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AUTHOR: TwinkleTreb
RATING: PG-13
DISCLAIMER: Original movie character property of Dreamworks
WARNINGS: None
NOTES: Monica has a revelation that shatters her quiet, desperate existence. Bold face are writings of Joe
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"Right... and just what d'ya expect me t'do about all this, might I ask?" In the other room, the woman seemed
to be carrying on a “conversation” with Joe. She seemed annoyed, and Lord knows who telling what that woman might
do if kept waiting too long.
Monica got up, tossing the pillow back to the headboard, and walked back to David’s room. The Mecha had stood and was
facing the she-thug, but glanced at Monica as soon as she entered. Making eye contact with the Mecha through the curved glass,
she knew that he knew much more about her little boy than he had revealed so far. If he could only talk! She had to get some
more time alone with him. Maybe she could get the woman to check on her car somehow. Shouldn’t she be waiting outside
with it anyway?
"The call you are waiting for,” Monica asked her, “are they here?" She suddenly realized that she didn’t
even bother asking the woman her name.
The she-thug shoved off the edge of the wall with the grace of an inexperienced drag queen in pumps and started out, shouldering
past Monica. "Right, I can tell when I ain't wanted... I'll be in the livin' room. Mind if I smoke?"
Monica tried to be polite, "Outside would be better if you don't mind, my son had medical issues … come on in though,
when you are done."
The woman was already on the stairwell. "Right, I understand. Thank ya kindly, Ma'am.” She trotted down, yelling:
“Nicky! Where the fuck have y'put my smokes?"
Monica sighed. Although catty, she knew that woman had some keen senses. Monica approached Joe, who remained standing in front
of the desk. "I need to go to Man Hattan," she said calmly, now that she had shaken off her previously wrecked self.
“Can you show me where you left him off?"
He nodded. "Hh-rr,” his voice box growled in the affirmative. His gaze dropped to one side, an oddly introspective
gesture. Maybe it wasn’t a good idea to find out so much information just yet, Monica thought.
"You need to get fixed... then we can talk." The machine obviously needed some repairing. If she could only get
him fixed! Maybe the woman he’d arrived with knew something about Mecha repair. She exited David’s room and started
down the stairs, acting on impulse on this morning of so many odd impulses.
Outside, the sun was already fully out and it had gotten quite warm. She saw the woman near the walkway casually taking long
drags on a cigarette then flicking the ashes into the grass nearby.
“Miss…”
She inhaled once more and turned to Monica. "McPherson, me name's Cal McPherson. Y'need somethin’ Ma'am?”
She stuttered, "Miss McPherson... do you know of anyone who can, perhaps, fix the Mecha?"
Cal took another drag, gray eyes narrowed at her suspiciously, "Why?"
"His voice,” Monica told her “I need to talk with him, he knows where my son is, I need your help, in any
way."
Cal raised an eyebrow at that. "Hmm, maybe." She dropped her cigarette, grinding it out with the sole of her boot,
then turned toward the house . “NICKY!” she hollered as loudly as possible, making Monica cringe at the sound. “Getcher
arse out here, right quick!"
"Is he yours?" Monica ventured to ask.
Cal shrugged. "Nah, ain't mine... dunno who's he is. NICKY!!! I ain't gonna wait forever!"
Moments later, the door opened and Nicky slunk out of the house in his introverted state, looking up at Cal warily. “Yes?”
Cal coughed a little; the yelling wasn’t doing her any good. "Who's that bird y'met in Rouge? Y'know, the little
blonde, what's-'er-name. Works on Mechas."
Monica looked at Cal. "He knows someone?"
Nicky's thumb gravitated toward his mouth and he started gnawing his nail, as if in habit, "G-something. Gloria... Gertie...
something like that."
Monica walked to him slowly, “But you DO know someone, right?” she asked him quietly, trying to make the boy more
at ease.
He looked at her startled, perhaps at the fact he wasn’t being scowled at. "Um... yeah, I do... just not the name.
Right now, I mean."
But she pressed on, “Can you give them a call, anything?"
The kid shrugged. “I don't think she has a phone... I could probably pick her up, or something."
Monica wondered how, since Cal’s car was supposedly trashed, a thought that Cal echoed with a snort of rough laughter.
"Oh, pure brilliance, Nicky. And just how d'ya plan on pickin' her up?" She gave Monica an apologetic look, “I'm
sorry, Ma'am... he's a little worthless."
In milder terms, she was right: her vehicle was rather a wreck, so of course there was no way he would be able to use it.
"But, your car, Miss McPherson, when do you expect it to be done?" Hadn’t it already been twenty minutes? Monica
wondered.
Cal shrugged again. "Dunno... axel's fucked up, that's about it. Maybe needs t'get realigned. Shouldn't take too long,
unless they decide t'try and fuck me over."
Mouth half open, Monica didn’t know how to assure the woman that her car would be fine. “Uh…” she stalled
for a moment, “I …don’t … think they would.” she said, letting the words come to her, trying to think
of what else to say.
There was a silence between the three as if to brainstorm what next to do. Then Nicky glanced up. “Have you got a car
I can use?” he asked Monica. “I won’t wreck it -- I’ve got a license, if you want to see it...”
Monica looked at the shabby boy, not knowing whether to trust him or not. Nicky smiled a little. “Really, I promise.”
Though hesitant, she asked: “How long would you be gone?”
Nicky grinned in a way that suggested the minor battle was almost won. “Two hours max. I’ll go there, if I can’t
find her, I’ll come back. Really, I’m not gonna steal your car or anything. I’ll come right back.”
It wasn’t that she was worried about her car being stolen, but the possibility of her plate being randomly scanned by
the police on the roads and having the car as being listed as roaming about Rouge City was cause for concern. However, she
needed to know more about David, and the only way was to get a repairman, or in this case, a repairwoman for the Mecha. Would
she take that risk? Anything for David.
She headed inside. “Come with me,” she said and walked into the covered entry port of the house. She pressed her
thumb over the door sensor and watched as the small white panel slid out of place, revealing a key on a hook just behind it.
“You’ll be going alone?” Monica asked as she handed it over to him.
He gave a questioning look toward Cal, who nodded quickly. “Yeah, he is. And if y'leave me here, lad, I am gonna track
y'down and murder ya, y'hear me?”
Wrinkling her brow slightly, Monica was amazed that he tolerated being spoken to in such a harsh way. “Two hours?”
she asked once again. “That all?”
He seemed confidant with himself, “Yeah, that should be about it, I know where to look.”
Sighing, she pointed to her silver-gray 4 wheel coupe parked in the far corner of the driveway, “That one, right there,”
Monica told him anxiously, “Take care of yourself now, alright.” He seemed trustworthy enough, but she still had
her doubts.
Cal pushed him lightly toward the car. “Right, hurry up. And remember...”
“Yeah, you’ll kill me if I leave you. I got it.” Nicky hurried toward the car, grinning maniacally. It was
an expression that made Monica consider the sum of the equation “eager teenage boy” plus “car”, and she
wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.
They watched as he backed the car out of its parking space, spun it round on the driveway, and sped off down the slope toward
the main road. “Did I do the right thing?” Monica asked Cal as she turned to head back into the house.
"Yeah, I guess y'did,” She replied, “He ain't gonna do nothin' t'your car, and I know he's gonna be back. He
always comes back."
“Hopefully in one piece.”
Cal raised a bow to Monica, “What're ya sayin'?”
Perhaps it was time to change the topic. “So…” Monica thought quickly, “you say he’s not yours?”
Cal shook her head and leaned against a wall. "Nah, I ain't got none of my own. Don't want 'em."
Making her way back into the living room, she gestured Cal to have a seat in the living room. The woman removed the coat she
was wearing to reveal the tight white tank top she wore under it and a mass of tattoos printed about her arms and torso. Monica
shuddered, partly intimidated but strangely impressed.
She continued as casually as she was able, “Where he come from then?”
Cal sniggered. “He lived in my building, just kinda showed up.”
"Aa-icah?" A garbled Mecha voice box interrupted their chat. It called to her from the upstairs of the house. Monica
glanced up.
“Oh, the Mecha...” She got up quickly. “Nearly forgot he was up there, where is my head this morning...”
She hurried up the winding staircase, the other woman deciding to join her.
"Sir... Joe? That's your name, right? Joe?" she called out, to find the hall empty. A sound like someone clearing
a malfunctioning throat came from the bathroom off from the master bedroom.
“Joe?” She listened for the sound again. Another ch-chm, then a soft but deliberate footstep meant for her
to hear.
She followed the unusual sound to the bathroom. “Something wrong?” she asked.
Carefully she peered into the partially opened door. The sight made her grow pale. There was the Mecha, his jacket off and
folded neatly and out of the way on the counter. Now she could fully see the melting and charring of his clothes on the left
side. His coat had protected his left arm and his torso down to the waist of his elegantly tailored pants, but there were
still visible patches of burned derma on his arm and thigh, with shining Mecha body shell gleaming through in a few places.
Monica had to hold her stomach, and she was glad that she missed out on any chance of breakfast that morning, or it would
have made a reappearance right there and then.
Joe’s hand rose to the zipper of his shirt. He glanced at the shower and then to Monica, asking for permission. He was
a mess, still dirty with dried mud and even a few leaves here and there, and he could use a cleaning up.
“Will you… ” she asked, partially horrified at the sight and thinking about exposed electric parts and water,
“be okay if you did?”
He smiled at her reassuringly and nodded, but her doubts still lingered.
“Water and electricity... they don’t mix too well. Although I’m sure you know that. What I mean is...”
Joe looked at his own reflection in the bathroom mirrors with an expression of faint distaste, then glanced at her again.
When she sighed, he raised his eyebrows encouragingly.
She turned to Cal, who lingered at the doorway. Joe looked at Cal too and nodded very slightly.
Cal glanced at Monica in turn. “Don’t see why not,” she said
Joe smiled at Monica again, raising his eyebrows encouragingly: see, she said I could! He looked at his reflection
again and critically studied this injured self. To Monica’s amazement, he then made his plain shirt go though a cycle
of colors: dark to white, to red, to deep cobalt blue, to rich purple, and then once again to white. So -- it was made of
“smart” fabric, which had gone gray around the torn places and remained so in those areas.
Monica nodded to the shower, not knowing what else to do, “Knock yourself out, then, she said to him, taking the chance
that sparks would not start flying once he did.
Joe sighed and unzipped his shirt, starting to strip it off with practiced speed. Monica started out as he undressed, closing
the door behind her. Within ten seconds, the shower hissed to life.
Back alone with Cal again, she restarted their initial conversation as she walked into her bedroom. “So, you took him
in just like that? That’s was good of you.” She thought of all the other couples she and Henry had run into over
the years, longing for children.
"Didn't have much choice, did I?” Cal shrugged, “He didn't have no place t'go, didn't want t'go back t'him
Mam... can't say I blame 'im, really."
Monica disappeared into her closet and slipped out of her bathrobe, starting to strip herself of the pajamas she had been
wearing all morning. She laid Joe’s handkerchief, which she’d been carrying all this time, on one of the shelves.
“I’d say he’s lucky to have you.” Was he? At least the poor boy was being taken care of… she hoped.
Cal shrugged again. "I dunno, maybe, maybe not. He probably don't think so, but what the fuck d'I know?”
Monica rummaged through a drawer of neatly pressed pants and took a pair of tan capri’s. “At least he had a place
go to,” she remarked, “someone taking care of him, looking out for him.” While dressing, her thoughts shifted
to David, and she grew silent. It had been two long weeks since she last saw him, since she threw him out. Her dear David,
by himself, with no place to go, his heart broken…
She shook the thought from her mind and wiped the tears that had sprung to the corners of her eyes. She pulled on a thin pale
blue button up shirt and walked back out to her bedroom vanity. “I’m sure he’s a good kid,” she said,
taking a seat at the small stool and starting to brush her hair.
Cal watched her casually, "He's all right, I guess. I dunno, I ain't got no standards t'judge."
He was an obedient boy in the least. "You did good with him.... wish I could do the same with mine…"
Cal started to laugh. "I'm sure there are a Helluva lot of people that'll disagree on that front, me in the lead."
“Nicky, you call him… he’s very quiet.” It was another trait she noticed, he never spoke unless spoken
to. And even then, he was uneasy.
Cal gave a little nod, "Yeah, guess so. It's his nature, y'know? Doesn't talk much, tries t'be good, all that shite."
Monica let her eyes slip closed and continued to rhythmically pull the brush though her thick long hair; it was comforting
at these tense moments.
Cal nodded again, looking around the room. "He'll be fine. He's a tough kid, even if he don't look it. Went through a
lotta crap when he were little, he knows how t'take care of himself."
Monica opened her eyes and set the brush back down. “Still, he needs somewhere to go to, all kids do.”
Cal’s voice became a little harder. “He’s alright.”
Monica glanced at her reflection in the make-up mirror on the table and sighed. "Both of mine,” she started, “They...
bet that is odd for you to hear... having two sons..."
Cal shook her head, “My parents had six, ain’t nothing new to me.”
Monica raised her head, eyes wide, and set down the brush. “Six?” She turned to face Cal.
The other woman grinned at her reaction, “That's right. I'm the second, got four little ones after me. Y’think that's
odd?”
Six children? My god, she thought, one could go to jail for that these days. The most she’s seen to any family
was two, both Orga of course. It took her a minute to get over it before speaking up "Well, I was... I mean... "
and at last, defeated for words, "well, yes."
Cal shrugged, still grinning. "Most everyone says that. What can I say, that's what they decided t'do, I ain't got no
right t'condemn 'em."
"What about the licensing act? Never caught?"
Another terse shake of her head. "Nope. They never registered us with any authorities, then we upped and left when people
started gettin' suspicious. Ain't much of a life, but it worked, I guess."
There was more to this guest than she thought. Monica rose. “Can I offer you a drink.”
Cal nodded, "You got any scotch?"
"Well..." Monica paused, thinking more in the terms of a cup of coffee, but decided to be as hospitable as she could.
"I think we do..."
A smirk curved Cal’s full lips. "Then I'll take a mug of that, thank ya kindly."
As they left the room, the shower in the hall bathroom stopped. Monica decided not to bother Joe; he’d probably come
down when he was done. In the kitchen she took two mugs from the cupboard and handed one over to Cal. “Over in there
somewhere.” She directed her to a liquor stand in the dining room, and then started some hot water for herself. “Help
yourself to anything.”
Cal tipped her chin. “Thank you very much.”
Sitting on the counter was the half drunk mug of tea she had fixed herself the night before. She dumped out the water and
tossed the used bag into the trash. Meanwhile, Cal produced a bottle of whisky and carried it into the kitchen with her; she
filled the mug generously. Monica watched as the woman tipped her head back and downed the entire mug in one swift over.
"Where were you headed to before you stopped over?" She then asked, once Cal had taken the last swallow.
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