Chapter 7: And You'll Go Just Where You Want to Go

Dinner was quiet as everyone attempted to stomach the water- logged lasagna. Even the rolls Kirby had managed to whip together at the last minute did nothing to lighten the mood. The Master and Mistress noticed that something was amiss, and they glanced back and forth between their guests as they carried on a half-hearted conversation between themselves. Kirby would have avoided the table altogether if his stomach hadn't rumbled and pleaded for mercy (he hated, absolutely hated, the sensation of hunger). As it was, he placed himself as far down the table as possible to avoid the newly reformed toaster.

Even then, it was hard to keep his gaze fixed on his plate. The images of the laughing transformed vision that had stepped through the doorway played in his mind's eye over and over.

Toaster didn't join in the conversation, despite the couple's best attempts to include her. Out of the corner of his eye Kirby could see her fork moving languidly across her plate.

"Not hungry, Thea?" The Master ventured.

"Not really." Her voice was tired; heavy-and it was aimed in his direction.

Kirby willed himself not to look up. He'd spent all evening willing himself not to look, not to think, not to remember...

"You know, I was thinking I would clean out the attic tomorrow." The Mistress announced. "I haven't been able to do it since we moved here. I'm sure there's another bed frame up there- you remember, Rob, the one your aunt gave us?"

"Yeah." The Master chuckled. "It's a relic."

"Well, it wasn't my taste, but it might still have a good set of box springs. Then John could use it instead of the camping cot. What do you think, John? I bet you're ready for a real bed."

"I like the cot," Kirby stated, wishing they'd just leave him alone.

"A bed is so much nicer. You'd like it." Kirby flared at the soft words from across him. Of course, she'd want to start a fight.

"Sleeping on a counter is even better," he snapped back.

From the counter, Ratso guffawed.

"Uh oh, was that a cough?" The Mistress asked, as everyone looked over at the rat. Ratso played innocent, but Kirby glared at him anyway. He didn't need feedback from the peanut gallery.

"Hm. It didn't sound like one to me." Rob went back to his dinner.

"Well, I can't offer you a counter, but the bed is free for the taking. Especially after all your hard work." Chris extended her spoon in a gesture.

Kirby raised his eyes to acknowledge her. "The cot suits me just fine. Thank you," he added, trying to soften his voice at the pained look in her eyes.

"Well, I'll pull it out anyway. You might change your mind."

"He doesn't change his mind. You're wasting your time." Toaster's glass clunked against the table in a jolt that made even Kirby jump.

"At least I know what I want," he retorted. He glared so hard at the plate that design blurred together. "And I appreciate what I have. Unlike some people…"

"I've always known what I wanted. And when didn't I appreciate what I had, Kirby? Just tell me when?"

He grunted, unable to think of a good retort and restless with what he was holding back.

"Alright, you two. Out with it. What's wrong?" The Mistress pushed her plate away.

"Chris…"

"No, Rob, I'm not just going to keep quiet anymore. It's time we worked some of this stuff out. Now, you two have been at odds since John showed up. So spill."

"Nothing," Toaster said, dejectedly. "It's…an old fight. We always fight."

Kirby snorted. "We most certainly do not!" he snapped, looking straight at her before he could stop himself. His resolve faltered at the sight of her, and immediately his mind wheeled to that night in her room, his overwhelming desire to touch her...

"Then, why are we fighting now?" Toaster looked sadly at him. "Kirby, what do I keep doing that's so terrible?"

He was hurting her. He knew it. He could see it. And he couldn't tell her why. He couldn't even see himself.

Startled, Kirby stared back her, wordless as understanding crept over him. Yes, that's what happened that night. That's what confused him every time he looked at her. Every time he had looked at the toaster before, he had always seen some part of himself reflected back. He had eased himself in that reflection. But now, for the first time, he looked at her and could not see himself. Instead, he saw the same look that every woman had when they wanted something and couldn't ask. Every housewife who had lost control, who worried, who wanted to be held and had no one to hold them. Sometimes he boiled against the ones responsible for their pain; those boyfriends, husbands, even children who hurt and then left the wounded one to grieve in silence.

Now he was causing that hurt in someone, and he couldn't admit why. So he hung his head.

"It's not in my prime directive," he said.

Ratso guffawed again, louder this time.

"Okay," Rob rose from his chair, almost too quickly. "That definitely didn't sound right." He picked up the unit and held it at eye level. "I think I'll take this little guy out to the surgery tonight. Just to be sure."

"Here, I'll do it." The Mistress also moved too fast as she hurried to take Ratso from him. "Wouldn't want you to strain yourself."

Kirby couldn't help feeling avenged as the unit disappeared from the kitchen. That was what that stupid rodent got for interfering.

He heard Toaster sigh. "I think I'll just go upstairs."

"Oh, sure," the Master replied, sitting down again. "Um, if you put your dinner in the fridge, you can have it later…"

"Thanks, but I don't really want it." Kirby heard the trashcan lift and Toaster shaking the plate's contents into the bag. "Goodnight, everyone."

Kirby just sat there as she walked off, staring at his untouched plate, and wrestling with feelings that were too overbearing to handle.

"…And ten…and twelve…and thirteen…" Toaster sat cross-legged on the guest bed, head tilted to one side as she ran a brush against the side of her head. The sober hairdresser who had worked the tangles out had told her to brush her hair on each side exactly thirty times each night.

"What if I lose count?" Toaster had asked, clutching her new round hairbrush. The laugh that erupted from Kris, and the grinning way the hairdresser had called her, "a sweetheart," hadn't exactly answered her question. Nonetheless, she had waited for complete silence to count in peace. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right.

"…And thirty!" She brandished the hairbrush in triumph before setting it tenderly on the nightstand. She ran her fingers through the newly brushed hair, marveling at its softness. The hairdresser had commented, once the tangles were combed through, that the hair was baby soft. Having only the little master to compare to, Toaster would have had to take her word for it. Nonetheless, she found she loved the touch of the hair. Tangles all gone, she enjoyed running her fingers through it, feeling it swish by like a sheet of rain.

She had never felt so satisfied in her life

The girls' afternoon out had been everything Chris promised and more. The mall they had gone to was crowded with sights and sounds more wonderful than she could have imagined. Humans wandered here and there, laughing, shopping, waving and calling at each other; Toaster would have been perfectly content to stand in the center of the mall, with the large crystal-like skyscraper overhead, and just watch people. But Chris had taken her arm and ushered her from one store to the next; one delight to another.

She had always thought shopping was just a silly thing humans did to pass the time. Now she knew better.

Toaster rose from the bed and walked to the closet, carefully sliding back one side to admire its contents. She ran her hand over the colorful clothes, enjoying the way the hangers clacked against the rod. The stores had intimated her at first, but Chris had kept a firm hand on her all throughout. She had accepted every item given her; grudging colors and shapes, and even fabrics with uncertain shrugs. Chris' enthusiasm and the eagerness of the sales clerks outweighed her uncertainty. Their quarrel had been completely forgotten in Chris' attempts to dolly up her new friend.

"Friend," Toaster murmured, fingering a sleeveless floral dress. She remembered clearly how Kris had swept it off the rack to hold against her, asking a nearby salesperson if they had it in another size.

"Just in case my friend needs something a little smaller."

Somehow that one word had made all the difference. Toaster warmed to the task, and even found herself partial to everything sky blue and gold. The dress had fit, perfectly, and so did everything else that followed.

They had talked. When she was just seconds away from being worn to pieces by the adventures, Chris called a halt and treated her to a cherry cream shake in the food court. That's where, for the first time, Toaster learned everything about the Mistress: growing up in a military family, parents divorcing when she was twelve, and having them fight over her until she was ready to run away from everything…how she was afraid she'd lose Rob the same way…

"Oh, no!" Toaster had exclaimed, reaching across the table to hug Chris tightly. "That will never happen to you, too! Rob loves you so much!"

Chris' eyes had filled with tears, though she only hugged her back. Toaster wished she could tell her everything, too, but knew her own adventures would only confuse the human. So, when her turn to talk came, she'd only talked about feeling useless, losing her friends, and feeling abandoned.

"Well, you're not abandoned anymore," Chris had reassured her. "You're staying with us until you know what you want to do. Okay?"

"Okay."

Toaster slipped the dress from the hanger and tossed it over her head. The zipper took some maneuvering, but even after a week of being human she found herself able to dress with little fuss. The sash tied snuggly around her waist, and she held out her arms for balance as she looked down to examine the skirt. It swished and rustled nicely.

Too bad Kirby hated everything human. Toaster dropped her arms with a sigh as she glanced in the mirror.

Or maybe he just hated her for being human.

Maybe it was her fault. She stared at herself in the nearby mirror, taking in everything different as she kept the dress pressed against her. Maybe somehow she had wished for it all to happen so she could be human. Maybe there was some old appliance code that turned one human if they admired humans long enough. It was true that she was the only appliance ever to admire one human so closely. Perhaps Kirby was right in thinking she was unnatural.

Unnatural.

Toaster gasped, and struggled to get out of the dress. With a grunt, she flung it onto the floor of the closet and slammed the door shut. So, she was unnatural? Well, fine. She pulled open a nearby drawer and dug around its new items. She'd go admit it to Kirby. She tell exactly how she felt, and demand that he talk to her. She and Chris had talked. Now it was their turn.

And she wouldn't deign antagonize him anymore, she decided, as she pulled out the old maternity clothes.

Kirby was sitting in the living room in the dark, holding an empty tea cup in his hands when she came downstairs. Rob and Chris had gone to bed long ago. They would be alone.

She hadn't quite made up her mind what to say when Kirby snapped up his head to watch her storm down the stairs. Instead, she let her fury speak as she planted herself in front of him, legs apart and hands on her hips.

"We need to talk," she demanded, as he stared at her.

He didn't answer right away. Instead, his eyes darted over her in wild bemusement.

"Why are you dressed like that again?"

"Oh, no," Toaster warned, holding up her hand. "We are not talking about clothes this time. Or human duties, or prime directives, or anything! We are going to talk about us! You and me!"

Kirby's brows drew together. "I thought you and the Mistress spent all afternoon shopping for things so you wouldn't have to wear those rags!"

"I said we're not talking about clothes!" Toaster stomped her foot, half glad that the carpet muffled the sound. She didn't want to wake anyone. "I want you to stop avoiding me and start talking to me! It's the only way we're going to get to figure this out! It's not my fault! You hear me? It's not my fault!"

"Talk?" Kirby grumbled, the sounds rumbling around like he was trying to find the right words. "What exactly do we have to talk about?"

"Anything! Something! Just as long as you talk to me! Please!" She clasped her hands together as the knot in her chest tightened. "I need you to talk to me!"

"Need me?" Kirby looked absolutely baffled. "Need me? What do you need me for? You…you don't need anything but the Master…and your experiences! Your confladded experiences!" Spluttering, he pushed himself up from the couch and stomped towards the kitchen. "Go talk to someone who cares about your experiences!"

Toaster raced to the doorway to block his path. "That's not fair! Why are being so cruel?"

"Cruel? Cruel?" His face reddened. "You want to know what's cruel!" He pounded his chest. "This is cruel!" He grabbed his hair. "This is cruel! Being human is cruel! And you," he jabbed a finger in her face, "did this to us!"

"You know that's not true!" Toaster balled her hands into fists, though tears threatened at her eyes.

"Oh, yeah?" Kirby's eyes burned into hers as he menaced her. "It's not true? Thea." He spat the word into her face.

"No, it's not. John." She shot back.

"Well, you could have fooled me! Prancing in here all dressed up! Why don't you go upstairs, Thea, and put on some of those newfangled things the Mistress bought you? Or go out to the clinic and wow the Master."

"You're one to talk! Why don't you bake some more lasagna?" Toaster shot back.

"Get out of my way." Kirby swept her aside with one hand and continued his march into the kitchen. Toaster followed. "Or wash some dishes, or mop some floors? You're yelling at me about prime directives and being human, and you're running around all day doing everything Chris asks! Where's your prime directive?"

"What else can I do?" The tea cup nearly shattered as Kirby dropped it into the sink "There's nothing else to do! I'm doing everything I can just to stay sane!"

"You do it just fine! You're going to parks, making friends-!"

"But I don't want to! I don't want to do any of this! Not like this! Not by myself! When I was an appliance, at least I was never alone!"

"You've got me!" Toaster thrust herself between him and the sink. "I'm right here!"

Kirby backed away, turning his face from her. "I can't even look at you!"

"Why not?"

"Because it's wrong!"

"What is?"

"You…dressed like that. Standing there, like that!"

"But WHY is it wrong? Tell me!"

"Tell you? Tell you?" Kirby finally looked at her.

"Yes! You can trust me!" She pressed her hands to her chest.

"Trust you? You-You weren't even here when it happened!" Kirby thundered. "You weren't even at the accident! I looked for you-for anyone-for three days! No one was there! And you want me to TRUST you?" His voice screamed of desperation. "I was abandoned! You abandoned me!"

"I know!" Toaster could feel tears starting. They matched the waterworks threatening in the sharp eyes staring her down. "Don't you think I know that? I was alone, too! I was all alone in the car wreck and the hospital, and now I'm alone here! You think you're doing everything you can? I don't know what to do either! But now I'm here! We're here! Talk to me! Quit avoiding me! It's you and me together! Quit acting like I don't…!"

Kirby moved. For a split second they were staring at each other, tears threatening and emotions raw. In the next, Toaster was caught up in Kirby's arms, held tight against his chest. She lost her breath; when she found it, she could feel Kirby's chest heaving, and his hands clutching tightly at her back and her head. She felt his breath in her hair as he fought back his sobs.

She felt a sudden release of all the fear and wistfulness and guilt that had eaten away at her slowly for days. She clutched at him, and couldn't say a word; only grateful for his touch as he hugged her.

After some time she felt him loosen his grip. She whimpered and tried to tighten her hold on him. Kirby, however, only pulled back far enough to look down on her. His eyes were heavy, tired, though the tears were gone, and he smiled fondly at her.

"Oh, Kirby," she gasped, still feeling tears threaten. She thought of more that she wanted to say-how they'd figure it out, and she'd never abandoned him-and opened her mouth to say them. The hand that rose to cup her cheek and the finger that deftly swept the tear back from her eye silenced her. Her skin tingled under his touch, every nerve aflame as his eyes focused unwavering on hers.

For a long moment, they stood like that, Toaster holding Kirby with both arms while his hand rested firm and warm on her cheek. Then, Kirby bent his head and kissed her.

Kissed her.

He kissed her.

Kirby, the grumpy, muttering vacuum cleaner, kissed her.

And she, the little toaster, kissed him back. Her mind reeled with sensation, the taste of peppermint tea still lingering on his lips, the roughness of his mustache against her skin; the heat of his body as he clasped his arm around her shoulders while the hand cupping her cheek glided into her hair. A great warmth passed through her, flaming in her belly.

This was…this was…

"Ouch." She broke the kiss as a corner of the counter dug sharply in her back.

"I'm sorry…" she apologized breathlessly as he straightened up. "Don't stop…" Kirby cut her off with a grunt as he grasped her by the waist and hefted her up on the counter.

"I can't stop," he exclaimed as she struggled to get her bearings, and claimed her mouth again with more fervency. She flung an arm around his neck, using her free hand to brace herself on the counter. She gasped for breath as Kirby's mouth, no longer content with her lips, moved down her neck, ravishing her clavicle and sucking at the hollow of her neck. His hands touched her everywhere, from her hair to the back of her neck, to sliding down to clasp the small of her back. Her body responded to his ministrations in waves that rippled down her belly. She found her own hand roaming over his shoulders and chest, feeling them tremble, before grasping at the short hairs on his head.

Her hand suddenly slipped on the counter, and she would have toppled backwards if Kirby's arms hadn't braced her from behind. She shut her eyes, resting in his grasp.

"Are—are you okay?" she heard him gasp. She opened her eyes to find him staring down at her with wide eyes.

"I'm fine." Touched by his sudden tenderness, Toaster wrapped both arms around his neck, smiling up at him. "I'm…perfectly fine."

No. She lied. Strong feelings bubbled inside of her. She wanted to throw back her head and laugh until her heart burst. She wanted him to hold her and never let go. She couldn't understand it. A moment ago she had been furious with him. Unable to find a voice for those desires, she instead reached up to stroke the whiskers on his cheek

Kirby shuddered with the caress, and he pressed his head against her breasts. Toaster set her cheek to the top of his head.

"I…I don't know what's happening." Kirby's voice, husky with passion, whispered.

"Me neither."

"I've never felt this way before."

"Me neither." Toaster chuckled nervously.

"What…what do we do now?"

"I don't know," she replied, shivering at his warm breath on her breasts. Her fingers traced the curve of his ear, and she suddenly, impulsively, licked it.

Kirby shook in response. It wasn't an answer they were looking for, but Kirby suddenly found what he wanted. With a choked sound, he hoisted Toaster from the counter and carried her from the kitchen. Fighting back a startled yelp, Toaster clung to his neck and wrapped her legs around his waist for dear life as he crossed the living room in two strides. She buried her face in his neck-dizzy from his musky scent- so it wasn't until after she felt herself descending that she realized he had carried her into the basement. She raised her head as he halted, taking in the single dim light and a neatly made cot and coffee table. For a moment, he stood at the bottom of the stairs, the night's chill, unusual for August, raised gooseflesh on them both. Kirby hesitated; Toaster felt his arms tighten around her as though he was suddenly aware of her.

"Kirby?" she whispered, unnerved by the echo of her voice.

Kirby's response was to make his way to the cot. The tender way with which he handled her, bending slowly and supporting her head, as he laid her down that her heart ached. She lay looking up at him, as he knelt down, one arm encircling her shoulders as the other rested on the mattress, the fingers stroking her hair.

"Toaster…" There was the familiar gruff edge to his voice, but it was laced with something else now; an odd, hopeful longing.

"Me, too," she answered, eagerly, as she held his face with her hands. His eyes brightened with her permission-though what she had offered permission for exactly she couldn't say. She just knew deeply, with a truth that went beyond her knowledge as a human or an appliance, that she trusted him in everything. As he kissed her forehead, she trusted him. As he trailed kisses down her cheek and neck, she trusted him. As his hands slipped underneath her blouse to caress skin, she trusted him.

As her hands carefully mimicked his, she knew he trusted her, too.

The cot groaned as Kirby rested one knee by her thigh, straddling her without putting full weight on her. If the cot's supports had chosen to buckle, neither of them might not have noticed. Toaster was too intent on grasping and tugging Kirby's shirt to bring him closer, and Kirby was far too eager in his attempts to gather Toaster's blouse in one fist. The basement was damp and cool, but Toaster only felt Kirby's warmth as he stretched out over her. She helped him lift the blouse over her head, moaning when his mouth touched her bared skin. She hardly noticed when the sweatpants slid down her waist, nor did he seem to notice when she unbuttoned his shirt and ran her hands over his chest. She found herself searching for something; something only the human body that encased her seemed to understand.

At the same moment Kirby's hand slid up between her legs, her hands brushed over the waist of his.

"Oh!" They paused to look up at each other, eyes wide and breaths stopping in shock. For a moment they stared deeply at each other, both waiting for some signal from each other. Toaster knew deeply-she couldn't understand how she knew-that what happened next would change everything for her; for them.

She also felt Kirby's fingers, oh, so close, still and waiting for her permission.

Without breaking his gaze, she reached down to guide him further. In silent agreement, Kirby continued.

In the end, they made their discovery together. Both equally unschooled and undisciplined, they nonetheless uncovered the secret that made life itself both possible and pleasurable. Like Adam and Eve in the garden, they became one, guided only by a hand as mysterious and profound as that which had created humanity. Their first time finished, they lay gasping and clinging to each other, fresh with sweat and amazement.

The second time, they broke the cot.

On waking, Kirby immediately felt for the plump figure beside him. He didn't have far to look; she was still curled against him, her head resting on his bicep. He'd fallen asleep to the sound of her breathing, but his memories were of her deep breaths and gasps of pleasure. He buried his face in her dark hair, breathing in her scent.

Yes. Her scent. He marveled that the Toaster he had known for years possessed a scent so intoxicating. What it was exactly he couldn't guess; it was just her. Everything was her. The light in her eyes when she gazed at him, the way her hands, so small, grabbed at him. He'd been avoiding her for weeks, unable to look at her in his own disgust. Now he couldn't get enough of admiring her, touching her. He slid his hand up her shirt again, gently feeling the swell of her breast.

He had never felt this way in his life.

She moved in her sleep, breathing out with a small sound and turning so that he could see her sleeping face. Kirby placed a kiss on her lips and her nose, pleased when she smiled in her sleep. He'd known the toaster for most of his life; he'd seen the chrome finish sparkling on the kitchen counter of the cabin when she'd first been tugged from her box. He tolerated her, just as he tolerated any other obnoxious appliance. She smiled and laughed far too often for his taste.

Now, though, he'd never known a laugh so perfect, or a smile so beautiful. Was this what made humans so special? This touching and feeling? Is that what it was like to be human? To touch and be touched in that way? He ached for that newfound element of their friendship.

Light sprang across her body as he watched her sleep, demanding his reluctant attention. He didn't want to leave, but his internal clock nagged him with a sudden list of his duties. Chores had always been his prime directive and even as a human he couldn't ignore that first duty for which he had been made. Robbie would be waking, hungry for breakfast, and there was a sink full of dishes that he hadn't finished last night. So, he rose from the cot, wincing as broken supports and springs creaked.

Toaster only turned over on her side without waking. As an appliance, he would have scoffed at her laziness. As a human possessed, he only felt fondness for his small friend.

He straightened his shirt and slacks, lingering only long enough to caress Toaster's dark hair away from her eyes and tuck the blanket around her. He saw no reason to wake her; yet.

Half of him, though he couldn't admit it, hoped she'd still be asleep when he returned.

The baby was only just stirring when he arrived, and within half an hour he was back downstairs with the tot bouncing gleefully on his arm. While the baby sucked away at a bottle in his highchair, Kirby cleaned the kitchen and set the stove warming eggs and bacon for breakfast. He had to rely on his hands for memory; his mind was far too taken with images of the woman in the basement and the way she had laughed and moaned under his touch.

He could barely contain himself when the master and mistress finally came. While they filled their plates high and sweet talked with Robbie, Kirby made a hasty retreat back to the basement. With only an ounce of light gleaming from the tiny west facing window, the basement remained darker and cooler than the rest of the house. He paused at the bottom of the steps to allow his eyes to adjust, relieved that the Toaster was still asleep on the broken cot.

"Toaster," he murmured, easing down by her side.

The woman moaned. "Kirby…"

"Come on, lazybones," he urged fondly, drawing the blanket back with one hand while the other slid down her bared waist. "It's morning. There's breakfast." He bent to kiss her.

"Kirby." Her panicked plea stopped him. Her eyes were tear stained and wide with panic as she looked up at him, begging silently for help. She moaned again, clutching her belly, and tried to sit up. Kirby moved to help her, abruptly starting as his fingers touched sticky dampness on the inside of her thighs. In a fearful panic, he flung the blankets off the cot. In the dark, he could just barely make out a stain darkening the mattress between Toaster's thighs.

"What?"

"…I'm sorry…" The toaster fainted.