#the whole felix and turbo thing happened in the past

[the-amazing-callie]

All of my sketches on my second time using whiteboard

[make-it-mavis]

Starlight

WiR fic (ROADBLASTERS NEVER HAPPENED AU) 14,452 words Characters: Make-it Mavis, Turbo, Dr. Mario Minor/Mentioned Characters: Calhoun, Hero’s Duty soldiers, Fix-it Felix, Surge Protector, Zangief Content Warnings: In-depth themes of addiction/drugs, descriptions of wounds, one needle, the word "sex" is used once (you never know)

Premise: The Roadblasters incident may have never happened, and Mavis and Turbo may have grown into well-adjusted, happy, productive members of society, but it was never Roadblasters alone that threatened their lives. It's early 2013, and Mavis has come home from a party that went horribly awry, in horrible pain, and horribly afraid... feeling dangerously young.

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It took Mavis the entire walk home to realize that there was no time in recent memory that she had been in so much pain. 

The emotional and physical exhaustion were bad enough on their own, and she could feel her heavy bones and grinding joints crying out for a chance to sit as she reached the crimson door to her house. But as tired as she might have been, she knew that the deep, pulsing pain in the left side of her face was bound to keep her awake all night. 

At least she was home. The day was over and done, and she could be with her fiancé. She had been picturing him the whole way home, longing for the relief of cozying up to his warm, sleeping body under the blankets.

When she opened the unlocked door and stepped in, however, she saw light glowing from the kitchen, and heard the TV going in the living room. He was up, and he must have been waiting for her. Her heart sank, both from the regret of robbing him of sleep and from the certainty that he was going to want an explanation. Mavis was not sure she would be up to talking about it just yet, not even with him.

Still, she slipped out of her shoes and crossed over into the kitchen, accepting the inevitable. Much to her relief, she did not see him at first, only a loaf of bread that he forgot to put away and a butterknife still smeared with a bit of mayonnaise. But after setting her bags down on the kitchen island, she wandered over to the shadowy living room and peered over the back of the couch. Sure enough, he was there, but he was lightly sleeping, laid across the cushions with his head resting on a pillow in the corner. Mavis' shoulders relaxed. At least he had ended up dozing off after all. It was a welcome sight to see him so peaceful, too, after her rough evening. Watching as the cool light of the TV danced over his face, she remarked to herself not for the first time how no one would ever believe he could look so soft.

Resisting the urge to touch him, she walked back to the kitchen with the intent to feed and refresh herself. She barely even had the energy to make a sandwich, but since the bread was already out, she threw something together with scavenged scraps from the fridge, and grabbed a well-deserved bottle of root beer. Still craving her fiancé's company, she returned to the couch to sit past his feet, and tried to take a load off. Upon taking a bite of her sandwich and receiving a sharp jolt of pain that forked out from her teeth into her cheek and eye, she decided food could wait. Setting her barely bitten sandwich on the coffee table, she stuck to her root beer, which was, thankfully, relatively painless. She hoped the TV would prove distracting. It was Zangief's book show, however, so it was a toss-up.

The hulking street fighter sat in view, indecently clothed as ever, wearing comically small glasses as he read aloud from a book and a fireplace crackled behind him.

In that thick accent of his, he read, “All these enclosures are bounded by the river on one side and by a house on the other. The man in the waistcoat and wooden shoes of whom we have just spoken lived, about the year 1817, in the smallest of these enclosures and the humblest of these houses. He lived there solitary and alone, in silence and in poverty, with a woman who was neither young nor old, neither beautiful nor ugly, neither peasant nor bourgeois, who waited upon him. The square of earth which he called his garden was celebrated in the town for the beauty of the flowers which he cultivated in it. Flowers were his occupation.”

She could see why Turbo fell asleep.

It did not take Mavis very long to grow lonely and restless. She looked over at the snoozing Turbo and debated with herself. Even if there was a risk of him asking too many questions, she just wanted to talk to him at all. And she wanted him to join her upstairs, when the time came.

So she reached over and poked his butt. He stirred, and she did it again. "Hello," she sang quietly. "You alive?"

Turbo grunted, and his head lifted a bit so that he could peer over at her through harshly squinting yellow eyes. He smiled with a bit of a puff and twisted around in an attempt to stretch his shoulders. Voice straining, he rasped, “Hiya dollface.”

“Hiya Bright Eyes,” she smiled, and barely stifled a wince from the pain in her cheek. Thankfully, Turbo did not notice.

He did sit up, however, to check the wall clock in the dining area that read six-fifteen.

“Woah,” he combed a hand over his mess of hair, still blinking out the sleep. “Did ya just get home?”

“Mmm, like half an hour ago,” she told him. “You weren’t waitin’ up for me, were ya?”

Turbo sniffed. “Nah, nah. I just got real sucked into a project, n’ after I finished, I came out for a bite, n’ then… I guess I figured I’d snooze ‘til y’got back. Had no idea you’d be out so late.”

“Neither did I,” Mavis cocked her head a bit and took a swig of root beer. “Party ran real late. Everyone n’ their grandma wanted to make some kinda speech or get me to play a song for so-n’-so.”

“Well, they must’a been a real chatty bunch,” Turbo said in disbelief. “I hope y’got paid extra.”

“I’ll bug ‘em about it later,” she waved him off. “I’m wiped. I just wanna be done for the night.”

“Yeah, no kiddin’. Y’wanna go to bed, then?”

She did, she really did. But her face hurt so damn much, and she hated imagining a pillow pushed against it. Managing a smirk into her right cheek, she held up her root beer and wobbled it. “Not done my reward yet.”

Turbo snickered. “Ah, o’course.”

Mavis took another swallow, and then the two looked at each other for a little while, Turbo propping his elbow over the back of the couch, his hand clearly the only thing keeping his head up. Mavis had a simple solution, and that was to take a pillow from her side of the couch, place it in her lap, and pat it expectantly. He made a tired, but pleased noise in agreement, and obliged by turning around and laying his head in her lap. The weight on her legs was soothing and grounding, just as she expected it to be.

She looked over his body as she rubbed his chest. He was in the usual House-Turbo garb of a sleeveless shirt and sweatpants, a look she found so strangely endearing. But still, she pulled the old patchy blanket from the back of the couch and covered him up, cute outfit or no. He quivered a bit and squirmed into an even more comfortable position.

A contented little moan escaped him. “Hell yeah,” he purred dreamily.

“Hell yeah,” she agreed with a careful chuckle, stroking his bangs back over his head. He looked at her then, and she recognized the cozy, inviting look in his eyes immediately. He wanted to kiss her. Any other time, that would have been swell. But a sort of panic jittered in the back of her head, saying that the kiss would hurt in some unexpected way, and she would flinch, and he would notice, and her cover would be blown, and then they would have to talk about it. That would be not-so-swell.

So, when he sat up a bit, expecting her to close the gap between their faces, she opted to grab his nose and wiggle it. There was a small honk of surprise as he pulled her hand away. 

“Excuse me,” he grinned in a slightly confused way, “that does not belong to you.”

“Not yet,” she shrugged, trying very hard to keep her smile small. “Once we’re married I’ll own your entire body.”

He smirked and squinted at her sidelong. “Is that how it works?”

“Well, it better be, or I’ll have said yes for nothin’,” she shrugged in feigned indifference.

Turbo scoffed and took up her hand again. “Whatever. Take it,” he kissed her hand and brought it with him as he laid his head back down onto her lap. He squeezed her fingers as he held them to his chest. “You’ll put it to good use, no doubt.”

“Always do,” she agreed, relieved to see her nose-grabbing impulse worked.

Turbo fell peacefully silent after that, and she contentedly twirled her fingers through his wild black hair. She had to reach over him to the coffee table whenever she wanted a sip of root beer, but he had no complaints there, which was unsurprising. Everything started to flow into low key contentment, finally. She was home, she was with Turbo, and she was having a root beer, like any night should have gone. Listening to Zangief continue to read the ancient tome of a book, she started to have hopes that she could fall asleep sitting up and not have to go to bed at all.

Zangief read, “Twice a year, on the first of January and on St. George’s Day, Marius wrote filial letters to his father, which his aunt dictated, and which, one would have said, were copied from some Complete Letter Writer; this was all that M. Gillenormand allowed; and the father answered with very tender letters, which the grandfather thrust into his pocket without reading.”

Then he closed the book with a clap that startled both Mavis and Turbo a bit, and they mutually chuckled over it, and Zangief gave his closing remarks and goodnights as Mavis rubbed Turbo’s soft belly beneath the blanket. Zangief reminded the world about his book club meetings, bid them happy reading, and was gone. The same old round of PSAs began in his show's absence, and sounded like nothing more than some muffled blend of Surge and Sonic’s voices to Mavis. Her eyes had left the screen entirely, content to get caught up in the sight of her fiancé relaxing in her lap, so warm, so happy, so… safe. Exactly where she meant to keep him.

Some horrible, haunting ghost of long-buried burdens had the nerve to make her question whether she could.

Almost on cue, another PSA started, and the music alone made her gut wrench. In a few seconds, she would hear her own voice detailing the dangers of buff use, what to do in the case of an overdose, where to turn for help and advice… as if she was some benevolent model for addicts to aspire to, as if she had it all under control…

No. Not now.

Quick as a snake, her hand snatched up the remote and turned off the TV. The living room fell into shadow, illuminated only by the kitchen a little ways behind them. Turbo’s glowing eyes opened in surprise at her sharp movement, and it occurred to her then that she may not have pulled the smartest move. But she had barely even thought before acting. It was like a knee-jerk reaction, one that she had never had about her own PSA before that night. It was really beginning to sink in, what bad shape she was in.

At first, Turbo just smirked at her, perplexed. “Gee, babe, your acting ain’t that bad…”

Roll with it, she thought. Give some snappy response and play it off. Go to bed. Don’t let it show.

But she recognized that shame, the sort that would force her to hide her pain, sometimes literally. That shame had caused enough suffering in her life before, and she could not welcome it back in. She closed her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath.

Turbo’s head lifted a bit. “...You okay?”

She let the words fall out, “Someone used buffs at my party.”

“...What? Who?” he asked, seeds of concern in his voice.

“A Hero’s Duty soldier,” she said lowly. “Tonight was that morale-boosting party Calhoun requested.”

“That was tonight?” Turbo sat up, and Mavis opened her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

Mavis huffed a bit through her nose, managing a tiny rueful, unhappy smile. “You should be glad you weren’t there. Trust me.”

Turbo frowned. “No, I kinda wish I had been,” he said quietly. “What happened?”

She found it a bit difficult to look at him as she spoke. “Well… the party was goin’ pretty great -- it was in the courtyard back in Fix-it Felix Jr., so the venue was cozy, and the music was good, and the drinks were good. Everyone was havin’ fun, from what I could tell. But I noticed that one guy was missing. I-- I didn’t really think much about it, but I have seen him overdoin’ it at Tapper’s before, so… I just wanted to make sure he wasn’t passed out in the river, or somethin’.”

“And which soldier was this?”

Mavis grimaced a bit, remembering her etiquette surrounding addicts. “It’s… not really my place to say.”

Turbo paused, but knowing the work she did, he seemed to understand. He nodded a bit. “Okay. So you went lookin’ for him?”

“Yeah, and I-- I tracked him… into the woods, a little bit.”

“Were you alone?”

“...Yeah. I didn’t expect to find…”

A glance at Turbo found him frowning, not in an accusatory way, but in a way that showed clear dislike for what he was hearing. Mavis’ weary heart begged her to drop the subject, but she ignored it and carried on. This did not have to be difficult. He did not need the whole truth.

“I found him totally out of his head. He must’ve been havin’ a real bad trip. I dunno what he was on, but he was on a lot of it. His eyes were practically blinding by that point… but no one noticed because he had been wearing shades, like a few of the other soldiers. He didn’t even bring in a question-mark block. There was some compartment in his armor that he hid the buff in -- at least, that was Calhoun’s guess, when she found out.”

“Really. How’d she take it?”

“Well, she…” she paused. “She didn’t really trust that I knew what I was doin’. I sent Felix to go fetch Surge, and that might’ve been a mistake. Maybe he could’ve vouched for me. She wanted to get in and deal with the situation herself, and I just had to try to keep her and the soldiers back. Really had to break out the hardass voice.”

“Devs help them,” Turbo said with a half-smile as he turned sideways to face her, once again resting his head in his hand over the back of the couch. “Did they run cryin’ back to their game?”

Mavis chuffed. “Nah… that team’s pretty tight-knit, apparently. They refused to leave, even though the party was definitely over. Surge showed up, and we managed to get some blankets on the guy, and then we had to search every other guest for buffs, check all their eyes, the works…” she just grew more and more tired as her story went on, “then we took him to Dr. Mario, and then I had to give an impromptu seminar to Calhoun and the soldiers on how to handle addiction in friends, what sort of accommodations or-- or time off he might need, and how he’d have to come to B.A. and all that. Even still after that, I had to give a report to Surge, and after that, I had to go help clean up after the party, and deal with Felix fussin’ over me, and…”

With a heavy sigh, she leaned forward over her knees, propped up on her elbows. She closed her eyes and rubbed the side of her face that was not in agony. “I’m just so glad to be home,” she muttered weakly.

The cushions shifted as Turbo scooted closer, and she felt his hand on her back. He stroked slowly and deeply, a sensation she found so comforting.

“I’m glad too,” he said gently, but sadly. “You shouldn’t’ve had to deal with all that.”

She exhaled through her nose. “It’s what I do.”

“And y’do it like a champ,” he agreed. “Surge should count himself lucky he’s got your help. Some nights just hit harder than others, I guess.”

Mavis slowly crossed her arms and squeezed her elbows, feeling low and weirdly sick. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw Turbo lean forward to see her face. Tentatively, she looked at him, and her heart ached at his smile, the way it did whenever she was keeping something from him. Always, she wanted him in the loop. But whatever reaction he would have to the whole truth, she did not have the emotional energy for. So, at the very least, she returned a soft, restrained smile.

“Then let’s go to bed,” he suggested. “Then it’s over for real. Yeah?”

Mavis’ heart fizzled. It really was time to face the pillows. She nodded slightly and breathed, “Yeah.”

They both stood, and Turbo took her hand to lead her out of the living room. Her normally springy feet dragged along the floor, profound exhaustion weighing her down like lead in her veins. The pain in her cheek had become so excruciating that it had infected her head, leaving her temples throbbing. And the guilt of hiding it all from Turbo sprinkled hot embers in her belly. It was not something that she should have been hiding from anyone, much less the man she was set to marry. But that was what buffs did to her, even second hand. They made her hide, and they made her lie.

Unconsciously, Mavis had brought her free hand to Turbo's forearm as they slowly walked together, rubbing as she kept herself close to him. This prompted Turbo to stop before they had even passed the bathroom, and turn to give her a reassuring smile.

"Hey," he whispered, curling his arms around her waist and gently pulling her in, "you get your ass in here."

Cautious, but in dire need of a hug, Mavis complied. She draped her arms over his shoulders as if they were dancing, and carefully leaned her right cheek against him. Her anxiety did not melt, but parts began to run a bit. She wished terribly that she could give him a crushing hug with reckless abandon. 

"Yeah… there's my girl. There's my tiger," he sighed lovingly, rubbing her back and swaying a bit by nature. "You had a real crappy night, but you kicked its ass. You're a freakin' superstar, y'know?"

Guilt tainted every response that came into her head, so she just scoffed in feigned bashfulness. 

"It's true. I'd know, being the OG superstar," he insisted, which did make her chuckle a bit. He then said quietly and sincerely, "Y'make me real proud, doin' stuff like that."

Her heart shied away from the praise, but she did give him a firm squeeze. "Thanks, sugar," she muttered drearily.

At that, Turbo pulled back until he was holding onto her elbows and looking her right in the seemingly perfect face. He gave her a sleepy smirk, and he said, "Thank you for gettin' home in one piece, eventually."

The irony of that comment froze Mavis' heart for just a moment, but that was enough time for disaster to strike. She was too distracted to register the sight of his face drawing close, of it setting course for her left cheek, and those glowing eyes going dark as they closed. She only realized that he had kissed her cheek when she felt it burst into searing pain.

Her sharp, sudden yelp startled the absolute bits out of Turbo, who instantly jumped back from her.

"WOAH--!! What ha-- What happened?!" he stammered quickly, moving to steady her as she shrunk towards the wall.

The throbbing pain was lasting far too long. Mavis clenched her eyes shut, biting down dangerously hard on her lip. Gently, her shoulder met the wall, and she leaned her weight against it. Turbo was right on her, holding onto her free shoulder and cupping her right cheek with his other hand, trying to direct her face.

"Mav--" he breathed, "What did I-- Are you okay?"

"M'fine," she rasped unconvincingly. It was then, however, that she looked at Turbo, and saw a harrowing sight. His lips, parted with confusion, were smeared with a touch of blood. Unwittingly, she stared at it, eyes wide.

Turbo squinted at her. "What are you looking at? Wha--" he skirted his tongue over his upper lip, and paused. Registering the taste, he wiped the back of his hand over his lips, and found it stained red. For a moment, he just stared at it. But his eyes turned to Mavis again, wide with alarm under his furrowing brow.

"This isn't my blood, is it," he told more than asked.

Mavis stared at him severely, frozen like a deer in headlights. His eyes certainly were like headlights, shedding harsh light over her shame, and her stupid attempt to hide. She ran through her head just what she could possibly say to him.

"Mavis," Turbo urged impatiently, "what is going on?"

Swallowing, she figured all she could do was give it to him straight.

"He hit me," she said lowly.

Turbo froze. "What?"

"I took his glasses off to see his eyes," she explained slowly, "...and he punched me."

For a moment, there was silence, and nothing but a tense stare. But Turbo spoke up quietly, a calm veil over the fury she could practically smell on him.

"Mav. Ditch the paint job."

She took a deep breath. Bracing herself for what was about to come, she concentrated painfully hard until a flash of blue binary glitched over her face and down her neck, washing away the disguise edits on her pixels and revealing the damage done.

Mavis had not actually gotten a chance to look at her face at all since it happened, but from the look on Turbo's face, she could tell it was not pretty. For a second, shock drowned everything else out. His jaw fell slack and he leaned in close to study the injury, clearly taking a great effort not to touch it. Mavis just avoided his gaze, awful feelings brewing in her belly as she was scrutinized.

"Oh--" Turbo breathed, "oh my Devs, this is-- Mav, why would you--..."

Then his shock cut out, and a grin angrier than she had ever seen on him spread across his face. 

And just like that, he turned around and strode towards the front door.

Mavis was just confused for a moment, but her pounding heart suddenly hit harder. "Wait," she called, "where are you goin’?"

"To the hospital," he called back in a casual tone but dangerous volume. "So I can delete that son of a glitch out of existence."

Perfect. Brilliant. Splendid. Just what she needed to deal with after all she had been through that night. She trotted after him and sighed, “Turbo, you know that’s not gonna help.”

“Helps me plenty,” he dismissed her quickly.

She hopped right into his path. “He’ll still be in quarantine. You won’t even be able to get to him.”

“I’ll find a way,” he tried to push past her, but she braced both hands against his chest.

“Turbo,” she said sharply, “I just want tonight to be over. Let it be over. It’s done.”

“I know you do,” he said without looking at her, “that’s why I’m gonna go end it.”

“No, you’re not,” she growled with strain as he pushed against her. “You’re gonna go make everything worse. Just-- Just don’t!”

Turbo stopped pushing for a moment, standing firm and looking at her pointedly. “I have to, okay?!” he said harshly, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“You can’t protect me! It already happened!”

“I know it did!”

“I don’t need to be protected!”

“I know you don’t!” he raked his fingers through his hair with a loud, growling sigh. “But I just have to, okay, I need this!”

“Why?!” she demanded, throwing her hands up. “‘Cause you’re the man?!”

Turbo sucked in a breath, his whole body quaking for a second, before words burst from his mouth. “Because I love you, okay?!”

There was a moment’s silence as they stared at each other. Mavis could feel herself twisting up inside as she looked at his desperate, terribly distressed face. Before long, he held onto her shoulders and hunched down the short distance it took to be eye-level with her.

“I love you,” he said quietly with a squeeze on her arms, “and I protect the things I love. So, please, get outta the way.”

He tried to move past her again, but she caught him by the elbows and kept him in place. She stared into his eyes with a look that she only hoped he would understand.

“If you really love me,” she told him earnestly, “then you’ll know this wasn’t his fault.”

Turbo grumbled, “Well, it sure wasn’t yours, either.”

“He wasn’t in his right mind, Turbo. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t know who I was. He didn’t mean it,” she explained insistently. “You know that. I know you know that, ‘cause he’s no different than I was!”

Turbo gave a low scoff. “You two ain’t even in the same galaxy.”

Mavis could tell Turbo was in his own sort of altered state, just blinded by rage. Normally, he would have at least tried to listen to her, but it was like his ears were walled off. But it was hurting Mavis in ways he should have understood, hearing him talk like that. She was quickly becoming desperate, her need to defend both an innocent addict and herself boiling over. She just had to snap him out of it, or the fight would get a whole hell of a lot worse.

After receiving Mavis' silent, pained glare long enough, Turbo shook his head and went straight for the doorknob. "You don't need to understand," he grumbled.

Before his hand could make contact, Mavis darted and clamped her fingers around the knob, forcing a sharp warning into her stare. Turbo was a bit thrown off at that, and stepped back a bit when he saw her draw her brush. No fear entered his eyes, but he was alert, wise enough to give her space. The buildup of nasty emotions she had been carrying all night seemed to toil furiously over itself, and the friction's heat burst out of her paintbrush, the dollop of paint suddenly alight with bright, angry, popping sparks that cast flickering light over the room as if she were holding a lit firecracker.

"Turbo, if you so much as turn this doorknob, I swear to the Devs," she snarled viciously, "I will hogtie you on the spot and throw you in the hall closet 'til the arcade opens, you hear me?!"

It was an empty threat, and she was pretty sure Turbo knew it (at least, she hoped he did). All the same, his gaze was fixed on her, the sparks from her brush reflecting in his eyes like burning stars. But his furrowed brow loosened. His rigid posture slowly went slack as he backed off from her. And those stars in his eyes somehow seemed to burn a bit cooler. Mavis had managed to snap him out of it, a fact that relieved her so greatly that the sparks leaping from her paint fizzled out. Still, she refused to move until she was certain.

Turbo blinked slowly, taking a long breath through his nose. The corner of his mouth twitched with the idea of a smile. “Hardass voice,” he murmured.

Heaving a sigh, Mavis sheathed her brush and took the threat out of her stance. She softly held Turbo’s gaze, exhaustion leaving her cold and vulnerable. In a beaten-down voice, she quietly told him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of that.”

“Part of you probably did,” Turbo replied with the ghost of a laugh, but fell into a sadder note. “But I’m sorry, too. I’ll stay here.”

Another sigh blowing past her lips, Mavis leaned back against the door and rubbed her right cheek. “Okay,” she nodded. 

An extended hand came into her vision, and she looked to find Turbo inviting her out of her miserable bubble without intruding into it, a definitive sign that he had come to his senses. She took his hand, of course, craving close comfort more than anything else in the world. He gave a tug and let her lead herself into a carefully constructed hug, one that would spare her broken face. Closing her eyes, she rested herself against him and tried to let the familiar warm feeling of his code soothe everything. It did help, somewhat.

Turbo held her gently but firmly, sighing his own deep, restless sighs. "I know it wasn't actually his fault," he told her softly. "I just hate that I wasn't even there… I was safe at home and… and I'm just-- I mean, I know you don't need protecting. I know that. But a stranger still attacked my fiancée tonight, and I-- I can't just deal with that. I can't just not want to fight back when someone hurts you. Buffs or not."

Listening carefully, she nodded. "I know… That's fair."

He slowly squeezed her tighter. "I just… I need to do something. What can I do now?"

A small smile carefully crept onto Mavis' face. She adored him so much, even after all that. Her demon with a heart of hot, rumbling gold. Resisting the urge to bury her face under his neck with great difficulty, Mavis settled for slowly rubbing his back to show her love.

"I don't need you to fight my battles for me," she muttered sincerely, "I need you to hold me up after the fact. Just… stay with me. Please, T."

Turbo's chest swelled with a long sigh through his nose, and Mavis felt his hand rise up to pet her hair comfortingly. "Always," he whispered. “Always, I’m here.”

"I love you so much," she told him softly, finding that her own words picked at a raw anxiety deep in her gut. Her words were true, but for the first time in a lifetime, they felt… mournful. Almost frightening.

Not picking up on her unease at all, Turbo simply replied, "I love you, too. Maybe too much for my own health." Then he pulled back from her, his hands sliding to her biceps as he looked over her bloodied face again. It clearly pained him just to look. Once again fighting to keep his hand away, he whispered unsteadily, "You poor cuss. You didn't deserve this. I bet it hurts like a son of a glitch."

Mavis could not lie about it. "It really does. It hurts to even move my face," she muttered. "It really looks that bad, huh?"

Turbo tilted his head and his lip curled in disbelief. "You haven't seen it?"

"I… haven't had that much time to check," she half-lied.

"Okay…" Turbo said, letting her go. "Mav, do me a favor and go look in the mirror."

She blinked at him before her gaze drifted towards the bathroom. Mavis was not afraid to see a little carnage, but now that it had come down to it, she wondered if she had hidden her wounds for her own sake, as well. Most of her wanted to pretend the night’s violence had not happened at all. She did not want to see the truth of what happened and make it all the more real. But she could not continue hiding it from herself while subjecting Turbo to it. That just seemed unfair, almost cruel. 

So, wordlessly, she complied and strode stiffly to the bathroom. She stepped into the dark and looked only at her black silhouette for a moment, steeling herself for what she might see filling that shape. Swallowing, she flipped the switch, winced at the harsh change of light, and felt her heart leap into her throat the moment her eyes adjusted.

It was a brutal sight. It looked every bit as painful as it was. 

Almost the entirety of the left side of her face had been transformed into some morbid sort of painting. Under her inflamed skin, there were spills of sick yellows, sprays of vicious reds, and smears of noxious violet. Blood had been weeping from two deep tears in her cheek, presumably from the soldier’s heavily armored knuckles. Dried blood trailed all the way down her neck, and the wounds themselves were still wet, having stained Turbo’s lips minutes before. Even most of the white in her darkly-ringed eye had been stained an opaque red from burst blood vessels.

She leaned over the sink, exhaling coldly. “...Holy crit.”

Turbo appeared in the doorway behind her, folding his arms. “Yeah,” he sighed. “So, you can see why I wanna kick someone’s ass right now.”

Very carefully, she lifted a hand and tested the swelling. At even a slight brush, throbbing pain pulsed deep into the contours of her face. Even grimacing against the pain made it worse. The damage was proving to be quite severe, a fact that made her stomach quiver. “I… think my cheekbone might be broken,” she thought out loud.

A deep, disapproving groan emanated from Turbo. “Probably. Those guys’ fists are easily the size of your head,” he grumbled, and then quirked his head and squinted at a peculiar thought. “Wait, Felix would’ve been there, right? Why didn’t he heal you?”

Mavis straightened up and braced the heels of her palms against the counter, unable to look away from her own brutalized face. “He… didn’t know,” she sighed, a thick cloud of shame swirling in her head. “I covered up the wound pretty much the second I got it.”

“...Why?”

She shrugged. “It was just… It was already gonna be such a situation, and violence would’ve made a whole thing of it, and…” she sighed. “I needed to focus on handlin' everything, and its hard to do that with everyone fussin’ over ya.”

“Right,” he said slowly, “but you didn’t even go to him after?”

“Didn’t have the emotional energy,” she muttered.

“Yeah, okay,” he nodded begrudgingly. “What about Dr. Mario? You were at the hospital, weren’t you? Why not tell him?”

“All the soldiers were there, too, including Calhoun,” she said. “I didn’t want them to know he hurt me.”

“Mm,” Turbo grunted. “That’s kind of important, though, ain’t it?”

Mavis’ gaze fell a bit. “Doesn’t have to be,” she lied.

“But if he knows he hurt an innocent sprite, that could be a major wake-up call for him, right? Ain’t that the point when a lot of addicts realize they got a problem?”

Turbo was absolutely right, and she knew this very well. Too well, even. But the topic was more tender than it had been in years, and she could not find any response that she could bear to say. The conversation was steering itself towards a corner that Mavis knew she was bound to get stuck in, but the closer it got, the more she could feel her hackles raising in a growing, defensive panic. She hated when she would get this way, but felt utterly weak against it that night. Silently, she hung her head.

Hearing no response, Turbo carried on. “Nevermind,” he mumbled, before moving on to his next harrowing question. “Why didn’t you just go to the hospital after all was said and done? Didn’t Calhoun and her crew go home?”

“Yeah,” she breathed. “But I just wanted to go home, too.”

Turbo exhaled sharply, not in anger, but definitely exasperation. She heard him step forward, and felt his hand gently rub the curve of her back. “I don’t blame ya, baby. Really. It’s been a hell of a night,” he said tiredly. “But you gotta get healed up. Let’s go to the hospital, yeah?”

Tensing up, Mavis shook her heavy head. “N-no…”

“It’s okay,” he assured her, wrapping an arm over her shoulders. “I’ll be right there with ya. Y'can just sleep all this off.”

Almost unconsciously, she slowly leaned away from him. “No. I’m not goin',” she said coldly.

“Wh--” Turbo half-chuckled incredulously, “what? Why?”

Her knuckles turned white. “I-- I don’t want to.”

“Well, that’s…” he straightened up, “that’s too bad, but ya have to.”

“Says who?”

“Says me,” he said, clearly getting frustrated.

Mavis’ nose crinkled a bit, and she shook his arm off of her shoulders. “You ain’t the boss of me,” she growled.

“I know. ‘Cept for when you’re flat-out refusin’ to take care of yourself, then, yeah, I get to boss you around a bit,” he told her firmly. “I’m not gonna let you wallow in pain for no Dev-damned reason.”

Finally, Mavis straightened up and backed away from him, her face aching deeply with the warning glare she was pointing at her partner. It felt terrible, and she wanted to stop, but it was out of her control. “You don’t get to ‘let’ me do anything,” she hissed, "and I have a very good reason!"

"Okay then," Turbo threw his hands up, "what is it?!"

"I-- I--" she stammered, so much conflict in her brain that she felt she could have started glitching, "I can't."

"What, you can't go or you can't tell me?" he asked impatiently.

Her stomach burned. Her muscles tingled. A jolt of adrenaline whipped up her spine. This was it. This was the corner.

And this was her fear.

"I-- I just CAN'T!" she shouted, squeezing her eyes shut and quite nearly ripping her hair out. "Can you not hear me?! I can't go and I won't go, so just GET OUT!"

Mavis refused to look Turbo in the eye for fear of what effect his expression might have on her heart, but she saw him already shifting tentatively towards the door. He tried to say something, but she cut him off immediately. 

"I said GET OUT!" she did not lay a hand on him, but effectively chased him out of that bathroom. He lingered outside, and Mavis grabbed the doorknob, still keeping her eyes low. "And go clean the motor oil from your ears while you're at it!"

Then, with the sharp slam of a door, she isolated herself. This was something she always told the sprites at Buff Anon not to do, but her deep distress had completely taken the wheel. Seeking all the hiding she could get like a wounded animal, she climbed into the bathtub, yanked the curtains closed with a metallic clang, and sat down. Knees to her chest, she curled her fingers into claws against her skull and fought to keep from crying. Deep inside her code, dried-up patches of self-loathing began to run, muddying the waters of her brain. Somehow, her fear of hurting those she loved always seemed to self-fulfill. No matter what, her ugliest colors would bleed out eventually.

She should have been better. Turbo deserved better. Her heart ached horribly for what she had done. For what she doubted her own strength to not do.

Resting her chin on her hugged knees, she listened for anything in the hallway. There was no yelling, no speaking, no words at all. For a while, all she heard was his feet pacing back and forth outside the door. No doubt an effort to calm down and sort out his thoughts. But after stewing in guilt for what felt like forever, she jumped at a gentle knock on the door.

"Hey doll," Turbo called softly and carefully. "Can I come in, now?"

Mavis took a deep breath. It was time to start acting her age, or at least try to. "Yeah," she called back drearily.

The door opened, and then it closed. Hearing nothing from Turbo for a moment, she said, "I'm over here."

Mavis expected him to pull the curtain back, but she only heard him sit down on the other side of it, next to her. Carefully, she glanced over. The curtain was about as closed as it could go, but it could not tightly hug the wall. From where she sat at the back of the tub, there was a tall, thin gap in her mildewy barrier, and through it, she could see Turbo's back against the wall, and one yellow eye peeking through at her tiredly. He must have seen only her gruesome red eye, a fact that prompted her to look away.

She sighed roughly. "I'm so sorry, baby," she muttered.

"I know you are," he said calmly and reassuringly. "It's okay. That was nothing."

Mavis shook her head. "I just… ain't myself tonight."

"This whole thing really did a number on you, huh?"

Mavis was too busy formulating a plan on what and how she could tell him to answer, so he continued. "Y'know, I really wanna help you, Mav. But I can't if you don't talk to me."

Head swimming with heavy thoughts, Mavis stared at the tub's drain and pictured it sucking up all the messy words that were about to spill from her mouth. It was just comforting enough to finally get her going.

After a long, pregnant pause, she began wearily, "It's just… it was just so personal, T. It was in my game. At my party. In my forest, where I used to live. Buffs haven't been that closely involved in my personal life in… a really long time. I mean, Buff Anon is one thing, but that's more like work. And no one is actually high there. It… it completely blindsided me."

Turbo just listened politely.

"And… and I think the worst of it was," she continued, feeling sick, "being so close to… buff violence again. I hear about it in B.A., I've witnessed it, and I've even intervened, but I've… I've never been on the receiving end. So I know what that feels like now. And that… made me realize… just how it must have felt when I…"

She hugged her knees tighter. "...When I did that to sprites. How confused and scared they must've been. And I did that to strangers… and to sprites I really care about."

After a pause, Turbo piped up gently. "You know it wasn't your fault. It wasn't you."

A silence fell over them, one that lasted just long enough to be uncomfortable. Mavis was preparing to spill the hard truth of why she was so acutely shaken, and found that, like most things, the best thing to do would be to give it to him straight. As hard as it may have been. 

Licking her dry lips, she asked slowly and shakily, "Y'wanna know why I don't wanna go see Dr. Mario?"

"Why?"

"Because… he'd-- he'd put me on healing buffs, and I--" she hit a snag in her sentence and hung her head, struggling against the quiver in her lip. The end of her sentence came fast and forcefully.

"And I'm scared that I'll relapse again!"

Mavis braced, but Turbo was quiet for a moment. She could tell that he was a little stunned, but he soon broke out of it with a small sigh. "Mav, baby," he said gently but insistently, "you're not gonna relapse."

"How do you know that?" she asked miserably, muffled against her knee.

"Well, for one thing, you've been clean for, what, ten years?"

"Thirteen and five months," she corrected him. "It took me ten to relapse the first time. It doesn't go away. It just goes to sleep. I'm so scared of it waking up."

"It won't."

"Why?"

"Because--" he tripped over his words a bit and sighed. "Because things are different now. Especially for you. You moved outta that game makin' you miserable. You live in a real house now, with me, your best-friend-slash-incredibly-sexy-fiancé--"

Mavis gave one chuckle.

"--you've got a huge circle of friends who all care about you, you have several jobs that you're amazing at, and hell, you run Buff Anon. So many sprites have gotten clean 'cause of you. Honey, you've got it made now."

"I know," she said, her voice breaking, "that's why I'm so afraid. I don't wanna let everyone down. I don't wanna lose everything. I don't... I don’t wanna lose you."

"Mavis," he said, pain in his voice, "I ain't goin' nowhere. I got the utmost faith in ya. I've seen you beat buffs a million times. Remember helpin' me get clean? You did that."

"I also remember getting you into buffs," she mumbled.

Turbo groaned almost imperceptibly. "Well," he said quietly, "that was a really long time ago. You can't blame yourself for that forever."

Mavis turned words over in her head for a minute, an awful numbness enveloping her. Slowly, carefully, she explained, "I… feel like my mind is back there… back in ‘a really long time ago’. I'm thinkin' about things I thought I moved past. And I'm reacting just how I used to. I'm bein' nasty. I'm hiding things. I'm hidin' myself. And I… I'm craving buffs to make it all go away. I feel like that guy punched me back in time."

Turbo considered that. "...What sorts of things are you thinkin' about? Is it… is it old Easter Egg stuff?"

Mavis squirmed, pointing her face away from him. "...Sorta," she said anxiously. "It's mostly just… me stuff. Like… thinkin' I'm not cut out for nice things, or-- or-- ...relationships. That I'm bound to screw things up eventually, no matter what. That everything… goes away."

"You know all that's not true."

"Not right now, I don't."

Turbo took a long pause to think, and Mavis was almost afraid of what those gears in his head would produce. "I don't believe you," he said plainly. "You still know everything you need to know. You can still follow your own advice. You're more qualified to help yourself than anybody, even me."

Stubbornly, drearily, Mavis shook her head. "No. I can help others just fine. Helping myself is a different story."

"Okay, well, in that case…" he offered slowly, "help me."

"...What?"

"What advice would you give me if I were in your shoes?"

Mavis half-scoffed uncomfortably, shaking her head. "I-- I dunno if I can…"

She heard his shoulders rub the wall as he shrugged. "Sure you can," he said coolly. "What would you say if, right now, I told you, 'Mav, I've got a problem. I'm havin' a real hard time and I'm missing buffs pretty bad. I miss the way it felt. I know they almost ruined my life, but I miss the good times. I miss takin' Heals with you, the way it'd feel when you touched me, and, ugh, the sex…"

As Mavis listened, she became more and more concerned. He was getting awfully specific, almost like it was not theoretical.

He continued, "...and how unstoppable I felt on Supers… but I'm worried that if I relapse, everyone will leave me. What do I do?'"

After a pause, Mavis asked tentatively, "Is any of that true?"

Turbo grunted. "Not all of it. I'm not actually tempted, but, y'know… I miss it sometimes. Just the feeling. Not enough to act on it, but still."

Mavis swallowed, her gaze low. "Yeah… me too," she muttered. "Usually, it's not a problem. It helps me relate to addicts who are struggling. But… tonight, it's just scary. It's too real."

"Well… call me an addict in crisis," he said, "and help me."

She wavered.

He prodded gently, "What if I believed all that awful stuff about myself…? What would you say?"

Mavis took a deep, steadying breath, squeezing her pant leg. The whole idea felt awkward and trivial, but she had to try, at least to let Turbo help her. She knew he needed to feel useful, so the least she could do was give him a chance. 

"Well…" she began tentatively, "first things first, I'd say… that you reachin' out for help was the first step in the right direction, so… you've already got one leg up on this."

Turbo merely listened, trusting her to guide herself through it.

"And… and I'd say that…" she swallowed, "that you're not bad or weak for missing the good times. Anyone would miss somethin' that made them feel good. But buffs… are like a false friend. They'll seem fun, and they'll promise to be there for you. But then they'll tear you down until you don't love yourself enough to leave. And when you do, they'll show up at your door years later promisin' that things would be different the second time around. But they're lyin'. Never listen to them."

Mavis found herself beginning to quake, so she took a deep, quivering breath to try to maintain her composure. It was then that the shower curtain crinkled and a grey hand extended in, looking for anything to hold. He found her knee, and, shaking, she took his hand in both of hers and worried her thumbs against it. Holding him for support, she unsteadily continued.

"And…  all the sprites who love you are the ones you should be reachin' for. Because they'll tell you the truth… That you deserve all the love in the world… the same as anybody else. You're not broken or unlovable or worthless. And if you can't take my word for it… then come to Buff Anon with me. We'll convince you."

She hit another snag, a much sharper one this time. Her face grew hotter than it already was, and a hefty lump formed in her throat. Awful pain shot through her left eye as the tears escaped, and she crushed her eyes shut against the sting. Turbo's fingers tightened around hers, and she squeezed back as she continued in a broken, teary voice.

"And I'd-- If it were you, I'd say--" she sniffed, "that even if you did end up relapsing… you'd be okay. The arcade is way better equipped to help you now. You wouldn't lose your game, or your jobs, or your friends, because… everyone knows you. They'd know when you're not yourself. And they wouldn't give up on you so easily."

Carefully, she kissed his hand. "And I'd tell you… that I'd carry you through this on my back if you asked me. Because I-- I love you more than anything. No amount of buffs could change that."

Turbo scrubbed his thumb against her hand, waiting for her to continue, but her words were running dry. Judging by how open the floodgates in her eyes were, the exercise had already hit its mark in ways she was not prepared for. She was emotionally raw, but she was done.

"And--" she muttered, sniffing, recalling Buff Anon's motto that stemmed from her own in-game catchphrase, "together, we can make it."

It took only a moment for Turbo to breathe, "Wow. I was just gonna say literally all of that."

A wet laugh broke from behind her teeth, and she carefully wiped away what wetness she could on her sleeve. "Not bad, T, not bad," she sighed, face aching with a smile. "You should lead a B.A. meeting sometime."

"Nah," he said, taking one of her hands and pulling it out of the tub. Warm lips pressed against her knuckle. "Everyone would be too captivated with me, and nothing would get done."

Mavis laughed quietly, and they both fell silent for a moment. Teardrops were still darkening the fabric on her knees, but the way Turbo's strong hands gently massaged her own was almost meditative. She tried to isolate the feeling, to focus on it and calm down.

Eventually, Turbo asked softly, "How ya feelin'?"

She drew a breath through her nose and sighed. "Better," she told him lowly. "I'm… still worried. But I'm not scared."

"I'd call that an improvement," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. "See? Didn't I tell ya you'd give the best advice?"

"You did," she smiled. "Which was good advice, too."

"I know," he said casually. "I'm basically a genius."

Mavis chuckled in her throat, and then, ever so slowly, she dared to lean her head back and peer out of her hiding spot. The gap had gotten even bigger with her arm passing through it, so she could see Turbo's entire face. He was looking her way, too, with a look of careful optimism. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and Mavis suddenly felt humbled with guilt over everything she had done since she got home. She knew very well that they had both done worse in the past, but in the present, she was supposed to know better. But she had been frightened and horribly triggered. She could only blame herself so much, and she tried very hard to remind herself of that. It was the same as what she would tell anyone.

Turbo spoke first, when it came to it.

"Hey," he breathed sweetly.

"Hey," Mavis echoed, her voice rough as she still softly cried.

He asked, "Ready to come out yet, tiger?"

She took a deep breath and decided that she was done with the night's bad experience haunting her actions. Talking it out had cleared her head, and it was time to start thinking straight again.

"Yeah," she nodded.

Turbo smiled, and promptly rose to his feet, guiding her upwards as well as he squeezed her hand. She pushed the shower curtain out of the way and stepped out of her hiding place, once again standing face to face with her best friend. Seeing the sincere look he gave her, she became so overwhelmed with love that it hurt, deep in her chest. Like a magnet, she stuck right to his body, hugging desperately tight. He returned the gesture, of course, and she found herself overflowing with tears again.

"I knew very well what I was gettin' into with you," he told her lovingly. "If the idea of you relapsing freaked me out enough to be a dealbreaker, I wouldn't be marryin' you, would I?"

Mavis merely sobbed almost silently, just strongly enough to make her body jump a bit in his arms. No matter how long it took him to get there, he always seemed to find just the right thing to say. It reminded her of the lessons she had learned over the course of her life, about her own worth and what she deserved. Once upon a time, she believed that she was not meant to have anything good. But even after thirty years, she still had him. And he was so good.

Steadily, her mind once again left the past behind her where it belonged. Her life was good. Her life was wonderful. And she deserved it.

For a time, they simply remained there in the bathroom, holding each other tightly and letting the emotional strain of the evening unwind and relax in the warmth they created. Turbo’s shoulder was wet with tears where Mavis had been resting her good cheek, but eventually, her tears ran dry, leaving only fine salty streaks down her skin. Her trembling body had found its stillness again.

Turbo rubbed her back deeply enough for her to feel the aches in her muscles crying to be kneaded out. He turned his head against hers the slightest bit, and whispered, “How we doin’?”

She waited, but nodded once. “Exhausted,” she sighed, “but I’ll be okay.”

“‘Course you will,” he patted her back a couple times, and then pulled back enough to look at her half-maimed face. He thought for a second, and then a lighthearted smile appeared. “Hey. I know somethin’ that might cheer you up.”

“What’s that?”

“Y’wanna see the commission I finished today?”

She perked up a bit, always interested in his machines and inventions. “Yeah, o'course!”

Finally, they both left the bathroom, and Turbo instructed her to go wait in the kitchen. She obeyed while he ducked into the garage for just a minute before coming back into view with a strange object in his hand. He crossed immediately to place it on the dinner table, and she wandered over to inspect it.

Mavis quirked a brow as she looked over the item. It was nothing that he had made before, to her recollection. It looked almost similar to a crystal ball on a base, only the ball was made of some kind of thin metal, maybe tin, with hundreds of chaotic punctures of varying size over its surface. It looked almost like it had been delicately shot with a tiny shotgun dozens of times. It did look well-made, but…

“What is it?” she asked curiously.

Turbo leaned his hand against the table casually. “Just a nightlight.”

Mavis blinked and gave him a bit of a look. Chuckling faintly, she confirmed, “A… nightlight.”

“Yeah,” he scratched under his chin. “Previously homeless sprite just moved into a dark game, but they’d only lived in a bright game before. I wouldn’t have accepted a commission for any ol’ lightbulb, but they told me to get fresh with it. Thought it’d be fun to just mess around.”

“Huh. Well, okay, then,” she reached for the switch on the base. “Let’s see it.”

Immediately, Turbo directed her hand away. “Ah, ah,” he held up a finger, “you go turn off the kitchen light, and I’ll turn it on.”

She scoffed. “Alright, your majesty,” she said with a smile before doing as instructed. She crossed to the wall by the fridge and flipped the switches down, plunging the entire floor in darkness that was disturbed only by thin slices of Turbo Time sunshine that made it around the blackout curtains. Turbo clicked his tongue once in that typical smug way to call her back over, and she returned to where those glowing eyes stood. To her confusion, though, he shook his head. 

“Move back a little bit,” he told her casually.

“What? Is it gonna blow up, or something?” she asked, almost hopefully.

“Nope, just…” he abandoned his sentence in favor of holding her shoulders and relocating her himself. She made only vague sounds of protest at first, but actually felt a twinge of irritation as he was intentionally indecisive over what specific inch she should have stood on.

“Okay, T,” she scolded him slightly, “cut it out and show me the damn thing, will ya?”

He pretended to inspect her position for one more second, before calling it perfect and leaving her to stand in the open space of floor that was not quite the kitchen or living room or dining room. Turbo returned to the table and, in the darkness, she could see him place his finger over the switch, but not press it. He sure was making a big deal out of a nightlight.

“Ready?” he asked playfully.

“Yes, T, I’m ready,” she rolled her eyes a bit. “I was ready when you brought it out, ya weirdo.”

He hummed, and then sang quietly, “Okay!”

The switched clicked, the device lit up, and she gasped.

Stars.

There were stars everywhere. They speckled the walls, the ceiling, the furniture, and her body with soft sprays of golden light. The darkness was not chased away, but it was filled with a safe, inviting warmth that felt like walking on the edge of sleep. Slowly, her eyes roamed along the map of spilled light across the ceiling, her jaw a little slack with awe. It was such a simple thing, but it was so much more beautiful than she had expected.

“Oh… my Devs,” she finally managed to say, laughing incredulously. She looked over at Turbo, who had not moved at all, but was watching her with a grin as smug as ever. “T! What the hell -- this is awesome!”

He gave a hearty chuckle. “Oh, you like that?” he reached for the base again. “Well, check this out.”

Another switch clicked, and just like that, the sea of stars began to slowly swim around the room. It was as simple as the metal ball rotating, but what it did to the light was almost dizzyingly beautiful. The golden, glowing stars drifted at a leisurely, loving pace, finding something wonderful to say about everything they touched. They danced over the trophies lined on the wall, stretching and crowding over the sloping surfaces. Passing over the glass on the cabinets, they refracted into shimmering clusters like tiny fireworks. Mavis turned herself along with them, her hands twitching up towards her mouth. 

Eventually, in her turning, her eyes fell on Turbo again. He was still leaning against the table, his arms folded as he watched her. The smugness in his smile had softened into quiet admiration.

"So, star expert," he said, "what's the verdict?"

"Hah," she breathed, glancing around again. "It's… it's beautiful. Honestly, this might be my favorite thing you've made."

He whistled. "That's some mighty praise for a nightlight."

Mavis smiled and crossed over to the table again. She watched the globe of the wonderful invention turn lazily, blinking when the beams met her eyes. She held out her hand to see its oversized silhouette against the wall, and noticed the way the stars streaked along the band of her engagement ring like tiny shooting stars. When she turned her hand over, the ring's rainbow of gems all came to life as the light danced gleefully through the sparkling facets. 

"Damn," she whispered in awe.

Next to her, Turbo exhaled a single chuckle through his nose.

Mavis looked up at the tightest circle of stars that peppered the ceiling so finely, suddenly finding herself so wistful. For all her life, she had loved stars. She had written at least a dozen songs about them. But her relationship with them was… complicated. Not always happy. It was often that well of conflicting feelings that had made the stars so captivating, so addictive in a softly masochistic way, like how one may have habitually picked their skin or pulled out their hair. 

On a good day, stars filled her mind with inspiration, with beautiful dreams of what life could bring. On a bad day, they were only a reminder of how trapped she was. How trapped everyone was.

But that night, in her home, there was no bad side. There was only beauty.

"I love stars," she sighed quietly.

"I know you do," Turbo muttered.

"They're the one thing that I miss about living in my game. Lying in my den and looking up at the stars."

"Not many stars in sunny Turbo Time," Turbo added. "Y'know, except for me."

Mavis scoffed.

"And you, I guess."

She looked at him, instantly filled with warmth from the way he looked back at her so peacefully, so contentedly. A sassy Turbo was a happy Turbo, and she was relieved to hear him cracking jokes again. The stars ran over the contours of his face, painting his grey skin into a hazy night sky, and waking the deep garnet tones of his well-hidden pupils. Many would not have called him beautiful, but Mavis did. Not just in his looks, either, but from the harmony he brought into her life. Looking at him then, everything seemed right. She was right where she was meant to be.

Suddenly, an epiphany washed over her, and all the worries of that night were swept away. But for the time being, she would keep it to herself, just to let it sink in and enjoy the moment for what it was.

So she merely smiled at him, and once again winced at the pain in her cheek. "You're hilarious, you know that?"

"I do," he shrugged.

Mavis turned around and leaned against the table next to him, which prompted him to wrap an arm around her. Glancing over at him, she added softly, "And you make some pretty amazing things."

He smiled and chuckled with a hint of smugness. "What can I say? I'm the best in the biz. Gotta keep the customers happy."

"Well," she laughed quietly, "no complaints from me, either."

Mavis looked back out across the room to peacefully watch the sea of stars swirl around the room. There was another dark silhouette cut into the drifting light, that of herself and her partner side by side, as they ought to have been. Then the shadows joined into one as she laid her head against his shoulder. Tingles swelled in her chest, and she sighed them out happily.

"So," she said calmly, "how much for you to make me one of these?"

Turbo scoffed. "How much? You wanna pay me?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's your work. It's your time. Don't go givin' me special treatment."

He shook her playfully a bit. "Mav, we're gettin' married next month. You're gettin' some special treatment."

"Oh, pfft," she blew, "matrimony. It's only a ceremony binding our lives together in the eyes of the Devs and the entire arcade forever. Big deal."

Turbo laughed. "You're just dreadin' it, aren't ya?"

Mavis shrugged. "Honestly, I might not even show up."

Chuckling through his teeth, he squeezed her shoulders and kissed her head. "Yeah, I'm excited, too," he nearly whispered.

Sighing dreamily, she snaked an arm behind him and held his soft waist. "Can't wait."

Another happy silence fell between them, broken only by the low, muffled hum of the machine running behind them. But before too long, Turbo drew in a sharp breath.

"Y'know what you could do to pay me back?" he sort of sighed.

"Hm?"

He stepped away from her side to instead stand in front of her. He held both of her hands and looked at her with a face full of sincerity. "Let me take you to Dr. Mario," he insisted gently, "before the arcade opens."

Mavis had hoped it would have been some owed salacious act, but was not surprised at all. However, when she came to consider it, she found that the fear had abated. Plus, she was very ready to not be in pain. She blinked at him and smiled tiredly.

"Okay," she nodded.

A bit of light came into his exhausted face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Yes," he sighed. "Finally."

With a tug on her hands, he pulled her into a hug that spun slowly, like a formless dance. She squeezed back, happy to see him so relieved. The poor man deserved a break from all the drama she had brought home with her.

A few moments passed, and Turbo pulled back far enough to see her face. He smiled at her so fondly, and she could not help but return the gesture. But he hesitated, his gaze repeatedly falling to her lips.

"So," he whispered almost sheepishly, "if I kiss you now, is it just gonna hurt again?"

"Ah," she fluttered her lashes and huffed, "yeah, it probably will."

Turbo smiled faintly, and let his eyes follow the lights along the walls. "Yeah," he sighed dramatically, "I figured."

But looking at him standing there, dappled in the light, she could hardly resist anymore. "But…" she breathed, lifting a hand to his cheek and directing his gaze back to her, "...do it anyway."

There was a glimmer of adoration in his eyes as he breathed a short, sighing laugh. "Alright then, tiger."

He had started to lean in, but he stopped when Mavis cleared her throat. Skirting her thumb over his cheek, she whispered a reminder. "Gently."

"Hah," he laughed silently. "I'll try."

Mavis then felt a strong, rough hand snake around behind her neck and cradle the back of her head, and found her heart thumping a bit harder than it normally would. Slowly, carefully, he drew in close, checking her reactions. Then he lingered in range of her breath, apparently making the most of taking his time. Mavis' face was growing hot, which only made her cheek throb harder, but she did not care. There was something about the careful anticipation that sent her heart reeling. It threw her right back to their early days, when they were only just learning how to kiss at all. How new and exciting it had all been.

Most of the vivid memories of the past had departed for the night, but those ones were welcome to stay.

Finally, she closed her eyes, and upon feeling the slightest brush against her lips, she pushed back gingerly. The kiss was barely there, hard enough only to maintain contact, but it squeezed a slow sigh out of her and sent her head swimming. Every moment or so, they would break apart, but softly join again to keep the moment alive, kissing peacefully in the light of the stars he made.

Immediately after their little romantic break, Mavis and Turbo set out for Dr. Mario’s hospital. For the walk there, Mavis reapplied her painted disguise so as to not draw attention, but of course glitched out of it once face-to-face with the mustachioed doctor. When he asked them what happened, Mavis sorrowfully told him the truth, knowing it was the best thing to do for all parties. Hopefully, it would be the push that kickstarted the soldier’s recovery. Dr. Mario offered to tell Calhoun and the crew about it, but she intended to tell them herself. She could not be afraid of any facets of her self-assigned job, or she would not be completely prepared to help those in need of it. 

They were brought immediately into a slightly lower-lit hall with beds and monitors in curtained-off sections. Once assigned to a bed, Mavis sat on it and allowed the doctor to examine her. Judging by her swelling and extreme tenderness, he felt confident to say that there was, indeed, a crack in her cheekbone, but it would not take long to mend. He cleaned off all the dried blood as gently as he could, poured what felt like liquid fire on the wound, and began stitching up the deep gouges in her cheek to make sure they closed properly during the buff treatment. It stung badly enough to bring tears to her eyes, but the needle was so fine and he worked so deftly, it was not the worst to sit through. Devs knew that she had been through worse.

“Thank you for’a keeping still,” Dr. Mario muttered as he held her face steady anyways, “that’s’a more than I can expect from’a most’a my patients.”

“Yea--”

“Don’t’a talk, please.”

Mavis rolled her eyes a bit. He always did this.

“Mavis, I can see when you’a roll your eyes at’a me,” he said flatly as he worked.

“Don’t worry, Mav,” Turbo said from his seat behind the doctor, “he can’t watch us both at once.” He then gave a very exaggerated roll of the eyes. Mavis quivered with the effort to not grin.

“You’re a’funny guy, Turbo,” he said even flatter.

With that, he finished off the stitches, and started preparing the IV drip full of diluted healing buffs. A slight jolt of adrenaline zapped Mavis' heart. What she had been fearing all night was about to begin. Even though she had come to her senses, having buffs in her system always made her at least a little nervous… the events of the night just seemed to irritate that.

But as he went through the preparations, Dr. Mario hummed in thought.

"What's up, Doc?" Mavis asked tentatively.

"Oh, I was just a'thinking that it was'a funny thing to a'compare then and'a now," he explained calmly and nostalgically without looking away from his work. "I used to'a treat you for overdose a'more than any other a'patient. Yet, today you are a'here because you tried to a'save someone else a'from overdose."

Mavis blinked. She had not actually thought of it that way. Back in her worst, most buff-fueled days, she never would have believed that she could have made it so far. But something in his wording pulled her out of her thought bubble.

"'Tried?'" she asked anxiously. "What's that mean? Is he alright?"

"Ah, now, now, now," he took her right hand and began wiping the back of it with a wet, sharp-smelling swab. "He's a'fine. He's a'my responsibility now. Relax -- you should'a be proud."

Mavis' eyes immediately drifted to Turbo, who was crossing his arms and smiling warmly. With a slow blink, he nodded in agreement.

Heat danced around inside her chest. Mostly, she had been doing her job, only doing what she knew would keep everyone safe. But when she thought of it like Dr. Mario said… she really was proud.

"Well," she smiled, "proud to make things better than they were for me."

"So should'a we all," the doctor said, positioning the grotesquely long needle over the back of her hand. She looked to Turbo again hoping for one last vote of support, and she received it in the form of an encouraging eyebrow raise and a thumbs up.

Breathing deeply, she reminded herself why she had nothing to fear.

Then the needle broke her skin, and she winced as it delved deep down the back of her hand. After making sure he had hit the proper vein, Dr. Mario taped down what still stuck out and gathered his things.

"Now, ah, you should a'have four hours or so until you are a'fully healed," he said, checking his charts and jotting something down. He pulled aside a curtain and said over his shoulder, "I'll check in now and a'then. Ring the buzzer if a'you need a'something."

"Alright," she nodded. "Thanks, Doc."

With that, the doctor went about his business elsewhere. Mavis laid herself down on her side carefully, practically hearing her weary body creak and relishing that sweet relief of finally being horizontal. Nestling her good cheek into the cool, hospital-blue pillow, she peered at Turbo. He was watching her tiredly with a faint smile, abnormally silent.

“Hey, you,” she prodded.

“Heya, tiger,” he sighed.

“You’ve been awful quiet.”

“Hah, well. Don’t get too used to it,” he shrugged, his gaze idly wandering.

She paused. Then she said slowly and sincerely, “I know this ain’t your favorite place in the world. I really appreciate you bein' here.”

Turbo shrugged with a fleeting, distant smile. “Nah, s’nothin’. I ain’t scared of a crummy hospital,” he stretched in his chair, and fell slack with a sigh. “It’s just, ah… this was always the toughest part of it, for me. Sittin’ around in here n’ just waitin’ to hear if you’d live through the night. Wonderin’ how many more chances you’d get, always thinkin’ y’were on your last… Y’know. The works.”

“I know,” Mavis agreed gently. The memory was a haunting one, but thankfully, it still felt pretty far away. The guilt of ever putting him through that had been tough to cut down to size, but she had seen very well just what addiction did to sprites’ minds. He suffered because she suffered. She muttered, “I remember how upset you’d get.”

“Yeah, well. Little boys get angry when they feel things they don’t want to feel.”

“Not so different from little girls,” she half-smiled.

Turbo looked at her with a clear honesty that seemed almost humble for him. “The Doc’s right, though,” he told her. “I never thought buffs would land you in the hospital like this. You survived all that, and you’ve come so damn far. You’d better be proud a’ that, ‘cause Devs know I am.”

Tingling warmth fizzled in Mavis’ chest at his words, and she nuzzled her slightly heated cheek deeper into the pillow. Casting a sweet smile with her eyes, she said, “Thanks, Sugar. And trust me, I am.”

“Damn right,” he nodded.

They watched each other for just a minute, but it did not take Mavis long to decide that she would not be robbed of all time allotted to lie with him that night. Even if it was technically morning by then, with the arcade’s opening fast approaching.

“Y’know,” she said coyly, “there’s no rule about touchin' me this time around… and this bed’s pretty damn cold.”

Turbo scoffed, but a real grin appeared on his face. “Well, it sucks to be you, then.”

“It really does.”

He feigned a dramatic sigh as he stood and trudged around to the bedside behind her. Mavis heard a click and a creak as he lowered the guard rail, and felt the skinny bed rattle as he climbed aboard and situated himself. With hardly any other space to go, he squeezed his warm body right up against the back of hers, melting into her shape. A deep breath blew down the back of her neck, and she knew he must have been glad to lie down, too.

“Happy now?” he mock-grumbled.

“Hmm,” she hummed happily. “It’ll do.”

“The things I do for love,” he sighed, squeezing her back against him and planting a kiss on her shoulder. He patted around for a hand, but found her right first, which was occupied by a needle and tube. He grunted a bit as if he had just remembered something. “How's the IV?”

Mavis was just beginning to feel the effects of the healing buffs. The pain in her face was slowly starting to drain out. A sort of fuzziness enveloped her body and her mind, and left her lazily floating ever deeper into a state of bliss. It was the gentlest, most helpful effects of Heals, isolated from the code-scrambling excess.

"It's good," she purred. "Real good."

"Not too good, I take it?" he asked optimistically.

"Nah," she said, "I forgot how easy this stuff is. Besides, I know for sure that I ain't gonna relapse, now."

She felt Turbo perk up a bit. "Do ya, now? What changed your mind?"

Smiling to herself, she found his hand and held it to your chest. She pondered calmly just how to word her reason. But the answer to the question was easy enough.

"The nightlight."

Turbo paused. "Really? How's that?"

Playing with his fingers, she explained steadily, "Well, it's pretty simple. I used to look up at the stars and wish more than anything that I could fly past them and be free of this place. But that was impossible, so… buffs were my escape. Deep down, that was always why I used them. But now, I can look at my life and say…"

She squeezed his hand. "I don't want to escape this anymore. I'm happy right where I am. So why would I ever turn to buffs again?"

"...Huh…" he thoughtfully kissed the back of her neck. "And you got all that outta my swirly lights."

"That's right."

She felt him nod slowly. "I knew it'd work," he said quietly but triumphantly. "Just as I planned."

Looking back over her shoulder, she asked disbelievingly, "Did you really?"

"No," he smiled brightly, a slight chuckle in his voice. "I just knew it'd cheer you up."

She smirked. "Aw."

"Still," he squeezed her, "that's all great news, baby. I'm glad to hear it, for real. But if you'll permit me one question…"

"Shoot."

He squinted at her with a suspicious smile. "Do you mean to say that Make-it Mavis of a Million Dreams, if given the opportunity to see the world outside the arcade, would pass it up?"

"Oh, no, pfft," she answered immediately. "Pfft. As if. You know I'd clear outta here faster than Sonic with a flame on his ass."

Turbo sighed in exaggerated relief. "Phew. I'd have been worried if you said literally anything else."

She hissed a chuckle through her teeth, and began to strain her neck, so she laid her cheek back down on her pillow. "I'd come back, though," she told him softly. "This is where I belong."

No reply came from Turbo at first. He merely waited, and then slowly and tenderly nuzzled his nose through her hair and against her neck. Stroking his thumb against the ring on her finger, he whispered, "Damn right."

She smiled and sighed deeply. The love in her heart was nearly too much to handle. But then another thought occurred to her. A lovely idea.

"Y'know," she said thoughtfully, "when you make my lil' nightlight thing, I think I'll bring it to Buff Anon. I bet it'd get some good discussion going. And I'm sure everyone could use a little starlight."

Turbo took a moment to consider that, and then shifted to lean his body away from hers. "Mav," he said, a warning in his voice, "I'm gonna say somethin' gross."

"Oh, no," she gasped in dread.

"I'm gonna do it."

"Please don't."

"Here it comes."

"Devs, help me."

He scooched in snugly against her again and whispered in her ear, "Don't they get enough starlight with you around?"

A tickling shudder ran up her spine, and she instantly clutched her chest as if she had been stabbed. "No! Oh, yich! Blech!" she spat.

Turbo joined in her protests, dramatically throwing himself around and moaning in disgust. "Augh, nooo! Oh Devs, nasty! Uuugh, what have I done?!"

Mavis bent her knees up and hugged her stomach as Turbo draped his groaning self over her. "Oh, I'm gonna be sick!" she wailed. "He's killed me! Ohh, he's killed me!"

They were both cut short by the sharp clink of curtains being pushed open, and the slight of Dr. Mario's confused and alarmed face. Once he understood the scene, however, his expression fell flat and unimpressed.

"Turbo," he boredly scolded, "please a'don't torment a'my patients. There will be a'plenty of a'time for that after you are a'married. Hoo-hoo." He chuckled at his own joke, looking down at his clipboard.

"Joke's on you, Doc," Turbo countered, "I've been tormentin' her for thirty years!"

"Oh! Speakin' of which," Mavis piped in, "you're comin' to the weddin', right?"

Dr. Mario laughed dryly. "Cute of a'you to assume I ever a'get a night off."

"But it's not at night, not the ceremony, at least," Turbo insisted. "It's on a holiday -- the arcade will be closed."

"Surge let us have all of Game Central for it," Mavis added proudly. "It's gonna be a historic event, Doc, you can't miss it."

He did not look up from his charts. "Oh, I'm a'sure I'll hear all about it from whatever a'victims of a' wedding mishaps end up in a'here."

"I have no idea what you mean," Mavis said, choosing to deny any presence of fireworks.

"Come on, Doc, after all we been through, you don't wanna come watch us get hitched?" Turbo whined.

Mavis joined in, shooting him her best puppy eyes. "Pleeaase, Doc?"

Dr. Mario lifted a finger to silence them, looking at them from under his raised, thick brows. "I will a'try," he allowed, stepping back to pull the curtain shut. "But no a'promises."

Once his footsteps faded down the hall, Mavis looked at Turbo. "He ain't comin', is he?"

"S'pose we just wait n' see," Turbo shrugged. He looked her over, and said, "He's right, though. I oughtta stop buggin' you n' let you get some sleep."

Her eyelids were admittedly getting heavy, thanks in part to the shaded lighting and relaxing buffs. Sleeping off her whole experience sounded all too inviting. Still, she looked at him hopefully.

"Will you stay with me?" she asked. "I know you don't have much time now, but maybe you could take a power nap before you gotta go. Y'look exhausted, babe."

He snickered tiredly. "Nah. I ain't gettin any shut-eye here. 'Sides, I'm runnin' on more sleep than you."

That much was true.

"But I'll stay," he added softly, getting comfortable behind her again. "I won't be here when you wake up, but, y'know… I'll be here when you fall asleep."

She smiled. “I can live with that,” she muttered. “Let’s just take the night off after today, though. Get takeout, eat ice cream, watch TV…”

He yawned wide, baring those sharp golden teeth like a big cat. “Sounds killer. How’s about we do most of that in bed, yeah?”

Twisting her arm around to where he had propped himself up, she cupped his cheek and guided his head down to kiss just beside his mouth. “You got a deal,” she whispered dreamily. She released him and turned away once more, preparing to surrender happily to sleep and bring about a new day. “Love you, T.”

“You ain’t bad, either,” he muttered, and in his unwitting sleepiness, he kissed her healing cheek. Once he realized, she felt him startle a bit. “Oh-- damn it, that was the wrong cheek, wasn’t it?”

“Hm? Oh, no, it’s ‘kay, sugar…” It was, in fact, the wrong cheek, but Mavis only noticed that it should have hurt once he pointed it out. The Heals were doing their job quite splendidly. The pain in her battered cheek had drained away completely, along with all the aches in her joints and muscles she barely knew she had been carrying, and the anxious sickness in her belly that had plagued her all evening. With the bad diminished, the good shone through. Being snugly tucked beneath his arm, her whole body tingling gently from his heat on her back that rivaled a cozy fireplace, feeling his slow breathing, and even the rumbling beat of his heart… It all wrapped around her body and sank her slowly down, gently immersing her in sleep. Before she lost consciousness, she managed to finish reassuring Turbo in a voice hazy with sleep.

“...It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

She let go, and felt a final forceful pull that brought her down over her head. The world disappeared, replaced only with warm, calm waters that let her float just beneath the gently rippling surface. In the deeper waters beneath her, she could hear dreams echoing and calling for her to join them. But there were other noises, muffled and distant, keeping her afloat.

There was beeping, like little chirping bugs. Soft clinking and rattling, low bubbling notes that may have been voices once upon a time. A bigger, itchy voice that sounded like shifting sand saying something like, “Attention… open in one hour… would all visitors please…”

Then her hand was wrapped in warmth, and she heard whispers from a voice that she knew even in sleep. “I’ll see ya later,” echoed over the feeling of a kiss pressed to her temple.

“Starlight.”

[sgtcalhouns]

Rescue

I came up an idea for this one scene, and I may or may not come up with the rest of the plot someday. For now, enjoy this emotional, somewhat angsty bit that takes place in the arcade-verse.

Felix struggled against his bindings, fighting through the pain in his shoulders. His arms were chained to the wall, and the ropes that were tied around his ankles forced him to remain on his knees on the cold, hard floor. He had yet to figure out which game he was in--the room was dark and damp and unlike anything he had seen before. He chose not to dwell on the matter, as he didn’t have much time. His captor had left the room, giving him a limited window of opportunity to escape. As he made yet another attempt to pull himself free, a bit of movement caught his eye. His heart constricted as both relief and dread flooded his system at the sight of his wife.

“Tammy!” he whispered, hoping to get her attention as quietly as possible.

“Felix?” she replied, and he winced at the volume of her voice. “What happened? Who did this to you?”

Within seconds she was kneeling at his side, examining the ropes and chains in which he was bound. 

“Shh, you have to be quiet,” he explained, his voice low. “They’ll hear you.”

“Who?” she asked, her tone serious. “What is going on here?”

“It’s a long story, and there’s no time to explain it all,” he said. “Somehow, Turbo is back and he captured me and brought me here. He must’ve knocked me unconscious, because I don’t remember any of it.”

“But why?” she asked. “What does he want?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I only managed to overhear part of his plan,” he said. “That’s why you need to get out of here right now.”

“I’m not going anywhere, not until I get you out.”

“Tammy, you have to listen to me,” he said, a hint of desperation in his voice. “This whole thing is a trap. It’s not really me he’s after. It’s you.”

“What?” she asked, stunned by this news. “Why?”

“He’s got a partner,” he replied, hoping to answer her question as vaguely as possible. “Someone who’s obsessed with you. Their plan is to capture you when you come to rescue me.”

“Who is it?” she asked. “Who’s this partner?”

“Turbo built him out of fragments of code from Hero’s Duty,” Felix answered, still avoiding a direct answer. 

“Built who?” she asked, growing frustrated with the way he was beating around the bush. She could tell he was keeping something from her. “Answer me, Felix.”

Just then, they heard the sound of his captors’ voices from an adjoining room.

“Any minute now the sergeant will be here to come to the rescue,” Turbo said. “Then, victory will be ours.”

“And I’ll have my dynamite gal.”

Tamora froze, and Felix’s heart broke for her as she recognized that voice--one she never thought she would hear again. She looked at Felix, the question she was too afraid to ask burning in her eyes. He nodded sadly.

“Tammy, I’m so sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to know, I... I know what you must be feeling right now.”

“Why would he do this?” she asked quietly, more to herself than to Felix. “Of all the partners in the arcade, why would he recreate--”

She paused, unable to utter his name.

“Turbo doesn’t work well with others. He wanted someone with no memories of what he’s done to the arcade in the past,” Felix explained. “But this isn’t the man you knew. He looks the same, but there’s something wrong about him. Like his mind’s not all there.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“It’s like he doesn’t have any emotions. When he was in here earlier, his face was completely blank until Turbo said your name,” he said. “Turbo must’ve meddled with the code somehow, because all he cares about is you.”

“I have to get you out of here,” she said, reaching for the chains that kept him in place.

“There’s not enough time, they’ll be back any minute,” he said. “If they catch you trying to break me out of here, we’ll be giving them exactly what they want.”

“I am not going to leave you chained up in a dungeon with that lunatic,” she said.

“Tammy, please, you have to go,” he pleaded with her. “Turbo knows what he’s doing. He knows that he’s digging right into your worst memories by doing this, and he knows you would do anything to keep me safe. The second he finds you here, he’ll make you carry out whatever plan he’s set in motion, and if you don’t, he’ll hurt me. I can’t put you in that position.”

“Well, I can’t walk out of here without you.”

“I’ll be alright. They won’t do anything to hurt me until they have the chance to do it in front of you,” he said. “Go find Ralph, I’m sure you two can come up with a plan to stop him. And make sure Vanellope’s safe. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s his next target.”

“Okay,” she replied, although she hesitated to leave him. “But I’m coming back for you.”

“I know you are,” he said, giving her a small, encouraging smile.

She stood to go.

“Oh, and Tammy?”

She turned back and knelt down in front of Felix.

“I love you,” he said, looking straight into her eyes. “I don’t know what Turbo is capable of--maybe there’s another me up there somewhere--but I need you to know that there is nothing he can do to change the fact that I love you. You are the most important person in the world to me, and nothing could ever change that.”

“I love you, too, Felix,” she replied. “And we are going to make this right.”

Tamora leaned down and pressed her lips to his in a passionate kiss. Their moment was cut short as footsteps approached from the other room.

“They’re coming,” Felix said. “You have to go, now.”

She nodded and stood to leave. Hurrying around the corner, she managed to escape just before Turbo and his partner arrived. As she headed for Game Central Station, a plan was already forming in her mind. With a newfound confidence, she walked straight into Fix-It Felix, Jr., determined to make things right. 

However, she couldn’t ignore the fear that began to brew in the pit of her stomach. She had to give Turbo credit for creating a situation that was worse than any nightmare she had ever suffered; he knew exactly how to get to her. But Turbo didn’t know about all the support Felix had given her throughout their marriage. He had no clue how much stronger she had become thanks to the love of her husband. So, while it scared her, she knew that she was prepared to face the nightmare that awaited her, and the man who completed the picture:

Dr. Brad Scott.

[ask-icancraft-it]

‘Start at the Finish’: WiR Ficlet

(( Happy WiR Anniversary! It’s been 5 whole years since ‘Wreck-It Ralph’ first come out in theaters, boy does time fly! In celebration of ‘5 Years of Wrecking’ and it being Ralph and Felix week, I completely re-wrote a Ralph and Felix centric fic that I started and left abandoned to get eaten by my dead hard drive (whoops!). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this short little story that takes place between the start of the Cybug invasion of ‘Sugar Rush’ and Turbo’s reveal. ))

“No!” Ralph looked on helplessly as Cybugs swarmed the finish line of Sugar Rush Speedway, beginning to devour it.

As he watched, anger welled up inside of the wrecker. Vanellope had to cross that finish line, and he wasn’t going to let anything stop him from making that happen. Ralph grabbed the leg of a bug flying past him and threw the mechanical beast to the ground with a grunt.

“No you don’t!” he roared, fists flying. In his rage, he was able to rid the speedway of the oncoming bugs. Calming back down, Ralph turned and his heart sank. The sign was in shambles…He couldn’t do this alone.

“Felix!” the handyman heard a shout from behind him while directing the game’s citizens to the exit.

“Ralph!” He replied. “We’ve got to get out of here now! Where’s Vanellope?”

“She’s still on the track,” the wrecker caught his breath. “Felix, I need your help. Just this one last time, I promise…You’ve got to fix the finish line.”

“Ralph, why—“

“There’s no time to explain. It’s just…It’s really important. It’s the only chance she has,” Ralph’s brain was running a mile a minute. “Please.”

The handyman looked concerned, and seemed to think it over before reaching out to place a reassuring hand on Ralph’s arm.

“I’ll do what I can.”

The two of them raced back to the speedway, and while Ralph kept the bugs at bay, Felix set to his work. He had just repaired the checkered pavement and started on of the poles before the sergeant of ‘Hero’s Duty’ hovered beside him.

“What on Earth are you two doing?” she barked. “We’re in the middle of an evacuation!”

“Miss,” Felix said calmly. “There’s a girl out there who needs to finish this race—”

“This game is going down hard and fast, Fix-It,” the marine replied. “It doesn’t matter whether the race is finished or not!”

The handyman sighed, turning look at Ralph, who looked back with pleading eyes.

“It matters to Ralph, and I owe him that” Felix turned back. “There’s no flex on this one, ma’am. We’re doing this.”

The sergeant arched her brows, taken aback. “Alright then,” she conceded. “But you don’t have much time left.” The sergeant sped off on her hover board to continue her task of moving the citizens of ‘Sugar Rush’ to Game Central Station.

“Thanks, Felix,” Ralph smiled.

The handyman gave his colleague a nod, lifting his hammer. “I can fix it!”

Felix was nearly finished repairing the sign as he silently worked, hopping here and there. And as he was about to put the last piece into place, a Cybug landed heavily on the winner’s cup, causing bits of it to go flying as it scrambled towards the handyman.

“Uhh, Ralph,” Felix called out, backing away.

The wrecker, with his own hands full, glanced upwards and balked.

“Hang on, Felix!” he yelled, attempting to untangle himself from the bugs that swarmed around him.

“Nice, bug…” the handyman smiled nervously as he continued to step backwards. “Shoo!”

The metal beast swung one of its sharp appendages forwards, and when he ducked to avoid it, the bug’s body lunged forward, knocking him backwards to fall into the grand stands.

“Ralph!” Felix yelled again, distressed.

“I’m coming!” he heard the wrecker call from the ground.

The handyman screamed as the Cybug descended upon him, its razor-like teeth whirring inches from his face. With a sudden blast of light, the bug vaporized, along with all the others in the immediate area.

“That was far too close a call,” the sergeant was back, floating high above on her hover board, gun smoking. “I can’t babysit you two and evacuate these citizens. So get it together or get out!”

“Felix!” Ralph climbed up onto the grand stands, where his colleague lay on the bleachers. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Felix propped himself up, aching. “But she’s right, Ralph…”

The wrecker looked to the ground sadly, afraid that his only chance to help Vanellope was giving up. And who could blame him?

“For 30 years, we’ve been co-workers, but we’ve never truly worked together,”  

Felix continued, to Ralph’s surprise. “And that was my fault…but that changes right now, brother.”

The handyman held out his hand and the wrecker helped him up.

“We can do this, Ralph. All we have to do is communicate and work as a team!” Felix shouted as he hopped back on top of the sign.

“You got it!” Ralph beamed, readying himself for the next wave of bugs.

“More Cybugs at 6 o’clock!” Felix shouted as we worked away with his hammer.

“I see ‘em,” Ralph clenched his fists and pummeled the oncoming Cybugs.

“How are things up there?” the wrecker called.

“All clear, nearly fixed! Three more behind you, Ralph!”

Ralph whirled around and grabbed two of them and slammed them together.

“I’ve got one up top!” the handyman shouted as the third Cybug landed in front of him.

“Not this time!” Ralph uttered as he hoisted himself up with his arms up and onto the finish line. Before the bug could reach Felix, the wrecker swatted it, sending it flying and vaporizing as it hit the ground below.

“Thanks, brother!” Felix tapped the winner’s cup with his hammer and the finish line was complete. Celebrating, the It-boys high fived, sharing a laugh before Ralph jumped back down to the ground.

“C’mon, kid. You can do it,” Ralph mumbled, looking at the girl’s icon on the jumbotron. She was nearly there.

The fight to keep the finish line up and running continued, Ralph wrecking the bugs, while Felix safeguarded it with his hammer. From atop the sign, something on the jumbotron caught the fixer’s eye, and when he looked up, he saw something truly alarming. Pointing, the handyman called out to his friend below.

“Ralph, look!”

[pointy-kitty]

We Can Make It

A Wreck It Ralph Fanfiction from five years ago

Chapter Twelve (FINAL: this is all I had written before I dropped out of the fandom. But this may not be all you hear of this yet. Wink.)

She swallowed dryly, straightening up, wiping the sweat from her brow. “Hoo! Wow, good midi, that was—ah.”  

She was reminded quite suddenly of the furious little cuss as he was practically upon her in a blur of grey fingers and gnashing yellow teeth. Just barely slipping away in time, she retreated to the bar, hopping over the counter and stepping on the remnants of a few ruined bottles. He slammed his hands down against the surface of her alcohol-drenched sanctuary, pushing himself up to glare bullets down at her. At that point, it occurred to her: Where did she think she was going to run by hiding in the bar?

His long fingers seized her collar immediately and yanked her up to his level before he shoved her down against the countertop, nearly knocking the wind out of her as she wheezed with the pain of tiny glass shards embedding themselves in her shoulders. The wound in her side shrieked in protest of her desperate breaths. Turbo had her pinned by her chest, his face seething with so much rage that she could barely bring herself to look. Instead, she fixed her gaze upon the fist drawn back, shaking, ready to blacken her eyes.  

No, he would not. He would not. They were friends. He would not. Could not.  

“Turb—” she rasped, her head still spinning. “Turbo, dear God, calm your bits—augh…”

His body wavered with deep, growling breaths.

“Turbo? S-Sourheart?” She nearly pleaded, a desperate smile twitching on her lips.

His fist moved, and she flinched hard when his fingers caught her face, holding it tightly in place as he stared at her. Rage faded into a broken frustration. Snarls settled into shallow, high sighs. The lights above cast shadows over his face, but his seemingly glowing, yellow eyes were molten with conflict.  

“Uh—” she wanted to begin, but somehow could not find a place to start. The way he was just staring down at her, unmoving, not allowing her to move, made her want to squirm. She would have preferred being yelled at. Being tickled at this point was probably a longshot, she decided, but she would have preferred that, too. Anything but this heated staring contest.

“Okay, are you—” she was cut short. Mentally, by the clumsy, flailing backflip that her heart attempted, and physically by fingers digging into her jaw and yanking her face upwards to his. For a moment, she was just thoroughly confused and disoriented. The next, it hit her exactly what was happening.

He was kissing her. Roughly, urgently, rushed and angry. Every move he made came before she could even contemplate her own. His lips tugged at hers, his tongue traced her mouth, their teeth clicked awkwardly together, and all she could do was lie there and blink.

Her voice tumbled into his lips, spilling out messily, “Mmm—what—mmhhrrr—doing—”

He answered with a muffled grunt that sounded suspiciously close to a “shut up”.

She could have argued, made a fuss, shoved him off. But despite all logical reasoning in her head, she did not want to. This was alright. Yes, this was definitely alright. Her eyelids grew heavy, fluttering shut as the hand gripping her face slid behind her neck to pull her upwards even more. Her arms stretched behind his back to shakily slip her gloves off before her hesitant fingers found their way to his massive tangle of hair.

It was disgusting, the way she could taste sour apples on his breath, the way each hair on his head was slightly slick with grease, how his other hand gripped at her waist and brushed her wound, prompting a gasp that only spurred him on. Every little noise he made, all the sighs, huffs, growls. The movement, the desperation, the heat, was all disgusting.

And it was disgusting, the way she loved every second of it.  

Turbo was not pausing, not pulling back to look in her eyes, taking no moment for tenderness or romance. He seemed completely lost in the task of smothering her, finding any way to get a reaction. And, goodness, was she reacting. Her chest was pounding almost painfully, her skin all but smoldering, her palms burning up and chilling with the start of a sweat. It was completely overwhelming.

And the moment his hand dropped from her neck to her shoulders, the flame was drowned out by pain. She gasped, pulling back, squirming away from his touch.  

For the most fleeting moment, he looked just about ready to snatch up her neck in his teeth, but his eyes came back into focus once he fully got a look at her face. She was wincing, squinting, her head still swimming too deeply to even prompt her to speak.

He broke the silence, breathless. “What?”

She tried to swallow, but found no moisture. It struck her just how thirsty she was. “Glass,” she panted, “there were glass shards on the counter, y’numbskull.”

“Wh—” his eyes suddenly snapped open. “What? Oh, God, turn over, let me see.”

Her bones and muscles did not like that idea at all, and made it known quite loudly as she attempted to flip herself over on the unforgivingly hard surface. Once on her belly, she felt the fabric behind her neck lift as Turbo peered down at the damage.

And, if her assumptions were right, probably down at her posterior, too.

“How does it look?” She asked after a few moments of him holding his tongue.

“Uhh, well, I’ve, uh, I’ve seen worse, that’s for sure…” His thumb brushed down the top of her spine, jolting her with pain that wracked her body with a sharp twitch.  

She let out a chest full of air that she did not realize she had taken in. “Watch it back there,” she hissed lowly. “You’re going to lodge them in deeper.”

“Toots, I’m a driver. I deal with broken glass—Ow,” he flinched, and his hand yanked back.  

“Mmhmm,” she hummed. “We should probably just head back to Fix-It Felix Jr.”

“No, no, I’ve got it. I’m a master of precision work.”

“Oh dear midi, what..?”

His fingertips very carefully dragged against her skin, slick with what she could only assume was blood, and paused at one shard. The moment she felt the pinch, a protesting gasp jumped in her throat, leaping into a full yelp when the tiny curve of glass was crudely pulled out.

“GOD—” she reflexively kicked back at him, knocking his thigh with her heel. He snarled in pain and frustration.

“Well hold still or it’s gonna hurt more, you wriggling trout!”

“Don’t—Just—Don’t do that,” she wormed her way out from under him and swung her legs to the floor. Her code felt light, brittle, and ill. She had really taken in way too much in the past hour. “I need to go home. Gotta get Felix. He can fix it.”

Turbo groaned, rocking back to sit on his heels. “You think he’s going to get glass shards OUT of your back with a HAMMER..?”

“Yeah, he is. Trust me, it’ll do a much better job than your fingers will.”

He grimaced.  

“Besides, you need to see where I live. I’ve been here so many times and you’ve not once visited me. What’s with that?”

“What’s with that?” He cocked a brow, hopping to the floor, “This is my game, that’s what. I’m in charge around here, so it matters if I leave. You could probably leave your game forever and it wouldn’t matter.”

“Wow,” her eyes fell half-lidded, “thanks.”

He sneered. “Don’t mention it.”

“I’m afraid there’s no backing out of this one, though,” she straightened her clothes, attempting to stand with authority, “we’re going to see Felix. We need him, anyways, to take care of all this.” She gestured widely to the room that was disheveled from her little ball game.  

“Which is your doing, you know, of course?”

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “I know. I’m not sorry, either. But that’s another thing, you’re coming with me because you and I need to talk.”

“Yes,” his brow furrowed into a stern glare, “we do.”

“About those fans.”

“And your killing spree.”

“And your ‘concert’.”

“And your interruption of said concert.”

“And that…” she deliberated, glancing at the counter. “Whatever you call what just happened.”

He flinched slightly, blinking. “Yes. And, not to forget, we need to talk about your little disappearance.”

“Disapp—What?” Her shoulders rolled indignantly, and dozens of sparks of pain shot through her back. “Augh… Okay, look, let’s just get there and we can talk once I’m not beaten half to death.”  

Her shoes awoke and she lifted slightly into the air, bending to grasp Turbo’s wrists, despite his loud protests that eventually dissolved into him gripping her hands for dear life as they ascended.

“I don’t really see how a few cuts counts as ‘half to death’, toots,” he called up shakily, his whole body curled and tensed as he watched the floor drop away. Make-It very carefully maneuvered through the broken window and out into the open air.  

“Oh,” she had honestly nearly forgotten how she had even gotten the pain in her ribs, having so much to distract her from it. “Right. I, uh, had a bit of a run-in with your artificially intelligent rivals.”

He merely made a bewildered sound, and she could feel his eyes scanning her for any other injuries. “What do you mean?”

A half-hearted, resigned laugh rolled from her mouth. “Yeah, they kind of tried to kill me.”

“WHAT?!” His whole body swung, nearly throwing her off balance, aching her poor shoulders with the effort of holding him up. “BASTARDS! GREASY BLUE BASTARDS, I’LL BREAK THEIR LIGHTS IN!”

“SHUT UP,” she barked down at him, “They’ll hear you.”

“I should HOPE SO,” he snarled, fuming, his scrawny legs flailing. “GET OUT HERE AND LET ME BITE YOUR WINDPIPES OUT!”

“Do you want me to drop you?”

He groaned, growled, and gave one last raging, heaving struggle before hanging his head slightly.  

“I messed them up,” she added softly. “Stabbed ‘em. Cut ‘em up.”

His head gave a brief nod. “Good.”

They did not bother to board the little train that would take them to Game Central Station, but merely floated along the tunnel agonizingly slower than Make-It was used to. The red grid bristled over their bodies as they left the golden hallway, and they were met with the routine inspection of the surge protector, as usual. After momentarily trying to have Turbo declared as food, the encounter was over, and they were well on their way to Fix-It Felix Jr.

Upon entering the game, Turbo made a bit of a grunt that indicated he was severely underwhelmed. The boxy clusters of forest, glittering lamp posts, babbling creek, serene pond, and vast void of sky apparently did not impress him. The massive Goliath of an apartment building or towering mountain of bricks held no wonders either.

She was not sure if it was just out of defiant irritation with Turbo or legitimate emotion, but Make-It found herself very much appreciating just how much she loved having a quaintly beautiful, safe home to return to.

As she hovered towards Felix’s bedroom window, she glanced towards the dump, an absent-minded need to check up on Ralph tickling her brain. The bricks near the stump were raised over the sleeping mass of muscle, as she expected. Or, rather, they were for a moment, before he propped up a bit and squinted at the floating pair. His face pinched together in confusion.

She could not blame him. From where he was, it probably looked like she was making a special delivery to Felix, the package being a particularly disgruntled and disheveled racer.  

She tried to offer a shrug, but winced aloud as her grip wavered. Turbo yelped a bit, clutching her wrists tighter and hissing profanities.  

“Nevermind, Ralph,” she half-called. “I’ll, uh, tell you later.”

Turbo growled in protest. “No, you won’t.”

“Hush.”

The bricks on Ralph’s belly shifted as he sighed, and with one push of a colossal hand, he rolled over and shook his head. Make-It’s mouth twitched in an uncertain smile, wondering if she and the ‘bad guy’ would ever come to a mutual understanding. Whatever the answer, she felt a strange fondness over what she and Ralph shared.  

The two rose finally to Felix’s window, which was already propped open.  

“Alright, sourheart, get ready,” she steadily approached the sill.

“Get ready—what—how—” His legs raised defensively and flailed a bit before his heel caught the ledge and she managed to push him in. He skid and bounced on his foot in an unexpectedly nimble effort to keep his balance.

“Hm,” she hummed, gingerly maneuvering herself inside as she let the flames on her feet die out, “oughtta start calling you ‘twinkle-toes’ instead.”

He groaned quietly. “Thanks, but, really, no thanks. At all.”

Taking a glance around Felix’s room, it occurred to her how even with the lights turned out and everything dusted with only soft glows from the windows, it was such a bright and friendly space. Family portraits and group sketches lined the sky blue walls, along with particularly shiny medals, gifts from the Nicelanders, and photos of said residents. His bed was far too big for him, yet perfectly kept, every corner of the sheets and blankets tucked in uniformly. There was only a slight mound towards the pillows where her cousin slept, peacefully rising and falling with his breaths.

She had a horrible need for an air horn.

However, she resisted, and strolled over to stand beside his bedside table. “Hey, Felix,” she whispered. “Cuz. Fix-It. Hey. Wake up.”

“Jeez, toots, poke him, or something.”

“I don’t want to move my arms again,” she sighed. “Not more than I need to.”

“Mmh,” he grunted a bit, pushing his arms through the sleeves of his suit and finally zipping it up fully. “Right.”

She drew in a deep breath. His programming would have to help her out, this time.

“Fix it, Felix!” She griped in her best Nicelander impersonation.

It was a complete knee-jerk reaction, the way he was instantly upright, his blue nightcap falling in his face from the momentum. “Wh-What!?”  

“Felix,” Make-It droned.

Her cousin tore his confused eyes away from Turbo to throw a concerned look at her. As usual, his features were far too adorable and sincere. It made her stomach flinch away and murmur.  

“Need, uh,” she tried to stare at the tip of his nightcap instead of his eyes, even as he tossed it out of his face, “need your help with something.”

“Well,” he sat a little straighter, righting himself, “of course, Mavy. What’s the matter?”

She peered at Turbo, who gave her an expectant look in return. As her hands cautiously pulled open the belt on her waist, she found herself kind of regretting bringing him along. The way his glinting eyes widened and swept down her body in a strange sort of alarm did not exactly make things less awkward.

Looking back at her cousin’s bright red, perplexed face did not either.

“Mavy, uh, what…”

Oh, if only the Nicelanders could see this.

“Shh,” she cooed slightly, turning to sit on the side of the bed. “Don’t—just, look, okay. Just look.” She made short work of the buttons on her smock and let it fall to her elbows, exposing her wet shoulders riddled with bits of glass. Felix nearly shrieked. Quite effeminately, she noted.

“Oh my land, Mavy, what happened?” He hopped to his feet on the mattress and practically leapt to the nightstand where his golden hammer lay. He knelt behind her, his breath coming in squeaky little gasps as his fingertips slipped against the blood. “Mavy, you poor thing! What happened to you?!”

Her eyes crawled to Turbo, who was watching with a slight twisting frown. He practically winced at the notice of her gaze.

“Mm,” she grumbled slightly. “Got a little too rowdy. Lost my balance.”

“…YOU lost your balance?”  

She tried not to curse. It was so hard for her to lie to her cousin. It just did not work, despite her efforts. “Yeah,” she sighed, “had a couple drinks.”

“Oh, good golly, Mavy,” she could practically hear him shaking his head. “You really need to watch it on the alcohol!”

There was a brief flash of light as the unnaturally warm metal of the hammer bounced off her back, and with a metallic ping, the stinging cloud of pain in her shoulders vanished. It was the most heavenly, light, uplifting feeling.

“Ahh, woah,” she sighed with a bit of a chuckle. “Augh, sweet midi, thank you.”

“Of course,” he affirmed genuinely. “Was this your bottle, Turbo?”

“Uh,” he sounded like he had just been handed a surgical tool. “Well, yeah, I mean, kind of. Yeah. Yeah.”

Blinking out the euphoria, she glanced over her shoulder. The shards had removed themselves and sat on top of the covers momentarily before Felix tapped them briskly, forming a completely whole and unscathed bottle, which he tossed to Turbo.  

Turbo blinked, observing the bottle in his hands, completely at a loss as to what to do with it. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Is it empty?” Make-It asked, only half-aware of her own voice.

Turbo was about to reply, but Felix did for him. “Yes, it is,” he stated firmly, “as should all the bottles you encounter be. ...You know, empty already, not from having been, uh, drank…”

“Yes, cuz,” she giggled, a tiny peal of her programmed laugh chiming in. “Oh, you know what, I’ve actually got more for you to fix…”

“Oh?” Felix clapped, and the lights turned on instantly. Turbo nearly hissed at the sudden onslaught on his eyes. Make-It merely squeezed her own shut and groaned lowly. The last thing she wanted was either of these men being able to get a better look at her exposed upper body.  

Felix spotted the injury immediately, apparent by his shocked, squealing gasp.  

“And how did THAT happen?!”

She reluctantly let her eyes crack open. The first thing she saw was Turbo, who was staring quite blatantly at her side, looking horribly perturbed and increasingly pissed off. Whatever he saw, he did not like it.

And, taking a look at herself, she could not really blame him. The entire left side of her ribs was splattered blue and purple with vicious bruising. Those racers sure could land a hit.

“That,” she pointed deliberately, trying and failing to come up with a plausible explanation, as the presence of her cousin seemed to completely sap her of any bluffing ability, “was also from losing my balance.”

There was a silence that stretched a whole lot longer than she would have liked. She was cold, in pain, and tired of eyes dragging over her skin.

Once she looked back, however, she would have preferred that the two were looking at her. Instead, they were staring at each other. Her cousin looked just about ready to be worlds angrier than she had ever seen him, and Turbo was glaring back defensively, still irate at the fact that the bruise was there at all.  

“Oh, God,” she groaned. “Felix, he didn’t punch me.”

His eyes narrowed. “A punch isn’t the only way to hit…right?”

She groaned again, louder. “Damn it, Felix, it was the Turbo-Time AI racers, okay? I got in a scuffle with them and one of them punched me in the ribs. Just, please, fix it. For the love of code.”

“Oh,” he perked up a bit, “right, sorry, cuz.” He proceeded to deal another incredibly wonderful blow to her side. “Why in Litwak’s did you get into a fight with them?”

She hummed in appreciation of the pain dissolving. “They don’t like me. They saw me. They grabbed me. They’re like a couple of poorly trained dogs. Kind of got my arms and legs too, now that I think about it…” She waved her arm out a bit, hinting, and sighed contentedly as Felix relieved the ache.  

As he sent rays of happiness and sunshine through the rest of her limbs, he shook his head, his mind elsewhere. “Mavy…”

“Won’t happen again,” she half-lied. “It’ll be fine.”

“Mavy, I don’t know if you should be going over there if—”

“Hey,” Turbo butt in, stomping over. “Those nosebleeds won’t lay another finger on your cousin, got it? Or else they’ll have me to answer to. As well as they can answer after their faces have been run over repeatedly, anyways.”

Make-It buried her face in her hands. “I can defend myself just fine.”

“Oh, I can see that,” Turbo nodded, gesturing to where her bruises had been.  

“I’m alive, aren’t I?” She snarled a bit.  

“By what you’ve said, just barely! Magical rainbow girl or not, there are seven of those freaks and one of you.”

“And every single weapon imaginable is in my arsenal, need I remind you?” She tapped the side of her bucket on the floor with her foot.

“Oh, yeah? Take that away, and what have you got?”

“An entire code’s worth of over-the-top acrobatics, for one thing,” she shrugged sarcastically, standing and pulling her smock back on. “If I can’t kill them, I can at least get away.”

“They have cars, Mavis.”

She squinted smugly. “Cars don’t jump.”

“Seven cars. Seven cars that move a whole lot faster than you can jump!”

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Felix slowly curling back, his fingers tensed, his eyes darting between the two of them. A momentary pang of guilt slapped her in the stomach for making Felix watch this fruitless argument.

“Look, Turbo, Felix suggested that I don’t come visit you anymore; is that what you’re wanting?”

“No!” He was practically shouting. “No, no, that’s not it at all!”

“Well then what are you trying to accomplish here?”

“I don’t know!” His hands grasped at nothing. “Just let me keep those bozos away from you, okay!?”

Her mouth knit shut, her glare fixed on his seething yellow eyes. God, she was so tired of these trivial disputes.  

“Thanks, Felix,” she nodded to her cousin and seized one of Turbo’s wrists before dragging him towards the window. She did not linger long enough to hear his reply before yanking her friend out into the open air and rocketing around to the back of the building. After dropping onto the seventh stone from the left, the two plummeted into her basement suite.  

Turbo barely had a moment to take in the barrage of colors and trinkets before being hurled out in front of the artist herself.

“Just what is your problem, you twitchy little cuss?” She demanded, folding her arms.

“My problem?” He gestured widely. “YOU are my problem.”

“That’s nothing new. I’ve always been your problem.”

“Yes, that is very true,” he waved a finger, “but more so as of late. Particularly these past few days, toots.”

“But I haven’t done anything these past few days. I haven’t even been there!”

“Exactly! That, Mavis, is exactly the problem!”

She paused. Her code seemed to malfunction at just how little sense he was making. “I told you I was coming back when I left, didn’t I?”

“Yes,” he growled, pacing slightly, kicking a mangled piece of sheet metal. “But you could have come back and said, oh, I don’t know, well, could have warned me that you were going to be a few days.”

“A few days,” she repeated, trying not to fall dumbfounded. “I didn’t know how long I was going to be gone. Are you that much of a cussing baby that you can’t look after yourself for three days?”

He rounded on her, rumbling like an engine, “Of course not! I’ve been looking out for number one my whole life!”

Her head swayed slightly as her eyes drifted to the ceiling. “And those three days were so different because…?”

He twitched, stuttered, squeezed his eyes shut, tossed his arms up. “I—I don’t know! How was I supposed to know if you broke your promise or not? It’s not out of your character to just flat out lie!”

“Maybe not,” she granted, “but I came back. I didn’t lie. What’s the big deal? Why the hell are you so angry at me?!”

“Because you—You—” His hands clenched into fists. “Gah! I just am!”

“But WHY?”

“Because I said so, God damn it!”

“I really think this reaction isn’t proportionate to making you worry for a few—” she paused, her brows slowly raising as she looked at his face. He grew increasingly anxious and defensive as she watched him.  

“What?” His voice was quiet and cautious. “What are you looking at?”

She snorted into delighted laughter, bouncing up and holding her stomach.  

“Wh-What is so funny?!”

After a few lightning jumps from the wall to the ceiling and back to the floor, she rocked back and landed on her rump, still spouting out peals of high giggles. “Oh, by the eight bits, you’re adorable!”

He looked far more offended than he should have been. “…I am NOT adorable.”

“Yes,” she pointed, falling onto her back, “yes you are! Oh my land! I know why you’re angry! You’re mad ‘cause I made you feel something!”

“That’s stupid,” he growled, “you’re stupid.”

“Someone’s grumpy ‘cause he missed me!” She practically sang, her legs kicking out with violent laughter.  

“If you don’t stop laughing right now I’m gonna turn your ribcage into my new engine!”

She could barely even reply, her stomach was so tight with cackles. She merely rolled onto her side and pulled her hat over her face, wheezing.  

“Lousy piece of scrap metal,” she heard him grumble, and his foot nudged her shoulder.  

Once her fit of mocking laughter subsided and she collapsed onto her back, she pulled the knit hat back and peered up at him, grinning hugely. He stared down at her, his hands shoved into his pockets, sporting a weak frown and glare.

She sighed. “God, you’re weird.”

The spark of a scoff sounded in his throat. “Well look who’s cussin’ talking.”

“Okay,” she lifted her hand a bit, “I’m done making fun of you for that… for now. I need to make fun of you for something else, now. That concert. Tell me, what was with that concert?”

“It was going just fine until you showed up, is what was with it.”

“Well, yeah,” she sat up, “but you were faking it! To a bunch of husks who couldn’t tell the difference. Why?”

He huffed and avoided her gaze. “I don’t usually do that,” he grumbled. “I’m usually practicing, because my incredible guitar-playing ability is only slightly coded and the rest self-taught. I didn’t think you deserved to hear the king of the racetrack practice after you pulled that disappearing act.”

“Hmm,” she hummed. “You could have just kicked me out. Do I make you nervous?” She leaned her head against his leg a bit, batting her lashes up at him. He flinched back and let her fall to the floor.

“Bouncy little Easter eggs don’t scare me.”

She chuckled into the shag. “Uh huh. Too nervous to play in front of your schoolgirl crush, sourheart?”

“Oh, my God,” he put his palm against his eye, turning to wander away and mutter under his breath.  

“Hey, I’m not through with you yet!” She rolled a bit, catching one of his ankles. He stood there, one leg being pulled back, simply letting his head hang in aggravation.  

“What do you want, now, you insufferable oil stain…?”

She was about to retort, be clever, get under his skin some more, but her obnoxious heart leapt up and punched her in the throat, sending a spurt of uncomfortable heat into her face.

“Uh,” she swallowed, her voice smaller than she would have liked, “there was one more thing we were going to talk about. About, uh… you know, the shards. Yeah, the glass shards.”

“The glass.”

“Well,” she shrugged a bit, “how the glass, hm, got there…”

He was silent.

“…Why’d you do it?”

“Why do you think?”

She paused. The realm of romance was completely foreign to her. She felt like she was floundering around in a place that she really should not have gotten lost in. “Well, uh, I guess there could be a number of reasons,” she stared at the floor, not wanting to start the list.  

A short sigh sounded from him as he shook his leg free of her grip and crouched beside her.  

She propped up on one elbow, staring at his hands to avoid his gaze, though his own eyes were fascinated by his fingers as well. “I thought you were going to punch me.”

“So did I,” he muttered.  

“And, obviously, uh… kissing someone is a great alternative to punching, right?” Her sarcasm was broken and forced in her desperate attempt to not be so awkward. The results were counter-productive in her mind.

“At the time, I guess,” he shrugged. “Would you rather I had punched you?”

Her voice dropped involuntarily. “No.”

“Well… good.” He sat back, resting his elbows on his knees.

A horrid silence settled in between them as they watched his long, grey, clammy fingers twist around each other. Make-It’s mind was exhausted from overthinking, and yet, she could not place a single coherent thought.  

“Sorry,” he finally breathed, “about the glass.”

“Did you know it was there?”

“Kind of,” he winced, “I don’t know, maybe. I was really pissed off. REALLY pissed off.”

She snorted a bit. “Yes, I gathered as much.”

“But, honestly?” His hands opened a bit as he half-shrugged, closing his eyes. “I think I kind of missed you pissing me off.”

Against her wishes, a genuine smile broke over her face. “Yeah,” she sighed, “I missed pissing you off, too.”

He rocked with a silent, brief laugh, nodding slowly. “So…”

She sat up and leaned on his knee. “Are you--…”

His eyes lifted. “Where--…”

She licked her lips absent-mindedly. “Want to--…”

They stared at each other. His strange, alien yellow eyes were wide and uncharacteristically honest. It should have made her flinch back, look away, anything. She could not handle truthful eyes, and, yet, she somehow managed to hold his gaze.  

“That’s…” he breathed, “not how I pictured it happening.”

She blinked, and tried very hard not to question the fact that he had pictured it at all. Something inside her thought it would ruin the moment. “Oh. Well… I guess not. It was… uh… it was something else, I’ll say that…”

“Can we just,” he furrowed his brow, “you know, pretend that never happened?”

Her insides squirmed a bit, and a crooked, misplaced smile appeared on her lips. “Uh… no.”

“Great,” he looked at his lap, his mess of hair falling over his face.

“But,” her words spilled out brokenly, and she could not have caught them if she tried, “you know, everybody slips up sometimes. But then we fix it, or, or, uh, we… make it better.”

He glanced back up at her, one brow slightly raised, his eyes searching.  

She swallowed. “Did you… want to make it better? ‘Cause… I’ll let you. As a favor.”

He blinked slowly. “…Lap two?”

“You could say that...”

His lips pressed together, his eyes flickering down periodically. With a bit of a gulp, he nodded slightly, and exhaled, “Yeah.”

“Well…”

“But,” he interjected, “if it’s just going to be a stupid favor, then, no.”

Her code seemed to stutter. “I—Well, it’s--…” her gaze fell to his lips. “It’s not.”

He watched her quietly. “Alright.”

One of his hands twitched and lifted to hover under her chin. His eyes were completely fixated on her mouth as the tips of his fingers ghosted her jawline and his palm eventually met her neck. Her skin tingled and burned, and she tried desperately to ignore the pounding in her ears as that familiar sour apple scent washed over her face. He was drawing closer much faster than it seemed, and the warmth radiating from his face began to mingle with her own.

“Though,” she tried to speak, but ended up sighing, her hand moving on its own to lightly grip his arm, “you know, this conversation isn’t over.”

He blinked steadily, and she caught a glimpse of his eyes closing before hers fell softly shut. “I know.”

It did not take much. Just a slight pull, a bit of a lean, and their lips were pressed together again. Heat spread from Make-It’s steaming face throughout her body as she tasted his sour breath, felt his absurdly soft mouth move and push against hers, and let her steady gasps escape as slow, airy sighs. Every movement, every touch, sent her code spinning. Gravity swept in her stomach, her muscles melted, and her mind fell into blissful silence.  

The most miniscule moans and murmurs rode out on Turbo’s exhales. Each time he leaned into her lasted a little longer than the last, and each breath he took was a little deeper. His thumb brushed her cheek, lowering as his fingers ghosted over her neck and rested on the curve of her collarbones. She was sure he could feel her ribcage pulsing with every desperate jump of her heart. That could have been what prompted his lips to curve into the tiniest smile.  

It took her a moment to realize it was over. Her eyes lazily lifted open, immediately met by his cloudy gaze. They remained there for a time, simply watching each other, sharing sighs on their lips, lost in the movement of his fingers against her throat.  

“Well,” he finally hummed, his mouth twitching up a bit, “how’s that?”

She grinned breathlessly. “That, sourheart, was decidedly better.”

His head tilted as his smile turned smug. “Turbo-tastic?”

She could not have rolled her eyes harder if she tried, but her chuckle betrayed her. “Alright. I’ll grant you that one.”

“Let’s hear it, then,” his thumb pressed against her collar.

Shaking her head, she leaned forward to push her nose against his. “Turbo-tastic.”

[make-it-mavis]

The Right Thing (pt 1 of 3)

Wreck-it Ralph AU 1842 words Content warnings: themes of violence, drugs, conversation of police brutality Characters: Surge Protector, Dr. Mario, Turbo, Fix-it Felix, Make-it Mavis, Maribo ( @nijimarii‘s OC )

Premise: Being in charge of safety for all games plugged into Game Central Station, the Surge Protector has the ability to instantly incapacitate a violent character. This is used only in the most dire circumstances, and only when he can be certain the move will be non-lethal. But what happens when his certainty is near disastrously wrong?

>Part 2<

Surge did the right thing.

He made a tough call. He made a snap decision that saved a life. He was only doing his job. He only ever did his job.

It was just an ugly truth of said job that sometimes, doing the right thing would feel so wrong.

He tried to hold onto these facts as he walked down the hospital halls. The game was actually fairly quiet that evening, the only sounds being soft beeping, muffled conversation between volunteer staff, and the echo of his own shoes clopping against the floor. Part of him wished for more hustle and bustle, if only to impede the numbness creeping into him. It had been hard enough fighting it as he spoke to the victim only minutes prior.

Surprisingly, she was not calling for any punishment of her attacker. It seemed possible that she may have been too shaken and confused to make a clear decision -- after all, her own account of the events seemed very vague, even when he asked her to repeat herself. He hated making her say it again, but her words just kept pushing him far away, back into the moment it happened. He could see it so vividly.

One moment, she was saying hello. The next, hands were around her neck, and the attacker’s furious screams echoed through GCS.

Then he saved her. That was what mattered.

Slightly raised voices perked him to attention as he found himself approaching the waiting room. He could see the back of Dr. Mario’s coat, but as he began to round the corner, something in his stomach dropped.

It was the attacker’s friends and family.

Well… friend and family member.

He had not been looking forward to facing Turbo and Fix-it Felix after what he had done. But, holding onto his resolve, he reminded himself that part of the job was also dealing with the aftermath of tough decisions. Civilians did not always understand why he did the things he had to do, but keeping them safe was always so much more important than being liked.

To his slight relief, the two did not actually seem to notice him at first. He passed them by carefully, finding a place to stand in the deserted waiting room while Turbo and Felix spoke to Dr. Mario. The doctor seemed to be calmly talking them both down, but for different reasons.

“Oh, Doc, are you sure there’s nothin’ I can do? I’ve healed Mavy outta some real nasty pain,” Felix was insisting.

“I’m afraid a’not,” Dr. Mario shook his head gently but firmly. “This is a problem with’a code, not’a hit points. The a’very best a’we can do is keep’a her brain active with’a electrolytes and’a music, and’a wait for her to’a stabilize.”

Felix seemed no less anxious, but he resigned. “Alright. You’re the doctor…”

Turbo was, unsurprisingly, less understanding. He tried to push past Dr. Mario, but he was blocked with a strong hand across his collar.

“What?” he protested. “You said all you’re doin’ is waitin’. How could I possibly get in your way?”

“I told’a you -- it’s not’a safe. For’a now, she’a needs to be isolated. Anyone being in’a proximity to’a her code poses a risk to’a both’a parties.”

“You’re puttin’ your own party at risk here, Doc,” Turbo threatened half-heartedly.

“I’ll’a take my’a chances,” Dr. Mario said flatly. “I’a promise, I will let’a you in the moment it is a’safe to’a do so. Both of’a you.”

“No,” Turbo said sharply. “Just me.”

Felix just sighed, giving the impression they had been over it a few times.

Over the intercom, a volunteer called Dr. Mario away, and he bid the boys goodbye for the time being. Left to their own devices, they immediately settled back into anxious, but tired bickering. Surge swallowed dryly, knowing it was time to own up and explain his actions to at least one sprite who would not want to hear it. Back straight, he approached slowly, until he caught Turbo’s eye.

As the Surge Protector, he had to deal with a whole lot of dirty looks in his life. For the most part, he was used to it. But the look in Turbo’s eyes was unlike any he had been served before. It was not dirty -- it was filthy.

Surge opened his mouth to speak, but Turbo cut him off immediately.

“Aw, look, Fix-it,” he growled. “He’s come to finish the job.”

Felix turned, and to Surge’s relief, his eyes were more concerned than anything else. “Mr. Surge Protector,” Felix greeted him shakily, cautiously, as if he believed Surge should not have been there.

“Gentlemen,” Surge finally managed to say gently but clearly, “I feel I owe you an explanation for my decision tonight--”

“Oh,” Turbo laughed in his throat, turning to face Surge fully. “Yeah. Yeah, y’do. ‘Cause, y’know, I find it real interestin’ that y’saw a girl who weighs like ten pounds n’ decided, ‘Hmm, I’m too chickenbits to fight her. Better freakin’ kill her.’”

Surge felt a punch inside his chest.

“Turbo,” Felix scolded quietly. “Sir, Mavy’s not-- she’s not-- I mean, she’s alive.”

“Oh, don’t, you’ll break his heart,” Turbo spat.

“I know she is,” Surge nodded. “Thank the Devs. I… understand that you must be angry with me. But please, believe me when I say it truly was the only way to save the little one’s life. Another second longer, and Mavis could have snapped her tiny neck in two. Trying to physically pull her off would’ve just been too risky for Maribo.”

“Ah! Okay!” Turbo grinned, spreading his arms a bit. “Now I get it. Ya had to decide whose life was more important, and obviously some innocent lil’ potato’s more valuable than a buff-poppin’ Easter Egg, right?”

He did not kill her, he assured himself. He did not know. He had no idea. He did the right thing.

When he heard the screaming, and he saw little Maribo dangling from Mavis’ hands, he came at the situation with what he knew. Mavis was high, which was risky in and of itself. But even with her violent outburst and her eyes shining a bright binary blue, she should have been safe. Her sprite’s colors were correct, she was perfectly opaque, she was upright and mobile, she was even forming full (angry) sentences.

All signs that it would have been safe to shock her.

“No,” Surge replied as calmly as he could. “I assure you, I had no idea how lethal a shock would have been for her in that moment. She was still exhibiting all signs of a sprite within safe shocking range. Had I known that her code was so fragile, I’d have never--”

“Oh, cut the bullcrit already!” Turbo advanced into his space, and Surge held his ground. “Y’just couldn’t wait for an excuse to off her, could ya? You���ve hated her since the day ya met her!”

“That’s not true,” Surge furrowed his brow. His eyes darted to Felix for a moment, who had clearly given up already, electing to sit hunched in one of the chairs, rubbing his face.

“Yeah,” Turbo nodded, smiling without a trace of happiness. “Yeah, y’have. Y’didn’t shock her to save anybody -- y’just wanted to get off to the sight of her hittin’ the ground.”

Ice water seeped from Surge’s heart at the memory.

It was not really the sight that stuck so viciously in his mind. It was the sound. Her body burst immediately into grating, distorted hissing and popping before she could even hit the floor. He remembered the dull thud of her head striking the ground, Maribo’s urgent coughing, and the alarmed gasps and shrieks of passersby.

The way her body lay motionless, her sprite glitching, flashing, shuddering, her binary darting in and out in warped clusters, making him think that he had just pushed her over the brink of corruption… That would not soon leave his mind.

“I took absolutely no joy in what I did,” Surge said slowly. “I’ve never wanted to hurt Mavis, not once.”

Turbo shook his head, his eyes venomous, stepping in even closer. “I know what this is, a’ight? Even if y’did kill her, it wouldn’t matter, because she’s a ‘junkie’. She’s a ‘problem.’ Her life’s not important to you, n’ there’s proof a’ that lyin’ in a hospital bed in here, barely alive, because y’didn’t care enough to try not to kill her. Ya freakin’ coward.”

Felix moaned in protest.

Surge met Turbo’s molten gaze, looking down with as much composure as he could find. Authoritatively, he instructed, “Step away from me, sir.”

“No,” Turbo hissed, barely above a whisper. “Shock me.”

Surge stared.

“Go on. Do it. Or am I somehow less threatenin’ than an Easter Egg with a tiny code?”

In his heart, he could feel the desire to push back, even a little bit. There was the fleeting thought that he was letting the little racing champion drive all over him, but his mind knew better. Turbo was in distress, and he was lashing out by trying to bully him. He dealt with his fair share of bullies in his line of work, and he knew that the very last thing one should do with a bully is give them what they want.

So he gave Turbo no reaction.

The smaller man’s face fell into a disgusted sneer, but still, there was some self-satisfied air to it that made Surge wonder if he had still gotten what he wanted after all. “That’s what I thought,” Turbo muttered, turning a cold shoulder and prowling out of Surge’s bubble. “Freakin’ coward.”

Surge took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. It seemed to him that he had long overstayed his welcome -- probably since the second he walked in, if he were honest with himself. But he did all he could.

“Well,” he sighed plainly, “I tried. If you wanna be mad, that’s fine. I get it. Just know that you both have my apology for worryin’ you.”

Felix looked up from his hand and returned the sigh. “I’m not mad,” he said gently.

Hands curled into obvious fists in his pockets, Turbo growled something behind his teeth that almost sounded like “I ain’t worried.”

“And…” he continued a bit more cautiously, “hopefully at least one of you understands why I did what I did.”

Both boys answered immediately, “I do.”

Surge swallowed. “Then… I’ll be on my way.”

As he turned to leave, part of him wanted to offer well wishes for Mavis, but it almost seemed like a bad idea. After all, it was his fault she was in there. Even if he only did what he had to.

It was his fault.

But he had to.

He had to.

Over the sound of his shoes on the hospital floor as he made his way out, as he fought the numbness creeping back in, he could have sworn he heard Felix’s voice say, “Turbo, for land’s sake. He was just doin’ his job.”