Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Hey, careful buddy!"

 

Mordecai hadn't seen anything but blurry, he couldn't fight the annoying, warm, and tender throbbing at the same time.

He only felt like his glasses were slowly fogging up with his breath as if they were the windows of a closed car, where a pair of lovers had just had romantic intimacy after a shamefull party.

It almost felt like he was floating, and apparently too much dizzy to bump the shoulder of a random stranger walking next to him.

Not even the cold air from the street he finally made it into could cool him from the scorching heat. But, unfortunately, he had to control himself.

 

"¿Are you okay honey?"

 

Suddenly, the honeyed voice of the Persian cat walking beside him was in charge of waking up the Tuxedo from his cursed daydream.

(And probably from a happy, twisted place he'd never dare speak of while alive.)

 

"Yes, I am... I'm... Perfect."

 

"¿Are you sure?..."

 

The question resounded like an earthquake.

He knew this was the start of something long and tedious if he wasn't careful, or at least, not if he found the strength in his trembling ankles to hold on long enough.

 

"I mean, I'm not even asking you or anything but,.....you didn't apologize before like for...you know...."

"Acting like you suddenly wanted to try our merchandise on the sly."

 

He almost laughed at what his ear could hear.

Almost.

If it weren't for the fact that she knew better than anyone that intoxicating his five senses to the point of embarrassment, was MUCH beyond his personal standards.

And even more so risking someone else tasting her new, shameful secret.

Now,
always bubbling up in his throat like beer foam.

 

"It's none of your business"

 

Or anyone else's.

 

And unfortunately for him, it seemed this woman couldn't even afford to give him the privacy he craved so much.

Not exactly now.

In this particular season... rather.

Right today, right now.

 

"Besides..."

"If it really matters to you, then look back and tell me I still have time to correct my mistakes"

 

The Persian cat unconsciously complied, turning her gaze towards the feline who complained previously a few steps before, finding nothing but nothingness.

And of course, a bunch of random citizens who were too busy with their own existence to be interested in ANYTHING other than themselves.

Probably also because of the autumn cold.

Why is it that when your fur and tail threaten to freeze, it's very difficult to concentrate for more than three seconds at a time, apparently.

 

"That doesn't count and you know it, he has already evaporated"

 

She responded in a complaining tone, all the while his head was spinning as felt the words slurring a little more, surely increasing the desire of the monochromátic men to get home quickly and fast.

But for now, the Tuxedo Cat had to pay the price for answering his employer's wife's question at an inappropriate time.

Clearly he wasn't expecting start a long conversation, but obviously he couldn't run away or disappear even if he wanted to now.

The Tuxedo could only cover the heat on his cheeks a little more with his knitted scarf, which already seemed more like a silent accomplice than a simple accessory to combat the freezing atmosphere.

And suddenly the words continued.

Digging into the head in pain as they intertwined with the effort to suppress the migraine.

 

"The important thing is that it also seems that your head finally broke dear"

 

And she was right, but not surely in the way she thought.

 

"Although last time it was only your arm... Do you remember?"

"But..."

A pause.

 

Each time time seemed to distort, but he had to stay standing and steadfast if he wanted to survive.

Clearly, running away was not an option.
Much less with the vigilant woman who would probably use her painted lips to reach her boss's ear, and just whisper secrets and suspicions that would anchor him on a problematic radar.

So he had to be careful.

He endured the pain in his gut, a pain that made it almost impossible for him to think, and just chose to listen once more without eye contact.

An immature but effective strategy, at least for now.

 

"You haven't broken something else up there, have you?"

"Maybe I did,"

 

He answered, still hiding his icy, burning cheeks.

Grave mistake.

He could already see the questions and the words, so many words.

Swirled all together like in the eyes of a dyslexia patient, but located on his forehead, causing a new collapse.

However, he still had a sure escape, perhaps irony, perhaps security and efficiency, perhaps the best and simplest.

 

"I..."

"I just have a headache."

 

A temporary discomfort.

Simple stress, simple firm and satisfying answer for curiosity and the senses.

 

"Oh, now I understand."

 

Surprisingly, the cold of the environment and the heat of his feverish insides seemed to no longer mix, and temporarily the relief seemed to make him more stable and firm.

 

"Well, then let's just say I believe it..."

 

But then and just like that, an internal debate intermingled with the burning pain in his abdomen merged together.

Oh...
Now if the conversation was to really continue, he would have to run.

Or rather, stagger as best he could to sneak onto the next bus he could hijack.

The Tuxedo almost fantasized about paying the innocent driver with a bullet.
All in exchange for an aspirin and a free ticket to a warm bed, a beautiful promise to give up the trek that was exhausting his organs in agony, and even more so, for a ginger tea that would leave the palpitations of his migraine in a locked closet.

But hope was so blind and so deaf, and with a confused and dizzy mind it was clearly much stronger... So he just waited for the next line of her voice:

 

"But really... I don't think visiting our little kitty would be terrible enough to set your brain on fire...."

"Right?..."

.

 

.

 

"No"

.

 

.

 

.

"No It has nothing to do with that."

"I just....I feel sick."

 

Suddenly, Mitzi fixed her big green eyes on him, as if she was trying to understand.

She seemed to be overanalyzing something she clearly had no idea about, and at the same time seemed to have certain pieces that were just right, as if it were the crystals of a broken mirror half-repaired.

However, the tone of curiosity and deep analysis was short-lived when the wind suddenly passed, a very cold and strong breeze, strong enough to function as an afternoon cold shower.

And suddenly the doubt, the theories, and the suspicions were replaced by a misunderstanding carved on her face.

 

"Prrrrrr!"

"Okay, forget it!"

"You're obviously not immortal"

Obviously he wasn't.

 

It would be wonderful to have the power to stop eating and drinking water.

Plus the fact of not feeling the world spinning before his eyes as if it were a movie turned upside down.

Now more than ever his vision was almost failing him and making him differ between the blurs of a dream and reality, and he only held on until he sat down in the longed-for bus seat.

The Persian cat continued with her passing monologue from time to time, but without threatening the harmony of extinguishing his fleeting peace, at least perhaps until the moment of getting off the vehicle towards his destination.

The images became a little blurrier through the windows, probably from the movement.

He didn't even know if he was wearing his glasses or not, but it didn't matter anymore.

He just closed his eyes, pretending to sleep, and found peace in collecting the last moments before going out to reunite with the Persian cat in the icy atmosphere of the streets.

Shortly before leaving that apartment.

Before the bus marked the homely destination.

And just before crossing the previous dangerous line that was marked in bright red for him.

Just before...

Of making a big mistake.

Chapter Text

Every part of this event seemed made of velvet, a sensation armored with a feeling of security carefully placed over the muscles, an enveloping carpet of warmth and comfort that was unlike anything, and that she now shared with him, watching him, without even moving at all.

The shady hitman watched like a fawn, the resplendent blue gem eyes shone in soft flashes without rest, almost only obscured by the obsidian black of exposed pupils, which already seemed to be exaggeratedly enlarged by an as yet unknown emotion.

 

Unknown.

But at the same time....

The bloodthirsty tuxedo cat seemed to sense it.

Almost instinctively.

Just like an omen in something warm and primal nestling deep within his chest.

 

It was warm......

 

SO WARM

 

A loving well-being that seemed to have power and lure one into the temptation of absolute relaxation, all with a simple gesture, and the tiny, and almost vulgar touch of a soft body placing its weight on his own.

The weight, the breath, a pair of baby blue gems.

All too close to process.

All too close to endure.

All of which led to an awkward and unwanted moment.

And yet...it wasn't.

 

"Do you want......?"

 

And yet...IT WASN'T.

.

 

.

 

"Do you want to....... kiss me now?"

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

Oh....Sugary.....Sugary Woody flavor...

 

Sensation tanned in honey sap...

 

He kept wondering why that didn't kill him...

 

The criminal killer asked himself internally and very strongly whether he should have come to this gnawed apartment complex in the first place.

There were so many options...

¡How to refuse!

¡Or just how to escape and jump over the splintered window panes!

But he wasn't prepared to feel a death wrapped in complete and bewitching tenderness...

 

Or for what was surely about to happen...

.

 

.

 

Which would end up finishing him off like a bullet.

 

.

 

.

 

Mordecai...the tuxedo...

He felt a strange touch....

 

Silk...?

 

No...

 

Cotton?

 

Almost.

 

It was soft...thin...

 

And, in his hand...

 

When the stoic hitman moved his hand?...

.

 

.

.

 

It was...

Warm...

 

A limb?...

 

A waist?...

 

A waist!! ..

 

This guy's waist!?!

 

BUT HOW THE HELL WAS IT POSS- ...

 

.

 

.

 

.

Oh...

.............

 

No..
..............

.

 

.

 

So.....

 

.

 

.

 

Soft.

 

.......

 

There was something there, something dizzying and strange, something illogical and disturbingly exciting to the senses, but at the same time cruelly imprisoning.

Mordecai reviewed all his sensations:

The feeling of floating and flying.

A dizziness similar to the most common cold.

It felt so stifling and hot...

Like a summer day with no escape, one where a quick dash to the nearest hose could mean the difference between life and death.

But unfortunately I couldn't see or hear any nearby water sources other than the unbearable dripping of a poorly repaired sink.

 

Mordecai hesitated.

For a moment he desperately tried to turn his gaze toward the window to distract himself, and for the love of all that is logical and sacred, find a way to justify the heat as if it were the work of the warm seasons, and not a mortal suspicion that flooded his brain like a seasoned bullet that splintered in the agony of his pride.

However, the spectacle of beautiful works tinged with carmine was his downfall.

And yet...

The male Tuxedo didn't even have to look to get angry.

The sight of leaves floating in the air was only in his head.

 

He knew it by heart...and unfortunately.....

 

Very unfortunately.....

.

 

.

He had it engraved on the inside of his brain.
.

 

.

 

IT WAS.....

AUTUMN ...
.

 

.

 

No.

 

No, it wasn't even his own-

 

"No....you can't......please........ Don't go"

Suddenly....

 

He felt an enveloping hand, only slightly more significantly tiny than his own.

 

And this limb wasted no time.

 

It wrapped around his fingers, gripped his palm, and forced him to press down hard on...

Between one... one..

 

No..

 

Two gray stripes....

 

In a suitable pattern.

 

Wonderfully suited...

 

Intimate.

 

SO....

SYMMETRICAL.

 

And everything...

 

So gloriously fitting into the palm of his hand like a gear for a prefabricated part.

 

The Tuxedo cat felt that waist...in ALL of his possession.

 

Such a charmingly slim waist...

 

So oddly delicate and probably so easily broken, that both of his hands could easily clasp and squeeze around, pull the tabby cat towards his hip and the rest of his own body during a walk to the nearest bed, and fuse it everything with a feral touch.

All in a symbol of perpetual wild and relaxing union.

 

His hands could roam freely and effortlessly in the eternal softness of what he wanted to touch later....

 

This man's chest ...

 

¡HIS CLAWS WOULD CIRCULATE!

Would circle like a pair of wolves over a fine, well-tended cotton field.

He could sink....

 

He could sink further...

 

Then drown.... And just slowly die.

 

As if the tiny, sweet blanket of furr covering the delicate ribs and heart of this... FASCINATING living being were all that mattered in the world.

The shady assassin was almost frightened by how much it differed from the carefully folded, ironed, and disinfected blankets of his current home.

As if the slice of paradise that the tuxedo tomcat had just discovered was mocking, just mocking of the contrasting feelings conveyed by these two sources of security.

So similar and yet, so different for different reasons.

 

He didn't understand how..

 

He didn't even want to understand.

 

But at the same time, annoying and familiar logic plagued as the last hope of professional reasoning.

Like an insistent insect in his ear that he wanted to squash...and...Listen at the same time.

A disturbing clash of duality that would surely make him fade faster than the speed of light if he allowed his consciousness to end up leaving him alone.

And well, that's because........

 

He definitely couldn't leave everything in the hands of his own body.

 

That's because...

 

IT WOULD BE TOO LATE

.

 

.............................................................................................................

.

 

.

 

..¡Toc Toc!
.

 

.

 

.

 

¡TOC¡¡TOC!¡TOC!

 

"MY GOD, I'M COMING!"

 

"Oh, anguished spirits of Saint Louis who knock in agony at my door..."

"And........poetry,.....poetry,.....poetry......and.......more poetry"

 

"Lights zoom in please?!....."

"Yeahhhhh........Aaaaaaaand...."

"Just as I imagined!"

"It's you!!"

 

"My monochrome serious face, welcome aboard!"

 

"mmmphf....I couldn't miss it..."

 

The sarcasm was as clear and murky at the same time as a shot of Brown whisky in a crystal-clear glass; because of all the moments between in his working days, Mitzi's crisis of attachment to the new silk-clad vagrant was surely comparable to the attack of a sharp thorn.

Probably out of compassion....

 

Probably for the difficult memory of a distant reflection....

 

The reflection of a road beauty who would have devoured her own arpeggios if there was nothing else to eat.

The tuxedo tomcat knew very well that the Persian cat now wearing a coat that cost more than his head was nothing more than the cover, for she was undoubtedly like one of the expensive chocolates in the store:

In the end, the labels with more and more dollar signs around them and the elegant wrappings were only the exterior; the taste was the same: sweet poison, honey, brandy perhaps, or perhaps the taste of cartwright's earth, or of the dust that settled on a pair of old, holey boots simply tired of walking.

 

Maybe there was also a smashed guitar.

Or banjo...

 

An instrument of the past that had been sealed and forgotten with the promises of gold and luxury, a warm body in her bed, and the love of a man monstrously savage to society.

A being forged in lead and blood who still, and against everything he believed, seemed capable of loving like a real person.

 

Atlas had fallen.

 

And The giant still held the entire world in his arms, but now...

 

He did it with A Mate.

 

The words "pathetic," "unnecessary," and "disgusting" shot like a sure arrow into the tuxedo tomcat's skull, all of it forged from a mixture of the uncertainty of the situation and annoyance as cold as the thickest, icy, winter silence.

Mordecai was a man fanatical about the most perfect science, always with notes going up and down like one elevator after another in a constant flow, he never missed anything.

However, of course a man in his position would have to make sacrifices....

 

How for example to sacrifice his dignity....

 

His temperance....

 

His mind....

 

And probably today...

His own sanity.

 

The Tuxedo could still smell the mix of blood.

And leather...

And paper money ink that nearly brought him the most undignified end in a crappy failure.

The Same Winter Night In His Early Twenties...

His Young Arm Was Riddled With Bullets.

He had seen and felt how not only was it warm red liquid that shot towards his face just as he performed his executioner's duties, but also the bone splinters that flew and threatened to cut the well-groomed fur on his cheeks.

The muscle grew strong as he realized how much a shovel weighed...

Learning how to efficiently move it without breaking your fingers from the weight.

And to top it all off, how to use it even if surviving breathing and heartbeats are heard inside the pit....

(Which were obviously not well received, as it was an indication of work that would be...incomplete....Or rather,...still alive)

Yes...

 

He had tolerated all of that.

It had made him a stronger man.

Who had slowly accepted the reality of the underworld he had ended up in.

And yet, now...

 

He could hardly find a way to suppress his own fingers, which twisted in such a way that an imaginary trigger was drawn between them.

But he restrained himself.

He had to do it....

So cornered... So much totally cornered

.

.

 

":Oh...VERFLUCHT:...."

 

...... The Hitman whispered briefly in his native language.....

 

Almost so low I swear only bats could hear him gnashing his teeth.

.

 

.

 

"Now the supposed order to protect your existence has been grante-..."

 

"ANYWAY, i GUESS.."

".....¡¡!!......"

"Nothing else is left to do but get to the point......riiiight?..."

 

{.............}..........."

"..........."

 

"Oh.."

"...."

"Right.."

"........{............}............"

 

"Aww come on, don't look at me like that"

" I'd like to have the lead role if I can have it You know..."

The gray raggaitty cat greeted him enthusiastically, clicking his teeth and lips, and gave it a mocking thumbs-up sign...

But clearly nothing could be more vulgar.

As if it were so easy and fun, or as if the drunken stumbles helped him gain a little confidence and melt the thick mountain ice that stood between him and himself like a giant icicle.

The madness seemed eternal, according to grotesque and crude first impressions, which seemed poorly disguised as fake sympathy.

It was like a consuming, half-covered chaos, like a bubbling pot releasing soap bubbles instead of a smoldering fire, and which the murder feline couldn't detect as an absolute danger at all.

But for now, he could simply call it frustration, possibly due to the obvious confinement and the already, very,...very clear possibility of the drunken alcohol toxins melting into the red riot-blood of the grey tabby jester.

However, that didn't mean he wouldn't retaliate, because even if it was just a look he would make sure to issue a cold no-contact death sentence.

All if the command and control reached zero.

 

On the other hand he thought, the use of alcohol was undoubtedly also as implicit as expected.

{Of course, all depending on the condition of this particular individual}

 

Wine?

 

No..

 

Vodka...?

 

{No, too strong}..

 

While his ignorance of drinks was ironic and inappropriate due to his low profession, a glance was enough to distinguish that the "spicy fragrances" in the air were nothing more than a combination of Canadian whiskey, another forbidden concoction that the hitman failed to intercept, and another aroma that the tuxedo knew too well for his own sanity.

Of course.....According to his own.....Past experiences.

{Which the hitman himself could not mention more than twice even in his own mind}

 

The disinhibition and the clear loss of unnecessary stress during a feline's most...vulnerable...and embarrassing time, was undoubtedly a natural ritual.

 

Especially through of medications or drinks that accompany a better instability for aggression, recklessness, general malaise, or of course...insanity.

 

And in the case of the tabby in front of him, it was more than clear that the last two persist without rest EVEN in an inadequate state.

 

{Totally embarrassing}

 

"I... detect that you have not wasted your time"

His feelings sharpened.

 

A thousand times more with the sense of sight.

Mordecai detected sheets blocking any external or internal breeze in the only window of the apartment, large imposing, suffocating, and poorly superimposed on the dizzying wood as if it were the structure of a fort built more by childrens, but probably created to fulfill its purpose, it was not strange, but once again it did not surprise him anyway, or so it should.

Mordecai had stopped studying in his adolescence on the subject when his mother intervened to enlighten him and the books he stole no longer offered him more warnings, rituals and care, however all of them taught him that He didn't have to worry about being detected by the Scent sense, if not that he himself would detect his apparent nightmare of a mate with a single sniff, and he wouldn't be able to avoid it by then.

The monochromatic tomcat couldn't seem to feel the knot in his stomach twist any further at the thought, he was fully aware that tomcats did NOT emit the essentially strong pheromones used to trap and attract, though of course females were clearly a different story.

But all his knowledge from the past was snatched from his attention when he suddenly wished with all his might not to look down.

It was when he felt every hair on his back stand up and find several instances of crazy throbbing inside his chest that he truly wanted to run away.

The substance he was STEPPING ON NOW underneath him, and just a thin layer of shoe and sock leather away from mixing with his feet was sticky, brown, coarse, VULGAR.

Trapping him temporarily only to release him the minute he lifted his soles a few feelings into the air.

Though right now he could shoot himself in both knees until the explosive pressure made them burst, separate him from the contaminated limbs, and somehow strange and bizarre way to.....

Just Run Away so far!!

Ugh!!

 

It gave off a strange sweet scent, mixed with wood!!.

.

 

".....{Sigh}....."

 

But however...

.

 

.

 

Suddenly, and from one moment to the next, the internal sensations changed as he looked about two inches to the left with what remained of his sanity.

He calmed down a bit.

And he looked.

And quickly saw the familiar cleaning utensil resting in a bucket full of water like a tramp lying around, just bum thrown away.

Clearly it was in that specific place to repair any disaster, and apparently, it had been recently used according to the marks of two previous stains poorly scrubbed on the floor.

Irregular and monstrous circles that emitted like a huge red sign the exaggeration of speed and the clear waste of coordination badly calculated, even if it was with the minimum concentration of a clearly not sane mind.

Without a doubt, the lack of experience and technique was greatly noticed and with a minimum of attention, but clearly it was better than nothing.

 

Not if he himself wanted to survive.

 

Just for today...

 

"Wasting...time...?"..

 

{Uh?....}

.

 

.

 

"Oh no...Of course I haven't wasted time....."

 

"You already know...feeling....."

 

".........feeling............"

 

.

 

.

 

".....feel........"

 

"I just...¡I can't!....

"!!I'M FEELING TRAPPED LIKE A DAMN RAT!!"

.

 

.

 

".....{.........}............"

 

"....{......}........"

 

"....{...}..."

 

"......Shit......"

 

.

 

.

 

"S-sorry.....I..I didn't...I didn't mean to....¡ARGH SHIT!..I-I'm... I'm sorry!!

 

Suddenly the hitman's eyes widened in astonishment to the size of a pair of plates made of polished jadeite.

The high tone resonated in his sensitive eardrums like thunder in surprise, and it didn't take long for him to warn his conscience to remind him to act with the necessary propriety to continue hiding his emotions as he was accustomed and comfortable with.

The resulting softer tone soothed the pain in his two auditory appendages, but it didn't resolve his regret at having spoken, even with marked sarcasm.

The temptation to act mockingly took its toll on him, and without his consent, he would open the door to something else that was clearly brewing beneath the surface, furtively, and at full boil.

And surely, he just could write entire paragraphs of his erroneous ailments about the ways of life that were people themselves, and even today the somber tomcat did not fully understand why he had failed in the intermittent study of his feline fellows, even if it was for mere social survival, at least enough to understand a little more about how their world worked and how to take care of their incalculable annoyances.

 

It was emotional.

 

Unusual.

 

And very strange.

 

{Interesting }

 

His curious analysis flowed raw now, and apparently, at this precise moment his attention only belonged to the new speaker, begging for mercy towards his auditory appendages for a pause, and gradually, with a seed of tiredness and annoyance that he couldn't help but sow and water slowly.

 

Although He ignore it.

 

"OF COURSE I WOULD WASTE MY TIME IF I DIDN'T HAVE THE PRIMORDIAL NATURAL JUDGMENT OF NOT LOSING MY SANITY!!!"

{Even more than now}

 

{Very emotional....too much}

 

The tuxedo male cat thought, while he clearly already knew beforehand that the problems could only increase from now on, his mind quickly turned to finding solutions instead of outbursts of anger or panic, avoiding with a lump of discomfort in his throat not to imitate the indecent behavior of his new work target, only this time and to his own misfortune, he couldn't include a clean shot to the forehead for solve the problem.

 

Every part of his duty was quick and precise, like the rounds of gunfire his watch helped him configure in a time traveled, calculating every feeling to subtract the numbers and keep subtracting them until everything finally stayed at zero.

 

Normally it was just him, the gunpowder machine in his claw, and the Tic Tac that comforted him from surviving another cold night under a bridge, or in a ruined mansion, or whatever the new rat burrow was that he had to bury deep in the earth beneath his feet at the end of the day.
And then always come home with tiredness in his bones, to carve his skin until it almost bled,and disinfect every part of his existence as if he couldn't tolerate the outside world and the crimson fluids he knew filled every living being like engine fluid.

 

But not out of guilt.

 

Never out of guilt.

 

He lost that a long time ago.

 

He needed logic, he needed information.

 

"EVERYONE...I HAVE TO AVOID IT!!...the only thing I..can smell is...my scent...it's embarrassing.....and.....and.....andy YOU ALL CALL THEM THIS AND THAT.....WILL YOU FOR THE LOVE OF GOD JUST CALL IT WHAT IT IS!!?.....this stinks!!.....I'm brilliant and charming you know!!....My style....my reputation!!!"

 

{What was probably left of that.}

 

"FUCK IT!!....!!You can just call this what it is!!....it's a fucking.....!!C-CLAUSTROPHOBIC HELL!!!"

 

"I never, EVER liked this!!........I NEVER liked my heat season!!,......OH!!,.... THIS IS WORSE THAN A DAMN FLU!!!"

 

{Heat}

.

 

.

 

{Facts Of Primordial Nature Vol 1:

"Aggression and instability in a male cat in heat is common and manifests itself mainly as fights with other males, driven by competition for females.

In addition, he may become more restless and vocal

(meowing a lot in primitive times when speech had not yet been invented).

The feline in question is prone to marking his territory with a slight scent of male musk to relax and appease females, although they have much greater, attractive, aggressive, and much more distinguishable pheromones.

(To the point of driving the male's nervous system crazy).

In addition, females will also present similar mood swings with equal aggressiveness, but significantly milder than those they may present in a future pregnancy, although it really depends on the nature of each female.

It is essential to understand that these behaviors are solely instinctive."}

 

Instinctive.

 

Instinct..

 

He only recognized the survival instinct in his to-do list, nothing else was missing, nothing more was needed.

But once again the world around him forced him to improvise.

And it clearly wasn't the only thing forcing him into an unnecessary and clearly mentally exhausting challenge, even if it was his first day, even if it was a simple reconnaissance of the area like a soldier in an unknown land.

 

{Even if it's really just a damn babysitting job}

The professional in question, he was already....Clearly exhausted.

And all because of what?

 

Perhaps because of a stripping of virtue.

 

Perhaps because of a past reflection....

 

One that wasn't his, one.....

 

That apparently only SHE saw.

 

Mitzi.

 

Former vagrant woman....

 

Former highway belle..

 

Current queen.

 

Current boss.

 

Current top dog.

 

He couldn't retreat, clearly not now.

 

"FIRST OF ALL.... "

 

The shadowy mobster swore and re-swore that the tabby was already showing signs of grabbing a bottle or vase to throw at the wall, when the shadowy hitman raised his voice in an authoritative tone, one he rarely used, he usually followed orders but didn't ever give them, and now more than ever....

It was truly difficult to deny that very fact....

 

But he continued...anyways and after all.

 

"Let's get the rules straight."

He had to....

 

"First of anything-"

 

"Get out now..."

 

Mordecai suddenly thought he detected a spark of cold anger in two baby blue seas, as if a poisonous red tide threatened to contaminate what had once been crystal clear below and sky blue on the surface, a pair of gems that normally detonated into stupidity and jovial youth, in an instant, no longer seemed the same.

And very fortunately he detected it just in time despite his own myopia.

Almost undetectable, but not for him.

He didn't give it importance, or at least...

Not for now.

 

All because...

HE REALLY HAD TO.

 

"First,...learn to control yourself."

 

"And please."

 

A low, guttural sound was heard, one of contained rage, very familiar, he had met it before and he had lowered his head enough times to then rise up and snap the neck of whoever he believed had power over him.

 

Criminals, scoundrels... But.

He had to.

 

Because unfortunately.

 

Very unfortunately.

Now it was the turn of someone whose life he was forbidden to end.

 

Even with the clear risk of an attempt on his own safety by scratches and bites.

 

"You"

.

 

.

 

"Go find"
"..................."

 

"A better mop..."

 

"....{............}................"

 

.

 

.

 

"Please."

 

It was too late.

 

Definitely too late to back out.

Chapter Text

Every part of his feelings were complex and manipulated by a recklessness that knew no precedent.

It wasn't uncommon.

But now it wasn't normal either.

Rocky felt so many sensations flowing within his heart that they expanded his range of attention, from the flies, almost invisible due to their speed, and occasionally sticking to the wall, to the annoying fact that every breeze of fresh air he desperately needed to feel free was overshadowed by a scent.

A scent with the scent of people, lots of people.

Among them, the kind of individuals who made his belly twist on the exquisite descent, a deep nosedive carrying him to the point of suffocating himself with his own ragged breath, and desires for a break that didn't feel like the extraction of their vital sanity.

The nights were cold, most of them simply endured without the discomfort of clothes rubbing against their body.

Even his skin became...Unusually sensitive.

And red.

Red as a tomato with every touch, even beneath the natural shelter of his own fur, as if its quality as a soft, fluffy armor couldn't protect him from the extreme sensitivity to touch either.

The nights passed in almost absolute silence, if not for the crunching pecking of his own viscera scratching just inside him, just always demanding the impossible, something that hurt and tore at him inside, and that he knew he wasn't born to deserve.

But none of those cold muses of fog and stars seemed to work as an extinguisher for the strong sensation of altered senses, involuntarily amplified by his current state.

 

The pressure was a continual excess between the fields of self-control, with no escape or victory that could help or comfort him greatly.

The anticipation of a taste of sweet freedom was tempting when observing his imaginary chains within his genes as a feline, and he undoubtedly wanted it to come in the form of air so pure that he could feel and breathe without any filter or contaminant of any kind, especially of someone else natural fragrance.

 

Yes...
But....

 

Even broken stars like him.

Even street people like him were social....

In the past, Rocky was surrounded by fleeting friendships that functioned as a means of escape and survival, which he thought would finally cure his broken heart with stories of gritty camaraderie amidst the sentimental backstabbings during his tumultuous adolescence.

Whether from family or school.

Two places where sometimes he didn't know where he felt most hurt or alone.

However, it didn't take long for him to start a cycle of naivety in his first attempts, one in which he was left behind, alone again, and without the few scarce belongings he had accumulated up to that moment, which were obviously no better than those they themselves carried in ragged glory.

The world of the homeless was especially terrible in a special time.

 

No protection...

 

Safety...

 

No shelter...

 

But with enough freedom and ingenuity you could move between the cold rocks of the fallen and abandoned bridges, and create a temporary refuge that would keep you away from the dirty scents and unwanted company.

And if that weren't enough.

Frozen rivers offered solace to the fever.

But of course, too much autumn slush was never enough, and the flu that could take you to the grim reaper's footsteps couldn't be missed.

Always waiting dutifully, like a silent predator that played on her loneliness and lack of loved ones, none in which she could freely take refuge.

Just as he would, if he had the chance to bury herself among pillows and fluffy blankets by a fireplace, spending each cold season in safety.

 

Fortunately, it had already passed.

 

He was no longer there.

But the feeling of claustrophobia was definitely not a temporary state, but a continuous one, perhaps a product of his disturbingly restless nature, or his sense of adventure that...

Quickly, transformed into loneliness at the climax of his sweet youth.

An abrupt and deadly change, like the cold shower a soldier goes through his own body, after being exposed to his beginnings among the fields of blood and dynamite...

 

A strong...cold shower...

 

He needed one.

 

But honestly, the pleasure of hoping for the cold was not well received by the warm muscles inside and below his own skin, all of them breaking down his body more and more and surrounding his bones like a curse as they heated up with each movement.

As would the connected wheels of a tired and old locomotive, burning with its endlessly working and laboring boiler like a radiant sun unable to dim its own fire.

 

"¡Arrgh!"

 

He can't take it anymore.

 

Desperately out of fruitful despair, the tabby proceeded to repeatedly pound his muscles, specifically on his left and right legs like a makeshift massager, unfortunately the remaining energy drained quickly to leave a dizzying tiredness, but which pleasantly intermingled for a few seconds with a strong will and admirable stubbornness.

His muscles could no longer wait, spontaneous combustion was not in his life or death plans, and especially not in illness, definitely his vows of involuntary marriage to the misfortune of his life did not motivate him much.

If anything, it wore him down.

 

More each day.

 

However, sometimes exhaustion leads to adrenaline and the knowledge of a goal, and the heart still alive within his chest quickly expelled him towards the bathroom once he knew he had a second wind.

Letting his stamped trembling legs guide him to the jackpot, one big and simple prize craved in the form of fierce, and cold drops that would awaken him from his punishing lethargy slumber.

 

It was like the rising sun trying to smoke out your insides.

 

Emptying your body to replace it with already burned kindling, burning in a bright orange that could melt your skin and bones from the inside out, just like a chimney with a life of its own.

The pain was devastatingly exhausting, blooming fiercely, just like a spring flower while it's punishing you with perpetual fatigue.

And to top it all off, with only one type of energy left besides your last bit of willpower:

 

That energy that bloomed from deep within.

 

Way down.

 

Near his hips.

 

And yearning for the itch.

 

.

 

.

 

But it wasn’t pleasurable.

 

At least not for him right now.

 

.

 

.

 

The feeling of nausea and dizziness in the pit of his stomach, the guilt and fear of finding something he shouldn't with just a single carelessness.

Anxiety about being watched by something terrifying.

Perhaps he was wrong.

Perhaps not.

But the nonchalance of his demeanor reflected a confidence that could take on the world with its scythe-like fangs.

The reality was much darker.

And the truth is, he was still a fragile being inside his soul.

A scared and needy one.

The young thespian can barely remember the countless times he thought to himself about the possibility of having a nighttime hug.

A kind, trustworthy, willing, generous, and genuinely affectionate gesture available to comfort him during the darkness.

 

Especially amid the soft blankets and pillows of his own room.

A refuge that, for once, was real.

 

He felt too.....

 

Exhausted.....

 

Even to think freely.

 

But the memory of his beloved madame, giving him a place of his own upon learning of his misfortunes, gave him a smile he had not expected, and yet, he did not feel it at all curling on his chapped and exhausted lips that obviously no longer carried their characteristic expression of wit and joy.

 

The young tabby couldn't even sustain the charade masked by fur and theatrical expression, even with the soothing, wild drops of artificial rain temporarily purifying his bitterness-filled soul.

Rocky had barely arrived safely and mentally whole to his sworn destiny, encountering the nagging, tiresome uncertainty that seemed to have clung to his bones like the root of a thorny blackberry bush.

The shower stone was cold and slippery, quite out of place compared to the safety and comfort of his own nest of blankets, where he had spent his days and nights in perpetual confinement.

However, the steam that filled his lungs and cleared his breathing was a liberating and fleeting blessing that he welcomed and warmed the torturing headache that had possessed his gray matter.

Said migraine clears his throat with a proper name.

 

Inner hatred.

 

Hidden hatred.

 

{SELF-HATE}

 

.

 

.

 

Okay, Al right now...

 

Something deep inside was quite clear.

 

Like, for example:

 

The sacrileges in the rotten underbelly of St. Louis Missouri AND the lives and souls it has sucked dry, ALWAYS come back in style.

Leaving the people in a direct line toward the death wish, and very especially on the side of the homeless.

The ragged members of the rejected garantía guild left in the burning crossfire.

Rocky knew strong and perfectly that even the lunatic on the corner could pass for sane, as long as there were those who lived affirming naive facts and blind faith.

As if the wine and whisky drought were actually a great success for the government, despite the fact that the lines between corruption and justice were slowly blurring.

But in the end, everything returns to normal, or at least that's what he tried to convince himself.

Both in the past and now.

He and his frozen comrades had never given up, never stopped roaming the gangster-filled streets looking for a can of junk, returning to one survival mission after another, and causing trouble like the end of a book every single night.

.

 

.

 

Oh...

 

And clearly.

Surely his bouts of insomnia, DOUBT, and restlessness...

 

Weren't cause for concern in those feverish moments of his past and present existence.

No...

Of course not...

 

Or so...

 

He wished.

 

.

 

.

 

But it was so easy...

 

So easy to say that Rocky has never been anyone's favorite person.

 

.

 

Not even his aunt's...

 

.

 

Although...

He knew very well that despite her exhausted and constricted heart, she STILL loved him.

As much as she loved him the day her sister...

 

{His Beloved mother}

Held him in her two arms to see his baby face on the very first day.

 

Or well..

 

She did once..

 

.

 

{But never like Sophie Rickaby itself}

 

{Or those many other mothers who would never stop, for anything in the world, just showing off their own chicks under their own wings}

 

.

 

He also couldn't help but notice that same disconnection from his friends or classmates.

Always there, but not the one they called first when they needed to talk or when something incredible happened.

He didn't even believe he'd been the favorite actor on the stages he'd dared to perform on the road.

Maybe that's why he stopped trying to shine in stardom, an attention he thought would once replace his loneliness a long time ago.

And even at school, he was not any teacher's favorite student either.

He was not the smartest, but he was the most cunning and the most problematic.

 

Although at the same time...

 

Just one more INVISIBLE one.

 

INVISIBLE in the lonely hallways, INVISIBLE at recess.

INVISIBLE in group photos, as if the world kept turning, unaware that that little tabby kitten once existed.

That word pretty much sums up how he felt inside.

Now, it's not that he's looking to compete or get attention.

He just wanted to know what it felt like to be ENOUGH for someone.

For someone to choose him without hesitation.

For someone to truly SEE him.

For someone to listen to him without rushing.

For someone to hug him for no reason and think every day:

 

"....Please, I don't want to lose you..."

 

.

 

BUT THAT NEVER HAPPENED.

.

 

.

 

And as the days passed, Rocky kept wondering if it was ALL his fault.

If there's something about him that doesn't shine bright enough, that doesn't stand out, or if he was simply born to be the person who's always there...

 

But that no one ever notices...

 

.

 

.

 

And probably...

 

NEVER WILL.

 

.

 

.

Always who smiles like a Harlequin while learning not to wait.

 

.

 

.

 

Always waiting...

.

 

.

 

Waiting..

 

.

 

.

 

TO NOT BE CHOSEN BY ANYONE.

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

"Mmm?..."

 

.

 

.

 

"Oh w-what?!"

 

"Oh No!"

 

"Not now, please!"

 

Suddenly, the drops unexpectedly stopped, giving the
subsequent burn an unwelcome feeling.

 

"Argh!... Damn..."

 

If anyone else who thought knew him were to look at the tabby feline right now, they wouldn't know whether to laugh, cry for him, or probably shake their head flatly in denial.

The tabby cat's state wasn't entirely natural or serene, much less consistent with the qualities one would consider...

"Normal and sane", to his everyday personality.

The soul-destroyed actor barely flinched when the water fall again from above, but this time went from comfortingly cold to irritatingly hot, rekindling the fire spreading through his fur.

 

Until finally, it was TOO MUCH.

Chapter Text

The room was immersed in the semi-autumn light that barely peeked through the windows covered with makeshift curtains; the only light that probably dignified any presence.

The dust diffused by the faint rays of sunlight released from the shifting flight of gray clouds in the sky above the dilapidated apartment was the only movement in the otherwise perfectly silent room.

Both gems, polished blue and green jadeite, approached.

The air was thick with a very foggy, silent tension.

Mordecai was already sitting on the dirty floor, ignoring the more common tickle in his brain that told him to escape.

Instead, he froze, his shoulders rigid and his cheeks a deep crimson that he swore could set all the fur on his face on fire without even blinking.

He looked away for a moment, clutching the edge of the couch he'd fallen off, with his hands clenched and just perfectly sunk in ten-bladed claws, as if it were the only thing keeping him grounded.

And as far away as possible from the immeasurably deep and shameless instinct.

{And the shameful place between his hips...}

 

Something that just wanted to stop scaring his heart beating inside him,...

 

Crushing.....

 

Oh, Crushing his ribs DEEPLY...

 

"I-I need"

"I-I need..."

"N-Need...you to need me..."

"Please.....".

"...Need me...."

...

...

 

They murmured what Mordecai recognized as two blue gems.

The Hitman couldn't see beyond them, couldn't look away, couldn't distinguish anything but the sapphire light sunk between two oceans.

He could only make out a soft voice, but with a touch of tenderness wrapped in pure need, just like water wrapped between springs.

The dark-furred cat tilted his head and silently observed something he could make out beyond them: soft, dry lips, that strangely, caught his attention suddenly.

 

That anatomy...

 

That imaginary touch...

And that...

 

That shape.

 

{hat was already woven inside his mind}

 

With two overly sharp fangs jutting out in youthful mischief.

And the pattern in the cracks in the tissue of her lower lip.

 

Like a....

 

Dried Daisy flower...

 

So dry from the air and the whiskey.

 

{He just couldn't stop staring...}

.

 

.

 

Those lips curved into a small, a knowing smile...

But yet, something in the middle of that smile...

Seemed... odd.

 

Strangely unsteady.

 

But yearning...

 

Almost...

 

BROKEN.

 

{As if a string stretched too taut...}

 

{Had just REJOICED at the moment of settling into two..}

 

"I didn't think you were shy, or rather..."

 

"maybe..."

 

"I thought so, but..."

 

"Definitely not with yo-"

 

"-Definitely you not."

 

The gangter interrupted, swallowing his saliva with difficulty, as if it were muddy clay sliding down his throat, almost making him recoil in an uncontrollable cough of nerves, his Adam's apple bobbing silently like an unknown accomplice watching him from below and amidst his tissues.

"AND...I'm not shy..."

 

He stammered, though his cracked voice betrayed him.

 

"It's just... this is... UNEXPECTED..."

.......

 

.

 

"...mmm....?"

 

.

 

.

 

"Then....

 

"Let's see"

 

.

 

.

 

The thespian chuckled carefully, a low, warm sound that sent shivers down every strand of fur along the frozen hitman's back.

The young man took a step forward, slightly rocking his hips while still squatting over the other feline's body.

All the while, The younger striped feline closing very
slowly the distance between them, as if it were a test of endurance for both parties.

His hands rested on his new target's shoulders, his delicate snatches tenderly tracing the lines of the collarbone through the fabric of his shirt, caressing every muscle in the other cat's significantly broader back, his hands constantly palpating between the fabric of the clothes and the cold wall behind them, contrasting fiercely with the warm surroundings.

 

"The unexpected isn't always...so bad...You know"

 

"Can make you feel VERY GOOD"

 

"You just have to give it a chance"

 

"Because ...me too..."

 

.

 

.

 

"I WANT to see you"

 

He purred against his neck, his breath hot against his partner's ear, an ear that...

Unexpectedly seemed to pay more attention than necessary to every movement.

 

"You just have to let go...a little."

 

"For me..."

 

The nocturnal feline, with his glasses already fogged up, gasped as he finally felt the sensitive folds of fur on his neck brushed against his companion's nose and tickly whiskers.

His hands trembled, undeniably unsure of where to go, until the striped thespian took one of his gloved paws and lowered it from his waist, suggestively bringing it to the lowest point of his hip.

The touch was electric and white-hot, sending shockwaves through the man's normally calm and somber body.

His heart raced until he almost burst into tears from a shiver of satisfaction, sweet anguish, and a sense of contentment that proclaimed something special, like something broken and mended.

 

To the point that....

PURE NECESSITY

 

..Seemed to be the words...

 

.

 

.

 

"...Haa......"

 

.

 

.

 

"Mister..."

 

"Rickaby..."

 

.

 

.

 

He began to protest.

 

{Or at least he tried to}

 

{Very..}

.

 

.

 

{Very...miserably...}

 

But the words caught in his throat with speed as the recent object of his psychological torture...

 

{And his recent descent into the perpetual abyss}

 

Just drew NEARER again.

 

His body was warm and welcoming...

 

So close and dangerous.

 

"...Shhhhhhhhhhh..."

 

The other whispered...

 

Just purring...

 

Purring in tender...

 

With his tiny pinky lips moved up to his already sensitive jaw area.

 

"Just...FEEL ME."

 

"You just have to FEEL ME..."

 

Then...

 

And with a gentle tug and a shove...

The tabby gently and once for all deposited the feline assassin fully deployed on the floor.

First, with a full-body slide of the bespectacled man against the wall...

 

{Before finally landing with a thud at the foot of it}

 

And finally...

He was left suspended in the air with the person responsible for his delirium... ON TOP OF HIM.

Their gazes met for what seemed like the hundredth time in a century, and for an instant, time seemed...

 

TO STAND STILL.

 

{.....Oh... How exactly did both get here?.....}

 

.

 

.........................................................................................................................................

 

"All right, they're here!"

 

!!BEEP!!

 

.

 

.

 

¡¡BEEEP!! ¡¡BEEEP!!

 

.

 

.

 

¡¡
B
E
E
E
E
E
E
E
E
E
P
!!

 

"¡The trucks!"

 

"¡Quick!, ¡unload them now!"

 

.

 

"I definitely have to remind them not to shout so loudly."

 

.

 

The cat, as gray as the sheer power of the autumn fog, murmured loudly enough to alert his employee.

He didn't remember one first name, nor the last name, but his ability to calculate and enumerate the faces of those working under the power of his words was a crucial instinct to avoid all the betrayals, tricks, and plays he could ever hope for.

 

And the rest...

Well..

He simply left it to the jacks and the numbers in the deck.

That was their duty, after all.

 

Atlas observed with a unflappable expression, an expression that resembled the faces carved in stone that left their mark on endless portraits and photos, that of course, cataloged his progress throughout his path of only opportunistic successes.

Including his own happy moments.

 

Among them...

 

His own wedding.

 

"Can't expect a smile, dear?"

 

Suddenly, a softness appeared in the air.

Followed by a low, almost imperceptible purr.

Followed by familiar footsteps echoing with heels...

A walk filled with arrogance and streetwise cunning that he knew very well, and was heading his way straight to him.

 

"Mitzi..."

 

The same name he wore and wore between the honey of his lips.

Hidden from others, obvious to the ears that could and would catch his absolute truths for the rest of her life, even from a man like him who knew and manipulated lies to create his armor and armies.

"I guess, I can't expect your pretty fangs to grace me with their presence today either."

 

"Well..."

 

"Even though I hoped today would be different"

 

"I mean..."

 

"Just watch..."

 

"All of this, IS OURS"

 

A part of his mind cleared his throat.

 

OURs, it was an uncompromising word...

 

There was no doubt that the credit was undoubtedly wholesale for the founder of the emporium himself.

 

However, despite all the logic involved, the thought of the sheer audacity of this woman, who laid her head on her man the moment she saw him, seemed most...CAPTIVATING.

 

To the point of almost taking his breath away.

 

A lady emaciated with years of heart more than twice her age, made of swindles and sweet poison wrapped in honey, was undoubtedly a strange and wonderful combination he had found in a rare raw gem.

 

It was his trophy.

 

He had earned it.

 

A part of him wanted to openly praise her right then and there, curl his lips and smile, but another part of his heart screamed that she already knew with extraordinary force, only pretending in masquerade like him, like everyone else, that his desire to be in their own iron-painted bubble alone, was there and had already implanted itself deep within both of them.

He felt his lips betray him.

Coming dangerously close to forming the words, he wrapped himself, sinking into the color of two deep green gems, both wrapped in the fur of his wife's soft face.

 

"Yes, our-"

"BOSS!"

 

".......{...........}........."

 

".....{...........}......"

 

....

 

....

 

.....

 

"I-I mean."

 

"Mister...Atlas"

 

"S-Sir"

 

".....{breathing}......"

 

"Sir?"

 

.

 

.

 

".....{....¡Huff!...}......"

 

"WHAT?..."

 

The word itself was made like tempered iron in the worst conditions, trapped and rushed to forge without enough patience or time, and even so, reaching the hardness worthy of a blue-gray gullotine that caught the moonlight before strangling and slicing the throat of some unfortunate man, condemned to pass through its edge.

Fortune was like an english deck for those without the virtue of respect; the winning cards were scarce for the rude and impatient without a doubt, and this... man...

No.

This living being would be no exception if, in the next few seconds, he didn't demonstrate the manners and rectitude necessary to survive the rest of the autumn day, or, at best, if it was his pay and the food that would surely be snatched from his unconscious fangs that would accept the fair retort.

 

"Dear, I don't think it's very polite to cut off his head"

 

But of course, life often keeps shifting you to other games and new arenas.

And in matters like chess, queens moved faster than kings themselves.

And suddenly, he could feel the lava in the volcano of his crown rushing back to cool once more...

FOR NOW.

 

"Of course, at least...not YET"

 

"Until of course he explains himself BETTER"

 

"......{.....}......"

 

"What do you have for us?...."

 

"Sugar plum"

 

Atlas didn't know whether queen bees could sting or inject venom on their own, but if not, it was abundantly clear that one could, and only with words wrapped in her own royal nectar, always meticulously wrapped in a soft and numbing sweetness.

One that leaves you unable to escape and with no desire to face the inevitable head-on.

A blow that made it abundantly clear that everything would end sharply, painfully, and probably dangerously and blatantly, if none of her wishes were ever granted exactly as required in the first place.

Mitzi had found a way.

 

In Words...

 

SWEETS WORDS.

 

That woman knew the inevitable way to defend herself, even without a hive that had backed her up decades ago.

And if that weren't enough, now that she had the means, it seemed she was going to take full advantage of them in all their splendor.

But she clearly couldn't say the same about that worker, who trembled, struggled, and was internally surprised by how well-calculated, hurtful, and sweet the words of the Persian cat in front of him were.

Standing still and firmly on her feet, she fiercely intimidated like a true queen despite her tender and diminutive stature.

 

{...What?, did you think someone would help you...?}

 

He almost wanted to boast out loud as if those needles shaped like Southern words were his, but he was interrupted by the trembling sound of another voice with less power over his heart and mind...

 

{Not like...HERS...}

 

But that same voice was laced with fear, which struck him as another juicy and enticing glimpse of that woman's imprint.

 

{Or should he say appropriately...}

{...HIS WIFE...}

 

"W-Well... mm"

 

"II-I"

 

"In WORDS, honey"

 

"II-I... it's just... ¡We need someone!"

 

"¿Need?..."

 

"¿WHO DO WE NEED?"

 

Atlas interrupted, of course not on purpose or as a sign of disrespect toward his life partner, but out of genuine curiosity.

{Who was missing?}

 

"Who's missing, honey?"

 

"Missing... Missing..."

"M-Missing... ¡that scary guy!"

 

"!You know!, the one who always has that notebook and..."

"Also,...¡he always has numbers in his head!..."

 

Missing...?

 

Who?...

 

He...?

 

His Jack?...

 

The gray feline like the fog scanned every face in an instant, the ones he could naturally memorize and remain memorized until the end of time, and if possible, and beyond.

Each face was like the numbers in his deck of cards, and none seemed or was once completely absent.

In any day, in any hour, no even in any minute of his working life.

It was always a winning hand, and it was ALWAYS his Jack, who found a way to wield the axe that cut through chaos if it was necessary.

But when he checked closely...

Sure enough, he wasn't there.

 

".....{Tch!}......"

 

Autumn 1925, St. Louis, Missouri...

Estimated time: 6:30 a.m.

Missing subject in question:....

"Mordecai..."

.

 

That kid...

.

 

Didn't make it to work.

 

"How long has it been dear?... a week?"

"On none of those days was he late"

 

"Not even one morning"

 

.

 

..............................................................................................................................................

 

If you asked Mordecai what the unluckiest day of his life would be, he'd probably say it was the day he, Rose, Esther, and his own mother were almost murdered and gunned down by the bloodthirsty killers who emerged from the shadows, and would have nearly captured them all.

Of course, if it weren't for his self-sacrifice.

Vanishing into smoke like a ghost that never existed.

But still, would never be forgotten.

 

Leaving just the money and earnings for a better life as his only trace of love beyond the distance.

 

{The long, long distance}

 

After all, it was quite difficult to accurately explain the mental chaos and genuine emotional damage that, just comes with accepting that you're only a few hundred miles away from what would surely be either, a torturous death, or a loving embrace from your own birthplace in the Big Apple.

With no way to escape, and always on the mind of what would be one of the greatest and most stressful risks.

 

Although, well, of course...

 

HE appeared.

 

The giant of St. Louis Missouri...

 

{ATLAS MAY}

 

He saved them all in the end.

 

Just as his former self shed a drop of blood from the freshest and most recent wound on his nose onto the paper, a farewell letter, a clear example of the first step toward accepting his near end.

 

Perhaps even on the verge of tears, and painfully signing that crumpled paper with tears certain of his fate; and so, for a few agonizing seconds...

 

He didn't know at that moment that he might be...

 

ACTUALLY LIVE.

 

Back then, and probably still now, both his younger self and his current self seriously doubted that anything could surpass the horror he fully experienced that day.

 

He wasn't yet at all prepared to face, and probably just accept the death itself.

 

It was hard to conceive of anything more terrifying than the thought of certain death, especially surrounded by loved ones who would surely suffer the same terrible fate as him.

That was if he couldn't find a way to let their trail dissolve like road dust.

However, having to care for a failed actor in his heat on his own was proving to be, in some ways, a close call to the immense pain of her most recent migraine.

 

"Okay, we've cleaned up"

 

"Now, let me know where the first aid kit is."

 

"Tch!..."

 

".....{....}......."

 

"Please"

 

{..You Beast..}

 

The click of the thespian's tongue was the clear signal he needed to know the following:

First, the words "please" and "thank you"...

 

Which had already saved his skin several times against the fickle temperament of the gray tabby, who by the way, had already carefully wrapped his striped body in a improvised
cocoon made of blankets, all while looking at him with clear disdain.

 

Of course, as if he didn't want to be anywhere else.

{..THE NERVE..}

 

The hitman sighed for the fourtieth time that day as he left and returned to the room of his current... "patient"...
With a small white box in his hands.

Apparently, the best place to find something so vital...

Was on the toilet seat in the bathroom, over a half-spilled bottle of medicinal syrup.

 

{...How subtle and appropriate...}

 

"You really need to organize your belongings better, you know?"

 

"I can hardly find it with all this...mess."

 

{And just saying "mess" was being too kind}

 

Now having shifted and sat on his bed as if it were a normal day, the tabby simply shrugged, some of his charisma still bubbling away from what seemed like his last moments away from his raging hormones.

 

If it hadn't been for the tiny but noticeable dark bloodstain on the shirtsleeve of this guy, which signaled a previous violent encounter, the tuxedo almost felt like slamming his arm against a door and simply pretending his hands were useless to stop him from continuing.

{Only this time it wouldn't be exactly "accidental"}

Like he'd had to make it happen with the striped feline when his own claws dug into the skinny shoulders with too much force, all while trying to calm him down with the last order to take his medicinal suppressant.

 

{Yes, that time he truly hadn't wanted that outcome, despite his continued feeling of annoyance toward the other feline bubbling like a cauldron.}

 

{Although maybe, just maybe, he'd find a safe escape if...}

 

{If his bones got sore enough to send him home?}

 

{Would Mitzi accept it?}

 

{Would Atlas accept it?}

 

{Could he say it was the tabby's fault?}

 

.

 

.

 

NO!

 

That was so...

 

CHILDISH!

 

He couldn't!

 

Oh Hell...

{He definitely couldn't}

 

So in the end, he just mentally shook his head at the previous thought as he approached slowly and cautiously.

 

{And obviously not by jumping on the bed}

 

The piece of furniture was large and ornate, with curtains and tassels woven like a delicately handcrafted rug.

It was then that he realized that the bed wasn't the only thing worthy of admiration for its antique elegance.

And despite its aging bones, probably steeped in history, the apartment itself was elegantly beautiful, well-furnished, and in fact quite refined, despite the normal carelessness that a person suffering from the flu, or even during an embarrassing period of heat, could unintentionally inflict.

The hitman had intelligently deduced that its deterioration was solely due to the age of the walls themselves, and of course, to the objects that had once been carelessly draped over the surface, ruining and cluttering what was once a well-polished environment.

{In which even the Tuxedo Cat himself might have enjoyed living, if it weren't for the sole tenant}

 

"Maybe we don't need the medicine cabinet after all"

"I'm used to...healing myself..."

 

That drew an exasperated sigh from the tuxedoed hitman.

He'd truly hoped that being semi-injured would distract the blue-eyed feline enough to keep him from having the energy to continue with the annoying, or rather whiny, and volatile comments he'd been hurling at him since he'd joined the task of protecting him, and on top of that, in the musician more vulnerable state.

But, apparently, he'd been wrong.

"And I guess it's just my luck that I'm the man responsible for dealing with the consequences of your recklessness.

As usual, you don't even seem to take good care of yourself."

 

He snarled, perhaps even baring his fangs a little too much.

 

"It couldn't be Mitzi or my boss, YOUR BOSS, You know?.."

 

"¡You're just really lucky they had to force m-"

 

"-To be fair...MY FELLA..."

 

The musician and semi-actor touched the tip of Mordecai's nose mockingly as he said the last word, as if to further emphasize the humiliating act deep in his spine.

"You're the reason I was locked away, so ''protecting me'' is the LEAST you could do."

 

"For starters, don't call me that"

"I'm not any friend or companion of yours"

"And secondly..."

 

Mordecai then pulled Rocky's hand away so quickly that for a moment he thought it would fly away.

 

"¡I AM NOT responsible for anything!"

 

"It's not my fault I could smell your obvious condition from miles away, while you decided to show off in the middle of the stage!"

"No...I WAS'T...showing off..."

 

"¡Oh, of course you not!"

 

Sarcasm, biting social commentary that couldn't have flowed more naturally in the worst possible situation.

He'd forgotten the rules he'd rehearsed several times before as soon as the adrenaline had cursed him with its competitive spell.

That simple phrase would surely unleash a storm of harmless drops in the sky if he wasn't careful.

 

"I wasn't...SHOWING OFF!"

 

And unfortunately...

He didn't seem to be wrong.

 

It was at that moment that he could distinguish a shade of carmine amidst the blue tide, as if possessed himself were tearing the seahorses apart and causing their blood to stain his home in raw, cruel swirls.

 

The tabby continued, wailing in flashes that seemed to slowly turn into thunder.

"I only intervened by distracting the audience because the guy behind you was about to shoot you in the head!!...

¡¡And Miss M too!!....

¡¡Oh no!!...

¡¡But you were just too focused on watching me, and blaming me for everything that could go wrong, to even notice!!"

 

"If I hadn't made such a... HORRIBLE sound on my big, precious, one-night as a solo artist!!"

"¡¡Enough to jolt the eardrums of half the audience!!.."

"¡¡Just for!!...."

 

"Well..."

 

"¡¡For What Do You Think MISTER GENIUS!!"

"¡¡So Your Head Won't Explode Instead Of A Group Of Strangers Who Honestly I Don't Care Enough!!"

"¡¡At Least For Praising Me Once In A While Instead Of ALWAYS Looking At Me With DAMN PITY!!"

"¡¡JUST LET THEM KNOW MY BODY YEARNS FOR A PARTNER!!"

"¡¡AND THAT'S ALL!!"

 

.

 

.

 

".........{.......}.........."

 

".......{......}......"

 

"....{....}...."

 

"....{...}...."

 

.

 

.

 

"So, yes..."

"It seems like a good trade if you want my opinion."

Chapter Text

...

 

For a few moments, everything felt... COLD...

 

Cold, as if everything had been frozen in time without interruption.

 

The melodic songs of the tiny brown-feathered sparrows could be heard embracing the early morning dawn at the window, delicate little birds fluttering through the air like ballerinas, as if nothing else mattered in life other than being caressed by the morning breezes that sneaked in through their tiny feathers to make them fly.

 

{The air was cold too}

 

Such was the cold and dampness of the season that it was clearly noticeable in the freshness of the dewdrops on the only window that illuminated the apartment, which fortunately hadn't been covered in a prison of makeshift fabric curtains.

 

Mordecai deeply envied the tranquility of nature outside.

Because it clearly didn't compare to the stifling atmosphere filled with an innate sense of guilt.

 

No.

 

The silence was extremely soothing and condemning at the same time, with its lack of voices and vocal intonations worthy of a silent movie that probably wouldn't appeal to any particular audience.

The tension was suffocating.

And it could be cut, sliced, and served on a plate like some kind of guilt-inducing morsel that tasted as bitter as it sounded in the ear.

 

And then suddenly...

He noticed it.

 

An ancient, rusty gleam.

Perhaps a small miracle on the nightstand.

 

A RADIO.

 

The hitman was no stranger to the grace of technology itself, but the extreme simplicity of his background and his practical heart didn't give him time to waste his daily routine on hobbies that would strip him of his perpetual efficiency.

However, as soon as he saw what could most affect a broken heart, so old despite its youth, perhaps in fact, he couldn't find another solution.

 

{Music}

{Sound}

{DISTRACT}

 

{Calm}

 

Soft piano or violin chords were the only things his naturally sensitive auditory appendages could tolerate, or so he imagined.

Jazz sounds accompanied by glitter and perpetual glamour falling from a sky of stalactites were his daily consumption, but obviously compulsory, skipping the part of even being able to enjoy them.

For him, the harpeggios had become an annoying and obligatory routine that he only tolerated, but that never completely melted his heart.

 

However, now perhaps...

He could just find a way.

 

*STEP*

 

*STEP*

 

*STEP*

 

"¿Now what do you do?"

 

*STEP*

 

*STEP*

 

*STEP*

 

*CLICK *

 

*Click*--BRR - BR--BR--BRR--BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM--🎶🎶🎶---BR--BR--BRR--BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMM--🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶
🎶🎶
🎶🎶🎶
🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶
🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶
🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶.

 

"...{......}....."

 

*🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶*

 

"...{......}..."

 

*🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶*

 

"...{....}....."

 

"....Umm..."

 

"....¿Mister Heller.?..."

"....Hey.."

 

"Look...listen..i-"

"I UNDERSTAND"

 

.

.

 

"...{....}...."

.

 

.

 

".....Wait....."

"¿What?"

 

{Not "sorry"}

 

{Not "I was wrong"}

 

{Just "I UNDERSTAND"}......

 

"It was more than clear that the misinformation was... obvious."

"And unfair."

"Look...I'm so-"

"Please listen to me carefully."

 

Mordecai rolled around the room trying to adjust the machine's frequency, each movement explicitly done just to buy more time, or so he wanted to believe.

He felt his breathing become a little more labored and his heart rate increase considerably as he felt a new emotion, an unexpected mix he thought he would never possess, neither here nor now.

 

:GUILT...and... GRATITUDE:

 

His head spun, searching for the answers he needed to find himself again.

Until finally, deep inside, he found the images that his gray matter, composed of thousands of nerves, could present to him in response.

 

The image...or rather, the soft sound of a violin.

 

...........................................................................................................................................

 

.

 

.

 

"...You'd better be patient, sugar"

"I don't think the audience is that hungry to start with something.....classical."

 

"¡You'll see, Miss M!"

 

The tuxedo cat heard the violinist's voice clearly as water just a few miles away, unable to hear any more.

Both felines were already heading straight for the stage, preparing to perform like the stars the night required for its flowery continuation.

His vision reached out to reveal a beautiful, elegant setting filled with nostalgia from the decade of jazz parties, sequins, and sharp, passionate movements on the dance floor that would blind even the most correct and sane, and would undoubtedly find a way to dazzle the strictest man.

 

However, he was the clear exception.

 

Although, of course, his duty, written in stone, wouldn't wait for him or have the patience to complain.

 

Every time he turned around he could taste the fruity aroma and the flavor of each sip, perfectly served in the glass or cup of any guest full of feathers and elegant suits, even those who did not have the same economic luck and could only settle for wearing a casual outfit subtle enough not to be seen as "inappropriate", but which nevertheless fit harmoniously with the image that could well be part of a painting or a photo hanging on the wall of the upper café; which always concealed hidden secrets wrapped in liquid gold and crystal glasses except for those who did not have the pass in the shape of a three-leaf clover, a perpetual and immaculate symbol of what should never be mentioned or revealed even to the strongest eccentric supporter of the whiskey and wine revolution if they were not part of the guild of outcasts.

 

"Try not to get distracted by your desire to leave."

 

"Just remember."

 

"You need to stay until the end."

 

That was all I'd heard from a gray cat whose fur contrasted with the festive atmosphere of the sparkling ballroom;
Just sitting in the main seat, in a comfortable leather armchair that had been manufactured exclusively for a single, explicit purpose...

 

SUSTAINING A LEADER.

 

Now perched in the same seat like an imposing king in his own castle, Atlas May almost never said anything that wasn't useful, being one of the many reasons why the hitman enjoyed working under him so much; his boss was always short and to the point, like a dry cough brought on by the desert breeze; he didn't say much and didn't mind doing anything unless it was important, so much so that his obvious fondness for few words, efficiency, and order were links in the structure that made up his already sworn loyalty.

 

Although deep down he knew there were more secrets and thoughts hidden than one might imagine, disregarding the man's calm exterior, after all, that gangster had built himself amidst silence and actions never spoken aloud, even amidst the hurricane of noises and sounds that accompanied each crazy night in a sea of jazz notes whose allure he never truly understood; much less the addiction others felt to having those harpeggios invading every bone in their bodies.

 

However, every inappropriate thought of discomfort that could be problematic for his mission was overshadowed by two things.

 

The first, a sound.

And the second, a scent.

 

The first was soft and soothing, like a small, fragile waterfall formed from a tiny stream.

 

The second, more annoying and strong, quite cloying, and as incredibly unbearable as it was disconcertingly delightful in a way.

 

It was like smelling wood, earth, cinnamon, sugar, and honey combined in a deep jar, baking in the sun in the middle of summer.

 

{Though thankfully, it wasn't that time yet.}

Every feline had its time, after all.

Even him.

 

And for the cat, wrapped in monochromatic fur in particular, he had to endure two distinct kinds of increased ambient heat.

The first, obviously caused by the dry summer air that burned the lungs and parched the tongues of citizens, making them wish they'd been born surrounded by three different soda shops on every street; and the second, much more shameful, within every muscle and every blood vessel, writhing within their very being.

 

It was torture to have to endure the needs of a crawling animal.

"Evolution" was an empty word with no precedent or solid foundation if "domesticated" society simply meant nothing...

IF IT WAS UNABLE TO CONTROL THE POWER OF NATURE ITSELF.

 

Each fluid of thick, hot blood coursed through his veins like fast-moving, raging rivers, melting and burning him to the point of practically dying in life, only to be revived once his consciousness was restored to him.

Technically, he wasn't fortunate enough to rest in peace, as he mostly just passed out in a sweaty bed every night, but it was fair to say the sensation was exactly the same, plus the unconditional tick-like stinging that clung like a tick to his groin and other parts of his body, racking his brain, eventually filling it with images and desires for a nonexistent companion he could embrace and cling to with claws and teeth, finally quenching his thirst like a vampire thirsting for affection instead of sucking out red blood cells; always yearning, always wanting the sweat of another living being to mingle with his own in a dance that would unite two bodies.

 

When he finally woke up from those images that slowly degraded his sanity, he would cry, tears streaming down his green eyes.

Both from shame and from an extreme loneliness he'd never felt until those very days arrived.

 

Where every part of his soul deeply yearned for something he knew he couldn't have...

 

Without being able to regret it afterward.

 

Oh...

 

He was afraid.

That wasn't hard to deny.

 

{But those nights made him wonder if he also feared loneliness itself}

 

He would try not to think about it....TOO MUCH.

 

.

 

.

 

Mordecai sniffed again.

 

Slowly this time.

Almost tasting.

 

And so he savored again the inexplicable scent of damp earth and honey...maple?...

The hitman could make out the most terrifying off-key sound, even to the heavens.

 

Along with a "Click"...

 

And up...

 

¡UP!

 

Just a few feet above him on the stage.

 

Oh...

 

Mordecai could be at a party.

 

He could be surrounded by hell.

 

He could even be half deaf, his ears about to fall off his skull.

 

But he could never mistake the sound...of a trigger...

 

AND THE SCENT OF THE GUNPOWDER.

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

..............................................................................................................................................

 

"¡I'm just saying!"

 

"Really, ¿a truce?"

 

"And that's why you built all that?"

 

There were no words to describe the monochromatic and yet colorful spectacle of the dozens of sheets of paper nailed haphazardly to that wall, messy yet orderly, and logical yet totally illogical; As if it were some kind of abstract art intended to kill with confusion and boredom due to the information overload of its thousands of data encrypted in ink, too many to memorize or even summarize in a paragraph, maybe two, or maybe even ten if the tabby's luck had already passed the bottom, and just found Dante's hell or...

At best, the New York underground.

 

Each nail had been manipulated and attached to the wooden wall at a perfect, specific, and downright creepy angle;
So perfect and precise that it wasn't safe to say it had been done by a real person and not an entire team of newspaper editors, let alone the real-life cat in front of him, who now, he could swear was acting as boldly and diligently as if he'd just started a college lecture.

 

¡¿And why the hell hammer nails into the wall just for that?!

 

It was all...

 

So strange...

 

HE was strange.

 

Even to the musician's own broken psyche.

 

"¡YES!"

 

"¡¿WHY?!"

 

"¡¿Why?!"

 

"Why, in the first place, ¡wouldn't you understand a proper and consistent explanation even if you counted peanuts!"

 

"And secondly, it's abundantly clear that your behavior is synonymous with a few days that will be problematic-"

 

"WEEK"

 

".....{.......}...."

 

".....Pardon?..."

 

"I SAID....week.."

 

"It'll take a week, it always takes a week"

 

"Week...."

 

"¡WEEK!"

 

Suddenly, the tabby noticed something he hadn't seen before.

A different emotion.

 

Oh...

And it was scary...

Very scary...

But not that scary.

 

He would even pronounce it,"adorable", if he were bolder in describing it.

But the other word was....."angry."

 

And as clear as day, he could make out the prominent white eyebrows of his "caretaker" were bathed in a mixture of lines of repressed anger and despair that hadn't appeared before, not even in the most heated moments of their previous arguments.

 

It was weird...

But frankly, ¡He could bear it!

 

And frankly, it wasn't hard to tell that the previous "conference" seemed to have taken tons of seriousness out of the tuxedo cat, who until now had presented a stern, calm face, like the living representation of melted ice.

 

It was kind of silly.

 

And different.

 

And frankly...

 

Something kind of cute.

 

"FOR THE LOVE OF!"

 

"Argh!"

 

{...But just a little...}

 

"AND YOU COULDN'T HAVE TOLD ME SOON!"

 

"¡I can't help it ¿OK?!, It's been like this since I was a teenager!"

 

"It's getting more and more deceptive, It starts with a normal fever or the common cold, then I usually don't notice my own scent until it gets strong enough for me to notice it
with my own nose"

 

"And of course, the wrong fellas can get... the wrong ideas..."

 

"You don't mean, ¿ladies?... ¿Do you?"

 

"Yeah, well...{..*Sigh*..}...."

 

"There are....MANY kinds of people in the world..."

 

".....{.....}....."

 

".......{.......}....."

 

"¡Hey! ¡¿It's not bad or abnormal okey?!, it's just..."

 

"Dangerous...sometimes..."

 

"Define, dangerous"

 

"....{.....}......"

 

"....¿well?....."

 

"I don't know"

 

"¿What?, do you mean you don't kn-"

 

"YES, I DON'T KNOW, ¡¿OK?!"

 

"Look, all I know is that it works for both parties"

 

"I don't know if it's because I'm special or if it's some kind of spell cast by a swamp witch when I was born, but..."

 

"It's always...always been that way."

 

"But if you ask me, I think it has to do with when SOMEONE is different...you know...like me..."

 

"¿And what's wrong with you?, umm...well, besides the obvious."

 

"Ooooooh, suuuuuuuuure, very funny, my fell-"

 

"Please don't call me that."

 

"Ooooooooh."

 

"Now what?!"

 

"You'd rather I call you .... MIA BELLA?"

".......{..........}......."

 

"Well you're adorable"

"¡Unbearable!, But adorable..."

"and well, I'm not Italian but-"

"JUST... {...Sigh...}....Get straight to the point."

 

"¡Okey, okey, okey!"

 

"....Ummmmm..."

 

"....{.......}....."

 

"......{*Sigh*}......."

 

"Well, In general, let's just say people are attractive."

 

"And I don't really care who it is..."

 

"Like HE"

"SHE"

"MYSELF"

 

"No..."

"I don't....really....really care...."

 

.

 

.

 

"Like...."

"¿Yourself?"

 

.

 

.

 

"....{........}...."

 

".......{........}........"

 

"Yeah"

 

"Like myself"

 

.

 

.

 

.

 

.......................................................

 

*BRRRRR,--BRRRRR-- BRRRRRRRRR---🎶🎶🎶

🎶🎶🎶🎶BRRRRRRRR🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶🎶

 

...................................................................................................

 

...........................................................................

 

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice 🎶

 

Then kiss me once again 🎶

 

It's been a long, long time 🎶

 

Haven't felt like this, my dear 🎶

 

Since can't remember when 🎶

 

It's been a long, long time 🎶

 

You'll never know how many dreams I dreamed about you 🎶

 

Or just how empty they all seemed without you 🎶

 

So kiss me once, then kiss me twice 🎶

 

Kiss me once again 🎶

 

It's been a long, long time 🎶

 

...........................................................................

 

.........................