A/N: Spoilers for Visitor, so don't read on if you haven't heard that episode yet. And, as always, I don't own the characters or profit from this.

I feel a solid palm on my shoulder as I knelt at the bloodstone circle inside The Night Vale Animal (not to be confused with The Night Vale Non-Human) Hospital. "I brought you a change of clothes," Carlos's familiar voice – or at least increasingly so, since his vocal chord replacement – says. "And some bandages."

He doesn't chide me for not going to the hospital, despite the bite on my leg. Carlos seems to understand that I just couldn't leave. Even if I could bear to be outside of the animal hospital, farther from Khoshekh, I doubt it would be to see to treatment of my own leg. If I dare to focus on anything other than my worry, than my appreciation for Carlos rushing here even though I am certain he has countless flasks and beakers boiling away on Bunsen burners back at his lab, I know that anger will overtake me.

I am not inclined to rebellion. All residents of Night Vale were to have it the trait bred out or genetically removed two generations ago. However, I am finding myself increasingly inclined to find a means to forcibly evict StrexCorp from the station. From Night Vale.

I am nearly numb as Carlos moves me from the circle, where Intern Jeremy was still chanting his well wishes for Khoshekh's health. Carlos guides me to the restroom and removes my pants, my best fur ones that I wore on my date with Carlos almost a year ago. I suppose they are ruined now. He then makes me sit on the lid of the nearest toilet seat. I look down at him, studying the injury intently. I am unsure if it is scientific interest or concern with which he is examining the bite on my calf, but he will offer the occasional "hmm" or hiss between his teeth.

"Is it bad?" I manage to ask. I am not really concerned about myself, but if I am to exact my revenge, I should be as uninjured as possible.

"It looks … fine?" Carlos sighs and looks up at me over the black rims of his glasses. "Or bad? I don't know. I'm a scientist. Not a doctor." He opens the first aid kit he had brought with him. I see it is Carlos's kit, full of things like bandages and antiseptic solution rather than the basic implements of black magic, leeches and Neosporin that I had learned to use to earn my CPR, Demonic Conjuring, and First Aid badge in the Boy Scouts. He lifted the bottle of antiseptic solution. "This will probably burn."

"Less than black magic, I would imagine."

"A likely hypothesis," he says. He gets all science-y when he is worried, which I thankfully find endearing rather than annoying. He pours the liquid on the bite, cleaning it of the blood. I begin to say that I am no longer sure about that hypothesis as my leg involuntarily twitches to get away from the source of sudden, stinging pain. Carlos's hand gently rests on my knee and he apologizes. Then he takes another close look at the bite. "Have you ever had a tetanus shot?"

"Of course," I snap. "I take my health seriously, and vaccination and preventative medicine is crucial to that." I am not angry at Carlos, and I am now the one who apologizes, placing my own hand atop his. "I'm sorry."

"You're worried," he says, removing a bandage from the kit. "It's understandable." He turns his hand to press his palm against mine. "And completely forgivable."

"I'm angry, too," I say quietly. It is foolish to hope that the secret police, now under the dictates of StrexCorp, are not listening, but what I can hope for is that the Secret Police will turn a blind... ear to my dissent against their new employer. They have found their own way to act contrary to StrexCorp interests in the past.

"At...?"

"The creature. It died with the flip of a switch and Khoshekh is here struggling for his survival. At StrexCorp for making that... monster. At Lauren and Daniel for buying it. At StrexCorp for buying the station and the Secret Police and more and more of the town." When Carlos lets out a grunt of pain, I realize that I have been squeezing his hand much, much too tightly. I lessen my grip and gently rub his hand between both of my palms. "I'm sorry again."

"And you're forgiven, again." He removes the tunic I had been wearing, thankfully not the one from our date, so I still have something left of that night. I am unsure if Khoshekh's blood will wash out, or if I will be able to look at the shirt again without seeing it, even if it did. "It sounds as though you are preparing for a battle, Cecil."

"Don't worry," I assure him. "I know you're a scientist and not a fighter."

"I'm also your boyfriend," he says. "And if you're going to start a revolution, I'll just have to find a way of supporting you." He stands and kisses me lightly on the forehead. "But first, you need clothes. You will hardly look intimidating in just your underwear." He pulls out a white button-up shirt and offers it to me. "Even Hiram McDaniels wears a tie from time to time. And he's literally a five-headed dragon."

#

There is something about having Carlos here with me, combined with the effects of blood loss at this particular moment, that makes me fall asleep. I feel my pillow, Carlos's shoulder, nudging me slightly, and his voice speaks far louder than he usually would to wake me. "Cecil, the veterinarian is coming toward us."

I jerk awake and barely notice I have been reaching out for Carlos's hand until he grips mine, hardly notice the sound of Jeremy scrambling from his spot in the bloodstone circle to reach our sides. "How is Khoshekh?" I ask, my voice faltering. "How is my boy?"

"He is going to live," the vet said, readjusting the bifocal at his third eye. "But I do not believe he was meant to leave his spot in the radio restroom. He may not be quite the same pet you knew before." The veterinarian pauses and folds his hands. "I must ask, when he slept... did he hover in that same spot?" I nod. "He does not hover. While it is possible his hovering could resume at his will or if he were brought back to the radio restroom, I would recommend that while he is recovering, he should stay somewhere more sanitary than a restroom."

"He can stay with us," Carlos says, even before I could suggest it. I'm grateful he made the suggestion first, as I'm not completely sure I would have asked him first. "And I'll get my team to other kittens. After the incident with the home that doesn't really exist, I think they'll look forward to a simple animal capture." He huffs almost amused, but not enough that he is downplaying the seriousness of this situation. "Simple by Night Vale standards, at least."

"Can I see him?"

"He is a bit groggy from the surgery," the veterinarian warns. "But yes, you can see him."

I stand and barely remember to keep my pace slower than the doctor's, since I have absolutely no idea which door leads to Khoshekh. The doctor opens the third door on the right, which leads to a corridor behind the various treatment rooms where I imagine other pet owners/parents/guardians are waiting for everything from simple check-ups to surgery preparation to a final moment with a pet that must be put to sleep. I walk into a room that resembles an smaller version of the recovery room in the Night Vale Same Day Surgery Center, complete with the same sky blue walls and bed enclosed in a black cage.

I see Khoshekh on the bed behind the bars and find myself taken aback by how small he looks. Some of that is due to that perceived smallness that comes with finding a loved one is weak and wounded. Most of it, though, is that the shadowy dark tendrils, which follow Khoshekh and move both with him and seemingly at his will, are gone.

"Hey, Buddy," I say softly as I approach the cage. "Hey, Khoshekh." Fathomless black eyes open just a sliver and I hear the faintest hum, sounding almost like a motor that has been submerged in thick molasses. It lacks the usual whine and chest-thrumming power of his usual purr, but it is a purr nonetheless. I slide my hand through the bars and gingerly scratch the top of my cat's head, in that sweet little spot between his ears that he likes so much. "Don't you worry. You're coming home with us. We'll take care of you."

His eyes close and releases a puff of air that I like to think is a contented sigh.

#

"Listeners, I would like to share some good news with all of you, since so many of you have been sending letters, cards, and separated spines. Thank you, Roger, for that." I cannot help but smile at Daniel and Lauren through the glass; I try to keep the grin innocent, happy, rather than smug, though I am feeling very smug as I see them trying to dispose of yet another shipment of cards for Khoshekh and hate mail toward StrexCorp, which had been coming in at the station in increasing frequency. "Khoshekh has been staying with me and Carlos, my boyfriend." I still grin when I say that, given how wonderful he has been with my cat.

"He is getting around much better now. He still does not hover, and it has become clear that my boy has an issue with his balance when he is on the ground, but he is getting along quite well. The kittens have all gravitated to our bathroom, which is not nearly as large as the men's restroom here at the station. I have learned the meaning of the phrase 'like herding cats,' as we must do so every time either Carlos or I wish to shower."

I glance to the glass again and see Daniel giving me that strange stare of his, one which I have come to interpret as his desire for my immediate death, or at the very least, that I change the subject. "Well, listeners, I believe my supervisor is asking me to change the subject and return to our usual broadcast."

I consider telling the community to keep sending the cards that I watch Lauren and Daniel loading up to be burned, but I know they will keep coming without comment from me. "Troubling news, Night Vale. A fifth business, The Night Vale Sandwich Shop, has gone up in flames. Its owner, StrexCorp, has refused to offer comment, just as it did for the last four fires at its businesses. However, residents have reported an increased security presence at StrexCorp-owned businesses.

"And now a word from our sponsors: Big Rico's pizza is offering a special discount throughout the month of April. Bring a bottle of lighter fluid for ten percent off of a slice of pizza. Bring a dozen and get a free large cheese pizza free with the purchase of another pizza of equal or greater value. Remember, no one does a slice like Big Rico's. Nobody.

"Well, listeners, with a deal like that," I say, "I think Carlos and I will be having pizza tonight."

I receive two emails, one with blood red text that was obviously from the Sheriff's Secret Police. It stated that it was believed that Tameka Flynn had been seen near the Night Vale High School, and shortly thereafter, graffiti appeared on the side of the school's gymnasium reading "KHOSHEKH KNOWS WE HAVE NO SMILING GOD." The graffiti, the Secret Police assure me, will remain throughout their investigation, which could last for several weeks, but will remain completely unobscured during that time.

"Listeners, we have new reports that Tameka Flynn may once again be causing problems here in Night Vale." I report on her actions, using StrexCorp-approved phrases to condemn them as ironically as I possibly can as I open the next email from Carlos. "And now, the weather," I say as I see the email is a video of Khoshekh.

As the weather plays, I lock the door to my booth to prevent interruptions from Lauren or Daniel and watch the video with Intern Jeremy at my side. It begins with a picture of Carlos's feet at either side of Khoshekh's body as he tries to eat—we've taken to supporting him between our feet so he can get a drink of water or bite of food without falling down—and then Carlos slowly moving his feet away until the cat is supporting himself with his feet spread as far as he can manage.

"Have a look at your little symbol of the revolution," Carlos says as he moves around the bowl to show Khoshekh still eating on his own. With a lick of his lips, Khoshekh purrs, and I think to myself that he might just be all right. A little different from normal, but as I said before, once you accept a pet for what it is, it becomes perfect. And Khoshek? He's perfect.

"That's my boy."