Field stood in front of the mirror.

Tilting his head slightly, and ... squinting a bit, and then taking a step back. His reflection did the same. He took a step forward, tilting his head the other way. And then tugging on his shirt. Plain, faded-blue, and button-up. A t-shirt.

"It's just a shirt, Field."

The mouse blinked. And, in the mirror's slightly-dusty glass, saw the pink-furred bat. His mate.

And he turned. So that both he AND his reflection were looking at Adelaide (and hers). "Well ... "

"Here. Let me see." She padded forward. Wrapped in a damp, beige towel. They'd showered together about twenty-odd minutes ago, and she was still drying her fur.

"It's too short."

"The shirt?"

"I feel like it's gonna ride up ... when I sit down."

"Then wear one a few inches longer."

"Well, none of the longer ones match," the mouse said, "the pants. The color, I mean." He was wearing khaki shorts. "I mean, they're in the hamper, all the other ones, and ... " He was starting to prattle. He did that. A nervous habit.

"Well, you're fine," she said, smiling, eyes scanning him. Calming him down. With her touch, her presence, her telepathic, emotional feelers. She, with both her paws, tugged on his shirt. Tug-tug. And then looked into his eyes. In this early morning light, the pinks of her seemed extra-bright. Seemed to glow. "All the parts o' you that only I should have access to ... are rightly hidden. So, don't worry ‘bout it ... " Her paws running her winged arms beneath his shirt, and up and down his furry, honey-tan sides.

A flush from him! Ears going rosy-pink. "Well ... "

"Well?"

"Well, I guess," was his eventual response.

"You look handsome," she assured, taking her paws away, and leaning back (and up) a bit. And she nodded with approval. "You do."

"Thanks," was his ultra-shy whisper. Even shy around her. But it was a KNOWING shyness. And that made quite a bit of difference.

Adelaide padded away a bit, to the foot of the bed. To the dresser. To fetch underwear and socks for herself. "You need socks?" she called, as she let the towel slip from her. In a little, cloth-collecting rush ... to the carpet.

The mouse, not content to secondarily look at her (through the mirror), turned ... and, with pupils dilated, nodded. "Yes."

A smile spread across her muzzle. More a grin, really. "You got me at a disadvantage, you know."

"Do I?"

She fished for socks. And found a balled-up, white pair, and tossed them.

A catch! And a bit of a squeak. Her toss had been quick and playful, but ... he had good reflexes.

"I think you do," was her eventual reply.

"So, uh ... you want me to, uh ... get naked," he said quietly, "to even the playing field? Is that what you're saying?" he asked, as he padded to the pad. As he sat down on the edge. And lifted his legs and foot-paws a bit. To put his socks on.

"If we didn't have to be at church in half an hour, I'd rightly ask it ... " A toothy grin. Her white, sharp fangs glinting as they protruded from her soft, pink muzzle.

An airy giggle-squeak from him. As one sock was on.

The bat, bare, in the fur, delicately padded over the carpeted floor ... and to the closet. Pulling the door open. And eying the dresses on their hangars. She had a few dresses. Spring dresses, and summer dresses.

Field, holding his remaining sock in his paws, quietly watched her. Her back to him. Her pink rump. Soft, formed cheeks, and her stubby, foot-long bat tail. A short tail, especially compared to his quite-long one (the mouse's tail measuring at five feet, though a thin and silky five feet). More like an in-air rudder, her tail balanced the back of her, and ... the curvatures of her back. Her feminine hips. Where her spine was, and up to her shoulder blades. She had more ‘meat' on her, as it were, than the mouse did. The mouse was slimmer, but ... the bat was in beautiful shape, all the same. After all, they both led rural, farm-land lives. They weren't lacking for physical activity.

"You're staring at me," was the bat's soft whisper.

Field blinked. "Mm?"

A chosen dress in her paws, and hugging it to her breasts, the bat shrugged a tiny bit, smiling (almost coyly). "You were staring. Like a hypnotized mouse."

"I wasn't ... hypnotized."

A giggle-chitter, raising her muzzle to the ceiling and letting out a breath. And looking down, and back to him, and, "But you WERE staring, huh? Just not in a hypnotized fashion?"

"Um ... "

"More, like, in a drunken revelry?"

"Adelaide ... "

Giggle-chitter, and ... she sighed and smiled the warmest of smiles. And took the steps to the edge of the bed. And plopped down. The weight of them both sitting on the edge of the mattress ... sinking it at bit. And, letting out another breath, she leaned her head on his shoulder. And closed her eyes for a moment. Still wearing nothing, and still clutching her breath.

Field opened his mouth to say something, but ... didn't. Closed it. Kept it shut. (Sometimes, he felt he had a clumsy, stupid muzzle. How he'd stutter and stammer over his words. Oh, that all things spoken were as crisp as that which was written!) He closed his own eyes, and leaned his head against hers.

They sat, and they breathed ... all in the Sunday morning sun-beams of their late, late-summer bedroom.

"Love you," was the bat's little, hued whisper.

The mouse took a breath. Feeling lighter. Feeling like he'd a flame flapping inside his heart, and ... how it was stoked by those very words. And by the closeness of her. Prompting an honest, "I love you, too." Equally whispered. Though maybe more fragile, coming from him. He, the mouse, the wispy, delicate one. Needing so much care. So much nudging.

But she was strong-willed. Was a caretaker. Could face down so many things with her stable mind and sharp fangs.

Breathe, breathe ...

... of fur. Of morning. Of these memories being made.

A paw on his leg. "I gotta ... get dressed," was her whisper.

His dishy ears, swiveling in her direction ... could hear, sometimes, her heartbeat. When they made love, her pulse POUNDED in his ears. Along with his own. Made it feel like they were writhing to an age-old, romantic rhythm.

She raked her fangs through his neck ... before she stood (with her dress).

The mouse sighed heavily, and watched her (from his sit).

Watched as the bat slipped on a bra, underwear, and then stepped and squirmed into her dress. A light-blue dress. Cornflower in color, really. That kind of light blue, and with straps for the shoulders, which the mouse, getting up, helped slip up onto her. Standing behind her, and putting his nose in the back of her neck. And just breathing in. She smelled like good things. Like flowers, maybe, or cinnamon. Any of those good smells. She had a scent of their bed. Had a scent of their house. Had a scent of everyday comfort.

A scent of safety.

Breathe in! And sigh out through the nose. His never-ceasing whiskers twitching, twitching, and ...

... chittering, she leaned her head forward, eyes wrinkled with mirth. "That tickles! Your whiskers ... tickle," she said, wriggling, and turning around. Her dress now on. And both of them clothed, pressing together their noses.

His nose sniffed, twitched. Didn't stop!

Her nose was less excitable.

She giggled ... as his nose ravaged hers. And, chittering, she tilted her head ...

... allowing him to plant a kiss on her furry, soft cheek. A kiss. Another. And ... a sigh, and he, too, pulled back.

They stood there, both of them fully awake. Fully ready for this day. And the bat, looking down, nodded a bit, and met his eyes. "Field ... "

"Yes?" he asked, wide-eyed, trusting.

"You only have on sock on," she whispered, and then burst out into unchained giggle-chitters. "I'm sorry ... it's ... just so funny," she said.

The mouse looked down. Yeah, he hadn't put the other sock on.

"Better put it on," the bat said. "You look a bit lopsided like that."

"Mm," he went, smiling, and giving her a mock-chiding squeak.

She chittered back at him.

He squeaked back at her.

Both of them playfully launching their own species-sounds ... back and forth, in volleys. Until Field returned to his sit on the bed-edge, slipping the other sock on, and then getting up. Going for his shoes. While Adelaide went for her own shoes. Shoes that didn't require socks. Not high-heels, but flat dress shoes.

Field took a deep breath, eyes going back to the mirror. And seeing them both. Both of them looking very groomed and very proper. Not stuffy. They weren't overly-dressed. But they both looked ... their best. His chest swelled proudly. "Mm ... "

"You look a treat," the bat told him, nodding. And smoothing his shirt. Paying him the compliment. Knowing he needed, daily, to be built-up ... and seeing his smile was reward enough. To be cared for ... and to take care of. The roles they played. A mate-ship built on love, desire, need, want. Many things.

Everything.

Pages and pages could be written of such love!

"Do you got your Bible?" the bat asked.

"Uh, it's ... over there."

"On the dresser?"

"No, on the lamp-table on my side of the bed," the mouse said, squinting at himself in the mirror. He licked and lapped at his paws and fore-arms, smoothing his fur with his tongue.

"Field ... "

"Mm?" A pause. Looking at her via the mirror this time.

"We just showered. Now, you're licking yourself?"

A flush. "I ... it's what ... "

" ... mouses do," she said, smiling widely. "I know. I'm ... just teasing," she said quietly. And took a breath. "I really think it's cute."

The mouse swallowed. Flushed. Still paused.

"Go on," she whispered, nodding.

A slight nod, and he licked at his other fore-arm, smoothing his honey-tan fur with his tongue, and then thoroughly licking his paw pads, and then putting both paws together ... and swiping back his whiskers. Swipe, swipe. Lick paws. Swipe back whiskers, damp at cheeks. It took him about five minutes to satiate his rodent instinct ... to the point of being able to stop. And, nodding, he turned around, and stood straight, and ... took a deep breath.

"As I said: you look a treat." She extended her paw, handing him his Bible.

"You got yours?"

"It's in the car," she said, nodding. And looking around. "Breakfast: check. Shower: check. Clothes: check. Mouse grooming himself like mouses do: double check."

Giggle-squeak. "I can't help it ... "

"I know," she said, grinning. "Mm ... and I love mouses, so ... the fact that you can't help being a TOTAL mouse, well ... only serves me better."

A flush. "Well, bats aren't so bad, themselves."

"No?" Her eyes sparkled.

"I love bats."

"What do you love about bats?"

He bit his lip, and blue-grey eyes all dreamy and dizzy, said, in his effeminate voice, "If I told you, we'd be late for church."

A giggle. "Why's that, then?"

"Cause you're a poem that's not quickly read. You've ... there's always more," he whispered sincerely, "to add, to say, to ... your beauty abounds."

She flushed beneath her fur, a bit taken aback by the depth of his compliment. Not that he didn't say such things all the time. He did. But ... no one had ever consistently, or even at ALL ... said such things to her. Daily. And no matter how many times he expressed his love, it still hit her like a FORCE. And still made her weak at the knees. "Field," was her whisper, her eyes watered. They darted. She blinked, and kept her eyes closed. Breathed. And opened them, smiling. "I ... we better get going."

A quiet nod from him. He reached out a paw.

She took it.

And he squeezed, and they stood there, eyes watching each other. Before they, eventually, willed themselves to move. To leave the bedroom.

And leave the house.

Field checking, four times, to make sure their house-doors were locked. His obsessive-compulsive tendencies always rendering in such ways that he, himself, didn't realize he was doing it ...

... but she didn't scold him for taking so much time to repeatedly check the locks, and didn't scold him for meticulously trying to keep everything clean, or grooming, or ... none of those things did she bark at him for. For she knew him, and loved him, and ... his routines, his quirks ... made him ALL the more to be loved. All the more to be held.

It was 8:45. It would take about ten minutes to get into town.

The service started at 9.

The air was cool, and a bit dry. And the hazy sun was making its way up the east. The trees, nearing the point where they'd explode like fireworks ... barely-green leaves hanging on, still, and ...

... Field got into the passenger seat.

And Adelaide the driver's. And put the key into the ignition, turned it, and the car started up.

The mouse slipping a CD into the player ... of worship music. To set the tone. For today was the Sabbath. To rejoice and be glad in, and to give thanks. Things one should do EVERY day. And which he so tried to do ... and, with her in his life, it was easier. And negated every trauma and trial that had smashed him before.

Once brittle, now bolder.

Better.

Once treading water. Once, everything a bother.

Now?

Now, it was a Sunday morning in September, and he and his mate were going to church. And, by the grace of God, the guidance of Jesus Christ ...

... oh, today! And all the Lord had blessed them with.

And faith, never easy, but always rich. Even on the cusp of autumn, when things began to wind down, toward their winter wither ...

... even now, they were growing. With no signs of slowing.

It was well with the soul.