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Brood of a New Age

80.

It was probably quite biased that Angela searched first in the four kitchen areas of the castle although only one of them was used by the clan.

Then she searched on the battlements. And only after that in the library. Where she saw his tall figure standing in front of the fireplace. In a medieval castle it was usually quite cool in high summer - something gargoyles really didn't feel but which was not good for humans and books alike. But the books here didn't really need the warmth of the fire. Humidity and temperature here were automatically adjusted perfectly to the books to keep them in the best possible condition. This system was even so sophisticated that when the fire burned for a longer time, the room was automatically cooled down to compensate the heat. The fire was really just for comfort and mood. Angela approached her mate, who was obviously lost in thought, carefully moving the logs inside with one of the pokers. She didn't bother to be quiet, even wanted him to hear her from a distance but he didn't turn around even when she was almost next to him.

"Broadway? Hey?"

He just stood there staring into the fire of the fireplace. When she moved next to him and could see his face, she lost her smile. Tears streamed down his face.

"Oh Broadway. Love."

Angela rubbed coming tears from his cheeks with the back of her hand. She had known he would blame himself terribly. But she had been thinking more of a grief-induced eating attack. And not of this. Her mate sniffled, turning his face away from her.

"I'm sorry, Angela," he said, his voice sounding frighteningly broken.

"We all know you're sorry. Even Grace and Luca. Certainly even Nashville, when he thought about it. Come on, give me that."

She wanted to take the poker from him, which he now held into the flames without moving it. And recoiled because she burned her hand. A poker was actually long enough that it didn't get hot. Not if you only used it for what it was intended for. But like this- the metal conducted the heat, barely mitigated, to his hand.

"Broadway!" Angela jumped to the side and fished the fireproof gloves from the utensils of the fireplace set, slipped into them, and wrestled the poker from Broadway. The metal made a smacking sound as it came away from her mate's palm, and the smell of burnt flesh hit her nostrils in a sickening way. He groaned in pain as she dropped the poker with his burnt skin.

"What have you done to yourself?" she cried indignantly, grabbing his hand and inspecting the damage. He shook his head while a crying spasm shook his powerful body, eliciting sounds that were not his normal pitch, but rather those of a small child. Angela pulled him, after some resistance from him into an embrace. She rocked him back and forth, both of them standing, purring reassurances without meaning. Angela had grown up among humans. That's why she didn't know the usual gargoyle sounds that females and rookery keepers made to calm agitated hatchlings. But automatically, between the occasional human comforting words, soft cooing sounds came from her throat. Which seemed to work. After a few minutes, Broadway was able to speak again.

"That earlier. Nashville was right. I am crazy. And Grace and Luca compared me to a monster. They're so right. I was so disgusting. And this towards a child."

Angela broke away from him and brushed renewed tears from his cheeks. The sight of him filled her with greater pain than his previous angry sight had filled her with actionless dismay. She smiled, hoping it would look confident and uplifting.

"You ... anything to do with organized crime and the Dracon`s triggers you. With Lexington, it's The Pack. With Brooklyn, it's Demona. Or at least it was - hard to tell. Everyone has a sore spot like that. You weren't in control of your mind. It happens to the best of us."

He rubbed away tears himself but new ones came immediately.

"A child, Angela. A little girl with bows in her hair. I can still smell her fear sweat now. There is NO excuse for my behavior."

"Come here." She wrapped her arms around him and rubbed her brow against his. He clasped her waist and sobbed.

"Your wounds are still fresh, my love," she crooned, "and nothing happened to her. The whole clan was there."

"I am so ashamed. In front of the clan, in front of you. I-I didn't even know what I would have done if I had gotten to her. Would, would I have hurt her? I'm afraid of myself. I-I always try to stay friendly and cool, and even with the Dracon issue, I've NEVER gone off the deep end like that. Never. Why now- in front of a little innocent person of all people? Now I realize she wasn't a wolf but now it's too late. What stupid things I said! I can't understand myself. But ... A Dracon in my kitchen! It didn't matter at that moment that she was a kid and obviously had no idea what was going on between gargoyles and Dracons."

"Yes, it was obvious. Who tells their seven or eight year old kid that they're a crime boss."

"Anthony Dracon would be such a pig."

"We all have moments when we are weak. When we act in ways we never thought we were capable of."

"But I was capable of it."

"You wouldn't have hurt her," Angela assured him. "You would have held her so she wouldn't run away and we could talk to her about it."

"How do you know that? What makes you so sure?" asked Broadway in a choked voice. And turned his eyes away because the look on her face must have told him the truth. He took a shaky breath. Then he cupped her chin, kissed her softly, then broke away from her and strode heavy-footedly to one of the couches. He had his back turned to her and was stroking one of the cushions with his hand as if smoothing it out. A ridiculously alienated domestic gesture of a pedant and yet only an expression of helplessness and distraction that he didn't have to look at her.

"The breeding season is not until 2007, you have plenty of time," he said with a hollow voice.

Angela followed him, confused.

"What do you mean, Broadway?"

"You can find another mate. Someone who's more in control. Avalon, England, maybe Japan. Lots of good males who would love a wonderful partner to woo. You deserve better."

She gripped his wing from behind. Solid and warm. He was still there. No crazy evil spirit playing games with her heart. Was that kiss supposed to have been a parting kiss just now? Was he breaking up their relationship so soon after they had made the commitment?

"You can't be serious," she said with burgeoning anger and bewilderment. He still didn't turn around but hung his head.

"Angela ... do you remember last year? The night you chose me as your mate?"

"Of course I do. How could I forget."

"In your poem ... it said ... or you meant- that you choose the mate you want your son to be like."

"Yes."

"And now tell me - after seeing me tonight ... do you want your son to be like that! Or do you want someone like that to be the sire of our hatchlings? I should not have children. Never. Do you want to live in fear that one day I will turn my anger against one of the hatchlings of the clan? Or against you! Ahh!"

He winced as one of the embroidered pillows smacked him roughly in the back. With a horrified face, he turned around only to receive another blow to the same horrified face. He was pushed aside and plopped down on the couch. Where Angela could maltreat him much better and rougher with the pillow until it burst and his face burned. Breathing heavily with red glowing eyes she stood over him, the gutted pillow in her hand and down feathers dancing around them both.

"Tell me!" she gasped, "tell me who my mother is."

"Your-"

She hit him again, now with the cover empty and barely packing a punch.

"My mother! Whose daughter am I? Who laid my egg?!"

He swallowed and looked up at her with a petrified face. "It's not the same," he said.

"Exactly. It's not the same! My mother has probably killed more people over the centuries than Manhattan has inhabitants. Most recently at the Lost Nights where she smashed her statues like she was ... staging a perverse ironic re-enactment of the Wywern Massacre. She's insane, she's ruthless, she could have killed me a few months ago with ease too." Angela threw the pillow cover on the floor and tried to make her voice more forceful than angry.

"Yet, in the end, she didn't. She turned against Thailog to save me- indeed, probably us. Even she has a spark of conscience. For that, I give her credit despite all the terrible things she did. What, by all four points of the sky, makes you think I wouldn't give you credit because of a single outburst of rage! One with no casualties!"

"I probably harmed a little girl for life!"

"Yes! Possible! As if living with the Dracon`s wouldn't harm her! God knows what's broken inside her now without us even realizing it."

Broadway shook his head. "I'm a danger, Angela! If I ever hurt you! Or any of the hatchlings!"

He cringed as his petite mate's eyes lit up and she leaned down toward him, rumbling. Suddenly he had her hand and claws on his fish fin ear and was being pulled up by it. He was so much stronger than her and could have easily torn himself away from her. However, not without sacrificing half his ear to do so. She didn't really drag him across the room but he had to follow clumsily and stumblingly so that she didn't tear that part off him.

"Ow ow ow! Where-? "he groaned as she pushed open the door.

"Just come with me!" she growled, directing him through the corridors as roughly as he had never suspected she could. He had no choice but to come along. In the next larger bathroom, she shoved him in front of the mirror and closed the door behind her. He rubbed his burning ear.

"Look inside," she commanded.

"No."

"Just do it."

"I don't want to see myself, Angela. I know what I'd see, and I don't want to."

Again she grabbed him, this time by the chin and forced him - more by her unfamiliar domineering presence that combined traits of her father and mother than by her strength - to look in the mirror.

Breathing heavily and wrinkling his nose in disgust, he looked at himself.

"What do we get out of it now?" he asked flippantly. "Except that it depresses me even further."

"What do you see?" she asked, looking in the mirror herself. How ridiculous they looked together. He pulled up his nose, grunting.

"I see a brutal klutz. Crying and covered in snot. A monster."

"Strange. I see a male so grief-stricken and guilt-ridden that he's blubbering and full of snot and would even release his one true love so she can find her supposed happiness elsewhere. This heap of misery, so full of emotion, is the real Broadway."

He chortled joylessly about the one true love. It was true, of course. She was his one true love. But there was something tragically funny about hearing that as a subordinate clause from her mouth.

"And you think the savage who gave that little innocent girl a fright for life isn't the real Broadway?"

"I think that's a small part of Broadway. One that shouldn't define his whole self-image but that we have to deal with, that it never takes control alone again."

"What if it happens again?"

She steered his face to the side and kissed him. "If it happens again, you'll think about tonight. Of your pain. And of that kiss. That will be your binding seal."

Again she rubbed her brow bone against his, flooding him with warmth and tranquility.

"Okay?" she asked urgently.

He took a deep breath. "Okay."

"I want you. I still want you. I won't accept what you are trying to do here. You'll stay my mate, we'll make an egg together, and you'll be a wonderful, loving rookery father to this little creature and to all the other young ones. Humans say; In good times and bad times. I don't turn away from you just because you are not all good times. On the contrary. And even if you can never quite get this Dracon thing under control ... how likely is it that one of the other fledlings will eventually fall for a Dracon? "

Both puffed in amusement.

"Probably ... unlikely."

"Exactly."

Again she tugged at his ear, this time more teasingly. "And if you babble something so silly about breaking up again, I'll show you how much of my mother I have in me. That would be my bad times," she added, actually making Broadway laugh. Which felt good and awful at the same time on a night like tonight. But it eased the tension somewhat. With an aching ear but with his ever so strong sweetheart on his arm, Broadway stepped out the door. Only to run into Goliath.

Angela's grip on his arm tightened noticeably as he faced his clan leader, whose expression showed he must have been looking for him.

"I'd like to talk to you, Broadway," he said very quietly and gently, eyeing him in a way that contained not rejection but concern and sympathy.

Broadway smiled sadly at him and at the same time was grateful to be able to discuss his previous outburst with his Leader.

"Can Angela stay with me?"

Goliath smiled.

"Very well. If that's what you want. Come with me."

.

.

He had already been standing at the edge of the room for five minutes, watching his mate. After more than thirty years, he knew her so well. He knew where her strengths and weaknesses lay, and from his point of view, the former always outweighed the latter. But when she screwed up, it got to her terribly. Most of the time it was due to misconceptions about how this time and the people in it worked. She loosened up - he noticed that. But the adjustment took time. He suspected he was giving her a lot more time and room for error than he did with himself or Nashville and that was unfair, to the child and to himself. Why did he have double standards? Maybe because he thought Nash was so much like him.

Whereas they all somewhat resembled each other as a family. They had cultivated the same coping strategies over the years of time travel, which were already quite common among gargoyles. They did talk. But rarely about what they really felt. About their weaknesses and needs. Gargoyles were a race of fighters and warriors. To be weak and to tell everyone what they wanted and needed was unusual. Like an animal that broke its ankle and still limped on so as not to weaken its herd or be left behind. Yet gargoyles were not like that. At least Brooklyn's and Katana's birth clans had not been like that. Even weaker members unfit to fight were pulled along. But this urge remained not to let on how miserable one really was. Normally, at least mates could talk openly with each other.

But with Katana and him ... She had met him as THE Timedancer. The male with missions. With a destiny. And she had been the cool Japanese warrior. Always put together, always resilient, always alert. Two combinations that had worked well together but were not really predestined to be "slowed down" by each other's weaknesses or by a life beyond this destiny. Love, of course. He did not doubt their mutual love. But other feelings? Maybe it was time to find new dimensions and definitions of their relationship. Ones that could carry them as partners, as parents, as clan members beyond the Timedancer and Co. status. And for that, he would have to piss his mate off a bit tonight and now. He stepped onto the tatami mats, overcoming the distance to her figure sitting cross-legged. She had her eyes closed and over her knees was her sword, her hands on the mat shiny scabbard, the Saya.

"Katana?" he said quietly, not out of uncertainty but out of respect and because he knew she had been fully aware of him since he entered the room.

His partner did not respond. Not even the twitching of an ear or a movement of her eyeballs under the lids testified to whether she had heard him. But he saw the red sore spot at the transition of the skin to one of her horns. She scratched there when she had sorrow. During certain crises during her adventures, she had sometimes been all bloody there. A nervous, neurotic tik inappropriate to a proper warrior, as she had once said in one of her more communicative hours before forbidding him to ever bring up the subject again the morning after.

The sight alone made Brooklyn feel the need to scratch his head, and when he did, that scratching seemed to echo in the room. Then he lowered his hand back down to his own Japanese longsword, which hung at his hip. He didn't usually carry it with him when he wasn't going into battle. But he assumed he would need it here.

He saw the skin on her throat move as she swallowed before speaking without opening her eyes or moving.

"I'm meditating," she said.

Brooklyn smirked and knew she heard that condescending smirk in his voice as he spoke.

"Katana, we both know you don't meditate. How long do we know each other? Your body is still but in your head thoughts are rolling around like marbles. Talk to me." He gave her more seconds. In which she didn't react and seemingly showed no emotion because of his words and sassy tone. To outsiders, at least, she showed no reaction. He, however, noticed her imperceptible responses. For example, her heartbeat accelerated slightly because she was annoyed by his insolent tone. He could do better than that, he thought, and let his claws clatter softly on the scabbard of his own sword. Katana hated it abysmally when he did that because it scarred the lacquer. He grinned as he watched the corner of her mouth and her own fingers twitch, though she struggled to keep the rest of herself still. He let his katana (the blade, not his mate, whom he was suicidally annoying right now) slip out of the Saya. Just an inch over the wedge-shaped metal collar, before he slid it back and it snapped shut with an unmistakable sound where the Koiguchi, the carp's mouth as the fitting of the scabbard was called, and the Seppa, the washers, met. `click` Heck, even for him the sound set off heart flutters and a mixture of alertness and belligerent anticipation. He repeated this little acustic act of torture while walking around his mate, not taking his eyes off her.

`click` "What do you think this evening would get" `click` " as a note?" he said cheekily. "A B-minus at most," `click` "I think. The start - a straight C in terms of communication," `click` " I can't give anything better for that. "`click`"The middle part - wow, a A+ with asterisks " `click` "and rainbows. And then BOOM" `click` " - ."

He jumped backwards as his mate's eyes snapped open, she leapt to her feet, in the same second drew her sword and jerked it up. He heard the tip of the blade graze his breastplate - just as she had intended. Felt the draft from the edge on his beak - just as she had intended. Saw the cut white strands swirl in the air - as she had intended - before he parried the next blow with his own sword but was nearly knocked down by the weight she put on it before he could counter. She was fast and deadly when she put her mind to it - which, of course, she wasn't doing right now. Otherwise he would have been a pretty gutted gargoyle after the first blow.

"I told you I wanted to be alone," she hissed, and he had to tear his eyes away from her glorious red glow to grin cheekily at her.

"Yes. And I'm here anyway," he returned between clenched teeth.

The fight, skillful, graceful and brutal all in one, ended after five minutes with both lying on the mats. Not because they were equal to each other but because Katana had decided that he deserved a conversation. Marital strife Brooklyn and Katana-style - how he loved it.

"That was - well parried. Sometimes," she praised him, and that was almost like a passionate French kiss among normal couples.

"Hai, sensei," he returned snappily, taking another breath. For a few moments they just lay there, catching their breath (He was catching his breath, Katana hadn't even been sweating, damn it). He didn't turn his head until she spoke.

"You ignore my wishes ... but I probably deserve it. I ignored yours, after all," she said, and the bitterness in her voice was devastating. He turned his head to the ceiling again because he knew she didn't like being ogled when she opened her heart, but his hand felt for hers and she allowed him to find hers as well.

"You were right to decide over my head. Well - not right. But ... it was justified. I'm too hard on Nashville. I'm smothering him and not letting you or Goliath get in the way. That's lousy."

"What good are bushido codexes to me if they don't prepare me for this?"

"And all my rules? They won't help if Nash ignores them. Well, forbidding our son from associating with a mob princess isn't really an everyday situation."

"I love your wit but he's not making it any better right now."

"Oh, it shouldn't."

"I feel so incompetent and stupid."

"Maybe that's the fate of parents. Feeling incompetent and stupid even though they try everything possible."

"We have to change. Both of us. We're stubborn, pigheaded, and set in our ways. And at least Nashville got the first two things from us."

"At least he's good looking," Brooklyn muttered, grunting as his mate poked him between the ribs with her claw.

"I didn't take my supervisory duties seriously enough to avoid suffocating Nashville further. I talked Goliath into bringing a human child to the castle against his better judgment because I thought it would do Nashville good-"

"It ... She ... did him good. You were right. He is so attached to her. I hope not like a young man is attached to a young girl but he needs friends. That's been the most important truth tonight."

"I didn't check her background though that would have been easy with Xanatos` help. I'm pretty sure he knew what was going on longer than we did."

"Now please don't start relying on Xanatos' Peeping Tom attitude! I thought me and Lex had removed all the cameras in the clan area."

"You have no idea, dearest," Katana said dryly, and Brooklyn groaned in annoyance.

"How could you have even known that this one kid - one in a million - had a shady family? You couldn't have known. You just trusted for the best and that the evening would turn out well. That is part of Chugi. Because there can be no loyalty and sense of community without trust. We have rather disappointed you in this point. Me especially. That you couldn't talk to me about it."

"No. I was foolish. And with my blind arrogance, I exposed Broadway to great humiliation and drove both Goliath-sama and you into a weak position."

"As if we couldn't drive ourselves into it," Brooklyn returned, sighing. He increased the pressure on her hand and she automatically returned it.

"If our Hatchling had been hatched and raised in my century and clan - or in your century and your clan - you and I would hardly have been involved in raising him," he said gravely. "He or she would not have seen us as his or her only parents. We would have been two faces among many. And neither of us are rookery keepers. Our contact might have been limited to training when the hatchlings were older."

"You're talking around the fact that we're both just crappy parents."

He looked to the side in surprise. It was a rarity for his mate to curse. But here and now - without the numerous white veils of her Bushido rules, she did. He smiled painfully wide with love and must have looked so dumb that he was glad she was staring at the ceiling the whole time.

"We need to get Nash some friends," he said quietly. "Maybe we can find some somewhere in this damn town who aren't the children of crime bosses. And honestly - who would have thought Tony Dracon would father a child in Italy and then import it here? I know humans have this constant urge to produce offspring but the poor woman back then. Didn't she have a better choice?"

Katana next to him started laughing. Brooklyn's eyes widened and he stared at her again, because he heard her laugh so rarely that he had to catch it with every sense. She laughed, turning her head to him as well, and he began to laugh himself. Both not loudly but quite cheerfully they laughed until both had to gasp for air.

"What were we just laughing about?" asked Brooklyn as he wiped tears from the corner of his eye, simply hoping to duplicate these wonderful moments by any means.

Katana puffed again.

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

"Do you?"

"The dirty, half-starved, snotty Gajin who came bursting into my century and my clan's territory with a huge fireball? I'll never forget that savage."

"Yes. I still have a scar on the back of my head from your sword today. And that's despite the fact that you left it in its scabbard."

"You just looked too cute and pathetic to kill right away. That would have been dishonorable. Besides, I was young and wanted to play with my unworthy prey."

"We bickered so many times. Before and after I dragged you into Phoenix Gate with me."

"It was a tough choice but I don't regret it," she murmured, and now they both looked at each other. Katana smiled her warmest, most loving smile. Brooklyn pulled her hand which was in his to his beak and kissed the back of it.

"And what made you laugh now, my dearest okāsan?"

"When they realized I was starting to take an interest in you, the clan elders of the Ishimura clan were whispering about you behind closed doors the exact same thing you just said about Anthony Dracon."

"Really? Was I that unpopular?"

"Not that ... just unworthy."

"I wouldn't have cared about their opinions even if the gate hadn't swept us away. All I ever cared about was what you thought of me. In front of you, I wanted to be worthy."

She moved closer to him and pressed her brow to his.

"I feel the same way, itoshii hito."

"Suki desu, Kata-chan. And Nash loves you too. You're wonderful but no one expects you to be perfect. Nobody of the others would hold last nights events against you."

"I blame myself for them."

He straightened up with her and claimed a hug from her, which she returned noticeably gladly and without false pride.

"I know you want to make up for our clan's shortcomings. But ... maybe that's not the point. Maybe it's okay that we're all a little dysfunctional. All a little stubborn, all a little quirky. As long as we love each other and respect each other."

"Sometimes you are so wise, my gajin warrior."

"I will grow with the years as we all will."

They stood up and once again Brooklyn pulled her into an embrace, unwilling to let this painfully honest but warm episode end. At the edge of his vision, he saw his clan leader poke his head in the door. He showed astonishment at the pose of the two otherwise composed clansmen. He wanted to retreat - quite genteel again - but Brooklyn beckoned him closer. Katana did the same with Broadway who, somewhat embarrassed, had been standing behind Goliath with Angela and now approached as cautiously as a child who feared his parents would reprimand him. But Katana pulled him and Angela into her embrace with her wing, which they both returned. Goliath grinned broadly and finally wrapped his massive wings around the collection of adult fellows, all of whom had behaved in their own way, sometimes more subtly, sometimes quite rudely, quite out of line in the last few days or weeks.

"Oh, this is nice," Broadway commented, sounding as if the herd cuddling was taking a heavy load off his mind - which perhaps ist did.

"It's mainly cramped," grunted Brooklyn, who was stuck in the middle of the bunch and whose feet had somehow lost contact with the ground.

"We'll have to repeat that with the others. And then do it a lot. Especially with Nash," Angela said, giggling.

"Oh, yeah, he'll be thrilled," Brooklyn muttered.

.

.

"And everyone else will be thrilled when they find out you hired a therapist for them," muttered Fox, who had just stolen the last of the popcorn from her husband's bowl. He looked a little unhappy in the bowl but quickly shook off his dismay and flashed his typical world-dominating smile.

"He's only available when I get one or the other of them this far. I'll be offering it periodically. Constant dripping wears away the stone. I don't even expect them all to run to the shrink right away."

"- and give you a lot of information about their minds."

"If they suspected that, they would never do it. I purposely hired a former military and police psychologist who has experience with post-traumatic stress disorder, who knows how to keep quiet. Even to his employers."

"What is the benefit to you, then, of providing this service to them?"

"What it gets everyone, having emotionally balanced housemates who are less likely to tear apart other people or all the furniture on certain triggers. Safety and cost. And, of course, my growing humanitarian streak."

He and Fox laughed as they arranged their blankets and pillows.

"I wish we could switch to Nashville. I feel so sorry for him," Fox said, and her husband took put the empty bowl on the floor and sank into the sheets of their bed, from which they had watched the episodes of the last few hours.

"In the rookery, the gargoyles frisk most often for cameras. They'll get their act together even without us intervening. It's already very late. As good as the program has been, in four hours our day begins."

"Does it? Don't you make your own days?"

He smiled at her, his hand already on the light switch of his bedside lamp. Then he nodded and reached for his phone.

"Right. I'll text Owen to cancel our first dates. Shall we say by eleven?"

"Mhmm, make it one o'clock. Then we can have a late lunch together."

"Excellent."

The lights had been out for a few minutes when Fox spoke again.

"David?"

"Yes?"

"How can we help the kids?"

"Are you suggesting I buy Nashville a little girlfriend? I guess Dracon would even dump his own kid for the right amount," he muttered half-jokingly. Fox was silent in response, and even that silence was anxious.

The most wealthy man in America was also silent, on the one hand because he was thinking and on the other hand because he was perplexed by his wife (a former mercenary, a former assassin, a child from a wealthy but difficult family background). But it was no wonder that after the birth of her son she had become more open to filial burdensome fates. It was no wonder that she sympathized with someone like Graziella Dracon.

In the large, dark bedroom, his puffing was very xanatos-uncharacteristic.

"I'll think of something," he said, closing his eyes, and after a few moments felt his beloved turn over in bed and snuggle against him.

Okay, I have now used these last three chapters to sweep aside a lot of emotional ballast in the clan. Of course, not everything is moonshine and flowers - would be unrealistic! Apropo: NO, Brooklyn and Katana didn't had sex. They fought and then lay on the tatami mats to rest. If they would have done it together I would have mentioned that extensively - you can believe me.

I think in that chapter I like Angela the best. I LOVE strong female characters. I made Nathaniel a whiny baby deer. I could never do that with a woman. Women hold the world together. They just make men think it's different.

Thanks for reading, Q.T.