Title: Just Like Precious
Fandom: General Hospital
Characters: Tracy Quartermaine
Prompt: #20 Love
Word Count: 842 words
Rating: G
Summary: It's a dog's life. And sometimes, even a dog can find love in the most unexpected places.
Author's Notes: Oh, the joys of creating a story around a throwaway line. Tracy was chasing the Willoughby's dog out of Lila's rose garden when she stumbled on to Dillon and Lulu in the boathouse.

There are much worse lives a dog can have. Precious Pie Willoughby, a fourth generation champion pure-blood Yorkie, was well aware of this. She'd seen other dogs in the park, she'd heard talk about kennels and fences and…dear puppy goddess on high! chains! So Precious was well aware of her privileged status, and never took a moment of her day for granted.

She held her head high as her human, Mrs. Willoughby, took her to be groomed, even though the other dogs in the neighborhood snickered and laughed at the bows. She learned to enjoy the carrier, with its scratchy tartan lining and little dangly bells. She even tolerated the baby talk her human insisted on speaking, although at age five, she was hardly a puppy.

All in all, Precious lived her life as an obedient and grateful pet, never sassing back or nipping at her humans, rarely barking at strangers (unless they deserved it), and for the most part, living a quiet, happy life.

There was, however, one temptation Precious could never seem to resist. Her humans lived next door to another family, the Damn-Quartermaines. According to Precious' human, Mr. Willoughby, the Damn-Quartermaines were a bunch of larcenous lushes. Precious didn't know about all that. What she did know was that the Damn-Quartermaines had an incredible rose garden. It was glorious—so many interesting smells and sounds and mucky stuff to play in. She'd first stumbled on it when the old human, Mrs. Damn-Quartermaine, had still been alive. Mrs. Damn-Quartermaine was sweet to Precious, and used to toss sticks from her rolling chair for her to chase, and always had a treat to give her, even though the Damn-Quartermaines didn't have a dog of their own.

Precious didn't really remember much about old Mrs. Damn-Quartermaine, because she'd only been a puppy when she was there. But she remembered her smell, and that was what drew her to the younger Miss Damn-Quartermaine, whom they called Misstracy. Now, Misstracy never showed up with treats, and she didn't throw a stick for Precious to chase. Usually, she called for the big human Alice to come and chase Precious off.

Misstracy started coming to the rose garden just about the time old Mrs. Damn-Quartermaine stopped. At first, all she did was sit there and cry. Precious tried to comfort her—basic dog stuff, really—nudging her calf, whining, offering her ears to be scratched. Mostly, Misstracy ignored her. But sometimes, she'd pet her, and once she even threw a stick. But then Misstracy stopped crying, and a lot of the times, she'd come out to the garden yelling at Mr. Damn-Quartermaine for one reason or another.

Precious knew to vamoose with old Mr. Damn-Quartermaine was there. She had an instinct about him.

After she stopped crying, Misstracy almost never petted her. And she never threw sticks for her to chase. She just called Alice to chase her off, or chased her off herself.

By all rights, Precious should have stopped liking Misstracy, but she didn't. First, Misstracy smelled like old Mrs. Damn-Quartermaine, and smells don't lie. There was some nice inside her, Precious knew.

Second, Precious sort of liked being chased. It was a real dog thing, a gritty fun missing from her pampered life. She loved darting through the bushes, down the rows, in the dirt and under the prickly branches. It was exhilarating, and when she came back all dirty and tangled, she only laughed at Mrs. Willoughby's scolding.

Misstracy was the most fun Precious had in her long, dull days.

Besides, she knew Misstracy wasn't mean, like old Mr. Damn-Quartermaine was. Once, when Misstracy had been chasing her, Precious misjudged the distance and slammed right into one of the rose bushes. It had hurt like crazy. A lot of the thorns had gotten caught in her coat, but many had gone right through to the skin. She remembers whining, whimpering as she lay there, not wanting to move at all.

Misstracy had come to her, gently like old Mrs. Damn-Quartermaine would have. She wrapped Precious in something soft and shiny and green, the shirt she'd been wearing, and took her to the little house on the water. She spoke softly to Precious while she removed the thorns, telling her what a good dog she was, what a brave puppy she was, stroking her head as she put ointment on the cuts. And when it was done, she wrapped Precious up in a clean towel, hugged her until she stopped shaking, then carried her all the way to the Willoughby's house herself.

From that moment, Precious noticed she smelled different. There was a hint of old Mrs. Damn-Quartermaine there, yes, but mostly the smell had been unique to Misstracy. It was spicy and unusual, just a little bit sweet. Precious had memorized the smell as she lay wrapped in that towel, near this Damn-Quartermaine's heart.

It smelled like love.

After that, every once in a blue moon, Misstracy would even have a treat for her. She was pedigree, that Misstracy.

Just like Precious.

The End

Written for the 100 Situations Challenge.