FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

When Veronica Gianotti walked in through the front doors of Doghouse Performance Engineering, she made the plain, commercial glass and steel doors look like the entrance to the Golden Globe Awards. An engine even sputtered to its death in the back - this of course was a coincidence, as Lucy was busy stalling out the Chevelle she was working on - her Chevelle. At the front counter, Vance scrawled something across a sheet of carbon paper, pressing extra hard so as to make sure that the print not only transferred, but knew the extent of his frustration with his wife's inability to adequately care for their child.

"Be right with you." He said, not even bothering to look up at the young woman who had just entered. Vance's hair, normally well-coiffed and full of luster was noticeably devoid of any and all product, and simply fell haphazardly over his forehead like that of a man who woke up with so little life left in him that he had none to spare for style. Setting the pen down, he ripped out one of the copies and handed it to the customer.

"Be done in about a week. We'll call you. Yes ma'am, how can I help you?" He switched gears immediately, turning to the cheetah.

"I'm here to see Reid."

Vance raised his eyebrows and lifted his chin in an 'ah'-like gesture, turning on his heel to disappear into the office where Reid was busying himself with payroll for the week.

"Reid."

"Yes?"

"There's a young lady out here to see you. I think she's the one you called in for an interview? I think you struck gold with this one!" He whispered hotly, never too tired to tack a joke onto the end of a sentence, especially if it earned him a sharp-eyed look of reprove from the heeler. Reid pulled off his glasses and set them down, got up from his chair and checked his outfit and hair. If Veronica was as pretty as her voice and her name suggested, he was going to make it a short interview.

"Hi!" Reid painted a cheery smile on his face and walked around the front counter to shake hands with Ms. Veronica. He took note of the fact that she was not wearing a wedding ring, right after he'd confirmed that she was about the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his life.

"Hello, I'm Veronica. Veronica Gianotti."

"Reid Travis, it's a pleasure. Italian?" He cocked an eyebrow.

"Yes! Yes, third generation Italian-American, yes sir."

"All right, well, come on into the office here and we'll get started, would you like anything to drink? Coffee, water?"

"Oh, some coffee would be wonderful, thank you."

"Certainly." Reid smiled and shuffled quickly out of the office, rounding the corner and dodging into the break room, gaping at Vance with wide eyes and an open muzzle, his hand clutching at his heart. The pit bull just laughed and shook his head, dumping creamer into his morning mug.

"Reid, mind yourself now..." He chuckled. Reid rifled through a few different coffee mugs, eventually finding a clean(ish) one and quickly ran it under the sink, hastily drying it with some paper towels before filling it with Seattle's best brew. He grabbed the creamer and a handful of sugar packets before returning to the office and presenting it to the cheetah.

"Here you are. I brought cream and sugar; I wasn't sure how you take it." He said. Veronica thanked him again and sipped at the mug. Reid sat down across from her and took a brief look around.

"Pardon the mess; it's been a hell of a week around here."

"Oh, it's quite all right." She smiled, unsure of how to answer to that.

"So. You're a graduate of UCLA, with a Bachelor's degree in accounting..." He tapped his pen against his lips, "and you worked for Henry Schumer & Associates for twelve years, I see."

"I did. The company was bought out by some private investors who wanted to merge Schumer with another firm, and they decided to just let everyone go and start over new."

"That's terrible, you know, one of my customers had that happen to him. He'd been with his company for almost thirty years and then one day, boop! Gone. No severance package, no bonus, nothing." Reid leaned back in his chair a little, waving a hand with his onomatopoeia, "I try to be a little more appreciative of my employees."

"Well, I'm not letting it get me down. I'm choosing to look at this as a new start." She smiled her Hollywood smile, baring her glaringly white teeth at the heeler, who returned with a tight-lipped grin. He held it for a few seconds, and then snapped back to reality.

"So, you're familiar with the payroll system we use here?"

"Oh. Yes, definitely. It's the same one we used at Schumer."

Reid just chuckled, "Veronica, I'll tell you one thing - I hate doing interviews. Why don't you just let me show you around the place, introduce you to everyone, and we'll call it a deal, how about it?"

Veronica was baffled. Doghouse was certainly the most unorthodox interview she'd ever been to, a far cry from the stuffy, overly-professional suits of the corporate atmosphere. The break room refrigerator had beer in it. Off in a far corner of the garage outside was a ping-pong table. Classic rock was playing over the speakers, competing with the large cooling fans for auditory dominance. She'd never seen anything like it outside of movies and TV, and she had to say that for as much of a culture shock as it was, she liked it.

"So tell me about yourself. What makes you 'Veronica'?" Reid asked, showing her around the garage after introducing her to the guys - and gal.

Across the garage, Lucy threw a shop rag at Hector.

"What's up?"

"Check out what's going on over there. We've got a regular Lady and The Tramp story going on." She chuckled, and the other wolf joined her when he saw the heeler vamping with the new hire.

"A year ago he'd have never had a chance. Now he's the owner and he's got the green to land a chick like that."

"So you're saying she's a gold digger and Reid doesn't have any game?" Lucy poked, giving the wolf a playful kick in the ribs. Hector laughed and rolled away on the creeper.

"Nah homegirl, Reid's good. He's into guys though."

"Coulda fooled me." Lucy mused, glancing over her shoulder to see two new friends laughing it up by the dyno with Chris, who was holding up marginally well without Frank. Vance had been helping him with the tuning, and the witty banter just wasn't the same, but they exchanged a look of whimsy when Reid and Veronica began to walk back towards the front, her heels clicking against the concrete floor.

"So what do you think?" Reid asked once they were in the lobby. Veronica just laughed nervously and looked all around her.

"Yes! This is...new, and exciting, and I've never been in a place like this before, and I'm ready for a new challenge."

"Well, Veronica, I look forward to working with you. Welcome to the team." Reid smiled and extended his hand, which the cheetah eagerly took in her own. Reid watched as she exited. She started tomorrow, and for him, so did a better hairstyle.

***

Dallas O'Dell's motorcycle vest flapped in the wind as he stood on the side of the interstate, hands shoved into his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips. Bits and pieces of Charlie Killibru's bike could still be seen here and there, small pieces, really. One piece in particular caught his eye, just inside the breakdown lane - something shiny and small. Thinking it was a piece of the hare's bike, he brushed his grey hair back, squatted down and picked up the thing between his boots. It was a USB flash drive. He frowned. He didn't even know if it was Charlie's or not. Only one way to find out, he thought to himself and stuffed it into the pocket of his Levi's, then jumped back onto his steel horse.

Kids played in the dead grass and gravel front yard of Dallas' home; a ramshackle double-wide trailer with peeling paint, rotting shingles, and a sagging foundation that gave his younger kids home-field advantage when it came to playing marbles with the neighbor kids.

"You kids quit making so much noise out there!" Mrs. O'Dell shouted out the kitchen window while the little ones screeched. Dallas trudged up the steps after parking his bike on the gravel drive, flinging the screen door open and debating briefly whether to check out the contents of the flash drive, or grab a beer and watch TV for the rest of the day.

"Linda! See what's on that." Dallas tossed the flash drive to his wife and grabbed a beer and a seat in front of the television. He was a 'have your cake and eat it too' kind of man. Feral bull riding was on the TV, and Linda was sure to go around the back of the couch, lest she be chastised for blocking the view.

"Jeffrey, get off the computer, Momma needs to use it." Linda sat down at the computer and closed the hardcore porn that Jeffrey had open. Then, with some apparent difficulty, she inserted the device into the USB drive, waiting for the file prompter to open.

"What is this, Dallas?"

"I'll look at it in a minute."

"It's just a bunch of Word documents with some locations on it. Where'd you get this?"

"Side of the highway, 'round where Charlie died. Thought it might be his."

"Charlie worked for the gas company didn't he?"

"If that's a fart joke, you're damn right." Dallas muttered with a roll of his eyes. Jeffrey spluttered into his beer and doubled over laughing while it dribbled out of his nose. Dallas joined him with a low, throaty chuckle.

"It's got a map here, looks like a map of the natural gas pipelines in greater LA."

Cognizance ripped the cougar away from the TV and he stood up, walking around to where the computer was.

"Show me."

"Here." She brought it up. Dallas reached out and traced a particular pipeline with the neck of his beer bottle.

"Good...good."

Linda rolled her eyes and stood up to return to the supper she was cooking. She had long since learned not to even ask about her husband's shenanigans, they were far above her level of patience to begin with. Dallas bolted out the door, his phone in his hand, the ringer going on a contact of his who he knew would one day come in handy.

"Wayne."

"Dallas. What's going on?"

"You remember that story you told me about 'Nam? Sixty-seven? You stopped that VC supply convoy from reaching their base or whatever?"

"What about it?"

"How'd you do it?"

"Plastic explosive. Trip wires. Ambush tactics, you know, military shit. What're you gettin' at?"

"I need your help. Now I know you've been going through some tough times since Martha passed away. You want to make some money? You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours."

"Dallas, where the fuck do you think I'm going to get C4 explosive?"

"Wayne, I know you better than that. You know you better than that. You know all the tricks of the trade. Trust me; you'll be handsomely rewarded. Don't let me down, Wayne. I'll get in touch with you once I have all the details."

Dallas ended the call, and began another one. One that rang and rang before the intended party finally picked up.

"I didn't think you had the guts, Paul."

Paul sat in a dark motel room in another state, puffing on a cigarette and staring at the muted television set.

"I killed more men than I ever admitted to in Viet Nam, you think I've got any bones about killing a few more?"

"Oh, I don't doubt it," Dallas crooned, his silky, southern voice irresistible to women, but infuriating to the bear, "but I think you may want to cool your jets. You see, you're no longer of any use to me. I found out what I needed to know."

Paul went silent.

"You see, it's easy to find out information in this day and age. All you need is money, time, and a little bit of charisma helps too. I'll be paying a little visit to Mr. Vance before long. As for you, I'd suggest you take this opportunity to disappear. For good."

"You touch a hair on his head, and I swear I'll-"

"You'll what? Kill more of my boys? Let me tell you how this is going to work. Here's how it's going to play out; for starters, I've got more of an army on my side than you do on yours, understand? You keep fucking with my crew and I'll ruin yours. Vance and all his little buddies down there at your little two-bit garage will meet a nasty little end. Why don't you just let this all go and enjoy your retirement?"

"Who says I'm not?" Paul slammed the bolt shut on his rifle as he finished cleaning it, "I lost my wife and my son because of you. I've got eyes on the Doghouse. You or any of your goons get within a foot of that property and I will take you down. You'll never even hear the shot."

Dallas' eyes flicked to the ground with the kind of expression that often accompanies uncertainty.

"Then it's war." He said quietly.

"So be it." Paul confirmed, and hung up. He tossed his phone onto the bed and picked up his container of Chinese take-out. He had to get back to LA - soon, and for good reason.

***

Reid sat in the break room on lunch, sipping coffee and fiddling with his laptop while Chris and Hector went back and forth about something related to four-bolt mains at the other table. He never really got a break, but he didn't care. With Veronica at the helm taking care of the administrative work, the heeler was once again free to do what he loved.

An internet page displayed the local news. Local storage center to auction off delinquent units, he read to himself. Out of curiosity, he clicked on it, only to see the face of a business with which was intimately familiar.

"South Hollywood Self Storage." He whispered.

"What's up?" Chris asked.

"Oh, nothing, this storage unit over off West Pico's auctioning off some stuff from units that people haven't made their payments on."

"Anything good?"

"I dunno. It doesn't say..."

That night, Reid opened the bottom drawer of his bureau, the drawer he reserved for things that he would prefer to keep out of his mind, but not necessarily out of his house. Inside were memoirs, baby pictures of Lucy he hadn't been able to bring himself to get rid of, and other family related things. Also in the mix was Kelvin's letter. He didn't know why he kept it; he just didn't have the heart to part with the last vestige of the Shiba Inu's memory. He wondered how he was doing up there in San Francisco.

"Here we go."

Reid pulled out a set of keys. Two keys on a ring, one to a car Aiden no longer needed, and one to a home he no longer owned. But which was which? The numbers '11-24' were written on what was obviously the car key, marked 'Ford' on the other side - last time he checked, Ford didn't make houses. The doorbell rang just in time to stop him from making a trip down memory lane - something he actively avoided doing, but occasionally couldn't help.

Rigo was standing on the front step in his hospital scrubs, a gentle smile on his face, his hands folded in front of him.

"Rigo, hey."

"Hey Reid."

"Well come on in, what's up?"

Rigo thanked him and stepped inside. Reid closed the door behind him and offered him a drink, which the wolf politely declined.

"I just wanted to come by and say thank you for what you said to me at the hospital the other day. Going home was the best thing I could have done, and I probably wouldn't have done it as soon as I did if it weren't for you."

"Hey, yeah, sure man. I did notice Lucy has been in a lot better of a mood now that you're back."

"Yeah."

"I'm really glad she's got a guy like you. I think you're about the best I could ever have hoped for her." Reid said pensively. Rigo got a funny look on his face.

"That didn't sound quite right, what I mean is I always hoped - I, uh. Look, she's a good kid. I want her to be happy, and I know you do too, and that's why I'm glad you guys are together."

"Thanks, Reid. I can't stay long; unfortunately I'm on call tonight, so I'd better get going." Rigo said, obviously a little weirded out by the heeler's recent choice of words. He began to head for the front door, and Reid bit his lip, staring at the hardwood floor of his house.

"Rigo..."

"Yeah?"

Reid's mouth hung open, his words lost the moment the stud of a wolf turned around to face him, the look of casual curiosity on his face fit for an Academy Award nomination.

"I have a confession to make."

Suddenly, Rigo was uncomfortable.

"You know Reid, I can arrange for you to meet with one of the hospital chaplains if you need counsel or something, but I really need to-"

Reid scrunched his face, "No, no, it's not...it's not that kind of confession. Rigo," He began, and looking up and making eye contact with the wolf, he spilled the beans at last.

"I'm Lucy's father."

What a load off. Reid felt physically lighter after the words left his mouth on the breath that it took all of to say. Rigo stood in the entryway of the heeler's home, frozen in shock, staring straight ahead at the other canine.

"What." He whispered at last, nearly incapable of processing what he'd just heard.

"I'm her biological father, Rigo. I've got the paperwork, I've got the tests to prove it, hell, I've even got pictures of her from when she was just an infant." The heeler explained, watching the wolf's countenance darken with every word. "I'm her Dad. Her real one."

WHAP.

_ _

_ _ Reid yelped as his head snapped back and his vision went stark white for a split second, and when he regained clear vision, he was looking up at the ceiling, the cold, hardwood floor against his back. A coppery taste filled his mouth, and a wetness that could only be blood streamed from his nose, running down his muzzle and drooling onto his T-shit when he lifted his head with a strained grunt. Rigo stood over him, scowling, his right hand balled into a tight fist.

"You unbelievable son of a bitch." Rigo growled, watching Reid dab at his nose with his shirt, "You had that coming."

Reid snorted, a mist of red spraying out onto his shirt, "Brother, I've had that coming for years." He said, his voice sounding as if he had a head cold.

"Do you have any idea what she went through?" Rigo hissed, glowering at the felled man. Reid just nodded.

"I have some idea." He propped himself up on one elbow, dabbing at his smarting nose, "I wasn't ready to be a father. I got scared. I didn't think that I could be a good father to Lucy. I didn't think I would be able to provide for her."

"Better she'd have been just poor than poor, abused, and molested."

"Honestly, Rigo, if I'd had any idea..."

"You would have done differently. I know." He responded quietly. For a second or two, the only sound in the room was the heeler's inability to breathe through his nose. "Come on." The wolf said at last, extending a hand to help the buffeted dog up to his feet, whereupon he took a seat at his kitchen table. Rigo grabbed a roll of paper towels nearby and tore several off, instructing the cattle dog to lean forward and press them up to his bleeding nose. Rigo was exhausted from work, but it looked as though the weight of the news was now on his shoulders, and he was carrying the full weight of it. He pulled out a chair and took a seat.

"Does Lucy know?"

Reid shook his head. Rigo just nodded slightly.

"She should."

"I know. There'll come a time and place for that. But it's not right now."

"When, Reid? When are you going to do it? Are you going to keep her in the dark forever and just settle for the relationship you have with her now?"

"I waited eighteen years, what's another..." He trailed off.

"What? Another what, another eighteen years?"

"She'll hate me, Rigo. She'll blame me for everything."

"She's earned that right. You want to keep things the way they are, so that you can have a relationship with her, even if it's just as your friend. You're willing to settle for that. Your self-centeredness will be your downfall, Reid." Rigo stood up, "Lean forward. Switch the towels out every couple of minutes until it stops bleeding."

Reid watched him leave, and continued to sit there at the table, clutching at his bleeding nose. He sat there for the next hour, lost in thought, surveying every viable option in his head for how, when, or where he would tell Lucy the truth. It had to come out sooner or later. Would Rigo tell her? He wondered. He wondered for the rest of the night.

***

"I'm going to go to that auction."

"Yeah?" Vance asked the next morning over the tradition of the consumption of caffeine in gratuitous amounts, "What have they got there?"

"Well, I know unit 11-24 has a car in it."

"Oh, cool. What kind?"

"That's the thing, I don't know. It was Aiden's car; he gave me the keys to the unit just in case I ever wanted to use it. I never did. Just never got around to it."

"So why don't you just go claim it?"

"Well, my name's not on the lease for the unit, so there's not a whole lot I can do, other than bid on it. If I knew Aiden though, it'll be something cool."

"Right on. What happened to your nose?" Vance asked, his tone taking a turn for concerned once he finally got a good look at his friend's face.

"Oh, stupid mistake last night. I was in the shower, and I slipped and when I tried to catch myself on the way down, I bashed my face into the wall."

"You idiot." Vance laughed, and Reid joined him nervously.

"Yeah, all right. I'll see you guys later. I shouldn't be gone long."

At the storage center, there were only four units being auctioned, unit 11-24 being the last of them. It was a boring process, and the heat outside was making everyone miserable, but the prospect of gaining some serious loot from the abandoned units was enough to keep them out there in the sun.

The first three units were relatively small ones, and contained a multitude of boxes. Reid withheld his bids, applauding with the rest while a winning bidder discovered a rare guitar from the 1950's inside the first one. His heart pounded while they approached the unit marked 11-24. It was considerably larger than the first three, a point that the auctioneer made sure everyone was aware of, effectively hinting at the fact that a vehicle might be present inside. They unlocked the door, and rolled it up, only to be met with dead silence.

On the other side of the painted, blue overhead door that concealed the contents of Aiden O'Flynn's old storage unit were stacks and stacks of cardboard boxes, containing everything from what looked like clothing to old electronic equipment. Reid's heart sank.

"We'll start the bidding at five hundred dollars, here we go, do I hear six?"

Reid watched sullenly while the other bidders raised their hands to call bids, the amount creeping up over one thousand dollars within the first fifteen seconds. He looked down at the keys in his hands, shiny in the bright, Los Angeles sunlight.

"I have twenty five hundred, do I hear twenty seven? Twenty seven!"

But this was Aiden's stuff. It belonged to him. It belonged to the man he loved, and he couldn't stomach the idea that someone would buy it, rifle through it for anything of value and then pawn off the rest in the hopes of making a quick dollar so that all of the lab's worldly possessions would be distributed across the country.

"Three!" He called out, raising his hand.

"I have three, that's three thousand dollars ladies and gentlemen! Do I hear-"

"Four thousand." Someone else called. Reid growled.

"Forty-five hundred!" Reid called back, outbidding the bastard.

"Forty-five hundred dollars, can we get five? Going once...going twice!"

"Five thousand!" Someone else called.

"Six!" Reid shouted, throwing his hand into the air. His emotions were beginning to get ahead of his pocketbook, and he was gradually being pulled back into the realm of fiscal responsibility. Six thousand dollars, for several boxes of junk that were in all likelihood, worthless of all but sentimental value.

"That's six thousand dollars, ladies and gentlemen, going once! Going twice!"

Reid took a breath like an archer drawing his bow, ready to fire his arrow of a winning bid at a moment's notice.

"Sold! To the man in the blue shirt! Come on up here!"

Inside, Reid found himself cutting a check to the storage center to the tune of six thousand dollars while the owners looked on in glee.

"I'll need to come back with my truck to get that stuff. You mind holding onto it for me?"

An hour later, Reid was back at the unit with his old rust red Chevy pickup, staring at the stacks of boxes in front of him, towering above his head like an unconquerable fortress that he would have to disassemble entirely by hand in a heat index of nearly 100 degrees. Reaching up, he pulled off the first box, only to find a wealth of clothing inside. Jeans. Shirts. Nothing that would really fit him. He would donate them, he thought as he dumped the box into the bed of the truck. Six boxes of clothes in all, and already the truck bed was getting full. Reid was sweating profusely, and would likely need a shower before he returned to work. The next stack of boxes contained some kitchenware and other such items, and the boxes below them looked as though they had some old radios and other miscellaneous junk. Nothing of real value.

"What was Aiden doing with all this junk?" He mused to himself, hands on his hips and looking around at no one in particular, almost as if some random person was going to come out and answer the question for him. He even checked underneath and between the clothes, thinking that the lab might have stashed some ill-gotten cash in there. Nothing. Exhaling, he sat on the tailgate of his truck and swung his legs underneath him. It was a pretty deep storage unit...

Flashlight in hand, Reid scaled the precarious cliffs of cardboard, peering up over the tops of the boxes and shining the beam down into the abyss beyond, only to see something drab, grey, and dusty - but large. Heart aflutter, he began grabbing boxes and simply pulling them down, breaking glassware, spilling clothes and upsetting old electronic equipment out into the drive. When he saw what he had uncovered, his heart began to race even faster. True to Aiden's word, inside the unit was a vehicle of some kind, concealed underneath a grey, plastic car cover. He started from the rear, pulling the cover away from the back and working his way to the front until he simply discarded the cover, staring in shock and awe at what lay before him.

Inside the unit was a pristine, showroom-floor condition 1964 Ford Galaxie 500 coupe. The metallic black paint looked as new as the day it had been put on at the factory. The red vinyl interior looked as though no one had ever even sat in it, much less driven the thing. Still unable to even think coherently, Reid popped the door open and nearly had an orgasm when the smell of the 1960's erupted forth from the interior. He slid into the driver's side of the bench seat and looked at the odometer. There were less than four hundred miles on the car. He caressed the steering wheel and brought his hands up to his face, wiping the sweat out of his eyes before grabbing the keys and pushing the one marked 'Ford' into the ignition and turning it, expecting to hear the rumble of an engine. Instead, there was nothing. Probably just a dead battery.

He popped the hood and got out of the car. Reid found himself wondering what kind of motor it had in it. He pushed the latch with all the giddiness of a little girl expecting to find a pony under the tree on Christmas morning, but like the little girl who would come to the unfortunate realization that horses typically do not fit well in houses, let alone under Christmas trees, Reid's face sank when he lifted the hood to see that not only was there not a 427 big-block Ford motor, there was not a motor at all. Underneath the hood of this Galaxie 500 was nothing but air.

No matter. He owned a performance tuning shop. He would tow it out, order a motor, and have it running within the next few weeks if all went as planned. For the moment, he figured, he wouldn't be able to contain such good news all to himself.

"Vance! Hey Vance! Guys!"

Reid was beaming when he pushed his way through the doors only to be met by Lucy, who didn't look like she was thrilled, nor was she in the mood to be.

"What's the matter?"

"Vance had to leave. He said it was an emergency, he got a call from his neighbor and said he had to go, he didn't tell us much more than that."

***

"Blaine? Blaine!" Vance stopped his car in the middle of the street, the rumble of the twin-turbo V6 dying out as he bailed out of the car, sweaty and shaking while he watched several new-age types carry things out of his house and load them into an old Volkswagen bus.

"Hey! Hey, that's mine! Give me that, you...paraquat!" The pit bull shouted, grabbing the slow cooker out from the weasel's hands and rushing inside, where more of them were packing random things into boxes.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON HERE?"

Every hippie inside the house turned around and faced the dog holding the slow cooker, none of them sure of what to say. Blaine came rushing out of the bedroom, a look of fear in her eyes, and a look of the 60's on her body. She wore a flower-print hemp top with an ankle skirt, and no shoes. A flower crown encircled her head, and she was carrying the guitar Vance had bought for her back when she'd claimed she wanted to learn how to play.

"Blaine, what the fuck? Where is Kaitlin?"

"I dropped her off at my parents' house."

"Who are these people? All of you get out! NOW!" Vance shrieked, pointing at the door and seething, never taking his eyes off of his wife. The hippies grumbled in unison and marched outside in their slow, lazy way to pack up the things they had already taken outside.

"You want to explain to me just what the fuck is going on?"

"I'm leaving." She said, her tone matter-of-fact, but remorseful nonetheless.

"What?Why?"

"Vance, this whole...'mom' thing, I just wasn't cut out for it. This isn't me. This isn't the life that I wanted, and I'm sorry that this is coming out now instead of y'know, before we got pregnant."

"No...No, no, this isn't happening!" The pit bull shouted, bringing his hands up to his head, fingers digging into his hair while he paced around the kitchen and the living room, "Tell me this isn't happening!"

"Look, Vance, I can't be as good of a mother to Kaitlin as she deserves! She's my baby too, and I love her, I love her to death, but I just don't have it in me to be a good mother to her. My heart is in a different place. I've found myself. I've found my destiny and my true spirit-"

"No. No! You know what this is, Blaine? This is some stupid, brainwash bullshit that you got sucked into because somebody sold you on the idea of going to see this idiotic new-age healer that doesn't know what the fuck he's talking about! This is a phase! You're going to outgrow this..." His voice broke as tears welled up in his eyes, "You'll outgrow this. And you'll come back. And we'll be a family." He stammered out, his whole body quivering.

"This decision hurts me too. It wasn't an easy one to make, believe me, but I really think this is for the best. Better now than me making both you and Kaitlin miserable years down the road." Vance just stared at her incredulously, a tear stream trenching the fur on his cheeks. Blaine sighed and hung her head, then reached onto her left hand and pulled off her ring, placing it into his palm and gently closing his fingers over the band of white gold.

"Find someone who can love you the way you deserve to be loved. Who can be the mother Kaitlin deserves to grow up with. I'm sorry, Vance." She whispered, and hugged him. Reaching up, she gave him one last kiss on the cheek, then picked up her guitar and headed outside.

Inside the house, Vance broke down and stumbled backwards until his back was to the kitchen wall, and he slid down to the floor, his face buried in his hands as he sobbed. Outside, the engine of the Volkswagen bus putted to life, and the gears squeaked as the driver put it in first, ready to take off with what Vance thought was going to be the rest of his life. Brakes squealed. The pit bull stood up and grabbed a bottle of champagne sitting in the wine rack - a bottle he and Blaine had been saving to drink on the eve of their one-year wedding anniversary.

"You forgot this!" He shouted as he sprinted down the front walk and into the street, chasing after the bus, "FUCKERS!"

Vance whipped back and hurled the bottle by the neck like a German WWII grenade, sending the heavy, glass projectile flipping slowly end over end while the bus got further and further away until it shattered on the pavement, champagne running all over the street. Tail between his legs and ears low, he watched in pain while the bus turned the corner and Blaine disappeared from his life. She didn't know where she was going, and neither did he. But Vance knew where Vance was going. Vance was going inside to get a beer, and that's exactly what he did.

He stepped slowly into the house and fixed the rug, which had been upturned by the hippies as they were leaving with Blaine's things. He grabbed a bottle and popped the top, kicking back in his sofa and staring at nothing on the TV screen. He thought about Reid's battle with alcoholism, and how he almost died. Vance took another swig.

_Dying doesn't sound so bad right about now,_he thought.

Glug. Glug. Glug.

***

A 1996 Supra came to a screeching halt in front of Dr. Ramachandran's office, half on the curb, and half in the street. The door popped open, and a car honked, swerving to avoid it as Vance stumbled out of the car, incensed and visibly drunk. Fuming, he stormed up the steps to the front door of the office and practically tore it from the hinges on his way in.

Dr. Ramachandran appeared at the foot of the hallway with a look of concern when he heard the door's bell chime violently, and before he knew what was going on, Vance punched him in the stomach, doubling him over. The blackbuck expelled all the breath in his lungs and went wide-eyed, gasping and grunting while the pit bull grabbed him up by the mandarin collar of his shirt and pushed him up against the wall, cocking his arm back to hit him again. Patel winced and turned his head, but two clinic staff grabbed the drunken dog and pulled him away, doing their best to restrain him while he fought.

"You son of a bitch!" He shrieked, "What did you tell her? Who did you get her mixed up with?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" The doctor insisted once he'd regained his breath, still doubled over, his hands on his knees.

"The hippies! The fuckin' hippies!" Vance shouted back, spittle flying from his muzzle while he writhed and twisted in the rapidly failing holds that the two nurses had on him. "They came, and they took half my shit, and they took my wife!"

Dr. Ramachandran looked at Vance like he had an extra arm growing out of his forehead. Vance, overcome with emotion burst into tears and finally stopped trying to break free of the nurses restraining him.

"All your tree-hugging, vegan, hippie bullshit ruined my wife! She abandoned me and our child, and ran off with some hippies in a psychedelic Volkswagen bus! What kind of Mickey Mouse operation are you running here?"

"Mr. Gillis, I can assure you that that is not the kind of lifestyle that we endorse. Our focus is on maintaining a healthy family relationship, and while I do recommend the practice of spiritual and holistic techniques, I promise you, it is never my intention to cause someone to leave their spouse."

"I just want my wife back." The pit bull sobbed, and the nurses went from restraining him to attempting to comfort him. Dr. Ramachandran sighed and wet his lips.

"Do you have a way to get into contact with her? Perhaps I can talk to her, if we can get her-"

"She left her phone behind and took off with a bunch of transient potheads, how am I supposed to find her now?" Vance wiped his eyes with a hand. He reeked of alcohol, and his hair spilled down over his sweaty, tear-streaked face.

"You've done enough." He said at last, defeated, staring at the Doctor who only stared back with sad eyes while the pit bull turned around and opened the door, shutting behind him as he left. Dr. Ramachandran walked slowly over to a nearby chair and took a seat, blowing out a breath.

"Right in the third chakra...that's the second time this year."