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Happy Valentine's day, girliefriend!! :D
Title: This One Time...At Work...
Author: Clay
Characters: Sean, Dean, Braeden, Rick, Luca, Briar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sean, the resident workaholic, is hell bent on working on Valentine's Day. It's up to his staff to remind him why that's never been a good idea. And illustrated means a handful of shitty sketches, so don't expect any masterpieces. ^_^
Word Count: 6,038
“You’re not coming in tomorrow.”
“But—“
“No.”
“But I—“
“Boss,” Dean warned, holding up a hand to silence Sean, “what did I just say?”
“Yeah, but—“
“What’s tomorrow?”
Sean sighed, reclining in his chair. The worn leather creaked comfortably, the deep padded cushions warping to his will, molding around him with the familiarity of use. At the same time, the cursor on his computer screen blinked rhythmically, a simple flash of black on white, accentuating Excel’s rows upon rows of empty boxes. “But the schedule…” he tried one last time.
“What day?” Dean bit back, standing now and crossing his arms over his chest.
Sean sighed again, deeper now, slumping down a little in his chair. “Valentine’s day.”
“And what would Briar do if I let you work on Valentine’s day again?”
For a forty year old man, Sean had a fantastic pout. He cast his eyes down, picking invisible lint from his slacks. “Admire my work ethic?”
Dean snorted. He crossed the room to perch on Sean’s desk, staring him down until Sean reluctantly raised his eyes. “No,” Dean said. “I believe her exact words were,” and here he affected a faint falsetto that actually bore an eerie resemblance to his wife’s voice, but Sean was in no mood to appreciate it, “If you let Sean work next Valentine’s day, Dean, I will personally come down there and chop your fucking dick off.”
“She didn’t say that.”
“Did too. Your wife’s got a mouth on her.”
Sean groaned. He braced his hands on the arms of his chairs and vaulted himself up, then started for the door, deftly swerving around his frustrated underling.
“Boss?” Dean asked curiously, but Sean just threw Dean a harried glance before sprinting out of the office.
“Boss!”
Dean raced after him, weaving through a handful of Aurora’s wait staff that loitered by the soda machine. They watched the duo curiously, then shrugged and went back to munching on bar pretzels, their conversation picking back up without missing a beat. Sean took a sharp right into the kitchen, and Dean followed shortly after, hollering after him only after they were out of earshot from any nosy customers.
Mario glanced up through a billow of scallop-scented steam at the men rushing past and raised an eyebrow. “Dean? What did you do to my son?”
Dean jogged by him, shaking his head. “He wants to work tomorrow!”
Mario’s answering laugh followed him around the bend of the kitchen, past the grills and the freezers, around the back sinks and out the loading doors. They hit the fresh night air, and Dean took a moment to breath it in deeply before letting out another “Boss! Where the hell are you going?”
But Sean didn’t stop or slow or even risk a glance back. He jogged through the empty back lot in the direction of their sister establishment, Mystic. An enclosed walkway connected the two buildings, and they crossed behind it, but Dean could just make out the gardens on the front side: the Cherry Blossom trees with their tiny, glittering lights, the roses and tiger lilies and myriad of other flowers that happened to spark Braeden and Sean’s fancies when they’d planned the little garden sandwiched between the bar and restaurant. Some nights Dean would look out onto it and consider that he had died and gone to heaven.
Not this night.
“Boss! Get back now or I swear I’ll call your wife!”
Unfortunately, that only made Sean run faster.
Taking a deep breath, Dean pumped his legs harder. He had longer legs than Sean and he was faster, too, but Sean had a decent lead on him now. Dean had only been messing around before. Now it was time to put an end to this.
They hit Mystic’s kitchen one after the other, hands slapping hard against the swinging, metal doors. Dean’s hands stung from the impact, but he didn’t let that deter him. He kept moving, grabbing desperately at Sean’s shirt, but somehow Sean managed to keep just out of reach.
Mystic’s kitchen sat empty during Aurora’s open hours, and it was creepily quiet and cold compared to the bustle of the kitchen they’d just exited. Dean allowed the strangeness of it all to distract him long enough for Sean to slip through the doors to the bar proper.
Cursing under his breath, Dean took the small hallway in a matter of seconds, flying past the restrooms and two men groping against the wall between them.
“Hi Braeden! Bye Braeden!” he heard Sean call, sing-song, from just ahead. Mystic’s owner looked up, puzzled, from the drink he was currently mixing, just as Sean whipped past, skittered into the office and slammed the door behind him.
“God damn it!” Dean cried. He barreled into the closed door, bouncing lightly against his already abused hands before balling them into fists and pounding against the door. “You can’t hide in there forever, Boss!” he hollered.
“Uh…Dean?”
Dean paused mid-yell and snapped his mouth shut. He craned his neck slowly, rotating it until Braeden came into view. Braeden smiled at him quizzically, his arms crossed over his chest, the Mystic logoed t-shirt pulled tight across his pecs, momentarily distracting Dean until Braeden spoke again.
“Do you mind telling me why Sean just ran in here and shut himself in my office?”
Dean gave him a tight smile. “Sean wants to work tomorrow.”
Braeden shrugged. “And?”
“And do you remember what tomorrow is?”
“Um...” Braeden furrowed his brow. As Dean watched, the realization hit him, and Braeden's eyes widened every so slowly. The effect was comical to the point where Dean had to bite his lip to keep from bursing out laughing.
“Oh, yeah!” Braeden exclaimed, grinning widely. “I had Briar fashion me a bouquet of roses out of low-sodium turkey bacon. Do you think Rick'll like them?”
Dean stared.
“I forgot that was tomorrow, though. Good think I got her to do that already. Rick's been so curious about the box in the fridge.” Braeden shook his head, laughing. “I told Jack and Alex they could hit Rick if he tried to open it. You should have heard Alex. Daddy! Daddy! I smacked Momma real good! Ah, kids...”
“Okay, yeah, that's nice, but—“
Suddenly Braeden frowned again, stroking his goatee absently. “And that's why Rick was so curious as to if I worked tomorrow, isn't it?”
“Sean!” Dean exclaimed, his frustration getting the better of him as he grasped Braeden's shoulders, shaking him lightly, “Wants! To work!”
Braeden paused, his mouth open slightly. He gave Dean a smile, the kind you might give an over excited puppy and reached around him to rap on the door. “Sean's not that dumb. Sean, open up!”
“No!” came the muffled reply.
“Come on, Sean.”
“No, if I open it, Dean will assult me!”
“Dean will not...” Braeden trailed off with a deep sigh, removing himself from Dean's death grip. He moved closer to the door and lowered his voice as though just realizing that they were behind the bar and subsequently attracting the attention of far too many patrons. “Sean,” he tried again, “Tell Dean you don't want to work tomorrow.”
“I don't want to work,” Sean replied dutifully, “but I still haven't finished the schedule, and I don't have time tonight, and I was hoping to get a jump start on inventory, and besides, you know Kathy and Doug are never very good when I schedule them together, and I accidentally did tomorrow and—“
“Okay, okay, okay—“ Braeden held up his hands placatingly despite the fact that Sean couldn't see him through the thick wood. “You know Briar will kill you—will kill us if we let you work tomorrow.”
“Nuh uh,” Sean shot back, quieter now, the pronounced pout back in his voice. “She'd understand.”
Braeden nodded to himself. “Normally, yes, she would, but I think you're forgetting something.”
After a long silence, Sean finally asked, “what?,” his tone slipping into something a little more wary.
“Last year.”
“I'm not...”
With a wry smile, Braeden leaned back against the door. He grinned at Dean and started, “So you remember....”
* * *
Aurora, as it had been ever since its door opened just over a decade earlier, ever since the violent and untimely death of its predecessor, Sapphire, was decorated to the nines with customer-made valentines, with red and white streamers and specially made, gold embossed menue inserts displayed a half a dozen lovers specials created just for the occasion.
Sean was just filling up the mint dish by the hostess stand with colorful candy hearts when the afternoon's hostess jogged up to him.
He hadn't originally planned on working that day. Valentine's Day was possibly his favorite holiday, and his evening was filled with plans of a full out lobster dinner for his wife, candle light, chocolates, and, if all went according to plan, trying out the pineapple flavored body paint Briar has surprised him with before he'd left that morning. The thought made him smile, but the idea of making the night special for her almost more appealing than the promise of seeing her stretched out on their bed while he sampled every inch of her body, though it was a very close call.
But more and more of his manager's had requested the day off until he'd simply had to, so he'd taken the morning shift. It meant having to rush his usual Valentine's day heart-shaped pancake and cherry extraveganza, but it meant he and Briar had the night to themselves, and that made it all worth it.
“Sean?” Melissa panted as she reached him, “we have a problem.”
Sean frowned, looking from his hostess around the restaurant in an attempt to discern the situation. Couples old and young seemed to be dining peacefully; as far as Sean could tell, everything was as it should be.
“Customer complaint?” he asked, mildly bewildered.
“What?” Melissa said, following Sean's line of sight. She shook her head and looked back to him, snatching up his hand as she did. “Oh, no, no, nothing like that. Come on!”
Sean's frown deepened as reluctantly let himself be pulled. “Then what?”
“It's just—“ Melissa shook her head again. “You'll see.”
And he did see, but not until after he heard. They were ten feel from the breakroom door when the poorly recited chorus of “I Will Always Love You” reached Sean's ears. He paused, just listening for a moment. “What the—“
But then Melissa was tugging at his hand again, worry evident in her eyes, and Sean was hurrying after her into the room.
The sight that greeted him was the last thing Sean had expected.
Tony, their recently hired (ten minutes hence to be fired, though Sean didn't know that at the time) busboy, was standing atop the long table that was the centerpiece of the room. He'd amassed a small group of onlookers, his voice still rining off the high ceiling, and Sean—ever the boss—felt the initial urge to usher them all into resuming their jobs, and then he saw the knife.
It glinted ominously in Tony's right hand, swaying back and forth with the movement of his body as he finished the chorus and them immediately started it up again. Insanely, Sean paused to wonder if that was the only part of the song he knew. As he sang, Tony stared straight at the one person still seated.
Tamara seemed frozen in her seat at the head of the table. She was a pretty girl, and a valuble member of Sean's waitstaff. Her heavily laden eyes were round as saucers, following the to and fro of the knife. Her knuckles seemed bleached white where she clutched the table before her.
Sean took it all in in a matter of seconds, and for a few seconds more he could only stare. “Okay,” he said eventually, quietly, and when it was obvious that Tony hadn't hear him, he repeated himself louder.
Tony snapped his head around to glare at Sean, nostrils flaring.
“Tony,” Sean tried again, keeping his voice low and calm in a vain attempt to sooth the man. “I'm not sure what's going on here, but why don't you step off the table and we'll talk about it...”
“No!” Tony screamed. He whipped the knife about, pointing at Tamara, who cringed visibly. “Why won't you love me?”
It was no secret that the girl was lusted after by every male member of Sean’s staff…just as it was no secret that she only had eyes for Lisa, her fellow waitress. Apparently Tony hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Tony…” Sean tried again.
“I have done everything I could think of! Why?” And now Tony sounded on the verge of tears. “Why?”
Carefully, quietly, Sean continued to advance. Tony was busy sobbing into his free hand, temporarily distracted, and Sean jumped at the opportunity, reaching out to snatch at Tony’s wrists, hoping to disarm him. The moment Sean’s fingertips brushed Tony’s skin, however, Tony let out a howl, like some dead thing unearthed. He jerked back and swung the blade in a wide arc.
Sean hissed and stumbled back himself, instinctively clutching at his arm. It stung, and when he finally dared to look, a bright red line bloomed across his pale skin, drops of blood beading along the long cut.
“It’s your fault!” Tony was screaming now, wrenching Sean’s attention away from the wound. In his heartache, he was taking his agony out on Sean and stared him down now, his hands shaking, eyes shining. “I know it is! You did this!”
“W-wait,” Sean stuttered out, taking another hesitant step back. The onlookers around him crowded away, pressing against the walls. “Me?”
And that was when Tony lunged.
In the end, the slice to Sean’s arm was little more than a scratch. Dean, the only one who’d had the foresight to call the police, bandaged the wound as Tony was wrestled into the back of a cruiser, having been wrenched off Sean by the boys in blue only seconds after his attack.
“You know you’re going to have to explain this to Briar,” Dean commented, smirking slightly, amused at the whole situation now that the danger had passed.
Sean let out a sigh. Briar would be pissed. He idly wondered if she’d smack him for his foolishness or kiss him for his safety when he saw her next.
“Yeah. I know.”
* * *
“And…which one did she do first?” Braeden asked the door.
Sean let out a grunt, but otherwise stayed silent.
Dean shared a look with Braeden, laughing lightly. “They way he told it to me the next day, she reamed him out for ten minutes and then sucked his dick.”
“Hey!” Sean shouted, but he was dutifully ignored.
“That sounds like my sister,” Braeden agreed with a chuckle.
“But,” Dean cut back in, “that’s not when she threatened me with bodily harm at the prospect of Shawn working another Valentine’s day.”
Braeden raised an eyebrow. “What could be worse than almost being stabbed?”
Dean laughed and then grinned widely back at him, really getting into it now. “He never told you? God, I’d almost forgotten about it myself. It was a couple years ago. I didn’t take Briar’s threat seriously until she called me and told me off for that attack last year. Whoo, I’m not making that mistake again.”
Braeden waved his statements aside, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the door, watching Dean curiously. “Yeah, yeah, but what happened? You can’t just tease me and then go off on a tangent like that.”
“Oh, right! Yeah, so we were out on a catering job…” Dean sounded almost gleeful.
“Dean…” Sean warned, still safely hidden behind the door.
“…for a Valentine’s day party for this Catholic grade school…”
“Dean!”
* * *
It was supposed to be a quick job, Dean reflected as he listened to the Boss argue with Sister Katherine Marie—just a drop off, set up and get the hell out. The food was the usual fare for such occasions: low budget sub slices and wieners, with some cookies and other sweets on the side. Finger foods, mostly, and the kind of thing they could just set out on a table and then let the kiddies have at.
Normally, Sean loved working for schools. Unlike Dean, he was overly fond of children, absolutely adored being a father, and just the sight of kinds usually had him hurrying home to his wife and begging they have a dozen or two more. He’d worn a goofy grin as they’d come in the front entrance, murmuring at how adorable the little boys and girls were in their parochial school issue slacks and ties, with their modest skirts and white, pressed shirts. He’d gone on to playfully gripe about how his twelve-year-old, Angelo, had utterly destroyed the last suit they’d put him in, somehow managing to tear off both sleeves and stain the rest beyond reason within the first hour of wearing it. Dean just shook his head and didn’t question him.
A group of girls had spotted them early on and followed them, twittering like birds, as they made their way to the headmistress’s office.
“Hey,” Dean said, nudging Sean. “I think you’ve got a fan club.”
Sean threw a look over his shoulder before shaking his head and sighing, though, Dean noticed, the smile never left his lips. “Kids,” Sean muttered.
That, of course, was before the sat down with Headmistress, Sister Katherine Marie McKinley.
“Look, I understand,” Sean was saying now, “but you didn’t pay for—“
“And how,” Sister Katherine snapped back, her tone reminiscent of a high strung and incredibly overbearing grandmother—though Sean would later imitate her as though she were a very angry poodle, “do you expect us to keep any sort of order when your company plans on abandoning the table?”
“Order?” Sean echoed incredulously.
From the his spot leaning against the wall in the outer office, Dean heard nothing at all for the space of more than a few heartbeats. He smirked, imagining the absolutely withering look the nun must surely being aiming Sean’s way at that moment to get him to clam up like that.
A few more beats later, Sean picked up with “Ma’am…” his tone definitely more respectful, but Dean could hear the frustration coating every syllable like it was spelled out in blood. “According to our contract, you’ve ordered our basic party buffet. In the contract, it outlines—right here, actually—that anything more would be at an extra cost—“
“This is the Lord’s domain, Mr. Santangelo. Would you charge the Lord to serve Him?”
Dean had to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter that threatened to spill out at the thought of Sean’s reaction to that one.
After a very, very long pause, Sean eventually came back with a monotone, “It’s our policy, Sister.”
“Yes? Really, well—“
“Yes, it is.”
Sister Katherine Marie muttered something under her breath. Dean couldn’t make out all of it, but he was certain he heard “devil’s work” and “eternal hell fire” in the mix. The quick rip of perforated paper let Dean know the check had been cut and they could be on their way. He let out a deep sigh of relief. Sean had the patience of a saint, but this woman had put his resolve to the test.
“Thank you for your time, Sister. I'm sorry for any confusion.”
“Yes, of course.”
The scrape of a chair's wooden legs against the floorboards told Dean that Sean was getting to his feet. Footsteps followe soon after, but they paused when sister Katherine called out.
“Mr. Santangelo?”
“Yes?”
“May God save your soul.”
A moment later Sean reappeared, an incredibly strained smile stretched across his face. “Oh, Jesus, Dean,” he whispered loudly. “Let's get the fuck out of here. Now.”
“Ooh,” Dean snickered, falling into step beside him. “Your cursing in church.”
“It's a school, not a church.”
“There's a chapel right down the hall.”
Sean looked to where Dean was pointing. He smirked, then flipped the chapel the bird. Laughing like teenagers, they ran, tripping over their own feet in their hurry to get back to the parking lot.
Sean tipped his head back as they stepped outside, breathing in deeply. The California sunshine warmed his cheeks, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, sauntering with eyes closed onto the asphalt. Dean smiled at the sight of him, and shook his head before loading the now empty trays back into the van.
“Hey, Dean?”
Traffic hummed along the streets and somewhere in the parking lot a car engine revved, nearly drowning out Sean's low, overly calm voice.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Let's never work a parochial school again.”
Chuckling, Dean slammed the van's back doors. “You got it, boss.” He turned to Sean, grinning, but a moment later, the smile dropped from his face.
Just beyond Sean and approaching at a far too rapid pace was a battered old Ford Lincoln. As Dean watched, the driver swerved, heading straight for Sean.
“Boss!” Dean yelled.
Sean's eyes snapped open. He spun around just in time to meet Sister Katherine's eyes over the dashboard. Her face was contorted in rage, and all Sean could do was stare.
“Oh, fu—“
* * *
“Oh, my God!” Braeden burst out, laughing hard enough that a tear tracked its way down his cheek. He leaned heavily against the office door, flushed and panting. “Sean got run over by a nun!”
“It's not funny,” Sean grumbled from the other side of the door.
“He didn't get hit,” Dean said, waving his hand absently. “I pulled him out of the way, but she smashed the back of the van and cost us $500. It took us three weeks to decide whether suing her would be a sin.”
That only made Braeden lapse into another bout of laughter. “You sued a nun!”
“I could have been killed!” Sean reminded him, but it was obvious that Braeden was far past the point of listening.
Dean, however, focused his attention on the door, smirking. “Is that enough, Boss? Ready to come out yet?” But Sean only fell silent once more.
“What's so funny?”
Both Dean and Braeden turned toward the newcomer. Rick was slipping behind the bar, still outfitted in his grease stained, slate blue jumper, “Shane's Auto Body” embroidered over the top left breast pocket.
“Oh, baby!” Braeden crowed, still one laugh short of guffawing. He wrapped his husband in a bear hug, his laughter now muffed in the crook of Rick's neck.
“What?” he asked, purring quietely at Braeden's touch as he stroked his back in return. He looked over his shoulder at Dean, his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.
Still, Braeden tried to answer with a tear-filled, laughter-broken, “Sean got run over by a nun!”
“He what!?”
“Almost got run over by a nun,” Sean corrected. It sounded like he was pressed to the door, listening. “Hi, Rick.”
“Hi?”
Dean took the time to recap the story for him as well as just what Sean was doing locked in Braeden's office, and soon Rick's laughter joined Braeden's, and in short order, Rick was more than willing to join in the fun.
“Work horror stories, huh?”
Braeden nodded. His laughter had since died down, and now he had Rick pulled into a loose backwards hug, his chin resting lightly against Rick's shoulder. “Any good ones, baby?”
“What about that one Valentine's day where that old lady and her pimp tried to get Sean into a threesome, and then, when he turned them down, they threw soup on him?”
Sean groaned at the memory, but Dean shook his head. “Nah, not horrific enough.”
“Or the time he accidentally told off that food critic?”
“Of all the days to lose my temper,” Sean muttered.
“So here you guys are.”
Once again, everyone looked over to see someone new joining the group. Luca, Sapphire's old manager and subsequently Sean's ex-boss turned semi-retired, part time manager strode over from the direction of the kitchens, and Dean surmised that he'd come around the back from Aurora, like he and Sean had.
There was a chorus of “Hey”s and “How ya doin'”s and then Luca was nodding at Dean amiably. “Hey, you seen Sean?” he asked.
Dean just smirked and pointed to the office door. “He wants to work tomorrow.”
“I have to do the schedule!” Sean whined, followed by a slightly cowed, “Hey, Luca.”
“Anyway,” Dean continued. “He wants to work, and apparently we need to remind him why he's never supposed to come in on Valentine's day again.”
“Oh, really?” Luca asked. He looked to the door himself, and his own smirk beat out anything Braeden or Dean had ever known before. “I might just have to get in on this.” He sauntered over to the door and gave it a light rap. “Hey, Sean! I hear we're telling Valentine's day stories!”
There was a slight pause before Sean returned with a fearful. “No. They're lying. Go away.”
“But,” and now Luca turned to the group, his grin growing ever more devious, “I don't think they've hear the best story yet. It was Sean's first year at Sapphire, back when he was just a waiter. You remember, Sean?”
“Oh, God...”
“So you do remember!”
“I think I blocked it out.”
“Then let me remind you...”
* * *
It was the spring of Sean's senior year of highschool, and for only having worked six months at Sapphire, he'd managed to form a tight relationship with his boss. Luca was strict but fair, and he appreciated Sean's work ethic. They seemed to share a the same vision of what made a good restaurant, including the fact that, when done right, you'd step inside and know you were home.
Sean was starting to see Luca as a mentor, and he'd trust his every judgement without question. That was, until he found himself standing in Luca's office holding what appeared to be a sheet and a plastic arrow.
“You want me to what?”
Luca barely spared him a glance before returning his attention to the stack of bills on his desk. “Put that on and go to the front. It's not rocket science, Sean.”
“Yeah, but....” Sean frowned down at the material uncertainly. “Do I have to be naked?”
Luca slapped his pen down, shooting Sean a sharp look and sighing heavily. “You won't be naked, Sean. You'll be wearing that.” At Sean's continued frowning, Luca sighed again. He stood up and walked around his desk to grasp Sean's shoulders lightly and give him an encouraging smile. “Honestly, it'll only be for an hour or so. You can do that for me, can't you?”
“I don't know...”
“So you're bailing on me?”
That shut Sean up. He swallowed thick, looking down at the material again and weighing utter embarrassment against letting down his boss. “No, I...okay. Yeah, of course I'll do it.” Nodding to himself, he turned and started out of the office.
“Oh, and Sean?”
Sean turned back, his eyes hopeful.
Luca grinned at him. “Remember to smile.”
Twenty minutes later found Sean standing in the employee's rest room, staring at himself in the full length mirror. At least the white sheet ended up being a toga rather than the diaper he'd feared it would be, but it still left far too little to the imagination. His pale chest was almost fully visible, and it seemed to mock him, almost glowing under the florescent lights. Sean felt a blush rising to his cheeks at the thought of going out in public dressed as he was.
And the draft currently swirling around his thighs wasn't helping matters any.
The icing on the cake were the fluffy pink wings strapped with elastic over his shoulders. They hung, oddly heavy, against his back, bobbing up and down every time he dared to move. Sean picked up his plastic bow and arrow and sighed. He looked like Cupid's gawky teenaged brother, but Luca was counting on him....
Screwing up his courage, Sean took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.
The walk across the restaurant was possibly the longest and most excrutiating journey of his young life. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked, telling himself that no, the waitresses by the register were not laughing at him, he was not drawing the attention of every customer within twenty feet, and no, that saggy old transvestite by the bar was definitely not eyeing him up.
“Sean! Looking good!” Luca called out.
Sean spun and practically ran over to him, his cheeks nearly purple, he was blushing so hard. “Luca,” he wheezed, “Luca, I don't know if I can do this. I know I said I would, but—“
“Sean, calm down!” Luca said, laughing softly. He held out his hands placatingly and then gripped Sean's shoulders warmly. “Don't worry, there's been a change of plans. You don't have to greet customers?”
The relief Sean felt was palpable. “I don't?”
“No!” Luca reiterated, grinning from ear to ear. “I'm going to have you entertain a private party instead!”
“You—I—oh...”
“Yeah, come on! They're all waiting for you!”
He pressed lightly against Sean's back, nudging him forward, and, his head bowed, bow and arrow clutched before him, Sean walked to what he was sure would be his certain doom.
Admittedly a private party wasn't nearly as bad as greeting at the door; he'd certainly be exposed to fewer people, but then, didn't Luca said “entertain?” Did that mean he'd be performing? He tried hard to listen as Luca prattled on, something about a song or dance or somesuch, but each and every word sent the lump of lead residing in his stomach sinking lower until Sean was sure he'd be sick.
He didn't even register the giggles and whispers as they moved back across the restaurant to the back corner with the private dining room.
Luca stopped just outside the door, rubbing Sean's back soothingly. “Ready?”
Again, Sean took a deep breath. He could do this. He had to. “Let's get this over with.”
Luca opened the door.
At first, Sean didn't look up; his body just wouldn't allow it. He felt frozen, chin dropped down to his chest, eyes still locked on the plastic props. He could hear talking, laughing, whispering, but it all sounded like nonsense. There was a low wolf whistle and then more laughter, and Sean screwed his eyes shut, flushing darkly.
Suddenly a voice spoke up, soft and lilting. “Oh, baby...” it crooned, warm and heartfelf, and Sean snapped his head up.
He met Briar's eyes squarely. She smiled at him a little sadly, obviously feeling for him, and yet amusement danced in her eyes. Slowly, Sean allowed himself to scan the rest of the room. The long table before him was crowded with family and friends, everyone looking right at him. Amy, Braeden, Rick and his brother, Derek, were grouped after Briar. There were his sisters and his parents—both biological and adopted—all laughing good naturedly but Margie, who covered her face with her hands, apparently horror stricken. Just beyond them were Rick's parents, leering at him in a way that made him wonder if he'd ever be able to get it up again, and lastly sat Briar's parents, who, by some demented twist of fate, happened to be old and very good friends with his boss. Briar's father in particular was eyeing him with amused resentment. Behind the table stood nearly half his coworkers, cheering and applauding.
Sean stared at them all for a full minute before croaking out, “Luca?”
“I have a secret, Sean,” Luca replied, fitting an arm around Sean's shoulders. “We don't really have someone dress up as Cupid every year.”
“You...” Still, Sean's eyes travelled around the room, his horror mounting.
“Think of it as your initiation.”
When Sean only continued to stare, Luca laughed heartily and gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Welcome to the family.”
* * *
“Oh holy shit!” Rick guffawed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I'd forgotten about that! Oh, that was the best day of my life!”
“Ah,” Luca said, wagging a finger, “but the best part happened after everyone left, when Sean was changing in the—“
Suddenly Sean darted out of the office. He slapped a hand over Luca's mouth, his eyes dark and wild. “Don't. You. Dare.”
“Hey, Boss!” Dean greeted him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Long time no see!”
“I will fire you, Luca,” Sean was saying, ignoring Dean as he continued to use his best death glare on Luca.
Luca just laughed against his hand and patted Sean on the head.
“You've got to let him finish!” Rick whined, pouting and leaning back against Braeden.
“No!” Sean spun on him, jabbing at his chest with one finger. “I'll fire you, too.”
Rick raised an eyebrow at him. “Uh, I don't even work here...?”
“Hey, Sean,” Luca said, coming up behind him and gripping his forearms. “How about I make a deal with you? You stay home tomorrow and I swear I'll never tell the end of that story.”
Sean, calmed somewhat, turned to him doubtfully. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sean nodded lightly, then paused and frowned again. “Yeah, I don't know. There's so much to do...”
“Hey!” Luca cried, affecting an indignant tone. “I trained you, right? You have to do the schedule? I can do it. I did it for fifteen years before you even started working for me.”
“Yeah, but...”
“Hey, if you can't trust me to do it right, who can you trust?”
Sean turned, watching him for a moment. He looked at Braeden and Rick, to Dean, who wrapped him in another half hug, though Sean was beginning to wonder if he wasn't just trying to keep Sean from running again. Finally he looked back to Luca and smiled. “You know what? You're right. I'm taking tomorrow off.”
* * *
By the time Sean returned home that night, the children were all tucked saftely in bed, though he doubted they'd stay that way all night. The house was quiet, but the lights were still lit, and Sean looked around the living room as he deposited his shoulder bag by the coat rack.
“Hello?”
There was no answer, just the quiet rustle of paper. Curious, Sean traversed the length of the room until he'd gotten to the couch. Leaning over the back, he found his wife fast asleep beneath a bright orange afghan his mother in law had crocheted for him years ago. Briar looked angelic in sleep, her full lips caught up in a small smile. Last month's copy of Vogue lay on the carpet before her, where it had fallen.
Smiling to himself, Sean rounded the couch and then perched on the edge. He leaned down, nuzzling Briar's cheek before laying a gentle kiss on her lips. Briar let out a soft murmur, shifting again, and then her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled sleepily.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey, angel,” Sean said, stroking his knuckles down her cheek. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“No, no, “ Briar shook her head, then stretched languidly. She sat up, grinning and looking far more awake, then made room for him beside her on the couch. “I'm glad you did,” she said as he settled down. She readjusted again, snuggling up beside him and drawing the afghan over them both. “How was work?” she asked, closing her eyes.
Sean wrapped an arm around her, breathing in her scent, feeling the day's stress suddenly just melting away. “Work was good.”
“Yeah? No bad customers or anything like that?”
Sean thought back to that evening, to a group of his closest friends telling embarrassing stories about him. At the time he'd been mortified, but now, curled against his wife, the prospect of spending the entirety Valentine's day wrapped in her embrace, he realized they'd been doing him the biggest favor imaginable.
“No,” he answered her, smiling contentedly and giving her a squeeze. “For once, everything went right.”
End!
Title: This One Time...At Work...
Author: Clay
Characters: Sean, Dean, Braeden, Rick, Luca, Briar
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Sean, the resident workaholic, is hell bent on working on Valentine's Day. It's up to his staff to remind him why that's never been a good idea. And illustrated means a handful of shitty sketches, so don't expect any masterpieces. ^_^
Word Count: 6,038
“You’re not coming in tomorrow.”
“But—“
“No.”
“But I—“
“Boss,” Dean warned, holding up a hand to silence Sean, “what did I just say?”
“Yeah, but—“
“What’s tomorrow?”
Sean sighed, reclining in his chair. The worn leather creaked comfortably, the deep padded cushions warping to his will, molding around him with the familiarity of use. At the same time, the cursor on his computer screen blinked rhythmically, a simple flash of black on white, accentuating Excel’s rows upon rows of empty boxes. “But the schedule…” he tried one last time.
“What day?” Dean bit back, standing now and crossing his arms over his chest.
Sean sighed again, deeper now, slumping down a little in his chair. “Valentine’s day.”
“And what would Briar do if I let you work on Valentine’s day again?”
For a forty year old man, Sean had a fantastic pout. He cast his eyes down, picking invisible lint from his slacks. “Admire my work ethic?”
Dean snorted. He crossed the room to perch on Sean’s desk, staring him down until Sean reluctantly raised his eyes. “No,” Dean said. “I believe her exact words were,” and here he affected a faint falsetto that actually bore an eerie resemblance to his wife’s voice, but Sean was in no mood to appreciate it, “If you let Sean work next Valentine’s day, Dean, I will personally come down there and chop your fucking dick off.”
“She didn’t say that.”
“Did too. Your wife’s got a mouth on her.”
Sean groaned. He braced his hands on the arms of his chairs and vaulted himself up, then started for the door, deftly swerving around his frustrated underling.
“Boss?” Dean asked curiously, but Sean just threw Dean a harried glance before sprinting out of the office.
“Boss!”
Dean raced after him, weaving through a handful of Aurora’s wait staff that loitered by the soda machine. They watched the duo curiously, then shrugged and went back to munching on bar pretzels, their conversation picking back up without missing a beat. Sean took a sharp right into the kitchen, and Dean followed shortly after, hollering after him only after they were out of earshot from any nosy customers.
Mario glanced up through a billow of scallop-scented steam at the men rushing past and raised an eyebrow. “Dean? What did you do to my son?”
Dean jogged by him, shaking his head. “He wants to work tomorrow!”
Mario’s answering laugh followed him around the bend of the kitchen, past the grills and the freezers, around the back sinks and out the loading doors. They hit the fresh night air, and Dean took a moment to breath it in deeply before letting out another “Boss! Where the hell are you going?”
But Sean didn’t stop or slow or even risk a glance back. He jogged through the empty back lot in the direction of their sister establishment, Mystic. An enclosed walkway connected the two buildings, and they crossed behind it, but Dean could just make out the gardens on the front side: the Cherry Blossom trees with their tiny, glittering lights, the roses and tiger lilies and myriad of other flowers that happened to spark Braeden and Sean’s fancies when they’d planned the little garden sandwiched between the bar and restaurant. Some nights Dean would look out onto it and consider that he had died and gone to heaven.
Not this night.
“Boss! Get back now or I swear I’ll call your wife!”
Unfortunately, that only made Sean run faster.
Taking a deep breath, Dean pumped his legs harder. He had longer legs than Sean and he was faster, too, but Sean had a decent lead on him now. Dean had only been messing around before. Now it was time to put an end to this.
They hit Mystic’s kitchen one after the other, hands slapping hard against the swinging, metal doors. Dean’s hands stung from the impact, but he didn’t let that deter him. He kept moving, grabbing desperately at Sean’s shirt, but somehow Sean managed to keep just out of reach.
Mystic’s kitchen sat empty during Aurora’s open hours, and it was creepily quiet and cold compared to the bustle of the kitchen they’d just exited. Dean allowed the strangeness of it all to distract him long enough for Sean to slip through the doors to the bar proper.
Cursing under his breath, Dean took the small hallway in a matter of seconds, flying past the restrooms and two men groping against the wall between them.
“Hi Braeden! Bye Braeden!” he heard Sean call, sing-song, from just ahead. Mystic’s owner looked up, puzzled, from the drink he was currently mixing, just as Sean whipped past, skittered into the office and slammed the door behind him.
“God damn it!” Dean cried. He barreled into the closed door, bouncing lightly against his already abused hands before balling them into fists and pounding against the door. “You can’t hide in there forever, Boss!” he hollered.
“Uh…Dean?”
Dean paused mid-yell and snapped his mouth shut. He craned his neck slowly, rotating it until Braeden came into view. Braeden smiled at him quizzically, his arms crossed over his chest, the Mystic logoed t-shirt pulled tight across his pecs, momentarily distracting Dean until Braeden spoke again.
“Do you mind telling me why Sean just ran in here and shut himself in my office?”
Dean gave him a tight smile. “Sean wants to work tomorrow.”
Braeden shrugged. “And?”
“And do you remember what tomorrow is?”
“Um...” Braeden furrowed his brow. As Dean watched, the realization hit him, and Braeden's eyes widened every so slowly. The effect was comical to the point where Dean had to bite his lip to keep from bursing out laughing.
“Oh, yeah!” Braeden exclaimed, grinning widely. “I had Briar fashion me a bouquet of roses out of low-sodium turkey bacon. Do you think Rick'll like them?”
Dean stared.
“I forgot that was tomorrow, though. Good think I got her to do that already. Rick's been so curious about the box in the fridge.” Braeden shook his head, laughing. “I told Jack and Alex they could hit Rick if he tried to open it. You should have heard Alex. Daddy! Daddy! I smacked Momma real good! Ah, kids...”
“Okay, yeah, that's nice, but—“
Suddenly Braeden frowned again, stroking his goatee absently. “And that's why Rick was so curious as to if I worked tomorrow, isn't it?”
“Sean!” Dean exclaimed, his frustration getting the better of him as he grasped Braeden's shoulders, shaking him lightly, “Wants! To work!”
Braeden paused, his mouth open slightly. He gave Dean a smile, the kind you might give an over excited puppy and reached around him to rap on the door. “Sean's not that dumb. Sean, open up!”
“No!” came the muffled reply.
“Come on, Sean.”
“No, if I open it, Dean will assult me!”
“Dean will not...” Braeden trailed off with a deep sigh, removing himself from Dean's death grip. He moved closer to the door and lowered his voice as though just realizing that they were behind the bar and subsequently attracting the attention of far too many patrons. “Sean,” he tried again, “Tell Dean you don't want to work tomorrow.”
“I don't want to work,” Sean replied dutifully, “but I still haven't finished the schedule, and I don't have time tonight, and I was hoping to get a jump start on inventory, and besides, you know Kathy and Doug are never very good when I schedule them together, and I accidentally did tomorrow and—“
“Okay, okay, okay—“ Braeden held up his hands placatingly despite the fact that Sean couldn't see him through the thick wood. “You know Briar will kill you—will kill us if we let you work tomorrow.”
“Nuh uh,” Sean shot back, quieter now, the pronounced pout back in his voice. “She'd understand.”
Braeden nodded to himself. “Normally, yes, she would, but I think you're forgetting something.”
After a long silence, Sean finally asked, “what?,” his tone slipping into something a little more wary.
“Last year.”
“I'm not...”
With a wry smile, Braeden leaned back against the door. He grinned at Dean and started, “So you remember....”
Aurora, as it had been ever since its door opened just over a decade earlier, ever since the violent and untimely death of its predecessor, Sapphire, was decorated to the nines with customer-made valentines, with red and white streamers and specially made, gold embossed menue inserts displayed a half a dozen lovers specials created just for the occasion.
Sean was just filling up the mint dish by the hostess stand with colorful candy hearts when the afternoon's hostess jogged up to him.
He hadn't originally planned on working that day. Valentine's Day was possibly his favorite holiday, and his evening was filled with plans of a full out lobster dinner for his wife, candle light, chocolates, and, if all went according to plan, trying out the pineapple flavored body paint Briar has surprised him with before he'd left that morning. The thought made him smile, but the idea of making the night special for her almost more appealing than the promise of seeing her stretched out on their bed while he sampled every inch of her body, though it was a very close call.
But more and more of his manager's had requested the day off until he'd simply had to, so he'd taken the morning shift. It meant having to rush his usual Valentine's day heart-shaped pancake and cherry extraveganza, but it meant he and Briar had the night to themselves, and that made it all worth it.
“Sean?” Melissa panted as she reached him, “we have a problem.”
Sean frowned, looking from his hostess around the restaurant in an attempt to discern the situation. Couples old and young seemed to be dining peacefully; as far as Sean could tell, everything was as it should be.
“Customer complaint?” he asked, mildly bewildered.
“What?” Melissa said, following Sean's line of sight. She shook her head and looked back to him, snatching up his hand as she did. “Oh, no, no, nothing like that. Come on!”
Sean's frown deepened as reluctantly let himself be pulled. “Then what?”
“It's just—“ Melissa shook her head again. “You'll see.”
And he did see, but not until after he heard. They were ten feel from the breakroom door when the poorly recited chorus of “I Will Always Love You” reached Sean's ears. He paused, just listening for a moment. “What the—“
But then Melissa was tugging at his hand again, worry evident in her eyes, and Sean was hurrying after her into the room.
The sight that greeted him was the last thing Sean had expected.
Tony, their recently hired (ten minutes hence to be fired, though Sean didn't know that at the time) busboy, was standing atop the long table that was the centerpiece of the room. He'd amassed a small group of onlookers, his voice still rining off the high ceiling, and Sean—ever the boss—felt the initial urge to usher them all into resuming their jobs, and then he saw the knife.
It glinted ominously in Tony's right hand, swaying back and forth with the movement of his body as he finished the chorus and them immediately started it up again. Insanely, Sean paused to wonder if that was the only part of the song he knew. As he sang, Tony stared straight at the one person still seated.
Tamara seemed frozen in her seat at the head of the table. She was a pretty girl, and a valuble member of Sean's waitstaff. Her heavily laden eyes were round as saucers, following the to and fro of the knife. Her knuckles seemed bleached white where she clutched the table before her.
Sean took it all in in a matter of seconds, and for a few seconds more he could only stare. “Okay,” he said eventually, quietly, and when it was obvious that Tony hadn't hear him, he repeated himself louder.
Tony snapped his head around to glare at Sean, nostrils flaring.
“Tony,” Sean tried again, keeping his voice low and calm in a vain attempt to sooth the man. “I'm not sure what's going on here, but why don't you step off the table and we'll talk about it...”
“No!” Tony screamed. He whipped the knife about, pointing at Tamara, who cringed visibly. “Why won't you love me?”
It was no secret that the girl was lusted after by every male member of Sean’s staff…just as it was no secret that she only had eyes for Lisa, her fellow waitress. Apparently Tony hadn’t gotten the memo.
“Tony…” Sean tried again.
“I have done everything I could think of! Why?” And now Tony sounded on the verge of tears. “Why?”
Carefully, quietly, Sean continued to advance. Tony was busy sobbing into his free hand, temporarily distracted, and Sean jumped at the opportunity, reaching out to snatch at Tony’s wrists, hoping to disarm him. The moment Sean’s fingertips brushed Tony’s skin, however, Tony let out a howl, like some dead thing unearthed. He jerked back and swung the blade in a wide arc.
Sean hissed and stumbled back himself, instinctively clutching at his arm. It stung, and when he finally dared to look, a bright red line bloomed across his pale skin, drops of blood beading along the long cut.
“It’s your fault!” Tony was screaming now, wrenching Sean’s attention away from the wound. In his heartache, he was taking his agony out on Sean and stared him down now, his hands shaking, eyes shining. “I know it is! You did this!”
“W-wait,” Sean stuttered out, taking another hesitant step back. The onlookers around him crowded away, pressing against the walls. “Me?”
And that was when Tony lunged.
In the end, the slice to Sean’s arm was little more than a scratch. Dean, the only one who’d had the foresight to call the police, bandaged the wound as Tony was wrestled into the back of a cruiser, having been wrenched off Sean by the boys in blue only seconds after his attack.
“You know you’re going to have to explain this to Briar,” Dean commented, smirking slightly, amused at the whole situation now that the danger had passed.
Sean let out a sigh. Briar would be pissed. He idly wondered if she’d smack him for his foolishness or kiss him for his safety when he saw her next.
“Yeah. I know.”
“And…which one did she do first?” Braeden asked the door.
Sean let out a grunt, but otherwise stayed silent.
Dean shared a look with Braeden, laughing lightly. “They way he told it to me the next day, she reamed him out for ten minutes and then sucked his dick.”
“Hey!” Sean shouted, but he was dutifully ignored.
“That sounds like my sister,” Braeden agreed with a chuckle.
“But,” Dean cut back in, “that’s not when she threatened me with bodily harm at the prospect of Shawn working another Valentine’s day.”
Braeden raised an eyebrow. “What could be worse than almost being stabbed?”
Dean laughed and then grinned widely back at him, really getting into it now. “He never told you? God, I’d almost forgotten about it myself. It was a couple years ago. I didn’t take Briar’s threat seriously until she called me and told me off for that attack last year. Whoo, I’m not making that mistake again.”
Braeden waved his statements aside, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the door, watching Dean curiously. “Yeah, yeah, but what happened? You can’t just tease me and then go off on a tangent like that.”
“Oh, right! Yeah, so we were out on a catering job…” Dean sounded almost gleeful.
“Dean…” Sean warned, still safely hidden behind the door.
“…for a Valentine’s day party for this Catholic grade school…”
“Dean!”
It was supposed to be a quick job, Dean reflected as he listened to the Boss argue with Sister Katherine Marie—just a drop off, set up and get the hell out. The food was the usual fare for such occasions: low budget sub slices and wieners, with some cookies and other sweets on the side. Finger foods, mostly, and the kind of thing they could just set out on a table and then let the kiddies have at.
Normally, Sean loved working for schools. Unlike Dean, he was overly fond of children, absolutely adored being a father, and just the sight of kinds usually had him hurrying home to his wife and begging they have a dozen or two more. He’d worn a goofy grin as they’d come in the front entrance, murmuring at how adorable the little boys and girls were in their parochial school issue slacks and ties, with their modest skirts and white, pressed shirts. He’d gone on to playfully gripe about how his twelve-year-old, Angelo, had utterly destroyed the last suit they’d put him in, somehow managing to tear off both sleeves and stain the rest beyond reason within the first hour of wearing it. Dean just shook his head and didn’t question him.
A group of girls had spotted them early on and followed them, twittering like birds, as they made their way to the headmistress’s office.
“Hey,” Dean said, nudging Sean. “I think you’ve got a fan club.”
Sean threw a look over his shoulder before shaking his head and sighing, though, Dean noticed, the smile never left his lips. “Kids,” Sean muttered.
That, of course, was before the sat down with Headmistress, Sister Katherine Marie McKinley.
“Look, I understand,” Sean was saying now, “but you didn’t pay for—“
“And how,” Sister Katherine snapped back, her tone reminiscent of a high strung and incredibly overbearing grandmother—though Sean would later imitate her as though she were a very angry poodle, “do you expect us to keep any sort of order when your company plans on abandoning the table?”
“Order?” Sean echoed incredulously.
From the his spot leaning against the wall in the outer office, Dean heard nothing at all for the space of more than a few heartbeats. He smirked, imagining the absolutely withering look the nun must surely being aiming Sean’s way at that moment to get him to clam up like that.
A few more beats later, Sean picked up with “Ma’am…” his tone definitely more respectful, but Dean could hear the frustration coating every syllable like it was spelled out in blood. “According to our contract, you’ve ordered our basic party buffet. In the contract, it outlines—right here, actually—that anything more would be at an extra cost—“
“This is the Lord’s domain, Mr. Santangelo. Would you charge the Lord to serve Him?”
Dean had to slap a hand over his mouth to stifle the laughter that threatened to spill out at the thought of Sean’s reaction to that one.
After a very, very long pause, Sean eventually came back with a monotone, “It’s our policy, Sister.”
“Yes? Really, well—“
“Yes, it is.”
Sister Katherine Marie muttered something under her breath. Dean couldn’t make out all of it, but he was certain he heard “devil’s work” and “eternal hell fire” in the mix. The quick rip of perforated paper let Dean know the check had been cut and they could be on their way. He let out a deep sigh of relief. Sean had the patience of a saint, but this woman had put his resolve to the test.
“Thank you for your time, Sister. I'm sorry for any confusion.”
“Yes, of course.”
The scrape of a chair's wooden legs against the floorboards told Dean that Sean was getting to his feet. Footsteps followe soon after, but they paused when sister Katherine called out.
“Mr. Santangelo?”
“Yes?”
“May God save your soul.”
A moment later Sean reappeared, an incredibly strained smile stretched across his face. “Oh, Jesus, Dean,” he whispered loudly. “Let's get the fuck out of here. Now.”
“Ooh,” Dean snickered, falling into step beside him. “Your cursing in church.”
“It's a school, not a church.”
“There's a chapel right down the hall.”
Sean looked to where Dean was pointing. He smirked, then flipped the chapel the bird. Laughing like teenagers, they ran, tripping over their own feet in their hurry to get back to the parking lot.
Sean tipped his head back as they stepped outside, breathing in deeply. The California sunshine warmed his cheeks, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, sauntering with eyes closed onto the asphalt. Dean smiled at the sight of him, and shook his head before loading the now empty trays back into the van.
“Hey, Dean?”
Traffic hummed along the streets and somewhere in the parking lot a car engine revved, nearly drowning out Sean's low, overly calm voice.
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Let's never work a parochial school again.”
Chuckling, Dean slammed the van's back doors. “You got it, boss.” He turned to Sean, grinning, but a moment later, the smile dropped from his face.
Just beyond Sean and approaching at a far too rapid pace was a battered old Ford Lincoln. As Dean watched, the driver swerved, heading straight for Sean.
“Boss!” Dean yelled.
Sean's eyes snapped open. He spun around just in time to meet Sister Katherine's eyes over the dashboard. Her face was contorted in rage, and all Sean could do was stare.
“Oh, fu—“
“Oh, my God!” Braeden burst out, laughing hard enough that a tear tracked its way down his cheek. He leaned heavily against the office door, flushed and panting. “Sean got run over by a nun!”
“It's not funny,” Sean grumbled from the other side of the door.
“He didn't get hit,” Dean said, waving his hand absently. “I pulled him out of the way, but she smashed the back of the van and cost us $500. It took us three weeks to decide whether suing her would be a sin.”
That only made Braeden lapse into another bout of laughter. “You sued a nun!”
“I could have been killed!” Sean reminded him, but it was obvious that Braeden was far past the point of listening.
Dean, however, focused his attention on the door, smirking. “Is that enough, Boss? Ready to come out yet?” But Sean only fell silent once more.
“What's so funny?”
Both Dean and Braeden turned toward the newcomer. Rick was slipping behind the bar, still outfitted in his grease stained, slate blue jumper, “Shane's Auto Body” embroidered over the top left breast pocket.
“Oh, baby!” Braeden crowed, still one laugh short of guffawing. He wrapped his husband in a bear hug, his laughter now muffed in the crook of Rick's neck.
“What?” he asked, purring quietely at Braeden's touch as he stroked his back in return. He looked over his shoulder at Dean, his eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline.
Still, Braeden tried to answer with a tear-filled, laughter-broken, “Sean got run over by a nun!”
“He what!?”
“Almost got run over by a nun,” Sean corrected. It sounded like he was pressed to the door, listening. “Hi, Rick.”
“Hi?”
Dean took the time to recap the story for him as well as just what Sean was doing locked in Braeden's office, and soon Rick's laughter joined Braeden's, and in short order, Rick was more than willing to join in the fun.
“Work horror stories, huh?”
Braeden nodded. His laughter had since died down, and now he had Rick pulled into a loose backwards hug, his chin resting lightly against Rick's shoulder. “Any good ones, baby?”
“What about that one Valentine's day where that old lady and her pimp tried to get Sean into a threesome, and then, when he turned them down, they threw soup on him?”
Sean groaned at the memory, but Dean shook his head. “Nah, not horrific enough.”
“Or the time he accidentally told off that food critic?”
“Of all the days to lose my temper,” Sean muttered.
“So here you guys are.”
Once again, everyone looked over to see someone new joining the group. Luca, Sapphire's old manager and subsequently Sean's ex-boss turned semi-retired, part time manager strode over from the direction of the kitchens, and Dean surmised that he'd come around the back from Aurora, like he and Sean had.
There was a chorus of “Hey”s and “How ya doin'”s and then Luca was nodding at Dean amiably. “Hey, you seen Sean?” he asked.
Dean just smirked and pointed to the office door. “He wants to work tomorrow.”
“I have to do the schedule!” Sean whined, followed by a slightly cowed, “Hey, Luca.”
“Anyway,” Dean continued. “He wants to work, and apparently we need to remind him why he's never supposed to come in on Valentine's day again.”
“Oh, really?” Luca asked. He looked to the door himself, and his own smirk beat out anything Braeden or Dean had ever known before. “I might just have to get in on this.” He sauntered over to the door and gave it a light rap. “Hey, Sean! I hear we're telling Valentine's day stories!”
There was a slight pause before Sean returned with a fearful. “No. They're lying. Go away.”
“But,” and now Luca turned to the group, his grin growing ever more devious, “I don't think they've hear the best story yet. It was Sean's first year at Sapphire, back when he was just a waiter. You remember, Sean?”
“Oh, God...”
“So you do remember!”
“I think I blocked it out.”
“Then let me remind you...”
It was the spring of Sean's senior year of highschool, and for only having worked six months at Sapphire, he'd managed to form a tight relationship with his boss. Luca was strict but fair, and he appreciated Sean's work ethic. They seemed to share a the same vision of what made a good restaurant, including the fact that, when done right, you'd step inside and know you were home.
Sean was starting to see Luca as a mentor, and he'd trust his every judgement without question. That was, until he found himself standing in Luca's office holding what appeared to be a sheet and a plastic arrow.
“You want me to what?”
Luca barely spared him a glance before returning his attention to the stack of bills on his desk. “Put that on and go to the front. It's not rocket science, Sean.”
“Yeah, but....” Sean frowned down at the material uncertainly. “Do I have to be naked?”
Luca slapped his pen down, shooting Sean a sharp look and sighing heavily. “You won't be naked, Sean. You'll be wearing that.” At Sean's continued frowning, Luca sighed again. He stood up and walked around his desk to grasp Sean's shoulders lightly and give him an encouraging smile. “Honestly, it'll only be for an hour or so. You can do that for me, can't you?”
“I don't know...”
“So you're bailing on me?”
That shut Sean up. He swallowed thick, looking down at the material again and weighing utter embarrassment against letting down his boss. “No, I...okay. Yeah, of course I'll do it.” Nodding to himself, he turned and started out of the office.
“Oh, and Sean?”
Sean turned back, his eyes hopeful.
Luca grinned at him. “Remember to smile.”
Twenty minutes later found Sean standing in the employee's rest room, staring at himself in the full length mirror. At least the white sheet ended up being a toga rather than the diaper he'd feared it would be, but it still left far too little to the imagination. His pale chest was almost fully visible, and it seemed to mock him, almost glowing under the florescent lights. Sean felt a blush rising to his cheeks at the thought of going out in public dressed as he was.
And the draft currently swirling around his thighs wasn't helping matters any.
The icing on the cake were the fluffy pink wings strapped with elastic over his shoulders. They hung, oddly heavy, against his back, bobbing up and down every time he dared to move. Sean picked up his plastic bow and arrow and sighed. He looked like Cupid's gawky teenaged brother, but Luca was counting on him....
Screwing up his courage, Sean took a deep breath and stepped out of the bathroom.
The walk across the restaurant was possibly the longest and most excrutiating journey of his young life. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he walked, telling himself that no, the waitresses by the register were not laughing at him, he was not drawing the attention of every customer within twenty feet, and no, that saggy old transvestite by the bar was definitely not eyeing him up.
“Sean! Looking good!” Luca called out.
Sean spun and practically ran over to him, his cheeks nearly purple, he was blushing so hard. “Luca,” he wheezed, “Luca, I don't know if I can do this. I know I said I would, but—“
“Sean, calm down!” Luca said, laughing softly. He held out his hands placatingly and then gripped Sean's shoulders warmly. “Don't worry, there's been a change of plans. You don't have to greet customers?”
The relief Sean felt was palpable. “I don't?”
“No!” Luca reiterated, grinning from ear to ear. “I'm going to have you entertain a private party instead!”
“You—I—oh...”
“Yeah, come on! They're all waiting for you!”
He pressed lightly against Sean's back, nudging him forward, and, his head bowed, bow and arrow clutched before him, Sean walked to what he was sure would be his certain doom.
Admittedly a private party wasn't nearly as bad as greeting at the door; he'd certainly be exposed to fewer people, but then, didn't Luca said “entertain?” Did that mean he'd be performing? He tried hard to listen as Luca prattled on, something about a song or dance or somesuch, but each and every word sent the lump of lead residing in his stomach sinking lower until Sean was sure he'd be sick.
He didn't even register the giggles and whispers as they moved back across the restaurant to the back corner with the private dining room.
Luca stopped just outside the door, rubbing Sean's back soothingly. “Ready?”
Again, Sean took a deep breath. He could do this. He had to. “Let's get this over with.”
Luca opened the door.
At first, Sean didn't look up; his body just wouldn't allow it. He felt frozen, chin dropped down to his chest, eyes still locked on the plastic props. He could hear talking, laughing, whispering, but it all sounded like nonsense. There was a low wolf whistle and then more laughter, and Sean screwed his eyes shut, flushing darkly.
Suddenly a voice spoke up, soft and lilting. “Oh, baby...” it crooned, warm and heartfelf, and Sean snapped his head up.
He met Briar's eyes squarely. She smiled at him a little sadly, obviously feeling for him, and yet amusement danced in her eyes. Slowly, Sean allowed himself to scan the rest of the room. The long table before him was crowded with family and friends, everyone looking right at him. Amy, Braeden, Rick and his brother, Derek, were grouped after Briar. There were his sisters and his parents—both biological and adopted—all laughing good naturedly but Margie, who covered her face with her hands, apparently horror stricken. Just beyond them were Rick's parents, leering at him in a way that made him wonder if he'd ever be able to get it up again, and lastly sat Briar's parents, who, by some demented twist of fate, happened to be old and very good friends with his boss. Briar's father in particular was eyeing him with amused resentment. Behind the table stood nearly half his coworkers, cheering and applauding.
Sean stared at them all for a full minute before croaking out, “Luca?”
“I have a secret, Sean,” Luca replied, fitting an arm around Sean's shoulders. “We don't really have someone dress up as Cupid every year.”
“You...” Still, Sean's eyes travelled around the room, his horror mounting.
“Think of it as your initiation.”
When Sean only continued to stare, Luca laughed heartily and gave his shoulders a squeeze. “Welcome to the family.”
“Oh holy shit!” Rick guffawed, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I'd forgotten about that! Oh, that was the best day of my life!”
“Ah,” Luca said, wagging a finger, “but the best part happened after everyone left, when Sean was changing in the—“
Suddenly Sean darted out of the office. He slapped a hand over Luca's mouth, his eyes dark and wild. “Don't. You. Dare.”
“Hey, Boss!” Dean greeted him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Long time no see!”
“I will fire you, Luca,” Sean was saying, ignoring Dean as he continued to use his best death glare on Luca.
Luca just laughed against his hand and patted Sean on the head.
“You've got to let him finish!” Rick whined, pouting and leaning back against Braeden.
“No!” Sean spun on him, jabbing at his chest with one finger. “I'll fire you, too.”
Rick raised an eyebrow at him. “Uh, I don't even work here...?”
“Hey, Sean,” Luca said, coming up behind him and gripping his forearms. “How about I make a deal with you? You stay home tomorrow and I swear I'll never tell the end of that story.”
Sean, calmed somewhat, turned to him doubtfully. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Sean nodded lightly, then paused and frowned again. “Yeah, I don't know. There's so much to do...”
“Hey!” Luca cried, affecting an indignant tone. “I trained you, right? You have to do the schedule? I can do it. I did it for fifteen years before you even started working for me.”
“Yeah, but...”
“Hey, if you can't trust me to do it right, who can you trust?”
Sean turned, watching him for a moment. He looked at Braeden and Rick, to Dean, who wrapped him in another half hug, though Sean was beginning to wonder if he wasn't just trying to keep Sean from running again. Finally he looked back to Luca and smiled. “You know what? You're right. I'm taking tomorrow off.”
By the time Sean returned home that night, the children were all tucked saftely in bed, though he doubted they'd stay that way all night. The house was quiet, but the lights were still lit, and Sean looked around the living room as he deposited his shoulder bag by the coat rack.
“Hello?”
There was no answer, just the quiet rustle of paper. Curious, Sean traversed the length of the room until he'd gotten to the couch. Leaning over the back, he found his wife fast asleep beneath a bright orange afghan his mother in law had crocheted for him years ago. Briar looked angelic in sleep, her full lips caught up in a small smile. Last month's copy of Vogue lay on the carpet before her, where it had fallen.
Smiling to himself, Sean rounded the couch and then perched on the edge. He leaned down, nuzzling Briar's cheek before laying a gentle kiss on her lips. Briar let out a soft murmur, shifting again, and then her eyes fluttered open, and she smiled sleepily.
“Hey, baby.”
“Hey, angel,” Sean said, stroking his knuckles down her cheek. “I didn't mean to wake you.”
“No, no, “ Briar shook her head, then stretched languidly. She sat up, grinning and looking far more awake, then made room for him beside her on the couch. “I'm glad you did,” she said as he settled down. She readjusted again, snuggling up beside him and drawing the afghan over them both. “How was work?” she asked, closing her eyes.
Sean wrapped an arm around her, breathing in her scent, feeling the day's stress suddenly just melting away. “Work was good.”
“Yeah? No bad customers or anything like that?”
Sean thought back to that evening, to a group of his closest friends telling embarrassing stories about him. At the time he'd been mortified, but now, curled against his wife, the prospect of spending the entirety Valentine's day wrapped in her embrace, he realized they'd been doing him the biggest favor imaginable.
“No,” he answered her, smiling contentedly and giving her a squeeze. “For once, everything went right.”
End!