Chapter Text
The soldering iron hissed when it touched metal.
John winced as a spark spat back, the edge of his mechanical forearm twitching in protest. He muttered under his breath, leaning closer to see where the contact had gone wrong. The joint flexed in the wrong direction again- a faint grinding sound, a rhythm out of sync with the rest of the arm.
“C’mon,” he murmured, as if the arm would listen.
He set the tool down and sat back in the chair, the small room’s single lamp throwing a cone of yellow light across the scattered parts on his table. The city outside buzzed faintly through the thin window—the low hum of hovercrafts, people making their way through the streets, vendors yelling about their merchandise. He looked out at the bustle below his window.
His arm lay open before him, a maze of wires and plates. Alcea had always known which wire was which. There was a rhythm to it when they had worked together- John holding the arm firm, Alcea’s hands steady as steel, a quiet focus between them.
Now the silence has weight.
He tried to tighten a screw one-handed, but the wrench slipped from his paw, clattering against the floor. John swore softly as he bent to grab it, only for his shoulder joint to seize halfway. The movement jerked, caught. A flash of pain spread where the metal met the flesh of his shoulder.
He stayed crouched there for a moment, hand braced on the floor, breathing shallow. The lamp’s light painted the edges of his jaw gold.
The room pressed in around him, silent except for the gentle clicking of his mechanical parts and the distant city hum. He worked more slowly than he used to, the precision harder to find without Alcea there to anticipate his moves, to catch the small things before they became problems.
He remembered how it felt when Alcea was here. Not just helpful- but present. The quiet jokes, the easy understanding, the sense that even the most complicated repairs weren’t so heavy because they were shared.
A flicker of disappointment passed through him. He’d sent Alcea his new address weeks ago. Not as a plea, not to reopen anything —just so Alcea would know where he was, in case he ever wanted to see the place, or see him.
John didn’t even really expect Alcea to come. But the disappointment was still there. There had been nothing. No visit, no note, no message. Just silence.
John ran his paw down his face, then looked at the half-finished repair again. He had to make it work.
Still, when he reached for the soldering iron again, his hand hesitated. He could almost hear Alcea’s voice. You’re burning too hot, John; lower the temp before you fry the coil.
He turned the dial down.
The iron hissed quieter this time.
Outside, the city kept moving. Inside, John’s pulse beat slow and heavy in the stillness. The light hummed. He worked until the sky turned from dark to pale blue through the window, the metallic scent of solder thick in the air.
When he finally leaned back, the arm flexed correctly. Smooth, precise, aligned perfectly.
John smirked faintly.
“Guess I managed after all,” he said.
But his voice didn’t sound proud. Just tired.