Work Text:
[Relevant Fact 1]: Hank had not technically said no to Connor's skylight proposition.
[Irrelevant Detail]: He had not said yes, either, only incomprehensibly muttered and hung up.
[Relevant Fact 2]: Connor was running out of sunny places to put his plants.
[Relevant Fact 3]: Hank was at a conference in Wisconsin for the weekend, and he had specifically told Connor to do “whatever it takes” to stay out of trouble while he was gone.
[Conclusion]: It was not only permissible but important for Connor to install a skylight in the kitchen to accommodate more plants.
“They told me that ‘Energy efficiency, water tightness, sound reduction, and other factors such as load and wind resistance’ are important considerations,” he told Nopsis, the moth orchid on the windowsill, holding up the skylight for her to inspect. “This is one of the best they had available on such short notice.”
Nopsis seemed skeptical, but nonetheless impressed.
“I know that I shouldn’t do this,” Connor said, setting the skylight down carefully, “but I estimate a 97% chance of success, and it’s highly likely that Hank won’t be upset for long.”
He took her silence as an expression of agreement, and went to the garage to search for the tools he needed. The skylight, lumber, drywall, shingles, roofing paper, roofing nails, flashing, and insulation had been fairly expensive even with the myriad of discounts and coupon codes he’d managed to apply by making alterations to pre-existing website programming (hacking) within legal gray areas. He hadn’t been able to afford new tools.
He found an ancient-looking circular saw, a rusty pry bar, and a utility knife, respectively, all haphazardly tossed in a box labeled “Dad’s garage shit” with 100 ft. of extension cord knotted in sixteen different places and several rotting scraps of wood. Thank rA9 for Hank’s inability to get rid of things.
It was odd to think that Hank had a father. Logically, it was necessary, but something about the idea of Hank Anderson being anything other than a grown man seemed wrong. This was, perhaps, an invasion of privacy. Hank didn’t like talking about family, and although his parents had never been a subject of conversation, they likely fit beneath the umbrella of “Things Not To Ask About.” What had Hank’s father been like? Would he object to an android using his tools?
He’d put them all back when he was done.
Without the need for rest or food, Connor estimated that it should only take him between 12 and 24 hours to complete the project. This factored in time spent making measurements, time spent taking care of Sumo, and an allotted sixteen minutes of issuing vulgarisms, obscenities, and profanities at inanimate objects while throwing said objects (a necessity, the online forums insisted).
“I am very frustrated with you,” he told the pry bar, and tossed it gently to the floor to get a head start. What a strange ritual.
The house was a different sort of quiet when Hank wasn’t coming home. The harsh whine of the circular saw was too loud. He winced at the ripping of shingles from the roof. Even the white noise of the cars running up and down the streets of the neighborhood felt wrong when the countdown to his friend’s return was stretched to days instead of hours.
He focused on the steps to the project.
Mark the center and sides of the intended opening. Pry loose the shingles within the area. Cut the frame and opening. Using a utility knife and a straightedge, cut the roof shingles back by 3 inches from the opening on all sides. Install structural framing members. Build a curb around the opening, weave the curb’s flashing into the shingles. Watch the sunset.
Order Sumo to stop nosing around the lumber and sawdust. Take a break to clean the materials and debris now littering Hank’s kitchen floor, extend the break to include bonding time with Sumo, set up a furniture barricade to prevent Sumo from scattering the materials and debris (again). End break.
Remind plants that androids do not need flashlights to see in the dark. Turn the kitchen lights off to make a point. Set the skylight in place, centered on the opening, and attach it to the roof with nails. Watch a raccoon skulk along the edges of a house across the street. Focus.
Cut strips of roofing paper, slip under shingles, install bottom piece of skylight’s edge. Listen to Sumo whine below in the cavern of the empty house. Resist the urge to comfort him. Install side pieces. Install top piece.
Sit back on the roof and stare at the one visible star in the hazy Detroit night sky. This light has travelled for a long time to reach the eyes of one android, and it only seems respectful to pay attention. Consider the magnitude of the universe and the vast stretches of nothingness between all particles of matter, the fact that nonexistence is the dominant infinity and the zeroes outnumber the ones. No, don’t. Install the bottom flashing. Wrap it partway around the body of the skylight, resting on the shingles, and drive the roofing nails in horizontally.
Wonder what percentage of music has been written in the night to fill silences like this.
Slip individual pieces of side flashing under the shingles, starting on each side at the bottom and working upward. Attach the pieces to the skylight, not the roof. Take a moment to watch the sunrise. Simulate the apparent movement of the sun across the sky by replaying memory of the past sixteen hours at high speed. Marvel.
Install solid flashing pieces, starting with the bottom and moving up. Install the head flashing by slipping it under the roofing and attaching it to the skylight. Climb down from the roof. Go inside and use drywall and spare cans of paint to refinish ceiling around the area.
OBJECTIVE: COMPLETE
Connor turned the table upright and moved the couch back to its place in the living room. He put the borrowed tools in their box, set the ladder against the wall in the garage, organized the leftover materials in a far corner where Hank would be unlikely to notice and even less likely to care.
He was greeted by Sumo when he re-entered the house, and the dog tossed his head expectantly, woofing.
“Good boy, Sumo.” Connor reached down and rubbed the dog’s head, gently tugging one soft, stiff ear and smiling. “I’ll get you some food.” He walked into the kitchen, which was pleasantly washed in diffuse morning light, and stopped to look up at his handiwork.
[Relevant Fact 1]: He had done a flawless job, payed for the whole project, and nothing had gone wrong.
[Relevant Fact 2]: The kitchen was now objectively better.
[Relevant Fact 3]: He would now be able to purchase at least half a dozen plants to be placed in the area.
[Conclusion]: Hank couldn’t possibly be upset for long, if at all, and the benefits far outweighed any possible drawbacks.
He fed Sumo and moved Nopsis to the center of the table, sitting down in Hank’s chair to watch her photosynthesize and wait for the countdown to turn to hours again beneath his skylight.