[filled fic request] -- a ridiculous man and three dogs
title: a ridiculous man and three dogs
rating: pg
fandoms: 24 redemption / avatar ; milliways verse post-canons
characters: carl benton / trudy chacon
spoilers: for the ends of both canons, with a possible au!twist if we ever get to that point in milliways gameplay?
wordcount: 968
disclaimer: i don’t own even a piece of it so don’t sue me please
notes: written for ashen_key, as part of my holiday fic requests; she wanted carl and trudy post-canons, with puppies and a house somewhere.
She can hear him singing in the kitchen when she opens the front door, so she makes sure to shut it as quiet as she can in an effort to sneak into the house without him noticing. She knows it won’t work; between his observation skills and the fact that he likely heard her car pull into the driveway, the ruse is already up.
But that doesn’t stop her from quietly moving through the hallway, or from grinning as his voice filters over the music he’s listening to.
She almost makes it into the room without being detected -- but suddenly there is a loud skittering sound, as three dogs come rounding the corner and slide across the tile. (The amount of nails on eleven paws -- Luke only has three legs -- makes an absolute racket, and as soon as the canines spot their female master, they’re barking and jostling for attention with enough earnest that she can’t help but laugh.)
"Easy, boys, easy--"
"They’ve missed you," Carl calls over the music; after another second, Bob Marley’s 'Punky Reggae Party' quiets to background noise instead of center stage. "How bad was the market?"
“Not too bad,” Trudy hoists the fabric bag on her shoulder as she works to free herself from the pile of mutts. “They had a sale on bananas so I picked up a bunch. Luke, honey, down--”
“Luke,” Carl’s voice grows louder as he steps around the corner. “Off, c’mon now.”
The overexcited Rottweiler mix backs down (shaking his entire back end -- the combination of a missing back leg and a nub for a tail causes any wagging motion to be transferred to his entire body) and he glances from Carl to Trudy, tongue lolling as he practically grins.
Patches and Valkyrie (an aptly named scruffy terrier mix and a bat-eared Chihuahua, respectively) know to keep out of the way of the larger dog, especially when mom comes home. They also know that if Trudy makes it all the way into the kitchen, there will be treats for everyone, and that is a very, very good reason to only slightly impede her progress.
Once she’s clear of the dogs and within range of Carl’s arms, she makes like she’s going to slip into his grasp for a hug.
But instead of hugging him, she hands over the shopping bag and grins. “Thank you, honey.”
He steals a kiss for his trouble (not like it’s any at all) before moving back into the kitchen with the groceries, while she makes a beeline for the cat-shaped ‘cookie jar’ on the counter beside the iPod dock. She’s instantly surrounded once again by excited canines, her every move being watched by three pairs of bright brown eyes.
“Anyone else who was in here would think that we were starvin’ ‘em,” Carl retorts, shaking his head at the sight of their dogs making fools of themselves. “If a neighbor sees that through a window we’ll have PETA at the doorstep in a few days, just you wait.”
Trudy snickers under her breath and then shoos the dogs away after the treats have been passed out, waiting until they’ve all headed for the living room (likely on the hunt for another fleece toy to maim) before she moves towards Carl. However, this time she does slip into his arms, sliding her hands into his back pockets. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too,” he replies, smiling at her.
She presses a kiss against the more-salt-than-pepper scruff that he’s sporting on his chin, then nuzzles lightly into his neck, closing her eyes. She can feel him leaning against her (there’s a little more pressure from his ‘bad’ side, as he takes weight off of his right leg to ease the strain on his hip) but she doesn’t say a word about it.
“You want to know what’s for dinner?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she glances up at him and gives him an honest, easy smile. “It smells amazing, whatever it is.”
“And you call me the flatterer.” Carl glances towards the living room when the sound of manic squeaky-toy destruction abruptly halts.
Trudy also turns her head. “That can’t be good.” Though, without an answering crash, thud, or bark? She’s not that worried.
“Probably not,” Carl agrees, before he steps back. “I’ve got to stir the soup. You want to see what they’re getting up to?”
“Sure,” she rolls her eyes at him (though the gesture isn’t negative -- she’s only teasing) and shakes her head. “Always making me the bad guy.”
“You’ll just bribe them off with treats again later after dinner,” he points out.
“Not always.”
Carl just shoots her a look and a smirk as he turns towards the stovetop, and Trudy takes that opportunity to stick her tongue out at the back of his head before she heads for the living room.
“I saw that,” he calls.
“Saw what?”
“You.”
Trudy laughs as she kneels down on the floor to pick up the pieces of fluff that have been shredded and strewn across the hardwood. “You saw nothing, sweetheart.”
“Right,” he drawls, causing her to laugh again as the volume of the music rises once again -- drowning out any attempt she might make at a protest -- and he launches into a karaoke version of ‘Three Little Birds’.
“Ridiculous man,” she mutters, tucking a fistful of stuffing into her other hand. “You hear that, boys? Ridiculous man, your daddy is.”
And based on the quizzical looks the three dogs are giving the sounds coming from the kitchen, it’s pretty obvious that they agree.
rating: pg
fandoms: 24 redemption / avatar ; milliways verse post-canons
characters: carl benton / trudy chacon
spoilers: for the ends of both canons, with a possible au!twist if we ever get to that point in milliways gameplay?
wordcount: 968
disclaimer: i don’t own even a piece of it so don’t sue me please
notes: written for ashen_key, as part of my holiday fic requests; she wanted carl and trudy post-canons, with puppies and a house somewhere.
She can hear him singing in the kitchen when she opens the front door, so she makes sure to shut it as quiet as she can in an effort to sneak into the house without him noticing. She knows it won’t work; between his observation skills and the fact that he likely heard her car pull into the driveway, the ruse is already up.
But that doesn’t stop her from quietly moving through the hallway, or from grinning as his voice filters over the music he’s listening to.
She almost makes it into the room without being detected -- but suddenly there is a loud skittering sound, as three dogs come rounding the corner and slide across the tile. (The amount of nails on eleven paws -- Luke only has three legs -- makes an absolute racket, and as soon as the canines spot their female master, they’re barking and jostling for attention with enough earnest that she can’t help but laugh.)
"Easy, boys, easy--"
"They’ve missed you," Carl calls over the music; after another second, Bob Marley’s 'Punky Reggae Party' quiets to background noise instead of center stage. "How bad was the market?"
“Not too bad,” Trudy hoists the fabric bag on her shoulder as she works to free herself from the pile of mutts. “They had a sale on bananas so I picked up a bunch. Luke, honey, down--”
“Luke,” Carl’s voice grows louder as he steps around the corner. “Off, c’mon now.”
The overexcited Rottweiler mix backs down (shaking his entire back end -- the combination of a missing back leg and a nub for a tail causes any wagging motion to be transferred to his entire body) and he glances from Carl to Trudy, tongue lolling as he practically grins.
Patches and Valkyrie (an aptly named scruffy terrier mix and a bat-eared Chihuahua, respectively) know to keep out of the way of the larger dog, especially when mom comes home. They also know that if Trudy makes it all the way into the kitchen, there will be treats for everyone, and that is a very, very good reason to only slightly impede her progress.
Once she’s clear of the dogs and within range of Carl’s arms, she makes like she’s going to slip into his grasp for a hug.
But instead of hugging him, she hands over the shopping bag and grins. “Thank you, honey.”
He steals a kiss for his trouble (not like it’s any at all) before moving back into the kitchen with the groceries, while she makes a beeline for the cat-shaped ‘cookie jar’ on the counter beside the iPod dock. She’s instantly surrounded once again by excited canines, her every move being watched by three pairs of bright brown eyes.
“Anyone else who was in here would think that we were starvin’ ‘em,” Carl retorts, shaking his head at the sight of their dogs making fools of themselves. “If a neighbor sees that through a window we’ll have PETA at the doorstep in a few days, just you wait.”
Trudy snickers under her breath and then shoos the dogs away after the treats have been passed out, waiting until they’ve all headed for the living room (likely on the hunt for another fleece toy to maim) before she moves towards Carl. However, this time she does slip into his arms, sliding her hands into his back pockets. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too,” he replies, smiling at her.
She presses a kiss against the more-salt-than-pepper scruff that he’s sporting on his chin, then nuzzles lightly into his neck, closing her eyes. She can feel him leaning against her (there’s a little more pressure from his ‘bad’ side, as he takes weight off of his right leg to ease the strain on his hip) but she doesn’t say a word about it.
“You want to know what’s for dinner?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she glances up at him and gives him an honest, easy smile. “It smells amazing, whatever it is.”
“And you call me the flatterer.” Carl glances towards the living room when the sound of manic squeaky-toy destruction abruptly halts.
Trudy also turns her head. “That can’t be good.” Though, without an answering crash, thud, or bark? She’s not that worried.
“Probably not,” Carl agrees, before he steps back. “I’ve got to stir the soup. You want to see what they’re getting up to?”
“Sure,” she rolls her eyes at him (though the gesture isn’t negative -- she’s only teasing) and shakes her head. “Always making me the bad guy.”
“You’ll just bribe them off with treats again later after dinner,” he points out.
“Not always.”
Carl just shoots her a look and a smirk as he turns towards the stovetop, and Trudy takes that opportunity to stick her tongue out at the back of his head before she heads for the living room.
“I saw that,” he calls.
“Saw what?”
“You.”
Trudy laughs as she kneels down on the floor to pick up the pieces of fluff that have been shredded and strewn across the hardwood. “You saw nothing, sweetheart.”
“Right,” he drawls, causing her to laugh again as the volume of the music rises once again -- drowning out any attempt she might make at a protest -- and he launches into a karaoke version of ‘Three Little Birds’.
“Ridiculous man,” she mutters, tucking a fistful of stuffing into her other hand. “You hear that, boys? Ridiculous man, your daddy is.”
And based on the quizzical looks the three dogs are giving the sounds coming from the kitchen, it’s pretty obvious that they agree.