It’s Friday night! You all know what that means! Yup, it means I’m home alone, wearing my new knitted T-rex hat with no pants on, wrapped in a blanket and covered in kittens, watching Good Eats on the Food Network and updating my FNAFiction.
Wow. I need to reflect on my life choices.
While I’m doing that, why don’t you head on over to archiveofourown.org or fanfiction.net and check out the new chapter of Everything Is All Right, Part Three: Mike Schmidt and the Long Night? There’s thrills! there’s chills! Well, okay, maybe not, but there is a pretty steamy make-out session between our heroine, Ana, and a giant purple robot bunny.
…yeah…my life definitely took a weird turn somewhere along the line.
They were coming up to the party room now, so much as she would have liked to continue, Ana said, “Hold that thought, because I am not done telling you how wrong you are,” and pushed open the door.
“What are you d-d-doing?” Bonnie asked, sounding almost alarmed.
“Just hang on a sec,” she said distractedly, peering into the dark. It looked exactly the way she remembered, except for a little more water-staining on the wall it shared with the dining room. The smell of mildew was strong, but nowhere near as bad as it was elsewhere in the restaurant. As bedrooms went, this was prime real estate.
While Ana investigated from the doorway, Bonnie limped over to the junction and peered around the corner like a cartoon spy, then looked back and hissed through his speakers, “You c-c-can’t go in there!”
“Pretty sure I can,” she said and proved it, picking her way across the room in the dark until she bumped a table. She fidgeted with the strap of her day pack, then went ahead and set it down, already mentally appropriating the wardrobe for her clothes and planning where to lay out her bed.
Behind her, the door creaked open and Bonnie’s eyes threw her shadow huge on the stage wall. “Hey,” he said in his scratchy, artificial whisper. “We’re not-t-t sup-p-posed to be in here.”
She looked back at him. “Why not?”
He didn’t seem to know how to answer. “We’re just not. C-Come on, we need to g-g-get out of here.”
“What are you afraid of?”
His shoulders immediately straightened and his twitching ears went up. “I’m not afraid-d-d, I’m just-t-t…you know. There’s rules.”
She almost told him she was a pirate, but decided, given his weird, untold history with Foxy, that fell just on the other side of the mean line. Instead, she said, “I’ll risk it. Come on in if you’re coming in, Bon. You’re making me nervous just lurking in the doorway.”
He leaned back to check the hall again, but then came all the way inside. The door wheezed slowly, slowly, slowly shut. It might have bumped him when it finally closed; he twitched.
“You okay?” she asked, amused.
“Yeah, s-s-sure. I b-b-break rules all the t-t-time. I’m kind of a b-b-bad bunny.” He tried to shrug, or maybe just twitched again. His eyelight made the shadows in the room jump and whirl as he looked around, his gaze bouncing back and forth along the ceiling until it came to an oversized square vent. He set his load down next to her pack and stepped away from the table, eyes locked on that vent. “I j-j-just don’t know what-t-t we’re doing here—” The last word broke off short as he jerked and looked at her. His servos spun a little faster. One ear twitched. “Are we…uh…m-m-making out? B-B-B—BE SURE TO FLOSS—God d-d-damn it. Because! Because it’s f-f-fine if we’re not-t-t, I d-d-don’t want to assume or anything-ing-ing, it’s j-j-just awesome if we are.”
“This is what you think a bad bunny is?”
His eyelids took on an annoyed slant. “Hey, I’m p-pl-plenty dangerous, I’m just not a d-d-dick!” The expression held a moment, then wavered itself away. “Um…are we th-though? Making-ing out-t-t—OUTER LAYER OF THE MENINGES REMOVED—God damn it!”
She hadn’t been planning to and she sure didn’t have the time, but when he asked like that, stumbling over the words, ears broadcasting ten thousand tumbling thoughts while he tried to play it cool, the looming shadow of the Fourth of July faded into insignificance. It was just her and him, like it was meant to be, like it had always been. Fate, with a capital F.
She smiled. “Well, I’d like to, but apparently, you’re plastic and I guess that means…I’m not sure what that means, actually. You don’t want to?”
“No! I mean, yes! I mean-n-n, that’s not what-t-t I…damn it.” He ran his hand over the top of his head, scraping away bristles of what used to be plush fake fur, and heaved air out through his joints in a sigh. “Can I st-start over?” he asked without much hope.
He blinked. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s never too late to start over.”
His ears went down and up a few times. He took one dragging step, looked down and around at all the stuff on the floor, then up at the vent, then at her again. His left hand rose, twitched, rose again and hesitantly beckoned. “C-C-Come here.”
She went. His hands tapped and twitched their way around her waist, endearingly awkward until he was sure of their placement, when between one heartbeat and the next, his cautious grip closed into an unbreakable vise. He pulled her to him, right up against the cracked, bristly, stinking plane of his chest. It was warm there, over his heart; everywhere else, he was cold and clammy as a coffin.
“Not-t-t sure what to do,” he said. “S-S-Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. Do you know what you want to do?”
His cameras whined, changing focus. One hand flexed. “Yeah.”
“Do it,” she said, not without some amused trepidation, because depending on where his adaptive programming paths were branching off to at the moment, things might be about to get really, really weird.