Sorry, sorry, and sorry again, this wasn't Flit's idea, it was Attila's. Sorry...

Warning - this chapter contains some scenes involving self-harm.

Disclaimer - do I look like Andrew Lloyd Webber or T.S. Elliot?

Thoughts are in italics, btw.

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"Be careful about when you use your magic and let Mistoffelees take control," Deuteronomy told the small tux quietly. "I'll let you get some rest."

He silently departed from the hospital, leaving Quaxo to sort out his thoughts in private. It was better if he decided which cats, if any, should know about what was happening to him on his own, with no interference from the old leader. Deuteronomy thought that Munkustrap should be told, but he wouldn't make Quaxo's mind up for him. The choice of who to tell was up to Quaxo, no-one else.

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Quaxo sighed – deep down inside he had known that he was dying, he just didn't know why. Now he knew that there was nothing that could be done, nothing that could help him, he was more scared of death than he had ever been before; even when his parents had been killed, he hadn't been scared. He thought of all the things he wouldn't live to see: it was highly unlikely that his best friend Tugger would settle down with a mate before he died, and even more doubtful that Quaxo himself would find a mate. There was no way that he would be able to see the kittens that he cared for so much have kittens of their own, no way that he would see his fifth birthday. He was three and knew that, without doubt, he would only get to four. He could feel Mistoffelees eating away at him, slowly burning him like acid.

He had a year left, at the most.

He stood up and quietly left the hospital, still deep in thought about what he had been told. As soon as he was outside, Victoria was next to him, gazing at him with concern in her eyes.

"What happened? Why'd you collapse? Did Deuteronomy tell you?" she asked, all in one breath and without stopping to let Quaxo answer.

"What d'you mean, 'did Deuteronomy tell me'?" Quaxo asked, curious about why the young queen had asked that question. Surely she didn't know?

"When you passed out, Deuteronomy told Munk to get you inside, but Munk kept asking what had happened, but Deuteronomy wouldn't tell him and said that he'd only tell you, and I asked did Deuteronomy tell you why you collapsed because I want to know if he's told you or not," Victoria said, again all in one breath and without a single pause.

"Yeah, he's told me," Quaxo said shortly. He had just found out he was going to die, he really wasn't in the mood to be pestered by kittens all day.

"And? What happened? What's going on? Why did-"

"Vicky," Quaxo cut her off quietly. She heard the note of pleading in his voice and looked up at him. "Please, just drop it. I really don't want to talk about it right now."

Victoria was slightly hurt at that; Quaxo usually talked about anything she wanted to talk about, she only had to ask something and he would tell her. Apparently he didn't want to tell her what was wrong, though.

"The other kittens are probably looking for you," Quaxo said. "You should go find them before they send out search parties for you."

"Hope you're better soon, whatever it is that's wrong," Victoria replied, giving Quaxo an affectionate nuzzle before going to find the other kittens.

Quaxo sighed; he knew he had just hurt her, he had seen it in her eyes, and he felt rotten for it, but he was still thinking about dying, and that maybe it would be better if she hated him when he died, because that way she wouldn't miss him as much and she would get over it quicker than she would if they were friends.

At that moment, Quaxo really hated Mistoffelees for causing him so much trouble.

"Hey! Quaxo!" someone called, just as the tux was about to turn to go into the pipe.

Looking around, he saw it was Munkustrap that had called him, and he remembered what Victoria had said: 'Munk kept asking what had happened'. He got the feeling that he wasn't going to get much time to think about things with the tribe's Protector bugging him to be told what happened.

"What?" Quaxo asked tiredly. Munkustrap opened his mouth to speak, and Quaxo just knew what words were going to come out. "If you're going to ask what happened, save your breath, 'cause I'm not in the mood to be bugged about it and I'll probably just electrocute you."

Munkustrap shut his mouth and stared at the small tux. Quaxo had never threatened anybody before, even when the kittens were annoying him and wouldn't leave him alone.

"Are you alright?" Munkustrap asked.

"Oh, yeah, of course, never been better," Quaxo replied, putting as much sarcasm into his voice as he could. "I always snap at other cats when I'm feeling great."

"I was only wondering. It's called being a friend," Munkustrap said defensively. Quaxo winced.

"Sorry," he sighed. Suddenly the reality of everything hit home – he was dying. Death was something that could never be conquered, not even by a magician. "It's too much… I can't do it…"

"What? Quaxo, what's going on?"

The small tux didn't answer; he only shook his head and bolted into the pipe before Munkustrap could ask him anything else.

He curled up in the back of the pipe, shaking, almost in tears, terrified of what might happen in the end, scared of how it would feel to die so young without having lived even half of what should have been a long and healthy life. The other cats would pity him, give him sympathetic looks all the time, try to understand how it felt.

But they could never understand until it happened to them.

No-one could know.

Quaxo began chewing on one of his claws with worry; a habit he knew wouldn't last long. All sorts of thoughts were churning around in his mind, all sorts of questions that couldn't be answered, all sorts of 'what ifs' were floating around, all sorts of panicked thoughts that had never occurred to him before.

What if one of the kittens finds out?

What if I die in front of them?

What if something happens and I don't die until I'm really old?

There was silence in his panicked mind until one stray thought found its way to the front of his mind.

What if I'm going mad? Will the tribe still accept me if I lose my mind and go insane? I'm talking to myself now, and they say that is the first sign of madness…

Quaxo put his paws over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to block out the thoughts and erase everything that he had been told. He bit his lip as hard as he could, trying to use the pain to make him forget everything. More thoughts began forming again, and Quaxo shook his head, rocking back and forth in a vain attempt to comfort himself.

Yes, he decided. I'm definitely going insane. And there's nothing that me or the other Jellicles can do about it. I'm as good as dead already. WHY DON'T YOU JUST KILL ME NOW, MISTOFFELEES?

Quaxo broke down. He couldn't hold it inside of himself any more, couldn't stop the tears, or the tremors that took hold of him. But no matter how many tears he shed, no matter how hard he bit his lip, the pain inside him was still there, attacking him with a ferocity the likes of which he had never felt before.

Without thinking, he extended his claws and dug them into his arm as deeply as he could. Blood poured out as he dragged them down his arm, and the silent sobs that wracked his body made the cuts jagged, the lines broken like the cat that was making them. Repeatedly, he dragged his claws over the cuts again and again, each time making them deeper.

Exhausted, he eventually collapsed onto the blanket that was in the bottom of the pipe. If he had wanted to move, he wouldn't have been able to; everything that had happened had proved too much for him to handle, both physically and mentally.

Quaxo suddenly felt like someone was gently sponging his arms and face to get rid of the blood covering them.

I'm sorry it has to be this way, a voice said softly in Quaxo's mind.

Mistoffelees, Quaxo hissed, correctly guessing who the voice belonged to.

Please, don't hate me. This isn't the easiest thing in the world for me to do; watching every cat I inhabit dying because of me.

But you still do it!

If I had a choice, I wouldn't. But we both have a purpose, and the only way either of us can fulfil them is with each other.

So what's my purpose? To die?

No. That will be a result of it. You'll know when it will be.

And that's supposed to make it easier on me? Quaxo asked incredulously.

I'm sorry, Mistoffelees replied softly.

Quaxo looked down and saw that the blood has vanished from his arms. All that was left were the cuts, and they were healing fast enough to be seen. With a slight pinching feeling, the last cut closed, leaving no scar, no reminder of how close Quaxo had felt to having his spirit broken.

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As Quaxo sank into an uneasy and exhausted sleep, Mistoffelees sighed to himself. He had known that Quaxo would have a hard time coming to terms with dying, but he had assumed that the small tom would try to find a bright side to look on, like he did with so many other situations. He might accept it, eventually, but there was also the possibility that he would crack because of the fact that he knew exactly when he would die, and he might do something stupid out of fear.

Mistoffelees had to take care of the little tom in whose body he was currently residing. Quaxo couldn't break before he died. If he did, he wouldn't be able to help the tribe when they would need it most: when they would need their Conjuring Cat to lay his life down for them.

Mistoffelees was able to use a small amount of his power and not hurt Quaxo in the process. He had to use all of that magic, no matter how little it was, to protect Quaxo from himself, or neither of them would be able to help the Jellicles.

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Have you noticed I seem to have a bit of a thing for cruelty to tuxes? It's nothing personal, he's actually one of my favourite characters, it's just that he's also incredibly easy to be mean to...

Since this is almost fully written (I've only got to finish writing the epilogue), I should be able to update again soon even though I'm working around revision for some pretty major tests. I should actually be revising right now...