FSE

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The parking garage of the law firm offers a little privacy. The sounds of the city and echos of engines force you and Talia to stick close to hear each other; anyone trying to listen in doesn't have a chance.

"What do you think?"

"I don't know. What do you think?"

"He... He seems fine, I guess," you say. "I don't know. I don't know how much him being good matters. It sounds like the case is just going to be hard."

The she-wolf grunts.

"He said he would look into the character witnesses we mentioned."

"It's not the gun charges I'm worried about," you sigh. "Those are fine. Hell, I was a second away from proving it yesterday."

Talia sighs.

"...I'm worried about the courtship stuff too."

The lion lawyer had been impressed with what you'd managed to scrape up in your legal research, but he didn't have very many comforting words for you. Like you thought, the 'harassment' and perjury can probably be dismissed with good enough eyewitnesses, but courtship claims are more tough. Neither you nor Talia have anything to really substantiate the relationship, and your coworkers or fellow range members saying 'they've been together for two years' isn't going to cut it. About the only upside Lyons gave you was that Pat's claim was weak; you'll get normal Assignment instead of Special.

The two of you laughed when he suggested tying the knot.

"Anyway, I got stuff to do," you say, breaking the silence.

"Me too," Talia replies. "My shift at FF Supply starts soon."

She's halfway over to her truck by the time you work up the nerve, blurting it out when she starts to wave goodbye.

"What did you and Rebecca talk about yesterday? On the ride back?"

The she-wolf stiffens. She turns slowly, her shoulders rising and falling in a deep sigh. Her expression is serious, like it was yesterday when she offered said ride.

"We... didn't talk much. She kept apologizing, and I kept telling her it was okay."

You look Talia in her amber eyes; there's more to it than that.

"What else?"

"She invite you over?" Talia asks after a pause. You try to figure out what she's feeling for a moment, then give up. You nod slowly; the she-wolf sighs again, slightly rumbly.

"Her freezing up wasn't your fault." Talia says. "She really likes you, Anon... She's worried it's too much."

You've known the she-wolf long enough to tell she's not lying, but little things stand out to you. The angle of her ears, the way her tail is stiff.

"Is it?" you ask. Talia turns, heading back to her truck.

"I suppose you'll find out."

She doesn't wait for a response, hopping in the old F350. You do the same, starting up the Hilux. You can worry about the she-wolf later -- you're already late for helping another anthro out. You find yourself going slow and easy on your turns, being surprised at how spry the old Toyota is without a half-ton passenger in the back. It makes the trip to the Old Italy restaurant faster.

The whole situation whirls around in your head, and you still feel a bit bad standing there in line. You should've checked Lyons' email before heading to bed -- you could've told Rebecca earlier that you'd be occupied. It wasn't anyone's fault; Talia didn't know when Lyons called, and the lawyer's schedule was exceptionally tight. The tigress was understanding regardless. You think. It's hard to tell after only exchanging less than 20 texts, but her single digit replies still make you nervous.

That's part of why you're picking up lunch. It wasn't the original plan, but you also weren't expecting the meeting to go this long. By the time you make it out to her place in the suburbs, it'll be nearly noon. You sigh when your number comes up, checking to make sure the order's right. Last thing you need is for that to go sideways too, like the shower did this morning. Water pressure was all weird. Happens occasionally, but it's an old building.

Traffic isn't too bad for midday, giving you plenty of time to stew. You're finding yourself more worried about Talia as time goes on. Rebecca sounded concerned over the phone, but you're hoping a good night's rest dulled... whatever it was that happened the day before. But the way Talia got when you asked about the car ride sticks out. You turn the words over in your head, trying to remember all the little bits of body expression. She wasn't lying, but you don't think she told you everything.

Whatever Talia omitted concerns you; the fact there was an omission at all does even more.

Rebecca isn't there to greet you this time when you arrive. It feels strange walking up to her door with the warm bag in hand, like you're some kind of delivery boy. The doorbell is bright and cheery when you press it; you wish the tigress that answered was too. More so, anyway.

"Anon," she says, giving you a small smile. She cocks her head a little at the take-out bag.

"Hey, Rebecca... I felt bad about the whole appointment thing, so I got lunch."

The tigress' eyes widen a little, and some laughter bubbles out.

"Oh! That's -- That's very thoughtful of you, Anon!"

She beckons you in and takes the bag from you. You take a quick look around her home; it's a large, open space, the slanted ceilings making it seem even more so. The kitchen and living room are connected and open concept, separated only by the transition from carpet to tile. And everything, of course, is sized for her. Rebecca pulls a chair out, the seats at chest level for you. The tabletop is somewhere around your head.

"I wasn't sure what you'd like," you say, trying to figure out how you're going to sit, "so feel free to take whichever."

"Oh Anon, Old Italy?" she says, looking down at you. "You didn't have to..."

"Like I said, I felt bad. And just getting some TacO' Clock wouldn't feel right, either."

Rebecca chuckles. She points out a small ladder attached to one of the chairs, and goes about emptying the bag. As you climb up, you note that it's designed for someone your size -- the base is wide but the seat itself is small. There's still steam coming off the takeout trays, everything laid out by the time you make it up. The tigress studies a small candle in her fingers, the restaurant's logo molded into it's plastic base. Her tail is stiff save for the tip.

"Didn't know they even made things like that..." you mutter.

"Me either," she says. She relaxes a little as she sets it down, grabbing a fruit and veggie platter from the fridge. As she tucks away the panini al carne and you work at your chicken alfredo, you realize why. The sandwich may as well be a slider in her huge paws.

"Sorry if it wasn't enough," you say, soaking up white sauce with a bread stick, "didn't see any... supersized stuff, I guess."

The tigress makes a small, soft sound, her ears flattening slightly.

"That's alright," she says. "You didn't have to in the first place."

"Didn't you say something yesterday about showing appreciation?"

Rebecca offers a small laugh, but you see it get cut off as yesterday rears it's head. You cringe; that's not how you wanted to broach whatever happened with Pat. You can practically feel the lump in her throat as she tries to speak.

"I -- Anon, what happened at the end... It's not --"

"It's okay," you say, meeting her gaze. "You... you don't have to tell me."

You swallow hard; she stares at you.

"I just don't want you to be uncomfortable. And if I had anything to do with that --"

"No," she says, voice firm. "No, Anon."

She reaches over the table, taking your hand in her paws.

"It's not your fault at all."

That makes you feel a little better. You sigh, and she lets you go. The two of you finish eating, the air a little more clear. Knowing you're not the one that caused her to freak-out is good enough for you; the tigress doesn't have to tell you the details. If she wants to talk about it, you'll listen.

"So, shall we take a look at that handgun?" you ask instead.

"Sure, sure," she says. "Don't bother getting up"

You go to make the token effort anyway, then realize how high up you are. The tigress chuckles softly as she clears off the table. She stands next to you when she returns with the Tridentia, carrying it gingerly in a rag. You take a cursory look while Rebecca goes off for the other supplies and the manual; magazine is clear, there's no visible damage, and the disassembly lever is down. It looks about like it should, except the barrel and slide are only halfway off the frame.

"Did it make any weird noises?" you ask, running a finger over the loaded chamber indicator -- clear as well.

"No, I-I don't think so," she says. Then, after a moment: "Are springy noises weird?"

"Not really," you reply, testing the slide a little. "It's basically brand new, they might be a little stiff. Actually..."

You run a finger over the rails, first the ones on the frame and then the exposed ones on the slide; it comes back nearly clean.

"I think I know what it is," you say, handing the gun over to her. "You weren't pushing on it very hard, were you?"

"N-no?" Rebecca asks.

"Try going a little harder," you say with a nod, "I think it must've been older inventory. The factory grease is hardly there anymore. Might be a bit stiff until we oil it."

She looks hesitant, but the tigress nods. Her paws come close to swallowing the thing. Rebecca chirps when the upper half comes off, and you have to dodge her elbow as it jerks. She, of course, is apologetic.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't hit you, did I?"

"No, we're okay," you say. She lets out a slight sigh, and repositions.

"I just -- I didn't think I'd have to push that hard!" she says, standing behind your chair. Her hands are still in front of you, but her arms are bowed around you as she leans over, her chest so close you can feel the heat coming off it. Your cheeks are probably turning red as her sweater when you reply.

"G-good hardware can be like that. Nice and tough."

She chuckles, setting the two halves down.

"So... can you walk me through the rest?"

Her green gaze is down on you, but you don't dare look up.

"Sure," you say. You go through the little bit of disassembly left, taking the captured recoil springs and barrel out of the slide body. Her hands frame your workspace as you get into a light lecture on how the thing works, distracting yourself with the mechanics of short-recoil and hinged-locking blocks. Soon you're out of features, though. You apply a thin film of oil to the rails and put the gun back together, finishing off with a quick function check.

"Okay," you say, setting it down and looking up. "Now you give it another try."

Rebecca gives you a nod before her expression turns serious. Her arms glide in around you; you can practically feel the gravitational pull of her bust behind your head as it's squeezed. The tiger's focus is all on the Tridentia, thankfully. Disassembly goes much more smoothly this time, and the upper half comes off easy. You have her do it an extra time for good measure before actually cleaning it, to make sure she's go it. You nerd out more about the different components of the gun as she works, coating them and brushing out the bits of brass and carbon. You catch her smiling a little as you go on and on.

"...I told you, you can tell me to shut up," you say.

"And I told you I don't mind," she replies, voice warm now.

You quiet down regardless, letting her finish up in relative quiet. Rebecca wipes off the gun, the darkened titanium and steel shining in the filtered sunlight.

"You good?" you ask when she sets it down. "More comfortable with it?"

The heat behind you suddenly envelops your head, the tigress's arms gently wrapping around you.

"Yes," she says. "Thank you."

You don't move. For a while, neither does she. It's not quite as good as the hug she gave you Monday, but you still don't want it to end. When it does, the tigress pulls away smoothly, slowly. You turn in your seat to find her green eyes half-lidded, just one ear flicking. Her paws are on the back of your seat, and you think you see her kneading.

"...So, what now?" you ask. Rebecca blinks, then pulls back.

"Well, I -- I suppose that's it," she says, putting the gun and the supplies away. "I think I've got it beyond that."

You watch her striped tail trail behind her as she walks off down a hallway. She's back by the time you manage to dismount, the chair thankfully plenty stable.

"Actually, Rebecca," you say, "you mind showing me your garden?"

"Oh! Sure!" she chirps, her ears pricking up. "We can do that, and you can show me what stuff you want to take home!"

You sigh as she walks over to a bright sliding-glass door at the back of the room.

"Rebecca..."

"No!" the tigress scolds, turning to you with a smile and a wagging finger. "You're going to fill a basket, and you're going to go home with it!"

You can't help but smile back when she hands you one made of slatwood.

"You got me lunch now, too," she says, sliding the door aside. "It's only fair."

You accept defeat, and follow her out into the sunshine. The sudden wash of heat makes you realize how high the tigress had her AC. You blink a few times, finding yourself on a cozy patio with more tiger-sized accouterments. Beyond it lies the most impressive garden you've ever seen, separated by a small patch of grass. Plots of all sorts take up the entire back half of her yard, pressed right up against the fences. Vines creep up those as well, dotted with flowers and growths of all sorts. And in the center of it all sits a small peach tree, branches heavy with fruit.

"Jesus..." you breathe, staring out at all the green. Rebecca smiles, hands clasped behind her back.

"Would you like a tour?" she asks. She hums happily when you nod, still taking it all in.

"How -- how can that thing even grow up here?" you ask, pointing to the tree. "Isn't it too cold in the winter?"

"Not quite," she says, leading you to the garden's edge. "This one is a 'Reliance' strain. Much more hardy and resistant."

She reaches up, checking one of the branches; you realize she's just a few feet shorter than it.

"...But I cover it during the winter, too. Come on, I'll show you the rest!"

Rebecca opens up as she guides you along the stone paths, which criss-cross with buried hoses, marked by vibrant patches of grass and wildflowers. The tigress tells you all about the different plants you pass by, her pace somewhat brisk as she talks about soil and seeds. Both in speed and in speech.

As she gets into the specific genuses of tomatoes she has, her tail stiffens, her paw drawing away from one of the fruits.

"...But it probably doesn't matter all that much to you," she says, looking down with a smile.

"No, tell me," you say. "I like seeing people passionate, too."

The tigress chuckles before resuming her tour, her ears and tail raised high. As she goes, explaining why she planted this here and that there, she picks samples and forces you to take them. She doesn't force-feed you, but she comes close. As you follow Rebecca through her garden, you see no trace of nerves. Her tail is fluid, her face a constant grin, and her tone has lost the slightly restrained edge it always seems to have. She doesn't slouch or hide her size, and yet she hardly brushes against the leaves. Rebecca has been mostly cheery since you met her, but this is different. She's cheery and relaxed.

It makes you happy.

"...And that about does it," she says, turning to you again.

"Thanks, Rebecca," you say. "It was really neat -- you should be proud of it!"

"Thank you," she says. She gives you a closed-eye smile, her tail flicking smoothly behind her. "Did you pick out everything you wanted?"

"Yeah."

The tigress gives a slight hum as she leans down. She's too busy checking your basket to see you getting an eyeful of her bouncing sweater.

"I don't think so, mister," she says, standing back up with hands on her hips. "There's hardly anything in there!"

"But I don't want --"

"Anon."

She's got a smile as she chuckles, but there's a firmness to her tone; you notice how well her curvy form blocks the way out.

"You're going to fill that basket before you leave this garden," she says.

"...I don't know where all the stuff is," you try. The tigress sighs --

-- and takes your hand.

"I'll show you, then."

Rebecca's paw is big and warm. Her grip is firm -- a little too firm. There's little give in it as she escorts you to the various plants in the garden you request. Her free hand plucks whatever produce you desire, from the largest ear of corn to tiny blueberries, her claws and pads deft. The cheery attitude doesn't leave her face, but you see a tension in her eyes that wasn't there before. You see it in the glances that last just a second too long or short, in how she moves, not smooth like before. The tigress is focused; you're guessing it's on staying in control.

You don't mention it. You just try and pick a variety of food you'll have a chance of actually eating before it goes bad. The fact it takes you two across the garden a few times wasn't intentional.

"Rebecca, please," you finally say, "it's full now. It's filled up, and my arm is getting tired. I don't need any more."

The tigress glances down at your basket, giving it a once-over before letting go. You can see her relax.

"Alright," she says with a smile, "I suppose that's filled enough."

You watch her as she leads you out of the garden, her striped tail swishing lazily. The tension is gone, you think.

"You have any paper bags or something I can put this in?" you ask. She looks down at you for a second before she gets why.

"You can keep the basket," she says, closing the sliding door. "It's okay."

"No, no --"

"Yes, it is!" she insists, standing tall again, "it was ten dollars, it's okay. I've got a lot more in the shed."

The two of you stare at each other a few seconds before you relent with a sigh.

"Fine," you say, "but I'll be returning it to you."

The tigress smiles, and pushes you back into the living room proper with her presence alone.

"And when you do, you'll fill it up again," she says. You think about fighting for a second, then let it lie. Her smile of victory slowly fades as the two of you stand there in her living room, waiting for something.

"...You sure you're happy with your gun?"

"I am thanks to you," she says, her voice warm as her eyes. She reaches down towards you, but pauses. Her ears droop as she pulls her hand back. You feel sick as her smile turns sad; you want to reach up and comfort her, but yesterday looms large in your mind.

"Anything else you want to do?" You ask instead.

"I -- actually, yes," she says. The nerves subside, just a little. "I could use a run to the grocery store, and my car is still in the shop."

She clasps her hands, swaying slightly.

"So, if you didn't have anything else going on..."

"Just waiting on the court case," you shrug. "Just remember that I, uh, won't have that much room."

The tigress chuckles, her tail swishing as she grabs the basket from you.

"Don't worry, it won't be too much," she says, putting it in the fridge. "Only things I can't grow from here."

That gives you some comfort. You meander to the front door, looking idly at her decor before you hear the meaty sound of a slide being racked.

"Uh, Reb?"

"Yes?" she asks, standing by the table, Tridentia in hand.

"You sure you're ready to carry that?"

"A-am I not?" she asks, her whole body sagging.

"No, no, I'm not saying that," you gush, "I just -- carrying is different than shooting."

Her expression stays mopey.

"Are you comfortable with your holster?"

"...Yes, mostly."

"Are you confident in your draw?"

"...No," she sighs. You walk up to her, almost patting her on the arm before you restrain yourself.

"It's okay, Rebecca. You've only had the gun for two days. It's better to wait until you're comfortable with it before you do that."

Her tail flicks as she looks down at you, lowering the piece.

"But what if something happens?" she asks, voice small.

You look her up and down, all ten feet of her. That's how much of her there is, even if she tries to hide it.

"I don't think you'll have to worry," you say gently. She stares down at you a second before nodding.

"Okay," she says, emptying the gun.

"Tell you what," you say, watching her put it away, "when we get back, we can go through your setup together. How does that sound?"

"Okay," she says after a pause. You sneak glances up at her while the two of you walk out to the truck; you can't tell if she really is okay or not.

"Really, Rebecca, you're doing well," you say, getting in. "I just want you to be comfortable. And sometimes, that takes time."

She waits until your suspension stops complaining to respond.

"I get it," she says. She sighs, sinking against the cab. You glance at her through the side mirror -- she's got her back to it.

"I, uh... where are we going?" you ask; you can feel the small 'mrp' she lets out in response, and the truck creaks as she turns over in the bed.

"Woodson's," she says, her chest hitting the rear window with a familiar thump. "You know the way?"

"Nope. Not in this part of town very often."

"Well, I can show you."

She pauses as the Hilux rattles to life, letting you coax it out of park before giving you directions. The tigress stays facing forward; you take it as a good sign.

"Where do you live?" she asks.

"Chutesville," you say. Her hum of concern rattles around the cab. "Lived there for around 5 years now."

"College?"

"Yep."

The tigress is quiet for a few blocks before she speaks up again.

"Are you... comfortable, there?"

"As comfortable as I can be," you sigh. "It's not ideal, but... It's what I've got."

You chuckle a little to yourself.

"Part of why I don't mind chauffeuring you around," you say, getting her to join in. "Maybe I should pick it up on the side."

"I don't know, you might need a different car," she replies. "The truckbed experience isn't for everyone, I imagine."

"Oh no, that's extra."

Rebecca lets out a full laugh this time.

"Extra?"

"Yeah," you say, "it's a... premium service.

The tigress hums, drumming her fingers on the roof.

"Well then," she says, "I suppose it won't be a problem if I pay you with a little dinner tonight?"

That throws you for a loop. You look at her via the side mirror, watching her fur ruffle in the light wind. You start and stop a few times before finally saying "fine." Rebecca purrs, her hand sliding in through the window.

"Good boy," she says, palming your head. She doesn't quite get to petting you before she pulls away, the soft noise she makes barely drowned out by road noise. She shifts so you can't see her in the mirrors; you don't mind.

You don't want her to see you blushing.

It dies down by the time you reach the grocery store, fortunately. You try not to think about it too much as the two of you head in, but there's only so much you can do. You barely come up to Rebecca's hips, and the store has mega carts for extra-large anthros like her. All she'd have to do is grab your hand and you'd look like mother and child. Her sweet demeanor returning only adds to it; you hope that's the reason the other shoppers are smiling at you two. Rebecca asks what you'd like; you go with her first suggestion of fajitas. You're more focused on what Talia said in the parking garage. And whatever it is she didn't say.

The possibility of finding someone has never come up between the two of you. Not seriously, anyway. You and the she-wolf agreed you'd 'take it as it comes.' You weren't expecting to find someone at that point, and Talia's always been independent. It was stupid of you to think things would stay that way.

You shake your head, hoping Rebecca doesn't notice. Four days. You've known her four days. You shouldn't be considering it at all; you're probably only doing it because of the trial. And that wouldn't be fair to her. But at the same time, you're only considering it because it's her. You like Rebecca, genuinely. Not just because she's a key witness or because she could be a way out. The woman is forcing you to stay and have dinner with her then go home with a giant basket of fresh food. She's not doing it with threats, and she's had every chance in the world to take you for her own. And if you're honest, you probably wouldn't resist if she did. She's packing more curves than her Tridentia.

You don't reach a verdict at checkout, nor on the quiet ride back. You talk idly with the tigress, mainly about how you can help in a kitchen that's too big for you. What concerns you is how she feels about the whole thing. Talia said the tigress liked you, that she maybe liked you too much. But half the time you think you two are getting close, she shuts it down or recoils from you.

You sigh; maybe it's another anthro thing.

Or a woman thing.

You decide to treat it like a first date while washing grape tomatoes for her. If it goes well, you'll bite the bullet. How exactly you're not sure, but you'll make it work. Maybe something along the lines of Lyons saying you and Talia may be forced apart after the trial. There's a twinge of guilt, and you excuse yourself to the restroom before everything's ready. 'I'm gonna find out,' is what you settle on sending to the she-wolf.

While you're there, you notice more human amenities sticking out. A second towel rack set lower, the toilet having a second, smaller flip-down seat. The way the pool-sized bathtub has an in-set step for you to get in. You don't recall a ring on Rebecca's finger, but that's not the only way to show bonds anymore. As you mount the stool to wash your hands, you notice something else: there's a flat cable on the cabinet doors under the sink. It's attached to one door, the other having a similar-colored patch of plastic on it. The cable rattles as you flick it, a plastic cap wiggling on the end. It takes a second before you recognize what it is -- mom and dad had ones just like it when you were a kid.

You grip the edges of the sink for a moment, head spinning. Christ, you're glad you didn't push about why she wanted a gun. You don't have everything, but you've got enough to make a good guess. Fitting a house with human sized-stuff like this wouldn't have been cheap; there very clearly was someone else. But not anymore.

"Anon?"

You nearly fall off the stool.

"Yes?" you say, turning on the water.

"It's almost ready!"

"Okay!" you call back, finishing up quickly. You throw some water on your face, trying to get a hold of yourself. You're sure as hell not bringing it up, but you're not gonna quit, either. If the time comes, you'll deal with it then. You clear your mind as you leave and go back down the hallway; you don't want to ruin dinner. Rebecca beams at you as she finishes laying things out.

"What would you like to drink, by the way?" she asks. "I've got a little fruit cocktail I made from the garden."

"That sounds good," you say, climbing onto your chair. You can't help but chuckle a little at the plates. Yours is normal, while her tortilla looks like a placemat. The two of you serve yourselves when she returns, piling on chicken and various bits from the garden.

"So, what do you think?" the tigress asks a few bites in.

"It's nice," you say. "Not too dry, and the peppers are perfect."

Rebecca lets out a happy hum. You wait a little bit before breaking the silence.

"I don't think I ever asked, but -- what do you do, Rebecca?"

Her ears prick, but she doesn't freeze up.

"I'm a teacher," she says.

"Ahh! So that's why you have time off?"

She nods, half-finishing the sentence with you. And with all teachers being State employees, her carrying makes sense -- though maybe not on the job.

"What subject?"

"All of them," she says, "I'm elementary level."

...and now the bright demeanor makes sense, too. You notice it fading a little as the tigress focuses on her food, so you steer the conversation away. You ask about what she reads, having noticed a small library on your way to the bathroom. While her interests don't exactly line up with yours, you have some common ground in Pre-State writing. Rebecca has a number of fiction books from before the takeover, before the reprints and digital 'remasters.' Possession of them is a gray area, and you're happy the tigress seems to respect that. She talks about them with appreciation, which makes you even more happy.

You go back and forth about different ways of getting the old books through the rest of dinner, sharing your favorite finds. Rebecca isn't surprised when you mention you collect other media as well; she has a limited collection herself, a few movies on disc and stored on old jump-drives. Before you know it, you're going through the miniature library with her. As you stand there with her, joking about how disorganized it is compared to work, you remember you're supposed to be gauging her for a CU. You suppose that's a good sign, but something still holds you back.

"...but I don't want to keep you. It's getting late."

You're about to respond when you glance out the window -- it is getting late, the sky turning a pale orange over the suburbs.

"I -- I guess so," you say, looking up at her. She smiles down at you, tail swishing.

"If you ever want to come by and use my little library, you just have to ask," she says, and you nod.

You lead the way back into the living room, about to turn and say your goodbyes when your phone pings. Rebecca laughs a little when you both jump.

"Have your volume on high?" she asks.

"I thought I had it off," you say with a shrug, checking your phone; it was. There's a new message notification at the top.

"Everything alright?" Rebecca asks as you sigh.

"Yeah, should be," you say opening your phone. "Got something with an 'urgent notice' thing on it, probably just a -- shhhit."

'RESIDENT WARNING,' the notification reads; 'BURST WATER MAIN ON Glendale AND 15th. YOUR UNIT MAY BE WITHOUT Power, Water, Heat. PARKING LOT MAY NOT BE ACCESSIBLE. CITY SERVICES ARE WORKING TO RESOLVE THIS ISSUE, AND UPDATES WILL BE PROVIDED AS AVAILABLE.'

"What is it?" Rebecca asks, eye wide.

"A water main burst by my apartment," you say with a sigh. "I probably don't have water or power now."

"Ohh, Anon... for how long?"

"Don't know, sounds like the parking lot got torn up too."

Rebecca lets out a long, low sound of concern as you reread the text, willing something more to show up.

"Glad it got here now and not when I was on my way back," you finally say, switching over to the phone app. "I'll make a few calls, and see if --"

"No," the tigress says, lowering your phone with a massive paw. She's hunched over by you, features gentle. "You don't have to, Anon. You -- you can stay here for the night."

Your heart skips for a second.

"A-are you sure?"

"Positive," the tigress nods, straightening up. "My couch is plenty big, and I've got some extra sheets and pillows."

She pauses as she looks down at you, wringing her hands.

"Let me go find them," she bursts out, bolting off. You stare, then give yourself a shake. You can roll with this. You're still hesitant to make a move on her, but now you've got more time to try. More time to think of a good way to 'break up' with Talia.

Rebecca returns with a bundled-up blanket and pillow, dwarfed by the pair in red wool.

"Here you go," she says, setting them on the couch. "I wasn't expecting -- when do you want to turn in for the night?"

"I usually stay up a little late," you say, "but if you're a real night owl, I'll try to do my best. Wouldn't want to take over your living room if you've got something planned."

"Oh no, I get up early," she replies, chuckling a little. "Sorry if I fall asleep on you, actually -- I-I wasn't expecting an overnight guest!"

"I wasn't either," you shrug. There's a pause, the two of you staring at each other a moment before you break the silence.

"So, anything you want to do? I'd be happy to just start on one of your books if you're busy."

"...Not anything in particular. I've got some puzzles, but --"

Rebecca lets out a soft 'oh.'

"What about what you mentioned earlier, about going through my gun with me? With how I carry it?"

In your mind, you sigh with relief. This is something you know, something you can escape the awkwardness with.

"Sure, let's do that."

You and the tigress spend a while in her living room messing around with her holster and gun. Beyond going through carry conditions, you can't really do much except advise. Getting the gun in the right spot is mostly up to the wearer. Rebecca has plenty of waistband to shift the holster around on, thankfully. When she's got a spot that feels comfortable and doesn't print much, you have her practice her draw, slow and smooth. She's consistent by the end, and that matters more than speed.

"The rest is all repetition," you tell her as she puts the gear away. "Just a little bit every day and you'll be in good shape."

"I'll try," Rebecca says. "Is there anything you wanted to do, Anon?"

You wrack your brain, trying to beat the nerves before they take hold.

"How about a movie? You had a lot of old ones, you said?"

"Sure!" the tigress replies, "they're all in the cabinet. You can pick something out while I put this away."

You take a look, barely hearing her footsteps. The movies are as organized as her library, clumped up roughly by series and genre. The blank cases and labels written in sharpie are familiar -- her second-hands are genuine, that's for sure. You pluck out The Princess Bride as Rebecca returns, and she pops it in while you go make popcorn. She giggles when she looks back at you, seeing you half-way up on the counter to reach the bowl she was talking about.

"You see this one before?" you ask when you return, jumping up on the couch.

"Once, a while ago," she says, stretching a little. "You?"

"Not recently."

She hums, sinking into the couch. "I'm glad."

As the opening plays, you notice how relaxed the tigress is. She's no longer holding herself or trying to appear smaller than she is. You don't talk much -- never been one for chatting during a movie -- and she doesn't either. It gives you more time to think things through. If you do take a shot, your alibi needs to be tight. Rebecca already seems caught up on the fact you're 'with' Talia, and you don't think 'cheating' will work, considering what happened with Pat. You can't just tell her the truth about you and Talia, either; she's still the key witness. If she says no, and maybe even if she says yes, you'd be fucked.

It's as the hero is getting captured on screen that you pull yourself out of your own head, looking over to the tigress for the first time in a long while. You can't tell if she's awake, the screen's glare the only light left in the room.

"Reb?" you whisper. She turns your way with a soft, deep groan. 'Animalistic' is too harsh a word, but it's close.

"Reb, are you --"

A loud chuff interrupts you, and she mumbles something as she leans over towards you. You try scooting out of the way and off the couch, but the cushions are too soft, too sinky. A massive paw grips you and you feel her pause, grumbling as she shifts closer. You stay frozen as Rebecca sets the popcorn bowl on the floor before laying on her side with a sigh, dragging you with her. Her other arm wraps around you as you slide into her depression, your back pressed up against soft, warm sweater as she shifts a bit more.

She lets out a sleepy grunt when you try and free yourself, her arms tightening around your shoulders; you can feel her sweater-covered bust wrapping around your head. A leg is thrown over your own, then a tail as she pulls you close. You can't quite believe it when she finally stills, her chest rising and falling against your back. Slowly, as the rest of the movie plays out, you reach up for her hand, squeezing the back of it. She tightens slightly, murmuring. You grab her tail gently and start to stroke it.

Her quiet chuffs and purrs echo through your body, resonating in your chest and spine. You keep going, feeling yourself sink deeper into her huge, red hills. As you start to drift off yourself, you think you've made your decision.

But it can wait until morning.

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