Padding in her bare foot-paws, lightly, primly across the room, her bobtail flickering behind her, the snow rabbit said, "Computer, deactivate force-field A-15."

With a faint-blue light and a soothing shimmer-sound, the force-field went down. Reaching into the storage shelf, Amelie pulled out of the many ancient ‘boxes' that she'd recovered from the planet-side ruins. This one was heavier than it looked, but she managed to get it to a nearby tabletop with minimal strain. Upon which she took a step back, composing herself. And, sighing, she stepped toward the table again, putting her paws on the edge of it. She analyzed the box. It was constructed out of metal. It had been forged into this shape with advanced technique (this was not a shoddy box). It was five thousand years old. That was all she knew. History was about stories. And all the scanners and computers and sciences in the world could not give you stories. And what was life without stories?

She began, cautiously, to take the lid off the box. It came off with a tiny ‘click.' And delicately, she put it aside, staring down into it the dim, hollow space that had been revealed. This was a particularly puzzling box. Inside was, for the most part, merely empty space. For the most part. For also: there was a button. Not a shirt-button or pants-button. But a push-button. Something you pressed to make something happen. She had yet to push it for the simple fact that: it could do anything. It would be foolish to push it simply to satisfy her curiosity. Simply to ...

... her tall, slender ears (snowy-white, with charcoal-black fringes and delicate, pink interiors) twiddled. The door to the science lab was whooshing opening. "Wheldon," she said, without turning around. She could smell his familiar scent. Her black nose sniffing the air a bit. Plus, he usually came to ‘fetch' her around this time. Therefore, logic (and her senses) dictated that it was her husband who had entered the room. She had no reason to turn around to verify this.

"You weren't at Petra and Peregrine's reception."

"I was busy."

"You were the only one who wasn't there, darling. It's ... I felt kind of embarrassed to be alone. When everyone else was with their spouses. Celebrating the union of two furs. I was alone," he whispered again, hurt. And he swallowed, clearing his throat. Before he sighed and said, "I had to make excuses for you. I don't like doing that. I know you wouldn't like doing it for me."

Nothing.

"Anyway, uh ... I'm in charge of station operations until their ‘honeymoon' is over."

"Honey? Moon?" She was unfamiliar with the term. Snow rabbits did not take ‘honeymoons.' But, then, most snow rabbits did not marry. Though marriage and faith were slowly gaining popularity within the snow rabbit species, slowly changing them, the majority were still entrenched in breeding parties. Amelie, however, was one of the converts.

"A trip you take after you're married ... where you consummate your love and celebrate the beginning of a new life together."

"Where are they going?"

"Their quarters. Petra's in heat."

"I see. They do not have much of a choice, then, do they? They would have to take the next three days off, regardless. Why call it a honeymoon?"

"Because it's romantic," Wheldon said. And, after a pause, "It's lunchtime now," he said. "Time to eat, and, uh, speaking of ... "

" ... breeding, yes. I am well aware." She was starting to fray. Nearing her ‘peak,' the need for ‘release' becoming more and more urgent. A meal and a good climax would do her well. "Give me a few more minutes?" She still didn't turn around, her back to the door. And to him.

"What are you looking at?" Wheldon asked, padding up behind her. His lighter-brown, tea-colored fur was soft and warm. He was a handsome rabbit. Healthy, energetic. He stood on the tips of his foot-paws. "A button?" he said, whiskers giving a singular twitch. He ears waggled. "In a box?"

"Yes."

"What's it hooked up to?"

"Nothing."

"Then what's it do?" A confused blink.

"Something," was the snow rabbit's simple answer. A sigh, as she turned her head a bit. Half-meeting her husband's gaze. Looking at him for the first time since he'd entered the room. "It would be most illogical to create a box with a button ... if the button did not do something. To do so would be madness, would it not?"

"Maybe whatever civilization lived down there," Wheldon said, honestly, "didn't believe in logic. Maybe they valued, uh ... well, humor? Or maybe they were just crazy. Maybe they put a button in a box just so someone five thousand years later would find it and agonize over whether or not to push it. Maybe it's just a whole psychological experiment, and you, through finding it and opening it ... have unwittingly become the test subject. And no matter what you do, you'll remain as the test subject until you either push it or get rid of it for good."

"The makers of this box are hardly around to see the results of their ‘experiment,' if that were the case."

"No, but you are. Maybe, then, you're the test subject and the test observer ... I don't know, darling. It's just a box with a button."

"Just," was all the snow rabbit said, her voice at a frustrated whisper. Her frustration shown in a subtle, restrained tone. As all her emotions were shown in. Without her freeze to keep her emotions repressed, she would become feral and dangerous. That freeze could thaw, though, and let a little bit more through. But it could never melt. And Wheldon knew that. He didn't wish to melt her. But he did wish to thaw her a little bit more. He'd heard tales of snow rabbits joining the Christian faith. She confessed to having done so. But other snow rabbits, they'd softened noticeably. So, why couldn't Amelie? Soften to the point of being able to see it? Why was she still distant? Was he not doing a good enough job in reaching her? Was she not putting her heart into her new faith?

"Or maybe," Wheldon eventually whispered, "it's silly to be spending so much time talking and thinking about buttons."

"That is a distinct possibility."

"So, are you going to push it?" he wanted to know. He put his paws on her sides. From behind her, he ran his paws up and down, before sliding them (his paws) forward. To her belly. Arms going round. As he hugged her from behind. "Mm?"

"For all I know," Amelie whispered, allowing the hug but not giving any physical response to it, "pushing this button could kill every-fur on this station. Or it could simply trigger the box to play music. I do not know." A pause. "I have to make sense of these things, and ... but am I willing to be Eve? And eat the fruit out of curiosity and naivety? And risk falling from grace? I should walk away ... I should never look at this box again." A pause. "And, yet, every day, I take it out, open it, and stare at the button. And tell myself that, no matter what, I am not going to push it. And then I resist, and I put it back, and ... " Her voice faded away.

Wheldon was quiet, listening. And concerned. He put his pink nose to the back of her snowy-white neck, sniffing of her fur. She had a pleasant, clean scent. "Mm ... darling," he whispered, nib-nibbling on her nape. With his buckteeth. "You think too much, you know?"

"I cannot help it. I have to make sense of ... " She trailed, shaking her head. And then sighing. Wheldon was persistent in his nibbling. And truth be told, it did feel good. In that gentle foreplay kind of way. "Why do I need to push it?" she asked her husband, her tone serious. Her muscles tensing. "Why can't I leave certain pieces of knowledge alone, out of my head? Why do I need answers to everything?" A pause. "I believe I am a bad Christian ... this box, this button, these things mirror my faith. I am always asking God for answers. I am always pushing His buttons, trying to make Him do what I want Him to do, rather than humbly submitting myself to do His will ... small, weak as I am, like an ant, do I dare demand answers from a giant? Most likely, if He were to give me all the answers I ask for, I would not be able to comprehend them. I would not be able to handle them." She trailed off, quiet for a moment. Her eyes closed as her neck was nibbled more and more. Nibble-nibbled. A sigh. And, "It is a question of faith, trust ... of peace. I often wish I had a different personality." Her ears twiddled. "I know you wish that, as well."

"Darling, no," he whispered, tenderly, his hug getting a bit tighter. "No, no ... I don't wish you were different, okay? I love you. I just wish ... look, we all have flaws. I just wish you would ease up."

"I am uptight. I am logical. You wish I were different than that. You wish," she stated again, "that I had a different personality."

A sigh. "I wish you to love me as I love you. Without second thought. Without analyzation. Without the need for answers. Love doesn't need a why, a what, a ... "

" ... it does. Else it is a blind love," Amelie stated, wisely.

To which Wheldon responded, "Blind love is foolish, yes. I'm not asking you to love me blindly. I want you to be ... to be," he said, "as you are. A clear thinker. Intelligent, capable. Perceptive. I don't want you to love blindly. I just want you to love less rigidly. With more bend. With more ease ... with a more forgiving enforcement. Love's not a science. It's not a history. It's an art. It's spiritual. It's ... and it takes more than one fur, you know? Love feeds off other love. My love for you needs your love for me," he whispered, "in order to be healthy, in order to grow, and ... "

" ... I understand," she whispered back, ice-blue eyes closed. "I understand what you are saying. I am not oblivious to ... " She leaned back against him, into his arms. And he put his chin on her shoulder as she said, " ... I am not oblivious to your concerns. I hear them. And I intuit them. Unfortunately, I do not prioritize them as I should: as the most important things to be dealt with. I know I obsess over my work. I ... " An exhale. Stopping herself from going over her past. She was a historian. And she, herself, had a history. Things both good and bad that had happened to her, shaped her. Decisions she'd made. But she wasn't about to go over that. Instead, she continued, " ... I am blessed that you are so ... "

" ... it's alright," he whispered into her ear. Hugging her tenderly. "It's alright ... "

" ... so kind to me. So patient, and ... "

" ... I love you," Wheldon whispered, not holding it back. Speaking it with such ease and confidence. Despite any problems they had between them, love held them together. For love, they made it work. And they would get through this. Whatever ‘this' was. Maybe they just needed a change in environment. Maybe they needed shore leave (something they didn't get, being way out here on an undermanned space station). Maybe they needed to communicate better. Most likely, that was the case. Communication. And talking, as they were doing now, was a start. Admission of flaws. Asking for forgiveness, as well as giving it.

After several moments of quiet breathing, Amelie finally replied, in her soft, serene voice, "As do I love you, as well, Wheldon." And, for the first time since he'd entered the room, she fully turned around. To face him muzzle-on, so that their noses (his pink, hers black) touched, sniffing lightly. So that she could return his hug with one of her own. So that she could lean her head on his shoulder and close her eyes and whisper, "Take me ... "

"To our quarters? Or the repli-mat?" he asked.

A small shake of the head. "No, I mean ... here." The floor, as with all the floors, was carpeted. It wouldn't be any trouble to lay on.

"Oh ... oh," he said, getting it. "‘Take you'?"

"Yes," she whispered, barely audible. Her nose skimming his cheek-fur, their whiskers brushing so lightly that it almost tickled.

"But we haven't eaten," was his response.

"You are a warm-blooded male rabbit. I am asking you to take me right now ... and you are finding reasons not to?"

Wheldon had to smile. "I, uh ... hmm ... "

"We all have lapses in judgment," Amelie said, eye-smiling as she sucked on his neck-fur. A sigh through the nose. And she swallowed. "As you forgive me, I shall forgive you. We will have each other for lunch. And food for dessert."

"Sounds," the tea-furred rabbit breathed, paws slipping beneath her shirt and lifting it, lightly lifting it.

Amelie raised her arms.

"Sounds," Wheldon whispered, finishing his thought, "good."

And, as her husband undid her bra, the snow rabbit closed her eyes and leaned intimately against him, sensuously sliding her paws through his fur. They were rabbits. Virile. And they were in their element as they proceeded toward unabashed, so-needed love-making. For the moment, personality-clashes didn't matter much. For now, all was right and proper. For now, no answers were needed. And the only buttons to be pushed were the ‘buttons' on each other's bodies.



It was nighttime aboard the station, now.

"I used to fret about it ... " The mouse trailed, his head on a pillow. In bed. With her. " ... about being alone. I used to do desperate things. Things that I regret. Cause I didn't trust God to lead me to ... you know, to where I needed to be. I didn't have the patience to wait for what was good for me. Or the maturity." A pause, whiskers twitching. And he turned his head a bit. It made a rustling sound on the pillowcase. "And then I finally figured out that you meet the furs you're supposed to meet. And any relationship that's forced or paw-made ... will fail. It has to happen naturally."

"So, what are ya sayin'?" Petra asked, voice equally quiet.

"That this feels right," Peregrine answered. "I was unnerved by you, a little bit ... when I first saw you. But days have gone by, and I eased up. And you," he said, closing his eyes and inching his nose forward. And pressing it into her fur. "You're something I need. Desperately."

The rat smiled a scruffy, brown-furred smile. "Glad I'm such a thing to you, hun. Though you're equally so. Needed," she clarified, "by me."

The grey-furred mouse sighed through his twitch-sniffing nose, closing his eyes. The bed was soft and warm. She was soft and warm. Life itself seemed to be, right now, full of ‘soft and warm.'

They had been ‘consummating' their new marriage all day long. What with Petra being in heat. She was currently in a ‘cool-down' state. Which would build, build, build back into a hot, desperate, feral frenzy in a matter of mere hours. Not much sleep would be had tonight. But neither of them seemed to mind the sacrifice. Besides, they had no choice.

"I feel guilty, you know, staying in here for the next few days. Doing nothing but breeding ... sure Wheldon can run the station? What if those pirates attack?" the mouse asked, of the raiders who frequently (or so he'd been told) attempted to ransack the station.

"Hun, don't worry ‘bout it. Anyway, it's unwritten rules ... couples get off-time for heats. At least all the places I've been posted, that's been the case."

"I just want to make a difference here."

"And you will. You already have," Petra assured, her paw on her husband's side. She ran it slowly up and down. Soft, familiar caressed. "You already have," she whispered again. "This isn't a star-ship. You gotta adjust your command-style to fit the environment. And there's not many of us. Just take it as it comes. You're doin' good."

A soft sigh from him, whiskers twitch-twitching. Twitching.

Her own whiskers twitched, as well. Maybe a bit less frenetically. Maybe. It was close. Mouse-whiskers and rat-whiskers, regardless, were active things. And her nose sniffed at him. Neither of them had showered today. They smelled distinctly of each other. Of ‘passion.'

"I'd never really been close to a rat," the mouse confessed, voice still at a whisper, still soft. The lights were dimmed. Outside, the planet glowed down there. And the stars seemed like little specks. "Before, I'd never been. I mean, I just thought they were city-things, oblivious, and ... " He trailed. " ... I wrote them off," he eventually continued, "as being less civilized than mouses."

Petra, her ears swiveling, said, "Well, uh ... I can't get mad at ya, hun. Cause I thought mouses were weak, glassy things, that'd break under the first sign of pressure. Push-overs. I thought they drug the rest of us rodents down."

"I guess we were both wrong."

"Both were," she agreed, smiling lightly. She was slightly tired. And, at the moment, slightly lazy. "So, how do you see rats now, mm? Curious to know."

A breath. "As resourceful, tough, sturdy. They stand up to anything. Can endure anything. Resourceful," he added, trailing. "And mouses?"

"Dreamy, delicate, artistic things, full of innocence and light. To be protected at all costs." She looked into his eyes. Her green eyes looking into his blue ones. "I'll protect ya, hun. You can count on that." A pause. "You can count on me."

"Thank you ... and my love," he told her, "is yours. My heart is yours. My body and my mind. I've devoted to you, now, and I take that very seriously. I don't believe in divorce," he said.

"Neither do I. I don't think most furs would claim to ... but that doesn't stop it from happening."

"It won't happen with us," the mouse assured. "I know what I'm doing, darling. I knew what I was doing when I let this happen. I wanted it to happen."

"So'd I ... so'd I," she whispered, sighing, wrapping an arm around his bare, fog-colored back. "Your fur's all like a rain storm. All refreshing."

A giggle-squeak.

"It is. I wouldn't be sayin' it if I didn't think it."

"I know. It's just ... a rain storm?"

"That soft, rainy grey."

"I've never known what kind of grey it was. Furs, if they ever asked what color my fur was, I'd just say ‘grey'."

"Well, from now on, you tell ‘em it's ‘rain cloud grey'."

A beaming smile, whiskers twitching. "I'll do that."

Petra gave a giggle-chitter. And pulled him closer. Her arm tightly to him. "Oh, hun," she breathed, sighing and closing her eyes. "I didn't think anyone would want me like this." She paused. "I didn't think anyone would ... would do it with me."

"Breed? Or marry?"

A slight pause. "Any of it. I left home, left my species, and ... you know, most other furs, they look down on rats. I tried to find other rodents, but ... "

" ... I'm your rodent. That's all you need to think about. Don't think about the past." He swallowed. "We both have painful pasts. And I think it's time we fully moved beyond them."

"I don't think we know as much about each other's pasts as we think we do. We only know little bits an' pieces. There's a lot more to each of us, y'know. We're gonna be findin' that out. Some of it may be intimidating."

The mouse nodded his head, which rustled on the pillowcase again. "I know that," he whispered. "But that's the way life is, and ... even with any scars you might have, you're still beautiful to me."

A chuckle. "Beautiful?"

"Why not?"

"I'm a scrappy, rough-and-tumble kind of fur. I'm not elegant."

"You've got fire in you. Passion. And I happen to like scrappy ... you got strength. You carry yourself with force."

"And you're too much a poet."

"A poet?"

"All your fancy descriptions," Petra said.

"I don't even like poetry, to be honest. I just like words."

"A mouse? Likin' words? I thought mouses were all so shy as t'be disabled with it."

"I am shy. But ... it's not gonna keep me down or anything. If I got words, I'll speak them to you."

"Don't ya mean ‘squeak' ‘em?"

A giggle-chitter, putting his nose in her fur. Breathing deep. "And you have a better sense of humor than me," he told her.

"I'll grant ya that."

He giggle-chittered again. "You're so modest."

"I try," Petra said, grinning, cuddling with her mouse. Arms and paws wrapped round him, clutching. Pulling lightly. "I try."

"I'm so tired," the mouse confessed.

"I know, but ... my heat'll flare up in a few hours. Even if we got to sleep now, you'll only get woken up when I'm crawlin' all over ya."

"But at least we'll get some sleep. I think we're gonna need it, right?"

"Oh, we'll need it, hun ... " A smile. Which faded. "Y'know what? I don't like heats. They scare me. I don't like how I ... lose control o' my body and my mind. I get crazy. I get all about sex and nothin' else. Feel like an animal."

"Well, it's just the way God made you, and ... I'm no better," the mouse said. "I get a whiff of you, and I'm gone."

A giggle-squeak. "That you are."

"That scent ... that smell?" A heavy sigh. It wasn't as strong now as it was when she was ready to breed. But it was still there. "That smells so nice," he whispered. A hot shiver as his nose sniff-sniffed. "Don't take this the wrong way, but I got an itching temptation to just stick my nose between your legs and just ... get drunk on that."

A giggle-squeak. Very amused. "I don't take that the wrong way. If you wanna do that, go ‘head."

"If I do that, I won't be able to stop. And I'm ... I wanna keep cuddling and talking. Besides, I'm still reloading for our next go. I don't wanna get too crazy too soon. I'll just have to smell it from a short distance."

"I'm glad you enjoy it. You're supposed to," she explained, holding onto him. "My body's got an egg, and it'll do anything to make sure you fertilize it. That heat scent, to other femmes? They can't even smell it. It only affects your little nose here ... the male nose. Your smell receptors."

The mouse, eyes closed, snuggling, listened.

"See, my heat's all about gettin' you to have sex with me."

"I don't need your heat to wanna do that."

Chuckles. "Mm ... I know, hun, but ... you or any male is much more likely ... pardon any crudeness, hun, but you're more likely to stick your penis between my legs and hump for all pleasure, y'know ... you're more likely to go at it with guaranteed abandon if you're thinkin' like a feral animal. That's what the heat scent does. It blanks out your mind. Rational, civil thought just goes out. The smell triggers your instinct to take over. Ensures you sow me. And my heat? It ensures that I let you. Cause it aches and burns, and only bein' filled makes it better."

The mouse breathed, "I guess it's like our bodies are playing a tug of war. A push and pull ... we both have what each other needs. We're both the source of each other's pleasure. We're like stars circling, circling, gravity pulling us together until we fuse into an exploding light."

"You are a poet," she repeated.

"It's a poetic act. I'm not being poetic. I'm just ... saying what it is. It's a spiritual, God-given thing. If it were just basic biology, just about blind breeding, then it would feel so empty. But it's ... there's emotion, satisfaction. To where I wanna cry, you know? There's so much to it. Brushing souls. Imprinting. Like an eternal thing, and ... blessed. Now that we're married, we can do it and be blessed. Our love," he whispered, "purifies what would be carnal without love. It makes it right."

A smile. "Oh, Perry ... " She gripped at his rump-cheeks, closing her eyes. She stretched a tiny bit. And then giggle-squeaked, opening her eyes halfway.

"It's just beautiful, though," he breathed. "Breeding? All of it. The biology, the spirituality. The whole thing. I know it can hurt, and it can be a knife in the back when you don't have it ... when you're lonely," he said, speaking from experience. "If you use it wrong, it can destroy you. But I know we're gonna use it right. And, having it, finally getting it, makes all the waiting ... like it never happened. It just changes everything."

"Love."

"Love," he whispered, in agreement, "changes everything. And the ultimate expression of love is getting so close to you ... that our bodies are one. As one as they can possibly be. Awash in pleasure. That we share something to personal and intimate, and ... oh, I just don't wanna let you go," the mouse said. "I've waited so long for something like this. I was worried I had missed my chance. I was worried I was too broken, too uptight."

"You're not," she assured, gripping his pelt. A heavy breath.

"Petra ... "

"Yeah, hun?"

"I need to sleep. A little. I ... when we wake up, we wake up. But I'm slipping away. I feel so comfortable."

"You're not the only one," she assured. She, too, was feeling herself slip away. To a sweet, shared slumber. "Have peaceful dreams, Perry. Cause you're gonna get a body-writhing dose of manic rat when you next wake."

A slight smile. "I know your heat makes romance a little hard. I know it makes us both act kind of, uh ... carnal," he said. "But there's plenty of time for romance. And when your heat's over, I'll go sweet and slow. I'll make it sensual and long-lasting, darling, until you chitter with ecstasy ... until we both see stars. Until we both glow."

"That a promise?" She smiled back at him.

"You bet it is ... "

A giggle-squeak. "Well, carnal still feels good, y'know. My heat may be overwhelming to me, but I never said I didn't get pleasure from it. It does feel good. It's just ... "

" ... a lot to handle."

"Mm-hmm." A yawn.

The mouse gave a few squeaky-sounds, nuzzling up close to her. His body as bare as hers, tangled in the sheets. Oh, this felt so nice. To be sleeping with someone. Someone you loved. "My wife," he breathed, liking the sound of that. And appreciating it so much. Thanking God in his head, as he said a silent prayer. Thankful for his salvation, eternal life. And this life. And all the blessings he'd been given.

Oh, thank you, dear God.

Thank You for helping me on my way. For us being able to forge a life together. Wherever this goes, may we grow. May we never hurt each other. May we be good. Through trials of fire and times of lazy rest, may we keep You in our thoughts. May our love do nothing but flourish.

May we finally wake up rested.

May ... we ...

... the mouse began to drift away, giving a yawn of his own. And chittering as he nestled up to the rat, who was slightly bigger than he was.

Petra, almost asleep, whispered a very faint, fading, "I love you," before she fell asleep.

Unable to speak the words, already too far gone, the mouse just squeezed her paw.

And they slept.