Buster.

Egon stalked the drainways of New York. With skill, dedication and the stomach to go where few save the cities sanitation workers would dare to go, he searched out the moulds that lurked admits the slime and grime of the big city.

On this day he pursued a particularly fine pea green mould near the drainage gate of Carlo's House Of Fire, a chilly bean takeout establishment of no small repute.

 As he delicately lifted a corner of the mould with scalpel and tweezers a strange liquid oozing into the gutter caught his attention. If he hadn't known better he would have sworn it was blood...

Peter, Ray and Winston returned home to the sound of an electric drill reverberating from one of the upper stories. When Peter raised an eyebrow in enquiry Janine just shrugged back, she didn't know what was going on upstairs. Following the noise the guys eventually found Egon lying on his side affixing something to the bottom of the laboratory door.

"What, you're making Slimer his very own door now, Egon?" Peter asked, frowning at the hinged catflap the scientist was drilling into place. "Hate to mention it big guy, but as he's a ghost, it's kind of a redundant gesture, don't ya think?"

"This is not for Slimer." Egon replied, lining up another screw and drilling it into place. When it became clear that he wasn't going to say any more Ray crouched down to inspect Egons handy work and prodded it with one sturdy finger.

"What is it, then?" he asked.

Having drilled in the last screw, Egon gathered up the left over bits and pieces from the job and hauled himself to his feet.

"This is for Buster. He is a pug dog, not a pure bred, but that is just as well. He will need little in the way of exercise, however the more rooms he can roam into in the firehouse the better for his health. I will have to ask you all to be especially careful in opening and shutting doors, to ensure Buster does not accidentally wonder out into the street. Besides from that, you will hardly know he is here." Egon turned and started downstairs to return the things he had used to the tool locker. The others followed behind, looking stumped.

"A dog?" Venkman asked incredulously. "Since when did you want a dog?"

"Since I saw Buster."

"Is he a puppy?" Demanded Ray, peering ahead to see if he could spot the new arrival.

"No, Buster is one year old. He is currently at the vets receiving treatments for various ailments. The door merely anticipates his release and arrival here."

"Don't you think you might have, oh -I don't know - discussed this with us first? We do have a shared household, after all." Peter looked annoyed. They already had a neurotic ghost, they didn't need some slobbering dog as well.

Egon abruptly stopped his decent of the stairs, causing the others to pile up behind him.

"I am sorry I could not consult with you all on this matter, but there wasn't time. His owner...bequeathed him to me. If I had not taken him in he would not have had anywhere to go."

"Sure he would have," Peter drawled, "there's the pound. I'm sure he could have attracted some nice family before the..." he let the sentence drop, realising that mentioning the fate of unclaimed pooches was not going to help his case. Damn.

"I have agreed to take Buster on. If you are unwilling to have a dog here I will see about acquiring accommodation in an apartment nearby." Egon replied stiffly.

"Don't talk crazy man." Winston broke in. "Of course you can keep your dog. Tell him he can keep the dog, Pete." He gave the other man a quick poke in the ribs to get him talking.

"Yeah, you can keep the mutt if you want. Jeez, no need to go all melodramatic, Spengler." Peter had a bad feeling about this. He and the others watched silently as Egon continued on to finish his errand at the toolbox. He deposited his burdens carefully, each piece of equipment going back in just the right spot. He then turned and looked awkwardly just to the left of his friends.

"I am going to pick Buster up now, then shop for supplies." He hesitated awhile, then almost shyly asked Ray if he would like to go with him.

Ray blinked at the request. He had just been indulging in a moment of deepest resentment. Like - how come whenever he brought home a stray cat or puppy the guys made 'him' find them a new home? How come Egon got to keep 'his' pet? Why'd he always get his way? But when he looked up resentfully at Egon's blue eyes Ray caught a lost look buried deep in their myopic depths that he wasn't used to seeing. Egon needed him. Immediately putting aside his unworthy feelings Ray hurried down to Egon's side.

"Of course I'll come. We'll start at Pet World and work our way from there." Actually, now that he thought about it, this was going to be fun! A dog of their own, oh boy! "Lets go!"

"Slimer's not going to like this." Winston muttered as he and Peter watched Ray peel Ecto out the door into traffic.

"Slimer's going to 'hate' this." Peter amended. "And I thought you were all for keeping the mutt?"

"No, but Egon's stubborn enough to actually move out, and I don't like the idea of that, either." Winston ran a hand reflectively over his head.

"It's going to cause trouble, you know. There are reasons we don't let Ray keep any of the kittens, puppies or any other wildlife he brings home. They tend to be disguised demons, or witches familiars, for one."

"Yeah." Winston remembered some of the 'not so cute' critters Ray had wanted to keep. Some of them starred regularly in his nightmares.

"Plus, who's gonna feed it when Egon goes on one of his experiment benders and doesn't remember to feed himself, let alone anyone else? Trouble, I tell ya. And one jealous class five ghost is probably going to cause us the most grief, especially around dinnertime. I better go have a talk with the spud, let him know he's still loved." Peter sighed and started towards Slimers last known whereabouts - the rubbish Dumpster out back.

As it happened Egon had already seen the spud. Slimer was full of talk about sharing food bowls and walkies and being given extra treats. Hah, and Spengler gave 'them' strife over bribing the ghost!

From Slimers squeaky voiced and often garbled explanation, Peter gathered that the blonde physicist had apparently stressed that Buster was 'his' dog and wouldn't replace Slimer in his role as the Real Ghostbusters mascot. Quite a burst of sensitivity from the often emotionally reserved scientist.

Peter was becoming genuinely concerned. Old Spengs was being very thorough about all this. Why? The only pet he'd previously shown any interest in was his ant farm back in Ohio. He'd joked about getting tractors small enough for his needs. So where was this current pet frenzy coming from?

He went downstairs and found Winston cleaning down the packs. They'd had a good sliming on that last job, Peter's in particular oozed with it. Scooting down beside his friend Peter decided to share his worries while helping with the packs. Winston moved over amiably, this was not his favorite job, and nodded as Venkman began to try and unravel his oldest friend's behavior.

"Perhaps he's getting clucky." Peter mused, scraping orange ooze from the bottom of Ray's pack. "Small animals are traditionally used as surrogates for kids. I remember this friend of mine, a confirmed bachelor, started out with hamsters. Then came rabbits, cats, a poodle - he finally upgraded to a wife and twins."

"Ooh, sounds bad." Winston grabbed a knitting needle Ray had found that was just right for reaching those hard to get to spaces and began detailing his pack in earnest. Peter tilted his head a little and smiled as he watched the concentration etch itself into the black mans face as he worked.

"You're a good friend, Zed. Putting up with us and all our..." he waved a hand to indicate the firehouse, containment unit and Ghostbusting business in general, "our bad craziness."

"You're not so tough to handle." Winston smiled, jiggling the pack in his lap into a more comfortable position.

"Yeah, we are. Ray, well, Ray makes a good acquaintance, but most people couldn't put up with him twenty-four seven. He'd drive 'em nuts. The guys a powerhouse, just doesn't know the meaning of the words 'down time'. He yatters non stop from morning till night, drives like a maniac, cooks like an assassin, thinks everyone in 'nice' underneath and deserves a second chance, mixes his colours in with his whites and thinks cartoons are a higher form of art. Rooming with him can be like being stuck in a bus full of six year-olds, all high on red cordial. And Egon, jeez. Egon."

Zed grinned knowingly as Peter shook his head and rolled his eyes heavenwards, seeking divine inspiration and patience. "The guy is perfectly capable of intimidating a whole room of physicists, and he can't remember to put the cap back on his toothpaste. He's single minded, egotistical, uses big words, insists that curl on his head is natural, stores moulds in with the leftovers, can read dead languages backwards, underwater and with a blindfold on - yadda yadda. Not to mention stubborn as all get out." He frowned, reminded of the blonde's assertion that he would go elsewhere if he couldn't keep his mutt at the firehouse.

"Yeah. If Egon ever did move out I'd have to keep checking on him every half hour to make sure he hadn't blown himself up or forgotten to close the front door, or eat."

"Or tied his shoelaces, paid his bills, accidentally locked himself in the basement. He's done all of that. Or, not done....you know what I mean. A big, six foot pain in the ass, that's Spengler. And me," Peter ducked his head before listing his own less virtuous qualities, "lets just say I've got my insecurities."

Ah. Winston finally caught on to what Peter was leading up to and decided to lay one of those 'insecurities' to rest right now. "I'm not going anywhere, Pete. Sure you guys are crazy, our whole business in crazy, but I wouldn't swap it for all the tea in China. I love you guys, I love my work. We do good things, really help people. You'll have to chase me outta here with a whip and chair, because 'unwilling' is the only way I'm going."

Peter kept his head bowed while the other man talked, shoulders hunching as if expecting a blow. When it didn't come and Zed gave him a friendly nudge on the shoulder to let him know that's all he had to say on the matter, Peter straitened up and smiled. "Thank you, Winston. For being there, putting up with us. We'd be in a lot of trouble if you ever left us."

"Not going to happen."

"Not even for kids?"

"Hey, I'd bring them into the business. Next generation of Ghostbusters, they'll run around the fire house and drive Janine nuts." He pointed his knitting needle over at where their secretary sat typing away at her computer. Peter smiled for awhile at the image of their resident female firestorm trying to look after a herd of power pack toting miniature Zeddemores. Cute. Then his mood darkened once more.

"Winston, what'll I, eh, we do if Egon wants to settle down and raise a family?" he chewed his lip nervously. Now he'd had the idea it just wouldn't go away.

"I've got a feeling something else is up, Peter. He looked kind of upset just now. Like there was something he wanted to tell us, but couldn't bring himself to do it just yet."

"But why not, Zed? " /Why not?/

"Peter, what did you say to Janine?" Egon glared at the psychologist in annoyance.

"Me? Why's it got to be me?" Peter asked in a wounded tone, still managing to look guilty as all get-out.

"She just spent fifteen minutes telling me all about her 'child bearing' hips." Egon intoned frostily, pinning the other man with his gaze.

/Darn./ Peter had forgotten Janine could hear every word they said at the lockers if they weren't careful. Looks like he hadn't been careful.

"Maybe she's just...clucky?" he hazarded weakly.

"Humph." Egon carefully placed the pet carrier he was holding on the floor of the rec room and straitened to include all of them in his announcement. "Everybody, this is Buster. 

 He lent down again and opened one end of the carrier and a very small, very ugly pug waddled its way out to stand blinking at them crankily. It gave a short 'wuf', licked its nose and gave Egon the evil eye. Egon looked back at it with apprehension.

"Hiya fella..." Peter reached down to pat its ugly, wrinkle-adorned head and shot back when it growled menacingly at him. Apparently Buster had some wolfhound in his ancestry that had manifested in a vastly deeper snarl than fit his tiny frame, and a pair of twelve-inch fangs.

/Well, maybe not twelve inch./ Peter conceded as he watched the snapping jaws just miss his backpedaling feet once again. The dog advanced slowly but determinedly upon him, sensing his fright, Peter had been bitten by a bulldog when he was a kid and all short squat dogs made him nervous.

"Buster doesn't like to be touched." Said Ray, standing to one side under a mountain of parcels.

"Ya think?" Peter gasped, dodging behind the sofa.

"Peter, how unscientific." Egon pushed his glasses more securely onto his nose and gave Peter another annoyed look. "You should always greet an unknown dog by lowering yourself," he knelt down to demonstrate, "and if they prove friendly offering to stroke under the chin, like this."

Buster stopped chasing Peter immediately and went over to allow Egon to gently trace under his double chin. Enjoying this treatment the mutt began wriggling his curled tail and snorting loudly. The longer the stroking went on, the more the wagging got out of control until eventually the little dogs entire back end was wriggling eagerly.

That's when it happened. An occurrence so bizarre it froze Peter and Winston where they stood.

"How is my Buster-wuster? Has he been a good little boy for his daddy? Is he my lovey-wovey?" The words, delivered in Egon's usual pandemic bass voice, seemed disconnected from the actual meaning. Still, there was no denying it. Egon was talking baby talk. To a dog.

"Egon?" Winston asked, tensing up as if ready to grab the scientist and restrain him if necessary.

Without looking up Egon gathered the dog into his arms and stood, only then facing them. "Buster is accustomed to such language. It is expedient for me to imitate it until he becomes more accustomed to my normal speaking rhythms. Isn't that so, my precious puppy-kins?" he awkwardly cuddled the dog to his chest, obviously unfamiliar with holding small mammals.

"I'm searching for the pod." Winston said grimly.

"You should have heard him at the vets." Ray added with hushed awe. "He said 'snookums' five times!"

"It's not the baby talk that concerns me, it's that he hasn't changed his tone of voice." Peter continued, grinning at the others, but pulling nervously at his jacket sleeve at the same time.

"I am still in the room." Egon muttered. "Really." He frowned and Buster peeked over his shoulder, seemingly echoing the sentiment. "We shall be enrolling in obedience classes as soon as possible, until then please don't try and teach Buster anything, it would only confuse him. Also, he is on a strict diet, so kindly do not feed him any leftovers. Now, come Ray, we have to find a spot to store his things in." And the tall blonde swept towards the bunkroom. Ray shrugged at the others and followed, still struggling with his armful of parcels.

"I was right." Peter groaned. "Egon's clucky. What are we gonna do, Winston?"

"Stay calm." Zed said, laying a hand on Peters arm and squeezing it comfortingly. "Always, the first thing we do, stay calm. Next, we go check the basement for pods. Come on."

There weren't any.

Buster was going to be one spoilt little dog. Amongst his many purchases was a tartan bed igloo with matching blankets and cushion. There was a selection of fine porcelain food bowls with Buster's name printed on them and matching bowls for Slimer in pale green.

The rec room now boasted a toy box full of chew toys, balls, tug ropes and puzzle blocks that had compartments for hiding food morsels in. Buster had already worked diligently at one to retrieve its food reward and was dribbling happily on his new bed while Egon and Ray made room in Egon's closet.

Ray had watched in stunned awe as Egon unleashed his long suppressed sense of fashion and went on a shopping rampage. Stumbling across a pet 'boutique' he'd quickly picked out half a dozen little outfits for Buster to wear and left an order for a dozen more to be made up. The result of today's spending alone was a crates worth of matching leads, collars, dog coats and clip on hats in various shades of pastel. They all awaited storage.

For training purposes Egon had also purchased a devise called a 'halti' that fit over a dog's head much like the halter of a horse. Alas, these only came in brown, but he had brought several and was going to see about getting them dyed. Ray had claimed this idea was 'scary', Egon said nonsense, did they think he got his pink shirts wholesale? No, he simply brought white ones and had them coloured to his preference. He didn't say why he got them dyed 'pink', however.

Egon had stopped by their favorite bookstore and ordered a copy of Dr Peter Neville's 'Do Dog's Need Shrinks?' and 'Dog's Best Friend' by Valerie O'Farrell - the best of the books he had flipped through at the library. Egon had never owned a pet before, except for his ant farm inmates, and was determined to do everything right.

When he had taken Buster in to the vets he had asked them for the number of a reputable grooming parlor. He had also purchased some brushes and combs and a shammy for the little dogs short coat. Egon spent several minutes that night grooming his new pet and speaking to him softly in order to help them 'bond'. It appeared to work, although Egon admitted to himself that he was not really a good judge of such things.

Later, as everyone prepared for bed, Buster hopped into his little tartan igloo with a nightcap on his head similar to Egon's. The dog snored in a similar bass to Egon's as well, much to every ones annoyance. Everyone but Egon, that is. He was already asleep, drained by the shopping spree and the several emotional upheavals that the day had brought. Leaving Buster at the vets, confronting the guys over the little dog staying, having to fend off the advances of the librarian and several Ghostbuster chasing shop assistants. Thank goodness Ray had been there to help with the last obstacle.

Yes, Egon Spengler deserved his sleep that night. A pity it was laced with dreams of garbage and blood. 

Breakfast the next day -

"Egon, why is he wearing a little tartan coat?" Winston asked, watching as Egon placed equal servings of dog food out for Buster and Slimer in their matching bowls.

"Because I couldn't get him one in tweed." Egon replied, pouring some water into a dish as well.

"Oh. I guess that makes..." Winston trailed off. That didn't make sense. That was a Spengler 'I don't want to talk about it' answer. Damn. "Ah, yeah, okay. He coming on the bust with us today?"

"No Winston. I believe my holiday is still in progress, so he will stay and help me around the firehouse." Egon washed his hands then sat at the table and began to butter the stack of toast Zed had piled up.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. I still don't see why you didn't take off for your holiday. You know staying round here just gets you dragged into cases as a 'consultant'." Winston decided to leave the bit about the dog 'helping' Egon out around the firehouse well alone.

"Unfortunately we do have a knack of finding para-normal activity even when we go abroad. Or maybe it finds us. Either way I thought I may as well enjoy the comforts of my own lab this time, and Ray has only needed my assistance defining a ghost that once."

"Oh, yeah, good point." Egon was right. No matter where they went, trouble did have a way of finding them.

Later that day -

"Mmm, that smells great, what is it?" Ray inquired hungrily, following his nose into the kitchen. It was lunchtime and he was starving.

"Mince, peas, carrots and a little boiled rice." Egon said, placing a series of plastic freezer boxes out in neat rows. There was a huge mettle pot on the stove and Ray went to lift the lid and drool at the contents in appreciation.

"Yum, how soon till its ready?" He gave the mixture a stir with the wooden spoon placed nearby. There was a lot here, it looked like Egon was going to freeze some, which was weird. Peter normally did things like that.

Speaking of the devil - the brown haired Ghostbuster sauntered into the room, a hungry little smile on his lips.

"It will have to cool down before I give it to him. I don't want Buster to burn his tongue." Egon commented. Peters smile disappeared at once.

"Him? Him! That's for the dog!?" Peter glared at the scientist in outrage.

"Of course." Egon told him levelly.

"I hope you intend to sterilise all this stuff then, pal." Peter snapped. He crossed his arms and looked pointedly at the used cooking utensils. "I'm not eating anything cooked in here till you have."

"I made sandwiches." Egon replied evenly.

Ray pounced on the fridge and pulled out a platter of delicious looking triangles, with the crusts intact for once. "Wow!"

"I'm not eating something that might be contaminated with dog food." Peter growled and turned away, "I'm gonna grab something to eat at the dinner, pick me up there." And he stomped out, brushing aside Winston as his teammate came into the room.

Egon looked after him, a strange ache settling over his chest. He could usually count on Peter to support him in most things. To have him behaving like this was...baffling. Ray came over and shrugged as he took a bite out of his first sandwich. "He'll get over it," he said reassuringly. Then he turned and hefted the platter of food at Winston. "Look what Egon made us!" he smiled round his mouthful.

Winston smiled back and they were both soon chomping into the feast. Egon went back to stirring Busters dinner, looking like he always did, but with a stillness to his movements that told Ray he was probably feeling a little hurt by Peters reaction. Or maybe he was just tired, it was hard to tell with the tall blonde sometimes. He sure had made some great sandwiches, though.

The little dog had quickly become part of Egon's shadow. Everywhere the scientist went, there too would be Buster. In the lab, jogging round the block, smuggled into the library in a racy tartan pull bag, even onto the TV couch in the rec room, where the next lot of trouble was just waiting to happen.

Sensing the human's feelings, reading the stiff body posture and the snarl in the voice, Buster had taken a distinct dislike to Peter. And there was no way the little dog was letting the antagonistic human near his packmate. No way. So he growled in warning, standing as tall and stiff as his body would allow him to, saying with all available means at his disposal 'come closer and I'll tear your windpipe clean from your body!'

Buster was not going to lose another packmate.

"For gods sake, Egon! Get that thing off the couch! Its gonna attack me!"

"This is a new environment for him," Egon replied, "he needs time to adjust. He will become more accepting of you as he familiarizes himself with the change. Please, Peter. Just give him a little room ."

Sighing aggravatedly Peter sat, still aware of the angry, focused brown eyes, despite having both Winston and Ray between himself and the little monster. This was intolerable! 'He' always sat next to Egon on the couch! It was so unfair!

"He will acclimatise." Egon reassured him soothingly, resting a hand on Busters bristling shoulder. Immediately the animal relaxed, seemingly satisfied at having alerted his packmate to the danger. But not a moment later Peter reached across for some popcorn from the bowl that had ended up in Egons lap and the snarling began again, twice as menacingly.

"That's it!" Peter leapt to his feat and turned to face the still seated scientist. "Tell me, Egon. Tell me why we have to put up with this butt ugly little monster? Because I'm starting to wonder here. Surely its not because you think its cute. Not even you have enough lack of taste for that!"

Silence descended after Venkmans outburst, and the others turned to look at Egon, wondering what, if anything, he was going to say.

Egon swallowed to clear his throat, adjusting his glasses as he reached over to gently run a hand over the pug's smushed up face, regarding it sadly.

"When I was a child," he began. The others caught their breaths in surprise. Egon didn't often talk about his childhood, except to make off hand comments that gave an impression of severe repression and high expectations. "I was often teased about my looks. Amongst the more obvious choices of 'four-eyes' and 'Igor' they also used to refer to me as 'ugly horse faced Spengler'." His gaze remained fixed on the wide-eyed, trusting face of the dog at his side.

The silence lengthened, grew uncomfortable. Just when Peter felt he was going to scream from the tension, Egon spoke again.

"And as you have been living with 'ugly horse faced Spengler' all this time," he finally glanced up, a touch of steel entering his voice, "then I think you can put up with his dog."

Nobody spoke, nobody moved.

"That was a cruel thing to call you, Egon." Ray whispered, breaking the spell. Free to act, Peter moved round to stand a little behind his friend, away from where Buster could get at him, and reached to gently touch Egons chin.

"What, this profile? Ugly? They must have the wrong Spengler. You're...almost as handsome as me." Peter stumbled clumsily over the last words. He'd almost told Egon he thought he was beautiful, and that would never do.

"Buster stays." Egon told him. A query and a demand.

Buster stayed.

Two days later -

"I believe Buster has begun to adjust to his new surroundings." Spengler announced. "It is therefore time we commenced training."

So, it being the weekend, everyone got in the car and went along to watch. The beginners class was quite large, full of puppies with only a sprinkle of older dogs and one ancient golden retriever that looked a bit like a fat watermelon with legs. Everyone but Egon had choker chains on their dogs.

Egon and Ray watched tight lipped as an older man showed his granddaughter how to yank the lead attached to the choker chain to make the dog choke. The poor animal, a young German-shepherd, was subjected to this a number of times before the old man decided the girl had learnt how to do it right.

Egon fastened the harness arrangement he'd brought over Busters snub face and gave a gentle tug. Buster followed him out to join the others.

Over on the sidelines Peter fumed, muttering as all the ladies in the group immediately trotted over to converge on his friend, swinging their childbearing hips at him provocatively.

"You're just jealous." Winston told him.

"Having a kid would ruin my figure anyway." Peter shot back, a little unsettled that Zed had heard his muttered comment.

Winston stared at him a moment then gave a snort of laughter. "You are too weird, man." He said, clapping the white guy on the shoulder.

"You wouldn't want me any other way." Peter smirked. They both grinned and went back to watching the dog training, but it wasn't long before Peter was scowling again. Damn dog was getting all the attention.

Winston snuck a look at the other man, wondering why he hadn't tried chatting up the female dog trainer. She was a pretty young thing and had smiled warmly when Peter had introduced himself earlier. It was most odd.

Out on the training ground Buster proved to be a good learner, or maybe Egon was just a good teacher. He had a very patient teaching style. The man found watching moulds and fungus growing fascinating - he had a lot of experience with patience.

The only blot on Busters copybook was his reluctance to 'stay'. While other dogs where running gleefully all over the place being chased by their wailing owners, Buster refused to move more than a few paces from Egon's ankle. No matter how the blonde tried to coax or bribe him, Buster was staying close, and that was that.

"Glad to see the mutts not perfect." Peter gloated. He really didn't like that dog.

Well, and why not? He hadn't been able to get near his friend since the thing had arrived. In fact Peter thought Egon might even be using the dog as an excuse to avoid him. And Venkman did not enjoy being ignored, certainly not for a mongrelly dog!

And, okay - he was man enough to admit it - he sort of missed Egon's company. They were usually so tight. Why was the guy acting this way about a dog? Did he really want kids? Was he repressing his need for children by lavishing his time and affection on the little fleabag? What if Egon decided to get married? Who would he chose? Peter'd never approved of Spengler's choice of dates and the reverse was almost always true - Egons dates never liked Peter. The guy had lousy taste in women, anyway.

All the fears he'd suppressed since that damned incident with Egon's uncle Cyrus came rushing back, only sharper and harder to deal with. He had to find out what was going on, had to talk to the big lug. What would he do without his friend around to be his rock, his anchor? Just what the hell was he supposed to do?

"It's so cute." Ray chuckled, handing Winston a crescent.

"What?" asked Peter, walking up from behind Ecto on his way to check the mail.

"Uh, Janine's new pot plant." Ray gulped, looking guilty. Peter stopped and walked over to look closely into his face.

"Come on, Ray. No secrets from uncle Venkman. Or do I gotta..." he reached slowly for Rays ear.

"Egon-lets-Buster-into-bed-with-him-at-midnight-every-night-Please-don't-twist-my-ear!" Ray gulped, covering the sides of his head protectively.

Peter just looked at him, his hands falling limply to his sides. Turning he stalked towards the exit, more determined than ever to corner Egon into having that talk. Soon.

"Any one but me think Peter's behaving strangely?" Winston rolled out from under the car.

"He's just jealous. He still hasn't forgiven Egon for letting Buster stop him sitting next to him on the couch. You know that's his favourite spot." Ray said earnestly.

"Do you believe all that baloney Peter was spouting earlier about Egon wanting kids?" Zed was getting an inkling of an idea about Pete's behaviour. But no, it was too out there.

"Nah. When we were at collage we used to talk about stuff like that, the future, you know? Egon had some trouble connecting to his parents, he always said he'd never have kids, because he was afraid he'd end up being just like them. Besides, he always reckoned that we were kids enough for him!" Ray grinned impishly. Winston laughed and conceded that Ray and Peter 'were' just big kids at heart. And Peter in particular could be a real brat!

That night in the bunkroom, three sets of eyes opened exactly at midnight, three heads turned stealthily in the direction of one Egon Spengler's bed. With clockwork precision the corner of Egon's bed sheets flipped back, Buster made a leap from his dog bed onto Egon's mattress and snuggled in at Egon's side as the sheets were flipped back over them both. The sound of dual bass snoring recommenced.

The watery moonlight fell on two amused grins, and one thoughtful frown.

"Honest to god, she had our Ghostbusters logo tattooed on her, uh, cleavage." Winston concluded, remembering at the last minute that Ray and Egon were both in the room. Peter's eyes sparkled wickedly at him, catching the self-editing with amusement.

"Spengler's got a tattoo, dontcha Spengs?" Peter smiled nastily. The guy wanted to keep avoiding him, fine. He'd have to pay the price for the Venkman's annoyance, and Peter had all the dirt on Spengs he needed to make that a very real threat.

"You've got a tattoo? Where? When? How come I've never seen it?" Ray looked up with curiosity and a hint of hurt in his eyes at not being let in on the secret.

"It was that time you went to Egypt with your Aunt, Ray." Peter supplied. Egon remained impassive, the flames visible in his blue eyes only to Venkman, who was looking for them.

"Egon?" Ray's voice was part wheedling, part pleading, and Egon gave in with a sigh.

"You remember us telling you that a friend of my mothers had dropped around for a few days? The famous archaeologist? He's also s teacher and something of an adventurer, we had quite a few things to discuss together."

"Hey, I remember, he took you guys out to dinner at that fancy restaurant and I wanted to go but I promised mom I'd go over and help move my brother into his new apartment." Winston nodded his head as he recalled the event. Wow, he'd been blown away, meeting the guy like that. Of course, he had talked Peter into putting the whole Gozer thing into a movie. But still, it had been a great honour.

"Gosh, that was awhile ago." Ray still sounded a little accusing. "What happened?"

"As we told you, we went to dinner..." Egon began, but Peter decided to take over the story.

"...and he brought this expensive Champaign and old Spengs here got tipsy. We decided to go to a bar and keep talking, Egon got plastered and when I got up to take a leak they both squirreled out on me. Leaving me with the bill for that last bottle of whiskey, I might add." Peter shook his head, remembering his chagrin at being left to pick up the tab by the wily Doctor Jones.

"In a state of high spirits he convinced me I should consolidate my standing in the urban tribe that makes up Ghostbusters by getting a tattoo. He claimed it was a right of passage and I was quite too inebriated to resist him. I do not recall the actual experience, however I do remember his smile when I awoke next. Indiana Jones is a very wicked man."

"Indy liked you, Egon. Imagine what he'd have done if he didn't like you." Peter grinned.

"What was the tattoo of?" Winston asked curiously. Egon looked up at the ceiling as Peter gleefully told all.

"He got a PKE meter done on his butt! And get this, it had the word 'Spookums' written on a scroll underneath."

"Spookums was my mothers nickname for me, as you are all well aware." Egon said coldly to his crowing team-mates. Really, they were so juvenile sometimes.

The others continued to laugh and Egon became somewhat irate with them. "Doctor Indiana Jones is a good archaeologist, a good kisser, but a bad influence. I should have heeded my mothers warnings." The scientist stood up and prepared to retreat to his laboratory. None of his spores ever laughed at him. There were times he wondered why he ever left the safety of the lab.

As he went to move off he noticed that the others had ceased their merriment at his expense and were staring at him. He checked his zip. No, everything there was in order.

"Uh, he's, um...a good kisser?" Ray asked, goggle-eyed.

"I did say we were inebriated, Ray. Inhibitions do go down when you become intoxicated."

"He kissed you on the mouth, right?" Winston looked a little concerned.

"Peter did say he 'liked' me." Egon agreed. He couldn't see what they were getting excited about.

"Did he try anything else?" Peter was torn by guilt. Damn, he'd let his buddy go off with a lecherous old dirt digger, what kind of a friend was he?

"That is none of your concern. But no, he did not." Egon headed off towards his beckoning lab. Yes, time alone cataloguing his fungus was what he needed.

"Egon! Egon, inquiring minds needed to know!" Peter called after him, relieved.

Peter, Winston and Ray sat and contemplated the conversation they'd just had.

"How'd you get to see this tattoo any way, Pete?" Winston asked.

"Indy told me about it later. He managed to keep the fact that he tried to molest my...our scientist to himself, though!" Peter was going to have something to say about that, next time he and the old reprobate met up.

"So, you've never actually seen the tattoo?" Zed clarified.

"Nope."

Winston and Ray swapped smiles. This could be fun!

They got to the beach and began to unpack their gear. A convoy started up of umbrellas, beach balls, picnic basket, towels, snorkels, goggles, flippers, buckets, spades, beach chairs, lotion, rubbish bags, first-aid kit, blow up floatation devise, radio, sun hats, Peter's mirrored sun-reflector and sunglasses.

Egon had tied little booties on Buster to protect the pug's feet from the hot sand and attached a sun visor over his head to protect his eyes. He tied him securely to the food hamper by his red travel harness and places a bowl of water nearby. Buster took up guard duty happily, growling menacingly at anyone who came too near. Egon went to get his change of clothes from the bag Ray had brought them in, and stopped at the sight of the other Ghostbusters lined up, watching him.

"Gosh, Egon." Ray began, smirking only a little bit. "It looks like we forgot to pack your swimming trunks. Guess you'll have to borrow that spare pair Peter thought to bring along." He held up the scrap of white material with glee.

Egon sighed. He'd known this was coming, and yet he had hopped they would be a little bit more subtle about it. Resigned he took the skimpy bathers and headed over towards the changing room.

They were waiting for him when he returned. Feeling highly put upon Egon turned around and crossed his arms. The others rushed in and bent to inspect the goods. The white bathers disappeared between the firm curves of Egon's well-toned ass, allowing them a clear view of the tattoo.

Winston whistled in appreciation. "Nice tatt, Egon. Really, good workmanship."

"They even got the colours right on the dials and things." Ray added, equally impressed.

Peter remained silent. There was something blundering about in his subconscious that wanted him to take heed of it, but he was too busy memorising how Egons butt looked in the Speedo's and trying not to hyperventilate to really notice.

"What are you guys doing?" Demanded Janine, staggering over from the car park with her own armload of goodies, Slimer bobbing along in her wake.

The guys leapt back as if spring loaded, faces heating with embarrassment. Egon's eyes narrowed in satisfaction, turn about being fair play in his book.

"We were uh - just looking at Egon's tattoo." Winston supplied, slowly realising that half the beach had been watching them.

"What tattoo?" Janine dropped her armload of stuff and scuttled over. She adjusted her glasses as she bent to examine Egon's derrière with interest.

"Thank you, Peter, for this lovely moment." Egon dead panned. Peter gave him a 'who - me?' look and shrugged.

"Spookums?" Janine asked, one razor thin eyebrow lifting in inquiry. "Like, that ghost Ray tried to adopt?"

"Nah, it's his mom's nickname for him." Winston supplied.

"I was inebriated at the time, I believe I 'was' trying to get them to use the word 'mother'. It is the classically used text, after all. But the tattooist became confused. Or maybe Dr. Jones put him up to it." Egon mused gloomily.

"That Doctor Jones! He was such a good kisser." Janine sighed, clasping her hands together in fond remembrance.

"He sure got around, for such an old guy." Peter muttered darkly. "I feel left out."

"Huh?" Janine asked, confused.

"Beach - swim - now." Egon said firmly and headed for the water.

"What's the matter, its okay for us to know you snogged a guy, but not Janine?" Peter demanded when he'd changed into bathers and joined his friend in the surf.

"Janine finds male to male interaction interesting. I found some of her reading material on the computer once when I went looking for a reference to succubae, and it was full of lurid male romance. I do not wish to encourage her." Egon felt the pull of the ocean and stood strong, letting it swirl around his body like a caress.

"No shit? I always knew...glug, glug, gah!" Ray had snuck up behind them and tackled Peter into the surf. Egon watched, interested as his three friends began a series of raids, seemingly intent on drowning each other. Human interaction never failed to amuse and confuse him. Then with a cry of 'cowabunga!' he jumped on Winston's back and tried to scuttle the lot of them with a sideways rush. It was kind of fun, after all.

Egon sat on the blanket next to Buster and stroked at the little animal's short fur. It did appear to have a relaxing effect, just as he had read it would. Most interesting.

Not far from him Peter and Janine sun baked, while a little further away Ray was building a sandcastle and Winston could be heard telling a tall story to a bunch of kids over by the icecream van that had pulled up to do business. All was seemingly right with Egons world.

The sun beat down, drying the salt water on his body, making it itch. Sand stuck to places he'd rather not think about, heavy and gritty and just waiting to abrade him when he tried to get up, no doubt. He scooped at the burning expanse besides him and watched as sun warmed sand trickled through his fingers. Each grain of sand was a tiny speck of silica, rounded and smoothed by the ocean waves. Fascinating.

Besides him Buster stirred, legs twitching as he ran in some action packed doggy dream. Egon wished he could join him, his own sleeping time just lately was peppered with nightmares. Of course, the dog may well be having a nightmare right now, Egon didn't have the insight to be able to tell what kind of dream it was.

The tiny wrinkled face was almost devoid of the clues the faces of Egon's human companions gave him. Some days he felt so remote from other members of his own species. They were alien creatures, their motives unfathomable, their feeling larger than life and fearsomely overwhelming. Understanding an animal that gave much less vivid signals to its feelings was quite hard for him.

Egon had been ill prepared to receive the responsibility for another life. True, in a way he did have a responsibility to see to the needs of Peter and Ray, even on a smaller scale to Winston and Janine, but that was different. They could go on without him. Buster needed him. Buster's entire life experience would now depend on how he, Egon Spengler, behaved. His decisions, his comprehension, his ...caring. It was quite a terrifying thought.

Luckily he had Peter's words of wisdom to fall back on at times like these. 'What would Superman do in this situation?' he'd say. And the answer was clear, Superman would carry on. He would do what he had said he was going to do and keep on doing it until it was done.

Until it was done. Yes, well, that brought him round to another thought that had been plaguing him of late. Dogs lived for a much shorter time than humans did. One day Buster would be gone. And he, who had had to open himself up to understand the little dogs needs, he would be alone again.

Egon let another handful of sand slip through his fingers and tried to blank out the whirlwind of thoughts in his mind. It posed to many questions and he wasn't liking the answers. A glob of ectoplasm dripped onto his shoulder and he looked up to see Slimer flying past in pursuit of a seagull. The green ghost loved the beach, there was usually lots of good food to be scavenged, but he got into all sorts of strife trying to beat the local bird life to it. Egon sighed.

Continued in part 2....