It was times like these that Andrew wished he had teeth, because all he felt like doing now was gritting them. In lieu of that, he would settle for clamping his beak shut. Rachel had fallen asleep just after they drove through Brooklyn Center, and he trusted it would be the typical catnap. Whoever coined that idiom had either lied, or they'd never met a cat who snored.

Even more ironic was the fact that whatever he did to try and wake her up ultimately failed. She kept sleeping soundly as he honked the horn, slammed the brakes (on the shoulder, of course) and, as a last resort, turned the volume on the radio full blast.

He had never felt so thankful for the hour and twenty minute drive. But at the same time, he felt exhausted. The multitude of emotions he had dealt with in the past few hours alone had him about as wrung out as a dish rag.

VWOMP.

Strike another tally to that list.

He got out of the car to inspect the damage, and closed his eyes upon realizing what was wrong. "Fuck." The right rear tire had been punctured. He wasn't going to waste time trying to figure out the cause. The best thing would be to get out the jack and replace the tube right away, which he did. In retrospect, this was a bit difficult. Because of the length of his bill, he had to turn his head sideways just to be sure the jack was in the right position to lift the rear of the car.

The sandbag provided him with some extra security in performing the task. He then took the tire off slowly but carefully that he wouldn't jostle the car and disturb his passenger, holding the flashlight in his mouth as he did so. Out alone in the middle of a darkened highway, Andrew could think of the assumptions Rachel would probably make if she woke up, none of them being particularly wholesome, but none of which he would ever attempt.

He almost didn't hear, engrossed in the task of setting the replacement, but Rachel spoke then. A sluggishness muffled her voice, "Andrew? Andrew? Where did you go?"

"Over here," he called, tightening the last bolt with his wing, bent at the elbow to provide a better grip. He panted a little to expel some of the heat buildup, and the cold feel of the asphalt to his talons relieved the rest. The entire process of restoring the wheel, even in winter, had him feeling as though he were in the Amazon. He walked to the passenger side window. "What's the problem?"

"Nothing. I was just wondering where you'd gone," Rachel said. Her yellow eyes looked him up and down. Andrew couldn't help feeling a little self-conscious by that stare, and was very grateful his feathers hid his flushed face. Oh, he had it bad all right. Damn it. He was definitely going to kill Stephen now. "Wow, you're a mess."

Making a denial of that would seem pretty moot. The grease left from the tire residue blackened his upper wings, and his coat had been ripped at some point when he placed the jack under the car. Also, as he crawled out from the rear, a few drops of oil fell onto his beak. He wasn't about to surmise how he must look, but it appeared likely he wouldn't be going to any award ceremonies soon.

Noting this, he asked, "You wouldn't mind driving for a while, right?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Look, we haven't got that long to go. Right now," he looked around the dim lit area, recognizing the bright red sign of the gas station in the distance, "we're in Clearwater, so we should be at my parent's place in thirty minutes, at the most. Plus, my wings are still a little slick from the oil, and I think if I tried driving in my state we'd probably fall into a ditch, or something." He shook his wings a little bit, letting loose the gravel that had made its home there.

"But I saw you use your foot to steer."

"Yes, but that's only to steer. I have to put my wings on the sides of the wheel to balance it out."

Her muzzle twisted into a grimace. "I'm sorry. I didn't think it was that hard for a bird to drive a car."

"It's okay." He chuckled. "And trust me, it is a hard thing to try. Though, to be fair, most birds that come in my height are proving the exception to the rule. The rest of them are just fine with flying."

She was silent, weighing the decision before speaking, "All right, I'll do it until we get there. Just…try not to…vomit. I tend to be a little fast."

Her words didn't inspire much confidence in him, but he stayed quiet. He opened the door for her to get out. She stared at him with unblinking eyes before doing so, and he struggled, unsuccessfully, to fight down another blush. The moment they're settled in their seats, he looked at her warily, careful to keep from hitting her with his bill. She looked back and smiled at him. "It'll be fine," she said. "Hold on to something."

He quickly gripped what Stephen had charmingly dubbed the 'Oh, shit!' handle. To his surprise, however, the car rolled out smoothly. At least he'd had the tire fixed. There was very little traffic on the road and within minutes, she turned to him again. "Wanna check what's on the radio?"

"Sure."

He regretted saying it immediately, eyes wide and beak gaping as the familiar beat of a drum machine and piano made their way to his ears, shortly accompanied by a crooning Welsh voice. No. No no no no no.

"Please forgive me if I act a little strange

For I know not what I do

Feels like lightning running through my veins

Every time I look at you

Every time I look at you."

It took all of his strength not to start banging his head on the dashboard.

"Hmm," Rachel contemplated, her eyes flicking between him and the highway in front. Her face looked openly thoughtful and, dare he say it, amused. "Interesting choice. Do you listen to this station a lot?"

Aargh.

He didn't trust himself to speak. He was embarrassed enough.

Stephen was a dead, dead dog.

—

The house was unusually lit up when they arrived.

Several silhouettes were quick to dislodge themselves from the ambience. Andrew could see one of them was his father. The other two were without a doubt Chuck and Sophie, laughing from something his father had said. They had most likely finished up a dinner that he couldn't attend on account of meeting a girl. 'Oh, hell,' he thought as the three turned to the driveway. He wasn't ready to hear the jokes the three could produce as a result. "This is gonna suck."

"It can't be that bad," Rachel said beside him. "Are the other two part of your family?"

"No," he said, smiling nostalgically, "but I've been friends with them since middle school. They're the only married couple from my class that stayed here in Sartell. Chuck, that's the panda, works for us as our latest live-in nurse. Sophie has a job as a personal trainer at Snap."

"Live-in nurse?"

The smile vanished. "It's for my mom," he explained. "She was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's three years ago. It's part of the reason I'm still in school. I took off a couple semesters once I'd heard, and it hasn't been an easy road. The thought that the woman who raised me can no longer remember my name, it…" Andrew stopped as his voice threatened to break.

He felt startled when something grabbed his wing. "Hey," Rachel said, her voice soothing enough to make him turn her way. Glancing at their joined limbs, he goggled slightly before turning his attention to Rachel again. She smiled sadly. "I know how you feel. I had this friend, back in elementary school, whom I knew practically from cubhood. Kevin was incredible. He had a deep fascination with machines, and could fix just about anything he set his mind to…" she looked out the driver's window, "except for himself. When we turned thirteen he contracted leukemia. He died five months later, and every science fair award the fox had won, every accomplishment he had made passed into a random statistic." She sighed, looking back toward Andrew. "If he'd lived, I'd have felt ready to call him my first boyfriend. Kevin was part of the reason I became a marine. I know that may not make much sense to you, but I set myself on being an engineer in the corps. It was the only way I could think of honoring him."

Andrew stared at her. When he realized Rachel stopped talking, he asked, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I can see, even if I've only known you a few hours, that you're stretching a pretty thin line. It's been evident to me since we met in the elevator. After Kevin died I was cold to pretty much everyone around me. Never had a boyfriend in my life. I wouldn't allow it. It took this runt of a border collie to break me out of my shell, making me follow him in his pranks, and I'll always be thankful for that. Then I went to Annapolis, and besides the occasional liaison," Here, Andrew blushed again. He really wished he could stop doing that, "I never let anyone get close. You probably think it's foolish, but it's a mask. It's despair. I wore it for so many years that it became a part of me, and I can see it happening to you. Don't let it, Andrew." She gripped his wing a little tighter as she said it, "I can make it an order, if you prefer."

Andrew blinked.

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND, MARINE?" she shouted.

He squawked. "Y-yes, m-m-ma'am," he stuttered, delivering a shaky smile.

She chuckled. "Good." Then she hugged him.

It was completely unexpected. There were many things he wanted to say: It was too soon. They didn't know each other. They had only met a few hours ago. Oh, but it felt so nice. His arguments were quickly lost in the warmth she provided.

Reality, however, still stuck its neck out. "Wow, we've been in this car way too long. Come on," she said, tugging his still connected limb. "Let me meet your friends."

"All right."

The introductions were made, the jokes told and, finally, the see you tomorrow's. Andrew didn't miss the speculative glances made between the panda and the tiger, knowing they were about him, but neither did he care.

He didn't take his eyes off of her the rest of the night.

—

Andrew couldn't sleep.

He sat crouched against the wall of his darkened bedroom, his mind replaying all that happened in the past three days, before finally settling on a crucial point. When Rachel embraced him earlier that night, he felt something new affect his senses. Sure, he had been hugged by women in the past, but this was like…like…

He didn't really know how to describe it. His crush on Carly, short-lived as it was, served a poor comparison.

The viper was kind, compassionate, and loyal to her friends. Out of respect for Sophie, she stood aside as the tiger and the panda consummated their engagement the year following high school. And Sophie told Andrew nothing about Carly after the wedding, mainly upon his own request. He hadn't seen Carly since then, and felt it should continue that way. The ghost of a crush was not one he wanted haunting his mind.

All he knew now was that he couldn't keep to his room with stray thoughts for company. He opened the door slowly, holding his grip on the handle to stop from disturbing the other occupants, then made his way quietly downstairs. The television showed its steady stream of late night informercials, and there, in the corner, were his parents, resting side by side on the three-seated sofa. While she was asleep there would be no cause for worry. He smiled, proud that his father learned to cope with his mother's disability.

There was no snow on the ground, but the air was cold enough to see his breath. It came as something of a relief when compared to the embarrassment he felt earlier. The cherry wood porch held a special meaning for him: when he sought an escape from the high school dramatics in the past, he came here, stretching out on one of the beach chairs his father acquired from the local YMCA. Tonight served as just one of the more fantastic incidents. He really had too much to think through.

"Hey, there, stud," a sultry voice whispered in his ear.

Needless to say, he wasn't expecting it.

A sound of something remote lulled his movement, and he looked at her, wings beating the air in a fitful panic. Rachel looked up at him from the railing, covering her mouth. It seemed pretty clear by the sheen of the streetlight that she was laughing.

"God, you scared me," Andrew said once he landed on the lawn. He hid his irritation a little better now. "I didn't think anyone else was awake."

"I've always been a light sleeper."

The memory of the drive to Sartell pushed its way forward. "Never would've guessed," he said in a sardonic tone.

Surprisingly, she didn't take offense, shrugging her shoulders. "It's usually when I'm in my own bed. Or something similar. Quite a contradiction, huh? I'm usually confined to a cot abroad. Kind of par for the course when you're a marine. Most of my last tour was spent in the Med Sea organizing maintenance drills on the Harry S. Truman. Barely got any sleep and what little coffee we had on board tasted like expired cough syrup."

He was a bit flummoxed by that last sentence. It made the late night cramming sessions he'd had in college seem somewhat paltry, when stimulus for him came in the form of energy drinks and caffeine pills. He wasn't sure what he could say without appearing like he was bragging.

Then again, he wondered why she came up with that random tangent. She was a complete mystery to him. He couldn't wait to figure out what else she had to say.

"So…are you…seeing anyone?"

Except that.