Chapter Text
It doesn’t take much time for Brett to figure out Air Bud’s lost. Just as Reagan’s about to sit in her desk chair and confront her responsibilities, he barges in to inform her, and she doesn’t even get to sit down.
She looks up, unamused. “Calm down, Brett. I’m sure he hasn’t gotten far. Dogs sleep for most of the day, anyway. He’s probably just snoozing in a random place you haven’t thought to look yet.”
When Reagan realizes (belatedly) that Brett’s far more worried than she anticipated— she’s a fool —she touches his shoulder. “We’re gonna find him. I promise. I’ll let the others know.”
Reagan pages the team and tells them to start looking for Air Bud over their detesting groans. They begrudgingly follow her orders, but she knows they won’t do a good job, at least not on a mission like this. As usual, if you want something done, you have to do it yourself.
Reagan and Brett split up to cover more ground. She asks Alpha-Beta, but he hasn’t been watching the security cameras—he’s been hooked on the latest season of Friends . When he tries to gush about it, Reagan swiftly leaves the room to check the Chem Lab. Thankfully, she doesn’t find a dead dog with opposable thumbs lying in a vat of poison. Eventually, she finds herself in the empty group therapy room because sessions are usually held after work. The chairs have been left in their haphazard circle, and the broom closet is slightly ajar.
Aha! I found you, you little shit , Reagan thinks as she creeps toward the door. She doesn’t want to scare the animal, so she says, “Uh, Air Bud? Are you-” She clears her throat. “Are you in there, buddy?”
The words sound uncharacteristic and weird on her tongue.
She swings open the door only to realize the closet is empty save for—well, brooms and other cleaning supplies. Reagan sighs and rubs her face with one hand, turning to exit the closet, but the door shuts behind her. When she tries to open it, it’s locked from the outside. “Oh, come on! Who the fuck puts a lock on the outside? ” And how the hell had she never noticed it before?
Reagan bangs on the door with a fist. “Hey! Help! Hey! ”
But it’s no use. The CEO walks backwards deeper into the closet, sinking into the dark like a cryptid. A heavy feeling washes over her.
She hasn’t been in here since… yeah .
And she stands in the dark, remembering.
-
Brett is calm. He’s so calm. Brett’s so calm his palms are slick with sweat, and his hair is sticking to his forehead. He’s so calm he nearly shouts at everyone. That rarely happens. He’s cracking slightly under pressure because Air Bud is entirely his responsibility. He’s gone, and he could be dead, and this is all his fault!
At least he has Reagan to help. They divide and conquer, and he’s totally okay. Definitely . He ends up in the AA room because he hears the telltale clicking of dog nails against the floor. It’s quiet like a wasteland, the haphazard chairs irritating him by not being in a perfect circle. He doesn’t see Air Bud but hears something in the closet. As he makes his way over, he turns a chair around the right way without looking at it. He unlocks the door and swings it open— “Reagan?”
Suddenly, he sees a blur of fur and feels the familiar sensation of being dunked on.
“Bud?!” He cries before he’s cut off and tossed further into the closet. This feels like some divine irony, and he runs into Reagan, turning around just in time to see Air Bud shut the door with his opposable thumbs. Brett gasps, and then he’s doused in darkness. He takes a few moments to process, feeling around in the dark— He palms Reagan’s face on accident.
“ Fuck -”
“Oh, god, sorry!” He retracts his hand, moving it to her neck, then her shoulder, so he can tell where she is. Part of him is relieved because they found Air Bud. He can hear the dog playing with the door, hoping they’ll be released.
Reagan opens her mouth to yell Door! through the dark and nearly shoves him aside to catch it before it locks again. She’s promptly met with the telltale sound of a lock clicking, and her hands slam against the unforgiving doorknob. She groans and, in her fit of rage and annoyance, quips through gritted teeth, “Remind me why you didn’t shoot him in the head when you had the chance?”
The CEO doesn’t mean it; at least, Brett hopes she doesn’t. It results from pent-up stress, fear, and frustration, but it still hurts and comes out of nowhere. Brett feels that familiar white-hot shock of that specific brand of hurt that only comes when someone close to you says something biting, and it takes him a moment to recover. He knows she didn’t mean it, but Air Bud isn’t just a dog to him. He represents a much larger battle with morality and leadership that Brett had had to wrestle with. Air Bud is his pet . He’s over-sensitive; he knows that, so he tries not to let it get to him.
When Reagan looks over her shoulder at Brett, hands still gripping the door handle and knuckles white, she immediately backtracks. “Sorry- God , I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just-”
Something’s wrong, and he wants to help her. It doesn’t take long for Reagan to give in, which is nice—Brett’s not sure how much bandwidth he had today for wrestling emotional intimacy out of her. Even if they did almost kiss. He’s still unsure what to make of that, if anything.
Reagan sinks to her knees, hands reluctantly letting go of the doorknob to fall into her thighs, defeated. She slouches, back facing Brett, and leans forward so her forehead knocks against the door. She sighs, “Sorry. I had a meeting with the Robes today. I thought I was gonna miss it in the elevator, but turns out I’m missing it because I’ve been locked in a closet by a stupid - Uh. I mean, a dog.”
The Robes. Of course.
Maybe Brett is insane for the unease that twists in his heart. Maybe he’s impatient, but he can’t deny how weird the Robes have made Reagan act. He’s so happy she’s gotten her dream, but there’s no beating around the bush that she’s changed.
She has less time for Brett. She has less time for herself. The little time she had before her promotion has completely dwindled into ashes, and Reagan is slowly slipping into a coffin of unachievable perfection. And he can’t do anything but watch.
His eyes have started to adjust to the closet, so he reaches forward, hand gently resting on her head. He massages it, which he knows must feel nice when she’s had her hair in a ponytail all day. He doesn’t speak yet—Reagan isn’t done, and even though he wants to assure her it’s okay whether it is or not, he doesn’t want to risk interrupting her and halting her train of thought. So he lets her speak.
“Brett, I’m seriously sorry.” When he shifts slightly, she adds, “No, just- Just tell me something, okay? Do I-” Reagan swallows dryly, suddenly embarrassed—or ashamed? “Was Robo-Reagan right? Are you… upset with how I treat you? Did you tell her that? Please, tell me the truth. I need to know because-”
Reagan balls her hands into fists, fingernails digging into her pants, then her palms.
“I just need to know.”
Brett bends down to her level, resting on his knees, and his head falls against the back of hers. “I know you didn’t mean it. And Air Bud did just lock us in a closet. I’m sorry I dragged you into this. This is- This is really below your level of work, and I’m sorry you missed your meeting.” He swallows hard, secretly thanking the Shadow Gods that it’s too dark to see.
“I’m not upset about that. I think Robo-Reagan was just reflecting your own insecurity. I don’t expect you to treat me any better because we’re coworkers and BFFs. I can’t expect more. That’s just unfair. Does that make sense?”
She’s quiet.
Brett’s voice shakes, “I… like being close to you, Reags. I really like you. You could throw me out on the side of the road, and that wouldn’t change. But there’s also a, um, reason that she fooled me. I just- I don’t know how to say this. Just- what we have is enough and will always be enough.” This is risky. This is very risky. “But I wouldn’t mind - I’d like more, you know? I just can’t- I can’t risk losing what we already have.
"That’s why I kissed her so easily. Because I thought she was you.”