Billy never had a chance. As soon as Sunny made that face, pressing her lips together and looking away like she had suddenly discovered herself in bed with someone horribly beneath her status, he was doomed. Arguing was a moot point, just like trying to distract or soothe her. God only knew he had tried all three before.

With a sigh, Billy resigned himself to fate. “What’d I do now?”

Sunny gave him a wounded look, then crossed her arms over her chest. He was absently grateful; that was one less thing to distract him. “You know very well what you did. I don’t believe you’re trying to play this off. You’re willing to leave a helpless little kitten out there in the rain-“

“Sunny. It’s Texas. The cat ain’t gonna get that cold.”

“It’s November, and it’s pouring out!” She turned her back on him, staring sulkily out the window. The sweet curve of her spine was suddenly very inviting. Without thinking, he curiously trail his finger down along it. Startled, Sunny shivered, nearly purring, then huffed out an annoyed breath and moved pointedly out of his reach. “The poor thing must be drenched.”

“It’s just a cat.” A yowl from outside punctuated his words, and he winced. “A very loud and obnoxious cat.”

“You’d be upset too, if you were alone in some alley, freezing and probably starving to death…”

“Darlin’, you don’t give a shit about the cat.”

Her head snapped around, eyes wide and wounded. It would’ve been convincing to a stranger. “How can you say that?”

“Because I know how you work. You’re trying to get me out of this bed and out in the rain just to see if you can. It ain’t happening, baby. You haven’t got me that whipped yet.” When she just looked at him, stunned, he shrugged. “Sorry.”

Her full lips turned down into a pout. “But…”

“No.”

“I’ll make it worth your while…”

With a snort, he sat up. Curling his fingers around her shoulders, he leaned forward and nuzzled her throat, breathing in the scent of her skin and her vanilla shampoo. She didn’t resist when he urged her back on to his lap, crossing his arms over her flat stomach as she settled back against him. Tucking her head into his shoulder, he felt a twinge of something almost tender and indulged it, stroking the curve of her hipbone with his fingertips. She shivered, biting his throat delicately in retaliation. With a flick of his fingers against her side, he said firmly, “There’s not a damned thing in the world that could get me out of this bed right now.”

Sunny tilted her head to consider him. All too innocently, she reached up and linked her arms behind his head, then drawled, sweetly, “Wanna bet?”
---
Five minutes later, he was out in the rain, rubbing resentfully at the new bruise on his arm. For such a little thing, Sunny had a mean right.

With a resigned sigh, he called without much enthusiasm, “All right, cat. Where are you?”

There no answer. Naturally. Going further into the alley, he tugged at the battered jacket he had thrown on in lieu of a shirt and tried again. “I ain’t going inside empty handed, y’know, so you might as well make this easier on both of us and poke your head out, or whatever.”

His answer finally came, in the form of a weak and thoroughly piteous mewl. He turned, searching the alley for the source, until it came again from the back of the alley. Looking up, he found himself looking at the dumpster against the wall. Fucking wonderful.

“You couldn’t just be on the front step, could you?” Making his way through the trash that littered the path to the back of the alley, Billy muttered a curse as he stumbled over something he really didn’t want identified. Nothing that squished could be good. “Nooo, you had to be in the back of the alley. ‘Poor little kitten’ my ass…”

With a grimace, he gingerly nudged a pile of trash out of the way, then knelt beside the dumpster and peered behind it. The wide, pale blue eyes looking back at him nearly jolted him into a yelp. Falling back against the wall, he swallowed and cursed softly.

Sunny had been right; it was a tabby kitten, drenched to the fur and shivering. An older cat lay beside it, unmoving, fur matted with blood. Judging from the small forms shadowed behind it, all of them just as still, only one of the litter was still breathing.

“A dog or something,” he muttered to himself, not sure why. “Damn.”

The kitten stared at him, laying its head down against its mother’s side. Its mouth opened and closed, mutely pleading. It was too young to survive without its mother, and soon would be dead just as surely as the rest of them.

Taking a deep breath, he finally pushed himself up and turned away. Better just to tell Sunny that the ‘poor cat’ had bolted as soon as he opened the door; neither of them really needed this tonight. There wasn’t a damned thing they could do anyway.

His hand touched the door, and he stopped.

He couldn’t just leave it out here…

Shaking the thought away, he scowled. “Damned right, I can,” he growled at his conscience. “It’s just a cat, and it’s not gonna live. I’ve got no fucking reason to bother.”

Except for the fact that it was small, helpless and alone, and that thinking about it would bother him all night.

“Yeah, yeah. Who died and made me St. Francis?” Disgusted, he pulled the door open. “The world’s overpopulated with cats anyway. I don’t care.”

Stepping into the warmth of the front lobby made him realize, abruptly, exactly how cold it was out there. Even in Texas, November could be nasty. If he was shivering after two minutes in the rain, the cat had to be freezing.

He blew out a breath and turned his back on the door. “I don’t care,” he reminded himself. “I really don’t.”

It could at least die warm…

Shifting uneasily on his feet, he went towards the stairs, hesitated, then muttered vehemently “son of a bitch” and pushed open the door again.

The alley hadn’t much improved in his moment’s absence. He tripped over the same squishy piece of whatever again, but did his best to ignore it as he made his way back to the dumpster. The kitten was still nuzzling against its mother, kneading for milk with a helplessness that made his stomach twist. As carefully as he could, he reached for the kitten, easing it away from the body that was still warm against his knuckles. The kitten squirmed weakly, finally managing a soft, desperate squeak. Wincing, Billy brought it clear of the dumpster in his cupped hands. It twisted away from him, craning its head back towards its mother, still making those tiny sounds that were quickly lost in the wind. Finally, giving up, it stilled, its breathing just a fluttering sensation against his fingers.

“Been there,” he murmured, and brought the kitten carefully against his side in an attempt to keep it warm. It felt too easily breakable in his hands as he cautiously moved back through the alley to the door. This time, miraculously, he didn’t trip.

Opening the door to his apartment without his hands free was a difficult trick, one he wasn’t sure he could repeat, but somehow he managed. Setting the cat carefully down on the kitchen table, he shrugged out of his jacket and called over his shoulder, “Sunny? Baby, I could really use your help here…”

His voice died off as he noticed the note on the counter. It was simple, to the point, the way they always were with each other.

Something came up. See you on Monday.

There were times he honestly hated that woman.

Grabbing a dishrag off the counter, he went back to the table to find a squirming bundle of kitten trying awkwardly to get to its feet. “For the love of…” With a sigh, he scooped it up in his hands and held it as best he could as he dried the rain out of its coat, wincing at the dig of tiny, needle sharp claws in his palm. It was a very rumpled, but mostly dry, cat he set down on his jacket. As it blinked up at him, he commanded without much patience, “Stay.”

The squeak that answered him sounded almost indignant.

Fighting back a smirk, he went back into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cabinets without much hope for a can of cat food. “I don’t know what I’m doing,” he growled at himself even as he pushed cereal boxes out of the way. “Trying to save a half-drowned runt of a cat… hell, little bastard looks more like a rat than anything- shit, it’s probably not even housebroken.”

As he shoved an ancient box of microwave popcorn towards the side, a dusty metal can tumbled out on to the kitchen floor. Nudging it with his toe, he considered the label thoughtfully. Formula, left over from when Bart had convinced him to babysit for a week. If it worked for babies, it couldn’t hurt…

With a shrug, he bent to grab it.

A few minutes later, he pulled the slightly aged, but warm bowl out of the microwave and went to the table. Without so much as a suspicious look, the kitten nearly drowned itself lapping the formula down.

“Jesus.” Slumping down into the chair backward, Billy crossed his arms over the back and considered the cat over it. “Take it easy, cat. If you hurl, I’m gonna be pissed.”

It ignored him, slurping greedily now. Laying his head down on his arms, Billy regarded the kitten thoughtfully. Now that it was drying off and in the light, he could see the color of its fur, an oddly deep gray. Judging from the way the fur was already puffing up, it would be a fluffball with paws and blue eyes the next morning. The paws were too big for it not to stumble over. All in all, a cute little thing, if you were into cats.

“Which,” he reminded himself firmly, “I’m not.”

The kitten raised its head, formula dripping off its chin, and squeaked.

“Oh, shut up. I’m holding out for a pony.”

One of its ears flicked as it tilted its head at him, then gave a disinterested sniff and went back to its formula.

“Yeah, who asked you, anyway?” Reaching out, he tapped the table next to its twitching tail. “Y’know, you’re awfully perky for somebody I thought was a goner.”

Raising its head, the kitten regarded his hand with wide eyes, then batted at it. He pulled his hand back, fast. “No way in hell. Stick with the formula, cat, or you’re getting tossed in the hall.”

The kitten gave him a long, wounded look, then yawned at him.

“I’ll agree with you on that one.” Billy rubbed at the back of his neck, fighting back his own yawn as the last few hours caught up him, and rose. “Don’t fall off the table or anything. Even if you land on your feet, with my luck you’ll break a leg. I’m going to bed, because I’m obviously out of my fucking head, because I’ve been talking to a cat for the last fifteen minutes. Night.”

He only made it to the door before the squeaking started again. Huffing out a breath, he kept going, turning off the lights and sprawling out on the bed. He lasted an entire five minutes, staring at the ceiling and listening to the increasingly loud noises, before he broke and got up again.

Somewhere between bewildered and annoyed, he leaned against the doorframe as he demanded, “What in the hell do you want?”

The kitten just paced the table, almost tripping over its own paws more than once. Finally, it crouched down, tail wiggling back and forth. He realized a second before it could jump, and moved, scooping it up in his arms. It- she, he amended, bemused by the patently obvious signs that he got with the kitten belly up- wriggled, making little protesting noises.

“Fucking suicidal cat. I didn’t go through the trouble just so you could break your neck jumping- Jesus, that’s my arm you’re clawing!- off the table… I’m not supposed to do this lecture until I have kids, y’know. Thanks a lot.”

In return, the cat swiped at his chest. Grimacing, he walked hastily back to the bed and dropped her on Sunny’s pillow. Blood came away on his fingertips as he gingerly touched the scratches. He made a face, then looked up at the kitten who was now contentedly kneading and circling on his pillow. “You’re welcome. And get off there!”

She ignored him pointedly, curling up into a tight ball on the pillow with her tail over her nose. With a harsh sound of disgust, he grabbed the pillow and moved it to the other side of the bed, picking up Sunny’s pillow instead. Dropping it onto the bed, he informed the kitten, “This is just because I don’t trust you at all. Don’t get too comfortable.”

One ear twitched lazily as she didn’t even deign to lift her head.

Rolling his eyes, he lay back down and closed his eyes. For a long moment, there was only the soft snuffle of kitten breathing. Satisfied, he turned just far enough to take in the lingering traces of Sunny’s smell and settled in for the night. He was close enough to sleep that the sudden touch of a cold nose against his side made him start. Cracking open an eye, he demanded irritably, “Can I help you?”

Ignoring him, the kitten nuzzled against him, then happily curled into another warm little ball and was still. With a sigh, he debated moving, then gave up on it. Instead, he reached down enough to scratch behind one convulsively twitching ear. The fur there was surprisingly soft. Looking down at her, he said in a low voice, “Don’t get your hopes up, fuzzball. First thing in the morning, your scrawny ass is going to the ASPCA. Get me?”

Her only reply was a somehow smug purr.