I said I'd continue with FNaF. Took a long time, but I'm finally at it again. It's been a long two years since ASaF finished – I graduated college, got an apartment, etc. During that time, I've grown as both a person and an author.

Which has allowed me to see, looking back on it, that A Summer at Freddy's isn't all that great.

I know most of you returning enjoyed it – why would you read this if you didn't – but it's aged poorly in my eyes. From pointless characters (looking at you, Delta) to dangling plot threads to the cartoonishly evil guards and "ow the edge" torture parts, it shouldn't be a surprise it was started by a high schooler and never really grew beyond that, except maybe in the last few chapters. I was still trying to find my footing as a writer, and I didn't believe I'd ever have the drive to complete it: I still have the original draft file titled "That FNaF Fic I'll Never Finish" on my hard drive. I'm not ashamed of it, and I believe ASaF holds up better than many first tries at fanfiction, but it's still not great.

My Dead Space story and becoming an English major in my later college years helped me improve significantly. I was able to go into Ordination with experience from my previous piece and a better grasp of storytelling to make something I feel is a vast improvement. I hope to make this story even better – a writer never stops developing!

No better time to, either, since A Fun Weekend at Freddy's is a soft reboot of my series. The old status quo is gone and something new is happening. Much like in my life… sappy, but true.

I know this A/N didn't have many of the usual elements, being more about the past and future than the present, but I'll go back to the more standard production notes next chapter. Just keep in mind that this is only going to be three chapters long. More of an interquel for the next story, which I plan to be more substantial. I still believe my plans for a five-story series that I detailed in the final chapter of ASaF will happen, but perhaps not. Anyway, enjoy!

…there are a couple more things. I've been very dedicated to maintaining little real-world details in this series (perhaps to an obsessive degree), but I am making one small tweak here. In 2000, Halloween was on a Tuesday. In this universe, it fell on a Saturday. Had to be on a weekend for the story to work. Hopefully you can set that aside; it was difficult for me! Finally, in keeping with Ordination, I now round times to the nearest 15 minutes instead of being exact. Overbearing timestamps were a valid criticism directed at the original, so I've changed that.

Friday, October 30, 2000, 3:15 PM

"…and that's been my semester so far," Mike told his parents and the stuffed deer head on the mantle. That thing always seemed to be listening with the way its glassy eyes cased the foyer. Used to unsettle him. Not anymore.

"That's great, Mike," his mother said from her chair while casually browsing the Daily Record. A cup of black coffee dangled from her loose wrist while she adjusted the beret atop her head. Never ceased to amaze him how strait-laced he and Sylvia turned out compared to his Bohemian, formerly hippie folks. Incredible they ever decided to settle down.

"That's great, that's great," his dad said, a little more invested in the conversation. "Grades are up, you're in school clubs and well on your way toward becoming Michael Schmidt, CEO." He was quick to suffix his praise with, "Just don't become one of those asshole managers who makes hundreds of times more than the regular employees."

"Trust me, I'm not aiming that high. I'm not out to become the next Bill Gates." Both his parents' noses instinctively crinkled at the name. Of course they felt antipathy toward the richest person on Earth, especially when the headquarters of his business empire was a 15 minute jaunt from his University of Washington dorm. Couldn't trust someone that rich… especially when he knew William Afton. Helen claimed they met each other at Harvard and were business partners for a moment before either hit it big. And she was right; this wasn't some dark secret. Nope, the two of them gave interviews together back in 1975 or thereabouts.

The thought made him shudder. Still, Mike doubted the guy was in on the "make cyborgs to better the world" plan. May have been a scumbag, but he saw no evidence that the man was insane, unlike Afton. "I guess I'd like to do something smaller. More local. Maybe at a car dealership?" That was the first thing to come to mind.

Regardless, he remained invested in this path, much to his surprise. He committed to it despite all that a certain manager he used to know had done, a slip of the tongue more than anything. He turned out to be good at it, though. His former job as a "night guard" taught him many principles he needed to excel at it, such as decisiveness, focus and creativity, while his wild adventures with Foxy boosted his communication skills and empathy. It turned out to be the perfect career for him, and he greatly enjoyed it so far. He'd found his calling after fumbling around in Freshman year. If that kept up, he might've left college.

"That could be fun," his mother said while setting down the paper. This allowed him an unobstructed view of the headline:

ELECTION THIS TUESDAY – BUSH VS. GORE

His parents weren't the most pleasant people to discuss politics with, and they already proclaimed they'd vote for Nader, so it was a moot point. The animatronics might have more fun talking about it. Though they obviously couldn't vote, they'd been interested in topics like history of late, so they'd enjoy seeing it unfold in real time. Not like the election would affect their lives either way. Speaking of the animatronics, his mom asked him about one of them next.

"How are things between you and Foxy? If you don't mind me prying." Mike was very confused for a second before he remembered his long-running deception. They thought June was his girlfriend and named Foxy. A confusing string of events led up to that, and it wasn't fun to keep going. He nibbled his lip. There was no way he'd tell his parents the truth, yet lying to them still felt bad. At least they didn't ask him often.

"Oh, we're doing well." He answered that truthfully, at least. "Going steady, as you guys might call it. It's just been tough with me being out of town so much. I've only had the time to visit you and her twice this semester before now." School kept him busier than he expected. Keeping his grades up and extracurricular activities made coming home for a weekend harder than anticipated. Though the drive of just over an hour remained brisk, he didn't want to return with a barrel of homework in tow. No point tempting Foxy with his presence if he had to devote most of his time there to studying. "Still, I think we're making this work."

"Good to hear," his father chimed in before standing up. "It's been wonderful catching up, Mike, but I do have to start on my own job now, speaking of work."

"Of course. Those numbers can't tally themselves," he jokingly replied. Come to think of it, actuary and manager weren't that different. Now hazardous waste chemist, that job was strange. His mother didn't have a gig that day, so that left the two of them alone. "You have any plans today?" he asked her once his dad left.

"Eh, I'll probably go shopping later. There's junk in the closet I've meant to throw out, so I might get to that." Fair enough. Her job was hard enough most of the time, so she wanted to savor the days she got off. "What about you? Any big plans for today or tomorrow?"

"Today, not so much. I'll just swing by the Fazbear's tonight around closing time to see Foxy. Tomorrow, though…" He felt a goofy grin spread across his face just thinking about it, and his leg started to bounce. "I have some plans."

His mother nodded and finally got back to her coffee, which was lukewarm if he read the lack of steam correctly. He shrugged, standing up and returning to his room for entertainment. Not books or television like he was used to, but something new and different. He'd grown up on video games that defined his generation, but his Sega Genesis had long since been lost to time, and he never found the energy to get another.

That all changed recently. Having felt nostalgic for that part of his life, he picked up a Game Boy Color, which he also idly dreamed of having on hand during his night guard days. Along with that, he bought a particular game that seemed to have defined the Millennial gaming experience the same way Mario defined the Gen X one (though plenty of people his age were fans, too). Hadn't had time to play yet, so he'd plonk on it for a few hours until Foxy's day ended. Leaned back on his bed against the pillow and flipped the machine on to see what all the hubbub was about.

"'Pokémon Red', huh?"

4:00 PM

"…and that be the tale! Anchor 'ere in an hour if ye want another," Foxy expectorated to the crowd of kids. A round of applause came from the more considerate kids (which was most of them, since they all believed she was more than a regular robot) before they scattered to the Tradewinds. Some left the room for terra incognita while others raced for the treasure chests or mock weapons. All great choices.

Most, though, went for her ship. Them loving it as much as her always made her beam. The Ruby Tempest – she finally recalled name of her vessel, which was now proudly emblazoned on the flank – was a prize worth splitting between everyone who wanted a piece of it… except adults, they were too big. Pirates may not have stereotypically been big on sharing, but Foxy was no ordinary pirate, was she?

She ducked behind the stage curtains and took a quick swig of water from a bottle. Even cyborgs needed to stay hydrated! She chuckled a little at the insanity of her life. What could she say? Her spirits soared that day, for Mike was coming that night. She'd developed… well, she didn't know if they were healthy relationships, but far better ones than in the "old days" outside of him. Still looked forward to it, though! She hadn't seen him for over a month, him being so busy with school and all.

Don't get your head stuck in the clouds yet, she told herself. The restaurant was still open for a few more hours, and she had to finish strong. Not so hard; time flew on the job.

Foxy's tail wagged happily as she leapt from the stage and back into the action! She didn't maintain a grand schedule like the others stuck to; this was freeform improv! As she told Mike, pirates were creatures of spontaneity. The kids appreciated that as she bounced between all the groups with a casualness few others possessed. Didn't insert herself into their stories, though. They did that for her. Was she friend or foe, ally or rival? Kids had more creativity than many adults gave them credit for.

She was a storyteller at heart, yet they always matched her in prowess. Perhaps her fondness for children tainted her vision, and that would've been OK. As long as they all had fun, which she certainly did. Like when Sea Princess Susie challenged her to a sword duel! Turned out to be a stalemate (Foxy obviously held back… or did she), but a good enough showing for a small piece of candy from Foxy's pocket if getting loaded on pizza wasn't enough. And Susie always got pineapple on her pizza, so she ate healthily enough for a small indulgence.

"A fine fight, bucko, a fine fight. Keep that cutlass sharp, for ye won't be so lucky next time." Susie giggled, the little girl looking spiffy in her fake hook and eyepatch. Almost like a miniature version of Foxy! Except for not being, well, a canine.

She raised her hook in mock-aggression, a gesture that still felt wrong. Cringed a little every time she pantomimed something like that. It (along with other parts of her body) had been used to do terrible things over the years. Most parents no longer reacted with a stayed reaction of horror, but they didn't need to, for she still did. Helen told her in counselling and as a friend that her body was nothing to be ashamed of, a lesson Mike also taught her. Both of them were right, she knew, yet the only thing that could really solve such a problem was time.

Susie thanked her and ran off with the candy while Foxy shook off the melancholy and stood proudly among all she had accomplished. Not alone, of course, but recent achievements had been hers. The Cove was busier than ever, which meant she ran it right! More important was her personal development. A legion of sounds and scents from cheese to cologne to shouts to sighs revitalized her rather than intimidate the way they once did. It turned out she could handle her life, a fact that brought overwhelming relief.

Good thing, too, since she spied an adult approaching her from the side. Had to talk with a lot of them, since they and Helen were the only employees, and occasionally June if things got really busy (but they only ever had to do that once or twice). This no longer brought fear, but poise. Turned out that grown-ups weren't all bad. Well, some of them were probably bad people in their private lives, but everyone was polite to her now that they believed she was human. The "springlock suits" brought normality to the table. She was surprised how well that deception held up. She'd even gotten into a few real-life conversations with a few of them instead of just providing directions to the bathroom.

"Excuse me," the man said as she casually leaned against the hull. "What time did you say your next show was? I only have Natasha and Jackson for the next 15 minutes before their mom comes, and they really like you. Or whoever's wearing that costume." Oh, he was their dad? Yeah, they were regulars.

Damn, I heard Nat say something about her parents getting a divorce. "Sorry, my next show isn't until 5," she said, slipping back into normal English with ease. He looked disappointed, so she said, "I could do something right now if they want." That was fine. Like she said, improv.

"No, no, I couldn't ask you to do that," he said, apparently speaking for his children. She would have gotten Nat and Jackson's opinions on the matter if she only knew where they were. The sheer number of scents this time of day made sniffing people out difficult.

"All right, but I think the Band starts one in a couple minutes. That might be worth checking out." That news made him buck up a little. Clearly, he was going through a lot. Sometimes she could help kids through their simple problems, but those of adults were far more complex. She empathized with both worlds, being an adult created to entertain children. All she could offer was that smile and vowing to put on a great show for his kids when they next came.

He smiled and quickly left the area, and she wasn't far behind. Far be it from her to miss one of her friends' shows if she could help it! "Arr, the Cap'n'll back posthaste!" she announced to the room on her way out, hoping everyone could hear. The kids were quieter as of late because they now asked the loudest kids to please not deafen them with screaming, which worked most of the time. Still, though, they were kids. Kids could be boisterous. "Have 'ta see me hearties' show!"

The rest of the pizzeria looked great, too, and she couldn't wait to show Mike how much it had changed since he'd last come; seemed like things changed all the time. She was obviously biased, but she still liked her home most of all. The place bustled, so much so that a couple kids bumped into her tail as they ran past, nearly tripping them up.

"Uh, sorry, Foxy!" one of them said without the slightest hesitation before continuing the game of tag. That was her name to them, as it should've been. She was a real-life anthropomorphic fox, not a human in a costume! Even if they intellectually believed that to be the case, they still treated her as an individual entity and not many people temporarily inhabiting a lifeless shell. Just part of the fantasy. Good thing that the impossible was completely true, then. She tucked her hook into the pocket of her burlap pants to be safe after that jostle. Then she waited at the back of the room for the show to begin – wouldn't want to take a chair away from a customer.

The clatter of forks and whiffs of garlic bread wafted into her. She loved it all. Pride grew in her gut at all this and more; they'd built a new life for themselves leagues above the one Phil provided. They proved themselves better than the monster controlling their lives. Auric wished they despised him as much. Foxy closed her eye as her jaw got tenser, for she didn't much like dwelling on this. She wasn't happy he died, per se. Perhaps relieved, knowing he could never again hurt them or anyone else… but not happy.

"All right, here's everyone's food." A voice to her right made her eye open again. Springtrap unloaded a serving platter onto a family of five's table. His voice's inflection wobbled like the food on his palm. Those unsteady nerves (or perhaps faulty body, but June said there didn't seem to be anything physically wrong with him) calmed significantly since August, though. He hadn't dropped anything in the past couple of weeks.

The stock track of equipment rattling and a few prerecorded lines of the Band's frantic banter played over the speakers. Freddy, Bonnie and Chica all thought it was an exciting act that heralded showtime, and she agreed. Really got the kids going, and she snorted at their antics despite hearing them 100 times. The clanging also went well with Springtrap accidentally clinking a glass into one of the plates. Nice save.

"You all have a great evening," he halfheartedly said before attempting to scamper off to the kitchen again. Foxy wouldn't let him off the hook so easily, though.

"Hey, Springtrap," she called, making him stop dead in his tracks. He froze every time another animatronic tried to talk to him. Very strange, but she tried to be patient. He'd only been alive a little more than two months, and she recalled acting odd for a while as she tried to figure out what was real and what wasn't. Still, she wanted to get to know the guy even as Helen said he'd open up in his own time. They knew almost nothing about him, and he constantly worked positions well away from the rest of them. "Want to watch the show with me? I'm not sure you've paid much attention to it before."

The look on his muzzle and glint in his soft gray eyes clearly showed he didn't, but he seemed sufficiently cowed to come over and submit. "I've seen it before," he muttered in his usual slouch. It was like he tried to make himself as small as possible to not be noticed. "But you're right, I don't pay much attention." He paused before saying, "Don't get me wrong, I know they… and you… are talented, but…"

Springtrap tapered off and just looked glum. Foxy's heart sank; she didn't mean to make the guy feel bad. For as antisocial as he acted, the rabbit was never rude or aggressive. "It's fine if you want to go," she said. "I – I didn't mean to be pushy." Just a few seconds to curtain call, and everyone's attention was focused squarely on the stage. The kids used to barely pay attention, but realizing they were actual people pulled them in a lot more. Frankly, their show was also a lot better without mountains of restrictions on what they could do.

"No, I'll stay. It could be fun to watch instead of hearing it from the kitchen." That made her feel a little better. Before she could say anything else, the speaker noise fizzled out, and the curtains swiftly parted. Time for the show to begin.

The shades shot sideways, and the drums kicked in before they reached their apex. The crowd roiled in a cheer as the stars were revealed – Freddy on a big drum set they'd gotten at a discount (he wanted to learn to play an instrument instead of just singing), Chica on the violin (ditto: playing the tambourine didn't satisfy her for long, and she remembered her uncle in Nebraska playing the fiddle) and, of course, Bonnie rocking his Gretsch 6120JR, for he never referred to it as a simple electric guitar, painted red just like his old crap model.

He proudly stood at the front with Chica, who still fidgeted slightly at all the new attention. Freddy sat trapped in his drum cage behind them; an odd sight, since he'd been the front man since the beginning. As for their dress, it was the same as it had always been. Like her classic get-up of brown burlap pants and white linen shirt, which she'd worn since forever, they were most comfortable in new items of their old clothing… which was to say just about nothing. Freddy had his impeccable stovepipe hat; Bonnie donned his crimson bowtie and Chica wore her bib with "LET'S EAT" proudly scrawled across it. They didn't feel healthy in much else, which was fine, since they all had enough fur or feathers to conceal… parts of them kids shouldn't see, let's just say.

But they looked good, and they sounded better. The cheers hushed as a wall of sound continued from the drums, now being joined by a burst of sonics pumped from Bonnie's guitar into the insane onstage sound system he'd set up; the surround sound made Foxy's ears prickle, and her tail wagged in time with the thumps. Despite being concerned for their auditory wellbeing, they could get away with one boisterous song three or four times a day.

The noise came in waves, ebbing and flowing between them all like the tides. Less of a song and more an instrumental since there were no lyrics, but music, nonetheless. She bounced on her feet as they hammered away like the rockstars they were. Bonnie had to pull a lot of weight, being far more experienced with his instrument than the others, but he did an admirable job not completely stealing the show. It helped that they were all loud, at the very least (drums were drums and Chica had her violin hooked up to an amp). One drum solo from Freddy later, and the piece ended with Foxy's ears ringing. A polite clap went up, but nothing big. The last thing the audience wanted was more noise.

"Uh, that was cool," Springtrap whispered to her halfheartedly. At least he gave this a chance and didn't seem to be upset by anything so far.

"Definitely. I wonder what's up next. They've been trying so many concepts lately." First, though, Bonnie gave his standard intro. He hoped everyone was having a great night, introduced himself and his friends for the uninitiated (even though everyone in town knew who they were) and then got into whatever was scheduled. At least he was about to until he spotted them in the back and pivoted their way. Oh no. Foxy tried to wave him off, but eyes were already on them.

Foxy didn't mind being called out at all. Loved the attention, in fact! Springtrap did not. He'd gotten to the point where he could operate doing basic things in the busy restaurant, but that didn't mean he wanted every shred of attention in the building to crush him. Frozen like a rabbit in the headlights, yet she supposed his reaction could've been worse.

"We also got Foxy 'ere with us!" he said, and several people applauded. Her heart swelled, and she gave a little bow. "Be sure to catch 'er after the show in Pirate Cove, 'cause I'm sure she's gotten some incredible seafarin' adventures cooked up." Bonnie's eyes narrowed in a bit of confusion as he saw the green rabbit with her. Normally, he stayed well out of the way for this part. "Looks like Springtrap also decided to pay us a visit, too. Most of you've probably seen him. He's, um, new." The room silent enough that Foxy could hear him gulp. "Anyway, we 'ave a pretty unique act up next, so I'll give the stage to Chica!"

He passed the metaphorical microphone to Chica, for they all wore wireless headset mics now. Far less tedious to deal with than carrying a lump of metal around all day, especially when they didn't have pockets. She thanked him before turning back.

"Hey, everyone!" she chirped as the guys cleared their stuff up (Bonnie taking her violin with him). "We're trying out a lot of things at the new and improved Freddy Fazbear's, as a lot of you know. Breaking the mold, being creative, and so on. So, I hope you enjoy what's up next: a self-sustaining conversation!"

Oh, I like this one, Foxy thought while Springtrap looked confused. As the last of the props were being carted off, her nose tingled from the smell of a particularly delicious dish wafting her way. Fish… yum. That night with Mike gave her a newfound love of seafood, tainted from so many years of being given the worst of the worst. She'd get some when he arrived later. It was a lot of fun to relax over a meal with her boyfriend whenever he found time to visit.

Then some props were brought out. Not many at all, just two stools and a familiar toy with a candle on top. Mr. Cupcake really grew on Chica over the last few months. What was previously just a cute knick-knack she "adopted" because of how cute it was (and the little guy did look pretty "sweet"), it grew into a useful prop for her shows, especially this one. The doll was placed on one stool and Chica sat on the other.

They'd traditionally been a strictly musical act with a couple skits scattered throughout, but they wanted to try it all. Like her, they were literally born to entertain. Unlike her, their interests encompassed more than pirates, which she admitted could be a little repetitive at times, even if she did constantly cook up new stories and solo acts. The gates were torn down, and they threw every form of stage performance at the wall to see what stuck.

While still primarily a band, they branched out into topics like comedy and drama. Not all of it appealed to kids (even most adults scratched their heads at Freddy articulating Shakespearian soliloquies), but the kids weren't everything now. Still important, but their lives no longer wholly revolved around children, small as those lives were. Now that they were free, they developed their own purposes and interests within Fazbear's. They needed to perform for themselves as well as others.

For Chica, that meant performing as someone else. Something else, rather. That's when the show began.

"Hi everyone," Chica said while pointing at the other chair. "You all know me, but you might not know Mr. Cupcake here. He's my assistant."

"Actually, birdbrain here is my secretary," it squawked. "She has delusions of grandeur, but she carries me around and lets me run this show! Hah!"

The toy rocked back and forth and rolled its plastic eyes, which made Foxy jump the first time it happened. Was it alive, too?! Fortunately not. Chica just got June to install some parts from a Furby to make it an animatronic, too, which was now being remote controlled by Bonnie offstage for maximum comedic timing. In a way, it was almost like a less-evolved version of them. Kind of weird to think about.

"All right, fine," Chica conceded, trying to strike a conciliatory tone with herself. "We're partners. Sound fair?"

"About as fair as me not having arms or legs!" it retorted, which made Springtrap giggle. That warmed her heart more than the show itself, for she hadn't ever heard him laugh.

Several jokes were kicked around by the singular duo; some were duds, but most got laughs from parents and kids alike. What impressed Foxy most was how Chica didn't move her mouth at all, so it seemed like the toy spoke. Hardly a surprise, though. Humans formed sounds with their mouths and needed a lot of practice to mask it. However, their voices were generated by speakers in the back of their throats while their mouths subconsciously matched the movements. Foxy couldn't move her jaw for over a decade and still spoke when Mike found her. Chica simply forced her beak shut to effortlessly achieve what'd take humans a long time to master.

The segment wrapped up after a few more minutes, with one final joke at Mr. Cupcake's expense. Her beak beamed at the genuine enjoyment people expressed through their applause. Springtrap was among them, though Foxy was not. Oh, she loved it… clapping just didn't have the same appeal when one of your hands was a razor-sharp hook.

She took a bow and vacated the stage before Bonnie walked on, acoustic guitar slung over his shoulder. He occasionally teased Chica for liking her cupcake doll so much, but the truth was that Bonnie liked his instruments far more. He took the vacant seat and quietly strummed; the Martin D-15M had no electronics, so the warm tones just echoed around the room, creating a more intimate space than a pizzeria normally provided.

"'ey, everyone," he said. "You can tell from my accent, but I'm not from 'round 'ere. I'm from New York. Manhattan, specifically." Shook his head and let out a small snort. "Crazy to think that's on the other side of the country. Show of 'ands – who 'ere's been to the Big Apple?"

Few hands went up, just one or two children's and several adults'. Didn't surprise her. Not everyone was as mobile as Mike's parents. More than that, Whitewater died a slow, painful death. The town existed since the days of logging (something Freddy was very interested in), but those jobs were long gone. A lot of people left didn't have the money to travel – otherwise they would've left, too. Not everyone, but the place would be a near ghost town in a few generations. Not completely deserted – the local ski resorts would do great – but diminished even more. What that meant for them… such a decision didn't matter until later.

"Too few," he lamented. "I can't take ya there, which is a crime, but perhaps I can provide a… New York state of mind." His fingers settled into a somber melody to match his melancholy mood. With that, he faded into a solo rendition of "New York State of Mind," one of his favorites.

Foxy shifted on her feet as she tapped in time to the music. Though he had no connection to this supposedly great metropolis, Bonnie's soul transfused his words every time he sang it. Even if his New York was populated largely by anthropomorphic animals, she had no doubt the city ingrained itself into his spirit. She had to wrestle for a long time about whether their memories were as genuine as those of humans… and she came to realize they were. They lived those lives while also remembering working at the restaurant. Contradictory? Yes, but these memories still shaped who they were as people. That made them as real as anything in this world.

That alone brought a tear to Bonnie's eye as he whispered well-worn lyrics about the Greyhound Bus, Hudson River and easy living. There was a pause as the strumming stopped and the world receded to normal. Then people began to applaud. Slowly at first, but their praises picked up steam as he stood and took a bow. People appreciated quality despite its form, she believed. Ventriloquism and sensitive Billy Joel songs weren't their normal output (then again, they'd been all about experimenting as of late), but they were still good. Even children who couldn't quite grasp the song's subtleties understood that, and they clapped regardless.

Last up was Freddy, and Foxy wondered the most what his act would be like. The bear struggled to find his footing outside group music. Tried many things, yet nothing stuck. The "problem" was that Freddy had a much dourer personality than the rest of them (which she didn't think a problem at all, merely a difference). He was still affable and friendly enough around people, including adults, even if he didn't fully trust them outside the small group that knew their secret. But he was much quieter and more somber than any of the others, and that had always been the case, even before they went through Hell for all those years.

So, he wanted to read and write poetry, to speak from his soul… including all the darkness that dwelled there. Foxy cringed a little. Those things were good to talk about, but not to their target audience of kids! Freddy and Helen talked about it while he filled in with acts that didn't interest him. Then talks turned to arguments, then Freddy going on strike for a week. Eventually, a deal was made – Freddy could perform any spoken word piece if Bonnie and Chica looked through it and didn't find anything objectionable. Foxy thought it a shrewd move on Helen's part; those two knew Freddy more than even her, he liked them more than her, and it sidestepped the executive creative meddling Phil engaged in.

Then Freddy himself walked out, his hands empty. Wood creaked under his feet as he reached the middle, clearing his throat. Then he launched into his poem with no context or introduction, leaving its origin a mystery. Given its outdated language, though, she believed it already existed. Some sonnet about the horrors of war… she thought. She spoke an archaic variant of English as her native language, but this was a different dialect entirely – more East Coast sounding, if that made sense – so much of it was lost on her. She couldn't imagine what this sounded like to kids.

It went on for a minute, punctuated by someone coughing as Freddy looked solemnly ahead while the spotlight must have made him broil in his fur. Then he stopped talking, so that must have been the end.

The applause was light, to say the least. One grandfather actually seemed to love it, and he accounted for half the clapping alone. Not so much for everyone else, who mostly did it for the sake of politeness.

She said earlier that people recognized quality regardless of its source, but this was too dense to say whether she enjoyed it or not. Of course, whether she or anyone else liked it hardly mattered. Freddy, more than the rest of them, performed for his own satisfaction first. He worked his ass of singing children's music, so he more than earned the right to go out on stage and present something that spoke to his heart a few times daily.

But now they returned to the popular stuff, with Bonnie wheeling the drums back on and Chica getting the other instruments. Overall, this proved to be a good night, one that would get even better in a few hours.

"This was good for me. I'm glad I stayed," Springtrap said as Bonnie began strumming away.

Foxy felt herself smile. "So am I."

8:00 PM

Mike had more fun playing Pokémon than he expected. Thought it'd be one of those virtual pet things he'd heard got popular in Japan. And it sort of was, just with a heap of turn-based fighting action on top. He walked around with his plant/dinosaur thing and caught some bird. The first battle took him by surprise, and catching the little guys was fun. Made it all the way to the rock-type gym guy before he looked at the time.

The prospect of being late to see Foxy because he got too invested in his video game was an embarrassing one, and his grip on the wheel only got tighter as the dashboard clock ticked the minutes away to 8. Through stop signs and a pretty busy evening in town, then out into the boonies – where monsters dwelled. Long limbs of trees reached out to grab him, and boulders were hibernating beasts along the path.

He could practically drive this dead man's curve with his eyes closed, but there was no sense getting killed over a couple lost minutes. He bit his lip and pumped the brakes slightly, slowing to what felt like a crawl. Breathe. The war drum in his chest mellowed into an anxious thrum. Foxy won't care if you're a few minutes late. No, but he did. This might've been the last weekend he'd be able to spend here until Thanksgiving with finals on the way and all!

He sighed, seeing his breath in the frigid air, and flipped to one of Nirvana's more soothing (by their standards) tracks, Serve the Servants. Most of their stuff got his blood pumping, which was of no use now. Cobain, Novoselic and Grohl pounded their peaceful rhythms into his car, making Mike relax enough to lean back in his seat and find comfort in the landscape. He used to find the dying autumn world kind of spooky, but like many things recently, he'd become inoculated to scariness. His headlights illuminated gnarled, twisted trunks of trees hundreds of years old, giants that had never been felled.

Ferns withered, leaves fell, and only green things left were evergreen needles. A chill in the air smothered all else as the world waited for the first flakes of winter to fall. His parents said it hovered around freezing for the past week, so all they got was sleet and the subsequent black ice. That last part made him flinch and slow down even more, though he saw no sign of any.

Whitewater was far north, in the mountains and received a lot of precipitation, so he was well used to waiting out a monster storm or two every winter. At least the town invested heavily in snowplows and road salt, so things never got too bad. And the weather looked good for that weekend. He looked up and saw the stars twinkling overhead, along with a tiny sliver of waxing crescent moon. They were the only lights left in the world, incandescent far above him. Absolutely stunning. However, one question lingered in the back of his mind whenever he saw such a sight, and it was a little louder in that dark world on the night before Halloween – some called this night "Devil's Eye".

What else lives out there?

Mike shuddered from more than just cold. All he knew about Auric's origin was that he came from deep space in search of "entertainment". The possible other beings that dwelled in the dark concerned him even more. The devil you knew, right? Auric might have been a minnow in a cosmic ocean of madness hidden from human eyes. Then again, he could have been some celestial aberration, unique in the universe. Or other such beings could have been benign or even unaware physical life existed.

There was nothing he could do about it either way. If some giant eldritch monster rolled up to Earth and started eating it like Galactus, everyone was doomed. That wasn't likely to happen, seeing as it hadn't in the billions of years the planet was around for, but the remote possibility made his heart speed back up. But that was a problem for another day.

The clock ticked past 8 as he pushed forward. A skittish raccoon caught in the headlights for a second was the only relevant thing to happen in the next few minutes. 8:02 came when he finally spied lights through the trees. It relieved him, yet anyone else would be puzzled by such a place in the middle of nowhere. He'd wondered about the weird location before – this place was a good five minutes' drive from the edge of town and difficult to walk to in the best of circumstances. Because it was near the highway, maybe? I-90 was just a couple miles south, and one of the exits led here quickly. He didn't know the specifics or demographics, but Phil once said people occasionally came from Oregon and Idaho. Or the land was just cheap.

The restaurant opened at noon and didn't have a set closing time, instead opting to let the customers decide for them, but shows wrapped up around 7, and 7:30 was when everyone definitely had to be out the door. Some days they just took off. A far cry from their former state of being open from 10 to 8 every day of the week, and obviously it was for the better. It also meant that the (repaved) parking lot was empty except for one car.

Mike pulled in, and the lack of potholes felt unnatural while he glided across asphalt smooth as butter. No space to complain, though, since these wouldn't destroy his undercarriage. Just felt nostalgic for his teeth rattling in his skull. He pulled into a space for the sake of appearances and got out.

His palms began to sweat as he walked toward the glass double doors, which glowed with a soft golden light that beckoned him forward. I wonder how Foxy's been, he wondered, hoping he hadn't missed much. They talked over the phone every weekend, so it's not like they'd been completely cut off, but it wasn't the same. He just didn't want to come back after a month away and find a woman completely different than the one he last saw.

Fortunately, that turned out to not be a problem. He knocked at the golden door, which Foxy opened moments later. It was funny. The golden light around her should have reminded him of Auric (which it kind of did, hence the thought), but he mostly perceived a radiant angel, one who had rescued him more times than he remembered. "It's so good to – "

He was cut off when she yanked him inside and wrapped him in the kind of hug only she could give him. Not many women had fur on their arms or a muzzle pressing into his neck, after all. He gladly hugged back, planting a kiss on her black, wet nose for good measure. All the tension and worry in his body drained away. She may have changed, but he still recognized her.

"It's been too long," she said in her silky voice while pulling back. Speaking of recognizing, she looked just the same as she always had. Not that two months would significantly age anyone, least of all a robot, but her whole style remained intact, down to the pair of earrings in her right ear. Hey, if she liked the look, more power to her.

"I know. I've, uh, been busy. But I wasn't going to miss this weekend for anything." She smiled one of her patented grins, teeth like a shark's now evoking comfort instead of fear.

"Hey, everyone!" Bonnie called to the whole restaurant, having spotted him. "Mike's here!" They all knew he was coming ahead of time, but they must have still been excited if the racket backstage meant anything! That was OK, he and Foxy could always go into Pirate Cove if they wanted some private time.

Everyone quickly came out to greet him, and "everyone" in the context of Fazbear's now had a much better definition for him. Before, it included all the evil guards and Auric. Now it was just the animatronics and Helen. Really no comparison. Springtrap didn't show, as expected. The green rabbit stayed well away during his last couple visits, only watching from a distance. They all looked much the same, except Helen. Not in a more professional way, she just got her hair dyed a deeper shade of blue.

"It's awesome to see all of you," he said after Chica finished giving him a tight (though nowhere near as sensual, thankfully) hug. "How are you all?"

"I think we're all doing well," Freddy said with a shrug. Stoic, as always. Bonnie and Chica echoed this sentiment. "The show goes on," he added with an uncharacteristic smile. Well, it used to be unusual. If Freddy was a bit happier, that was one change Mike would have welcomed.

"The restaurant's in the black for the first time in years, if that means anything," Helen answered. Her job and happiness was now tied to financial success, so that feedback was good as any.

"I'd say it does, and that's great!" He turned to the rest of them, feeling pride, if that made any sense. Not for him, but he was proud of his friends for doing so well. "You all deserve it. I know you've been working hard to make this place as good as it can be."

"Yeah, we are," Bonnie answered. "Tough work but rewardin'. It makes me proud to be part of." The others agreed.

"Look, I appreciate y'all business-minded people want to discuss the numbers, but this is no time for that," Chica exclaimed. "Mike's not going to be here all that long, and I think the last thing he wants to do is talk shop." Yeah, he really didn't. His major overtook him for a moment, but he'd much rather hang out with his friends than go over economics.

"You're right." He put his hands together, suddenly remembering he hadn't eaten dinner. "Um, do you guys have any leftovers?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Chica continued. "You're getting something straight from the oven!" All right, he couldn't complain about fresh Italian food! Cooking was her passion, so it's not like this was a chore for her. "You want your usual?" she asked with a knowing grin.

"You're a mind reader, Chica. That'd be great." She nodded and went to get on it, along with dinner for everyone else.

That left the rest of them, sans Springtrap, and Mike gleefully wondered what they'd do for the rest of the night. The drive and a couple errands for his parents tired him out, but he was still ready for at least a couple hours of fun. Before that really took off, though, Helen asked, "Would you like me to show you around to see what's changed? I'm sure Foxy's told you about it on the phone, but you might want to see it while your food's on the way."

Mike shrugged. "Sure, if the rest of you are OK with that."

"I have a couple things to organize, anyway," said Freddy.

"So do I," Foxy chimed in. "Some of the props got particularly scattered today, and I have to put a few more back." She gave him a sly, playful wink. "Go check everything out. We can catch up over dinner. Oh, except Pirate Cove – I'll show you that myself!"

"Fair enough," Mike said before everyone went back to what they were previously doing. That left him and Helen in the slightly warm air. The furnace fought valiantly against the autumn chill, and Mike realized he'd dodged a bullet taking this job in summer instead of winter. In December, the cold might've killed him before Auric.

With that, Helen began the tour. Most of it was basic yet needed remodeling. The linoleum tile had been replaced, making it glimmer brighter than ever before. Same with the tables and chairs – they'd been replaced by far studier wooden models, the kind one might find at a more "sophisticated" eatery. Would've been a pain for humans to rearrange for different party configurations, but the animatronics' strength meant they didn't have to fear such an inconvenience.

More arcade games had been added. Didn't know a lot about most of them, but now most of them were more recent than 1990 except for the old staples. They were also on rotation. A lot more space to put things with the science equipment and other random junk gone from the basement. She also considered adding a storage shed out back, so running out of room wouldn't be too much of an issue. The ball pit had been cleaned, and there were more sanitary measures all around. All of this was simple, but it made Mike think of the place more like an actual restaurant rather than a deathtrap in disguise.

Backstage had been completely cleared out. It had been superfluous for years, since the animatronics didn't need replacement parts anymore. Not all of them, anyway. Some screws could be replaced, but they neither could nor wanted to take off their skin. Strange to see a room here so empty when everywhere else had been packed with stuff. Not that it saddened him. He shuddered. The less relevant the room Auric nearly dissected him in, the better. Helen never learned about that, did she? Wasn't going to tell her now.

That was all in the front, so they now walked the East Hall, examining the drawings attached to the wall with thumbtacks. These new ones were similar to the old crop, just less faded and timeworn. Imagination never changed. The one big difference was a happy one – Foxy now featured in many.

"So, how's being a manager?" Mike asked as they idly travelled toward his former office, Helen's facts on hold as nothing else had changed here. "I know you went into it with basically no experience."

"It was tough at first, since I didn't know anything about how to run a business. Then I read the For Dummies book and some articles on it, and everything kind of snapped into place." Mike suppressed a giggle. He did the same thing before formally changing majors. "Running Fazbear's isn't hard. This place practically prints money. Kids love it since we have the best animatronics on the planet; it should go without saying that they alone make it worth the price of admission."

"Then how did Phil bungle it so badly? The place was falling apart when I "worked" here." He assumed other factors were at play for the state of decay, but he could think of no such excuse if the place was as easy to run as Helen claimed. Damn, that kind of made him hate Phil more if he sucked at the one job he was supposed to be good at.

"I can't answer that. Maybe he was just so bad with money that no amount of schooling or degrees could make him financially literate." Mike had met other smart people with a complete blind spot for one particular subject, so he supposed it was possible. "However, I suspect it's a little deeper." A frown crossed her face. "I never thought about it in the old days, but I'm wondering now if Phil, consciously or subconsciously, tried to tank the place. He hated what he did on some level, so he took that aggression out on his own business. No way to prove it, so we'll never know." Yeah. Mike didn't want to dwell on the past, but it was inevitable here.

"It also helps that costs have been cut so much," she continued. "I won't tell you how much I got paid to be here, but it was… substantial. Multiply that by 20 or so, and that's a huge revenue drain right there. The animatronics don't need or want money, so they work for room and board, and I only take minimum wage. Real minimum wage, not the supposed four dollars an hour you were offered." That got a laugh out of him! Helen may have been kind of loaded from all the years of awful work no one really wanted to perform, but she deserved to get a little bit more. "The only 'employee' I have to pay is June when she comes in to fix something. And the people who drop off the food, I guess. Other than that, I just buy whatever the guys need."

Mike spied a drawing that had fallen off the corkboard and pinned it back up. This child was a better artist than most, so he clearly identified it as Freddy playing catch with a little girl, presumably the one who drew it. Aww, Freddy is someone's favorite. That's sweet.

"But enough about that. Chica was right; you being here is a special occasion, and I shouldn't bother you with all this business talk. Just know things are going well and I consult them on matters that affect them, so they aren't kept in the dark. They're running the show as much as I am." That encouraged Mike to hear. He already knew from talking with Foxy that to be the case, but it still set his mind at rest.

"Speaking of which, here we are at your old office." Oh, he hadn't noticed with how wrapped up in the art he'd been. He turned to see what changed, but he couldn't see much of anything with the steel slab blocking his path. The window between hall and office had also been covered with some black material that might have been a garbage bag.

"Uh, why is the door down?" he asked while scratching his head.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you." Helen rolled her eyes. "I mentioned a hypothetical shed around back, and maybe other expansions, because we've run out of room. There was no space for another unexpected animatronic like Springtrap to live." Now Mike saw where this was going. "I considered giving him Backstage after he finished staying in Pirate Cove, but it's too close to all the action. So I gave him your office. We don't need it anymore, and he enjoys the privacy."

True enough. It was the remotest place in the restaurant along with her office, and unlimited power for the unbreachable doors meant nobody could ever bother him. Mike hoped the room's history didn't make it hard for the guy to sleep at night.

"How's Springtrap doing?" he asked. "Foxy said she's worried about him, since he barely speaks to anyone and doesn't do much. I know you're the mental health expert here, but that concerns me." He assumed being brought up in a stable, loving environment rather than one of pain and hatred like the other animatronics went through would make Springtrap a more stable person, but maybe not.

"He needs time and space," she said sternly, so Mike just nodded. Her expression softened a bit. "I know it's not the best solution, but I'm walking on eggshells. For obvious reasons, I can't get a second opinion, so I'm being cautious. Keep in mind that we don't know why or how Auric created him on his way out, so he might have some hang-ups even he isn't aware of."

"You're right. I shouldn't have questioned the expert." He just wanted to help like how he'd helped the others, but this wasn't something any amount of cleverness or novel solutions could fix. He was out of his league here. The animatronics were all getting therapy from her after their years of torture, and it seemed to be going well, so she knew what she did.

"No, I get it. It's good that you care. If it's any comfort, he has shown improvement recently. He's taking on more roles and starting to consider if he wants to have an act or just help out with odd jobs. Just earlier today, I saw him watching one of the Band's shows with Foxy, and he seemed to have a good time." That made him feel a little better. Either way, he was sure to at least exchange a few words with the bunny over the weekend.

Then the door opened. Sooner than I expected, but OK. Springtrap took a step out, saw them, and jumped back like they were snakes he almost stepped on. Must not have checked the security cameras; that's what Mike would have done. He looked the same as last time – forest green fur with long, floppy ears and buckteeth. Yeah, that wasn't a face he'd easily forget.

As for the room, it looked sort of similar. The carpet, desk and computer were still there, though very much cleaned. Notably, the phone had been removed. Made sense; no might guard to call or leave messages for anymore. The futon stuffed in one corner and personal effects rounded out the picture. Looked comfy enough, and it reminded him of college, actually. It was like somebody had combined his dorm room with the library's tech department.

Springtrap's hand hovered over the button to close the door, which Mike was resigned to. His eyes fluttered between them and the button… and his hand was staid, if only for a moment.

"I, uh, forgot you were coming today," he said, still viewing Mike as almost a predator. His finger still twitched, threatening to cut him off at the slightest provocation.

"Yep. I'm here for the weekend," he said as neutrally as he could. "It's Halloween, so we have plans." He might not have been aware of them considering his isolation, for it seemed to take him by surprise. Against Mike's better judgement, he added, "You can be involved with them, if you want."

"Maybe. Maybe." His hand backed away from the switch, and Mike silently sighed. OK, he'd managed to extend a shriveled, leafless olive branch. "I was going to the bathroom, so I'll get out of your way." He slipped between them and hustled to the toilet before turning the corner.

"That could have gone worse," Helen remarked before opening the door to her office. It looked about the same as last time. Only so much could be done to differentiate it with the junk gone. The potted plants started to droop from less light coming through the windows as seasons passed, but that was about it. Oh, and Phil's jacket wasn't there, either… wait, she put that in the basement, he now remembered. "Feel free to poke around. There's not much, but maybe you'll find something interesting or helpful. An insightful book, maybe?"

Mike would be remiss to turn down free stuff, so he went over to the bookshelves (one of the other elements of the room that carried over mostly unchanged) and started poking around. A very interesting collection she had, not that it surprised him. Yet where else could he find books about the human mind, business analytics and the complete works of H. P. Lovecraft right next to each other?

"You excited about the weekend?" Helen asked. "Foxy has talked about it for the last week."

"Definitely," he replied, an answer that didn't scratch the surface. Even her mentioning it got him excited. All the time he'd get to spend with Foxy… they'd been together practically all summer, but that seemed like so long ago.

Despite his grand feelings, they didn't have any concrete plans for the weekend except two. The first was going trick-or-treating tomorrow. Sure, he might've been too old for that, but he didn't really care. He liked candy as much as anyone else. Besides, it was more of an excuse for the animatronics to get out; with a few exceptions, they'd been stuck in the same building for months on end.

They could technically go out whenever they wanted, but he doubted most people would take kindly to them "wearing" those "costumes" outside their jobs – except for tomorrow. For one day, they could go anywhere and do anything without anyone batting an eye.

The other, arguably more exciting thing was Sunday night, and thinking about that made his knees shake a little. It… well, he didn't know quite what to expect, and he didn't want to have Helen spoil the surprise. Bonnie, Chica and (perhaps reluctantly) Freddy were doing something special for Foxy and his approximately three-month anniversary of going steady. All he knew was to wear something nice. Maybe it'd be a little embarrassing to have them do something like that, but he didn't really care. The fact they did this touched his heart. So what if it ended up being a little awkward?

Mike's eyes lit upon a useful looking management tome he hadn't seen before, and he plucked it out of the pack. "May I borrow this? I'll return it next time I come."

"Yeah, of course. That's what you're here for." She shrugged. "Like I said, getting all these turned out to kind of be a waste, so I'll be glad if you get some use out of them."

Wait, I don't have anything to put it in except my pocket. "Uh, I'll actually pick it up on the way out. That'll be easier."

"Yeah, probably," his host lightly laughed. "C'mon, let's get back to the action." He agreed, and they quickly hit the hallway on the way back. The main room was empty, and the place might have seemed otherwise abandoned were it not for the pluck of guitar strings somewhere backstage (backstage as in behind the curtains, not to be confused with the former proper noun room "Backstage") and a medley of delicious scents coming from the kitchen.

"Is that everything?" he asked, mouth already starting to water.

"There is one more place you might want to see. Your nose was leading you there, anyway." Mike hadn't realized he slowly paced toward the amazing smells, but he was happy to see what was cooking up.

The same array of stoves, ovens and griddles awaited him, scrubbed of all their ancient grease stains and with a floor shiny clean. Looked like a legitimate restaurant. Sounded like one, too. Chica stood over a pan, sprinkling oil onto voracious hot metal. It crackled while an oven whirred its subtle drone. He could tell Chica had vastly improved her culinary skills without taking a single bite of her food.

"Smells great, Chica!" She whirled around, now wearing an apron over her bib and a big smile on her beak.

"Thanks! It'll be ready in a few," she exclaimed before spinning right back around to her work.

"I know it's stating the obvious, but this is leaps and bounds better than the original." The bitter, soggy taste of Fazbear's undercooked pasta seeped into his mouth; of course they just bought frozen stuff from Tyson or whatever, but people couldn't even be bothered to reheat it properly before. Another example of someone who cared and worked their ass off far surpassing the efforts of dozens who didn't.

"Well, we have an overhauled menu, overseen by Chica, of course," Helen said while putting a finger to her chin. "She's gone through all our items, tweaking the recipes as she sees fit. I didn't tell you this, but groups have to order ahead of time so she can make their food in advance." So Fazbear's had reservations now? He supposed they always did for birthday parties, but now even smaller parties had to do the same. Perhaps a bit of a pain, but it may have made organization and bookkeeping easier. And with the renewed attention the restaurant received, it was probably nice to have a queue so it wouldn't be swamped all hours of the day.

"She doesn't like it, but she's one cook for dozens of people, so there's no way it could be done normally. Better ingredients, too, so it evens out. We now have money to spend on things like this. She was good before, but being able to practice has made her a master of the craft."

Helen talked like Chica was a head chef in some elite Parisian kitchen. "Whitewater pizza restaurant wins a Michelin star", I can see it now. Why not? Far stranger things had happened.

"The focus is still Italian." Hey, that's what he suggested to her at the end of summer! His words probably didn't affect that decision; just interesting they reached the same conclusion. "I thought they'd be tired of it. Chica figures it's better to stick to something she knows, but the others wanted to try new stuff. There're some oddball items on the menu that the guys put on as a compromise. Chica got country fried chicken on there, Bonnie insisted on falafel."

Mike still couldn't get his head around Chica eating members of her own species, or at least closely related. She once claimed it was no different from him eating a monkey… which sounded even worse. Maybe he'd feel differently if apes were a commonly eaten food. Falafel sounded good, though; he'd had a couple, and they were quite tasty. "And Foxy?"

"Fish and chips. What else?"

"Speaking of which, the food's almost done," Chica said while turning the stove off. "Could you get everybody so we can eat?"

"Sure," Mike answered. They went out and sounded the metaphorical dinner bell, gathering everyone. Including, to his surprise, Springtrap. The last couple times he came, the green rabbit got his food and retreated to safety (by now Mike's former office). That, Helen informed him, was new.

Chica carted out the food. Apparently she didn't have the serving skills needed to carry all those trays at once (seriously, he never understood the physics of balancing so much on the arms), so they were literally on a cart with a nice tablecloth, again reminding him of a fancy European restaurant. I mean, that's appropriate if they do want to mimic a more sophisticated Italian eatery in terms of food quality.

The piping hot food reached its respective owners at the round table, and the animatronics began to dig in… leaving an empty seat for him beside Foxy, of course. But not one for Helen. In fact, there wasn't any food for her, either?

"I'm not having any. I usually go before this and leave them to their own devices. I only stayed so long tonight to show you around." Oh, of course. He hadn't seen Helen anywhere else but Fazbear's since the end of summer, so he almost forgot she had a house. The people who stayed here tended not to leave, after all.

Mike accompanied her to the door while the others pitched in with friendly goodbyes. Kind of amazing for them to have a good relationship. "Um, what are your plans for tomorrow?" he asked as they reached the glass.

"Me? I haven't had a day off in a while, but I can do most of my mundane stuff on the job." No kidding. Phil once said there was so little for him to do besides sit in his office that it nearly drove him mad (assuming he wasn't already). Even if Helen put in more effort, she could easily do her taxes or write letters or whatever during business hours. "So I'm doing several things, but the most exciting is hanging out with Delta for a while."

"How's he doing?" Mike met the guy a grand total of once or twice. Worked at Walmart, if he correctly recalled.

"Pretty well – and trying to get as far away from his old life as possible. His wife is four months pregnant, and he's trying his hardest to turn over a new leaf." She shrugged. "I just want to make sure he's on the right track." Mike wished the guy luck. Nobody should be in the kind of life he had been, but especially no one with kids.

Helen opened the door and stepped outside, and Mike followed for a few steps. "So, I can do whatever I want here, right?"

"Yeah. The place is closed tomorrow, but I might stop in to see how you're doing. Other than that, you have free reign of the place." The keycard he got in his night guard days still worked, letting him come and go as he pleased. And it was probably a good idea for her to come in to make sure he didn't burn down the place in her absence. "The place opens on Sunday, so you're free to be here as much as you want between now and opening hours then."

He paused to take all this in before smiling. It'd be him and the animatronics that night, insulated against the world. Just like old times, but better.

"All right, then!" he called while walking back the way he came, eager to escape the biting cold. Opened the door with the keycard and slid back inside, taking a deep breath. The anticipation for tomorrow killed him.

"Your food's getting cold, Mike!" Chica called to him. OK, he was coming. He sat next to Foxy, who gave him a smile, before digging into his usual (or as usual as it could be after two visits) – mozzarella sticks with marinara and a pizza with pretty much all the vegetables. For whatever reason, he wasn't much of a fan of red meat. Unlike Foxy, who appreciated victuals of any sort, especially the fish Chica pan fried for her fish and chips.

With that, he dug in. Took a bite of both items to test the waters, and he immediately found himself hungry for more. He rated Chica's cooking a 7/10 when she first started cooking. In hindsight, that may have been a bit generous both because he liked her and because just about anything was better than the previous regime's anti-cooking. This, he'd say as objectively as he could, ranked around an 8.5. That was to say, great. Her skills grew over leaps and bounds, like she'd done this sort of thing for years and just needed to get back into the swing.

As it turned out, that's exactly what happened. She just had to relearn those skills she remembered having, and she'd be great. His wistful idea of the place winning some legitimate award didn't seem so farfetched if she kept up this effort.

Their conversations were mundane with the excitement about seeing him having died down a little. It was all the stuff he expected to hear from them, like exciting moments from the day and ideas for new sketches. Business stuff. Mixed in were topics that piqued his interest more. What book Freddy read right now (Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman). The show Bonnie watched (Friends) – he apparently didn't like it all that much.

A pang of loss stung him in the side. Ordinary as these things might have been, he wished he could have been there for them. He knew they weren't children, even though they mostly lacked real-world experience before now; they didn't need his help, having gotten through horrors that would have broken most people. They especially didn't need him to guide their first steps through the real world… but he kind of wanted to. They were his friends, and he wished he could be more involved in their lives. Damn his schedule. At least I was able to be there for Foxy, he thought while looking over at her nibbling on a fry. Still felt a little down, though. I hope me being here this weekend makes up for it, though.

Everyone mostly finished their meals while he savored the last few bites, the one exception being Springtrap, who worked slowly on his soup. He leaned back in his chair only to find Foxy looking at him.

"Can you stay the night?" she asked, clearly wanting to get it out of her throat before some other part of her forced it back down. He almost said no on instinct before remembering he didn't need to be afraid anymore. The monsters here were gone, and only friends remained.

He supposed he could. A quick call to his parents would take care of it straight away. Maybe not even that. They wouldn't be concerned (honestly might not even notice) if he didn't come for one night. He'd give them a call, anyway. His parents may have been permissive, but he never felt comfortable taking advantage of it, even if he was old enough to make these choices.

"I'll ring my parents right now and tell them I'll be back tomorrow." Foxy's tail wagged excitedly while her ears perked at the happy news. He got up to use Helen's phone (even without the cell phone jammers Phil maintained at night, reception was still terrible), only to find Foxy blocking his way.

"Ain't ye forgettin' somethin'?" How could he forget? All the PDA seemed kind of weird to him, but none of the others seemed to care. Therefore, he didn't feel too bad about wrapping his arms around her and going in for a full-blown kiss. Their mouths locked, but his ecstasy was smothered by Chica gasping in delight. Uh, Foxy did say she… "ships" us. "Maybe we can continue this later," his girlfriend whispered in his ear, making him shiver slightly. Yeah, they'd talk about that.

He split from her and bade his friends goodbye for a few minutes so he could make the call.

9:00 PM

Phil would never get over Mike dating his sister. Him planting a kiss on Foxy while he sat feet away made his fur crawl, but he forced the feeling down. At least it didn't upset him anymore. Mike made Foxy happier than he ever did. This was her life now, and if he did finally want to start being a good brother, he wouldn't think ill of her choices. Better late than never.

It could be worse, he thought while returning to the vegetable soup, slowly savoring it as if it was the best food in the world. Hated to admit it, but it might have been. The carrots especially got to him, sticks of flavorful dynamite in his mouth. A rabbit liking carrots. What a cliché. He rolled his eyes as he lamented all that changed about him, aside from the most obvious. His eyes wandered to plates picked clean.

Like all of them, he was omnivorous, but he felt drawn toward "rabbit food". He assumed aspects of the lapin mind modestly colored his psychology. That wasn't unique. They all looked like animals, yet only a few instincts of their parent forms carried over. Foxy was territorial, like a fox – she had her own space and liked it that way. Freddy slept so deeply it was practically hibernation. Chica maintained those broody, motherly instincts many hens possessed. He and Bonnie were easily startled.

And he finally ate his vegetables. What a world.

He finished his meal while the others got deep into conversations of their own. Phil couldn't care less about them, no matter how many times they tried to involve him in their world… because it wasn't his. He glanced down, catching a glimpse of his reflection in the broth. Familiar gray eyes stared at him from a face otherwise not his own. Ears, fur, a muzzle. Hadn't gotten used to it.

The name "Springtrap" was still alien to him, but at least he now remembered to nod and answer to a name as strange as his body.

He hadn't killed himself, though. Oh, he pondered it several times. Drowning himself in a nearby lake still seemed the best option. However, he'd decided to test out his new life. Body aside, he remained unenthusiastic. Fear initially overwhelmed him, leading him to stay in his room unless coaxed out. He'd been a little more active of late, but only to avoid suspicion or anger at being a freeloader. Awful as staying here felt, it was the only place on Earth that would accept him. Actually, I'm sure Afton would love to get his hands on me for vivisection.

He shuddered. The guy hadn't been able to get the answers he sought from "normal" living animatronics, but a human whose soul got put in a robot might have been different. Phil knew he'd throw aside their agreement on even the slim possibility of getting the answers he sought. Just had to hope none of his goons ever came back here.

His life wasn't all bad, though. Some parts even appealed to him. He'd never been physically adept as a human, but this body changed that. Fast, strong, tough. Would have been perfect if it didn't come with being made of metal and looking like a Looney Tune come to life. Auric once said the animatronics might be able upwards of 1,000 years, being made of sterner stuff than purely organic beings, so he'd live longer than any human if not killed by violence or accident. Maybe in the far future there would be technology or magic that could make him human again, or BRIAR might actually succeed in their quest to make conventional AI a reality, allowing him to integrate back into society.

Or he could end up one of the last sapient beings on Earth after some devastating plague or blah blah blah. The long arc of the future could lead somewhere bright or dark. Nothing new about that except how much time he'd have to live there. Again, assuming he didn't decide to jump off a mountain one day.

Phil despised Auric more than one human could hate another, but he was grateful the demon gave him one last chance to set things right after all the evil both wrought. He didn't deserve it, and he didn't know whether he could make the most of it, but he at the very least vowed to never hurt anyone again. He owed the world that much.

"Hey." The word dredged his mind out of its reminiscence. His head turned to Foxy. He twitched a little. A terse address made him fear his secret had been discovered. "I'm glad you joined us tonight. Any reason for that?" He silently sighed.

"Mike's here. I'm feeling braver tonight. This needed to happen eventually. I decided to risk it," he answered. All those factors and more made him take the jump, and it proved not to be as scary as he feared. Wasn't bombarded with questions, at least.

"Well, I'm glad you decided to, because it's great to eat with you," Chica said from across the way, already taking plates.

"It worked out better than I thought," he said, sliding his bowls her way. "Also, thank you for the meal."

"You're welcome, Springtrap. I'm glad you liked it." She haphazardly stacked the dishes and silverware on the cart and pushed it back to the kitchen for a round in the dishwasher. That was done quickly, and she and Mike returned at the same time.

"So, it's a little after 9 now," the latter said after glancing at his watch. "Is there anything you guys want to do tonight?"

Freddy shook his head. "I'm wiped out from today, and I wanted to go to bed early so I'm rested for tomorrow."

"Yeah, I'm beat," Bonnie echoed. "I'd love to do something tomorrow night, though." Chica agreed with this sentiment, and Phil wasn't ready to do anything more involved without the others. Mike looked sort of disappointed, but he understood.

"OK. Well, more reason to be excited about tomorrow." There were still a few more minutes of perfunctory conversation in them, though, so converse they did. A glance through the glass doors revealed an even darker world. A cloudy mountain autumn night was one of the darkest things in the universe. That distracted him, so he wasn't sure how the topic ended up on politics. His ears perked up when he noticed, though.

"So, yeah, the election is on Tuesday. I take it you guys know at least a little bit about that if you've flipped on the news or the parents have been talking."

"They 'ave," Bonnie replied. "Only vaguely in a roundabout way. This isn't the place to discuss policies or whatever."

"I think it's fair to say most people around here plan on voting for Bush, though," Freddy added. Phil hadn't been privy to any of these conversations when holed up in his room, but that's what he expected. The Seattle metropolitan area trended liberal, which was enough to make the state solidly blue, but the rural areas were solidly conservative. That was true just about everywhere in the country, though.

"I heard one person say they were gonna vote for somebody named 'Nader'. Haven't heard of him before that," Chica chimed in.

"He doesn't have a shot in Hell at winning," Mike said, making him quickly recap the Republican and Democratic parties and how third-party candidates couldn't get an edge in winner-take-all American politics. Seemed the kid paid attention in social studies. Maybe true, but Phil wouldn't write Nader out of the race so quickly. Ross Perot had the parties quaking in their boots last time around. "And I do think Gore is going to win. He's President Clinton's VP, so the name recognition is there."

They batted around a few more points, trying to have some fun with the topic. This was fun for Freddy, Bonnie and Chica… and perhaps even him. The election would make no difference to their lives. Mike was the only one who might have been affected, and probably not that much.

"You have anything to add?" Mike asked Foxy, who had been quiet throughout the topic.

"Not much," she answered. "But I will say that we pirates were a democracy before and independent of America. Like, that's a real thing that happened in this world. I've been reading books about it." Huh. Maybe Phil could borrow one of those sometime, for he didn't know that! "But it also happened in mine; I was elected captain and stayed there because of my crew's confidence in me. Simple, easy. From what I'm hearing, it sounds like this race is much longer and more complicated."

"Pretty much," Mike replied.

"Then I guess I'm glad I was only responsible for a few dozen people instead of millions."

"It sounds interesting, though," Freddy said, a little glum that he could participate in polite society. The bear was definitely the one with the most "human envy"… besides Phil, of course.

"It sucks that you guys can't vote, but I don't see that changing soon," Mike added once again. "The good news is that it probably doesn't matter here. Washington's one of the most liberal states in the country overall, so Gore's got it in the bag. I didn't need to campaign for him, but it was still fun. And this is the first election I've been able to vote in."

"Whaddya mean voting in this state doesn't matter? Aren't everyone's votes counted?" Oh boy, would they be in for a surprise. Mike half-heartedly explained the electoral college and how only swing state voters needed to be courted. Florida, for instance.

"That sounds terrible," Chica commented. By that point, the topic was pretty much dead in the water. They'd spent a long time on it, enough so that everyone was tired and just wanted to go to bed. It probably came up on 10 by now. Even so, the topic of government kept bouncing around his head.

Phillip Fazbear may not yet have been declared legally dead, but he was "missing". Judging by the fact detectives only came around once or twice since that declaration, it was fair to say nobody cared. He remembered how he'd become an expert at dealing with detectives that showed up after each "disappearance". Those mountain passes kill a lot of people, you know. Fair to say the gumshoes in the region grew suspicious of him and his business over the years, but they never found any proof. William had very specific protocols for dealing with corpses.

Even if the families of the deceased didn't have much money (for the pay was so low that only the powerless and unimportant would bother to apply), they often spent what little they had on finding the truth, sending a PI or two his way. No such effort was made for him, of course.

This was all to say that he didn't have regard for the government anymore, since they had none for him. They might if they learn living animatronics are real. Sure, in the same way William wanted them under the knife. Did he really expect a massive faceless authority to be different than a massive faceless company? But enough about that.

Almost hesitantly, he got up to use the bathroom and brush his teeth before going to bed, unsure whether to be relieved or worried about what he'd left behind and what lay ahead.

9:45 PM

Mike had a belly full of good food, spent the last couple hours talking with friends and was about to spend the night with the woman of his dreams. To say he was happy would have been a gross understatement.

As he walked with Foxy into Pirate Cove, he realized the same could be said about her. She always loved showing him what had been changed and improved in her life, and there was a lot this time around. She loved it.

"You never stop, do you?" he asked while absorbing it all.

"No, and I don't think I ever will," she proudly replied. "This is my life, and I'm going to keep changing things until it's perfect. We have the money for it if the restaurant keeps doing well." His heart warmed, and he felt something that bordered on sublime. Foxy struggled for so long just to stay alive. Now she could have whatever she wanted, and it was all thanks to her hard work. And a little help from her friends, but it mostly spoke to the person she was.

"I'm proud of you," he said, taking her furry, clawed hand in his own. Her paw pads hadn't pressed into his palm for far too long. "You're making your future the way you want it. I wish I could be as decisive as you."

"You finally decided on a major after being undeclared," she countered without a moment's hesitation. "You're doing more things and making friends in extracurricular stuff. You've spent time campaigning for a politician you like even though you don't think it'll make a difference." She smirked. "Sounds pretty determined to me." Mike never thought of it that way, but she was right. Those decisions, mundane as they seemed at first glance, were significant.

"Now c'mon. Let me show you around. Then we can go to bed." He consented, prepared for the grand tour while suppressing a yawn. The first stop, and the one most obvious to him, was the wall. The memorial to James remained untouched – Foxy would never have the gall to tamper with that – but the paint job had been slightly altered.

Not his part, but she'd gone back and touched up some of her details to make them even better. "I like it, but it makes my stuff look even worse by comparison," he said.

"I can paint over yours if you want, but I really do like it. Might not be the most technically adept, but it's yours, and you should be proud of it." She always knew just what to say, huh? "Honestly, I think the kids enjoy your parts more than mine. It's on a level most of them can relate to more." All right, fine, his painting could stay up. He gave the plaque one last glance before they moved on.

Foxy had gotten some more props to go along with the preexisting hooks, eyepatches and swords. Additions included stuffed parrots with shoulder mounts that kids could talk to, DIY treasure maps and fake (but very high-quality) gemstones. Large enough to not be a choking hazard for more daring pirates, he noted. These were all organized into their own separate treasure chests scattered about.

"This is really cool," he said, plucking a sapphire from the hoard. It felt weighty in his hand, and the cut of the gem seemed natural enough. He would have taken this for the real thing if he ran across it in a cave or something. "I'll bet at least one kid has been convinced they struck it rich."

"A couple, yeah. One was disappointed when I told her it wasn't worth anything. The memories, though, are priceless." She took out an emerald, holding it up to the light to inspect the gleam. "I'm happy to say I have more precious memories in here now than I can count."

All this treasure made Mike wonder something about Foxy's past. "If you don't mind me asking, did you ever have a treasure like this in your original world, or is this brand new?" They spoke of the pirate world Foxy remembered living like it was a real place; perhaps it was. Seemed entirely possible that Auric created them by taking their souls from other realities where they just so happened to be flesh-and-blood versions of themselves instead of limited-edition animatronics. Those worlds must have existed if there was an infinite multiverse. No crazier than saying he made them wholesale from aether or phlogiston or whatever.

"I did," Foxy said, and Mike felt his jaw slacken slightly as his mind was filled with visions of this whole chest of precious stones with a few bags of gold beside, only real instead of plastic. Each must've been worth millions of dollars. "Of course, real buccaneers aren't satisfied with all the money in the world. We're in it for the adventure."

"I'd still have cashed in one or two," he said. "I mean, they're impressive, but you can't usually use them as currency. Seems like it'd be hard to make change."

"Maybe not as hard as you think. Seems like gems this big are nonexistent in this world, but they are on mine, though quite rare." Almost reluctantly, she placed the sparkling green stone back. "Even with a couple hundred of them on the market, the price dipped significantly. Supply and demand." He never thought about that. It made sense that the prestige (and therefore value) of owning such a thing would fall with more than a handful on the market.

"You know more about economics than I assumed," Mike said while going to the next stop. "You have a lot of talents." He squeezed her hand, and she replied in kind.

"Corsairs have to be economically savvy enough to know market basics. That doesn't mean I can tutor you in management." Fair enough, but he was still impressed.

They climbed onto her stage next, which was as beautiful as he remembered after the big remodeling. The wood varnish held up admirably against hot stage lights and the scuffs of Foxy's clawed feet. Her right ear errantly flicked, bouncing her gold earrings together – soon to be real gold. Foxy was hardly vain, but she wanted this all to be as real and legitimate as possible, and she told him in their last call the budget would soon permit for such a purchase.

As for the new stuff on stage, nothing jumped out at him. "What's different up here?"

"The backgrounds, for one thing."

"Backgrounds?" Her eye gleamed. She walked over to a pulley on the back wall he hadn't noticed before, giving it a couple of yanks. A huge canvas suddenly dropped from the ceiling, unfurling into a tapestry of lines and shades – that of a calm seashore.

Another few tugs, and it was replaced by a volcanic atoll. One of the Far Isles, he thought, remembering her description of them as lands of lava. A sandbank covered in dust and rocks. Cairn Shoal, right before the map ends. A vicious whirlpool devouring a ship, the shadow of some beast within. The Maelstrom. A city hewn of white marble, a few Ionic columns about, with other animal people in the background. Vycinium, I think. Then her own ship!

"Did – did you paint all these?!" he stammered after the last one was raised. It must have taken hours and hours to do just one! No wonder she kept so busy!

"Makes the shows more visually interesting, plus people can get a better feel for them without me having to use time on descriptions." A look of conflict passed across her face before she said, "These were all places I've told you about, but you might not remember them." He repeated all the locations back to her in the order she showed them. Her jaw dropped. "Y-you remember?"

"I listen to everything you say," he replied, knowing she did the same for him. "I'm glad I did, because these places sound and look beautiful. I only wish I could visit them someday. Well, maybe not the vortex of death, but everywhere else." Foxy quivered with elation that he appreciated her history. Probably wanted to hug him right then, but both were quite tired, so they opted to get the tour done first.

However, she asked, "Are you still working on that book?" while they were on the subject.

Mike shook his head. "I did an outline, but I haven't had the time to work on the story proper. I also think I should finish this English class I'm currently in, because I'm learning a lot from it. Hopefully I can make some progress on it over the winter, though." He had been itching to write about the concept. Hopefully Foxy would be onboard for some creative liberties taken with her world to make it more interesting for him.

"All right, I was just wondering. Take all the time you want on it. I'm honored you've done even this much." After that, she walked toward her old alcove and hidey-hole at the stage's edge and rolled back the purple curtain. Looked like it had been converted into a storage area.

"Huh. Well, I guess you needed someplace to put all your stuff," he said while stepping inside. It was an odd mix of past and present, as props she used in her pirate shows intermingled with modern technology and creature comforts for her off time. The most notable of these was the TV with an integrated VCR that was set in the corner. She'd told him about Helen acquiring it cheap at a garage sale for her, and it looked a treasure equal to all her gold and jewels.

In front of it were a couple of beanbag chairs, making for a cozy media area. Conflicted with the pirate aesthetic, but it was still perfectly functional. He knew the other animatronics tended to wheel their own TV onto their stage for movie night, but Foxy generally liked to do that kind of thing alone… with a big exception for him.

"This is neat," he said.

"Thanks. Had to do something with it after Springtrap moved from here to your old office, and this was the perfect option. I love my Captain's Quarters, but it's really just big enough for the bed and my art desk/dresser." She looked at the spot on the floor where her old makeshift mattress used to be. "It felt like a boulder to sleep on, but I kind of miss my old bed." After wistfully staring at it a moment longer, she turned back to him and said, "Just one more thing to show you. Then we can hit the hay."

They jumped off stage and went up to Foxy's galleon, still of impressive size. The playset filled the room well. The non-splintering timbers looked almost the same as before, but with one clear difference painted on the side.

"The Ruby Tempest," he read from the hull, stenciled on in ornate letters of red and gold. The name evoked many images of life on the high seas. A ruby itself, sparkling in the light of a candle. A red sunset over calm water. The ship as a storm cutting through the waves. Blood dripping from a sword like lightning. OK, maybe not that one. He ventured to say the last was coincidental, since Foxy stressed that good pirates like her were loath to kill anyone except the vilest cur… who still weren't all that bad compared to some historical pirates. Most of her foes consisted of vicious animals, elementals, monsters and the undead. Those weren't sapient enough to worry about killing in self-defense. "That was the name of your ship?"

She vigorously nodded, tail wagging behind her. "It took some time for me to remember, but yes. That was buried deep." Her hand knocked on her head for emphasis. "It's a little narcissistic; I named it after myself."

"Really?" Now his interest was piqued!

"Ruby because I'm a red fox. Tempest because I'm the storm that'll blow you away." Mike giggled at the brashness of it. "My crew all liked it, though, so it stuck!" Wow. That was better than any of his guesses. Fun as this was, a yawn forced its way from his throat. "I'm tired, too. Let's go to bed."

He climbed some of the cargo nets to reach the top level, arms burning slightly at the workout, while Foxy took a brass key from her pocket and unlocked the door to her private chambers. He didn't think it befitting of a captain, but she enjoyed a humbler aspect of living than most pirates. Despite her treasure, which was shared among everyone, she possessed few personal belongings. There was one new thing that stood out like a sore thumb: a sheathed sword on a weapons mount above her bed.

"That's an impressive prop," he commented while sitting on the cot. The bedding was quite thin, as the cabin didn't have great ventilation, and her body made all the heat she needed. Red furs were also scattered throughout the sheets, evidence of the inhabitant.

"Thank you, but it's no fake." She pulled the saber from its place and unsheathed it, revealing a dull metal blade instead of a plastic one. Seeing his sweet girlfriend, already a canine pirate, with a real weapon in hand was somewhat intimidating. "Solid carbon steel, just like we had in the Age of Sail. Checked out several manufacturers in the area, and this one was the most real." Her hand twitched as if she was about to flip it, but she decided against it with him right in front of her. "Real in the sense of being an authentic replica. It isn't actually hundreds of years old."

It sparkled in the dim light, but he didn't dare reach out to touch the artifact. She slid it back into the holster and set it above them again. Sort of scary to sleep with a guillotine above her, but the mounts secured it well, and the blade was covered in leather. The two leaned back on the bed while Mike took in all that she'd said and showed him. There was one thing he took away stronger than all the other impressions.

"You miss where you came from."

"Every day." She sniffed. "It's strange that I never did before, back in the bad old days, but a lot of my memories were buried by fear and shame. I was resigned to never being happy. But now I have just about everything I want… except going to a place I belong." She sat up, him following suit. "I don't want to sound ungrateful, because I'm happy here at Fazbear's. I love our friends, playing with kids and being able to share my culture. But it's not enough."

Mike wouldn't dare to claim he understood her pain, yet he offered all his sympathy. "I can't imagine what that's like. I'm sorry." She wiped an errant, oily tear from her eye.

"It's not all bad. There's all the things I've said." Her mouth turned up slightly, and she pulled him close. "And then there's you. I knew a lot of people in my world, Mike. Good people. You're the only one I've ever fallen in love with. That alone make staying here worthwhile."

His heart beat a little faster as he scratched behind her ears just the way she liked, earning a purr and some tail thumps. It was amazing to see such a confident woman so vulnerable around him. He was the only person she felt comfortable being so open around. That in and of itself was special. "It's been a ride to get here, that's for sure. I still remember when you confessed to loving me right outside, and I freaked out."

She giggled, her melancholy breaking for a moment. "Hey, I shouldn't have sprung it on you so quickly. You were still so traumatized from a night of fighting me and the others that it might as well have been a punch in the face!" They both sighed, and he nuzzled his face into her neck.

"We should probably go to bed now…" he muttered into her fur.

"Mike… do you want to…" The partial question didn't surprise him at all with all the teasing they'd done. This kind of stuff was practically foreplay in itself, at least to him.

In short, he'd thought about it. A lot. Had dreams of it once or twice. That didn't embarrass him. He loved Foxy, and she loved him. She just wanted to move a little faster, though she'd waited very patiently for him to catch up.

"I'd like to," he said while pulling back. "But not tonight. I'm tired. And I think we're going to be quite busy tomorrow, so I'll probably also be tired then. What about Sunday night, though?" That day was full of mystery, more than any uncharted island or sunken ship. "The others are throwing us some kind of party. Do you know anything about that?"

"No," she said with a shake of the head. "They've kept me out of the loop. All I know is that Helen is trying to find me something nice to wear." This was going to be fancy, then! He saw the benefit of dressing up, especially since Foxy only had a couple different outfits. It'd be fun to see her in a skirt or a dress – something told him she'd never worn one in either lifetime.

"I think we should do it after that. It'd be a fun 'afterparty' and a good going away present. I'll probably see you in just a few weeks with Thanksgiving coming up, but still." At least he'd be back in town for over a month over winter break, so they wouldn't have to worry so much about deadlines and schedules.

"That sounds wonderful." Then a bit of hesitation crept into her voice. "What about you, though? Don't you have hang-ups about sex before marriage? Or sex in general?"

Mike sighed. He'd never been super religious before, only going to church when his family felt like it, but still. Auric somehow made him more and less religious at once. He knew for certain that the supernatural was real, but not his god, nor any human deity. It was a weird spot to be in.

"Look, we're never going to get anything officiated, and we're never going to cheat. I want this, too." She squeezed his hand as they reached a mutual, wordless understanding.

It must have been nearly 11 by now, so he was ready to pass out. Mike could barely fathom how he managed to stay up from midnight to 6 AM for months on end, but never again. He took a set of gym clothes he'd stashed here out of her dresser and changed outside while she stripped within. A knock once he finished made her open the door a few moments later, dressed in the same white shirt and blue gym shorts he gave her. Hey, they were comfy!

They squeezed into a bed just big enough for two after Foxy extinguished the lights. Mike didn't have much to say before the veil of sleep quickly and gently overtook him.