Disclaimer: I don't own Wreck-It Ralph.
Four-Letter Words
Fear is a four-letter word.
It's something Calhoun says every single day to her platoon, reminding them of their duty as they go through the same motions over and over every time there is a quarter alert.
She doesn't think it helps them much. Markowski is a nervous wreck at the end of each day, drinking in Tapper's to block it out at least for a small period.
Dying doesn't get easier.
It happens more often to some than it does to her; she's good with her blaster. But even knowing that they will regenerate when the game is over, it's still a shock. Each moment must be lived like the last. Sometimes they're pierced with those metallic pincers, ripped open belly to throat.
That's the more enviable death. Others have limbs torn off, or punctured organs. A slow death, aware of every single stage.
Calhoun witnesses it all, and it haunts her dreams as much as Brad does.
So she doesn't blame them for being afraid. She let go of that fear a long time ago, after losing Brad, when it no longer mattered whether she survived or not as long as she took down as many cybugs as possible.
Fear is a four-letter word.
So is love.
And that is something she is afraid of.
Felix, earnest and serious as he'd said those words, clutching his cap between his hands in a show of gentlemanly sincerity.
I love you.
She faces death every day and doesn't flinch.
But she flinches from this.
She's been programmed to love. Of course she has. She loves Brad still; it's in her very coding.
But loving someone else? She doesn't know if she can do that.
Felix had noticed her discomfort and quickly smoothed it over, saying it was a slip of the tongue and he had no expectations for her to share the sentiment, that nothing would change between them because he enjoyed spending time with her. That he was sorry if had caused her any discomfort and he would endeavour to make it up to her.
He's sorry. Calhoun shakes her head. He's far too good for anyone.
It must have stung not to have the words echoed back to him, but he hadn't let it show.
He's braver than she is.
She'd ducked out as soon as she was able, leaving more chaos and tragedy in her wake.
Now she paces her bunker, a caged lioness, restless with anxiety.
Fear, love.
She doesn't want to hurt him, that much is true. He is a nice guy, probably the nicest guy she knows. And it's not for show, to curry her favour. Not an empty platitude to be rewarded.
The gentleman has evolved plenty over the last thirty years.
Calhoun sighs, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
Fear, love.
Why can't she take her own advice? Toughen up, take it in stride? It doesn't have to change anything. Felix said that himself.
Except that can't be the truth. He looks at things through a rosy haze, with an infectious enthusiasm written into his code with the stalwart belief that he can fix anything.
She is a grim realist. Her barren hell of a home would see to that for anyone.
Things will change. If she doesn't say those three words back, it will pick at his seams like a bird of prey, slowly unthreading his resolve until a tangle of despair is all that remains.
Resentment, hurt, anger, all will be laced back into his persona, remade as something grotesque. A virus in his programming, gorging on his insecurities.
And they will be powerless to stop the transformation, because she can't return that same sentiment.
Can she?
She's not someone who loves easily. Would she even have loved Brad if she wasn't programmed to?
In truth, it's an answer she will never know. Ans that is a heavy burden to carry.
She likes Felix. He's a nice man. Any woman would be lucky to have him.
But love? Will she ever be able to say that?
She feels something for him, she won't deny that. Being with him, looking at him, gives her a warm feeling inside, a feeling she isn't accustomed to. It's a glow of sorts. Not a honey glow, whatever that is. But it's something. Something she has never felt before, not even with Brad. Because that was something different; a kind of unshakeable certainty that they were made for each other—because they had been.
This isn't coding. This is her rebelling against it. It's all out of her control.
She hates being out of control. She plans everything down to the minutest detail, forever haunted by the one time she didn't.
Fear, love.
Calhoun slumps down on her hard bunker, aggressively sweeping her hair out of her eyes. What a mess.
But there's another voice whispering in the back of her head. It sounds like Brad's. Which make sense, given how intrinsically he is wound with her coding.
Are you afraid? Because live is a four-letter word too.
Calhoun huffs, falling back against her lumpy pillow. It's a ridiculous notion. She's not afraid of love. She's not afraid to live. It's just that she can't. Her code says so.
Or maybe that's the easy way out. She's excellent at burying her trauma. It's the only way she can function. Pretending it doesn't exist, numbing her senses with whatever she can, that is her whole existence. Her programming doesn't allow for anything else.
And yet...
Live is a four-letter word.
They haven't been plugged in for very long. There's still a lot to adapt to. To discover. Felix has had a thirty year head start in that regard. He is more comfortable in his own skin, in what to expect.
"Not necessarily," she hears him scolding now. "Look at how we all treated Ralph in that time."
So there are lessons for everyone to learn.
Life is a four-letter word.
Fear. Love. Live.
She shouldn't be afraid. Not of herself. Not of Felix. Not of Brad.
Least of all Brad. He was never the kind of man to be vindictive or cruel; they'd rarely ever argued, for he'd take her anger and frustration with an easy smile, loving the fact that his dynamite gal was so passionate.
Brad has never been real. A ghost that she passes through whenever she tries to reach for him.
And he wouldn't want her to spend the rest of her life as a lonely spectre herself, a being upon the physical realm unable to interact with the world around her. Real or not, that wasn't not who he was.
He'd want her to be happy. He'd want her to chase that happiness, even if it wasn't with him.
It can never be with him.
But it could be with Felix, if she was brave enough to reach out.
Is she?
Calhoun stops in front of her mirror, the one luxury in an otherwise sparse room, there for no other reason than to check her uniform before the start of each gruelling day.
Her hair is an unkempt mess from the times she's run her fingers through it, her mouth pinched and tight with her conflict, her eyes dark and troubled.
This is the sight Felix sees every day, but he loves her anyway.
She's not a coward. She isn't going to shy away any longer.
Live.
Donning her civilian clothes and giving up after several futile attempts to tame her hair, she heads out of the door into the barren, hopeless landscape of Hero's Duty.
Other game characters give her a wide berth as she emerges into Game Central Station, her jaw locked with grim determination; they scurry and scuttle before her like baby cybugs. She ignores them all.
Even the Surge Protector quivers when he pops up to question her on her business, the interrogation dying on his tongue.
"That's classified, civilian," she says anyway, daring him to argue.
He doesn't, only blinking at her with bemusement behind his glasses, before turning to scribble something furiously onto his clipboard. She doesn't much care what sanctions she might be getting. The only thing that matters right now is reaching Fix-It Felix, Jr.
The carts that will take her into the game take an age to appear. She spends the time pacing restlessly back and forth down the platform, half-tempted to throw caution to the wind and walk there herself, because it would surely be quicker than this. If only she'd remembered to bring her cruiser. But in the haste of her decision, she hadn't given it a second thought. Being idle is one of the worst things that can happen to her as a soldier. It gives her too much time to think. To doubt.
She forces herself to turn her mind away from what awaits her at the end of the tunnel, focuses instead on the echo of her steps in the chamber, the cadence of her breathing. In, out. In, out. She is in control.
Though she isn't sure that the little Q*bert characters would agree. They stand huddled together at the other side of the platform, chirping together in their strange language, occasionally sending her apprehensive sidelong glances before looking away hastily, as if they're afraid that she'll effervesce them with her blaster. She ignores them as best she can. Their jitters are making her own anxiety worse.
At last, the rickety old carts trundle into view, coming to a stop with a screech of rusty breaks. Calhoun crams herself into the front cart, knees almost under her chin and spine hunched awkwardly. The Q*bert characters head straight for the back, putting as much distance between them as possible. When they're all settled, the carts groan back into life and begin the leisurely journey back to Fix-It Felix, Jr.
The journey feels like an eternity. Not even able to jiggle her leg impatiently, Calhoun is forced to remain stiff and unmoving throughout, gritting her teeth against the growing ache in her bones. She doesn't know how Ralph manages to ride this every day.
At long last, they shudder to a stop in the peaceful station in the game. The Q*bert characters boing out and bounce away in the direction of the little apartments that have been fashioned for them by Felix, evidently unwilling to stick around in her presence. It takes Calhoun several moments longer to squeeze herself free from her cart, the air embellished with several colourful curses that are the staple of a soldier's vocabulary and would surely make poor Felix pale.
When she's free, she turns in the direction of the penthouse, striding over with an outward confidence that she doesn't feel on the inside. That's in her code too. To be strong and show no fear, even if inside she's trembling like a maiden on her first night. To show weakness is to lose before the battle has even begun.
Fix-It Felix, Jr. is as peaceful as ever. The pixelated stars twinkle and wink overhead. The grass swishes gently on the whisper of the warm breeze, punctuated only rarely by the odd cry of the ducks that live down by the lake.
"Heeeeey, Serge! Serge!"
The loud voice startles Calhoun out of her meditative state, and her hand instinctively goes to the blaster at her hip, always ready to engage in combat.
Vanellope cocks her head to one side, huge blue eyes inquisitive. "Hey, no need to shoot, it's only me. Whatcha doin'? The arcade closed hours ago! I thought you and Hammer Time woulda been out on the town somewhere together."
Calhoun forces her fingers to relax, moving them away from the holster, gives the same old excuse she'd give to anyone else. "Perimeter check took longer than expected. Have to make sure none of those filthy bugs are left behind."
Vanellope glitches indifferently onto a nearby tree stump. "You had a falling out or something?"
Sometimes, hearing Vanellope's no-nonsense, no-frills dose of child-like frankness is refreshing. Calhoun is so used to people tiptoeing around her, afraid to say what's really on their mind for fear of displeasing her. She sees it in her soldiers every day. She sees it in the civilians who scuttle away when they see her cutting her way through the arcade. She sees it in Ralph, who is still wary of her after their rocky start. She even sees it in Felix sometimes, in his romantic, eager urge to always allow her to have her own way.
Still, Vanellope was programmed as a nine-year-old girl, and no matter how many years she might have been plugged in, she's never going to understand the complexities between adult relationships. She doesn't understand the notion of being someone programmed to love one person forever, yet somehow having the autonomy to fall in love with someone else, and all of the terror and turmoil that comes with that. She's nine, and she is always going to view love as something gross that adults get hung up on, and she's never going to want anything to do with yucky boys.
"Of course we haven't," she says. "Like I said, we were held up longer than we'd thought. I'm on my way to see him now."
"Maybe Ralph and I could come with you," Vanellope says, just as the thundering feet of the villain himself make the ground shake around them. She throws a nonchalant glance over her shoulder. "'Bout time the great lummox caught up with me. He's real slow, y'know?"
He also doesn't have the ability to glitch several feet forward at once, but Calhoun doesn't voice it.
"You know Fix-It and I are always pleased to have you around, Vanellope. But I need to talk to him alone this time."
Vanellope pouts. "Aww, that sucks. Maybe I could help!"
Calhoun can't help chuckling. "I appreciate the enthusiasm, kid, but I'm on my own with this one."
Vanellope opens her mouth as if she'd quite like to argue that point, but Ralph reaches out to snag her by the hood. "I think all those loud engines are hurting your hearing, pipsqueak. Calhoun and Felix need to talk. Sometimes adults need time to talk without little squirts like you getting in the way."
Vanellope sticks her tongue out at him. "Well, you wouldn't know anything about that, either! You're a bigger pain than I am!"
"Says the one who eats candy for breakfast and thinks that's a good meal!"
"Look, we'll hang out tomorrow," Calhoun interrupts before the squabbling can escalate. "Maybe we can watch you in a Roster Race and then head on out for something to eat."
Vanellope's eyes light up at the prospect of getting to show off her racing skills for her favourite people. Like any child, she's happy to play to the attention and lap it up. "Yeah, that sounds awesome!"
"Great. Then we'll see you tomorrow, lieutenant. Enjoy your evening."
Vanellope salutes her. "Yes, ma'am!" She turns back to Ralph. "Can we go and chase the ducks?"
Ralph sighs. "You know they don't like it."
"Well, yeah! But it's so funny when they flap around and quack!" Vanellope demonstrates enthusiastically before falling to the floor holding her stomach as she laughs. Calhoun resists the urge to roll her eyes. Small things. With one last nod, she continues on her way.
Ralph shoots her a pensive look as she passes, slightly more intuitive than his little companion, but Calhoun ignores him. Everything is going to be okay. It has to be.
In no time at all, she reaches the penthouse. All is peaceful. The Nicelanders seem to be safely tucked away somewhere, which she is grateful for. The last thing she needs is to be interrupted by Gene's sneering or Mary's panic about pies.
Calhoun takes a moment to compose herself. There's no backing out now. She's not a coward.
She takes a decisive step forward and enters the building, jabbing her finger into the elevator button with more nervous energy than she is comfortable showing.
It seems to take an age for the elevator to arrive at the penthouse. When at last it does, Calhoun steels her nerves one last time and steps forward onto the battlefield.
She raises her fist and pounds on the door.
It takes an age for Felix to answer. But he does. He always does.
"Sergeant Calhoun!" he exclaims. Is there a tremble of apprehension beneath the usual chipper tone? "I wasn't expecting to see you tonight. You should have let me know you were coming. I would have met you."
A true gentleman, as always. As if his coding would ever allow him to be anything else.
"Hey, Fix-It," she says. "Can I come in?"
He scrambles to open the door wider. "Of course! You don't need to ask!"
"Of course I do," she says. "It's your house."
"I want you to be comfortable enough to come here too!" he insists. "You, Ralph, Vanellope…I never want any of you guys to have to feel as if you can't just swing on by whenever you feel like it." He pauses for a moment, giving a nervous grin. "Well, out of game time, o'course. We don't want another situation like the one we had with Turbo!"
Calhoun snorted despite herself. "You're right there, Fix-It. Any more disasters like that and I'd have to question my ability as a leader."
Felix's eyes widened. "Oh, no, ma'am! You're a real swell leader! No one else could do the job you do!"
"Yeah, because they're not programmed to," she snorts, but sobers quickly. It's back to that again. Programming. Fate versus agency.
A slightly awkward silence has fallen between them. Running her hand through her hair, Calhoun steps forward. Felix moves aside at once to admit her, and closes the door behind them.
She feels slightly easier then. She has been in this space so many times before. It's more comforting to her than any she has ever known. It's exactly like Felix is: accommodating, warm, cosy.
Home.
Felix is so sweet, so good. And she owes it to him to be truthful. About everything.
Fear is a four-letter word. And she's about to crush it beneath her heel like a cybug.
"I wanted to talk to you," she says. "About earlier."
Felix's eyes widen. "There's nothing to say, ma'am. I can only apologise for my forwardness and gosh-darn big mouth! I never should have said what I said!"
Calhoun shakes her head. "I don't want you to be sorry. I don't want you to feel embarrassed. I'm the one who should be apologising. I wasn't expecting you to say what you said. And I suppose…" She huffs, shaking her head. "I panicked. I'm not proud of it. I'm supposed to be a fearless leader. I am. But when it comes to this, to you…it's something that I'm still working on."
Felix remains silent, perhaps sensing that if he interrupts now she'll lose her nerve. She presses onward.
"I am sorry for leaving you like I did without a word. That was cruel of me. You didn't deserve it."
"No, Tammy," Felix says softly now, reaching out to take her hand. "That was all my fault. I knew I shouldn't have pushed those feelings on to you. I knew it was too soon, that you still had things you needed to work through. It just…slipped out. I've felt it from the moment I first met you. I wasn't thinking, and I couldn't contain it. But I don't expect you to feel the same way. And if…if you want things to stop between us, I respect that. I just hope that we can still be friends, and that you can forgive me for my lack of tact."
Surprised, Calhoun glances down at their laced fingers, then into Felix's large, blue eyes. They're a little watery, and his smile trembles a little, but there is no anger or falsehood there. He means what he says.
And she knows she can't let the uncertainty continue to fester. He deserves to know the truth. He deserves to know that she is serious, cowardly though she may have been.
"That's the thing, Felix," she says, taking a deep breath. "I don't want to be just friends. It took me by surprise, that's all, and I acted like a coward."
"You didn't!" he protests, ever-ready to jump to her defence, even if it's against herself.
She smiles sardonically. "I was. I ran. And if any of my men had dared to do such a thing, I would have them on cleaning duty for the next six months. I can't hold myself to different standards. So that's why I'm here. To apologise to you. And to say…"
"To say…?" Felix echoes, a frown etched across his features.
But despite her resolve, she can't quite bring herself to look at him as she speaks her truth. She hasn't mastered her fear. Instead she stares over his head, at the wall opposite him, at the line of medals that exalt his integrity. "The truth is…the truth is, I feel the same way about you."
"W-What?" The tremor in his voice is palpable, and she forces herself to look down and meet his eye.
No more running.
His expression is one of utter disbelief, but there's no mistaking the tentative, unbridled joy that spreads across his face.
No turning back now. She needs to say it. To make it clear.
"I love you too, Felix," she says.
For an unendurable moment, there's nothing but silence. A part of her is still afraid that this is all too good to be true, that it will crumble down around her, even though he was the one who confessed first, even though he is the sincerest person she has ever come across.
But then he speaks, and his voice cracks like glass; the relief is unmistakable.
"You mean that?" he says, his eyes alight with hope. "Really and truly?"
"Really and truly," she affirms.
"Oh, Tammy!" he gushes, and she has a moment to brace herself before he bounces up into her arms, wrapping his own around her neck and nuzzling against her. "This is the best day of my whole life!"
"You know what, Fix-It?" she murmurs in his ear as he squeezes her tight, eight-bit hearts multiplying around them like confetti from a bonsai tree, "it's the best day of my life, too."
And then he's cradling the back of her neck, and she's holding him tighter, and they're kissing, kissing and laughing, and Calhoun's heart swells in her chest.
Fear is a four-letter word, but there are so many others too.
Hope.
Live.
Kind.
Safe.
Grow.
Heal.
Love.
And she embraces them all.