How the Future's Done - A Future!AU fic - R (Part 3)
The one job Freddy has always done for Davey is the laundry. Davey can't do it, never has been able to, not since he was eight and drank a cap of laundry detergent to prove to Joey he was cool enough to play with his toys and had to have his stomach pumped. Davey has always said that the smell of laundry detergent makes him nauseous. And since it's the one thing around the house Davey even slightly complains about doing, Freddy's jumped on it, the same way he went for the gross jobs, like cleaning the bathroom and taking out the trash. He'd do more, but Davey always gets to it before he does, and the next thing Freddy knows the carpet is vacuumed and the bed is made and the groceries are bought and he's left feeling like a jerk. All he can really do is take extra care to have things clean for Davey and folded and ironed with military precision, which Davey says he finds cute anyways. It probably explains why Davey's been standing in the bedroom doorway for about five minutes watching Freddy work through a pile of t-shirts while intermittently turning back to scratch the dog behind the ears.
"What?" Freddy asks defensively. Davey just smiles and walks over to press a kiss against his forehead, which doesn't answer the question at all.
"You're ridiculously cute," he says fondly, sitting down next to Freddy on the bed.
"Really," Freddy says, because he'll really never get tired of Davey telling him how cute he is. He will fold a billion t-shirts, if that's what it takes. "Feel free to continue."
"Think I'm good," Davey says thoughtfully, moving the piles of laundry back into the basket so the bed is free. Freddy likes the way he thinks. "Just pointing it out."
"Thanks," Freddy says softly, catching Davey in a quick kiss before he puts down the pants. "Haven't seen you all day."
"Went to the grocery store before the rush," Davey says, ticking off his fingers. "then I returned some books to the library and picked up a few reserves for my thesis, then I went to see Mom. We've got lemon pound cake with that glaze you like in the fridge, by the way."
"Your mom made lemon pound cake injured?" Freddy asks, furrowing his brow. "I feel dirty now."
"She broke her toe, Freddy," Davey says patiently. "She stubbed it too hard on a mixer. It's not like she fell down three flights of stairs or lost a limb or donated a kidney. They tape you up and you're good to go."
"But she's broken," Freddy says nervously. "That's never good."
"Joey used to break his toes all the time," Davey says soothingly, "and he's fine."
"Define 'fine'," Freddy says, crossing his arms. "I always thought his toes were creepy and monkey-like."
"You think everything about him is creepy and monkey-like," Davey points out, which is true. "Mom's fine, her toe is fine, she says to say hi and that she loves you. Tell me about your day."
"Uh, had breakfast, walked the dog..." Freddy squints vaguely, trying to remember. "Came back, did two loads of laundry, played kill-the-dino - we're going to need more stuffed animals by the way, she ripped his head off - and then... folded stuff. Planning on fucking you later. You know, the usual. Oh!" he snaps his fingers, and Mitzi lifts her head from where she's been snoring on their sheets. "Taught her a new trick."
"Uh huh," Davey says, grinning. "She finally learn high five?" Davey's been trying to teach Mitzi to high five for weeks, because he seems to think it's about the cutest idea ever, but Mitzi staunchly refuses. She's decided it's beneath her dignity, and Freddy can't help but agree with her.
"No," Freddy says. "This is so much cooler, watch," He grabs one of the sock bundles (twisted and overlapped in an oblong, the way Davey likes) and shakes it in front of Mitzi, who stands up and paws at it. "Mitzi!" he says in a sing-song voice, before dropping the socks. "Kill it!" Dutifully, Mitzi pounces on the socks and grabs them in her mouth, growling and shaking them for all they're worth before lying down and gnawing at the elastic. Davey looks dubiously amused.
"You taught her to maim socks?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Not just socks," Freddy says enthusiastically. "That's how we killed the dino. Also works on sticks."
"Freddy," Davey says patiently, "you do know this is a bad habit most people work to cure their dogs of."
"But it's so cool," Freddy says. "Look at her, she's badass! She's an attack dog! See?" He gestures at Mitzi, who is now resting her chin on the sock bundle. She looks up curiously. "You are," Freddy coos, picking her up and making kissy noises until she licks his face. "Who's my little badass killer? Are you daddy's badass killer? Yes you are. Yes you are!"
"Enough," Davey laughs, "fine, enough, I agree, it's cute."
"Thank you," Freddy beams, leaning over to peck Davey on the lips. "I already feel cooler going to the dog park with her."
"Maybe we should get her a studded collar. Or the chain kind," Davey says thoughtfully. "It'd really complete the look."
"Ooh," Freddy says, "can we?" He's been begging Davey for ages, but Davey's a stubborn bastard.
"No," Davey says firmly.
"You suck."
"Later," Davey promises. "Just for you."
"'Kay," Freddy mutters, mollified enough to rest his head on Davey's shoulder.
"It's a good thing you taught her that, you know," Davey says thoughtfully, stroking Freddy's head as if it'll transfer onto Mitzi's. "Mom said Joey called."
"Uh huh," Freddy says, automatically tuning out upon hearing the word 'Joey'.
"He and Betsy are gonna be able make it to the lake house this year," Davey continues. "They both got off work last minute, but only for the last ten days, so there'll be four that it's just us and Mom."
"Cool," Freddy yawns.
"Oh, and they're engaged."
"What?" Freddy asks, head shooting up. Mitzi barks at the sudden noise and he strokes soothingly down her back. "What?" he says in a more controlled voice. "I get to propose first! That's the deal!"
"Well, he beat you to it," Davey says. "Sorry."
"What a fucking bastard," Freddy seethes. "He has to beat me at everything."
"You lost your virginity before he did," Davey offers helpfully.
"I hate him," Freddy says.
"You have me," Davey reminds him.
"He had you first," Freddy says.
"Not biblically."
"Ew." Freddy thinks for a few moments. "I have a dog," he says brightly. "And he doesn't. Plus, my dog is really cool."
"Your dog is really cool," Davey soothes. "Very, very cool."
"My dog can kill things," Freddy continues.
"Yes," Davey agrees. "She has killed many a thing. Many a non-living, inanimate thing."
"My dog can kill Joey," Freddy says brightly.
"No," Davey says firmly, "No, she cannot."
"My dog," Freddy concludes proudly, "is a natural born killer."
"And that is our cue to take you away from Daddy, when he starts talking crazy," Davey coos, picking up Mitzi. "Do you want to go walkies? Yes you do, let's go before Daddy goes crazy."
"Hey!" Freddy shouts after Davey. "Be careful, okay? That's my secret weapon you're holding. She's dangerous, you know."
"Uh huh," Davey shouts from the front door, over the jingling leash and excited barks."Bye, Freddy, love you."
"She killed a sock in Reno just to watch it die!" Freddy yells over the shutting door. "Hey Davey, did you hear me? Just to watch it die."
- - -
Freddy is still pissed off at Joey when they're driving up to the lake house a week later. "You know why he did it," he says to Davey when his hugeass coffee has finally kicked in, "he did it to show us up."
"What?" Davey asks vaguely, changing lanes on the highway.
"Joey," Freddy clarifies. "Got engaged to fuck with me."
"Of course," Davey soothes. "That's it exactly. It clearly has nothing to do with the fact that he loves Betsy, or that they've been dating forever. It was just to piss you off."
"That's what I'm saying," Freddy says, and then, "wait, were you making fun of me?"
"Yes," Davey says serenely, slowing down slightly to let a minivan pass in front of him.
"What did you do that for?" Freddy shouts, gesturing expansively enough that Mitzi makes an annoyed, quelling noise in his lap and re-settles back to sleep.
"You were being ridiculous," Davey says, "and generally, when you do that, I make fun of you."
"I meant yielding," Freddy glowers. "Real men don't yield!"
"Guess I'm not a real man, then," Davey says, as if the idea doesn't bother him in the slightest. Which, knowing Davey, it doesn't.
"He's just mad we were going to win," Freddy says confidently. "I mean, we're bringing a puppy, so he had to one-up us. Since we always win."
"There's nothing to win, Freddy," Davey says, starting to sound impatient. "There isn't a trophy or anything." There's awkward silence for a few moments. "Oh my God," Davey says. "There's a trophy, isn't there."
"No," Freddy hedges. "More of a...running verbal list."
"You two," Davey shakes his head, smiling slightly. "You're making up for never having a brother, aren't you?"
"No," Freddy denies vehemently. "I hate him." Which is mostly true. He hates Joey until someone does something bad to him, and then he loves the guy and hates whoever did it. A little. Secretly. And by secretly, he means that Davey has probably figured it out.
"He yelled at me when we broke up, you know," Davey says thoughtfully. "Told me that you might be a terrible human being, but you were the best thing that would ever happen to me, and if I thought I was going to get any better I was kidding myself since you were, and I quote 'so fucking in love with me that you would do anything in the world to get me back', endquote."
"He what?" Freddy asks stupidly.
"Yeah," Davey says. "And I've always wondered how much you paid him to say that."
"Nothing," Freddy says, stunned. "Goddamit, now I have to be nice to him and act happy that he's engaged, as payback, don't I?"
"That would be polite," Davey nods. "You know, considering."
"It was still a shitty fucking thing to do," Freddy says staunchly. Davey just pretends not to hear him and turns up the music, which makes Freddy groan. "Not the oldies mix," he begs. "Anything but the oldies mix."
"I love my oldies mix," Davey says defensively. "I never get to listen to it. So now I'm listening to it."
"I say no," Freddy complains. "Doesn't my opinion count?"
"Not according to your rules of the car," Davey says serenely, sounding as if he's reciting something from memory. "You always say - driver chooses music, and it's called a bitch seat for a reason." It's true, too, is the shitty part of the situation. Davey takes the L to work because it's easier and there's no traffic, so if anyone does driving, it's mostly Freddy, which is how the rule got born. But it's times like these when they're cruising on the highway at ass-o'clock before Freddy's properly awake that his rules come to bite him in the ass.
"Fuck," he groans, banging his head against the car seat.
"Aw, it's one of our songs!" Davey exclaims, turning the music up.
"No fucking way," Freddy says, staring at Davey. "You did not just add Kenny fucking Loggins to the list of 'our songs'."
"Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey!" Davey sings along loudly instead of answering, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Davey doesn't have the world's greatest voice. It's on key, sure, but the range is rather limited and it's a sort of weirdly throaty in tone. Freddy, on a personal level, finds it adorable. On a musical level, it's a little appalling. "....now I see a family where there once was none!" Davey continues gleefully. "Now we've just begun! Think we're gonna fly to the sun! And even though we ain't got money...."
Okay, Freddy thinks, closing his eyes and trying to act like he's not grinning like an idiot, it's mostly fucking adorable.
- - -
The first order of business, once they get there and greet Mary like they didn't see her four days ago, is to let Mitzi pee. Mitzi is so relieved she runs around frantic circles barking and sniffing until emptying what seemed like about eighteen gallons of liquid.
"Impressive," Mary says, bringing them out a pitcher of iced tea. "I didn't know she could do that."
"That's my girl," Freddy says proudly, watching as she sniffs around to poop. "She drinks like a fish, too, Davey thought she had canine diabetes and was flipping out for, like, a week."
"Speaking of which, where is my son?" Mary asks. "Did you leave him at a rest stop?"
"Nah," Freddy says, "he's just changing into his swimsuit in the car, he didn't want to drive with his on like me."
"You don't waste any time," Mary says, handing him a tall, chilly glass.
"I am a man," Freddy informs her. "I have my priorities." Like seeing your son wet and making out with him, possibly naked, he thinks silently. Unfortunately, Davey has no such plans himself. He takes a requisite dunk and Freddy gets to watch him be all glorious and glittery-wet for about five seconds before he heads to the shallows and sits there with Mitzi.
"You not coming back in?" Freddy asks, wading up to join him.
"I think we should let Mitzi try to swim," Davey says, holding their squirming puppy to him.
"But she'll drown," Freddy says. "How about no?"
"She won't drown," Davey says. "Dogs know how to swim naturally."
"She's a baby, babies don't swim naturally."
"Some women give birth in water," Davey argues.
"Some women eat their own placenta," Freddy says. "And that's still fucking crazy."
"She'll be fine," Davey soothes, "I asked Jill, and we'll stay in the shallow part. All you have to do is put her down she'll swim to me."
"Davey," Freddy whines, taking the held-out puppy before she drops in the water by accident.
"Please?" Davey asks softly. "I think she'll really like it. Look how excited she is." She is, too, she's squirming and sniffing and whining like Freddy's keeping her from a huge, juicy piece of chicken.
"She was excited about eating that chocolate cake, too," Freddy reminds him, "and then she threw up all night."
"Freddy," Davey begins, and Freddy just sighs.
"Fine," he says, "but if you break this dog, I'm not getting you a new one."
Davey just grins and walks a few feet away from Freddy, sitting in the water where it reaches slightly above his belly button. Mitzi's squirming has reached levels Freddy had only seen when they were trying to hold her still to get shots. "Okay," Davey says in his soothing teacher voice. "Now just slowly lower her into the water."
"Trying," Freddy grits out, but it's hard when he's trying to avoid puppy claws and flailing limbs. The second she touches the water, though, Mitzi's paws start paddling.
"And now you let her go," Davey says, watching as she treads nowhere frantically.
"I am the only thing keeping her from drowning, here," Freddy says tightly.
"She is not drowning," Davey says. "She's a natural, look at her. Now I'm going to call her and you're going to let go."
"But I don't think that's a -"
"Mitzi!" Davey sing-songs. "Come here! Come swim to me!" Mitzi obligingly wriggles out of Freddy's hands and paddles to Davey. "Good girl," Davey coos as she treads water around him.
"Great," Freddy says tightly. "She's swimming, awesome, can we not - "
"Swim back to Freddy," Davey encourages, and then, "call her, Freddy, she doesn't know what I'm talking about." Freddy staunchly refuses to do the baby voice when there are other people around, so instead he holds out his hands and waves them encouragingly, and Mitzi dutifully paddles over to him. But when he tries to pick her up because that's clearly enough for the first try. Mitzi seems to disagree with him, because she keeps swimming midair when he picks her up, whining unhappily. "Freddy, put her down," Davey says. "She wants to swim."
"I don't want her to - " Freddy begins, but Davey just gives him an annoyed look, so Freddy sighs and puts Mitzi back down and lets her paddle happily back to Davey.
"Go swim yourself," Davey says absently. "I've got her."
"You sure?" Freddy asks. "Because I'll stay - "
"No," Davey says vehemently. "You're being overbearing and clearly need to get out your ya-yas."
"I do not have ya-yas," Freddy says indignantly. "This is not a sisterhood." But he goes to swim because, well, fresh, clear, cold lake water. By time he's exhausted himself, he lugs his body back to shore and huddles into the towel Davey's holding out for him while watching Mitzi run up and down their small strip of sand, paddling in and out of the waves and barking at them, snapping as they crash.
"She's been doing that for about thirty minutes and counting," Davey says, his eyes fixed on her. "I don't think she understands the concept of waves."
"Probably not," Freddy agrees, wrapping himself around Davey to drip all over him, because Davey's warm and needs to be annoyed right now. They stand silently for a few moments until Mitzi gathers up her courage and crashes through the waves which, while small, are still about as tall as she is, paddling in loop-dee-loops through the shallows. "I think you created a swimming monster," Freddy says, watching her clamber onto a small rock jutting out of the water, bark excitedly at them to watch her, and then dive back in.
"But she's such a cute one," Davey says fondly. "Besides, I don't think having only one cute swimming monster's enough, do you?"
"You have another?" Freddy asks, pulling away.
"You, idiot."
"Oh," Freddy says, resting his chin on Davey's shoulder. "Guess you could always use a spare. You know, in case I can't perform my monster duties with my monster dick and Nessie can't make it from Scotland because it's a bitch of a commute."
"Don't worry," Davey says, reaching around to pat his cheek. "You and your dick will always be my favorite monsters." And that shouldn't make Freddy so happy, except for how it totally does.
- - -
Even though Mitzi is a city dog, she takes to being out in the middle of of nowhere with such obvious enthusiasm that it makes Freddy feel bad about himself.
"You know how there's that thing where parents put down a dog and then tell their kid they sent it to a big farm in the country where it can run around and be free?" He asks Davey, watching Mitzi chase ducks while he eats his sandwich.
"Uh, yeah?" Davey asks, absently looking up from his New Yorker.
"I'm starting to wonder if we should send our dog to the farm, and I don't mean that as a euphemism."
"No," Davey says, taking off his reading glasses. He never wears his contacts when he's on vacation, and Freddy's thinking of starting a vendetta to have him not wear his contacts ever, because the sexy rumpled professor look is really, really working for him. "Explain."
"She's just so happy here," Freddy says, watching her abandon the ducks to start sniffing around the grass before finding a spot she likes and gleefully rolling in it. "I mean, look at her. She never does this at home. She's shut up in an apartment, and yeah, I take her for walks to the park, but it's not the same."
"There's lots of things she doesn't like about being here," Davey points out. "Like getting a bath every day because she rolled in duck poop again."
"Or the raccoons or coyotes or whatever," Freddy says. The first night she'd slept on the window seat in their bedroom, quivering and howling and the sound of any animal wandering by outdoors. Nobody got much sleep.
"And there are the ticks," Davey says. Freddy reaches over and squeezes Davey's knee in sympathy. He doesn't know why, but Davey gets really torn up inside by ticks. Mitzi's gotten roughly a billion of them since they've gotten there, despite the tick medicine they applied right before they came. Davey never, ever cries. He looks like a crier, but he's not. The last time he cried was when he and Freddy got together. And before the whole break up/make up fiasco, he thinks he could have counted on his hands the number of times he'd seen Davey shed a tear. But ticks, for some reason, really choke him up and his hands shake so badly he can't use the tweezers and Freddy has to pluck it out and stick it in boiling water like the vet suggested. "It's like they're just there, with their ugly heads buried in my baby," Davey had whispered, looking absolutely wrecked, his chin getting all red and bunched up. "And they're just wriggling and..."
"Shhhhh," Freddy had said, pulling Davey to him while he let out a few dry, painful-sounding sobs, rubbing his back. "They're all gone now." After, Davey always pulls Mitzi to him and cuddles with her dry-eyed and miserable looking until he ends up napping fitfully, clinging to their dog like she's just dodged a bullet. Freddy's tried to keep Mitzi out of long grass and wooded areas because this happens every time they find a tick, and it's gotten to the point where Davey doesn't even know about most of the ticks Freddy's killed. There are just that many, and Freddy's taken to rubbing her down briskly in secret. Mitzi seems completely oblivious to the pain she causes, and instead traipses around in long grasses, disappearing completely only to have a head or tail poke out occasionally. It's going to make one of them have a heart attack, Freddy's fairly sure.
"And there are mud puddles," Freddy says.
"Mud puddles?" Davey asks.
"Like the one she's rolling in right now," Freddy says thickly around his pastrami.
"She's...what?" Davey whips around to see what Freddy's currently watching, which is Mitzi running in circles and then collapsing in one of the puddles that sprang up from the torrential downpour and thunderstorm that had taken place the night before. "No, no no no no no," Davey moans. "We just washed her this morning - she was supposed to be all nice and clean for when Mom came back with Betsy and Joey from the airport."
"Well then it was pretty stupid to let her in the yard with mud puddles," Freddy says, watching her. "Hey, maybe she's just overheated. Hippos take mud baths when they are. I saw it on Animal Planet."
"Hippos don't have fur and we don't need a hippo to make a good impression on Joey because he hates dogs," Davey says, crossing his arms. "You are being absolutely no help at all."
"Well what do you want me to do, stop her?" Freddy asks, taking another bite. "She's already covered in mud. We'll just make her go swim in the lake. Easy."
But it's not easy. For one thing, Mitzi will not let herself be dunked or let Freddy and Davey wash her face with lake water. And while the lake gets some superficial mud off, it's still clinging stubbornly in semi-dried clumps to her fur that no matter how hard Davey tugs and scrubs, just won't come out. After trying uselessly for fifteen minutes, Mitzi escapes from their grasp to waddle with extremely wounded dignity to shore, shake off, and then roll around in the sand.
"What is she doing that for?" Davey moans.
"I've never figured that out," Freddy says. "I think it's like her version of perfume. Or she enjoys fucking with us."
"Or maybe she hates me," Davey says dolefully, wading back to shore and picking her up. "Alright, time for a b-a-t-h."
Freddy's never been able to figure out how a dog that loves swimming so much hates baths, but Mitzi carries on like they are torturing her whenever they stick her in the tub. She should like it, Freddy thinks. It's a combination of her favorite things - getting wet and being scrubbed and massaged all over. But she hates it. She constantly jumps out of the tub and makes escapes for the door, and if someone's holding her down, she grumbles constantly in the back of her throat, like she wants to let out a full-on growl but is too polite to do so. They nearly clog the drain, use up all the dog shampoo from washing her twice, and the water runs pure black, but after an hour of scrubbing and soothing they finally manage to get her clean and a little dry and Freddy's feeling pretty damn pleased with himself until the door opens and, upon hearing new human voices, Mitzi jumps from the towel in Davey's arms, howls a the top of her lungs, and runs skidding into the front hall dripping everywhere.
"What the fuck?" Freddy hears Joey yell.
"So about that good first impression," Freddy says as they head to the front hall. "Don't think it worked out that way."
"Shocker," Davey says, his mouth twitching. When they get to the foyer, Mitzi is still soaking wet and bashfully circling and wagging around everyone's feet. Davey lets out a very similar noise to the happy ones Mitzi is making and launches himself at Joey and Betsy, hugging them both before passing Betsy off to Freddy. He and Joey don't hug, but they do give each other manly dead arms hello.
"So your dog is fucked up," Joey says, rubbing his arm. "She's like a drowned rat, and she was kind of okay looking in the pictures you sent."
"She's just wet," Freddy says defensively as Davey starts cooing and picks her up into a clean, fluffy towel, scrubbing her dry.
"It's better than before," Davey says. "You could have had her greeting you covered in mud."
"I think she's cute," Betsy says soothingly, walking over to take the towel-draped dog from Davey's grasp and getting a very enthusiastic, wet greeting. "Look, Joey, she's so friendly!"
"Ugh," Joey says, watching Betsy put the dog down suspiciously, dodging as she runs full-throttle to try and greet him.
"Joey," Mary admonishes, "be polite and at least say hello."
"I don't like dogs," Joey says tightly.
"Did one bite you on the ass or something?" Freddy asks.
"Almost," Mary says. "Our old neighbors used to have this huge dog that Joey would tease by sticking his hand through the fence and one day the dog lost it's temper and bit him."
"Because it was evil," Joey says vehemently.
"Because you teased it for three years," Mary says, crossing her arms. "And Mitzi's very friendly, Joey, you're not being nice."
"I'm happy to see Davey," Joey protests loudly. "Just not his stupid dog. God, Mom. I'm gonna go get our bags."
"Is anyone else trying to remember why they missed him?" Freddy asks after Joey slams outside to the car. "Because I, for one, can't - ow!"
Davey doesn't even look remotely sorry for punching him.
- - -
After dinner the wedding discussions start, and Freddy's kind of disturbed by how creepily into it Davey is.
"I like weddings," Davey says defensively, wilting under Freddy's stare after launching into a description of a nice wedding for one of his coworkers he and Freddy had attended last spring and why he liked the floral arrangements, though his reasoning and descriptors at least stay on the side of "they were nice and not too frilly and pretty colors". Davey's gay, but he isn't that gay, yet, and Freddy's really fucking thankful. He escapes as soon as the album Mary brought of her wedding comes out and Betsy brings out the album of her parents' wedding and Mark's wedding and everyone else crowds and coos like they haven't all seen these a billion times. Well, Joey doesn't crowd and coo, but he does drink his beer and look smug, which is like the male version of crowding and cooing, and Freddy gets out of there as fast as humanly possible.
"Hey, fucker," a voice says from behind Freddy, and since there's only one person in the universe who calls him that, he doesn't even turn around.
"What's up, assface?" he asks, still staring out into the endless night from the porch, taking a long swig of his beer. "Thought you were with the ladies discussing lace."
"As if," Joey snorts, and then adds, as an afterthought, "....dickbreath."
"And it was delicious," Freddy says with exaggerated relish. "Your brother really likes it too, he makes the sexiest little noise when I lick his..."
"Ugh, fine," Joey says, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, whatever, I get it."
"And when I rim him he totally..."
"Mother fucker, do you ever shut up?"
"Actually," Freddy corrects smugly, "I believe you mean brother fucker."
"And to think I missed you," Joey says. "God, I was fucking retarded."
"I kinda missed you too," Freddy says. "What the hell's wrong with us, dude?"
"Fuck if I know," Joey says sadly. "I think this is, like, maturing or some shit."
"Yeah, that's what Davey calls it," Freddy says darkly. "'S pretty fucking gay, no matter how you look at it."
"You are petty fucking gay," Joey points out.
"I am, aren't I?" Freddy asks proudly.
"Yeah," Joey says. They're comfortably quiet for a few moments, reveling in their new found maturity. It's sort of nice, Freddy thinks. He'll never tell anyone this, except for maybe Davey if he does that thing with his hands Freddy likes so much, but it really is.
"So I never congratulated you," Freddy says finally. "About the engagement. And I'm stoked, dude, I totally am."
"Thanks," Joey says, his voice picking up that deep, fatherly tone he adopts whenever he's getting all mushy and grown-up about Betsy and marriage and joint mortgages and whatever. "I'm like, I knew this was coming -" Freddy refrains from making a poorly-timed innuendo, but it's a close call, "-but like, it's happening now and it's so way better than I thought."
"I'm happy for you," Freddy says. "Betsy's great. Like, too awesome for you, great."
"She is," Joey says softly. They sit in silence for a few moments more before Joey says, "you know, I did feel kind of weird, doing this before you and Davey. Always thought you guys would be first. Figured you'd be all bent out of shape about it."
"Kinda was," Freddy admits. "But, you know, timing and the break up and whatever, plus Betsy's done with school and you two have money, and Davey and I don't, so - "
"Still," Joey says. "I mean, it's you two. I mean, I hate to say this, but if there are two people who're meant to get married..."
"No, I know," Freddy interrupts before Joey says something he's going to regret. "Davey, uh, told me you might have yelled at him. When we, you know. Weren't together."
"Not my brightest moment," Joey admits sheepishly. "It's just like, I dunno, you're more than Davey's boyfriend, you know? You're like, you've been around for so long. And man, I fucking hate you, but you're family, you know?"
"I know," Freddy says, his voice suddenly scratchy. "It's just to nice hear you said that, man, it's like, I needed to hear it."
"Well, uh," Joey scratches the back of his neck. "There it is." They're silent for a few moments, darting glances back and forth at each other to the soundtrack of cicadas and Betsy and Davey's delighted laughter from inside.
"So usually I'd make out with you at this point," Freddy begins, "But we did say what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, so even though it was totally the best sex of my life..."
"Ew, you sick fucking bastard," Joey laughs, kicking him. "I take back everything I said, I hate you."
"So Betsy's a total tiger in the sack, right?" Freddy continues, because stopping when he could have the last say is never going to happen. "I mean, that's the only reason I can think of for you destroying the memory of that magical weekend we had blowing each other under the poker tables - ow! Motherfucker, Joey, you can't use your medical training to hit me where it hurts."
"You didn't call it!" Joey crows.
"It's implied," Freddy shouts back, massaging his kneecap, which Joey somehow feels like he kicked under and nearly dislodged. "It's an unfair advantage."
"You're just to pussy to take it," Joey says, putting down his now-empty beer bottle. "Gonna go cry now?"
"Oh I will make you cry," Freddy growls, launching himself at Joey and grabbing him in a headlock, which he knows from years of experience makes Joey slap like a little bitch. The fight quickly degenerates from there into pinching and yelping until the screen door opens and Mitzi comes out barking at them as if she's telling them off for having all the fun without her. Davey doesn't even bother to say anything, he just looks down at them with one eyebrow raised, backlit and arms akimbo like he's the angel of death. If Freddy didn't have Joey's elbow digging into an eye, he'd be totally aroused by how badass Davey looks at that very moment. "We missed each other?" Freddy tries. "You know us, and our badness at emotions 'cause we're dudes. This is an...alternate form of expression."
"It's protected in the first amendment," Joey supplies from somewhere under Freddy's arm.
"Ooh, good one," Freddy says appreciatively, loosening his hold. "I didn't think of using the free speech argument before." Joey frees one arm to give a thumbs up.
"Save it," Davey sighs. "And stop killing each other or Mom's given me permission to withhold her ice cream sundaes from you."
"That is cold," Joey says, wriggling out of Freddy's grasp, which has gone lax at the mention of Mary's ice cream sundaes. They always have fresh, home made fudge sauce on them that would make God himself orgasm.
"Literally," Freddy agrees.
"Whatever," Davey says, rolling his eyes and heading back inside. "They'll be ready in fifteen minutes, and if you've got any bruising I'm taking one and making you watch the dog eat the other."
"Assface," Joey mutters regretfully, straightening his shirt out.
"Dickbreath," Freddy adds.
"Too much information," Joey says. "Just...too much."
- - -
Freddy has always firmly believed that Betsy is about ten billion times too good for Joey. For one thing, she's pretty hot, for a girl. And objectively, he is aware that Joey's pretty hot too, but the truth is, he's honestly never been able to see it. Joey's just Joey, to Freddy. He's too tall and kind of reminds Freddy of a massive, freckled greyhound - all thin running muscle, long face, and too many bones. There are plenty of things Freddy should find attractive about Joey, the things that look just like Davey; the freckles, the long O'Brian nose (different shape), and the same mouth. On Davey, Freddy is obsessed with those features. On Joey, the same pink bow mouth looks girly, the freckles look garish, and the nose just makes him look even more hangdog. Freddy can't even remember if he ever found Joey attractive. His first memory of Joey is him red-faced and yelling over a prank that everyone else thought was funny and thinking fucking with him will be fun. But Betsy, she's got this whole Bettie Page thing going on, with her huge blue eyes and curly dark hair and ample curves. She looks like a pinup girl to Freddy, and if he were single and straighter, he would have hit on her like there was no tomorrow.
And Freddy knows that Joey's got a lot of good qualities of the non-physical variety. He's got a huge heart, he's honest, he's chivalrous, he's smart, he's athletic, he's great with kids and all those other things that make girls go to pieces. But to Freddy's he's still a stubborn idiot who talks too loud and drinks too much and can't take a good joke. But Betsy, she's just amazing. She's one of the smartest people Freddy's ever met, besides Davey. She's sweet and gentle and pretty much perfect, and Joey should really be getting down on bended knee every night and praying to God she doesn't wake up and leave him for someone with a sense of humor or an ounce of common sense. So Freddy gets why Joey proposed to Betsy. He knows that Betsy's special to Joey just based on the fact that she's been around for six years, considering he'd never kept a girlfriend for more than six months before her. He gets that this is the first relationship Joey's ever had that has a bat's chance in hell of working and that Joey would want to hold on to it for the rest of his life. What Freddy doesn't get is how on earth Betsy figured it was a good idea to say yes and sign on for the ride.
"Freddy," Betsy says severely to him, putting down her book in the grass where they've been lazing "I know this tank top is kind of revealing, but it's not nearly revealing enough for you to be staring at me this long."
"I'm not staring at your boobs," Freddy says quickly. "Honest to God."
"Am I getting sunburned?" Betsy asks, lifting her sunglasses to look at her creamy-pale skin critically. "We're half in the shade, so I thought even I was good."
"Nah," Freddy says, "just thinking."
"That can't be good," Betsy says, grabbing for the sunscreen and slathering herself liberally anyways. "Spill."
"You're engaged to Joey," Freddy says, watching the ring on Betsy's left hand glint in the sunlight.
"Nothing gets past you."
"You said yes," Freddy clarifies, "to Joey."
"Yup," Betsy says. "Sunscreen?"
"Are you fucking crazy?" Freddy asks.
"About the sunscreen?" Betsy asks, looking at it. "Don't think so, it's SPF 40."
"No," Freddy says patiently, "about the marrying Joey part."
"Oh," Betsy says thoughtfully. "No, I just sort of like the guy."
"Yeah," Freddy says. "Exactly. He didn't even really ask you, for Christ's sake."
"He did too," Betsy says easily, "we were at my brother Mark's wedding and he said 'when we get married I want a chocolate cake'. And I said, 'I didn't know we were getting married'. And he said, 'oh, you want to marry me, right?' And I said 'yes'."
"Didn't Mark get married three years ago?" Freddy asks.
"Yup," Betsy says. "And I told him that he should get me a ring for my twenty-fifth birthday and we'd get married when I was twenty-six. And then we picked out a ring. The end."
"That's cheap," Freddy says. "When Davey and I get married, I am going all-out on proposing."
"Why?" Betsy asked sensibly. "This way I got a ring I like. Joey doesn't know anything about jewelry."
"But you're supposed to have a story," Freddy says. "There's supposed to be, I don't know, doves and rainbows."
"That sounds expensive," Betsy shrugs. "Besides, it's not my thing, you know? I'd rather have a mature discussion. Be sensible about it."
"At the very least, a nice meal," Freddy says. "C'mon, you at least deserve that."
"There was," Betsy says. "Mary helped cater Mark's wedding - she made her hand-made pasta and everything. It was delicious."
"That's just so..." Freddy waves his hand. "It's a let-down, you know? What about when you have kids, and they ask you how you got engaged? Are you just going to tell them it was because you had a discussion about it?"
"Oh, Freddy," Betsy says fondly. "Such a little romantic."
"I am n-" Freddy begins, but he's cut off by a very wet, very excited dog who comes tearing full-throttle from the lake to shake off in his lap.
"Sorry!" Davey calls, coming out from behind the brush. "She got excited after swimming."
"Awwww," Betsy coos, picking Mitzi up off Freddy's lap and settling her in her own. "Did you have a good swim, puppy? Did you?" Mitzi cocks her head to the side, as if considering, before propping her paws up on Betsy's ample cleavage and proceeding to wash her face off.
"What did I interrupt?" Davey asks, toweling off his hair and settling down in the shade next to Freddy.
"Joey didn't propose to Betsy," Freddy informs him.
"I know, he told me," Davey says. "And?"
"And it was lame," Freddy concludes.
"You don't have to propose to me," Davey says. "I mean, you talk about us getting married all the time, so aren't we sort of engaged already?"
"That's what I said," Betsy says, "but Freddy wanted angels on high and unicorns waltzing through fields of roses. Which I think is just wasteful."
"I dunno," Davey says. He could be blushing a little, but it's hard to tell because he's been getting progressively pinker under the sun anyways. He's definitely wearing his silly, abashed little smile though, and Freddy would like to lick it off him, but they have company, so instead he laces his fingers through Davey's damp ones and squeezes. "I think it's sort of sweet," Davey says softly, not even pretending to look at Betsy anymore.
"I think people deserve that," Freddy says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can bite them back. "I think you deserve it."
"I-" Davey's eyes start looking a little misty, but that could be because his bangs are dripping lake water into them. Gently, Freddy lifts his other hand and brushes away the bangs, thumb running over Davey's cheek like a kiss.
"Gross, you two," Betsy says fondly, standing up with Mitzi still cradled to her. "I'll leave you alone to be sappy, but remember, I can see what you're doing under this tree from my bedroom window."
"Party pooper," Davey mutters as she walks away.
"That's why I'm marrying Joey!" She calls over her shoulder.
"Well," Freddy says mollified, "now it's beginning to make sense."
- - -
Part Four
"What?" Freddy asks defensively. Davey just smiles and walks over to press a kiss against his forehead, which doesn't answer the question at all.
"You're ridiculously cute," he says fondly, sitting down next to Freddy on the bed.
"Really," Freddy says, because he'll really never get tired of Davey telling him how cute he is. He will fold a billion t-shirts, if that's what it takes. "Feel free to continue."
"Think I'm good," Davey says thoughtfully, moving the piles of laundry back into the basket so the bed is free. Freddy likes the way he thinks. "Just pointing it out."
"Thanks," Freddy says softly, catching Davey in a quick kiss before he puts down the pants. "Haven't seen you all day."
"Went to the grocery store before the rush," Davey says, ticking off his fingers. "then I returned some books to the library and picked up a few reserves for my thesis, then I went to see Mom. We've got lemon pound cake with that glaze you like in the fridge, by the way."
"Your mom made lemon pound cake injured?" Freddy asks, furrowing his brow. "I feel dirty now."
"She broke her toe, Freddy," Davey says patiently. "She stubbed it too hard on a mixer. It's not like she fell down three flights of stairs or lost a limb or donated a kidney. They tape you up and you're good to go."
"But she's broken," Freddy says nervously. "That's never good."
"Joey used to break his toes all the time," Davey says soothingly, "and he's fine."
"Define 'fine'," Freddy says, crossing his arms. "I always thought his toes were creepy and monkey-like."
"You think everything about him is creepy and monkey-like," Davey points out, which is true. "Mom's fine, her toe is fine, she says to say hi and that she loves you. Tell me about your day."
"Uh, had breakfast, walked the dog..." Freddy squints vaguely, trying to remember. "Came back, did two loads of laundry, played kill-the-dino - we're going to need more stuffed animals by the way, she ripped his head off - and then... folded stuff. Planning on fucking you later. You know, the usual. Oh!" he snaps his fingers, and Mitzi lifts her head from where she's been snoring on their sheets. "Taught her a new trick."
"Uh huh," Davey says, grinning. "She finally learn high five?" Davey's been trying to teach Mitzi to high five for weeks, because he seems to think it's about the cutest idea ever, but Mitzi staunchly refuses. She's decided it's beneath her dignity, and Freddy can't help but agree with her.
"No," Freddy says. "This is so much cooler, watch," He grabs one of the sock bundles (twisted and overlapped in an oblong, the way Davey likes) and shakes it in front of Mitzi, who stands up and paws at it. "Mitzi!" he says in a sing-song voice, before dropping the socks. "Kill it!" Dutifully, Mitzi pounces on the socks and grabs them in her mouth, growling and shaking them for all they're worth before lying down and gnawing at the elastic. Davey looks dubiously amused.
"You taught her to maim socks?" He asks, raising an eyebrow.
"Not just socks," Freddy says enthusiastically. "That's how we killed the dino. Also works on sticks."
"Freddy," Davey says patiently, "you do know this is a bad habit most people work to cure their dogs of."
"But it's so cool," Freddy says. "Look at her, she's badass! She's an attack dog! See?" He gestures at Mitzi, who is now resting her chin on the sock bundle. She looks up curiously. "You are," Freddy coos, picking her up and making kissy noises until she licks his face. "Who's my little badass killer? Are you daddy's badass killer? Yes you are. Yes you are!"
"Enough," Davey laughs, "fine, enough, I agree, it's cute."
"Thank you," Freddy beams, leaning over to peck Davey on the lips. "I already feel cooler going to the dog park with her."
"Maybe we should get her a studded collar. Or the chain kind," Davey says thoughtfully. "It'd really complete the look."
"Ooh," Freddy says, "can we?" He's been begging Davey for ages, but Davey's a stubborn bastard.
"No," Davey says firmly.
"You suck."
"Later," Davey promises. "Just for you."
"'Kay," Freddy mutters, mollified enough to rest his head on Davey's shoulder.
"It's a good thing you taught her that, you know," Davey says thoughtfully, stroking Freddy's head as if it'll transfer onto Mitzi's. "Mom said Joey called."
"Uh huh," Freddy says, automatically tuning out upon hearing the word 'Joey'.
"He and Betsy are gonna be able make it to the lake house this year," Davey continues. "They both got off work last minute, but only for the last ten days, so there'll be four that it's just us and Mom."
"Cool," Freddy yawns.
"Oh, and they're engaged."
"What?" Freddy asks, head shooting up. Mitzi barks at the sudden noise and he strokes soothingly down her back. "What?" he says in a more controlled voice. "I get to propose first! That's the deal!"
"Well, he beat you to it," Davey says. "Sorry."
"What a fucking bastard," Freddy seethes. "He has to beat me at everything."
"You lost your virginity before he did," Davey offers helpfully.
"I hate him," Freddy says.
"You have me," Davey reminds him.
"He had you first," Freddy says.
"Not biblically."
"Ew." Freddy thinks for a few moments. "I have a dog," he says brightly. "And he doesn't. Plus, my dog is really cool."
"Your dog is really cool," Davey soothes. "Very, very cool."
"My dog can kill things," Freddy continues.
"Yes," Davey agrees. "She has killed many a thing. Many a non-living, inanimate thing."
"My dog can kill Joey," Freddy says brightly.
"No," Davey says firmly, "No, she cannot."
"My dog," Freddy concludes proudly, "is a natural born killer."
"And that is our cue to take you away from Daddy, when he starts talking crazy," Davey coos, picking up Mitzi. "Do you want to go walkies? Yes you do, let's go before Daddy goes crazy."
"Hey!" Freddy shouts after Davey. "Be careful, okay? That's my secret weapon you're holding. She's dangerous, you know."
"Uh huh," Davey shouts from the front door, over the jingling leash and excited barks."Bye, Freddy, love you."
"She killed a sock in Reno just to watch it die!" Freddy yells over the shutting door. "Hey Davey, did you hear me? Just to watch it die."
- - -
Freddy is still pissed off at Joey when they're driving up to the lake house a week later. "You know why he did it," he says to Davey when his hugeass coffee has finally kicked in, "he did it to show us up."
"What?" Davey asks vaguely, changing lanes on the highway.
"Joey," Freddy clarifies. "Got engaged to fuck with me."
"Of course," Davey soothes. "That's it exactly. It clearly has nothing to do with the fact that he loves Betsy, or that they've been dating forever. It was just to piss you off."
"That's what I'm saying," Freddy says, and then, "wait, were you making fun of me?"
"Yes," Davey says serenely, slowing down slightly to let a minivan pass in front of him.
"What did you do that for?" Freddy shouts, gesturing expansively enough that Mitzi makes an annoyed, quelling noise in his lap and re-settles back to sleep.
"You were being ridiculous," Davey says, "and generally, when you do that, I make fun of you."
"I meant yielding," Freddy glowers. "Real men don't yield!"
"Guess I'm not a real man, then," Davey says, as if the idea doesn't bother him in the slightest. Which, knowing Davey, it doesn't.
"He's just mad we were going to win," Freddy says confidently. "I mean, we're bringing a puppy, so he had to one-up us. Since we always win."
"There's nothing to win, Freddy," Davey says, starting to sound impatient. "There isn't a trophy or anything." There's awkward silence for a few moments. "Oh my God," Davey says. "There's a trophy, isn't there."
"No," Freddy hedges. "More of a...running verbal list."
"You two," Davey shakes his head, smiling slightly. "You're making up for never having a brother, aren't you?"
"No," Freddy denies vehemently. "I hate him." Which is mostly true. He hates Joey until someone does something bad to him, and then he loves the guy and hates whoever did it. A little. Secretly. And by secretly, he means that Davey has probably figured it out.
"He yelled at me when we broke up, you know," Davey says thoughtfully. "Told me that you might be a terrible human being, but you were the best thing that would ever happen to me, and if I thought I was going to get any better I was kidding myself since you were, and I quote 'so fucking in love with me that you would do anything in the world to get me back', endquote."
"He what?" Freddy asks stupidly.
"Yeah," Davey says. "And I've always wondered how much you paid him to say that."
"Nothing," Freddy says, stunned. "Goddamit, now I have to be nice to him and act happy that he's engaged, as payback, don't I?"
"That would be polite," Davey nods. "You know, considering."
"It was still a shitty fucking thing to do," Freddy says staunchly. Davey just pretends not to hear him and turns up the music, which makes Freddy groan. "Not the oldies mix," he begs. "Anything but the oldies mix."
"I love my oldies mix," Davey says defensively. "I never get to listen to it. So now I'm listening to it."
"I say no," Freddy complains. "Doesn't my opinion count?"
"Not according to your rules of the car," Davey says serenely, sounding as if he's reciting something from memory. "You always say - driver chooses music, and it's called a bitch seat for a reason." It's true, too, is the shitty part of the situation. Davey takes the L to work because it's easier and there's no traffic, so if anyone does driving, it's mostly Freddy, which is how the rule got born. But it's times like these when they're cruising on the highway at ass-o'clock before Freddy's properly awake that his rules come to bite him in the ass.
"Fuck," he groans, banging his head against the car seat.
"Aw, it's one of our songs!" Davey exclaims, turning the music up.
"No fucking way," Freddy says, staring at Davey. "You did not just add Kenny fucking Loggins to the list of 'our songs'."
"Even though we ain't got money, I'm so in love with you honey!" Davey sings along loudly instead of answering, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Davey doesn't have the world's greatest voice. It's on key, sure, but the range is rather limited and it's a sort of weirdly throaty in tone. Freddy, on a personal level, finds it adorable. On a musical level, it's a little appalling. "....now I see a family where there once was none!" Davey continues gleefully. "Now we've just begun! Think we're gonna fly to the sun! And even though we ain't got money...."
Okay, Freddy thinks, closing his eyes and trying to act like he's not grinning like an idiot, it's mostly fucking adorable.
- - -
The first order of business, once they get there and greet Mary like they didn't see her four days ago, is to let Mitzi pee. Mitzi is so relieved she runs around frantic circles barking and sniffing until emptying what seemed like about eighteen gallons of liquid.
"Impressive," Mary says, bringing them out a pitcher of iced tea. "I didn't know she could do that."
"That's my girl," Freddy says proudly, watching as she sniffs around to poop. "She drinks like a fish, too, Davey thought she had canine diabetes and was flipping out for, like, a week."
"Speaking of which, where is my son?" Mary asks. "Did you leave him at a rest stop?"
"Nah," Freddy says, "he's just changing into his swimsuit in the car, he didn't want to drive with his on like me."
"You don't waste any time," Mary says, handing him a tall, chilly glass.
"I am a man," Freddy informs her. "I have my priorities." Like seeing your son wet and making out with him, possibly naked, he thinks silently. Unfortunately, Davey has no such plans himself. He takes a requisite dunk and Freddy gets to watch him be all glorious and glittery-wet for about five seconds before he heads to the shallows and sits there with Mitzi.
"You not coming back in?" Freddy asks, wading up to join him.
"I think we should let Mitzi try to swim," Davey says, holding their squirming puppy to him.
"But she'll drown," Freddy says. "How about no?"
"She won't drown," Davey says. "Dogs know how to swim naturally."
"She's a baby, babies don't swim naturally."
"Some women give birth in water," Davey argues.
"Some women eat their own placenta," Freddy says. "And that's still fucking crazy."
"She'll be fine," Davey soothes, "I asked Jill, and we'll stay in the shallow part. All you have to do is put her down she'll swim to me."
"Davey," Freddy whines, taking the held-out puppy before she drops in the water by accident.
"Please?" Davey asks softly. "I think she'll really like it. Look how excited she is." She is, too, she's squirming and sniffing and whining like Freddy's keeping her from a huge, juicy piece of chicken.
"She was excited about eating that chocolate cake, too," Freddy reminds him, "and then she threw up all night."
"Freddy," Davey begins, and Freddy just sighs.
"Fine," he says, "but if you break this dog, I'm not getting you a new one."
Davey just grins and walks a few feet away from Freddy, sitting in the water where it reaches slightly above his belly button. Mitzi's squirming has reached levels Freddy had only seen when they were trying to hold her still to get shots. "Okay," Davey says in his soothing teacher voice. "Now just slowly lower her into the water."
"Trying," Freddy grits out, but it's hard when he's trying to avoid puppy claws and flailing limbs. The second she touches the water, though, Mitzi's paws start paddling.
"And now you let her go," Davey says, watching as she treads nowhere frantically.
"I am the only thing keeping her from drowning, here," Freddy says tightly.
"She is not drowning," Davey says. "She's a natural, look at her. Now I'm going to call her and you're going to let go."
"But I don't think that's a -"
"Mitzi!" Davey sing-songs. "Come here! Come swim to me!" Mitzi obligingly wriggles out of Freddy's hands and paddles to Davey. "Good girl," Davey coos as she treads water around him.
"Great," Freddy says tightly. "She's swimming, awesome, can we not - "
"Swim back to Freddy," Davey encourages, and then, "call her, Freddy, she doesn't know what I'm talking about." Freddy staunchly refuses to do the baby voice when there are other people around, so instead he holds out his hands and waves them encouragingly, and Mitzi dutifully paddles over to him. But when he tries to pick her up because that's clearly enough for the first try. Mitzi seems to disagree with him, because she keeps swimming midair when he picks her up, whining unhappily. "Freddy, put her down," Davey says. "She wants to swim."
"I don't want her to - " Freddy begins, but Davey just gives him an annoyed look, so Freddy sighs and puts Mitzi back down and lets her paddle happily back to Davey.
"Go swim yourself," Davey says absently. "I've got her."
"You sure?" Freddy asks. "Because I'll stay - "
"No," Davey says vehemently. "You're being overbearing and clearly need to get out your ya-yas."
"I do not have ya-yas," Freddy says indignantly. "This is not a sisterhood." But he goes to swim because, well, fresh, clear, cold lake water. By time he's exhausted himself, he lugs his body back to shore and huddles into the towel Davey's holding out for him while watching Mitzi run up and down their small strip of sand, paddling in and out of the waves and barking at them, snapping as they crash.
"She's been doing that for about thirty minutes and counting," Davey says, his eyes fixed on her. "I don't think she understands the concept of waves."
"Probably not," Freddy agrees, wrapping himself around Davey to drip all over him, because Davey's warm and needs to be annoyed right now. They stand silently for a few moments until Mitzi gathers up her courage and crashes through the waves which, while small, are still about as tall as she is, paddling in loop-dee-loops through the shallows. "I think you created a swimming monster," Freddy says, watching her clamber onto a small rock jutting out of the water, bark excitedly at them to watch her, and then dive back in.
"But she's such a cute one," Davey says fondly. "Besides, I don't think having only one cute swimming monster's enough, do you?"
"You have another?" Freddy asks, pulling away.
"You, idiot."
"Oh," Freddy says, resting his chin on Davey's shoulder. "Guess you could always use a spare. You know, in case I can't perform my monster duties with my monster dick and Nessie can't make it from Scotland because it's a bitch of a commute."
"Don't worry," Davey says, reaching around to pat his cheek. "You and your dick will always be my favorite monsters." And that shouldn't make Freddy so happy, except for how it totally does.
- - -
Even though Mitzi is a city dog, she takes to being out in the middle of of nowhere with such obvious enthusiasm that it makes Freddy feel bad about himself.
"You know how there's that thing where parents put down a dog and then tell their kid they sent it to a big farm in the country where it can run around and be free?" He asks Davey, watching Mitzi chase ducks while he eats his sandwich.
"Uh, yeah?" Davey asks, absently looking up from his New Yorker.
"I'm starting to wonder if we should send our dog to the farm, and I don't mean that as a euphemism."
"No," Davey says, taking off his reading glasses. He never wears his contacts when he's on vacation, and Freddy's thinking of starting a vendetta to have him not wear his contacts ever, because the sexy rumpled professor look is really, really working for him. "Explain."
"She's just so happy here," Freddy says, watching her abandon the ducks to start sniffing around the grass before finding a spot she likes and gleefully rolling in it. "I mean, look at her. She never does this at home. She's shut up in an apartment, and yeah, I take her for walks to the park, but it's not the same."
"There's lots of things she doesn't like about being here," Davey points out. "Like getting a bath every day because she rolled in duck poop again."
"Or the raccoons or coyotes or whatever," Freddy says. The first night she'd slept on the window seat in their bedroom, quivering and howling and the sound of any animal wandering by outdoors. Nobody got much sleep.
"And there are the ticks," Davey says. Freddy reaches over and squeezes Davey's knee in sympathy. He doesn't know why, but Davey gets really torn up inside by ticks. Mitzi's gotten roughly a billion of them since they've gotten there, despite the tick medicine they applied right before they came. Davey never, ever cries. He looks like a crier, but he's not. The last time he cried was when he and Freddy got together. And before the whole break up/make up fiasco, he thinks he could have counted on his hands the number of times he'd seen Davey shed a tear. But ticks, for some reason, really choke him up and his hands shake so badly he can't use the tweezers and Freddy has to pluck it out and stick it in boiling water like the vet suggested. "It's like they're just there, with their ugly heads buried in my baby," Davey had whispered, looking absolutely wrecked, his chin getting all red and bunched up. "And they're just wriggling and..."
"Shhhhh," Freddy had said, pulling Davey to him while he let out a few dry, painful-sounding sobs, rubbing his back. "They're all gone now." After, Davey always pulls Mitzi to him and cuddles with her dry-eyed and miserable looking until he ends up napping fitfully, clinging to their dog like she's just dodged a bullet. Freddy's tried to keep Mitzi out of long grass and wooded areas because this happens every time they find a tick, and it's gotten to the point where Davey doesn't even know about most of the ticks Freddy's killed. There are just that many, and Freddy's taken to rubbing her down briskly in secret. Mitzi seems completely oblivious to the pain she causes, and instead traipses around in long grasses, disappearing completely only to have a head or tail poke out occasionally. It's going to make one of them have a heart attack, Freddy's fairly sure.
"And there are mud puddles," Freddy says.
"Mud puddles?" Davey asks.
"Like the one she's rolling in right now," Freddy says thickly around his pastrami.
"She's...what?" Davey whips around to see what Freddy's currently watching, which is Mitzi running in circles and then collapsing in one of the puddles that sprang up from the torrential downpour and thunderstorm that had taken place the night before. "No, no no no no no," Davey moans. "We just washed her this morning - she was supposed to be all nice and clean for when Mom came back with Betsy and Joey from the airport."
"Well then it was pretty stupid to let her in the yard with mud puddles," Freddy says, watching her. "Hey, maybe she's just overheated. Hippos take mud baths when they are. I saw it on Animal Planet."
"Hippos don't have fur and we don't need a hippo to make a good impression on Joey because he hates dogs," Davey says, crossing his arms. "You are being absolutely no help at all."
"Well what do you want me to do, stop her?" Freddy asks, taking another bite. "She's already covered in mud. We'll just make her go swim in the lake. Easy."
But it's not easy. For one thing, Mitzi will not let herself be dunked or let Freddy and Davey wash her face with lake water. And while the lake gets some superficial mud off, it's still clinging stubbornly in semi-dried clumps to her fur that no matter how hard Davey tugs and scrubs, just won't come out. After trying uselessly for fifteen minutes, Mitzi escapes from their grasp to waddle with extremely wounded dignity to shore, shake off, and then roll around in the sand.
"What is she doing that for?" Davey moans.
"I've never figured that out," Freddy says. "I think it's like her version of perfume. Or she enjoys fucking with us."
"Or maybe she hates me," Davey says dolefully, wading back to shore and picking her up. "Alright, time for a b-a-t-h."
Freddy's never been able to figure out how a dog that loves swimming so much hates baths, but Mitzi carries on like they are torturing her whenever they stick her in the tub. She should like it, Freddy thinks. It's a combination of her favorite things - getting wet and being scrubbed and massaged all over. But she hates it. She constantly jumps out of the tub and makes escapes for the door, and if someone's holding her down, she grumbles constantly in the back of her throat, like she wants to let out a full-on growl but is too polite to do so. They nearly clog the drain, use up all the dog shampoo from washing her twice, and the water runs pure black, but after an hour of scrubbing and soothing they finally manage to get her clean and a little dry and Freddy's feeling pretty damn pleased with himself until the door opens and, upon hearing new human voices, Mitzi jumps from the towel in Davey's arms, howls a the top of her lungs, and runs skidding into the front hall dripping everywhere.
"What the fuck?" Freddy hears Joey yell.
"So about that good first impression," Freddy says as they head to the front hall. "Don't think it worked out that way."
"Shocker," Davey says, his mouth twitching. When they get to the foyer, Mitzi is still soaking wet and bashfully circling and wagging around everyone's feet. Davey lets out a very similar noise to the happy ones Mitzi is making and launches himself at Joey and Betsy, hugging them both before passing Betsy off to Freddy. He and Joey don't hug, but they do give each other manly dead arms hello.
"So your dog is fucked up," Joey says, rubbing his arm. "She's like a drowned rat, and she was kind of okay looking in the pictures you sent."
"She's just wet," Freddy says defensively as Davey starts cooing and picks her up into a clean, fluffy towel, scrubbing her dry.
"It's better than before," Davey says. "You could have had her greeting you covered in mud."
"I think she's cute," Betsy says soothingly, walking over to take the towel-draped dog from Davey's grasp and getting a very enthusiastic, wet greeting. "Look, Joey, she's so friendly!"
"Ugh," Joey says, watching Betsy put the dog down suspiciously, dodging as she runs full-throttle to try and greet him.
"Joey," Mary admonishes, "be polite and at least say hello."
"I don't like dogs," Joey says tightly.
"Did one bite you on the ass or something?" Freddy asks.
"Almost," Mary says. "Our old neighbors used to have this huge dog that Joey would tease by sticking his hand through the fence and one day the dog lost it's temper and bit him."
"Because it was evil," Joey says vehemently.
"Because you teased it for three years," Mary says, crossing her arms. "And Mitzi's very friendly, Joey, you're not being nice."
"I'm happy to see Davey," Joey protests loudly. "Just not his stupid dog. God, Mom. I'm gonna go get our bags."
"Is anyone else trying to remember why they missed him?" Freddy asks after Joey slams outside to the car. "Because I, for one, can't - ow!"
Davey doesn't even look remotely sorry for punching him.
- - -
After dinner the wedding discussions start, and Freddy's kind of disturbed by how creepily into it Davey is.
"I like weddings," Davey says defensively, wilting under Freddy's stare after launching into a description of a nice wedding for one of his coworkers he and Freddy had attended last spring and why he liked the floral arrangements, though his reasoning and descriptors at least stay on the side of "they were nice and not too frilly and pretty colors". Davey's gay, but he isn't that gay, yet, and Freddy's really fucking thankful. He escapes as soon as the album Mary brought of her wedding comes out and Betsy brings out the album of her parents' wedding and Mark's wedding and everyone else crowds and coos like they haven't all seen these a billion times. Well, Joey doesn't crowd and coo, but he does drink his beer and look smug, which is like the male version of crowding and cooing, and Freddy gets out of there as fast as humanly possible.
"Hey, fucker," a voice says from behind Freddy, and since there's only one person in the universe who calls him that, he doesn't even turn around.
"What's up, assface?" he asks, still staring out into the endless night from the porch, taking a long swig of his beer. "Thought you were with the ladies discussing lace."
"As if," Joey snorts, and then adds, as an afterthought, "....dickbreath."
"And it was delicious," Freddy says with exaggerated relish. "Your brother really likes it too, he makes the sexiest little noise when I lick his..."
"Ugh, fine," Joey says, throwing his hands in the air. "Fine, whatever, I get it."
"And when I rim him he totally..."
"Mother fucker, do you ever shut up?"
"Actually," Freddy corrects smugly, "I believe you mean brother fucker."
"And to think I missed you," Joey says. "God, I was fucking retarded."
"I kinda missed you too," Freddy says. "What the hell's wrong with us, dude?"
"Fuck if I know," Joey says sadly. "I think this is, like, maturing or some shit."
"Yeah, that's what Davey calls it," Freddy says darkly. "'S pretty fucking gay, no matter how you look at it."
"You are petty fucking gay," Joey points out.
"I am, aren't I?" Freddy asks proudly.
"Yeah," Joey says. They're comfortably quiet for a few moments, reveling in their new found maturity. It's sort of nice, Freddy thinks. He'll never tell anyone this, except for maybe Davey if he does that thing with his hands Freddy likes so much, but it really is.
"So I never congratulated you," Freddy says finally. "About the engagement. And I'm stoked, dude, I totally am."
"Thanks," Joey says, his voice picking up that deep, fatherly tone he adopts whenever he's getting all mushy and grown-up about Betsy and marriage and joint mortgages and whatever. "I'm like, I knew this was coming -" Freddy refrains from making a poorly-timed innuendo, but it's a close call, "-but like, it's happening now and it's so way better than I thought."
"I'm happy for you," Freddy says. "Betsy's great. Like, too awesome for you, great."
"She is," Joey says softly. They sit in silence for a few moments more before Joey says, "you know, I did feel kind of weird, doing this before you and Davey. Always thought you guys would be first. Figured you'd be all bent out of shape about it."
"Kinda was," Freddy admits. "But, you know, timing and the break up and whatever, plus Betsy's done with school and you two have money, and Davey and I don't, so - "
"Still," Joey says. "I mean, it's you two. I mean, I hate to say this, but if there are two people who're meant to get married..."
"No, I know," Freddy interrupts before Joey says something he's going to regret. "Davey, uh, told me you might have yelled at him. When we, you know. Weren't together."
"Not my brightest moment," Joey admits sheepishly. "It's just like, I dunno, you're more than Davey's boyfriend, you know? You're like, you've been around for so long. And man, I fucking hate you, but you're family, you know?"
"I know," Freddy says, his voice suddenly scratchy. "It's just to nice hear you said that, man, it's like, I needed to hear it."
"Well, uh," Joey scratches the back of his neck. "There it is." They're silent for a few moments, darting glances back and forth at each other to the soundtrack of cicadas and Betsy and Davey's delighted laughter from inside.
"So usually I'd make out with you at this point," Freddy begins, "But we did say what happened in Vegas stayed in Vegas, so even though it was totally the best sex of my life..."
"Ew, you sick fucking bastard," Joey laughs, kicking him. "I take back everything I said, I hate you."
"So Betsy's a total tiger in the sack, right?" Freddy continues, because stopping when he could have the last say is never going to happen. "I mean, that's the only reason I can think of for you destroying the memory of that magical weekend we had blowing each other under the poker tables - ow! Motherfucker, Joey, you can't use your medical training to hit me where it hurts."
"You didn't call it!" Joey crows.
"It's implied," Freddy shouts back, massaging his kneecap, which Joey somehow feels like he kicked under and nearly dislodged. "It's an unfair advantage."
"You're just to pussy to take it," Joey says, putting down his now-empty beer bottle. "Gonna go cry now?"
"Oh I will make you cry," Freddy growls, launching himself at Joey and grabbing him in a headlock, which he knows from years of experience makes Joey slap like a little bitch. The fight quickly degenerates from there into pinching and yelping until the screen door opens and Mitzi comes out barking at them as if she's telling them off for having all the fun without her. Davey doesn't even bother to say anything, he just looks down at them with one eyebrow raised, backlit and arms akimbo like he's the angel of death. If Freddy didn't have Joey's elbow digging into an eye, he'd be totally aroused by how badass Davey looks at that very moment. "We missed each other?" Freddy tries. "You know us, and our badness at emotions 'cause we're dudes. This is an...alternate form of expression."
"It's protected in the first amendment," Joey supplies from somewhere under Freddy's arm.
"Ooh, good one," Freddy says appreciatively, loosening his hold. "I didn't think of using the free speech argument before." Joey frees one arm to give a thumbs up.
"Save it," Davey sighs. "And stop killing each other or Mom's given me permission to withhold her ice cream sundaes from you."
"That is cold," Joey says, wriggling out of Freddy's grasp, which has gone lax at the mention of Mary's ice cream sundaes. They always have fresh, home made fudge sauce on them that would make God himself orgasm.
"Literally," Freddy agrees.
"Whatever," Davey says, rolling his eyes and heading back inside. "They'll be ready in fifteen minutes, and if you've got any bruising I'm taking one and making you watch the dog eat the other."
"Assface," Joey mutters regretfully, straightening his shirt out.
"Dickbreath," Freddy adds.
"Too much information," Joey says. "Just...too much."
- - -
Freddy has always firmly believed that Betsy is about ten billion times too good for Joey. For one thing, she's pretty hot, for a girl. And objectively, he is aware that Joey's pretty hot too, but the truth is, he's honestly never been able to see it. Joey's just Joey, to Freddy. He's too tall and kind of reminds Freddy of a massive, freckled greyhound - all thin running muscle, long face, and too many bones. There are plenty of things Freddy should find attractive about Joey, the things that look just like Davey; the freckles, the long O'Brian nose (different shape), and the same mouth. On Davey, Freddy is obsessed with those features. On Joey, the same pink bow mouth looks girly, the freckles look garish, and the nose just makes him look even more hangdog. Freddy can't even remember if he ever found Joey attractive. His first memory of Joey is him red-faced and yelling over a prank that everyone else thought was funny and thinking fucking with him will be fun. But Betsy, she's got this whole Bettie Page thing going on, with her huge blue eyes and curly dark hair and ample curves. She looks like a pinup girl to Freddy, and if he were single and straighter, he would have hit on her like there was no tomorrow.
And Freddy knows that Joey's got a lot of good qualities of the non-physical variety. He's got a huge heart, he's honest, he's chivalrous, he's smart, he's athletic, he's great with kids and all those other things that make girls go to pieces. But to Freddy's he's still a stubborn idiot who talks too loud and drinks too much and can't take a good joke. But Betsy, she's just amazing. She's one of the smartest people Freddy's ever met, besides Davey. She's sweet and gentle and pretty much perfect, and Joey should really be getting down on bended knee every night and praying to God she doesn't wake up and leave him for someone with a sense of humor or an ounce of common sense. So Freddy gets why Joey proposed to Betsy. He knows that Betsy's special to Joey just based on the fact that she's been around for six years, considering he'd never kept a girlfriend for more than six months before her. He gets that this is the first relationship Joey's ever had that has a bat's chance in hell of working and that Joey would want to hold on to it for the rest of his life. What Freddy doesn't get is how on earth Betsy figured it was a good idea to say yes and sign on for the ride.
"Freddy," Betsy says severely to him, putting down her book in the grass where they've been lazing "I know this tank top is kind of revealing, but it's not nearly revealing enough for you to be staring at me this long."
"I'm not staring at your boobs," Freddy says quickly. "Honest to God."
"Am I getting sunburned?" Betsy asks, lifting her sunglasses to look at her creamy-pale skin critically. "We're half in the shade, so I thought even I was good."
"Nah," Freddy says, "just thinking."
"That can't be good," Betsy says, grabbing for the sunscreen and slathering herself liberally anyways. "Spill."
"You're engaged to Joey," Freddy says, watching the ring on Betsy's left hand glint in the sunlight.
"Nothing gets past you."
"You said yes," Freddy clarifies, "to Joey."
"Yup," Betsy says. "Sunscreen?"
"Are you fucking crazy?" Freddy asks.
"About the sunscreen?" Betsy asks, looking at it. "Don't think so, it's SPF 40."
"No," Freddy says patiently, "about the marrying Joey part."
"Oh," Betsy says thoughtfully. "No, I just sort of like the guy."
"Yeah," Freddy says. "Exactly. He didn't even really ask you, for Christ's sake."
"He did too," Betsy says easily, "we were at my brother Mark's wedding and he said 'when we get married I want a chocolate cake'. And I said, 'I didn't know we were getting married'. And he said, 'oh, you want to marry me, right?' And I said 'yes'."
"Didn't Mark get married three years ago?" Freddy asks.
"Yup," Betsy says. "And I told him that he should get me a ring for my twenty-fifth birthday and we'd get married when I was twenty-six. And then we picked out a ring. The end."
"That's cheap," Freddy says. "When Davey and I get married, I am going all-out on proposing."
"Why?" Betsy asked sensibly. "This way I got a ring I like. Joey doesn't know anything about jewelry."
"But you're supposed to have a story," Freddy says. "There's supposed to be, I don't know, doves and rainbows."
"That sounds expensive," Betsy shrugs. "Besides, it's not my thing, you know? I'd rather have a mature discussion. Be sensible about it."
"At the very least, a nice meal," Freddy says. "C'mon, you at least deserve that."
"There was," Betsy says. "Mary helped cater Mark's wedding - she made her hand-made pasta and everything. It was delicious."
"That's just so..." Freddy waves his hand. "It's a let-down, you know? What about when you have kids, and they ask you how you got engaged? Are you just going to tell them it was because you had a discussion about it?"
"Oh, Freddy," Betsy says fondly. "Such a little romantic."
"I am n-" Freddy begins, but he's cut off by a very wet, very excited dog who comes tearing full-throttle from the lake to shake off in his lap.
"Sorry!" Davey calls, coming out from behind the brush. "She got excited after swimming."
"Awwww," Betsy coos, picking Mitzi up off Freddy's lap and settling her in her own. "Did you have a good swim, puppy? Did you?" Mitzi cocks her head to the side, as if considering, before propping her paws up on Betsy's ample cleavage and proceeding to wash her face off.
"What did I interrupt?" Davey asks, toweling off his hair and settling down in the shade next to Freddy.
"Joey didn't propose to Betsy," Freddy informs him.
"I know, he told me," Davey says. "And?"
"And it was lame," Freddy concludes.
"You don't have to propose to me," Davey says. "I mean, you talk about us getting married all the time, so aren't we sort of engaged already?"
"That's what I said," Betsy says, "but Freddy wanted angels on high and unicorns waltzing through fields of roses. Which I think is just wasteful."
"I dunno," Davey says. He could be blushing a little, but it's hard to tell because he's been getting progressively pinker under the sun anyways. He's definitely wearing his silly, abashed little smile though, and Freddy would like to lick it off him, but they have company, so instead he laces his fingers through Davey's damp ones and squeezes. "I think it's sort of sweet," Davey says softly, not even pretending to look at Betsy anymore.
"I think people deserve that," Freddy says, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can bite them back. "I think you deserve it."
"I-" Davey's eyes start looking a little misty, but that could be because his bangs are dripping lake water into them. Gently, Freddy lifts his other hand and brushes away the bangs, thumb running over Davey's cheek like a kiss.
"Gross, you two," Betsy says fondly, standing up with Mitzi still cradled to her. "I'll leave you alone to be sappy, but remember, I can see what you're doing under this tree from my bedroom window."
"Party pooper," Davey mutters as she walks away.
"That's why I'm marrying Joey!" She calls over her shoulder.
"Well," Freddy says mollified, "now it's beginning to make sense."
- - -
Part Four