A/N 3: I drew inspiration for the character of Stephen based on the semi-brotherly dynamic of DiNozzo and McGee from NCIS, while Linda is sort of based on the character of Caitlin Todd. There's also some similarity to Sheppard and McKay from Stargate Atlantis. But let us get on with the story, shall we?

—

The next day, as he prepared to leave, Andrew got an unexpected call.

It was Stephen.

"Stephen, hey. I'd have thought you'd be on your honeymoon by now."

"Hey, buddy, I need you to do me a favor."

It seemed like whatever Andrew said passed into deliberate disregard. The avian was somewhat intrigued, and more than a little wary, but he said, "Name it."

"I have a friend who needs a ride out to California."

That was it. No further explanation.

"And?"

"And what?"

"Why are you choosing me to do it? Why can't they fly out there?"

"You're already heading out west. I thought this would be the best opportunity."

"Opportunity for what? And you still haven't answered my question. Are they afraid to fly in a plane?"

Again, his words were ignored. "She's waiting at the Hotel Ivy in Minneapolis. You'll pick her up by eight tonight? Thanks, man!"

His brow rose, as well as a sudden lividity. "Are you insane?! That's an hour in the other direction! There's no way I am going to…" he stopped just as the sound of the dial tone penetrated his consciousness. Stephen had hung up. He closed his eyes, fighting for some emotional control. So much for escaping drama. He counted to a hundred before picking up the handset and redialing Stephen, cursing the dog for guilt-tripping him. "Fine. I'll do it. What's her name?" he asked, as calmly as he could.

"Rachel Klein."

On the other end, Linda and Jesse watch from the doorway as Stephen wrapped up the conversation. "You'd better hurry. I already told her to expect you."

"All right, I'm heading out now." Andrew paused briefly. "Stephen?"

"Yeah?"

"I'd like you to answer me honestly."

"Sure."

"Am I on speakerphone?"

Stephen intercepted the cradle faster than they could blink. "No, of course you aren't. Don't be ridiculous." Another pause. "I am not! You're imagining too much, Andrew." A wide berth at the pair behind him and a shake of the head was a clear indicator for them to be silent.

The menorquín grimaced. "Esto es una locura," he whispered in Linda's ear.

"No shit."

After a few more reassurances, and a hasty goodbye, Stephen hung up the phone, again. He turned to them, grinning fit to split. Then he raised his paws in the air. "High five, guys! It's game time!"

Linda crossed her arms.

"Jesse, back me up."

The horse snorted, and turned away. "No thanks, pendejo." Linda followed behind.

"Come on, guys!"

Silence.

"I can't keep my arms like this forever!"

—

There was never a chance he wouldd trust the border collie completely, especially after that Halloween in Seabury Hall six years ago.

They had had a horror film festival at the Evanston Cinemark theater on the 30th, filled with the classics: The Thing, Carrie, The Exorcist, Psycho, etc. Then Stephen disappeared for a few hours, leaving Andrew and Jesse clueless as to his whereabouts. When the dog showed up again, he was grinning like mad. It made the roommates a little suspicious. He didn't know about Jesse, but Andrew hadn't gotten much sleep that night: he kept thinking Freddy Krueger would get him, which, at the time, seemed almost reasonable. Almost.

He had shut his eyes for only a few minutes, and opened them again alarmingly when a barrage of high, agonizing screams and haunting winds assaulted his ears. His wings acted against his control and he flew up into the ceiling, cracking it minutely and sending himself, through no intentional means, into unconsciousness. He came away with a few stitches and a big (but thankfully not visible) bruise on his forehead. Jesse had wound up with a twisted ankle. When it was revealed Stephen had placed surround speakers under both their beds, neither spoke to the collie for a week afterwards. Of course, they would have forgiven him sooner if he had just stopped laughing about it.

It was much easier to predict Stephen's plans from then on, but this time was a mystery. If there was any ulterior motive to him picking up a friend of Stephen's, he couldn't see it. This was too subtle, and the concept of Stephen being subtle about anything baffled the bird.

He gave up trying to figure it out after an hour, putting his mind toward more important things. Minneapolis was a perfect labyrinth; granted, it wasn't the mind bender that Manhattan was, or even Chicago, but its numerous one-way streets shared the same standards of any city on the planet that make driving all the more crazy by rush hour. In spite of that, he made it to the hotel parking garage with an hour and a half to spare.

The Hotel Ivy's interior was very spartan. The walls were painted white, spread intermittently with what Andrew assumed was oakwood, of which panels were centered atop the fireplace and hotel room doors. Three meter tall windows provided an attractive glimpse of the night sky, and the lobby bathroom, when he went to use it, was furnished in glorious alabaster tile. The entire hotel just about screamed Holy Renaissance, or possibly Greco-Roman. Either way, it felt like he was committing sacrilege.

That sense of foreboding wouldn't let up as he approached the concierge desk. A lithe young otter stood there, dressed to the nines in a black knit blazer, and typing briskly away on the computer. She didn't look up as she asked, "Is there something I can help you with, sir?"

The crane cleared his throat, placing his wings on the desk, "Ahem, yes. Andrew Blair. I've come to pick up a Rachel Klein. I was told by a friend she was staying here."

"Let me check." She stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth in concentration. Andrew felt a little queasy by the action, but didn't say anything. "You're in luck. She's checked in until 8." Old news to him. "Room 703."

"Thanks." He tucked in his wings and walked to the elevators. He wondered if she'd even taken her eyes off the computer, but didn't look back to check.

"If she's not in the room, check the Porter & Frye restaurant. It's just down 11th…!" the receptionist said after him.

"Thanks! I got it!" he called in reply, cutting her off. He hit the 'down' button of the elevator with the crook of his right wing. Andrew knew he was being rude to the receptionist, but he supposed he wasn't entirely free of the irritation thrust upon him by his canine friend. The fedora he wore obscured his vision, making him squint at the descending lights above the door.

"Mind if I join you?"

His head whipped around to see a slightly older clouded leopard standing behind him in calm observation, wearing nothing save a bathrobe and sandals. She crossed her arms when he didn't answer. "Well?"

Andrew shook himself into awareness. "Sorry. You startled me a bit. But, yeah, it's okay."

"Good."

The elevator dinged right then. They got inside, and the usual elevator etiquette took over. On reaching the seventh floor, they both took a step forward and immediately stopped, looking at each other warily. Andrew sighed, gesturing with a wing, "After you."

"Thank you," she said, brushing past him with thinned yellow eyes.

The arrows directing the room numbers show that 703 was to his right, precisely the way the clouded leopard is going. How convenient. He rolled his eyes, and quickly followed after. It didn't take him long to catch up. Not that surprising, considering it was less than fifteen feet from the elevator.

Oh wonderful.

The very room he was looking for just happened to belong to the feline, and there was no doubt she was Rachel. Stephen was so going to owe him for this.

"Are you," he asked tentatively, to be positive of his assumption, "Rachel?"

She turned around, one paw already on the door handle. "Yes…" she said slowly. He could almost see the clouds of suspicion forming in her mind.

"I'm Andrew Blair. I'm here to chauffeur you," he said without thinking, and mentally groaned. That's right, Andy. Stick to the classics.

Shut up, Stephen. He had lost count over the years the collie had made him watch that stupid sci-fi franchise.

As an icebreaker, though, it turned out working perfectly: Rachel doubled over in mirth.

Andrew didn't realize it at the time, but at hearing her laugh, the first genuine smile in years spread across his features.

—

After she got out of the shower, Rachel started packing. She folded her clothes with an efficiency Andrew had seldom seen, even at his own house, before his mom…no, no. He wasn't going to think about that now.

He decided to initiate a conversation to take his mind off the subject. "Have you been here long?"

"Not very long. I was going to visit Steve after the wedding, but he insisted I come here instead. I'm still not sure why, if he wasn't planning on being here himself."

He snorted. "Might as well ask how many fish live in water than ask him to come clean with one of his pranks. If this is a prank."

"Too true. So, what's the on the agenda?" she asked, looking up at him.

"Head to Sartell. Spend the night, then head out tomorrow morning. I promised a few friends of mine I'd meet with them for breakfast, if you don't mind coming along." She nodded jerkily, but said nothing, looking unsure for the first time that night. The nod was more of an inkling than the look on her face, but Andrew figured it out. "It's okay. My sister's away in Berkeley, so you'll be staying in her room."

She laughed weakly, latching the suitcase. "Ugh, I have no idea why I'm nervous. Still not that used to civilian life, I suppose."

That made him curious. "Civilian?"

"Steve didn't tell you? I'm in the marine corps."

"Ah. I'm afraid he didn't tell me much of anything except your name."

"Why am I not surprised?" She shook her head. "We should get going."

"You're that eager to leave?"

"I'm not really appreciative of being a pawn in whatever scheme he's cooked up."

"Amen. Let's go." He lifted his leg to open the door, letting Rachel pass, and then followed her out.

—

To eliminate the remaining tension, Andrew recited a story as they headed toward the garage.

"…So, I was getting ready to leave for home that summer when I finally saw the car. It was completely covered in Nutella butter. I had absolutely no idea where he'd gotten it and I didn't care. All I saw was magma, way past red. So after yelling at Steve for nearly twenty minutes, he was pretty frightened. Especially since I threatened to carry him to the top of the Sears Tower. It didn't lessen my anger any when he showed me the shrink wrap that covered the car. He took it off carefully, in order to avoid it touching the paint, and when he had finished," Andrew grinned, "I snatched it from his paws, flew above him, dropped it, and Voila! A chocolate coated collie!"

They stopped walking when Rachel broke down, laughing so hard that tears leaked from her eyes. She calmed herself enough to ask, "What happened next?"

"Oh, that was pretty simple. Jesse, that was our other roommate, came out on his way to a biology final, and stared. Stephen was on the ground, attempting to lick the chocolate off his clothes and face. After witnessing that odd spectacle, Jesse only said "Dios mio" and left, shaking his head. I drove away, glad just to have had the last laugh. The only disadvantage to that was that I couldn't eat chocolate for a month."

She laughed again as they reach the Camry. Andrew was mesmerized, no matter how hard he tried to fight it. He admitted, though not out loud, that the leopard was lovely: clad in a white long sleeve, suede pants, a denim vest, a wool scarf around her neck, and an equally white beret beanie on her head. Her laugh was a sprinkle of chimes that had him frozen in place.

After he opened the door for her and made his way to driver's side, the last puzzle piece fell into the pile. He froze again, this time in realization.

Son of a bitch.

Two choices were apparent: to make Linda a widow before the first anniversary, or to thank Stephen profusely for his interference. The former prospect appeared more attractive at this point.

Rachel's voice cut through his thoughts as she poked her head out the passenger side. "Andrew? I thought we were going. Is something wrong?"

He plastered a grin on his face as the angry thoughts faded from his brain. "Nothing's wrong. Something I remembered, that's all. I'm ready."

Her expression showed she wasn't convinced, but kept silent. Andrew breathed a sigh of relief before reversing the car to drive them back home.