It hadn’t been the coldest Easter Sunday Jon had ever experienced in his life, but it was definitely in the top five. Still, that hadn’t stopped him from going through with the egg hunt he’d organized, or the neighborhood children from enthusiastically participating in it. In the case of the older ones, it was probably curiosity; Jonah Magnus, regardless of his incarnation, had been somewhat reclusive, and it had given rise to a legend in the neighborhood about the house being haunted or inhabited by a monster of some kind…which, well, it kind of was. A tiny part of Jon insisted that it still was, but Martin didn’t like it when he expressed that aloud, so he usually kept that thought to himself. The younger children had, of course, been equally invested in the search and the chocolate. Martin was well known to the children in the neighborhood, so it hadn’t taken much to get the parents to agree.
The Llewellyns had just left with Bryn and his friends, who were having a slumber party since the next day was a holiday. Jon latched the gate behind them and turned to where Martin stood, a faint smile on his face. “I don’t think this house has had this many people in it since it was in its heyday.”
“I doubt it’s had this many people in it since it was built. Jonah Magnus always seemed like the kind of man to try and get by with the minimum amount of staff possible.” Martin carefully made his way over to Jon and kissed his cheek. “And I don’t think he liked children.”
“I don’t think he liked anyone.” Jon caught Martin’s face before he moved away and kissed him properly. “Thank you. I know it wasn’t easy having that many small children underfoot.”
Martin hummed. “They weren’t so bad. Anyway, it was good practice, I guess.”
Jon, who had been starting to move away, paused and looked back at him in confusion. “Practice? For what?”
“Let’s go inside and have some tea, and we can talk about it.” Martin smiled, which probably meant it wasn’t that serious—or, Jon amended, that bad. He seemed relaxed, but intense. Whatever it was he wanted to talk about, it wasn’t a lighthearted debate over interior decorating. But it also wasn’t likely to end in them getting a divorce before they’d hit six months married, so there was that going for it.
“All right,” he said. “I suppose I can restrain my curiosity long enough for you to brew a pot.”
He took Martin’s hand. It wasn’t strictly necessary, of course—they both knew the property well by now, and they were on the path, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to find his way to the door—but Jon liked holding his hand. And even almost a year after they had successfully saved the world, he was still getting used to being able to do it just because he was taking a walk with his boyfriend—no, his husband. It was a nice feeling. He almost didn’t want to get used to it. He wanted it to always be a miracle.
They were about halfway up the winding path leading to their front door when Martin stopped. “Do you hear that?”
Jon stilled and held his breath. It wasn’t true, of course, that losing one sense made your other senses stronger; that was an ableist myth meant to make people feel better. It was true, however, that not being able to see meant that Martin concentrated harder on his input from other sources, so he usually heard things before Jon did. Martin hadn’t sounded worried or afraid, so likely it wasn’t anything dangerous. Possibly a child who’d hidden back hoping for extra eggs, even though it was getting dark. There was a storm gathering, too—he could hear the rustle of the leaves as the wind picked up, smell the faint hints of petrichor and ozone it carried, and feel the temperature, which hadn’t broken out of the single digits all day, dropping imperceptibly further. Had Martin heard the first distant rumbles of thunder?
Before he could form a question, he heard it, too: a tiny, pitiful mewling sound. It was followed a moment later by a louder and shriller but no less pitiful cry.
“I think it’s coming from over there.” Martin turned slightly towards the lilacs they had planted to replace a particularly ominous dead thorn tree.
Jon was already moving forward. There was enough light to see—just—but as he knelt down, he clicked on the tiny pocket torch he carried most of the time these days anyway. The beam of light caught on two pairs of eyes that flashed like sparks in the dim light. As he had suspected, those eyes belonged to a pair of very small kittens.
“Hello, there,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. “Did your mummy put you here for safekeeping?”
One of the kittens, a pale color he couldn’t quite make out, gave the tiny mew he’d heard first and flattened itself against the ground. Jon smiled as encouragingly as he could. Whether the cats would recognize it as friendly he didn’t know. “It’s all right. I won’t take you away. I know she’s coming back for you.”
As the words left his mouth, a sudden sensation tugged at his mind. Since the Unknowing, or more precisely since Tim had awakened after the Unknowing—something he had yet to mention to anyone, especially since it might be a coincidence—he was less prone to simply Knowing things, but if he was facing someone or something and had a question about it, the answer was often there whether he consciously reached for it or not. And as he promised the kittens that he wasn’t planning to kidnap them no matter how cute they were, the Eye presented him with the image of a silver tabby that had been lying in the gutter leading to the main roadway for most of the morning.
“Oh,” he said softly.
“Jon?” Martin asked quietly. “Are they hurt?”
“Just hungry. They’ve been alone all day.” Jon glanced over his shoulder, even though he knew Martin couldn’t see him. “They, ah…their mother isn’t coming back.”
“Is it just the two?”
“Yes.” There had been three in the litter, but the other had fallen prey to a rat, hence why the mother cat had moved her two surviving kittens to their garden. Jon impatiently shook his head to shut out the Ceaseless Watcher. It wouldn’t help him at the moment.
Martin nodded. “Do you think they’re eating solid food yet? I can…there are those kippers you were too busy fretting to eat this morning.”
“I wasn’t fretting,” Jon protested, even though he definitely had been. Martin didn’t even bother calling him out on the egregious lie. “I’m—I’m not sure. And I’m trying not to Know, but…”
“I’ll go get them.” Martin turned and walked away up the path.
Jon watched him for a moment, then turned back to the kittens and set the torch on the ground so he could get properly on his hands and knees. He made the little hissing noises used the world over to lure cats. “Come on. Come out. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
The smaller of the two kittens, a compact little black thing, let out a long, sustained scream that suggested it was at least ninety percent lung by volume. Jon couldn’t help but laugh. “Well, you certainly have opinions, don’t you.”
He coaxed, murmured, cajoled, and outright cooed at the little things. Martin arrived back with a few kippers on a plate, and Jon set them just in front of the torch beam as the light outside steadily faded. “Here you are. Nice fish for you. Aren’t you hungry?”
The larger pale kitten mewled again and crept cautiously forward, tiny nose twitching. It touched the edge of the plate, then sniffed again before giving the nearest kipper a tentative lick. As if it had been waiting for that to decide it was safe, the black kitten darted forward and plunged into the plate, eating with loud gusto.
“I guess they do eat solid food,” Jon murmured fondly.
Behind him, Martin laughed. “I can hear that. Here.” He held something out.
Jon took it without thinking, then realized it was a towel, one of the worn and threadbare ones they’d carried with them through the end of the world and now mostly used for cleaning. Martin always washed the linens on the last day of the month, though, so it was dry and smelled faintly of their laundry soap.
He smiled. Martin thought of everything.
He waited until the kittens looked as though they were finished, or at least finished for now. The first grumble of thunder was beginning, the warming up of the vocalists before the concert began in earnest, and they looked nervous. Even if Jon hadn’t known about their mother, he knew he would never have been able to let them stay outside in it. He gave them a second, and then, catlike himself, he pounced, scooping both up in the towel. They protested, the black one more loudly than the other, but Jon murmured softly and soothingly to them as he cradled the towel close to his chest.
The first drops of rain began to hit, and Martin swore under his breath. “Let’s get inside.”
They made it inside before the rain began in earnest. Jon stepped out of his shoes and, still cooing to the kittens, made his way to the downstairs bathroom, the one they never used because the one upstairs was bigger. Gently and gingerly, he knelt down on the floor and set the towel down, freeing the kittens from its folds.
The black one screamed its displeasure and made for the shelter beneath the clawfoot tub. Its gait, combined with the fact that they were eating solid foods, put the kittens at something over six weeks old but probably less than three months. A vet would probably know better, he mused, watching the judgmental eyes beneath the tub.
The other kitten, which had longer, fluffier fur than its littermate in a lighter creamy color—he would have doubted they were from the same litter if he didn’t know it could work that way—gave its tiny, plaintive mew again. Instead of retreating, however, it crawled towards Jon, eyes huge and pleading. Cautiously, he extended a finger. The kitten sniffed, then turned its cheek. He began rubbing it gingerly and was rewarded with purring that seemed amplified in the bathroom.
Jon kept petting the kitten, hardly daring to believe his luck. It came closer…and closer…and finally climbed onto his lap. He resisted the urge to jump with joy and, very tentatively, shifted from petting its cheek to stroking its head and back.
It curled up and went to sleep, which effectively sealed Jon’s fate. He sat, delighted and content, one hand drifted towards the black kitten still giving him suspicious looks from under the tub and the other gently petting the sleeping kitten on his lap.
That is, until Martin opened the door behind him. “Jon?”
The kitten on his lap woke up with a cry and, evidently, panicked. Jon couldn’t hold back a small yelp of pain as the tiny claws dug into his lap in its haste to get free. He made himself not grab for it, rationalizing that that would only make things worse, as it ran for the safety of the tub and its sibling.
“Sorry, sorry!” Martin sounded genuinely contrite. “I didn’t—a-are you okay? Are the kittens okay?”
“They’re fine. I’m fine. I think you just startled them is all.” Jon looked up at Martin but didn’t get up. A part of him was hoping it would come back. “I’m sorry. I would have come out, but…it fell asleep on my lap.”
“Wish I could have seen that,” Martin said regretfully. “I actually just wanted to make sure you hadn’t fallen asleep. Um, I called Melanie. She said she and Georgie would run over with some spare litter and a disposable pan we can use for a couple days, since, you know, shops are going to be closed until Tuesday”
“I—I didn’t even think of that,” Jon admitted. “Thank you, Martin.”
Martin crouched down next to him, then settled on the floor carefully. The kittens eyed him suspiciously. “So what can you tell me about them?”
Jon hummed and leaned into him; Martin immediately slid his arm around his shoulder. “One has longer fur, a sort of silvery cream, and a quieter voice than the other. It’s the one that was curled up in my lap. The other one is black as ebony, a bit smaller than the other, but far louder. Doesn’t seem to like me much.”
“It’ll warm up to you. Everything’s just new and scary and…a lot right now.”
“I hope you’re right.”
“I know I am. I’ve never known a cat that didn’t love you.” Martin smiled. “Remember the farm tabby when we were in Scotland?”
“I remember,” Jon said, swallowing a laugh of his own. The cat had hissed at Martin, and indeed anyone who crossed his path, but when he saw Jon he had rubbed against his ankles and purred up a storm. “I’m sure they’ll like you, too.”
“I’m sure.” Martin’s smile widened. “I guess that answers the ‘are we keeping them’ question.”
“Oh.” Jon felt his cheeks heat up. “I…we didn’t really discuss that, did we?”
“Not these two specifically, no. But we’ve talked about cats before. When we were trying to warn Helen Richardson away from the Spiral.”
Jon nodded slowly. “That’s right. I made one up and you ran with it. You said you looked forward to that. I would imagine this isn’t what you had in mind.”
Martin snorted softly. “What, you thought I assumed we’d wind up with a fluffy white cat you could stroke while you stared people down over your desk in your office? I never had a firm idea of how we would…acquire cats. I just knew that home with you was always going to have at least one or two.”
“They’re like crisps. You can’t have just one,” Jon claimed, reaching up for a kiss.
Martin gave it to him willingly. When they came up for air, he added, “That was what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”
“Cats?”
“Plans. The future. What we talked about when I proposed.” Martin’s expression grew serious, although not harsh. “Jon, hearing you today…and really the whole build-up to today. You planning the egg hunt, and interacting with the children…especially Alfie. It…it got me really thinking. I know we haven’t talked about it since that first day, but…well, I think you’re ready. I know I am.” He took a deep breath. “Once the cats are settled in and comfortable…I think we should start taking steps towards adopting.”
Jon stared at Martin. Several thoughts crashed around in his head and he didn’t think he could articulate any of them.
It was true. They had talked about kids, however obliquely, the previous summer when they’d finally confirmed that they were going to spend the rest of their lives together. It was only that Jon had never really thought about it in terms of himself. He’d said Martin would be a good father, and he meant it. He’d seen Martin bouncing that little girl all those years ago and known, really, that it was his ultimate destiny, in some convoluted way. But even when Martin had said he wanted children with him, he somehow just…hadn’t put himself into the equation. He didn’t remember his own parents really, just a grandmother who’d resented him, so what made him think for one minute he would be able to do it?
Well. Martin did. That was the simple fact of the matter. Martin believed in him and thought he was ready. Jon was willing to try a lot of things if Martin believed he could, simply because he loved him and often found himself wanting to be the person his boyfriend—husband—believed him to be. And it had to be admitted that he had enjoyed the day. The children, ranging in age from not quite two to just past fourteen, had all been a lot of fun, and Alfie had reminded Jon of himself at that age, before he’d been broken by the world. He’d also, since their wedding, grown used to having Charlie and Bryn, and often their friend Helen, over after school, so it wasn’t like he didn’t know what the house felt like with children in it.
And, all right, maybe lately he’d been thinking that the house seemed quiet and empty once they left. Not that he didn’t enjoy Martin’s company, he did, just…the house felt like it wanted more people in it.
“Let’s at least let the cats decide they want to stay first,” he said finally. “But…you’re right, Martin. I think we’re ready.”
Martin exhaled and smiled. It was obvious he’d been a little nervous about what Jon would say. “Cool.”
The fluffier kitten crept out from under the tub on its belly, eyeballing both Jon and Martin. Jon reached out a slow hand towards it. “Come on,” he urged. “It’s all right. Come and say hello.”
The kitten mewed, came closer, and then, to Jon’s delight, butted his hand with its head. He rubbed it under its chin and was immediately rewarded with purrs. “Well, that’s one on my side, anyway.”
Martin carefully extended his free hand in the vague direction of the kitten. It eyed him, sniffed his fingertips, and arched up briefly to rub against them, then went back to getting its proper tribute from Jon. Martin huffed. “I see how it’s going to be, then.”
He was smiling, at least. Jon kissed his cheek. “We’ll get there. There’s nothing we can’t do together, after all.”
“No,” Martin agreed. “We got this.”
“We got this,” Jon echoed. He smiled down at the cat in his lap as it, once again, curled up and went to sleep.
Now that the idea had taken root, he was actually looking forward to the possibility of them becoming parents. But it didn’t have to be right now. Just at the moment, he couldn’t think of a single thing in the world he wanted more than what he already had.