Scarred - Chapter 3

Epilogues: Scarred - Chapter 3

You're still grasping at straws, what little you can remember of your life flashing before your eyes. The one image that keeps bubbling to the surface is Jeremy Human, being crushed like a beer can by the hulking bear that stands silently before you demanding answers.

You gulp silently and take a deep breath, resolving to face your doom with some measure of dignity.

“I'm sorry, Freddy. I just wanted Chica to see it. I didn't do this lightly, and not without purpose. She needed to see what we all see, well, saw, in her.” you correct yourself, the mysterious bear before you giving you no feedback other than a silent, pensive stare. Your own thoughts are jumbled and scattered, the depth of your mistake a black hole you can't seem to dig out of.

“I'm so sorry, Freddy. I can't even begin to apologize enough for violating your trust. It was stupid, *I'm* stupid.” You emphasize that point firmly.

Freddy takes a deep breath, twin plumes of steam erupting from his nostrils a moment later. Wordlessly, and still fixing you in his gaze, he grasps the paper with his other hand touching the first, and he slowly separates the two, a horrid, almost anguished tearing sound heard loud in the quiet autumn night. Placing the two halves atop each other, he again rips them in two, then again, and again, and again. A pile of scraps no bigger than a postage stamp are now cupped in his paw, which he slowly extends over the railing before dumping them into the cold wind, where they scatter like inky leaves.

Your growing terror at his actions, and their implications, reduces your voice to a whispering squeak. “B-but...your sketch…” you manage to stammer before the bear is upon you, your chest enveloped in crushing arms more than capable to the task at hand. Even as your feet leave the ground, you can feel his breath, hot against your cheek and neck as his jaw begins to open, sharp, oh so sharp teeth within.

“It was no longer…” he begins, hot breath stirring the wispy fuzz on your ear.

“Relevant.” He at last concludes, having found the word he needed. “Thank you, Michael” he adds quietly, planting a warm, brief kiss on each of your cheeks before setting you back down.

The adrenaline now coursing through your bloodstream having no outlet, you begin to tremble slightly. “For what?” You dare to ask the hulking bear who is not, after all, going to maul you to death.

He pauses for a moment, thinking hard to find the words, and ultimately failing to do so, the language of the heart something that suffers much in translation it seems. “J'ai parlé avec elle, je l'ai *vue*, Michael. Elle est heureuse. Pour cela, je ne peux jamais vous récompenser. Vous lui avez donné ce que je ne pouvais pas. Soyez heureux ensemble, et je serai aussi.” He says with a soft, almost wistful smile, placing a paw on your shoulder and giving a reassuring squeeze.

Your Fredspeak is still limited, but you think you've got the gist of it, and a sudden, horrifying realization hits you. “Oh, Freddy, I'm so sorry, I didn't know! I swear, I never would have gotten between you if I'd known.” You say softly, receiving a blank stare from Freddy before he bursts into hearty laughter. Perplexed, but relieved, you offer a dumb smile in return.

“Non, mon ami, il y a une femme que j'adore, mais ce n'est pas Mademoiselle Chica. Elle connaîtra en temps utile les profondeurs de mon cœur.” He says with warmth, and a firmness of conviction that crosses the language barrier easily, even if you have little inkling of what he just said.

You open your mouth to reply, only to be staved off by an incessant electronic beeping emanating from Freddy's vest pocket. He fishes a small kitchen timer out and silences it carefully, lest he crush the tiny thing. He pivots his gaze back to you and offers a warm smile. “Les crêpes.” He offers in simple explanation.

“Oh God, yes! Please, don't let me keep you, Freddy.” You reply, waving him back to his kitchen. He moves to go, before reaching over and tousling your hair with one massive paw. He regards you briefly, shrugs at God-knows-what, and turns the doorknob, opening the door and allowing Faz to take his place.

“Captain.” You offer with a slight smile and curt nod to the mostly-recovered bear.

“Captain.” He replies likewise.

“So you've heard then.”

“Foxy was quite chipper this morning when he told me about it. He's been on a downward slide the rest of the day, unfortunately.” He adds, voice soft and somber.

“Yeah, poor guy.” You add needlessly.

“I took the liberty of grabbing your keys off the peg.” He says, hefting the weapons-grade assemblage of metal, using the quick disconnect coupling to detach your apartment key from it, handing it to you. “And the phone.” He adds, brandishing it briefly.

“Wait, Marion said we were each getting one?” You ask, the arrangement changing yet again, apparently.

“Oh we are, but Marion said they wouldn't be getting done till the phone contract is up sometime next month. We have to share this one until then. Good news is that he's springing for the best free smartphones money can buy. They're getting hooked into the WiFi that's being put in next week, and we'll have remote access to all the cameras through an app.”

“Assuming he doesn't cheap out on any of it and we get junk that doesn't work.”

“Assuming” the bear concedes.

The door opens behind you, the noise of the party washing over the both of you as Fran and Bonson exit the apartment.

“I hope you don't mind, Mike, but Bonson really needs to get home and finish his chores before bedtime.” She apologizes needlessly.

“But I said I'd do them in the morning.” The young rabbit whines.

“Now, Bonson. If you're busy doing chores in the morning, how are you going to walk final rounds with the night watchman?” You ask him, the daily ritual over the last two months something you both cherish, truth be told.

“But it's not gonna be you, Mister Mike.” He grumps.

“No, Mister Faz is going to be working when I'm off duty from now on. I'm sure he could use your help too.” You offer warmly, knowing full well what a soft spot he has for kids. Faz merely nods and smiles, and the boy's frown softens.

“All right.” He says, reluctantly agreeing.

“Is there something you need to say, Bonson?” Fran asks pointedly.

“Thank you for the pizza, Mister Mike!” He says enthusiastically before wrapping up your thighs in one of his vise-like hugs.

“You're welcome, Bonson.” You reply, smiling and patting his head affectionately. You throw in a brief scritch behind the ears for good measure. “Say, how about a hug for Mister Faz?” You ask, hoping they hit it off like you already have.

“But he's kind of big.” The boy replies.

“Well, he's a bear. You know, like your mom?” You chide gently.

“And he's kinda scary.” The boy whispers loudly, his grip tightening on your legs.

“Well, that's only because you don't know him yet.” You softly prod him, smiling for his benefit.

Faz merely reaches up towards his collar, something you barely see him do any more “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Bonson.” Faz adds in his tinny, assisted voice.

Bonson's jaw drops wide open in wonder. “Wow, are you like a cyborg?” He asks in awe.

“Something like that.” You confirm, leaving further explanation for later.

“Do you have a laser cannon in your eye? Can your arm detach and walk around like CybOrangutan?” He asks eagerly before his mother cuts him off.

“Bonson.” She says firmly, but with a mother's love. “Don't be rude.”

“Quite all right, ma’am.” Faz replies in his normal voice. “He's young.”

“Well, he still does need to do his chores. I hope you don't mind, Mike, Fred said he brought enough to feed thirty.” She continues, slightly lifting the foil wrapped plate piled high with what is obviously pizza, as well as a second plate that looks to be two generous portions of the black forest cake ChiChi brought for dessert.

“Not at all, Fran. If you all don't take some home with you, we'll be drowning in pizza for days.” You reply, thankful that Freddy will be back to cooking that much quicker.

“Well, good night then, and thanks for having us, Mike.” She adds with a smile, and a lingering look for Faz as well, if you're not mistaken. “Come on, son.” She adds, verbally prying her son off of you. You both watch them go, losing sight as they round the corner and head down the stairs.

“Cute.” He says simply.

“Didn't know you were into older women.” You shoot back.

“Wasn't talking about her.”

“I saw the way she looked at you.” You gently elbow him.

“To answer your question from last week, I'm ninety-eight percent sure he's adopted. Bears don't usually go for smaller mates, if they go outside their species at all.” He adds.

“Nothing wrong with a little cross-pollination.” You chide gently.

“Absolutely not.” He agrees, perhaps a little too quickly, a slight smile curling his lips.

“Anyway, yeah, if you're going to be using that phone, I need to delete a few things.” You admit sheepishly.

“Been watching porn on company time, Michael?” He asks, clearly not believing the premise.

“Not exactly.”

“Oh, really. What, exactly, does 'not exactly’ mean?” He continues, his smile broadening.

“Cheeky has that number.”

“Oh.” He says quietly, handing the device over to you without further ado. “Not that she hasn't bathed me plenty of times before, but... yeah.” He adds, uncomfortable as you begin deleting every picture on the phone, as well as several entire conversations.

“There. All done.” You say, handing the metaphorical hot potato over to him. “I hope.”

“Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I do need to get to work.” He adds with a quick salute.

“Hat?” You ask him, knowing full well it won't fit him.

“Still have mine from Jeremy's” he replies. “Call me if they need help getting Foxy home later?” He adds, always looking out for his crewman.

“Will do.”

He ambles off, quiet as falling snow. Looking out over the complex, you see Fran and Bonson making their way over to building twelve, the child rounding the corner out of sight as only a little bundle of bunny energy can, his mother plodding along slowly after. You smile at the family dynamic on display, until something catches your eye. A dark figure, looking large and dressed in dark colors, steps out of the shadows of the alleyway between buildings eleven and twelve, apparently calling out to Fran, even if you can't hear it. They succeed in getting the ivory bear's attention, and a brief, awkward (if you're reading the body language correctly) conversation ensues. Fran fumbles a bit to unwrap her leftovers, forking over three slices of pizza to the apparent vagrant, before both of them part ways, Fran to her apartment and the other back into the shadows. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, even as you feel a pang of sympathy for the dark figure. Turning on your heel, you enter your apartment with purpose, closing the door and turning in to the living room to find the nearest…

“Mike, there you are!” You hear before you're engulfed in a warm, soft, feathery hug.

“Hey, Cheeky, can I borrow your phone for a sec?”

“Sure. Nothing new in my Snapz folder though, I've already sent you the juicy ones. And don't you have your own now?” She asks, almost directly into your left ear with her typical cozy familiarity even as she pulls hers out for you.

“Have to share it with Faz for the time being.” You reply.

“Oh.” She says softly.

“Passcode?” you ask, handing it back to her.

“Ohhhhhhhhhh. Umm, Mike?” She asks nervously, poking keys with her thumb, her other wing tense around your shoulders.

“Already deleted.” You reply, feeling her relax immediately.

Retrieving the careworn device from your yellow friend, you quickly find your, well, the security number at the top of her favorites.

“Faz, Mike. Can you check the gate between 11&12? Might be unsecured.” You peck away quickly, rather enjoying the not-piece-of-shit phone she has.

“So you saw that too? You're a natural, Mike.” He replies, and you breathe a sigh of relief, both for the situation at hand and for Faz immediately stepping into his new job with aplomb. You hand the phone back to Cheeky, who makes a show of pulling her top forward and dropping the device into her cavernous cleavage.

“If you need to borrow it again, you know where to find it .” She says with a lewd wink that you're really hoping Chica doesn't notice, considering she's standing just over there. Thankfully, she seems engrossed in a conversation with Bonnie, the mood hard to read.

“I do have to say, Mike, I love what you've done with your hair. Who's your stylist?” She asks, poking at the mess on your head with a couple feathery fingers.

“Freddy, actually.” You reply, running your fingers through it to try and fix whatever he did to it outside, and failing miserably by the feel of it. You pluck what feels like a small feather out of the left side, flicking it unseen into the air behind you.

“So how are you liking the waterbed, Mike?” She asks, and you can already see where this conversation is going.

“Loving it, Cheeky. Glad you turned me on to the benefits.” You reply, sincere at the very least.

“Oh, I'm the kind of friend who's *all* about benefits.” she fires back, setting the hook deep on that one.

You offer her a smirk. “Touché, Cheeky.”

“Oh, I'm all about touchy too.” She adds, kneading your shoulder suggestively. “Oh, something you might want to keep in mind. Waterbed mattresses aren't nearly as durable as you might think.” You wisely refrain from pointing out you're not quite as much of a strain on yours. “Hen claws, for example. Wouldn't think they're sharp enough to put a hole in the vinyl, but unless you want to be patching all day, I'd suggest putting a doubled up quilt under the sheet at the foot of your bed.” She says conspiratorially.

“I'll keep that in mind the next time I have a hen in my bed.” You reply dryly.

Whatever her saucy comeback to that is, it is cut short as you see a burst of purplish-blue light from the kitchen, wordless exclamations of shock or wonder from most everyone else in that room.

“Fire amidships!” Comes the alarm call from everyone's favorite pirate fox.

“What the hell was that?” Cheeky asks, curious and a little worried by her tone.

“If I'm not mistaken,” you begin as Freddy rounds the corner with a plate of food, “yup, that would be dessert.” You finish with a smile, hands rubbing together eagerly. Your personal chef for the evening hands it to you with a flourish, and you smile widely, accepting the masterpiece with a gracious nod. “Merci beaucoup, chef.” you add, eliciting a smile in return.

“What...is that?” Cheeky asks. You can practically hear her salivating, as the aroma is heavenly.

“Crêpes Suzette.” You intone with reverence, inhaling deeply of the sweet, citrusy bouquet of the sauce. “Or, in common parlance, delicious.” You add, cutting into the first of the folded crêpes with your fork, spearing a suprème of tangerine to go along with the decadence. Swirling the eggy pastry through the sauce, you take your first bite, and your knees buckle in ecstasy, a lewd moan escaping your throat.

“Oh what I wouldn't give to moan like that. Or hear somebody else do the same, given the right circumstances.” Cheeky declares breathily next to you, eyes nearly as glazed as your dessert.

“Are you wanting a taste, Cheeky?” You ask, eliciting a gasp from the busty hen.

“No, of course not, I'd never dream of coming between...oh you mean the craypes!” She blurts, dragging her mind out of its luxury suite in the gutter. “Umm, sure?” She adds, trying to cover for her apparent embarrassment.

You parcel out a generous bite for her, the saucy bird literally eating out of your hand at this point. She closes her beak gently over the fork, and chews a bit, her eyes going wide as the flavor hits her.

“Mother of God, Mike.” She breathlessly proclaims.

“I know, right?” you add, endlessly amused by her reaction.

“What's in this sauce?”

“Normally, butter, orange juice, sugar and orange liqueur, but Freddy got a deal on a bushel of tangerines from a guy at the farmer's market, so they've been popping up all over the menu. Regardless, it's still my favorite dish of his.”

“Aww, and here I was hoping you had more of a hankering for lemon, especially well sauced and spiked with booze.” She expounds, a leering smile evidence of her return to form. “Ah well, you speak his language right?”

“After a fashion.” You concede.

“How do I ask that bear to marry me?” She queries, only half-jokingly by your estimation.

“I'm sure if you ask him really nicely, he’ll make you some too, Cheeky.” you offer, feeling almost sorry for the bear in question.

“Oh, that I can do. Rather convincingly I think.” She adds, licking the edge of her beak lewdly before she waddles off toward the kitchen.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you tuck into your food once again, managing two full bites before being interrupted yet again, this time by a feathery hand coming to rest in the small of your back. It lingers briefly before tracking downward and squeezing your ass with rough familiarity.

“Hey, babe, was beginning to wonder if you were avoiding me.” You say softly, making brief eye contact with Bonworth, smiling and nodding like there isn't a hen groping you in public right now.

“And just how am I supposed to avoid you?” Comes the soft, breathy reply that freezes your blood cold. “Hide and seek isn't exactly my forte any more. Babe.” Goose clarifies.

“Hi.” You say curtly, scrambling to figure out how to cover your verbal blunder.

“Hi. Nice party.” She adds, nodding sagely.

“Wasn't my idea, but glad everyone came. Yourself included, Goose.” She's wearing an emerald green sequined bustier and similar short shorts in electric blue, both colors contrasting nicely with her plumage.

“Well, I've got a reputation to uphold, after all. Something smells like booze. Whatcha drinkin’?”

“Actually, it's Crêpes Suzette. Orange liqueur in the sauce.”

“Oh.” She says, a little crestfallen.

“Would you like a taste?” You ask, feeling a little awkward now.

“Sure, I've got fifteen minutes to spare.” She tosses out with a soft, mischievous grin.

“Of my crêpes.” You clarify, mentally berating yourself for blundering into that one.

“Oh, well those sound delicious too.” She replies, her gaze passing right through you.

You portion out a generous bite for the erstwhile party radar, holding your plate under her beak lest anything drip onto the carpet. “Open wide.” You ask, feeding yet another bird by hand for the night.

“Oh wow, this is really good. Freddy’s cooking?” She asks, getting an eager nod from you in return before you correct your stupidity.

“Yes, it is.” You respond, thankful she is incapable of seeing you blush.

“You’ve become quite popular around these parts, Mike.” She says softly, her wing draped across your upper back now. Her sightless eyes regard the crowd for a moment before she speaks again. “You really need to stop leading us ladies on.”

“Beg your pardon?” You sputter.

“Mike. You're a really nice guy, and you've been so good to us all. But you've never so much as asked any of us out on a date. Beginning to wonder if you're gay at this point. Not that there's anything wrong with that.” She hastily corrects.

“What's to say I haven't?” You ask, defensively playful.

“I'd have heard, I'm sure.” She assures you.

“I'm just not sure I could choose, Goose. A guy like me likes having his options open.” You offer up, a certain swagger in your words that is transparent bullshittery of the highest order.

“A guy like you…” she begins, pausing for effect more than needing to find her words, “is scared to death of disappointing *anybody*. So you work yourself to the bone trying to keep everyone happy except yourself.” She says softly, her message carrying the volume her voice never needed to. “Mike, you're a really good guy, and a real catch, no matter who holds the net. We're all big girls,” she says with a warm smile, just as Cheeky whoops from the kitchen at Freddy’s flambée skills, “some of us bigger than others. At the end of the day, you're going to break some hearts, no matter what. Better to do it and be done with than to leave us all hanging.”

“And what are your thoughts on the matter?” You ask, digesting everything she's already given you.

“I think you're the nicest guy I know, Mike. And despite, in fact maybe even because of my history...I know that dating the bad boys never ends well. Might be fun for a little while, but it's never meant to last.” She says with more than a little regret evident in her voice. “At the end of the day, Michael, the choice will always be yours. I'm not going to say I'm not intrigued by the possibilities, but I'm not going to clam block my roommate, or my best friend either.” She adds. “You don't have to make your mind up right this second, but none of us is getting any younger.”

“No pressure, huh?”

“No pressure.” She replies, smiling her typical laid back smile.

You ponder that for a moment, before a nagging, pinprick itch hits the back of your scalp. You scratch at it, but can't seem to shake the feeling that something is embedded in your hair.

“You gonna be all right by yourself?” You ask the sightless hen.

“If I have to be. Someday my prince will come too, I suppose.” She says wistfully.

“I just need to go fix my hair, Goose.” You reassure her, placing a hand gently over her wing.

“Oh.” She says, realizing how immediate your remark actually was. “I'll be fine, I promise.” She responds, placing a feathery hand over yours.

“Okay.” You say, a smile on your lips and in your voice. You break contact and get BonBon’s attention with a wave, rough sign language asking her to keep an eye on her roommate, to which the electric blue bunny responds with an energetic nod. Making your way to your room, you pause, seeing Bonnie's door cracked open, the light on inside. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and you knock gently on the door jamb.

“Bonnie? You in there?” You ask, after hearing a muffled squeak the second your knuckle touched the wood.

“Yeah, Mike. Come in. If you want to, I mean.” She backpedals most adorably.

You press gently, opening the door slowly, and find the blue bunny seated on the edge of her bed, nervously tugging at her right ear. When she sees you she smiles softly, placing her hands in her lap like a prim and proper lady.

“A little overwhelming out there?” You ask, deducing the problem immediately, a brief nod from Bonnibel confirming your suspicions.

“You okay?” Another nod. “Thank you for the party, Bonnie. I think we all needed it.” You say warmly, sitting beside her and placing a hand over hers.

“I...just wanted to thank you, Mike.” She says quietly, voice trembling a bit at first but finding its stride soon enough.

“For what?”

“For everything. For Beanie, and Jeremy's, and doing your job, and being a friend to us all. For being the best big brother I can't remember if I ever asked for.” She adds, completing her half of the joke, her smile trembling even as you see her eyes brimming slightly. You instinctively put an arm over her shoulder, pulling her softly to your side. She leans into you, and you can feel just how agitated she is.

“Are you happy, Michael?” She asks, as loaded and open-ended a question as you'll ever hear.

“Bonnie. I can't remember my life before a year ago. Fuzzy memories, fragments of experiences, nothing more. What I *can* tell you, without a doubt, is that I am happier now than I have ever been. You all are all the family I will ever need.” You tell her, ruffling her headfur with your free hand.

“Even Marion?” She asks timidly.

“Everybody's got that weird uncle nobody talks about.” You offer. Having worked for him for several months now, you can honestly say his heart's in the right place. Whatever the right place is for... whatever...he is. Bonnie giggles softly in response, cuddling against you a bit more.

“Bonnie, did the doctor start you on new meds?” You ask in a measured and neutral tone, wary of wandering into the minefield, but knowing it's far better to do so with eyes wide open.

“Am I that bad?” She asks, the mirth of a few seconds ago draining from her voice as her snuggling devolves into a lethargic slump against your side.

“No, just curious. Need to make sure I can defend you if purple spotted dragons lay claim to the refrigerator again.” you say solemnly.

“That still isn't funny, Mike.” She says, poking you in the ribs as you see her stifle a smile. “But yes, Doctor Gallo changed my medication regimen. And no, you don't need to worry about it.” She says, patting your knee.

“I always worry about you, Bonnie.”

“I know. And that's what I love about you.” She says with a truly warm smile, planting a kiss on your cheek. “But as of today, I am no longer on any scheduled medication.” she says, a serene smile gracing her lips.

You tamp down your excitement, not wanting to test the frail bunny’s limits, and instead, wrap a second arm about her shoulders, squeezing her tightly to you. “That's wonderful news! I knew you could do it!” You try to encourage and celebrate without bowling over her emotions.
.
“Well, I still have a couple 'as needed’ scrips, but yeah, no more medtime Bonnie.” She adds, self-deprecation a rare mantle for her to wrap herself in.

“It makes me happy to see how far you've come in just a year.”

“Me too.” She replies simply, wrapping her arms about you, or at least trying to. “I'm happy you've been in my life for the last year, Mike.”

“Where else am I gonna go?” You ask glibly, scratching gently behind her ear.

“Well, if you wanted to move, I'd be a little sad. But Doctor Gallo has been teaching me the importance of letting go. I'd miss you, but I'd be okay.” She says calmly, folding her hands in her lap again.

“Bonnie…” you begin, trying to correct what seems to be a gross misunderstanding without making her feel bad about it. “I'm not going anywhere.”

“But something can happen. Something always happens. Don't make me a promise you can't keep.” She says softly, a tremor in her voice that shoves you back onto thin ice.

“Okay, that's fair enough. I will say that there is nothing I can foresee that would ever change how I feel about you, or Freddy, or Chica, hell, pretty much anyone we know. We're family, Bon. That's never going to change. No matter where I am, or you are for that matter.” You reaffirm, patting her forearm gently.

“Then I can let go of that fear, Mike.” She says, glad for being treated as an adult for once. “And I can let go of you, knowing that I don't have to hold on for dear life.” She adds, placing a soft, fuzzy paw over your hand, squeezing gently. “I really should get back to the party, Mike. I'm the one who invited everybody, after all.” She says calmly, a soft smile present even as she dabs at her eyes for the last of her nearly-shed tears.

“Don't want to be rude.” You confirm, standing up and offering a hand up to the thin, but not quite so fragile any more, bunny, which she graciously accepts.

“Speaking of rude, you need to get back too, Mike. After you fix your hair of course.” She says, blushing slightly under her fur.

“S’what I was coming back here for when I noticed you.” You admit sheepishly.

“Good, then don't let me keep you from preening.” She says with a smile, leading you out of her princess sanctum and into the hallway before letting go of your hand and walking back into the fray. You take a deep breath, and sigh softly, indeed proud of Bonnie's progress.

You also have no clue what that conversation was even about.

Shaking you head gently, you slip into your own bedroom, making your way to the thrift store vanity dresser to finally sort out your coif. Absently, you pick up the cheap plastic comb, eternally grateful you don't have to go through everything a woman does, especially all the furry and feathered ones you now know, to keep looking presentable. You look around your room, resolving to straighten up the clutter...sometime. You pass the comb through your hair with practiced ease, or at least that's the plan, your train of thought derailing entirely as a tearing pain blasts your idle thoughts into nothingness.

“Ow! Sunnuva…” you begin, tugging on the comb a mite more gently, but meeting the same resistance. You don't have enough length for there to be a knot, so what the hell? You turn to the mirror, and answer your own question.

“Bursting with sunshine indeed.” You mutter, looking at the three bright orange pinfeathers entangled into your short hair. Turning your head this way and that, you see more spots of orange, downy flecks of color in your otherwise neutral pelt. Working more carefully now, you pluck the larger feathers from your scalp before gently combing out the smaller ones, leaving them stuck in the teeth of your comb. This you drop into the breast pocket of your shirt as every little idiosyncratic word, action or reaction of the night rolls back through your mind again.

Nothing for it now, you suppose, standing up and getting ready to face the music, as it were. Resolving to do at least one productive thing in here, you pick up a pillow from where it has fallen, tossing it onto the bed where it generates an explosion of color, dancing motes of sunny orange floating in the air.

“Ah.” You say softly, the mystery solved.

Closing your door behind you, you walk down the hallway with a spring in your step, hiding no more. Getting to end of the hallway, you cast about looking for Chica, who you spot easily as the lone occupant of the kitchen. The trash can is piled high with paper plates and plastic cups, dinner and dessert apparently finished in your absence, the party now centered largely around a card game in the living room.

She's standing against the counter, tearing into a slice of pizza with gusto, clearly enjoying Golden Bear's new recipe as much or even more than you do. Gracing her long frame is the exact same outfit from this morning, except on a now-happy bird it looks rather fetching, the mauve scarf setting off her plumage nicely, even as the sweater hugs her curves with an intimate familiarity that you now get to enjoy as well.

You take up station next to her, nonchalantly pouring yourself a drink from what's left of the soda stock.

“Hey.” You say softly, a gentle smile curling your lips.

“Hey.” She replies, playing along.

“Come here often?”

“All the time. Food's phenomenal.”  she adds, procuring and proceeding to devour another slice.

“Indeed.” You conclude with a smile. “So how are you holding up?” You ask, on the face of it an innocuous enough question, but cutting to the point, as you see her pause briefly in thought.

“I'm good. Feel like I'm lying to everyone. Especially Bonnie.” She says, sighing softly.

“I know, babe.” You say softly, sidling up to her a bit and throwing an arm around her waist. Looking up into her concerned eyes, you give her a gentle hug, laying your head into her shoulder.

“Hi.” Come a soft, frail voice that startles the both of you out of tender moment, Chica and yourself both jumping clear of the other a few inches.

“Hey Bonnie! How are you holding up?” Your feathered love asks her softly, garnering a gentle smile from your mutual friend and roommate.

“I'm good. Can I get the footstool, please?” She asks, the both of you standing in front of the cabinet it's stored in.

“Of course, Bon.” You reply, stepping aside and letting her in between the two of you.

And maybe that's the problem.

For her part, she bends slightly, grabbing the small folded contraption before she stops, places it on the floor, and places an arm around each of you, drawing you both into a hug. You both return it, sparing each other a confused glance over her fuzzy head that she thankfully misses.

“I love you guys so much.” She says into Chica's sweater, squeezing even harder.

“We love you too, Bonnie. You sure you're okay?” You ask, still at a loss, and hoping her lack of medication isn't spiralling her out of control.

She pulls back a bit, looking up into your eyes with that soft, serene smile again. “Right as rain, Mike.” She says softly, placing her cheek into your chest this time, snuggling warmly against you a moment before letting go, picking up her step stool and padding softly off towards the living room.

“What was that about?” Chica asks quietly.

“I dunno. She's off her meds, by the way.”

“What?!?” The hen gasps through a mouthful of food.

“Per doctor's orders.” You clarify.

“Really? That's awesome!” Chica offers, clearly relieved.

“I know.”

“Explains a lot, actually.” She says with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh?”

“Had the weirdest conversation with her earlier.” She says, grabbing another slice of pizza. “Oh my God, the new meat lover’s is amazing.” She offers as an aside.

“Yeah, me too.” You reply, something chewing at the edge of your conscious thought now.

Chica stops mid-chew, her body frozen in place as the realization hits her. “You don't think she knows, do you?” She asks you, dread creeping into her voice even as that something latches on to your mind with razor sharp teeth.

“Chica. Darling.” You begin, trying to reassure her with tone of voice alone. “I'm pretty sure *everybody* knows.”

“What?!?” She hisses, panic rising in her voice. “How? I've been dodging you all night, trying to put on the best face I could. What have you been telling people?” She asks, clearly knowing she's not at fault here.

“Nothing. I didn't need to. You did all the talking for me.” You reply, a soft chuckle rumbling in your chest at the absurdity of it all.

“I did no such thing, Michael…” she begins, almost angry, whether at the implication, or your humor you can't say. Either way, you silence her with a question seemingly out of left field.

“Chica, my love, would you happen to be molting right now?” You ask, already knowing the answer.

“Well, yeah, but I don't see what that has to do with…” she responds, stopping short as you pull the cheap black plastic comb from your pocket, clogged with her plumage.

“Oh.” She says softly, before the realization hits her as well. “Ohhhhhhhhhhh.” She intones, a nervous smile curling her fractured lips. “Heheh”

“Yeah.”

“So now what?” She asks, almost relieved now. You open your mouth to answer, but are interrupted from the living room.

“Can I have everyone's attention please?” Comes a raised voice, even as incongruous as it may be to hear Bonnie loud, let alone volunteering to be the center of attention. She's standing on the stepstool, to be seen and heard, her posture confident, smile beaming out over the small crowd. “I would like to thank you all for coming tonight, especially on such short notice. Thanks to Mr. Fazbear for dinner, and Miss Madeleine-Byrd for the lovely dessert as well.” She begins, garnering gentle cheering and applause for them both, as you and Chica wander into the living room proper, standing immediately behind the potentially unstable bunny, lest she melt down under scrutiny.

“But we are here tonight to celebrate our friend, Michael Schmidt.” She says cheerfully, turning slightly to regard you as the entire room is now focused squarely on you. “Mike came into our lives one year ago today, and I for one can say I am so happy to be able to say that. You are a wonderful, caring person, Mike, and have cared for and about me more than I could ever have asked. I'm sure every one of us has something we could share, and I would encourage you all, some time tonight, to personally thank him for what he's done for you.” She adds as you squirm within your shell of modesty, the room voicing universal agreement.

“Do you want to say anything, Mike?” She asks, ramping your awkwardness up even higher.

“Speech!” Call several people, BonBon, Beanie and Rackham chief among them.

No avoiding it at this point, it seems.

You offer your hand to Bonnie, letting her step down before you take her place on the hot seat.

Taking a deep breath to collect your thoughts, you look out into the crowd, and can't help but smile. You close your eyes for a moment, and can feel the barest hint of moisture in the corners before you begin.

“I would like to thank you all, truly. For coming out tonight, certainly, but more importantly, for taking a stray stupid monkey in and treating him like family. You all have been so good, and kind to me, yes even you, Archie.” You add, pointing the slender fox out, both he and ChiChi laughing uproariously about it. “I came here at the end of my rope, my life a foggy mystery, with a suitcase and twenty dollars in my pocket. I stand here now, surrounded by people I am proud to call family.” You conclude, generating raucous cheers and applause from all assembled.

“Oh, as long as I have the floor, a few announcements. First, the back gate between eight and nine is finally fixed, and should be accessible with your apartment keys, like it's supposed to be.” You begin, the shortcut to the closest bus stop now open again. “Second, pajama movie night this week is going to be at six, rather than seven p.m., to allow for my attendance. This might be permanent, given Faz’ and my schedule now. Thirdly,” you begin, the words catching in your throat. You spare a glance over at Chica, who is looking at you expectantly, eyes bright and a gentle smile on her beautiful face.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. Your heart flutters in your chest, like a moth trapped indoors, desperately trying to fly free. At the end of the day, a picture truly is worth a thousand words, your own failing utterly to convey what you wish to.

“C’mere.” You say at last, grabbing the loose ends of Chica's scarf, pulling her to you, and planting your lips squarely on hers.

“Mmmfffffmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.” She hums, surprised but recovering quickly, wrapping you up in her feathery arms and squeezing firmly. You barely register the few gasps and several catcalls from the crowd, enjoying the immediate company of your orange-plumed lover instead. You break the kiss reluctantly, placing your forehead against hers, gazing into her eyes with a warm smile plastered across both of your faces.

“I love you, Chica.” You say softly.

“I love you too, Michael.” She whispers back, even more unbelieving of this turn of events than you, it seems.

“Thirdly?” Goose demands loudly, garnering  laughter from everyone, yourself included. After a moment, you spot out of the corner of your eye BonBon leaning in and whispering in Goose’s ear.

“I know I said not to leave us hanging, Mike, but *damn*!” She fires off, and you and Chica both lose it, joining everyone else in the mirth.