Chapter Text
I got the soap!”
“Thank you, Otto. I didn’t realize we’d run out.” Antauri placed the metal tip of his tail into the shower’s stream, testing the water. Mandarin, for his part, huddled by the radiator Otto had installed in the bathroom. He was not stepping onto the river rock tile of the shower until he was sure it wouldn’t freeze his feet.
“No problem!” The emerald monkey juggled the bar from hand to hand to tail, dark eyes tracking it expertly.
Sprx was probably performing the same temperature check in his white tiled bathroom, Nova huddled by his orange enameled radiator. Otto had enameled Antauri’s with creeping bamboo stalks over the usual white ceramic. Mandarin’s had been a cool bluish-gray, interspersed with mica flecks; now it belonged to the boy.
He had to admit to the occasional irritation at losing his personal space. The blow of losing it to a child had probably been lessened by the knowledge he would have lost it to the Chosen One either way.
Antauri’s tail pinged softly, alerting him to the trio’s preferred temperature. Otto scuttled into the shower without further prompting, immediately starting to warble one of his favorite songs at the top of his lungs. Antauri deftly avoided the water droplets, slipping out of the shower and crossing to his lover’s side. With a practiced ease he flicked open the catches of Mandarin’s armor, pushing it off his shoulders and letting it pool around the other monkey’s feet. Reaching up, he removed the lense over his scarred eye, placing it carefully on the curved ceramic dish Nova had bought for just that purpose on one of her trips to the mall.
Only then did he tilt his forehead to meet his lover’s, a frown pulling his helm fins down.
What troubles you, my love?
He knew.
Scrapperton?
Yes. He knew I was the prototype.
That… was deeply troubling. Especially since the vast majority of those they met assumed they were either a fully matched group, or that Nova was the prototype. That was most likely due to the upgrades made to her chassis.
You fear Skeleton King’s involvement.
Did you hear the way he spoke to the boy? The moment they began to interact, his inflections changed. They almost mirrored Skeleton King’s, beat for beat.
And this would mean Skeleton King knows the order of our creation.
He knows our serial numbers, according to Sakko.
Troubling, indeed.
Yes.
Otto started a second round of his song, soap suds finding their way out of the shower and onto the floor tiles as he hopped around energetically.
Mandarin sighed softly. We ought to join him before he uses our allotment of hot water.
True. Is there anything I could do to ease your mind?
I am not sure. I will let you know if I think of something. I believe I just need time to deal with the idea of our enemy knowing such things.
Whatever you need, my love.
And you? Are you well?
I will carry some… discomfort for a time after this. But I will be fine as the seasons pass.
Can I do anything for you?
Patience is all I ask.
And I will readily give it with happiness, my heart.
Antauri rubbed their cheeks together then gripped his lover’s wrist firmly, shuttling them both to the shower.
“Otto, soap please.”
“Sure, ‘Tauri. You guys okay?”
“With time, we will be. And you?”
“I’m just happy Sprx is back! I missed him!”
“As did we.” Mandarin tipped his head back, letting Antauri work the oatmilk soap into his headfur. “Is Gibson in one piece?”
“Yeah, he’s good!”
Gibson preferred showering by himself most days. He said it was how he brought order to his racing thoughts. Otto respected this religiously, and was welcome to avail himself of his other partners’ shower whenever necessary.
“I’m gratified to hear it- speak of the scientist. Yes, Gibson?”
“Mr. Hawkins is currently loitering about our landing strip.”
“So he is Rory in the vastness of space, but now he is the loitering Mr. Hawkins?”
“Gibson found a banana peel in his fur. Scrapperton was bad at maintenance; all those poor dirty parts!”
“Ah. Thank you, Otto. So one fruit peel and you are inconsolable, Gibson?”
“You are mostly covered! Your fur may have escaped such taxing trials.”
“Odd, that there was a banana peel.” Antauri muttered “You were so sure there was no organic detrise, Gibson.”
“Perhaps Sakko enjoys the cursed fruits.” Mandarin suggested, canines bared in a snarl.
“Sakko?”
“We believe the Skeleton King and Scrapperton were acquainted.”
“Troubling.”
“Yes. We are almost done here. When we are finished I will go down and let in the human. See what is troubling him.”
*
Talking monkeys.
The city adopted a kid out to six talking monkeys.
It wasn’t like they weren’t solid guardians or anything. The kid was always a normal weight and barely ever caught a cold. He wore a jacket in the fall, and Rory had seen him with gloves and a scarf when it got really cool out. He was always happy to see the monkeys, and the monkeys seemed happy to have him around. Even the grouchy one.
And it wasn’t like the colorful little guys lacked the basic child rearing necessities. There was a thirty story roof over Chiro’s head, and The Clayton Carrington had left the Hyperforce his entire fortune in his will. And if there was one thing the sapphire monkey was good at, it was investment strategy.
It was just…
Alright, so maybe talking wasn’t the best way to describe it. The thing was it was really hard to communicate with Chiro’s guardians. They’d worked out a crude system of hand gestures and miming, but Rory struggled with standard signing beyond the basics and the only one that seemed to know signs other than tactical military jargon was the emerald one. And that depended on his attention level.
And it was kind of weird to role up to an enormous machinder once a month and hold a mainly one-sided conversation with six literal monkeys . It was like a bad afterschool special or something.
The door in the robot’s foot snapped open and Rory stepped inside, squinting as the fluorescent lights in the small room winked on. Stepping into the yellow pneumatic tube, he headed up to the main room. He was pretty sure it was somewhere in the middle of the mech, but he wouldn’t swear to it. Damn thing was practically the Tardis.
Three of the group were waiting for him.
The emerald one was leaping from foot to foot, tail holding a small collection of tools while he tinkered with what looked like a set of chattering teeth. Fidget toy, maybe?
The obsidian one was to the right, hovering at almost human eye-level above the ground.
Yeah, that was a thing, too. Two of them hovered.
The orange guy wasn’t hovering at the moment. His shoulders were rolled back, gauntleted hands tucked neatly behind his body, feet settled into a parade rest. Rory had read that the orange and red ones had trained with Shugazoom’s military back in the days when the city had one. He’d even interviewed a few oldsters who had been young soldiers at the time; they remembered seeing the orange one around the army, navy, and marine bases. The red one had mainly hung around with the airforce.
The red one had been gregarious and made friends easily. The orange one had been known to be mercurial and snappish, with a vibe that clearly said pet me and get bit.
He definitely didn’t look all that patient now.
“I wanted to see how the kid was doing. We had some of the foster kids get injured by that ray thing, so we’re just checking up on everybody.”
The orange one’s muzzle twitched slightly, though whether toward a smile or a frown Rory couldn’t say. The top of his head snapped open and he reached in, drawing out a kid’s drawing slate.
It was a really small one; a simple model that used chartreuse light to form words and pictures across a soft yellow screen. The monkey ignored the stylus, instead tugging one of the gauntlets off with an impressive set of sharp teeth, the obsidian one letting out an involuntary merp at the display. The orange one stowed the gauntlet in his head and began dragging an equally sharp claw across the screen.
THE BOY IS NOMINAL. OTTO SHALL RETRIEVE HIM POSTHASTE IF YOU WISH IT.
“You can write!?”
That earned him the same expression he’d got from his grandma when he told her he didn’t need to learn how to cook. A flat, livid expression that said they had expected better of him.
YES. I’VE HEARD TELL YOU CAN AS WELL. ISN’T LIFE MIRACULOUS?
He didn’t have to speak their language to recognize sarcasm.
“I’d like to see Chiro, yeah.”
The orange one chittered something at the emerald one- Otto. He nodded briskly, scampering off to the green elevator.
“Huh. Never realized those were color coded.”
AND YET YOU SOMEHOW MANAGED TO DRESS YOURSELF AND MAKE YOUR WAY HERE. A TRUE FEAT OF KNOWLEDGE, THAT.
Wow, sarcasm was not enough of a descriptor for that one.
The obsidian one let out an irritated chitter, the orange one chattering back with equal energy. The obsidian one lowered himself toward the ground and reached out, snatching the tablet from the other monkey’s grip.
APOLOGIES. HE CAN BE A HANDFUL.
Oh my god, these guys were hilarious! Thank god for modern entertainment technology.
“That’s not the worst thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
The obsidian one tilted his head slightly, muzzle twitching into a wide, lopsided smirk. The orange one chittered petulantly, but he ignored his friend, hovering further up in the air until he and Rory were on equal level.
STILL, APOLOGIES. I AM ANTAURI. HE IS MANDARIN, OUR LEADER.
Ah, so this one was Antauri. Chiro had mentioned various names before, but for one reason or another they’d never got around to ironing out which one was which.
And that meant the two here weren’t just friends. The kid had mentioned that last time Rory had visited. He made a mental note to write orange black in Chiro’s file when he got back to the office. He didn’t want to keep on accidentally saying ‘friends’ in his head, and he had way too many kids to care for to remember even something as big as which two monkeys were Chiro’s gay dads.
“The kid has told me a lot about you. We just never got around to matching colors to names.”
Antauri nodded as if that were perfectly understandable, Mandarin crossing his arms and glowering darkly. He kind of looked like he’d just swallowed a lemon.
OTTO JUST LEFT. HE IS OUR ENGINEER. GIBSON IS OUR DOCTOR, AND HAS THE BLUE FUR. NOVA, OUR WEAPONS SPECIALIST, HAS YELLOW FUR. OUR PILOT IS SPRX, WITH THE RED FUR. I AM SIC.
Ah. Second in Command. Normally he’d be surprised to see ranks mixing romantically like that, but with there being only six of them he figured needs must and all that.
“And Chiro’s dad. The kid’s told me that much.”
And that’s where he put his foot in his mouth. Apparently the kid hadn’t told Antauri that little tidbit yet; the monkey looked like he’d just been hit by a hoverbus. Like in the best way possible, but still. Hoverbus.
Mandarin didn’t look all that surprised. In fact his muzzle twitched into a ghost of a smirk and he let out something like a fond scoff.
Antauri glanced down at the board, then up at Rory, and down at the board again.
DAD?
“Yep. Has for a while. Told me a lot about all of you, sans descriptors. I know the pilot is with Nova, and you two are together.”
And with the other two, but by the look on Mandarin’s face he was pushing his luck just bringing up the basics. He wasn’t looking to push it any further.
Antauri hesitated for a moment, then continued to write.
YES, WE ARE.
“You know, Arven and Edward swore up and down that you two were together but I wasn’t so sure. Then the kid told me, and I lost ten bucks to Arven. Go figure.”
Mandarin sighed, covering his face with his bare hand.
“Yeah, there’s no secrets in this city. Everyone knows everyone who’s a regular. Hell, we’re so nosy we know half of the people coming in and out of port, too. But, uh, I’ve been meaning to ask… how’s that eye?”
Antauri frowned.
IT IS FUNCTIONAL.
So it wouldn't be getting any better. Okay. He knew how to read between lines.
“I’m just asking, because Chiro says he rides in the orange vehicle, and that’s… I mean. Come on. A thirteen year old in a fully armed tank . I’m a bit concerned.”
Mandarin turned to Antauri, holding out his hand and wiggling his fingers in a clear ‘gimme’ gesture. The other monkey handed the tablet over reluctantly, clearly still floored by the father thing.
THE BOY IS AN ACCOMPLISHED DRIVER.
“Yeah, I’ve noticed. That still doesn’t discount the whole tank thing.”
Technically, Chiro shouldn’t be driving for another three years, but the higher ups didn’t give a damn so there was no point talking about it. They actually didn’t care about the tank thing, either, but Rory could only ignore so much monkey-brand crazy.
WE ARE LIVING WEAPONS. LIVING IN A WEAPONIZED MACHINDER. WITH A CHILD BLESSED TO WIELD DIVINE WEAPONS. IS THE BOY DRIVING A TANK REALLY YOUR BIGGEST COMPLAINT?
Alright, fair argument-
“Divinely what now? Those aren’t just hereditary or something?”
NO, THEY ARE NOT.
Maybe grandma did have something on that whole religion thing. Between this and the shambling undead, he might very well consider taking it back up.
“Alright, listen. I can't argue with God, but I can argue with you. He’s still a kid driving a tank.”
AND CHILDREN ARE BEING SLAUGHTERED ONLY A HANDFUL OF PLANETS AWAY EVERY DAY.
“Now we’re getting philosophical.”
I DO NOT DABBLE IN PHILOSOPHY. I WAS CREATED TO LEAD THE HYPERFORCE INTO BATTLE TO HALT THE APOCALYPSE.
He’d argue about the apocalypse, but the whole walking dead thing was a pretty blatant sign.
“Listen, it's not like the universe will end if the kid doesn’t drive the ta- I’m judging by your expressions the universe will in fact end if Chiro does not drive the tank, so I’m going to just let this argument go for the sake of everybody who wants to continue breathing.”
A WISE CHOICE, INDEED.
*
“You don’t have to dry my fur, killer!”
“You were missing for hours; excuse me for feeling sentimental!” Nova growled, continuing to chafe sprx headfur with the maroon towel.
“Awww, did you miss me?”
“Of course I did, you dork.”
“Hey, Gibson’s the dork! I’m the bold one.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Oh, you’ve noticed, huh?” Sprx cooed, wiggling his helm fins suggestively.
“Gibson said two days' rest. That’s not rest.”
“It can be very restful. Just ask the Boss about his blood pressure.”
Nova grinned widely “Sooo, you had more ‘hate sex’, huh?”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it! That was one time! It’s been literal years!”
“Yeah, I know. It’s still funny.”
“Is not.”
“You got so pissed at each other you ended up fistfighting in the cockpit of a fucking jet. Then it stopped being a fistfight-”
“You’ll never let this go.”
“You were banned from the base for a week. One airman went to therapy.”
“It’s not my fault Tightass is feral!”
Nova snorted softly “Yeah, I think he was decanted that way. Still, it’s funny.”
“You just enjoy torturing me.”
“Maybe. How about I torture you once Gibson clears you. Assuming you wouldn’t rather ask our fearless leader.”
“Yes to the first, no to the second.”
“Good. For now; how would you feel about streaming a movie with some Soup Hut delivery?”
“You didn’t!”
“A gallon of their minestrone is on the way.”
“You’re the best, killer.”
“You tell me that often. Keep doing that.”