Title: What the Cat Dragged in

Rating: T

Spoilers: none. AU.

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by Disney and the original creator of the comic I saw. If someone knows the name of the original artist, please let me know so I can credit properly. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended

Author Notes: I know several commenters (Or maybe just one person since you all posted your requests in almost exactly the same way) on my What ifs and Maybes series have been asking for a Coco/Zoro AU. I'm sorry I couldn't get something out by the time you requested. I was already working on this one. But never fear, I did start to get maybe an idea to do that so look for it in the future.

"Mreow!" A demanding meow from the workshop window yanked Imelda's attention away from the shoes she had been working on for hours. For some reason, the leather just wouldn't fit together to her satisfaction. She refused to do a shoddy job of it though. She was a perfectionist and had a reputation to maintain. So if she had to stay up all night to get it right, she would!

A second yowl accompanied by the sound of claws on glass drew her eyes to the window. It was her cat, Pepita, back from one of her nightly rambles. It was dark enough outside that Imelda could only make out Pepita's glowing eyes and white paws. With a smile, Imelda reached up to open the window for the grey tabby cat before going back to her work. She didn't pay any attention as Pepita jumped in the window and landed on the workbench beside her.

That was until Pepita dropped the present she had brought home right on top of Imelda's work.

A dead bat.

Imelda yelped and jumped away, giving her cat a disgusted look. Pepita had always been an avid hunter of small creatures. Mice, rats, shrews, even a mole once. Never birds thankfully. And she usually didn't bring her kills into the house. Typically Imelda would find the remains on her back porch where she could dispose of them easily and without mess.

"Pepita. That was not funny." She scolded. The cat just blinked at her before daintily washing a paw. Imelda rolled her eyes at the utter lack of remorse. She went to find a plastic bag so she could get rid of the dead body. There was no way she was going to pick up a dead anything with bare hands.

She felt a little sorry for the poor thing. Unlike most people, she liked bats. They ate mosquitoes and other bugs so they were useful to have around. And they were kinda cute in a way, not at all like little flying rats. And this one just happened to run afoul of her cat. She hoped it hadn't suffered long.

When she went to pick it up, plastic bag over her hand, she got a shock. The dead bat gave a squeak and wriggled feebly. It wasn't dead after all. It was very much alive. Hurt (there were scratches from Pepita's claws and teeth but hardly any blood), but alive at least.

Now what do I do? She thought as she stared at the creature. She had to do something. Since the bat was alive, she couldn't just dispose of it. It was kind of her fault it was hurt since it was her cat that had brought it in. She couldn't leave it on her workbench either. And since it was well after midnight, it was also far too late to call animal control or someone who dealt with wildlife.

Finally Imelda rummaged around until she found an old shoebox. She made a sort of nest with some rags and put the bat in the box. She set the lid on top, but left it slightly askew so air could get in. That would have to do until morning. If the bat survived that long, she could call someone then. If it didn't, well, Imelda did everything she could.

She left the box on the workbench, picked up Pepita, and left the workroom, shutting the door behind her. There was no way she would be able to concentrate on shoes now, so she might as well give up for the night and go to bed.

The next morning, Imelda woke up groggy. It was early, the sunlight streaming in through her window. Imelda always woke early, no matter how late she had stayed up. The curse of having an east facing window. She really should have gotten better curtains for her bedroom windows. Nice thick ones. She thought that most mornings, but never got around to changing anything.

Imelda grumbled a little under her breath as she got up, put on her housecoat and slippers, and headed for the kitchen. She needed coffee. Pepita was sniffing at the door of the workroom, but followed Imelda to the kitchen without a fuss. The coffeemaker, which she had set up the evening before, was just finishing. Imelda filled Pepita's food bowl, poured herself a mug of coffee, before heading to the workroom to check on the bat.

"Are you still alive, pequeño?" She asked as she opened the door, more to herself since obviously the bat couldn't answer. Looking up, Imelda suddenly stopped short. And stared.

And slammed the door shut.

There was a man in her workroom. A strange man! There was a strange man in her house!

Imelda took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and counted to ten. This wasn't real. She was dreaming. She was just imagining that there was a man in there. A hallucination brought on by too little sleep. It couldn't possibly be real. Imelda always locked her doors and she definitely remembered closing the window last night. Besides, she lived in a good neighborhood and had never heard of any break ins. She would open the door and nothing, no one, would be there.

Nope.

The man was sitting on her workbench, rubbing his head and looking very confused. He was sitting right where Imelda had left the box with the bat in it, in fact. His clothing was old and ragged, his dark hair messy, and he was barefoot, something that was almost as offensive to Imelda as the fact he was in her house in the first place.

He finally noticed her standing in the doorway. "Oh! …ah, hola. I… GAH!" Whatever he was going to say was cut off as he was forced to duck the coffee mug Imelda threw at his head. The mug hit the wall and broke, spilling coffee over the bench. The man quickly jumped down to avoid the spreading puddle. Standing up, he was a tall man, though as skinny as a twig, with a hawk-like nose and a small goatee on the end of his chin.

He started to back away as Imelda advanced on him, slipper upraised. She was skilled in the art of la chancla after all, having learned it from her mamá. The man opened his mouth to say something, but could only yelp as she delivered the first blow. "Who are you? How did you get in here?! What are you doing in my house?!"

The man kept backing up until he ended up in a corner. "If you would just stop hitting me for a moment, señorita, I would tell you!" he cried desperately.

Imelda paused her attack, slipper still held at the ready, and narrowed her eyes. "Start talking."

"Well…" he said, eyeing her warily, "My name is Héctor and I… I'm not really sure how I got in your house uninvited." He looked away and muttered "That shouldn't have happened."

As he frowned in thought, Imelda couldn't help but rolled her eyes. Wonderful. A fool, or possibly a drunkard, had broken into her home. Well, maybe not a drunkard. Imelda couldn't smell any reek of alcohol coming off him. But certainly a fool with memory problems. "Do you often wake up in the homes of strangers?" she asked skeptically, folding her arms across her chest. Just then she remembered something and looked towards the bench where she had left the box with the bat. Imelda was sure it had been right where the man had been sitting and indeed the torn and flattened remains of the box were there. No sign of the bat however. Imelda rounded on Héctor. "How could you!? Bad enough that Pepita brought the thing inside, but did you have to sit on that poor bat!?"

Héctor blinked and glanced at the bench as well. "Bat? Oh. That must have been what happened." Noticing her furious expression, he quickly backpedaled. "It's fine! The bat… it flew away! Yes. It was perfectly fine and just flew right out the window!"

Imelda didn't believe the reassuring grin he gave her for one second. She also ignored the little voice in her head that was wondering why it looked like he had fangs. "It just flew away?" That was a complete lie, she was sure. The bat had looked barely alive last night. Besides, workroom window had a wonky track and was tricky to open if you didn't know how. She doubted that Héctor had been able to get it open from the outside, let the bat out, climb in, and close it again without Pepita alerting Imelda about the intruder.

That thought distracted Imelda for a moment. Pepita should have alerted her. The cat didn't like strangers and especially strange men. She didn't even like it when Imelda's brothers came by to visit and Pepita had known the twins all her life. And yet, she hadn't warned about Héctor. Yes, she had been sniffing at the door, but Imelda had assumed that was because of the bat.

Realizing she was getting distracted, she shook her head. "Whatever. It's not important now. What is important is that you are going to get out of my house right now."

Héctor's eyes got comically wide as she reached for his arm. "No! No, no, no, no, no, no! Por favor, señorita. That is a bad idea. I can't…" he begged desperately.

Imelda ignored his protests, and the fact his skin was far colder than normal, as she attempted to drag him from the room. Attempted being the operative word. Héctor was far stronger than he looked and wouldn't budge an inch. That made Imelda's temper flare. She was no weak woman after all. She never relied on anyone to move things for her. If something needed to be moved, by God she moved it herself.

From the outside, it was probably hilariously funny to watch. Imelda trying all her might to get this man out of her house. Héctor decidedly not moving, but practically begging Imelda to stop. And since it seemed he was as stubborn as she was, who knows how long the struggle would have gone on.

The curtain covering the window moved slightly for a moment, letting in a shaft of sunlight reflected off the neighbor's windows. It fell right across where Imelda's hand was pulling on Héctor's arm. Specifically where the end of his ragged sleeve stopped short of his wrist.

Héctor snarled in pain, brown eyes flashing red for a moment as he finally yanked his arm free. He backed further into the corner and cradled his hand against his chest, panting slightly.

Imelda froze in shock. She hadn't expected a reaction like that at all. No normal person should have reacted like that. Héctor's hand had burned from just a brief second of sunlight. Burned badly. Bad enough to blister which Imelda knew was a sign of third degree burns. And there was a faint sickly-sweet smell to the air, like burned meat.

Suddenly all the little things she had ignored before came flooding back. Finding Héctor in her workroom instead of the bat. Héctor's confusion over being in her home uninvited. His panic from her trying to throw him out. The fact his skin had felt cold. The fangs.

Héctor was not human.

"Y-you… you are…" Imelda took a step back, swallowing hard. Fear, an emotion she rarely allowed herself, coursed through her. Her hand tightened around her slipper even though it was now a ridiculously pitiful weapon against something like him.

A look of sadness joined the pain on Héctor's face as his shoulders slumped. He let out a small sigh and nodded, not looking at her. "Sí. I'm a vampire. A monster." There was something in that defeated tone that tugged at Imelda's heart. "Lo siento, señorita. I swear I mean you no harm, but I'm afraid that I can't leave just yet. Please, all I ask is that you allow me to stay until sunset." Only then did he meet her eyes again. His were brown again. "Please."

Even though she knew he was taller than her, at that moment Héctor looked small. The way he was curled in on himself, holding his injured hand. He looked like a kicked puppy, not the horrid evil creature of the night. And he hadn't actually done anything to her. Well, he had lied about the bat, but all things considered that was understandable. It's not like he could say he was the bat. Especially if he was trying not to reveal his true nature.

Besides, throwing him out now would be the same as killing him. And Imelda just couldn't bring herself to do that now, no matter what he was.

"You promise? No funny business, right?" she eyed him carefully, trying to judge whether or not he was going to tell the truth. Should she trust him? Could she trust him?

A faint look of hope filled his eyes and he placed his burned hand on his chest. "On my honour, señorita." Then his expression became slightly mischievous. "Though most would say I don't have any. Being what I am after all."

She decided to ignore the bad joke. "Fine. But only until sunset." Imelda looked at his hand again. That burn really did look bad. And painful, all blistered and even black around the edges. "Come on, then. Let me do something about that hand."

Héctor blinked at her, looked at his hand, and then back at her. "Why? It'll heal in a couple of hours."

Imelda counted to ten and told herself not to lose her temper at the dangerous supernatural creature. It wasn't a good idea. Okay, she had already gone after him with her slipper, but that was before she knew what he was. Besides that was a perfectly reasonable response to someone being in her house unexpectedly, vampire or not.

Suddenly she was aware that she was still in her nightgown and housecoat, it was far too early, and she hadn't even had a chance to drink any of her coffee before she had tried to bean him with her favourite mug. Gathering up what dignity she could, Imelda turned on her heel. "Well, don't come crying to me if it gets infected then." As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized how dumb that sounded. He was an immortal being, he probably couldn't get infections. It didn't help that she heard a muffled snicker behind her as she marched out of the workroom.