Repost of JBBS fic: The Black Cat And Mr Reed

[jamjar]

Title: "The Black Cat and Mr Reeves."
By: jamjar
For: brown_betty
Author's LJ: jamjar
Previously posted on the JBBS archive, where it has prettier formatting thanks to the lovely derryderrydown
Author's Notes: "A really good detective never gets married.". Raymond Chandler
"An actor is never so great as when he reminds you of an animal - falling like a cat, lying like a dog, moving like a fox." Francois Truffaut
"A true man is he who has his partner beside and not behind him." Verka Paunovska Trajceska
"Everything you ever needed to know about human motivation can be found in black and white. The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca, It Happened One Night... Money, love and stuff that just happens." Gar Logan (Changeling).
Thanks to Petronelle for the beta, Te and Prop for general support and Jack for help with cats. For those that are curious, Gar is a Norwegian Forest Cat for much of this fic.

There is a secret extra bonus hinted implication of smut in the final scene, which is about as wild as it gets.



The hair dye itches. It's probably all in Gar's head -he's spent enough time in the business, in *both* businesses to be able to reel off a bunch of shrink-wrapped reasons for that- but it doesn't matter, because the point is, it itches. It's only out of a sense of personal dignity and, more important, character that stops him scratching.

This is where having a partner comes in handy. Vic's fingers dig in just right, between the shoulder blades and along the spine and Gar bites his tongue on the urge to tell him so. Changes it to an entirely forgivable purr and blinks his eyes to look at the guy across the table. Edward Hitchings is middle aged, all flashy suit and more hair-dye used on his thinning mop then Gar has on his whole body.

"--understand my position. I've got a lot of other interests, from the street level and up." He puts a slight emphasis on the last word, trying to put them in their place.

"Mr Hitchings," Vic says, calm as anything. "My superiors have granted me significant authority for this meeting. Respect it." It's calm, collected, matching the designer suit and not the impressively scarred bulk inside. Gar gives a deliberately loud purr and stretches, emphasizing the picture they present.

It's a good image, even if Gar wouldn't have gone for a cat himself. He likes clichés as much as the next guy, but there are limits. He was outvoted, though, and he's still surprised at Robin for voting against him. You'd think the Boy Lurker would be able to appreciate subtlety, but apparently, they don't go in for that much in Gotham on either side of the fence. Still, even if he does think something more interesting, a lemur or something, would have been better, there's a good effect with this one. Vic, done up in a smart suit and pseudo-scars, good and messy, covering the metal, petting his cat. The look is a little worn, but effective anyway.

"Of course! I wouldn't do anything less, Mr Reeves," Hitching says. "My respect for you and your organization is a constant. Why, businesses like ours couldn't function without respect, without trust, without honour amongst..." he gives a little laugh. "Well, you know the rest."

Gar can't see Vic's smile, but he knows what it should look like. He has, after all, spent enough time coaching Vic on it. Just one corner of the mouth raised, just enough to suggest cold amusement or polite tolerance, and just as likely to be either. Gar purrs again, stretches and jumps on to the table, heading over to Hitchings.

Alcohol, sweat and a lot of pretty ineffective deodorant, plus aftershave. Faint traces of cigarette smoke. Faint traces of something else, something that normally he'd shift to get a better sense of, but now, his only option is to move closer.

Hitchings sneezes loudly and leans back. "Can you do something with this?"

This? Gar hisses and swishes his tail and steps closer.

"Of course. Come on, Sophie." Vic picks him up and cradles him. Sophie? Sophie? Gar twists in Vic's arms to glare at him. Vic keeps Gar steady with the ease of practice. "Now, Sophie, be nice. Our host obviously isn't a cat person."

Hitchings gives them a wide, empty smile and wipes his nose. "I have allergies."

"And I appreciate you letting me bring Sophie with me," Vic says. "I know you prefer to meet representatives alone, but Sophie was recovering from a bad case of the flu, weren't you, baby?" He rubs the side of Gar's head and Gar fights with his kitty instincts not to rub back. Vic is close enough for Gar to see him clearly albeit in shades of gray. The pseudo-scarring covers his face in almost a splash pattern. "And I didn't want to leave my little good luck charm behind."

Hitchings laughs. "Black cats are usually bad luck, where I come from."

"Not in Gotham," Vic says. "Not for me."

Hitchings laughs. "Well, let's hope this meeting brings good luck to everyone concerned." He presses a buzzer on the table and Gar can feel Vic tense before the door opens. He can smell the woman, smell her perfume, before Vic gets a chance to see her.

"My wife, Beth," Hitchings says. "She can show you to your room." He shakes Vic's hand before he says goodbye. Gar makes a half-hearted swipe at his hand- hey, maybe Vic could use a sample of his blood- and Hitchings backs off.

Vic moves Gar to his shoulder as they walk down the corridor. Mrs Hitchings is the expected younger woman, who somehow manages to give the impression of being a southern belle, although she has a determinedly accentless voice. Gar can recognize the ruthless determined erasing of a distinctive speech pattern when he hears it. Blue collar or lower, he's guessing.

"My husband isn't fond of cats," she says. "But I like a man who is kind to his pets. It shows a certain kind of character. Especially cats. They're so wonderfully elegant, don't you think?"

Gar jumps down from Vic's shoulder and twines around her feet. She steps over him, avoiding so much as a stumble. He tilts his head, the automatic feline equivalent of raising an eyebrow. It might not actually be one of the classic marks of a metahuman, but escaping a feline tripwire is probably a pretty good indicator.

She does stumble, a second too late, and leans on Vic. "Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, my fault. Sophie must like you," Vic says, and no, Gar was not imagining that little bit of flirtation.

"Well, you tell her that the feeling's mutual. Whatever my husband's prejudices are, you can rest assured that I do not share them."

Geeze, lady, why don't you just strip naked and sing "Happy Birthday, Mr President." There's such a thing as subtlety. Gar flicks his ears at her. Vic's not some dumb schmuck, not him and not the guy he's playing.

"I'll keep that in mind, Mrs Hitchings," Vic says, letting just a little more Gotham in to his voice. It's disturbing, doubly so when Gar knows that Vic's copying Robin's accent. Not Tim as much as Jason.

"Please," she says. "Call me Beth. All my friends do." She waits a second for Vic to offer her his first name, but moves on when he doesn't. "This is your room. If you want anything, just let me know." Somehow, she manages to resist inviting herself into their room, but it's obviously a near thing. Vic holds the door open and Gar runs in and jumps on the bed, waiting for Vic to close the door behind them.

Their luggage, including Gar's cat-basket, has been put way and, no doubt, examined for any bugs or surveillance blocking device, but there are advantages having a partner who can carry more technology in one finger than most intelligence agencies. Gar gives him three seconds to turn the blocking stuff on and stands up. Vic nods.

"Sophie? What the hell, man?"

"You look like a Sophie," Vic says. He checks the lock on the door and then lifts up a patch of scar tissue, then starts fiddling with the metal underneath.

"I do not. Look at me, I'm a handsome tomcat in my prime. Sophie. Someone's gonna ask you why you gave your cat a girl's name and this whole act will fall apart."

"I'll just tell them it's short for Sophocles," Vic says. "Hmm."

Gar sits up, his ears twitching. "You found something interesting?"

"Possibly. I'm registering a slight increase in pheromone reaction. I hadn't noticed any difference."

"You sure it's not just old-fashioned lust?" Gar says, settling down on the covers. " Bridgid O'Shaugnessy over there was giving you a lap-dance out in the hallway."

"I'm pretty sure I would have noticed that."

"I don't know, Vic. You're kind of oblivious about these things." Gar pads the quilt cover, sliding his claws out.

"How involved do you think she is?" Vic asks, sitting down. "Her little flirtation seems a bit too easy." He grins at Gar and strokes behind one ear. "Unless you think she has a fetish for dangerous and hideously scarred criminals."

"Lots of women do," Gar says and rolls over on to his back. "Especially when those charming psychotics are from Gotham. You ever read those reports on Two-Face?"

Vic obediently starts scratching his belly. "Maybe, but I'm going for my first theory. According to Robin, the people who made a deal with Hitchings had a heightened pheromone level. Not Poison Ivy level, but it could be a clue to how they've been getting the deals they have."

"Why normally honest businessmen have been getting in to bed with the wrong kind of people," Gar adds. "You think that's what she wanted? Miss Call-me-Beth?" Gar ends with a little breathy gasp, his best femme fatale. "'You're so sophisticated, Mr Reeves, and my husband does not understand me at all.' It's classic stuff, Vic. I bet you five bucks she's asking you to off her husband within 48 hours."

"You've been spending too much time with the movie channel," Vic says. "Like Dick used to say, The Maltese Falcon is not a primer for detective work."

"Everything you ever needed to know about human motivation can be found in black and white," Gar says. "The Maltese Falcon, Casablanca, It Happened One Night... Money, love and stuff that just happens."

"Stuff that just happens, huh?"

"Ninety percent of life." Gar wriggles back on to his front. "I didn't smell anything weird coming off of her, but there's no guarantee that I would anyway." He blinks up at Vic affectionately. "All you humans smell alike, you know." Which is a lie, especially for Vic, but it's sort of true.

"Are you up for a little recon mission?" Vic says.

Gar flicks his tail. "I think I can manage that." He leaps off the bed, nice and smooth and heads to the door. "Don't wait up," he says, and heads out.

---

It's better viewing this as a cat than a mouse or a rat would have been, but it still leaves Gar wishing the hair-dye would last through transformations. His hearing is better, as is his sense of smell, but cats are shortsighted and that sucks when he's looking around. The place smells pretty much like it should; clean, expensive, the vague smell of cordite and a strong smell of aftershave because most members of the underworld never picked up that less is more when it comes to that.

It smells of a few core people, the Hitchings and a couple of others -cleaning staff, probably- and has a few regular visitors that leave their smell all over. He can smell a few others beneath that, but there's no-one especially distinctive, no lingering scent of brimstone.

He follows Hitchings' scent back to the bedroom he apparently shares with his wife. The door isn't open. Gar tries to get the handle, jumping and grabbing, but it's either locked or just stiff and he slides off the handle in a messy sprawl. He can't hear any breathing inside and his outer cat is urging him to get away from the scene of his undignified slip.

The house is set in a faux forest, all freshly planted trees and no ferns or bushes. Gar can smell farmland beyond it, and the trees that are a little too young and too regularly laid out to be right, but there's a reasonable smell of mice as well, the odd rabbit and fox, but he had a good dinner and he's got work to do. He pads around the outside of the house. There are tire tracks, but he's not Batman, he can't identify brands by their prints. No obvious smell of incense and blood that Gar associates with evil cults. No weird alien smells either.

He circles around the outside of the building twice, before the carrot and stick of nature makes it give him it up as a lost cause. The presence of a fox sets his fur on edge until they both decide to ignore each other. Not that he doesn't think he could take it, but there's no point picking fights when he's here on a mission and it's just making use of the mice that hang around the shrubbery.

He gives up a little before noon and heads back to their room. Vic is already up by the time he scratches on the door.

"I left the window open for you," Vic says.

Gar gives him a look and heads over to his bowl. "Do I look like Dawson Leary to you?"

"As I don't know who that is--"

"Then you make a lousy Rapunzel. We're on the first floor. This little kitty can't leap over tall buildings in a single bound."

"There's a tree outside. You could have jumped." Vic strokes Gar on the neck anyway, then reaches over and closes the window. "Did anyone see you?"

"No." Gar sits down to wash his fur. There's a lot of it and he can taste the dye with every lick, but it's better than having muddy fur. "I didn't see anything either, except that the Hitchings share a room which might make it a little harder for Beth to invite you back to hers."

"I've adjusted my systems anyway," Vic says. "It should automatically counteract any excessive pheromone contamination."

"Should?" Gar looks up from his fur.

"I didn't notice the increase the first time. I think it was too subtle, too close to natural," Vic says. "My system is set up to permit things like that. I should have it fixed now, but..." he shrugs.

Gar pads over and jumps on to the bed, then Vic's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry, man. I've got your back."

"I know, greenjeans. You should watch yourself too. I wasn't the only one Mrs Hitchings was cooing over."

Gar flicks his tail at the back of Vic's head. "I'm not gonna leave my partner for the first pretty dame that walks through the door," he says, putting on a little Sam Spade.

Vic gives a small laugh, barely audible and heads out.

"Mr Reeves! So glad you can join us for breakfast," Hitchings says, standing up and waving Vic to a seat, patting him on the shoulder Gar isn't riding. "It's not much, but it keeps the wolf from the door, huh? My wife has a lot of skills, but cooking isn't one of them."

"I just think these things are best left to professionals," Beth says, tight-lipped. "I'm sure Mr Reeves won't find anything wrong with the meal."

Vic picks Gar off his shoulder and puts him on the floor before sitting down. "Mr Hitchings, I stayed in Gotham after the quake," he says, putting more than a little pride in to it. "It wasn't exactly a catered affair."

Hitchings laughs and gestures at one of the staff who starts ladling fried stuff on to Vic's plate. "You Gotham boys, you always sound so damn proud when you say that."

Vic shrugs. "We earned our place there," he says, and the accent is rougher than Tim's ever is, but the emphasis comes straight from him. "It was the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me."

"That's quite a statement," Hitchings says. He sounds just a little off, just a little bit smug when he looks at Vic.

Vic shrugs. "I was headed to an athletic scholarship before an accident put me out the running for that."

"Is that where you picked up the-- scars?" Beth says, leaning forwards and just a little too interested. She puts her hand on Vic's arm. "You don't have to tell us if it's too hard."

Vic shrugs and turns his head, just a little too slowly. "No, those came later." He shakes his head and looks up. "The Quake did a lot of damage to a lot of people," he says.

"Must have made it harder for you to get a job," Hitchings says. "Being so distinctive and all."

Vic shakes his head. "People expect Gotham criminals to have certain eccentricities," he says.

Something's wrong. That was exactly what Tim said when they were coming up with this look, and Vic's accent strayed closer to Tim's when he said it, quoted it. Gar jumps up on to Vic's lap, digging his claws in hopefully enough to trigger Vic's sensors. He flicks his tail in Vic's face and gives a loud, unhappy one-step-away-from-hissing meow.

Vic shakes his head as if to clear it and looks down at Gar. Gar mews, loudly, questioningly and Vic strokes his head after a second. When he looks up his expression is clearer. "I hate to ask, but it looks like my Sophie is hungry. Do you have any fish she can snack on?"

Beth draws back and gestures at the staff. "Of course. Fish and milk--"

"Not milk, it makes her sick."

"Water?" Vic nods and Beth waves a hand at the maid to dismiss her. "Though I'm surprised she's hungry. Didn't she get enough to eat on the hunt last night?"

Vic strokes Gar under his chin. "You went out last night, huh? That explains the half a mouse I found on my bed this morning." He looks up at Beth Hitchings and smiles. "Sophie's a greedy little beast."

"Not too greedy or she wouldn't have shared her meal with you," Beth says, reaching a hand to stroke Gar but keeping her eyes on Vic.

Gar turns his back on her, rolls on to his back and pretends to be a kitten, batting at Vic's hand.

"Maybe the cat just has a good sense of order. Turning over her rightful share to her superiors," Hitchings says.

Vic grins and Gar's close enough that he can see exactly how disturbing that makes the scarring look. "If half a mouse was the appropriate tithe, negotiations like this would be a lot quicker."

Hitchings laughs, badly enough to make Gar want to give him lessons. He meets Vic's eyes and there, just a little twitch of an eyebrow. No giving acting tips to the criminal underworld, saladhead.

Gar gives his best kitten-purr and aims a claws-in blow at Vic's fingers.

"So, are you ready to discuss business," Vic says, letting Gar jump off his lap when the maid comes with food. Gar sniffs it suspiciously -*tinned* salmon, what kind of animal do these people take him for?- then settles down to eat it.

"Not at the breakfast table," Hitchings says. Gar can see his foot tap under the table. "I like to know people a little better before I do business with them. Makes it friendlier all around."

"I think it's a bad idea to confuse business with friendship," Vic says, before shrugging. "But my superiors have been impressed with how quickly you negotiated deals with several of our associates. I guess I can play nice, if that's what it takes."

"You're so direct," Hitchings says. "You want to move up the food chain, you've got to learn a bit of subtlety.

"I'm sure Mr Reeves doesn't need one of your Better Business lectures, darling," Beth says. Gar isn't at all surprised when she starts to slip off one shoe and stretch out her leg. He curls underneath the table and pounces on her foot when it gets too close. She pulls it back, kicking him off.

"Well then, maybe you can show him around the place. We've got a brand new pool. Beth made me put it in, got a Jacuzzi and a sauna and everything," Hitchings says.

"You won't be joining us?" Vic's voice is politely surprised, but not too disappointed. Beth's left foot starts to inch its way across before Gar gives a warning hiss.

"I have other things to do. A couple of long distance calls to make. Time and time-zones wait for no man. If you'll excuse me...?"

Gar doesn't need Vic's signal. He gives Vic's leg a warning bite -stay on guard against the femme fatale- and waits just long enough for Vic to lean over to say, "So tell me more about this pool?" and distract Beth before he follows Hitchings.

---

Hitchings heads to his office. Gar has to fight his natural reaction to shift to something smaller, less obvious than the big, bulky ball of fur he currently is. The dye might shrink down, as long as he kept to something mammalian, but it wouldn't last the trip back up. Instead, he pretends to be Tim and gets ready to chase imaginary mice if anyone catches him.

Hitchings heads to his office and closes the door before Gar can get in. It's not perfectly soundproof, but it's close enough that Gar can't actually make out what he's saying. He stops talking and Gar can hear what might be typing, but nothing else. Gar waits, but there's nothing.

Crap. Leaving Vic alone with Beth Hitchings was worth the risk when they thought he might get something useful from Hitchings, but now... He swishes his tail, irritated, and takes off to track down Vic.

The pool is down in the basement complex. Vic and Beth Hitchings' scents mix in with the almost over-powering smell of chlorine. It occurs to Gar that they didn't bring a set of trunks for Vic, and he wonders if Beth Hitchings has spares, if she'll just suggest they go without.

The pool is dimly lit, more like a grotto than anything else, chlorine and a potted rainforest, and it takes a moment for Gar to realize what that wrong-wrong-wrong smell is amongst it. You just don't expect to smell fox indoors.

He skitters along the tile until he finds Vic, asleep with a towel on his face and a fox standing on his back. Gar lets out a battle cry that turns into a yowl just in time and attacks.

And *crap*, he hates foxes and it's hard not to change into something bigger or with sharper teeth and poison, but there's not much between a cat and a fox, really. It tries to bite him and comes away with a mouthful of fur -hah! Vic had made fun of Gar for choosing a ball-of-fur cat breed, but look how useful it is now- and Gar claws it across its nose. It makes another attempt but Gar rushes it, pushes it off Vic's back and on to the tile and lands on it, going for the neck. It throws him off and starts to retreat.

No chance that Gar can catch up with it running and besides, he needs to check that Vic's okay. He finds Vic's hand, hears the pulse and disregards it -it's there for effect and has nothing to do with any actual blood flow- and bites down on his fingers, hard.

"What the--" Vic jerks awake, holding his fingers. "Gre--" Gar meows, loudly and Vic stops. "Green-eyed little monster," he says, making his voice softer. "What are you doing waking me up, hey?"

Gar meows, loudly, insistently, trying to make it clear that he is not a happy kitty right now. Vic winces. "Are you jealous because I was spending time with Beth?" Vic says. "Because you know you wouldn't have liked the pool and you'd be happier wandering around."

Gar hisses when Vic mentions Beth and gives a disappointed grumble.

"You didn't find anything to amuse you, huh?" Vic says.

"Vic." Vic doesn't startle when he hears Beth Hitchings' voice, but he tenses. She comes in, wearing a bikini with a towel over her arm. "You're awake," she says.

"Did I fall asleep on you?" Vic says, standing up and smiling. "I guess I didn't know how tired I was."

Beth smiles at him. Gar digs his claws in to Vic's arms because that's the final bit of proof that she's crooked. No women he knows would take some guy falling asleep on her that well, especially when she's dressing in an outfit that would make Kory blush. "No problem," she says. "Maybe we can take that swim now?"

Vic shakes his head. "Sorry. It looks like my Sophie has been in the wars. You don't have any other cats around here? Normally she's a sweetheart, but she can get a little territorial."

Gar maintains his cover by giving a deliberately pitiful cry. Cats are not subtle actors.

"No, my husband doesn't like them," she says. "Although if she's been outside, there may be some wild animals." She moves forwards and goes to pet Gar. He hisses at her. Back off, bitch.

"Sorry," Vic says. "She must still be feeling a little tender. I think I'll take her back to our room. Might be best if she stays there for the trip, if there are wild animals about."

Beth nods, a little too eagerly for Gar's taste, but he purrs smugly when she backs off as they go past. "I'll see you at lunch."

They get back to the room and Vic locks the door and triggers the surveillance blocker. "What happened down there? Beth suggested I change for a swim--"

"Are you wearing trunks under that towel?" Gar interrupts. "Because it doesn't look like it."

"Speedos." Vic flashes him. "Makes me feel a little nostalgic. I changed into them, she suggested we let breakfast settle before we went in and--" He frowns.

"I go down there to find a fox on your back." Gar stretches out his back leg and starts cleaning it, calming himself down. "The kind of fox with fur and a tail. And that's not the weird thing." He straightens up and looks at Vic. "It was a Hokkaido fox," Gar says. "As in, pretty much only found on the island of Hokkaido in Japan. You don't get them in the states outside of zoos."

"You're sure?"

"Pretty sure. I think it was hanging around outside, but I assumed it was a regular fox."

Vic frowns and Gar can recognize the signs of long-distance communication. "There are a lot of myths about fox spirits," Vic says. "Fox women. Robin thinks we can assume that the fox is the cause of it, which means that this counts as a specific focus magic and not a general spell."

Gar goes back to cleaning his fur. "You ever get the impression that Robin has some serious D&D time in his background?"

"It means that theoretically, if we catch the fox we can break down the mind-control on everyone they made a deal with." Vic smiles at Gar, crooked where the scarring drags across his cheek. "And you said I was silly to pack one of the JLA magic show's Nets of Inescapability."

"No, I said you were stupid to get it without picking up Zatanna's phone number at the same time," Gar says. "Or at least giving her my card. Maybe she needs someone to pull out of a hat, you ever think of that?" He stands up and stretches out. "You sure that thing can hold it?"

Vic peels off the pseudoscars on his arm and checks the release mechanism on the net. It doesn't look thick enough to hold anything, thin as a cobweb, but Gar knows how strong cobwebs are, even when they're not backed up with the mystical power of whoever. Vic stands up. "Robin says Zatanna has put a mystic block around the compound. It should hold long enough for us to use this. Are you ready?"

"You're not going to put on any pants?" Gar asks. "Or are you going for the Kory method of surprise-your-enemies?" Not that Vic is usually about the body modesty, but skin, even when hideously and melodramatically scarred, is a whole lot more naked than metal. He jumps on to Vic's shoulder. "Let's go fox hunting."

---

The Hitchings are in one of the reception rooms.

"Mr Reeves," Beth says. She looks him over. "You-- you haven't changed." She moves forwards, her hand over her halter-top heart.

"Looks like you got lost on your way to the pool," Hitchings says. "Are you--"

"Forget it," Vic says. "We know about the kitsune. That little stunt at breakfast? It won't work on us. Not anymore." He moves in to the room. "It's over. The police are coming and we've already set up a magical barrier around the house. You can come quietly or not, it's up to you."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Hitchings says. "You're crazy. I should have known better than--"

"We're talking about a little kitakitsune," Vic says. "We're talking about you and your lovely wife using what the police like to call 'illegal use of non-conventional methods of persuasion.' And maybe we can add a trafficking in rare or endangered animals to the RICO charge you'll be getting with that. It's over," he says, dropping that Gotham accent for his own. He holds his hand out, silver where he peeled off the scar-tissue.

Beth Hitchings blanches. "I-- you have to believe me, Reeves, I never wanted any part of this. It was Edward, he forced me to. I couldn't say no, he had me trapped. But you, you can help me. If you just help me get rid of Edward, we could--"

"Forget it," Gar says. Beth jumps. "He won't play the sap for you, sweetheart."

"What? Who-- what are you?" She says. She looks at Vic, her eyes narrowing. "She's not just a cat, is she? What is she, a familiar or a--" Her voice goes, goes panicked just a little too late. "This is some kind of weird Gotham magic, isn't it? You're a sorcerer or--" Her expression changes. "You... you're a cape aren't you? She shakes her head and holds out her hands pleadingly. "You have to understand, I had no choice, I swear. You've got to--"

"You traitorous bitch!" Hitchings says, and leaps forward. He's already changing when Gar leaps forward to block him, but this time, Gar can shift into something more comfortable. Mountain gorilla, an oldie but goodie, and he can scoop the fox-man off and throw him up for Vic to net him mid-air.

It lands with a yip on the ground, three tails coming out of the Armani suit. It looks at them and holds his hands up. "This was all her idea," he says. "I'm a spirit animal, what do I want with worldly goods? She summoned me and bound me with ancient rituals and--"

"Don't listen to him!" Beth Hitchings says. "He's a kitsune! They're malevolent spirits, who exist to cause chaos and destruction, he used his powers on me to--"

"That's racial typing," Hitchings says, trying to stand and getting two tails tangled in the net. "You can't say I'm evil just because I--"


Vic shakes his head and zipstrips Beth Hitchings, making her sit down while they wait for the police. Her husband, now smaller and furry, yips at her, trying to bite her through the netting until Gar picks it up and hangs it from a hook on the wall. "You might want to do something about that look," Vic says.

"Huh?" Gar looks down at the black and green fur he's now sporting. "Good point." He shifts to a frog to get rid of the dyed fur, then back up to human. "Hey, you never told me she was a redhead."

"You never asked." Vic reaches up and scratches his face, picking off the psuedoscarring. Gar turns into a owl monkey and climbs up Vic to help.

"Hey, you think Batman will say thanks? I mean, they were messing with his city, among others."

Vic scratches the top of Gar's head. "That's what I like about you, greenjeans. You're such an optimist."

Comments

[bibliokat.livejournal.com]

I haven't been through the JBBS fics yet so I hadn't read this.

I really like it! Gar trying to keep Vic from falling under the spell, Vic sounding like Jason, and the kitsune! My favorite part is the ending - Gar *is* such an optimist;)

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

Thank you!

yeah, there were lots of little bits in here that were fun to write. Careful research went into selecting Gar's animals, as you can tell by googling "Owl monkey" and looking at the first response.

[bibliokat.livejournal.com]

HEE! I looked it up and if I had been drinking anything (I know better but still) it would have come out of my nose!

Nicely done;)

[amarin-rose.livejournal.com]

Oh, it's so great to read Vic and Gar fic (even if it isn't Vic/Gar fic). Vic as the scarred criminal, and Gar as his 'pet'. *dies* XD And the kitakitsune was inspired. I loved the image of Gar stalking the fox. Only...isn't Gar a vegetarian? So why was he okay with eating the tuna?

[jamjar.livejournal.com]

But did you get the secret bonus implication of smut? No? Well, google "owl monkey", the last animal Gar turns in to, and look at the first response.

As for the fish, if he's spending all that time as a cat, he's pretty much got to eat to keep healthy. It's not like he can switch to something herbivore for dinner, then switch back to carnivore after.

Do you know if Gar's vegetarian in comics canon?

[amarin-rose.livejournal.com]

I thought he was? With the tofu, and everything? Or maybe that's toonverse, and got mixed in with comics... (I get most of my canon knowledge from other people's fic).

And: Owl monkeys do not groom each other except immediately preceding copulation. Hee! *dies* XD