It was dark when Clara opened her eyes. There was a bit of moonlight pouring in from the window, illuminating the room that wasn't familiar at first. There was a computer, books, and numerous sheets of paper scattered around. That wasn't her bedroom. So where…?
Clara sat up as she recalled where she was. It was Courage's room and it was Courage's bed that she lay in. She remembered what had happened before, how she had had something of a panic attack after reading...oh, shit. Clara threw her legs over the bed and went to the computer, shaking the mouse madly. It had been shut down though. Shit, she thought, did Courage see the article? Did he wonder? He had to, being a writer and cautiously curious as he was. Shit, shit, shit!
She rubbed her temples lightly. Well, it was no use of worrying now. How late was it? She glanced out the window and determined it had to be well into the night since the moon was so high. Quietly, she stepped outside and wondered where Courage was. Try as she might to avoid it, there were a couple steps that creaked on her way downstairs, but the house remained still. When she got downstairs, she paused.
Courage had fallen asleep on the couch, the very one he had said not too long ago was uncomfortable. Poor thing, she thought. What a friend she had - for now - that he let her rest in his bed. She wanted to reach out, to touch his hand and wake him, tell him he could go sleep in comfort...but she didn't. To her shame, she couldn't face the questions he might have about the article she had on his computer, the reason she had lost control of herself.
Apologizing softly, she gingerly left the house, wincing at the squeak of the door, and went to her car. She was scared and she was ashamed of it, scared of what Courage, her only friend left, might say or think. So she got in her car and left, going back home. It was both eerie and oddly serene to drive in the middle of Nowhere at night. It was empty. Empty and quiet and still. For a second, Clara wondered if she could drive forever if it was like this...but that wouldn't do. No, she had a home to go to...she had a house that she owned, yet didn't.
And a fucking annoying cat to return to.
She gripped the steering wheel tighter.
Katz.
When she got home, she was surprised to see the house lightless. His car was still there, to her annoyance, but it seemed he had gone to bed. Clara frowned. Although she wasn't sure why, there was a part of her that was disappointed - she blamed it on the fact that he still existed in her house. Clara turned off her car and went into the house, unlocking it as noisily as she could. If he was asleep, she hoped to wake him out of spite. But she did have to figure out still how she was going to use the new information against him, the news that he knew Kitty - likely Mad Dog's Bunny's Kitty - and that she had been hurt four years ago.
When she entered, she shut and locked the door before tossing her keys to a nearby table. The air had a hint of a scent of earl grey tea, as if it had been made recently. Before she could think twice about that, a light came on and there in the loveseat was Katz. Clara jumped, much to her self-loathing, to see the man in his dark green shirt, beige pants, and slick red hair. On the arm of the chair sat a saucer and tea cup full of earl grey, no doubt.
"You fucker!" Clara snapped, her heart racing.
There was a gleam of satisfaction in Katz' eyes that seemed to brighten in the light of the lamp. He smirked and took a sip of his tea, enjoying the staring contest they held as she calmed herself. At last, once the cup was back in the saucer, he spoke, "And here I thought I had the house by default."
Willing herself to gain control of the situation, she scoffed. "As if. What, were you waiting up for me? Bed a bit empty?" Her hand rested on her hip.
Katz's tail flickered at the questions. That was the only thing that offered any hint to his inner thoughts though. "It wouldn't surprise me if you were the type to sleep with a dog." Before Clara could respond with spitfire and curses, he added with a hint of seriousness in his tone, "I saw a car drive by...thrice. I did not think it by chance and thought it best to stay awake...just in case they were scoping out the place."
Any fury Clara felt at his derogatory remark turned to ice immediately. The same car? Driving by three times? If neither of them were in the world they had been in, one of deceit, she would have brushed it off - if she were normal. To hear a car was driving by a few times in a day, particularly in the near middle of Nowhere? She felt on edge and, though she was loath to admit it, was grateful that Katz had stayed up. One never knew if it was a break-in planned or worse. Still, she couldn't help but remark half-heartedly, "Only you would be presumptuous enough to use 'thrice'." But there was a shared concern between them.
Clara had to resist the urge to look out the window right away, to turn away from him to scan the horizon. Instead, she locked the door behind her without looking and mentally went through the areas that might be accessible to the house. Windows, front door, back door, basement… "I've locked them all," Katz said uncannily to her unspoken musing. "It is fortunate that there are no large vegetation around the property," 'the' not 'your', "for others to hide in. I checked when I last got myself a cup of tea."
That was as much of a relief as it was annoying that he knew her well enough to reassure her without her voicing anything. Actually, it was more annoying than relief to know he was drinking her good earl grey! Clara tried to brush it off for now. "I'm sure it's nothing." But she wasn't sure and nor was he. The fact that they both were tense, that they both were undoubtedly thinking the same thing was due to the fact that both were con artists and thieves. For all they knew, it was someone else wanting to repay Clara for her past activities - or Katz. Who knew who might have tracked him down here? "I'll leave you to it then and retire to my bed." Not that she would sleep after her long exhausted nap. Still, it would give her a solid look out point.
"The dog tire you out that much?" He said cattily. His tail flicked again.
Clara's jaw tensed. It was on the tip of her tongue - listen here, you motherfucking cat - but she resisted. It was also tempting to bring up Kitty...but she resisted. If there really was someone staking out the place, she didn't want to disrupt his attention. It was indeed something of a symbiotic relationship between the pair, as he had his use. "Such a filthy mind you have, Katz. You must have grown up in the gutters." A throwaway remark, but one that hit the mark unintentionally - Katz's yellow eyes narrowed. Well, well, well. "Turn off that light, you're wasting electricity." Not that he would give them away, but that he was wasting money - Clara refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging a potential threat.
To her relief, he did turn it off. Darkness consumed them both once more. The window curtains were open, allowing some moonlight in so she could see his eyes glowing at her. Sensing they both had finished spitting barbs at one another, Clara went to the kitchen for a glass of water before retiring. It was only as she rummaged through the cabinets for a glass did she realize something.
The large butcher knife was missing from the block. Clara looked at the back door and window, but both were locked. That meant...a shiver climbed down Clara's spine. Katz had the knife hidden on him. Clearly it was for the possible intruder, but still...she didn't like that knowledge one bit.
It wasn't often that Clara was awake to watch the sunrise, but today was one of those times. She had sat at the bay window all night, her bedroom door locked and her glass empty on the nightstand. The bed was still made, pristine and untouched by either of them. She hadn't heard much movement downstairs for the remainder of the night, but she knew Katz was still there. Where else could he be?
She felt a bit tired, but not so much if she hadn't slept at Courage's. Which...she frowned. That was something she would have to address soon. Without a phone, there was no way he could contact her to check in, meaning he might drive over. That wouldn't be good. But, first thing first.
Clara changed her clothes. She didn't need a shower, not yet. What she needed was to...to...hm. As she stripped off her shirt and replaced her bra, she found that she didn't have a plan just yet. Her night had been spent on guard, not on thought.
Kitty.
She had to inquire. She had to ask Katz about her...the injury, the reward...and how he found her back at Mad Dog's that night. There was little chance that it was by coincidence, not when there was a Kitty there that had seen her before. But how? She needed to catch Katz off guard...and preferably without that knife he had taken for possible self-defense.
With clean blue jeans on, she made her way out of the bedroom. Clara walked as quiet as she could, avoiding the creaks and groans of the house that she owned, no matter what a damn slip of paper said. When she got downstairs, she was surprised to see the living room empty. The surprise didn't last long though as there was the sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen.
When she got to the kitchen, she leaned against the doorway. Katz was washing the tea pot as the light on the oven flicked off, signaling something baking. She watched him in silence, knowing he knew she was there, but still taking the moment to observe. The knife, she noted, was back in the block. The man before her...well, the back of him, was at ease or appeared to be. His tail moved lazily as he scrubbed and rinsed dishes. He wore the same clothes from last night - of course he did, as his clothes were in a suitcase in her room which she had locked up - but they didn't seem horribly wrinkled. He himself seemed awake as well, though that might not last when the need to nap called.
"Didn't your mother ever teach you that it's rude to stare, girl?" Ah, but he was a grouchy, grumpy, sleepy asshole nevertheless.
Clara shot back, "Didn't yours?" It occurred to her then, as his shoulders tensed, that they may have more in common than she realized. Not that she wanted to get close and cozy with him, but still, good to know.
She took a seat and watched him in silence as he finished the dishes and pulled out something from the oven. The moment the oven door opened, the smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. Her mouth watered. It was only as she pictured Katz kneading the dough that she smirked, almost laughing. He took out the butter and two jams from the fridge - cherry and plum - before placing them and the bread on the table. He then received and placed two plates and butter knives on the table.
Only then did Clara get up to get the container of milk and two glasses, prompting him to wait before tearing into the bread and, thus, torturing herself a bit too. Now that all was settled, he tore the hot bread into two and placed half on her plate. She took it and cut it open before slathering butter and cherry jam on both slices. He, she noted, used a sparing amount of butter and a healthy amount of plum jam.
They ate in silence. It was quite delicious, she had to admit, but then again, how hard was it to mess up freshly baked bread? Once their plates were empty, they both worked on their glasses of milk. After a minute, Clara decided to take the plunge before he could bait her.
"Did you ever find out who?"
Katz' yellow, sharp gaze met her blue one. There was a level of curiosity and caution to him, but he took the bait nevertheless. "Who what?" He could guess that she wasn't referencing the car last night, but he wasn't sure what beyond that. He took a long sip of his milk.
Clara's elbows rested on the table as she leaned causally into them. She waited just as he was about to swallow, timing it perfectly, before speaking, "Who assaulted Kitty."
Katz froze for a second, but that was enough satisfaction for Clara. His eyes narrowed before he slowly put the glass of milk down. He dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before speaking, his tone crisp and cool, "Did some research, I see?" It was too late though, she knew she had struck a chord.
"A bit." She admitted and rested her head on her hand on the table. "So...did you?"
His tail flicked sharply, the only outward sign of his agitation. A long moment passed. Finally, he exhaled through his nose and laced his fingers together on the table. "It took you long enough, girl. But then, I suppose grief can impair even half-decent minds."
Refusing to take the bait, particularly since she knew she had gotten to him, Clara smirked. "That it can." How he knew, she wasn't sure, but she sensed they both had a loaded history. Not that they would share - they weren't friends or even partners, after all. "Did you grieve for your Kitty?"
"She did not pass." He said firmly.
Something flashed over Clara's blue eyes. "I know - I saw her at Mad Dog's not too long ago…but you knew that." It wasn't a question.
They locked into a staring contest. It was arguably the first time that she had turned the tables on him and, damn, it felt good. She tried not to smile, but failed, feeling her lips twitch into a grin. It earned her a scowl and she only grinned wider. "We need to prepare for a possible visitor returning." He stood and picked up his empty dishes.
By the time he placed them in the sink, Clara had walked over and stood behind him. When he turned, sensing her behind him, she locked eyes with him again. It was only faintly in the back of her mind that there was just a few inches between them, they were so close. "Is Kitty your lover?" She asked bluntly. It wasn't the question she wanted to ask, not at first. She had wanted to ask how did you know where to find me, to save me that one night, but instead, this flew from her lips.
And it got a reaction - a sneer, actually. "Absolutely not!" He seemed disgusted with the concept.
She latched onto it. "Then she is your…?"
But Katz came to his senses, to his credit. "None of your business, girl." His voice was sharp and cold. He leaned forward, closing the few inches they had until their noses almost touched. "And if you have any sense of self-preservation," there was a growl under his annoyed tone, "you will cease your questions."
It took a moment longer for Clara to be able to inhale air. "Or what," she dared to ask in a shaky exhale, "you'll stab me? I'm too precious for you to kill." It was a fact. If they were similar, more similar than she cared to admit, than her thinking was right: he needed, wanted, her for some scheme or another. He could threaten and blackmail, but he couldn't, wouldn't harm her. "So who is she?" And perhaps this knowledge made her bold. "Or should I drive down to Mad Dog's and ask myself?" Perhaps too bold, for he moved suddenly.
He walked forward to her, taking a step and prompting her to take a step back, once, twice, three times until she bumped into the table noisily. His hands rested on either side of her on the table, effectively pinning and towering over her at the table. Clara stopped breathing for a moment. For that moment, Katz didn't speak. He glowered over her, kept his unblinking gaze on her as she fought not to tremble or show the fear and uncertainty she felt. Finally, he spoke, his voice harsh and quiet. "Try it...and he will kill you."
With that, he stepped back and walked out of the kitchen. Clara was left there, speechless and still, uncomfortable and uneasy, for a minute. By the time she snapped back to it, she realized he had gone upstairs, if the sounds upstairs suggested anything. He was in the bathroom - and bathing, if the pipes turning on had anything to say. How...interesting. She tried to ignore how hard and fast her heart was beating and instead went to clean the few dishes they had dirtied - and if she messed with the water for his showering, then good.
Katz had refused to answer her. How interesting. Clara got lost in her thoughts, in her memory of minutes ago, as she scrubbed and sudded up the dishes. What did it mean? What was he uncomfortable or scared of? Could she use Kitty as an ally somehow? As Clara washed off the plates, there was a soft clinking of a picked lock at the front door. Nor did she hear the soft patter of footfalls as she dried the plates and put them up, the clinking of each plate in the air. It was only when she turned, about to leave the kitchen, that she swore she saw a shadow.
Clara tensed and grabbed the butcher knife - the same that Katz had held not an hour ago - before entering the kitchen. She expected to see something, to see someone, perhaps intimidating and frightening...but...nothing. There was nothing there. Frowning, she glanced up at the staircase. Perhaps...perhaps she would be glad when Katz finished his shower. It would allow her to blame him for the shadows she saw. Unless...unless it was a ghost.