something (very) short and sweet [robin]

february 2003

“Stop squirming,” Fflur demanded, but she was far from being serious, wasn’t even close to using her teacher’s voice. “I mean, really.” She set the puppy down on the path -- a little icy in places and muddy in others -- and picked him back up after a few seconds; his dainty paws couldn’t handle Hogsmeade’s winter conditions, apparently. She hadn’t bought him a leash or food or toys or anything (so it was easy to carry him, squirming aside), operating under the assumption that Bert would (probably reluctantly) share. He had a collar with no tag, and Fflur had been calling him variations on the theme of “Pup” all day.

She had been visiting her parents with zero intentions to come home with a new houseguest; her parents’ neighbors and their relatively new litter of corgi puppies had other ideas, though. They kept calling it an ‘oopsie litter’ and Fflur had avoided asking for elaboration; once she had fixated on the littlest one, she decided she should probably be nice should she want to take him home. She didn’t spend more than two minutes with him before deciding she would die for him.

They had left Cardiff together. It had been a bit of a struggle -- he had never apparated before and was far more interested in trying to lick Fflur’s face -- but they had arrived in Scotland without further issue. He was panting, cute and excited little puppy pants, as they walked and Fflur was all smiles. She tucked him into her jacket the next time the wind blew, and she could only smile more. The worry she had been ignoring for so long -- that Robin might not be as excited about this as she was -- continued to be ignored.

She just barely refrained from welcoming him to his ‘furever home’ as she pushed the front door open. Bert was immediately present; after a quick pat with her free hand, Fflur straightened up. “Robin?” She pulled the pup from her jacket and held him up with two hands. Bert was very interested so Fflur knelt down to allow him to investigate. Robin came in the room and she didn’t look up, didn’t want to miss any second of Bert meeting his new brother. “I got a Valentine’s present.” She set the puppy down and the dogs booped noses. “For Bert,” she added with another smile, tilting her head to give Robin a look.

@Robin Byrne-Davidson

Robin shuffled downstairs after Bert, and halfway down his mouth fell open in a delighted grin. Fflur was holding a tiny, fluffy little corgi puppy up for Bert to inspect. Robin took the last stairs at double speed. “Hello!” he said to the puppy, immediately getting to his knees to stroke its tiny snout. “Who’s this?” He looked up to Fflur. “Did your parents get a dog?”

Grinning ear to ear, she told him it was a Valentine’s present.

He made an effort not to let the anxious chill that bloomed in his chest show through on his face, or in his body or however people noticed that stuff, but he’d never been good at hiding things. Didn’t stop him trying to pretend he was. “For Bert,” repeated Robin, leaning into the joke. He laughed. “You think he’s mature enough to raise a child?” Another living creature to be responsible for. The first time someone had done this he’d needed it too desperately to understand how much weight that was. Now he was intimately familiar with it. He couldn’t regret keeping Bert, but in bad times the dog was just another source of guilt. And Fflur hadn’t even asked before she’d brought him another?

He spoke to the corgi again. “Well that’s hardly fair, is it?” he said, still cooing, but now with a noticeable bitter undertone. “You’ve gone and brought him home already, and you know there’s no way I can say no once I’ve seen him.” He didn’t want to see the look on Fflur’s face—she’d looked so happy—so he just kept watching the dogs sniff each other, sitting back on his heels.

Robin chewed on his tongue. Surely they could do this well enough, couldn’t they? There were two of them now. He considered this. Though they had become a family, Robin knew Bertie was more of his dog than hers, or theirs. He and Bert were connected in some profound human-dog sort of way. Robin wouldn’t fault Fflur for wanting that herself.

Now that he thought about it, the entire house was his. Fflur hadn’t ever seemed to have a very large material life. She’d lived in Hogwarts teacher’s quarters as long as he’d known her, and when she moved here she’d barely brought more than a couple of jackets and a toothbrush. His own house was full of so much shit. Why shouldn’t Fflur bring one thing home?

This was uncharted territory. Robin hadn’t ever lived with a girlfriend before. He hadn’t realized this until his therapist had told him. Over the years he’d had roommates come in and out, of course, and even some he was intimate with, but how could he have done this before? There had been no woman like Fflur before.

He forced himself to use his words. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, scratching the little dog’s chubby puppy belly with just one hand and movement of the wrist. It felt strange on a dog so small. “I’m in love with him, obviously, I just—get stressed about this stuff, y’know? Taking care of things.”

That was an excited ‘hello’ wasn’t it? Fflur decided it was, and she grinned a little wider, if that was possible. She let herself have a few more seconds of that blissfully-pushing-that-worry-out-of-her-head feeling as she readjusted herself, sinking down so she could sit cross legged on the floor. It was hard to tell him that no, her parents did not get a dog, so she didn’t. The new dog was a present for the old dog.

“For Bert,” she repeated again. He laughed, nervously. She should probably start worrying now; instead, she took Bert’s face in her hands and smushed it gently. “I think he’s ready,” she confirmed, relaxing her hands and scratching his crown before leaving him alone to continue sniffing around the puppy.

Fflur shrugged, about to ask if he thought it wasn’t fair because he had wanted a Valentine’s present; he went on before she had a chance to make the situation any worse than Robin was about to make it. She opened her mouth to answer -- she had considered that the dog was too cute to say no to, of course -- but confirming anything now wouldn’t make things any better. He could go back, she supposed; she’d have to take him when her parents were out, and ask the neighbors not to tell, probably, or they’d have one more thing to think she wasn’t very good at.

She didn’t look at Robin -- he wasn’t looking at her either -- but she couldn’t really stand to look at the puppy either, not if she needed to fall out of love with him and take him back. There’d be another litter; maybe they could try again later. But the puppy yawned, accompanied by a little squeak, and Fflur glanced back at him. She wanted this puppy, but she lived in Robin’s house and hadn’t bothered to ask him first.

Robin apologized and Fflur started, looking at him properly. He wasn’t the one needing to apologize, she thought. “I know.” She knew. “Dunno what I was thinking-- wasn’t, probably.” She swallowed, trying to find a clue on Robin’s face that she needed to suggest she take him back. He was in love with him, obviously, but in a very-stressed-Robin sort of way. She glanced back down at the puppy -- he wasn’t big enough to be pet by multiple hands, unfortunately -- and smiled, though with much less enthusiasm this time.

“I’m dumb and should have asked but--” look how cute he is, she wanted to finish. “I want to keep him, I think.” She looked back to Robin as she spoke, nodding once. She had been pretty good so far about their now-officially-shared space -- she needed a drawer and a place to kick her boots off -- and a new dog was a huge thing but still just one thing and-- “Sorry,” she said finally.

Fflur was of the opinion that Bert was ready for fatherhood. Robin sat back to watch his dog investigate the newcomer for a few seconds. Bert pushed the puppy over with his snout, and after a startled leap backward, scrambled around and nudged him back up from the other side. “Well, look at him,” said Robin, dumbly. “He well might be.”

Her too, if he was being honest. He might fear his own relapse into absolute uselessness, but he had no right to fear hers, even if after last summer he might have precedent. And not even then, frankly. She’d just been drunk, not unable to refill a dish of dog food twice a day. Surely between the two of them, there was no need to worry about that? Undoubtedly there was no need to worry the dog would be loved.

He bit the inside of his cheek, working to convince himself that facts took precedence over fear.

“Would’ve been nice to ask, of course,” he mumbled, feeling like a tool at Fflur’s string of self-deprecating apologies. “But I figure you’ve also got reason to believe I’d have no problem, given, y’know, every dog I’ve ever seen.” They’d point them out to each other on the street—which was more exciting in places other than the secluded village of Hogsmeade in which he’d lived for years, but they did it there too. “I can’t fault you.”

Robin got to his feet to let Bert and the puppy wander toward the couch. “Well, then,” he said. He looked from Fflur to the corgi as she gazed at it—the accusatory tone hadn’t quite left his voice, but he cracked a smile at the bowled-over look in her eye. “Has he got a name?”

“‘Course.” She was plenty aware by now that she should have asked -- she made a mental note to ask before bringing home the next puppy -- but she kept her eyes on the dogs to stop herself from apologizing again. That wasn’t going to help her determination to keep the puppy, anyway. “Was pretty misleading, yeah.” She managed half a grin then as she looked at Robin; she managed a whole grin as her more or less agreed to letting him stay; not saying ‘no’ was as good as a ‘yes’ here.

Fflur stayed seated on the floor as the dogs moved away, hoping in vain that the puppy would come back to her lap if she looked somewhat comfortable, but it was time for Bert to give the tour, apparently, show him all the best places for a sniff and a nap, the like. Bert was too big to sneak onto the school grounds, but the new puppy was perfectly sized for sneaking, so Fflur’d have to take on that tour herself.

She stood after another minute and answered Robin with a shrug. “I’ve been calling him Pup.” She looked back to the dogs for a few more seconds before turning her attentions back to Robin properly. “Robin Jr. is lush but--” it wasn’t a very good dog name, was it?-- “Ernie,” she finished quickly, realizing Bert needed his Ernie, hardly believing that it had taken her this long to think of it; Bert and Ernie were a classic power couple, clearly. Bonus that she didn’t think Robin was caught up on his Sesame Street trivia.

“Ernie, yeah,” she said again with a nod. “Only because ‘Ernest Blevins-Byrne-Davidson’ is a bit of a mouthful,” she concluded, ignoring that their names smushed up together had a satisfying ring to it. “And ‘Bert and Ernie’ sounds nice.” It was something she was just coming up with now, mind. “Unless you have a better idea? Can take it into consideration.” Fflur grinned, leaning in to steal a quick kiss before she followed the dogs to the couch.

Robin, for some reason, found himself flushing as Fflur joked about naming the puppy after him. “Oh yeah, well,” he replied just as mockingly. “Lush, that’s us.” He picked up a forgotten morning mug from the coffee table and swished around the cold tea.

She proposed another choice. Robin nodded slowly. “Like it—I love a good dog with a people name.” He jerked his head toward Bert. “Obviously.” It had taken him a while to give Bertie a name, but he remembered Oscar had been surprised by what he’d decided on. Robin thought he had probably expected him to call Bert something a tad less…reasonable. Sir Snuggles von Fluffmeister or somesuch. Much love for his baby brother, but Oscar had never seemed to get the hilarity Robin found in ordinariness. Ernie. What a stupid old-man name for a little puppy. Brilliant. “Reminds me of the Knight Bus bloke.”

He studied their new adopted dog baby for another second, then flicked his wrist in a gesture at the room—the scene. The loving young(ish) couple at a certain stage of their relationship, picking out baby names. “This feel like a metaphor, to you?” He snorted softly, fondly. “Just don’t bring home a human baby next time. I don’t know I’d cave as easy.”

She glanced at Bert as he was called out for his good name, smiling as he nudged the new puppy toward his water bowl. “More of a people name than yours.” Fflur raised both eyebrows as she looked back at him and his bird name.

“Right, yeah.” She could picture that guy, the Knight Bus bloke. The Catapults had taken the bus to away matches for nearly an entire season, something about trying to save money and avoid any portkey queasiness so close to game time or any accidental splinching — never mind the driver she was pretty sure was blind. “My first crush,” she said, clasping her hands and holding them up to her cheek, adding a couple flutters of her lashes to drive home the joke. (Robin knew that he was her first crush, embarrassingly enough). “Just been waiting for something to name after him,” she added with a grin, relaxing her arms after another second.

Fflur shrugged, looking around their living room. “Should it?” A puppy was not a baby and she wasn’t planning to change that any time soon; she laughed when Robin voiced basically the same opinion. “Christ.” She rolled her eyes, finally settling into the cushions with a soft thump. “This kid was a foot off the ground yesterday. Fell, cried.” Hospital wing, paperwork. “So yeah, no problem.” She nodded again, more assuredly this time. “Don’t know where I’d find a baby anyway. Such short notice.” She pat the spot on the couch next to her, either for Robin or a dog; she wasn’t picky.

[[ out ]]

Robin chuckled softly. He could never work with kids the way Fflur did—especially not teaching them to fly. “For what it’s worth, any kid of yours would be flying circles round the house by the time they were three,” said Robin, and pressed a kiss to the side of Fflur’s head for good measure. “Reckon I’m glad this little bloke can’t hold a broomstick. Just need to look out for my ankles.” To make sure he didn’t accidentally step on him, more like. Robin didn’t think Bertie had ever been this small, at least not in his care. Maybe his baby niece? Frankly it was a miracle he’d never kicked her and ruined family Christmas.

Ernie pattered toward them at top speed and launched himself into Fflur’s lap. Robin sat beside her more calmly. Now that they’d reached a resolution he felt like they shouldn’t have—surely there was more to discuss, more that needed to happen to take this on right?

He just stroked one finger down the top of Ernie’s head though, between his soft little ears. They could rest for a little while, at least.

[out]