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Frank is drinking a cup of coffee and staring out the kitchen window at the early Scottish morning. Grant is off taking a walk and Gerard is still asleep. Frank isn't entirely certain why he isn't still asleep, except his body is still a little confused about the time, even after almost a week in Scotland. That, and he likes being awake with Grant in the early morning. There's something really peaceful and soothing about it.
He sees Grant come into view a few minutes later. His jacket is pulled tight around him, his arm is wrapped around his waist, and he's got a pained look on his face. Frank frowns, sets down his coffee, and goes to meet Grant at the door.
"What's wrong?" he asks as he opens the door.
Grant opens his jacket to show a tiny, tiny kitten huddled inside. "I found this little one mewling near the road, her mother dead on the other side."
"Oh," Frank says sadly and slips off his sweater and holds it out. Grant wraps her in it and places her gently in the crook of Frank's arm. Frank runs a finger over her tiny orange head. Her eyes aren't even fully open yet.
"I'll call the vet," Grant says. "She doesn't appear to be injured, but we'll want some kitten milk substitute at the very least. And to make sure she's not ill."
“Okay,” Frank says, and hands Grant the phone. Grant dials and gets the overnight service; after a few transfers he’s speaking to a nurse, who asks a few questions. Frank puts the sweater bundle on the kitchen counter and opens it so Grant can check the things the nurse tells him to, then makes an appointment for late morning. Frank wraps the kitten back up, and when Grant hangs up he hands him the bundle. “I’ll be right back,” he says.
“Where -” Grant starts.
“There might be other kittens,” Frank says urgently. “There’s usually more than one, right?”
“I looked,” Grant tells him, “and I tried to listen, but it was so startling and I was worried about this one being right by the road and -”
“It’s all right,” Frank says. “Stay here, and I’ll go.” He kisses Grant and runs to the kitchen door, jamming his feet in a pair of Wellies and grabbing Grant’s jacket and a spare sweatshirt. “Where did you find her?”
“By that tall hedge near Malcolm’s lane,” Grant says, and Frank’s off and running. He slows as he passes the garden shed, then stops, goes inside and grabs a piece of sacking. He leans a shovel against the side of the shed for later. It sort of makes him want to cry, but he can do this. Grant would definitely want to do this.
He swallows hard when he sees the orange and white fur at the grass verge near the Malcolms’ house, and slows down. First, he’s got to look for the rest of the litter. Frank stands in the middle of the road, spinning slowly round. He hears birds, a bit of wind, but nothing else.
There’s nothing around that looks like it might offer too much cover except for the hedge itself, so he starts walking slowly along the hedgerow, barely daring to breathe. He gets maybe twenty yards down the hedgerow, where it intersects with a stone wall, and then he finally hears the noise - a surprisingly strong mew. He ducks under the hedge. In a crumbled section of the wall, there’s one more kitten - just one - about the same size, but black this time, squalling weakly but still sounding pissed. Frank breathes out. He reaches for the tiny ball of fur, and the kitten wriggles but since it can’t really walk, it doesn’t do much to resist him picking it up. He wraps it in the sweatshirt and cradles it against his chest, hurrying back towards the road.
Picking up the mama cat is harder, but Frank grits his teeth and wraps her in the burlap. He hurries back toward the house, gently depositing the burlap bundle by the shed and hurrying through the garden. Grant’s already standing at the back door, and he hands over the sweatshirt bundle gently. “Just one,” he pants, “but he seems okay - I don’t know - I just -”
“Relax, Frank,” Grant says. “You did fine, it’ll be fine, I have a basket put together now, we’ll just try to feed them a bit and keep them warm and take them to see the vet in a few hours.” Frank hesitates when Grant goes to tug him inside, and Grant says, “Frank?”
Frank looks automatically back toward the garden shed. “I’m going to bury her,” he says. “Where do you -”
“Frank,” Grant says softly, “you don’t have to - I can do that.”
“No, I will,” Frank says firmly. And he does, in a spot behind the shed where Grant indicates. It doesn’t take long. He walks back into the kitchen afterwards, washes his hands at the sink, and feels himself wrapped up from behind, Grant’s lips in his hair. He doesn’t cry. He does turn around and let Grant kiss him for a while before he squirms loose and goes over to peer into the basket where Grant has nestled the pair of kittens in a wool blanket. “Are you sure -”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve taken care of kittens, Frank, I promise. It’s been a long time, I only wish I still had the supplies. Things get lost.” He reaches out and touches the black kitten’s head with a fingertip. “I assume you’re going to want to come to the vet with me?”
Frank smiles bashfully and nods. Grant presses one more kiss to his temple and turns away to turn on the kettle. By the time Gerard stumbles down the stairs, they’re both drinking tea and taking turns trying to get the kittens to suck on the corner of an old tea towel. Gerard’s yawning and scratching a hand through his hair. “What’re you doing?” he says sleepily.
“Feeding the babies,” Frank tells him, smirking as Gerard’s eyes get, like, anime-wide. Gerard takes a few steps closer and peers in the basket, letting out an “awwww” when he sees what’s inside. Kittens are irresistible, it seems, even when you’re Gerard pre-coffee.
*
Frank's openness never ceases to amaze Grant. Despite being metaphorically burned many times by friends, by fans, by life itself at times, he continues to be willing to open himself to people and experiences. That Frank, someone who Grant knows has never been fond of cats, allowed himself to be adopted by Johnny months ago was incredibly touching to Grant.
And now he's listening very intently to the vet describe exactly how to care for unweaned kittens. This is information Grant already knows and already told Frank, but Grant knows Frank needs to hear it again. Not because he doubts Grant's knowledge, but so he can be confident that he knows it for himself.
The vet inspects both kittens carefully as she talks. She turns the black one over on its back and strokes its belly. "Hmm. This one appears to be female." She grabs the other and does the same. "And this one male."
Frank laughs. "We were calling them the opposite."
"Kittens this young are notoriously difficult to tell. I could still be wrong, but I'm fairly certain that's correct." She puts them back in their basket and continues talking. "You'll need to feed them a couple of times in the night. And make sure you burp them each time, just like a human baby, and then gently massage their bellies to help their digestion."
"So they're okay? Not hurt or sick?" Frank asks.
"They appear to be in perfect health. You found them soon enough that they didn't have a chance to develop any illnesses or get hurt. If you take care of them properly, they should grow up into very nice companions. If you see any sign of trouble, please give me a call."
"Thank you," Grant tells her with a smile.
Frank gathers the blanket-lined basket and holds it close to his chest. "Yes, thank you."
Grant drives them home and Frank immediately takes the basket over to the egg chair in the parlor. He curls up with the kittens and the little bottles the vet gave them and feeds the kittens carefully. Grant only wishes the chair were big enough for him and Gerard to squeeze into as well. He settles for holding Gerard on the opposite sofa and watching Frank.
Gerard nuzzles Grant's shoulder and they watch Frank for a minute, then Gerard slips out from under Grant’s arm and sits cross-legged on the floor beside Frank’s chair. He holds out his hands and Frank carefully hands him the towel-wrapped black kitten and the extra bottle of formula. Frank quietly explains that the bottle needs to be held at a forty-five degree angle and watches as Gerard gets the kitten started nursing before turning his attention back to the tiny ginger bundle in his own lap.
Frank tries to get the orange kitten to take the bottle a couple of times and apparently he refuses. "If you're gonna be difficult, I'm gonna call you Jason. You've got the hair, er, fur for it."
Grant tips his head back and laughs. "Some would call that blasphemy."
"Whatever." Frank waves a hand. "If he were black with a white spot on his forehead, I'd call him Jason too."
"What're we gonna call this one?" Gerard asks, smiling up at Frank.
"Luna," Frank says decisively.
"Snowball's long lost sister?"
"Well, mostly I was thinking Luna Lovegood because she's awesome, but I do like the irony," Frank says with a grin.
Grant finally gives up and goes over to sit next to Gerard on the floor. He smooths a finger over Luna's head and then reaches up to give Jason the same treatment. Luna releases the bottle and Grant reaches out to massage her belly, explaining why to Gerard. After a while, Grant has to go send an email and Gerard disappears to call Mikey. They end up coming back downstairs at the same to find Frank still curled up in the chair dozing with his hood up over his head and both kittens curled up around his neck inside.
"We have four cats now, don't we?" Gerard whispers. His tone is exasperated, but he's looking at Frank and the kittens as if they're the most precious things he's ever seen. Grant knows his face must look similar.
"It appears that way," Grant whispers back and kisses his cheek. "Families tend to expand, I hear."