This was written for the Dreamwidth Hannibal kink meme in 2013.
Prompt: "one of will's dogs is named applesauce and he is will's favorite dog who he loves more than the rest (but don't tell them that)"
He's whining in a ditch when they meet and Will nearly throws himself out of his moving vehicle and into the mud to help. Thankfully the dog is not hurt, just terrified, hungry and cold and lost and unloved and every other adjective a stray has to suffer through. Will knows them well.
Trust came quickly. Perhaps because he was too scared to flee - to move, even - and could do little more than dig his unclipped nails into Will's muddy khakis, shaking in his lap on the drive home. Soon the dog comes to know this other living being as something that provides nothing but warmth and comfort and a bowl of food almost half his size, asks nothing in return, and his sunny temperament blooms in no time.
He's a tiny thing, a mutt, but he looks a little like a long-coat chihuahua with rust-coloured brindle markings smattering patches of his taupe fur. The tarnished silver charm on his collar, the heart-shaped one with the phone number that's been disconnected, says APPLESAUCE in laser-engraved capitals. Applesauce. A childish name no doubt inspired by his pelt. About half of the dogs Will takes in have collars and tags and he almost always changes their names to something more dignified, more befitting and human. Like Artemis or Randall or Winston. Marshmallow, the akita-shepherd mix with the orange ear, had been the one exception to this trend. It looked like this little chap would be the second.
Will calls them all by name when they go out to play in the yard; whistling or snapping for their attention has always seemed too disrespectful. He feels a little silly yelling "Applesauce" in his huge yard the first few days, but really, who's there to hear him?
Applesauce doesn't need much time to adjust to the pack, as he never fights with the others, only circles their legs and yips mirthfully like the excitable child he is. Can't be older than a year or two. Will's had a couple other lapdogs in his life but none so clingy and precious as this. Applesauce is always the first to jump on him whenever Will's off his feet at home, chin on his paws, eyes bright, tail wagging while Will settles in with a DVD or book or case file and pats him absent-mindedly. At night Applesauce sleeps tucked against Will's neck or in his arms.
Maybe it's his easily-portable size or maybe just how he's weaseled his way into his heart, but Will finds himself bringing only Applesauce on outings to the pet store when he and the others need more supplies, taking him off his leash and putting him in the front of the shopping cart like a child. Feeding him bits of cooked fish when they return home and Will eats his dinner alone by the fireplace. Well, not truly alone.
They go on a hike, a family trip to a nearby lake, shimmering in the summer sun. Everything is blue and gold and dancing with light like a Byzantine painting. Will sits on a log and unpacks his lunch, watching as all eight of the dogs scatter and scamper, some rolling in the grass, some splashing in the water, all panting and romping and chasing each other. Applesauce is trotting back in less than five minutes, however, apparently content with having run two laps around the lake and barked at his siblings to egg them on. He prances over and sits at Will's feet, panting until he looks like he's grinning, black eyes fixed on the man above. Sandwich in one hand, Will reaches down with his other to scratch the top of Applesauce's head.
"Having fun?" he asks. The dog yips in response, standing now with his tiny front paws on Will's knee, and Will smiles so fully his cheeks rise and turn his eyes to crescents.