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Chapter Text

Pebbles scattered across patches of dirt and grass as the little terrier kicked his hind legs. He grinned with pride as I leaned down, green baggie in hand.

Lake Michigan lapped at the small beach, folding in on itself over and over again in a trance-inducing way. Chicago hummed in the mid-summer heat as various horns and chatter filled the humid air. It was a day meant for popsicles. People outside the park area were walking quickly from car to building, trying to avoid the worst of the heat; business suits finishing up business lunches, partners stopping by the grocery store for a bottle of wine and “Just Because” flowers before their commute.

Dog-sitting was not my first idea of income, but it paid a hell of a lot better than expected. You wouldn’t believe how much rich old nanas would dish out to make sure their designer mutt wouldn’t shit itself out of anxiety when the humans left for their five day cruises. Besides, it was steady work in a city of nearly three million.

The park was quiet, just Roscoe and I and the pigeons. Roscoe eyed the birds from a few yards away. They were cooing, pecking at seemingly nothing on the dirt. One with a rough diamond-shaped splotch on its back was missing a toe as it scratched at a patch of grass. I felt bad for the little guy.

The dog absentmindedly sniffed the base of a shady oak tree nearby, his little breaths puffing up dried grass and dust. His owner, Marina, had asked for me to take the dog for a few weeks. She was head of something at a nearby company that raked in millions per year. All I knew is that she had a nice big house to herself and her dog, drove a nice car, and wore a lot of suits.

I liked her well enough. She was nice, paid well, and had steady work. Sometimes she would ask about my life, or joke about the weather, which was more than some other clients could claim. Don’t get me wrong, we weren’t friends. Just two people accustomed to seeing each other on a regular basis. Just two people who took care of the same dog in different ways.

Roscoe let out a body-shaking sneeze, one that was truly impressive for a dog his size. That seemed to activate something because he took off, charging at the small flock of birds. The pigeons squawked with surprise, taking flight and avoiding any sort of canine-induced injury. Missing-toe briefly alighted on a branch above me before taking off for the roof of a nearby gas station.

“That was rude,” I said to the dog, as he trotted back to the picnic table I was sitting on. A proud smile made his tongue loll out. The little dog had no remorse for his actions. He was panting a little too much for my liking, so I poured more water into his travel bowl. As he lapped at the bowl, I clipped the leash to his collar. It was getting a little too hot for both of us out here.

Once Roscoe had his fill, I tucked his bowl back into the tote bag. We walked back to the car, the sounds of Lake Michigan, cars, and pigeon squawks echoing in my ears.

Chapter Text

The set of squat green buildings tucked into a corner of Schiller Woods had been the headquarters for Hickory Ridge Wildlife Rescue since its beginning twenty years ago. Back in the eighties, the buildings were sold to the city of Chicago. The city turned it into a non-profit center focused on rescuing, treating, and rehabilitating local wildlife. Nowadays, the rescue mostly works with Animal Control and other rescues to treat and rehabilitate wildlife. You would not believe the amount of cleaning that happens here.   

The H-VAC system whirred as I entered the front building, the glass pane on the front door decorated with flyers and notices for events. The front building, usually referred to just as “The Front” contained the rescue’s reception area for people, offices, volunteer check-in station, and animal intake center. A few potted plants sat in the large lobby windows, backdropped by blinds pulled all the way down to block out the days’ heat. The plants, however, were happy to have long days of sun to grow and stretch into.

The door squeaked as I entered. A cool breeze ran from the air conditioning unit in the corner despite the earlier hour, and I welcomed the momentary cold. The reception area office was homely, with pictures of animals and newspaper clippings hung up. A bulletin board showed even more events and licenses to operate the establishment. This month’s theme was “Squirrel”. It was, in a word, spectacular. 

An older woman sat behind a reception desk dappled with sticky notes and other assorted office supplies. Her graying hair was pulled back with a claw clip that was in the shape of a dogs’ paw. Fine strands had escaped, framing her freckled face in silver. A pair of red glasses were perched on the tip of her nose as if she was reading something, but she looked up as I entered.

“Evie!” she greeted me, “Hot as hell, huh?” 

Carolyn and I had known each other for a few years now. These days, we were closer to friends than coordinator and volunteer. She had helped me find a place when I dropped out of school, and she had snuck me Hot Dish every now and then when things were tight. She had a wicked temper at times, but you could count on her to have your back when you needed it. She also played a mean game of Hearts.  

“Didn’t even ask me out before getting me all hot and bothered,” I joked. She gave me a devilish grin before setting down what I now saw was the voicemail memo pad. 

The Rescue got all sorts of messages - your standard run-of-the-mill calls, as well as ones that would make or break your day. Volunteers weren’t allowed to answer the phone, but I had read my fair share of hastily scribbled notes over the years. 

“Anything interesting?” I asked, gesturing to the stack. 

Her face shifted with confusion, “Well, that’s the thing. We got a weird intake today, early on. Sarah received it. Poor things. They’re in Valhalla, waiting to be dropped off.” 

My stomach sank. ‘Valhalla’ was the nickname we had given for the holding area used to transport deceased animals to the local crematorium. If the intake was already there, they had either arrived in an incredibly rough condition or were DOA. Dead On Arrival.  

“What happened?” I asked, moving to look over her shoulder. Carolyn shrugged, flipping over the pad to today’s date. I scanned until my eyes landed on the first entry this morning. 

“5:12 A.M., downtown, pigeons, eyes.” was written in a sloped hand. A street address was written underneath and an ETA for the drop-off. I noted the address was a few blocks off from the park Roscoe and I were at yesterday afternoon.

I gave a questioning look, stepping back “Maybe it was the heat wave?” 

Carolyn shrugged again. She had taken off her glasses, and they dangled lazily from her hand. “I couldn’t say. They were already bagged by the time I had gotten in, and based on what Sarah wrote after she did the intake, I don't want to look for myself.”

She set her glasses down, picking up a mug of coffee that read, “I heart opossums.” on it, with a little opossum dangling from the red heart. She almost banged it back on the desk, a little coffee sloshing out and onto her shoes. 

“Ah, hell.” she cursed, grabbing a tissue and dabbing at her sandals. The coffee cup soaked a ring into the desk calendar. 

It all didn’t sit right with me. The timing of the call. The location. The only other word besides basic facts being, “eyes”. It didn’t sit right. 

“I’m going to go take a look.” I said, turning towards one of the hallways that would lead me to the back of the building and out towards the rest of the property.  

“Make sure you wear gloves” Carolyn called. I nodded, sending back a thumbs up before pushing through the back door into the midsummer heat. Towards what was lying in Valhalla. 

Chapter Text

Valhalla was located in the back right corner of the complex, next to a service road that wound through a portion of the surrounding park. An old surgical suite, it had been retrofitted with refrigerators, a garage door, and a winch. Three fluorescent lights buzzed to life as I flicked the lightswitch by the door. 

The old operating table had been removed and instead, with chest refrigerators installed along two walls. The largest ones were outback, but were rarely used. The third wall held a counter and cabinets lined one wall, with shelves full of protective gear, whatnots and doodads. Boxes of vinyl and non-vinyl gloves in various sizes, swabs, tags, pencils, garbage bags, disinfectant. You name it. 

I checked the top of the freezers while pulling on gloves. The lids had charts taped to the outside, listing what was in the freezer, when it was put there, and where the animal was going to go. Most of the time ‘CRE’ is listed, but sometimes the city wants to stuff the animal for some use or other. Don’t ask me, I just volunteer here. 

A chest freezer on the far wall had the intake from this morning, the one Sarah received. I cracked the lid open, a film of frost causing cool air to pool out. A black trash bag lay inside, already frosted over. It was lumpy, though fairly light as I lifted it out and onto the concrete. Closing the freezer lid, I knelt down to see what had shaken Carolyn so much from Sarah’s intake report. 

Pulling back the black plastic, three pigeons, half-frozen and all dead, stared sightlessly back at me. They looked like any normal pigeon you would find in Chicago, all various colors of gray.   

Two jagged scorch marks rendered the flesh around where their eyes were supposed to be. Black and charred, the feathers had burned away leaving charcoaled flesh. The sockets lay empty, hollow. Endlessly staring. I could feel this mornings’ granola bar churn in my gut. 

I looked at them more closely, trying to see if that was the only thing wrong with them. There was no blood, no other burns. The pale one was missing a toe on its left foot. 

The thought pushed into my head before I could fully form it. Ration it, and repeat what I thought last night at the park, “A lot of pigeons are missing their toes.” 

I watched my gloved hands turn the carcass over. To show the patch of dark feathers on its back in a rough diamond shape. 

A shudder ran through me, and I felt my throat constrict.Setting down the bird, I ducked, gagging into a nearby trashcan. Gooseflesh erupted over my arms, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. It didn’t mean one-hundred percent that this was the bird from yesterday. But it wasn’t wasn’t the bird from yesterday. 

I glanced back at the frozen figures lying on the floor. Making sure what I was seeing was real. 

The birds stared back with their unchanging, awful, scorched eyes.  

It was enough. I moved to retie the bag before lifting the freezer lid and depositing them back in. I laid them down gently on the ice-covered bottom. I tried to push the burned eyes out of my mind as I closed the lid and left the birds to stare into darkness.

Chapter Text

I was already a few minutes late. Traffic was thick. I cursed as a green sedan cut me off, laying on heavy with the horn. The asshole sped off. The heat had made folks irritable, yours truly included.  

I had stopped by the apartment to change out of gross animal clothes and into half of my uniform. It gave me a second to check on the animals. Masha, my cat, had taken to Roscoe just fine when I had introduced them a few days ago. A few warning bats from her, and the two were peas in a pod. They had returned to napping as I had ducked out the front door. 

I turned my old cruiser into a parking lot of a smaller business lot, checking the time on my dashboard. Eleven minutes late. It’d have to do. 

The dojo wasn’t packed upon entering, but had a healthy turnout for the afternoon. Neat lines of students had already formed on the mat, making three rows. I quickly found a place for my items and bowed before joining them. Setting my feet, I copied the routine stretching the Sensei, a man named Greg, was leading. A few ceiling fans spun lazily above us, pushing cool air down as we bent and stretched.  

Aikido wasn’t something I had planned to do. It wasn’t something I had seen on TV as a kid or anything. I had met a pretty girl during my brief, yet chaotic stint at college. You know how it is with pretty girls. Especially ones who could kick your ass. It didn’t last, obviously. I dropped out, she had gotten an internship halfway across the world. But she had gotten me to try something new. Something that helped. For an hour and a half, two times a week. 

I eased into the patterns, letting muscle memory take over. I let my brain let go, letting it skip from thought to thought. I exhaled. The lights flickered. I craned my neck up at the fluorescents; the last thing I wanted to do was spar in the dark. 

Thankfully, they only coughed for a moment before staying on. The subsequent practice went smoothly, and fully lit. My legs had a satisfying ache to them at the end of session that I knew I would be feeling tomorrow. As we cooled down, Sensei Greg called for attention again. Next to him was a shorter blonde woman, her face slightly flushed from the previous hour. I knew her in passing, Murphy. She was a cop or something, so I usually kept my distance. But she was very active within the community here in Chicago, and from time to time would help with instruction. She couldn’t have been taller than five foot two, but I had seen her throw people twice her size. 

“A reminder for the workshop this weekend focusing on weapons techniques. If you’re interested and at an experienced enough level, there’s a sign-up sheet on the desk.” he pointed to a clipboard on the communal desk all the instructors used. “Good work today, everyone. Make sure you drink water!” 

I liked the classes well enough, and I wasn’t busy. I made sure to jot my name down before crossing to the sitting area usually reserved for shoes and bags. Not bothering to untie my shoes, I shoved my feet in them like a little shoe demon before exiting out a growing Chicago evening.  

The sun had started to duck down behind the buildings, sunlight catching on different angles of skyscrapers. Hot wind swept up the street, scattering some bits of litter and leaves, bringing the smell of cigarettes, cars, and cooked meat. My stomach growled at the thought. The concrete underfoot radiated the days’ latent heat, and I felt it on the bottom of my heels as I ‘T-Rex’ walked to the car. 

Chapter Text

Stuffy evening air brushed off of Lake Michigan, the sun hanging low in the sky gave the evening a deep golden haze. Pigeons cooed nearby and I tried not to think of this morning as I kept an eye from my spot perched on top of the picnic table. Morbid curiosity had gotten the better of me, I wanted to check out the area where the scorched pigeons had been reported.

It was just me and a few other owners. I blinked at an enormous gray dog that was sniffing at the ground a few yards off. He looked to be one of those dogs bred for protecting livestock or cattle or something, but I couldn't recognize which one. His giant paws flopped as he walked to another spot, closer to Roscoe. He looked to still be growing, but I swore he would come up to my thigh already. I did not envy whomever had to keep him in kibble.

Roscoe trotted up to the big dog with open body language, his tongue out and tail wagging. Of course, Roscoe would find the biggest fucking dog at the park to try and play with. The gray dog could probably squish him with one paw. Despite this, Roscoe's tiny tootsie-roll tail wiggled frantically in the excitement of a new friend.

I shifted, rising to my feet. The little turd was seemingly unbothered. The gray dog sniffed Roscoe up and down, his tail beginning to wag. I watched, ready to intervene if Roscoe needed me to.

In unspoken dog language, the two came to a conclusion. The gray dog dipped into an enthusiastic play bow, his tongue rolling out the side of his mouth.

Roscoe returned the bow before quickly scampering under the larger ones’ legs, performing a perfect canine nutmeg. The little dog took off, scooting across the yard, kicking up dust and pebbles along the way. The larger dog turned on legs that he was still getting used to, stumbling slightly as he went to chase.

The two dogs tumbled together, jumping and running. It was kind of adorable, if I was being honest. A big gray dog and a small brown and white one zooming around, having the time of their lives. Roscoe had an almost frenetic smile on his face as he cut the gray one off, causing the puppy to tumble over his too-big paws.

Who owned this dog? He was cute as hell. I scanned the humans at the park. Not the lady across the way, she was making sweet noises at a little beagle. A golden retriever was running with a ball in his mouth to a couple by the beach.

My gaze landed on a man standing a few yards off, dressed in cargo shorts and a T-shirt. He was tall with unkempt, dark hair. A looped leash hung from his hand. His gaze was distant, staring out over Lake Michigan. Could be him.

Suddenly, what felt like a miniature horse whacked into my legs. The ground came up more quickly than I had expected.

Air whumped out of my lungs in a wheeze. I opened my eyes, wiling them to refocus. Above me was a peach-colored sky, and two big doggy smiles. I felt their hot breath on my face. Smelled it too.

“Bleugh!” I groaned, sitting up and gently pushing their heads out of the way.The gray dog moved in to lick my face and I gently batted his face away again.

Footsteps sounded in the dirt nearby, and I heard a lower voice grumble, “Mouse, away from the lady.”

The gray dog, Mouse, bounded over to the man I had seen earlier, leaving me to the entirely respectable practice of getting to my feet. A hand extended into my vision, calloused and open. I followed it up to see the man reaching down, his dark eyes punctuated by half-moons under them. Tired eyes. His T-shirt read, “Han shot first.”

“Sorry about that.” His voice was less of a grumble this time. “Mouse is still learning that he’s bigger than he thinks he is. You okay?”

I accepted the extended hand, warm in my grasp as he helped me to my feet. I uttered a thanks, dusting off the dog park dirt from my clothes. Mouse moved to give my hand a snuffle. He looked up at me with big, sad, eyes, like he was trying to apologize. He had awfully cute eyes. The dog. The dog had cute eyes. I gave him another pat on the head.

“I’m okay,” I said. "Thanks."

Mouse and Roscoe circled around us for a moment longer, until being drawn away by a pigeon that had dared to land on the fence nearby. They took off to investigate, albeit a little more reserved than before.

The man stooped, grabbing the leash I had dropped in the fall. He held it out, “I'm Harry. You've met Mouse.”

"Evie" I returned, accepting it. I nodded in the dogs' direction, "That's Roscoe."

“Pleasure,” Harry was polite enough to give a small smile.

We stood there awkwardly, small talk lost on both of us for the moment. The lake lapped at the shore, a car honked somewhere. The breeze shifted and the pigeon took off. Harry looked at the sky and released a sigh before looking back down. I was about to turn and ask how old Mouse was, when he called for the dog in question. Mouse's head swiveled around before he trotted over, Roscoe close on his heels.

Harry bent to clip the leather lead to Mouses’ collar, “We should go before Mouse decides to take out any other innocent bystanders. He's probably hungry too."

He straightened back up, looking at me, “He’ll have better manners next time.”

“Next time?” I mused.

“If there is a next time.” Harry allotted it with a shrug. “But I think Mouse enjoys his new friend and would like to play with Roscoe here again. If he can be more careful with his surroundings.”

Mouse turned to me. I patted right behind his ears as he pressed into my side.

“This guy gives me worse on a daily basis,” Thumbing down to Roscoe, who was sitting by my feet. "But I appreciate it. It could have gone worse."

I glanced back up to Harry, and felt a tug in my gut. A faint pulling right above my navel.

“Next time.” I responded, the sensation growing.

Harry nodded at that and bid us both goodbye. I felt the pull in by gut weaken as he and Mouse walked to the parking lot, dissapating by the time they stopped at an especially conspicuous vintage Volkswagen Beetle. It was all patchy colors and mismatched parts. I watched Harry usher Mouse into the back before folding himself into the driver's seat. The car chugged to life, and navigated into traffic.

I looked down at Roscoe, watching the car pull away. He looked up at me, his face slightly grubby and disheveled from playing with Mouse.

"That's one way to sweep a woman off her feet." I said.

Roscoe sneezed.

Chapter Text

Roscoe and I shuffled into the apartment, sufficiently worn out from the park. The refrigerator hummed, fans whirred, pushing cool air. After years of kissing ass to some of Chicago’s more moneyed clientele, the one bedroom, one and a half bath was all mine. Almost. Masha jumped down from her tree as I closed the door. Roscoe stretched deeply and padded over to greet her. I hung up his leash and doggie bags. 

Somedays the small apartment felt too big, the walls stretching over, encroaching and caving in. Sometimes too small, like the walls were closing in, the corners a little too tight. Like Luke and the trash compactor in Star Wars. But Masha had always been there, meowing for dinner. I had found her on campus, behind a lecture hall. Gray, wet, and miserable, she had been meowing for dinner then too. The apartment I had been renting in didn't allow animals, but the landlord rarely came by. I snuck her in. She grew from a tiny fuzzball to the aloof little queen that she is. She sniffed my shoes.    

Thumping upstairs, I chucked my dirt-scuffed clothes into the washer and started a load, the machine churning to life. The place had a certain charm about it. I didn’t have the pick of the lot. It was old. The pipes creaked and rattled, and there was no central air conditioning. But it was in a quieter part of town, and the landlord wasn’t the worst. I flicked on the bathroom light, needing to rinse off.  

My thoughts began to wander as cool water washed away dirt and sweat. I truly wasn’t mad that Mouse had bodied me. It somewhat came with the hazards of being around dogs. Despite their boisterousness, he seemed to be a good buddy to Roscoe. He played hard, yet he was gentle, never pawing too hard or biting down. At one point, he had been belly up, and Roscoe had been running excited circles around him like a tiny, frantic satellite. I grinned at the memory, water running down my chin. 

Harry had also seemed to be genuinely apologetic. He was nice enough to make some small conversation as I righted myself, check if I was okay. I didn't hold it against him, or Mouse. Water splashed as I scrubbed dust out of my hair. Where he had gotten a dog like Mouse, I had as good of a clue as anyone else. A breed like that could go for a lot. Harry didn’t look like he was made of money, not like Marina with her neverending suits. But you never knew. Odd types ran in dog circles. 

I turned the shower off, the water pooling around the drain. My stomach growled as I toweled off. I hopped into clean clothes, and padded downstairs to make dinner for everyone. I checked my messages as I spooned out kibble and wet food. I made a quick plate, scribbling details on a notepad as the cheese melted.  

There was nothing urgent: a call from my landlord about some random maintenance that was going to be happening next week, a few messages from clients. A telemarketer trying to sell me their latest scam. To be fair, I had never considered getting boat insurance before. They may have a point there. 

Marina had left a message that she should be back in Chicago by the agreed upon date, as long as things continued to run smoothly. She sent along kisses to Roscoe, which I dutifully transferred to the dogs’ little head. He looked at me sleepily, and I felt a wave of satisfaction. No small feat, tiring a terrier out. Mouse had done a great job. 

I shifted to the couch, a plate of nachos in hand. Masha trailed, disguising her appetite as affection. The little creature had no shame. She settled in next to me as I grabbed the remote, turning the TV on. A talking head chattered something off before it switched to a commercial. I glanced out at the darkening sky outside, buildings beginning to light up. A plane blinked red and white overhead, its occupants destined for somewhere to do something. Seeing family. Vacation. An emergency. A business meeting like Marina. A hollow feeling settled into my bones, one that echoed around my arms and ribs. The TV chattered, half-heard.

I ran through the last few days in my head, playing it back like a television show’s recap. Marinas’ green and expensive neighborhood when I picked up Roscoe. Burned pigeons. An open, calloused hand, backdropped by a peach sky. The taste of dirt in my mouth. That first open session of aikido where I got my ass handed to me by a pretty girl who was so perfectly out of my league. 

I sighed, and tried to fill the room with my breath. 

Masha stole a small nacho off my plate.

Chapter Text

It was cool and quiet in the apartment. The calm before the worst of the days’ heat. I plodded downstairs, already dressed in my aikido pants and a T-shirt. Masha eyed me suspiciously as I knelt to pack my duffel. She knew this was off of our normal routine. Saturdays were made for pajamas and sugary breakfast cereals and naps. Not stuffing duffels with extra clothes and deodorant. Roscoe’s eyes darted to the leash hanging by the door, as if to say, “you’re going to grab that, right?”. 

“I’ll be back!” I pet both of them enthusiastically, much to Roscoe' s pleasure and Masha’s lack of. She pulled back, giving me her best “how dare you touch me when you threw off our routine” glare. I blew them both a kiss before locking the door behind me. 

Twenty minutes later I opened another door, the bells on top jingling like they always did. The dojo’s cooler air swept into my face as I entered. 

A majority of the others had already arrived. I recognized a good portion, but there were some unfamiliar faces. They stretched and chatted lazily, waiting for the session to start, gi’s already tied. I scanned the benches briefly, looking for a space to store my duffel. My gaze landed on a tall figure to the right, sitting a few paces down. 

Harry had spotted me as well, his eyebrows half-raised. He was wearing gi pants and a T-shirt that read, "Out of Bubblegum" on it. I felt a jolt of surprise, my gut leaping. I tried to blanket it with what I hoped was a casual wave, walking over. 

“I didn’t know you knew aikido,” I said in greeting, curiosity lacing my voice. I sat down on the wooden bench next to him, tucking my shoes underneath.   

“I didn’t know you knew aikido,” he responded in kind, shifting over.  

He continued “I don’t, not much. But I ask Murph if I can sit in on sessions every now and then. She usually lets me, if she's not rightfully pissed at me.” 

He gestured over to the desk where Murphy was standing in a creased and ironed uniform. She was flipping through paper on a clipboard, chatting quietly with Sensei Greg.

“You know Murphy?” I asked, a little incredulously.  

He nodded, “We work together sometimes.”

“You’re a cop?” I lowered my voice. He hadn’t given off cop vibes, not with that hair. 

He shook his head, looking down at his hands. One was gloved in a simple black leather glove.

 “Sometimes Murphy calls me in to help with a case, that’s all. I consult. Private Investigator.” 

That made me raise my eyebrows. Before I could ask further, Sensei Greg called attention.  

 “Alright everyone! Warm-ups!” 

I stored the conversation for later, giving Harry a small nod before rising to my feet. Students lined up on the mat, and I felt myself easing once again into the patterned movements. I willed my brain to let go like it usually did, but I had a hard time relaxing and centering. 

We moved on to basic forms with the bokken, getting reacquainted with the wooden sword. Sensei Greg and Murphy walked through, giving tips here and there. Tapping a foot to adjust stance, adjusting shoulders. I was starting to feel it in my back as Murphy observed a parry drill. 

I was sweating hard by the last ten minutes of class, a time usually reserved for sparring. We formed two lines facing each other, all of us now flushed and tired.  

“Use what you just learned while you spar. One minute, after that you’ll rotate! Go!” Sensei Greg called out. 

A minute doesn’t sound like very long, but ask that again when you’re doing something like swimming laps, or doing a plank. Or swinging a bokken. The first two rounds went smoothly, both my opponents and I able to land soft taps in place of actual strikes. My second opponent, a particularly fierce housewife, had tapped my ankle in an impressive display of speed. She danced back on light feet, a strand of hair escaping her increasingly messy bun.  

Sensei Greg called for us to rotate again. I bowed to her and shifted left. Harry stood in front of me. He was catching his breath as well, a flush blooming up his neck. We bowed, and set into a beginning stance. 

“Okay!’ Greg called out. “One minute, go!” 

The pairs broke out, wooden swords clattering in measured parries and thrusts. 

Harry stepped forward immediately, closing the distance between the two of us with a swipe. He tried to force me on my back foot, but I side-stepped, letting him push through. Too much weight into his sword. I took advantage of his back now facing me, lunging to tap his ribs. He pivoted in time, bokken meeting bokken as he blocked my attempt. 

He advanced again, this time with more deft strikes. His bokken danced around and I had to move quickly to counter his swings. I could feel my shoulders aching in protest at the speed. Harry's longer reach forced me to step back this time. I focused, determined to not let him land a hit. He pushed forward again, keeping me on the defensive. It was then that I moved.

When he was inbetween steps, I ducked swiftly, swinging my leg in an arc. My shin made a meaty thump as it connected with his, and I swept his foot.  

Harry tumbled to the mat with a grunt of surprise, all legs and bokken. His sword clattered to the side, and I kicked it further away. Closing the window between us before he could recover, I pointed my bokken at his neck, aiming at his pulse thumping against the hollow of his throat. His eyes followed up to meet my gaze for a moment and I held it as I caught my breath, feeling my face burn. He was still catching his breath, and he dropped his head back to the mat in concession.   

“You’re quick,” he panted. 

“Thanks,” was all I could muster, stepping back. I lowered my bokken, replacing it with an extended hand. I helped him to his feet, his hand warm. We bowed lightly, resetting our stances. 

We were interrupted by the timer as Murphy’s voice rang out “Alright everyone! Stop and switch partners! Two more minutes! Keep up the pace!” 

We bowed again, flushed and aching, shifting on to new partners.   

Two minutes may as well have been an eternity. Eventually, Sensei Greg called the group back and rounded out the session, reminding everyone to drink water. I bowed, shuffling off the mat with a happy-worn feeling. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harry cross the mat to talk to Murphy. She gave him a playful punch on the arm, and I felt my gut twist slightly. Must be dehydration. I took another swig out of my waterbottle. 

I sat for a moment feeling my pulse come down. Other students were chatting and joking, reaching for their belongings. Some gave a wave as they filtered out the door, its bell jingling as they made polite goodbyes and lunch plans. I gave Harry a final glance, his and Murphy’s heads closer together. Murphy’s brow furrowed for a second in a question to which Harry gave a small shake of his head.  

I felt like I was intruding by merely observing. It really wasn’t my business. I put on my my shoes and grabbed my bag. I gave a few nods to the remaining students, and headed to the exit. My shoulders burned as I pushed open the door. 

The heat of the day swamped me immediately. It swept all the way up my neck to my scalp, into my hair. The news had reported that morning that the heat wave should break in a few days. It was on track to break the record set only a few years ago. A group of pigeons fluttered between parked cars, and I remembered the poor birds in Valhalla.

Two more had been picked up after that first arrival. According to the logs, they had the same burnt out, scorched eyes, but were otherwise fine. That had brought the total up to five. Five at Hickory Ridge, that is. Animal Control had put in a report with the police, but who knew when that would be fulfilled. In the meantime, we just had to process and transport the poor things, keep our eyes out, and stay in contact with other Rescues. 

A flash of anger shot through me as I crossed the lot. It wasn’t fair for the little birds. They didn’t deserve what had happened to them. Some people didn’t like them, sure. I thought they were funny little animals. Definitely did not deserve this kind of treatment. My head swirled with five different strings of thought. I could file a report myself? Try to ask the homeowners nearby if they had seen anything? Set up a stake-out? That was ridiculous, I barely made it past 11:30 these days. Besides, if I wasn't careful, I might scare the person into laying low for a while, or moving shop. Anxiety laced my thoughts: what if they graduated from pigeons to something worse? What if it escalated?

The door jingled faintly in the distance. A voice interrupted my train of thought. 

“Hey!” 

I turned. Harry had a pair of old sneakers on; they were untied as he trotted over with his bag slung over one shoulder.  

“I just wanted to ask if you - if Roscoe. If you and Roscoe will be at the park again. This week.”  He said as he approached.   

I felt a small smile form, “I imagine we’ll be there tomorrow evening. I hope Mouse can hold out until then?”

“He can be patient,” Harry said, returning the smile “I'll tell him." 

“For your sake, I hope so.”  I countered, keeping it light, non-commital, “Otherwise, you’ll have a lot of dog to answer to.” 

"I already answer to a lot of dog. The question is if he listens to it or not." He said. "Sources say chances are low, but improved with the presence of a steak sandwich." 

My stomach growled at the mention of food, "Anything is improved with the presence of a steak sandwich." 

Harry gestured, "True, I like the way you think." 

"Thank you," I replied, feeling my face burn again slightly. "What can I say, I'm a simple woman. I like steak." 

Harry laughed at that, his face creasing. I made a show of checking my watch, ducking down to hide my cheeks.  

"I need to let Roscoe out, but we'll maybe see you guys tomorrow?” I asked. 

Harry grinned at me. I couldn't tell if he could tell if I was blushing. “Definitely maybe see you tomorrow."    

Chapter Text

The park was bustling by the time I unlatched Roscoes’ kennel in the back of my car. It seemed like everyone else had the same idea, get out while it was cooler. 

Mouse met us happily at the gate, his tail wagging in big sweeps. I had spotted Harry’s patchy Volkswagen as we pulled in. Once Roscoe was unclipped from his lead, he took off on stubby legs. Mouse bounded playfully along, and they began a cycle of sniffing, jumping, and running. Harry stood a few feet away. He had on a rumpled T-shirt that read, “I Want To Believe” with a UFO. I gave him a small wave as I walked over, which he returned.  

“Harry,” I greeted. 

“Evie,” he answered.  

“How are you feeling after yesterday?” 

“Sore. And yourself?” 

“My shoulders have gone on strike.” I mused. “They demand carbs, and TV, and an icepack.” 

He afforded me a small laugh, and we settled into a quiet moment, watching Roscoe and Mouse do a few laps. They played with some of the other dogs, and started into their own game of jump-and-chase. The sun hung low, the wind shifting with the incoming night air. Every now and then, one of the dogs would trot up, panting happily, waiting for a pat on the head before finding something else worth doing. Harry could pet Mouse easily, but had to stoop to pet Roscoe. His pant leg was collecting tiny dusty paw prints. 

“Where did you get Mouse, anyway?” I asked as Roscoe scampered off.  “I’ve met a lot of dogs. It’s not often nowadays that I meet a breed I don’t recognize.”

Harry looked over to Mouse. He was rolling in the dirt nearby, belly up, and loving every minute of it. His pink-and-purple tongue lolled out in doggy glee.

“Hells bells, he just had a bath.” Harry muttered before answering my question, “He fell into my lap one day. My car, rather.”

I waited for him to continue. Roscoe was running laps around Mouse again. 

“I was helping out a friend with a job. Next thing I knew, Mouse had found his way into my car. I accidentally brought him home. I intended to get him back, but he kind of ended up staying. He was so small, he could fit in the pocket of one of my coats.”

Mouse had flipped back to his feet, and let out a huge sneeze, scattering dust. I thought about what a tiny Mouse would look like, a small gray fuzzball and a tiny pink spotted tongue. So small he could curl up in your hands. 

“Well, he’s a beautiful dog. And Roscoe always enjoys meeting nice fa– New! New faces.” I said. Roscoe heard his name, and crossed to me, brushing himself against my shin for attention. It was my turn to bend down and give a scratch.

“How long have you had him?” Harry asked, gesturing down. 

“Oh he’s not mine, I just take care of him.” I replied, making sure to scratch the one spot under Roscoe’s chin he really liked. “He’s one of my regulars. And he’s usually a peach, so I’m happy to take him. His mom works a lot. He’s with me for a week or so while she’s out of town.” 

Another breeze blew off the lake, bringing in the smell of lakeweed. I stood up as Roscoe padded away, sneezing. I turned to Harry and met his eyes for a moment, dark and steady. After a breath, it felt like my balance was being pulled forward. Towards him, as if I was about to dive into a pool, but my feet were firmly on land. I felt my gut twist. 

Something gray and fuzzy caught my eye, moving over Harry’s shoulder. It pulled me out of whatever that feeling was, my head swimming slightly. I had a moment to register that Mouse was up on his hind legs. Suddenly, Harry veered forward, towards me, his face flashing with surprise. His arms splayed out to try and catch anything, but there was only me. I moved to try and catch him, but his forward momentum had gotten the best of both of us. We crashed to the ground in a pile of leashes and legs. I smacked into the ground, feeling the air push out of my lungs for a moment. I coughed on dust as it took a moment for the world to right itself. Mouse’s panting faintly sounded in the background. 

I opened my eyes to see Harry looking back, startled. His hair hung down, framing his face, but didn’t hide his blush. He had an arm bracketed near my head that had caught a good portion of his fall, and I realized that he was very close and very warm. I felt that head-swimming again, sure I looked just as surprised as he did. 

His eyes flickered down for a moment, and mine followed. My hands were out, braced against him. They framed the word “Want” on his shirt, his body solid and warm underneath. I pulled away like I had touched a hot stove, muttering about dogs. 

“Mouse, that was not very nice.” Harry grumbled as he pushed himself to his feet. The dog was all smiles and wags, looking like he had just saved fifteen orphans in the Arctic. Harry offered another hand out, and I flashed back to our last park visit as I accepted it. 

“That is the second time you have made me fall this week,” I added, looking down at Mouse squarely.

He moved to give me a doggy kiss, and I playfully batted him away. I brushed the dog park dust off of me, feeling two times grosser than when I had arrived. Such are dogs. 

“Your dog has a bad habit of knocking me off my feet.” I said half-sarcastically. “I don’t much like it when they catch me unawares.”

“He can be a troublemaker,” Harry agreed. “You okay?” 

I nodded, “Just got the wind knocked out of me. I s'pose it's fair, after yesterday." 

Mouse grinned up at us. 

“Murphy didn't say that leg sweeps were on the table for that session. And I have longer legs than yours, bigger target. You caught me off guard" Harry retorted, glancing at the darkening sky.

I grinned, patting away the last of the dust, "Whatever you say, Harry." 

He looked down at me, sighing with mock exasperation. “Call it a night? Not risk any more Mouse-related incidents? Or leg sweeps for that matter?”

The sun had sunk fully behind the skyline, leaving the city in a dim lavender haze. It was well past dinner time; I hadn’t realized how late it had gotten. 

“Probably the better call.” I replied, backing off.  Roscoe had trotted over to join the three of us. I clipped on his lead, and we exited the park. We were one of the last groups there, the others packing up as well. It was dark enough that the streetlight had flicked on. 

As we walked, Harry spoke. “Mouse almost flooded my basement once.” 

I turned, bewildered by the statement, before I registered the grin on his face. 

“Insurance fraud.” 

I pictured Mouse in one of those old cartoon boats, paddling with a little sailor cap on, floating in a Chicago basement amongst old boxes and a water heater. All aboard the S.S. Kibble. 

“He better not teach Roscoe any ideas,” I countered, as we made it past the fenceline. “He’s implicated in some gambling schemes out west and can’t afford to get his cover blown.”

Little wrinkles formed at the edge of his eyes as he laughed, and I felt something bloom in my stomach.

We reached my Cruiser first, pausing for a moment as I opened the trunk to load Roscoe into his carrier. Harry and Mouse waited as I lashed down the door. 

“I am sorry that Mouse has pushed you over. Twice.” Harry said as I fastened the latches. “He and I are going to have on the way home about how we treat ladies.” 

“What makes you think I’m a lady?” I retorted as I secured the last latch on the door. I regretted it almost immediately. The words had shot out of my mouth before the filter was able to trap them back in. The warmth in my gut was adrenaline, and getting pushed over, and just pure attention. It was confusing, but it was normal. I just had to keep it light and breezy. Men love light and breezy. 

I let out a nervous chuckle, “I’m messing with you, that was a stupid thing to say.” I turned, closing the car door gently. Roscoe was fine in there, the windows down and cool dusk wind filtering in.

“Cause you don’t start fights, but you finish them.” His voice was low, but not unintelligible. It was thoughtful. The trees rustled with the night wind, carrying his words. He had his hands in his pockets, the leash wrapped casually around his wrist. 

I blinked at him. 

“You know, like The Aristocats? ‘Ladies don’t start fights, but they finish them?’.” He continued. “You kicked my ass yesterday.”   

My face warmed. I scrambled for words. Ones that would keep the conversation moving, keep it dancing along in the pace we had set. Ones that wouldn’t linger. Show my cards. Show me.  

“You throw yourself too much into the sword. It’s an extension of you, not something to push around.” 

Good. Neutral. About fighting, nothing else. Harry nodded, considering my words. 

“Alright, that’s fair enough. Get home safe, Mouse and I will talk.” he said with a small smile.

The two of them turned to walk the last few yards to Harry’s old Bug. I watched for a moment before big mouth syndrome kicked back in. 

“Don’t forget the part where I’m a lady.” I quipped after him. 

“Wouldn’t dare,” he called, not turning around. Mouses’ tail wagged.  

The dimming night hid the blush that crept across my face as I climbed into the Cruiser.