Chapter 4: But You Don't Want To Go
There had never been a more welcome sight in Toaster's life than the giant of a man reaching out for her. He barely had a chance to call her by name. By the time he recognized her, she had already crossed the distance between them, rushing into his open arms with a hug that cut off his breath. Never mind that she had given in to human instinct. Never mind that his body was nearly twice her size and so broad she could hardly get her arms around him. Forget that she could hear a beating heart when she pressed her cheek to him.
It was Kirby. He was alright. She wasn't alone.
For a moment she reveled in her excitement. She felt arms wrap around her in a hug that promised to be as crushing as the one she gave. For a moment, in the greatest moment of the last few days, she felt safe and wanted.
Then Kirby shoved her with such force that she toppled backwards against the Mistress. "Get off, you idiot."
Steadied by the Master and the Mistress, Toaster stared speechless into the seething face.
"What...what did I do?" she gasped.
His glare turned icy and stayed that way as the Mistress ushered them both to the couch, out of the way. Toaster tried to listen to the explanation the officer was giving the Master and Mistress, but had difficulty focusing with Kirby bristling at her side, like a rocket nearing explosion. She could just grasp that some humans had found Kirby near the scene of the accident while they were clearing away the van and had called for another ambulance.
"He's had a rough time of it, going in and out of consciousness the last few days. All we could get out of him was a last name and that he lived close by." The officer explained, handing the Mistress a sheet of paper.
"Kirby?" The Master read over her shoulder. "John Kirby?"
John? Daring, Toaster bent forward to catch a glimpse of Kirby's face. His cheek twitched, but he continued staring straight ahead.
"Anyway, the hospital found your address. They tried to call…" Toaster let the conversation fade as she focused all her attention on the man beside her; familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
"Kirby," she whispered, putting out a hand to touch his arm before thinking better of it. "Do you remember how this happened?"
"Of course, I don't remember how this happened!" Kirby growled out of the corner of his mouth. "One minute I'm getting flung everywhere. The next I wake up battered and bruised, looking like …like this!" He fisted his hands as he held out his arms before him. The faded jersey and jeans he wore stretched to their limits as he shifted. More hospital donations, Toaster decided, and obviously intended for someone less brawny. Somehow she knew Kirby wasn't talking about the clothes, though. He looked…she couldn't quite decide. It wasn't that she had ever imagined him as a human, but somehow with his short black hair and broad jaw extenuated by his fierceness, he seemed to be exactly right as a human.
She wondered, suddenly fidgeting with the hem of her blouse, if he thought the same of her. She smiled nervously at him, but froze when he turned a full accusing look in her direction. "As matter of fact, I should be asking you that question!"
"Me?" She sunk back into the couch as he towered over her. "But…but I don't remember what happened either!"
"You expect me to believe that?"
"But…it's true."
"…They do seem to know each other." Toaster realized that they had caught the humans' attention. "At least, Thea knew his name…"
"Of course, she knows my name!" Kirby barked at them, his tolerance worn thin. "We've known each other for years!"
"But, you said you lived here?" the Master asked in confusion.
"I…I only meant I used to live here. We both did." Toaster ducked her head as Kirby flung out his arm. "We were coming back for a look when the accident happened. Then I lost track of her!" Kirby crossed his arms, then hesitated, glancing down in surprise at what he had done. Toaster couldn't help a laugh, but immediately snapped her mouth shut when Kirby turned on her again.
"I don't see what's so funny! You go doing hair-brained things like you always do, and i end up in a mess! Every single time!"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Toaster completely forgot that the humans were watching as she felt her own temper rising.
"It means this is your fault!" Kirby shoved himself off the couch.
"How is it my fault?"
"You did something, I know it! You're always poking yourself into things that aren't your business! And now I'm like this, locked away in who knows where for who knows how long!"
"I don't know this happened!" Finally feeling her own cool dissolve, Toaster leaped to her feet on the couch cushions to stare him down. "I don't know how any of it happened!"
"Yeah. Right."
"Don't you blame this on me…"
The little master's sudden wail interrupted their fight. All eyes were drawn to where he stood by his toys, bawling his head off.
"Okay, okay, enough!" The Mistress thrust her way between Toaster and Kirby, her arms pushing both apart. "Cool it! I've about had it! Thea, get down before you fall off!" Toaster winced as the Mistress yanked her down from the couch by her arm. "Officer, thanks for your help! Now, go home! Obviously, we'll have to talk about this in the morning. John can just stay here until we get it figured out, and apparently, we're not doing that tonight! Rob, go grab some spare sheets so I can make up the couch for him. Thea… just go upstairs! Everyone got it? Good! I'm putting Robbie to bed."
Everyone moved aside as she snatched up her baby and stomped up the stairs. They watched her retreat in silence, waiting until she disappeared from sight before venturing to move. Feeling utterly rebuked, Toaster rubbed her arm as she obeyed the Mistress' order, Kirby's accusing glare thoroughly stinging her with each step she took. In the guest bedroom, she stretched out on the bed, only listening to the sounds downstairs as Kirby's release papers were signed and the couch was made up for him to sleep on. It ended with the Master and the Mistress's heated argument in their bedroom, pounding against the walls. Though she couldn't make out a single word, she didn't need to guess what the fight was about.
Sleep pricked at the back of her head, but she fought it off stubbornly until the argument faded away and the house quieted. Then and only then did she feel free to slip out of the room and down the stairs.
The clock ticked fifteen past 11:00 as her feet creaked on the steps. She paused halfway down to glance over the dark living room, straining her eyes.
Kirby lay like a large dark lump on the couch, stiller than death.
"Go away," he snapped back when she called him softly, not caring to lower his voice.
"Kirby, can't we just talk?" she begged, taking another step.
"What's left to say?"
"That this isn't…Kirby…I didn't…"
"Don't you start that again with me!"
"But how could you even think…?"
"I don't think! I know it!" The lump moved. Toaster still couldn't see him, but even she froze as she felt his eyes in full on her again. "I know exactly what you are capable of doing! And I don't want to argue about it anymore!"
"But…"
"Go away and…and leave me alone!" There was a catch in his voice that Toaster had never heard before. "I've…I've had enough…tonight. Go…go away."
The lump disappeared into the couch cushions again. Toaster stretched a hand out towards him, but felt it waver as weariness began its hold on her again. There wasn't anything she could do tonight, anyway.
"Good night, Kirby." There was no answer, except a heavy sigh that ended in a gasp. With a deep sigh, Toaster climbed the steps with leaden feet and a heart that had caught in her throat.
If Kirby had hoped that it was all a nightmare, the cruel realization that woke him dashed that hope. He almost half expected to open his eyes once more to a white ceiling and shaded lighting above his head, followed by the stench of bleach pervading his nostrils. The sight of the beige ceiling of the McGroarty living room nearly made him weep with relief.
Nearly.
The thudding his new ribcage reminded him sharply that he wasn't a vaccum cleaner, and the soreness from the stitches at the back of his head echoed that fact. He lay still on the couch, feeling the blanket slipping off and watching the sunlight peep in through the glass over the front door. In the quiet of the morning, the voices from his memory began their same relentless questions.
What was his name? Where had he come from? What did he remember? What was his NAME? WHAT did he REMEMBER?
He remembered the trip, and Toaster saying something about being home soon, and then the van…the van…
"Kirby," he'd gasped, when his voice suddenly found itself in that choking, raw throat.
First name?
"Kirby," he'd insisted.
John Kirby ended up on the paperwork instead. Either those humans didn't want to listen or were too dense to understand. There was no first name. There was no last name. He was Kirby. He was Kirby, Kirby, Kirby…
He tried to turn his face away from the sun now glaring in his eyes, and sucked in a breath at the sharp stab by his ear. His hand reached up to touch the stitches, and felt the rough short hairs that now covered the top of his head.
Kirby swallowed. Even when the staff had listened, they had taken forever to understand him. No, he wasn't missing. Of course he didn't know where he was or how he'd come to be there. Yes, he'd been in an accident…he must have been in an accident…He was coming back from a trip…
"With a woman?"
"What woman?" he'd snapped, staring at the startled face of his doctor. There hadn't been anyone in the car with the master. The Mistress had gone into the house.
Then he had seen it right before him, face beaming and eyes laughing in that new human shape. That roly thing in baggy clothes, with tangled frizz popping at odd angles to frame a round face. It…she…was Toaster. They'd been talking about the toaster.
And he'd known exactly who to blame.
He felt the blanket tugging and let it fall the rest of the way to the floor. The cool morning chilled him, and he shifted restlessly. Yes, he knew exactly who to blame now.
Why had Toaster let this happen to him? The same rage that had shook him the night before boiled inside him again. How could she laugh, smile, knowing perfectly well what had happened to him? To both of them? He didn't want to talk to her, or answer any more questions. He just wanted one answer.
What was he supposed to do now?
He slowly pushed himself up, feeling the clothes tug around him; donations from some homeless shelter. Frankly, he didn't care if the humans had dug them up from the trash, though he knew from their smell that they might as well have just tossed them in there. It was far too early to move, but he couldn't stand the way the couch pushed into his sore muscles any longer. Dizziness attacked him as he moved, and he had to rest his head in his hands. He uncovered his eyes only when the dizziness had passed, finding himself looking once again at the long scratches his new nails had left on his arms. He'd fought to get away; from the hospital and the strangers or the new skin he'd woken in he wasn't sure. He'd just tried to get away.
He still wanted to get away. But even getting to his feet took effort. Seeing the floor from so high up was dizzying. He clutched his head, trying to fight the world spinning around him, spinning in more ways than one as his thoughts screamed across their own roller coaster track.
This wasn't fair. This just wasn't fair. He'd never wanted to be human. He'd never asked to be human. Why? How could Toaster have let this happen?
"Kirby?" He stiffened as his name reached him and dropped his hands, throwing a suspicious look towards the stairs.
"Good gravy!" The voice was coming from the edge of the kitchen, where a tiny rodent was poking his head around the edge of the kitchen doorway. "It really is you!"
"R-Ratso," Kirby exclaimed, as the rat scurried towards his feet.
"Geez, I heard them all shouting last night, and you and Toaster…boy, were you fighting something fierce! But I couldn't see anything…" He could barely see the rat, and trying to bend down for a closer look only made his sore muscles scream in protest. "Geez, just look at you!"
"No," Kirby muttered, putting a hand to his forehead. "I'm…I'm not looking again." A nurse in the emergency room had brought him a mirror, thinking she was doing him a favor when he asked what he looked like, but he couldn't even look at the stranger glaring back.
"Whoa, easy big guy!" he heard Ratso exclaim. "You don't look so good. Maybe, ah, you oughta sit down."
"Yeah," he agreed, falling back on the couch.
Ratso scurried up the side until he stood on an armrest at Kirby's side. "Boy, this just gets weirder and weirder. You and Toaster figure this out yet?"
"I'm not talking to the toaster again," he snapped, surprised by his own ferocity.
"Okay, okay!" Ratso flung up his paws to ward Kirby off. "Geez! I just thought maybe between the two of youse you'd finally figured out what happened."
"I don't know how this happened! I…I don't remember anything."
"Yeah, well, figures. That's exactly what Toaster said. I guess that crash knocked you out just like it did her."
"It."
"Her."
"It." Kirby lowered his hand to glare at Ratso, feeling that boiling rage again.
Ratso appeared unconcerned. "Look, I don't know if you've noticed, but the Toaster sorta has a gender now."
Kirby gritted his teeth. "I couldn't help but notice."
"Well, geez, you ain't taking this well."
"Look at me!" Kirby thrust out his arms before he realized he was going to, and winced as they collided with the back of the couch. "How exactly am I supposed to take this well?"
"Look, big guy, cool down. I know it's rough, but I've got the hearing aids all over it." Ratso thumbed in direction of the junk drawer. "They'll get this figured in no time at all."
"They can turn me back into a vacuum?" Kirby asked.
"Well…" Ratso suddenly attended to an itch in his arm. "They can figure out what happened, anyway…"
"I knew it." Kirby dropped his head into his hands, gripping at the hair until his scalp ached. "I…I'm stuck like this. I don't understand. How could the Toaster have done this to me?"
"Um…I don't think this was the Toaster's doing, Kirby."
"You don't know it the way I do!" Kirby gripped handfuls of the hair on his head until his scalp ached.
"Her."
"It."
"Whatever!" Ratso gave up with a sigh. "Boy, try to help a guy," Kirby heard him mutter under his breath.
"You can help me," Kirby demanded, nearly knocking Ratso off the couch, "by trying to change me back!"
"Okay, okay!" Ratso scambled to right himself on the couch arm. "Like I said, the hearing aids are trying to figure something out. But you gotta find a way to calm down. The Mistress is already-"
A door shut upstairs, and the little master's voice chirped as the stairs began to echo with footsteps.
Darting faster than a rocket, Ratso raced back through the kitchen, just as the Mistress appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
Kirby met her eyes with as much surprise as she had; maybe even more so, as he realized suddenly that he was not straining to look up to see her.
"Oh, good morning. Um…John, right?" She tried to offer him a weak smile, but her cheek twitched.
Kirby nodded slowly, suddenly unsure what to say. He'd never spoken to the Mistress before, and the night before he'd been too agitated to bother with semantics.
"I, uh, hope you slept on the couch okay." She was shifting from one foot to another. "Sorry about that. Our guest room is sort of occupied."
Realizing that he was staring too intently at her, Kirby glanced at the floor with a nod.
"It's fine." He winced at the brusqueness and cleared his throat to try again. "I…appreciate your help."
Whatever the Mistress mumbled was drowned out by the little Master's babble. Unable to help himself, Kirby snuck a peek at the baby, relieved to see him, all smiles, bouncing on his mother's hip. He was hardly prepared, however, for the baby to suddenly lunge forward with both arms stretched out to him.
"Robbie!" The Mistress hadn't been prepared for it either. She caught him just before he tumbled to the floor. "What's gotten into you?"
Kirby, watching the happy little face, felt his cheeks warm. He remembered the touch of the soft little hands on his chrome, and the familiar little eyes peering down at him. He returned that smile, feeling more like himself than he had in days. Ignoring the Mistress' apologies, he leaned forward on the couch and held out his own arms to the baby.
The little master laughed and slapped his little hands against Kirby's palms. Kirby's hearted soared as he took the baby into his arms.
"I…wow…" Kirby roused as the Mistress bent towards them. "I've never seen him so excited before. When he saw Thea…" He glanced up as she hesitated and shook her head.
"This is just too weird," she finally said, hands on her hips. "Look, I'll bet you're hungry," she added. "We didn't really get a chance to talk last night, and I…I've got some questions."
"I won't have any answers." The blunt answer surprised even him.
"Oh." The Mistress knit her eyebrows as she took that in. "Okay. Fair enough, I…I guess. At least you're honest," she added, glancing up the stairs as if to indicate that there was someone who was not.
Kirby didn't really care. He did, however, feel the loss when she took the little master again; even more strongly than he had felt the loss of his appliance form. He couldn't tell if he was following her into the kitchen for the promise of breakfast, or if he was following the little master, the only thing in the world that made sense. But either way, he found himself only moments later seated at the table beside the little master in his highchair. The Mistress attempted some who and why questions, but soon realized that what Kirby had said was true enough. He had no answers for her.
"This is just unbelievable," he heard her mutter into the fridge, and he knew well enough what she meant.
"I can't believe this is happening either," he agreed.
"Yeah? Well, don't take this the wrong way, John." The Mistress added, slamming the fridge closed and putting down bananas and applesauce on the table. Kirby pressed a hand to his belly as it grumbled in response to the sight of food. "I'm not sure you and Thea being here is a good idea. I understand you guys came back for a look at the house, but my husband and I have our hands full. We have a baby and a business and a broken van that needs to be fixed with money we don't have…"
The little master, for some reason Kirby could never understand, suddenly decided he didn't like the applesauce his mother was holding out. With a laugh, the baby stood up in his highchair and smacked both bowl and jar from her hands. They landed on the floor with a crash that sent applesauce splattering everywhere.
"ROBBIE!" Even Kirby cowered. "WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT? WHY?"
The baby shook and shrunk back into his highchair at his mother's scream, before bursting into tears. Kirby aghast, watched the Mistress fling herself down to pick up the pieces, not sure if he was startled by the way she had yelled at her son or by the way her sobbing matched the baby's.
"This isn't fair." She cried. She gave up trying to pick up the glass and sat back on her heels to bury her face in her hands. "This isn't fair…"
The spectacle went straight to Kirby's heart. Ignoring even the hunger rumbling in him, he found himself reaching for the sobbing woman. His hand rested on her shoulder, just long enough for her to raise a tear stained face to him. Kirby knew that look all too well. He hadn't been a vacuum cleaner for nothing without knowing the feeling of a burdened spouse about to have a nervous breakdown. The master's mother had cried on his handle often enough while trying to keep everything together. About the only comfort Kirby could offer in those moments was to rev up as much power as he could muster to keep the floors clean.
Now, revving a new sort of power, he cleared his throat.
"Don't be upset," he declared, gruffly. "Accidents…happen."
The Mistress' mouth quivered, and she shook her head. "This…has never happened."
Somehow he knew she didn't just mean the applesauce, or the way the little master was still carrying on. A twinge in his heart made him realize that there were worse problems than his own. He shared a momentary exchange with the tired, worried mother on the floor: a broken husband, a screaming baby that depended on her, two complete strangers that had come from nowhere…
Overwhelmed, Kirby suddenly reached across the table and scooped the little master up in his arms.
"Come on now, that's enough," he huffed bouncing him on one arm. "You're alright. It was an accident!" The little master hiccupped, and his crying turned to whimpers as he studied Kirby's face. Even quicker than Kirby believed possible, the baby's face crinkled into his usual smile. He giggled and grabbed Kirby's shirt with both hands.
"Wow." The Mistress wiped tears from her eyes as she looked up at them. "You're…you're really good with babies."
Kirby couldn't quite decide how to answer without giving himself away, but the Mistress had turned her attention back to the mess. "Do you think…I know it's a lot to ask. I mean…would you…?"
"Clean up the mess?" Kirby surveyed the mess on the floor. Tile wasn't really his area of expertise, but he could already see that the dish towel had grabbed from the table wouldn't do the mess. He needed a mop and strong gloves for cleaning up the glass.
"…Actually I thought you'd take Robbie into the living room and let him eat a banana at least…" The Mistress was struggling to rise, and Kirby's hand shot out to help her up before he realized he could. "This is kind of a tough mess."
"I've never fed a baby before," Kirby admitted, wincing as the little master tugged at his mustache. He passed the baby into the Mistress' arms and took the dishtowel from her hand. "But I have cleaned up messes far worse than this one."
"But…you don't have to…I mean…you shouldn't have to…"
Yes, she was right. But Kirby felt his chest pounding as his mind began to painstaking gather everything he needed for the disaster. Finally, something he knew to do. "You just go take care of him. I know how to handle this."
Her thanks were lost on him as he tossed the dishtowel aside and headed for the utility closet. Just focus on the mess, he instructed himself, seizing the mop and bucket. Just clean up the mess. After that…we'll see…
He forgot himself in the midst of cleaning the floor. Somewhere in the middle of scrubbing, fumbling with the gloves and the mop and stretching and bending joints he had never once possessed, he forgot that he was human. He forgot that he didn't want to be human. He only remembered the satisfaction of attacking dust and dirt until they were both gone entirely, and in almost no time at all the tile was sparkling.
Then, in cold emptiness, he remembered the mess that he was still in.
From the living room he could hear the Mistress chatting to the little Master. His stomach, ignored easily, began to make itself heard in efforts that sent bile to his throat. How he hated that sensation, and the other that his human mind conjured: a dry, thick sensation that his throat refused to swallow away. One glance sight at the faucet, though, answered it for him. He stumbled across the floor and nearly wrenched the handle trying to let the water run. With a mumbled apology to his old friend, he dipped head and gulped as much of the water as he could.
Damn it! He'd never been thirsty in his life. Letting the awful truth sink in, even as his body thanked him for the drink, he rested his arms on the edge of the sink.
"They do have cups." Kirby groaned as the last voice he ever wanted to hear spoke softly behind him. He turned to look at Toaster hesitating in the doorway, her hair even wilder than he remembered, and her eyes mournfully watching him.
"Oh, yeah? Never would have guessed." He shoved himself away from the sink and snatched up one of the bananas from the table, trying to ignore her. For moment, turning the fruit this way and that, it wasn't too difficult.
"Just how do you open one of these things anyway?" he muttered, as much to himself as to the figure watching him silently.
"You could just cut it in half, like the Mistress does."
"How about you mind your own business!" Kirby snapped, trying to twist the top stem off.
He heard the Toaster heave a deep sigh as she dragged her feet across the floor. "Fine, don't let me help you, dust head."
Dust head. He grit his teeth to hold back his answer at that stupid name. They'd always called him names, and Toaster had been the worst out of all of them.
The stem snapped, and he waved it triumphantly before her eyes.
She sighed again and sat in a chair across from him. "Can't we just talk about this?"
"You got ideas, I'll be happy to hear them." He bit into the fruit-just a small bite. Gulping down the broth they'd given him at the hospital and choking it up again had been a hard lesson in treating food carefully. He chewed the odd texture thoughtfully, before swallowing deliberately to make sure it stayed down. It wasn't until the Toaster giggled that he realized she'd been watching him.
"Making fun of me again," he thundered at her. "Well, sure. Let's turn Kirby into a human and see how funny that is!"
That squelched the laughter fast and whatever smile there had been on her face. Even Kirby couldn't help noting the deep circles in the skin under her eyes.
"For the last time, this isn't my fault!" Her voice rose an octave. "I don't know how this happened, and I sure don't know how to change it!"
"Sounds like you got problem, then, slot head!" As if that name had ever insulted her.
"Kirby, we're dealing with the same problem. Can't we…" A wistful note crept into her voice. "Can't we do this together?"
Yes. An eager shout in the back of his mind begged him. It reminded him of the hospital, waking up alone, friendless, and now a familiar face was here to help.
But it's not familiar. That horrible rage consumed him, and he settled for cramming as much of the banana into his mouth as possible, forget choking. It's not familiar at all. It's not Toaster now. It's...She's…
"Oh, hey, Thea." The Master entered the kitchen. Kirby looked up in time to see him pause by Toaster and place a hand on her shoulder in greeting. "You don't look like you got enough sleep."
"Neither do you." The Toaster's face lit up she tipped her head towards him, one hand warmly clasping his. Kirby could see the adoration in her eyes, the same worshipping look he'd had to endure every single day of his life...
He slapped the peel down so hard the table shook and the two jumped.
"Good morning, John." The Master grinned sheepishly at him. "How are you feeling?"
"Miserable," Toaster exclaimed before Kirby could answer. "He had a bad night, and it's made him GRUMPY." Kirby seethed at the innocent smile she plastered on her face, as well as the way she tilted her head to one side, watching him with narrowed eyes.
"Yeah, the couch isn't exactly comfortable." The Master shrugged, missing the silent fight that passed between the two. "Maybe Chris knows where my old camping cot is. We can set that up for you instead… if you don't have any other plans."
Other plans. Kirby snorted.
"You look ridiculous like that," he hissed at Toaster, as the Master began searching through the cabinets.
"You're one to talk," she shot back in an undertone. "Did you get that thing on your face from Ratso?"
He guffawed, fighting back the urge to run his fingers over the mustache. "At least I don't have some filthy mop on my head." He sat back in another triumph as that smug look fell away and her hands flew to her hair.
"Rob, please tell me you remembered to take your pain meds before you came down." The Mistress' voice proceeded her appearance in the kitchen.
The Master heaved a deep breath as he tucked a loaf of bread under his arm and struggled with a jam jar from one of the cabinets. "No, Honey, I'm a complete idiot devoid of all pain," Kirby heard him mutter under his breath.
"What was that?" The Mistress swept around to look at her husband's face.
"I said, yes. I took the medication. I'm a vet, I know how medication is used."
"That doesn't mean you'll actually take it."
"Chris, knock it off!" The Master, still struggling to maintain a grip on the jar, released the cabinet door. They all winced as it slammed shut. The toaster's eyes had dropped to the table, and her fingers were nervously playing at a tangle in the hair. Kirby gulped as regret washed over him.
"I…I really didn't mean to slam it…" the master stammered.
Kirby saw the hard look that passed over the Mistress' face.
"Yes, you did," she said in a low voice, before busying herself at the sink.
The Master stood for a moment in silence before setting the jam on the table. His hand shook, and the load of bread slipped from his grasp. both Toaster and Kirby leaped for it at the same time.
"…Thanks…" The Master went completely unnoticed as Kirby and Toaster gripped both the loaf and each other's hands. Kirby could feel the warmth in Toaster's fingers, and in his bewilderment, he locked eyes with her, seeing a sliver of hope return. He quickly released her and the bread, and folded his arms as he sat back in the chair.
"Okay, this is ridiculous!" The Mistress abruptly shut off the water and whirled around to address all of them. "Rob, we have to address the elephant in the room."
"Right now?" Just managing to pop open the jar, the Master suddenly realized that he had forgotten a spoon. He gave up and dumped a generous helping on a slice of bread. "I haven't even eaten yet."
"Yes, now." The Mistress came up behind his chair, her gaze darting between Toaster and Kirby. "Because I have two complete strangers in my house."
"Chris!"
"It's the truth." Her voice was as firm as her words. Kirby knew an apologetic look when he saw one, though, as he returned her gaze. "I'm not trying to be mean, guys. I just…I don't know where you came from or where you're going…"
"We came from here." Toaster's voice was unusually soft. Kirby couldn't help but notice that she had shifted in her chair as far from the Mistress as she could move.
"Okay, yeah, I get that. John explained it. You came back for a visit. But what…?"
"We don't have anywhere to go." Toaster's sob followed punctuated the answer. Silence fell as all three watched her lay her head on her arms and sob with deep, shaking sobs. The Master's jam laden bread dropped to the table as he stretched out his good arm to pat her back.
A horrible feeling passed over Kirby as he watched her. He'd caused this. He'd caused…He swallowed, and ended up gagging as the food he'd just eaten threatened to make a quick appearance. With a gasp, the Mistress shoved the mop bucket into his hands just in time for the food to come frothing past his lips. It burned badly, and he could barely focus on anything else. A glass of water replaced the bucket, and he gratefully sipped from it as the Mistress held the glass steady.
"Chris, can't we talk about this later?" he heard the Master begging. "Nobody feels well enough to work this out yet."
"Yeah." The Mistress sounded strangled. She set the glass on the table. "Fine. You're right. You're always right. We'll just deal with this later." Kirby watched her walk out of the room, her hand covering her mouth as though to hold back sobs of her own. The Master quietly urged Toaster up from the table and guided her up the stairs.
"You just got out of the hospital," he was saying, as her sobs faded. "You just need some more rest. We all need some more rest."
In a moment, Kirby was at alone in the kitchen. His head spun, and though he forced himself to take another sip of the water, he could feel his body rebelling. Somehow, he made his way back to the couch, and lay back again, watching where the little Master played, blissfully unaware of the adults falling to pieces around him. Though soothed by the baby's peace of mind, Kirby couldn't completely drown out the two veins of sobbing as he fell asleep.
Toaster woke from her nap to a runny nose, a pounding head, and a despondency that bested both of them. She sat up on the guest bed, and wiped her nose on her sleeve several times. She'd slept dreamlessly, with only the Master's encouraging voice in her head telling her that everything would be alright and it would all work out.
To her bewilderment, She wasn't sure she believed him.
She moved to sit up, crossing her legs and resting her head in her hands as a cold ache pounded in her temples. What was wrong with this body? She never been that miserable before. She'd been sad, yes, and she'd cried certainly. But never like this. And she certainly had never been so upset by Kirby before. Kirby had always been a grump, but he had never, ever menaced her like that.
How was she going to handle emotions this strong?
A soft tap rapped against the door as the handle turned. The Master's red head poked around the side.
"Oh, hey," he said in a low voice. "You're awake. You feel better?"
She wiped her nose once more and forced a smile as she nodded.
"Yeah. Me, too." The Master didn't look like he believed her. "These have been a tough couple of days."
"I'm sorry," she said, finding her voice still hoarse.
"Nah, it's not your fault." He sat on the edge of the bed, ruffling through his pockets. His hand fished out a pocket of tissues, and he handed them to her, smiling all the way. "Chris has always been kinda high strung."
"Is she mad at us? Me and Kirby, I mean." The tissue made it easier to clear her nose.
The Master sighed. "Probably more upset at me. We...There were some things I shouldn't have said last night."
Toaster cringed, remembering their fight. The Master looked even more miserable as he studied the bedspread.
"Never go to bed angry. I guess I should have listened to my folks." His face cleared, though, as he looked back at her. "I was just on my way out to the clinic. A patient just called, and I can't, uh,…" He rubbed a hand nervously through his hair. "…It's an emergency."
"Right." Toaster nodded eagerly.
"You, ah, you want to come?" Rob's eyes crinkled under his glasses. "You seemed to like helping with Petunia, and…I don't know if I can handle this one alone either."
Toaster didn't have to force the smile this time. "Yes! Please!"
Rob patted her knee and jerked his head toward the door. She followed his example of moving carefully in the hallway and down the stairs.
Robbie played in the corner with his toys, and Kirby slept stretched out on the couch, his face pressed into the cushions. Toaster lingered by him while the Master fetched his keys and checked over the baby. She wondered if she and Kirby would ever be able to get past this. Her hand twitched, and she brushed her fingers over the heavy wrinkles in the forehead.
The wrinkles eased, and Kirby sighed in his sleep.
"Come on." The Master touched her shoulder, and she followed him out.
Something woke Kirby from sleep, though he lay motionless for sometime trying to figure out what it had been. Stairs had creaked in his sleep, voices whispering. He glanced over at the front door, wondering if someone had left. It was another hour before the Mistress came down the stairs again, water splashed on her face in an attempt to wash away the tears stains. Kirby, carefully sitting up on the couch, could still see her red nose and swollen eyes. Her smile at him was still warm, however.
"Your stomach feel better?" she asked, her voice hoarse.
Kirby hesitated, straining to feel it. "I guess," he said. "Nothing has tried to…come back up anyway."
"That's good. Maybe it's worth trying to eat something else. Some jello, maybe." She sank down into an armchair across from him, near to where Robbie was playing with his toys.
"Rob isn't upstairs. He's probably out at the clinic." She snorted. "He never could stop for anything. But Thea's door was closed, so she must still be sleeping."
Kirby frowned, touching his forehead where some sensation lingered.
"I guess I should check on her, too. I mean, she wasn't in such great shape after the accident either…" She trailed off. "John, I didn't meant to upset her earlier. You…you understand, right?"
"Of course, I understand," Kirby replied, searching her downcast eyes as she pretended to watch her son. "You just wanted answers. it wasn't your fault anyway," he added, as sudden reminder of Toaster's eyes filling with tears struck him.
She finally raised her face to him relieved. "That's exactly what I wanted," she exclaimed, not having heard his last sentence. "It's not like I'm trying to throw anyone out into the street. If you really don't have a place to go…?"
It took him a moment to realize that she was posing a question at him. Perhaps she was afraid of upsetting him, too. Kirby nearly snorted, finding it difficult to imagine breaking down into tears, even in his new state. But, how to explain the problem to the Mistress was a difficult issue. What had Toaster told them? Anything?
"Maybe Rob's right," she continued, before he could think of anything to say, "I'm trying to make decisions too fast. I can't help it. There's so much I have to think about." She returned to gazing at the little master, her face straining as every though every thought she had was passing before her eyes.
"We'll have to take out a loan just to repair the van, and we have still those medical bills. Not just Rob's, but Thea's, too, and…" She stopped the thought abruptly, but Kirby, remembering the hospital himself, knew he was included in that thought. "…I just don't how long our savings can hold out. And Rob can't work with the state he's in, so I'll-I'll have to find a job. I used to be an accountant. Surely, there's someone around here who needs one. But who's going to look after Robbie while I'm working? It's so much..."
And what about him? Kirby found his own eyes riveting on the baby playing and laughing to himself. What if those hearing nutjobs couldn't find a solution? What if he-and the toaster-were stuck as humans forever? What would they do? Just sleep and wander around the house all day? What use were they without those prime directives that had guided them their whole lives?
"No." The Mistress exclaimed, bolting upright in the chair. "I'm just worrying! I have to take this one step at a time. And the first step should be lunch." She rose from the chair. "especially some easy on your stomach this time. How does chicken noodle soup sound?". It didn't really sound like anything special. But Kirby nodded his head anyway, and stood to follow her. Immediately on seeing him stand, the little master struggled to his own feet and came barreling up to take his hand.
Kirby, surprised, felt the little fingers grab two of his own, and he smiled a deep, satisfied smile, allowing the little boy to lead him into the kitchen.
"Easy, sweetheart, easy…" Rob's voice made up the silence as Toaster concentrated on the task before them. She couldn't tell if he was talking to her or the rabbit she held on the exam table. Under her hands, the brown lopbunny shivered from shock, still bleeding from the teeth marks in its left ear and side leg. Toaster felt tears pricking her eyes as the Master continued to disinfect the areas he had shaved fur from.
Outside, the rabbit's fourteen-year-old owner was still sobbing over the attack.
"I just let him out in the yard for a minute," she'd cried, almost as soon as her mother's car had pulled up in front of the clinic. "I didn't know the Rottweiler was loose in the neighborhood."
There wasn't any time to comfort her either as the Master had Toaster take the rabbit from her and carry it into the surgery.
"There we go." The master held up the cotton ball as he examined the wound. "Thanks," he said, offhand as Toaster took it from him.
"That's all we can do," he said at last, straightening up.
"Will he make it?" she asked, worriedly, watching the poor little thing quiver. She grabbed the nearest rag she could find to wrap around him.
"The bleeding has stopped, and the wounds don't look too bad. We just need to keep him quiet and still. If he makes it through the afternoon, he's got a chance." Under the Master's instruction, Toaster placed the rabbit in a nearby little unit, petting the head one more time before closing the door and covering it with a dark sheet. While she worked, she could hear the master explaining his procedure and concerns to the two humans waiting outside.
"...Call you this evening," he said over his shoulder as he came back in. Toaster watched him silently as he noted something on his laptop nearby.
"You alright?" she asked, as he winced.
"Yeah, I just don't like seeing anything hurt like that. It's cruel and nasty. And now I have to call animal control about a dog that some idiot couldn't even take the time to train. They'll have to lock it up, or, or put it down..." He caught himself and offered her a sheepish smile as he rubbed at his cast. "I'm just being a downer, Thea. Don't take it personally. You've been a real help."
Pleasure flowed over her. "I enjoyed it." Her eyes widened as the master raised an eyebrow. "I mean, I don't like seeing anyone hurt, and I was glad to help…" You "…the rabbit."
"I know the feeling." The master adjusted his glasses with his free hand. "I don't like seeing animals in pain either. I don't like to see them helpless." He chuckled. "I don't like to see anything helpless, actually. If I can keep it from being locked up, tortured, or thrown out, I would."
"You never throw anything away," Toaster agreed, looking him over fondly.
"Huh?"
Toaster flushed, realizing her error. "Oh, uh…I noticed you have a lot of…older…appliances around."
The master accepted the explanation with another chuckle. "Yeah, I do. Some of them are things my folks used when I was a kid. Others…well, it doesn't seem fair to just toss things aside just because they've stopped working." Toaster watched him stroke the keys on the surgery computer. "Those things from my childhood…well, I didn't really have a lot of friends growing up. It's just comfortable to have them around. Old friends."
"Old friends," Toaster agreed, flushing again. "you're so wonderful."
"You think?" The Master suddenly busied himself cleaning up the table which he'd already wiped down.
Toaster laughed. She'd embarrassed him. "You are so kind and thoughtful!"
"And you have one happy laugh," he stated. "You are such a happy person."
"Is that alright?" she asked, reaching up to touch her hair again, as though happiness was as problematic as the tangles her fingers kept catching."
"Well, it wouldn't be much of a world without happy people, would it?"
That was the best observation she'd heard all day. Without a second thought, she put her arms around the Master for a hug; something she'd always wanted to do. The one handed hug he gave her was awkward and punctuated with his nervous laugh, but its genuine warmth was exactly what she had wanted for days. It erased the nastiness of Kirby's glares and the Mistress's biting, distrustful looks. Toaster could only hope, as the master patted her head, that he felt just as comforted by her touch.
"Well, don't let me interrupt anything." They both jumped apart at the sound of the Mistress' voice. Toaster's heart sank as the Master released her and the moment passed.
"Chris…"
"Lunch is ready. Just come and find me when you've got a sec. You know? Your wife? The veterinary widow." The Mistress's eyes darted to Toaster before she slammed the door shut behind her.
Toaster wrapped her arms around herself as the master groaned. She didn't quite understand, but knew somehow, once again, this was her fault.
They couple was already disappearing from the kitchen and up the stairs when Toaster entered the kitchen, but she could guess from the surprise on Kirby's face that the argument had already started.
"What did you do now?" he demanded, sounding more bewildered then accusing as he rose from the kitchen table.
Toasteronly shook her head and passed by him into the living room. She took a seat at the bottom of the staircase, listening to the shouting upstairs; none of it intelligible.
"I thought you were still upstairs." Kirby had followed her. He towered over her, though it occurred to Toaster that he didn't quite know how to handle his newfound height. She tried not to cower.
"The Master asked me to help him in the clinic."
"You? Why?"
"Because he needs help." Toaster snapped. "Haven't you noticed that his arm's in a cast?"
"Of course, I noticed." Kirby bristled at her, folding his arms. He backed away from her though, and Toaster breathed in relief. "Anybody can see that he needs help."
"Exactly."
"That's why the mistress went out. To talk to him about getting help." The eyes were watching her curiously, the bushy eyebrows menacing. "So why are they arguing again?"
"How should I know! She saw me, and she just…she just…" Slowly, it dawned on Toaster. "She saw me. Every time she sees me. Kirby." Tears were swelling at the corner of her eyes. "She doesn't like me."
"That's not true." Kirby suddenly seemed uncomfortable. "And don't cry again. You…you look ridiculous when you cry."
"I can't help it." Toaster could hear the sob in her voice, and she tried to swallow it back. "She doesn't like me, and the master needs me, and I don't know what to do…" She buried her face in her hands.
You look ridiculous when you cry…you look ridiculous when you cry.
No, that just made everything ache worse.
Then, she felt the touch on her hair; light and gentle, like fingers still clumsy with their function. Her tears stopped in their tracks, replaced by a hope that the touch would linger.
A door upstairs slammed, and before Toaster could raise her head, the touch was gone. She blinked up to find Kirby leaning against the couch, as far away from her as he could get, staring up at the top of the staircase.
She barely had enough time to scramble to her feet as the Mistress stormed down the steps. The Mistress stopped directly in front of her, arms crossed and face unbearably cold. Toaster leaned against the railing for support, and protection, she suddenly realized, gulping under that cold look.
"Oh, stop looking at me like that!" the Mistress exploded, clenching her fists. "Why do you always look at me like I'm going to hit you? I don't hurt people! I'm not the bad guy...! Ugh!" She shut her eyes and drew in a breath. Toaster glanced up to find the Master coming slowly down the stairs behind her, watching her with as much caution as toaster felt.
"You're not getting kicked out," the Mistress finally said in a calmer voice. "Either of you." She included Kirby with a wave of her hand. "This is…a bad situation…but we can handle this." The Master rested his good hand on her shoulder, and the Mistress took another breath. "I'm going to the basement to find Rob's cot for John. Maybe we can set it up in the laundry room…or the kitchen…I don't know. We'll figure it out."
Toaster quickly moved aside as the Mistress headed for the basement.
"Don't worry, Thea," the Master said when his wife had gone. He looked haggard and tired, but at least he could manage a smile. "it's going to be okay,"
"Are you sure?" Toaster asked, risking a glance at Kirby. His expression gave her no comfort whatsoever.
"Yeah, I am." Rob ran a hand through his hair. "Chris just... It's just…" He made some expression with his fingers, as though there were no words to describe. "Look, I really appreciate the help you've given me."
"You're welcome."
"And I'd really like it if you kept helping." Toaster could hardly believe her ears. She clasped her hands together.
"Really?"
Now he truly smiled; that old boyish smile of his. "Really. It's not like I can do much with a cast on…and I can't just stop my practice. We need the patients, and we need the money. More than ever now. And if you can help-you know, handle the heavy lifting- I can keep on working. Besides, you need a place to stay. Both of you." He turned his smile to Kirby, who remained silent and watchful. "Chris understands that."
"Does she?" Toaster glanced towards the basement, where sounds of plastic boxes scratched along concrete.
"Well…she's trying." The master clasped his hand on her shoulder. "Just give her some time," he whispered into her ear. "She'll see what you're like, just like I do."
"You do?" Toaster had never felt so relieved in her life.
"I like to think I'm a good judge of character," the Master said, heading for his study.
Toaster did feel better. Though the Mistress was raging in the basement, she knew it would be okay. She smiled at Kirby, only to receive a stony gaze in return.
"You still blame me for this, don't you?"
Without an answer, Kirby pushed past her into the basement.
Toaster sank down to the step again, looking at the little master as he toddled over to her.
"Why isn't this getting any easier?" she asked him, as he put his hands in her hair.
Kirby stood at the bottom of the basement stairs, watching the Mistress struggle with the boxes from the long iron shelving that bordered each side of the room. She moved like a woman possessed, hefting one box at a time to the floor and tearing off the lid to rummage through it.
"Oh, come on," she exclaimed through gritted teeth as she dug through pile after pile. "That crap has to be in one of these!" She didn't seem to notice Kirby's arrival as she began to kick boxes out of her way. He marveled watching her, not sure if he was more impressed with her newfound strength or concerned for her sudden disdain for her own safety as she began reaching for boxes high out of her reach. He moved quickly, though, when one heavy box suddenly threatened to topple on her head and caught it before she even saw the danger.
"Thanks," she exclaimed, breathlessly, as he hefted the box over her head and down on the floor.
"You should be careful," he said, pausing to wipe the dust off the lid. The words "Camping Gear" revealed themselves under his hand.
"I should be a lot of things, according to my husband." She sighed as she read the label he'd found. "Of course, this would be the one." Kirby stepped out of her way as she pried open the lid and began to yank out piece to the cot.
"It wouldn't help anyone if you were hurt," Kirby added, watching her closely. For a moment, she hesitated, head bent over the box and hands gripping the sides. He could see her arms shaking, and reached up with one hand to brush at her eyes.
No teary eyes. He couldn't stand anymore teary eyes. In panic, he brushed her aside.
"I'll do it," he announced, pulling out each piece of the cot frame and handing them to her. In silence, they emptied the box and assembled the frame, saying very little to each other if they could manage without it. Both ended up with dust and grime on their clothes, but Kirby felt all the better for having something worth doing when the cot sat assmbled before them.
The Mistress seconded his sentiment with a smile; a genuine smile without a trace of tears.
"I never did thank you for cleaning up the kitchen," she said, dusting off her jeans. "That was above and beyond."
"That was nothing."
"That was kind," the Mistress insisted. "And...I haven't been kind lately."
"You're kind," Kirby protested, unable to keep the gruffness out of his voice. "You've been through a lot."
"No, I really haven't. Rob was the one who ended up in that accident, and Thea...John, why does Thea keep looking at me like that?"
"She's not sensible," Kirby snapped, as a vision of Toaster bursting into tears on the staircase attacked him. "That's why. She's well meaning, but she's not sensible. She doesn't think things through."
"Rob doesn't either. It's not like we need a plan right this second, but he can't just keep putting things off." She put the lid back on the box. Kirby took it from her before she could try lifting it herself. "There are some things we have to face, and it's better if we talk them out together."
"Together." Kirby's stomach turned, and he knew it wasn't the soup making it quesy.
The Mistress pushed loose strands of hair from her tired face as she leaned against the shelves. "Why is it the people we love make everything so damn difficult?"
The people we...Kirby seized the cot.
"I can sleep down here," he announced. He hefted it up and set it down in a far corner of the room, turning it to face the stairs.
"But it's cold," the Mistress tried to protest.
"I don't mind the cold," he replied, not really giving a damn at that moment. "It'll be out of the way, and I'll get some time to myself. And if you need help, I'm your vacuum." He stopped cold as he realized what he'd said, but the Mistress only laughed.
"A vacuum, right. After the way you cleaned up the kitchen this morning, I'd say that was spot on." She brought over a set of sheets and a blanket she'd pulled from another box. "Thanks, John. I'll think it over."
Kirby found it easy that time to return her smile. Even as he sat on the cot, feeling the thin mattress and springs, some part of him told him he could handle it.
For a while, anyway. For a while.