Mags yawned as she and Tilda trudged along the shore path towards the houseboat, her holdall feeling twice as heavy as it usually did. The night sky was quiet, the only sounds those of their footfalls.

She glanced at Tilda, hoping to catch her eye, maybe say something; Tilda's nearest eye moved fractionally in her direction, but quickly swivelled away again. Her mouth was set in a hard line, her walking speed brisk; Mags could barely keep up. She was somewhat surprised by Tilda's mobility, given that she felt utterly lagged.

She knew why Tilda was walking so fast, though.

Mags looked up and, to her relief, the houseboat was looming out of the dusk just ahead. It had been a relief just getting back to Summerkin, but home was now truly within reach. After being stuck out in the middle of nowhere for four weeks, the cramped, poky little watercraft now felt cosy and welcoming.

Tilda strode ahead of her up the mooring ramp and went to the front door, giving it a knock. "No lights on," she muttered. Mags knew she was pointedly talking to herself.

There came soft sounds of commotion from the upper level. One of the windows scraped open, and the face of a middle-aged Badger, her hair rolled up in curlers, emerged. "Oh, it's you two," Miss Naldrett mumbled sleepily. "Either of you know what time it is?"

"Sorry," Tilda replied timidly. "We were gonna sleep at the spaceport, but Mags wanted to come home straight away."

Mags felt her cheeks blaze as she felt Tilda's glare on her.

Miss Naldrett sighed. "I'll let you in. Wait there." In a trice, the door was being unlocked and opened.

Mags gratefully hustled up the ramp and into the boat, feeling as if the vessel were giving her a warm hug. All the sensations and smells came back to her in an instant. I'm home.

"If you two are planning on staying up, keep it down," Miss Naldrett yawned, snugging her robe a little tighter.

"We will," Tilda said.

Miss Naldrett smiled. "Well, welcome back." She shuffled back upstairs, the slap of her bunny slippers gradually fading away and leaving Mags and Tilda in total silence.

Tilda quickly broke it. "So," she said. "Tea?"

Clearly, she hadn't been able to stay mad for long. Mags followed her into their tiny apartment. "Oh, I'm so glad to be home," Tilda trilled, going to the tea kettle and filling it with water. "Can't wait to be sleeping in a real bed again. What were they called on the Pedigree? Breadboxes?" She shuddered.

Mags plonked herself on the careworn sofa-slash-bed, feeling utterly helpless. There had been so many times to ask her, each of them perfect.

"Kettle's gonna be a moment," Tilda said, joining her. She motioned to the TV. "Wanna see what's on?"

Mags mumbled a reply.

"Yeah, maybe it's too late," Tilda replied. "Don't wanna wake up Miss Naldrett."

A long, droning snore from upstairs reverberated through the boat. Tilda chortled. "Although, we could probably have a full brass section down here and not risk it."

Mags offered a half-smile and reached for the remote, switching the TV on. There wasn't much on at this time of night; the fare consisted mainly of shopping channels and low-budget action films. Mags left it on the underrated classic Badger on a Tanker III and slipped off her shoes, even the feel of real air on the soles of her bare feet bringing her precious little joy. I should have asked her. I should have asked her when we where there.

"Ooh, nice idea," Tilda beamed. She kicked off her boots and waggled her socked toes. "Oh, that is nice. Feet on the ground. Real gravity." The kettle whistled. "Calling my name."

Mags watched her go, the sorrow and regret drowning her heart. She'd missed her chance. She couldn't wait for the next trip out. It'd be too late. She'd blown the perfect opportunity. Even if she did ask now or later, it wouldn't be the same. She slumped miserably back in her seat.

"Those creatures weren't so tough either," Tilda was saying as she poured the water. "But hey, that's why they hired us. To make it look easy." She laughed.

Mags moaned. That was all she needed, to be reminded of those things: thrashing, serpentine, glittering monsters with huge teeth. Just being on that damn moon had been bad enough, but the wildlife had made it an experience to forget. At least the company had been more than tolerable, especially that Roofus feller. He'd be a great leader to work under.

She looked up to see Tilda approaching with two pink mugs of steaming tea, teabag tags dangling from them. "It's rooibos," Tilda was saying. "Your favourite."

Mags resisted the urge to break down there and then, and took the hot mug. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Tilda smiled. She plopped onto the sofa. "Whatta we watching?"

Mags mumbled and brought the information up on screen.

Tilda sipped at her tea. "Nice." She licked her lips.

Mags sipped at her own mug, her mouth crying out in ecstasy as it tasted real flavour in the first time for weeks.

Tilda suddenly lurched forward and slammed her mug down on the table in front of the sofa, grunting as hot tea splashed her paw, and whirled to face her. "DAMMIT, WILL YOU SAY SOMETHING?" she screamed. "I haven't been able to get a bloody sentence outta you for the past two weeks!"

Mags babbled, her mouth unable to move.

"I-I-I?" Tilda mimicked her angrily. "Yeah, sounds about right!" She got to her feet. "And you can't use Lydia Minus as an excuse, either. She was barely around and she ain't bloody here now!" She paced furiously. "Radio silence, that's what it's felt like. On the ship, on the moon, on the ship. You couldn't even say anything when that Redridge bint had a pop at me in the mess!" Tilda's face hardened. "But, then again, maybe that's because you couldn't stop making eyes at her! You make me sick!"

Mags gulped, guilt crashing over her like a wave. She couldn't deny it. Lizzy Redridge was one fine-looking Stoat: petite, slender but muscular, fur that glinted russet in the light. She couldn't deny that she'd imagined what it would be like, to...

"Cooing over her," Tilda went on, tears running down her muzzle. "You... you actually flirted with her after she'd mouthed off at me!"

Mags nodded shamefully, feeling her own tears come on.

"And even now, you can't say anything," Tilda sobbed. She wiped her face. "Mags, you say something to me right now. Or it's over, you hear me? We're over."

Mags looked up at her. "Muh."

"Muh?" Tilda seethed.

"Muh-marry me," Mags cried.

Tilda gaped at her. "What?"

"Marry me." Mags felt herself smiling through her tears. She put her mug on the table, struggled to her feet, and took Tilda's paw in her own, just like Tilda had that terrible, terrible day. "Will you marry me?"

And with that, she awaited Tilda's reply.