A/N: Here it is. ::sigh::

Victoria sighed as she sat on the window seat of her bedroom in the mansion. She wasn't sure of anything anymore. The one thing she counted on, the one thing...the one tom, she loved most...had...had...

Oh! How could he?!

Even when he wasn't there, he tortured her. She spent every waking minute thinking about him, and even some sleeping minutes, too. She couldn't shake off the feeling he had given her...the feeling...ooooh. She shivered. It was too real, too tangible, too horrible to think about. Whatever Macavity had done to Demeter that made her feel his presence, he had done to Victoria. It made her skin crawl. The thought that the way Demeter lived, in almost constant paranoia, might one day overcome her .... ooooh. It was too real to think about.

And yet...

She couldn't believe it, but somehow, Victoria still loved him. She still loved him! Despite all that he had done to her, to her friends, to all the cats in the junkyard, she still loved him. He was simply irresistible! But the same Power that he'd used to sweep her off her feet into the night sky, to amaze her with beautiful illusions, was being used to accomplish sinister deeds! She couldn't believe it! In less than a day, that tom had gone from from the sweet, caring tom she'd grown up with to a careless miscreant capable of things she couldn't dream of! And she still loved him! Maybe it was something magical he did to her, maybe it was her own foolishness, but somehow, for some inexplicable reason, Victoria was still deeply in love with him!

"Victoria?"

"Aaah!"

The soft voice just on the other side of her window startled Victoria into screaming and jumping clear across the room. When she finally collected her wits, she peered through the glass, and was horrified to find the one tom she couldn't keep her mind off of!

"Victoria, may I come in? Please?" he was perched precariously on the trellis outside the window, tapping on the glass.

"No, go away!" she called back, almost horrified to hear herself say the words. She was torn, torn in half right down the middle. Part of her wanted to swing open the window and shove him off the trellis as hard as she could, while the other half insisted that she let him in and let him say what he came to say.

Well, both options started out the same way.

Victoria strode to the window, undid the latch, and swung it open, but when she finally got a clear view of his face without the glass in the way, she stopped dead in her tracks. He was the picture of sorrow, grief, heartache. He looked like he had gone through as much agonizing emotion as Victoria had. She could see it in his eyes. They were tear-stained and bloodshot. The depths of his eyes spoke volumes to Victoria, and she couldn't help but stare and mutter softly, "Won't you come in?"

He gave a little nod and climbed inside as she retreated to her bed. He didn't make it past the window seat, however, before Victoria said, "No...stay...just stay there...don't come any closer."

He looked a little dejected, but came no closer. "Victoria," he started, "Victoria...I..." He stopped; he had seen the look on her face: afraid, almost terrified of him. He started over: "Victoria, I...I understand if you hate me. You have every right to. I deserve it. But...I just...just wanted to let you know that..." he paused again, and looked away, apparently unable to keep staring at her.

But he had her. "No, don't stop. Keep going," she prodded.

He met her gaze again. His eyes were filling with tears, and the edges of his lips quivered. He trembled as he managed to get out, "I'm sorry..."

Victoria's ears perked up, her eyes grew wider, but she couldn't look him in the eye. She averted her gaze as he went on: "Victoria...I know...I know what I did was awful. And I hate myself for it. Truly, I do. I never want to do that again." He lifted his head up. "I never want to do that to you again."

Then Victoria realized something, something unbelievable: as close to her as he was, and as much emotion he was letting out, Victoria couldn't feel him. The feeling that had captured her when she passed by him in the junkyard, that gripped her very soul and made her want to squirm, that haunted her dreams, that had grabbed her when he was near, was nonexistant. She couldn't feel him! In disbelief, she crept closer, and looked up into his face. He looked back, questioningly, but still, she did not feel him! Nothing touched her, made her feel vile and haunted, nothing! Her eyes grew wider, and excited, she muttered, "Mis–"

But he cried out, stopping her, "No! I never want to hear that name again!" He covered his face with his arm, trembling. "No. It reminds me...too much..."

Victoria saw it. She saw what had happened in him. How much he had changed. The pointedness, the arrogance, the demonic demeaner, all of it, had vanished. He sat there, a changed cat, and Victoria saw it. The difference was almost tangible. Gone was the meanness, the egocentricity, the appearance that he was all that mattered, all of it!

And so was the magic.

She hopped up onto the seat next to him. There, as Victoria stared at him, she couldn't detect a trace of it. No magic, no power, made itself known to her searching eyes. He was there, though. The same cat she had grown up with, fallen in love with, was still there. There was just no magic. All his life he had carried the bearing of being powerful, of having the means of doing anything he wished, but no more. As he sat there, he appeared meek, defenseless, helpless.

He slowly lowered his arm and looked into her eyes. His eyes were glazed over with emotion, baring sorrow, depression, powerlessness. In the lowest of whispers, he murmured, shaking his head, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

She could stand it no more.

Overcome with emotion, Victoria grabbed her tom with both arms and refused to let go. She nuzzled his face, his nose, his neck. Startled he started to draw away, but she overcame him, and he was forced to give in. He nuzzled back, venting the tension he had pent up inside. She ran her paws all over his back, feeling the silky black fur, and ran them down the base of his spine to tickle the base of his tail, giving him the shivers. Then she drew back and looked at him: his eyes were closed, and his face was set in deep emotion. Suddenly, he opened his eyes, and started rattling off, "Victoria, I'm so sorry! I can't believe it! I let it take over me! The Power...it...it felt so good, and I let it take control, and it made me...when I did those things, I just didn't care! It was like...like it fulfilled my every need, and used me to fulfill its needs! Now...I can't believe the things I did!" He gazed into her eyes and whispered, "I never want to do that again. I promise. I'll never let it take over again."

Leaning in, she whispered in his ear,

"I forgive you."

The next day found Munkustrap sitting by himself on the tire in the quiet junkyard. Most of the owned cats were still at their humans' houses, fearing another downpour like the one that had happened last night. But as he looked up into the bright blue sky, Munkustrap knew there were nothing but sunny skies ahead.

Then, from behind a junkpile, who should come walking up to him but his little tuxedo. Munkustrap sighed happily; it felt good to see him smiling again. It seemed like ages since he had smiled so happily, so serenely. It was quite a relief. "Hello," he said.

He came right up to him and hoisted himself onto the tire next to him. "Hi," he responded, looking away, almost a little shy.

Munkustrap raised his eyebrows and queried, "Is something wrong, Mis–"

"No," his son interrupted sharply. Seeing the surprised and concerned expression on his father's face, he hastily added, "No...I mean...nothing's wrong...I meant...actually, that's what I came to talk to you about." Munkustrap regarded him as he continued. "You see, my name...it...it reminds me too much..." He looked straight in his eyes, pleadingly. "...of what happened." He sighed. "I want to change my name."

Munkustrap frowned and thought for a moment. "Is that allowed?" he asked.

The little tom nodded. "Yes, it is. I asked Old Deuteronomy. One condition though. You have to pick it."

He frowned again, and said, "Okay, um, how about... Oshtakoot?"

He grimaced. "Ugh, it sounds like a Russian breakfast, with bird eggs or something."

"Oh, ok," Munkustrap said. He remembered this game. "Maybe Zackalike?"

"No, it sounds like carpet cleaner."

"Floundro?"

"Too wishy-washy."

"Athena?"

"I'm a boy!"

Sheesh, Munkustrap thought to himself. I thought I was naming you. Then he chuckled to himself. If he remembered correctly, there should be one more name that would be all right. Knowingly, he suggested, "Quaxo?"

"Quaxo?"

"Yes. Quaxo."

The younger cat thought about it for a moment. Quaxo. It wasn't the best name in the world. Still, it was much better than Mis...

He grinned. "You know, I like it. Quaxo, it is!"

Munkustrap grinned as well. "Okay. Quaxo."

They sat there for a moment, just smiling, seemingly in rapt contemplation over something or another. They were actually quite content. Finally, Munkustrap interrupted the silence by asking, "By the way, last night..."

"Yes?"

"Were you in Victoria Grove all night last night?"

"Yes."

"Ah." Munkustrap said. "Just curious."

Quaxo gave him a look like, Yeah, right, and hopped off the tire. He was almost out of the clearing before he called over his shoulder, "By the way, Victoria and I are going to announce our mate-ship officially tomorrow."

"Really?"

"Really, really."

Mist...excuse me, Quaxo sighed to himself as he passed out of sight from his father. Quaxo. It would take getting used to. Still, it didn't remind him of...

Did you miss me?

No.

Too bad.

Leave.

Sorry, ain't gonna happen.

...Fine. Just hear me out. As long as I live, you will NEVER take control again. You hear that? I mean it. I may never be rid of you, but you will never rule me. Ever.

We'll just see about that...

Fin