November 1966
He knelt beside the fire, watching the flames lick the slightly damp wood he had brought in to build up the fire this morning. Stacking several larger pieces of wood atop the crackling fire, he pushed himself off the floor and stepped into the chilly kitchen to begin breakfast. The sky outside was still completely dark, but the cold sky was very clear.
He turned the running water down to a trickle again after filling a pot up with water and setting it on the lit stove beside the already filled kettle. There was a scratching at the door, and he mentally reminded himself to trim the tree outside his bedroom before it broke the glass – and would someone kindly fee that kitten before it hurt itself mewing?
He stilled, turning and crossing the room to the frosted-over glass door. Lifting the latch, he shoved the door open, breaking the icey seal quickly. There was a light 'thump' as he pushed the door open, and he saw something tumble down the few steps to the snowy pathway. All was still, and then a tiny white kitten scrambled to its feet and struggled back up the steps.
Charles watched it until it reached the top step and paused, blinking up at him with milky blue eyes. It mewed then, and he crouched down and lifted the kitten in his hands just as it darted forward to his feet. It pressed close to his hands, purring as it rubbed its head against his fingers. He pulled it close to him and reached out with his other hand to pull the door shut before standing up.
"Where have you come from, little one?" He cradled it close and quickly strode into the sitting room to pile more wood on the fire before it died too low. The kitten was kneading his jumper and mewing even as it relaxed drowsily in the heat. He stroked its matted fur and returned to the kitchen, pulling a jar of milk from the refrigerator. Taking advantage of the heating water, he began to warm some milk in it.
He held the kitten until the milk was warmed, petting it and smiling slightly as it climbed up over his shoulders and then climbed atop his head. When the milk was warm, he carefully lifted the kitten down and placed it on the countre, pouring the milk into a saucer for the creature to drink from. The kitten eagerly lapped it up, its attention wholly devoted to the warm liquid. He folded his arms and leant on the countre, watching the kitten drink and refilling the saucer when it ran low.
Leaving the kitten finally when the kettle boiled, he turned it off. Pausing for a moment, he reached up to a cupboard and pulled down a bag of red and black beans and set them beside the stove. Shaking some salt into the steaming pan, he glanced back to the side countre as the kitten began mewing again.
And then dove to catch it as it slid off the counter-top to the cold floor far below.
He frowned at it, his hand wrapped around its ribs as he lifted it to eye level and then retraced his steps to the slowly warming sitting room.
"I fear felines do not actually have nine lives," He turned on the kitchen light as he left the room. "You would do well to preserve your one as you have used little of it."
The kitten mewed in answer and he smiled, drawing it closer for a moment before bending to lightly drop it on the rug before the hearth. It padded closer and stared into the flickering flames, mesmerised. Once he was certain that it would remain for the moment, he quickly went upstairs to his room to fetch a comb.
The kitten had curled up by the time he returned, tucking its tiny nose beneath its pointy tail as it began to dose off. He watched it for a moment and then gently lifted it up, settling it on his lap and beginning to work out the tangles in the white coat. He firmly held it still as it initially struggled; but as he continued his work, it relaxed until it fell asleep on his lap.
She opened her eyes slowly. Beneath her quilts, she was quite warm; but knowing that the sun had not yet risen enough to warm the house – at least her room – sufficiently enough to tempt her to leave her bed. Certainly, Charles had already started the fire and warmed the house and floor; but nonetheless, experience still told her that it would be cold.
She sighed rolling to her back and pushing the duvet down from her head. The curtains had been pulled back and the morning light shone through the room. She rested her hands atop the duvet, glad that the fire had already been started – that she was not expected to fetch the wood and warm the house herself anymore. That, if for no other reason, was enough to welcome Charles.
The mewing of a kitting and the gentle butting of its head against her fingers distracted and fully awakened her, and she carefully sat up more. Smiling when she saw the blue eyes widely staring at her, she pulled the kitten up beneath the duvet; laughing when its tiny purr increased, nearly shaking its whole body. She petted the silky fur, frowning slightly as she recognised the scent of her soap.
"What has Charles done to you, hm?"
It mewed in answer; and she sat up fully, pushing the duvet off and swinging her legs out of bed. Feeling beneath the bed, she slipped on her slippers and then reached for her robe. Fire or not, the house was still frigid and she was not ready to change into her cold day-clothes yet. When the last button was done up, she picked up the kitten and made her way out of the room, looking for Charles.
He looked up from the book he was reading in the sitting room, setting it aside when he saw her. Seeing the kitten poke its head up out of her hands, reaching to rub its head against her chin, a smile flitted across his face. "Good morning. Abigail – I see you have met Phillip."
She looked down to the kitten. "Phillip?" It purred and she smiled. "He is quite young."
"I could hardly have left him in the cold..."
She brightened, twisting to look out the window. "Did it snow?"
He stood, amusement peeking through his blank mask. "Indeed – thoroughly covering all, even the wood."
She glanced at him and shook her head, stepping to the window and rubbing away the frost to see the world without. "It's snow – Charles, hardly the end of the world."
"If you are certain. Perhaps this time we will not be covered with ice enough to crush the world."
"You aren't that old."
She could hear the faint smile in his voice when he spoke again: "Breakfast, shall we?"
She nodded, setting down Phillip and turning away from the window after a moment. "Yes, thank you." She followed him into the dining room, sitting before one of the bowls of porridge before her with a honeyed toast.
"Perhaps we will have the opportunity to shape a snowman later."
She nodded, looking into her bowl. An idea occurred to her, and she glanced sideways at the Immortal. "And many snowballs."
He almost nodded his head, but then stilled and glared at her. "I think not."
"Are you afraid you'll be beat?"
"Teasing will do no good, dear." He took a bite of his porridge.
"Will threatening to bring snow within the house do good?"
"You would not dare..."
AN: She would definitely dare – where do you think Abraham got it from? Not Henry, certainly... Although he quickly learnt. The kitten's original name was Bucephalus – thus its white colour – but that was TOO obvious a connection, so I named it Phillip instead. The name means 'lover of horses' and sounds sort of like Bucephalus anyway... Phillip comes from Hewlett's horse in Turn.