Redemption Songs
"There. Down there, see?" A paw pointing out the window. "Way down there ... " They were in a low, low orbit, and descending by the second. The outside temperature of the hull heating up. But they were all protected by the shuttle-pod's metals and shielding.
"No ... look, just tap in the coordinates for me ... "
"I am. Right here," Arabella said, her paws now dancing on the console. Beep-bop-bop, went the friendly chirrup of the computer. "Look, darling, you're the pilot ... "
"Yeah, I am," the flying squirrel responded, "but if I'm gonna fly somewhere, someone's gotta tell me WHERE we're going."
"We're going," the kangaroo rat stressed, her mouse tail with the furred, tufted tip waver-wavering, "right here." Another tap.
"But I thought that was in the water!"
"No, it's land ... it's land," she assured. "I checked."
"Are you sure? Maybe it's ... "
" ... land. Okay? I think I can tell ... "
A sigh, stretching his arms forward on the controls, the membranes of his fleshy, furred wings hanging in folds. "Alright ... " Wilco's whiskers twitched. "You can sit down," he told Arabella, voice softening, gaze darting upward. "You don't have to stand behind me, and ... and breath down my neck ... "
She, softening, too, whispered closely to his ear, "I thought you liked it when I breathed down your neck ... " And her voice got softer. And she whispered something to him that the others couldn't hear.
The others being the two snow rabbit femmes, Aria and Arianna, and the male Arctic fox, Ural. They were sitting in the cushioned seats lining the pod's walls. Behind the helm. And, with five furs in here, it was a tad bit claustrophobic. Not to the two rodents in the front, though. They didn't notice the lack of space.
The others, however, did, and began to make 'small-talk' to dispel their unease.
"Do they always do this?" was Ural's question. Looking across the shuttle-pod, to Aria. Who was sitting, very quietly, against the opposite wall. "Bicker?" He gestured at Arabella and Wilco.
"Not always," was her whispered response.
The Arctic fox squinted. "It's because of me," he realized. "I am ... heightening their adrenaline. They are on edge."
Aria tilted her head a bit. Giving no verbal response, but indicating, with a light nod, the veracity of his deduction.
"We're not bickering," Arabella insisted, easily eavesdropping.
"Yeah," Wilco concurred.
A slight tremor, and the pod bucked a bit. A bit of turbulence.
"I suggest," Arianna told him, swallowing, closing her eyes, speaking with a controlled coolness, "that you watch where we are going." Her slender ears waggled.
Wilco flushed, only nodding.
And Ural continued talking to Aria. Saying, "I believe this planet will be sufficient for my species to colonize."
She met his eyes. "I hope so," was all she said.
The Arctic fox squinted. "Moving all of us ... from your moon to here, and setting up buildings, houses, structures ... it will take many months of work, I think."
"I do not doubt it."
"We shall need your ... assistance." There was a reluctance in his voice. He did not like having to admit that. Not at all.
Aria swallowed, and nodded lightly. "We will provide it," was all she said.
"You do not like me," Ural said, very plainly.
Aria, unblinking, whispered, "It is not you, fox, that I do not like. It is what your species did to me. It is hard," she admitted, "to separate you ... from them. And their actions," she continued, "from yours. For you are one of them."
"Granted," he whispered back. "But I think it has been safely established that, despite the holy whiteness of your fur, snow rabbits are not saints. You may be prey, but you have capacities," the fox whispered, showing his teeth, "for things that ... " A shake of the head, not elaborating.
"We are not saints," was all she said, in barely audible agreement.
"So ... "
"So," she echoed. Her black nose gave a sniff.
"I do think," he repeated, "this world will be suitable for us. And we will only be six days from you ... near enough to work closely together." A swallow. "If I had my way, however, I would ... not be here. I would not be doing this. But ... my survival instinct is as great as your own. We have become dependent on your species," he whispered, "for our own survival."
"We need each other," Aria supplied for him.
"We do," Ural whispered, gritting his teeth, nodding, nodding quietly. And he let out a breath. "When we had to turn to you ... when our sun was destroyed," he said, "it was painful. And, if I am to be honest with myself, I would have to admit ... " He swallowed. "That, if it had been YOUR species ... with the dying sun, and if it had been your species on the verge of extinction ... I do not think I would've saved you," he said, seriously, "as you saved us."
Aria took a slow breath through her nose. Her whiskers gave a singular twitch.
"Maybe you are not saints, but ... you are more qualified for the description," Ural admitted, "than we are." His brushy tail brushed the hull.
"We saved you because it was the right thing to do. Personal feelings ... at that moment," Aria confessed, "weren't the driving force of our decision. Your government asked for help, and we supplied it." A pause. "And, as I had hoped ... relations between our two species have improved greatly because of it."
"Improved," Ural agreed, "but the tension remains."
"It will always remain," Aria said logically. "There is no," she whispered, "changing that. The question becomes: do we define ourselves by the tension itself ... or by the lessons bred from it?"
"Lessons," the fox said, just to say the word. "That is too easy ... a phrase. Lessons are academic. They are in structured settings. The things we have learned have not been lessons, Captain. No ... "
Her slender ears waggled, listening, waiting.
"They were not lessons," Ural whispered, his voice raw. "They were trials by fire."
She didn't argue with that. She drew a breath, and then let it out, her eyes darting. And then her eyes went, more directly, to him. She held his gaze. As hard as that was for her. As much as she wanted to look away. And she said, genuinely, "I am sorry for your losses." She swallowed.
"As I am ... for yours," was his surprisingly-civil counter. "We are ... we owe you our lives."
"We did not save your species," she told him again, "to have you in our debt. We did it because it was ... "
" ... the Christian thing to do," he finished for her. "Yes, I know, but ... as a predator, I cannot fully buy that. Part of me, inside, keeps thinking that you must've enjoyed it. Having us at your mercy. Not only beating us in the war, but being the source of our survival, as well ... we were preyed upon by the wasps, and then we were rescued by prey. It was humiliating. It was ... you do not know how that tormented us. How it torments us still," he confessed. "I do not know if we can, collectively, ever get over that. Not in this generation, anyway."
Aria's nose sniffed. She swallowed.
"But we have had time to digest it, all the same. Even if we are not done digesting it, we will have to live with it. And this planet," he said, looking out the window, at all the white, all the ice, all the snow. The grey expanse of the sky. And distant mountains, too, framed on the horizon. "This planet will allow us to stop licking our wounds. And to live again." A deep inhale. "It does look very much like home ... "
Aria was quiet for a moment. Then, "To forward moving," she said, nodding her head forward, in acknowledgment.
"Forward moving," he whispered, nodding politely back at her. "And, though we may never understand each other ... may we continue to have a relationship. For we do need," he stressed, "one another. I can admit that, now, without blinding shame. For I know it to be a natural truth."
"The snow rabbit High Command ... wishes to work with your species," Aria simply said. "We are allies, now, yes. You have our assurance on that."
"Allies," he whispered. "That word is funny on my tongue."
"I know the sensation," she responded.
And, Arianna, who'd been mostly quiet while her Captain conversed with the fox, injected, in an attempt at geniality, "Are you enjoying your stay on Arctic?"
The Arctic fox looked to the other snow rabbit. Squinted a bit. And made throaty sound, nodding. "Mm ... yes, she is a fine ship. Sleek, efficient. Smaller than I am comfortable with, but ... I suppose that is to be expected. You prey aren't into bulky vessels, are you?"
"Not entirely," Arianna admitted, noticing that Ural was deliberately avoiding talking about Arctic's crew. About the prey that staffed her. Instead, he stuck to talking about the ship, itself.
"You ship should be equipped with more weapons."
Arianna tilted her head, allowing the fox to control the conversation. Besides, did she really want to hear his honest opinions of her crew-mates? She doubted they would be entirely positive. "She is admirably armored ... for a ship her size."
"Predator ships are all built to serve as warships FIRST. Other functions come second," Ural explained. "You cannot serve aboard a predatory ship and not feel safe."
"I would think having a ship heavily weaponed ... would make it less maneuverable."
"You are correct," he continued, "but predatory vessels would never run from a fight. A prey ship? You would flee ... you would fight if cornered, if forced to, but your main objective would be to get away. With us, it is different," he assured. And an eye-smile, and an admitted, "Our instincts guide even our creations. Our art and our architecture, even. It is astounding that I am even sitting here talking with you ... I would not have thought it possible."
Arianna tilted her head, giving an eye-smile back, and saying, "As my husband would quote, were he present, 'With furs it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God'."
"I am not familiar with that quote ... "
"It is from Scripture," Arianna supplied.
"I will have to take your word for it," Ural said, eyes going a bit blank, a bit empty. And then blinking back into focus. "But it has a ring of truth about it, I will admit ... "
A 'beep-bop-bop' from up front.
Wilco let out a breath, calling back, "We're gonna land ... another few seconds," he said, and he squinted out the windows, and then looked down at the coordinates supplied on the screen. "You're sure these are right?" he asked Arabella.
"Yeah, I mean ... you're synchronizing your flight with the computer, right?"
"I've been flying manually ... "
"I know. But you've turned on the guidance system, right?"
"Uh ... I've been flying manually," was all Wilco said, as the pod settled down. There was a soft, soft shudder, and the hum and thrum of the engines started to die down. But not soon enough. Not soon enough to stop the heat coming from the back of the pod, coming out of the engines, from melting the ice on which they'd landed.
A slow, groaning 'creak' ...
And they all paused. Arabella's dishy, pink ears swivelled. "What was that?" she asked, confused.
'Creak ... crick-crick-crick,' went the sound, coming from outside.
Aria swallowed, freezing in place. She was a snow rabbit, intimately familiar with that sound. And, from the looks of it, so were Arianna and Ural. "That is," Aria breathed, "the sound of ice breaking."
"But we're on solid land, right? I mean, there's ... there's soil and stuff under this ice, right?" Wilco asked. "Arabella ... you said this wasn't where the water was!"
"It shouldn't be! You should've used the guidance controls ... you don't fly on TOTAL manual ... "
"I'm a FLYING squirrel. We're the best pilots in the galaxy ... I don't need computers to ... "
'Crick-crick-crick ... creak! CREAK!'
It was Arianna who said, quite urgently, "Lift us up!"
Wilco's paws frantically flew, but ...
... CRACK!
Everyone tensed.
Ker-PLASH! 'Blub, blub, blub ... '
"Uh," Arabella said, swallowing, eyes wide with concern. "There's, uh ... water outside the window." The pod had broken through the ice, and was now in the frigid, blue water.
"Oops," whispered Wilco, swallowing, whiskers twitching.
Aria sighed, blowing out a breath, and stood, going to the front of the pod. "Can you use the engines in water?"
"I ... I don't know," the flying squirrel stammered.
"This is my fault," Arabella said.
"No, it's mine," Wilco said, fighting his wife for blame. "I should've listened to you."
"I should've been more clear ... "
"I should've ... "
" ... stopped working. The right-side engine," Aria said, "has stopped working. We only have one engine. We can stay afloat," she said, "with that. But we can't break free of the water."
"We will have to have Arctic send down a second pod," Arianna figured. "They will have to tractor us out."
"This is so humiliating," Wilco whispered, sinking into his chair.
"You don't think," Arabella whispered, "there are any ... any sea lions or killer whales here, do you?"
"If there were," Aria assured, "they could not reach us through the hull of the pod."
"No, but they could drag us down to the bottom ... and keep us there, until we all ... and, then, they'd find sharp rocks and break the pod open and ... "
"That is enough," Aria said, with more force than intended. But enough force to quiet everyone. "We will be fine," she assured. "Send a message to Arctic. Tell them of the situation. And ask for their expediency."
The two rodents nodded.
"Now, I suggest, in the meantime, we all sit still and conserve our energy ... in case the life support system malfunctions." Aria returned to her seat, but the seat was a bit slanted. The one engine of the pod keeping them up near the surface of the ice hole, but they weren't perfectly horizontal.
Ural, eye-smiling, showed his teeth, and said, "I do not know why, being that I am in the same predicament as the rest of you ... but I am finding this most entertaining. Please," he said, gesturing with a paw, "continue, all of you."
Aria flashed him a somewhat-bemused look. But said nothing.
"He leaves no wounds?"
Bic shook her head. "No ... no wounds. It's a clean bite. Um ... well," she said, explaining it to the Arctic fox, "a proper bite is bloodless, and it leaves no mark. Now, if I started flailing about when he bit me, it might get messy."
"So, he subdues you? And then bites you?"
"I wouldn't say he 'subdues' me ... uh ... " A melting smile. "Uh, I'm pretty receptive. When those fangs graze my neck, I go still for him ... "
" ... because he is telepathically subduing you."
A shake of the head. "No, it's ... I WANT it. He doesn't have to subdue me."
"I would assume, during the process, he is exerting a telepathic influence on you. Is that not what bats do? Whether or not you are conscious of the effect ... I would think, for prey, having sharp teeth piercing one's neck," Volga declared, "would be an unpleasant prospect. It seems amazing to me that you would LET yourself be bitten by anyone's teeth without feeling an instinctual fear. He must be subduing those instincts in you."
"Well ... okay, I guess that makes sense. I do feel very relaxed before he bites me. But I never get the sense that it's because he's consciously, strategically manipulating me. It's just instinctive ... I feel calm when he bites. He projects calm. And I feel calm. Look, you're just making it sound like it's some kind of ... like, he's not manipulating me, is what I'm saying."
"No. But I do believe his unique physiology plays off your own physiology ... in ways that you are not aware of at the time."
"Well, it's ... it's sex. It's love. I don't try to dissect it," the chipmunk claimed. "I mean, I may be a science officer, but I don't wanna make a science out of ... out of THAT. You know, science ruins as many things as it helps ... "
"I had not thought of that."A head-tilt. "Nonetheless, this is fascinating," the Arctic fox assured. "He leaves NO wounds?" she asked again.
A small smile. "No wounds," Bic repeated, for what felt like the third or fourth time.
"May I check?"
"Uh ... okay," was the response. They were, the two of them, in the science lab. They had been doing their typical scans and, had, for the moment, become distracted. There was only so long you could stare at a computer screen until your eyes started drying out and hurting. Sometimes, you just needed to look away and take a break.
Volga padded the step or two to the chipmunk, and her paws went to Bic's neck.
Bic drew in a sharp, tense breath. Almost jerking away. The feeling of sharp, un-filed claws parting her fur. Her whiskers started to quiver.
Volga noticed. And immediately pulled her paws away. "I am sorry," she said. She hadn't meant to scare her new friend. She hadn't meant to inspire fear.
"No, no," the chipmunk stammered, "it's okay ... I ... just, uh ... "
"I will be careful," Volga whispered, in a cool, controlled tone.
Bic took a deep breath.
And the Arctic fox felt along the chipmunk's neck, parting the multi-hued patches of brown fur, squinting. Looking for marks beneath the fur. "I see no," she whispered, "marks ... hmm ... " And she withdrew her paws.
And Bic exhaled, relaxing a tiny bit. Her heart racing. "Uh ... uh, well, I told you," she said, clearing her throat, "there weren't any."
"I simply would've imagined there would've been." The Arctic fox padded the few paces back to her seat, and then sat down, sighing. Her bushy, brushy tail swished about. And then stopped. "So, it is good, then?"
"Good?"
"The sex."
A heated flush, hot beneath the fur. A shy, little nod. "Mm-hmm."
"You are lucky." An eye-smile.
Which eased the chipmunk. And she smiled back. "Um ... well, I think of it as 'blessed,' not ... not lucky," she said, swallowing, and sitting up straighter in her chair. "It IS an experience," she assured. "I mean, it's a total union, you know? Body, mind, soul. You get each other's memories, direct thoughts ... you can FEEL what he's feeling, and he can feel through your own perspective, and it's ... it's like being melted together, flowing in and around each other like a liquid, and then, when it's over, you become solid again. And it's ... the strangest thing," she said.
"Each species of fur has their own 'sexual advantage'," Volga stated. "Your husband's advantage is a good one."
"Yeah." A whisker-twitch. "I don't know that us chipmunks have an 'advantage,' necessarily, though. Bats do, sure, but ... I never thought I had an advantage. I mean, rabbits, they're all virile, and mouses are so disarming and cute, and ... skunks have their pheromones, and squirrels have their agility, and so on, but ... chipmunks? We're like the in-between species. We don't really got anything."
"I am sure you do."
"Like what?"
"I do not know. I am not a chipmunk. However, I am certain you do." A pause. "I have never met a chipmunk, to be honest, before meeting you, but ... you seem amiable. You represent your species positively."
A shy whisker-twitch.
"For my species, it is the 'knot.' Our males have knots."
"Oh ... for your, uh, 'advantage,' you mean?"
"Yes."
"Yeah. Well, I've, uh, never ... been knotted. I don't think I could handle it. I, uh ... I never dated any predators, anyway. I never wanted to," she whispered, being honest.
If the last statement upset Volga, she didn't show it. She just continued on the topic. "It is uncomfortable," she said, "at first. But you soon grow to crave the pressure ... it enhances the pleasure."
"Okay," was all Bic said, not knowing what else to say about that. For furs that didn't have much in common, 'breeding' was always a safe, universal topic. A somewhat-awkward topic, sometimes, maybe, but all furs had a great drive to breed. It was a common interest.
"We can change the subject," Volga said, noticing the distant look in the chipmunk's eyes, "if you wish."
"Mm?" A blink. "Oh, no ... no," she assured. "It's okay. I'm not uncomfortable talking about it."
"But?"
"But I just ... I'm used to talking about it with my friends. They're all prey. And ... you're not," she said. "I, uh ... my breeding habits are, uh ... well, my faith influences them. And your breeding habits are a bit ... "
" ... loose? Casual?"
A slight nod.
"The same can be said of the snow rabbits."
"Not all of them," Bic defended.
"Yes. Your friends. I have noticed that," Volga acknowledged, tilting her head, squinting. "The snow rabbits on this ship are ... a bit different. Your Captain has rubbed off on them."
"Well, I think snow rabbit society, as a whole is ... is changing," Bic said. "I've seen it, so ... I don't know. I just ... " A sigh. "Well, I guess what I'm trying to say ... I'm not uncomfortable talking about breeding. I mean, I'm a fur. But ... I just CAN'T disassociate sex from romantic love. I mean, I can't," she said, letting out a breath. "And you can, and so, when I talk about breeding with you ... it's like we're not even talking about the same thing," she reasoned.
The Arctic fox's angular ears cocked, swiveling slightly.
"Romantic love without ... any physical desire, without sex, is ... not a FULL romance, I don't think. And sex without love? What's the point? Where's the meaning in that? How can pleasure be lasting," she asked, "if it has no meaning?"
Volga let out a breath, sitting up a bit straighter. "I cannot answer that question."
Bic's whiskers twitched. "I'm sorry if I ... "
" ... I cannot answer it," the fox interrupted, "because I do not care."
The chipmunk blinked.
"I do care about the meaning of the act. I do not seek ... permanence. I just want the pleasure. It feels good. I want it. My body ... demands I have it, and ... if I were to give it any more meaning than that," Volga said, her voice going to a whisper, "I would be making myself vulnerable. I would be putting myself at a disadvantage."
"How?" Bic whispered, just not understanding. "I don't ... I mean, how?"
"We are not going to see eye-to-eye on this," was all Volga said.
"I know. I know, but ... "
" ... so, maybe we should be content, and settle on being less than enemies. With being tentative friends. Let us not pretend we are ever going to truly, fully understand one another."
"We can try," was the chipmunk's response, almost surprised that she was saying this. Try? Try to be friends with a predator?
"True. We can. But the energy spent in reaching dead ends ... " A shake of the head.
Bic sighed. "Um ... well, what are we gonna talk about, now?
"I had no problem discussing breeding."
"I know. I just ... "
Chirrup! Chirrup!
Bic cleared her throat. And answered the comm. "Bic here."
"Yeah, it's Jinx. Uh ... there was a little accident with the shuttle-pod. They're kind of floating in the water. They can't get out cause only one engine is working. So, we need to send another pod down there and tractor them to solid land. I'm sending Alabaster and Olivia to repair their engine, and I want Volga to go, too. She might as well survey the planet with her own eyes ... we need her opinion. Ural's given his green-light for colonization, but ... "
" ... I will report to the shuttle-bay," Volga declared.
"Okay," was Jinx's response. And an audible sigh. "Bic, you can take a break, or ... take lunch, or something."
"I will. Thank you ... "
The channel was cut.
"I'll take my leave of you," Volga said, standing, and going to the door.
"Volga ... "
A pause. Her head turning.
"See you later?"
A slight eye-smile. "Yes," was all the vixen said, as the doors swished open, and as she strolled out.
And Bic chittered to herself, blowing out a breath. Break-time, break-time. "Barrow," she whispered aloud, and she smiled, warmly. She was going to spend her break in sickbay.
The stars were stationary outside the window. The empty ice planet looming large.
"May I hold him?"
Ross, whiskers twitching, looked over. His mind had been wandering. He'd heard about the accident with the shuttle-pod. Jinx had told him. Had insisted it was only minor. They were safe. They were just 'stuck in the water.' Ross, upon hearing that, hadn't reacted well, but Jinx kept insisting it was okay. And being that Ollie's wife was also in the pod, the two male mouses were twitching together in the mess hall, waiting. Praying. Sitting.
"May I?" Sheridan asked again, his white, slender ears standing tall and proud.
The meadow mouse smiled, looking from baby Sterling (in his portable basket) to Sheridan, Ollie's new, adopted boy. "Well ... you gotta be careful. Be real gentle."
"I will," Sheridan breathed, eyed wide, looking to baby Sterling.
"Here," Ross whispered, gently scooping his son out of the basket. The mouse-rabbit's silver-grey fur so soft. And his little limbs and little paws moving about lightly as he was being lifted, his eyes wide, as if asking 'what is going on,' and his mouse ears swiveling at all the sounds he was hearing. And his bobtail unmoving, and his whiskers twitching. "Here," Ross said again, barely audible, as he placed the baby into Sheridan's arms.
The little snow rabbit held his breath. As if he were holding a piece of glass. Sitting in his chair at the table here, looking down at the baby, peering. Sheridan tilted his head. "His whiskers twitch a lot."
"He gets that from me," Ross said, smiling softly.
"Oh. He's all warm and wriggly." A pause. "Is this all he does?"
A giggle-squeak. "Well, uh ... he can't walk or talk yet, if that's what you mean. We're all very helpless when we're born ... " He trailed. It was a wonder, sometimes, that everyone grew up at all. Being so fragile when entering the world. So dependent. But, then, aren't we dependents all our life, he thought to himself? Dependent on God, on family, on each other ...
Ollie, who'd been quiet until now, took a breath and smiled over at Sheridan. "I think he likes you ... he's watching you."
"He is," Sheridan breathed, concurring.
A slight swish. The mess hall doors sliding open, and Ezri walking in. "Hey," she went, brightly. Her luxurious, brown tail swished and flagged behind her, spreading the scent of whatever shampoo she'd used this morning.
"Hey," Ollie responded, very quietly.
"Uh ... how's it going?" the squirrel asked, coming up to their table. And she went up behind Ross's chair, putting her paws on his shoulders. "You okay?" she asked.
Ross gave a twitch. And a nod.
"So," Ollie said, smiling weakly, "Jinx sent you down here to reassure us male mouses? To keep us from scrabbling up the walls in a tizzy?"
"No ... " A pause. "Yes?" she went. "Well ... well, I'm a rodent, you know. I know how it is."
"Your love isn't trapped under the water in a piece of metal ... with a fox," Ross whispered honestly. No sarcasm in his voice. Just worry.
"No," Ezri agreed. "But I know how the worry can be. Even if my worry is squirrel-worry and not mouse-worry, I still know ... I know enough," she said, grabbing a chair of her own, pulling it up to the table, "to know that you need some company." And she looked over to Sheridan. "Hey, cute baby."
"He's not mine," Sheridan insisted, with wide eyes.
A giggle-chitter! "Uh ... heh ... yeah, I know," Ezri said, smiling, winking at Sheridan.
"He's Ross's."
"I know," Ezri said again. "I was only teasing you ... "
"Oh," went the little snow rabbit.
"Oh, those two ... look at them. That's darling. You should take a picture, Ross."
"My camera's in my quarters," Ross said. "I can take a picture later ... "
"Alright," was all Ezri said, still smiling, still being cheerful. And saying, "Well, uh ... maybe we should play a game? Or have a snack?"
"I'm not hungry," said Ollie, in his airy, soft voice.
"Well, it might keep your mind off things, is all ... " The squirrel trailed. "We could say a prayer ... "
"We did," Ross said.
"You can never say too many," Ezri said. "Come on," she prodded. "Hold paws ... "
"If I hold paws," Sheridan said, "I shall drop Sterling."
"Well, you keep your paws securely on Sterling, and the rest of us will hold paws ... "
So, Sheridan nodded. And that's what he did. Listening as the grown-ups prayed, and then asking, when they were done, "If Sterling can't talk, how does he pray?"
"Well, we do his praying for him."
"Oh." A pause. "He's starting to squirm."
"Here," Ross said gently, reaching for his baby, and smiling as he was back in his arms. And he held him close, leaning back in his chair. "He must be hungry ... "
" ... or maybe he needs changed," Ezri said.
"No, I'd know," Ross said. "With my nose, I'd ... he doesn't need changed. No, he's hungry," Ross assured, making little squeaky sounds. "Aren't you?" he went. "Aren't you hungry?"
Sterling tried to grab at his father's whiskers.
Ross smiled widely. And then sighed. And then stole a glance out the window.
Sickbay was empty.
Except for the two of them, in the far, back corner, on a bio-bed. Their clothes scattered on the floor, and the lights dimmed. The doors had been locked, too, just in case anyone had decided to barge in. If they needed the doctor, they'd have to ring the chime. Or knock. Or something. The doctor was on his break ...
... for Bic had walked in, earlier, holding her tail in her paws. Her eyes watering.
He'd looked up in concern. "What's wrong? Darling?"
And she'd come to him and kissed him. Had taken his breath away.
And, now, half an hour later, Barrow pulled his hips back. Withdrawing from her body. And then, a second later, he pulled his fangs out of her neck. The whole of their simmering, spiritual act had been done. Was done. Oh, was lingering in their heads, leaving them in a hazy, dizzy afterglow. The kind of feeling that made everything shimmer nice and slow.
And the cuddling and snuggling remaining (by no means to be forgotten, the snuggling and cuddling). A few drops of milky-white fluid dripping from the sharp tips of his fangs, clinging to her neck-fur. And his tongue licking, incessantly, at his lips and teeth. As he panted, panted for breath.
Bic's eyes were closed. Her body lying beneath his, horizontally. But her muzzle melted into a smile, as she breathed inward through the nose. Her whiskers twitching very softly as she whispered, "That was wonderful ... " And her eyes opened. And she smiled wider. From so close a distance, hearing, feeling his breath.
Barrow leaned his muzzle in and gave her an immediate, audible kiss. Smack-smack. And then put his nose against her cheek, breathing of his wife. "You were ... very, very passionate," he whispered, almost shyly. "I mean, you always are, but ... more than usual," he whispered. "You came in and ... swept me off my foot-paws."
A giggle-chitter. "Me? Swept you off ... "
" ... my foot-paws. Mm-hmm."
"But you were sitting down," she reminded, "when I came in. More like," she told him, "I swept you off your tail. Your rump."
His turn to chitter. "Mm ... possibly," he agreed, whispering it. "Possibly. No, but you know what I mean ... I'm normally the initiator." He trailed. "What got into you?"
Their eyes met. And she took a slow breath. "I just wanted to show you how much ... it means to me," she whispered. "How much you," she added, "mean to me." She swallowed, and then sighed, panting very slightly, having mostly recovered. Her brushy tail trailing off the side of the bio-bed, hanging in the air. "I just wanted to matter." She went quiet for a moment. "And I never matter more ... than when I'm doing that with you. All the need and want. All the feelings. Sharing myself with you, and almost ... being a part of you, and ... I wanted to nip at romance itself, with my teeth, and grab it by my jaws, and wrestle with it, and ... " She trailed, swallowing, taking a breath. "I think everything got into me," was her simple, realized confession.
The periwinkle-furred bat nodded, nodding against her fur. Against her shoulder, now, and he gave a happy, toothy grin. "Well, I'm glad it did ... I've no objections ... "
A sigh and a smile, and a big, big hug. And she kissed him.
A chitter.
"I love it when you wrap those winged arms," she whispered, "around me. I feel like I'm in a blanket."
"A blanket made of me?" A grin. His nose, now, touching hers. His body still lying atop of hers.
She breathed, breathed, her breasts rising and falling beneath his chest. "Yes." Another breath. "A blanket of Barrow the bat. My husband. My love," she breathed, speaking in poetic measures.
"Mm ... my love," he echoed, breathing of her fur, "chitters. My love likes to chitter," he whispered, "when she makes love."
"You chitter, too ... "
"I guess we're both chitter-prone. But I like chitters ... and squeaks, and ... little, soft sounds you make. I like hearing them. It helps reinforce that you're feeling good. To hear your happiness, as well as feel it and smell it."
"Love," she whispered, "divine."
"Indeed," the bat went, kissing her again. A soft, succulent kiss.
And her nose flared. And her whiskers twitched.
Oh, love.
Divine.
Aria sighed as she exited the shuttle-pod, back in the shuttle-bay.
They'd been pulled out of the water by the other pod's tractor beam, and then towed to solid land (REAL solid land, this time; not simple ice). Where Alabaster and Olivia had repaired the shuttle-pod from the outside, while Arabella and Wilco had insisted (repeatedly) that those two MUST be cold. 'I don't care if they're snow rabbits ... they gotta be cold. They're not wearing hats or gloves! Just coats!' Arianna, the scent of the fox unnerving her, had finally quieted the rodents with, 'Perhaps you would like to go out there with them, and test how cold it really is? If not, I suggest you be quiet.' This had drawn, from Ural, a bark of amusement, which Arianna had ignored.
"Aria!"
But back in the present, back in the bay, Arianna left to go find Ollie. And Aria, mother, wife, captain, lover ... she lingered. And eye-smiled. "Ross. How did I know," she said quietly, her eyes darting over him, "that you would be here, waiting for me?"
"I guess I'm just that predictable," he said, beaming, as he came up to her and wrapped his arms around her. He made a little, squeaky sound from the throat, eyes closing.
"I am alright," she whispered back, very quietly. Feeling him quivering.
He just nodded. The other furs filtering out of the pods, chattering.
She felt the nod on her shoulder. And felt his whisker-twitching, too. And when he finally let up on his squeeze-hug, finally pulled his muzzle back, finally opened his eyes again, she asked, "Where is Sterling?"
"With Ezri. In the mess hall." A bright smile. "He missed you, too. We both did."
"I was only gone for a few hours."
"Yeah, but ... still," he said, smiling. The smile faltering as Ural, the Arctic fox, brushed by. He stopped, peering at the two of them, at the snow rabbit and the meadow mouse. And he just showed his teeth, in a predatory grin, and walked away. Leaving Ross to whisper, "W-what was that about ... "
"I do not know," Aria said. "It is just ... his way. There is no cause for worry." The Arctic foxes were, indeed, going to settle on this world. This would be their new home. Now, the mass movement of foxes from the snow rabbit's second moon to this world would begin. At a slower, more orderly pace than the original evacuation TO the moon, however. They had time on their paws, now. "Did Ezri mention anything new ... regarding the Furry Federation?"
"No. They're still ... strangely quiet," Ross whispered.
A nod. "Well," the snow rabbit said, taking a breath, and letting it out. "As the Captain here, I believe I am going to order myself," she whispered, "to take a break."
"Yeah?" His eyes smiled.
"Yes. Perhaps we can ask Ezri to watch the baby for a while longer ... "
"Yeah?" was the hopeful repeat.
"Yes," she whispered, nosing his cheek. "Our quarters?"
A nod, and he grabbed her paw, and they were already on their way. When love hit you, after all, you took the hit. You went with it. Oh, love stopped for no-fur, it was true! And that was well and good. For who, in their right mind, would ever wish for it to stop?