Work Text:
“She’s not dead.” He said flatly.
Mike’s gaze was piercing cold as he looked up at Toy Chica.
“Nobody’s seen her in weeks, Mike.” Toy Chica tapped the digital clock on the desk, “Not Jeremy, not Henry, hell, not even Afton’s seen her. I’m not happy about it either, but-”
“FRITZ ISN’T DEAD.” Mike snapped.
Silence fell over the security office. Toy Chica took a step back, blinking slowly. A few seconds passed before Mike put his face in his hands.
“I-… Sorry, I’m sorry, I mean… Nothing’s certain until the police say so.” He gripped his face hard enough to leave marks, “Until then, I don’t wanna hear it. Fritz is somewhere, and she’s safe, and-”
“And you’re lying to yourself.” Toy Chica heaved herself onto Mike’s desk, crossing her legs to sit in front of him.
Mike glared through his fingers at the animatronic. The expressionless plastic face before him didn’t exactly radiate sympathy. With cold, black eyes and a wide, beakless grin, Toy Chica was the last robot anyone would want trying to comfort them.
But here he was, and there she was. Fritz’s favorite mascot. A painful splinter in an already infected wound; a reminder of a truth that Mike wanted so desperately to forget.
“She’s gone, Mike.”
Mike slammed his face into the small part of the desk unoccupied by Toy Chica. He felt a hard resin hand lay on the back of his head.
“It’s not fair, yknow?” Mike’s voice cracked, “Why her? Why Fritz? Who would do this to such an intelligent, wonderful, caring woman?”
Toy Chica gently rubbed the nape of Mike’s neck, “I have my suspicions.”
“If you turn this into another Afton conspiracy theory, I will deck you right here and now.”
“Mike, you’d break your hand.”
“Don’t care. I’ll do it.”
She was silent for a moment before lifting herself up and back onto the ground.
“Get up, I wanna show you something.”
Mike scoffed, but he rose as well. Toy Chica offered her hand to him. He did not take it.
She led him down to the maintenance closet, craning her neck inside before allowing Mike’s entry.
“Sis? It’s me, I’m coming in. I have a friend with me. Don’t attack him.” Toy Chica spoke softly and sweetly as she opened the door wide enough for the two of them.
Mike switched on his flashlight and shined it, with Toy Chica’s guidance, towards a corner of the room. Propped up by a shelf, a larger, dilapidated animatronic sat.
Chica.
The original Chica.
But something was different from the last time Mike saw her. Her arms were limp at her sides, and a new metal framework for her hands was wired and half completed. Someone had been trying to fix her.
“Did she…” Mike began.
“Fritz was working on fixing up her childhood favorite.” Toy Chica explained, kneeling beside her original version, “She fixed the locked servos in the arms. Last I checked, she was stitching a new covering for her hands.”
“W-W-W-W-W-W-WOW FREDDY, I H-HHHHH-HEARD WE HAVE A BRAND NEW P-P-P-P-P-P-P-PIIIIIIZZA TOPPING!” A crackled, static laced voice broke through the air.
“Never quite managed to help her voicebox.” Toy Chica glanced back to Mike.
“…Why are you showing me this?” Mike knelt beside Chica as well.
“Because Henry thought that she was a lost cause. He thought all of the original four were. I thought so too. I thought he was going to scrap her.” Pinprick white irises met Mike’s eyes, “I gave up hope, and Fritz gave it back to me. You can’t give up either. You never know what kind of hope you can give others, Mike.”
Toy Chica stood, helping Mike up, “You’re allowed to mourn, but don’t let it consume you. Others need you.”
For the first time in weeks, Mike smiled.
“Thank you.”
Before Mike could leave, he thought he heard something.
An all too familiar whisper of somebody’s nickname for him.
“Mikey?”
He turned to face Chica again. There was no whirring of a voicebox winding down after saying something.
“…Did you say something, TC?” Mikes eyes never left Chica.
“No, why?”
“Nothing.”
Mike turned, shutting the door and leaving Chica in the dark.
“It’s nothing at all.”