Disclaimer: The Captain, Al, and Techie are original characters. I cannot claim ownership of anything in this story except those three, and perhaps a few background characters. And the good silver.

Now, this story is part of the CATverse. View the timeline at www. freewebs. com/ catverse. html (remove the spaces) or know that this one takes place from February to the end of March, 2014. It's really vitally important, you know.

No, not really.

Stay Out of the Alley

His first clue that something was terribly wrong came on Valentine's Day. The insistent knocking on his bedroom door dragged him out of a sound sleep. He would have killed them for it, but they couldn't have reasonably expected him to be sleeping well, it happened so rarely. Besides, he had been expecting something like this.

He opened the door to find Al and Techie smiling up at him, loaded down with hideously adorable gifts.

His eyes swept over the boxes of chocolates, the flowers, the pink balloons, the fluffy red teddy bear, the boxer shorts printed with hearts and lips, the bag of god-only-knew-what, with the logo of the nearby adult toy store…

"Where's the other one?" he asked suspiciously. When his girls split up, there was usually something demeaning and probably unsanitary in the works.

"Who, Mon Capitan?" Techie put on her innocent face. He stared at her, knowing she would soon crack under the pressure of his gaze. She had a glare that could make Marines cry, but she couldn't pull off innocent when she knew he wanted information.

But this time, Al was the one whose defenses crumbled, without any effort on his part.

"Captain has a date," she said.

"Oh." He flushed, realizing he sounded almost disappointed. "I suppose it's too much to hope that you two have plans that will keep you out of my way for the evening, too." They both giggled.

"Oh, Squishykins, you're the only man for me."

He sidestepped before Al could catch him for an organ-rupturing hug.

They showered him with gifts, most of which he would quietly dispose of as soon as possible. Although he could potentially find some use for the fuzzy pink handcuffs…

Then they hugged him and petted him until he got fed up with their attention and shooed them out of the room.

When they were gone, he told himself that he was not concerned by the Captain's conspicuous absence. The girls had all had dates before, and while it wasn't like her to miss an opportunity to snuggle, there was no reason to think there was anything wrong. Valentine's Day was a day for lovers, and it was high time at least one of them began to show some sign of understanding that he was never going to fill that role for any of them.

She came back that evening, glowing with happiness and sniffing a bouquet of roses, and apologized profusely for missing out on the festivities. He told her he didn't want to be cuddled, she ignored him, and everything was back to normal.

Only, it wasn't.

She went out nearly every night after that, and didn't come back until after the others had gone to bed. And since they were night owls every bit as much as she was, that was really saying something.

He quickly discovered that the common room had excellent light for reading, and that he could stay in there at night without worrying about being disturbed by the others.

So he just happened to be there each night when the Captain came home. Each time, she gave him a cheeky little grin and went straight off to bed. Each time, he found himself annoyed by that persistent twinkle in her eyes.

And though he never said a word about it, and she never called attention to herself, he began to notice small changes in her. First she replaced her glasses with contacts. She had done that often enough when she needed to disguise herself, but he knew that in her daily life, just like the rest of them, she preferred to see the world framed in silver and black. Then there was the day she came home in a skirt. She did wear skirts occasionally (on days when she "couldn't stand the thought of pants") but to wear one out violated her long-established pattern of behavior. And then she started wearing makeup.

The Captain was more of an idealist than she claimed, refusing to support any company that tested its products on animals and reinforced an unreasonable standard of beauty. She was also, in her own words, incredibly lazy.

Smoky, seductive eyeliner was not part of her morning routine.

And he would not have expected any of his girls to change themselves this much for a mere man.

If he had vocalized his thoughts (not concerns, but thoughts) they would have accused him of being jealous. And he would have reminded them that if he was going to keep henchgirls, he couldn't afford to let them have divided loyalties. And they would have told him that he was cute when he lied, and then he would have had to blow up a busload of schoolchildren to prove that he wasn't feeling warm and fuzzy. That was more effort than he cared to go to just to shut them up, so he remained silent.

But this new and unsettling situation stayed in the back of his mind, refusing to leave him alone.

It came as something of a surprise when he learned that Al and Techie weren't happy with their Captain's boyfriend, though.

One night, he actually fell asleep before she came home. He woke the next morning to find that someone had carefully removed his shoes and glasses, marked his place in his book, and covered him with a blanket, all without disturbing him in the least. Al and Techie were talking rather loudly in the next room, apparently unaware that he was there.

"She can't really be in love with the guy," Techie said. Al's response contained a nearly-audible shrug.

"She may say she doesn't believe in love, but I've seen her with that look in her eyes. Besides, he makes her happy. Isn't that enough?"

"That's just the point! She isn't happy."

"What are you talking about? She's been all smiles for the last three weeks."

"Yeah, when we can see her," Techie said. "She only cries when she thinks no one can hear."

There was a long moment of silence.

Then, "What do you mean?" asked Al. Techie snorted.

"We share a wall, Number One. And I was up when she came in last night."

More silence.

"She was crying?" Apparently, at this point, Techie nodded, because Al's voice suddenly filled with righteous fury. "I don't know who the hell this guy thinks he is, but if I ever see him—"

"Yeah, and that's why she hasn't brought him home to meet the folks. Can you imagine Squishums going all protective-big-brother? The guy would never know what hit him."

He sat up and peered over the back of the sofa at them. They were standing in the doorway, facing away from him. Good.

"My name is not Squishums," he said. They both let out very gratifying screams as they whirled around to face him.

"Squishykins! How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," he said with a smirk. He couldn't quite find it in his heart to berate Al for calling him Squishykins again, not when she and Techie were so delightfully rattled. They weren't obliging enough to be really frightened, but he wasn't looking forward to that quite as much as he used to. He was so used to their being afraid for him that being afraid of him hardly entered into the picture anymore.

"Could you make some noise next time?" Techie demanded.

"I'm not in the habit of calling out in my sleep—"

"Oh, yes, you are," Al interrupted. "We've all heard you in the middle of a bad dream. But, what were you doing sleeping in here?"

"I fell asleep reading." Privately, he dared either of them to make an issue of that. They didn't. "I don't suppose it would be too much trouble for someone to tell me what the devil is going on."

"Captain has a boyfriend," said Techie.

"He's a jackass," Al added. "Will you help us set him on fire?"

"Why would I do a thing like that?"

"Your Captain needs you!"

He reigned in the sarcasm that threatened to spill out just then.

"What she needs is for someone to knock some sense into her," said Techie. "She knows better than to get involved with a guy like that."

He couldn't help it; he had to ask.

"A guy like what?"

"Oh, you know."

"What?"

"He's a low level Mafia thug, not the kind of person she should have gotten involved with in the first place, and—"

"Oh, you're one to talk," said Al.

They were about to start bickering, so obviously it wasn't anything serious. He left them before he could get suckered into choosing a side in whatever debate was to come.

He couldn't have explained, if asked, why he went to their side of the lair, rather than to the safety of the lab or his own room. But maybe he could call it simple curiosity. That had always worked for him before.

He found the Captain—not that he was particularly looking for her—in her room, folding clothes and stuffing them into a cardboard box.

"Oh, goody," he said dryly. "You're moving out." Startled, she looked up at him and plastered on a false smile, clearly hoping he wouldn't be able to tell that she had been crying recently. Of course, no amount of easygoing giggles could cover up the black eye she was trying to keep turned away from him, or the trace of blood she hadn't quite managed to clean away from the corner of her mouth.

"You're not getting rid of me that easily." She flashed him a grin. "I'm just sending some of my old stuff to Goodwill. It's not like I really need all this."

"And what brought this on?" He leaned against the doorframe, playing it just as cool as she was. The Captain shrugged.

"Can't a girl let go of the things she doesn't need?" She took a shirt off its hanger, folded it lovingly, and hugged it to her chest before she tucked it in the box with the rest.

"You're getting rid of that?" he couldn't help asking. She shrugged again.

"Paul doesn't like it."

"Of course he doesn't. No one likes that shirt but you." But she loved that hideous thing, which Al had dubbed "the horrible shirt." It was several unpleasant shades of blue, a Polynesian print, made in the late '70s (a family heirloom) and every time the Captain wore it—which was frequently—Al made strangling noises and mercilessly mocked her fashion sense. It could be quite amusing, and had resulted in one or two slap fights involving coat hangers. That had brought such a smile to his face, they had repeated the process for his benefit. And the Captain had always insisted to her first mate, and anyone else who was listening, that she would never get rid of her horrible shirt.

"Out with the old," she said.

"In with the new?" She looked at him quizzically. "You seem to be making a lot of changes lately. I was just wondering if there was anything I should know."

"Oh. Well, no. Not really."

"Let me rephrase that," Crane said sternly. "Why are you bleeding?"

Amazing. She looked like a guilty child caught in a lie.

"I—I am? Well…we might have had a little too much fun last night. Bar fights aren't the same without the girls as backup. But, don't worry. Everything's fine."

He grunted his skepticism.

"Really," she insisted. "I set a couple of guys on fire, and everything was good."

"If you say so." He hesitated to ask the other question, but it really had to come out now, not later. "Then you haven't been crying, I take it."

She let out a brittle laugh.

"Crying? No. No, I—well, yes. I mean, maybe just a little. But it's my own fault. I always cry when I drink. I know better than to let myself—why do you want to know about that, anyway?" she babbled.

"Your friends want to know."

"Oh—well—you can tell them to come to me themselves if they have any questions. Actually—no, don't. Just tell them I'm fine."

"Tell them yourself. I'm not here to pass your messages." And never mind the fact that she didn't seem fine to him. He really had no reason to care.

"Do we have to talk about this?" she asked as she folded another shirt. "I mean, I would have expected them to butt in, but what do you care?" she continued, echoing his own thoughts.

"It's nothing personal."

"Of course not." She looked at him, looked down at herself, and sighed. "Squishy?" she said solemnly. "Do you think I should get implants?"

So, she was playing hardball. She really wanted him out of her room. And only the sure knowledge that she wasn't asking a simple, honest question kept him from bolting the way she wanted him to.

"Don't ever say those words in my presence again," he growled. She pouted.

"That doesn't really answer my question."

"Captain…" No matter what he did next, it was going to feel like giving in. He might as well go all out. "It pains me to have to say this to you, and I hope you realize I'll deny this with my dying breath, but there's nothing wrong with you. Physically."

"Really? Maybe you should take a closer look."

When she started to strip, he gave in and left.