Work Text:
The play of movement across Otto’s upper back as he lifts shoulders, rolling his neck slightly is…fascinating. Close observation reveals the micro-flexes of individual plating above the hidden underpinning to his spine. The way scarred tissue runs along until it almost melts into the machine.
Of course, as he moves, the ripple of muscle and skin on Otto’s back is captivating for a whole other reason.
Norman swallows thinly, tongue feeling dry as he tries to shake off distraction. He curls fingers around the tool within his hand, still held down at his side.
“Everything all right back there, Norman?”
To most people Otto’s voice would sound perfectly even. Guileless.
Norman thinks it isn’t habitual paranoia causing him to hear a note of wryness hidden in there though. Almost like he knows.
Smug bastard, Norman thinks - aggravated displeasure and fondness, of equal measure.
“Honestly?” He forces a half-smirk. “My confidence is faltering that this is entirely a good idea.”
He comes closer. Raises his hand, but only to stare at the tool he’s still holding. To consider it, of course - not at all to look away from the canvas of Otto’s back.
The warm canvas of his body in subtle motion.
“Otto…are you sure that you trust me to do this?”
“Why?” He turns his head, looking in profile. Those expressive eyebrows raised. “Is there some reason I shouldn’t?”
A different note of wryness. Shrewd.
Otto is anything but a blindly trusting man, these days. Yet he doesn’t seem worried at all.
The question sounded rhetorical. Norman pauses anyway.
As if holding his breath for a moment, peering into the darkened corners of his mind would work. Like that’d be the trick to finally let him hear chittering laughter.
There’s nothing amiss. There hasn’t been, since – everything. He tries to set the fear aside, at least for another day.
“No.”
A beat. “It isn’t brain surgery. Just a little home repair. Surely you can manage.”
“These things are hooked directly into your spine ,” he grouses; complaining to hide anxious doubt. “‘Not brain surgery’, he says…”
Otto turns around, finally. “For what I’m dealing with these days, this counts as basic maintenance. It will be so much more time-consuming to try doing it on my own. But it’s really not that complicated. I can walk you through it. Mostly I just need your hands.”
A solemn crease to his forehead. Weighted by the reassurance he’s trying to project.
“I have faith in you, Norman. You can more than handle this.”
He exhales, sighing. Tries on a cocky grin he thinks doesn’t fully make it to his eyes. “All right - twist my arm, why don’t you. Turn back around. Let’s get this taken care of.”
Otto smiles. “That’s the spirit.”
With him back in position, Norman climbs on the stepladder so he’s just above Otto’s back.
He bites the corner of his lower lip as he analyzes the metal pieces through the magnifier. Double-checks the read-out displayed on the nearby monitor they set up for this.
He gives an experimental prod with the tip of the tool. It draws a quiet wince from Otto.
“How badly does that hurt?”
“It’s more a discomfort. Not nearly as bad as the pain in my skull is going to get, if we can’t isolate the connection that’s currently vexing me and replace it.”
“Right, right.” Nods, committing to the problem. If he can compartmentalize, this should be so much easier - if anything he should be eager for this chance.
The machine Otto built for himself is glorious; a masterwork. Of course he’s more than wanted a chance to examine it since first catching a glimpse.
For once it would be helpful to allow himself to be cold. The results-focused scientist he can become in a heartbeat, when there’s work to immerse in.
He’s about to go back in for a more thorough exploration, when he catches movement from the corner of his eye.
He looks up. One of the actuators looms above him, fixated with the blinding light of its scope.
Norman hesitates. “Uh, Otto? Is that you that’s watching me right there, or…someone else?”
“It isn’t me doing that.”
Otto sounds…wearied?
“I don’t have the energy right now to fully deny them autonomy. Consider it a compromise.”
The white light flickers red, almost too fast to notice - or is he imagining?
Norman tries not to gulp. “Never figured a faceless camera-arm could look so suspicious.”
“I believe that’s the same one that the Goblin severed,” Otto states quietly.
Oh. Well that explains it.
Norman addresses the actuator, not sure if he should feel foolish.
“I’m doing this by request, yeah? No funny business.”
The actuator doesn’t move.
“...Suit yourself then,” he mutters. “Watch all you like.”
He goes back to looking at his work, trying to ignore the feeling he’s being stared at.
“Consider them your temporary assistant,” Otto suggests.
“You know my tolerance of assistants is varying at the best of times.” He draws his shoulders up, muttering as he dives into the work.
“I’m not going to let them lose temper with you,” Otto has the forced patience of one playing peacemaker.
“Right. Of course you aren’t.”
After a minute or two he steals another glance upward.
The damned actuator still hovers officiously.
Norman frowns. After another beat he sing-songs nearly under his breath: “Daisy, daisy, give me your answer do…”
“ Norman ,” Otto scolds him, sharply.
“All right! You know that I’m only kidding. Good grief.”
The actuator may not technically have an expression. But it definitely manages to seem not amused.