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“Yeah, I’m listenin’, I’m listenin’.”
With a clenched fist and a bit lip, Spamton began pacing around the room as far as the phone cord would let him go. “You really couldn’t have [waiter, waiter!] for a better time? It’s the Christmas [HOLIDAY SALES NOW ON!] for crying out loud!”
A rough, audible bark shot out from the phone receiver at that. “ALRIGHT, I’ve got it. Now, I’ve gotta take care of [Open for Business!] down here, so if you could kindly leave me to—”
A knock on the door. Thank. God. “I- yup, they’re callin’ me out now. Yeah, yeah. Talk to you soon.”
Without even waiting for a goodbye in return, Spamton hung up; one hand slamming the phone onto the receiver while the other gripped the table it was on tightly. After a couple of seconds (and some much needed deep breaths), Spamton headed to the door of the S-Rank room to answer the (rather persistent) knocking.
“[HAY HAY HAY], bud! What can I do you fo–”
Spamton’s usual, well-rehearsed greeting was cut short when he found Mike standing at the other end of the door; non-existent brow knotted.
“Spamton.”
“[[MIKE CHECK]]!! Hey…!”
Before the Addison could yank an excuse out of his ass, Mike’s gaze narrowed. Yep. There was no way Spamton could bullshit his way out of this one. “Look. They were clawing up my back for a response. I wasn’t needed for the last slot, so I went to humor them. Frees the evening up, y’know?”
Mike sighed, “Spam. I’ve told ya so many times you can come to me and I’ll tell them to shut their yaps.”
“I–”
“Shh. Another time. We’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Eh?”
Mike only pressed his finger to his lips in reply, beckoning Spamton to follow him. The Microphone kept his voice low, continuing to look left and right as they travelled through the backstage area.
“Somethin’ happened in the Light World once ya went off to talk to your little pen pal,” Mike explained, “A couple harsh words were said at the wrong time ‘tween Toriel and Asgore, then in-kitchen bickering turned into out-kitchen screaming.”
“Angel. Fucking. Almighty. Seriously?”
Mike nodded. “Asriel and December took the little ones out of the house to make Snowgoons, but the Adults are still going at full force.”
“And the Older Holidays?”
“Both are trying to de-escalate in their own ways. Both are failing miserably.”
Spamton bit his lip. God. Out of all the times for shit to hit the fan, it had to be when his back was turned. Mike seemed to notice that the other man was putting the pieces together, sighing loudly.
“Tenna saw it all, of course. One of the Pippins backstage picked up on the audio and then it all went to shit.”
“Dammit…”
Nausea-inducing guilt shot through the Addison’s body.
If only. If only he could have it both. If only dual-loyalty was something actually honorable and not something akin to the same slimy tactics that had caused him to travel down this path in the first place.
If only. If only there was a way he could know—
“Hey. Big Shot. Eyes on me.”
Mike gave Spamton a firm shake of the shoulders, snapping him back to reality, “Remember. Focus on the here and now.”
“Focus…”
Mike nodded along as whatever dissociative episode Spamton had begun to climb into disappeared in the wind. “C’mon. Go talk to Tenna. He’s dragged himself up to Ramb’s bar, so he is in good company. But I’m sure he’d wanna see you more. No offense to Ramb, ‘course.”
“...yeah. Sounds good. You comin’?”
“I’ve talked to him already. Plus, I’m swarmed. Gonna get some of the boring paperwork out the way so he can have a peaceful evening.”
“You utter saint,” Spamton chuckled, “Talk to you later, [buddy ol’ pal].”
- - -
“Am I even going to live long enough to see another one of these?”
It was never a good day when Tenna was able to sit at one of the Green Room barstools comfortably. Today being no exception was putting it lightly. Tenna was absentmindedly swirling around two ice cubes in an empty glass- face firmly fixed on the bar counter and mind slowly digging itself into a six foot grave.
Ramb, local bartender and unfortunate recipient of Tenna’s avalanche of self-deprecating rhetorical questions, was perched up on the bar counter. Meanwhile, Spamton stood in the doorway for a bit, trying to judge the best chance to jump into the conversation himself.
“Chin up, luv,” Ramb sighed, “I know today was pants, but they’ll have all their ducks in a row by tomorrow. No one’s gonna just… leg it. The Dreemurrs are too good to pull a blinder like that. You know that, I know that.”
“But… what if this time…”
“Tenna. Have a little faith, aight? We all care about ya, bud.”
“Mmm…”
“Atta, boy,” Ramb gave Tenna’s shoulder an awkward pat, before he spotted Spamton out the corner of his eye. He bit back a grimace, but hopped down from the bar. “Looks like you’ve got company. And I’m feelin’ a tad cream crackered, so I’ll leave you two to it, eh?”
Tenna lifted his head, looking over to Spamton with a bit of a softer expression. “Alright… thank you, Ramb.”
“Anytime, luv. Nighty night.”
Ramb slipped out the door, exchanging a stern glance with Spamton as he did. Spamton glared up, before seating himself up at the bar next to his business partner.
“...hey, Tens.”
“Evening, Spammy.”
Tenna’s non-existent gaze stayed on the glass in his hand, clinking the ice cubes around over and over again. Spamton watched him all the while, the guilt in his stomach swelling up at an alarming rate.
“...sorry.”
“Spamton, it’s fine. You weren’t to know,” Tenna murmured in reply, “It’s… fine. It’s all fine.”
.....
“C’mon, [[Cathode]]. We both know that’s not true.”
Tenna sighed again, sliding the ice-filled glass to the other end of the bar. He stared forward for a bit, fidgeting with his hands.
“What do you think, Spammy?”
“About?”
“About… the Lightners. Do you really think everyone’s going to be okay?”
Spamton winced silently. He knew what the answer was. He also knew what Tenna needed to hear right now. And as per, those answers didn’t match.
“If they know what’s good for ‘em, they’ll [sticky notes] around,” Spamton replied, squeezing the other’s hand, “After all, who’d be able to live without this [Ten Times Award Winning!!] face?”
A flicker of pink flashed up on Tenna’s screen, drawing a chuckle out of Spamton, “There we go. I’ve gotcha.”
“Thank you…”
The blush quickly cleared, though Spamton didn’t stop giving his partner’s hand soft squeezes. They stayed in silence for a few more moments, before Tenna’s head drooped a little again.
“...I miss the old days, Spammy.”
The old days… the ones when the Addisons and him actually saw eye-to-eye? The ones when he wasn’t terrified about being all talk and no action?
The days where his head was actually fucking clear?
.....
“...yeah. I get that, Tens,”
“...not to undermine everything you and Mike do! But… I can’t lose the Lightners.”
“Your audience?”
“...my family.” Tenna mumbled, “They’re a part of me. A VITAL one at that! I just... don’t know if I'm a part of them.”
“...well, just know you’re a part of me.”
Tenna’s on-screen blush returned- far more vividly than before this time. Even Spamton spluttered- a little shocked by how easily the words came out of his mouth. “God, I—”
“Oh, you CHARMER...”
Tenna’s expression seemed far lighter now, the faintest bud of a flower visible from his nose. And for a moment, Spamton’s war-torn mind finally shut itself up.
He could deal with all his moral shortcomings later. Right now, the Mr. Ant Tenna was looking at him with nothing but adoration, and god damn was it effective.
“Mmm… Merry Christmas to you too, Tens.”
“R-right!! MERRY CHRISTMAS!! Gosh, I got so caught up in all the filming today that I didn’t even get the chance to really say it to you…”
“Think we’re in the same boat there. Sure doesn’t feel like Christmas when you’re workin’ your ass off.”
“Spammy…! Language!” Tenna chuckled, “And c’mon, would you really have it any other way?”
“Maybe… I’d much rather spoil you to hell and back all day if I could. And [speaker] of spoiling… did I keep it in here…”
Spamton fished around in his jacket pocket for a few moments, before producing a small, velvet box. “By some [Christmas Miracle], the other Addisons were willing to throw me a bone to sort this for you. Here ya go, [[Cathode]].”
“Oh, Spammy…”
Opening the box revealed a pair of golden star-shaped cufflinks; clearly custom made to account for Tenna’s size. The CRT’s expression lit up that much more, the flower on his nose bursting into bloom. “Oh, SPAMMY~! You WONDERFUL, WONDERFUL mailman, you~!”
“You like ‘em?” Spamton pulled back his jacket sleeve, revealing a similar pair of (appropriately sized) cufflinks attached to his shirt buttons, “Thought it’d be a subtle and sweet way of matching with you. Well, more than we already ar–”
The Addison didn’t even get the chance to finish his sentence before his partner grabbed him and pulled him into a tight hug, “LIKE them?! Spamton, I LOVE them!!”
“Ack- awesome, [[Boob Tube]], but you’re gonna [KILL SCREEN] me if you [let’s go] any tighter–!!”
“Oops–!” Tenna immediately loosened his grip, letting the other man catch his breath in his lap, “I’m still not used to just how small you are.”
“Jeez… thanks.”
“Hehe… my Little Big Shot~”
“Thank you, Tens,”
Tenna giggled, giving Spamton’s cheek a couple gentle pokes before calming down, “Sorry, sorry… Well, do you want to do the honors?”
“The honors of…?”
“Putting them on me?”
“Pff, [[Ten out of Ten]], you big sap. What is this, some kind of elopement?”
“....”
“Don’t answer that, actually. No matter how ya respond, it’s gonna give me a [h3art] attack.”
Before his giant, over-emotional mess of a partner could say anything else, Spamton rolled Tenna’s jacket sleeve back and carefully locked the cufflinks into place. “There. Fits like a glove.”
“They’re even more wonderful when they’re on…”
“I mean… that’s kind of the point, Tens.”
“Pfft, I suppose so!”
Tenna’s antenna suddenly stood up straight. He reached into his own large pockets, pulling out a box wrapped in shiny red paper with a yellow bow, “And this is yours! I’ll admit, it was a little hard to pick out something for you. I mean, what do you give a man who seems to have the WORLD in the palm of his hand?”
“I trust your judgement, Cathode. Don’t worry,” Spamton unravelled the bow, carefully tore the paper and lifted the lid on the box. Inside was a red, leather-bound book; seemingly A5 size. “SPAMTON G SPAMTON: TV WORLD” was printed on the front cover in metallic yellow lettering.
“Mike and Shuttah gave me a hand with organizing all this,” Tenna explained, “I… wanted you to have something you can take with you on your trips back to Cyber City. Something to… well… remind you of us. And something for you to do that’ll let you UNWIND for once!”
Spamton cocked his head a bit, opening the book’s front cover to a foreword written in gold pen.
- - -
“Spamton,
As your time here passes, I want to make sure you’re able to have a record of as much as possible. And as much as I want to just follow you around with a camera so we can have every moment of our lives captured on TV for our enjoyment, I know that’s definitely not a viable option!
So, I’ve started a scrapbook for you. You can add whatever you want- photos, diary entries, bits and pieces of material to remind you of certain days… the sky really is the limit!
I hope you like it. And I hope I’ll be able to have a part in updating it in the coming years! Let’s make this something that’ll showcase just how vital you are to all of us here. To me.
After all, you deserve it.
Sincerely yours,
MR ANT TENNA.”
- - -
“[[Cathode…]]”
Spamton flicked through the first few pages; being met with page after page of different filming days, outings, cozy nights in and so much more. Each page was surrounded with an array of doodles, captions and other materials to add to the pizzazz of each page. Spamton caught Tenna staring out of the corner of his eye, causing the latter to get a bit flustered.
“It might be a tad too sentimental, but… I just… really wanted to give you something from the heart…”
“Lean down for a sec.”
Spamton placed the book to the side, grabbing the silk ribbon and climbing onto the counter. He gently grabbed one of Tenna’s antennas, tying the ribbon into a loose-ish bow around it.
“Ehh? Spammy, what are you—”
“Say cheese, Tens.”
A camera was retrieved from Spamton’s other pocket and pointed directly at the freshly decorated (and rather flustered) Tenna. Spamton then went back to stand beside him, planting a kiss on the top of Tenna’s head while he took a second photo.
“There. Those are gonna make one hell of a great page.”
A few more flowers immediately sprouted from the end of Tenna’s nose as he completely pink-screened. Satisfied, Spamton made his way back to his seat with the book in his hands.
“Seriously, [[Angel]]. I love it. And you better not go back on that offer to do a couple of pages with me, alright?”
“Aaha…”
“...I’ll give you a few minutes,”
The mailman chuckled, climbing behind Ramb’s bar and grabbing a couple bottles and fixing a random cocktail that seemed appealing to him at the time. He slid one glass over to Tenna- who’d finally recovered from the shock.
“Cheers, Tens.”
“Cheers!” Tenna clinked his glass against his partner’s with a smile, “To… well…”
“To us.” Spamton cut in. “And to a much less [$!$!] end to our Christmas, eh?”
“Yes…” Tenna nodded, his expression becoming a little sheepish, “Thank you, Spammy.”
“‘Course. Anythin’ for you,
Tenna nodded again, taking a swig of his drink before stretching a bit, “Ooh, my back is KILLING me… could we move to the couches, Spamton?”
“Yeah, I’d like that. I’ll put something on that TV and we can rest up a bit together. Sounds good?”
“Your plan involves TV and you’re asking ME if that sounds good?”
“Of course it does,” Spamton grinned. “After all, I Love TV~”
Tenna perked up at that, shooting up in size as he scooped Spamton up into another hug. “And TV loves you too~”