That Day

It may sound strange, but I think the day I was beaten up and stabbed is actually one of the best days of my life.

That's not what I thought at the time, of course. At the time, I was pretty sure it was going to be this particular badger's last. But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let's rewind a bit.

For much of it, that day was nothing special. A usual Friday at the office, nice and normal and dull. Jacob repeating the same lame smutty joke from yesterday and the day before. Nathan grumbling yet again about the crap he goes through with his wife. Karen spending more time straightening her fur and playing with her smart phone than actually working.

A few desks over from mine, Felix is hitting on Jenny. Again. You'd think he'd have got the message by now, picked up on the subtle hints that's she not interested. But that's Felix, the middle-aged fox wouldn't know subtlety if it hit him in the face with a sledgehammer.

I'm sat at my desk, flicking through paperwork, checking and rechecking. I don't really need to, I'm just killing time until I can get out of this place. I'm glancing at the clock on the wall on a regular basis, willing time to pass more quickly. But all I succeed in doing is making time seem to slow to a crawl.

I hate my job, there's no other way of saying it. It pays the bills, but that's pretty much where the good points end. My co-workers are friendly enough, I suppose. But the job itself is just as dull and monotonous as being a clerk in the accountancy department of a large corporation sounds.

"Hey, could be worse, you could be gay!"

I freeze in what I'm doing at that, my ears twitching as I listen into the conversation that has started up behind me. I do my best to force myself to carry on working, to make it look like I'm not eavesdropping on every word that's said. But can't seem to relax my body so I have to just hope no one notices how stiffly I'm suddenly sitting in my chair.

From the voices and scents, I can tell it's Frank, the big bulldog office manager. It seems he'd wandered over to talk to Nathan about something, and was now caught up in a conversation about German shepherd's marital troubles.

Bloody Frank, full of swagger and arrogance. I hated him. Always quick to take credit for anything and everything that went right in the department, and always lightning quick to go hunting for a scapegoat when something went wrong, never caring who was actually to blame, even though often it would be a result of his incompetent mismanagement. Of course, he had plenty of other traits that didn't exactly endear him to me either...

So I sit there, one part of me pretending to work, trying to look nonchalant, another part listening in, and yet another part trying to quell the nagging paranoid fear in the pit of my stomach. It's OK, they don't know, don't say anything and they won't find out...

"Huh?" Nathan says, in response to Frank's out of the blue remark.

"I mean," Frank replies, "at least you're normal, you're problems are with a woman. You're not some queer freak, fucking around with a guy." His scent reeks of ego and self-confidence. Well, that and the godawful cologne he wears for reasons I've never been able to fathom.

There is a brief uncomfortable silence as it seems Nathan is unsure exactly what to say to this. "I suppose there is that..." He ventures.

"Yeah!" The bulldog laughs. "Fuckin' faggots. Can you believe they can actually get married now? I mean, that just ain't right..."

Nothing quite like some of Frank's casual homophobia to finish off the week. On the rare occasions when the subject does come up in conversation around the office, Frank always seems to be there to leave no one in any doubt where he stands on the topic of gay people.

I take a degree of perverse pleasure in the fact that he has no idea about me, right under his nose. On the other hand, I also have a silent fear of him finding out. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't be able to fire me or anything, but he could make life in the office hell for me if he found out I was...

"Ollie!"

I almost jump out of my seat. My focus had been so occupied with Frank and Nathan's conversation, I hadn't heard someone else approach, not even picking up on the scent. Even as I turn, before I even smell him, I know it's Felix. He's the only one who calls me Ollie, despite my continual hints that I prefer my full name of Oliver. I mean, my Dad always called me Ollie and I... well... hmm, perhaps its best we just not go there.

"Sorry, Ollie." Felix says. "Didn't mean to frighten you..." He leans against my desk, looking concerned. His musky scent is a little strong, even by vulpine standards, but I'm more than used to it after years working in the same office.

"It's OK," I reassure him. "I was just distracted, thinking of other stuff... something you need?"

"Do you still have a copy of last quarter's figures?" He asks. "I need a hard copy, but the printer's broken again."

"Sure, I've got it around here somewhere."I swivel around in my chair, yanking open a draw on the other side of the desk. I start digging through the piles of papers stored within, searching for what he needs.

"So, its Friday" Says the fox, making conversation. "Got any plans for the weekend?"

I come across the papers he wants and turn back, handing them over. "Not really." The well worn lie slips out easily. "Just relaxing at home."

Felix just nods his understanding. By now, even he knows better than to push it. Over the years, he's tried pretty much every possible conversational tactic to try to get me to talk more about my private life. But I'm very good at deflecting all his attempts. I like keeping my private life private.

The fox thanks me for the figures and moves away, heading back to his desk. I swivel my ears slightly,trying to pick up on Frank and Nathan's discussion again, but they've finished. Frank has gone, wandered off somewhere. I really can't bring myself to care where.

I glance at the clock again, resuming my efforts to will time to speed up.

Eventually, of course, the end of the working day does come, it just feels like five hundred years have passed by the time it happens.

I leave the office with only the most perfunctory of goodbyes to my co-workers and head straight home, awash with relief that another week at that damn place is over and done with.

As soon as I get home to my cold and lonely apartment, I flop out on the couch and try to relax, to let the stress of the week melt away. It's sort of a Friday night ritual for me, even though it tends to be somewhat hit or miss.

That evening, it was definitely in the 'miss' category. I just lay there, replaying the week of work in my head over and over, unable to take my mind off it. The stress stubbornly holds onto me with both hands.

So I give it up and move on to my other Friday night ritual, deciding whether or not to go out that night. This is something of a pointless ritual, as it always ends the same. But I go through the debate in my head yet again anyway.

It'll be a lot of hassle and nothing will come of it...

This might be the time that changes...

Why would it? It never does...

The only way it will change is if you keep trying...

I lay there on the couch for sometime, these thoughts going round and round in my mind. Eventually I sigh. I know its pointless. I'm going to go out. The alternative is sitting at home, lonely and miserable. And I've done that plenty of times in my life. Trust me when I say its not fun.

Hours later comes my third regular Friday night ritual. Sitting in a gay bar, nursing a drink, wishing I had stayed home.

This particular Friday, I have chosen to hang out at a bar by the name of the Rainbow Lounge. It's a nice enough place, there is music and laughter all around me as assorted gay guys drink and chat and dance. A sea of happy scents flows around me, the smell of joy and friendliness assailing my nostrils.

And yet I feel nothing but alone. Whenever I glance about at the people around me, in their tight skimpy clothing, guzzling alcohol like there's no tomorrow, gyrating wildly against each other, I just make myself feel more and more out of place. I don't belong here.

But what's the alternative? Sit at home, feeling lonely and miserable? Try online dating again? Been there, done that, and yet here I am, well into my third year of being single. Not even a sniff of a boyfriend since Justin walked out on me.

I'd be happy with just making a few friends, but I've not been able to manage even that. On the extremely rare occasions that someone in these places does deem me worthy of talking to, it doesn't take them long until they lose interest in knowing me. I'm just not very good at making friends, never have been. Maybe I'm just too old, too ugly, or too boring for the guys around here. I can never tell.

After several hours of feeling sorry for myself, I decide to give it up for the night and head home alone. Again. I drain my glass, stuff my paws in my pockets and head for the door.

The chill night breeze bites at me as I step outside onto the darkened street. A stroll along under the street lamps, the sound of music fading quickly, as I leave the bar far behind. I'm lost in my own depressed thoughts, paying no attention to my surroundings, not to any sounds or scents. Such as those of the people who at that point must have been following me. I turn a corner onto a smaller side street.

I can't help but sigh as I make my way along the deserted street. Why do I have such trouble meeting someone? I try my best, but never seem to make any progress. Is it really too much to ask just to find...

"Hey, faggot!"

The shouted words catch me by surprise and I turn toward the source. Just in time to receive a punch across my muzzle.

I cry out and stumble back, pain blossoming across my face. And it's only then that I see them.

A gang of four guys are glaring at me, hate in their eyes, their scents reeking of alcohol and anger and aggression. A grey wolf, a rottweiler and a pair of tigers. They all look young, but every one of them is bigger and heavier built than me. An icy stab of fear hits me as I realise there is no way this is going to end well.

The grey wolf seems to be the leader, his raised fists indicating he was the one who hit me. A low growl is escaping his muzzle.

"Hey, now I..." I try to say something.

"Shut the fuck up!" The wolf interrupts me with another savage punch, this one hitting me straight on the nose. The pain is horrible and I stagger back a few more steps. Suddenly, I can smell nothing but blood. I raise a paw to my nose to confirm my suspicions. Blood is streaming from it...

The gang stalks towards me, mean and menacing. "We saw you coming out of that queer club back there." The wolf snarls. "We're going to show you that perverts like you ain't welcome around here. Right guys?" Murmurs of agreement from the other three.

Instinct kicks in and I turn to make a run for it. But I'm not fast enough. Strong paws roughly grab me from behind, claws ripping through my clothing and digging into my flesh.

My memories of what came next are somewhat jumbled.

I remember struggling wildly, but to no avail, my attackers being far stronger and quicker than me. Their claws tearing bloody scratches at me all over.

I remember being dragged into a nearby alley and slammed against a dumpster before collapsing to the ground, agony racking my body. A foot stamps down on my left arm and I'm sure I remember the sickening sound of breaking bone, and I definitely remember the sharp intense agony that shot through my arm. It was then one of the tigers who hauled me up again and threw me against a wall, where the rottweiler delivered a savage punch to my stomach, knocking the breath from me. I'm then gasping for breath, unable to cry out for help.

I might have blacked out for a second or two there as the next thing I remember, I'm being held against the brick wall of the alleyway, arms pinned by the rottweiler on one side and one of the tigers on the other. I can still smell nothing but my own blood. I hurt all over, but the agony from my arm is overwhelming, forcing tears to my eyes.

The wolf is stood before me, grinning an evil grin. "I guess you've learned your lesson, faggot." He snarls at me. Behind him, the second tiger is looking at me and chuckling.

I cling desperately to the hope that means this will be over soon.

But that hope soon dies as I see he now has a small knife in one paw. I'm momentarily mesmerised by light glinting off the blade.

"Now, we're going to leave you as a message to the rest of 'em." The wolf sneers.

I want to protest, to call out, but before I can do anything, he's in close, pressing a forearm savagely against my throat. I can't breathe, only a strangled yelp escaping my muzzle.

A second later, the knife plunges into my stomach. For the first split-second, I don't feel anything, and then the pain comes, flowing rapidly across my torso.

I so badly want to yell and scream, but the wolf's forearm is still against my throat. I can't breathe, there's a knife slicing into my guts and that's when the cold thought hits home.

I'm going to die. This is the end.

My eyes close, and I let the pain take me, what strength I have draining away. I'm only half conscious as I hear the voices...

"Dude, you fucking stabbed him!"

"Yeah, so?"

"I thought you were just going to scare him!"

"Guess that just means I've got bigger balls than you, you whiny little..."

"Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

And suddenly, the paws holding me are gone, but I don't have the strength left to stand. I slump to the ground in a painful bloody heap.

There are voices and cries and sounds of a scuffle, but I'm past caring. All I can do is lay there and wait to die.

Death doesn't come, but someone else does. I'm vaguely aware of someone crouching beside me, paws turning me over so that I flop over onto my back, causing an extra jarring jolt of pain. Paws running over my body, checking my injuries. There's a pressure on my stomach, right where the wolf stuck his knife in me. The shock of agony shakes me awake a little.

It takes an effort, but I manage to force my eyes open for a moment. And there he is.

Crouched beside me is a big, brown-furred bear. He's leaning over me, one paw applying pressure to my stomach wound, my blood staining his paws and the sleeves of his blue shirt. His other paw is frantically dialling a cell phone. I note the look of grim determination on his rugged, handsome features.

"I need an ambulance!" He's yelling into his phone a moment later. "And the police! Someone's been attacked and stabbed!" His voice is deep and gruff.

My eyes close again. It's so hard to stay awake...

I spend a few moments slipping in and out of consciousness, fighting a losing battle. And then his voice again.

"C'mon, Oliver, stay with me!"

I feel a pang of guilt at having to disappoint him as everything goes black...

The next thing I know, I'm opening my eyes slowly, bright light stabbing at them. I'm looking up at a white ceiling and florescent lighting.

I feel dizzy, confused, unsure where I am. It takes a few moments, but then it all comes flooding back. The attack, the pain, the certainty that I was going to die. I have to screw up my eyes to force back the tears that well up.

It takes one hell of an effort, but I force back the memories, even though I realise I'm going to be reliving them regularly for a long time to come. Right now, I'm alive. Focus on that.

Opening my eyes, I try to take stock of my situation. I feel weak and tired, most of my body is either numb or aching. I manage to summon enough strength to raise my head and glance about, taking in my surroundings.

I'm lying in a big bed in a hospital room. It's pretty standard as such rooms go. White walls, smooth linoleum floor, bland art hanging on one wall, a switched off TV hanging from the ceiling in one corner, blinds on the windows are closed, as is the room's only door.

As for myself, I'm in the standard hospital gown. I vaguely wonder what happened to my clothes. But that causes the memories of the attack to resurface, memories of my clothes being torn, so I quickly clamp down on that thought.

I notice my left forearm is in a plaster cast. Guess that's broken then. I reach my other paw down under the bed sheets carefully towards my stomach, coming to rest on the tight bandages encircling my middle, before withdrawing.

I've got minor aches all over, but I don't seem to be in too much actual pain. They must have given me something. Maybe it's the intravenous drip hooked up to my right arm.

My nose itches and I sniff at the air. The scents I pick up on are weak and strange. I remember the savage punch to the nose I received and find myself wondering how much damage it did...

But I do manage to pick up on an ursine scent nearby.

Twisting my head, I'm able to see him. He's slumped in a chair beside my bed, a big brown bear, head rolled forward against his chest, sleeping.

I remember him from the alley, he was the one helping me, calling an ambulance. The realization creeps over me that this guy probably saved my life.

I can't stop looking at him, taking in every detail. He's big and heavily built, slightly more than average for an ursine. He looks just as ruggedly handsome as I remember. His fur is somewhat more unkempt now, but that just seems to give his appearance a cute and charming quality. I notice a nick in his left ear, a small piece missing, long since healed, and vaguely wonder how that happened. My eyes also glance over a small scar on his muzzle, just visible beneath the light brown fur.

My eyes run down over his body. He's wearing black jeans and a simple blue shirt which is still stained with my blood, although he has washed his paws at some point. The shape of his body hints at powerful muscles lurking beneath those clothes. I imagine he's a guy who works out regularly. He has a bit of a gut, not fat, just slightly round, in an attractive and adorable sort of way.

Suddenly he stirs in his chair, stretching slightly, his muzzle letting out a yawn. And then his eyes, his wonderful, deep hazel-coloured eyes, are open and looking directly at me. A warm smile spreads across his muzzle and a look of relief washes across his face. I can't help but smile weakly back at him.

And that's what made that day one of the best of my life, when I would come to look back on it. Yes, for the most part it sucked and at one point I almost died. But here's the thing. All that, the dull job, the casual homophobia at work, the loneliness, the depression, the attack, the fear, the pain and suffering. All of it is cancelled out instantly when I think of one simple thing.

That was the day I met Harvey.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That day... man, that day. It's weird the way one single day can change the course of your entire life, completely out of the blue.

For the most part that day was like any other of my life for the past four years, spent mostly at the garage, my paws buried deep in engines, repairing and rebuilding. To some, being a mechanic fixing up cars all day long might not seem like much of a job, but I like it. It's long hours and sometimes physically demanding, but I find it helps distract me, keeps me thinking too much about... well, stuff I'd rather not spend all day thinking about.

It's a job I'm lucky to have. After the whole mess of the way I left the police force, I wasn't sure how much chance I stood of finding work. But Chuck, an old friend who once knew my dad, gave me a chance without a second thought, and never pried into what really happened to end my career as a cop, and for both of those things I'm forever grateful to the old cougar.

I've done my best to repay him for his trust in me over the years. Always working long hours, longer than I needed, remaining loyal and sticking with the garage, on the rare occasions when another job offer came along. I even voluntarily took a pay cut last year to help him out when we went through a bit of a rough patch and business wasn't too good.

That day was a typical Friday I stayed at the garage working until Chuck came out of his office to tell me it was time to close up the place for the night. I washed up quickly in the bathroom then waited outside while he locked up and set the alarms. Then he patted me on the shoulder, thanked me for all my hard work and said goodnight. I told him I'd see him tomorrow. Same as every Friday night.

Although I'm tired from work, I swing by the gym for a quick workout. Staying in shape is a habit I picked up from my days as a cop, and has turned out to be one I don't want to break. There was one period, year before last, when work was so busy, I was working a lot of overtime, and so skipped the gym for a few weeks. It felt horrible and I hated how my body felt during that time, all flabby and wrong. I've kept up my workout schedule since then, no matter what.

After the gym, I head home. I'm sat on my couch, just relaxing, idly flicking through channels on the TV, trying to figure out what to do for dinner, when my phone rings.

"Hey, Harv!" Comes the voice as I answer it.

It's Marcus, one of my best friends, and the only one of my ex-boyfriends I have any contact with. Well, I say that, but we weren't a couple for very long before we both agreed we'd be better off as friends. We never even made it as far as sleeping together.

"Hey, Marcus." I say, trying to keep the exhaustion from my voice. He picks up on it anyway. He's quite the perceptive little raccoon.

"Long day?" He asks.

I rub at my eyes with one paw. "No more than usual."

"Well, a usual day for you is long..." He chuckles.

"Yeah, yeah." I mutter, bracing myself for another of his 'you work too hard' lectures. But thankfully, it doesn't come. Unfortunately, what comes instead is even more stressful.

"So I'm just calling to see where you'd decided to go tonight?"

I frown. "Umm... I'm not going anywhere..."

I hear him sigh on the other end of the line. "Harv, you promised..."

Fuck. Suddenly I remember what I'd spent the past week putting out of mind. His call last weekend. We'd talked about all sorts of stuff, and ended up on the subject of me always working and never going out to have any fun. By the end of it, I had promised to go out for a few hours this Friday, hit a bar, have a few drinks. Partly to stop him worrying about me and partly to shut him up.

But now the day was here and I really didn't feel like it...

"Let me guess." Marcus says. "You forgot?"

"Yeah, and I really don't feel up to it..."

Marcus laughs. "So, it's no different from any other night. You're going."

"Marcus..."

My raccoon friend is persistent. "Just go to a bar. I emailed you the details of some gay bars in your part of town. Pick one..."

"Marcus, I'm not..."

He interrupts, continuing. "Pick one at random, go there for a few hours. Have a few drinks. Maybe talk to some guys. It's not that hard."

I stand my ground. "No, Marcus, I'm really not going out tonight."

"Oh really?" He laughs. "Then let me say this. You promised. And when was the last time you knowingly broke a promise?"

Damn him. Damn me and my bloody sense of honour, always proud of the fact that I have never ever intentionally broken a promise. Damn Marcus for knowing that and using it against me.

"Fine." I say, resigning myself to the fact I'm not going to win this one.

"Good." Says the raccoon, satisfied. "I'll talk to you tomorrow and you can tell me how it went."

We talk for a little longer before he hangs up, leaving me to get ready for my night out. I quickly check my email and find the one from him. I scan through the list of gay bars he's sent me and before long I settle on one. The Rainbow Lounge. Of all of them, it looks like the one I'll dislike the most. Then I'll be able to honestly tell Marcus I didn't enjoy my night out and he maybe won't try talking me into doing something like this again. At least, not any time soon.

A few hours later, I'm cleaned up and dressed up and pulling my car into the parking lot across the street from the Rainbow Lounge. I switch off the engine and just sit there. I can see the bar in my rear view mirror.

I find myself unable to move, just staring at the place in the mirror. A huge swell of anxiousness wells up inside me. I don't know why. I've been in gay bars before, lots of times...

Not for four years, I can't help reminding myself. Not since...

I push that thought away. I definitely don't want to be thinking about that tonight. I could happily go the rest of my life never thinking about that ever again, but I know that's not an option.

OK, I tell myself, let's get this over with. I will myself to get moving.

And yet, I stay where I am, paws clutching the steering wheel in front of me.

I try again, telling myself I'm going to get out of this car and go over there. Now!

And yet again, I remain motionless save for my grip on the steering wheel tightening. Tension is spreading through me.

I let out a grunt of frustration and bang my head on the steering wheel in annoyance at myself.

Why is this so fucking hard? I've been in much scarier situations. Like that time I was in that car crash in college. Or back on the force, when my partner and I were in that big shoot out with that gang, outnumbered and out-gunned. And there was that time when a perp got the drop on me and I found myself staring down the barrel of a gun, certain that death was just seconds away.

Hell, I once even ran into a burning building to rescue a guy still trapped inside. That was fucking terrifying. But it did earn me a commendation for bravery.

Yeah, and like all my commendations, it was conveniently forgotten when...

I bang my head on the wheel again, this time with more force. "Stop it, you fucking moron." I snarl at myself out loud.

I take a deep breath, trying to relax. I can do this. I know I can. I look once again at the bar in my rear view mirror. Get in, have a drink or two, enough to fulfil my promise to Marcus, then get out again. No big deal.

This time, I manage to get out of the car, hauling myself out into the chill night air. I lock the car and turn to face the challenge ahead.

I have to push myself to start walking towards it, keeping my eyes focused on my destination. The nondescript brick exterior. The black tinted windows hiding what lay within. The ugly, garish, neon sign over the door. As I watch, a short badger exits the place, paws stuffed in his pockets, he turns right, walking along the street, his head bowed, lost in thought. He looks unhappy. I feel a pang of sympathy.

I cross the street, slowly approaching the bar, doing my best to hold back the rising tension and apprehension in my knotted stomach.

When the entrance to the bar is before me, I pause. I take several deep breaths, readying myself to go inside, attempting to force myself to relax. I can do this, I repeat to myself. Maybe it will end up being fun. Maybe this is the day a miracle like that actually happens. Maybe...

Movement out of the corner of my eye draws my attention. I glance along the street.

The badger I saw leaving is turning a corner at the intersection further along, into a quiet side street. But now there are others. Four guys are heading in the same direction. Two tigers, a wolf and a rottweiler. I'm usually quite observant, so frown at not having spotted them before. Had they been hiding or something? Maybe they just got out of a car? But there have been no car sounds in the street since I arrived in my own. They'd have to have been waiting in their car for something. Or someone.

I'm too far away to pick up on their scents, but their body language speaks volumes, at least to me. The lashing of their tails, the twitching of their ears, the determined hunch of their shoulders, a slight swagger to their strides. I'd guess they'd been drinking, but not a lot. They look angry and aggressive.

The fur on the back of my neck bristles. I haven't been a police officer in four years, but my cop instincts are still very much intact. Everything about those guys says trouble waiting to happen, and likely to happen soon. And as soon as they turn the corner at the intersection those instincts tell me one thing. They're following that badger.

I can't know that for certain, of course. They could just happen to be heading in the same direction. My reading of the situation could be completely wrong. It wouldn't be the first time.

And yet... the part of me deep down that will, no matter what, always be a cop tells me that I'm not wrong. Something is going to happen there and I should do something about it...

I yank my gaze back to the door of the bar. Even if, by some remote chance, I am right, it's not my problem. I'm not a police officer anymore, it's not my place to get involved, to go sticking my muzzle. Besides, I have a promise to keep.

Taking a step forward, I reach out a paw to open the door. But I freeze before it gets there.

But what if I am right? What if something is going to happen? Would you be able to live with yourself if something happened and you did nothing?

My outstretched paw clenches into a fist and I pull it back. "God damn it..." I mutter.

A second later, I'm stomping up the street in a huff. Just to check, I tell myself. Once I see the badger is fine, I'll head back to the bar, have a quick drink and then head home to bed. And then try to forget this whole damn night.

Of course the badger will be fine, I'm just being stupid and paranoid. I keep repeating this to myself over and over. Almost as if I'm trying to convince myself.

I reach the intersection and turn the corner. I'm somewhat surprised to find the side street empty. Just darkened shop fronts, florescent street lamps and the odd parked car. No sign of the badger. No sign of the other guys following him. I know I didn't imagine them, a faint trance of their scents hang in the cool night air. But I can see no sign of them.

With a shrug of my shoulders, I turn away and start back to the bar. See? I was wrong. Nothing happening. Nothing to...

My steps falter and I come to a stop. I have this sudden overwhelming feeling that I'm missing something. Something important, a detail I saw but didn't quite register. I may still have my cop instincts, but they are a bit rusty, so it takes me a moment. But then the realization hits me with a gut punch of cold dread.

The alleyway.

There was an alley a short way along that street. It's really they only place the badger and the guys following him could have gone. And it can't be for any good reason for them to duck into an alley.

And then I'm rushing back, one desperate thought running through my head. Please let me be wrong.

I skid to a halt at the alley and for one moment, I can only stare in horror at the scene before me, as the scents hit me hard,a heady mix of blood, sweat and anger. Two of them have the badger pinned to the wall. It's only been a short time, but they've managed to rough him up pretty badly, his clothes torn and bloody, a steady stream of blood trickling from his nose. One of the tigers is standing to one side, looking shocked at what the wolf has done...

The wolf. He has one arm pressed forcefully against the badger's throat. His other paw is holding a bloody knife near the badger's stomach, where a spreading red stain screams stab wound at me. The wolf is looking back over his shoulder, growling at the tiger behind him. I'm too shocked to catch the words.

Anger, disgust and hatred well up in me. I feel a surge of adrenaline. "Hey! What the fuck do you think you're doing?" My paws clench into fists as I snarl, showing teeth.

All except the badger turn to look at me. His eyes are closed and he's slumped in his captors' grip. I pray to God I'm not too late. For a split second, no one moves.

They let go of the badger and I see him drop to the ground in a heap. He needs help. I can't waste too much time dealing with these assholes.

The rottweiler charges at me, but he's a clumsy fighter, I easily sidestep his punch and swat him with a backhanded blow, sending him crashing into the wall. One of the tigers is wide-eyed, keeping his distance, trying to edge around me. I catch the edge of fear in his scent and ignore him. He's too scared to try anything.

The second tiger and the wolf face me down, before rushing at me. The wolf still has his knife, so I deal with that first, shooting out a paw and grabbing him by the wrist as he tries to slash at me with it. I'm stronger than he is, so I can easily keep it immobilized.

At the same time, I lash out with a foot, landing it squarely in the incoming tiger's crotch, connecting with a satisfying crunch. He goes down, clutching at his groin, screaming in agony.

Then its just me and the wolf. He's struggling against my grip, but I hold on, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt with my other paw. I slam him violently against the wall, pinning him there, as a deep rumbling growl escapes my muzzle.

I glance about at his friends. One of the tigers has already fled. The other is picking himself up, but from his scent and body language, I can tell he's in too much pain to try anything. The rottweiler is also getting up, but is looking fearful at how easily I've taken their little gang apart. I glare at him. Next thing I know he's turning to run away. A second later, the second tiger is following him.

I look back at the wolf, staring at him with angry eyes. He's doing his best to look defiant, squirming in my grasp, but I can smell the fear in him and see it in his eyes. He's stubbornly holding on to his knife. I slam his hand into the brick of the wall. And then again. The third time, he finally lets go and it clatters to the ground.

As I watch it fall, I see the badger, still lying where he was dropped. He needs help. I look back at the wolf. I'm going to have to let the bastard go if the badger is to stand a chance, if he's not already dead.

Letting this piece of trash get away is not something I want to do, it grates at me. But I don't really have a choice. At least I can give him a few extra bruises as he goes.

Muscles straining, I lift him up and fling him aside, towards the street. He crashes painfully to the ground, but is quickly getting up again. He looks uncertain as to what to do, but a savage growl from me discourages him from trying anything further and he runs away. I take a little satisfaction from the fact that he seems to have a slight limp as he goes.

I put him out of my mind as I rush to the badger's side, rolling him over onto to his back, running paws over him, quickly surveying his injuries. I check his pulse, and let out a sign of relief as I find it. It's weak, but its there. He's still alive. The stab wound is most urgent of his injuries and I quickly apply pressure to it, warm blood seeping out over my paw. With my other paw I quickly pull out my phone and dial for an ambulance and the police, hurriedly rattling off the the address and directions to the alley.

After that, its just a matter of keeping him alive until help arrives. I notice a wallet lying on the ground beside him. Guessing it might be his, it might have fallen out of his pocket, I snatch it up and flip it open. There's a drivers licence with a photo of the badger and the name. Oliver Reynolds.

I drop the wallet back to the ground. He's stirring a bit now, I'm not sure how conscious he is, not sure if he can hear me or not. But still I find myself saying, with more urgency and desperation than I intend. "C'mon, Oliver, stay with me!"

Minutes later, the ambulance is there and the paramedics, an otter and a fox, take over from me. I give them his name and explain that he's been beaten and stabbed and then stand back, giving them room to work.

I close my eyes and sag against the wall. The rush of adrenaline from the fight is fading now and I'm feeling very tired.

The paramedics have Oliver on a stretcher by the time a police car pulls up and two officers get out. One, a lanky leopard goes to exchange a few words with the paramedics.

The other is a short hyena. He looks at me in surprise, smiling slightly as he approaches, his warm musky scent comforting. "Harv? What the hell are you doing here?"

I shrug and smile back at him. "Not managing to stay out of trouble, it seems."

He chuckles. "So, same as always, eh?"

"Something like that, Ryan."

Seeing him there helps me relax a little. Of all the cops who could have answered this call, I'm glad it was him. It's good to see a friendly face.

Nick Ryan is one of my few friends from my days as a cop who has stayed my friend, even after what happened with my departure from the force. He even stood up for me during that whole mess, even though it ultimately did no good.

He holds out a paw to shake, but I hold up my paws, still covered in blood. "Probably best if I don't."

I notice his surprise and look of concern. "Perhaps you'd best explain, buddy."

I quickly fill him in on what happened, spotting the guys following the badger, checking it out, discovering the attack, seeing off the attackers and doing what I could for the badger. I give descriptions of the gang as best I can, I point out the knife where it fell and Oliver's wallet.

He listens carefully, scribbling in his notebook and asking questions here and there, clarifying details, making sure he's got everything down. His partner, officer Jenkins, a guy I don't know, joins us and asks a few questions of his own.

Eventually though, they have enough and I'm allowed to go. Ryan puts a hand on my shoulder.

"It's late, buddy." He says. "You should probably head home and get cleaned up and get some rest. We'll be in touch for you to make an official statement."

I nod, feeling exhaustion creeping over me. I turn to go.

"Oh, and good job here," He calls after me. "You probably saved that guy's life."

I walk back to my car in a daze, unlocking it and getting in almost without thinking about it. My mind is elsewhere. I sit behind the wheel for what must be twenty minutes, starring down at my blood-stained paws, going over and over things in my mind.

You probably saved that guy's life.

Until Ryan said it, that hadn't occurred to me. Now, I can't think of anything else. And there's this warmth, this sense of pride building up inside of me. For the first time in years, I feel... whole. Like there's been this piece of me missing since leaving the force and I didn't realise it.

And its such a big important piece I'm shocked I never realised it wasn't there. Have I been sleepwalking through the past four years? How could I possibly have been happy without it?

It all clicks into place for me then. I haven't been happy. I tell myself I am, I try to pretend I am. But I've just been deluding myself. And now that I've realised that, I know I'm not going to be able to do delude myself into thinking I'm happy any more.

But now, I feel a stirring of happiness. Tonight, I made a difference in the world, even if it was just for one guy, this badger, Oliver. I feel like today I actually mattered, for the first time in a long time. And it feels good.

Tears well up in my eyes as I'm overwhelmed by a flood of emotion, but I do my best to choke them back, and I'm not entirely successful.

Oh, I know I mattered to people, to Chuck, to Marcus, to Ryan. I know that fixing people's cars makes a difference to their owners. But this... this was just on a whole other level. It feels a thousand times stronger, much more precious. I used to feel this way all the time, back when I was a police officer, helping people.

And now that I feel it again, I don't want it to end, don't want to stop feeling this way. Of course, there's zero chance of me ever being allowed back on the force, but maybe...

And suddenly I'm overcome with a need to see him, to see Oliver, make sure he's going to be okay. I slip my key into the ignition of my car and I'm driving off before I fully process the thought.

Less than an hour later, I'm walking into the nearby hospital. The first thing I do is find the nearest bathroom, as I need to wash the blood from my paws and the tears from my face. I look myself in the mirror once I'm done.

The face that stares back at me is... brighter I suppose is the word, than I've seen it in quite some time. There's a gleam in the eyes that I only now realise has previously been missing.

It takes me some time to locate Oliver, but I am eventually walking into his room, having told everyone I'm a friend of his. The doctor's tell me he's doing well, all things considered. The stab wound wasn't too deep, and he was lucky the blade didn't hit anything vital. He's also got a broken arm and multiple cuts and bruises. They tell me he's going to be fine, even though he's yet to regain consciousness.

I stand at the foot of his bed, looking him over. He's definitely looking a lot better than when I last saw him, cleaned up and in a fresh hospital gown, covered in clean hospital bedsheets, and I can clearly pick up on his scent now, slightly musky in a pleasant way, a sort of warm and soft smell.

My eyes linger on the plaster cast on his arm, and the horribly swollen bruises across his throat, and around his nose and muzzle. I can't help but curse myself for letting the bastards who did this get away, even though I know I'd had no other realistic option.

Suddenly, I feel very tired, and unsure exactly why I'm there. He's going to be fine, I know that now. I should head home and get some sleep. And yet...

And yet, I can't bring myself to leave. I don't want to. There's a chair beside his bed and I sit down, slumping back in it, looking at the badger, my eyes feeling heavy...

Next thing I remember, I'm waking up. I must have dozed off. I yawn and stretch and...

Oliver is awake and looking at me. I can't help but notice how his eyes are a wonderful greyish blue, full of life and emotion.

I meet his gaze and give him a warm smile. He manages to smile back at me, setting off a surge of warmth in my chest.

And that's when I knew. Sitting there, on that day when I saved my Oliver's life, sharing a smile with him for the very first time, on some deep level I just knew.

This badger was going to be a big part of my life, and my life would never, could never, be the same ever again...