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"Hey, browncoat."

"Hi!" The young tiger's heart enacted the necessary clichés of flopping about inside the chest, and he felt himself blush under his fur from tip to toes. He gripped the cell phone just a bit harder, as if to hug the lion on the other end. "How's it going?"

"That's a mixed story. You still up for meeting?"

"Of course." His voice softened with concern. "You okay?"

"I could really use some help, Mal. Did you hear about the football game last night?"

The tiger frowned. "It's all over the news; everyone's talking about it. I didn't think you'd be involved."

"I'm not, at least not directly." The voice on the other end of the line paused, the sound of throat clearing, a faint edge. "I need to talk. Would you...?"

"Say where and when; I'll be there."

* * * * *

Even among college town anomalies - those restaurant and retail establishments which logic dictates a small, somewhat insular town could not support - the Rathskeller was unique. Downtown (all dozen or so square blocks of it) was far enough away from campus to make it safe from too much influence, positive or negative, from the ebb and flow of the student population. As its name would suggest, the Rathskeller was indeed located underground, in a sprawling establishment taking up a good half block of space on its own. Down a curving flight of cement stairs, itself protected by a well-constructed awning that did battle successfully with all the elements yet thrown against it, a wide vestibule welcomed visitors into a dark, cool, oak-paneled, high-ceilinged restaurant and bar that managed to combine a sense of elegance with an equal sense of hunting lodge casualness. There was no Pecksniffian dress code or rules of conduct here; it was as much burgers as prime rib, as much soda as wine, as much PBR as Stone Arrogant Bastard Ale. All were welcome, except those who would not extend the welcome just as much. The place was so completely open to all who might want or need it that a canny few were convinced that its owner and creator was named Justin Callahan.

It had taken Malcolm about twenty minutes to walk from his dorm into downtown, but the day was good for it. Despite the faintly surrealistic ambience of the town in the wake of the previous night's violence, the crisp clear morning had morphed into an equally clear, cool afternoon that saw him to the steps of the restaurant on the spot of two o'clock. Three young females stood at the greeting stand, ready to welcome one and all. The spritely kinkajou spoke up first. "Welcome to the Rathskeller," she said, seeming to taste the Germanic flavor of the word. "Table for one, or would you like to visit the bar?"

"I'm here to meet someone," the tiger said with a jot of self-consciousness. "A lion?"

"Oh!" A cinnamon-furred rabbit with multiply-pierced lop ears grinned widely. "You mean Bobby Harris? Yes, he's already here." She glanced at her cohorts. "I'll take him back," she said grabbing a menu before either of the others could usurp her chance at seeing the young quarterback again. "Follow me, please?"

Malcolm took a couple of quick steps to catch up to the loping bunny. "Hard for a sports star to hide. Guess everyone knows Bobby, huh?"

"Not as well as I'd like."

The young tiger bit his tongue gently to prevent a snort of laughter from emerging as the hostess took him deeper into the catacombs, to a section of quiet and empty booths. They found the lean, well-built lion contemplating a glass of dark soda, lost in his thoughts until he heard their approach. He smiled up at the doe. "Ah, you found him! Thanks, Angie."

"No problem! Katrina is still on shift; I'll send her over to take your order shortly. Anything I can do for you in the meantime?"

Malcolm removed his coat, turning away to hide his smirking muzzle from the hero-worshipping rabbit. In its way, it was far more endearing than anything else; however, the fact that the tiger still thought of this as a "first date" with the lion made the exchange just comical enough for him to really appreciate. He seated himself across from Harris as the junior varsity's star quarterback declined Angie's offer with grace, and the bunny shimmered away without seeming too disappointed.

When he finally locked eyes with the lion, Malcolm found himself shaken. "By the gods, are you all right?" He fought an urge to reach across the table and grip the footballer's forepaws.

Harris chuckled. "Do I look that bad?"

"Exhausted."

He nodded. "Let's order, and I'll tell you what I can. I'm not worried about secrets, just about things I'm not entirely sure of."

"I'm here for you."

"Yes." The lion smiled softly. "And I'm very glad of that, browncoat."

After a sleek, bright-eyed panther took their requests, Malcolm settled in to listen to whatever the lion wanted to tell him. "This could take a while; let me know if I skip over anything." Harris sighed, puffing out his cheeks, his whiskers drooping despite the activity, somehow making him look even more exhausted. "There are about five different places to start this weird story, and I don't have any Spark notes to help me know what the first chapter really is."

"Where did you come into the story? Were you at the game last night? Did you see what happened?"

"No, I was with..." The lion looked deeply into the tiger's eyes, making the freshman shiver slightly. "He's very deeply a part of this, and it's no secret that he's gay. It's my involvement with him that I'm trying to keep from being too public just yet. You're a lit major, so you probably know who Jerry Bunting is."

Malcolm felt his ears perk forward involuntarily. "He's a grad student, likely to become part of the faculty if things keep going in that direction. And yes, he makes no secret about being gay. He's the male you've been seeing?"

Harris nodded. "It started out as... well, I don't know what you'll think about this. You know about the glory hole in the basement of the library?"

"The what?"

"Males' room in the basement of the main library. There's a hole cut in the wall between the two stalls, so that a guy can get an anonymous blowjob." The lion smiled softly at the tiger's reaction. "I take it you haven't heard of such things before."

The young freshman squirmed uncomfortably, his tail flipping at his side in an embarrassed nervous gesture. "I'm not exactly... well-versed. I'd heard about something like it - even straight guys in high school have stories, whether from porn sites or real experience - but I didn't know we had one here. I've never... I mean, that way..." He paused for so long that Harris finally took pity on him.

"Yes, browncoat, that's where I met Jerry. It was during the summer scrimmaging time this past August, and the campus wasn't well populated with anything but other jocks. Since I wasn't getting my usual quota of frisky females, I went looking for something else." He shook his head. "I must be making a great impression on you."

"You're telling the truth. Not many do." Taking a risk, Malcolm moved his hindpaw under the table to touch Harris' paw gently and withdraw. "So you met Jerry there. I have to guess something else happened, or it would have stopped there."

The lion nodded slowly, his expression soft and not entirely readable. "Jerry is talented, and I let myself care more about the results than the source, so to speak. Truth is, that's what I was doing with those females too. I couldn't say that I cared about any one of them more than any other. It was pleasant for me, and apparently for them as well." Another rueful snort shook the footballer's handsome features, an ear flicking self-consciously. "Don't think I was some conquering studmuffin with several hundred notches on a well-worn belt or something. It was a fair number of females, but whatever reputation seemed to grow up around me was exaggerated. Not that I took steps to make any public corrections."

"I can see where it could be difficult to make changes to that kind of advertising campaign." Malcolm let himself grin. It wasn't as if the information shocked him particularly; his own older brothers had let themselves get as much "reputation" as they thought wouldn't completely embarrass their parents. "What changed?"

"I'm not sure I really know, at least not what happened at first." Harris shifted in his seat, put his forearms on the table and clasped his forepaws in front of him. Malcolm observed the taut muscles of the quarterback's arms under the close-fitting Henley-style shirt, briefly remembering being wrapped up in them for a few minutes only yesterday afternoon. "I found Jerry at the glory hole on a few other occasions - I'd begun to think that he lived there - and he actually spoke to me. Offered me a card with his cell phone number on it. I explained to him that, of course, I'm completely straight, and that he shouldn't read anything into it." He smiled at the tiger. "Want to make any jokes about a river in Egypt?"

"Not on a bet. But I would bet that I could get an Internet connection and find a half-dozen quotes about the truth that would fit the situation. You were working with truth as you knew it to be, and now you're learning more so that you know what the truth really is."

Malcolm felt himself blushing under the lion's long, tender gaze, his ears shifting forward and probably showing a bit of the darkening pink. "I feel as if you'd forgive me anything that I did." Another sigh. "I'm going to hope that's true."

The tiger was about to reply when he detected movement to one side. He whispered a discreet warning and looked up to smile at the panther who approached with plates nearly overflowing with food. Harris quickly rebounded, covered his mood with one more appropriate to his reputation and offered his thanks to the server.

"Anything you need, fellahs? Refills on the drinks? Everything look all right?"

"Perfect as always, Katrina, thank you." The lion grinned and winked. "We should be good for a bit."

The lady cat returned the grin and sashayed away with perhaps just a bit more expressiveness in her tail than she might have allowed toward most of her customers. Malcolm wasn't disappointed at having to wait for a minute or two while Harris began eating; he was eager enough to tuck into his own kit, enjoying the luxury of Canadian bacon, three cheeses, onion straws, and a fried egg on his burger. He wanted Harris to continue, but he was able to keep his curiosity in check while the lion found a place to pause in his meal.

"You know, browncoat, maybe I should have figured something was different the first time I went to see Jerry at his apartment. Or even before that. I was a very fickle lover to all those females; rarely had sex with the same one twice, never stayed overnight with any of them. And I kept coming back to see Jerry, over and over, somehow not noticing what I was actually doing, if you see what I mean. And then finally came a personal reckoning... and that's where Parker comes in."

"What happened?"

"I walked into the glory hole room shortly after Jerry had finished servicing Parker. This would have been this past Tuesday afternoon. I'm sure you're familiar with the male canine anatomy?"

The tiger's eyes grew huge. "He got stuck?"

Harris nodded, unable to keep at least the semblance of a grin off his muzzle. "In full glory. I'm afraid I laughed, especially when I saw who it was." The lion sobered. "I wasn't laughing for long. Jerry stepped out of his stall and caught me with a shot in the balls that put me on the floor. He's stronger than he looks. I have the feeling that's how he's managed to be both out and whole for so long."

"What happened with Parker?"

"I left, after I was able to stand up without weaving like a drunken kit. Jerry had told me to call him, saying that we needed to talk. I wasn't sure that I wanted to see him after being racked like that, but that wasn't what decided matters anyway. It was the next evening; I was working out alone in the varsity weight room, and Parker came to talk to me. About Jerry. Parker had questions, and apparently, he thought that I had the answers."

Malcolm waited for a moment before asking, "Did you?"

"Not for him." The lion looked into the tiger's eyes with an intensity that the younger cat wasn't sure he was entirely ready for, yet found himself craving. "Parker kept after me, trying to make me define my relationship to Jerry, to get me to admit that I'm gay. I denied it, until I really started thinking about how many times I'd seen Jerry, whether for sex or just for company. It was as if Parker were trying to wear me down."

"Do you know why?"

"I'm really not sure." Harris swallowed, as if composing himself. He brushed a lock of his mane out of his eyes, made himself continue. "There were moments when I wondered if Parker was there to find some excuse to have sex with me. Every word of our conversation was charged... you might call it subtext, I guess. Nothing happened, not there, not with me. But I think it's part of what happened with him last night."

The freshman shook his head. "I don't understand."

Harris leaned back in the booth. "The police came by Jerry's place last night; they'd found the card that had his name and phone number on it, tucked into Parker's wallet in his locker. They questioned him about how he knew Parker, and in the conversation, it came out that the guy Parker attacked had been ragging on him about being gay - or more accurately, about being a 'fag.' The consensus of opinion is that the comments got to Parker and he snapped."

"Holy gods," the tiger whispered. He found himself mimicking the footballer's actions, falling back against the padded panel of the booth with a sense of disbelief mixed with something like revulsion. "How could... I mean, was he really that... I don't know, insecure, uptight, what?"

"Parker called Jerry before the game, wanting to come see him after. Jerry told Parker that he was seeing someone else last night, asked him if he'd come by today. Parker just rang off. I think that's why Jerry feels responsible, thinking that maybe if he'd agreed to see him..."

Malcolm shook his head. "He can't know that. He couldn't have seen this happening. It's not his fault."

"I tried telling him that." The lion's expression was one of desperation, of helplessness. "He won't listen to me, or at least he hasn't yet. And I..." Harris stopped, his muzzle wrinkling painfully as he fought with his warring emotions.

The freshman breathed slowly as he came to a realization. "You had no one to turn to. About any of this. Only Jerry, and he's..." The young tiger watched as the quarterback began to shake and then fall against the interior wall of the dark, leather-lined booth, chest hitching quietly, not quite giving in to the shock that wrapped around him.

Malcolm jumped out of his side of the booth and came around to hold Harris close. Oblivious to all else, the footballer wrapped his powerful arms around the freshman and clung to him fiercely. The tiger was all too aware of the warm, hard-muscled male pressed against him, the tang of lime in the lion's mane conditioner, and again, as he'd detected once before, just the whiff of another scent, something darker, deeper, more personal. Despite the difficult circumstances, the tiger felt the stirring in his heart and his loins, a twitching of emotions and of his desire, not quite daring to give in to either. Hardly knowing what else to do, he simply held on and rocked the lion gently in his arms, hoping for his charge's sake that he would be able to recover himself before anyone else showed up to find him in such a state. As stupid as it was, Malcolm knew that Shakespeare was right - for most, the bubble reputation was more important than the simple truth of being a thinking, feeling fur.

After a long moment, Harris shifted, pushing gently as if to separate himself from the warm embrace. "Gotta get control..." he muttered.

"You don't gotta nothin'." Showing more strength than some might have thought he'd have, the freshman pulled the lion back to himself, stroking the long, thick mane tenderly. The scent of lime intensified briefly.

A muffled chuckle was the reply. "And you call yourself an English major."

"License to break the rules, as long as it's not in a formal paper." Malcolm smiled in spite of himself. "Take another minute. I've got you. No one's here."

A long moment passed. "Not sure I care."

The tiger's heart thudded briefly in response, causing a click in his throat when he swallowed. He became aware that, unlike the day before, he was the one who had to be strong for them both. He let his heart reach for the comforting cloak of the independence fighters and spoke softly. "For now, maybe we should care a little. Just in case." He squeezed the lion tightly, then reached up to smooth a lock of his mane away from his eyes. "Trust me - it's a big step."

Slowly, Harris nodded and pulled away from the tiger, his forepaws lingering to give the freshman's shoulders a reaffirming squeeze. Malcolm moved as quickly as he dared, placing himself on the other side of the table and reaching for his soda just as the young panther rounded the corner into the otherwise empty section of the restaurant.

"I'm so sorry, guys, I almost forgot you were back here!" She grinned at them. "Anything you need? Refills? Some dessert maybe? We've got a fresh hot cherry cobbler back there, and some French vanilla ice cream that's the absolute best in town."

"Tempting, I admit." Malcolm hoped he was doing the right thing, guiding the conversation. "I'm never able to finish the burgers here, much less pile dessert on it."

"Maybe not this time, Katrina." Harris offered one of his best smiles, covering over the slightly shaky countenance of earlier. "Think we'll settle up and let you clear out this section till tonight."

The lady panther produced a ticket for them from her apron pocket. "No rush. I could close the doors, if you want some quiet."

For one almost non-existent moment, the tiger found himself wondering if the waitress knew more than she was letting on. A flash of ice water in his stomach, his eyes searching the panther's bright yellow eyes and comfortably set muzzle, looking for anything out of place, wondering if what he saw was a mask concealing hidden knowledge that could hurt Harris... and with a softly exhaled breath, he let the idea vanish. He was only being over-protective, nothing more. He wasn't exactly "out" around campus, so the footballer was in no danger by association, and nothing had happened here that should cause any issues. As the old Buffalo Springfield song said, paranoia strikes deep.

"Too nice a day out there," the quarterback said. "I need to feel the wind in my mane. And I'd better run off some of these steak fries!" He patted his hard abs as he grinned up at the lady cat. "I'm sure you wouldn't want me slacking off, eh?"

Katrina laughed, a hint of a blush coming up under her cheeks. "As if you would! Thanks, guys; hope to see you again soon." She bustled out the door, her tail making its conspicuously farewell twirls in the air behind her.

Lion and tiger split the bill between them, left the rest for a tip, and reached for their coats. "Do you really want to go run laps?" Malcolm asked, a smile on his face.

Harris stood for a moment, his eyes hooded and vulnerable. "I want to call Jerry, to make sure he's all right... but if you have some time to spare..."

"I don't even have homework as an excuse. At the risk of saying too much, I'm all yours."

The lion let his muzzle soften into a smile warmer than any Malcolm had ever seen there before. "I think I need to talk some more. I know where we can go."

"Lead the way."

Shortly after the two males left, Katrina returned to find the bill well settled. She pocketed the cash, ready to reconcile with the till in just a few minutes. She took the time to begin bussing the table, being both conscientious and a team player at the restaurant. Besides, it gave her time to wonder just what it was she'd actually seen. No thought of using the information came to her mind; she wasn't part of any of those circles (sports, Greek, whatever), and it wasn't in her nature to be gossipy or vindictive. That didn't mean that she wasn't curious. Oh no... she was plenty curious...