Time Enough For Family

Late one evening, a certain young cyborg takes a look at the chaotic frenzy of events that lead him from a comfortable life as a diplomat to the harried misadventures of being a Time Squad agent. Perhaps, in the end, even a nitpick like Larry can't find anything to change.

Salutations, everyone! I don't know if anyone reads Time Squad fictions anymore, but should you do, I very much hope you enjoy my first TS story. Gosh, I miss that old show….

Was watching a few old episodes online, and became nostalgic. Looking back, I guess this fic is long overdue, for it's the perspective I always imagined the Squad having, in the grand scheme of things.

Please, take care, everyone.

Quote:

"You can choose your friends, but you can't choose your family. Sometimes, for better or for worse, your friends become your family."

~(*)~

Tap, tap, tap.

My metallic foot tsks against the shiny platinum floor like a condescending mother's as I stare at our newest agent asleep at the kitchen table, head buried in an enormous textbook. Rolling my eyes, I nonetheless scoop up Otto's motionless figure, absentmindedly throwing him behind my shoulder as I make my way out of the Culinary Sector of our home for the young boy's room unit. Honestly-the young man is going to catch his death sleeping out here. I'm going to have to talk with him in the morning, if I don't forget before a mission alarm.

Otto shifts lightly in my arms, seemingly not all uneased by snoozing on cold steel. His large glasses begin to slip behind his ears, and my thought pattern wavers slightly as I glance at him, absentmindedly stepping on the moving sidewalk.

Taking a quick glance about me this way and that, and finding no Tuddrussels about to mock me for being a 'prissy aunt' towards the boy again, I push Otto's glasses back on, listening to the young genius mumble under his breath.

I have to admit, with a slightly begrudging smile, that Otto, while the only reason any of our missions end in success, is really rather cute. I could never admit that to the boy, though-Tudrussel's heck-bent on molding him into a 'tough guy,' as if that were a GOOD thing.

Uggggh. Going up the steps, I roll my eyes again, revulsion rippling through my circuits.

If by 'tough guy,' you meant a boorish, blockheaded, muscle-pumping, uncivilized twit, then you'd be right. Tudrussel's not going to have his way, however. Not if I have anything to say about it.

I primly make my way up another flight of steps, feeling somewhat smug as Otto's glasses begin sliding again from over my shoulder.

Otto actually has good taste-considering he ate the scrumptious Italian delicacy I painstakingly prepared for supper tonight without complaint. Tudrussel, with taste buds so poor that they could only appreciate rubbish like Hamburgers-attempted to hide his entire meal in his napkin.

Feeling slightly long-suffering, I at last come to Otto's bedroom, and type in the room's door code on the panel beside the door. As I wait for the door to slide open-

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a dark figure clad in lamb jimmies rise ominously from the darkness. My hard drive freezes, and before I can muster up a single tangible thought-

"Oooof!"

The shadow lunges at me, and, in a perfect tackle, sends Otto and I tumbling to the floor.

Stars and rather pretty birds swimming in and out of my vision, I grunt, as Otto's stirring form is tugged from my arms. Moving a shaking hand to my the temples that technically have no business being there, I slowly make out a boorish man grinning triumphantly at me, clutching a bleary-eyed Otto like a football.

My dazed look slowly morphs into a glare as Tudrussel bursts out hooting, clasping a teddy bear from underneath his arm.

"You shoulda seen your face, Larry! Haw, that was PRICELESS!"

I stare coldly at him as he extends me a hand, which I only very reluctantly take as he pulls me up again. Painstakingly, I wipe off the filthy dust from my robotic figure, wondering vaguely if it was not too late to possibly strangle my co-worker.

"Even if I DID have instant replay features, I'd hardly allow YOU to access them," I say snippily, as Tudrussel tosses Otto up in the air, still cracking up at my expense.

Otto is rubbing his knuckles in his eyes, looking dazed (And now, somewhat sick) as Tudrussel continues to gleefully toss the stunned looking boy up and down.

"M'awake! M'awake!"

Tudrussel at last stops throwing him, as I cross my arms, staring at him disapprovingly.

"Now, as I was doing before you so rudely turned this hallway into a rodeo, O-"

But the brilliant 'commander' of sorts cuts me off.

"Ah, c'mon, Larry! I was only funning! Besides, Otto and I gotta play Death Lasers 'fore we go to bed!"

The colossal man made a turnaround in the hall for the Play unit.

"Now, you take the New, fancy-schmanzy automatic doomsday lasers, and I take good old MERCENARY GUERILLA, no-prisoners style, and then, make our forces around those girly Ming vases, and-!"

I stride forwards, and tug the bemused boy out of Tudrussel's arms, still frowning.

"OTTO here is going to BED. A young boy(-and adult baboon-)need their REST. We could get up to fifteen missions TOMORROW as is! What are we going to do if Otto isn't properly rested enough to GUIDE us?"

Tudrussel scowls at me.

"Hey, killjoy! You accusin' me of not takin' the mission seriously?"

I roll my eyes, and momentarily forget that Otto is still clutched in my arms. He plops to the ground with an 'oof!' Big mistake. Tudrussel scoops him up, still glaring at me.

Otto wriggles lightly.

"Uh, Tud, Larry? I-think-"

"Otto here needs to know what to do in case there's an emergency, and we's got to fight our way out!" Tudrussel cries out, slamming his fist into his hand for emphasis. Now Otto clenches at the man's forearm some four or five feet above ground for dear life.

"Well, if you MUST know, the majority of 'emergencies'-" I raise my fingers tauntingly to make quotation marks-"We face are primarily YOUR fault because you're a happy go lucky arrester and free shooter! What about that one time you beat up President Nixon so badly that he turned bitter and initiated the Watergate scandal?"

"That WAS S'POSED to happen!"

"Yes, well, what about that other time you pummeled King Henry the II into the courtroom floor?"

Tudrussel scoffs.

"I HAD a perfectly valid reason for that, you know! HE LOOKED AT ME FUNNY!"

This is about as much as I can take. Otto is still dangling, desperately trying to get our attention. But to no avail.

"What about that time you whacked Harriet Tubman upside the head? You gave that poor woman seizure problems!"

"I didn't know SHE was Harriet Tubman-I thought she was helpin' the enemy!"

"WHAT enemy?"

"Um, guys-" Otto speaks up, staring at the two of us dubiously. "I'd really, really like it if you-"

But Tudrussel answers…yet again.

"Don't you know NOTHING about history, Larry? The British! She could have been filterin' crucial information to the Germans and the English while we were at Yorktown!"

"HARRIET TUBMAN WAS BORN AROUND THE CIVIL WAR, not the Revolutionary!" Otto cries out.

I gesture to him frantically.

"You see, you see! He's getting his history facts all wrong, he's tired….he needs to sleep-"

"No! That IS right!" Otto cries out in frustration. Tud nods in eager affirmation.

"Y'see, Larry? Otto don't need no books nor sleep-he needs some good, old-fashioned, manly-"

"Tudrussel-" I begin slowly, now staring at Otto once again.

"And I don't see why we can't play with lasers in the living room-"

"Tudrussel-"

"You make SUCH a big deal over the furniture and those dern doilies, when it was just a bit of a burn hole-"

"Tud-"

"And I didn't like you takin' away our automatic grenades, when we was just havin'-"

"TUDRUSSEL!" I yell out angrily, pointing irritably to Otto.

At last, the big oaf glances down, and starts slightly; Otto has fallen asleep again.

Pouting, he slowly glances up at me, scowling when a victory smile slowly crosses my face.

"Yeah, well, you jus' BORED him to sleep, Larry," Tudrussel mumbles as he dejectedly lowers his weapon of mass destruction to the floor, looking like a put-out four-year-old.

Ignoring him, Ibustle into the bedroom, savoring my victory as I lower Otto to his blue bed, and carefully tuck him in, noticing that there's a World History textbook under his pillow. Shaking my head, I tug it out, and place it on Otto's bedside table, alongside his folded glasses. I turn back, and simply glance at the boy's dozing form, silence filtering into the room for a moment.

After a moment, I'm startled out of my reverie when Tudrussel gruffly clears his throat, looking awkward as he sinks into a 2061 chair model by the door.

"Kid's really tired, huh?"

I simply shrug as my eyes fall onto his World Textbook once again, wondering what exactly the boy got out of it.

"Guess so. I suppose the Alamo incident this afternoon wore him out."

Again, more silence. I cough lightly, though I have no throat-just for the sake of doing something.

"Otto tries very hard to stay on top of his history, though he practically has human history down to memorization from the dawn of mankind. He works hard to be here." Unlike you, I want to add.

Tudrussel doesn't look at me. He only shuffles his feet and shoulders.

"Yeah, well, he didn't have much goin' for him in his old time and home. That orphanage director kinda gave me the creeps."

I snort lightly, as Otto slowly breathes in and out.

"You're telling me. Sinister woman. And at least Otto isn't punished for…learning, here."

"Yeah, well, I could have socked her directly in the withered old kisser. Y'know that, right?"

"More like flee in terror."

"HEY!"

"Shhhh!" I raise my finger to my mouth, but Otto's sleep goes on unmolested. It takes a moment for Tud's brow to become unfurrowed, and the man simply sizes, drawing a hand to his head.

"Yeah, well….the kid's….the kid's a good one. He more 'en deserves to be here. He's a member of the team."

Slightly surprised at such a statement from Tudrussel, I'm even more surprised to see him stand up, slowly trump across the room, and ruffle Otto's hair lightly. He slowly turns from the two of us, heading towards the front door.

"Good kid….good kid," he mumbles, as the door slides open. "I'm goin' to bed, Lar."

I simply murmur an affirmation as Tud rumbles, "And as to that wicked o' yokel lady, I wouldn't ever let nothin' hurt Otto. Or you, as a matter of fact. You remember 'dat, Lar."

And upon accidentally setting off his death raser-and frying a good section off the wall-he leaves, leaving a sleeping boy all too used to explosions late at night and a very startled but now, rather touched robot.

Shaking my head, I leave Otto's room for my Power Down chamber, lost in thought.

Perhaps Tudrussel has come down with a cold. Maybe I should make chicken dumpling and noodle soup tomorrow for dinner.

I smirk inwardly to myself as I head down the steps.

….then again, why change the good?

Still, while Tudrussel has always displayed an almost fanatical devotion to his job-at least, to what he called, the 'cool' aspects-I have never once heard him admit that he had any such devotion for our team as to be willing to shield Otto and I from harm.

The idea makes me smile. What makes me smile more is the idea that I feel the same. Idiot Tudrussel is, at…well, if you pass this along to him, I will KILL you…there's really no other hothead (Or non-hotheaded twit for that matter) whom I rather work with. The same goes with Otto.

I lazily head into my room, still smiling faintly.

Though my life is a chaotic cluster of scattered, absurd daily adventures….comparing it to my old life, the comfortable, refined, respected role as a country UN diplomat….

It makes the latter one seem…pale. Almost humdrum. Dull. Besides, on Earth, I am now considered "obsolete." There's no need for a diplomat, for there are no wars. Pollution has been greatly reduced, world peace been made, and fatty-fried foods that used to be able to put hummingbirds into diabetic comas are now good for you.

But here, there's never a dull moment. Never. My job will go on, long until the three of us are readying to leave our physical lives, and bequeath ourselves to whatever else could be out that. My adventures don't have an ending.

As I walk up to the monitors, I find the idea immensely comforting, even as I prepare myself to go into power-down mode.

Otto never stops chattering, I never have a moment's peace, Tudrussel has been well known for blasting apart anything and anyone in his sights, for mistaking Otto for 'Eli Whitney'-a mistake which ultimately created our story, and for making our lives a wild, chaotic rush.

And maybe, just maybe, I think, as the green lights flicker onto my adapters, and I slowly begin to filter into sleep mode, I really wouldn't have it any other way.

-End