[-][L-A][P-1x1] ⊰~мαи-мα∂є ωιиɢs~⊱

[After Midnight Blue]

R a ú l A r m a n d o

Indeed, by the time Armando finished getting the last bits of chocolate and coffee grounds from the mugs and padded back towards the couch, a brown box sat on Travis' lap. So startled to see it there he was, that Armando could not help staring at it as he leaned against the back of the couch, hanging over Travis' shoulder. He got the accusing feeling that the box was staring back.

It was familiar, having quite a few of the self same boxes back at the shop, and yet quite alien, lying there on Travis' lap. The real question was not, however, what the box was (although this was a good question indeed) so much as why it was here at all. It could just be that Travis had brought some work home. Travis always seemed very enthusiastic about their work, though Armando could not ever recall his assistant ever doing so in the past. Then again, it was Christmas...

"What is that?" He finally asked, slowly, knowing that he was willingly stepping into the line of fire that was Travis' scathing wit. Still he could not very well ask who the box was for, or if it was for himself. That would have been selfish, especially, he remembered with a pang of guilt, when he had failed to get Travis anything.

{{ Amen.

T h e M e c h a n i c

 

[Lady Sherlock]

T r a v i s - D y e r


Travis looked up at the mechanic with a quizzical glance. What kind of question was that?

"Obviously it's a box, old man." Travis gestured toward the box with his free hand in a sort of 'duh' manner. How much more obvious could things get? Honestly, only Armando would ever ask such. Only Armando. Travis signed inwardly.

Turning back around to face forward, no longer able to look at the head mechanic, barely believing what he was about to do. Justifications for this "gift"—no, it was not a gift—were running to and fro about his head, trying to find some sanity amongst the craziness as to why he was even doing this. Just to cure my headaches... just to cure my headaches... just to cure my headaches... he kept repeating to himself in almost a mantra, trying to keep a hold on himself.

Finally, Travis sighed and closed his eyes, picking the box up off of his lap and shoving it broodingly right at the mechanic.
"Now if you were talking about what's in the box, then you can cure your laziness and go look for yourself. I can't do everything in this house, you know."
The assistant mechanic then crossed his arms and sunk back in the chair, not sure what to do. The awkwardness of it all was getting very uncomfortable; Travis had rarely done a thing like this before, after all. And a gift was a gift, no matter how hard Travis wanted it to look otherwise.

((Isn't Armando supposed to be behind the couch? It was in the Plan of Action (is that what it's called?), wasn't it? To set up the opportunity for the kiss?))

A s s i s t a n t - M e c h a n i c

 

[After Midnight Blue]

R a ú l A r m a n d o

Armando cracked a small smile at the insult-turned-nickname. He was not that old, really-only twenty-six. That wasn't that old... Although, come to think of it, he was not entirely sure of Travis' age. He knew that the man was younger than him, but not by how much, never having bothered to ask. He couldn't be younger than twenty, right? The smile nearly faded at the reminder of how little he really knew about his assistant.

But Armando did know him! He knew that Travis woke up early, and that he was a wizard with mechanics, and that he was a great cook, and that he was the exceptional guardian of an exceptional child. And how many people could say they knew all that?

Armando's swelling pride in himself was shoved back down his throat when the box in question was shoved into his hands. He stared at the parcel for a moment as if unsure of what to do with it.
"Travis?" He asked tentatively, almost waiting for his assistant to snatch the box back. It was weighted, the contents definitely something solid and, judging by the small clank it had made when it had been passed to him, metal.

Letting first one moment slip by, and then another, without Travis wrenching the package from his hands, Armando carefully popped the top off the box. There was a small jolt of surprise for the mechanic upon glancing down at the contents of the box. Well, for a half a second, the thought it was literally going to reach up and grab him. A shiny metallic hand seemed to be reaching lazily up from somewhere deep inside the box. But no, the hand was detached from anything else, and sat alone in its packaging. It was a thing of beauty really, hundred, maybe thousands, of tiny metal plates fitting smoothly together to form muscles and joints, sliding easily over each other to allow the mechanical creation to flex and bend without struggle.
"What..." The mechanic murmured, awed, and utterly confused, seemingly unable to put two and two together in order to understand why in the world Travis had shoved the package on him.

{{Ffft. I knew that. Edited~

T h e M e c h a n i c

 

[Lady Sherlock]

T r a v i s - D y e r


Despite himself, Travis found himself tensing a little when Armando finally found the immense strength of will within himself to open that box. He hoped that Armando wouldn't think that this was done out of the kindness of his heart—or even worse: that this was a gift; lord knows that Travis didn't mean it that way, and if Armando mistook it for such, there was no mistake that Travis would make it known his intent.

"What..."

Travis rolled his eyes, not believing how dense Armando was. Of course he should have been expecting bewilderment, considering the naive and innocent nature of this man. Honestly! Armando couldn't even find it within himself to thank Travis for all of his hard work.

Glaring at the mechanic, Travis muttered, "It's a hand. Made of metal," as if it would explain everything in the world. Hopefully I've made it clear enough that even the old b*****d can understand...

((Sorry for it being so short! But I really am at a standstill right now (after having written the next chapter of my USxUK fic)... Not to mention that I've been sitting in an airport for... five hours now, and counting))

A s s i s t a n t - M e c h a n i c

 

[After Midnight Blue]

R a ú l A r m a n d o

Armando tentatively lifted the hand from the box, eyes tracing its contours again and again, as if expecting them to have changed in the milliseconds his eyes left them. Where had Travis even gotten something like this? Sure, Armando was well aware that, since he didn't charge his assistant rent, that Travis could definitely afford the contraption but Armando didn't know anywhere that would make something like this... The mechanic's eyes widened a little as a new thought crossed his mind. Could he possibly have taken the time to make something for him?

Travis was giving this to him. Travis was giving this to him. Shock was perhaps the first emotion to register with Armando. Travis never gave anything, let alone for free, to anyone (William being the only exception to this rule). Guilt came next, not having gotten anything for Travis. While Armando was not quite foolish enough to call the thing a gift in front of Travis, he still considered it one.

With unsteady hands, Armando began to unscrew his prosthetic hand. His old boss had made this one for him - a sort of "welcome back to the world of the functioning" present if you will. Above any feelings of gratitude, surprise, or shame, the new hand had successfully brought the man's memory flying back to the moment when he had lost the appendage.

"You know, I didn't even touch a car until I was eighteen..." He knew Travis wasn't interested, but the words were spoken more for Armando's own benefit than that of his assistant. "There were two of us in the garage... apprentices, I mean."

T h e M e c h a n i c

 

[Lady Sherlock]

T r a v i s - D y e r


"You know, I didn't even touch a car until I was eighteen... There are two of us in the garage... apprentices, I mean."

Travis let out a sigh and rolled his eyes. Here we go. Travis had expected something like this, but yet couldn't help shuddering a little when Armando started into his Old Man's Stories. 'In my days...'
Plus, what in the name of old men did this have to do with the arm? Honestly, Travis just wanted to sleep—and knowing the details of this story, and its length, he might just fall asleep within the next second.

Watching the man take his hand off, Travis knew that Armando would struggle with the new hand, especially with the few new clasps and locking mechanisms that Travis had added. And lord knows that Armando didn't need to stand here longer than at all necessary, just so he could further bore the walls to sleep with his tales of the good old days. Fearing that this would be the case, Travis turned a little in the couch, not bothering to get up, and impatiently took the new hand and the box from Armando, setting them down on the couch. Then he yanked Armando's hand toward him and quickly started undoing it from its socket, tsking at the wood. God what did this man live in? The time of the neanderthals? Sheesh.

Deciding to interrupt Armando before any more horrors could come out of that mouth, Travis replied, "Yeah, yeah, old man. You and some dead guy on a farm with crop circles. Only you care." Travis glanced pointedly at Armando, hoping to get his exasperated annoyance across as he continued to work on undoing the wooden limb.

A s s i s t a n t - M e c h a n i c

 

[After Midnight Blue]

R a ú l A r m a n d o


Armando, nodded dumbly, allowing the new hand to be attached to his arm and the old one to be discarded. It was for the better, really. It wasn't as if he was going to miss the old hand. No, not at all! That one had given him so much grief in the last six years: it was clumsy, hard to move, slipper, and had barely any grip. Whatever proficiency his old boss had had with automotive mechanics apparently hadn't extended to this contraption.

As Travis finished his adjustments, Armando began to feel the difference between this and the old hand. While it was made of metal, this hand was somehow lighter than his old one. When he tried to, he could twitch and curl individual fingers. He withdrew the hand from Travis' grip - Travis would probably be relieved not to be touching him anyway - running his actual fingers over the tiny metal plates. He leaned against the back of the couch, flexing the new hand.

"He pushed me..." Armando frowned, something he rarely did, barely even noticing that he had spoken, still lost in his thoughts. "He pushed me."

T h e M e c h a n i c

 

[Lady Sherlock]

T r a v i s - D y e r


Travis leaned back in the chair when he finished, glad that Armando didn't talk for a while. The worst of the storm was over... or so he thought. Therefore Travis could have sworn that his stomach churned a little and his complexion grew pale when Armando opened his mouth again with that weird nostalgic look. And lord help us all, there was even a small start of a frown at the corner of his lips. Travis had half a mind to jump up and clasp his hands over the mechanic's lips, not at all wanting to be told more about the old man's good ol' days.

"He pushed me... He pushed me."

Great. Not only was Armando talking, but he was talking nonsense. Travis didn't understand it, so he knew that it was nonsense. It was simple as that. But this nonsense wasn't good, especially with a far off, distant sort of look and a frown. Those must have been sure symptoms for some sort of sickness, right? Right? Travis frowned himself and sat back on the couch, afraid that this odd sickness might be contagious.

"Old man, it's good that you had bad memories of swing-sets and all on your crop circle farm, but I don't care. Least you can do is thank me for all my hard work so I can go to bed. Not just anyone can—and would—do that, you know... Not that it was like... difficult or anything. Hmph."

A s s i s t a n t - M e c h a n i c

 

[After Midnight Blue]

R a ú l A r m a n d o

"I know you don't care, Travis, I know... Sorry." Armando replied, trying to pull himself from his grim stupor. This wasn't like him. He tried for a smile, hoping he didn't fail horribly. So he'd guessed right; Travis had made the hand for him. It was a touching gesture, even if Travis had not meant it to be, which he couldn't possibly... Travis did not like Armando. But he had[i/] made him this hand! He had worked, maybe for hours, on something for Armando. Few people had shown that sort of kindness to him, and so the mechanic could not help but take the action to heart. Travis might not have liked him, but Armando was more than open about his enjoyment of Travis' presence.

The man was amusing with his ever present cynicism and sharp wit, his tongue ready to lash out at anything that dared try his patience. Travis was fascinating - closed where Armando was open, clever where he was dense, and fiery where he was patient. All in all, Armando quite liked his company. And so he tried not to sigh at being brushed away so easily. No, Travis was not interested in Armando. Why should he be? Armando was just his employer turned landlord and part-time caretaker of William.

This wasn't about him, not really. He had lost his hand, so what? That didn't mean Travis was going to want to hear the story. And yet, it was not for Travis' sake that Armando had wanted to tell it. Armando had never needed to retell the story to anyone, never having met anyone he'd want to tell it to who did not already know it. He'd never spoken about it, never wanted to, and had simply reconstructed his life without the hand. He supposed that was the difference between Travis and himself. He wanted Travis to know about him, and for himself to know about Travis. Travis did not want to know about anyone else, or foto know about him.

"Hey, Travis?" Armando leaned over the back of the couch, hanging his head down just above his assistant's, trying again for a smile and this time feeling himself succeed. "Thank you."

T h e M e c h a n i c

{{Ugh. Sorry. Not entirely happy with this post.  

[Lady Sherlock]

T r a v i s - D y e r


Travis didn't care much for an apology either, though it was better than nothing. All he wanted to hear was what he felt to be a much deserved thank you, then head to bed. It had been a long day, and though tomorrow there'd be no work, he still wanted to get a decent amount of sleep now that he could, given his comfortable job.
Wait... comfortable? COMFORTABLE? Travis shuddered inwardly. If he could even start to think that tolerating this fool every day was 'comfortable' then there was clearly something wrong with him. Travis unconsciously placed a hand up to his forehead to check for a fever, and finding none, ran his hand through his hair instead, eyebrows furrowed with worry for his physical health.

Just then, a shadow passed over him that made him look up, an action that he immediately regretted, for it brought him face to face with the Old Man himself. God that would give him nightmares that night... And then Armando smiled. Make that nightmares for eternity.

"Hey Travis? Thank you."

Somehow the thank you had seemed better in his mind. Travis was stuck staring up at Armando, transfixed in a state of smouldering fear, much like a deer in headlights. God I could die from this... Yet, he was frozen, mouth slightly agape, staring up at Armando.

((I'm making it Saturday night... Unless you correct me, at which point I'll change it. Oh, and you have to instigate the falling action. He's completely ready for you. >:3))

A s s i s t a n t - M e c h a n i c

 

[After Midnight Blue]

R a ú l A r m a n d o

Armando was not looking at Travis, but rather down at his new hand, really admiring it now. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship. How in the world had he made it? Had he used scrap metal from the shop, or gone out and bought the metal himself? Oh, it would be so helpful now that he didn't have to worry about dropping loose screws and splinters into burners! The more he thought about it, the more his spirits rose. Armando leaned down further, turning his head, ready to pound his assistant with questions...

... And stopped. He froze. Well, this was potentially the strangest thing he'd ever experienced. In an impossibly awkward maneuver, by turning his head, the mechanic's nose and lips had scrapped over one of Travis' cheeks until they had somehow blundered into Travis' mouth. When in the world had the man gotten so close? Armando could hear his heart pounding in his ears, and every sensible nerve in his body screaming for him to move before Travis skinned him alive. Yes, he was, without a doubt, a deadman sometime in the next ten to twenty seconds.

But he could not actually force himself to move, frozen at first more with panic than with pleasure. He was going to die - Travis was going to kill him. He could feel his lips ghosting just over his assistant's, and was suddenly self-conscious of the fact that his lips were a little chapped from the cold dry air of the shop and that he could still taste the mocha he'd drunk in his own mouth. And then, slowly, came an even more unexpected realization.

It was not a bad experience in the least.

T h e M e c h a n i c

{{Like so...?  

[Lady Sherlock]

T r a v i s - D y e r


Travis's eyes widened as Armando's lips hit his own. His mind couldn't even register what had happened yet, and was struggling to find the right words to express his... what was it? Shock? Surprise? No. Absolutely scary anger. Who did the old man think he was that he would have the audacity to lock lips with his assistant mechanic of all people? Travis didn't think that he had been putting off any homosexual vibes either, so it was just Armando being dense. Dear lord.

When Travis was sober enough from the anger and shock that rushed through him, he pulled back, spat on the table, and stood up, all with very choppy and sudden movements, mostly because he could barely hold his anger down. The only thing that kept him from full agitation was the fact that William was asleep in the next room, and that he was a bit too disgusted with himself to do much of anything else at the moment.
Leaving Armando sitting there with that terribly idiotic look on his face, in Travis's biased opinion, the assistant mechanic rushed to the sink, spat once again, and thoroughly rinsed his mouth , outside and in, despite the kiss having only been minor external contact. One could never be too careful.
Then, once he felt that he was satisfied enough with the cleanliness of his lips in order to sleep without too terrible nightmares, Travis turned stormed off—quietly, because William was sleeping—to the bedroom, not looking at Armando on the way. He opened the door and turned, sending the man a glare of daggers, then closed the door—gently—behind him, locking it solidly so that Armando could hear.

Travis didn't care that this was originally the mechanic's bedroom. After all, it was by the mechanic's own stupid fault that he had had the audacity to kiss Travis in the first place. When had Travis ever shown any romantic inclination toward the mechanic? GOD did the man have an abuse fetish or something? Maybe a masochistic thing? Or maybe it even tied into some sub/BDSM thing? Travis shuddered as he made his way to the bed where William was sleeping soundly. Now that was too disturbing a thought. If the kiss wouldn't give him nightmares, that surely would. And he'd be scarred for life.

Willing the thought away from his mind, the assistant mechanic pulled the covers over him, snuggled in a little next to William, and closed his eyes, hoping for any sleep at all. Though considering the state of his mental disturbance, Travis doubted that much would come.

A s s i s t a n t - M e c h a n i c

 

[After Midnight Blue]

R a ú l A r m a n d o

For a moment after Travis stood, Armando stayed there, bent practically double over the couch, the back of the hideous piece of furniture digging into his ribs, his toes barely keeping him from tumbling over the edge.

Barely, it would seem, was not enough. As he exhaled a breath he had not realized he was holding, Armando's balanced tipped just enough to send him tumbling forward in an awkward somersault over the back of the couch. Tacky black, green, and orange checks flew past his eyes, reminding the mechanic briefly of how much he needed to replace the couch before he hit the floor. He landed painfully on the floor with a decent thump, wincing. With a little groan, Armando leaned back against his hideous couch, shutting his eyes and slapping his good hand over his face.

This was not good. It wasn't as if he'd planned on that happening. It had honestly been an accident... then again so had his hand. Although perhaps one was more intentional than the other, both accidents were clearly intent on steering his life in whatever direction they pleased, wrenching it from Armando's hand. What if Travis really did quit? First and foremost where would the two even go? Armando knew for a fact that, aside from what he more or less provided for them, Travis and William were virtually homeless. The thought of Travis preferring to be homeless rather than stay with him was not only insulting, but absolutely heartbreaking. Beyond that, Armando did not want to see them go. He knew he couldn't handle the shop by himself, and he knew that he desperately didn't want to go back to life without the two of them.

Why? Armando's mind flitted back to that kiss. He turned the scene over and over and over in his mind. He shouldn't jump to conclusions.... He shouldn't... He shouldn't think this changed anything... Unbeknown to himself, the mechanic's tan cheek's had flushed as he thought. Stupid... He was stupid...Armando shook his head and rose to his feet, a plan of action already forming in his head. It would require paperwork and rising early the next day, but with any luck, he could be back by the time Travis finished cooking breakfast.

With his head unpleasantly full of thoughts, Armando took his jacket off it's hook by the door, draping it around his shoulders as a blanket as he lay down on the couch, ready for a long night's restless sleep. With a tiny smile, Armando could not help but think that the situation was not unlike that of a wife locking her unruly husband out of their bedroom.

T h e M e c h a n i c

 

[Lady Sherlock]

T r a v i s - D y e r


In the morning, right when the sun rose, Travis really didn't feel like getting up. Instead of popping out of bed like he usually, did, Travis remembered that it was Sunday morning, Christmas morning, and pulled the blanket over his head, in an effort to get more sleep. Last night had been a disaster, full of tossing and turning and terrible dreams that honestly scared the living daylights out of him. Had they involved ghosts and monsters? No. But they did involve Armando, leather, a fish, butter, and quite a bit of lipstick. Now if that wasn't the scariest thing that anyone could ever see, then Travis didn't know what was. He could practically make a fortune writing horror stories if he wanted to, knowing where his dreams were going and had gone. Needless to say, the night was pretty sleepless, and he wanted to get some more rest where rest was due. Not to mention that the assistant mechanic really didn't want to go out there and see Armando again. God help Armando if he had thought that things had changed between them for the better. If anything, Travis felt even more negativity toward the man. Really, God help the man.

Travis's wish for more sleep, however, seemed to be in vain, for William had woken up just when Travis tried to go back to bed. The boy realized what day it was, and jumped on Travis in excitement. Though they usually were poor and generally had barely any decor or gifts on that day, Travis had always tried to make it enjoyable for the boy. William had always loved Christmas, and he was sure that this year he'd love it even more, considering their new situation. They actually had a Christmas tree! This would be the best Christmas thus far for him, and he was vibrating with excitement. Therefore, he served as Travis's alarm clock and practically dragged the man out of bed. William was the only one who could do this and not get their arm ripped off by a rabid mechanic in the process.

Reluctantly, Travis followed William out the door, smiling a little at how happy the boy was. He was really without a care in the world, and it was just so cute! Unlike that stupid mechanic boss... who Travis wasn't looking forward to seeing as they stepped out to the main room. However, he was surprised to find that Armando wasn't anywhere to be seen. Hmm. Maybe the man had gone out drinking and partying that he had finally kissed his mechanic assistant. Well Travis had some news for the man when he got back if that had been the case. News that probably involved a fist and a lot of yelling. If not, then Travis just deemed that Armando was a coward for not wanting to face him. Either way, he was just glad that his Christmas morning didn't have to be ruined with Armando's presence.

William ran at the presents under the tree, which Travis presumed were all for the boy. Armando was probably too forgetful to have remembered to get a present for Travis—not that Travis wanted one from the man anyways. It was probably a present to not get a present from the mechanic. Totally.
Travis deigned to sit down on the couch due to all the disturbing trauma that it held, so instead he sat down on their armchair, shifting it as far away from the checkered couch as possible. The assistant then settled himself to watching the boy rip at all the papers covering his presents, happy that William was feeling so happy.

A s s i s t a n t - M e c h a n i c

 

[After Midnight Blue]

R a ú l A r m a n d o

If Armando were the swearing type, he would have sworn seeing the time on the clock when he awoke the next morning. As it was he gave a quiet yelp and tried to leap off the couch. Failing, he flailed under his makeshift blanket until he managed to knock himself off the couch again. For a moment, Armando lay there, sore from falling so many times and a night spent on that god forsaken couch. He really needed to get rid of that couch. Then, with a sigh, the mechanic began to pick himself up.

Gathering his shoes and dropped coat, Armando wearily dusted himself off. In the moment of his awakening, he did not exactly recall why he'd been on that (hideous) couch, but now they rushed back to him. To his utter shame, he could feel his heart stutter recalling last night's events. There were so many things wrong with that situation, the least of which being that Travis was another man. No, that was not problem for Armando. While it was far from approved of, the issue of attraction to another man had been resolved for Armando years ago. The problem began first with the obvious point of Travis' dislike for him, and was followed with the fact that Armando was decidedly the employer while Travis was clearly the employee. That was what felt most wrong to him.

Finishing buttoning up his coat, Armando quickly collected his keys and a number of papers. While it was still long before Travis was due to wake up, Armando felt hurried, and was eager to get out the door and to put his plan into action.

---

Returning home a few hours later, Armando was chilled, dusted with a light snowfall, and jittery with nerves. The cold made him clumsy, making it difficult to fit the key into the lock, but soon the door swung open, revealing his two flatmates and their Christmas tree.

"Did I miss presents?" He called into the apartment with a smile. He really did hope he hadn't missed William opening his presents. Though he'd done a poor job of keeping it a secret, he had tried to make sure the child had gotten a few decent presents. He enjoyed seeing the child with gifts that he (hoped he would) enjoy, and had picked out a couple just for this occasion.

Armando settled himself as casually as he could on the now infamous ugly couch (he REALLY needed to get rid of it), clutching a number of papers, more than the number which he had left with, and avoiding meeting Travis' eyes.

T h e M e c h a n i c