Mobile Crane
By : 1000th Ghost
*This story is dedicated to BOBBY (duh), the King of Bob the Builder, who dragged me to the live show six years ago. Which I totally enjoyed.*
"You can walk me home in the pouring rain,
But don't put your hands on my…
…mobile crane."
-Wendy (Blonde Haired Gal in a Hard Hat (Wendy's Song))
It had been a busy day.
But wasn't it always?
She had worked on building the new road, and he had worked on fixing the new barn, and they had worked together to get Muck out of the mud. They had fallen in the mud too, and he offered her a hand and helped her to her feet, and they were an inch apart when Muck commented on how silly they looked, and they all laughed and went home.
But didn't they always?
"Goodnight then, Bob," she called, waving. If he caught the irony in her voice – the frustration over his obliviousness – he did not indicate it.
"Goodnight, Wendy," he replied, waving back. If she caught the self-loathing in his voice – the disgust at not having the gumption to make this night different – she did not indicate it.
They closed their doors.
But didn't they always?
Wendy didn't mind, not really. Sometimes she dreamt about him, and sometimes she wished that they were together, and sometimes it almost seemed as if they were. But she knew that he felt the same – oh, there were too many signs, too many moments, he must have felt somewhat the same – and that was enough to get by.
It seemed so natural. Bob the Builder and his Wendy. Could they fix it? Well, of course, they could. They were the perfect team, matching each others' skills, working together to get the job done.
They were with each other practically at all times; it had been that way for years. But now, in Sunflower Valley, living in separate trailers mere feet from one another-
She sighed and began to remove her green work shirt.
-it made the unspoken tension so much harder to ignore.
He looked out his window at her bedroom window, as he did every night, and mentally cursed himself, as he did every night.
It would be so easy. How many countless opportunities had he had to make a move? Ask her to lunch, ask her to watch a movie in his trailer, ask her if she noticed how much he wanted her-
He almost had, once. The Annual Line Dance had been more than the perfect opportunity. He hadn't even noticed that it was Wendy at first, only that she was cute…fine. Mighty fine. And their mutual arousal was almost palpable. She had all but told him that she would be his, and yet he walked her home and left her with nothing but a kiss – blown from the builder's yard when she was far away at her upstairs bedroom window.
Her bedroom window. Which had been in her own house, back when they lived in Bobsville. Not the bedroom window of her trailer, which he had taken to staring at night after disappointing night.
The bedroom window which, he saw with a shock, she had neglected to close the curtains over.
His eyes grew wider and wider as more and more of her skin was exposed. The long-sleeved, cotton shirt, the same one he had seen day after day as she helped him with all sorts of manual labor, was being pulled up her taut stomach. Higher and higher until the bright-red of the underside of her bra was exposed.
Then he quickly turned from the window, ashamed of himself.
"She-she's Wendy, Pilchard!" he exclaimed to his cat.
Pilchard meowed in either a reprimanding, encouraging, or completely apathetic manner.
"I can't look at her like this! It's not right. And besides-" He ran a hand through his short, brown hair and stared inconsequentially at a spot vaguely between Pilchard and the door. "-she would never speak to me again if she caught me."
Bob went back to the window, determined to shut his own curtains, but let his eyes creep to her window one more time. She was already dressed in a nightgown: pink, of all things, with short sleeves that only went halfway down her shoulders and something that looked like lace or bows or ruffles running down the middle. He stared, transfixed, mouth slightly agape (the fact that her red bra showed through the thin material did not help matters). It was so…so pretty. Girlish, really…feminine.
Not that she wasn't feminine. He had seen her dressed up on a few occasions and was always thrilled when she could shed her builder's garb and become the blonde haired beauty hidden underneath.
Even while moving heavy loads and nailing boards, she wore red earrings and kept her hair secured with a red elastic in a perky, high ponytail that swayed as she worked.
Worked…
"Oh, no!" he shouted, startling Pilchard, who leapt away into the darkness of the trailer. "When I was working on the oven in the barn today, I forgot to turn it down!"
He rushed out to the builder's yard and…but, no, should he? Yes, he decided, for all he knew the barn was on fire by now. He needed her help.
"Wendy!" he called, pounding on her door urgently.
"…Bob?" he heard her muffled reply from inside.
"Come here, quick!"
The door flew open, and there she was, one arm attempting to work its way into the sleeve of a hot-pink and light-pink striped, terry robe.
"What's wron-"
"No time!" He grabbed her hand, and she cried, "Oh!"
Ignoring her astonishment at the sudden contact, he pulled her down the trailer stairs and took off running when they reached the bottom.
"Bob, what's going on?"
"The oven," he panted.
She continued trying to maneuver her way into her robe, still with only one arm in, an impossible feat since he was continuing to clasp her hand in his. It flapped wildly behind her, and the sash flipped forward and tangled around her ankle.
She stumbled slightly, and he turned and reached his free arm in front of her to steady her.
Inadvertently caught between his arms, she stared up at him and waited for him to…well, surely, he would do something…
And he did hastily remove her robe and cast it to the ground but only to say, "Leave it! I left the oven in the barn on high!"
Well, that was certainly more pressing than any possible (and, realistically, improbable) romantic situations. This time she took off running, pulling him along.
The sunflower barn was equipped with a special oven to dry the seeds, and Bob had been mending it that day. But if he had left it turned all the way up, the result could be disastrous.
The barn wasn't far, and soon they could see its outline in the dusk. Wendy could also see that Bob had been stealing glances at her, and she wished more than ever that she had her robe on – or had worn more appropriate nightclothes. She was acutely aware of how flimsy the cotton was and painfully aware of how running without a sports bra felt.
"And," she thought, noticing his wandering eyes again, "how it must look."
The barn, thankfully, was not on fire, but when they wrenched open the double doors, a blast of scorching heat let them know that the sunflowers inside were definitely in danger.
Wendy resisted the urge to call him an idiot for forgetting to turn the oven down when he was done with it and instead rushed ahead into the barn. She grasped onto the knob of the oven and let out a sharp exclamation of pain when the metal touched her skin.
"Give me your robe!" she called over her shoulder.
"Are you still thinking about your robe?" he asked incredulously, walking to her and placing it in her outstretched hand. "I don't think decency is really important at a time like this!"
Wendy rolled her eyes and, wrapping her hand in the robe, turned the oven down to the correct temperature.
"Oh…"
"Well, now the 'time like this' is over, so I think I will resume decency," she said disdainfully. "Unless you object."
"Uh-" He held up his hands as if to say both "Of course, you can use my robe" and "I have absolutely no intelligent way to respond to that".
Wendy shoved her arms into the sleeves and belted the heavy, wool robe tightly, ensuring it covered practically everything below her neck.
"You know we have to stay here to make sure the temperature goes back to normal, right?"
She did, and she also knew that the oven would not work unless the barn doors were closed.
Wordlessly, they walked back to the entrance of the barn. She took one side of the sliding doors and he the other, and they walked towards each other until the doors – and their hands – met in the middle.
"Oh, u-um…" Bob stuttered.
Wendy dared to move her hand the tiniest bit closer to his. "We're going to have to wait in here for awhile, Bob…" she murmured, hoping he would take the hint.
She would never know, for the oven suddenly banged to life, and they jumped apart from the crash.
After a pause, Bob offered, "We could sit," and Wendy responded, "Yes, sitting would be nice."
They slid down to the floor, backs against the door and legs outstretched.
"Well," Wendy said with a sigh, "at least we got here in time."
Bob laughed good-naturedly. "I didn't think we would with you carrying on about that robe."
"If you had just told me what the emergency was instead of dragging me haphazardly across the valley in the dark-!"
"Then you still would have fussed with your robe." He smirked.
"…possibly. But I would have gone faster." She folded her arms over her chest. "I just didn't want to do anything inappropriate, that's all."
"Well…I wouldn't make you do anything…inappropriate," he said uncertainly. Then he realized how suggestive his confused statement had come out and blushed (although it was hardly detectable in the scorching heat).
"It doesn't matter," she said hurriedly, blushing a bit herself, "I have your robe now."
"Um, right."
A minute or so of awkward silence passed in which Wendy crossed and then re-crossed her legs and Bob tugged at the collar of his blue, striped nightshirt.
"Whoo-wee!" he finally exclaimed. "It's hotter than blazes in here!" He undid the top two buttons of his nightshirt, pushed the sleeves down some, and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
Wendy covered her mouth in surprise both from his now visible chest and biceps (muscle buildup from the heavy manual labor he did seemingly effortlessly was evident) and from how comfortable he appeared to be with the exposure.
"Aren't you roasting in that thing?"
Of course, she was roasting; what a pointless question. She considered not scolding him for its obviousness but was unable.
"Of course, I'm roasting; what a pointless question. And," she complained further, "if you had remembered to turn the oven down when you were done with it, we wouldn't be stuck here in the first place."
"Aww, Wendy," he groaned, "I know this is all my fault. You know how absentminded I am. Why, I'd fall apart if I didn't have you running things for me."
She had to laugh at that. It was absolutely true, and she couldn't really fault his forgetful nature.
"But roasting in that robe is not my fault." He cracked a smile. "That's just you being stubborn."
"Y-yes, but…but, well, you saw what I was wearing-"
"Exactly, I already saw it, so what does it matter if I see it again?" Wendy fiddled fearfully with the sash, so he added, "I'm a grown man, Wendy. What do you think, that I'll tease you?"
"No, I mean…" She sighed. "I'm your business partner. I'm a construction worker-"
"-and one heck of an organizer to boot-"
"-and I don't want you thinking any less of me."
"Just because you're wearing pink lingerie?" Wendy giggled in spite of herself. "You know I'd never do that."
Incredibly self-conscious that he was watching her every move, she untied the sash and slipped the heavy robe off.
"You're staring," she accused.
"Oh." He chuckled nervously. "S-sorry."
He proceeded to intently look straight ahead, and, although slipping into silence would have been so much easier, she felt she had to explain herself.
"You're different than other guys, you know that, Bob? I mean, look at me-" (he didn't) "-I look like such a stereotype. Blonde hair in a high ponytail wearing pink…lingerie? How could anyone take me seriously like this?" Her eyes hardened. "Well, they can't. All the guys I've ever dated…I was just a-a bombshell to them. But I can operate machinery and mix cement and run your office blindfolded!" She placed her hand tenderly on his shoulder. "You let me be a builder without noticing I'm a girl. Thank you." Then she removed her hand, realizing how dejecting her words really were. "You never notice I'm a girl…"
Her last statement was said more to herself than to him, but he heard it anyway.
"What do you do at night, Wendy?" he asked. "After we say goodnight, I mean."
Wendy sighed. "Watch TV. And go to bed."
"Me too. Maybe sometime we could watch TV together."
He hadn't exactly meant to say it and was about to immediately take it back, but she said faintly, "I'd like that, Bob," and he decided his momentary courage might have been a good thing.
He turned to her (could this, he wondered, finally be the moment?) but gasped at her appearance. Not her attire but her skin, flushed alarmingly red. She was sweating profusely, and her eyes seemed unfocused.
"Wendy? Wendy, are you alright?" he asked anxiously.
"Just a…a little lightheaded is all." She attempted to brush a strand of hair out of her face, but her hand fell limply to her side. "I suppose the robe overheated me some."
"'Some'? Wendy, you're burning up!" He touched her forehead, and she moaned slightly. "Oh, we've got to get you out of this thing right now!"
She hardly resisted except to warn, "Bob," threateningly as he slid the material down her shoulders.
Suddenly, buckets of rain could be heard pounding on the barn roof.
"Good," Wendy stated, "that'll cool this place down in no time." She was already feeling much better…perhaps because of the way his fingertips drifting down her sides as he moved the nightgown away caused little shivers to run down her spine.
He could only manage to remove the dripping cotton to her waste before his hands and mind froze. In her everyday construction clothing, it was easy to overlook, but now… There was no way to overlook how her breasts, spilling out of her red bra, heaved in front of his face as she attempted to gulp down the newly cooling air.
"Wendy…" he breathed, and his words caused goose bumps as they ghosted across her chest.
She looked at him briefly then dropped her eyes to his own bare chest.
"...you're lovely."
Her breath hitched as he pressed his mouth to the spot where he neck joined her shoulder.
"Come on," he then said completely matter-of-factly, "let's get you home."
She blinked. He couldn't possibly be serious. She was half-unclothed, he had kissed her as if he wanted her, and still no progress was going to be made?
But she sighed and allowed him to help her to her feet, nonchalantly stepping out of the nightgown as it fell to her ankles.
She was used to it…pathetically used to it. He had kissed her once – on the cheek, but still – after she had brought his twin brother home for Christmas. And even though she had been sure it had meant something, he never mentioned the occasion again. He never mentioned any of their countless occasions again, and there were countless.
Never mind. It could end like every other fruitless night, and she could nurse the memories until the next nearly-romantic occasion. She didn't even care if it was pathetic, she wanted to jump and punch the air and cheer girlishly, even as she stood motionless in her red bra and matching panties.
He put his arm around her waist, and her heart leapt again, and he opened one of the sliding doors and escorted her outside.
The warm rain was a welcome relief from the sweltering barn, and she tipped her head back as they walked.
When they had traveled for a few minutes, he stopped and unbuttoned his shirt the rest of the way.
"B-Bob," she stammered, but he only opened the shirt to her and said, "I just realized how we would look if anyone saw us."
Wendy giggled and held her arms out so he could help her into the sleeves. "Now who's concerned with decency?"
He winked, standing only in his pajama pants, put his arm back around her waist without giving her a chance to button the shirt, and resumed walking. "Maybe I just don't want anyone but me to know how lovely you are."
They were quiet the rest of the brief walk, and soon he was leading her up the steps to her trailer.
"There you go, Wendy."
She sighed. "Home sweet home."
They had had this exact conversation the night of the line dance. Oh, to stop the dissatisfying repetitiveness.
"Sorry I wasn't more careful with the oven," he apologized. "And I'm sorry I dragged you into this mess. But I…I needed your help."
"You always need my help." She smiled. "And I'll always be here to give it to you."
He removed his arm from her waist and twiddled his fingers timidly. "Promise?"
"I let you move me way out here to Sunflower Valley to live in a trailer, didn't I?" she said, laughing. "You could move halfway around the world, and I'd still follow you." She stopped, suddenly shy, and looked at the ground. "I-I think we need each other."
An unexpected gust of wind ballooned the open shirt out behind her, and when it passed, the shirt settled down around her elbows.
"Leave, leave, just say goodnight, and leave," his mind screamed, but, darn it, his girl was standing in the pouring rain in her underwear and his shirt, and he would not let himself miss this opportunity.
He closed his eyes and started to come towards her, but she put her hand on his shoulder to stop him.
"Wait, Bob, I-I don't-" She saw his crestfallen expression and immediately restarted, "No, no! It's not that I don't want this, it's just…I don't want this because I'm dripping wet in my underwear. I'm a blonde haired girl in a hardhat. You can romance me: take me places and buy me things and call me and walk me home, but don't try to make a monkey out of me. Don't go easy on me at work. Don't put your hands on my…"
She let the sentence trail off. She knew what she was going to say but discovered that she was trying to be ambiguously seductive.
"…mobile crane."
A heated beat passed. Then, "You didn't say I couldn't put my hands elsewhere."
This time when he wrapped an arm around her waist and forced their lips together, she didn't have a chance to discourage him. Not that she wanted to.
His other hand reached out and took hold of her breast, and she clutched his shoulders, pressing their naked torsos together, to keep from falling over in shock. He kneaded her through the red cup, pausing to massage the exposed flesh above it. Then he dipped his fingers into her cleavage and scooped her breast out. Her nipple hardened in the sudden cold and rain, and he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger before encapsulating her entire breast in his palm again and squeezing firmly.
Her eyes slid shut, and a whimper deepened into a moan as his tongue entered her opened mouth. He caressed her tongue tenderly then viciously, and she was thrilled and surprised that the normally placid man knew exactly how to please her.
When he finally released her, she mumbled, "I don't want to go back to how things were."
"I don't want you to think this is because of the heat of the moment or the hectic situation or how you look," he spoke stolidly, and she wondered if he had heard her. "I've wanted to do this for such a long time."
"And what happens tomorrow?" she asked, somewhat resentfully.
"Tomorrow?"
"Do we say good morning and build the shelves for Mr. Bentley's garage and laugh at whatever stupid thing the trucks do and forget tonight ever happened?"
Bob looked utterly perplexed. "Why on earth would I want to forget tonight ever happened?"
Wendy appeared to shrink in on herself. "B-because you always-"
"Tomorrow I'm going to kiss you good morning and carry out whatever jobs we have with you by my side and buy you dinner and take you back to my trailer to…" He winked. "…watch TV."
"To watch TV?" she reiterated, knowing that he was teasing her.
"Something about mobile cranes," he said with half-lidded eyes.
Then he kissed her quickly and walked back to his own trailer.
"Goodnight then, Bob."
"Goodnight, Wendy."
Wendy closed her door, jumped and punched the air, and cheered girlishly.
The End