It's you, he'd said, his voice devoid of charm. From the article. Have you got a cat obsession or something.

Those first words from Sailor Thuban almost never failed to cross Sailor Atlas's mind whenever he went out on patrol and ended up spending most of his time helping a hapless feline out of some sort of mess. He just couldn't help it, could never not do something when he saw a furry silhouette shaking in a tree branch or heard a tiny meow issue from a storm drain. Surely he wasn't the only of his kind who did this. There wasn't anything strange about his behavior, he thought, certainly he didn't have a "cat obsession."

Or at least that's what he'd told himself most nights. On this night just a handful of hours away from Christmas, however, he had a good reason to wonder if maybe Sailor Thuban had been right.

Things had gone... a bit strangely, to say the least, almost as if some force of nature had guided the events of the night to tumble into place in such a way. One thing had led to another so smoothly; he'd gone outside to patrol like usual, this time a great deal more careful about sneaking off the Hillworth campus thanks to the unpleasant lesson he'd been taught by his own clumsiness. He jumped from roof to roof on his usual path, took the usual amount of time on every street, held the usual amount of hope that maybe he'd run into a senshi he knew even though it was Christmas Eve.

And as he secretly knew would happen all along, he didn't end up running into anyone -- well, no one human at least. Instead, after some hours patrolling the heavily snow-frosted city he found himself not hopping between rooftops anymore, but walking down the icy streets, a large cardboard box he'd happened across near a dumpster held carefully in tow.

Six. There were six of them. Atlas had never actually found more than an occasional one or two on most nights, but -- the way this night had unfolded, it was as if right when he'd coaxed one into his cold-numbed hands, he heard or saw another. And another. And another. When he'd fished the first one out of a garbage can he found himself following another up a broken fire escape, and nearby a third yowled at him from the bare branches of a tree. Things continued this way until he'd found them all, the last two huddled inside the box he was carrying them in. Six cats.

Six gifts from a stranger, for anyone who was kind enough to take them in.

He was walking down the street of a suburban neighborhood. Timidly going from door to door, hoping someone, anyone would be unafraid enough to look at him for more than half a second before slamming the door in his face. The animal shelter was closed. Please, help, there's no more room there, he wanted to say, but the only pleading he was able to do with most of them was with his eyes. There was one moment where the door had opened and he'd gotten a shotgun pointed at his face, but he'd just walked away, unable to muster up the energy to be afraid.

Atlas started down a second street, a third. Each time, he made himself think that maybe the people here would be different, that something about this particular road made those who lived on it nicer, somehow more receptive. Maybe this house will be different, maybe this house will be the one. Every time, his hopes were dashed as doors were shut just as rapidly as they were opened, he received threats to have the police called on him, and sometimes the door was never even opened for him at all, and he was peered at from behind cracked blinds as the people inside waited for him to give up and go away.

No one wanted to help. It was Christmas Eve.

It was going to be Christmas in just a few hours... and... no one cared. No one was kind enough.

The streets and sidewalks were littered with his footprints. As his search went on, they decayed from neat, perfect little imprints of the soles of his boots to smudges roughly the size of his feet to long, stretching drag marks in the snow. It was getting late. He'd lost count of how many houses he'd been to. The box was growing heavy in his stiff arms, and he was tired. Atlas was still out here only because he just didn't know what else to do with himself. He wasn't expecting anyone to help him out, let alone hear him out, but at the same time he just couldn't leave the cats behind to freeze to death. He entertained the thought of taking them with him to Hillworth once or twice, but couldn't hide himself from the fact they would probably stand a better chance outside.

His desperate, sea-glass eyes were extinguished and dull, exhausted, not even trying anymore as doors were slammed, threats were made, makeshift weapons fashioned from canes and umbrellas and wine bottles. They continued to not listen as his stammers quieted to barely audible murmurs, were sure the box must have been some sort of trap. He might be a terrorist. News had changed lately, but one still couldn't be too careful -- sorry, son, I hope you understand, but we just can't take any chances with you. Especially not now.

It was so much that even when someone finally did give him more than a first glance, he almost didn't notice, and had to be gently grabbed by the arm so he wouldn't walk away.

"Hey, hold on a minute, wait. You don't look so hot, what's the matter?"

Slowly, Atlas turned around, numbly surprised at the touch, the voice. Someone was... someone wanted to talk to him? For a moment he only stared, his expression burning with the question.

"Come on," she said -- it was a young woman, college graduate age or thereabouts, nursing a coffee in one hand. "You've been out here for a while, I've been watching, which probably sounds weird, but -- the thing is, I know what you are and all that, but I don't think you're going to hurt anyone. Otherwise you would've already, you know?" She let go of his arm and gave him a once-over, offering the smallest of friendly smiles. "'Sides, no offense, but you look kinda harmless. Relatively speaking, anyway."

Atlas responded with a heavy sigh, the latest of countless he'd freed into the air over the night. It took him a while to speak, he'd gotten so used to using his voice and it doing nothing for him. And miraculously the girl waited as he chewed his lip, fought to maintain eye contact, gently shifted the box in his arms and struggled until he produced a handful of syllables:

"It's f-f-fine. D-do you think... you... c-c-could..." he started, trembling nervously in spite of himself. Finally, after countless failures he had someone's attention, and now he found that he was afraid to ask, didn't want to impose. It wasn't his place to ask someone to suddenly take on the responsibility of a pet. And yet, he lowered the box anyway, so the woman could take a peek at the felines inside, which huddled against each other for warmth.

She craned her neck to look, and her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Oh... my... God..."

She bent down to set her coffee on the ground and took a step forward, and reached inside the box, gently lifting out a white one splotched with black. "Is this... is this seriously it? This is all you've been doing?" she asked, disbelieving, even as she allowed the cat to settle in her arms. "And no one's helped you out yet, huh?"

"Y-yes, and... n-n-no..." he mumbled, slowly shaking his head. "The... the shelter's c-closed, and..."

"Oh come on now, that's just cruel." The woman's tone wasn't as dark as she'd probably intended it to be with that comment -- the cat had uncurled in her arms to inspect her hand, bumping into it and demanding attention. It made sounding annoyed with humanity a little hard. "People are jackasses like that sometimes, can't find a good reason to be nice anymore. It's just plain sad."

They were quiet for a moment, the woman rewarding the kitten with small scratches to his head, and Atlas timidly watching, the chill breeze cutting through them both like a knife but neither of them paying it any mind. Finally, she started again, saying, "You know, I gotta nephew whose family I'm visiting tomorrow, his name's Davey? Anyway, he's always begging for a pet, but they have no concept of kids being able to grow up and they're always saying no." And it was her turn to sigh, in exasperation. "Well, I say tomorrow he's old enough and they're gonna like it. What do you say to that?"

Atlas stared, and stared some more, eyes wide as dinnerplates -- his posture buckled and there was a pattering noise and mewling protests from within the box as he tried not to drop it. "Y-y-y-you d-don't h-have to-- I-I-I mean-- r-r-really?"

"Sure," she beamed, "hell, I'll take two, even. Jackass McDouchenozzle finally moved out last week, right? So this place is about as exciting as a retirement home right now. Toss me that orange one, he's almost cuter than you are."

"I... er-- are you s-s-sure?"

She gave a chuckle this time and freed an arm, reaching into the box again. "Just let me have the damn cat. And stop looking so surprised. Merry Christmas, and good luck with the rest of 'em, okay? Take care."

"Thank you..." he stammered, to the closed door.

The rest of the night was no shorter than its start. Atlas combed what felt like half of the entire city, his footprints trailing down half its streets and driveways, searching for what felt like more hours than there were supposed to be until the sunrise. But by some miracle he still ended up finishing with an empty box; for the countless rows of houses full of people who didn't care, there was a small handful of those who did, and that made all the difference.

Exhausted as he ever had been, with only a breath of time remaining before the sun rose on Christmas Day, Atlas quietly jumped the gate, snuck back onto campus, entered the dorms through the side door. After the eternity that was the holiday's eve he was finally back to his mundane human self in his dorm, fast asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Simon Ferris was one of the unlucky handful of students who had to stay at Hillworth's campus for Christmas. He would wake up to few presents, eat his holiday lunch at a table by himself, maybe get offered to play a few board games but ultimately spend most of it alone.

However, this time, for once in his life, he would do all of this and still have a reason to be happy.


[FIN]