Chapter Text
The walk to the office on Monday is hell. Absolute, definite, hell. This has less to do with anything happening at the moment and more an effect from the previous night.
Their roommates had returned at eight thirty PM sharp. And not alone. The two had brought several friends, take out bags, and lots of alcohol. When they pointedly informed Lambert they were having a party, Lambert bit back a scream and smiled instead, quickly retreating to their room.
They don’t even know how long their roommates had people over but it didn’t matter. No matter what they tried they couldn’t block out the noise and sleep.
So now they were walking to the office, exhausted and probably looking like shit.
Beau happily confirms it when they arrive.
“Har, har, so funny,” they deadpan, shoving aside a stack of papers to put their bag down. When it’s settled they turn and lean a hip against the counter.
Beau twirls a strand of golden hair and grins wide, “I know I’m hilarious.” They end with a wink and Lambert can’t hold back an abrupt snort.
The caracal straightens suddenly, eyes brightening.
“Oh, oh, oh, oh!”
They turn and do a speed walk to get behind the front desk.
Lambert turns their head sluggishly toward them, blinking slowly.
“Oh?”
Beau rifles through the papers in the bottom drawer, from where Lambert stands they can only see the black tufts on their ears twitching as they move.
“This one kid yesterday gave me the cutest drawing ever— damnit where is it?!” They end with a quiet hiss. Lambert is sure their tail is lashing in annoyance and tries to bite back a smile. They are not successful. Turns out a lack of sleep makes it harder to mask your emotions. Who’da thunk.
“Now friend lets use kind words,” they chide mockingly, emulating their education teacher.
Beau’s head pops up just enough over the counter to glare at them.
Lambert tunes out for a few seconds after, staring in confusion at the random bruise on their arm, trying to sort out when they got it.
The office door slamming open and their boss rushing in makes them jump slightly.
Ratau drops his bag and briefcase (yes, a briefcase, they’ve mocked him for it plenty but he refuses to stop using it) onto the counter with a loud BANG. For an unassuming rat, Ratau sure makes a lot of noise.
As soon as the briefcase hits the counter he’s flipping it open roughly, sending a couple of papers flying. Beau yelps from behind the desk and yanks the papers out of the air before they can get to the ground.
Ratau looks more frazzled than usual, half moon glasses crooked on his face and long hair slipping haphazardly out of his bun. He’s muttering under his breath and cursing as he sorts through papers, rooting for the correct ones and stacking them next to the case.
Lambert, now a whole lot more alert, approaches his right side and leans onto the counter to make sure he can see them.
“Good morning Ratau… everything alright?”
They see Beau wince when the rat slams the briefcase shut.
Ratau gestures widely with hands clutching papers. “No. No, no, everything is not alright, the Mudsons had a schedule change to today instead of Tuesday which wouldn’t be that big of a problem if their mother didn’t always insist that all the triplets go at the same time but that’s going to get in the way of the tooth extraction at three fifteen—”
“Whoa, whoa, boss, boss, take a breath.” Beau appears suddenly and puts a hand on the rat’s shoulder.
Ratau huffs in annoyance but obeys, taking deep breaths.
Lambert holds their hand out to him, with a quiet grumble, Ratau reluctantly hands over the papers.
They hum as they card through them and try to sort everything together to make their schedule work. Most practices wouldn’t accept last minute changes but due to Gleaming Grins’s size, they can’t really afford any bad publicity. They have a cancellation fee, but they can’t stop anyone from ranting about their business online or to their friends over brunch.
They quietly sort the papers of different customer’s receipts, frowning as they don’t see many openings or wiggle room. They could call Gina, an undergrad finch who technically has the day off but might be willing to come in and help once ze hears the predicament. They reach across the counter to grab the office phone and a pen.
Lambert punches Gina’s number into the phone and wedges it in between their ear and shoulder. They uncap the pen and go to jot down the name of each employee taking each patient when their brain decides at that exact moment to take a break and forget everyone who ever existed.
They groan quietly and turn to Beau who is distracting Ratau with papers listing their monthly expenses.
“Beau, who’s coming in today?”
The caracal glances up for a moment before looking away.
“Zephyr, Camille, Natty, and Ayesha.”
“‘Kay thank you,” they draw the u out.
“Uh for what?” Gina’s voice rings through the phone, sounding amused and startling Lambert.
They wrangle the phone into a more comfortable position on their shoulder.
“Oh. Gina, hi, uh how would you feel about coming in today?” They grimace at their own words and the resulting silence.
Silence, and then a sigh.
“Over scheduled?”
“Yep.”
There’s more silence, Lambert is awake enough to feel guilty for calling ze on zir day off but not awake enough to do anything other than wait for a response.
God they should have gotten coffee on the way here—
“Alright I‘ll come in.”
Lambert breaths out in relief.
“Thank you so much Gina you can work out the specifics with Ratau when you get here—”
“—Got it Dr. Ewe I’ll be there in twenty.” Ze sounds like ze is moving around quickly so Lambert says a brief goodbye and hangs up.
They take the phone from their shoulder and hold it loosely for a moment, staring down at the papers in front of them and blinking.
Ratau’s questioning voice breaks them out of the moment. “Lambi?”
Lambert frowns, they don’t mind the nickname per say, but it brings a certain kind of nostalgia that they’re not sure they like. They don’t correct him though. They never do.
“Yeah?” They turn to him, Beau has gone away, likely to the storage room to start pulling out supplies for the day, or maybe to the staff room to grab their fiftieth cup of coffee. Lambert swears they have more coffee running through their veins than blood—
Their mind screeches to a halt. Coffee. Coffee in the staff room. They internally cheer.
“You alright? You look a lil’ rough.” The rat leans his elbow onto his cain, one eye squinting at them appraisingly.
Lambert grimaces. “Yeah, just roommates.” They laugh humorlessly.
Ratau nods in sympathy and Lambert takes that as a sign that they are free to go do whatever before patients arrive. They sweep up the papers and start to walk away from the front desk.
Just before their hand can close around the handle to the back Ratau speaks again. “Oh, wait, Lambert?
They resist the groan and turn their head to the elder doctor.
“Yeah?”
“You on the tooth pulling with me today? I asked you ‘bout it yesterday but you didn’t respond.” He’s looking at them with concern. Which, fair, they typically respond to text messages or voicemails relatively quickly. But considering their phone was dead all night, it would have been a little hard to do so.
“Uh- yeah, yeah sure that’s three fifteen right?”
The rat nods, a slight smile taking the place of the concerned look.
Lambert smiles back and resists the urge to fiddle with their earrings and look away from the warm look in Ratau’s eyes.
They last for ten seconds before turning away abruptly and walking through the door to the back.
Lambert is almost done cleaning up the separate room. The tooth pulling went pretty well if they do say so themselves. They had little reason to actually be there and they suspected that Ratau only asked them as an excuse to keep an eye on them after not having gotten a response the night before. They huff fondly.
Margot, the young tiger who had gotten a baby tooth pulled after she cracked it, was remarkably calm despite the pain she must have been in. Of course the laughing gas and novocaine likely helped her feel pretty much nothing. Lambert made sure to give the little cub her a sticker of her choosing on her way out.
They swipe a cleaning wipe over the patient chair and unhook their mask with one finger, letting it dangle from their left ear.
When they finish cleaning the chair they drop the wipe into the trash can near the door. They scoop up the tray beside them holding bloodied cotton balls and various tools. Pushing the room’s door open with their shoe, they walk out and deposit the tray on a cart near the printer. It has several other trays on it similar to the one they just left there.
Lambert rolls their shoulder and rubs at their eye, grumbling as they walk down the hall to the staff room where they left their coffee.
The staff room is empty aside from Camille typing away on a laptop in the corner and sipping on a bright blue monstrosity. The crab doesn’t acknowledge them other than a tiny wave without tearing their gaze away from the screen in front of them.
Lambert grabs their coffee cup off the table and downs the remainder of it, grimacing at the tepid temperature. They glance at the clock on the wall to check the time.
Hm. They have a bit before their next patients come in, they’ll take a break.
Honestly they aren’t sure what they would do without Beau. The caracal bought them lunch after they quietly admitted they were just planning on skipping it altogether. So now they were both sitting at the little metal tables outside a kitschy diner and eating their respective lunches.
Beau was rambling about some kind of celebrity drama Lambert was not up to date on and they tried to just nod along and pretend they were understanding.
“You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
Lambert smiled guiltily, caught. A small buzz at their elbow had them flipping over their phone. Jimmy’s name on a text box popped up on their lockscreen. They click their phone off, resolving to answer the text another time.
The caracal across from them hummed. “Hm. What’s something you’d be interested in…”
They perked up. “Oh! There was a murder on Fairfield this weekend.”
Lambert slapped a hand over their mouth to keep from choking on a brussel sprout.
They cough anyway as they try to speak.
“What? What happened?”
Beau shrugs, swirling their stew around with a spoon. “Some people are saying it was on purpose, others are saying it’s connected to a robbery that happened a couple streets over.”
Lambert hums, they wonder what Narinder would think. They know he would rather not take any of the more dangerous cases with the kits and all but there’s no rule that says he can’t speculate on it.
Their phone buzzes again. It’s Narinder. They aren’t sure what happens to their face but whatever it is is enough to make Beau snicker and ask teasingly, “Is that your man?”
Lambert rolls their eyes and scoops up the phone to respond the text message, pointedly ignoring Beau’s attempts to lean over and see their screen.
Narinder is typing on his phone, a second ago he was showing Aym and Baal funny videos to distract them from their nerves.
Aym doesn’t seem to mind too much, staring at the wall and mindlessly tapping a rhythm on his leg. The only sign of his apprehension is in his posture, slightly curved and twitching anytime a noise is too loud outside the room.
Baal shifts minutely, trying not to move around too much. The doctors office is never a comfortable place. The smell makes him nauseous and he feels nervous just sitting there.
Baal taps Narinder’s arm to get his attention. The elder cat looks down immediately, closing his phone with a soft click. That’s something Baal really likes about Narinder, he always gives them his full attention.
Baal presses the tips of his right fingers together and holds them to his lips. He brings the hand down, spreads it flat to rest over his left hand held out horizontally in front of him. He then turns his palms upwards and moves them side to side.
Narinder points at him and then holds his hands out in front of him, palms up, and curls his fingers slightly as he moves his hands closer to him. He ends it by unfurling his fingers and moving his hands from side to side.
Dinner what?
You want what?
Baal blew out an annoyed breath, ignoring Narinder’s amused, raised brow.
Baal shrugs in answer.
Why can’t he just choose?
Before either can say much more, the doctor walks in with a bright smile and a calm greeting.
Baal always feels like he’s being tested when the doctor listens to his heart. Like if he gets too nervous and his breath stutters the doctor will step back, take one look at him and give him a big fat F. Or declare he has a heart condition. Or something.
Which he knows is ridiculous. But still.
The check up is only mandatory because they’re starting school next week. Something that he was trying to put as far out of his mind as long as he could. At Least he and Aym would be in most of the same classes. Not that he usually wanted to be in the same classes with his brother, but, well. It’s comforting, in a way, to have him close.
Enough of that. Not now at least. The rest of the check up goes okay, the blood pressure thing is uncomfortable but it always is. They talk about his habits— well, Narinder translates as he signs, but sometimes Baal just looks to him to answer the questions.
All in all everything goes mostly smooth. Aside from sleep.
Baal doesn’t like to talk about it. He gets nightmares of the day it happened, for a while he tried to just not sleep. It worked for a little and he was relieved. The lack of sleep however came back with a vengeance, making him even more prone to the flickering heat in his dreams.
When his brother had nightmares he woke up violently, gasping and sobbing. In the earlier days sometimes he’d scream. When Baal wakes up he stares at the ceiling of their— Narinder’s— apartment, and tries not to throw up. He’s heard stories about sleep paralysis, that’s sort of what it feels like, he can’t breath, can’t move, can’t make a sound.
When the doctor asks how many hours on average he sleeps, Baal hesitates and looks to Narinder. The older cat’s jaw tightens but his eyes soften. It’s kind of a weird face but it’s his so it’s comforting nonetheless.
“It varies, probably somewhere between five and seven hours,” Narinder answers the doctor curtly.
They hum and nod, typing something into the computer. They don’t say anything after. They know Baal’s history. They know why he’s like this. They won’t push it and the relief that comes with that realization pushes a big breath of air out of his lungs.
The doctor turns in their chair to face them all. There’s a gentle smile on their face, their scales are shimmery under the light, Baal gets distracted by it and almost misses the doctor’s next words.
“Baal’s throat is looking much better and from what you’ve told me his vocal cords seem to be healing quite well.”
Baal almost bristles, but he forces himself to relax. He’d already known Narinder had been talking to the doctor about his progress. Heck, the older cat had specifically asked if it was alright. Baal frowns anyway, a small, barely-there frown. Aym notices and raises a brow. Baal gives a strained smile back. His brother shrugs and slouches back in his chair.
“Has he started any kind of speech therapy?”
Baal glares down at his hands.
“No.”
The doctor waits a beat before moving on. They don’t say anything but Baal can’t help but tense further.
“Alright then, Baal you can sit down, Aym you’re up.”
Baal slips off the brown table and glances up at his brother as he passes.
Maybe it’s the fact that doctors offices are uncomfortable in general, maybe it’s the thoughts about his dreams, maybe it’s the doctor’s comment on speech therapy. Maybe it’s just guilt. But when he glances up at his brother and sees the scar slashed into his face, nausea rears its ugly head in his stomach.
He hurries back to his seat and stares determinedly at his shoes, not daring to look back up.
The doctor goes through the same song and dance with Aym until they get to his eyes. His left eye is fine. Great even, 20/20 vision according to the doctor. His right is the exact opposite. Clouded and scarred, and almost completely blind. The most he can see in that eye is blurred splotches.
Aym shrugs when the doctor asks if his coordination is getting any better. It’s a neutral shrug, it doesn’t bother him if it isn’t. Baal’s noticed. He’s bumped into things a lot less, mostly the couch and the counter.
The doctor praises him for taking care of his eyes and encourages him to keep up the good work. Aym smiles half-heartedly.
When they get to the car Narinder informs them that they both qualify for IEPs, or Individualized Education Programs. Narinder seems pleased at this but Baal can’t help but feel nervous. Upon further questioning they discover that an IEPwould be different for the two of them— which, makes sense, it is in the name.
For Aym his text will be enlarged and he’ll be moved closer to the front of the classroom. For Baal, the teachers will be informed of his muteness and will not require him to do much participation. He also has the choice to sit in the back of the classrooms if he likes. Aym grumbles a bit at this, as everyone knows that the seats in the very back of a classroom are practically coveted.
Baal can also be assigned a buddy who will be in all of his classes.
No.
Narinder doesn’t sigh but Baal sees his lips purse. Aym shifts awkwardly behind them, trying to pretend he isn’t listening. Usually Baal would hiss at him for it but lingering guilt and anxiety from the doctor’s office halts his tongue.
“Baal, I won’t make you do this but it could be nice to have a friend that would be in all of your classes.”
He would have Aym, part of him wants to protest, but he knows that isn’t fair. His brother deserves a social life outside of Baal and shouldn’t be forced to be carted around just to ease his comfort.
Baal huffs harshly, the loudest sound he could make at the moment. He feels frustration well up in his chest. Frustration at Narinder, frustration at the doctors who always say things that made his heart drop into his stomach, frustration at the way his voice wouldn’t come to him when he was upset.
People around him think that familiarity will help him, maybe it will, he doesn’t know. But he doesn’t need or want someone trailing around behind him or staring at him because he doesn’t make a peep.
“Please just think about it.” Narinder’s voice is soft. Caring. Always so kind with them. Sometimes it’s comforting, other times it makes Baal want to bury his head under a pillow to escape the comfort. With that escape comes a feeling of claustrophobia. But claustrophobia is better than the suffocating, hard to breathe, feeling he feels when Narinder is kind to him even when Baal isn’t being kind back.
There are no pillows in the car so Baal will have to settle for ignoring the older cat, doing his best to tamp down his guilt. He stares to his right out the passenger window, trying to think of nothing at all.