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You knew something was wrong the moment Hank didn’t answer your question immediately. You stood in the doorway of the lab, arms folded loosely, scanning the familiar chaos of wires, glass containers, and humming machines.
“Hey, Hank. Have you seen Peter? He said he’d meet me after the mission and-”
It was then that Hank cleared his throat, you looked at him hard. He looked… tired, singed, like he had the world on his furry blue shoulders. There was a faint scorch mark on his lab coat.
“…Hank?”
“Yes,” he said carefully, stepping aside. “About that.”
Your gaze followed the motion of his hand, and landed on a reinforced containment unit on the central table. Inside sat a grey cat, a very fluffy one. The cat was pacing in small irritated circles, tail flicking sharply. It paused, ears flattening, and let out a deeply offended mrrp.
“…Why,” you said slowly, “is there a cat in your mutant grade containment chamber.”
Hank adjusted his glasses. “That would be Peter.”
The cat turned toward your voice immediately. Its eyes widened—bright, familiar brown—and it pressed both paws dramatically against the glass.
“Mrow.”
When you stared, the cat stared back.
“Oh my god,” you whispered and stepped closer. “Oh my god.”
The cat began meowing rapidly, pacing again, clearly agitated. It made a sharp little chirping sound and then smacked the glass with one paw.
“That,” you said faintly, “is absolutely him.”
Hank nodded. “A mutant with spontaneous transmutation abilities. Temporary, we hope. The effect seems localized to organic matter. Unfortunately… Peter ran directly into him at full speed.”
Hank sighed, rubbing at his temples. “The good news is that his vital signs are stable. Cognition appears intact. He’s… aware.”
“Mrrrow,” the cat agreed emphatically, pawing the glass again as if to underline the point.
Your hand lifted on instinct, pressing flat against the barrier. “Peter?”
The cat froze, then very deliberately sat down, lifted one paw, and waved. Your mouth fell open, then laughed, breathless and disbelieving, a hand flying up to cover it. “Oh. Oh my god. You would do that.”
The cat puffed up at the sound of your laughter, tail swishing, ears flicking forward. It rubbed its face against the glass where your hand was, leaving a faint smudge.
Hank watched the exchange with a mixture of scientific fascination and deep, tired resignation. “As you can see, his personality remains… remarkably intact.”
“How long?” You asked, already softening, worry giving way to fond disbelief. “Please tell me this isn’t permanent.”
“No,” Hank said quickly. “No, nothing indicates permanence. The cellular structure is stabilizing on its own. I’d estimate…” he checked a readout, “...six to eight hours.”
“Mrrp,” Peter-the-cat protested.
“Yes, yes,” Hank muttered. “I know. An eternity.”
You exhaled, shoulders dropping in relief. Then you tilted your head, studying him more closely. The grey fur, the white patch on his chest that sat almost exactly where his collarbones would be. The impatient little foot taps.
“You’re… kind of cute,” you said. The cat recoiled like he’d been personally offended.
“MROW.”
You smiled wider. “Don’t look at me like that. This is objectively funny.”
Hank cleared his throat. “If you’re amenable, I was hoping you might… keep an eye on him? Emotional stability appears to help maintain cellular coherence.”
The cat snapped its head toward Hank, as if with presented a bag of treats.
“…Are you saying I get to take him with me?” You asked.
Hank hesitated just long enough to make the answer obvious. “Yes. Within reason and no sudden stressors. Absolutely no running.”
The cat had hissed softly, like eight hours of without zooming around was a life sentence.
“Peter,” you reprimanded gently, crouching so you were eye level through the glass. “No running.”
He stared at you, long and hard. Then, he flopped dramatically onto his side, furry brows crossed in protest. This had you snorting at the painfully adorable sight.
“Wow. So dramatic. You’re still you.”
Hank deactivated the containment field with a soft hum. The glass slid open. Peter wasted no time, he leapt straight into your arms.
“Oof—!” you laughed, automatically catching him. He was warm, solid, and very, very fluffy. He immediately shoved his face into your neck, purring so loudly you could feel it vibrate against your collarbone.
“Oh,” you softened, arms curling around him. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. I’ve got you.”
The purring only intensified. Hank watched the two of you, something content flickering behind his eyes like a load had fallen off his shoulders. “I’ll alert you if there are any changes. Otherwise… enjoy your afternoon.”
You nodded, stroking Peter’s back. He kneaded your sweater like it had personally wronged him. You glanced down at him.
“You know,” you murmured, “you could’ve told me you wanted more attention. You didn’t have to turn into a cat.”
He lifted his head and licked your chin.