20 Minutes with Anne Challenge.

Looking After Us.

By Rose Williams.

Disclaimers. Joss Whedon etc owns Buffy etc. Philip Pullman etc owns His Dark Materials etc. I own nothing.

Author's Notes: Another 20 minute challenge. Is in the same universe as my other ones. It'll won't make much sense as a story if you aren't familiar with Northern Lights.

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Lily hadn't been a strong girl. She'd been loyal, the woman knew that, but she had needed Ricky to stay alive. The tattoo was still there, testimony to an eternal love. She smiled at that. By the time she had the money to have it removed she would probably want to keep it. Neither she nor Ricky had said anything about an eternal love, but they had known that it was forever.

As forever as it needed to be; given their lives. Chantarelle had been an idiot, that was obvious. But, the woman reminded herself, Chantarelle had also been lonely, alone and desperate. The idea that death could be a break from the feelings of helplessness had made sense.

But she wasn't helpless anymore. She was Anne. Anne had a job, a place with real bed sheets and was able to look after herself, by herself. In the morning she would be able to go to work. And she would be able to eat. Anne smoothed the material of her top over her arm to hide the heart and curled up on the bed.

Being alone wasn't so bad, she decided, when alone meant safe, warm, dry and quiet.

She was half asleep and staring at the wall when a cat appeared. It was hard to see against the grubby carpet. Anne sat up slowly to look at him. He looked like a miniature version of a lion, except that he wasn't quiet coordinated enough to pull of the deadly grace, just yet.

Picking his way across the carpet he butted his head against Anne's shins. She smiled. Maybe she wasn't going to be alone after all. Lying back down she closed her eyes and the cat curled up along her side.

He was gone in the morning when she woke up. But it seemed that he was following her on the way to work. She would occasionally see what looked like a patch of quick moving dusty fur under bushes.

He appeared again that night and demanded that she pet him. He purred as she stroked him. Slowly the tension from the day drained out of her and she was left in her room with the cat.

"Do you have a name, cat?" she asked.

He didn't move his head from her hand.

"I could call you, I don't know, Minnow? My sister had a cat called Minnow for a few days."

Minnow licked her hand as she moved to stroke him again.

He was gone in the morning again, and appeared at night. Anne thought he must be able to open the bathroom window. He never seemed to want food. She made sure, when she'd known him about three weeks (was there propriety for meeting cats?), by bringing him home a piece of the pie she had eaten for dinner. He ate it, but he hadn't pounced.

Slowly, as they spent more time together she saw him more often as she left in the mornings, and sooner after she had come home.

He always knew exactly when she needed to lie and think, or leave again to walk around the streets. She began to be able to read his moods too. He began to wake her up the mornings.

She didn't know when it happened, but one day she realised that he had been with her all day. He spent her time at work in the backyard of the dinner, watching the birds.

Anne smiled when she thought of him there. She wasn't alone. He was taking care of her. Maybe Buffy had a pet, too, she thought. Maybe Buffy was looked after by someone else, which meant that she was able to look after other people so easily.

But if Minnow was looking after her, then Anne didn't need to look after herself. If Anne didn't need to look after herself, then she should be able to look after other people. At least one other person.

She told Minnow about it that night. He didn't say anything, but he licked her hand and curled up beside her to sleep. 'Yeah,' she thought. 'I could look after people. If Minnow looks after me.'