A/N: Time for that comparative rarity in the Victorious fandom, a Cat/Andre-centric tale. Whether it'll be a romantic ship or not I haven't yet decided; in any event, this is unlikely to be a romance-centered story. I chose Cat because there's no better way to build suspense than to put the adorable little redhead in danger; and Andre's here because there'll be some action-hero type stuff later on that Robbie, bless him, isn't really cut out for.

Also, any of you who come to this story after having read "Day of the Stallion" may get the impression that I have some kind of phobia about small towns. I assure you that's not the case (I actually prefer them to big cities). It's just that they provide a good setting for stories in genres that I particularly like; in "Stallion" it was the Revenge of Nature tale, while here it's…well, you'll just have to find out, won't you? (There'll be more disclaimers to come, but adding them here would constitute spoilers.)

Finally: while this isn't really a songfic per se, it does have what you might call a "theme song" – The Mummer's Dance, by Loreena McKennitt. You can listen to it here (remove the spaces):

www. youtube. com watch?v= cSbVqFvf4EM &feature=fvst

Disclaimer: As ever, don't own.

October 2013

The blood was still congealing on Cat Valentine's lip as she sprinted into the house and locked herself in the bathroom. Gary had hit her before, but never this hard; her whole lower jaw was slowly but surely going numb.

She could hear his shouts from down below: "Cat, baby, come back! I didn't mean it – I'm so sorry. Let me make it up to you. Cat? Can you hear me? I said get back down here, damn it!"

Quickly she turned off all the lights and crouched in the bathtub with her hands over her ears. He pounded on the front door with both fists, raised his voice, screamed until he was hoarse, but still she crouched there, whispering the Lord's Prayer over and over.

At last he left. She uncurled herself and drew a tiny stick of plastic from her pocket. In the dim light of the harvest moon through the window, it was just possible for her to make out the word that had appeared on it last night, the word that had destroyed her life:

PREGNANT.

Why had she let him pressure her into going that far? All the time that he was taking off her clothes, kissing her neck, sliding his hands lower and lower on her body, she had wanted to cry "Stop!" But she knew that the moment she protested he would clamp his powerful hand around her arm and squeeze until blue and black fingerprints appeared, while he whispered in her ear "You're not in control here, so shut it." The fact of the matter, though Cat would never admit it even to herself, was that she had been raped. And now she was carrying the child of a man whom she had once thought she loved, but toward whom she now felt nothing but disgust – and fear.

The moment her parents found out, they would disown her. She was sure of that. Her father, in one of the drunken binges that seemed to happen more and more frequently ever since he lost his job, had already called her a "cheap little slut". And once Gary learned the truth, he would try to force her into an abortion – maybe even beat her until she miscarried.

There was no place for her here. Not anymore.

But where to go? Gary knew all her favorite refuges, where her relatives lived – he had taken pains to make sure that she would have nowhere to run. If she was going to escape him, she would have to find somewhere so distant, and so unexpected, that he would never in a thousand years guess it.

She went into her room and drew a huge U.S. atlas – a birthday gift from her uncles – off the shelf. Closing her eyes, she whirled her finger around and around, then jabbed it at random into the map. Idaho. That would do. A big but thinly populated state, with lots of space to disappear in.

Next she turned to the Idaho state map and repeated the process. When she opened her eyes, her index finger was sitting atop a dot scarcely bigger than a pinprick, and the letters next to it needed a magnifying glass for her to read them.

It was perfect.

/

May 2014

"Hey, Grandma. It's Andre. Um…classes are going pretty well. Organic chemistry's kicking my butt, though. And my part-time job's nice – the boss says I'm the best piano tuner he's ever had. Still writing songs in my spare time…kinda low on ideas, though. And…and I miss you, Grandma. So much. I know I say that every time I'm here, but it's true."

Carefully he wiped away the dirt and leaves that had accumulated on Charlotte Harris's headstone.

"I gotta go. English paper due tomorrow. But I'll be back next week. Goodbye, Grandma. Love you."

Back in the car, he couldn't bring himself to start the ignition. Leaving here meant returning to an empty house, and being overwhelmed with the painful memories of the past year. His grandmother's death from a cancer as sudden as it was virulent. His parents contacting him for the first time in a decade, just to tell him they were divorcing. And sweet little Cat Valentine, the closest thing to an angel he had ever known, vanishing off the face of the Earth without even so much as a farewell note.

The little gang from Hollywood Arts still chatted online, and those who were going to college in California got together once a month to catch up. But since Cat's disappearance, they always left an empty chair for her at their lunches, hoping, irrationally, that she would show up out of the blue and bring the spark of joy back to their lives. And with each passing month, that slender hope faded.

Seeking desperately for something, anything, to give him an excuse to delay going home, Andre took out his PearPad and opened up his web browser. The big news, as it had been for several days now, was the saber-rattling between the U.S. and China over Taiwan. Apparently some analysts were predicting it might actually explode into all-out war. Andre skimmed the story carelessly, then checked his e-mail. His inbox was crammed with the usual junk. "Increase your manhood…" "You've won the Nigerian lottery…" "Caterina needs your help…"

Andre did a double take.

Caterina?

He examined the e-mail more closely. The sender's address was nothing but a string of asterisks. Anonymous, huh? he thought. Probably somebody playing a twisted little game. Cat's disappearance was public knowledge, and Andre knew there were sickos out there who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage of the situation to toy with the emotions of the people who knew and loved Cat. But then again, if he didn't look, and it turned out that she really was in some kind of trouble, he'd never be able to forgive himself. One way or another, he had to know.

He clicked on it.

The image that appeared on the screen, apparently taken from a distance with a zoom-lens and date-stamped yesterday, told him at once that something more was at work than simple trolling. It was Cat, all right. She was sitting on a porch swing, with a book open on her lap – from the red letters he could just barely make out, Andre guessed it was a Bible – and a tall glass of lemonade at her side. She wore a simple yellow frock and straw sandals. On her face was a smile of utter peace and contentment.

And she was very heavily pregnant.

Andre swore under his breath. He had known there had to be some reason why she had disappeared so suddenly without telling anyone where she was headed. No doubt the child belonged to Cat's loathsome ex-boyfriend, Gary.

It was no secret that Gary was abusive. But whenever Cat's friends had urged her to leave him, she had stubbornly refused – so great was his psychological control over her. After she vanished, Gary, who didn't know how to function without someone to torment, had taken to drugs. He became increasingly unstable, picked fights, was in and out of jail. Finally he, too, skipped town. He wasn't missed.

At least, wherever Cat was, she was free of his manipulations and his brutality. It warmed Andre's heart to see that gentle smile again after so long – once she began dating Gary, it had vanished completely.

He scrolled down.

Beneath the photograph was a string of numbers. Andre racked his brain, trying to figure out what they could be. A phone number? A license plate? No – GPS coordinates. He plugged them into a global locator app and found that they pointed to a small town somewhere in Idaho.

Now he was torn. Part of him desperately wanted to hurry out there, to see Cat, to chastise her for scaring the living daylights out of her friends, and at the same time to hug her tight. But judging from the photo, she was perfectly happy in her new life. And really, what right did he have to interfere? This was the path Cat had chosen, and if she really wanted to cut all ties with the past that was entirely her business.

He scrolled down further.

"No," he whispered. It seemed as though the temperature in the room had suddenly fallen thirty degrees.

Eight words. All caps, no signature. Eight words that he suddenly wished were a sick joke – because as horrible as that would be, it was still better than accepting that the sentence was a genuine…threat? Warning? He didn't know which; but either way his mind was made up – he would go to Idaho, and he would protect Cat, no matter what the cost.

He read the sentence again, every word like a punch in the gut:

"ONCE SHE GIVES BIRTH, SHE'S GOING TO DIE."