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Fred Jones was having a good day. It was like every other day, which was why it was a good day. The weather in Coolsville was sunny as usual, he’d had his morning coffee with eggs and bacon, he was wearing his lucky ascot, and the Americana Station had a story for him to report. Today’s segment was on an art thief disguised as a cat who’d been terrorizing the local museum.
“Luckily, I was on-site to catch the Cat Burglar in the act. He fell right into my glue trap!” Fred beamed into the cameras. "Turns out he was the museum curator, Mr. Arnold Stewart. He's in police custody now."
His hair was perfectly coiffed, his blue suit was wrinkle-free, and reading the cue cards was easy-peasy as a glass of fresh squeezed lemonade. Fred knew just how to lean his forearm on the counter, give ‘em that white-toothed smile, and say, “And that concludes our Coolsville evening broadcast on Channel 1969 News. Our next regularly scheduled program will come to you at 6:05 a.m. Thank you, and good evening!”
The screens surrounding Fred rolled to the credits as the lights dimmed and the newsroom applauded. Fred took a white rag out of his pocket square and dabbed the sweat on his face, noting with satisfaction how his new waterproof concealer didn’t smudge off. It could get hot on that set with all those overhead lights. Luckily, Fred Jones always came prepared.
“Nice story today, Fred,” the co-anchor called, walking over.
“Hey, thanks, Rodney!” Fred turned to greet him.
"Boy, sure is lucky you’ve got that Mystery Machine to drive around in,” said the redhead with wide eyes. “You get action all the time!”
Rodney pointed at the wall of screens showing news footage from earlier of Fred waving from the van. Fred chuckled.
“You’ve got that right, Rodney. I don’t know what I’d do without her.”
“Guess you wouldn’t be solving mysteries,” Rodney elbowed Fred.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Fred played along, though his insides were shouting, Don’t even joke about that.
“Look, it’s the coffee guy!” Rodney laughed, clapping the poor bespectacled intern on the back with such a force he almost dropped his tray.
“Hey,” he squeaked barely above noise level.
“Ah, I’m just kidding, you little knucklehead. Whadaya say, Freddie? You want another cup of Joe?”
“Oh, no thanks, Rod,” Fred waved it off. “I limit my daily intake to three. Don’t wanna be up all night.”
“Well, you heard the guy—get on out of here, bud!” Rodney clapped the intern on the back and laughed again. “And make mine an espresso!”
“But we’re all out of sugar,” the guy mumbled.
“Then go find some, guy! They don’t pay you to be on television like me and Fred here,” Rodney said, following him with a new hint of irritation in his voice. Fred watched after them for a bit, then shrugged and took out his briefcase from below the desk.
As good as every day was, it wasn’t the same without his old crew at Americana around. Coast to Coast with Daphne Blake went on hiatus years ago when the host got engaged to her one-man producer. They were planning their wedding back when said host was anchorwoman on Channel 1969 News with Fred as her co-anchor. Now, she was married to the owner of Dinkley’s Mystery Book Shoppe, and Fred was the anchorman of Channel 1969 News. Ah, how things changed.
There were all sorts of reasons to be with Daphne. She was funny, outgoing, smart, gorgeous, kind, and a resourceful partner to Fred in times of trouble. But for some reason, Fred found it hard to let himself be with her. All the time he spent this past year meeting up with Daphne’s parents, attending parties, setting a budget, and picking out a venue was just an elaborate excuse not to go home to their shared bed. And yet he wanted it to work. He wanted to greet his wife at the altar, fall in love at the sight of that beautiful white dress, and be the perfect “quarterback and cheerleader” power couple everyone knew them to be. But the more time Fred spent trying to find reasons to love Daphne, the more his head filled with images of a hipster with a goatee on his chin stuffing triple decker sandwiches into his mouth.
Fred smiled, putting the case studies in his briefcase. If only Shaggy were at the museum today to make one of his insufferable puns. Fred could hear him already: “Like, you could say we’ve got this cat in the bag!” He’d been backed up at the art studio with commissions, though. Fred knew the best part of his day anyway was returning to the apartment he shared with his two best friends. There, Shaggy would either cook dinner or order takeout, and Scooby-Doo would pick the TV channel they watched. Usually it was some kind of dog show competition, but Fred and Shaggy didn’t mind. More time to talk about their day and joke around before bed. Sometimes, Shag would start a food fight, leaving popcorn and candy all over the living room for Fred to clean up the next day. Fred usually paid him back by putting on a monster mask from the Halloween bin and wrestling his friend on the couch. Shaggy’s scared reactions were both funny and attractive each time. His short cry of "Zoinks!", his blown out pupils, his pale, shaking hands and heavy breathing as he lay pinned beneath Fred and made him think about what else they could be doing…
Fred walked down the hallway toward the break room. He knew his face had gotten red just now. Good thing no one was around to see it. Not the most professional look on camera. If nothing else, he could always blame the summer heat. Impossible, even now at 5:30 p.m.
He took some deep breaths and opened the door. The coffee intern from earlier was adding the last few sugar cubes left in the supply cabinet to a fresh-brewed cup of espresso. He looked a bit shaken up from whatever berating Rodney had given him.
"Hey. Dave, is it?" Fred asked.
"Wow...you know my name?" The intern chortled.
"Sure, Dave! I get to know everybody who works at Americana Station. And on that note, I'm gonna let you in on some advice."
Fred put his arm around Dave's shoulder. "I've been in your place before as the new guy. Don't let fellas like Rodney get to you. Trust me. Before you know it, you'll go from bringing everyone coffee to entry-level production manager. Maybe not now, but it'll happen eventually."
"Eventually," Dave echoed, stacking the coffee mixes on the shelves.
Fred nodded. "All you've gotta do is be patient. Your time will come. Heck, someday, if you're lucky, you might even get to do what I do!"
His friendly slap on the back nearly sent Dave flying. Fred chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry."
"That's okay. Happens all the time," Dave said, pushing his glasses up his nose.
"Alright. See you tomorrow, tiger!" Fred waved and went out through the back exit. Ah, to be in Dave's place. Did Fred miss it? Not one bit! He wasn't just gonna leave without giving the intern a good old-fashioned pep talk, though. That wasn't the Fred Jones way. He lifted his chin and adjusted his ascot, proud of himself for how well that went.
Once he was standing in the parking lot outside the Americana news station, he pressed the unlock button on his keys. When he didn't hear the Mystery Machine's signal go off, he looked up.
"That's weird. I just took the old girl to the mechanic yesterday," Fred said to himself. He tried turning on the lights, popping the front trunk, activating her satellite dish, and even inflating the yellow raft he installed at the top. Still no peep from her.
Fred scratched his head. "You know, this might be the first time a car shop has made the Mystery Machine's problems worse. Well, okay, that's not true," he added, remembering the time she got rigged with green lights and a wireless control system that made her act possessed.
He scanned the rows of cars for his baby parked over by the corner of the sidewalk and the third street lamp...
Then felt his stomach drop at the sight of the unlocked chains and empty parking spot.
"Oh no no no no no," he breathed, running to it.
He got down on the pavement and spent a solid five minutes crawling around on all fours, as if he was hoping the Mystery Machine would suddenly sprout from the ground like one of the many orange flowers painted on her. After a while, Fred seemed to realize he didn't have any water or fertilizer on him.
"I've gotta call the girls," he resolved with a shaky voice. He dialed Daphne's phone number in record speed and waited for her to pick up, heart pounding in his throat the whole time. There was a click, and Fred could hear sheets rustling at the other end.
"Hello? Freddie?"
"Daphne!" Fred wheezed. "Thank goodness. You and Velma need to leave the waterpark resort and meet me at the news station as soon as possible. Our Mystery Machine's in trouble!"
"What? Not enough air fresheners in the glove compartment?" said Velma.
"Yeah, or you ran out of room in the back for all your ladders and ropes?" Daphne joined in.
"Face it, Fred—you do get a little obsessed with our van," Velma teased, and the two of them burst into laughter. Fred momentarily forgot his adrenaline rush and huffed.
“I’m serious, you guys! She’s missing!”
“Alright, Scarf Boy, calm down,” Daphne giggled as Velma kissed her neck. “You probably left your precious baby with Shaggy and Scooby at the food court again and forgot. We’ll help you look for it later.”
“Later?” Fred spat. “What will you two be doing till then?!”
“We’re on our honeymoon, genius. You figure it out,” Velma deadpanned.
“Oh! Velms, that’s mean,” Daphne mock-berated, still giggling. Her thumb must've 'slipped' after and hit the power button, because the line went dead.
Fred lowered his phone, mouth puckering. His easy-peasy lemonade day had just gone sour.
~
Shaggy lay on top of his bed quilt. Orange sunlight from the windows played across his features. Scooby-Doo was still snoozing at the foot of the bed. Shaggy yawned and blinked the sleep from his eyes.
His anxiety was through the roof earlier. Like, Shaggy loved that he could be creative for a living now and not be an art school dropout anymore or whatever, but it was a lot of work. He made seventy-two ceramic dog bowls and sent out so many customer invoices that he immediately stumbled into his room after and blacked out. He'd been too tired to change out of his work clothes: brown cords and a green Hawaiian shirt thrown over a white tank. Not even food had interested him in that moment. Although, now that he was lying here thinking about it...
Shaggy's phone buzzed next to him. He would've been more startled if not for being half-awake still. He turned his head on his pillow to read a message from Fred Jones: Shaggy, text me when you get this. It's an emergency.
Shaggy wrote back right away, like are velma and daphne ok?
They're fine. It's something else— Someone has stolen the Mystery Machine.
Shaggy was about to reply when Fred spammed him with three more text messages.
Oh my God, I'm sorry, Shaggy. I'm so sorry, I'm looking everywhere.
I am so sorry, I'll keep looking all evening.
I can't believe this.
Shaggy had to type fast to get his word in.
freddie its ok!! dont like freak out man its not a big deal
Fred wrote back, No, you don't understand...I Have to get our Mystery Machine back. I would Never forgive myself if I didn't.
Then, in a followup text, If I can't find her today, I'm taking the day off from work tomorrow so I can keep looking.
Shaggy shook his head.
no fred like plz dont skip work. u r literally an anchorman and it is a van
This is my biggest screw-up ever. I must make it right.
fredward calm downnnn
but Shagathan i canttttt
Shaggy bit his lip. He left his friend on "Read" for a few seconds before typing back.
like thats it buddy im coming to get you
~
The sun was fading fast on the horizon. Fred had no problem earlier catching the Cat Burglar on his own, but now, with the Mystery Machine missing, he couldn't seem to find a lead anywhere. She didn't show up on his GPS, Fred didn't find any identification among the picked locks...there weren't even any tire tracks.
"Curse my obsessive need to wash those!" Fred despaired. Whoever stole his baby cleaned up well. Even when she was exploded by overzealous villains in the past, Fred and the Gang had at least been there to see it. Plus, there were burnt car parts on the ground. Easily replaced by the auto technician. Her being gone from the site altogether was different. A less than hopeful sign. Fred was getting surer by the second that the thief managed to remove her from Coolsville, driving off somewhere never to be seen again.
What would Shaggy think? Maybe he'd yell at Fred for once. Fred didn't think he wanted to be around when that happened—it'd be so unlike him. Then again, the Mystery Machine meant a lot to them both.
When Mystery Inc. first began in high school, Fred and Shaggy were looking for another way to get around. As grateful as Fred was to Daphne's father for investing in their company and driving them, the places he dropped them off were usually more "kid friendly" than spooky. Since Shaggy just got his driver's license, Fred recruited him to help look for cheap cars. Shaggy went above and beyond, finding an original Ford Taunus Transit at the dump that would've cost $17,300 at an ordinary dealership. He and Fred fixed it up together after school with some spare parts in the Jones' garage. Brakes, suspensions, hubcaps, the like. Then came the paint job. Fred had been planning to make it look more sporty. Maybe red with white stripes like his football uniform. But then Shaggy painted it blue and green with orange flowers one day and “THE MYSTERY MACHINE” in a groovy font on the sides, and the final result grew on him. It was so…Shaggy.
Daphne and Velma and everyone else always made fun of Fred's attachment to their van. Fred even bought into it, writing it off as one of his mannerisms. But Shaggy let Fred keep her in his garage when they were finished. He'd gifted the Mystery Machine to him.
"Like, I can barely trust myself behind the wheel," Shaggy had nervously giggled that day. "And besides, Freddie, you're the one who first brought the Gang together. You should, like, be the one to drive." And as Fred had acquired his license in the time he and Shaggy spent repairing their van, he smiled and enveloped Shaggy in a hug. Fred drove the Mystery Machine throughout high school and had been since.
Fred blinked. Oh God. All this time, was that why he cared so much about the Mystery Machine? Why he was now kneeling in the parking lot, broken up about it? She had to have meant as much to Shaggy as she had to Fred. Otherwise, why would he lend her to him in such a way?
Shaggy's last text didn't sound that angry, though. Fred read over it again: like thats it buddy im coming to get you. He couldn't have meant that in a mad way, right?
When not around monsters, Shaggy had a laid-back nature. Part of it was mellowing out from all the art projects he worked on late at night. But the other was that he was a hippie at heart, the most peace-loving, tree-hugging guy Fred knew. He was a timeless classic who would’ve belonged in the 60s and, well, Fred always had a thing for nostalgia. Maybe he expressed it differently—labeling and laminating mugshots, putting them into color-coded folders, storing them in a file cabinet by chronological order—, but the idea was there. Fred would give his left arm to be more chill like Shaggy. Hell, he might've even done it for a Scooby Snack. He acted like he was happy-go-lucky, but the truth was, the slightest thing that went wrong could send him over the edge.
Case in point, Fred was sitting criss-cross in the empty parking lot space and breathing abnormally, hands over his head in shame. He looked up and saw Shaggy standing in the next lot. Shaggy’s eyes widened as he made his way over.
“Freddie? Oh no, like, how long have you been sitting there like that, man?”
“The worst 45 minutes of my life,” Fred groaned. He took Shaggy’s hand as he helped him up.
A familiar brown tail nuzzled at Fred's pant leg.
“You brought Scooby, too?”
“Like, I figured you could use an emotional support animal,” Shaggy chuckled.
Scooby raised an eyebrow at being referred to as such, but then panted happily, "Ri, Fred!"
“Thanks, Shag,” Fred said, smile wavering a threatening amount. "And listen, about our Mystery Machine, I'm so sorry this happened. I don't know how it could've—"
“Fred, come on, it’s just a van,” Shaggy offered lightheartedly.
“No she’s not ‘just a van’,” Fred insisted, voice rising. “Why does everyone keep saying that?!”
Shaggy swallowed. “I…was only trying to keep you from worrying…”
“Well, of course I'm worried, Shaggy! You’re the one who found and painted her and then gave her to me as a gift! She—you mean everything to me.”
“Like, we’ll find it, Fred.” Shaggy had a firm grip on his shoulders now, looking into his eyes in earnest. There was so much Fred loved about those coffee-stained rings around his pupils, even if he knew Shaggy was more of a tea drinker. Like the flecks of gold that had also gathered in there. How they looked tired yet cheerful at the same time. The way Fred could trust them, the way they’d soften in expression whenever Fred talked to him.
“But how?” Fred couldn’t help himself, pointing at the sunless horizon. “It’s getting dark out, and I don’t have a plan.”
Shaggy’s eyes were gentle as ever.
“We just will,” he said. “Like, I know it.”
For a moment, it seemed as though neither of them would back down. Then, the corner of Fred's mouth quivered, his neat eyebrows creased, and a sound emerged from his throat like a pained choke. His shoulders shook under Shaggy's grasp.
“Oh, it’s okay,” Shaggy drew him into a hug and rubbed his back. “It’s okay. Let it out.”
Of course, this prompted Fred’s sobs to veer more on the side of yelling, and Shaggy sped up his back-rubbing.
“Yep, that’s alright. You can do that. It’s natural. Like, it’s only emotions. There’s, like, nothing to be afraid of,” he reassured him in his ear.
As moved as he was that Shaggy would willingly let everyone see two grown men in a parking lot causing a commotion, Fred didn’t need to scream anymore. It was a little much. Instead, he clung to Shaggy’s shoulder blades and wept. Tears streamed down with such force Fred wouldn’t be surprised if his waterproof concealer were coming off in waves.
“Aw, now. It’s okay, buddy,” Shaggy said. He hummed a gentle nature tune as he rubbed the back of Fred's neck and rocked them back and forth. Shaggy joked all the time about how he couldn’t sing, but Fred wasn’t fooled. Shaggy played guitar. He could obviously stay on pitch when he tried.
Scooby-Doo whined along and leaned against their bodies, and Shaggy had to giggle.
”Like, get in here, Scoob.”
Scooby stood on his hind legs and wrapped his arms around the both of them, gently licking Fred’s cheek.
”Raggy’s right, Reddie. Re’ll find the Mystery Machine rorether.”
”Oh, Scooby.” Fred turned and buried his face in Scooby’s fur. Scooby-Doo may not have liked anyone thinking of him as a dog, but for Fred, he'd gladly be a teddy bear. No Scooby Snacks required.
Once Fred was sure he'd exhausted himself, Shaggy knowingly reached into Fred's pocket square and began dabbing Fred's face and eyes with the white rag.
"Ah, thanks," Fred sniffed, looking up. “How’d you get here so fast anyway?”
“I went to the nearest public transportation stop after your last text. Like, Scoob and I caught the last shuttle just in time,” Shaggy chuckled nervously.
Fred's eyes widened. “You took the bus? For me?”
“Yeah, Fred,” Shaggy said, pausing his actions and growing serious for a sec. “I’d go anywhere that could potentially trigger my panic attacks if it meant helping you. Especially because you’re the one who always makes me feel safe.”
Fred blushed. Not only was this the first time Shaggy’s speech hadn’t been peppered with ‘likes,’ but it also sounded like his best friend was confessing to him. The one Fred thought no way could’ve liked him back.
"Gosh, Shag. That’s…kinda romantic," Fred chuckled, scratching the back of his neck.
“Roh, rust kiss already,” Scooby-Doo groaned and rolled his eyes in the background.
And just like that, Shaggy was back to his old goofy self. He smiled and played with Fred’s hair. It made the other’s stomach swoop.
“I really do like you, Shaggy.”
Shaggy's breath caught in his throat.
“Like, you like me? But I always thought you and Daphne were high school sweethearts.”
Fred let out a hearty laugh just then, and confusion crossed his best friend’s face.
“Sorry, Shag. It’s just that I’m wearing an ascot of all things, and—” He shook his head. “I really thought you would’ve figured it out already. But you’re right, I get it. I can overlook things too sometimes.”
“Like, you never did tell me why you ran away from ballroom dance lessons the night you knocked on my door,” Shaggy reflected.
“We looked a bit like we do now,” Fred laughed weakly. He and Daphne had been at the dance studio practicing their wedding reception dance in front of both their parents. All the while, Fred’s heart rate was building in his ears at the thought of how “perfect” they were together, like everyone had been saying since high school. Too perfect. The room was growing hot.
Next thing Fred knew, he peeled himself from the pale slender arms of his fiancée and sought the hairy twig-like arms of his best friend. His hair stuck out, and his suit had been less-than perfect. Shaggy sang to him then, too, holding him in the doorway and kissing his cheek. Shaggy had always been affectionate with his friends. Fred thought nothing of it at the time, but now…
“You know what, though?” Fred continued. “That same night, we drove the Mystery Machine to the Malt Shop to get some ice cream sodas. And even though I couldn’t finish my share, you held my hand across the counter. And then again the next day when I told Daphne I couldn’t marry her. I’ll never forget that. You’re such a good…friend,” he finished, the word tasting like vomit as it left his mouth.
“Freddie, you know, like, we all love you, but,” Shaggy’s fingers were in Fred's hair again, “I never wanted to be your friend.”
Hurt flashed across Fred’s features for a second before Shaggy leaned in and closed the gap between them. Shaggy's chin scruff felt soft against Fred's jaw. Fred could taste the lunch in his breath. Tomato soup with toasted coconut, plus Shaggy's additions of chocolate, pickles, garlic, and cream cheese. These shouldn't have worked together, but they did. It was spicy, it was nutty, it was a smoky woodsy vanilla, and Fred hungered for more. And Shaggy, ever the artist, seemed to savor the other man, tracing his fingers down Fred's neck and along his shoulders like he was trying to remember them. He was humming into the kiss, too, sparking electricity down Fred's spine. Fred knew his face and ears were bright red now but couldn't care less.
Shaggy pulled back and eyed Fred with a shy yet playful lip bite. He brought a hand back up to Fred's face.
"You get it now, tomato cheeks?"
Fred gave him a wide dimpled grin. He'd caught on alright! He pressed it against Shaggy's lips, which were smooth and warm.
“I don’t wanna be your friend either,” he sighed, and burrowed his nose in Shaggy’s hair. “I just wanna be yours.”
Shaggy was rubbing his lower back already.
"You can."
They kept hugging and nuzzling one another for a bit till they were interrupted by the sound of Scooby chuckling.
"Heeheeheeheeheeheehee!"
"Like, what's so funny, Scoob?" Shaggy asked.
"RI knew it! All along!" Scooby barked proudly, lifting his chin. He made some smoochy noises and chuckled again.
Fred shook his head, smiling.
"Gee. Maybe I should've gone to you for advice."
"Nah, Freddie," Shaggy caressed his hair. "Like, it's way more fun to pursue you in a parking lot."
There was that shy lip bite again, making Fred want to kiss him once more. He couldn't, though. They had a mystery to solve.
"Help me look for our van?" Fred proposed. "I'll buy you and Scoob dinner if we find it tonight. All-you-can-eat pizza on me."
He stroked Shaggy's arms lovingly for extra measure. Shaggy chuckled nervously, face heating up.
"Would you look at that, Scooby-Doo? Like, an offer we can't refuse!"
"Reah, reah!" Scooby agreed.
Fred grinned. Shaggy’s face had two big dots on either side of it like pepperoni. Who’s got tomato cheeks? Fred couldn't resist planting a kiss on one of them before they held hands and went on their way.
~
The sky hadn't gotten pitch black yet, but the purple clouds overhead implied it was near. Fred and Shaggy used the flashlights on their phones, and Scooby-Doo kept close to his owners. They had first examined the pile of locks and chains, then followed the arrows to the parking lot's one-way exit.
They were now on the sidewalk beside the street it led to with their arms around each other and their foreheads touching. It was amazing they had even gotten this far in their investigation. Confessing their admiration for each other had reverted them into teenage boys all over again. They grew drunk off each other’s giddiness.
"What I love about you is that you noticed the fake animal hair by the locks that I hadn't before."
"Like, what I love about you is your logical reasoning that whoever took the Mystery Machine would've had to pay their fee at the parking meter first."
"What I especially love about you is how your joke about 'shaking in your shoes' led me to realize there were sneaker imprints at the scene of the crime."
"And what I, like, love about you is that you haven't forced me and Scooby to be the bait!"
"Not yet, you mean," Fred chuckled.
"Huh—?" Shaggy began, but he was cut off by Fred's lips on his. Scooby had heard and folded his arms with a half-insulted "Hm!" The sight of his owners kissing made him smile, though.
"Shaggy? As much as I hate to admit this," Fred gasped as the other kissed along his jaw, "our little lovefest might be slowing us down."
"No, I don't wanna let go of you," Shaggy whimpered, and God, if Fred wasn't tempted to call off the mystery right now and jump him in a nearby forest somewhere—!
Instead, he took a deep if not shaky breath and pulled back with his best smile.
"You don't have to. I'll be here holding your hand the entire time, okay?"
Shaggy nodded, pouty though he looked.
The three of them were on their way again when Shaggy let out a loud yawn.
"Oh, I'm tired again," He covered his mouth. "Scoob and I sure could go for a triple-large macchiato with caramel sauce right about now."
Fred perked up. "What did you say?"
"I said, uh, we'd like some coffee?" Shaggy giggled unsurely.
"Oh my God, I love you," Fred kissed him multiple times. "I love you! We just solved this mystery!"
Fred turned to the other. "Quick, Scooby! See if you can smell anything."
Scooby sniffed the road before looking up with a dazed expression, head tilted to the side.
"Respresso!"
"Good work, Scoob!" Fred scratched between his ears. "Now all we have to do is follow that trail, and it should lead us right to our perpetrator."
Scooby frowned and lowered his nose again.
"RI smell something else! Smells rike...rerfume?"
"Yeah, and I, like, hear something," Shaggy said, raising a finger, "headed right this way!"
Fred turned his head to see what they were talking about and was almost blinded by the headlights of the vehicle coming at them at breakneck speed.
"The Mystery Machine? Where did she come from?"
"Like, I dunno! But I'm not gonna stick around and find out!"
"Run!" Fred agreed.
The two men hurtled down the road yelling, hand in hand, with Scooby-Doo howling in front of them. The Mystery Machine wobbled from side to side, almost like it was going to tip over. It also ran into a few mailboxes and street lamps. Fred frowned and called over his shoulder.
"Hey back there! Nobody drives my baby above 80 miles per hour! You stop it right now!"
His protest was met with a horn honk, which made him jump. "Ah, okay, then! You do you!"
"Like, duck!" Shaggy dragged Fred and Scooby out of the way just in time before the Mystery Machine spun out of control and crashed into a nearby shrub. The three of them got up from the ground to investigate.
The front of the Mystery Machine was smoking. Fred would have to fix that later. Two people got out of the front row of the vehicle and dusted themselves off. Fred recognized them immediately.
"Velma! Daphne! You made it," he cried out joyously.
"We didn't plan on being so timely, Freddie," Daphne shrugged. "Velma and I were on our way to meet you when we found the Mystery Machine parked by the local art museum. And then, we ran into this guy."
She and Velma opened the back doors, and a man in a cat mascot costume came tumbling out. Fred's eyes widened.
"The Cat Burglar? But how?"
"It's simple, Freddie—there were two Cat Burglars. Not one," said Velma.
"Like, what about the fast driving? Wasn't that the Cat Burglar?" Shaggy asked.
"No, that was all me," Daphne explained. "We found out while we were driving that the Cat Burglar stowed away in the back. Velma had read something about cats getting easily disoriented when you wander aimlessly without any direction. We were trying to knock him out."
"The constant motion of the vehicle disrupts their sense of balance," Velma added in her usual scientific tone.
"Okay, Cat Burglar number two," Fred frowned. "Let's see who you really are."
Fred lifted the cat mask off the guy's head. His eyes widened. "Dave?"
“Yeah, it’s me,” the guy sneered, holding up his hands. “The underpaid intern who brings you coffee. And that guy you arrested today was my dad, the original Cat Burglar! I'm his son, the Kitten Burglar."
He lifted his paw and gave the bell on his collar a sarcastic jingle for effect.
"Aw. That's actually kind of cute," Daphne giggled.
Fred got on his knees.
"Nooooo. Why, Dave? Why'd you do it?"
"Would you quit being so dramatic?!" Dave snapped. "Obviously, I was jealous that you were out there with your van getting more ‘boots on the ground’ stories than I was. So, I picked the locks, cracked the security systems, and went to find some stories of my own."
"How did you manage not to leave any tire tracks?" said Velma.
"Lucky thing about having a museum curator and thief for a father is you learn a few trades. You know those powdered minerals they use in art conservation? Same idea."
"Oh yeah," everyone seemed to mumble in agreement. They could even see a faint sparkle coming from the tires.
"Anyway, that's not where my passion lies. And I've got no patience to wait around for my dreams to come true. Despite what you think," Dave spat, pointing at Fred. "Everyone at Americana may like you, Fred Jones, but the truth is you're only as good as your looks! I'm the better storyteller! You would've been old news in an instant."
"Hey! Hairball!" Shaggy's voice cut through the air as he stomped over and got in Dave's face. “Like, Freddie is the greatest anchorman ever! So, shut up!”
Nobody could believe their eyes. Shaggy was yelling. In an angry way. For real. Shaggy.
"And if you ever dare to challenge him like that again, like, I will beat the shit out of you, got it?!"
"Okay. Okay, Shaggy! Let's just let him get to the ending," Velma chuckled nervously, dragging Shaggy back by his shirt collar as he began swinging his fists at Dave. Dave grunted at the sound of red and blue sirens approaching.
"Yeah, yeah. And I would’ve gotten away with it, too, if it hadn’t been for you meddling kids!”
“Actually, she’s my wife,” Velma said, putting a hand on Daphne’s waist. “We’re anything but kids.”
“Yep,” Fred beamed, “and Shaggy’s my man.”
“RI’m rifty in ruman years!” Scooby protested as his shaggy-haired counterpart’s face turned tomato red.
Once Dave—er, the Kitten Burglar—was properly handcuffed and taken away by the law, the Gang pulled the smoking Mystery Machine out of the shrub together.
"I guess I should've known it was Dave. I just didn't want to believe it. He was so young," Fred said to Velma.
"What about your co-anchor, Rodney?" Velma mentioned.
"Nah, he's just a jerk. There's one in every workplace," Fred waved it off.
"Sorry for teasing you earlier, Fred," said Daphne. "We should've remembered how important the Mystery Machine was to you."
"Yeah, well," Fred reached over and held Shaggy's hand. "I've got more important things."
Scooby-Doo and the two girls exchanged knowing grins.
"Hey, Shaggy," Velma spoke up. "Why don't you tell Fred your inspiration behind the color scheme of our van?"
"Yeah, didn't you intend to paint it green?" Daphne helped.
"It was, originally," Shaggy said, unaware of his friends' meddling motives. "But then, like, somehow I got to thinking about Freddie’s orange ascot and dreamy blue eyes, and those colors made it on there too.”
The giggling levels increased between Velma, Daphne, and Scooby, while Fred's entire face and neck had gone red. Shaggy seemed to realize at this point what Velma and Daphne were trying to do, but he shrugged it off with a chuckle.
Velma and Daphne went back to the waterpark resort after to continue their honeymoon, leaving the two guys and their dog to get started with theirs.
"So, like, do you really love me, or only when I help solve mysteries?" Shaggy teased, elbowing Fred. Fred laughed at the sensation, then stopped and smiled.
"I love you, Shaggy."
Shaggy nodded with soft eyes and kissed him.
"Good. Because I love you too."
"Pizza time, boyfriend?"
"Like, you bet your ass," Shaggy laughed, "boyfriend."
"Rooray! It's about rime!" Scooby-Doo barked, jumping up and down beside them. And who could blame him? Two happy couples in the Gang meant twice as many Scooby Snacks. Not that he wasn't also genuinely happy for Fred and Shaggy, of course.
Fred's day was perfect again. Not like lemonade, though. Perfect like a chocolate cake topped with mayonnaise, pickles, and hot sauce, as Shaggy would say.
They held hands all the way to the Mystery Machine. As usual, Fred was driving.