Egon/Peter, Janine also featured. No warnings
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Anyone observing from the outside might have interpreted their acerbic banter as genuine dislike, but those with the misfortune of daily exposure had labeled it with the only term that felt apt: sibling rivalry.
Peter and Janine were not related, of course, not by any traceable bloodline. However, after so many years as their unshakeable secretary, Janine had earned herself a place as honorary sister, in the same way the four men considered themselves brothers of sorts. They each showed this affection towards her in their own ways, but none in such an explosive way as Peter.
They argued about everything, from when to schedule busts to the value Slimer had around the firehouse—and even though the total of Janine's Slimer-induced temper tantrums was second only to Peter's, she'd be damned if she gave him an inch in any argument. They would snark back and forth at each other until someone started shouting, at which time one of the others found it best to intercede. The two were no longer allowed to discuss where to get lunch after their last debate had almost escalated to the point of blood loss.
It was simply the way things were around the firehouse. The way things had always been. And that was absolutely fine… until someone got dragged into it.
Neither Peter nor Janine really had the heart to rope eager-to-please Ray into an argument. It was unwritten law that he was off-limits, the proverbial younger brother that was to be protected under penalty of death or tattling. Winston was smart enough to disappear when he scented a Peter vs. Janine style brawl in the air. The first, last, and only time he'd been dragged into one of those, Janine had conveniently lost all Winston's mail and Peter had left Slimer's favorite candy bar in Winston's pillow case. He didn't remember how he'd ended up on both their bad sides, but he wanted no part of any of it ever again.
That, of course, left Egon, who had little tolerance for their sibling-like spats to begin with. He put up with it to a point because it was his partner on one hand and his close friend/employee on the other—a certain amount of indulgence could be afforded. There came a point, however, when enough was enough.
Janine watched, quietly amused, as Peter struggled to carry a large box from the front door over to the stairs. The label boldly stated that it was from the parts depot where Egon and Ray liked to order a lot of their spare tech and it was doubtlessly filled with heavy metal objects. Still, never let it be said that Janine passed up an opportunity waved in front of her face. "It's sad, really, watching someone struggle with the fact they're past their prime." She commented idly, filing away at the edge of her nail.
"Past my prime? Do you have any idea how heavy this damn box is?" Peter demanded, indignant even in his breathlessness, "I suppose it would kill you to lend a hand."
"Can't, Doctor V. Might break a nail." She grinned, waving her red-painted fingertips at him.
Peter groaned and dropped the box on a nearby chair, almost toppling it with the unbalanced weight. "Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?" He affected the nasally voice he chose whenever he insulted her fashion sense, "And while we're on the subject, darling, you may want to hit the salon soon, your roots are starting to show."
Janine gasped. "My hair color is completely natural and you know it!" She snapped, tossing her file down on her desk.
"Right, natural as fistful of ectoplasm in your underpants." Peter smirked.
The secretary's face twisted up in distaste, but the appearance of Egon cut off any reply. "Ah, wonderful, the parts for the pack upgrades have arrived. I was hoping…"
"Egon, Peter is making fun of my hair!" Janine pointed accusingly at the psychologist, cutting off whatever Egon was hoping.
"How can I not? That color is only natural on an orangutan." Peter shrugged.
"Oh, that's rich. Hair criticism coming from someone who loses more of his every year." Janine replied icily.
Peter gasped this time, his hands coming up instinctively to grasp at the strands of brown hair that were not thinning thank-you-very-much. "I am not!" He shrieked, "Egon, tell her I'm not losing my hair."
"Excuse me?" Egon quirked an eyebrow, looking from Peter to Janine.
"No, Egon, tell Peter that I do not dye my hair!" Janine demanded.
"But I don't…" Egon began again.
"But she does, you can see that dye job from the space station. I, on the other hand, have as full a head of hair as I did when I was in college!"
"Oh, so you started losing your hair that early?"
"If you would both just…" The blond tried once more.
"I'll show you who's losing hair!" Peter growled, looking about ready to sprint across the garage at Janine.
"Enough!" Egon's irate bass tone boomed across the room, practically bouncing off the walls back at them, "I do not know what started this argument, but you are acting like children! If you insist on continuing this behavior, I shall treat you as such and place you both in a time-out."
Peter and Janine were stunned to silence long enough for Egon to swoop in on his package, heft it up with a grunt, and trundle very succinctly up the stairs with it.
When the cuffs of his sensible slacks had disappeared into the ceiling, the spell seemed to wear off. "That was…" Janine began.
"Kinda hot, actually." Peter grinned wolfishly, eyes lingering on the stairs.
"Peter!" The secretary snapped, "You promised you'd never wave that in my face!"
"Sorry, Melnitz, can't talk now, I've got a physicist to seduce." Peter called back, already bounding the steps.
Janine's angered cry of "Venkman!" followed him all the way up.