Khan Noonien Singh (![]() ![]() @ 2025-05-01 14:42:00 |
![]() |
|||
![]() |
|
![]() |
|
![]() |
It was just after 1 o’clock in the afternoon on a cool, cloudy day that threatened rain when Khan came into Pickman House with a basket of shopping on one arm and a concerned look on his face. “Jim, I need your help,” he said seriously as he approached the desk. They hadn’t really talked more than polite acknowledgement and a bit of small-talk since The Affair Of The Vengeance, as he’d mentally dubbed that fateful conversation, but he was willing to push through the awkwardness in the face of an urgent matter. He set the basket aside and reached into the inside pocket of his leather jacket, pulling out a tiny black kitten wrapped in a shop towel to keep her warm. “I found her in the alley on the way back from Daisy’s,” he explained. “The mother and the rest of the litter were already gone. I would’ve taken her to the veterinary clinic, but that place smells like death warmed over at fifty paces.” And his conscience wouldn’t have let him live with it if he’d just given up and kept on walking. Yes, he had personally signed the death warrants of many a person over the years and taken more than a few of them out himself, but he’d had good reason for all that, and none of those people had been a helpless, innocent runt of a newborn kitten. He lightly ran his finger between her ears and she stirred and gave a little squeak of a meow, rooting around in search of a meal. [ Image hosting at Dreamwidth doesn't like me today, so here's the picture of the kitten ] |