A/N: Beta-read by the lovely Ellarose C. I have not abandoned this AUverse... I'm just really horrible about writing it in a timely fashion. Also, writer's block. /flees

If all he's going to do is wander around the apartment all day, Arthur thought sourly as he watched Alfred tucking another DVD case back into its place, he could at least pause for a moment to pet me. That spot behind my ear won't stop itching! Left to his agitated mind—despite increased flexibility as a man magically transformed into a cat, nothing quite compared to having fingers to reach things like little niggling spots behind ears—he sniffed disdainfully and glanced out the kitchen window again where the rain splattered against the glass.

Arthur could never decide if he loved or hated the rain; as a child, the gentle rains of his home comforted him, even when they trapped him in his house full of boisterous siblings. After moving to the United States as an adult, it became a nuisance. When he became a cat, it almost killed him.

But he had also met Alfred in the rain, been saved because of it, so he couldn't find much of his old ire when it began to pour again one Sunday in May. And as a bonus, it also seemed to have make Alfred stay in for once, and any time with Alfred was far better than time without him, because Alfred, no matter how dim Arthur worried he might be, was in any case entertaining. Or, at least, he supposed the rain had kept him home; Alfred rarely remained home for long on weekends, but today he spent most of morning puttering around the apartment.

As Arthur watched from the safety of the couch, Alfred set to cleaning up the apartment in such a frenzied state that Arthur was certain he was going to have to go hide under the bed in case the landlord visited. Alfred didn't just stop at picking up his clothes or putting DVDs and games away, but actually got out a vacuum cleaner and duster, and then washed the dishes, as well. Arthur's amazement turned to complete shock when Alfred went so far out of his way as to get out the wood polish spray and wiped down the coffee table.

Alfred was up to something—Arthur was sure of it. Now, he mused as Alfred finished cleaning the table, if only I still had a mouth that could speak, I could just ask him what he's doing.

Collecting the cleaning supplies, Alfred stood and walked over to the closet before dumping the supplies back in their spots. However, he still wasn't done rummaging around just yet. Eventually he stepped away and walked back to the couch; in his hands, Alfred carried a plastic bag. Instead of flopping down and jostling Arthur like he usually did, Alfred settled himself down, pausing briefly to pat Arthur.

"Well, Whiskers." 'Whiskers' was another name Alfred was trying to saddle him with; Arthur would have been more sympathetic if it weren't so painfully lazy. "I hope you haven't minded sharing the apartment with me for once, did you?"

It wasn't really so bad, Arthur could almost admit. At least you finally scratched that damn spot for me, he grumbled almost affectionately.

He watched as Alfred opened the bag and began to pull objects out of it; a candle, a candleholder, a small, slightly squashed present in shiny paper, and a photo in an old frame. Alfred set the items up before pulling a lighter out of his pocket and lighting the candle. As Alfred leaned back to play with the television remote, Arthur craned his head so he could see what was in the photo.

Despite the dim light, Arthur easily made out the three figures in the picture; one of them was Alfred, young and smiling adoringly up at a woman as he and much older man handed her a wrapped present. From the man's blond hair and the woman's wide blue eyes, Arthur supposed they were his parents. Arthur cocked his head to the side, wondering why Alfred had spent so much time cleaning up just to put up a photo and candle.

Maybe, he thought with dawning horror, they're dead and this is their anniversary. Arthur glanced up at the man next to him; he did look tired, but Arthur had only assumed that it was from cleaning. What if Alfred's been mourning all this time while I thought about was getting my ear scratched? He would feel horrible then.

Alfred's voice cut through Arthur's thoughts as he finally settled on one of those kitschy made-for-television movies that Americans seemed to eat up, dropping the remote on the table before reaching down to pet Arthur's back again. "You looking at the photo there, bud?"

Arthur ducked his head guiltily. I'm so sorry that I've been thinking of myself while you've been mourning over your parents. Thank god you can't hear me, I'd be so ashamed at this moment.

If Alfred was aware of Arthur's distress—doubtable—he ignored it and pointed at the picture. "See that? Those are my parents; nice looking folks, huh?" Arthur glanced down at the pillow below him, wishing he could just turn around and hide between the cushions. "I was four in this photo; can you believe how small I was? Matt's mom snapped it for us." (Matthew, Arthur learned, was Alfred's cousin, and apparently the only one he ever spoke with—for reasons that were now horrifyingly clear to Arthur.) "Every year we'd do this; clean the house up for Mom, then give her a present." Alfred sighed. "But it's been a few years since the last time that happened."

The sorrow was finally starting to come through; Arthur gazed up with sympathy as Alfred's smile trembled. Feeling small and awful, Arthur rubbed his head against Alfred's leg as kindly as he could. The gesture earned him an actual smile and another pet, but Alfred still sighed.

"I just wish I could give her the gift myself," he admitted.

Guiltily, Arthur glanced away.

Next to him, Alfred chuckled wetly. "Maybe one day I will. If she ever answers her phone."

Arthur froze. Wait. What?

"You wouldn't think it to look at her there," Alfred went on, almost sounding fond, "but she's as stubborn as they get!"

Wait one bloody minute. Arthur turned his shocked eyes back to his oblivious savior. All this time I've been worrying she was dead and you were mourning and the truth is… She just doesn't want to answer her phone? Why—you—If I had a mouth that could talk, I would be yelling at you so much right now that you-

Alfred frowned. "I guess homophobia really can change someone."

Arthur's fury petered out, confusion returning instantly.

"It's been almost three years now," Alfred continued, gaze flickering back up to the television. "I never thought they'd cut me off for so long. I thought—you know—that they'd have to accept me. I was their only son, and they totally doted on me. They'd have to accept me, right?"

Arthur pinned his ears back. Oh, you poor fool.

Glancing down, Alfred snorted gently at him before petting him again. "Yeah, stupid, huh? But I was so certain that they'd get over me being bi, I really never saw it coming. And now…" He turned back to the television. "Now I just get to sit here, watching made-for-TV crap because that's what we always used to do." Alfred paused and smiled wryly down at him. "Good thing cats usually leave their mothers of their own choice, huh? I wonder when's the last time you saw yours?"

What was she doing? It had been months since he last talked to her. What would she do if he told he'd been turned into a cat? Probably have him committed, or at the very least call him a terrible liar.

Still, his mother hadn't tossed him out of the house when he came out. Glancing up at Alfred, Arthur felt his last defense crumble at the sadness that had no right to be in those eyes. The man who saved him deserved better than that.

Slowly, because despite everything it was a bit embarrassing, he climbed up into Alfred's lap. The man tensed—no doubt in shock—but Arthur did his best to ignore it as he settled upon his legs. He buried his face into Alfred's sweatshirt, ignoring the cocktail of cleaning chemicals and dust to pick up another smell of old leather and something fresh, like the wind over a field. Odd, he thought as Alfred slowly relaxed, I hadn't noticed before.

Above him, Alfred chuckled in surprise before finally loosening up enough to stroke Arthur again.

"You know, you can be a real sweetheart when you want to be."

Don't you dare say that to anyone else, Arthur thought without any bite.

"Thank you, bud, I mean it." Alfred chuckled again, this time with genuine warmth, and settled in to watch his movie while petting the cat. "Happy Mother's day, Mom."

Arthur snorted to himself and butted Alfred's hand, making the man forget about his mother (and troubles) in favor of pouring affection on him. Terrible movie at hand, Alfred split his focus on it and petting Arthur, while the cat wondered about the sudden warmth he felt in his stomach as Alfred's hand glided down his back.