A/N: I've been writing an uber-angsty Chronicles fic for some time now, and I think my brain needs a break from the "srs bsns." The general idea behind this one-shot came from a headcanon I saw on Tumblr and subsequently couldn't get out of my mind. Despite the two not interacting that much, it claimed Shadow would bring Tails blueprints for various machines from the ARK in the hopes that he would be able to reconstruct them. I loved how this played into Shadow's respect for Professor Gerald and Tails' love of tinkering. However, I also saw potential for an interesting character dynamic. :)
Edit: Had to make a few minor adjustments. Thanks, Lord Kelvin. :)
Youth
You're only a child once.
Shadow stood on the fox's sticky welcome mat for longer than any sane mind would have right to claim. At ninety-five degrees, the air outside was blistering, scorching whatever so happened to suffer prolonged exposure. He noticed the weeds dotting the lawn shivered and crunched underfoot: the small irrigations Tails had established to prevent such drought parched as bone.
The heat had forced people to flock to safety—to pools, the movies or anywhere self-imposed exile included central air. It was, to quote Rouge as she'd fanned herself with a limp manila folder earlier that morning, "too hot to handle," and yet it troubled Shadow no more than a mosquito bite. A minor irritation easily overlooked.
He clutched a sheaf of rolled-up carbon paper in one fist as he poised the other to the door, knuckles silent against thick oak. His ears strained at a prickle of sound muffled through the material. No sign of faker's grating voice resided there … although some intermittent activity told him that someone must have anticipated him.
He knocked. Three sharp raps.
Truthfully Shadow didn't know why he waited so long for the fox to answer. Manners, perhaps. He'd been told more than once, or rather lectured by Rouge, that simply "gopher-holing" where he needed to wasn't common courtesy. One must wait at the door until they're invited in, even if doing so meant waiting forever.
Just as he made to leave, thinking Tails' house empty, a voice responded, followed by a thump and a crash. "Oop! Just a sec!"
He shook his head.
Tails had a perpetual black smudge on his cheek, a gift from scrubbing himself with the wrong rag again. He struggled to encourage the door open, causing a bunch of unseen books to topple over. Nonetheless, the kit greeted Shadow with a warm smile. "Hiya! Is this the missing spec?" His eyes flicked down to the paper in his fist and lit up. "Yes! Now we're cooking."
He took the paper and turned back inside without inviting the hedgehog in, twin namesakes whirling behind him, too excited for politesse. Silently Shadow followed. For the past few months they'd established a working, though awkward, relationship that centered around rebuilding Professor Gerald's unfinished experiments. Shadow had drilled in the kit's mind that he simply couldn't allow Gerald's work to go to waste, however hypothetical it may have been. Could Tails possibly recreate these experiments in real-time? Sure he could; the beaming smile on his face left no doubt for that. Since this work aligned so nicely with both parties' interests, they agreed to meet once a month to make Gerald's ideas manifest.
Thinking back on it, Shadow couldn't remember a time they'd met in the presence of others. He doubted even faker knew about these small get-togethers. Then again, faker never truly showed more than a passing interest in these sorts of affairs anyway.
He nudged aside a weighty technical dictionary with the toe of his skate as he closed the door behind him. The entire floor of Tails' work room resembled a literature morgue, he thought wryly; books' bodies splayed open, their guts bled out with highlighter. "How long?"
"How long what?"
"How long will it take to finish now?"
Tails dumped a can of mechanical pencils onto his writing desk and selected an azure one from the pile. "Depends. You can go if you want," he said with a hint of absent cheer, as if he were used to dispensing quick salutations. Smiling to himself, he began carefully untucking the corners of the blueprints and comparing it to specs pinned on the corkboard leaned between the window and the desk. One piece had been missing for five months now, and contentedly he added it to the others.
"I've nowhere to be," said Shadow.
To tell the truth, his curiosity was piqued. This spec he'd found was waterstained and had been secured in a desk in the ARK that had toppled over, unlike the others. He didn't know exactly what these things entailed, but he'd hoped the young prodigy would have some insight. As he stared, however, expecting answers, Tails merely responded in kind with the same awkward shyness they never truly seemed to bypass.
"Well," he said. "Um. I'm not exactly sure how long it'll take, so … " His gaze swept across the floor at Shadow's feet, taking in the mess of his own living habits. " … y'know, you can push some books over, make yourself at home … if you want," he added quickly, his shoulders hunched in case he offended his guest with this statement.
Shadow contented himself with standing in the corner, next to a glass orb poised on a metal platform which he paid little attention to. Beneath it sat a small fridge, humming merrily; and here it had finally occurred to Tails to be a good host, who ducked beside him and allowed cool air to rush around the hedgehog's ankles as he pried the door open.
"Hey, you want a soda?" he asked. "I got root beer—"
"No, thanks."
Tails almost looked disappointed at his decline, but closed the door and resumed working. Frankly, it was difficult to discern there was a door in the first place. Dozens of sticky notes fluttered by the wire-fan he'd set on the floor, equations in childish scrawl punctuated by the occasional friendly reminder to pick up this item or repeat that diagnostic. One pink note with a puppy watermark had a speech bubble extending from the puppy's mouth that said, "EAT A VEGETABLE, DORK" while another asked what happened to all the grape soda—Knuckles needed to know. Yet another held a game of hangman destined to remain forever unfinished. "Mandelbrot" was too obscure a word for Cream, who had decided to decorate the edge of the paper with a hydrangea garden instead.
Ironically enough, the only items he had adhering to any sort of order were Bento boxes, stacked neatly onto an empty bookshelf labeled "Return to Amy." Following this pattern, he could only imagine the sink was full of physics texts belonging to the Doctor.
Shadow knew the inside of this work room very thoroughly. Its small, rustic cubbyholes stuffed with letters and memos were familiar to him in a recognizable sort of way; the books, that patch of dust underneath the work table that no broom seemed to reach, the radio and the television. Everything seemed right to him in the most agreeably basic sense, even if some of its inhabitant's tendencies did grate his nerves from time to time.
There was one thing he wasn't familiar with, though: the experiment at his side. Within it, his gaze settled upon the only plant Tails seemed capable of keeping alive.
A strange flower he'd never seen cataloged in Maria's photo albums sat inside a glass orb poised on a metal dais. Condensate hugged the glass and slid slowly down the sides. Its violet face turned outwards and upwards, it protruded slightly from a swirl of brilliant yellow petals. Its wide, spade-shaped leaves glittered dew which dripped into a PVC pipe attached to the dais, each precious drop sparkling incandescently from the room's hazy sunshine.
He reached out to touch the glass when—
"Huh?" Tails looked up from the sketchy beginnings of his replica, answering a question he never asked. "Oh, be careful! That's Stanley."
The hedgehog piqued a brow. "Stanley?"
"Yeah, Amy got him for me last year. He comes from Little Planet."
Shadow listened quietly as Tails then launched a long, winding spiel about Stanley's origins, beginning with how Miracle flowers are sown and bloomed, how they're cultivated for sale at festivals, how they must be maintained carefully in foreign environments lacking in sun. He listened when the boy detailed in loving enthusiasm his plans to build a mechanism that would restore the nutrients plants lost during transpiration, to help gardeners during water shortages, and how poor Stanley here had proved an excellent control so far. He listened to all this and more when something occurred to him.
"You attend school?"
Tails hooked a finger under his chin, studying an element in Gerald's drawing.
"You should," said Shadow.
"Ummm."
"Why don't you?"
Rouge loved telling him he was too direct for his own good. Drill Sergeant Shadow, she called him, master of the third degree burn. No real grasp of social nuance meant most people he talked to were forced take him at face value, seeing how most conversationalists disliked confronting hard truths with someone who possessed the subtlety of a jackhammer. But this time, perhaps, he thought, he'd done it with another purpose in mind. He knew he'd hit a nerve as the scratching of graphite on paper wound down to a stop.
" … it's not like I haven't had offers," Tails said quietly, then tapped out some eraser shavings. "But it's not easy with Eggman threatening the world all the time. I can figure that stuff out when I'm a little older, you know?"
Shadow knew better than anyone that time was all anybody had.
Suffice to say, a long while passed before Tails spoke again.
"It's really hot out today."
"Hm."
"Kinda funny 'cuz the weatherman said we weren't supposed to get a major heat wave until tomorrow." When Shadow displayed no interest in this particular topic, he added: "Sonic wanted to hang out at the pool, but he changed his mind. He's gonna run around the beach for a little bit and come back for lunch at noon."
If an offer had been extended there, Shadow's deadpan expression did a sensational job of acknowledging it. Tails let out a silent huff and scratched behind one ear with his eraser before continuing, drawing a straight line on the paper with a sharp precision belying his trembling hand.
"Guess you can do that when you can go anywhere you want, huh."
"I suppose."
Over the months it became evident to him that Tails liked noise. Liked clutter, but for a different purpose than the one he'd originally envisioned. In the background the TV blared some garish cartoon whose name Shadow never knew, neon colors and heedless slapstick; the radio sitting on the workbench emitted such a low drone he couldn't discern the words being spoken; the wire-fan sputtered as it revolved its head so a sea of pages detailing this scientific principle and that wavered in the temporary breeze. Such chaos bristled against his instincts for order and quiet, and yet … it felt familiar.
(almost like home)
Tails continued to speak in non-sequitur, peppering in occasional inquisitions about Rouge and GUN's welfare (questions that required little more than a "yes" or "no," as the kit was once bitten twice shy), sometimes commenting on the cartoon, hoping for a speedy rainfall to break this drought. Fragmented pieces of nonsense hinted at an inner mosaic Shadow was just now beginning to assemble.
"Why didn't you go?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You said Sonic went to the beach," he said. "Why didn't you accompany him?"
Tails blinked. "Because … " A nervous smile fluttered across his face. "Heh. Because I was hoping to pick up after this place a little. I've been meaning to get it done for a while now. Guess it just keeps slipping away from me."
Despite his eternal status as listener (part and parcel when you speak less than most), Shadow was not the type to nod absently to domestic problems. So when he stalked off towards the adjoining hallway instead, Tails was all but forced to ask: "Uh, where ya going?"
"Facilities."
Tails paused, seeming surprised that he'd even need the accommodation. "Oh. Okay."
He swore he could feel him radiate relief.
Prower's bathroom was scarce different than his workroom. For starters, it was stocked with things even Shadow knew had no business belonging there. In spite of the room's air being cooler and thus slightly less irritating, another wire-fan, defunct, perched on top of an overturned waste basket next to the toilet. On the counter beside the wash basin sat an empty box of mints. The shower rod hosted folded periodicals instead of curtains.
He gazed into the mirror hung over the sink and found his reflection splintered by even more sticky notes, most of them consisting of Tails' fragmented snatches of genius recorded in an inspired mood. Equations, mathematical snarls. Between them resided pulses of duty, solemnity; reminders of what he should do with his life, what he ought to do. Shadow snatched a blue post off the glass.
Live a little while you still can, eh bud?
He read the note twice, absorbing each letter as he passed his thumb over them. Turning, he threw open the door to the linen closet, which was stuffed with tools and magazines, and rummaged inside until he found exactly what he was looking for.
Tails became so engrossed in his work he barely heard the creak the wooden floor made behind him, the sound of someone's featherlight approach vanished in the TV's joyous screaming. He was so busy poring over these important documents, these really important documents, he had resorted to gnawing on his mechanical pencil. Now, if he could only he could get these two terminals to synch up …
The world darkened suddenly. The summer sun vanished and he yelped in pure instinctive surprise. He dropped the pencil and thrust his hands out, gnashing them at the air until he realized what blanketed him was incredibly soft.
Huffing in distress, he cast it off.
A beach towel.
Tails stared at it in bewilderment, not quite registering its meaning. Slowly he looked aside to find Shadow standing beside him, solemn as ever but with a subtle softness in his face as he pressed one hand flat on the desk, to reclaim Professor Gerald's blueprints. His edges fuzzed from the sunlight that streamed in through the window.
"Go," he said. "Take a shower first."
The wire-fan sputtered. An audience on TV burst into laughter. But, Tails realized, no one had said anything.
"What?"
"Hurry."
"I—"
"It's not going to be open much longer," Shadow said. "He may get bored waiting around for you, anyway."
Tails opened his mouth, then closed it before deciding to argue. No use in quibbling if neither party spoke the other's language. Although, shifting the tender sky blue material in his hands—so, so soft—he felt obliged to ask.
" … you're sure?"
"Rest assured I don't want to make this a recurring habit."
Words failed him. "I … " He swallowed, hugging the towel to his chest. "I don't know what to say, Shadow." Really, what could he say? Except, maybe … "Thank you."
Shadow turned away, arms crossed in contemplation. A pause followed—and Tails dashed off into the hallway, skipping over the books and tools of his trade.
This is great, cried his muffled voice, I gotta go find my bodyboard!
Shadow waited until a door shut to return to the vacated desk and study the ancient document whose pencils were fading by the sunlight. One corner of his mouth upturned ever so minutely as he heard Tails yank open the closet door and squeak as an avalanche of beach gear overwhelmed him.
You're only a child once, the Professor used to say.
And he had all the time in the world.