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Given the best chance to, you would not notice her. Given seven days of 'Excuse me' and stepping past, you'd not notice her. Given seven days of hearing her say the same thing in the coffee bar when you're standing behind her, counting your change, you would not notice her. Given two weeks of sitting opposite from her on the train every morning, you would not notice her. Two years, though, you're aware she's there. That's about it.

Part of the scenery at that stage, as much as reading the names of stations as you grind to a thirty-second halt to let people from Tontnes, Bristol, Cheltenham, Birmingham, Wolverhampton get on the train. She's like your own reflection viewed through bleary, half-open eyes. Like the matching, but missing tie that you scrabble around your room for, cursing under your breath. Like the walk to the station in the winter with pissing, miserable rain flattening your fur and ears. Tail and head go down. She's a lot like that.

Until she isn't.

Mike huffed into his paws, his breath visibly curling out even before he briskly rubbed them together. It would have been a good morning to put the sandals on, plenty of others had so he wouldn't have looked like a total berk. The concrete was draining the warmth out of his feet, ankles and legs at an alarming rate. He shifted, thinking about standing on his briefcase until the train arrived. Where was it? He checked his watch. It should have been here seven minutes ago. Usually the morning train through Exeter was reliable. He needed it to be, too. The office wasn't too lenient on lateness. 'Get an earlier train' being their normal solution, but he was averse to getting up at, oh, say about 4am?

His paws weren't getting any warmer, either. It was an unreasonably cold autumn morning so his winter coat hadn't quite come in yet. Otherwise he'd have taken his jacket off and stood on that. The cold was up to his knees now. He knew it was probably in his mind but when he thought about that he started thinking about a little mountaineer climbing his leg, digging crampons and ice-picks into the treacherous territory of his knee. That's what it felt like anyway.

Ears turned, then his head. The train was coming. Well, not before time. Mike lifted his briefcase and shuffled his feet again, already thinking about the thin, worn but mercifully warm carpet on his poor, half-frozen pads. The cup of coffee they served that, against all expectation was strong, bitter and delicious. The lights were showing, the train was slowing and Mike started to move forwards and that's when he noticed her.

"Shit!"

He had been told that he had a gift for noticing details. Once, he'd been in a car crash that the other passengers had no recollection of (except Nicky who was at least able to say "I remember seeing the other car and then hanging upside down shouting"). Not so for Mike. As soon as he saw the other car hydroplane across the white line, the rest of his mind shut down so that he could file away each minute detail for dreadful recollection later in a police station. That the oncoming car, just before impact, turned in indicator on (right) as the other driver panicked and flailed at the controls. That when they hit, the car he was in flipped off to the left and into a field, where it started rolling over. That Laura was dead before they'd even stopped moving, she was sitting in front of him and he saw her, seatbeltless, fly from her seat, headfirst into the roof of the car, her neck cracking to an impossible angle but, as if that wasn't enough, on the first impact of the roll, the roof of the car against the ground, denting heavily on the side she was on, her skull shattering with a dull crunch and her brains flying across his muzzle. The driver, Tony, gripping the wheel even though his head was pounding his side window, hard enough to crack it before the crash could, he was limp like a ragdoll for the rest of the crash. Spike, beside him in the back, shouting "Leg, leg, leg!" over and over again. This continued after the car had come to a stop. His leg shattered and being crushed between the drivers seat, which had come free of its fittings and the floor of the car. Him? A few cuts and a bent ear.

They'd called him lucky.

The crash came back to mind in all its beautiful carnage in a flash when he was what was happening. His useless, frozen feet refused to move and nobody else was watching, least of all the rather overweight man who had bumped into her. Maybe her feet are as cold as mind, he thought. Her arms where wheeling, she was struggling to get her balance back and, tilting over backwards like someone on a rope, she caught his eye. Vague pleading.

Then she was going over the side, landing with her rump half on and half off the platform. She would have somersaulted. Had the train not hit her.

Detail, always detail. Mike watched her legs vanish from sight. The train continued onwards for another ten or so yards. Some people screamed. The doors of the train opened. He was disgusted to see people get on the train, whilst still looking down to the front. Almost without thinking, he was on the phone, having whipped it out of his pocket and dialed up the emergency services without thinking. He was asked what the nature of the emergency was.

"I'm standing on platform -" He stopped, looked, and continued, "Two in the train station. A woman's just been hit by a train. I don't know if she's alive or dead. I'd guess dead. I'm Mike Holland of 8, Tarry Avenue." He took the phone away from his ear and dropped it back into his pocket.

Some people were screaming, the shrillness of it hurt his ears. They were half-frozen too and didn't need that sort of abuse. Mike looked around. Nobody seemed to be taking any sort of action. Great, he thought.

Willing his locked-up knees to move, he strode purposefully to the front of the train and punched the side of the carriage repeatedly. Just as his balled up paw was starting to throb, the door opened and a disgruntled face poked out.

"What?" growled the conductor.

"Don't let the train move off," said Mike, "Someone fell in front of it."

"What?"

Are you dumb thought Mike, angrily. "Someone fell in front of the train, don't move off."

"Well, fuck. This is going to be one late train today."

Mike scowled at him and, swallowing a lump in his throat, stepped to the right and vaulted down to the rails. He winced; the rocks between the tracks were cutting up his pads, though they were so cold that he was only vaguely aware of this. There was no sign of her and he squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the worst. Then he looked up the side between the train and the platform.

He saw her. Ugh. She was hanging by a foot, caught above the platform, dangling down limply. He was surprised that it hadn't been severed, she must've been dragged along about ten or twenty feet. What am I even doing, he thought, desperately. Then there was someone behind him, hand on his shoulder.

He whirled around, startling an already nervous squirrel who asked if she was alive.

Mike looked back over his shoulder. "I have no idea," he said. "She's not moving, but I wouldn't be either. Take a look." He stepped aside and the squirrel peered in, reeled away and vomited. Mike rubbed his forehead and groaned. He hated people being sick. The sound of it always made him want to hurl. Somehow, though, he had ended up being the cool, controlled guy in the emergency. Shit. That would probably mean making a fucking statement.

When the squirrel had stopped throwing up Mike looked up, saw the gathering crowd, groaned and, in his most authoritive voice said, "Get him out of here," to the nearest person. Between them they manhandled the squirrel back up to the platform.

There were sirens wailing in the background. Not before time. And then.....one of his ears flicked back and Mike followed it, crouching down low and looking under the train. He twisted his head back and shouted, "She's alive!" to the crowd. There was a cheer. He could've done without that.

"Can you hear me?" he said to the figure, and rolled his eyes, realizing just how impossibly lame that must have sounded.

When she didn't respond, he kept talking, saying things like, "Don't worry, the ambulance will be here soon," and "Everything's going to be fine, just hold on," and, running out of things to say he introduced himself, recognizing that he was starting to babble a bit and not caring, somewhere, someplace he had heard that you should keep talking to someone who's been injured. Probably in a movie, he guessed, but hell, there was nothing else he could really do.

Alleluia. The paramedics had finally arrived. Then he was being firmly moved away by yellow-coated professionals, helped back onto the platform, being asked questions by a number of them while the others started to work out just what the hell to do. He could feel the adrenalin starting to subside, leaving him feeling light headed and confused. They sat him down on one of the benches that, just a few minutes ago had been packed with people, that's why he'd been standing, he'd gotten to the station a little late today. Mike's hand went into his pocket and checked for keys. Yeah, he still had them. He remembered losing them a few years ago and arriving home after a particularly rotten day at work and having to phone the landlord from a public phone, having to stand around for hours waiting to get a spare key, trying to look inconspicuous while rough looking gangs of youths swaggered past.

"Stay with us, Mike."

He looked up blearily. "Huh?"

"Stay with us, Mike, you were looking a little woozy there. Here, drink this."

The paramedic handed over a plastic cup of hot water. Nothing in it, just hot water.

"Can't I get coffee?" he asked dully.

The paramedic grinned, a big, friendly and incredibly fake grin. "Maybe later. Right now we could use a bit of help from you. Sounds like you were the one that kept his head when this was all going on."

"Oh."

The other passengers were ushered off to a bus to take them to their respective destinations and, at length, the police arrived and guided a very lethargic, quiet fox into the back of a luridly bright police car to 'take him back and ask him a few questions, nothing to be worried about, the important thing is to know that you're not being blamed for anything, we just want to get a picture of the incident.'

Mike watched, feeling completely detached, as the station vanished from view and faced front in the car again, lowering his eyes to the floor and crossing his arms protectively across his chest, hunching his shoulders and lowering his ears.

*****

First thing he was allowed to do, after a period of waiting around, in the station was phone his boss, explaining what had happened. He foolishly started with the comment, "I'm in the police station," and had to spend most of his time calming his boss down that, no, he hadn't done anything wrong, that he was going to help with a statement, don't worry, I'll be in work tomorrow, yes, I know, very sorry, but it couldn't be helped, if you want you can email me the data and I'll do the report from home, not ideal but it would still get the report done and dusted, wasn't it for next week anyway and finally, sorry, but I can't stay any longer, just wanted to let you know what was happening.

He replaced the receiver in its holder gently. A stressed looking vixen in uniform was tapping her feet. "Mr. Holland?"

"That's me."

"Would you follow me, please? We're ready for you now."

Mike silently trailed after her. She walked purposefully but the fur on her tail was thin and tatty. Someone needs a holiday, he thought.

"In through here," she said, holding the door open for him and gesturing. He went in; she followed and closed the door. A quiet click told him that yes, it was locked.

There was something about these interview rooms that always intimidated him. He'd been in one after the car crash and had felt like confessing that he had once graffiti'ed a wall when he was 14. That when he was 17 he had gotten the wrong change and hadn't told anyone that he had got £20 that he wasn't entitled to. That when he was 11 he had snuck into a factory after hours and spent the night wandering about, trying doors and tapping windows until a security guard had surprised him and chased him off.

The vixen sat down opposite him, beside a lean, hungry looking doberman. The doberman removed his cap and took a moment to smooth down his headfur. Although equal opportunity, the police force attracted a lot of canines. They were suited to the work.

"Ok, Mr. Holland," he said, after flicking through some papers. "First of all, I'd just like to point out that this isn't an interrogation, even though this was the only bloody room we could arrange on short notice. So you can relax."

Mike nodded sharply.

"Yeah, nice relaxing there. Is there anything we can get you?"

"Coffee," said Mike, before he could even think about it. "The paramedics promised me a cup," he said, as if to explain and he cringed, knowing how that would sound to the officers. Apparently not noticing, though, the doberman nodded to the vixen who got up quietly and went out. Then she poked her head back in. "Coffee? Sugar?"

"Whiskey? Just kidding. Um, milk, just milk, thanks."

She left and the doberman sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Ok, Mr. Holland. I'm Glen. Constable Glen Birthday. The less jokes about my name, the better."

"Then Mike will do. Mr. Holland sounds like you're telling me off."

"Fine. My colleague, when she gets back, she's Sheila."

"Right."

On cue, the vixen came back in with a cup of coffee. In a mug. Even so, it turned out to be disgusting machine coffee, the type with just a hint of diesel in the aftertaste. Mike sipped at it gladly, though.

"Alright, Mike," said Glen. "We're going to ask you a series of questions and when you answer, I'd like you to speak loudly and clearly, we're recording everything that gets said in here and from that we'll get your statement scribed at a later date. We may paraphrase your comments but will include the tape with the statement so that people may check that we haven't misquoted you completely. Understood?"

"Clearly," said Mike.

"Good. Ok, we'll begin. You are Mike Thaddeus Holland, born 18th of July, 2084 to Mr. John Holland and Mrs. Andrea Holland, correct?"

"Yes."

"You currently reside at 18, Tarry Avenue, Exeter?"

"Um. No. It's 8 Tarry Avenue."

Sheila made a note on a piece of paper.

"At 7.11am on this morning, the 17th of October, 2110 you contacted the emergency services regarding the incident involving Tania Mathakan at Exeter Train Station?"

Tania Mathakan, he thought. So that's her name. "That would have been me, yes."

"Can you describe the incident? Take as much time and go into as much detail as you need to."

Mike thought for a second, allowing his mind to line up all the details, file through them and sort out what you relevant and what wasn't and then he spoke. "I was waiting for the train to get me into work. Standing about three quarters down the platform. The train was late. When it was arriving, there were more people than usual there was a bit of a push forwards because it was so cold, I imagine people wanted to get on the train a bit more than usual. Someone bumped into her, that's Miss.....uh....."

"Mathakan," supplied Glen.

"Mathakan," repeated Mike. "Someone bumped into her and she lost her balance. She was standing near the edge of the platform and when she fell, she was either hit by the train or dragged along by it. I'm not sure."

"Can you describe the gentleman that bumped into her?"

"He was a terrier breed. I'm not sure what exactly. Grey fur, not very well groomed. Not as tall as me, I'd guess around 5' 7" or somewhere around that region. Fat, not just a little chubby, he was fat. Wearing a grey suit, but I couldn't see his shirt or tie, he had the jacket closed and was walking sideways to me. Very stubby tail."

The officers passed a meaningful look between them that, while the look itself wasn't lost on Mike, the meaning certainly was.

"Thank you. Can you tell us what happened after the train had stopped?"

"I made my call to the emergency services. Then I went up to the engine carriage and hammered on the side until the conductor or driver, I'm not sure which, looked out and told him what had happened, in case he tried to move off. Then I jumped down onto the platform."

"Which is how you lacerated your pawpads?"

"Yes. I looked to see where she was and spotted her. I wasn't sure if she was alive or dead. Someone jumped down behind me and threw up when they saw her. I don't know who that was, but he was a squirrel. Then the paramedics arrived. Oh, wait. No, I saw her move and I started trying to talk to her. The paramedics arrived after that."

Sheila nodded to Glen. "Very comprehensive, Mike."

He sat quietly.

"Now, as I understand, the paramedics bandaged your right foot because the lacerations were more severe on that and placed some adhesive gauze on your left foot. They also gave you a mild dose of a sedative because you were showing signs of post-traumatic stress."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

"The effects would have worn off about an hour ago, so don't worry. That's why we had to keep you waiting a little while before we allowed you the phonecall."

"One final question," said Sheila. "Can you describe your relationship with Miss Mathakan?"

"Um, there isn't one," said Mike, feeling oddly uncomfortable. "I didn't even know her name until you told me. I've been getting the same train as her for a while, but we've never even passed a word."

Glen's eyebrows knotted in thought. "That's odd. Some people at the station mentioned that they saw you together an awful lot."

Mike nodded cautiously. "That's true, I suppose. But coincidence more than anything, I think. We just tend to arrive at the station at the same time, so we'd get our tickets at the same time, and end up one behind the other in the coffee house. But like I said, I think the most I've ever said to her was something like, "Oh, sorry," when I got in her way."

"Ok then. We'd like you to wait here, Mike. Again, you're under no suspicion, but we may have a few more questions to ask that haven't quite come through yet. You won't be waiting any more than an hour, then you can go home. I understand that this will have been quite a stressful day; I'd advise you to get some sleep to take the weight off. Excuse us."

With that, the two officers left the room, leaving Mike alone with an awful lot of thoughts spinning around his head.

*****

As it turned out, they didn't have any more questions. He was given a lift home by the good Officer Birthday, who kept the conversation professionally casual and light-hearted. As he got out of the car, he again thanked Mike for his help and mentioned that he may be contacted again in relation to the incident, but not to worry if he was. Mike said that would be fine and closed the door.

A few minutes later, he closed the door of his flat behind himself. He was almost disappointed to see that there had been no change. After such an eventful day it was a let-down that everything was exactly as he had left it. Even his sandals were lying in the middle of the floor, reminding him of his indecision about putting them on. The cuts on his pawpads said that, yes, he should have worn them after all.

He pottered quietly around the flat's kitchen for a few minutes, making coffee and a sandwich. Turning on some music to at least make noise, he sat down on the armchair he had bought a few weeks ago. He took a sip of the coffee, it tasted good and eradicated the vile aftertaste of the police station coffee that was still clinging to the back of his tongue and bit into the sandwich, chewing slowly and thoughtfully.

Well then, he thought. That was an interesting day. Sure, Mr. Appleby will be annoyed that I wasn't in today but fuck him. Those reports are for next week and I'll get them done. I wonder if he's bothered emailing them to me? If he hasn't then I can guilt trip him about the damned things. Jesus Christ, reports hardly matter. Is she alive or dead? I know she was alive when I saw her under the train but god only knows what sort of injuries. What's your relationship with her? Poor girl, she wasn't wearing sandals either. I bet her feet were as cold as mine. My feet hurt.

Mike got up and, limping awkwardly, not sure which paw to favor, he got himself two aspirin and gulped them down dry. They stuck in his throat so he took a slug of the coffee, burning his tongue a bit.

Will it make the news? There was a camera crew there. Hey, I might be on television. That'd be kind of cool. Oh man, no, I'd look like a total wally. They arrived when I was doped up on whatever that was they gave me. I'd not be noticed anyway, I wasn't the main attraction. But if it's on the news I might find out what the police report says. It'll be in the papers, though. Especially if she died. Did she die or not? What's your relationship with Miss Mathakan?

He got up, washed the plate and cup and went to bed. He was feeling exhausted, he supposed that was a combination of the excitement of the morning and the fact that he'd had less sleep than he usually like to get last night. The suit came off; he carefully hung it up in the cover that he'd got when he'd bought it and crawled under the covers, sprawling out on his back.

After a few minutes, he was comfortable, the spare pillow discarded down the side of the bed. He was lying right down the middle of it, as he had done since Anne had decided that, no, they weren't working out and it would be better if they saw other people, oh, by the way, I'm also moving, yes, this was all planned and I think you were the last person I decided to tell. See you around Mike, good luck in life. No, don't think about that again.

He rolled over onto his side, found it uncomfortable and shifted onto his back again. That was definitely the winner. See you around Mike, good luck in life, even though I'm moving to Scotland. How about not seeing you around and I don't care if you get good luck in life? I wonder was she fucking behind my back? Probably. What was your relationship with Anne Cally? Well, Officer Once-A-Year, lover, flatmate and cuckold. Can you describe the incident? Yes, Officer, she was taking a cock that wasn't mine right up her treacherous cunny and loving every fucking minute of it. Any other questions, Officer? Can you describe the gentleman? Of course Officer, he was a stud and made me look like a sack of potatoes in bed.

"Oh, fuck it!" Mike exclaimed and sat up in the bed, the blanket falling off his shoulders. He glared at his reflection in the mirror. Pointed at himself.

"You've got to learn to let things go," he said. The reflection glared back at him. "You're a silly bastard with more hang-ups than.....than.....than a thing with a lot of hang-ups."

He slumped and shuffled back down in bed. She'd said he was obsessive. Yeah, but so what? A lot of people were obsessive. At least he never got all weird about things. He never yapped and whinged at her about a bad day at work. He never bitched and complained when she wanted to watch some boring sitcom on the telly (which she'd taken, he'd had to buy a new one). He'd kept himself in shape for her, going to that god-awful fitness club she had joined and torturing himself on machines so that she had something nice to look at. So fuck her anyway.

Not that he would've minded doing that. The sex had been great. He knew damned well that she was getting more out of it than he ever got, sometimes he'd wake up the next morning with aching balls and tongue from making sure that she got her fair share. And he never bitched when she decided that when she was done that she was too tired to give him his go. But when he did get his go, she was spectacular. Yeah, he could see the benefits of the gym, even though he hated it. That's why he still went twice a week. Her body was always firm, she was energetic, fantastic when she was in the mood. That night on her birthday where he'd let her tie his wrists to the head of the bed and she'd spent the entire night teasing and torturing him, oh man.

Mike closed his eyes and raised his paws over his head; stretching his body out taut like it had been that night. She'd used scarves to secure him. By the end of the night there was no feeling at all in his hands but he didn't care at all. Cause she'd crawled over him, she'd let her tail, thick and healthy (not like that officer's tail at all) trail over his chest, legs, face, sheath, balls, legs. She'd used the lightest touch.

And when she'd squatted in front of his face, lifting her brush so that it draped over his face and moved back, presenting herself, letting him scent her arousal, making him drool and eventually lap at her sex, how she'd held herself there so long, he didn't know but when she'd had her orgasm and lain down between his legs, running a claw up and down his sheath over and over again.....Christ.

Unaware that he was doing it, Mike's paw had slithered down his belly and was mimicking the motions of Anne that night. One claw, up and down, up and down, tickling the downy fur. Then, ah yes, then she'd opened her muzzle and closed it over his balls, suckling and tasting, tonguing and chewing ever so lightly. His other paw went down to his balls and closed over them, squeezing and fondling.

God, the night had gone on forever. She'd got a quill pen from somewhere and had run that feather all over his body. He'd laughed and laughed and eventually tears had sprouted from his eyes cause it tickled so much that it had hurt. She'd gone out of the room, leaving him sensitive all over and she'd waited just until he started to get worried. Then she'd come back in, it was summer then, so it was getting light outside, so late it was early and leapt on him, straddling him, backing up and taking his cock into her pussy, paws on his chest, lifting herself and dropping down, fucking him with a fierce passion like he'd never seen before or since.

Mike made an inarticulate sound and wrapped his paw around his engorged member. He whipped the sheet off his body and, eyes still shut, gripped his length and started to pump his hand up and down, imagining Anna's face, her tongue lolling out the side of her muzzle, her eyes nearly rolled into the back of his head, huffing breaths. Her claws digging into his chest, leaving welts that took days to properly heal. The muscles in her legs rippling under her fur while she pushed herself up and down on his cock. The way she leaned down, burying her face into the pillow beside his head and shoving herself back on his knot, forcing it in and when it was in, she shuddered and yelped and spasmed around him.

In the here and now he grabbed his knot with his other hand and pressed down on it, pumping his other paw, now slick with the lube of his precum along its length and, with a little whimpering sound through gritted, snarling teeth, he came, opening his eyes and watching his cock jump in his clenched paw, spewing the thick, white spurts of semen onto his belly, chest, belly again and, with a tighter squeeze on his knot, the electric feeling in his gut almost overloaded and a jet of cum smattered against his muzzle.

He tensed, holding onto the feeling until it subsided then relaxed, tension draining from his whole body, his cock remaining hard, as if he was tied with a mate. He let go of it and it hovered just above his bellyfur. He licked his chops, getting the semen off his muzzle. It tasted fine. After a while he sat up and folded himself almost double, licking his member clean, a few little aftershocks from his orgasm shooting into his mouth. He lay still, occasionally thumbing some of the cum on his chest and sucking it off his digit.

Then he woke up. He looked around, befuddled. He was cold and the room was full of the pungent smell of stale ejaculate. At least, he though, swinging his legs out of the bed, I got the doze I needed. Even if I didn't know much about it. He pawed his chest. Yuck. Time for a shower.

He checked the time before he got into the shower; he'd been asleep for at least a couple of hours. On the plus side, he wouldn't have to change the sheets. Maybe just spray some air-freshener. Mike turned the shower on and waited until he could see steam coming off the spray, then stepped in. He turned this way and that and let the hot water mat his fur down and ease some of the stiffness in his muscles. Soon he was shampooed and clean, though the rinsing always took forever. He dried off and dressed and only then did he wonder just what to do. Usually he'd just be arriving home by now.

Grab something to eat? No, he wasn't all that hungry. He saw his briefcase and wondered if it was worthwhile checking his emails for the reports. No, not yet anyway. He could probably faff his boss off with some excuse tomorrow anyway. Man, work tomorrow, that sucked. One day off made it feel like the weekend and he was mentally ready for another day off, a supposed Sunday.

He went for the phone, momentarily forgetting that it wasn't actually Sunday. Crap. Spike would be with the kids. He didn't want to interrupt his family life, that was totally unfair. What to do, then? He had the rest of the night free really.

He ran a finger through his clean and fluffy headfur. Well, it was coming up to six o'clock, he could see if the accident had made the news. Either way, it would kill enough time for him to think of something to do. He rarely watched the news because he found it depressing. Mike preferred to live in his own little world of idealism where he could believe that people were fundamentally decent.

Nevertheless, he braced himself for a shattering of illusions and turned the television on. He watched the last five minutes of a banal game show where the contestants just missed out on a holiday to Majorca and suffered through the adverts. The news started with the typical all-important theme tune. Some political headline was dominating, then an arson attack in London, a continuing enquiry to a missing person, the latest in a string of racist attacks, and then the local news. Mike presumed that the local news would at least have something to say about the train accident.

A lot of importantly dressed people proceeded to use a lot of important sounding words regarding the main headline which Mike really wasn't paying much attention to. He was looking out the window and occasionally glancing over to the screen. The newsreader appeared again and introduced the arson attacks. This time firemen and residents said about how terrible it was. They went to an advertisement break after telling him to stay tuned, after the break they would have news about the racist attacks, sport and weather, then local news.

Brilliant, thought Mike. Here's some horrible news and we'll bring you some more, but here, buy these things and improve your life in the meantime. He was remembering why he hated watching the news so much. The ad break seemed to last longer than it should. Finally, after a number of garish products had been shamelessly promoted as essential to a happy life (I'm getting along fine without them, he thought) a severely shortened version of the theme music and the newsreader was back.

"In Exeter today," she started, and Mike's ears perked up, "There has been what has been described as a potentially racist attack, another in a series of such attacks which has ministers worried. Tania Mathakan,"

"Fucking hell," said Mike, as a picture of her appeared in the top right corner of the screen.

"Was apparently pushed in front of a train in Exeter Station this morning while waiting for the 6.50. Local authorities have arrested a man in connection with the incident. Mr. Nicholas Turner, who was recently released from prison after serving time for racist attacks in Liverpool, was identified as having been directly involved in the incident and witnesses have confirmed that Miss. Mathakan, a second generation emigrant, was pushed. Chief Constable Sovereign had this to say."

The scene cut to a gruff Alsatian. No surprise there.

"We're treating the incident from this morning as a racist attack. Mr. Turner has admitted to pushing Miss. Mathakan in front of the train and as such will be charged to the full extent of the law. This sort of mentality will not be tolerated but unfortunately, we are seeing a rise in these sorts of attacks. The police are here to protect all citizens regardless of ethnicity."

Back to the newsroom.

"In a statement released later, the ABS have distanced themselves from Mr. Turner's actions, saying 'While we do not condone the introduction of non-native species into our country but we most certainly do not condone, in any way, such actions against immigrants. We are a political party, not a radical group of extremists.' In a counterstatement, the EFA have pointed out Mr. Turner's associations with the party, and have accused the ABS of 'perpetuating negative stereotypes and manifesting propaganda of intolerance.'"

Mike's head was pounding, half in disbelief and half in anger.

"Miss Mathakan is in a condition described as 'critical' by doctors at Exeter Royal Hospital. The police are asking any relatives or friends to contact them urgently. Now, onto the weather."

"Fuck the weather," said Mike. He got up and stabbed the power button on the television with his index finger.

He paced. A racist attack? That terrier? Maybe he was too idealistic after all. God damn.

Realizing that he was going to go stir crazy if he remained in his room any longer, Mike shrugged his jacket on, checked for his keys and thought about who he could go to visit. He always maintained that if you were upset by something you had to talk about it to someone, otherwise it would just stick in your head and make you more and more upset. If you could talk about it then it was out of your head and wouldn't fester.

Who though? He locked the door and started down the stairs. Not Spike, he'd already made that decision. He ran through the list of people he usually talked to during the week and found good reasons for leaving them alone. Mostly the reason was "They don't need that landing on their plate."

He was outside and it was cold. He was glad that he'd remembered his sandals. His feet still hurt pretty badly, but the paramedics had done a good job. Not to mention the double dose of painkillers he'd taken before he'd sat down to watch the news.

He raised his muzzle into the wind. If all else failed, he believed in the therapeutic effects of a long walk and so he decided that would be his best option. The theory was that if he walked long enough and thought hard enough that when he was exhausted and stopped walking that he would also stop thinking about whatever was eating away at him. Mike flexed his feet. They were a little sore, but nowhere near as bad as they might have been. The cuts hadn't been deep, he'd hiked with worse.

Hikers do it long and slow, he thought with a wry grin and turned left, walking into the wind so that he'd have it on his back when he was coming home. In keeping with the day thus far, it was a bitterly cold wind, he lowered his muzzle and hunched his shoulders, tucking his handpaws into his jacket pockets.

His footpaws were surprisingly well cushioned, between the sandals and the bandaging. Even walking into the wind, he was able to keep a strong, determined pace. He didn't see too many others out and about. If they had any sense, he thought, they'd all be comfortable and snug in their houses. It suited him though.

Watching the pavement under his feet, amusing himself by focusing on one spot and making it seem like the pavement was rushing by, he let his mind wander. So, a racist attack, right in front of his eyes and he hadn't even made the connection. It was true, you saw a lot more immigrants these days than you used to, but he didn't have much energy to spend on judging them. He was busy enough with his own life; adding to both his and their problems seemed like a pointless exercise.

Not only that, but that terrier had a history of it. Man, what a bastard. You'd think that you'd have better things to do in life than, really, bully people. He'd always wondered about that. He'd never been bullied in school, his chirpy good nature made sure of that. Even the notorious bullies mellowed out around him.

But man, really, pushing someone in front of a train? Had it been a push. Mike replayed what he'd seen in a mental movie. Yeah, he'd walked past her and he'd definitely bumped into her, but how could you call it intentional? It had looked completely accidental, but maybe from a different angle it'd maybe have shown itself for what it was. He'd confessed, right? According to the news anyway. Hungry.

Mike looked up the road. There was a dismal looking chippy across the road. Even though he knew that the chips would be like little paper bags filled with pus and soaked in vinegar, that the burgers could only claim to be made out of meat by the most distant of ancient ancestries and that the sausages were definitely better left to the imagination, it was tempting. Whatever they put in the fat in those places always smelt so damned good. Oh, forget it, no money. He lowered his head and walked on.

He found, however, that he couldn't stop thinking about food. Even when he tried to run the morning's events through his head, all he could picture was the chicken pie that he'd decided that he didn't need with his morning coffee. That settled it for him and he turned to go back.

Wait.

He looked across the road at the chippy again. Then turned a full circle. Just where exactly was he? Well, never mind, it would be easy enough to get back, if he followed the way he'd come.

"And here's me out without the breadcrumbs," he muttered. He got to the end of the road and looked up. Lever Road? Ok then, but he was hopeless with street names anyway. He crossed the road, there was no traffic; it was that sort of night. Left. Prince's Follow? That didn't even sound real. Never mind that.

Wishing that he hadn't spent the whole time looking down, he tried to remember which way he'd actually come. In fairness, he wasn't completely familiar with the town apart from the shopping district, where he lived and the route to the train station.

Elizabeth Road.

Hillside View.

Carmel Street.

Moore Street.

Lloyd-on-Bell.

Amber Green.

Beech Run.

Carmel Street.

"No way," moaned Mike. It wasn't fair; all the streets looked the same. Terraced houses, a corner shop or a chippy or a newsagents and a name he didn't recognize. Now he was back on Carmel Street, he'd left it at least fifteen minutes ago. He wasn't getting any less hungry and his feet were started to get sore now, though he probably deserved that. He wiggled his toes and winced.

"Right," he said. Next shop he passed that was still open, he was asking for directions. He figured that he might as well chop his balls off while he was at it, recalling his father's almost violent hate for admitting that he was lost, but needs must. His feet were really starting to ache and he wasn't getting any less lost apparently.

Hold on, though. He turned back and, having to limp a little bit, returned to Beech Run and, yes, he had been right. It was non-descript but praise the lord, there was a taxi service office. He went inside.

A fellow fox, extremely bored looking, was flipping through the pages of a porn magazine. Mike couldn't help himself taking a peek before the guy looked up.

"Sup?"

"Yeah, can I get a taxi?"

"Where you going?"

"Tarry Avenue."

The other fox grinned. He was missing a canine. "Ok, man. Just sit over there." He pointed to a few seats that 20 years ago might've been comfortable and well padded. Now they were tatty and bore the grooves of a thousand asses. Mike sat, screwing his face up. Now that he had stopped walking, his feet were really burning. It felt like he was sitting in front of a fire. He took his sandals off.

"Yeah, you heard me, Tarry Avenue from the office. Hah, yeah, I know. Right." The fox turned to Mike. "About five minutes."

"Ok," said Mike.

He twiddled his thumbs, pretending not to be watching the pages of the porn magazine as they turned. The other fox looked up. "Oh hey man, here. Passes the time." He threw the magazine over and lifted another.

Mike snatched at the flapping pages and dropped it, picked it up and went to hand it back, but the other fox was already flipping through the other magazine.

"Wouldn't mind finding me a girl like one of these but hey man, who wouldn't?"

"Um."

"Oh, don't be a prude, man. They get paid enough. Hey, if it weren't for guys like me, bored fucking mindless, they'd be out on the streets turning tricks for a tenner a pop, yeah?"

"I suppose," said Mike.

"Damned right. I even read the articles these days."

"Now that's boredom."

"You wouldn't believe. Try this job sometime. What do you do?"

"I work in a cubicle and look at numbers all day."

"Ouch. Fuck. Why am I complaining? At least I get to meet weirdoes."

Weirdoes?

"Forget it, there's your man. Go on, and give that over here. That one's got Charlene, you know."

He didn't, but he gave the magazine back anyway and stepped out of the office gingerly and got into the taxi.

"You the guy for Tarry?"

"Yeah."

"Right."

And that was that. The taxi-driver had a very pointed silence that made it clear that conversation was not going to happen. Mike turned his feet to the side to keep the pressure off them and realized that he'd left his sandals behind. He didn't even bother saying to the driver to go back. He had a few spare pairs anyway.

They pulled out of Beech Run, hung a left, then another, accelerated through a set of lights before they could turn red and took a right and, 'lo and behold, Tarry Avenue. Less than half a mile. Mike felt himself starting to blush. He never came down this end of the road but still, this was embarrassing.

"Where you want left off?"

"Just there," said Mike, pointing to his apartment block.

"That'll be four quid."

"Fo - oh, alright," said Mike, biting down on his complaint. "Just let me go up for the money."

"Oh yes, pull the other one, it has got bells on. I'll come with."

So, trying his hardest not to limp, Mike led the taxi driver up the stairs, opened the door of his flat and paid him, resisting the urge to slam the door as hard as he could. Four pounds? For half a mile? Oh, fuck that.

He slumped into a chair and sighed, lifting his foot and groaning when he saw the blood on the bandage. Great. He'd opened the wound. Stupid, he thought, stupid to go for a walk like that. Stupid to get lost and stupid to pay four fucking pounds for a shitty taxi with an unfriendly driver and a pervert of a boss.

He checked the other foot. Oh lovely. Blistered. He supposed the other paw was probably blistered too. Between the cold, the distance he'd walked and the fact that he was wearing sandals the whole time he should've expected it. At least the bottle of aspirin was still on the table. He swallowed two, thought about it and took a third before he hobbled over to his room. Fuck this night. He would sleep long and hard and be fresh in the morning for work.

Mike crawled under the sheets, feeling sorry for himself and, after much tossing and turning, managed to fall asleep.

****

The phone's ringing. The phone's ringing. Get up, get up, get up, the phone's ringing. Answer the phone.

Phone.

He opened his eyes and twitched his ears. Phone!

Mike swung his legs out of bed, hopped out, shouted an exclamation of pain and fell over. He looked up at the door longingly, it seemed like a long way away and the phone was in the other room. He settled for crawling and, getting to the phone table, snatched the receiver, held it to his ear and snapped, "What?"

"Whoa, tetchy!"

He propped himself up on the wall and sighed. "Hey Spike."

"What's up with you? You sound like shit. Did I wake you up?"

"Yeah."

"Sorry, man."

"Don't worry about it."

"Seriously man, you sound like shit. What's up?"

"Had a bad day. What's happening?"

"I need a favor from you. Are you doing anything?"

"No, not really. What you need?"

"Gabby, she's sick. Can you come over and drive us over to the hospital?"

"Sick? What's wrong with her?"

"I have no idea, she's all weak and dizzy and stuff. I'm kind of worried. I shipped the kids off to her mothers and all but she left before I could ask her to run us over."

"Yeah, hold tight then, I'll be over in a few."

"Thanks man, thanks."

"No problem. See you soon."

Mike grit his teeth. Crap. Spike didn't live far but his feet were a mess. He crawled back to the bedroom and hauled himself up onto the bed. He was still clothed, that was a plus. Now, sandals, sandals. He eventually located them and on the way out, wincing with every step, tossed back another couple of aspirin and checked the time. Nine. Damn. This was turning out to be a hell of a day.

After a few experimental steps, he found that he could get by on his heels quite neatly, even though he looked like a complete gimp. It was pouring with rain now but Mike barely noticed between the pain and the worry.

****

The knock on the door arrived later than he'd expected and he was on the other side of the house.

"Aw, come off it," moaned Spike and, as quickly as he could, made his way to the door, leaning awkwardly to open it. Mike was standing, bedraggled and miserable looking. God, he must have had one hell of a bad day to be looking like that. Though it probably wasn't helping his case that he was soaked through and looked about half the size he usually did with all that fur.

"Thought you'd gone and drowned in a puddle or something, man. What took so long?"

The fox turned his head to the side and shrugged. "My feet are a bit cut."

"Huh?"

"My feet, they're cut up. Walking wasn't so easy."

"Oh, right." There was a pause. "Here, what're you just standing there for, get in here already. Just don't shake, yeah?"

Mike stepped inside and Spike noticed immediately just how badly he was limping. "Hold there," he said. "You said a bit. That looks like more than a bit. You look like me trying the hundred meters."

The fox stood up properly and shook his head. A few drops of water landed on Spike's arm. "Later, we'll deal with that later. Right now, Gabby needs to get to hospital, right?"

"Yeah, she's really out of it. Do you think you can carry her?"

"Wee Gabby? Come on, you could chop my feet right off and I could still carry her."

"Ok, but -"

"No buts. Where is she?"

"On the sofa."

Spike nervously followed Mike, who was really walking awkwardly. In a way, it made him feel a bit self-conscious about his own walk, which was a real rarity around the fox, who could slow his pace right down to a saunter without you even noticing when he was walking with you on the street so that you didn't feel bad about not being the quick, nippy one anymore.

Mike knelt down. "Gab? Hey, Gab?"

Spike heard his wife mutter something.

"I'm going to lift you now. Can you loop your arms around my neck, Gab?" She could and Mike hoisted her up. "Get the door, will you?"

Feeling more awkward than ever, Spike sorted everything out, locking the house up, opening the car doors and getting in first, unstrapping his prosthetic leg and setting it off to the side. Mike carefully set Gabby in so that he could keep her secure on the drive and went around to the driver's seat. Spike handed him the keys.

"What happened to her?"

Spike shook his head. "I have no idea. She was fine when she got home, we were all ready for a trip to the cinema then she said she was feeling a bit sick and wanted to lie down. I was going to go to the cinema with the kids myself but I checked on her and she was, well, like she is now. She hasn't moved off the sofa since she lay down."

"Christ."

"I know." Spike moved his head so that Mike could reverse the car out of the driveway. "What the hell happened to your feet though?"

"Oh, nothing."

"Come on, Mike, it wasn't nothing. Be honest with me."

"I cut them up a bit."

"How?"

"I didn't have my sandals on this morning."

"So? You hardly ever wear them."

"Yeah, well, I hardly ever have to jump down on train tracks either."

"Now that bears explanation."

Spike saw the fox's eyes flick up into the rear-view mirror and raised his own eyebrows in reply. Eyebrows were great, he thought to himself. Mike didn't really have any but his own coloring had benefited him, sure, he was just a black and white cat but he'd gotten little ridges of white above his eyes.

"Fine. Did you see the news earlier?"

"Yeah, I always watch it."

"Ok, you know that incident at the train station?"

"Yeah."

Mike went on to explain, as best he could, to Spike. He was still talking when he pulled up in the hospital and asked if he could go to Accident and Emergency or General.

"Accident and Emergency," said Spike.

"Right."

Between them, they got Gabby back into Mike's arms. Spike strapped the leg on again and got out of the car, his walking stick skidding on the wet pavement. He wobbled and caught his balance, swearing under his breath.

"You should get those checked out while you're here," said Spike.

"One thing at a time," replied Mike and waited for the automatic doors to open wide enough.

Suddenly, they were the center of attention. Well, of course they were. A one-legged cat standing beside a limping, bedraggled fox carrying a small, thin tabby cat that appeared to be either unconscious or dead. Spike looked around uneasily, meeting the eyes of everyone who was staring at them and resisting the urge to try and stare them down.

"Can I help you," asked a flustered looking nurse.

"Hopefully," said Mike.

****

"Shouldn't have gone walking, Mr. Holland."

"I know."

"They will need stitches now."

Mike sighed. Gabby had been the priority, of course, but when both her and Spike had been whisked away into the depths of the hospital, poor Spike struggling to keep up with the hospital staff wheeling his wife at speed down the corridor, the nurse had turned to him and told him that a doctor would be along soon. Even though he'd protested that he was only the driver, she'd been rather firm with him. After a while, a brash American wolf had introduced himself as Dr. Jim Roman and had forced him, humiliatingly, into a wheelchair.

Now he was finishing his examination. "And I want to clean them out and give you a few shots. You've a good chance of infection, these cuts are filthy."

He swallowed. "I see."

"I can't understand why they're still bleeding though. Have you taken anything that might have thinned your blood?"

"Aspirin."

"How much?"

Mike counted quickly. "Maybe six or seven tablets?"

"Since this morning?"

"Yes."

"I see." The wolf stood and tapped a pen on his muzzle. "Well, we'll just have to clean them out, stitch them up and give you a few shots. You'll be off your feet for a few days and frankly, I'm going to recommend that you stay in overnight for observation in case they do turn septic."

"Is that necessary?"

"Young man," said the wolf, "It very much is. Lacerations of this nature, on the pads as well, are not to be taken lightly at all."

Mike pressed his paws into his eyes and sighed again. "Ok, fine. Fine."

"But first, let me just take your details."

****

"It's bullshit, that's what it is," scowled Mike. "Absolute bullshit. It's a couple of cuts!"

"The doc said you have to keep off your feet and since you live alone....."

"Bullshit. I don't want to be stuck in this place for a week. No, just no."

"Look, it's not so bad. I'm going to be here every day anyway. I'll bring you stuff."

The fox shook his head. "Ah man, I shouldn't be bitching. You've got problems of your own right now."

Spike shrugged. "It's not serious, but she does need to be monitored until the pressure goes down."

"Does it run in the family?"

"She says so. I'll ask her mother when I get the chance. She's still a bit confused."

"Where is she anyway? I'm allowed to move around as long as I'm in the chair."

"She's in the intensive care ward, cause that's where they have the technology to monitor her properly. It's scary in there man, talk about sobering."

"I can imagine. I might wheel myself around if I can."

"Is there anything you want in particular? I'll see if I can nip home and pick it up now."

Mike pointed to his jacket. "Keys are in there. What're you going to do about the car?"

"Guess I'll just leave it here. I'm can't drive it."

"Mm. If you can pick me up a book, some clean clothes and maybe a newspaper or two when you come over, for the crosswords and stuff, that'd be cool."

"I'll do that. Man, the buses aren't going to be rid of me. Oh, I'll phone your parents and let them know."

"They'll not visit."

"Yeah, I know, but they should know."

"Fine, fine. Phone my boss too, will you?"

"Ok. You really did a number on yourself. How come the paramedics fucked up so bad?"

"They had more important things to be thinking about."

"Oh, yeah."

After a moment's silence Spike noticed the time and realized that he had to be going. They said their goodbyes and Mike settled down on the pillow, cursing himself for sleeping earlier. Though maybe it was a good thing, if Spike hadn't woken him up then his feet could well have gotten infected. His arm hurt from where they'd injected him with antibiotics.

What a day.

And Gabby having high-blood pressure? Stick that in your pipe, she was probably the healthiest out of all of them, even with him going to the gym on a regular basis. That was unexpected. Poor girl. Poor Spike, too. He didn't need all that landing on his plate at once. Mike felt awful that he was probably adding to his friend's worries.

Still, a week off is a week off, he thought. And at least the bed's comfortable. He shifted and managed to get comfortable. His feet were almost completely bandaged up but the only other person in the ward, a teenaged mouse, looked to have two broken legs. His visitors, apparently parents, were leaving and Mike gave them a friendly nod that was completely ignored. Nice, thought Mike, nice.

When they were gone he looked over at the mouse. "Hey. I'm Mike."

"Douglas."

"What'd you do to yourself?"

"Got hit by a car, dude."

"Ouch."

"Big time. You?"

"Cut my paws up on some train tracks."

The mouse turned his head. "Huh?"

"I jumped down onto some train tracks and cut my paws up. I know, it sounds weird, but that's it."

"Why did you?"

Mike thought quickly. "Laziness. Didn't want to use the bridge so went to cross when there were no trains coming."

"That was dumb."

"Yeah, pretty dumb," Mike agreed. He could already feel the conversation becoming static and drying up. Damn. Wouldn't you know that he would get stuck in a ward with a god-damned mouse? Mice stank.

At length, Douglas started playing a hand-held video game of some description and Mike took to looking around. Eventually he closed his eyes, not in the hope of any sleep, but more to try and drown out the annoyance of looking at the little twerp's facial expressions as he played. It's a game, kid, he was thinking; quit looking so damned aggravated by it.

Finally, he got fed up. Thanking the lord that he had kept the whole gym thing going, he got out of bed and into the wheelchair. "If the nurse comes around," he said, speaking loudly to get the mouse's attention, "Tell her I've gone for some air, ok?"

"Yeah."

"Tell her you're a fucking pillock, too," he muttered as he wheeled himself out into the corridor. Now, left or right? He looked up at the signs and tried to guess which was reception was. At least there he could get himself a magazine or a cup of coffee or something. He'd thought to grab some money before leaving for Spike's house and thankfully he still had some of it.

Also, reception wouldn't smell of bloody anesthetic and mouse and god-knows-what-else.

****

The reception area proved a worthy distraction and Mike made a note to spend more time there. Feeling better for having a cup of coffee and a sandwich, he tucked the newspaper he'd purchased under his legs and decided that it was time to explore a little bit. He wasn't at all tired; in fact, the activity of pushing himself along had given him the boost he had needed. He would find Gabby. Even if she was asleep he'd know where to go tomorrow.

Following the signs, Mike passed Radiology, Physiology and a few places that he couldn't even guess what they were for. He hoped like hell that he'd never end up in any of them. Eventually and finally starting to feel a bit of strain in his shoulders, he found Intensive Care. Spike had been right. It was a sobering building. Sterile and cold looking. Mike sniffed the air and balked. He couldn't quite pin down what was wrong with the air but something about it made him open his mouth and breathe through his nose as little as possible.

It was amazing, he thought. Wheelchairs equal power. Important looking hospital staff stood to the side of corridors as he went by. People nodded and smiled and offered him assistance to which he could smile and say "No thanks, I've got to get used to it," and, every time, feeling a little mean for playing with their minds like that.

Now, Spike had said Intensive Care but he hadn't said where. He could've asked at the desk but that would've taken the fun out of it. At least the single wards had doors with plenty of glass in, so that he could look through to see the occupants. Almost to a number, they were lying, hooked up to a multitude of machines, thin and drawn spectacles of near-death, perfectly still and looking strangely serene. It was actually quite distressing and Mike found that, whilst the first he had seen had fascinated him, by the fourth or fifth he was glancing and pushing himself quickly by. He wasn't of a morbid bent of mind and didn't like seeing people who would, if not for the complicated machinery surrounding them, be dead. In fact, he was starting to feel pointedly voyeuristic so he settled for wheeling himself past and looking for Gabby and Gabby alone.

He saw a couple that were the right size but they turned out to be, upsettingly, mere kids. There was a fox cub that was so painfully thin that it nearly broke Mike's heart. He wondered just how long he or she.....he couldn't even tell.....had been on life support? Mostly though, they seemed to be adults. All lying in that same position and finally, Mike's mind made the connection, they had all been lain out exactly like you would expect to see a body in a coffin. He shuddered. That was just wrong.

Almost trying not to look into the rooms now, he continued, turning a corner and finding another row of rooms. God, how many people could be relying on machines to keep them alive in one place? At least he only had cut up -

He stopped, so abruptly that he almost pitched himself out of the wheelchair. He stifled a yelp, grabbing the wheels like that had burned his handpaws. Inspecting them briefly though, he saw that he had been lucky and had gotten away with it. Of course, he should have expected it, of course he should have, but he'd been so engrossed with his own problems and finding Gabby that he'd totally forgotten.

Her name was scrawled on a label that was stuck on the door, as if by someone in a hurry. T. Mathakan. Almost unbelievingly, Mike stared in through the window. Unlike the others, she wasn't emancipated by days, weeks or maybe even months being fed through an intravenous line. Yet her head was covered in bandages. Her leg was raised, held in a cruel looking steel brace. Lines were going in and out of her body, and yes, she was, apart from that leg, laid out like a corpse in a coffin.

He jerked back, startled by the cold glass on his nose and he realized that he'd been slowly moving himself closer to the door. He pictured her as she'd been just earlier in the morning, picking out flawlessly-remembered details, and tried to match them to what he was seeing lying on the bed. He couldn't.

As he remembered her, she was part of the morning routine. Quiet, like the rest of them that got the train at that time. She'd yawn occasionally, putting her paw over her muzzle to hide it. This morning she'd been wearing her grey suit, trousers and all, which was unusual for her, because she tended towards wearing long, ankle-length skirts.

What is your relationship with Miss Mathakan?

Mike shook his head. It was hard to believe but for two years she'd been getting the same train as him in the morning and he'd never even so much as said hello to her. Well, why would he? She was just another face on the platform. He had been with Anne then too, he felt guilty if he even so much as noticed another female face. Yet, she'd always been there and now, from the look of it.....

"Excuse me, sir, can I help you?"

Oh, shit! Mike turned his head around. A doctor was standing with a clipboard. Think quick!

"Um, yeah, I wonder if you can. I was looking for someone and I got lost."

"Who are you looking for?"

"Gabby Bell."

"Gabby Bell, Gabby Bell.....oh, yes, she just came in today. You're on the wrong side of the ward, sir."

"Oh, I got confused, then I got tired and -"

"Are you Mr. Holland?"

The question caught him off guard and he blurted out that yes, he was.

"I thought so!" The doctor grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and turned him around, away from Tania Mathakan's room. "You caused quite a stir earlier in A&E."

"I did?"

"Well, yeah. Apparently it was the most dramatic entrance Anne's ever seen."

Anne? Mike blinked. Couldn't be. He guessed it must be the name of the nurse that had met them at the door.

"Dramatic?" he settled for.

"Well, I wasn't there, but you gave them all quite a fright, bursting in through the door carrying Mrs. Bell like that."

"Unintentional, I assure you."

"Here we are, this is Mrs. Bell's room. I'll see if she's awake."

The doctor went inside, leaving Mike outside. He squeezed his eyes shut. Why was he getting caught off guard so much today? Usually he was sharper than that but right now he felt slower than a granny on the motorway. The doctor reappeared and nodded. Mike wheeled himself in and the doctor quietly closed the door behind himself.

"Hey," he said, quietly.

She looked up. "Tony?"

Mike sucked in a little breath, hissing between his teeth. "No, it's me, Mike."

Gabby screwed up her face in concentration. "Oh my god, Mike, shit, I'm sorry! It's just that, I can't put names to, Jesus Christ, Mike, I didn't mean -"

He shook his head and rolled himself over beside the bed. "Hey, hey, don't worry about it; it's not your fault."

"Oh god, but I called you -"

"Yeah, wouldn't he be proud?"

That, at least, got a weak smile. "What happened to you?" she asked after a moment.

"This?" He patted the wheelchair. "I got fed up with gravity. It's the new craze."

She smiled. Better.

"Really though, I messed my feet up and the doctors are making me stay here a week until they heal properly. Apparently you 'can't be too careful with your pads' or something like that. How're you feeling?"

"Horrible, Mike. I want Terry."

"He'll be over first thing in the morning."

"I don't care; I want to see him now. I hate this place. I'm scared, I'm lonely and I call my friends by their dead brother's names. God fuck it, I don't want to be here."

"Hey, hey now. Don't be like that," said Mike, lifting a finger and flicking a tear off Gabby's cheek.

"It's horrible here. They wheeled a body past my room earlier."

Mike winced. "I'll stick around as long as I can."

"Is it true you carried me in?"

"Heh, yeah."

As if struck by the thought for the first time, her eyes widened. "Where're the kids?"

"Calm down, Gabby, they're with your mother."

"Oh, thank god. Terry can't cope with them both at once. It eats him up, but at least he knows he can't."

Mike nodded. "Is he getting better?"

"Yes. Slowly. You saw what he was like after the crash."

"It wasn't a good time for him."

"That's putting it lightly." Gabby sighed. "Remember that night I phoned you to buy some beer and come round?"

"When he was threatening to kill himself?"

"Yeah. Then you came around and he just fucking.....cried?"

"Yeah."

"How come you're always there?"

"Huh?"

Gabby painfully pushed herself up a little on her pillow. "You were there when I stormed out on him after that fight. When he lost his leg, you were over nearly every evening. And tonight, who was there? You. How come you're always there?"

Feeling a little uneasy, Mike tried to fob off the question with a glib answer. "Well, we're friends. You'd do the same for me."

"Fuck off, Mike. We weren't even at the funeral."

"You weren't able to make it!" Mike exclaimed, shocked. He knew Gabby had this side to her, but it was the first time he'd been cross-examined by her.

"We could have made it, but we didn't. We made it easy for ourselves. How come you don't?"

"Well, I....."

"And when Anne left. Where were we? But you're always there."

Mike scowled. "I wasn't there for Nicky."

Gabby looked at him for a while; then looked away. "I see."

"I.....shouldn't have told him what happened in the car."

"You weren't to know."

"But it was Nicky. We knew the way he was."

"Jesus Mike, I never realized."

"Yeah well, I think that's why. I think so, anyway. Maybe a psychologist would go back to my childhood and go on about my parents and Tony and all that sort of thing, but you knew what I was like when I was eighteen. I think it was Nicky."

Her paw found his and gave it a squeeze.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked you like that."

"It's fine, Gab. Really."

They were quiet for some time. Eventually Gabby broke the silence. "Terry said you'd had a bad day."

"Well, yeah. Not as bad as yours," he said, with a grin.

"Tell me about it." She sat quietly. "That wasn't rhetorical, Mike."

"Huh?"

"What happened today? He said you hadn't told him."

Mike frowned. "That's not right. I told Spike everything."

"Then he knew you were going to do this."

He nodded. "He probably did. Ok, let me start from the start, save any questions for the end." At length, speaking quietly and leaving out no details, Mike went through the day, from the morning, to the police station, to the walk and getting lost to Spike's phonecall, to arriving at the hospital to getting lost in the IC ward. He did leave out the part where he'd found Tania Mathakan's room, though. That wasn't something that Gabby needed to hear right now.

"Whoa Mike. And all you wanted was to go to work."

"Won't be there for another week or so now."

"That's a hell of a day."

He shrugged. "They come along now and then."

"I don't think I've ever had a day quite like that."

"Then you're overdue one. Good luck with that."

"A whole galaxy of fun awaits me."

Mike flashed her a grin. Given the state she'd been in when he'd arrived in the room, she was definitely doing better. More coherent, more like her typical acid self.

"Could you pour me some water?"

The maneuvering was difficult, but he managed it eventually. She drank, grimaced and thanked him. "So," she said, settling back on her pillow. "Any advice for how to get to sleep when you can hear your own pulse?"

"You know, it's never come up?"

****

When she'd fallen asleep, which she did with shocking abruptness, Mike carefully wheeled himself out of the room. He was surprised to see the doctor still standing there. "Do you need some help getting back?"

"I don't think so," said Mike, yawned and laughed. "Ok, maybe I do."

"I thought you might."

Mike sat quietly as he was wheeled through the ward and snatched a glimpse of Mathakan's room. The doctor, standing behind him must have noticed this. "Sad story there," he said.

"Hmm?"

"She came in today. Quite early in the morning. You might've seen it on the news. Pushed in front of a train."

Mike wondered if he should be honest and decided that this doctor, working the night shift, who had apparently stood outside Gabby's room waiting for what must have been at least an hour, deserved it. "I was there," he said.

"You were?"

"Yeah."

"Did you know her?"

"Not really. She got the same train as me. Must've worked up north too."

"You're not the guy that jumped in front of the train, are you?"

"Huh? Well, yeah. But it had stopped; it wasn't as if I was being all heroic or anything."

"Is that how you -"

"Yeah."

"Ah." He wheeled him along in silence. "Do you know if she had any relatives living in the area?"

"I really don't."

"We haven't been able to find anyone who even knows she exists. To be honest, you're the closest we've gotten so far. Sad, isn't it? That's why I asked."

"That.....that is sad. No family?"

"We're working on the theory that she's a second generation immigrant right now, but we haven't even heard her speak. She could have arrived in the country yesterday for all we know."

"No, she's been getting that train for at least a year and a half."

"So there's bound to be someone out there who she at least works for who we can track for information."

"I'd say so."

"Well, thanks Michael."

"Mike."

"Mike. Thanks. We've been scratching our heads about her."

"Is she badly hurt?"

The doctor pushed him into an elevator and waited until the door closed. "Honestly? Keep this under your hat but I'd be surprised if she lasts the night."

****

He found himself unable to sleep. Douglas was snoring but that wasn't the reason. Well, he deserved it for sleeping earlier.

You lied. You're a fucking liar. Shut up. Sleeping earlier had nothing to do with it you slept twice earlier, shut the fuck up and stop lying. God damn it you fucking liar stop trying to lie she's going to die she's going to die right beside Gabby and Gabby's going to be fine you fucking liar and Gabby liar bothering me doesn't even know and Spike won't know can't remember the words to remember my fucking life what? What? Because I'm free nothing's bothering me. You watched her die twice slut fucking slut you fucking liar because you're free nothing's bothering you what the fuck? bullSHIT fuck off. Shut up. Shut up. You carried Gabby into the hospital and you never even know shut up you fucking liar leave me alone because I'm free nothing's you can't hurt me now where were you? Where are you, why are you always bothering me shut up fucking liar charismatic. Fuck off. What would Tony say? What would Tony's relationship be with her? She called you Tony, you fucking liar, you fucking shut UP fucking liar what is your relationship with Miss Bell? Oh shut up, just shut up fucking liar because I'm FREE nothing's bothering me because I'm free NOTHING'S bothering me shut up! Because I'm free nothing's BOTHERING me shut shut shut shut shut up shut up fucking liar

"NURSE!"

He clawed at the bedsheets. "NURSE! FUCKING NURSE, NURSE!"

Nothing.

He threw his head back and bellowed.

****

He woke up moaning. When he realized that it was him making the sound he stopped it. Where the hell was he? He raised his head. Hospital, yeah, that was right. Where was the mouse? The room didn't stink. Something smelt familiar.

"Spike?" he groaned.

"Oh, you're awake. Well, that's good."

He couldn't lift his head. Why was he so weak? Then Spike's face, concerned, looking down at him.

"Mike, what am I doing here?"

"What?" His throat felt like it was full of lint.

"For some reason," said Spike, "I came this morning to visit Gabby. She was in a great mood. Everything was fine. She's still woozy and sick but she's happy. She said you'd come over last night and talked to her. Great, I think. So I go to see you and what? You're not there. Have you been released early? Nope. Do you even know where you are?"

"Hospital?" he hazarded. God, it was almost impossible to move his jaws to speak.

"Mike, you were moved into the fucking psychiatric wing last night after what I've only had described to me as an 'incident'. They won't tell me anything else. They weren't even going to let me visit you. I had to play the sympathy card about the leg to get in. Do you want to tell me just what the hell is going on?"

"Psy -" he started, and settled for rolling his head to the other side of the pillow instead.

He heard the clack of Spike's walking cane. "You visited Gabby last night, right?"

"Uh."

"Is that a grunt yes, or a grunt no?"

"Yuh."

"Right. She said you were really great, that you helped her a lot. What happened after that?"

"Uh."

"Mike, seriously, you're scaring the shit out of me here."

So weak. Can't even lift my paw. What did they do to me? What did I do?

"Mike? Speak to me, buddy."

"Muh."

More clicking. Spike was moving again.

"Mike?"

"Muh!"

"Muh really doesn't help me at all."

"Ma."

"Ma?"

God damn it. What did they do to me? What did I do? Why can't I move?

"Mah."

One syllable at a time. One at a time. He heard a sniff. Looked up. Was Spike.....Spike was crying. Jesus, what did they do to me?

"Mah!"

"Jesus, Mike, I mean.....damn man. Damn."

A doctor came in and put a hand on Spike's shoulder. He turned, nodded and, looking over his shoulder, left the room. Mike twitched a finger. Closed his eyes.

****

And opened them again.

No problem. He was on his feet. No problem.

He was sitting down, but no problem, man, no fucking problem.

Hadn't that been?

Yeah, it had been. For about five years. No fucking problem, man, no problem. Then that night, big fucking problem man. He was in it again. Again. No, no, not this.

"No problem, Nicky." Everyone laughed. The mood was good.

"No problem, man, no fucking problem, man. You ever had a problem in your life, Mike?"

"Yeah, once, but it was no problem, man."

More laughter.

"But yeah, I'll get them for you, Nicky."

"Cool man."

"Fuck it, Mike. I've told you a million times if I've told you once, buckle the fuck up."

"Come on man, Laura's not."

"That's cause if I bitch at Laura she'll poison my next dinner. Now buckle up. My car, my rules."

"Right, right. Whatever, Tony. Jeez."

"You'll thank me someday."

"Hey, he's asleep!"

"Leave him be. He had a game earlier."

"Did they win?"

"Too fucking right. Spike scored a hat trick."

"Watch him, I've seen him play, he could go places."

"Terrance Bell, the Spiker!"

More laughter.

"Whoa, whoa, shut up you lot. I love this song."

Louder music. They had all joined in by the third line.

"Nothing seems to FIT

Oh! Raindrops keep fallin' on my head

Keep a'falling.

Cause I just done me some talkin' to the sun

And I said"

"FUCK!"

Then nothing was bothering him cause he was free, fucking free. Yeah, nothin's bothering me cause I'm free, nothing's BOTHERING me, how about you?

And he'd squirmed free, and he was FREE and nothing was BOTHERING him but he could still hear it, no fucking problem, man.

FREE!

Cryin's not for me.

****

And opened them again. The room swam into focus. Hold on, he was on his own. Where was the mouse? Mike sat up and looked around. This was a single room. How had he gotten here? There were a couple of newspapers and a book sitting on the chair beside the bed.

He reached down and pressed the call button. After a while a nurse he hadn't seen before stepped into the room.

"Where am I?" he asked.

"How are you feeling?"

"Um. Woozy. Confused. I was in a ward with a mouse called Douglas last night. Why am I here?"

"Sir, if you'd just lie back, please. Thank you."

She busied herself around him, taking his temperature (in his armpit, thank goodness) and checking a few readings on machines he didn't remember. Also, why the intravenous line? What was it full of, magic foot healer?

"Really, why am I here?"

"Sir, you're going to have to wait for the doctor to answer your questions."

"The doctor?"

"Yes."

"Can't you at least tell me where I am?" he asked, again.

She appeared to think about it. Mike followed her movements around the room, not lifting his head off the pillow. "Sir, you've been moved to the psychiatric wing of the hospital for monitoring."

"What, for my feet?"

"Your feet? Oh. No, not for your feet."

"Um. Then why?"

"Please sir, wait for the doctor."

Apparently finishing with whatever she was doing, she left the room. Mike worried for a while and, blessed the heavens, a doctor finally arrived. It wasn't the doctor he was expecting, rather, a kindly looking badger. Rotund, yes, but if Mike knew badgers what appeared to be fat was really muscle the like of which a hundred years in a gym would never give him.

"And how are we feeling this morning, Mr. Holland?"

"Mike, please. And I'm feeling fine, if a little weirded out by all this," he said, gesturing around the room.

"Well, Mike, I'm afraid to tell you that you caused a bit of a stir last night. I wonder would you mind telling me what you can remember?"

Mike thought for a bit then spoke. "I remember being in the Intensive Care ward. I was visiting a friend. I was helped back to the ward I was in before and I went to sleep. After that, I'm really confused about things. I can get snaps of things, but I can't put them in order at all."

"Could you tell me some of these, as you call them, snaps?"

"I remember seeing my friends, Spike and Nicky, but I know that's impossible."

"Why is it impossible?"

"Because Nicky died two years ago."

"I see. And Spike?"

"Spike's still alive. That's his nickname. His real name's Terry Bell."

"Ah. I believe Mr. Bell did actually visit you earlier."

"He did?"

"Yes, but unfortunately you weren't entirely cogent at that time."

"Cogent?"

"What else do you remember?"

Head spinning, Mike racked his brain. "I remember.....was someone playing music?"

The doctor took a note.

"Was there?"

"Please lie back, Mike."

Reluctantly, he did so.

"Ok, Mike. Let me explain what happened. From what I've been told, seen and what you've just said, I'm going to put this down to a fit of stress-related psychosis."

"Psychosis?!"

"Calm down, Mike. It's not as bad as it sounds. It seems that you've been under a lot of stress in recent times, whether you realize it or not. Between your job, which I understand you have to travel quite a distance to get to each day?"

"Yes," he said, cautiously. Psychosis?!

"Quite. Between your job, your personal life and the unfortunate events of yesterday, you pretty much, to put it simply, 'blew a fuse'. It's nothing to be ashamed of, it happens to most people on a regular basis. Ever seen someone stand up and punch someone else in the face for no apparent reason? 'Blowing a fuse'. It happens all the time. In your case, however, you seem to have held up under quite a burden for longer than would be considered healthy and, as a result, last night occurred."

Mike squirmed in the bed. "What did I do?"

"Nothing too serious. At about 4am you appeared to panic and called a nurse. When the nurse arrived you babbled at her, rather loudly, I'm afraid and wouldn't listen to anyone. You then attempted to get up and run away, at that point the night staff decided that you would have to be sedated for your own safety. You were quite irrational."

He rubbed the back of his neck, thanking the lord that his ears were black, lest they should show up just how embarrassed he actually was.

"Unfortunately, it appeared that you had quite a cocktail of various drugs in your body already and the sedatives had much more of an effect than they were supposed to have, leaving you in a stupor for some time. You woke up occasionally but weren't able to really move. I'm extremely pleased to see you now, though; you seem to have come through the other side very successfully."

Something occurred to him. "What was I saying?"

"Excuse me?"

"You said I was babbling. What was I saying?"

The badger flipped through some paper. "Ah. Let me see. Yes, here we are." In a monotone, he read from the sheet. "You were saying, 'Fuck off, she died twice in front of me, fuck off, liar, fucking liar, what is your relationship, fuck off, fucking liar'." He stopped and looked up. "It goes on like this for quite a while."

"Oh. Oh dear."

"Mm. Can you relate to any of it?"

"May I see the full transcript?"

"Of course."

It was handed over and Mike read. Then re-read and eventually set the paper down and sighed. "Yeah, I think that makes sense to me, unfortunately."

"I'd appreciate if you could explain some of it."

"Ok. You probably know that I saw Tania Mathakan get pushed in front of the train. On the way back from visiting Gabby, uh, that's Gabby Bell, she's in Intensive Care? Well, a doctor was wheeling me back and he started talking to me about her and he said that she wasn't expected to live through the night. That, and some personal issues that I talked with Gabby about, I think that's what, uh.....'blew the fuse' if you want to put it that way."

"Interesting." The doctor took another note. "These.....ah, personal matters you mentioned. Did they involve anything that you found particularly upsetting?"

"They did."

"Go on."

"I'd rather not."

"And I'll respect that." Another note got taken.

"Well, Mike. I'm very pleased. I'd like you to remain here to rest, because more than anything else right now, you do need to rest. I imagine you have about four or five years worth of rest to catch up with, and no, I'm not just talking about sleeping. If there's anything we can get you, don't hesitate to ask. I'll be around a few more times today, just to see how you're getting along but I must say, you've considerably eased my concerns."

"There is something you could do for me."

"Yes?"

"Is Tania Mathakan still alive?"

"She is. In fact, she regained consciousness briefly last night which was quite a surprise to the poor nurse taking readings."

Mike grinned, picturing it.

"Though she is still critical, her injuries are severe. We're very encouraged though."

"And Gabby?"

"Mrs. Bell is progressing delightfully, actually. She's responding very well to the drugs we're giving her and her blood pressure is returning rapidly to an acceptable level. It does seem that it will be very easy to medically control."

Mike breathed out. "Thank you. That's a lot of relief at once right there."

The doctor put a claw to his mouth and looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "I wonder if I may ask you something, Mike."

"Yes?"

"What is your relationship with Miss Mathakan?"

****

"Oh, wise up. You can't make decisions like that when you're in here."

"No, really," said Mike, eyes sparkling. "I've been miserable ever since I started there. I've got plenty in the bank and I know I can find something a hell of a lot closer to home."

"I dunno, man. It seems rash."

"Yeah, it's rash, but even if I thought about if for a year I'd come to the same decision."

"Man, I'm cool with it. It sucked that you were always away at that place."

"Then it's settled. Tomorrow morning, you bring your phone here and I call them."

"You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"Completely. 100%."

Spike grinned widely. "Fucking A, man. Have you thought about what you want to do here?"

"Something small and easy to start with," said Mike. He was sitting on the end of the bed, the hospital gown stretched over his thighs. "I was thinking some tutoring, maybe even take the leap and hit University."

"University?"

Mike turned to Gabby. "Yeah, I've talked about it long enough, haven't I? I'm only 26; you'd think I was 60 from the way I've been acting lately."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but what the hell are you going to study?"

"Oh, whatever. I've got passes from school, they may be shit but I'll soon show up the little Fresher types coming in with a bundle of A's and A stars."

"Cocky fucker."

"I'm going to get high on intellectualism."

"Christ. I'd bet my good leg you'd piss off a few lecturers. You were a nightmare in school."

Mike made a dismissive sound. "They deserved it."

"Ok, but when are you going to see her?"

"After visiting hours. I'd hate to wheel myself in on family."

"Man. You sure about it?"

"Absolutely."

"Go for it," said Gabby.

"Yeah man, if you think it's a good idea," added Spike. "I don't ever want to see you like you were this morning."

"Well, you won't. The doc said it was a one-off."

"It'd better be. Fuck. I was scared shitless."

"Trust me."

"Right."

****

After they had been asked to leave, Spike helped Gabby back to her bed.

"Well? What do you make of that?" he asked.

"I think I should slap you across the damned face," she said.

"What?"

"You had me absolutely freaked out, coming in here earlier crying and getting on."

"Gab, if you'd seen him this morning -"

"Aww, I know, kitten, I'm playing with you." She reached up a paw and patted his cheek.

"Harsh, woman. Harsh."

"I think it's great, though. He's been needing this. Poor guy's the original Cross-To-Bear. I was wondering when he'd hit Golgotha."

"Whew, easy on the bible imagery. You know that stuff's been denounced."

"It's so useful though," she grinned.

"You made your point," he agreed. "I can't wait to see how this all works out for him."

****

When the badger (Dr. Fect, Mike corrected himself) ushered Spike and Gabby out, Mike waited patiently while he checked readings, asked questions and generally went about the doctor-like things to be doing.

Choosing his moment carefully, Mike said, in as clear and strong a voice as he could, "I want to visit Miss Mathakan, doctor."

"Excuse me?"

"I want to visit Miss Mathakan."

"I see." The claw went up to his mouth again. "Hmm. I wonder. I hope this isn't an impulsive decision."

"No, I think it's for the best."

"Then I'll see what I can do for you, like. Uhm. Mike. I apologize."

Like? Good god. That was a new one. Usually he only got "Mick".

****

Some strings must have been pulled. It was later, after visiting hours. The doctor that had wheeled him there had told him that, no, she had had no visitors again today and that, yes, they were getting somewhat concerned about it.

Now he was alone with her. He knew the doctor was probably standing right outside the door but still, with it shut, he was alone with her. Or maybe just alone, because even though she'd apparently regained consciousness the previous day (or had it been earlier today?) she was showing no signs whatsoever of actually being alive. Her chest was rising but regularly, Mike could identify the machine that was breathing for her. He knew that if he poked a finger into her neck he'd feel a pulse that matched up to the quiet bleeping of the machine on the other side of the bed to him.

Nevertheless, he wheeled himself over and, for the first time, he took a proper, real look at her. For months upon months, every morning, he'd seen that face, usually looking sleepy and bored. Now, bandaged, thickly too, her nose was full of tubes. Her ears were pushed forwards by the dressings; she would have looked startled except that her eyes were shut loosely. He fancied that if he leant off to the right that he would be able to see the whites of her eyes under her eyelids but that felt like death - at all the funerals he'd ever been he'd been appalled at the way that the corpse's eyes were never properly shut. Apparently undertakers sometimes glued them shut. That was somehow worse.

He shook his head and tried to focus. He looked down the length of her body, at the way that her chest was filled artificially by precious air and slowly dropped again. Her hands were by her sides, more tubes coming from them, almost crudely stuck into the inside of her elbow, taped into place in case she moved. She wouldn't be moving very much any time soon, Mike guessed. Her feet tented the sheet she was under, they were longer than he would have expected but then, he scolded himself, he really didn't know a whole bunch about her species.

Except that they were becoming more common in England. That every day sad looking youths would turn up in harbors and be immediately arrested and deported but, still, some would slip through. Second-generation? Mike doubted that. He wondered if the reason that she had never spoken to anyone at the station would out of fear that she'd be on the news that night being loaded into a ferry and sent back to Africa. Xenophobic attitudes had survived tolerance. They were too ingrained.

"Hey," he whispered. Of course, there was no response, but he somehow felt disappointed. It was almost as if he'd expected his voice to not only take her out of whatever coma she was in but to also, simultaneously, to heal all her wounds and have her dancing an upbeat salsa in a matter of seconds. It hit him like a ton of bricks. She had been hit by a train. She was critically ill. She was on life support for a god-damned reason. More than likely, she was going to die. This.....this personal Madonna that he'd managed, over mere hours, to elevate in his mind was a lonely, desperate emigrant who'd had the bad fortune to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and, for that, was more likely to die than carve out a cheerless existence in a country that had, once, promised so much.

He blinked. Tears. Shit, shit, shit, this wasn't supposed to go this way. Mike tried to recover himself and attempted objectivity. You don't know this woman, he thought. You don't know her and what you're doing is passing off your own hang-ups onto her. In fact, you're here to draw inspiration from her and be off on your merry way.

It didn't work.

He took her hand in his. It was warm, but limp. Lifeless. Apart from that dreadful mechanical pulse, she was dead. Christ.

"I could've -" he started, choked and swallowed and gave up for a moment, rubbing his thumb over the back of her paw.

"I could've caught you," he managed and lowered his head. The words came easier. "I could've. You weren't far. I could've taken three steps and grabbed you and you'd have been fine. A bit shaken. But fine. And if you have someone to go home to.....do you? You'd have told them about it and they'd have sympathized." Mike raised his muzzle and, the tears flowing freely now, but quietly, went on, "But I didn't. Did I? No, I had to stand and watch; I had to see what was happening." A dreadful thought occurred to him. "I could be the last thing you ever saw. I could've been that guy that you'd been getting the train with day in, day out and never even said hello. And wouldn't even take those three steps to save your fucking life. Oh, God."

He didn't want to lift her paw; those tubes running from her elbow freaked him out, so instead, he lowered his muzzle to it. He was sobbing, he didn't care. Damn it, if her fur wasn't soft and warm. But it was fake! Everything about her that masqueraded as alive was fake. Was it his fault? Couldn't be. But.....guilt postulates a convincing argument.

Slowly, enunciating each word as if it could be his last, he said, "I.....am so sorry."

If the doctor looked in, he realized, he would be swiftly removed, so he let go of her paw and instantly, his own hand felt empty. He curled it into a loose fist, trying to hold on to the phantom feeling of her fingers in his grasp. Mike straightened himself in his wheelchair and, blinking away the prism of tears, gathered himself.

He sniffed, more to clear his nose than anything and the scent of the hospital flooded his nostrils, stale, clean, acrid and impersonal. This room ought to be full of her smell but there was nothing, nothing whatsoever of her in here.

Nothing whatsoever of her anywhere.

Suddenly, he longed to know where she lived. He longed to go there and ruffle through her possessions and find out just what exactly what was happening to this woman. If there was someone else that she could talk to about her day and share a midnight snack with. If there was family that she kept in touch with. Maybe even family in Africa. Did she have close friends here that she could go down to a pub with? Get a carry-out with and drink the night away talking bullshit in a crappy apartment somewhere?

Or was there nothing of her anywhere?

He rubbed his cheek. He had to appear in control. He was, after all, in the psychiatry ward of the hospital. The doctor may be being discreet but man; if he acted up he'd be whipped out of this room faster than you could say "Creepy lunatic".

"Creepy lunatic," he repeated, voicing his unrecognized thoughts. "You think so? No, it's not that. It's just that -" He stopped and wondered what exactly it was that he wanted to say. Before he could finish though, he jolted upright. Her eyelids had moved.

From her throat came a long, drawn, cracked and broken sound that, in a different situation, may or may not have been speech. Mike thought about calling the doctor and dismissed that. It was the sensible thing to do, but fuck sensible things; if he was a champion at thinking sensibly he'd not be here right now anyway.

She swallowed and he winced along with her. It had looked like a painful thing to do.

"Hey?" he said, repeating his earlier greeting without realizing that he was doing so. This time it had a little bit of hope in it. Not the abstract, hoping against hope of before, but genuine, guts-a-churning hope.

"Come on," he muttered, "Say something."

She didn't. She groaned. The same long, drawn, cracked and broken sound, repeated. Simply put, it broke his heart to hear. He'd only heard her voice a few times but it had been strong, confident, calm and controlled. This was the antithesis of that voice. It was vocal cords contracting against the lungs, gripping and stealing breath just to be heard.

"Can you hear me?" he said, and shook his head at the triteness of it.

But an ear twitched towards him. She had heard. He kept talking.

"I don't know if you can. But maybe if you can, then you'll know who I am. That guy at the train station? Saw each other every morning? Never passed a word? You know, the fox. Always in a suit. That's cause I work an office job. Nine to five, Monday to Friday. I suppose you work the same, cause you were always there at the same time, always dressed pretty much the same way. But usually you're wrapped up harder than me; I guess you feel the cold more."

Her jaws opened and he held his breath. Nothing was forthcoming.

He gripped her paw again. "I.....should have said hello. I know I should have. At least as a pleasantry. Or just to have broken the ice. Then we could have talked on the train. Anything, something. I don't think I ever realized that maybe.....just maybe.....you're as lonely as I am."

Nothing. Of course nothing. What did he expect? That all-singing, all-dancing recovery still? No, but maybe something. Some kind of response at least.

Maybe another twitch of her ear towards the direction of her voice. Maybe her paw gripping his one back. Maybe even, hope against hope, her saying something that fitted what he'd been saying. He wasn't asking for much, but he was asking, hoping, praying desperately for at least something.

Anything?

He sighed. Her muzzle was still open but all that was coming from it was the clockwork breathing again. She'd attempted to surface and failed.

Mike raised his paw and, on cue, the doctor entered. Yep, he'd been watching the whole time. As he was wheeled out of the room he twisted his neck to snatch another glimpse of her, he needn't have bothered. As if in stasis, she was in exactly the same position and, he suspected, if he could convince the doctors to allow him to come up to the room tomorrow, she would still be lying like that.

He was silent on the trip back to his room. Still in the psychiatric ward. He supposed that demanding to see her hadn't helped his case at all but still, it was a fair deal. He got a room to himself and, as such, he wasn't awake long before he fell asleep.

****

"What do you think?"

"He's fine. He's in pain, but he's fine."

"Even after the incident?"

"Especially after the incident. I'd have been more worried if I had analyzed him before the incident, as you absolutely persist in calling it."

"Well, it was a major -"

"Major to you. It wasn't a major anything. It was the vocal equivalent of someone buying a punch bag to hammer after a bad day of work."

"You think so?"

"I know so. Frankly, it's not even textbook, because the textbooks don't waste time on that sort of thing. It was a 'let it all out, go on, you'll feel better for it' moment."

"It caused a serious disturbance."

"Of course it did. The only unfortunate thing about it is that it happened in a ward. Otherwise though, you've got his feet to worry about and that alone."

"What about -"

"His visit to Mathakan?"

"Yes."

"That was closure for him. His psyche is intrinsically connected to a guilt complex. If he's got nothing to feel guilty about then he's, frankly, unable to function. Sad situation, I know, but most of them get along just fine. It's unlucky for him that he suffered through a harrowing experience."

"The crash?"

"Yes, the crash. He fuels himself on guilt from that, which to you or me seems ridiculous but remember, we've had desensitizing training to allow us to deal with that sort of incident in a professional manner. He hadn't. Simultaneously he saw his brother and his fiancée die, his best friend crippled and the only other one in the crash that wasn't seriously injured committed suicide at a later date. For someone who functions on guilt, it was a goldmine."

"That's fucked up."

"It's not. It's perfectly normal. He coped with the crash extremely well because he drew a strange sort of strength from it. But when his long term lady friend left him, in fact, cheated on him - and he knows it, but you question him about it and he'd never admit it - he had another major source of guilt to draw on and, ultimately, it ruined him."

"How so?"

"What happened was this. He works a menial job. He lives in sub-par accommodation. He has few friends and the most notable friend he has is from school. Not much of a social life happening there, because said friend is crippled. So he has a very, very solid routine."

"I think I see where this is going."

"It's not hard. Anyway, yesterday, he had, for the first time since, I suspect, his lady friend leaving him, a major event in his life. That would be Mathakan being pushed in front of the train and the subsequent disruption to his daily routine upset his psyche. I contacted his superior - he hasn't missed a day in over three years. Can you imagine? Moving on. I would imagine that his trip to the police station reminded him of the car crash. Then his friend's wife falls ill, though not seriously. He has to take care of that and compounds his own injuries in doing so. What does that tell you?"

"That he's lost regard for himself?"

"Close. No cigar though. It tells you that he's obsessed with looking after someone. Why?"

"What?"

"Why is he obsessed with looking after someone?"

"I have no idea."

"Because his brother was killed. His older brother was likely a strong influence on him. A lot of younger siblings look up to the older and, bam! Older brother dead and as a coping mechanism, he has to be always looking after someone. If you ask me -" A cigarette vanished into the night, sparking briefly against the concrete. "It's what destroyed his relationship with the previous love interest and also, and this is important, explains his fixation with Mathakan."

Dr. Fect pushed himself up off the wall and turned to the younger wolf. "That's why I want you to discharge him ASAP. The longer he's here, the more his fixation will develop. He's not thick. He's already worked out that she has no relatives or contacts in the country. Your colleague," he went on, almost spitting the word, "Was somewhat liberal with what he told Mr. Holland."

"That's not my -"

"Fault? I wasn't assigning blame. Nevertheless, this could easily develop into a situation and the only pre-emptive cure that I can see is removing Mr. Holland from the equation. Did you know that he went for a rather long walk before his friend's wife took ill?"

"Yes, he mentioned that."

"What does that say to you? If it hadn't been a long walk, it would have been slipping in the shower. If it hadn't been slipping in the shower, it would have been 'forgetting' his cuts and jumping out of bed. If it hadn't been that, it would have been something else."

"Are you saying he was trying to hospitalize himself?"

"Not in such literal terms but on some level, yes. He would have known that she would be here and as such, he had to be here too."

The wolf flicked his cigarette away. "Well, thank you Dr. Fect. That's been very informative."

"Informative? Why, I didn't say anything about Mr. Holland. You and I, we went for a smoke and talked about the match last night."

"Of course we did."

"Because you don't know shit about football."

****

When Mike visited her the next day, she was completely still the whole time. Never mind, he thought. Tomorrow, surely. Gabby and Spike visited him and he chatted with them genially. Eventually he managed to get a mobile phone in his paw and, choosing his moment carefully, gave his two week's notice. The boss wasn't happy. Mike was.

He was even getting used to the hospital food. He was getting used to chatting to the nurses. He was getting used to the brashness of the American wolf. He thought nothing of it when he came in after Gabby and Spike had gone their separate ways, undone the bandages as he did every night and taken a look at the chart. In fact, he thought nothing of it until he heard the word.

He sat bolt upright, not realizing that it really wasn't going to help his case at all.

"What did you say?" he asked, a little frantically.

"You're being discharged, Mr. Holland. Your feet are definitely on the way to fully healing, you don't need that thing," he said, waving towards the wheelchair, "Anymore, you're just being a little lazy. And having discussed your psychological state with Dr. Fect, we've decided that there is absolutely no reason for you to remain in hospital anymore. Of course, you'll have to come back in to have the stitches removed, but that'll be a simple procedure as long as you take it easy and don't go on any marathons."

"But what -" Mike stopped himself and thought quickly. "What about Gabby?"

"She's to remain in for about two more days and then she'll be off home too."

"Wow. That's uh.....that's great news," he said, unconvincingly.

"Would you like us to phone you a taxi? We'd like you to be off in the next hour or so. The nurses will have to clean the room and whatnot."

"Oh, yes. That'll be fine then."

"Ok, Mr. Holland. I'll order it for half an hour's time, that you may change into street clothing and gather your stuff up."

"Great, great."

And he was gone. Typical of the wolf. Discharged. Why, that was great, right? Right? Of course it was. He could go back home now and start thinking about the next big steps in his life. Work on Monday, what was it now.....Thursday. Yes, that'll do, a couple of days to rest and laze around and then getting the work thing sorted out.

You'll still have to come in to visit Gabby (Tania) though, he thought, shaking his head at the double-take his mind had played on him just there. Gabby, he'll have to visit Gabby. If he can convince Spike to let him loan the car then he'd be able to run him back and forth and to and fro. Help him with the kids too, he'll have the time.

Mike stepped out of the bed and realized that yes; he'd been doing that for a couple of days. Stepping into the wheelchair. Silly him. He hadn't even noticed himself doing it.

He walked gingerly and, apart from a little discomfort, there was no pain. With more confidence he quickly changed, minimizing nakedness to a couple of seconds. Good thing Spike had brought him over some clean clothes. Jeans, shirt, jacket, coins, wallet, sandals? No, not the sandals. Well, maybe. No.

He checked the room. Nothing left. Mike sat on the bed and waited.

****

His place smelt stuffy. Unlived in. He could catch the faintest trace of Spike still in the air which just went to show how undisturbed it had been. He threw his jacket over the back of a chair and aimlessly wandered around. He'd have to get some shopping done. The milk smelt rank and the bread was speckled with blue mould.

Lovely.

He opened a few windows and left, stopped, and went back in. He was subject to visiting hours again after all. They probably wouldn't make a concession for him to see Gabby (Tania).

"Damn, stop doing that," he said and his voice sounded overly loud in the apartment. He lifted the phone and dialed Spike's number. They spoke and agreed that he should have the car. He hit the 'next call' button and called a taxi.

After a few embarrassing misfires from the engine, he got the car running and drove out to the shops. He picked up groceries for himself and some beer and snack food and drove out to Spike's house. If he was right the kids wouldn't be there and he was, they weren't. Spike greeted him, the cat's eyes lighting up at the sight of the free beer and they spent the night dwelling on bullshit philosophy and listening to the music they'd grown up with. Mike spent the night there. In the morning he drove home and caught a few more hours sleep. At Friday, 2.45pm he left the house again and drove to the hospital, having agreed the night before to head over during the evening visiting hours with Spike. The perfect crime. Or so he thought.

****

He strode down the corridor, his tail waving agitatedly behind him. Straight up the receptionist. A cat, with the same markings as Gabby, but she was bigger, as if she'd been stretched, all legs and arms.

"Yes?" she asked, politely.

"I'm sorry," he said, controlling his voice. "I came to see Miss Mathakan? Room 112."

"Let me check," she said and flicked through a book. Mike watched her movements closely. "Oh yeah. Miss Mathakan's been transferred."

"Where to?"

"I'm afraid I can't release that information," she said quietly, closing the book over having noticed Mike stretching over the counter that was separating them. "Her family were very particular about confidentiality. They're shaken by the attack and don't want people to be able to find out where she's being taken care of."

Mike's shoulders slumped. "I understand. Thank you."

"I could pass a message along, I'm sure?"

"Could you?" He thought for a moment. "Actually just.....just forget it. Thanks anyway."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help."

"It's alright, I understand. Thanks."

Mike turned and walked away, pushing the door opened with his elbow and almost catching his tail in it as it swung back shut. The receptionist watched him leave and sighed, turning around.

"Well?" she said.

"Thank you, Maria, that was very professional."

"I just wish I knew why I had to. He looked crushed."

"It's for the better, trust me," said Dr. Fect, emerging from around a corner where the records were kept. "That was a psychiatric patient who was discharged yesterday. He took an.....unhealthy interest in Miss Mathakan's well being. It is much more healthy for him to break that interest off. And you're sure he won't stumble across her?"

"Doctor, she's at the other end of the building now. Even when he visits his friend, he'll not come across Miss Mathakan's room unless he goes around every single door."

"I doubt he will very much. Again, thank you. I know that it was a strange request."

The secretary made a dismissive sound. She opened her mouth to say something but, out of the corner of her eye, noticed another visitor and turned to deal with him instead.

****

Slow. Mike eased his foot off the accelerator and dropped down a gear. School crossing. He looked right and left. The hometime bell obviously hadn't rung yet. 30. He checked the speedometer. 25. Fine. He wasn't sure if Gabby's insurance covered him so he didn't want to even commit a minor offence and end up with a major fine.

I have got to get myself one of these, he thought. And why not? He had the money for it. He hadn't driven a car since the crash but being in one again reminded him of just how handy they were. Maybe tomorrow, head down to a second-hand dealer and see about insurance. It made sense, after all. His day wasn't going to be dictated by the direction of the train tracks anymore.

Yeah, tomorrow, go and get a car. Then get insured and pay the road tax and hey presto, mobility. I wonder where she is?

He sighed. "Forget her," he muttered, flicking the indicator on and taking a left. He stopped at some lights and set the gas, paw half-off the clutch and the handbrake on. "Thank fuck she has a family to look after her."

The light turned green and he let the handbrake off. A little shaky off from the lights but hey, it'd been ages since he'd driven, he was a little rusty. Second. Third. Fourth. Up to forty MPH and he was cruising.

"I've enough on my plate anyway. Rebuilding my life, I am. Good deal too."

He swung around a roundabout, taking the third exit. "Where the fuck am I even going?" he asked and immediately answered himself, laughing. "No, don't fancy it," he muttered and looked for a road to turn in. Without meaning to he had been driving himself right towards the train station.

Wouldn't that have been a good one for Fect? He could imagine the badger looking up from the clipboard that he seemed to have had surgically attached and raising a sardonic eyebrow in his direction. 'Care to explain?" he'd have said and Mike would've stuttered something convincing until the eyebrow went down again. Nice bloke though. He never quite seemed to get along with badgers but Fect was alright. Then, it was his job to be alright.

"Yeah, forget her. She'll be alright." He reached down, fumbled for a moment and managed to get the radio on. Some pop tune came on. That'll do, he thought, that'll do just nicely.

****

"Sir? Sir? I don't get it. Sir?"

"Hold on just a moment Chloe. I'm helping Hope." Who should actually have been called Hopeless in his opinion. He checked his watch. "You've got 20 minutes left, you lot."

Some muttered, an 'Aww" and a turning of pages. Good sounds. He gave up/finished with Hope and turned to Chloe.

"What's the problem?"

"I don't get it."

Yes, thought Mike, I'd gathered that. "What it is that you don't get about it?"

"Do we have to like, make the ten words like, matter, or do you just like, put them in?"

He frowned. "Every word's supposed to matter, Chloe. But I know what you're asking. What you want to do is make sure that the words are included but you don't have to make the story revolve around them. Is that ok?"

"Err, yeah, I think I get it now. Thanks, sir."

"No problem. You'll have to work quickly, though."

He looked around the class for any other raised paws. None. Excellent. It always surprised him, the range of abilities that turned up after school. Then, he supposed he was cheaper than a personal tutor.....in fact, he knew, because he WAS a personal tutor outside of this. It was good money, surprisingly so and he was always in demand. Hey, he might not have a Masters degree from a swanky University but after the last few years, the word had spread that Mr. Holland got results.

Which was a good reputation to have because it got him the work and damn, but he enjoyed it. Sure, some parts of it were a bit crap, even he dreaded trying to hammer the rules of apostrophe use into their dense little skulls but in the end when they came out with a C, B or A it was well worth it.

The twenty minutes passed swiftly and he dismissed them. Some lingered and asked questions, he answered them and eventually was left to himself. Mike packed up his papers, filed away their work and left the school that had taken him, inexperienced, useless him on a volunteer basis to get a touch of experience before he applied to a University course and, in the end, had kept him on and had allowed him to get the essential qualifications on the job.

Damned if that numeracy test hadn't fucked him up the ass a few times.

He slid into his car and checked the rearview mirror. Turned his muzzle sideways. Yeah, definitely showing a few grey hairs there. That was well premature, he was only 29. Maybe it'd give him that distinguished look in the end?

Mike guided his car, new two months ago, a Mercedes, no less (thought bought on the extreme cheap, it was a 20 year old model but it was a class looking piece of equipment, one of the old C-series) out of the car park and started to make his way home, singing along to a song from a mix tape he'd made himself.

His phone rang and he flicked a button. "Yeah?"

"Hey man."

"Hey Spike. What's up?"

"Where are you? You're all fuzzy?"

"I'm always all fuzzy. I'm no shaver."

"Fuck off, you know what I mean."

"I'm in the car."

"Should I call back?"

"Hell no, hands free, remember?"

"Technophile." Spike laughed and it crackled as Mike drove under a bridge. "You still up for tomorrow?"

"Yeah, of course. Would not miss that for the world."

"Right. 7am, remember?"

"Taxi there?"

"Oh, listen to you, Mr. Protective Of Your Car. Fine, fine, me and Gabby will taxi, you can bus it."

"Right, right. See you then."

"Stay funky."

"I surely will."

A bleep and the connection was cut off. Mike grinned. That was going to be a good day. It would have them all absolutely shattered by the end of it but with the three of them having the day off a trip to Wales was going to be fun.

He got home, marked some work, planned out his next lesson, took his 6pm tutorial with a girl who didn't know the difference between formal and informal writing and, as was his way these days, he went to bed early, wanting to be fresh and alert in the morning, especially with the trip planned.

****

It was déjà vu city. Population, Mike Holland. Staggering out of bed to the sound of alarms at 5.30am. Dressing in a daze. Coffee turning into lifeblood. Shrugging a jacket on and heading down to too-cold and too-dark streets to wait for the bus. How the fuck did I live like this, he asked himself.

He passed over a pound and twenty pence in change and the driver looked at him scornfully.

"What?" he asked.

"It's one ninety, mate."

"One ninety? Jesus. Been a while since I've been on. Sorry." Wrong bus, for a start. Wake up, Mike. He fished the extra coins out of his pocket and was rewarded with a ticket. Amazing, he thought. I didn't even have to put any brainpower into getting that money out. Old habits die hard, I guess.

He sat on the same seat that he had always sat on. Third on the left. It was far enough from the wheel not to break his spine at every bump and the bonus was that the heater was three seats down, a nice warm breeze fluffing up the fur on his calves. At least his old habits made sense.

Mike got to his feet instinctively around the corner from the station, hit the 'Stop' buzzer and swung off the bus with a cheery "Thanks" to the driver, who didn't seem to hear or care. Or both.

A flick of the wrist to get a glimpse at his watch told him that it was 6.32am, Thursday the 11th of February. It wasn't raining, that was a good thing. A little nippy though. He stepped inside the station and headed straight to the coffee shop. It was still there, though it had been redecorated. He knew that Gabby and Spike would be here at 7am sharp, not a minute before. Definitely coffee time. It was going to be sweet not getting on that train to bring him up to work though. An added bonus to what should be a great day.

An old song was playing on the shop radio. He hummed along as he waited his turn. Anonymous suited typed carrying bags and thin briefcases shambled along in front of him and he couldn't help himself from grinning, knowing that he had been one of them a few years ago.

Mike didn't recognize the bored looking dog working the machines and spewing out the coffee so he bit his tongue on saying "The usual" and instead asked for, well, the usual, that being "Strong black, regular."

He waited, longer than he should have, and took the cup. "What'll that be?" he asked, recalling his bus-related embarrassment.

"Two fifteen."

Yep, it'd gone up a right bit. He dug into his pocket and his paw got stuck. He'd been expecting the loose pockets of trousers and got the tightness of jeans instead. He yanked and freed his paw. Also, his change, which scattered over the floor. "Aw, damn," he said and bent over to start picking it up.

Another paw was kicking money towards his hand, making it easier for him. He grinned and let out a little exasperated laugh, got the last coin and stood up, quickly handing over the money and stepping out of the queue. He turned his head around and started a casual "Cheers" but barely even got the "Ch" of it out.

If his fingers hadn't adopted their practiced hold on the paper cup, he'd have dropped his coffee. To be honest, he figured that she'd have done so too, except she didn't have her coffee yet. Say something, he thought, say something. Except that his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth and if he moved it he imagined it would make a dry ripping sound like Velcro.

"Here, love, I haven't got all day," said the dog. Impatient. She looked around and fumbled in her purse.

"Sorry, sorry. Um. Coffee. Please. Cappuccino, please. Thanks."

She looked back to Mike, clearly embarrassed. He stood off to the side and waited until she had gotten her coffee and paid for it. While this was going on he managed to peel his tongue away from his palate so when she left the counter he was at least able to move the damned thing.

Her lips held tight, she lifted her eyebrows towards him. A very clear "Wasn't that silly of me, what must you think?" sort of look.

"Hi," he said. That was good. That was just perfect. Shakespeare couldn't have put it better. Nice one, Mike, nice one. How to disappoint in just one syllable. Brilliant! What's next? How about asking her about the weather? Wouldn't that be nifty?

"Hey," she said back. "Um, could you hold this?"

"Sure." He took her briefcase while she hurriedly stuffed her purse back into her handbag.

"Thanks," she said, taking it back off him. "That was um. Quite a surprise."

"Sorry?"

"Oh, it's just that I don't think I've seen you here in some time. Years, even. Blast from the past," she said, loosening up a little.

"Mm, yeah. Hey, you want to -" He pointed towards one of the tables in the café.

"Oh yes, sure. Yeah. The train's not for another -"

"Half hour or so. I remember."

They sat down and there was an awkward silence that they both tried to break at the same time.

"How have you"

"How come you"

They both stopped, waited a second and then -

"Sorry, you go"

"You started first"

Mike broke it desperately by waving his paw at her to go on and taking a sip of his coffee. It was exactly the same as it had been. Damned good coffee for a train station.

She paused, thought, and leaned forwards. "What've you been up to?"

"Mm." He set his coffee down and she took a sip of hers. Delicately. "I got new work," he said, "A couple of years ago. I'm a GCSE mentor now."

"Get away."

"Really. It's all local so this," he said, nodding his head back to the train station, "Is all in the past for me."

"Why are you here today?"

"I'm going to Wales with some friends. My timetable's pretty flexible."

"I see."

"What about you?"

"Same old boring job. I wake up. I come here. I respect the yellow line. I go to work. I come home. Delicious! Your work sounds much more interesting."

Mike shrugged. This was turning into a real small-talk situation; of course, it was the first time he'd actually talked to her. She'd recognized him though. "Ups and downs, but the ups outweigh the downs." Had she obliquely made reference to the incident a few years ago? He thought she had.

"In fact," she said, cutting across him, "When I think about it, I don't know if you ever turned up after um.....well, after I got pushed."

Now that was pretty straightforward. "Funny story about that actually," he said, trying to keep the mood light.

Again, she cut him off. "I was furious," she said.

"Huh?"

She set her coffee down and looked at him seriously. "After I came around and got back on my feet, the police filled me in on what had happened. The doctors too. You know what they said?"

"What?"

"They said that someone called Michael Holland had leapt down off the platform to stop the train moving off. That someone called Michael Holland had given the statement which convicted the brute that pushed me. And you know what else?"

Mike sat quietly. This, he hadn't been expecting.

"They said that someone called Mike Holland had been the only.....the ONLY person who visited me in the hospital. The whole time I was there. I was there for eight months."

"Eight....."

"Months."

"Wait. In our hospital?"

"Yes. Eight months."

He reeled. That didn't make any sense. He shook his head; he'd clear that up later.

"So," she said, continuing, her voice low so that nobody else in the café could hear but it carried, oh how it carried over to him. "This Michael Holland, bit of a superman when I've pieced everything together and you know what occurs to me?"

"....."

"That I have absolutely NO idea who Michael Holland is. Isn't that absurd?"

"It's uh....."

"Of course, they can't give out any details. You'd think I was at a loss, wouldn't you?"

"Uh....."

She lifted her coffee and, flicking the plastic lid off the cup, took a drink, licking the foam off her muzzle. "On the day I was discharged though, I got a lifeline. The receptionist took me to the side and asked me if I was still trying to find out who Michael Holland was. Yes, I said. You see, this was a few years ago, my English was a lot weaker then. Anyway. She tells me that you were admitted to the hospital at the same time as me. What did you do?"

"I uh.....I cut my feet up pretty bad on the tracks. Stitches. And stuff."

She nodded. "So this receptionist, god knows why, she tells me your address and before I leave she seems to remember something and catches me outside, standing at the bus stop and says 'By the way, he's a fox' and describes you. You're looking older," she said, with a smile.

"That was uncalled for," he said, suddenly self-conscious.

"Grey's no bad thing," she said, pointing over her shoulder. He smiled. She went on and he checked his watch. A quarter to. He wanted to have arranged to meet Gabby and Spike at 9am now. "That's when I realize. The guy at the train station. I was lucky not to lose my memory, they said. Oh, you should see my head when it's wet, scars running up and down it. I remembered who you were then. You were the last thing I saw before I went over."

She tilted her head. "You looked a lot like that, too. Cheer up, this is going places."

"It's just that -"

"Shush, save it. Let me finish. I've been waiting years for this."

"Ok, ok. Go on."

"Drink your coffee too. It'll get cold."

He looked down and, almost disbelievingly, took a slug of his coffee. It was approaching perfect drinking temperature.

"Ok. So I know who you are. I go the very next day to your address and, crapping myself, I knock the door."

Mike groaned. "I know where this is going."

She nodded. "Yeah. Imagine my surprise when a human opens the door. 'Is Michael there?' I ask him, probably sounding like the world's biggest dolt. 'Naw' says he, 'nobody called Michael here'. 'There must be some mistake' I say." She stopped and took a drink of her coffee. "No mistake. He eventually remembers that the guy that had lived there before him had been a fox called Michael. Shit, I think, shit!"

"I moved about four months after you were pushed," he said, absently.

"Mm. I'm at a dead end but then I remember, he gets the same train as me. Always does. You wouldn't believe how early I got here the next morning. Nothing. The day after.....nothing. Day in, day out, nothing, nothing, nothing." She stopped and looked down. "Then I realized that there was a reason. I'd missed the boat."

"I -"

"Shush. And here you are. Bold as brass, large as life. And I've waited years for this."

"For -"

"Shush!" she said, again, and Mike realized that she was close to tears, if not there already. What the hell? She looked up. Her expression was murder, but this sort of thing was never a cinch. She swallowed hard and, lowering her head and looking up, she quietly murmured "Thank you."

"Th -"

She nodded. "Thank you. Devil may care, Michael, but back then, I didn't know anyone here and to hear that there was one guy who was.....looking out for me.....without rhyme or reason.....that was a big thing. That was a huge thing. So, ugh." She stopped and angrily swiped her paw over her eyes. "I hate crying."

Do I, or don't I, Mike thought and did, reaching across the table and gently laying his paw over hers, gratified when hers turned quickly and clasped his. Grey on black.

"Mike," he said, amazed that his voice didn't crack. "Not Michael, Mike."

"Thank you Mike. Thank you for caring."

Her head was on the table and he lowered his own muzzle, pushing it up beside hers so that his cheek was against hers. He tried to think of something to say and gave up, settling for rubbing his thumb over the back of her paw and feeling her fur meshing into his. He barely even dared move.

What was this? Gratitude? No, god, gratitude would've passed a long time ago. This was a little more than that. The thought that maybe she had been thinking what he had been thinking years ago crossed his mind. True, he still brought her to mind now and then but he was busy with other things, more often than not - he didn't like to dwell on it. Why had he never thought of coming down to the station?

"I'd better go," she muttered.

"Huh? No. Oh, the train, of course." He sat up but didn't let go of her paw. "Wait, just one second." He fumbled in his pocket, he never went anywhere without a pen these days. On the back of his ticket he scrawled his address and phone number. She was already getting out of her seat, with the impatient fidgeting of someone who suspects they're going to be late for the train they have to get.

"Here," he said, passing it over. "Call me."

"But -"

"Just call me, alright?"

"But -"

"Please. Even if it's just to say hi."

She took the ticket and stuffed it in a pocket, looking over her shoulder.

"I don't -"

"That's the train."

She looked down. She'd felt it rumbling too. She hissed a curse under her breath that he didn't know; it must have been in her first language. "Come on," he said and got up with her, quickly herding her to the door and ignoring her protests. Down the stairs, the train was still there. She jumped on and turned around as the doors slid shut.

"I don't have a phone!" she wailed, just before they sealed her inside the train.

Mike felt his heart drop and went to jump forwards as the train started to move off. "No!" he shouted and stepped back. From a crawl, she was gone, out of sight.

"No!" he shouted again, stamping a foot in frustration. How could he have been so stupid? If he'd listened.....

"Oh, damn it all," he said and looked at the time. They'd likely be here any second now. Forget it, forget it, forget it. Damn!

He turned away from the tunnel that the train had just vanished into and bounded up the stairs, taking them three or four at a time, swung himself around the corner at the top and settled into a walk. As if scripted, Gabby was holding the door open for Spike. The new model of leg he was using made life a lot easier for him but it was far cry from perfect yet and she was so used to performing little tasks to make his day a little less of a hassle that it wouldn't matter if he magically grew a new leg overnight, she'd still lift bags for him and, like now, hold doors.

Showtime, thought Mike, raised his paw, grinned and, aiming for heartfelt and getting it down to a T, said, "We all ready?"

****

The day went well. Admittedly he was distracted in the morning, but he passed it off as train-sickness. "Can't believe it, used to get on every day and you put a guy in a car for a couple of years and, ugh, this thing is nasty." Eventually though, he managed to get in the right frame of mind and had a fun day. They went for a slow trawl around a small town, got a meal, got coffee, had a few drinks in a quiet, quiet pub where they made up three quarters of the clientele and eventually hopped on the train home again. It was around 11pm when they pulled into Essex station again.

"I have work tomorrow," Mike moaned. "Up at 7am. That's not right."

"I have to finalize two sales tomorrow, Mike. Quit your bitching."

"I've a kid with ligament damage coming in."

"What'd he do?"

"Fell out of a tree. Bent his leg right back." Spike demonstrated with his wrist.

"Ouch. Man."

They stood around on the deserted street waiting for their shared taxi to arrive. No buses at this time. When it came, they bundled in the back and dropped off Gabby and Spike first, who put forward the full price of the taxi ("Cause we couldn't stop you buying the drinks."). He closed his eyes and slouched in the back. Tired, very tired. It had been a fun day but he was exhausted now. Oh well, it had been worth it. It had been a pretty spontaneous thing to do, since Spike and Gabby had had that third and last kid (Spike got the snip after that, no more, he'd said, three was enough) they'd been up to their eyes looking after them.

He was mostly thinking about a steaming cup of coffee and lying down in bed with his most recent literary adventure when the taxi pulled up outside his house. He got out, went to pay and was waved off. Good memory there, he thought and shook his head. Tiredness excuses a lot of things.

Cutting across his lawn, realizing that he kind of needed to mow the damned thing - next dry day, honest - he stepped up to the door and dug in his pocket for his keys, humming to himself.

"Hi!"

He leapt damn near out of his fur and span around; shouting something that would have been a curse had it not been so utterly incoherent.

And she was laughing. She was doubled up laughing. Mike clapped a paw to his chest, his heart was thrumming and his legs felt shaky. "Why?!" he exclaimed, his voice high pitched and squeaky.

She was gasping with laughter still, trying, but failing to speak, coming out with, "You.....oh god.....jumped so high.....never seen anyone.....classic!"

"That wasn't funny!" he said, trying his best to sound hurt, wounded, insulted but ultimately failing in all three, a smile spreading on his features. He looked from side to side. "Hey, what the hell are you even doing here? It's like -" He checked his watch. "It's nearly midnight."

She shook a paw at him, still laughing. At length, she managed to stop and straightened up, sniffing and clearing her throat. "I came around and you weren't here, so I figured I'd wait a while."

"Huh. What time did you come around at?"

She looked sideways, suddenly embarrassed. "About eight."

"Eight? You've been here nearly four hours?"

A shrug. He figured he'd let it slide for now. It was odd but he was sure that he'd get a straight answer out of her later. It was cold and if she'd been standing around here since eight then it was the least he could do to let her out of the cold for a while. She's got patience, he thought, patience by the ton.

He turned and opened the door. "Come on inside," he said, "At least to warm your paws. You're mad," he said, as he went inside, assuming that she was following. She was, the door shut while he was hanging up his coat. "I mean, I thought I had it a bit crap sitting on the train for so long today, but god, sitting out here for four hours?"

"I'd not much else to do and since you gave me your address, I thought I'd drop round."

"Yeah, but four hours?"

"Yeah, but four hours," she mimicked. "I didn't know you'd be so late. Nice place."

Topic change, he thought. "Yeah, the mortgage's a bitch though."

"I'll bet. I couldn't even get the equity on a place like that. You live here alone?"

"I had quite a bit saved up from a few places. It's not like I spend a lot on myself day to day."

"Oh, right. What is this, three, four?"

"Three bedroom. One of them is a study now though."

She whistled; a drawn-out sound of appreciation. "Not bad at all."

Small talk, at best, thought Mike. He bit down on asking just why she'd waiting around outside for hours on end again and instead offered a drink. "Coffee? Hot chocolate? Hard liquor?"

"Oh. Coffee would be nice."

"Alright. Give me a couple of minutes. Make yourself comfortable," he added, pointing to the living room. He went into the kitchen and started to put together some coffee. Boiling the kettle, spooning out the instant granules into cups and realizing that he had no idea how she took her coffee. He shouted the question.

"Milk. No sugar," came the reply.

Right. This is weird. This is really, really weird. He went to the fridge and checked the date on the milk. Four hours? I would barely be able to wait around for a cheque for a million pounds if I had to stand in the cold that long. The kettle rattled and clicked and he poured the steaming water into the mugs, stirred and chucked the teaspoon into the sink. Ok then, he thought, lifting the mugs. Showtime.

****

Halfway through the mug, he had managed to keep the conversation light and at least somewhat interesting but he stalled too long and an awkward silence started to descend. Before he could so much as bite down on his traitor of a tongue he'd gone and said it - it was the tiredness creeping in again more than anything else. Not his fault. But it was said.

She looked at him oddly. "Trying to get rid of me?" she asked. Light, but hurt.

"No, it's just that, well, after that day, I'm tired, really tired." Again, the traitor tongue took over and added, with almost no intervention from his brain, "I can give you a lift."

She narrowed her eyes. "I have legs."

Even as his mouth opened and his tongue started flapping around again, he wished he could just take a pair of scissors to it to shut himself up. "I know, but I mean, you've got work tomorrow too, you've to be up dead early and hey, tomorrow's Friday, we could get a drink or something, I could come over to your place maybe."

"No!" She stopped herself, displaying skills that Mike was feeling that he was strongly lacking right now. "I mean, yes. Yes, drinks would be good. We could go to a pub, yeah. That'd be nice."

Tired as he was, he didn't miss that one. "You know," he said, casting off the words as if they were nothing, "It's a crummy night out and some places in this town aren't the greatest. You could have the spare tonight if you want, and I'll run you to the station tomorrow morning."

"Really?" Surprise.

"Course, that's what it's there for." Nonchalance.

"I wouldn't be intruding?" Politeness.

"Not in the slightest. Though I get first dibs on the bathroom in the morning." Joking.

"I don't have any of my stuff." Reluctance.

"It's nothing to drive over to pick up a few things." Coercing.

"But I might as well stay home then." Logic.

"It's up to you, Tania." Ultimatum. Mike waited to see what she'd decide to do. Eventually she raised a finger.

"Breakfast?" Dealing.

He nodded. "But not in bed."

"Deal."

Win.

****

He pulled up outside the apartment block, one that he recognized in a general way - it was the sort of apartment that, when he'd been living in the high-rise, he'd looked down on. No wonder she'd been adverse to him seeing. He yanked on the handbrake; he was having to park on a slight incline and turned the engine off.

"I'll just be a moment," she said and went to get out of the car. When his door opened too, her ears started to lower, but she beat them. Shame that Mike had been watching to see how she'd react and had caught the despondent moment of expression. "It's ok," she said, "You don't have to come in; I'm just grabbing some clothes."

"Naw," he said, feeling a little cruel. "I'll give you a hand."

He locked the car, wondering if the badge would still be on the bonnet when he got back. The street seemed deserted, but it would be. This was the sort of little neighborhood where everyone was too busy getting by to be interested in casual street-crime. Tania led, he followed. As if bracing herself, she pushed the main door open. The place stank. Litter lay around the entrance hall. Lovely, thought Mike. I wouldn't like to be coming home to this every day.

She stepped over a suspicious looking leak and led him up some rickety stairs. "Here it is," she said, stifling her embarrassment with humor. "Casa De Moi."

Tania flicked a light on. A 60 watt bulb, no shade on it, illuminated the room. It was, quite literally, a single room. A bed in the corner. A desk with paper spread over it. They looked like letters, but he didn't want to stare. A rickety chair with the back missing at the desk. A sink with generic toiletries, you wouldn't see them advertised in the "Buy this shampoo or people won't have sex with you!" way. A wardrobe lacking doors and a window that, judging by the cold of the room, didn't enjoy keeping the elements outside. An electric heater sat in the corner. It had been white but the front of it was a dark brown - that thing gets used a lot, thought Mike.

Yet the bed was immaculately made with a beautiful cover on the thin quilt, some kind of oriental pattern. There was a picture on the wall, a single picture of a small family standing at an airport. They were smiling, all of them, but they looked terribly, terribly sad. Mike recognized Tania, a younger, leaner Tania, standing in the middle and realized that this would have been the last time that she saw her family and that they'd splashed out getting a photograph taken at the airport for her sake. He wondered if they had a copy. The letters on the desk, he wondered who they were for. Her family? They didn't seem like the type to have an address you could post to.

He saw all this in a split second, then Tania was stepping in front of him. "Just going to grab a few things," she mumbled. Literally, thought Mike, she had a few changes of clothes. One suit, no wonder that was the only one that he ever saw her in.

She threw a bundle on the bed and ducked underneath it, pulling out a burlap sack that, from the label, had once contained coal. Looking up at him, she smiled sadly. "Luxuries," she said, and opened it. The way that she was standing, he couldn't see what he was adding to the bundle of clothes. She tied the bag, pushed it back under the bed and rolled up her bundle of clothes quickly and efficiently.

"Ok!" she said, with forced brightness. "Let's roll; I've got everything I need."

"Your bag," he said, pointing.

"Huh? Oh, jeez, yeah. That would have been stupid." She dithered, working out how to lift the bag that he was used to seeing her with. Mike grabbed it instead and nodded.

"Good to go?"

"Definitely."

"Right." He held the doors for her and noticed something interesting. When she locked her shaky door, she poked the key into her paw pad, closed her fist and checked the handle again.

"What was that about?" he asked.

"I left it open once," she replied. "A lot got stolen."

"Oh, right."

"It wasn't always that sparse," she said, daring him to say otherwise with her tone. "But since it got burgled I haven't had the guts to start buying nice stuff again."

"Ah."

"At least I had a bank account. Someone else in the building kept their money underneath their mattress. Can you believe?"

"Did they get burgled too?"

"Same day. They left soon after."

"Where'd they go?"

Tania laughed, sharply and harshly. "You think we ever find out? When someone drops out of the bottom, they just vanish," she said, emphasizing the last three words. "You know that I'd have been kicked out except that I pay rent by direct debit? Yeah. The whole time I was in hospital, I was paying rent otherwise I'd have come back to an empty room."

"That's fucked."

"Yes. Yes it is," she said, shortly. Feeling chastised, Mike unlocked the car and helped her load her stuff into the back seat.

Mercifully for Mike the conversation found its way to music on the way back, because he'd switched the radio on. "I love this song," she'd exclaimed and had started singing along. She'd never make a karaoke champion, but she could at least carry a tune, even if her choice of key was a touch random. Not that he could say any different, he didn't have a note in his body. He'd recalled his report from school to her, "Michael has extremely limited musical ability and we do not foresee any reason to continue with him in the study of his instrument" and she'd laughed.

"So I'm a professional appreciator," he said, as he pulled up into his driveway. "I listen on at least seven levels of appreciation at once."

"Oh yeah? List them."

"Let me see." He killed the engine and started counting off on his fingers. "There's melodic, of course. Originality. Intellectual. Abstract. Post-modern." He paused. "Also cheesiness. And uh.....rockosity."

"Rockosity?"

Mike nodded. "Rockosity. The relative value of rock in the song."

"You're full of shit."

"But it's convincing shit until I make up words!"

"Yeah, right." She unbuckled her seatbelt and got out of the car. He grinned and got out the other side, swinging himself up to his feet. She was already getting her bundle out of the back so he waited and when she had pushed the door shut with her knee, he locked up and offered her a hand.

"I'm fine," she said, so he settled for playing the gentleman and holding the door open for her instead. This is weird; he thought as she brushed past him and asked where to leave her stuff.

"The spare room, of course. It's the second on the right upstairs."

"I remember," she said and started up them. Mike snapped the lock on the front door and followed her.

"I'm not going to get lost," she said.

"I know. But it's a quarter past two and I'm going to bed."

"It's a quarter past two?!" She dropped her stuff on the bed and frowned. "I am really going to feel this tomorrow."

He dug into his pocket and pulled out his mobile phone. "Alarm on that. I got one in my room. If we both sleep in then I'm buying a rooster."

"Like they'd sell a fox a rooster."

"Oh yeah. You buy it."

"Like they'd sell me a rooster!"

"Yeah. Then let's just make sure that neither of us sleeps in. G'night."

"Night. Thanks for the roof."

"No problem."

****

He initially thought that he'd not be able to get to sleep but, after all, he was exhausted after the day that had been and after he'd visited the bathroom and scrubbed his teeth, he was gone in minutes. He slept soundly until his alarm went off.

Grunting, he rolled over and slapped it. It fell off his bedside table and landed on the floor. "Great," he groaned and fumbled down the side of the bed. God, what had he done to his sheets in the middle of the night? He found it, clicked it off and yawned, stretching his muzzle wide.

"Morning!"

"Ack!" Mike flipped onto his back and looked down. No wonder his feet had felt trapped, Tania was sitting cross-legged on the end of his bed.

"What are you doing?" he said, startled.

"Waiting for you to wake up."

Mike blinked and stifled another yawn. "What is it with you and sneaking up on me?" he asked. "You're ready to go?"

"Yeah. Hope you don't mind, I had a shower."

"No, no problem."

"Right. I need to be at the station in half an hour."

"Oh, crap, I forgot about that."

"You've plenty of time."

He went to push himself out of bed and remembered he wasn't wearing anything. Think quick, think quick. "Could you put the kettle on for me?"

"Sure thing," she said, and got up off the bed. "Tell me where the stuff is and I'll make a cup."

"Cupboard above the kettle," he said. "Cups and coffee. Two sugars, milk."

"Like a sissy girl."

"Oh, fine, I'll have it straight black, laced with sweat and cologne."

She grinned and left the room. He rubbed his forehead. "Girl's weird," he said, swinging his legs out of bed and pulling on a pair of trousers. He was running a comb through his arm fur when she came back in, with a steaming mug of coffee.

Feeling naked, even with his trousers on, he gladly accepted the mug and took a sip. "Good stuff," he said, and combed his other arm. "Could you throw me that shirt?"

He turned his back to set the comb down, turned around and caught the shirt with a smug grin.

"How did you?"

"Saw you balling it up. You can't trick a fox thrice."

"Ugh. Not fair."

Mike shrugged the ex-projectile shirt on and buttoned it quickly, tucking it in to his trousers and glancing at his clock. "We'd really better get a move on; you know how random the traffic can be on a Friday."

"Right, right. I'll grab my bag."

She left the room and Mike went through the daily winter debate of sandals or no sandals. As usual these days, it was no sandals. After all, he had the car.

****

He had got out at the station with her and gone for a cup of coffee, seen her off on her train and all and, driving to work, he found himself scratching his head about the whole night. The whole thing, in fact.

Sort it out in your head first, Mike. Right. Get same train as girl; see her pretty much every day in the morning. Don't talk to her. Guy is pretty happy and content with life but working a dead-end job to keep up payments on flat. Guy's girlfriend leaves him, guy gets a bit depressed. Girl, at this time, is living in a crappy apartment and struggling to learn the language of the country. Right. That's all pretty straightforward.

Moving on. Guy witnesses girl getting pushed in front of train. Guy helps girl out indirectly. Guy also ends up in hospital and has a minor breakdown. That's on my medical record, for gods sakes. Ah, focus, Mike, focus. This is where it stops making sense.

Guy visits girl in hospital. Guy gets let out of hospital after deciding to take life by the balls and squeeze very hard. Guy goes back to visit girl. That's it! Guy was told that girl had been moved. What is that about? She wasn't moved.

He frowned and shook his head, trying to understand. Finish, Mike, answer questions later.

Talking aloud, he tried to keep up with events. "So, she recovers, in the same hospital. What about the family? They said that they took her. Right, whatever, that's not important right now. Ok, she finds out who I am, the mysterious stranger who helped her out. And she wants to meet me to thank me. But I've left my job and moved by the time that she's out of the hospital. Cause I was grabbing life by the balls."

He sighed. It was all falling into place. "That means that I remain the mysterious guy who helped her for years. That'd grow. She meets me by chance and because she's got this image of me in her head she goes to my house when she has the first chance and.....and what? She stays over and, oh fuck me, she even watches me when I'm asleep. Oh, FUCK me."

The show must go on, though, he thought, turning into the school. He'd have to put that on the back burner for the day and intercept her at the train station. Frankly, he knew that she'd be expecting him to; she'd left quite a few of her personal effects at his house. Hold the line, because this is verging on hero-worship from a lonely, lonely girl. As far as she's concerned I'm the only person who cares about her in the whole world.

"This," he said, switching off the engine, "Could get tricky."

****

Spike recognized her first.

Mike had been as good as his word, even his unspoken word. He'd lifted from the station and drove her straight to his house. He'd made her dinner and they'd chatted while they'd made it. He'd gone for a shower, she'd watched some television. Then he raised the issue of the night out he'd promised. Bulleting through her indifference he cut down each soft excuse she forwarded and eventually phoned Gabby and Spike and invited them down to the pub that they now frequented when they found the time.

He'd arrived before and had sat with Tania, relieved to be out of the house. He had been getting a touch of cabin fever - this was a woman he had, essentially, met only the day before and suddenly he was cooking her dinner? Bizarre.

When Spike and Gabby had arrived, Spike (using a single crutch today) had looked over and Mike had seen his face light up - new person! New person! But before he could come over, Tania had turned slightly and Spike had recognized her. He was shooting Mike a fiercely loaded look. Gabby hadn't caught on yet and was waiting impatiently behind her husband, assuming that he was trying to organize his next step.

She saw Tania, but didn't recognize her. Why would she though? She'd had her own problems at the time.

"Who's this then, Mike?" she said, almost cooing.

"This is Tania. Tania, Spike, Gabby, Gabby and Spike, Tania."

She turned fully in her seat and extended her hand paw. "Pleasure," she said, brightly.

They each returned the formality and Gabby slid into a seat, obviously interested in just who this unexpected guest was. Spike, however, remained standing and said, "Mike? Could I get a hand with the toilet door? Forgot to go before I left."

Caught. He got up and went to the bathroom with Spike, who, seeing it empty, whirled around.

"Is that -?"

"Yes, it is."

"Mike, what the fuck? Explain."

"At the station yesterday, I ran into her."

"Mike, I said explain. That's not explaining."

The fox shook his head. "I ran into her and said hi. We got to talking but she had to get the train. But she wanted to talk more so I met up with her later."

"Later? We were in dead late last night."

"Well, I gave her my address, and she was waiting there when I got back."

"Whoa, what the fuck?"

"I know. But then she stayed the night." He caught Spike's expression. "Nothing happened. In the spare room. Anyway, I invited her to come along tonight."

"Mike, I repeat. What the fuck?"

The problem was that he couldn't blag it with Spike, because Spike knew. "I don't know!" he said, almost wailing. "Fuck it man, I don't know. I don't, don't look at me like that. She fucking waiting outside my house in the freezing cold for four god damned hours. You should SEE where she lives; it's a dump, an absolute dump. I wake up today; she's sitting on the end of the bed. This evening, I pick her up from the station, not even a word about going back to her place. I don't fucking KNOW!"

"Mike, what are you thinking?"

"What?"

"Seriously man. Not in an "Oh, you idiot" way. What're you thinking?"

Mike stopped and sighed. "I'm thinking that I really like her, but I don't want her to just fucking, you know; go with me because I'm the guy that helped her all those years ago."

"You're going to have to talk with her about it."

"I know."

"And you're going to have to seriously think about it too yourself."

"I know."

"For a fucking start, and I'm not being a racist dick here, she's a jackal."

"You think that hasn't crossed my mind?"

"Has it, man? Fucks sakes, I've been with girls who haven't been cats and it's a lot of fun, but you can't have a long term relationship that way. It's a sure way to getting fucked up."

"Spike, I'm not kidding myself."

"Listen to me, Mike. Everybody hates a tourist."

"Huh?"

"Everybody hates a fucking tourist. Ain't heard that one, have you? That's the slang for inter-species relationships. Tourism. And everyone fucking hates the tourists."

"Spike, man -"

"I'm not going to be a dick about this, I swear to you. What you decide is up to you but be realistic, yeah? Don't jump at a chance, because you're past 30 now and that's too old for fighting, dying your fur green and it's too old for fucking around. You think on it, right?"

Mike sighed and, trying not to sound pensive, said, "Of course I will."

"Right. Let's get back out there. God knows how awkward that is for Gabby."

"Oh shit, I forgot that we'd left them there."

Spike turned, his crutch clacking on the tiled floor. "Yeah. Come on."

They stepped outside and exchanged a glance. Typical. Gabby and Tania were both sitting, heads back, laughing loudly at some shared joke. It's a well known fact that there's nothing more worrying than woman laughing loudly if you happen to be a man - you just know that you're the butt of the joke.

Mike braved it first. "Can I get you two anything?" he said, pointing to the bar.

"A steak!" screamed Gabby, through her laugher. This was apparently hilarious - Tania doubled over and buried her muzzle in her arms and Gabby squeezed her eyes shut.

"Yes," said Mike carefully. "But seriously, do you want a drink?" he said, in the slow voice used for the hard of thinking.

*****

When the jukebox came on, conversation was harder. They had to shout over the music. Alcohol, of course, made this a lot easier to achieve. Nevertheless, even though the chat had been good and easy, Mike found himself thinking about what Spike had, essentially, warned him about. It was true. He sat back and took a sip of his beer, giving his head a little space from where the other three were nearly muzzle to muzzle to get heard.

Surely, she'd integrated herself well to the trio. Even Spike had warmed to her. Forget the whole species thing; he could put that aside for now. Did he really think he could have any sort of relationship with her? Was she looking for one? More importantly, was HE looking for one? She was lovely but it would be strange, very strange. On the other hand, he'd only had short-lived, pointless attempts at dating since he'd quit his job and it was getting harder - as Spike had so nicely pointed out, he wasn't getting any younger.

Kids? He loved kids. Yeah, he'd want to have kids. If he was with her, he couldn't. It didn't work that way.

Maybe he was picking up the signals all wrong anyway. It could be that he only thought that she'd come out like a bullet from the dark to tear his little world apart - maybe she was only thinking about friendship. Or gratitude. But how far did gratitude run? He squinted across the table at her. She was in the middle of telling some joke or story, animated in her speech, even though he couldn't hear what she was actually saying it was obvious that she was enjoying telling it. Handpaws going in three directions at once, almost hitting the empty glasses that were starting to fill the table, turning to Spike, to Gabby, to Spike, to Gabby, non-stop jabbering to get through whatever tale it was.

He got up. They looked at him.

"You alright?" asked Gabby.

"Yeah, just feeling the drink a bit. Going to get a breath of air, back in a second." He turned tail and pushed his way through the gathering crowd, his legs a little more unsteady than they should have been. Then, he thought, haven't had a night like this in a while.

It was brisk outside. He folded his arms and leant against the wall beside the door, nodding to the bouncer.

"Bit much, mate?"

Mike looked up. "Mm? No, no. Just getting a little air. The night is but young."

"Aye, maybe for ya. Only starting for me. Got a smoke on ya?"

"No, sorry. Don't smoke."

"Shit. I could use a smoke. Freeze the balls off a brass monkey out here tonight."

Mike nodded.

"I'd better be -" he said, pointing to the door. "Friends awaiting."

"Hear ya. Have a good one."

"I will."

Mike pulled the door of the bar open and Tania stumbled into him, bumping against him. His legs tangled and he fell, managing to save himself from a bump on the rear at the last moment by getting his hand down.

"The hell?" he said.

"Jeez, Mike, sorry, I was coming out to check on you and you pulled the door when I was about to push through."

"Right, right. Help me up." He held his hand out to Tania but, before she could take it, he felt two large hands under his arms, yanking him to his feet. Must be the bouncer, he thought, and turned around to thank him, saw the stern expression and stopped.

"Yeah?" he said, a little timidly. The bouncer towered over him.

"Don't think you should be going back in, mate. I was seeing a bit too much wobbling, and a fall like that says you've had enough."

"No, no. It was an accident and -"

"Mate, I know, accidents happen but if that'd been a push door you'd have cleaned the lass here. Yer not all there and it's only 10. Wouldn't be right letting you finish up the night."

"Oh, come on now, my friends are in there."

"I'll tell them, Mike," said Tania. "There's no sense arguing."

"Cheers, love. That'll be grand."

Mike looked between them and sighed. Great. Just great. All he'd wanted was to clear his head a little and now this? Fucks sakes.

"Alright," he said, to both the bouncer and Tania and stepped away from the door. "Alright, tell them. Fuck it."

The bouncer led him down the pavement a bit and adjusted his jacket. In a low voice, he said, "Listen mate. You teach my kid. I don't want you getting rat-assed which, from the look of you, you're in the mood for. So go on, head home, get something to eat on the way and finish the night where half the kids you teach won't see you. It's underage drinking night, for fucks sakes. Believe me. I see it all."

He looked at the bouncer and eventually nodded. "Ok. Right. Sorry, just.....I've a lot going on right now."

"Don't we all. Problems and booze never mix."

"Cheers, man. Cheers." Mike held his paw out and the bouncer took it.

"For what it's worth, you're her favorite teacher. Looking forwards to parent's night."

"What's her name?"

"Ain't telling ya. That'd be unfair."

"Sneaky."

"There's yer girl."

"She -"

Then Tania was beside him and looking up awkwardly, trying to keep them both in view. "Gabby and Spike say that it's cool. They're going to stay a bit longer and call a taxi to get home."

Reassuming his professional demeanor, the bouncer stood back and told Tania to "Make sure he gets home ok." She promised that she would and, leading him by his arm, turned Mike around.

"Come on," she said. "No point sticking around. The walk should sober you up a bit."

"I'm not drunk," he said, starting to pad down the street. It was just getting busy as the carry outs got eaten and the off-license drinks got finished and people started heading out to the pubs and clubs.

"Fine, the walk will sober me up, cause I'm well tipsy."

"You're tipsy?"

"I don't drink very often."

"Oh." He looked down the street. "Want to grab a bite to eat?"

"Naw. It's cold; I just want to get indoors again." She was still holding his arm. He looked down at her and noticed something.

"Tania?"

"What?"

"You need my jacket?"

"Huh?"

"You're shaking."

"It's not. Oh! The cold. It's not that cold."

Mike stopped, mid step. He must have been more drunk than he thought he was. That last exchange had just made no sense whatsoever to him.

"Then why?"

She shook her head, as if to clear it. "Yeah, your jacket. That'd be great. I'm not built for this sort of cold."

What? Mike shrugged off his jacket and handed it to her. She put it on, almost drowned in it - it would've looked funny except that, as soon as she had the jacket on, she was clinging his arm again. Read the body language, Mike, he thought, read the body language. He surreptitiously sniffed just above her head.

"You're terrified!" he exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down.

"Yeah, so what?" she snapped but, even though he'd clearly hit a sore point, she didn't let go of his arm. "You fucking try it."

"Try what?"

They were walking along, speaking out of the sides of their muzzles to each other. It didn't look like a Friday-night-on-town argument.

"You try walking down the street wondering who's going to shove you in front of a car. Huh? Would you like it?"

"Oh jeez, I'm sorry Tania, I didn't realize."

"Yeah, well. I get real fucking scared when I'm out like that. Anyone could be the sort of scumbag who'd just get a big kick out of indulging their.....their....." She stopped, struggling for the word. She said something that didn't make sense and Mike realized that she'd lapsed into whatever language she'd grown up with. They walked past a club with a throbbing beat blasting out of it and Mike missed the rest of what she was saying. ".....fucking scares me," she finished.

He didn't even think about it, he just pulled his arm away from her and then wrapped it around her waist, drawing her up to his body. She seemed to half-cling and half-not, so that they could keep walking. "Will I call a taxi?"

"What? We're nearly there."

"No we're not," he said, confused.

"Wait. Your place?"

"Sure. If you want to."

"Oh, let me think about it. Beautiful suburban house or horrible inner city slum? Decisions decisions."

God, she was sharp when she wanted to me. Mike felt suitably chastised. "There's a taxi company just up here," he said.

"Right. Ok."

He could feel her practically thrumming with nervousness against him. It was unsettling. How she left her room in the morning, he didn't know. Maybe it was just being around so many potentially violent people - he knew that on a Friday night, especially when the pubs shut, Essex wasn't the nicest of places to be but even so, this was ridiculous. If she was out at closing time, she'd have to just curl up in a ball and hope that nobody saw her until about 6am when it'd be safe to move again.

Don't judge her, you fuck, he thought, suddenly angry with himself. You'd be the same if you'd had that done to you. You'd be worse, even.

They got into the taxi office and Mike ordered the cab. They both sat down.

"You alright?" he asked.

Tania nodded quietly. "Sorry for snapping like that. It just freaks me out, that sort of thing."

"Look, don't worry about it. Nothing wrong with being freaked by something like that."

There was a little distance between them. Mike shuffled over and put his arm around Tania's shoulder. She leant against him, resting her muzzle on his shoulder, slipping her arm around his waist. Her other handpaw found his free one and gripped it. Mike squeezed back, hoping to be of at least some comfort.

"Thanks," she said, shifting against him a bit. He was just about to lean his head on hers when the taxi arrived, beeping loudly.

"Yo, lovebirds." The clerk was a rat. "More haste, huh?"

"Sorry," said Mike, as the got up. He didn't let go of her hand, though. She looked up at him and smiled, giving his hand a stronger clasp. Where is this going, he asked himself as he clambered into the back of the taxi with her. There had been no question of the front for either of them.

He stated his address and the driver named the fare. That was the new thing - paying for the taxi before it even started off. He handed over ten and told the driver to keep the change.

As the driver pulled away, a little too quickly - obviously this was big money night and he wanted to get this relatively long run to the suburbs done with as quickly as possible, Mike turned to Tania and smiled. She returned the smile. She'd not gone over to the right-hand side of the car, remaining in the middle and now she pushed herself over to him. Do or die, thought Mike, and lowered his muzzle, catching her on the cheek with a little peck of a kiss, just to the side of her nose.

He didn't even have the time to wonder if he'd just made a huge mistake before she reciprocated, gently licking the underside of his muzzle. It was a small thing but he shivered with glee, she couldn't have missed it either cause her arms were wrapped about his chest, she was leaning in against him.

Mike was just about to open it to a proper, full kiss when he realized something was wrong. He didn't have his seatbelt on. His stomach cramped in dread. Oh, why now? Why now of all times? Shit. He wanted to just shove her away. Strap on the belt and strap hers on and sit staring forwards, because he was already picturing the driver swinging around a corner and not seeing a pedestrian crossing, too drunk to bother using the lights and having to swerve - he could almost feel himself getting thrown against the door and seeing the inevitable lamppost that they were going to hit and -

"Mike? God, Mike, what's wrong? Did I? Oh, god, I shouldn't have, sorry, I'm sorry." She moved away from him and he ignored her babble, scrabbling for the seatbelt and strapping it on. He breathed. From the burning in his lungs he must have completely frozen up again.

She was still apologizing, desperately trying to cover up for something that she had no idea about but he couldn't speak just yet. His claws were clinging to the seat, handpaws slowly flexing as he tried to get over the utterly gut-wrenching panic.

"Mike, for gods sakes, just.....if you're that angry I'll just get out now."

The driver was listening closely.

"No," he managed to gasp. "I'll explain later."

"Wha -"

"Just. Not now. Let me."

"Here, love, if he's some kind of druggie, I'm not finishing this run."

"He's not a druggie," she snapped at the driver.

"Well, what's wrong with him, then?"

She must've thought quickly, cause without missing a beat she said, "He has asthma. We don't have his inhaler. It's in the house. That's why we're going home so early."

And the driver sped up.

****

Tania apologized to the driver, keeping up the charade of asthma as long as the driver was in sight but, as soon as the car rounded the corner and vanished, she whirled on Mike.

"What the hell was that?"

He slumped. "Let me explain."

"You'd better explain. I was halfway scared to death of you in there. You looked mad."

"Inside," he said, "I'll explain inside."

He went up the path and opened the door. She did come in, that was good. They went to the living room. Mike sat on the sofa and she sat on one of the armchairs. That wasn't so positive.

"Well?" she said.

He sighed. "This will sound stupid."

"It had better not."

"About ten years ago," he started, "I was in a car crash. That's where Spike lost his leg. My brother and his fiancée were both killed outright. Thing is, just before he crashed, he told me to put my seatbelt on. Literally just before we crashed. Now if I'm in a car I freak out if I don't have a belt on. Cause of that."

"Aw. Aw, fuck."

"Look, it's not your fault."

"No. Fuck. You were so nice and calm when I was freaking out on the street and what did I do? I shouted at you. Aw, fuck, Mike. I'm sorry."

"You couldn't have known. Be cool."

"I feel like a shit."

"Don't."

"But. Oh, fuck it, never mind. Excuse me."

Mike watched, helplessly, as she got up and left the room, her head lowered. Well, he'd fucked up royally, hadn't he? Good going, very good going. Way to make HER feel like shit cause of your neuroses. A door closed, just short of slamming. The spare bedroom, he guessed. Brilliant! Now she's gone to her room. Isn't this the most fantastic way to end a night where you honestly thought you could get somewhere with her? Fuck this. Fuck this all the way to the bank.

He laughed once, sharply and harshly, cause if he didn't laugh he'd cry. Mike got up and, wobbling a little, the combined effects of the alcohol still swimming around in his system and the endorphins from the fit he'd just come through, he went to his room, closing the door quietly. Cause, well, fuck her if she's going to walk out on him and go into a sulk.

Sober enough to know that he wasn't thinking about this right, that he should go to the spare room and talk to her but drunk enough to not care, he stripped off his clothes, threw them off to the side of the room, deliberately balling up his trousers and flinging them at the adjoining wall between his room and hers and got into his bed.

In theory, he'd have been too angry to fall asleep. Alcohol solves more problems than you'd think.

****

He knew as soon as he swam up from the nothingness of sleep that he was going to have a hangover but as much as he tried to go back down into the nothingness, he couldn't and kept surfacing, towards the pouncing headache, the grotty, dry mouth, the sawdust-filled stomach feeling and everything else that goes with the hangover from a night that shouldn't have given you a hangover at all but since you haven't drunk in so long, you body isn't too good with dealing with the alcohol anymore and reminds you. By kicking your ass the next morning.

And there it was. Hangover city. No, wait. It wasn't Hangover City; it was barely even Hangover Hamlet. It looked like he'd gotten away with it. Sure. There was a headache but it wasn't nearly as awful as it should have been. His mouth felt dry, but no dried than any other night. He'd probably snored. And his stomach felt fine. Really, the only ill effect was the slight headache. He didn't even need to pee yet. Obviously, he'd woken up much earlier than his internal clock should have kicked him up at.

That wasn't his arm. He was familiar with his own arm, for goodness sakes, and that wasn't it. His arm was longer, his arm was thicker, his arm had thicker fur and the fur was red until, just past his elbow, it was a solid black. This arm was thin, beige fur covered most of it with a few flecks of black. That wasn't his arm. He groaned. What the hell was she doing?

More of his body woke up and he realized that, yes, she was in his bed. She was behind him, in his bed and she was pressed up against his back. Hugging him. What the fuck? Tact, he thought, time to test out the tact.

"Tania," he whispered. Nothing. "Tania," he whispered again, this time more sharply.

A grunting moan. Her fingers flexed. She moved against him.

"Tania....."

"Lemielone'eadurts," she mumbled.

"Um."

He waited and counted quietly in his head. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven.....

She jerked upright and yelped, almost pitching him out of the bed. Tania grabbed her head and whimpered. "My poor brain," she said; then seemed to remember what had caused her to jolt so suddenly in the first place. She forced an eye open and squinted down at the fox. "Mike....."

"How?"

"Did?"

"Yeah."

"I have no idea."

"Oh." Mike pushed himself up the bed until he was nearly sitting. "You're ah....."

Tania looked down and shrugged. "I'm sure you've seen it all already."

"Actually, no. You must have come in when I was asleep."

"Oh god. How drunk was I?"

"I didn't think you were that drunk."

"My head says different. Did we?"

Mike shook his head. "No! I didn't even know you were there until I woke up."

"This is really embarrassing. Oh, crap. I should. Yeah, excuse me."

She got up out of the bed and, tail low, covering anything that could otherwise be on display, she quickly left the room. Mike gaped. What the hell was that all about? Had she really thought that they'd done it while she was drunk off her face? Doesn't she remember anything about last night?

Obviously not.

"Tania!"

He vaulted out of his bed and, not caring that he didn't have any clothes on, chased her into her room. She was pushing things into her bag.

"What are you doing?" he asked, shocked.

"I have to go," she said.

"No you don't," Mike blurted, bluntly.

"Come on, Mike," she said, turning and gesturing angrily. "I snuck into your room half-cut on booze and climbed into your bed and then fucking near accused you of taking advantage of me. Just let me go."

As if meaning to storm out of his house completely stark naked, she went towards the door. He stood in front of it and she glared up at him.

"I said, just let me go."

He closed his eyes and, in a slightly strangled voice, whispered, "No."

Tania stopped. "What?"

Impulse. Mike stepped forwards and reached out, closing the distance between them in an instant. He gripped her muzzle, her slender little muzzle, easily holding her jaw between his thumb and forefinger and ducked his head down, pressing his mouth to hers so that their noses met at the same time. His grip was like iron, but only for a few seconds, for he broke off the kiss and turned tail, leaving Tania in the room alone.

She heard his footsteps as he went down the stairs, dropped her bag and followed.

****

Eventually, she did leave.

She had pulled on a pair of casual jeans and a shirt and coat and simply left, with hardly even so much as a word. The only guarantee that he had that she was going to come back was the bag in the room she was using. Frankly, it wasn't so much of a guarantee as it seemed. He knew that she could get by quite happily without the stuff in the bag.

Yet, he hadn't felt animosity. She'd followed him down the stairs and kissed him. Quietly, quickly. Then she'd gone and gotten dressed. Then she'd left. It just didn't seem to add up. Maybe she had somewhere that she had to be on a Saturday? Something that she just couldn't miss. That didn't make sense though; surely she'd have at least told him that?

He caught himself pacing as the hours passed. Saturday was usually a day to work for him, to plan and prepare the week to follow. He knew that if he sat down today he'd get absolutely nothing done at all. That just added to his restlessness. Where the hell was she?

Sometime around half five, she came back. He didn't even bother acting casual.

"Where WERE you?" he asked, exasperated.

"Shush," she said, a little smile on her muzzle.

"What do you mean, 'shush'? You didn't say where you were going and you were gone hours!"

"I know," she replied, and her smile turned into a grin. "I got us something."

That stopped him. "What?" he asked, not knowing if he was asking her to repeat what she'd said of if he was asking her what she'd 'got'.

"Come here to see," she said, and put her hand in her pocket, lifting out a smallish cardboard box.

"What's in there?" he said, starting to instinctively lower his muzzle towards the box. She saw and shook her head.

"No cheating!"

"That's not cheating."

"It'll ruin the surprise."

"Oh, fine," he said, and forcing his nose out of action, stepped over. She cupped her paw over the box and looked up at him furtively.

"You've no idea how much I had to look for this," she said and opened the box.

He looked up at her with an expression that fell somewhere between shock and delight. "How? How did you ever get that?"

"A know a few little tricks."

"Yeah, but you're not allowed to deal them anymore. I haven't had one since I was like, 17."

"I'd have got two, but they're not cheap."

"I'll bet. Wow. That's amazing. Can I?"

He lifted his paw and she nodded, holding the box out to him. God, it's been years, he thought. Last time was, yeah, definitely, just slap-bang in the middle of his teen years, everyone could get them then. Not anymore. She must have pulled more than a few strings.

Mike put his hand in the box and the mouse inside shied away, as he knew it would so (it's true, you never forget how) he curled his thumb under it and pinched it's tail as it tried to run to the other side and lifted it out. He held it up and grinned, looked at Tania and saw her grinning too. The mouse kicked and squirmed, trying to somehow curl up on itself and escape via his arm but all he had to do was move his wrist with its struggles and all was well.

"You want to?" he asked?

"Sure."

Tania, a studious look on her face, grasped the mouse's head in between thumb and forefinger and squeezed. It squeaked and Mike felt a little thrill run down his spine. She was practiced too, cause she had her finger in its mouth in an instant and hooked her claw back. The mouse's sharp front teeth snapped at the gum. It writhed and made another squeaking sound of desperation.

"Fuck," he whispered. "C'mon, upstairs."

Moving quickly and almost giddily, the two got upstairs into his bedroom. The mouse was hanging limply in his fingers now, occasionally twitching. Almost playing dead, but not quite managing it. He turned and almost immediately, her paws were at his shirt, fiddling awkwardly with the top few buttons and pushing his arms up, she pulled it off over his head. He curled his fist loosely around the mouse while the sleeve went over his hand. It didn't take the opportunity and he grinned down at her as she placed her paws on his chest, tenting her fingers and pushing them through his fur, claws on skin beneath.

He moved a little, meaning to step forwards to her but she held him back, muttering "No, you first." He didn't understand until her paws slid down his chest to his trousers, she put both hands in his pockets and gripped his thighs tight through the thin cotton. Then her paws were at his belt, unfastening it, his buckle and down went his trousers and down he went too - while his trousers were around his ankles she pushed him back and he fell - onto the bed, safe enough, but he almost lost his grip on the mouse. He lifted his legs and Tania pulled his trousers the rest of the way off.

She surveyed him. His fur may have lost the luster of youth but it was still thick and healthy. Sure, his trips to the gym had become less frequent but he'd never put on weight, whilst he wasn't as toned as he had once been his form was set well, not even sporting budding love handles. His legs were long, surprisingly so, even for a fox. She scolded herself for taking too long looking him over silently. He was starting to look uncomfortable.

"I ought to catch up," she said and turned around, leaning over and pulling her top off. Her fur was pushed up and little tufts of it stuck out, breaking the appearance of a perfect pattern. She smoothed it down absently before stepping out of her bottoms. It was Mike's turn to survey her looks. Thin, but with no bones showing, she wasn't ever going to be described as voluptuous, but he didn't think it would suit her to have that sort of figure anyway.

Her four tones of fur followed her body's curves perfectly. The grey running down her back, starting from somewhere under her long, dark hair and going all the way to the tip of her tail, the black stripe that ran down her sides and divided the dark tan that dominated her fur pattern, legs and arms and muzzle were all this colour, but her chest and underbelly were a much lighter, almost beige colour.

Funny, he thought, that they're supposed to be called black-backed jackals. Silver-backed suits so much more. Tania, indulging his gaze, finally moved forwards and put her hands on his thighs. He sat up with what he knew had to be a stupid grin on his face, but he didn't care. Mike turned his muzzle to the side and she reciprocated, turning hers the other way and opening her jaws just enough for him to slip his tongue into. He did, catching her smaller, smoother tongue and suckling lightly on it. The hand not holding the mouse went to her cheek, his fingers trailing lightly down the side of her muzzle, down to her neck, around to the back and, once there, he let himself fall back on the bed, dragging her with him, so that she was laying along his body, her light weight hardly seeming to be there at all but warm, she was so warm and comfortable. It was like she was a piece of him that had been missing. He felt a stirring in his groin and remembered about her gift to him.

The fox broke off the kiss and fixed his eyes on Tania's. "Well?" he said.

"Yeah."

"Which end?"

"Ooo. Sideways."

"Everyone wins," he said, and laughed. He lifted the mouse up. It was struggling frantically but they ignored it, Mike just dangled it in front of Tania's mouth. She grinned and, carefully, stretching her neck to get the grip she was looking for, she caught it in her front teeth, taking care not to bite down and ruin the fun. Mike rested his hands on the small of her back, one roaming enough to find her tail and start stroking it.

She waggled her eyebrows and lowered her jaws to his, as if going in for another kiss. He gave the jackal's cheek a lick before accepting the offer. Curling his lips back, he lifted his head a little and took what he could of the mouse in his teeth too, so that they were holding it sideways, half in the fox's mouth, half in the jackal's. The taste of the mouse was hard to get right now, but he probed it with his tongue regardless, matting its fur and provoking plaintive squeaks. It didn't dare struggle, the teeth holding it in place meant that movement would wound.

He heard Tania utter a little moan and realized that his hand had snuck off her tail and had crept down between her legs without him even realizing. Well then, he thought, and angled a finger inwards, finding the lips of her sex and rubbing them lightly. She squirmed.

Mike pushed his finger inside of her, feeling the supple moistness of her innards; already she was aroused enough that his finger slipped in easily. Usually, the fur would catch a little. Tight though, god, she was tight. Probably cause she was small by comparison. Never mind that. He pushed a second finger in and nearly grinned at her reaction, but stopped himself just in time.

She caught his eyes and put on a pained expression. It was clear, then. Synchronizing as best they could, they started to bite down, teeth pushing into the frail little body of the mouse. It made desperate, twitching struggles as the predator's teeth penetrated its flesh but of course, they were futile and short lived as, with their grips tight, Mike and Tania shook their heads, tearing the mouse asunder. Ragged, dripping meat hung in their mouths and they kissed, passing the flesh between their muzzles, chewing, tasting, sharing and finally, when all that was left of the mouse was a chunky soup, swallowing. Tania sat up, licked her chops and made a satisfied sound.

"Worth every penny," she said.

She got off him, and Mike followed her. The jackal stopped at the end of the bed and leaned over, presenting herself openly to him. The play with the mouse had left him, as both he and she had known it would, highly sexed and he was only too willing to take advantage of her second offer. He gripped her slender legs and she raised her rear a little higher, making it easy for him. Mike guided his length between her legs and found the entrance to her sex, the hot lips inviting him in. He steadied himself and drove forwards.

Tania yelped and gripped the sheets, her claws leaving little rips. She'd forgotten about the size difference until now, even when she'd been thinking about it she knew that she was going to go ahead but god, she was so full it hurt. Mike pulled back, reveling in her tightness, the undulations of her sex trying to draw his cock deeper and deeper into her, even as he was moving back. He pushed forwards again, grinding his hips against her ass, pushing his cock into different, new places inside of her.

He muttered something but she didn't hear, it didn't matter anyway, cause it was feral, bestial, it was about release. The fox started thrusting into her with hard, sharp strokes, slamming his member into her relentlessly. He grabbed her tail and pulled it, forcing her rump higher, letting him thrust harder, faster, his knot swelling - for canine males the initial thrusts were just an extension of foreplay but soon...

He set himself and pushed down, anchoring her by her tail, but she was pushing back, trying to take his knot and all. He rolled his hips, stretching her, stretching her, almost obscenely stretching her, he wished he could watch and, just when he was wondering if he should stop, he dropped down as his knot tied him to her, the ring of muscle at the entrance of her sex tightening and making escape impossible. As if he would have wanted to.

Frantically rutting, he leaned over and, still with some blood on his jaws, he gripped the nape of her neck in his teeth and held her, his cock deep, buried so deep inside of her, her sex demanding more and getting everything he could give.

Already warmed up by his fingers, her sex gave in and clamped down on his length, Tania crying out in high-pitched barks as an orgasm swept through her body. Chaining from it, Mike wasn't far behind, his cock feeling like it was going to explode before finally releasing his seed into her body, she let out another bark each time he spurted his ejaculate and, finally, it was over and they were lying, her back to his chest, arms and legs entwined, his knot holding them together still, hardly able to tell where one of them ended and the other started.

They petted and kissed and fondled each other, making little nonsense cooing sounds and murmuring nothings that, nevertheless, said exactly how they were feeling. It felt like minutes. It was hours.

She fell asleep first and Mike slipped into a contented, warm slumber after spending some time admiring how peacefully innocent she looked when she was asleep.

*****

He woke up, feeling sick, sore and tired. Overslept. Great, great. At least it was only Sunday, mind you, he didn't have to worry about dragging his sorry ass into work. Tania wasn't in bed and there was no lingering warmth, so she must've been up for a while. God, he thought, it's amazing how quickly things can change. Definitely, this time a week ago, he'd been cruising along but he'd had no thoughts at all about long-term relationships. Of course, he shouldn't assume but...

"She made all the moves," he said, groggily.

Mike sat up and rubbed his head, groaned and saw a note on the pillow. He lifted it and, after a few blinks to focus, smiled and said, "Aww, bless. That's sweet." He pictured himself going downstairs and finding her, curled up on his sofa maybe, feet tucked in under herself and reading a book. She'll look up, he thought, pushing himself off the mattress to his feet, smile and say something like, "Hey Lazarus." I'll laugh and she'll offer me coffee and I'll say yeah, but when she gets up to put the kettle on I'll grab her and she'll struggle a bit and then we'll kiss and it'll be so perfect.

He could smell her as he walked down the stairs. She'd come this way a few hours ago, maybe. That seemed about right. Mike poked his head into the living room. She wasn't there. Kitchen. Nothing. He checked the other rooms and knocked on the bathroom door. Nowhere to be found.

"Hmm," he said, a little put out that his little daydream wasn't going to come to fruition. He realized that he still had the note in his hand, so he read it again. Just the one word but it said so much. The smile back on his face, he put the kettle on and decided that he'd drive down to the shops today. Keys.

Keys. He looked around the cabinet he usually tossed them on, down the back of it. The sofa. His jacket pocket. The pockets of the trousers he'd been wearing. Everywhere he could think of. Keys?

"Shit," he muttered. He'd look again when he got back from the shops. Wallet.

Wallet. He couldn't find it either. Did he leave it in the car? Jesus, don't say he left the keys in the ignition last time he drove. He thought about it as he put on some clothes. That wasn't right. He couldn't have gotten into the house without those keys, so he didn't leave them in the ignition.

It was a shockingly windy day. His fur was flicked this way and that, displaying his grey undercoat. Car?

"What the blue fuck?" he said, dumbfounded.

Mike ran back inside his house and into the room Tania had been using. All her stuff was gone. He swore and found the note, opened it up again and now, rather than the sweet little loving word that he'd read before, the "Thanks" underlined three times bore a sneering, mocking quality. He stormed around his house, sniffing where she'd been and finding things gone.

"She couldn't have," he moaned. "She just wouldn't!"

But did he know that? Did he know anything about her, really? He'd taken her word for so much, oh fuck it, damn! Mike crumpled up the note in despair.

Don't jump to conclusions, he told himself. Go to her flat. Find her.

*****

He knocked for ages. There was no answer so, remembering what she'd said about the lock, he gave the door a solid shouldering and it snapped open, spilling him into the. Empty.

It was as empty as the room she'd used in his place had been. Except that there was another note. On her pillow. The room stank of her. She'd been here today too; it wasn't just the ingrained smell of occupancy, that wasn't there at all. You must be joking.

He lifted the nose and tried to read it, failed, then started over.

"Mike.

Nice of you to come looking for me. You're one in a million.

Don't bother looking anymore. I won't be hanging around.

Cheers darling!

Tania."

He scrunched the note up into his paw, squeezing it, as if he wanted to somehow set it on fire by squeezing it hard enough. As if by crushing it he could make it not exist. He grit his teeth, snarled, raised his head to the low, low ceiling and screamed.

The note fell to the floor and he snapped his hands into fists, out flat and back into fists, digging his claws into his pads and trying to think of something to punch. Like that would help. He wanted to find her and sink his teeth into her face and rip it off, chew it up and spit it down her throat. And he couldn't.

"Excuse me?"

Mike whirled around. There was an aged vixen looking at him. For a second she looked a lot like his mother, which took some of the sting out of anger.

"What?"

"Um. You were. I mean. Can I help you?"

"Yeah, you can actually. What do you know about the last person to live here?"

"Oh. That was Stuart. A very nice young -"

"No. Tania. Tania Mathakan. Jackal." Mike bit his tongue before he added "Bitch" to the description, much as he would have liked to.

"Oh, her!"

"Yes. Her."

"Strange one. Came in late. Left early. Never said hello. Didn't pay rent either. She was like a squatter."

"You must be joking."

"She would vanish for weeks and then come back, always strutting around. Angry young woman. Walked stiffly."

He could feel the bottom dropping out. "Do you know where she would go?"

"She was very quiet. She just dropped in out of the sky one day. Looks like she's moved on now though."

"Huh?"

"Nothing there in the room."

"Yeah. I know. Look, thanks. This is a bad time. Thanks."

"Don't you worry," the old fox said, smiling gently with tired momma eyes. "She's probably not worth it."

*****

He phoned the police. He phoned Spike and Gabby. He phoned the headmaster of the school. He phoned his parents. By god, he phoned his parents. They were actually nice. They offered him a weekend at their place.

He hadn't stopped crying all day. Like a baby, but not, these were the deep-down gut-wrenching sobs that feel like they're going to blow your ribs apart before they tear out your throat and leave you gasping.

Eventually he opened the poetry anthology that he was teaching from and turned it to an old, old poem that his pupils whined and bitched about when he went to teach them it, they would say it was too old, it was boring. He read it through the tears.

By the last verse he had stopped crying and was reading in a low, dead voice. "Boredom. Mostly I'm so bored I could eat myself. One time, I stole a guitar and thought I might learn to play. I nicked a bust of Shakespeare once, flogged it, but the snowman was the strangest." He sat back, sighed, and finished, "You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?"

Duffy. "Sometimes I steal things I don't need," he read. Third verse. Why? Why would she do that? Why would anyone do that?

Boredom. So bored they could eat themselves.

He went to bed that night and somehow slept.

*****

Four days later, he realized that there was one person he could talk to. So he went. He asked if he could talk to him. Fifteen minutes. That was all. But it would make the connection.

The terrier sat down behind the thick Plexiglas.

"Nicholas Turner, then?" said Mike, in a dead voice.

"Yeah. Who're ya?" Prison sculpted voice.

"Mike Holland. I saw you push Tania Mathakan in front of the train."

"Lotta people saw that. No fur off my back."

"I know it wasn't racist."

The terrier's attitude changed instantly. "What'dya say?" he snapped.

"I know why you did it."

"The fuck you do."

Mike smiled sadly. "Racist attacks carry less jail time than attempted murder."

"You do know, don'tcha?"

"I do."

"Broke up me marriage. Nicked me heirlooms. Pawned 'em. I signed up to them wankers just so I could hunt her down. Fucking ATE me, so it did. It ate me."

"You're Scottish."

"Yeah. Fucking took me all the way from home. Two years it took." The terrier leaned forwards. "I wanted her dead for it."

"Where do you think she'll go next?"

"Fuck knows. I couldnae even hazard a guess. My advice to you is to get right the fuck over it."

"Good advice. Any tips?"

"I'm in the slammer, mate. I got nothing."

"One more thing."

"What?"

Mike sighed. "Have you any idea why?"

The terrier laughed.

*****

An old fox. Grey, so very grey, more grey than red now. He was gaunt and hollow-eyed. His teeth had yellowed with age. The battered coat he was wearing was flapping behind him and he made no attempts to wrap it around his frail body. The kids ran past him. I nodded a friendly hello. He smiled back. Funny thing, his mouth was hanging open when he wasn't smiling but as soon as he smiled, closed jaws. God, he looked tired. I don't know how he was going to get off the bench.

I sat beside him and passed a pleasant "Nice day" along. The kids were already down at the playground. I like to keep my distance from them, you know. The meercat mothers suck the life out of their kid's playtime.

"Yeah," he said.

"Salome?" I asked, looking down at the battered book he was holding in his thin fingers. God, even the black fur of his paws was mostly grey.

He looked surprised. "Five years at University," I said, by way of explaining. "Took some classics there."

"Other one."

"I don't think I've read that one."

He smiled again, this time it touched his eyes. They lit up with intelligence. Forty years ago, he would have been beautiful. I suddenly wanted to know his life story. I wanted to sit here in the wind and listen to his weary voice tell me of how the what the where and the why of life when I was a gleam in my father's eye.

"You remind me of someone," he said.

"Yeah?" Strangely, I felt proud.

"Here. Read." He passed the book over to me. It was leather-bound. Expensive. The pages were yellow and cracked. This was a much loved book. It had a story too. I love that.

I read, occasionally muttering lines aloud. I finished and went to hand it back. He shook his head.

"What's the best line in the poem?" he asked.

I looked at it again and picked out, "Part of the thrill was knowing that children would cry in the morning. Life's tough."

He laughed. "Speaking of, your lad's fallen off the climbing frame."

I looked around. Wee Dan had gone and clobbered himself, but not badly enough to silence him. A little bit of attention was all the medical assistance he needed. I got up and thanked the old fox.

"Your afternoon meal of milk-and-morality," he said. I ran down to the playground and gave Dan a fatherly cuddle, are you ok, alright then, go on and play, just be more careful.

When I looked back, he was gone.