Chapter Text
The coffee machine buzzes and grinds, just a few feet away in the late morning light that filters through sheer yellow curtains. A bottle of creamer has already been taken from the fridge and set next to the machine.
Mike pours cheap cereal into two bowls, one green and one blue. Like all good things are.
Pac leans against their dining table. He obviously left his leg in the bedroom, from how the generic blue sweatpants hang formlessly just under his stump. Their table is a small thing, placed off-center in their kitchen. It’s meant for two or three people, but they’ve never reached that capacity. A plastic tablecloth intended for a child's birthday party is taped onto it, with stools across from each other on each side. At a glance, I'd be easy to think the stools were stolen from some old ice cream parlor and taken here. If anyone asked them if they were, both would change the conversation very quickly.
Pac sees him carrying their favorite bowls, and smiles brightly at the man. Mike’s not sure he would be the same person, without his soulmate. Pac is such an affectionate person; lonely, too. He wishes Pac had more people to be around, or even for Pac to have the choice to join him. Mike grimaces, but sets Pac's bowl in front of him before holding Pac's hand between his own.
This is never easy.
“Pac, I have something to tell you.” He says. Pac tilts his head at him, already having a spoonful of cereal in his mouth.
Mike takes a breath in. “They called me, before you woke up.”
The spoon falls from his mouth with a dull clatter, his mouth hangs open, and his eyebrows begin to furrow into an expression Mike is very well acquainted with.
“Paccy, I have to go abroad, but I will be back soon-” Mike tries to explain.
“Nooo you can't leave me like this Mikey!” He whines, and there's the pout he was expecting. Pac falls to the floor dramatically, clutching onto his soulmate's shirt. He actually tugs pretty hard on his shirt, trying to keep his balance on a knee-and-a-half, exposing Mike's collarbone to the world.
Mike rolls his eyes. No matter how many times this happens, Pac is always one for the dramatics. “You know why I have to leave, man.” Mike lifts him into the air like a misbehaving cat, sitting him back down onto a stool instead of on their kitchen floor. “When the Federation tells me to go do things-”
“-You have to do them, because they have our crime records.” Pac recites from memory. Mike can't count the amount of times he's had to tell Pac this. He knows, they both know that he knows, but that doesn’t make it any easier. Pac lets out a heavy sigh. “But how am I going to cope being on my own?”
Mike combs Pac's short black hair with his fingers, correcting the bed head from earlier this morning. “You talk to Tubbo all the time, Pac, I'm sure he won't mind more calls.”
Pac leans against the shitty table, paying no mind to how the cheap plastic creaks. “It's not the same, Mikey. How can I take care of this huge home without you here?”
Mike raises an eyebrow. “It's a one bedroom home with a garage where you keep a massive mess.” He gestures to the rest of the house, “Plus, we wouldn't even have this place if-”
“If it weren't for the Federation's help, I know. I'm just not used to being alone, Mike. What if I need your help?” It always boils down to this, they both know.
Mike smushes Pac's cheeks together. He can pout all he wants, but Mike will make him look like a fish for it. “The Federation sends me out on these often, so I know you'll be okay. I'll try to call as much as I can to check up on you, man. While I'm gone, maybe try to make a friend. It's been a long time since you had someone besides Tubbo and I.”
Pac stops his pouting, instead adopting an expression Mike is far too familiar with, one that usually ends in some strange machine that puffs up into smoke. His pink hair covers Pac’s face as their foreheads meet.
“If I get another message from the fire department while I'm away, I'll come back and kill you.” Mike pulls away with a mischievous smile.
Pac quickly matches. “Is that a promise?”
He's promptly shoved off the stool with a laugh.
They finish their breakfast together, sitting side by side with their matching bowl on their matching stools on their childish table cover. Mike gathers everything he'll need for the trip ahead, with Pac's assistance. The duo sit together on the half-decently painted porch steps until the Federation escort arrives to take Mike away.
—
Pac's workbench is a mess. Tools are scattered across the surface, their empty spots on the pegboard in front of him glaringly obvious. The table itself is a basic workspace. There’s a drawer on the front and a larger one on each side. The tabletop is marred with slices and nicks, the remains of marker and pencil lines give the impression of all the projects that came before this one. Against the wall, several containers are filled to the brim with unorganized mechanical parts. All around him, boxes line the walls of the garage; full of abandoned projects, ‘acquired’ spare parts, past iterations of his leg, and everything in between. It’s disorganized, but it's familiar.
The left drawer of his workbench is pulled completely open, full of crumpled papers and rolled up blueprints. In front of him, with clutter pushed to the side in mounds, is an empty blueprint. Pac bounces his leg, chewing mindlessly on his pencil.
Make a friend… Make a friend…
MAKE a friend.
He could do that.
He's a mechanic after all, an expert in machines and robotics. Of course, Tubbo is the AI expert between the two of them. And it's not like he's had the chance to take on a large project like this ever since they moved into this house. Really, he hasn't had the chance to do any real projects since before prison.
It couldn't be that difficult to make a friend, right?
He sets to drawing out a blueprint.
He wants a companion. Something strong enough to help him if he falls or needs a machine moved, dexterous enough to help him put on his leg in the early mornings and help him out with menial tasks. He wants it to at least look human, although he's not sure how well that will go. Oh, maybe tall too? So it can help him get stuff off the shelves and water that poor plant above the sink.
He wants a protector. Something big enough and strong enough to make him feel safe.
His missing foot itches.
Pac ignores it.
Time passes without him. Pac finally breaks out of his stupor as his stomach makes sure he knows that he’s already missed 2 meals. Pac blinks the dry feeling from his eyes, and drinks in all the work he’s done.
Perfect.
Glancing at the previously forgotten clock, he realizes that now is the perfect time to call a friend.
—
boop.
boop.
boop.
click.
“Hiii Tubbo!” Pac waves excitedly at his camera. Tubbo's audio comes through first, the video taking a second or two to load on his end. Pac can see Tubbo as the video finally snaps to life. Tubbo's room is dark, the only illumination is a lamp that must be somewhere above his camera and the light from the hallway behind him. He looks as tired as he always is, although still excited to see Pac. His black, ‘clearly stolen from his roommate’ shirt is wrinkled, and his blond-tipped hair is held back by a sparkly pink headband.
“Heyy Pac.” Tubbo says, leaning back in his chair. “What's happening, man?”
Pac sighs. “Well Mike is out for work for a while-”
“The fuckin’ Feds again?” Tubbo asks, voice cracking. Pac is glad that despite how secretive The Federation is, there’s still someone he can talk to about all of this.
“Yeah, they called while I was asleep. He left two days ago I think.” Pac knows its been two days; as soon as the white Federation vehicle had gotten far enough down the street, he had trudged his way to their bedroom and curled around Mike's pillow. He's glad he managed to get himself out of bed today to work on the project.
Tubbo rolls his eyes, fidgeting with a stress ball. “Those assholes, they just keep draggin’ you and Mike around. I don't know why you guys took their deal in the first place, I'm just sayin’.”
“Well, Mike took the deal for the both of us.” Pac corrects.
“You're- You're a package deal, man. Tazercraft: do not separate.” he says very seriously, holding his hands parallel to indicate Pac and Mike.
“Yeah that's true. But this is not why I called you today!” Pac excitedly snaps his fingers rapidly, “I've started a new project!” As he smiles widely, he can feel the dry skin of his bottom lip rip, and flinches.
Tubbo sits up. “Oh shit really? I haven't seen you take on a project in fuckin’ ages. I'm still working on that one from a while ago.”
“Oh yes, the helper robot, right? number 15 or so?” Pac tilts his head, dabbing his lip with a finger to make sure it doesn’t bleed.
“Ehhh,” Tubbo scratches his head, “15 escaped into the road and got crushed by a granny car. You know, those tiny ones that drag across the ground and are always an ugly color? 16 caught on fire in our bathroom, somehow – which my roommate is still pissed that it charred our new shower curtain by the way– and 17 wouldn't stop sending me error messages. I recycled what I could, but we're on Number 18 now.”
“Oh wow,” Pac's eyes light up, lip forgotten, “How's 18 doing?”
“...Would it be right to call a robot a dick? Because it's a dick. I swear to you, it intentionally knocks over my drinks and trips me and shit. But it seems to love my roommate.” Pac spots a little robot in the doorway when Tubbo leans back in his chair again. It's about waist height with a flat plate on top of it's head, the body resembling a compact, vaguely human shape. Some lights flash red on it’s head before it speeds away. Weird.
“Can't you just make another? Number 19?” Pac asks.
“I tried to, but my roommate won't let me. The last time I brought it up he clutched the thing like it was a child and was all like ‘nooo he's my little dude, my right hand man, my partner in crime’” Tubbo says in a poor impression of Foolish's voice. “It's ridiculous, and I'm convinced 18 knows Foolish likes him more than me.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. So what's your project?” Tubbo asks.
“Well I knew that Mike was going to be gone a long time, and I don't have anyone around here to help with stuff. So I'm thinking of this,” Pac holds the blueprint up for the camera. It looks like a person, more or less. There's spots marked out for heating units in all limbs but especially in the chest, a very close up model of the delicate hand mechanisms, and some behavior notes. The body itself ends up looking very muscular, and Pac is already dead set on it being taller than him. “It's going to be a companion! I don't have a name for it yet though.”
Tubbo squints at the monitor. “It looks very.. fit.”
“Oooh that's a great name, Tubbo. Fit. It matches my design.” Pac bounces in his seat, beaming at his blueprint.
“He's a robot, so shouldn't it be an acronym?” Tubbo asks. “What kind of acronym works with FIT?”
Pac ponders for a moment. “Friend In Training?”
“Formidable Intelligent… Trainer?”
Pac shakes his head. “That one makes no sense. Maybe… Fantastic Impressive Time?”
“How does that make any more sense than what I said?” Tubbo laughs, and Pac laughs too.
“Maybe it doesn't need to be an acronym. It can just be it’s name. But I was wondering Tubbo, could you help me out with his programming? I'll send you what I'm looking for after this, but AI is your expertise.”
Tubbo gets a glint in his eye and huh, Pac finally understands how Mike feels now.
“I am so down to do that king. I'll also try to figure out a better acronym because I'm not letting this down. Also-” A crash comes through the microphone. Tubbo turns away, making his voice sound faraway. “What the fuck are you doing?” he yells down the hall. There's a long pause where Pac assumes Foolish is responding. “No no no. Absolutely fuckin’ not, I will not be responsible for you breaking 18 and crying to me to fix him again-” Tubbo turns back Pac. “I need to go, Foolish is trying to dress up 18 again and I need to go kill him for it. I'll talk to you later king. Foolish, get the fuck back here-” Tubbo's voice fades out.
Pac has mercy on him and ends the call.
—
Click.
whir.
“Okay ah, I took this recorder from Mike's side of the bedroom so I could record my progress for this project? Tubbo said this helps and that if anything funny happens, he gets to hear it.”
Pac scratches his chin.
“I guess I could just record with my phone, but this feels more authentic, you know? Plus using one of Mike's things makes me feel better, our bed feels cold.” He clicks his tongue. “Ah, I'm getting distracted.”
Click.
-
Click.
“Day one of my companion bot project, ‘Fit’. The name isn't an acronym, despite Tubbo's best efforts. Today I'm just collecting the parts I need for this from around the workshop so I can get everything ready to start.”
Pac hisses at the sound of metal scraping and tapping against various objects.
“I'll probably clean off my workbench too, It's gotten pretty bad. Hold on, I'll just turn off the recording while I do this, let me ju-”
Click.
-
Click.
Pac pants slightly, out of breath. “Okay, that took longer than I expected it to. I need to sit down for a while and give my leg a break. Christ.”
“It's nice having all the tools back in their spots again. I usually don't bother, Mike always gets fed up with it eventually and puts them all back for me. He knows I appreciate it though.”
Pac mumbles to himself, but it’s too quiet for the recorder to pick up.
“I've got most of my parts picked out for this, I'll definitely have to get some more from Tubbo's ‘friend’. I should be able to finish the endoskeleton without the extra parts for now. I think this is all I can do today, I'm going to rest for a while now.”
Pac makes a pop sound. “How am I supposed to end these? Ah.. End of day 1? Statement ends? Whatever, I'll just shut it o-”
Click.
-
…
Click.
“‘Fit’ project day 3. I'm starting to assemble the arm pieces I need. I'm concerned about how the hands will turn out, there's a lot of precision I'll have to tweak. That would be a fun recording, right? All that testing?”
“Eh, my leg is giving me trouble today. You'd think after all these years– I'm not a stranger to the phantom pains, but the crutches are still a pain to use sometimes. At least the lawn chairs we keep stashed in here are finally serving some good use.”
“That reminds me. Would it be weird to use my spare legs for Fit?”
Click.
-
…
Click.
“‘fit’ p-project,” Pac yawns, “Day… 7? I think it's been 7 days, it's hard t’ tell. Hey little recorder, did you know that it's really hard to tell time when you've hardly slept in a week?” Pac yawns again, “anyways, ah I've gotten most of the basic endoskeleton finished. The parts I ordered from Tubbo's friend-crush-thing should come here pretty soon.”
“Y'know? Mike always said that, that Tubbo only buys from Fred because he thinks he's hot. I think he's right, because that's the only robotics shop he buys from anymore. I think it's funny though, for an ex-Federation person to buy from someone who's actively undermining the Federation, with someone that technically works with the Federation.”
Pac grumbles. “I'm exhausted, man. Our bed is so cold and the house is so quiet. If I can just work fast enough on this robot then things can feel bett-”
Ding ding ding.
Ding ding ding.
“Oh, Mike is calling! Let me turn off this recorder real quick- Okay there we go.”
Tap.
“Hey Mikey! Let me put you on speaker.”
“Hey Paccy, what have you been up to? You sound like shit.”
Pac yawns. “I have been working on a project since you left. What have you been doing?”
Mike groans. “I'm convinced the Federation doesn't care at all for my natural skillset. Me and you are built for stealth, not this shit. I don't know why they sent me halfway across the planet just for what is just a package drop-off with extra steps. Although it's not like they tell me anything until it's already happening. But I'm used to it at this point. Are you doing alright Pac?”
…
“Pac? Are you okay?”
…
Pac snores very quietly.
“PAC!” Mike yells with a laugh.
With a loud snort, Pac startles awake. “Wha'is't?” He mumbles.
“You've been up way too late, Pac. I'll stay on the phone with you if you go and lay down in bed to sleep, alright?”
Pac yawns. “Okaay. Ah fuck, I didn't turn off the recorder.”
“Wait. Are you talking about my-”
Click.
-
—
Pac's mouth is sticky. He feels like his face is covered in dry drool and there's pink creases on his arms from the sheet below him. The assortment of quilts on the bed are barely touching the bed at this point, kicked off at some point during the night. Pac notices the digital clock across the room and oh, it's well past midday.
He's made sure not to alter anything in their bedroom while Mike has been gone. It would feel wrong to make big changes in the house, even just on his side of the room, without his soulmate home.
Home.
–
Testing this robot is going to be the most difficult part, Pac knows. He messaged Tubbo that he was going to test the fine movement capabilities of his arm and hand mechanics as well as the strength tests this morning, and was met with a message saying something like ‘make sure you record it in case it fights back’. Pac is rather sure that wouldn't happen, but recording it would be a good idea, just in case he needs to watch the footage back. He props his phone up so it can see him and the arm standing upright on his table, attached to a stand, then presses play.
“Okay uh, I'll be sending this to you right after, Tubbo. I'm testing the preset fine hand movements I have made. They won't be anything special.” Pac clicks a keypad into the arm. “First is holding a pen.” He pushes in the first button, and places a pen into the ready robotic hand. It curls around the pen and makes small, rough circles with it.
“Success! Okay, next is holding a toothpick.”
Pac goes through several hand motions and positions, making notes as he goes. The hand has trouble forming around handshakes, but that is probably for the best. He had put the machine's strength as low as it could go in case there was an incident.
“Okay, now is the scary one. I have an apple, and I am going to have the hand hold it gently, then slowly squeeze it until I can see a change.” Pac places the apple into the hand, and presses 0 on the keypad, holding it in place until he's confident it is being held.
“Upping the strength by 1 in 3… 2… 1…”
click.
The apple is instantly crushed. “MEU DEUS-” Pac screams. Juice sprays all over Pac's face, as well as the lense of his phone camera. Wide eyed, Pac grabs his phone and wipes the bits of apple off of it's cracked screen. He can see how much his hands shake in the view of the video. “Okay. Not as planned. Ah, I will fix that.” Pac ends the video and sends it to Tubbo, getting a very, very long voice memo of him and Foolish laughing their asses off.
–
Weeks have passed since this project began. The robot is nearly done, all of the parts are together. The last thing it is missing is the brain, his AI. Tubbo said it should be coming through in the mail today, so all Pac has left to do is wait. He's checked the front door nearly every 10 minutes since he woke up. It feels… bittersweet, knowing that the easiest part of this project is almost over. A lot of progress has been made, of course, but it is still strange.
The robot, Fit, is a masterpiece in his eyes. Sure, you can see ‘scars’ on his metal insides and plastic platings from many incidents with his welding tools, but it adds character. Pac has his own littering of scars, so he supposes they match, in a way. The face is uncanny in a way only humanoid robots can be. The plastic is a white, tanned skin colour but not overly textured. He's no artist, but he did his best to add details that make it look more accurate. The unsettling part is the eyes, to him. He's been keeping them shut for now, but the beautiful brown eyes he picked out for their great sensors just feel strange without any life behind them. Pac's not sure how he's managed it, but the robot is… handsome, somehow. He's proud of how the body of the robot itself turned out. It's strong, of course. That's how he planned it. But Pac figured out how to give the robot what looks like muscles. It's a minor detail, sure. But everything counts.
He's been pacing in front of Fit for hours now, waiting for the package. He's glad the robot – well he knows the right term is android, but he likes the sound of robot better – he's glad it's not awake to see him.
Oh a whim, Pac checks the front door again and-
“Oh how long has this been out here?” Pac says aloud. There's no cars passing along the road, so he must have missed the knock on the door. Tubbo said there would be a Benson sticker under one of the flaps so Pac would know it was from him. Lifting the package, he closes the door and puts it on their dining room table. He checks and yes, there's a Benson sticker taped to the underside of the left flap. He's always thought Benson was such a silly thing, just a cartoonish white duck that Tubbo got obsessed with years ago. The sticker in particular has Benson with a welder's helmet laying against his side. He pockets the sticker for later.
Inside is a piece of machinery that he's not sure he could understand. Tubbo told him the specs, so he's confident it will fit in Fit.
Moment of truth, Pac thinks to himself as he stands in front of the nearly complete robot. There's a cavity in his chest where a human's heart would be, the perfect size for his core.
He slides the core into place.
Closes the plastic casing.
And stands back.
On the edge of his senses, he can hear the whir of electricity. The sound of machinery starting up follows. The robot's hands twitch slightly. It's head lifts slowly, and Pac feels proud of what he's done.
It looks up at him, blinking at Pac while it's bootup sequence ends with what he's sure is a ‘Hello World’ message.
Pac smiles widely.
“Good morning, Fit.”