Archive of Our Own

Bob worked on the game, and I worked on Bob.

“Hey, James?” Nanette asked into the phone, placing her pen down. “What did you mean when you said, back then, that Daly worked on the game and you worked on him?”

The crew looked at each other before looking at Walton, who simply stared at the screens, fidgeting with his sleeve.
“Is that really important? I mean, we have better things to do, right? Like finding a way out of your head?” He was avoiding the question, he knew he was, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant memories he wanted to talk about. At least not this version of him. He didn’t know what his real self thought about that time back then, but this version of Walton? Had been through enough of Dalys torture to understand just how fucked up some if that shit was of him. 

“I’ve been foggy all day anyways, not gonna be able to get much done, you know?”

Walton took a deep breath. Fuck. They all hate Daly, right? And the others had already reacted rather well to the reveal of there having been a Daly clone, right? So, surely, they’d be alright with some of the-... tamer stories Walton had.

Surely.

He was never going to hear the end of this.

“Uuuuh, okay. Yeah, sure. So, what do you guys want to hear? First time I met his parents? That one time I managed to get him to a bar? Or the time he forced me to one of his nerd conventions?” He gave a nervous chuckle, looking over at his crewmates.

“How about all of them?” Nanette said, leaning back in her chair.

Ah fuck.

They hadn’t worked together long yet, quite the contrary, James had only met Bob a few weeks ago. Was it weird for a 22 year old man to still be living in his parents garage? Oh, absolutely, and James was definitely judging him for it. 

James hadn’t met Bobs parents yet, and he was unsure if he even wanted to. He never had a great relationship with his own parents, fully certain that Bob was in a similar position. Well, Bob was also just plain weird, so it wouldn’t surprise James one bit if Bobs parents didn’t particularly like him. Who would like their adult child still living in their garage?

They often worked late into the night, and even with clone Bob slaving away making planets, they barely kept up with their deadlines. James, stressed out of his goddamn mind, had phone call after phone call, trying to cash in any remaining favors he had just so they could meet some of the highest standing officials in the business. Bob was doing something, for sure. James never particularly cared for code or programming. All that mattered was Bob was a genius, and James could exploit that.

Until one late night, way past midnight, when James decided to head home for the night, home being a hotel nearby, and his car wouldn’t turn on. 

Nothing. No engine sputtering, no lights going off, nothing. Dead.

“Ey, come on!” He groaned, trying over and over again to start his car. Nothing happened. “FUCK!” Slamming his hands against the steering wheel, he suddenly felt exhausted. Nothing was going his way. He was sitting on a fucking golden goose and struggled to harvest it’s eggs before they cracked, worthless. Fuck. He was so sick of it, ready to throw it all to the wind. Bob was a pain to work with, all these executives and CEOs were pissing him off, and for once in his life his money, his family name got him nowhere. He was completely out of his element and it showed.

And now his FUCKING CAR wouldn’t even turn on.

He was about to explode.

“...Mr. Walton?” James flinched. He hadn’t seen nor heard Bob coming up to the car at all. Bastard was weirdly quiet on his feet. 

James ran a hand over his face, trying to look not as pissed and done as he was. “What do you want, Bob?” He snapped, perhaps a bit too harsh.

Bob stood there, fidgeting with his hands. God, James hated when Bob did that.

“Your car isn’t turning on.” Bobs voice was flat, very rarely was it anything else.

“Way to state the fucking obvious.” 

More fidgeting, more awkward silence. They weren’t friends, as much as James pretended they were, he couldn’t stand Bob. Awkward, childish, creepy Bob.

“My dad is really good with cars. He’s off work tomorrow. We could ask him then.” 

Did-... Did Bob just offer him to stay at his house?

“I’m not spending the night in your garage.” James instinctively shot back, but Bob simply shook his head.

“We have a guest room. Well, it’s my old bedroom, but I- I sleep in the garage anyway, so..” Stumbling over his words, Bob shifted his weight from one foot to the other, rocking from side to side.

Spend the night here? In one house with Bob? And his parents? James would rather walk to the hotel, at risk of being hit by a fucking car.

He nodded, getting out and taking a deep breath. “Yeah, fine, whatever.”

The next morning when James woke up, he was a bit dazed, disoriented. It had been a while since he woke up staring at a ceiling he didn’t immediately recognize.

Right, last night. What a fucking disaster.

Getting up, James quickly got dressed, fixing his bed head before heading down the stairs, wanting to just walk through the open kitchen into the garage. Instead he ran past a woman in maybe her 40s, blonde hair in a ponytail, dressed in a cardigan sweater and sweatpants, getting quite the spook as he rushed past her.

James stopped dead in his tracks, turning around with a polite smile. Ah shit. Now he’d have to talk to Bobs parents.

“Good morning, ma’am. I’m James Walton, your sons business partner.” Extending his hand in a polite greeting, he kept smiling, his voice dripping of honey.

If he was good at one thing, it was charming people.

The woman, Mrs. Daly, simply looked him up and down, giving a slight chuckle as she shook his hand. “Well, I wasn’t aware that Bobs business partner was such a handsome young man. Monica Daly, pleasure to meet you, James.” 

He chuckled right back. He didn’t want to do this. He just wanted to get his car fixed and take a few days off. 

“The pleasure’s all mine. My car broke down yesterday and Bob was kind enough to offer me a place to stay.” Just some chit chat and he’d be gone.

“Oh? Well, my husband is quite proficient when it comes to cars. Let me get him for you.” Mrs. Daly walked off, presumedly to find her husband, and James used this chance to get to the garage, where Bob was sitting at his desk, coding or whatever he was usually doing, drinking chocolate milk. As he glanced up at James, he had that idiotic expression on his face again, that expression as if he had no clue what was going on. Groaning, James walked past Bob, opening the garage door and stepping out to his car and surely enough, Mrs. Daly walked out of the house with her husband in tow, a tall man, burly, dark blonde hair kept short. Bob really took after his father.

“You must be James Walton. Patrick Daly.” Mr. Daly introduced himself, shaking James hand. “So, what’s the issue with it?”

Finally, his rescue.

“Don’t really know, it just wouldn’t turn on yesterday, Sir. No sputtering, no noise, nothing, just dead.” James leaned against his hood, crossing his arms.

“Battery, maybe?”

“It’d sputter if it was the battery.” Mr. Daly nodded. James, as much as he didn’t seem like it, had picked up a bit of knowledge about cars after one of his failed investments. He didn’t even want to think about that asshole again.

“Welp, let’s pop her open and have a look, eh?” James stepped back, letting Mr. Daly open the hood and take a look into the engine. 

They were out there working for a while, trying to find the problem, fix it and finally get his car to start again. They talked a lot, about cars, about James previous investments, about what Mr. Daly did for work, general life things. 

The problem ended up being the steering wheel lock not coming loose, an easy enough fix for now. 

The gasp James let out once his car actually started up could only be described as one of pure relief.

“Urgh, thank you, really, I owe you one for that.”

Mr. Daly, Patrick as he had insisted James called him, just chuckled. “No worries. It was nice, actually talking to someone who knows a bit about cars as well. You know, much better than when I try to get Rob to work on cars with me.”

“Really?” James did his best to sound surprised. He didn’t have a single doubt in his mind that Bob would be absolutely annoying. “Why’s that?”

“Oh, you know, the boy’s weird. Constantly talking about that show of his, his ‘collection’ and all that. If you try to get him to talk about anything else, he always ends up talking about that shit again.”

James chuckled. “Yeah, he’s the same when we work. Constantly having that show run in the background, it’s so annoying.”

“Right?” Patrick laughed along. “You can barely get him away from the screen. Did you know that he even spent his graduation watching that show? Imagine, instead of going to prom with some girl, he sat here watching his stupid show.” Shaking his head, Patrick simply crossed his arms. “Not that I think that sissy even likes girls.”

“The way he stares at those cardboard cutouts sometimes, I don’t think so either. He’s a creep.” James added. It was true, Bob got fairly stare-y sometimes, most of the time, and when he rewound the same scene again and again just to look at his cringy captain, it got annoying real fast.

“Exactly. Sometimes I think about just throwing out all of his Star- whatever shit. If he actually left the house, I might have a chance to do it.”

Already taking a breath to say something, James got interrupted by Bobs presence. Shit, how long had he been standing there?

“It’s-... Space Fleet, dad.” Bobs voice was quiet, picking at his nails before stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Did you-... Is your car working again, Mr. Walton?”

James simply turned his car on, a huge grin on his face. “Purring like a kitten. Right then, Bob, I’ll take a day off from our work. I need a day just for myself after all of this. Have a nice day, Patrick!” He waved for a moment before driving off.

“Wow.” Was all Elena said once Walton had finished his little tale. “You called him annoying, a creep and gay in front of his father?” 

Walton was taken aback by the disapproving glares of everyone around. “What? What are you all looking at me for? Bob was a creep. We all should know that best. I’m just saying, he’s always been like that. Even his parents agreed. At least they liked me.” Crossing his arms, Walton put his feet up on the control panel, not worried about any buttons he might hit, it didn’t work anymore anyways. “So, want me to keep telling you stories, or do we wanna talk about how ‘Oh no, if only I hadn’t been such an asshole, he’d never have turned into a psychotic asshole god’?” Did he sound angry? Absolutely. Was he being defensive? Yeah. When was he not, honestly.

“No, do keep going, I wanna hear more.” Nanette joined in, by now having gotten up and making herself some food.

“Good. Right. Where was I?”

They had done it. They had closed their first big deal, their game and console now out on shelves. It was the first step to something big, the first step to more money than James could imagine. Of course they’d want to celebrate.

Only problem? Their versions of celebration were very different. James wanted to go out, party, have a few drinks, maybe a couple of women, Bob on the other hand wanted to go to some stupid sci-fi comic con bullshit. Absolutely not.

“Please, Mr. Walton! It would do the company really good! We could promote our game, it’s exactly the type of people who will buy our game! And with your connections, we might even get VIP tickets, and- and they have a Space Fleet panel with the original actors, and I just- please-” Bob was stumbling over his words again, nervous, pleading. Clearly, this was really important to him.

He did have a point, though. It would be great publicity. James could no doubt get some bigger companies on board with them.

Then again, he really didn’t want to go.

Well, here was an idea.

“Alright, you know what? Let’s make a deal. I will get us backstage, VIP, whatever tickets for that comic con thing of yours, and I’ll even let you run loose there.” Immediately, Bobs face lit up, almost cute to watch. Almost, if this wasn’t a 23 years old adult man. “But.” And the smile vanished. “You’ll come with me to a bar of my choosing and celebrate this like a normal person. Got it?”

James could practically see the cogs turning in Bobs head, but ultimately he nodded. “Alright- yeah- okay. Yes, okay.”

Perfect.

Was this a selfish idea of James’? Absolutely. But he didn’t care. The main reason he was forcing Bob along was so that the press couldn’t spin some weird story about them. If they saw the two of them out and partying, they might just believe that Bob wasn’t the weird, creepy freak he actually was.

That also entailed that Bob actually dressed like a normal person. Which was harder said than done.

James waited by the car, scrolling on his phone, when Bob walked up to him in his usual get up. Cringe Space-shit shirt, flanel, jacket, oversized jeans, those disgusting, nearly falling apart red Converse he wore everywhere, his hair looking shitty as well. Fucking hell. James couldn’t be seen with him like that.

“Absolutely not.” He simply said, holding up a hand. “Change. Right now.” 

To say Bob looked confused was an understatement. There he was, fidgeting with his hands again.

“What’s wrong with my clothes?” He always sounded like a damn child. So oblivious, so stupid. How could a genius like Bob be such a fucking idiot?

“You look ridiculous. Change. Get rid of that shirt, put on some actual pants and for the love of god, get rid of those shoes. They’re just pitiful.”

Glancing down at himself, Bob started shifting his weight from side to side again. “What’s wrong with my shoes? I like them. I don’t- I don’t have other clothes.”

“Take Patricks, for all I care. The place we’re going to is high class, I can’t turn up there with you looking like this, you’ll embarrass me, Bob.” Was he harsh in what he was saying? Not really, it was the truth after all. Bob understood that, judging by how he just nodded and walked back into the house, emerging after a few long minutes, this time dressed in a plain white shirt, dress pants and jacket, but still those fucking Converse.

“Bob.” James’ voice was stern, annoyed, pissed off even. Bob simply stared at the ground, not reacting at first. 

“I don’t like how other shoes feel, they-”

“I don’t give a shit. End of story. Change. Your. Fucking. Shoes.”

Finally, this time, Bob actually looked presentable. 

The drive to the club was quiet, a welcome change. Bobs voice was irritating more often than not.

When they parked and walked in, Bob still hadn’t said a single thing. Oh well, wasn’t the end of the world if Bob shut his mouth for a bit.

They found their booth, a lightly dressed waitress immediately coming over to take their order.
“Russian Blue, darling, thank you.” James smiled at her, albeit his gaze was a tad lower than her face. What can he say? He loved this place.

She nodded, writing down his order and looking over at Bob, who stared at the table in silence. James gave him a nudge, which seemed to wake him from his trance.

“Oh- uhm- just- I’ll-... Diet coke? Yeah, diet coke. Thanks-...”

She chuckled, writing it down and walking away, James staring after her for a moment longer than acceptable, before looking at Bob. “What the fuck was that?”

“Hm?” Bob looked up, his face flushed red, his eyes slightly bloodshot.

“God, you look like shit. What, never seen a pair of tits? You’re telling me you’ve got some impressive computer but never watched porn?” James only half joked, he was sure Bob watched more than enough porn. Fucking creep.

“What? No- I-” The shade of red that Bobs face turned really shouldn’t be possible. “It’s really hot in here, and- and loud, and these shoes are- they’re tight and stiff- I just-”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, I don’t actually care about your sob story. Ah, here’s the drinks!”

“Bob was-... well, weird all night. Barely talked, didn’t drink, always distant. I didn’t hear from him for days after that night. What a way to celebrate, huh?” Walton leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms tightly. “Whaddya making anyways, Nanette?”

Nanette, having placed the phone next to her while she was cooking, so she could still hear the others, swished the pan around. “Some fried potatoes and eggs.”

“You didn’t consider that maybe something was wrong with him?” Dudani suddenly joins in and for a moment Walton was at a loss for what he even meant.

“Oh, Daly? I mean, no, not really. He was always like that. When he did something he didn’t wanna do, he just shut off, pouting in the corner like a child.” James shrugged. “Are you defending him?” 

Dudani just laughed. “Me? Defending him? You sure Rocky didn’t mess you up mentally?”

“Ey! Don’t talk about him like that!” James shot back, making the entire crew chuckle softly.

“So, did you actually go to that con?” Nanette asked, cracking some eggs into the pan.

“Oh god, don’t remind me.”

James had rarely felt this out of place somewhere. People playing dress-up, nerding out over a bunch of fictional characters, yelling and behaving like children constantly. He hated it here. At least their VIP tickets gave them access to unlimited food. Alcohol wasn’t even allowed in this place. James wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to survive 8 hours here.

Mingling and socialising wouldn’t work, because these were not people he wanted to socialise with. He had tried, no doubt, but after one of the girls in skimpy clothing he had politely hit on called him ‘R.Kelly’, he was done with socialising for today. It wasn’t even noon yet.

So, he stalked through this entire college building, trying to find Bob to just leave. This had been an absolutely idiotic idea.

When he finally found him, Bob was standing at some stall, talking to someone, a huge smile on his face, his arms filled with more of that Space-whatever stuff.

“Bob. We’re leaving.” James simply said, almost commanded as he took Bob by the arm, trying to pull him away.

“What? No, wait-” Somehow, Bob twisted himself out of James' grip, staring at him. “The panel- it’s in an hour, after that we can go. But I really wanna see that panel-”

“I don’t care. We’re leaving. I hate this place. Besides, your great ‘publicity idea’ was bullshit, Bob. Let’s go.” James turned around, walking away, when suddenly, Bob called out from behind him.

“No.”

James froze. What?

“No?” He asked, turning around, looking directly at Bob, who gave him a glare of defiance.

“No. I’m not going. You can go, but I’m staying. I’ll take a cab back for all I care.”

Oh no. This is not how this worked. He would not have this freaky little weirdo tell him no.

“Excuse me? I’m the only reason you got those tickets! In fact.” He stomped up to Bob, ripping the VIP pass from his neck. Luckily Bobs arms were full of merchandise, so he couldn’t do anything against it. “If I’m leaving, I’m taking this with me. Have fun getting into your stupid panel now!”

The immediate panic in Bobs face gave James almost a sense of pride. He enjoyed the control he had over that man.

“No! Please! Please, give it back! I’ll do whatever! I’ll stay up all night coding! I’ll make the deadline a week early! Please!”

James simply raised an eyebrow, almost intrigued. He could use this. “Just a week? Make it two.”

Any color left Bobs face, but he nodded nonetheless. “Yes. Two weeks early.”

This made James more than satisfied with himself, walking back up to Bob and placing the pass around his neck. “Good boy. I’ll see you around then.”

“Surprisingly, he did hit the deadline two weeks early.” Walton by now had gotten up, making himself a drink. “Anyone else want one?” He asked into the group, but everyone just shook their heads.

“You really were an asshole, weren’t you, Walton?” Nate chimed in, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I-” He thought about denying it, he had already formed the sentence in his mind. ‘I wasn’t an asshole, I didn’t exploit him, Bob just needed a push every now and then.’. That wasn’t the truth though, was it? Walton was an asshole. He had exploited Daly. He had been horrible to him. That didn’t excuse what Daly had done to them all, but it also didn’t make it justifiable. “I wasn’t always bad.” 

Nate gave him the biggest side eye Walton had ever experienced, worse than whenever one of his flirt attempts went downhill.

“I mean it!”

They had cashed quite a hefty sum lately, multiple investors jumping on board, ready to invest and see this project through to the end. It was heaven for James. Launch had gone fantastic, there were already hundreds of active players, and sales were on the rise.
James also spent a lot more time at the Daly residence, sometimes going as far as having breakfast with Bobs parents. Who could blame him? Monica and Patrick liked him and it was nice to finally hear about how he wasn’t just a freeloader and an embarrassment from a parental figure.

So, he decided to do something nice for them. Quite frankly, it was the first time James had done something nice for another person purely out of kindness and thankfulness, not for some selfish reason. He was proud when he invited the couple out to dinner and they accepted.

“Oh, the place is fantastic. Very high class, so wear something nice, not that you don’t already look breathtaking, Monica.” James’ voice was full of honey, sweet talking Monica, who just gave him a sly grin and playfully hit his arm.

“Stop it, Jamie!” All three of them started to chuckle as James moved away, his hands up in a defensive gesture.

“I’m just saying. It’s not easy to get a table at this place, but the Walton family name does get you quite far. Obviously I will be paying.” He immediately put a hand up, knowing they’d want to protest. “Don’t even start. See it as a thank you for being so kind to me and letting myself and Bob work out of your garage.”

Bob, who for some reason was standing beside them, seemingly raiding the fridge, his hands full of chocolate milk cartons and white Monster, stared at them, his tone quiet.

“Uhm… Mr. Walton? Can I come too?”

If James was truly honest with himself at that moment, he’d have admitted to forgetting Bobs existence. But he wasn’t an honest guy.

“...I guess? It’s gonna be a four person table anyways.” James simply shrugged and Bob only answered with a silent nod. 

The evening of the reservation came and as James and Bob finished their workload for the day and got ready, James pulled Bob to the side for a moment.
“Bob, I swear to fucking god, wear something nice. The place I’m taking you to is a suit and tie kind of place and if you show up at my car wearing your fucking Space Fleet shit, I will leave you here and cut the deadline a month short.” He wanted, no, needed this evening to go perfect. He couldn’t risk fucking it up with even more parental figures. He needed this.

Bob gave him an almost scared nod as he walked into the house, leaving James alone in the garage. Nervous was an understatement for what James was feeling. The moment Bob had left, James let out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. His gaze drifted over to Bobs shelf, scanning over the various items for a moment, before ultimately landing on the cardboard cutout of Captain Storm.

James simply stared for a moment.

“...Is this how you felt when you went up against the Bargradians for the first time?” James asked the cutout, letting out a humorless laugh. “Fuck, listen to me, I sound like Bob.”

Another moment of staring.

Another moment of contemplation.

“Well, no use in just standing here, right? …Right. Let’s roll, Captain.”

When they had arrived, James’ nerves still hadn’t left him fully. He’d nearly stumbled over his name when he asked about the reservation, barely able to politely pull the chair out for Monica as they walked to their table.

Once everyone had their menus in hand, he could finally breathe for a moment.

A moment which was immediately ruined by Bobs grating voice whispering in his ear.

“You didn’t tell me this was a sushi place, Mr. Walton.”

“Bob, shut up!” James hissed in a low voice, hiding behind his menu so Patrick and Monica wouldn’t see the clear panic on his face. “I need tonight to go absolutely perfect, got it? So just- just shut up and get the ramen or something!”

Bob stared for a moment - Oh how James hated it when Bob stared - before stuffing his nose back into the menu.

The waiter quickly came over, introducing himself and smiling politely while the group ordered. Well, everyone except for Bob.

No need in getting hung up about that now. James didn’t care about Bob, all he cared about currently was this dinner going perfect.

It didn’t take long after the food arrived for Patrick to say something about Bobs lack of a plate.

“Rob, sport, you aren’t gonna get anything?” 

Bob simply shook his head, fidgeting with his hands underneath the table. “I hate seafood, dad. I can’t deal with the texture, it’s just-”

“Oh, grow up Bob.” Monica interrupted him almost immediately. “This is a nice restaurant that Jamie was so nice to take us to, can’t you be normal for once?”

“Mom, I-”

“No, Bob is right, Monica.” James chimed in, shaking his head. “If he doesn’t like the food, he doesn’t have to get anything. He can just order take out later.” It wasn’t that James actually cared about Bob, no, quite the contrary, he just wanted Bob to shut the hell up and stop ruining his night, more than evident by the pissed off glare he was giving Bob.

“-yeah… Yeah, I guess.”

“That evening went great. It really did. One of the few pleasant memories I have of that time.” Walton, by now sitting down again, drink in hand, crossed his legs, confused as the rest of the crew gave him disapproving glares, even Nanette having stopped eating. “What?”

Nate simply shook his head, slow and deliberate, Elena rolling her eyes, and even Dudani averted his gaze, staring at the console.
“James, that’s the story you have to make us believe that you weren’t a major asshole to Daly?” Nanette asked, going back to eating.

Walton was, well, bewildered? Were they seriously picking Dalys side over him?

“Are you kidding me? The guy was a goddamn psychopath! And you’re mad at me?”

Dudani, quiet, normally so reserved Dudani, shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just messed up to hear a story you think went really well and hearing how you essentially completely excluded Daly from his own family dinner.”

“Exactly.” Elenas accent was thick, annoyed as she stood up to stand directly in front of Walton. “You are the asshole in this. He was a psycho, but that doesn’t mean you should have treated him like that.”

They were seriously picking Daly over him right now. Daly. Insane, creepy, psychotic Daly. Have they all forgotten what Daly had done to them? How he had tortured them? Treated them like slaves? Like puppets he twisted the heads off? 

They thought what Walton had told them was bad? That was nothing. Absolutely nothing compared to what Daly had done to them. Compared to some of the other things Walton had done.

“You wanna paint me as the fucking villain?” God, he was pissed off. “Alright, I’ll give you something to paint me as the villain! So listen up, everyone! You wanna know how bad it got?”

He hated the garage. It was cramped, it didn’t allow them to hire anyone else, not that they had the capital to do that just yet. They were close, though. Walton was saving up his money for a nice house he had his eyes on, and Bob?

Bob spent his part at flea markets and conventions, spending exuberant amounts of money on more for his stupid collection. There was already barely any space, but Bob showed up week after week with more. More figurines, more posters, more clothes, more more more.

Normally, James wouldn’t have given a shit. It was short lived excitement for Bob and the perfect opportunity for James to keep Bobs work ethic up.

That was until that plushie.

That fucking plushie. Oh god how James hated that plushie.

“Look at it! Isn’t this so cool! Someone made this! They made this themselves and the details are incredible! You can even take off Captain Storms jacket and his blaster is a perfect recreation from the show and he’s so soft and- and- look at him!!” Bob was nearly squealing, sounding like a high school girl whose crush had realized she existed for the first time. He basically shoved the plushie into James’ face, a huge, stupid, childish, idiotic grin on his face.

At first James simply gave a forced smile, watching as Bob sat back down at his desk, pulling out a carton of chocolate milk and nestling the plushie into his lap while he continued slaving away.

Rolling his eyes, James concentrated back on his own work. Bob would lose interest eventually anyways and the plushie would end up on the shelf with all of his other nerd shit.

Which, even days later, wasn’t the case. Bob took that goddamn plushie everywhere. While he worked, when he went to pick up food, even going as far as taking it along when they went to meet with the investors to discuss the latest patches and current numbers.

No amount of makeover, of expensive suits and neat appearances could erase the utter humiliation of an adult man running around important business meetings with a fucking stuffed toy.

James could have strangled Bob for it.

He was tempted, no doubt, but Bobs work was too important for that.

So, he came up with a different plan.

He was having dinner with Monica and Patrick one evening, Bob working in the garage, when the conversation finally turned to the topic of Bobs plushie.

“It’s so ridiculous! He’s 24, for fucks sake, and he took it to a meeting! A meeting!!” About to cry due to the pure humiliation, James let his head fall into his hands.

Monica gently stroked his back while Patrick simply sighed. “I did tell you both, we should have thrown all of his Star-whatever shit out a long time ago. This isn’t healthy anymore, Monica. The boy is behaving like a toddler!”

Sighing, Monica nodded along.

Throw Bobs things out?

Now there was an idea.

James, sitting up straight now, held up his hand. “Hold your thoughts, I’ll be right back.” With that, he swiftly got up, opening the garage door as quietly as humanly possible and taking a peek inside.

Jackpot, Bob fell asleep at his desk again. And there it was, that stupid plushie, sitting in the armchair right behind Bob.

It all went fast from there. James sneaked in, taking the plushie, sneaking back into the house and outside through the front door so he wouldn’t have to open the garage door and risk waking Bob, throwing the plushie into the trash can outside. Bob rarely brought trash out anyways and it would be picked up on the weekend regardless. Finally. He’d finally be rid of that fucking thing.

He ran back in, sitting down at the dinner table. “None of you are going to say anything to him.” Patrick and Monica nodded, the delighted look on Patricks face sending a slight shiver down his back. Was it fucked up what James had just done? No, absolutely not, he was doing something that benefitted them both.

Dinner continued as if nothing had ever happened, at least until Bob peeked his head inside from the garage, seemingly having awoken from his nap.

“Uhm- Mr. Walton? Have you seen Captain Storm?” There was a slight shake in his voice, a twinge of panic.

“No, Bob, can’t say I have. I thought you put it on the armchair?” James had rarely been so glad that he was a fantastic liar.

“I- I did, but- he’s not there anymore and I’ve- I’ve looked everywhere already, and I just can’t find him. Mom? Did you put him in the wash?” Bob had by now fully stepped into the kitchen, fidgeting with his hands, nervous as he rocked from side to side.

“No, sweetie, I didn’t.”

His gaze moved over to his father, who simply shook his head.

“But I- I know I put him in the armchair. I didn’t- I didn’t misplace him. I can’t have.” Shaking his head, he stuttered, stumbling over his words. “Please, just- just tell me if any of you see him. Okay? Okay. Please.” 

“You threw his fucking plushie in the garbage?” Nanette interrupted, shocked as she listened.

“Yes, Nanette, I did. So if any of you wanna call me an asshole or as bad as Daly or whatever, there you go. I am an asshole.” Crossing his arms, Walton leaned back far into his chair. He just wanted to disappear right now. He wanted to hide away in his quarters and spent some quality time with Rocky.

“Holy fuck.” Was all Dudani had to say.

“Oh, I’m not even at the worst part yet.”

The weekend came and Bob had effectively dismantled the entire garage looking for the plushie, obviously not finding it. It was pathetic to watch, really, how he so desperately searched for a fucking stuffed toy. It became so bad that, after having scrunched the entirety of the garage, Bob was sitting on the ground, just getting out from under his desk, knees pulled up to his chest, tears stinging in his eyes, rocking back and forth.

“I’m so stupid! How did I lose him?! How could I have lost him!??” 

James, from his spot on the armchair, nearly felt bad. Then again, the greater good. Or something.

“Don’t know. Probably weren’t paying attention. It’s just a toy, Bob.”

“NO!” He yelled, which, honestly, took James by surprise for a moment. What took him more by surprise was how Bob started hitting his own head, quite hard. “He wasn’t just a toy! He was handmade! He was unique! And I lost him like a fucking- a fucking idiot!”

James watched for a few seconds. Jeez, Bob was gonna give himself a concussion like that.

“Oh shut up. It was a fucking toy, Bob! Grow up!” He snapped, already pissed off just at the sound of Bobs shaky, utterly pathetic voice.

Surprisingly, it caused Bob to stop, staring at the ground, completely silent, unmoving, before getting up and cleaning up his desk. 

Trash bag in hand, he didn’t look at James, rather eyeing the floor and making his way outside.

What a fucking freak, to have such a crashout over a toy of all things.

Bob came back inside a worryingly long time later, so long in fact that James wondered if he’d just run off at this point. But he didn’t. Sadly.

Instead, he was standing in the garage door, the stuffed toy in hand, filthy, dirty, covered in gunk from days spent in the trash.

Ah fuck.

“Hey, look at that, you found him. Probably threw him out instead of the trash.” James said, a bit more rushed than necessary, as he looked back down at his phone.

Bob was silent.

Walton took a deep breath. He didn’t even need to see their faces to know the glares they gave him. “We never talked about it.”

Silence.

Dreaded silence.

Walton hated silence.

“Looking back on it” He sighed, “That was the first time I-... started feeling bad for him. He barely talked to me anymore, didn’t put on Space Fleet when he worked and just-... shut off. That was also when I started to realize that the things his parents were saying to him were more than fucked up. I already exploited him, but his parents? Straight up abusive.” A simple shrug, a small glance up, followed by eyeing his hands again. “...Wanna hear about the one good thing I did for him?”

For a moment there, Walton was sure they’d all say no, tell him to fuck off. He could have dealt with that. Being seen as a bastard was far easier than being vulnerable.

“Please.” Came Nanette's quiet voice over the speakers.

Since Bob had stopped spending his money on Space Fleet merch after the plushie incident, his money accumulated fast. So fast in fact that a few months later, he had a hefty sum saved up.

James had spent his down time looking at houses and apartments, thinking about going into real estate, just renting out a few properties for some more cash on the side, when he came across a nice looking apartment. Large, open, modern, big balcony with a lot of natural light, very central, supposedly great internet and cheap utilities. All for a reasonable price.

James hated apartments, so he nearly just scrolled past before he could stop himself.

As much as he despised Bob, as much as Bob was driving him insane with his entire being, he needed to get out of this house. Not just because it would be ridiculous publicity if Bob kept living with his parents, but also because-... Well, as much as James didn’t want to admit it, Patrick and Monica were fairly disgusting people in how they treated their only son.

“Hey, Bob? Take a look at this, will you?” He asked out loud into the room, moving his chair out of the way so Bob could see his screen.

His colleague was fairly confused for a moment. “What am I looking at?”

“An apartment. For you. Maybe. If you want it.” James’ voice was uncharacteristically quiet.

“I don’t- I don’t want to move out, why should I? I can just stay here, I mean-” 

“Robert, listen to me.” That might have been the first time James had actually used Bobs full name, a certainty in his voice he rarely had, no manipulation, no sweet talking. “Your parents are fucked up people. They treat you like shit. You need to get out of here. Just think about it, your own place, all to yourself. No one you don’t want there can come in, no one can judge you, an entire apartment for all the Space Fleet merch you could ever imagine.” Okay, maybe a bit of sweet talking and manipulation, but he really, really needed Bob to just say yes. “I’ll even help you move. I’ll be really careful with your things, I promise.”

And yet, Bob seemed so very unsure, scared almost.

“Mr. Walton, I don’t-”

“Robert, please. I’m trying to help you. Actually trying to help you. This” He gestures around, more towards the rest of the house than the actual garage, “is not healthy. They are not healthy. I know you can’t stand up for yourself, but that is why I’m telling you right now that you need to move out. Please, just believe me on this one.”

The tension between them was thick, the silence crushing, James’ mouth feeling dry all of a sudden.

They stared at each other for a few seconds at most, and yet it felt like years.

“...Okay.”

Once again, the Walton family name saved James’ ass. Bob got the apartment and mere weeks after they first got into contact with the landlord, he could move in. 

Bob had been fairly meticulous when they packed up his things, and it was also the first time that James realized just how much Space Fleet merch Bob had. A lot of merch, and very little actually useful things one would need for an apartment. It wasn’t an issue though, at least not a big one. It gave them the opportunity to divide the work of moving. While Bob was in charge of actually decorating and moving into his apartment while James went shopping for the essentials. Anything kitchen related, bathroom interior, even some furniture. James had picked Bob's bed and desk, which he had to admit were quite a fantastic purchase. Were they above Bob’s budget? Yeah. Did James care? No. He simply paid the difference and never told Bob.

The bed and mattress had been the last thing to be delivered, so James was now stuck helping Bob unpack the many boxes of Space Fleet stuff.

Albeit, he got out of that by furnishing the rest of the apartment. Filling the bathroom cabinets, kitchen shelves, setting up Bobs TV. It was fun. Something James didn’t think he’d ever say.

Bob was currently occupied with setting up his PC as James made the bed. It was all slowly coming together, almost homely. Still somewhat bare, but what had he expected? Bob had one love and one love only, Space Fleet. So of course his first apartment would be filled with Space Fleet. Anywhere you looked, Space Fleet.

Anywhere but the bed. At least for now. James had decided on simple white sheets, a fluffy and warm blanket, a few comfortable pillows and he fell in love with the simplicity of it.

So, when he reached into the box next to the bed and pulled out the plushie, that hated, dirty, filthy plushie, his first instinct was to throw it off the balcony. For some reason though, he didn’t. Instead, he stood there, staring at the plushie, its grimy exterior, still nasty from its trash bath months ago, he felt… something. He felt… bad. Bad about what he had done to the plushie, to Bob.

His gaze drifted over to the white, pristinely made bed. So perfect, so simplistic, so normal.

He sighed.

Ah fuck.

“Hey, Robert?” He asked into the room, not even having to look behind him to know he had gotten Bob’s attention. Moving towards the bed, James pulled the blankets back and nestled the plushie against the pillows, neatly tucking him in. “Think Captain Storm likes it?” 

Glancing behind him, he saw that stupid look on Bob’s face again, that stare towards the plushie, slowly moving up to stare directly at James, as if he couldn’t believe what had just happened. 

A small, happy, real smile spread on Bob’s face.

“Yeah. I think he does.”

Walton by now was leaning against the wall. He always moved around when he was nervous, and fucking hell was he nervous. He was aware how bad he looked to the others by now, and he knew nothing could fix that. 

“As far as I’m aware, Daly never moved out of that apartment.” Walton shrugged, his gaze downturned towards his boots. 

Silence.

Dreaded fucking silence. It was the worst for him. He could deal with nasty words, with hearing just how much of a bastard he was, but not silence.

“So, you actually cared?” Nanette asked, her voice quiet, sitting on the couch, knees pulled up to her chest.

This made Walton chuckle. No, he hadn’t. He’d never cared about Daly. Never once. He was happy when he found out Daly was dead. 

“...I don’t know.” Was what he said instead.

It was true. He didn’t know anymore. And it wasn’t like he could talk to Daly again, tell him he was sorry, that at least this version of him was. That, if he could do it all over again, he would have stuck by Daly’s side, being the friend Daly had so desperately needed, the voice of reason. 

How could he ever have been a voice of reason? He himself couldn’t even follow reason.

Sometimes, he wasn’t sure anymore who was worse, him or Daly.

“I’ll be in my quarters.” With this, Walton left, that terrible silence following him.

It was always going to end like this, wasn’t it? With Daly eventually lashing out and Walton being at his mercy, even after his death.

They had never been destined for greatness, or wealth and fame, the stars, whatever else either of them dreamed of.

They were only human.

And by god had they been shitty ones.