A/N - It's Bank Holiday weekend here in England so I had an extra few hours on my hands. Was out walking my own dog and this idea came to me all of a sudden. It's not often you get a fic written through the eyes of a German Shepherd so...yeah.
Hope you enjoy x
Paw Patrol
"Okay boy, here you go," my handler says, patting my head just before he turns away and leaves me here watching the group of officers I'm going to be working with. They're a raggle-taggle bunch, this lot. Kind of a funny mix to be lumped together and labelled Intelligence, but here they are and here I am too. I turn my head and appraise the first person I see: a well-built African-American who looks like he could catch a forward pass, score a touchdown and shoot a perp all at once - then probably wolf down a taco and wipe his hands on his jeans.
The next one - sitting at the desk across from him - looks like he hasn't slept in a few weeks judging by his bloodshot eyes and five o'clock shadow. He's wearing a kind of snazzy plaid shirt and jeans with boots, and he's drinking coffee from a mug so fast I'm already a little concerned for his heartrate.
I'm halfway to getting the measure of the guy who seems to be in charge here - the one with his own office - when a soft voice makes its way to my ears from somewhere downstairs.
"Thanks," I hear the voice say, right before there's a buzzing which makes me involuntarily scrunch my nose as my ears twitch. Call it a Pavlovian response. You know...without the insanity.
Footsteps grow louder, indicating the woman heading towards us (and I know it's a woman from the measured cadences of her voice) and the guy with the bloodshot eyes sits up a little straighter. I wonder whether she's the reason he clearly hasn't slept.
"You're here!" she coos, bending down as she walks and I start to wonder what on earth she's doing and who she's speaking to. When she stops in front of me, scratching that delicious spot just behind my ears, I realise I'm the one she's talking to. "And you're so handsome!"
I sit up a little straighter, pointing my nose slightly higher in the air. She smells like a bakery and I already love her.
"What's your name, huh?" she asks, fingering the bone-shaped tag that's attached to my collar. It's no use looking there: all it houses is one of those fancy chips in case I get lost or somebody tries to take me, and an inscription of CPD. My name is Bounce, although I've never really liked it. Maybe a Golden Retriever or a Labrador would be able to pull it off, but as a German Shepherd myself, somehow it doesn't quite fit. I'd like something a little smarter.
"What's his name?" she asks the rest of this bunch, still crouched beside me so I can smell her hair.
"They didn't tell us," The guy sitting at the desk over in the corner states, spinning around on his chair.
"Then we'll just have to name you ourselves," she tells me, her fingers leaving the spot behind my ears so she can pat my head. I lick my lips to let her know this is a good idea, but things immediately take a nosedive when names like Adam start getting thrown about.
"We're not naming him after you Ruzek. He needs something smart," Erin (I've learned her name to be) says.
"Sammy," the guy in the plaid shirt suggests. "Or Billy? Ryne?"
The last one is strange, I think.
"He can't be named after your favourite baseball players Jay," Erin tells him, simultaneously letting me know his name, and the fact that she's in charge here. Unofficially, I think, but still…
"Why not?"
"He deserves a name all of his own."
"He's a dog, Lindsay," the guy with the potential to be a football player tells her. "We just need something we can shout easily."
I don't disagree, but I'd like to imagine these people would put more thought into what they're going to call me than just 'something easy'.
"Buster," someone suggests, and I lay my head on my paws because this is going nowhere. I'm not some naughty pup getting up to mischief, but a highly-respectable member of this special team, thank you very much.
I start to rest my eyes because Erin's still petting me with extremely nimble fingers, when suddenly, she suggests something I like. More than like, actually.
"How about Blue? It matches our uniforms. Colours of the department."
Jay rises from his chair and comes to a stop before us, bending down so I can catch his scent. It's something like musk and cinnamon and coffee, but, if I try really hard, I think I can detect a hint of bacon too. Mmmmm.
"Blue," he says rubbing under my chin as he turns to Erin. That's when I figure it out: the reason he's not sleeping (or at least part of it). It's her. He loves her. From the way she's staring at him too, she loves him right back.
"What do you think, big guy?" She asks me, and I stick out my tongue so I can lick at least one of them in response to Erin's name suggestion. The gesture makes her giggle and, in turn, makes Jay beam at her. Happy to have helped.
I spend the next twenty minutes or so sitting beside Erin's desk so she'll give me a head rub as often as she can without slacking on her paperwork. When Jay collects her mug so he can clean it and then fill it with fresh coffee, he pats me too and their hands brush together. I keep my head straight, but I'm trained to sense what's going on around me and I know their breaths have altered. Grown shallower. They're both nervous around each other and I only hope I'm not subjected to too much of this tension.
It turns out though, they're partners, and they have some fancy new car that's been kitted out with everything I need to be transported along with them. I spend the time while they suit up watching their movements, noting how Jay checks Erin's vest is on properly and then closes his eyes a little longer than necessary when she lets her hair fall back into place, a wave of her bakery-vanilla scent travelling through the air.
X
Erin and Jay argue over who gets to take me home with them. It's kind of nice, having two people care enough that both of them want to win me (I mean, it's not like I'm a trophy or anything, but still...my pride's at stake here) and I'm not really sure who I'd prefer. Erin gives the best ear rubs but Jay still smells a little of bacon and a man's gotta eat.
"We can flip for it," Jay suggests, but then Erin tries out a new tactic. She lowers her voice, angles her head just so and looks up at him, something in her eyes that obviously makes him cave.
"Please?"
We all know he's just lost.
"Okay. But I get to come to the pet store with you."
Erin grins, two dimples appearing either side of her lips and Jay just stares at her for a while. He looks like he wants to kiss her, even stoops his head a little and I'm all ready to turn away and give them some privacy when suddenly, he clears his throat and steps aside. Erin's face drops and she clears her throat too.
They gather their things, Jay pats me on the head and we all leave for the night.
Apparently, Erin does the driving. I find it a little strange but she is in charge, so think nothing more of it. We pull up outside of the pet store and I'm ready to stay inside of the Sierra, but Jay lets me out and we go inside together.
They disagree over which bed to get me and which water bowl I'd prefer (I like the one with the pictures of the bones personally, but I don't exactly get to voice this to them) and when Jay picks out a bright blue collar, Erin shakes her head and holds up this plaid handkerchief thing which she says will match his shirt.
"That's so cute!" a loud voice booms from behind me. "Now you'll match your daddy!" At first, I'm confused, but then when I feel a hand that isn't Erin or Jay's pat my head, I realise this voice belongs to someone who thinks these guys are my parents. I hold my nose higher in the air because I'm proud that these two detectives have chosen me. Wanted me enough to take me home with them. Calling them mom and dad, I decide, sits fine with me.
We go for food after. Or, more accurately, mom and dad hit up the drive thru and order an obscene amount of junk food and when dad turns to give me the bacon out of his burger, mom smacks him on the arm before it reaches my mouth.
"Don't give him stuff that's bad for him Jay," she scolds. "He can have treats meant for dogs. That's it."
Guess I've figured out who's the bad cop here.
Once they've eaten, dad drives us to mom's place and parks up out front so he can bring up my bed and the other things they've bought while she holds my leash and coos about how smart I'm going to look with my new plaid bandana (the cash register told me this little snippet of info) Mom has the sweetest voice I think I've ever heard.
There's an awkward moment - much like the locker room - when she offers dad a cup of coffee and he lingers by the counter. I think he's remembering something, because his eyes are looking off into the distance and he's swallowing pretty hard. He finally answers her with this sad smile on his face.
"I should get going. Thanks though."
"Any time."
Mom means that, I can tell.
Once dad's left and we're safe inside with the chain on the door, she sighs and tickles me under the chin. I lick her hand so she'll be less sad and she smiles at me, leaning down to boop my nose with hers. Nobody's done that before and I decide I rather like nose boops when they're from mom.
X
I stay at dad's the following night. I'm excited for the potential of bacon or maybe even beef jerky, because dad strikes me as the kind of guy who has stuff like that in his kitchen. It turns out though, that dad doesn't live alone. I have an uncle Will, I discover, who works long hours - even longer than mom and dad - at the hospital. He talks a lot about someone called Natalie and I start to wonder whether all humans are incapable of telling a person of the opposite sex how they really feel. Thank goodness dogs are more simple creatures.
No bacon emerges, much to my disappointment, though dad's more generous with the portions of Kibbles 'n' Bits so I suppose I have to take what I can get. Uncle Will holds out a broken section of KitKat for me which turns out to be absolutely delicious, although when dad says, "Don't tell Erin you've given him chocolate," I figure mom wouldn't approve.
We watch some sports channel that doesn't show any actual games of any kind, and when the time comes to go to bed, I start to realise why dad's eyes are so bloodshot all the time. I'm resting my head on my paws with my eyes closed, halfway to dreaming about a field full of perps, when I hear a strange noise coming from his room. I stay where I am but let my ears do their work in identifying potential threats. There's nothing.
I relax and head back into dreamland again when the noise sounds once more - louder this time. Leaving the comfort of my bed, I pad down the hallway to his closed door and work with my nose to sniff out what's happening. I smell sweat and fear - the kind I've smelled before on the job.
I paw at the door but it won't open. I don't know if it's the scrabbling that does it but after a few moments, the door opens and I see dad running a hand over his forehead to catch the sweat that's pooled there. He's out of breath and almost trips over me because he's not really looking where he's going.
"Woah, sorry boy," he murmurs, reaching blindly to rub behind my ears but missing so all that happens is his fingers waving around in mid air. I follow him out to the living room where he braces himself against the wall and blows out a long, hot breath. I'm not sure what to do, but my instincts tell me mom would.
X
I like evening walks after mom and dad have finished work but somehow, the weekend ones are always better. Sometimes, when I'm with mom, we don't go too far from her place, wandering the streets and staying in the shade so I don't get too hot. She stops for juice occasionally, opting for freshly-squeezed orange and pressed mango; sometimes it's a smoothie with berries and frozen yoghurt; other times there are no tasty treats for her, but we walk the same route anyway.
Dad's a little more adventurous. I think he prefers not being in the apartment so sometimes we take a drive to different spots so we can park up and I get to see the landmarks of the city. I haven't seen the bean though, because dogs aren't allowed in Millennium Park so instead, when dad wants ice cream, we visit Grant Park or the Navy Pier. Walks with ice cream are the best: dad likes anything with chocolate and naturally, I get the last part of the cone, so it's all good.
One afternoon, when the weather's particularly nice for spring, I'm out walking with mom when we bump into dad. It's kind of strange, I think, that it's strange when we're all together outside of work: it should be normal - a mom and a dad walking their dog, but for us I guess it isn't. Mom doesn't notice him at first, so I pull gently but insistently so we can all walk together in the afternoon sunshine.
"Hey," dad smiles at mom, that real honest smile he does when he's not worried about anything and mom's showing her dimples. Dad loves those little marks either side of her lips. "Hey bud," he says to me, scratching behind my ears. "You guys been out walking long?"
"Just a few minutes," mom lies. I know this route and we were on our way back. Still, I'll never complain about an extra long walk. Gives me a chance to strut my stuff in front of this city's ladies. "How about you?"
Dad shrugs. Dad always shrugs in front of mom when he's trying to be casual and doesn't really want her to find out the truth. "Not too long."
"You wanna join us? I was debating getting ice cream."
"How could I say no to that?"
What he really means, I know, is how can he say no to her?
Unlike when dad and I get ice cream, mom's idea of it doesn't involve letting me have any. She picks her mint choc chip and dad picks his double chocolate fudge and they walk much closer than they need to. Mom offers dad a try of hers and he does - try it that is - even though we all know what mint choc chip tastes like. He returns the favour and she moans her approval at the taste, telling him he made the better choice. Dad's never sure what to do when mom makes that noise, because the one thing he wants to do is off limits because they're not together. Any more. It didn't take me long to find out that they had been, not too long ago, and the only reason we don't all live together is because dad can't sleep and he doesn't want it to affect mom.
Somehow, I think she'd be less affected if he was in her bed.
X
One day, after a particularly hard week, mom gets sick. She pretends she's okay while we're in the pen and she's filling out paperwork on approximately seven mugs of coffee and an entire box of blueberry poptarts (which might go some way to explaining the pounding headache) but when we go home, it's dad's place I go to rather than hers.
The next day mom sends dad a text to ask if I can stay at his place again because she's too sick to take care of me. He gets a little worried: she never admits she's sick, so it has to be pretty bad. I spend Saturday morning sitting in the kitchen beside the counter ready to eat any stray shreds of chicken dad accidentally drops when he's making mom some chicken noodle soup. Apparently, this is what humans eat when they're sick. Sounds pretty good. I wonder if I ever get sick whether I might get to try some too.
When he's done with that, he sets about making spaghetti and meatballs so she has something else for the rest of the weekend. I start to wonder how dad can spend so much time and so much love cooking for her, yet he can't just tell her he misses her and wants to kiss her every day. Another reason I'm glad I'm a dog.
"Okay Blue," he says, having packed everything in foil. "Let's go see mom."
I ride up front as a special treat and it's pretty torturous sitting above all this delicious-smelling food and not being able to do a damn thing about it. Still, dad cracks the window a little so I can stick my nose out as we speed past various buildings and intersections until we reach mom's street. Since he has his hands full carrying the food, I walk beside him without my leash - a big responsibility and show of trust, thank you very much.
We knock at the door but don't wait for mom to answer - dad has a set of keys and he lets us in, calling out her name so she knows she's safe before setting the food on the counter. I don't think he's noticed the state of the living room yet, but it's even messier than usual. Mom's not one for tidying.
"Jay?" she croaks from somewhere down the hall.
Jeez. Now I think mom's beautiful, but even I have to admit she looks pretty rough today. Dad stops what he's doing when she enters the room, and looks at her sweatpants, hoodie and messy ponytail. He crosses over to her so he can check her temperature and she closes her eyes against his hand, her fingers gripping his forearm to steady herself.
"Babe, you should be in bed."
I think we all know he just slipped up there but the humans ignore it (like usual) and I lay my head on my paws because I'm almost certain we're here for the long haul today. Guess I can kiss all thoughts of bacon goodbye.
"I need a shower," she just about manages. "I feel gross."
"Go hop in," dad says, "and I'll get your soup ready."
"You made me soup?" Sometimes - like right now - mom looks at dad like she's surprised he's done or said something that's so nice. I'm not sure why: dad's really nice to her all the time.
They say nothing else because apparently, a shrug of the shoulders is a good enough reply, and mom heads for her shower while dad starts work on heating her soup. It's quiet while he does - just the occasional clank of the ladle against the pan and the pouring water of the shower way off in the bathroom.
They eat on the couch and I make do with the dry kibbles in my bowl. Could do without the little noises of approval mom makes when she's chewing the noodles though. Still, they make dad smile and he inches closer to her on the couch despite the fact that she's got an obvious fever.
He cleans. He spends time tidying up the stray items of clothing and washing the dishes that are stacked a little precariously by the sink, checks the contents of the refrigerator to make sure there's fresh milk, and all the time, mom stays on the couch huddled under a blanket one minute before throwing it off the next. Dad asks if she's taken any ibuprofen but she shakes her head no and we all know why. I might not have been here while mom was off on her sabbatical (a term everyone seems to use for the period of time when she was high or drunk or both) but even I know why her taking anything would be a bad idea.
Once everything is straight, dad crosses back over to where she's lying and asks if he can get her anything else. She chokes out an "I'm good," which is blatantly untrue and he stares at her for a good minute because he's not sure whether to stay or leave. The last thing he wants to do is go. In the end, he sits back down on the tiny bit of space left on the couch and begins combing through her hair with his fingertips. Mom likes that: it makes her feel slightly better.
Adjusting herself so he has a little more room, mom rests her cheek on dad's thigh so she can breathe him in - that cinnamon and mint scent she loves so much. With the soft sounds of the tv playing and the warm sunlight spilling through the blinds, it's kind of nice, I think, this little set-up we have: mom and dad kind of snuggling on the couch; me dozing off in the strip of sunshine. Even with mom sick, I decide, family naps are the best.
X
It turns out that dogs - even a strong, healthy guy like me - get sick too. Mom recovers after various meals dad makes in her kitchen and then one night a week later, I'm struck down with something that makes me cough and distorts my sense of smell. Even my hearing is off. I feel pretty sorry for myself and dad tries really hard to coax me into a walk or eating some beef jerky but even that isn't enough to tempt me into lifting my head. Even uncle Will's KitKat doesn't cut it. I must be really sick.
Dad doesn't know what to do so he phones mom. Mom always knows what to do, he tells me. She comes over in a blaze of glory, asking questions and half-shouting instructions and adding things like "You'd better not have fed him dairy Jay Halstead, so help me God". Turns out mom's quite the drama queen when she's worried. Dad finds her cute but still doesn't admit to the icecreams we share or the tidbits he hands me at work when she's not looking.
"You think we should take him to the vet?"
I sneeze and she strokes her fingertips from the top of my head down to my nose. It makes my eyes close and I think I'll be alright here if they just leave me to it. I really don't fancy all those stairs.
"I think he has a cold," mom says. "He's sniffly right?"
I am a grown dog. I do not have the sniffles. I think this is the first time I've ever been a little mad at mom.
"Yeah," dad agrees and I get a little mad at him too. But then he says something that makes me forgive him all at once. "You think I should make some chicken soup?"
I try to raise my head because if there's anything to give me a little energy, it's that. Mom laughs a little, low and soft as she soothes the fur behind my ears. "I think he'd like that."
So dad sets about making soup. Mom lies with me on the floor and gives me one of her head rubs, occasionally kissing the top of my crown. It must have been nice to be dad, back when they were together, because I figure mom must have given him a lot of kisses. He misses them, I know, and mom misses them too. Maybe it's why she kisses me so much.
Dad ladles some soup into my bowl and brings it to me, then hands mom a mug of it too. We all stay on the floor slurping chicken soup and I decide it's kind of nice, in a way. I even get a second helping while dad cleans the mugs and mom takes up residency on the floor with the couch cushions and a blanket.
"Thanks for coming over," dad tells her, dropping a kiss to her head without realising what he's doing. They go rigid once they've recognised the mistake, and I sigh because it's not even a mistake at all. The real mistake is them living apart when all they want to be is together.
We stay the night lying on the floor of the living room. Dad doesn't sleep much usually anyway, so it's no big deal for him, but mom startles awake every hour or so to check I'm still here and every time, dad squeezes her shoulder and tells her to go back to sleep.
They talk though, finally. About some woman called Abby who dad married a long time ago and about the reasons he can't sleep; the reasons he can't come home. That word makes mom upset: home. She knows this isn't it for him, not really. Dad kisses her then. Just a brief brush of his lips over hers to tell her he's sorry. He loves her. Without any words, mom says it right back.
X
Dad and I have a tradition: Bacon Sundays. We capitalise the letters and everything so it's a proper event. He goes to the store on a Saturday, buys everything we need for the world's best breakfast and then around 10am on a Sunday morning, he heads to the kitchen to start preparing things. After we've eaten (two strips for me, three for dad 'cos he's bigger) we head out for a walk.
"Extra laps burn it off," he always tells me, "and mom'll never know."
One week close to summer, we get a bad case. A real bad one which means we have to work Saturday and I don't have my day at mom's. It doesn't end well and everyone's sad. Usually, the team goes to Molly's at times like this, but dad makes the excuse that he can't because I need a walk and he has stuff to do. Really, it's because he knows mom's upset (she always gets upset when our cases involve kids) and he wants to talk to her, make sure she's okay before we leave her for the weekend.
Unusually though, we don't leave her. She asks if she can come with us, and dad just stares at her face for a moment, watching her eyes as they watch his until finally, he whispers an "of course," into the air.
Mom sleeps in dad's bed that night.
I wonder, idly, whether this means no Bacon Sunday in the morning, but it turns out after a night in dad's bed that mom relaxes her rules a little. I only get the one strip instead of two, but the smiles on mom and dad's faces are worth it.
It becomes a thing after that. Bacon Sundays are me and mom and dad eating together, walking together, watching afternoon tv together. I find it a little strange that mom always goes back to her place afterwards though, when it makes sense just to stay another night. Still, who am I to tell the humans what to do?
Things change one week. Instead of joining us on a Sunday, mom comes over Saturday night with a six-pack of beer, a steaming hot pizza and some excuse about watching the game on dad's tv because it's better than hers. I thought the police weren't meant to lie, but guess I'm wrong. Dad grins at her when she garbles her reason for being with us and just takes the stuff out of her hands, finding a couple plates so they can eat on the couch. Pizza's a tricky one because my mouth waters like you wouldn't believe and ever since my little bout of flu, even dad's been stricter on the no-dairy rule. I figure I might get a slice of pepperoni out of this new situation though.
She and dad share his bed and even though he still doesn't manage the whole night, dad has more unbroken sleep when mom's around than he does usually. This routine keeps up until dad's had enough of sleeping in his bed with mom and decides it would be better to sleep in her bed instead. Bacon Sundays are sometimes at mom's now too.
X
Dad asks mom to go with him to his support group meeting. They head over there after work and I spend the two hours hanging out with uncle Will, unfortunately not eating KitKats. Since dad's upped the level of strictness, so has his brother.
Dad tells everyone at that group that he thinks he's finally managing his PTSD. His head's clear again - almost all of the time - and it means he can hear a gunshot without an involuntary flare of panic shooting up his spine. He can look at mom and know he's not going to disappoint her - no more than he already has at least - and mom kisses him at that, in front of all of those people! She tells him he's never disappointed her; not even once.
They collect me and we head to mom's place. Dad says he wants to sleep in their bed again and mom just gets this smile on her face like she's the happiest she's ever been. I stay out in the livingroom while they're down the hall where there's lots of laughing which subsides all of a sudden, and I think I know what's happening. I'm happy for them - more than happy, actually - but there are just some things a guy doesn't need to see his parents doing.
We're all eating breakfast one day when dad looks over at mom and tells her it's time we all went to the cabin for the weekend. She says she doesn't want to spend her time trying and failing to catch fish, but dad laughs, does something with her ear that makes her smile, then moan, and whispers that what he had in mind involves long walks around the lake and significant use of the hot tub to warm up after skinny dipping.
Not surprisingly, mom agrees to that.
We head out to Wisconsin after work one Friday night when the leaves are starting to turn golden and the air has gotten a little crisper. It's a good few hours drive but dad tells mom to rest in the passenger seat because he's "got this," and you know what? I think he has.
It's inky black when we arrive and there's a whole host of stars playing way above us in the sky. Mom's a little dozy when she steps out because she's been asleep most of the way with dad's hand under hers on her knee. She always likes to sleep like that - with him touching her, so she knows he's still there. I don't think she needs to be worried though: dad knows he's not going to let her down now.
The weekend passes too fast. I get to chase the birds through the trees while mom and dad walk with their fingers entwined and lazy smiles on their faces. The wind has tanned mom's skin and brought the freckles out on dad's so they look healthy and glowing. Just before we have to set off to return to Chicago, he asks whether he can come home.
"You've been home," she tells him, leaning against the Sierra with her hair whipping around her face in the breeze.
"Officially," dad says. "Can I come home officially?"
His words make mom's voice sound choked. "You don't have to ask Jay."
He crosses over to her, rests his forehead against hers and tells her he loves her so damn much. Mom's voice won't work properly so she doesn't speak, just kisses him instead.
The following Monday, we all head into work together: mom and dad and me. It's not unlike most mornings, except it is, because last night we all slept at home. We only have one of those now and I think I'm happy to give up dad's leniency if it means mom wears her dimples all the time.
When we reach the pen, dad goes to pour coffee, mom busies herself with the big board and its photographs and I'm just about to take my spot beside her desk when Ruzek shoots me a wink, throws a pork rind into his mouth and then accidentally drops one on the floor.
Mom doesn't notice so I gobble it down quickly, careful not to make any mess. She's not the tidiest person in the world but she can zero in on crumbs like you wouldn't believe.
"Blue, where's your loyalty?" dad asks when he returns with the coffee. He's referring to my current position beside Ruzek's desk but I figure I can afford to leave mom and dad's sides one in a while.
I'll see them both at home after all.