When morning comes, it brings with it a strange sense of holding one's breath. Unlike the morning preceding the Jellicle Ball, there is no excitement for what is about to come. Only the terrible sense of foreboding. None of them are naive enough to think that for them to have survived the night means their continued safety is guaranteed. This is the most vulnerable time — right after an attack, when everyone is too tired to be properly on their guard. Alonzo is just the same, but he clings to alertness, his itchy eyes sweeping across the 'yard like a lighthouse beam searching for that one lost boat.

They are essentially lying in wait and he can almost taste the bloodshed that is bound to come, like the sharp scent of salt in a oceanic breeze. More is coming. More is headed their way.

Alonzo watches as the city cats stumble away in clumps, suffering the after-effects of being exposed to so much magic now that the night has passed. To those unused to magic, their tolerance makes it somewhat like being hungover, if what he knows about humans is correct. Between himself and Skimble, they've made sure to send the city cats back to in groups for their own safety. If nothing else, the night has been good for forming those strong bonds of camaraderie that only come after having fought alongside one another, and thus hasn't been a total waste.

While he counts the numbers leaving them, a cold sense of dread settles in as the 'yard empties till only its much fewer residents remain. Munk heaves out a heavy sigh that gusts against his tail. Alonzo turns to his mate and tries his best to not react to the sorry sight of him. Without the soothing light of the Moon, the Sun highlights every one of his numerous wounds, from claw-gashes to swollen bruises. It hurts his heart to see him like this, but more than that — a bubble of anger grows as he recalls the fight between the brothers.

The tom has no shame. No mercy or love left in him. Alonzo's memory of him as a kit are muddled and blurry, and with all the rumours they hear of him nowadays colouring their kithood differently, it makes everything Macavity ever did — whether innocent or not — appear colder. More calculating. It's impossible to tell how much of his goodness had been an act and how much of it was real, and that was the hardest thing to stomach, because Macavity had been right up there with the rest of the 'yard's beloved princes once-upon-a-time. He'd been charming and courageous, caring and charismatic. He'd had the hearts of all the tribe, and then he... then he changed.

How Munk and Tugger have turned out the way have remains is a mystery to him. That they are so kind and loyal when Macavity is not makes absolutely no sense.

The conversation he'd had with Munk last night comes back to him then, as if to argue that the brothers aren't as different as one might first assume.

Why were we so cruel to her? Munk had asked. What type of cats does that make us?

They'd been cruel, yes. They'd shunned her. They'd enjoyed her longing looks, the feeling of being lucky to not be in her place — forever on the outside.

But then he remembers Grizabella rising into the sky, Chosen by the Jellicle Moon Herself, and how they were happy for her too. What a strange Choice it had been.

But they'd been happy for her. And for themselves.

As if the Choice blessed them with not only her redemption but theirs too.

He still doesn't quite know what to think of it.

"Have we agreed on the guard-rotation yet?"

Munk doesn't even have his eyes open, and a swell of love blooms in Alonzo's chest. Despite all his injuries, he never stops moving. Never stops Protecting them. He can't help but admire that about him.

"I told the others that we're sticking to the usual pattern. There's no point making adjustments this late in the game."

Munk grunts. "Makes sense."

Trying to set up a new rotation would only cause confusion and waste time and energy. It might not be ideal, but predictable and reliable is always better than new, untried and untested.

"He's not done with us yet," Munk murmurs to himself. "Not nearly."

Alonzo doesn't reply. They both know it. With Old Deuteronomy, Demeter, Jemima and Qua— beg your pardon, Mister Mistofelees, safe and sound in the 'yard, none of Macavity's main targets were taken. If kidnapping them was his primary objective for the attacks last night, then that would mean his job is not yet complete. Between himself and Munk however, they have started to suspect that he has a different motive entirely. The plan was too simple for him. More and more, they're starting to believe that it was only diversionary, and that his true intention has yet to be revealed.

At least they're still together and safe.

For the time-being, that is.

"Report on the city?"

Alonzo watches the stretched shadows of two city-cats slinking away. They are the last to leave.

"Nothing found," he answers. "No suspicious activities so far, but our contacts are still looking for him. There's a lot of ground to cover they say, but they'll update us by the end of the week."

"Once I'm recovered, I will go," Munk says.

This makes the fur on Alonzo puff out all over, but Munk places a placating paw on his tail. He forces himself to take a few deep breaths.

"This needs to end. The sooner the better." Munk cracks one bloodshot eye to meet his gaze. "And staying here when things need to be done out there… there are definite advantages to being on our own territory, but there is also the risk of losing everything we hold dear, should he decide to come back with whatever army he has at his arsenal."

The junkyard is well-known to them and is defensible on all sides, but Munk is right — at it's core, it is a heap of junk. Their junk. It is their home, and should a proper battle break out here, they would stand to lose all of it.

"When I'm better I'll take Pounce with me, but it will be a reconnaissance mission. We'll meet with our contacts, try to find Mac's main hideout, and then work out how to invade it."

Alonzo nods. Pounce isn't the best fighter but he's quick on his feet and smaller than Munk — easier to get into hard-to-reach places. He's a better choice than him, since Munk needs Alonzo here in the 'yard anyway, watching over things whilst he's away.

Still

... He does so hate it when they're apart.

The thought of Munk coming across Macavity on his territory without him there for backup, especially with the state he's in —

Munk's paw slides up his tail to rest on his hip, and Alonzo leans into that touch. His eyes droop shut like melting candle-wax.

"This has to happen, Lonz," he says quietly, stroking up and down his side. "This has to end."

It does, it does, but what if when it ends it takes Munk's life with it? What if there is another fight like the one last night, and this time he's unlucky? Alonzo won't be there. Alonzo won't be the first to know.

What if he goes and doesn't come back?

It is the risk must accept as Protectors of the 'yard. A sacrifice they must always be willing to make.

"It's time we take the fight to him," Munk goes on to say. "For once and for all."

Alonzo dips his head solemnly.

"For once and for all."

It's tomorrow now, and Tugger's mind is set.

There is nothing officially banning the Jellicles from leaving the 'yard, due to the dangers of last night most are understandably quite reluctant to leave. Tugger is too curious to be afraid though, and he makes his own rules. Always has done. Danger or no danger, he wants to find a certain someone to get wrangle some much-awaited answers from them, and that someone is nowhere to be found in the 'yard. Ignoring the disapproving looks of the others, he heads out into the brisk morning air.

He has an inkling where they might be found, and so he puts his nose to the ground and sniffs for traces of magic. That musty scent he knows from birth.

The trail is fresh and leads him down a familiar road, across meadows and country-lane.

He approaches the barn at midday, mildly worn out from the effort it took to get there, but more daunted by the conversation he came here to have.

The barn, as always, smells of dust, hay and old magic. He breathes it in, letting the happy days he's spent practicing with Quaxo cheer him up briefly, and then he steps inside. Immediately the coolness from the shadows send shivers up his spine, but then there are those familiar scents he swears he knows, and all those other things he is beginning to comprehend. With each step closer to the circus van he takes, he remembers how Grizabella knew exactly where to find him in the crowd of Jellicles. How she never took her eyes off him as she ascended the Heaviside Layer.

We shouldn't treat her like this, Tug. She doesn't deserve this. Not after… I — I think she might be —

He finds his father standing in the middle of all the circus debris. Deuteronomy doesn't turn to greet him. His eyes are fixed on a poster that Tugger hadn't noticed the last time he came. It was hidden behind a bundle of nets and rags, but Deuteronomy had cleared it and apparently wiped it clean from years of dust.

Welcome to the Greatest Show on Earth! Introducing the one and only…

Grizabella, the Glamour Cat!

Tugger stares at the queen perched primly on a circus stand, her white fur glossy and combed into lustrous waves. The only thing he recognises are her glittering eyes, though the ones he saw in person were rather shining with tears. Looking at her as she used to be and knowing how she ended up… it becomes a lot more difficult not to pity her. What a tragic life must she have led, what hardships must she have faced, to have been brought so low?

As he muses this, Tugger glances at his father and notes the odd expression on his face.

He's seen a similar look on his girl's whenever she takes flowers to the old churchyard.

Any good musician can tell when a silence is sacred, and so Tugger doesn't speak, even though a lifetime of questions are welling up inside him. Instead he studies Grizabella's youthful face and considers her epithet. Glamour Cat. What a name. The stars painted to surround her like a halo is a rather garish interpretation of what magic looks like, but then again — this was made by humans, and humans never notice real magic. Tugger can forgive their inaccuracies. Having to make something up out of very little is always tricky.

Which brings him back to the reason why he came.

He's been trying to make sense out of all these vague clues he's been gathering all throughout his life. Now, he's come to grill his father for the answers to those questions trapped like angry bees inside him. To finally reach some sort of understanding as to why he is the way he is compared to his brothers.

Just from the poster, Tugger knows that one question he had has already been answered.

"You told me once that my mother was a circus cat."

The way she looked at him. That last smile she gave to him. It's all Tugger will ever have of her.

He cannot say when he realised the truth. Whether it was last night or months ago, or whether he has known it all along.

Deuteronomy lets out a shaky breath. "She was."

Ever since he was little, some part of Tugger has always known that his mother was out there — alive, not dead, despite what the others told him. That meant that she had to have gone away... that she must have chosen to leave him behind at some point, which begs the question: why?

"So she was," Tugger agrees grimly. "And now she's gone."

It is too late.

Too late for many things, but most of all, for any of this to make a difference. Tugger is all grown up now, so anything he learns about her is trivial. Pointless. There's no comfort to be gained from knowing why she left him. And what good does it do him to know who she was, or what she did, or what she was like, now that she is gone? There is no joy to be found in learning about someone who has abandoned him twice now. No forgiveness to be earned, no closure to be gotten.

It's far too late, and yet... Tugger still wants to know her.

Having seen her last night, having heard her sing and felt her sorrow, he wants to know her story. Now, as he looks at her portrait, he can see where he got his thick, tawny fur from, and where that rakish smile of his originated. The van has tingles of old magic beaten into its metal frame, and Tugger wants to know about that too. Her voice was like magic, he can't help thinking — like magic given lungs and a mouth to sing from.

The silence is no longer sacrosanct, mired as it is by the numerous things left unsaid between them. With that in mind, Tugger is just about to pick a question to start with when to his surprise, Deuteronomy speaks.

"She came to us in the height of summer." Deuteronomy pauses, then shakes his great head. "It was the hottest summer we'd ever seen, when this great roaring caravan of trucks and vans drove past, bringing with them all sorts of strange contraptions. Did you know that they are the ones who brought magic to this place? That underneath those circus performers facades, for all their artistry and sleight-of-hand tricks, was actual magic?"

Tugger didn't. He'd been under the assumption that magic had always existed in these lands. In hindsight, what a fool he'd been to think magic would choose to exist in a junkyard of all places.

His father hums. "I suppose that you've never thought to question the source of our magic."

Tugger scowls.

The old tom sighs heavily, shaking out his fur and slumping to sit beside his son. He is careful to keep some space between them, which Tugger is rather grateful for. This conversation — one that he has been waiting to have for the longest time — now that it's happening, Tugger doesn't know what to say or do or feel. Doesn't know what to expect from it, either.

It's all so much and all too late.

She's gone she's gone she's gone.

"I have done wrong by you, Tugger," Old Deuteronomy rumbles, his deep voice carrying over the distance and sinking into Tugger's bones. "And by your brothers. And by your mothers too. I have done so many wrongs that my shame shackles me to the 'yard. I find I cannot leave this place without feeling as if I would be doing another wrong by abandoning you all. Both my presence and absence, both my love and neglect, are all burdens to the ones I care for. It has been this way for the longest time, Tugger. I fear taking action because my actions never seem to be the right ones in the end." He shakes his head pitifully. "It is as if I am cursed."

"So you say. Which is why you never act," Tugger mutters. "You never speak, nor apologise."

"It is hard to — "

"That is no excuse! Just because something is difficult doesn't mean you shouldn't at least try!"

Tugger lets his voice echo around the barn, bouncing off the walls and petering out. He cuts a glance at his father and is surprised to find him looking back at him without a trace of anger. For the most part Old Deuteronomy looks oddly impressed. He can't understand him at all.

"You taught us that," Tugger says.

"I did," he agrees. "And I cannot give you a good reason for why I haven't heeded my own lesson. It is inexcusable — "

"Hypocritical."

"Yes," Deuteronomy says easily enough. "Knowing this, do you still want to hear what other crimes I have committed?"

Tugger shakes his head. "I just want to know about my mother."

He cannot explain why he feels it is so important, just that... so many things about his personality and the type of cat he has become must come from her. There is no one else he can compare himself to. Deuteronomy is too grand, Munkustrap too responsible, and Macavity too vicious. If the type of cat she was, was what led to her living that horrible life, he wants to be told. Because what if that is the type of future that's fated for him? What if he's already on that path?

Deuteronomy hums again, and for a terrifying moment, Tugger thinks he's not going to say anything. But then the old tom scoots a little closer, and Tugger lets out a long breath.

"That one…" he says slowly. "T'was not a crime. I was blessed to love her."

In that instant, Tugger's kithood comes rushing back. All those times he'd hear whispers about his mother come back to him now. How she'd been a despicable layabout who leeched off Old Deuteronomy. How she'd bewitched him — seduced him with her magic and then broken his heart. The looks he used to get, full of derision or outright disgust. Even though he was the son of the tribe leader, he'd been made to feel confused and ashamed of who he was from such a young age, that to see that his father had held his mother in such esteem…

It's enough to give him the patience to listen.

No doubt sensing this, Deuteronomy continues.

"I first met her when Macavity and I went on a trip to investigate the circus." He pauses to allow Tugger to absorb Macavity being a part of this, and then continues. "She was a regular mouser, brought along with the troupe to keep the carriages clean. Humble and sweet, she did not draw much attention from others, but when I saw her… I felt as if I could not move. I had never felt that way before," he says, smiling at Tugger, who doesn't know what to think about that. "As if struck by lightning. Her beauty had me speechless. Whether it was due to us Jellicles hanging around the 'vans too much, or simply that they had run out of acts to draw the crowds in with, eventually the humans saw an opportunity in using cats in their show. They had probably noticed us and compared us to their resident cat, and noticed how much more attractive she was than us strays," Deuteronomy smirks. "And that is what lead to her promotion from mouser to Glamour Cat."

"What does it mean," Tugger asks. "To be a 'Glamour Cat'?"

"At first I thought it was her Second Name given to her because… well, because she was very beautiful." Deuteronomy's smirk fades. "But it was in fact because they tested her reaction to magic. I didn't see it happen, but later when she came to tell us about her new job and what they had done, I was horrified." He shakes his head again. "The way she described it made it seem so civilised, but they essentially threw magicat her with no regard for what it might do to her, just on the off chance that it might do something entertaining. Luckily for her, it didn't."

"It didn't?" Tugger repeats, totally flummoxed.

"No, and at first they weren't pleased with this result, but then there was an opportunity to be found even in that. The humans realised that her null-reaction to magic meant that they could effectively expose her to situations which would be far too dangerous to others and she could survive it. That would be the essence of 'the show',so to speak. The magic-users in the troupe would throw bolts of lightning at her, or make her jump through stage-sets that were set ablaze. They'd shoot weapons at her that would narrowly miss, or throw herinto coils of venomous snakes — "

"Venomous snakes?"

Deuteronomy nods solemnly, looking just as sickened by the thought.

"Whatever would draw the crowds," he says lowly, turning back to gaze at the late queen in all her youthful splendour. "Humans can be so cruel."

Tugger knows one human who has never been cruel to him, so long as you don't count playing dress-up and drinking imaginary tea 'cruel'.He has known his girl Poppy all his life, but he can't help but wonder why he was allowed to be her cat. Munk was never keen on him associating with her, but Deuteronomy seemed to support their friendship. He vaguely recalls Skimble once mentioning that Poppy was a relative of Deuteronomy's man though.

That could be why.

"She loved it though," Deuteronomy says softly, bringing Tugger back to the present. "All of it. The tingle of magic, and being so close to it… it was like being showered in stars, she said. No matter what trials her humans put her through, she always came out stronger for it, and more than that — she'd smile at her audience, bow to them, and leave them all screaming for more." He shoots Tugger a fond look. "I believe she passed that talent for showmanship on to you, along with many other gifts."

All whilst he was listening to all of this, taking it in and reforming the thoughts in his mind, Tugger has been unable to identify his feelings regarding each new discovery. Perhaps it's because none of this information feels new to him. It feels like hearing the retelling of something he already knew deep down inside. If his father had been expecting more of a reaction from him, he won't get one from Tugger.

"You were born at the end of that summer," Deuteronomy says, once Tugger's lack of response progresses for too long. "Truth be told, I was terrified that you wouldn't make it. She worked all through the summer you see, despite the pregnancy. Exposing herself to magic was her choice, but when we learnt that we were expecting you I tried to convince her to retire. We had no idea what it would do to an unborn kit to be around that much magic all the time, so I was preparing myself for the worst. It seems, however, to have done you more good than harm."

Tugger hums in acknowledgement of his observation with as much enthusiasm as a cat contemplating the rainy outdoors. It's not as if during his father's explanation he hadn't pieced together that this — that she — was probably the reason why he was somehow able to be both resistant and yet also sensitive to magic. If he were in the mood to entertain romantic thoughts of love, in a way his mother's blood has protected him all these years from Macavity's destructive magic, and from magic in general.

But he still cannot recognise the emotion within him, and so he is numb to the idea of being blessed with this 'gift' she gave him. It is as if he is the dust floating around the barn: detached, floating and aimless.

What good does it do him to learn about her now?

He asks himself this, again and again and again.

"After you were born there was a time when I thought everything was perfect. You were alive and healthy, as was she, and I had three beautiful sons. I cannot remember a time when I have ever felt so blessed." Deuteronomy pauses, and the moment is heavy and full, like rainclouds fit to burst. "But I was blind," he says simply. "Blind to all else but my own happiness."

Since he has been drawing together his own conclusions and as of yet found each one proven true, Tugger feels rather confident in reading between the lines here.

"What did he do?" he asks darkly, a dab of schadenfraude creeping into his voice. He doesn't need to specify who he is referring to.

Deuteronomy sighs loudly.

"It's what I did, actually, that ruined everything," he answers, shocking Tugger for the first time in the whole conversation. "He was always a jealous kit, but when you came along it was too much. With you and Munk, and your mothers taking most of my attention, he didn't think that I was being fair. Most of all, he hated that your mother was my favourite. When he became violent towards her… I snapped. You were there too, Tugger," he adds. "She was shielding you, but you were so small and scared and… and I can still remember the sound of you crying.

"I shouted at him. Told him that such behaviour was not permitted in the tribe, and if he didn't learn to control himself he would be forced to leave." Tugger inhales sharply. "I humiliated my own son in front of everyone," Deuteronomy rasps, his eyes glassy. "His mother was not pleased."

Was it Macavity's mother who is the source of his belligerent personality? A couple minutes ago Tugger might have assumed so, but now he is not so sure. He has never heard of his father losing his temper, and for him to have threatened his own son… he isn't the cat Tugger thought he was. It's quite possible therefore, to assume that Macavity's greed and arrogance was also inherited from Deuteronomy's blood. After all, Tugger knows that of his father's many dalliances, only three mates are known to have produced children. The fact that he can sense that this conversation has been in essence elevating Tugger's mother's worth above that of his other mates means little when you consider all those other queens who were carelessly cast aside.

Tugger has heard all about his father's colourful youth, and how he romanced the greater part of London. His conquests have always been sung about and praised, but Tugger can't help but realise the hypocrisy in his fathers' admirers waxing poetic on his romantic success. Cats might not generally be a monogamous lot, but being frivolous with one's lovers was hardly encouraged either. Why Deuteronomy has been the exception is anyone's guess, but it doesn't sit well with Tugger to hear about the consequences of his father's carelessness. How much it had inadvertently hurt their family. If there is a lesson to be learned from him, it is to be careful with other people's feelings. To understand that whilst to you they might be just some lover for a pocket of time, you might have meant much more to them.

It's then that Tugger thinks of Quaxo. The thought of him is all it takes for his stagnant heart to begin to beat again, as the gravity of that sentiment weighs upon his heart.

He cannot fathom wanting anything more than him. Cannot conceive the idea of ever casting him aside. If Quaxo were ever to return his affections, he would treasure him for all his days and never look at another. Not that he's ever really looked at anyone else.

His mother was not pleased, he'd said. Well of course she hadn't been. Who would be, in that situation?

Tugger has always found himself caught in the middle of this feud, unable to favour one side over the other because both sides had a bloody good point.

Right here, right now, he empathises more with Macavity and his mother. It rattles him to think the the agrees that they deserved better than to be neglected by Deuteronomy.

But on the other hand — and there is always the other hand — Macavity is taking his revenge too far.

… isn't he?

"What happened next?"

The Leader's eyes shut tight, his brows pinching together. Tugger remains unmoved by his pain. Now, there is just one emotion that he can discern and it is fear.

"His mother wanted them to leave," Deuteronomy says softly.

Tugger studies his contorted expression for a moment. "And you didn't let them."

"She wanted to take him away from me — "

"Because you didn't want him."

"Of course I wanted him! He was my son too — "

"You can't have it all, dad! Bloody hell!" Tugger spits out, utterly appalled and quite honestly disgusted. "You chose us! Was having my mom and me not good enough for you? What about Munk and Jenny then, hm? What about all the other cats you have in your life? Were none of us good enough for you?"

"You — it — I…" Deuteronomy babbles, but then his anger deflates like a popped balloon. There is nothing he can defend himself with. "I just didn't want to lose him."

Tugger growls. "But you did. You made a choice and he was lost, and now he is lost to us forever. So anyways, what happened next?" he demands, knowing that there is more. There's got to be more. Even taking account his eldest brother's vindictive nature, there must be something to have tipped Macavity over the edge, and he has an inkling as to what it was.

"His mother was going to take them back to her old tribe. It would never have worked though. After she'd left them for us, I knew they weren't going to take her back. To return would have been a death sentence," Deuteronomy explains, each bit coming in fits and starts. "I followed them all the way to the main road, but then…"

His voice fails him, and something in his eyes dims.

Tugger can imagine what comes next.

He's seen plenty of cars. He knows what they're like, and what they're capable of.

Every day there are reports of cats meeting their fate under the wheel of Man.

A smear of blood and fur is usually all that is left.

"It was the first time we saw Macavity's fire," Deuteronomy says in a hoarse whisper. "It was like nothing we'd ever seen before. He was so, so angry."

Tugger remembers a flame-coloured young tom. Gangly, with wild fur and blazing eyes. That wicked smile never frightened him as a kit. He hadn't known Macavity's anger until much, much later.

So this was why.

As he does his best to organise his thoughts, the one thing he keeps coming back to is that sense of understanding his brother. Despite all his madness, his cruelty makes sense now. Tugger can't deny that he would have been driven into a similar state had he known and loved and lost his mother too.

"Your mother blamed herself for it. She told me that she couldn't stay."

Of course she couldn't. It was the only acceptable course of action to take after what had happened to Macavity. Tugger hums, satisfied to hear his mother's decision.

"She was never officially exiled, though the tribe made it seem that way. None of them know the whole of it. Only a select few do even now. They resented her for the fact that they thought she had broken my heart, and for having seemingly abandoned you when you had barely opened your eyes."

"And for all these years… you've let us think such awful things about her when none of it was true. It wasn't her fault." Never in his life has Tugger ever felt so sickened by someone else's choices. "You let her take the fall for your mistakes."

"She forbade me from telling anyone what happened. She didn't want the shame of it ruining your life."

"Oh, really? Am I supposed to take your word for it, after all you've said? After all you've done?" Tugger sneers. "What good has keeping these secrets done when the life it was meant to protect has been ruined by them despite everything?"

Deuteronomy looks genuinely surprised by this. "In what sense has your life been ruined?"

"In the sense that it is a lie!" Tugger roars, stomping in a circle around him. "By the fact that I have been living under so many assumptions and all of them were wrong! My mother didn't abandon me. She wasn't ashamed of me. My brother may be cruel for many reasons, but he didn't become that way for no reason. Lastly, my father," he snarls. "Is not the cat I thought he was, and… and I am ashamedto be his son."

"Tugger," Deuteronomy breathes.

Shaking his head, Tugger spins around and runs away as fast as he can, his heart and mind in tatters.

"…and we aaaall say, oh! Well! Mm-mmmm-mm was there eeee-ver… a cat, mm-mm as ma-gical Mister Misto — oh, Mistofelees!"

Quaxo jumps, startled by the unexpected presence of Carbucketty in his den. His brother is sat peacefully behind him, and... they must have been here for some time actually, given the fact that they look rather... settled, where they sit. Pouncival stares at Quaxo with clear amusement. He grins back sheepishly in response, but is quick to slaps a scowl on for appearance's sake.

"What on earth are you doing here?" He asks, narrowing his eyes at Carbucketty's innocent smile. "I don't remember inviting you inside."

"Rude!" He pouts, then mirrors Quaxo's narrow-eyed squint. "Rude and wrong. You did invite us here, remember? Las week you said we could come hang out here 'whenever'. That's an open invitation if I've ever heard one!"

"He's right," Pouncival chimes in, licking his paw idly.

Whenever his younger brother was in the equation, the usually just-as-obnoxious tom would assume what he probably considered to be a mature, 'big brother' outlook on life. That mostly meant that he would sit back and let Carbucketty clown around, and only open his mouth to egg him on where least appropriate and tell him to shut up when he got annoying.

So much for maturity.

"Well I suppose you're right…" Quaxo relents, half-flattered and half-dismayed that his friends felt comfortable enough to take him up on that 'whenever'.

"You alright there, chum?" Pouncival asks, prompting the brothers to turn to him with identical looks of concern.

Quaxo ducks his head when Carbucketty decides to circle him, his head tilted to the side in exaggerated worry. The effect of walking in such a way has his circles stretching out into ovals and him staggering along in an odd, drunken manner. When Pouncival calmly sticks a leg out into his path, he takes the inevitable tumble over said limb. Quaxo forces himself to chuckle at their antics.

"What are you on about now, Buck? I'm fine!" He says, prodding his friend over onto his back. The cheeky cat curls his limbs up against his exposed belly, playfully flicking his tail around till it almost smacks Pouncival on the nose.

He bats it away irritably. "Enough of that."

"You know, Quax, I don't think you are fine," Carbucketty says, ignoring his brother as he stretches out so his whole body is curved like a lazy smile. "You've been staring into space for like, hours now. We were getting rather worried."

Quaxo frowns, shifting about self-consciously. "Hours?" He asks warily. Surely he would have noticed —

"Well maybe not hours, but still… is something the matter, Quax?" The tom's expression becomes uncharacteristically sincere.

"Not at all."

It isn't completely a lie to say so. Nothing is wrong, per se. There's only one small problem that Quaxo cannot shake himself free from — that being that his mind keeps drifting back to last night. Not all the chaos of Macavity terrorising the 'yard, of course. The other part of last night.

The part where Tugger Named him, that is.

He can't stop thinking about it.

The very song Carbucketty was singing (or rather, trying to sing) just now. Butchering it, to be frank, but Quaxo wouldn't dare say so and risk killing the poor dancer's dreams of becoming a singer. (Pouncival would have his throat for that.)

He's the one who'd asked Tugger to Name him, so it's not like the song came as a surprise.

His feelings on the other hand... well. They did.

His mind was nothing short of a mess.

That song had been pure magic to him. The soul of every spell he's ever performed poured into music. It had filled Quaxo with such joy that his heart grew wings. Never has magic been so effortless to him as it was then when he danced to Tugger's song, and each time he looked back at him he swears his heart skipped a beat.

But that couldn't be true, for it were his heart would have stopped beating completely. He'd barely taken his eyes off Tugger, their connection like a live wire between them. Every time he'd faltered, every time his confidence had waned... Tugger had been there.

And it meant more to Quaxo than he could put into words. It hit him then and remains with him now, the realisation of how much he needs Tugger, and how much he misses him.

He misses talking with him. Singing and messing about with him. Hunting with him…

As Quaxo looks around at the small space he's carved out for himself in the 'yard, he can't help but notice that it's so boring. Everything is too neat, and there's not enough stuff in it. All the junk Tugger collects, the little knick-knacks and useless clutter that he hoards… his place is empty in comparison. And it doesn't feel like home the way Tugger's den did.

He misses that most of all: sharing a den with him. Having a place he could call home.

Quaxo isn't stupid. He recognises what direction his feelings are headed. He knows what it all means.

And he accepts it: that the way he feels is how he has always felt in some capacity, and it isn't shocking at all.

It is distracting though.

He can remember afterwards, how Tugger had helped him back to his den. He'd carried him. The memory of being draped over Tugger's back with his scent enveloping him and the rocking motions of his stride lulling him to sleep… it haunts Quaxo. He cannot explain it, but in hindsight he can recall every sensation in startling detail.

And whilst it's well-known that Tugger is beautiful: tall, with well-proportioned limbs and bright eyes.

No one talks about how built he is: that beneath his thick, silky fur are large, firm muscles that undulate like a rolling sea. That he radiates warmth like a freshly baked loaf of bread, and that his scent is so… alluring.

Quaxo cannot stop thinking about him, and he hates that he can't.

Because how is he meant to act around Tugger now? If he were to come across him right now, how is he supposed to behave? Knowing what Tugger feels like pressed all up against him like that… it's different compared to when they were younger. His thoughts aren't innocent the way it used to be. Now he can draw upon the memory and expand on it, and it's so bothersome to be consumed with such thoughts.

To yearn to be closer… it's an itch that almost burns. He tries to ignore the way his body flushes with heat and blinks a few times when Carbucketty's voice finally manages to penetrate his severely confused mind. Apparently he's been staring blankly into space yet again.

"Seriously," Carbucketty whines, dragging himself up off the floor. "What's with you today? You can talk to us, you know."

"I know," he says, pasting a smile onto his heated face. "It's nothing."

"Well it can't be nothing if it's got you staring at the floor like it's... like it's covered in syrup!"

Quaxo grimaces. Carbucketty's obsession with sweets is legendary, but it never fails to make him shudder at the thought of so much sugar. Disgusting.

"If it were anyone else, I'd have said you'd been bitten by the love-bug!"

Quaxo chokes on his own saliva as Pouncival hisses at his brother to bite his tongue.

"I beg your pardon?" He rasps, once he's caught his breath.

"You know," Carbucketty sings, rocking back and forth on his paws. "Shot by cupid's arrow. Psshew!" He mimes something that Quaxo has absolutely no reference for. "Carrying a torch for someone!" When he notices the blank look on Quaxo's face, he sighs. "It means twitterpated, Quax."

He flinches.

"I know what it means!"

"Well then, are you?"

Even Pouncival is looking at him with interest now.

"I beg your pardon," he yelps, causing both cats to wince from the pitch of his voice.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about," Pouncival is quick to say, though the twinkle in his eyes is less than comforting. "It is nearing springtime after all. It's the right time for it, is what I'm saying. Just you wait. Soon, before you know it — wham! All the toms will be running amok, and then everyone will be holed up in their dens."

"Their dens…?"

Carbucketty lets out a snort of laughter and smacks Quaxo onto his knees. "Oh, you silly goose! What do you think for? 'I know what it means', he says…" he chortles, shaking his head. When Quaxo's face remains granite-like though, he sighs even more dramatically. "To… you know. Make kittens."

The next action he mimes has Quaxo's jaw dropping.

"Shameless!" He sputters over Pouncival's roaring laughter.

"Not at all! It's expected of us, you know! Especially after the Ball. Most cats get revved up for the new season, if you know what I mean — "

"Yes I do thank you very much."

"Alright, alright." Thankfully the tom eases off after Pouncival cuts in, probably sensing that Quaxo is close to exploding from embarrassment. Once he has stopped giggling to himself, he fixes his friend with a surprisingly sharp look. "If it's not that that's bothering you, then is it, you know… what happened at the Ball?"

Which part of 'what happened'? Quaxo wants to ask. The attacks from Macavity? The devastating fight Munk was part of? Deuteronomy's kidnapping? Grizabella being Chosen?

The Naming?

"Yeah. It's that," he croaks, deliberately vague.

"There's no point worrying about it, Quax," Carbucketty says, shuffling closer to sit by his side. Pouncival watches his brother sidle into Quaxo's personal bubble and lets out a long yawn. "Munk's got this in the bag, you know. He and Alonzo have everything planned. If Macavity chooses to lick his own arse, we'll know of it."

Quaxo wrinkles his nose. "Must you always be so vulgar?"

Carbucketty winks at him. "It's part of my charm."

"Part of your — "

Quaxo shakes his head at this, especially when Pouncival starts relentlessly mocking his brother's supposed 'charm', but can't deny the smile growing on his lips. If anything, Carbucketty's nonsense has at least managed to distract him from thinking about Tugger for a while.

Albeit, he's replaced thought of him with thoughts of Macavity, which is quite the downgrade.

Quaxo frowns. He knows that Munk and Alonzo have made plenty of plans, but the thing is — so has Macavity — and from what he has seen of him, he's a cunning opponent to beat. It feels as if they aren't even scratching the surface of what Macavity has planned for them, and the thought of that is so chilling that all thoughts of Tugger are blown out of Quaxo's mind for one single moment as he tries to picture the worse-case outcome: if Macavity were to win. The thing is, there is more to him than his magic. There are layers and layers to him, so much so that it's trying to understand him is like trying to catch smoke. It's impossible to know what to expect from him.

Before Quaxo can ponder their enemy any further, the bin lid covering the den entrance blows wide open.

As do Quaxo's eyes.

"Oh, Tugger! There you aaaa — ack!"

Tugger doesn't spare the brothers so much as a glance. He barges into the den and heads straight for Quaxo, who gasps when he's seized by the arm tightly enough to actually hurt. Careless as he is, he barrels past the other toms. They cry out in alarm, clinging to each other in an attempt to keep from being thrown to the floor.

"Tugger!" Quaxo exclaims, twisting in an attempt to loosen his grip. "Guys, are you okay?"

Tugger's eyes are burning with intent, and the moment they catch his he cannot look away. They're bright with unshed tears and hazy, as though he cannot see past the veil of his tears. It's this that has Quaxo ceasing his struggles.

"Tugger, what's wrong?"

He doesn't hesitate. "I'm leaving."

The words are rough like gravel from his mouth, and it takes a moment for them to sink in. Then Quaxo freezes. What on earth made Tugger decide to do such a thing? He clutches onto Tugger's arm, stunned by the realisation that this might be him saying goodbye. He cannot accept that.

"What?" he squeaks.

Tugger doesn't seem to be bothered by his obvious dismay, even though his eyes flick all over Quaxo's face as if to commit his face to memory. Something in his expression smoothes out then, as though he cannot help but find comfort in Quaxo's mere presence.

"I… I can't stay here anymore," he says, causing Quaxo to gasp again. "I need to go."

Quaxo tries his best to ignore the frantic pounding of his heart, bravely swallowing his panic. "Go where?"

"I don't know. Anywhere," Tugger shakes his head. He has never seen him like this before. It's frightening. "I just — I can't stand it. You were right. What you were trying to tell me last night — "

But you don't understand… I think she might be —

"It's true then?"

He already knows it is.

Flashes of Deuteronomy's memories linger in Quaxo's mind. Just the memory has stained his soul with fire and blood, and he knows he will never be able to forget them. The reason he asks this is because he had been holding onto the slightest hope that he'd imagined the whole thing, but from Tugger's expression, he can see that his hopes were in vain. This time he swallows down a wave of nausea. He can't help but notice that Tugger hasn't bothered asking him how he knew about Grizabella, but he is grateful for that, because he wouldn't be able to explain it.

Tugger's mouth trembles and he holds onto Quaxo's as though he is the only thing keeping him upright.

"Terrible things have happened in this 'yard, Quaxo, but we are not the only victims here. We have been cruel too. Even I was horrible to her." Tugger's voice fades as his eyes grow distant again. "We cannot blame Macavity for everything that has happened here either. At least not entirely. We are just as capable of becoming like him. We are like him, Quax."

"What on earth are you talking about?" Carbucketty squawks from where he's sprawled out on the floor. "Not blame Macavity — the guy's a lunatic!"

Tugger's voice turns ice-cold. "If you knew what he's been through, you might change your mind about him. Have no doubt — my brother is a monster, but not one of his own making."

Pouncival squints. "What does that even mean?"

They both ignore the brothers. With Tugger holding onto him and staring at him with such a desperate expression, Quaxo finds himself unable to spare a thought for them. Only moments ago he thought to himself: I need Tugger. It's now that he starts to realise that right now: Tugger needs him. That this connection between them is a mutual thing.

"I can't stay," Tugger says again, in the same clipped voice as before. Quaxo understands in that moment though that he isn't angry. From the misery and betrayal and guilt written into every line of his face, he's desperate, and there's the sense that he's approaching his limit. To hurt as bad as this must mean that it was someone important to Tugger who told him — and without a doubt, it must have been Deuteronomy. "Quaxo, he can't expect me to stay. Not after what he told me. I cannot bear it."

Quaxo shakes his head wordlessly and drags Tugger forwards. He wilts in Quaxo's arms and begins to shake. All that he can do is hold him he falls apart, shuddering and muffling his sobs against Quaxo's fur. The grief has truly hit him now. It must be a shock, Quaxo thinks, to have gained and lost a mother all in one night. While he holds Tugger, he distracts himself by listening to the brothers bickering amongst themselves. It's easier to pay attention to them than to listen to Tugger's heart breaking like this. Never has it occurred to him that to love someone is to share in their sorrow. That when Tugger cries like this, he finds his eyes burning too, and he cannot tell where Tugger's trembling ends and where his own begins. He feels it mirrored in his own heart — a fracturing there. A deep, lonely ache.

"If you hadn't asked, you still would have known," he hears himself saying quietly. It's not a gentle statement despite his soft tone, and would sound accusing coming from anyone else. Tugger understands though — it's Quaxo's way of comforting him. The truth was always known. It makes no difference how it came to be told.

"Thank you," he whispers, clutching onto him.

Quaxo shakes his head again. "Please don't thank me for being here."

"What are they talking about? What is he thanking him for?"

"Leave it, Buck!"

"No — why is… what are they talking about? That's what I wanna know — "

"It's none of your business so shut it."

Quaxo sighs, but ignores the brothers as best he can. He really regrets giving them an open invitation, but it would be rude to retract it now.

"Come with me."

He blinks. For a moment he thinks he imagines hearing it.

"What?"

Tugger pulls back a little, but this time he doesn't hold Quaxo's gaze. Instead he keeps his eyes pointed deliberately elsewhere. Avoiding his. "Will you… will you come with me?"

Quaxo's heart flutters.

"I can't stay here, but… I don't want to be alone either," Tugger explains, shrinking even more in preparation for what he must assume will be a rejection.

Quaxo has to remind himself that Tugger is scared, sad, and confused. Smiling would not be an appropriate reaction. He slaps away lovestruck thoughts and grabs Tugger by the shoulders. "Of course I'll come with you."

That is the first smile he's had from him today, and oh how beautiful it is — how relieved Tugger looks, like his burdens have all been halved. By him. By Quaxo. He's the one who brought that smile back, and he will do anything to keep it there.

And right then he knows as surely as he knows up from down, that he will follow Tugger wherever he plans to go.

They just smile at each other for what is probably an awkward length of time, and then Tugger reluctantly pulls himself away, his wet face set like stone.

"I… I have to tell Munk." The smile fades a little at that, but he keeps his eyes on Quaxo, and it's curious how the weight of that piercing gaze makes him feel as light as air. "And Quaxo... I don't know when we'll be coming back."

Oh.

Ever since he was brought to the 'yard, the thought has never crossed his mind that he might ever want to leave it, let alone leave it for good. Though Tugger is saying that they will come back, with no set date for that return... suddenly the future spills out in every direction, golden like a sunset claiming the sea.

There is no telling how long they'll be gone.

And whilst Quaxo knows he should be worried by that uncertainty, all he can think is we'll be together. Blurry scenes of a life lived in countless cities, backwater towns and empty meadows flit across his mind. It's the last image that has his heart racing. He has heard that the bright, bright light of stars can only be truly admired far away from the city. He's dreamt of seeing it: a blanket of stars, the ceiling to their world — and them dancing below it, limned in silver moonlight.

"Go tell whoever you need to that we're leaving," Tugger says, dragging him back to reality. The sudden switch from open sky to cramped den is suffocating. The only people he can think of to tell are the twins, who will probably knew his plans long before he did. Other than them — Pouncival and Carbucketty are already here, so it's inevitable that the news will be spread to everyone else within the next hour. "And then shall we meet in, say, half an hour? At the iron gate to the south."

Everyone knows the iron gate that's chained up and rusted to the side of a hollow fridge. Quaxo nods.

"The gate to the south."

"Good… great," Tugger nods as well, and then they stare at each other again for yet another undetermined length of time. The itch of excitement, the thirst for adventure — a spark goes between them that lifts the sourness from Tugger's face and lights a candle in his eyes.

Then Tugger leans over and licks a stripe up Quaxo's cheek.

The brothers fall silent behind them.

Tugger stumbles backwards and trips over his own tail, his mouth moving faster than he seems able to process. "Alright, swell. So an hour. Good plan, good plan. I'd better go get this over with then and oh you know what I should go find Jemima and tell her I'm leaving too or else she'll freak out so I should probably go do that now before I forget if you'll excuse me —"

And then he tears out of the place in something like a panic. Growing flustered himself, Quaxo cups a paw to his mouth and hollers, "Half an hour! I'll meet you there in half an hour!"

When he turns around, a hot flush rushes to his face at the expressions on his friends' faces. He clears his throat. "So, I guess I don't need to tell either of you what's happening, what with you being here and all. Not that you should have been. You probably should have left."

Neither cat looks bothered by his insinuation. Quaxo continues to ramble.

"It's only polite, given that was clearly a private conversation — "

"Never mind that!" Carbucketty shouts. "I want to know more about this 'leaving' nonsense. Why are you leaving?" And then he interrupts himself. "Actually, never mind that! I want to know what with that kiss, eh?"

"Don't be disgusting, Buck," Pouncival scoffs. "Cats don't kiss. That's a human thing."

"Then what would you call what we just saw?"

Pouncival opens his mouth, then he catches sight of Quaxo and frowns.

"Oh great job. Look what you've done!"

Whatever his face is doing, it must be a cause for concern. Quaxo idly ponders this, and his rising blood pressure.

"What I've done? All I did was point out that — "

"You're far too nosy. I've told you this before. It's none of your business. Oh look. He's gone all red. This is all your fault you know — "

"It's not my fault if someone decides to suck someone else's face off right in front of me — "

Normally Quaxo would have vanished into thin air by this point and have therefore managed to avoid this mortifying scene. This time however, his magic seems to have failed him, and so he decides to go about his escape the old-fashioned way.

As in: he legs it.

" — should shut up. Oh," Pouncival gasps, and then starts coughing at the sudden cloud of dust. "Well, would you look at that." He glares at his brother. "Now see what you've done?"

Carbucketty turns in the direction of the fleeing magician and cups both paws around his mouth. "Oi Quaxo! Tugger! Rum Tum Tugger! Mister Mistofelees! Where the hell are you both gooooooiiiiiinnnnnggggg?!"

"Oh for the love of god, Buck, just leave it!"

As anticipated, the twins hardly bat an eyelash between them when he comes with the news. Not at all surprised, but rather… thoughtful. The moment he arrives on their junk-heap, he knows that their minds are cruising in a dimension far beyond what he can perceive. When Quaxo cannot coax a word out of either of them nor shake them from their dual trance, he resigns himself to a rather one-sided 'goodbye'. It can't be helped when they're in one of these moods.

Still, he'd hoped to have gotten their blessing.

For whatever reason, it feels like the right occasion to seek a blessing. As if getting one would be equivalent to a good luck charm for him and Tugger, wherever their travels take them.

Ah well.

Quaxo lopes around the 'yard a bit to while away the rest of the half hour, but he notices that it's unusually quiet for this time of evening. Strange, but he doesn't put much thought into it. Instead, he gives up his aimless wanderings, and decides to wait for Tugger at the gate.

To his amusement, the tom is already standing there. It can't have been more than ten minutes since they split up, and yet here they both are — early.

Tugger whirls around, and the way he smiles at Quaxo is so bright it almost seems fake.

"You're early!" He exclaims, bouncing on his toes as Quaxo nears him.

"As are you," he replies, helpless to the way Tugger's mere presence draws him like a moth to a flame. He stops a step away, judging Tugger's over-exuberance. "How was it?"

"It went okay." Tugger shrugs. "Seems like they were expecting it."

"They?"

"Alonzo was there too, of course. Last night… he's the one who actually told me to go speak to my dad about her, so I guess he knew how it would go."

"And Munk?"

"It's like they share a brain, those two," Tugger laughs, shaking his head, though it's a rather sad sound. "He told me it was fine too, so long as I do eventually come back. They said to be careful though — both of us, that is." Tugger ducks his head at that, the wave of embarrassment passing on from him to Quaxo like a yawn. "What with Macavity about."

Quaxo hums. He isn't afraid of Macavity, and should he cross their path, he will stand between Tugger and his brother like a shield. With the Moon as his witness, he won't let Macavity touch a hair on Tugger's head.

"And the girls?"

Tugger sighs. "Jemima was napping. Demeter was awake, but hardly sad to see me go."

He snorts at that, and Tugger quirks a grin.

"You ready?"

Quaxo hums again, this time much more happily. Despite the purpose for their departure being a less than happy reason, he can't help but look forwards to some time alone with Tugger. It will be up to him to mend his broken heart and bring him home.

They head to the small gap between the iron-gate-fridge-door and a stack of broken chairs which serves as the south entrance to the 'yard. The usual tingle of magic passes over them, like a stroke against the grain, as they cross the 'yard boundary and step into the outside world as plain old cats. Even in this simple form, Quaxo can still feel his magic inside him, not at all diminished from the transformation. Though he has to let go of Tugger's paw as they drop down on all fours, Tugger quickly coils his long bushy tail around his sending a shiver rushing up his spine.

Tugger turns back to cast one final glance at their home. It dawns on Quaxo that although Tugger said goodbye Munk, Alonzo and Demeter, he wouldn't have said so to any of the other cats, and that was a bold thing to do (or not do, to be precise). It gave a good indication as to the extent of his displeasure, and to whom he considered worth saying goodbye to.

I don't know when we'll be coming back, he'd said.

Quaxo gets the feeling that it won't be for a while.

He presses the side of his body shoulder-to-shoulder against Tugger, and waits for him to say one last, silent farewell to his home.

But then, as they finally turn to begin their journey, the sharp scent of smoke explodes into the air.

They spring apart and Tugger whirls around with a hiss.

"Macavity."

He stands atop the iron gate, perched like a tiger lurking on a tree branch.

"I heard you were leaving," he purrs, slitted yellow eyes peering curiously down at Tugger, then to Quaxo with even more interest. "Oh? Both of you. How fascinating."

"We are," Tugger says, "And so will you."

"Oh, will I?"

"You will leave the Jellicles alone from this moment henceforth," Tugger declares, puffing up his chest. Quaxo sniffs. The air is heavy with magic, and Macavity's unexpected appearance has alarms ringing in his head, even more-so than it usually does. There's something about this — the timing of him here and now — that has his hackles rising.

"And why would I do that?" Macavity asks, sinking to drape himself across the gate and curl his tail around the railing.

Tugger's glare holds, but then his face twists (much to Quaxo's surprise).

"Because they aren't worth your time," he says softly. The reaction is instant. Macavity springs back to his feet and leans forwards in interest, almost hanging off the gate. Tugger doesn't so much as flinch. "I know what happened," he says instead, in a low, mournful tone. "What Father did to you and your… your mother."

Macavity's nostrils flare and his eyes widen, and the smell of smoke becomes cloyingly thick in their throats.

"You do?" He asks, blinking slowly.

Tugger bites his lip. "I asked him about my mother, so he told me everything."

"He did, did he?"

"Yes, he — why do you keep repeating what I'm saying? Don't you get it? I understand." Tugger shuts his eyes, his face tightening with grief. "I get why you're so angry all the time, and why you've done all these horrible things."

"Hm, you do, do you?"

"What happened to you wasn't right, Mac. What he did to you was… was not what any father should do to their son. You didn't deserve any of it."

Macavity's entire body is so perfectly still, his gaze so fixed on Tugger that Quaxo feels like he's ceased to exist completely. There is something held coiled in Macavity though that forces him to keep paying attention. Like at any moment he might strike.

"But taking it out on the Jellicles — "

"They were part of it too!" Macavity roars.

Tugger bobs his head, "I know, I know they were, but Mac it's over now. It's done. No amount of revenge will bring her back. Nothing you do will change the what happened. You've got to let it go. Otherwise it'll just keep dragging you down. Don't you get it? I feel it too." Tugger says, opening his eyes. "I feel just as betrayed by them — all of them, but most of all by Father. He has wronged both of us but it is a waste of effort trying to make him see his wrongs. My mother…" his voice cracks, "I want to honour my m-mother by focusing on her, and not him. Somehow, I know she would want me to do that. To remember her as she was in all her glory. You should try to do the same."

"So that's what you're doing then," Macavity sneers. He drops to the ground in front of them, and with him taking another step closer, Quaxo scoots around Tugger to wedge himself between them. Macavity narrows his eyes at him, but turns back to Tugger. "Running away from the fight, like you always do."

Tugger shakes his head. "But there doesn't need to be a fight. That's what I'm trying to say — "

"Of course there doesn't," Macavity says dismissively. "Doesn't stop me wantingthere to be a fight though, does it? I will bring war to the Jellicles the likes of which you can't even imagine, because it is what my mother would have wanted. I will take what is rightfully mine, which includes my inheritance, the 'yard itself, my mate, my child, and most of all, my revenge!"

"Haven't you been listening to a word I've been saying? You idiot!" Tugger demands. Much to Quaxo's surprise, he doesn't seem the slightest bit intimidated by his brother. "Revenge is a waste of time! What's the point in trying to punish someone who refuses to listen? All it does is make you feel more frustrated by their continued ignorance. Brother, please," he pleads. "You are punishing yourself by carrying on with this. Let it go, for your own sake. Find peace in being far away from the Jellicles and all their foolishness. Win by living a long, happy life free from the past."

Macavity holds his stillness for a long, tense moment, and then falls back abruptly to sit on his haunches.

"That would be the easier option," he muses, licking his paw. "Healthier, certainly, and far more agreeable." He smirks. "But that isn't what I want, Tug. You must understand that my reasons change all the time, but a long time ago I promised myself that I would end the Jellicles, and nothing in this world will stop me from doing so. Sometimes I tell myself it's for revenge. Other times for my mother. But if I'm being honest, mostly it's just because… well, it's mostly because I want to. I want them gone. It's as simple as that, Tugger," Macavity declares, flicking his tail. "I can't stand them, any of them — including you — and so, it will end like this: with screams — "

"No," Tugger begs.

" — and fire, of course," he laughs, throwing his head back. "Plenty of fire. That girl of yours, the one who likes to read. What was that book? How did it go? Ah yes. It was a pleasure to burn," Macavity grins with all his teeth. "To see things eaten. To see things blackened and changed."

"Brother, please — "

"You think you understand, Tugger, but you don't get it at all." He suddenly becomes hard as steel. "The past used to hurt me. Many things did. Losing Mother hurt most of all, but in that pain — I burned. I blackened. I changed." Macavity prowls a circle around them, but Quaxo maintains a space between them, matching his steps. "As the fire consumed me I found comfort in its embrace. I found glory in its power, especially when I realised it is something that even Man is afraid of. So difficult it is to contain or control. Nothing can escape fire. It eats everything in its path."

"A good hose could do away with it," Quaxo mutters under his breath.

Macavity shoots him an amused look. "Maybe it could, but with magic…? Then it becomes truly unstoppable. Entire forests can be eaten in mere hours. Wildfires engulf acres of highland in the summer. You city-cats won't know of it but it happens all the time, and oh, what a magnificent thing it is to behold when it does."

Tugger darts a wary glance around them. The air has become so heavy with the smell of smoke that he half expects to find the ground beneath them aflame. He catches a pair of glowing eyes in the shadow between an upturned boat and tower of safety cabinets, and they blink at him: left-right-left. It's code. They've gone to get Munk.

Thank the Everlasting Cat.

He wriggles his nose.

"What's your plan then?" He asks, eyes flickering about. A plan is forming in his head. He turns back to his brother. "Another trap-and-fire? It won't work. Every den is built with multiple exits now. Another kidnapping? Quaxo will just bring them back — "

"No, you unimaginative ingrate," Macavity snaps. "You think those things were part of the plan? They were just for my entertainment, you fool. The plan will only make itself known to you once it's complete, but by that time you'll all be ashes."

"So fire will be a part of it," Quaxo points out conversationally, turning to Tugger whilst keeping Macavity in his sights all the while. He clicks his tongue. "And he calls you unimaginative."

"Hrmm," Macavity pauses mid-step, his lips still curled in a smirk. "What's this? Both of you… are trying to stall me to buy time for the others to come? How cunning. How unfair. Especially with it being two-on-one. Outnumbered as per usual. Though I suppose," he laughs, "It's more like one-on-one really, isn't it? What with you being part of it. Ever the pacifist, Tugger. Your mother would be so proud."

Tugger's back arches. "Don't you dare — "

"Don't I dare what? Don't talk about that whore?" Macavity smiles pleasantly. "Whyever not? I would've thought you'd want to have a little heart-to-heart about our mothers? Wasn't it you who claimed to have understood me?" His voice drops. "As if watching your mother be killed is anything like having her be Chosen."

"Our pain might not be the same, but that doesn't mean I can't empathise with you, Macavity."

"Of course, of course," he mutters dismissively. "I'm sure you can. But if what you claim is true, why then are you so determined to stand in my way? It's not as if the Jellicles have treated your either you or your mother with much kindness. It's not doing you any favours either, to put yourself on the line for the same people who have lied to you all these years. It's hardly as if they'll thank you for your generosity."

"I don't need them to thank me." Tugger's lips curl. "I don't care what they think of me either, but that doesn't mean I want to see them hurt."

"How valorous of you," Macavity croons. "How noble. How brave. I applaud you Tugger, truly I do. But then, why not spare yourself completely? If you don't want to see them hurt, there's an easy solution to that," he purrs. "Just don't look."

"'Don't look' is your solution?" Tugger exclaims disbelievingly. "Turn a blind eye and let the 'yard burn? Who do you take me for? I'm not you!" He groans. "God, to think that I looked up to you once!"

"It's not my fault if you've lost sense over the years — "

"Macavity."

The brothers pull apart, turning together to acknowledge their last member. From the opposite side of the gate, Munk emerges from the shadows. He's leaning heavily on Alonzo's shoulder, but once they reach the others he moves to stand under his own power.

"Munk," Macavity exclaims with exaggerated cheer, "And Alonzo too! Both brothers and their mates. How lovely. It's high time we had a proper family reunion." He casts a speculative look over Munk's swollen face, his smile growing even wider. "How are you, dear brother? Still feeling sore?"

"Enough with the pleasantries," Munk says wearily, his whole being drooping with exhaustion. Tugger makes as if to go to his side, but he shakes his head sharply. "Why have you come?"

"Well, to execute the final stages of my plan of course," the tom drawls, gesturing around in a vague manner.

Quaxo narrows his eyes. "Which would be?"

Macavity sighs. "The spell, naturally. I would have thought that you, of all people, would be able to see it."

This has both Protectors leaping to attention, their ears whipping back in alarm as they scan the surroundings. "Spell? What spell? Quaxo, do you see it — "

"You mean it's already been done?" Munk asks as Alonzo continues to question Quaxo. "When did you do it?"

"I don't see anything," Quaxo frowns, stretching his magic out with a spray of glittering light. Since Macavity seems to be in the mood for monologuing, he decides to take advantage of this and turns to his fellow magician. "Where did you put it?"

"Right there." He points at the floor between them and then traces a line up and down the length of the junkyard boundary. Munk and Alonzo stumble backwards, and Tugger bends to sniff at the ground. "It goes further around," he explains proudly. "All the way around the 'yard."

Munk inhales sharply. "And… what exactly does it do?"

"Ah, but it would be taking all the fun out of it if I simply told you — "

"Macavity!"

"Come now. Where's your sense of adventure? You'll just have to see what happens, won't you?" Macavity grins. "Step past this point," he scratches a line in the dirt, "And you'll find out soon enough."

"Enough with this cryptic nonsense," Alonzo spits. "Tell us now or — "

"Or what? What will you do?" Macavity takes a leap backwards. He flickers out of existence and reappears on an abandoned car further down the street. "What can you do to me from all the way over there? Glare me into submission?" He laughs. "You'll have to come over here if you want your answers. So go on. Come get me."

Alonzo raises a leg but Munk halts him. He scowls at him. "He's all talk, Munk. I wouldn't believe a word he says."

"But you can't assume he's lying either," Munk reasons, pulling him back. "It's too risky. We don't know what the spell might do to you."

"He's bluffing!"

Then the line made in the dirt suddenly ignites.

Fire lashes out like a whip, carving a bright red ribbon in the ground. It deepens, flowing like a river of blood, and it extends as far as the eye can see — following the same directions Macavity pointed out to them before. The moment the fire strikes, a couple of dark figures tear out of the 'yard like two bats out of hell, leaping over the dancing flames and blurring past them. Munk cries out and quickly yanks Alonzo behind him.

"See?" He hisses, his ears flattening to his skull. "See what could've happened?"

Alonzo cranes his head to peer around him as the two figures slip away into the distance. "Was that the twins?"

Quaxo spins around in alarm. He's pressed himself against Tugger, shielding him from the fire with his body. "Don't touch it! It's magic fire."

"Well done, kit," Macavity calls from the car. "See how it burns? That's no ordinary flame."

"What does it do then, the spell?" Tugger asks. The fire scorches the ground and then sinks into it, leaving behind a thick black line of soot. They stare in confusion as it smothers itself out. "Was… was that it?"

"'Was that it?' he says," Macavity scoffs. "You're such a bunch of cowards. Seriously! Just hop over here and see for yourselves what it does."

"Don't," Quaxo cautions, sniffing at the soot. "Don't touch any of it. The magic is still there."

"Enough games, Macavity," Alonzo growls. "Tell us what it does. It's not as if it'll spoil your fun if we know."

"Hrmm… I suppose you're right." The magician stretches out over the hood. "Very well. Listen to me then: the spell is very simple, and should you test it there'll be no undoing what it does to you. No turning back. Is that understood?"

"Yes, yes," Alonzo rolls his eyes.

"Excellent. Here it is then, what I have done — this line here which once marked the boundary of the Jellicles' territory, now marks the limits of your existence. If you take one step outside, you will lose every memory you hold dear. You won't remember who you are to each other or to yourselves, or that you are a Jellicle capable of song and dance. No amount of magic will bring you back, nor undo the spell. You will lose all that you are, and thus you will cease to exist."

The cats stand in silence, each contemplating Macavity's words. The stink of fire and magic seems to support his claim fairly well.

"I don't get it," Quaxo finally says. "Are you saying that if we leave the 'yard, we'll… die?"

"Oh no, nothing as horrible as that. You'll simply lose the life you once had," Macavity explains.

"That sounds a lot like death to me."

"It depends on how you look at it. The people you hold dear will mean nothing to you. The ability to communicate as we do with each other will also be lost. You will become like any other cat in the world, without a trace of magic in you."

"And why is that so bad?" Tugger points out, frowning.

Macavity sighs. "Must I spell out everything for you? Just think about it for a moment, please. For god's sake, it's like I'm the only one with any brains around here!"

"Without magic… there are no Jellicles," Alonzo says slowly, his eyes widening. He turns to Munk. "He's right. We'll lose everything."

"But none of you have magic anyways," Quaxo argues. "Isn't that the whole reason you freaked out when I came out as a magician?"

"None of us can use magic. That doesn't mean we don't have it. Father has always said that ever since the circus came here we have been different. We changed. We became stronger and cleverer," Munk says, the line of his mouth twisting. "And more aware of ourselves."

"But you were still Jellicles before that… right?"

Alonzo frowns. "In a sense we were. It wasn't the same though. I don't really remember what it was like before. Magic has been here for as long as I can recall. Binding us together. Making us different."

"But you were Jellicles before, and you'll still be Jellicles after," Quaxo insists, turning to Tugger instead.

He shrugs. "Other cats have always found us weird."

"And they tell us so after they've crossed the boundary," Munk points out. "Haven't you ever noticed that part? That it's only once they've entered the 'yard that they can even speak to tell us."

Tugger scowls. "Haven't really thought about it like that before."

"Of course you haven't," Macavity mocks. "Because you've never had to consider life without magic before, have you? It's like air to you. You don't realise how much you need it until it's all gone and you're left there gasping for breath. They turn their noses up at it — at us," he says, turning to Quaxo. "And spurn us for using it when it's the very thing they rely on every day. They're ignorant and selfish. They'll never understand us."

"But… we're speaking to each other right now, aren't we?" Tugger points out, interrupting Quaxo before he can reply to this.

"That's because we haven't crossed the line," Munk says, his expression turning grim. "Yet."

"So the spell forces us to stay in the 'yard." Alonzo purses his lips in thought. "But what about them two?" He says, jerking his head at Quaxo and Tugger. "They've already crossed the line and they can still speak. They still have magic."

"They didn't cross it after the spell was cast," Munk replies.

"I could try to undo it," Quaxo offers.

Macavity rolls his eyes. "You could. By all means, try."

"What will happen to them?" Munk presses, his eyes locking onto his younger brother's. There are barely three feet between them and yet they are now two worlds apart. Tugger scuffs the edge of the soot line, but Quaxo hauls him back.

"If they stay outside the new boundary? Oh... probably nothing," Macavity says unconcernedly, flicking his tail lazily.

"And if they were to cross it?" Alonzo asks, peering at the thin line of soot that separates them. A strong breeze or a steady rainfall could probably wash it out.

Macavity shoots him a smile, and then he suddenly disappears in a flash of red light.

His voice hangs in the air, echoing his last words to them with a crackle of ember.

"If they were, perhaps then… they'll burn."

A/N:

Haha, are Tugger and Quaxo planning to elope? Sure sounds like it, right?

BTW, you might not be interested, but I thought I'd share this. I was originally planning on making it so Grizabella's Second Name was Glamour Cat, but that it was before that "Glemmerkett", and was mispronounced/changed over time to become "Glamour Cat". I liked the idea of it, with the translations Glemme (Danish: forget) Kett (Estonian: train, as in locomotive) seeming to fit in quite well. "Forget Train" brings to mind her character song "Memory", doesn't it? Haha. I just found that interesting, but in the end it didn't work with the scene. Too bad.

Also, in my mind, Deuteronomy is like the cat-version of Zeus. Does not keep it in his pants, at all. The consequences are to be expected. Still, he's well-meaning and kind. But is that really good enough? No, it is not.