a breath before you sigh.

"No, Rebecca. See? It won't --"

Her claws aren't out when she grabs you again. You still wince as your legs are forced around her waist, but you don't think she heard you; she's got your face deep in her sweater. You can feel her chest heave around you, and her words echo in your head when she speaks.

"I want to get better, Anon," she says. You tilt your face up from her cleavage and find her looking down at you. The fur around her eyes is damp and her ears are turned back.

"Will you help me?" she asks.

"How?"

"Please, Anon."

"I --"

You pause. Her expression is pained, but her eyes still shine bright.

"...yes," you sigh. She pulls your face back into the deep red valley, holding you tight.

"Thank you," she whispers.

It's a few moments before she opens the door and carries you out. Only when you're back in her living room does Rebecca let you go, depositing you on the couch. She steps back and looks down at you; her stance is small and her tail is tight to her leg, her hands clasped over her stomach. But her eyes are still determined.

"Well... what am I supposed to do, Rebecca?"

"What you want," she says. She takes a breath, steeling herself. "Touch me."

"I -- I don't think that's going to work..."

"Do it, Anon. I need to get over it."

There's a tremor in her voice; whether it's from sorrow or anger, you're not sure. You hop down anyway and look up at her. Even when she's trying to shrink down, she's huge. Her fur puffs a little and her tail twitches when you poke her thigh... but she doesn't jump.

"Do it again," she says.

You poke at her leg some more, but the tigress' body remains still.

"I don't think this is helping, Rebecca," you sigh. "It's not setting you off."

"Yeah... grab my butt."

You splutter. "How would that help?"

"It's... sensitive," she says. Her ears fold back as she looks away. "That's what happened in the car, I think. When you touched my chest."

You sigh in your throat.

"Rebecca, I don't --"

The tigress' tail nearly flicks your face as she turns around.

"Touch my butt, Anon," she says, curling her tail away from her derriere, "or I'll sit on you."

"You say that like it's a bad thing..." you mutter, eyeing her rear. The tight daisy-dukes practically fill your vision.

"What was that?"

"Nothing," you hastily reply. You press your hands against her curves before she can reply; she jolts, her tail again buzzing your face. The tigress may have made a small sound, but the immense softness beneath the denim distracts you.

"Well?" you ask, resisting the urge to knead.

"I -- I don't know..."

"If it's not helping, I don't want to --"

"Surprise me!" she says. "I was ready for that, but every time before --"

You slap her ass because she wanted you to, certainly not because you've been dying to do it. The sound it makes is nearly as glorious as the way it jiggles. There's little time to admire it before the tigress whirls around, fur on end and tail straight out. Her claws gleam in the rainy half-light, and the black and white stripes on her face highlight her shock.

"A-Anon..." she breathes as her expression turns to anger. You backpedal into the couch

"You said 'Surprise me'!" you say; Rebecca's expression doesn't change as she looms over you. "I did what you asked! That was surprising, wasn't it?"

The tigress leans down, eyes narrow and frown small. It'd be cute if you weren't fearful for your life. Her arms box you in as she goes down to a knee, pressing her face close to yours.

"A-are you gonna kill me?" you ask. Her green eyes flicker between yours before she responds, her body going slack.

"No," she sighs. She pulls you into a half-hug, her chin over your shoulder. "Sorry, Anon. I -- I guess I thought it'd be easier than it is."

You feel little vibrations in her throat, silent sniffles. The weight of the situation settles on you as the tigress leans into you. She only jumps a little when you hug her back.

"It's okay, Rebecca," you say. "We're still figuring it out. Did it help a little, at least?"

Her arm tightens around you before she replies "yes."

"Good. But I think you'll get tired of me smacking your ass, even if I won't."

She chuckles, sounding a little more firm.

"How about we try something a little less 'surprising'? Something more casual?"

"Okay," she says. Before you can offer a suggestion, she gets down on her other knee and hugs you tight, enveloping you in her warmth. You stroke her sweater, wishing it were her fur. As she pulls back, Rebecca presses something like a kiss to your cheek. It stuns you for a second, and she giggles.

"Surprised you, did I?" she asks, standing up.

"Y-yeah," you say.

"How about we have dinner? I did promise it, after all," she says, smirking. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of opportunities for you to... 'casually' smack my ass while we work."

Her smile gives you hope. Not that you'll get another chance with her rear, but that she's getting better. You give her one back and follow her to the kitchen.

Making and eating dinner blur together. It's pleasant as the two of you talk about ordinary things like books, gardening, and her house. Only occasionally does the goal of your little date rear its head, like when she snaps a few pieces of angel-hair. But she's comfortable, and that's good enough for you -- the tigress actually tells you to be more touchy a few times.

Only when the plates are empty do you realize you don't know where things go from here.

"So... what now?" you ask as the conversation stalls. Rebecca's ears slowly prick, and her fingers flex on the table.

"G-go and wait on the couch. I'll be right with you after I finish this."

You're a little hesitant, but leave her to clearing the table. She doesn't want to hear anything of you helping, since you're 'too small.' Considering you helped set everything, you doubt it's really the case. Something makes you nervous as you sit on the couch. Things between the two of you have gone well so far, minus the bumpy start. You don't want things to go south, be it from Rebecca moving too fast or you fucking it up again.

She appears in front of you almost silently, the only thing giving her away a nervous 'mrp'.

"Rebecca."

"Anon," she replies. She takes a breath to steady herself, but you're not sure it works. "I -- I think I'm ready for the next step."

"What would that be?" you ask. You crane your neck back as she steps closer and leans down. You feel small when her paw rests on your shoulder.

"I'm used to the casual touches now," she says, "so I think something more... intimate."

"I-intimate how?"

She answers by pushing you down. Her striped face stays close to yours the whole way; her eyes mesmerize you, almost enough that you don't feel her lay on top of you. She hastily pulls back when you let out a quiet groan.

"Anon! Did I --"

"No, no," you say, grabbing her shoulders. "I-it's fine, I just..."

Your words devolve into a hum of pleasure. The tigress manages a smile, and slowly drops down. Her chest presses against your entire torso, her weight warm and comforting. She jumps a little when your hands slide up into her neck fluff, but she leans into them with a heavy chuff.

"This -- intimate enough?" you ask. Her eyes are half-lidded when they open in response. She slips down further, her nose inches from yours.

"I was thinking a little bit more..." she whispers. "If you're okay with it."

You wrap your arms around her head and thread your hands in her mane; it's the first time you feel like you've really hugged her right.

"There's nothing I want more."

Rebecca purrs before closing in. You're peeking over her snout when the two of you meet, lips tentative as her whiskers tickle your cheeks. You both freeze, breathing gently against each other and waiting for the next move.

"You okay?" you say into her lips.

"Mhm," the tigress hums, wrapping her paws around your head. "Let's go deeper."

You're not given a chance to argue; she cocks your head and presses in hungrily, her teeth scraping your lips. Your hands tighten in her hair when she pulls your tongue in. Her pleasured rumbling overshadows your muffled moans, making you melt into her even easier. It all feels so right. Her hands on your head, her teeth on your cheeks. She even tastes good.

Parting is painful, and not just because she scrapes your tongue between her teeth.

"You want more?" she asks, smiling as you grip her cheek-fur.

"Yeah... Give me your tongue this time!"

"You sure?" she purrs. "It's big..."

She chuckles when you nod eagerly. It's bliss when she presses her lips to yours once more; then the tigress' tongue fills your mouth. There's a glimmer in her green eyes as you gasp around it, one you haven't seen before. You're not going to be sucking on her tongue, scraping her with your teeth like she did to yours. She's gonna lick your mouth raw.

Your breaths are gasping as Rebecca explores you, her soft, pleasured sounds sending shivers down your spine. Your whole body jerks beneath hers with every prod and poke. You grip her fur tighter and tighter as she presses deeper and deeper, the rumble in her throat growing louder. Her taste stains your mouth, but you still can't get enough.

It only ends when you finally choke, her rough tongue tickling your throat. The tigress pulls back, stroking your cheek as you cough.

"Told you..." she purrs. You look up with a gasp; her stripes and green eyes mesmerize you once more, distracting you when she leans in again. The warm puff of a chuff is your only warning. She licks your face, her broad tongue offering no escape. You cringe as it scrapes along like a grinding wheel, so at odds with the rest of her. She offers a soft coo, pecking your cheek before rubbing hers along your face. Even the thin fur there is soft, enhanced by your tender skin.

"Are you okay?" she asks, purring when you nod against her.

"Are -- you?" you ask.

"Very," she whispers in your ear; she chuckles at your shudder. "How about we... take this to the bedroom?"

"Yes..."

You barely recognize when she stands up. Rebecca makes up your whole world. All you can see is her fur, all you can feel is her embrace, her breaths, and her teasing lips. You can still taste them, too. Her scent permeates her fur, flowers, herbs, and earth. And her purring fills your head.

Only when it all stops do you realize where she's taken you. You turn a little in her arms; her bedroom hardly seems large enough.

"Rebecca... is this too much?"

Her voice is tiny again when she responds, her breaths shallow.

"It -- it's not even the -- the same room," she breathes. She swallows, looking down at you.

"We don't have to --"

"I do."

She throws you onto the bed with ease. You scramble onto your back, expecting her to pounce atop you, but the titanic tiger has hardly moved. Her fists clench and eyes squeeze shut for a moment before she looks at you. There's fear, desperation, anxiety.

But there's undeniable passion as well.

The tigress strips off her sweater and jean-shorts, letting you gaze upon her orange and white glory. Her curves are endless, her fur immaculate. Even in the half-light from the windows she looks gorgeous. The breast-binder she wears is the same as yesterday, the color just off from her gray panties. They seem tiny in the sea of white fur around them, her thighs and belly almost swallowing them whole. Ogling her feels as bad as it did yesterday; her heaving breaths give you an excuse to look up. The fire is still there, as is the fear.

"What now, Rebecca?" you whisper. She swallows, looming over you as she approaches. Even if she's trying to be small.

Her hands drop heavily on either side of you as she says "Undo me."

Gently, tentatively, timidly, you reach up for her. She sucks in a breath when your hands brush her sides, the orange fur thick and soft. The flesh beneath is tense, and her chest heaves inches in front of your face. It freezes when you begin rubbing her.

"Which first?" you ask.

"P-panties..."

"Come a little closer, then."

Rebecca takes a breath before pulling you to the edge of the bed, putting your face into the soft fluff just below her breasts. Your legs are trapped between her thighs; she's determined, that's for sure. You still hesitate, having to steel yourself. If she's willing to try, you have to oblige.

The tigress' tremors touch you everywhere as you begin. Hopefully with time, they'll come from something other than fear. You sigh into her as your hands slowly drop along her sides. As you explore the curve of her hips, you truly feel the size of her. Your hands don't even fit halfway around her when you finally find the lace of her panties, almost lost in her fur and padding. Rebecca jolts when your thumbs hook around them.

"It's okay," you say, but her embrace muffles it to almost nothing.

The paw on your head tells you she heard it anyway.

You slide her underwear down her motherly hips, feeling the fabric stretch as you pass her soft apex. When it finally falls free, you stroke her thighs and hum into her lower chest. Your heart soars when she returns the sound after a moment. Her rumble soft and tentative, but it's positive nonetheless. Your legs are cold when she steps back to kick the panties all the way off; her embrace never slips.

It tightens when she pushes you further back on the bed and mounts you.

You're the one to tense as her enormous thighs engulf you. Her weight on your lap is heavy and firm, immobilizing but not crushing. You're still overwhelmed enough that Rebecca has to grab your hands before you hear her speak.

"Anon," she says, guiding your hands to her binder, "do my bra now."

You feel her stiffen and hiss when your fingers slip beneath it, but there's a tinge of pleasure to it now. You know you're going to enjoy it too, with how big that bump on her sweater is. You'd enjoy it more if you could get the thing off -- Christ, it's tight. Tugging hardly moves it, no matter where along it you lift.

"Anon?"

"M'm mm-mm!"

Rebecca takes your hands with a grunt, fumbling with the hem and --

You splutter as her heavy breasts drop around your head with a thunderclap, submerging you in warm and musky fur. The titanic-titted tigress yelps when you try to surface, pawing at her to little effect. Rebecca pulls her jugs aside and smiles down at you -- the yelp was a happy one, you think.

"A bit big for you?"

"I --"

You can't finish, roaming her expansive boobs. Christ, you can't even hold one with your entire arm!

"They're so heavy!" is all you can manage.

"Too heavy?" she asks, chuckling when you shake your head. She lets them drop back around you with a soft "good."

The tigress purrs at your muffled sounds of pleasure, the vibrations hitting deep in your chest. You nuzzle into her and squeeze her heavy pillows, marveling at their size. Your hands sink in as you struggle to move them, like two soft clouds. Her fur lets you breathe despite being squeezed; every breath is hot and scented, filling your head just as much as your lungs.

Somewhere in all the pleasure, you recognize Rebecca's still purring. Her paws haven't left your back -- she's settled more firmly on your lap, where the heat between her thighs has reached a fever pitch. It all makes you even more happy. Getting the chance to explore her body was good enough; the fact she's enjoying it is even better.

Rebecca purrs for a long time; the silence when it stops is deafening. She sighs, and the squeeze of her chest makes you freeze. The whole bed shifts when she moves away, leaving you in the cool bedroom air.

"You okay?" you ask; you struggle to stay upright as she crawls past you. When she flops down on her side and the divot in the mattress gets even bigger, it's even harder. She smiles as you teeter, hugging her chest.

"Yes, Anon. I -- I'm fine."

She reaches out and strokes your face, smile still warm as it falters.

"I'm happy. But -- but now, we should probably -- address the main issue."

Her white stripes glow in the soft bedroom light as she turns away.

"Touch the stripes."

"Rebecca, no."

"Anon."

Her voice trembles, nervous and angry. She looks at you over her shoulder with flattened ears and a twitching tail. She turns away when you relent, her hackles rising before you even reach her. The noise she makes when you do is halfway between a hiss and a whimper; it goes on as your hands flatten over the small of her back. The tension doesn't relent when you massage her, quiet breaths dying in her throat.

"Does that help?" you ask.

"Y-yes," she manages. "G-go higher."

Her reaction at the next band of white is little better.

"Talk to me, Rebecca. Please."

She forces down the sound, her muscles defined beneath her coat.

"T-thank you for -- for doing this. I -- I'm sorry it -- hurts."

You hum and stroke along her stripes.

"It's not your fault," you say. You close your eyes to make it a little easier.

"I-I'm still afraid."

Your hands move up her spine; she lets out another whine.

"N-not of him. Not anymore. But it -- it controls me and I want it to stop."

The next whimper is soft and sad. You move your hands up her back, following the stripes along her curves. You resist the urge to hug her.

"I know," you say; your voice is more raw than you'd thought. "But it's okay. It's okay for it to take time."

She stiffens when you press your face into her fur.

"You're making progress. Five days ago, you were worried it'd never stop, right?"

She sniffs, letting out an affirmative rumble; she relaxes a hair.

"It's okay, Rebecca. If we keep it up, it... it'll work."

Her lungs sound like bellows this close.

"I -- I'm sorry, Anon. I shouldn't do this. I'm the one that wants someone, that wants a family."

Her voice is shallow as her occasional breaths.

"It was selfish of me to make you do this."

You groan softly and lay beside her, stretching your hands up to her shoulders. She only jolts when you put your lips to her spine.

"Rebecca," you say, "last night I beat myself up over getting close to you."

The tigress shivers as you continue your way up, pressing kisses to each bump of her spine.

"When I found out what you were going through, I realized I was selfish."

You brush aside her lush mane and continue to her neck; she leans back into your hands.

"I want you too, Rebecca. Don't ever doubt it."

You nuzzle to the base of her mane-fur and kiss along its edge; it's warm and floral as the depths of her cleavage. Slowly, finally, the tigress relaxes completely, letting out a groaning sigh.

"So you'll stay here?" she asks sleepily.

"Yes."

"H-however long it takes?"

"Yes, Rebecca."

She lets out a single exhausted chuff.

"I'm going to hold you to that."

You smile and push through her hair, pressing against the back of her ear.

"Turn around and hold me, then."

The tigress groans pitifully. But she's smiling when she rolls over. You curl easily into her embrace and hum as she slides her cheeks along yours. Her arms tighten around you, and her head drapes over your shoulder to hold you just a little closer. You breathe in her soft neck-fluff as she purrs against you; your whole body goes slack.

"I -- thank you, Anon," she murmurs.

You hug her tight. You hesitate, but then commit. Now's the time.

"Rebecca, I love -- "

You stop.

The tigress is already fast asleep.

Chapter 7: A Fistful of Booba

You can't tell if you're dreaming when you wake.

You felt Rebecca throughout the night; her purring, her warmth, her arms. It's all more vivid when you realize it's real. The little things make the difference, like the gentle squeeze of her chest around yours. How deep your face is in her neck-fur, and how she's holding you so close you can hardly feel anything but her and her resonant purring. You tighten your arms around her shoulders with a deep sigh. Rebecca chuffs, hot breath washing down your back. She rubs the side of her chin against you and squeezes you in return.

Your blood runs cold at the prick of claws in your back. You stiffen, but her purring doesn't cease. Rebecca's paws move in slow, long strokes over your tender skin, her claws gently going in and out. It's a relief when you realize she's kneading. You disguise your groan of pain as one of pleasure and bury your face deeper in her neck. The tigress coos, rubbing her jaw against your head again before pulling back.

Her green eyes are half lidded, and something tells you it's not from exhaustion.

A paw glides behind your head as Rebecca kisses you deeply. Your eyes flutter shut, your entire head moved by the small, subtle nods of hers. Your groans of genuine pleasure are swallowed by her lips, and the ones she returns are much deeper.

The tigress' expression is one of overwhelming bliss when she pulls back. Just seeing it makes your heart soar. She leans into your hand when you reach up and stroke her face, her head heavy and huge. You're so lost in the softness that you almost miss her absence of fear.

"Good morning, Anon," she rumbles, one eye still closed as you rub her cheek.

"Morning, Rebecca," you say. "You doing okay?"

You think there's an 'mhm' somewhere in the chuffing. She kneads at your shoulders, letting out a huge sigh.

"Thank you. Again," she says. "I -- I didn't know if I could ever --"

You press a finger to her lips. Her look tells you all you need to know. She smiles and kisses your finger before letting you pull away; you find yourself shifting lower in her arms.

"S-so, what n --?" you manage, before your words are smothered in fur. They turn into a formless hum as Rebecca locks you in her cleavage Her breasts heave around you as she sighs.

"Let's stay like this a little longer," she says, her voice all around you. The tigress relaxes, her rumbling purr getting sleepy. It deepens when you wrap your arms around her. The two of you bask in each other's touch for a while, and you have to fight the urge to drift off. You feel bad when you sigh and push at her heavy tits.

"Sorry, sweetie," she says as she pulls away, "can you breathe?"

You gasp as you're freed from her boundless curves, blinking in the light. "Yeah -- yeah, I can, it's just -- I need to ask this before we fall back asleep."

The tigress laughs, but there's concern in her eyes. You take a few breaths. You've got to work up your courage.

"Rebecca, I -- Lyons gave me a CU form," you say; she freezes, eyes going wide. You try to keep your voice even as you go on. "We... You don't have to. I don't want to push you. But if you do, it -- it'd be the only Civil Union I think I'd ever be happy with."

The tigress is silent, her paws frozen on your shoulders. Then she wraps her arms tight around your head and yanks you back into her cleavage. You manage a muffled squeak when she throws a leg over you and squeezes, wrapping you in a world of soft fur. She shudders.

"Yes," she says, so quiet you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't in her chest. "I want it, Anon."

She doesn't make a sound, save for the occasional sniffle. Her hold doesn't loosen when you put your arms around her. You stroke her sides, humming into her chest to try and comfort her. The tigress makes a small sound back before easing up a little.

"I-I'm okay," she says, fingers threading in your hair, "I just... I need a minute."

You nod into her fur, letting her tighten up again. The CU form is long -- Lyons had to send a hosting link rather than attach it to the email. But you can let Rebecca hold you a bit longer.

You can let her hold you as long as she needs.

...

Printing the Civil Union form took ages. You had to reload Rebecca's printer a few times, and it's going to need more paper soon.

But that's not why you're here outside Talia's place.

"Are you sure this can't wait, Anon?" Rebecca asks, easing her van to a stop. "The form has to be done today."

"I know," you sigh. "It just... might be better if we show up separately tomorrow. Less chance of them saying something about 'witness tampering' that way. And to do that, we're gonna need two cars."

Filling out the CU form was as fun as you imagined, even if you got to do it in Rebecca's lap. It was just boring until you ran into a problem. You needed info from documents you didn't have -- taxes, medical history, family history -- little bullshit the State would nick you for if it didn't match. You told Reb to fill her side out while you went and got the paperwork from your apartment, only to remember your truck was still at the range, along with your guns.

It's in front of you now, parked in Talia's long gravel driveway. She told you she'd brought it to her place when you texted her. She'd played round robin with the range staff to get everyone's cars where they had to go. You're wondering if that's who the silver car behind yours belongs to; it's not a truck or a beater, so it's not any of the staff you know. Frankly, the only way you could see anyone from the range buying the silver Tesla UltraLux would be if they won the lottery.

Talia's truck stares at you from the end of the driveway, as do the empty windows. You push forward and glance up at Rebecca. You don't know how much of the conversation between you and the wolf she'd overheard, but if the tigress knew there was more to your 'relationship' than it appeared, she wasn't letting it show. She just keeps her eyes forward and her features resolute. She slows when you near the porch, letting you go first. The sun is shining as you stare at the old front door. Green stalks sway in the neighboring fields, and the trees sigh in the slight breeze. The porch creaks when Rebecca steps up behind you.

There's no putting it off anymore.

The old wood echos in the late morning air as you knock. The clacking of nails on wood announce the she-wolf's presence before she answers the door. Talia looks better than you thought she would, her fur and mane no more unkempt than usual. Her clothes are actually a bit neater. Still, her eyes betray a bit of sadness -- even before she spots the towering tigress stooped over on her porch.

"Anon. Rebecca," she says, nodding to each of you in turn. "C'mon in. Got your stuff in the living room."

She turns away before you can respond. The house is oddly tidy, the tables and dressers cleared of clutter, the faint scent of earth and gunpowder replaced with a hint of lemon. You realize why when you turn into the living room.

"Mr. Anonerson!" Mr. Lyons says, straightening up in his chair. "I didn't realize you were coming by."

"He's just here to pick up some stuff," Talia says, "won't be long. Then we can get back to business."

"Business?" you ask. "What sort of --"

"This is unrelated to the trial," Lyons says, ears perking up when he sees Rebecca round the corner. "I'm afraid I can't discuss it with either of you. I apologize, Ms. Maldovich -- but what brings you here?"

"She was his ride," Talia says for the tigress, giving the lawyer a cocked look. "Why can't we tell them about it?"

"Client confidentiality means I can't," he says after a moment. "You can, but I'd recommend waiting until --"

"I'm going to contest my State Eval," Talia says to you. Lyons sighs while you try to process it.

"I thought you do yours every November?" you ask.

"I do. But if the trial goes how I think it will, I'll be looking at a reevaluation as soon as the State can get its sights on me."

"What makes you say that?" Rebecca asks, worry in her voice. She looks to Lyons with wide eyes. "Was my testimony bad? I told you everything that happened!"

"Your testimony was fine, Ms. Maldovich," Lyons says. "I believe the evidence and testimony we have will do well."

"Then what's the problem, Talia?" you ask. The she-wolf freezes. Her fists clench. She makes to speak but stops, closing her eyes and shaking her head.

"You and her are getting a Civil Union," she says slowly, nodding to Rebecca. "That's the problem, Anon. Courtship charges won't matter, sure -- but that's because I won't have one. Without that, they'll make me get a reevaluation. Without that, I'll be put up for Assignment."

"Talia..."

"Well?" she asks, amber eyes flashing open. "Am I wrong?"

You hesitate, then shake your head. Lyons is the one to break the long silence that follows.

"Congratulations are in order, then," he says slowly. "The courtship charges will be null and void. And I'm confident Ms. Grilliz's firearms specialists will take care of your firearms charges."

"Can we delay it?"

The three anthros' ears spring up at your question.

"Can we delay the CU until after the trial?" you clarify. "Would that give Talia a chance?"

"Anon!" Rebecca says, but you brave her soft eyes.

"We'll do it, Rebecca, but later. We can't -- *I* can't let Talia get in trouble."

"Might I remind you there's a lawyer in the room?" Lyons says, standing now. "'Waiting' with your CU would give the State all the evidence it needs to convict you of the courtship charges and more. You are my client, but there are limits to what I can do."

Very quietly, Rebecca growls.

"Client confidentiality applies," he says, eyeing the tigress, "but lying under oath has significantly more dire consequences for me than it does you."

"But would it help her?" you repeat. "If it's even a couple days, I --"

"Anon!" Talia shouts. She glares at you, hands flexing again before she sighs. "Would you to step out with me for a sec?"

The she-wolf pushes past you and Rebecca, not waiting for a response. Lyons slowly sits back down and goes back to working on paperwork. He pointedly avoids your gaze. Rebecca gives you a look of concern, but you ignore it and go after Talia, pushing down the growing hollow feeling in your chest. The she-wolf stands out on the back porch, arms crossed. The wood creaks when Rebecca steps out with you.

"Rebecca --" you start, but Talia waves you off.

"I got something to say to her too," the she-wolf says. She steps up to you and puts her hands on your shoulders. "But first you need to listen, dumbass."

The tigress makes a small sound beside you; Talia doesn't spare her a glance.

"This ain't your fault. Not the gun, not the trial, not -- not you and her wanting each other," she says. There's a slight tremor as she finishes. "So don't go beating yourself up and throwing yourself at the State for me."

"That's not what I'm doing, Talia," you say. "I don't want you getting screwed. I'm the reason you're --"

Talia crouches down low and clamps a hand over your mouth, hissing "Shut up!"

Rebecca's exclamation is louder this time; she tries to step in, but Talia fends her off with a single hand.

"This isn't your fault," Talia says, gripping you tight. "We got in this together, and now you're getting out. It worked out for you, and that's good. I -- I'm glad. Glad you're happy."

"Talia..." you say, watching her eyes glimmer. "Talia, I don't want you to hurt."

"Let someone else bare it for once," she says. She turns away, scrunching her eyes tight. She stiffens when you hug her, but sighs and returns your embrace. You breathe in her flannel; the scent is familiar, comforting.

But it doesn't have the same meaning as before.

"Alright, that's enough," the she-wolf says, pushing you away. "Wouldn't wanna piss off your new wife."

Rebecca is quiet, and you look over to find her holding back tears -- much less successfully than Talia. The she-wolf stops her when she goes to speak.

"Don't you get blubbery too," Talia says, forcing a grin.

"Talia, y-you said you were rethinking it," Rebecca manages.

"I did," the she-wolf replies. "I know the two of you will be happy together. So go. I'll... I'll manage."

Despite her words, the air is still tense. Rebecca's tail still swishes, her ears still lay flat. Talia's eyes still water. And your gut still doesn't feel right. But you suck in a breath and give the she-wolf a nod. She returns it, like you were just seeing what bays were open on the range. Rebecca stays staring down at the she-wolf until you take her hand and squeeze it. She relents with a shuddering sigh, and lets you lead her inside. Talia pulls ahead, grabbing your range bag.

"Here," she says, handing it to you. "You gonna get something made in the last 50 years, now that you got a wife?"

You manage a laugh. "We'll see."

"You know where to find me if you do," she says. "You can skirt out on the grass to get around Lyons' car. Oh, and Rebecca?"

The tigress' ears perk up despite her still-fallen face.

"Take good care of this dumbass for me, will you?"

Rebecca laughs and promises she will. You manage to smile as well. Talia follows you out to the porch, waving you off as you get in your truck. She's still smiling, somehow. The she-wolf has always been a master of hiding her feelings; whether or not her grin is true, you're not sure. You hope it is, for her sake.

That's all you can hope for.

...

It feels strange returning to Rebecca's place. Home, now. The tigress has been humming the whole way back, thankfully. What happened at Talia's put a damper on her spirits, and more hours of soul-crushing paperwork didn't likely help. But turning the tome that was the CU form in and signing the last line together seems to have helped. You look out the window as you roll through suburbia, watching the streetlights flicker on. For once, the State's obsession with Assignment and marriage worked in your favor. You wouldn't have been able to renew your plates at the DMV this late, much less on a Saturday, but the CMMS office doesn't close for another 2 hours.

"That felt better than last time," Rebecca muses as she pulls into the driveway. The garage door slowly squeaks open ahead of you, and she stops humming. "How do you feel, Anon?"

"Good, I think. It's not something I was expecting to do, and -- and it's a lot," you say. Her face-stripes are striking in the backglow of the headlights, almost concealing her apprehension.

"But it's still good," you add. "It'd be a lot even if it wasn't you, Rebecca -- and I'm glad it is you."

She smiles and gives you a little hum. But her tone is still serious when she parks.

"Anon, can you promise me something?"

"Sure, Reb."

"Promise me we'll get married," she says. Her gaze is intense as she leans in close. "All we did earlier was sign a bunch of paper together. We didn't get married, not for real."

"You mean like in a church?"

"In a church, in the backyard, it doesn't matter," she says. She smiles when you nod, but her voice is still tense. "I want... I want to have a family, Anon. One beyond just you and me."

"Well I -- I'm an only child, unfortunately. And dad is... out of the picture," you say. "But I'll do what I can."

"Good," she hums, leaning into your grasping hands. Her whiskers tickle your arm as you stroke her cheeks, and she closes her eyes while you gently scratch her jaw. The two of you sit in the dark for a while, humming. She rubs her cheek along your arm; it presses against yours before you know it. The faint *click* of your seatbelt is drowned out by all her purring.

"Didn't think they'd tell you about traditional marriages, growing up in a State home," you muse as she pulls you over the console. The tigress locks you in a firm hug and chuckles.

"They didn't," she hums.

"Then how'd you find out about it?"

"Old media," she says, burying you in neck fluff.

"Mmm... no wonder they're trying to get rid of it..." you hum. Rebecca stiffens for a moment, then sighs.

"We'll talk about that later," she says. "Let's get inside."

"Do I have to propose to you?" you ask as she opens the car door. She just chuckles in response. You grunt when she doesn't let you out of her arms and carries you inside. It feels a bit emasculating, but you can't deny being carried feels good.

"It would be nice of you to propose, yes," she says. "But we can just say we're engaged, for now."

Your quiet laughter slowly dies as the tigress strides straight through the living room, still holding you halfway over her shoulder. Her warm rumble deepens as the bedroom draws closer. Her grip grows tighter, and you swear she's moving faster. It all goes quiet when she freezes in the doorway.

"We don't have to, Rebecca," you say after a moment. "It's not our actual wedding night, after all."

The tigress chuffs. She tosses you onto the bed with ease and shuts the door, turning the lights down low.

"Oh, I want to, Anon. We're having lots of kids," she says, undoing her daisy dukes. "No harm in practicing."

It doesn't feel wrong to drink her in now. Her tightly-bound breasts bounce as the red sweater comes off. Her curves are glorious from top to bottom. The stripes only make her thighs and hips look bigger, and her tasteful muffin-top is just begging to be squeezed. Even her tail is thick, hovering above an even thicker butt. A butt you'd happily --

"Anon?"

You look up, finding the tigress staring down at you with a small smile.

"Oh! Right," you say, hastily fumbling at your own clothes. "Sorry, you're just..."

You freeze when Rebecca leans up against the bed, looming over you.

"Just what?" she purrs, pressing her plush form against yours. Your response is lost in the tight fabric of her bust. She chuckles, rubbing against you a little before pulling back. She coos when she finds you blushing hard and gives your head a few strokes with her giant paw. It trails down, helping you with your shorts as you stumble for words.

"S-so, uh, what are we doing?" you finally manage. Rebecca pauses before lifting you under the arms, setting you on the center of the bed.

"There's only one way to make babies, Anon," she says, sliding her panties off.

"A-are you sure you're ready for that? We've barely gone past first base..."

She pauses at the side of the bed. "We're going to find out."

The bed creaks as she climbs on and crosses the sheets with a few steps. Seeing her on all fours awakens something within you, primal feelings of lust mixing with feelings of fear and apprehension. The tigress notices and smiles.

"Are *you* ready, Anon?" she asks, looming over you.

"Y-yeah, totally," you manage. She rolls her eyes and leans in close, brushing her cheek against yours.

"You're a terrible liar," she hums, chuffing in your face. A claw hooks into your boxers and yanks; Rebecca pulls away to look at her handiwork. The freed undergarment hangs from a single finger,slightly torn. She gives you her first look of pure lust before tossing them away.

"I'll fix it later," she says, grabbing your shirt next. "I want -- we *need* to do this first."

Your response gets caught in your throat when her paws wrap around to your back, the flesh still hot and tender. Rebecca rumbles above you. Her eyes are glazed with lust as she squeezes and kneads at you like a cat toy. You grab her wrists and groan, trying to pass it off as one of pleasure.

"Rebecca, I got it," you say, but the tigress doesn't listen.

"Oh no, Anon," she purrs, sliding your shirt up. "I'm having fun unwrapping my wedding present."

The fun stops when her thumbs brush the gouges in your chest. Your wince comes out in a hiss; Rebecca's rumbling stops.

"Anon, what's wrong? Are you --"

Her pawpads stiffen when they run across the staples. Your shirt is over your face before you can speak, but you feel her hands go light on your chest. Her eyes are wide and her ears flat when you can see her again.

"Rebecca, it's alright."

"No... no no no..." she breathes. Her fur rises as her hand slides around your chest. She ignores you when you call her name, her hand only stopping when she hits the ragged slashes on your back. She gently turns you over; you haven't seen the staples back there, but you doubt it's a pretty sight. The pinpricks from this morning's kneading session probably don't help.

Rebecca's voice is tiny, as shaky as her hands.

"No... Oh God..."

"Rebecca, it's okay," you say, turning around. She shifts away from you and freezes. She's looking right through you, even as you say "they're tender, but it's okay."

"They were right. They were all right."

"Rebecca."

"I can't do it," she whispers. Her tail wraps around a leg as she lays frozen on her side, ears plastered to her skull. "I *can't* be a mother, I can't be a wife, I can't be one. I'm too big, I'm too dangerous."

Her eyes dart between the red marks on your chest as you crawl.

"I was yours for one day and look what I did. I was his for a year and look what happened. I tried being a mother and -- and I-I couldn't --"

You're afraid when you kiss her. You're terrified. But you wrap your arms around her neck and press into her lips, squeezing your eyes tight and praying your face doesn't get ripped off. Neither of you breathe. Hours pass.

Then she wraps her arms around you and whimpers. Neither of you stop as she falls to the mattress with you. You shush against her lips, never straying far. She shudders when you stroke her mane-hair. Your hands move to her cheeks as she curls up around you, holding you tight -- but gentle around your back.

"It's okay. It's okay," you whisper. The tigress sniffs, eyes still scrunched tight as she nuzzles past your face and presses you deep into her neck.

"It wasn't your fault," you say through the fluff. "Not my back, not anything else. That's on him."

She makes a small, strained sound. You keep stroking.

"You're the sweetest woman I've ever met. I know you didn't mean for it to happen. Any of it. You're kind, you're patient, you're -- you're loving."

You swallow, trying to keep your voice from cracking as you finish.

"You're perfect."

You fail. But it doesn't matter. She takes a seizing breath, everything tightening around you. Then she purrs. There's a whine to it, but you feel it in your chest. You stroke her fur for a few moments before speaking.

"That a happy sound?"

The tigress' "M-hm" is lost in her soft rumble; you feel her nod against you.

"Good," you sigh. You take a breath of her fur. "Reb, can you look at me?"

The tigress is reluctant to let you pull away. You stay close when she does, and run your hands through the fur on her jaw. Her eyes glitter at you in the half-light, her muzzle scrunched up in a frown. Rubbing her cheeks eases it little. Her voice is a tiny, frail thing.

"I -- I'm not --"

"Hey, hey, shh," you whisper, kissing her again. "It's okay. It's okay, Rebecca. You got me, I'm not going anywhere."

She whimpers again and presses her forehead to yours. You kiss the top of her snout, moving your hands up to her ears. They're so soft. She shuts her eyes tight, but you don't mind.

"You're going to be a wonderful wife, and an even better mother," you whisper. "Want to know how I know?"

She tightens her full-body hold and nods against you.

"Because after everything you went through, you still care. You're still kind, you're still patient, you're still loving. I don't know anyone else who could do that. It might have hurt you a lot, but it didn't change your heart, Rebecca. And that's what matters."

You stroke her hair again. She opens her eyes, finding yours waiting.

"That's why it's okay. That's why you're okay," you say. She blinks, slowly, then she buries you back in her neck. She hugs you so tight you can hardly breathe.

But it's okay.

"Thank you," she breathes. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

You don't know how long you stay in her arms, holding her back. Her words are slowly replaced with a light, shuddering purr that hitches whenever she sniffles. You barely feel it when she rolls on top of you. Her weight only sinks in when she disentangles her arms from you and shifts up your body. The mattress pushes you up into her as she settles on your lap. Her knees slide up under your arms, and her calves press tight against your sides. The warmth of her legs envelops your whole torso; you can't help but groan. She winces, her tail swishing behind her.

"Is this too much?" she asks, her hands clasped by her stomach, "Are you --?"

"N-no, I'm okay. Just not used to it."

"Am I too heavy? I --"

"You're fine, Rebecca," you say. You slide your hands up her thighs and grab her hands, squeezing them as you look up into her eyes. "But are you sure you're ready?"

You almost believe her when she nods.

"I-I've got to try."

She spreads her legs slowly, every shift of her weight bringing another wave of sensation. You keep your groans to a minimum for her sake. Your cock looks small in the valley of her thighs, and you realize you're going to need to get *deep*. Her folds are hidden by cream fur, but you can see the outline of her slit in it. She squeezes your hands tight, and her chest heaves. She's looking down at your dick, and it's not a look of excitement.

"Rebecca?"

"J-just give me a second!" she says, still staring down at it.

"Rebecca, it's okay if you're not ready."

"I am! I want it, I just --"

She goes quiet when you sit up and wrap your arms around her. Her fur is on end when returns your embrace, pulling you tight into her stomach. She's not careful with your back, but you just squeeze her harder. She needs to hold you more.

"I -- I really want it!" she whispers. You stroke her sides and gently kiss the plush depths of her fur.

"We'll get there, Reb, I promise," you say. "But it'll take time. You're still getting used to touching, right?"

"Y-yes, but I -- I need to work through it. That's how we got to this, to me holding you."

"We did," you say, giving her stomach a peck. "But fuc -- but sex is different from touching."

Rebecca doesn't respond, staying tightly curled around you. You sigh into her warm fur, letting your hands rest on her hips as you ask "You want me to try using my hands?"

She stiffens, but rumbles in the affirmative. The tigress holds you tight as you slowly trace along the crease of her thighs. Her hold doesn't loosen as you near her core; in fact, her thighs squeeze tight when you try to slide between them. She lets out a groaning sigh when you pull away, wrapping your arms back around her.

"You tried, Reb, you --"

"We're going to do *something*, Anon!" she says, gripping you tight.

"What do you want to try, then? You want me to try eating it?"

"I -- no. I don't -- I can't have you near it. In it. I --"

You shush her and run your hands up her sides, waiting for her discontented rumble to die down. "Something else, then. Above the waist, maybe?"

"What do you mean?"

"These," you say, sliding your hands beneath her sports bra. It doesn't go as smooth as you like, since the poor garment is so damn tight, but Rebecca still gasps when your hands meet her breasts. Her hold on you tightens; the groan she lets out tells you it's from pleasure.

"Like that?" you ask as you squeeze the lower reaches of her curves. Rebecca hums and rubs against your hands. "Good, because my hands are stuck there now."

She chuckles for the first time in a while. She's smiling when she pulls back and looks down, squeezing her bust out of the way.

"Really, they're stuck!" you say. "Your bra's way too tight!"

"Well, they're hard to manage otherwise," she hums, still rubbing against your hands.

"I can help with that."

The tigress laughs, and lets her chest press on the top of your head again. "Do you remember how that went last night? You could barely move them!"

"Well, I've got to try, right?"

She groans and reaches for the hem of her bra, and mutters "you're going to pay for that."

She lifts, and her breasts envelop your head like a pair of soft wrecking balls, spilling down over your back. Rebecca relaxes against you with a full body sigh. You're not sure if it's because her massive pillows are finally free, or if it's the way you're kneading at them once more. She chuffs as she squeezes them up around you. She grabs your hands after a few moments of bliss.

"Come on, hold them for me!" she chuckles, putting your arms up around her breasts. You last all of two seconds before your arms drop and her heavy boulders spill over you anew. She hums as you groan and nuzzle into her cleavage. Your continued attempts at lifting it make her smile. Rebecca squeezes her chest around your head once more, locking you in a world of warm, earthy fur.

Locking you away in heaven.

Every second she keeps you there is one of bliss and comfort. Even when she jiggles her chest around you or smooshes her breasts together to hear you gasp. Those moments are *especially* good. You give back as best you can, squeezing her by the handful. Her breasts, her thighs, her sides, no part of her is safe. She presses against your hands no matter where they roam. Every coo, every titter, every gasp of pleasure echoes through your head.

"Still alive down there?" she asks when she finally relents, parting her cleavage to look down at you.

"You've got some -- big tiggies --" is all you gasp in response. She chuckles, stroking your hair.

"Well, if you can't handle them..." she purrs. You're submerged beneath them before you can complain; Rebecca wraps her arms around you and pushes you down. You stiffen for a moment as she settles on top of you. Your body is completely beneath hers, squished into a soft mattress by an even softer, warmer mattress. Then she leans back and presses her hips down on yours, and you gasp.

"Let's try just one," the tigress purrs, grabbing a dangling breast and dropping it on your face. You scramble to get your hands on it and search for her nipple. Rebecca spasms above you when you find it, the sensation of her hips on yours like fire. You're not in her, but the sheer warmth and mass shifting above you does wonders. She purrs when you take her in your mouth. Her pink nipple pokes at your tongue when she presses down, bobbing her shoulder, encouraging you to suck.

The sound she lets out when you do is animal, and her hips roll against yours with purpose. It's no longer incidental.

"Yes..." she rumbles. "Knead it. Up and down, just like that."

You only give up when you feel light headed. She's reluctant to stop when you grunt and tap, lifting up just enough for you to push her tit off your face.

"You okay?" she asks.

"Yeah," you manage, breathing hard. You only get a few moments before she plops back down.

"Good," she says, shifting her nipple back to your mouth. "Now do it more."

She sighs as you eagerly obey. You use a little more teeth this time, getting her to hiss. But she only tenses up temporarily, lounging on you like a contented queen.

"This feels so good," she says, "they're always so sore... now that I've got you here, maybe I'll stop using the binding bra. Assuming you enjoy this -- you do, don't you?"

You nod beneath her, as much as you can.

"I thought so," she chuckles. She lingers on the downstroke of her hips, grinding them into yours. "I can feel you down there, you know. J-just give me a few more minutes, and I'll -- take care of that..."

You're not sure how she means, but you redouble your efforts. Rebecca's purring soon turns to chuffing. You suckle on her eagerly, somehow moving her mountainous breast as you knead and squeeze. It all feels glorious and right. Being beneath her, sucking and kneading her. Hearing -- no, *feeling* her sounds of pleasure. You can feel something wet on your hips as the rumbles grow deeper. The tigress' thrusts grow more intense, and her whole body shifts with each one. She presses down harder on your head, pushing you deep into her plush depths. She ignores you when you tap again, even when you smack her breast hard enough for the sound to echo throughout the room.

Her yowl keeps you from passing out, but just barely. You gasp as Rebecca rolls to the side; the bedroom air is cool on your skin. You're still coughing when you feel her shift next to you, an arm sliding gingerly under your back.

"I'm sorry, Anon -- was that too much?" she asks, sliding a thick thigh beneath you.

"Maybe -- a little --" you manage. She coos, and pulls you up to kiss your hair.

"I'll let you manage this one on your own, then," she says, a huge breast spilling on your face. You're able to push it away enough to breathe this time. But you still freeze when a huge palm cups your nethers. She purrs when you press up into her firm grip, feeling your member rub against her pads. You groan when she rubs you back.

"You've been waiting for that, haven't you?" she asks. She coos when you nod into her tit, shivering in her grip. "Show me how much you like it."

The tigress squeezes your member when you latch on to her teat once more. She hisses, the claws of her other hand poking your lower back. You knead her in return. The soft, heavy weight of her breast mystifies you as it jiggles against your face. You think it might be perfect. Rebecca's ministrations of your member prevent you from pondering it completely as she moves in time with you, rocking and stroking in tune with your hips. She chuffs when you can no longer suck on her breast. You need to breathe, ride the edge of this pleasure. Last as long as you can for her.

"That's it," she coos, wrapping her fingers around you. "Let it out... come for momma..."

The haze of your orgasm washes away your thoughts. She purrs and drops her shoulder, muffling your moan deep in her breast. It turns to a small, soft sound as she tugs the last bits of seed from you. Your hips twitch on their own while you huff her scent.

"Good boy," Rebecca rumbles, shifting to cradle you with both arms. A 'mrp!' escapes her when you latch back onto her, followed by a deep rumble. "Very good boy..."

You don't stop when she shifts to get comfortable. You feel her pull the sheets over the two of you and settle in for the night. She strokes your head for a while, letting out breathy sighs and chuffs. Then she pulls you away and hums when you resist.

"Don't want to smother you in my sleep," Rebecca whispers, pulling you up from her cleavage. Her eyes are half-lidded and warm, and the stripes on her cheeks only enhance her smile. She pushes into your hand when you go to stroke them, her eyes closing in bliss.

"You good, Rebecca?" you ask; she hums and nods into your hands.

"Yes," she says, pulling you into her neck-fluff, "I'm good, Anon."

"I'm okay."

(Art By AKG)

Chapter 8: Once Upon a Time in WCS

"This court of the Anthro-Guided World Regulatory Commission, Sector WCS, SubSector 11, is now in session."

You force yourself to focus on the judge.

God, you've fallen hard.

Not wanting to leave Rebecca's embrace in the morning is understandable, but these past two hours have been hell. You didn't know witnesses stay outside until called upon. If you had, you wouldn't have insisted the two of you drive separate. She grew tense as the morning went on, shrinking and stuttering when you went from cuddling to breakfast to getting dressed. The tigress picked you up when it was time to go. You weren't sure if she'd ever set you down.

She's just as scared as you, if not worse.

Navigating the Municipal Building's twisting, modernized halls was a pain. The courtrooms are in a different part of the building than the CMMS office where you'd been last night, so you arrived at the compact, clinical courtroom later than you'd like. The sneer Patricia gave you when you arrived made you a little happy the tigress isn't inside. You've got faith in Lyons, but you don't doubt for a second that Patricia is going to make this as hellish as possible. Finding out she was representing the Prosecution made you sick; it made Lyons hopeful. He gave you the first-time rundown as the minutes dragged on. "Sit there and stay calm," "no out-of-turn comments," "don't lie and don't be combative" were the highlights. And he assured you cops make poor lawyers.

You just hope the rabbit judge isn't going to play favorites. Her tone is even as she finishes detailing your list of charges to the courtroom. Little emotion crosses her gray face when she turns to you.

"Mr. Anonerson, how do you plead?"

You almost forget to stand.

"Innocent, your honor."

The rabbit nods and turns to Patricia.

"Ms. Birch, please proceed with your opening statement."

A change washes over the shepherdess. The agent that rises from the table and takes the floor is professional, not cocky. She speaks with an authority that lacks an overbearing edge. It might be the first time you've heard her sound respectful when she thanks the judge.

"Members of the jury, as the primary and initiating officer of this case, it is my duty to serve as the representative of the State. The prosecution intends to prove that the defendant has violated several State policies, many instances of which predate the inciting incident and previously have gone uncontested. A thorough investigation of the defendant and his partner suggests their courtship claims are a means for the two of them to circumvent State procedures relating to Assignment, and that the defendant was in possession of an illegal firearm -- a machine gun, to be precise."

Where the hell has *this* ATF agent been hiding?

"Through interrogation of the evidence and witnesses present, it will become clear that the defendant is guilty on all counts."

With a small bow to the jury and a nod to the judge, Patricia returns to her seat. Not a single glance your way.

She's gotta be on something.

"Mr. Lyons, please proceed with the defense's opening statement."

The lion gives you a gentle pat before taking the floor. His movements are more relaxed than Patricia's, but still professional.

"Members of the jury: the defense intends to show you that these allegations are baseless. Witness testimony, both character-based and expert, will prove that the defendant is in violation of no State policy, law, or regulation. It will prove that the firearm confiscated by the prosecution is not a machine gun, and that the defendant has not modified it to intentionally behave as such. And ultimately, the evidence will suggest these charges have not been levied in good faith."

Patricia stiffens in the corner of your eye. You're not focused on that as the short-maned lion returns to the table, and the room fills with the sound of shuffling paper. Your lawyer addressed the firearms charges, but said nothing about the courtship claims. Considering you don't have expert witnesses for them, you're a bit concerned. The judge clears her throat before you can call him on it.

"Ms. Birch, you may now bring forward your evidence."

The shepherdess does so with great detail and calm. It's a side of her you haven't seen before. There's no yelling, no curse words, no pokes or jabs. Just argumentation. You can follow along with some of it, but your brain starts turning to mush the further she gets into codes. You've delved a little into the quagmire that is the State's legal system since they're touchy about weapons, but your knowledge is only practical. Lyons follows along hastily, the documents from his case papers fluttering around the table along with his own notes. You move your things aside to give him more room.

Despite his frantic movements, the lion appears confident. His short-trimmed mane stays in place, his suit and tie don't crease. It's the pages that scatter and twitch, not his fingers. Lyons fortunately doesn't notice you staring before you turn back to your papers. If it's an act, you're convinced. The heat waves flowing through your body slow, and your chest doesn't feel quite as light.

You just have to hope the rest of the courtroom is as impressed.

Patricia starts off with the firearms charges. She makes the relevant firearms laws very clear to the courtroom; because you are unmarried, you are restricted to older firearms. On top of state restrictions, you've got to abide by the old laws of the area before it became Sector WCS -- which includes a restriction on machine guns, manufactured professional or jury-rigged. She recalls what you said on Sunday and Tuesday -- you 'repaired' the gun, and you were shooting reloads.

Then you see the Kolibri for the first time in five days.

You want to know where the hell the ammo went when she reveals it's unloaded. The bright scars from the raping scrape of an electro-pen are obvious on the slide, visible even from across the floor. The shepherdess parades it around in her bare, oily paws, telling the jury what she saw it do at the range and that you were about to use it again on Tuesday. You have to dig your nails into your palm when she says her office conducted a 'group examination' and determined the gun had been modified. Lyons has to squeeze your shoulder slightly to keep you from staring daggers.

"Let Talia's associates correct them," he says.

Patricia's argumentation on the courtship front is just as uncomfortable. The definition and legal review part is better because it's shorter; the whole concept of legal Courtship is part of the State's BS, so there's only one set of convoluted codes to wade through. She presents logbook entries from her time at the range as evidence. Nearly two years worth of short reports about your activities with Talia while in her presence. You're tempted to ask Lyons to object on the basis of evidence tampering; the entries are written so objectively. The shepherdess gives a brief summary of the hardcopy, which takes up a good fifth of the case papers. It's the same bullshit she's been screeching at you but presented in nicer language.

Bullshit that may have been true, for a while. But maybe not.

It's also the first time Patricia gives you something resembling a snarl; when she tells the jury the State consulted a 'Relational Expert,' you get the briefest frown when she admits you weren't examined by them directly.

"I put out a 'no-contact request'," Lyons whispers to you, "it's to prevent plaintiffs from harassing defendants. Since she's the initiating officer, technically that's her. She'd need a separate officer to contact you about the evaluation."

That makes Patricia's calm demeanor even more surprising. Her comments about your absence from home and the range over the past few days make sense. Luck meant you weren't at home, and slight paranoia meant you had -- and still have -- aggressive spam filters. Your back tingles when Patricia mentions the department tried to visit you Thursday. Them making an early-morning trip wasn't likely, so you must've slept through their knocks on the door.

You want to hold Rebecca, even as her claw-marks burn.

Patricia explains some evaluation methods officers and agents use for judging courtship, and you wish Talia were here. It'd give her some intel going forward. You shake your head as a weight sinks into your chest. You don't know why you're feeling the guilt *now*, you were right in the room with her yesterday. Then a tiny bit of doubt pokes your mind like a pin: Rebecca was in the room with you, too. The two of you have practically been within arms reach of each other since Friday. Now you're not. Thoughts and doubts from earlier in the week bob to the surface, and it takes all you have to force them back down.

Fortunately, Pat finally says "prosecution rests," before they can get too far.

"Mr. Lyons," the judge says, "do you wish to cross-examine the prosecution before your argument?"

"I do, your honor," the lion says. His movements are confident as he takes the floor, but you still feel slight apprehension. Patricia moves to the witness stand with ceremony.

"Mr. Lyons," the judge says when both are in place, "remember that you are cross examining Ms. Birch as a witness at this time, not as prosecution."

"Of course, your honor," Lyons says before turning to Patricia. "Ms. Birch, why did you wait until Tuesday to confiscate the defendant's firearm, which was suspected of being a machine gun?"

She's difficult to read, but her voice is firm.

"The unusual nature of the firearm meant the field office needed time to gather additional consultants and information."

"That's fair, it *is* over a century old," Lyons says. "So you allowed the potential felon to walk free with his potential machine gun?"

You freeze up, as does Pat. Then a frown spreads across her face.

"The defendant had no prior convictions or violations on record, and until the weapon was examined, it wasn't classified as a machine gun."

"To repeat, the defendant had no prior convictions or violations. Is this still the case today?"

The shepherdess almost grits her teeth as she says 'yes.'

"Okay. Is there a particular reason you -- as the primary agent -- confiscated it on Tuesday?"

"Convenience."

"Convenience?"

"I was scheduled to patrol the Shoktan Shooting Range that day, and he happened to be there."

"You were scheduled to patrol the range while conducting this investigation as the primary *and* initiating officer?"

Patricia almost stumbles.

"Ordinary duties as an agent do not end," she manages.

Lyons nods, giving a moment for the jury to watch her shift in her seat.

"So, to review: you, the primary and initiating officer of this investigation, were scheduled to patrol the Shoktan Shooting Range two days into your investigation. The defendant -- whose actions at said range you have compiled a detailed report of, that spans the past two years, which has not uncovered a single conviction or violation throughout the time of your observation -- just *happened* to be there."

He turns to the jury before Patricia can respond.

"And, for context, the initiation of this investigation meant Ms. Birch had access to the defendants' contact information. Phone services, email -- fax if either of them had it."

The shepherdess shows a hint of teeth when he's finished.

"Is that correct, Ms --"

"Yes," she says, on the edge of a growl. Lyons nods, his posture unchanged.

"Excellent. One last question -- are the other members listed on the evidence evaluation form for the firearm present and available as witnesses? That's Document 171-3 --"

"No, they are not."

The shepherdess isn't hiding her displeasure now. Probably a good sign.

"Very well," Lyons says, turning to the judge. "Cross-examination by the defense is finished, your honor. May I present my evidence?"

You're not sure how to interpret the judge's dispassionate 'yes'. But as best you can follow, Lyons just made some headway. He only stops back at the table briefly to collect a few papers, so you don't have time to ask. The break in his stoicism says enough when he gives you a smile.

Yours falters when his opening gambit doesn't go as planned. Only one of Talia's secret weapons is admitted for reasons you don't fully understand. From the sound of it, two of the three weren't lawyers; this somehow makes them not subject experts. Lyons brushes it off with an air of cool, but is sure to remind everyone that the requests for access to the firearm he filed were repeatedly denied. You flip to the pages he indicates, seeing Patricia's signature and boilerplate rejection reasons.

"Mr. Lyons, is there anything out of order with Ms. Birch's paperwork?" the judge interrupts, a slight edge to her voice.

"No, your honor. I simply want the record to show that Ms. Birch signed these rejection requests."

Though he doesn't look rattled, the lion quickly moves on to his next line of argument. The one surviving member of Talia's surefire legal buddies is an older human lawyer. His name -- Steven Halbrooke -- isn't recognizable to you, but what matters is his expertise. He's got an intimate knowledge of both the current quagmire of the Anthrostate legal system, *and* he's well-versed in the way law worked prior to the establishment of the Committee. He used work in it, after all, with a specialty in firearms law.

The documents he references as he presents the old legal system catch your eye. You recognize the markings on the photocopies; they're old cases and old laws, the originals likely stored in a locked vault somewhere. Electronic copies had been pulled from the State websites a few years ago, and any clearweb sites hosting mirrors had been hit hard with cease and desists. You'd say the State was planning on destroying the originals to erase the documents' existence from memory, but then you'd get called a conspiracy theorist.

You're not sure how Halbrooke managed to get photocopies -- maybe he'd made them himself -- but you can tell Patricia isn't happy. It adds some nuance to the definitions Pat was referencing earlier. The legal definition of machine gun includes individual parts, but there's also the question of *intent*. Poor maintenance, weapon degradation, and the unknowing purchase and use of automatic parts may result in operation like a machine gun, but the user didn't *intend* for it.

Lyons breaks it down for the jury when he takes back the floor; because the State's laws defer to the old laws in the area, they have to abide by these nuances. The prosecution has to prove intent, while the defense has to disprove it.

"...Which the following character witnesses should do," he says. A nod to a technician brings down a projector screen, and an audio recording begins to play.

"Could you state your name, age, and occupation, please?" digital Lyons asks.

"Jon Otz, 53. Uh, I do carpentry work at the Brennand 'Furniture and More' store."

The audio is a little crackly, but the words are clear. You recognize the name; he's one of the guys from the range you got to sign your notebook on Tuesday. Lyons goes through about a half-hour's worth of recorded phone interviews, asking the same set of questions and getting similar answers. Most of the people interviewed are familiar with the range; they're somewhat familiar with you and Talia; they recognize your penchant for old oddities. The answers about your relationship itself are lukewarm, some exclaiming "oh, so *that's* why he's got so much free reign!"

Lyons asking the first interviewee about Patricia's actions brings about trouble.

"Objection, your honor!" the shepherdess says as Otz calls her 'ATF Agent Bitch.' "This is inflammatory!"

"May I explain relevancy, your honor?" Lyons asks, ignoring Agent Bitch's bitching. The rabbit steeples her hands, giving both the cat and the dog a firm glare before nodding.

"You may."

"The defense intends to prove the charges filed by Agent Patricia Birch were not filed in good faith," he says, ignoring the dog's stare. "The logbook from Agent Birch establishes a history between her and the defendant that goes back two years. Accounts from witnesses that shared their primary space of interaction -- the Shoktan Shooting Range -- will elaborate on this history between them, and help to determine if there are grounds for prejudice on the part of Patricia Birch."

The judge flexes her fingers, staring at Lyons.

"...And by extension, help prove or disprove good faith."

"No, I understand," she says, waving him off. "But objection sustained. It's an ATF agent's job to investigate those suspected of crimes and to surveil areas of possible crime. The interviews with witnesses rely on general memory and are influenced by pre-existing opinions; Agent Birch's logs are required to meet a department standard, and were checked for misconduct before submission as evidence. They came back clean; if the defense team would like to re-examine them, you may do so during a retrial."

Lyon's tail droops slightly, less than your heart. The judge sits back in her chair, expression still firm but impartial.

"Were all of the interviews conducted this way? With the questions ordered as such?"

"Yes, your honor."

The rabbit nods and turns to the rat technician. "Just stop the tapes as soon as the question about Agent Birch comes up."

The decision gives you a brief sense of relief. The recordings help build up your defense against *intentionally* modifying the gun, but being able to prove Pat had a hateboner for you would have been better. The in-person witnesses add similar statements to the recorded interviews; Aki and a few of the range employees take the stand for Lyons and reiterate your obsession with antiques. The snarky cheetah recalls the many times she's teased you about it. A few build up evidence of your longstanding relationship with Talia. Lyons has to stop Aki from getting into detail about one of the times you and Talia locked lips to piss Pat off -- the cheetah smiles at you the entire time. You make a mental note to slug her the next time you're able.

Then Lyons calls up the eyewitnesses of the event itself.

Talia looks strange in a pantsuit. It doesn't seem to fit her, somehow restricting her movement without being overly tight. Though maybe that's just the stress.

"Ms. Grilliz, could you describe what happened during the inciting incident of this case?" Lyons asks, voice soft.

"Ano --" Talia stumbles, catching herself before continuing. "The defendant was in Bay Six, doing what I asked him to do and showing Ms. Maldovich the ropes. I walked in on Pat harassing him about his--"

"Ms. Grilliz," Lyons cuts in with a warning tone, "please focus on the incident itself."

Talia's frown intensifies. She waits for the fur on her neck to fall before continuing.

"Fine. We were still in Bay Six at that point. He'd just told us some technical info on the gun and how he'd repaired it himself."

She looks like she was going to add more but bit her tongue.

"The defendant was showing the Kolibri to Rebecca and I," Talia continues when Lyons waves her on; "Agent Birch insisted on watching as well. She was frowning over his shoulder, and --"

"Ms Grilliz!"

The lion's tone is firm now. The judge eyes the cat and dog as your lawyer approaches the stand.

"Because of you are under suspicion of accessory to the defendant's courtship offences, you *may not* comment on Agent Birch's conduct, nor may you argue the existence of your relationship to the defendant," he says, his voice low. You half-expect the judge to tell him to speak louder for the record. "Describe what I ask alone."

Talia stares back at the lion. Her fists are balled tight on the stand with her lips drawn in a thin line. The judge has to clear her throat twice before the she-wolf backs off, edging away from a snarl. The lawyer slowly paces back to the center of the floor when she relaxes; there's a little more stiffness to his movements now.

"Please continue," the lion asks.

"The defendant loaded the firearm, made ready, and fired."

Talia pronounces each syllable with purpose.

"Did the weapon appear to fire automatically?" Lyons asks.

The she-wolf pauses, growling softly. Her eyes dart to the prosecution table for a moment before she says "yes."

Neither Lyons nor the judge make a comment, fortunately. You just pray that he's got some kind of strategy.

"Ms. Grilliz, please describe Mr. Anonerson's reaction after the gun was fired."

Talia's anger disappates for a moment as she considers the question. It returns when she speaks, only slighly more subdued.

"He was... surprised. He inspected the weapon, and when he saw the magazine was empty, he went a little pale."

Lyons nods, about to speak when Talia adds another detail.

"He may have been influenced by other factors, though."

The lawyer pauses his pacing, tail going still.

"...such as?" he asks cautiously.

"Agent Bitch laughed and said she'd finally fucked him."

There's exactly enough time for your stomach to drop before the floor erupts into noise. Patricia's chair clatters to the ground as she stands and leans over the table, barking "Objection!" The she-wolf responds similarly. Her chair falls in the witness stand, but you can't hear it over her torrent of insults and anger. Lyons yells at her like a misbehaving child while the judge hammers away with her gavel. Pat wises up first, effectively giving Talia the last word.

"...and the fucking spent brass on my range means more than whatever badge she waves around like a cock!"

A few more strikes of the gavel ring out in the silence after Talia's finished. She and the shepherdess stare at eachother, oblivious to the judge watching them both.

"Objection sustained," the rabbit says as hackles lower. "Ms. Grilliz's testimony will be removed from the record. Lyons, I hope you've educated your next eyewitness on courtroom etiquette better than this one."

"I have, your honor," he growls. Talia's nails clack against the polished tile as she exits the stands, her tail still fluffed and ears laid back. She's locking eyes with Patricia the whole way; you can feel the low growl in your chest as she slips into the benches behind you. Lyons opens his mouth, but the judge calls out over him.

"Ms. Grilliz!"

The growling behind you stops.

"You are no longer on the floor. I expect no interruptions or additions to proceedings. No comments, to the room at large *or* to the defendant. Do I make myself clear?"

Talia's tone is forced when she responds.

"Yes, your honor."

The rabbit nods and gestures to Lyons. His tail is flicking when he calls in the next witness.

The one you've been waiting all day for.

Rebecca's steps are tentative and silent as she makes her way to the floor. You try not to stare, but fail miserably. She does well up until she passes by you. Her tail flicks nervously, and her hands squeeze tight when you lock eyes. Even if it's just for a second. One of the bailiffs scurries to get a larger chair in the witness box. Her ears turn back, and there's a hint of her nervous smile. Her voice is soft as she takes her oath, but there's a firmness underlying it. You recognize the look in her eyes as she stares at the back of the room, just over your head. You saw it in the bedroom.

You pray you'll see it there again after this is over.

Lyons throws the same gambit of questions at her as the other witnesses. How long she's known you, what she does, how she would describe your relationship with firearms. Patricia tries to object on relevance when the tigress starts to talk about how you were helping her learn to shoot, but the judge overrules it.

You worry things my be different when Lyons asks her to "describe Ms. Birch's reaction to the Kolibri's Firing."

"Objection, your honor," Patricia says. "Inflammation. Again."

"This line of questioning is valid, Ms. Birch," the lion replies. "Ms. Grilliz's testimony on the matter of your involvement was nullified because of her courtship-relationship to the defendant, and the fact *you* filed the claim that it was false. There is no such relationship between Ms. Maldovich and the defendant."

The shepherdess growls, getting halfway up from her chair before remembering herself and turning to the judge. The rabbit drums her fingers, staring at Lyons.

"Overruled," the rabbit says. "Mr. Lyons' point stands. There is no reason Ms. Maldovich's testimony on the subject can't be considered."

The tigress gives the lawyer a look of focus when he repeats the question.

"Well, her reaction was... happy? She said something about 'finally getting him," and went to grab him. When Talia -- er, Ms. Grilliz stopped her, Agent Birch mocked her for having a relationship."

"Mocked her how?" Lyons asks; Patricia's nails dig into the tabletop.

"She was insinuating Talia's relationship with the defendant wasn't real," Rebecca says. "I don't recall the exact words, but I know she said it would mean a conflict of interest if Talia wanted to be a witness. That's... That's why I volunteered to be one."

The tigress gives you a small smile, and you manage to give one back. The first genuine one since you left her in the morning. It's a brief moment, Lyons going on, but it refreshes you. His request for her to stay in the witness stand worries you as he prefaces the piece of evidence he's about to present.

"This is a recording taken on Tuesday the 15th by Ms. Maldovich and Mr. Anonerson," he announces. "After it is finished, Ms. Maldovich, I would like to ask a few more questions."

Rebecca nods as the video begins to play and your worries are validated. It's the video you had her take all the way back on Tuesday, when you wanted to test and see if the ammo made the gun go automatic. The angle is high, even though you remember the tigress crouching beneath the shelter to take the video. There's almost a home movie feel to it that makes you smile; the feeling doesn't last. Your explanation isn't as long as you remember it feeling, Rebecca's 'oh no' coming all too quick as a brown blob moves at the corner of the screen.

The phone-camera shakes and gets muffly as Patricia confronts you; it steadies out upside-down and slightly off-frame. Rebecca was hiding it in her palm. You give the tigress in the witness stand a look of debt. As if you didn't have reason enough to dedicate yourself to her. It takes all you have not to leap the table and comfort her when the tape hits that point. The one that hurt the tiger bad enough to drop the phone.

"Well, maybe that's because I'm not the one he's 'cheating' on Talia with."

The room is plunged into darkness as the rest of the recording plays. You wish it'd landed face-up, so you wouldn't be the only one that'd remember Rebecca's face. The words between Talia and Patricia, and the tigress' hiss are probably damning enough. The recording ends when she picks up the phone and struggles to turn it off. You blink and shift with the rest of the crowd when the lights turn back on. Rebecca's eyes are still closed, her chest barely moving. Your nails dig into your palms.

"Ms. Maldovich," Lyons asks, voice soft, "are you comfortable answering a few more questions?"

She clears her throat and opens her eyes, staring down at the lion with purpose, steadier than you could've ever hoped for.

"Y-yes. I am."

Lyons nods. He continues with his delicate tone, his movements slower than before.

"Why were you present at the Shoktan Shooting Range with Mr. Anonerson that day?"

"We -- he was teaching me more about shooting. I had bought my own gun this time, and it was my first time using it."

"Did he at any point touch your gun?"

"No, he used one of his."

"Okay," Lyons says. "A couple more questions. The recording loses video at one point; could you tell us why?"

Rebecca's hands tense; you sense that dress is going to need some holes stitched.

"I... dropped my phone," she says quietly. Lyons comforts her, drawing her thousand-yard stare back down with a few soft sounds.

"That's okay, that's enough," he says. "That's what I wanted to know. Now, if you are comfortable, please give the court context for the audio during that section. Were there any significant physical actions from Agent Birch or the defendant?"

Rebecca stares down at him for a few seconds before nodding, pushing a stray lock from her face.

"I -- I'm sorry, but I'm not sure. I know I put myself between them before I dropped the phone."

"Why?"

"I -- Patricia --"

The tigress takes a breath.

"Officer Birch was refusing to listen to Anon. She took a step towards him, and -- and I thought she was going to be rough. With him."

"I understand. Why did you think that?"

"She --" Rebecca pauses, eyes darting to the prosecution's table. Patricia's expression hastily turns semi-neutral, but her laid-back ears betray her. The tigress continues when Lyons urges her on with a nod.

"Ms. Birch was aggressive when things happened on Sunday. Like I said earlier, she got excited and moved to grab Anon, and Talia had to shove her away. Seeing that, a-and seeing how she was acting when she came up to us that day, I just -- I was concerned."

She lets out a heavy sigh when the lawyer tells her that's all he needs, relinquishing the floor. Rebecca is about to do the same when the judge asks Patricia if she would like to keep the witness up for cross examination.

Of course the bitch answers 'yes.'

Lyons presses a heavy hand on your shoulder as the shepherdess stands, taking her time to gather her things. Rebecca's breaths quicken. Her ears lay flat, and even from here you see her big, green eyes dilating. You have to --

"Don't," Lyons growls quietly, pressing harder.

"She's in distress!" you whisper back harshly. "Isn't there an objection for that?"

"Not until the prosecution opens its mouth."

It's not long before Patricia does. She focuses on other aspects of Lyons' argument, asking questions of Halbrooke and of the defense lawyer himself regarding the interviews he conducted. The tigress keeps a semblance of cool beneath the uncaring lights. She knows the focus isn't on her and probably suspects the same thing you do, that Patricia's just trying to rile her up. But both of you know the shepherdess isn't going to let her leave without pressing her on the video.

It's at least an hour or two before the bitch finally addresses her.

"Ms. Maldovich," she says; she doesn't look at Rebecca, keeping her eyes down on a notepad. "Describe your relationship with Mr. Anonerson."

The tigress swallows.

"W-we only met last Sunday. There isn't much of one to describe."

"Describe it anyway, Ms. Maldovich. What have the the two of you done? What are your dispositions?"

You flash hot and cold.

"Well, we met at the range. He helped me learn the basics of shooting. We met there to do that."

"Would you say your relationship with Mr. Anonerson was amicable around the time of the incident?" Patricia asks. "Close?"

"I-I --"

"Objection, your honor," Lyons finally says. He's much more controlled than you would be. "Prosecution is clearly leading the witness."

"Overruled," the rabbit says.

"Was your relationship with Mr. Anonerson amicable or close, Ms. Maldovich?"

"I-I would say we were amicable, h-he was helping me learn to shoot."

"But not close?"

"Not -- not in particular, no."

Patricia hums, her tail swinging slowly. She asks for the Tuesday video to be brought up again in an even, deadly tone. The technician speeds up to the phone dropping before pressing play. Patricia's voice seems to echo as she suggests Reb is cheating with you again and again, the recording on a short loop. The tigress stiffens in the stand, staring off at the wall with tiny pupils.

"Ms. Maldovich," the real Patricia says, "you say that your relationship with the defendant was amicable but not close. Explain your reaction in the video."

Rebecca's hands flex. She stares down past the shepherdess, breathing through her teeth.

"I--I'm not good with confrontation. T-the situation was awkward."

The shepherdess has to suppress a snicker.

"So that's why you hiss and snarl moments later? When the defendant 'confronted' you by asking if you were alright?"

"N-No! I -- that's --"

"Explain your reaction, Ms. Maldovich."

"Your honor, this is inflammation!"

"Overruled!" the rabbit says. "And control your tone!"

The tigress shudders like the sound hurts. She's quiet, shivering slightly as she stares off into space. The judge turns to Rebecca, nearly at the same height despite the taller chair. "If you don't feel comfortable answering, Ms. Maldovich, you may leave the stand and resicnd your testimony."

The tigress shakes as the words hang in the air. Patricia approaches the witness stand with a slow swagger.

"I'll ask one last time," the shepherdess says, the smug clear in her voice. "Explain your reaction in the video."

Rebecca is still struggling. Her chest heaves, on the verge of those seizing breaths, and her ears are plastered to her skull. Patricia taps her fingers on the edge of the stand idly, leaning on it before pulling away.

That's when you notice the tigress' green eyes dart.

The heavy *thump* of her paw on wood echoes slightly. You're close enough to hear the splintering from her claws. Patricia isn't able to hide her jump; her tail stays poofed up when she turns around. You note the hand drifting around her belt.

"Was that a threat, Ms. Maldovich?"

"-- I -- reacted that way b-b-because of my -- past," Rebecca manages.

"Your honor --"

"Quiet, Lyons!"

You grip your waterbottle tight, debating whether or not to bean the rabbit.

"I h-had a -- previous relationship with a h-human that e-ended -- poorly. H-he -- he killed our daughter."

Her eyes dart to you; Lyons presses down on your shoulder.

"T-the i-i-implication that -- that Anon and I were in a -- relationship -- brought back unpleasant memories..."

The courtroom is quiet. You dart between Patricia and the judge; the shepherdesses ears have drooped slightly, and the rabbit is trying to look anywhere else.

"Ms. Birch," the rabbit asks, her voice quiet and carefully controlled, "are you finished with your cross-examination?"

Patricia's ears twitch, unsure where to go. Her tail droops as she tries to speak but stops herself. She glances down at her hands, flexing them in and out of fists. Her control chip goes off at least once.

"Yes, your honor," the shepherdess finally says. Something in her tone almost sounds like regret. Her face is grievous as she walks back to the prosecution's table. The shepherdess glances at you for the first time the whole trial; her expression is grim. You can't tell if she's aiming it at you or if it's something she simply can't suppress. You quickly look away as Rebecca squeezes out from the stand. The tigress pauses, leaning on the wood for a moment before taking shaky steps across the floor. Her posture is closed and small, and her tail practically drags across the tiles. Lyons grunts when you move in your seat, his paw still on your shoulder.

"Rebecca," you whisper anyway as she nears the table. She looks up, seeing your outstretched hand, and a tiny smile crosses her face. The tip of her thick tail swipes over the edge of the table, brushing your palm. Lyons pulls at you more insistently, and you turn back to the front. If the tail-brush was enough for her, then it's enough for you.

"Ms. Birch, you may begin your rebuttal when ready."

There's a few more minutes of paper shuffling and note scribbling before the shepherdess gets back on the floor. You think everyone went through another water bottle during the wait. Patricia addresses the room at large before attempting to tear down your argument. You think starts off poorly with the firearms charges. She takes a lot of time to essentially say "what happened met the definition of machine gun, intentional or not." If the State actually punished its employees, you'd guess she was doing it to save her own ass more than to try and refute Halbrooke's solid evidence.

It's when she turns to the relationship front that things look more uncertain.

"The defense has entirely relied on witness interviews to disprove these claims," she says, pacing with more fervor now. "To review, these include random members of the range the defendant frequents and the two eye-witnesses of the inciting incident itself. Focusing on their comments about the relationship itself, things are far from proven."

False words, you hope.

"The range members' statements are derived from casual observation. Not one of them indicated a significantly close relationship to the defendant -- not in terms of courtship, but one that would constitute a more intimate knowledge *of* his claimed courtship. The observation logs produced by the defense, by contrast, are detailed. They are the result of focused information gathering *specifically* about the nature of the defendant's claimed courtship."

Her expression turns resolute as she gestures to your side of the room.

"The single eyewitness' opinion is little more helpful. She has known the defendant for a week, and --"

The shepherdess skips a beat. Her ears draw back, and she begins to show teeth. She's slowly shaking her head when another shock of her control chip makes her twitch. After a small growl, she forces herself to continue.

"--and the eyewitness' volatile past has likely influenced her view on the subject."

There's a hint of regret on Patricia's face, hidden beneath a mask of anger. For once, it's not directed at you. She folds her notes with precision and tells the judge she's finished. Lyons takes the floor with a similar amount of focus. There's little for him to comment on; Halbrooke put the prosecution's argument to bed, and he's sure to remind the room of it. You can tell he's treading dangerously when he points out the way Patricia has conducted herself both before and during the trial. The judge eyes him carefully, searching for an errant statement to punish him for, but the lion manages to avoid her wrath. The words he uses to describe the ATF agent's conduct are unbearably neutral, but you're hoping the jury reads the room.

"...And I'd like to turn everyone's attention to document 213-R."

You flip to the back of the bulking mass of case papers. You were wondering when the photocopy of the familiar form would finally show up. Yesterday's receipt from the CMMS office hides among other forms and documents, most likely also submitted near the end of the allowable period. The fact it's only a page or two long compared to the virtual tomes around it probably helped keep it hidden. You watch Patricia's fists clench with no small amount of pleasure.

"As you can see, the defendant has voluntarily agreed to marriage with Mrs. Rebecca Maldovich," Lyons announces, before turning to the judge. "The court needs to take this into account when deliberating on sentencing, correct, your honor?"

"The court *needs* to do nothing!"

The rabbit stands, towering over the lion from her perch. She speaks more calmly next, but the look of anger remains.

"I question the submission of this evidence. It's hidden among numerous other pieces submitted in the final hours of the submission period, and --"

"Check the timestamp for the receipt itself, your honor?"

She gives Lyons a glare, but does so. You can hear her disgruntled hum from across the floor.

"Fair enough," she says, voice still on edge. "But I'm still unconvinced. As has been revealed through the trial, the defendant and Ms. Maldovich have known each other for a week. That's it. And Ms. Maldovich herself said the idea of her and the defendant in a relationship was troubling."

"People adapt under pressure, your honor," Lyons interjects, "especially pressures put upon them unfairly."

"Your honor --!" Patricia says, only to stand down when the judge slams her gavel. The rabbit leans over Lyons, imposing despite her size.

You can see where this is going, and take off your suit jacket. You begin unbuttoning your shirt.

"I can't accept this piece of suspect evidence."

Can't forget the sleeves.

"Your honor, it's official! Do you claim more authority than the Civil Matchmaking Service system?"

You're glad you buy your shirts a size or two up.

"It's paper!" she retorts, "It's paper that's official! The surrounding circumstances are what I can't believe! How do you expect me to believe this was filed in good faith?"

You don't mean for the chair to clatter to the floor when you stand; you curse as one of your sleeves insists on clinging to your wrist.

"Mr. Anonerson!" the judge says, "what are you --"

The shirt finally comes off. You let it flutter to the ground and whip around, looking over your shoulder with your hands on the rail.

The harsh light of the courtroom makes your staples tingle.

"Is this proof enough?" you ask; the judge doesn't answer. You watch her from the corner of your eye, and realize your chest is heaving. You don't care. Let the lights shine on the red skin. Let the dissolving staples shimmer. Let them all look.

"Mr. Anonerson," the rabbit finally says, voice heavy, "you've proved your point."

You let your head bow.

"...now please, put your shirt on..."

You look up at the back of the room with a sigh. Rebecca stares back; her ears are folded, her tail is in her lap, and she's more closed off than ever. But it's not fear on her face. It's embarrassment -- and a hint of happiness. It turns into a scowl when she realizes you're looking; you grab your shirt and take your seat. Lyons has little else to add to the rebuttal, so things wrap up quickly. The judge instructs the jury, and they're shuffling off to deliberate by the time you're dressed again. Lyons keeps you in your seat for a moment when the judge calls for recess. He keeps eye contact with you for the first time since this morning, devoting all his focus to you.

"I don't know how long this recess will be," he says, "but I'd advise you to keep quiet. Even if we should be getting a verdict when we resume, prosecution can technically bring up anything you say or do in the meantime."

He glances past you towards the back of the room; one large figure stands out in the crowd, staying still while everyone else files out.

"...I'd recommend staying away from the witnesses," Lyons says. "...but I can't stop you."

"You know I have to," you say. He gives you a heavy sigh, but nods. You shrug off his grip and get up, turning to face the tigress. She's shaking as you approach, tail swishing furiously behind her. You don't get the chance to speak; she scoops you up before you can even open your mouth. Her snout dips over your shoulder as she squeezes you tight, her forgiving bust the only reason your ribs aren't cracked. It seizes against you once or twice before she starts to purr.

"You did so good," you say, hugging her neck.

Her rumbling changes slightly in pitch. You breathe her in, rubbing your face into her cheek fluff.

"Thank you, Rebecca. Thank you for -- for everything."

Her chest bounces beneath you -- but it's from a restrained sob this time.

"Thank *you*, A-anon," she whispers. You stroke her hair, hand trailing along the back of her jaw. You don't stop until her purring steadies out again.

"And, uh... sorry about... you know..."

"You'll pay for it later," she sighs. You chuckle and hug her tighter.

"I know."

The tigress is reluctant to set you down. She stays within arm's reach when she does. You do your best to keep to Lyons' wishes and stay quiet when Aki slides up to you with a smirk. You see Talia once or twice; she doesn't even look at you. Her posture is like the few times you went hunting with her, alert and restrained. She ignores Lyons when he tries to dress her down again; you're guessing she's looking out for the feds, same as you. All Aki wants to talk about is your relationship with Rebecca, of course. You know the cheetah's mainly doing it to tease you like she would any other time -- hence why she asks where your interest in 'big calibers' came from -- but you still have to be careful. Rebecca's tail curls and flicks at Aki's comments, even if they're only meant to poke fun. But gradually, the three of you begin to relax.

You're initially worried when the courtroom staff approach. You're only slightly less worried when they tell you the trial is resuming. Rebecca keeps a hand draped down on your shoulder the whole way back, lingering as long as she can before returning to her seat. You take a breath as you pass the bar. Lyons is sitting there already, his hands folded and papers straightened up. One way or another, it'll be over. You know there will be repercussions regardless of how this ends, but at least this part will be finished. You glance at Patricia and the judge to size them up one last time; the shepherdess is focused, staring straight ahead like a soldier while the rabbit looks over the room wearily, seemingly eager for everyone to settle so this trial can finally finish.

"Could a representative of the jury please read the verdict?" she asks.

A human man stands up in the jury box, nervously flicking the papers in his hand. The menagerie around him stares as intensely as the rest of the courtroom.

"W-we find the defendant, Mr. Anon Anonerson, innocent of Firearms Negligence, of Illicit Possession of a Machine Gun, of Perjury, and of Obstruction of Justice."

You fight to stand. Not just because of the tidal wave of relief, but the intense fatigue now that it's all over. The judge speaks over the mostly happy murmurs. Your head spins as people start shuffling about; you're free. You did it. You've got your life back -- it's a bit different than before, but hopefully in a good way.

The sound of a clearing throat shakes you from your stupor, and you find Talia looking down at you. The navy pantsuit looks even weirder up close. She's putting on the same tough, professional face she uses when she's actually got to do RSO work, but you don't think it's angry contempt that she's hiding.

"Congrats, Anon," she says. "It's finished."

"Y-yeah," you manage. You're still processing that fact. You can't get a read on her as your shared stare continues on.

"It is," Lyons says, startling you with a pat on the shoulder. "Paperwork should be sent to you within a few days. Along with -- well, all of it."

Talia's ears flick at his quick save. A needle of guilt pricks at you, threatening to push deeper.

"Talia, I'm sorry about --"

The hug takes you by surprise.

"Don't be," she says. Her claws dig into your hair; you can feel her holding back a whine. She pulls away before you can reciprocate, looking down at you with a renewed mask.

"I told you Friday. It's -- it's all good," she says. "You made it out."

The words hit you again. Talia grunts, her bitchy expression growing more genuine.

"But it wasn't without a fight," she says. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Lyons about the one I got ahead of me with that bitch."

"Y-yeah, of course."

She has to wave you along before you actually get out of her way. Lyons calls your name as you approach the bar.

"Anon, do you mind if I hold onto your contact info? We may need your help in Talia's case."

The thought of another trial makes your head spin; he chuckles at your soft groan.

"Don't worry... it won't be for a while. Contesting Evals takes a long time."

"Of course," you manage, giving them both a nod. You grab the meager court-provided water bottle, stuff it in your pocket, and prepare to bolt out of the building.

You can barely make it past the bar.

Fortunately, Rebecca is once again waiting for you in the main aisle. Her maroon dress creases as she crouches down with open arms. She goes tense when you stop just out of arm's reach.

"Rebecca," you say, "if I hug you right now, I'm not gonna be able to drive home."

The tigress offers you a weary smile; she wraps her arms around you anyway. You feel her lean her weight on you as she stays crouched low, rubbing her cheek on yours with a soft rumble.

"I'll drive you home," she murmurs. The warmth and slight swaying are already making you drowsy.

"But my truck..."

Rebecca shushes you softly, going still save for her stroking hands.

"I'm sure we can get someone to take care of it," she whispers; a groan is all the argument you can muster. "I'm going to take care of you now."

She makes you feel small when she picks you up and squeezes you like a stuffed toy. You shift against her as she begins carrying you out of the room; you imagine it looks like *she's* the one that won big today, not you. Part of you is blushing at the fact she's doing this in public. But more of you recognizes that it's a very good sign. Rebecca purrs, rubbing you against her and squeezing you tight. You pray she'll be as tired as you are when the two of you get home -- you couldn't handle much more celebration than this hug. You don't realize how truly wiped you are until Aki's teasing tenor makes you jump.

"Looks like someone stayed up past their bedtime..."

Rebecca makes a content sound of acknowledgment before stopping.

"Aki," she asks, rocking in place, "could you drive Anon's truck back to our place? He's a little out of it..."

There's a second or two of silence before the cheetah speaks in the most caring voice you've ever heard from her.

"Sure. Yeah, I can do that. I took a rideshare anyway."

"Thank you," the tigress whispers.

"...Do you have an extra set of keys, or...?"

"We'll get them from him when we're in the lot."

"Of course," Aki says, her regular tone returning. "Wouldn't want to wake sleeping beauty."

"Oh--! Too late," she snickers when you begin to groan and shift. Rebecca chuckles, letting you turn to face the spotted menace. You find yourself looking down on the cheetah for once, though her smug mug is the same as ever.

"Shut up, Aki," is all you manage. You're just awake enough to catch her eyes darting before her cheeks puff up with laughter.

"What? What!?"

Aki points up at you. You look down to see that Rebecca's squeezing has crushed the water bottle in your pants -- the dark spot covers a good part of your leg and her chest.

"I can tell you two love each other! Look's like --"

"Shut up, Aki."

She continues to laugh.

"Look's like you --"

"Shut the fuck up, Aki!"

"Look's like you had a Negligent Discharge!"

*Epilogue *

"Uh... Reb? I don't think there's room..."

The tigress sighs. Her house has been a mess since you moved in. You've kept your mini-museum compact through the years, but you're still trying to move almost an apartment's worth of stuff into an already-furnished house. Even if it's sized for someone twice as big as you, there's gonna be some overflow. Rebecca looks at the storage closet you've thoroughly Tetris'd up. It's not accessible by any means, and you doubt it's going to stay this way for long. But navigating around the boxes in the living room and the hallways has just become too much.

"Well, lets try to stack the piles we still have up," she says. "I'll make sure they stay steady."

"Rebecca..."

She looks down at you, her ears flattening.

"No, Anon."

She's learned to read you really quick.

"Rebecca, Aki and Talia helped move everything out of there," you say, following her to the living room. "*Talia* helped."

The tigress sits on the couch and draws her legs up to her chest. She doesn't like to talk about the bedroom. Not the one the two of you have been sharing for the last few weeks, but the one that she'd blocked off long before you arrived. She hid it well behind a stand filled with houseplants, and you didn't notice it until you brought up a lack of space. She pushed the greenery aside for you, but wouldn't go past the threshold. She didn't even want to look at the door. You had to call friends over to try and move the gargantuan furniture and boxes; you made sure the tigress was out of the house when the old crib was taken out.

You sigh, and head to the kitchen. You almost call for Rebecca out of habit, but climb onto the counter yourself with a groan. It's taken a little bit to get used to the size of the facilities, but you've managed. It's taken a while for the tigress to get used to you stubbornly climbing around when she's not there to lift you up. A pair of mugs catch your eye when you go into the cabinet, one with an M-14 on it and the other with a Mini-14. You roll your eyes, and grab the larger one with the battle rifle.

You'd used Aki's 'housewarming gifts' plenty of times. You'd told her you didn't need them, but the cheetah was over often enough that she insisted. Her laid-back nature seemed to soothe Reb, and you didn't mind having another weapons nerd to talk with -- even if she harassed you about getting something modern. A cynical part of you figured the college student was over for the free food and leftovers Rebecca constantly shoved her way. The cheetah certainly didn't complain when that was her payment for helping move the things from the old bedroom.

A grunt bubbles in your throat. You grab a teabag while waiting for the water to heat up. That particular moment was the first time you'd had Talia over. The two of you had seen her plenty of times at the range, but there were always distractions there. You had guns to shoot, and she had a Fed to fantasize about shooting. Patricia's presence still made the she-wolf's hackles rise, even if she was doing her job now. The gang of yeens seemed to be growing, whether from new members or prospective clients, you weren't sure. It was one of the topics that'd come up -- and one of the few that Talia would open up and vent about.

Steam wafts up from the pitcher. You pour it into the tigress' big cup and watch the liquid turn amber. Talia was slowly getting better, just like Rebecca. Just like you, maybe. The fact all three of you bumped shoulders at Lyons' office probably helped. He'd given you good advice for your countersuits. The case-building for Talia's seemed to be going well, from what he told you when he brought you and Rebecca in for an interview. Even though the idea of stepping foot in the Municipal building again makes your stomach turn, you're glad he did. It meant you met Laura.

Met her for the second time, really. You've spotted her at the range now and again -- the cougar was there the day you tested your Kolibri. You're not sure if it's that, Lyons' recommendation, or her clear taste in younger dudes that made her agree to help you with a countersuit. She might be lusty, but you've made the boundaries clear; Rebecca's been with you at every meeting.

It's made asking the cougar about a second countersuit for Rebecca difficult.

You mull over the idea for the hundredth time as you wait for the chamomile to steep, looking out at the tigress. She's still on the couch, head on her knees. You brought up the idea to her once. She froze up, hasty excuses that she didn't believe coming out. She's right that trying to take on the State, especially trying to take on the CMMS system, is risky. Maybe even futile. But looking at her now, frozen up on the couch, you feel like you have to do *something*. Get her some justice.

You settle for tea for now. Rebecca shifts wordlessly as you approach; you set the extra-large mug up on the side table before scrambling onto the couch. You've gotten used to the extra exercise -- getting down safely is usually more trouble than getting up. You barely get upright before the tigress has laid back with a soft groan, pinning you in place with her head in your lap. She closes her eyes as you stroke her fur, getting her mane and chin.

"Your tea is gonna get cold," you muse.

The tigress grunts, pressing the side of her face into your chest. You take your cue and hug her head. Her grunts draw out in length as you rub her fur, and the chuff she lets out blows your hair back. Her eyes stay closed as a hand drifts down to her shoulders. Her muscles are taunt; she leans into your touch when you work over her neck.

"You want to get up now?" you ask when she sighs. The tigress lets out a soft grumble.

"Kiss me."

You lean down and peck her nose, watching it twitch as her eyes flutter open. They narrow as a cute, angry smile spreads across her face. She gives you a light growl.

"What, you want another?" you say. "That's gonna cost you..."

Rebecca shifts on top of you, her growl turning to a purr. She looms over you and presses your back into the arm of the couch, her stomach pinning your lower half. Your member pokes into it when her arms box you in, squeezing her sweater-bound bust above you. Her long mane cascades along the vast, red curve as she looks down at you with bedroom eyes. You brace yourself for the incoming pillow drop -- but the tigress only shifts against you to grab her tea from the sidetable. She slips an arm beneath you and lays against you in a half-hug, taking a drink while laying her head against your chest.

"You're so cruel..." you say, reaching down to hold her free hand. Rebecca rumbles against you, wrapping her huge paw around yours.

"I heard back from the principal," she says, sighing as you stroke her hair. "The position doesn't start until school does."

"No training?"

"Of course there is. It's just not paid."

You groan.

"How bad is it?"

"Wouldn't know. I'm not the school librarian," she says, shifting tighter against you. "But I know the general training takes at least a week."

The tigress coos when you groan louder.

"This wouldn't have happened if you took your perfect job," she says. You grunt.

"It wouldn't *be* my perfect job, Rebecca."

"Anon, you told me all about how the fox woman wanted you to inventory all the old pre-State items in the museum."

She glances up at you while sipping her tea.

"It sounded like it would've been perfect."

"Yeah, but that was before I met *you*," you say, tapping her nose. Her ears curl as she lets out a soft growl.

"You shouldn't have told that fox you were getting another library job... You would have loved it there!"

"Not as much as I'll love getting to see you just a little more each day," you say. "Plus, it's a State job. Extra benefits."

The tigress grumbles and finishes her tea. "Isn't the museum also State-run?"

"...Yeah, but still."

Rebecca sighs. She sets the mug down and grabs you by the shoulder, pulling you down on the couch. Her chest presses down on yours like an extra-large weighted blanket. She hugs you under the arms; you hug her neck as she goes still, her head half-way against yours. Her hair cascades over your face, blessing every breath with a hint of her scent. Your voice is slightly strained from her weight when you speak.

"School librarian is also more of a... innocent job. Draws less attention, less of a minefield than preserving the past."

Rebecca gives you a neutral grunt.

"Plus, who knows. Jennifer could be one of those conservators that wants to twist the narratives. Play up human suffering and conflict before the Commission."

Now the tigress groans. She pulls back from the hug to loom over you -- she has to brush the hair from your face to give you her glare.

"That's enough of that," she says. "I don't want to debate right now."

You reach up with a groan, dragging your hands over the long curves of her sweater before working the base of her neck.

"What *do* you want to do right now, Rebecca?"

Her expression softens into a smile. She traces a huge digit around your face, along your hairline and cheekbones.

"There are a few things..."

"Could I make a suggestion?"

The tigress hums, rubbing the underside of your chin.

"You may," she says when you give her a soft groan.

"Let me get the sheets out for the other bed."

Her claw pokes against your skin as she stiffens. You move down and stroke her arm before she completely recovers.

"Anon..."

"I'll get it ready, Rebecca. I'll get the sheets on, bring out the candles you like, pull out one of the record players from my stuff. You won't have to go in there until it's already set up."

"Anon, I -- I don't --"

"We can reclaim it, Rebecca. Make it new."

You reach up and stroke her cheek; her look of apprehension stays, but she presses into your hand.

"We would have so much more room. We could sleep together without worrying about falling off the bed."

A brief smile crosses her face.

"I-I thought you liked cuddling..." she says.

"I love cuddling," you whisper, squeezing her thick fluff. "But this way, I might not die if you roll over too far and squish me on the floor."

Her ears flatten as she lets out a soft groan. You pull her down gently, letting her press her forehead to yours.

"We don't have to," you say. "I -- I just thought since we got so close last time... It might make it even more meaningful for you."

Rebecca is quiet, barely breathing against you. She pulls up after a few moments and looks down at you wordlessly; the kiss she gives you is gentle and long.

"I -- I'll try."

...

Rebecca almost crushes your hand at the doorway.

You took your time setting up the room for her while she made dinner. Fighting the parachute-like sheets alone took a half-hour. You actually pushed a few of the boxes back in there to better perch the mood candles, filling the air with ambiance and the smell of peaches. But even the old Johnny Bristol record spinning on the player can't wash away the old memories. Not completely. You look up at her, the warm light coloring her cream curves something closer to orange; the two of you had played a bit on the couch when dinner was done. The tigress usually grew more bold as the teasing and touching went on. Being nude in the living room added spice to it, too. That's how she'd become comfortable with you around her snatch. More than before, anyway. You could rub and taste her there mostly without issue, but mounting still filled her with dread.

Hopefully, tonight it'll change.

"Rebecca?" you ask, stroking her squeezing paw. "Are you okay?"

The tigress' green eyes don't leave the bed. They're tiny, glinting in the light.

"We don't have to, Reb."

The tigress stays a statue.

You sigh, stroking her hand as you pull back.

"It's okay, honey. We got to the doorway. One step at a --"

"N-no."

The tigress presses your hand into her pillowy thigh. Her chest heaves; she's still staring at the bed.

"W-we're d-d-doing it t-tonight."

"Rebecca..."

Her footpaws, normally silent, scrape over the carpet. You grunt when she starts to lose her balance, throwing your weight into keeping her steady. The tigress is still wobbly when she's back on two feet -- and not just her curves.

"Okay. Okay, slow down," you say when her gaze darts down to try again. "We'll do it, Rebecca. I know you want to, but let's slow down."

Her chest heaves from another seizing breath, this time followed by a gulp. She nods slowly and shakily. You reach up and stroke her arm, careful to run across her stripes rather than along.

"I-I -- I want --"

A low whine escapes her; her ears flatten and her whole body goes tense.

"I'm here, Reb. I'm right here."

"I want it to stop!"

Tears glitter. The words sink into your chest as deep as her rumbling sob. You fight through their weight to catch her as she sinks down to a knee, slipping from her hand and going to her front. Sweet nothings pour from your lips as you try to soothe the trembling tiger. Her forehead presses to yours, and you stroke her hair, her fur, her ears. It takes a few moments for her arms to gently wrap around you and pull you close.

"Please..." she croaks. Her words break into thin whines and deep, shuddering inhales.

"Reb, look at me," you say, stroking along her jawline. "I'm right here, Rebecca."

You catch a glint of emerald in the tightly scrunched blinking.

"Good. That's it."

Her snout is wrinkled beneath your lips.

"Can you hear me?" you whisper; the tigress sniffles a little less severely, and nods.

"Good."

You take your own shaky breath.

"It's not going to go away, Rebecca. It's always going to be there. But you are -- *so* strong."

She shivers when you run your hands over her arms.

"It's always going to be there, it's always going to leave a mark. But it doesn't change who you are. Your heart hasn't changed, I can tell."

You swallow; her eyes are open now, looking at you through tears. You're trembling just as much, praying that you're not saying the wrong things.

"I know how badly you want to do it, Rebecca. I don't think it'll happen tonight. But I know it'll happen some day because you're still you."

You shut your eyes and hug her neck tight.

"Tell me when you're ready, and we'll go to the other bedroom," you whisper, stroking her mane. "Or the couch. Wherever you want."

The tigress' breaths start to slow. Her weight sinks against you as she relaxes, and you massage the back of her neck. Soon all you feel is her fur and her heartbeat.

Its speed should've tipped you off.

You're not ready when the tigress tightens her grip and starts to rumble. She crushes you against her as the sound grows louder and your feet leave the ground. You feel her muscles beneath her curves as she moves; you scream with her when you feel her leap towards the bed. The mattress is even softer than the one you two have been using. Rebecca crashing on top of you still forces the air from your lungs, but you don't think anything cracked or ruptured.

Her rumbling scream has turned to stiff huffs and puffs as she pulls herself up on all fours. All threes -- one massive forearm keeps you braced against her as she moves to the center of the bed. You're panting into her neck-fluff, trying to slow your heart. Claws scrape sheets when she finally lets you go; the mattress lurches as she lowers again to straddle you. You're too busy fighting her curves and catching your breath to object. All you can give are groans as her weight settles on your lap, her stomach covers your chest, and her breasts roll over your face.

Her breathing is ragged now, punctuated by whimpers and grunts. You finally get to see her when she sits up; her curves bounce as she pauses to look back down at you. Her eyes are still wet and her ears are still flat. She's still panting, shuddering, tensing up. But in that second or two, her fire shines through.

Then it's obscured as she leans down again. Her hips roll against yours and her breasts sway inches above your head, just waiting to knock you out cold. Rebecca's rumbling gets growly as she straightens her legs to press herself down even harder on you. Her wet heat burns against your groin with frantic twitching, and a reflexive snarl escapes her when you reach down into the inferno. It stops when you reach up and squeeze a pillowy breast; the tigress scoops up your head and locks you there with a huge paw. She sighs as you find her nipple and suck.

She tenses again when your knuckles brush her entrance. Her groan reverberates through you as she presses down on your hand, her claws poking out just slightly in your hair. You have to slap her tit and let out muffled yells to get her to back off. Her hips buck before you're even in. The tigress lets out something resembling a chuff as you push your member up for her, feeling it slide against her folds. She leans forward only a little, but her breast still flattens your nose. Your legs twitch when your tip is finally centered, finally slipping past her wet fur and brushing against her lips. You slide your hand away and give her one tiny thrust; hers consumes you. All of her weight presses down on you, all of her fur completely covers you. Your whole world rocks in time, moving in deep waves. You're vaguely aware the sounds, muffled by the abundant fur and flesh. You're barely aware of yourself.

All you feel is her.

Her heat, her pressure.

Her tightness, her softness.

Her joy, and her sorrow.

Rebecca huffs with each thunderous, crushing drop. It's desperate and primal. You can't move as she pushes you deeper and deeper, her claws pricking into your scalp. There's no way you could thrust up into her. But you don't need to. *She* doesn't need you to. The tigress lets out a deep, rumbling groan, dragging herself across you for the chance at even a slightly better angle.

She needs control. And you're more than happy to let her have it.

You slip your arms out from under her curves and hug her midriff. The tigress shudders as your hands sink in, not quite half-way around her.

You just have to hold on.

Rebecca's ragged huffs reach you even with your head deep in her breasts. They grow louder as her strokes speed up and the tingling sensation spreads. The strain in your back worries you; you squeeze the tigress tighter.

It helps a little when you come.

Rebecca arches her back and crushes your hips with hers. The weight is so much that you can't move as she lets out a roar. You realize you could hear it in its full glory -- you can just barely breathe through her musky tit-fur, the heavy tiggies' smothering weight just barely on your face now. They bounce against you with every heaving pant. You gasp into them when her hips bounce, riding the aftershocks and trying to draw out every last bit of you. Even though they're tiny, each hits with the force of a truck. You have to push up on her enormous pillows to have a chance at catching your breath.

You're glad you did when Rebecca starts to lower with a rumbling sigh. Your sound of contentment is lost beneath her. You barely notice as she shifts above you, too lost in the warmth, the weight, the afterglow. Your body twitches as her hips rock against yours. They're not lusty or teasing movements, too small and care-free. The tigress's panting turns into purring when your hands poke out from beneath her once more. You stroke her sides, her stomach, her breasts -- wherever your meager reach allows, reveling in the way she always chuffs at the end of a stroke.

She does so more deeply when you slap at her. You almost pass out before she realizes they're not love-taps. The light-headedness makes you dizzy as she rolls the two of you to the side, the sudden flow of blood not helping. She keeps you locked against her, your hips welded to hers and your head deep in her cleavage. Careful squeezing gives you a scent-laden airway to gasp through. Her bust squeezes around you as she her breaths slow in turn. Minutes pass as you lay together, falling into a rhythm. You'd be falling asleep if it weren't for the sensations still running through you. Rebecca growls softly when you try to move, tightening her arms and legs around you.

"No."

Her voice is tired, fragile. At odds with the noises she was making in the height of the moment -- save the desperation.

"I -- You're not going anywhere."

After a moment, you laugh. It's breathless, ragged, and it barely pierces her bust. But it feels so good.

"No, Rebecca..." you slur.

You burrow deeper into her embrace.

"I'm not going anywhere..."