Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sun beats down on the front stoop warming the stone and drying out the potted plants stacked down the right side of the steps. Tucked between a large pot is a dozing tuxedo cat. He is hidden in a small patch of shade with only his shoulders out in the sun and his arms stretched out in front of himself as if reaching for the other side of the steps. His small triangle ears stay up and open to listen to the hustle and bustle of the day. He heard rattling bike chains and bells, children, car tires, rattling gravel on the road; all of it normal everyday noise.

The sunlight flickers and then dims entirely on the small cat's face. He cracks one green eye open and is met with the sight of wild golden fur. So Mistoffelees closed his eyes and hides his face into the crook of his arm.

“What? That offended by my appearance?” The tom asks.

“Offended that you’re blocking my sun,” his whiskers spread out in the sunrays.

“Well fine then,” he sinks down, “better to see anyway.”

The sun returns to Mistoffelees fur, so he turns his face back out into the warmth. He yet again opens one eye to see Rum Tum Tugger staring at him and sat down on the step below him. He flashes a big grin.

“Now I am offended by you.” Mistoffelees huffs as he rolls onto his back then pushes himself away from the pots to let the sun warm his belly.

“You wound me. I just wanted to come and see you and say hello. See how you’re doing.” Rum says as he watches the slim body stretch out in front of him. Seeing how the sun makes Misto’s slick black fur shimmer. Seeing as the cat reaches across the step and above his head where the tips of his claws nearly touch the railing. "See how you're feeling after some rest."

“Is that really all?” Mistoffelees neatly folds his paws on his chest.

"Well I saw a lot of you a couple weeks ago. At the ball." Tugger begins to sit up again as his tail swishes behind him.

"I've been to the last 3."

"Yeah but you were really into it this year. I realized I never really introduced myself formally. Personally. As a cat of my station I should know everyone more intimately."

“You station,” Misto gives his head a little shimmy and waves his hands in the air dramatically. "I have been living here for four years now and I am very aware or you and your station. Rum Tum Tugger." Misto opens his eyes now to see that Tugger has moved and is sitting on the stoop with him, sat with his back to the orange plant pot and legs stretched out. "Plenty intimate enough."

Tugger looks down through his lashes, “My reputation precedes me.”

Mistoffelees rolls his eyes as he sits up and grabs his toes to stretch his back. "Because you yell it loud enough, we hear you before we see you."

"What's with the attitude, huh?" Tugger traces the curve of Mistoffelees spine with his eyes, "You act like I've stomped your tail."

"I'd ask you the same, the way you acted towards me during the ball. Seems you don't think well of me."

Rum's eyes widen and he reaches over to shake Mistoffelees hip. "I said amazing things about you! Your abilities!"

"You stroked my ego, so I'd exhaust my powers summoning your dad." Misto smacks the tom's hand and sits straight now and levels a look at the offending tom.

Tugger frowns. "That's unfair, above being my father, he is the Leader," his voice is toned down and serious. "He was taken, we were attacked."

Mistoffelees takes a deep breath and nods, frowning at himself. "That was unkind. I would have done it either way of course,” he assures. "I was just as worried. I was also worried I wouldn't pull it off with everyone watching me as this last hope."

"But I knew you could do it. I was sure of it." Tugger leans forward.

Misto straightens his back and watches closely. "I hope you don't call out to me in the future. I came as quickly as I could." He is quiet for a moment before he speaks again. "What do you want? This is awfully far from your house, and I'm sure you have plenty of things more fun that you could be doing."

"I don't mean to single you out or make you uncomfortable. You seemed to be enjoying yourself." Rum looks Mistoffelees over. "And I can come and go as I please."

"I was high on the thrill of the Ball and eager to prove myself. Too eager. I'm not a kitten anymore and I still dashed out in front of everyone and started lighting everything up," Misto's ears fold back, "I was struggling too, right from the beginning, but I still rushed to summon Deuteronomy."

"But it worked! You pulled it off with flying colors and everyone was amazed. I am always in awe of your powers." Tugger shifts forward, "we need that here in the clan. Your powers."

Mistoffelees tail lashes. "My powers, that's it, isn't it?" He pushes himself to his feet in a single easy movement. "Have a good day Rum Tum Tugger," he says, before heading down the steps.
Tugger follows quickly, also balanced and steady but not able to quite match the grace that Mistoffelees presents. "You really are being entirely unfair to me you know? I am talking about the good of the clan. Slow down and let's talk properly."

Mistoffelees purses his lips. "Then tell me why it is you really showed up to see me?"

Rum only offers a shrug at first, but when he spots the whipping tail he moves to speak. "The Ball. To make it up to you."

If Misto wasn't a head shorter he'd look down at Rum. "Make it up to me?"

"Yeah," Tugger leans in close with a grin, speaking low, “I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Let me make it better."

"Wow." Mistoffelees turns and continues to walk away, now heading towards the front gate of the park.

"Hey hey," Rum Tum Tugger speeds up.

"Not used to having to be the one doing the chasing, are you?" Misto sends a look over his shoulder before stepping behind a large oak.

Tugger swears he sees a sly grin on that face before it disappears. He takes it in the best way possible, so he composes himself, brushing up the golden fringe of his mane as he comes around the tree.

"What's all this about chasing?" He asks with his most dashing grin for his afternoon companion. But there is no one there.

He looks up into the tree, but it is empty. So then to either side but the park is quiet. Now he begins wandering around, "Mistoffelees?"

He was gone. "Magic," Tugger huffs and draws his fur forward around his face as he stalks back out of the park while hoping no had seen him bumbling around calling for the tuxedoed magician.

"Rum," Munkustrap says with surprise as the tom hops from the top of the backyard fence and onto the grass.

"Hello brother," he smiles as he comes up. He sees a familiar kitten there with one of the older queens. "Ladies," he nods.

The grey kitten fluffs up and smiles, "Oh hello Rum Tum Tugger."

The queen laughs softly, "Darling let's go along now. Thank you for your time Munkustrap."

She leads the kitten out while the brothers wait in quiet, watching as the two leave through a gap behind the shrubs. Munkustrap is sat on a patio chair so Tugger sits on the one nearest as well.

"How are you doing brother?" Tugger lounges back.

Munkustrap watches, "I'm doing pretty good, things have been busy after the Ball. We're searching harder for Macavity," he frowns slightly. "Either he's gone entirely silent or people aren't talking."

Tugger frowns as he listens, "Nothing then?"

With a heavy sigh Munkustrap shakes his head, then pushes fur back from his face. "That can't be why you're here. You don't tend to visit for official business."

"Wellll-," Tugger shrugs one shoulder, "you could sort of consider this official."

Munk raises a brow, "So my little brother hasn't come to say hello and catch up?"

Tugger clears his throat and sits up. "We should catch up. Soon. I'd like to hear about this Macavity business."

"I'd like to hear about your connections,” He lowers his gaze on his brother.

They both share a small nod.

"Well," Munk gets more comfortable and drops his official airs,” then what brings you by?"

Tugger leans back with a sigh, "Oh, well, I actually had just a small question."

"Shoot."

"Well you see,” Rum Tum Tugger waves his hand aimlessly in the air, “‘ve been asking around a little bit and no one seems to know where Quaxo lives."

Munkustrap frowns and rests his jaw in his hand as he listens but lets his brother continue.

"Most think he lives in the upper side, which makes sense,” Tugger motions towards the west," He's got the vibe of a house cat of doting women and prestigious boys."

"Huh," is all Munkustrap gets out at first as he just watches his brother. Unsure what is playing out in front of him.

Tugger keeps going, "He's got some sort of higher education, connections I'm sure. You know? Maybe he could help with the Macavity search!" Tugger slaps his knee at his own idea.

"He's done enough. He's having a hard time recovering after bringing Deuteronomy back like that,” Munkustrap is still in awe and confusion of what had happened, “Plus, I doubt he knows anything."

"We should be asking everyone,” Tugger insists,” That was a big stunt Macavity pulled.”

"It was." Munkustraps’s voice stays even.

"What are you doing?" Tugger scowls. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I don't know what it is you want," Munkustrap idly pushes his claws against the unwieldy fur of his cheek.

"I told you I want Quaxo's address.” Tugger is flustered under the questions he does not particularly want to answer.

"Why?"

"So, we can-."

"Do not say we," Munkustrap voice remains calm though it becomes firmer as he holds his brother in a steady gaze. "We are not part of this. This is you."

Tugger sits up straight, bristling. "Don't talk to me like that. Don't you want help with the Macavity issue?"

Munkustrap sits up. "I would have liked help when we were attacked." It's quiet now as they stare back at each other.

Tugger backs down after a moment, his eyes move down slowly and seeing where bits of fur are finishing growing back on Munkustrap's side. "You're healing well."

Munkustrap pats his side, "Yeah." He lets out a breath he had been holding with tensions lowering. "There's worse to come, I'm sure. But it's all in the job title." There is humor in his voice for that moment.

Now Munkustrap looks to his brother with a small frown. "But Tugger. Don't make this, whatever this is,” he motions to the space around them, “-into a spectacle. You’re acting like you'd rather come in here and piss me off then just tell me what's on your mind?"

Tugger waves a hand at his brother. "Well I wouldn't say that."

Munkustrap rubs his eyes as exhaustion sets in, “say it or I’m going in for lunch.”

"Quaxo.” Tugger winces at the way he shouts the name. “Did you get clawed in the ears?"

Munkustrap ignores the last part. "Why are you asking about him?" His voice quiets, "He's still recouping like I am. Don't say this is about Macavity, I know damn well it isn't," Munk leans his head down, "I'm your brother. I know you."

Tugger grabs at his mane and runs his claws through it to check for burs or tangles then gives a shake to make sure it's fluffed. "I want to talk to him and thank him for showing up and helping like he did."

"I'll send your regards," Munk assures.

"In person."

"How about this " Munk extends an offer, "Next time you see him you can ask him."

"Why are you hiding him?" Tugger asks.

"As you are fully aware, he is very private. You can see him around when he wants to be seen." Munk assures.

"You're no help, do you even know where he is?" Tugger's nose scrunches up.

"I'm the protector and storyteller. There's a lot of crap I know that I don't tell others." Munkustrap sits up more and begins watching over Tugger’s shoulder towards the back of the garden yard.

Tugger looks behind himself and sees another has joined them. Perched atop the rail of the wooden fence is a long limbed, thin furred, white and black cat. Alonzo is sitting there quietly and giving the two brothers space as he waits.

"Ahh. Your boyfriend has arrived. For have a date?" Tugger turns back to his brother, unable to resist a chance to tease and be a bother. "You two should have danced more at the Ball."

"He is my partner, not my boyfriend," Munk says shortly, "and I was busy."

"Partner is a trendy word for boyfriend." Tugger gets up, "I know when I'm not welcome."

"I don't really think you do," Munkustrap says as Alonzo hops down and heads toward them.

"Oh, I do. Sometimes it's fun to just stick around anyway." He keeps his feet planted as Alonzo comes up, watching Munkustrap fluster when he doesn't leave. "What?"

Before the tabby can reply, Alonzo is there. Alonzo is a tall and lanky cat, with wide ears, and thin, black blotched fur. He is a stray who has made a surprising addition to the clan as a protector, working alongside Munkustrap.

"Hello Rum Tum Tugger, it's good to see you," Alonzo gives an honest smile before he looks to Munkustrap.

"Hey Alonzo. Swear I barely see you around anymore." Tugger considers Alonzo a good guy, he can be more fun than his brother at times. "I'll have to split though and see you another time." Whether this is official business or a date, Tugger doesn't really want to be in the way of either. "See you both around," he says as he heads for the shrubs. He finds himself hoping it is a date and his big brother would take a break.

"Alonzo," Munkustrap speaks as his brother disappears from his garden, "I need to talk to you." He gets to his feet and nods towards the house. "Come on inside. There's something I think you should know."

Chapter Text

Tugger slips into a familiar alley and spots his close friend sitting cross legged on a small crate. He hops up and joins him with one leg hanging off the side and the other slung over his friend's knee.

A tiger stripe tom occupies most of the crate already but accepts the company. "Hey there Rum," Mungojerrie leans their shoulders together as they relax. Their wooden seat is an empty crate that claims to have held produce. It’s thrown out amongst the other rubbage behind this busy tea house.

"Where is your sister?" Tugger pulls his tail out over his lap.

Mungojerrie shrugs and motions to businesses behind them. "She's trying to schmooze some Dinner. What brings you here?"

"Ooh just out and about seeing what there is to see." Tugger is relaxed around his friend, not worried about his self-image or other judgements.

"There is quite a lot to see," Mungojerrie points down the far side of the alley, "some sort of free fair in the central park that way."

"I saw that."

"Was you out at the park?" Mungojerrie is a very expressive cat and his nose wrinkles up tight and his lip curls on one side.

"For a little bit yeah. Just a minute or so." He gives the orangish tabby a shove. "I actually wanted to ask you something, pick your brain."

Mungojerrie nods but he sits more forward now.

Tugger pauses. "What? You look ready to bolt." He looks around to see if something was happening around them.

"Well. I already talked to Munkustrap. You two are brothers after all." He looks sheepish.

Tugger rolls his eyes. "Not about any of that back-alley business. I don't think you had anything to do with that vile act." He reaches up and squeezes Mungo's shoulder.

"Thanks Rum," he sighs, "I was real worried ya know?"

"We all were. But that's not what I want to talk about. You're a savvy cat, you know a lot of things people don't speak loudly about. You know Quaxo?"

"Oh!" He perks. "That little tuxedo fellow, high society type."

"You come from The Grove! Does he live up there? Or hangout near."

The brow furrows and lips pursed out. "Well huh. Come to say I don't really know him too well.”

"Much about whom?" Rumppleteazer comes skipping up, a napkin ruck sacked over her back.

"Quaxo? That twinkle toed prep." Mungo eyes his sister’s bundle.

She sits cross legged in front of them both and opens the bundle on her lap to show a tuna fish tea sandwich. No crust. "That pip squeak with the bow?"

Mungo leans down and helps himself. "Yeah. He's gotta live by the house huh?"

"Ppsshh," she shrugs and hands Rum Tum Tugger a chunk. "Beyond me. I only ever see him with the kittens and uppity old men."

Tugger's ears perk in their rambling. "Kittens?"

"That white one," she shoves a piece in his mouth, "they spend a lot of time together. I was real surprised they didn't hook up at the ball." She speaks around the chewing.

Tugger takes a bite to keep quiet as he flusters at the idea. Thankfully his friend speaks his thoughts more casually.

"They a pair? She lives up in the grove."

Rumppleteazer shrugs yet again. "Dunno. Don't run with them much."

"What old men?" Tugger pipes, hoping he sounds more casual then it feels.

They don't seem to notice. "Well," Rumppleteazer swallow her bite, "well, at least he visits with Old Skimbleshanks.”

“Yeah yeah. They like meeting up-,” Mungo looks at his sister and laughs, “here. Yeah. That’s why I ever see ‘em.”

Rumppleteazer pauses and twists her face up just like her brother had a minute before. "What we doing talking about Quaxo? "

"Rum Tum Tugger here was asking about him." Mungojerrie's twists up the same again. The two twins looking especially the same. "Why you asking?"

“Oh well you know,” Tugger shrugs casually and smiles, “A cat of my station should be friendly with everyone.”

“You’re station?” Mungojerrie asks.

“Yeeaah,” Rumpleteazer shakes her head, “Since when do you give a flying fish about your station?”

Tugger reaches down and swipes another piece of sandwich. “I care,” He exclaims then takes a bite. “The bureaucratic, counseling type crap just isn’t my style. Munku has that covered.”

“So,” Rumple drawls,

“So-,” he pauses, “I’m more the face. The charismatic one.”

She doesn’t miss a beat, “Munkustrap is real pretty.”

“He is,” Mungo agrees, “Don’t swing like that but he’s handsome.”

“Alright,” Tugger gets to his feet, “Think I’m done with this dinner date. Good to see you two.”

“Aww,” Mungo calls after him, “Didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know how you meant it. Don’t worry. I really do have things to get to.” Tugger waves over his shoulder and slips out of the shady alley and back into the dusky sidewalk.

______

Alonzo is frowning and drawing his claws through the feathered fur on his neck. “So, where is he?”

Munkustrap presses his lips into a line for a moment before sighing. “Please don’t take offence but I’m going to keep that to myself still.”

“That’s fair, I understand now.” Alonzo assures. As he watches the silver tabby he reaches over and rests on hand on Munku’s knee. “Hey. You’ve been way too stressed. Let’s go out, get a drink.”

Munkustrap looks up at him for a moment and then sighs, putting his hand on Alonzo’s. “Yeah. Yeah, I can’t argue that. A drink could be nice.” He squeezes Alonzo’s hand. “Just,” he sighs, “one last thing.”

“Of course.” He softens his voice as he’s becoming worried about his dear partner.

“You’re on the streets more than I am. Especially now, and I know I’ve been asking a lot of you, I really do.”

“Hey hey, calm down. I don’t mind, I’m here to help you. The clan.” He bumps his head against Munku’s.

Munkustrap returns the gentle rub. “Alright. Well- please keep an eye on Rum Tum Tugger. My brother is asking about Quaxo and I can’t figure out why. He makes friends with the alley cats and the twins.”

“You don’t think the twins-”

“No no! I really don’t think they have anything to do with the ball.” Munku shakes his head. “I do know that they have connections to the crime circle, and inherently Macavity. Even if they don’t see him personally. They could be manipulated.”

“And that could mean-”

“Tugger is just doing a favor for his friends trying to find Quaxo.” Munkustrap holds a steady gaze with Alonzo.

“What,” He pauses and figures his words, “What do I do if he manages to find the residence?”

Munku’s ears fold back a bit and his voice remains hushed though steady. “You drive him off and either bring him to me or find me as quickly as you can.”

Alonzo squeezes his hand tightly, “Of course, leader.” The quiet draws on. “Okay. Time for that drink.” Alonzo takes on a more commanding tone through his smile. He stands and yanks Munkustrap to his feet. “Let’s go.”

With a thankful smile Munkustrap nods, “Well, lead the way.”

___________

Tugger is familiar with where the kittens like to hang out and hopes to spot Quaxo amongst his friends. The little clique being a mix of up town, suburb, down town, and even stray cats meant they all found a middle ground to spend time. The overgrown courtyard of an elderly man’s house has been the kitten hang out for many years now. Tugger himself can remember growing up and causing trouble there. He hasn’t been back in a while now as he could be overwhelmed by the attention he received.

As he comes, he makes sure to creep up and peer through the gate to see if Quaxo is even there. Sure, enough he spots curl eared cat is sitting on the edge of a planter bursting with overgrown shrubbery. Tugger stops a moment to check his fur, pushing his quaffed hair do, and takes a deep breath as Quaxo is far from the only cat in there.

Amongst the sound of playful laughing Tugger pushes through the wedged open metal gate. It is a tighter squeeze then he remembers it being and he takes that with some pride. He doesn’t get long to dwell on it though before eyes are on him, Tugger is thankful he recognizes them all.

“Rum Tum Tugger?” Pouncival is hanging from a tree branch by only his claws. He lets go and falls to his toes with ease.

Everyone turns to look to the gate so Tugger smiles, “Hello everyone. Up to no good?” He makes sure his eyes don’t linger on Quaxo, mostly just not looking at him at all. “I sure hope.”

Tumblebrutus shrugs one shoulder, “Eeh. It’s been pretty boring.”

“It’s cold.” Jemina’s voice is very soft and squeaky, this would be her first winter. She is piled on a dilapidated wicked chair with a tortoiseshell female who seems to be asleep.

“It’s chilly.” Tugger agrees.

Pouncival comes up and holds out a fist, “We’ve mostly just been keeping out of the wind.”

Tugger bumps her fist with a smirk. “Grow a winter coat your whiners.”

“I’m sorry we aren’t all walking shag carpets,” Tumblebrutus jabs.

Tugger gives him a side eyed look, “You wish you had this coat,” He drags his claws through his mane.

When he finally looks to the large planter on the fence wall, he sees Quaxo still sitting there and pressed together with the white kitten, their tails wrapped around each other as they stay warm. His left hand is held out flat between them and she is occasional tracing her fingers over his palm. His right hand would flash quick signs.

Tugger remembers now that this kitten was a yearling as well, but she was also deaf. Shit. He does not know any sign language, she is the first deaf kitten in the clan in a few years. As he watches the group interacting and milling about the courtyard it seems he is in the minority.
He draws himself up and heads in their direction, watching Victoria’s surprised expression and she her hands move quickly. Whatever it was she had said Quaxo’s response is shaking his head and rolling his eyes.

She looks back, “Hello!” Her voice is squeaky and a little raspy.

“Hello,” Tugger replies with a grin. Up close he can see the fluffy white curls that make up her coat and the striking blue eyes. “Do you understand me?”

She nods with a wide smile. “I can. Little bit.”

Tugger cocks his head to the side. “I’m confused.”

Quaxo clears her throat after being so pointedly ignored. “She can read lips fine.” He informs the tom.

“Ah. That’s impressive.”

“Thank you!” She perks up with a little shimmy.

“Well, you have a lovely voice.” He winks at her.

She gasps softly and covers her mouth with a surprised sound. She looks at Quaxo and pats his chest before signing to him.

Quaxo sighs, “I bet you have a lovely voice too.” He looks to Tugger. “Her words. Obviously.” A coy smile curls on his lips.

“Of course,” Tugger nods and returns with his own smile. “Well!” with them on the planter they’re basically eye level. “If you two pretty kitties are cold how about we go find a warm place for dinner?”

Victoria points at Tugger and then to herself.

“Yes! You. Both of you,” Tugger encourages.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Quaxo drawls.

Tugger purses his lips and motions to the young tom, “Victoria! He doesn’t want to join us.”

She turns towards Quaxo and grabs his arm, shaking him, repeating a sign over her heart.

Quaxo stops her and nods, “Okay Okay.” He gives Tugger a look. “Manipulative.”

“Me? No,” He shakes his head and holds both hands out to them to help them down, “I just know what I want.”

Victoria takes his hand and gracefully jumps down to her toes.

Quaxo raises on brow before taking the offered hand and stepping down in a long, smooth motion. “Well. I am assuming this is that apology you promised the other day?”

“It can be,” Tugger lowers his gaze to hold Quaxo’s.

“So, it could also not be?” He tilts his head causing the curled ears to bounce.

“Well,” Tugger is still holding Quaxo’s small hand and draws him near before offering his arm, then looks at Victoria with a smile and offers his other, “I could apologize at another time. Just the two of us.”

Victoria moves in close, trying to keep herself from getting too excited. She looks across the courtyard of her other friends. The girls are staring with wide eyes and the guys are sat in the grass looking mostly confused. She just smiles at them and leans into the Tom to steal his warmth.

Quaxo sighs very put upon and takes Tugger’s arm, “Well,” He smiles, “guess I will have to see how apologized to I feel.”

Tugger turns them and guides them back out of the yard, having to pass through the gate in more of a chain. “That seems fair.”

Quaxo doesn’t respond and instead looks to Victoria and signs to her. Tugger isn’t sure what to do as the two of them talk silently across him.

“Victoria,” Quaxo speaks up again, “Want’s sausage.”

“Sausage?”

“Yes. German food?” Quaxo raises one brow.

“Sausage,” Tugger looks to Victoria, “Whatever you want.”

Quaxo is watching closely as the two interact and can’t help his smile. He decides to look away instead and study the busy sidewalk. Victoria is laughing. Whether or not she entirely understands the tom she does seem to be very much enjoying the attention and Tugger's fumbling. Tugger, for what it is worth, is doing his best to talk with her.

If only Tugger signed. Maybe Quaxo could teach Rum Tum Tugger to sign. Just to speak to Victoria of course. Because everyone should know signs. That’s all.

Quaxo looks back to his companions. As he's watching he decides that if this little dinner goes. If it seems those two are getting along then, and only then, Quaxo decides he would extend the offer.

Chapter Text

Tugger is on his way home in the dark of early night. He passes through the front yards of the homes of his neighborhood, skirting bushes and ducking under gates and fence bars. He has just dropped Victoria off at her home to make sure the deaf kitten made it safely in the treacherous city streets. Tugger laughs to himself at that idea, that the neatly paved and lit streets she lived in could be seen as dangerous. But certainly to a small, deaf kitten, something like an irritable raccoon or an unseen dog could cause issues. It was nice that Quaxo had gone with them, Tugger believing his suspicions that Quaxo did live up there in the opulent areas was being confirmed, but then he had said he would be staying with her for the night. This was of course, after Tugger had offered to take him home as well.

“Oh no,” The tuxedo shook his head, the curled ears giving small bounces. “Thank you though, Rum Tum Tugger.”

Tugger had paused a moment, considering to press the matter, but Victoria took Quaxo’s hand and pulled him towards the pet door at the back of the house. Quaxo gave a small wave before turning and trailing behind her into the manor of her home.

Tugger’s thought are pulled away from the festive events of his evening and onto the surprisingly pressing moment at hand. He feels the eyes before he can pinpoint them. Tugger’s gait slows and his ear flick before he ducks under another hedge into the next front garden. His steps slow more as he moves towards the center of yard, peering upwards into the old growth elm.

“Alonzo?”

Tugger levels his gaze with the tom perched in the tree top.

“Hey there, Tugger,” Alonzo shifts in a feigned motion of relaxation while inside he curses himself for poor hiding. Admittedly he had not expected Tugger to be very perceptive, and knew his hiding had been more than sufficient in most cases. It is dark, the tree is tall and still bearing thick, waxy leaves. The wink is brisk and rapid, dispersing smells and dust in every direction.

Tugger stops at the base of the tree and looks up curiously. “You need to come inside for the night?” The breeze earlier this afternoon had been chilly, but the night wind had a bite. If the stray wanted a chance to duck into his home, Tugger didn’t mind. Though his brother's house was only a few blocks away. So why was Alonzo here?

Alonzo shakes his head, “I’m headed towards the junkyard. Don’t worry.” He steps down a few branches, now just a few feet above the other. “You’re out late. Bet your old lady is looking for you.”

Tugger scoffs, “I get home whenever I feel like it. She knows better than to stay up waiting.” He peers over his shoulder in the distant direction of the junkyard. In his head he is trying to think of where Alonzo might have been spending his evening to have crossed through this neighborhood on the way to the junkyard. He can’t really come up with any good reason Alonzo should be over here, let alone hunkered down in some tree. Maybe a dog, or a possum.

“What are you doing out tonight?” Alonzo looks in the direction Tugger had come. He had clocked Tugger coming from some blocks away when the large tom had crossed under the crackling orange haze of a sodium vapor light.

“I was out with friends,” Tugger eyes Alonzo now. This moment was strange, and he is not unaware of the weight of it. “Yourself?”

“Having dinner,” Alonzo echoes Tugger’s tone.

“With Munkustrap?”

“With friends,” Alonzo lies smoothly.

“Well I’m sure you’ll get that date soon. Just go for it. Poor thing needs some company.” Tugger laughs and turns back towards his house. “Stay warm Alonzo.” He says and. Now he trots off again. Now he stays alert to the other cat and notes to himself that Alonzo does not move from the tree. Alonzo doesn’t follow him to his home but also not heading off to any warm burrow, and even when Tugger make it inside and crouches down behind a living room curtain knowing he is surely unseen, Alonzo does not leave the tree for sometime. Pointed dutifully towards his house.

This moment would be the first of many strange occurrences that Rum Tum Tugger would experience. All of it coming to light in one heated moment when slander was spoken to his face of his disloyalty to the clan. Tugger would reflect those accusations back on the others, but in the name of family. Not now though, there is some time for that to come, just as there are still leaves left in the trees.

Alonzo does finally break to the junkyard and join kittens inside a small cave created by a worn-out mattress sunk over the top of a tire.

---

In the first moments of dawn Alonzo and Munkustrap sit close together. They have pushed through a small busted gap in a screen door that leads into a small room holding a hot tub. It’s part of a prosperous family’s home, with glass windows heavily fogged in the chilly morning air. Water beads collect in the condensation and run down where the mark clear streaks in the white haze. The octagonal room is populated by green plants that are thriving in the artificial tropics.

Munku handles the cold decently with his coat puffed up and thickening over the past week, making him look much larger than his natural frame underneath. Alonzo though is lithe and sporting little hair, save for the feathers of his neck and the long mane of his tail. So, he begins to purr softly as he settles in a weak morning sun patch that is streaking across the faux, leather topped of the hot tub. It is even warmed from beneath by the artificially churning water.

“Did you eat?” Munku asks, thinking he’d take his partner to his place when the sun was stronger.

“Yeah,” Alonzo assures. “A deli on the way here burnt a chicken and tossed it out. Shared it with the kittens.”

Munku’s heart warms and he smiles. “Great.” The quiet in this space isn’t full silence, the heated tub rumbles and gurgles softly as it keeps itself hot. They sit in the comfort, warming noses and toes until Alonzo speaks up again.

“Your brother didn’t do much last night.” Alonzo says. “Only saw him on his way home.” He frowns then. “He was coming from the upper ends of the city, though.”

“Might have visited Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer.” Munku offers. “They’re all close.” Which is currently one of his worries. The tensions in the air haven’t entirely settled across the clan. There are still whispers, still questions and concerns.

“Maybe.” Alonzo doesn’t sound convinced. “I’m not sure where he lives. Quaxo.”

Munku shakes his head, “Not up there,” is his short answer.

“Fair.” Alonzo has been sitting with paws tucked under him to warm his toes but now he stretches and lays out on his side His long limbs stretching out in their full length and sun pours across his belly. He closes his eyes and sighs softly, appreciating the warm, quiet spot they have here. Comforted by easy air and eachother company. He fights any smile that might have spread when he feels he is being watched. The weight of eyes heavy on his body. His whiskers spread despite his poker face.

Alonzo opens his eyes again, “I’ll keep an eye on him still.” Munku’s gaze flickers away from him and then back up, whatever expression he had been wearing falls more serious now and is joined by a nod.

“Yeah. Yes. Keep it up, thank you.” Munku taps his claw against the wooden floor.

Alonzo does not like the expression Munku is wearing, the one he has often had with this topic the last few days and again now. It’s heavy and it causes Munku to stare in some vague direction. Now he lifts his head and begins looking off in another, eyes narrowing just abit against the light of the sun.

“I won’t be home much today,” He tells Alonzo. “I’m going to go on patrol.”

“Oh.” Alonzo’s answer is surprised and short. He nearly offers his company before remembering he already has his task. “Be careful. Please.” Cats, non Jellicles, have been prowling around more recently. Speaking with kittens and caught snooping around the junkyard. Rats have been common in alleys far too well-lit and populated for their nasty faces to be regularly seen.

“Just a patrol. I won’t engage with anything. We have to make sure to reinforce our presence before the enemy gets too bold.” His ears as turned back now, tail twitching about.

“It’s weird right?” Alonzo asks as he sits up more. “Macavity takes Deuteronomy but we don’t know why. Just to show he can? To ruin the ball? Why. Why would he care,” he shakes his head? “He doesn’t even know what the ball is about.”

Alonzo waits for some agreement. A grunt, a single word. Something.

It is silent.

Even the machine below him is quiet now as it is satisfied with its internal temperature. “Munk?”

“He’s angry.” Munku finally says. “He took Deuteronomy for those exact reasons. To show he could and try to ruin the ball. But he didn’t come back after we got him back.”

Alonzo scoffs, “Well he had no idea how we did it. How HE did it.” He shakes his head slowly, “I hardly do.”

“Magic.”

“Obviously.” Alonzo steps down from the tub now. “You’re not saying something.”

Munku scrunches his nose, “Huh?”

“It’s a secret. I get it. This is all a secret.” He looks over Munkustarp’s tense body. “But these aren’t a lot of secrets, are they? It’s one big one.”

Munku calmly holds Alonzo’s gaze. Silent.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” Alonzo leans forward.

“Don’t say that.” Munkustrap doesn’t move.

“He didn’t grow up here.”

“Plenty of kittens come from across the city,” Munku shakes his head, “Genetics are funny.”

“Only Jellicles have magic.” Alonzo nods, “I’m not claiming he’s not one of us. But he’s not from around here.”

“Jellicles all over the world.” A grey paw makes a sweeping motion towards the windows.

“Only Jellicles have magic.” Alonzo repeats.

“Yes yes.” Munku nods. “Only...Only Jellicles can control the lights, float, summon, disappear!” He looks back to his partner. “Now just. Just hush.”

Alonzo holds the gaze calmly. “Who are you describing?” He asks, barely above a whisper.

A shiver rushes down Munkustrap, leaving his fur puffed out. “Hush.”

Alonzo nods, softening his gaze and stepping forward. “I’d never say a thing.” He whispers. Now he hesitates only a moment before bumping his head against Munku’s and then licking his cheek to smooth down his fur and whiskers. “I’m good with secrets.”

“You’ve been getting worse ya’ know? The others are talking.” Munku’s voice has softened, playful now.

“You are not doing any better, dear leader.”

“I am not the leader,” Munku laughs, tired despite the growing morning.

It’s quiet again, the soft drip drip drip of water drops falling from the windows and onto damp wood or thick green leaves.

“Let’s get going yeah?” Munku draws away, returning a slight kiss to Alonzo’s ear before they part ways and push back out the loose door screen.

---

There are many Jellicles across the world, many clans, though the one of London is one of the larger ones, if not the largest. The night of the Jellicle moon happens a few times a year, a special night for certain parts of the world. It is not known by anyone except the Great Cat themselves exactly how many cats ascended to the Heavy Side Layer every year. One of every clan taken into the embrace of the heat by guidance from their respective leader, of course. But also there is the occasional Jellicle who exists alone, possibly a farm cat, or a stray in a forest, that does not know how to find a clan. But still they know in their heart the name Jellicle and that they firmly belong. Even those lone cats take the night of the Jellicle Moon to sit and celebrate in it’s light, alone, in their own way. It is then on a rare occasion that they may see a light on the horizon. A distant field suddenly alight in the night, a single house burning, maybe a line of brush fire; they are compelled on fragments of knowledge but a deep understanding that they have been chosen. So they quietly will enter the heat alone and ascend, being more fairly reborn in the love of a clan.

This is all to be said that there are many Jellicle cats across the world and even those entirely alone are still, very certainly, Jellicles. Being a Jellicle simply means, despite many descriptors, that a cat has been born a Jellicle. Even terrible cats are still Jellicles, unkind, cruel, devious cats, are still Jellicles. Even when they are sent from their clans and scorned from afar they are still wholly, a Jellicle.

These things must be said and made clear so this can finally be said. Some Jellicles are sent out of their clan. Some ask to return and are forgiven. Some do not want to come back and leave to be with themselves. Some are cast out and they stay close to wreak havoc. Some are terrible. Some are the worst. But they are still Jellicles.

Chapter Text

Affair of Affairs 4.3
10/17
4900+

Munkustrap is traveling down the sidewalk at an easy pace. While he is in no rush, he is very alert with his ears up and on full swivel and his eyes flicking about in every direction. He is patrolling the center of the Jellicle Clan’s city territory. They all work to make these few blocks a safer place for the whole clan to relax, sleep, and play. Where they wont have to fear raccoons or stray dogs in every alley. But what has begun to show its filthy face in broad daylight is the sewer rat population.

Before the Ball it was something noted but not stressed over too much. As the cold arrives every winter, these unsavory creatures always push further into the city to search for food. When the nights start to come earlier and stay longer, it is common sense for everyone to travel together. The clan makes sure to watch out for each other and everyone is smart to end their days and turn into homes and dens earlier. This is not only to keep warm but also safe from more aggressive predators or desperate dogs. But even when winters set in the shivering raccoons and other issues stick to nights to avoid humans more than the cats. This rat activity is proving more and more strange, and significantly more distressing.

Rats are being seen in groups, appearing farther and farther into the Jellicles territory. Not only are the seen in dumpsters behind the main streets, or scavenging at the fringes of the junkyard. They are being seen on ledges or in the park in broad daylight and are reportedly slinking along the flower beds in lines of three or four. More and more reports have been rolling in like the other day when Jellylorum had visited with Etcetera. The two of them complained that they had seen rats climbing boxes and scaling a building. They had been knitting on the roof when their pointed faces appeared.

--

“They didn’t run,” Jellylorum says, appalled. “They reached the top and they saw us.”

“They just stared at us,” Etcetera shakes her head in something akin to awe. “I never seen one that close.”

“I certainly haven’t for some time. Not sense the winter of blizzards.” The queen shakes her head solemnly and pets her companion between the ears. “I kept expecting them to move away. It wasn’t until I got up and charged them did those vermin back off. They didn’t even leave either. They stayed on the ledge and watched us leave.”

“They made a hole in the garden wall.” Etcetera adds.

Munku had been listening intently as the ladies spoke, but now he felt more fear than frustration. “Garden wall?”

“Yup. Where we hang out, the garden? The Old Garden?” She points off to the east.

“I’m familiar,” Munku waves her on.

“Yeah. We aren’t really sure when it showed up, but it was definitely over this weekend.” Etcetera shrugs.

“After the Ball,” Munku says to no one in particular but is then echoed anyway.

“Yeah, after the ball,” The kitten agrees. “There’s this chewed hole through the bricks. They came in and messed stuff up and must have gone in the house too. There’s traps around the doors and the cellar.”

Munku is thinking a thousand miles a minute. The Old Garden is far into the city, farther than he thought the rats have been coming. But also, why the garden? There is no food, the old man who lives there doesn’t even feed the kittens who visit. He is just on the side of kind or uncaring enough to not chase them off.

“No one should go there alone. Tell all the others that understand?” He leans down more on Etcetera’s level now, seeing her wide eyes. She’s always been an energetic one. “If you or anyone else shows up and it’s empty, leave and go find a friend instead. Preferably more than just two of you. Is the hole still there?”

“No, we complained about it to Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer. They got some heavy bricks in there somehow.” She laughs, “I couldn’t pick of those up in my life.”

“Those two can do most anything when they get together,” Munku laughs. “Epitome of teamwork in them.” It is then that he notices his brother appear on the fence railing where he sits down. At the same time a thought crosses his mind. “Why were those two there? Did someone go find them?”

“Mmm, No.” She shakes her head after a moment of thought. “They came to hangout.”

“Oh. That’s nice of them.” Munku nods and peers up at Tugger now and his brother approaches, ending the conversation.

--

Munku replays this moment now as he passes down main street. He is weaving each block and checking each alley. He knows he shouldn’t be thinking so hard on it and thinking so poorly of the twins. He doesn’t exactly keep up with them very closely, maybe they visit and hangout with the kittens often? Surely, they liked to play around and show off, be terrible influences to the young and impressionable. But what had they asked about? What had they said? Who had they talked to?

Had he been there, with the other kittens, playing and talking with everyone else. Had he been laughing at Jerrie and Teazer’s antics and buddying up to the pair? They are terribly charismatic after all. Had Quaxo said something? Would he have even said anything? Surely not he is plenty smart. But the other kittens? Well, they must not know anything any way or the very literal cat would have been let out of the bag.

This train of thought is ended very sharply when he sees a familiar face. A large, round, and beaming face. Bustopher is proudly, if not slowly, walking down the sidewalk on the other side of the street. Munku had noticed him a little while ago entering another pub which assumedly he had just left. That isn’t what causes the hair to rise along Munukstrap’s neck, oh no. It’s the three oily looking creatures perched at the edge of one awning and watching Bustopher. He seems clueless to their presence and hops up into a planter to sun and groom himself.

Munkustrap hides himself now and slinks his way across the street in a crowd of people. He forced to take his eyes off the rats so he can dodge and weave feet. When across Munku ducks beneath someone's chair as they have their lunch above him. The rats are moving, using roofs to slink their way down the block towards Bustopher Jones. Munku starts heading straight for the planter, picking up pace when these vermin are so bold as to leap into the tree that is rooted in the surrounding planter. They do not even attempt to hide themselves in the rust and red colored leaves. This tree is still holding thick clumps of vibrant leaves while many are near bare. The rustling causes Bustopher to look up and bristle. He scrambles to his feet when the three large rats start to heckle him from above.

Munku breaks into a sprint now, charging in front of people and leaping into the planter. As lands heavily and sun bleached wood chips scatter into the street.

“You are not welcome here!” Munkustrap shouts up the trunk where he stands between the tree and Bustopher. He moves forward, stretching up and sinking his claws into the bark to haul himself up the tree. “Jones! Get going.”

“Oh yes yes,” Bustopher turns and hops down and wades into the crowd to find a place to duck into.

Munku yowls with fury and begins climbing in great, bounding, leaps. He nears one rat before is skitters to the end of the branch and throws itself to the ground with a frightened cry. The other two chatter in the broken language of rats, which Munku knows little of, and they do the same. The rats are quick to regroup and scutter together on the sidewalk like the festering hive mind they are. From this mess one forms some sort of leadership position and charges after the fat tom cat.

In utter bewilderment Munku shouts from the tree, “Jones! Behind you!”

Bustopher looks back, sputtering as he is faced with assaulting rodents. Puffing up Bustopher Jones takes off down the nearest alley in his best version of a sprint. “I do not know what you are blathering on about you rancid imps!”

They all disappear from Munku’s sight now. He curses and has to clamber less graceful back down the tree then weave through a herd of humans leaving a pub. When he comes rushing into the alley he sees Bustopher is now holding his ground. Jones is facing the rats down, arguing loudly back and forth in the language of the underdark.

“I do not know what you are saying!” Bustopher breaks back into common language. His deep voice bounces off the high brick walls around them and trapped in a dead end just as they are. The response is chattery and warbled, the three vermin speaking over each other. “Do not think me a fool? I can hear your words, but your questions are nonsense and filth.”

Brown leaves scatter around Munku as he skids to a halt on the tacky alley pavement. “Go back to your sewer and tell you brethren to not show their faces here.” Munkustrap hunches his broad shoulders and his dark silver mane bristling around him. “Or your deaths will send the message.”

Surrounded on either side the rats panic. They move and pile up on each other to create a writhing, grimy, black, mass. The toms cannot make heads or tails of them and it causes their lips curl in disgust at the unnatural way they moved. It resembles a single mutated form that is convulsing and warbling incoherently. The mass bursts when one of the rats leaps straight at Munkustrap in furious screeches.

Munku rears back, roaring as he slams it away with a powerful paw to send the rat into the left brick wall. What he is less prepared for is the second rat shadowing this one. It scutters along the potted pavement, appearing to be a splash of motor oil sliding towards Munku. It then takes a solid form and springs up towards Munkustrap’s open belly.

It makes a solid impact and the tabby goes down with a loud bawl of fury. He rolls with it, kicking it away with his hind legs. It’s tiny, twitching hands grip the tom’s mane, holding on and snapping at his face. The teeth are yellow, resembling the linoleum tiles of abandoned public facilities. One bite gets close, too close, so close that Munku swears the rancidness of its rotted breath burns his eyes. That is when he gives up on subduing the parasite.

He plunges forward to return the snapping teeth but with much more success. His jaws clamp down into the small body for only a moment before tossing it aside. He rolls over and wretches at the burning, iron, taste coating his mouth and throat. It is a thick and oily texture that causes him to shake and spit.

He regains control of himself, still coughing and gagging when he turns back to Bustopher. Jones has beaten the third rat down on his own. The first rat spots the corpse of its companion causing it to turn and slide along the brick wall and into the sewer drain. Following now the third one squeezes from beneath Bustopher and joins its comrade.

“Bustopher,” Munkustrap jogs up to him. “Are you alright?”

Jones ‘Harrumphs’ as he straightens up, “I’m fine.” He assures. “How about yourself boy?”

“Might bruise,” He touches where the rat had hit his chest and belly, “But I’m fine.”

Bustopher takes in Munkustrap’s frazzled form and the darkness around his mouth and chin. Munku’s mouth is held open and he turns his head to the side to spit a few times as he continues to scan the alley.

“What,” Munk scowls. “What did they ask?”

Bustopher grunts with a sour look, “Let’s get you something to clear your pallet yes?”

“Somewhere private,” Munkustrap agrees, following Bustopher now.

-

Bustopher has brought Munku to the back basement of a pub in what appears to be the employee break room. He leaves Munku there for a minute with a ceramic bowl of water and assuring he won't be leaving the building. Munku takes this time to wash himself which turns the dish a pale, muddy brown as he washes his mouth and face.

It was rare that he has ever had to fight with such intent to kill. Mostly it's to frighten off opossums or an unruly dog. Other cats do kill more often. Some enjoy the sport of chasing a mouse or grouse while others are hunting for a meal and the taste of fresh kill. Munku has lived in a home most of his life and never much enjoyed the taste or ever had to rely on it. It is something even Alonzo must be more accustomed too he thinks. But no one eats Rats. Everyone knows they are foul, and their skin is filthy.

“Are you with us boy?” Bustopher is coming back down the steps now. This room is an old basement with stone walls which is accessible by only a steep wooden staircase. It’s filled with lockers, a few tables, and a dozen shelves with supplies for the kitchen.

“Hmm? Oh yes, yes. I’m here,” Munku smiles. It appears tired and his whiskers do not perk up around his nose.

Bustopher has a wooden tray with a cloth covering it which he sets in front to Munku now. Munkustrap takes the cloth off and wipes his wet face on it, seeing it come back mostly clean.

“You look right fine,” Bustopher assures him. “Eat.”

Munku takes it what is on the tray now and finds a bowl filled with small, thickly stuffed pastas and a rather striking thing. A glass of a very dark wine. Munku’s eyes that more intently.

“Go on,” Bustopher nods, “It is for you.”

“Most gracious,” Munkustrap smiles thankfully. He places both hands under the bulge of the wine glass and steadies it to drink from. The hard, fruity, slight burn of the wine washes away any lingering taste and feeling of the rat. With a few sips down Munkustrap warms down his throat and all the way to his toes. He lets out a heavy sigh and settles the glass back down before he takes a pasta in his claws and breaks it open. It release a cloud of steam filled with the smells of chiken, cheese, rich herbs. “Oh, cats above,” He mumbled before taking a large bite.

Munku settles down more now, crossing his legs under himself as hot food and hard wine relaxes him.

“You look like you have not slept well recently.” Bustopher has been quietly waiting for Munkustrap to have his meal. “You may be young, but you need rest if you think you are going to protect this clan.”

“Thank you but I assure you,” Munku laughs, “I’m fine.”

“And I assure you boy,” Bustopher shakes his head and stroking his whiskers, “You are not. Or. You soon won’t be if you worry yourself sick.” He takes a pasta for himself now and breaks it in half to eat. “I have a few years of life and wisdom on you.” He scrapes the filling out with one claw and eats it with a content hum.

Munku frowns. Bustopher comes from an older generation. He grew up with the likes of Skimbleshanks and Jenny Any Dots. The group had been raised by the elders like Jellylorum and Gus. Muku’s generation, himself, his brother, Alonzo, Demeter, they were all coming more fully into adulthood now while new kittens were filling out the next generation of Jellicles.

“But I fear more stress must be discussed now.” Bustopher eats the soft shell of the pasta and watches as Munku pointedly takes another sip of the wine. “Do you speak languages of the underdark?”

“I don’t,” Munku shakes his head.

“You should learn. Your position is important and you need to be able to communicate with other beings.” Bustopher frowns in his heavy jowls. “I know some. Enough. Those of us who lived through the blizzard are familiar with it.”

“So, you know what they were saying?” Munku leans forward, watching Bustopher across the tray.

“Yes.” Jones begins to tug at his whiskers. “They were asking about my sister.”

Despite the heat of the wine a cold manages to form in his chest. “How is your sister?”

“She is well. Still in the farm lands.” Jones says simply. “We keep in touch, I tell her how he’s doing.”

Munku nods. “That’s good.” He is frowning at the floor, studying the scuffs that have been buffed out over many decades. “Do you write or send word?”

“Both.” Bustopher nods. “She and Skimble still have times together on occasion.”

“Good for him.” Munku looks up. “Have you ever offered to bring her into the city?”

“She isn’t one of us,” Bustopher reminds him.

Munkustrap shrugs one shoulder, “She can’t take part in somethings, but she can still be with us. Still be family. We could keep her safe.”

“Bringing her closer to him again is more danger.” Bustopher shakes his head. “And he didn’t want her.” Bustopher unbuttons his coat at the warmth of the room.

Munku is watching intently but says nothing.

“The rats.” Jones takes a beat. “They were asking if she had had any kittens.”

“They know,” Munku hisses.

“Of course, they know,” Bustopher snaps back.” How could they not? Could he have drawn more attention to himself? Could he have made a grander spectacle of himself when we all damn well knew we were being watched?”

“We were distracted,” Munku defends, “We were all overwhelmed by what had happened. And it’s not like the others knew.”

“Rum Tum Tugger knows, and he is the one who spouted off!” Bustopher is riled up with his fur rising along his thick neck.

“He does not.” Munku straightens up. He stares Bustopher down now, waiting for the other tom to either calm down or challenge him. “Very few people know. Myself. The leader. You. Skimble. That is it.”

“Are you so sure?” Bustopher narrows his eyes.

“Yes. Unless Mistoffeles acted stupid on his own accord-.”

Bustopher cuts him off. “Entirely possible. He is an excitable young boy.”

“There is no sign that he has though,” Munku assures, “So if he hasn’t then no one else knows.”

“Are you sure your brother does not know?” Bustopher pressed.

“He knows who Mistoffelees is but not where he comes from.” Munku shakes his head.

“Well. Now someone else knows.” Bustopher wrings his hands.

“Mistoffelees does look like you. He does look like his mother.” Munku sighs and covers his mouth with one hand. “He’s hidden. But maybe we should send him away. Back to his mother?”

“I don’t know if he would go.” Bustopher admits. “He has become headstrong as he has grown. He loves his friends dearly. Those twins have done well with his growth.”

“The Oracles are good people. But they don’t know anything unless the Everlasting Cat has whispered in their ear.”

Quiet settles between them now while food is forgotten and grows cold.

“Then,” Bustopher looks to Munku now. “What should we do?”

“I am not sure what can be done,” Munku admits, resting his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands. “Everlasting cat help us. I fear things are only beginning.”

______

“Quaxooo.” Tugger calls into the air, grinning as he does. “Oh Quaxo? I’m here for my lesson.” Tugger is standing in the junkyard with hands on his hips.

“Hello Rum Tum Tugger.” Quaxo’s voice is merry this afternoon.

Tugger turns around to greet his friend and teacher of the day. “Hell-o.” He glances around and frowns with a purse of his lips. “Quaxo?”

“Yes? Over here!” Quaxo laughs.

Tugger whips around then back around again. He hears laughter from above him and looks up into the sky, squinting at the bright sun. “Come on now. Throwing your voice? What a tease.” Tugger walks over to the rusted-out car and searches inside the trunk.

“Tease?” Quaxo laughs. “I’m only trying to play.”

Tugger hears the voice take on a different tone this time and looks up again. This time he sees Quaxo clearly. The slim young cat appears to be floating for a moment and Tugger takes in a sharp breath. Then as his eyes focus, he sees that his friend is perched on a thin telephone wire stretching across the junk yard. The tuxedo balances on the tips of his toes so steadily and unwavering it is captures Tugger.

Tugger hooks his thumbs on his belt and shakes his head, “Show off.”

“What? You can’t?” Quaxo grins and slides down to stretch out on his belly. He takes hold of the wire with one hand, ankles crossed behind him while his other hand hangs down.

“No.” Tugger admits. He is certainly no acrobat anywhere near Quaxo’s degree.

“I could teach you,” Quaxo traces a claw in the air and a shower of sparks falls onto Rum Tum Tugger’s head.

Tugger shakes his head, “No no. I am plenty content watching you,” He gets a devilish grin causing his whiskers to spread wide.

Quaxo gasps and covers his mouth with the free hand. “The Rum Tum Tugger, content?” His grin is so wide his hand does not hide it. “Alert the presses.”

Tugger waves a hand at Quaxo. “Don’t make me come up there, minx.” Tugger threatens with no real promise. “I’m here to learn, remember?”

Quaxo’s tail curls over his back like a question mark resting on its side. “My student.”

“I must admit,” Tugger sighs dramatically, “There are things even I have yet to learn.”

Now Quaxo breaks into laughter. He leans to one side and gracefully drops over the side of the wire, catching himself with one hand held on. He swings out towards Tugger and jumps down. He falls just a little slower than he should until the tips of his toes touch ground and he settles fully on his paws.

Tugger is always impressed on how Quaxo keeps his white socks so clean. The young cat's fur is always slick, shines, and is pristine.

Tugger raises one eyebrow. “Such a show off.”

“Says the pot.” Quaxo retorts and passes Tugger, brushing shoulders as he goes to the open trunk. He hops up into piled blankets and scrap fabric then he sits on his hip with his legs stretched out long beside him. “Come on,” His waves Tugger over. “I’ll start you with the basics,” His hands move easily in front of his shoulders.

“Are you repeating yourself?” Tugger asks and sits himself across from Quaxo with his legs crossed under him.

“I am,” Quaxo nods both his head and one hand.

“We will start with hello, your name, and the alphabet.” Quaxo signs slowly as he goes, tapping his fingers across each other before spelling his own name in the air. “Okay,” Quaxo’s voice is soft with a gentle smile as he guides Tugger to hold his hand up properly. “Like this. Keep it still. Repeat after me.” He looks to Tugger’s hand to watch it carefully. “A. B. C. D-” He begins to sing the alphabet.

Tugger is entranced momentarily by a rare, soft Quaxo before his attention is taken by the graceful movement of the short, slender fingers which he mimics with fumbled movements.

-

“I’m calling it,” Quaxo says with a sigh. “That is about all the teaching I can do for one afternoon.” He has been signing slowly at Rum Tum Tugger for over an hour now and his hand and wrist felt stiff.

Tugger rubs his own wrist a little, “I can agree with that.”

“Your wrist will get stronger over time,” Quaxo assures and sits back against the trunk wall with a content sigh. “This is sweet of you.”

“Hmm?” Tugger is surprised by the compliment. “Oh! Well don’t think so much of it. I should learn how to talk to all the members of the clan. With my position it’s important.”

“Your position?” Quaxo’s head rolls onto his shoulder and he looks to Tugger curiously. “Since when do you claim a title.”

“Well,” Tugger drags his claws through his mane and straightens it, one leg hanging out of the trunk now. “I still have a title. As my father's son I hold a title inherently.”

“And that is?” Quaxo raises on eyebrow.

Tugger laughs off the tension. “You know my brother likes to tout how he is protector. That has nothing to do with our line to Leader. Alonzo is protector as well and certainly not our kin.”

“That would be an issue,” Quaxo smirks.

“It would seem,” Tugger winks.

“His title is Story Teller.” Quaxo points out. “It’s important. He knows the history of the clan.” the magician slowly pets one of his own curled ears. “He knows the story of each cat in the clan,” He says as he watches some junk yard birds poke as the litter, “Where we have come from and where we are.”

Tugger watches the listless expression on Quaxo’s face with interest and confusion. He hears himself ask the question before realizing he was wondering it. “Where do you come from?”

Quaxo turns to Tugger with wide eyes as a moment of silence hangs between them. “You don’t know?”

Tugger frowns, “No. I assume you came from a non Jellicle mother.”

Quaxo nods. “Yes. Yeah I did.” He sits up and pulls his legs up and rests his chin on his knees. “I came from the countryside. I was born on a farm in the north.”

“Do you remember it?” Tugger had no idea that Quaxo had come from so far. He only knows one other person from the clan that had.

“A little bit, barely. I don’t remember it too fondly.” He looks back out in the direction of the towering building of the city. “I don’t like the empty quiet.”

“Does sound terribly boring,” Tugger agrees. “Did you come on the train?”

“I did,” Quaxo swings his legs out of the trunk, “Let’s go get something to eat before it gets dark.” He slides down and dusts himself off. “We can finally have that apology dinner.”

Tugger jumps with a soft grunt, “Finally.” snags Quaxo’s hand and spins him around.

Quaxo follows while holding his arm above himself and laughing as he takes to his toes to spin. He spins to face Tugger and lets himself be taken and lead, dancing to the sound of Tugger’s soft singing. It’s a hummed version of the song Tugger had sung just a week ago here in this same junk yard. A ballad that had coaxed Quaxo to step out boldly in front of the entire clan.

Quaxo rolls his eyes and laughs, “Oh stop that.”

Tugger grins and leans his head down lower to his dance partners. He dances them in large sweeping motions as he sings, “and I say oh! Well! I never was there ever a cat so clever!”

Quaxo laughs and breaks away and gives a sweeping bow. Rising onto his toes and sweeping down one outstretched leg and touching his claws to the dirt before rolling up. Similar to a bow he had given that night, though his coat had shone a dark black and speckled with arcane light.

Tugger claps and cheers. He laughs when a flourish of sparks fly from Quaxo’s finger tips. Quaxo steps up to Tugger, shoulder set proudly and chest wide. "So aloof."

"Indeed." One corner of Tugger's mouth curls up. He takes a step forward into Quaxo's space.

Quaxo holds out a hand and Tugger sets his larger one into it. He feels callouses and scars in the black and pink palms. Tugger is about to draw him in when Quaxo's ears flick up and his eyes dart over Tugger's shoulder.

"What-," Tugger nearly looks over his shoulder before Quaxo tugs him closer.

Tugger finds himself bent over Quaxo, their faces mere inches apart. He barely processes this information before Quaxo whispers. "Don't. We are watched." Quaxo stares intently into Tugger's eyes.

Tugger gives the slightest nod. "Okay." He believes Quaxo without question. Student of the oracles Quaxo sees and feels things that are beyond himself and others.

“Alright alright. Casual.” Tugger straightens up and holds out his arm. “Dinner.”

Quaxo takes Tugger’s arm. “Let’s go see if my uncle has anything to recommend tonight.” He offers to strike up a casual conversation.

“Uncle?” Tugger cocks his head. “Oh. Jones? Really?”

Quaxo snorts. “What? Is that really such a shock to you?”

“Well sure you look alike,” Tugger shrugs one shoulder. “It’s not like you’re related to Alonzo.” He looks down to Quaxo sharply. “Right?”

“No no,” He takes his head.

“Plus,” Tugger pokes his dates chest. “Jones has no ‘gifts’.”

“It doesn’t pass down like that.” Quaxo shakes his head. “Only from the father’s side.”

“Mother’s brother. “

“Yes.”

Tugger nods and thinks for a moment he might vaguely remember Bustopher Jones siblings.

“Hopefully it’s salmon.”

“Huh?” Tugger looks back down and cuts off that train of thought. “Salmon.”

“It’s my favorite.” Quaxo’s whiskers spread as he smiles.

“Oh?” Tugger winks. “Mine too.”

Chapter Text

Affair of Affairs 5.5

10/29

4700+

Three Years Ago - The Winter of 1977

A silver tabby with wide green eyes and a soft round face has given birth to a litter of three kittens. Their new mewls of life come with the first breaths of autumn. Though the father is a Jellicle of great prestige the new mother is a normal house cat. The elders of the clan arrive shortly after the birth when the kittens are closely inspected. It is decided then that only one of the three kittens has the spark of a Jellicle. Eight days later the Jellicle and his sisters opened their eyes. The counsel of elders came to officially meet him and to decide his Jellicle name. But they are all taken by an indisputable fact.

He is reborn.

Deuteronomy arrives to greet his son and confirm their claims. He gathers there with the counsel of the elders and his most recent mate. Unable to speak, the kitten sits in the surrounding crowd between the comfort of his mother’s feet. After many words she leans her head down, licking his ears and smiling a proud mothers smile. “Did you hear that sweetie? Munkustrap. How does that sound?”

He stares with the shining blue eyes of a wordless infant. He offers only a questioning squeak in return.

Soft laughter resounds through group.

“I believe,” Deuteronomy speaks and a hush falls across the group. “He has a special place within the clan.”

An elder queen (Who will be lost very soon) speaks up. “I must agree with you. I think the Ever Lasting Cat speaks to us.”

The mother stays quiet as she looks intently across the group. What were they going to say?

“I believe,” Dueteronomy sits with a heavy sigh, “They will speak through him.”

The mother gasps softly and looks down at her first, and unknowingly last son.

Asparagus nods, “Yes. Yes. He will train under Cheerydee.”

“Who?” The mother speaks up. She knew many in the clan and was friendly with them. “Who is that?”

“She is the Clan’s Story Teller,” another responds. “Though it makes my heart ache, I am excited to see where he goes.”

“Why does your heart ache,” mother asks, holding Munkustrap a little closer.

Deuteronomy sighs, “There is reason he is reborn here and now, to this clan, at this time. It shows in his eyes. That and many more things.” The wizened elder holds his hands out. A newly named Munkustrap pushes himself onto unsteady legs. He takes a few steps and places his hands into the large, worn hands of Deuteronomy.

- “The soul of a Story Teller of the past arrives from somewhere to here is the Ever Lasting Cat’s way of saying that Cheerydee will leave us soon. Possibly they will be chosen at the ball.”

Dueteronomy holds Munkustrap’s hands and lifts him playfully off his feet. He smiles at the joyous laughter. “He is strong.”

The idea that Cheerydee may pass another way hangs unspoken in the air as they watch Munkustrap. The young kitten is able to stand on his own but he hasn’t gained balance yet.

“But!” Asparagus speaks up, “Until then he stays with you and when he is strong we will bring him into the clan. Though you will still keep in touch of course.” He nods firmly.

-
Munkustrap and his two sisters were weaned in six weeks, earlier than anyone wanted. The first wave of the blizzard arrived where it claimed the lives of unsuspecting creatures across the city and countryside. The sisters were sent away to homes when their mother is buried in the frozen ground of the back yard. Munku leaves his home to join the rest of the clan when they moved underground. He lives his first months in concrete tunnels.

Winter settles into the city and the countryside, holding on with both hands. Storm after storm continue for weeks and delay spring. Many cats are lost with the only elders making it to the end being Asparagus and Dueteronomy. Neither are ever the same after, not in spirit, and not in body. The clan tried for kittens to be taken to homes but many of those who had to stay on the streets are lost.

Jellicles in the country side struggled to find food or shelter. A young Skimbleshanks goes boldly into the wastes of the snow caked farms and rural towns. The Jellicles he finds, atleast the ones willing to go with him, ride the train to the city. This is to protect as many as possible but also to stabilize the size of the crumbling clan.

At 12 weeks of age, deep in the brutal heart of a terrible January, Munkustrap stands hunkered under the arch of a subway stairwell. He is long-limbed with a wild coat of fine grey hair. His markings haven’t shown up yet and his eyes are beginning to darken. His strength is praised greatly as he seems healthy without sun or much fresh food. Though miserable he keeps his head up and readily takes up his mantel at his father’s side.

Dusk is hanging on with it’s final breath when snow begins to fall for yet another night. Deuteronomy and a grown, red coated queen stand near a newly arrived train. The familiar orange tom steps out of the luggage cart before turning to help another out. A young female with a striking golden coat steps onto the platform. For a moment Munkustrap is taken by her beauty.

He shakes his head and clears his mind as he readies himself for the four to join him. “Hello,” he says as the group comes up. Fat snowflakes cling to his wild silver fur and hang off his whiskers. “I’m Munkustrap.”

“Demeter,” She replies. Up close she seemed only a few months older than him. This may be her first winter as well, or she may remember when the last snow was melting away. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Munku leads the way down where it is dim with smells of mildew and dust. The tunnels are lit by overhead fluorescent lights that rattle when the train rushes through the cavern. They travel down dim and narrow service passages further into the abandoned terminals.

“This is the Story Teller I told you about,” Skimble gives a warm smile as they escape the wind. “Tell him about your life. We are alone here.”

She looks to the ginger tom with wide, nervous eyes. “Everything?” She whispers.

He nods slowly, “Take deep breaths. You will not be judged here.”

“But he-”

Skimble stops her. “What happened was not your fault. These things will be kept between us.”

“I can leave,” Bombalurin offers. Her smile is patient, "It won't offend me. I just wanted to greet you."

“No,” Demeter shakes her head. She looks down and watches the pale, stained concrete pass under her feet.

“This way,” Bomb guides her with a soft hand. They duck into a maintenance room where dark rumbling machines let off heat and oily smells. But this space is warm, secluded, and their voices don’t carry over the noise.

Demeter looks up at the red queen. “I..I like another girl being here.”

Bomb smiles and pulls her down to sit with their sides pressed together. “Then I won’t leave you.”

Munkustrap sits down in front of the two now, folding his legs in front himself and holding his ankles. He does this when he listens to stories as it is one of the few things he remembers Cheerydee doing the time he had met her.

“It is my sworn duty,” He begins. The formal and ritual like words sound strange coming from the soft, youthful voice. “To hear and keep the stories of every Jellicle I know, and pass the history down to my successor.” He smiles at Demeter, whiskers spreading out. “But that doesn’t mean anyone else needs to know.”

Demeter’s warms in the room. Both her nose, toes, and the cold spaces inside herself. “You’re sweet,” She smiles back then looks down at the floor. “Do you know Macavity?”

--

Present Day - Autumn 1980

“Hey,” Alonzo calls out against the wind. He finds Munkustrap alone on the empty concrete terminal of the train station. The silver tabby is stood there staring out past the northern stretch of the tracks. Wind blasts in from that direction, whistling down the tracks and buffeting both cats. Alonzo has to hunker down and groans as the chill reaches his joints. Munku lowers his nose into the thick muff of his chest fur and waits for it to pass.

“Hey!” Alonzo shouts as the wind dies down for a moment, finally catching Munku’s attention. “What are you doing here?” He asks incredulously.

Munku blinks and moves closer to Alonzo. “How did you find me?”

“I asked around,” He shakes his head, “You’re going to freeze out here.”

“It’s not that bad,” Munku defends with a shake of his head. But then he watches Alonzo wince as the wind picks up again. “Well.” He sighs and takes Alonzo’s hand. “Come on. Down here.” He pulls him to the subway tunnel. They skip down the iron steps pocked with rust spots and missing a hand rail on one side.

“What is on your hand?” Alonzo frowns, noticing some dark smearing on his own hand as they descend. He pulls Munku to stop behind a concrete support pillar.

“Huh?” Munk frowns as Alonzo is fussing over one hand. There is a dark matting around his knuckles and the joint between two fingers. Dried blood gathers there in the grey fur. Random strands are matted in odd directions where the blood has frozen.

Alonzo narrows his eyes at Munku, “How would you not have noticed?” He looks back down and winces. “Your claw.”

Munku takes his hand back and finds one of his claws is damn near gone. His right hand, the claw before the pinky is missing. Many points on his body hurt after the fight and blended together into a dull, ignore-able pain. There is a bruising throb on his chest and stinging tingles in his shoulders where rocks had dug in. The dull throb in his hand he had thought, was a jammed finger from the struggle. But now he sees the torn, ragged edge of where his claw had ripped away and the exposed quick is softly bleeding.

“What happened?” Alonzo demands. He isn’t sure what mood has taken over Munkustrap; his silence and pensive expression are startling. “Munkustrap.”

“Please don’t yell,” Munkustrap speaks up finally. He relaxes his curled fingers so his claws would hide themselves away. “It was an accident.” He wonders if his claw is buried inside a rat or hooked into a gnarled piece of concrete.

Alonzo shakes his head, fur around his neck ruffling wildly in his frustration. “Munku why are you out in this weather? What happened to you?”

“Have you ever been in these tunnels?” Munku asks.

“What?” Alonzo blinks. “Sometimes. What the hell kind of question?”

“No no. Have you stayed down here?” Munku looks up at Alonzo to meet his eye. “Maybe you came down here in winter?"

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alonzo stares back, the hair along his back raises with unease.

“The blizzard.” Munku takes a few steps away and lays his hand on a smooth concrete wall. “I grew up here.”

“Munku.” Alonzo follows him.

“You were born in Spring right? When Tugger was born I think.” Munku nods as he begins to remember. He continues to pace along through the tunnel with his left hand trailing the wall. He keeps his right hand close to his chest now.

“Munkustrap!” Alonzo goes after his dazed friend. He grabs Munkustrap by the dense fur of his shoulder and grips. He doesn’t like feeling so forceful.

Munku stops and looks over his shoulder, frowning. “You’re yelling again.”

“I feel like I have to. You act like you don’t hear me.” Alonzo keeps his grip. “What happened? Where are we going?” The question sounds more desperate than demanding.

Munkustrap looks at Alonzo a moment and then faces forward. He begins to stare into the middle distance.

Alonzo follows his line of sight and finds a dark, heavy metal door set into the wall. The enamel paint is chipping away and the bottom is rusted out and flaking away. Large warning signs flash in English ‘Warning. Authorized personnel only.’

Munkustrap reaches up his shoulder and sets his hand on Alonzo’s. He manages to loosen the fingers till he grips the tom’s hand in his own. “I’m glad you were born in spring.”

Alonzo finds no way to reply. The weight and exhaustion in Munku’s voice is frightening. It was a tired that defies rest. A restlessness that plagued sleep. So instead of replying he lets himself be lead through the metal door and into a dark room. Inside is hot and bears an unpleasant humidity with the stench of oils and hot metal permeating the air.

Alonzo scrunches his nose up distastefully as Munkustrap lets out a heavy sigh.

“Munkustrap,” Alonzo plants his feet at the door way. His arm stretches out ahead of him in Munkustrap's grip. “Talk to me,” He pleads. “I am not going to stand down here with you if you don’t say something.”

“I won’t hold you hostage.” Munkustrap huffs out his nose in a dry mock of laughter. “I wanted to talk somewhere private.”

Alonzo feels a laugh break out of his chest before he can stop it. “Private?” He looks around. “I would say this is plenty private.” He steps closer now. Munku turns to face him, a difficult expression on. Alonzo keeps his partner’s hand in his as he steps up close. So close that he has to lean his head down to look at the shorter cat. He then buries his free hand in the mane of Munkustrap's chest and holds him close.

Munkustrap tilts his head back to look up. The room is unlit, the over head light bulb is broken and covered in dust. Light from the tunnels pushes under the rusted out bottom of the door. There is a glow from a few pilot lights of the machines and their red and green dots of light of the metal controls.

An ambiance of dust particles glowing as they float in humid motes. Alonzo’s white fur shines like a vapor haze around him but his large green eyes reflect in the dimness.

“Stop scaring me.” Alonzo shakes Munkustrap . “You hear me? You’re scaring me.”

“Scaring you?” Munkustrap gasps.

“You’re going to do something stupid.” Alonzo accuses him. “You’re going to take your title too far and do something stupid that no one is asking you to do. That's why you came down here, to find him."

Munkustrap shakes his head and lays his hand over Alonzo's. “No. That isn’t what this is about.”

“Why are you standing at the tracks? Why did you drag me underground?”

“I’ll answer your questions,” Munku tries to sooth Alonzo’s frantic voice. The claim sounds too true and painful in it's honesty. “Any question.”

Alonzo pleads “Then tell me why you’re acting like this.”

“I wanted to tell you about the blizzard.” Munkustrap’s shoulders sink.

“The blizzard.” Alonzo echos.

Their hands break away and drop to their sides. They stand in front of each other no longer connected physically. An unseen connection remains between the two. It strains in the short distance. It threatens to break all together if the tensions rose any further. This fabled red thread has played a soft song around them for months now. It now reaches a crescendo.

The silence breaks.

“I grew up down here.” Munkustrap tells Alonzo. It is as much for Alonzo as it is to remind the machines that it was him here as a child. Him who sat here on the oil stained floor and held his ankles.

These machines heard the stories and histories of the clan alongside him. They listened to him when he sat alone and spoke the stories into the walls. At the time he didn’t mind the stories. Even when he heard how, when, and where each Queen, Tom and Kitten had died that blizzard.

It was never meant to go like that. He should have spent a few years under Cheerydee before taking on such a responsibility. He knows chunks of the history were lost with her and he ultimately falls short of his duty.

But the Clan needed him then and there. Like they need him now as his Father slows, aches, and speaks softer with a breaking voice.

“I,” Munkustrap’s voice cracks.

“Hey,” Alonzo frowns and tilts his head to catch the other tom’s eyes. “What’s wrong?”

Munkustap looks at the most open spot on the floor. It is where he had met his first crush and learned the name Macavity in the same breath. Now he finds sitting there on that floor the fact that he is more understanding of who and what Macavity is. But he sees he is just as incapable and naive as to what to do about it. As lost now as he ever was.

Demeter’s story echos in the room. It tells its self to Munkustrap again, making him remember the abuse she faced. It paints pictures in the greasy walls of the horrors that Macavity struck across the farmlands. That he chased her back here to wreck havoc on the city once more. He aches knowing she blames herself.

“I grew up down here. I slept in here.” Munkustrap shifts and pulls his feet a few steps. His tail drags the floor, the long fur trailing through the dust and grime.

Munkustrap sinks down onto his knees between two machines with his palms flat to the ground. He makes no sign to move any further than that. There isn't even a flinch when the machine next to him turns on with roar and clatter and begins to glow from beneath with a new fire.

Alonzo follows then drops down with a knee on either side of Munkustrap. He wraps his arms around his partner's waist and holds tight. The sound of water rushing down one pipe echos in the room as it fills the tank next to them.

Alonzo drags them so his shoulders are against the wall and he can hold Munkustrap close. “Here?”

“Yeah.” Munkustrap stares at the small flickering fire inside one box. An achy version of nostalgia collects in his gut.

“You never told me that.” Alonzo looks down the Munku’s slumped between his legs. “You don’t talk about yourself much.”

The lack of response hurts in Alonzo’s chest as the strain between them builds. The crescendo threatens to end in the next breath. To end with an awful, sharp, sound of breaking ties.

Alonzo speaks so he won’t have to hear it break. “You know I’d listen.” He offers in a trembling sort of casualness. Nothing breaks. There is a plateau between them that holds for just a moment. “I’ll listen to you. Whatever you need to say. Whatever gets you through this one night.”

The music does not end with a short, harsh note. It begins to soften and hum across the both of them.

“You don’t need to listen to me complain all night.” Munku shakes his head.

Alonzo exhales when Munku finally speaks. “That’s what you do for everyone else.”

“That’s my job,” Munku reminds. “My honor.”

“And it’s mine.”

Munku raises his head and looks up at Alonzo in bewilderment. “No?”

“Yes.” Alonzo pushes on. “It’s my job to listen to you. My honor, because I love you.”

Munkustrap is quiet again, his dark eye shine and shift in the firelight. He turns back, lowers himself into Alonzo’s arms and then shifts in closer. He makes room for the words that now occupy the air around them.

Alonzo is well aware of what else shares the room with the two of them. There is the presence of something that plagues Munkustrap with one hand and them soothes with the other. Something he cannot name.

“Cats don’t often come to the underground.” It is not a question but he gets an answer.

“We all moved out after the winter and went back to the Junkyard. Other things moved into the UnderDark after we left.” He licks the wound of his hand and grimaces at the taste. "I didn't see the Junkyard till I was nearly once." Or at least he first remembers seeing it then.

“I was born there.” Alonzo says. “Was my mother pregnant down here?”

“Yeah.” He closes his eyes.

“What was she like.” Alonzo knew she was gone before his eyes opened.

“She was strong. She made it through the winter so she could give her kittens a chance to breathe when spring came.” He can picture the solid white queen with her long sweeping tail and strong nose. She was lean like Alonzo is now. By the end of winter her long legs were so weak she struggled to carry her pregnant self to the junkyard.

1977 -

“Ama,” Jellylorum fusses over the expectant mother as she climbed the stairs. “Stay here. You will have them any minute. Stay here and have them and bring them up when they can walk.”

The white queen shakes her head, eyes keeping forward as she climbs. “No. My children will not be born in the dark.”

“They cannot even see,” Asparagus sputters.

“Maybe so.” Ama replies as she climbs the last steps up onto the street. There are dirty mounds of melting snow piled in gutters and against fence lines, but the sidewalks are cleared and dry. The sun shines above to warm them under foot.

Ama stares up into the trees that bare their tight buds ready to burst with fresh leaves. A small cluster of birds bustle over her head and past roofs.

“Well!” Another voice comes from behind them. “What are we dilly dallying for?” Jennyanydots asks, “Ama let’s go.” She urges the mother along. “Gus! Where are your manners? Be a gentlemen won’t you?” She smacks him on the shoulder.

Gus stops a second from arguing that Ama should go back down and not make the long trek to the junkyard. The look he gets settles a stone in his gut. He looks back to Ama where she is staring silently into the sky and taking deep breaths of the damp spring air. The lines of her face are too deep and the shake in her legs is too difficult to hide. The swell of her belly speaks volumes of the struggle rapidly approaching.

Gus nods and hooks his shoulder under her arm, “Of course I have manners.” He scoffs. “Come on now Ama. Let’s get you to the junkyard.”

“Thank you,” She smiles and turns her face up to the sun for the first time in 4 months.

-

“I’m sorry,” Munkustrap says, “I didn’t know your father. He wasn’t part of the clan. He didn’t come with us to the tunnels.”

Alonzo nods, “Yeah. I knew as much.”

“The pregnant queens didn’t leave the tunnels till spring,” Munkustrap keeps telling his story. “Some kittens were born down here, many were made down here, some didn’t know the outside world for months.”

“You?” Alonzo lays his hand on Munkustrap’s head to hold it against his chest.

“I was born in the sun. I knew the sky before we came down.” He looks up at Alonzo.

Alonzo pets Munkustrap’s head. “Tugger was born down here?”

“No. His mother was in a home.” He remembers her, Tugger’s mother. She was a stunningly powerful woman with fiery red fur and piercing eyes. Nothing like what he remembers of his own mother. He remembers her having a soft voice and tender features.

“Bombalurina?” Alonzo didn’t know what else to do other than keep Munku talking about this. To ask these questions he seems so desperate to answer.

He shakes his head, “She is older than me.”

“Yeah that’s true.” Alonzo smiles on one side. “The twins?”

“Which ones?” Munk asks. A breath he didn’t realize he had been holding escapes in one strong gust.

“Calicos.” Alonzo shrugs one shoulder.

“Home cats. They were born in the homes in The Grove. We didn’t see them at all till spring aside for Jenny who went out there alone.” He shakes his head. “She came back with word.”

“The tortoise oracles.” Alonzo presses on.

Munku swallows tightly. “No they were born in the tunnels. They opened their eyes the day the sky finally cleared.” He shakes his head.” They knew.”

“Of course they did.” Alonzo continues to pet and think that he needs to get Munkustrap to Jenny. But it isn’t the most pressing thing he decides. “Demeter?”

“Came in from the countryside.” Munk says shortly. “Born in the previous spring I think. I can’t be sure.”

Alonzo lets out a low whistle. “Wow. You told me you were crushing on her the first time you met her?”

“So what?” Munku peers up and sends a glare at Alonzo.

“Into older women?” Alonzo pinches one of Munku’s ear. “That why you sang and danced for Jenny?”

“Alonzo I will come up there.” He warns.

“Wish you would.” Alonzo winks before smoothing a hand down Munku’s head. “Who else is there? Anyone else our age? Quaxo?”

“No he’s younger than us.” Munk shakes his head.

Alonzo falls quiet. “I don’t remember his liter.”

“He came in from the countryside.” Munku shrugs one shoulder.

“After the blizzard?” Alonzo frowns with a purse of his lips.

“Yes.” Munku shifts to get more comfortable. “Jone’s nephew.”

“Oh.” Alonzo rolls his eyes. “I knew that.”

A quiet settles over them and Alonzo wonders if Munku has fallen asleep on him. He wouldn’t mind much if he could move them enough to lay down as well.

“Sorry.” Munkustrap speaks up. “I brought you down here. It’s not...good here.”

“It’s just a dirty room.” Alonzo looks around. Eyes now adjusted he sees things more clearly. Only pipes and metal box machines. A long abandoned mop and bucket in a corner. Some sort of warped clipboard hung on the wall.

“I guess.” Munku slowly sits up now, still sat between Alonzo’s long legs.

“Sorry,” Alonzo sighs. “You said you grew up in here?”

“Yeah.” Munkustrap says no more on it. He leans forward, chest towards the ground and grabs his toes to finish warming them.

Alonzo reaches out and runs his hand down his partner’s spine, letting his claws drag through the fur. He smiles to himself when he feels Munku shiver. “Have you been back sense then?”

“No,” Munku slowly rolls back up, spine arching in as Alonzo’s claws pull down through his fur a second time. His claws catch and lightly tug small knots, and the tips scrape lightly as his skin underneath. He turns to look over his shoulder, watching Alonzo closely.

Alonzo tilts his head to one side and smiles.

Munku pushes himself up easily, strong legs steady unlike they had been the last time he left the room. He turns and holds his hand down then pulls Alonzo up.

“Before we get stuck in the weather.” Munku draws them away from the wall towards the door.

Alonzo pulls Munkustrap back a step. He takes the injured hand and carefully clasps it in his own before holding them out aside from them both. Munkustrap watches in astonishment when Alonzo places a hand on his hip and steps close.

“Just one night.” Alonzo voice barely rises through the rumbling and haze around them. “Just us.” He takes a step to the side, guiding Munkustrap in a slow movement. Another step and they move in a wide, sweeping circle. "You can tell me everything you have never told anyone."

Munkustrap’s feet take a moment to find their steps as he is led in a silent waltz. “Okay.” He concedes and rests his head against Alonzo. “One night.”

Alonzo sets his cheek between Munkstrap’s ears. “The first night.”

Munkustrap smiles as he continues to follow his partner's lead. “One at a time.”