Chapter Text
It was either a dark and dreary evening, or a morning featuring especially noxious air pollution. Difficult to say, really; the town’s one and only charm was its ambiguity in such matters. There was romance for the romantics, and for the pessimists, there were plenty of reasons to complain.
“Filthy today,” Cassian said, coughing into his hands to emphasize the point. It required no great powers of deduction to place him in the pessimists’ camp; it was something about the petulant set of his eyebrows or the determinedly un-rosy complexion of his rather high and well-formed cheekbones. Even casual observers had been known to remark on the impressiveness of his efforts at looking thoroughly unimpressed. It was, of course, entirely wasted on his companion.
This might have been for any number of reasons. Being a doctor, Jizabel Disraeli naturally excelled at valuing symptoms based on the expense of their cures, and it was possible that general frustration was beneath him. Or, being quite tall, it might have been that noticing Cassian was literally beneath him. A third, still more likely option existed, and it was this: if Cassian were to be classed with the pessimists, then Jizabel was undoubtedly a romantic. Ignoring Cassian’s outburst, the doctor tossed his long, sleek ponytail over one shoulder and looked out the carriage window with a profile fit to make any sensitive soul swoon.
“Soon,” he cried, “Father’s plans will be set in motion, and at last this wretched, miserable city will find itself in the grasp of the damnation it deserves.” He finished his statement with an in-drawn breath, and a look of commingled pain and satisfaction that was missed by Cassian, who was busy sneezing into his sleeve.
“It’s all this smog,” he muttered, wiping at his eyes with the precise bit of sleeve that now held the sneeze. “Can’t hardly see a thing.”
“They’ll all burn,” Jizabel said with growing frenzy. “The miserable meat-eaters. And finally Father will see my faithfulness.”
“What I wouldn’t give for a holiday in the country,” Cassian groaned. “Away from this mess.”
“At last I’ll be rewarded—“
“Somewhere clean and quiet—“
They might have gone this way for some time, but the tranquility of the moment was upset by a sudden lurch of the cab. It jolted, pitched, and stood still in quick succession; Jizabel’s lordly mane of hair flailed as the head wearing it smacked into the wall, and Cassian flew across the coach issuing a string of profanities. His face met the far wall with a cheeky thud, and whatever grimness of demeanor Jizabel had been nursing was utterly lost. He threw the door open as Cassian slid onto the seat, and stepped out into the grime of the gutter. The city was no more pleasant seen in person than through the window. Cassian rubbed his nose and righted himself, taking up his seat again and trying to find a bit of dignity. The city smelled awful. Assuming Jizabel had stepped out to threaten the cabbie a bit, Cassian primed his ears for a listen. In addition to being ugly, pestilential, and polluted, the streets were also noisy, and it was for this reason that the puppy took him by surprise.
He expected to hear a bit of arguing, perhaps even a shot or a scream. Instead, there was nothing but a brief interlude of traffic noise before the doctor clambered back into the coach carrying a bundle of fur in his arms. It was undeniably a puppy—large floppy ears, drool-dripping mouth, big bright eyes, and all. The whole package. Cassian stared at it. He was still staring when Jizabel shut the door, and the coach rattled on.
“Jizabel,” Cassian said at last. “What is that?”
“That blasted cabbie nearly hit it,” the doctor said, delicately fondling one large, muddy paw.
“Jizabel,” Cassian said again. “What is that?”
Jizabel gave him one of those looks that Cassian secretly appreciated for their manly fervor and disdain. It was something about the gleam of the doctor’s eyes beneath their luxurious lashes, or perhaps the sensual curve of his lower lip. It was difficult to say.
“A puppy, obviously,” Jizabel said. “We’re keeping it,” He glowered at Cassian with all the injured nobility he could muster, eyes gleaming with either determination or the light off his glasses. Cassian folded his arms.
“No.”
“It’s injured, Cassian. I must nurse it back to health.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“As a card of greater significance, I command you to—“
“Jizabel, we can’t keep a puppy. We spend most of the day in your blasted laboratory! And it’s not coming to council meetings with us. Have you ever tried locking a puppy up while you’re out? The damn things are like babies. They eat everything.”
“It’s injured,” Jizabel insisted.
“We can hardly manage the reanimated dead,” Cassian groaned. “What makes you think you’re capable of raising a higher order of life?”
It was a valid question, if based in questionable philosophy. Fortunately, it proved distracting enough to the doctor, who soon began to pat the puppy absentmindedly as he expounded on the nature of reanimating the dead and their hierarchical relationship to the animal kingdom. Cassian took the opportunity to peer closer at the furball. It was some kind of mutt, either brown or black or gray, depending on how the light from the windows hit it. One of its ears was almost entirely torn off and seemed to be held on by congealed blood and a few strings of flesh; it was trying to lick a crushed paw.
“Animals are infinitely superior,” Jizabel concluded. “They possess no guile, they cannot lie, they’re closer to nature, they’re—“
“Another reason we can’t keep him,” Cassian said. An idea was beginning to blossom in his head like an inkblot. “This is a city. It’s no place for an animal. Think of the pain your keeping him here will put him through, Jizabel. He needs nature. Not this smog.”
Jizabel stopped in mid-monologue, his mouth hanging open. It was clear that the gears in his head were spinning.
“We’re not out in the country,” Cassian continued. “We can’t keep this dog in good conscience. Why add to the list of depravations committed against animals?”
“We could move,” Jizabel said.
It was time to play devil’s advocate. Though he was retained by their organization for muscle power rather than brainpower, Cassian could backpedal with the best of them.
“There’s your work in the laboratory to think about,” he said. “You’ve finished up with the little redheaded wench, of course, but oughtn’t you sit around? Justice might need you. Or Cassandra.”
“They’re insignificant,” Jizabel retorted. “Only Father’s instructions matter.”
“He’s got Mikaela to fuss over, though,” Cassian said, shrugging. “I don’t know that he’ll need you to instruct, mate.”
“Precisely!” Jizabel’s eyes sparked with victory, but it was too early to claim the prize. Cassian raised an eyebrow.
“Precisely what?”
“There’s no obligations to keep up from a holiday,” Jizabel said smugly. He stroked the puppy, eyes filling with compassion as he looked down at its mangled limb. The compassion vanished when he looked back up to Cassian.
“You’ll prepare for us to go to the country immediately. I shall care for the dog there. No objections.”
“If that’s what you really want,” Cassian sighed.
Sometimes his job wasn’t so bad, after all.