When We Are Happy
Chapter Three: Presents and Pretense

It's been two days since they fell asleep on the couch snuggled up to one another, and Mark is still blushing. Which is stupid, really, because it's far from the first time they'd passed out together. It had, however, been the first time Mark woke up snuggled so close to Roger he could feel almost every inch of the other boy up against him. This had definitely been the first time Collins had ever talked to Mark like the two were a couple.

This is all too confusing to think of. Mark pops one of the allergy pills Collins had gotten for him. At least he can breathe again, even if now he doesn't have an excuse for why his head spins when he's too close to Roger.

"Damnit, Collins," Mark mutters, narrowing his eyes and glaring halfheartedly at the ceiling above his bed. If he hadn't put ideas in Mark's head, the filmmaker wouldn't be so confused. He definitely wouldn't spend most of his time trying not to look at Roger so he can see if Roger is looking at him.

He thought it had been bad when he let Maureen try that strap on thing once. No, this is it. The lowest of the low. Mark moaned, covering his face in his hands and trying to disappear. It's not worth it anymore. He is pathetic. He is worse than pathetic, because he is lusting after his best friend who is lusting after Mimi who isn't even here, he still kind of wants his ex-girlfriend who cheated on him who is now a lesbian back, he has no real job, his films aren't going anywhere, he hasn't had sex in over a year, and to top it all off, he's jealous of a cat. His life has entered it's own new stage of pathetic.

"Hey, Mark." Mark moves his arm off his face, blinking up through the dark until he can see a blur that must be Roger standing in his doorway. Sighing a bit, he grabs his glasses and slides them on so that the blur becomes Roger. If only everything else could be corrected with a good pair of lenses.

"Hey," Mark answers in an I-wasn't-just-thinking-about-you sort of voice. "What's up?"

"You remember James?" He asks, petting the kitten that is almost a cat that is clawing up his shirt.

"Uhh..." Mark's mind really tries to connect that name with something instead of thinking about how tight Roger's jeans are today. Where had that thought even come from? Did Roger think those thoughts about him? He blushed, suddenly feeling so dorky in his corduroys and sweater. "He's uh..."

"From my old band," Roger supplies. "I'm, uh, meeting up with him for lunch." Mark smiles a bit, nodding excitedly for Roger. It has been ages since he had talked with anyone outside their close group of friends. Even if Mark doesn't entirely trust James, he trusts Roger. Before he can even answer, Roger is dropping the kitten on the edge of Mark's bed. "Can you watch the cat while I'm gone?" He asks. He obviously knows what Mark is thinking (mainly that the cat is demon possessed, and he's pretty sure he thinks that the cat actually curls up into his coat at night just to get his allergies acting up in the morning. That thing is possessive of Roger, and gets some sort of sick twisted joy out of mocking Mark) because he's flashing Mark a begging, childish sort of pout that Mark can't say no to even with the demon cat glaring up at him.

"Uh... Sure..." Mark says, shifting a bit nervously on the bed and hoping Roger got the hint to move the thing away from him before it attacked.

Roger, of course, doesn't. "Thanks, Mark," he says, reaching over and giving Mark's shoulder a light squeeze. Mark wants to look up and see if there is anything there when Roger is reaching for him, but he just locks eyes with the kitten. It might have claws, but it's safer than Roger. "I'll be back in an hour or so, okay?"

"Yeah, sure," Mark mutters, smiling one last time at Roger before his friend grabs his jacket and leaves him there with the kitten on the deg of his bed glaring up at him with huge huge, crystal blue eyes.

Well, they were kind of cute eyes.

"Look," Mark says, scooting a bit towards the cat. "Let's make this easier on both of us. I'll, uh, get you some food or something, and then we just won't talk to each other from the rest of the day." The cat stares up at him and doesn't look away. Like it's listening to Mark talk and trying to get some point across. Mark shakes his head, laughing at himself. The thing is just missing Roger, probably, and scared to be left alone with Mark.

Absently, he reaches out to pet the cat. "He'll be back soon," Mark promises, his voice soft and reassuring. "He's just going to talk with James for a while. Probably about music. He'll be fine. Besides," Mark pauses, looking up at his ceiling as he worries his lower lip. It's good for Roger to get out like this. It's healthy for him, and more importantly it means he will stop being so hung up on the past and start living his life. So Mark is happy for him, and swallowing the slight nervous feeling that is knotting in his gut. "We can't keep him locked in here forever."

The cat meows a bit, looking up at Mark and blinking a few times. Mark nods. "I wish I could, too." Did he just answer the cat? Mark rolls his eyes a bit. Now he's thrusting his own worries onto a kitten.

"You're not too bad," he tells the demon cat after both of them are quiet for a while longer. "I mean, Roger's pretty fond of you, so you can't be too evil, I guess." The cat meows, turning its head slightly so Mark will scratch along it's cheek. "I'll bet he's a closeted cat lover," Mark says with a slight smile. "He's in there writing you love songs, probably. What's he call you?"

If the cat even understood, it just purred in response. "Something like... Johnny Rotten or something. You know who he is? From The Sex Pistols?" Mark picks up the small ball of white fluff, dumping it into his lap. "Well, Pistol, let's get you something to eat so I don't have to worry about you."

With a loud meow the cat stands up on two paws, batting at Mark's glasses. He laughs and pulls the thing off, cuddling it to his chest like Roger did. "You seem excited about something," he muses as he stands up and walks towards Roger's room to try and figure out what he feeds the thing. "You're a lot like him, you know, probably just causing trouble for the attention."

He's probably going crazy, but he swears the kitten purrs in agreement.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Cohen is not stupid. He might not get everything Roger says or be able to do those human things like open doors and play guitar, but he gets the important stuff. He gets the stuff that is above language and species, like how Roger feels. He can sense when Roger needs someone to be beside him, to rub against his leg and purr a little so he knows he's loved. Cohen can sense when Roger is happy and wants to be jumped on and have his hair pawed at. He can even sense Roger's Mark moods, and these are the nasty ones. The ones Roger doesn't want him around for. The ones where Cohen gets swatted away because Roger and Mark are on the couch with all these hormones they're not doing anything about, anyway, making the air tense. It drives Cohen insane.

Today just happened to be one of those Mark days. The three of them are on Roger's bed, with the humans laid out and Cohen curled on Roger's stomach, his favorite spot in the world. Cohen keeps drifting in and out, waking whenever he's shaken by Roger's deep, rumbling voice. There isn't too much talking, though, so Cohen gets plenty of sleep. Mostly it's just the three of them lying there in what might be a comfortable silence if it weren't for the heat the two boys gave off for each other.

After a particularly long silence Cohen is woken up by Roger asking, "Two years since what?"

Cohen yawns and stretches out over Roger, making sure not to claw up Roger's favorite black shirt. "Since Maureen left me," Mark mutters beside them. "November 15, the day she became a lesbian." There they go again, using words like Ales Beeann that they know Cohen can't understand. Half the time when Roger is with Mark, Cohen swears they agree to talk in code just so he won't be able to tell what they're talking about.

Roger's laugh sends Cohen bouncing slightly on his chest. "I don't think it works quite like that."

"Sure it does," Mark reasons, turning slightly on his side so he's closer to Roger. Cohen gets ready to pounce if he comes any closer. He isn't stupid. He knows what Mark is trying to do. He wants Roger's attention all to himself, but Cohen isn't going to give up his Roger without a fight. The thing might have height and weight on him, but he bites off his claws and doesn't even have real fangs to speak of. What is he going to do?

Cohen never gets the chance to attack. He's in place to do some major damage to Mark's face when, "Ah!" Roger turns on his side to face Mark, and Cohen rolls off, landing in a heap behind him. "Roger!" Cohen whines, trying to hop back up on him, but Roger is thoroughly distracted by his other pet, leaving no room for Cohen.

"You're right, Mark. She totally turned into a lesbian in one day, all over you," Roger says, ignoring Cohen's attempt to climb back up on him. He stalks up the bed, putting his claws up onto Roger's shoulder to get his attention. What he sees is horrible. Roger is petting Mark. Right there where Cohen can see him, running his big rough hands through the thing's small, yellow patch of fur. "Wow, you must have really fucked up with that one."

"Come on," Cohen growls, getting back down and taking a few steps backwards so he can jump up onto Roger. That should get his attention back where it is supposed to be. "How can you even stand to pet him? He's mostly bald! And I've never seen him clean himself. He's probably dirty, Roger!"

"Shut up," Mark says, and must push Roger because he nearly rolls back over onto Cohen, who only barely escapes by jumping back again. "You know what I mean. Today's the day..."

Despite being pushed, Roger rolls right back into place. "It wasn't like she was good for you," he answers, scooting closer to Mark. Cohen shakes himself off from the near fall, wiggling back into pouncing place. Mark isn't going to get rid of him that easily.

"I know..." Mark says, and Cohen can see him pressing into Roger's hand. Next thing he'll be purring like some of sort of kitten straight off the street all 'take me in, I don't have fleas'. "I just... I wish I knew what it was about me that sent her running to... from a scrawny, albino starving-artist to a large black lawyer? I mean, could she have made the point any clearer!"

Roger laughs, a low sound that shakes the whole bed. It's the laugh that means Cohen has done something he thinks is amusing, only this time it's for Mark. What does the thing do that is so special, anyway? It doesn't jump when Roger dangles toys for it. It doesn't keep rats and bugs away from him when he sleeps. It doesn't even lick him to make sure he stays clean. It just sits there and talks, and Roger gives it all the attention it doesn't deserve. "Maybe you were just too much albino filmmaker for her to handle."

"Yeah," Mark answers, and even though it is curled up to Roger and being pet it doesn't sound happy. Clearly, Cohen thinks, the thing is an idiot. Actually, Cohen knows it's an idiot. This is the same thing that wants to call him Pistol, and thinks they're friends just because he let it pet him once or twice while Roger had been out. "That must be it."

"I'll bet it is," Roger purrs, a soft sound Cohen never heard before. He didn't even know humans could purr like that. He's about to go investigate when he notices the heat. A strong wave of it washes through the room, throwing him for a second. He smells at the air, picking up on a familiar scent although much stronger, sharper now.

He smells around for a few more seconds before he realizes the scent is coming from the humans. He looks back up at them, and he can barely see around Roger to catch a glimpse of what is going on. It takes him a few seconds to figure it out, but Mark is biting Roger! Or at least that is what it looks like, with their lips smashed together like that and every now and then he catches a flash off teeth. "Leave him alone!" Cohen growls, hopping over Roger and going for Mark's eyes, claws scratching across some weird, glass surface as he attacks.

It works, though, and Mark jumps back from his Roger, panting and staring down at Cohen. Cohen sticks his tail up at him, settling down next to Roger and hissing, "You thought you could hurt my Roger? Like I'd ever let him touch some mongrel like you." He looks back up to Roger, trying to give him a look the human will understand. "See? I saved you. I tried to tell you he was trouble but..."

Roger isn't listening. He pushes Cohen aside, ignoring his protest as he tries to crawl across the bed to Mark. "Look, I-"

"I have to go!" Mark announces, not looking back at them as he hurries out of the room. He's probably too afraid to even look at Cohen. "I have to go film. I'll see you later."

The door closes before Roger even gets off the bed. Cohen looks up at him, padding across the mattress to rub against his hand and wait for a thank you, or at least some sign that Roger realizes Cohen had saved him from Mark.

Roger doesn't even acknowledge him. "Fuck," he says, still watching the door like Mark will come back. Cohen can smell him, though, and Mark is long gone from the whole loft. "Fuck..."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The heat that Cohen is used to turns quickly into something more tense. Something that makes Roger drag himself through the loft like each step is a chore, hardly doing more than sleeping or staring blankly at the ceiling. Cohen doesn't understand why Roger is acting like he just got neutered. After all, Mark had attacked him and Cohen scared him off and saved Roger. Now the blonde thing is afraid to stick around the loft too long, always going out to play with his black toy that doesn't dangle or make a noise when you bat at it.

Three days after the attack, Roger is curled up on the windowsill and looking down. Only he isn't really looking, Cohen realizes once he squeezes outside and hops along on the little room right outside the boy's apartment. He gets his claw caught in one of the giant holes in the floor - why do humans build rooms outside with holes in them? - and Roger doesn't even crack a smile. Giving up on bringing Roger out of his mood, Cohen slips back inside and curls up on top of his feet, thinking he might as well catch a nice afternoon nap before the mice come out.

Right then the door slams open and sends Cohen jumping off Roger's feet, heart racing as he looks up at the sudden noise. "God!" A loud, unfamiliar voice calls out. "Don't you guys ever decorate this place?"

Cohen can feel Roger tensing up. He scurries up his leg to sit in Roger's lap and get a good look over the couch. The blond thing is back, and it's brought more people to play with. They look like Collins and the girl who used to own him before Roger. Wait, no. There is a different smell about these two. He cocks his head, looking critically over the two new humans. The dark-furred one is too small to be Collins, and the other one isn't the same color as the girl who used to own him. They're different humans, Cohen thinks. Of course, they all sort of look alike to him. All big, fleshy and mostly balding. How do they even tell each other apart?

Whoever they are, Cohen doesn't like them because Roger doesn't like them. He can feel the human tense and then he scoops Cohen into his arms, holding him protectively to his chest as one of the things bounces over to them. "Roger," it says in just the way that gets Cohen to hiss. The human has an annoyingly high voice, like the bird Cohen has to scare off the fire escape in the morning.

The human leans over and all Cohen can see is her balding, pink flesh she didn't even bother covering up with that fake fur or skin. Maybe she has fleas, Cohen thinks as he studies this new creature Mark had brought home. "Ahhh!" It says, still in that tone that makes Cohen's fur stand on end, "Markie, you didn't tell me you guys got a kitten!"

"I'm not a kitten!" Cohen meows at the same time Mark is saying, "We didn't. It's Mimi's. She just left it with Roger." Cohen hisses at him as well. He doesn't want to go with the flowery smelling human anymore. He wants Roger, and he isn't going back there.

The new human doesn't seem interested in either of their protests. It just keeps looking at him. "She's so cute!" it coos, and Cohen is going to bite her hand off if it tries touching him. He is not a girl, and he isn't going to let it get away with calling him that.

"Just try it," he growls as the human reaches for him. He does mean to bite at it, really, but then the human actually starts petting him, and it's really quite good at that. He'll bite later, he thinks as he closes his eyes and rubs up against its hand.

Just as Cohen starts to purr he gets ripped away from the hand that is doing a great job at scratching just behind his ear. "What do you want?" Roger asks, and Cohen can hear the growl in his voice as he talks to the new human. She's really not that bad, Cohen thinks and wonders what Roger has against her so much. Maybe he thinks she's Mimi, like Cohen had at first. Roger doesn't even have a good sense of smell, so he probably can't tell that this human smells totally different from Mimi. Actually, she smells a lot like the other human Mark brought home. Maybe they're from the same litter.

The new human stands up to speak with Roger. "What is your problem?" She asks, and the other, dark-furred human comes over and grabs her by the shoulder. "I was just trying to pet the poor thing. Living with you two boys, it needs a mommy." She's back to Cohen's level again, flashing her fangs at him. "Don't you, little baby girl? I'll bet they haven't even given you a name yet."

"That's not true," Roger and Cohen say together. "My name is Cohen," he tries to explain, but they don't understand him and Roger just holds him closer to try and get him away from the new humans.

"Its name is Pistol," Mark says from the side. Everyone turns to look at him, and Cohen can see that weird rash on his face coming back again. "I mean, Mimi named it, and... Uh, Roger forgot what it was so..."

The dark-furred human lets go of the girl's shoulder and snorts, bending down to look at Cohen as well. "I would have thought you'd name it something like Tremble or Art." The other humans look at the dark-furred one and it rolls its shoulders back, like it's stretching after a nap. "What? I think Art is a cute name for a cat."

"Well..." The girl is petting him again, and this time Roger doesn't yank him away so he can actually enjoy it. "I think we should call it Albina."

"Albina?" The dark-furred one asks. Cohen has to agree. Albina sounds like a dog name, and Cohen is anything but a dog. The girl might have claws that are just right for petting, but she clearly can't tell a dog from a cat, or a boy from a girl come to think of it.

"If you weren't so good at this, I would be biting you," Cohen warns, but it comes out sounding more like a purr more than anything else, no matter how hard he tries to sound threatening.

"Yeah. You know, like the feminine form of Albino," she answers, still scratching behind Cohen's ear, so it's hard to argue with the fact that that sounds nothing like a real name. "I mean, look at her. She's paler than Mark, and that's really hard to do."

"Maureen!" Cohen purrs a little more, enjoying what sounds like Mark getting his tail stepped on.

At least Roger is there to translate for him. "Why would you even think it's a girl?" he growls, and Cohen is pretty sure his fur would be standing up, too, if it weren't always standing up.

"I can just tell," Maureen says, scratching Cohen somewhere that makes him purr even though he should be clawing her eyes out for thinking he's a girl. "Look how cute she is. She has to be a girl. I can just tell these things."

"And you've been a lesbian how long, exactly?" So that's what an Ales Beeann is, Cohen thinks as he cocks his head slightly and looks over Maureen. Maybe it's just a human who doesn't have enough fur.

Maureen stops petting and stands back up, and in a second Mark is there, between the two. "We're going to lunch, Rog. Want to come along?" Cohen hisses when Mark's hand gets to close to Roger and he jerks it away. After he's sure Roger is safe from the blonde, he looks up at him, meowing a bit.

"Don't go with him," he says, despite the fact that Roger isn't even looking at him and certainly can't understand him. "He might try to attack you again, and no offense, but you weren't exactly fighting him off last time. What will you do without me there?"

For once Roger seems to get what Cohen is trying to tell him. "I'm not really hungry," he says, and Cohen can hear his stomach, but if Roger says he isn't hungry, maybe it will make Mark go away.

The blonde thing doesn't give up so easily. "Come anyway," he pushes, trying to touch Roger and getting his hand scratched at. It moves back pretty quickly.

"I said I didn't want to," Roger answers, moving Cohen slightly to protect him from Mark. It's a sweet thing to do, even if Roger never really fights Mark off, and clearly needs Cohen to save him.

"If he says he doesn't want to go, then he doesn't want to," Maureen says, wrapping an arm around Mark's to keep him back. Cohen decides that he likes this Maureen girl. After all, since she's been over Roger has mentioned Mark once, and she is obviously upsetting Mark, which Cohen appreciates. He should get her something, he thinks as he wiggles out of Roger's arms and lands on the windowsill, jumping down and being mostly ignored by the humans, who are now talking about someone named "Pookie" (probably a dog, with a name like that). He can't go home with her, because then who would protect Roger from cockroaches at night and clean his hands and make sure he napped some during the day? Still, this Maureen human deserves something special for distracting Roger from his other pet for a while.

Cohen is almost to Roger's room when he hears it. A slight scurrying in the walls. Cohen pauses, ears perking up as he waits for the sound to get closer. This is too perfect, he thinks as he stalks over to a nicely sized hole as quietly as he can, getting ready to pounce as he hears the rat sniff around for a way out of the wall.

"Fuck," Cohen growls, using a word he's learned from Roger, as the rat scurries further down the wall. He follows right after it into Mark's room as silently as he can. There it is, kind of small and curling up inside the tangles of Mark's blue and white collar. Cohen sneaks behind it, wiggling down into a position to pounce as he waits for the rat to stop jerking around. It's nervous, and it should be. This is Cohen's home, and he isn't going to let a rat in.

Steady, he tells himself, eyes gleaming in the dark as the rat finally starts to settle. Then he's pouncing, landing on the rat's hind legs with a hiss. It squeals and squirms, and Cohen's claws go everywhere as he tries to get them in the rat's skin. The collar and rat both get scratched up pretty bad, but in the end Cohen prances out of Mark's room with the animal in his mouth.

Proud of his victory, Cohen marches up to Maureen with her present hanging out of his mouth. He drops it at her feet, rubbing up against he leg to get her attention again. She's still trying to talk about her dog. "Oh, give up, pookie," she says, eyes slowly drifting downward as Cohen bats at her jeans. "He's - Fuck!"

Cohen jumps back as Maureen lets out a scream, looking away for whatever is causing the commotion as the panic unfolds around him. "Oh my God," Maureen says, clinging to the other new human who is slowly pulling her away. "Oh, God, a rat!"

"Where?" Cohen asks, lowering himself to the ground and sniffing the air to try and find the animal. The only thing he can see is Maureen's present. "Oh, no. That's dead," he assures her, hopping back onto the body and rolling it over to show where he'd sliced it open. "See? It's for you."

There is another scream, and two of the humans hurry out the door. "Wait!" Cohen says after them, watching as the blonde thing runs out to follow them out of the loft. "I can catch a bigger one, I just didn't have time, that's all."

There is a low, deep chuckle, and Cohen is being scooped up off the present and held against Roger's chest. "Good job, buddy." At least someone understands him.