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Hehhey, welcome to a yet another continuation of my ongoing series, "I'm Still With the Hockey Hunk"!

The response to my commenting challenge was extraordinary, and I thank you all for making this chapter possible. We all definitely deserve it : ) *chuckle* Your words were thoughtful and involved, it was very much fun for me to read and reply to all of you. Thanks! *smiles*

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Have a good read!

*

The medical tiger clicked files open on the computer, one being a big box with text in it that I couldn't read from this distance, and the telltale black and white image with ghostly shadows that had to be the bones of Peter's ankle, now presented on the computer screen for the doctor tiger's viewing pleasure.

"According to your chart, you are...29-year-old male puma concolor with previous medical history of chronic renal disease and are in status post- operative of renal allograft transplantation from a live donor in 2007, is that correct?" the doctor spouted without looking at us, causing my eyes to widen to be huge, as I listened to the ramble.

I quickly turned to look at Peter, who didn't look any happier at being talked about like a specimen in a glass jar, but at least he wasn't baring his teeth and hissing, which was something I had seen him do to a particular obnoxious doctor before. I gave him a quick squeeze over his arm, for assurance, and hoped that the doctor would not spend too much time with Peter's rap sheet, and would get on with the issue at paw.

Peter cleared his throat.

"Yes."

He didn't sound happy at all, but at least the doctor didn't see his face, or the scowl over it.

"And you came in because of acute injury to lower right extremity, due to a fall during exercise?"

"Yep, the ambulance brought me right in."

"You presented with acute pain to the right ankle due to fall. The mechanism of injury was a fall with your weight coming down on it, initial palpation revealed tenderness to right ankle and considerable edema, but presence of edema on the left ankle means that diagnosis based on this evidence not applicable in your case..." the doctor continued his private lecture, keeping his eyes curiously on the computer screen, while Peter's scowl deepened.

"I'm on the standard cocktail, that's one of the side effects, I know that much," Peter rumbled. "My ankles are always swollen."

"Yes...it says here that you are on a twice-daily maintenance regime of...oral...tacrolimus...MMF and prednisone...along with an anti-depressant and an anti-anxiety agent."

"Which I would have to take soon to keep up with my regular drug schedule, but the nurse would not bring me any," Peter interrupted. "The rest is for cramps caused by the drugs and my...depression."

The tiger barely registered the note and rambled on, more fascinated with Peter's ankle, it seemed.

"Manipulation of the right lower extremity showed tenderness in rotation and there is inability to bear weight on the paw, neurovascular status was good, no loss of sensation or circulation, cryotherapy and compression were applied, along with opioid analgesia, and then taken to radiology for standard ankle film and lower leg film due to possible osteoporotic effect due to drug side effects...good...that's by the book..."

"They did not check my belly, though," Peter interrupted.

The doctor turned around, with a curious look on his face.

"Excuse me?"

Peter harrumphed.

"I fell on my stomach, but the first doctor here did not examine my stomach beyond pressing over it to see if I was tender. I did not receive an ultrasound or a CT scan to check whether my kidney is alright."

The tiger's ears flicked as he quickly turned back to his computer, and I gave Peter a look and a frown, wondering where this was going. Surely the doctors would do anything they would need to do, considering Peter's special situation...they ought to know their business, right?

"It says here that a urine sample was taken and sent to the lab for analysis."

The cougar remained adamant.

"Yeah, they took my urine, but I haven't heard about that yet either."

The doctor tapped on his keyboard briefly.

"There is nothing on your chart suggesting renal involvement in your injury, and initial assessment showed no tenderness of the abdomen or the back, and that did not indicate the need for any further imagining or tests. Your urine sample tested clear of blood or proteinuria, indicating that there is no kidney injury or dysfunction present."

Peter harrumphed again, causing the doctor's ears to flick more expansively.

"Are you sure?"

The tiger nodded.

"There are no findings suggesting any injury to your abdominal organs or damage to the graft," the doctor said. "Is there any pain or tenderness present in your abdomen or back?"

"No," Peter replied after an awkward pause.

"Then we are safe to assume that your only injury is in the leg," the tiger replied as he turned back to his computer and its own little world. "Now, here is the film of your ankle, showing minor dislocation of the talus with lateral asymmetry suggesting possible anterior talofibular involvement. Considering the mechanism of injury and the presentation, the findings suggest an injury to the lateral ligament complex, as observed along with the hemorrhage and edema."

My belly clenched painfully as I listened to the doctor's ramble, understanding only part of it, and I was sure that Peter wasn't too much better off, because his face was darkened as well, and his muzzle twisted to a grimace, under that gently hissing mask.

"How bad is it?" Peter asked, finally.

The tiger turned to face us again, and smiled, much to my surprise.

"Oh, it's nothing really serious, Mr. Sinclair, a simple regime of cryotherapy, compression, immobilization and analgesia should be sufficient therapy for the injury. If you keep off it for a few days, it should heal on its own."

Peter frowned.

"So it's a sprain," he said.

The doctor nodded enthusiastically.

"We treat about thirty or forty of these every week," the doctor smiled, oddly honestly," although your case presented itself quite unusually, since you are a special patient. However, the film on your legs showed no injury to either the tibia or the fibula, so we can also rule out any hairline fractures in your legs due to the fall. Have you suffered from osteoporotic side effects before?"

"I take my calcium every day," Peter replied. "I'm not brittle yet."

The doctor fiddled with his stethoscope earpieces.

"I will prescribe you some painkillers for a few days, and you should stay in rest for at least two or three days with no weight put on the right paw," the tiger continued. "The nurse will bring you a splint and a bandage, and you will also need ice packs, and the nurse will show you how to use forearm crutches."

"I know how to use them," Peter muttered.

The tiger turned over to type on his computer again.

"You will be free to leave after that, but I would suggest that you have someone with you at least for this night," the tiger said.

I saw that Peter opened his muzzle to say something, but the doctor interrupted him before he had a chance, and I saw that the tiger was looking at me, quite intently.

"Are you Mr. Sinclair's partner?" the doctor spoke.

Heat crept over my cheeks upon his words. I was well aware that I had been holding Peter's paw during the doctor's visit, and it was obviously nothing too difficult to make assumptions based on that. I didn't feel embarrassed by it, of course not, although I was worried about Peter, and hearing such a mention from the doctor, and thus I was quite quick to shake my head.

"I'm a friend," I said, holding the doctor's gaze.

The doctor gave me a simple nod.

"Could you stay with Mr. Sinclair for the night, perhaps?"

I did not have to hesitate to answer.

"Of course" I smiled a little, and spared a smile for Peter as well, who simply gave me a look.

"Excellent," the doctor declared. "I'll bring your prescriptions and the nurse will be here, and you can be off for the night when you'll be discharged."

"What about my immunosuppressants?" Peter would not let the doctor go that easily.

The tiger did take it better than the nurse did, to his credit.

"Your dosages are here on the chart, we'll get you one dose each, is that sufficient?"

"Yes," Peter nodded in reply. "Thank you."

"Excellent," the doctor squeezed some paw disinfectant from the pump bottle on the foot of Peter's bed, making my nosepad wrinkle and my eyes water with the awful stench.

"Good night to you, Mr. Sinclair."

He gave both of us a final nod, before he disappeared, walking away while leaning on his computer cart.

I shook my head and buried one side of it on my paw. Peter snorted and made a face.

"Fucking fantastic," Peter grunted.

I shook my head again and flicked my ears.

"Now that was a bit...exaggerated."

"Gotta love teaching hospitals," Peter snorted, scratching his arm now. "Always makes me feel like a corpse on a slab being poked at."

I shuddered at the mental image that was probably influenced by watching too much CSI, and squeezed Peter's arm with my paw, to reconnect us after the spectacular striped doctor's visit. Peter coughed, softly.

"A fucking...sprain..."

"He made it sound like a brain tumor," I grunted. "Or gangrene."

Peter's disbelieving eyes fell on mine, and he snuffled again, fogging up that mask of his, which he needed for feeling safe, not for any medical reason, as we had by now definitely learned, since the doctor had managed to find pretty much nothing wrong with him, except that his ankle hurt.

"That's such an utter load of crap," Peter snorted.

"It is," I hung my head down.

Peter's paw closed around mine again, and I gave him a look, and he looked back to me, for a long time.

"Thank you, Rory," he spoke softly.

I smiled a little and rubbed Peter's knuckles with my thumb.

"It's alright," I smiled, "I'm here to take care of you, after all, isn't that right?"

Peter gave me a gentle nod.

"Yeah..." the cougar whispered.

I continued my little stroke, assuring him of my good intentions.

"You mind if I come in for a sleepover?" I smiled more broadly, hoping to ease down the situation a little.

Peter chuckled.

"I've never minded your sleepovers, Rowreeh."

I smiled, and my tail flicked against the tiny wheels of the stool.

"Then that's set. We'll wait until they fix you up with that bandage, and we'll go by a drugstore to get your painkillers and icepacks and something nice to eat and get you home and to rest, okay?" I formulated my treatment plan, based on what the doctor had said, and to common sense, which the doctor seemed to be deprived of.

"Sure," Peter smiled again.

*

After what felt like another extraordinary long time of waiting, Peter got his pills and crutches, and seemed to be getting back to being more of his usual self, when his pain was managed, and he no longer had to fear a long hospital stay. I knew that the ER was probably his least favorite part of the hospital anyway, and I was equally glad to leave it, when I helped Peter to hobble over across the yard and into a waiting cab that took us out to town again. It was a quiet drive over to Peter's place, just me and Peter sitting on the back of the taxi, with the driver giving the occasional suspicious glance to me holding the crutches, and to Peter's face that was covered with the surgical mask he almost always wore when going out from his apartment.

The familiar aseptic smell hit my nose as soon as I helped Peter open the door, and we entered into his dark apartment.

"Light switch is on the right," Peter told me. "Use your elbow."

I decided not to say anything in comment to that request, when I did as I was told, and batted the wall by the door with my elbow until there was some give and the lights came on, illuminating the neatly organized room. Peter leaned to my shoulder, his left paw clutching both of the crutches, and I knew that he had his right footpaw in the air, now safely wrapped up. Peter sighed deeply.

"You alright?" I told him, rubbing over his back.

Peter rubbed his cheek over my shoulder, and smiled a little.

"Just tired...could be the drugs..." he snuffled and smiled, quickly.

"We should get you to bed," I told him, continuing my reassuring rub.

"No," Peter replied, instantly. "We need to shower. I have to get that horrible hospital smell off my furs, and so do you."

I frowned, giving his packaged footpaw a quick glance.

"What about the paw?" I asked him.

Peter chuckled.

"Did you never have a cast?" he smirked crookedly.

"No," I replied with a chuff.

"There's some tape and plastic bags in the kitchen," Peter said. "We'll wrap it up really good and it'll be fine."

I snuffled.

"You might still slip, though, and hurt yourself again," I noted.

Peter shook his head.

"I have a plastic bath chair there, for invalid showers, Rowreeh," he replied, his face deadpan. "Believe me, it's been needed over the years, when I was too tired to stand up."

I gave him a quick nod.

"I'll get you to the bedroom, and go get my clothes off and then come and help you undress, ok?" I squeezed Peter's side, formulating my plan.

Peter chuckled.

"Thanks, nurse Rowreeh."

I smiled, too.

*

It felt a bit odd to be in Peter's guest room again, standing there by the bed, with an increasing number of my articles of clothing falling over it while I undressed. I didn't feel so nervous, not really, this wasn't anything weird, after all, or sexual...odd, perhaps, but then again, I had helped Peter out with much worse things than a simple shower. My phone flopped down over the bed as I took off my pants and folded them down, and by its sight I was reminded of Victor, whom I had promised I'd call in the evening, to tell him how I was doing. It was already almost eight pm, and I wondered whether he was waiting for me to call...alone, or maybe being pestered by Cobb...

I shook my head a little and snuffled at the thought, although I couldn't help but recall the shower from the morning, with me and Victor stuffed in there, belly to belly and making out in the warm wash...

...my sheath twitched, and I had to make a conscious decision to push those thoughts out of my mind, as I pulled down my boxers and added them to the pile on the bed. This was for Peter, and having a boner was not something we needed in that shower, I wasn't helping him out like that this time. I gave myself a quick belly scratch, glancing between the phone on the bed and the door, and then, with a soft chuff, picked it up.

Hi! My friend injured

his paw today and

needs someone to

help him around home

for today and maybe

tomorrow sorry I

couldn't call you before

had to be at the hospital.

call you tomorrow?

_ _

Then I added a little something.

_ _

thinking about you

Rory

_ _

I read through my message quickly, checking that it made sense, and then sent it out and put my phone down to the bed again. I took a deep breath and headed out.

I found Peter sitting on his bed, fully naked, which was quite the feat of undressing for him, I suppose, and he was in the progress of wrapping tape around his knee. Everything below that was covered in a bin liner, through which I could see the shape of the thick bandage that protected his ankle any erratic movements. Peter looked up to me when I arrived, naked and with my tail swaying, and gave me a small smile.

"I'm almost ready," he said, adding another round of tape.

I walked over and watched the proceedings with curiosity.

"Sure that's going to work?" I asked.

The tape made a screeching sound.

"Of course," Pete replied, working around his leg expertly, tail flicking by his healthy ankle. "Did this all the time when I broke my arm when I was about 14."

"Okay," I snuffled.

"Was my right paw of course...made...personal relaxation time interesting, when you had to break old habits and go leftie," Peter winked as he used a claw to cut the tape and check that the bag was tightly wrapped around his leg, and that he hadn't accidentally taped any of his furs down as well.

He gave it a few tugs while I snuffled at his joke.

"Hahah."

Peter put his paws over the bed and leaned back, watching me, while all of his belly was exposed, sheath and all, for my own returned scrutiny. I wasn't sure of what he was thinking when he looked me over, head tilting a little, but then he huffed, and tipped his head back.

"Come on, you have to drag me there I'm afraid."

I gave him a nod and moved forward and over to him, so that I could hook my arms under his and help him up without risking Peter crashing down on his bad footpaw again. Our chests pressed together, and we were muzzle to muzzle for a moment, and Peter smiled, and I smiled back, when I maneuvered him off to my side, and walked him over to his bathroom. It was not one I regularly visited, considering that Peter didn't like anyone meddling with his clean room space, but I knew the general layout, and Peter pointed me where I would find the chair, which was made of white plastic, and he stood leaning on the shower wall while I fetched it and placed it as it was needed.

"This okay?" I gestured at the chair, placed under the showerhead.

"Yeah," Peter replied, and once I got his approval, helped him to sit down, and adjust himself as comfortably as he could on the small chair.

"Which shampoo do you want me to use?" I asked him as I eyed the formidable row of bottles on the nearby shelf, most of which had non-descript medical labels on them, none of the usual flashy color you see in the regular stuff.

"There's something called Trichodox on the second shelf...there?" he pointed a paw out, towards a large pump bottle with the said name printed on the side. "That ought to do."

"Sure," my tail flicked around flippantly as I fetched the indicated bottle.

Peter grabbed the shower handle and proffered it for me as well. I smiled a little as I took it, and then watched how Peter turned on the water and waited for it to run hot and proper before it was my turn to start soaking the tawny cat with warm water. Peter purred a little when the hot wash got the best of him, running over his back and neck and the top of his head, too, when I operated the shower. I decided to make it nice and slow, and didn't mind that I was getting wet, too, I was going to have to shower anyway to meet Peter's criteria for personal hygiene to even be allowed in his premises, so I could very well take my time and didn't have to mind the splashes. Going slowly over his arms and back, I could take my time and smoothen out his furs with my other paw while I soaked them with water.

Peter's heavy tail flopped from one side to another, against the wet tiles, making additional slapping sounds, while I tended to my friend. He sat in a slightly hunched position, helping with me to get the water over his back, too. It felt nice to me, too, grooming someone, my friend, now, stroking over his back and feeling the smooth, thick furs. He always had quite the long furs, but oddly, at least according to Peter, some of his medication was causing his furs to became even longer and ruffled, giving him an even thicker cover over his skin. Peter's ears gave relaxed flicks while I laved the water over him, and he gave me a smile, when I started going over the front, too, bathing his white belly and chest. I tried to keep my eyes in his face and not on his sheath, or the white line of the scar on the right side of his belly, indicating where the life-saving surgery had been done. It was difficult for me to get squicked about anything really anymore, but I still hesitated a little, as I smoothened over his chest as well.

"That feels nice," Peter breathed out after a moment, quietly.

My ears flicked as he spoke, and I gave him a gentle smile, kneeling down a little, to better wash over his legs. I was careful not to splash too much over the wrapped leg. Peter's tail flicked against my thigh.

"You have to help me get up soon, Rory."

"Oh?" I looked up to the cougar, curiously.

Peter chuckled and flicked one of my ears with his paw, while he smiled crookedly.

"You have to wash my ass."

I snorted at his chuffing declaration, but soon I was smiling, too, and when the time came, I helped him by lifting him under his arms, so that I could run the water over his backside and thighs and the base of his tail.

"I think I'm good now," Peter noted as I helped him back to sit down. "Get the shampoo now."

"Okay, let me get soaked, too," I told him, and stepped off to the side, as much as there was room for that, to get my own furs properly wet for the application of the soap as well.

Peter watched me, curiously, definitely, while I got water to my eyes and had to blink a lot, and he smiled, still, while my own furs got clinging onto my body and made me look a lot smoother than usual.

"Still as fun to look at as ever," Peter chuckled.

I tapped his good leg's thigh with my tuffy, wet tailtip that was now especially heavy.

"Wet look suits everyone with a smooth fur," I noted, washing under my armpit as I spoke.

Peter chuckled.

"You'd look great with curly fur."

I shook my head deliberately to splash a lot of water out of my dripping, clinging mane.

"I'd look stupid."

"Like with your spots."

Uhhhh...meow!

I snuffled as I turned off the water and wiped my face with my paw to make sure I would not get more dribbles into my eyes when I grabbed the pump bottle of shampoo and applied a generous palmful. I moved to stand behind the seated cougar and began to rub the shampoo over onto his glistening furs, bringing a few extra purrs from Peter.

"Do you really think I can be held responsible for the spots?" I mused, continuing to rub my paws over Peter's shoulders and back.

Peter's ears flicked cheerfully.

"Well it might have been a stupid fad at the time but it was still your personal choice to join the fashion disaster."

"Everyone was doing it," I noted, though with slightly less confidence than before.

"Even Alex Carbine," Peter replied.

My sheath could not help but give a very firm throb of solidarity at the mention of the said hunky football player Rottweiler.

"Didn't he claim that the spots under his eyes helped him see better on the football field?" I suggested while lathering up Peter's head furs, and rubbing my fingerpads in nice circles over his scalp.

"He did, to...Mary Johnston, after a couple of Jägerbombs, "Peter replied.

I made a face.

"I always got the worst hangovers from those."

"I bet Mary Johnston got a hangover from Alex Carbine," Peter chuckled.

I laughed, too.

"Oh I bet."

"And maybe got her Revlon furliner stolen by him so that he could do some touch-up work on his spots," Peter suggested.

I guffawed at his added comment and easily remembered why Peter was so easy to love, even when he was not in his best. The sound of him laughing gave a nice, warm feeling in my heart, different from what I might get from being Victor, but there was no such thing as just one kind of love, was there now? What I was doing at the moment was love, and it was good love, and it made me feel good, and it made Peter feel good, and those things together were quite optimal for me. Joking about awful college fashion was fine enough even with me being a target of some of the onslaught of terribleness inflicted in the whole concept.

"Yeah, that too," I smiled and carried on my work.

*

We managed our respectful showers, eventually, and after a lot of splashing and bad jokes and Rory-jibes, I had Peter settled onto the edge of his bed, wrapped in fluffy towels and smelling positively like...well, nothing, really, but that's what he wanted, after all, and that was what I was going to deliver as well. Peter began to dry his head furs.

"I'll just pop to get my clothes and come help you find to wear?" I told the cougar whose face I couldn't see, now that he had the towel practically wrapped around his head.

"Sure, thanks," he replied, and flicked his tail for emphasis.

I smiled a little, snuffled, and headed our to the guest bedroom. I didn't have any spare clothes with me, but I only put mine on this morning, so they still ought to be fine enough, and hopefully not stink too much of the hospital, for Peter's displeasure. As I entered, I noticed that my phone was indicating a new message. I smiled happily and picked up the phone, and smiled some more at the familiar name on the screen, and then tapped the message open.

Shame to hear but

hope your friend's

gonna be okay,

and I'll get back to you.

Been an okay day especially

after the fun start : )

Hear from you soon,

Victor

_ _

My smile definitely broadened when I read through the message again, and then a third time, and my tail made happy flicks as I wondered what Victor would be up to at the moment, trapped at the Holden residence with young master COBB HOLDEN wanting to have fun times with his brother. At least, I hoped, Victor would have the good memory of our last night to think back to, and I also hoped that Cobb would not be too curious about Victor's absence, and make not too many unnerving questions, which would probably be all about me.

I chuckled softly to myself and composed a quick response to Victor.

Thanks, will do, and

try to call you tomorrow

when it's not as busy.

Hope you have good weekend

Victor and looking forward

to seeing you again.

_ _

I thought that sounded friendly and promising enough, and with another quick look, I sent off the message and got back to my clothes. I spent a few minutes drying and preening, sure, I liked looking nice and feeling nice, and part of that was having my furs in order and smoothened, which I did with my palms for once, while applying a few nice scratches too. I felt quite purring and happy with Victor, myself, and with the fact that I could help Peter, in any way I could. I knew that I should get back to him, since he might get cold after drying, and I did promise him to get some clothes...

"Do you want to wear a sweater, Peter?" I called amusedly as I walked across the living room, my tail looping happily behind me as I tried to go through my mental catalogue of Peter's clothing, to help with the choosing to come.

Peter was lying on his back on the bed, still only wrapped in that towel.

His eyes were wide and fixed on the ceiling, and his paws clung to his chest, tensely.

His unnaturally loud breaths filled my ears, flowing raggedly.

"PETER!" I snapped.

*

Off we are with another gruffhanger!

Thank you for reading my story. As always, all feedback is greatly appreciated, and it enhances the experience both for me and the others readers as well, so don't be shy! Also remember that all votes, faves and watches will help others to find these stories to enjoy as well!

Cheerio!