Work Text:
“I wanna hear another story,” Hazel said.
Marko ran his hand through his hair. “I think we’ve ran dry out of our good ones, Haze.”
Hazel let out an overplayed sigh and rolled to her back, kicking her feet in the air. “It’s so boooring here. When are we gonna stop on a planet again?”
“Why don’t you see what Squire’s up to?” Alana asked as she literally flipped through a Heist book, back and forth along her thumb.
Hazel crossed her arms. “He’s taking more snob-lessons from his dad.”
“How about bothering Upsher and Doff?” Marko suggested.
The sound of two pairs of footsteps sounded in the room. The family turned at the same time to see Squire and Sir Robot standing in the doorway.
“Do I hear the cries of boredom?” Sir Robot asked, titling his head in feigned curiosity.
“Yessssss…” Hazel drolled.
“Never fear, for we have come with a remedy.” Sir Robot looked down to his son and gave him an encouraging pat on the back.
“Y-yes, Father,” Squire said. His back comically straight, he marched up to Hazel and offered his hand. “Would you care to dance?”
“What?” Hazel squeaked, her nose crinkling in disgust.
Sir Robot looked to Alana and Marko. “I have been coaching my son on the customs of our court that are worth preserving. Even your deviant little family can appreciate good, old-fashioned ballroom dance, no?”
Hazel shrugged, but didn’t take Squire’s hand. “Sure. Only because everything else is so boring.”
“What’s going on in here?” Petrichor said as she poked her head through the doorway.
“Petri, impeccable timing!” Sir Robot said, his screen projecting a quick shot of a starry night sky. He strode over and guided her into the room. “I was just about to instruct the children on the art of my kingdom’s ballroom dance.”
“Great!” Petrichor pushed him back and held him at arm’s length. “I’ll be anywhere else.”
“I can’t teach them to dance by myself,” he said. “I need a partner.”
“So you found it fair to drag me into it?” Petrichor retorted and turned to the other two adults in the room. “Alana? Marko?”
“Nope,” Alana said, spreading the book on top of her eyes.
“He’s all yours,” Marko mumbled.
Petrichor rolled her eyes as Sir Robot extended his hand to her.
“I promise it can be no worse than sitting down for another two months,” he said.
Her head slumped back in disbelief, Petrichor reluctantly took his hand. She let out a surprised gasp when he pulled her close, chest-to-chest.
“Squire, you shall take the roll of the gentleman. Hazel, the maiden,” Sir Robot instructed.
“Can I be the gentleman after?” Hazel asked.
“Very well. But first, the basics. The gentleman shall lift his right hand up, and the maiden will join her hand with his.” Sir Robot did as he told.
Squire held his hand up, which Hazel met with a high-five.
“Good. For starters,” Sir Robot said. “Next the gentleman will put his other hand on the maiden’s waist. And the maiden will put her hand to the gentleman’s shoulder.” Petrichor did not break eye contact as they rearranged their hands and were pulled closer. After months of being together, it felt strange to be held so innocently. She decided she would hold her tongue about it, for now.
When the children were in the formation of the adults, another picture beamed on Sir Robot’s face. Two well-dressed robots dancing in a circle. As far as anyone else could tell, these robots were nondescript, they could have been anyone. But Squire recognized them, and instinctively gripped his hand tighter around Hazel’s.
“This is weird,” Hazel said, squirming a bit.
“With practice, it will become easier. Now, follow this basic pattern. The gentleman steps forward, and the maiden steps back.” Sir Robot stepped forward, and Petrichor stepped back twice to make room. “Just one step, Petri. Now do this in patterns of three. Count with me: one, two, three. There we go.”
“Why do I feel like I’m back on the battlefield again?” Petrichor grinned.
“I-I would have hoped that dancing with me is not that torturous…” Sir Robot said, his voice shaking a bit.
“No, not like that,” Petrichor said, her tone apologetic. They kept dancing. One, two, three. “It feels like we’re fighting. Back and forth, and all.”
“The comparison has been made before. Fighting and dancing both take years of mastery, they are both tangles between two opposing sides, and can be enhanced by the accompaniment of music.” The awkward, shuffling of steps melted into a smooth rhythm, only matched by the even flow of their words.
“You fought to music before?” Petrichor raised an eyebrow.
“No. During my combat training, I always practiced to live performers.”
“What a spoiled brat. All I had was occasional hecklers who told me I didn’t belong on the field.”
They swayed and turned, their movements becoming deeper and more synchronized. The footage of the two dancers on Sir Robot’s screen had long since been swallowed, replaced by his standard gray screen, reflecting Petrichor, absorbing her. Neither felt like looking away.
“Clearly they were wrong, seeing you have survived this long,” Prince Robot said. “Let’s put your reflexes to the test.”
“What do you – woah!” Sir Robot stopped and lifted his arm up, leading Petrichor to a spin. After twirling and coming back to where she started, she felt his arm on her back, and his body lean forward, executing a graceful dip. And for a moment, Petrichor was rendered motionless. Until her senses inevitably came back to her.
“What a dope.” She gave him a punch to his shoulder. He lifted her up, and the curtain of reality was dropped, and suddenly they were back in the rocket ship again.
“Ow! Stop stepping on my foot!” Hazel shouted.
“I’m not! You need to move your foot more!” Squire said back.
They weren’t the only ones who joined in the skirmish of dances. Marko and Alana were doing their own watered-down spinning and shuffling in the corner, mostly consisting of the twirling.
Alana was laughing and giggling whenever Marko spun her, and she even surprised Marko by doing the same to him. Ghüs and Friendo had snuck their ways in, and the seal-boy was holding onto his pet’s flippers, lifting them up and down. Upsher leaned in the doorway while Doff snapped a few pictures, the former criticizing him for wasting film, the latter pulling out the “for posterity” card.
Shadowed by the other dancers in the room, Sir Robot retired to standing still and taking it all in, his hand resting around Petrichor’s hip. While off guard at first, Petrichor allowed that half of her body to sink into the robot’s embrace. She thought about how surprisingly warm he was, full of life, so unlike the cold, blue blood splattered across the brittle dunes of war. She thought about how strange, stupid, and lovely this little family was. She would miss it terribly.