I have arrived~

Frisk smiled down at their phone—Mettaton would add hearts to his texts—and looked up in time to see the front door of the restaurant open, a bell chiming prettily as a figure stepped in. Despite the heavy, dramatic hooded coat he was wearing, Mettaton didn't do stealth very well—partially because the big coat was trying to be both concealing and seductively half off, and only fulfilling one of those things. Frisk couldn't find it in them to be surprised though; Mettaton was Mettaton even in this world.

At least he kept his face mostly obscured as a waiter led him back to the private room Frisk had managed to book, not that it stopped half the other diners from turning to stare at him. The rest had dignity enough to keep their stares discreet, but Mettaton towered over human heads when he was barefoot, never mind when he wore shoes that gave him six extra inches so he could stare Toriel dead in the eyes if he wanted.

Well, at least he made his shoulders smaller—it was hard to hide your identity if your shoulders were nearly four feet across and pointy enough to put someone's eye out if you weren't careful.

The moment the waiter led him through the door, his confident swagger was replaced by instant delighted energy. "Frisk, darling!" he laughed, shucking his coat off and hurling it at the waiter who only barely managed to catch it in time.

"Mettaton," Frisk called back, grinning as they stood. They barely got halfway around the table before Mettaton descended upon them, scooping them up in a hug and lifting them up into the air, four arms wrapped tightly around them. The extra appendages were odd, but they felt secure enough with the extra support. "It is such a delight to see you again."

"Likewise, darling, likewise," he hummed as he gave them one last squeeze and finally sat them back down. "Oh, it's been too long."

"Six months," Frisk nodded. "I was beginning to think you'd gone and forgotten about us back here."

"Never!" He sighed. "I just didn't imagine how busy and exhausted I'd be." He scrunched up his nose—Alphys had done some good work on his new face, adding in a lot of little details like that. Really, they should have congratulated her more on it. "Or how hard it'd be to actually get a signal through in some places."

Frisk laughed and kept their smile playful, to let him see that they were only teasing as they went on. "Ah, now that I can understand." They started to speak before realizing the waiter was still there. After he asked if they would like to order something, they quickly looked over the menu before picking something—Mettaton was choosier, but once he decided, they both quickly fell back into their conversation as the waiter left. "But still, with only three calls, we were all left lonesome. I'll have you know that your tv hiatus is killing some of us in our house."

Mettaton beamed. "At least that's coming to an end. But how are all of you doing?"

"Besides being brokenhearted by your absence? Fine. Everyone's enjoying all the sunshine for one. Asriel and Chara will be transferring to their mother's new school in September, which is fantastic because they'll be far away from their last teacher." Frisk shook their head.

"The nightmare one? The one that kept trying to make a fuss about you?"

"That'd be the one."

Mettaton scoffed. "If only I could have done an exposé on that school—oh, I would have fixed them for sure!" He sighed. "I wish I could have had more time before the season ran out."

Frisk only smiled—at the time, they'd breathed a long sigh of relief once Mettaton realized he didn't have time to 'crack open that school' to reveal its 'dark anti-human prejudice'. One less hassle they had to deal with as deadlines loomed. Now they were happy because they knew that the moment some human journalist found it, it would have meant a month's long headache. Still, they'd keep that to themselves. "Well, we don't have to deal with them anymore, and that's the important thing." Nope, now they just had to deal with Toriel's hovering as she tried desperately to restrain herself from brownnosing her way into her children's school lives. Could be worse though—at least she was restraining herself. "Sans and I have meeting in Chicago on Friday."

"Oh, Chicago. That place was fun. I had my fifth show there and the crowd just went wild, especially once I pulled out that chainsaw."

They had to laugh. "I remember that! You didn't tell me you were an ice sculptor."

He waved them off. "Ugh, after Alphys first stuck me in that stupid body, I had to find something useful to do with all that junk or I would have just gotten depressed."

"At least you put it to good use."

He smiled as he shrugged. "I tried. But never mind that. So, does this mean that the two of you'll be flying out Thursday or do you just have to get there later on Friday?"

"Ah, no," Frisk answered, with a small smile. "You see, the first time Sans got on a plane, we were stuck in coach and he got sick as a dog."

"Oh dear," he didn't quite manage to hide the mirth in his voice. Frisk was never quite sure if Sans and Mettaton seemed to like or hate each other. One moment, they'd be quipping jokes at each other, the next they might start snidely sniping. At least they'd never tried to outright attack each other, but leaving the two in a room was always a risk. "I can't do coach. I tried it once and I bashed a man's face with my shoulder when I turned too fast."

Frisk winced. "I hope he was alright."

"Oh, he was. I even autographed his face as an apology!"

That sounded about right. "Anyway, since then, plane rides make him queasy."

Mettaton pursed his lips. "You're not driving are you?"

"We thought about it. I've told you, I spent time abroad before I turned twenty. I did a lot of driving then, so long drives don't bother me. But I'm not that fond of them, and neither is Sans. No, we're going to take that fast train out of LA. It'll take all night, but we'll get to Chicago bright and early."

"Oh, I tried one of those, but not an overnight one." He paused, looking thoughtful. "Can't he just teleport you two there?"

"Well, technically he could. But the problem with teleporting is that if there's anything standing in your way at the destination, there's a chance you could splice yourself with it."

Mettaton winced. "Ouch."

"I've seen Sans do it a few times with some dirty laundry that was on the floor and let me tell you, it takes ages for him to get himself unspliced. And he's just bone—I don't know what would happen to me if I ran into something like that."

Now he shuddered. "Oh, forget that, it sounds awful. Ugh, just terrible."

Frisk giggled and fell silent, smiling across the table as Mettaton went from disturbed to eager. They watched, trying not to laugh as his interest grew until at last he sighed. "Yes?"

"Oh, be that way. Making me come out and ask it myself—anyway, how has my favorite skeleton been?"

Frisk beamed. "I'm telling Papyrus you said that. He'll be on cloud nine for a week."

Mettaton laughed. "Well, I'd hope he'd know it already. How could I think anything else of my first fan?"

"How indeed. Well, despite the fact that he's constantly checking the tv to see if there's anything new from you on," they began teasingly; Mettaton waved them off, a smirk stretching his lips. "He's been doing well. Remember how I told you that he became something of a class hero for the kids' classmates? He was a such a huge hit with all the kids that they still wave at him whenever he's escorting the children anywhere, but yesterday he came home with six kids trailing behind him because he said he was going to try a new recipe for dinner and they wanted to watch him nearly burn the house down again."

Mettaton tried to stop the inelegant snort from escaping, but even as he clapped one pair of hands to his mouth, it was too late. The snort set off a string of giggles and Frisk had to grin at him. "Oh, my. Well, how was his, heh, show?"

"Oh, spectacular, if you mean that there's now a giant scorch mark on the ceiling of the kitchen. All the kids loved it though."

Mettaton beamed. "Well, Papyrus should know a thing or two about putting on a good show. After all, he's watched my shows enough."

"He's taken a few pointers from you, yes," they drawled. "Mainly that fire is fantastic and you should always add more of it when cooking."

He shrugged, not looking even the littlest bit ashamed about it. "Yes, well, it's not like I actually know how to cook. It was always supposed to be more of a comedy show, but he wasn't the only one to take it seriously. I had a few of those television celebrity chefs come yell at me because some contestants of theirs tried to burn their kitchens down."

They barked a laugh, imaging the horror of the cast and crew as the people on the show created nightmares and headaches, along with some inedible crispy junk they would try to pass off as a meal. Hopefully, they wouldn't go the extra mile and try and force others to eat their efforts, like Mettaton usually did on the show. Once their fit of giggles subsided, they grinned at him while he looked proud to have amused them so much. "But really, he's dying to see you on tv again. He kept bugging me to try and wriggle it out of you."

He was all smiles. "Well, I couldn't do it before, actually. My schedule was up in the air now that my tour's done, so I wasn't sure myself."

"And now?" they pressed on.

He sat up, all prim and pleased as a well-fed cat. "I talked with some execs and it's official. I'm going to be on syndicated human television and my show will be going live in two months. Before then I'll have a special, but once the new season starts, I'm getting my own show."

"Really? Well, I know what's going to be playing at our house on repeat until we all die." When he snorted, they leaned in, all grins. "But seriously, what channel and what time, because if I don't find that out, Papyrus will never forgive me."

He promptly told them the channel and then straightened up with a little shimmy. "Ten o'clock, weekdays. I'm going to be doing one of those evening talk show with some good old fashioned variety bits tossed in to give it flavor. I'm thinking maybe some neutered death runs that I used to host Underground—not that I'm going to let my beautiful human guests get hurt."

"Thank you for that." Lord knows that it would end up being their headache if something actually went wrong.

"But maybe a song and dance number too. Got to let everyone know that I have a wealth of talents. Helps keep interest high and maybe attract some movie roles."

"You mean aside from the six jobs I know you're doing?"

He looked at them slyly. "Don't tell anyone, but it's actually eight. No repeating that!"

Frisk pressed a hand to their chest. "Not tell at least your favorite fan? Mettaton, I'd like to stay Papyrus's friend. I live with the guy, I can't have him hating me now."

He laughed. "One's going to be a surprise for the general audiences, darling! The cast and crew were all sworn to secrecy. Believe you me, it's been torture not talking about it to somebody."

"And the other one?"

"Eh, something's come up with the production. Nothing from my end, but the companies are squabbling over who gets what rights. I'm not sure it'll see the light of day, but maybe they'll start playing nice with each other. Until I hear something about it, I'll keep it to myself. Don't want to disappoint my own audience after all."

"That's a shame," they replied, making a sympathetic hum as they sat back. "Well, I can't wait to see the show."

Mettaton was saved from replying when the waiter finally returned with their food. They took a moment to get their food from him before he vanished again. "It was about time," Mettaton muttered, cutting into his steak. "Restaurants up here take forever to bring your food to you." Before they could say anything, he went on. "Do you know that I was thinking of opening a restaurant? I mean, back before the Barrier came down. I'd been thinking of buying out those hideous housing projects in Hotland, next to the CORE. I thought about actually putting some time and effort into cleaning it up, making it not such an eyesore. Maybe make it into a violence free getaway place. People would have paid out the nose for that back then."

They paused, their fork hovering by their mouth. "And what stopped you?"

"Ugh, the housing council were putting up this fuss about having to relocate the CORE workers who lived there. Not that they care about anyone else there, they just didn't want to build more buildings elsewhere." He looked thoughtful. "Although, I had almost talked them around. But then you showed up and we were all going to be leaving so soon and I was going to go on tour, so I shelved those plans." He shrugged. "Best thing, really. Oh, you should have seen how mad that council was once the Barrier came down and they realized them missed a fantastic deal in not selling it to me earlier."

"I'm sure they were delightfully furious, as they should have been for thwarting you."

He grinned, jabbing his fork in their direction before taking a bit. "That's it, exactly! Serves them right. Oh, I hope that it burns them even now."

Frisk smiled, but let him have the moment before they spoke again. "So, what's your special about? A live show?"

He blinked at them. "Did I mention I have a special coming out?"

"You did, yes."

To their surprise, he actually did look a little embarrassed. "Whoops. That's also supposed to be under wraps too. I haven't even gotten to film it yet. But, since I blurted it out anyway, might as well tell you. It'll be an interview with a certain journalist who I think will be very impressed. It should be fun. Along with the basic things, we have some special ideas for bits we can do in between questions. It'll sure to be exciting."

"Hah! When have you ever put out a show that was anything less than exciting?" They considered him. "Are you nervous about it?"

"What? No! I've done plenty of interviews before. Hell, I've done plenty of my own."

"I remember," they chuckled. "It's how we met."

"That is true!" He paused. "It's just. Well. This journalist… they tend to be very… thorough."

"Will… that be a problem?"

He looked down at his food with a tense, contemplative look before shrugging and smiling. "Oh, probably not. Alphys and I were very careful when we set up my back story for the Overlord. As far as all monster kind knows, I'm a robot and I was created from gears and magic. You, her, and I might be the only people who actually know my origins. And it's best it stays that way!"

They watched as he sawed through his steak, the plate squealing in protest as he cut too hard. Considering their options, they decided to give him a moment before they tried to make a move of their own.

It paid off—he immediately paused after he speared a tiny square and brought it to his lips. "Have you… happened to hear from any of the ghosts from the old snail farm?"

Ah. They wished they were closer to him, so they could reach out and soothe him. Instead, they settled for setting their fork down and patting their mouth clean with a napkin. "The, uh, newly renamed Glad Dummy is doing well last I heard. He joined my tailor's shop recently and has taken up residence in the front window."

Mettaton smiled wistfully. "How lovely that he's living his dream. Good for him."

Frisk smiled playfully. "Great for him, but bad for my tailor. He didn't hire the Dummy and now he likes to dance around in the window with the half-finished merchandise. My tailor's afraid that people are going to think he sells unfinished clothes."

Startled, Mettaton snorted and had to clap a hand to his mouth. "Oh—well—that sounds very like him! And very much what he always wanted to do anyway. I'm sure he's ecstatic."

Glad to see their friend happier, they went on, picking up their fork again to eat. "Now, let's see. Ah, yes, the other Dummy got hired by Undyne recently to be her personally training dummy. She's a little rough with them, but they seemed very happy for the attention."

"Ah, them," he sighed, shaking his head fondly. "They were never very good with talking. That job suits them."

Frisk's smile flickered as they came to the last cousin. Clearing their throat delicately, they took a bite of their food. "As for Napstablook, they're much the same as ever. They've been holing up still in the Underground, but they keep insisting that they're not bored or lonely down there. They've been working on some new songs. I talked to them about a week ago when I was down there, escorting some human scientists around. He's doing good, he says."

"That's… good." There's something soft about Mettaton's voice. Not timid or frightened or even angry. More like wistful or perhaps regretful.

Frisk didn't press—when they ran away when they were younger, Undyne took a year before she came around to them again. She was bitter and frustrated, and it hurt Frisk more than they had thought possible. While they had never considered her to be the closest of their friends, it wasn't until they felt the full brunt of her anger and pain did they realize how much they had prized her. She had trained them daily as a child, taught them to fight and defend themselves, and always seemed to get them to laugh at her antics. They couldn't blame her for her anger, even if they weren't sure they really needed to apologize at the time. They had, afterward, but that was their own situation—Mettaton's was inherently different from their own. And yet, they could empathize. Carefully, they reached out and rested their hand on top of one of his own, one of the lower set that had mostly been resting listlessly against the tabletop. It quickly twitched and grasped their hand in turn.

"You know, it's funny," they began. "But while I was there, they had their television on. They said it was just for white noise as they worked, but the entire time, it was just repeats of your show. I didn't know you'd left your station broadcasting your old shows down there."

He blinked at them before smiling softly down at his plate. "I didn't."

"Ah," they murmured, their own smile turning warmer. They gave his hand one last squeeze and sat back. "People are funny. Give them a little time and freedom to change and they'll do so in the most unexpected of ways."

"Change is a good thing," he replied, just as obtuse.

The two of them shared a restful moment of silence, tuned to their own thoughts before Mettaton sat back, looking cheerful. "You should eat faster. I'm halfway done with mine and you're eating like a bird over there. Eat more! Then we can get dessert."

Frisk chuckled and made a show of scooping up a larger helping than they had before then. "Ah, forgive me. But can you blame me when I have such pleasant company for discussion?"

"Only the best," Mettaton chirped.

"Mm. You know, after dinner, you should come back with me. It'd be a delight to have you over."

"So bold," he teased. "Whatever shall the papers say?"

"'Daring human ambassador seduces handsome monster celebrity', no doubt," they quipped. "Oh, but really, you'd devastate your biggest fan if you didn't just drop in for a moment."

"Perish the thought," he said solemnly. "I accept."

"Papyrus won't know what to do with himself." Probably curse them later for not warning him so he could pick up the house. Eh, they'd send him a text in a few minutes, tell him something vague so they could at least say they'd warned him.

"Eat faster."

"Ah, yes," they grinned. "Dessert is waiting, no?"

"Eat!"

A/N: Well, here's a chapter I've been meaning to do for awhile but only actually got around to finishing last night. Anyway, both Brainless Genius and helenamadsox requested a bit with Mettaton and Frisk. I've been wanting to do something with the robot for awhile, so I loved the idea. (He's only had a few passing mentions thus far.) He's so fun to write. Anyway the requests were for Mettaton and Frisk to have a dinner together where they would talk and Frisk would be supportive of him. How could I resist such a request?

Originally, there was a heart in Mettaton's text at the start of the chapter, but it got taken out for this version-damn ff net's formatting rules.