Chapter Text
Mordecai wondered what Atlas wanted to discuss with him.
He had been called to his office. Apparently, an urgent matter. So, he waited, sitting—exactly in the middle of it, for symmetry’s sake—on the chair.
Mordecai, as usual, was the epitome of proper. He sat straight, with his signature stoic expression. He had perfectly brushed fur, paws folded on his lap, and was wearing a black suit, white undershirt and a red tie, the only pop of color in his attire. Piercing, calculated and intelligent green eyes stared at the empty chair before him, as he waited for Atlas’s arrival.
Suddenly, the door opened. Mordecai’s head turned sharply to look at the figure entering. Atlas had barged in.
The man, his boss, was always proper too. Less than Mordecai, but still. He was perfectly respectable. Very respectable. Composed. He was, in fact, one of the few people in his life that Mordecai felt respect for. In every sense of the word.
The one Mordecai respected the most.
That is why his overly distressed appearance worried the black cat.
Concern, for a smidge of a second, could be seen on his features. He swiftly covered it up again, though.
Mordecai Heller didn’t show weakness.
Atlas sat down, in front of his best triggerman to date, to explain.
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He hated this.
Abominated it.
Despised it.
Detested it.
Loathed it.
Mordecai disliked it to the highest degrees one could. He felt repulsed.
…Those were the most synonyms to “hate” Mordecai’s well versed mind could muster at the moment.
Atlas was in danger.
That was not a surprising thing…in principle.
Atlas was…well, a speakeasy owner. The business was risky in nature.
But this was different.
The danger was immediate.
And the man refrained from giving Mordecai all the details.
Wonderful.
And, of course, if Atlas was in danger, it meant that SHE was too.
She needed protection. Couldn’t live with Atlas now.
Always clinging to Atlas, trying to get his attention, MAKING MORDECAI DANCE. WITH THAT- WITH THAT- RANDOM WOMAN!
…Mordecai disliked her, to say the least.
And he disliked even more the fact that now he was supposed to give her a place to stay.
His own apartment.
The situation was horrible for a multitude of reasons.
He liked, no, Mordecai needed his privacy.
For his home to be clean, to have silence.
He never even had visits. (Thank the Lord.)
And now he had to deal with THIS.
Atlas was lucky Mordecai respected him to that high of a degree.
The assassin might have already put a bullet through his skull for putting him in this situation.
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“You sure have an…accommodating home, hun’.” Mitzi stated, in her very perceptible southern accent, a smidge of sarcasm in her tone, as she looked around the small, tidy apartment that was Mordecai’s living quarters, her tail swooshing behind her.
Mordecai responded with a curt nod, his expression looked anything but pleased.
“I have acquired a mattress for you to sleep in. A bed wouldn’t fit.” He paused. When Mitzi opened her mouth to speak, her brows furrowed slightly, Mordecai spoke again.
“Now that you are here, I will refrain from leaving my room and my office that much. You can spend most of the day in the kitchen or the living room. I require for us to interact as little as possible.”
Mitzi rolled her eyes at him, sighing.
Mordecai’s fur bristled. The nerve!
“Alright, honey, we won’t. I will concede to your…requirements.” She said the last word with what seemed to be disgust.
“Good.”
“And…where will my…mattress be placed?
Don’t see much space here.” She said, with an ironic smile.
“Naturally, in the living room, before you go into your slumber.” Mordecai stated in a condescending tone.
Mitzi’s brows furrowed again, and she rubbed her temples.
Annoyed.
He doubted she’d get used to such a drastic change from her prissy and prim sleeping quarters to the floor soon.
Mordecai allowed himself the smallest of smiles.