Chapter Text
It had started innocently enough. Catherine had actually meant to throw the last bit of her turkey sandwich out one day, but he snatched it on the way to the bin, out of thin air. He then watched her as he devoured it. He was surprisingly nimble for as big and obviously old as he was. As soon as he finished the sandwich, he disappeared, which was just as well. She didn’t need another stray to take care of, although to be fair it looked like he could take care of himself just fine even if most of one ear was missing and there was a deep scar over his left eye.
The next time she saw him was as she was coming to work on a rainy Tuesday. He was wet and angry and huddled under the steps avoiding more raindrops. They studied each other for a few heartbeats, she under her umbrella with drips of water coming down and him under the steps. She sighed, whether she needed another stray to take care of or not, he was here, and she couldn’t resist. A bit of cardboard propped under the steps would keep the rain off better, and she opened her lunch to toss him the bits of chicken from her salad. The thought crossed her mind to bring a tin of tuna tomorrow, but she quickly suppressed it. No need to encourage him.
It was only later when she heard Lamb as he huffed up the stairs that she perhaps regretted her decision slightly.
“Standish!?!”
She came out of her office and spoke as calmly as she could manage, “You bellowed?”
He stopped in the middle of the stairs and leaned against the wall, “Care to tell me why there’s a cathouse under our steps? Gone back to your old ways?”
“I wouldn’t care to tell you actually,” she said and returned to her office.
He came up the last four steps quickly and silently before filling her office door with his presence.
“Let’s try this again. I’ll speak slowly so you can understand. Why the fuck is there a cathouse under our steps?”
“It’s not a cathouse. It’s a piece of cardboard,” she said, shuffling papers that were already in order into neater piles to avoid his eyes.
“House or not, there’s a mangy, flea hotel of a Tom under there hissing at me,” Jackson said, exasperated.
“He hissed at you?” She asked. “Good taste I suppose. He just stares at me.”
He put one hand on his hip, stared at her for a moment. “Thought you hated cats. Never feed the strays. Maybe truth will out, and you’re finally turning into the crazy cat lady.”
“I still have no plans to feed strays,” she corrected. “I don’t want them coming back. This Tom’s not going to stay. You can tell that by looking at him. Looks like he’s been through the wars and ready to go back.”
He sniffed, narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t be so sure. Some of those that have been through the wars don’t want to go back. They’re ready for a bit of rest.”
She just nodded, looked away. He wasn’t only talking about the Tom. She knew that.
He didn’t mention the Tom again, and she didn’t either. The mangy gray was under the steps sporadically in the mornings, but rarely at night. She supposed he was out doing whatever Toms do at night. No need to wonder about that. When he was there, she tossed him a bit of food from her lunch, and when he wasn’t she didn’t worry about him.
Then, she was leaving late one night. Lamb was out. Everyone else was gone. It was dark. Darker than she would have liked for it to be when she was leaving on her own. She came down the steps, vividly aware of how alone she was and how dark it was. As she walked through the alley a man stepped out of the shadows and blocked her path.
“Would you have some change to spare?” As he spoke, he moved closer. His eyes were on her handbag.
She shook her head and made herself small to move past him. “No, I don’t. I’m just…”
He reached out and grabbed her arm. He tugged hard enough that her coat sleeve tore a bit at the seam, and she felt a tingle of fear. Just as she was ready to swing her handbag at him, a hissing blur of gray launched itself at the man’s arm and clawed it’s way up to his face, clawing, hissing, biting. The man cried out in surprise and released his hold on her, trying to get the gray dervish off his face. Lamb came into the alley at that moment as well, carrying a kebab which he dropped in order to grab the interloper by his hood, jerking him backward and away from her. Two angry dervishes attacking one man. She almost felt sorry for him, but not quite. The man did, however, manage to wriggle out of his jacket and run, hard. Her guardian cat was uninterested in pursuing him, and Lamb was more interested in her.
His hand was on her arm, and he was searching her face, looking her over for damage. His eye caught the tear in her coat, and anger flashed in his eyes again. “Did that jumped up twat do that? I should…”
She patted his chest to reassure him. “He only grabbed my arm. Tom did enough damage. He won’t be back. Just let him go.” Even though she knew he likely wouldn’t. He never let anything go.
He relaxed slightly and glanced over his shoulder at the cat who was now eating his kebab with relish. “Tom is it? Thought he wasn’t going to be one that comes back?” Then he addressed the cat, “I suppose you earned that one, but don’t think I’m going to keep feeding you.”
“I think that earned him a tin of tuna at minimum,” she said, laughing shakily and straightening her handbag on her arm. She glanced at her watch. “I’ll go by the shops tonight.” She should be going now, but Jackson still had his hand on her arm. His hand had traveled up to her shoulder, and his finger was brushing over the tear.
“Yeah, we’ll stop by on the way,” he said gruffly and turned to walk out of the alley.
“Jackson, I’ll be fine. There’s no need for you to…”
He cut her off firmly but kept walking, “I’m driving you home. I’ll take you by the shops first if you want, but you’re not riding the bus tonight.”
She debated protesting for only a moment. Honestly, after that, she wasn’t keen on riding the bus either. She hurried to catch up to him and glanced back to see that Tom had finished the kebab and vanished.
In the end, they didn’t go by the shops, but they did pick up Chinese to replace Jackson’s lost kebab, and Catherine ordered extra prawns.
“Prawns? You’ll spoil him,” Jackson scoffed.
“He deserves a bit of spoiling for tonight,” she countered as she started to pull out her purse, but Jackson was already paying.
That night they ate in the soft light of the kitchen and talked about cats, prawns, and a dozen other things that had nothing to do with work. The next day Tom had a belly full of prawns.
After that, Tom regularly had tuna in the mornings or left over prawns from Jackson’s lunch. Jackson took her home most nights, and all of those nights they ate in the quiet of her kitchen before he left. Then one night he didn’t leave, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.