A/N: Hello! It's been quite a long time that I've been invested in this fandom and I feel that it's now time to finally start writing. This takes place quite probably in senior year of high school, simply because I love teenage angst/confusion in my OTPs. It's a short one-shot bred out of a burst of sudden inspiration. As an after note, critical reviews are always welcome!
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It is a scathingly hot Tuesday afternoon and only Becky Botsford and Tobey McCallister have shown up for Speech and Debate practice. Tobey ambles in five minutes later than Becky, gives her a raised eyebrow, and slumps into a desk next to her.
"Botsford," Tobey says curtly. It's the typical form of communication between the two: an exchange of last names and subtle glares. He looks particularly ruffled today, dark crescents under his eyes as if he's had only a few hours of sleep. Becky notices his hands, limp on the desktop. His shoulders are lax.
"You were up all night, weren't you?" It's more a statement than an actual question but Tobey seems to understand and gives her an annoyed scoff.
"Yes mother, and what of it?" His voice sounds slightly pitched, crumbling from lack of sleep.
Becky bristles. "Nothing, I was merely curious." It comes out a bit harsher than she meant to, but she figures it doesn't matter much. It never really has between the two of them.
They sit in silence, simultaneously comfortable and uncomfortable until Tobey suddenly clears his throat. He seems more nervous than before, as if he is about to confess something of vital importance. Becky knows this expression of Tobey's, has seen it many times before.
At times she thinks she has seen too much.
"If you still wish to know why I am sleep-deprived, it is because I have been working on something extraordinary Becky." He pauses. "Something fantastic."
Oh, and now it is no longer Botsford but Becky, Becky wonders. Interesting.
She perks up, her back a little straighter, kinetic energy soaring in her veins. "What form of fantastic, pray tell?" It has been a while since he has engineered anything dangerous, but she refuses to give him the benefit of the doubt. "What Tobey, what exactly have you created?"
He gives a deep breath, pupils of sky blue eyes widening. He flushes unexpectedly.
Becky thinks, for a sliver of a second, that he looks remarkably handsome.
"I'm engineering a new machine, one that if I manage to completely develop, will revolutionize the world. You see, I've figured out a manner to create artificial intelligence which thinks cognitively as a human does. One of the greatest disparities of modern machines is that they lack empathy, a sense of self-awareness. But through my research, I believed I've developed a manner of overcoming that." He gulps in air. When he turns to face her, his expression is lucid, his features glowing.
He continues. "I'm moving Becky, to Germany. A prestigious university has contacted me and they wish to help me develop my ideas. I'm being admitted early."
"I heard you had gotten accepted to MIT, why not there?" Becky feels something strange and hollow in her chest at his declaration. "It's certainly closer."
Tobey gives a small, dry chuckle. "Why Botsford, if I didn't know you better, I'd say you were jealous of losing me to another country."
And the games begin, just like old times. Becky rolls her eyes dramatically. "Of course, I'll cry into my pillow every night you're gone Tobey."
Tobey smiles, wider than she's ever seen and Becky can see that there is a slight gap between his front two teeth. It strikes her as oddly endearing and she smiles back. He gives her a sort of wink. "You can always write me heated letters of confession." His eyes are still glowing.
"Of course, nothing more than declarations of my love, which in totality eclipses the sun and stars in its brilliance," Becky says.
"How oddly romantic of you Becky! I always believed you to be less sentimental than most other women, what with your masculine soul and whatnot."
"You'd be pleasantly surprised to find that I am indeed a very sentimental person Tobey."
"Shame I'll never experience that." And just like that, the banter has ended and Tobey seems more sober now, the excitement from before seeping out of his tired body. "Some lucky other will though."
Becky is taken aback momentarily. She changes the subject. "Your project sounds phenomenal Tobey. I think you might snag the Nobel for that one."
Tobey drags his eyes back up to hers, something warm in the depths. "Hopefully."
The air becomes thick, something palpable contained in it. The line of Tobey's pale throat and his thoughtful eyes all become too much and so Becky fumbles for the strap of her backpack, murmurs she needs to leave, and runs out of the classroom. She leaves Tobey behind, staring after her. As she walks further and further away, she rationalizes that it is all right; after all, he will soon be the one leaving her.
Retribution is only fair play.