AN: Sorry this chapter took so long! I've been really busy lately and haven't had much time to work on things like fanfiction. Ultimately, I just wanted to get this chapter finished so that I could stop feeling bad about it. I hope you like it!

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That afternoon found Mistoffelees right back where he had started: curled up in his pipe and hidden away from the outside world. The surrounding junkyard, with all its residents laughing and playing and chattering away about the successful Ball, was suddenly too happy and bright; the tuxedo tom needed to be alone so that he could nurse his broken heart in peace.

But, of course, as with everything in life, peace wouldn't come easily.

"Mistooo . . ." whined the incessant voice from outside. "Come on, little buddy. Come on out and talk to me."

"No," Misto growled firmly. Not even his tail-tip twitched; he was reduced to a talking lump of black-and-white fur. "Go away, Tugger."

"Please?" Tugger tried.

"Shove off," the lump replied.

For a moment, there was silence. But before Misto could breathe a sigh of relief, the sound of fur brushing against metal accompanied by uncomfortable grunts betrayed that Tugger had taken his "little buddy's" reticence as an invitation to come right in. Misto groaned in exasperation as he tried to block out the sound of the maned tom cursing as he navigated through the pipe.

"God, it's kind of a tight squeeze in here, isn't it?" The voice was getting closer. "Now I'm gonna have to do my mane all over again. Dammit."

"Yeah, well, maybe I like it this way," Misto grumbled. "It's big enough for me and keeps other annoyances out."

"We seriously need to work on your people skills, little guy," Tugger commented. "Where are you, anyway? It's so dark in here I can't see sh—" A sharp hiss cut him off as he crawled right over Misto's tail.

A white face peeped up and glared at Tugger. "Congratulations, you found me," Misto announced sarcastically. "What do you want?"

"I just wanna talk to you," Tugger answered, frowning. "I mean, you just came back from Victoria's place and went right in here without saying anyth—"

"I don't want to talk about it." The face disappeared again.

"It'll make you feel better if you tell someone about it," Tugger reasoned.

"What am I, a kitten?" Misto retorted. "Leave me alone, Tugger."

There was a short pause, but then: "That's Doctor Tugger to you." Misto could practically hear the grin in the maned tom's voice.

The tuxedo tom lifted his head slightly. "What the hell . . .? Tugger, if this is another one of your schemes to get me to try catnip—"

"Doctor Rum Tum Tugger, psychoanalyst!" Tugger declared proudly. "Here to talk to you about your problems so that you can have a better life!"

Misto stared at him. His expression clearly said "You have got to be kidding me", but nothing came out of his mouth from the shock of hearing Tugger use such a big word as "psychoanalyst".

Tugger just grinned right back at him. "We're gonna do this the right way, little buddy."

Finally finding his voice, Misto muttered, "You've been reading those human magazines again, haven't you?"

Ignoring him, Tugger attempted to sit up. "Right then – now, tell me what—" The dull bonk of his head hitting the top of the pipe promptly ended the sentence and Misto couldn't help but snicker. Tugger cursed under his breath and hunched over, rubbing his head with a paw. "Uh . . . could we do this outside?" he mumbled.

Misto lifted one eyebrow. There seemed to be no getting rid of the maned tom. He sat up halfway, leaning forward so as not to make the same mistake as Tugger, and heaved a sigh. "On one condition," he conceded, his front paws beginning to glow purple. "You drop the ridiculous human act." And with a cloud of purple sparks and a small POOF, they were seated outside the pipe, gazing out over the junkyard and all the cats in it once more.

Tugger let out a startled yelp at the sudden change of scenery and began blinking ferociously against the bright sunlight. Then he glanced at his mane, which was ruffled and dirty from being forced through the pipe, and made a disgusted noise. "God, I'm a mess," he complained, and proceeded to lick the tawny-colored fur clean. Meanwhile, Misto observed him with his arms crossed over his chest and one eyebrow elevated, obviously unamused.

It seemed to take a few seconds for Tugger to remember that Misto was there. When he did, he paused mid-lick and muttered, "Oh, right." He appeared to think for a moment, and then resumed his grooming, managing to get out between licks, "Now – tell me – in your own words – what happened."

Misto scowled. "What do you mean? You know what happened, don't you? I'm apparently the only cat in London who didn't know Victoria got mated to Plato last night."

"In your own words," Tugger repeated, sitting up straight and looking expectantly at the tuxedo tom. "Come on. Let it out."

Misto sighed heavily. "Fine. I woke up and everything was fine and dandy and I went to go talk to Victoria because we danced together at the Ball and I wanted to tell her how I really felt about her and when I got to her den she was screwing around with Plato who now apparently hates me and she told me it wouldn't work out between us so I came back here and went inside so I could be alone and then you came along wanting to know everything about it. End of story." He looked away, glaring at some unseen point at the edge of the clearing.

Tugger grinned, satisfied, and nodded. "There," he murmured. "Don't you feel better now that you've told someone?"

"No," Misto answered immediately. "What's your next brilliant idea, Doctor?"

Tugger hesitated. "But . . . but that was supposed to work," he protested. Obviously, reading the magazines he found laying around could only get him so far. "I guess—"

"Tugger! There you are!" The sound of another voice sent a wave of relief over the maned tom's "patient". Munkustrap quickened his pace and made his way over to the two toms. "How's—oh." He stopped at the sight of Misto facing away from Tugger and flicking his tail angrily. The tabby tom sighed. "Misto, is he annoying you?"

"Yes," Misto replied, and at the same time Tugger blurted out "No!"

Munkustrap eyed his brother skeptically and sat down with the two of them. "I'm sorry," he muttered to Misto. "I told him not to do anything stupid . . ."

"I didn't!" Tugger protested, but both toms ignored him. "Easier said than done for him," Misto grumbled.

"I know," Munkustrap conceded. "My fault for thinking I could trust him, I suppose."

"Hey!" Tugger cut in sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. "My little buddy needs help! I tried, okay?"

"What did you do?" Munkustrap interrogated, raising an eyebrow.

"I got him to talk about what happened," Tugger answered with a hint of pride in his voice. "It's what all the professionals do."

"He tried to pull some human doctor crap he read about in a magazine," Misto clarified, glancing at Munkustrap and then glaring at Tugger, who shrunk back.

Munkustrap let his face drop into one paw. "I should have known," he mumbled. "Tugger, no more reading magazines for a month, okay?"

"What?!" Tugger burst out. "But that's not fair—"

"Thanks, Munku," Misto muttered dully.

"Hey, don't encourage him!" Tugger scolded.

Misto and Munkustrap both glared at him. "Shut up, Tugger," they said at the same time. Tugger ducked his ears and sat back with a frustrated "Hmph."

Munkustrap turned to the tuxedo tom and sighed. "Sorry about that. Are you all right, Misto?"

"Not really," Misto mumbled, avoiding the tabby tom's gaze. "I want to be alone. But apparently even that's asking too much . . ."

Munkustrap glanced at Tugger and frowned. "They say time cures any ailment," he mused. "Things will get better, Misto. You have my word on that. If you need some time to yourself, you can have it. I'll let the tribe know not to bother you." After receiving an appreciative look from the tuxedo tom, he rose to his paws and beckoned to his brother. "That means you too, Tugger."

Tugger stood as well, albeit reluctantly. "If you still feel like you want to talk about it," he hinted, "I'm always here." He flashed a grin that Misto didn't return, and then followed Munkustrap away.

Scarcely a moment passed before a shrill squeal of "TUGGER!" erupted from somewhere in the clearing. A swarm of queen-kits converged on the maned tom, who promptly seemed to forget about caring about Misto's problems.

Misto rolled his eyes. "Of course you are, Doctor," he sneered to himself, and turned to retreat back into his pipe. But at the sight of another cat approaching him, he paused. One of Tugger's fanclub seemed to have separated from the rest; as she drew closer, Misto recognized Jemima, the tiniest member of the Jellicle Tribe. The previous night had been her first Ball; it had been disputed whether or not she was even old enough to attend, but as the night wore on, she had managed to astound her tribemates with her sweet singing voice and her wisdom that seemed far beyond her years. It was obvious that she was well on her way to becoming the tribe's resident sweetheart. Curious as to what she could possibly want with him rather than Tugger, Misto stayed put as she came up to him and sat down.

"Hi, Mister Mistoffelees," she mewed shyly in a voice that was as tiny as she was.

"Hi, Jemima," he answered, making an effort to sound cordial. "You were great at the Ball last night."

Jemima blushed. "Thanks," she managed, averting her eyes to the ground. "So were you . . . I mean, with bringing back Old Deuteronomy and everything. I can tell you don't think what you did was all that great, but to the rest of us it was. It really meant a lot."

Despite his sour mood, Misto couldn't help but smile the slightest bit. "Well . . . thank you," he replied modestly. "It's nice to feel appreciated sometimes."

The queen-kit looked up, surprised. "Cats appreciate you, Mister Mistoffelees," she told him. "You're brilliant. You probably just don't realize it because you're so used to your own talents that you take them for granted."

Now it was Misto's turn to be surprised. In one sentence, Jemima had managed to fit more comfort and profundity than Tugger had during their entire "discussion". "I . . . I guess so," he murmured after a pause, not sure what else to say while her words sunk in. "But call me Misto."

Jemima giggled sheepishly. "Okay . . . Misto. I just wanted to say—" She trailed off as another tom approached, confusion in his blue eyes. Jemima blinked up at him. "Hi, Alonzo," she mewed.

"Hi," Alonzo responded. "What are you doing over here? Munkustrap was just saying not to bother Misto right now."

The smile on the tuxedo tom's face began to fade. "She wasn't bothering me," he tried to protest, but Alonzo shook his head. "Munkustrap said you needed time alone," he countered. "So, we'll let you be alone." He offered a paw to Jemima. "Come on. Tugger and your friends are waiting for you."

Jemima took his paw and obediently let him lead her away, giving Misto a quick apologetic look as she left. Misto drooped. For one short moment while they talked, his thoughts hadn't been centered around Victoria. For one short moment, he'd almost been happy. But the moment was gone as quickly as it came, marching off to join the fanclub for Doctor Rum Tum Tugger, psychoanalyst. With a heavy sigh as he returned to the real world, Misto just shook his head and turned around, slinking back into his pipe lest the outside world get the better of him.