Anders worked at the clinic for a few more weeks after Max's surgery; and for a while things seemed to be going well. But it wasn't to last, and one day in the autumn the foundation of Anders' life fell apart.
The following day he slipped into the office of the vet clinic, relieved to find it empty.
Anders had to pick up some things; yesterday had been such a mess that he had forgotten to do anything except leave his key. Part of him just wanted to give up and let the clinic keep his stuff. Wasn't worth the embarrassment of going back to get a handful of scrub shirts, an aging stethoscope, and his favourite cat mug.
But he'd left some of his books as well, and those were expensive. So he'd sucked it up and dropped by.
He had just finished filtering his things out from everyone else's and was pondering whether he cared enough to want to take his rabbit and guinea pig anaesthesia cheat sheets with him, when he heard Merrill cough behind him.
"Oh. Hello," he said shortly. He gestured to the stack on his desk with one hand. "I won't be long."
"I'm sorry, Anders," she said softly. She was standing in the doorway. He could see pity in her eyes, and he turned away because he didn't want it. He said nothing.
"The bosses aren't in today," she said. "So you don't have to worry about running into them."
He nodded tersely. "OK. Thanks."
"Anders… can I give you some advice?" she asked.
Anders put the cheat sheets down and stared at the kitten poster on the wall behind his computer. "I guess."
She came into the room, and sat down at her desk. "Anders, I think you need to be really careful," she said. "Your job is your life. I know it is. And that's… not good."
Anders shrugged. "Well, guess this specific job isn't my life anymore," he said bitterly.
She sighed. "I worry about you. I'll never say that it's possible to love animals too much, but you need to have something in your life other than that, you know? You're not very good at work-life balance."
"Thanks," Anders said. "I'll add that to the list of things I'm bad at. Along with, 'people skills', and 'taking direction'. Not to mention 'judgement' and 'professional ethics'." He raised his hands to make sarcastic quotes around the words, and then let them drop to his books.
Merrill didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what he'd wanted her to say; that the bosses had been wrong? That she thought his judgement was fine? He knew she didn't think that.
"You're a good vet, Anders." She spun in her chair a little, awkwardly. "I'm just saying… please don't go and work for one of the charity hospitals and make that job into your whole life, Anders, because it will burn you up and leave nothing behind. You need to have something for you. Take up some hobbies, make some non-vet friends. Maybe meet somebody special. You know?"
Anders pulled the kitten poster down. "Thank you for the advice, Life Coach Merrill," he snapped. "Clearly you've missed your calling. I'll get right on that. All I ever needed to fix me was to get laid, of course, so obvious!"
She blinked at him with huge green eyes, and spun the chair back and forth.
His shoulders slumped. "Sorry, Merrill," he muttered. "I know that's not what you meant. I shouldn't snap at you. None of this is your fault." He rolled the poster up and stuck it among the books. "Look, I'm just going to go."
She stood up, and gave him a shy one-armed hug, her curly black head coming just up to his shoulder. "Good luck, Anders. Text me sometime and we can meet up."
"Yeah. Thanks," Anders said, trying to smile. He hugged his stack of textbooks and scrubs to his chest, and left.
Some weeks later, Anders was walking in a park a few blocks down from his house. He'd taken up walking for a half hour or so every day, which he hadn't really had time to do since about halfway through vet school. He was somewhat peeved to discover that his stamina had severely suffered from the lack – he got out of breath walking up the hills, for crying out loud.
The evenings were getting cool, so Anders had sturdy shoes and his coat on. He meandered along the curving paths, past the pond full of ducks (that people insisted on feeding bread, ugh) and the stands of trees, and tried to feel hopeful about the future.
"Boof! Boof!"
Anders stopped and cocked his head. People walked dogs here all the time, it was an off-lead area, but that sounded like a really large dog…
An enormous mabari burst out of the scrub five metres or so in front of him, sending leaves flying. About to hare off away, he caught sight of Anders standing in the middle of the path, astonished.
"BOOF!"
The dog made a scrambling about-turn, in a chaotic whirl of paws, and threw himself towards Anders.
Luckily for Anders the dog stopped just short of bowling him over; instead he cavorted around him, barking, and then leaned all of his weight against Anders' leg.
"You're kidding," Anders said. His hands automatically went to the ears, to the dog's open-mouthed slobbery delight. There couldn't possibly be two dogs, of this breed, this big, in the area, could there? He supposed there could, but -
"Max! Max, off!"
A figure in ripped jeans with hair in a rough bun rounded the bend in the path, at a half-run. He skidded to a halt, and looked sheepishly at Anders. "I'm sorry, he normally doesn't do that with strangers, he – " Hawke froze.
"Hi," Anders said, inadequately.
Hawke's face thawed into a brilliant smile. "Anders! Wow! It's been months, it's good to see you!"
"Yeah, I guess it has," Anders agreed. Max proceeded to lick his arm from wrist to elbow. Somewhat to his own surprise, he was smiling as well. I think I missed seeing this pair, he realised suddenly. That was unexpected. "How's he been?"
"Good, good," Hawke said. "How about you?"
"Oh… fine," Anders said, looking away. "Doing, um, better nowadays, anyway."
"Well, that's… good to hear?" Hawke gave him a curious look. Then he dried his palms on his jeans, and gestured onwards. "I guess I should stop interrupting your walk," he said.
"It's okay," Anders said. He waved his arm in the same direction. "I just go to the end of the park, down here. We could walk together."
So the two of them set off again. Max charged off ahead of them, although Hawke made sure he remained in sight. Anders was a little impressed to see that, no matter how much fun the dog seemed to be having, he would always heed Hawke's call to come back.
There was silence for a few minutes, except for birdcalls and the scuff of feet on the path.
"You left the clinic," Hawke said suddenly. His eyes were a little accusing. "Nobody would tell me why."
Anders raked a hand through his hair, wincing. "Er. I expect they were trying to be nice about it," he said. For whatever reason, he wanted to tell Hawke the truth. Best to come straight out with it; like ripping off a bandaid. "I got fired."
"What!" Hawke spluttered. "But you're the best vet in that place!"
Anders caught his breath. Then he grinned, covering his face with his hand. "I wasn't. Not really. But thank you."
"You were," Hawke insisted. "Why on earth would they fire you? You're passionate, you're great at your job, you're really good at explaining things in a way that even I can understand…"
"Oh, it was a lot of things, really," he said, staring at the concrete path as it went by under his feet. "There were a couple of incidents. You know me; I'm not very tactful sometimes. But then, in the end, I did something that was kind of the last straw."
"What'd you do?"
"I stole this woman's cat," Anders admitted in a small voice.
Hawke shot him a quick glance. "Why?"
Anders hunched his shoulders. "He was sick," he said quietly. "He was so sick and she wouldn't do anything. It was wrong. She declined all tests, declined everything, and she wanted to take him home. She wouldn't even let us put him to sleep." He took a deep breath, remembered rage singing in his ears. "So I stole him. I told her she was a selfish bitch, and cruel, and shouldn't be allowed to ever touch an animal ever again, and I hoped when she was old and dying people would dump her somewhere to die alone with no pain meds. And I refused to give her the cat back."
Hawke walked beside him in silence for a few moments. When Anders stole a glance at him, he was looking thoughtful.
"Well?" Anders challenged him.
Hawke scratched his chin, which had a light dusting of stubble. "I don't think you should've called her a bitch," he said mildly.
Anders drew himself up. "I don't –"
"Max's ma and sisters are all very lovely animals. It's quite uncalled for to compare them to someone like that."
Anders choked on the angry tirade that had been rising up his throat like acid. "You – gah – what," he spluttered. Amazingly, a wild laugh burst out of his throat instead.
Hawke tucked his hands into his pockets and looked extremely pleased with himself. Anders had to stop walking, he was laughing so hard.
Hawke stopped and waited for him. One of his hands touched Anders' elbow, gently, to steady him.
"Oh," Anders gasped, straightening up and getting himself under control. "I'm sorry. I'm a little, er, a little bit of a mess at the moment, sorry – "
"That's okay," Hawke said.
They resumed walking, slowly. Max bounded up to them, circled them a few times 'BOOF!'ing happily, received an ear-tousle and a treat from Hawke, and charged off again.
"So is the cat okay?"
Anders sighed. "No," he said sadly. "He was too far gone. I had to let him go."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I'm kind of used to it, by now. And at least… at least he wasn't in pain, at the end. With me." Anders scowled and stuffed his hands back into his pockets. "I'm not sorry."
And he meant it. Most of the time he wasn't sorry. He had done the right thing and be damned to the consequences; he didn't feel the slightest bit ashamed that he had eased that cat's suffering. He certainly didn't feel sorry for how he'd treated the cat's owner. If called for, Anders thought defiantly, he would happily stand by what he'd said in front of a court or the vet's board.
Of course, his life was kind of off the rails as a result of it, though. Sometimes, when he checked his email to find another rejection letter, Anders wondered if helping that one cat was worth forgoing the chance to help all the other animals he could be helping right now if he still had his job.
"I think maybe the bosses would have stuck up for me if I didn't have a history of bad client interactions," Anders said quietly. "And if I hadn't said… all the things I did. As it is…" He gestured away from himself helplessly. "I just don't have good people skills."
"I don't think that's true," Hawke said, frowning. "You were always just fine with me. Your people skills are great." He cast another glance at Anders. "Sounds to me like you lose your temper with assholes. That's not necessarily bad people skills."
Anders smiled at his feet. "Thank you," he said. "At least somebody thinks so."
Hawke cleared his throat. "Well. Where's your new clinic?" he asked. "I'll follow you there."
Anders blinked, taken aback. Then he smiled. "That's nice of you," he said. "But I, um, I haven't found anywhere yet. You should keep going to see Merrill."
"So you're looking for a new place?"
Anders sighed. "Yes," he said. "It's going… well, it's frustrating. But I have an interview lined up this week, so I'm hopeful." This wasn't a lie, either. He was hopeful.
"That's great!" Hawke cast Anders a grin over his shoulder. "Good luck!"
They had reached the end of the pathway, and the end of the park. "Well, this is me," Anders said, waving a hand to indicate the street.
"Oh, just a minute." Hawke began to ferret through his pockets. As Anders watched in bemusement, he pulled out various dog treats, plastic bags, coins, rubber bands, a pen and eventually a piece of paper.
"There," Hawke said triumphantly, as he scrawled on the paper. He held it out to Anders. "My phone number. So you can tell me where your new job is, when you get one."
Anders closed his fingers on the torn piece of paper, not sure what to say.
"And," Hawke said. He bent his head, and suddenly became very focussed on stuffing all of his things back into his pockets. "In the meantime. You can text me sometime, if you like."
Anders put the paper in his pocket. "I'd like that," he said, and meant it.
A week later, Anders curled up on his faded couch in his pajamas, a mug of tea balanced on one knee. He inhaled the steam and sighed happily.
Ser Pounce-a-Lot leapt soundlessly up onto the back of the sofa, and then down onto Anders' legs.
"Whoa, careful," Anders said. Ser Pounce-a-Lot, with a cavalier disregard for the tea, climbed into the hollow between his arms. "Now, listen, you'll be the first to complain if I spill this on you." Pounce ignored him, curled up, and started purring like a diesel engine.
Anders' phone, sitting on the other side of the sofa, trilled. He leaned over to check – he hadn't saved the number into his phone yet, but he recognised it. Hawke.
"Oh, hell," Anders said, suddenly trying to juggle tea, cat and phone without spilling or dropping anything. "Pounce – no, Pounce, get off – argh, hello?"
"Anders! Congratulations!"
"Thanks!" Anders cradled the phone between his ear and his shoulder, a smile spreading across his face at the sound of Hawke's voice, but at the same time he wondered why Hawke had called him instead of texting back. He leaned over to put the tea down on the floor, causing the cat to complain and climb out of his lap. "It's a really nice little clinic - I had the interview on Wednesday, and then today they called me up and said they want me to start next week!"
"Mrrrp," Pounce said disapprovingly. He bumped at Anders' elbow with his head.
"That's great," Hawke said. Then he paused, and said the next words in a rush. "Let me take you out to dinner to celebrate. To the nice French place downtown."
Anders took a deep breath and sat back. "Is that a date you're asking me on?" he said, his chest full of butterflies. Oh wow, real smooth Anders, he might take it back at this rate…
"Maybe. Yes. Definitely." Hawke chuckled, and Anders could feel his nervousness through the phone. "Definitely a date."
Anders was grinning like an idiot. "Then yes," he said. "But on one condition."
"Oh?" Hawke sounded alarmed. "What?"
"If we're going somewhere nice, Max can't come with us. The park is one thing, but I draw the line at fancy restaurants."
There was a moment of silence, and Anders tensed, suddenly wondering if he'd hurt Hawke's feelings.
Then there was a burst of laughter from the other end of the phone line. "Fair enough! He'll be devastated, really posh French food is his favourite! Not even if I put a bow tie on him?"
"Absolutely not."
"Your loss! Give me a bit to make a reservation and I'll get back to you with the time. Talk to you later! Congratulations, again!"
Anders said goodbye and hung up. He laid the phone down, and smiled down at Ser-Pounce-a-Lot. "What do you think, Pounce?" he asked, picking the cat up in both hands.
Pounce met his eyes and chirped inquiringly.
Anders settled him back into his lap. "I mean, we probably couldn't live together. Leaving aside my preferences, I wouldn't put you two through that. But he's incredibly sweet. I think it could work."
Pounce curled up in his lap and purred his agreement.
