Chapter Text
Brett sat back in his chair and sighed, staring at the sad plate of spaghetti in front of him. It wasn’t that the food itself was bad--he’s a damn good chef, after all--but because he couldn’t stop the events of the previous night from replaying over and over in his head.
The gang had gone out for drinks, like they did most weeks. It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see Gigi gossiping with Glenn while they were both drunk out of their minds or to see Andre performing ear-shattering karaoke. What wasn’t normal was the fact that one of their friends was missing from the table and sitting completely alone.
Brett glanced around to find Reagan slumped over the bar, gripping a bottle of beer so tightly that it seemed ready to burst. He already began making his way over to her before he knew what was happening.
He plopped down in the seat next to Reagan and wrapped his arm around her shoulders, tugging her close. “Rae-Dawg! What’s wrong?”
“Pleeassee,” she slurred, barely glancing at him. “We stopped that portal from opening and possibly ripping apart the very fabric of the universe today! How could anything be wrong.”
Brett prodded once more before Reagan huffed dramatically and flung her hands up in defense. “You’re real fuckin’ nosey, you know that, right?” She took a long swig of her beer before smacking her lips and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I guess I’ve just been lonely, lately.”
He hummed and remained quiet, waiting for her to continue.
Reagan waved her hand around, making gestures that didn’t seem to correlate with what she was saying. “I’ve been on lots of dates since, ya know, Ron, but they always leave me feeling more lonely. I guess I miss having that kind of closeness with someone.” She paused. “And sex. I miss having sex with someone who I actually care about.”
“I get that.”
“Fucking bullshit. You’re a ladies man, Bretto!”
Brett chuckled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve met a few women here, but all they want are flings or hook-ups. No one really wants an emotional connection, which is all I’ve ever wanted.” He bit his tongue near to the point of drawing blood to keep himself from continuing, ‘With someone like you.’
Reagan poked his cheek and grinned up at him. Her breath reeked of beer and vodka, yet her gaze completely entranced him. “Hey, at least we’ve got an emotional connection, right?”
His stomach tightened. “We sure do, Reags.”
A moment of silence passed before she shook her head. “I bet the real problem is that you haven’t found yourself a lady who is into all your kinky puppet stuff.”
Warmth shot to Brett’s face and he pulled out of her grasp. “Just because I like to make puppets and use them to process my feelings doesn’t mean I’m into ‘kinky puppet stuff’!”
“Suuuuure.”
“It’s true!”
After Reagan’s fit of laughter died down, and then her second fit of laughter after she remembered what she had been laughing about in the first place, she leaned on his shoulder and sighed.
Brett was contently drumming his fingers on the table and drinking his cocktail when an idea struck his drunken mind. “Wait! Reags, Rae-Dawg, I’ve got a genius idea.”
She muttered something nearly incoherent in response, but glanced up at him to nudge him on.
“How about, if we’re both single when we’re forty, we get married.” Brett clamped his mouth shut as the realization of his words ran through his brain. What the fuck was he thinking??? “I, uh, I mean--”
Reagan straightened up and swiveled around to face him, her knees pressing against his thigh. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.”
Brett blinked. “Really?”
She slapped his leg. “Hell yeah! Getting married to my best friend? That’s the fucking dream.” She hesitated. “In the most platonic way, of course.”
“Oh, of course. Definitely. Positively.”
Reagan shot out her hand. “Let’s shake on it. In ten years, we get married. Dealio?”
He took her hand and shook it once. “Dealio.”
She pulled away and turned back to the counter. “As long as you don’t expect me to participate in any of your kinky puppet shit.”
“Oka--wait, I don’t have any kinky puppet shit!”
“You juuuuust admitted to it.”
“Remind me why I want to marry you in ten years?”
“Because,” Reagan drawled, her eyes gleaming, “I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you, Hand.”
He couldn’t help but smile down at her. “I think you’re right,” he responded quietly.
Shit. He stared at her for a beat too long. Something similar to sobriety sparked in Reagan’s eyes and her mouth began to tilt downwards.
Before Brett could hastily change the subject, Andre shoved his way between the two and wrapped his arms around their shoulders. “Heyyyy, did I hear something about kinky puppets?”
The conversation changed and Reagan got even more drunk, but the beating feeling in Brett’s chest didn’t ever leave. He had said some pretty dumb things and nearly said even dumber things, had it not been for their high friend. He had to be more careful with his words around Reagan.
He couldn’t mess their friendship up.
The next day, Reagan barely acknowledged him. He could tell it was because she was busy with something and wouldn’t let it go, but he couldn’t stop reading into it. What if she remembered their ‘deal’ and hoped that Brett didn’t? What if she hoped he was joking? He was joking, right? Mostly, anyways.
And here he was, staring at his now-cold spaghetti, still thinking about the memory. Maybe he should call Reagan and apologize. Maybe he overstepped a boundary and she was upset with him. Maybe--
The doorbell rang. Brett jolted in his seat. No one ever visited this late at night. It could be a neighbor, though, and so he went to open the door.
Reagan appeared on the other side, leaning against the frame with a smug smile. “Hey, there.”
Brett opened his mouth to greet her when all the air left his lungs. Instead of her usual stained clothes and lab coat, a short red dress clung to her skin like it was made for her. He forced his eyes to remain trained on Reagan’s face and he urged a smile onto his lips. “Reags! What’s up? Come in!”
She pushed off the frame and walked past him, the aroma of lemons and mint wafting after her. “I wanted to come by and see you. Talk to you. Maybe do something else, who knows?” Her grin turned devilish, in a way Brett had never seen on her.
His stomach jumped and he began to laugh nervously. “That’s great! I love talking with you. Why don’t you sit down, have you eaten? I made some spaghetti and garlic bread, it’s a little cold but I can heat it up for you and--”
Reagan threw her head back and laughed. “You’re cute when you get flustered.” Her smile took a wicked turn. “I like having that effect on you.”
Brett blinked. Usually he was the one complimenting her, not the other way around. “Thanks, Reag. So, you want to eat or not? I can pull up a movie, if you want, too.”
She shook her head and strided forward. He watched as she neared until she was mere inches away from him. “C’mon, Brett. You and I both know what I want. What we want.” Reagan reached out and pulled lightly on his tie, tugging him until his chest pressed against hers.
Fuck, was he dreaming? Brett’s eyes darted around her face, begging for some sign that this was truly real or not. With sweaty palms and a record-breaking heart rate, he swallowed and raised his eyebrows. “What is it that I want?”
Her hands moved up to his collar, tracing along the bare skin of his neck, trailing until they cupped his face. Reagan paused, staring up into Brett’s eyes, and uttered, “Me.”
He couldn’t help it. Brett wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her flush to his body. He pressed his mouth to hers, ready to kiss the hell out of Reagan Ridley.
Before he could finally live through every single one of his fantasies, Brett paused. Her mouth slanted against his, but it felt cold. Chilly. Kind of hard, even.
He pulled away and shoved her out of his grasp. Panting, he managed to choke out, “You’re not Reagan.”
She narrowed her eyes before wiping some of the red lipstick that had smeared over her face. “Of course I’m Reagan. Who else would I be?”
He held his arms out to keep distance between himself and Fake-Reagan. “I dunno! A shapeshifting alien? A clone?”
Fake-Reagan ran a hand through her hair. That’s when Brett noticed it: her pinkie finger was real. It wasn’t a fake or a 3D printed finger. It was attached to the rest of her hand like it was before she lost it.
His throat went dry. Fuck, what if whoever this was did something to her? Reagan could be in trouble. Fuck fuck fuck . “Did you hurt Reagan? Who are you?”
Fake-Reagan threw her head back with a groan. “Calm down, geez. I didn’t hurt Reagan, she’s the one who made me.”
It hit Brett and he smacked his hand to his forehead. “Oh! Are you Reagan’s robot?”
She gave him a look that made him feel as if she was hunting and he was the prey. “Technically, yes. But I am Reagan. I have her memories, her intelligence, everything.” Robo-Reagan glanced down at Brett’s lips and back up, grinning as his cheeks grew pink. “Her wants. Her desires. Her dreams.”
Brett forced every thought out of his mind to focus back on what was important. He squeezed his eyes shut before saying, “But you’re not her. You’re a robot. Where is the real Reagan?”
Robo-Reagan shrugged and took a step towards him. “I don’t know. But does it really matter? I can give you what you want, Brett.” She looked up at him, her eyes suddenly sincere and shining with truth. “What we’ve both wanted for so long.”
He felt gravity tug him forward, stumbling despite his will into her grasp. Being this close to Reagan made Brett’s head swim like he was drunk, drunk on her.
Brett’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. He was so close to closing the gap.
His eyes shot open. “This isn’t what I want.” He stepped back from Robo-Reagan, shaking his head furiously. “No, this isn’t what I want. I want the real Reagan.”
Robo-Reagan blew a strand of hair out of her face and cocked her head. “That’s good, then. She’s right behind you.”
Whirling around, everything seemed to collapse and fall apart. He had left the front door open, and there she stood: the real Reagan. Eyes trembling, mouth open wide, her expression completely unreadable.
“Reags,” Brett breathed. Complete relief that she was okay washed over him, only to be struck down with the reality of what she had just seen. He had said he wanted her. Fuck.
“What the fuck is this?” Reagan finally managed to get out. She glanced back and forth between Brett and Robo-Reagan, all the pieces seemingly falling into place. “What the fuck?”
“It’s not what it looks like!” Brett promised. His voice cracked and he winced.
From behind, Robo-Reagan said, “Actually, it’s exactly what it looks like.”
Reagan didn’t even glance at the robot. Her gaze remained locked with Brett’s. Confusion and hurt and fury flashed across her face before she shook her head. “I’m fucking out of here.”
A sick feeling filled Brett’s chest as she disappeared from the doorway. He ruined everything. His friendship with his best friend, the woman he was in love with, the person who was the best part of his life. He destroyed it all.
“Well?” Robo-Reagan drawled, her tone bored.
Brett couldn’t look at her. All he could do was stare at the empty doorway and wish that he could turn back time. “What.”
“Aren’t you going to go after her?”
“Why would I do that? I’ve ruined everything .”
Robo-Reagan marched around to face him. She glared up and jabbed his chest with a finger. “Because she wants you to. You can fix this, Hand. Why do you think I let her see us kiss?”
Brett stared down at his fake friend. Her words didn’t make any sense, no matter how many times he relayed them over and over in his brain. “What do you mean?”
She rolled her eyes. “Just go after her. She’s going to her apartment, follow her. You’ll thank me later.”
He stood there until Robo-Reagan shoved his shoulder, kickstarting his body. Brett rushed to the door and grabbed his keys.
The robot was right. He wasn’t going to let Reagan slip out of his hands like that. She mattered too much for him to give up so easily.