Through The Earthquake And The Fire

Summary: Whenever she's near him, he can't help but feel like Icarus, flying too close to the sun. Modern AU featuring Crane, Mei Ling, and a few original characters, with cameo appearances made by Po and the other Jade Palace denizens. Film character names have been changed for the setting.





Disclaimer: I do not own Kung Fu Panda, or any of the characters.





A/N: Title comes from British author Alfred Noyes' epic poem 'Drake', Song, Book VIII.



A/N 2: With the shortage of Crane/Mei Ling pairing fics, I thought it would be a good time to enter my contribution. The inspirations for this are numerous, but I relied somewhat on Richard Linklater's "Before" trilogy, blended in with "When Harry Met Sally...". Rated T for language. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story, and please leave a review! Thanks!



A/N 3: I drew inspiration for the character of Stephen based on the semi-brotherly dynamic of DiNozzo and McGee from NCIS, while Linda is sort of based on the character of Caitlin Todd. There’s also some similarity to Sheppard and McKay from Stargate Atlantis. But let us get on with the story, shall we?



---



Chapter One: The Gamble





Portage, Wisconsin

October 2000





         Andrew Blair hated weddings.

          A diversified volume of instances raised the crane’s ire of the matrimonial service. There was the photographer whose lens made Andrew forget his eyesight for minutes at a time. He desperately wanted to smash the camera. The music grated his hearing as it was played by some random stooge who seemed to have been plucked right out of a karaoke bar. The food…well, actually, the food was great: Baked Alaskan cod straight from the fish market, piled high with celery, lemon, and artichoke. The waterfowl would never admit it to anyone at the party, but that covered most of the reason why he came. He guessed the cake was pretty good, too.

          Above all of those, it was the ceremony which really got to him. As much as he wanted to leave, he could only keep his wings at his sides and force a smile when necessary.

         "Do you have the ring?"

          It’s presented silently, and the audience cheers when the couple kiss. Andrew couldn’t stop himself from looking away.

         At the reception later on, he watches the newlywed Nelsons perform their wedding dance, guzzling down a solitary glass of champagne, wearing a noncommittal expression. He’s glad for them, of course, even if he's having a hard time showing it. The wedding party bursts into full-on jubilee as the bride and groom sit down next to him. Linda gets up again immediately and grabs his wings in her paws, pulling the waterfowl out of his chair, “Come on, Andy! Swing me a bit!”

         Her vivaciousness is starting to catch on, though not enough. He gently releases himself. "Sorry, Linda, but I think I'm going to leave."

         The Australian shepherd looks distraught at the notion. "What?! No! Andy, please! Stay!" she exclaims, pulling at his wing again. He's known the couple for a few years now; the only time Linda called him Andy is when she was nearing her 'drunk alarm', as she termed it.

         Stephen, on the other hand, stands up, a glass of champagne in his right paw, the other on Linda's shoulder, looking perfectly composed. "Are you sure, Andrew? You won't stay for the present opening?"

         Any other time, sans the wedding, Andrew would have jumped at the chance to hang out with them. "It's fine, guys." It's not fine. "I'm happy for both of you, really. Congratulations," he said, placing a wing on each of their shoulders. "Steve..." And for once, he's run out of words. What more could he say to mask his bitterness in this situation? It's not them he's angry at, anyway, just the notion of love that he feels will never come knocking on his door. "I'll see you around."

         "Have a good trip."

         "Yeah." His tone is absent, and he quickly follows suit.

         Outside, he lets out a depressive breath. “It’s totally fine.”

         But the lie sounds unconvincing even to his own ears. He slumps against his car. “Sure, if by ‘fine’ you mean the Aerosmith definition, then yeah, it’s fine. Whatever.” He gets in, quickly leaving the happy (and somewhat drunken) atmosphere behind him.





---





         The border collie and the shepherd look at each other after he leaves the pavilion.

         "I've never seen him like that. Is he going to be okay?"

         Stephen is silent, glancing around the party. He suddenly grins.

         "I know that look..." Linda responds when she sees it. "What are you up to?"

         "All right. It goes like this. The spaceship drifts forward from..."

         "Okay, stop."

         "What?"

         Linda fixes him with her patented "you're irrepressible" look. "Stephen, that was one sentence. Less than one, really, and it's already the least believable story I've ever heard. Were you watching 'Star Trek' reruns again? Or reading too much Asimov? And what do spaceships have to do with anything?"

         The collie wilts some degrees. "Fine, maybe it won't happen exactly that way, but...I do have this." He pulls out a crumpled sheet from his pocket, then smoothes it out on the table. The rest of the attendees are too busy dancing or talking to notice.

         His wife squints her eyes at the image shown. "Is that...?"

         Steve grins. "A GPS tracker. Andy was just wrapping up his corporate counsel seminar when Jesse and I hid this in his trunk. He barely drives the thing, except for when he goes out of town, so he's never noticed."

         "Why?"

         "I'm not blind, Linda. I have seen how depressed he's been lately. So I, being thou noble stalwart self..."

         Linda snorts.

         He ignores it, explaining on, "...have accepted the responsibility of assuming the role of the matchmaker."

         She's taken aback for a moment. "That would explain the GPS," she said upon finding her tongue, before asking the more crucial question, "Who?"

         "Rachel Klein, one of my old friends from high school. She was a senior when I was a sophomore." He puts the paper back in his pocket. "She's never been with anyone either. A little sad, I know, but if there's even a chance I can set these two up, I'm sure as hell taking it. I wanted her to come to the wedding to meet him, naturally without telling her that, but she wanted to see her parents more. Understandable, since she just got back from a tour in the Mediterranean."

         "Tour?"

         "She's in the marine corps."

         Linda nodded before taking another sip of champagne. "Andrew's going to kill you."

         "Meh. I'll deal with that when the time comes. Besides, if all goes according to plan, he'll be too thrilled to even entertain the idea."

         "If you say so."

         "Of course I do," he plants a kiss on her muzzle, "Wife."

         "Husband," she replies shrewdly. They share a few more kisses before the photographer comes by and blinds them with the lens.

         "So," Stephen whispers, "Six months until they're married. Fifty dollars."

         "I'm going to give it three," Linda retorts.

         "You're on."





---





         When he was in high school, Andrew felt lucky enough to just be sitting with Carly Lindholm during lunch hour. He had watched her with longing, sad eyes, wishing the affection the snake felt for him went a step further, but armed with the knowledge it never would. The scenario was a near perfect plot for a Woody Allen film: he'd been in love with Carly who'd been in love with a guy who was already going steady with another friend of theirs. All the parties being crushed on remained wonderfully oblivious.

         The pain of the unrequited faded as he entered Northwestern, though his collegiate romantic exploits transpired without incident, as Andrew chose, like he wanted to, to focus on his studies. His time was largely spent introverted at his desk, and interludes with the opposite sex occurred only with the regular study groups, or class assignments. But however much he feigned to in college, the single life was not one he wanted to make an occupation of. The resentment concerning the prospect of love was one he silently kept to himself, but he suspected Stephen knew. After all, they were roommates for two semesters, and friends even longer than that.

         Stephen and Linda were happy, and it would hardly be fair for him, or to anyone, to stay in a place where his morose mindset would fester unwarranted.

         He's been planning this road trip for a year, and now seemed the right time to make that opportunity real; let someone else, someone unknown, deal with the post-college quarter-life drama. He'd been on road trips before, driving past the many esoteric towns and abandoned warehouses with his parents when he was a chick. He sometimes missed the naivety of pressing his beak and wings against the car windows, gazing out wide-eyed at the buildings and trees rushing by in a blur. The road trip idea was broad in its simplicity, no matter how clich it appeared to the regular person, it was still a uniquely American concept.

         More than anything, Andrew's glad he's not flying under his own power. Better that than risk the chance of colliding with an airplane. He steers the Camry west from Portage on the I-94, easing into the drive. He's familiar enough with this road that he knows it just as well as the bike trail back home.

         He tries singing to the radio as a familiar song makes itself known, "Something in the way she..." but trails off at the word 'she'. Strange how even the radio would deny him solace. He doesn't want to think about 'she'. His voice is hoarse and that particular line of thought will make the brief journey home all the more bleak.

         Does it make any difference the sky is already gray? Not one bit.

         The remainder of the drive passes him by in broken silence.

         He wishes he had someone to talk to.

         It's four hours later when he arrives in Sartell, just as the sun was being chased into the dark. Hardly any fanfare, but he can't say he was expecting it.

         When he closes the door, he hears a reedy voice call from the study, "Evan?"

         A familiar voice, one Andrew's not heard in years, replies, "No, Joanne. It's only me, Chuck. Sit down and I'll bring you some coffee." The voice's owner then makes an appearance.

         The panda is wearing a pair of dark blue scrubs. Clothing aside, he's looking much the same as he did in high school, but it seems the years have made him a more tempered individual. There isn't a smile fighting for release on his face like there once was, and his eyes show weariness. Andrew wondered how much of that analysis could be put up to his own perception.

         Then Chuck smiles, breaking that illusion.

         "Andy! It's been a long time."

         "Yeah, six years." Andrew can't say he's really in the mood for conversation, in whatever capacity. He glances over to the study, hoping Chuck would take the hint. "You should probably get that coffee ready."

         "No problem." Footsteps clatter to the kitchen as Andrew goes the other way.

         The figure in the chair doesn't move beyond a surreptitious twinge of feathers. Her beak is directed to the floor, her gaze empty, muttering a conversation to someone unseen, "Oh, that's nice that you finally asked Paula out to the dance, Evan. I would have done it for you if you hesitated any longer. Do you want some potato chips?"

         Andrew stifled a sigh before occupying the stool beside the woman and taking a wing in his grasp. "It's good to see you, too, Mom," he said softly.

         She doesn't reply.

         She never replies.



_______



Chapter Two: The Maneuver



         The next day, as he’s preparing to leave, Andrew gets an unexpected call.

         It’s Stephen.

         “Stephen, hey. I’d have thought you’d be on your honeymoon by now.”

         “Hey, buddy, I need you to do me a favor.”

         It’s like whatever Andrew said passed into deliberate disregard. The avian was somewhat intrigued, and more than a little wary, but he said, “Name it.”

         “I have a friend who needs a ride out to California.”

         That’s it. No further explanation.

         “And?”

         “And what?”

         “Why are you choosing me to do it? Why can’t they fly out there?”

         “You’re already heading out west. I thought this would be the best opportunity.”

         “Opportunity for what? And you still haven’t answered my question. Are they afraid to fly in a plane?”

         Again, his words are ignored. “She’s waiting at the Hotel Ivy in Minneapolis. You’ll pick her up by eight tonight? Thanks, man!”

         His brows rose, along with a sudden lividity. “Are you insane?! That’s an hour in the other direction! There’s no way I’m going to…” he stopped just as the sound of the dial tone penetrated his consciousness. Stephen had hung up. He closed his eyes, fighting for some emotional control. So much for escaping drama. He counted to a hundred before picking up the handset and redialing Stephen, cursing the dog for guilt tripping him. “Fine. I’ll do it. What’s her name?” he asked, as calmly as he could.

         “Rachel Klein.”

         On the other end, Linda and Jesse watch from the doorway as Stephen wrapped up the conversation. “You’d better hurry. I already told her to expect you.”

         “All right, I’m heading out now.” Andrew paused briefly. “Stephen?”

         “Yeah?”

         “I’d like you to answer me honestly.”

         “Sure.”

         “Am I on speakerphone?”

         Stephen intercepts the cradle faster than they can blink. “No, of course you aren’t. Don’t be ridiculous.” Another pause. “I am not! You’re imagining too much, Andrew.” A wide berth at the pair behind him and a shake of the head is a clear indicator for them to be silent.

         The menorquín grimaced. “Esto es una locura,” he whispered in Linda’s ear.

         “No shit.”

         After a few more reassurances, and a hasty goodbye, Stephen hangs up the phone, again. He turns to them, grinning fit to split. Then he raises his paws in the air. “High five, guys! It’s game time!”

         Linda crosses her arms.

         “Jesse, back me up.”

         The horse snorts, and turns away. “No thanks, pendejo.” Linda follows behind.

         “Come on, guys!”

         Silence.

         “I can’t keep my arms like this forever!”



—-



         There’s never a chance he’ll trust the border collie completely, especially after that Halloween in Seabury Hall six years ago.

         They’d had a horror film festival at the Evanston Cinemark theater on the 30th, filled with the classics: The Thing, Carrie, The Exorcist, Psycho, etc. Then Stephen disappeared for a few hours, leaving Andrew and Jesse clueless as to his whereabouts. When the dog showed up again, he was grinning like mad. It made the roommates a little suspicious. He didn’t know about Jesse, but Andrew hadn’t gotten much sleep that night: he kept thinking Freddy Krueger would get him, which, at the time, seemed almost reasonable. Almost.

         He’d shut his eyes for only a few minutes, and opened them again alarmingly when a barrage of high, agonizing screams and haunting winds assaulted his ears. His wings acted against his control and he flew up into the ceiling, cracking it minutely and sending himself, through no intentional means, into unconsciousness. He came away with a big bruise on his forehead. Jesse had wound up with a twisted ankle. When it was revealed Stephen had placed surround speakers under both their beds, neither spoke to the collie for a week afterwards. Of course, they would have forgiven him sooner if he’d just stopped laughing about it.

         It was much easier to predict Stephen’s plans from then on, but this time was a mystery. If there any ulterior motive to him picking up a friend of Stephen’s, he couldn’t see it. This was too subtle, and the concept of Stephen being subtle about anything baffled the bird.

         He gave up trying to figure it out after an hour, putting his mind to more important things. Minneapolis is a perfect labyrinth; granted, it’s not the mind bender that Manhattan is, or even Chicago, but its numerous one-way streets share the same standards of any city on the planet that make driving all the more crazy by rush hour. Still, he made it to the hotel parking garage with an hour and a half to spare.

         The Hotel Ivy's interior was very spartan. The walls were painted white, spread intermittently with what Andrew assumed was oakwood, of which panels were centered atop the fireplace and hotel room doors. Three meter tall windows provided an attractive glimpse of the night sky, and the lobby bathroom, when he went to use it, was furnished in glorious alabaster tile. The entire hotel just about screamed Holy Renaissance, or possibly Greco-Roman. Either way, it felt like he was committing sacrilege.

         That sense of foreboding just wouldn’t let up as he approached the concierge desk. A lithe young otter stood there, dressed to the nines in a black knit blazer, and typing briskly away on the computer. “Is there something I can help you with, sir?”

         The crane cleared his throat, placing his wings on the desk, “Ahem, yes. Andrew Blair. I’ve come to pick up a Rachel Klein. I was told by a friend she was staying here.”

         “Let me check.” She sticks her tongue out the side of her mouth in concentration. Andrew becomes a little queasy by the action, but he doesn’t say anything. “You’re in luck. She’s checked in until 8.” Old news to him. “Room 703.”

         “Thanks.” He tucks in his wings, walking to the elevators. He wonders if she even taken her eyes off the computer, but doesn’t look back to see.

         “If she’s not in the room, check the Porter & Frye restaurant. It’s just down 11th…!” the receptionist calls after him.

         “Thanks! I got it!” he called in reply, cutting her off. He hit the ‘down’ button of the elevator with the crook of his right wing. Andrew knew he was being rude to the receptionist, but he supposed he wasn’t entirely free of the irritation thrust upon him by his canine friend. The fedora he’s wearing is obscuring his vision, making him squint at the descending lights above the door.

         “Mind if I join you?”

         His head whipped around to see a slightly older clouded leopard standing behind him in calm observation, wearing nothing save a bathrobe and sandals. She crossed her arms when he didn’t answer. “Well?”

         He shook himself into awareness. “Sorry. You startled me a bit. But, yeah, it’s okay.”

         “Good.”

         The elevator dinged right then. They got inside, and the usual etiquette took over. On reaching the seventh floor, both take a step forward and immediately stop, looking at each other warily. Andrew sighed, gesturing with a wing, “After you.”

         “Thank you,” she said, brushing past him with thinned yellow eyes.

         The arrows directing the room numbers show that 703 is to his right, precisely the way the clouded leopard is going. How convenient. He rolls his eyes, quickly following after. It doesn’t take him long to catch up. Not surprising, considering it’s less than fifteen feet from the elevator.

         Oh wonderful.

         The very room he’s looking for just happens to belong to the feline, and there’s no doubt she’s Rachel. Stephen is so going to owe him for this.

         “Are you,” he asked, tentatively, to be positive of his assumption, “Rachel?”

         She turns around, one paw already on the door handle. “Yes…” she says slowly. He could almost see the clouds of suspicion forming in her mind.

         “I’m Andrew Blair. I’m here to chauffeur you," he said without thinking, and mentally groaned. That's right, Andy. Stick to the classics.

         Shut up, Stephen. He’s lost count over the years the collie had made him watch that stupid sci-fi franchise.

         As an icebreaker, though, it turned out working perfectly: Rachel doubled over in mirth.

         Andrew didn’t realize it at the time, but at hearing her laugh, the first genuine smile in years spread across his features.



---



         After she gets out of the shower, Rachel starts packing folding her clothes with an efficiency Andrew’s seldom seen, even at his own house, before his mom...no, no. He wasn’t going to think about that now.

         He decides to initiate a conversation to take his mind off the subject. “Have you been here long?”

         “Not very long. I was going to visit Steve after the wedding, but he insisted I come here instead. I’m still not sure why, if he wasn’t planning on being here himself.”

         He snorted. “Might as well ask how many fish live in water than ask him to come clean with one of his pranks. If this is a prank.”

         “Too true. So, what’s the on the agenda?” she asked, looking up at him.

         “Head to Sartell. Spend the night, then head out tomorrow morning. I promised a few friends of mine I’d meet with them for breakfast, if you don’t mind coming along.” She nods jerkily, but says nothing, looking unsure for the first time that night. The nod’s more of an inkling than the look on her face, but Andrew figures it out. “It’s okay. My sister’s away in Berkeley, so you’ll be staying in her room.”

         She laughed weakly, latching the suitcase. “Ugh, I have no idea why I’m nervous. Still not that used to civilian life, I suppose.”

         That made him curious. “Civilian?”

         “Steve didn’t tell you? I’m in the marine corps.”

         “Ah. I’m afraid he didn’t tell me much of anything except your name.”

         “Why am I not surprised?” She shook her head. “We should get going.”

         “You’re that eager to leave?”

         “I’m not really appreciative of being a pawn in whatever scheme he’s cooked up.”

         “Amen. Let’s go.” He lifts his leg to open the door, allowing Rachel to pass, and then follows her out.



---



         To eliminate the remaining tension, Andrew tells a story as they head toward the garage.

         “...So, I’m getting ready to leave for home that summer when I finally see the car. It’s completely covered in Nutella butter. I had absolutely no idea where he’d gotten it and I didn’t care. All I saw was magma, way past red. So after yelling at Steve for nearly twenty minutes, he was pretty frightened. Especially since I threatened to carry him to the top of the Sears Tower. It didn’t lessen my anger any when he showed me the shrink wrap that covered the car. He took it off carefully, to avoid it touching the paint, and when he’d finished,” Andrew grinned, “I snatched it from his paws, threw it, and Voila! A chocolate coated collie!”

         They stopped walking when Rachel breaks down, laughing so hard that tears leaked from her eyes. She calmed herself enough to ask, “What happened next?”

         “Oh, that was pretty simple. Jesse, that was our other roommate, comes out on his way to a biology final, and stares. Stephen’s on the ground, attempting to lick the chocolate off his clothes and face. After witnessing that odd spectacle, Jesse said “Dios mio.” and left, shaking his head. I drove away, glad just to have had the last laugh. The only disadvantage to that was that I couldn’t eat chocolate for a month.”

         She laughs again as they reach the Camry. Andrew’s mesmerized, no matter how hard he fights it. He admits, though not aloud, that the leopard is lovely: clad in a white long sleeve, suede pants, a denim vest, a wool scarf around her neck, and an equally white beret beanie on her head. Her laugh is a sprinkle of chimes that have him frozen in place.

         After he opens the door for her and makes his way to driver’s side, the last puzzle piece falls into the pile. He freezes again, this time in realization.

         Son of a bitch.

         Two choices are apparent: to make Linda a widow before the first anniversary, or to thank Stephen profusely for his interference. The former prospect looks more attractive at this point.

         Rachel’s voice cuts through his thoughts as she pokes her head out the passenger side. “Andrew? I thought we were going. Is something wrong?”

         He plasters a grin on his face as the angry thoughts fade from his mind. “Nothing’s wrong. Something I remembered, that’s all. I’m ready.”

         Her expression shows she’s not convinced, but keeps silent. Andrew breathed a sigh of relief before reversing the car, and getting them back home.



_______



Chapter Three: The Clinch



         It’s times like these Andrew wishes he had teeth, because all he felt like doing now is gritting them. In lieu of that, he’d settle for clamping his beak shut. Rachel had fallen asleep just after they drove through Brooklyn Center, and he trusted it would be the typical catnap. Whoever coined that idiom had either lied, or they’d never met a cat who snored.

         Even more ironic was the fact that whatever he did to try and wake her up ultimately failed. She kept sleeping soundly as he honked the horn, slammed the brakes (on the shoulder, of course) and, as a last resort, turned the volume on the radio full blast.

         He’s never felt so thankful for the hour and twenty minute drive. But at the same time, he felt exhausted. The multitude of emotions he’d dealt with in the past few hours alone had him about as wrung out as a dish rag.

         VWOMP.

         Strike another tally to that list.

         He got out of the car to inspect the damage. He closed his eyes upon realizing what was wrong. “Fuck.” The right rear tire had been punctured. He wasn’t going to waste time trying to figure out the cause. Best thing would be to get out the jack and replace the tube right away, which he did. In retrospect, this was a bit difficult. Because of the length of his bill, he had to turn his head sideways just to be sure the jack was in the right position to lift the rear of the car.

         The sandbag provided him with some extra security in performing the task. He then took the tire off slowly but carefully that he wouldn’t jostle the car and disturb his passenger, holding the flashlight in his mouth as he did so. Out alone in the middle of a darkened highway, Andrew could think of the assumptions Rachel would probably make if she woke up, none of them being particularly wholesome, but none of which he’d ever attempt.

         He almost doesn’t hear, engrossed in the task of setting the replacement, but Rachel spoke then, a sluggishness enveloping her voice, “Andrew? Andrew? Where did you go?”

         “Over here,” he called, tightening the last bolt with his wing, bent at the elbow to provide a better grip. He panted a little to expel some of the heat buildup, and the cold feel of the asphalt to his talons relieved the rest. The entire process of restoring the wheel, even in winter, had him feeling as though he were in the Amazon. He walked to the passenger side window. “What’s the problem?”

         “Nothing. I was just wondering where you’d gone,” Rachel said. Her yellow eyes looked him up and down. Andrew couldn’t help feeling self-conscious by that stare, and was very grateful his feathers hid his flushed face. Oh, he had it bad all right. Damn it. He was definitely going to kill Stephen now. “Wow, you’re a mess.”

         Making a denial of that would seem pretty moot. The grease left from the tire residue blackened his upper wings, and his coat had been ripped at some point when he placed the jack under the car. Also, as he crawled out from the rear, a few drops of oil fell onto his beak. He wasn’t about to surmise how he must look, but it appeared likely he wouldn’t be going to any award ceremonies soon.

         Noting this, he asked, “You wouldn’t mind driving for a while, right?”

         “Seriously?”

         “Yeah. Look, we haven’t got that long to go. Right now,” he looked around the dim lit area, recognizing the bright red sign of the gas station in the distance, “we’re in Clearwater, so we should be at my parent’s place in thirty minutes, at the most. Plus, my wings are still a little slick from the oil, and I think if I tried driving in my state we’d probably fall in a ditch, or something.” He shook his wings a little bit, letting loose the gravel that had made its home there.

         “But I saw you use your foot to steer.”

         “Yes, but that’s only to steer. I have to put my wings on the sides of the wheel to balance it out.”

         Her muzzle twisted into a grimace. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was that hard for a bird to drive a car.”

         “It’s okay.” He chuckled. “And trust me, it is a hard thing to try. Though, to be fair, most birds that come in my height are proving the exception to the rule. The rest of them are just fine with flying.”

         She’s silent, weighing the decision before speaking, “All right, I’ll do it until we get there. Just…try not to…vomit. I tend to be a little fast.”

         Her words don’t inspire much confidence in him, but he said nothing out loud. He opened the door for her to get out. She stared at him with unblinking eyes before doing so, and he struggled, unsuccessfully, to fight down another blush. The moment they’re settled in their seats, he looked at her warily, careful to keep from hitting her with his bill. She looked back and smiled at him. “It’ll be fine,” she said. “Hold on to something.”

         He quickly gripped what Stephen had charmingly dubbed the ‘Oh, shit!’ handle. To his surprise, however, the car rolled out smoothly. At least he’d had the tire fixed. There was very little traffic on the road and within minutes, she turned to him again. “Wanna check what’s on the radio?”

         “Sure.”

         He regretted saying it immediately, eyes wide and beak gaping as the familiar beat of a drum machine and piano make their way to his ears, shortly accompanied by a crooning Welsh voice. No. No no no no no.

         “Please forgive me if I act a little strange

         For I know not what I do

         Feels like lightning running through my veins

         Every time I look at you

         Every time I look at you.”

         It’s taking all of his strength not to start banging his head on the dashboard.

         “Hmm,” Rachel contemplated, eyes flicking between him and the highway in front. Her face looked openly thoughtful and, dare he say it, amused. “Interesting choice. Do you listen to this station a lot?”

         Aargh.

         He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He’s embarrassed enough.

         Stephen was a dead, dead dog.



—-



         The house was unusually lit up when they arrived.

         Several silhouettes were quick to dislodge themselves from the ambience. Andrew could see one of them was his father. The other two were without a doubt Chuck and Sophie, laughing from something his father had said. They had most likely finished up a dinner that he couldn’t attend on account of meeting a girl. ‘Oh, hell,’ he thought as the three turned to the driveway. He wasn’t ready to hear the jibes the three could produce as a result. “This is gonna suck.”

         “It can’t be that bad,” Rachel said beside him. “Are the other two part of your family?”

         “No,” he said, smiling nostalgically, “but I’ve been friends with them since middle school. They’re the only married couple from my class that stayed here in Sartell. Chuck, that’s the panda, works for us as our latest live-in nurse. Sophie has a job as a personal trainer at Snap.”

         “Live-in nurse?”

         The smile vanished. “It’s for my mom,” he explained. “She was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s three years ago. It’s part of the reason I’m still in school. I took off a couple semesters once I’d heard, and it hasn’t been an easy road. The thought that the woman who raised me can no longer remember my name, it…” Andrew stopped as his voice threatened to break.

         He felt startled when something grabbed his wing. “Hey,” Rachel said, her voice soothing enough to make him turn her way. Glancing at their joined limbs, he goggled slightly before turning his attention to Rachel again. She smiled sadly. “I know how you feel. I had this friend, back in elementary school, whom I knew practically from cubhood. Kevin was incredible. He had a deep fascination with machines, and could fix just about anything he set his mind to…” she looked out the driver’s window, “except for himself. When we turned thirteen he contracted leukemia. He died five months later, and every science fair award the fox had won, every accomplishment he had made passed into a random statistic.” She sighed, looking back toward Andrew. “If he’d lived, I’d have felt ready to call him my first boyfriend. Kevin was part of the reason I became a marine. I know that may not make much sense to you, but I set myself on being an engineer in the corps. It was the only way I could think of honoring him.”

         Andrew stared at her. When he realized Rachel stopped talking, he asked, “Why are you telling me this?”

         “Because I can see, even if I’ve only known you a few hours, that you’re stretching a pretty thin line. It’s been evident to me since we met in the elevator. After Kevin died I was cold to pretty much everyone around me. Never had a boyfriend in my life. I wouldn’t allow it. It took this runt of a border collie to break me out of my shell, making me follow him in his pranks, and I’ll always be thankful for that. Then I went to Annapolis, and besides the occasional liaison,” Here, Andrew blushed again. He really wished he could stop doing that, “I never let anyone get close. You probably think it’s foolish, but it’s a mask. It’s despair. I wore it for so many years that it became a part of me, and I can see it happening to you. Don’t let it, Andrew.” She gripped his wing a little tighter as she said it, “I can make it an order, if you prefer.”

         Andrew blinked.

         “DO YOU UNDERSTAND, MARINE?” she shouted.

         He squawked. “Y-yes, m-m-ma’am,” he stuttered, delivering a shaky smile.

         She chuckled. “Good.” Then she hugged him.

         It was completely unexpected. There were many things he wanted to say: It was too soon. They didn’t know each other. They had only met a few hours ago. Oh, but it felt so nice. His arguments were quickly lost in the warmth she provided.

         He could die happy right now.

         Reality, however, still stuck its neck out. “Wow, we’ve been in this car way too long. Come on,” she said, tugging his still connected limb. “Let me meet your friends.”

         “All right.”

         The introductions were made, the jokes told and, finally, the see you tomorrow’s. Andrew didn’t miss the speculative glances made between the panda and the tiger, knowing they were about him, but neither did he care.

         He didn’t take his eyes off of her the rest of the night.



—



         Andrew couldn’t sleep.

         He lay crouched against the wall of his bedroom, his mind replaying all that happened in the past three days, before finally settling on a crucial point. When Rachel embraced him earlier that night, he felt something new affect his senses. Sure, he’d been hugged by women in the past, but this was like…like…

         He didn’t really know how to describe it. His crush on Carly, short-lived as it was, served a poor comparison.

         The viper was kind, compassionate, and loyal to her friends. Out of respect for Sophie, she stood aside as the tiger and the panda consummated their engagement the year following high school. And Sophie told Andrew nothing about Carly after the wedding, mainly upon his own request. He hadn’t seen her since then, and felt it should continue that way. The ghost of a crush was not one he wanted lingering around.

         All he knew was that he couldn’t keep to his room with nothing but stray thoughts for company. He opened the door slowly, holding his grip on the handle to stop from disturbing the other occupants, then made his way quietly downstairs. The television showed its steady stream of late night informercials, and there, in the corner, were his parents, resting side by side on the three-seated sofa. While she was asleep there would be no cause for worry. He smiled, proud that his father learned to cope with his mother’s disability.

         There’s no snow on the ground, but the air’s still cold enough to see his breath. It comes as something of a relief when compared to the embarrassment he felt earlier. The cherry wood porch held a special meaning for him: whenever he sought an escape from the high school dramatics, he came here, stretching out on one of the beach chairs his father acquired from the local YMCA. Tonight served as just one of the more fantastic incidents. He really had too much to think through.

         “Hey, there, stud,” a sultry voice whispered in his ear.

         Needless to say, he wasn’t expecting it.

         A sound of something remote lulls his movement, and he looks at her, wings beating the air in a fitful panic. Rachel’s looking up at him from the railing, covering her mouth. It’s clear by the sheen of the streetlight that she’s laughing.

         “God, you scared me,” Andrew says once he lands on the lawn. He’s hiding his irritation a little better now. “I didn’t think anyone else was awake.”

         “I’ve always been a light sleeper.”

         The memory of the drive to Sartell pushes its way forward. “Never would’ve guessed,” he said in a sardonic tone.

         Surprisingly, she doesn’t take offense, shrugging. “It’s usually when I’m in my own bed. Or something similar. Quite a contradiction, huh? I’m usually confined to a cot abroad. Kind of par for the course when you’re a marine. Most of my last tour was spent in the Med Sea organizing maintenance drills on the Harry S. Truman. Barely got any sleep and what little coffee we had on board tasted like expired cough syrup.”

         He’s a bit flummoxed by that last sentence. It made the late night cramming sessions he’d had in college seem somewhat paltry, when stimulus for him came in the form of energy drinks and caffeine pills. He’s not sure what he can say without appearing like he’s bragging.

         Then again, he wonders, why she came up with that random tangent. She was a complete mystery to him. He couldn’t wait to figure out what else she had to say.

         “So…are you…seeing anyone?”

         Except that.



_______