This story is incredibly fluffy, but deals with mature themes. Trigger warnings for entire story include living as a sexual assault survivor and a combat veteran, references to alcoholism/drug addiction, PTSD, self-destructive and self-harming behaviors, mild domestic violence, and rape discussion. A concerted effort is made to honestly portray the strength in survivorship, and focus not on the source of the trauma, but the healing and growth process. I promise, my goal is to be as swest and mushy and funny as possible in this real life context.

"Where did you meet him?" Gwen continued to badger Anna about her plans for the afternoon, which she had been doing on and off since she arrived that morning with takeaway coffee. Ginger eyebrows raised high enough to etch expectant lines into Gwen's forehead. She flipped her hair over her shoulder.

Anna tried to bite back a smile. "It's the most ridiculous thing, really."

"More ridiculous than rescuing a twat-faced, six-toed, grown cat named Humperdinck when you were planning on getting a kitten?"

"You leave my little polydactyl man alone. It's not his fault some fourteen-year-old tumblr-blogger named him, or that he always looks cross."

"Oy. We're on Tumblr!"

"You're on Tumblr. I watch from afar."

"You have a blog url. If you have a blog url, regardless of whether you just lurk, you're on Tumblr. And how do you figure Tumblr? Princess Bride reference?"

"His brother's name is Bandersnatch."

Gwen cocked her head. "As in all mimsy were the borogroves?"

"As in Humperdinck Bandersnatch," Anna waited expectantly. As is on cue, Gwen loosed a belly laugh.

"That's even better than Betadine Cumberbun," she wheezed, catching her breath. "Which was my previous favorite. And you are avoiding the question. Where did you meet him?"

"Benedict Cumberbatch?"

Gwen groaned and threw a cushion at Anna. "The mysterious man who invited you to tea today."

"I nearly nicked his mother's cat."

"Wait, what?"

She was ready.

It had been a year since her gran died, she had moved out of her flat and sorted and distributed the combination of her things and all that was left of her family history. Once it was determined from her gran's will that the house was left to Anna alone, her mother stopped coming 'round, though not before pitching a fit over some of the more valuable heirlooms, and coming by with the bastard she'd married and taking the flatscreen while Anna was in London one day. (She'd had the locks changed after that.) Anna tried to not let it bother her. Most of the things didn't feel like hers to begin with, so Anna did her best to appease her mother, even though that was an impossible task under the best of circumstances. Anna had the things that were important to her, photos and a blanket that her gran had crocheted with her when she was wee, an antique pitcher and washbasin, her gran's favorite stirring spoon and favorite handkerchiefs. The woman had never gone anywhere without hankies tucked up her sleeve.

Even though Anna had practically grown up there and had been living in the house since well before the woman passed, it stopped feeling like a home without her gran in it. She suspected it never would again. She couldn't remember the last time she lived in a place that felt like home to her.

Anna hadn't ever truly liked it in London. Her flat there was tiny and cramped, and her paycheck, though considerable, had trickled away like water. There was never any end of things to do, places to see, and restaurants at which to dine, but the city left her drained and exhausted. Back in Yorkshire, in Ripon, she lived far more comfortably on less money. She had taken a cut in pay for her reduced responsibilities, and she was still able to cover her expenses and put money away besides. Mary had been very understanding, in an entirely "Mary" sort of way. When Anna had first spoken to Mary of her gran's deteriorating condition, the so-called Office Ice-Queen sent her off with a three-in-one copier/fax/printer and a pale-blue, satin-edged blanket from Harvey Nichols for her gran. After losing her sister and Matthew, Mary had grown sensitive to others' grief. Anna emailed and faxed in her designs for Mary and the clients' approvals. She had been telecommuting ever since. The whole time she was with her gran, Mary had come to her if they needed to meet in person, with the excuse that she earned brownie points with her father, the Earl of Grantham, for dining and staying the night with the family at Downton Abbey. Lately Anna had been taking the commuter train from Knaresborough rail station into London a few days a week. It made for long days, but she didn't mind. Anna would never forget Mary's kindness and liked working for her. She was grateful to be able to avoid the bustle of the big city as much as possible. She had learned that of herself; she was a country girl, through and through.

Still, it got lonely. She'd been ready for a cat for a while. Her gran's asthma had kept her from getting one sooner. And before that she wasn't ready. Not since the cat she'd had from childhood had died.

She had gone to the earliest appointment she could get at Harrogate RSPCA on that particular Saturday. It hadn't taken much for her to be convinced of the benefits of an adult cat. One caught her attention straightaway.

"That one, there, that looks like a footman in tails," she said brightly.

"He's a wonderful chap, him. Come round here, he'll let you hold him." The young woman volunteering for the cat-ward helped open the wire-fronted metal kennel and true to her words, he walked over to Anna and let her scoop him into her arms. She cooed at him a bit, and he nuzzled her chin.

"Oh, he's so very dear!"

Through the cat-ward window, she noticed a tall, middle-aged man with a cane and a cat carrier walk up. He shifted from foot to foot for a moment, then tapped gently on the window.

The centre volunteer nodded and held up her hand to let him know to wait a moment. "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but the rule is the cat needs be in the kennel before we open the door. I'll just put him back for a moment and help this bloke."

Once the cat was secure and the door opened, the man looked awkwardly from one woman to the other. "Excuse me, I'm terribly sorry but my mother just adopted that cat. She had an appointment at nine. I helped her fill out the necessary paperwork and we paid the fee. The woman who helped us said it would be no problem hold the cat for us while we bought the necessary supplies."

The volunteer began to stutter. "Are you sure? I didn't see any paperwork and there was no tag on his cage. They're supposed to tag cats that aren't available."

"There looks to be a bit of paperwork just there," he said softly, obviously trying to be polite. He pointed to the base of the cages and sure enough there were forms and a yellow tag that had slipped nearly completely under the kennels. He looked at Anna and grimaced apologetically.

The volunteer frowned. "Was she an older woman, the one who helped you? Did she have purple hair?"

"Older than you, perhaps," he said. "But yes."

"Janet," the girl said, with wide eyes. "She ran home on a family emergency; she must have literally dropped everything. I didn't realize."

"I'm sorry, Miss," he said, turning to Anna, looking very uncomfortable. He wasn't handsome exactly, more distinguished-looking. Something about him put her at ease. His face, weathered and rough, was carved with a latticework of laugh-lines. He dressed simply but neatly in a worn leather bomber jacket over a pressed, button-down shirt. His jeans looked to be softened from years of wear, but not ragged. He ran his hand through his hair and a thin lock fell across his forehead. "If it were only me ... But I can't go out there without this cat. She has been looking forward to it, getting a black and white tuxedo cat. She watches that period show, Fountain Abbey, and wanted this one because she says he looks like a wee butler. She already has a little bed for him set up at home."

He was about as dear as the cat. Anna smiled and waived him off. "Please, Mister?"

"Bates, John Bates."

"Mr. Bates, it was a mistake. While I'll be a bit sad to say goodbye to this little gentleman, I could never snatch your mother's new cat out from under her."

He sighed audibly and let out a relieved laugh. "Thank you for understanding."

"It sounds as though he has found a happy home. And it's very good of you to look after your mother."

"She's put up with a great deal over the years, it's the least I can do for her," he said looking uncomfortable again. The cat stretched a paw towards her from between the bars of his kennel. "I am sorry. He does seem to fancy you."

"Please don't apologize, Mr. Bates. Either way he'll get a good home. That's what matters. I'm sure he'll take to your mother just as well," she said, as graciously as she could. He obviously felt badly at having to intervene and Anna didn't wish to add to his guilt by acting disappointed.

"He fancies everybody," the young woman blurted. "Purrs constantly. Him and his brother, both."

"See? He has a brother for adoption as well, sweet as him. I'll be set."

The volunteer looked visibly relieved and quickly pointed out the tuxedo cat's solid-grey sibling in a lower level kennel. "Let me just take care of this, and I'll help you, Ma'am."

She smiled up at John Bates, from her crouch. "There we are then, both of us all sorted. Your mother's a lucky woman to have such a sweet son advocating on her behalf."

He cleared his throat. "You are far too kind," he said.

She turned her attention to the somewhat surly looking grey cat. The laminated information placard on his kennel insisted that despite his expression, Humperdinck (she rolled her eyes) was a friendly companion who loved to snuggle. He wasn't the prettiest cat in the ward by any means, but something about him tugged at her heartstrings. He too reached for her through the bars of the kennel, and she was instantly and particularly fond of his extra toes.

"See? Now they'll both of them have happy endings," she said, smiling. She looked up, but the man, Mr. Bates, had gone. She was oddly disappointed. Once she was done with her paperwork and assuring the centre volunteers that Humperdinck (oh Lord, his name was Humperdinck) would never be declawed, she lugged the unwieldy wooden carrier she brought with her out to her car. Her grandfather made it decades ago for a long-dead miniature poodle, who she remembered, blind and barking, from her earliest childhood. Of course there was no sign of Mr. Bates, but she did look around the car park anyway. She was strangely sad that she probably wouldn't see him again. She was never in Harrogate.

Humperdinck yelled his outrage the entirety of the drive home. Once in her gran's living room, he approached Anna straight from the carrier and rubbed against her and rolled about for pets, even offering his belly. She was a bit suspicious of this, as her last cat had done the same, but would then bite and kick like a rabbit if you touched his belly. Not this boy. Humperdinck looked grouchy and broody, but acted a lovelorn fool. She had fallen for him over the course of a few hours. In a week she was so taken with the cat, she was sure it was fate that scooped his liveried brother out of her arms. She felt a pang of something else though, when she thought of the other cat, Bandersnatch, and found that she lingered on the memory of broad shoulders in a bomber jacket and kind eyes.

And then, just over a month later she visited Ripon's oldest pet supply store, rather logically and obviously named "The Pet Shop." They'd moved her brand of wet food to the highest shelf. Some days it was irritating being only five foot tall. By her estimation, she would be able to reach it if she stood on the second shelf. She found a handhold and was plotting her ascent when a familiar voice startled her.

"Might I help? Oh, it's you."

She was met with kind eyes and a grin that was easy and genuine. She felt her own smile warm her. "Mr. Bates, was it? Hello."

From behind him bustled a stout older woman with a square, apple cheeked face. "Don't you dare! You'll break your neck! Please let my Johnny help."

"You'll pardon the intrusion, but my mother noticed you preparing to scale Everest here and..."

"I sent him to your rescue, love," interjected his mother with a smile. "Which tin is it? And John dear, you didn't tell me you knew each other. Please, introduce me to your friend."

"The green label, four of those if you don't mind. And three of the blue. Ta. And I don't know that I introduced myself to your son properly at the shelter, but I'm Anna Smith. I'm afraid I'm the one who almost made away with Bandersnatch, before your son here very politely but adamantly intervened."

"You're why I'm calling him Snatch! Nearly snatching him away from us! Well, I'm pleased to meet you and even more pleased at your willingness to hand him over."

"You're enjoying him, I take it?" Anna asked.

"Oh he is a perfect gentleman, my wee butler. He sits with me and follows me around, keeps me company when John is at work during the day. You'll have to pop over for tea, love. I suppose in a way we snatched him from you and I'd like to thank you for being so understanding and gracious. John, you get the bag of dry food. I'm going over to look at the cat toys. Why don't you get the young lady's number? We'll see you soon, love."

With that Mrs. Bates walked rather quickly down the aisle.

"Your mother is quite the character," Anna said, peering up at the woman's rather embarrassed looking son.

"I'm sorry. She is nothing if not forward. You are in no way obliged to give me your number ... Not that we aren't grateful to you," he said, having turned a rather rich shade of crimson.

"So you are enjoying him too, then?" She smiled at his obvious discomfort, offering a safe change of subject.

"I haven't much to do in the equation, beyond provide the ride to the Pet Shop for her to buy food and toys. The two of them have taken to one another like tea and toast. She wasn't exaggerating, he follows her everywhere. She sings to him when she thinks I'm not listening."

"Oh, that's so lovely to hear!"

"I haven't seen her this happy in years. They play fetch with little crumpled receipts - we joke that he's part dog. He does often seem to be looking around and she's been wondering if it is for his brother. Did you end up adopting him?"

"I did," Anna replied with a smile.

"Was he also named from Jabberwocky?"

"No, his name is Humperdinck. It's a joke. Humperdinck Bandersnatch. They do it for the actor in Sherlock Holmes."

"Martin Freeman?"

"No the other one."

"Benedict Cumbersome?"

"No, it's Cumberbatch, see that's the j..."

"Isn't that what I said? Cabbagepatch?"

She started to protest until she realized that he had her.

He winked and grinned. "Please, Miss Smith. I'm old but I'm not that out of touch. You were telling me of Humperdinck?"

"I've shortened it to Dink," she said, feeling her ears burn with embarrassment. "Dink does the same thing. He looks around and lets out this particular meow — it's rather plaintive — and he doesn't seem to want anything in particular when he does it."

"At the risk of sounding as forward as my mother, perhaps you should join us for tea and bring Dink. We could have a feline family reunion of sorts. If that isn't too ridiculous an offer to receive from a strange man and his 76 year old mother. I'll admit that you've been on my mind; I felt rather guilty taking him like that."

"Well, lay that concern to rest. It's funny, but I almost feel as though it was fate. I'm over the moon for Dink. I can't imagine owning any other cat. He's perfect, in his awkward, disgruntled-looking way. That isn't to say I wouldn't mind seeing Snatch again, or your mother."

"Why don't I give you my number?" he suggested. "If you decide you'd rather not spend an afternoon with a complete stranger and his mother, you are under no obligation to call."

Mr. Bates had an endearing way about himself, she decided. He pulled out his phone. "Only I don't call myself, so I don't know my number. Let me just..."

"Give it here," she said, and plucked it from his hands. She entered her info into his contacts and returned it with a grin. "I shouldn't like to send you back to your mother empty-handed."

"Wait, so you're going to the house of a man you just met, and taking Mr. Dinklage over here with you? You're going to have tea with him and his mother, with your cat, at his house for your first date?"

"I don't think it's a date exactly, more a playdate for the cats. It's just tea for an hour or so. And yes, his mother will be there, which is why I couldn't see the harm. We've been texting and he said that she gets a bit lonely for visitors, especially since she has lived in London for most of her adult life and doesn't know a soul up here other than him. Besides, I know just how hard it is being a caregiver for your family members. We have at least that much in common."

"You know an awful lot about this strange man and his mother, whose cat is related to yours. If you ask me, you fancy him."

"Gwen! We've only just met. He's not exactly my type."

"Anna you don't date. You can't have a type if you don't go out with any type."

"You can have a type and not date," Anna protested unconvincingly.

"Whatever. I still say you like him."

"I do like him, I've just not known him long enough to know if I fancy him or not. Besides, he's a bit older. I'm probably not even on his radar."

"Please. You're on his radar."

"It doesn't matter. It's just for a lark. We think the cats are lonely for each other. And if I'm honest, I miss my gran. His mother reminds me of her in some ways."

"Well then, you had best load up the cat and don't wear anything black. Cat hair."

Anna liked him. Or at least she liked his sense of humour. She also liked that he hadn't texted her a photo of his penis after she'd given him her number in the Pet Shop. Beyond reaching out to her the first time, to thank her again for "so graciously" handing over Snatch, he responded to her texts, but hadn't initiated any conversations. Even still, they got to texting quite a bit. The talked about little things, like the weather, and cat food (his mother insisted on dry food only, and she fed a combination of wet and dry), favourite movies and books (they both like historical documentaries, though for different reasons), and silly things the cats did throughout the day. He told her about his love of cooking, and she admitted to being limited to pasta and basic omelettes and stir fry, and that she usually just got takeaway since her grandmother passed. Which led to a texted out discussion of sympathy and hospice care and heart failure. She commiserated with him over taking his mother on doctor visits, over watching the people you love age and whither. When he finally invited her, he said it was his mother who insisted that Anna come to call and bring the cat.

She didn't read too much into the invitation, or at least she didn't think she should. But in a quiet shadowed place in the back of her mind, she hoped that he was looking forward to seeing her, for she was oddly looking forward to seeing him. She had plenty of acquaintances, but few real friends, and she felt it keenly that she should like to be counted amongst his. She had grown to expect and enjoy their gentle back and forth throughout the day. It made her smile when she saw a text was from him. She liked the warm distraction of it, the gentle way he doted on his mother and sent pictures of her with the cat. Anna's current favorite was one of Mrs. Bates asleep in her recliner with Snatch draped languidly across her lap.

It impressed her that he worked his day around his mother's mealtimes and doctor visits. Apparently he and the owner of the company were fairly close and the man was very understanding about this sort of thing. She hadn't asked him outright what he did, but from the way he talked it sounded as though he oversaw a small shop of workmen. Maybe fabrication. He had moved his mother up from her multi level flat in London when she swapped her medication and went wonky and fell because of it. She had only been bruised and shaken, but he wouldn't hear of her living alone after that. Between early stages of renal failure and diabetes, and three sets of stairs, he worried.

Anna always asked on his mother and he always asked on Dink. Anna was all too happy to report on the fat grey cat and how completely he had made himself at home. He sat with her on the sofa, curled beside her in bed, and waited diligently until she was finished showering to go lap up the water from the shower pan. He preferred to bask in the morning sun on the front windowsill and then sprawled on his back in a rectangle of light from the kitchen window in the afternoon sun. And his resting bitch face was magnificently brooding.

Tea turned out to be a surprising joy. Mr. Bates greeted her at the door to his bungalow looking freshly shaven and (possibly) nervous. Anna smiled broadly at him and passed a bouquet of peach-coloured roses to Mrs. Bates, who welcomed her in as though she were a long lost relative. The cats were delighted, greeting one another with obvious familiarity, sniffing and grooming the other, carousing around. The three of them laughed resoundingly while the cats made a marvelous show of stalking, tumbling and batting at each other. Mr. Bates had prepared a selection of sweet and savory tartlets for the lot of them to share. His mother proudly made sure that Anna knew they were his creation and not just picked up from the pastry shop down the road.

"It isn't as if I slaved away for hours," he protested. "It's all from frozen filo dough."

"Yes, love, but I never would have thought to put cardamom with the pear and goat cheese."

"She's right," Anna chimed in. "I don't even know where to go to buy frozen fill dough. The leek and sausage is lovely, but the apple and prosciutto is my favorite. You have a fine sense of what flavours to pair."

"Oh Johnny, love," Mrs. Bates patted him arm. "Once we're finished, you'll have to put together a plate of the leftovers for Miss Smith."

Anna stayed much longer than she planned. Well after their meal, she and Mr. Bates ended up having another quiet cuppa at the kitchen table, talking about everything and nothing when his mother and both of the cats had fallen far too sweetly asleep together to disturb. And then he pulled a coin from his pocket that was too big to be a coin, set it down on the table between them, and tapped it with his finger.

"What's that?" She asked.

"Ten years of sobriety," he said in a low voice. "I thought you should know. You seem to think so much of me, for taking care of my mother, but in truth, I'm a washed-up, recovering alcoholic."

She didn't know what to say. So she stayed silent. She touched the chip, then reached out and rested her hand over his larger one and looked at him in what she hoped was encouragement. He sagged, his hand slid from under hers, and he scrubbed it over his face.

He told her how his tour of duty in Kuwait — during the Gulf War — abruptly ended when his leg was broken in an accident with an armored vehicle, how relieved his mother was when he came home, how short-lived that relief was when he turned to drink. He told her of an alcohol-fueled, failed marriage, and later on an arrest, with a lenient judge and years of probation and community service.

"You've said that I'm a good man for looking after my mother," he murmured in the low light of the kitchen, "but from my end of things I'll never make up for the pain I caused her. So you see, that's the other side of the story. I'm just another alcoholic, trying to atone for his sins and clean up old messes. I didn't want you to think I am something I'm not."

"I only know what I see," she said, flushed with the intimacy of his admission. "And I see a man who is human and has made mistakes and has likely been dragged through hardships beyond himself, but still tries to do the honorable thing, despite it all."

She fell into silence. She almost felt as though she hadn't earned the right to know these things about him. Not yet. They were too big for words.

"I appreciate your friendship, Anna," he said, looking almost ashamed of himself. "Very much. I shouldn't like for you to hear about my past from anyone else."

"We all have our demons, Mr. Bates. But I thank you for telling me. You didn't have to."

He looked at her then with an unreadable expression. "But I did," he whispered. "You needed to know."

Anna reached for his hand again and this time he laced his fingers through hers. She ran her thumb over his knuckles. She was sat close to him. Close enough to smell him, she realized, to catch the scent of skin, soap, and aftershave. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted him to kiss her. Somehow each of those was a different thing and each one frightened her a bit, though in different ways. She pulled her gaze from the subtle curve of his mouth, and let it fall on the knot of their fingers.

She had her own stories, her own honesties she wasn't quite ready to share yet. Instead she found herself holding a large, gentle hand and sitting quietly, comfortably in a warm kitchen, sipping cooled tea.