AN: My deepest and sincerest apologies to have kept you waiting so long for this chapter! The past five months (Heaviside, has it really been that long?!) have been hectic, to say the least, and have left me extremely limited time to work on things like fanfiction. But things are slowing down now, and hopefully the chapters will begin to come more quickly from now on. I really hope you enjoy this and aren't too mad at me for the dearth of updates!

Also, I've made the executive decision that the sequel to this story, All Over Again, will be discontinued and taken down. The elements of that story that are most worth saving will be incorporated into this one, but I feel that by the time this story is done, a sequel just won't be worth it.

Enough of my rambling, though. Enjoy the chapter; I hope it's at least somewhat worth the wait!

-x-X-x-

Life is seldom fair. Mistoffelees was learning that the hard way. No matter what, there will always be unequal opportunities and there will always be favoritism. There will always be talents overlooked and love unrequited. Even to the best and kindest cats, bad things are bound to happen. And there's nothing that can be done about it. When life rears its ugly head, the best strategy is simply to endure, to make the most of what you're given until the clouds begin to part. Things may get worse before they get better, but they will get better – it's just a matter of waiting. In order to see the rainbow, you must first brave the storm.

On this particular day, a month after the Jellicle Ball, Mistoffelees was off in a corner of the junkyard doing what he did best: dancing. When he danced, it was so easy for the magical cat to lose himself in what he was doing, to let the rest of the world fade into the background. For that fleeting moment, his problems didn't exist, and the dance was all that mattered. And for that fleeting moment, he was able to let himself believe that things really were that simple.

The truth has a tendency to resist simplicity, though. Things had seemed to be getting better – it had only taken a couple of days before Misto was willing to come out of his pipe and socialize with other cats once again. Within a week, he was laughing and smiling just as he used to, and all seemed forgotten and forgiven. The hole that Victoria had left in him had felt like it was closing, but then it had been ripped back open when it was announced that the white queen was pregnant with Plato's kitten.

Misto had tried telling himself it didn't matter. Victoria wasn't a part of his life anymore; he'd moved on. But thinking that way just made the hole in him hurt more. There seemed to be some stubborn part of him that still wanted to love her, even if the news had chased away any chances of winning her back. And that stubborn sense of longing was what made it hurt the most.

He needed an escape now more than ever. And so he danced. The announcement had been made a few days ago now, but it still hurt. Misto had been choosing to spend as much time as he could alone, lest Doctor Rum Tum Tugger, psychoanalyst try to make him his "patient" again. Currently, the tuxedo tom was hidden away in a little alcove almost completely walled in by garbage – alone and away from prying eyes. His eyes were closed, giving him a deceptively peaceful appearance as he absently twirled around with seemingly impossible grace for someone with so much on his mind. There was the slightest smile on his face as his own dance worked its unique kind of magic on him. That was one thing Misto knew he could rely on – his dancing could somehow always cure what ailed him.

He didn't know that he was performing for an audience.

As his little routine, which he'd made up on the spot, came to an end, Misto's eyes eased open. He glanced around with a slight sigh, but then did a double-take and froze mid-step. A pair of wide blue eyes was peeping out at him from the entrance to the alcove. Misto let out a startled shout and instinctively fired off a bolt of electricity in the direction of the intruder, stumbling awkwardly as he did so. The other cat gave a responding shriek and ducked down; the bolt struck a heap of junk above her head and exploded into a cloud of sparks that showered to the ground and quickly fizzled out. Bits of garbage toppled off the pile and onto the ground, thin wisps of smoke rising from where the bolt had singed them. Having regained his footing, Misto glanced up to see a tiny dark calico kitten emerge shyly from behind the junk heap, her ears ducked in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Mister Mistoffelees," she mewed quietly, daring a glance up at him before staring at one of the scraps of garbage on the ground. A faint pink blush could be seen tinting her cheeks.

Recognizing the kitten, Misto quickly relaxed and forced his fur to lie flat. "It's all right, Jemima," he mumbled. "I didn't think there was anyone watching . . . you just startled me, that's all."

The kitten opened her mouth, but before she could speak again, Misto quickly added, "And I've told you – call me Misto."

Jemima smiled a tiny smile. "You dance so beautifully, Misto," she told him timidly. "I'm sorry for intruding . . . but I saw you come over here all by yourself and I wondered what you were doing. I didn't realize you still wanted to be alone."

"Oh – no, it's fine," Misto insisted. "You can stay if you want. There are some cats I'm trying to avoid more than others, but you're not one of them." After a short pause, he hastily added, "Thanks for the compliment."

Jemima nodded. "You're welcome," she responded.

Another few seconds passed, and neither of the two young cats seemed to know what else to say. In an attempt to disperse the awkwardness, Misto padded over to the edge of the alcove where there was a tumbled pile of old books. He sat down on a faded hardcover and swished his tail over the spot next to him, inviting the queen-kit to join him. As Jemima made her way over, the tuxedo tom asked, "So, what brought you here to see me?"

"Well . . . I wanted to check on you," Jemima admitted as she delicately sat down. "We haven't seen very much of you at all since . . . the news."

"Yeah." Misto looked away, and his voice was dull as he spoke. "That."

Jemima's ears drooped. "I know it must have been hard for you to hear that," she murmured sympathetically. "You seemed to be doing so well, too. Just when we all thought you were finally back to normal . . ."

"And I thought so, too," Misto sighed. "I guess I shouldn't have gotten my hopes up."

A look of pity flashed across Jemima's face. "Oh, don't say that," she urged him. "Things will get better, Mister– Misto. They always do."

Her innocent slip-up as she spoke his name brought a suggestion of a smile to Misto's face, but it didn't last long. "I know things will get better," he muttered. "I just wish I knew when."

Jemima blinked. After a moment of silence, she quietly suggested, "I believe that things will be better as soon as you're ready for them to be."

Misto looked at her with a frown. "What do you mean? I'm ready now."

"Are you?" Their eyes locked for a heartbeat. Misto was the one to look away, but he could feel the queen-kit's gaze still resting on him. Jemima continued: "If you want things to get better, you need to be ready to move on and accept the things that you can't change. If there's something you're not willing to let go of, then you're not truly ready."

Misto opened his mouth to defend himself, but no words came to him. Jemima was right. He wasn't ready to let go of Victoria. To admit defeat. To move on.

As if she'd read his thoughts, Jemima went on, "It's Victoria who's holding you back. You still want her to love you and can't accept that she doesn't. But you don't need her in order to be happy, Misto. You have it good in your life. There's a whole tribe full of cats who adore you and your talents. You've got cats who are willing to help you through this. There's Munkustrap, who's like a father to you. There's Tugger . . ." She trailed off, and Misto looked at her with one eyebrow raised. "He's . . . well . . . he tries. And then you do have me . . ."

Misto blinked. "You?" he murmured. "You care that much?"

"I want to see you get over this as much as anyone," Jemima answered sweetly. "I can't stand seeing cats upset. Especially not when they have so many reasons to be happy."

The conversation died away, and Misto was left in thoughtful silence. He couldn't argue with that. He supposed it was rather selfish of him to let one cat have this much of an effect on him when there were so many others he was as good as ignoring. The past was the past, wasn't it? Victoria was just a part of that past now. He couldn't continue to live his life revolving around her.

But if that was really true, why did it still hurt so much when he tried to convince himself of it?

"You need to get your mind off of her," Jemima's voice cut into his thoughts, as if she was reading his mind. Again. "Pain is only in your head, Misto. If you fall and scrape your knee, it only hurts when you think about it."

Misto stared at her. "How do you do that?" he finally asked.

The most innocent look of confusion crossed Jemima's face. "Do what?"

"How do you always know exactly the right thing to say at exactly the right time? What you just said sounds like something you'd expect to hear from Old Deuteronomy."

Jemima giggled. Her giggle sounded like all the best parts of a bird's song. "I just pay attention, that's all," she mewed simply.

"To . . .?"

She shrugged. "Everything. You can learn a lot from just watching what goes on around you."

With a quiet sigh, Misto just shook his head, although there was a smile on his face as he said, "You're something else, Jemima."

A faint red tint painted the queen-kit's cheeks. "Says the one with magical powers," she teased.

Able to feel his smile growing, Misto playfully retorted, "Yeah? I could spend a year watching what goes on around me and I still couldn't come up with something half as profound as that."

Jemima smiled up at him in return. "Oh, don't undermine yourself," she told him sweetly. "I could spend lots of years practicing and I still couldn't dance or do magic half as well as you."

"Stop that," Misto half-chuckled, giving the queen-kit a gentle nudge with his shoulder.

She nudged him back. "You stop first."

"All right, all right!" A laugh forced its way from Misto's throat. "You win. Let's just agree that no one can do everything . . . but everyone can do something, right?"

Jemima blinked. "That's a pretty intelligent observation," she pointed out. "See, Misto? You have more potential than you give yourself credit for."

"I guess," Misto granted. "But I don't like to seem like I'm showing off. During the Ball . . . what you saw was Tugger's doing. He told me beforehand to be more 'showy' than usual for the night, and so I did. And I guess the attention was nice, but I dunno. It kinda made me feel like I was asking for praise, which I didn't like."

"We have a lot in common," Jemima observed quietly. Shyly, almost.

"We do," Misto agreed just as quietly.

The two young cats lapsed into silence once again. Misto fidgeted, wondering whether he should say something else, but a few seconds later the decision was made for him. A tortoiseshell kitten about Jemima's age came scampering into the garbage-walled alcove, and, seeing her friend, skidded to a stop. "Jem! There you are!"

The sudden voice made Misto jump before he recognized his half-sister Electra. "Heaviside, Lec," he muttered, affectionate but annoyed. "A warning would've been nice."

Electra tipped her head to one side. "Why? Did I interrupt somethin'?"

Misto exchanged a glance with Jemima and ducked his ears. "Well, no," he answered. "Not really. But still . . ."

His sister looked skeptical as she glanced back and forth between the two cats in front of her. "Mm-hmm," she murmured. "Well, Jem, Alonzo's looking for you. You just kinda disappeared and he's getting worried – or maybe just annoyed. I dunno. Hard to tell with him. But you should prob'ly go find him."

Jemima sighed, but nodded obediently as she rose to her paws. "Okay," she said simply. She glanced back at Misto and promised, "We'll talk later." And she was gone.

It took Misto a moment to realize that Electra was still there after Jemima left. At first, he simply stared in the direction Jemima had disappeared, but then he gradually became conscious of his sister looking at him. He shook his head and looked back at her, and arched an eyebrow. "What?"

Electra smirked. "I've seen that look before," she told him.

"What look?" The defensive tone in his own voice took Misto by surprise.

"That dreamy look you just had," Electra elaborated. "You used to get that look all the time when you were around Victoria."

Instantly, Misto's face began to grow hot. "I . . . I don't know what you're talking about," he lied, avoiding his sister's eyes.

"Sure you don't," Electra snickered. "Don't worry, though, big brother – I won't tell her." Leaving it at that, she scampered away before Misto could argue.

Misto heaved a sigh. Not having much else to think about, his mind drifted back to what had just happened. For a kitten who talked so little, Jemima certainly said a lot. He wondered if other cats knew how smart the young queen was; why should cats like him get so much attention when there was an unrecognized genius like her in his wake?

A tiny smile wound its way onto his face. Jemima was so modest and courteous despite her gift. She was brilliant, but she kept quiet about it. Misto wondered why he'd never noticed how similar the two of them were to each other, but his smile faded as the answer came to him: Victoria. His infatuation with the white queen had blinded him to everything else that was going on around him. Jemima had knocked the truth into him, and now that she was gone, the pain that came with that truth was catching up to him.

Brow furrowing, Misto pushed himself up and made his way back to the middle of the alcove, where he began to dance again. While Jemima was there, for a moment nothing had hurt. Everything had felt right again. But that moment was over now; it had left with her. Now, Misto was on his own again, left alone with his pain and with even more on his mind than he'd had to begin with.