Chapter Text
There was a chill in the air… or at least, that’s how Gobbles felt.
They hadn’t managed to reach Farcade’s main base, and all they had now was the warmth inside The Nimble, spacious enough to spend the night in, but never quite comfortable enough.
He lay on the cold metal floor, chilled to the bone, unable to fall asleep. Every time he closed his eyes, rest refused to come. Instead, the same images returned over and over again: his friends being destroyed, bodies twisted and corrupted, his world silently falling apart.
His breathing grew heavy, each inhale feeling as though he were dragging lead into his lungs. And in that uneasy darkness, sleep felt farther away than the coming dawn itself.
He looked up, searching for anything that might pull him away from his memories and thoughts, even for a moment.
Beyond the windows, space stretched endlessly like a silent abyss infinite, cold, and beautiful all at once. Trails of vivid color streaked through the darkness, while distant stars cast a faint glow that barely reached the ship’s interior.
One of the seats was occupied by the robot, "resting" or at least pretending to.
The same guy as always, no matter the mission whether it was reconnaissance or rescue.
He insisted on calling Gobbles a useless lizard who only got in the way. And yet, by the end of every operation, he always seemed to give him a brief nod of approval, as if his opinion was never entirely settled.
Gobbles couldn't tell whether it was sarcasm, a bad attitude, or simply a wildly inconsistent personality.
Not that he judged him for it.
He had learned to observe quietly, watching the way the robot repaired the ship with near-flawless precision. It was irritating, sure, but also admirable. Especially considering how badly things had started between them.
Not long ago, Kaboodle had allowed him access to the ship’s security system so he could help repair it. That wasn't something he did lightly, which made his surprise all the more obvious when the Learn-o-Saurus managed to replicate the process perfectly, just as Kaboodle himself had done countless times before.
There was no praise.
No smile, either. Just a look brief, but unmistakably surprised.
The reaction did not go unnoticed.
Off to the side, the cat girl watching the exchange let out an amused laugh. Crossing her arms, she pointed at him with a grin.
“Looks like the student surpassed the teacher.”
Kaboodle’s expression tightened immediately. He frowned, visibly uncomfortable almost offended.
“It’s not that impressive. There are still plenty of things he needs to improve...” he replied firmly. “Besides, all this proves is that I’m an excellent teacher.”
He tried to sound confident, even superior, but the memory had already etched itself into place not as a defeat, but as a tiny crack in his usual certainty.
And yet... It was a strange memory.
Maybe even a pleasant one.
For some reason, thinking about it left a warm feeling in his chest. Remembering his companion’s laughter stirred something odd inside him, as though that brief moment had left a deeper mark than he cared to admit.
He shifted slightly, pulling himself from his thoughts, and glanced toward the seat beside him.
There she was.
Kit.
A cat girl with bright eyes and a heart far too big for the chaos they lived in.
She was the one who had reached out to him when his world was collapsing before his eyes, when he had lost everything in a single instant. Without offering many explanations, she had led him aboard the ship. She had pulled him away from the ruins of the life he once knew.
And she had never given him a clear reason why.
Maybe it was guilt the idea that she had arrived too late, just before he finished his “game,” setting in motion the explosion that destroyed his world.
Or maybe it was simple empathy. The kind that doesn’t stop to think before acting. The kind that comes from knowing what it feels like to lose everything.
Gobbles didn’t know.
And deep down, he wasn’t sure he wanted to.
He only understood one thing: there was no logical reason for someone to help a complete stranger like that, offering shelter and comfort when he had lost absolutely everything.
And yet, she did.
He admired her, in more ways than one.
She was incredible to watch in battle, fighting Syntax agents alongside Kaboodle, who would transform into a living suit of armor in those moments. Kit moved with almost impossible agility, dodging strikes, projectiles, and anything else thrown her way as if the battlefield were a place she had already memorized.
To Gobbles, watching her fight was a spectacle in the purest sense of the word.
And that wasn’t all.
He admired that side of her, too; the way she cared for others like him. People who had lost something irreplaceable.
Like Flappers, his dolphin friend, whom she had taken in without hesitation. He was now sleeping peacefully nearby while Gobbles remained awake, lost in thoughts about her.
He truly admired her.
Maybe a little too much.
Was that a bad thing?
He didn't think so.
Because Kit wasn't just strong.
She was beautiful, too, Gobbles couldn't think of a better way to describe it, so he compared her to a sunflower: bright, warm, impossible to ignore. The color yellow seemed to make her caramel colored fur stand out even more, as though light itself chose her as its favorite place to rest.
Her fur looked... Soft.
The thought caught him off guard.
He blinked, as if ignoring it might somehow make it disappear, but it didn't. It lingered stubbornly, forcing him to realize something even worse—that his description no longer felt sufficient. There were more details, more things about her that his mind wanted to capture, and yet no words seemed capable of doing them justice.
Beautiful... Yes. He wasn't embarrassed to admit that.
Brave... Definitely. Far braver than he was.
Kind...Of course.
But something was still missing.
He knew her or at least, he thought he did, just not as well as he wanted to.
Most of their relationship consisted of brief conversations between missions, quick exchanges squeezed between the noise of work and the exhaustion that followed.
And yet... He always felt there was more.
More layers.
More depth.
As though Kit was someone who never completely revealed herself or perhaps he simply hadn't learned how to see her fully yet.
Was there something else to admire?
He didn't know.
There was only one thing he understood with uncomfortable clarity:
He wanted to know her better.
Not out of obligation. Not because it would make him a more useful member of the crew.
It was something else.
Something much harder to explain.
A quiet need.
He wanted to understand his feline companion, to learn more about her, as though doing so might somehow help him improve as well become more useful, more deserving of his place among them.
Maybe that was all it was.
Or maybe it was simply the easiest excuse his mind could come up with to avoid admitting what he was really starting to feel.
*Beep. Beep. Beep*
The screen in front of the co-pilot's seat glowed green as the alarm continued its relentless tone.
Kit reacted immediately, reaching over to silence it before letting out a quiet sigh.
Gobbles watched from where he lay. It was only a brief moment, almost accidental, but it was enough.
He saw her eyes.
The faint tremor in her movements, the way her body reacted as though it had long since grown accustomed to these interruptions.
She hadn't been sleeping.
Just like him. It was always the same.
This wasn't the first time he'd found her awake before everyone else, as though sleep itself rejected her. Sometimes she would barely manage to close her eyes before jolting awake again, breathing hard, as if something inside her kept dragging her out of rest.
Kaboodle would usually ask whether she'd had the same dream again.
She would answer with silence or with a weary look shadowed by something bitter.
And Gobbles... He simply watched.
He wanted to understand.
What was this recurring dream?
Could he help her if he knew?
Was it anything like what he saw whenever he closed his eyes?
He didn't know.
But he did know something else something simpler, yet somehow heavier.
His crewmate was exhausted.
And no matter how hard she tried to hide it, the fatigue was beginning to show in every gesture, every pause, every fleeting second she spent pretending she was okay.
There were still a few hours left before they reached Farcade Central. Maybe that was why the alarm had been so persistent a reminder of their shift, their course, the simple fact that the journey wasn't over yet.
Gobbles tried to push those thoughts aside.
But he couldn't.
Seeing his crewmate like this exhausted, refusing even to take a short nap while everyone else slept left him with a discomfort he couldn't quite explain. It wasn't fair. She deserved to close her eyes without fear, even if only for a few minutes. Even if only to let her mind go blank.
Slowly, he pushed himself up from the cold metal floor.
Nearby, his dolphin friend was asleep in a position that seemed anatomically impossible for an aquatic creature. Gobbles stared at him for a moment, hesitated, and ultimately decided not to question it.
Still, he reached for the blanket lying beside him and carefully draped it over him.
Then he picked up his own blanket.
With a small hop, he made his way over to Kit. In one quick motion, he placed it around her shoulders.
The cat girl's ears and tail immediately stiffened. Her tired eyes turned toward him in surprise, as if she hadn't expected the gesture.
And yet...
She smiled. A soft smile. A weary smile.
But a genuine one.
“Sorry, Gobbles... I woke you up. I didn't set the alarm right. My bad,” she whispered, careful not to disturb the silence inside the ship.
Gobbles immediately shook his head.
“N-no, don't worry about it... I haven't been sleeping well either. It wasn't your fault,” he replied, returning the smile with a touch of awkwardness.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable.
It was something else, Bittersweet.
As though the space between them didn't need to be filled with words.
There wasn't much to say and Gobbles didn't want to force questions or break the moment with random curiosity or poorly timed concerns. He didn't want to make her uncomfortable...
Or trigger a reaction like the one during the mission on Flappers' world.
So he simply stayed there. Respecting the silence.
Kit turned her gaze toward the viewing window and the universe opened before them.
Gobbles watched in awe it was beautiful.
Vast, filled with colors and lights that drifted through the darkness without hurry, as though time itself moved differently out there.
But...
Gobbles wasn't looking at space through the ship's window.
He was looking at its reflection in Kit's eyes.
Small from his perspective, yes...
But in that moment, they seemed to hold something larger than the ship itself, larger than the journey. As though entire galaxies lived within them, waiting to be seen patiently, appreciated with an unguarded soul.
“You must be tired after the reconnaissance mission,” Kit said without quite looking at him. “You'd never been inside a shooter before. It couldn't have been easy... though you adapted pretty quickly.” She sounded casual, but she was deliberately avoiding his gaze.
Gobbles noticed.
It was obvious she didn't want him seeing the dark circles under her eyes that she kept insisting weren't there, as if admitting she was tired would somehow make her less capable.
“Ah... yeah, it was easier with your help,” Gobbles replied, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. “I mean... you've got a lot of experience. Copying what you did helped me a lot.”
Kit let out a quiet huff, clearly flattered despite herself.
“You really need to stop giving me credit for every mission,” she replied, crossing her arms. “Kaboodle's going to keep calling you a bootlicker. You're a Learn-o-Saurus. Of course you're going to learn fast. So... give yourself some credit, too.”
Gobbles fell silent for a moment, considering her words.
“You know... you're right,” he finally said with a small laugh. “We're a pretty good team.” The words lingered between them.
Almost like a quiet confession of affection.
Kit smiled, and as always, somehow produced a juice box in her hands.
It wasn't particularly practical or necessary aboard a resting ship. It felt more like a habit by now something she did instinctively, without even thinking about it, whenever she saw Gobbles. Whether he was doing well or not.
The Learn-o-Saurus accepted the juice box carefully.
And then he saw it. Closer up.
Kit's dark circles were far more noticeable than they seemed from a distance. Her ears, usually so lively, rested flat against her head. Her smile was still there, yes...
But it was the kind of smile that couldn't quite hold itself together.
There was something behind it. Accumulated exhaustion. Long stretches of silence.
The habit of pretending everything was under control.
She was still beautiful, of course... But she was tired.
And Gobbles thought that was unfair. Unfair that someone who gave so much of herself on every mission, who carried the weight of others without ever asking for anything in return, couldn't even afford a completely genuine smile.
Without saying a word, he adjusted the juice box in his hands, slid the straw into the opening, and offered it back to Kit.
It was a simple gesture between them.
One he'd done before whenever he felt she needed it more than he did.
Kit understood immediately and accepted.
Maybe she would have preferred something more substantial a good hot dog loaded with mustard to actually recover some energy—but she wasn't going to turn it down.
Because it wasn't just juice.
It was something else.
A kind of quiet care neither of them really knew how to name, yet both of them recognized.
She took a sip.
Small green sparks flickered around her, as though her body responded more to the intention behind the gesture than to the drink itself. Her ears lifted slightly, no longer pressed so tightly against her head.
Even so, the dark circles remained. And so did the memory of her world.
Because there were things no item could restore.
Nothing could truly bring back what had been lost.
“You look tired, Kit,” Gobbles said.
Kit immediately turned her gaze toward the ship's window, as if space itself could serve as a hiding place once again. Gobbles didn't like that reaction, but he didn't push.
He didn't want to pressure her.
“I'm just a little tired,” she replied quietly. “I'll sleep when we get to Farcade Base.”
She said it without looking at him.
Taking hold of one corner of the blanket he'd given her, she raised it slightly, as though she could use it to hide part of her face as well.
Gobbles stepped a little closer.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” He rested his hand on top of hers.
The touch was gentle, measured. As if he were afraid of breaking something invisible, it wasn't intrusive.
He simply wanted her to know he was there.
Silence settled between them.
This time, it wasn't the comfortable silence of shared stargazing. it was cold.
Heavy.
“It's not your concern, Gobbles,” Kit finally said, sounding slightly colder than she'd intended. “I don't think there's much you can do.”
The blow wasn't harsh.
But it landed exactly where it needed to and inside her own mind, Kit felt it immediately. Because it wasn't anger speaking.
It was self-defense. A reflex.
Every time she brushed against the subject, her thoughts filled with images she never asked for: her world, her family, the final moments before everything shattered and vanished.
And afterward...
Nothing, just emptiness.
She didn't want to go through that again. She didn't want to do it in front of anyone. Least of all in front of him.
Gobbles understood.
He didn't press the issue.
She didn't return the gesture.
So he let out a small sigh.
“I understand... I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought it up,” he said sincerely, lowering his gaze a little. “I just... want you to know that I'll be here for you, okay? I promise.”
He gave her a gentle, honest smile, asking for nothing in return.
He started to pull his hand away, but then...
Kit didn't let him.
Her fingers closed around his once more in a small, almost instinctive gesture. Not tightly. Not possessively. More like the reflex of someone who doesn't want to be alone, even if they don't know how to say it, Her thumb traced a small circle across his palm, a silent thank you against the scales of his hand.
Slow.
Unconscious.
And in that tiny gesture, the coldness of the ship no longer felt quite so absolute.
The contact lingered for several more seconds.
Gobbles' cheeks felt warmer than usual beneath their natural coloring. It wasn't just the touch It was the closeness. The way everything had changed without either of them meaning for it to.
Kit had a faint blush of her own, barely visible beneath her not so thick fur, but enough to betray that she wasn't nearly as composed as she wanted to seem.
“Thank you, Gobbles...” she murmured. “I... didn't mean it like that. Honestly, you're much braver than I am.”
Her hand was still there. She hadn't let go.
And somehow, that helped keep her grounded.
Little by little, her ears stopped holding themselves so rigidly.
“You don't have to apologize,” he replied, still a little nervous, but calmer now that she seemed better. Kit let out a soft laugh.
Small.
Real.
Fragile.
Then she carefully stood and, without giving it much thought, knelt down in front of him so they were at eye level.
Before Gobbles could fully process what was happening, she wrapped her arms around him.
A hug.
Sincere.Direct. Gentle and warm.
Gobbles froze for a second in surprise. Then, slowly, he returned the embrace, careful at first, as though afraid of breaking something delicate. One hand settled softly against her back.
He could feel the warmth of her fur, her closeness.
The reality that she was there not as an idea, not as a distant teammate, but as someone real. Someone alive. Someone exhausted. Someone painfully vulnerable beneath all her strength.
For her part, Kit finally seemed willing to let the noise fade away.
“I miss my family... my world,” she said quietly, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “Every time I try to sleep, I see the last time I was with them. The taste of my dad's pizzas, my mom's hugs, talking with Scratch... I lost all of that because of me. I... I caused it.”
Her voice cracked slightly but it didn't break.
Not completely.
“I just... don't know how to process any of it, Gobbles.”
Her eyes glistened with tears, clear and bright, but she wasn't on the verge of falling apart, it felt different.
For once, she didn't feel like she was carrying it alone.
Gobbles tightened the embrace just a little, not enough to hurt her, but enough to show that he finally understood he didn't have to tiptoe around every emotion.
“I understand...” he said softly. “That must have been incredibly hard for you.”
Kit didn't answer right away. She simply held on a little tighter.
“You don't deserve to carry that,” he continued. “It wasn't your fault. You did what you thought was right. That's what defines you. You're brave. You're always willing to save others. Now you're protecting thousands of lives.”
His voice trembled slightly, but he kept going.
“You're not to blame for any of it. To me... you'll always be my hero.”
Kit went completely still for a moment and then, the weight she'd been carrying in silence for so long finally began to crack.
Her breathing grew unsteady, but not from panic.
This was different.
This was relief.
She held on to him tightly, as though she could finally let go of something she'd been carrying alone for far too long and then... She laughed through her tears.
A broken sound.
An honest one.
Human. In the end, they both gave in.
Their composure simply fell away.
The tears came without permission, like a valve finally opening after being sealed shut for too long.
There was no embarrassment in it. Only relief.
After a few minutes, Kit slowly pulled away from the embrace. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand or the armor covering it and took a deep breath.
Part of her didn't want to let go just yet and it seemed Gobbles felt the same.
They looked at each other and there was something new in their expressions.
A shared calm, fragile, but real. An understanding that didn't need words.
Then a snore shattered the moment. Both of them turned their heads at the exact same time.
Flappers was still twisted into his impossible sleeping position, resting as though gravity were merely a suggestion.
Kit let out a soft laugh.
“Is he still alive?” she asked with a tired smile.
“Looks like it,” Gobbles replied.
Between quiet chuckles, their hands found each other again.
It wasn't deliberate.
It wasn't careful.
It felt inevitable.
As though neither of them wanted the distance to return all at once. Kit grabbed the blanket that had been left on the chair and spread it over both of them. She adjusted it awkwardly, avoiding his eyes, as though becoming too aware of what she was doing might somehow break the moment.
Gobbles wasn't looking at her either, not because he didn't want to.
Because everything felt too close, too real.
And, somehow, a little embarrassing.
His shoulder brushed against her arm. A light, constant contact, enough to be felt.
Enough to keep the loneliness away.
And within that silence no longer cold, but gentle something inside Kit relaxed a little more. Slowly, her head came to rest against Gobbles'.
No warning, no explanation, just... Naturally.
A soft sound followed a moment later, almost too quiet to notice at first... A purr.
Gobbles froze, not out of discomfort.
Out of surprise. It was such a warm, instinctive sound. Vulnerable in a way he'd never seen from her before.
As though all the tension she'd been carrying had finally found somewhere safe to go.
Something stirred in his chest.
Not pain.
Not nerves.
Something calmer than either.
Kit didn't respond anymore, her breathing had slowed. Deeper now. Steadier.
Gobbles assumed the obvious.
She had fallen asleep.
There was no way those purrs had been meant as some conscious response to how he felt. And for the first time during the entire mission, she didn't seem to be fighting sleep.
A small laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
“This was harder than the reconnaissance mission...” he muttered to himself.
He shifted into a more comfortable position without breaking the contact, gently leaning against Kit's arm, as though finally giving his own body permission to rest as well.
The cold metal floor no longer felt the same.
Somehow, it had changed without him noticing. Now all he could feel was the softness of Kit's fur against his cheek, enveloping him more thoroughly than the blanket ever could.
And the silence...
That was different too, Warm.
Filled with the fading memory of those purrs, which eventually drifted away a little while later.
—…
—…
—…
—…
—…
—…
—…
“Shouldn't Mrs. Learn-o-Saurus be sitting here... or something?” Flappers asked, spinning around once again in the co-pilot's chair, where Kit should have been over an hour ago.
The single eye on the backpack robot twitched slightly, a clear sign that his patience was rapidly running out.
“Mrs. what?” the robot replied without even looking at him. “Stop spinning around in that damn chair and... let her sleep. I'll wake her up before we reach the base.”
Flappers ignored him obviously.
The chair was far too entertaining to abandon.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ship, the situation looked nothing like what anyone would have expected.
Gobbles and Kit were still asleep, very asleep.
And very much wrapped around each other, neither of them had any idea how much their positions had changed while sleeping, nor how much time had passed.
Kit had Gobbles tucked in her arms like a stuffed animal, wearing a smile from ear to ear. Gobbles, meanwhile, remained comfortably nestled against her without moving an inch.
Even her tail had somehow joined the conspiracy, curled around him and keeping him firmly trapped in that warm little spot.
The robot stared at them in silence for a moment.
“Bootlicker...” he muttered at last. “So that was your objective all along, huh? Lewd-o-Saurus.”
There wasn't any real anger in his voice, though, it was something else.
The irritation that came from understanding the situation a little too well.
Because unlike Gobbles, he knew something important. Kit didn't purr in her sleep, she only purred when she was awake and comfortable enough to stop hiding how she felt.
And she'd been doing exactly that for quite a while now... Instead of returning to her station.