Disclaimer: What? Me? I don't own these wonderfully delicious characters, Oda-sensei does. I merely borrow.

Warning: Manipulation make you squeamish? And hopefully you've read the Kuro arc, or this won't make the greatest of sense.

When the Cat's Away

By Ichigo Morino (10.20.03)

"Burn the log," he said before leaving, but it's already been two months and his captain's log is still where he left it.

At first it was just a simple "I forgot again," then it became a nagging "I'll do it later," but it grew and it gnawed…and finally it transformed into a heavy "I can't."

I watch the drawer containing it for hours at a time. At night there isn't anything to do anyway. I haven't once pulled it open. Once, I almost did. That was a month ago. Right then, when I tried to but couldn't bring myself to go through with it, I decided it would stay. If no one read it, if no one knew it existed, it was as good as gone. But it wasn't. Because I knew it was there.

I watch the drawer and it watches me. The log, that leather bound book with is yellow pages, it watches me. It taunts me like a cat. Like a cat watching a mouse, waiting for its move, anticipating it and smiling with sharp teeth all the while. And claws. Gleaming claws. The sort of claws you admire from afar but don't dare coming any closer to. The sort of claws that make you come closer and then grasp you and never let you go. And they've got you, and you're caught. And you're the cat's.

And he'll watch you, that black cat, with steel eyes and a plotting smile. The captain's log watches me, even through a wall of wood, it watches me. Like him, the cat.

When the cat's away, the mice will play. But that's not always true. Some mice remain wide-eyed. They're afraid of the cat's return, afraid the cat'll just pounce out from behind a corner when they're not expecting it. Their heart's stopped and it won't start back up. It won't pound like it did when the cat slunk around them. It's just stopped. And now they're wide-eyed and frozen.

It's because they're empty now. The cat's gone. Their heart's stopped. They don't live in that constant, thrilling terror. Their reason for living has been torn from them. No, ripped. With steel claws.

I jump up. It's the drawer's copper handle I grasp. The log's taunted me and it finally triumphed. It tore.

The faded mahogany creaks when I wrench it open. It squeaks. And the book – nothing's twisted my insides like this book has within these two months. Damned months. Damned book. Damned mouse.

Neatly. It's been set neatly and evenly, perfectly. I didn't expect any less. I lift it. I take my seat back upon the bed. I don't dare open it yet. I watch it. Watch it like I've watched the drawer. It's not watching me any longer, the book, it's studying me now, baring fangs and grinning with them. Smiling, licking lips with rough feline tongue.

At first the impulse to wrench its cover open grips me, but I can't. I open it slowly instead. Gently.

You haven't burned it. Neat, clear black ink graces the yellowed page. Only this line, the rest is blank. The mouse's heart starts pounding again. Again, faster, harder. Two months seem to evaporate.

No. I couldn't.

Of course you haven't. Upon the next page, another clear black line speaks to me.

…I haven't…

I never kept a log. The idea is romantic, but stupid.

Pounding, pounding, pounding.

How long did it take you?

Two months…

I can hear your heart.

A sudden, hard gasp catches in my throat.

And your gasp.

A cat. A cat that sees and hears and knows everything. A cat that smiles steel. A god.

You're still mine.

Always…

You always will be.

Forever…

This isn't the end.

– Thank you.

It will come.

It has to…

But not for three years.

Then, not until then…

Until then. ~ Kuro

Kuro…

The last page was turned and the log was shut. I would reread it again. And again. And again. For three years. Until three years passed. Three years.

The cat is never completely gone.

And this mouse's heart, for ten glorious minutes, had pounded its hardest.

~ Owari ~