Warning: chapter contains strong language.

—-

"I just met her last night. What was I supposed to say?"

He and Sophie sat in Liquid Assets, and while breakfast was less than ideal, there was no denying that Andrew was comfortable here, settling into something familiar and safe.

Or at least he would be if it weren't for the topic of conversation Sophie had so bluntly opened up with. Chuck was conveniently absent. Rachel didn't come at all, having decided at the last second to look after his mom, since his father had to go to work. The expression on Rachel's face when he didn't answer her question last night…it practically killed him.

When Sophie got to the house that morning, she smiled beatifically, though it quickly twisted into a cold glare when Andrew walked out onto the porch. There had to be some sort of special telepathy females used in emergency situations. Regardless, the end result was here.

"A simple 'No' would have been enough, Andy. Are you that afraid of commitment?"

"Excuse me, what commitment? I said I only met this girl last night."

Sophie's crimson eyes bored into him, and he met her gaze head on. She didn't look away, even after taking a sip of her mocha. "She's not Carly."

That stung. Did she think he wasn't aware of the difference?

Obviously not, because the tiger continued, "Andrew, I have never known you to be a coward in anything. Especially not when your mom got sick. Why does the idea that Rachel might like you back frighten you?"

"It's the timing on the issue, and Stephen."

"Your friend from Northwestern?"

"Yeah, him. He conned me into picking her up, and for all I can guess she may have been in on it and is just stringing me along."

"For what?"

He couldn't think of a reason.

Apparently his silence has damned him. "So, it's basically confirmation that you really have no fucking idea, thus you pull out a half-assed scenario that this girl is less than honest and accuse your best friend of swindling you."

"I'm not…" he protested.

Sophie cut him off, clutching her paws on top of the table, "Let's look at this logically. You come home from a wedding in a terrible mood, furthered by the fact that your mom is still sick. Stephen calls a day later explaining that a friend of his needs a ride out west. And while you're not kicking and screaming, you deny Stephen's request at first. He guilts you into it, as you say, and has you pick up a girl you know absolutely nothing about in the hopes that love will show its face. That's the general idea, right?"

Andrew mulled it over, and hesitantly nodded.

"Right. And if that's the case, I'm very glad he took the risk."

The bird gaped. "What?"

She laughed at his disbelief. "You're like a mix between glass and stone: transparent when it comes to emotions and equally stubborn with them. Come on, Andrew, get it through your head. You may have finally found a girl who likes you for you. Why does it matter how it happened? The rest is up to what you do next."

Sophie's phone went off with a repetitive hum. "Sophie Sorenson." She smiled. "Oh, Chuck. Where are you?" Her eyes widened a few words in. "What? She is? No, you keep her there as long as possible! I'm sending Andrew back right away!" She quickly snapped the phone shut, pitches Andrew's coffee in the garbage, and dragged him outside. "Come on, Romeo."

"Wait!" he squawked.

"No time. Rachel's decided to bus back to the Cities. You don't get to her now, you'll miss your chance. Convince her that you want her to stay. Now! Go!"

Andrew's eyes narrowed determinedly, and he quickly took flight.

Sophie's smile turned into a smirk as he disappeared over the coffeehouse. She flipped her phone open and dialed one of the more recent numbers. "He bought it, Stephen."

The dog chuckled over the line. "Knew he would. Keep me informed."

"Will do," she promised, and hung up.

—

Glass and stone. Glass and stone. The words ran a gamut through his head as he flew back to the house. On some level, Sophie was both right and wrong. He was more like a cathedral, in some ways. The rock was a durable fortress, acting as a testament to general ingenuity, but the stained windows serve no purpose without the sun to show through.

Andrew gave himself a mental shake; not even a day since he met Rachel and he was already composing metaphors.

Shortcuts didn't mean anything in the air and he landed in the yard within thirty seconds. It was a definite record for Andrew; the fastest he had ever flown. He panted hard upon landing, making it almost a wheeze. His feathers were ruffled to the point of molting. Electing to let gravity take over, he fell backward on the grass, still breathing heavily.

Something thumped beside him.

It was Rachel. She took his head in her paws, gazing at him with concern in her eyes. Stranger or not, he didn't think she had ever looked more beautiful than now. "Andrew, are you all right? Why were you in such a hurry?"

"I…thought you…were…leaving," he said between heavy breaths. "Had to…stop…"

Rachel frowned. "Stop what?"

"Stop…" Andrew paused. He was still gasping for air. Stop you so I could say how I feel. Did heeven know how he felt yet? It was too soon to tell. He licked the side of his beak. "Stop myself from being such an idiot. I'm sorry I didn't answer your question."

She sighed. "Andrew, you don't have to apologize for that. I'm the one who put you on the spot. I'm the one who should be sorry." She rubbed her face, and froze. "Wait, who told you I was leaving?"

"Sophie. Chuck called her…and told her you were…taking a bus to the Cities."

Rachel's expression switched from concerned to broadly incredulous. After a minute of that, she exploded into raucous laughter, gently setting Andrew's head down on the grass and folding her arms against her stomach.

He felt that he was getting some of his wind back, and furrowed his brow. "Is that supposed to be funny?"

She shook her head. "N-no, it's not t-t-that." Further giggles ensued. "Oh, god. I don't know why I didn't see it before. Chuck hasn't been here, and I wasn't planning on leaving, but…oh, that fucking bastard. This is his best prank yet." There's a note of admiration in her voice.

"Care to elaborate?" he asked from his prone position.

"Don't tell me you haven't guessed it yourself, Andrew. Stephen's playing Cupid for us. No doubt in my mind he's dragged Sophie and Chuck into it, and possibly your dad."

He closed his eyes, smirked, and started laughing himself, wings spread out on the lawn. "We're being played. I knew it. Clever, Stephen. Subtle, too. I didn't think he was capable."

Rachel came beside and helped him up. "Very clever," she agreed.

He glanced toward the house. "How's my mom doing?"

"She's asleep for the moment. I'm gonna call Chuck, and if he's available, I'll have him come over to see to her. In the meantime, we've got some packing to do."

"Huh?"

She frowned again. "Tell me you're not always this dense. We are still going to California, aren't we?"

"Yeah, of course." The crane smiled, vastly mollified by the question.

"Good." She stepped close and hugged him. Andrew was shocked, again. It progressed further when she kissed the side of his face. He froze just as he was getting up, and his feet became fixed to the grass. His beak unhinged and his eyes glazed over; he felt about ready to faint.

He apparently wasn't alone in his disbelief. The leopard wrung her hands, voice suddenly reduced to an shaky blabber, "Um, good, that's good. See you in twenty minutes. Can't wait." She ran inside. Andrew's wing brushed his cheek, still a little stunned by her action.

What the hell just happened?

—

Given the nature of the last conversation, he was unsure whether to gauge Rachel's words as vacillating or hypocritical. She didn't seem particularly adamant about denying interest in him, but neither did she want to play a role in Stephen's game. If it was a game. This was too confusing.

His talons had been imitating tree roots for a full dozen minutes before he decided it was a good time to break out of his stupor. Upon entering the house, everything was silent save for a steady thump-thump coming from the second floor. He knew the noise well, though the weight sounded fairly offbeat: Rachel was pacing. He thought it best to leave her be for now. Things were complicated enough.

There are some items he feels that need to be taken with apart from clothes: a copy of the book 'The Road Less Traveled'. Andrew had never read it, merely allowing it to gather dust on his bookshelf. He tossed it in the duffel. A tiny tape recorder laid in his wing. He stared at it before letting it follow the book, wondering just what thoughts may emerge as a result. His film collection was minimal, consisting mostly of comedies, among them 'It Happened One Night', 'The Purple Rose of Cairo', 'High Fidelity'…

…Wait a second.

None of these movies were his. He didn't even remember buying them. Maybe they were a part of Kylee's collection. Then again, there was the bigger possibility that they weren't. The entire stock of shelved films within view virtually scream 'romantic comedy'. "Smooth, guys. Very smooth," he said. Feeling a bit disgruntled, he left them where they were and zipped up his bag. They may have been appropriate for the setting, and he stressed might, but they served no purpose as most hotels did not come with DVD players. He'd stick with that excuse for now; it was easier than accepting the truth.

Andrew exited his room and shut the door behind him. He leaned against the jamb, closed his eyes and let loose a long breath. Was he that much of a tourist in his own heart? His friends were goading him on in their own roundabout manner, and he just could not…would not, he amended, accept their words as gospel.

It had to be set aside in any case. The hour was getting closer to noon, and while traffic wouldn't be half as bad leaving Sartell, getting to Omaha would be rough. He and Rachel had a seven-hour drive ahead of them. He heard the feline maintaining her pace, muttering beyond the wooden frame, and faltered.

"You're such a goddamn fucking genius, Rachel. Oh, go on and keep getting the signals crossed. It's okay! Kiss him on the mouth this time, I dare you!" Andrew's face went red. He hated his hearing sometimes. "Ugh, this is such a nightmare. Bad enough I haven't even known him twenty four hours. He looked so horrified. Does he even like me? Does he hate me? Or is it just that he likes other birds? Why the fuck couldn't I just restrain myself a little more? Of all the rotten things that piece of shit dog has done this has to be…"

If she said anything more, Andrew would start emulating a train engine. Rachel certainly lived up to the hype about sailors. He knocked on her door to interrupt. "Rachel? I've got all my stuff packed. Is everything all right in there?"

A meager pause resulted. "Motherfucker," she murmured, but the tone was more startled than angry. The door swung open in admission. "Hi." She smiled brightly, but it came out with an undercurrent of nervousness. She rubbed her eyes. "Yes, I'm fine." The inflection was of the same pitch as he said it. F.I.N.E. Years of voicing it himself allowed him to identify the tone.

"Here." She handed him her bag, and he almost keeled over. 'What does she have in this thing? A grandfather clock?' She stepped past him down the stairs. "I'll call Chuck over. Just put the bag in the backseat. Thanks!"

Andrew raised his eyes to the ceiling. "'O! what a rogue and peasant slave am I!'" No danger of exacerbating romance in Hamlet, to say the least.

By the time Chuck and Sophie arrived at the household, he and Rachel were all false smiles and cheer. Sophie stepped away from the car to confront him again. "Glad to know you've taken my advice."

"Not entirely."

The tiger ignored this. "You'll know." She looked over to the panda talking with Rachel. Chuck glanced back with a nod and a grin, and her eyes softened. "Trust me, when the time is right, you'll know."

Andrew glanced between the three of them and switched his full attention to his passenger. "You ready, Rachel?"

Another bright visage emerged. "Ready!"

"It was good to see you guys again," he said, offering a wing.

Chuck shook it before heading inside. Sophie didn't exactly hug him, but instead leaned in close and whispered, "You'll figure it out." As stern as her disposition was, she always knew precisely what to say.

"Thanks," he whispered back and got into the car. Rachel, sitting opposite, chewed on her paw as she stared blankly out the window. He didn't say anything; it didn't seem like the right moment. He wondered if it would come at all.

Both remained silent, waving their limbs absently as they pulled out of the driveway.