Fic: Scraps from From Our Invincible Heights Part III
Kane.
Jonathan Toews comes to the team lauded with praise.
The marketing department is already working out the logistics of packaging Toews&Kane as a 2-for-1 deal. Tentative schedules for joint interviews and photoshoots, a few car commercials down the line, if they live up to their expectations. Oh, yes, they say, life could be very nice, here in Chicago for the two of them. Patrick decides to let his agent handle the business side of things. He wants to take the city in before the season starts. It's so much bigger than Buffalo. So overwhelming.
***
Patrick's seen his fair share of dick, being in and out of locker rooms for all of his life. He'd even say he's built up a tolerance to it, but he also has an image to protect. When Toews walks into the locker room and casually strips, Patrick can't help but groan, because come on, how is he supposed to compete with that. He can't maintain an image if any girl gets wind that Jonathan Freaking Perfect Dick Toews even exists.
"What?" Toews asks because apparently Patrick's groan had been somewhat more than internal.
"Nothing, man. Nice to meet you. Again." Which is the worst thing to say to a guy after you've been checking him out, but Patrick isn't exactly known for his suave.
"Yes, nice to meet you, too."
***
"You’re in my house."
Jonathan flicks his eyes over the top of his laptop. "Yep."
"But why are you in my house at-" Kaner glances at the clock on his wall, "Jesus, ten thirty in the morning?"
Jonny looks away from his screen at the disheveled mess from across the kitchen island, watching as Kaner runs a hand through his short hair sticking up at odd angles, eyes half-lidded against the invading daylight. The shirt he's wearing, he'd stolen from Jonathan long enough ago that the Toews on the back is faded and chocolate sauce stains color the white lettering on the front.
When he messily rucks it up to yawn and scratch idly beneath his ribs, Jonny curses his mind for jumping from I should probably make him take a shower straight to that's really fucking hot and I should probably make him take a shower with me.
"I … um, I'm here to, uh, make sure you're okay," Jonny fumbled as he tried to force down the blush creeping up his neck. He pushed a bowl on the counter in Kaner's direction with a hopefully distracting, "Breakfast?" that sounded more like a question than an offer.
He stumbled forward into the kitchen, uncertain on his feet, SpongeBob SquarePants grinning-mockingly, Jonny decided-at him from Kaner's yellow boxers. Kaner peered over at the dubious contents. "I don't eat, uh, I don't think I eat whatever that-"
"The internet says," Jonny paused, squinting at the screen, "that the Romans used to eat fried canaries to get rid of hangovers. That’s worse than, um ..."
He was absolutely one hundred percent positive that at one point the bowl's contents had consisted of oatmeal, milk, and some fruit. And then the gray concoction jiggled menacingly back at him from the countertop. Semi-sentiently, his overactive imagination insisted, reverting back to his twelve year old self still obsessed with science fiction paperbacks and late night horror flicks.
Okay, more like seventy-three percent positive.
Kaner paled a little, a pained, queasy expression coming over his face. "Hey. No greasy food talk in my kitchen." He clutched his stomach dramatically. "Ever."
Jonny smirked. "Had a little too much fun, eh?"
He allowed himself to feel considerably more at ease now that Kaner's blood-alcohol content wasn't pushing the limits of potentially lethal. Last night had been a different story.
His time had been equally split between trying to keep Kaner's hands off of disturbingly willing women-married women, some of them, and teenagers-and making sure he got home without getting run over by a car or drowning in a puddle of his own vomit first. All valid concerns, Jonny had learned after dragging a dazed and screaming Kane-"That's our cup! Oh my God. Lookit how big it is on that skyscraper. I want to touch it."-from stumbling into oncoming traffic.
"Fuck you, Captain Serious Shit," Kaner said without heat. “You were there too. And the only reason you’re not plastered is ‘cause you’re fucking huge and have a liver of steel."
"I didn’t drink anywhere near as much as you. No one drank as much as you," Jonny pointed out.
Kaner grinned widely. "It’s called stamina."
"It’s called poor decisions," Jonny rolled his eyes, turning back to his computer, an article about chili powder, a blender, and raw eggs catching his attention. Kaner shrugged, "Call it what you want, but I had fun," and began plumbing the expired depths of his fridge in search of some milk.
His SpongeBob SquarePants boxers-clad ass hung out past the doors. And he was in a t-shirt with Jonny's name on it like a stamp of ownership. His hair was messed up and his eyes were rimmed red and Jonny didn't think that he could have been more content if a double D brunette who knew how to cook and loved hockey and didn't drink questionable milk had waltzed into his life and made herself at home in his bed.
"Dude, what?" Kaner took a long swallow from the carton and shut the fridge door. He gesticulated helpfully at Jonny with his other hand.
"Huh?"
"You're staring…and smiling. It's weird. I mean, I know I'm hot, but really."
Jonny aimed a half-hearted kick at Kaner's shin, enough to make him move out of the way and bark a short laugh. "Whatever," he said but the fondness didn't completely disappear from his eyes. "You're full of it."
To Kaner, that rang like a challenge. He set the milk down on the counter and languidly walked the few steps to stand between Jonny's legs. "Mmhm," he hummed, palming the back of Jonny's neck, glad that the nausea from a few minutes before had all but dissipated, and he pressed his lips to Johnny's, slow but sure.
When he pulled back, Jonny's hand had settled under his shirt on his hip, stroking his skin, and his eyes were still closed. Kaner decided that he liked Jonny best in the morning. His eyes focused on the screen. The tabs Jonny had open read things about hangover cures and homemade remedies.
"Is this what you've been doing all morning?"
Jonny made an affirmative sound in the back of his throat before focusing his attention on Kaner's neck, biting delicately and then licking at the reddened skin. Kaner definitely liked Jonny best in the morning.
"So you've been here since …"
"All night."
"Oh," Kaner breathed softly and fell in love with the man in his arms, sitting on his kitchen stool, kissing his neck, who'd taken care of his drunk ass for the entire night and was now trying to make him feel better in the morning, just a little bit more.
***
"What happens to us?"
"I don't know."
"Aren't you supposed to know everything?"
"I'm a robot, not a psychic, Pat."
"Aren't you supposed to compute everything then?"
"You're angry with me."
"It has emotions."
"It-you never used to call me that before."
"Oh, yeah? What did I used to call you?"
"He. You. Jonathan. Jonny, more often than that, or Jon. Tazer, because that's my nickname and it matches yours. Toews, in interviews or when you're talking to Sharp. Baby, because you're affectionate and you like the way my body reacts to it."
"Stop it."
"Ask me what I call you."
"I know what you call me, dick. No need to be reminded."
"Ask me."
"Pat. You call me Pat or Patrick or Kaner or Kane and none of it even matters and can we stop talking about our feelings, okay? I'm sorry I asked."
"My developers programmed me so that I could put the people I know into categories. Makes it easier to retrieve information on how to act around them. You know what you are?"
"I don't care."
"You're my teammate, my linemate. You were listed under friend when we first met until you became my best friend-"
"Like two kids in kindergarten."
"-and then that's where the programming failed me. It tried out a whole bunch of boxes, and you didn't fit into any of them. Not partner, not companion, not anything."
"I'm nothing to you. Great."
"You're everything to me. That's the point. Whenever I'm around you, my body temperature goes up, my heart rate increases, the muscles in my face move involuntarily, and I can't control any of it. I can't."
"But you wish you could."
"I want to understand it. I want to understand-this-affection. This love."
"You don't love me. You're just reacting to my actions. I've read the manual. The Fucking Care and Feeding of Your Giant Robot Manual. You're just a former crash test dummy turned concussion test robot."
"And you're short."
"How the fuck is that important?"
"How is it important that I'm a robot?"
"Everything will be different now."
"It doesn't have to be."
"How the hell can it not be? This wasn't real."
"Feel me right now. Just do it. Tell me there's a rational explanation for my body behaving this way because there isn't. I don't know what this is, Patrick, but I feel for you. It wasn't planned."
"Sure as hell wasn't in the manual."
"You want what the manual says I'm supposed to be or do you want me?"
"I can't."
***
" 'But this year, Toews is hoping to spend more time enjoying the city. "There are so many things I don't get to do during the season," he says. "That's the toughest thing. When we were in the playoffs I'd be sitting in my condo looking out at the beaches and the lake and it was so busy, there was so much going on, and I had to rest up for a hockey game. It’s kind of a tease.
" 'Sometimes while holed away in his condo, he'd play table tennis or strum his Gibson guitar, practicing the soft country tunes that the girls like. He is single, having dated his last girlfriend while in college three years ago. "I just want to find the right person and commit myself to a relationship," he says.
" 'The perfect girl? "Now we're getting personal, eh?" he laughs. "Someone cool and down to earth and maybe somewhat the opposite of me. Less goal-oriented, and spontaneous and free with how they plan their life. Or don't plan, so to speak.' "
"You are so convincing," Patrick says from his seat on Jonny's couch with a roll of his eyes. He knows Jonny can't see him from where he is the bathroom, but it still counts. Jonny emerges from the bathroom with a towel over his head, wearing only sweatpants and a confused expression. He rubs the towel over his hair while Patrick tries to ignore the immediate reaction he has to seeing Jonny almost naked, a pooling of warmth and a near instant flash of arousal.
"What?" he asks, now leaning against the doorframe, one ankle casually thrown over the other.
Patrick drags his eyes away from Jonathan and returns his attention to the magazine resting against his knees. "Sometimes while holed away in his condo, he’d play table tennis or strum his Gibson guitar, practicing the soft country tunes that the girls like.
"Funny. I don't see any."
"That's 'cause I haven't started playing, you jealous dipshit. They line up when you're not here."
"Oh yeah?"
"Around the block."
***
"Any chance of you going all Terminator on me? Must kill Patrick Kane, Leader of the Resistance."
Interns.
Love and Sex with Robots by David Levy becomes a running joke in the lab. Diego buys the book at Barnes & Noble and leaves it on the main table for the morning interns to find. Crude pictures and exclamation points have been drawn in the margins, choice phrases highlighted.
Anita doesn't find it all that amusing because, for one, David is a friend of hers from the MIT humanoid robotics lab and, two, her interns should be analyzing brain waves and cross-sections, not laughing over books like children.
"Who wouldn't have sex with JonnyBot? Seriously, though," Anita hears Amy say. "He's practically human."
There are a few murmurs of assent. "Not to mention gorgeous," Dani chimes. "I'm surprised he's still a virgin."
Anita decides she needs to develop a better screening process for future years.
***
The attraction isn't apparent in the first few months. From the view of anyone with a camera (or from behind JonnyBot's eyes), Patrick Kane and Jonathan Toews are friends.
JonnyBot's thoughts are those of an average young adult male constantly surrounded by other men-that is to say, they are sometimes vulgar, often disjointed, but mostly center around hockey, food, and sex. JonnyBot doesn't have a manual off switch for the live video feed, though his level of consciousness would imply that he would benefit from one. Unfortunately, the interns have to watch all of the footage-that's what they're there for: documentation.
The first time JonnyBot discovers chocolate is a memorable and endearing moment. As is increasing becoming the case, he and Patrick Kane are out for lunch and Patrick orders a chocolate milkshake after he downs his burger and fries. JonnyBot follows suit and when Patrick slurps the thick shake into his mouth with a spoon, Jonathan watches and does the same. The expected pleasure centers of his brain light up, he makes a slight groan, and perhaps there's something that catches in Patrick's throat when JonnyBot lifts his head, licking his fingers, but the interns' job is not to observe Patrick Kane.
***
"He's happy," one of the interns say in wonderment. "Just look at that brain chemistry."
***
"Good. Impulse control. Let's check that off the list."
"We've made a gay robot. Can robots even have a sexuality?"
"It's very likely JonnyBot developed preferences. His friend group includes all males. His best friend is a man. It makes sense." Sensing a lack of understanding in the quiet room, Anita continues, "He's only had relationships with men. They touch, they hug, right? It would follow that pleasure begets pleasure."
***
"I'm programmed for mistakes."
"So, what, like you're programmed for me?"
Jameson takes his headphones off and throws them onto the console. When he stalks out of the room, pushing his chair hard enough that it hits the back wall, a silence lingers after him. The interns avert their eyes. The screen of JonnyBot's brain is alight in all the wrong regions-the reptilian complex a pixelated swath of enflamed red.
"Fuck," breathes Amy, echoing the sentiment palpable in the still room, "this is bad." No one answers. No one moves. JonnyBot's brain flares again, and on the screen, through the robot's eyes, Patrick Kane is crying.
***
It isn't difficult to interpret what the activity in JonnyBot's brain means. No one wants to say it.