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When a melodic knocking sounded behind his office door, Mordecai had to stifle an audible groan. The only people who would care to bother him while working in his office were Atlas, Mitzi, and Ivy if she were particularly bored that day. Atlas was out on a meeting that morning, and Ivy's knocks were incessant little taps rather than the short rhythm that broke his concentration.
That left Mitzi, a former member of Zibowski’s band, as the only one of the three who would think to playfully knock on the door of one of the only people in the building who not appreciate it.
Sighing heavily, he placed his pencil in the crease of his open ledger and hauled himself out of his chair. Hopefully, Mitzi had just forgotten an invoice when she'd handed him the documents he had requested earlier and the interaction would be short. He wasn't in the mood to entertain her after the disturbing incident he had unwillingly witnessed an hour ago. The sickeningly sweet smell of maple syrup was still stuck in his nose.
However, when he opened the door, he was met with the cause of the incident himself.
Mordecai felt himself nearly shrink into his person, instinctually wanting to retreat from the clumsy disaster of a new employee before him.
The toothy but sheepish grin on the tabby's face had Mordecai's ears pinned against his head. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as he regarded the younger man, noting the lack of sticky residue on his clothes and fur. At least the guy had the decency to clean up before coming up to bother him.
"Oh. . . " Mordecai said slowly, keeping the door open just enough to be visible to his unwanted visitor. He learned not to leave himself open to any possibility of a breach into his office after a younger Ivy started running into the room under his arm and refused to leave until he helped her with her math assignments. "It's you. Mr. . . Roark Rickaby, was it?
The tabby's frame seemed to wilt slightly before he perked right back up again. "Good morning, Mr Heller! And Rocky's just fine, by the way. Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot last night. And this morning."
Mordecai's nose wrinkled at the reminder.
"Believe me," Mordecai interjected, "my opinion of most people is indifference at best. Last night and today barely made a difference on what I think of you, if that's what you've come here for. If that's all, you can leave now."
"Wait!" Mr Rickaby cried suddenly, startling Mordecai enough to keep him from shutting the door in his face, before recomposing himself with an awkward clearing of his throat. "I brought you tea?"
Mordecai's narrowed eyes relaxed the slightest as he noticed the silver tray for the first time. He couldn't help how his ears flitted forward in interest. "Tea," he repeated, puzzled.
Sure enough, the tray was ladened with a steaming mug of what looked like his favorite tea and a plate of biscuits.
What in the world?
Mr. Rickaby seemed to brighten at his acknowledgment, his thin frame swelling with pride. "Yessir! Miss Pepper downstairs tells me you like a sip of tea while you work in the morning, and I, uh, noticed you didn't have the chance to get one earlier. Because I spit up syrup everywhere."
"Yes. I remember that." Mordecai hoped his tone indicated that he would much rather not remember that.
"Heh. Well. I thought, since it was my fault, that I would take the time to bring your tea up for you!"
Mr. Rickaby motioned the tray closer to him, but he continued to eye the tray and its contents with distrust.
"It's not just a mug of hot syrup, is it?" he asked warily. "I bore witness to your, ah, unique tastes earlier, so forgive me if I'm a tad hesitant."
"Oh no, no!" Mr. Rickaby chuckled, balancing the tray in a steady grip through his laughter. "Just good ol' Earl Grey here! But! I often sweeten my morning coffee with syrup, if you can believe that––"
"I can."
"––and if you want, we can try it with your tea next time! I tell ya, the taste is transcendent ––"
"No. Thank you for the tea." With that, Mordecai took the tray out of the tabby's hands and used his heel to close the door in his face, finally.
Glad to be done with that interaction, Mordecai walked back to his desk and placed the tray on a space devoid of piles of invoices and records. He took the mug in hand and brought it under his nose, taking a cautious sip. Mr. Rickaby had thankfully been telling the truth; just good ol' Earl Grey. As accident-prone as he'd witnessed the younger man to be, Mordecai supposed he made a competent enough delivery boy.
He sat back in his chair and took an indulgent sip of his tea, sighing in content as the smell of Earl Grey overpowered the syrup smell in his nose.
Mordecai had thought that morning was a one-time thing. A feeble, but almost effective, way of getting in Mordecai's elusive good graces. A single anomaly he would never have to think of again.
But the little tea deliveries continued from that day on.
It was becoming a routine; if Mordecai didn't get around to brewing his tea in The Little Daisy 's kitchen, Mr. Rickaby would, without fail, knock on his office door with a mug of tea in hand and a toothy grin. Had Mr. Rickaby not insisted on attempting small talk during each exchange, these little deliveries would be a perfect start to every morning.
“Good day, Mr. Heller! I noticed you weren’t at the Lackadaisy last night. Busy night? You missed me falling off the stage! Ah, maybe that was for the best. . . .”
“Mr. Heller! I thought you’d like to try these weirdly named cookies. They’re called lady fingers! Wacky, ain't it? Like you’re snacking on some lady’s hand!”
"Good morning, Mr. Heller! Did you have a good night? I actually had this weird dream where the Mississippi River was just syrup, and you could just dip pancakes right into the river––" Mordecai closed the door, tea in hand.
Rolling his eyes, Mordecai turned on his heel and returned to his desk. He exchanged his mug for a pen, but he tapped the end of it to his chin instead of writing. His eyes scanned the rows of numbers in his ledger, but they didn't seem to compute in his head.
With a sigh, he glared at the steaming mug beside him as if it were the cause of his befuddlement. In a way, it was.
For the longest time, Mordecai was coasting through the coming and going of various rumrunners, bartenders, and miscellaneous employees to the Lackadaisy without having to interact too much with them. His unapproachable demeanor and everlasting scowl were enough to sway anyone from attempting to spark conversation with him. It was exactly the way he liked it.
Mr. Rickaby, however, was either too dumb to realize Mordecai wanted nothing to do with him, or he had some ulterior motive in trying to become acquainted with the most disagreeable person in the Lackadaisy.
The latter sounded more plausible, and he already had a few working theories as to what Mr. Rickaby might want from him.
His audience with Atlas to discuss these theories (and to generally complain about Rickaby's persistent presence) went as well as Mordecai figured it would. Atlas only shook his head fondly at him like Mordecai was merely a child spewing imaginary nonsense of little importance, and it made his tail flick in irritation.
His employer merely told him to be patient. Mr. Rickaby's an excitable and naturally friendly boy, Atlas told him, but he'll eventually move on when he realizes Mordecai isn't going to budge.
"Would it be so bad," Atlas asked him, glass of whiskey in hand, "for Rocky to take a liking to you? You could do to have some friends your age, son."
Sitting in an armchair on the other side of Atlas's desk, Mordecai wrinkled his nose at the notion. "Oh, please. Mr. Rickaby's on the far end of 'being my age,' Atlas."
His boss shrugged, unbothered by Mordecai's contrarian attitude. "I'm sure you two have more in common than you realize."
Mordecai stood and stalked out of the office without another word.
Thinking he'd find a more sympathetic ear in the garage, Mordecai repeated his complaints and theories to Viktor. His partner seemed to take an instant dislike to the tabby, and he was sure Viktor would agree with him (for once).
No such luck. Viktor had merely guffawed at his plight and told him that as long as Mr. Rickaby was bothering Mordecai, he would be too busy to bother Viktor.
"Good noodle in my book." Viktor's gruff voice echoed slightly under the body of a car that was well on its way to being unusable.
Mordecai thought of kicking the creeper Viktor was on fully under the car in spite, but he didn't have time to waste getting into another shouting match that would last who knew how long.
So, instead, he kicked over the rusty toolbox by Viktor and left the garage before the angry, yelling Slovak could wrangle himself out from under the car.
"There is no reasonable explanation," Mordecai explained for the third time that day, "for Mr. Rickaby to pander to me like this unless he wants a favor in return. But what would that favor even be ? He doesn't need his taxes done; I can assure you of that. So that means he wants someone killed, right? What else would he want from me if not that, I ask you!"
Mitzi May rubbed delicate circles against her right temple and sighed. "Mordecai, I don't think Rocky, of all people, needs someone to be killed. Hell, I'm sure he could accomplish that on his own, as accident-prone as that boy is." She went back to wiping down the counter to ignore Mordecai angrily opening and closing his mouth like an indignant fish, waiting to form a proper retort.
The Little Daisy was having a slow day, allowing for the casual talk regarding certain activities from the "other" business. Mordecai had come into the cafe from the garage to sit at the counter and sulk about his predicament as Mitzi and Ivy cleaned up dishes and replenished napkin holders in the lull.
The bell above the cafe's entrance chimed as the door opened. Mordecai turned his head to the sound and immediately regretted it. Speak of the devil.
"Mr. Heller! Fancy seeing you down here!"
Of course, Mr. Rickaby made a beeline for the seat next to Mordecai at the counter, unaware or deliberately ignoring the angry pinch in Mordecai's brow as he came closer.
The tabby made himself comfortable in his seat as Mordecai studied him close, as if he could read the other man's true intentions if he looked hard enough. Frustratingly, all Mordecai could see were the tabby's unconcerned smile and the content in his blue eyes, which led him to the dark stripes under his ears and on his head.
For all of his annoying tendencies, Mordecai had to admit Mr. Rickaby’s pattern was perfectly symmetrical. At least Mordecai could appreciate one thing about him.
That and the tea.
"Did you like your tea this morning?"
Dammit, he's trying the small talk again.
Mordecai caught Ivy's eye from the other side of the counter where she was drying dishes. She gave him a significant, squinted, and vaguely threatening look, and her head motioned in Mr. Rickaby's direction. Be nice .
Mordecai groaned internally.
"Yes," Mordecai grumbled, staring straight ahead. "It was good." Ivy's eyes became squintier. ". . . Thank you."
Rickaby's entire demeanor seemed to brighten even more at this. Mordecai cursed Ivy under his breath.
"That's great! I think I got the recipe down to an art now, I could make it in my sleep. I don't recommend making anything in your sleep, however. Not unless you want your angry aunt to send you to the linen store first thing in the morning to replace her burned curtains. . . ."
As Rickaby continued to ramble, Mordecai slowly inched up and out of his seat, hoping to slip away while the tabby talked himself to a tizzy. No such luck, again .
"Mordecai!" Mitzi called airily from her post at the stove, and the tuxedo cat froze halfway out of his seat.
"How forgetful of me! It slipped my mind to ask you to accompany me on an errand." The mischievous squint of her eyes and her too-coy smile told Mordecai that Mitzi had intended to ask him no such thing until now. She turned the stove off and came to lean on the counter--a better angle to lie right to Mordecai's face. "I was thinking you could join Rocky and I at the tailor's. The poor boy needs clothes that aren't held together by patches. . ."
Rickaby sat ramrod straight in his seat at this. His gangly arms gestured frantically with his sudden fluster. "You don't have to do that, Mrs. M!" Rickaby protested. "With what I've been paid recently, I can buy my clothes, really! I wouldn't wanna impose––"
Mitzi waved away his protests with a delicate paw. She smiled at Rickaby with such sincerity that the tabby's frame and conviction instantly deflated. Beside him, Mordecai rolled his eyes.
Mordecai had seen that look convince the most rowdy and drunk patrons to behave like good little boys just for her. Rickaby never stood a chance.
"It's not a problem, Rocky," she assured him. "In fact, I got Mordecai here a whole new wardrobe to get him out of his hand-me-downs."
Mitzi leaned into Rickaby's space with a conspiratorial smile, and the tabby, in turn, leaned over to let her whisper in his ear. "He actually had to wear Atlas's old shirts for a while, and he was practically drowning in them," she said in the loudest stage whisper Mordecai had ever heard. "The sleeves were so long on him people started to think he just had short arms."
They giggled and glanced over their shoulders at Mordecai's scowl only to giggle harder at his expense.
This time, Mordecai stood fully out of his seat. "You know what," he announced through a grimace poorly disguised as a smile, "I actually have a lot of work to get done today,y so I'll just get going––"
"Come now, Mordecai," Mitzi insisted. "You know I'm only teasing. And you're still coming." She turned back to Rickaby, ignoring Mordecai's attempted retort. "We've at least gotta get you a nice suit to wear on stage."
With that, Mitzi stood and rounded the counter to grab her purse and coat, Rickaby now eagerly following her to the cafe's entrance. "Mordecai," she called without looking up from rummaging through her purse, "come on, honey."
Mordecai stood stiffly in the middle of the cafe, eyes darting around to look for any excuse not to go. "What about the cafe? Ivy will need help if customers come in."
It was Mitzi's turn to roll her eyes. "There hasn't been a customer in over an hour, and it's been slow all day. I doubt anyone's gonna come in. Besides, if anyone did, Ivy could handle it fine on her own. Right, Ivy?"
Ivy had already seated herself at a booth in the back of the cafe, face buried in a magazine. She didn't even look up from her reading to throw her boss a thumbs up. "You got it."
Mordecai cursed Ivy under his breath again.
Mitzi flashed him a smug smile. "See? Ivy's a big girl."
"She's fourteen," argued Mordecai, but Mitzi pressed on.
"Now come along, I'm gonna need your fashion expertise––"
"What expertise?"
"––to pick out a nice suit for Rocky, here. Anyway, it's healthy to take a break from work––"
"This is more work."
"––and take a stroll out in the sunshine for once. Now, let's get going before it gets too late."
Like the eager little beaver he was, Rickaby hurried to open the door for Mitzi and practically glowed when she thanked him. When she was through, he turned to Mordecai and waved his hand through the door like a proper doorman.
"After you, Mr. Heller!"
Resigned to the rest of his afternoon being ruined, Mordecai stalked through the door. "Thank you," he grumbled.
As he closed the door behind him, Rickaby seemed to glow even brighter.
Mordecai's tail flicked behind him the entirety of the walk to the tailor shop.
Rocky had never been inside a tailor shop before. It was as swanky as he had always imagined one would be. The shop's windows were adorned with headless mannequins in crisp jackets and slacks. Their cufflinks sparkled in the afternoon sun. Rocky practically vibrated in place in excitement at the very notion of getting to have his own snazzy suit. And one that fit !
Like the gentleman he was, Rocky opened the shop door for Mrs. May again, earning himself another smile that warmed him from toe to tip. She sauntered into the shop to the tune of the chiming bell above the door.
Once again, he waved Mordecai in as well, earning himself a noncommittal grunt in thanks. The tuxedo cat didn't even look Rocky's way as he passed. Not surprising, but it did dampen his mood a bit. What did he have to do to get Mordecai to smile at him, he wondered.
"Good afternoon, Langdon," Rocky heard Mitzi greet from inside the shop. He sighed to himself and went inside.
The storefront was dotted with circular racks bearing suits of all styles ready to be purchased or altered. Framed illustrations of men modeling the apparel lined the walls above the displays. Rocky's eye was most drawn to the racks of ties and bolts of all kinds of fabrics in every color he could imagine. Well, most of the selections were muted or dark colors, but they had a few fabrics on the more saturated side of the color spectrum.
He glimpsed Mordecai standing behind Mitzi at the aforementioned Langdon's desk, shoulders back and his eyes scanning the room. Alert as ever. Rocky supposed Mordecai's triggerman title extended to bodyguard-type duties as well.
Rocky joined them at the counter just as Mitzi finished explaining what she needed to the older, brown-furred man in a sharp vest and apron.
"How are those other orders coming along?" Mitzi asked, idly flipping through a book filled with illustrations of suits and their different cuts. "The ones Atlas ordered last week?"
Langdon nodded, his bushy cheeks swaying up and down with the motion. "They're coming along nicely, ma'am, if I do say so myself. Would you like to take a look at them for yourself?"
"Sure thing, Langdon," Mitzi agreed with an amicable smile before plucking a roll of measuring tape off the desk and shoving it into Mordecai's chest. "Mordecai, be a dear and take Rocky's measurements while I go with Langdon."
" Me ?" the tuxedo cat hissed incredulously, but he took the tape measure before it could fall to the floor as Mitzi pulled her hand back.
"It'll make this errand go faster if you do." Her smile turned smug.
At the resigned sigh from Mordecai, Rocky knew Mitzi had convinced him well enough. The irritated slump in Mordecai's once perfect posture created a pit in Rocky's stomach. Was spending a few minutes alone with him really so difficult for Mordecai?
Nevertheless, Rocky followed Mordecai to a corner at the back of the shop without a word. Maybe Mordecai would appreciate it if Rocky could keep quiet for a few minutes. A challenge for him, to be sure, but he was determined to try.
The little station they arrived in was furnished with a tall standing mirror, a small table with books like the one Mrs. M was flipping through earlier, and a notebook with a pen sitting in between its pages like an ill-suited bookmark.
Mordecai took the little notebook in hand and flipped to an empty page before putting it down on the table again. As he unfurled the measuring tape in his hands, he turned to Rocky. "Alright," the other man sighed, sounding quite put upon and like he would rather be literally anywhere else, "let's make this quick, shall we?"
The irritation in Mordecai's narrowed green eyes had Rocky standing straight as a board, and he quickly lifted his arms as the other man approached him.
True to his word, Mordecai swiftly wrapped the tape around his wrists, then moved the circle of tape up to his upper arms. Taking merely a few seconds to jot down and label the measurements he took, Mordecai made quick work of measuring the rest of Rocky's body.
Rocky was grateful for the tuxedo cat's haste in spite of it being borne out of a need to be done dealing with him quicker. Focused on finishing his task, he barely spared Rocky a glance––even when Mordecai measured the length of both his arms and they were face to face. But that was fine. It meant Rocky didn't have to worry about Mordecai seeing his flustered face every time the other man breached his personal space.
Sure, he'd never had an attractive person in his space like this before, but he was determined to keep his cool lest he make a fool of himself in front of Mordecai.
Again.
Mordecai was pleasantly surprised by Rickaby's stillness in compliance with his demand to be over and done with all this as soon as possible. Thanks to this, he was able to note almost all the measurements Langdon would need for the accursed suit that went and ruined his afternoon.
The last things he needed to take note of were Rickaby's chest and waist. Ignoring the weird shiver he felt down Rickaby's spine as he passed the tape around his back, Mordecai noted the number and moved down to Rickaby's waist.
Admittedly, Mordecai wasn't paying much attention to the numbers beyond writing them down and moving on to the next thing. However, as he took the measuring tape to the tabby's waist, he realized the old shirt Rickaby wore was hiding more of his frame than Mordecai originally thought.
He read the number on the tape, rewrapped the tape, and read it again. That. . . . that number was quite low.
Mordecai snatched the notebook off the table to reread what he had written down in the past few minutes and blanched at just how low all the measurements regarding width were. He mentally compared them to his own measurements (memorized to the T, of course) and found the difference rather concerning.
Paying no heed to Rickaby's questioning look, Mordecai wrapped the tape around his wrists, his arms, legs, and middle again. He must've been reading the numbers wrong in his haste, right?
The numbers remained the same.
Looking Rickaby in the face for the first time in the past few minutes, Mordecai fixed the tabby with a perplexed look.
Even without having explained himself, Rickaby seemed to know the unspoken question in Mordecai's expression. The younger man chuckled nervously and averted his eyes.
"I have a fast metabolism," offered Rickaby, in a tone that was more question than statement.
'Fast metabolism' his foot. Mordecai was sure that if he put his hands around the tabby's waist, the tips of his fingers would touch. That couldn’t just be a result of a ‘fast metabolism’.
He pinned Rickaby with a searching look, but when the tabby merely continued to smile anxiously at him, Mordecai sighed and rolled the measuring tape neatly around two fingers. Whatever this was, it wasn't his business.
"Mitzi should be waiting at the front." Mordecai tossed the tape onto the table without looking and stalked off to the front counter.
Rocky stood planted to the floor, trying to recover from the tuxedo's prolonged proximity in a daze. He should be more concerned that Mordecai took notice of his less-than-ideal health. But Mordecai took notice of him! He looked worried even!
Friends worry about each other, right?
They also want to spend time with each other, too. . . .
Damn, befriending Mordecai Heller was proving to be tough.
He followed after Mordecai, internally debating whether to consider that interaction as a step forward or not. He was only pulled out of his thoughts by Mrs. May asking him to pick a color for his suit. He was motioned towards the racks of colored fabrics by Mr. Langdon before he and Mrs. May returned to hashing out the details of another order. Naturally, he found himself studying the brighter assortment of colors in favor of the muted majority. But which to pick?
"Does it usually take this long for you to make a simple decision?"
Rocky jumped at the voice suddenly coming from right beside him. Somehow, he hadn't heard Mordecai come up behind him in his contemplation. Either Rocky was more distracted than usual today (understandably so, he believed) or Mordecai was able to keep supernaturally quiet at all times. An essential triggerman skill, Rocky thought.
"It's not that 'simple', Mordecai!" Rocky insisted. "This is the suit I'm gonna wear on stage every night! It's gotta be perfect!" His tail swished behind him in excitement, both for the reminder of what they were here for and for Mordecai having joined him at the racks seemingly of his own accord. The other man did stand there watching Rocky with a vaguely unamused expression, but he was there, and that's what mattered.
"The question remains," Rocky continued, leaning over to inspect the selection, tapping his chin, "which color would suit me best?"
"Red's always eye-catching," Rocky muttered, mostly to himself, his eyes scanning the shades of red and wondering which matched Mordecai's tie. He shook his head. "But Mr. Zibowski's suit is already red, and I don't wanna step on his toes."
"Green would be nice, too." He ran a finger over the bolts of green, stopping over a beautiful jade color. Gosh, how did Mr. Langdon capture Mordecai's eyes in silky fabric so perfectly?
Rocky cleared his throat. "Green's also taken, I'm pretty sure. By. . . um. Darn, I'm still not sure of everyone's name yet. Maybe Sly's the one in green? Or maybe––"
A bolt of baby blue fabric appeared beside his face, eliciting a high-pitched squeak from Rocky in its suddenness. Mordecai's squinting eyes darted from the fabric to Rocky's face and back before placing the bolt back on the rack and grabbing another shade of blue. Mordecai held a cyan bolt, a sapphire, an indigo, and a pastel blue up to his face, and Rocky let him. He watched in quiet fascination as Mordecai scanned the remaining blue fabrics, picked one, held it up to Rocky's face once more, before nodding to himself.
"Go with this one," he said simply.
A bolt of metallic blue fabric dropped into Rocky's arms unceremoniously with no other explanation. Rocky watched the other man's back retreat to the front counter before his eyes fell back to the blue fabric in his arms. The fabric Mordecai picked specifically for him!
He grinned to himself like a fool, holding the fabric tight to his chest. Yes, yes, yes ! he chanted in his head.
Now, this was a step forward.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The end of Mordecai's pen bounced against his ledger for what seemed like the hundredth time since he sat down, with very little being actually written. Why was it so difficult to keep his focus this morning?
Stacks of invoices and data sheets surrounded him, waiting to be filed away or taken account of. And yet, there they had sat for the better part of two hours.
The clock hanging diligently on the wall beside Mordecai's desk ticked away, harmonizing with his pen tapping, and maybe it was starting to drive him a little insane. Something was off about today and he couldn't for the life of him identify what that something was.
Mordecai glared at the innocently ticking clock for daring to allow time to continue along without Mordecai's permission.
9:13 , the clock read.
Oh.
" Oh, " Mordecai groaned miserably.
There it was, the cause of his insanity this morning: Rickaby hadn't brought him his tea.
As unpredictable as his job could be, Mordecai liked to rely on what routine he could keep outside of those sorts of 'errands', and much to his chagrin, Rickaby delivering his tea was a facet of that routine that he came to rely heavily on. Dare he say he looked forward to it.
Absolute nonsense. He didn't need tea every morning, and he sure as hell didn't need Rickaby to do his little butler schtick just to ingratiate himself to Mordecai for reasons he still couldn't deduce. A little deviation from routine shouldn't ever be enough to ruin his productivity, and he wasn't going to continue to let himself be distracted any longer.
A familiar melody sounded against his office doo,r and Mordecai sprang from his chair.
Idiot , he scolded himself for his sudden eagerness. Composing himself so he didn't look like a man who had been wasting away at his desk for several hours until just a few seconds ago, Mordecai very calmly walked to the door to open it.
Just as he expected, Mr. Rickaby stood in the hall before his office, tray in hand laden with a mug that wasn't so much steaming as vaguely emitting vapor.
"Morning, Mr. Heller!" greeted Rickaby sunnily, despite the sheepishness in his usual grin. "Sorry if I made you wait for your tea."
"I wasn't waiting." Mordecai winced internally. The reply (and lie) came out a little too quickly for his liking.
Mr. Rickaby, however, didn't seem to take notice or even care, really.
"I would've been here sooner," Rickaby went on to explain, "but Mr. May asked me for a favor. You see, Mrs. M isn't feeling well right now, so Mr. May asked me if I could take her some breakfast up to their suite on the way here."
The claws on the tabby's index fingers dinged a nervous little tune against the silver tray in his hands. Musically restless, wasn't he? Mordecai swore every time he was around this man he was sounding out a melody on his skinny thigh, or tapping his foot to a beat only Rickaby could hear.
Wait.
What .
Rickaby brought Mitzi her breakfast first? Before Mordecai?
Mordecai's office is on the floor below the Mays' suite on the third floor, and Rickaby brought him his tea second ? Like an afterthought !
"Mr. Heller?"
Rickaby's questioning voice ripped Mordecai out of his angry spiral of thoughts. He wanted to scold himself again for being caught unawares. And by Rickaby, no less!
"Yes?" Mordecai asked, forcing his tone into something more neutral than the indignant feeling in his chest wanted it to sound.
"You alright?" Rickaby gave him a quick once over, making Mordecai's fur bristle under the scrutiny of blue eyes. "You look a little. . . frazzled?"
"I'm quite alright, Mr. Rickaby." Mordecai's tail thumped angrily against the door, which really wasn't helping him look 'alright'.
Rickaby raised a thick dark eyebrow at him, screwing his mouth into an unconvinced frown. Nevertheless, Rickaby handed the tray over to Mordecai, whose hands took hold of the object almost mechanically. "Well, sorry again. Especially since the tea's a little less warm than usual, but, uh. Y'know." Rickaby gestured vaguely, no doubt alluding to the other––apparently more important ––errand he had to do first.
"It's fine," muttered Mordecai. God, he really hoped the tea in his hands was the key to recovering his productivity for this near-humiliating encounter to be worth it. "Thank you, Mr. Rickaby."
Rickaby nodded. "Well, anyway. Have a good day, Mr. Heller."
The tabby turned to leave, and Mordecai's mouth apparently decided his self-imposed humiliation wasn't finished yet.
"Wait!" he called before he realized what he was doing.
And Rickaby, ever obedient, stops in his tracks to turn back to Mordecai and looks at him expectantly.
For a second, they both stand there, Mordecai in the entryway to his office and Rickaby in the hall, looking at each other, waiting for either of them to say something. It was in that moment that Mordecai realized that this is the part in their usual morning exchanges where Rickaby attempts small talk. For someone who seemed incapable of staying quiet for longer than a few minutes, Rickaby appeared to have better things to do today than try and talk Mordecai's ear off like he always did.
Why did that bother Mordecai so much?
Rickaby continued to stand in place, patiently waiting for whatever else Mordecai needed from him, with a small smile that seemed to be his default expression. Mordecai absently thought to himself how that smile was much more pleasant to look at over the grin Rickaby wore when constantly vying for his attention.
Mordecai pursed his lips before he spoke. He had to say something now that he'd made the tabby stop for seemingly no reason.
“How. . . . how are you today?" he grit out. His eyes darted to the tea tray in his hands, and he thought back to the tailor shop and Rickaby's strangely thin frame. "Have you, um. Have you eaten today?"
Mordecai could have hit himself at that moment. This is why he didn't do small talk.
Despite the awkwardness of the situation, Rickaby's smile brightened. "Yeah, I did," he chirped, "and I'm doing swell, Mr. Heller!"
Mordecai nods. "That's good." He looks down at his tea again. "Alright. Goodbye."
Quickly, he steps back into his office and closes the door before Rickaby can respond.
Through the door, Rickaby's voice came through muffled. "Have a good day, Mr. Heller!" Mordecai could almost hear the dumb grin in his voice.
When the tabby's light footfalls faded into silence, Mordecai allowed himself to groan. A long and tortured sound from deep in his chest.
What an embarrassing start to his day.
The tea was not the key to his productivity, as it turns out, much to Mordecai’s chagrin. As he sat at his desk hours later, stewing in his frustration, he lamented the cold tea he never got around to finishing. He was too busy trying pore over documents without retaining any of their information and thinking his himself in circles as to why this morning’s little lapse in routine affected him so much as to leave him a bumbling mess akin to Rickaby’s own foolishness.
It was Rickaby, wasn’t it? The root of this sudden. . . . affliction for lack of a better word.
Whatever this was, all Mordecai knew was he would let it hinder him no longer.