N/A: You know you've gone off the deep end when you start shipping two beloved mascots of safety. What do I even call this crack ship? McSmokey? Bear Bites? Safety First?

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Mackenzie "Gruff" Griffin knows he's got diligence in spades.

After all, you don't live through twenty years on the police force and five years as a private detective without learning how to watch your back...which warrants an explanation as to how the bloodhound managed to set his tail on fire in the first place.

Oh, where to begin?

Well for starters, that one ranger who started up a conversation with him seemed like a pretty cool guy despite the strong silent shtick he had going on—and maybe kind of cute. Good muscles, too. Besides, who was Gruff to toss up the chance to show off to a fellow outdoorsman?

Or maybe the larger man only came to warn him against standing so close to the fire, a reality Gruff caught onto once his nose caught the smell of roasted dog fur.

Good thing Scruff and Sammy had the bucket at the ready. Not so much for the fire cause, yeah, they got that, too—no wait, the ranger got it with his shovel. Very aggressively at that. Then Scruff and Sammy also put it out with water. Well, better the shovel to that fire pit than Gruff's poor tail.

Plus, at least the man offered to help the three of them with the aftermath, even going so far to make sure the kids knew how to put out the fire properly, which they obviously did on account of the tutelage of their uncle (i.e. yours truly) thank you very much, while keeping Gruff company.

Wait, is he talking to me right now? Oh crap he is! Damn it, focus, McGruff!

The canine shook his head and made sure to plaster on his best cool-guy grin despite wincing from the feel of the cool towelette gently being applied to his singed tail. "Sorry about that! I was...contemplating preventative measures for future pyric mishaps. What were you saying again?"

The ranger, a dark brown bear well over two heads past the dog's height in spite of his current kneeling, paused in applying antibiotic to the tail he held in his huge gentle hands and fixed his patient with what had to be the sexiest hooded look of amusement Gruff had ever seen because damn! Who gave this bear the right to have such dark gorgeous eyes?

"Usually, I tell people to keep an eye on their campfires. You're the first I've seen who oughta keep an eye on how close they stand to one."

...Okay, valid point. Mac awkwardly cleared his throat, nonchalant façade effectively ruined. "W-Well," the dog stammered, "that just goes to show that fire is a feisty thing and should always be given the circle of respect it deserves!"

Quiet.

Then the sound of his niece and nephew's facepalms echoed behind him, the universal sign that Gruff just blurted the Dumbest Response of the Year. He also keenly (and uncomfortably) noticed the bear's eyes on him, completely and utterly blank. Gruff scratched his nape in embarrassment, looking away.

Before he could even open his mouth to ask for denial of what the hell he just said, the most angelic baritone the hound had ever heard in his life graced his ears. Deep, rumbling, bouncy, strong warm: a veritable train that threatened—nay promised to run him over and over.

The sound of the ranger's laughter.

Gruff's stomach flipped. The way the bear's ears wiggled as he shook his head did not help, especially as he wrapped up the tail in bandages with a tenderness the dog swore had to be overboard!

"I guess that's one way you could look at it, although," the ranger chanced another playful glance at the hapless officer, "I'd prefer our next encounter not involve burning body parts."

Gruff blushed real heavily—at the teasing or the callout, he couldn't tell; either way he couldn't deny that bear's implication. The bloodhound coughed into a fist to clear his throat and fixed a (hopefully) smooth and slightly flirty grin at the bear. "Then how about the Autumn Café on Council Street? I'm usually off Saturday afternoons, if that's alright with ya, Mister...?"

Bear Ranger chuckled at the offer before standing up and tipping his hat. "Theodore Barton – just call me Smokey."

God, even this guy's nickname made Gruff's heart flutter. Ignoring the pleasant lightness in his chest, the dog managed a straight face as he stuck a hand out for the bear to shake. "Mackenzie Griffin. Most folks call me McGruff."

"Gruff," the bear replied in his stupid sexy voice as he returned the handshake, "I wouldn't be opposed to a nice round of cappuccino. This Saturday then?" he asked before winking unashamedly.

Oh yeah, Gruff decided he kept his smile and nodded, ignoring both the knowing snickers of his niece and nephew and the insolent blushing of his cheeks. I'm a goner.