Part 2

Recently…

When asked about the zoning regulations across the city of Zootopia, one of the most hotly contested political issues is what species need how much and where; in contrast, the issue of size differences have simmered to a much more manageable broil with the technological advancement of construction, structural integrity, and sound-proofing. In centuries and decades past, entire societies of rodents relegated to living within the walls of larger mammals and to some extent, the tradition perpetuates into modern days but much more closely regulated (as an exemplary exception, see Little Rodentia and its dedicated infrastructure to the smallest mammal species).

Over in Conifer District, streets and blocks are set aside to help distinguish mammals in their respective size brackets; notable examples are the Wildes on the southern end and the Pounceskis on the eastern. More often than not, species in the medium size bracket remain the most versatile but it is not unheard of (and it's actually more common than some might think) for a small mammal to greet their larger neighbors from - what to them would be - their second story window. Like in the case of John Wilde, a tailor from Conifer District whose shop caters to all sizes, Suitopia, it is a sensible practice to rent a studio or make "house calls" for the wardrobe maladies that might befall his plus-plus-size clients.

"I don't know," doubted Lanny as he breathed in the rich pine scent, "Conifer has always been kind of… off-putting for me." Simple gratitude was kept close to his chest that the evergreen locale accommodated species larger than the average lion (even if he himself was a bit larger than) and that even on the smaller end of the spectrum, the walkways and buildings were by no means confining.

"Could it possibly be the threat of meteoric pinecones?" Nick presumed between licks of his ice cream, "Don't worry about them, the nets have held strong for years… especially when the Great Pinecone Avalanche showed everyone just how badly they needed to be brought up to code… we shall never forget…"

He sniffed the air again. "It's more the smell, as if… I wonder if I ever came here as a cub before I lost my memories," the lion said and then shot a glance at the fox, "You've got that look again."

"'Look'? What 'look', I don't have a 'look'?" he feigned, immediately wiping the contemplative expression off his face for one of confusion, and then snapping to a debonair self-satisfaction, "Unless you're talking about my devilishly good look...s, which I have in spades."

"Yeah, no. More like the 'I know something but I'm not telling Lanny' look," Lanny implied, "Your 'there's something else going on' look."

Nick groaned. "Fine, yes, I have ulterior motives for bringing you to see Dad, jeez," he grumbled, "What kind of world are we living in when a fox can't even keep things from a lion?"

Ever on the lookout to one-up his dismal score against the fox (having only found out about it when they met at the TBR), Lanny loosed a braggadocious scoff, "But I thought foxes didn't keep secrets from other foxes?"

A high, hearty laugh relaxed Nick's nerves. "You got me there," he readily ceded, "and probably the first ten-foot fox in history, no doubt a remnant of some prehistoric species."

Lanny joined in laughing and secured the package under his arm. "So, other than John fixing the seam on my uniform at such short notice, what else are you scheming today?"

"Had we more sidewalk, I would tell you," Nick mused and hopped up to the rented studio on the 33rd Street side of the city block wherein Suitopia resided. He ascended the stairs that were more frequent (for the ease of smaller species) to guide the lion alongside the sparser flight, and as he stepped into the cut-away door, Lanny walked through the larger one. "I was just thinking that this was the first time you've met Dad since the TBR, right?"

"Yep," the lion confirmed.

"How did you get that bloody nose, again?"

He shyly shrugged. "Gid wanged me in the schnozz with the door of my truck; it tends to stick sometimes and I might've been a bit too eager to help get it open… didn't even see it coming until all I saw was stars. And I know I shouldn't paint with such a broad brush, but I feel like I put a damper on that whole time everyone was there; Gid looked so guilty every time I snorted… he tried to make it up to me but I couldn't even smell his pancakes, I was so blocked up…"

Green eyes studied the lion… if not directly, and then finished sending a text message on his phone. "You're clenching your jaw again."

Lanny cleared his throat and scratched his cheek as he took a seat in one of the larger waiting chairs (Nick was adjacent) and placed his packaged uniform in his lap. He looked at the temporary measuring station (which did actually have some rudimentary scaffolding set up) and gave his mighty shoulders another shrug with much more muchness, "'Dawson's been going bananas ever since we got to Conifer and I have no idea why. Normally I can figure out what he's trying to tell me - what he doesn't just outright tell me, that is - but he's all over the place and… it's frustrating. I thought listening to him was supposed to help but it's as bad as when I tried to get rid of him."

Nick tossed the remainder of his ice cream cone into his mouth and crunched it.

"You're not telling me something."

Ears pricked as John Wilde entered through a back door and strode across the otherwise empty room, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt to roll them up to the elbow. "Lanny!" he greeted, "absolutely amazing to see you again. Sorry for the delay, boys, some customers just can't seem to understand that a fox has places to be, mammals to see; never mind that they couldn't bring it upon themselves to be punctual but that's neither here nor there." He rubbed his paws anticipatorily and gandered the seated lion up-and-down before stating, "Let's see what you brought me."

"Heya, Dad."

"Hi, Mr. Wilde," Lanny agreed, turning his head forward in greeting, remaining seated as he extended the article of clothing in question. His nostrils flicked, breathing in the new scent that he couldn't while at the Grey household, the last time he'd met John.

The tailor took great care as he thumbed through the handiwork and then grunted in revulsion. "Is this what passes for 'top-of-the-line'?" he griped, "Look at this seam… it's a wonder it's not in shreds by now or that you can even breathe in it. A mortician wouldn't be so stiff in the attire they choose. It's a lucky thing you came to me, Lanny, I'll get this atrocity fixed up for you in a jiffy, just a soon as we get you measured. I need to know what this uniform has to put up with all day, after all."

"Yeah, and we'll be right with you," Nick said, "I need to first prepare myself for… well, there really isn't a way to explain it…"

John groaned and smirked, tapping his chin. "I thought as much, the way you two distanced yourselves from each other like that… I don't imagine you'd come here to get me involved if it needed a one-on-one, so perhaps you can both work it out while I work on Lanny?"

Lanny patiently quirked a brow at Nick as he propped up an elbow to his knee quite expectantly. "One would certainly hope so."

"It actually needs to happen before that," Nick suavely gesticulated and stepped nearer to the inclining lion… and swiftly clapped his cheeks to kiss him full on the lips. Neither dared speak as that very lion's jaw slacked and eyes blinked, nostrils flared, and face slowly turned towards the older fox… who'd collapsed to the floor in a fit of laughter.

"You bet him a Square-on-the-Mouth!" John guffawed, struggling for breath as he gripped his sides and clapped the ground for mercy, "Nicky, there's a special ice cream cone at the Frozen Fox for just such a thing - named 'Square on the Mouth' - you needn't actually kiss him!" Whether distracted by his own merriment or boisterous vocalizations, John was caught unaware of the fact that Lanny had dropped his uniform to close the gap between them. Great tawny mitts grappled the older tod, he yelping and flailing against the iron hold but before he could protest any further, a large nose was shoved into his neck and simply inhaled his scent, rich with the pine needles of Conifer District… and his eyes sparked with terrible revelation.

Nick was stoic.

John, at an absolute loss for words.

Lanny… collapsed to his knees and sobbed, massive frame shaking. At last, he raised his sopping, crimson eyes and trembling chin to look at John… into those hauntingly familiar green eyes…

"You always waxed poetic about how the sense of smell was closely tied to memories." The younger fox sighed and rubbed his nape, stepping down from the chair to approach. "Back during the TBR, I made a wager with a lion friend of mine that I'd kiss Simon King square on the mouth if I ever met him… not that I thought I ever would, of course; even so, I'm glad the message was received loud and clear, one fox to another. Later that week, I heard about some… 'green-eyed uncle' of his and a mysterious blue fox popping up in his memories… I recently remembered that you wore a powder blue suit the day you left for a whole month, Dad, right after Simon disappeared," Nick explained, crossing his arms and glancing up, away, "I heard from that lion friend of mine about hot, dry, roaring, dark winds… and realized that it could describe the fires of a car crash… or a stretch of desert in Sahara Square during a sandstorm.

"You explained how you could help abducted children forget their trauma by encouraging them to repress it all but only long enough to get them the professional help they needed…" he continued, thinking about a conversation he had with Leodore in the past week, "But what if you didn't have that luxury? What if Simon's life was in immediate danger? What could you, would you convince a young cub of, one that was on the verge of death from extreme exposure… Would you convince him that he wasn't who he thought he was? That, maybe, you guided him to think that he was anyone except Simon King? Someone familiar with 'Lenny, the patron saint of lost children'; someone who knew your name, 'Wilde'… except you heard it as 'Wild-without-an-e' when they said it themselves." Nick stroked his chin. "Luckily… I know a certain badger out in Preds' Corner who already had a totally legal DNA test of Lanny's at the ready, and I just got the very conclusive results today. So now, my only question is-"

"Why?" the lion asked of the older fox, a maelstrom of every negative emotion his heart could manage.

John was also crying as he gripped the wrists before him. "They wanted to kill you, or worse…" he choked, "I knew they would never stop and I didn't know what else to do so I hid you… I hid you where they could never find you… not until you were strong enough to fight back on your own," he confessed and hung his head, tears cascading down his snout, "You wandered the sands for three days before I found you and then I saw the buzzards… I was afraid you weren't alive… I covered you in my jacket just before the sandstorm kicked up and marched through it, praying to feel your breath… But then you started sucking the sweat out of my pelt and I knew you were still with me, that I could still save you…" and then looked up with a guilty whine, "For a month, I hid with you under the Palm until I could convince you that you weren't Simon King… and to forget me… that's when I could entrust you to the only mammal who could protect you but then… he was gone… and you really were lost… I had no way of tracking you again and I… I lost hope, Simon…"

Lanny's fingers clenched around the thief that stole his past, grip as though a cage but the control of his strength became all the more evident when - despite the raw power surging through his arms - they did not rend John asunder. "You 'lost hope'…?" Instead, the lion's fangs dug into his bottom lip as he forced his own paws open, dropping the fox like a wet sack of flour… and so his fists curled until the pelt stretched tight around his knuckles and eyes sealed the tears in.

John prostrated where he fell - glasses clattering away - heaving as he wept with his face buried into the lion's leg, "I tried to save you… I tried to save Prima… but what good did it do…? I failed and the city suffered because of it; thousands suffered because of me…" He then threw himself aside with whatever strength remained in him and flattened his face to the floor, covering his head with wringing paws, "I'm a plague…"

What words there were to say, twenty years worth of what Lanny wanted to be known to whoever took his past from him. If ever there was anyone he could blame for his isolation; for instilling such terror in him that he could trust no one, not even his own kind; for having nothing but a name and a memory of death to call upon in his blackest hours; for being the only other voice he heard in his head but with no face to attach it to… no answer or comfort as he tried to piece together who he was; for his abandonment. And there was someone at fault: a wretched fox who surely welcomed the retribution. Surely none would blame him if the anger roiling inside came out to pay back the twenty years that he could never get back… surely, it would have… until he felt something on his arm.

Nick held it; with all the weight of a single flower petal, he held those dark, lonely years at bay… those years growing up when Lanny could only rage against his empty past in confusion and echoing silence. Brilliant, crimson eyes stared into those calm greens, watching as the son picked up his father's tear-stained glasses and cleaned them on a handkerchief… and simply nodded at who was, without a doubt, the "green-eyed uncle" that risked life and limb to pull a scared cub from the brink of death; who took not only his body upon his back but his name, as well, a name which surely spelled doom for not only him, but anyone even loosely associated with him, should it had ever gotten out; who must have suffered every day, month, and year that Simon King remained missing, convinced that he was the instigator of so much anguish…

Lanny… Simon shakily reached for John. The time it took for his paw to span the distance between them stretched for ages until, ever-so-carefully, he scooped him up by his torso… and John grew more confused until he was embraced against the lion's chest. "Thank you for saving me, Mr. Wilde." The fox held onto the hug as best he could when he finally understood.

"You know," he eventually said, remembering all the secrecy he and his mate, Jackie, adhered to as the Foxgloves and all that their stories entailed, about the thousands of families whose eternal gratitude gushed for "a hero" who proved so instrumental in the rescuing of their children, proved only to express such gratitude by keeping the secret, "this is the first time anyone's said that to me."

Now

Memphis flung back with a harsh grunt caught in his throat, sparing a glance to his paw to check for blood from a bite that hardly stung at all. His knuckles curled white around the arm of the wheelchair as he gawked; the discarded cap and hair-tie allowed the mane, grown unimpeded for the past month, to fill out around the younger lion's head… the mane so alike his father Ahab's and mirroring his own. "…Simon?"

Simon nodded, pursed lips smiling and head canting as he gripped his father's paw, weakness melting away for a strong, desperate hold. It was his sincere belief that he cried all the tears he was going to cry with Mr. Wilde, that his days as an alpha gave him the steel to return to his father as a stalwart lion rather than a bawling cub. He was wrong - very, very wrong. Luckily, he wasn't the only one. "Dad," Simon only just managed to say.

"Don't be a dream," Memphis begged, tears streamed down his cheeks as he felt the sting in his ear, grunting as he tried to sit up but didn't need to as his son collapsed at his knee. His paws scrambled over the broad frame for purchase, trembling fingers digging into the uniform. "I've dreamt of you so many times - please, Aslan, be here."

"I'm here, Dad, I'm here."

Running water helped to fill the silence of so grateful a reuniting as theirs. "What happened? Where were you? Why did you never come home?" he choked, retreating from the hug just enough to hold and see his son's face, his heart beating its strongest in years.

"I'd forgotten who I was… and so I'd forgotten you…" Simon confessed, and leaned in to touch his nose, and then his tongue, and then his lips to his father's cheek… as a cub should.

Memphis repaid the love. "Does your mother know?" he asked when he dared to speak again.

"Not yet, but she will the next time I see her," Simon explained, overcome by the simple thought of seeing his mom again, the rapturous swell bringing his heart to burst.

Concluding their embrace, he carefully hoisted his ailing father from the wheelchair to sit him in the tub, without getting the sleeping shirt wet as he removed it. "Can you handle a bath while I'm away?" he lightly teased, folding the garment to lay it in the vacated seat before turning off the water, "Wouldn't want you drowning on my first day on the job."

The old lion looked on in utter bewilderment, leaning on the edge of the tub. "Well, yes, but what are you…?"

"I've been in the company of foxes for a while, now, rabbits too," the younger lion said, smiling as he stood and stretched an arm over his chest and then up over his head, hoping to clear his sinuses as quickly as possible, "Tricky characters, the lot of them, but after the strong fall, they're the ones we look to to get us back up again. A little rabbit apothecarial science to help with your condition, and just a bit of foxy slyness to get him in here." Simon then referenced his phone with a nod, "He's coming," and slipped out the bathroom door.

"There are three big questions every successful hustler asks before anything else:" Nick professed, "one, 'what's the hustle?'; two, 'how much money does it make?'; and three, 'who's the mark?'. If you can't answer these, you're dead in the water and the biggest, bestest hustles have a 'guy' for each question: someone with the ideas, someone who runs logistics (i.e., Finnick), and then there's yours truly, the guy who works the mark. No one's assigned a role, of course, a hustle needs to be flexible, but believe you me when I say that Magnus was the front-guy for this whole Pleasure Island scheme; he and his bunnies did the dirty work, he had the connections and the resources, he cleaned up afterward to make sure they could do it all over again. However, the problem with these long-running hustles is that someone eventually gets wise to them; always. Sure, he had his fingers into all manner of legislative pies, changing the rules to run things smoothly but he fell into the same pitfall every scam-artist does when they get too big: they forget that a hustle was never meant to be real in the first place. Now, I think we can agree that Magnus wasn't working alone, so here's the million-dollar question: who is the logistics guy?"

Simon visualized meeting his Uncle Tycho as coolly and non-threateningly as possible, just like Nick instructed him. He was the alpha, after all, and couldn't let his emotions get the better of him or else the entire plan to bag "the logistics guy" went up in smoke… Nick (somehow) had sown the exact kind of rumors in the stock market to get Pridelands Enterprises buzzing so that Tycho would be on the estate but preoccupied with important matters; check. Finnick got inside the Pride Rock firewall through the Wifi access on Simon's phone; check. Simon tripped the silent medical alerts by detaching the machines from Memphis; check. All he had to do was appear as cool and non-threatening as possible to catch the conniving lion blabbing about something he doesn't want the rest of the city to know…

…Less so.

As soon as he stepped from the bathroom in his pristinely white nurse's uniform - a posh piece the hospital had him wear with the buttoned flap across the chest (like an admiral's ensemble) - the two lions locked eyes as they let click their respective doors behind them. Had steam wafted from Simon's boiling blood it likely would have surprised no one, his tail slicing the air while that pristine uniform with its pristine buttons strained against the flexing muscle within. His dark lips curled and nose wrinkled as every memory that John helped recover of what he heard on that fateful day in Horseshire - what caused him and Ryan to flee for their very lives and the decades which resulted from it - eclipsed whatever pointers the masterfully composed Nick could give him.

Surely, there was someone to blame.

"Simon," Tycho endeared, the faint sound of the bedroom door locking behind his back as he then swung that paw around to the front and gave what could be interpreted as a courteous bow, "I'm a little surprised to see you… alive," he then added, if under his breath. He was a slender lion, fur a good shade darker than his brother's with features of a certain slink and point that some might even call… "shifty". He likely wore his full business attire not too long prior, the khaki pants, brown belt, and pressed white shirt without any neckwear remained whereas any jacket was since discarded. His entire face seemed to smile quite demurely, from the coil of his cooing lips to the arch of his scarred eye. He dared a step closer.

"Tycho," Simon threatened through his teeth, every long breath failing to cool the furnace stoked within his core, "give me one good reason why I shouldn't rip you apart."

The darker lion wilted. "My darling cub, is that any way to talk to your dear, old uncle? Especially after you've been away for… so many years," he continued and gradually neared, "This is a cause for celebration, is it not? I know I was… a tad standoffish but surely we could put all that behind us… hmm?" His visible paw waved in a gathering sort of motion, he standing upright with his chest out. Tycho immediately choked on his words as a great mitt closed the distance in that room while the two lions paced ever closer; the padded paws making no sound until they were the only ones on the floor, the other set just brushing its clawed tiptoes along the carpet for some semblance of purchase. "Simon!" he gasped, both paws wringing the wrist to keep himself up… perhaps only then comprehending his situation, "What are you going to do? You wouldn't kill…?"

Simon's fingers ignored the thick shag of the dark lion's mane to hold his neck with absolution, careful to keep him at arm's length… Nick warned him not to lose his cool, after all. "No, Tycho. I'm not like you," he resolved and then pulled him only close enough to ensure that his eyes were all his uncle could see, causing him to go limp, "A century ago, I would be within my right, for everything you've done… but that's not justice. I'm not the only one you've wronged." Pain incarnate brilliantly consumed Simon's gut and seized his jaw.

Tycho's paw had wilted off the wrist to instead grab at what was clipped to the back of his belt, a taser whose purpose the darker lion had not hesitated an iota in implementing. His face was calm after its feigned panic but twisted into leering self-importance as saliva pooled at the corners of his nephew's mouth and smoke emanated from the burns in the center of the once pristine nurse's uniform. Though Tycho found that his heels were planted on the firm floor, the paw around his neck clinched with Simon's gurgling growl, surging to slam the raven-black mane into a wall, clattering the pictures and hanging art pieces. True fear filled the uncle's eyes but also hatred as he wedged the taser into his nephew's chest and jammed his thumb onto the maximum setting, terrible light bursting in ribbons between them but the paw around his neck stayed true.

A great roar deafened the taser when another paw grabbed it, wrenched it away, and cracked its chassis with a single squeeze; it clattered onto a dresser, not a fox-taser or a bull-taser, not even a bear-taser… but an elephant-taser. Simon still stood, shaken and panting, but he held his uncle some feet off the floor and seethed through bared fangs, the taste of blood fresh on his gums. "You… don't…" he strained and gulped, "deserve…" Once more he was halted as his uncle seized the opportunity to disfigure his voice into a high and agonized noise with a swift kick.

The uncle cleared and rubbed his throat before clutching his brow, either in pain or annoyance. "If I had to suffer through another righteously idiotic tirade…" Tycho whined, swinging the back of his paw into Simon's slacking jaw before grabbing up the taser and testing it as he watched his nephew brace the floor after the cheap blows, "I try not to resort to such vulgar tactics, a sophisticated gentlemammal like myself, but you really left me no choice." The broken taser sparked however weakly, earning a pained yowl from Simon as it was shoved into whatever tender place possible until the thing petered out… and was then tossed over a shoulder. Tycho crouched and studied the twitching, salivating mess of a lion that threatened him so brazenly not a few minutes before. "Your daddy got the lion's share of brute strength, you know, leaving me at the shallow end of the gene pool… but when it comes to brains," he cooed in a boast, tenderly caressing the young lion's cheek, "But… only a very clever, very ambitious cub could have evaded the Prince's Guard all these years… a true son of the King family. There might be hope for you yet, but we'll need to fix that attitude of yours, first… don't worry, we've long since perfected the process," he assured to the writhing snarl, tapping his finger on the cringing nose.

Water drained from the tub and so Tycho glanced up with eager, patient eyes. They both waited for the wet footfall on tiles to stop… a door to open, close, and then for the blow-drying room to steadily hum at his highest, loudest setting. Tycho looked down to his nephew… and leered. "I thought the herd in the marathon would finally do him in but it wasn't until you got that paranoid father of yours into the bathroom… you really are such a clever cub," he whispered after leaning in, "Did you know that the bathroom is the most dangerous in the house? It's true, more than the kitchen or garage. It's all the water and slippery surfaces, you see, especially treacherous for the elderly and enfeebled. Well…" he continued and stood up, prim and proper as he corrected his mane and shirt while stepping over the heaving mass, "I thank you, Simon, for giving me such a unique opportunity… my dear brother is taking his sweet time dying, you see… just like he does with everything, forcing me to get what I want by my own means."

The blow-drying room whirred and the electrocuted cub protested as Tycho reached the door, back erect, grinning over his shoulder… and it was kept open so that his nephew could see everything. His keen eyes glanced first at the empty tub, peering over its raised edge before spotting the trail of water on the floor and the light beneath the drying closet's door. "Finally…" he mused oh-so-quietly, "I'm the strong one now, Memphis." The scar over his eye itched, just as it always had when he remembered how he got it… and who gave it to him.

Tycho grabbed a ceramic, ornate soap dispenser from the sink - knowing well its sturdiness - focusing on the next door he crept towards, padded paws absolutely silent even against the water. A nimble paw braced the handle with the tips of his fingers and dislodged its clasp as only a master sneak could. He envisioned it all… surprise his older brother, inflict such a concussion that he could drag him to the sink and break his skull open on it… watch as Memphis finally understood who was the real King and in his final thoughts… appreciate how much it took to get him there. The door flung open as Tycho pounced and roared with the bludgeon poised to strike…!

Memphis was nowhere to be found. And amidst the room's steady buzz, only the faucet's drip dared make itself known. The darker lion gazed about, nostrils flaring and whiskers twitching as his weapon lowered in furious attempts to comprehend what he was seeing… or not seeing. No conclusion was reached because (or until) a thick arm strung with steel-cabling locked around his neck and another pinned both arms to his torso at the elbow (the soap dispenser clattering to the floor). Tycho panicked in both voice and limbs as he was backed into the bathroom again.

"That was dirty, Uncle Tycho, and it hurt," Simon growled in a voice only just recovering, strength persistent against the flailing as his veined bicep wedged under his chin, the younger lion grinning, "my pride, that is, and luckily for you, nothing broke - except for my heart."

"That's impossible," Tycho heaved as he was dragged back to the bedroom kicking and screaming, "Memphis, he…?" He then gagged on his words not only due to the physical restriction of his windpipe but because he saw his older brother pop up from the tub… the tub he wanted because he could lie down flat in it. "Not… possible!"

"Don't be such a poor sport, Tycho," Memphis wheezed, gripping the side of the tub as he sat himself up again, "I'm not all brawn."

"I'll help you out in a minute, Dad," Simon called on his way out the door.

"No rush, son," the old lion assured, finding for the first time in too many years that could finally breathe freely, "I'll be right here."

"Simon, Simon!" Tycho beseeched, recognizing that their path around the bed led them towards the balcony, "Please. Please, have mercy, I beg you! I'll make it up to you, I promise. Tell me; I mean, anything!" he continued, envigored when they stopped and his toes could touch ground again, "Oh, Simon, thank you. You are truly noble. How can I, ah, prove myself to you?"

Thoughtful rumbling filled the air around them. "Tell me what I want to know."

Shallow breath eventually steadied with a leaden gulp, allowed to breathe as the lock loosened the slightest bit. "Yes, of course…" he surrendered, careful of the vice grip around him, his own claws still unable to reach anywhere on his captor, "What do you want to…?"

"You've got the brains," Simon dared him, tightening his grip for only an instant, "So tell me."

Tycho whined. "I never wanted to kill you - you and Ryan - you know that, right? I loved you both as though you were my own cubs and would never let harm befall you. I just wanted… just wanted to talk and perhaps I let my emotions get the better of me - you must cede that eavesdropping on the conversations of adults was awfully naughty of you, Simon. I was scared for you both, that you told Ryan whatever you heard, it simply wouldn't do if… well…" he cleared his throat at the impatient growl, "It was them, they said 'No exceptions' even though I vouched for your credibility but it was… it was the hyenas, they were… eager, you know how they are; I told them not to-"

"No," Simon warned, tightening his grip again and taking another step toward the open balcony doors, "Who are they?"

"'They'?" Tycho rationalized, "'They' could be almost anyone-" he choked again, "Hemion! Hemion and Waters controlled everything back then, everyone and if it weren't for me, then Ryan would have certainly been-"

"You and Kazar," he demanded, "Talk."

Sunlight hit Tycho's face as they stepped outside and he whined louder. "Kazar was a terrible bigot and we had a falling out because of it but he came crawling back, begging forgiveness," he rambled only to choke again, the soft breeze from the third story balcony displacing his bangs, "He was threatening me; I was the victim! Hemion pressured on him to pressure me, wanting more out of Pridelands but I wouldn't budge," and then choked, struggling to open his windpipe despite the hold.

"Tell the truth."

"Truth? But 'truth' is in the eye of the beholder-" he bargained, only to find that his air supply was completely blocked for a few deathly seconds, the inside walls no longer visible as he recognized the panoramic view from his brother's bedroom balcony, forcing himself to say, "All right. All right. Kazar was negotiating with Hemion and if we were going to keep the ZPD and Pleasure Island on board, I had to deliver him another Gévaudan… another Prima, except not as bloodthirsty after she was broken in." Tycho rolled his eyes, sighing with his breath replenished. "There's just no pleasing some mammals… some mammals who will be none-too-happy that I turned over a new leaf; so, I'm sure you - who've always been my favorite nephew - can appreciate that I might need some manner of… protection after baring these dark, terrible secrets of my soul. After all, Simon, I a-am family…"

Gravity suspended and the world flipped topsy-turvy as Tycho was flung over the tawny titan's shoulder… and the balcony, as well. His three-story scream ended, muffled by the stunt airbag awaiting him in the gardens below; engulfed by the inflatable mound, the dark lion scrambled back to solid ground, livid in his perception that he'd been played for a fool. Livid, up until he was yanked by his shirt onto the lawn and stared up into the cracking grins of the entire Gévaudan family of the Pride Rock estate. They had never looked at him like that before…

"Ahh, my friends," Tycho endeared… pleaded.

"'Friends'?" came the mirthless laugh of Shannon, the matriarch of the Gévaudan hyenas and leader of the King legal team, "After what you did to Prima? How you 'broke' her and then her crimes got pred-therapy started up again? Isn't that right?" she then asked over her shoulder.

"Yeah, that's what I heard," came the chuckling confirmation of Benzo, her right-paw and head of King security, "and we just got a King's ransom of documentation that you never showed us."

They both then looked over to the bulk of their group, whose paw was still very much clinched around Tycho's shirt collar and asked in unison, "Ed?" Ed, along with every other Gévaudan, was absolutely ecstatic to get a piece of Tycho.

Simon unleashed such a sigh of relief as he strode into the bedroom, "Don't worry, Uncle Tycho's not dead," he announced to his Dad, plucking the minuscule mic hidden in his mane (which thankfully survived the taser assault; he whispered the "all-clear" code into it first, of course), "I just really wanted to toss him over the balcony… Oh," he stopped, for his father was already out of the tub, dried, robed, and sitting on the end of the master bed with "Mom." His paws shuffled, standing before them in his battle-burned uniform, paws behind him to resist the urge to start crying again. "The medicines," Simon explained, "were ninety-percent placebo, I figure, only enough to promote a steady decline in your health but no doubt designed to kill you by attrition. Mom, I'm sorry I was so distant with you earlier and at the Luau; I would've said something… anything sooner but… there were extenuating circumstances and… I needed to… umm…"

Sarah stood in her casual business attire of a turquoise skirt and cream blouse, and though Simon believed he had no more tears to cry, he spared her whatever he had left as she reached up to grasp his head, bringing it closer to touch her nose, and then her tongue, and then her lips to his face so that he could mirror the affection. "It doesn't matter; you're home."

Author's Notes:

The "Square-on-the-Mouth" wager that Nick mentioned is back in Brave, chapter 19. Reference Loyal, chapter 5 for the mention of Lanny's "green-eyed uncle", wherein there is also his description of how he remembers the Sahara Square sandstorm (note the "sticky red" could either describe a pool of blood or John's sweaty fur). Reference Loyal, chapter 8, for the mention of the blue fox and how Nick explains it association to a fox clothed in blue that Lanny's young mind tried to interpret, and then Loyal, chapter 25, for when John mentions that he wore a powder blue jacket.

As Tycho is based on Scar from "The Lion King" (whose original name is "Taka"), quite a bit of his dialog in this chapter comes from the showdown between him and Simba. Also referenced is how Scar is defeated by being thrown off a cliff to the awaiting hyenas - Shenzi, Banzai, and Ed - who in this story are named Shannon, Benzo, and Ed.