≈ the bailey-falvey residence. with @doctornilaybailey
“Sorry, you must be sick of wasting your medical supplies on me.” Phoebe apologized again, wrist firmly under the running water of the tap, as Nilay checked over the latest Misty-caused scratch. The criminal herself was mewling desperately from her cage, all but abandoned near the kitchen door when the anthropologist had noticed the angry red cut that drew blood. Realistically, Phoebe knew she didn’t have to leave the cat alone in the apartment when she went out, but trips to Nilay and Eli’s house had — as of late — resulted in spontaneous sleepovers, so she’d rather take Misty with her than bother Ruairi about checking on her. However, Phoebe was still not getting the hang of transporting the little gray cat into the carrier — a job that Foster had all but exceeded at — so she had a habit of showing up to the Deer Park house battered and bruised.
“But I timed us today. Twenty minutes! I think I can get it down to fifteen by next week.” She joked, remembering the first time it took over an hour, mainly because Phoebe couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to really focus on grabbing Misty from where was wedged behind the couch, the stress of the break-up and the emotional after-effects taking a toll on both cat and owner, the absence of Foster suffocating. “I, uh, was thinking about arranging some, uh, custody agreement. When he isn’t working.” It was the first time she had brought him up unprompted, the idea playing in her mind since seeing him at The Vault a week ago. “They miss each other, I think.”