Chapter Text
It starts on a Sunday, a day Vince is accustomed to being rather uneventful.
Porpoise races never took place on a Sunday, even the aquatic mammals deserved a day off from having to swim back and forth in their ridiculously large pool. The keepers didn’t even bother with most of their duties, either, because the vast majority of the limited staff were operating on half-battery life. Their already sparse customer base was nowhere to be found on this, the last day of the week. Typically, Sunday was Vince’s day to hang out with the porcupines while they tried to teach him how to play poker, before retiring early to an evening with Howard and a few records.
What he’s not expecting is early on this Sunday Morning, before he’s even turned his hair straighteners on, is for Howard to come crashing through the keepers hut doors--eyes wide and panicked--uttering hushed exclamations of ‘I’m not here, you didn’t see me, I’m not here’ and then literally climbing into their wardrobe.
Vince has no time to ask exactly what Howard is running from, because within seconds of Howard disappearing, Fossil comes screeching through the door. “MOON, Moon I’m gonna- oh. Hi Vince.”
It’s a pathetic little wave Vince gives, still half encased in his sleeping bag and hair stuck up in all directions. It's been less than twenty minutes since he was forced into the realm of the awake; and there is many things he was more prepared for right now than facing their red-faced manager. He is gonna kill Howard for leading Fossil here before he was ready for the day--no one but Howard was supposed to see him like this--because seeing Vince before he's dressed is the equivalent of seeing him completely nude.
“Morning, Mr Fossil.” He mutters weakly. “Can I help you with somethin’?”
It’s amazing the calming effect Vince has on the mad American. Howard had always been quite vocally baffled by it; often wondering aloud why their manager never held any disdain for the younger of the two keepers. Even now his yelling dials back, he’s left just sort of smiling down at Vince as he says. “Oh, no. Not really, I was looking for Moon and I thought I saw him come in here.”
Vince plays his role perfectly. “No, not in here, sir. Just me… getting ready for the day.”
At once Fossil takes the hint. “Oh! Sorry Vince. Wouldn’t wanna impose or nothing--hey, swing by the office later I think I got some good news for you.” This is almost certainly not true. Unfortunately their managers shine to him sometimes extends into the inappropriate, and last time this happened he had to give him a harsh word or two to prevent some unwanted groping. Still, he smiles and nods politely along because it will be the only thing the man wants to hear. “Oh and if you do see Moon, tell him he’s got seven days.”
It makes zero sense, again, Vince is simply left nodding along.
Fossil departs, and Vince scurries from his sleeping bag in order to rush over to their wardrobe and deliver it a hefty kick. The muffled ‘ow’ from inside only pleases him a little. “What was all that about, you prick!”
“He was gonna kill me.” Is the dulled response the cupboard gives.
“And I should have let him.” Vince yanks the wardrobe door open to reveal the hunched shape of the man. He’s covered in clothes from his hasty retreat into the cupboard. There’s a blouse caught over his head. A scarf over his shoulder. He’s stood amongst the shoes. “What’ve you done now? Was it the bush dogs again-- have they complained?”
Howard's remorseful expression only serves to inspire further suspicion in Vince. Nothing good can come from Howard actually acknowledging his guilt, “No it’s--hang on. Why do you always assume it’s the bush dogs?”
“Well just after last time…” Vince doesn’t need to elaborate any further. He makes a gesture with his hand that forces the older man to flush a deep pink colour.
“We don’t need to be bringing up the bush dogs.” Howard starts hastily removing the stuck items of clothing from his person. Anything to avoid eye contact with a snickering Vince, it seems.
“”I’m not bringin ‘em up I was just asking if they’ve complained again.”
“Again? They never complained the first time.”
“Nearly did.” Vince reaches out to snag his fingers in the fabric of Howard’s Zooniverse jacket and pulls him from the wardrobe. Gently urges him away and assists by plucking any lingering bits of fabric from him. “But I talked them out of it didn’t I?”
“It was just a misunderstanding anyway.” Howard insists, puffs his chest out in a false sense of grandeur.
Rolling his eyes Vince reaches into the wardrobe for his clothes for the day. “Howard they found you in their enclosure in just your pants.”
“A misunderstanding.” The man insists harder. Vince smirks at him, pulling his clothes on one item at a time as they talk. “Anyway, we’re getting off topic. It wasn’t the bush dogs.”
“Then what?” He seemed pretty mad.” Moving past Howard to grab his own green jacket, he lands by the mirror. As is typical for his work look, the collar of the garment is flicked up and careful fingers brush his hair into place. “I haven’t seen him that angry since you lost him five grand on the porpoise race.”
Howard actually shifts in demeanour. He starts to look ashen. He's worried. Guilty isn't really the word anymore, he's positively distressed. He looks a lot like how he used to when they were kids and grown-ups (mainly Howard's own parents) would ask him why he didn’t really have any friends. Self-hating and vulnerable. It was a look like that which usually forced Vince to step in with any given problem the older man had. Because Howard, while functionally a coward and an anxious mess, was not really suited for vulnerability. He was headstrong and forward; a man of action.
Vince thinks, ‘ God, what have you done’ and, ‘ I’ll fix this’ in unison.
This time the question comes a little firmer. A demand, not a request. “Howard, what did you do?”
“Mrs Gideon’s gone home.”
“Oh.” Relief floods his veins. “Well that’s not that bad. Annoying I guess, cause we’ll have to do the reptiles today.”
“Vince--”
“But not the end of the world, is it?” Vince barrels on, his brief solace in the fact Howard’s guilt was misplaced overtaking him quicker than the culprit himself can explain. “I mean, remember back in the day when it was just you, me, Joey Moose and Graham? We hardly got anything done but it wasn’t--”
“Vince.” Howard cuts in sharply. It almost makes Vince flinch with it’s snapped delivery. “She hasn’t gone home today. She’s gone. For good. Mrs Gideon quit this morning…. And it might have been a little bit my fault.”
Which. Okay. That is a little bit bad but still, not completely terrible. They’ve definitely dealt with worse. “So… what Fossil shouted at you?” Howard nods his head. “Because Gideon quit.”
Howard once again nods his head. Though this time the action is jarring and stilted. There’s more to the tale, Vince can see it in the pinched expression the older keeper wears. His eyes bunched as if in physical pain from emitting something obvious from the tale. Howard was the kind of liar who would be swallowed up by shame for lying before the falsehood even hit the air--so you can imagine how he shifts with his guilt presently. Vince doesn’t press, if you push too hard with Howard he gets defensive, he simply waits. Like an expectant mother, complete with the arms folded over his chest and one socked foot tapping against the floor with his impatience.
Approximately ninety seconds of this look, and Howard cracks. He likes to boast he is a man of action but in the face of Vince’s disappointment he was a spooked infant. “Well, that and… her husband--”
“Gideon’s married?”
“That is sort of the point of Mrs being someone’s title, Vince.”
“Well I always thought it was more of a stage name you know, a character thing.” Vince blinks at Howard, like always, expecting him to be the voice of reason. Most of their young lives had been conducted in a manner just like this; Vince learning something and turning to Howard to confirm it. “Like when teachers use it at school.”
Howard just blinks right back at him, as if he is endlessly surprised by Vince's ability to be dense. “You realise the teachers were only called Mrs when they, too, were married.”
Vince did not. He thought it was just a thing people said like Dr or Lady. Howard spends a moment more squinting at him, almost in awe and then the conversation is being shaken away with the side to side motion of his curly head. “Regardless, that doesn’t matter. Her husband complained, apparently she had been telling him about my… interest.”
“Stalking.”
“Interest.” Howard repeats, this time his finger makes an appearance, pointing sternly at Vince. Ensuring he won't mix those two words up again. "He barged in this morning making all kinds of threats about going to the papers and taking us to court and... You know it’s all just a misunderstanding.”
“So how do we fix it?”
“I need to get her back or I lose our jobs.”
“Hang on," Vince stalls where he had been shoving his feet into his favourite cowboy boots. " Our jobs?”
“Well, I mean I had assumed if I went you’d go too.” Which is both true and not true. False in that Fossil would never sack him. But true in that, Vince would never let Howard leave him behind.
Vince delivers what he hopes is his best 'stern' glare. “Guess we better come up with a plan then, hadn’t we?”
♡♡♡♡
Indicating they should come up with a plan and actually formulating one are two different things in the world of Howard and Vince.
And it had everything to do with their clashing ideology on what actually constituted a deadline. Not only that, but each of their individual opinions dictated what they believed a 'good plan' was. The resulting bickering would set them back more time than usually made it worth it.
For example, Fossil had given them seven days; to Vince this is heaps of time. He'd pulled together more elaborate plots, with stakes considerably higher than this, on a much shorter timescale before. Seven days was a dream . So of course, while he is the one to say they should come up with a plan, he also just carries on with his day. Something would come to him, there’d be no point in just hanging about until it did.
Howard was not of the same opinion.
“You don’t seem at all concerned about our plight.” The older man snaps, almost two hours after the initial delivery of bad news. Vince is sat cross legged on the floor of the Zoo’s barn, a bundle of hay in his hands and two Llama crias munching happily from his offering.
If he was being perfectly honest, Howard was rather killing the mood. “I am concerned! I jus’ reckon that if we sit about trying to force ourselves to have a plan it ain’t gonna be any good is it?” He turns his head, notes the way Howard’s expression shutters over into cold indifference the second Vince makes eye contact. HE sadly, does not catch whatever it was before Vince had caught him in the act of staring. “What’s that phrase? Good plans come to people who wait for them.”
“That’s not the saying and you know it.”
Vince only grins at him. Howard hovers in the doorway a moment more, his hip cocked against the frame of the door, and then he seems to realise he’s fighting a losing battle. Though really, when has that ever stopped Howard?
“It can’t hurt for us to try to come up with something.” The older man says. He pushes himself from the wall, saunters over to stand beside where Vince sits and kicks idly at some abandoned hay. The crias are pretty unhappy about this development, they gurgle some choice insults that they are much too young to say but make Vince laugh anyway.
“Alright then, if you’re going to whine about it.” Vince sighs, though it’s mostly put upon. Realistically, Howard was a panicker, and Vince was not. This kind of clash of personalities was commonplace for them. Howard at least seems pleased Vince is willing to try and come up with ideas. “Why don’t you just offer her your wage?”
The pleased look drops from Howard’s face at once, overcome as he is instead with what looks like pure exasperation.
Vince has to bite his lip to keep from snickering. “What?” He asks with as much manufactured innocence as he dares. “It’s a valid suggestion. Who wouldn’t want a pay rise?”
“It’s valid but it’s stupid.” Howard looks physically pained as he exclaims it. “Because then I’d have no money.”
And while this whole suggestion was intended to teach Howard a lesson in not rushing Vince’s idea-making process, Vince does stumble at that hurdle. He finds himself genuinely questioning Howard’s reasoning for turning down this plot. Mostly because, well, despite giving all of your wage to someone else and therefore not having any money left for yourself being a bit annoying--it wasn’t a deal-breaker for someone like Vince.
Vince was endlessly optimistic. Enough that he counters Howard’s disdain by shrugging off his concern, “Then you’d just share mine.”
Simple.
If you thought about it, leading the lives they did wasn’t an expensive existence. They didn’t pay rent, not living on site in the hut as they did. Bills weren’t an issue, beyond keeping credit on their mobiles and occasionally shelling out on proper food that wasn’t pot noodles and hula hoops, their expenses were non-existent. To be honest, most of Vince’s outgoings were on records and clothes.
He would cut back on how many accessories he bought if it meant they got to stay together.
Howard still snaps, “I’m not a kept man, Vince.”
At least that he can accept as a reasonable excuse why they should not go through with this particular venture. Because Howard was too proud. In admitting that, the older man is soothing Vince’s ruffled feathers over whether or not Howard believes Vince would support him (because he would, without question) and instead reminding Vince that it is entirely a Howard Moon issue.
“Well then you’re going to have to give me a bit more time to come up with anything not stupid. If that’s how high you’re setting the bar.” Vince turns back to the crias, one of which settling one the floor beside him and laying its head in his lap. “I’m preoccupied right now.”
Which is not a lie. Vince had been trying to prove a point after all, you don’t rush the best plans.
Howard still sulks out of the barn with a mutter of, “I suppose I better go and do the job I’m about to lose then, hadn't I?”
The llamas watch him go, scowling as much as it’s possible for a llama to scowl.
♡♡♡♡
Eventually, Vince had sought out his friend. It was amazing how a few hours to get on with his usual tasks had allowed for his brain pan to cook up some delicious ideas.
And now he was ready to share some with Howard.
Being that it is lunchtime when this urge to share strikes him--and the fact Howard is as predictable as the alphabet song--Vince knows exactly where he’s going to have to go in order to find his lankier half.
Living up to all of Vince’s expectations, Howard is picking half-heartedly at a baguette at his favourite spot in the whole zoo. It's a bench nestled intimately in among some of the avian enclosures. To Howard's right, there's a pair of Great Grey Owls watching him suspiciously as he eats. But, directly opposite, is the Rainbow Lorikeets. The smaller, more excitable birds twitter and screech energetically at the presence of a person (even Howard) and he appears to be watching them with a rather sad smile.
It’s perhaps one of the very few things that Vince doesn’t know for certain about Howard; why he likes this particular spot so much. Even when he'd asked he was shrugged off with a half-truth about Owls being 'deeply wise creatures'.
Still. Vince is pleased to have found him, and he shows as much by gently calling, "There you are, Howard!"
The older man startles a fraction, peers up at Vince with mild annoyance for his sudden arrival. "I thought you'd be off waiting for plans to form." He snaps.
Vince shrugs one shoulder, a warm grin plastered on his features. It's easy to slide into the empty space by Howard's side. They don't speak immediately, Howard is narrowing his eyes, trying to figure out just what it is that Vince is up to, and Vince is keeping a close eye on those Lorikeets instead.
They're all squealing 'come here, come over here' repeatedly. Needy little birds, they were.
"What if," Vince starts, and Howard perks by his side like an eager Labrador that has spotted its treats. "We convince them that you have been sacked, and just give you a make-over so no one notices?"
All the excitement drops from Howard faster than a boulder off a cliff edge. "I don't think that will work."
Affronted, Vince straightens his back and sets his shoulders with his insistence. "It could work!" He cries. With gentle hands he reaches out to pluck at Howard's curls, and is amazed that the man doesn't flinch away from him like he normally might, just observes him with interest. "I'm well good at making looks, we can dye your hair and get you some new clothes, a couple of accessories--no one would know!"
"Vince, no." It's firm, definitive, Vince actually sags where he sits.
"Fine." He huffs. Resorts back to silence as he thinks.
The Lorikeets continue to screech. In the distance, Vince can hear the clip of hooves in concrete. Can smell the faint scent of sawdust. There are no customers, not today, but still, he feels the presence of them like ghosts strutting through walls and leaving a chill down his spine. The essence of life at the Zoo, surrounding him. Reminding him how little he wants to leave.
And how little he'd want to be here without Howard, solid and reliable beside him.
"Well what about me then?" Vince asks roughly ten minutes later. Howard isn't even trying to pretend to eat anymore, he's watching the multicoloured birds opposite.
"Hmm?"
"Maybe I dress up." It certainly wouldn't be that hard to pull off, arguably easier than trying to get Howard dressed up. "We tell Fossil Gideon is back and I just dress like her. Can't be too hard to do her jobs, can it?"
A pause, Howard seemingly genuinely considering this as an option, and then, "But you don't get on with snakes."
It says a lot that with all of the reasons Howard could have found to not go through with this plot--this is the one he had landed on. The fact that Vince, quite vocally, does not get on with serpents. He never has.
Something warm pools low in his stomach--not just something, affection. His chest tightens, he’s got helium in his veins because he feels just that little bit lighter. Vince is almost certain, if he could see himself, he would be glowing. It’s probably quite shameful really, that after all these years he still turns to putty whenever Howard demonstrates his ability to care about him.
The man was a grumpy prick and a bit of an arse but let it never be said he didn't appreciate Vince in his own little way.
“Shame,” Vince rasps, he pretends he doesn’t hear the wavering in his tone even as Howard’s brows bunch together. “I would have looked pretty brilliant in a skirt.”
“No one said you wouldn’t.” Howard agrees. Vince thinks he’s going to pass out how lightheaded that makes him. “I just don’t think it’s fair on the snakes, I’ve had to stop too many fights in the reptile house as it is.”
“They’re all pricks, Howard.”
They share a snicker. Howard looking, for the first time since being delivered his ultimatum, somewhat content. Vince watches the wolfish curl of his features with a satisfied smile. He did that.
“Maybe I should just accept my fate.” The older man sighs.
Vince feels his whole mood drop, like going over the crest of a rollercoaster but there's no adrenaline rush to accompany the fall. Only dread. The pleasant buzz of happiness in his stomach is smothered under a lead weight of it. "You're giving up already?"
"Vince, we've already wasted a whole day trying to come up with something to do. Why waste six more?"
And he knew Howard was a pessimist, it was the whole point of their double act really, they were yin and yang. Howard the dark and Vince the light. But this was defeatist even for him, to just say ‘let’s not try anymore’. Vince has to worry what is really bugging him about the whole situation, the not having a plan yet or maybe the fact that he had been rejected for perhaps the final time by a woman he idolised. Most likely, it’s Howard sinking into deeper oceans of self-loathing than Vince has any desire to swim through.
But he has to, because if no one pulled Howard from it, then he would drown.
"There's got to be a way, Mrs Gideon loved her job, she'll come back for sure if we find the right way to convince her." Vince says hopefully. He shuffles himself further into Howard’s side on the bench, no longer just brushing shoulders with him but pressing. As if he can impress the hope into him by touch.
Howard sighs tiredly, he doesn’t even bother to flinch from the contact. "It's not just her though is it?"
"What isn’t?"
“What’s stopping her from coming back to work, it’s not just her.” Vince blinks in confusion, Howard rolls his eyes at him--which he’s only a little annoyed about--and explains, "Her husband probably won't let her set foot in this place until he knows I'm not a threat anymore."
Oh yes. That problem. Mr Gideon. Vince wrinkles his features in clear disgust. “Who does he think he is anyway?” He snaps in annoyance. “Telling his wife where she can and can’t work, bit old fashioned innit?”
“I think it's sweet." Howard sounds entirely wistful, gazing off into the distance--at the lorikeets--as he talks. "Must be nice to be married to someone and knowing they will look out for you like that."
This is what a lightbulb moment must feel like for most people. A spark of an idea. A fire lit beneath his feet. It’s the return of that tingling feeling but instead of tingling it’s the static of an electric shock all the way up his spine; he feels a bubble of surprised laughter spill from his mouth before he’s even given it permission to do so--Howard just frowns at him for it--and his eager hands are reaching out to grasp at whatever part of Howard he can reach.
Vince had automatically wanted to comfort. To say, ‘You mean like how I look out for you,’ but the words had died in his throat to be replaced with excited gasping because rather than comfort Vince can offer an idea.
"That's it! Howard I've got it." He cries. “I know how we get Gideon back!"
The energy Vince is displaying must pass to Howard somehow, the man is suddenly alive. His eyes wide and aware, his features confused but lit up with the attention he’s paying. “What, how?"
"We need to get married."