"I've got you, sweetie." Indeed, Amy is no liar and the Commander's grip is unbreakable, the chain of ironed bone and muscle imbued with unnatural strength and unquenched passion, keeping Lanolin tethered to this world. "Just breathe."
A fragile, distressed sheep pants sweat and bile, trembling.
"In. Out." The hedgehog keeps her instructions calm and clipped, yet so oddly patient, never giving in to the stress and the agony. "Count to three." It gives off the distinct impression that she's had to do this before. "In. One, two, three. Out. One, two, three." That she's lived through it already. "Breathe with me."
Feeble words are gasped, most of which are apologies, then a horrendous groan.
"In. One–"
Lanolin vomits into the void beneath her boots.
"I've got you," Amy repeats, dangling from a serrated edge of rebar like broken ribs jutting from the meat of concrete. "I promise. Just breathe. One–"
"I d-d-don't–"
"One–"
"W-wanna die!"
At this the Commander's own breath hitches.
"Please!"
"Breathe, sweetheart."
"Amy!"
"One, Lanolin! Two! Three!"
So many frantic breaths, a swaying, a lurch, colours all leering.
The hedgehog snarls at her own bloodied shoulder wound as she heaves her great strength. It's painful, but for a woman given to deep fits of feeling, she seems strangely unafraid of whatever she senses is coming for her. She just has one last thing to do, in case her premonition proves true. It always does. That's why she gave up the cards.
The sheep bleats and swims disorientation, her world suddenly spinning, then shuddering on the count of three with impact, whereupon she rests atop her side in a puddle of her own sick, smeared and rolling.
Rebar bends and snaps.
It is at this point that Lanolin is awake, but sleep paralysis keeps her dreaming, seeing things.
There's a lot of silence, for a war-torn battlefield, which makes more sense to the animals than a lot of lack of life, for a once bustling city.
"...Amy?"
There is no reply, no flash of pink.
Lanolin achingly sits up and finds herself alone in bed. Alive.
"A-Amy…?"
Not Commander Rose, as is respectful. No, not right now.
Lanolin scrambles onto her hands and knees, clawing up the buckled road, navigating the fang overhanging a gaping maw of darkness, sobbing as she peers over the edge of denial for some shred of breathing hope in this stink of fire and fuel, leaning from her bunk to stare at the floor like it's the guts of the city Eggman cleaved open with a massive machine.
Amy is gone, and she won't be found in Lanolin's room.
Jewel pulled some strings to get her dear assistant private accommodations, because of the night terrors disturbing other sleepers. Unfortunately, the shared shower block will have to do.
Oh, how it would feel, Lanolin fantasizes in her delirium, to die in Amy's arms, to simply be crushed in one of those comforting – to the point of often-times almost, and sometimes actually, being painful – hugs. Not to live like this. Why, why, why. To dream, even whilst awake.
"Amy."
There is only the ghost to call upon, for a woman who died in some crucial way on the inside, hard to recognise to most who'd like to help. God knows Lanolin isn't alone in her worries.
Anxious minds concoct tortures just as keenly as guilty consciousnesses basking in paranoia.
Collapsed, Lanolin remains very still in her bed, bleating woundedly as herbivorous instinct waits to die, and lives.
It would be nice to be made love to, for a change.
The realisation hits Jewel like a brick wall. She actually stops, hovering in place, staring stupidly at nothing.
"Director?"
A twitch of an antenna.
"Director Jewel?"
"Oh? Um, sorry, I… I was…"
Lanolin tiredly regards Jewel with those glazed-over blue eyes, but there's unmistakable concern etched in a soft, delicate frown.
The beetle shakes herself, clears her throat, blushing and dressed up in one of those impeccable little suits, another brooch boasting prestige and self-indulgence upon her bosom. Some people dislike her simply because she looks the part of classism, never mind her intellect and kindness and work ethic and self-sacrifice for the betterment of everybody else whilst sweet and handsome Tangle gets to go gallivanting about with that enigmatic and gorgeous she-wolf of hers to god knows where, getting into god knows what sort of trouble, sparing maybe once in a while to send a fucking beautiful, precious letter–
"Director."
"I'm fine! I'm fine. Pardon, Lanolin, dear, what were you saying, before?"
"Nothing."
Jewel blinks her lovely rose eyes.
Lanolin tries not to lose herself in them because they remind her of Amy.
"Nothing?"
"I didn't say anything, Director. You just stopped, so I…"
"Ah. Right. Right…"
For fuck's sake, everything is awful. Even the beautiful things. Especially the beautiful things. How long have they known each other in that tiny office, worked so closely and shared the same shitty coffee, and still, it's so unbearably tense! When does it get okay?
And then Jewel smiles cutely, apologetically.
Lanolin's throat tightens and aches as she looks timidly aside, ears flat, still tasting the bile of last night. Wouldn't wash away. Can she smell it, on her breath? Every shameful exhale, treachery.
"So good of you, always checking in on me, dear."
"It's not much, Director."
"Jewel. Just… Jewel."
Silence.
"Someday, perhaps."
They'll get it right eventually.
"This is the life, dude."
Whisper smiles indulgently, stroking Tangle's soft, fluffy fringe out of those breathtaking amethyst eyes.
"This, right here and now – nah, scratch that. Every day and night I get to spend with you? I'm alive."
"Me, too."
The lemur grins up from her cushion, the wolf's bare thigh.
"I'm just happy you're happy, with me."
"I'm way past happy, babe. I'm home."
Except for their missing piece, this will suffice, for now, but the honeymoon phase does not linger forever. Bliss gives way to pain, simplicity binds itself in complication. When the high of an orgasm fades upon release, the thrill of romance subsides with familiarity and time comes to wear them down with age that only compounds the struggles, the mind will recall and think on what was thought forgotten, the eye will see the clear features of what was so indistinct before, hands will feel the weight of mounting burdens and aching feet will realise that for all this distance, something left behind has finally and suddenly caught up.
"We're out here, surrounded by all this fucking gorgeous nature, and we're…" Tangle sighs, enjoying Whisper's claws over her scalp. "…I dunno how to put it, but I'm so… alive, right now, y'know?"
A slow, gentle nod.
"I'm alive, with you."
"Yeah. You saved my life."
"Aw, c'mon. Don't say it like that."
"Wasn't living, before."
Tangle's tail snakes over Whisper's shoulders.
"Didn't think I could do more than survive."
"Hey…"
"But you saved me. Gave me more than purpose. Gave me…"
"You're gonna make me cry again."
"Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. You're so fucking sweet."
Whisper giggles faintly as Tangle is suddenly straddling her, a finger on her cold, wet nose.
"I love you."
"Love you too. You make me happy, Tangle."
"Like I said, Whisper, I'm beyond happy when I'm with you."
"S'a lot to feel, isn't it?"
"Dude! You drive me craaazy. I'm bonkers for you, bro. Just full of, like… light and love and stuff, all bouncing around inside."
The she-wolf nuzzles under the lemur's jawline.
"Gimme kisses."
Kisses are given.
"Attagirl."
And then there's a pause.
"Tangle."
"Whisper."
"We… deserve happiness. Don't we?"
"Sure we do! We're the good guys!"
