27

Monday, October 1, 1990

8:07PM, EDT

"You got past my alarm ward."

It wasn't a question. Even if I had asked for an explanation regarding how he'd gotten past a detection spell set by the Sorcerer Supreme himself, there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell of getting anything resembling a straight answer. This was Nick Fury. The spy of spies. The king spook himself.

"You know who I am." His response, like mine, was also not a question. The way he said it carried an air of lazy, self-assured confidence. The problem I had was the subtext I was picking up from what he said: I knew who he was.

And I was very much not supposed to, no?

"You're in my home," I said, taking a seat across from Fury and putting away both my focus and my pepper spray. I let my glamour dissolve into rainbow static with a thought, not bothering with the snap I tended to have accompanying the action. Those theatrics had an effect on most of the general populace.

This audience wouldn't be particularly receptive to parlor tricks like mine.

"I don't know if you're aware, but…"

Fury's hand went down beneath the table, and reached to the seat of the chair next to the one he sat on. I tensed at the motion, drawing a smirk from the man, only for him to toss something onto the table.

It was my planner, flipped open to this week.

I couldn't keep my eyes from going wide, and went to my briefcase in a hurry. I'd put my planner into my briefcase before leaving the office today, there was no way that—

My planner wasn't in my briefcase.

I stared at Fury, unsure how to categorize what I was feeling as I tried to replay the day in my head. Shock? Horror? I… how? Did he have people following me? Had I missed some amount of time, just blacked out long enough for one of his spooks to take it? When had it been taken? If it had been at the Palm, how had he gotten past Matt?

My eyes flicked to the thin file on my table, the one with my name on it. How long had he been watching me? Did they have someone following me?

Oh God, I was going to be sick.

I wasn't stupid. I had always considered that this could happen. Hell, right after I'd successfully arbitraged a windfall from Tony Stark's No Good, Horrible Trip to Iran, I'd spent a good two months triple checking that I hadn't had any unknown visitors (the local Yentas are always the best information network). But the months turned into years.

And when the spooks failed to materialize after half a decade, I'd let my guard down. Clearly I just wasn't important.

And now that possibility I'd discounted made itself manifest. It had invaded my home. Just like Osborn's thugs.

Was that the only difference between Osborn and Fury? That he could make people ignore it?

"You are a very busy woman, Noa Schaefer. If I'd called Sophie during regular business hours, I wouldn't have gotten an appointment until… December 18, at… 3pm. Which would've conflicted with my roller derby league finals, and I really think my team has a shot at winning this year." Nick Fury crossed one leg over the other and laced his fingers together in front of him, resting his forearms against the edge of the table. "And that's assuming I'd even been let in through the front door."

It was a chore to remember to breathe.

He had every advantage. Everything was under his control. I was in my own home, but the walls somehow felt like the corners of an interrogation room.

"Why—" I licked my lips, suddenly dry. I absently noted that they needed some lip balm — no, that wasn't relevant. Focus, Noa. "Why are you here. What do you want."

He didn't answer; the skin around his eyepatch moved before he caught himself with an amused smirk, and the eyebrow I could see lifted.

Was I being sweated? Oh god, I was being sweated.

And the worst part was, I could feel it working.

Fuck! What was he after in particular? There was, shit, what was there… the HYDRA Nazi back in Oregon? Even though that was years ago? Or was it Raven? I knew she'd been around for a while and done quite a few terrible things; did she get cocky and get made? Was this about Erik? I'd been careful to keep plausible deniability, but it wasn't like Nick Fury would care about that, would he?

But none of those made sense for a sudden visit from the Spook of Spooks, I realized as my eyes flicked down to the folder. Merlin, Xavier… Saturn. The first two were obvious, and I got the feeling he wanted them to be. But Saturn? That was… Saturn, Cronus, Chronos—

"I'm not a time traveler," I said, only just now noticing that my fingers had been running along my Star of David pendant, and my tail curling around a chair leg. "I swear, if I was, someone would have heard that Ga—" I choked on the name. "That, that He would be coming," I whispered.

"So my friends at the SEC were right?" Fury replied, not missing a beat.

… what?

"I—excuse me?" I asked.

Fury smirked. "You've had quite the string of good fortune with Stark Industries, Ms. Schaefer. Then there's how heavily you've indexed into tech, except IBM."

He pulled a pen out of his pocket and—hey, that was my nice fountain pen! The one I—that bastard!

He uncapped it, and crossed out the SATURN on the folder in front of him.

"But you'll be glad to know that that's outside of my jurisdiction."

Then, with the folder still upside-down and facing away from him, he wrote a different word instead.

Winans

Lowercase. Not a code, then, and—wait. I remembered that case.

Did… did he think I was — was he accusing me of insider trading?!

"None of this is being recorded, by the way," he said as he capped my pen, and slid it across the table towards me. I snatched it off the table as fast as I could, grip white-knuckled as I secreted it away into my briefcase. "So there's no need for you to play legal scholar over a casual chat, my girl."

Fury's smile had more charm in it than any of the dozen sociopaths I'd had to accept as clients in Big Law. It had probably worked on women the world over, and more men than were comfortable acknowledging its effect.

All it did was set the tension in my shoulders even higher. It was practically painful at this point. I winced slightly as my tail banged against the chair leg — and I caught the slight raise of Fury's eyebrow when he heard the slight thud.

Which he almost certainly let me see.

"How dare you," I ground out. "I'm not some crooked, coked-up scumbag like he was." My voice was barely above a whisper, more exhale than speech.

All the anger I tried to put in my voice was real, but it was still cover. I was indignant, because how dare he attack my professional ethics like that, but that was barely a piece of it. I wanted to put my hands under the table, to hide the shaking that I was slowly losing my ability to suppress. And then there was my tail, broadcasting my feelings far more than I'd like — it was an unconscious reaction, outside of my control.

And really? I couldn't help it. I was scared. And I had a good poker face, yes. I'd hidden my anxiety against some of the best trial lawyers in the country.

But against the man in front of me, I might as well have been an open book.

Was there any point in trying to hide anything, if it wouldn't work?

"The SEC closed your file anyway," his tone was non-committal, as he tapped the letters of the accusation with an idle hand. "And again - it's no business of mine, professional or otherwise."

So he'd brought it up just to rattle me. The audit that came down as a result of my windfall had been by the books, done and dusted, and finally forgotten as of four years ago.

I didn't have any real response to what he said, either. All I had to

"Okay," Fury grinned again. "Minor financial crimes aside—"

"I am not a criminal," I interrupted, desperate to get a word in before he could ruin my… what, my professionalism? My confidence? My… everything.

Before he could make this day any worse.

"We're changing Saturn to Winans in your file," he continued breezily. "Again, this isn't a court of law, Ms. Schaefer; I wouldn't know which finger to raise in front of a judge."

Yes he would, I thought bitterly.

His trigger finger.

"Is that it?" I spat. "To spook me? To have me looking over my shoulder? Am I that important to you?"

"Hey now," he warned, the barest hint of steel sending a shiver down my spine, my tail going ramrod straight behind me. It wasn't anything obvious, just a subtle change in his intonation that I probably only picked up because of my superhuman hearing.

But it was impossible to miss his eye.

I could read my own epitaph in it.

"This is a friendly conversation." Fury's shoulders shifted, and I tensed, watching one hand open his jacket wider and the other reach into the inside pocket. "Which you should feel lucky about, because I don't often have friendly conversations with people who throw bombshells from behind the Iron Curtain onto my lap."

His hand moved. I blinked, and flinched.

A pair of photos were negligently flicked onto the table.

Wanda, in that hackneyed excuse of a 'costume' that had to have been thrown together by Raven – even Erik had better fashion sense than she did, somehow.

Pietro, at my front door. His hand and my door were blurry.

"Why don't you tell me why I should trust the word of a shady attorney who got fired from her Big Law firm and had to go it alone, and who has multiple ties, including a romantic one, with domestic terrorists, as to the moral character and fitness of these two… domestic terrorists is a strong, accurate word, to join the Avengers?"

Shady? Shady? I was not shady, I—

… hold on, what? A romantic tie? Wait, he couldn't be talking about me and…

I gagged. I could not hold back my sheer, visceral disgust at the thought, for all that it popped into my head for a mere fraction of a second.

"You think…?" I trailed off, unable to even speak the name. "What—you—he is my godfather!" I yelled, standing up and slamming my hands on the table. "I am gay and he is my godfather what the fuck!?"

And it was right after I said it that I realized exactly what had come out of my mouth. The dawning horror of the twin admissions sent me sitting right back down in my seat, hands held over my mouth to keep my traitorous tongue from saying anything else.

"SHIELD is quite aware of your homosexuality, Ms. Schaefer," Fury stated. "As for the other confession… I won't lie to you. That was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Heh. And you were so defensive about your insider trading, too."

His fingers drummed a tune I recognized all too well – the march of a condemned man.

"Now, when I tell the lawyer for a third time, like the faeries of old, that we are having a friendly chat, I expect her to believe me." He tilted his head slightly. "Hoover's old gang isn't in the room with us, Ms. Schaefer."

He tapped the pair of pictures on the table.

"So let's start from the beginning. Why trust the word of a shady moral crusader of an attorney that these two… possibly-yet-to-be former domestic terrorists have the moral fitness and character to join the Avengers?"

I took a deep breath. This… wasn't how I wanted things to happen. Maybe I should have expected it, but I didn't. Not really. I just… I just wanted to help Pietro do something better with his life. Now, both his and his sister's chances hinged on me.

And as I stared into Nick Fury's expectant gaze, I was starting to lose confidence in my ability to play any part of this game.

There was nothing for it. I couldn't talk my way around this. There was no procedure or rule to back me up. There wasn't a single thing I could do to avoid what was coming.

I had to bite the bullet, and just… talk.

"Pietro Maximoff has the potential to be among the worst villains you've ever seen," I started. "By the time you could even begin to consider that something might be wrong, he's already come through, slit your throat, stolen everything that isn't nailed down, read through all of your documents, and gotten halfway across the city to his next target. His powers mean that you cannot stop him. You can read, predict, and preempt him all you like, but he has all the time in the world to counter it. He could very easily be a monster.

"And yet, every single time, he chooses good," I continued when I saw Fury's lip quirk ever so slightly. "He minimizes damage. He protects people. When given the choice between what is right and what is easy, he has always chosen what is right. But the choice he's had to make hasn't been between just right and easy. If it was just him, he would have gone good a long time ago."

I tapped on Fury's picture of the Scarlet Witch.

"Wanda. His sister. She," I paused, pursing my lips as I tried to think of a way to phrase this. "If I had to defend Wanda in court, the M'naghten standard would have a new case study by the time I was done."

"The insanity defense," Fury said, confirming that he did, in fact, know what I was talking about. And that he'd probably expected me to bring this up in the first place.

"She is…" I shuddered. "Wanda is powerful. You have to know who's just around the corner," I said, waving in the general direction of 177a Bleecker Street. "I know what strong magic feels like. I've had it demonstrated for me. Wanda is…" I gestured, my hands going wide to try and capture the enormity of it. "She's not there yet. I can feel it, though. I can barely go near her. I would rather she become a force for good. But in order to do that…"

I sighed.

"She needs help. Real help. I… I don't know how to get that for her," I said, the admission sour on my tongue. "And most days, she's not lucid enough to understand that a problem even exists."

I couldn't help my fidgeting as my fingers found my Star of David pendant again.

"He wants to help. She needs help. They both deserve that chance, and they're not going to get it anywhere else."

Fury was quiet for a moment that felt like eternity. "Damn it, girl," he growled, though there was no heat in it. "Can't you just say he's blackmailing you? It would make my job a lot easier. "

I tilted my head to the side slightly, turning his words over in my head. There were two possible people 'he' could be, and he didn't tap the picture of Pietro on the table. Therefore…

"He's my godfather." What else could I say to that?

"God save us from idealists and liberals," Fury sighed. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pen, and crossed out the Winans he'd written on the file with my name.

Which he then replaced with CASSANDRA, before starting to stand up, picking up the folder as he did. "Well, if you change your mind—"

Another folded photo with a business card found its way onto my table. Out of morbid curiosity, I opened it up.

It was Erik, carrying me back from the devastation he'd left behind just a few nights ago. My tail was still dragging on the ground in this image.

… how long had they been watching? Oh god, how close had they been to just—

"Ask for Fury," he said, already at my front door. I hadn't even heard him stand up, much less take his trench coat and put it on. "My nephew will handle it."

And then, with hardly a sound, he was gone.

He'd even locked the door behind him.

Monday, October 1, 1990

10:24pm, EDT

Wong let me in after what felt like far too much of my frantic knocking at the Sanctum Sanctorum's front door. In reality, it was probably only thirty to forty-five seconds, but I was so keyed up I couldn't quite tell.

"Is Stephen here?" I asked Wong as I walked past him and started pacing around the foyer.

"A good evening to you too, ma'am," Wong said. I winced; the sheer annoyance in his voice was enough to tell me I'd messed up, and I forced myself to stop pacing, close my eyes, take a deep breath, and collect my thoughts.

"I'm sorry Wong, I shouldn't have been so brusque, but this is important, something just happened that shouldn't have been able to and I really need to talk to Stephen—"

My butt made contact with something soft and cushioned. I opened my eyes to see that I was now in the parlor, and had been seated on the front half of a large armchair. The table in front of me had a chess set pushed off to the side, the game half-finished (though with white at a clear deficit).

"I believe you could do with some tea," Wong said, already walking out of the parlor and down the hall. "I shall return momentarily."

The sound of Wong's footsteps eventually faded, and I found myself reaching for one of the chess pieces, just to have something for my fingers to do. I had too much nervous energy, and I'd already completely forgotten my manners and lost composure once – and in front of Wong, no less. He didn't deserve that from me; hell, he didn't deserve that from anyone. He was a truly good man, who deserved far better regular treatment than he likely received from those who would call on Stephen.

I could excuse my behavior. I could say that having yet another home invasion in so little time had put me on edge. Especially since, while the others had been averted or otherwise mitigated?

I hadn't even had warning this time. It was the one thing that had made me feel okay to go home, the knowledge that I had an early warning system. And for it to not work now? That—

The door slammed open, and in strode Stephen Strange himself. He had an open manilla folder in his hands, and that cloak of his floated behind him, what looked to be a cutting board and another assortment of various tchotchkes set upon it. Stephen looked up from the folder, saw me, and sighed.

"It couldn't have waited?" His voice sounded incredibly put-upon and worn-out, the same way mine had for the past far-too-long since HE paid Earth a visit.

I shook my head.

"The alarm ward," I started. "The one you put on the mezuzah, so I'd know if—"

The sound of the parlor door had me flinching and cutting off what I said, drawing a raised eyebrow from Stephen. I looked to see Wong coming back in, a tea tray in his hands.

"Chamomile for the tired madam," he said, setting a teacup in front of me and filling it with a pale brew, its scent familiar and comforting. "Black coffee for the good doctor."

"You're a treasure, Wong." Stephen picked up the coffee cup bare moments after Wong set it down, and took a long, heavy pull of his dark brew.

"Not decaf?" I found myself asking.

"I'm needed in China in an hour and…" Stephen squinted at his watch. "Thirteen minutes. Astrological convergences have very particular timings, so skip the small talk, Noa."

"The alarm ward didn't work," I said, not even taking a sip of the tea I'd been given yet. "It, there was—"

"SHIELD?" Strange asked, shocking me. I could hear the emphasis he put on the word.

I swallowed. Stephen just sipped at his coffee.

"How did you know?"

"The intruder ward on your home," Stephen continued, "is based on my own. It did work. It just recognized the 'intruder' as SHIELD, and didn't activate."

I blinked, a bit dumbfounded.

"Your tea?" Stephen gestured at the teacup in front of me. "I know that smell. Wong's special brew. Don't waste it."

I picked up the teacup and sipped at it, savoring the flavor and aroma of the chamomile. Wherever Wong had bought the leaves for this one, I wanted it for myself.

"To answer the questions I know you have," Stephen continued while I was sipping at my tea, "yes, I know you received a visitor. And yes, I know who he was, why he was there, and the extent of what he would be doing."

"Then why—"

"Did I do nothing?" Stephen interrupted. "I was busy, and I trusted your visitor. He is occasionally a colleague, and I consider him a friend. You were never in any danger, so—"

"I didn't know that!" I yelled. "I got back from work and there was a dangerous man twice my size in my home, Stephen! And you can say you trusted him til the cows come home, but do you think that you saying that does anything to change how scared I was!?"

Stephen reached up and across the table with one arm, laid it on my shoulder, and pushed me back down into my seat. I hadn't even noticed myself standing up. My breaths still came in ragged gulps, and my eyes felt hot and wet.

Oh. I hadn't taken my makeup off, had I? And now it was about to run down my face. The stress had finally gotten to me, and I was crying, and it was going to take my eyeliner and mascara with it. Why did I even put on mascara today? I hated mascara.

"I see." Stephen stood from his chair. "I'll be about five minutes. You know where the powder room is."

I sniffled, but nodded, and Stephen left the parlor. His cloak stayed behind, one corner of the garment reaching over to tap me on my hand, as though to say that all would be well.

I hated feeling this way. There was just… so much going on. Too much. And all of it kept piling on, and getting worse, and worse, and worse.

The rest of my tea went down in short order, and I stepped out to the powder room. There was no salvaging my makeup, and it was late enough at night as it was, so I pulled some wipes out of my purse and off it went. I looked in the mirror, and couldn't help but wince. The bags under my eyes were the deepest they'd been in weeks, and the puffy redness around my eyes from crying just now did not help. I'd been negligent with my skin care routine for weeks, and it was only pure dumb luck that it hadn't been showing worse.

I reached a hand up to the lights above the sink, and pulled it around me with a thought. It was vain of me, but I used my glamour to make it look like I hadn't just ruined my makeup. It couldn't do anything for the puffiness, or fix the bloodshot look in my eyes, but it was better than nothing. I could at least look somewhat presentable.

When I got back into the powder room, Stephen was already there, holding a few sheets of paper in one hand, a pen dangling between his fingers. He looked up to see me, and beckoned me over.

"Focus," he said in the same tone I'd expect a surgeon to ask for his scalpel, one hand held open to me. I blinked, only realizing what he was demanding when he snapped his fingers twice, as if to say 'hurry it up'. With a thought, my focus floated out of my purse and into Strange's free hand.

In exchange, he handed me the papers he'd been holding.

"This," he pointed at the papers with my focus, "is an incredibly simple beacon spell, tied to me. You cast it, and I will know where you are, your mental state, and have a clear idea of your surroundings. Watch me cast it."

Stephen's hand glowed, and my focus rose from his palm under his control, as opposed to mine. One end lit, and it transcribed a Star of David in the air, followed by a circle surrounding the symbol. Then, the focus floated into the center, and spun, making the small array contract until it reached the mezuzah, whereupon it flashed once and disappeared.

"I want you to practice this every night until you can cast it in five seconds or less," Stephen continued, returning my mezuzah focus to my hands. "If I feel you cast this spell from anywhere other than your home, I will come right away. If for whatever reason the spell cannot reach me, it will bounce to Wong, and he will help in my stead."

I took my focus in hand, and looked at the papers he'd written for me. It had all the theory behind it, how the spell worked, why it worked, how to cast it. All I had to do was… put it together.

"Now, I need to prepare for China," Stephen said. He snapped his fingers, and his cloak flew to him, draping itself over his shoulders and cinching itself around his throat. "Wong, walk Noa home, would you?"

"It would be my pleasure."

I jumped slightly at his voice; once again, I hadn't even noticed him coming in.

Stephen nodded his thanks, and with a wave, he turned and left the parlor. I turned to look at Wong, who took one of my hands in his own and placed a small sachet into it.

"Some of the chamomile for your stores," he said with a smile. "And I would enjoy more of that chai blend if you find it again."

"O-of course," I half-said, half-stammered, still a bit off balance from everything that had been happening. "I, um, have some at home, actually."

"After you, then."

And with that, the two of us left the Sanctum Sanctorum.

Wong escorted me back to my front door, including both flights of stairs, and waited patiently as I inspected every room to see if anything else was out of place. He even helped me move my computer back to the office, for which I gladly repaid him with about a third of the chai I kept in a great big metal tin.

But then, Wong left. I was alone in my condo. Or, maybe I wasn't. Maybe, despite what he'd told Stephen, Fury left something behind.

And that thought sent a chill down my spine.

Saturday, October 6, 1990

"Oven's done preheating!" Cate yelled from the kitchen, pulling my attention away from the games I was playing with Lester, her Siamese cat. I had the tip of my tail between my fingers, held in front of Lester. The kitty was reaching out with one paw, trying to catch the diamond-shaped tip of my tail as I waved it back and forth in front of me.

"I heard the ding from here!" I called back, turning towards where her voice came from. "And remember, it needs to hold that temp for another fifteen minutes so it's heated evenl—ow!"

The yelp was more in surprise than pain, really. Cats had sharp teeth and claws, but my scales were plenty durable enough to take them without a scratch.

That didn't help the surprise when Lester yanked the tip of my tail and started nibbling! Little rascal!

I pulled my hand back and let my tail slip from between my fingers to trail along the sofa and onto the ground. Then I had to reach back and curl my tail around myself, because Lester hopped off the sofa after it, and clearly the tip of my tail was the best toy this cat had ever played with.

"Cate, your cat is trying to eat my tail!"

"I told you to tie a ribbon on your tail so he'd nibble at that instead," Cate said as she rounded the corner into the living room, a pair of wine glasses in her hands, and Chester the tabby weaving between her legs with every step. "I still have one if you want it?"

"I know you have a Polaroid in that drawer," I said, pointing at the side table at the corner between Cate's sofa and loveseat. "And I am not giving you that blackmail material."

"And what if I tie a ribbon on your tail while you sleep?" Cate asked, handing me one of the wine glasses before settling onto the loveseat.

"You do that and I won't leave you any cookies when I go back home," I said, accepting the wine glass and taking a sip. Hmm, a bit more of a dry wine than I usually drank, but I couldn't deny that Cate had good taste. "Speaking of, did your people find anything, or do they still think I'm crazy?"

Harsh self-deprecation, I know. I'd been rather paranoid the last few days, jumping at shadows, worried whenever the phone rang. But I don't think anyone would blame me.

It's hard to be anything but paranoid after you get a visit from the scariest spymaster in the world.

Despite Stephen's assurances that Fury was trustworthy, and had run everything past him first, I was a nervous wreck. I was only able to fall asleep that night fully clothed and covered, curtains pulled all the way shut, all the lights on, and even then I was afraid to make noise in my own home.

So before heading into the office on Tuesday, I reached out to Cate.

I could not even get in the front door to my home when I got back. Cate had set up shop with a trio of agents, who were meticulously scanning every single nook and cranny I had in search of… I didn't actually know what. But I wasn't about to think for even a fraction of a second that Nick Fury didn't leave behind some sort of recording device, or tracker, or something.

In the same vein, I had absolutely zero confidence in the FBI's ability to find whatever he left behind. Really, just the fact that they were looking was the key here. It would hopefully make my suspicions well known, and leave whoever they'd set as my minder reticent to consider checking in on things. It didn't even need to last long, just until something more important happened and I got relegated to a footnote again.

In the meantime, I was crashing at Cate's place again. Just like last time, I had incredibly affectionate feline companionship meowing at me incessantly from the moment I set foot in the door (Lester, to be clear; Chester was the one who waited until I was asleep before cuddling).

Unlike last time, we were just past the High Holidays. And while things had been too crazy, both professionally and personally, for me to just go flying off to St. Louis like I usually did? Well, I could still celebrate in my own way. Even if those celebrations were late.

… okay, very late.

That, and I was stressed out, and I liked to bake to de-stress.

Which was why, despite the fact that we were nowhere near Purim, I was making hamantaschen. A great big batch of it, too, because they kept for a couple of days, so I could bring them to the seminar on Monday!

… look, I'll admit my inner Yenta was surfacing a little there. But what else was I supposed to do? I was going to be around a bunch of teenagers, I couldn't not feed them! That would practically be sacrilege!

"Noa, nobody ever thought you were crazy," Cate said with a sigh, flouncing atop the love seat, Chester hopping up next to her and half-spreading across her lap. "Listen, we've all heard the stories, so trust me when I say the FBI definitely believes you met who you say you did. Hell, Langley calling back to tell us not to ask again?" She scoffed and took a sip of her wine, then picked up one of the kitchen towels she kept on her coffee table to start going at some of the flour sticking to her old Mickey Mouse sweatshirt. "Yeah, that clinched it."

I didn't really have a good response, so I just hummed into my wine glass and took another sip, my other hand scratching at one of Lester's ears.

Cate was a godsend, really. How many people could just ring up their local FBI special agent in charge and get a fleet of trained investigators on site within minutes?

How many of them could do it multiple times a year?

It still made me feel awkward, though. Like I was taking advantage of her, receiving more than I gave in return.

Part of why I was making the cookies, I guess. Helped assuage a guilty conscience.

Cate sighed at my lack of response, set her wine glass down on the coffee table, then scooted from the love seat over to the larger sofa. She settled down next to me and wrapped an arm around my shoulder, pulling me back so I was actually resting against the back of the couch. Then she deployed her secret weapon.

She started running her fingers along the outside of one of my horns.

I wasn't sure how to properly describe the sound I made when she started doing that, but I was conscious enough of what I was doing to know I'd closed my eyes and was leaning my head in towards her hand. It was… look, it's not something I can put into words easily. Ever gotten your hair washed at the hairdresser's, and had it just feel really good?

Yeah. It was like that, but better, because it also filled my hearing with a sound that I could most closely equate to a normal human having a cat purr straight into your ear at maximum comfortable volume.

Cate chuckled and took her hand away briefly. I wasn't able to stop the light whimper that slipped from my lips, and grabbed her hand before wrapping her fingers around my horn again.

"Oh my god you're worse than Chester." Cate's laughing whisper brought a heat to my cheeks, but her attention felt too good to turn down now. "Are you sure you're not part lizard?"

"'m not a reptile," I murmured, leaning into Cate's shoulder with a groan.

And then I couldn't hold back the quiet "eep!" when the fingers of her other hand ran down the length of my tail.

"I dunno," she said, amusement plain in her voice. "Feels a bit like an iguana to me. Maybe a gecko?"

"Caaaaate," I grumbled. "Don't make me poke you…"

The fifteen minute egg timer she'd set to let us know when the oven was properly preheated went off.

"Nooooo," I whimpered when Cate stood up (much to Chester's vocal disagreement) to go to the kitchen, her magic fingers leaving my horns cold and bare. I turned onto my belly and reached out, hands desperate for salvation grasping nothing but the image of her retreating backside. And even in ratty old sweatpants, it was quite the backside…

And then a cat hopped up onto my backside. The furry menace curled up just above the base of my tail, and started rubbing his cheeks against the scaly protrusion emerging from my spine, sending shivers of very interesting sensations up my back and down to the tips of my toes.

"Caaaaaaate! Lester is molesting my tail!" I whined.

"What are you, twelve? Just stand up!" Cate yelled back with a laugh. "Chocolate batch first?"

"No!" I yelled back. "Peach first! Then raspberry and blueberry! Chocolate last!"

I heard the oven open, and a pair of sheet pans clatter onto the racks before it slammed shut.

"Alright, chocolate is in!"

"Cate!"