Good as Gold

by rainjewel

*Complete!* Sequel to Right as Rain (please read that first!). Mistoffelees is back, but no one has yet explained to Old Deuteronomy what's going on. Contains slash. Don't like the heat, get out of the kitchen.

2. Dos

Good as Gold: Part Two

Disclaimer: I do not own CATS. I am merely borrowing their cute fuzzy butts.

Author's Note: Sorry, I suppose I should have warned everyone about the Bustopher Jones bastardization. I actually really like the guy, but something's just have to be done.

Rated: R

Contains Heterosexual and Homosexual Relationships. Proceed to Read at Your Own Risk.

-----@ Mistoffelees @-----

Hell is cold; it's colder than death, naturally.

Oh how I wish I were dead.

The moon is bright and chilling, so unlike the comforting musical aura it usually has. The stars are pinpricks of icy pain, beating down on me in unmerciful illumination. They take away my shadows and strip me of my sanctuary—I am alone, naked, and frigid as the Snow Queen herself.

Yet I feel nothing.

It has been twelve hours since the Death of the Pollicle. Twelve hours since I stepped into the dark, musty robes of Death, easily took the well-worn, polished scythe in my paw and swung the cruel blade effortlessly, losing all control.

I have lain here since then—cold with my back against the junk pile, flat as I stare at the night sky. Even the sun was chilly today. I can do nothing but shake, violent shudders that pass from my body onto the pile of scrap metal that is my bed, causing it to softly rattle.

It's so coldcolder than I ever thought—

"Mistoffelees!"

No, no. Don't find me, don't come near. I will make you cold, like Death. I can be Death.

Claws on the scrap metal, fighting for purchase. Silly thing, I didn't climb my way up here—it's a physical impossibility. This is the tallest heap in the junkyard. I had to fly.

"Mistoffelees!"

The tall form of a Jellicle towers above me, shadow lovingly blocking the moonlight. Silver streams along the edge of the cat, making it seem as if the tom is mysticalmagical.

Munkustrap's face is pained. I stare into his eyes, past them, and out into nothingness. The cold bites down around my body. I see everything, I see nothing, but it's all kissed with ice.

"Mistoffelees!" says Munkustrap, who kneels beside me, eyes frantic and expression frightened, "Mistoffelees!"

The word rings meaninglessly in the winter of my heart. Slowly, as if I was made of glass, Munkustrap gets on his hands and knees, half-crouching, half-straddling my body. His paws reach out tentatively and draw soft, unseen landscapes on my shoulders. His thighs brush mine in a whisper, and his eyes bore into my icy hell.

Gently he leans down and kisses my neck. "It's all right, Mistoffelees. I'm here, it's all right."

Heat explodes from his mouth, screaming through my veins. I jerk sharply to the side, eyes squeezing shut. My shaking intensifies and a sharp gasp escapes my lips. Munkustrap tenderly slides his arms under my back and thighs, pressing my body to his. The heat splinters into my frozen, trembling body. Munkustrap sits up, whispering my name over and over like a prayer as he clutches me to his chest. Finally, the roaring, seductive burn melts away the cold, the numbness, reaching down into my bones and thawing my soul.

And suddenly I am alive again, painfully so.

In one agonizing second my eyes snap into focus on Munkustrap's jawbone, a moan, throaty and pitiful flits pass my lips. As if drowning, I wrap my arms around Munkustrap, clinging to him as I would a buoy. Pain blooms with the sweltering heat of my savior's body, and I want to be engulfed in his sweet flames.

"Mistoffelees?" Munkustrap asks, surprised by my sudden change.

"Closer," I whisper, my lips murmuring against his silver throat, "Closer."

I press myself against him so hard it almost hurts me, my ribs groaning with the pressure. Munkustrap obliges and holds me there. I feel my trembling go into him, causing both our bodies to quake.

"Yes," I say again, feverish with the heat, "Yes, closer. Keep me warm, Munkustrap, just keep me warm."

My face becomes the center of my own personal inferno. I can feel the flush of my cheeks and startlingly, rare tears, hot in their inadequacy, spill down from my eyes. I wonder at this phenomenon; I do not cry. I am stronger than most think, but at the same time I fear I'm weaker than the cat of Munkustrap's biased visions.

"I'm here Mistoffelees," Munkustrap says again, "Everything's okay."

His voice is soft with subtle power, his embrace strong and safe. But everything's not okay. I wonder if anything will ever be okay again. My crying increases, but I weep quietly. Munkustrap's neck is sticky with my tears, the warmth of his body mingling with the heated droplets.

"Everything is not okay," I say through clenched, chattering teeth. "I killed that Pollicle with my magic. You're never supposed to use magic for violent purposes."

"You saved my life," Munkustrap interjects, lips brushing my ear. "It was the right thing to do."

"It was demonic!" I hiss. I turn my body so I have my back to Munkustrap's chest, his arms wrapped around my waist. My trembling begins to diminish as the chill leaves my bones.

Munkustrap runs a paw along the gash that mars my chest. The blood has dried, congealed and rusty. His body flinches behind mine.

"Oh Mistoffelees," he says, voice weak, and for the first time I realize how worried he was about me. I hear his fear, and it makes me guilty.

"It's nothing," I say, searching for an explanation. "The Pollicle found me first on my way to the middle of the junkyard. Demeter came to my aid and it hit her so hard she passed out. Others came, but the Pollicle backed us into the main section."

"Ah, I wondered what happened to Demeter," Munkustrap replies. He nuzzles the back of my neck and the rest of the ice melts inside my heart. "Does it hurt?"

"Not enough," I answer, still bent on atonement.

"Mistoffelees" Munkustrap sighs, acquiesces. "Then Tantomile and Coricocat should look at it."

I chuckle. The twins have magical powers similar to mine, though much weaker. So weak everything remains on mostly a psychic level. The thought that either of them could heal so much as a stubbed toe is impossible. Munkustrap knows so little about magic that it's amusing.

It's also normal.

The thought sobers me, and my chuckle dissipates in the ensuing silence. MagicI see the body of the Pollicle bursting into supernatural flames. Guilt and overwhelming sorrow flood my bloodstream, and I feel tears threatening to spill once more. I raise a paw to wipe my face, and Munkustrap catches it. Gently he turns me around in his lap and puts my paw to his shoulder. For the first time I look in his eyes, and I see the grief and suffering in their brown depths. He says nothing, but I still am overcome.

Tears pour down my face, undignified and unrelenting. Once again I rest my head in the crook of his neck, simply letting them flow. I do not sob—I merely let the teardrops come.

"Munkustrap," I say quietly, tasting salt on my lips. My voice quivers. "Have you everdid youhave you ever killed something?"

Munkustrap's body stiffens. He knows I'm not talking about mice. For a long time Munkustrap remains completely silent, and I listen to him breathe. Finally, his luscious voice parts the quiet air in waves.

"Yes, I have."

Pause.

"I killeda Jellicle."

Pause.

"I was very young."

His voice is hollow, dead, with just a hint of stale pain. I force myself to not think on his words—to kill a Jellicle is to kill oneself and yet—I must remain only a listener. I must simply "be."

The all too familiar and shocking new feeling of despair that killers share rings in Munkustrap's words. I am comforted by this sound, and my tears almost slow to a stop. My arms snake their way around the silver chest of Munkustrap, and I hold him tight, my shivers abating slightly.

He heaves a small sighpained. I try not to say it, to ask, but curiosity is every cat's downfall. I also feel the unsaid pull of brotherly murder—someone who will grasp your bloodstained paw with one as ruby as your own.

"Whatwhat happened?" I whisper, shivering as I feel his sterling fur brush across my lips. One does not kill a Jellicle without banishmentor death.

Munkustrap's arms tighten around me, and for a brief moment I think he's not going to tell me. I don't know if I'm going to be able to tell Victoria, and I've only killed a crazed Pollicle, not a fellow cat.

"Rum Tum Tugger's mother died giving birth to him," Munkustrap says, almost too softly to hear. "She was a huge Maine Coon queen, so I'm told, and Tugger takes after her. His father, however, was all black and very small—almost your size. When I met Tugger, he was still smaller than his father, and instead of that obnoxious mane of his, all he had was a pair of scruffy shoulders. Rumsy, in the beginning, did no amount to much."

I am patient as Munkustrap's words slow to a stop, taking note of the affectionate nickname. Munkustrap is a methodical, precise tom who covers all the bases. He will show me his masterpiece, but first he will get his canvas, paint, and brushes in order. And I want to hear this tale with morbid fascination. If our wondrous Jellicle Protector is a killerthen what am I? More importantly, what should I feel towards him now? What should I do?

"Tugger's father made up for his size through his temper, and having to be responsible for Tugger made him angrier than anything else. All Rumsy would have to do was breathe, and the sonofabitch would come down on him with his claws out," Munkustrap continues.

The quiet, angry intensity of Munkustrap's words brings a rawness to his voice. I shudder at what I think he's going to tell me.

"I knew Tugger for almost two years before we came of age, and the first year was spent bandaging him up after his father had knocked him around," Munkustrap says. His claws come out as he begins to knead my back ever so slightly. He shifts under me and his tail twitches, which means the story is coming.

"It was dusk," Munkustrap begins. "I had wandered off, away from Macavity's usual gang hideouts so I could do a little mousing with Tugger. When I got to his human's house, I heard a bunch of snarling and hissing. I climbed in through an open window on the first story and flew up the stairs to the kitchen.

Tugger's dad had him pinned on the window ledge. He was on his back and his father's jaws were around his throat. His very own father was strangling him to death.

I remember my vision went red, and scenes from other beatings flew through my mind. I remember jumping on the counter and slamming into that bastards' body. The window screen broke when Tugger's father fell through it. I remember water splashing up onto my fur."

There was a rain barrel beneath the window. Tugger's father fell into it, but I didn't see that at first. The minute I realized I had knocked Tugger's violent, supposedly stronger father through a window, I felt a sort of calm I'd never felt before. My usually dazed, chaotic brain, made that way by dozens of Macavity's exploits, fell into order."

I turned to Rum Tum Tugger and all but picked him up, my paws checking his throat for damage. There was a large gouge on his neck that scarred quite badly, which he now hides with that collar of his. It was then that I noticed I was big, I was strong. I could easily hold Tugger, a cat taller and heavier than myself."

Rumsy then leaned over the windowsill, my arms steadying him. His eyes grew large and deadened, and I looked over the sill as well."

Munkustrap's words die and I look up to him. His eyes are bright with tears but his gaze is distant. He is in the throes of a memory no one knows, a nightmare intimately shared by only Rum Tum Tugger and himself. Those two young toms who went through so much in their early, tender livesI wonder as to whom he's holding right now, Rum Tum Tugger or me?

Softly, almost too quiet once again, Munkustrap starts to speak once more, still and stiff.

"When he fell, he must have hit the lip of the barrel. The tub was full of water, and he was drifting there, his limbs spastically trying to keep him afloat. Whatever happened, it certainly didn't affect his brain, just his body, for his eyes were glimmering with the same anger he always possessed. But this time there was fear behind it—mortal terror."

Rumsy pulled back away from the view, and without looking at me, whispered, He'll kill me if you get him out of there.'"

Of course I knew that. Paralysis or not, Tugger's father was so incredibly pernicious he would undoubtedly pull it offso it was him or Tugger."

I told him I couldn't do it. Desperate gurgles from the rain barrel reached my ears, tormenting me. I remember how wretched I sounded, how scared. Rumsy just looked at me, his eyes mirroring the same terror in his father's. The gurgling in the barrel twisted into gagging screams. I blinked once, slowly."

Tugger leaned forward once more, and right then we both knew I was going to let him die."

Goodbye Father,' he said, and his words were thick, clumsily formed. Only then did I realize how bruised and swollen his face had become; I saw the extensive violence his father had done."

Tugger walked away after that, jumping down shakily from the sill. I sat there, scared with my actions, and listened to his father die."

Voice tight with fiercely controlled emotion, Munkustrap eases his head onto my shoulder and doesn't let himself go. My paw finds its way to the back of his neck and I try not to be horrified.

"When the screams died I left the house. Rumsy hadn't even made it more than a few steps down the stairs before collapsing. I carried him to the vet, scratched on the door, and ran off. That night, I left Macavity's world of deceit and evil. Two days later I helped Rum Tum Tugger escape from the pound and we never spoke of the incident. He I found this junkyard. Old Deuteronomy happened by here one day, and the rest is history."

We sit there for almost ten minutes like that. Munkustrap's breathing is labored but steady as he pulls his composure together. His paws are comfortably heavy on my back and still.

My shaking has stopped as well. I am still as Death and suffering from extreme indecisiveness. I don't know how to react to this. To knowingly let someone die is a monstrous thing, butRum Tum Tugger's father was a monster, wasn't he? I have no words of comfort, for I feel the same burden of lethal guilt and I know nothing anyone says will take it away.

"Do you hate me now?" Munkustrap whispers into my neck.

"Of course not," I murmur, closing my eyes and feeling my eyelashes brushing his jawbone. I pause a moment before asking my next question.

"Would you do it again?"

"Yes," he replies without hesitation. I blink. "Would you kill the Pollicle again?"

To my surprise I nod before I think. " But I wouldn't use magic. I lost control, and I will never, ever use magic again."

The words are out of my mouth before I can take them back. However, I realize that deep in my heart I don't want to take them back. I lose my breath—give up magic? An arm or a leg would be less painful.

Something so dangerous has a right to hurt his much I suppose.

Munkustrap is still again. "You're serious?'

"Yes," I hear myself say, and the word rings true.

"I wish you wouldn't," he whispers.

I stir, opening my eyes. "Why not?"

Munkustrap lifts his head off my shoulder and with one paw, tilts my chin up. Thick chocolate brown swirls around in my vision as the moonlight glitters in his eyes.

"Mistoffelees, magic is a huge part of your life—it makes you who you are."

"And if this is what I am, then I don't want it," I reply, voice quivering yet strong. "I'd rather have you safe."

"Mistoffelees—"

I hold a paw to his lips. "No. Don't call me that. It's the name I gave myself when I learned the gift."

Munkustrap's eyes widen and I stare back with resolve. "It's not your Ineffable N—"

"Yes," I whisper, "Yes. He who hath been given the power of the Craft shall denounce all titles save the one thy giveth himself.' Every magician knows the rule—by revealing your name you accept the gift. Our blood tells us so. We accept, or we go insane with needor we die."

Munkustrap's paw glides to the side of my face. "The need?"

I blink. "I'm not worried. I don't need it. Ever."

Munkustrap stands up, bringing me with him. I step out of his hold and face him. As always, he towers above me and he reaches deep into the night, powerful frame shimmering as he stretches. It's then I realize how small I am, how weak. Sure, my body is toned from hours of scampering down mansion hallways and a lifetime of aristocratic dance, but a cat like Munkustrap, in three blows or less, could kill me. My magic made me strong. With my denouncement, I can already feel it cooling in my veins. Ah, the monstrosity of the weak.

Munkustrap impales me with his most serious look. "Are you absolutely sure?"

I fold my paws across my chest and reply with all my heart, "Only if you still love me."

"Of course, you silly git," Munkustrap says, voice slightly hoarse. I step forward, relieved, and slide my arms around him. He kisses my head.

"So what do I call you now?" he says, lips brushing my brow.

"I was named after my father," I whisper, thinking of long ago times. "He left a month after I was born," I explain.

"And what was that?"

Deep breath. "Quaxo."

~*~ Munkustrap ~*~

I am confused. I am relieved. I am scared. I amI have no damn clue.

Mistoffelees has just gone home. He didn't want me to come with him. He seems different now—distant and vague.

And he wants to be called Quaxo now. Such a damnable nameit makes me shudder to think of it.

Quaxo was the name of Rum Tum Tugger's father. Quaxo was small, black.

"Almost your size"

Great Bastet, I pray it's not possible. I mean, I suppose Quaxo could have seen a queen after the death of Tugger's mum, but then Rumsy would have had to know about it. And I don't keep secrets from Tugger, and he does likewise.

Doesn't he?

"Why so sad?" purrs a familiar voice, golden fur brushing past my silver.

I open my eyes halfway. "Demeter, I just had three of my most important Jellicles critically injured, another is thinking himself a vicious killer, and Jennyanydots gave me stitches without any catnip. You know how bad her paws shake."

Demeter winces. "Sorry I asked."

And I didn't even get to the part about how I killed my lover's father. By the way, my lover's another tomcat. Mrowr.

I sit up straight beside Demeter. I really do love her quite a bit, just "not like that." We're good friends in my book, and I always work my hardest to keep it that way.

"No," I say, touching Demeter's shoulder and sickening at the spark of fire in her eyes. "I'm sorry. That wasn't a very nice thing to say."

Demeter doesn't say anything for a second, just gives me one of her soul-searching looks. She knows me well, and right now I don't need a correct analysis. If that occurred the result would be nothing short of apocalyptic.

"Are you all right?" I ask, diverting her attention.

Blush rises on her cheeks and a paw flies to the back of her head. "Oh yeah. I just have a small headache." She smiles, a tiny curl of her lips. "I'm not a very good fighter."

"Demeter, you're a very good fighter. I can't thank you enough for what you did. You probably saved Mistouh, you probably saved his life."

Oh damn. That was less than smooth. The words hang in the air and I've give my right paw to have them back.

"Mistoffelees?" Demeter asks, looking at me as if I've suddenly lost all my fur.

"Yeah," I reply, "Thanks." I look down so she can't see my eyes.

"You like him a lot, don't you?" Demeter says softly.

"Have you seen the Rum Tum Tugger?" I ask, changing the subject yet again. I feel a bubble of fear rise in my throat.

"I think he went to his den," Demeter replies, eyes looking hurt.

I look down from the tire where we reside. Before I spent the six frantic hours searching for Mistoffelees—Quaxo—I told all the Jellicles to go to their respective dwellings for a few days until I can insure the safety of the junkyard once again. However, not all the Jellicles have humans—strays, is what they're commonly known as. They are still here under my "protection."

Which of course means I can't leave. Damn it.

Demeter catches onto my predicament.

"I'll go get him if you want me to," she says, rising.

I smiled warmly. "You hate Tugger."

"Yeah, you hate me."

Demeter and I whirl around, my stitched leg screaming in pain. Tugger, one hand on his hip, is smirking at us from below.

I smile thinly and Demeter scowls. Rum Tum Tugger begins to climb up the junk pile to the tire, slower than usual. As he climbs, one of his paws slip. Lightening quick I reach out and grab his paw. He gives me a sheepish grin, but it fades as he climbs up onto the tire.

With a groan, Tugger sits down and rubs his head. "Damn dog gave me a headache," he says.

I look at him numbly. Leaning over to Demeter with a heavy heart, I whisper in her ear.

"I'm sorry Dem, but I need to talk to him. Alone."

Demeter, small and golden, nods her heard and bows out. She slips away from the tire, but I know she doesn't go far. She never does.

I look to Tugger. His face is serious and expectant, a rarity that I alone have witnessedI seem to have seen it more than I'd like to these past couple of weeks. For a moment, all the years of our friendship fly before my face and I my nerve flutters. But then I see the stern face of Mistoffelees, now Quaxo.

"Rumsy" I begin, but stop because I can't think of the words. Tugger immediately knows something's wrong and scoots close. We sit together in silence, heads on our knees hugging our legs. Looking down on the junkyard, watching the few Jellicles sleeping in the early morning, I decide to plow ahead.

"Your father's name was Quaxo, correct?" I say, so softly that Tugger has to lean into hear my words. The smell of catnip fills the air.

"Yes," Rum Tum Tugger replies, in a voice as quiet as my own.

I look at him, staring into brown eyes that used to know happiness.

"Did he ever, after your—"

"Is this about Mistoffelees?" Tugger cuts in, voice slightly unsteady.

I stare, unblinking. "His given name is—"

"Quaxo," Tugger finishes. His face drops into his knees. "He's my brother."

It would have been easier for him to say he hated me. It would have been easier if he would have lied. It would have been easier for me to not believe him. It would have been easier if I would have died.

I close my eyes. "And you never told me."

"Did you really need to know?" Tugger asks. His shoulder brushes mine and I sigh.

"When I beganspending time with him likeI do, you should have told me. I killed his father, for Bastet's sake!"

"Shh!" Tugger spits. I open my eyes. His green gaze is scared, not angry, and his expression is haggard. "Mistoffelees doesn't even know!"

I smirk. "That's pretty apparent."

"Look," Tugger says, his voice irritated, "His mother was—it wasn't for a very long time and I wasn't very old! Muerte wasn't here very long, most of the time she was pregnant anyway."

"Her name was Muerte?" I ask, incredulous. "That's awful."

"The minute Mistoffelees was born she left. She wanted me to come with her, but I wouldn't. She saw how he beat on me. She knew it'd happen to her son. I got to hold my brother once. You wouldn't have believed how tiny he was. I remember how good and fresh he smelled. Mistoffelees was new, shiny, and innocent." Tugger grins at me. I smile half-heartedly. His head bows and his smile falters after a moment. "I should have gone with her. Then we wouldn't be in this mess."

I blink. "Hardly. If you would have left, I would be one of Macavity's hoodlums, and I would have never met you or Mistoffelees. I wouldn't trade this for anything. Ever."

"Are you saying I should screw up more?" Tugger asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Don't mask yourself with humor," I say gently, smiling to soften the words.

Rum Tum Tugger sobers. "And don't you hide in nobility and smiles."

"Touché," I reply.

We sit for a while staring at the moon, shoulders touching. Both of us know we're holding each other up for support and we don't dare voice it. Tugger and I have never openly discussed how much each of us means to one another—hell, we practically avoid each other during the daylight hours.

"I'm sorry," Tugger whispers after a bit, voice shaking, "I'm sorry Munksy."

"It'sit's all right," I reply. I stretch out and claw the tire. "So what do I do now?"

Tugger stretches as well. "I don't know. What, does he want to know about my—our father?"

"No," I say, then breathe deeply. "He's giving up magic."

"What!"

"Yes. He insists he's now Quaxo, not Mistoffelees."

"Well," Tugger says, flicking dirt off the rubber, "Shit, I don't know."

"You're helpful," I say, harsher than I meant it. I feel bitterand scared.

Tugger rises to his feet and glares at me. "Do you love him?" he asks loudly.

I blink twice. "Excuse me?"

Tugger grabs my collar and looks down at me. "Do you love him? You're not just toying with him, are you?"

I flinch and shove Tugger fiercely. He's taller, but I'm stronger. He stumbles backwards but regains his balance.

"Toying with him!" I all but scream, my cool demeanor lost. "You're the one who's always toying with Jellicles! You're the Rum Tum Tugger, the tom that leads all the queens on but never gives them more than a peck on the cheek! You're the one who never told his own brother you're related. Bastet, he thinks you don't even like him! What Rumsy? Are you ever true? Do you ever let off of your curious ways and concentrate on fixing yourself? You're unhappy—don't deny it. I know, Rumsy, I know."

Tugger's jaw is wide with shock at my outburst, but he recovers quickly. "I can fix my own problems, thank you. Anyway, you always need help, so how do you expect me to not interfere when you need as much help as you can get! I though I'd finally fixed it when I tossed Mistoffelees your way, but—"

"You. Did. What." I cut in, cold, my calm restored as easily as breathing.

"I told Mistoffelees to go talk to you after the Jellicle Ball," Tugger says. He holds up his hands to stop my reply. "You needed him, Munksy. I saw that."

My insult dies on my tongue. Tugger sees his victory and goes for it.

"You need him. And he needs you right now. So that's what you should do. If you love him, which I believe you do, be there for him. I can't do it—I can't help my brother because of my own idiocies. Besides, it's you he wants."

"I could help you," I say in a raw voice. My heart jumps painfully.

"No," Rum Tum Tugger says, shaking his head. "You protect the Jellicles. You fight off Macavity. You are more our leader than Old Deuteronomy. You do not need to worry about my own personal pitfalls. Besides, I always bounce back."

His paw reaches out and clasps mine, a brotherly touch as comforting as the smell of one's mother. Rumsy, the neurotically untouchable tom, pulls me in for an embrace, patting my back fiercely. Lumps rise in my throat, emotions shooting off the charts, but I hold myself together.

"You know," I whisper, afraid of what my true voice might reveal, "You had me worried today."

"You too. When I saw you tearing out of the warehouse I almost wet myself," Tugger says. He laughs thinly and we break apart. Mistoffelees and Tugger might share the same blood, but we are the true brothers; Rumsy and Munksy, the Dynamic Duo.

"I love him you know," I say, escaping the unnamed affection Tugger and I share. "No matter what he calls himself, or who he decides he's going to be, I'll love him all the same."

Rumsy rolls his eyes. "Sap."

I grin. "Narcisstic jerk."

"Anal-retentive git."

"Egotistical scumbucket."

"Uptight, motherhen with a penis."

"Lewd, penis-envying monstrosity."

"Bet you're gay."

I throw my head back and laugh, as does Tugger. I slap Rumsy's back as we cackle together in the dark. For a moment, life is good again. Until I hear a sharp gasp, and out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight ofDemeter. She's sitting by the oven, mouth open and tears streaming down her face.

Oh shit.

My laughter stops abruptly, and Tugger looks at me strangely. His gaze follows mine, and his eyes widen.

"I got first watch," he says shortly, and all but pushes me off the tire to the ground.

The brotherly, familiar mood I found with Tugger dies. I beckon to Demeter with a paw and take a few steps towards her. I should have realized that she's rather notorious for eavesdropping. She shouldn't have listened; now it's too late.

"Demeter, please. Come let me explain," I whisper.

Fluidly, eyes and face still wet, Demeter slides down onto the ground. She hugs herself with golden arms. I touch her shoulder and she flinches, a strangled sob flowing out her lips. She stands before me, head bowed, waiting.

"I'm sorry. I never wanted you to feel this way," I whisper, heart breaking at the sight of her.

"We've been friends all these years," Demeter says, her voice quiet, "And I always loved you as something more."

"I know," I reply. "I'm sorry."

Demeter's head snaps up. "You knew how I felt? And you still led me on!"

I keep myself from jerking with her abrasive tone. "I never, ever made an advance on you or encouraged any of your romantic affections," I reply.

Green eyes flash and Demeter wipes her face dry with one arm. She storms up to me and puts a paw to my chest. Demeter is often seen as shy and skittish, but those attributes are only skin-deep. Macavity's agents are tough, headstrong, and aggressive—as an ex-agent, Demeter is no exception.

"You let me love you," she hisses through her teeth. "You did nothing. Why didn't you tell me about your tastes? Ever since you helped Bomba and I escape Macavity, I have told you everything, trusted you implicitly and believed you did the same!"

"Demeter, it's not something that's easily accepted," I say.

"Well," she hisses, tone haughty, "Look at whom you chose: Mistoffelees. He's a frea—"

"Tom," I cut in, finally annoyed. "And there's nothing wrong with it."

Demeter shakes her head and her voice becomes cruel and steely. "No one nowadays has a problem with toms liking toms. The problem is the kit's an uncontrollable, dangerous freak."

"Demeter," I say, voice ominous, a deadly tone I reserve only for enemies, "I suggest you keep comments like that to yourself."

Her claws slide out, imbedding themselves in my chest, but the pain is little compared to what I've been through. Her face is full of pain and fury. "I'm better for you, Munkustrap. I know it." Her expression darkens. "Everyone will see that—even you."

"Are you threatening me?" I whisper.

"Not at all," Demeter replies quietly, voice neutral. She steps back, claws retracting. Her face softens into the mask most see. "I love you Munkustrap. I do, I just wish you could love me."

My eyes are still dark with anger as she slips away into the night.

-----@ Quaxo @-----

I'm at the junkyard. Before me, back turned, stands the Pollicle. Its wet jaws and crazed eyes are hidden from my view, but I know what they're looking at:

Munkustrap, slowly rising to his feet on the car trunk.

Muscles ripple through the back of the dog, and suddenly he jumps into the air.

"Munkustrap!" I scream, heart pounding, fear smashing my heart in a cold fist. Before I even have time to think, I leap forward and spin once. My arms fly outstretched before me, and a huge feeling of energy, larger than anything I've ever felt before, rolls off them in waves.

Mid-leap, the Pollicle bursts into flames. Its cries of agony shriek towards the heavens as it falls to the ground. There it writhes in pain, screaming, until Munkustrap mercifully bashes the creature's skull in with a pipe.

I have killed. I am Death. I am—

"Mistoffelees"

I—that teasing voice. So familiar, so wrong.

"Wake up Mistoffelees."

Through a thick and hazy fog I struggle through my subconscious. I surface reluctantly, groggy brown eyes sliding open. The chenille pillow beneath me glows with cozy warmth.

I sit up and stretch, wondering about the voice. The room is dark, and my eyes are oddly slow to adjust. Usually the rooms in this stupid mansion aren't that terribly black.

"Munkustrap?" I ask questioningly. Did he follow me home? And why is he calling me—

One heavy, strong paw slams into my throat. Choking, I stumble as I'm pulled backwards onto the carpeted floor. Claws rake across my neck, but don't penetrate the skin. I slam into a thickly muscled body, arm squeezing the shoulder as it holds my throat.

"Munkustrap?" says that not-quite-familiar-voice, "Not exactly."

Yesterday, I would have simply vanished. Yesterday, I would have sent lightening bolts through this guy's balls. I would have hexed him, turned him hot pink, and teleported him to Timbuktu. As Mistoffelees, I would have done these things. As Mistoffelees, I could kill him.

But I am Quaxo.

So I sink my claws into the arm that holds me with a vengeance, and begin to twist with the flexibility dance has given me. I can fight like a normal cat.

Suddenly the lights flip on, blinding me. The paw presses down on my windpipe and I begin to make odd, gurgling noises. Black spots appear alongside the focusing of the room. My arms weaken and falter, crashing to my sides. Focusing my will power, I fight to remain standing as the oxygen is squeezed from my lungs.

Another arm wraps around my waist, pinning my arms at my side. "Don't move too much—you'll suffocate yourselfand I just might have to kill your pretty sister."

My brain burns, and the arms relax. With a barely concealed gasp I suck at the air like a fish out of water. My vision clears and terror runs down my spine at the sight.

To my horror, in the bedroom of my darling Dorothy, in my home, two huge toms have a hold of my sister. Victoria, even paler than usual, has a tom on either side of her, pinning her arms. She looks scared and confused, which is only normal. She wasn't here when I got home, and I wonder as to how long she's been with these thugs before I was awakened. Standing a few feet apart, our eyes meet. I smile at her bravely and mouth the words, "It'll be okay." She just stares at me in blank terror. The hulking toms are expressionless—all muscle, just as usual.

A claw taps my throat and I fall completely still. I now know exactly what is happening. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to understand—and that voice is a dead giveaway. Munkustrap only has one brother, only one other tom can share a voice as rich as that.

"What do you want Macavity?" I ask, voice neutral. Inside I'm quivering like a kit, but outside I'm cool. I'm Quaxo, reborn. I have no magic to hide behind. I have only myself.

That makes me feel weaker.

I feel a nose pressed against the back of my ear. "I can smell my brother on you."

My eyes widen minutely, and a point goes to Macavity. Without jerking, I look away from Victoria's gaze. No, I think to myself, no don't let this happen. Not like this.

"Look," I say, voice calm and reasonable, "I'll come with you willingly. I will go wherever you wish. You don't need to threaten my sister.

The nose presses against my neck, breathing deeply. A furry paw trails its way across my stomach, claws gentle. Fear rises in my body, a cold panic sweeping through my veins. Refusing to tremble, I let only my eyes widen.

Macavity licks my cheek. My breath quickens with my terror. Never had I considered Macavity using my sexuality as a weapon. Bastet! What if hehe tries to—NO!

"Tears," Macavity points out. Inwardly I groan—a sign of weakness I couldn't spare. I need to pull myself together. I need to gain more control over the situation. I won't falter in the face of adversity. I need to think—I need Munkustrap!

Macavity's lips on my ear. "Don't move."

The furry arms slip away and titters from the rats behind me calm me in a way. The need, the gut-wrenching pull to disappear seizes my soul for a moment as my illusory freedom is tasted. Two cats, Mistoffelees and Quaxo, battle for control of my body, a hot, painful spark in both my brain and heart. I will Quaxo to come to me, to conquer the magic. This, I know, will be the first of many battles but I will overthrow my calling—I do not need magic.

Macavity saunters to the middle of the room, standing between me and my sister whose eyes I cannot meet. In the dull, everyday light, he does not appear as ferocious or wild when moonlit. His stripes almost mirror those of Munkustrap's, but his are a demented shade of red and his coat is long. I stare at his legs and not at Victoria, for in her eyes I would find a plea for Mistoffelees, for his magical powerand a demand for an explanation.

Macavity's eyes travel down the length of my body, unabashed and blazing. Nausea sweeps through my frame, so strong it almost makes me shake. I force my gaze to meet his and challenge it.

A sinister smirk graces his lips and Macavity turns to face Victoria. He steps towards her and grazes her body with his eyes as he did mine. She turns her head away as if slapped and quivers before him. I manage only two furious steps before the rats catch my arms. My claws come out and one squeaks as blood runs down its cheek.

Macavity turns around and laughs at the sight. With a wave of his paw the rats back away. I do not move; I glare. He swaggers up to me and stares down at my face. I realize then how tall he is, how large and strongso much like his brother and yet wholly different. And I also realize, I must act as if I am just as large as he—as if I were his brother. I must act like Munkustrap.

Macavity steps close, challenging me to move back. I stand tall, letting his chest come dangerously close to touching mine.

"Well," Macavity says with a grin, whispering loud enough for Victoria to hear, "I've always thought of myself as more of a queens' cat, but you, boy, are very persuasive. At least my brother still has taste."

"Certainly," I reply, ignoring Macavity's paws on my hips, "He left you, didn't he?"

I don't realize I've been hit until I feel blood on my chin and Victoria's scream ringing in my ears. Macavity's wild red arm is already back at his side as I feel the pain come buzzing into my skull from his blow. Amazed that I am actually bleeding, I raise a paw to touch my lip. Macavity, however, catches me by the wrist.

"You dare to insult me now as you dared to insult me at the Jellicle Ball," Macavity hisses.

I stare at him. I have never been hit by another cat before. It is a belittling action.

"I wouldn't insult you," I say, recovering, "If you didn't make it so incredibly easy to do so."

I feel this blow as heavy as a box of hammers. It dizzies me and makes the world seem unreal. It is followed by a short jab to my diaphragm and I find myself on my knees. My breath comes out in a wheezy racket as I fight for oxygen. Victoria is sobbing in the background, a broken sound.

"Careful now," Macavity whispers. He slams another paw into my chest and I hear a nasty crunch.

I pitch forward, vision dimming. With a smooth motion, Macavity picks me up with one arm, cradling my body as if I was a kit. I can't even remember how to breathe, let alone fight, so I lie pliant, eyes open and staring dully at the furry chest I'm pressed against.

"So small," Macavity observes. By some supernatural occurrence, I manage a decent growl at him.

Painfully air returns to me, causing my eyes to water. I press my paws to Macavity's chest but I lack the strength to push away. Macavity turns around, facing Victoria, as I struggle. She's still sobbing hysterically, every once in a while mumbling my denounced name.

"He won't stay stunned long," Macavity calls out to his toms. "Silence that annoying queen and bring me some rope!"

"No!" I scream, a sad, raspy sound. I unsheathe my claws and slice at Macavity, weak limbs straining. Pulling my last reserves together I scramble out of the insane cat's arms clawing and biting.

Macavity drops me with a yowl. I stumble as I hit the ground, then face Victoria, running dizzily towards her. She is hissing and struggling to free herself from the grip of the two toms who hold her. Macavity is yelling, but I don't care enough to hear him. I am focused on my beautiful, innocent sister Victoria, focused on the huge paw the thug has just raised to deliver a lethal blow.

Suddenly a wave of energy spills over the room. Victoria, her two captors, and the numerous rats all fall to the ground unconscious before my eyes. The smell of magic, the smell of the preternatural power, wafts into my highly attuned nostrils. Immediately I realize what Macavity has done—a stun spell.

I skid to a stop beside my fallen sister. "Victoria!" I scream, knowing it's useless, "Wake up Victoria!"

An angry red ball of fur slams into my side. I am thrown to the ground and begin to roll, kicking at the attacking Macavity. He easily gets the upper hand in the fight and pins me to the ground. I wish for muscle and for height, but none, unsurprisingly, come.

"That spellit didn't affect you," he says, staring into my hate-filled face.

My thrashing stills as his words sink into my brain—Munkustrap has no magical calling in his bloodso how can his brother? I smirk at Macavity as we come to the realization together.

I snarl, victorious. "You don't have the calling. You're nothing but an amateur. Your pitiful magic is nothing compared to me."

Fire ignites in Macavity's eyes. He raises a paw, and suddenly the world fades into painful black.

~*~ -----@ END PART TWO @----- ~*~