FIC: The Truth About Cats and Dogs (4/?)

[aslowformofwit.livejournal.com]

Title: The Truth About Cats and Dogs (4/?)
Author: Hannah/aslowformofwit
Rating: R
Main character(s) and/or pairing: Colin/Ryan eventually.
Summary: The flippers of fate skillfully nudged the pinball of destiny unerringly towards the bullseye of complete and utter disaster.
Word count: 1714
Feedback: Much appreciated :)
Author's notes: Still an AU, based on the film of the same name.



And then, it all went to hell.

Not quite as quickly and succinctly as all that, of course. It was more of an extended affair – in which the flippers of fate skillfully nudged the pinball of destiny unerringly towards the bullseye of complete and utter disaster.

The day began with a depressing case of dropsy (caller one: koi), followed by a turtle with a respiratory infection, and several no-brainer diet and lifestyle questions about various breeds of dog. The show then ended on a heartwarming note when in the culmination of ten weeks of intense therapy (and bi-weekly phone-ins) Snowflake, the insecure Persian, finally accepted her owner’s impulse purchase Brandy, a Maine Coon kitten.

Ultimately, Colin was lulled into a false sense of security, and so, when Chip showed up at the station, he did not see this as the harbinger of doom it turned out to be. Though in all honesty, it was very hard to view Chip as a harbinger of anything...other than affordable luxury items such as watches and travel-bags.

“So...you’re Chip,” Greg said, crossing his arms and surveying him.

“Colin’s mentioned me?” Chip’s smile widened, as if being name-dropped by an older, balding guy who counselled cats for a living was a dream one hardly dared aspire to.

Greg ignored him, instead turning to Colin. “You’re right,” he marvelled, “he totally does make me want to barbeque in middle America while wearing moderately priced clothing.” He stared at Chip in fascination. “He’s like capitalist propaganda made flesh.”

Chip seemed unphased. “I get that a lot,” he said agreeably, before turning the full force of his affability onto Colin. He sounded impressed as he said, “You work here?”

“Yeah,” Colin said. He paused. “You...don’t.”

“No,” Chip agreed sunnily.

Colin blinked. “I actually meant...um – is there a...reason you’re here?”

“Oh. Yeah. I had a shoot, but it got cancelled, and I was just passing the station – and I thought...hey, I should ask Colin if he wants to grab some lunch. My treat,” he said. “Well, mine and Chris’. We never really got a chance to thank you properly after you helped carry Chris upstairs that night.”

Colin’s gaze scanned over Chip’s shoulder. “Oh. Is – Chris here?”

“No,” Chip shook his head.

Relief eased its way through Colin, while Greg said, “Boyfriend let you off the leash, huh?”

“Oh no,” Chip assured him, scratching the back of his neck. “That was just a one-time thing. Those collars really chafe.”

Greg’s eyebrows raised. “Wow. That just tells me everything I didn’t need to know. Thanks.”

“So...lunch?” Chip asked again.

“Um – sure,” Colin said.

“Great!” Chip’s smile became strong enough to burn a hole in the ozone layer. “Hey – can I get a tour first?”


*****


“So this is the recording booth,” Colin said. He stopped. “And that’s...pretty much it.”

Chip wandered around, taking in everything, before dropping into Colin’s seat. “This is so cool.” He picked up Colin’s headphones. “Hey – want to hear something weird?”

Before Colin or Greg could answer, Chip continued, “I’m actually taking broadcasting lessons myself. I, uh, I want to get into news, current events. I’d love to be an anchor. I mean, I know it sounds crazy, but” –

“Oh no,” Greg hastened to assure him. “And – if it’s any consolation, I would throw you overboard in a heartbeat.”

Colin looked at Greg, who shrugged. “Oh come on. If he’s going to hang out here, he has to learn.”

Colin kept regarding him steadily, and a couple of seconds later, Greg raised his hands. “Okay, I’m going, I’m going.”

Colin turned back to Chip. “Wow. You wanting to be a news anchor. I never would have guessed.”

Chip made a face. “Catalogue modelling’s okay. I mean – it pays the bills...most of the time. But it’s not exactly a vocation, is it? And it’s kind of shallow – I mean, it’s totally based on looks.”

“Quasimodo’s probably not raking it in,” Colin agreed.

Chip picked up a pen and twirled it between his fingers. “It’s just – no-one really cares what you think if you’re a catalogue model. You’re just a...moveable mannequin. But newscasters...people want to hear what they have to say.”

“I think it’s great,” Colin said. “I mean – the broadcasting lessons. It’s good that you’re going after what you want.” Carefully he asked, “What does Chris think?”

“He doesn’t know I’m taking lessons,” Chip said. “He gets a little weird about that kind of stuff.”

“You mean – you having outside hobbies and interests?” Colin clarified.

“Yeah.” Chip paused. “But I’m sure he’d be supportive if I told him. You know, if I didn’t already know he’d hate it.”

Colin nodded slowly. “Okay.”

“So,” Chip began, only to break off and begin waving at a tall guy in the hall, visible through the big window in the recording booth. The tall guy pointed between himself and the recording booth, obviously miming, ‘Me – inside?’ and a spirited sign-language conversation began.

Colin watched him, eyebrows raising. “Who’s your friend?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know who he is,” Chip said.

“You were waving and smiling at him,” Colin pointed out.

“He waved first,” Chip said, as if it made sense. He shrugged. “I thought he must be a friend of yours.”

“Never seen him before in my life,” Colin said, taking another look at the guy, who was still motioning at Chip, a bit more forcefully – like he was shouting in gesture. Colin’s eyes were suddenly caught by the guy’s right hand...well, more accurately, by the lead he was holding in his right hand.

A sudden terrible suspicion bloomed in Colin’s mind. His eyes tracked the lead, following it from the guy’s palm to –

- the bull mastiff on the other end.

“Crap,” he breathed.

“Huh?”

“Crap!” Colin repeated. “Crap!”

“Is everything okay?” Chip asked.

“No, not okay,” Colin said, still staring at the guy on the other side of the window. Ryan. Kind of gawky looking, big nose...

“He wasn’t lying when he said he was tall,” Colin murmured. Looked like his stalker was honest, at least. That’d be reassuring, if he wasn’t also, you know – a stalker.

“I’m not following you,” Chip said.

“I know,” Colin said absently, “But he is. That’s kind of the problem.” He shook his head, bringing himself back to reality. “Just...give me a minute. I have to deal with something.”

As he opened the door to leave the booth, he bumped into Greg. He grabbed his elbow and pulled him away. “He’s here!”

“Who is?”

“My stalker. That Ryan guy.”

Greg stared at him. “You’re kidding me.” A disbelieving smile spread across his face. “Where is he?”

“Just around the corner.”

Greg took two steps and peered around the corner. “So that’s him,” he said. “Not bad. Maybe a touch of crazy about the eyes, but the overall presentation doesn’t scream insanity.”

“What am I going to do?” Colin asked.

“Do?”

“He’s here – at my place of work.” He spelled it out for Greg. “He tracked me down.”

“Okay,” Greg said. “I don’t know if it’s really worth getting worked up about. As feats go, finding a radio presenter by yellow-paging his workplace isn’t exactly up there with the white-hot deductions of Sherlock Holmes, is it?”

Colin stared at Greg. “Thank you,” he said. “Really. This has been really helpful and not a waste of time at all.”

“Don’t mention it,” Greg said.

With leaden feet, Colin forced himself around the corner. “Hey,” he called out.

The guy – Ryan – turned, and Fido bounded straight towards him, pulling the lead out of Ryan’s hand. “Hey,” he said. “Reconaissance?”

Colin blinked as Fido braced his forelegs on his chest and licked his face. “Excuse me? Down, boy.”

Ryan pointed at the window. “I saw you in there a minute ago. So – you here to rate me on a scale of one to crazy?”

“I – guess so,” Colin said. He patted Fido’s head

“On a good day, I’m about a five,” he said. “Ryan, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know,” Colin said slowly, as he mentally upped Ryan’s five by several points.

“You do?”

Colin found himself smiling an incredulous smile. Fido butted his thigh. “You know, contrary to what you seem to think, the life of a radio vet doesn’t generally involve a lot of caller-groupies showing up at the station. This is kind of an anomaly.”

“I guess it might be a little out of the ordinary. I wouldn’t describe myself as a caller-groupie though.”

“Really?” Colin asked. A small part of him guiltily wondered if he wasn’t feeding Ryan’s delusion, because the intended go-away conversation seemed to have gotten sidetracked into friendly-banter. He decided to be firmer and more unyielding. “How would you describe yourself?” Inwardly he cursed himself for being as firm and unyielding as jello – sans mold.

“Oh, gee, that’s a tough one.” Ryan pantomimed indecisiveness, tapping his finger against his cheek. “I’m your typical Libra – headstrong, determined, but with a softer side. I like long walks on the beach, candlelight dinners...and taking photographs of the sunset from my porch swing.”

He stopped and looked at Colin. “Listen – I get that this is a little weird” –

“Just a little weird?”

“- but I’m not some nut. I just phoned this radio show, and the guy helped me. And I – wanted to meet him. That’s all.”

Colin found the corners of his lips quirking upwards. “You know, when you put it like that...it actually doesn’t sound weird at all.”

“Great,” Ryan said. “So...could you get him for me?”

Colin stared at him. “Who?”

“Colin Mochrie. That’s is who we’re both talking about, right?”

“I’m...suddenly not sure,” Colin said. He frowned at Ryan, who was looking through the window again.

At Chip, who was sitting in Colin’s chair, and wearing his headphones, blending in completely with his surroundings. Catalogue ready, you could say.

Realisation dawned. “Oh,” Colin said, “You think...”

Ryan turned back to him, and the rest of the sentence died on Colin’s lips. A wave of pre-emptive awkwardness washed over him as he contemplated explaining to Ryan his mistake. It made something inside him wince and contract.

And, at that moment, Colin made a rash and ridiculous decision.

“Sure,” he said, face bland and pleasant. “Just give me a minute and I’ll get him for you.”