Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Content notes: romantic comedy, workplace rivalry, mutual pining, Agent/Intern/Sam, suggestive teasing, affectionate feline grooming, forced proximity, one-bed trope, and three adult animals making terrible decisions during a thunderstorm.

Animal Hospital began each morning with three certainties.

Secretary 1 would arrive late and blame a transportation system he did not use.

Nurse would drink something containing more syrup than coffee.

And Head Nurse would regret possessing the ability to hear.

At eight seventeen on Monday morning, a fourth certainty walked through the front doors wearing a mustard-yellow utility jacket, dark cargo trousers and the posture of someone who had rehearsed asking for help all night.

The stranger stood on the welcome mat while rainwater dripped from the toes of his work boots. A dented equipment case hung from one paw. His calico face was completely uncovered, patches of orange, black and white fur framing a pair of alert eyes and whiskers that twitched at every mechanical noise. One ear carried an old bite-shaped notch along its outer edge, a small crescent missing from the fur and cartilage. It did not look painful anymore. It simply made that ear bend a little differently whenever his expression changed. The dark circles beneath his eyes suggested that whatever journey had brought him to the hospital had not included much sleep.

Intern looked up from Reception.

They were balancing a patient file against one forearm, holding the telephone between their shoulder and ear and attempting to stop the printer from swallowing an admission form with the careful encouragement usually reserved for frightened animals.

“Please,” they whispered to the machine. “You don’t want to do this.”

The printer made an aggressive mechanical noise.

“I understand you’re upset.”

The stranger watched this negotiation with visible concern.

Intern noticed him, smiled and lifted one finger.

“Good morning! I’ll be with you in one second.” They turned back to the telephone. “No, sir, we do not recommend treating an unidentified glowing rash with floor cleaner. Yes, even if the bottle says industrial strength. Especially then.”

The printer ate the bottom third of the form.

Intern closed their eyes.

The stranger put down his case.

Before Intern could object, he crossed behind the desk, removed a screwdriver from a sleeve pocket and crouched beside the printer. Three turns opened the rear panel. One careful pull liberated the crumpled paper. He adjusted a roller, tightened something Intern had not known could become loose, then closed the machine and pressed the power button.

The printer hummed meekly back to life.

Intern stared.

“The roller was misaligned,” the stranger announced, his voice bright with satisfaction. “It was easy. Well—not easy for everybody, obviously. But easy for me.”

“You fixed it.”

“Yes,” he said, visibly pleased that they had noticed.

“You fixed it without kicking it.”

His head tilted.

“That’s how Secretary 1 repairs things.”

From the administrative corridor, Secretary 1 shouted, “It establishes authority.”

Intern finished the call, returned the receiver to its cradle and gave the stranger their full attention.

“Sorry about that. Can I help you?”

“My name is Sam. I heard you might need a maintenance and containment technician.” He lifted his equipment case slightly. “A really good one.”

Intern’s smile faltered.

“Oh.”

Sam waited.

“We did need one,” Intern said carefully. “Last month. Then Ron found out what a containment technician costs and told Dr Harlow that duct tape was a renewable resource.”

“It renews every time we buy another roll,” Ron called from Accounting.

“That is not what renewable means.”

“It is financially what it means.”

Intern looked back at Sam. His hopeful posture had already begun to fold.

“I’m sorry. There isn’t an approved position anymore.”

Sam’s uncovered ears lowered, the bitten one folding unevenly at its notched edge. “I can work a trial shift. You don’t have to pay me if I’m useless.”

“We would still have to pay you,” Intern said, horrified. “That’s how employment works.”

Sam hesitated. His proud posture collapsed into something much younger and more openly desperate.

“Please?” he asked. “Please, please? I won’t touch anything dangerous without permission. I’ll work harder than everybody here. I can even work harder than two everybodies.”

Intern had several weaknesses.

Candy was one. Compliments were another. Animals asking for help with the quiet expectation of being refused occupied an entirely separate category against which they had never developed a defence.

Sam must have seen the exact moment their resistance collapsed, because his ears lifted by half an inch.

“I can ask Dr Harlow,” Intern surrendered. “I can’t promise anything, but maybe we can arrange a supervised trial. We’ve been having trouble with the steriliser, two monitoring stations and the west-wing ventilation—”

The lights flickered.

Somewhere behind them, a machine began beeping.

“—and possibly the entire building.”

“I can fix the entire building,” Sam said immediately. “Before lunch, if you want. Maybe a little after lunch. Depends how emotionally attached the building is to being broken.”

“That’s ambitious.” Intern leaned forward, lowering their voice as if sharing a secret. “Between us, I think the building would appreciate someone believing in it.”

Sam looked at them.

Intern had a dangerous smile. They did not know it was dangerous. That made the problem worse.

It was broad and warm and completely sincere, the kind of smile that did not merely acknowledge someone’s presence but made room for it. Their long ears angled attentively toward him. Morning light caught in the yellow-tan fur along their cheeks. One paw rested beside his, close enough that the smallest movement would make their knuckles touch.

Colour climbed beneath the pale patches of fur across Sam’s cheeks and reached the tips of both ears, sharpening the silhouette of the small bite missing from one.

Intern glanced behind them, apparently searching for the source of his reaction.

“Are you overheating?”

“No,” Sam said too quickly.

“Your face looks warm.”

“I’m fine. Perfect temperature. I love this temperature.”

“Oh, good.” Intern smiled again. “Then wait here. I’ll convince Harlow.”

Sam caught their sleeve before they could leave.

The contact was gentle and lasted less than a second. Intern looked down at his paw. Sam released them so abruptly that he nearly struck his own cheek.

“I won’t let you down,” he promised.

Intern’s expression softened.

“You haven’t even been hired yet.”

“I still won’t.” Sam straightened and pointed determinedly toward the broken printer. “You’ll be proud you picked me. Really proud. More proud than you’ve ever been of a printer technician.”

The colour in his face deepened until even his orange patches seemed pale by comparison.

Intern, correctly identifying that something was wrong and incorrectly identifying everything else, reached up and pressed the back of one paw directly against his forehead.

“You really are warm.”

Sam stopped functioning.

His equipment case slipped from his paw.

Intern caught it before it hit the floor.

“Good reflex test,” they said, passing it back. “You’re welcome.”

Sam accepted the case with the solemnity of receiving a sacred object.

From the end of the corridor, two golden eyes narrowed.

Agent had arrived in time to see an unknown calico cat seize Intern’s sleeve, promise them complete devotion after repairing one printer and turn scarlet when Intern touched his face.

He had not arrived in time to hear the conversation that made any of those events innocent.

Not that the conversation would have helped.

Agent stood perfectly still for three seconds.

Then he stepped behind a potted plant.

The plant was waist-high and possessed six leaves.

It concealed none of him.

Nurse passed with a tray of medication cups, followed his stare and immediately understood more than Intern would understand for the next twelve hours.

“Who’s the new cat?” she whispered.

“Unknown.”

“Why are you hiding behind a fern?”

“Tactical observation.”

“It’s a peace lily.”

“Return to work.”

Nurse’s eyes moved from Agent to Sam to Intern, who was walking backwards toward Harlow’s office while encouraging Sam not to leave.

“Oh,” she breathed.

Agent looked at her.

Nurse smiled with all the restraint of an approaching explosion.

“Oh, this is going to be awful.”

“There is nothing happening.”

“Of course not.”

“Your tone suggests otherwise.”

“My tone is medically neutral.”

She hurried away before he could confiscate it.

Dr Harlow approved Sam’s trial shift after Intern spent six minutes explaining the hospital’s mechanical problems and another four describing how sad Sam’s ears had looked.

“Your recruitment criteria are unconventional,” Harlow observed from behind his desk.

“He fixed the printer.”

“A rare qualification.”

“And he begged.”

“An even rarer one.”

Intern folded their paws beneath their chin. “Please?”

Harlow looked at them over the rim of his teacup.

Intern widened their eyes.

Harlow took a slow drink.

“One supervised shift,” he said. “He remains your responsibility.”

“Yes!”

“That was not intended as a reward.”

Intern was already halfway through the door.

“Thank you, Dr Harlow!”

The door swung shut.

Harlow regarded the space where they had been.

“It never is,” he murmured.

Sam proved useful within eleven minutes.

He repaired the steriliser, recalibrated a faulty temperature alarm and stopped the western ventilation system from producing a noise that Doctor had described as “a whale reconsidering its life.” Intern followed him through every task, passing tools, holding panels and praising each successful repair with such uncomplicated enthusiasm that Sam became steadily more determined to deserve another compliment.

“Done,” Sam announced after the steriliser clicked back to life. He turned expectantly toward Intern. “Did you see how fast I did that?”

“I did. That was amazing.”

Sam’s chest lifted.

“The alarm too,” he said. “I fixed that before you came in, but you can still be impressed.”

“I’m extremely impressed.”

Intern reached up and rubbed the soft calico fur between Sam’s ears.

Their thumb approached the bitten notch, then slowed.

“Does this part hurt?” they asked.

For once, Sam forgot to compete. “No. It’s old.”

Intern did not ask how it happened. They simply adjusted their touch, rubbing the fur beside the damaged edge without catching it.

“Good kitty.”

The words destroyed what little composure Sam still possessed.

A loud purr vibrated through Sam’s chest. His tail swept behind him so quickly that it struck the side of the ladder twice. Instead of objecting to the embarrassing treatment, he lowered his head into Intern’s paw. The bitten ear tilted carefully beneath their gentler thumb. Then his competitive expression returned, and he looked down the corridor to make certain Agent had witnessed every second.

Agent had.

His tail gave one irritated lash.

Thirty seconds later, Agent found a loose hinge on the equipment cabinet that had remained loose for six months. He tightened it in four precise movements, closed the door without its usual squeak and looked at Intern.

Intern looked at the cabinet.

Then at him.

Agent waited.

“Did you fix that?” they asked.

“Obviously.”

Intern crouched just enough to rub between his ears too.

“Good kitty.”

Agent’s eyes closed before discipline could stop them. A rough purr escaped his chest. His black tail curved shamelessly around Intern’s wrist.

Sam stared.

Agent opened his eyes, released Intern and said, “Do not call me that at work.”

“But you liked it.”

“Irrelevant.”

Agent followed them both.

He called it security assessment.

Nobody else did.

When Sam entered Supply Room B, Agent inspected the corridor camera outside it.

When Sam climbed a ladder to examine a ceiling vent, Agent appeared beneath the ladder and informed him that falling on hospital property required paperwork.

When Intern held Sam’s equipment case, Agent took it from them.

“It’s heavy,” he said.

Intern looked down at him, then at the case he carried without visible effort.

“I’m taller than you.”

“Irrelevant.”

“I can lift you.”

Agent’s ears shifted.

“Also irrelevant.”

Sam looked down from the ladder. “You can lift him?”

“Easily,” Intern said.

Agent stared up at him.

Sam’s eyes curved at the corners. “Interesting.”

“No,” Agent said.

Intern blinked. “No what?”

“Nothing.”

The vent cover chose that moment to detach.

Sam twisted to catch it. The ladder shifted beneath him.

Intern moved first.

They released the tool tray, stepped between the ladder and the wall and caught Sam around the waist as he fell.

For one suspended second, the calico cat lay against the broad plane of Intern’s chest, one arm hooked over their shoulder and his nose close enough to theirs that each warm breath stirred the other’s whiskers.

Sam stared into their eyes.

Intern stared back.

“Got you,” they said.

Sam’s entire face ignited.

Agent crossed the room in two strides.

He seized the back of Sam’s utility jacket and lifted him out of Intern’s arms with the brisk efficiency of removing a badly placed blanket.

Sam’s boots touched the floor.

Agent did not release him.

Sam looked down at the black paw gripping his collar, then at the much smaller cat attached to it.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

Agent’s eyes narrowed.

“Their senior.”

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Senior at work?”

There was a brief, dangerous pause.

“Among other things.”

Intern brightened. “He’s also senior to me in age, experience, security clearance, number of hidden knives and unresolved emotional problems.”

Agent turned his head very slowly.

“The last category was unnecessary.”

“But accurate.”

Sam snorted.

Agent looked back at him. “Is something amusing?”

“No, Senior,” Sam said with exaggerated innocence.

Agent released his collar.

“Repair the vent.”

Sam straightened the front of his jacket and leaned closer so only Agent could hear him.

“They caught me,” he whispered smugly.

Agent’s tail doubled in size.

Intern was already resetting the ladder.

“Come on,” they said. “I’ll stand underneath you this time.”

Sam glanced at Agent.

Then he placed both paws beneath his chin and shaped his fingers into a small, deliberately obnoxious heart.

The rivalry became official at ten forty-three.

At ten forty-four, Nurse opened a betting pool.

“We need clear categories,” Ron said, arranging coins on the break-room table. “First successful flirt, first deliberate physical contact, first jealousy incident—”

“The jealousy incident already happened,” Secretary 1 said. “I saw Agent carry a toolbox because the new one let Intern hold it.”

“That could be routine hostility.”

“He threatened a screwdriver.”

Ron moved a coin. “Confirmed jealousy.”

Secretary 2 examined the handwritten chart. “Should there be an option for Intern noticing?”

Everyone became quiet.

Therapist stirred his tea. “No.”

“Not within a realistic betting period,” Doctor agreed.

Paramedic frowned. “What if one of them confesses directly?”

Nurse pointed through the break-room window.

In the corridor, Agent had cornered Intern beside the linen trolley.

“You are working through lunch,” he said.

“So are you.”

“I planned for that.”

He pressed a neatly wrapped sandwich into their paws.

Intern looked at it, then at him. “You made this?”

“It existed in my kitchen.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“Eat.”

Intern unwrapped one corner. Their ears lifted at the smell.

“You cut the vegetables into stars.”

“Coincidence.”

“There are seven of them.”

Agent’s ears warmed visibly.

“Nutritional geometry.”

Intern leaned down. Before he could react, they wrapped both arms around him in a quick, crushing hug.

Agent disappeared against their chest.

His paws hovered in the air.

His expression, visible over Intern’s shoulder, passed through alarm, surrender and a softness so naked that everyone behind the break-room window looked away out of instinctive respect.

Except Nurse.

Nurse took a photograph.

Sam emerged from the utility corridor carrying two repaired sensor units. He stopped.

The softness vanished from Agent’s face.

Without breaking eye contact with Sam, he placed both paws against Intern’s back and returned the embrace.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Intern sighed happily and rested their chin between his ears.

Their paw rubbed once over the back of Agent’s head.

The purr that answered was too quiet for most of the corridor to hear, but Intern felt it against their chest. Agent’s tail curled around the back of their calf while his gaze remained fixed on Sam.

Sam put down the sensors.

His gaze sharpened with childish determination. If Agent could earn a hug with lunch, then Sam would simply make something better than lunch.

Ten minutes later, Intern returned to Reception and found a portable drink warmer installed beneath the desk, their preferred mug filled with fresh coffee and Sam standing beside it with his jacket straightened, his unruly head fur smoothed and his ears trembling with anticipation.

“You work hard,” he said, presenting the mug with both paws. “So I made something easier. It keeps the exact temperature you like for six hours, and it switches off automatically, and I put padding around the cable so you can’t trip over it.”

Intern’s eyes went suspiciously bright.

Sam leaned forward. “Do you like it?”

“I love it.”

“How much?”

Intern laughed. “A lot.”

“More than the sandwich?”

Agent appeared in the doorway behind him.

Intern considered the question with complete seriousness. “They’re different categories.”

Sam frowned. “That means it’s a tie.”

“Nobody said this was a competition,” Agent said.

“The animal currently losing would say that.”

“Thank you, Sam,” Intern said. “You’re incredibly thoughtful.”

Sam’s competitive frown disappeared. His pale cheeks flushed visibly, and he looked so delighted that he almost bounced on his toes.

Intern rubbed between his ears, automatically avoiding the notched edge. “Very good kitty.”

Sam purred immediately. His tail rose behind him in a proud curve, the tip flicking directly in Agent’s direction.

“Say it again.”

“You’re incredibly thoughtful?”

“Yes.” Sam looked directly at Agent. “Exactly that.”

Agent pinched the bridge of his nose.

Intern lifted the mug. “He appreciates my professional happiness.”

Sam looked at Agent.

Agent looked at Sam.

For the first time, they shared the same emotion.

Despair.

It should have created solidarity.

It did not.

By noon, Agent had adjusted Intern’s collar three times.

The first time, it had been crooked.

The second time, it had been almost crooked.

The third time, Agent simply placed two fingers beneath the fabric and pulled Intern down until their faces were level.

“Hold still,” he murmured.

Intern obeyed.

Agent smoothed the collar. His knuckles grazed the soft fur beneath Intern’s jaw. He allowed the touch to linger one breath longer than necessary.

Intern’s ears shifted forward.

Agent’s golden eyes lowered briefly to their mouth.

Sam walked into the corridor, saw them and stopped so sharply that his boots squeaked.

Intern noticed his rigid posture.

“Sam, do you need help loosening your collar too?”

Agent released them.

“Yes,” Sam said at once. “Mine is much tighter. Probably dangerously tight.”

He crossed the distance, bent his head and presented the folded collar at the back of his utility jacket.

Intern laughed. “Okay. Turn around.”

Sam did.

Intern’s large paws worked carefully at the collar. Their claws skimmed the soft fur at the base of his neck before straightening the fabric. Sam shivered.

“Too tight?” Intern asked.

“No.”

“Cold?”

“No.”

“Then why are you shaking?”

“Technical malfunction,” Sam said, refusing to look at Agent. “A very complicated one. You might need to keep touching it.”

“I can look at it.”

Agent made a low sound in his throat.

Intern glanced at him. “Do you have a malfunction too?”

“Increasingly.”

At one fifteen, Sam offered to teach Intern how to use a thermal scanner.

He stood behind them to guide their paws over the controls. Intern’s back rested lightly against the front of his jacket. Sam’s arms framed their waist. The scanner display remained upside down for three full minutes because neither of them noticed they were holding it incorrectly.

Agent noticed.

At one twenty, Agent announced that Intern required immediate defensive positioning practice.

He stood behind them to correct their stance.

Because he was much smaller, the arrangement required him to press close, reach around their waist and place his paws over theirs. His breath moved the fur at the back of Intern’s neck.

“Your centre of balance is too high,” he said.

“My entire body is too high compared to yours.”

“Bend your knees.”

Intern did. Their hips shifted back.

Agent’s instruction stopped halfway through his next breath.

Sam lowered the thermal scanner very slowly.

Intern looked over their shoulder. “Like this?”

Agent stepped away as if the floor had become electrified.

“Adequate.”

Sam opened his mouth, visibly considered saying something, and bit down on the words before Intern could hear them.

Secretary 1, who had been watching from around the corner, supplied three possible versions to the betting pool.

At two o’clock, the rivalry began damaging hospital efficiency.

Agent reorganised Sam’s tools according to threat potential.

Sam reorganised them according to usefulness and named Agent’s system “small angry cat logic” loudly enough for the entire corridor to hear.

Agent informed him that this was not a recognised classification system.

Sam repeated the name six times.

Intern wore one as a badge because they thought it represented team bonding.

At three, Agent and Sam both reached to open the same door for them.

They struck paws.

Neither moved.

Intern waited, then ducked beneath both arms.

“Thank you,” they said brightly.

At three thirty, a storage shelf jammed.

Sam offered a wrench.

Agent offered leverage.

Intern lifted the entire shelf.

At four, Intern acquired a smear of jam at the corner of their mouth during a rushed snack.

Sam pointed to it. “Other side.”

Intern wiped the wrong side.

Sam pointed again. “Your other other side.”

Intern missed again.

With the solemn concentration of a bomb technician, Sam reached up and wiped the jam away with his thumb.

Intern smiled down at him. “Thanks.”

Sam stared at the trace of sweetness on his glove.

Agent appeared beside him.

“Dispose of that,” he said.

Sam slowly raised the thumb toward his mouth.

Agent’s pupils narrowed.

Intern handed Sam a tissue before either cat could commit an offence.

“Hygiene first,” they said.

“Correct,” Agent replied.

Sam crumpled the tissue with unnecessary force.

At four seventeen, Head Nurse discovered the betting pool.

At four eighteen, everyone denied knowing what it concerned.

At four nineteen, Nurse accidentally said, “I had five credits on Sam making Intern blush first.”

Intern looked up from the desk. “Why would he make me blush?”

Silence spread across Reception.

Agent stared at a wall.

Sam’s face turned scarlet all the way to the tips of his ears.

Nurse opened and closed her mouth.

Therapist whispered, “There are moments when intervention becomes unethical.”

Head Nurse took the betting sheet between two claws.

“My office,” she said.

“All of us?” Ron asked.

“No. The three currently turning my hospital into a migratory courtship display.”

Intern glanced behind them.

“Which three?”

Head Nurse closed her eyes.

Ten minutes later, Intern sat in the centre chair before Head Nurse’s desk. Agent occupied the chair to their left. Sam occupied the chair to their right, his equipment case held primly between his knees.

Head Nurse remained standing.

This was worse than shouting.

“Do any of you understand why you are here?” she asked.

“The others were gambling during work hours,” Intern said.

Agent’s gaze remained forward. “Operational interference.”

Sam folded his arms. “Hostile work environment.”

Head Nurse’s stare sharpened.

Sam unfolded his arms. “I respectfully withdraw my answer.”

“Since this morning,” Head Nurse said, “Agent has abandoned two patrol routes to monitor Sam, Sam has redirected three repair tasks so Intern could assist him, and Intern has encouraged both of you because they apparently believe competitive flirting is a new staff wellness programme.”

Intern’s ears rose.

“Competitive what?”

Agent spoke instantly. “She means arguing.”

“Yes,” Sam said immediately. “Arguing. Very competitive, completely non-romantic arguing.”

Head Nurse looked from one cat to the other.

“Cowards.”

Intern frowned. “I’m still confused.”

“I know.”

Head Nurse placed three after-hours duty sheets on the desk.

“You will complete the late shift together. Every unfinished inventory, sterilisation and maintenance task belongs to you. You will behave professionally. You will not compete, posture, stalk, flirt, threaten office equipment or turn another medical exercise into whatever happened in Corridor C.”

Intern lifted one paw. “What happened in Corridor C?”

Agent’s ears flattened.

Sam found the ceiling fascinating.

“Sign the form,” Head Nurse said.

The regular staff left at seven.

Nurse pressed both paws to the glass doors from outside and mouthed good luck at Intern before Head Nurse dragged her away by the collar.

Head Nurse had left one final instruction: if Agent and Sam were going to spend the night cleaning, repairing and crawling beneath equipment, they could change out of their day clothes first.

Sam emerged from the staff locker room wearing dark cargo trousers, a fitted charcoal T-shirt and an ochre work overshirt left unbuttoned. Without the structured utility jacket, he looked softer and far less formal. His calico forearms were bare below his rolled sleeves, his bitten ear stood at a determined angle, and his tail moved freely behind him as he adjusted the collar for the fourth time.

Intern looked up from the inventory sheet.

Then continued looking.

Sam noticed immediately.

His ears lifted. “Do I look good?”

Intern blinked. “You look comfortable.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

“Oh.” Their gaze travelled over him again, slow enough to turn the pale fur on his cheeks pink. “Then yes. You look good.”

Sam stepped closer. “Only good?”

“Very good?”

He lowered his head expectantly.

Intern understood that gesture much faster than any romantic one. They rubbed the fur between his ears.

“Very handsome, good kitty.”

Sam purred at full volume. His tail lifted into a pleased curve and waved behind him like a victory flag.

“Did you hear that?” he called toward the locker room. “They said very handsome.”

The door opened.

Agent stepped out wearing charcoal work trousers and a plain black shirt with the sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows. Without his uniform coat, sharp collar or visible equipment harness, he looked less like the hospital’s security specialist and more like an ordinary cat who happened to carry three concealed knives.

Intern stared again.

Agent stopped in front of them. “Problem?”

“No.”

“You’re staring.”

“You look comfortable too.”

Sam covered a laugh with one paw.

Agent’s golden eyes narrowed. “Only comfortable?”

Intern looked between both cats. “Why does everyone keep asking that?”

Neither answered.

Intern studied Agent more carefully. The dark shirt fitted close across his chest and shoulders. His uncovered forearms were lean, black-furred and marked by two pale scars that his uniform usually concealed.

“You look very handsome too,” they decided.

Agent’s tail curled at the tip.

“Good,” he said.

Then he remained directly in front of Intern.

Waiting.

Intern looked at Sam, who tapped the top of his own head with one finger.

“Oh.”

They rubbed between Agent’s ears.

“Good kitty.”

Agent’s purr began before his eyes finished closing. His tail wrapped once around Intern’s wrist, holding their paw against his head for an extra stroke.

Sam’s victorious tail dropped.

“You copied me,” he accused.

Agent opened one eye. “I changed my clothes before you did.”

“But I came out first.”

“You required four attempts to arrange one collar.”

“Because I wanted to look good for—” Sam stopped and glanced at Intern. “For work.”

Intern smiled. “I appreciate your commitment to professional fashion.”

Sam stared at them helplessly.

Agent’s mouth almost curved.

By eight, the hospital settled into its quieter night rhythm.

Without an audience, the rivalry changed.

Agent stopped performing indifference. Sam stopped turning every helpful act into a challenge. Intern moved between them with a cleaning cloth over one shoulder, humming off-key while they checked supply numbers.

They worked well together when they forgot to be ridiculous.

Sam repaired the final monitor while Agent held the flashlight. Agent recalibrated a security sensor while Sam fed cable through the wall. Intern carried what needed carrying, reached what needed reaching and praised both of them with equal sincerity.

At nine twenty, thunder rolled somewhere beyond the windows.

Intern looked toward the dark glass.

Agent noticed the small pause in their movement.

“Problem?”

“No.” Intern resumed counting gauze packets. “I like storms.”

Another flash whitened the corridor. The thunder followed faster this time.

Intern counted the packets again from the beginning.

Sam set down his screwdriver. The playful competition left his voice.

“You count when you’re nervous,” he said softly.

Intern looked at him. “I count because I keep forgetting where I am.”

Agent leaned against the shelf. “You reached forty-two three times.”

“It’s a good number.”

Rain struck the windows in a sudden sheet.

The building lights flickered once.

Intern’s ears lowered before they could stop them.

Neither cat commented.

Agent moved closer on their left. Sam stepped nearer on their right. They did not touch Intern, but the empty space around the rabbit quietly disappeared.

“We should finish,” Agent said. “The roads will flood.”

They completed the last task at ten twelve.

By then, the storm warning on Reception’s radio had become an evacuation advisory for the riverside district. Public transport had stopped. Three streets between the hospital and Intern’s apartment were already closed.

Intern stared at the weather map.

“I could walk.”

“No,” Agent said.

“No,” Sam said at the exact same moment.

Intern glanced between them. “I’m waterproof.”

“You are not floodproof.”

“Neither are your shoes,” Sam added.

Intern looked down at their shoes as if betrayed.

Thunder cracked directly overhead.

Agent checked his phone. “There’s a hotel six blocks north, outside the warning zone. You’ll stay there until morning.”

Sam was already checking his own phone. He held up the screen, displaying the same hotel.

Then both cats spoke at once.

“I’ll take you.”

“I’ll take you.”

Silence followed.

Agent turned his head.

Sam lowered his phone.

Their eyes met.

The charge between them did not resemble ordinary dislike. It was too focused for that, too bright and immediate. If the storm had vanished at that exact moment, the pressure inside Reception still would have been enough to raise the fur along Intern’s arms.

Agent’s tail moved once.

Sam squared his shoulders.

Intern stepped between them.

They hooked one arm around Agent, the other around Sam, and pulled both cats firmly against their sides.

“Why don’t we all go to the same hotel?” they asked.

Agent went still beneath their arm.

Sam made a small, strangled sound against Intern’s shoulder.

Intern smiled, pleased with the obvious brilliance of their solution.

“That way no one has to walk alone.”

Neither cat answered.

Intern squeezed them closer. “Good idea?”

Agent’s cheek was pressed against the side of their chest. Sam’s face rested near their shoulder. Both had gone inexplicably quiet.

At last, Agent cleared his throat.

“Acceptable.”

“On one condition,” Sam managed.

Agent looked across Intern’s body at him. “We agree not to interact.”

“Gladly,” Sam said.

Intern’s ears lifted. “Perfect. You’re already learning to cooperate.”

The walk to the hotel required three umbrellas, two detours and one argument about who should walk closest to Intern.

Agent claimed the street-facing position was tactically safer.

Sam insisted that the wind came from the other direction.

Agent said weather was not tactical.

Sam drew a diagram in the air with one claw and accused Agent of losing an argument to weather.

Intern solved the issue by holding both their paws while crossing a flooded intersection.

Neither released them on the opposite pavement.

Intern assumed this was because the ground remained slippery.

The hotel occupied the corner above a closed bakery. Its sign buzzed weakly in the rain. The lobby smelled of carpet cleaner, old wood and something floral attempting to conceal both.

Behind the desk sat a grey fox with silver spectacles and the unsettling composure of someone who had watched hundreds of bad decisions arrive soaking wet.

Agent approached first.

“Two rooms,” he said.

“Two rooms,” Sam repeated, crowding the counter beside Agent.

Intern shook rain from their ears. “Which room am I in?”

Agent did not hesitate. “Mine.”

“Mine,” Sam said at the same time, leaning farther over the desk than Agent.

The clerk’s eyes moved between them.

Intern considered the competing proposals.

“Wouldn’t it be more practical for Agent and Sam to share? You’re both cats.”

“No,” Agent said.

“Absolutely not,” Sam said. “I would rather sleep in the lift.”

“Species compatibility was your argument five minutes ago.”

“Circumstances changed.”

The clerk folded his paws on the desk.

“There is only one room left.”

Rain rattled against the lobby windows.

Somewhere in the building, a pipe groaned like an animal reconsidering captivity.

Agent’s expression became colder. “How many beds?”

Intern leaned between him and Sam. “Three singles would be perfect.”

The fox looked directly at them.

His smile arrived slowly.

“Of course,” he said.

Intern felt dread travel down their spine.

It was not a dramatic sensation. Nothing screamed. No shadow moved independently. The lobby did not become colder.

The clerk simply said the words with the peaceful certainty of a man who knew he was lying and expected the universe to appreciate his craftsmanship.

Intern glanced at Agent.

Agent was checking exits.

They glanced at Sam.

“I don’t trust him,” Sam whispered loudly, pointing at the clerk.

Intern looked back at the rain.

Thunder shook the glass.

“One room,” they decided.

The clerk handed them a brass key attached to a wooden tag shaped like a heart.

Agent refused to carry it.

Sam refused more visibly.

Intern slipped it into their pocket. “You’re both being strange.”

The journey to Room 307 contained five separate territorial disputes.

Sam tried to carry Intern’s damp coat. Agent removed it from his paws and claimed wet fabric was a security obstruction.

Agent attempted to walk beside Intern. Sam inserted his equipment case between them.

Intern picked up the case with one paw and Agent with the other when the smaller cat refused to move.

“Put me down.”

“You were blocking the stairs.”

“I was establishing position.”

“You established it very slowly.”

Agent crossed his arms while Intern carried him up three steps.

Sam stopped on the landing. “They really can lift you.”

Agent’s eyes narrowed. “Comment again and they’ll demonstrate with you.”

Sam looked at Intern.

Intern adjusted Agent against their side. “I could.”

Sam’s cheeks turned red.

He opened his mouth, allowed one dangerous thought to reach the tip of his tongue, then covered his own mouth with both paws.

Intern pointed at him. “What were you going to say?”

Sam backed up one step.

Agent’s ears angled forward. “Yes. What did it say?”

“Nothing.”

Intern reached playfully for him. Sam dodged. Intern caught him around the waist with their free arm.

For one absurd moment, they held one cat on each side.

Agent stared across their chest at Sam.

Sam stared back with his face burning beneath his calico fur.

Intern laughed. “See? Balanced.”

The door to Room 307 opened with a long, theatrical creak.

The room contained one lamp, one narrow wardrobe, one armchair and one enormous king-sized bed.

There were not three single beds.

There were not two beds.

There was barely evidence that another bed had ever existed as a concept.

Intern lowered both cats to the floor.

Agent examined the room as if gathering evidence for a criminal prosecution.

Sam stared at the bed. “Of course. I hope that clerk feels proud of himself.”

Intern closed the door. “Maybe it separates.”

It did not.

“Maybe there’s a folding bed.”

There was not.

“Maybe the armchair reclines.”

Agent pulled its lever. The footrest fell off.

Intern considered the carpet.

“I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“No,” Agent said.

“No,” Sam said louder.

“I’m the largest. It makes sense.”

“That makes less sense.” Agent pressed one paw to the mattress, testing it. “You take the bed.”

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Sam declared.

“Good,” Agent said. “Resolved.”

“And so will you.” Sam pointed at Agent. “Far away from their side of the bed.”

“I am responsible for Intern’s security.”

“I’m responsible for their comfort.”

“They were assigned to me first.”

“They hired me.”

“For twelve hours.”

“Long enough for them to like me.”

Intern looked between them. “Are you fighting over who gets to protect me from the mattress?”

Neither answered.

Agent removed his rain-damp coat and placed it over the back of the broken chair. Beneath it, his black shirt clung lightly to his shoulders. Intern’s gaze followed the movement—not because they understood attraction, but because Agent had a holster beneath one arm and Intern wanted to know whether he had really brought a weapon into a hotel.

Agent caught them looking.

His expression remained controlled. His tail did not.

It curled once behind his leg.

“See something?” he asked.

“A knife.”

The curl stopped.

“Of course.”

Across the room, Sam peeled off his rain-damp overshirt and draped it over the wardrobe door. The fitted charcoal T-shirt beneath it revealed lean arms and calico fur still rumpled from the stairwell incident.

Intern stared at him too.

Sam noticed.

His ears rose with cautious hope.

“Your fur is fluffier than I expected,” Intern said.

Sam covered his face with both paws.

Agent sat on the edge of the bed. “They do this.”

Sam lowered one paw.

“Frequently,” Agent added.

Sam pointed at Intern, then at Agent. “They stare at you too?”

“They stare,” Agent clarified. “It means nothing.”

Intern frowned. “That sounds rude. Sometimes it means I like what I’m looking at.”

Both cats turned toward them.

The storm filled the silence.

Intern’s ears shifted uncertainly. “What?”

Agent’s voice went lower. “Which of us were you referring to?”

Sam stepped closer.

Intern looked from Agent’s dark shirt and golden eyes to Sam’s exposed calico fur.

“Both?”

Agent inhaled.

Sam’s claws flexed against his palms.

Intern smiled, relieved to have answered correctly. “Agent carries an impressive number of knives, and Sam looks very soft.”

The tension collapsed so quickly it should have produced wind.

Agent lay back on the bed and covered his eyes with one forearm.

Sam pulled the collar of his T-shirt over his burning face, then lowered it again when he realised there was no reason to punish himself.

“We should sleep,” Agent said.

The argument over placement lasted another fourteen minutes.

Agent proposed that he sleep beside Intern because he was trained to wake at unusual sounds.

Sam argued that he should sleep beside Intern because Agent was an unusual sound.

Sam proposed a pillow barrier.

Agent accused him of attempting to annex mattress territory.

Intern finally climbed into the centre of the bed, caught each cat by one wrist and pulled.

Agent landed on their left.

Sam landed on their right.

The mattress dipped beneath Intern’s weight and rolled both cats inward until their shoulders pressed against the rabbit’s sides.

Everyone froze.

Intern looked pleased. “There. We all fit.”

“Technically,” Agent said.

Sam lifted one finger, preparing another argument.

Intern caught his paw before he could begin. “No more arguing.”

Their fingers remained linked.

Sam stared at their joined paws.

Intern turned toward Agent and took his paw too.

Agent’s claws extended on reflex, then vanished immediately before they could catch Intern’s skin.

“You don’t need to hold me,” he said.

“I know.”

Intern did not let go.

The answer settled differently than the others had.

Agent looked at their hand around his. Some of the guardedness left his face—not enough for anyone who did not know him to notice, but Sam noticed. His own expression softened in return.

Intern misunderstood this shared glance as progress.

“See? Friends.”

“No,” Agent and Sam said together.

Intern laughed so hard the mattress shook.

They switched off the lamp.

Rain whispered against the window. Thunder had moved farther away, leaving the room in the gentler after-sounds of the storm. The bed was warm. Sam’s fur brushed Intern’s right arm. Agent’s tail lay across their left ankle with suspicious deliberateness.

“Comfortable?” Intern whispered.

Agent answered after a pause. “Yes.”

Sam squeezed their paw once.

Intern smiled into the darkness.

“Good night, Agent.”

His grip tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Sam.”

Sam reached across their chest as if he needed something from the bedside table.

His arm slid over Intern’s waist. His body followed, pressing briefly along their side. Agent’s eyes opened in the dark.

Sam did not pick anything up. He remained there for a second, apparently satisfied with the excuse.

“Good night,” he whispered. His usual competitive brightness softened into something sincere. “And thank you for giving me a chance.”

Their expression gentled.

They turned their head and pressed a small kiss to the edge of Sam’s temple.

“You earned it.”

Sam stopped breathing.

Intern settled back against the pillow.

Agent remained very still.

After five seconds, Intern turned toward him. “Do you want one too?”

Agent’s golden eyes caught the dim light.

“You should not offer things merely because you gave them to someone else.”

“I’m not.”

The answer came too easily.

Agent’s ears angled back. “Then why?”

Intern leaned closer. Their nose nearly brushed his.

“Because you looked like you wanted one.”

For perhaps the first time that day, Agent had no reply.

Intern kissed his forehead, directly between his ears.

Agent’s tail tightened around their ankle.

“Good night,” Intern whispered again.

They rolled onto their back, apparently satisfied that all emotional requirements had been met.

Within minutes, their breathing deepened.

Sam lay awake on one side of them.

Agent lay awake on the other.

Neither looked at Intern at first. They stared across the sleeping rabbit at each other.

Moonless storm-light outlined the rise of Intern’s chest. One long ear had fallen across Sam’s shoulder. Their left paw remained loosely wrapped around Agent’s. They looked peaceful in a way they rarely managed at work—unguarded, trusting and completely unaware that they had placed two rivals within striking distance.

Sam moved first.

“What are we doing?” he whispered, glancing from Intern to the narrow space between himself and Agent.

Agent’s gaze lowered to Intern’s sleeping face.

“Not this,” he whispered.

“Why not?” Sam whispered, frowning.

“Not while they don’t understand.”

The frustration left Sam’s expression.

He looked at Intern too.

Their ear twitched in sleep.

Sam carefully moved it away from his mouth and arranged it over the pillow. Then he held out one paw across Intern—not to Agent, but palm upward, offering terms.

Agent regarded it.

“No sabotage,” he murmured.

“Fine. No sabotage,” Sam agreed.

“No using work assignments as courtship opportunities.”

Sam raised one eyebrow. “You used defensive training to hold their waist.”

Agent’s ears flattened. “Within reason.”

“Within reason,” Sam agreed, much more cheerfully.

“And neither of us pressures them to choose before they know there is a choice.”

This time, Sam’s answer came without hesitation. “Agreed.”

Agent placed two fingers briefly against the offered paw.

The truce lasted eleven seconds.

Intern shifted in their sleep.

Their right arm wrapped around Sam’s waist. Their left pulled Agent closer. Both cats slid across the smooth sheets until Intern had gathered them firmly against their chest.

Agent’s face disappeared beneath Intern’s chin.

Sam’s nose pressed into the soft fur at their shoulder.

One of Intern’s legs fell over both of theirs, heavy enough to prevent escape and intimate enough to make escape the last thing either cat wanted.

Sam opened one eye.

Agent opened both.

They stared at each other from inside the same embrace.

Sam’s mouth curved.

Agent mouthed, Don’t.

Sam closed his eye again, smiling.

Morning arrived pale and rain-washed.

Intern woke because they could not move.

Their first thought was that the hotel blanket had become unusually heavy.

Their second was that blankets did not breathe.

They looked down.

Agent was curled tightly against their left side, both paws buried in the front of Intern’s sleep shirt. One black leg lay across their thigh. His face rested against their chest, expression softer in sleep than he would ever permit while conscious.

Sam occupied the right side. His calico cheek was pressed to Intern’s shoulder. One arm circled their waist. His leg crossed over both of Intern’s, trapping them beneath the combined weight of two cats who had spent the previous day insisting they wanted nothing to do with each other.

Intern stared at the ceiling.

“Oh,” they whispered.

Agent’s ear twitched.

Sam tightened his arm.

Intern considered waking them.

Instead, they looked at Agent’s paw clutching their shirt and Sam’s face tucked trustingly against their fur.

Warmth spread through their chest.

Their explanation arrived, complete and perfectly reasonable.

Both cats must have been frightened by the thunder.

Intern’s expression softened with protective understanding.

Very carefully, they wrapped one arm around each of them and pulled them closer.

For several quiet minutes, Intern lay awake between them and enjoyed the rare privilege of knowing something neither cat knew: both of them were unbearably cuddly.

Sam woke first.

His eyes opened against Intern’s shoulder. He blinked once, realised where his arms and legs were, then looked across the rabbit’s chest.

Agent’s golden eyes opened at the same moment.

The two cats stared at each other.

Then they became aware of the other’s scent clinging to Intern.

Whatever fragile agreement they had created during the night disappeared beneath an older, more instinctive form of competition.

Agent moved first.

He raised himself on one elbow, placed a possessive paw against Intern’s shoulder and dragged his tongue once along the soft fur beneath their jaw.

Intern froze.

Sam made an offended sound.

Before Intern could ask what was happening, Sam pushed himself higher and licked the opposite side of their face.

Agent’s pupils narrowed.

Sam stared back, then did it again—slower this time, finishing by rubbing his cheek against Intern’s neck.

Agent answered with another deliberate stroke of his tongue along Intern’s jaw and pressed his forehead beneath their chin, placing his scent exactly where Sam had not.

Intern lay between them while both cats groomed opposite sides of their face with the solemn hostility of rival artists correcting each other’s work.

“Um,” they said.

“Hold still,” Agent murmured.

“I was doing this side first,” Sam complained.

“You were asleep.”

“I woke up first.”

“You hesitated.”

Sam’s tail lashed across the blanket. “I was enjoying the moment.”

“You surrendered the initiative.”

“Is this okay?” Sam asked Intern, even as he glared across them at Agent.

Intern’s ears had risen to their full height.

“Yes,” they said, fighting an increasingly smug smile. “Please continue.”

Neither cat recognised the triumph in their voice.

Among rabbits, being groomed was a sign of status. The animal receiving the attention occupied the dominant position. By rabbit logic, two cats waking up and immediately grooming Intern meant that the hierarchy of the room had been settled beyond argument.

Intern was in charge.

They relaxed grandly into the pillow and allowed their two new subordinates to continue.

Agent and Sam, unfortunately, were operating under feline rules.

To each of them, grooming Intern was not submission. It was possession disguised as care—an assertion of closeness, priority and quiet dominance. Every lick placed his scent over the other cat’s. Every rub of a cheek said mine in a language Intern was not equipped to translate correctly.

Therefore, Agent believed he was in charge.

Sam believed he was in charge.

Intern believed they were in charge.

All three of them were insufferably pleased.

Intern lifted both paws and rubbed between the cats’ ears at the same time.

“Good kitties.”

Two purrs answered.

Sam’s was loud, bright and immediate. His tail rose beneath the blanket and curled around Intern’s waist, its tip twitching against their stomach whenever Intern scratched the right spot. Intern’s fingers curved protectively around the base of his bitten ear, never pressing the old notch itself. Sam noticed the care. His purr stuttered once before returning even louder.

Agent’s began as a quieter vibration he clearly intended to suppress. Intern’s thumb stroked the base of his ear. The purr deepened despite him, rough enough to travel through his chest and into theirs. His tail slid over Intern’s thigh and tightened there.

Sam opened one eye and smirked. “He purrs louder when you rub that spot.”

Agent’s eyes snapped open. “You will forget that observation.”

“I’m going to remember it forever.”

“I already knew,” Intern said.

Both cats looked at them.

Intern’s smile faltered. “Was that a secret?”

Agent’s voice became dangerously calm. “How long have you known?”

“Since yesterday. During the hug.” Intern’s ears tipped back, suddenly shy. “I didn’t say anything because it seemed private.”

Something passed across Agent’s face. Tenderness, fear and want touched the same small space before discipline erased them.

Sam saw it.

This time, he did not tease.

Intern continued stroking both their heads. The synchronized purring resumed almost immediately.

“It’s okay,” they whispered. “I also won’t tell anyone you needed to cuddle me because of the thunder.”

“I was not frightened,” Agent said.

“Neither was I,” Sam added. “I was protecting you.”

Agent looked across Intern. “From what?”

“You.”

Intern laughed and pulled both indignant cats closer.

“My brave, dominant little protectors.”

Agent and Sam both heard the word dominant and relaxed.

Intern meant it sarcastically.

They did not notice.

Intern looked down at the two cats still lying across them. “Do we have to get up?”

Agent checked the clock.

“Not for twenty-three minutes.”

“Thirty,” Sam countered.

“The walk takes seven.”

“I walk fast.”

“Intern does not.”

“Hey.”

Both cats looked at them.

Intern tightened their arms around the pair.

“Twenty-eight,” they negotiated.

Agent’s head lowered back to their chest.

Sam settled beneath their chin.

“Twenty-eight,” Agent agreed.

Sam grinned in victory, as though he had personally won the extra five minutes.

Intern smiled at the ceiling, held them both and remained entirely unaware that they had just won a competition they did not know existed.

Downstairs, the grey fox added two breakfasts to their bill and wrote ONE ROOM, THREE SINGLES beneath the charge.

He underlined it twice.

At Animal Hospital, Nurse waited beside Reception with the betting sheet.

Head Nurse stood behind her.

“Put that away,” Head Nurse ordered.

Nurse folded it once.

“And delete the new category.”

Nurse folded it again.

“There is no category called ‘shared hotel room.’”

Nurse pushed the paper into her pocket.

“Of course not.”

Head Nurse narrowed her eyes.

The front doors opened.

Intern entered first, smiling brightly. Agent followed on their left, wearing his usual unreadable expression. Sam walked on their right in rumpled work clothes, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Good morning,” he announced far too happily for someone returning from punishment duty.

Nurse’s gaze travelled over them.

Intern’s shirt was wrinkled where small paws had clutched it.

Agent’s left ear was bent.

Sam’s calico fur remained flattened on one side of his face, and the old bite in his ear made its sleep-mussed angle even more obvious.

Head Nurse inhaled slowly.

“Did you complete the extra shift?”

“Yes,” Intern said.

“Did you behave professionally?”

Intern thought about Agent purring into their chest, Sam sleeping with one leg over their hips and all three of them refusing to leave the bed for twenty-eight negotiated minutes.

“Mostly.”

Behind them, Agent and Sam exchanged a look.

Not friendly.

Not hostile.

Temporary terms between two animals who had discovered the same impossible problem and, for Intern’s sake, agreed not to solve it with violence.

Head Nurse pointed toward the staff corridor.

“Work.”

They obeyed.

Intern walked between them.

Agent’s paw brushed theirs.

Sam’s shoulder pressed lightly to their other arm.

Neither contact was accidental.

Intern assumed the corridor was narrow.

It was six feet wide.