Title: The Valentine's Day Vet Appointment
A/N: Have you ever taken a cat to a vet appointment and they would not shut up? I have. And I adore the cat, but I was .02 seconds from strangling him with my bare hands. Which, since I was in a vet clinic, probably wouldn't have worked but eh, whatever. I restrained myself by picturing cherik!aus
Erik doesn't even like the stupid dog.
She's a holdover from Erik's Magda Years, back when he had other things to do on Valentine's Day than sit on faux-leather seats in a badly heated room and listen to cats yowl. She's almost the only remnant—Erik no longer has any of Magda's things lying around the house, he finally got rid of the hair products, and he deleted her number after the fifth awkward drunk call. But the dog, unlike the curtains, is a "living being" and according to Janos, who has an annoying propensity to bust out with the life advice while Erik is in fits of break-up induced cleanliness, not something Erik can toss in the dumpster and be done with.
Erik finds it vaguely unsettling that his friends think he would treat Emma like he treated Magda's rare Coleocephalocereus Fluminensis, which he's fairly sure Janos rescued from the dumpster and gave to charity anyway.
Erik shifts, trying to find a comfortable way of sitting, and lets his scowl grow deeper.
Emma shifts with him, but she has far too much fur for Erik to properly read her expression. The few times Erik has looked directly into his dog's eyes, he's always seen a strange mix of burning fury and caustic intelligence. This generally endears her to him and keeps him paying the exorbitantly high vet bills.
However, no amount of compatible canine personality could make Erik enjoy his time in this waiting room. Especially not when the vet techs keep giggling at him. Glaring at them only makes it worse—one of them, whose name he thinks might be Angel, has had to put her head in her arms while her shoulders shake.
Erik, for lack of any other possible proactive action, switches his glare to Emma. She ignores him, with a haughty air not suited to a dog who threw up six times this week, twice on his shoes.
Erik considers getting up and complaining to the techs about how his appointment was for forty goddamned minutes ago, and does not. For one thing, he suspects that they will only dissolve into further laughter, since his Glare of Doom is apparently hilarious.
And, as the nice part of his brain that no one gives him credit for whispers, they probably don't want to be in this clinic on Valentine's Day either.
Erik glances at the clock again. Angel the Tech catches his eye and shrugs apologetically. Presumably, whatever surgery the vet is working on is being difficult. Erik manages to redirect his glare to the brochures about flea medicine and shelter dogs. Those cause vague feelings of guilt over Emma's flawless lineage to rise within him, so he redirects his glare to the water cooler and ignores his suspicion that the techs are texting about him.
When the door jangles, Erik doesn't bother looking up. It's probably just a mailperson, stopping by to give consumerist manifestations of socially-approved "love" to the vet techs, both of whom are young and attractive and judging by their cheeriness, not sad and single.
It's possible that Erik is bitter.
"Charles Xavier, here with Logan Howly for his appointment?"
Vague curiosity about the British accent makes Erik shift his gaze from cooler to counter, and he honestly doesn't know what to focus on. On one hand, there's the owner of the dog, a short man who may in fact be perfection in human form. On the other, there's the dog, which looks like a cross between a bulldozer and a dead rat, and whose leash is tied to the man's beltloop.
Emma, in a mad attempt to prove beyond doubt that her brain is the size of a walnut, leaps up and begins to yap. It's loud enough to shock the meowing cat into silence. The Techs both almost jump out of the seats. Erik briefly considers dying of embarrassment, but Emma is and remains his responsibility.
Thus Erik stands, picks up his leash, and strides forward to claim ownership of the teacup Pomeranian currently raising hell.
"Emma. Emma down. Heel." Erik deeply regrets the two hundred dollars he spent on obedience training.
He hears a laugh, and stops focusing on the ounce of fluff at his feet to glare at the other dog owner, fully prepared to defend his dog on basic principle. The man looks vastly amused.
"Does she do this often?"
"No." Erik says curtly. "Emma, quiet."
Emma continues to ignore him.
"Logan...oh for god's sakes stop that." Logan also ignores his owner's command, and tries to force himself into the space between Charles's legs and the reception desk. Emma, undeterred, follows. "Logan!"
The dog sidles around Charles's legs again. Emma leaps after him, in what is really a very impressive display of speed for a dog with such short legs.
"Emma..." Erik warns, more for form's sake than actual desire to stop the spectacle. Logan whines and continues to ineffectually hide behind Charles. Far be it from him to stop his ball of fluff from chasing the behemoth around the clinic, it's more entertaining than glaring at water coolers.
"Logan!" Charles sighs. He casts a wry look at Erik. "I swear, he's far more intimidating against burglars."
"I'll bet." Erik eyes the dog's shoulders. No doubt Logan is taller than Erik, if he stands on his hind legs. It's a bit hard to tell, what with the cringing posture and continual circling. "Know the breed?"
"I have no idea. I found him in a park when it was raining and brought him home." Charles casts a fond look at the cowering dog. "And I've never really managed to get rid of hi-" Emma chooses that moment to let out a particularly loud and high pitched yip.
Logan bolts.
Erik belatedly remembers that the leash of the monstrous canine was attached to Charles's belt.
They both end up falling, because Charles's legs are quite effectively pinned together and Erik, in a fit of badly-timed chivalry, tries to catch him instead of watching where Emma is running, and ends up tripping over her as she darts between his legs in pursuit.
The general result of it is that Erik finds himself lying on his back staring into Charles's eyes. He blinks up at him dazedly, wondering whether the fact that he whacked his head against the linoleum has made him hallucinate the little heart-shaped balloons circling Charles's head.
Charles coughs. "I think we just made a vet tech cry."
"Good." Erik manages.
He's not completely sure why Charles begins to laugh, especially since he's laughing so hard that he knees Erik in the crotch while trying to untangle himself and get up, but the fact that something about it makes Erik laugh too is deeply worrying.
A/N: Oh! Almost forgot to wish everybody a happy Valentine's Day! Shh, ignore the fact that I fell asleep early and didn't remember that I had to post...
Review?