FIC: To the Changing Moon (3/?)
Apr. 23rd, 2008 02:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceTitle: To the Changing Moon (3/?)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nilchance
Rating: All Ages
The rest of the day passes quietly, with no sign of life from the man. Cat. Person. Jeff tries to work, but he can't concentrate, his senses tuned too keenly for the steady sound of breathing behind the couch. The man is sleeping back there, squished against the wall. Jeff wants to pry him out, demand answers, but he got beaten up when the man was cat-sized. He can't imagine it now. The guy is nearly 6 feet, though he never stood up straight, and all whipcord muscle. Scrawny or not, the man could take him if he really wanted.
Jeff should call the police. Hell, he should call an ambulance so they can get the kid into a psych ward. Maybe he's just lost, a homeless kid who went off his medication. It's a good, rational explanation, if Jeff forgets the part where the kid was a cat. If he mentally erases the barcode and the track marks.
Maybe that's the smart thing to do, but Jeff can't make himself do it. Whatever happened to the man to leave him so damaged, so alien, it happened recently. It happened in captivity, if the cat's balking at its carrier was any indication. Maybe, and this is Jeff's off-the-grid hacker years talking, but maybe the kid came from someplace within the system. The government, the military, a corporation. The barcode is a marker of their property; if found, return to sender.
He can't do it. The cat burrowed against him for protection, and as screwed up as this is...
He probably shouldn't keep calling the man 'the cat', or 'the man'. For now, Jeff'll call him Cat. Not original, but this whole situation could stand a little more cliche.
Jeff pages through a few more minutes of coding, his mind elsewhere, then closes the file. He's not getting anything done, which means a few sleepless nights before the job is due, but right now he can't focus on it. Instead, he gets ready to do what he hasn't in years: contact Zach to dig into things.
He spent his twenties off-grid, paranoia and arrogance at the wheel instead of sense. Most of the old gang disappeared when Brent got arrested on whatever charges the Feds could invent; like Jeff, they found jobs they could do without selling off their conscience. Only Zach stayed in the game, living out of the back of his van and disrupting whatever he was crusading against that day. It's easier now, with unprotected wifi networks around for Zach to leech off. Which means that Zach is less likely to get nailed for looking into something sensitive, whereas Jeff is easy to find.
Jeff encrypts the message tight, tucks it inside an inane forward his mother sent him last week. He hopes the bouncing cartoon rabbits give Zach something to bitch about. You know anything about a lab that tattoos barcodes on the back of necks? Cat, human. May be government.
The last bit is both warning and enticement. Zach lives on a steady diet of Mulder-esque conspiracy theories and too much marijuana. Of course, Jeff can't exactly point fingers, since he has a cat person in his apartment.
Jeff sends it out, then closes his laptop. As he gets out, Cat's steady sleep-breathing hitches, and he hears a rustling from behind the couch. Cat pokes his head out, green eyes following Jeff's progress towards the kitchen, then goes sliding out from his hiding place. He's flushed, sleep warm, rumpled.
"Pants," Jeff says, and goes to open the fridge. He's still resigning himself to another struggle when he turns around, a can of tuna in hand. The sight of Cat, dressed in the sweatpants and sitting in the doorway, stops him short. Jeff blinks. "Thanks. That's really good."
Cat looks at him through his eyelashes, bored, and firmly pats Jeff's leg.
"I'm opening it." Jeff does, starts to dish some out for Cat to bolt with, then stops. "You want to eat with me at the couch?"
Cat tilts his head, curious, but Jeff can't tell if that sinks in. He takes the can to the couch anyway, and continues dishing it out there. Cat hesitates, then clamors up on the couch next to Jeff. He sits too close, looking awkward until he rests both hands on Jeff's legs and leans in to sniff the food.
"Oof. Easy, baby, I'm getting it." Finished, Jeff holds the plate out, and Cat makes no move to take it. Cat eats from the plate, instead, dipping his head down to devour the tuna. His hands knead Jeff's thigh, idle happy motions. Jeff watches the back of his neck, committing the tattoo to memory.
Finally, Cat sits back, licking his lips. His eyes are liquid dark, and Jeff feels an answering tug of want.
Jesus, no, the kid's too screwed up for that. No.
Cat makes an inquisitive noise in his throat, then butts his head into Jeff's hand. Hesitantly, Jeff lifts his hand and touches the soft tangle of Cat's hair. It twines around his fingers like spider's web, and Cat nudges him again, insistent.
Jeff strokes Cat's hair, trying not to let his fingers catch. The kid needs a shower and a shave, maybe scissors taken to that rat's nest. Jeff shouldn't be touching him, but when he tries to stop, Cat nips his fingers and shoves into his hand again.
Okay, then. Jeff pets his human, his hand falling into a rhythm of long easy strokes. It soothes him, feeling skin under his fingers, the quiet sounds Cat makes.
No. Cat isn't going anywhere.
Author:
nilchanceRating: All Ages
The rest of the day passes quietly, with no sign of life from the man. Cat. Person. Jeff tries to work, but he can't concentrate, his senses tuned too keenly for the steady sound of breathing behind the couch. The man is sleeping back there, squished against the wall. Jeff wants to pry him out, demand answers, but he got beaten up when the man was cat-sized. He can't imagine it now. The guy is nearly 6 feet, though he never stood up straight, and all whipcord muscle. Scrawny or not, the man could take him if he really wanted.
Jeff should call the police. Hell, he should call an ambulance so they can get the kid into a psych ward. Maybe he's just lost, a homeless kid who went off his medication. It's a good, rational explanation, if Jeff forgets the part where the kid was a cat. If he mentally erases the barcode and the track marks.
Maybe that's the smart thing to do, but Jeff can't make himself do it. Whatever happened to the man to leave him so damaged, so alien, it happened recently. It happened in captivity, if the cat's balking at its carrier was any indication. Maybe, and this is Jeff's off-the-grid hacker years talking, but maybe the kid came from someplace within the system. The government, the military, a corporation. The barcode is a marker of their property; if found, return to sender.
He can't do it. The cat burrowed against him for protection, and as screwed up as this is...
He probably shouldn't keep calling the man 'the cat', or 'the man'. For now, Jeff'll call him Cat. Not original, but this whole situation could stand a little more cliche.
Jeff pages through a few more minutes of coding, his mind elsewhere, then closes the file. He's not getting anything done, which means a few sleepless nights before the job is due, but right now he can't focus on it. Instead, he gets ready to do what he hasn't in years: contact Zach to dig into things.
He spent his twenties off-grid, paranoia and arrogance at the wheel instead of sense. Most of the old gang disappeared when Brent got arrested on whatever charges the Feds could invent; like Jeff, they found jobs they could do without selling off their conscience. Only Zach stayed in the game, living out of the back of his van and disrupting whatever he was crusading against that day. It's easier now, with unprotected wifi networks around for Zach to leech off. Which means that Zach is less likely to get nailed for looking into something sensitive, whereas Jeff is easy to find.
Jeff encrypts the message tight, tucks it inside an inane forward his mother sent him last week. He hopes the bouncing cartoon rabbits give Zach something to bitch about. You know anything about a lab that tattoos barcodes on the back of necks? Cat, human. May be government.
The last bit is both warning and enticement. Zach lives on a steady diet of Mulder-esque conspiracy theories and too much marijuana. Of course, Jeff can't exactly point fingers, since he has a cat person in his apartment.
Jeff sends it out, then closes his laptop. As he gets out, Cat's steady sleep-breathing hitches, and he hears a rustling from behind the couch. Cat pokes his head out, green eyes following Jeff's progress towards the kitchen, then goes sliding out from his hiding place. He's flushed, sleep warm, rumpled.
"Pants," Jeff says, and goes to open the fridge. He's still resigning himself to another struggle when he turns around, a can of tuna in hand. The sight of Cat, dressed in the sweatpants and sitting in the doorway, stops him short. Jeff blinks. "Thanks. That's really good."
Cat looks at him through his eyelashes, bored, and firmly pats Jeff's leg.
"I'm opening it." Jeff does, starts to dish some out for Cat to bolt with, then stops. "You want to eat with me at the couch?"
Cat tilts his head, curious, but Jeff can't tell if that sinks in. He takes the can to the couch anyway, and continues dishing it out there. Cat hesitates, then clamors up on the couch next to Jeff. He sits too close, looking awkward until he rests both hands on Jeff's legs and leans in to sniff the food.
"Oof. Easy, baby, I'm getting it." Finished, Jeff holds the plate out, and Cat makes no move to take it. Cat eats from the plate, instead, dipping his head down to devour the tuna. His hands knead Jeff's thigh, idle happy motions. Jeff watches the back of his neck, committing the tattoo to memory.
Finally, Cat sits back, licking his lips. His eyes are liquid dark, and Jeff feels an answering tug of want.
Jesus, no, the kid's too screwed up for that. No.
Cat makes an inquisitive noise in his throat, then butts his head into Jeff's hand. Hesitantly, Jeff lifts his hand and touches the soft tangle of Cat's hair. It twines around his fingers like spider's web, and Cat nudges him again, insistent.
Jeff strokes Cat's hair, trying not to let his fingers catch. The kid needs a shower and a shave, maybe scissors taken to that rat's nest. Jeff shouldn't be touching him, but when he tries to stop, Cat nips his fingers and shoves into his hand again.
Okay, then. Jeff pets his human, his hand falling into a rhythm of long easy strokes. It soothes him, feeling skin under his fingers, the quiet sounds Cat makes.
No. Cat isn't going anywhere.
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-23 11:02 pm (UTC)