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Description
The light of the moon rained fluidly through the window of the GSAL barracks. The air was cool and damp from the recent spring rain, though the clouds had passed on and were absent from the sky. The wind shifted from gentle to slightly oppressive at random intervals, flying into the room and making air conditioning unnecessary. The subtle scents of lavender and lilacs from a nearby pasture fluttered with the acrid hints of smoke and oil from the garage nearby. There was much speculation that the pasture had once been an expansive personal garden before the director's father purchased this land and made it the home of the GSAL, but no way to confirm it. It often served as the playground of children brought in for testing before they were entered into the system and places were made for them.

The room was relatively small with a single bed and a chest for clothes and personal belongings. A suit case was resting complacently underneath the bed, while a mess of clothing and cat toys were tossed about inside the chest. The contrast of the organized traveling case and the home of toys and games would have convinced anyone that the resident here was either two residents—despite the fact that GSAL guidelines forbade such a thing—or was very much disorganized in the head, switching between obsessive-compulsive and just plain compulsive without warning.

As this case happened to be, it was the former. Lying on the bed, one tightly wound around the other to avoid anyone falling off, were two bodies. One of them was resting on his back, arms folded underneath his head, despite the pillow that lingered under his arms. He wasn't much for using the pillow, as he much preferred sleeping without one, but his companion would toy with it in his sleep and be upset if he found it on the floor when he awoke. And the feline-human hybrid's voice got very high-pitched when he was upset, which would ultimately result in a minor trip to the infirmary on the ground floor and a tiff between the pair lasting for longer than the first of them had on his leave. In eight days, he would board an airplane—no matter how much he detested them, he loathed being seasick more—and fly back to the United States. He only had this brief time to keep his pet in line and he wouldn't waste it by being on ill terms with him.

The second of the pair was resting his head indolently on the other's shoulder, purring soothingly in his half-slumber. His eyes would blink slowly open every so often, but he was quickly drifting off to sleep. He much appreciated his time with his significant other of sorts, having someone to give him direction as he couldn't seem to give himself. When the other wasn't near, he was left in the "care" of the director, who would bark orders at him without caring to explain how he was supposed to carry them out. He didn't much like that. His English wasn't entirely complete and complex sentences confused him, his German was horrible at best, and he had this tendency to get distracted easily. His companion was doing as much as his almost utter lack of patience would allow to teach him better English, saving German for later, but their progress was limited to the time they spent together.

"Bion-sama," the feline mused quietly, his ears twitching at the sound of his own humbled voice. He knew Bion had cast his eyes to him from the sudden feeling that a powerful gaze had brushed the top of his head, right between his inhuman ears. "I want hear you speak." His inane golden gaze found his superior, who merely arched an eyebrow, a shallow frown on his face. The feline blinked curiously, his eyes full of a puerile trust and adoration.

Allowing his gaze to find the ceiling again, Bion muttered in a tranquil, almost sleepy tone, "You do realize we both have work to do tomorrow, right?" His voice was deep and smooth, of the same consistency as dark, rich chocolate, and if it wasn't for the fact that he normally utilized it in making very genuine threats, many a man and woman would fall in love with it. "Go to sleep, Kazuo."

"You no sleep much. I no need to either." The feline nuzzled his cheek against Bion's shoulder, grinning endearingly. "I stay 'wake with Bion-sama." Unknown to the intimidating man that Kazuo rested so tenderly against, there were many nights that he'd pretended to sleep until his companion had drifted off, simply for the pleasure of observing him in his most unthreatening state. Kazuo would nudge against him as he rested, finding that sometimes an arm would unfurl from under Bion's head and wrap over his shoulders. As unromantic as Bion was, he was highly protective and possessive, though Kazuo had been unintentionally disillusioned into believing it was true affection and contented himself with the contact.

Releasing a grunt that Kazuo could interpret as approving and disapproving both, Bion threw his gaze to a wall, finding the silhouette of one of the graveyard shift guards had pierced the moonlight. It paused in one place, shifted, then moved on, the outline of the semiautomatic gun in his arms clear to Bion. He wasn't particularly fond of guns, as they caused their damage and it was finished. There were only certain times, when the bullet was strategically fired to cause the longest lasting suffering possible, that he would consider approving of them. Otherwise, his fancy rested with fatal injections of various kinds, though his favorite by far was cyanide.

The silhouette had escaped Kazuo's gaze, though he recognized the sound of the facility-issued boots that the guards were required to wear. It was only after years of wear that they became "comfortable," though the feline was more inclined to think—in one of his more lucid and insightful moments—that the guards' feet were going numb before those boots were becoming satisfactory. He'd worn a pair once and had refused to after that. He'd complained in Japanese for twenty minutes before Bion had entered the room, registering little more than that one of the test subjects was out of line, and hit him once upside the head, telling him, "Shut up! If you don't like them, go barefoot!" The feline had whined for a few seconds before he'd realized that Bion had spoken in Japanese. The director had only just realized Kazuo was in the room when she saw this, long since gone intentionally deaf to Kazuo's high-pitch voice when he was upset, and ordered that Bion be the feline's "caretaker" while he was around. He hadn't been happy about that order in the least, or not until he'd realized Kazuo was easy to control with a firm voice and the threat of ripping off his ears.

"But I like my ears!" he'd whined in Japanese, near to tears, the first time Bion had made that particular threat. He'd clamped his hands over them, a dismayed frown on his face, and curled into a little ball on the floor. This nimble display had put thoughts into Bion's head, but he didn't act on them for quite a while. He was practically the feline's baby-sitter, or veterinarian in some cases, while he was in the country. And he wasn't too tolerant of this, given the fact that Kazuo had gotten quite attached to him with the knowledge that he could ramble on in his native tongue and know that someone was capable of comprehending what he said. There weren't many—if any—other employees at the GSAL that could provide the feline with such a luxury.

It nearly drove him insane too.

Bion had begun avoiding Germany at all costs unless his superior gave a direct order that he be present. And, when he was in the country, he was adamant about spending all the time he could in a bar, where Kazuo would seem out of place, even with his inhuman features masked. It was only when the director ordered him specifically, "Watch over the damned cat!" that he growled and stalked to Kazuo's dorm. He found the feline asleep on his bed, his various toys and clothes in need of washing strewn about on the floor. He'd thrown off his shirt and was lying curled up on top of the covers in only his pants, his arms wrapped stringently around a stuffed mouse the size of an obese cat. There were signs that he'd been scratching at the covers from frustration and there were dried tears on his face.

Carefully avoiding the various knickknacks spread haphazardly around the floor, Bion sneaked his way to the bed, an irate frown on his lips. He observed the shirtless feline for a long moment before Kazuo stirred, muttering in his sleep. "Listen," he murmured in Japanese.

Giving an exasperated look to the slumbering hybrid, Bion asked, "You just want someone to listen? If that's it—" He gave a scowl, wondering again why his skills were being wasted on this animal. He finished in a holler, "—speak English, damn it!"

The sudden noise caused Kazuo to leap from the mattress, his stuffed mouse flying from his arms and hitting Bion in the chest before falling to the floor and rolling underneath the bed. The feline had jumped to the ceiling, his claws digging into the drywall and keeping him adhered to it. His eyes blinked, frightened, until he glanced to what had made such a noise and he grinned broadly. "Bion-sama!" He leapt from the ceiling and landed on his superior, clinging to him as if desperately. "Kazuo missed you!" he continued in Japanese, apparently having not heard what the other had hollered.

"Get off!" he snapped, shoving the feline onto the bed. "And speak English, goddamn it!" Kazuo's face went from ecstatic to confused. "Don't tell me you don't know any English..."

Putting his hand in front of his face and squeezing air between his index finger and thumb almost to the point that they touched, Kazuo muttered in English with a tremendously thick accent, "Ritturu bittu." If not for the hand motion accompanying the fragmented sentence, Bion wouldn't have understood what he'd said at all.

"A little bit?" he inquired, slightly confused, though he'd never admit it. His brow furrowed as anger set it. "You only know a little English?" Kazuo cowered from the rage that seemed to radiate off Bion. "Goddamn it!"

"I'm sorry!" Kazuo pleaded in Japanese, lifting his arms to shield himself from Bion, should his superior get the urge to rip off his ears. "Bion-sama," he whined, his voice heightening in pitch and his tail swerving around behind him from discontent.

"Goddamn it," Bion muttered furiously, pressing the palm of his right hand to his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut and growled. "Fine," he spat. "If you don't cling to me, I'll teach you." The feline perked up and grinned broadly. He was vastly disappointed to find that, despite teaching Kazuo most of the English that he was currently equipped with and all he would ever really need, the director wouldn't retract the order that Bion oversee the feline every time he was present.

He spent a lot of his time in a bar the month after Kazuo began writing haiku in English and insisting on reading them aloud to everyone within reach. Fortunately for him, the barkeep allowed people that had passed out to sleep on the floor if they signed a waver stating that, if they died of whatever cause while there, he wasn't liable. Unfortunately for him, one night he hadn't had the time to drink himself into unconsciousness before the bar closed and was forced to toddle his inebriated way back to the GSAL barracks for the night. He didn't really remember much after recognizing a room number—not knowing at the time why he recognized the room number—but he did recall the vast feeling of confusion when he woke up, a certain foreign test subject at his side and purring contentedly in his sleep.

Two days of little more than cursing in the five languages he knew and the sixth he could just barely scrape through a conversation with later, Bion was storming his way to Kazuo's dorm. He wasn't sure what kind of explanation he wanted, but he knew he wanted one. And hell if the feline would be able to keep it from him!

Kicking the door open, Bion found that the motley array of toys was still lingering on the floor. The more he saw it, the more he hated it. He wasn't at all fond of the disorganization, as much as he needed to be in control of things; so before he even demanded that the confused feline staring at him from the bed—another sheet of paper with what had to be the umpteenth haiku begun on it—explain what had happened two nights before, Bion hollered, "Clean up this mess!"

The tone which Bion had used—the same one that he often utilized in making threats—caused the feline to jump from his bed, the paper and fountain pen that had been in his hands tossed behind him to the mattress. He scrambled to throw his personal items into the chest, the thin layer of downy fur on the back of his neck standing on end. He gave the floor a quick once-over, checking under the bed, before straightening himself in front of Bion, worry in his golden gaze. He had a confused look on his face to accompany the concern in his eyes.

Shutting the door languidly behind him, Bion scowled. "What the hell?" he questioned vaguely.

Still unaccustomed to rhetorical questions, Kazuo replied, "I no know."

Stalking up to him and putting his face right in front of the feline's, Bion demanded, "Two nights ago! What the hell?"

Wrapping his arms over his ears and half-crouching to brace for an attack, Kazuo explained in broken concepts, near to tears. "You no like normal! You come here, you say weird thing, I no understand! It hurt, you hurt, you pull hair and tail! You say thing in language I no know! You say guy in bar, he no-good bastard, you say weather too hot!" He stopped and gave his waterlogged gaze to Bion, whining quietly without words. "You hurt Kazuo. But I no blame you. Kazuo like Bion-sama. I know you no like that, when you normal." For some reason, Bion didn't agree with that last idea, but he understood what Kazuo was trying to say, vaguely anyway.

"And you...let that happen?" he questioned in a cold, somewhat skeptical voice.

"Let what happen, Bion-sama?" the feline inquired timidly. He didn't know how to phrase it to make Kazuo understand. As far as Bion knew, the feline wasn't familiar with the English word "rape," but he didn't want to resort to using Japanese, lest Kazuo become too comfortable with it and regress. "Let you sleep in bed?" He pointed to the bed. "You say weather too hot. I say myself, 'That weird.' You sleep in bed. But you give order. I listen order. Before you say, 'That how thing work here.' You sleep in bed, I no can say no."

Bion suddenly felt very stupid. He gave a low growl and muttered, "I'm never getting drunk again."

"You stay here with Kazuo more?" the feline asked, immediately perking up. He knew that when Bion wasn't at the GSAL, he was probably at the bar, so Bion not getting drunk automatically clicked with him that his superior would be in the building more.

Brandishing a fist, Bion snapped, "If you ever tell anyone about this conversation, I'll rip you limb from limb!" The feline immediately curled into a ball again, his hopes crushed. The sadistic man pivoted and moved to leave the room, then took notice of something Kazuo had neglected to pick up off the floor. The feline observed him quietly as he lifted the delicately folded paper crane, the paper bearing no unnecessary crease, but a thick trail of black ink.

Unfolding it carefully, Bion found one of Kazuo's haiku was printed with painstaking effort, making his handwriting actually somewhat legible. The title at the top caught his attention: "Bion-sama."

He act like he no care so
I 'fraid him like dog
But he listen when I talk

"I like paper crane," the feline whispered, another of his rare insightful moments causing him to make a vague insinuation, one that he hoped that Bion understood. And he did understand, but his walking from the room and slamming the door behind him convinced Kazuo that he hadn't.

How his thoughts had progressed from scorn toward the feline's affections to acknowledging that it could be advantageous, he wasn't entirely certain. And how it had gone from that to a vague sense of appreciation, he didn't want to know. But he knew that his evenings with the hybrid had gone from hectic and stressful to serene and relaxing, and that was what was important, he supposed. As long as the feline didn't have one of his intellectual moments in the heat of passion and realize that he was almost entirely being used, Bion didn't have a single personal problem in the world.

"Bion-sama? What you think about adopt baby?"

And now he did.

Description
The light of the moon rained fluidly through the window of the GSAL barracks. The air was cool and damp from the recent spring rain, though the clouds had passed on and were absent from the sky. The wind shifted from gentle to slightly oppressive at random intervals, flying into the room and making air conditioning unnecessary. The subtle scents of lavender and lilacs from a nearby pasture fluttered with the acrid hints of smoke and oil from the garage nearby. There was much speculation that the pasture had once been an expansive personal garden before the director's father purchased this land and made it the home of the GSAL, but no way to confirm it. It often served as the playground of children brought in for testing before they were entered into the system and places were made for them.

The room was relatively small with a single bed and a chest for clothes and personal belongings. A suit case was resting complacently underneath the bed, while a mess of clothing and cat toys were tossed about inside the chest. The contrast of the organized traveling case and the home of toys and games would have convinced anyone that the resident here was either two residents—despite the fact that GSAL guidelines forbade such a thing—or was very much disorganized in the head, switching between obsessive-compulsive and just plain compulsive without warning.

As this case happened to be, it was the former. Lying on the bed, one tightly wound around the other to avoid anyone falling off, were two bodies. One of them was resting on his back, arms folded underneath his head, despite the pillow that lingered under his arms. He wasn't much for using the pillow, as he much preferred sleeping without one, but his companion would toy with it in his sleep and be upset if he found it on the floor when he awoke. And the feline-human hybrid's voice got very high-pitched when he was upset, which would ultimately result in a minor trip to the infirmary on the ground floor and a tiff between the pair lasting for longer than the first of them had on his leave. In eight days, he would board an airplane—no matter how much he detested them, he loathed being seasick more—and fly back to the United States. He only had this brief time to keep his pet in line and he wouldn't waste it by being on ill terms with him.

The second of the pair was resting his head indolently on the other's shoulder, purring soothingly in his half-slumber. His eyes would blink slowly open every so often, but he was quickly drifting off to sleep. He much appreciated his time with his significant other of sorts, having someone to give him direction as he couldn't seem to give himself. When the other wasn't near, he was left in the "care" of the director, who would bark orders at him without caring to explain how he was supposed to carry them out. He didn't much like that. His English wasn't entirely complete and complex sentences confused him, his German was horrible at best, and he had this tendency to get distracted easily. His companion was doing as much as his almost utter lack of patience would allow to teach him better English, saving German for later, but their progress was limited to the time they spent together.

"Bion-sama," the feline mused quietly, his ears twitching at the sound of his own humbled voice. He knew Bion had cast his eyes to him from the sudden feeling that a powerful gaze had brushed the top of his head, right between his inhuman ears. "I want hear you speak." His inane golden gaze found his superior, who merely arched an eyebrow, a shallow frown on his face. The feline blinked curiously, his eyes full of a puerile trust and adoration.

Allowing his gaze to find the ceiling again, Bion muttered in a tranquil, almost sleepy tone, "You do realize we both have work to do tomorrow, right?" His voice was deep and smooth, of the same consistency as dark, rich chocolate, and if it wasn't for the fact that he normally utilized it in making very genuine threats, many a man and woman would fall in love with it. "Go to sleep, Kazuo."

"You no sleep much. I no need to either." The feline nuzzled his cheek against Bion's shoulder, grinning endearingly. "I stay 'wake with Bion-sama." Unknown to the intimidating man that Kazuo rested so tenderly against, there were many nights that he'd pretended to sleep until his companion had drifted off, simply for the pleasure of observing him in his most unthreatening state. Kazuo would nudge against him as he rested, finding that sometimes an arm would unfurl from under Bion's head and wrap over his shoulders. As unromantic as Bion was, he was highly protective and possessive, though Kazuo had been unintentionally disillusioned into believing it was true affection and contented himself with the contact.

Releasing a grunt that Kazuo could interpret as approving and disapproving both, Bion threw his gaze to a wall, finding the silhouette of one of the graveyard shift guards had pierced the moonlight. It paused in one place, shifted, then moved on, the outline of the semiautomatic gun in his arms clear to Bion. He wasn't particularly fond of guns, as they caused their damage and it was finished. There were only certain times, when the bullet was strategically fired to cause the longest lasting suffering possible, that he would consider approving of them. Otherwise, his fancy rested with fatal injections of various kinds, though his favorite by far was cyanide.

The silhouette had escaped Kazuo's gaze, though he recognized the sound of the facility-issued boots that the guards were required to wear. It was only after years of wear that they became "comfortable," though the feline was more inclined to think—in one of his more lucid and insightful moments—that the guards' feet were going numb before those boots were becoming satisfactory. He'd worn a pair once and had refused to after that. He'd complained in Japanese for twenty minutes before Bion had entered the room, registering little more than that one of the test subjects was out of line, and hit him once upside the head, telling him, "Shut up! If you don't like them, go barefoot!" The feline had whined for a few seconds before he'd realized that Bion had spoken in Japanese. The director had only just realized Kazuo was in the room when she saw this, long since gone intentionally deaf to Kazuo's high-pitch voice when he was upset, and ordered that Bion be the feline's "caretaker" while he was around. He hadn't been happy about that order in the least, or not until he'd realized Kazuo was easy to control with a firm voice and the threat of ripping off his ears.

"But I like my ears!" he'd whined in Japanese, near to tears, the first time Bion had made that particular threat. He'd clamped his hands over them, a dismayed frown on his face, and curled into a little ball on the floor. This nimble display had put thoughts into Bion's head, but he didn't act on them for quite a while. He was practically the feline's baby-sitter, or veterinarian in some cases, while he was in the country. And he wasn't too tolerant of this, given the fact that Kazuo had gotten quite attached to him with the knowledge that he could ramble on in his native tongue and know that someone was capable of comprehending what he said. There weren't many—if any—other employees at the GSAL that could provide the feline with such a luxury.

It nearly drove him insane too.

Bion had begun avoiding Germany at all costs unless his superior gave a direct order that he be present. And, when he was in the country, he was adamant about spending all the time he could in a bar, where Kazuo would seem out of place, even with his inhuman features masked. It was only when the director ordered him specifically, "Watch over the damned cat!" that he growled and stalked to Kazuo's dorm. He found the feline asleep on his bed, his various toys and clothes in need of washing strewn about on the floor. He'd thrown off his shirt and was lying curled up on top of the covers in only his pants, his arms wrapped stringently around a stuffed mouse the size of an obese cat. There were signs that he'd been scratching at the covers from frustration and there were dried tears on his face.

Carefully avoiding the various knickknacks spread haphazardly around the floor, Bion sneaked his way to the bed, an irate frown on his lips. He observed the shirtless feline for a long moment before Kazuo stirred, muttering in his sleep. "Listen," he murmured in Japanese.

Giving an exasperated look to the slumbering hybrid, Bion asked, "You just want someone to listen? If that's it—" He gave a scowl, wondering again why his skills were being wasted on this animal. He finished in a holler, "—speak English, damn it!"

The sudden noise caused Kazuo to leap from the mattress, his stuffed mouse flying from his arms and hitting Bion in the chest before falling to the floor and rolling underneath the bed. The feline had jumped to the ceiling, his claws digging into the drywall and keeping him adhered to it. His eyes blinked, frightened, until he glanced to what had made such a noise and he grinned broadly. "Bion-sama!" He leapt from the ceiling and landed on his superior, clinging to him as if desperately. "Kazuo missed you!" he continued in Japanese, apparently having not heard what the other had hollered.

"Get off!" he snapped, shoving the feline onto the bed. "And speak English, goddamn it!" Kazuo's face went from ecstatic to confused. "Don't tell me you don't know any English..."

Putting his hand in front of his face and squeezing air between his index finger and thumb almost to the point that they touched, Kazuo muttered in English with a tremendously thick accent, "Ritturu bittu." If not for the hand motion accompanying the fragmented sentence, Bion wouldn't have understood what he'd said at all.

"A little bit?" he inquired, slightly confused, though he'd never admit it. His brow furrowed as anger set it. "You only know a little English?" Kazuo cowered from the rage that seemed to radiate off Bion. "Goddamn it!"

"I'm sorry!" Kazuo pleaded in Japanese, lifting his arms to shield himself from Bion, should his superior get the urge to rip off his ears. "Bion-sama," he whined, his voice heightening in pitch and his tail swerving around behind him from discontent.

"Goddamn it," Bion muttered furiously, pressing the palm of his right hand to his forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut and growled. "Fine," he spat. "If you don't cling to me, I'll teach you." The feline perked up and grinned broadly. He was vastly disappointed to find that, despite teaching Kazuo most of the English that he was currently equipped with and all he would ever really need, the director wouldn't retract the order that Bion oversee the feline every time he was present.

He spent a lot of his time in a bar the month after Kazuo began writing haiku in English and insisting on reading them aloud to everyone within reach. Fortunately for him, the barkeep allowed people that had passed out to sleep on the floor if they signed a waver stating that, if they died of whatever cause while there, he wasn't liable. Unfortunately for him, one night he hadn't had the time to drink himself into unconsciousness before the bar closed and was forced to toddle his inebriated way back to the GSAL barracks for the night. He didn't really remember much after recognizing a room number—not knowing at the time why he recognized the room number—but he did recall the vast feeling of confusion when he woke up, a certain foreign test subject at his side and purring contentedly in his sleep.

Two days of little more than cursing in the five languages he knew and the sixth he could just barely scrape through a conversation with later, Bion was storming his way to Kazuo's dorm. He wasn't sure what kind of explanation he wanted, but he knew he wanted one. And hell if the feline would be able to keep it from him!

Kicking the door open, Bion found that the motley array of toys was still lingering on the floor. The more he saw it, the more he hated it. He wasn't at all fond of the disorganization, as much as he needed to be in control of things; so before he even demanded that the confused feline staring at him from the bed—another sheet of paper with what had to be the umpteenth haiku begun on it—explain what had happened two nights before, Bion hollered, "Clean up this mess!"

The tone which Bion had used—the same one that he often utilized in making threats—caused the feline to jump from his bed, the paper and fountain pen that had been in his hands tossed behind him to the mattress. He scrambled to throw his personal items into the chest, the thin layer of downy fur on the back of his neck standing on end. He gave the floor a quick once-over, checking under the bed, before straightening himself in front of Bion, worry in his golden gaze. He had a confused look on his face to accompany the concern in his eyes.

Shutting the door languidly behind him, Bion scowled. "What the hell?" he questioned vaguely.

Still unaccustomed to rhetorical questions, Kazuo replied, "I no know."

Stalking up to him and putting his face right in front of the feline's, Bion demanded, "Two nights ago! What the hell?"

Wrapping his arms over his ears and half-crouching to brace for an attack, Kazuo explained in broken concepts, near to tears. "You no like normal! You come here, you say weird thing, I no understand! It hurt, you hurt, you pull hair and tail! You say thing in language I no know! You say guy in bar, he no-good bastard, you say weather too hot!" He stopped and gave his waterlogged gaze to Bion, whining quietly without words. "You hurt Kazuo. But I no blame you. Kazuo like Bion-sama. I know you no like that, when you normal." For some reason, Bion didn't agree with that last idea, but he understood what Kazuo was trying to say, vaguely anyway.

"And you...let that happen?" he questioned in a cold, somewhat skeptical voice.

"Let what happen, Bion-sama?" the feline inquired timidly. He didn't know how to phrase it to make Kazuo understand. As far as Bion knew, the feline wasn't familiar with the English word "rape," but he didn't want to resort to using Japanese, lest Kazuo become too comfortable with it and regress. "Let you sleep in bed?" He pointed to the bed. "You say weather too hot. I say myself, 'That weird.' You sleep in bed. But you give order. I listen order. Before you say, 'That how thing work here.' You sleep in bed, I no can say no."

Bion suddenly felt very stupid. He gave a low growl and muttered, "I'm never getting drunk again."

"You stay here with Kazuo more?" the feline asked, immediately perking up. He knew that when Bion wasn't at the GSAL, he was probably at the bar, so Bion not getting drunk automatically clicked with him that his superior would be in the building more.

Brandishing a fist, Bion snapped, "If you ever tell anyone about this conversation, I'll rip you limb from limb!" The feline immediately curled into a ball again, his hopes crushed. The sadistic man pivoted and moved to leave the room, then took notice of something Kazuo had neglected to pick up off the floor. The feline observed him quietly as he lifted the delicately folded paper crane, the paper bearing no unnecessary crease, but a thick trail of black ink.

Unfolding it carefully, Bion found one of Kazuo's haiku was printed with painstaking effort, making his handwriting actually somewhat legible. The title at the top caught his attention: "Bion-sama."

He act like he no care so
I 'fraid him like dog
But he listen when I talk

"I like paper crane," the feline whispered, another of his rare insightful moments causing him to make a vague insinuation, one that he hoped that Bion understood. And he did understand, but his walking from the room and slamming the door behind him convinced Kazuo that he hadn't.

How his thoughts had progressed from scorn toward the feline's affections to acknowledging that it could be advantageous, he wasn't entirely certain. And how it had gone from that to a vague sense of appreciation, he didn't want to know. But he knew that his evenings with the hybrid had gone from hectic and stressful to serene and relaxing, and that was what was important, he supposed. As long as the feline didn't have one of his intellectual moments in the heat of passion and realize that he was almost entirely being used, Bion didn't have a single personal problem in the world.

"Bion-sama? What you think about adopt baby?"

And now he did.