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Despite where events had conspired to lead him (namely, to a rather quaintly streamlined cell), and despite all those now-pointless years of hardship endured to guarantee his legal immunity, Kristoph Gavin could not say his life had been without its joys.
The recent atrocity carried out upon the state's fine justice system aside, nearly all of his dealings in his professional career had been positive.
The eventual necessity of outfitting a room in a penitentiary aside, he had always delighted in the finer things in life, and his career had afforded him many such luxuries.
And all the conspiring against his person aside--those traitorous clients, 'friends' and proteges who disgustingly corrupted the system to destroy him, and even his own brother--he had never been entirely starved for affection in his life.
Early on, Kristoph had learned he could not depend on persons so utterly provincial as his parents to provide him with support, that for all his talent his brother was too feeble-minded to ever be properly trusted.
So it was that he came to acquire Vongole.
A dog was honest by nature. And should Vongole think to betray him like all the weak and petty humans in his life, it was not as if any right-headed court would accept a pet on the witness stand.
Vongole was a fine dog, a dog one could depende upon. A purebred Chesapeake Bay with all the stubbornness and vivacity to match, he had always felt she had been a chore to train as she grew from a pup. The constant obedience classes, the evenings sullying his shoes in his back yard, the horrors a pup's teeth could rend upon one's ottoman...
In retrospect, alone in this cell, it had all been a joy. Vongole was, perhaps, his only successful venture in life. Unlike the law system, unlike pathetic Klavier, unlike that ungrateful Justice, Vongole had accepted him.
Out of everything in his life, Vongole had the sharpest teeth. Yet it was only she who had been intelligent enough to take to obedience.
He wondered if such would be her downfall.
The flow of letters to his new cell was considerably lighter. Visitors rarely bothered these days.
And a call to the boarding center had illuminated the fact that--considering the impossibility of his parole--the owner would soon be delivering dear Vongole to the pound.
Kristoph Gavin was no fool. He knew the hardheadedness of the breed, and of Vongole in particular. He knew the low statistics for the adoption of full-sized adult dogs in the city--no matter how impressive the creature's papers.
He knew that the charming, yet dismally soft-hearted notion of a "no-kill" shelter had been discarded by the state ages ago.
Smirking to himself, he pushed his glasses up. What was it that affront, Wright, had said to him when he once visited?
"Don't worry, Gavin. I won't leave any loose ends."
Perhaps his sentence would be filled quickly, he mused. Perhaps he and Vongole would meet again, sooner than he expected.
*
"Hey, sorry. I know it's late, and look, I wouldn't ask this if I wasn't really desperate and just sure you'd get along, and..."
"Wright. Two questions."
"Shoot."
"One: why are you on my doorstep at this hour? And two: what are you trying to hide behind you?
"W-wait. And three: why are you bleeding?!"
Phoenix rubbed the back of his head, grinning. "Aww, it's just a little scratch."
"You're dripping blood on my stairs!"
Shrugging, Phoenix stepped aside. "Yeah, well. That'd be care of our friend, here. This is Vongole. Every rose and all that, you know? Anyway, don't let me be rude. Vongole, this is Miles. Miles, Vongole. Now, I know you'll be good for each other, so I'll just be..."
"Phoenix! You can't just drop a violent beast on my doorstep and run. Here, both of you stay for a moment. I don't want it in the house, but I'm going to get something for your gaping wound."
Abandoned with the dog again, Phoenix watched her warily.
Vongole watched him.
"Well, don't give me that look. He's great, really. Got a yard and everything. And I'd love to keep you--just, there's the lease thing, you know... Hey, thanks, Miles."
Miles didn't seem amused.
When did he ever?
"Now, explain yourself, and this... dog."
"Ah, it's sorta... Well, she's a purebred, and I knew you like nice dogs..."
"It's a retriever, Wright, not a Pyrenees! They're ill-tempered, overly-energetic, and ridiculous. And apparently this one is violent."
"Aww, she just smelled Bullets. It'll be fine, you two will get a long just swimmingly."
"You make less sense every day," Miles sighed, frowning again at the dog. "But you're hiding something. I told you, I'm not ready for another dog. Why are you bringing one here?"
Glancing off absently, Phoenix shrugged. "Well, she's kinda Kristoph Gavin's."
"W-what?!"
"You know, she got sent to the pound, and they were going to put her down tonight. I just couldn't let that happen, so..."
Miles sighed. "Just because you're determined to take in hopeless cases doesn't mean I should be forced to do so--down, Vongole."
The dog, bored of their conversation, had endeavored to jump up on Miles.
"That sorta doesn't work--"
"Vongole, Platz!"
Immediately, Vongole was happily wagging her tail, lying at Miles' feet.
Both men frowned at her.
"German, again? Isn't he from Georgia?"
Miles shrugged, still crossing his arms. "Perhaps it's how he trains all his pets. Nevertheless, Wright, this dog..."
"Vongole," Phoenix said helpfully. "Like the clams."
"Yes, unfortunate for the beast. But I..." he gripped his arm, "I just don't know about this, so soon."
"It doesn't have to be for long," Phoenix said, gently pleading. "Just for a while, until we find her a new home. Okay?"
Miles looked down at the bright-eyed dog again. She was still thumping her tail, seemingly so very pleased with his command of German. The sane thing to do would be to refuse. He wasn't prepared for a new dog. There was no food, save for a can or two of the soft prescription stuff dear Pess had to eat. There were no toys, no dogbed, no waterbowl, no leash. She had a collar and a lot of energy and, from the size of her and the look of her coat, maybe four or five years of Kristoph Gavin.
This was a bad idea.
But since he'd known Wright, his life had just been full of those.
"Very well," he sighed, adding "but just until we find somewhere else" quickly when Phoenix grinned.
"Great. I gotta get home, now. Trucy'll be so happy..."
"Phoenix--" he growled, but Wright was well on his way to running back up the street to the bus stop. Miles didn't want to imagine what the ride over from the pound had been like.
Opening his door, he turned to Vongole.
"Well, Vongole. Let's see if you end up one more of Wright's little turnabouts. Komm! Braver hund."