Hello again reader, and welcome to second and final(?) part of this story! I'd like to thank you so much for sticking with this academic tryhard of an author so far. Won't you stay just a little while longer? I'll even answer your reviews, if you like.

(nice story) Thank you so much! I hope you read as far as you could and didn't immediately become disinterested/disgusted with Part 1 Chapter 2.

(there's no K in 'Chica') Well fuc me in the dic and stic me up a flagpole. I'm terribly sorry and will update the previous chapters in a short while. I'm, uh, usually more thorough than this, honest. Or at least I thought I was…

(characters feel alive) Oh thank you. Looking back, I didn't intend to give Virgil, Marco and Jim too much character while planning the chapter. They were supposed to be generic workers, with only Thea getting notable personality. The characterizations just sorta happened. It's weird, because I didn't have plans for them beyond that one chapter. Rereading, I think I didn't do as bad as I initially thought I did. Thank you so much for the reassurance.

(to my first reviewer, the unnamed guest if he/she is still reading) Remember when you said that you felt the 'night bird' thing was a bit overused? I'm sorry but you'll be seeing the term much more often now. I'll still explain why it's a significant later on.

With that, reviews are done! Signed reviews will now be receiving replies.

We'll come back to Foxy later, and I sincerely hope you don't mind. For now, let Chica gently remind you, dear reader, that the captain is not the only one affected by David's passing.

Author recommendation: This chapter is a little deep. Read slowly, with compassion.

Part II

Four Pictures

Chapter I

The One that Remembers

"So I'm like Freddy, he's Bonnie, and you'll be the fat duck!"

"Aaaah! She's coming, everybody hide!"

"Go away Chica, nobody likes you."

The memories came to Chica, as they are wont to do recently again. She couldn't stop them if she tried. They followed her. They defined her. They consumed her.

But she wasn't helpless, really. Over the years she learned to control them somewhat. She found that while she could not stop the nightly web of memories from taking form, she could at least focus them around one that she wanted to remember. Around one that would make her happy. And so, tonight, she did.

She stared at herself in the mirror, particularly at the small red stain on her bib. Yes she remembered it. She remembered it perfectly. Her mind traveled to her memory of yesterday, remembering herself the day before, remembering herself the day before that...

Eventually in that telescope of memories she found what she wanted.

Chica wasn't the most popular of the group. The children loved Freddy, of course. They loved Bonnie for his music which they all sang along with. And many of the little boys loved Foxy and would imitate the way he talked. She, on the other hand, was just... there.

She was actually the most often offstage during the day. While Bonnie played his guitar and Freddy worked the crowd, she would seek out the younger children and talk to them.

"Remember to eat your vegetables," She would tell kids picking the greens of their pizza. "So you'll grow up healthy!"

"Mommy loves you very much," For children keeping close to their parents, "Tell her you love her too!"

"Listen to mommy."

For all the advice she had given, all she ever got back were rolling eyes, and looks of disgust. They made faces at her, threw food sometimes, and called her names. She was fat, useless, and ugly. Nobody liked her.

Until he came.

It was the night after a particularly troublesome day. A cold Monday evening, she recalled perfectly. She was walking down a west hall alone when she saw the new night guard on duty walking in her direction. He was markedly different from all the previous ones before him. He was a small unassuming man, taking a measured but light gait, going by how the wooden floor underneath the linoleum barely creaked as he walked.

As they came close to each other Chica moved slightly to her right to avoid blocking his path, just as she did for all the other guards that came before him. He gave her what seemed a cursory glance as they passed each other, while she looked straight ahead and continued on her path. But she barely walked past him when she felt a soft tug on her hand.

Chica turned to find the guard holding her hand and keeping her in place. She looked at him more closely. His breaths were short and shallow, the edges of his mouth were tight, and there was a slight tenseness above his deep brown eyes. Facing her now, he reached out with his other hand and touched her bib, right at the faded red stain left when a group of children screamed and threw food at her earlier in the day. After a brief moment, he turned and walked back the way he came, tugging her along. "Come on, follow me."

He led her across the party room where he picked up one of the smaller stools from under a table, down the opposite hall and into the girls' washroom. He set the stool down right in the middle of the room.

"Wait for me here." The man released his hold on her and flipped the light switch on as he left the room. Chica blinked as the flourescents flickered briefly before steadying. Why was she here? Why would the night guard bring her here? She let her eyes wander the room, taking in the small white tiles that made up the walls and the large pink tiles that made the floor. Eventually her gaze fell upon the mirror and she saw herself. What did he want? What did he want with her?

"Sit down." Before she could ponder further, the night guard returned. He squinted slightly as he came into the brightly lit room from the dim corridors. He carried with him a bucket she recognized from the repairs room. She complied and sat down on the stool. The man rolled up the sleeves of his uniform and produced items from the blue bucket which he placed on the counter; a bottle of cleaning solution, two brushes, and a blow dryer. He then walked toward her and undid the knot holding her bib in place before dropping it into the bucket. He returned and inspected the underside of her left upper arm; his fingers searched for and undid the latch that held the outer fur in place.

She glanced at the bared half of her arm as he brought the yellow armpiece with him to the counter. He turned the two knobs until he was satisfied with the mix of warm and cold, then proceeded to run the armpiece under the water while working his hands on it to get it fully soaked. After a while he turned the faucets until the water was a small trickle and reached for the cleaning solution and one of the brushes. White foam began to spread as he scrubbed lightly under the water. After a few minutes, he readjusted the faucet and continued brushing as the water rinsed away the soap. He did this, soaping and rinsing, a second time. When he finished, he wrung the armpiece over the sink and brought it to the hand dryer fixed on the wall, holding the underside exposed to the rushing hot air.

Chica lifted her arm as he came back to reattach the armpiece. It seemed to glow when juxtaposed against the forearm browned from dirt and dust. The man inspected his work, tilting his head slightly. With barely a word, he next detached the fur of the forearm and repeated what he did with the upper arm.

She was getting cleaned, she realized. But why was the night guard doing it alone? Usually, cleaning involved an entire crew of people as the task was considered tiring and troublesome. But, looking at his face whenever he turned toward her, she saw he was not the least bit daunted. He continued working, cleaning the right arm, then the pieces that formed her front, the ones that formed her back, the ones on her head, and the ones on her legs…

Chica watched intently the entire time, transfixed at the sight of the little man as he worked in focused silence. A dark blue stain had formed at the back of his uniform, his hands and fingers were now wrinkled from the water, and his forehead began to sweat. As he finished washing, drying, then reattaching the final piece, the bib he had set aside earlier, Chica began to stand and walk back toward the hallway. But they weren't done.

"Not yet." The night guard took her hand once more and guided her back to the stool. He took the other brush and the dryer which he plugged into a nearby socket. The device's motor whirred to life as he directed it to Chica's left upper arm, brushing down and up to dry the inner layers. He went with this in the same sequence he did when washing. The intense and prolonged heat of the dryer warmed up the room greatly; he was sweating more profusely now, but his stone-set face showed no apparent discomfort or exhaustion.

After what seemed like hours since they began, she was thoroughly dry. The little man took a step back and looked at her from top to bottom. Chica looked at him, in turn. The muscles of his face tightened ever so slightly. Was he dissatisfied?

"Stay." He raised an index finger and walked out the door, taking big strides. Where was he going? Weren't they done yet? What else is there for him to do? Chica stood up from her stool, intending to follow him. But what met her gaze was her own reflection in the large mirrors. For a fleeting moment she actually did not recognize herself. The mascot that stared back at her from beyond the glass seemed so different from her. She was beautiful; her yellow fur shone blindingly bright under the flourescent lights that even the clean tiles of the washroom wall behind her seemed to dull in comparison. Chica stepped forward and raised her arm to touch the cold glass as the image reciprocated her movements. Yes, it was indeed her own reflection. Her jaw opened slightly as she blinked and continued admiring herself. She was never this clean. Nobody ever cleaned her this well. Nobody ever cleaned any of them this well.

"Hup," Chica's introspection was abruptly interrupted by the night guard's return. He grunted as he brought in two plastic baskets which she, this time, recognized from the kitchen. The red one he carried on his left was empty, and the other was yellow and full of lemons and limes used by staff to make drinks for the customers. His balance wobbled slightly from the uneven load as he set both baskets beside the stool. Chica went back to her seat without needing to be told.

The man reached down and took a lemon. He squeezed it in one hand with his thumb before placing it between both his hands. He pressed and rolled the fruit, the muscles in his forearms tensing as he applied pressure on his wrists. When he was satisfied, he discarded the lemon into the empty basket and picked up another one for pressing. This went on for three more and, after dropping the fifth into the finished basket, he walked right in front of Chica and knelt down. She saw his hands glisten with oil under the lights. He rubbed his palms together and placed both of them squarely at the middle of her chest, right under her signature bib.

She felt him move his hands up, his wrists pressing softly against her frame right up until he reached the end of the fur on her chest plate. Then he changed directions, this time moving down with his fingers applying pressure. Up and down. His strokes were long and gentle. After a few minutes, he would stand up and squeeze more lemons before resuming.

First her chest, then her back, her arms, her legs, and finally her face. Sometimes he would reach around her neck from behind, or from the front. All the while, the room started to fill up with the fragrance of the fruits. Chica watched his face closely as he worked and noticed tiny changes in his expression. As the basket of lemons and limes gradually emptied, his hands had begun to shake, his palms slowly turned a tinge of red, and the corners of his mouth would twitch when he pressed the limes with his wrists. What he was doing had begun to hurt him, but he neither spoke in complaint nor stopped because of the pain. Even the opposite; the muscles on his face had actually relaxed, his mouth now had a faint but unmistakable smile and his breaths were now slower and deeper. Every so often, while laying his hands onto Chica, his eyes would adopt a distant and oddly forlorn stare into nothingness. He was remembering something.

It was then that she noticed something; she has not been remembering anything this night. No memories of the screaming unruly children earlier that day had bothered her so far. She must have moved suddenly at the realization because the night guard looked her in the eyes and spoke in response. "I'm sorry this is taking too long, but we're almost done."

Chica looked at the now empty basket of lemons and limes as footsteps announced the presence of the others. She glanced at the door to the corridor from where Freddy, Foxy and Bonnie now peeked into the room, all of them curious why they haven't seen her most of the night. The night guard stood up and took the second brush and quickly combed her downwards in a single direction, bringing the bristles of her fur in line together. As he finished brushing, the bell rang out for the sixth hour.

"Guess I'll see you tomorrow night, then." The night guard stepped back as Chica stood up and made her way to the door and back onstage. He didn't try to stop her this time and merely patted her shoulder with the back of his hand before turning to tend to the materials he had used.

There were immediate differences between today and yesterday. There were a few children who pointed at her and took note how she radiated as she walked along the aisle offstage. Chica liked it when she got cleaning, but she had never had it done without the others getting clean as well. It seemed the distinction had at least turned her into a notable character today.

"Have you tried our cupcakes yet? They're delicious!" She voiced sweetly at a table. The occupants mostly ignored her as they continued reading off the menu. One of them however, a young girl, gave her a big smile before tugging at her mother's sleeve.

"Mommy look at the pretty chicken!" She said. Her mother folded her menu and looked at where her daughter pointed. "Yes, she's very pretty. Why don't you go talk to her while mommy's reading?"

The girl jumped off her seat and made her way to Chica. The mascot looked down at her. She had blonde hair in twin pigtails. Chica tilted her head to a side as the girl's eyebrows furrowed, as if the child noticed something that didn't make sense. After a moment, the girl's eyes went wide with excitement and she buried her face in Chica's stomach.

"Wow! She smells pretty!" the girl exclaimed as she lifted her head away. She promptly smacked her face in Chica's stomach again, this time breathing deeply while her hands wrapped as far as they can around Chica's waist. Other children started looking in their direction now, and Chica began to feel an odd compulsion – a sense of something she ought to do. It was small at first, but grew with each passing second.

"Mommy loves you very much!" As the girl lifted her head away for the second time, Chica gave way to the compulsion. She leaned forward and wound her arms around the girl in a hug and squeezed her tight. "But not as much as meeee!"

The little girl's scream pierced even Bonnie's music and her laughter drowned all song. The mother looked on in surprise, as did everyone else. Everyone was looking at them now; the children, the parents, the wait staff, Bonnie, Freddy, and Foxy from the other room through he door.

"She gives hugs!" The girl could not contain her glee as she hugged Chica back.

It began a trickle, with a few curious children coming forward. Chica went ahead and embraced those that came close enough for her to reach.

"Whoa she smells like lemons!"

"What really? No way!"

"Hug me! Hug me next!"

The trickle quickly grew with children leaving their tables and food to join the crowd around Chica. Those who were standing and singing right in front of the stage, fans of both Freddy and Bonnie, left in ones and twos. Even the children at Pirate Cove started coming out. The dining room staff tried their best to quiet down the screaming and laughing, their efforts ultimately unsuccessful due to the sheer number and energy of the children around Chica.

Chica had never had any children actually come toward her before today. Yet here she was, the very center of focus for all the children in the restaurant. She reveled in the surge of attention that she was getting as she embraced each and every child that came to her. It was crowded. It was noisy. It was wonderful.

That Tuesday night, Chica wandered the dimly hit halls once more. She was the dirtiest she had ever been, owing to the children who were in the middle of eating and didn't clean their hands before throwing themselves at her. It didn't matter to her now. All those children earlier today saw her. Noticed her. Loved her. And she loved them back in turn. But there was one person who deserved it more than even the little girl in pigtails. She immediately headed for the same long hall as yesterday, wanting to meet the new night guard once more. And sure enough, he started his rounds from here tonight as well.

Both of them stopped in their tracks as they took in the sight of each other. She noticed his right wrist was wrapped in white bandages, with smaller ones on the fingers of his left hand. She watched the night guard's eyes scan her from head to toe, his shoulders jumping up at the sight of her messy figure. The concern in his voice was unmistakable. "Oh no, what happened? Why—"

Before he finished, Chica felt her legs carrying her toward the tiny man. She was walking, no running. She was so fast, he barely had time to react before she lunged, put her pizza-stained arms around his waist, lifted him straight off the floor, and spun him around as she embraced him as hard as her arms would allow her. He gasped in shock. Her voice box started to play on in a continuous loop uncontrollably, and she was gripped in joy and gratitude. "Thank you! Thank you! I love you! Thank you! Thank you! I love you!—"

It began a trickle, a small surprised chuckle escaping his throat. She watched his face crinkle, exactly the same as the children earlier when they smiled and admired her.

The trickle gave way and his laughter now grew and filled the hall. It was unrestrained, joyful and wondrous. The most beautiful she had ever heard.

His laughter echoed along the walls, rattled the metal in her form, and resonated within the core of her very being.

His eyes glazed over and his lips parted in a warm broad smile. She watched as his eyelids closed and tears fell from the edges. Chica saw the night guard extend his arms around her head, and felt his shaking grip at the fur below the back of her neck. He embraced her with all the strength his pained hands would allow. His voice cracked when he spoke. "I love you too, Chica."

Chica blinked as the room around her came back into focus, the flourescents now buzzed softly above her. She closed her eyes as the memories began to gradually crumble away from her consciousness, the web fraying from the edges before collapsing inwards. In the relative silence of her mind, she held on to that last memory of Night Bird before it dissolved away.

She took a few minutes of silence for herself to think, now that the unwanted memories bothered her no longer. The memories of unruly children never did haunt her when Night Bird was with them, as she now realizes. They only started coming back when he was no longer here. She began to walk out the washroom slowly, raising a hand to turn off the lights as she went. It was almost time for them to get back on stage, she felt. And as she exited the doors and switched the lights off, she gave the dark empty room a final mournful glance. She wanted to see him again. To make him smile and laugh.

To hear him say he loved them.

To hear him say he loved her.

#

If only paradise could last forever.

I'll give you a moment to get your favorite pillow/stuffed animal and give it a good hug, dear reader. It's okay, I won't judge.

Did you like this opening chapter? I think I made the chicken too sad. Or maybe not? There are exactly two feelings you'd have after you finish reading this chapter, either tears and heartbreak, in which case I was successful with what I wanted; or pointed contempt at the stupidity and utter boringness of David giving Chica a bath, in which case I'm a terrible hack and should go die in a fire. No there is no middle ground. So what do you think?

This was actually the second chapter that I wrote for this fanfic (because I'm a very weird writer). The sentiment herein was the focal point from which I built on David's characterization in addition to the animatronics' perception of him. He isn't an extraordinary man, but he was good to them. In this chapter, we see what Chica felt when he showed her kindness and love.

As before, if you liked this chapter or the story so far, I would appreciate your thoughts and reviews if any. If you didn't, but care enough to point out where I could improve, I'd appreciate your advice as well.

Next chapter due next weekend, unless I suddenly decide to rewrite it.

PS. Yes, David took all night working on Chica. And yes, David rubbed lemon/lime oil on Chica for the fragrance after cleaning. Back when I was a kid and the lime tree at our backyard was still alive, dad would leave a lime or two in the car for me to squeeze and play around with during rides to/from school (I was easily entertained).

PPS. Made a Chica mix. Just a couple of songs that helped me write this down/reminded me of this chapter when I hear them. Link is in the updates section on my profile.