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Two old friends reminisce, as the recent graduate Astrid Brunault tries to figure out what to do with her chaotic life, and her love for another woman now in the big city far away...

Gotta keep writing. I guess? Like a shark o.o This story, which I wrote rather than doing more stats work, is maybe for me than it's for y'all, but hey. Short, pretty simple. Not too smutty, sorry! But I am branching out of straight fic? I guess?

Released under the Creative Commons BY-NC-SA license. Share, modify, and redistribute -- as long as it's attributed and noncommercial, anything goes.

"I'd fly the river" ** by ** Rob Baird

---

"Because," the weasel was saying, "you're a fucking pussy. That's why."

Astrid rolled the bottle around once, and the ridged bottom tapped out a rhythm on the wood of the pier. Then she took another drink. "Why do I come to you for advice?"

Daniel Hayes, a town policeman, grinned and polished off his second bottle of the session. "See above."

"Danny," Astrid sighed. "You are such an asshole."

"You think you're the first person to say that?" In his uniform, the slender weasel cut a commanding presence even with a bottle of Rogue clasped in his paw. An imperial stout; he had, at least, relatively good taste. "Probably true, through."

"So why am I being 'a fucking pussy' this time?"

He cracked his bottle open and regarded her with his customary dry glare. "'Cause you're sitting here listening to me instead of getting off your ass and doing something. Ain't nobody holding yer fuckin' leash, mademoiselle."

Anne-Claire Astrid Brunault had managed to suppress her accent many years before, and she had never pronounced it mamuhzelle like the stoat did. It was just his name for her, the same way he called Sammy Benson 'stub' because the tiger had had his tail bobbed in an accident at the machine shop. Dan seemed to have a problem calling people what their birth certificate did.

And he seemed to assume that the world could be perpetually reshaped to one's own needs. That was why he generally got what he wanted, and why he was a good source of advice -- at least for the things one should do, if not for the things one could do. Like now.

"I know, I know. Just... not ready for it..."

"You and your fuckin' excuses."

"That's not fair. I do have... reasons."

"Because you owe the cricket?"

She didn't know where this name for her boss had come from. "Yeah. That and it's not like my car's really up for a regular commute, anyway."

"Have to move to Portland, then."

Astrid wanted to. Badly. That was, after all, where her partner was. And she'd promised that she'd move as soon as she could -- even had an offer, sort of, for some part-time work at a coffee shop one of their friends ran. But: "I'd love to. And if I could pay Ian off, I would..."

So many things had gone wrong. There had been trying to find a place to live after the Incident, for one. That had required some debts, not all of them monetary. Then the health scare, and thank god that had turned out to be nothing. Getting her power turned back on. Getting her car window replaced. Student loans. Paying off the water bill, always just before it went to collections.

Stach's Grounds did not pay much -- not enough to get ahead. Ian Stachs had lent her some money, now and then, enough to get by. And she mostly repaid it, but she was aware of the balance, and so was he, and she couldn't very well leave with that hanging over her head.

"How much do you _owe_the cricket, anyway?"

"Four hundred."

"Just?"

The genet waggled her paw. "Little more. Call it four-fifty."

Dan saw that her bottle was empty, and before she could protest he removed it from between her fingers and handed her a fresh one. "You want me to yell at him for you?"

"No."

"Get all medieval on him? Been awhile since I got to use my --"

"No!" she said, more forcefully. "Leave him alone. Besides, even if I squared with Ian, I'd still have to fix my car."

"Ain't it just unregistered?"

"'Ain't it just,'" she teased him ruefully. "If anybody other than you pulls me over they're not going to let it slide, are they? You know, I think you like abusing your power."

He snorted. "Me? The fuck you accusing me of, mademoiselle?" But then, he was still in uniform, and they were down by the pier, sitting against the side of his patrol car with a case of beer between them.

It didn't matter. He was a good friend, and had been since grade school. Most of the people in town were canids, or something like it; the weasel had been a skinny kid, and awkward-looking. And as a genet, nobody had known what to make of Anne-Claire Astrid Brunault, newly arrived from Morocco in the second grade. Outcasts stuck together. "Nothing, I guess," she said. "I can afford to get my car registered next paycheck. Presuming nothing happens."

"And the cricket?"

Not next paycheck. Not the one after it, either. "I... don't know," she admitted. "Next year."

"Fucking. Pussy. Hey," he seemed to trip into the next thought, after reiterating his assessment of the genet's personality. "How come I ain't never met your true love, anyway?"

"Just never introduced you..."

"Didn't want me to get jealous? Didn't want her to get jealous? C'mon, work with me."

"Yeah," she rolled her eyes. "That's it. I thought she might leave me for you."

"Figured. How'd you two meet, anyway? School?"

"Maybe."

Dan fidgeted; reached for a bottlecap, and tossed it off the pier. "Tell me."

"Why?"

"'Cause I'm bored, and you owe me for the beer."

She'd been coming off a disastrous relationship, Thanksgiving break of her senior year at school. Up to her neck in failed ideas for her final project. Slumped in the corner of a coffee shop, sipping something that claimed to be redolent of pumpkin spice and drawing aimless doodles in her pad.

And then there'd been a heavy thud, and another sketchbook joining hers. Astrid looked up, and found herself looking into the most gorgeous, silver-blue fur she'd ever seen. The snow leopard sat like she owned the whole damned coffee shop. "You're in Dr. Hasting's class, aren't you?"

Astrid nodded. "Yeah."

"You look like it!" A very sharp feline grin. "I am, too. I am also... stuck."

"He doesn't make it easy," Astrid admitted. In fact the cheetah had a reputation for failing the 'uninspiring' in ART 430, Advanced materials in fashion. 'Haute circuiture,' as he'd put it. "I don't even know where to begin."

"I don't either," her new companion said. Her paw flicked open a binder that was dense with half-finished sketches. Boots. Dresses. Belts. "What kind of a final project is this, anyway?"

"'Design something that will change how you and others interact with what you wear,' you mean?" The genet was able to recite it from memory, because it had not become any more comprehensible in the two weeks she'd spent agonizing over it. When she saw how far along the other student was, she flinched. "It's really unfair."

"I have some vague apprehension that this semester ends with me affixing some LEDs and an Arduino to some silly looking hat, and then calling it a day..." The feline sighed, and closed her notebook once again.

Katherine S., it said. The snow leopard had gorgeous script; flowing, as though the pen had not been held so much as... caressed. "I'm sure you'll do better than that," Astrid murmured. "I was thinking something about paws, maybe. Bracelets? Gloves?"

"Something to do with your paws that changes how we interact with what we wear?"

The genet's ears fell. She had big ears for her head, round; nobody knew what to make of her appearance. Astrid curled her tail forward and around her in the booth until she saw its rings at the corner of her vision, and sighed. "I don't know. Maybe it could... I don't know. Change colors to match your outfit."

"Does that really change how you interact with gloves, though?" Even asking a question, the snow leopard's voice had such a smooth, sweet sureness to it. An erudition far beyond Astrid's own.

She twitched an ear. Then, on thinking it over, twitched the other. "No. Not really."

All the gloves really did, in the chilly Portland fall, was to keep the genet's paws from getting soaked. Which was good, but hardly transformational. She couldn't help looking at the snow leopard's own fingers -- graceful, with velvety fur that cloaked the dagger-sharp claws she just knew were hidden somewhere.

And then she looked at hers, which seemed to be pale imitations. The same slate fur. The same white-downed fingers. But...

"Maybe some kind of glove so you could use your phone when you were outdoors in the winter?"

"How often do you need to do that? If it's raining, you don't want to take your phone out anyway." Astrid chewed on her tongue idly. "Although..."

"Although?"

"Well, I was just thinking. Sometimes I want to change my music or something when I'm biking..."

Katherine S. nodded slowly. "Biking gloves, then. And like a bike mount for your phone?"

Astrid reached for her notebook, although she kept it closed for the moment. Didn't want to show off the empty pages. Didn't want to commit to writing something down. Not yet. "Well... no, not everybody has one of those. It could be simpler than that. Lights, say."

"Lights?"

"Yeah." It was a half-formed idea. "It could have like... LEDs on it so if you're biking in the dark people can see your hand signals."

Leaning back against the booth, the snow leopard seemed to consider this carefully. She stretched out her arm, like she was making such a signal, and then nodded. "But that could be distracting, too, the rest of the time..."

"It could be activated by a hand gesture." Astrid tried a few different ones, and settled on touching her thumb to the side of her paw. "You could make it so it closes a circuit here. That way when your paws are on the handlebars, the gloves would be dark -- or -- wait!"

"Wait?" Katherine S. leaned forward.

Finally, Astrid flipped her sketchbook open, and began jotting notes as quickly as she could. "What if they were on all the time? What if you could link it to the phone... uh." She tapped her pen against a waiting page. "If you had a bluetooth module sewn into the gloves, then they could --"

"Like a smartwatch? Messages and stuff?"

"No, simpler," the genet shook her head quickly, fast enough that she could feel her ears swaying. "Use the navigation app on the phone. Uh, uh -- GPS -- show your current -- no, wait -- the next turn!"

"Flash the left paw for a left turn, and the right paw for a right turn?"

"Uh huh!"

"What if you kind of had like a... ah, like kind of... if you pulsed the lights, too. Like for --"

"For your speed? Or, like, to track your cadence?"

"Sure." The feline seemed amused by the speed at which the genet's mind was racing, and the swift precision of her fingers on the pen. "I guess you could do most of that on the phone..."

"Mm-hmm, just some dumb circuitry on the gloves. Oh!"

The exclamation brought a smile to the snow leopard's face. "Something else?"

"You could even make it so that there are contact points on the handlebars, and if you put your gloves on them, then they charge from the dynamo. I mean... I don't think there would be much of a market for all this but..."

"But for a school project," Katherine S. finished. "Might be enough to make that cheetah malcontent smile for once..."

It had, of course, not been quite as simple as all that. The prototype had not worked, at first, and she'd had to bribe one of the other students for help writing the software for her phone. Dinner, three nights, tajine with the spices she'd learned from her mother. But he'd been able to put it together. She grinned, and even a year and a half later was willing to count it as one of her finest moments...

The sound of glass on wood brought her back to the present, where Daniel Hayes had set his bottle down heavily. "Just you two geekin' out over schoolwork?" He seemed somewhat less than impressed. "At a coffee shop? All this time I coulda been skippin' those fuckin' malts..."

For ten years now, their ritual had been drinks at Rainbow's Diner, with its awkward chrome and neon, and the drive-through that took forever because Beck Holloway couldn't get a single car fed without kibitzing. But their milkshakes, with bits of cookie crumbled into them, were good comfort food.

"How do you meet your girlfriends?" Astrid asked him. "The phone book, I guess."

"And bathroom graffiti." The weasel had such sharp teeth, when he bared them in a dark smile. "Didja at least pass yer class?"

She giggled, remembering the sight of skinny Dr. Hastings, a foot or more too tall for her bike, taking it for an awkward spin around the building. "Yep. So did Katya."

"Katya?"

Just thinking about the snow leopard was enough to bring a fresh smile to Astrid's face. "Katya Solomina," she said, emphasizing the syllables of the last name in a happy slur. "Y'think I could be an Astrid Solomina?"

"You, mademoiselle, can be whatever the fuck you want," Daniel said. "Don't like, uh... fuck... your name. Don't like your name?"

"Brunault? Can't use it anyway." She could've, rather, but ever since the Incident she had not really wanted to. Besides, Solomina rolled off the tongue so much better. She saw it in her mind's eye, written on the nameplate of an apartment in Portland. Katya and Astrid Solomina... "I'd rather be Russian."

"Fuckin' commie," the stoat teased her. He looked into his bottle and decided it was full enough for a slower sip, rather than one long pull to finish it off. But he knew that she was in love, because she'd told him before -- incessantly, probably. That every day apart from the leopard was physically painful. That if she could, she would leave in a heartbeat -- up the Neatasknea River, past the deserted lumbermills and lonely forests, to the rapid thumping pulse of Portland and all it promised...

But she couldn't. Not yet. I can't. Christ I want to, but I can't. And I can't see a way out, because...

Because you're a fucking pussy. That's why.

Why do I come to you for advice?

Dan nudged her with his booted foot. "So what happened next?"

"Next?"

"Yeah. That's how time works. Something happens first, and then something else happens next. What happened next?"

Astrid slumped back, resting her head on Daniel's patrol car, and closed her eyes dreamily. "We spent a lot of time working together. She was doing a jacket with... insulation that changed depending on how warm you needed it to be. Really just... it was a cool idea, just... oh, god, Danny, it was so much fucking work... but... if you saw her, you'd be willing to stay late in the lab, trust me..."

Two weeks after they'd first met, Katya had invited Astrid over to her apartment, a couple blocks off campus. More work on the jacket, which Astrid had volunteered to help with now that it was past the design stage. It promised to be a lot of tedious sewing. On a grey Sunday afternoon in December, through a drizzle that was threatening to become something more, she rang the bell of an old apartment. Waited.

By then already Katya was the closest friend she'd made in all of college. The genet knew that she was making excuses to be with her -- that was why she'd offered to help with the jacket. Her long tail swayed, and curled, and danced as the seconds passed. The door opened, and Katya greeted her with a grin. "Hey! Come on in..."

Her apartment was on the fourth floor, up a creaking, narrow wooden staircase. Motion-sensitive lights flickered on weakly as they passed, the old bulbs struggling against the darkness of the corners, and when Astrid grabbed the railing for support it swayed precipitously. She didn't really know what to think of the place.

Then Katya nudged her door open, and she suddenly felt that it was perfect.

Bright. Airy. The drapes had been pulled back from large windows, so that even on that grey day the place was filled with afternoon light. The living room was perfectly simple -- a sparse couch, a coffee table covered in sketches. A sliding glass door, cracked open a foot or so, led to a balcony that looked out over the park.

"I'm going to put some milk on, for hot chocolate. Make yourself comfortable," Katya said.

She took her shoes off, because Katya had, and the genet's claws clicked on old wooden floors. A persian rug called the living room home; it was old, she saw, but there was something about the threadbare quality that lent a sense of... class? History. Taste. Paintings on the walls slashed vibrant colors through the clean white lines of the room. "Did... did you paint these?"

"Yes," Katya called from the kitchen. "Yes, I'm afraid -- except the one on the big wall, do you see it? That was my cousin."

Astrid turned to look. A bold, blocky view of a street scene outside a café -- the people done in streaks of color that made their movements seem purposeful and sharp and alive. Sunday brunch in Greenwich Village, and the teasing, alluring promise of the day beyond. You could do so much, on a day like that... "Your cousin's an artist, too?" she asked wonderingly, doubting neither the word artist nor the word too.

"Yes," the snow leopard replied, in a grinning tone that suggested she'd answered the question many times. "Cousin Lena paints."

Astrid blinked, and leaned in to look at the signature. "Your cousin is Elena Zakharova? My god -- so it's just genetic, then, huh?"

"The buyers would not agree." Katya padded from the kitchen, and pressed a mug of hot chocolate into Astrid's paw. Together they looked at the painting again. "This is worth more than the apartment. That," she jerked her head towards one of her own paintings. "Is not."

"They're all lovely," Astrid sighed. "I've always wanted to try painting..."

"I gave up on it, I admit. My things are in storage, though... you could borrow them? But come, come, take a seat."

Katya brushed some sketches away so that they could set their mugs down on her coffee table as desired, and Astrid joined her on the sofa. "I was thinking," she said -- the hot chocolate smelled amazing, but it was too hot to drink and so she had to force herself to wait, clasping it in her paws and inhaling gratefully. "Mm, this smells wonderful! I was thinking that maybe we could try to use a sewing machine."

"Not too thick?"

"Well, uh. It might be, but, mm. I was thinking what if you separated out the old liner material and sewed it to that, rather than, um..." She got so easily distracted, with the snow leopard around. "Rather than working with the whole jacket..."

"Good idea. We'll have to find one that looks like it would be easy to work with..."

"Do you not have one in mind yet?"

Katya shook her head gaily. "Nope! I thought we could go to the secondhand store and look today, maybe. I had some ideas of what I was looking for..."

She reached for a sketchpad, and pulled it over so that Astrid could see the careful diagrams. The genet tilted her head, tracing the lines with her claw; if she sniffed carefully, beneath the smell of hot chocolate and rain she caught the hint of a perfume that she told herself was Russian, and exotic. And lovely.

In truth Astrid did not know why she should think such a thing. She had become quite close to the snow leopard, it was true, but she had never felt that way about another woman before and did not see a reason why she should do so now. Just little... hints, at the edges of her consciousness. The way she lingered too long on the fluid movements of the silver-furred feline's body.

The secondhand store was a brisk walk away, although with her thick fur Katya didn't seem to mind the December chill. That was for Astrid to comment on. Snickering, Katya shrugged off her jacket and draped it over the genet's shoulders. "This," she said, "is nothing like Saint Petersburg in the winter. You must have thin blood..."

Snuggled into the jacket, warm with the other girl's body heat, Astrid grinned. "Would you go back?"

"No. Never. Everything's nicer here. The people, too. Besides, I like not having to wear a parka just to go out in the evenings..."

In glimpses, Astrid had come to learn that Katya's life was far different from her own. Her parents had been beneficiaries of the Soviet system, and maintained close ties to the pulse of the Russian economy. The jacket Astrid now wore was soft, and fine, and the hood was fringed with real fur. My last boyfriend, Katya had joked -- but even feral fur was hard to come by, in America, and ostentatious.

Yet she was not unapproachable. Flighty, sometimes -- despite her studious way of speaking and her graceful movements -- but never cold. In the store, pawing over old jackets, she shared in Astrid's glee. They left with four promising candidates, and also a scarf that Katya wound carefully about the genet's throat. "You look like you're ready for the opera," she said.

Back in her apartment, she put some more milk on. A feline's vice, she explained, before topping the hot chocolate with a generous helping of whipped cream. Her soft feet made no sound when she padded back to the couch, and dropped down next to Astrid. "I don't like winter," she told the genet. "But I like the things you can eat during the winter. Turkey, and gingerbread cookies, and hot chocolate, and hot buttered rum..."

"You... you could eat those any time," Astrid pointed out.

"I like having an excuse."

It was hard to argue with that, especially when the person making the excuse was sprawled so appealingly on her sofa, the mug clasped close to her muzzle -- doing nothing to hide her smile, because her eyes showed it off so well. "Do you cook, too?"

"Not as well as you do." Katya had eaten some of the couscous Astrid made, the week before, and pronounced it marvelous. "Just hot chocolate, really."

"Isn't too hard. I... I could show you? When we're done with this."

Katya grinned. "I'd like that," the snow leopard said. Astrid realized then how close the two truly were -- scant inches. The feline's eyes were on hers, and the genet felt her tail wave unbidden, and curl, and coil, and hint at...

Before she knew what it was hinting at, Katya leaned in, and their lips met. Astrid gasped in surprise -- she told herself it was surprise; nothing more. "What..."

"Sorry," Katya murmured, not quite pulling away. "It just felt..."

It had. There was a protest, something like but I've never done that before, and Astrid didn't even bother to voice it because even in her head it sounded wrong. She took a deep breath, and closed the distance again. Katya could not withdraw; the sofa was in the way, and her feelings were in the way, and so she tilted her head, and their lips locked deeply.

Astrid caught the sweet taste of whipped cream on Katya's lips, and her mouth was warm and inviting as the genet's tongue slipped into it. And in that single, crystalline moment -- frozen like the painting, full of promise -- she knew that they had been meant for one another.

She broke the kiss reluctantly, and again their eyes met. This time it was different, for Katya knew the same thing. Never done that before be damned. Her pastor be damned, and her parents, and her classmates, and the whole world. All she wanted was the leopard, and who was there to stop her?

Even knowing everything that was to come, the good and the bad, Astrid would always view it as the beginning of her new life, her real life, and that was what she told Daniel Hayes, by way of explanation.

"End it there?"

"That was it."

"Wasn't fuckin' it," Daniel grumbled. "Obviously."

"Was that night," Astrid giggled. The alcohol had lent everything a nice, fuzzy tinge. "Wasn't until later that...

"That?"

She coughed. "That we... well."

The stoat raised his eyebrow. "That you what? Details."

Astrid rolled her eyes, and gave him a shove. He took it too heavily, rolling to the side theatrically and straightening up only slowly. She crossed her arms over her chest. "You thinking you're gonna get off to my very personal story, Danny?"

"Well nottifya don't tell me."

She snorted. "What's in it for me, huh?"

He tipped his bottle back, polishing it off, and shrugged a mischievous shrug. "Knowing ya helped me get off?"

"There's an exclusive club. I want to know something about you, Dan."

"Me? Fuck, mademoiselle, I'm the most borin' fuckin' asshole in all of Cannon Shoals." Grumbling, he opened another beer; they were two thirds of the way through the case. "There's shit to know about me."

"Not what Alex says!" Alex Page lived in the apartment next to Dan, and they had a strained relationship. Astrid didn't mind the rabbit, though, and he was good for gossip if nothing else. "I hear things..."

"You hear shit. Fuck that guy and his fuckin' ears. Oughta flashbang his fuckin' living room, see how well he eavesdrops on that."

She couldn't tell if he was serious or just grumbling for effect. "So I should just assume it's true. Mm, but... I do have a question."

"Shoot."

Astrid smiled. She liked Hayes, but he did have his darker side. She'd called him, after the Incident, because she hadn't known anyone else she could rely on. A pleasant day in June, just about exactly a year ago, and he'd pulled his squad car up outside her parents' house, glaring daggers at her mother until the older genet shrunk back and went to hide in the kitchen. And then he'd helped her carry as much of her life out to his car as the two of them could fit.

At the time, she'd been so distraught by the Incident itself -- the sight of her father's disappointment, and her mother bitterly ordering her to "get out until you can stop being like that" -- that nothing seemed surprising. In all the months of readying herself for that moment, she'd told herself that it was a possibility, that they might not understand, that they might react badly... all the while she never really believed. Watching the horror in her own mother's eyes, though, as she realized the sort of child she'd raised...

"A cop car outside my folks' house," Astrid had said, in a daze. "People are gonna think..."

"Let 'em," the stoat had snarled, and when they had packed all they could he slammed the door hard enough that one of the neighbors came out to see what was going on.

She'd seen her mother exactly twice, in the year that followed -- both times accidentally, at the IGA. Neither had acknowledged the other. Katya said that over time, it would get easier; that they could reconcile. It hadn't been easy for her own family, she offered as reassurance, but they'd managed. Astrid still wasn't certain, and she definitely hadn't believed it then.

Cut off from anything she'd known in the twenty years before, she'd ignored the tone in the weasel's voice when he growled at her mother. Dan listened to her sniffling, and when the sniffling turned into bawling he'd bought her a milkshake from the drive-through at Rainbow's, and pulled his car up next to the curb to wait.

She'd heard somebody come up to the window. "Hey, man, this space is reserved..."

"Yeah? Hold on, let me check the glovebox to see if I have any fucks to give you."

"You know, my taxes pay your salary..."

Dan had opened the door and stepped out, cracking his knuckles. "Then I hope you're one hell of a masochist, because if you don't get out of here you're going to be paying to have me break your face in."

The interloper had gone away, and Dan stayed in the car with her until she could see again. Until she could see her past, and nudge her way towards assembling the pieces of a newly shattered future. And at the time, with the milkshake melting like her own tears and everything she owned shoved into the back of a Crown Victoria, his bluster had seemed... protective.

But yes, it was a darker side. She looked at him now, sprawled against the side of the exact same car, and it was hard to believe. He was looking at her expectantly, waiting for the question. She felt silly, asking the question she really wanted to ask, and so she settled for something else: "You ever... you ever let someone off in exchange for... anything?"

"Like a bribe?"

"Well... like... you know. 'I can make this go away if you... you know, make it worth my while'? That kinda thing?"

He furrowed his brow with just enough effort that she knew he had. "I," he muttered, gesturing with his beer, "am a very dedicated officer, I'll have you know."

"I heard you had a formal complaint lodged! First one here in like four years."

"One," Dan grumbled. "Doesn't even count. Back a couple months, when they shut down the plant upriver and there was all the press here? This fuckin' cunt of an otter decided she didn't like the way I talked to her."

"Can't imagine why." Nor could she imagine anyone talking back to Dan. Her mother had learned this the hard way, and Astrid felt slightly guilty that she didn't regret that memory more...

The stoat rolled his eyes. "I didn't call her that. She just was. Anyway she accused me of destroying evidence, too -- turns out that's a bitch of a charge to prove. Chief shut her up, but he promised to... you know. Discipline me. Yadda yadda. Reckon the bitch got off easy."

"She deserve it?"

He thought a moment. Shrugged. "Eh. That was all ya wanted to know? Yer turn again, then -- or are you still 'not ready'? Shit. I wanna hear somethin' good."

"Will you get off?"

"Depends on how you tell it."

The idea was probably a little salacious, but a beer or two (three? maybe four?) had removed the impediment of decorum for her, and his nature had removed it from Dan Hayes, and so she thought back and the memory was obvious.

Four months after the Incident. She was already working at Stach's; already had her apartment and most of her things back. It was towards the end of tourist season, and Katya suggested a trip down the coast to Newport, and the Yaquina Head light. Five days in total; when she balked, Katya dangled the promise of a bed and breakfast, and that was enough.

It was an unseasonably hot September, warm enough that the Pacific was refreshing instead of frigid, and the pair donned swimsuits and waded out in the cold water. Katya teased her for the way her snaking tail whipped water everywhere, and Astrid pounced her into the surf, and they had lost themselves in each other's arms for a lovely few hours, until the tide came in.

Then ice cream, lapped at daintily. And a drowsy afternoon that dragged on, and on, until Katya said she wanted to try painting the ocean view from their room, and Astrid said she thought she might lie down for a spell.

She awoke in the soft marigold of sunset. Katya had her easel up: bold blocks of color framed the waves of the Pacific, from deep black to a grey-blue the same shade as the snow leopard's graceful arms. She paused, brush nearly to the canvas, and when she hesitated Astrid spoke: "it's beautiful."

Katya turned, and smiled. "No... it's silly."

"Nonsense!"

She set the brush down, and her palette, and padded softly over to the bed. "It is. Do you know something, kvoshka?" She sat on the edge of the bed and then, thinking further, pulled herself all the way onto it, rolling over the genet to recline at her side. "It is very silly indeed, to try to capture a moment like this in colors."

Astrid smiled, and used the opportunity to tease her way through the feline's thick fur. "What would you use instead?"

She felt an answering paw on her hip, and the hint of sharp claws, hooking into the fabric of her shirt. "Touch," Katya murmured. She pressed closer, and Astrid twisted into her. "Like this..." Their muzzles met effortlessly -- long seconds of a lingering kiss, warm as the fading summer day...

When Katya tried to pull away Astrid slipped her other arm around the big cat to stop her, and found no resistance. A soft purr spilled from the leopard, into the genet's mouth, and she parted her lips to greet Katya's tongue as it followed. A brief, electric heat as their tongues brushed, and then the leopard was pushing forward and into her maw like she owned it. Because she did.

Katya had big paws, deceptively big. Strong -- strong enough to keep the genet from going anywhere, though she arched up and wriggled to make things easier when Katya slid her bikini down with the grain of her soft fur. Her fingers caressed the genet's long, slim legs, and Astrid sighed. She claimed everything she touched: a needle, a paintbrush, a soldering iron...

A long, ringed tail, twitching eagerly in delight.

The feline was overdressed, which was to say she was wearing something and Astrid wanted her wearing nothing and with clutching paws she set about accomplishing this goal. Found the zipper of her blue jeans. No -- first the button. No -- first a supple leather belt; Astrid kept her claws retracted but tugged at it sharply until it gave way. Then the jeans. Good.

Her shirt. An old affair, suitable for getting paint on. Astrid tugged it up until it was bunched where their lips were locked and Katya finally tore herself away -- panting, half-growling, half-purring. And as soon as the shirt was gone the leopard pushed herself greedily into another kiss, fierce and clinging and close...

How long had it been? Ages. Hours, at least.

Too long, far too long.

Katya lifted her up, so that she could unfasten the top part of the genet's bikini, and Astrid followed the movement through until Katya was flat on her back, all soft fur and graceful curves. Plush heat, vibrating with rumbling purrs, that she fell atop, and into. Slipped her tongue into the leopard's maw, and felt her sharp feline teeth. Needle-pointed, dangerous, and all hers.

Strong arms circled the genet, securing her, as the two lovers panted softly together on the bed, pressed snugly spotted pelt to spotted pelt. And Astrid gasped, because the leopard had pushed her legs apart and her thigh was nudged right up against her, gliding smoothly over the soft pink lips of her sex. She ground helplessly into Katya's leg, and felt a shock of pleasure force its way up her spine.

Had to think one action at a time. Pull herself away, shuddering, fighting the tangle of the leopard's legs until Katya understood what she was doing, tugging away the cotton panties that were, between them, the only barrier left... and as soon as they were gone their bodies met again, and this time Astrid felt the cat's lissome body tense and quiver too.

Now when Katya's knee rose again to push into her hips she didn't try to fight it -- moaned along with the feline as their legs entwined. They rocked and squirmed together, an undulating dance of rising pace and building heat. Astrid felt the growing wetness soaking into the fur of her leg as they wrestled and clung together and she was giddy with it, with the knowledge of that closeness, that intimacy, that power she had over the big predator.

Katya arched back, her teeth bared, hissing as a shudder kicked through her. Big ears splaying, the genet ducked her head down to nuzzle into her lover's throat, muffling a ragged moan that was rewarded with the clutching grasp of sharp-clawed fingers at her back.

A twist of their bodies brought them right together for a jolting second, flesh on silken flesh, and Astrid keened into yielding fur as the wonderful feeling of building pleasure surged. An echo of a kiss, wet and warm and so impossibly delightful. Astrid breathed the leopard's name as an oath, an invocation, a prayer to the gods of every religion, of pantheons on worlds yet undiscovered.

Still they would listen.

She loved the leopard like this -- in those moments vulnerable and near to glowing in their mutual pleasure. Loved her mewling, and her broken moans. Loved feeling her body tensing and bucking in the rhythm of their fluid lovemaking. Riding her powerful body as she started to come apart in a jerking urgency of squirming, purring, gasping bliss.

She was close -- so close; Astrid told herself she could feel the heat spreading through the leopard's body. This time she wanted to join her. Needed to. Silly indeed to capture a moment like this in colors. Better ways -- the snow leopard's velvet fur stroking over her sensitive flesh, parting it with her taut-muscled thighs. A giddy duet of panted, husky moans.

Sharp pain as claws dug in, pain that was really pleasure because Astrid knew it meant Katya was losing control. And then the leopard was wailing, and Astrid felt the pleasure bubbling up in her own hips, swelling over her in warm waves she was powerless to resist. Her body throbbed with it, tumbling from one warm crest to the next.

They lay together afterwards, a mess of intertwined limbs and wet fur and passion slowly ebbing into a glow like the sun now kissing the edge of the Pacific -- on the horizon, beyond the ken of their knowledge or concern.

This was her favorite part, her favorite moment; her favorite breath. The snow leopard's chest, its rise and fall slowing into something more even and slow. Her thick tail, braiding the genet's own. They were joined as surely as they had been made together, cast from the same clay.

Katya's paws stroked the genet's oversized ears. "Kvoshka, how I love you..."

And though the day would end -- though the week would end, and she would go back to Portland and Astrid would go back to Cannon Shoals and the gods alone knew when they could be back together -- still that one moment, that perfect moment, would last. "I love you, too," Astrid whispered, and meant it as she had meant nothing else.

Soft fingers caressed her shoulderblades, and felt for the spots of her elfin body. Mapping her, as Astrid mapped the leopard, so that when they closed their eyes they could recall by touch what perfection was... and the genet did close her eyes, and wished, and begged...

She was still in bed when she opened them again. Alone. Or -- no. There was someone with her. She mumbled, her mouth sticky and slow. "Where'm I?"

"Yer place. Broughtcha back," Dan said. "Guess yer story had a hell of a finish."

"I want her so badly... god, Danny... if I had wings... if I had wings... then I'd... then I'm..."

"Drunk, mademoiselle. You're drunk. Fuckin' lightweight." But he said it quietly, as if trying not to disturb her. "Drink lots of water, okay? Lots of water an' some ginger ale in the morning."

She heard the bedsprings groan as he stood up and went for the door. He had opened it; was most of the way through. "Danny?"

The weasel turned. "Yeah?"

That question. She swallowed. "How come we never..."

"Don't," he told her, softer than he'd ever been.

She couldn't help herself. "How come we were never a thing, Dan?"

Because you're a fucking pussy, she could hear his slurring growl. Or some jocular, profane interjection. Some curse delivered with a sharp-toothed grin and a glint in his eye.

But instead those eyes locked on hers. Stared at her for long, long seconds. Long as the endless summers of their childhood, and the stumbling odyssey that was her life, yawning wide before her. Long as the weight of unspoken apologies, and of unstarted journeys.

He did smile, but the smile was soft, too. "'Cause you deserve better than me. Even I know that." And before she could say anything else he was gone, and the door clicked solidly.

Her head swam in an ugly, reeling mess when she awoke again, at midday. Squinting to keep the pain at bay, she fumbled for her phone. Two messages. Sorry to hear about the flu, get well soon and don't sweat it. Please come in when you can so w can talk - Ian. And: u were a fkin mess haha told the cricket i picked u up w/stomach bug & not to expect u today xo

An hour and two aspirins later she felt good enough to make her way outside. And then, step by slow step, down three blocks to Stach's Grounds. In the early afternoon, it was empty, with only Ian behind the counter.

"Hey, Astrid. How are you feeling?"

"Better, I think," she said. "I've also been better, but... you said you wanted to talk?"

The fox glanced around, to make sure that there were no patrons. "Daniel Hayes came in this morning. For a... chat."

"A... about?"

"He said you two'd been talking. Wanted to know if I knew that you..." He sighed, and fidgeted with the knot of his apron. "He said you wanted to leave, but... you felt some... loyalty to me."

Now that the cat was out of the bag there was no using denying it, any more than there had been taking back the admission to her parents. "Yes. I'd like to go to Portland."

"He said you had a job offer there. I guess... something nice."

"Well..." That had been a little bit of a lie. "I don't know yet."

Ian Stachs was at least forty, because he'd been running Stach's Grounds since her family had moved into the town. He was ageless, though, and his smile was soft and genuine, friendly and grandfatherly all at once. "You don't have to stay. Not for me."

"It's complicated, though."

"You didn't have to pay me back, either. Well. Not... like that."

"What?"

He nodded back towards the cash register. "Daniel gave me the envelope you told him to. He... he said you were... you were worried about how I'd take it. Like I might... god, how did he put it? He said: 'she don't want it to be like she's buying her freedom, cricket.'" The fox laughed. "I guess I'm a slave-owner now."

"I never thought of you that way!"

"I know, I know. Daniel's just being his usual self. But he's right, you didn't have to -- we could've made arrangements. I don't want to think how long you've been saving up."

"I..." She did not recall an envelope. She had not been saving; had never been able to.

"I'll make it easy," he smiled. "I want you to go. You... well. I guess I'd say that you deserve better than me -- you okay?" She'd flinched. "Still sick?"

"Maybe."

He patted her shoulder. "Sleep on it. But get up to Portland. That's an order -- last order I'm giving you. Daniel would never forgive me."

She didn't know what to say. It was the second time she'd been ordered away -- only this time felt different. Friendlier. It was hard to feel anything but good vibes from Ian. "Why does he call you 'cricket'? Do you know?"

"Sure. Used to play fiddle. Me and his dad, actually. Us two and old Vic Tecson, before he passed."

Of all the images she could've associated with the fox, it was not the one that came first to her mind. "But you stopped, huh?"

"Ran out of time, I guess. You have these things, and they seem so important, and then before you know it you've let them slip away... maybe I see a little of myself in you. The worst thing you can ever think in the morning is, if only I had..."

A nicer way of phrasing what Dan had told her. The genet nodded her head, and then she hugged the fox tightly. "Thanks, Ian." Farewell, the embrace added, when words could not.

Outside she cupped her paw above her eyes to shield them from the sun, and looked up the street towards her apartment. Already she was counting down the number of times she'd have to cross its threshold. Three? Four? There was nothing in the apartment of great import, anymore; Astrid had sold or given away most of her things to shed the memories.

She'd have to find Dan, of course. She didn't know what he'd done, exactly, but they'd have to settle accounts -- she owed him a great deal. But then what next? It was a hundred and fifty miles to Portland, along the winding track of the Neatasknea River. A hundred and fifty miles and twenty-three years.

Not so far, for all that.

She was --

Ready.