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

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

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

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

Portage, Wisconsin
October 13, 2000

Andrew Blair hated weddings.

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

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

"Do you have the ring?"

It was presented silently, and the audience cheered when the couple kissed. Andrew couldn't stop himself from looking away.

At the reception later on, he watched the newlywed Nelsons perform their wedding dance as he guzzled down a solitary glass of champagne with a noncommittal expression. He was glad for them, of course, even if he had a hard time of showing it. The wedding party burst into a full-on jubilee as the bride and groom sat down next to him. Linda got back on her feet immediately and grabbed his wings in her paws, pulling Andrew out of his chair. "Come on, Andy! Swing me a bit!"

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

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

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

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

"Have a good trip."

"Yeah." His tone was absent, and he quickly followed suit.

Once outside, he released a depressive breath. "It's totally fine."

But the lie sounded unconvincing to his own ears. He slumped against his car. "Sure, if by 'fine' you mean the Aerosmith definition, then yeah, it's fine. Whatever." He got inside, quickly leaving the happy (and somewhat drunken) atmosphere behind him.

—

The border collie and the shepherd looked at each other after he left the pavilion.

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

Stephen was silent as he glanced around the party. He suddenly grinned.

"I know that look…" Linda said when she saw it. "What are you up to?"

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

"Okay, stop."

"What?"

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

The collie wilted a few degrees. "Fine, maybe it won't happen exactly that way, but…I do have this." He pulled out a crumpled sheet from his pocket, then smoothed it out on the table. The rest of the attendees were too busy dancing or talking to take notice.

His wife squinted at the image shown. "Is that…?"

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

"Why?"

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

Linda snorted.

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

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

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

"Tour?"

"She's in the marine corps."

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

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

"If you say so."

"Of course I do." He planted a kiss on her muzzle. "Wife."

"Husband," she shrewdly replied. They shared a few more kisses before the photographer came to their table and blinded them with the lens.

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

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

"You're on."

—

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

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

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

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

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

He tried singing to the radio as a familiar song played on the airwaves, "Something in the way she…" but trailed off at the word 'she'. Strange how even the radio would deny him solace. He didn't want to think about 'she'. His voice is hoarse and that particular line of thought will make the brief journey home all the more bleak.

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

The remainder of the journey home passed him in broken silence; he wished he had someone to talk to.

He arrived in Sartell four hours later, just as the sun was being chased into the dark. There was hardly any fanfare, but he couldn't say he was expecting it.

When he closed the door, he heard a reedy voice call from the study, "Evan?"

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

The giant panda wore a pair of dark blue scrubs. Clothing aside, he looked much the same as he did in high school, but it seemed the years have made him a more tempered individual. There wasn't a smile fighting for release on his face like before, and his eyes showed a deep weariness. Andrew wondered how much of that analysis could be put up to his own perception.

Then Chuck smiled, breaking the illusion.

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

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

"No problem." Heavy footsteps clattered to the kitchen as Andrew went the other way.

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

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

She didn't reply.

She never had.