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Raindrops pelted the windshield. They were falling a bit slower then they had been for the last fifteen minutes. Caleb had assured himself that he was only still in his car because he was waiting for a break in the downpour. The map light was on, and it provided just enough illumination for him to look back down at the obituary.

It was the second day of the showing, with the actual funeral taking place the next morning. The dashboard clock told him that it was eight PM. Only one hour left. That was just enough time for him to go in, pay his respects, and get out without being seen by the mobs of people that surely had been streaming in and out all day. Jeremy always was a popular guy; no doubt he'd attract a horde of weepers.

The rain had completely stopped, and the dingo could conjure up no more excuses for staying put. As he shifted in his seat uncomfortably he felt the old familiar bump against his lower back. Maybe he should actually take it off, for once. People tended to hug each other at these affairs, and surely someone would feel the gun and start making inquiries. Caught between the desire to appear normal and the decade and a half of experience and training to never disarm, he killed at least five more minutes.

Finally, the dingo stood and closed the black car door behind him with a satisfying clunk. A few people were filing out of the funeral home, and suddenly Caleb felt very self-conscious and overdressed. Weren't you supposed to put on formal attire for this sort of thing? He looked down at his pressed black slacks, matching coat, and cufflinks. Force of habit and a nervous tick had him adjusting his bowtie. Maybe he overdid it a bit, but being next of kin would give him some reason for it, if he had to explain himself.

A quick glance in the mirror showed that his eyes were still bloodshot and glassy looking, a memento of last night's drinking. If anyone sees that they'll just think you were crying.

In a triumph of will he finally got out of the car. Caleb held his head low as he entered the building, silently wishing that it would shield him from the eyes of the people inside. His plan to wait till the last hour had worked, mostly. There were only a couple of unfamiliar faces in the foyer. Straight ahead was a wall with a simple sign placed in front of it. There were two names, each with an arrow pointed in an opposite direction. He took the hallway way to the right, as directed.

The dingo stopped and listened just outside the wide-open double doorway. The murmuring voices were low, but fairly numerous. _Damn._He took a deep breath and collected himself as he finally stepped into the big room. In the middle there were rows of chairs set up for the service that was due the next day. On the far right end of the room was a collection of photos, and some sofas and recliners for more comfortable sitting and conversing. Likewise the left end of the room had more casual seating, and then, flanked by flowers and displays on either side, was an open casket along the far left wall.

For some reason it felt as though something was holding his throat up from swallowing. If he made a noise to try and clear it, more people would notice him; not what Caleb wanted. Instead, he slowly walked, or perhaps shuffled, towards the right. He wanted to sit down comfortably in the back, and maybe look at a few photos. People could come to him if they wanted to, but he wasn't about to go up and look at a corpse and put on a pretend show of emotion. You don't get emotionally compromised, he reminded himself.

It was a sound plan. While he could feel the curious eyes on him from various points in the room, no one seemed interested in interrupting Caleb's walk to the table full of photos. The display was decent enough. Admittedly, it was a lot nicer than he would have expected. There was no cheesy middle school cardboard tri-fold, nor was there an even cheesier slide show photo display.

On the left of the display were the older photos. Time had faded several of them, particularly the one that Caleb most recognized: a large print of Jeremy and himself standing in front of the Grand Porch of the General Assembly Building. Caleb had been about ten, then, which put Jeremy at sixish. The summer trip to the capital was the last one that the family had taken together.

He remembered how crowded and busy Terrasdan was, even back then. Endless streams of tourists, but equally numerous armies of suits and military uniforms going about the business of running the nation of Oneria. Caleb never could have imagined that one day he'd be one of those cogs. Though, he wasn't the sort of government employee that anyone wanted to see; perhaps especially his own country's citizens.

As the photos advanced chronologically, they had less and less of the two brothers together, and more of Jeremy with his own clique of friends. Your funeral won't have hardly anything from your adult life...or your body, most likely.

He was zoning out, again. The world around him faded off into a foggy caricature of itself. The murmuring voices got more distant, the focus of his vision keyed right into a little tunnel. The dingo was looking straight at one of the photos, but it wasn't processing in his mind. Caleb couldn't have told anyone what he was looking at right then. Next the unsteady hand would come, and sure enough, he could feel the quivering in his fingertips.

Breathe. It was easier said than done as his throat seemed to swell up. He really should get this whole thing checked out, but he knew what they'd say (especially that Doctor Oostwarden bitch). At least if anyone saw him having one of his little episodes here they'd just assume he was choked up about Jeremy's passing. Normal people would probably cry though, right?

"Sir?" a voice was calling to him. Nearby, and it wasn't the first time that whoever it was had tried to get Caleb's attention; he just hadn't really noticed until then. "Sir?"

Caleb blinked a few times, trying to shake off the brainfog. Right next to him was a portly otter. The stranger was well dressed in a suit and tie, and the little brass nametag pegged him as an employee of the funeral home. The otter offered a smile that was obviously meant to look very pained and sad. He probably practiced that smile a lot, to try and appeal to his customer's grief. "You must be Mister Caleb Hayworth? I'm John Shenk, the director of services here. There was a lot of concern that you might not be able to make it, with your job making you difficult to reach, at times. You look a lot like your brother, you know!"

Look like my brother? Like a corpse? No, no, that's not what he meant.

The dingo looked past the funeral director at the rest of the room. There were more than a couple of people giving him the peeps, but 'concern' wasn't the word he'd have used to describe the apparent mood as it regarded him. He asked about your job. "Ah, well, yes", Caleb forced smile and nodded. His job, as far as anyone back home was concerned, was international sales (which conveniently took him to third-world destinations without proper means of communication). "I did get the message, though just in time."

In reality, Caleb just so happened to be back continent-side between assignments when the news came in. Downtime was a rarity, and Caleb spent most of his refreshing his skills and knowledge back at Command.

His shoulder registered a gentle touch; the otter's hand was there. Caleb fought off his urge to lash out at the unwanted contact, but his tensing up and quick glare did at least get the attention of Mister Shenk. "Please accept our most sincere sympathies, Mister Hayworth, and please let me know if I can do anything for you."

Caleb was tempted to answer with 'yeah, you can fuck off', but the otter seemed to have already gotten that hint, and quickly retreated out of the room and presumably back to his office.

The dingo meandered slowly towards the side of the room where everyone was. Was this kind of thing the norm? Did people just come to talk and grieve and look at a dead body whenever a loved one died? He'd been to a funeral or two in his youth, but children don't handle things the same way adults do, so that experience surely couldn't count. When he killed someone on assignment, did their families do this whole charade, too? He only killed bad guys, of course... mostly. Did bad guys have people that loved them?

He needed to get out of there. This whole trip was a bad idea, he should have just stayed at the office and lied about being out of contact like he did with every other call from back home. Goddammit, there was Joey coming straight for him. He was just like all of Jeremy's other friends: self centered, jockish, asshole, frat boys who didn't have a clue about anything.

The short, black rabbit walked cautiously, glancing back at the group of old familiar faces that he'd split off from. He must have drawn the short straw amongst them. The last time Caleb had been around the people he'd been friends with as a kid it had gone disastrously.

Joey cleared his throat nervously as he got close. "Hey, uhh..."

Caleb folded his arms and narrowed his eyes. God, stop being such a prick you stupid dog. "Hey, Joey."

The rabbit's long ears flicked uncomfortably and their owner had a hard time looking at Caleb instead of the thinly carpeted floor. "It's, uh, nice to see you around. A few of us are about to head over to O'Reilly's for a little thing." Joey finally looked up, "at least think about swinging by, okay? Nobody here hates you, we just don't know what to make anymore. I want my old buddy Caleb back."

"I'll think about it," Caleb lied, and nodded in reply as the rabbit scurried back to his friends. The old Caleb is never coming back. That might be for the best. He couldn't just go back to a 'normal' life. Drinking beers and watching sports and crappy prime time television night in and out, knowing exactly what each new day would bring: nothing.

A slight scent of tobacco hit the dingo's nose and he decided to track down the source. The little quest took him out of the room, and only a few steps away, past the restrooms, was a door that led outside to the back of the funeral home. A few sniffs confirmed that whoever was smoking was doing so right outside that door, and so Caleb pushed it open.

There were a few benches and chairs outside, with a handy ashtray off to the side. Sitting down on the furthest bench from the door was a raccoon. He was on the chubby side, as his species was wont to be, wore glasses, and seemed completely engrossed in his phone. The ashtray next to the stranger was wafting smoke into the air. So he finished a cigarette and still stayed out here? This guy was trying to avoid the company of the people inside, too.

The raccoon looked up and the distanced and aloof expression he'd had turned momentarily to one of shock. The coon stood up and offered a handshake, and unlike the one the funeral director offered Caleb happily gave the stranger the courtesy.

"You look just like him, you know" said the stout man as he looked the dingo over. "Just look a bit older, is all. You must be Caleb?"

Caleb nodded.

"I'm Curtis," the coon smiled and pointed back towards the door. "I bet they're almost as happy to see you as they were to see me."

Now the dingo really was curious about this guy. He was a very good reader of strangers, as anyone who wasn't going to die in his industry had to be, and this raccoon was definitely not of the heterosexual variety. That was a bit interesting, as Jeremy wasn't gay, and always came off as a little homophobic, in fact. Maybe he had changed his stance on that over the years.

"I don't even want to go back in there. It's not like my brother will notice or care that I avoided his asshole friends." It was true, there were just going to give him shit anyway. There wasn't any family here to comfort. There wasn't any reason to have come at all. If Jeremy's friends all thought he was an asshole, why should he bother with the meaningless gesture of going to a funeral? What he really wanted was to go see the old house.

Curtis just may have been a mind reader. "Hey, let's split, go get a bite to eat, and get away from these clowns for awhile."

Normally he would have said 'no' immediately, but he had to admit that sounded fantastic. "Deal. Let's go."

Caleb led the way to his car. They took the long walk around the outside of the building rather than going back in side to cut through. It was odd for the spy to allow anyone to walk behind him like that. Strangers always went first, and Caleb always stayed in their blind spots. Maybe just being back home was lowering his ever-present barriers.

"Nice car," Curtis commented as they reached the black sedan. The raccoon had gotten a ride over from someone else, so the issue of who was going to drive was moot.

"It's a rental, I don't even have one back continent-side." Well, it wasn't exactly a rental, but close enough.

The drive into River City was a typical one for a Friday evening. There were plenty of tail lights on the road towards the mostly blue-lighted skyline of downtown. The sight of the tall spires brought back many a memory to the dingo of weekend journeys with the few friends he had (and Jeremy) to the bars and clubs. It almost seemed like that was another life ago, probably because in a lot of ways it was.

His passenger had been pretty quiet the entire drive, and they had only made a few comments back and forth; mostly concerning where they would be headed for dinner. Caleb figured it was probably best they save the talking for whatever restaurant they ended up at.

The first few minutes at the sports bar they had decided on, though, were spent in awkward silence across from each other. It didn't seem either was interested in the various sporting events playing on the vast number of televisions. Finally, Caleb decided to take the initiative. So after a swig of the dark stout that he had been working on he looked the raccoon in the eyes for probably the first time.

"So, how did you know Jeremy?"

Curtis bit his lip at the sudden conversation. More likely at the mention of the deceased, perhaps. "It's kind of complicated how we met. Sort of an online gaming buddy thing, ya know?" The coon waved a black paw at the air, "Now I'm his roommate, but..."

Roommate? If Caleb wanted to see his old house this was the guy he needed to see, apparently. Then the thought hit him, this guy was probably about to be out of a place to live. "Ah... I see the dilemma, there."

"Right. Hey, can I ask you something?"

Caleb tilted his head slightly. "Sure?"

It was obviously going to be either a difficult or very personal question, judging by Curtis's hesitation. "Uhh, so why didn't you ever help Jeremy out? Everyone here fucking hates you for it."

The dingo wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the topic. This again? People back home had gotten bitter about Caleb's supposed incredibly high pay at his imaginary job. When none of the (equally imaginary) money ever made its way back home, the murmurs started. It's not like he could really defend against it, either. If his cover was actually true and he was raking in the dough, it would be mightily assholish of him to hold onto every cent when he had family that wasn't doing that well. On the other hand, he couldn't exactly tell people that the only thing he sold in his "sales" job was bullshit and death.

Caleb frowned at his empty beer glass. No, he wasn't going to be able to hide behind that this time. Curtis was waiting for an answer with saint-like patience across the table from him. Maybe just a tiny bit of honestly would help the home drama die down.

"Want to hear the truth?" He offered.

The raccoon perked up instantly at those words and nodded eagerly as he leaned forward. "Of course I do!"

Time to start acting. When your life revolves around lies, you get pretty good at convincing people of whatever you want to. Caleb made sure he was displaying a distraught face, as if he was about to reveal something that he had never told anyone before. "You see, there isn't any real money, to speak of." That wasn't a lie, not really, anyway.

"So..." the raccoon tilted his head in confusion. "Why make everyone think you were making bank?"

Caleb wiggled his empty glass in the direction of the passing waiter and laughed. "You know, I never said anything about my salary. People here just assumed it was big."

Once that initial wall had been breached the conversation flowed a bit more freely. Caleb was actually smiling. He had a few warm drinks in his belly, and a fun flirty guy across from him. This whole trip might not have been such a bad idea, after all. The coon took a bite of his sandwich as a new thought popped in his head, and he went to talk but had to stop and chew, first. This guy is a blast.

Finally, Curtis was ready and started. "Okay, so here's one! I shit you not, about three months ago I walked in on Jeremy, ya know, taking care of himself." The raccoon was animated as he spoke, and the alcohol was clearly loosening both of their lips when it came to the recently deceased.

Caleb raised a brow. That certainly wasn't the whole story. "And?"

Curtis grinned. "He was looking at my stuff! Oh, man you should have seen how horrified he was that I caught him."

"No way!" The dingo was actually surprised at that one. "Did you give him shit about it?"

"Oh, absolutely!" Curtis nodded enthusiastically. "Hell, I been trying to offer him a _Curtis_y call ever since." He grinned in satisfaction at his own pun. "Sadly, he just wasn't interested."

With a flick of his short brown tail and a smirk, Caleb leaned forward. "Jeremy never did know a good thing when it came up."

Caleb felt something soft brush against his shins, Curtis's tail most likely. He looked up and caught an unmistakable set of bedroom eyes coming from his new acquaintance. Funeral booty? Why not.

Of course, nothing was ever that simple for Caleb Hayworth. Something else caught his eye, and ears. The televisions that had been playing sports all switched over to breaking news. That was never good.

The screens showed some grainy footage of firebomb and sign bearing protestors: tens or hundreds of thousands. Some of the bar boo'd the interruption, but most stopped what they were doing to take a look.

The news anchor was the internationally recognizable vixen, Cindy Laghner, and she began to explain the happenings in her trademark voice. "Onerian News Service has received confirmed reports that the Onerian embassy in Karastoom has been overrun. Ambassador Flaherty has been killed, along with at least twenty-five embassy personnel and military guardsmen. Tensions in Karastoom and anti-Onerian interference sentiments have been running high as of late and appear to have reached a boiling point. Stay tuned for a statement from Madam President Connell."

The screen continued to show various shots of the riots, and Caleb could feel the furs on the back of his neck bristling up. At least he knew where he was going next. He had to calm down; try to enjoy his evening. If they had needed you they would have called long before the news even got the story. He'd been to Karastoom more than once; was only a matter of time before the place exploded.

He was doing it again. Not as bad as before, but he was definitely zoning out once more. Suddenly, being in the bar became very uncomfortable. Every little noise seemed to pain his ears, and lights and motions seemed a blur. He felt Curtis's paw come to rest atop his own, and the dingo shook off the strange feelings.

"You alright?" the coon asked.

"Yeah, I uh." Make something up. "I guess I might have known someone in that embassy." Silence permeated the table for an uncomfortably long period of time. Long enough for Caleb to consider that he probably did know someone who was there.

"Okay, let's go. Enough death for you tonight." Curtis pulled his wallet out and left more than enough cash to cover their bill as he stood.

Caleb stood up as well, feeling a bit numb. Leaving was a good call, he needed to get somewhere more relaxed and throw a few drinks back. "Where we going?"

"I figured back to my place. Well," he hesitated, "Your place, I suppose. Whatever."

The drive back was mostly quiet. Curtis didn't know what to say, but left his hand on Caleb's knee for most of the trip. It was a nice gesture. Even after so many years the dingo's turns on the roads to his old house were automatic.

*

The two were barely inches apart. Caleb could feel the hot breaths of the coon fall across his muzzle. They smelled of the wine that the two of them had been pounding for the last hour. All he had to do was just move forward a tiny bit and the deed would be done. Fuck it, they both wanted this.

Caleb leaned forward and kissed the raccoon. Tentatively at first, but the quiet little 'erf' from Curtis was all he needed to hear before cranking it up a notch. The kid was good, really good. Not too much tongue, or sloppy, or shy. Now and then he'd get a good look at the coon's mask-outlined blue eyes, and if he didn't know any better Caleb might have thought he could feel himself blushing.

Caleb found his hands wandering down the sides and back of the raccoon. They followed the ample amount of curves on the way; not something Caleb was really used to in a partner, but he certainly wasn't about to complain. He got a bit braver and went a little more southwards towards the ultimate goal of his desires.

When he made contact with Curtis's rear end he got an arched back and raised tail in response. The pair broke their kiss and took a few moments to pant and catch their breath, with a few moist nuzzles in-between. His pants felt tight, and to his surprise he let an impatient whimper slip out of his maw. Caleb had a lot of hump and dumps in his time, but rarely did he get so worked up over a guy he didn't even know. He really did need this, and he needed that ass that he was giving another firm squeeze to.

"My bedroom," Curtis mumbled in a barely coherent way. He slowly pulled away from Caleb's grasp and started walking down the hall. He stopped and added a "now", for emphasis.

Caleb wasn't going to argue that for a second. The room that Curtis identified as his own was the same one that Caleb had used as a kid. Certainly wasn't going to be the first time he banged a guy in _that_room. Subtlety and foreplay was clearly out the window as, on the way to the room, he stepped over several articles of clothing that had been on the raccoon just moments earlier.

Well, what the hell, he thought as he started unbuttoning his own shirt and undoing his tie. Just enough so that he could slip them over his arms and toss them casually to the ground. As he turned into the room he saw that he had no need for his pants, either. Curtis was already on the bed with nary a scrap of clothing to be found on him.

Curtis was fiddling with a plastic bottle of lube, wasting no time getting himself ready. Caleb smirked as he dropped his pants and kicked them off to the side. The dingo was hard as hell, as he had been for most of the last few minutes. The air felt cool on his exposed length, and he jumped a bit as a wet hand wrapped itself around him. The air felt even cooler once he was slicked up with the lube that Curtis had just liberally applied.

"Mm, big boy." The raccoon commented in approval as he took in the view. "Got a position preference?"

"Right now? Any" Caleb replied as he swished his brown tail behind him to emphasis his excitement.

Curtis spun himself around so that he was elbows and knees on the mattress; rump raised up invitingly below his ringed tail.

The dingo growled approvingly as he positioned himself. With one hand on his cock and the other on Curtis's rump steadying his balance he teased the raccoon's opening with his tip. He was planning on going slow and gentle with the unfamiliar partner, but Curtis had other plans.

The coon pushed his rear back against Caleb's teasing almost immediately, and the dingo felt his tip slip in. Not needing to aim anymore, he took the hand that had been on his shaft and put both of them on the raccoon's grey hips; tugging the coon back gently as his own hips pushed forward.

Great kisser, even greater ass! Caleb's eyelids closed as he enjoyed the feeling of that initial penetration. It really was already some of the best ass he'd had in a long, long time. For some reason he had imagined that the raccoon was going to be tight as hell, but he was just right. He was almost surprised when he felt himself completely hilt.

A satisfied murmuring was coming from the guy below him as he held himself steady for a few moments. Caleb's claws started to roam up and down the raccoon's sides as he pulled his length backwards slowly.

The sensual contact was washing away any of the bad mojo that had been clouding his mind all day. The two settled into the steady rhythm of sex, the pants and groans occasionally broken by a little 'yip'.

Caleb didn't know how long he'd been at it, but when the time felt right he raised himself up a bit so that he was thrusting down at more of an angle. Curtis obliged willingly; planting his face flat in the pillow as the canine started climbing that mountain.

It didn't take much longer, Caleb was zoning out again, but not in a bad way like he had been. This time his head was swimming with impending climax, and his claws digging into the writhing raccoon below him indicated that he was seconds away. With a final shove and grunt the dingo released his pent up load.

Whatever position they had been in, they were just a panting, nuzzling pile at that point. Caleb went to move, but felt himself firmly knotted in his partner. Curtis had taken that like a champ, normally there'd be a big show of things if_that_ happened. He caught his breath enough to speak, "Uh, we may be here for a few."

*

The beeps in his ear shook Caleb out of his nap. As his vision came into focus he saw that Curtis was still passed out soundly on the couch. The TV was on, scrolling end credits from the movie they were watching. A half eaten bowl of popcorn and empty soda cans littered the table in front of them. The beeps came again, from his audio implant.

No, not now. He winced and looked at the raccoon. The beeps sounded once more. The dingo whispered low, not wanting to wake his sleeping friend. "Please, just one night. Just give me one night."

He couldn't ignore the call. The audio implant wouldn't chime unless it was critical. Nobody else could hear it, and it acted as a pager. It meant that he had to call Command as soon as he was able to do so privately. He stood, and slowly walked towards the bedroom where his pants were to retrieve his phone.

As soon as he was outside he dialed the number he needed to. It only rang once, and the familiar voice of John, his superior answered. Caleb could imagine the bobcat behind his desk with a bottle of whiskey and two glasses set out. "Have you been watching the news?"

The pit in Caleb's stomach grew ever larger, but he had to fight that feeling off. He never showed nervousness, now wasn't a good time to start. "Yes."

"We have assets that need to be extracted. Can you drive?"

Caleb wanted to say no. That he'd been drinking too much, but he knew they'd just send him a cab, and surely Curtis would catch him leaving. "Yes."

"Be at the airport in thirty. We're headed straight for Karastoom."

"Aye."

The line clicked dead, and Caleb started gathering his clothes. Don't look at Curtis. It was a pointless thought, and he looked at the raccoon at least a dozen times before he was dressed and ready to go. This was how his one night stands always ended; with his tail lights in their windows in the middle of the night. This was different, though. This wasn't what he wanted. He always wanted to flee after getting intimate, but not that night.

He only got a few miles down the road before he stopped, turned his car off, and cried. He was going to look like a mess when he got to the plane. If anyone at Command sees that, they'll just assume you were drinking.