The food of choice at the get-together was a surprise to no one—pie—but there was a secure kind of comfort in the normalcy of it. At least there were two different kinds. Mary had brought her standard cherry pie, Deanna choosing a nice key lime. And Felix, not being the type to attempt anything in the kitchen, provided beverages. He popped the tops of three colas and poured them into glass mugs brimming with square ice cubes, sliding one in front of each of his guests.

He took his seat at the dining room table, smiling warmly at the two ladies sitting on either side of him. "Deanna, Mary," he said, nodding to each Nicelander in turn. "The pies look just wonderful, as always."

They two women laughed, clapping modest hands over their mouths. "Thank you, dear," Mary said. Deanna hummed in agreement.

"Have you introduced yourselves to our new neighbors?" Felix asked, after swallowing a mouthful.

"I've seen them," Deanna said, "but I haven't said hello yet."

"They're a little…" Mary sighed. "Intimidating."

Niceland had a few new additions—the characters from Street Fighter II. Their game cabinet had started eating quarters, and it was deemed more cost-effective to use the game for spare parts than it would be to hire a repair specialist to fix the outdated technology. Felix was more than happy to have Zangief and his fellow fighters move into East Niceland, the apartment block where the other, previously homeless characters now resided. That's what he'd built them for, after all. The more, the merrier, Felix thought.

But the Nicelanders were a different story.

Felix smiled a toothy grin. "Oh, they're nothing to worry about. They're perfectly nice folk, I promise. Fact, I nearly invited them to join us for pie tonight, but I didn't want to make you ladies feel ill at ease."

"We know your heart's in the right place, dear," Mary assured him. "I couldn't imagine being…uprooted, like they have."

"It can happen to anyone," Felix said, the mood in the room threatening to make a downward shift. Felix noticed this, and put another smile on his face for effect. "And that's exactly why I worked so hard to make those townhouses down in East Niceland." He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Y'never know when you might need them."

"And we all understand that, of course," Deanna said. "It's just a bit of getting used to, what with all these..." Her mouth was a tight-lipped line. "…Hoodlums." Mary nodded, looking a little ashamed for doing so, but agreeing all the same.

Even though Deanna and Mary hadn't said anything about him that night, Felix knew who was on their mind, and it had nothing to do with the Street Fighter II characters. By "hoodlum," they meant Turbo.

All the Nicelanders (and Ralph—no, especially Ralph) were in an uproar when Felix suggested Turbo move into East Niceland. They had the Q*bert villains living there already, and aside from the occasional bit of mischief, they weren't a bother to anyone. The fact that Turbo was a "Bad Guy" wasn't really the issue. It was his glaring history of game-jumping and code-altering that made everyone so against it.

And Felix didn't blame them for being concerned. Scared, even. But they hadn't seen Turbo the way he'd seen him.

It went without saying that upon discovery of Turbo's then-unconscious body in Sugar Rush, the racer was promptly pitched out of the place by Vanellope and forbidden to return. Surge Protector even went so far as to set up extra security measures on each game entrance so that he was unable to enter any of them ever again.

One night, after knocking back a few drinks with Mario at Tapper's, Felix spotted a crumpled-up pile of rags underneath a rest bench in the Game Central Station atrium. Except that pile of rags was struggling for breath and clutching his side in pain. Hiding. And the pathetic thing that Felix now deduced to be Turbo was still wearing his trademark helmet, though it was cracked nearly in two and gray with what was later determined to be smoke damage.

Felix patched him up with his golden hammer, of course. Fixed the helmet, too, going so far as to pull a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipe the grime off of it. Turbo surprised him by coughing out a thank you—a thank you!—and crept back to his hiding spot under the bench, shrinking himself into something easily overlooked.

Felix found his feet walking not back to his game cabinet, where they should be going, but to Surge Protector's office, asking to give Turbo clearance to enter his game.

Surge Protector didn't bother arguing. "It's your funeral," he droned, adjusting a few wires and knobs on the wall, shrugging as he did so. "But he's not coming back out."

For whatever reason, Felix was okay with taking that risk. Something in his mind had made him want to help Turbo, even though there was absolutely no reason to do so. An old sweetheart of his used to tell him that he had a hero complex. A bad one. And they were probably right, he thought, as he dragged the weak Turbo out from under the bench and helped him hobble onto the tram.

"—but I'm still concerned," Mary said.

Felix hadn't heard a word she'd said. He'd gotten lost in his thoughts. But by the way the two ladies were staring at him, they were waiting for a response, so he took another bite of pie to stall for time.

When he swallowed, he said, "Concerned about what, exactly?"

"Well, he hasn't done anything," Mary said, folding her hands together atop the table, "but I'm just worried that he'll—you know. What he did to that Sugar Rush game." She looked at Felix pointedly.

"I promise you," he said, "our code room is perfectly, perfectly secure. Made sure of it myself. No one can get in there but me."

It was something he'd had to explain to the Nicelanders a thousand times, so he was used to repeating himself by now, but they didn't quite believe it. Felix had, literally, smashed the code room controller to pieces. One needed to enter the code on the controller itself to gain access to the room, and without it, that door wasn't budging. If Felix ever needed to get in, he'd simply fix the controller with his hammer. And since he was the only one who could use his hammer's ability, it becoming a standard hammer in anyone else's hands, he thought the plan was foolproof.

The Nicelanders, being a worrysome bunch, weren't much buying it. They wanted Turbo out, going so far as to hold "meetings" (where Felix was curiously not invited) to discuss the matter. Felix himself had witnessed many a Nicelander march up to Turbo's stoop, raise their tiny fist to knock at the door, then scurry away before they gained the courage to follow through. It was silly, Felix thought, but that was just the way the Nicelanders were.

When neither of the ladies responded to that, Felix said, "Would you mind if I asked the two of you something?"

"Sure, dear," Mary said.

"Go ahead," Deanna followed.

He grimaced a little. He wanted to ask the question, but he wasn't sure how they'd take it. But he'd already started, so he'd have to follow through with it now. "Has Turbo actually…bothered you? Talked to you at all?"

Deanna blanched. "Not, not exactly."

"We're just a bit leery of him," Mary said.

"Quite leery," Deanna nodded.

Mary sliced off a large chunk of pie with the edge of her fork, popping it into her mouth. She patted her lips with a napkin before she spoke again. "He spends quite a lot of time at the lake. I just don't trust that. There's just something about it that seems suspicious, don't you think?"

She was looking at Felix when she posed the question, but Deanna put her two cents in. "I agree," she said. "It would be just like him to have something planned. Something we don't know about."

Mary and Deanna trailed off into their theories of Turbo's devious plan he must be cooking up at the lakefront, while Turbo's thoughts wandered away again.

The rest of the get-together passed by without any further awkwardness, luckily. He walked Deanna and Mary to the door and said his goodbyes, thanking them again for coming. Once he shut his penthouse door, he went to clearing the table, sliding the leftover pie into the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher.

He tried not to think about it, but he couldn't help himself. What would Turbo be doing at the Niceland Lake? It wasn't particularly striking to look at, and there wasn't anything to do out there, really. Though he was just fine with helping Turbo by giving him a safe place to live, he promised himself he'd keep a close eye on the former racer. He was much smarter than he looked. He could be planning something right under Felix's nose.

That sealed the deal. Felix grabbed his standard work hat and his brown leather jacket off the hat rack, put them on, and headed out the door. He'd have a look and see what Turbo was up to. Just to be safe.

Sure enough, Turbo was at the lake. Even from far away, Felix could see a white-suited figure sitting on the bank, back slightly hunched, pitching something into the water. Nothing too suspicious, but he'd check it out, anyway. Wouldn't hurt to say hello.

Turbo must've heard Felix's footsteps approaching him. He craned his head to look at his visitor, then turned back to the task at hand without a word.

"Hey, there," Felix said, sitting down at the lakeside, albeit a safe three feet away from Turbo. "Whatcha doin?"

Wordlessly, Turbo raised up an object in his hand. Felix's heartrate quickened, fearing the worst. But when he looked closer, it was…

It was just a piece of bread.

Turbo tore off a chunk of the bread, rolling it into a ball with his thumb and forefinger. He chunked it into the lake. A chubby, green-headed mallard quacked his thanks, nibbling up the bread in appreciation.

Turbo was sitting at the lake feeding a duck.

Feeding.

A duck.

So much for an evil scheme, Felix thought.

"Y'know, the ducks here fly at my head, the closer the Player gets to beating my game," Felix said matter-of-factly. "I sorta have a love-hate relationship with those guys."

"That one there—" Turbo pointed, but he cut himself off with a cough. What started out as no more than a clearing of the throat snowballed into a hacking fit, making the racer's eyes water as he struggled to stop. Felix could hear the ratting of phlegm, a deep sickness, in Turbo's lungs. He winced at the sound of it.

"Ugh," Turbo sighed, wiping his eyes on the backs of his hands. "Anyway. That one there"—he pointed to the duck that had eaten his balled-up bread piece—"is a bastard. Other ducks won't get near him. When they try, he bites em."

"That's why he's your favorite, isn't he?" Felix said, surprising himself at his forwardness. As soon as he'd said it, he wished he could take it back, but Turbo didn't look angry. In fact, he almost looked amused.

"I guess," he said, throwing another bite of bread to the duck. He had a faraway look in his eye. No telling what he was thinking about.

Felix desperately wanted to break the silence, he being the type who couldn't stand it. "How d'you like it here?" Felix said, as warmly as he could.

"Those short people you live with come to my door a lot," Turbo answered, which had little, if anything, to do with what Felix asked. "But they never knock. Just think about it for a minute, then they chicken out." There was a ghost of a half-smile on Turbo's face as he leaned back on the heels of his hands.

"I'm sorry," Felix said automatically, though there wasn't much to be sorry about. "They're just curious, that's all."

"Scared of me, I think," Turbo said. "That's alright. Nothing I'm not used to."

"But you're liking it okay?"

Turbo turned his head to look Felix in the eye. It was strange, the way the racer stared, with those yellow eyes of his. "Yeah."

And that was all he said about the matter. He resumed staring out at the lake, now watching the other group of ducks, some distance away from the one Turbo deemed a "bastard." (Maybe he truly wasn't a very nice duck.)

"I've got some leftover pie in my fridge," Felix blurted. His eyes widened at his own comment, but there was no taking it back now—too late.

"What flavor?" Turbo asked without meeting Felix's eyes.

"Key lime," he said, "and cherry, but"—he lowered his voice to a low whisper—"the cherry isn't very good."

Turbo struggled to his feet, wincing as he straightened himself up. He wasn't putting any weight on his right leg, Felix noticed, even though Felix had fixed his broken femur weeks ago.

"Sure those short people you live with'll be okay with me going in there?" he asked, a sly half-grin on his face.

"Oh, it'll be fine," Felix said. He wasn't entirely sure about that, but it was too late to back out now. Who knew, it might even be enjoyable. Certainly different from the normal get-togethers he had, anyway.

"Why not," Turbo said, shredding the remainder of the bread and sprinkling it into the water. The ducks tried to swim to it, but a group of hungry fish gobbled it up before they got there. Disappointed, they paddled back to their original resting spots on the lake.

Suddenly, Felix was looking forward to the idea of conversing with a non-Nicelander, villain though Turbo may be. If he played his cards right, he might be able to pick Turbo's brain a little, start to figure out why he did what he did. It was unlikely, but possible.

"Glad to hear it," Felix said brightly. "Let's go."

Author's Note: I actually...okay, I actually started writing this intending for it to be post-movie 80s Boyfriends, but it just didn't end up that way. So if you'd like to read it with that intonation, please do. I just left the whole story open for interpretation, that way more people could enjoy it.

Also, for any of yall that might've been keeping up with my other story, "Children of the Candy Corn," I dunno what's happening with that. Part of me wants to stick it out and finish it, but another part of me wants to scrap it and start fresh. Not sure how I'm feeling about it.

This is kinda random, but I think I love Wreck-it Ralph so much because it reminds me of childhood? My grandpa used to buy old game cabinets from yard sales and auctions, ones that usually weren't working, and fix them up for fun. He even showed me this trick where you pop the front open where the quarters go, and there's this little switch that tricks the game into thinking you put money in, and I could load as many credits on them as I wanted. There was one he could never fix, though...one that had a little built-in "room" like a photo booth...it makes me think of Turbo now that I look back on it and that's why I'm mentioning it. Heh.