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Mr. B had wondered which one of his wires or internal motherboards was to blame. He had thought it was a malfunctioning connection or maybe a jack halfway plugged in. Maybe he had an excess of charge in one of his capacitors. He had even considered the remote chance that he was picking up external AM radio frequencies with his antenna.
According to his internal manual, those were all viable possibilities. The only thing that was amiss was that the incidents- as Mr. B had started to refer to them- only happened whenever Wesley made contact with his metal surface.
Mr. B could not feel the weight of Wesley’s gloved hand on him, but the electric current was a dead giveaway.
He felt it spreading from his battery all the way through his wires and chips, to end up dissipating through his antenna. Once the electric current had passed though him, his cooling systems started malfunctioning, causing him to become overheated.
It had been going on for some time, but Mr. B was not worried, as none of his functions seemed altered and it was something so minor that it wasn’t worth being put on sleep mode for repairs. Plus, he didn’t want to worry Wesley over nothing.
He kept repeating this perfectly logical arguments to himself, while a tiny part of him whispered that maybe, there was a possibility he also found it a pleasant sensation. It’s not like it was a bad thing to keep from the scientist, was it?
It only took a few weeks for Wesley to notice. Mr. B was glad it happened at home, in the kitchen, in one of the rare instances the man had decided to help him make dinner.
Wesley had used his perfectly horizontal head to lean on him and better reach out for a plate.
“Mr. B, do you feel alright? You seem warmer to the touch than usual.”
“I am fine, Wesleeey…”
The human gave a low hum and continued to dice the tomatoes on the wooden board. Mr. B had known him for longer than anyone on his life, and he knew Wesley wasn’t pleased with his answer. Right now, his brain was likely revising endless formulas, trying to come up with a solution to a problem that didn’t even exist, because Mr. B felt just fine.
Even though Wesley was wearing gloves, he was 42,7% more likely to cut himself while he was deep in thought, so Mr. B decided to step in before he hurt himself.
“Hand me the knife, I’ll dice thaaat.”
Wesley frowned slightly and pouted, and for a moment Mr. B though he was going to argue with him. To his relief, the man just sighed and sat on one of the kitchen chairs grumbling softly.
Wesley hadn’t said it, but Mr. B could almost hear the words dancing at the tip of his tongue. I am perfectly able to dice this myself, thank you very much. He didn’t like when Wesley used that mighty tone with him. Wesley used it with the Shadowy Figures, with some students, with Stamos on the phone… But not with him. He got to see the private side of the scientist: his gruff tone when he just woke up in the morning, he saw him without his lab coat on, giggling in the couch because of Leno’s jokes and sometimes he even saw him without his yellow gloves.
And because he knew Wesley this intimately, he expected what was going to come.
“Lynn, why don’t you let me run some tests for you? It’s been some time since your last check up.”
Mr. B had learned that this was the way scientists tackle problems, they experiment and then think about it to find a solution. He had also learned that it was Wesley’s way to call him by his first name when he wanted something from him.
“I already told you, I am fine Wesleeey.”
He should have seen it coming, Wesley was not one to let things go easily. He felt the sudden electric current again, and he closed his eyes forcefully trying to stop himself from overheating.
“See? You’re burning up! Something’s gonna catch fire inside you and where would you be then, huh?”
He heard Wesley move behind him and next thing he knew, he was being carried away from the kitchen, nestled comfortably in between Wesley’s chest and his arms.
“What about dinner, Wesleeey?”
“This is way more important than that, you metal head.” Ah, there was no way he was going to be able to control his overheating now.
Wesley left him on top of the table in his study while he went away mumbling something about a screwdriver. Mr. B had been dreading this moment. At the bottom of his circuits, he knew these incidents were not caused by a malfunction. Based on the data he had from a few conversations with Joan of Arc’s clone he knew the symptoms of a crush, but a robot was not supposed to feel these things, was it?
“O-kay, let’s see what’s going on.” Mr. B was startled out of his thoughts by Wesley’s entrance, a screwdriver on one hand and a thermometer on the other. The man handed him the thermometer and Mr. B put it in his armpit with a sigh. Wesley went around him to take off the screws in the back of his head.
His sensor picked up Wesley’s soft humming behind him, he had such a nice singing voice- No, no, don’t think about that, Lynn.
“Huh, there doesn’t seem to be anything wrong here.” Wesley reached towards his arm just as the thermometer beeped. “Your temperature seems normal too…”
He stepped into Mr. B’s field of vision again, scratching his head in thought. Mr. B watched him with an avid eye, taking in all his cues and trying to guess what was going through his head right now. His brow was furrowed, and he was staring at nothing in particular, his mind far away from this room.
After some time, he seemed to come to a conclusion. He took off the gloves from his right hand.
“I could have sworn that…”
His naked palm rested upon Mr. B’s head carefully. It stayed there, almost petting him, and Mr B was not prepared for it. If he had a heart, it would surely be beating wildly. He had felt an electric current from casual touches, but this came closer to being struck by lightning. He closed his eyes again, in an effort to limit the amount of input to his motherboard. It was of no use, he truly felt like something in his circuits was flaming. There was no way Scudworth wouldn’t notice.
As if on cue, the scientist took away his hand as though it had burned him.
“…Lynn?”
Sometimes he sounded so fragile, it pulled on Mr. B’s wires. He could deal with an angered Scudworth, an arrogant one, or even a petulant one. But when Scudworth was sad, Mr. B felt downright horrible. He felt inadequate, because he could not envelop the man in a warm hug, nor could he interlace his fingers with him, or grab his face and get close enough to-
“Are you sure you are alright?” Why did he have to sound so sincere?
“Yes, Cinnamooon.”
He heard the wild gasp before he could properly register what had happened.
“Lynn, did you just…?” Scudworth had both hands covering his mouth, and -were those tears in his eyes? “Oh, this must be why you were overheating! It must have taken so much power for you to say that!” He sniffed rather inelegantly. Cinnamon took a deep breath and tried to compose himself. “Well, I…” A wet smile broke out on his face again, and Mr. B -not for the first time- wondered about the hypocrisy of a man so uncomfortable with other’s emotions, and yet so emotional himself.
A quiet sort of fondness seemed to be shining in his eyes. Mr. B didn’t have a mirror to check his own facial expression, but he was sure he was smiling like an idiot.
“Thank you, Lynn.” And just like that, Cinnamon bent to place a small kiss on his cheek.
This time, Mr. B stood frozen. That he knew that no cables had been cut didn’t stop him from worrying that his circuits were not working properly. The kiss had been so light, almost like a breeze, and it hadn’t even left behind that electric shock from before. Instead, it left him with one of his components buzzing on a low setting, the warmest feeling he had ever known. This man was going to kill him.
He didn’t bother correcting Cinnamon, not if he could get away with receiving more affection.
Scudworth cleared his throat to call back Mr. B’s attention. He had one hand behind his back and his face lacked any sort of emotion.
“Now, as this very recent, I don’t want you calling me Cinnamon anywhere that isn’t home.” One of his fingers had risen up, pointing at the ceiling in a very dignified manner while he paced the small room. Ah, he was in lecturing mode. “I don’t want you making a fool of yourself until you’ve mastered this first name calling business.”
Make a fool of himself? Lynn Butlertron was not a new-born chip. Cinnamon thought he was so smart, but Lynn had him all figured out.
“I think you just don’t want anyone to think you’re soft, Cinnamooon.”
The stoic façade that he had put on melted away tenderly, to be replaced with a wobbly smile. “No, no, it’s not that at all.” Scudworth’s voice cracked slightly and his eyes were blinking rapidly.
Well, maybe it wasn’t the best image for the principal of Clone High to start sobbing in the corridors whenever his vice principal/butler/dehumidifier called him by his first name. Lynn couldn’t help but take pity on him.
He rolled over to the man and circled his waist with his arms.
“I understand, Wesleeey.”
Cinnamon let out a quiet chuckle and bent down to return the hug.
“What would I do without you, Mr. B?”
Mr. B willed his circuits to calm down, he felt the warm undercurrent sensation again. He felt Scudworth’s shoulders relax, leaning more of his weight on his companion. Ah, this was bliss. Just when Mr. B was getting comfortable in the hug, something beeped in the kitchen.
“Shit! The oven!” Cinnamon squeaked. It was a very human reaction to bolt towards any machine beeping unceasingly.
Perhaps Mr. B couldn’t entwine his fingers with Scudworth’s, nor could he press his lips to his. And yet, he shared his life with him. They had been inseparable for quite some time.
Mr. B smiled fondly; he already had the intimacy he longed to have with the man. He just had to show him his feelings in different ways. Just like Scudworth showed he cared in his own evasive manner.
If he had it his way, he would call him Cinnamon for the rest of their lives.
Unless he was being a jackass, that is.