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Elie for Nana

by Eightane

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'It's just gorgeous, ' whispered the fennec, staring past limbs of an ash tree to the clear blue sky. Ideal for a walk in the park, as he'd decided putting on his grey pullover; now one hour since, strolling the path and carrying his new, wrapped parcel, he'd begun to doubt how suitable the weather. He couldn't ignore the irony, looking down to the object; perhaps a foot long, it jutted in lumps and covered features, the Daily Observer 's pages crinkling in a breeze full of warmth.

The shop owner had warned it wasn't so light as it looked. Five minutes earlier, he'd shrugged it off; now, the park bench coming up on him was no unwelcome sight. He thought little of the wolverine, sitting straight and formal on its far end; it was weariness, and that of his mind more than body, which overrode the urging for solitude.

His brown jeans wrinkled on-touch with iron slats. Three feet to his left, a pinstriped suit rustled by its owner's chest and arms; flipping pages in his own edition, open and browsed by a lively gaze. Two hazel eyes seemed to dance on the columns; their focus slipped rightwards, slow and subtle enough that the fennec would never have noticed, if not for raspy, unannounced tenor. "So much doom and gloom they run on these days... I almost think what you've done with this rag's a better use for it."

A slight, dishonest smile was the fox's only reflex. The brown circling his pupils kept low, by what set on his lap; even through the wrapping, it chilled his lean thighs. The businessman noticed, unleashing silenced sigh, reaching up to comb fingers through his scalpfur. Tiny grey curls whipped back against the push, and could easily have signaled the end of their rappoire.

The fennec squirmed in his seat; he knew this urge, what now stung him to say something. His chin, and all above it, swiveled to the left. "I... Don't read the news." Sound came low, but with conviction. "Never helped me before, so why start now."

Tiny, twitching perk in the wolverine's ears; what was easier to see, was him lowering the paper, and glancing on his company. Straight off, it would be impossible to miss how tight and unnerved the young fox held himself; close around his parcel, close into himself. The fennec's glance likewise shot across the bench... Meeting crisp, pressed suit, and how cultured the look of its occupant. So overt, it took him back to the last time he'd watched a local play; the impulse took some fraction of his mind from his troubles, and enabled him to supplement. "If you look down on guys like me, I can't blame you."

The wolverine's maw curved up; it was a smirk much warmer than the breeze. "You're joking. I'd do a million things before I judge a man on how he handles the world." He faced back to the paper, but kept it low and distant; his eyes flashed an obvious spark. "And if you wallow in pity, there's no time for the crosswords."

It lit the first real mirth in the fennec; his posture crept up, though legs remained tense. He stared up to the blue; four pigeons skimmed past in simple diamond. "Now that would be a tragedy..." The last word came by instinct; but feeling what it evoked, light fled from his features, and face dropped into its own shadow. "I should be going. I have somewhere to be, before it passes noon and I can't stand to-..." He'd cut himself purely short. One hand left the crude wrapping, hit the bench and had started to push him off.

Wolverine, without time to think, just blurted. "They do make it less reverent, when they come around performing."

'They' were the mourners that filled his destination, gypsy offshoots with blustering prayers, this day on each month. The fennec's motion ended quicker than his trembling words. For all intent, he was now glued to the bench... His pose fully relaxed, and the older male took a gamble, edging up to the fox until their distance was halved.

From here, the fennec could more closely tell his age; upper 30's, not far from twice his own, with crow's feet under fur's butterscotch-grey. The wolverine looked deeper; in those quaking windows, the emotions to show he'd called it right. Somehow, his voice's 'rust' smoothed; kindness belied him. "Dad never gave an inch, right down to when he told where he meant to take his rest. I could've named so many places that were nicer or quieter." He followed fox's lead, gazing up to bathe his chops in the sun. "But it's the one choice in life where you don't advise. You just honour."

The fennec's ears trembled, then his lips. Ignoring his eyes' glazing mist, he strengthened tones to skirt past the lump in his throat. "I sure caught onto that. Even in her time, and me such a kid..." His hand had gone back to the wrapping; now, slipping two fingers to a corner, so carefully unravelling. Against everything within him, came a squeaking chuckle. "She filled her home with knickknacks; I guess it made her like a lot of women from her era. There's nothing she liked more than these..."

He'd tumbled it gently in his lap, pulling away until the light, ceramic edge came visible. A forehead, a nose and eyes, then swirls of curly hair. Just a few more quiet breaths, and they'd joined in looking over the statuette. It was a labour of love; everything from tiny toes to the childlike wonder, carved deep in the bust of a human cherub.

Another chortle passed the fox; not for levity, but the tender grip of memories; and to some degree, how they drew a whimsy that rekindled years around her.

"... They filled a whole room. She gave them all personalities... Even names... There was 'Sadie', the prophet, 'Edward' the scamp, and on and on..." Another urge hit within him; it bade him pull it closer, for the cool, tiny pockmarks, rough and familiar. He couldn't look away; they shared this in the moment. "We buried them with her, or at least those our thick-skulled movers didn't drop and shatter cleaning her loft. I wonder..." The wolverine heard clearly a sniffle. "... What she'd have us call this one..."

A stronger gust blew by, dragging a gum wrapper by their shoes, as they sat in stillness. The wolverine glanced up; a face that had first been firm, troubled beyond his years, now beamed its life. Bringing out what he hadn't latched onto, the soft curves, creamy colouring of fur. He edged in; just as the fennec clenched the gift, rewrapping it. Wolverine recoiled, remembering himself and clutching tight his newsprint. The fox saw from eye's corner; unsure of what it meant, but suspicious, then looking on the businessman once more. "It hardly matters. I do have to go and see to this, so I'm sorry..." The wolverine met his stare; contact, and the fox's tail in lax wag between the bench slats. "... It's been nice..."

"... Same..." The wolverine rattled, at once parted from his nerve. It took the fox's getting up, starting a slow stroll, and casting back one last peek, for his finger to raise. "Elie. She..." What began strong, ended level and dry. "... She looks like an Elie."

Fennec's feet shuffled, and came to rest parallel. He spun around, watched the meek approach, and how it grew less stiff. "... If you'd want an open ear... Or if you like a good cup of coffee... There's this old spot on 36th and Pine..."

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Shouts erupted from the bar. A line of six males - three of them leopards - sat glued to the flatscreens overhead. They'd seen the best kick of the game, and the soccer ball sail past the goalie. Two of them downed shots; another gave his frosty Sam Adams a chug. Behind, by the closest corner, wolverine and fennec showed reactions quite opposing each other. The fox's teeth shown wide and jolly; the wolverine wrinkled snout, withstanding the smoky, raucous air.

"I think some of them used to play." The fennec took his tumbler in hand, downing swigs of root beer. His legs were afeld, like any 'normal' man in this bar; though he set the glass back down quite gingerly. Leaning forward, he studied parts of his partner; mostly, how much nicer he looked in that loose tan tee. His grin settled to a smirk. "They sure act like they have a stake in the action."

"Yeah, that's the culture they inhabit..." He'd said it nice as he could manage... Slouching up to the table, his fingers locked above polished wood. "Is this the normal speed for service? I feel like we've sat half an hour..."

"It's Friday rush." He indulged another sip of his drink; the wolverine's Black Russian sat full, awaiting their entreè. His brow raised, bearing thin canals. "You said we'd hit that coffee shop last week at the perfect time... I wanted to catch this place the same."

"Well..." The wolverine's patience crumbled; his beverage was lightened its first sip. "2:30 on a Tuesday made it quiet. I prefer that, the low-key and casual."

A nod from the fennec, slight and genuine. "It was something I needed, I should thank you. But most days, this is what I enjoy." He stared over to the bar, at the level of stools, or what sat warm and shapely on them. The smirk did anything but leave. "Liveliness, good food and a view."

The wolverine's chuckle rolled, and chipped away his reticence. "You must not think I'm the jealous type."

"Exactly." The fennec hadn't skipped a beat... He drained his root beer to a third of its former glory. "I have to say, you do blend well here." His paw wrapped his chin, bristling a 5 o' clock shadow. "More than the conservative geezer you dragged in."

Lips on the fennec thinned. "Oh, don't even start. You're as young as you feel, you know that."

"Well that makes it so much better."

They shared a laugh; it endured the server's approach, laying two steaming plates before them. Crab with mussels for the wolverine, pork fajitas for the fox. She was thanked accordingly, and strolled on her way, with arguable focus.

Both were famished; but the plates sat idle, at least while the fennec bared his mind. "I think it is a bit worse tonight. If you want the manager, I'll make sure they keep their act together. I can get 'em to listen-"

The wolverine's head shook heartily, reflexive; his eyes went wider for an instant.

Regardless, it was quickly forgotten. The fox had something else prepared, and spoke it as the query it was. "You call yourself conservative?"

A revisit of the wolverine's chuckle; each time, it was received more like music. "I take it you don't get that too often." His right hand gripped the handle of a fork. "It's mostly co-workers. When they're off, they do a lot like you... You know, plus the drinking you can't yet slip by the law."

"Naturally."

"Then, it's swapping tales at the watercooler; most about as tall as the ceiling. And if they ask ME about evenings, or weekends, it's the Symphony, or crime novels, or ballroom dance." The fork stabbed into soft crabmeat; his first bite was taken with grace. "... It's tough to know how I should feel. They think I'm interesting, but I know it's just that I remind them of their dads."

The fennec couldn't stifle it; laughter burst from their table, turning half the heads nearby. And half-again of those looked unsettled, for the high, unfiltered lilt in that pitch.

As the fox's laugh abated, so did the blush on his date's cheek. Then to the first taste of those fajitas, chewing with a hum. "... Damn, it's even better than usual."

The wolverine simply watched; again clutching his stubble, rubbing slowly in thought.

Fox's chin raised, giving him to realize the observing put upon him. "Everything alright?"

"Oh, fine, it's delicious." There was little grace in wolverine's recovery. "Just... I thought of the other day. Meeting you, and what I had in front of me..."

"... Go on..." By now, the fox' smile was total intrigue.

"Well, I don't want to darken the mood..." He forced a smirk of his own, if for no other reason than to mellow on his point. "I know it was hard on you, so I did assume I'd get an unfair picture."

He'd played the phrasing well; the fox's pleasure dimmed, but so little it was barely shown. "... You'd be right."

"And, eh... Well tonight, once I got past the 'ambience'..." He faked a cough, for the haze of cigarettes. Directly after, he did something to surprise; extending both hands, to drape them soft atop the fennec's left. "... I'm seeing more. A side I wouldn't have thought..."

As it appeared to his company, the wolverine stopped himself. In truth, he'd said all he intended. The fennec's hand had been flat on the wood, palm-down. Nimbly, he put his wrist to rotate, until the long, thin fingers could clasp into the mitt they beheld. If any faces around them still scrutinized, it would be the last thing they noticed.

"I used to think first dates were the measure..." The fennec blurted, sudden though soft. "... First impressions, and all. But knowing, connecting... That's rare before the second."

Far brighter than the overhead bulbs, or the tacky neon beer signs, was the light he saw in wolverine's gaze. It made any words redundant, to say his button-down squeeze agreed.

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"Hey, where's my chain?"

Drawers were pulled from the bureau, a fennec's hand grabbing their contents. Socks and briefs were tossed to land behind him, by the foot of a king-sized bed.

He soon got an answer, as it rang from beyond the open doorway. "In here. I'll bring it."

The fennec kept his sigh to himself. Turning, he began to re-fold and put away the garments. It wasn't much in itself, as he understood; but to stack on top of what already weighed his mind, it could hardly feel so insignificant.

His peripheral caught the shadow, moving into the threshold; he kept eyes on-task, the few more seconds it took to have drawers restuffed. "Thanks for finding it," he brought himself to say and sound halfway genuine. "If I had a dime for everything I liked, that this shit-apartment's eaten." All the while, repacking so quick he made fumbles.

"No need to rush," intoned the wolverine, factually sincere. "The reservations are for 8. If we left now, we'd be sitting in the car half an hour."

"Right now, that doesn't sound so bad." Fox's knuckles curled around brass drawer handles, and pushed. "I've yet to tell you today's crop of bull."

"I know. From the minute you got home..." The shadow approached, deliberate. "... Whenever you want to talk."

The fox rose from his knees; his lower lip curled into his teeth, fighting bitterness. "I only do because you have a right to know. It doesn't fix-" Standing tall, he turned to the wolverine; and froze with the lightest gasp.

A stout, full torso, shirtless. Greys and blacks and caramels swirled in patterns down the chest, on shallow moobs and to a thick, healthy paunch. Thicker fur nosed up from the belt buckle, front-and-center of his pressed slacks. But above them all set a chain, thin and silver; what belonged to the skinny fox, who bore a smile to see it drape his partner's neck. And with the latter strolling up, bringing all that manful charm slowly closer, the smile had nowhere else to go but higher.

Wolverine's hands made the move from his sides, lifting to fox's wrists, sliding tenderly up the narrow arms. As they passed the elbow, he received a lilting sigh; by the time they reached the shoulders, laying their wide, strong mitts around the blades, the two stood close enough to bump noses. So they did, and met in the affection of an eskimo kiss.

It was the wolverine who first cut their silence, as he'd planned. "Still feeling low?"

The fox had no hope of hiding a giggle. "You and your asking me things, just to hear a nice 'no'."

The wolverine edged in; their toes rustled crusty shag carpet. "Why not? Better than catching wind of the non-nice ones."

Fox's head turned; it only put the deep red in his cheeks even closer to the gaze of his mate. "You think I'm a complainer."

"No." The word came soft, loving, but firm. "I think I'm one of the few who cares to listen. It would bother me if you didn't open up to my face." His hands wrapped behind the fox's shoulders; every inch of skin they touched, they caressed. "Now what've they been doing to my guy?"

The fox's smile leveled off. He felt a tug-of-war, glad to have who he did, but sour to think of what vexed him. "I won't act like 'they ' have it in for me. But... When I started this thing, I didn't expect all the shit to come following."

"I'd imagine." The wolverine's hand skirted fox's spine. Fingers arched to have him tickle the low, broad lumps; it returned a high groan. "You picked a tough major, and Wellman's not a casual school." He leaned a bit back; it helped to focus, while he peered deep in brown eyes. "When you first got accepted, I was happy, and impressed. But I held back saying what else I felt. A few guys at work got their degrees from there... I knew you had a steep road ahead of you."

A laugh broke from the fox; it was too soft for pleasant, but forced to help the moment. "Gee, if only I'da had some way to know that." He reached up a finger, poking that soft, round gut. Feeling the 'give', made it impossible to resist flattening hand on its side, and stroking like the hands on his lumbars.

"You know what you have to do," The wolverine went on, each phrase seemingly smoother. "Keep the end front and center. Think past the paper and time, and focus on what you'll have opened up to you when you finally wear that cap."

"Heh. I could do without the 'finally' part, it's like a lifetime from now as-is." Each second had him more submerged in the warmth of his man. He'd nudged enough with verbal jabs; now, he left that to his brow, and bent neck down to skirt his forehead along the furry chest. Hearing heartbeat; feeling the push, while his lover drew breaths. His speech was its softest and quietest, but nothing missed that wolverine's ear. "If you could just sit in, even one or two days. I'd still be bored and exhausted, but the halls wouldn't seem as dark."

Wolverine snickered; his fox wanted to coo at how the rumbling felt on his face. "Flatterer."

"I'm serious." He brought his face back up; they touched snouts, and lips, for a fleeting peck. "The time with you... Feels nothing like six months."

"It's no easier believing, for me." His hands wrapped tighter; strength poured into his hug, and the love it intended. "Sometimes when I'm lunching at the park, I half-expect to turn my head and see you right there. Those doe-eyes are as clear in my head as what I see now."

The fennec's stare never strayed; every ounce of affection from embrace, he reflected. "And what DO you see?"

Wide, mighty hands restarted their caress, still holding as tight. They bumped hairlines. "A reason I can suffer the day. And the disease of office politicts."

The fox's happiness endured; but slipped down a level. "Hon... Why don't you ever say much about it?"

Reaction from the wolverine was likewise; instant in doubt. "What, about the stress at my job?"

"Exactly."

"Well..." His eyes ran to the side, the first since entering. A deep breath, and on its heels, unsettled humming. "I can tell you at dinner... I think we are in danger of missing our table if we don't hop to it."

The fox nodded. He thought of other questions, most enabled just by asking the first, but a kiss put all to rest. Planted hard, the wolverine's lips over his... And falling back on the bed, thoughtlessly diverted, they found a good cause to skip reservations.

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"Ugh..." The fennec throated a grunt, reaching up to wipe his forehead. "I'd punch a baby, if it'd give the sun an off-switch."

It bore down on him, sweaty in long denim jeans. The plots of dirt he knelt around wriggled; worms turned up by his trowel, desperately seeking deeper earth. One meter to his left, a pair of hands put their wrinkled joints to squares of potting soil, with tiny girdled roots under tiny, weak leaves. The wolverine's neck fur clumped with sweat; though he cut eyes to the fox, unsurprised to hear a grumble.

The guilty party huffed, but kept positive. "Still, I'm glad we could do this. It's gonna look so nice when it's established."

Wolverine nodded, teeth exposing their pearl. "Hell, even a month from now, you'll see the seeds come up, and these 'teenagers' will be three times healthier." Planting a tulip, he reached down to grab the thin, black carton it came in. "... Since we've saved them from plastic nursery hell."

The fox had to laugh, its sound put to chirp as he moved aside more soil. This time, a giant beetle came with it; he stifled the 'Gahhh ', and calmed as it ran harmlessly away. From out of nowhere, a chortle. "I just had the dumbest thought."

"Yeah?" Another black planter was pulled off its subject; this one weak enough to crack down the side, and give the wolverine a dubious frown.

"What if we'd done this at the old shit-sty, instead. How long d'you think it would've taken for the landlord to come barreling down."

A short-but-hard guffaw. "Oh, I think he'd have helped us. He'd at least turn up the ground really well, to bury us alive."

The fox lost it; his gloves hit the cool dirt, anchoring his explosion of howls. When it tapered off, he wiped his brow again and carved more plots. "Just put this on a list with the other hundred reasons I love this house."

"You love the idea of a house," Wolverine corrected. "Not that I don't. But it's humble..." His chin tilted up, to see the window and its cracked red shutter. "... It has personality."

The fox looked up just long enough to see as his mate did; not much of a reaction escaped him.

"Nothin' wrong with that." He gasped, more for the heat than for breath. Having had enough, he leaned back and took a rest on his ankles. "Come to think, I doubt I've even seen it much from outside, since we bought it. Feels like I'm gone all the time."

Two hands still plugged away, setting plants in their own new spacious home. "It won't work, love." He mugged pure, skeptical amusement. "You can't trick me into thinking you don't cartwheel just to know you got in."

The fennec's grin filled out, and turned the slightest pink. "Yeah. It's not just that I finally got a job I can like... I'm the last one they took."

"I remember." The wolverine hid well his fatigue; but at last joined the fox in a break. "For a day, it never left your tongue." He stuck a finger in his ear, foiling a gnat. "So are you designing yet, or does that come later?"

The sun was outshined by fox's face. "Yesterday was the last of orientation. Monday, when I go in..." He wore the zest of a schoolboy. "I'll be over my first project."

Wolverine's eyes twinkled; his lips went separate, drawing joyful breath. "That's wonderful, hon. If I weren't tired..." He shifted around, sitting back on the loam. "... And being eaten butt-first by the dirt, you'd get a hug."

It seemed the laughs could have no end. "Th-thanks. And when I'm established over there, heading up the department... We'll be building a lot more than flowerbeds."

The wolverine nodded... By far the least-pronounced of his approval. His eyes dipped, to glaze and stare past aerated soil. "Before you know, it won't even feel like work. You'll be as glad to be there, as here."

It only confirmed the fox's gusto, so much that he tipped forward and re-set himself to task. "Can't even say how great it is, just thinking." Dirt from his spade went everywhere, flung with vigor. "After three years in college, I'm reaping what I've sown."

One corner of the wolverine's mouth upturned. Now would be as good a chance as any. "We should celebrate. How would you feel about that themed bistro in midtown? The one I mentioned a while back..." He fought the urge to finish what he'd thought; and not to express how many times he'd suggested. "... They have couples' dance on weekends; we could even get a Meringue, if we asked."

The fox heard; and it launched him on his own train of thinking. "You heard of GasHaus? I got to see it last week, when the boss took all us newbies for lunch. It's done up like an old-timey service station, but it's evening-formal, and they specialize in steaks." His tongue swept left-to-right, subconsciously. "I'd really like to, now that we can spring for that price point and not feel the burn..."

Wolverine kept to his work, loosening another planter. He'd lost the urge to stifle himself, and cast an audible sigh, without words.

It wasn't taken as nothing. "What?" asked the fox, sensing trouble.

"N-... Never mind. It sounds lovely, babe, I'm sure we'll enjoy it."

"No, you're not." Fennec's arms drooped, and a scowl inflamed. "I know that tone. If you want the bistro, we can try it."

"Well I don't have my heart set on it. Yours is a good idea-"

"Sure it is." He was far more express with sarcasm than his partner with a sigh. "Don't worry, It's my fault. I thought I could offer a suggestion." He dug into the dirt with grudging force. "I should be so unwise."

The regret already welled. "Hon, let's not do this..."

"Do what? I understand perfectly." His tone shed some of its ire, but stayed spiteful. "We'll try the bistro. I'll wear my best jacket..." A worm wriggled on the dirt, struggling to dive. The fox saw only compost left to be turned; and thoughtlessly shoved in his spade, dividing the worm throught the middle. "... And my best face."

Wolverine groaned, this time close to silent. They had a while to go; and the sun had just now started getting to him.

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The light was steady, if not for a single faint flicker; one faulty bulb on the chandelier, hung above the red vinyl recliner. Fingers tapped a rhythm on the armrest, in their grey fur and wrinkled hide... Wolverine's interest in the talent show meant he'd not missed a single episode, and now silently judged the performance of "Fat Bottom Girls" by a bad-though-well-meaning croc. They went to commercial, and his blue sweater-vest rose with a slow breath, brightened by the beaming plasma screen. He was slow to exhale; a wheeze fluttered through the air flow, taken past crinkled, weary lips. Relaxing was a struggle, with matters on his mind... The day's mail was slim with good news, when all he'd opened was retirement fund ads, AARP's bill for this cycle's premiums... And a letter from the kin of a friend, the only one whose contents he'd kept to himself.

Had he wanted different, he'd now have a chance, with footsteps pounding down the stairs. Quick, but a wee bit slower than they'd be the year before; a change he'd grown to ignore. The fox hit the bottom step, and stifled a whine; his ankle again, and as bad as any day in recent memory. He caught the glow of the television; saw the spindly hairs on his mate's scalp, and smiled. "I could hear him through the floor. I wonder how guys like that even get convinced they could make it big."

The wolverine sat up in his chair; labouring the set of moments it took. "If you're tone-deaf, and you grew up with nothing but encouragement. I dunno, I think it's charming." His fist curled up by his mouth, instinct while he boomed a cough. "They still get their night in the spotlight; their time to feel like they're somebody."

Of course he couldn't hear the fox's nod; but did the rustle of a parka, and turned to peek around the side of his chair. "You going out?"

"I'd like to. I'm not ready yet, I just came downstairs for you." He stood with one knee out; something done when he wanted to 'appeal'. "You hungry at all?"

The wolverine's curiosity dialed back. "Not now, but I might be when this is over. There's twenty more minutes." He did his own version of appeal, through softening pitch. "Could you wait that long?" He thought of his phrasing, and amended it. "Would you want to, I mean." Idly, one hand rubbed over his gut: a round dome, the cross of less activity and no real change in diet.

The fox began a sigh, but shifted to a hum of vocal pondering. "I can, yeah. The place I was thinking won't close until long after we're in bed, anyway."

"... Even the outdoor portion? I know you like tha-" His brain jogged back ino gear. "Oh, right, the rain. How much are they calling for?"

"I dunno, I didn't catch the forecast." He looked down to his toes, wistfully. "I can tell you if, not the amount."

"Ahhh." No explanation was needed. "Here lately, I don't even notice that mysell-" He trailed off unsteadily; from there, he gave another cough: deeper than the first, with his torso leaning forward to expel what had caused it. Nothing came out.

"You alright?" the fennec's voice mixed doubt and concern.

"I'm fine. It's likely just the change in air mass, if weather's coming in."

"I thought your allergies were on the upswing."

Hairs stood on the wolverine's neck; caught in a previous fib. "Well, this is the kind of thing that hampers that. Just for a short time."

The fox's arms crossed into each other. His lower lip created thin lines as it firmed. "Don't do this to me. You're the most transparent liar on God's green earth."

"Am I, now?" It offended him; though looking past it, he chose to play sly. "I'd like to know how you'd say that, without experience."

The scales had been tipped; fox's brow drove deep and drastic. "You lie all the time. I'm just gracious about it, and let you have your fantasy."

Thick fingers all-but scratched their claws through vinyl upholstery. The wolverine turned again; this time, his face wouldn't go back to the broadcast. "Mind telling what that's supposed to mean?"

"Like it isn't clear." Flippant, and losing the concern he'd started with. "You've lied to me so much it's like a language, and I shrug it all off to hold peace. Always tiny things, that don't matter and just serve to piss me off that you'd even go to the trouble of trying. You think it's not even a bit disrespectful."

"Oh, my apologies." The wolverine planted one hand on the armrest; pushing off, and staggering up to stand. "I'll know in the future to do big things, go behind your back or double-cross you. I didn't realize being a bastard was the courteous way."

"Oh don't you EVEN..." Drops of spittle hit the floor, at fox's feet. "You know exactly what the fuck I mean. 'Yes, love, I spoke to the dry cleaner about your stained, ruined suit.' 'Sure, hon, I'll put in a good word for you at the bank.' It's so bad I just block it out, half the time." His intensity grew. "You make me live like a trauma victim."

It was embellishment; though the wolverine took it even worse than deserved, and fangs denied his lips' retention. "Well, dear, what's good for the gander's good for the grouse." He raised both hands; one set its index finger on the other's, and counted more digits as he named them off. " 'No, I'm NOT trying to dodge your night off, I'd never say I want you less than the Packers game.' 'Of course I'd like to meet your colleagues at the firm, we'll go out for drinks sometime.' 'No, honey, I DON'T think my hobbies are more important. I just mean to do whatever I want, all the time."

Rage had revoked the fox's faculties; the last, cutting example was taken as genuine. "I NEVER SAID THAT! "

"You don't HAVE to..." Wolverine seethed; muscles in him tightened to their feebled extreme. "Actions speak louder. In your case, they SCREAM over what you say." Their eyes stared daggers through each other; but the wolverine's more. "I'll admit my mind's not what it used to be, but that leads to mistakes. Not some silver-spoon entitlement complex bullshit-"

Fennec cut him off... The pitch climbed higher, stronger. "I DID NOT GROW UP RICH, YOU ASSHOLE! " His panting wheezed in its own right. "Have you gone TOTALLY stupid!? "

The wolverine's sentences began running together. "You don't have to be rich to be a spoiled little cunt, yes I said CUNT, you had everything you wanted, from your folks, your friends, even that kooky, dense grandmother..."

A revenge-volley was on the tip of fox's tongue; but his brow's curve inverted, fury destroyed. His eyes shot huge and trembling; as they misted, he shuffled back, as if punched in the gut. But far quicker than his own despondent impact, was how it felt to the wolverine. He went numb, everywhere but the frown that wrapped his clammy jowls. Both arms fell limp; all that kept stiff were his palms, out towards the fox as he desperately wished to take it back. "Hon, I-I'm sorry, It wasn't what I-"

"Don't-... Just..." The fennec's ears drooped; he continued stepping back. "Don't even try. I-..." It came out like a child, whose pet had ruined a toy. "... I hate you so much..."

He ran to the stairs, and upwards, with wolverine meekly calling after him. Nothing said was heard; and against his own limits, his pace up the hardwood steps was as fast as the first day testing them.

Wolverine was powerless: to follow, to fix what he'd done, or even move from where he stood. His chin fell to its lowest; and brought eyes to the scuff marks, from petite fox's shoes. His mind held him hostage... Tumbling through flashes of the past, the most unpleasant memories. Arguments, accidents, wasted opportunities to make their lives better... So much, and so fast, he could barely think on any of them. When it finially lessened - and some part of him jogged back to the present - he could only hobble away, and meander to his chair. No sooner did he hit the seat, than the screen was turned off; and misery, in its least constructive form, swaddled him.

But now the shock was behind. What it left him were words, impulses, more clear than he'd felt in years. Unlike those he'd spoken, their flow was smooth, cohesive... Crushing.

I don't believe in you... Yes, you, the ignorant fuck in the hole you dug. It's hard to even grasp that you used to be better... Seems a lifetime ago. You would've caught yourself first. You would've defused it, or not even had it there at all. It would've been too hard with how you felt about him. Too hard to exaggerate, or take personally. Much too hard that you'd outright stab him, just to feel him bleed.

_ Was it worth it, genius? To watch him run, just pulverized, while you finally grabbed the last word? Sure put your relationship in perspective. Sure showed you where IT sits, on your ladder..._

_ I know I can't go back. I know the last help I'd ever do, is to be up there talking right now. Suffer the wait. It needs to be your teacher... You can't learn without it._

Twelve feet over his chair, on the side of a canopy bed, fell dots of saltwater. The fox, between sobs, had convictions of his own.

All this time, and I never knew. How could he hold back. Why would he hold back. Am I just as transparent... Do I show him things that even I would never think of myself. So I'm self-centered... Even if that helped me to never pick out his true feelings, I should still know me...

_ Like it matters. He's cracked the seal... He can't be the man I used to know. NO one keeps a lie like that, for twenty years. If he had such a problem... Was so unhappy with me... He'd never have stayed. But I can't know... Which one of us really changed..._

_ I... I have to sleep on this. HE let emotions take him, I can't sink to his level. I'll confront this in the morning. I can think, I can reason in the morning..._

He laid himself down, fully clothed. A pillow hoarded tears, and blurred anxiety.

~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

Tile squeaked under his sneakers; they never failed to keep it polished. He knew, and was grateful, to see the dedication due from this campus. Female specimens - tiger, vixen, boar, in their starched, spotless white - passed him on each side, as he strolled the hall's center... Wearing with their scrubs the looks of calm burdening. Most kept their eyes down, to either clipboards or food trays. A few, however, followed his hand as they breezed by, with smiles for the bouquet he squeezed in feeble fox's grip.

The 'residents', senior and invalid, didn't share their detachment. And while he skirted past each - some standing crooked, some in shining, homogenous wheelchairs - not a one failed to recognize him.

"Heey, stranger!" Croaked a bullfrog, propped on a cane that came up to fennec's ankle. He waved, still walking.

"Well land-sakes," a frail ewe piped up from her motorchair. "It can't be another Wednesday this soon." He chuckled, but his nod insisted positively.

The door he sought was by the next corner, straight ahead, close enough to see. One last man sat on the way: up to the wall, his amputated leg in clean bandages, a far sight better than his chair's dingy finish. To the fox, his presence was the one most comforting; always with a kind, wizened smirk, and today was no different. But as the decrepit yak watched him come, something on that face was different.

Nothing outwardly amiss from the yak; he noticed as always the clothes on their visitor, a blue-and-grey striped polo, with jeans baggy enough to hide any legs. He was 'interested' enough that they'd be mentioned, any other day. Fox, though so close to where he'd headed, kept his own ritual, squeaking those shoes to stop. His laces, and the coarse brown of yak's Dockers, clacked one another. The perfect record survived... He'd never missed a chance to speak with his man's closest friend.

The yak watched lines deepen by his lips; what years and years of smiling had left behind. "I think you're more hopeless every time I see you." It was casual, with his eyes to the sitting posture.

Yak's body jerked in a laughing hiccup. "Good, a swell match for how you're always the same sack o' dirt." He'd acted it perfectly, with scowl. The facade melted to a grin...

... The fennec's judging glare did the same. "Is he up, or being lazy?"

It was here, where the difference of today became more clear... Yak's smile stood at most of its strength. "Oh, he's been a motormouth since dawn. You're all he can talk about today."

The visitor's gaze shot up, bombarding the doorway with radiance. Before even saying his good-day's, anticipation set him away, leaving all else behind.

Its joy would've lasted, had the yak not called after him, strongly monotone. "... I'm glad you're here." The light-furred ears pricked; he held his stomach, reflex for the sudden queaziness. With twenty feet of distance left, he came as close to running as knees would allow. He flashed back to the garden; no time since, had he felt such heavy sweat. At last by the threshold, and the sterile room, he tottered in, winded from a ten-yard sprint and hiding all worry.

But it would've vanished anyway; just to see that hazel, far above the bed, twinkling as its owner sat high. His back was swayed, but pressed mightily on the headboard's iron bars; his chin had long lost its chisel, but lay shallow as ever; to give the one he'd waited for that look. Like so much else - all the other normalcies, what the fox had grown to know - he fought the lump in his throat, and stepped in. A nurse worked in the far corner, squinting by the window as she changed out curtains; she ignored them, and was given the same.

Fox had arms behind him, ignoring their arthritic protest; time would never burn away his slyness. "How's my hero?" He thought of what he'd see, when he brought forth the bunch of mums and roses; the wolverine, thought of a park bench, and the vulnerable soul he'd heard then as now. Fox watched him shift under the sheets, avoiding tender joints on his legs. The queaziness had fled him; now, in their time, it felt only butterflies.

Wolverine's arm outstretched, as he willed it to have the strength and take fox by the haunch. Bright as he'd looked, it brightened more, as the bouquet revealed. Fox wanted so much to have him take it, with the grip he so loved; but knew better, and held its blooms up to the striped face. It soothed the bedridden male, sweet aroma; and what soothed the fox, was just to hear the sniff. It went long, and ended slow; the fox allowed him look on it, then had it retreat and sink into the endtable's glass vase. "I switched it up this time. They're from Gerv's on Madison." He spoke as if hardened to small talk; proceeding, even while he walked to the bathroom cubicle. "They've expanded, it looks really nice now."

"Oh?" The wolverine strained to say with gusto, and send to the tiny room, where the fennec hunched over the faucet. His vase was filled with water, and brought with care back to the table, from whence he continued. "Does Cliff still walk around there and pretend to work?"

Fox laughed; his gut shook, shallow and loose. "You know it. He asked about you, too." For one instant, a twitch hit his eyebrow; nearly showing how he felt, and why he'd usually bought flowers somewhere else.

The nurse's heels clacked as she stepped out, just in time to miss their appropo greeting; Fox's hands on the bed, around the form of his love, his head leaning in. Their lips met, pressed firm; it wouldn't be as it was, but still warm and replacing words innumerable. The breath, at least, was heavy: one thing they could do, that no pain or life's weariness could rob. Through the passion, fox's hand reached by the sheets, to clutch that wrinkled fist tight; it kept there beyond their drawing back, and the wolverine's rasp. "There's robins in the tree by the window. A nesting pair."

The fox's interest spilled out. "Really? Just in the past week?"

Wolverine's nod was deep, and his grin exposed teeth; it charmed the fox, watching glad and eager overtake him. "I woke up... Monday, I think it was. They were just putting down the first little twigs, in the branch cradle. I stayed, and watched them weave it higher and higher." He faced out the window, where one sat still, its wide black eyes staring back. "It was such a beautiful show." He swung back to the fox; and with the same arm he'd used to stroke that haunch, strived higher, and shakily traced his cheek. "I wanted so bad to call you, right then. But it was mid-afternoon, and you'd still be at work."

The fox's throat still battled its lump. "You shouldn't have worried. They barely have me do much anymore, I just sit in at meetings, and give the coffee machine a hernia." He curled a smile; it well-avoided becoming something else.

The wolverine's head tilted back, to face the ceiling in thought. "Let's see, it'ssss... Eight more months 'til you retire?"

Light in the fox's eyes affirmed. "Someday, you'll tell me how that memory stays so sharp."

The wolverine guffawed; not purely amusement, but a cough, escaping at its first opportunity. He suppressed its fit, and gazed out the door, thinking of the yak. "Old Humbug out there. He keeps two worldly possessions: his chair, and his Scrabble board." His attention regained the fox; and now, their weekly union had its time to dip in harsh matter. "The head nurse was here the weekend." Something glazed his eyes. "Saturday or Sunday, I'm not sure which. The time sort of runs when they put me under."

The lump in fox's throat had an extra burst put into it. He fought a brave war, and clutched greedily his smile. "Anything new, or are they saying the same?"

The wolverine's hand slipped out of fox's grasp, just to turn the tables and wrap it in his. "Some of both. They already knew, like they have for some time. But they've urged me..." He paused, just for sake of respect; knowing it had been easier to hear, than to tell. "... They just gave me the shpiel. Didn't know if I already had my affairs in order. It's their job to reiterate."

The fennec's war was lost; and he slowly, gently laid cheek on the sheets, atop his mate's chest. He faced away, down to the feet; but no use, to prevent the damp tracks from soaking through. Wolverine had known, before even feeling them, and lay his palm between the pointed ears. He wished the peace he felt could be contagious. It seemed nothing could provide that... Until his mind, never dulled, delivered mercy. "You were a knight."

The fox raised head; it so surprised him, he'd forgotten himself and the trails past his nose. "Wh-what?"

"In the park, I remember." He shifted himself again; the sores wouldn't get to him. "You held that bust to yourself, like something you'd won. I know you didn't feel it, but the pride..." His palm rubbed steady on the elderly fox. "Like you'd just returned from slaying a dragon." His pitch went silly. "I know, it's wacked out, but... It's what I saw. You had something so rare. You were noble."

He felt the fennec's gulp; an act to fight more tears. "I've never been noble." His kneecaps ached on the tile; he couldn't be asked to care. "Anyone like that wouldn't take you for granted, year after year. 'Cause that's exactly what I did."

"No." It was flat; so disbelieving, it came across offended. "Whatever makes you feel that way, it's bunk."

"All the times I strung you along..." The fennec trilled on, not addressing what he'd heard. "I could've given you more. I had it in me, and I just treated you like..." He craved to turn his head, and meet their eyes; but couldn't bring himself to. "... Like you'd always be there."

"Hush now. It can't be helped." His tone had softened again; it couldn't bear to keep stern. "We knew all the way. It would hardly turn out otherwise-" He stifled more coughs; until one got the best of him, and dribbled fox's head on his chest. "- I know... What you must be seeing. But I never resented it; I'd always hoped you wouldn't either."

Fox finally brought his head to turn, and face his love. The wispy fur matted with trails; he hated the fact of that. But Wolverine's eyes - blurry, nowhere as strong as they'd once been, twinkled upon him. What memories had rushed through the fennec's mind, tormenting him, were so quickly changed to the better. Laughs, and a bottle of wine at sunset; driving the mountains, feeling wind in his face; the moss around his feet, sinking in as they stood together, in the graveyard, by a fox's granite headstone.

Perhaps it was written on his face; or that wolverine knew him, and expected where his thoughts would lead. But the twinkle didn't idle; and led the dusty lips to ask. "Did you ever... Ask me why I chose that name?"

It mitigated grief; the fox was caught off-guard. "I-I don't know, which name for what?"

He answered warmly; it invoked his own fractured memory. "Elie."

Almost as shallow as the fox's smile, was the shake of his head. "No. I would've held tight to that."

The elder looked out the window; sparrows had engaged the robins, and fought valiantly with chirping. "Just like I held tight to the book..." He gazed back to his mate; it was clear he'd gained full attention. "... I did keep it bottled, all this time. I was barely out of diapers. My uncle, he lived and died by the Navy. Before they shipped him off, when he didn't come back... He bought me a storybook." His voce never faltered; even while he empathized with the fox, and misting eyes. "I wouldn't read for four more years, so my dad sat me down, and read me a chapter a week. It was medieval; not unlike King Arthur, but with a key difference."

The fox's jaw drooped open; hinging on his every word, while he looked around the room. Seeing things other than the present; the heart monitoring machine became an old chest-of-drawers... His walker, the old naugahyde chair, and the man who'd fill it: brown beard, plaid cotton pullover, faded jeans, his face concealed by an open hardcover. Proceeding, he told it no less than it came to him, thoughts and images in series. "The hero had a love; a maiden in town named Elie, fair and kindhearted, but shy, and intelligent, and quiet. She neared twenty-one, at the same time he was ten." A quake took the wolverine's lip. "He was wise beyond his years. He could see the truth, every day she passed him in town. She was a world apart from him. His thoughts were not her thoughts, and weren't about to be. The 'sword in the stone', in this case was actually a dagger, which lay on a volcano across a vast sea, in the belly of a fossilized dragon. It was long-dead, but the dagger was magic; and therein was the danger."

Fox still ignored his knees, and their outcry; by now, he was honestly spellbound, as the wolverine wound more from threads of recollection.

"It was said that whomever took the dagger, and plunged it through the stone between the dragon's eyes, freeing its soul, would be given one wish. One, by itself, that could never be undone. So he set on his quest; knowing what he wanted, and braving terrors unfathomable, to finally reach the dragon's keep and seize the dagger. After weeks of journeying, cold, weary and starving, he wrenched the blade from the stone belly, and plunged it through the crest between those eyes. It blessed him with what he'd sought; but he waited to make his wish, and journeyed back to his village. Its power followed him, a bright, beautiful aura; so that everyone in town could see what he'd done, and know he'd found a marveous destiny."

Though dimmed by decades, he could see the fuzzy knuckles, turning the page.

"... Everyone asked him if he'd made his wish. He said no, and asked one thing of them; to find the maiden, and ask that she meet him in the square. Knowing the fable, she obliged. Only with her there before him, and all the people crowded around, did he make his wish. His body glowed, and down from heaven shot a blast of fire, enveloping his young, weak body. It lasted the blink of an eye, and the smoke cleared. When she and the others recovered, and looked on what it left in its wake, she saw the same boy... No older, no bigger or stronger, not wealthy or powerful. And she came up to him, and kneeled, and asked what he'd wished for. He spoke... And out of him, flowed the most poetic and mature and beautiful words, expressing his love and what he'd so yearned to tell her. She was shocked; everything he said, was something his old, normal self would never have thought or known. And listening, she knew that through his devotion, he'd made the ultimate sacrifice."

Some part of the fox had begun to understand; but he waited to hear, and the wolverine provided conclusion.

"... He chose to leave his childhood behind. He hadn't lost anything, in truth, he was still the same person, with the same dreams, and will, and desires. But she was so important to him, that he willingly gave up the innocence, and the time when he could follow his own path, to be what she could cherish and love. It wasn't cheating himself... He'd never miss the freedom, not with the chance to give her a life of happiness."

The fox's face drew up; unraveled, unable to stop himself, he collapsed on his lifemate's chest in sobs. The wolverine meant to discourage this, do anything to stem the despair. But what the moment needed, was just to lay his hands on the fox's scalp, and be there for him.

They sat in silence, minutes on end; despite the air, a comfort to each other. The fox's sobbing waned, becoming faint, then sniffling, then only his head, buried in the hands once strong and smooth.

He made a wish. And sinking into thought, pondering, fishing for an answer, he willed it true. Knees were finally relieved, as he brought his brittle legs to stand by the bed. His arm slipped under the wolverine, at his neck; and carefully, with nothing but affection, he pulled and lifted.

The eyes looked on him with questions, and a flash of dismay, as he realized what was happening. "Hon, they'll kick you out, you know they'd never allow-"

"-Shhhh..." Fennec whispered in his ear, as he got the atrophied limbs to swing down from the bed. Wolverine could never fight him, had he even wanted; now sitting up, he merely watched, and heard his mate's affection. "... They can try if they want. But not before this..."

He'd struggled just to rise from the floor; he stared fleetingly up, and prayed for strength, while his arms wrapped the wolverine's back. All the force, the willpower, went to control that delicate body. Pulling him to stand; holding his weight; embracing him, feeling the breath in his ear.

Wolverine was stunned; of where he was, and not knowing why. "I... I don't underst-"

"Imagine..." The fox's voice soothed; he'd grown stable enough to stroke his man's back, and began to sway; rocking them back and forth. "... Low lights, a grand piano. You don't have to hear it... Just follow me."

And so he did. They ignored the room, the bed, sterile machinery; wreathed in their slow, tender waltz.~