Tokens of Deep Affection
A few weeks have passed since the incident in Sugar Rush which could have caused the collapse of the entire arcade.
In that time, Calhoun's life has mostly returned to its usual routine. She rises for another back-breaking day of shooting cybug after cybug, guiding the first person shooter through the tower to the top where the fabled medal glows. Then, once the arcade is closed for the evening, she returns to her bunker, bruised, sweat-drenched, and exhausted. On normal nights she'd probably have stayed there, needing her solitude, requiring that time to cope with everything that her code wanted to overstimulate her mind with. Brad, the tragic wedding, the hell left behind…
But now? Now that routine has altered just slightly.
All thanks to a certain pint-sized handyman from a game across Game Central Station.
Fix-It Felix Jr. is the kind of eight-bit character she would find intolerable under ordinary circumstances. Ever optimistic, innocent as a lamb in the presence of the hidden knife, rarely found without a cheerful stream of conversation. Calhoun likes silence. Commands it. If one of her men is getting too chatty, an icy look shot in his direction is enough to freeze the words right in his throat. She's always believed that superfluous words are a waste of time and oxygen for all parties.
But Felix? Oh, he could chatter on and on and on all night long, about whatever inane topic crosses his mind. All the while he'd gaze at her adoringly, those eight-bit hearts dancing around his head.
More surprising to herself than to anyone else, Calhoun finds that she wants to listen to him. She finds herself content to lie there with him on the soft grass beneath the night sky in Fix-It Felix Jr., arms folded behind her head, occasionally humming to let him know that he has her attention. Not that she thinks he would notice either way.
She refuses to even consider that he's softening her. That's ludicrous.
And yet she's not sure that her men would agree with her.
Once the announcement that the arcade has closed for the day blares out for everyone to hear, Calhoun takes charge of the last sweep of the area to ensure that there aren't any stray cybugs that might have missed the beacon. Under normal circumstances she would have trusted that to Kohut and whichever soldiers he assembled for the day, but ever since the incident in Sugar Rush she's wanted to wrap things up quicker so she can head to Game Central Station.
If her men find it amusing, they make sure to snicker well out of her earshot.
Felix is waiting for her outside the entrance to her game. His whole face brightens when he catches sight of her, and he sweeps his cap from his head to clutch it in front of him.
"Ma'am!" he greets her, as enthusiastic as a puppy. "How was your day?"
"Nothing new to report," she says. "And that's how I like it. Means we're doing our job." And they certainly don't need another incident like the one Wreck-It created. "How about yours, civilian?"
She lets Felix chat happily for a moment about the players of the day. Once he pauses, beaming, he asks her, "Where do you want to go tonight, my sugar plum?"
Sugar Plum. Mods, maybe he is turning her soft; if anyone else had dared direct those words at her she would have blasted them so hard, regardless of whether they could regenerate or not. Shaking her head at her own ridiculousness, she says, "Would you have any objections to us just going back to your game?"
"Not at all!" he exclaims, wedging his cap back onto his head with the gusto of someone pleased about having a new hero's mission. "I can rustle us up something to eat. It doesn't even need to be pie!"
Calhoun snorts, tapping the bill of his hat. "Yeah, that would be good. I'm all pie'd out. You make excellent pie, but it's not what I'm hungry for right now…"
"What are you hungry for?" he asks her innocently, evidently happy to upturn the entirety of Litwak's arcade in order to get her her heart's desire.
She smirks, bending down to whisper in his ear; this particular request won't require any special effort on his behalf.
That one word—you—sets his cheeks aflame, and he hooks his finger into his collar, tugging at it as if it's suddenly chafing.
"I—I see," he squeaks, and she can't resist sweeping him up into her arms and over her shoulder in a fireman's lift, effortless with his slight weight, and she strides with purpose towards the entrance to Fix-It Felix, Jr., ignoring the bemused looks of the passing characters.
For once, they were exceedingly lucky in their trip back to the Niceland apartments. No Nicelanders accosting them here, there, and everywhere with mindless problems that they need Felix to fix. No Wreck-It to barrage in and ruin the mood. Q*bert and his friends were off minding their own business. It was just the two of them and Calhoun couldn't have been more grateful.
She'd made quick work of her clothes and his, thankful that she'd had the foresight to change first so that her cumbersome armour didn't get in the way. Felix is adept at fixing almost everything, but when it comes to navigating armour he's a complete novice with no aptitude at all. It's rather endearing most of the time, but tonight it would have been frustrating.
There had been no use for words tonight; she had let her actions speak for her.
They were actions that Felix found most exciting, and it makes her glad that the penthouse is always empty this soon after the arcade's close.
Now they lay together in a tangle of sweaty limbs. For the first time all day, Calhoun feels at peace. It's draining, constantly being vigilant from the moment the first quarter alert sounds to the moment that the arcade closes for the night. She's continuously working on tactics, manoeuvring the first person shooter through the levels with all the ferocity she can muster—though there's only so much she can do, for the player's own skill must play its part.
This is her favourite part of the day, being here with Felix with no expectations and no gunfire constantly ringing in her head. It might give her more time to think on the other things, but she finds those times are becoming less and less the more time she spends with Felix, fading out like the distant sound of a cybug exploding.
"Tammy."
Felix sighs the word as he presses his face into the crook of her neck, his hands trembling as he runs them over her shoulder blades, which tremor in turn beneath his touch. It's never been this way before, not even with Brad. She'd been programmed to love him, to hold him in her heart always, but the blurred memories of what she remembers of them together had never quite been like this, this feeling of utter contentment that radiates from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes, that warms her in ways she didn't know she could be warmed.
Still, the endearment gives her a moment of pause. Halts her fingers as they sweep softly through his thick, brown hair.
Tammy.
It brings to mind the kind of saccharine backdrop of Sugar Rush, of kittens and puppies frolicking in the meadows, of sugar canes and pink flowers, rainbows and showers of bright little gumdrops.
Tammy.
She has never been more ill-equipped for a nickname.
She is all hard liquor, cigarette smoke, the stench of perpetual death that clings to her the way it would perfume on another woman.
It's different to the other endearments Felix might cloak her in, for they are part of his very DNA, how he speaks anyway. But Tammy is part of her, a shortening of her name.
Tammy is cutesy, exactly like her eight-bit boyfriend, who barely reaches her thigh in height, who believes that there's nothing he can't fix, even a broken soldier's broken heart.
And, to that end, he's proving himself right.
But he notices her pause, raising his head just slightly. "What's wrong?"
She tries to keep her voice steady, no-nonsense . "Nothing."
He knows she's not telling the truth. And he has the innate ability to wriggle anything from her lips. Still, she is stubborn herself, and not ready to divulge the thoughts in her mind. At his pointed look, she shakes her head, pushing her hair back from her face.
"I told you, it's nothing," she says gruffly. "Now quit bugging me."
But Felix is his own brand of stubborn. So much less abrasive with it, somehow managing to turn it into something endearing. "I've offended you, haven't I, ma'am?"
Calhoun raises an eyebrow. "It takes a lot to offend me, civilian." She lives her life around men who have a soldier's dirty mouth; the only times she's ever been offended is if someone doubts her abilities…and that never happens in her game, for she keeps her men on a tight leash and leads by example, pushing herself harder than she pushes anyone else.
"But there's something troubling you, I can see it in your eyes." Felix peers up at her worriedly, and with a sigh Calhoun brings him closer for a kiss, tongue seeking an all too willing entrance into his mouth.
When they part, Felix breathless and glowing, she reassures him, "There's nothing troubling me. I was just thinking, that's all."
"About?" he prompts.
There's no use continuing to avoid the conversation; he'll prod and prod until her frustrations bubble over. Better to get this over with. And she doesn't want to argue, not when they've had such a nice time. "You called me Tammy. You've never called me that before."
Felix blinks at her, all bewildered innocence. "I haven't?"
"Nope." He's a gentleman from his first line of code to his last; she's always been ma'am, my lady. He's rarely even diverted to her given name, Tamora. Even Brad, from what her programming tells her, had rarely ever used her name, preferring the affectionate moniker of dynamite gal which he had bestowed upon her.
She's always thought of herself as Calhoun, never mind Tamora. Sergeant through and through, constantly on duty, never moving beyond the professional with any of her subordinates.
"I'm sorry," Felix offers, pulling back slightly to peer into her eyes.
She arches an eyebrow at him. "What're you sorry for?"
He blushes, uncomfortable. "I know you don't like that kind of stuff."
He knows her so well, it's as if they've been together thirty years and not only a few months. But he's also softened something within her, like fudge in Sugar Rush, a chink of vulnerability in her armour that she finds she doesn't view as an imperfection.
That part of her doesn't mind that he's given her a cutesy nickname, even if it was only in his head until now. She would rather be eaten by a thousand cybugs than admit it aloud, but it gives her a sense of comfort to know that she's not just another pixel in his world. That she is real and vibrant to him, not some background scenery. A side character in his hero's adventure.
And she doesn't want him to feel humiliated any longer than she has to.
Sliding her hand down his back to press him closer to her, she tilts her head slightly so she can look down into his eyes. "It's as strange for me to say this as it is for you to hear it, but…I don't dislike it as much as I thought I would."
Felix's eyes widen at that, and he moves to sit on his knees beside her, scrutinising her face as if he can search out a lie like her satellite searches out a cybug. The fact that he's stark naked only makes the sight more amusing, and she can't help but chuckle.
A small frown creases his face—perhaps he fears that she is laughing at him. To assuage those doubts, she snakes her arms around his waist and pulls him back to her. He gives a decidedly unmanly squeal, and she kisses him soundly to silence him. When she pulls back the infamous honey glows have taken over his cheeks, burning like the setting sun through the glass cases in Litwack's arcade.
"What was that for?" he asks dreamily.
"A thank you, I guess," she replies.
"A thank you? For what?"
"For being you."
He laughs a tad nervously, his hand going to the back of his neck. "Golly, I don't think anyone's ever thanked me for being me before."
"That can't be true. What about all those pipsqueaks who follow you around?"
He rolls his eyes at her description of the Nicelanders. "Well, yeah, but that's different. They're programmed to think that I'm there hero, aren't they?"
"I'll have to disappoint you on that front, Fix-It. Ain't no way I'm gonna be like one of those swooning ladies looking for a hero." But she's found one anyway, unexpectedly, inexplicably. And she'll never swoon, that's just not who she is, but she's certainly not immune to the jolting of her heart when he sends a smile her way or when he bounds over to her with the exuberance of a puppy, delighted to see her after a long day of wok, or when he reaches out for her hand in quiet moments to give it a tender squeeze. "I'll let you have one thing, though. I'll allow you to keep calling me Tammy."
Felix's eyes widen at that. "You will!?" There's no mistaking the delight in his tone; clearly he's been dreaming about this, giving her that pet name in his own head for a long time. His slip-up has led to something wonderul for him.
"Yeah." She reaches out and ruffles his already messy hair. "On one condition. That stays between us and only us. I won't have my men sniggering about it or using it to be impertinent shits."
"Yes, ma'am!" says Felix happily. "I swear I'll only ever use it when we're alone."
"Good," she smirks. "Otherwise I'll shoot you with my blaster. Can't have my men thinkin' I've gone soft on them."
"Of course," he agrees.
It's time to be brave herself. To match his candidness. "And maybe it's time I called you by your own name when we're alone too."
Felix blinks up at her. "What?"
Calhoun shrugs, determined not to make a big deal out of it. "Well, I guess it's not really that intimate, is it, always calling you short stack or pint size."
"I don't mind," he insists instantly, ever graceful. He's probably the only character in the whole arcade who wouldn't take offence to his height being poked fun at. And she's never meant it maliciously. It is an affectionate token bestowed upon him, a teasing quip. And whilst she's the only person she knows of to give him a nickname, she feels like he deserves something more… personal.
"Is Felix okay with you?"
There's nothing fancy about it. It's not even unique. Every character in the whole arcade calls him by his name.
But that's precisely why it's unique. Because, for the first time ever, it will be shared by them.
He's been quiet for a disconcertingly long time, and it's starting to wear on her nerves. She's used to the fast pace, the instant reactions.
"Well?" she prods. "What do you think?"
"I think," he says slowly, "that I like it." Then, after a beat, with the goofiest grin she's ever seen upon his face, he adds, "Tammy." It's as if he's tasting the word on his tongue, rolling it in his mouth, savouring the weight and breadth of it.
Tammy.
It's a compromise she is surprisingly willing to make. All her life she's been singularly stubborn about things being done her way, to her liking. This would never have come up for discussion a few months ago.
But it's liberating. Felix brings all of these softer emotions out of her.
She can never be his dynamite gal. That belongs to the past, to a different man. That cannot be separated from her coding, from her sense of identity. That will always belong to Brad, to the ghost that follows her wherever she goes, as much a part of her as her heart is.
But she can be something else to Felix. And if that's his Tammy, so be it. To be something to someone is a wonderful thing.
Smiling to herself, she decides to simply give in to the river of time and let it take her wherever it pleases. Unbelievable as it sounds, her life has been pretty good ever since she got plugged in, even with the minor inconvenience of the rampaging cybugs.
She wouldn't change any of that because it had brought Felix to her. She snugs him closer to her and he wraps his arms around her middle, pressing his cheek against her heart. For a short while, they lay in a relaxed silence. Calhoun is so warm and content that she almost dozes off, jerking back to full awareness with a sense of slight embarrassment that she should be caught so off-guard by anyone, even her adoring boyfriend. That soon vanishes; Felix is quick to soothe her with a kiss to her cheek, shuffling to a sitting position as his stomach growls, bringing a blush to his round cheeks.
"Hungry?" Calhoun teases.
"A little," he admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I should go put something in the oven." He frowns. "Though, actually, the only thing I do have in is pie…"
"You know what, Felix?" she says, reaching out to push his hair away from his forehead. "Pie sounds perfect just about now."
Fin