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" ... I can't even begin to think about reversing the effects," the squirrel explained, gently gesturing with her black-padded, blunt-clawed paws, "if I don't know what caused them. I mean, it's ... I'd be shooting in the dark, you know? I'd be guessing." A pause, her luxurious, arched tail flagging about some. "I don't wanna guess on something as important as this. For all I know, I could make it worse."

"Are they healthy, though?" Peregrine asked, whiskers twitching. He swallowed and took a breath. He and Prancer were in her 'doctor's office,' here in the infirmary, looking through the glass windows at the bio-beds. The two rabbits. And Milka and Benji, who were also present. The two rodents, though, were whispering, so as not to be overheard. "I mean, healthy other than, uh ... switching bodies," Peregrine breathed, whiskers twitching more. " ... other than that, they're fine?"

"Perfect health," the cinnamon-furred squirrel whispered, nodding. "Yeah. I mean, I just ... " She paused out of frustration. " ... I want to say I can switch them back. But I can't make that promise. The technology that did this to them is millennia beyond ours."

"Will it wear off, then? On its own?"

"Maybe. It could." There was a hesitation in her voice. "I don't know," she amended, weakly.

The mouse nodded, big ears swiveling atop his head like fleshy dishes. "Well, at least they're okay," he reasoned again. "Uh, you know. I mean, it could be worse."

"They're very disconcerted. I mean, imagine if you found yourself in Petra's body, and her in yours. Or if me and Nin switched places? We love our mates, but ... we love them cause they're them. Not because they're us, or because we're them," the squirrel emphasized. "It'd just be ... " She lowered her voice a bit more. " ... confusing. I mean, how far does love go? Is it the heart and mind? The body? Is it ... "

" ... a rose by any other name?" the mouse finished, quietly.

"Yeah." A sigh. "Exactly."

The mouse's silky-pink tail snaked about, all about. "They're looking at us. I think they know we're talking about them."

"Busted," Prancer said, with a shy, little smile, brushing past the grey-furred mouse, and out into the open of the infirmary.

Peregrine followed after a few seconds, quietly twitching, and turning as the doors swished open and Petra entered.

"There y'are," she said, and then looked to the two rabbits. "Is it true? They really switched ... "

... the mouse nodded, mouthing the word 'they'll hear you.'

"Ah," Petra whispered, glancing at the bio-beds as Prancer was talking to them. And then pulling Peregrine aside, Petra continued, "Darling, that pirate ship? Is liftin' off the surface."

"Those were fast repairs."

"Too fast, if y'ask me. But maybe I'm just paranoid. Should I let them go?"

"Yeah. If they're gonna leave us alone, relatively, then ... we should do the same to them. I don't like them 'owning' this sector, like they think they do. But we're in no position to launch a full-scale war against them. Nor do I want to. If they attack us, we'll defend ourselves with appropriate force. Until they do attack, we ... we have things to do," he said. "We have a transport ship docking tonight."

"More guests?"

"Twenty of them."

Petra gave a slight chuckle. "Nin'll be pleased to hear that," she said. "On such short notice."

"He already knows about it."

"Ah. Well, that's good. What are they, then?"

"Herd of Jerseys."

"Ah, just roamin' through? Or grazin'? That what cows do?" A pause, having to ask, "We get free milk? For lettin' em stay?"

Peregrine smiled. "You know, you ... you don't have to make me smile all the time ... "

"How am I makin' ya smile, mm?"

"Your attitude. Just ... you're so forthright. So ... "

" ... spicy?"

"If that's what you want to call it," he whispered back, sniffing at her grey and brown-furred cheek. " ... we'll, uh ... my office? In a bit?"

" ... I'll be there," she breathed, sultrily, in her simple, scruffy way, grabbing at his tail before she stole a glimpse at Amelie and Wheldon, hoping they were okay. They were her friends, after all. This crew was a close-knit family, in a way. The rat lingered for a second more, and then left the infirmary, to go back to Ops, and to tell the others what was going on down here. That was part of the reason she'd come down here personally instead of using the comm: the others had badgered her into doing so. They all wanted to know what had really happened.

As Peregrine finally padded over to the others, Milka was saying, " ... I shouldn't have destroyed the dome. I mean ... I acted before thinking. Just like I said. I just ... "

"Don't worry about it," Prancer said. "This isn't your fault. Really." A pause. "Look, you and Benji should go have lunch, and get some, uh ... rest," the squirrel said, diplomatically.

The otter nodded, rudder-tail steering back and forth. Benji taking her paw and saying, "We can have watercress," he said. "I can make you something. Come on ... "

Milka just nodded, glad to be back, and glad to see him. But hoping that Prancer was right: that this whole mishap wasn't her fault. It was just that, when the rabbits had been scanned and then passed out, she'd wanted to leave that dome as soon as possible. She hadn't even realized there was a problem at all until after they were well on their way to the surface. And, now, maybe the only thing that held the answer (the computer in the dome) was nothing but sea-dust, now. Because I had to destroy it, Milka told herself, sighing.

Peregrine gave the otter and nutria, a warm, mousey smile as they passed.

Benji returned it.

Milka just nodded, feeling a little better. Just by being with her husband, and just by Prancer's warm bedside manner.

The squirrel, whiskers twitching, returned her focus to the two rabbits and said, "I can't call you two by your normal names, if ... I mean, that's getting confusing. You're, uh ... you're Amelie's body, but it's not Amelie. It's Wheldon."

Amelie's body nodded. But it was really Wheldon.

So, Prancer said,, one paw on her cheek and the other pointing, "You'll be Amelie(Wheldon), and ... you," she said, of Amelie in Wheldon's body, "will be Wheldon(Amelie). Okay? For now. Until I, uh, figure this out. And I will, okay?" she said, not saying 'I promise.' But still trying to be insistent that she would do her best. Her paws fell back to her sides.

Peregrine, padding a few steps forward, gave a shy, little squeak, and said, "You two can, uh ... rest for the remainder of the day? You know? I mean, pirates are gone. Guests don't come until tonight. Just rest until then. It's lunchtime, anyway."

"Just because I'm in my husband's body," Wheldon(Amelie) said, "doesn't mean I'm an invalid." She paused, hearing herself talk. Using a lot more contractions than she normally did. Voice deeper, more casual. Sounding so much more ... emotional? She wasn't used to that. Emotion. She was feeling things that, previously, she'd never been able to fully feel. It was starting to scare her. She didn't know how to respond, what to do, or ...

" ... no, you're not invalids, either of you. But you've been through a huge psychological change. You're not gonna stay on duty today. There's nothing going on."

"May we attend the dinner in the ward room tonight?" Amelie(Wheldon) asked, raising a pretty, white paw. He kept looking at those paws. More slender and beautiful than his own. Different colors. And his emotions restrained. He felt like there was a block of ice between his head and his heart. He could feel things. But through a filter. He was having a hard time understanding this.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's just cows. Lots of cows. Well, uh ... cows and bulls. Bovines. Or, uh, Jerseys, I mean."

"Milk?" Amelie(Wheldon) asked, raising her brow.

"Possibly," Peregrine said, shyly, holding his own tail in his paws. "I, uh ... didn't ask them. But, if I know cows, they like to offer it, so ... " He trailed, feeling a little awkward. Both for talking about cow's milk, and for not being able to figure out what to say to two of his friends that had, for all intents and purposes, become each other. "Um, uh, I 'm gonna go back to Ops. Prancer, you ... "

" ... I'll keep you informed," she said, a little more at ease. Though she was a rodent, she was also a doctor, and was used to dealing with uncomfortable situations. Not that this was totally uncomfortable. Perhaps it was even intriguing. But it was definitely unusual, that was for sure.

With the mouse scurrying off, all a-twitch, Prancer sighed and said, "I'm gonna go have lunch with Nin. Uh ... you two can go to your quarters? I wanna see you back here in a few hours, though, and run some more scans. Do some more tests. After I analyze the stuff I already got. And, you know, just think of it this way: you two get to experience something that only bats and their mates ever get to experience ... what it feels like for the opposite sex." A friendly wink.

They both nodded, in various states of bashfulness, and slipped off the bio-bed, and ... looked at each other, and looked at Prancer, and then walk-hopped off.

Well, at least they've got a hop in their step, the squirrel thought, smiling. A better sign than not!

Ninilchik was in the ward room, setting up tables. Moving chairs. Creating an 'open space' where furs could mingle. Keeping the floor near the windows open, as well, so everyone could stand there and look at the stars and the planet, too, if they wanted. He'd already begun drawing up the dinner menu in his head: alfalfa this, alfalfa that. Alfalfa something. Bovines seemed to like alfalfa. And grains. Maybe fruits, some vegetables. They were vegetarians. But, then, most of Redwing's own crew was (save for Milka, who ate fish). The most daunting thing about tonight's meal was that, sure, there would only be twenty Jerseys. But didn't cows have, like, four stomachs each? So, in reality, he told himself, you're making a meal for eighty stomachs.

A few blinks and a head shake. Don't think of it that way, he insisted. You're taking this job way too seriously.

The porcupine nodded, paws on hips. For just a moment or two, before he sighed, stretching his arms in front of him. Quills raising up a bit on his back and tail. He'd been fully prepared to use them. Earlier, during the pirate scare. Thankfully, he hadn't been forced to. They hadn't been boarded. He supposed it was a good thing that the station had so many furs with 'unique' weapons. Him with his quills. Seldovia with her spray. Even though they weren't predators, they could defend themselves if they had to.

Of course, the worst part of using his quills was that he lost the ones he used. They'd dislodge and stick into the enemy's skin. And leave him with one less quill than before. They grew back, but still. He raised his club like tail, and then lowered it, and raised it again. He'd have to run that simulation in the holo-suite: the combat readiness program. He hadn't done that in a while, what with concentrating on welcoming all the station's guests. But he needed to keep his 'quill-ing' skills sharp. And he could program the holo-matrix to make the holograms not actually 'stick' to his quills, so he wouldn't actually lose any as he practiced, and ...

... Nin, snapping out of his thoughts, raised his head, hearing and seeing the soft-grey double-doors swish open.

Prancer stepping in.

The doors swished shut behind her. A soothing sound. Just like the so-faint hum of the station's power core beneath the deck plating. The lights in here, currently, were mostly dimmed. Since he was the only one in here.

" ... making progress?" the cinnamon-furred squirrel asked, immediately coming to him. Her tail so gloriously noticeable, the way it hung and lightly bobbed behind her, how it swayed with each movement of her hips. How it spread her scent around. What a tail! Her bare foot-paws scuffing on the carpet, she came right up to him, so close, arms going around his neck. Eventually putting her nose against his cheek, sniffing of his familiar, safe scent.

Nin just nodded. "A little, yeah." And, having been thinking about the holo-suite, he said, "We could actually hold these functions, you know, on the holo-suite. In a program. I mean, come up with ... a big, fancy room, music, all that. Might be easier."

"Well," the squirrel said, moving her sniffy nose to his. " ... I think Peregrine wants to sell the idea and atmosphere of the station. We wine and dine our guests in a holo-suite, and ... they won't really be experiencing the station. Won't be seeing the planet out the window, and ... getting the 'real atmosphere'."

" ... ah. Yeah," the porcupine breathed, paws around his wife's back. A little nod, understanding.

"Besides, we all know what holo-suites are mainly for," she whispered, close to one his ears.

" ... do we?" A teasing smile.

"Mm." A soft, squeaky sigh. "I need to, uh ... it's time ... "

" ... I know. You didn't have to tell me that." A slight nibble to the side of her neck. "Wanna eat first, or after?"

" ... how about," the good doctor breathed, very, very quietly, "during?" She had the sudden image of strawberries in chocolate, or honey-dipped almonds and acorns. But, then, that was dessert, wasn't it? " ... maybe, uh, we should have dessert first. And then have the other stuff after."

"Won't that ruin your appetite?" the porcupine asked, fingers splaying, slipping under her uniform-shirt. Beginning to shimmy-slide it up, up her body. "Mm?"

"Maybe." Her arms lifted, eyed closing. Muzzle raising as her shirt came off, left only in a bra from the waist up.

Nin dropped her shirt to the carpet, saying, aloud, "Computer ... "

Chirrup!

" ... lock ward rooms doors. Turn off all lights."

Ba-beep, the computer went, doing so. And Nin began kissing and sucking, with such earnestness, on his wife's neck. "Mm ... you smell so good. That shampoo you use in your fur? That what it is?"

"It's a new kind," she affirmed, nodding. "You were the one who lathered it into my pelt this morning. Thought you would've figured it out before now ... " A slight giggle-squeak, her paws on his belly, sliding up, up, fumbling with his own shirt.

While he fumbled with her pants. "Let's worry about, uh ... eating," he said, "after. Definitely after."

"Not hungry?" she panted, writhing with him, still upright, but leaning, her tail flagging and arching so prettily in the near-dark.

" ... j-just the opposite," he breathed. "I'm far too hungry to eat." Hungry, of course, for her. Letting her know this with a wet, sloppy kiss.

The squirrel, eyes closing, chittered from the throat. And made a swooning-sound as she was pulled to the floor.

Amelie and Wheldon had, indeed, actually eaten lunch. Steamed carrots, broccoli, wheat rolls. Things like that. Rabbit things. Tossed salad, water. Eating and drinking mostly in silence, not really sure what to say. Both of them still a little overwhelmed.

Afterward, having put the dishes back in the food processor, Amelie(Wheldon) had left the kitchen area, winding up in the bathroom. Door closed. Her clothes eventually coming off. Just so she could see herself, at first (could anyone blame him?). How she looked. Of course, he'd seen it all before. But never from this angle. Never like this. Body straightened up a bit, and head tilted. Standing, in a prim, elegant way, naked in front of the mirror. I look serene, she thought. I look hot.

Hot, Wheldon asked, internally? Is that all you can think about?

No. No, I think about other things. Look, I realize the gravity of this situation, okay. I'm not joking around. I'm serious. I'm being serious.

And he nodded his head. Her head. You're a 'her' right now, Wheldon. You're Amelie.

A singular whisker-twitch.

She'd felt (he started thinking of himself as 'she,' now, just for clarity's sake; this was getting far too muddled), for the past half hour, a rising desire inside of her, like steam. It really felt like the building of steam, coming from thawing ice. Only able to be released through breeding. She was nearing 'peak.' She would have to breed soon.

As would Wheldon(Amelie). My wife, was the thought. In my body. She closed her eyes. I'm a he, she reiterated. Again. As if to remind himself. To not forget. Like you're gonna forget that? I know you're Wheldon. I know you're me. Me, he countered to himself? Me?! I'm in my wife's body. How am I supposed to make sense of that? Am I me or her? I have all the memories and knowledge of me. But I feel like her: the way she carries herself, the way she talks. Right down to the 'emotional freeze' that snow rabbits had, was the realization.

The 'freeze.'

Amelie(Wheldon) swallowed. I can't feel, she realized. I mean, I can, but it's so restrained. So much less than what I felt in my own body, as a regular rabbit. She looked at her bare, snowy-furred self, her paw raising a bit. To just below her breasts. They hung so loosely. They just went with gravity, what with no bra on. She lifted them, gently, tilting her head. And then lowered her paws. They hung back down. And she lifted them back up, touching the nipples for a bit. A small, little sigh. That felt faintly pleasant. The more she touched them, the better they felt. My own nipples never felt that good, she thought. Not that they didn't feel nice when tweaked or rubbed, but male nipples were, well ... male nipples. These ones she was looking at right now were the real deal!

Swallowing, she allowed her paws to slide down her sides, fingers splayed, down through her pelt. My hips are bigger. Wider. Oh, my gosh, I'm not going into heat, am I, she thought, with internal alarm. She didn't know if she could handle that. First day as a femme and to come into heat. She'd probably bawl her eyes out. No, wait, she thought to herself. You can't bawl. You can't cry. You're a snow rabbit, remember?

She nodded quietly to herself, feeling that 'freeze,' ever present, allowing her to feel. Just enough, just enough. Never the full thing. But that was just the way it was. There was nothing she could do about it. In some ways, it was advantageous, right? God wouldn't have provided snow rabbits with a freeze if they didn't need them. If it wasn't useful in some way, if it wasn't a benefit to the survival of the species.

Indeed, the more she focused, the more she realized that, deep down, there was a pulsing, throbbing feral-ness. Dim, forgotten. But there. Snow rabbits came from harsh confines. Where the survival instinct was honed sharply. The Arctic. The snow. Blizzards. Little food. Things were obviously different now, with a bigger population and more technology. But the instinct remained. The template remained. Their true emotions were simply too raw for them to handle without going insane, or even hurting those around them. They had to be held back. By an icy, mental block. For everyone's safety. Allowing only little bits to filter through, just to taste it, just to stay real.

But, oh, you can never fully 'feel.' Not like other furs.

Amelie(Wheldon) looked to the floor, to her bare foot-paws. Am I supposed to feel sad about that? No. No, I can't feel sad.

Don't give me that. You can feel sad. You can feel joy.

You can feel.

Yes, she realized, nodding. Yes, I can.

I'm feeling things.

But it's not the same, somehow.

It's more controlled.

Far more controlled.

A deep, inward breath, shaking her head. Don't think about this anymore. Think about something else. A swallow, and a nod, her paws past her hips, having resumed their journey. Sliding down to her thighs. Should I touch it, she wondered? It? I wanna touch it. Well, why not? You've touched it before. Yes, but that was when I was me. Am I allowed to do this? Of course you are. You're her husband. You know her body intimately. You've licked, sucked, rubbed, and bumped into most everything here. It's not like you're touching anything she hasn't let you touch before. Why would it make any difference now?

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the questions.

A hesitation, a single finger finally touching at the hooded clitoris. Resting there, pressing so, so lightly, moving the fingertip. The blunt-clawed fingertip. As her legs shifted apart a little bit. Touching, touching. Touching, gently massaging, so gently, until she realized she was touching harder and starting to hunch over. Her eyes half-open. She didn't know what she'd expected, really. But the sensations had surpassed all thoughts. She didn't want to stop rubbing it. It wasn't entirely dissimilar to the pleasure her penis gave her. Well, had given her. When she'd had one. When I was a he. When I was me, Amelie(Wheldon) thought, as she stopped touching herself. I used to be me, a healthy, virile rabbit-buck. Now, I'm a doe. Delicate, pretty, feminine. I've got a vagina!

A slight furrowing of the brow. Will you stop it? How many times are we gonna go over this? You're thinking in circles.

I know, I know, he told himself. But it was just so hard to make sense of. It was frustrating. And it wasn't that Wheldon didn't love Amelie. He did. Dearly. But he loved her because she was her, not because he was her. It was ... didn't make ...

... sense.

But the frustration soon faded as her fingers came together and fished lower. Lower. I do have a vagina, don't I? A heartbeat-skipping pause. Oh, she'd always wondered what it felt like to be ...

" ... enjoying yourself?" came Wheldon's voice. Amelie, in Wheldon's body. Wheldon(Amelie).

Amelie(Wheldon) gave a surprised jerk, mewing with Amelie's tone. Covering her breasts with her snowy-white, black-padded paws, thighs delicately pressing back together. A picture of supple, pretty perfection.

" ... why you covering my breasts?" Wheldon(Amelie) asked, smiling. Actually smiling. Amelie had never been able to smile like this. Only eye-smiles, in that snow rabbit way. But, now, she could give full, sunny muzzle-smiles, with the lips, with her cheeks. It felt nice! It felt so different.

It felt like something un-contained.

Amelie(Wheldon) cleared her throat a tiny bit, giving a delicate nod. "You surprised me," she said, in her prim, proper way. Ears getting a bit hot. And, for some reason, she felt more exposed than she'd ever felt as a male. Wheldon didn't know why this was the case. When he was naked in his own body, he was confident, sometimes cheeky. Strong, well-toned. Now, though, he felt almost at a disadvantage, almost bashful. More curves. Just the way the snow rabbit's body stood was slightly different. Was all of this how Amelie felt when she was naked with him? He didn't think so. No, she was a rabbit, too. Rabbits don't think this much when they're naked. It's just that you're not used to being seen like this, Wheldon told himself. You feel a little raw. It's making your brain spin.

More than a little raw.

"Didn't mean to startle you. You've just been in here for a while. I figured you were, uh ... checking yourself out."

"It is not what you think," the snow rabbit said, voice level but insistent. "I am not being crude."

Wheldon(Amelie) nodded. Saying, after a moment, eyes darting, "I never realized how properly I spoke. So formally. I mean, compared to you. I sound so, uh ... you, I mean ... you, as me," Wheldon(Amelie) corrected, trying not to confuse the both of them again. A sigh. " ... I didn't realize how, uh ... " He trailed.

"I do not mind it," she replied, honestly, paws coming away from her breasts. "It is part of what attracts me to you: how pristine you are. In every way."

Wheldon(Amelie) swallowed, pupils dilated. "I, uh ... feel looser, now. As you. I mean, it's ... do all males feel this way?"

"Loose?"

"Well, the way I ... " A pause, trying to explain it. " ... I want to giggle and smile and tease. I want to loll about. I want to hop. I want to impress you." A breath. "It is just that I feel so much more. It is ... I cannot," he said, eyes closing, "make sense of it. It almost hurts." He licked his lips. "How do you handle it? All the emotions at once?"

"I do not know," Amelie(Wheldon) replied. "I just do."

He nodded, panting, "I'm confused."

"As am I," Amelie(Wheldon) whispered. "I feel like ... like I do not know what to feel. Your freeze?"

Wheldon nodded.

"I do not how to handle it. I feel ... like it is bigger than me."

"It's not," said Wheldon(Amelie). "You just have to know how to use it." A pause, flushing hot, swallowing, realizing this was as good a time as any to admit, "Having a penis ... makes me feel heady."

"Heady?" A raised, flustered brow.

"Uh, bold. Little foolhardy, a little ... I don't know. Uh ... it's all I can think about. Is putting it in something. I mean, you know what I mean: like a masculine ... anticipation?" A sigh. "I'm not doing it justice. But I like it. Now, I know why you wanna get in my pants all the time."

" ... I feel more delicate with your ... your sex. Strong, but refined. Less basic," the snow rabbit admitted, taking a breath, flushing. They were married. They were rabbits. They were to speaking casually to each other. And all that had remained bottled up during lunch began to flood out, now. She nodded. "I feel the same desire. I feel the same ... intensity of want. But it is different, somehow. Balanced, and yet with the force of a promised earthquake. A warm heat that's almost impossible to resist. I want to bask in it. In the sheer essence of it. And share it with you." A pause, and a head tilt, and a helpless eye-smile, countering, "Now, I know why you let me get," was the emphasis, "in your pants all the time."

"We're rabbits." A grin. "More importantly, we're in love." The grin turned into a softer, more tender smile. Oh, to smile! It never got old! "Does there have to be an explanation?

"Your brain is me telling me yes. I ... I feel myself searching for some logical explanation. Something a bit more 'tempered'. A bit cooler."

"And yet you crave the heat. Like you said."

"Yes." A quiet nod. "Because I lack it, otherwise. It is the passion which ... passion," she whispered. "I do not know." A swallow. "I do not know if I shall get used to this." Her eyes closed with genuine worry. "What if there's no way to switch us back?"

An awkward, little look. "I dunno." A pause. Not wanting to dwell on that. "You eye-smiled at me, a little earlier. Is that what I look like when I eye-smile? Almost like ... my eyes glow. With some inner mirth, or something."

"It is startlingly beautiful when you do it," the snow rabbit said, nodding. "All you usually need to do is look at me."

Wheldon(Amelie) licked his lips, sighing. "I don't know how long we'll be like this. But there's nothing we can do, and, uh ... so, let's not think about that? At least right now?" he implored. "If we do, we're gonna go crazy. I mean, it's ... I think this is making us closer, actually." A pause, having to admit, "But even though I love to smile, and even though you've gained a new appreciation of my need for emotional calm, I ... I think I, uh, miss it. Being me. It's all I've known. It's what God meant me for. I don't want to be you. I love you. I want you," Wheldon(Amelie) emphasized, "to be you. And me to be me."

" ... it is giving me a headache. So to speak," the snow rabbit responded, breathing deeply, flushing, eyes darting. She licked her lips. "Is it an opportune time to say that I need to breed," she stated, simply, not able to feel truly embarrassed. Bashful, yes. But ... oh, it was confusing.

"Yeah, I, uh ... I know. Why do you think I'm almost bobbing in place. I sorta gotta ... your body sorta ... " Between each block of words, the tea-furred rabbit was getting out of his clothes, kicking them off, hopping on his foot-paws, until he was naked, and ...

... she turned her body to him, primly, bobtail flickering like a holy-white flame.

Wheldon(Amelie) paused. Eventually whispering, "I had no idea I looked like that ... to you. Through your eyes. Oh, wow." A dry-throated swallow. "I feel ... just the urge, you know, to fill you. To ... "

" ... take me," was Amelie(Wheldon's) weak, slightly-shaky mew. "It aches ... it aches so bad. I need you to ... " A swallow. " ... make it feel good."

" ... it's ... your penis is hard."

"O-of course," was the snow rabbit's unsurprised response. "That is what it does."

"No, but I ... feel," he stressed, "its hardness."

"Yes," the snow rabbit panted, impatiently. Making a face.

" ... I didn't know it felt like this. I can't hardly think."

" ... t-then don't," the snow rabbit mewed, hips slanting, pretty tail raised, rump so soft, so warm, so clearly within view. Moving, moving. And, Wheldon, inside his wife's body, at that moment, felt the sheer presence of sensuality. Never feeling more sensual than right now. Wheldon was a handsome rabbit, in his own body, as a male. Amelie found him to be very desirable, both mentally and physically, else she wouldn't have mated him. But he'd never been this sensual. He, as his wife, wriggled her hips, moved, arched her bare back, her breasts hanging, and her head turning, so that one eye looked back at the male rabbit behind her.

She felt, in this moment, like sex was truly an art.

Like sex was honey.

And Wheldon(Amelie), literally panting, rabbit-hood stiffer than the definition of the word, was entranced, and inched forward, and turned the snow rabbit around, kissing her. Full-on, lips meshing, paws slipping around her body in a hug.

She mewed, tilting her head.

He broke the kiss to suckle on her cheek, wetting the fur there, and ... and he got her to the wall. To a wall. And lifted one leg.

She allowed it, eyes half-open, pupils dilated fully. Ears slightly drooped over from the heat of this.

Hips were bumping.

Rabbits having excellent lower body strength. They didn't tire quickly. They could go and go, stand here for hours. But neither would last that long, of course. Neither would be able to resist succumbing to the other's charms.

Tails were flicker-flicking, flickering, and her other leg was being lifted. So that, now, she had both legs in a 'hug' of Wheldon's waist. Her arms around his neck. And body and mind, right now, seemed to lose definition, as they were about to fuse into one. They were about to engage in the pinnacle of intimacy, the paramount of pleasure.

And when he slipped his stiff rabbit-hood through those silky, petal folds, between them, through them, into that succulent tunnel that awaited, Wheldon(Amelie) gasped, muzzle hanging open. Head hanging against the snow rabbit's. " ... oh," he moaned, helplessly. "Oh, gosh!" It was such a shock. A stiff, pleasant-feeling organ was one thing, but to suddenly slide it into a velvety passage, which fit like a glove, which was sopping, rippling, a basic treasure chest of sensation? It left him breathless.

Just as it left the snow rabbit. Also finding her breath. The ache that had been in her loins had stopped. Replaced by a seeping, spreading feeling of utter fullness, utter contentment. Which, at the same time, brought forth an urge for more: a fire had been kindled. Now, it needed to be stoked, to roar. That was the only way she would thaw enough to let the passion out. She'd freeze right back up when it was over, but she craved those moments. Those sweet moments of release. And the just-as-sweet moments of building, building, oh, that built up to it, like little waves of promise lapping throughout her feminine regions. Waves that began gently, as if by moonlight, and were increasing, as if by storm.

Oh, a love-storm.

Is what resulted as their bodies and minds, already in a state of flux, came together to make a greater sense, greater meaning. To become one again. For that's what was happening, slowly, though neither realized it at first.

Wheldon(Amelie) was in utter bliss, pulling his hips back, sliding them forward, keeping the snow rabbit's back to the wall, hump-humping forward and up, seven inches deep into her vagina, brushing, painting her slick walls with pre. Hips, hips to hips.

Clitoris. It was pure heaven every time Wheldon's fur pressed to and slid over it, making the snow rabbit to roll her head aside, tall, precious ears, with the snow-white fur and pink interiors and charcoal tips, drooping, waggling a few times, and then drooping more. " ... oh. Oh!" she cried. Wheldon, in her body, as her, feeling it like this, was stunned. With each thrust he took, she felt like she was being driven to some higher, higher point of existence, of experience. Some musical crescendo. Being played like a violin. She the strings.

Him the bow. He was making music with her, somehow, some kind of mutual, back-and-forth, in-and-out, push-and-pull. His stiff member twitching some, a little, a little more. It felt like a lit fuse! Careening toward explosion!

She felt like she was about to receive the brunt of love's cannon blast. Her walls rippling, hugging his member, dripping of nectar. Such sweet, flowery femininity, indeed the honey.

Something he couldn't resist, playing the part of the bee, the butterfly.

Their act was ripe with metaphor.

Swollen with sensation.

Was complete.

As he lost it. Rabbit-hood twitching, then spurting! Spurt, spurt, spurt. Ejaculations wracking his body with far-flung bliss, extremities tingling, cheeks shivering, ears throbbing. Everything felt so much more. So heightened. Like an electrical discharge being shot out of him, coming from every corner of his body. Semen pelting her womb. Coating it. The satisfaction of sowing seed in her womb, even if she wasn't in heat, was so primal in its purity.

And her vagina rippled, milked for every morsel of that seed. Walls quaking. It was, indeed, the earthquake that had been instinctually felt and promised, and it was rattling her, making her shake, making her call out. Making her helpless, as she held to him, grabbed to him, limbs hitched to him. Quivers and tremors, and little dribbles of femme-nectar from the source of it all, almost to where she couldn't feel the tips of her ears or paws.

He slumped with her to the wall, weakly mewing. Mew. Mew-mew ... moans, and sighs, and kisses to her cheek.

Her eyes could barely open. Her forehead-fur matted with sweat, and her bobtail trying to flicker. But mostly unable. " ... I ... I'm me," Amelie realized, whispering it. "I am me again." She eye-smiled, eyes opening just for that. And then closing again. Reopening. "That was the cure: love. The climax of love, of breeding, it ... snapped us back into place. Into our own pelts ... " A little breath. " ... remarkable."

" ... wow," Wheldon breathed, swallowing, nuzzling her. With his own nose! And he giggle-mewed. I'm me! "Why ... I mean, what was it for? Why?" he asked again.

A small shake of the head. "I do not know," she breathed. "I am simply glad we are," she told him, "ourselves." Another breath, confiding, however, that, "But I cherish what we just felt ... as each other? I feel like I know you better than before. If that is even possible." Her cheek to his cheek. "Because I felt like I knew you very well before."

"I know. Mm ... now, we know each other extra-more, I guess?" Another mew. "Maybe that was the point of the technology. To give mates a better understanding of each other. Make that love," Wheldon posed, "even stronger." A pause. "Maybe, whoever built those ruins, could switch bodies at will? I mean, if they could turn creatures into other creatures and change the color of your pelt ... I mean, who knows ... "

" ... but let us remember: their technology destroyed them. It is fun to manipulate the laws of reality. But I suppose such a thing could become addicting."

"Think, if I'd remained as you any longer than I did, I'd become addicted to being you? Not wanna leave your body?" Wheldon asked, smiling.

"That is not what I meant. I am simply ... "

" ... trying to make sense of it. Yeah?" A nose-nuzzle. " ... let's not."

"Very well," the snow rabbit agreed, realizing he was right. This had been an experience that was best felt and remembered. Not dissected. "I need, uh ... "

" ... ice water," he realized, hesitating before pulling (with a weak moan) out of her.

She was on her foot-paws, now, upright, slumped wearily back against the bathroom bulkhead. Her knees wobbling and steamy-white seed literally dripping from between her legs. Pat-patting in a little pool on the floor. She didn't care. She just waited for a moment, until Wheldon hopped back with a canteen of ice water. She polished off a good three-quarters of the bottle. And then handed it back, whispering, "We should notify Peregrine of our, uh ... return to normalcy."

"Do we need to tell them how we got 'returned to normal'?" Wheldon asked, with a slightly-cheeky smile, hugging his wife. His own bobtail flickering like a flame behind him.

"Not in detail," was the eye-smiling response.

A chuckle-mew, and a great, big nuzzle, and a long, lasting hug. "I love you."

"As do I love you, as well ... " She swallowed, feeling her elegant, proper self again. And, though, in the past, she'd regretted not being able to 'fully feel,' she now knew what it was like. And, though it was full of goodness, she had to admit: she'd not been in a situation to feel things like fear, anger, jealousy, et cetera. Had she felt those things, it might've crushed her. She didn't know how to handle them. No, she was happy being a snow rabbit.

And he was happy being a virile, twenty-three year old rabbit buck, slightly stubborn, slightly cheeky, brimming with energy and confidence. He was blessed to be so full of life. And he now understood why his wife reacted to things the way she did. He understood so well, now, what it meant to have a 'freeze.' And, oh, he appreciated it.

The hug eventually loosened, and they chatted together, about all things, about everything. As they slipped into the shower to get even cleaner than before, bobtails no longer in question.

Desmond had to admit to feeling a bit uneasy, having so many Jerseys around. They were going to stay tonight, and tomorrow, and then be off for some grassy moon somewhere. They kept talking about it. A frontier moon. He loved cows, of course. But it was just that the bulls kept looking at his wife. Maybe that was natural. If he was in a room-ful of rabbits, he'd probably look at some. Just look, mind. Nothing else! But, still, he stayed fairly close to the brown Swiss, eyes darting about the room, and ...

... he bumped into her when she suddenly stopped. Almost dropping his plate of food.

"I didn't know I had a fur-and-blood shadow," she remarked, mooing pleasantly. Her big, nosey nose tilting in his direction.

"I'm just, uh ... what?" the toffee-furred rabbit asked, innocently. "I'm just staying with you. I'm just, uh ... "

" ... breathing down my neck? I know we're married, but we don't have to be joined at the hip every waking second." She said it calmly, in her docile way. Never one to raise her voice or get very angry. When she did get angry, you knew something was very wrong.

"No. I'm not even ... I'd have to stand on my tips of the, uh ... the tips of my foot-paws to do that. To breathe down your neck. I'm not even!"

Hyacinth smiled warmly. "Relax. Those bulls don't got anything that I want." Her ropy tail swish-swished, as if swatting at invisible flies.

"I know. I mean, I know ... "

" ... just feeling over-protective?"

"Not 'over.' Just 'protective'," Desmond said, quietly, swallowing. And he picked up a carrot from his plate and bit into it. Crunch, crunch. "Mm," he went, trying to shift the subject away from him. "Mm, tasty."

"Carrots don't have any taste," Hyacinth said, knowing full well that he was trying to change the subject. But playing along, anyway.

"They do! They do, too ... "

" ... not to me. I mean, sugared, steamed, maybe. But by themselves?"

"They have a taste. Fine, then. Fine, alfalfa doesn't have a taste," he told her, teasingly, smiling.

"Ooh, that cuts me to the quick. Are we having a 'favorite food' fight?" A giggle.

"Well ... "

" ... well, how 'bout we compromise and have an alfalfa salad with carrots on it? And then we can both eat bland foods together. Cause we're just both silly like that."

The cottontail flushed, the said tail flicker-flicking, and his ears twiddling some.

"Don't be getting insecure on me now, darling. You're a rabbit. You're everything I would want. And," she added, "you're very, very sweet." A sloppy, big-nosed kiss to the top of his head-fur. "Alright?"

A flushed, little nod, swallowing. "Sometimes, I just feel too innocent for my own good, you know. Like, it's ... I'm not like other male rabbits. I mean, I am, but ... I'm quieter. I'm more shy. I don't know why that is."

"Well, it's why I love you, isn't it? I mean, I didn't fall for some brash, hopping rabbit that tried to bowl me over with his ... hoppy-ness. I fell for you. You're plenty a rabbit. But you're ... look, I don't need to justify it. I'm sure I've told you many times," she whispered, "why I love you. Just as you've told me why you love me." A swallow, looking around, and then back to him, and giving him such a genuine smile. "I know that interspecies marriages are sometimes ... can be awkward, you know? When your mate's species suddenly comes around. You feel like I'd naturally be attracted, by instinct, to other bovines, mm? That they're gonna woo me away?"

"They're your species."

"You're my love," was her perfect counter. "Now, let's not discuss it any longer, okay? This is a party. Mingle, eat, chatter. Be hopeful, and," she added, giggle-mooing softly, "hop-ful."

He nudged her in the side. "That's not even funny."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"Cause I like to."

"You like to, huh? Why's that?"

"I thought we were changing topics," he said, moving past her, flickering his bobtail as he did so.

The cow ambled after him, still giggle-mooing, and her ears flapping on the sides of her head.

Seldovia nodded to the cow as they crossed paths, while glancing around for Mortimer, who'd just been behind her. At least, he had been. A minute ago. Wait a second. "Morty," she whispered, not wanting to yell or anything. But seeing that the raccoon had gravitated over to the silverware table. He was sorting through the spoons! They were very shiny, reflective spoons, and his eyes were wide as he picked them up, turned them end over end, and then put them back down. The ones he liked, he'd rub against his cheeks, smiling, and then put them in his pockets. Oh, goodness. It was. So. Adorable. But, still, she had to stop him, cause all their bovine guests were starting to look at him strange.

Nin and Prancer had already gotten to him, though, before Seldovia, and were guiding him away from the table. The raccoon still clutching a spoon, all cooing and googly-eyed.

"I'm really sorry," Nin said, to the skunk, as she padded over to the scene, to take control of her husband. "I'm, uh ... I just forget about that. I usually use the matted silverware. I accidentally set out the shiny this time." The porcupine's quills were locked in their safe, secure 'down' position, nestled into his brown fur. "I just didn't remember," he repeated. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," Seldovia insisted, quietly, smiling. "Mm. Look at him, though. He loves it!"

Mortimer didn't seem to be aware of them. Only aware of the shiny object, running his fingers along it, eyes so wide. His masked face and ringed tail looking brighter, somehow, because of the fixation.

"Why do they get like that?" Nin asked Prancer. "I mean, you're a doctor. Seems like, if this happens every time he sees a shiny object, he'd never get anything done."

"It only happens with certain types of 'shine'," Seldovia explained. "It's not all the time. I mean, it sometimes depends on his mood. It's just ... he gets plenty done," she defended.

The squirrel, responding to Nin, and nodding at Seldovia's response, said, "Honestly? I, uh ... you know, I don't know. Why do mouses get anxious? Why am I so agile? Why's ... I mean, species have both their advantages and their quirks. That's his quirk."

"What's mine, then?" Nin asked, curious.

"Your quirk?" Prancer echoed. "I don't think I can mention that in public." A playful, chittering wink, as she grabbed her blinking, blushing husband by the paw and led him to the drinks table. To get some wine.

Leaving Seldovia alone with Mortimer. "Come on, sweetie. No more spoons." She gently tugged it away from him. "Nope. Now, come on ... let's sit down. It'll wear off in a minute," she said, of his 'trance.'

Mortimer sighed, head lolling to the side.

"That's right," the skunk whispered, sultrily, right into one of his angular ears. "You know what I should do, someday? Get a very shiny, sequined dress, one with shoulder straps, one that shows the curves o' me. And then wear it all around. See what happens."

The raccoon, sighing again, looking to her with a dazed smile. "Mm?"

"Mm-hmm." The bold-furred, striped skunk nodded, "I mean, that? Combined with my spray? You'd literally melt ... "

" ... mm ... mm, what?" he asked, beginning to snap out of his trance. A blink, and then a few more blinks, shaking his head as he looked around. "Oh, no. What ... "

" ... spoons. It was spoons this time. Don't worry, I took 'em away. There are some in your pocket, but ... " A lip-licking grin, whispering, "At least, I think that's a spoon."

"Seldovia ... "

" ... come on. You're not one to be shy about breeding."

"No, I'm not. But ... I've just come out of a shiny-object trance, and we're in a room with thirty other furs. I feel, uh ... exposed."

"Aw ... " She ran a paw up and down his shirt, as if disappointed. It was no secret that Seldovia liked to show off. More so than Mortimer, though the two of them combined got into a lot of 'sticky' situations all around the station. They'd done it most every room. And nearly all the access tubes. "You heard my suggestion, though? About the shiny dress?"

"No. Just, uh ... I need a drink. I feel dizzy."

"Mm. Let's go get some punch."

A quiet nod, flustered. The racoon standing and going off to the punch bowl, Seldovia directly behind, hips swaying, giggle-purrs coming from her throat.

" ... looks like Seldovia had to calm Mortimer down," Peregrine observed, briefly giving a 'hello' nod to some passing cows, then leaning against the bulkhead with Petra. They were close to the oval-shaped windows, with such views of the stars, and the planet below. And the architecture of the station. "She's whispering in his ear, now. Well, uh ... that's not going to calm him down. That's just going to work him right back up." The mouse's eyes got cutely, innocently wide, whiskers all a-twitch.

" ... prob'ly started with a shiny thing," Petra said, nodding, forking some cake into her muzzle. "And it's gonna end with a squeakin' thing. Or, uh, whatever sounds those two make when they ... when they do it. Mm. Mm ... " A chew-chew, and a nod. "You tried this?"

"A little." The mouse delicately sipped at his white wine. Some chardonnay. It was giving him the slightest of buzzes.

"Mm ... you gotta."

"Petra, I already ... "

" ... open," she said, buzzing the fork around like it was a runabout, and then guiding it into the mouse's muzzle.

He sheepishly closed it, and she pulled the fork back, watching as he chew-chewed. And swallowed. Nodding. "It's good," he said, honestly. "Just like it was the last time I tried it ... five minutes ago." His voice was shy, and very tolerant. Whiskers gently twitching. Another sip of wine.

" ... you gonna save any tipsiness for cow's milk?" Petra asked.

"Look, I'm not asking them for milk."

"They're gonna give it. They like givin' it ... you drink wine and cow's milk both in the same night, you're gonna be tipsy times two."

"I'm not drinking to get tipsy. I'm just sipping. I'm only having this one glass," he insisted, meaning it.

"Yeah. The cake, though? You tried it? It's, like, uh ... lemon velvet. Amelie gave the recipe to Nin. It's a snow rabbit cake. Didn't know they could do such things with lemons."

Peregrine just nodded, his pink, sniffy nose sniff-twitching a bit, as he leaned his head on his wife's shoulders, one of his big, dishy ears bending against one of her smaller, dishy ones.

Petra smiled brightly, leaning her head back against his own. "You doin' alright?" she whispered, tenderly.

A few squeaks, and a little, tiny nod, eyes closing for a moment, and tail snaking behind, behind them both, brushing against hers. His tail a little longer, silkier. Smoother. Her tail a little rougher, but just as bare. And more maneuverable, too. It proved this by coiling around his own, making it seem like two pink ropes had been strung together. Both tails, entwined, resting on the carpeted floor, now.

She chittered for him.

He chitter-squeaked back.

"You two talkin' in code?" Wheldon asked, chuckling.

"Something like that," Peregrine responded, taking a deep breath. "You're back to normal, then? Entirely?"

Amelie, who sidled up next to her husband, nodded. "Yes. Prancer scanned us, and there are no lingering effects. What happened to us is just another occurrence in a long list of 'alien artifact mysteries'. Perhaps even fated. I have faith that it happened for a reason, so ... " A pause. "Whatever the case, this event was far more memorable than most."

"Guess that goes without saying," Peregrine said, warmly. Glad that they were okay.

"I heard 'bout what cured ya. Heh ... I guess you could say that ... "

" ... well," Peregrine said, just to obscure Petra's next (seven-letter) word.

" ... is the best medicine," the rat finished, putting her fork into more cake.

Peregrine flushed. Petra was in an extremely-scrappy, silly mood tonight. More so than usual. Maybe she was coming into heat. She sometimes got 'extra' everything a few days before coming into heat. He sniffed at her with his pink, sniffy mouse-nose, whiskers all a-twitch.

"Apparently," Amelie said, eye-smiling. Watching their commander sniff their first officer. "We talked to Milka. She's feeling better. She blamed herself, but ... I am going to work with her to analyze the telemetry we picked up of the pirate ship while we fought it beneath the water. It may give us further insights into any new technologies they've picked up. I still believe they will attack the station again."

"Let's hope not," was all Peregrine said, having stopped his sniffing. And having concluded that he was right about Petra's condition. And, to be honest, all he had to do was remember how many weeks it'd been since her last time. Probably better to use your brain in such situations, over your nose, he told himself. Saying aloud, responding to Amelie, "But I'm just glad the day ended so well for everyone. It's great to have such life on the station. I mean, these cows? They said they know a few prey freighter ships looking to settle somewhere."

Amelie raised a brow.

"I told them to spread the words that Redwing Station is ... well, that we can be a home, if anyone wants to stay here. That we're trying to build a 'hub' of sorts. So, the lead bull said he'd mention it. But, you know, I don't know if anyone will accept the offer. I guess we'll wait and see ... "

"You said such life on the station? Such love an' stuff, too, don't forget," Petra added, her head still leaning against the mouse's. She was, indeed, in a very pre-heat mood.

Peregrine's ears turned rosy-pink, and he gave a few sighing squeaks. Indicating that, no, there was no way he could forget about that. About love in all its forms. And, lifting his head a bit, he looked around. Saw his crew. His friends. Something like family, now. He couldn't imagine a time before he'd come here. And he couldn't imagine ever leaving ...

"Commander?" Amelie went, tilting her head.

"Mm?" The grey-furred mouse blinked, realizing Amelie had been saying something while he'd been dreamily gazing.

"I asked if you needed Wheldon and myself to do the Ops report tomorrow. Station logs, activities. New ship-docking appointments?"

"Let's worry about that tomorrow," was all the mouse said, with a shy, little smile. "You two have been through a lot today." He took another sip of wine, and then set the glass down next to the window.

"We have all been through a lot, at one time or another," Amelie said, nodding quietly, but eye-smiling, all the same.

" ... Seldovia's making out with Mortimer in a corner," Wheldon said, with a certain 'excited' tone in his voice.

Amelie, raising a brow, put her paw in front of her husband's eyes.

And Peregrine sighed, flustered as he took Petra's paw and said, "They can't do that in, uh ... not right now. Not in front of guests. They can use my office if they need to. It's only a level up." The ward room was on level two, while Ops was on level one. Peregrine understood that furs would be furs, especially during a 'semi-formal party' with alcohol and cow's milk. But, still, they had to observe some level of protocol. Right?

"I shall go tell them," Amelie said. " You two stay here and keep my husband from hopping into trouble while I am gone?"

"We'll do our best," Petra said, finished with her cake. Giving a nod to Benji and Milka, who were filtering into view. And she told them, insistently, "You gotta try the lemon-velvet cake. For real."

They looked to Peregrine, for a second opinion.

The mouse just squeaked, whiskers twitching and ears swiveling. Full of mousey motions! Full of such innocent cuteness as he said, simply, "It's very good cake."