Author Note: Good morning y'all! I'm a relatively new author in this group and on this site, but I've got twice as much stuff on AO3. If you like this type of thing, please leave a constructive comment. I'd like to know how I can improve. This was supposed to be humorous, and turned out a lot heavier than expected.
I've got several stories in backlog, so there is going to hopefully be a semi-steady stream? We'll see as time goes. For now, enjoy
"WHAT!?"
"Please, Plato. I know it's a lot to ask last minute, but you're the only tom that we trust with this." Munkustrap did understand just how much of an ask it was, and he desperately didn't want to have to ask anyone, but their back up plans were all exhausted.
"B-but… I… Are you sure no one else can?" Plato was impressed he hadn't dissolved into a puddle from the heat that was rising in his chest and the way his nerves were flying at the speed of sound. He was honoured, to be sure. The Jellicle Guardian had just admitted that he trusted him, a tom who was still practically a kit, with his mate. But it was rather buried beneath a hoard of fear and nerves.
"Yes. We are sure, and there isn't anyone that we'd trust to dance with her more than you." There were, but Plato didn't need to know that. He just needed to know they trusted him. Hopefully.
"Why can't you dance with her?" He needed a way out. Yesterday.
"I need to stand by and watch over the kittens and Old Deuteronomy. Otherwise, I would."
"But… Sh-shouldn't Alonzo be the one-"
"He's dancing with Cassandra this year."
"Skimble?"
"He's dancing with a few of the other toms. Otherwise, he'd love too." Looks like he's going to find out anyway.
"Surely Asparagus?" He was running out of cats.
"He would, but he's too old. Said so himself, and he's going to be watching the theatre while his father's here for his number." He had been the first, since he and Jelly were practically Demeter's parents.
"What about Tugger?" He winced as soon as he said it, not even wanting to witness the withering glare that the Guardian was no doubt sending him. And send him, Munkustrap did.
"No." There was no explanation offered. There was none needed. Tugger and Demeter got along about as well as a fish and air. Keeping them apart was one of the many things the Junk-yard cats tried to do regularly, lest a serious fight break out between the two. Verbal or physical.
"Is… is there really no one else?" Though he opened his eyes, he didn't make Munkustrap's There had to be some Jellicle who could, he'd already made arrangements and Mistoffelees would have his head if something didn't go perfectly right!
A heavy sigh escaped Munkustrap then, beginning to worry if this was the correct choice himself. "Yes, Plato. I wouldn't ask if there were. If you're not comfortable with dancing, then I can-"
"It's not that! I just…" How do I explain this. It was supposed to be a surprise for the tribe (Misto excluded, since Plato would rather make it home alive at the end of the Ball). "Munk, I'd love to dance with Demeter, but Victoria already asked me to perform the Pas de Deux." A silence passed between the two, young eyes meeting old as the latter widened in realization.
"Oh…" The Mating Dance was a sacred act for the Jellicles, a true transition from kitten-hood to adulthood. It was not to be taken lightly, and not to be interfered with. "I'm sorry, I didn't know. We'll find someone else, or tell Bombalurina we're sorry to disappoint. Thank you for telling me."
"You're the only one other than Misto who knows…" The younger tom spoke carefully, testing the waters of where they stood now. Rejecting an offer (or as Plato tended to think of them, order) from the Guardian was not exactly a common thing, especially not from the young ones, and certainly not from one of his subordinates. He had a good relationship with Munkustrap that he didn't want to loose.
"I see…" A look of mild surprise crossed the tom's face, though he was pleased the younger one had so much trust in him. "Well, I'm glad you trust me with the information. I know how personal a decision that is. Thank you, Plato." He turned to leave, running through a few more cats in his mind and debating if it were worth it to just tell Bomba it wasn't possible, when Plato called him back.
"I… I can check. With Victoria, that is. And Mistoffelees, I suppose." The Guardian looked over his shoulder to find the juvenile shifting on his paws, unsure of himself.
"You don't have to do that, Plato. We don't want you to do something you don't want to." He said gently, as if Plato were the young kit he'd found all those moons ago, half-starved and scared witless.
"No. I want to, Munk, especially after all you've done for me. I just don't know how the other two will take it…" A small smile spread across the older tom's face then.
"You have no obligation to do anything." He turned and placed his paw on the younger tom's shoulder, not unlike what he'd done when Plato was still an actual kitten. It was a small gesture that Plato had come to miss since becoming an 'adult.'
"I know. I'll ask anyway. I don't think Vic will mind, but I don't know how Misto will react." He smiled at Munkustrap, trying to ignore the instinct to nuzzle the paw on his shoulder.
"I appreciate that, Plato. I do. Thank you, let me know what happens." And with that, the paw fell and he turned away, returning to his patrols and leaving Plato to his thoughts. 'How do I explain this in a way that doesn't end with me and a burned tail?'
It wasn't hard to find his white queen. The excessive giggling was like a light for flies. And he had all but memorized her walking patterns. And her sleeping patterns. And how close she was to Mistoffelees during those times. Both in case she needed protection and he needed to avoid talking to her for a bit. Just in case.
And within minutes, it proved useful. There on the central tyre was the queen of his dreams, talking (or giggling, rather) with Electra and Jemima. The missing fourth of the group was a little odd, but not terribly concerning to the young tom. No, rather more pressing was an explanation. One he had still not quite thought up. Maybe I just tell her that Munk asked? That might work better than anything…
"I'm letting you dance with my sister. That doesn't mean you get to gawk at her." To say Plato winced would be to undercut just how severe the flinch was. A strike from Macavity would hurt less, he was certain. He opened a single eye and looked to his left, where the tuxedo-magician had appeared from nowhere. A dangerous gleam in his eyes and frown plastered on his face.
Well, guess we're doing this now. Great… "Good Morning, Mist-"
"Why are you looking at my sister like a street cat?" The young tom was in no mood for pleasantries with a tom he barely tolerated, let alone spoke to. Especially when said tom was looking in the vicinity of his sister.
"I was not, I swear! I was thinking!" A moment passed as the Conjurer's scowl deepened, and Plato rushed a further explanation. "Not about that! I just wanted to ask her something!"
"Oh? Pray tell, what about?" In truth, Mistoffelees had little interest in whatever he had to say. But because Victoria would not be terribly thrilled if he suddenly disintegrated her chosen tom, he would let him speak his turn.
"Well… it involves the Ball. And the dance. And the Dance. And…"
"If you don't spit it out now, or if you tell me you're going to back out, I'll skin you. Without magic."
Plato gulped deeply, his nerves growing as Mistoffelees' glare deepened. Well, either I live to tell the tale or die. "Munkustrap asked me if I would dance with Demeter during the ball…"
For a long moment, nothing happened. The two simply stared at each other (well, Mistoffelees did. Plato tried very hard to look anywhere but the other's eyes). After nearly a minute, the scowl and frown turned to flaring anger and bared teeth. The Conjurer's claws slipped out and a bit of lightning danced across them.
"You were going to ask my sister if you could dance with another queen when you two are dancing the Pas de Deux?" Though he kept his voice low, the subtle rage behind it was enough to cause Plato to back away from the tuxedo tom, fear spiking as he watched the other carefully. Unfortunately, he backed right into the line of sight of the three queen-kits.
"Plato!" The voice of Victoria distracted him, turning his head ever so slightly to see her as she came upon them. Unfortunately, it was enough for Mistoffelees to leap and begin attacking the other tom, who did his absolute best not to injure the brother of his soon to be mate. The two battled for a good half a minute (well, one battled. The other was more concerned with not getting hit) before a flash of white in front of each of them halted their movements.
"Misto, what are you doing?!" Victoria all but screeched at her brother, livid that he would attack her future mate and his future in-law. She knew that he didn't readily (if at all) approve of their being together, but he had never simply attacked Plato before.
He spat, more or less in the direction of Plato than the ground. "Why don't you ask your dear Tugger-wannabe over there." He turned a ferocious glare to the other tom, who cowered at the sight. "As for you. Consider my blessing rescinded." With that, he vanished in a puff of sparkles, leaving the four cats to themselves. Electra quickly hurried off, muttering something about her mother calling her, and Jemima hurried away in search of Mistoffelees, leaving the striped tom and pure queen alone in the clearing, a heavy silence between them.
After a long pause, Victoria spoke, quietly and not facing Plato. "What did he mean by 'Tugger-wannabe?'" There was a brokenness to her voice that made Plato's heart shatter. He took a step forward to try and comfort her but stopped when she took one away. He sighed, contemplating how to salvage the situation.
"I was coming to talk to you about the Ball tomorrow. Bomba's leading the tom-queen dance this year, and she's having Demeter be a part of it." He heard her breath hitch and wanted nothing more than to sink into the ground and die. "Munk's unable to dance with her, something about having to watch the kittens and Old Deut, so he asked me. I told him I'd ask you and Misto since you asked me for the Pas de Deux. I guess I have my answer. I'm sorry, Victoria."
He sat, hanging his head low and ashamed. He should have told Munk no, left no room for discussion about it, but he couldn't. And now, because of his inability to say 'no' to the single most important tom in his life, he'd turned the queen of his dreams away and had surely earned the permanent ire and disdain of her brother. He debated for a time if going to the Ball was even worth it, just to be left alone for the better part of the night. That was, until a gentle bump brought his head up.
"Plato. I'm sorry for my brother's reaction." Victoria was nuzzling his chin. Purring, even, with a tender voice that made his breath hitch. "I… don't mind you dancing with Demeter… I know you wouldn't try anything, wouldn't betray mine or Munkustrap's trust. And I know how much his trust means to you. I just wish you'd asked me before my unsolicited bodyguard." They shared a small chuckle at that, though one was far more tense and forced than the other.
"I was trying to. But he asked before I could." He bent his neck so he could nuzzle her brow, a silent thank you for pulling him from his thoughts. For a while, he was content. In Heaviside, even. He very much doubted that a flood could move him from his queen. His thoughts proved stronger, however, when he sighed and pulled back, the dejected look returning to his eyes.
"It hardly matters now, though. Your brother will probably gouge my eyes out for even looking at you now, and I doubt I can explain it to him." He was consumed by his thoughts then, fears of what Misto would do should he find them together, or what he'd do if Plato so much as moved within a metre of her.
She reached a single paw forward, bringing his head to look into her eyes. "Whatever my brother thinks is, frankly, irrelevant. At the end of the day, it's my choice and I want you. He can hiss all he wants." The conviction, the determination, the fire. He could stare into those eyes for forever and never get tired, find a new detail every second. He wanted to believe those eyes, really he did, but he didn't know if he could.
"Well, it's nice to know my opinion is held in such high regard." The pair turned, finding Mistoffelees with Jemima to his left. Though he was still noticeably not calm, he wasn't about to attack. Jemima, however, still took it upon herself to bat him over the ears for the comment, earning her a mild glare as he rubbed the spot. One she returned with much more ferocity than many thought possible.
Though the scene was utterly amusing to the two, the tension of the previous encounter refused to let them laugh at it. The white queen stepped forward, placing herself firmly between her lover and brother with a harsh look. "When your opinion on the tom I fancy is wanted, I will ask you." Though he tried to hide it, Mistoffelees couldn't help but wince a little at his sister's unusually harsh tone. He forced himself to look passed her, however.
Plato sucked in a breath, contemplating simply leaving to diffuse the situation. He didn't want to, by any means, but he also didn't want to drive a stake between the two cats. His choice was made for him when the tuxedo addressed him. "Plato, I heard your explanation. I still don't like it, nor do I approve," they could all feel the gaze Jemima was giving him then, the threat that was behind it. "But I am sorry for lashing out. I should have waited for one before acting."
He turned to his sister, still glaring at him. He sighed under her gaze, conceding silently that he was, perhaps, in the wrong. "You're right. It is ultimately your choice, whether or not I approve. Which, I would like to stress again that I don't." Another bat and a small hiss. "But… if you really are okay with it… I suppose I can overlook it for one night.."
He must have been hearing things. He must have, because there was no way in Heaviside that Mistoffelees just gave him permission to dance with Demeter and then still dance with his sister. There wasn't a chance that had happened. But the look of mild remorse on his face and the beaming smile from Jemima told him it had in fact happened.
Victoria was stunned. Foremost, her brother had admitted to being wrong first, something that he'd never done (even when he had been the instigator), and because he actually gave his approval (okay, it wasn't technically speaking, but it was a concession that she was getting to be too old for him to mother-hen). A small smile spread across her lips, a simple "thank you," escaping them.
He nodded before turning a glare to Plato, who tensed in fear of another attack. "You will be the best behaved tom or I will see to it that you will never have children. Understood?" A simple nod was his answer, Plato being too scared for anything else. "Good. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to return to practising my act for the Ball." And with that, he vanished, Jemima leaving not long after.
Victoria turned to him with a winning smile. "I guess you do have your answer." They shared a relieved laugh, happy to put the incident well in the past.
Plato paced back and forth in front of the medical den, distress and pain and rage causing his mind to reel at everything and his nerves making him jump at the slightest sound, ready to pounce and attack. To kill. It frightened him enough to where he'd take a pause every now and then to wear his claws down on the rock below him, just in case he attacked someone. Just in case he tried to kill them.
I should have been there, I should have been fighting with them. It should have been me to jump in after Munk got hurt, not Alonzo. It should have been me to attack after Alonzo fell and not Jerrie. No one else should have been involved. I shouldn't have been fighting those damn rats, I should have been with the tribe. I should have-
"Plato? Plato, dear boy, if you keep wearing those claws you'll hit bone." Jenny's voice brought him out of his head for a moment, snapping to her with a hiss that died on his tongue. Now I'm hissing at Jenny. And I think I'm worthy of being a protector? He cast a look to the ground, forcing the thought out of his mind (unsuccessfully).
"Sorry, Jenny. I'm just worried. I'll go if you want-" She put a gentle but firm paw on his lips, silencing him and bringing his gaze to hers at the same time.
"Why would I send you away when your dad is on my medical bed?" His eyes widened at her words, but he didn't get a chance to argue. "He's awake. Why don't you go in and check on him?" Before he could think of an excuse not to, she all but shoved him into the den, pulling the curtain back behind him. He was about to turn and leave when a voice stopped him.
"Plato?" Munk's tender voice, which would normally calm whatever nerves he had at the time, only made Plato wince and try to sink into the ground. Why does he sound relieved to see a coward like myself? I'm the reason he's hurt, after all.
"Hey, Munkustrap. How're you feeling?" He couldn't help but notice the bandages, the wrappings, the ruffled fur. Even the swelling eye. He sees it all and every one just drives that horrible stake deeper into his heart. I'm the reason he looks like this. I'm the reason he got hurt. He slowly padded over, expecting a well deserved scolding for running off when danger was afoot, for fleeing when Macavity showed up. For all but abandoning his tribe. But none of that happened.
Before he could even sit down next to the bed, Munk pulled him into a tight hug, burying the younger tom's face into his shoulder. "Thank the Cat you're okay." For a moment, he didn't know what to do. Eventually, he wrapped his arms around Munk's torso, pulling himself deeper into his fur.
"I'm sorry you got hurt." He would not cry in front of Munkustrap. That he refused. He was not a kit, not after tonight.
Munk pulled back, just enough to hold his shoulders and look into his eyes. "Why are you sorry? You weren't the one that threw me across the clearing."
"I might as well have been." He didn't realize he'd said it aloud until he felt Munk's paw guiding his chin to look at him. The gentleness in his eyes was something Plato hadn't seen since he was a young kit.
"You were taking out a good chunk of his rats, from what I hear. You were doing your role as a tribe protector, and I was doing mine. Those are the risks we take whenever we sign on. You and I both knew that." Logically, he was right. Plato was never one to think logically when under emotional distress.
"But I should have been there to help you and Alonzo. I should have been right next to 'Lonz, fighting that red menace. Instead, I-I left my tribe to d-d-defend themselves, to f-fight the battle I should have. I-"
"Plato. Look me in the eyes right now, young tom." Immediately he went to attention, trying to contort his face to mask the grief that was trying to consume him, the hatred at himself. It only got harder when he looked into Munk's eyes and saw only love. "You did not fail. Never let yourself think that. Believe me, it is not something you want to do." He took the younger tom into his arms again, nuzzling the top of his head.
"We can't fight every war. We won't win every battle. We can't prevent every scraped knee. If that were our job, I'd have been a failure long before you. Our job is to keep them safe. And by fighting those rats, you made it so everyone else could focus entirely on Macavity. In a way, it's because of you that we even had a fighting chance."
Plato was stunned, frozen in place, his mind trying to desperately find an argument. "But… But…"
"If anyone has a problem with that, they can take it up with me." He held the younger one just a little tighter, as if he could force his words into his head, clear away the dark thoughts that plagued the young tom. Little did Munkustrap know, it was.
Finally Plato brought his arms around the bigger adult, holding him just as tightly. He buried his face in the hair under Munk's neck and breathed in his scent, the calming scent from all those moons ago. "Thank you…"
"No Plato. Thank you. You helped protect the tribe. You took my place with Demeter despite a prior obligation. And then you did the Pas de Deux perfectly. I'm proud of you, Plato. So, so proud."
He couldn't help it. Not with that tone of voice, not with those words. Not when Munkustrap was proud of him. He cried softly into the older tom's pelt, holding him as close as he could and chasing the last of his demons away for the night. Tonight, it was only him and his Dad. "Thank you, Dad."
Unbeknownst to him, the words made Munkustrap's heart perform somersaults, and it took a great deal of will power not to jump for joy right then and there. Instead, he settled for simply holding his son tight and whispering in his ear. "Anytime, son.
