Posted by: InterNutter
« on: April 09, 2014, 08:22:22 pm »
Disclaimer: Steam Powered Giraffe and Francour the singing giant flea belong to their respective copyright holders. I just do daft things with them. Like this thing.
AN: Alternate universe where Rabbit is genderfluid-to-femme.
WARNING: This fic may contain excessive amounts of both Cute and French.
Assis Près de la Siene
(Sitting by the Siene)
InterNutter
War was tough on a girl. War was even tougher when hardly nobody recognised you *as* a girl in the first place. And when even fewer folks recognised you as even alive?
Fah-geddaboutit.
It should have been relatively safe. Compared to some of the conflicts they'd been in. Rabbit and her brothers didn't need to breathe. Therefore, they were perfect for rescuing wounded soldiers from the creeping clouds of mustard gas. Or just wounded soldiers at all.
And it would have worked perfectly if it wasn't for the fact that the enemy had hit on the idea of firing at the robots.
The good news? Rabbit was more than capable of firing back. Sometimes, using real fire.
The bad news? Mortar shells.
The better news was that Pappy had deliberately disabled their damage sensors, so Rabbit was literally not feeling a thing. And she was clever enough to train her horse to tow her and her gathered pieces back to a place of safety. And she made her point against the enemy by laying down fire from her blue matter gattling gun.
The enemy also learned never to shoot a horse that came with a robot in tow.
They were not pretty horses. They were chunky and muscular and capable of carrying more than four times the weight of a human for long distances.
The Spine was over the moon. He didn't care about the beauty of the horse. He got to ride like a cowboy. He was living his dream.
Right now, Rabbit was dreaming of being in one piece again.
Life was never fun when you're literally being dragged through the mud and hanging onto your own legs and a horse's reins. And it was *really* never fun when the horse had to poop.
War was disgusting.
It took way too long to get back to the border camp. Most of her joints were clogged with... let's call it 'debris'. Lots of her gears were, too.
The instant the technicians came running, Rabbit let go of the reins. "Y' gotta hose me off or we-wear gloves, fellas," she rasped. "It's a lo-lot messy ou-out there."
"You're a lot mes-sy in here," said Hatchworth.
"Heeeeeeyyyyy! Ha-Hatchy! Thought y-y-you'd be out th-th-there, awready."
"I'm go-ing back soon. Some-one shot my horse."
"Shoot them. Teaches 'em re-re-real q-q-q-quick."
Hatchy effortlessly lifted up her torso. "Look at you. You're not half the 'bot you used to be."
"That was a pun!"
"That was a pun." Hatchy loaded her into the Special Unit ambulance. One half at a time. "Looks like you're go-ing to Pa-ris a-head of us."
Where the really special repair unit was. The Walter Robotics Maintenance Unit. Duo would be there. And Trike. And a host of Walter Girls to flirt with.
She'd get her legs hooked back up and her gears cleaned out and her joints seen to. Fixed up all nice and proper.
Only to go back to the war and get wrecked again.
Humans were a real bunch'a dummins, sometimes.
It took way too long over bumpy roads to get to Paris. They had to stop more than once to top up Rabbit's boilers, and to do an emergency patch job on the trailing, dripping oil pipes. And then, some miles later, to patch up the patch job.
Disabled damage sensors or not, she knew she was in bad shape. Information was filtering in past that block to her Babbage-run brain.
And worse, she was taking in water worse than a sinking ship. She couldn't stop running hot. Various protocols had her dipping in and out of consciousness. And awareness. And coherence. Rarely all three at the same time. And she couldn't deliberately shut down, either. Something in the damage protocols demanded that she stay operational so that technicians could run diagnostics.
War was *really* tough on a girl.
When the war came, their little nightclub on the Siene stopped being a nightclub and became a bizarre hybrid of hospice, hotel, soup kitchen, and cabaret. L'Oiseau Rare welcomed anyone who could carry a tune, tell a joke, tell a story, act or otherwise take the boys' minds off their troubles.
They fed anyone who was hungry. Tended anyone who was sick. And, most importantly, comforted anyone who was sad.
Francoeur enjoyed singing at night, just as much as he enjoyed giving drinks to the troops during the day. His seven-foot frame allowed him to carry around more than enough orange juice or seltzer water to pick up entire armies' worth of soldiers. He almost never ran out.
And, because he was also a giant flea and needed to use all four of his arms, he went everywhere singing about anything and everything.
He rarely talked. Music came to him easily. Spoken words... evaded him.
If he was singing, he was harmless. And if he was harmless, the soldiers were not inclined to use their guns on him. He'd been at this for months, so he had a good refrain going about orange juice and sparkling water, either or both in a paper cup.
The two Joes in the cabin of the small truck took a mixture as they waited and waited for a ferry to take them across where a bridge once stood. It was an odd picture on the side. A large W and some gears. Francour toured along the queue, singing once more of oranges and water.
THOMB-OMP!
Rabbit moaned. She hadn't wanted it to happen. It literally shook her up. That damned old oil pump...
Each Walter-built robot had one, of course. There to pump oil from their internal reserves. The trouble was that the damned things didn't work unless the robot was in love. And when they worked, they were *LOUD*.
Take it out, and the robot 'died' until it got put back.
Their only hope was sound-proofing, which was difficult to include in their near-skeletal chassis.
Rabbit hadn't felt this torturous mixture of pleasure/pain from the old pump since Jenny the Toaster had smashed to pieces. Years ago, now.
It was that *voice*.
She'd heard it through her dreams and it started up the pump, just from the joy of hearing it.
Gone, now.
She'd probably scared the singer halfway to death. Poor kid.
And in other painful news, her boiler was running low. Really low. In danger of cracking something, low.
"Hey, fellas! HEEEEEY! I need s-s-s-some water in here! I'm runnin' dry!"
Silence. They were probably playing Rock Paper Scissors to see who should remind her of the canteen.
Ohyeah. There it was. Right next to her working arm.
Rabbit dragged it up to her mouth. Loosened the cap. Tipped it into her mouth.
And found nothing.
Not even a little drop.
"THE CANTEEN'S EMPTY, FELLAS! HURRY UP! IT'S HURTIN'!"
Being a flea, even a seven-foot-tall flea, Francoeur's first reaction to the noise was to jump. He landed on a nearby roof and, once certain that nothing had exploded and there was no trouble, scrambled back down again.
It was a very odd noise. Like a human's heartbeat. Yet so very, very *LOUD*.
Whatever had caused it, it was gone, now.
Someone inside the van was complaining about a lack of water. Another wounded Joe, by the sound of the accent.
It took Francoeur a little effort to work out the catches and latches, but he got the door open just as the poor Joe inside was stuttering his way through, "Shuttin' d-down... Shu-shut-t-t-t-t-t-tin' d-d-d-d-dow-ow-own..." and "Hur-hurt-t-t-sssss..."
The Joe was made of copper. And, apparently, mud.
Well. Mud and... other... things...
Francoeur poured the poor copper man -cut in half!- a paper cup of sparkling water and helped him drink it. "Voici. Eau."
There was a great gout of steam and alarming bubbling noises. "Oh yeah. Oh. Yeah. More? Please, Frenchy? Silver plate?"
This was one of the times he needed all four hands. He cooed a little lullaby as he used one arm to hold the copper Joe while the other three busied themselves with retrieving the paper cup and filling it again.
THOMB-OMP!
"...sor-sorry..." The machine half-man gulped down another cupful. "...happens..." Illuminated eyes flickered open. Such a beautiful green. THOMB-OMP! "...y'r b-b-b-beautiful..." THOMB-OMP!
Francoeur smiled in spite of himself. "Merci, m'seur."
"...'s m-m-m-med-d-dame." She was panting. "Need m-mo-more'n a c-c-cup."
He offered her the spigot. Turned it down to a gentler flow. Smiled at her grateful noises. Cooed and chittered despite the rising strength and regularity of her THOMB-OMP!ing.
And got the shock of his life when she warbled back.
"[You know music-talk?]"
"[Music is my life! Of course I know it,]" Francoeur found himself cradling her more gently. Cuddling her. "[Who are you, little angel?]"
"[My name is] Rabbit. [Rabbit]."
She snuggled into his chest so nicely. And he didn't mind a patch about the way the mud got on his nice, white clothes. "[More water?]"
"[...ohyeah. Runnin' hot. Dunno why.]"
La belle Lapin made such adorable noises in gratitude. Gripped his lapel with her one, working arm in ways that made him want to sing about l'amour.
"It's gone quiet again," said Peters. "And there's a weird thumping noise."
"I'm not checking on it. You check on it," argued Paulson.
"I checked on it last time."
"Walter Robotics will have both our asses in a jar if it arrives more broken than it already is."
"M'seur," said a street kid dangling off their cab door. "M'seur. Pardon. M'seur. Excuses-moi. M'seur."
"Yeah, what?"
"M'seur... Votre camion est en feu."
"What?"
"Fi-yah! Là," the child pointed.
Both men swore when they spotted the giant, white cloud emanating from the back of the truck. Both scrambled to the rear to discover, not smoke, but steam.
And in the middle of the moist clouds, there was the big singing bug-man. Cuddling with Rabbit and feeding the robot sparkling water.
"Er. Heh. Bonjour," smiled the bug.
Paulson looked at Peters. Peters looked back.
"At what point in our lives did **** like this become normal?"
"I've forgotten what normal even is."
Peters ran for the cab and snatched the map. Ran back. Pointed at the place they had to go. "Hey. Frankie."
"Francoeur."
"Yeahyeahyeah. You can jump right over the river, right? You can take Rabbit to here? He needs to go there. La? You go La?"
"Oui. D'accord." The giant bug scooped up the top half of Rabbit, who was getting really cosy. "Avec moi, belle Lapin."
"Mm-hmmmmhhh..." Rabbit sighed.
"Ah... both halves? Dos?"
"Ah. D'accord."
It was a frightening thing to watch the giant flea juggle two halves of a robot that, when in one piece, weighed more than four times that of a healthy human. And even more frightening that the bug did this as if all pieces weighed nothing at all.
"Remind me again why we took this job?" begged Paulson.
"The pay's actually equal," said Peters.
The giant bug used Rabbit's boot-laces to tie the robot's legs around its torso like a sash. Snuggled and cooed at Rabbit's top half, and found a place for a 'practice jump'.
Nobody had known he knew English before that moment.
The giant bug leaped so high they lost it in the clouds!
And then it landed as light as a feather. Robot and all.
"C'est bon. Au revoir." And then it sprang across the river in one leap.
"That's got to be the third-weirdest thing I've ever seen."
"You've seen weirder things than that?"
"I've been to Kazooland."
"Right."
Rabbit was very surprised that she could take in water in her sleep. The steady trickle of water was everything she needed right now. Besides Pappy fixing her up in all the ways she wanted.
Heh.
Maybe coming home with an actual *boy*friend might help change Pappy's mind about her being all girl, at last.
And what a nice boyfriend he was. So pretty. So gentle. So caring.
So amazingly high off the ground.
Rabbit peered down at the streets of Paris as they sailed underneath her. "Y'gotta be an angel," she slurred. "Y' can fly sooooooo high." Rabbit hiccoughed. "Par'n me."
Something was invading her systems. Tickling. It felt nice and made her want to sing. And it would have made her want to dance, if her legs were connected. But, because of the now-steady THOMB-OMP!ing, she doubted she could even stand.
Besides, it was an incredibly nice thing to be in Francoeur's capable arms.
Rabbit had no idea what she'd actually *do* with him, should he want to stick around. But it was sure going to be fun finding out.
"F'r my entire liife," Rabbit managed, a little out of tune. "I never knew what love was like... Now I felt its touch (hic) an' iss far too mush... f'r me t' hold insiiiiiide."
Francoeur harmonised so nicely with the chorus.
Francoeur was getting very worried about la belle Lapin. Her speech was slipping. Slurring like a drunk person. Was she failing? Dying?
Could machines die?
At last, he landed at the destination. Found a note pinned on the door.
_Walter Robotics Maintenance has been evacuated due to the bombing. We will return on--_ the date was two weeks hence. Two weeks!
"[Stay alive, beautiful Rabbit.]" There had to be someone about who knew *something*!
"[Nev'r felt mo' 'live...]" even her music-talk was failing. Out of tune. Barely intelligible. "['S th'] (hic) [bupplz. Feels all wunnaful.]"
He had never felt greater relief in his life. The soda water. The only water he had. The water that refreshed so many Joes and Tommies and sundry other soldiers... Had merely made her drunk.
"[I am so sorry, beautiful lady. I'm afraid I made you drunk.]"
"[This's] (hic) [wh't drunkis?]"
"[I'm so sorry.]"
"[Whuzzyougotta] (hic) [be sorry for?]"
"[The hangover, afterwards.]" Francoeur hopped about the streets of Paris at random. Trying to think of anyone who could help poor Rabbit right now. Anything to ease her discomfort, present and future, was going to be a very good thing.
He hopped back to the maintenance building to add on the notice, _I have Rabbit. She is hurt bad. Come soon. F._ and added the address of L'Oiseau Rare.
He knew who could help.
Raoul.
"...la siene, la siene, la seine..." Raoul finished patting the newest baby to sleep. Asleep, they were little angels. Awake... well, it was a good thing that he'd learned to juggle.
One baby asleep. The twins asleep. Little Alouette playing very quietly because her Maman was napping in the next cot.
The world was currently good.
(...thomb-omp... thomb-omp... Thomb-omp)
What the living fresh Hell?
He tip-toed out to the front; looking up and down the street and, because he knew Francoeur and his favourite mode of transport, up and down the sky. He made his way backstage to the rear door and checked there, too.
It was getting louder.
Thomb-omp... Thomb-omp... Thomb-omp... Thomb-omp... THOMB-OMP...
Coming from above. Out front. Raoul picked his way back out to the front of L'Oiseau Rare, and tried to spot it.
THOMB-OMP... THOMB-OMP... THOMB-OMP... THOMB-OMP!
It stayed at THOMB-OMP! And there, in the sky, the rapidly-approaching form of Francoeur. Carrying something other than his tanks and cups.
The giant singing flea landed and straightened, smiling.
O God. It looked like he was carrying half a muddy corpse. Still clinging to a lapel.
"Francoeur... Has something... happened?"
Warble coo. Francoeur jostled the body.
The hand flexed. "[Nuh dun' wake me up,]" the body mumbled in English. "['S comfy.]"
The other half seemed to be wrapped around the giant flea like a sash.
"Rabbit," smiled Francoeur. "Hurt." And, after a minor-note warble, added, "Drunk."
Francoeur was never much for words.
The body was a robot.
One of Colonel Walter's semi-famous steam man band. The copper one. "This is *the* Rabbit?"
"[Shpeek English, Frenschy. 'S rude t' keep pippl' out...]"
Raoul sighed. "[You is Colonel Walter's Steam Man Band, yes?]"
"[Yeah, yeah. 'S me! I'm a fay-muss musishun.] La da da da da..."
"What did you *do* to him?" Raoul boggled.
"La da da da da..."
Francoeur gestured with the soda water hose. "Drunk."
"La da da da da..."
Raoul gently manipulated the copper robot so it was facing him. "[We need you stop the thump-thump. Understand?]"
"[I c'n tone it down.]" He turned back to Francoeur. Warble warble chirp. One hand grabbed Francoeur by the back of his head. Dragged it down.
Sparks flew. Literally. They were little, and seemed as much a shock to both of them as it was to Raoul.
Not that the kiss itself wasn't shocking enough. The big lug of a bug had always turned his charm towards the ladies.
But then... there was also the perils of inebriation.
But, there was also the fact that both parties were clearly enjoying this.
The THOMB-OMP! toned right down to a regular Thomb-Thomb. Still definitely there, but not 'there' enough to be disturbing.
Raoul ushered them both inside. Pushed them. Still kissing.
When they finally broke, Rabbit sighed a big cloud of steam and fell back into stillness in Francoeur's arms. The steady, soft Thomb-Thomb was the only sign of life from the machine.
Raoul got the big bug to sit somewhere out of the way and went to fetch some clean water. The robots needed oil and water. Sunflower oil, thank goodness, was easily obtainable, infinitely renewable, and not subject to war-inspired shortages. They always had plenty for L'Oiseau Rare's generators. Clean water may at least dilute the soda water already inside Rabbit. He got the tanks off of Francoeur and flushed out the soda water before refilling it with the clean, pure water that the Robot needed.
Francoeur was the only one who could lift the tanks when they were full.
"Give Rabbit as much water as he can take."
"She," said Francoeur. "She said."
Okay. That answered only *some* questions.
Raoul gave up at this point and found the remotest corner of L'Oiseau Rare for Rabbit, Francoeur, the tanks and anything else they needed. Then he fetched his all-purpose tool box and came back to see what he could do.
The first problem was very obviously the solid coating of muck that had got into Rabbit's systems. He got Francoeur to help remove the remnants of the robot's clothing. Raoul jetted bursts of air at the grime. Knocking it off without disturbing any mechanisms. Jetting air through any seams knocked out some of the... mud... but Raoul was certain that there was tons more in there. And he daren't get any of the outer plates off without knowing exactly what he was doing.
Above all, harm nothing.
All while Francoeur fed him -her?- more and more water.
The big bug cradled Rabbit's top half very tenderly. Even laid the functioning half of the robot carefully on a nearby cot and covering... her... with his coat. The coat that would definitely need a wash.
The other half was just as nasty as the first. It looked like Rabbit had been dragged backwards through the muds and mires of the war. And gathered rains of filth from above.
"Keep giving... her... water. I'll see if I can find anyone who knows anyone who can really help.
Light hurt. Even through closed photoreceptors. Rabbit covered them with her working arm and moaned.
"Eau?"
"O what?"
"[You drink better water, now, little Rabbit,]" said the voice of an angel in music-talk.
Bits of yesterday afternoon whirled through her head. The big blue angel in white. Speaking music-talk with someone other than her family. And knowing, without a doubt, that she had fallen in love with him before the first drop of not-quite-water ever graced her lips.
And then came the fear and doubt. Was he just being nice? Was he caring for her because it was his job? Did he already have a jealous sweetheart ready to try rearranging Rabbit's face-plates? Someone like him absolutely *must* have a sweetheart.
But there was clean water. And a soft, blue scarf over her photoreceptors. And caring arms around her.
"[Enough now. You need oil, too.]"
Oils had flavour. It was one of the few things they could appreciate, when it came to consuming things. This was both new and delicious. And it made her feel like sunlight was gradually permeating her pipes. It was almost impossible to feel pain with the sunshine inside of her.
She was still weak, though. Still running hot. Rabbit waved off the oil. "[Water. Dunno why I'm runnin' hot.]" There must be a leak, somewhere. Some tiny piece of rubble in her gears that locked her boiler on high. Some flaw that stopped her utilizing any of the power. A crack. A fraying wire. "[Why aren't I in Walter Robotics?]"
"[The bombing. They evacuated. I left them a note, beautiful Rabbit. I don't know what else I can do.]"
A bright idea. "[Pick me up and shake me!]"
"[What? NO! I may hurt you worse.]"
"[I need a bunch'a grime shook loose. You can do it, angel. Please?]"
"[You will tell me... Yes? If I harm you?]"
"[Don't worry, sweetie. I'm built to last.]"
Francoeur had to wonder if Rabbit was still, somehow, malfunctioning.
Nevertheless, he picked up his beloved and shook her. Tiny particles of dirt rained out of her.
"[Yeah! It's working! Harder!]"
All his fears of harming her were not at all helped by her mad cackling. Loose dirt started making quite the pile. One of her arms, the one that didn't move, flapped about like that of a rag doll. The other one clung to his sleeve.
"[Shake me like the maracas, baby! It's workin'!]"
Something inside her went alarmingly 'clunk'.
Francoeur froze in horror. Reflexively drew her in tight. Begged her forgiveness and prayed for her healing in rapid-fire gabble in music-talk.
Thomb-omp!
"[Aw dangit...]" Rabbit sighed. "[I'm gonna need more kissin'. Damn that oil pump...]"
He had seen many couples in Paris going from near-homicidal fighting to the opposite end of the emotional spectrum. This didn't seem to be anything like that.
"[Do you mind?]"
"[I never mind kissing you, beautiful lady,]" he cooed.
Their mouths met in sparks and sweet tenderness. This. This was how he wanted to treat her. To soft kisses and loving poetry and everything else that could make her feel good and right in the world.
"Raoul?"
"Yeah?" he answered his beloved wife from under the generator. "Am I dreaming, or is Francoeur kissing half a mummified body?"
Raoul extracted himself from his work. "What? No. It's one of those Walter Robotics automatons. Calls herself 'Rabbit', believe it or not."
"I thought they were all soldiers..."
"Yeah, but Rabbit says she's a girl, so who am I to argue?"
Lucille sat her very pregnant weight on one of their many storage crates. "Last time I checked, all of the Walter Robots were male."
"Fine. Go ahead. Argue with me. Go check on them and ask the robot. See if I care. It's not as if you married me or anything. Just go. Don't trust me at all. Love of your life. Father of your children. Saviour of your daily bread..."
"Get over here and kiss me, you idiot."
Laughing and smiling, he complied.
"I believe you, I just have a hard time making it fit with what I know."
"Your poor mother's a cynic, my darling," said Raoul to the bump. "Run now."
"Stop it," she cooed. "So. What are we doing about it?"
"The robot, the romance, or the fact that the robot's cut in half?"
"All of the above, I would think."
"I think we need to have a talk with Francoeur."
"Great. Me too. Help me up."
They were warbling amongst themselves when they got there. Francoeur had Rabbit's top half snugged in one of his left arms like a baby, allowing Rabbit to caress his face like a lover.
Raoul cleared his throat.
"Heeeeeyy," drawled the robot. "Sorry. I naked. Old clothes got dirty. Very dirty."
"It speaks French?"
"SHE is *learn* French," said the machine. "Francoeur teach good."
Lucille glared at Raoul. "Francoeur taught it French. How? He barely talks."
"[Sum'v us don't allus talk human that great.]" Rabbit's eyes dimmed and brightened. "Need you find Wa-Walter Robotics person. Neeeeeeeee..." The voice reached unbelievable depths before it cut out.
Francoeur nervously patted the suddenly still copper face. "Needs help," he said.
And that was the end of that argument. Francoeur may sing a blue streak, but his spoken words were rare and therefore valued.
"Wasn't there a Walter Robotic repair house on the other side of town?"
"Empty," said Francoeur. "Evacuated."
"All right. I'll go," said Raoul. "I'll ask anyone still in the neighbourhood if they know where the Walter Robotics people went."
"Make sure you avoid your favourite bar," teased Lucille. "At least until last."
"You wound me, Madame."
Raoul had friends. And those friends had friends. And the friends of friends of friends had friends and, by a network of association, he could reach all of Paris. He could not find the heads of Walter Robotics. He could not find any executive officers of Walter Robotics. The Matter Maestros. He could not find any of the elite from Walter Robotics.
What he did find was a Walter Girl.
They were hard to miss. In an era of fabric-efficient and utilitarian clothing, Walter Girls wore white-striped dresses with flared skirts and leg-o-mutton sleeves. That, and the blue-tinted hair and alabaster skin were dead give-aways.
Raoul had worked himself into such a panic that he babbled at her in French and actively hugged her.
"What? Uh. Je nay par parlay fransais?"
Damnit. "Walter Robotics, Oui?"
"Er. We. Walter Robotics."
Raoul tried his best. "We has robot. Lapin. Rabbit. Is bad hurt. Need Walter Robotics people. Nice lady come? Come see?"
"You have broken robot?"
"Oui! Oui! You follow. Come help." Raoul capered away from her and made urgent, come-hither motions. "L'Oiseau Rare. Avec moi? Lapin broken. You come. You fix."
"I'm just a cleaning technician. I can't..."
Rabbit flickered awake. Francoeur was nowhere in sight. "...wh'rz m' honeybee?"
The Walter Girl shrieked. "Omigod, it's still working."
"C-c-can't shu-shut d-down, all'a wa-way."
"I'm just a cleaning technician," she was crying. "I don't even know where to start. I don't have my tools..."
"Clean'd be g-g-g-g-good," Rabbit managed. "Pappy-Frenchie's gotta nair c'mpressssssssssss'ur..." And that was when her clockwork synapses skipped. "Tuttle greek veg'ble p-p-p-p-p-paint oblong."
The rest of it, Rabbit preferred not to remember. The world went bad when her sanity slipped a cog. She wanted Francoeur. She wanted his kiss. She wanted his embrace.
Where was he?
Where did he go?
Francoeur had to hide from the stranger. It was one thing being a giant flea in the hospice that was once a nightclub. It was one thing to be the city-famous giant flea amongst the Parisians who knew him. It was another thing to be a giant flea around a foreign technician who knew how to ignite Rabbit's blue-matter-beam eyes.
Being shot at was no fun.
Besides, there were recuperating soldiers and children in the building. Anything that ricochetted off him could hit someone who was completely innocent. Or as completely innocent as one could get in the middle of a war.
So he stuck to the shadows and stayed hidden and watched silently from afar.
Poor belle Lapin...
It was a special kind of torture to watch the stranger and Raoul gently taking pieces of Rabbit off. Watching her come apart. Wincing at her occasional, disjointed moans and cries for him.
By his pet name.
Honeybee.
So tempting to go into the light and help, and hang the consequences.
Little Alouette found him before he could do anything foolish.
"Showtime, Francoeur," she whispered. "Get dressed."
Hospice or no, they still ran a cabaret. The show must go on.
Alouette lead him through the back ways to the little space he used to live in. Found him a clean suit and a mud-free mask and a shiny, white hat.
So he wasn't singing with Lucille. He could put on a solo show to make the soldiers smile. Including the one, special soldier in the back rooms. Who needed to hear a friendly voice.
Hand-lights and the air compressor both fought with the... debris... caught in Rabbit's gears. Tweezers in the hands of herself or Raoul helped. Raoul got anything that was definitely debris. He left the rest up to her. A pebble here. Shrapnel there. Straw and sticks and more and more mud.
And leaking oil.
"We must hook up the other half. This much lost oil is horrible." It spurted. Wait. Yes. The mystery oil pump was working again. Bebe tried what little French she knew. "Dans lamour?"
Raoul nodded. "He sing now," he said.
It was a beautifully uplifting love song. Toe-tapping and full of loneliness and joy at the same time. Bebe found herself humming along even as she discovered increasing amounts of damage in Rabbit's systems. "You clean other half?"
"Non. It no work. We leave to lie."
Bebe sighed and stretched her back. Just one more problem in a world's worth of problems. "All right. Where is it?"
Raoul pointed to the muddy heap that, because it had army boots involved, had to be the lower half of Rabbit.
It was the work of two more songs to wrestle the muddy lower half onto the bunk-bench where the other half of Rabbit already lay, mumbling incoherent and inchoate words.
Bebe just cut the remains of the uniform off Rabbit's legs. Even the boots.
And even then, it was more arduous work to get every last crumb of dirt out of them.
Reconnecting everything seemed to be the best method of stopping all the leaks, but she had only hers and Raoul's best guesses to put it all together.
At least the leaking reduced.
Bebe couldn't spot what was going wrong inside of the automaton that kept making its boiler run overtime. What with all the busy gears and the thumping of the oil pump, there was difficulty in making anything out.
"That's all I can do for him," she said.
"...marigolds fly waiver tangerine..." babbled Rabbit.
Raoul made a face.
"It would be easier if Rabbit could just tell us what was wrong..."
"Maybe she wake up?" said Raoul.
"I know where he is," she said. "I'll try to find someone better. Maybe one of his brothers. If he wakes up and is coherent... Here's my address." She scribbled it onto a card from a pocket in her dress.
"...golden... lead... kumquat..."
They had just left her like this? Naked and delirious and in need of simple comfort.
"Lapin..." Francoeur lifted her up into his arms. Found a spacious -if gaudy- robe to encompass her in. "[Wake up, little lady Rabbit... Please?]"
"...nnngghh..." Rabbit breathed out steam. "...honeybee?"
"[Yes. It's me. I have you. How do you feel?]"
"[Awful. Lost a lot of oil... Need water.]"
Francoeur found the sunflower oil and some clean water for her. Helped her imbibe each until she had enough. Sang to her softly.
Rabbit's working hand found his face. Her lips found his. Sparks flew anew.
"[Oh, baby, please never leave again?]"
"[The show must go on, Little Rabbit. Sometimes, I must sing.]"
"[I feel worse when you're gone.]"
He held her close. "[You should be all fixed. The technician...]"
"[Junior... technician. I think she put me together wrong. Can't move my legs.]"
Francoeur curled up with her. He listened to her gears ticking. She listened to his companionable purring. And for a moment, a golden moment, all was good.
He left her with one of his scarves. To remind her that he was both real and coming back. That was the promise. The soft hiss of its fabric and the tickle of the tassels reminded her of Francoeur. If she could smell, she would smell him on it.
It was blue. Like him.
It was soft and gentle. Like him.
And she could hold it with one malfunctioning hand as she slipped in and out.
Blink.
One of the Chagny children staring at him with their thumb in their mouth.
Blink.
Lucille. Singing a lullaby. Petting Rabbit gently.
Blink.
Raoul. Helping her take in oil and lots more water.
Blink.
The Spine. Looking extremely perturbed.
The Spine looked down at the wreck of Rabbit. "They finally told me a mortar round cut you clean in half."
She was steaming like a British pudding. "Wh'z m' hunibee? 'S feelin' bad 'gain..."
So. That explained the steady, bass thumping. "What is it with you and falling in love?"
"'S nice. Y' should try it..."
The Spine sighed. "Later. Let's take a look at what's been done, here." He helped her top up her tanks before he started in. "What? Did a junior technician try to put you back together?"
"...warble fine tuesday grace..."
Swell. Just swell. Rabbit's whole body was malfunctioning. All the way down to her Babbage brain. At least she was mostly clean. It was amazing what a small piece of grit between her gears could do to her thought processes. At least some kind soul had given her a dress to wear. From what he could tell, her uniform was completely wrecked. He disconnected and reconnected everything that had been put together wrong and came up short a few parts.
Which would have to be custom made. And this place lacked the tools.
Next, finding out what made her run hot.
"Where's my honeybee?"
"Must be some special girl," said The Spine absently as he poked around in Rabbit's insides.
"He's wunnaful..."
Now there was a change. Rabbit usually fell for and flirted with the ladies. "He, eh? What's he like?"
"He's so big an' strong," sighed Rabbit. "An' such a beautiful voice... He helped me. He likes me back. An' he's a *great* kisser. So beautiful. Big... blue... marvelous eyes..." Rabbit faded back into his bunk. "Beau'ful big flea..."
Delirious.
But he had to get the boiler problem sorted first. Couldn't have Rabbit running hot during an operation on her Babbage brain. Causing all sorts of erratic gear-shifts and cog movements.
"So far, you've been in love with a toaster, a blender, and now a big flea."
"...p'nny w's a w'n nigh' stan'..."
The Spine began taking her chest assembly apart. So he could see what was going on in there. Some parts, he had to move, rather than disconnect. Pappy made them well enough that he could do that, now. When they both needed it.
Yes. There was more debris in her gears. A tricky bit of shrapnel right next to her oil pump. And, by some minor miracle, it had missed her blue matter core.
Huh. A bullet.
They'd all have to get Pappy to work them over when they got home. The Spine was certain he had more than a few chunks of shrapnel lodged in his workings. Not enough to make any big trouble. Not yet. And certainly nothing like Rabbit's trouble.
Hatchy and Three both had a vortex between their gears and any flying shrapnel that might make it that far.
Rabbit sighed and sank into her bunk. Her grip on the pale blue scarf slackened and all the tension drained out of her. The light in her photoreceptors dimmed as her eyes closed.
Stasis. She'd fallen into stasis at last.
The Spine reassembled her chest, giving her boiler time to cool before he got into her head. Meddling with the arrangements of her brain may be tempting, more than once, but he did his utmost to restore her gears to their proper arrangements. Surprisingly, there was almost nothing wrong with Rabbit's cogs. All he could find was the odd speck of dirt that Walter Girl Bebe had missed.
Nothing wrong with her thought processors. Despite evidence to the contrary. The Spine put her back together and re-wrapped her in the gigantic, gaudy dress.
The club's owners were waiting anxiously by the door to the little back room where Rabbit lay.
"Will she be all right?" asked the lady of the house.
"I've done what I can for her," he said. "She needs Walter Robotics. She needs the Peters."
"The Peters?" echoed her husband.
"Peter Walter the Second and Peter Walter the Third. Twin brothers and sons of our creator."
"Why would anyone name two sons the same?"
"It's a long story." The Spine shrugged. "The short version is, the people telling him there was a second son didn't make it very clear that there were two of them. And Mrs Walter had already had a rough time and passed out, so nobody was about to stop it going through." It still felt odd to refer to Ma as 'Mrs Walter'. She was always his mother to him. And to the other three. But saying it to strangers... well. It got more than odd looks, sometimes.
He got strange looks, even now. The Spine soldiered on. "Would you happen to know where the citizens of Paris might have evacuated because of the bombing?"
"Non."
"We tried to ask."
"Je suis desolé."
He nodded. "I'll try asking around. Thank you anyway." He tipped them a salute and began consulting his files on the local languages. This was going to be a long walk.
Francoeur came back with empty tanks to the news that Rabbit's brother had come by to try repairs. He instantly dropped the tanks and ran to the back rooms. "[Lapin! Lapin! You are better? Do you have to go?]"
When he found her, there was a mouth-drying, throat-closing, heart-stopping moment when he feared she had died.
But then he saw the faint trickle of steam from her cheek vents. The gentle rise and fall of her chest. Heard the muted and slowed ticking of her gears.
All the strength in his legs left him, with the sheer power of that relief.
He fell by her bedside. Pressed his ear up against her just to listen to the complicated whirr and click of her movements. The gentle bubbling of her boiler. The steady and strong thumping of her oil pump.
Alive!
Alive, thank whatever powers of mercy existed in this mad world.
Holding her close to him was all that mattered to Francoeur. She was in one piece, at last. Repaired. Which meant that, as soon as she recovered, she would be getting a new uniform and heading back into the front.
Risking her life to save the lives of others. The lives of humans. Always more important than that of an automaton. Or a flea.
But for now, she was here. And so was he.
And she still held his blue scarf in her hand.
Francoeur gathered her up on her arms. Cradled her gently and cooed a soft lullaby. She slumbered on. A very deep rest he had no doubt she needed more than his kisses. He snuggled up and made himself comfortable. Dozed with her.
He wanted, more than anything, to be the first face she saw when she woke up. So he made himself comfortable in that back room. Cuddled up with Rabbit in the softest place he could find. Cooed a soft song for her, even though she couldn't hear him.
Felt so much better. Felt... comfortable. Felt nice.
Heard music. Singing. Francoeur singing.
Rabbit smiled as she opened up her photoreceptors. Saw luminous red eyes looking down lovingly at her. Oh yeah. She could wake up like this forever.
"[Hi beautiful,]" she trilled.
He looked so relieved. So happy. So breathlessly in love. "[You have your legs back, belle Lapin. Your brother, he fixed you.]"
And Rabbit knew exactly what that meant. "[Let's try 'em out, at least. Get some dancing in before they come to take me away.]"
She and her brother The Spine were taller than any human they'd met. And Rabbit truly enjoyed the company of someone taller than her for a change. Rabbit also got to enjoy four whole steps before one of her legs went completely limp and she stumbled dangerously.
Francoeur caught her in a -of course- French Dip.
So of course Rabbit kissed him. "[Looks like I ain't done bein' repaired, Honeybee.]"
"[Such sad news,]" mocked Francoeur. "[More time for the hugging, yes?]"
"[And the kissing.]"
"[And the talking.]"
"[And the kissing.]"
Francoeur took the hint. Paradise. She'd dreamed of being kissed and held by someone taller than her. Of feeling small and delicate and truly feminine. In his arms, she could soak up her dream. Drink in the reality of her most secret imaginings.
And she was thirsty for all she could get.
Three found the Rare Bird. L'Oiseau Rare. He instantly felt right at home because it was a cabaret. A theatre.
Theatres all felt like home to Three.
He had found out that Rabbit was in trouble by the simple expedient of asking questions until he got an answer. Once people knew he wouldn't quit until he got a correct answer, they became a lot more talkative.
He'd left a note for Hatchy. And he'd made the field operatives pinkie-promise that they'd pass it on. That should be good enough for anyone.
He crept in, preferring to listen to the music than make a big scene. That guy on the stage was enormous! Bigger than The Spine. Bigger than Rabbit when she was in the mood to loom.
And his voice...
Wow.
It would be easy to fall in love with that voice. Or at least, Three guessed so. He just wanted to sing along. Play something and make beautiful music. Beautiful harmonies.
"Ah. Magnifique," said a man balancing trays. "You are another brother pour Lapin, oui?"
"Oui, monsieur. Je cherche ma sœur, Lapin."
This startled the poor fellow. Three put his hands up next to his shoulders and wiggled his fingers while he smiled. That usually convinced people that he was harmless.
"Vous parlez Français?"
"Oui. Je parlez Français. [I am sorry about my accent, but I am from America.]"
"[Accent be damned, the rest of the Americans just yell.]"
Three smiled. A big, sunny grin. "[Pappy made me to be polite. Have you seen a copper robot like me? Calls herself Rabbit? She's my sister-brother.]"
"[What?]"
"[Most often, she's my sister. But sometimes he's my brother. It's just the way she was made. We don't mind. Some people do. I don't understand it, but I don't understand lots of things.]" He ended that thought with a shrug. "[Have you seen Rabbit? Someone blew her up, I heard.]"
"[They blew her in half. Some have managed to fix her, but her legs don't work correctly.]"
Three winced. "[I can't do legs. Can I visit anyway?]"
He took three into the far back room where Rabbit sat and played with a piano. Someone wonderful had found her a dress and a wig. She was looking much more like herself than she had since the day she'd put on the uniform.
"...but you di-i-i-i-i-id... Yes, you did," Rabbit crooned.
She was moving carefully. Like it cost her to move at all.
"That's a nice song," said Three. "Are you doing okay?"
"D-d-damage sensors are still off. It's just... hard. G-g-got somethin' stu-uck. Inside. G-g-got st-st-stuff mi-missin'." A smile. "But I g-g-got m' Honeyb-b-b-bee, so it's wor-worth it."
"Honeybee? You got yourself a new gal?"
"That'd ma-make singin' the song easier," Rabbit sighed. "He's an angel. Big. Beautiful. Sweet an' lovin' hug-a-bunch. And his k-k-k-kisses feel like magic."
"Wow," sighed Three. "He must be making you real happy to make you forget about liking girls."
"I can't help it. Everything feels right when he's around."
Three peered over her shoulder to look at the music. "Oooh, this is nice. Sounds sad..."
"Only 'cause I kno-know there's g-g-g-gotta be a go-goodbye." Her fingers picked out the background melody. "How long d-d-d-d-d-do fleas live? D'ya know?"
That was a weird question. Why it would make Rabbit sad, he had no idea. "Nope. Sorry." He sat beside her and gave her a hug, anyway. "You want I should go find one of the Petes?"
She returned the hug like she'd had a nightmare. "...i dunno... i *want* t' stay. I wanna b-b-b-b-b-be with him. I d-d-d-d-d-don't wanna b-b-be inna war any more..."
Oil from her eyes stained his uniform. Three held her tight and let her shake. "I know. I know." He didn't want to be in the war, any more, either. And he was pretty sure that his other mechanical sibs didn't want to be in the war. "But there are soldiers who need us."
She could only cry harder. Hold him harder. But she finally found the strength to say, "Go on. Ffffffffffffind one'a the P-P-P-P-P-P-Petes..."
Which is exactly what he did.
There was oil all over her face when Francoeur returned to her room from his time on the stage. Still trying to write her sad song, but stopping to break down and cry.
"[Lapin... Cherie. Whatever's the matter?]"
"[I got two brothers lookin' for the Peters. They're gonna g-get found,]" she warbled. "[And that means I'm gonna get fixed. And when I'm fixed...]"
Oh. When she was fixed, she had to go back. And he'd heard some of her nightmares. Her fevered dreams of hauling what she thought were injured men at the price of her own servos, all the way to the nearest medical tent... only to find out that they were dead. And doing so over and over again because she lacked the ability to easily tell a living soldier from a dead one. Never willing to let any seemingly-intact human to lie alone in the cold mud.
"[Oh... my Lapin...]" He took her up in all four arms. Comforted her. Danced with her, though she had little strength in her legs to dance back. Crooned his own sad song for her about brave soldiers and the tides of war.
"[...Honeybee...]" Rabbit sighed. "[Please... try to be here after the war? I'm gonna try and see you again. I swear.]"
"[I'll look for you,]" Francoeur promised. "[Just - don't run into danger so we can find each other?]"
"[I'll t-try to keep myself in one piece for you.]"
He served her sunflower oil and clean water. She helped him eat selections of apples. They talked together of fun things. Happy things. Family. Sunshine. Love. Beauty. Happiness. All the beautiful and wonderful things that made life - even pseudo-life like hers - worthwhile.
[Wondering exactly how long I can play Francoeur as a "ghost only Rabbit can see" kind of character. What further co-incidences I can use, and whether I should have her whole family thinking she's gone do-lally etc. And how awesome I could possibly make the big reveal...]
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