I don't own Cats, am just a fan, and...Honestly? I wouldn't ask where this came from. I think it was a dream...XP

Many stories in one, this is. And hope it all works out all right, I spent quite a while on this. It's about Tantomile and Coricopat, the witches cats, about their relationship with each other and the rest of the cats. It's about Munkustrap, Alonzo, Macavity and Tugger, and how their family ties bind them. And it's about little Jemima, who binds these two separate families together.

Even if you have to search deeply for all those things, that is :P

Screams in the dark.

How many times had she felt this pain now? This burning, ripping, life giving pain which rippled and ran all through her slender body. She'd convulse, and twist, and stretch, and wriggle – anything to make things easier and to stop the pain. So much pain.

More than before, so much more than before. But she always thought that, didn't she? She always thought the pain was worst the next time round, of course she did. She always thought it was longer when it came again as well. Maybe it was. It seemed like an eternity to her, everytime. And all she could do was grit her teeth, and fight her way through it, and pray. Pray for the reward this time, this time she might just get.

Prayers in the dark.

Everyone was praying that night, under the stars, under their dens, under a pile of other warm, fluffy bodies. Kittens, queens, toms, all were praying that night. None of them knew how much heartache they could bear to see. How much death those two poor, poor souls could bear to see. How much life the slender queen still had in her if she lost another one.

Her mate was praying the hardest, sat in constant vigil outside the gumbie cats door, head bowed. A wordless, silent prayer, for her. For his queen, and his kit. The rain lashed down upon him, striking his bent neck and running down the curve of his spine. He took the beating. Anything that might help relieve her pain.

Whispers in the dark.

"I'm sorry...I'm so sorry..."

"Terrible, for them, so terrible..."

"How can they bear it?"

"I don't know..."

"So brave...so brave..."

"Maybe this time, though. Maybe this'll be the time."

"Maybe...maybe..."

Choices in the dark.

"Your kit or your mate."

That was the choice. The decision the tom had to make, with the rain running down his face and the lightening illuminating the sky around his head. His mate, his love, his sister...or his child.

How could anyone choose between those two impossible options?

No time. No time to think. An answer had to be given, had to be given now. Otherwise he'd lose them both. He turned his head upwards from the ground, staring at the Gumbie cat with blank staring eyes. His mouth didn't open, but she heard him speak.

Her...Please, save her...

Realisations in the dark.

No more. He could do this no more. Never again would he feel the hope, the love, the climatic build up, only to have it destroyed. No more would he have to watch his mate glow as she finds out she's pregnant. No more planning for the future with his sister, deciding on names and dens. No more heartbreak, and having to watch his best friend die inside as she lost another one. No more.

She almost died that night. He didn't leave her bedside until her mind stirred once more. He wouldn't eat, wouldn't drink, wouldn't sleep. Wouldn't talk. He sat there, watching her. Hoping. He didn't watch as the gumbie cat gently carried the tiny cold body out of the den. Didn't watch as the silver tabby laid the little kit to rest along with his other fallen brothers and sisters. Didn't watch as the grief for the kit and for their sorrow spread over the junkyard. Couldn't watch as the finger was pointed at him for the death of his kit.

For the witch's cat realised something that night. There was no point bringing a kit into this world without her beside him. Without his mate, his sister, his other half to raise the kit with, it would be meaningless. Without her, life would be nothing.

Lost in the dark.

Not so far away, another decision was being made. This time it was not for a young tom praying for a better future, while surrounded by people who felt his pain, but an old, weary queen living a life she could only remember from the days long gone. A queen who once had the world, and who now had no one, all because of her own choices. No one except the little bundle curled up in one hand.

The old queen pulled herself to her feet, clutching the tiny, crying kitten to her chest. No milk to feed her, no space to shelter her, the mother could do nothing for her. Her daughter. She slips slightly along the puddle strewn ground, her once beautifully manicured hands clutching tightly at the little black bundle, heading towards the only place she knew of. The only place where her child may have a chance.

Her mind was foggy as she staggered through the darkened paths to the softly lit junkyard. Shadows cast by the dawning sun crept out to meet her weary form as the queen finally fell to her knees. A single dark shape seemed to detach itself from the dancing shadows, and move slowly towards her. The queen looked up, a single flash of hope darting across her aged face, before it sank back into despair.

"You shouldn't have come here."

Neither should he. But the tom couldn't bear to stay put in the junkyard, in his den which was so close to the gumbie cat's nursing room. He never could, not when the false senses of hope were yet again rising for the queen who was not much younger than him. In that sense, he was a coward, and he accepted cowardness. It was either that or accept pride, but pride would mean he'd stay where he was. He couldn't stay there, his thoughts interrupting the vigil of his friend who sat by his queen's side as their child was buried. So he'd left, as he'd done every other time this had happened. Left to patrol the edges of the haven, left to stay outside, and feeling the rain soak his fur through, chilling his skin. It was better than being so near to the pain.

The queen lowered her head again, her breathing ragged – the cold from the winter morning spearing through her chest, almost as cold as the tom's voice. That voice which, the last time she'd heard it, had been young and full of life. She clutched her precious bundle tighter, before resigning herself. One claw scratched at the ground as she once more heaved herself back up onto her old, tottery legs. Raising her head high in what was once a proud gesture, but now only seemed sad and pathetic, she looked dead ahead at the cat which had spoken.

The tom watched her, eyes narrowed, and her heart skipped a beat. Looking at him now, after so long, so many months, so many years. The queen couldn't...couldn't...

"Why are you here, mother?" he asked, his voice icy, as if hardly daring to breathe the word.

"I have something, Rum, for...for your father." Her voice, which she meant to be strong and defiant, only came through her lips as a hoarse whisper. She took a step forward, stopping as the tom growled in a threatening manner. Not taking her eyes off her son, she paused, and then bent down. One last kiss on her bundles furry head, then she was pushing it gently over the ground towards him.

It took her a lot of effort to rise after that. The spotted tom was staring at the bundle, his eyes even narrower, and suspicion filled every pore on his beautiful face.

"My boy..." she whispered, taking a small step backwards. Then she cast her eyes down at the bundle, "and my little girl...My Jemima..."

The tom took a step forward, eyes wide, not seeming to be thinking about anything. He reached out a paw, and rolled the bundle over. Then stepped back. Wide, innocent blue eyes stared up at him. A calm far, surrounded by fluffy fur, and long whiskers. A perfect kitten face. His eyes darted back up towards the queen, opening his mouth to ask her what the hell was going on.

But she had gone.

He stood there as the rain stopped, his paw still resting on the tiny bundle, staring down into the wide, wide blue eyes. The rain swept around him, running down the long, silky hair that framed his face. His head was sheltering the kitten, protecting her from the lashing whips of the water, and he kept still. Unsure what to do, what to say, he just stared down. And she stared back up at him, mouth open as if to cry out for her mother who was no longer there, as if she'd frozen in mid action.

He only moved when the silence was broken. Broken by the sound no cat should have to hear. Yet a sound which was becoming fearfully common in this junkyard, from only one cat. The sense of despair once again washed over him, as it washed over every other cat in the junkyard, even the kits too young to understand, as the sound pierced the air. It carved a path through the rain, the water seeming to flinch away from it itself, as if not wanting to have to feel what everyone else did. The tom picked up the kitten bundle as if on instinct, to protect her from the hoarse, pain filled cry, before bowing his head once more in his own silent mourning. The sound reached the kitten, but unlike the other young ones, who so often cried themselves as they heard it, she remained quiet, her small ruby lined mouth even closing slightly, eyes still wide, just listening. Listening to the screams of a mother, mourning her lost kitten.

Screams in the dark, dying out as the sun broke over the shadowed sky, casting long pale pink fingers into every crevice in the mounds of junk and rubbish thrown out by the humans. The rain had long since died away with the screams, leaving only the steady dripping of the droplets as they made their way from the tallest towers down to earth. The tom still hadn't moved, still staring down at the bundle. The bundle which had ever so slightly started to writhe in his hands. Startled, almost as if just noticing he was still holding onto her, the tom jerked, the tiny kitten almost slipping from his grasp. He held onto her, before raising her up to eye level. The kitten...his sister...

She was hungry, he knew that. He could see it in her wide eyes, her slightly parted lips. But what could he do? How could he care for a kitten?

"Maybe you don't have to..."

The tom dropped back onto all four paws, gently placing his sister between his front two legs, and turned his head slowly. He hadn't heard his father approach from behind. Hadn't heard the old cat's paw steps on the sodden ground. The young tom shook his mane, ruffling the hairs and sending water droplets flying on the breeze, before addressing his father, his dark eyes directly meeting his.

"But I want to!"

The old, worn cat sighed. His son didn't need to tell him of the events which had passed that night. You didn't stay leader of a Jellicle clan for long without knowing everything. All the pain of the night had reached him, and effectively it had stopped there once he knew.

"You are not old enough, my son."

The younger of the toms fluffed up his mane once more, his eyes betraying the annoyance his body was working so hard to keep hidden. One paw curled around the bundle who was sat on the bloor between his legs, her wide eyes watching them both warily. Her tiny mouth had fully opened now, and a hopeless mew was issuing from it. The mained tom glanced down, his paw resting against her back, assisting the almost newborn kit in remaining upright. The doubt shone through his eyes as he looked down at the dark mass of fur, which was now slowly starting to paw weakly, and hungrily at his own spotted foot, and he sighed, bowing his head.

His father, his wise old father, knew enough not to question him. The words remained unspoken in the air, but the younger tom's hold on the kitten didn't lessen, even though the cries were steadily growing.

"But she's my sister..." Eventually were the hoarse words which issued from the lips of the tom. Then the hoarseness turned harsh, cold, cruel even. "I'd bet you'd let Stripes or Lonzie take her, wouldn't you? Even though I'm older than them?"

The old cat bowed his head also, sighing at the same tone as his son had. Stripes and Lonzie. The nicknames devised by this tom for the twins which would soon rule the junkyard. No doubt the thought of them was always a sore point for his son – not because he wanted to be ruler, no way. But because of the one who did. The one who had been closer to the mained cat than anyone else, his best friend, his twin, but the one who left, full of anger when the title was passed onto his younger brothers rather than him. The thought of such rivalry between his own sons brought a feeling of sadness to the older cat, but that was nothing compared to the mix of emotions he felt coming from his son.

"They are older than you, don't forget that. And as you are technically their brother, she is technically their sister.." The older tom stepped forward, using one paw to gently lift the chin of the spotted tom. "But I wasn't going to suggest them, son. I can think of two other cats who are far more deserving at this moment...But it is your choice."

Confusion flitted over the younger cat's face as he looked at his father, before his head dropped again as the supporting paw was removed. He fixed his eyes once again on his sister, frowning as his fathers words rushed through him, searching for a meaning. Then it came to him, and once more he raised his head. But his father had gone. Left him. Like her...

He didn't dwell on it. He knew now what to do. He couldn't care for the kitten, couldn't give her what she wanted, couldn't feed her like she needed. But his father was right, there was someone who could.

He bent down, and gently wrapped his jaws around the thin body of the kitten, his jaws soft so as to carry her without injury, before he started forward, his neck bowed, trying to make the journey for the kitten as soft as possible. They shared a mother, shared the feeling of being abandoned in this place, but that didn't mean he had any right to raise her, no matter how much the tom wanted it. For the first time in his life, he wished he was one of the mature toms, the toms who settles down with one mate rather than flitting from queen to queen. Perhaps if he was like either of his brothers he would have been able to keep her. But he wasn't, and he couldn't. And someone else deserved her even more.

He caught the eye of the silver tabby as he approached the gumbie cat's den beneath the old car. The older cat looked at him, raising an eyebrow with a frown to question him. He tried to get in his way, but the younger tom just rolled his eyes, using his lean young body to push the resisting tabby aside. He was met by more resistance from the gumbie cat herself as he tried to enter the den. She frowned, rushing over to him, and trying to force him backwards. His paws slipped as he scrambled slightly, making the kitten jerk in his mouth. The tiny mew which escaped her lips was enough to make the nursing cat freeze, and stare at her with wide eyes. The tom held her gaze, a unspoken question in his eyes, before she too stepped aside, and joined the silver tabby in watching what he was doing.

The screams had long since died as he approached the pile of rags in the corner. The smell of dried blood, and pain littered the air as his silent footsteps took him closer towards the two cats. One of them, the tom, raised his head as the mained cat approached, his body laid half over the tiny, curled up form of his mate. His eyes were empty, devoid of anything, even pain, but that seemed worse to the other cat. The soft whimpers were the only sound to come from the identical looking dark furred queen as she hugged herself, eyes closed and buried against the wall.

The stench of pain and suffering, and death, made the spotted tom's ears lie flat against his head, and he stopped, eyes meeting the hollow ones of the tom who had to say for his child to be killed in order for his mate to live. Slowly, he bowed his head, dragging his eyes away, and lowered the yet again silent bundle to the floor. The kitten sat there, blinking her wide eyes in a confused way, looking up at him as if to ask what was going on. The tom gently bent down again, nudging her forward with the tip of his nose, before looking back at the mourning tom.

"Old D...I mean, Deuteronomy...Asks if you would mind caring for her...She has no...parents," he said, his voice hoarse, the wrong words finding the way to his lips. No parents, but now no one. I'm here, still..."Her name...Her name is Jemima.."

The dark, shorthaired cat didn't move, just looked at him, before lowering his elegant head to look at the kitten. But it was his mates ears who did the twitching, flicking in his direction to share his words with the other one. Silence ranged in the den as a wordless conversation filled the air, as the queen examined the kitten through her mates eyes. Then her mate turned his head away, not seeing the kitten properly, and laid his head back on his paws, eyes closed.

The tom paused, unsure. His ears were back on his head, and he looked down at the kitten, before back at the gumbie cat and his brother, still stood in the entrance to the den. His expression was one of confusion, of helplessness, and the gumbie cat sighed, stepping forward.

"I don't think their ready, Tugger."

The tom sighed, bowing his head. Of course they weren't ready. They're own kitten was barely cold in the ground, and here he was trying to force another on them. He gently reached down, making to pick the kitten up again, but the silver tabby stopped him.

"No. She looks hungry...Jenny will get her something to eat."

A scowl flitted over the maine coon's face as he stared at his brother, but the older cat didn't waver. And why should he? He was right, of course. Jenny would know how to care for her, after all. She was whimpering yet again now, her nose in the air, searching for something warm, or something to eat. Anything. She was shivering to, now away from the warmth of another body the chill from spending a night in the rain was starting to reach her skin. Once more he sighed, not one word having past his lips since he'd first picked up the kitten, and took a step towards the den entrance, the Gumbie cat patting his shoulder in a comforting way.

"I don't know who she is, but I'll see to it she's cared for..." she trailed off, a sound from behind her making her pause, before slowly turning around. The muffled gasp which escaped her lips made the spotted tom's head jerk up and around, staring in the direction he'd just turned from.

The queen had uncurled herself. Moving from her position of mourning, she'd managed to pull herself forward, and out from beneath the form of her brother, despite the pain which cracked across her tender body with every moving. A low, dry purr was rumbling deep in her chest, and she'd lowered her head to the kitten. Even as the other cats watched, the dark furred, bereaved queen started to gently kick the kitten's dark head fur, slowly undoing the matted clumps left behind from how many nights spent clutched against her long gone mother's chest.

A smile crept over Tugger's face, and watched the unfolding scene, as the queen's mate slowly sat up again, watching her and the kitten with the same dull eyes, but with a little more expression on his face. Now looking like a cat who wasn't so close to death. They remained there in silence as the queen groomed the kitten, before gently nudging her with her striped head around to her chest, guiding her to where she could feed. Then the mate looked up, his eyes meeting with Tugger's once more. No word was issued from his lips, but his unspoken thanks rang out over the junkyard.

For me...For Tantomile...Thank you.

The three other cats left in silence, the gumbie cat with an amazed look on her face as she turned away from the toms, making to head over to her friends den to gather the items a mother would need. She left quickly, and the two toms sat down, side by side, on top of the old cat, staring out of the junkyard. Two brothers, watching as their family, their tribe, slowly woke up around them.

Ah, the force is pulling you towards the review button, is it not? XP