Q is for Quack

Another pleasant day strolling through the park, marred solely by the company one kept. Well, that really wasn't fair. If one were to ask either of them if they enjoyed the other's company, the answer would have been a resounding no, but this was obviously a fallacious sentiment.

After all, they were here together. Again. Off the clock, on their free time, meandering quietly on a pleasant spring day.

"Hey, say cheese!"

Russell and Timmy turned heads in confusion, making terrible faces for paparazzi. Adam groused. "Man, that's the face everyone makes."

Jen sighed. "Because you always just run up yelling 'say cheese,' they don't know you're coming." For a moment she consulted with the men as her husband fiddled with a new toy. "He just got this camera, humor him and pose for a photo, okay?"

The next one turned out better. As Jen and Adam walked the opposite direction down the path, Adam scrolling back through photos, he chuckled to himself.

"What's so funny?"

"He gave him bunny ears."

Jen groaned out. "Ugh, that's so like Russell to wreck a photo."

"No. No, Timmy gave the bunny ears to Russell, see...?"

Jen looked on the photo; she stopped walking, glancing back on Russell and Timmy in reflection as they disappeared along the path. Huh, yeah. Yeah, so he had.

Along the other end of the path, two men walked silently side by side. The small pond to their left was enough to stop Timmy, though Russell urged him forward.

"Stupid water, what's so fascinating?"

"Ducklings, sir!" Timmy knelt beside the water. "You haven't an ounce of heart left in you that you'd besmirch the sweetness of a baby duck?"

"Maybe with orange sauce," muttered Russell.

"What's that, sir?"

"Cute, Tim, real cute!" Not enough. Timmy was still urging him forward, and Russell begrudgingly found himself inching closer. Hesitantly, he willed himself to move until he was very near the other man, kneeling down a touch.

"There, sir..." whispered Timmy. He pointed towards a ring of ducklings, circling behind their mother, splashing gleefully. "The circle of life. Breathtaking, isn't it?"

"Moves us all. I'm moved, Tim. Are we done, here?"

Too late. He was a goner, and it was all Timmy's fault; they'd caught the attention of the tiny white feathered beasts. Russell's heart lurched as he saw the ducks turn towards him. At least six tiny winged predators, eyes set upon him, swimming towards shore.

"Ah, damn it..." Russell stood, backing away, which only seemed to anger the little terrors, as they swam faster now, abandoning a mother duck who quacked for their return. "Listen to your mother!"

Timmy watched small orange feet meet land, following sneakered feet which dashed scurryingly away at an ever alarming rate. "Sir...?"

"Save yourself, Tim, it's me they're after!"

Timmy stood, keeping pace with Russell. True to word, the ducklings were after him. And right behind the ducklings, a mother duck, seeming quick displeased with the entire ordeal.

"Ducks hate me, Timmy...!"

Timmy, holding back a smirk, examined Russell with a tilt of his head. "On the contrary, sir, it would appear they've taken you for a second mother. Makes perfect sense. Small enough, cheepish warble of a considerable pitch, rather avian stride..." He ran fingers against Russell's head. "Hair made of feathers..."

"Knock it off!" Russell made the bold mistake of standing still, at which point panic set in. He looked all about, hyperventilating as a ring of tiny, squeaking ducklings circled his feet, pecking at his toes and ankles. "No no no, not again!"

At which point Timmy, ever resilient, pulled from his pocket a bag of bread. He whistled, making a line of crumbs from boss to water, leading quacking terrors away, mother and children, until at last the man had been set free.

And Russell, collapsing to the center of the path, took to centering his breathing.

He found Timmy next to him a moment later, kind enough to commit himself to ground. There he sat, cross-legged, practically grinning his direction.

"You had a magical bag of bread?"

"I often feed birds in the park, sir. Just not...pft..." Timmy tried his best to stifle laughter. "I never expected I'd have to..." He was truly resisting.

"Ducks hate me." Russell rolled up a sleeve, showing a tiny mark against an arm. "Battle scar. Summer camp, 10 years old. It was me or her, Tim."

"Well?" asked Timmy through held laughter.

Russell's eyes narrowed.

"Who won?" At this he lost all control, releasing high pitched giggles and snorts. He pulled knees to chest in an effort to contain himself, shaking his head in apology, but no use...he carried on gleefully laughing. "A duck, of all things!"

Russell took the laughter for rejection, a small pit of disappointment ever growing in his stomach. The guy was just like all the others.

Rather foolish notion; for if he'd really taken time to think, he'd know that Timmy, in all his refinement, was well above making mockery of other people. He only allowed himself such displays under special circumstances, with those closest to him. With those he held in deep contempt; with those he loved and feared no chance of losing. Some, it seemed, walked an ever thinning line.

Timmy's laughter was dying down now. He made every effort to act as though he'd simply tired of the act, sitting tall and breathing deeply. In realty, he'd taken note of Russell's discomfort, and something had troubled him in the man's face...he'd struck a nerve, and today the nerve-striking didn't seem nearly as satisfying as he was accustomed to.

It was losing its edge.

"You know, sir, I..." Timmy searched for words to reconcile the situation. "I once, uhm...was kicked in the leg by a horse."

Russell turned slightly, confused by the sudden onslaught of words from Timmy's mouth. "The hell?"

"A horse, sir. A girlfriend at the time, she...had weaseled me into a game of polo, and the horse...well, I still have a bit of a mark. I'd show you, but it's rather on the upper thigh and as we're in a public park..."

"And I'm not interested in your thighs, little factoid."

"Yes, of course, let's certainly not begin stripping for one another."

They both scoffed at the suggestion, then forced soft laughter, diverting eye contact.

"So...so anyway," continued Timmy. "I wouldn't go near a horse for the longest time, I still quake a bit in one's presence..." Timmy looked to Russell, slowly.

Russell side-eyed his companion in understanding. So, this was an apology? Fair enough.

"Yeah, well, horses are jerks."

"Yes, and so are ducks. Always...eating bread, and quacking, am I right?"

A crooked smile fell upon Russell's face. He stood without another word...checked the peripheral for anymore feathered beasts, and took to walking.

Oh, wait. He paused, turning back, and reached a hand down towards Timmy. Hands latched just so, without a second thought...a hoist upward, and he was walking right beside him.

And so a year would pass; two years, three. They would walk here many times.

Timmy always quacked lightly when they walked the path. With a small whinny, Russell always kicked him in response. Lightly, lovingly, against a shin...just enough to prove a point.

The mark upon Timmy's thigh had became familiar to fingers in the middle of the night, and Russell teased him for it.

Never enough to send him away, of course.

Russell might still need him if the ducks showed up.