Zig Zag is Copyright © Max Black Rabbit. Sabrina, Darke Katt and R.C. are Copyright © Eric W. Schwartz. James Sheppard, Marvin Badger, Rhonda Badger, Yohni, Alexi, Michael, Esteban, Mia, Wanda Vixen and Tamara Rabbit are Copyright © James Bruner. Jean LeBrun, Francois LeBrun, Marie LeBrun, Gabrielle Ryder, Theodore Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg the Third, Roxanne Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Timothy Bigglesworth-Farthington von Salzburg, Malcolm Grazer, Doctor Lupin, Doctor Fox Jones, William Pongo, Captain Archibald, Peter Spermophilus, Miranda Spermophilus, Leo Leon, Vincent Leon, Abu-Yusuf, Sergeant Otetiani, Lieutenant Black, Julie Black, Miriam Redtail, Lizzy Doe, Emma Grey, Rowena Spyke, Jeremy Mustela, William White, Hannah Vulpes, Richard Terry, Hantaywee Twofeathers, Professor Nutkin, Professor Moose Nicholson, Professor Werner Schnauzer, Professor Erica Belge, Charles 'Mouse' Mombay, Ulf Søndergård, Paul Donkey, Harley Davidson (Not the motorcycle manufacturer, obviously) and Pethouse Magazine is © Joan Jacobsen, 2005. 

Legal Notice: This story is Copyright © 2005 by Joan Jacobsen. This story may not be sold or used for commercial profit in any form or fashion. This story may not be modified in any way. This story may not be posted on a mirror site or any other Internet site without the written permission of the author. This story may not be distributed on print, magnetic, electrical or optical mediums.  

Permission to use characters that are Copyright other individuals was obtained prior to the appearance of said characters.  

The author, Joan Jacobsen, hereby asserts moral right to be identified as the author of this work. 

This is an independent work of fiction with no connection whatsoever to Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions or James Bruner and is in no way meant to imply any connection with Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, E.S. Productions, or James Bruner. This story contains characters created by Max Black Rabbit, Eric W. Schwartz, James Bruner, Tigermark and Silver Coyote. Events and characters occurring in this story should not be considered part of the storylines for either 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online' or 'Sabrina Online - The Story'.  

In fact, as far as 'Zig Zag', 'Sabrina Online', 'Sabrina Online - The Story' and 'Zig Zag the Story' are concerned, this story does not exist. The artists disavow any knowledge of and do not officially sanction the events in this story. 

Moving on 

Yohni put the last bag in the back of the car. They were ready to go. Brushing her paws off against each other, she took a step back and thought about that for a moment. Ready to go. They had stayed in Copenhagen a lot longer than planned. All their planning had, in fact, been upset by the 9/11 attacks.  

The world had been upset.  

She wondered if they were doing the right thing by not going back home, but only for a moment. There was no real doubt that it was the right thing to do. Besides, she had to admit the benefits of staying longer than expected in Copenhagen had been noticeable. Ulf and Signe were really nice furs, and she'd never had a chance to get to know the Danes otherwise.  

Well, one Dane and one Greenlander, she reminded herself.  

She smiled quietly and folded her arms across her chest, looking over her shoulder. Gabrielle was approaching, carrying a plastic bag in one paw.  

"Hey love. What's that?" Yohni asked. 

"Provisions. It's a long drive tomorrow on the train and if the food is anything like railroad meals in the United States, I'd rather have a couple of sandwiches prepared in advance," the bronco answered. 

"Good thinking. Well, I guess we're all set to go then." 

"Yep. Time to bid Denmark goodbye, at last." 

Yohni smiled. "Or at least a 'see you again sometime', hmm?"  

Gabrielle nodded and put the plastic bag in the car too, slipping her arms around the mongoose with a content sigh. "I think that goes without saying." 

The mongoose made a content sound and rested her head against Gabrielle's chest. Tomorrow evening they'd be in Berlin. Party capital of Northern Europe. It was time to move on.  

###

 Malcolm woke up. He'd slept late, in fact...he felt he deserved it. Besides, he didn't have to go to work. Not until Monday. He did want to, however. He wasn't sure if he should, though. After coming home last night, he'd spent most of the evening trying to calm Timothy down. The bronco was more of a mess than he was, and he knew it. At the same time, he couldn't help wondering when his experiences from 9/11 would resurface.

No one had to tell Malcolm that he had to go see a shrink at some point. The question was when to do it. Somehow, he didn't think it'd be easy getting an appointment anywhere for a long time. Frankly, he thought Timothy's need for psychological counseling was more immediate.  

He turned his head to look at the bronco next to him. Timothy had curled up against him during the night. That brought a smile to Malcolm's face. He reached out and brushed his fingers through Timothy's mane.  

Timothy stirred slightly but didn't wake up. He mumbled something in his sleep and held on tightly to Malcolm, as if afraid the taller stallion would vanish again. 

Malcolm knew why. He'd been severely shell-shocked after the accident and he'd been unable to remember his own name, let alone where he lived. Wandering around all night had cleared his head enough that he knew how to get home, somehow. But that was it. He hadn't managed to get word to Timothy. Then the FBI had picked him up, again without Timothy being able to do anything about it.  

The bronco needed to feel safe and secure. Very badly so. Malcolm realized his boyfriend had probably felt more or less like his world was being yanked away under him. He felt bad for the bronco. It wasn't fair, but neither of them had been able to stop any of it.  

The question now was how to move on. He'd been days away from the biggest premiere of his life...and that too had been postponed. It was probably what he had to look forward to. What he needed to concentrate on, apart from Timothy. Getting to the following Thursday, and knocking the socks off every single fur in the audience. He had to get back to living, and so did Timothy. 

He sat up, slowly. Then got out of bed. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, heading to the bathroom. A shower would at least clear his head a little.  

Moments later, the water was running and Malcolm felt like his worries were almost literally being washed down the train. He even heard himself humming. He'd call his boss once he got out, and arrange with her that he'd drop by. Not quite yet though. A bath first...then some late breakfast. Maybe he shouldn't call...maybe he should simply wait and go the following day. It wouldn't matter that it was Saturday. There would be rehearsals anyway.  

It was far more attractive to spend the day with Timothy. It seemed like a lifetime ago that he had some time just to himself, to spend with the still-sleeping bronco.  

"Malcolm??"  

The voice snapped Malcolm out of his thoughts. "I'm out here...taking a shower. Don't worry, I haven't gone anywhere," he called out.  

Timothy had sounded scared. He came to the bathroom door and looked in, relief spreading on his features.  

"Ahh, there you are. Sorry, I just woke up and you weren't there. I'm sorry for being so jittery..." he said and scratched his mane. 

"Nahh, you're entitled to be. I just thought I'd get washed...there were no showers in the cells," Malcolm said and shrugged. He spread some shampoo in the palms of his paws and began washing his mane. It was a mess, anyway...after several days of continuous stress. 

Timothy nodded. "I'll get started on some breakfast. And you, Mr. Grazer, are not going anywhere today. I don't care what plans you have...you're staying here!" 

Malcolm laughed warmly. "Don't worry, I was thinking something similar, myself." 

"Okay." 

"Timothy, is something wrong? You sound like you have something you want to say." 

The bronco sighed and shrugged. "Well...it's just I'm wondering if they're going to come back and get you again, that's all." 

"I sincerely doubt it. I think I managed to disqualify myself as a potential suspect," Malcolm said and grinned widely. "I told one of the agents he had a nice backside and tail. He caught the hint." 

Timothy burst into giggles. "You hit on a federal agent??" 

"Just to make my point. He wasn't my type..." 

"Oh yeah?" 

Malcolm grunted and started rinsing his mane. "Nope. You are. And if you're going to stay there in the doorway until I am done, you might as well close the door and come in before you let all the steam into the bedroom," he said. 

"Nahh, I'll go start on that breakfast. Did they let Abu-Yusuf go too? I could run down and get some grapefruits or something..." Timothy said and made to get going. 

"Not yet. At least not by the time they let me go. But I really doubt it'll take long. He wanted to come by to visit, sometime soon. If that's okay with you?" the Arabian stallion said and brushed his mane back, then turned off the water. 

"Not at all. I don't know him the way you do but I wouldn't mind at all. He seems like an okay sort of fur." 

"He's very nice. I'm sure we'll hear from him soon." 

Timothy nodded and closed the door. Breakfast wasn't going to cook itself.  

###

It wasn't easy being Marie LeBrun. Sitting on the couch, trying to persuade herself to open the photo-album, she really felt like the world was throwing her a curve ball. Which was grossly unfair. She was French...she didn't even understand the rules of baseball. The thought brought a crooked smile to her face. Perhaps that was the whole idea. That no one knew the rules for this particular game until they were faced with it. The problem, as she saw it, was that she had refused to listen to those trying to explain the rules to her. Even her husband. Two and a half years he'd spent, trying to get her to open her eyes and it hadn't been possible.  

It had taken a sudden realization of her own mortality to see clearly. Did she want to die, knowing that she'd alienated her child? Did she want to lose her family? Had she already? 

The photo-album was on the coffee-table in front of her, demanding to be opened. She had done so frequently, over the last years. Generally, it ended up with her in tears, gnashing her teeth and sobbing about the unfairness of life.  

This time would be different, she promised herself. She reached out and opened it and looked at the first photos of the son she no longer had.  

"Why?" she asked herself. She stopped and leaned back, looking away from the pictures. 

It wasn't a fair question. It wasn't one she could logically answer and just possibly, there wouldn't be a satisfactory answer at all. Not one she would find satisfactory anyway.

She shook her head and looked back at the pictures. It hurt. It always hurt. To look at what was lost to her. The painful realization that no matter how much she tried to tell herself things could be undone...she had lost her son.

He no longer existed. 

But she'd gained something instead. What hurt more than the loss of her son was the knowledge that she had deliberately scorned the daughter she got instead. She didn't want to see Jean the way things had been. She hadn't wanted to accept.  

And that too was painful to realize. 

She had prided herself, all her life, on being an unprejudiced, open minded fur. Someone who never judged a fur on the exterior. Someone who never let race, mixed species backgrounds, culture or religion stand in the way of a possible friendship. She had always lived by the rule that if someone didn't want to know her, they were free to say so, but that as long as others did nothing to personally hurt or offend her, she'd at the very least give them a chance.

Had she given Jean a chance? 

Not for a second, and she knew it.  

How could she repair that kind of damage? How could she fix such a breach of trust? She had done something no mother should ever do. She'd turned away from her child, when that child had needed her love and support, her care and her shoulder to lean on, more than anything else. 

That...was really the greatest pain.  

To have done so, because she didn't have the capacity to forgive.  

No, she reminded herself and shook her head, closing the photo-album. Not because she didn't have the capacity to forgive, but because she hadn't wanted to try. Time and time again, Francois had tried to talk to her about it. He'd been gentle and kind, too. Concerned for her aches, and she hadn't even acknowledged that.

Why he had put up with it was something Marie didn't fully understand. But she was grateful that he had.  

Perhaps that was another example of what real love was. 

Love. 

She thought for a moment, wondering what Esteban was like. She had never even met the wolf, yet Francois had said he was an extraordinary young male. Any parent's dream of a son-in-law.  

Again, Marie sighed. If Jean had come back, all those years ago and said 'look, I'm gay'...she would've been stunned for a moment but she would have recovered fast. She wouldn't have been angry or upset. That much she knew for certain. Instead, Jean had come home, saying...something else.  

Now Jean was a 'she'...and living in what was apparently a good, warm and most importantly loving relationship with a Hispanic wolf. She had done so for almost two and a half years, and to this day, her own mother hadn't even dropped by a single time. Not once.

Marie rubbed her face. She looked at the photo-album again.  

"Memories..." she mumbled to herself. Memories were powerful things. The problem was fighting more than eighteen years of memories of her son. That was the real challenge.

The real challenge... 

Marie got to her feet. She took the album off the table and looked at the shelf where she had taken it. Then she headed out of the living room, and upstairs. If memories of her son was what made the situation so hard for her, then she'd put aside those memories until she had some good ones of her daughter. Even if that meant packing away the family photo-album for a while.

The decision felt good. It took a weight off her shoulders. 

###

Fox Jones closed the door behind him and hung up his coat. It had been one of those days at work that made him feel a full year closer to retirement age. Every day at work felt like that now. They'd feel that way until the worst dust settled down after the bombings. Furs with family in New York needed help. There was the general feeling of fear and horror. All he could do was try to becalm those who were afraid. He wasn't a specialist on this kind of thing. He dealt with sexual trauma, first and foremost. Marriage troubles. But many of his patients were afraid as it was. Afraid of the world as a whole. After listening to the first three patients, he'd realized his stomach was doing the elevator-tango, and he had canceled the rest of his appointments for the day and gone home early. He was only one fur, too. He couldn't take any more.  

He shook his head and cleared his mind of work. He was home. Work would have to wait until the next day. 

"Miriam, are you home, love?" he called out. 

"Yeah, I'm in the kitchen. You're home early?" the answer came. 

"I took the rest of the day off. I'm not feeling good," Fox said and stepped into the living room.  

For Miriam to say she was in the kitchen was almost a joke. The apartment was arranged so that the kitchen and living room appeared as one unit. The vixen looked at her fiancé and leaned on the kitchen table, concern on her face. 

"I'm glad you're home. But if you're not feeling well, you might want to call a doctor?" she said. 

Fox chuckled. "I am a doctor," he pointed out and sat down at the dining table.

"You know what I mean!" 

"Yeah, sorry. It's nothing like that. I'm just glad it's weekend now. I need the break after listening to everyone rambling about their fear of more bombings..." 

Miriam nodded. She could at least understand that. "Well, we should talk, you know. We have to make a decision..." 

"About what, dear?" Fox asked and leaned on the table. 

"The wedding. We told everyone that it was postponed, but we didn't say for how long. What are we going to do about this?" the vixen said and came around the kitchen table to sit down across the table from Fox. 

"Ahh...yes, I've been meaning to open that can of worms, myself..." 

"I know how you feel. It's almost sacrilegious to talk of marriage so soon after...after...you know. Isn't it?" 

Fox shook his head. "No. We can't think that way. I know what you mean, believe me I do. But...if we keep saying 'we can't do this yet', and if everyone else says 'we can't do this yet'...the bombers win, because they'll make us change the way we live." 

Miriam sighed and leaned back in her seat, putting her paws behind her neck. "Everyone says that on TV, as well. That we can't let them change the way we live, but the fact is we have to. Some things will change, Fox."

"So no one will ever get married again in the United States because it'll be disrespectful? I can just see that...two hundred years into the future, the Jean LeBrun of the future stops and ponders 'why did Americans stop marrying when everyone else still does it?'. Or the Miriam Redtail of the future." Fox chuckled. He couldn't help smiling. 

Neither could the vixen across the table. "Don't be silly. I'm just...wondering if..." 

"You're thinking 'it's okay that someone wants to get married but we shouldn't be the first', aren't you?" Fox asked.

"There are times when dating a shrink can backfire," Miriam grumbled. "Yeah, that's exactly it." 

"...and two hundred years down the line..." Fox began, then ducked out of the way as Miriam snapped forward, batting a paw at him playfully. 

"Stop that. But yeah, you're right. Someone must start. And you know, somehow I think others have already gotten married since, anyway," the vixen said, amusement in her voice.

Fox nodded again. "Probably," he said and leaned forward on his elbows. "Look, it's not as if we've planned for 600 guests, and we haven't booked the Ghost of Elvis to come and sing at the party afterwards. We planned for a simple wedding, which is why it was so easy to cancel." 

Miriam nodded as well, leaning forward until her elbows rested on the table as well. She smiled and half closed her eyes. "Weeeell...we could always elope to Vegas and get married in some sleazy wedding chapel?" she said and winked. 

"Don't tempt me, femme," Fox chuckled. "I'm trying to be serious here."

"Okay then. What would be your suggestion?" 

Fox reached out to his side and grabbed some paper and a pencil. "Well, why don't we go over what we want again, and then we'll see how soon we can realistically do that without collapsing from stress?" 

Miriam nodded and smiled. This felt good. Moving on was the right thing to do. Getting back on with their lives. 

###

"Si, Jefa?"  

Esteban turned around, raising his eyebrows. He had just finished hooking up a brand new camera. It had cost the studio a sizable fortune but it only took up two thirds as much space as the ones they had used before, and the quality of the images recorded was six or seven percent better. To the actors, that didn't sound like a lot but Esteban knew what that meant. He'd worked as a camera-fur for long enough by now to know the ins and outs of the business. 

He stopped and blinked at that thought.  

The business he was in was, strictly speaking, all about 'ins and outs'. He groaned and shook his head, trying hard to wipe the smirk of the century off his face.  

"Well, I was just wondering if you had some time to chat, Esteban? I have some questions for you," Zig Zag said. She was smiling. A languid, almost lazy kind of smile.  

Esteban wasn't sure if he should be scared, just worried or wagging his tail. He settled for a bit of it all. 

"Anee time, Jefa. For you, there ees always time." 

"If you weren't getting married, Lobo, I'd say that was a pickup line," the striped skunk said with a grin.  

She looked around at the studio. Michael and Rafe were playing cards at a table. It didn't look like strip poker. There were no clothes laying around. Nor was there any on them. Alexi had just come off the stage after a rehearsal. Mia and Tamara were still on the bed. 

Rehearsals at ZZ Studios tended to be prolonged affairs. From the look of it, neither femme were in any hurry to get off the bed. 

"We should go to my office and leave these horribly lewd, half perverted furs alone, Esteban," Zig Zag said, putting on a serious face. Only the glint in her eye told those who could see it that she was joking. 

"OY! I heard that!!" Rafe protested, looking up from his card-game. "I'm not half perverted." 

"Sorry, completely perverted," Zig Zag corrected herself. 

"That's more like it," the wolf said, mock-grouchily and looked back to his hand. "HAH! Gin!" 

Michael sighed and threw down his cards. "That's six paws in a row. If you weren't stark raving naked I'd swear you were hiding cards up your sleeve." 

"I don't need sleeves to hide cards," Rafe said and grinned wolfishly. 

"I'm so never touching those cards again," the ferret whimpered and rolled his eyes. 

Esteban tried to keep a straight face. "Your offeece, Jefa? Or do we stay here?" 

"Well, I'm sure these furs can bear to hear this..." Zig Zag said and looked back at her chief camera-fur. "I'm just going to let you know that as a bare minimum I insist that you send the bills for your wedding to me. And I would like to ask you if you would talk to Jean about letting me arrange the whole thing. From the cake to the dress, from the tuxedo to the preacher." 

"Whoooooa...maybe I should go out and get married too," Rafe said, blinking. "Damned, Lobo...if you say no to this I'll personally kick you so hard you'll feel it into the next decade!" 

Esteban gawked. He felt at a loss for words...something that didn't happen often. "I...I can't speak for Jean, Jefa...but...I weell talk to her. I promeese. Thees ees..." 

"...only what I'd do for any friend of mine. Jean is, technically speaking, still a student. And while I of all furs know what kind of money you make at work, I know you two would be hard pressed to have a big marriage," the skunk said, shrugging.  

"One condeeteeon, Jefa...just one..." 

"What's that?" 

Esteban smiled crookedly. "All bread and cakes have to come from Jean's father's bakeree. We'd never hear the last of eet otherwise." 

Zig Zag nodded and smiled. "That's a deal then. Just promise you'll speak to Jean about this..." 

Esteban didn't really know what to say. He was overwhelmed but he also had a fairly good idea of what Jean would say. She'd be squirming and she'd start talking about how she couldn't accept something like that.  

"You know Jean...she weell take some conveenceeng," he said, honestly. 

"I know. I also know you're the wolf to do it. Just bat those lashes at her and flop an ear like you do when you try to be sickeningly cute..." 

"I never try to be seeckeneengly cute, Jefa!!" 

"Okay, okay...when you ARE sickeningly cute." 

"That's more like eet." 

Zig Zag shook her head and chuckled, putting her paws on her hips. "Anyway, on to something else before I stick my foot in my mouth again. The camera..." 

"Eet's a marvel. I swear eet can tell me when the coffee ees done, too," Esteban said and flicked the power switch. "Want a demonstrateeon?" 

"Sure. Mia...Tamara...are you two up for some camera tes...oh...I guess that means you are," Zig Zag said and grinned.  

She took a seat and put up her feet. She had time to relax some. There was a job interview to take care of later that day, but she still had time. The cast of the studio was constantly changing. Some of the furs working for her had done so for years. Michael, Rafe, Tamara and Mia were all veterans in the porn industry by now. Michael and Rafe could conceivably continue their careers a good long while yet, but it was different for femmes. The first wrinkle generally meant they had to look for other jobs. It was just one of those things. Everyone knew it, and no one spoke about it. Zig Zag made sure she helped as many as she could. Getting them into other jobs. Many of them moved on to executive or production staff somewhere else in the porn industry. Having paws-on experience helped. Moreover, no one at Pethouse magazine would whisper and point fingers behind a femme's back because she had a series of Porn movies in her past. 

She knew what it was like to be singled out for that kind of treatment. 

It was something she made every effort to ensure her own employees didn't have to deal with, after stopping their active careers.  

It was the least she could do for them. 

###

Gabrielle gave Ulf a tight hug, then moved on to Signe to give her one as well. It was early evening. Dusk had started to creep over the harbor, and the smell of salt water was wafting over the furs by the car. It wasn't something Yohni or Gabrielle were used to. The mongoose clearly wasn't quite sure what to make of it, either. 

Ulf smiled. "Okay, you have everything then? All your luggage and some D-Marks for the train fare?" 

Gabrielle nodded and patted her stomach. "Right here. I took your advice, Signe...I got one of those purses to carry under your clothes. Are there really that many pickpockets around?" 

"Not really but why risk anything? Remember to exchange the rest of your money in a real bank. You'll get better rates," Signe answered. 

"You're right. All right, we have everything ready I think. Including some sandwiches and a thermos with hot tea," the bronco said and smiled. "You have our address, right? Email?" 

"Oh no, I don't have your Email address," Ulf said and reached into his coat pocket, taking out a pen. "Got something to write on?" 

"Hang on..." Signe mumbled and started patting her pockets for some kind of paper. "Ahh...here." 

She handed over a scrap of an envelope to Gabrielle, and the equine wrote down her Email address in a hurry. "I hope you can read my paw-writing," she said and grinned. "I don't have yours so I can't write to you until you write to me. But I do have your snail mail address. Don't worry, we'll definitely be in touch." 

Ulf nodded. He raised a paw and pointed. "Look...there's the ferry..." 

Yohni smiled. "I have the tickets. Ready for Germany, Gabby?" 

"I think it's more a matter of whether Germany is ready for me, my dear," Gabrielle answered and shot out her chest, striking a pose.

"Good God, I didn't see that...my poor eyes," Signe giggled and turned her face away. "Okay, you two have definitely broadened my horizon." 

Gabrielle turned back to look at the Greenlander and her boyfriend. A serious expression came over her face. "We owe you both a real debt of gratitude," she said and turned to face the two Danes more fully. "Sure we could've stayed at the hotel...but you made us feel safe at a time where we really needed that. All because Ulf happened to bump into us in the airport. I don't think I can thank you enough..." 

"That goes for both of us," Yohni chimed in. "It's been a real pleasure getting to know you two." 

The ferry lazily turned around in the harbor and backed into the anchorage. Cars started driving out. Passengers without a car began leaving the ship as well.  

Gabrielle smiled slightly. "You know, Yohni...I'm a Midwestern American to the bone. Apart from my father's yachts or the occasional rowboat...I've never sailed before. This will be something completely new." 

"Makes two of us," Yohni said with a shrug. "I just hope they have a doctor and an undertaker on board for when I get seasick..." 

Gabrielle laughed and slipped an arm around her girlfriend's shoulder. "No need for an undertaker...you're not allowed to die from seasickness." 

"Tell that to me when my fur starts turning green." 

"Will do. Okay, it looks like they're getting ready to take on the passengers." 

Yohni nodded and turned around, extending a paw to the two Danes. "You two take care of yourselves...and we'll stay in touch." 

Ulf chuckled and nodded, taking the paw...and pulling Yohni in for a hug. "You'd better," he grinned. 

Gabrielle smiled and winked at Signe, before picking up her suitcase and shoulder bag.  

It was definitely time to move on. 

###

Jean put up her feet, nestling a cup of tea between her paws. She was smiling. Widely. It wasn't a cup, she reminded herself. It was a bucket. She'd found it by chance, on sale, on her way home and she'd bought it instantly. The kind of thing any tea-drinker would love. The kind of mug that could bring a smile to her face, just by existing. 

All for the insane price of two dollars, forty cents.  

She hadn't even thought about it. A real impulse-purchase. That was okay though...once in a while, impulse was acceptable. Especially when that impulse cost less than two and a half dollars. She reached out for the remote control, to turn on the TV...only to stop halfway as the phone rang. 

"It never fails, does it?" she said to herself and put her mug down. She picked up the phone and held the receiver to hear ear. "Esteban's and Jean's place, Jean speaking..." 

A moment later, she had to pick up the receiver from the floor. 

###

Emma picked up her groceries. She was feeling good...like there was nothing that could get her down. There was no particular reason, either...it was simply one of those days where she'd gotten out of bed in the morning, and smiled.  

She hadn't stopped smiling yet, and that was a real rarity. 

There was one reason why she felt so good, actually. Her smile just grew at the thought. Monday she had a job interview. It wasn't anything big but it was something she would enjoy. At the Ohio Historical Society, as an archivist. The kind of job she knew she'd be able to do well at.

That was something to look forward to. She might not get the job, but even being called in for an interview was a big thing for her. A morale-boost. She left the store and started down the sidewalk. It wasn't very far from where she lived. Just a few hundred yards down the street, actually. She smiled again, enjoying the day. The sunshine on her face. The last few days had been cloudy...after a real Indian Summer, fall was finally starting to set in. 

All the more reason to enjoy the sun when it came out again, she told herself and turned into the apartment building. 

She made her way up the stairs and put the key in the lock, turning it. There was no click. That could only mean one thing. 

Jeremy was there. 

She took a deep breath and smiled. It'd go well today. She was sure of it.  

"Jeremy?" she called out, as she entered. "Are you here?" 

"I'm right here. Where were you?" Jeremy responded from somewhere in the apartment. 

Emma felt relieved. The weasel sounded like he was in a great mood. "Just went down to get some shopping done. The fridge was more or less empty." 

"I noticed," Jeremy answered. "That happens. Did you get anything for dinner?" 

"Yeah but...I didn't know you were coming over. I may have to go again and get more," Emma said, swallowing. That might get her boyfriend angry. 

"Oh, don't worry. I'll get it if we need to, or I'll just settle for some toast or something," Jeremy said and came out of the bathroom, putting his paws in his pocket.  

Emma nodded. "If you're sure. It wouldn't be any trouble. Anyway, you sound like you're in a great mood. What happened?" 

"Well, Esteban and Leo are planning a fishing trip, and they invited me," the weasel said and beamed proudly. "Feels like I'm being accepted by the group already." 

"That's great news! I'm happy for you," Emma answered and stepped into the apartment after removing her shoes. She passed Jeremy and gave him a kiss on the cheek, before going into the kitchen to empty the grocery-bags. 

Jeremy followed, still smiling. "So...what about you? What have you been spending your time on?" 

"Actually, I wrote another application..." Emma started. 

"Emma...seriously..." the weasel said, stopping her. "...you haven't had any luck so far. When are you going to realize there are no jobs to be had for a historian in Columbus?" 

Emma felt like someone had just scratched the record of life. She stiffened. Where was the support she wanted and needed? Hadn't she just shown him support and that she was happy for him, when he told her about the fishing trip? 

"Erhm...I have a job interview on Monday..." she tried. 

Jeremy sighed and put his paws on the back of a chair, leaning on it. "I see. You didn't think about telling me about this before sending off that application? Where is it at, anyway?" 

"The Ohio Historical Society...they're looking for an archivist," Emma said, without turning around to face Jeremy. She just opened the fridge to put the food in. 

"And you didn't consider asking me if I was okay with that?" Jeremy asked. His voice was calm and even. 

"Jeremy...I need a job," Emma protested. 

"Why? Don't you think I can take care of you? Is that it?" 

"That's not it. I just want to make a living too. To do something useful." 

Jeremy laughed. "Useful?? Stop kidding yourself, Emma. Historians aren't useful. All you do is tell people what happened hundreds of years ago. You could read that in a book if you wanted to..."

"Who do you think writes those books, Jeremy??" Emma asked and immediately regretted it. 

Jeremy fell quiet behind her.  

Emma closed her eyes. She knew what was going to happen next. 

The weasel spun her around. The expression on his face had completely changed. He looked livid. Like he had no self control whatsoever. 

"Don't you ever play smart on me like that, Emma. Ever. Who do you think you are?" he asked.

Emma didn't open her eyes. It was easier when she didn't see the paws coming down on her face. She curled up on herself and let the blows come. After three of them she didn't feel anything.  

She just passed out.