Crossing the Line

by Audrey Lynne

It was a line--an invisible one, unless you counted the line made by the space where the tiles met. It ran down the middle of my shared office, dividing the room into two separate halves. It was necessary, it was vital to keeping the peace, and it was...well, absolutely ridiculous. Childish, really. It wasn't as though I didn't realize that. We just didn't know what else to do.

I shared an office with a guy who was my total opposite in so many ways, from the way he was raised to the way he thought to the things he liked to do. We simply did not get along. And, so, though neither of us had any siblings to practice the theory on before, we determined the best thing to do would be to clearly delineate a border between our respective sides of the office. He didn't tread on my side; the only time I set foot on his side was when I was crossing it to get from the door to my side or back. We knew how silly it was, but it kept us from being at each other's throats, and that was a good thing. About the only thing we agreed on was that it was in our best interests to at least attempt to be civil to one another. We didn't have to be friends; we didn't even have to get along. We only had to co-exist in peace. If a stupid imaginary line helped us to do that, I was all for it.

To say I'd been having a really bad day would have been a major understatement. I knew it wasn't going to go well when Professor Macintosh called me at six o'clock in the morning to ask me if I could please cover his eight am Abnormal Psych class because he had something come up suddenly that was going to conflict. Like a good little TA, I said sure and dragged my unhappy ass out of bed, waiting until I'd hung up to mutter a few choice curses under my breath and wonder aloud if Dr. Mac knew that Lincoln had freed the slaves. He's a great guy, really, but, geez. It wasn't as though I hadn't had eight am classes before, but I'd usually known about them enough in advance to get in some good sulking the night before...and get to bed before three am.

The class had gone well enough; abnormal psych has always been a favorite subject of mine, so even when I don't have time to prepare, I can usually get someone in the class to ask about something and center the conversation on that. It was the only thing that went right. Immediately after I got out of class, I had to head across campus to Weaver Hall for one of my Neuropsych courses--one I was in as a student, naturally. I'll be very glad when I'm finished with classes and all I have to do is write my dissertation. Dr. Amudo teaches Neuropsych, and he's a real pain in the ass. Of course he made a big deal out of the fact that I was five minutes late--because I'd had that eight am course to teach. Of course he announced he was going to move our test up a week, meaning we'd have it during our next class meeting. And, you know, I could have dealt with that, if only the day hadn't kept going downhill from there.

I'd split up with my last girlfriend a week ago, which was fine, as she was getting a bit too clingy for my comfort. Unfortunately, this meant I had no one to go out with, as my anytime-date, the sweet little phys ed major I could always call for impromptu dates, was out of town at a gymnastics meet. Getting into the doctoral program had left me no time for my fraternity, and so I'd transitioned out, but a few of my old frat brothers and I had stayed close. Unfortunately, Gregg was at a conference, which I'd known about, and Drew had a class that evening he couldn't miss. At least he knew why I wanted to go out; we made plans to get together and paint the town over the weekend. My other two good buddies on campus were tied up, too, which meant I'd be flying solo for the evening. Wonderful.

My dad had been in Utica the past week, trying to pawn whatever his latest scheme was off on unsuspecting locals. He'd called me up a few days before and said he could drop down to the city and meet me for lunch. I figured I at least had that to look forward to--but I didn't. I don't know if he forgot or he got a better deal or what, but he didn't show. I know I shouldn't be surprised by it--hell, not like he can remember when Christmas is, either--but I'd hoped that maybe this time, he'd keep a promise. He's my dad and I love him, but I should've known better than to trust him again. Maybe one day I'll learn.

With that nice little dark cloud hanging over my head, I headed back to my office to catch up on something I'd been putting off all day--sulking. It started to rain on the way back, which was fitting. Matched my mood perfectly. The sun was starting to fade, too, even if it was only late afternoon, typical of mid-November, and I was sure it would be dark and pouring by the time I left. Of course, as I stumbled into another little series of unfortunate and time-consuming events on my way across campus, it was dark and pouring by the time I even made it to Weaver Hall.

I'd been working up a good sulk for a half-hour when he came in. Yeah, the guy I share space with. I'm quite good at brooding, and I don't like to be disturbed when I'm doing it, but it wasn't exactly like I could tell him to get out, either. At times I wondered why I didn't request space elsewhere, but office space is at a premium at Columbia, especially for TAs, and I knew I was lucky I hadn't gotten assigned to an oversized storage closet somewhere. I wasn't sure if my office mate quite deserved to be called the bane of my existence, because when we ignored each other, things weren't really so bad. It was when we attempted to interact that things could get dicey. And I could tell he wanted to interact as he stood there in the doorway...tall, blond, and annoying as hell. "What do you want?" I snapped. "If you're looking for something, I didn't touch it."

"I'm not looking for anything," he said, leveling an icy blue gaze at me. "I know where all of my things are; it amazes me you can find anything at all in that rat's nest of yours."

I didn't know if he was being snippy or if it was his failed attempt at humor, but I didn't appreciate it either way. "Yeah, well, at least I can identify the human female body without an anatomy textbook in my hand." I have no idea where that came from, but my brain had volunteered it and it sounded good.

He wasn't amused, but then, I hadn't intended for him to be. "Contrary to popular opinion--no doubt fueled by you--I know perfectly well what a female looks like naked. I simply choose to devote my time and energy to more academic pursuits than getting one in my bed."

I was frustrated, depressed, and generally reeling from the terrible day I'd been having, and I wanted nothing more than for him to go away. I tossed out the next thing that popped into my head. "Cousins don't count, Spengler." Under other circumstances, it might have come off as more of my trademark flippancy, as I really was only trying to suggest that the only females he'd seen naked were probably cousins at family get-togethers when they were kids. Hell, that's where I first learned girls and boys looked different without clothes on. And, yes, it was completely innocent; I'm not a total pervert. But I was tired and emotional, and there was a hard edge to my tone, one I hadn't intended, but Spengler caught it.

I don't know if he thought I was implying that he had done something with some cousin or if he took it as a personal affront to his family's dignity or what--but he was pissed. His eyes hardened as he strode from the doorway to the edge of where our two desks, which faced each other, met. The desks bordered the "line" we'd drawn and he was toeing it, glaring at me. "I'll thank you not to comment on things you don't understand." His tone was low--which, considering how deep his voice was normally, was saying something--and sharp like broken glass. I didn't know what he'd gotten out of my snide comment, but whatever it was had struck a chord. Anyone else, I probably would've felt as though I were being threatened. Fortunately for my sense of self-preservation, I knew Spengler well enough to know that he didn't know enough about social interactions to be subtle when he intended a threat. That and, for as quick-tempered as I could be, he had a very long fuse--but I suspected anyone who might be around when it finally reached the end would run for the hills. The way things seemed to be going, that might have been me. "You act so suave, so confident, as though you know everything about everyone. You don't know me. Don't pretend to."

I had a feeling this wasn't all because of the cousin comment, that I'd done something I wasn't aware of--or perhaps this had been building up for awhile and it was finally coming to the surface. Either way, I was not in the mood to deal with it. "Whoa, who pissed in your Cheerios this morning? Geez, I'm sorry about the cousin thing already." I pushed away from my desk, not ready to leave just yet, but allowing myself a quicker exit should it have been needed. "I didn't mean anything by it, and I never pretended to understand you. Heaven help me if I did."

"This isn't about that." Spengler crossed his arms over his chest, looking daggers at me over the top of the horn-rimmed glasses he wore. His body language seemed to suggest that he could stand there all night if he needed to--and he probably would, too, if he was trying to make a point. "We agreed when the university assigned both of us to this office that it was best to make an effort to remain civil to one another, and we have been for the most part. However, civility doesn't mean I have to appreciate your attitude or the cheap shots at me you think pass for humor."

"Now wait just a damned minute!" I was up and out of my seat in an instant, facing off with him from my side of the line. I shifted position to mirror his posture, a psychological trick to be sure, but I was going to use every advantage I could. "Who's being presumptuous now? Not everything is about you, Spengler! If you knew me at all--which you obviously don't--you'd know I make cracks about everyone and everything. It's what I do. Deal with it. Don't think I'm singling you out because you're just so damned special. Some of us didn't come from the privileged life in Midwest, with everything handed to us. The world revolves around the sun, Galileo, not you."

That distracted him for a couple of seconds, and I could easily have used the time to slip past him and out of the office if I hadn't been bent on getting through to him. "Actually," he began, in the same tone I used when lecturing to students, "it was Copernicus, not Galileo, who first postulated--see, that is exactly what I'm talking about!" His mind jumped back to the matter at hand quickly, though I took it as a point for my side that I'd been able to distract him. On the other hand, it only pissed me off further that he just had to correct me about Copernicus. I knew that. I didn't care, was all. "My so-called 'privileged life' is something you know nothing about. Nothing. I've never denied I was fortunate enough to have been born into a family of academics and scientists, and they encouraged my studies, but don't be audacious enough to assume I had an idyllic childhood. Intelligence and academic success often comes with a price--a price I paid many times over."

"What, you want me to go all bleeding heart now because some kids picked on you when you were little?" Okay, I admit, that was cruel. I knew what getting picked on was like and it wasn't fun. It could really mess with a kid's psyche. But, hey, I've been known to say less-than-brilliant things in the heat of the moment. I pushed on quickly, hoping to save a little face. "I grew up on the streets of Brooklyn, okay? If I got home without getting in a fight, it was a good day. Compared to that, I'd say a sheltered existence in Columbus sounds pretty damned idyllic." Never mind that I love this city too much to ever leave it; I was saying it sounded idyllic.

"Cleveland," he said, automatically.

"What?" Now he was distracting me.

"I grew up in Cleveland." Yes, that was Spengler, all right, exact as ever.

"I'm sorry to hear that," I told him offhandedly, stepping over to sit on the edge of my desk. Mirroring him was something I'd only been able to take for so long. Okay, so I could do it all day if I had to with a patient. But he wasn't a psych patient, though if this kept up, he was going to make me one. "Fine, okay, let's say I don't know what it was like to grow up in Cleveland. You don't know what Brooklyn was like either, or what my family's like, or anything. So why don't you stop expecting me to conform like you do? Anytime we do talk, you're always trying to tell me how I should be applying myself so much more. Do you have any idea how damned much I had to apply myself to get a scholarship to this school? Maybe money isn't one of your foremost worries, but it's sure as hell one of mine! You had your nice little home in the 'burbs; my mom worried how we were going to make the rent on a tiny apartment." And sometimes skipped meals in order to be able to do it, bless that woman. She always made sure I was fed. "And don't feel sorry for me, because I don't want it. I'm doing what I can to get by in this world, so don't try to mold me in your perfect image."

"Perfect image?!" he sputtered. I don't think I'd ever seen him do that before. Another point for my side. "Is that what you honestly think I'm trying to do? It irks me, more than I can say, to see wasted potential. And it is written all over you. Don't think you fool me, Venkman; I know you're a lot more intelligent than you will ever let anyone know, for all the times you might choose not to use the brain you possess. What you choose to do with your life is your business, but dumb jocks don't get into doctoral programs."

What? Had I heard a compliment in there somewhere? I was bugging him because I was smarter than I acted? I rolled my eyes. Backhanded way to offer a compliment if there ever was one, if you asked me. "Right, so maybe you might want to stop treating me like some dumb jock, then. You say you know how smart I am and you still stop to correct me every time I mix up some ancient guy's name. You can't stand to let it pass, gotta get in that little lecture. Maybe I do know what I'm talking about sometimes. I might not be the living reincarnation of Einstein, but, like you said, dumb jocks don't go to grad school."

"I had no idea you felt that way about it." For the first time since the argument had started, his voice was even, introspective. I wonder if he'd even realized he'd been doing it.

While I had the advantage, I decided to go for the gold. "And another thing. I've had a really shitty day, and this is the cap to it, Spengs." I'd called him that a time or two before, and it had never failed to get a rise out of him. Didn't fail that time, either, if his expression was any indication. "Why today? Why now do you decide to come in and tell me I think I know too much and I'm wasting my potential?"

"I hadn't intended to," he shot back, his Irish rising again. Or his German. Whatever he was. Hard to keep track, considering he spoke like twenty-something languages. "I was merely watching you as I stood in the doorway, wondering what might have put you into such an obviously foul mood. You started out by getting defensive."

Damn, he was right. I hated it when he was right. He had been just standing there. Didn't mean I was going to admit it. I glanced at the clock; it was going to take me forever to get home if I didn't leave soon. I lived on the Lower East Side--hardly the greatest place on the planet, but it was all I could afford since I moved out of the frathouse. I'd seen worse in my life. Unfortunately, with Columbia on the Upper West, it meant a long subway ride home, especially since my car had broken down that morning. Oh, didn't I mention that part? Yeah, that really started my day off right. "Forget it." I stood again, pushing past him as I headed for the door. "I've got a train to catch."

The silence that met me was oddly contemplative, and it tickled my curiosity. I turned, ignoring the fact that I was standing in the middle of his side of the office, and looked at him. "What?"

"It's dark and it's raining quite heavily." I bit my tongue as the thought, No shit, Sherlock, came to me and waited for him to continue. "The steps are bound to be quite slippery at the subway station. Plus, if I recall, you hardly live in the safest area of the city. Why don't you drive?"

"Car's broken." I didn't mention I couldn't afford to have it looked at until after my next paycheck. When I threw pity parties, the only one I invited was myself. "I'll hold the handrail on the stairs, Mommy." I continued across the threshold of the door, which he'd left open, and out into the hall.

His voice stopped me as effectively as if he'd tossed it out and had it throw a lariat around me. "I could drive you home."

Good thing Dad taught me how to conceal surprise. "What? You don't even like me all that much. It's way the hell out of your way. Why would you--"

"My childhood might not have been idyllic," Spengler responded, "but I did learn about human compassion--and, for all your posing, I know you have it in spades. I would hate to learn that anything had happened to you if it's within my power to prevent it. Besides, I have no plans for the evening; perhaps the ride would give us some time to talk. It would seem we're going to be sharing this office for another few years, at least, and it would be nice if we could be on less awkward terms with one another."

I was not the least bit comfortable with the way things seemed to be going. There was no way he could be offering friendship. We were too different. It would blow up in our faces--and then our "terms" would be really awkward. I'd learned long ago not to trust easily. Maybe he could; he probably thought we could really make it work if we tried. Must've been nice to be able to believe things like that so easily. Of course, he also believed in ghosts. "Are you saying you want to be my friend?"

The almost amused expression that flitted across his face said he wasn't sure how well that would work, either, though he looked a lot more willing to try than I was. "We don't have to be friends, but I'm hoping we can learn to get along."

It sounded nice on the surface, but if the past few months had taught me anything, it was that Spengler never settled for doing things in half-measures. Getting along would be great, but that would mean he'd want to be friends next. And, yeah, friends were nice, but there was a difference between my friendships from the frat and the kind I could tell Spengler wanted. Mentally, I drew another line, not just the one that separated our office, but one that could surround me, keep me safe. I didn't want to get burned again. Spengler was annoyingly stubborn, sure, but he was also earnest, which could spell disaster for me. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, though, so I waved a hand at him. "We'll talk later. I'm going home. And don't trouble yourself; I grew up in New York. I'll be fine." I hadn't gotten myself killed before and I certainly didn't intend to start then. Before he could protest, I reached inside the office to grab the door handle and swung it shut with an air of finality. No way was he going to get close to me. I couldn't allow it.

The rain had, impossibly, started pouring down even more; it was coming down in sheets when I ran down the steps of Weaver Hall, hurrying across the campus so I could get to the subway station at 116th and Broadway. I knew a shortcut that would put me right in front of the library, which was close to the Broadway entrance, so I hurried in that direction. I was soaked already, and I really didn't want to spend any longer outside than I had to. Just as I was about to round the corner, I felt my foot slip out from under me. I didn't know if I'd stepped on a wet leaf or anything like that; maybe the water beneath my feet was the only culprit. Whatever it was, I went reeling backwards, frantically waving my arms to try to regain my balance. It didn't help. I smacked my head, hard, against the brick side of one of the buildings as I fell, stars flashing into my field of vision to accompany the sudden explosion of pain.

Everything blurred after that as I continued to fall, landing gracelessly on my back in the middle of a large puddle. I felt like I wanted to throw up, but I knew I probably wouldn't; it was more of a passing thought than an urgent need. What I was going to do was pass out. This couldn't be good. There was no one around. What if I did throw up and choked on my own vomit? Talk about a rough way to go. My head throbbed as the cold November rain continued to fall around me. Forget choking, I'd die of hypothermia out here, cold and wet. I really should have taken Spengler up on that offer to drive me home. But, no, had to worry about whether he wanted to make nice or not. Now I was going to die alone, in the rain, and with the lack of activity on the campus due to the rain, I probably wouldn't be found for several hours. Wonderful. What a way to end a perfectly rotten day. Just before I did, in fact, pass out, one thought danced its way through my head, only serving to drive home the absolute patheticness of the situation. Happy fucking birthday, Petey.

*******

I have to admit, I was a little concerned about what I might find when I opened my eyes again. I sure as hell didn't expect it to be a wet blond. Okay, so I'd been kind of hoping for a hot blonde angel in a wet t-shirt, but Egon Spengler didn't quite fit the bill. "What the...?"

"You're awake." Spengler's expression held a mixture of both surprise and pleasure. "Good."

"Good for which one of us?" I groaned. My head felt as though it were about to explode. I'd have traded anything I owned for a handful of aspirin.

Before I could ask what was going on, Spengler started to explain. "Lie still; you probably have a concussion."

Who did he think he was kidding? It was cold and wet and I did not want to lie still. "M'gonna freeze to death."

"Oh, of course. We probably should move inside so I can better assess you." I didn't hazard a guess at what he meant by that. I rather suspected I didn't want to know. Either way, he helped me to my feet, waiting patiently as I tried to deal with the fact that the world was spinning and my stomach wanted to empty the dinner I hadn't eaten yet onto the university's brick sidewalks. I was pretty sure I had a concussion, too. I hadn't actually had the pleasure of experiencing one before, but I found myself matching all the symptoms to the ones listed in my Neuropsych textbook. Take that, Dr. Amudo.

"Your pupils are equal and responsive, from what I can tell," Spengler was saying, though I'd been tuning most of what he said out in favor of trying very hard not to think about my headache. "I'd still like to have you evaluated in the emergency room. Concussions can have dangerous side effects, especially if they're not properly treated."

I squeezed my eyes shut; the light in the lobby of the engineering building was dim but still too bright. "No."

"Venkman." His sighing of my name held a note of exasperation. "Please."

"That...human compassion thing again?" I asked. I was amazed I remembered that; my concussion couldn't have been too bad. I chanced opening my eyes again and was rewarded with a relieved-looking smile.

"Yes." Spengler nodded, droplets of water falling from the frame of his glasses, as well as dripping from his hair. "Besides, I feel a personal responsibility in this case, considering I was the one to find you and discover your condition."

How had he found me, anyway? "Where'd you come from?" Short sentences were good. I didn't have to think too much. My head was throbbing in sync with every beat of my heart and I wanted it to stop.

"I was heading to my car and I decided to cut between buildings." He studied me for a long moment. "I'm very glad I did, although I must admit, I was at first afraid I'd stumbled upon a murder victim."

I would have laughed if I hadn't felt so awful. Someone lying unconscious in an alley, even on Columbia's campus, in New York City...yeah, I could see where the poor guy might have been freaked at first. "Not dead...just taking a nap."

"Indeed." Spengler steepled his hands in front of him thoughtfully. "You woke up a few seconds after my arrival. You don't seem very confused, which I'm inclined to take as a good sign, but it would reassure me if you would be looked at by someone with more experience in the matter than I have."

He was worried. I could tell. He was worried about me. Wow. Talk about your warm, fuzzy feeling. "Listen, I'll have Student Health check me out tomorrow." In the first place, I couldn't afford the hospital visit. In the second, I knew they'd want to keep me overnight so they could wake me up every hour, and I was having none of that. "Won't go to sleep, if it makes you feel better. I've pulled all-nighters before."

I could see he was really debating. Finally, he said, "All right. I'll agree to that on one condition." Inner amusement lit up his eyes; he had the look of a man who knew he was about to get exactly what he wanted.

Suspicion immediately set in on my part. What did he want me to do, dance the rumba in front of the library, singing "Yellow Submarine"? In my boxers? No, that was hardly his style--though it was a great frat initiation ritual--but, truth was, if he threw in that aspirin, I'd probably have done it. Especially if it got me out of a hospital visit. "What's that?"

The next words that came out of Spengler's mouth were the last I ever expected. "You come back to my apartment so I can make sure someone wakes you every two hours."

Two? He was willing to let me have two hours of sleep at a time? He was inviting me back to his place? I knew he lived alone; that meant he'd be the one waking me--a dangerous task indeed, to hear my frat brothers tell it. The line had been crossed. I should have been so much more freaked out, but on the other hand, I felt like shit and it was nice to have someone around who at least pretended to care, even if it was only to assuage his own conscience. Yeah, that was it. Had to be. Before I could stop it, I heard myself saying, "Okay. But only if you're sure."

"I'm sure." How had his hand gotten on my arm? Why wasn't I shrugging it off? "I live by myself; there's no one there to be bothered by it. I'll feel much better knowing you're not alone in your apartment, potentially slipping into a coma as a result of a subdural bleed."

He fought dirty. I didn't like the sound of that any more than he did. Really, he was right; it was the best option, unless I wanted to go to the hospital--and crashing on Spengler's couch would be cheaper. Plus, I'd only be roused every two hours. "All right already. I'll go. But only if you've got aspirin."

"Aspirin isn't advisable; it's known to act as a blood thinner, and it would certainly make any bleeds worse." Damn, he was right. Again. "However, I have plenty of acetaminophen."

The line between us was crumbling more and more, and I wasn't sure anymore if that was a bad thing or not.

*******

Spengler didn't live far from the campus, about fourteen blocks. Of course, when one lived on the other end of Manhattan like I did, about anything seemed close. It was a second-floor walkup, and he trailed me up the stairs, wanting to stay behind in case I fell. I argued that I'd only fall on him, but it was pointless. His mind was made up. Hmm, I wondered, if he's this much of a mother hen to someone he's only just started getting along with, what's he going to be like when we get to know each other better? That was a scary prospect. Made me wonder what his mother was like. Probably a lot like my mom. I'd have to call her when I got home, see how she was doing.

When we got inside, the apartment was as pristine as I'd expected it to be, with the exception of various pieces of scientific equipment all over. He practically decorated with the stuff. Half of it didn't even look fully assembled; it probably wasn't.

The other thing that surprised me was a cat. Spengler had a cat? Who knew? Then again, once I thought about it, he seemed like the type. It was a Siamese, and from the way it took its sweet time sauntering from the couch to the door to greet us, I figured it for an older cat. Spengler stooped down to pick the cat up, gave it a few quick strokes on the head, then deposited it back on the floor. "Have a seat. I need to feed him," he indicated the cat, "but I'll be join you in just a moment."

"Okay." I waited, watching in amusement as the cat followed Spengler into the kitchen, and Spengler talked to the thing as he got its food. Apparently, its name was Quark. Only Egon.... I surprised myself with that. I was thinking of him by his first name now? Well, I was going to be crashing on his couch; I supposed it wasn't too odd.

When he returned from feeding Quark, Egon had a glass of water in his hand and two tablets. I smiled gratefully, taking them as he sat down across from me on the couch. "Now, I don't want you to think I'm worrying unnecessarily," he began. That wasn't a good sign. "However, if I do need to arrange for an emergency trip to the hospital, should you develop any complications, I'd...well, like a little information--"

"You wanna know what to tell the hospital." I couldn't wait for the pills to start working. "I gotcha." I wasn't worried about revealing anything really personal; I had to give the same information to my football coach, back when I played, and I'd certainly never spent the night at his place. "Okay, you know my name already. Blood type's AB positive, at least that's what they told me once at the hospital after I had an allergic reaction a few years ago."

He nodded, scribbling it down onto a notepad he'd had lying on his coffee table. "Good. What's your date of birth?"

I volunteered it without thinking, the automatic response to a common question. "November fifteenth, 1957."

When I looked back at Egon, he was looking at me with some startlement. "Today's the fifteenth...oh, Peter." I think that was the first time I'd ever heard him use my first name.

I shook my head--a mistake, I realized quickly, and settled for waving a hand instead. "Don't sweat it; you didn't know." And my dad did, but forgot, but we're not going there. "Wasn't one of my most spectacular ones, but I'll live."

He seemed to understand that I didn't want to talk about it, or if he didn't understand, he at least respected it. "Well, if it means anything at all to you, happy birthday."

I flashed him the best grin I could muster, considering my headache. "It does, actually. Thanks." This evening had just been full of surprises, not all of them bad. My head turned as I felt something on my leg--two somethings, actually. I looked down to see the cat with his front paws perched on my thigh, looking up at me expectantly, then to Egon. Calling him Egon suddenly felt much more comfortable. "Um, does he want something?"

Egon reached over, pulling the cat into his lap. "He's a Siamese; you're unfamiliar to him and he's curious. His name's Quark, by the way."

I couldn't resist using my thumb and index finger to shake the furball's paw. "Well now, Quark, we've been properly introduced." I didn't normally cater to animals this way, but I had a strange feeling I'd be seeing more of this animal as I saw more of his owner. He pulled his paw back, tucking it and his other front paw under his body.

"It's all right, Quark," Egon told his pet. "This is Peter. He's my...friend." He looked at me suddenly, as though waiting to see if I'd contest his use of the term. I nodded once, the world still spinning around me, and I couldn't blame it entirely on the concussion. I had the sudden feeling I was going to be in for one hell of a wild ride.

I was right.