Kile ditching you for the dogs was inevitable and you guys shouldn’t even need him if things go perfectly. Maybe that’s why Gabe doesn’t look as mad as he could. It should help that your mission today is in Emerson's town square on a bright, sunny afternoon instead of someone’s creepy basement or public property in the dead of night. Gabe surveys the square, posture still but his eyes darting with observation. 

Then he catches you watching him.

“What?”

“Nothing.” You raise your hands up. “Just wondering what bug crawled up your butt this fine morning.” Gabe’s arms cross and his eyes narrow but you answer his scowl with a smile.

“We’re not here for fun,” Gabe reminds you, finally getting a move on. You walk beside him.

“Well sure, but that’s not really the purpose of this sort of thing anyway.” 

“You say that but ninety percent of these people are here to gawk at animals, not adopt.”

“I’m sure it’s less than ninety.”

“And I’m sure it isn’t unless they’re hiding the purebreds somewhere. It doesn’t matter.” He’s probably right about this cadre of pups not being a ‘dignified’ enough bunch for the locals to go crazy over. But surely this many people wouldn’t come down if none of them intended to adopt, right? “Why are you following me anyway?” Gabe stops abruptly, eyeing you with suspicion. “You’re supposed to be–”

“I know, I know. Finding a shirt. I have my methods, don’t worry.”

“Fine. I'm just…” He sighs, then runs a hand through his hair. “On edge."

“You don’t say,” you snicker, amused that he said it like it isn't obvious. Before he gets upset at that, you add, “Don’t sweat it, Gabe — you do your thing and I’ll go bamboozle a shirt out of these suckers. It’ll be perfect, you’ll love it.”

“You sound completely unreliable right now,” Gabe grumbles, mostly to himself, before his attention is diverted. “There.” It takes you a moment to catch on to what he means, but you see him watching a girl around your age headed to one of the tents. 

“That her?" Gabe said he knew a girl who helped organize this event.

It must be from the way Gabe relaxes his shoulders. He confirms your question with a nod, then hooks a thumb in his pocket while the other rakes through his hair again. “Alright, see ya.”

And just like that, Gabe is off to talk to his target. It baffles you a little, how focused on work he is even on a sunny day surrounded by precious, furry distractions on all sides. You figured he'd at least be a cat person or something… Oh, well. Gabe's working that volunteer and Kile is on stand-by. 

Time to play your part.

Mere minutes later, the white t-shirt in your hands feels like premium-grade cotton and reads SAVE A LIFE, CHANGE A LIFE in cheerful, blue lettering. You nabbed it during a rather rewarding session of playing with the cats up for adoption; their tent's proximity to the volunteers' break station made that child’s play. You aren’t sure yet how you feel about your rapidly improving theft skills. Your sigh is something akin to exasperation as you pull the simple disguise over your head in the relative privacy of the space between a tent and a portapotty, but there is no denying how comfortable it is. Damn. Maybe you’ll keep it.

You step back out into the main plaza and survey the area. Gabe is still chatting up the organizer near the steps, leaning against the concrete railing in that classic wow-that’s-interesting pose of his. The organizer, for her part, has a pleasant smile on and looks relaxed. Your eyes scan for your next stop: the sign-out booth. Sure enough, the person sitting there looks antsy, annoyed, and impatient — and is staring daggers at the organizer chatting with Gabe.

The perfect time for you to step in, then.

“Hi!” Your cheeriness causes the guy at the sign-in to jump in his seat, but he recovers quickly enough and plasters on a smile for you.

“Hi there! I’m — oh. You’re a volunteer?”

“Yep!” 

The real volunteer eyes you with skepticism, clearly aware that you weren’t around for any of the preparation. You raise a hand and wave the suspicion away with a bashful grin. 

“Overslept, missed the whole set up. Michael’s so mad.”

The volunteer’s demeanor calms down at the mention of some name you’d randomly heard a couple of volunteers bad-mouthing while you waited for your moment to nab a shirt. 

"Oh." He winces, sympathetic. “So rough morning, then.”

"The roughest." You sigh dramatically, shoulders slumping for a moment before perking up again. "But don’t sweat it — that’s just what I get for trusting the snooze button.”

Polite laughter follows. How quaint! Time to strike.

“Anyway, sure looks like she’s preoccupied…” You make a show out of raising your brows in vague judgment, then pointedly looking in the direction of Gabe and his mark. The volunteer (Adam, according to the sticker on his t-shirt) lets out a groan of frustration.

“Seriously. Kara's over there flirting while I'm just meant to wait for her to be ready to work, I guess.”

Ah, righteous indignation. Perfect. You huff out a sigh of sympathy as the two of you continue observing for a moment. Then you turn to Adam, feigning serious thought.

“How long have you been on sign-out duty?”

“Since opening…”

“Yikes. Well… I could take over? Until Kara remembers to take over, anyway.” 

Adam looks skeptical again. “I don't know… Don’t you have…” He’s right on the verge of realizing he doesn’t know what you’re meant to be doing here, so you nip that thought process right in the bud with another dismissive wave.

“Please. When the alternative is you missing lunch so Kara can get some action? Over my dead body." You gently gesture for him to get up.

“Are you sure?” Adam looks around anxiously, possibly for another organizer to deem this okay. “I don’t want–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” you say, continuously shooing him with your hands until he finally rises from his seat. Victory. “Kara will come to her senses and take over soon enough, so don’t worry.”

Adam does get up, but eyes you questioningly. Maybe wondering what you are supposed to be doing, but luckily he doesn’t resist any further.

“Fine, but… this wasn’t my idea.”

“Absolutely not!” you chirp, butt firmly settled in the seat of an actual volunteer. You officially look like the real deal. And it wasn’t even hard! You shrug and add, “Besides, if Kara wasn’t so distracted…”

Adam sighs and that seems to be the last push he needed. “True. Alright, I’ll see you around. Thanks…” His eyes search for a name tag and come up short.

“Jennifer!” You pat at a non-existent sticker, then feign surprise. “Oh — I think my sticker fell off…”

Adam grins, amused. “I’ll make sure to find you a new one.”

Ugh. Don’t do that. 

“Thanks, Adam!” You hope he’s just being polite about that offer as he walks away.

…Alright, then. You’re exactly where you need to be. Now you get to… sit and wait.

Or that’s what you think until a tired woman and two bouncing, smiling children stop in front of your booth with their new forever friend in tow. You look down at the forms and other supplies at your desk and then up at the woman's impatient face.

Oh, crap. This is actual work…

This is bullshit. Gabe gets to flirt, Kile gets to play with dogs (you’re sure, even if you haven’t visually confirmed it yet), and you get to collect names and signatures — for FREE. Utter bullshit.

Why do you always get stuck with the most boring job?

Just when your mood is threatening to sour for real, you notice that Gabe now faces you for the first time since you've split up. Is he trying to get your attention? You can’t tell what it is he wants to convey but… you get the feeling you should be on alert. Why?

Your question is answered by the next guest that approaches your table — the guest of honor, of sorts. 

“Hello… there,” greets an unassuming woman in a pair of jeans and sweater that blends into event's the casual atmosphere. What stands out about her is the rigid, dignified way she carries herself. You spot a relaxed Pomeranian-mix by her side on a lead. “Eileen Weber.”

Oh. Oh! This is her! The whole reason you're sat here collecting signatures in the first place. You quickly put on your best smile — you’ll need it for how much you’re about to inconvenience her.

In the end, you somehow managed to wrangle three signatures out of the Weber woman. One on the ‘wrong’ sign-out sheet, a second on the actual sign-out sheet, and another on a spare slip of paper when the pen ran out of ink between fiascos. That one especially felt like a stroke of good luck.

You’ve already taken off your volunteer disguise but can’t help but feel a little bad at the line beginning to form at your abandoned station. Hopefully you’ll be out of here before Adam returns from his break. For now, you’ve decided to hide out in the dog tent — where you easily, immediately, spot Kile.

Well, first you spot the exasperated volunteers working the station. Then you spot Kile, blatantly sat on the ground, pampering no less than four giant canines. A volunteer eyes you, tired. 

“Is that your friend?”

"Yeah..." You shrug, a helpless grin making your answer obvious.

He sighs. “Could you get him out of there, please? This isn’t a petting zoo and he’s been hanging out for an hour.”

Part of you feels oddly defensive, to the point where you have to stop yourself from asking why no one working here can just tell him themselves. It's a silly question; you know from experience that most people avoid telling Kile what to do. You assure the guy that you’re on your way to do just that before entering the dog pen yourself.

A bunch of good boys and girls greet you, causing Kile to notice your arrival. You coo at the puppies for a bit as you make your way over, then give the sociable dogs proper greetings. You really wish you could stay, but it's only a matter of time before Adam spots you or Kara finally gets back to work. Then you’re over by Kile — two of the dogs by his side acknowledge you while the other two seem too absorbed in the pets they’re receiving to notice you yet. Big hands have perks, if these dogs' lazy smiles are any indication.

You wave the papers you've acquired at Kile.

“Got it?”

“Yep. It was easy.”

“You need me to copy it now?”

“Nope! I’m as competent as ever.” 

Kile smirks, looking about to say something before his attention is drawn back to the dogs at his lap.

“You've really been here the whole time?”

Kile shrugs and hums a non-answer, intently focused on the old mutt getting a scalp massage. It pants happily, tongue lolling. “Spent a minute with the puppies, but yeah.” Ignoring the glare from the volunteer who wants Kile gone, you sit on the ground beside him and join in with the rubs, quickly gaining all of the dogs’ attention.

“Puppies too much energy for ya?”

Kile smirks again, his laughs little more than a huff as he shakes his head.

“They’re just gonna get adopted. These guys probably won’t.”

Confused, you're about to ask why — but all at once, it's obvious. These dogs that Kile has ingratiated himself to are... well, old. Greying fur, slow on their feet, heavy on their flanks when they sit down. You spot a the profile for one of them and your thoughts are confirmed. 

“You sought out the old, sick ones?”

The look Kile sends you seems borderline offended, though you doubt he's feeling that strongly. 

“I didn’t seek 'em out. This just happened.”

“Sure, it did...” As unconvincing as that sounds, you leave it alone. You almost end up glaring back at the guy who wants to kick Kile out — if no one else is giving the old dogs love, what does it matter if he does?

Alright, maybe you do throw that volunteer a glare.

"Well… we got what we came for, so as much as I'd love to keep petting dogs with you..."

"I know. Just one more minute."

Can you spare a minute? Maybe? You've got a bad feeling that you're liable to get caught out if you hang around much longer. As if on cue, your third partner arrives. Kile grunts unhappily as soon as Gabe is in sight, causing you to snicker.

"Hey." Gabe greets you from outside of the tent, standing close to the barrier. His eyes fall to the papers in your hand. "Did you..."

"You know," you interrupt. "'Hey' is way too casual to sound natural coming from you." Kile huffs another laugh and Gabe gives you a dirty look; exactly the reactions you wanted. Gabe ignores the comment and continues, leaning over the short wall.

"Did you get everything?"

"Yes, Dad," you whine. He rolls his eyes at the sarcasm.

"Everything? We don't need to make a copy and—"

"No," Kile grumbles. Uh-oh, he's annoyed. Even the dogs notice and — are you imagining them crowding around him in support? What?

Luckily, your competence seems to have left Gabe mostly speechless.

"Oh. Huh." He stares at the paper again, then at you. "Nice work." You only get about two seconds to bask in the moment before Gabe is right back to killing vibes. "Let's go, then."

Kile sighs loud and hard in response... but doesn't budge. You can see that one volunteer getting antsy. Gabe slumps over the fence at his reaction.

"Kile, come on…"

"I heard you the first fuckin' time."

"Hey..." you chide, bumping lightly against Kile's arm. You'll never get out of here without extra attention if they start fighting. Kile rolls his eyes at you and pulls away.

"I'm coming."

Gabe sighs, on the verge of complaining, before he just says, "Okay." Then he shoots you a pleading look. This is becoming more of a thing lately: Gabe turning to you to get Kile to do… well, not the impossible. But it's pretty undeniable at this point that sometimes Kile won't do things just because Gabe's annoyed him. 

So fine. You can't help but chuckle to yourself at how hopeless the two of them can be, though. You finish petting the old dog that had just settled its head in your lap, then get to your feet. Kile barely reacts, but you don't miss him shifting again. Just barely getting more comfortable. 

Worse than a stubborn old dog.

"Come on. Time to say bye to your new friends." When he ignores you, pretending that it takes all of one's attention to scratch floppy ears, you look around for some sort of motivation.

A-ha.

"Look. You're scaring off the kids." That does get Kile's attention, in the form of an irritated stare. Why the hell would I care about that, is what you're reading in it. So you point at, indeed, the one little kid in the dog tent whose eyes are glued to one of the old friends at your feet. Their gaze only breaks to nervously dart over you and Kile as they clutch their mom's skirt. Kile sees where you're pointing.

…And finally stands up.

"Gracias, Señor," Gabe sighs out, relieved.

"Thank you, Kile," you sing.

"Whatever, Manny. Let's go." Before either of you can stop him, he's pushed a barrier aside to leave right then and there, either to avoid the volunteers on the way out or just to make the quickest exit. You slip through the space provided and Kile follows — but stops abruptly.

"What are you—" You turn back, but your heart sinks and your eyes go wide at the sight before you.

All four senior dogs, on their feet, tails swaying and ready to follow you both home.

"Oh, no," you whimper.

"Stay."

A couple of the dogs heed Kile's command and sit, while the other two remain clueless. You might imagine it, but the sigh Kile makes as he closes the barrier back up sounds forlorn.

Gabe sighs and mutters something to himself. You shoot him a dirty look.

"I know you're lacking in a heart, but can the grumbling wait?"

"I have a heart. I also have a cat allergy, so give me a break." He runs a hand through his hair. "I swear you're just as bad as each other."

"You say that like it's a bad thing," you reply, half-paying attention. You're a little more interested in the prolonged farewell Kile appears to be having with the senior dogs. What could he possibly be saying to them? You miss Gabe scoffing.