Early mornings - real early, as in past midnight and into AM hours - were the only time Scratch and Grounder had to themselves. Usually they slept, but occasionally one woke up and shook the other to awake him; then, they'd argue a bit on what to do before settling on cards - the only thing they could agree on.
Today, though, Scratch had a different idea.
"Hey, Grounder," he said, pushing the other bot. "Get up."
The teal robot rolled over and mumbled his reluctances, eyes still firmly shut.
"Come on already. I've got an idea."
Grounder's eyes opened, but only a little. "Tell it to somebody who cares."
He then got shoved awake.
"What do you want?"
"We're going out."
"We're going out?"
"Yeah, to Scrap Valley."
Grounder rubbed his eyes. "Scrap Valley? Why there?"
"To see Robot."
A pause. "Which one?"
"Which what?"
"Which robot?"
"Robot!"
"I know that! Which one!"
Scratch rolled his eyes. Not this again. "The one called Robot. You know, our son?"
"Oh, yeah!" Grounder bolted up and started to roll quickly. "Bet you can't make it there before I do!"
"You're on!"
As Scratch struggled to keep up -- Grounder had had laser-jets installed on his tracks, and could therefore go much faster than could Scratch -- he thought, I hope he knows where it is.
--
They were greeted by a petite fembot at the doors of Scrap Valley. She was sitting on a cheap plastic chair, one leg crossed over the other, with a beat-up clipboard in hand. She fervently flipped through the sheets on the clipboard, her eyes buzzing over it, until she stopped at one page.
"Name?" she said, finally regarding the two.
Grounder spoke first. "I'm Grounder. He's Scratch."
"Reason for coming?"
"We wanted to see our son," Scratch said, wringing his hands.
She perched an eyebrow. "Your son?"
"Yeah," Grounder asserted. "What's it to you?"
"Okay. Hold your horses there, darling." The fembot tapped a button on her head, and a whirring sound began to resonate. Then came the confirming call of ding! ding! ding!
"Wait a minute. Is your kid's name Robot?"
"Yes," both answered in unison.
"Then isn't he the runt who got sent here because of 'negligent parentage?'"
The two robots looked at each other.
"You're the one who put him on dishes duty!"
"But you're the one who gave him Robotnik's laundry! You're the bad parent!"
The bots got so caught up in their dispute that they failed to notice the tension building in the fembot's cranium.
"Good grief, will you two shut UP for a second?"
A bright spot on her forehead was throbbing red, and she gave the two the fiercest glare either had ever seen. She let out a breath, and the spot disappeared as she continued.
"Sorry, boys, no can do. It states here that nobody who has been confirmed abusive towards kids can be let in. Well, not without a bit of work, at least."
"Is that so? " said Scratch. "Well, get on with it. All we want to do is see our Schnookums."
The fembot pointed a slender finger at herself. "Me? Honey, I'm not doing the work. You are."
"Us?"
"Do work?"
"To enter the park with the track record you guys own? You'll need at least five hours of outside volunteer work. Once you've got that, we'll consider letting you in." The girl looked up at them with a sly grin, prompting Scratch to deliver a little attitude of his own.
"I don't think so, sister. Let's go, Grounder." He tugged the bot's arm roughly. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."
"Wait!"
Grounder was heading back to the doors of Scrap Valley.
"We'll take it! Where can we work?"
Before Scratch could screech out in protest, the lady was amiably listing locations at which they could fill their hours.
"Mobius Corners Soup Kitchen, Rent-A-Stove, Love-Can't-Wait Wedding Chapel..."
"What was that last one?"
"The wedding chapel?"
"Yeah. Uh, where is it?"
She pointed to some faraway direction. "About an hour from here. Head on that road and turn left on the first intersection, right on the second one, and right again on the third. From then on it's straight roads until you get there." The girl again arched an eyebrow. "Do you want a pen and paper to write this down or something?"
Grounder tapped his antenna proudly. "No way! My computer brain can handle all that."
"Okay," she replied, saluting them. "Good luck." And then, barely audible: "You'll need it."
--
"Which way is it?"
They'd returned to the fortress to pick up one of Robotnik's vehicles to drive to the chapel. Grounder had insisted on driving, and arrived at the first intersection with no recollection of what the lady said.
"Looks like that 'computer brain' of yours failed like always," Scratch jeered. "You should've listened. It's left on the first turn, right on the second, and another right on the third. You got that?!"
Grounder mouthed the instructions to himself. "...maybe?"
"Ugh. Next time, let me drive. And when we get there, I'm speaking to the manager or whoever it is. I've got a natural way with people."
"And I don't?"
"Nope."
"Hmph." Grounder stared straight ahead, refusing to talk for the rest of the trip.
--
Wow, thought Grounder as he watched his friend suavely talk the minister into letting them volunteer. He does have a way with people.
"...and I was wondering if we could maybe help out with the place. We'll do anything - model clothes, clean up after weddings, throw confetti, whatever it is you want us to do. All we ask is that you sign something to show that we've done it. How about it?"
"I suppose we could use some help around here, although our biggest problem is not one you mentioned. You see, because our weddings are so... spontaneous, if you will, it is often challenging to find certain people to fill the requisite roles. So what I would be asking you to do is to act as substitutes - so that, if the bride and groom wish, you two could act as their audience, or maid-of-honour and best man, or anything of the sort. Would that be suitable?"
Scratch nodded.
"Excellent," the minister replied, straightening out his collar. "How long do you wish to work?"
"Five hours."
"Then here is your first task. There are costumes in the back of the chapel, so go get yourselves dressed; I have a lovely couple who are just short a few bridesmaids."
--
Over the next few months, the two bots steadily collected their hours. They were called in only intermittently, and they were usually needed for only a half-hour at a time, so it was a long and painstaking process.
They filled all sorts of roles: bridesmaid, best man, maid-of-honour, ringbearer...it seemed that they'd played every role possible by the end. And each time they completed their share of work, the minister dutifully signed their sheets.
The work was challenging, but compared to the lackey work they got every day from Robotnik, it was quiet and stress-free.
Until their last day.
The minister's careful and calm voice seemed hastily rushed as he explained: "We've a very young couple who wishes to have each position filled. But they haven't found a soul to do so. We're counting on you two."
Scratch touched the back of his neck, tense. "You want us to do all the roles to this thing?"
"Yes. One of you is to play female roles, while the other will play male. You will need to wear apparel that will look good in all positions, and I have picked those out for you in here." He thrust a bag at them and continued. "I will call out the roles, and you will go up and play them. Good luck. The wedding begins in five minutes."
As they darted out to change, Grounder piped up with, "So who's who?"
"Duh! Anyone with a head could see that I'm the guy here. Pull out the costume." Scratch snatched away the bag and took out their apparel: a curiously small black suit...and a long, white dress.
In a flash, Grounder was dressed and prompting Scratch: "Whatcha waiting for, dumb cluck? Your dress is calling your name..."
Scratch cawed as he slipped the thing on, and the minister then dragged them out to meet the couple.
The meeting lasted about thirty seconds, before the minister announced, "We are all gathered today..."
--
"Flower girl."
Scratch knelt, basket in hand, and littered the walkway with petals.
"Best man."
Grounder went up next to the couple and stammered, "Um...um...the groom is a great guy?" and bolted off.
"Bridesmaids."
The two sped to a far side of the chapel and sniffled, fawning over the couple as best as they'd learned. When the bridesmaid pitched out her bouquet, the two started beating each other up for it until the minister reminded them that that was unbecoming behaviour.
"Do you take this man?" he asked the bride.
"Yes."
"And do you take this woman?"
"Yes."
"Then you may kiss the bride. You are now man and wife."
A brief kiss, and the couple rushed out.
"Whew," said the minister, checking his watch. "Five minutes. I think that may be the quickest wedding I have ever done." He turned to the two hopeful robots holding out their sheets. "Ah, what the hey. I'll sign for the full half hour. You deserve it." He scritched his illegible signature into the paper. "Thank you for all of your help. I'm done for the day."
Scratch stared off as he exited the building.
Meanwhile, Grounder was happily drifting about, searching for something with his magnifying glass.
"Aha!"
He scooped up the small object in his metallic hand, and then slipped it on his finger.
"Hey, Scratch!" he shouted. "Quit your stupid staring and get over here!"
He froze. Did he want to do this? Did Scratch know that it was a joke? Was it a joke? Would he get mad? Or would he just brush Grounder off? As Scratch neared, Grounder feared.
"What do you want?!"
That wasn't a good start. Still, Grounder breathed out and tilted his head up. "Oh, Scratch," he said, gazing wistfully into the taller robot's eyes and presenting him the tiny white ring. "Will you marry me?"
What he hadn't counted on was Scratch's playing along.
"Oh, Grounder!" He jumped into Grounder's arms and flung his own arms around Grounder's neck. "How could I say no?"
A beat passed, and both broke out into noisy cackles.
But then, they again fell silent. Neither of them wanted to cease their embrace just yet.
In proper wedding attire, Grounder carried Scratch to the car.
And as they drove off, he felt an inner peace and contentedness he hadn't had in weeks.
--
When she recognized them driving in, all she thought was "Took 'em long enough to get five hours."
But then, they came out of the car. The small one in a tux, the tall one in a wedding gown.
After being taken aback for a few moments, she smirked. "Look who just got married."
"Hey!"
"We did not!"
She spied the tall one clutching some sheets. "Is that your proof of volunteer work?"
"Yeah," said the small one, holding up his unintimidating fist. "Now let us in!"
"Let's see those for a moment." She surveyed the forms -- they looked astonishingly genuine -- and then pushed a lever, opening up Scrap Valley's majestic doors.
"Park's all yours, boys."