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Diana shivered, pulling her woolen cardigan tighter around her body as she stepped out of the safehouse. This October seemed to be an exceptionally cold one, with temperatures well below freezing point.
"I warned him he should have gotten his flu shot," she muttered to herself, making her way to the shed. When 47 had realised he was getting sick, he had dragged some firewood into the small building to keep it dry. Still, now that he was buried under three blankets on the sofa, it was up to Diana to grab some more so they could keep the fire going.
The door creaked when she entered. Diana quickly located the crates of wood beneath the worktable. Kneeling down, she reached for the nearest one and pulled it towards herself. Immediately, she heard a soft hiss.
"Oh my!" A pair of bright yellow eyes was staring at her. "Hello darling, what are you doing here?" Upon closer inspection, the eyes belonged to a small ball of black fur, huddled into the corner of an empty crate. Then, Diana spotted two tiny wriggling kittens, half-hidden by the black cat's body.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she tried to soothe the animal. "I just want to make sure you're alright." The kittens were absolutely tiny; they hadn't even opened their eyes yet
"Oh you poor thing, having your babies in the cold like this." She set her hands on her hips. "What are we going to do with you, hm?" Any time she attempted to get closer, the feline mother hissed at her.
"I'm going to need 47 for this…" Diana decided.
Walking back into the mansion, Diana tapped 47's foot that was sticking out from beneath his pile of blankets.
"47, I need your help." Immediately, he flew upright, the blankets on the floor. He instinctively reached for his gun, but both his Silverballers and his backup were downstairs. "Not like that," Diana added.
"What's wrong?" 47 asked. His voice was raspy, it sounded like it hurt him to speak.
"There's a stray cat in the shed. She's got kittens. I think–" Before Diana could finish her explanation, 47 had already darted outside, fever be damned. Chuckling, she followed him. No matter what, someone was going to have to grab some more firewood, and her fiancé seemed a little preoccupied now.
As she approached the shed once more, Diana could hear 47 speaking quietly to the cat. However, instead of hissing, there was a loud purring. The cat definitely had a preference, it seemed.
"Slide some wood over here?" she asked as soothingly as she could, not wanting to cause the mother cat any more anxiety than necessary. 47 handed her the wood, and Diana carried it back inside. She also retrieved some more paracetamol from the infirmary downstairs – 47 was probably going to need it. But where in the world were they going to house the little nursing mother? They needed someplace where she'd feel safe. Walking through their base of operations, box of painkillers in hand, Diana's eyes scanned her surroundings, until she spotted the perfect home.
"...a gun crate?" 47 frowned. Diana rolled her eyes, her chest heaving with the exertion of dragging it upstairs.
"It's sturdy, insulated, she'll have enough space, and it's high enough to prevent the little ones from escaping until they're ready to." 47 stared at the crate a little while longer before nodding. He had bundled the cat and her kittens in a blanket and carefully lowered it into the open crate which Diana had set down by the couch – close enough to the fire to keep them warm, but not so close that it could hurt them.
"I'll head into town tomorrow to buy some cat food," Diana decided. "We can share our chicken with her for now." 47 opened his mouth to respond, but he suddenly swayed, unsteady on his feet. "You, on the sofa. No more getting up for animal rescue adventures until your fever is gone," Diana commanded gently. As 47 complied, he cleared his throat.
"We need a name for her."
"You rescued her, so you should pick her name." 47 went quiet for a moment.
"Gunpowder." The cat made a soft noise.
"I think she likes it," Diana commented. "We can come up with names for her kittens when you're both feeling better."
"Welcome home, Gunpowder," 47 croaked from beneath his blankets. Diana smiled.
Welcome home indeed.