Tugger hated the nighttime watch shift.

Cut that, he hated every watch shift.

Tugger was one of those cats that needed to be occupied by something or someone. He didn't know why Munk decided to punish him tonight, but what he did know was sitting on a pile of broken car parts staring out into the abyss for hours on end was not his idea of a good time.

Sure, it was true the Maine Coon was still figuring out this whole adulthood thing, but he was only young once, right? In the nine months he had now spent out of the nursery, he experienced more than he ever thought possible. Bars and clubs and queens and toms...

He groaned.

Why was he here again?

Oh right, his brother was neurotic and intent on ruining his good time.

He could be going out right now. He could be sniffing some nip right now. He could be getting laid right now. He could be...

"Tugger?"

The leopard spotted tom turned around to find Plato climbing towards him.

Speaking of adulting…

The kit was only two months out of the nursery, but unlike Tugger he actually seemed upset about leaving. He theorized it might have something to do with his attachment towards the snowball kit whose name he kept forgetting.

"Are you here to relieve me from my misery?" he asked as the young tom came closer to the lookout perch.

"I'm actually kind of excited...I mean this is the first time I've gotten the overnight watch shift! Can you imagine? I'm responsible for the safety of the entire tribe and..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tugger cut in as he began his decent. "Fantastic. Actually, you know what? I bet you'd do such a fine job that maybe the tribe would be better off if you would take the rest of my shifts from now on."

"Really?"

"Oh yes," he said, trying not to cut himself on the broken glass of a car window.

"But do you think..."

"Sorry, kit!" he yelled as he hit the grass. "Can't hear you from down here!"

Tugged hurried away before Plato could utter another sound. He was finally free now, and he was hungry.

No, starving.

If Tugger was wise, he might have saved some mice from his hunt this morning to eat later. But again, he was still getting used to this whole adulthood thing. Foresight wasn't really in his repertoire. He contemplated going back out again, but it was awfully late now and trying to hunt in the dark just wasn't on the table for him.

Alright, maybe there were some things he appreciated about the nursery. Like not having to feed yourself.

Or not having any responsibilities. Oh, those were the days...

He was just contemplating that last thought when he heard the pitter-patter of tiny paws.

Wait…

Yes, it was dark and he was tired, but...

Did he just see a mouse run by?

Inside camp.

It was a sign!

Tigger jumped on all fours and chased after the little brownish fur-ball through the center of the junkyard straight into the...

Oh.

The pipe. That's where it came from.

Most of the cats ignored the strange metal tube that lay right next to the somehow-still-functioning oven. Apparently it connected to the sewers which was why Percy blocked it off a while back to prevent whatever resides in there from coming into camp.

But Tugger was not one to give up so easily. He was hungry, and he was going to eat something tonight.

He squeezed himself into the pipe, trying not to let the lingering smell of sewage bother him. He could still hear the mouse's squeaks from further down and began to nimbly inch his way forward. The pipe increased in diameter the farther down he got, making it easier for the Maine Coon to navigate.

His journey was cut short, however, when his face made contact with...with what? Some kind of metal thing.

Oh, that must have been what Percy installed.

Tugger could still see the mouse, he thought. It was almost pitch black in there, but he swore he could see fur, or...or wait a second...

No, that creature was far too big to be a mouse.

Actually, he recognized that scent.

"Quaxo?"

The little tux was pressed up against the grate, completely motionless.

What was he doing out here? Was he okay?

"Quaxo?" he asked again, a little more forcefully.

The furry mass didn't move, didn't even acknowledge him in the slightest.

Tugger could feel his heart drop into his stomach.

Was he injured? Sick? Dying?

No. No, Quaxo was fine. He had to be fine.

Tugger stuck as much of his paw through the slits of the grate, barely touching the fur on the little tux's back.

Everlasting, he was cold.

Freezing, even.

But Tugger could at least perceive the slight rise and fall of his chest.

He...he was alive.

Tugger let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding.

"Quaxo? C'mon answer me, sparkles."

He tried to shake him awake, but couldn't quite fit his paw far enough through.

Still no answer, only a barely perceptible moan that reinforced that there was life within him.

It had to be magic, Tugger not-so-confidently concluded.

Somehow, Quaxo must have teleported himself out of camp and ended up in the wrong place. The question thereby remained - how was he going to get him out of the pipe? The London sewers were vast, there was no way he would be able to navigate them to this exact location before Quaxo froze to death.

Maybe he could use brute force?

Taking a step back, the Maine Coon grabbed the bars of the metal barrier and began to pull with whatever strength he had left in him. What greeted him was an awful wheezing sound as the bars began to bend under the pressure.

Tugger let go, gasping for breath. He could potentially rip the metal thing out of the pipe. It was entirely feasible.

But he couldn't do it alone.

He bent over, stroking Quaxo's fur to the best of his ability.

"I'll be right back, okay? Just stay there."

There was again no response, but Tugger didn't stop to wait for one as he exited the metal tube.

#

In situations such as these, the first cat he would have thought to go to would be Munk. He hated to admit it, but his brother always had a knack of getting cats out of sticky situations.

But Munk was also under a fair amount of self-imposed stress right now, and telling him that his favorite tux was trapped in a pipe might actually put him in cardiac arrest. Not to mention that Munk would assuredly find some way to blame Tugger for what happened and he wasn't about to be set up for more overnight shifts or dawn patrols.

Alright, so now what?

Alonzo was out, he would immediately tell Munk. As was Admetus, who had problems with keeping his mouth shut. Demeter would tell Jenny, Plato was on watch...

Everlasting, he needed more friends.

Tugger found himself running low on options until finally settling on the last cat he wanted to admit he needed help in front of.

"Bomba?"

The red queen groaned, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

"What?" she grumbled irritably, eyeing him up and down.

"I..." he paused, half tempted to go back and just try to get Quaxo out himself.

Oh, get over your pride.

"I need your help," he mumbled, trying not to make eye contact.

"Excuse me?"

"I said I need..."

"Do you know what time it is, Tugger?" she cut in tiredly.

"I'm know," he responded, acutely aware of every passing minute. "I wouldn't be asking if it wasn't urgent."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Well, what is it, then?"

He cleared his throat, finding sudden interest in the ground.

"Tugger..." she repeated, sounding more than annoyed at being woken up.

"Quaxo's stuck in the pipe."

Silence.

Bomba blinked. Then blinked again. And finally laid her head back down.

"I'm going back to bed."

"I'm being serious!" he pleaded. "He's in trouble, Bomb..."

"He's tiny! The pipe is perfectly big enough for..."

"He's stuck on the other side of that metal thing Percy put in," he cut in quickly.

That caught her attention.

Bomba frowned, rising back up.

"How?"

"I don't know."

"I mean...he had to have snuck out right?"

Tugger shifted uncomfortably.

"Well..."

"Actually, that's kind of hilarious," she interrupted, frown turning into a smile. "Does Munk know that his kit is going out into town? Is that why you came to me and not him?"

"Uh, yeah. Exactly."

She stood up, letting out a yawn.

"Gotta give him credit," she finally said, making her way towards the exit of her den. "The kit's what...ten months? I didn't start sneaking out until I was at least a year."

"Yeah, that's great. Can we get moving, please?"

Every second that they stayed here was another second that Quaxo remained stuck in the pipe. The walk, luckily, wasn't terribly far, and the two cats eased their way into the metal tube.

"It smells," Bomba grumbled. "You owe me."

"Well, I can think of several ways how I can make it up to you..." he murmured, noting how close her body was to his.

She chose to ignore him as they approached the grate. Quaxo was fortunately still there, looking as though he hadn't moved in the time he had been gone. Bomba bent down, trying to get a good look at him.

"Is he dead?"

Tugger froze.

What?

"Of course he's not..." he stuttered.

Bomba rolled her eyes.

"I was joking you idiot. He's breathing fine."

Tugger could feel his stomach being tied up in knots.

"That wasn't funny," he mumbled.

Bomba's gaze softened.

"You really care about him, don't you?"

"He saved me Bombs," he murmured, glancing back at Quaxo's still form. "I'll always care about him."

"From that pollicle? How..."

"It doesn't matter," he cut in quickly, grasping the bars. "Can you help me pull? I've already loosened it a bit."

The red queen looked like she wanted to question him further, but decided against it. She rose up on two legs and grabbed the bars adjacent to him.

"Ready."

It took some time, and some effort. Neither cats were in particularly bad shape, but the grate was melded tight into the pipe. Percy clearly knew what he was doing when he placed it in there. Tugger could hear the creaking and scratching sounds as the metal began to snap, and with one last tug, the two of them finally yanked the grate from its previous position and it hit the ground with a clang.

Bomba sank to her knees again, breathing heavily.

"Did I mention you owe me? You owe me."

Tugger could barely hear her as he quickly made his way to the small tuxedo laying sprawled out on the ground.

"Quax? You good buddy?" he asked, shaking his shoulder gently.

He was greeted with a soft moan.

"Bombs he's freezing," Tugger said frantically. "We need to...how...I don't..."

He turned to the red queen, trying not to show the panic on his face. The Rum Tum Tugger always kept his cool. But...he hated this feeling. He hated feeling like a stupid kitten again who needed to turn to the adults for help.

Except he was an adult, wasn't he?

Sometimes...sometimes it really didn't feel like it.

"Lick his fur in the opposite direction," she instructed, her eyes never leaving his. "It'll warm him up."

Tugger complied immediately, and he could feel Quaxo squirming beneath him as his tongue made contact with his fur.

"Sorry sparkles," he mumbled in-between licks. "But I'm helping you, I promise."

It took maybe a minute, perhaps slightly longer, before Quaxo's eyes snapped open.

"Stop it," he whined, trying to escape from Tugger's clutches. "I don't like baths."

He let out a sigh of relief as Bomba came in beside him to inspect the small tux. She sniffed at him cautiously before stepping back, looking like she was trying to hold in laughter.

"What?" Tugger asked.

"Well...I think I know why your little buddy there passed out in a sewer."

"It's because of the cold..."

"He's plastered, Tug."

"Huh?"

She couldn't hold back her laughter any more.

Tugger felt himself growing rather warm.

"What's so funny?"

Her laughing continued.

"Bombs!"

She sniffled, trying to regain composure.

"He's drunk," she said, trying hard not to smile.

What?

"No...no, Quaxo doesn't drink..."

"He snuck out for a good time, chugged a bear and passed out in a sewer. Honestly? Good for him. Happens to the best of us."

"Quaxo doesn't drink," Tugger repeated, feeling slightly less confident.

Bomba rolled her eyes.

"Smell his breath if you don't believe me."

Tugger shot her a glare before turning back around.

"Quaxo...how did you get in the sewer?

The young tux cracked open an eyelid.

"The grey lady queen took me here," he mumbled.

"The...who?"

"She said I was gonna have a h-a-g-n-o-v-r 'cuz of the yellow stuff I drank."

"Is he…spelling?" Bomba asked confusedly.

Tugger shrugged.

"He does that."

"Then she took me to the sewers so I can get home..." Quaxo continued. "And..."

"Look kit," Bomba cut in. "We know you snuck out, just fess up already."

"It's not my fault," Quaxo whined, trying to stand up but ended up face planting into Tugger's side. "I t-e-l-l-p-o-t-r-e-d wrong and got stuck out here."

Tugger shared a glance with Bomba.

"What?" they both said in unison.

"I t-l-e-l-p-o-r-t-d and..."

"Neither of us speak that, tux," Tugger said, feeling rather impatient.

"I teleported outside and then I tried..."

"Quaxo!" Tugger cut in hastily, shoving his tail in his mouth.

Bomba furrowed her eyebrows.

"Tele-what?"

"It's uh...it's French," Tugger stuttered. "For...uh...walk. He...he walked out of the junkyard."

"Not it's not!" Quaxo cried, spitting Tugger's tail out of his mouth. "I used magic..."

"He what?"

"Quaxo shut it!" he hissed under his breath, turning back around to face Bomba.

"You're right, Bombs. He's drunk. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"Yes I do!"

"We should get him home and..."

"Tugger..." Bomba whispered.

"And...well he can sleep it off in my den..."

"Tugger, he's..."

"And I'll deal with him in the morning..."

"Tugger!" Bomba exclaimed. "Turn around!"

"What?" he cried, whipping around.

Oh, for the love of...

Quaxo was lit up in every color of the rainbow.

"Munkus says I look like a c-r-h-i-s-m-a-s t-r-e-e," he giggled before falling flat on his face.

Tugger swept the fallen tux with his tail and pressed him against his side before turning back to Bomba.

"Look Bombs...he's special, alright? But I promise he's not like him."

Bomba just stood there, eyes laser focused on Quaxo.

"Bomba..."

She cleared her throat, still looking slightly uncomfortable.

"How long did you know?"

"Remember that pollicle thing? I wasn't lying when I said he saved me."

"Oh, you idiot..."

She trailed off.

"I mean...well, does anyone else know about this? I can name several cats who would be decidedly unwelcoming..."

"Just Munk and Deme."

Tugger paused.

"Well, and Jenny. I mean, she's his mother, after all. Also I think he told that snowball kit too, but I'm not entirely sure."

"Demeter knows?"

Tugger nodded.

"And...she's okay with it?"

"Honestly? She handled it much better than my brother did."

Bomba gave him a soft smile.

"She never fails to amaze me."

"So...I mean, are you alright with...with him?"

A second of silence passed as Bomba's gaze fluctuated between Quaxo and Tugger.

"If Demeter trusts him than I trust him," she finally said.

"And I trust you'll tell no one else?"

Her gaze hardened.

"I won't tell."

Tugger breathed a sigh of relief.

"But Tug," she warned, glancing back at the sparkling tux, "secrets only grow."

Tugger sighed.

"I know, Bombs."

He turned back to Quaxo, who seemed entirely content pressing up against the Maine Coon's long fur.

"I guess you'll be staying in my den tonight, yes?"

Quaxo mumbled something incoherent in return.

"Can he walk?" Bomba asked.

"Doubt it."

He scooped the tux up and started towards the exit of the pipe.

"We're going to have to fix the grate, you know."

"You see Bombs, that sounds like a tomorrow problem."

"It is tomorrow, you dolt."

"Well…a later tomorrow problem."

The three of them squeezed through the entrance of the pipe, which led out to the center of the junkyard.

"I'm dying," Quaxo moaned.

"Is that so?"

"I feel sick."

"Don't we all?."

"My mental faculties have been compromised."

"My...wait, what?"

Quaxo groaned again, screwing his eyes shut.

"I'm dying," he repeated.

Tugger chuckled.

"You're not dying."

Tugger couldn't deny that it was cold outside, however. And if it was cold for him, then it must have been even worse for short haired cats like Quaxo. Spending a night in the sewer probably would have left him with a nasty head cold, or perhaps something even worse.

With that thought in mind he quickened his pace as the tux borrowed himself comfortably in the larger cat's mane.

It didn't take long to reach his den, and Tugger gently placed Quaxo down near the corner. Unlike Munk, he did not have an abundance of blankets lying around. He grabbed the one blanket he did have and draped it over the little tux, who fell asleep during the last part of the journey home.

"Won't you get cold?" Bomba asked.

"He...needs it more than I do."

Tugger could feel his stomach growling, and he thought back to the mouse he chased into the pipe.

"Hey Bombs..." he asked sweetly. "I don't suppose you have any spare mice lying around?"

She raised her eyebrows.

"You seriously don't keep any extra?"

"You know...I find thinking about the future takes away from the now."

"You got hungry and ate them all, didn't you?"

"That's...so not the point."

His stomach growled again.

"Please?"

She sighed.

"Fine. But you owe me twice."

She looked at Quaxo in the corner.

"And I'll bring him some water as well. He's going to need it."

She left the den and Tugger sank to the floor, feeling a sudden onset of exhaustion.

Maybe it was the sound of Quaxo's steady breathing, but he could already feel his eyelids drooping, further and further down before...

"Tugger!"

His eyes snapped open to see Bomba standing in front of him, mouse in one paw and bowl of water in another.

Did he really just fall asleep?

And...why was she smiling?"

"What?" he asked weakly.

"Where's Quaxo?"

"Huh?"

Her smile grew.

"Where's Quaxo?" she repeated.

"He's right over..."

Oh no.

Quaxo was not in the corner where he left him. Then where…?

Tugger tried to rise up when he suddenly felt an extra weight on his back. Craning his neck, he found a black and white ball laying comfortably on top of him.

That little...

Bomba chuckled.

"That kitten was comatose when I left here ten minutes ago. How in the world did he end up on top of you?"

Tugger sighed, laying his head back down.

"I dunno. He just does it?"

"You mean he's done it before?"

"Yup."

More silence.

"What?" Tugger asked irritably.

"The Rum Tum Tugger doesn't care for a cuddle, huh?"

"Oh, for the love of..."

"You've grown soft."

"I have not!"

"You nearly threw a fit when Tumblebrutus touched your mane on accident, yet your little buddy here is all up in it and you don't..."

"Do you have a point?" Tugger growled. "The tux treats me like a pillow or a personal heater. And if I try to take him off of me he give me these doe eyes! How can I say no to that?"

"You've grown soft..." Bomba hummed, smile still plastered on her face.

Tugger shot her a glare before unhooking Quaxo from his back and placing him on the far end of the room. It took maybe a minute for him to blink open his eyes and look around confusedly before making his way back to Tugger.

The Maine Coon could feel his little claws digging into his fur as if to say..."this area is mine and you will not take me away again."

Tugger looked back up at Bomba with an "I told you so" glare, and subsequently laid his head back down.

"You two are adorable."

"Can you leave now?"

"You never let me lay on you like..."

"Bomba!"

"Alright, alright," she laughed.

"Here's your mouse and the water. Oh and remember," she said, stepping out of the exit, "you owe me!"

Tugger sighed, the exhaustion overwhelming him. Overnight shift sucked. It was probably close to morning now and Munk would be in here yelling at him about something and he was tired and irritable and hungry and...

"Tugger?"

He's still awake?

"What is it?"

The little tux yawned, shifting up closer towards Tugger's mane.

"Thank you for rescuing me," he mumbled softly.

Even if he was hungry and tired and smelled a bit from the sewer, Tugger still couldn't help but smile as he closed his eyes once again.

"No problem, sparkles."