matter how much you act up."

He lifted his head. "Care? If you nimrods cared at all, you'd at least lemme outside."

"We can't do that, Fang."

He glared at her. "Yeah? An' why?"

"Because. You'd run." Angel's eyes were sincerely sorrowful. "We're not stupid, Fang. We know you're not happy here."

"Y'know me that well? What has it been, no more'n four days? You oughta call me brother by now, don'tcha think?" Fang's sarcasm practically dripped from his tongue.

"You can't run from your family, Fang."

That did it. Fang's patience snapped. He lurched forward, wincing slightly at the pain in his injured paw. "Hey, I didn't ask for no family, doll. You got one o' yer own--leave me out of it!"

"Why don't you want a family? Don't you miss it?" Angel begged.

"Miss what?" Fang raised his head high, towering over her. He looked at her out of the bottom of his eyes. He turned away again, head hanging, ears lowered, tail tucked between his legs.

"Fang, won't you talk about it?" Angel followed, eyes wide.

"Can't."

"Why not?" Angel asked.

"B'cause," Fang blinked three times, rapidly, fighting the wetness in his eyes. "Y'can't miss somethin' you don't have."

Angel let the breath out she didn't know she'd been holding. Her puff of a tail sagged. She couldn't imagine what he meant. What he was thinking.

"Y'can't miss something you don't remember." Fang sighed, feeling hollow.

Angel fought the urge to let out a doggie whimper herself. She left him alone in his memories for a moment, then brightened. Her voice soft, gentle, she walked up beside him, cream-colored paws relishing the feel of the carpet, and nudged him with her nose gently. "Hey. I know something that'll cheer you up."

Fang shook himself, recollecting his cool. He grunted. "You finally decided to dump yer puppy chow into Jim Dear's slippers?"

Angel laughed. "No, you monster! What kind of twisted canine would do something like that?"

A slow smile crept up Fang's muzzle. His eyelids lowered. He moved his eyebrows up and down, gaze wandering as if looking into an imaginary video camera.

"No. No--Fang, no!" Angel laughed harder. "Don't even think about it."

Fang shrugged. His tail began to wag. He didn't want to still like her, but who could not? Those blue eyes, that crooked ear, that powder-puff tail--her laugh--puppy love was cruel.

"If yer leadin', lead." Fang grinned at her.

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

He was outside! The front yard! Yes!

 Fang took a deep breath of the outdoor air. "Am I dreamin'? I think..." he he closed his eyes, stood on tiptoes, stretched his neck, and smiled as he took in another whiff through his nose. "...I smell..." he sniffed again.

Angel chuckled.

"...Is it...(sniff)...it is!...fresh...air! Ahhhh!" Fang took in a huge breath through his mouth.

Angel laughed out loud.

Fang suddenly coughed, gagging. He staggered, tripping on a T-Bone on the front porch. He yelped in pain, still coughing, stumbling on his injured, bandaged-up-in-a-cast paw and leg.

He landed in a jumble of ears and paws on the sidewalk leading to the gate.

Angel, mouth open in an O, eyes widened, hurried to his side. Seeing he was okay, she snorted a half-laugh. "Oh," she said, "that was smooth." She grinned. "What happened?"

Fang gagged, standing up, fur hot, his eyes crossed, mouth open. His voice was high-pitched, frail, and hoarse as he said, "Higack--swallowed a bug."

Angel arched a brow. "Just a bug?"

"They're pretty good this time 'o year." Fang cracked.

Angel laughed.

The doggie door swung open. Scamp stepped out onto the porch. His eyes went from Angel to Fang and back again.

"What's up out here?" Scamp asked, voice cold. He trotted smoothly down the three green, wooden porch steps and confronted the two other pups. "Heard a crash."

"Slick Move here fell down the porch," Angel smiled, winking at Fang. He closed his eyes, opened his mouth in a smile, moved his shoulders upward to the side of his head, and tilted his head to the left, appearing fake-modest.

"Yeah?" Scamp circled Fang, eyebrows lowered, still ice-cold. "Getting soft?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Fang's smile dissapeared, and he sprang at Scamp, snarling. Angel leaped out of the way, too suprised to do much else, it was all happening so quickly.

Scamp lowered his eyelids, smirking, and took one swinging step to the side.

Fang tripped on his hurt leg, yelping a puppified howl of agony, and stumbled nose-first into the grass.

"Scamp!" Angel cried, rushing to Fang's side. "How can you take advantage of him like that? He's," she glanced down at Fang, who was trying to get up but falling back down on a jellified injured leg. "He's hurt!"

Scamp grunted. "He wouldn't be if he'd minded his own buisiness." He looked away, obviously ashamed and struggling with pride and a case of jealousy.

"Would I still be here if he'd minded his own buisiness?" Angel growled.

"Well, uh, yeah but, Angel, I mean...I didn't mean..." Scamp stuttered.

Angel turned, huffing, "You're hopeless!" as she stormed inside, through the doggie door.

Fang finally shoved himself to a sitting position, a grass blade balancing on his nose. He sneezed, and it fluttered to the ground.

"Losing your touch?" Scamp growled.

Fang narrowed his eyes. "If my leg weren't throbbin', Chew-Toy, I'd grab you up an' shake ya till ya couldn't stand."

"You and I both know that scene in the alley with Angel wasn't all you. You had help; she didn't just sit there and do nothing." Scamp circled Fang, blue-green collar dangling slightly. "Damsel in distress, that's not the Angel I know."

"You weren't there, muttfuzz, an' it's about time I taught ya what a real Street Dog can do. Come a little closer an' I'll begin Lesson One." Fang stood, his injured leg trembling a bit. He tried not to show how much pain it was giving him.

"Yeah. I'm shaking." Scamp snorted. "Just stay away from her. She doesn't need some slick-move alley pup to take her back to her nightmares. Leave her alone. She's happy here with us."

"With you, y'mean." Fang growled. "Face it, Chew-Toy, I ain't welcome here, am I?"

Scamp hesitated. He knew he was the one in the wrong here; his father would never have delibrately baited Fang when he knew he was too hurt to defend himself. That was being a bully. But what about Ange? He couldn't just let Fang charm her into taking her back to life on the streets! She might never come back to him! Okay, maybe he was a little bit jealous, but what did that have to do with Angel's safety? The streets weren't for her anymore.

"When your leg's better," Scamp murmured, turning away, "just go." He strode up the porch and into the house after Angel.

Fang's eyebrows raised. What wimp would give up on the opportunity to take advantage of a pup who could barely walk? Scamp had Fang where he could torment him verbally--maybe physically, but he hadn't. Was he scared, even though he knew Fang was out of commission for any damage? Not likely. It seemed that Scamp had been through something, something that made him stronger. So why had he spared Fang? The Street Dog didn't get it.

 Three orange-brown bundles hurled themselves at him. Annette, Collette, and Danielle swarmed around Fang, shooting questions at him.

"Where's Scamp going?"

"You're outside! They let you out!"

"Like our yard, Fang?"

"He's seen it, Danielle."

"Oh, yeah."

"Have you been in the doghouse?"

Fang ignored the gloominess surrounding his thoughts, pushing it away and grinning handsomely at the girls. "Seen it. Been in it."

The girls gave him puppy-dog pouts, their big brown eyes gazing up him pleadingly. "Can we show you anyway?" Collette asked sweetly, her long, coffee-brown ears rippling past her shoulders and down to her paws.

"A'ight, but go slow, gals. Leg's actin' up," Fang shrugged.

"Gotcha!" Danielle spluttered, forgetting what he'd just said and tromping ahead in wide gallops.

Collette and Annette flanked him, both competing for his attention.

"How was your bath, Fang?" Collette asked kindly.

"Your fur is so silky--it did you good!" Annette crooned.

Fang lifted his head as he limped along. "Lemme tell ya, girls--they can force me into th'tub, but they ain't gonna make me like it."

"I love getting a bath!" Annette cried, looking surprised at her hero's obvious dislike of her favorite activity.

"Nahhh," Fang shook his head, eyes scrunched shut firmly. He opened them again, head still once more as they walked, Fang still limping. "Baths're fer House Dogs. First step to lettin' 'em take you in--likin' the baths. Ain't no soap's gonna