Just a Bedtime Story
#39 of Hockey Hunk Season 3
I could hear the toilet flush, soon to be followed by the tap running, and the telltale rattle of the paper towel dispenser, before the bathroom door swung open and Victor appeared into my sights again.
My ears, smooth and pretty and round, flapped against the pillow my head rested on as I took in the sight of the Dobie, standing on the doorway and clad in nothing but a T-shirt and some grey boxers he'd just pulled back on, I presumed. I tried not to stare down there, I really did, but my eyes did take a good look before they passed over the rest of the Holdenian plains, all covered in the blatant "OFFICE WATCHDOG" shirt that featured a doggie-eared and whiskered stapler sleeping in a doghouse. The shirt was definitely an XXL-sized one, but Victor had shrunk to XL between receiving the shirt and now, which was more than evident from how loosely it hung on him. That combined with the knowledge on how much the ribs hidden under that shirt ached even now made my own chest ache a little, too.
What a mess.
Victor rounded the bed and settled onto the other side. He took his time, getting seated comfortably first before carefully lifting his legs onto the bed and then, very slowly, laying down so that he was finally prone and resting on the bed. I watched him a little, and observed the contrast of his dark furs against the white bed sheets, for a second, before he pulled the duvet over him and let out a deep rumbling sigh.
My ears flicked again at the loud sound coming from so close by. Victor smelled of Victor and peppermint toothpaste and some of Peter's hydrochloric acid-grade paw soap. Those big brown paws now rested against the mound of his belly.
"Did you find everything alright?" I asked gently.
Victor's good ear flicked as he nodded.
"Might have borrowed your toothbrush," Victor yawned tumultuously.
I snuffled a little and smiled, gently again.
"It's fine," I replied.
Victor's paws made a rustling sound, moving over his belly on top of the duvet. The Dobie lifted his left paw and rubbed his fingerpads over his palm, and gave the paw a curious look.
"This sheet feels weird," he mused.
I let out a little chuckle.
"It's made of paper," I said, matter-of-fact.
Victor's head turned as he gave me a dubious Dobious look.
"Peter thinks it's easier to burn the bedclothes rather than wash them to get rid of all the dead skin cells and hairs, so he gets disposable ones and throws them away after a couple of weeks' use," I detailed.
Victor's brow quirked.
"I'm not kidding," I added, carefully.
Victor's pads rubbed over the duvet again, making that same rustling noise once more, and his good ear flicked quickly.
"Well I'll be," he breathed out.
I smiled. Maybe it even looked nice to Victor, in the soft light of the shaded lamp on the night table.
"Even I can see some sense in it, so I just don't say a thing," I replied. "Works the best."
Victor scratched the side of his muzzle slowly before he settled again.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure," I said, my tail flicking amiably and making the loose cover on me bounce a little.
"Was...was Peter always like...this?" the Dobie stated, with a couple of pauses that made the question sound even more awkward than it already was.
I shook my head softly, to make more rustles over my paper-covered pillow.
"Not at all," I replied. "It slowly started when his kidneys got busted back in college. His life became endless rounds of dialysis and taking medications regularly and always watching what he was eating so that he wouldn't poison himself with salt or something like that. I think that's where it all started."
I knew it was one pretty private detail to share with Victor, but considering today's events and...conversations...it seemed like the appropriate thing to do. It was a reasonable question to make, anyway, I thought, and both Victor and Peter deserved a honest answer.
Victor nodded.
"So after the...transplant..." he postulated.
I nodded in return.
"Germs came into picture pretty fast, yes," I replied. "And George, too. Peter scrubbed everything even harder after his surgery. He couldn't bear the thought of accidentally making George ill with something he brought into the house. What you've witnessed today is hardly comparable to what went on those days."
I thought that was enough, and left it there.
Victor nodded again.
"Okay," he said.
I snuffled.
"I know he's a pawful, but that's how he is now," I said.
Victor gave me a long look, sideways, as we were.
"I just hope I didn't upset him, somehow," Victor rubbed his forehead with his paw and stared at the ceiling. "I got the feeling that I might have, simply by being here."
I let out a breath.
"I don't think you did, Victor," I said softly, "He might've seemed a bit cross, yes, but that was all me, I think."
"All you?" Victor sounded disbelieving of my statement.
I snuffled.
"We go a long way back, remember?" I said, giving Victor's side a little pat, through the covers. "I've moaned to him enough, and I he was now making sure I have to stop. And that included putting some sense to me...and you, I guess, if he thought you needed some."
Victor glanced over to me again before his eyes wandered back to the bland ceiling.
"He sure made it sound like he's made you moan alright," the Dobie rumbled.
I almost gasped at his words, and felt myself tense automatically. There was no mistaking what he meant, and I wondered whether that was meant as a nasty reminder to me or something else, harkening back to the discussion earlier, of me and Peter and...yeah.
I must've been quiet and biting my teeth together for too long for Victor's comfort, because soon I felt a paw patting on my belly. My head turned and my eyes snapped to meet Victor's, who was looking at me again, with a slight quirk to his brow. My ears flicked with surprise, not in the least by the sudden proximity of our muzzles, too. I could feel his breath on my face, and my whiskers. The paw remained on my belly.
"Couldn't help it," Victor rumbled, not smiling, but his eyes weren't void of amusement, either.
My ears flopped against my skull. Victor rubbed my belly.
"Sorry," Victor yawned, still looking directly into my eyes. "Vicodin's making me feel a bit light-headed."
I snuffled. It was as good an excuse as any, I supposed. Better not to hang into it and start fretting about it again. That wouldn't do me any good, and neither would it do that for Victor, now that a gentle truce existed between us.
"It's alright," I said. "I'm glad I had some to spare still."
"I'm glad too," he said. "Not like I had time to gather my meds or anything like that when I left home."
Victor rumbled in annoyance, and I joined with a little sigh, which I am sure he felt over his own long whiskers. I could see Victor wrinkle his nosepad. His lips were parted a little. I know I shouldn't really have been staring.
"Yeah," I whispered.
Victor hissed off the corner of his muzzle and then proceeded to yawn. A whiff of peppermint brushed against my nose now. I might've said something about it, but Victor turned to stare at the ceiling again, and his paw departed as well, to fold over his own belly instead of mine. I could feel the coolness that followed.
"We must appear ridiculous to you, Rory," Victor rumbled.
"Huh?" I said.
"Cobb and I," the big Dobie replied. "Our whole side of this mess."
Oh.
"Well, knowing Cobb..." I started.
Victor snorted and concurrently silenced me.
"That's not an excuse," he said. "Besides, I'm involved as well. What does that say of me?"
"You love Cobb and he loves you and doesn't want anyone to mess around with you," I said. "But the execution of this love isn't always easy, I know as much."
"Ugh," Victor huffed.
I put my paw over Victor's arm and gave it a careful squeeze.
"At least he agreed to talk with us," I reminded Victor gently, watching him now.
Victor made a face.
"I foresee a spectacle," he said. "A goddamn explosion of Cobb. I can feel it in my bones."
I wanted to say something about his bones being numbed with Vicodin at the moment, but held my tongue back. I concentrated on rubbing his arm instead.
"So we'll keep a unified front," I replied. "And not let things escalate."
Victor let out a proper big dog grumble and made a face I witnessed from the corner of my muzzle.
"You make it sound like Iwo Jima," he muttered.
I snuffled.
"Maybe a little," I agreed. "Choice of words and all, huh?"
"Operation Shut Up Cobb," Victor declared.
Now I chuckled, and Victor chuckled, too, and I felt his body vibrate under my paw. That felt nice. We chuckled for a few moments more, before both of us broke into yawns and snuffles. Victor rubbed his eyes.
"Damn I feel tired," he muttered. "What's the time, Rory?"
I reached out for my phone on the nightstand and tapped the screen once to see the hours pop in front of my eyes.
"Quarter past ten," I replied as I put the phone back to its resting place by the lamp.
Victor snorted.
"I feel much too tired for quarter past ten," he snuffled.
I settled onto my side comfortably and gazed over to the yawning Dobie.
"I guess it's bedtime then?" I rumbled.
"Please," Victor chuffed.
"Alright then," I breathed and reached over to turn off the lamp.
Darkness flushed over us in comfort, almost perfect but for the ghostly glow of city lights beyond the shades over the window. I decided to close my eyes before their feline qualities would cause the world of dark shapes emerge beyond me and make it more difficult for me to find my own rest. Victor shuffled a little, probably in search of a comfortable posture himself, and let out some more masculine, good-hearted rumbling once he presumably found one. I arranged my tail and my limbs as well as I could, and found even my bad leg to be properly placed for now. I breathed out contently.
"Rory?"
"Yeah?" I inquired softly.
"What did you set the alarm for?"
"Nine," I replied. "Thought that'd be early enough, if we want to be there by eleven."
"It's fine," Victor said.
"We'll get plenty of sleep, and I think both of us need it, too," I continued. "It's been one damn long day."
"Yeah," Victor grunted.
"Goodnight, Victor."
"Night, Rory," he breathed.
*