Brendon Urie: Pet Detective [1/3]
Title: Brendon Urie: Pet Detective
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: moceanu
Rating: Overall R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Ryan Ross is the new kennel attendant at Thompson & Thompson Vet Clinic. When he meets his co-worker, Jon Walker, they begin to discover dogs disappearing from their kennels. When Ryan's own dog, Hobo, goes missing, Jon Walker knows exactly who to call.
Word Count: 18,000+ in 3 parts
Disclaimer: Not true, don't believe.
Author Notes: So once upon a time, I was reading patd_secrets and I came across this secret and everything just snowballed from there. Aside from my lovely beta, moceanu, I would like to thank Ryan Ross for his ridiculous pants.
The shrill sound of a small Pekinese wailing through the chain link fence riles up several other dogs in it’s general area and in a matter of moments, the long row of kennels is alive with howls and whimpers.
“You’ll have to excuse the floor,” she says, leading him through a heavy door. “We haven’t gotten around to cleaning up yet and-”
The previously silent, caged up dogs press their wet noses to the cool metal to observe the two humans that have just stepped into the dingy room, and when one rather large Chow slams itself violently against one wall of its cage, desperate to bite the intruders, the man most unfamiliar with his surroundings jumps backwards and almost slips on the wet ground.
“That’s Jaws,” she yells over the incessant barking, hugging a clipboard close to her chest. The Chow snarls viciously at the two standing in the aisle between two rows of cages and bares his sharp teeth. She continues, “Turned on his owner last week. Apparently put his wife in the hospital. We’re putting him down on Friday.”
The shaken boy nods in understanding and she motions for him to follow her as she leads him to a door looming about ten kennels down. She maneuvers them over and around murky puddles of grimy water, piss and god knows what else and soon the deafening sound of the dogs is only a ringing in his ears as the door on the opposite end of the clinic is shut.
There’s hair in his eyes and a small fleck of dog shit on his right shoe, but that doesn’t distract him from directing his full attention to the woman that is locking the door behind them. Attention is something he’s going to have to have if he’s going to keep this job interview going in the right direction and he’ll be damned if he has to search endlessly in the Las Vegas heat for Help Wanted signs again. He’s been there, done that and has neither the gas nor the patience to do so for the fourth weekend in a row.
“Well, Ryan, that’s the grand tour.”
Ryan nods, flips his hair out of his face, smiles.
“I’d really like to start you as soon as possible, but I need you to fill out a few regulation papers.” She slides a packet from her clipboard, hands them to him carefully. “Just take them home, fill them out and if you could get those back to us before the week is over, Holly at the front desk would think you’re a saint.” She smiles and it’s tired, like she’s not only tired of a hard day’s work, but tired of working in general, and Ryan mentally discards his plan of filling them out in the lobby because they’ve already started locking up and shutting down computers and keeping her later than needed would be selfish. No matter how desperate he is to get a paying job.
“Sure thing, ma’am,” Ryan says, taking the packet in delicate fingers. It smells like bleach and mop water in the room and that’s when he notices the partner of the veterinary clinic sloshing a mop in the far corner of the room, doing a duty that isn’t in his job description but he has proceeded to do in order to keep his practice sanitary.
“Honey,” the woman says, noticing Ryan’s eyes watching the man intently. The man, apparently her husband (Duh, Ross, that would explain the Thompson & Thompson above the Veterinary Clinic sign outside), looks up, his stethoscope bouncing on his chest and he straightens up, smiling. “Honey,” she says again, waves him over. “Come meet Ryan; he’s going to be our new kennel attendant.”
The man briskly walks over and extends his hand with a broad smile as if Ryan is doing him some sort of favor by wishing to be employed by them. “Ryan, Ryan,” he greets with a strong grip and firm wrist. “Pleased to meet you,” he says and Ryan notices that his nametag reads Kevin. Her name fails him for some reason, he realizes as he becomes familiar with her husbands name; she gave it to him before they began the tour, said “I’m…and if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask” and now he can’t for the life of him remember. He would cheat and sneak a peak at her nametag, but she’s already disrobed herself of her lab coat and dammit, why can’t he remember her name? Amber? Abby? Shit.
“Oh, it’s my pleasure, sir.” Yes, Ryan. Kiss as much ass as possible. The more ass you kiss, the less broke your ass will be.
“Did Allie show you around the place?”
Allie! Fuck, what was so hard to remember about that?
“Yes, sir,” Ryan replies, tucking his manila packet under his right arm and Kevin nods as if he’s agreeing.
“Good, good.” He beams at his wife and pulls her into a close hug. “We’ve been in need of a kennel attendant since our last one moved. He just up and left, no notice or anything. Just gone.”
Ryan’s eyebrows raise in surprise and he thinks Fuck yes! I’ve got this job in the bag.
“It’s not that we can’t clean and tend to the kennels ourselves-” Kevin continues.
“-we just don’t have time,” Allie finishes. “I mean, I’m running and doing all day, taking care of everything from broken legs to fleas-”
“-and I’m trying to make sure all of the dogs get prescribed the right medication and stitching up remnants of dog fights and-”
He pauses, sighs, looks down at his wife and they both shrug, “We need help.”
Ryan almost rolls his eyes, almost, because seriously, the love in this room is sickening. Finishing each other’s sentences? What the fuck.
“I understand,” Ryan nods in strong agreement and in a way he does get it. They can’t run this place all by themselves and hey, he needs a job remember? Them needing help is totally understandable.
“Well it’s great to have you aboard then,” Kevin says with another toothy grin and steps away from his wife. He takes the mop back into his hands and pushes the bucket a little with his foot. “Just, y’know, fill out that paperwork, get it back to us and we’ll get you started, yeah?”
“Sounds good,” Ryan says and oh my god, he’s really not jobless anymore! Spencer will be so proud.
Allie smiles between them for a moment, as if basking in the thought of hiring the best kennel attendant in the history of kennel attendants (even though Ryan doesn’t have experience with kennel attendance, seriously, how hard can cleaning up vomit and shit be, really? There’s no way he’s not the best) and when she clears her throat, she ushers him through another door and he finds himself standing in the lobby again.
“Thank you for the tour,” Ryan says, fiddling aimlessly with the corner of his packet and Allie frowns at him as if it’s no big deal.
“You’re welcome,” she says, “sorry it looked so--excuse my language and this lame pun but--shitty in the kennel area. Kevin and I haven’t gotten to clean it today so…”
“Well hopefully I can take care of that soon.”
“Oh, yes, that would be lovely.” Her smile is so wide it hurts Ryan’s jaw. “You really don’t know how much we appreciate you putting in an application, Ryan,” she says and it sounds so pathetic Ryan wonders whether he should pity her or think her unprofessional. He decides to take pity because he’s just as desperate for the job as she is to give it to him.
“I should be the one thanking you,” Ryan counters, scratching the back of his neck. “I really need this-” Fuck, way to put your desperation out there just like her. How lame. “-and I’m a hard worker so I won’t let you down.”
Allie smiles at him, rolls her eyes and shoves him towards the door. “Don’t you think that line’s been used thousands of times, Ryan? It won’t work when you’ve already got the job, kid.”
He chuckles lightly and opens the door, the slight heat still lingering in the Vegas air contrasting with the coolness contained in the clinic and it isn’t until now that he realizes that it’s fucking freezing in the lobby. He can see his car parked below the lamp across the street and he momentarily basks in the thought of soon being able to fill his car up with gas for the first time in…well, probably since he bought the damn thing.
“Get home and fill out those papers,” she jokes in a threatening manner. “Before someone else swoops in on your dream job!”
This time he allows himself to laugh wholeheartedly because really, cleaning up shit is far from his dream job, and he waves goodnight to her as he tries his hardest not to fucking skip to his car.
The promise of minimum wage has never felt so good.
----
Ryan’s apartment is dusty, dark and silent when he enters around eight. The only light visible inside his small flat is the blinking red light on the opposite side of the living room signaling that his answering machine holds messages from either Spencer or, well. Spencer. It’s only ever Spencer that calls.
He flips his light on with a habitual flick of the wrist and the ominous red glow vanishes amongst the blinding white that appears; he steps inside, careful to lock and bolt his door and shuffles across his beige carpet to his answering machine, neglected and waiting to be tended to. Just as he’s pressing the playback button on the machine, his small, scampering ball of fur he dubbed Hobo comes racing towards him in leaps and bounds, yipping happily as her tail slices through the air quickly.
“Hey there, girl!” he greets, as her tiny paws claw desperately at his leg as if to say “Hi! You’re home. I missed you. Pick me up now, please. I want to lick your face off.”
Her tiny puppy body wiggles and squirms and he coos at her while he bends over to pick her up; however, being a puppy, she merely flops over onto her back despite his efforts to hold her and he is forced to rub her small belly instead. He laughs at her and tickles her, her short legs attempting to swat away his fingers and when she rolls over and begins nipping at his hand, he pats her head and returns to the machine.
Predictably, there’s a message from Spencer (“Hey, man. Just wanted to see what you were up to and if you wanted to hang out. I know you’re out job hunting and shit but seriously, this is getting ridiculous. I haven’t seen you in like, four days, dude. If you haven’t found a job yet then you seriously need to consider sucking di- Message deleted.”) and another message from some shitty diner he applied at four weeks ago. Under any other circumstances, he would have jumped for joy and called them back first thing in the morning but right now, fuck that diner cause he’s going to be working at a vet clinic making damn near seven dollars an hour (with the promise of a raise after six months!). How he knows this? He almost wrecked on the way home whilst trying to peek at the packet he received, which really, filling that out right about now would be a good idea.
Intentionally, he sits down at his kitchen table with his phone in hand, meaning to call Spencer back, gripe him out about leaving such a derogatory message on his machine and then give him the good news that he’ll finally have his friend back from the evil strains of job hunting, but the information within the packet is consuming too much time and Spencer is put on the back burner.
As he reads over his qualifications, he begins to bask in the glory that the requirements aren’t too hard:
Capable of mopping floors and cleaning shelves and equipment?
Ryan puts a check in the box to the right.
Capable of cleaning kennels and kennel gutters soiled with feces, urine and vomit?
He makes a face at the thought of wiping up dog shit from the ground and has a small urge to vomit, but hey, if stomaching animal wastes rakes in a paycheck, at least it’s worth something, right?
Capable of lifting up to 40 pounds without assistance?
It is now that he realizes that it’s a good thing Spencer isn’t here to help him fill this out because a) that would be both lame and sad if he was unable to fill out an application without the assistance of his best friend, but b) he really isn’t in the mood for any of Spencer’s “But Ryan, you’d be lifting more than you weigh” bullshit.
Capable and unafraid to ascend a ladder of higher than 12 feet?
Okay really, what person had to work there in order for them to have to include such a question? Ryan laughs at the image of a forty year old man at the top of a ladder crying out to his mother and places a check in the box next to the question.
Capable and willing to administer medicine, care, and overall love and devotion to any and all animals admitted?
This sounds like one of the more reasonable questions he’s answered and even though he checks the box, he’ll be damned if he is expected to cuddle with a ninety pound rabies ridden mutt with one eye and a gimp leg.
Fuck. That. Shit.
It’s nearly eleven when he’s finally filled everything out and Hobo has been fed, watered, and is now curled up at his feet under the table, her ears twitching every so often.
“C’mon girl,” he says, his chair scraping along the kitchen floor as he stands. Alert, Hobo jumps up quickly and begins wagging her tail as if she wasn’t just sleeping lazily. “Let’s get you outside before bed, yeah?” he asks her and although Hobo can’t understand what he means, when he begins walking towards the sliding glass door that leads to his very small patio and slightly larger yard, she’s yipping cheerfully.
The glass door squeaks a little when it opens (he’s been meaning to grease it up a little bit, keep the noise from being so annoying but he hasn’t found the time) and the rush of the warm Vegas night air whips across his face pleasantly. Hobo makes a beeline for the dying grass and noses around a few patches of vibrant green blades. Ryan looks up at the glowing horizon just visible over his privacy fence when she squats to do her business because he’s never felt comfortable watching anyone or anything take a piss. Something about it just makes his cheeks turn crimson, even if it is his dog.
The stars look dull tonight, but he doesn’t remember them ever being brighter, and the moon is hidden behind a slew of dark rain clouds. There’s sure to be a storm tomorrow, so he makes a mental note to search for his umbrella later. Hobo grabs his attention when she snorts and shakes her head, ears flopping against the side of her face and he smiles at her as she trots up to the small slab of concrete he calls his back porch.
Trekking back inside, he closes the glass door securely, wincing at the screech it produces and tries to lock it but to no avail -- he really needs to fix that door -- before turning off the kitchen light on the wall next to him. “C’mon Hobo,” he yawns when he hears his dogs feet stop clicking on the linoleum floor as the lights shut off. “It’s bedtime.”
Her tiny feet begin to tickle the floor again as she scampers off down the hall and he hears the small scratch of her nails on the wood door to his bedroom. He follows suite, shuffling off the kitchen floor onto the carpet in the living room and trails down the hall to his bed that’s been calling his name for longer than he thought.
----
“Spencer, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“You can’t just call me up at Ungodly AM and tell me you’re going into work and not expect me to be curious about your recent place of employment,” Spencer says matter-o-factly, turning his head to observe the surroundings of the clinic’s lobby. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking rather nice today and Ryan feels slightly embarrassed at having his friend see him in his work attire: obscenely baby blue scrubs and tennis shoes. Ryan hasn’t worn tennis shoes since he became friends with the glorious Chuck Taylor.
“Nine o’clock is hardly ‘ungodly’ and, it being my first day on the job, I would assume you would know that you showing up here to chit chat with me while I should be working isn’t a very professional thing,” Ryan replies, his tone snarky and threatening.
He’d been in the building for all of twenty minutes, only had enough time to turn in his application, converse with Allie and Kevin for a few short moments about his duties for the day, and introduce himself to Holly, the cute receptionist who sat behind a clean glass window all day and filed papers. He had just begun to proceed with said duties when his best friend of sixteen years came barging into the lobby (with no injured pet, mind you) bothering Holly with such things as, “Is there a George Ryan Ross III currently employed here?”, “Would he happen to have a moment to spare? I need to inquire a few things of him.”, “No, it shouldn’t take long at all.” and when Holly buzzed Ryan to the front desk, “Oh there you are cousin George!”
Spencer Smith enjoys creating spectacles that mortify his best friend. Or, cousin in this particular instance.
“Chill out, Ryan,” Spencer laughs, slapping the thin boy across the back playfully. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t like, I don’t know. Heeding the advice I gave you.”
Ryan rolls his eyes in reference to the message Spencer left on the machine the night before and shrugs out of his friends one armed embrace. Laughing he says, “Whatever, man.”
“Really,” Spencer says, chuckling. “I was half asleep when you called and all I could register was ‘clinic’ and I thought ‘Oh, shit. He’s really that desperate.’”
Ryan lets out a loud, goofy laugh and covers his mouth quickly when he catches the stern, blue eyes of Holly. “Sorry,” he says in a whisper. Spencer’s shoulders are bouncing with silent amusement and Ryan pushes him towards the door. “Get out of here before you cost me my job,” he teases as his friend struggles to resist Ryan’s strength. “I’d hate to have to kill you because you got me sacked my first day of work.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Spencer sighs, waving off Ryan’s threat as nothing. “I’m going,” he says dejectedly. Hand on the doorknob he adds, “Call me when you get off; we need to celebrate your ambitious step into the working class American lifestyle.”
“Spencer,” Ryan says sternly, trying to veer off a smile. “Go.” He points at Spencer’s hand on the door and urges him to open it and leave. Holly clears her throat in the reception area and Ryan looks over sheepishly to see her looking at them with a raised eyebrow. “Now!” Ryan hisses and Spencer rolls his eyes.
“Well, dearest cousin,” Spencer says haughtily, glancing over at Holly in challenge. “I must depart. I bid you farewell.” And with that Spencer swings the door open and removes himself from the threshold of the clinic.
Holly seems to be at ease once the bothersome young man has vacated the lobby and she returns to filing papers and typing noisily on the keyboard. Ryan closes the door with a smiling sigh, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
Ryan has never met a creature more amazing than Spencer Smith.
----
By noon, Ryan is back mopping the kennels for the third time and he’ll be damned if it isn’t the same fucking mutt making the mess. A small, fragile looking poodle whose name plate hooked on the front of the cage reads ‘Twinkles’ is the cause of the stench coming from Row C and by the time Ryan has removed the dog from her cage, placed her in a temporary holding pin, cleaned her cage thoroughly, and then returned her, he’s certain that if he has to make a fourth trip back to this end of the row, he’s going to scream. He feels sorry for the dog for the most part; he knows she’s sick (the name plate lists the name of the dog, the sex, the reason for admittance and various other medical jargon Ryan doesn’t understand) but fucking-a, how many times can a dog shit in one day? Really?
It’s a little past one when he’s successfully sanitized the concrete flooring and metal drains of the kennel room (yes, he realizes that over an hour is far too long to be cleaning one kennel, but he’s learning, okay? Give him a break) and as he’s pulling the dirty mop and bucket out into one of the halls, heading for the storage closet, he’s stopped by Kevin.
“Did you get kennel 24C cleaned up again?” he asks with curiosity, placing his hands on his hips in a way that isn’t bitchy at all but surprisingly, warm and just well. Curious.
“Yes, sir,” Ryan replies, wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. “I don’t know how many more times I’m going to have to clean her kennel today but-”
“Eh, don’t worry about it right now,” Kevin says, shrugging. “Let’s get you on lunch break, shall we?”
At the word ‘lunch’, Ryan’s stomach awakens with a rumble and he suddenly realizes how hungry he is. Half a pop tart at seven isn’t sufficient in curving his appetite for longer than a few hours and he really wouldn’t mind taking a break.
Nodding, Ryan follows Kevin into the employee lounge who holds the door open and allows Ryan to enter first. It’s a small room, decorated with one round table complete with three chairs, a small, waist high refrigerator on which rests an old microwave and a couch accents the back wall. It’s quiet back here, Ryan notices, and that couch looks far more comfortable than necessary, but he’s not still not quite sure what he’s supposed to or allowed to do yet, so he waits for Kevin to speak.
“This is the lounge,” Kevin says, gesturing to their surroundings. “This is where you’ll take your breaks--unless of course you wish to leave and come back in your allotted time--and this is also where you’ll be clocking in and out, as soon as we get you in the system that is.”
Ryan envisions a day here within the next week of him owning his own time card, swiping it through the device on the wall, settling down comfortably on that enticing couch, and sleeping for a good forty five minutes before returning to work. But then his stomach rumbles again and right now food is the only thing on his mind.
“Since you don’t really have a way of clocking in and out as of right now, just make sure you’re back to work by two fifteen, alright?” Kevin advises and Ryan nods. An entire hour of relaxation seems like a gift from god right about now cause his feet are aching, his back hurts from being hunched over, scrubbing floors and he’s got the signs of a nasty bruise appearing on his elbow because of that damn violent Chow.
“Two fifteen,” Ryan states. “You got it.”
“You’re welcome to anything in the lounge that isn’t specified to anyone; if it’s labeled as someone’s, don’t take it or else you’ll have to deal with bitching. What is nameless is blameless I always say,” Kevin explains. “That being said, the shelf above the sink over there-” He points to the small counter and sink to the right of the couch. “-has bread, chips, and cookies. There’s meats and cheeses in the fridge, as well as a few sodas that may or may not be labeled; if they are you’re welcome to mine.” Absorbing information and rules, Ryan bobs his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I think that’s about it,” Kevin says, scratching the back of his neck in thought. But then he exclaims, “Oh, no. One last thing. If you so happen to use the last of something let me know that so we can restock. Last time we ran out of coffee I thought some of the staff was going to flip a lid.”
“Of course,” Ryan says, nodding vigorously.
“Well,” Kevin sighs, backing out of the room. “That’s it. If you need anything just ask Holly at the front desk. Allie had to run a few papers to the hospital and I have a few dogs that need their shots taken care of.” He exits with a nod and Ryan’s first move is towards that ridiculously comfortable looking couch.
----
The couch isn’t so ridiculously comfortable after all. In fact, it’s kind of lumpy in some places and the springs are obvious beneath the thin cushions and Ryan decides that well, maybe he won’t be partaking in any mid-day naps while he’s here.
Instead, he makes himself a sandwich--unfortunately there is no cheese, so he is forced to settle for ham and mayonnaise only--and sits quietly at the table in the center of the room. He realizes that upon finishing his lunch, he still has over thirty minutes to spare. Technically, he’s not allowed to go back on the clock yet, but he’s go too much time to waste to simply sit and stare at the walls around him. So he lifts himself from his chair, pushes it in and heads up to the front desk.
When he opens the door to the lobby, he is met with the high pitched giggle of Holly, who he notices is completely heart eyed for a rather handsome looking man draped over the counter. Upon closer inspection, he observes that the man is rather stocky, a nicely trimmed beard adorning his charming face and he just so happens to be wearing scrubs that match Ryan’s. Well, how bout that?
The man hears the door open and he turns mid-laugh to catch Ryan slinking in, eyes bright and curious as he drinks in the sight of the small boy, a complete stranger, yet wearing the same uniform.
“Who is this?” the man asks Holly, keeping his eyes fixed on Ryan as he comes to rest in front of the counter.
“Ryan. Ryan Ross,” Ryan introduces, thrusting out his hand. From the way he and Holly were just laughing and the way he’s dressed similar to Ryan, he can only assume that he is well-known around here. Perhaps a vet from another practice?
“Ryan, huh?” the man repeats with a raised eyebrow, as if filing away his name in his mind. Ryan nods and the man says, “I’m Jon Walker.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ryan says, squeezing Jon’s hand one last time before dropping it.
“Same,” Jon grins, resting his elbow back up on the counter. “I’m the anesthesiologist,” he informs Ryan, and Jon Walker can obviously read minds because Ryan was just about to ask him why they seemed to be twinkies.
“Ah, nice,” Ryan says and the way Jon is smiling makes him warm inside. He gives off this friendly aura that isn’t the least bit overbearing or boarderline creepy, so Ryan immediately feels at ease with him. It feels nice, having a potential fellow employee slash friend relationship with someone; he thinks maybe one day they’ll crack jokes in the break room and if Jon smokes, possibly hot box it. The thought of not befriending anyone here suddenly hits Ryan with dread and he becomes determined to be friends with Jon Walker.
“You the new kennel attendant?” Jon asks, breaking the small bout of silence between them.
Ryan laughs a bit, says, “Yeah, I am. You could tell?”
Jon crinkles his nose and groans, “Yeah, dude. You totally smell like shit.”
Ryan blanches and his jaw drops and he’s hit with the impending doom that he’s destined to be a friendless employee at Thompson & Thompson.
Instantly, Jon’s face lights up and he draws Ryan in for a light hug, laughing, “Oh my god, man! I’m kidding!”
Yeah, Ryan thinks as his heart drops down from his throat and he calms the fucking heart attack he almost just had.
Yeah, he’s totally got a friend.
----
Two weeks into his employment and he and Jon act like they’ve been best friends as long as Ryan has known Spencer.
As if they weren’t already childish and giddy enough, there have been several occasions where Jon will tap into his anesthetic supplies and they’ll sit like slugs in his office, passing a mask of laughing gas back and forth between each other and giggle like teenage girls for no reason at all.
Once, Ryan got caught in such an outrageous fit of giggles, he fell over onto the floor and Jon almost pissed himself because watching Ryan try to get up was the funniest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
On the day that Ryan finally works up the nerve to chance wearing white shoes, Jon comes barging into the break room just as Ryan’s pouring himself a cup of coffee and he spills it all over his feet.
“Jesus! Fuck, Jon,” Ryan breathes, wiping up the coffee dribbling down the front of his scrubs. He laughs a bit, mostly because Jon is laughing at him because clearly Ryan’s a scared little bitch, and Ryan says, “You didn’t have to storm in here.”
“Ryan,” Jon chuckles, handing him some more napkins. “The door was open and I walked in, I hardly count that as ‘storming in’.”
“Yeah, well. You scared the shit out of me,” Ryan sighs, trying to fight off a huge smile.
“That I see,” Jon says and Ryan turns to throw the soiled napkins in the trash, shielding his grin. “So, I was wondering,” Jon begins and Ryan takes notice in the way his voice makes their last topic final. “You bathed that one Labrador yesterday, right?”
“Gatsby?” Ryan asks, finally taking a sip of his coffee. Jon nods and Ryan asks, “Yeah, why?”
“Did you put her back in her kennel?”
“Of course; in the quarantine room. Yeah, I put her back.”
“Well, has Allie taken her out since then? For tests or anything?”
“Not that I know of,” Ryan says, frowning. The way Jon’s voice has grown increasingly worried throughout this short conversation makes him uneasy. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, Kevin and I were supposed to neuter him today, but he’s totally MIA.”
----
As it turns out, Gatsby the Lab, Francis the Doberman, Mr. Happy the Chihuahua, Charlie and Claire the Greyhounds, and Freckles the Basset Hound are all MIA as well. Their kennels are empty, barren and unnervingly natural looking, almost as natural as it would look if Ryan himself had taken the dogs out for a bath or a walk around the grounds, their water and food bowls unmoved, their beds slightly crinkled but yet somehow undisturbed.
Ryan whispers, “Fuck,” under his breath, taking in the sight of Mr. Happy’s empty kennel and Jon closes a nearby empty kennel with a squeak.
“We’ve searched all over the clinic and they’re not here,” Jon says with a sigh and Ryan blinks, looks up at him. Jon’s face is a bit worn, tired maybe, from searching endlessly.
“What are we supposed to tell the owners?” Ryan asks, and Jon shrugs.
“I don’t know. But you said yourself that you locked up all their cages, right?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Well, then there’s no way the could have just gotten out. Hell, I’ve hardly managed to master locking and unlocking these things,” Jon muses, jiggling a lock. “I’ll be damned if a dog let itself out.”
“Strange,” Ryan says, shaking his head.
Jon sighs again, heavier and it’s with a sense of finality. “C’mon, man. Let’s get out of here.”
As Ryan’s driving home that night, he looks for missing pet posters on buildings, street lamps, fences, stop signs. He’s startled to find that various bright neon papers decorate every single inch of each telephone pole he passes, all of them sharing a similar plea of, ‘Have You Seen This Dog?’
----
When Hobo goes missing, Ryan has a breakdown.
“Spencer. Spence, did you come and get her? Did you -- did you take her out for a walk? Is she with you? Please, tell me she’s with you, Spencer. Oh, god! Spencer, I can’t- can’t find her she…She wasn’t here when I got home and I --”
“Ryan, dude, calm down, okay? Everything’s fine, just. Shit, you’re scaring me, man,” Spencer says into the phone and sixteen years of friendship with Ryan Ross tells Spencer something is terribly wrong. The last time he heard Ryan this upset, he was begging Spencer to come and hold him, please, just for the night. Spencer was thankful Ryan only had to lose his dad once.
“She’s gone, Spence, I. Fuck, I- I can’t find her,” Ryan sobs and Spencer hears him practically tearing the house apart for his dog. “I’ve been looking for her for the past hour and- and I’ve called and called and called for her but she’s not here, Spencer. I don’t know where she is, I don’t--”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Spencer says, voice hard and determined as he hangs up. So it takes fifteen minutes to get to Ryan’s house from his. But goddammit his best friend needs him and he’s gonna make it in five.
Spencer breaks the speed limit the entire way to Ryan’s house and before he even has the chance to get out of his car, Ryan’s already running out to him, more of a wreck than Spencer anticipated. He should have assumed Ryan losing Hobo would be almost equivalent as losing his father; after all, Ryan once said she and Spencer were the only family he’d ever had.
The hug Ryan gives Spencer is too hard, too desperate, but most of the pain is dwelling in Spencer’s heart.
Ryan sobs into Spencer’s chest and Spencer soothes, “Shh, we’ll find her.”
----
Ryan calls in sick to work the next day and he sits in his living room, cold toes dug into the couch, eyes watering and nails bitten down to the quick. His hair is messy and he hasn’t showered yet, but Spencer isn’t forcing him to do anything so he feels no reason to even move. To move from the cushion he’s been sitting on so long his ass hurts, just staring out the window, out into the huge, endless world that somewhere, somewhere holds his precious puppy. She’s out there, beyond those windows, but he can’t summon the heart to go look for her. It’s not strong enough to be let down.
Spencer answers the phone when it rings, “No, he’s not interested in a credit card.”, “Timothy? From the café downtown? Oh, no this is his friend, Spencer.”, “Um, he’s not in right now. Can I take a message?”, and if Ryan had the ability to uproot himself, he’d hug Spencer for being so selfless.
Around noon, Jon calls, on his lunch break no doubt, and Spencer answers with a tired, “Hello?”
Ryan finally pieced himself together enough to pull himself off the couch and into a quick shower. He emerges from the bathroom, rubbing a towel into his wet hair just as Spencer says, “From work, right? Yeah, I’ll tell him you called, Jon.”
“Jon?” Ryan asks and Spencer catches his eye. He stops writing down the number Jon’s feeding him through the other line and Ryan says, “Is that him?”
“Yeah,” Spencer says and then to Jon, “Oh, yeah, he just walked in.”
And if it were any other person but Jon, Ryan would call Spencer a traitor for giving away his arrival, but Ryan just makes grabby hands at the phone as Spencer says, “Mm-hm, here he is,” and hands him the phone.
“Hey, Jon,” Ryan greets, trying and failing to sound remotely cheerful. “What’s up?”
“You didn’t show at work today, Kevin said you called in?” Jon questions and Ryan’s takes a moment to let his heart feel full at the thought of Jon calling to check on him.
“Yeah.” Ryan clears his throat and begins, “Yeah, um. I did.”
“You sick, man? Shit, I told you what would happen if you inhaled too much of that gas, you --”
“No, I’m not--” Ryan cuts in awkwardly. He doesn’t want to lie to Jon, but he doesn’t want to sound like a complete pansy. He and Jon are good friends, but he’s not sure if Jon will be as understanding as Spencer was about him losing Hobo. Still, he presses on with, “I’m not sick, really. I, uh. My dog, she’s missing and I’ve been searching for her.”
It’s not a complete lie: Hobo is missing and he has been searching for her, not necessarily in a physical sense, but his mind has been searching for her, relentlessly begging for her to come home.
Jon senses the struggle Ryan seems to have in telling him this and he says, “Fuck, man. I’m sorry,” and Ryan gives him a disheartened, “S’okay.”
“I just took my break, do you want me to come over?” Jon offers. “Help you look?”
Ryan glances over at Spencer, thinks he really doesn’t need anyone else but him, but finds himself saying, “Sure, if you want. I’d like that.”
Jon exhales a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and smiles, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be over in a few,” and Ryan hangs up.
----
“Ryan, hey,” Jon greets as Ryan opens the door and finds his co-worker shifting from foot to foot on his front porch. Jon’s in his scrubs, crinkly and starched and Ryan’s oddly familiar with the feeling of joy that curls his lips at the thought of having never forced himself into his own work uniform this morning.
“Hi,” Ryan smiles, a bit sad, weary, and Jon gives him a comforting one armed hug before Ryan steps aside and lets him in. Spencer stands from the couch as Ryan shuts the door and notices how polite Jon is as he waits to be led further into the house. “Jon,” Ryan says and holds out his hand, gesturing to Spencer, “This is Spencer. Spencer, this is Jon.”
“Hey, man. Nice to meet you,” Jon says, over-eager and with a stupid smile that Ryan thinks might kinda sorta be ridiculously adorable on him. His hand stretches out for Spencer to grasp and Spencer takes it with a smoldering smile, and what the hell? Since when did Spencer blush?
“You too,” Spencer smiles and then there it is. That smile Ryan swears could light a baseball stadium. “Ryan’s told me about you; apparently, you and I are in an epic battle over claim as his best friend, eh?”
Jon chuckles, drops Spencer’s hand - Ryan thinks, Was that reluctance I just saw, Walker? - and scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, well.”
“It’s not fair, really,” Spencer begins, acting snide, but still smiling just as bright. “Just because you get him high on laughing gas and seduce him --” And seriously, what the fuck, Jon? All of this blushing is getting ridiculous. “--doesn’t mean you’ll be taking over my best friend title. I hate to inform you.”
Jon smiles, sly but sweet and says, “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Spencer,” as if he’s as pure as snow.
“Uh-huh,” Spencer says with a raised eyebrow, amused. “I’ve got my eye on you, man.”
With a light, teasing smile, Jon seals his conversation with Spencer and turns to Ryan. “So, you doing okay?”
Ryan’s subconscious tells him that there is no longer shameless -- Shameless, Spencer Smith -- flirting going on in his living room, and he blinks away his thoughts and says, “Not really,” with a weak chuckle before trudging over to the couch again.
“Hey, man, I’m- I’m really sorry,” Jon says sympathetic and consoling and every other word that could possibly emphasize how caring a person Jon Walker is.
“It’s,” Ryan begins and pauses, stumbling a bit on the words he doesn’t want to force out. “It’s okay.”
“Look, Ryan. Don’t bullshit yourself because you’re not fooling me,” Jon says with a sigh as he sits down on one of Ryan’s recliners. Ryan is dumbfounded by Jon’s forwardness but Jon continues, “My cat ran away a few years ago and I was a wreck for a few weeks. Pets are like friends, man; if you lose them, it takes a while to get over it. So don’t try and make me think you haven’t been sitting on this couch for the past day moping and crying over your dog just because you don’t want me to think you’re a pussy--” Ryan is now in complete shock. Apparently Jon can read minds… “--because I know what it feels like. I’m actually relieved to see you showing some emotion over this because I’d just think you were a dick if you didn’t miss your dog.”
Spencer is standing just behind the couch, arms crossed and hip cocked to the side, listening to Jon’s rather inspirational speech and Ryan blinks.
“So,” Ryan says, slow. “You don’t think I’m a total chick for crying over this?”
When Jon smiles, it’s big and warm and he says, “No.” Ryan’s face cracks (literally, his face feels like it’s cracking he’s been pouting so long) into a smile and Jon adds, “But you’re mascara is running. Here let me--”
Ryan snorts and slaps away Jon’s encroaching hand. “Shut up, Walker, you asshole.”
Jon’s chuckles twitter off into easy sighs and he looks over the couch at Spencer. “Where have you guys looked?” he asks, scratching his elbow.
“Just about everywhere,” Spencer says. “Or, well. I’ve looked just about everywhere,” he adds, shooting a glare down at the top of Ryan’s shaggy head. “Ryan here thought it would be best if he stayed home.”
“In case wandered back or someone called to return her,” Ryan justifies, sinking into the couch defensively. “I just- I don’t want to miss her,” he says, small and frail.
Jon nods and Spencer says, “We put up signs and shit, all over town. But no one has called yet, so…”
“Damn,” Jon says with remorse. “I’m not surprised though,” he admits, relaxing back into the chair and pulling his hands behind his head. “I mean, there are missing dog posters everywhere. It’s outrageous how many pets people are looking for. I highly doubt that if she were found, the person that has her would even know where to begin to look for contact information. It looks like the information cork board at the shelter vomited all over Vegas.”
“Is there anything else we can do?” Ryan pleads, because if anyone knows how to handle these types of situations, it’s Jon. “Can’t we print off more fliers? Tear fliers down? Fucking run through the streets with a giant link of sausages?” Yes, Ryan Ross has most definitely resorted to the most extreme of measures.
“Well,” Jon says, “There is one other thing.”
“How?” Ryan and Spencer say simultaneously.
“Okay, so, I know this guy right…”
Part Two
Author: selectivelyurie
Beta: moceanu
Rating: Overall R
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: Third
Summary: Ryan Ross is the new kennel attendant at Thompson & Thompson Vet Clinic. When he meets his co-worker, Jon Walker, they begin to discover dogs disappearing from their kennels. When Ryan's own dog, Hobo, goes missing, Jon Walker knows exactly who to call.
Word Count: 18,000+ in 3 parts
Disclaimer: Not true, don't believe.
Author Notes: So once upon a time, I was reading patd_secrets and I came across this secret and everything just snowballed from there. Aside from my lovely beta, moceanu, I would like to thank Ryan Ross for his ridiculous pants.
The shrill sound of a small Pekinese wailing through the chain link fence riles up several other dogs in it’s general area and in a matter of moments, the long row of kennels is alive with howls and whimpers.
“You’ll have to excuse the floor,” she says, leading him through a heavy door. “We haven’t gotten around to cleaning up yet and-”
The previously silent, caged up dogs press their wet noses to the cool metal to observe the two humans that have just stepped into the dingy room, and when one rather large Chow slams itself violently against one wall of its cage, desperate to bite the intruders, the man most unfamiliar with his surroundings jumps backwards and almost slips on the wet ground.
“That’s Jaws,” she yells over the incessant barking, hugging a clipboard close to her chest. The Chow snarls viciously at the two standing in the aisle between two rows of cages and bares his sharp teeth. She continues, “Turned on his owner last week. Apparently put his wife in the hospital. We’re putting him down on Friday.”
The shaken boy nods in understanding and she motions for him to follow her as she leads him to a door looming about ten kennels down. She maneuvers them over and around murky puddles of grimy water, piss and god knows what else and soon the deafening sound of the dogs is only a ringing in his ears as the door on the opposite end of the clinic is shut.
There’s hair in his eyes and a small fleck of dog shit on his right shoe, but that doesn’t distract him from directing his full attention to the woman that is locking the door behind them. Attention is something he’s going to have to have if he’s going to keep this job interview going in the right direction and he’ll be damned if he has to search endlessly in the Las Vegas heat for Help Wanted signs again. He’s been there, done that and has neither the gas nor the patience to do so for the fourth weekend in a row.
“Well, Ryan, that’s the grand tour.”
Ryan nods, flips his hair out of his face, smiles.
“I’d really like to start you as soon as possible, but I need you to fill out a few regulation papers.” She slides a packet from her clipboard, hands them to him carefully. “Just take them home, fill them out and if you could get those back to us before the week is over, Holly at the front desk would think you’re a saint.” She smiles and it’s tired, like she’s not only tired of a hard day’s work, but tired of working in general, and Ryan mentally discards his plan of filling them out in the lobby because they’ve already started locking up and shutting down computers and keeping her later than needed would be selfish. No matter how desperate he is to get a paying job.
“Sure thing, ma’am,” Ryan says, taking the packet in delicate fingers. It smells like bleach and mop water in the room and that’s when he notices the partner of the veterinary clinic sloshing a mop in the far corner of the room, doing a duty that isn’t in his job description but he has proceeded to do in order to keep his practice sanitary.
“Honey,” the woman says, noticing Ryan’s eyes watching the man intently. The man, apparently her husband (Duh, Ross, that would explain the Thompson & Thompson above the Veterinary Clinic sign outside), looks up, his stethoscope bouncing on his chest and he straightens up, smiling. “Honey,” she says again, waves him over. “Come meet Ryan; he’s going to be our new kennel attendant.”
The man briskly walks over and extends his hand with a broad smile as if Ryan is doing him some sort of favor by wishing to be employed by them. “Ryan, Ryan,” he greets with a strong grip and firm wrist. “Pleased to meet you,” he says and Ryan notices that his nametag reads Kevin. Her name fails him for some reason, he realizes as he becomes familiar with her husbands name; she gave it to him before they began the tour, said “I’m…and if you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask” and now he can’t for the life of him remember. He would cheat and sneak a peak at her nametag, but she’s already disrobed herself of her lab coat and dammit, why can’t he remember her name? Amber? Abby? Shit.
“Oh, it’s my pleasure, sir.” Yes, Ryan. Kiss as much ass as possible. The more ass you kiss, the less broke your ass will be.
“Did Allie show you around the place?”
Allie! Fuck, what was so hard to remember about that?
“Yes, sir,” Ryan replies, tucking his manila packet under his right arm and Kevin nods as if he’s agreeing.
“Good, good.” He beams at his wife and pulls her into a close hug. “We’ve been in need of a kennel attendant since our last one moved. He just up and left, no notice or anything. Just gone.”
Ryan’s eyebrows raise in surprise and he thinks Fuck yes! I’ve got this job in the bag.
“It’s not that we can’t clean and tend to the kennels ourselves-” Kevin continues.
“-we just don’t have time,” Allie finishes. “I mean, I’m running and doing all day, taking care of everything from broken legs to fleas-”
“-and I’m trying to make sure all of the dogs get prescribed the right medication and stitching up remnants of dog fights and-”
He pauses, sighs, looks down at his wife and they both shrug, “We need help.”
Ryan almost rolls his eyes, almost, because seriously, the love in this room is sickening. Finishing each other’s sentences? What the fuck.
“I understand,” Ryan nods in strong agreement and in a way he does get it. They can’t run this place all by themselves and hey, he needs a job remember? Them needing help is totally understandable.
“Well it’s great to have you aboard then,” Kevin says with another toothy grin and steps away from his wife. He takes the mop back into his hands and pushes the bucket a little with his foot. “Just, y’know, fill out that paperwork, get it back to us and we’ll get you started, yeah?”
“Sounds good,” Ryan says and oh my god, he’s really not jobless anymore! Spencer will be so proud.
Allie smiles between them for a moment, as if basking in the thought of hiring the best kennel attendant in the history of kennel attendants (even though Ryan doesn’t have experience with kennel attendance, seriously, how hard can cleaning up vomit and shit be, really? There’s no way he’s not the best) and when she clears her throat, she ushers him through another door and he finds himself standing in the lobby again.
“Thank you for the tour,” Ryan says, fiddling aimlessly with the corner of his packet and Allie frowns at him as if it’s no big deal.
“You’re welcome,” she says, “sorry it looked so--excuse my language and this lame pun but--shitty in the kennel area. Kevin and I haven’t gotten to clean it today so…”
“Well hopefully I can take care of that soon.”
“Oh, yes, that would be lovely.” Her smile is so wide it hurts Ryan’s jaw. “You really don’t know how much we appreciate you putting in an application, Ryan,” she says and it sounds so pathetic Ryan wonders whether he should pity her or think her unprofessional. He decides to take pity because he’s just as desperate for the job as she is to give it to him.
“I should be the one thanking you,” Ryan counters, scratching the back of his neck. “I really need this-” Fuck, way to put your desperation out there just like her. How lame. “-and I’m a hard worker so I won’t let you down.”
Allie smiles at him, rolls her eyes and shoves him towards the door. “Don’t you think that line’s been used thousands of times, Ryan? It won’t work when you’ve already got the job, kid.”
He chuckles lightly and opens the door, the slight heat still lingering in the Vegas air contrasting with the coolness contained in the clinic and it isn’t until now that he realizes that it’s fucking freezing in the lobby. He can see his car parked below the lamp across the street and he momentarily basks in the thought of soon being able to fill his car up with gas for the first time in…well, probably since he bought the damn thing.
“Get home and fill out those papers,” she jokes in a threatening manner. “Before someone else swoops in on your dream job!”
This time he allows himself to laugh wholeheartedly because really, cleaning up shit is far from his dream job, and he waves goodnight to her as he tries his hardest not to fucking skip to his car.
The promise of minimum wage has never felt so good.
----
Ryan’s apartment is dusty, dark and silent when he enters around eight. The only light visible inside his small flat is the blinking red light on the opposite side of the living room signaling that his answering machine holds messages from either Spencer or, well. Spencer. It’s only ever Spencer that calls.
He flips his light on with a habitual flick of the wrist and the ominous red glow vanishes amongst the blinding white that appears; he steps inside, careful to lock and bolt his door and shuffles across his beige carpet to his answering machine, neglected and waiting to be tended to. Just as he’s pressing the playback button on the machine, his small, scampering ball of fur he dubbed Hobo comes racing towards him in leaps and bounds, yipping happily as her tail slices through the air quickly.
“Hey there, girl!” he greets, as her tiny paws claw desperately at his leg as if to say “Hi! You’re home. I missed you. Pick me up now, please. I want to lick your face off.”
Her tiny puppy body wiggles and squirms and he coos at her while he bends over to pick her up; however, being a puppy, she merely flops over onto her back despite his efforts to hold her and he is forced to rub her small belly instead. He laughs at her and tickles her, her short legs attempting to swat away his fingers and when she rolls over and begins nipping at his hand, he pats her head and returns to the machine.
Predictably, there’s a message from Spencer (“Hey, man. Just wanted to see what you were up to and if you wanted to hang out. I know you’re out job hunting and shit but seriously, this is getting ridiculous. I haven’t seen you in like, four days, dude. If you haven’t found a job yet then you seriously need to consider sucking di- Message deleted.”) and another message from some shitty diner he applied at four weeks ago. Under any other circumstances, he would have jumped for joy and called them back first thing in the morning but right now, fuck that diner cause he’s going to be working at a vet clinic making damn near seven dollars an hour (with the promise of a raise after six months!). How he knows this? He almost wrecked on the way home whilst trying to peek at the packet he received, which really, filling that out right about now would be a good idea.
Intentionally, he sits down at his kitchen table with his phone in hand, meaning to call Spencer back, gripe him out about leaving such a derogatory message on his machine and then give him the good news that he’ll finally have his friend back from the evil strains of job hunting, but the information within the packet is consuming too much time and Spencer is put on the back burner.
As he reads over his qualifications, he begins to bask in the glory that the requirements aren’t too hard:
Capable of mopping floors and cleaning shelves and equipment?
Ryan puts a check in the box to the right.
Capable of cleaning kennels and kennel gutters soiled with feces, urine and vomit?
He makes a face at the thought of wiping up dog shit from the ground and has a small urge to vomit, but hey, if stomaching animal wastes rakes in a paycheck, at least it’s worth something, right?
Capable of lifting up to 40 pounds without assistance?
It is now that he realizes that it’s a good thing Spencer isn’t here to help him fill this out because a) that would be both lame and sad if he was unable to fill out an application without the assistance of his best friend, but b) he really isn’t in the mood for any of Spencer’s “But Ryan, you’d be lifting more than you weigh” bullshit.
Capable and unafraid to ascend a ladder of higher than 12 feet?
Okay really, what person had to work there in order for them to have to include such a question? Ryan laughs at the image of a forty year old man at the top of a ladder crying out to his mother and places a check in the box next to the question.
Capable and willing to administer medicine, care, and overall love and devotion to any and all animals admitted?
This sounds like one of the more reasonable questions he’s answered and even though he checks the box, he’ll be damned if he is expected to cuddle with a ninety pound rabies ridden mutt with one eye and a gimp leg.
Fuck. That. Shit.
It’s nearly eleven when he’s finally filled everything out and Hobo has been fed, watered, and is now curled up at his feet under the table, her ears twitching every so often.
“C’mon girl,” he says, his chair scraping along the kitchen floor as he stands. Alert, Hobo jumps up quickly and begins wagging her tail as if she wasn’t just sleeping lazily. “Let’s get you outside before bed, yeah?” he asks her and although Hobo can’t understand what he means, when he begins walking towards the sliding glass door that leads to his very small patio and slightly larger yard, she’s yipping cheerfully.
The glass door squeaks a little when it opens (he’s been meaning to grease it up a little bit, keep the noise from being so annoying but he hasn’t found the time) and the rush of the warm Vegas night air whips across his face pleasantly. Hobo makes a beeline for the dying grass and noses around a few patches of vibrant green blades. Ryan looks up at the glowing horizon just visible over his privacy fence when she squats to do her business because he’s never felt comfortable watching anyone or anything take a piss. Something about it just makes his cheeks turn crimson, even if it is his dog.
The stars look dull tonight, but he doesn’t remember them ever being brighter, and the moon is hidden behind a slew of dark rain clouds. There’s sure to be a storm tomorrow, so he makes a mental note to search for his umbrella later. Hobo grabs his attention when she snorts and shakes her head, ears flopping against the side of her face and he smiles at her as she trots up to the small slab of concrete he calls his back porch.
Trekking back inside, he closes the glass door securely, wincing at the screech it produces and tries to lock it but to no avail -- he really needs to fix that door -- before turning off the kitchen light on the wall next to him. “C’mon Hobo,” he yawns when he hears his dogs feet stop clicking on the linoleum floor as the lights shut off. “It’s bedtime.”
Her tiny feet begin to tickle the floor again as she scampers off down the hall and he hears the small scratch of her nails on the wood door to his bedroom. He follows suite, shuffling off the kitchen floor onto the carpet in the living room and trails down the hall to his bed that’s been calling his name for longer than he thought.
----
“Spencer, what the fuck are you doing here?”
“You can’t just call me up at Ungodly AM and tell me you’re going into work and not expect me to be curious about your recent place of employment,” Spencer says matter-o-factly, turning his head to observe the surroundings of the clinic’s lobby. He’s wearing jeans and a t-shirt, looking rather nice today and Ryan feels slightly embarrassed at having his friend see him in his work attire: obscenely baby blue scrubs and tennis shoes. Ryan hasn’t worn tennis shoes since he became friends with the glorious Chuck Taylor.
“Nine o’clock is hardly ‘ungodly’ and, it being my first day on the job, I would assume you would know that you showing up here to chit chat with me while I should be working isn’t a very professional thing,” Ryan replies, his tone snarky and threatening.
He’d been in the building for all of twenty minutes, only had enough time to turn in his application, converse with Allie and Kevin for a few short moments about his duties for the day, and introduce himself to Holly, the cute receptionist who sat behind a clean glass window all day and filed papers. He had just begun to proceed with said duties when his best friend of sixteen years came barging into the lobby (with no injured pet, mind you) bothering Holly with such things as, “Is there a George Ryan Ross III currently employed here?”, “Would he happen to have a moment to spare? I need to inquire a few things of him.”, “No, it shouldn’t take long at all.” and when Holly buzzed Ryan to the front desk, “Oh there you are cousin George!”
Spencer Smith enjoys creating spectacles that mortify his best friend. Or, cousin in this particular instance.
“Chill out, Ryan,” Spencer laughs, slapping the thin boy across the back playfully. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t like, I don’t know. Heeding the advice I gave you.”
Ryan rolls his eyes in reference to the message Spencer left on the machine the night before and shrugs out of his friends one armed embrace. Laughing he says, “Whatever, man.”
“Really,” Spencer says, chuckling. “I was half asleep when you called and all I could register was ‘clinic’ and I thought ‘Oh, shit. He’s really that desperate.’”
Ryan lets out a loud, goofy laugh and covers his mouth quickly when he catches the stern, blue eyes of Holly. “Sorry,” he says in a whisper. Spencer’s shoulders are bouncing with silent amusement and Ryan pushes him towards the door. “Get out of here before you cost me my job,” he teases as his friend struggles to resist Ryan’s strength. “I’d hate to have to kill you because you got me sacked my first day of work.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Spencer sighs, waving off Ryan’s threat as nothing. “I’m going,” he says dejectedly. Hand on the doorknob he adds, “Call me when you get off; we need to celebrate your ambitious step into the working class American lifestyle.”
“Spencer,” Ryan says sternly, trying to veer off a smile. “Go.” He points at Spencer’s hand on the door and urges him to open it and leave. Holly clears her throat in the reception area and Ryan looks over sheepishly to see her looking at them with a raised eyebrow. “Now!” Ryan hisses and Spencer rolls his eyes.
“Well, dearest cousin,” Spencer says haughtily, glancing over at Holly in challenge. “I must depart. I bid you farewell.” And with that Spencer swings the door open and removes himself from the threshold of the clinic.
Holly seems to be at ease once the bothersome young man has vacated the lobby and she returns to filing papers and typing noisily on the keyboard. Ryan closes the door with a smiling sigh, shaking his head and pinching the bridge of his nose.
Ryan has never met a creature more amazing than Spencer Smith.
----
By noon, Ryan is back mopping the kennels for the third time and he’ll be damned if it isn’t the same fucking mutt making the mess. A small, fragile looking poodle whose name plate hooked on the front of the cage reads ‘Twinkles’ is the cause of the stench coming from Row C and by the time Ryan has removed the dog from her cage, placed her in a temporary holding pin, cleaned her cage thoroughly, and then returned her, he’s certain that if he has to make a fourth trip back to this end of the row, he’s going to scream. He feels sorry for the dog for the most part; he knows she’s sick (the name plate lists the name of the dog, the sex, the reason for admittance and various other medical jargon Ryan doesn’t understand) but fucking-a, how many times can a dog shit in one day? Really?
It’s a little past one when he’s successfully sanitized the concrete flooring and metal drains of the kennel room (yes, he realizes that over an hour is far too long to be cleaning one kennel, but he’s learning, okay? Give him a break) and as he’s pulling the dirty mop and bucket out into one of the halls, heading for the storage closet, he’s stopped by Kevin.
“Did you get kennel 24C cleaned up again?” he asks with curiosity, placing his hands on his hips in a way that isn’t bitchy at all but surprisingly, warm and just well. Curious.
“Yes, sir,” Ryan replies, wiping a sheen of sweat off his brow. “I don’t know how many more times I’m going to have to clean her kennel today but-”
“Eh, don’t worry about it right now,” Kevin says, shrugging. “Let’s get you on lunch break, shall we?”
At the word ‘lunch’, Ryan’s stomach awakens with a rumble and he suddenly realizes how hungry he is. Half a pop tart at seven isn’t sufficient in curving his appetite for longer than a few hours and he really wouldn’t mind taking a break.
Nodding, Ryan follows Kevin into the employee lounge who holds the door open and allows Ryan to enter first. It’s a small room, decorated with one round table complete with three chairs, a small, waist high refrigerator on which rests an old microwave and a couch accents the back wall. It’s quiet back here, Ryan notices, and that couch looks far more comfortable than necessary, but he’s not still not quite sure what he’s supposed to or allowed to do yet, so he waits for Kevin to speak.
“This is the lounge,” Kevin says, gesturing to their surroundings. “This is where you’ll take your breaks--unless of course you wish to leave and come back in your allotted time--and this is also where you’ll be clocking in and out, as soon as we get you in the system that is.”
Ryan envisions a day here within the next week of him owning his own time card, swiping it through the device on the wall, settling down comfortably on that enticing couch, and sleeping for a good forty five minutes before returning to work. But then his stomach rumbles again and right now food is the only thing on his mind.
“Since you don’t really have a way of clocking in and out as of right now, just make sure you’re back to work by two fifteen, alright?” Kevin advises and Ryan nods. An entire hour of relaxation seems like a gift from god right about now cause his feet are aching, his back hurts from being hunched over, scrubbing floors and he’s got the signs of a nasty bruise appearing on his elbow because of that damn violent Chow.
“Two fifteen,” Ryan states. “You got it.”
“You’re welcome to anything in the lounge that isn’t specified to anyone; if it’s labeled as someone’s, don’t take it or else you’ll have to deal with bitching. What is nameless is blameless I always say,” Kevin explains. “That being said, the shelf above the sink over there-” He points to the small counter and sink to the right of the couch. “-has bread, chips, and cookies. There’s meats and cheeses in the fridge, as well as a few sodas that may or may not be labeled; if they are you’re welcome to mine.” Absorbing information and rules, Ryan bobs his head and stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I think that’s about it,” Kevin says, scratching the back of his neck in thought. But then he exclaims, “Oh, no. One last thing. If you so happen to use the last of something let me know that so we can restock. Last time we ran out of coffee I thought some of the staff was going to flip a lid.”
“Of course,” Ryan says, nodding vigorously.
“Well,” Kevin sighs, backing out of the room. “That’s it. If you need anything just ask Holly at the front desk. Allie had to run a few papers to the hospital and I have a few dogs that need their shots taken care of.” He exits with a nod and Ryan’s first move is towards that ridiculously comfortable looking couch.
----
The couch isn’t so ridiculously comfortable after all. In fact, it’s kind of lumpy in some places and the springs are obvious beneath the thin cushions and Ryan decides that well, maybe he won’t be partaking in any mid-day naps while he’s here.
Instead, he makes himself a sandwich--unfortunately there is no cheese, so he is forced to settle for ham and mayonnaise only--and sits quietly at the table in the center of the room. He realizes that upon finishing his lunch, he still has over thirty minutes to spare. Technically, he’s not allowed to go back on the clock yet, but he’s go too much time to waste to simply sit and stare at the walls around him. So he lifts himself from his chair, pushes it in and heads up to the front desk.
When he opens the door to the lobby, he is met with the high pitched giggle of Holly, who he notices is completely heart eyed for a rather handsome looking man draped over the counter. Upon closer inspection, he observes that the man is rather stocky, a nicely trimmed beard adorning his charming face and he just so happens to be wearing scrubs that match Ryan’s. Well, how bout that?
The man hears the door open and he turns mid-laugh to catch Ryan slinking in, eyes bright and curious as he drinks in the sight of the small boy, a complete stranger, yet wearing the same uniform.
“Who is this?” the man asks Holly, keeping his eyes fixed on Ryan as he comes to rest in front of the counter.
“Ryan. Ryan Ross,” Ryan introduces, thrusting out his hand. From the way he and Holly were just laughing and the way he’s dressed similar to Ryan, he can only assume that he is well-known around here. Perhaps a vet from another practice?
“Ryan, huh?” the man repeats with a raised eyebrow, as if filing away his name in his mind. Ryan nods and the man says, “I’m Jon Walker.”
“Nice to meet you,” Ryan says, squeezing Jon’s hand one last time before dropping it.
“Same,” Jon grins, resting his elbow back up on the counter. “I’m the anesthesiologist,” he informs Ryan, and Jon Walker can obviously read minds because Ryan was just about to ask him why they seemed to be twinkies.
“Ah, nice,” Ryan says and the way Jon is smiling makes him warm inside. He gives off this friendly aura that isn’t the least bit overbearing or boarderline creepy, so Ryan immediately feels at ease with him. It feels nice, having a potential fellow employee slash friend relationship with someone; he thinks maybe one day they’ll crack jokes in the break room and if Jon smokes, possibly hot box it. The thought of not befriending anyone here suddenly hits Ryan with dread and he becomes determined to be friends with Jon Walker.
“You the new kennel attendant?” Jon asks, breaking the small bout of silence between them.
Ryan laughs a bit, says, “Yeah, I am. You could tell?”
Jon crinkles his nose and groans, “Yeah, dude. You totally smell like shit.”
Ryan blanches and his jaw drops and he’s hit with the impending doom that he’s destined to be a friendless employee at Thompson & Thompson.
Instantly, Jon’s face lights up and he draws Ryan in for a light hug, laughing, “Oh my god, man! I’m kidding!”
Yeah, Ryan thinks as his heart drops down from his throat and he calms the fucking heart attack he almost just had.
Yeah, he’s totally got a friend.
----
Two weeks into his employment and he and Jon act like they’ve been best friends as long as Ryan has known Spencer.
As if they weren’t already childish and giddy enough, there have been several occasions where Jon will tap into his anesthetic supplies and they’ll sit like slugs in his office, passing a mask of laughing gas back and forth between each other and giggle like teenage girls for no reason at all.
Once, Ryan got caught in such an outrageous fit of giggles, he fell over onto the floor and Jon almost pissed himself because watching Ryan try to get up was the funniest fucking thing he’d ever seen.
On the day that Ryan finally works up the nerve to chance wearing white shoes, Jon comes barging into the break room just as Ryan’s pouring himself a cup of coffee and he spills it all over his feet.
“Jesus! Fuck, Jon,” Ryan breathes, wiping up the coffee dribbling down the front of his scrubs. He laughs a bit, mostly because Jon is laughing at him because clearly Ryan’s a scared little bitch, and Ryan says, “You didn’t have to storm in here.”
“Ryan,” Jon chuckles, handing him some more napkins. “The door was open and I walked in, I hardly count that as ‘storming in’.”
“Yeah, well. You scared the shit out of me,” Ryan sighs, trying to fight off a huge smile.
“That I see,” Jon says and Ryan turns to throw the soiled napkins in the trash, shielding his grin. “So, I was wondering,” Jon begins and Ryan takes notice in the way his voice makes their last topic final. “You bathed that one Labrador yesterday, right?”
“Gatsby?” Ryan asks, finally taking a sip of his coffee. Jon nods and Ryan asks, “Yeah, why?”
“Did you put her back in her kennel?”
“Of course; in the quarantine room. Yeah, I put her back.”
“Well, has Allie taken her out since then? For tests or anything?”
“Not that I know of,” Ryan says, frowning. The way Jon’s voice has grown increasingly worried throughout this short conversation makes him uneasy. “Is something wrong?”
“Yeah, Kevin and I were supposed to neuter him today, but he’s totally MIA.”
----
As it turns out, Gatsby the Lab, Francis the Doberman, Mr. Happy the Chihuahua, Charlie and Claire the Greyhounds, and Freckles the Basset Hound are all MIA as well. Their kennels are empty, barren and unnervingly natural looking, almost as natural as it would look if Ryan himself had taken the dogs out for a bath or a walk around the grounds, their water and food bowls unmoved, their beds slightly crinkled but yet somehow undisturbed.
Ryan whispers, “Fuck,” under his breath, taking in the sight of Mr. Happy’s empty kennel and Jon closes a nearby empty kennel with a squeak.
“We’ve searched all over the clinic and they’re not here,” Jon says with a sigh and Ryan blinks, looks up at him. Jon’s face is a bit worn, tired maybe, from searching endlessly.
“What are we supposed to tell the owners?” Ryan asks, and Jon shrugs.
“I don’t know. But you said yourself that you locked up all their cages, right?”
“Yeah, I did.”
“Well, then there’s no way the could have just gotten out. Hell, I’ve hardly managed to master locking and unlocking these things,” Jon muses, jiggling a lock. “I’ll be damned if a dog let itself out.”
“Strange,” Ryan says, shaking his head.
Jon sighs again, heavier and it’s with a sense of finality. “C’mon, man. Let’s get out of here.”
As Ryan’s driving home that night, he looks for missing pet posters on buildings, street lamps, fences, stop signs. He’s startled to find that various bright neon papers decorate every single inch of each telephone pole he passes, all of them sharing a similar plea of, ‘Have You Seen This Dog?’
----
When Hobo goes missing, Ryan has a breakdown.
“Spencer. Spence, did you come and get her? Did you -- did you take her out for a walk? Is she with you? Please, tell me she’s with you, Spencer. Oh, god! Spencer, I can’t- can’t find her she…She wasn’t here when I got home and I --”
“Ryan, dude, calm down, okay? Everything’s fine, just. Shit, you’re scaring me, man,” Spencer says into the phone and sixteen years of friendship with Ryan Ross tells Spencer something is terribly wrong. The last time he heard Ryan this upset, he was begging Spencer to come and hold him, please, just for the night. Spencer was thankful Ryan only had to lose his dad once.
“She’s gone, Spence, I. Fuck, I- I can’t find her,” Ryan sobs and Spencer hears him practically tearing the house apart for his dog. “I’ve been looking for her for the past hour and- and I’ve called and called and called for her but she’s not here, Spencer. I don’t know where she is, I don’t--”
“I’ll be there in five minutes,” Spencer says, voice hard and determined as he hangs up. So it takes fifteen minutes to get to Ryan’s house from his. But goddammit his best friend needs him and he’s gonna make it in five.
Spencer breaks the speed limit the entire way to Ryan’s house and before he even has the chance to get out of his car, Ryan’s already running out to him, more of a wreck than Spencer anticipated. He should have assumed Ryan losing Hobo would be almost equivalent as losing his father; after all, Ryan once said she and Spencer were the only family he’d ever had.
The hug Ryan gives Spencer is too hard, too desperate, but most of the pain is dwelling in Spencer’s heart.
Ryan sobs into Spencer’s chest and Spencer soothes, “Shh, we’ll find her.”
----
Ryan calls in sick to work the next day and he sits in his living room, cold toes dug into the couch, eyes watering and nails bitten down to the quick. His hair is messy and he hasn’t showered yet, but Spencer isn’t forcing him to do anything so he feels no reason to even move. To move from the cushion he’s been sitting on so long his ass hurts, just staring out the window, out into the huge, endless world that somewhere, somewhere holds his precious puppy. She’s out there, beyond those windows, but he can’t summon the heart to go look for her. It’s not strong enough to be let down.
Spencer answers the phone when it rings, “No, he’s not interested in a credit card.”, “Timothy? From the café downtown? Oh, no this is his friend, Spencer.”, “Um, he’s not in right now. Can I take a message?”, and if Ryan had the ability to uproot himself, he’d hug Spencer for being so selfless.
Around noon, Jon calls, on his lunch break no doubt, and Spencer answers with a tired, “Hello?”
Ryan finally pieced himself together enough to pull himself off the couch and into a quick shower. He emerges from the bathroom, rubbing a towel into his wet hair just as Spencer says, “From work, right? Yeah, I’ll tell him you called, Jon.”
“Jon?” Ryan asks and Spencer catches his eye. He stops writing down the number Jon’s feeding him through the other line and Ryan says, “Is that him?”
“Yeah,” Spencer says and then to Jon, “Oh, yeah, he just walked in.”
And if it were any other person but Jon, Ryan would call Spencer a traitor for giving away his arrival, but Ryan just makes grabby hands at the phone as Spencer says, “Mm-hm, here he is,” and hands him the phone.
“Hey, Jon,” Ryan greets, trying and failing to sound remotely cheerful. “What’s up?”
“You didn’t show at work today, Kevin said you called in?” Jon questions and Ryan’s takes a moment to let his heart feel full at the thought of Jon calling to check on him.
“Yeah.” Ryan clears his throat and begins, “Yeah, um. I did.”
“You sick, man? Shit, I told you what would happen if you inhaled too much of that gas, you --”
“No, I’m not--” Ryan cuts in awkwardly. He doesn’t want to lie to Jon, but he doesn’t want to sound like a complete pansy. He and Jon are good friends, but he’s not sure if Jon will be as understanding as Spencer was about him losing Hobo. Still, he presses on with, “I’m not sick, really. I, uh. My dog, she’s missing and I’ve been searching for her.”
It’s not a complete lie: Hobo is missing and he has been searching for her, not necessarily in a physical sense, but his mind has been searching for her, relentlessly begging for her to come home.
Jon senses the struggle Ryan seems to have in telling him this and he says, “Fuck, man. I’m sorry,” and Ryan gives him a disheartened, “S’okay.”
“I just took my break, do you want me to come over?” Jon offers. “Help you look?”
Ryan glances over at Spencer, thinks he really doesn’t need anyone else but him, but finds himself saying, “Sure, if you want. I’d like that.”
Jon exhales a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding and smiles, “Yeah, okay. I’ll be over in a few,” and Ryan hangs up.
----
“Ryan, hey,” Jon greets as Ryan opens the door and finds his co-worker shifting from foot to foot on his front porch. Jon’s in his scrubs, crinkly and starched and Ryan’s oddly familiar with the feeling of joy that curls his lips at the thought of having never forced himself into his own work uniform this morning.
“Hi,” Ryan smiles, a bit sad, weary, and Jon gives him a comforting one armed hug before Ryan steps aside and lets him in. Spencer stands from the couch as Ryan shuts the door and notices how polite Jon is as he waits to be led further into the house. “Jon,” Ryan says and holds out his hand, gesturing to Spencer, “This is Spencer. Spencer, this is Jon.”
“Hey, man. Nice to meet you,” Jon says, over-eager and with a stupid smile that Ryan thinks might kinda sorta be ridiculously adorable on him. His hand stretches out for Spencer to grasp and Spencer takes it with a smoldering smile, and what the hell? Since when did Spencer blush?
“You too,” Spencer smiles and then there it is. That smile Ryan swears could light a baseball stadium. “Ryan’s told me about you; apparently, you and I are in an epic battle over claim as his best friend, eh?”
Jon chuckles, drops Spencer’s hand - Ryan thinks, Was that reluctance I just saw, Walker? - and scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah, well.”
“It’s not fair, really,” Spencer begins, acting snide, but still smiling just as bright. “Just because you get him high on laughing gas and seduce him --” And seriously, what the fuck, Jon? All of this blushing is getting ridiculous. “--doesn’t mean you’ll be taking over my best friend title. I hate to inform you.”
Jon smiles, sly but sweet and says, “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Spencer,” as if he’s as pure as snow.
“Uh-huh,” Spencer says with a raised eyebrow, amused. “I’ve got my eye on you, man.”
With a light, teasing smile, Jon seals his conversation with Spencer and turns to Ryan. “So, you doing okay?”
Ryan’s subconscious tells him that there is no longer shameless -- Shameless, Spencer Smith -- flirting going on in his living room, and he blinks away his thoughts and says, “Not really,” with a weak chuckle before trudging over to the couch again.
“Hey, man, I’m- I’m really sorry,” Jon says sympathetic and consoling and every other word that could possibly emphasize how caring a person Jon Walker is.
“It’s,” Ryan begins and pauses, stumbling a bit on the words he doesn’t want to force out. “It’s okay.”
“Look, Ryan. Don’t bullshit yourself because you’re not fooling me,” Jon says with a sigh as he sits down on one of Ryan’s recliners. Ryan is dumbfounded by Jon’s forwardness but Jon continues, “My cat ran away a few years ago and I was a wreck for a few weeks. Pets are like friends, man; if you lose them, it takes a while to get over it. So don’t try and make me think you haven’t been sitting on this couch for the past day moping and crying over your dog just because you don’t want me to think you’re a pussy--” Ryan is now in complete shock. Apparently Jon can read minds… “--because I know what it feels like. I’m actually relieved to see you showing some emotion over this because I’d just think you were a dick if you didn’t miss your dog.”
Spencer is standing just behind the couch, arms crossed and hip cocked to the side, listening to Jon’s rather inspirational speech and Ryan blinks.
“So,” Ryan says, slow. “You don’t think I’m a total chick for crying over this?”
When Jon smiles, it’s big and warm and he says, “No.” Ryan’s face cracks (literally, his face feels like it’s cracking he’s been pouting so long) into a smile and Jon adds, “But you’re mascara is running. Here let me--”
Ryan snorts and slaps away Jon’s encroaching hand. “Shut up, Walker, you asshole.”
Jon’s chuckles twitter off into easy sighs and he looks over the couch at Spencer. “Where have you guys looked?” he asks, scratching his elbow.
“Just about everywhere,” Spencer says. “Or, well. I’ve looked just about everywhere,” he adds, shooting a glare down at the top of Ryan’s shaggy head. “Ryan here thought it would be best if he stayed home.”
“In case wandered back or someone called to return her,” Ryan justifies, sinking into the couch defensively. “I just- I don’t want to miss her,” he says, small and frail.
Jon nods and Spencer says, “We put up signs and shit, all over town. But no one has called yet, so…”
“Damn,” Jon says with remorse. “I’m not surprised though,” he admits, relaxing back into the chair and pulling his hands behind his head. “I mean, there are missing dog posters everywhere. It’s outrageous how many pets people are looking for. I highly doubt that if she were found, the person that has her would even know where to begin to look for contact information. It looks like the information cork board at the shelter vomited all over Vegas.”
“Is there anything else we can do?” Ryan pleads, because if anyone knows how to handle these types of situations, it’s Jon. “Can’t we print off more fliers? Tear fliers down? Fucking run through the streets with a giant link of sausages?” Yes, Ryan Ross has most definitely resorted to the most extreme of measures.
“Well,” Jon says, “There is one other thing.”
“How?” Ryan and Spencer say simultaneously.
“Okay, so, I know this guy right…”
Part Two