FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

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Hehhey everyone!

Welcome back to "I'm With the Hockey Hunk"! Today we're continuing with the second chapter of the exciting season 3 of my ongoing furry soap opera. If you didn't read the season premiere yet, go and catch up before you get down to business with this chapter! We've got many exciting times ahead of us, so stay on your toes!

That said, also remember that we're celebrating one whole year (!) of Hockey Hunk, and thus, on the anniversary on Sunday, an extra chapter will be posted. Don't forget to check it out! The story will also continue on Monday as per my standard publishing schedule.

Thank you everyone for your comments on the season premiere, I was so glad to see so many of you taking the time to comment.

Have a fun read,

G

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"...39....99...cash or credit..."

Why couldn't I see the numbers?

"Rory?"

Where was the button the open the till? Why couldn't I see it? Which button was that? why couldn't I remember? That wasn't right.

"Cash...okay...cash it is..."

"Rory?"

There it was!

I tried to press the button, but a pain shot through my paw, followed by the feeling of someone holding onto arm, pressing my arm down...why would anyone do that? Who was it? A customer trying to snatch the till? Where was Mason? Needed Mason.

It still hurt.

"Rory, I'll get the nurse!"

Nurse?

I tried to move my paw again, but it wouldn't budge. Someone was still holding me down, trying to keep me from doing...what? Opening the till? Calling the police? Trying to stop him from stealing? Who the fuck would want to rob the Albrecht Brothers anyway?

Marge.

Marge was pregnant. I couldn't let her come to danger from a robbery. I'd never forgive myself if something happened to her baby. Where was she? Where was she?

"MARGE?"

My tail lashed out. I tried to move, to get going to search for Marge, but I couldn't move. Why wasn't my right leg moving? Why was it refusing my commands? What the hell was going on?

"Marge?" I called out again.

Why was it so dark?

"RORY!"

SNAP!

Light burst through my eyes and I immediately squinted, trying to keep it from blinding me. My ears went flat and I tried to move my paw to cover my face, but someone grabbed it too and stopped me. Someone was now holding both of my paws.

I couldn't move any of my limbs. I was trapped. I was tied.

I felt afraid.

"Is this normal?"

"It might be a reaction to the drugs wearing off..."

Voices spoke somewhere beyond the darkness, entering my flat ears from afar. What were they talking about? Who were they talking about? Why were they talking about drugs when someone was trying to steal from the cash register and I had to get to Marge and where the hell was Mason???

Someone squeezed my left wrist.

"Mister Gliese, do you hear me?"

That voice again, I didn't know that voice.

"Rory!"

A voice.

I knew that voice.

Where was it coming? Right? I heard it from my right. I turned my head to the right. My neck hurt. Oh, fuck!

"Mister Gliese?"

I coughed.

"Rory?"

"I'll get some Ativan..."

Light burst into my eyes again, but this time, there was a shape there. Something green, and yellow, above, framed in grey. There was so much light. What was that? The robber? Had I been kicked down by this someone and he was now going to kill me? Beat me up? Find the keys to the till or the back room? There wasn't anything valuable in the back room, only books.

What if Marge was there?

Gods...

"Marge?"

"Rory?"

Someone's paw fell on my chin. It felt odd. Smooth. A strange smell filled my nose. It made me snort.

"I'll get the doctor..."

"Rory, you're in the hospital."

Hospital?

What? Had the robber beaten me up so badly that I had to be taken to a hospital? Was I in a hospital? If this was a hospital, why was I being held down and tied down? Why couldn't I move? Who was speaking to me?

"Rory, look at me."

The green shape in my field of view moved. The yellow intensified. I wasn't so sure it was yellow anymore.

"Rory..."

"...vitals are good, pulse is 100 and BP is 120/80, resp rate 23, pulse ox 99 to 100 on nasal 02..."

"Rory...!"

"...let's push Ativan, 2.4 milligrams IV, and some Ringer's."

"Yes, doctor."

What were these furs saying?

"Rory..."

That strange touch persisted.

*

Thirsty.

My throat felt awful. I tried to lick my lips to make it feel a little bit better, but even my tongue felt raspy, and didn't really help with the strange, rubbery feeling over my lips. it almost hurt.

I groaned.

I heard a strange, shuffling noise by me.

"Rory?"

It was a low, rumbling voice. Feline, I could tell. Familiar.

"Rory, I'll get the nurse."

Nurse?

My eyelids felt heavy, but I managed to open my eyes, after a false start. I breathed out deeply when light came to my senses again, forcing me to blink rapidly a few times before I could even try to start to decipher what was happening around me.

Paws fell onto my arm.

"Don't move, Rory, you've been hurt."

"Peter?" I gasped.

The voice.

I could see him now. Peter was sitting by me, it seemed, but he was wearing what looked like a surgical gown, a green one, and he had a surgical mask covering his muzzle, and a quick glimpse, although a sore one, for my head hurt from even the slightest movement, confirmed to me that his paws over my arm were also covered in white plastic gloves.

My ears flicked in surprise at this setup, and I turned my eyes back to the sight of the seated cougar, by me, looking down to me.

"Rory," he said.

Peter's paw tugged on a corner of the mask to reveal his face. I could see his eyes, big and worrisome, looking down upon me, and his muzzle was fixed in a grimace, with his lips slightly apart, when he let out a sound, and a deep breath.

"Peter."

"Try not to move, they had to sedate you before when you wouldn't calm down," Peter continued to speak in his familiar rumble, keeping his paws on me still. "Try not to move, the nurse will be here really soon."

I swallowed, and it hurt.

"Thirsty," I moaned.

"Just wait a little, I already called the nurse," Peter whispered.

I slumped my head down back onto the oversized pillow and lay still for a moment, staring up onto the nondescript grey ceiling of what I now understood to be a hospital room. I stayed like that for only a moment, though. I had to know more about myself, and a little tilt of my head, so that my eyes were pointing down along my torso, to take in more detail.

My chest was covered by a white hospital gown, and I could see grey wires curling out between the row of buttons on the middle, going somewhere I didn't know. I had some sort of a bandage on my right paw, above which Peter's paws still held onto my arm. I had tubes in my nose. Two tubes protruded from my left paw and led into transparent bags hanging from the steel IV stand by the bed, to my left. There was something attached to my left index finger, and the cable from that ran, along with what I presumed to be the rest of my wiring, into a computer monitor on a stand by the bed, showing the zigzag of my heartbeat, and a myriad of numbers. It wasn't making the familiar beep beep beep sound, though.

It didn't look much below the waist, either. A blue hospital blanket, more like a sheet, covered the rest of me, and I could see the shapes of both my legs, and my footpaws, which was somewhat reassuring, considering that didn't they say that if you had limbs cut off, you might still feel like they were there, even if they'd been lopped off? I could feel an odd, dull sensation from my right leg. I tried to wriggle my toes, and managed to do so on both, but my right pawtoes seemed sluggish, and a throbbing pain rose over my ass and into my back. I breathed out sharply.

"Everything's alright," I heard Peter say.

At least there was pain. That had to mean something. At least my back couldn't be broken if my leg hurt. That was something.

"Peter..." I groaned.

I could hear the sound of a door opening, and soon someone else was there, someone who smelled of hospital. Pawsteps made a loudish sound.

"Mister Gliese?"

"He just woke up," Peter's eyes already rose from mine to speak to that someone. "He's thirsty."

I turned my head to the left and saw a mare, clad in white, with an ID card hanging off her breast, and with a stethoscope slung over her shoulder. Her big, concerned eyes moved between me, Peter, and the monitor and other equipment by my bed. Then she moved to the foot of the bed and picked up a grey writing pad from there, and gave it a quick look.

"You're NPO still, Mister Gliese, but I can get you some ice chips," the mare said before she put the writing pad down back to its place on the foot of the bed and then closed in on me, to stand by me.

I blinked and tried to fix my eyes on her properly, but she still seemed a bit hazy. My head felt heavy, and my neck ached a little. My arms felt stiff, and I still felt Peter's paws on my right one, above the strange bandage.

"How are you feeling, Mister Gliese?" the nurse spoke to me in a soft voice, almost a whisper.

I gave Peter a quick look, as if the strangely clad cougar could hold that information better than I could do it myself. Under the circumstances, maybe he even did.

"He's been sleeping alright, and just woke up and complained of thirst and spoke my name," he supplied.

The nurse's great brown head nodded up and down.

"Well that is good," the nurse smiled briefly. "Are you in any pain, Mr. Gliese?"

I nodded a little.

"Sore," I said, making my mental inventory of my current maladies. "My leg, and my paw, and my neck...a bit everywhere..."

The nurse turned her attention to a series of boxes with blinking lights attached to the IV stands by my bed, and checked something off the little number readouts on their sides, tapped one of the hanging plastic bags with her paw, too.

"The doctor will adjust your pain management if needed," she spoke, already walking towards the foot of the bed. "I'll just check your urine output now and then I'll go and see if the doctor is free."

It took me a moment to register those words, but indeed, my worst fears became a reality the moment I saw her stop at the foot of my bed and reach for something at the base of the bed.

Oh my fucking God.

I only saw a glimpse of yellow in the plastic bag that must have been hanging on the side of the bed as a depository of my...excrement, but even that was quite enough. I was filled with a sudden urge to grab my blankets and pull them off me to see what kind of a horrible contraption had to be shoved up my COCK at this very moment, but somehow I imagined that I was better off not knowing such intimate details about my medical treatment.

I wanted to scream in sheer body horror.

"And we're looking good here!" the nurse declared as she moved to pick up the writing pad from the foot of my bed again and then proceeded to jot something on an unseen paper with a pen.

"Urinary input good..."

I could smell alcohol, and I saw the nurse rub her hands together to spread what I presumed to be antiseptic, as she again made a move towards me.

"I'll just check your temperature still, Mister Gliese."

I wanted to tell her that if she was going to take a rectal temperature, I would bite her paw, but thankfully, and to my relief, she simply picked up an ear thermometer from a shelf above the bed.

"I'll touch your ear now."

"Uh huh."

I felt a touch of cool plastic, followed by a small beep that made me frown.

"98...good..."

The nurse didn't seem to be in too much of a hurry as she again picked up the writing pad and made markings on it. More documents about the state of Rory Gliese, lion extraordinaire, now lying on this bed hooked up on machines and tubes on bodily orifices and being tended by this nurse and Peter. The cougar looked unwell, sitting there wearing that bizarre outfit.

Kinda wish it had been the first time I saw him in such garments. Of course it wasn't. I'd seen him sitting by another bed much like this one, dressed just like that, while I watched through the window. Peter tending someone else, with even more tubes and lights and machines and other lifesaving equipment. Holding a paw. Maybe speaking words of comfort, or sharing a dark as night in-joke or two.

Now I had put him into that place again, but this time it was me. He hadn't had to do this to me before. I had done it to him, sure, but he had no debt for me. I did it because I loved him. Now he was here because he loved me, and because of that I had put him into this place, the one he hated the most in the world, I was sure. Hell, this could be the intensive care unit. He'd been here too many time. So was George. And now I was here, helpless and tied down and simply because of...

I tensed and suddenly felt unable to breathe.

Victor's pained face.

_ _

My heart raced.

Screeching noise.

_ _

I gasped.

"Rory?" that was Peter, his paws becoming tighter on my arm.

Pain worse than I had ever even imagined.

The nurse was standing by me again, looking down to me with a cold, professional expression. I think I felt her hand on my shoulder.

"Mister Gliese, are you in pain? Please try to breathe slowly and regularly."

I breathed. My whole body began to tense. My leg hurt from that, and my tail flicked between my legs. I felt numb. I felt numb, and cold, all of a sudden. My throat hurt again.

"Rory, what is it?" Peter.

Victor. Blood all over his face.

_ _

"Mister Gliese, are you in pain?"

I heard a soft beep by me, from the foot of the bed. Peter squeezed my arm.

"Rory, calm down."

I barely heard what he was saying. My body was on fire. My mind seemed to be on fire. I could remember Victor, sitting on the driver's seat of his car, looking back to me with a hurt, sad expression on his muzzle.

I knew why.

Colin.

The memory rushed back to me. We'd left the train station, and then I had that text...from Colin...telling me that I had hurt him terribly with the kiss. And then there was Victor...happily chattering about all the fun things we could be doing soon, now that Cobb was gone and we'd be free to...and then I couldn't take it anymore and then I spoke it and Victor was looking at me...

The car.

We'd been in the car and now I was in the hospital. Something must have happened. What was it? Was it because of me? Were we moving then? My mind felt hazy. Why couldn't I remember what happened? What was the pain? My leg? Was that why I couldn't move it? Did I hurt my leg? Why did my paw hurt? Did I hurt my paw too?

DID VICTOR GET HURT?

I grabbed Peter's paw with my left one, the one with the tubes in it, and looked at him passionately. My breaths burned.

"Victor," I groaned.

"The doctor will be here soon," I heard the nurse say, her hand still on my shoulder.

Peter leaned closer to me and looked at me passionately.

"Rory," he spoke, through the haze of terror creeping through my mind.

"Victor..."

Peter hissed.

"He's resting after surgery," Peter spoke in a low voice. "Rory, they're going to give you drugs if you don't calm down, please, try to rest."

My heart wouldn't stop hammering. Victor. Peter mentioned Victor. Surgery. What did that mean? Resting after surgery.

"Mister Gliese?"

I squeezed Peter's paw.

"Where is he?" I groaned.

I could see Peter's ears flatten.

"He's here at the hospital, Rory, he's being taken care of," he spoke quickly. "Rory, please calm down..."

The door opened, and a tiger wearing a white coat entered. He stopped by the door to pull out plastic gloves from some sort of a container attached to the wall.

"What do we have here?" I heard the tiger speak.

Tiger just like Colin.

"Rory!" Peter whispered.

"Mister Gliese just woke up and is again experiencing anxiety," the nurse said, looking sharply over me towards the doctor.

Again?

I breathed rapidly.

"Vitals?"

"Pulse is 110, pulse ox 99 with nasal O2, temp was 98 and good voiding. He wasn't complaining of pain but he is very anxious."

I heard an odd snap when the gloves were pulled on. Then the doctor entered the light cast by a lamp over my bed, coming into view in all of his golden and black shades, and with a frown on his face as he appeared, and stopped by the nurse who then moved away.

"Mister Gliese?" the tiger leaned down over me, looking at me.

"He's just worried about his friend," I heard Peter speak, on to my right, "he's not freaking out, I think he just realized what happened and is just scared."

The tiger took out something from his pocket and I suddenly felt fingers over my eye, just before a bright light was shone into it. I tried to close my eye, but the fingers kept it open.

"Do you know where you are, Mister Gliese?"

Of course I did.

He released my eye and went for the other. I tried to keep it closed, but the tiger pried it open. I snarled.

"At the hospital!" I croaked. "I'm at the hospital and I need to...aahh..."

"He got 2.4 milligrams of Ativan before, do you want me to fetch another bolus, Doctor?" the nurse spoke, hovering near the door.

The light and the fingers disappeared from my face. I breathed out deeply, rumbling. My head began to hurt.

"Rory..." that was Peter again.

"Mister Gliese, you have been in an accident," the tiger spoke. "Do you understand?"

"Where's Victor?" I snapped.

"He just needs to know about his friend," Peter said, sounding annoyed. "He was in the accident with Victor Holden, he's been treated here at the ICU, and I know he's on this floor, because I saw his brother there not half an hour ago."

"Doctor?" the nurse again.

"Mister Gliese, we have treated your and your friend's injuries," the doctor said, "you are stable now, and we are giving you treatment for post-operative pain. You have to calm down. I am Doctor Marcus Logan, I am a trauma surgeon..."

I grunted.

"I know who you are!" I snapped.

Of course I did.

A familiar face.

He treated Peter only last week, when he had his fall. I remembered the tiger well. I never wanted to see him again then, and this wasn't an exception.

"Where's Victor?" I repeated.

"Tell him," Peter said. "They're a couple. He needs to now."

The tiger just wouldn't stop hovering. I breathed out deeply.

"Is he alright?" I spoke.

"Mister Holden was brought in with injuries, but he underwent a successful surgery to treat his injuries, and he is now making a recovery," the doctor spoke after a tense pause. "He is stable."

That sounded all too vague for my comfort. I growled.

"Doctor?" the nurse spoke from the door.

I felt Peter's paws squeezing on my arm.

"Rory," he was speaking now, "I met Cobb out in the hallway, half an hour ago, and he said that Victor is asleep."

My ears flicked sharply. Cobb? Why on earth was Peter speaking about Cobb? How could he even know about Cobb? Sure, I told him about how Cobb had interrupted me and Victor mid-fuck, but besides that...to hear him mention someone so casually was puzzling.

"What?" I grunted.

"I spoke to Cobb, he's here, with Victor," Peter continued. "He asked me how you were doing and told me that Victor is sleeping."

Sleeping or unconscious, or in a coma?

"I will arrange for more information when it's due, Mister Gliese, but you must understand, you have suffered severe injuries yourself, and we must assess your condition before anything else," the doctor spoke firmly, looking down to me.

I made a face and felt my ears flatten again, defeated for now. now even Peter's paws on me seemed to help. I put my left paw back down onto the bed, minding the clear tubes protruding from it. Shit. I breathed deeply, still unhappy. I felt these two weren't telling me everything they knew.

"Mister Gliese asked for something to drink but he's NPO, can I give him ice chips?" the nurse spoke from the door.

The tiger nodded.

"Yes, Lydia, that'll be alright," he rumbled.

I frowned.

"Why can't I get water?" I grunted.

The clang of the door made my ears flutter. The doctor looked down to me calmly.

"Mister Gliese, you were brought in with a very severe injury to your leg," the tiger spoke matter-of-factly. "You suffered what is called a posterior dislocation of the femur. That is, you dislocation your hip."

I gave my oddly numb and achy leg a tired look.

"It is a threatening condition, and the doctors at the emergency department were unsure to attempt a closed reduction of the dislocation. We obtained X-rays of your hip and then took you to the operating room where we could reduce your hip under general anesthesia to prevent any further injury and discomfort to you. We were successful in performing an uncomplicated closed reduction, and the Judet views confirm that your hip is back where it should be. We did not have to proceed to actually operating on your hip to perform a surgical open reduction."

I snorted.

"I don't remember anything," I huffed.

"You had to be sedated at the ER, and you have also received analgesia for your injury," the doctor simply went on. "You also had a reaction to the anesthesia, something we call an emergence reaction."

I blinked.

"Rory," Peter spoke, gaining my eyes to him. "You woke up once already, but you were out of it, Rory. You were talking about Marge and trying to get out of the bed and the nurse and the doctor just had to put you back to sleep again."

The doctor seemed stoic.

"Nothing to worry about that, Mister Gliese," the tiger said. "A certain percentage of furs react to general anesthesia in such a manner, and we managed it without a problem. Everything seems to be stable at the moment."

I snorted.

"So why can't I drink?" I said, irritated. "The nurse already established that I am pissing into a bag."

"We had to put you under and that involves administering drugs that paralyze your muscles, Mister Gliese. That raises the risk of vomiting and of the vomit getting into your lungs. Since you had an emergency operation, pre-operation fasting was not applicable in your case for reducing the risk of vomiting. You are currently receiving dexamethasone as an anti-emetic therapy."

Shortly put, they just didn't want me to choke in my own vomit. Right.

"And the tube?" I didn't even want to name it.

"Your catheter?" the doctor didn't seem to hold any qualms over discussing piss tubes.

"Uhuh."

"A few blood cells were noted in your urinate sample at the ER, and we have continued to monitor your kidney output and possible hematuria," the doctor droned on.

Even I knew what that meant. Hematuria. Blood in the piss.

I gave Peter a quick look, and could see that he wasn't so happy either.

"And?" I snapped at the doctor.

"You've been clear so far, so it is most likely that the accident caused a very small tear in a very small blood vessel somewhere along the urinary tract or the bladder or the kidneys, and that caused a very small amount of blood to enter into the urine. It is a very common finding in high-energy accidents such as motor vehicle accidents. As is your hip dislocation."

He sounded almost happy that he had found such a lovely specimen of a hip dislocation in my hip of all places, and I didn't much like that.

"And my paw?" I grunted, trying to lift the thickly bandaged, throbbing organ.

"There was bruising on your right wrist, and the X-ray confirmed two uncomplicated fractures on your fingers. These being your middle and index fingers. We have splinted them and they should heal normally within a few weeks. You will have to wear the splints on them for that time, however, and we will prescribe some physical therapy."

That didn't sound so bad, compared to the business with my leg.

"How about the hip?" I made the question.

"We have immobilized your right leg with a splint," the doctor Logan continued. "We will have to keep it immobilized for up to six weeks, to ensure that the ligaments and tendons around your hip joint will heal properly."

"Six weeks?" I grimaced.

"We will start rehabilitation immediately once we can remove your urinary catheter and have performed the next neurological examination to make sure that you are able to ambulate," the doctor continued.

"He wants to say, once your drugs wear off," Peter interjected.

The doctor gave him a look over me, and then, surprisingly, nodded.

"You are under heavy medication at the moment, we don't want to risk further complications."

Whatever.

"And then?"

"You may have to use a wheelchair for some time, but after an orthopedic follow-up in perhaps two weeks' time, you will then be shown how to use crutches for support so that you will not have to put your weight on the injured leg."

Peter squeezed my arm.

"You'll be alright," the cougar whispered.

The tiger above me smiled a little.

"You are receiving the best treatment possible, Mister Gliese, you will be back onto your paws in no time!" the tiger clapped his paws together enthusiastically.

Uh huh.

"Do you have any pain, Mister Gliese?"

"My leg aches," I replied, "so does my neck and my paw."

The doctor looked at the mysterious equipment by the bed.

"You are receiving intravenous fentanyl for post-operative pain," he noted. "How would you rate your pain on a scale from zero to ten, zero being no discomfort, and ten being extreme pain?"

I didn't feel like my brain was up to such complicated abstract tasks, but I supposed I had to say something.

"Maybe about three. It's not sharp, it's just a...yes, discomfort, more like."

"We will see about the utilization of patient-controlled pain relief once the operative medication wears off," the doctor said. "Before that, you can simply ask the nurse for more pain relief, if you need some."

"Good to know," I snuffled.

"Do you have any further questions, Mister Gliese?"

Of course I did.

"I want you to find out how Victor Holden is doing," I rasped.

The doctor didn't look too keen.

"You may ask permission from his brother, he should be there," Peter spoke once more. "They really need to know how the other is doing, Doctor."

The tiger nodded.

"I understand your worry, of course," he spoke. "But if I receive a permission from Mr. Holden's family, I am them able to speak more about it to you."

"Alright," I breathed, not too happy about it, but if that was the best I could get, I would take it for now.

The doctor patted my shoulder.

"We'll fix you up, Mister Gliese, do not worry."

The door sounded oddly loud when it swung open and the nurse mare from earlier entered, this time with a plastic cup on her hand.

"Here's the ice," she was smiling.

"I'll take those," Peter's paw immediately rose. "Don't worry. I'm an expert."

The nurse seemed puzzled for a moment, but she did relinquish the white cup into Peter's still-gloved paw. She gifted him with another smile.

"If you have nothing else for now, Mister Gliese, I shall attend to my other patients," the tiger said. "Just remember that a nurse is always on call, if you need assistance."

"Sure do," I rumbled, discontent in my voice.

"Good evening, Mister Gliese," was his parting comment, as he and the nurse disappeared through the door into the corridor beyond.

I sighed.

"Open wide," Peter said.

I turned wearily to look at him and spotted an approaching paw with a glistening piece of ice held between plastic-covered finger pads. He placed it very gently against my dry lips that immediately became covered with a slick layer of cool water. It felt like heaven.

"Just take it carefully into your maw and let it melt," Peter instructed, his face nondescript.

It was remarkably cold once it hit my tongue, but as soon as the refreshing water began to make its way in little drops along my parched tongue and the inside of my muzzle, I definitely felt better. I'd probably have purred if it wasn't for the circumstances.

I blinked hard, and yawned. I still felt thirsty for more ice.

"Did he say evening?" I whispered.

Peter glanced upwards, towards what I assumed was a wall clock that I couldn't see from my vantage point.

"It's quarter past 8 in the evening," Peter rumbled.

I swallowed. It still hurt, but not as much as before.

"Is it still Saturday?"

"Yeah," Peter muttered. "Been here a while."

My ears flopped.

"I'm so sorry," I breathed.

Peter rattled the plastic cup in his paw and shook his head. I could see his whiskers shaking.

"You really did it this time," he whispered.

I frowned. He sounded so pained that I could hardly bear it, even if he was obviously trying to keep it hidden away.

"I'm sorry," I lifted my left paw and tried to catch his, but Peter pushed it down before I had the chance to move any more than that.

"Don't," Peter rumbled. "Don't start on that, you'll never be able to stop if you start."

I let out a wavering breath and snarled out of discontent. Peter rubbed his paw up and down on my arm, above my splinted paw.

"We'll just concentrate on getting you well again and think about everything else then, ok?" the cougar spoke.

"What about you?" I rumbled.

I remembered it all too well, the last time Peter was in this hospital. It cost me one night crying with him, trying to keep the pain at bay. It was horrible, and I still bristled thinking about it, even with whatever stuff they had pumped in my veins that was making my head feel light and my limbs feel heavy.

Peter shook his head and puffed out his cheeks before he let the deep breath fall from his lips.

"I'm okay," he said.

I wouldn't buy it. I flicked a sharp ear at him.

"I know you hate this place."

Peter snorted.

"Don't argue with me," he said. "Besides, I took Valium before I left here, and I have a steady supply. I'm alright."

I frowned.

"You on drugs?" I rumbled.

Peter shrugged his green-clad shoulders. I could hear his tail tap the floor.

"Anything for you," he mused. "I'm holding on. Can't guarantee there won't be after shocks, sometimes there are, but for now..."

He squeezed my paw, like he had done so many times now.

"...for now I'm okay."

I mourned the fact, but decided that arguing with the only fur I had here with me now would not do any good for either of us, and I decided to bite back other complaints.

"Can I have more ice?"

"Yeah...open up."

The sliver was slick as it touched my lips, having been melted by Peter's body temperature. I swallowed it eagerly.

"They'll probably let you drink once you can go to the bathroom or use the bedpan," Peter mused.

I gave a glimpse to the array of bags hanging off the stand by my bed.

"At least I've got those," I snorted, and didn't want to mention the extra bag that was having below me, not above me.

"It's saline and glucose, it should do," Peter said. "You got any pain?"

"Aching all over, but I guess the stuff is working."

"It's good stuff," Peter replied. "Really good stuff."

I licked my lips quickly.

"Fuck!"

I felt frustrated. I couldn't move. I couldn't take a piss. I was bandaged up and pumped full of drugs. I'd upset Peter again, and I knew that I had also upset Victor. And that was on top of the fact that Victor, too, lay somewhere in this hospital, broken in the heart by me, and broken in body by that...by whatever happened.

"Shit!" I thumped my head against my pillow.

"Don't move, you'll make it worse if you're not careful," Peter spoke.

I almost didn't care. I flexed my untied paw into a fist and growled.

"Shit, shit, shit, fuck!" my tail flopped between my legs, making a little wave under the thin blanket.

"Shit, shit, shit, fuck to you too, Rory."

I grunted and gave him an ugly look, but then stopped struggling. It was not worth it. It'd only upset Peter more.

"Ice?"

The cup rattled.

"Did you really meet Cobb?" I croaked once my throat had received a little bit of lubrication from the melting ice. I needed the distraction, and that sounded ludicrous enough a thought to begin with.

Peter snuffled.

"I did indeed," he replied. "Though for most of the time he was crying and praying for his brother and you."

My eyes widened despite the chemically addled state existing within my head.

"He did what?"

Peter snuffled.

"Sometimes I wasn't sure whether he was there waiting to hear about you or his brother," the cougar mused. "You must've made quite the impression."

I wasn't sure whether I deserved much compassion at the moment, not after the disaster of Colin and Victor. And now this...this deplorable thing.

"And he told you that Victor's alright?" I demanded.

"The last I heard from him was about forty-five minutes ago," Peter said. "I was going to the bathroom and I saw him on the corridor. I guess he was standing outside his brother's room."

"And?" I grunted.

"I told him that you were still sleeping," Peter said, "and...Cobb...told me that Victor was sleeping as well, was in no pain as far as he could tell, and that he was covered all over in bandages, but according to the doctor, he wasn't in any real danger anymore."

That sounded much more useful than anything the tiger told me before. I nodded carefully.

"Okay."

Peter scratched over his chest, through the loose green fabric that covered him from neck to toe, as far as I could see.

"You ok?" I muttered.

"I'm always itchy," he flicked a sharp ear at me.

"You know what I mean."

Peter frowned.

"I'm not going to go crazy if that's what you're afraid, Rowreeh."

"I didn't mean that."

"Yes you did."

My ears dropped. Of course he was right. Peter was almost always right, especially when I tried to pretend that I was right and he wasn't. Especially then he was right.

"Yeah, I did," I licked my lips for that nice feeling.

"Glad we agree on something," Peter said.

"Can I have more ice?"

"Here you go, Rowreeh," he smiled quietly.

"Thanks."

"Don't worry," he mused as he handed me the cool, smooth piece, "soon you'll be gushing down coffee and soda like no tomorrow."

I frowned. It only made me realize just how thirsty I was...and that if I had actually been drinking coffee or soda, it'd slither into a small bag by the end of the bed once my body was done with it. It was not a heart-warming idea.

If I could only get to see Victor...

The clatter of running steps resounded from the corridor beyond. My ears jumped. I wondered what it could be. The staff never ran, did they, unless it was areal emergency?

My belly clenched. What if...it couldn't be...what if they were going for Victor? What if something was wrong?

I was already opening my muzzle to ask Peter to see what was going on in the corridor when the door into my quiet room slung open.

"RORY!" a voice, loud and clear, made my ears flatten.

Oh my God.

Peter hissed.

"I told them to come tomorrow," the cougar rumbled to my right, while my ears and eyes turned to my left, upon where an assembly of three lions was gathering.

That made four Glieses.

*

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