"I can't believe you're doing this! You have no idea what you're getting yourself into, and if you can't see for yourself-"

"Damn it, Blaine, you're not my father!"

The healer shut his mouth with a snap, and his mouth tightened into a thin, angry line. Foxbird paled slightly, knowing she had just crossed one of those unspoken lines that she had no right to cross. The silence hung between them for a moment, tense and angry.

Blaine broke it with a snap, as his hand slammed down against the table between them. "Fine." His voice was carefully controlled, but he was trembling and would not meet her eyes. "You're right. I'm not." He straightened abruptly, and left, his back straight and shoulders tense.

Foxy slumped against the table and ran her hands through her hair, feeling the tips of her ears lengthening as her control wavered. She wanted nothing more than to simply fall apart, to lose control and go feral, for just a few hours. Everything was so much simpler when she wasn't human.

Blaine didn't know she could do more than grow pointy ears and a tail; she handn't told him that her semi-transformations could be completed. He didn't know that she went out, sometimes, when not working, just to run and feel the moonlight on her fur. She never told him how much she hated the city because it was all bare streets and cold stone; her feet longed for warm earth and concealing grasses.

He also didn't know exactly how long she'd been sleeping with Silverlock, or why they weren't really a couple anymore. She'd meant to tell him that, because that little fact would have ended Blaine's argument before it even began, but they hadn't gotten that far. He'd confronted her on the rumors, most of which were true, and then exploded before she had a chance to explain anything. Blaine hardly ever got angry, but when he did, he didn't do it by halves. It would be days before they'd be on speaking terms again, which meant that he'd be even more depressed and full of self loathing than usual.

There was never any question that she loved him dearly, but more often than not Foxbird grew impatient with him. She couldn't understand why something so simple as a smile was so difficult for the man. Blaine had raised her, and while she was admittedly a great deal younger than she appeared (somewhere around six and a half years old, though she'd reached physical maturity at five) she could still count the number of times she'd seen him truly happy on one hand. She sighed again, and massaged her temples carefully with fingers that were starting to resemble claws.

It didn't help that she knew their current situation was her fault; for all that she claimed to be an adult, she did have occasional moments of complete immaturity. She was disgusted with herself. You're not my father? Varun's tits, that was perhaps the stupidest thing I could have said. Nice work. Blaine also didn't know that she'd found out who her real parents were; the only ones who knew the truth were the Shrive, and she'd been bound to keep it a secret. Part of her rebelled at this; more than anyone else, he deserved to know the truth about her. The issue had been weighing on her mind recently, but that didn't excuse her for not respecting Blaine's sensitivity on the issue. The only reason Blaine was still alive was because he'd been able to depend on her depending on him; his protective urges had been endearing at first, but now they were completely unnecessary. If she wasn't careful, Blaine would start to think that he was unnecessary as well, and that would only lead to trouble, and angst.

The scent of blood alerted her to Silverlock's presence before she felt his hands across her shoulder blades, working out the knots of tension there. "Rough night, pet?" The mage always smelled of blood; she fought down the urge to lick him. Now was not the time, but she wasn't thinking clearly enough to maintain her sense of humanity.

"Not your pet," she muttered, sighing beneath his touch.

She could feel the mage smiling. "No, not mine. I could be yours, though, if you'd like." He was laughing at her. "I've already got the collar, I'm sure you could supply the leash..."

"I had an argument with Blaine."

There was a note of hesitance in his voice; he was no longer laughing. "I'm sorry..."

"Not your fault." It was an automatic response, to make him feel better. It never worked.

"Liar."

"Yes. I was going to explain everything, but..."

"But he hates me." The headache that Silver's clever fingers had massaged away returned again in full force as she felt her friend go tense with barely constrained bitterness.

She was getting tired of sighing; the part of her that was more fox than anything else turned it into a growl before it slipped from her lips. "I said something I shouldn't have- he still thinks I'm a kid, but sometimes I wonder...I mean, he's not much older than me, really. Only a human, he can't help it..." She turned around and let Silverlock hold her. "You should talk to him."

"We can't be within twenty feet of each other without one or both of us being violently ill, pet. It wouldn't work." There were those who believed Silverlock incapable of feeling anything but cruelty and lust; Foxbird knew from personal experience that the half-elf could only keep the guilt at bay for so long. She was perhaps the only person still alive to know what the 'heartless' assassin looked like when he cried.

"It would if you loved him," she murmured into his shoulder. "He needs you."

"Only he just doesn't know it yet, right?" Silverlock laughed softly as he kissed the top of her head. "I'm surprised at you, pet. You're all grown up now- you're too old to believe in fairytales."

She hid her smile against his chest, remembering that Silverlock didn't know what she was, either. Not too old at all, my friend. And I'm going to see Blaine happy if it kills the both of you. "I suppose you're right, Silver." Inwardly, her smile broadened as she began to piece together a course of action. It very well might kill them both, but if it worked..."It's a nice thought though, isn't it?"

His voice was a distant whisper in her ear. "Yes. Yes it is."

If it worked, neither of her friends would ever be lonely again.
---------------

Since Blaine occasionally does remind me of a small Jewish grandmother, it makes sense that Foxbird would be an incorrigible matchmaker.

...Wait, wait, no it doesn't, not at all. Pretend I didn't say that, would you?

No, Foxy isn't half as cute when she's all growed up, but I have a difficult time writing 'cute', especially 'cute with children' (probably because I occasionally suffer from naughty urges to decapitate them *coughcough* Not that I enjoy the whole author-as-god thing too much or anything...) and she's a bit more in character when she's doing one of those "What fools these mortals be!" thing. Silver and Blaine deserve each other, the little oversensitive angst-muffins.

I think Foxy's brilliant plan is something along the lines of locking both of them in a room together and not opening the door until they work out their issues. If they happen to kill each other in the process, she'll just have a mystic trap their souls in a jar and keep them stuck in limbo until they work things out. She's really good at killing things, but she needs to work on her nefarious plotting skills.

I should write more from her point of view; there's less angst and she is supposed to be the main character...*sweatdrop* Ooops...