Day 27: Reunion

Borrowed Arms

He was Helmut. Although the body was far different, much scrawnier and angular than Bob liked, he was still Helmut. His brain nestled between the ears confirmed that fact as the absolute truth, undeniable as Helmut rattled off memories that only he would know, talking a mile a minute, Bob almost unable to catch every word.

Together, they chatted by the Feel Mobile, long since abandoned, rust growing along its metal exterior. He hadn't left his greenhouse in ages, after all, but Helmut smiled, delicate hands brushing their knuckles against the driver's side door. It budged without protest, almost flying off the hinges when Helmut gave it a good tug.

He jumped back as the door swung outward. "Whoa!" he exclaimed, that odd, almost childish tone echoing in the woods. Helmut leaned inside, gripping the leather seats. He blew, and a small tornado of dust rushed toward the other side.

Bob crept closer, watching Helmut crawl inside. It was odd seeing those long, wobbly, pencil-thick legs move. They were nothing like the sturdy tree trunks that carried his Helmut, and for a moment, Bob frowned, wishing his real body was before him.

But he dashed the thought. It was selfish, almost cruelly so. After two decades, Helmut had returned safe and sound. Even in his appropriated, peculiar body that hadn't seemed weathered by hardship, Helmut was alive. The realization was still making Bob's head spin in a way that mushroom liquor couldn't.

"Man, it's like an artifact! Y'know, like a dinosaur fossil with everything I saw back at the Motherlobe," Helmut cried out, grabbing the rearview mirror. He jerked back as flecks of glass popped out at his touch. He quickly gathered the shards and set them on the dashboard. "Oh, careful now, Bobby. I think a family of squirrels took refuge here and destroyed the van. Smells like they did, too."

Bob chuckled, rough and coarse. He hadn't made such a sound in forever. "Yeah, it's, uh, unfortunate."

Helmut shuffled to the other side, and he patted the open seat. He raised his eyebrows, inviting Bob to join him. With a slow, shaky step, Bob grabbed the door. Stepping inside, his weight caused the van to lean toward him, a burning flush crossing his face at the implication.

Helmut smiled. "Hey, no worries, Bobby. You don't have to feel bashful. Remember how we made the van creak all the time? A little motion just means everything is going well."

A strangled sort of gasp escaped him, followed by tittering laughter. Despite Helmut's flirtation, Bob knew he hadn't taken care of himself. His beard was thick, matted, and desperately needed a shave. Stains and tears adorned his clothing, the buttons a tad strained around his midsection. Even his ankles had swelled to the point of bursting out of his worn leather shoes.

But although he hesitated, Helmut took his hand. Unfamiliar, soft fingers curled around his calloused palm. Helmut pulled him up, and Bob sat, dust brushing around him when he came into contact with the headrest. A sigh heaved out of his core, and he remembered the old, hearty scents of the dinners they shared in the Feel Mobile when he needed privacy.

Helmut adjusted his hat. It was only the physical object that proved his identity. Thin lips came together in a pursed frown. "You okay, Bobby? I know this is sudden. I mean, earlier today, I was still a brain in a jar located…" He trailed off, vaguely gesturing. "Well, I'm pretty sure it was Otto's contemporary lab. My head's still spinning from all this new information and sensation that my mind is whirling from everything."

Bob swallowed thickly. "Otto's lab? At the Motherlobe?"

He nodded. "Yeah, pretty sure that's what Raz said. I, uh, didn't read or study anything when he put my brain in this body. I just started going to town on all my new feelings and delicious textures."

He wiggled in his fingers and poked his tongue out. Bob managed a soft chuckle only for it to die down quickly.

"If I had known you were there…" Bob scratched through his beard, vision briefly blurring. Heat colored his cheeks. His beady glare narrowed on the grimy, smeared interior where animals had tracked mud and nesting material.

"No one did," Helmut murmured. He fidgeted in his seat, pinching his buttoned shirt. "Don't go blaming yourself, Bobby, because I don't blame you at all."

Bob met his eyes, their color as black as pitch. Whoever this strange Nick Johnsmith was, their eyes were irreverent, like a tangible, cold, sinking feeling. But when Helmut gazed at him, countenance as gentle as he had always been with Bob, it hardly mattered that light didn't reflect in his irises. Regardless of the hues, Helmut looked at Bob as if observing something beautiful, basking in the presence of someone worth cherishing, a triumph Bob had long thought died.

"Borrowed lips," Helmut reminded as Bob leaned forward.

"Oh." He had forgotten. For a moment, he saw Helmut as he had once been.

Instead, Helmut opened his arms. They were gangly, noodly things with hands that probably hadn't held dumbbells in their entire life. He shifted closer, wreathing them tighter around the hunch of Bob's back. Bob wished he had maintained his posture, but sobriety hadn't been kind to permit it.

And still, Helmut rubbed slow, soothing circles. Bob was certain Helmut felt the slightly raised liver spots through his unwashed clothing. He was positive his unflattering frame was being touched in ways it shouldn't. Shame darkened him, his expression as tight as a knot, and he wished he had accepted help during that agonizing time before he had ceased caring altogether.

Helmut whispered into his ear. "But borrowed arms are a different thing."

Bob's eyes widened. He stared at himself in the greasy window. There was a sobered man looking back at him, eyes downcast, mortified.

But Helmut hadn't seen him that way. He saw Bobby, the man he loved, his husband with whom they shared marital bliss. It seemed he hadn't cared about his appearance, only that Bob was finally with him again, reunited after so many years in the dark.

His PSI King was alive and treasured him. Bob felt ridiculous for even questioning Helmut's affection. And he was quick to cling to Helmut, uncaring if the stranger's rich cologne hardly suited him.

"I love you. I missed you," he croaked out.

Something wet landed on his throat and trickled down his shoulder. "I missed you, too, Bobby. I love you more than there are stars in the sky. Always have, always will."

Even though that voice carried an air of haughtiness, they had come from Helmut, so they were certainly true.

(Later, as they marched toward the Astralathe, prepared for everything, Helmut posed a question.

"Hey, you know Raz is dating your grand-niece, right?"

Bob knew Truman wouldn't get upset, so he flared up in his place. "Well, that punk better treat her right, or I'm getting the vines to whip him into next week!"

And Helmut laughed, the sweetest music to Bob's ears.)