Zig Zag is Copyright © Max Black Rabbit. Sabrina, Darke Katt and R.C. are Copyright © Eric W. Schwartz. James Sheppard, Marvin Badger, Rhonda Badger, Yohni, Alexi, Michael, Esteban, Mia, Wanda Vixen and Tamara Rabbit are Copyright © James Bruner. Jean LeBrun, Francois LeBrun, Marie LeBrun, Gabrielle Ryder, Theodore Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg the Third, Roxanne Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Timothy Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Malcolm Grazer, Doctor Lupin, Doctor Fox Jones, William Pongo, Captain Archibald, Peter Spermophilus, Miranda Spermophilus, Leo Leon, Vincent Leon, Abu-Yusuf, Sergeant Otetiani, Lieutenant Black, Julie Black, Miriam Redtail, Lizzy Doe, Emma Grey, Rowena Spyke, Jeremy Mustela, William White, Hannah Vulpes, Richard Terry, Hantaywee Twofeathers, Professor Nutkin, Professor Moose Nicholson, Professor Werner Schnauzer, Professor Erica Belge, Charles 'Mouse' Mombay, Ulf Søndergård, Paul Donkey, Harley Davidson (Not the motorcycle manufacturer, obviously) and Pethouse Magazine is © Joan Jacobsen, 2005.
Legal Notice: This story is Copyright © 2005 by Joan Jacobsen. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical or optical mediums.
Permission to use characters that are Copyright other individuals was obtained prior to the appearance of said characters.
The author, Joan Jacobsen, hereby asserts moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
This is an independent work of fiction with no connection whatsoever to Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions or James Bruner and is in no way meant to imply any connection with Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions, or James Bruner. This story contains characters created by Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, James Bruner, Tigermark and Silver Coyote. Events and characters occurring in this story should not be considered part of the storylines for either 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online' or 'Sabrina Online - The Story'.
In fact, as far as 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online', 'Sabrina Online - The Story' and 'Zig Zag the Story' are concerned, this story does not exist. The artists disavow any knowledge of and do not officially sanction the events in this story.
Twin Ruins
It had been three days. It was as if everyone had started measuring time from the eleventh of September. It was 9/11...plus three. To say life had returned to normal would be a serious stretch of the truth, but certain things had started up again. The news, still dominated completely by updates on what was going on in New York, had started including other news as well. The stock markets were in a state of panic. Sporadic hate crimes against Moslems had taken place in most of the western world. Most importantly, rumors were starting to circulate about who had carried out the attacks.
And where they were hiding.
Nothing was confirmed yet, of course. Everything was still a matter of rumor.
The death-toll was still uncertain, too. The Twin Towers were still smoldering heaps of rubble. It'd take many more days before the smoking and smoldering would stop completely. The Pentagon was partially in ruins. The remains of an airliner in a field in Pennsylvania completed the image of a nation in a state of absolute shock.
But also a nation waking up to anger. Anger and fury...and an overwhelming demand for retribution.
Sympathy was pouring in from almost every corner of the globe. Even countries that the United States had strained or even hostile relations with had offered medical assistance and experts to help clean up the mess. One of the more unexpected offers came from Cuba, where Castro had offered to send medical teams to help, as well as financial aid to those bereaved.
That particular offer had been quietly overlooked. Many others weren't.
In Copenhagen, Gabrielle and Yohni had just left the American embassy.
"Finally..." the equine said and let her fingers slip through the black of her hair. "I never knew there were so many Americans in Denmark..."
"How would you have known?" Yohni asked and slipped her arm under Gabrielle's. "It's hardly the kind of thing you might bring with you to bed for reading material. 'Public Census of Foreign Citizens in the Kingdom of Denmark'. I can't even imagine Jean doing that."
"You're right...not even she is that big a nerd," Gabrielle said and smiled crookedly. She was feeling a very real sense of relief come over her. Finally, they had managed to speak to someone who could give them some information. Not much, but at least some. A quick check of the confirmed deaths so far also reassured them that neither Timothy, nor Malcolm were among the dead. The fur at the embassy had told them not to feel too certain of that information just yet. There were still many who hadn't been identified. The majority of those dead, in fact.
It was terrible to hear of the devastation, but what really worried Gabrielle was, that she couldn't help feeling relieved and happy that so far, it seemed her brother and his boyfriend had escaped unharmed. It was awful to feel that way, when so many had suffered so much and she felt ashamed at it...but she couldn't help herself.
She gave Yohni's arm a little squeeze with her own and looked down at the mongoose. "Shall we go back to Ulf and Signe and tell them? There may be an answer to the email too..."
They had sent an email the day after the attack. The internet had been under so much pressure on 9/11 that getting into an email account had been absolutely hopeless, but they still hadn't received an answer. For all they knew, there was no way for Malcolm or Timothy to check the internet.
"We should try. Maybe we can get through on the phone too, at last? To call everyone and check up on them?"
"That'll cost a fortune. We have to at least make sure we pay our host and hostess for those kind of telephone calls."
Yohni nodded. That made sense. It was going to be awfully costly. It didn't matter much. All their travel plans had been well and truly shot to pieces anyway. They started walking down the avenue. Tall trees lined it, and a lot of very large, primarily German cars were parked there. There was a morass of television stations represented, each with their van outside the American embassy, but as soon as they had left it behind, everything was quiet.
Gabrielle pointed to the side and smiled. "Let's go and have a seat in the park for a bit, before going back at least. My knees are still shaking. I was nervous before we went in there..."
"I can't blame you. I mean...if the worst had happened..." Yohni began.
"...it didn't happen and we should be thankful for it. I know I am," Gabrielle broke in, smiling apologetically.
"You're absolutely right. Well...I suppose the question is...what do we do now?"
"We wait until the air-traffic starts back up again and then we go home?"
Yohni stopped. She looked at her girlfriend in a very thoughtful way, canting her head slightly. "Why?" she asked. "No, don't start. Think about it. What good will it do that we break off our holiday and go home? We've got seven weeks off. Our country is under attack and let's face it, the planes will be packed with furs who need to get home, for days and days on end after they do start flying again. Us going back won't change anything, except that we let the bastards behind this win!"
Gabrielle blinked and turned, looking at Yohni. "How do you mean?"
The mongoose shrugged and spread her arms out. "We are just two blue movie actresses, Gabby. We don't change the world. But if we do pack up and break off our vacation and go home, we let the terrorists win. The whole point of terror is to make furs afraid. So afraid of living their lives like they always do that they'll start doing what the terrorists want them to do. Right now, they want us all to huddle up in teeny tiny little balls, whimpering in fright and fear and horror. I'm not going to let them."
"You know what? I never thought of it that way. You're completely right. We shouldn't let them scare us out of this," Gabrielle said with a slow nod. "Realizing that I'm going to sound dangerously cheesy for a moment...since when did Uncle Sam back down when someone threatened him?"
"I dunno...I never saw a billygoat back down from anything, Red-white-and-blue suit or not," Yohni giggled. "But I do know that I'm going to Berlin, later, and I'll enjoy it. And then we'll see what kind of time we have left after that. Hmm?"
Gabrielle walked up and put her arms around Yohni, kissing her nose. "Thank you for knocking some sense into me. I was halfway back to Ohio already..."
"Bad filly. No sugar-lump."
"Awww...now you're being mean. Pleeeease?"
Yohni giggled again and kissed the equine.
###
Malcolm sat bolt upright in bed. He was sweating badly, and he had woken up with a scream. Now...he was shaking all over, covering his face in his paws. The image of the young fur from the bus kept coming back at him but it got more and more twisted every time he closed his eyes. Now, the young male would look at him, with blood seeping over his lips asking why Malcolm hadn't left him there.
He kept seeing burning towers in his sleep.
He kept hearing the screams.
Timothy had helped as much as he could. The premiere of the show had been postponed for two weeks. He'd seen a doctor as soon as he woke up after sleeping, on the twelfth. But the doctor had found nothing physically wrong with him.
Something was wrong though.
Timothy sat up next to him. "That dream again?" he asked, slipping an arm around Malcolm's shoulder and pulling him close.
The Arabian stallion just nodded, unable to find his voice for the moment. He was grateful for the touch though. It made him feel like he really was awake. And not alone. Most especially that. He wasn't alone. The thought of being alone terrified him.
"We'll have to find a counselor you can talk to, Malcolm...you're in shock, love. You need help...more than I can give you," Timothy continued, quietly, running his paws up and down Malcolm's back, holding the other male gently against him.
"I know. You're right..." was the only answer.
Timothy nodded slightly. "I know I am, love. I know I am," he said, still using that quiet, soothing tone of voice.
"What...what time is it?" Malcolm asked, swallowing.
"A few minutes past four in the morning. Want to try to get some more sleep?"
"No...I...I don't think that's a good idea. I'll go cook you breakfast in bed, instead. You've been fantastic these last few days..."
Smiling a little, Timothy kissed his boyfriend's cheek. "I've just tried to be there for you, that's all. But you know what? Breakfast in bed sounds really good."
Malcolm smiled and untangled himself from Timothy's arms, getting up. Breakfast in bed did sound good. It sounded cozy...and normal...and safe. He pulled on a pair of sweatpants to the audible disapproval of the bronco on the bed and, swishing his tail, left the bedroom. The idea of doing something for Timothy was just what he needed to relax.
###
"Lizzy? We need to talk. It's...pretty important."
Leo was sitting at the table. It was still early morning but he had put it off long enough. Two days, to be precise. He just didn't know how to get this conversation started. At long last, he'd figured out he'd simply start it...and hope for the best. He trusted Lizzy...he knew they were good together but he really didn't want to hurt her.
The doe nodded and sat down opposite of him. She had barely smiled since the attacks. It was starting to worry the lion.
"I have no idea how you're going to react to this..." he said and sighed, running a paw through his mane. "Look...we both know what happened three days ago was an attack on the United States as a whole..."
"I know. Leo...is this about you being in the reserves?" Lizzy asked, quietly. She didn't flinch or blink as she asked.
Leo was stumped. His jaw dropped to his chest. He didn't have his military paperwork with him. That was still locked safely away in his father's strongbox. He never spoke of his military record, and he knew for a fact he'd never mentioned it to Lizzy. The only one he had told about it, in fact, was Esteban and he didn't think for a moment that the wolf had betrayed his trust about it. Especially considering he had told Esteban how worried he was about it all.
"How...?" he began.
Lizzy shrugged. "Your father. I do speak to him from time to time, y'know. On the phone. He told me about your time in the army. He said it because he didn't think you would, and because he thought it was important that I knew something like that. He was right. You could've trusted me with it, you know..."
She didn't move. Leo wished she would. He almost wished she'd yell at him. It'd be easier than this. She just sat there and looked at him, and he had no idea what to say next. He gesticulated some...as if searching for a word.
"I think you're looking for the words 'how long have you known?'," Lizzy said, helpfully. "A year or so. I never said anything because I figured you'd come around to it eventually. I don't approve of it, Leo, but I love you. And I realize that with what has happened...you're likely to get called back up for active service. At least for training. I also know that last year when you went home to meet your parents on your own...you were in fact off for a ten day exercise. I know because I called your parents to let them know you were on the way...and they were quite confused."
The lion blinked...and slumped. He put his face in his paws and sighed deeply. "If you hate me for keeping this a secret from you, I can't blame you Lizzy," he said, quietly.
The doe shook her head. "I don't hate you. But now that it's in the open, I'd like to ask you why you didn't tell me? Didn't you trust me?"
"Yes...I did. But I was scared you might get upset and I didn't want to anger you. And the more time passed, the more I got afraid that if I told you, you'd be angry because I had kept it from you for so long. Look, I'm not a career soldier by any length..."
"I dunno, you made it to Lieutenant..."
"My father served in the same regiment when he was young. The colonel was his old bunkmate. What do you think?" Leo said, shaking his head. "I am not a military type...but I will protect my country if I have to. Our way of living. You and me. I won't be going to war for Uncle Sam if I get called up, Lizzy...I'll be going to war for you."
For the first time in three days, Lizzy smiled. A real, honest and warm little smile as she reached out and ran a paw down the lion's cheek. "I know. And you know something else?"
Leo shook his head. He was getting increasingly confused. Lizzy wasn't reacting like he'd expected her to, in any way.
"I'm proud of you," she said, softly.
Leo felt his lips tremble. "Thank you," he whispered and looked down. "I'm sorry I didn't tell. I was scared of losing you."
"It'll take more than a vertical bar to lose me, Leo. A lot more."
"Two vertical bars?"
She laughed. "Don't push your luck, carnivore. You might be sleeping on the couch for a week," she said and got up again. "Now...let's get some breakfast, shall we? And I swear...if you ever tell any of my friends that I'm proud of you for what you're doing...I'll kick you in a soft spot."
Leo wiped his eyes and chuckled, nodding. He sniffled back a sob. He had been so scared she'd be unable to deal with it that the relief was enough to bring tears to his eyes. "I promise. If anyone asks, you're grumbling up a storm about it."
"That's my lion."
###
Jean looked at the door to her small office. There was no work related reason for her to be there, but she had gone anyway. It was Friday, and there would be no lectures until the following Monday again. Even then, she had a feeling she'd be teaching to an almost empty classroom. But she was there now. She had to. To feel things hadn't ground to a complete halt. That some things went on.
Sighing, she pushed open the door and entered. Her office was very small...which was understandable really. She was just a Ph.D. student with teaching responsibilities. She wasn't a professor yet. Except for Mrs. Belge, the professors tended to have fairly small offices too. Moose Nicholson's office seemed smaller than it really was on account of his tendency to literally stack books on every free surface. It was like walking in between pillars...towers of books...to enter his office.
The vixen shook her head. Thinking about towers was banned for a while. She put her briefcase down on her desk and switched on her computer and the desk light. It was mid day but her office had no windows. It was in the middle of the building, more or less. The only light sources were the overhead lights and the architect lamp on her desk. And the computer-screen of course, but that kind of light was bad for her eyes. She reminded herself to visit an optician and get her eyes checked. It was getting increasingly difficult to distinguish shapes at a distance. The thought was strangely comforting. Getting glasses was a completely mundane thing that happened to thousands of furs in the United States every week.
Esteban had been very good at constantly reminding her to think of ordinary things, these last few days, but work was something she knew she had to do. She turned and looked at her bookshelves. There were still plenty of empty spaces there, but she had no doubt that a sizable portion of her income would be spent filling those blank areas.
Reaching out, she picked a book off the shelf and flicked through it. It was in German. Her linguistic skills in that language was down to reading it. Speaking it was well and truly beyond her. She spoke a reasonable French but rarely made use of it, and in general, the information she needed was available in English...or German. For some reason, German books didn't always get translated. It bothered her. Maybe that was a future possibility. Translation the entire history of the popes into a language understood outside of Europe.
The real menace of the book she was holding was, that the author was German of the really old school. He insisted on his books having been printed and reprinted in gothic lettering. It was easy enough to read, once one's eyes got used to it...but coupled with reading a foreign language, it took a lot of time to get through it. As it was, there was no alternative. The definitive work on papal history was written in German, by a German, primarily for Germans.
Jean groaned and put the book down next to her computer. At least she had found what she was looking for.
She'd barely gotten started on her writing when a knock on her door snapped her out of the trials and tribulations of Gregor VII. She looked up and turned in her chair. "Come in, the door is open," she called out.
The door was opened ajar and Richard Terry peeked in. "Hey there...I hope I'm not disturbing you? I thought it was you I saw passing over the grounds and...I need to talk to you about some problems I have that you might help with."
The male's voice was almost timid. Like he was worried he'd get turned away. Jean smiled and nodded, beckoning for him to come in and take a seat. She saved her progress, such as it was, on the computer and switched off the screen. Then she turned towards the student to give him her full attention.
"All right...what's up, Mr. Terry?"
"Well...you see, I have this problem where I've failed an exam once, and I've most likely flunked it the second time too. It means I have one more shot at it and then I'm out of here. And I just can't bend my head around the principles. Hantaywee said you would probably be the right fur to ask for help, so I figured I'd try...providing you're not offended by my blunder in class?"
"Not offended at all. It was a question I had expected and at least you presented it with a modicum of dignity. I had feared some of the students shouting profanity and threats at me. I'm more or less used to it, by now."
Richard blinked. "Threats?" he asked, looking honestly shocked. "Now...that's just sick! Why would anyone...well...I suppose you find idiots everywhere, Miss LeBrun. For what it's worth, I thought your first lecture was good and if it continues like that I might even learn something."
Jean couldn't help laughing. "I take that as high praise. All right, have you brought a copy of the assignment you already failed, originally? If not, you might want to go and get it."
"I did. I thought you might ask for it," Richard said and took out some papers, holding them out for the vixen to take them. "It's just long lines. I mean, I should be able to pass this with my paws tied behind me. Everyone else does. But I keep...taking a stance."
"You'd make a good politician then, Mr. Terry," Jean said, idly flicking through the papers. "We need politicians who will take a stance."
Richard chuckled. There was no arguing that kind of logic. He let the femme look through his assignment, without another word.
When Jean looked up again she was frowning slightly. As if in thought. "If you don't mind, I'd like to keep this and take a look at it over the weekend? If you meet me here, in my office, after the lecture on Monday, I'll probably have some concrete things for you to keep in mind when writing assignments. It is really not as difficult as you might think. The problem is consistency. The way I see this assignment, you are trying too hard. And because you do, you forget some basic guidelines."
The terrier looked relieved. "Please...by all means, do so. I'll be here, right as rain, on Monday. I promise. I don't want to fail...this is what I want to do with my life."
Jean nodded again, still with that thoughtful expression on her face. "Mind if I ask why?" she asked and crossed her legs. "Why do you study history, Mr. Terry?"
"Because it is the only course that literally expands every single second of every single day. It never stops. It always grows bigger, deeper, more detailed. There's never even a pause. Everything that happens becomes history instantly. It's like standing in a vortex...and letting oneself get completely caught up in it and just swept away..."
Richard's eyes grew distant and he had a little smile on his face. He looked happy, in a way that Jean knew quite well. Esteban usually told her she looked the same way whenever she started rambling. The male's paws were weaving an invisible pattern in front of him, like he was trying to illustrate his point. Clearly, he was already miles away in his own mind, thinking of topics he found particularly fascinating.
Jean smiled warmly. "You know what? You'll make a damned fine historian one day. You study this for the right reasons. You do so because you love it. I'll do what I can to help. I think at least I can make sure you pass your final attempt at this long line-exam, providing you pay attention to what I say."
She put the papers down next to her on the desk and got to her feet, extending a paw.
Richard got up and shook it. "Thank you, Miss LeBrun...Monday it is then!" he said and turned to leave.
"Oh, one last thing..."
The terrier stopped in the doorway and looked back at the vixen, nodding. "Sure?"
"Stick to Hantaywee. If you and she can read together, you'll both benefit from it."
"What, you mean like...group work?" Richard asked. He liked the idea but it was rare for a lecturer to suggest it. Very rare in fact.
"Mr. Terry, when your studies are over and you leave this place, you will have to go out and get a job. And unless you plan on writing the definite history of the North Polar Icecap or the final and all encompassing thesis on the history of pocket lint, I can assure you, you'll have to work in a team at some point in time. I think it's a good idea to learn the basics of teamwork early on, don't you?"
Richard laughed and nodded. "You're right. I'll do that. Thank you once again."
With that, he was gone. Jean grinned to herself and sat back down, picking up Richard's assignment again. From what she had skimmed, the terrier could write...but he couldn't stay neutral. His own opinions shone through very clearly. Anyone would fail that kind of assignment. But it was salvageable. Easily. She'd have to look it over more carefully of course.
She put the papers down and blinked. Then blinked again as she looked at the now closed door.
Then she smiled as realization dawned on her.
One of the students had come to her first of all...for help.
###
Zig Zag opened the door to her house and stepped inside. She was carrying two large bags of groceries. Both bags looked like the bottom was about to drop out of them. She headed straight for the kitchen and put the bags on the table, then turned to check her answering machine in the living room.
The little red light was flashing, showing her that someone had indeed called. She hit the button and turned up the volume, heading back to the kitchen.
"Hey Zig...it's Marvin. I'm just calling to confirm that we're shooting again on Monday..." the first message said.
Zig Zag nodded to herself. Marvin had sounded terribly tired. The whole ordeal was clearly affecting him in the strongest possible way. She could understand why. Marvin was All-American. Everyone felt the shock and impact but the Twin Towers had been a symbol of America as much as anything else and that symbol had come crashing down, taking some of Marvin with it in the process. She was certain he'd recover...but it'd take some time.
"Hey Love...I'm going to swing by later today. I'm bringing my toothbrush too. I think we could both do with a weekend spent being really good to one another. I'll be there around four..."
Again, Zig Zag nodded. James had been absolutely right. She could do with a weekend of mutual pampering. Badly. He'd be more than welcome. Sometimes, she wondered why they hadn't moved in together yet...but that probably had something to do with the fact that she loved her house and James loved his...and they both liked each other's homes as well. It'd be impossible to give one of them up. Perhaps...it was time to mention the possibility to James. She was well aware it had to come from her. James wouldn't ask something like that. Not because he wouldn't want to but because he'd think she didn't.
"Hey Boss...it's Gabrielle. It's going to have to be a short one because I'm borrowing a telephone from a new friend here in Copenhagen to call you. Both Yohni and I are all right but we don't know when the air-lanes will be opened again. We have decided to keep the vacation going. That way we're not giving in to fright. Anyway, please give everyone at work our best, and lots of hugs and please, if you can get word to Jean and Esteban...do so. I've tried calling but no one is answering the phone. Take care..."
The skunk put down what she was holding and turned, looking at the living room. A strange sense of relief ran through her. It was hard to explain, really. The attacks had taken place in New York...there was absolutely no reason to feel worried about someone on the other side of the Atlantic, but she had worried. Mostly about how they were going to get on until they could come back home. But Gabrielle had mentioned a new friend. That was good. It was a times like these that friends were really necessary.
She looked at the bags on the table and started emptying them. An idea popped up in her mind and she grinned to herself. Widely. Perfect rows of white, filed teeth giving her a predatory look that in that situation, no one got to witness. But she felt it.
"Well...I don't think I've baked a pie in ages..." she told herself. "If James wants some mutual pampering this weekend...I might as well get started."
She'd never exactly been a marvel in a kitchen, but there was something to be said for kneading dough. If nothing else, it gave her an excellent excuse to hit something. So she had learned how to bake. She'd started by pies...which she later realized had been going about it the wrong way. She should've started with bread and gone on to more complex things. Baking, however, was a good way to relax. James was nice about it too. He always ate what she made...even when it was a dismal failure, and he even looked happy about it too. The coyote was a real gentlefur that way. He'd swear on a stack of bibles that he thought it was absolutely delicious...even when Zig knew it wasn't, herself.
She had asked him once...why he always said that, when it was so obvious that some of her baking turned out less than perfect. He had replied that he could taste the effort...and the love...that she put into it.
She laughed, quietly. There were times when that coyote of hers was such a romantic sap. She wouldn't have it any other way of course. She often thought about how their first date had ended. She'd gotten angry...because she thought he was still married and just using her as a cheap thrill and she'd hit him. Hard. It said something about the coyote's endurance, both physical and moral, that he hadn't given up on her then and there. It was something she was incredibly grateful for.
Flour, seasoning, milk and eggs were all lined up. Zig Zag looked at it and put her arms akimbo, before finding an apron. "Y'know Zig...you're in serious danger of turning into a good little housewife..." she mumbled, then laughed and shook her head at the image.
That, at least, wasn't going to happen.
She put the milk down and blinked. Why not? What was she so worried about? So afraid of? Wasn't James going to make a good husband? She couldn't think of anyone who'd make a better one.
And why was she even thinking along these lines? Had the world really changed so much in just three days? And how could a terrorist attack in New York possibly influence her thinking regarding marriage?
Zig Zag groaned, loudly and looked at the still blubbery mass in the bowl in front of her. "You're going to get such a pummeling!" she said and wagged a finger at the dough.
Predictably, it didn't answer. Possibly, it quivered a little. Zig Zag couldn't tell for sure.
Reaching out for a pair of gloves, the skunk grumbled to herself. No sense in getting fur in the dough after all, but right now she was more concerned about hitting something. The idea of baking had in fact emerged at just the right time. It annoyed her when something like that happened. The last thing anyone could rightfully call her was a conservative type, but at the same time she really hated it when major changes happened, outside of her control. Suddenly, she had found herself seriously contemplating married life. Something she had foresworn ever getting into. It had come out of nowhere, and she had no control over it. That...was annoying her.
She looked at the dough after giving it a few more slaps. Then sighed.
"Am I really getting that old?" she asked.
She knew she didn't have the answer.
###
Timothy opened the door. He was quite surprised to be presented with an FBI badge, the moment he did so. Outside, two rather large males in black suits were waiting. A leopard and a Dalmatian.
"I'm seeing spots..." the bronco mumbled. "Well...agents...what can I do for you?"
The Dalmatian put away his badge. "I'm Agent Grochy, and this is Agent Manchilla..."
"In that case, what can I do for you, Agent Grochy," Timothy asked. He wasn't quite sure what was going on and it showed.
"We are informed that this is the home of a Mr. Malcolm Grazer, is that correct?" the Dalmatian asked.
Timothy nodded, still not really sure what was happening. "That's correct. He's in the living room, a complete mess so...unless this is absolutely necessary..."
"Would you please step aside, sir. We are here to take Mr. Grazer into custody," Agent Manchilla broke in.
"What???"
"We are informed that Mr. Grazer is in fact an equine of Arab origins, and that he was on site at the scene of the attack this Tuesday," Agent Grochy said, evenly. "Now if you won't stand aside voluntarily, we are allowed to use force, sir."
Timothy growled and flexed his fingers. "I don't give a flying shit if you're allowed to shoot me where I stand. Malcolm isn't Arabian. He's an Arabian stallion, that much is true, but the last family he had that actually came from Arabia was back in the nineteenth century. The beginning of the nineteenth century. What are you going to arrest him for?"
"You don't need to know," Agent Grochy said, impatiently. "Step aside, it's your last warning."
"You'll have to shoot me where I stand before I let you drag him off on some bullshit..." Timothy began.
He felt a paw on his shoulder. A sigh from behind him told him that Malcolm was there. He felt himself go rigid and he stopped speaking, looking back at his boyfriend.
"It's all right, Timothy...I'll go with them, peacefully. It's all a misunderstanding. I'll be home soon..."
"Malcolm..."
The taller stallion shook his head and put a finger to Timothy's lips. "It's okay, Timmy...I'll be home soon..." he said, quietly.
Agent Manchilla produced a pair of pawcuffs and opened them, looking at Malcolm. The stallion shook his head, to let the Leopard know they wouldn't be necessary.
After a few glances between them, the two FBI-furs nodded in return and the cuffs were put away.
Malcolm took his jacket off the coat rack and gave Timothy a hug and a kiss on the cheek...then left, quietly.
As he walked down the stairs, he heard the bronco weeping in the doorway.