A/N: FINA-FREAKING-LLY! It was taking FOREVER to bring chap one to enough of a close that I could actually post it, but here it is! WHEEE.

Ok, so, you all know how addicted to MistoVictoria I am, but, incase it's not obvious by the title and genre, this one won't be nearly as fluffy or sugary as before.

I feel really bad for torturing my beloved Quaxo this way. ::tear:: I LOVE YOU QUAXOOOOOOOOOO!!

Also, not that I have anything against your opinion, but for those who want to think that Misto (aka Quaxo, I realize I'm shifting from one name to the other a lot in this A/N, sorry) and Victoria are siblings, um… that's pretty much like saying that Plato and Victoria are siblings, or Munkustrap and Demeter. I HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR SAYING THIS:

Ok, just as Plato and Victoria did a somewhat sexual dance during the show, Misto did a pretty sexual dance move to Victoria too. (note the CARESSING of the leg in the opener) I mean can you imagine:

Misto: OO WHOA SIS, YOU HAVE REALLY HOT LEGS! CARESS

Lol, just thought I would bring that to peeps attention. I mean, if you look at the look on his face and what he's doing it's just… not very sibling-like. o-0

Wow, that was a LONG author's note! I'm sorry!!!! On to the fic!

Chapter One

The Pain and Perfection

We have learned in our days that love never listens; you can never choose; and the more love given, the more bittersweet the end.

Back then Quaxo had been little more than a kitten, and she had been little more than a friend. Back then things were simple and flawless and perfect. He had romped happily away from his human home, anxious to reach the junkyard and play with his friends. The ground flew away under him as he ran, offering no resistance to his nimble cat paws. He was more like a bird than a tom, at that moment, rushing joyously over earth as if it were air. The faster he ran the sooner he would reach the junkyard, the sooner he would see the rest of the Jellicles.

He wasn't at all expecting what he came across.

Victoria was the same as usual; she waved her tail welcomingly at him, a laugh lighting up her face. She was the same, but so very, very different. She was radiant, she was glowing, she was… sweet Heaviside she was beautiful.

And then he was scared. The sudden pounding of his heart, the gasping of his breath, the slight blur of his vision—was he sick? No, he couldn't be; he'd been just fine this morning. But this, this was a terrifying sensation: controlling, omnipotent, powerful.

She strode up to him, brushed his side in a friendly way. His fur tingled with the lasting illusion of her touch. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end; his stomach knotted and rolled.

And scarier yet, despite the discomfort of the strange feeling… he liked it.

Things were different now, with him a full-blown tom and her a blooming queen. They were still friends, of course, but sometimes he would meet her eyes and words would escape him or he'd do something silly like trip over his own tail or walk straight into something.

He'd finally managed to pin the word "love" to the odd feeling. "Love" really was different than he'd expected it to be; what about those sugary feelings everyone talks about? All he felt was anxiety. There was a constant paranoia about him—paranoid that she would get hurt, or fall in love with another tom, and, the most confusing fear of all, the fear that she would love him back.

There were… problems too. The Rum Tum Tugger, for example, whose advice on love was lacking, to say the least. Not to mention that he practically had every queen in the tribe eating out of his paws. He'd never thought that having Tugger as a friend could present such a problem.

The prospect of love, of being in love, still scared him. Being away from her for long periods of time caused real physical pain. There were times when he'd find himself almost drowning under the weight of this tyranny called love.

Of course, Victoria hadn't shown any romantic interest in him, and the idea of confessing his love to her like some cheesy human movie made his blood run cold.

She was making it difficult too. Maybe he was interpreting things wrong, but in recent months she seemed to have added unconscious flirtatious attributes to everything she did. The casual sway of her hips, the half-smile that never left her face, the sheen of her eyes: all of them drove Quaxo mad.

And last on his list of obstacles were the toms. Victoria was the Rum Tum Tugger of queens; every male lusted after her to some degree. (He refused to believe that any of them loved her as he did. All the pain he felt for her had to be for something.)

He was with her now, and that fact alone dulled the pain to something almost bearable… almost.

"Quaxo?" By the tone of her voice, she must have been trying to get his attention for a while now. He pricked up his ears and met her gaze to indicate he was listening. He tried to seem alert and interested, but it was a feeble attempt. "You alright?"

"I'm fine." A lie. Still, he put on his most charming smile and she relaxed slightly.

"Okay; I'm just worried; you've been a little out of it lately." She nudged him playfully.

He thanked Heaviside that there was fur on his face, if not she'd certainly have seen the flush that was staining his cheeks. He should have been paying more attention. There was no reason to waste a perfectly good afternoon with the cat that constantly roved his thoughts.

He shifted to a more comfortable position and stared at her with a genuine smile. "So what do you want to do?"

Her mouth opened and she let out a mewling whine. "I'm hungry. Wanna go hunting?"

He sprang to his paws, energy finally pulsing through him again. His tail swished challengingly behind him. "Race you to the trees," he said, voice nothing more than an excited whisper.

And they were off, bounding and zooming ahead like they had long before confusing complications had ever reared their unwelcome faces. She was go graceful as she ran, a white, winding ribbon flitting right and left, up and down, twisting around his paws and tickling his nose: teasing him, playing with him, taunting him.

He forced away every emotion but joy—kept back every sensation but adrenaline. The result was an awkward, bubbling high and he let out a laugh that sounded strange to his ears. Victoria's ears twitched at the sound and she turned to stare at him momentarily before the joy of the moment caught her up again, and she was focused back on running.

Had it not been for his odd mental barriers he would have felt a rush of shame or embarrassment for his sound, but as it was he continued merrily on, darting and weaving with expert precision around piles of trash and broken household items.

For all his lithe agility, it was nothing compared to Victoria's faultless movements. She glided as if on water, every leap and bound as fluid as the undulating waves of the ocean. Again the ribbon twined around him, it twirled into his open mouth and lingered on his tongue. He could taste it almost, almost, almost. And though Victoria herself was still a few feet away, and pulling farther ahead by the second, ribbons of her scent, of her sound, of her touch all danced around him. He felt dizzy. The emotions he'd trapped in his head pounded against their restraints. It hurt.

He paused—stumbled. His paws felt like lead. The ribbons smothered him, winding around his throat and biting viciously into his skin; they were no longer ribbons, but ivory snakes. He gurgled and choked. She was so far away that she didn't even hear, but the ringing echo of her laugh floating faintly toward him, sounding distant as he drifted on the edge of consciousness.

He gasped in clean air, doing his best to expel all remaining slivers of her scent. This was bad. It had never gotten this strong. In the back of his thoughts he noticed the sound of her laughter end abruptly, heard her call out to him and the sound of her paw steps getting louder as she neared. He braced himself for the ribbons—the snakes—to wind their way toward him again, but now it was only Victoria, and the heavenly aroma of her presence. He reveled in it—drank it in as if it were wine.

This was perfect; she was perfect; even he was perfect for this moment where he stood beside her.

It made him wonder if someday things would become so perfect that they would no longer bring with them pain.

He could only hope.