*Hollow Fields is property of Miss Madeline Roska, whom I'm sure could totally school me on any number of things.

Chapter 1: Stopping the Leak

You don't need muscles, veins, or skin to know what pain feels like. Or, more for the matter, what it sounds like.

The whirrs and clicks skip a little. The respirator tanks labor, in the chest cavity. And the joints creak and grind in a sorry way.

Archibald Croach couldn't hear the groans of his own mechanical body over the screeching and swaying of his leaky home, and the tremendous wind and lightening outside. But it didn't move as much, when he laid in the middle of the floor. The most of it was the slurred blur of the oil glazing his eyes. Already the bandages around his ailing joints were dark and sticky, with the inky stuff, and he had a vague suspicion that-

Croach rolled onto his side to cough a bit and spit unheedingly, grimacing as he settled back into his sprawled position, his fingers twitching in his boredom against the floorboards. His eyes were slowly easing shut when there was a sharp crack!, reviving his senses immediately, "Ah, crap…"

xXx

The rumbling crunch of crumbling stone was hardly verbal, over the sounds of the storm, and Stinch would have paid it no mind, if Miss Notch had not stopped him with a gentle touch to the shoulder, "Stinch, what was that?"

Stinch paused in his hallway rumblings to listen, "…Sneaking student squirts?" he offered.

Notch shook her head, her delicate footfalls leading her to the window, where she used a lacy handkerchief to smudge away a clear spot in the condensation, on the ancient windowpane, "It came from outside- goodness!" she exclaimed as Stinch lumbered his way over, "It looks like the storm was too much for Mr. Croach's house! It's fallen in- how terrible!"

Stinch's beady eyes roamed the distant wreckage for a few moments, and he couldn't help but think that the south graveyard appeared nicer, without the shack, "…Should we do something?"

"Mr. Croach has no classes, on Tuesday night- he had to be inside! We have to help him, he must be trapped!" Miss Notch hurried away to call her steam drones, and Stinch issued a shrug, lumbering after her.

xXx

"Mr. Croach?!" Miss Notch called, traversing the crumbled stonework as Stinch held her umbrella over her, "Are you there? Mr. Croach!"

"You're standing on my leg, ingrate!" Came a loud, snapping tone, and Notch stepped back. Croach struggled amidst the rubble, his fingertips just gracing the wooden handle of his spade as he struggled for it, his heavy breath fogging in the icy downpour.

"Mr. Croach!" Notch exclaimed, "You're leaking-"

"Valve oil, I know!" He growled, at last tugging his shovel to him. He wedged it beneath the heavy stone atop his chassis, beginning to pry himself free.

Notch gripped the heavy burden, flinging it away effortlessly, "We have to get you to nurse Ricketts right away!"

"Bah," Croach grumbled, unenthusiastic as steam wheezed through a crack in his chest plate, escaping the tatters of his musty robes.

"Notch beckoned a drone, "Go and tell nurse Ricketts to ready the infirmary immediately!" She commanded, and the steaming contraption whizzed away.

"So much for the 'provincial' look," Croach frowned as Stinch gathered up his limp and incomplete form, "Don't drool on me, you smelly bag of stitches! And Don't forget my legs, useless girl!"

"You want Stinch for to shut him up, Miss Notch?" Stinch offered.

"Sounds like a plan," Notch chirruped happily.

Stinch closed his massive mouth around Croach's head, and his angry and disgusted cries were muffled as Notch flicked the back of his ear.

xXx

Croach could remember the first time the thought had really sunk in- that he was getting a new body. He supposed, back then, this all seemed like a good idea.

"Archibald Croach Jr.?" Someone had questioned cheerfully.

"Archibald Croach the second," He had snapped in correction. But his embitterment and sharp tone had stilled as he had spotted her.

"My apologize, sir. I am nurse Ricketts, and I have a few questions to ask," She had smiled, entering the room with a clipboard and pen.

"Questions about what?"

"Your replacement body, silly. Now, I must encourage your complete honesty, in your answers, for your body to feel as natural as the one you have now." He had tried to avoid staring as she had reached to a high shelf, retrieving a blood pressure cuff.

"Okay," he replied, a bit stupidly.

Her fingers were the thrilling chill of a surgeon, as she plucked up his sleeves, situating the cuff, "Good, then we can get started. What are you teaching, Mr. Croach?"

"Ah- dead things," He managed,. Her hair smelled like books, and her touch did not sicken him.

Ricketts laughed, "Dead things?"

"Grave robbing, embalming, and live taxidermy," He stammered in explanation.

"It's good to be helping the children, isn't it?" Ricketts smiled, removing the cuff and jotting down the numbers on her clipboard, "I mean, we're going to be shaping the next generations… the future… it's pretty amazing, right?"

"Uh-huh."

"I've read some of your thesis, Mr. Croach- pretty impressive. I have to admit, without some of the work you've done, I doubt that much of my work would be possible…" She pulled apart the buttons of his shirt, and Croach had to physically still himself from encircling her waist with his arms.

Ricketts pressed the cold disk of a stethoscope to his chest, listening silently, "Strong heart," she murmured, turning to her clipboard, "Your pulse is high, though. Breathing is good- you've taken pretty good care of yourself, haven't you?"

"I-I guess."

"It says here that you're thirty-four and unmarried."

"And single," Croach blurted.

Ricketts smiled at him, "Yes. You have no history of alcohol or substance abuse, but it says here that you smoke."

"Cigars," he explained.

"Indeed." She paused, reading over something and glancing at him. She hid her chuckle, shaking her head, and Croach frowned.

"What?" he asked flatly.

"Oh, it's nothing. Just notes that miss Weaver left."

"Old spider," Croach grumbled. He exclaimed as she pressed a hand to the side of his face.

"Your temperature is a little high. But it's understandable, you don't like being touched," Ricketts took another note, "Okay. Now, I'm going to need you to strip, so I can take some measurements."

"Wh-what?" Croach stammered.

"I'm a nurse, it's nothing I haven't seen before," Ricketts mused casually.

"I doubt it," he replied, and set to removing his shirt.

xXx

He awoke to pressure escaping his lungs in an explosive fit of coughs.

"Good!" Ricketts said cheerfully, "His tanks are back up to proper PSI!"

"Brilliant, nurse!" Notch added brightly.

"Mr. Croach, are you awake?" Ricketts questioned, pulling away her operating mask as she stowed the bicycle pump below the gurney.

"What do you think, you quack?!" He snapped, wheezing as he blinked his watering eyes. Notch leaned over his bed, tugging the sheets up to his neck. He glared, and pushed them back to his waist, grunting as he attempted to rise.

"Keep still, Archibald," came a dark tone, and Eleanor Weaver suddenly loomed at his bedside, "Your respirator tanks have yet to find the cause of your apparent… leaking."

"How about 'this body is tin scraps', eh?" Croach hissed, slumping back down on his pillow. Notch attempted to tuck him in again, and he simply growled at her, and she retreated, "In any case, it doesn't matter. You fill out your end of the bargain, and I can cease clanking around in this dismal state."

"That's just it, Archie- your body is in much worse condition than the others-"

"Perhaps you should have considered that before you sent me out to live with the dogs!" Croach hissed. "Where are my legs?!" He demanded, and Notch flinched.

"Blame me all you like, Archibald, but it wasn't my fault entirely-" Weaver started.

"I don't blame anyone! And don't flatter yourself, Weaver- you weren't the only idiot to believe in this stupid idea…" But hell- there's no going back now. I'd like to stumble about in my pathetic state without the burden of your false, simpering concerns, thank you very much!"

Weaver was quiet as her dark eyes began to burn, "You are correct, Archibald. My concern for you is not genuine, you bitter zombie bastard." She turned to Notch, "Miss Notch. Please cancel all of Mr. Croach's classes until further notice."
"What?!" Croach demanded.

Weaver smiled slyly, "We can't have you out risking yourself to further degradation, can we? If you die, Archie, this institution will crumble. If the rest of the staff sees you in this state, they will become aware of just how long they have waited- we will have a full-scale riot, on our hands. I cannot risk that, not now." She turned away from him, "Until then, rest well, Archibald."

"Black Widow," Croach hissed after her, as Ricketts began to clear away the gears and bolts.

xXx