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Slam Hammer and the Green Machine

Summary:

A world where giant robots and their pilots are the first line of defense, where Bowser is trying not to resent having to quit piloting, and Luigi is trying to decide where he fits in.

Notes:

I do not control the way the muses sing

Chapter Text

The United Mecha Pilots, Crew, and Service Workers (UMPCS 506) had a lot of regulations. Mostly for good reasons, Bowser had to admit, but the handbook was over ninety pages long in painfully minuscule print. When he joined he'd only read far enough to confirm he was still allowed to work at non-union bases and ignored the rest.

But paying the dues was worth it, because sometimes you got windfall like this. Every mechanic who wasn't under private contract was being offered time and a half and unrestricted overtime, and all they had to do was crowd into the North Donk County base for as long as they could stand.

Bowser had been one of the first to volunteer. He was in charge of the pit crew at the Central Darklands base, largest in the region, but they could handle things without him for a while and he could use the money. Besides, he was planning to come back on weekends and make sure they weren't slacking off without him. With most of the Donk County pilots out of commission it was even more important to keep the Darklands mechs ready to mobilize at a moment's notice.

Bowser still didn't know the details, but he'd been assured there hadn't been any serious casualties. A few pilots that probably wouldn't be coming back any time soon… but no deaths.

That made it okay for Bowser to be a little glad about losing some competition, right?

The union put the mechanics up in the pilot barracks while the pilots themselves were supposed to be resting and/or healing. There weren't any bunks Bowser's size, but another point in favor of the union was they'd already accounted for that and set up a few extra beds in one of the empty docks for him and a couple other large koopas. He dropped his bag on the bunk furthest from the door and looked around at where he'd be working for the next six weeks.

It wasn't that different from the pit at his base - a little smaller, a little more neat and tidy - but he could already tell the tools and gear were organized differently. It was like that uncanny valley thing. It looked like a mecha dock, but it felt wrong.

“You seein’ this, boss?” one of the koopas asked.

“I see it,” Bowser said. The dock had been cleaned up, but there were the shadows of shelves and tools outlined in scorch marks all over the walls.

“They had the spanners and the pipe wrenches on the same unit,” Chuck said, shaking his head. 

“Maybe that's why whatever was stored here blew up.”

“You think?” he asked, startled.

“No, that's moronic. Quit worrying about it and go get your assignment.”

“On it, boss!” Chuck agreed.

“I'm not your boss here,” Bowser reminded him. But all the koopa crew fell in line behind him anyway as they headed for the main pit.

The locker room was already stocked with coveralls in the right sizes, thankfully. The pit was egalitarian like that - pilot, crew, or custodian, you all got covered in grease and oil. In fact Bowser caught a glimpse of a human getting dressed on the other side of a block of lockers (that no one else would have been able to see over) with so much gunk on him that his skin was practically painted purple.

There were a lot more than just koopas who had answered the call for aid. Bowser saw a dozen each of beanish and Toads, a few piantas and poplins, and a scattering of other people from all over the planet. Who would come here all the way from Lake Lamode? The money wasn't that good.

“Okay, you'll each be assigned to one machine.” The human briefing them looked exhausted. Bowser thought he had two black eyes until he realized that was just the effects of multiple sleepless nights. Humans were so sensitive like that. “If you finish up earlier than projected we'll start grouping people together on the more difficult jobs.” The human sorted through a stack of papers, stapled together with a name scrawled on each one. “First, um, Chuck?”

Three koopas raised their hands.

“Oh boy, okay…”

Bowser looked around the locker room while he let the human figure out that mess. This was smaller and cleaner than the one back home too. Not that their lockers were dirty, but they were a lot more personalized. Stickers and photos on the doors, posters on the walls… This room only had numbers and safety reminders.

Although the safety reminders were a good idea. Bowser might have to print some out when he got home.

“Bow- Bowser?!” The human stumbled over his name. Bowser wasn't sure how the guy had missed him, he was at least half a head taller than everyone else in the room and well over twice the height of most humans, but exhaustion could do that to you.

No reason not to establish his position, though. Bowser stepped forward, the rest of the mechanics parting before him, and stared down at the human with the least amused expression he could muster.

“Uh. Um. Dock 85. Luigi.”

“Who?” Bowser said.

“He's- I guess it doesn't matter. Dock 85.”

“Got it,” Bowser said.

He took the bundle of papers offered up to him and flipped through them as he headed out into the pit proper. A simple map of the base, a few phone numbers, a manifest of the damage, and pages and pages of schematics. Not stock, either, custom work. He'd thought this stack looked a little thicker than the others. 

Huh. They assigned the right guy.

 

The diagrams were detailed enough that Bowser had a pretty complete picture in his head of what he'd see by the time he reached dock 85. He pushed open the door and started looking around for the tools before what he was actually seeing sunk in.

His head snapped back. That was not a mech anymore. That was a pile of parts and green paint.

“Where do they expect me to start?” Bowser muttered as he approached the machine.

The frame was… there, at least. All four limbs were lying in pieces around the torso, and it looked like a shoulder joint and the cranium were missing entirely. There were empty ports that indicated there had once been some extra gear slotted between the armor plates - boosters maybe, or shields - but too much was missing or crushed to do more than guess.

Okay. There was an order of operations to this. That was another union regulation, Bowser was pretty sure. Something about prioritizing pilot safety… That meant the cockpit and the central frame. Before anything else Bowser should probably get the poor thing upright.

He started moving the damaged pieces away so he could focus the frame. There were handy racks against the walls that almost seemed to be designed for the purpose, if it wasn't for the fact no good pilot would let their mech get torn apart often enough to need them. None of the pieces were familiar, but that wasn't unusual, plenty of pilots liked to have custom armor on their mech. Basically a more expensive version of decorating your locker. It helped to recognize allies in the field, too, and pilots that distinguished themselves enough in the tournaments could get pretty lucrative advertising deals. Bowser had been close to getting one of those in his last competition before he had to step down, if it wasn't for that damn tag-team match…

The pieces weren't familiar, but the color was. This bright grass green. Bowser remembered now, from the tag-team match, and the year before where they both got eliminated one round before fighting each other, and the dozen or so times they'd met in the field and Bowser couldn't help himself from getting in the other mech’s way.

Because there were two of them. Grass green following cherry red. Bowser remembered Mario, he'd never forget that bastard, but the other one had slipped from his mind at some point.

“Luigi,” he muttered out loud.

In the corner of the dock, someone yelped.

A small figure in coveralls just barely dodged the bolt that Bowser instinctively threw at the sound. Shit, he'd have to train himself out of that for this job. The New Donk City area was mostly human and Toad, and they didn't have shells to duck into. Hell, most koopas could take a small projectile to the skull even without their shell.

“What are you doing?” Bowser snapped. “I wasn't told anyone would be supervising.”

“I wasn't, um.” The figure straightened up, and Bowser recognized him from the winner's podium. Grass green. Luigi, Mario's brother. The lesser bane of his existence.

They'd probably met face-to-face before at some point, but Bowser still watched the tournaments on TV every year, even as they got further and further from the kind of combat he'd excelled at, so that’s where he remembered him from. Last year Luigi actually took gold after his brother lost to a Kong pilot. Sheer bad luck.

“This your mech?” Bowser asked, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the pile of near-scrap.

“Yes?”

“What the hell did you do to it?”

“I didn't do anything!” Luigi sputtered. “We all took damage in that fight! A couple mechs didn't even make it back!”

Bowser glanced him up and down. Broken arm in a sling - his left, and he was left-handed if Bowser was remembering right, so that sucked for him - black eye, stitches on his forehead and the bridge of his nose. And now that he recognized him Bowser was pretty sure Luigi was the guy he'd seen changing in the locker room. Which meant he hadn't been covered in grease, he was covered in bruises.

“You look like somebody put you in a rock tumbler,” Bowser said. “I didn't see anything wrong with the restraints on the manifest. Don't tell me you got out in the middle of a fight.”

Luigi froze up, a look on his face not unlike the one Junior got when he was caught sneaking around after bedtime. “Okay. I will not tell you that.”

Bowser narrowed his eyes. How had this guy lived so long in this job if he ignored even the most basic safety precautions?

And here he was, checking in on Bowser's work. Sure, Bowser probably wouldn't have trusted him if the situations were reversed, but Bowser had a reason not to trust Luigi.

He played it safe in combat, Bowser remembered, which was weird considering he showed every sign of being reckless outside it. Every time Bowser saw him in the field or out of it, his mech had signs of recent repairs. A couple times the whole machine was different. Mechs were tough - they had to be - and a brand new one cost more than even a full repair job. Not to mention getting to know it. A mech was more than just a vehicle, a mech was a partner. But Luigi had never seemed like someone who cared about that.

Bowser barely remembered him because he'd never seemed worth his respect.

“Let me work,” Bowser said. “I got enough to do here just cleaning up your mess.”

“It's not my-” Luigi stopped. “Okay. Thank you. Um.” He gestured at a corkboard by the door. “I pinned my number here if you have any questions.”

“I won't,” Bowser said, turning his back on Luigi to lift up a piece of shin. This one was only dented, not broken, should be able to bend it back into shape.

When he didn't hear anything he glanced back, and saw Luigi still hovering in the doorway, head tilted slightly to follow Bowser's movements.

“Okay,” Bowser said, some anger slipping into his voice, “What is your problem?”

“Sorry!” Luigi squeaked. “Sorry, bye.”

Finally he disappeared through the door, closing it firmly behind him. Bowser set the dented piece on the rack and checked to make sure Luigi had actually left and wasn't eavesdropping (not that there'd be anything to hear) before getting back to work.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Too quickly, in fact - Bowser had barely finished organizing what he had to do before working hours were over. He could keep going, get some overtime, but if he started the next step now he'd be here all night. No sense tiring himself out on the first day.

He found that most of the other mechanics had come to the same conclusion. There was a big lounge in the pilot quarters with a few things to keep them entertained, and they all squeezed in around the foosball table to compare notes.

“It's bad, boss,” Chuck said. The other koopas nodded, most of them looking a mix of tired and overwhelmed. “What happened?”

“I don't know,” Bowser said. “Wasn't public knowledge.”

“You're not public, you're a pilot.”

Bowser couldn't quite bring himself to answer that. Not when the answer really should have been “not anymore.”

“Follow regulations,” Bowser said. “You remember the mnemonic, don't you?”

“Fucking Cats Jump Wildly Around,” one of the other koopas said immediately.

Bowser covered his face to hide a startled laugh. “No! That's- What the hell is that? The official one is Fast Cars Just Want Attention.”

“That's a terrible mnemonic.”

“It doesn't have to be good, it just has to be memorable.”

“I like mine.”

“What do cats have to do with anything?”

“What do cars have to do with anything?”

Bowser sighed. “At least it's in the right order. Remember, order of operations goes: frame, cockpit, joints, wiring, armor.”

The koopas nodded, and Bowser saw a few others outside their group taking notes. It was a weird feeling working with this many people he didn't know. At least for now everyone was respecting each other’s space, but that could change. They hadn't even made it through a full night yet.

The base had a cafeteria, but options were pretty limited. Bowser only saw a couple things he liked and doubted breakfast would be much better. He'd brought his lunch all the way from back home but that obviously wouldn't be possible every day.

The pilot's lounge had a small kitchen, and Bowser was pretty sure there was another one elsewhere in the building. Which was good because the city was over forty minutes away with clear roads, and most of the other reserve mechanics hadn't bothered bringing their own vehicles. Until everyone got used to the shuttle schedule Bowser, one of the few who drove himself, would have to be the one to organize grocery runs.

Eventually Bowser made it back to his bunk, surrounded by other men and the faint smell of burning metal. It was painfully familiar. Nostalgic, even. There was so much to think about, so much to plan, but he couldn't help drifting back into his memories…

What happened to his old mech? He'd wanted to keep it but storage was expensive, especially since it would need to be regularly maintained. Bowser had sold the armor for scrap and the frame on the secondhand market. At the time he believed a new pilot would take it over, but nobody used the original Gadd frames anymore. Not when the technology had expanded so quickly and then contracted just as sharply. When Bowser was first starting out, over eight years ago, it was possible to specialize. Now all anyone wanted was fast and slim and agile. Not exactly his wheelhouse.

It hurt to imagine the mech that had once felt like an extension of Bowser's body was now rotting in a junkyard. Unused, unwanted, left to rust. A relic of the past. While a brand new  top-of-the-line customized mech had been reduced practically to scrap by a pilot who didn't care about it.

Bowser sat up, punched his pillow a few times, and lay back down. Elsewhere in the room a koopa began to snore.

This would be a long job.

 

The next few days were busy, which helped. Bowser got the mech’s frame in order, noted down which parts could be repaired and which should be replaced. He couldn't identify what kind of frame it was; it had been modded so heavily Bowser wasn’t sure any of the original parts were left. But the basic shape resembled a first-gen Gadd frame. Familiar enough to work with.

While Bowser waited on the orders he moved to the next priority - cockpit. Not much to do there, thankfully, mostly cosmetic work and minor repairs. Cockpits were designed to be the toughest part of any mech. The gooey center couldn't be replaced, after all. But even patching the dashboard took longer than expected because almost none of the interior was standard.

Switches, levers, buttons. No touchscreens - a lot of pilots liked the simplicity of touchscreens, but they were slower than relying on muscle memory and tended to malfunction more often than manual controls. Only about 2%, but even half a percent of accuracy could mean the difference between a clean victory and ending up… Well, like the mech was right now.

Luigi might not be loyal to his machines, but at least he had good taste.

The thought was annoying, and Bowser tried not to think it while he worked. It wasn't easy, especially not since Luigi had stopped back in the pit with various excuses at least twice a day.

In the evening, or when driving to the city, Bowser couldn't stop his mind from drifting to all that custom work… Maybe it wasn't Luigi's idea, maybe he had a regular mechanic he trusted to make all those decisions. That was an easier thought to accept. Somewhere out there was a mechanic nearly - nearly - as good as Bowser. Somebody who really understood mechs from the inside and out.

If there was, Bowser wanted to meet them.

 

Somehow, a week passed, and on Friday evening Bowser packed up his handful of personal belongings to go back home. Dock 85 looked like he’d barely managed to organize it, despite over forty hours of work, but he tried to put it out of his mind. He'd been getting more and more calls from his son while he was away, and he hated to tell the poor kid he'd be leaving again on Monday.

Junior was used to his dad working long hours, but he always came home at night. Bowser made sure of that. The whole reason he'd switched jobs was to be able to spend time with his son, he wasn't going to miss out on any of it.

Bowser spotted Luigi again as he was leaving, and something made him swerve in the hallway just so he could catch Luigi's eye and make an ‘I’m watching you’ gesture at him. It was a complete bluff, but the way Luigi blanched was enough to make it worth it.

After that Bowser resolved to put all thoughts of the Donk base aside for the entire weekend.

 

It didn't work.

 

He kept thinking about the job, and the mech, and the mechanic. And, for some reason, Luigi. He didn’t even care, so why did he let himself get so beat up like that? The guy was around Bowser’s age, maybe a little older. Surely there were better ways to get himself killed.

But maybe, despite his looks, despite his carelessness, maybe he got it. Maybe he understood that nothing felt like being out there in your own machine, heart beating in time with the hum of hydraulics, owning the battlefield.

Maybe. But probably not.

 

Bowser spent most the night in his own bed and started the drive back to North Donk County just after the sun rose. He played music in the car, switching to headphones as he headed in to work. It was early, nobody else had started yet, but if he punched in now he could get off early too and maybe get some shopping done.

With one of his favorite songs blaring into his ears, Bowser dropped his bag next to the tool cart, pinned up a drawing Junior had given him, and scanned the fallen mech. It had been a whole week and he was still only working on F for Frame, that pace wasn’t going to work. He’d have to start putting in real overtime if he wanted to get anything done.

Except… had it been this neat when he left? It wasn’t like he’d just abandoned the poor thing over the weekend, he’d at least gotten everything off the floor. But now things were definitely… straighter. More aligned. And there was less of it.

And, wait a second, that patella was cracked last week.

Bowser stomped back over to the corkboard, found Luigi’s number near the new crayon drawing adorning it, and pulled his headphones down around his neck before he called.

He didn’t get an answer, it was still early, but if Luigi hadn’t been injured Bowser would have kept calling out of spite. Instead, he left a message ordering Luigi to meet him in the dock, and hung up hard enough that he hoped it would be audible in the recording.

Then he got to work.

 

It was about an hour before Luigi arrived, his bruises mostly fading to green and yellow. Something else had changed, but Bowser couldn’t immediately put his finger on it, too distracted by his anger and hurt pride.

“Who’s your mechanic?” Bowser asked. He was on the lift, working on the mech’s pelvis, and though he lowered it when Luigi walked in he didn’t climb down.

“What?” Luigi said, his eyes going wide.

“Your usual mechanic, I know you have one. Somebody had to do all this custom work.”

“I, um.” His eyes were darting around, like he’d been cornered. “I do… It’s on the sign-in sheet, isn’t it?”

“That was blank when I got here.”

“Was it?” Luigi said, with an awkward sheepish smile. “I guess I don’t pay attention much. As long as the work gets done that’s all that matters, right?”

Bowser clenched his jaw and yanked his headphones off. They were wireless, but he couldn’t throw them as hard as he wanted to without breaking them. Still, the way Luigi jumped when they landed on the tool cart was pretty satisfying.

“Who is it?” Bowser demanded. “I want to know who was here checking my work!”

Luigi hesitated, hands hovering in front of his chest. The left one was still in a cast, which had been collecting more and more signatures over the week, while the right had bitten-down nails and grease caught in the creases.

Wait a minute… Hadn’t he just got here? Why would he have-

“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Luigi asked, cautiously.

“Sure,” Bowser said.

“You promise?”

“I promise.” Not that he planned on keeping it without good reason.

“I’m my usual mechanic,” Luigi said at last.

There was silence, only the faint bass notes from Bowser’s headphones filling the space.

“What?” Bowser said, distantly.

“My brother’s too,” Luigi said. “We do most of the regular maintenance together, though. I’m um, I’m not as good a fighter as he is, so I focus more on… You won’t tell anyone, right? We made up a cousin so no one would suspect.”

“What?” Bowser said again.

“Uh, the union rules say all pilots have to have a mandatory 12 hours of rest after all combat. So that’s why I couldn’t just be both, like, officially. But I was already used to doing it, since we basically refurbed our mechs from the frame up, so-”

“Stop,” Bowser said, firmly, holding up a hand. “Go back. You did all these modifications?”

“Yes?” Luigi winced. “Is that bad?”

“Kind of!” Bowser exclaimed. “If you did all this, then-” His head whipped around, staring up at the half of mech standing in the dock. “Then that is a Gadd frame.”

“Yeah,” Luigi said. “First gen. We bought them used and got them up to speed ourselves. By the time we got into the union, I was just used to it.””

“So the reason it always looks different is you’re always changing it.”

“I like to try out new ideas,” Luigi admitted.

“You-” Bowser glanced back and forth between Luigi and the mech. “You seriously did all this?”

“Is it that hard to believe?” Luigi was starting to sound annoyed.

“No, I just…” Ten minutes ago he’d thought Luigi didn’t even care about his mech, and now he’d learned the guy was doing the work of three people. It was hard to wrap his head around. “I’m just…” Baffled. “Impressed,” Bowser said.

He looked down at Luigi, who blinked and looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh.”

His ears were turning red, one of the few parts of his body that didn’t have any bruises. Bowser found himself wondering if he’d gotten out of his mech to make a quick repair, or un-jam a hatch or something. It was something Bowser had done a few times when he was a pilot, but he’d always been lucky enough to get back inside before the enemy caught him.

Something clicked as Bowser watched Luigi. “You got your stitches out.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Luigi touched his nose gingerly. “Those were only for a week. This,” he raised his left arm, “still has five more.”

“Did you learn your lesson?”

“No,” Luigi said immediately. Bowser, in spite of himself, chuckled. “These are your headphones?” Luigi asked.

It was clear he was trying to change the subject, but Bowser let him. “I don’t throw other people’s headphones.”

Luigi reached for them. “Can I?”

“Don't be too surprised,” Bowser said, well aware that he liked exactly the kind of music everyone assumed he'd like. Heavy guitars, heavier drums, and vocals that alternated between growling and screaming.

But Luigi didn't wince when he put the headphones on, instead his eyes widened and he looked almost… happy?

“I loved this band in high school,” Luigi said, reverently.

“Ha! So you've got some taste.”

Bowser started to turn away, then paused. The band hadn't lasted long, too much infighting and high emotions. Their peak came right around the time Bowser started working as a pilot, and only a little before the brothers started.

“Wait, hold on,” Bowser said aloud. “The math isn't mathing here.”

Luigi froze, slowly lowering the headphones onto the table.

“How old were you when you started piloting?”

Luigi gave another one of those sheepish smiles. “Sixteen?”

“Oh god.” Bowser covered his eyes. “That can't be legal.”

“Well it's not now.”

“How'd you squeak through?”

“I think it's the ‘stache.” Luigi gestured at his face. “Most guys can't grow one this thick until they get older. But uh, I come from a pretty hairy people, so…”

“And nobody checked?”

“Not until we’d already saved the city a few times. It would have been bad PR to force us to stop after that. Not to mention there was nobody to take over…”

“So you were child soldiers.”

“Don't give me that!” Luigi huffed. “You were in the same gen and you're only a couple years older!”

“Three!” Bowser protested.

“And it's okay to send a nineteen-year-old into combat either?”

“I wanted to go.”

“So did I! So do I.”

“Do you?” Bowser repeated. “Because nearly getting yourself killed isn’t the action of somebody who wants to be out there!”

“What do you care if I get killed?” Luigi asked.

“I don’t!” Bowser snapped. “But this!” he waved at Luigi’s mech. “Is way too much talent to let go to waste!”

The blush this time went from Luigi’s ears to his cheeks. “I… I’m usually careful. I swear.”

“Well be more, all right? I don’t want to come over here again.”

Bowser swung himself over the edge of the lift and landed with both feet on the floor. He saw Luigi’s gaze slip down and then up as he walked toward him, as if scanning his body. It made his skin crawl in a way that he couldn’t entirely call unpleasant. Only when he was close enough to cast a shadow on the man did Luigi finally look up and meet his eyes.

“Um,” Luigi said.

“My headphones.” Bowser held out his hand.

“Oh! Oh right, yes, of course. I’m sorry.”

They were too big for Luigi, and seeing his fingers curl pathetically around the edge of the cast and not quite manage to grip the headband gave Bowser a twinge of guilt.

It was Luigi's own damn fault. They'd both been pilots once, they both knew the risks, Bowser didn't have to feel bad for being rough with him. So why did he?

 

It wasn't until he was lying in bed trying not to think that Bowser remembered the whole reason he called Luigi in the first place was to yell at him about sneaking around behind Bowser's back.

 

With the parts he'd ordered finally coming in, Bowser's work progressed a lot faster. He got the frame fully upright by the end of Tuesday, though most of Wednesday was spent on finishing touches. The basic pieces were all together. That was enough to move on.

Back to the cockpit, priority two. If putting the frame back together wasn’t what made a mech a mech, it would probably be priority one. Though Bowser wasn’t sure the mnemonic would be any better.

He was already pretty close to done here too. Bowser had followed the schematic he’d been provided with to the letter. There was no way around it. And as he did, and the layout took shape before his eyes, Bowser couldn’t help but feel a swelling of admiration for the mechanic that did this work.

Until he remembered it was Luigi and got annoyed all over again.

It was a little after lunch that Bowser heard the click of a door latch and the half-shuffle of injured feet. He was wearing his headphones as camouflage but not listening to anything in them.

At least twice a day ever since he got here Bowser had felt a strange feeling on the back of his neck, like a fly buzzing too close, and known he was being watched. He'd tried the headphone trick yesterday too, but couldn't catch Luigi before he left. Today he got lucky.

Unfortunately he was currently elbow-deep in a deconstructed control panel, and it took a couple seconds to extricate himself. If Luigi hadn't been standing there in a daydream staring at his mech, Bowser might have missed him again.

No, he realized as he saw Luigi's eyes follow his movements, Luigi wasn't staring at the mech. Luigi was staring at him.

“What?” Bowser said.

Luigi startled, and flushed. His bruises were even better today, it wouldn't be long until they faded completely. For some reason thinking about that still put a knot in Bowser's stomach.

“Sorry,” Luigi said. “Hi.”

“Don't give me ‘hi,’ I know that's not why you're here.”

He flushed even deeper. “Y- you do?”

“You’ve been checking my work!”

“No I haven’t!” Luigi exclaimed. He looked honestly surprised.

“The hell you haven’t!” Bowser snapped. “Why are you down here all the time if you’re not?”

“Not to check on you!”

“And watching me while I do it, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“I- You-” He looked away, cheeks still mottled pink beneath the bruising. “That’s not why…”

“Then why?” Bowser demanded. “And tell the truth, or I'll throw a spanner at you.” He’d lowered the mech into an undignified sitting position so he wouldn’t have to use the lift, but the cockpit was in the middle of the torso and still a few feet off the ground. Bowser had no doubt he could bean him at this distance.

There was that sheepish look again. “I… I've been… watching the way you move.”

Bowser blinked. “What.”

Was he supposed to be flattered by that? He wasn’t not, exactly, but being talked about like a specimen made his skin crawl.

“Not in a creep way!” Luigi said quickly, which was both a relief and a disappointment. “I just, I- I’ve been working on making my cockpit, um, modular?”

Bowser glanced back at it. “Is that why one of the panels is on a curtain rod?”

“Yes!” Luigi said. When Bowser looked back at him, his eyes had lit up with excitement. “See, it’s expensive to get your cockpit customized, if you can’t do it yourself like I did, but- And it’s only gotten worse in the last few years, because there isn’t as much variety in mech types anymore.”

“I noticed,” Bowser growled.

“If I can make a cockpit that can be adjusted, then anyone could use it! And you- you’re a koopa, your body is different from a human’s. Different reach, different posture, tail and shell… So I’ve been watching you.” He ducked his head, blushing again. “As a- a thought experiment, I guess? Sorry.”

So he was a specimen. But somehow he couldn’t be that mad about it, not when the idea was that good.

“How long have you been working on this?” Bowser asked.

“I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, but I only started trying to implement it recently. I had to make sure the panels would lock in place properly. It would be bad if they were sliding around in the middle of battle!”

“That could get you killed,” Bowser said, absently, still thinking about the concept. The new mechs were all speedy and agile, not really his style, but if he could fit into one of them without having to customize it that would reduce a lot of overhead. Might actually be worth it to learn.

“I know,” Luigi was saying. “That’s why I didn’t do anything with it until I was sure.”

A thought occurred, and Bowser grimaced. “Tell me this cockamamie idea of yours isn’t how you got so beat up.”

“It wasn’t!” Luigi exclaimed, offended. “I wouldn’t do something so stupid!”

“Just because you’re smart at one thing doesn't mean you can’t be dumb as hell about something else.” Bowser had learned that the hard way.

“Okay that’s… that’s true,” Luigi hesitated, and then added, “But I didn’t this time!”

This time. Bowser filed that one away.

“All right, well, I’ll follow your schematic here,” Bowser gestured to the tool cart where he’d pinned it up. “So are we good?”

“I was good all along! You’re the one who called me out.”

“Stop creeping on me then!”

“I- I’m not!” He was blushing again.

Bowser straightened up and put a hand on his hip. “You seen enough? You got all the design notes you need?”

“Um… For just the modular cockpit? Yes.”

What else was he working on?

“Good,” Bowser said. “Then get out of here and let me work.”

He climbed down from the mech and busied himself at the tool cart, pulling out drawers and shelves, trying to look busy as he waited for Luigi to listen to him. He didn’t, and after a few seconds Bowser looked up to glare at him-

And found Luigi standing close enough to touch, holding out a pipe wrench.

In spite of himself, Bowser flinched away. He’d gotten into a couple fistfights with his brother years ago, and despite being so small and squishy the guy packed a mean punch. Luigi seemed like the kind of coward who would go feral on you if you backed him far enough into a corner.

But Luigi just blinked at him, then blushed again, then flipped the wrench around handle-first. “Sorry. Was this what you were looking for? It’s the right size for most of the fixtures in there.”

“Uh… yeah,” Bowser said, to cover up the fact he hadn’t been looking for anything at all.

He held out his hand, palm up, and for a second Luigi just stared at it.

“Might be too small for you…” Luigi muttered.

“I can handle it,” Bowser said. “I’m good at handling little things.”

For some reason, Luigi blushed even more.

There was a weird sort of tension in the air, like Bowser had just remembered he had a body. He felt far too aware of his own skin as he accepted the pipe wrench from Luigi, a tingle left on his palm at the touch of his fingertips. Were Luigi's hands always this warm? How warm was the rest of his body if-

The wrench slipped in Bowser's grip and he stopped for a moment, reorienting himself.

“You okay?” Luigi asked.

“Yes.” Bowser turned back to the mech before Luigi could see the expression on his face. “I told you to leave.”

“I'm leaving!” Luigi said quickly, with a huff. Bowser didn't move until he'd heard the door open and close, listening intently despite the fact he knew the walls were too soundproof to let in footprints.

Only after he was sure he was alone - well, alone with Luigi's mech - did Bowser let himself take a deep breath and exhale the smoke that had built up. This happened sometimes when he let his emotions get too… heated.

And right now, unfortunately, Bowser knew it wasn't anger he was holding back. Getting so close to Luigi had made him… hot.

Okay he was cute. And okay, Bowser had a thing for humans. He wasn't proud of it, but it was there. And knowing what he knew about Luigi now…

Bowser swallowed and gritted his teeth, feeling more smoke escape between them. It had been a while, that was all. It had been a while and he'd gotten too close to someone who was, unfortunately, his type. It would pass.

It had to.