I know folks have been asking what Tazel Tawner has been up to since she had left the FBA.

She hasn't really left. She's been here, slowly building thoughts. And it took a certain hyena-rabbit to help tip her into the hoop.

A story cowritten with  IllaRouge, with sketches by the inimitable  pac.
Please enjoy!Rebound
Story by Tazel Sixpaws and IllaRouge (Copyright 2015)
Characters are copyright to their creators.
The FBA is copyright to BuckHopper.



Merrill Palace. "The Bunker." The home of the Tallahassee Typhoons, the only Florida team in the Furry Basketball Association. Big names, like Korber, Velox, Yotechuk - the Dawg Pack. And with the newest crop, some promising rookies - Ren Inoue, Trent Mosley... and some challenges as well.

Either way, a fine establishment. Despite the grumblings of players both affiliated with the southern hospitality of the team, and those outside, it was a quality organization. The grumblings were mostly due to the heavy handed and sometimes incomprehensible ministrations of Hildegarde Tetreault, the German coach who had been on the list of 'Ten Worst Attitudes in the FBA.' It was not a deserved rib - it was just that people did not understand her method of execution when it came to managing her team.

Some feared execution WAS how she managed her team. Or at least, the threat of it. To hear some of the current crop of Typhoons, you'd think she beat them silly whenever they lost a game. There was the whole fracas with the FBPA over whether Hildegard had actually hit Brad Pullman repeatedly during practice. Which was not quite untrue, but neither completely false.

She never beat anyone. She simply used 'forceful coaching techniques.' Sometimes with her words. Sometimes with her hand.

It was a night and day difference between the previous coach and the current one. Whereas Hildegarde was authoritarian, strict and bursting at the seams with disciplinary threats, the previous coach was maternal, fostering - like a mother figure, that some of the players never had.

Tragically, in 2013, when the Typhoons were in the finals, a rogue group of hateful racists kidnapped the coach and beat her almost to death for the heinous crime of benching a player of their own species. It wasn't until about a month and a half later that she regained consciousness from the coma - oddly enough, at the same time the whole team came in to pay their respects to her, to apologize for losing the finals...

...and to celebrate receiving back someone they cherished.

Tazel Tawner. A genetic mishap. 'Polymelia' it was called. The extra limbs usually are deformed and useless, but in the indigo vixen's case, not only were they well-formed and controllable, but something she took pride in, when everyone around her during her childhood would mock her repeatedly.

It wasn't enough to drive down her spirit. She was good at the game of basketball. Not great, but good. Not superstar material, but she was good enough to be a Des Moines Blanks shooting guard for a year. Getting into the FBA, even the Blanks, was a dream for many players. Never did extremely well in the game, but she did find her calling after she withdrew from the league only one year after she started. It was to spend time with her family, but it also allowed her to find something she could do well.

Coaching.

She took a high school that was last in their roster, and helped them win the finals. It was that level of turnaround that attracted the GM at the time, Carter Clausen, to have her step in the 'big boys' shoes of being a head coach. Everyone was scratching their heads. What was Clausen thinking? Did she REALLY have the gumption to lead the team?

A mere 10 months, a 2013 Coach of the Year award, and a near finals win later, there was not one person who questioned her ability. She could have gone on to be one of the best coaches of the FBA.

Then the tragedy.

FBA's favorite - and only - four-armed vixen. Sister and daughter to an unruly business of ferrets. And after the attack, a vegetable, kept alive by machines. But you can't break a Tawner's spirit, even if not of blood relation. She survived. She returned. And when she came back to the world of the living, she did not remember anything of her coaching. She knew of the players, though. They looked familiar. But she couldn't remember what they could do. What their histories were. What their fears were.

Vague memories, that got closer when the cab had pulled up to the deserted arena. It was nighttime when her flight had brought her to Tallahassee. She didn't tell anyone save one person she was coming. She didn't want there to be a big hullabaloo about her coming in on the invite of the current coach.

Tazel Tawner, fresh from a cab that had brought her from the Tallahassee airport, stepped timidly onto the pavement leading up to the employee entrance. Her heart hit a wall as she realized that this wasn't her entrance anymore. It was almost automatic for her. She turned to see the cab speeding off, as her eyes drifted to a lamppost dimly lighting a parking area or three in front.

That lamppost...

She tried to walk out to it, but her legs wouldn't move. Even if she didn't remember everything from the attack that night, her body remembered. Wanted nothing to do with that area, where the attack happened. She spotted a lone sedan under the light. Wasn't hers, but the memory...

Tazel buried her face in all her hands and sobbed quietly. That was not the first thing she wanted to have be the first to return to her mind.

"Who's out there?"

A flashlight emerged from a nearby stairwell leading down below the arena. Tazel stopped sobbing and grabbed at her purse protectively, the feelings of vulnerability starting to slip back into her mind. Instinct. Fight or flight. The sound of footsteps became louder, as a somewhat pudgy vulture lumbered up, slightly out of breath, heaving against his security guard uniform. "Hey! This place is off limits to the public when there's no game!"

Tazel finally found her voice. "I-I'm sorry. I was looking for..." She stopped and averted her eyes as the vulture shined his flashlight directly in her face. "Sir, please, I..." She stopped as the vulture gasped in recognition.

"Holy Hannah! You're... You're Miss Tawner!"

Tazel blushed a bit, but nodded. She knew her look was unique, and she figured she was memorable to the folks in the state capital, but hearing that still made her a bit embarrassed. She knew she was remembered, but she didn't remember the specifics as to why. To lose a part of your life - and a very important one - like this, was frustrating to say the least.

"Mr. Arango wanted me to let him know if you ever came around - he definitely wantsta meet you!" the vulture said, beaming around his mottled beak. Apparently he felt he might get some extra recognition for finding Ms. Tawner and delivering her to the head honcho.

Tazel put up one of her hands. "Please, I don't want to make a fuss. I was just invited here by Miss Tetreault. She asked me to meet her here around this time."

The guard's face changed a bit. There was a little bit of fear in his eyes as to the name. Apparently it wasn't only the players who were so afraid of her. "Oh! Oh, yeah, okay. Um... I suppose it wouldn't be a trouble t'let you in. But I should have another guard stay with you, just in case." He reached for his radio as Tazel raised some more hands in protest. "Please sir, I don't want to be any trou-"

"Sandy? This is Jason. You patrolling the inside?"

A feminine voice replied, "Yeah, what's up?"

Jason spoke back into the walkie talkie. "Got a special guest here, invited by The Queen." He managed a small smile around his beak as he winked at Tazel. She didn't know quite what to make of the wink - was it because of a joke? The Queen? Were they talking about the same person?

"Huh! 'Kay, I'll be up in three."

"Copy that." Jason slipped the radio back to his belt, fished out some keys, and unlocked the employee entrance. He gestured inside. "Welcome back." he said, proudly. "Sandy'll be with you in a moment. I have to continue my patrol outside. I'll let Miss Tetreault know you're here, though."

"Thank you... um, Jason, right?" she asked, as she crossed the threshold.

He beamed, nodding. "Yeah! Heh, I didn't think you remembered me! Been working here five years! And hey, no problem! Glad to have you around again!" He closed the door, and made a happy sound, almost a squeal. Tazel didn't have the heart to tell him she didn't remember him at all, but just picked his name up from the radio conversation.

She looked down the hallway. Even though nobody was there, the lights were still on, so there were no visible dangers or problems that she could see. "Hello? Um, Sandy?" she called out, walking tentatively down the corridor. She couldn't remember if she had been down this corridor many times before, though she would have had to, in order to get to the parking lot...

Tazel shuddered. No thoughts about the parking lot.

Most areas she walked by were storage areas, prep rooms, a trainer's testing area. She walked by the infirmary, and stopped a moment, walking inside and flipping on the light.

It was precisely how the infirmary should look. Clean. Antiseptic. On the counter was a box of rubber gloves. She grabbed the box with a hand, another hand grabbed a glove and her other two hands helped put it on the one that grabbed it. She looked at her gloved hand for a long time.

(("NO. Not Yotechuk. Not ANY of my players!"))

Tazel seemed surprised, that flash in her mind. She could hear her own voice say those words, but... she couldn't place them. Who did she say them to? Why did a rubber glove remind her of Charles Yotechuk? She tried, focusing on the glove again.

Nothing. She couldn't even remember the words clearly enough to-

"Miss Tawner?"

Tazel yelped and spun around, almost stumbling on her tail, as she looked at the groundhog in a similar security uniform to Jason's. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I'm Sandy. Jason asked me to take you to courtside," she said, matter-of-factly.

Tazel caught her breath and nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry for the response. I was just... deep in thought." She removed the glove and thought about replacing it, but figured it wouldn't be sanitary. She put it in the medical waste bin and walked toward the doorway, turning off the light with a spare hand. "Lead on."

Sandy cocked her head, the eyeglasses slightly skewing. "You don't know the way?"

The vixen's heart sank as the reality of the question hit her from left field. "No. I don't remember." she admitted.

Sandy made an 'Oh' expression with her muzzle, confused. Then another look of realization as she remembered what had been told to her concerning the ex-coach. "OH!" she verbalized, and blushed. "I'm... I'm sorry ma'am. I just... I forgot... er, right this way, then?" She gestured down the hall, the blush getting deeper. One huge faux pas.

Tazel smiled. "It's okay. And thank you." She was genuinely not upset, and the groundhog seemed to truly appreciate that, the blush starting to fade.

She felt like a high schooler being led by the guidance counselor to the principal's office. There was nothing disrespectful about the demeanor of the guards; in fact, they were downright helpful and professional. However, Tazel felt the sting of inexperience. It was like her life had been reset by a few years. Everyone had moved on while she was struggling to catch up and reclaim her past. She wondered if she even had a right to the respect that these nice people were offering her. That Tazel wasn't this Tazel.

The facility was not so large that they weren't able to get down to the floor quickly, given the relative lack of occupancy when there wasn't a game. The groundhog opened the double doors and stepped aside. Tazel felt embarrassed to be shown such regal treatment, even if it was as simple as opening a door. She shuffled past into the dimmed arena.

"I'll have Jesse turn up the lights for you, Miss Tawner," before she turned to leave.

"Excuse me? You aren't staying?"

Sandy smiled. "I'm pretty sure you'll have company soon enough," she chuckled. The doors swung closed with a thud, and Tazel was alone.

She could hear the faint crackling of the radio static through the door, and the lights turned up. Behind the scenes, news was already spreading. Tazel gazed up at the scoreboard that desperately needed replacing. The lights glinted off of the blue, uncomfortable plastic of the seats. The orange-cushioned fold-outs, reserved for courtside ticket holders, weren't yet set up and sat collected on racks on one end of the court. The baskets, which had the ability to fold up, like in high school gymnasiums, were extended down, a sure sign that they got maximum usage, at least compared to the practice schedules of the rest of the FBA.

Tazel brushed her hand against the cold cement of the entranceway. Everything felt familiar, but nothing felt concrete. She walked onto the court, the sound of her business shoes clacking on the polished hardwood of the arena's combat zone. She looked at the scores of empty seats, and closed her eyes, trying to visualize her down here, doing the things she saw herself do on a video recording once.

She was unable to bring up specifics, but some faces came to mind. A panda. Where was he from? Another team. He was a coach of another team. What team? Why was it important? Important. The Bikers. It must have been the bikers. Tazel stood at half court, putting her top hands to her head as if to squeeze out the image. But instead of answers, she got more images. Klaus Korber. That name she knew. And Jake Velox. The grinning smile of Phineas Jackson. She knew the names because she had researched them from the FBA's past. But here, in the element, she was starting to remember who they were.

And why they meant so much to her.

As Tazel reminisced, a pair of red-painted claws carefully shut the door. Hildegard's heels lightly clicked on the hardwood floor, but they did not disturb the vixen. She took a long route behind Tazel so as to come into her vision from the front; she knew that surprising a trauma victim was not something she'd like to add to her storied history. She noticed Tazel's eyes, with all of the glossed quality of a frosted windshield. The thousand-yard stare was probably too short for her.

After a few seconds, Hildegard cleared her throat. Though not with a start, Tazel's eyes blinked and snapped to the hyena-rabbit. "Oh, um, I'm sorry. I didn't..."

Hildegard held up her hand. "Bitte, joo are fine."

"You knew I was here?"

"Ja. Sandy told me. And joo are on time, so I figured."

Tazel prided herself on promptness. She and Hildegard closed the gap and shook hands. "Does anyssink feel familiar?" asked the hybrid, looking around at the gym, inviting Tazel to do the same.

She nodded. "Familiar, but not complete. I'm remembering the players a bit more, being here. I should remember more, but I can't." Her ears splayed as she was reminded of her inability to be reminded.

"Es tut mir leid. I did not mean to upset joo."

This time, the vixen shook her head. "No, it's okay. Let's just talk about something else."

Hildegard's shaggy mane shook. "Let us go to mein office." She, rather gentlemanly, offered her arm as support to Tazel. Because she wasn't expecting it, Tazel didn't take her offer immediately, but as she rested her hand on Hildegard's arm, it didn't feel so foreign.

As they headed for the office, Hildegard piped up, "I apologize, but I do not haff much to drink. All zhat is left is mint hot chocolate," which did nothing short of making Tazel smile.The Typhoons lugged their equipment down the hallway of Merrill Palace with disdain on all of their lips. Their coach was known for surprise practices, but this felt like too much.

"The morning of the freakin' game," grumbled Yotechuk.

A few grunts echoed in response. "Pretty sure those guys in Bataan had it easier than this," commented Velox, eliciting chuckles from the long-standing players.

"Aww, come on, guys," chimed in the ever-positive Mary, "she just wants us to get better."

"C'mon y'know tha' las' game we rocked, y'know?" slurred Keith, most of the team never quite knowing what he was saying.

Mary smiled confidently. "It'll be a good warm up, right?" she tried again.

While no one was fully pleased with Hildegard's coaching, they certainly felt its effects on the court, both positive and negative. While their skills improved, they often felt too tired to enjoy their free time, their careers at time. Despite the mixed reactions, they did feel the practice to be a bit excessive. On game day? So early? Come on!

They quarantined themselves off into the separate sides for men and women, but a thunderous voice rang out, "Meetink first!" More grumbles as they crowded into the small area outside of their coach's office.

Hildegard slipped into her office and shut the door. One could almost hear the collective eyebrow raise from the team as they were given no information as to why their coach called a meeting and then disappeared. No one wanted to mumble, for fear that they would miss whatever it was that this meeting was about. Hildegard reemerged and shut the door once more. "Zhis team has been lackink in morale lately. Und I haff decided to invite somevone to motivate joo back into shape."

A few players rolled eyes, while the majority retained their incredulous stares. "This something your anger management shrink told you to do?" Velox quipped.

Hildegard growled but remained firm. "Vhat do joo Americans call it?" she asked to no one. She stepped aside and turned the handle on her office door. "Eatink joor letters?"

Velox scoffed. "Yeah, it's 'Eating your--'"

The fox stopped and pricked his ears. Basketballs dribbling. Coming down the hallway. He listened for the patter. Thudthudthudthud. Four at once. Two people, dribbling basketballs down the corridor? But Hilde said one person was comi...

His eyes went wide. The hint of a smile. "No. Fucking. WAY."

Most of the new blood were perplexed, but Korber, Yotechuk and LaRocca started to mirror the growing smile of the swift fox.

Brad Pullman, the rookie eagle, piped up. "What? What the hell is it? Who is it?" he demanded of Velox.

The dribbling got louder, and all eyes went to the door. The canines could smell who it was, and their tails wagged as four basketballs, one at a time, were passed from outside the door into the room. And in strode the blue, four-armed vixen, in a very familiar outfit.

White four-sleeved shirt. Gray vest. Black slacks. Looking very much like she did in 2013, when she coached the ragtag team. "Hi. Mind if I listen in?" she asked, a bit trepidated, wondering if the team would truly remember her.

Only four people - those who remembered - leapt up from the seats to give a very non-standard hug to their coach, who was able to wrap an arm around each of them, hugging back, though a bit awkwardly. The others just looked on either in shock, awe, happiness or confusion. That was when Hilde cleared her throat.

"For zhose who haff no idea who zhis is - she is Tazel Tawner, zhe coach for Tallahazzhee before me. Und my guest for zhe next couple of days. I trust zhere vill be no argument?"

At that, the locker room exploded, rookies, vets alike came up to shake her hands, talk, ask questions, make sure the extra arms were real, etcetera. Hilde stood back and smiled, genuinely happy of the team's overall positive reaction. Even the mostly surly Dawg Pack reveled in the nostalgia.

And that had to be a kick in the pants for morale.

"If joo could not guess, zhere is no practice today. Instead, zhere vill be a party at my house until zhe game tonight. Joo are all goink to be zhere," she promised.

Klaus glowered just a little. "You weren't going to tell us this before we got changed?"

"Und spoil my fun?" She lightly waved them away and headed out of the locker rooms with Tazel, the fox offering promises that they would meet again soon. "Be zhere by noon," she shouted back.

"I thought you said we were going to go out to eat," Tazel stated.

"Too many people," Hildegard explained. "Und zhis vay it vill be much quieter, ja?"

Tazel nodded. "Yes, that would be nice." She peered around to take in the whole of the stadium again. "Where is your General Manager?"

"He vill meet us at mein home. He is excited to meet joo as vell." She sighed as they exited the practice arena. "Please, excuse most of zhem. I haff a team of rookies zhis year. Zhey likely don't know who joo are."

The fox smiled brightly. "That's okay. I don't know any of them, so this will be a good chance to get to know them. And the others..." She paused as they headed for Hildegard's car, and slowly her expression drooped. "I want to remember them."

Hilde paused with her. "Joo vill. From vhat I haff been told, joohad a wunderbar relationship mit Korber and zhe others. Joo should haff seen Velox's eyes light up vhen he remembered joo."

Tazel nodded, and smiled. "I was told that Jake and I had some sort of ... face off when I first took the reins of Tallahassee. I wish I could remember it... I wish someone recorded it." She turned to look back at the practice facility - a place she should have had firmly in her memories. "I wish I remembered a LOT of it."

"Patience, fuchs, patience," chastised Hilde as she opened the door to her car, letting Tazel slip in the other side. "It vill come with time. But now, vhe feast. How do you feel about sauerbraten?"

Tazel cocked her head as Hilde started the car. "I don't recall if I've ever had it." she admitted.

Hilde smiled even wider, those sharp teeth actually sending a bit of a shiver down Tazel's spine. "Oh, joo vill recall it after today, I promise!" The car sped off towards Hilde's favorite restaurant, for that quieter lunch before the party. They had many things to talk about, and hopefully many memories to reinforce in the vixen's brain.

But first... Sauerbraten and Bratwurst.With all the supplies already gathered and prepared at her house, Hildegard didn't have a difficult time setting up the party with all the fixin's. A few players here and there trickled in, with Filippo entering the scene not a second early, not a second late. "So, is this the vulpine of the hour?" he called as he rounded the corner to the backyard. The players waved cordially, while Tazel busied herself with trying to remember this man. "We haven't met," he stated to help quell her curiosity. "Filippo Arango, General Manager of the Typhoons," he offered with his hand.

Tazel gladly took it with one of hers. "It's a pleasure. My name is Tazel Tawner."

"Of course. I couldn't take on this job without knowing who you are." Hildegard was finishing plating some of the links from the grill, just in earshot of the two. "So you've decided to grace us with your presence, I see."

"Yes. Hildegard convinced me to come back for a visit. I think it will be good for me."

"My thoughts exactly." He pulled out one of his trademark cigars and lit it up. He made sure to blow in the direction of no one, as a note of propriety. "So are you excited about the game tonight?"

"Very. I haven't seen how this team works with all of the new players and Miss Tetreault."

He nodded. "It was a rough start, but they're making headway. Personally, I can't wait for the presentation."

"Excuse me, presentation?"

"Oh yes. I can't have the famous 'Spidercoach' return to Tallahassee without a proper welcome!" He seemed pleased with himself, despite having not explained what he planned to do. "You're a legend around these parts. The whole stadium has to know!"

Tazel began to blush severely, turning her indigo complexion somewhat purplish. "I... i don't want to intrude or be a bother. I just really would like to watch the game," she protested weakly.

"Nonsense!" Filippo said, waving away the statement. "I insist! I'd heard all about you from Carter, and from what I've heard, Tallahassee... probably all of Florida and the FBA would want to see you again!"

"I... but..."

"It's settled! I'll see you at the game. You'll have courtside seats - almost like you were sitting with the players again! Now if you'll excuse me... I have a strong need for a cuban coffee right now. It's a good thing I brought my own equipment." He grinned, seemingly proud of that fact. "I'll be right back!" he said, as he briskly walked to his car to get his coffee press.

Tazel nodded, her ears drooping. "O-okay." she stammered, her tail wrapping around her ankles, all her hands folded in front of her. It was obvious what her feeling was on what Filippo had intended, but she was not strong enough to counter the offer.

Carter. Who was Carter? The name rang familiar... she couldn't place the name. He must have been the GM, right? Someone Filippo replaced after she...

(("Don't worry, Carter, the team knows what to do. You can let me handle them, y'know!"))

Tazel shook her head. She had said that. She knew she did. When? She was holding something... up to her head. One of her hands, her right hands, clenched around an imaginary object. Held it up to her head. A phone. She was on a phone.

(("I'm sorry to hear you're thinking on leaving though...the office won't be the same without you."))

"Are joo alright?"

Tazel let out a yip as she became suddenly aware of Hildegard standing next to her. She dropped her imaginary phone hand down and nodded.

"Y-yes, sorry. I was just... something Mr. Arango had said. I was trying to remember... Carter..."

Hilde nodded. "Herr Clausen. He vas zhe GM vhen I took over. I haff not schpoken to him since he retired."

Tazel's ears lowered just slightly. Someone she was beginning to remember, and he was gone. She half-hoped the memories of other team players would wait until later to re-emerge, if at all. "Is he anything like Carter?"

Hildegard snickered and closed the barbeque she was working at. "I do not ssink Herr Arango is anyssink like ozher managers."

"Yeah...I heard about what happened last month."

Hildegard reached down for a beer from the cooler and paused. She smiled. "Ja. But zhat is old news. Wir are bohss in a better place, I ssink."

"What happened? If you don't mind my asking."

Tazel grabbed a soda for herself. She joined Hildegard in sitting next to the covered pool, overlooking the players having a grand old time with each other. It was a sight the hyena-rabbit was still getting used to. "Wir haff been gettink on each ozher's nerves. I did somessink unprofessional, und he punished me."

"Was it that bad?"

"I do not ssink so," she admitted, "but zhat is not zhe point. I vas beink childish. I also haff been considerink just how much Rolf Korber knows about me."

"You hired Rolf?!" Tazel said a little too loud. Though the two had been in mild contact, they did not discuss basketball as much as either of them had expected, veering more toward polite conversation than the alternative. And especially not about Klaus. "Why did you do that?"

"For mein own reasons. Rolf und I haff...history togehzer. It is better to haff him on mein team zhan a free agent."

Tazel got the impression that Hildegard was not saying the whole store, but if the outspoken coach was being reserved, it was probably for a good reason. "Mr. Arango informs me that there will be a presentation tonight?"

"Zhat does not surprise me. In zhe past year, wir bohss haff gotten nicknames. Zhe Demon Coach..." She tilted her bottle toward him from across the lawn. "...und zhe PR Prince."

"I'm apprehensive," Tazel said right out. "I didn't know there would be a show honoring me."

"It is not something you want?"

Tazel sat and thought for a moment. Even in her own needs, she considered those of others. Sighing, "No, it isn't."

Hilde cocked her head. "Vhy?" she asked, simply. Straight to the point.

"I... I don't really belong here. Not any more. I don't remember many people, and the things i do remember are..."

"But joo ARE remembering." interrupted the coach. "Zhat is gut, ja? Herr Clausen vas afraid joo vould never truly remember joor team."

Tazel earwilted a bit. "It's not my team anymore. It's yours. I'm no coach. I'm a ghost from the past and I certainly don't want to be paraded around as such."

Hildegarde studied at the ex-coach, the vixens' hands not holding a drink folded in front of her, a twitch in her indigo tailtip. "I do not fully believe joo." she admitted.

Tazel's brow furrowed. "Hilde, that's rather rude to..."

"I believe joo do not want to be 'paraded around' as joo say. But I zhink joo ARE a coach. Joo need to get your abilities back." Tazel stopped midsentence, and looked at her lone drink hand, studying it, letting the words bounce. Hilde managed a toothy smile. "Do not vorry. I vill talk to Herr Arango, und have him cancel zhe parade."

"Thank you, Hilde. I appreciate that."

No more words were spoken about it for the rest of the party.Post party found Tazel returning to her car. A basic sedan. Nothing high end, like what Clausen got for her during her coaching time. Though, she wouldn't go back to it if she was offered. It's been years, and she still has to look in the seat behind her in every car she gets into, no matter who's driving.

Functional, but not by much, when it came to driving. That one event burrowed the phobia so deep, she wasn't even conscious of it until someone pointed it out to her.

It was still light out when she found her car, parked with the others in Hildegard's driveway. She peered into the back seat, a couple times, just to be sure. Nobody was waiting for her. She couldn't be too careful.

"Coach! Hey, coach!"

Tazel's ears pricked and swiveled, turning around to face Klaus Korber and Neil LaRocca sprinting out of the doorway. "You weren't going to leave without saying goodbye, were you?" asked the ever-polite black cat.

Tazel had seen them play on TV. Knew the names. Where they were from. Everything that could be found on a trading card. Saw how they played. Ideas had formed in her head when watching them, wondering what she might have done differently. She was still relearning the game, but it was coming quicker than had she done so without her experience.

But now, they were here not as players, but as friends. Or something more. Tazel had a hard time remembering the specifics, but she did recall how she talked to most of her players. Not as players.

More like sons and daughters.

"Of course not Neil." she replied, smiling. "But I am coming to the game tonight, to watch you all win."

Klaus seemed very happy to hear that. Tazel didn't remember how much he smiled, but he was smiling now. "Good. You'll get a chance to see Dixie again. And see our newest, Elsa!" He was beaming with pride.

"You just had her, right?"

Klaus nodded. "Christmas eve last year. She's beautiful, and got a healthy set of lungs when she cries in the night for her feeding."

Tazel chuckled. "Familiar with that," she responded.

Neil cocked his head. "I didn't know you had a child," he said, confused.

Tazel shook her head. "No no... my adoptive family. We recently took on a baby that was abandoned at a nearby hospital. But the older siblings know how to take care of him, so I wasn't as needed."

"Ah," continued the cat, nodding. "So, when are you coming back for good?"

"Excuse me?" The vixen became a bit startled.

"Aren't you... returning to being our coach? It's been all around the locker room since you showed up." His slitted eyes looked hopeful, almost begging her to validate the rumors.

Tazel, however, was rather flustered. "I... I don't think that's a good idea. Your coach is a fine coach, and deserves the chance to leave her mark with you." She looked back to Klaus, who had less of a hopeful look, and more of a realistic one. One that warned Neil not to ask about that before the pair of them sprinted out their current coach's home.

"But you've gotta..." Klaus put his hand on Neil's shoulder.

Their former coach's ears were completely flat. "I'm sorry." She climbed into her car and pulled away quickly. Her heart panged heavily for her former players. But it wasn't her team anymore. Did she even want to come back?The game was on. For the specific reason of their special guest, the Typhoons played with a vim and vigor beyond their usual motivation. Hildegard took her usual post on the sidelines, shouting orders and commands that the rival Bangor's coach couldn't match. The veterans, even the rookies, especially Hildegard, wanted to win this for Tazel, whom sat safely in the skybox alongside the ever-persistent Filippo Arango.

The African Dog spent a decent amount of his time trying to convince his special guest to otherwise consider a rousing presentation. He remained professionally polite and hardly let up his efforts, but he kept a cautious distance, having had a slightly bombastic argument with the new head coach over the issue.

"This is outrageous," he had said. "I go to all this trouble for nothing."

"Zhis is not negotiable, Arango. Zhere vill be no presentation."

"But the public deserves to know! It would be a great motivator for the city."

"Zhey vill find out, I am sure, but not tonight. She is not ready."

Filippo couldn't argue with that notion, nor could he continue on when Hildegard was uncharacteristically calm. "You are protecting her?"

She crossed her arms. "I am doink vhat is right, Hund."

But that didn't stop him from trying. Tazel remained politely firm on her wishes. She just wanted to see the game and attempt to reminisce with the players. What persisted more than the manager was what Neil had said prior to the game. Come back, come back, she internally chanted. Just like her practice of checking the back seat, the idea was quashed immediately by her.

At least, that's what usually happened. Now, she wondered, contemplated, just how much she wanted it. She couldn't pinpoint her exact feelings, but she sensed a pull. Seeing a game in person for the first time in almost years, the memories - not the details, but the feelings - the nostalgia was overwhelming. A few times, she found herself cheering a little too loud in the otherwise professional skybox.

It wasn't necessarily a draw to this team, more of a reminder of the excitement one felt from being a fan of a sport. Something from her past. Her own experience with her high school. The Des Moines Blanks. Coaching High School. And the Tallahassee Typhoons. The longer she watched, the more she felt instincts returning. While not names for plays or specific executions, she knew that she knew what to do, how to call some things, even how her coaching style different from the overtly aggressive plays that Hildegard was known for.

That was it. She felt a kinship for the sport. Her heart pounded as she anticipated next moves, wondered how this new bench and the rookies played, wondered who was missing from the team she took to the finals.

As she clutched a bottle of water, waiting for the half, she felt relief in the form of what she had tried to tell Neil. It was not her team anymore.

And that was okay.

Tazel jumped up when the clock reached zero in the fourth quarter with a Tallahassee victory announced over the speaker. She regained her practiced control over her voice, but she couldn't help cheering silently.

Filippo chuckled. "You know, that is the Tazel that we all remember."

She snapped back to reality, at least the reality of the skybox. "Excuse me?"

"Your energy, that enthusiasm. Tallahassee remembers the Tazel that loved the game."

"Oh." She suddenly felt embarrassed, like being caught flexing in front of the mirror. "I figured the world just remembers..."

Filippo set down his drink and joined her in standing. "We remember that rata for doing something terrible to a lovely woman." He put a hand on her shoulder and smiled. "We remember you for being that wonderful person."

Tazel's mind darted to one of the most important facts she learned that night, more than the fact that she loved coaching, more than what the FBA meant and means to her, but this, this that Filippo, the eloquent speaker he is, made her realize. There were but a precious few that still considered her a victim. To most, she was a survivor, a personality lost to the FBA that could be recognized again. This put Filippo's presentation into context, despite her still happy that she was not put in the spotlight. The city, the team, they were healing just as much as she was, if perhaps not in the same way. Her trauma was communal. Not one felt it more blatantly and personally than her, but everyone felt something.

"If you don't mind, I'd like to say goodbye to the team," she told him.

He nodded. "Can we expect to see you again?"

Tazel smiled as the skybox emptied out, to go to the after-game meeting and another party. "I'd say that that's a distinct possibility."The team couldn't remember the last time they had a bash as vibrant as the one postgame. Every player seemed energized - the vets who remembered Tazel, and the rookies who fed off of their excess energy. The inspiration was palpable. And the celebration was even more so, the joy in the air felt by everyone, with food and drink in hand, raucous laughter, recounting some of the key plays in the game.

Tazel seemed to be the center of attention, rather than the player of the game for tonight, but only for the players, as Hildegard had such a tight rein on media security that she even "self-defensed" a reporter off of the campus before the game. Neil, Klaus, Jake, Charles - all made sure to help jar some fond memories. And some not so fond. Charles seemed reticent about recounting the steroid framing that almost took him out two seasons ago, but he did so for Tazel's sake, the vixen sad to be told, and slightly remember, the events.

It was all night, back and forth, discussion, talk, making the players smile with memories of their favorite coach, the FBA's coach of the year. Tazel was enjoying the time immensely. Her gaze flitted around the room during Velox's standard bragging of his pointage for the game, and saw Hildegard, standing near the liquor table, a beer predictably in her hand. She sipped it softly, looking at the Dawg Pack, seeming to be at their former glory. Yet she seemed a bit sad.

"Excuse me boys," said Tazel, patting each of them on the back at the same time, "I'd like to speak with your coach for a moment." They all nodded, parted, allowing her egress to Hilde's position. "Can we talk?" she asked softly, gesturing a hand to the outside area.

Hilde nodded. "As joo vish," she replied, and led the way out. Once suitably away from the group, the hybrid stopped and turned. "Zhey are gut players, all of them," she said abruptly. "Even zhe adler," she continued, smiling. "Vhen he vants to be."

Tazel nodded gently. "They're very good. And some of them are still just as good. But players, they need a strong hand sometimes as well as a soft voice."

"Ja, so it seems." Hilde nodded and sipped her beer again. "I haff never been good mit soft voices."

Tazel shrugged all her shoulders. "Practice, I suppose. It was the only way I could use a strong hand. It wasn't my style, but it was what was needed."

Hildegard paused. "Zhis vas not vhat joo vanted to talk about," she pointed out.

The vixen's muzzle smirked. "You are good at reading people, do you know that?"

"Of course I am."

Tazel let out a soft sigh. "Sitting there in the stands, I found myself remembering a lot about the game. Not specifics. Not plays. But feelings." She paused a moment, as she collected her thoughts. "I think I felt like I belonged in the game, but not as a coach, and not as a player, and not as a fan. Somewhere in between all that."

Hildegard sipped her beer as she thought. "Joo know, I haff been lookink for a reason to fire my assistant coach." She seemed incredibly serious, but then uncharacteristically laughed. Tazel overcame her discomfort and laughed, too. "I ssink I know vhat joo are sayink."

"I don't know if anything will happen from it, but... I want to thank you for bringing me here. I thought it would bring back my past to me, but in a way, I think it's shown me more of a future. Whatever I do, basketball will be involved. And I still love the FBA." She stopped for a moment more, and looked back to the party. "It's the people, really, that make the game," she finished, smiling.

Hildegard smirked as she looked on her players as well. "I am startink to learn zhis."

"You know, they do care about you. In their own ways. They look up to you. You may not realize it, but these players do respect you. Even the ones that claim you're a taskmistress or seem afraid of you. I don't think they are. If the Typhoons were zero and 25 or something, they wouldn't respect you, but they see the results. They know it's a different style. They know to adapt."

She sighed. "Perhaps. Zhey vant to be better, but wir all need to get zhere. Zhey vant more vins. Zhey deserve a chance to shine again."

Tazel beamed for a moment at Hildegard, who looked on confusedly.

"Vhat?" she asked, slightly irritated at the out of place grin.

The vixen shook her head. "For a moment... that last thing you said - it sounded familiar. Like something I would have said."

The hyena-rabbit looked almost horrified, before somewhat honored and turning her head. "Like joo are so smart," she scoffed, which was her own way of admitting defeat. "Don't joo haff somevone else to torture?"

"I suppose I could loom over Brad again, and make everyone laugh again," Tazel mused, grinning. "But I should say my goodbyes to the vets. I just wanted to say goodbye to you as well, specifically," The grin then faded. She held out a hand in all seriousness. "Thank you Hilde. For everything."

She wasted no time in response, "Danke." But she was smiling, which made Tazel's seriousness abate, and the vixen smiled as well. Something about smiles that was infectuous.

Tazel returned back to the party as Hildegard watched, the hybrid continuing to smile as she sipped her beer once more.

"Zhey are not zhe only ones who deserve to shine again, Frau."