Tumblr prompt: 'My cat steals underwear and I come home to find you chasing my cat to get your underwear back.'

Title shamelessly pilfered and edited from Dr Seuss' Cat in the Hat.

So Skye stopped dead. No other reaction could realistically be expected of her. In fact, she completely forgot about the grocery bags she had in one hand and the laptop bag strapped over her other shoulder. Whoosh, right out her ear. What bags?

Because (and really) the absolute last thing she'd been expecting to find upon arriving on her front porch was an almost perfect stranger. An admittedly cute stranger at that.

But… she was picking the lock on Skye's front door?

Wearing nothing but a towel?

Yeah no, definitely up there on the list of Weird Shit that had happened to her. And it wasn't even lunch time yet, so clearly she hadn't had any alcohol. Unless she was still hung over from last night? Nah, not likely. She hadn't had more than two beers. Tops.

Which left her with a mostly naked (naked?) stranger picking her front door.

And it was still weird.

Her brain kicked into overdrive and then words fell out. "Should I call the cops, or…?"

With a startled squeak the would-be lock-picker whirled around, one hand grabbing at the knot on her towel and the other clenched around… a bobby pin? Her auburn hair had obviously been pinned up by the item, but one side now curled loose around her throat. Clearly she'd decided a bobby pin would get her inside.

"Ah," Skye breathed, putting her grocery bags down so she could find her keys. "A master stroke." She pointed to the pin. "I can tell you're a professional. You must do this all the time. I'll have to tighten security on my house."

The woman went bright red. "Oh no…" she spluttered. "I'm not… I promise… Um…"

Skye only laughed. "You're not a burglar, I can tell. You live right there next door," she said, hooking a thumb in the direction she meant. "British; moved in a few months ago. Your alarm goes off at precisely four-forty-five every morning, except on Sundays, when it goes off at five-twenty."

As Skye stuck the key in her front door to wrench it open the woman frowned at her. "That's a little stalkerish," she commented sourly.

"Says the one trying to break into my house with a bobby pin," she replied around a smile, stepping back. "The alarm is loud. After you."

Her neighbour started again. "You're going to let me inside after you caught me trying to break in?"

"Unless you'd rather I leave you on the porch wearing only a towel?" she wondered cheekily. "Of course I am. You can tell me why you were breaking into my house once that pervy kid across the street is deprived of his eye-candy."

She went red again, but took Skye up on her offer. "I was… Well I was having a shower, I have a job interview at eleven and I haven't done a load of washing in a few days because moving in and getting settled and finding places with openings was tough. So I only had one pair of underwear left and I must've left the bathroom door open because this cat is sitting on the mat by the door with my undergarments in its paws and when I try to retrieve them it bolts. I grabbed a towel and chased it but it went in the little door and now I'm going to be late for my meeting and I'll never get a job at this rate, my day can't get any worse. Not to mention that…"

She trailed off, catching sight of Skye's amused expression. "Can I offer you coffee?" Skye asked once it was clear her neighbour's torrent of words had been dammed.

"Uh… do you have tea?"

"Maybe." She turned to check in her cupboards. If there was tea in her house it was all Trip's fault. His recent infatuation with the tech support at his work (a Scot, it should be noted, not a Brit) had seen him take up drinking tea. Ridiculous. "So Boo took your underwear too," she mused, rifling through a box with contents she couldn't be sure of. "Seems to be his thing."

"Boo?"

"My cat," she clarified. "I called him Boolean, but Trip thinks that's a stupid name for a cat. So now everyone just calls him Boo. It's sort of fitting given that he turns up out of nowhere to scare the shit out of you and then vanishes until dinner time. Ah!" She held up a single tea bag triumphantly. "Tea. I have no idea what this is."

The woman eyed the bag-of-unknown-origins dubiously. "Maybe another time," she said tactfully.

"I don't blame you."

"So your cat makes a habit of stealing underwear?"

"Oh yeah. His bed is basically my old undies and nothing else. Won't sleep on his mat. For like a month after I got him, he'd only sleep in my drawer." She stuffed her hands into her pockets, thinking about that. "He must've really liked yours to filch them from your bathroom. Normally he just… confiscates mine. Or Trip's when he stays over."

"Your… boyfriend doesn't mind his things being stolen by a cat?" the other woman asked, sounding scandalised by the very notion. Probably violated her British sensibilities. Or something.

"Trip's not my boyfriend," she scoffed. How absurd. "Not even close. The guy's almost as gay as I am. Almost. Best friend. And no… he doesn't mind. Huh."

Her neighbour bobbed her head slowly, hands tightening on her towel.

"Oh right," Skye exclaimed, remembering why her adorable neighbour was standing in her kitchen. "Underwear. Hang on."

She ducked out of the room, looking for her mischievous cat. He was exactly where he should be, curled up in his little bed… Only with more articles of clothing than normal. Skye assumed – since she'd never seen them before – that the purple boy shorts with lavender molecules on them belonged to the woman in her kitchen. She rolled her lip under to prevent herself from laughing.

"Let me just…" she murmured, prying the article from her cat's possession. "I'll buy you some new ones next time I'm out," she assured him when he offered a pitiful glance. "Garfield ones. Does that sound alright to you, mister?"

He purred when she rubbed his ear; as close as she'd get to an affirmative. She'd take what she could get. Skye paused before exiting and blinked at her closet for a moment. Humming to herself, she pulled a button up shirt and a pair of trackies from a drawer before heading back to the kitchen.

She found her neighbour pressing buttons on her coffee machine in an almost agitated manner. She grumbled something that probably would've been a curse if not for her accent and smacked it on the top.

"It doesn't make tea," Skye told her, once again making her whirl in shock.

"I'd very much appreciate it if you stopped sneaking up on me."

"Well, I'd very much appreciate it if you stopped fiddling with my stuff," she teased. "Here. I recovered your undies. And I thought you might like to wear clothes next time you go outside. Instead of just a towel."

The woman blinked owlishly at her for a moment as if not at all certain what was happening. "Uh… thank you," she eventually mumbled, taking the clothes.

"The, um… bathroom is just down the hall. First door on the left."

While she was alone in the room, Skye busied herself with putting her groceries away. And when Boo materialised on the bench beside her she opened a tin of food for him. It was nearly lunch time anyway.

"You should probably stop stealing nickers, young man," she told him, scratching his shoulder. "It's bad manners. And bringing a very attractive lady over doesn't excuse bad manners."

"You… um…"

This time, it was Skye who spun in alarm, only to find her neighbour in a much more decent state of dress. Actually, she looked better in that shirt than Skye did. Unfair.

"You didn't have to do this," the woman said. But judging from the red in her face, it was clearly not what she'd intended on saying the first time.

Skye waved her words away. "Sure I did. Can't let that little peeping tom over there ruin your dignity now, can I?"

The woman smiled. "Thank you. I'm Jemma, by the way," she added, sticking out her hand. "Jemma Simmons."

"Skye," she replied, shaking it. "Johnson. And it's no trouble at all."

"Well thank you anyway. For not calling the police on me."

"Ah yeah. Well you are leaving with some of my stuff, so I suppose you're not such a bad thief after all. Aside from the getting caught part."

Jemma smiled again. "I'll bring it back."

"Sure. And maybe next time you visit you can stay for a drink?"

"I'd like that."

"Just knock next time. I can teach you how to pick a lock, but a bobby pin won't help you."

Jemma rolled her eyes. "I'll be fine without, thank you very much. But I do have to go. Job interview…"

"Yes. Go for it."

She watched as Jemma left, leaning back against the counter so she could see the door close. Boo bumped his head against her elbow, drawing her attention.

"Bad manners," she told him. "But cute girl. So I guess just this once I'll forgive you."

He only purred.