Chapter 22: Let Down

Little Cato awoke surrounded by warmth. Stirring, he kept his eyes shut as he tried to remember dropping off, but couldn't recall the exact moment. He knew he had fallen asleep atop Gary – that was nothing too unusual, and he liked to tell himself the 'cuddle puddle nap pile' (as his adopted father put it) was a family tradition more for Gary's sake than his own, but really, Little Cato started 99% of them. Having been alone for so long, both as the Lord Commander's hostage and trapped in the time shard, there was no such thing as spending too much time with his family and friends.

There was a warm, gentle hand loosely holding his tail, something socially acceptable only for children or close family members to do. Memory came back to him of their initial welcoming on Tera Con Prime. He remembered noise and lights and a lot of people and ships and machines standing in rows, all for his father. He remembered his father holding him protectively, making no protest as Little Cato clung to his tail, twisting and chewing on it in his unease with the unfamiliar setting. Avocato had tried to set him down, but Little Cato put up a fuss, and so to avoid making the Lord Commander wait, he'd been carried along for the ceremony. For the first time Little Cato considered that moment and wondered if taking over authority of the Lord Commander's military with a two-year-old kitten in his arms hadn't been a message of sorts. Little Cato smirked at his father's gall. His dad would like that story. He'd tell him later when Gary woke up. He could hear Gary's long, deep breaths as he slept, smell the soap he used and the leather coat he wore. It was comforting. The sound and scent of home.

Then he became aware of someone else breathing almost in unison with Gary, and the faint, musky smell of heavy fur cleaned in a sonic shower. He knew what he would see when he opened his eyes, but he was still surprised at the presence of his father, especially to see him taking a nap seated on the floor outside the engineering room with Gary's head on his shoulder. It was more astonishing to Little Cato that Avocato was seated on the floor than the fact that he was asleep in the middle of the day. Both men were still recovering from traumatic injuries, after all, and desperately needed their rest, but one rarely came across a warlord napping in the hall. Even in sleep, his father was proper and restrained – legs stretched out straight, his uniform neatly folded about him, his head bent forward and his hands in his lap right next to his tail. It was his hand holding Little Cato's tail, and for some reason, that simple gesture somehow distressed him.

It made no sense. This was his father. The father he had idolized and longed for and loved. And he was here, now, in the cuddle puddle. And he was holding Little Cato's tail in a perfectly normal and reasonable sign of affection from a parent to a child. A few hours ago, Little Cato had been thrilled to see his father interact with his dad the way he would with a family member or mate. Why was he upset when that same affection was directed at him? It was what he wanted for all these years, only in his anger, he had wanted to hear it said to him. He had tried to force his father's hand without bothering to look at the bigger picture, without seeing what Avocato faced. It was a no-win situation, and Little Cato had done nothing to help.

"He said it when he gave his life to save you. That was love in action-mode, Avocato style."

Gary's words echoed in his memory. They were true, but not what he'd wanted to hear. Little Cato grimaced, wondering at himself. Was he so used to one parent that he was afraid of having two? Was he somehow afraid of sharing them with each other? Or even losing Gary to his father? Was that even possible?

One thing was for sure – he never wanted to find out.

But then . . . he wouldn't lose Gary, would he? Because this version of his father was going to return to Tera Con Prime as soon as possible. Once again, his father was leaving him behind.

No, that wasn't fair. Not to his father and, well, not to himself. There was a four-year-old Little Cato in the picture, too, home with Nikos. With effort, Little Cato thought back on this exact time. He didn't remember much, and he knew he hadn't been told anything about the Kalibar, but he could recall picking up on Nikos' anxiety. How could he be so selfish?

Carefully, delicately, Little Cato worked to extract himself from Gary's arms. Years of thimbles practice stood him in good stead as he slithered and tip-toed and very carefully angled himself to reach over his father's legs one limb at a time and slide his tail free from the gentle clasp. For a long moment he stood and looked at them, these two men he called his dads, who were here for him and with him.

As he watched, Gary stirred, shifting and muttering in his sleep, his hand on Avocato's thigh. His fingers closed around Avocato's overlong tail, and he drew it in to his chest, snuggling around it like a child with a stuffed animal. Little Cato smiled, sure his father assumed it was his son, not his husband, holding his tail so closely.

Husband. He liked that. It suited them. Anyone could see they made a great team in any and every way. Heck, without a word between them, they had taken out an assassin when both were injured. How cool was that?

Before him, Avocato let out a sigh and leaned his head against Gary's. Seeing him so relaxed in sleep, Little Cato thought back over his past, his father's future, and the immense patience he had shown (tempered with occasional bursts of stern firmness), the lessons he had shared. He remembered how quickly his father had been to trust his word when he'd asked for the Lord Commander's dimensional key, and he realized Avocato must have been waiting for them, waiting for confirmation that everything happening now had been real. That moment of trust had sparked the chain reaction that lead to . . . everything, the good and the bad.

Avocato flinched in his sleep as Gary's hair tickled his nose, and his ears flicked back. Something about his father's expression reminded Little Cato of those awful, aching months after their second trip to Zetakron Alpha. He had been angry, furious, hurt beyond reason that his father couldn't, didn't remember him. That had been worse than Invictus, in its own way, and he had held his father responsible. With a sinking feeling in his chest, Little Cato realized he hadn't done anything to help, really, after a week or two, unless you counted snapping and impatience as helping. For the first time ever, his father had been uncertain, had needed his help, and Little Cato's sympathy had not been for Avocato, but for himself.

"I really let you down, didn't I?" he whispered, not so much to the man that was here, but to the one that was not.