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“I need to make you a watch.”
Quackity blinks. “What? Why?”
“Remember the tracker you wanted me to build for you?” Multi questions.
A flicker of understanding crossed his face.
“Oh. Yeah.” The avian laughs, dry and humorless. “That probably would’ve made things easier back then.”
Immediately, Multi looked away, his jaw tightened. He tried to hide how much that comment affected him, as he cleared his medical tools from the table.
Quackity, obviously, noticed.
“Hey.” His voice softened. “Sorry. That was insensitive.” Guilt from making the scientist feel like that overflowing him.
He reached over, rubbing a hand across Multi’s shoulder trying to comfort him.
“It wasn’t your fault. I’ve told you that already.”
“No.” Multi’s response came too quickly. “It was. If I had just—”
“It wasn’t.” Quackity tightened his grip, forcing the scientist to look at him. “The only one responsible is Cucurucho. We’ve been through this, Multi.”
The certainty in his voice left no room for argument, his imposing gaze finishing any fighting within his body.
For a moment, Multi simply stared at him.
Then he sighed.
“Okay.” After a short pause, he picks up. “As I was saying.”
“Right.” Quackity settled back onto the stretcher. “Continue.”
Multi holds up his own wrist. “I was thinking of making you something similar to mine.”
The watch glinted beneath the laboratory lights, quick testing signal showing off small beats of color.
“Obviously, it’s going to be smaller. More discreet.”
“We’d be matching.” Quackity adds, excitedly.
There’s a smile in Multi’s mouth, sharp canines showing playfulness. “I suppose we would.”
“But no.”
The smile vanishes instantly.
“What?” Multi frowns. “Why? Why not? Did I—”
“Woah, woah.” Quackity laughs. “Calm down, dude.” He patted Multi’s arm again, surprisingly, it’s been working better than expected. “It’s just a bad idea.”
“Why?” The scientist is a bit distraught, still feeling the underlying dread this whole kidnapping brought.
“Why the fuck would I suddenly start wearing a watch?”
“It’s not to check the kurwa time, you know?”
“I know that.” Quackity pointed at him. “That’s the problem. Why would I wear a watch?”
He sat up, getting closer to the edge where the older is standing.
“If I suddenly show up wearing a ‘watch’, no one’s gonna buy it.” Quackity argues. “Why are even getting mad at me? I’m just trying to help.”
Multi pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
The headache was already beginning.
“I just don’t want to put a tracker inside your body.” His voice lowers. “It feels too invasive.”
The duck hybrid shrugs. “Sounds invasive, yeah.” Then he smiles and adds. “But I trust you.”
The words landed far harder than they should have.
Multi looked away first.
Not because he disagreed, quite the opposite. Trust had always been a dangerous thing to place in someone else’s hands and Quackity offered it so easily.
The offer solely to him, even after everything that happened. Regardless of any failure or shortcomings he’s had.
As though there had never been another option.
Silence settles between them.
Not awkward. Not uncomfortable.
Just two people trying to solve a problem neither of them ever wanted to face again, this time knowing better than to leave it for later.
Then, quieter than before, Quackity speaks.
“How about a ring?”
He keeps his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the laboratory doors, purposely avoiding the scientist’s direction.
“A ring?” Multi repeats flatly.
“Oh, okay.” Quackity immediately backtracks. “Never mind, then. Sorry for having shitty ideas, I guess!”
“No, no, it’s not that—” Multi pauses. “I just think a ring is weird.”
The avian turns back toward him, now looking truly offended. “Why is a ring weird?”
“Why would you suddenly start wearing one?”
“Because I wanted to?”
“On which finger?”
Quackity suddenly finds the view outside extremely interesting.
“That’s not important.”
“It’s very important.”
A beat passes, both sides avoiding eye contact.
“What if I just wear it on a different finger?” The avian asks again, trying to keep his tone casual.
“No.”
“Okay, so you hate me.”
Before Quackity can spiral into a dramatic tantrum, Multi quickly continues.
“Putting sensitive technology on your hands is stupid.”
“Hey!”
“You fight. Constantly.”
“Oh.”
“It’s fragile. It could break. It could get caught on something.” Multi rubs his forehead. “It’s a terrible location.”
“I guess...”
“I just need to think of something.”
Quackity slumps dramatically across the stretcher. “Well, I’ve run out of ideas.”
“Something they don’t feel the need to take away if they capture you, nothing too big but it can’t be that small. A tracker is fine, but if we manage to get you something to communicate even if you don’t have mobility it’s better.”
Multi barely hears him, he’s already pacing around the room, trying to brainstorm his new invention.
“It needs to be something they wouldn’t immediately remove.” Back and forth, his footsteps resounding. “Something small enough to hide, but not so small that it limits functionality.”
Quackity just covers his ears with the pillow he finds.
“Something I can use to communicate with you even if you can’t move, that you can never forget at home…” He keeps mumbling. “Something I could also wear without raising suspicion if I ever find myself in the same situation.”
Quackity groans loudly.
“Dude. Just make me the watch.”
“No.”
“We’ll manage.”
“No.”
“Multi.”
The scientist keeps walking.
“It’s too suspicious now. Too many people have seen mine.” His voice tightens. “I don’t want to take that risk, we can’t. I don’t want to go through this again.”
The room falls quiet.
For a moment, Quackity simply watches him.
The restless pacing, his bitten lips, the exhaustion hidden beneath frustration.
The fear.
Fear that still hadn’t left after everything that happened.
“Multi.”
Nothing.
“Multi.”
Still nothing.
Finally, Quackity throws his hands in the air.
“Fine! Then just put the damn chip in me.” He takes off his hoodie. “C’mon.”
The clothing lands somewhere on the floor.
“Tracker, chip, whatever.” Spreading his arms dramatically, he presents his neck. “Pierce me with that gun.”
His eyes squeeze shut.
Waiting.
But nothing happens.
“…”
“…”
“Wait.”
Quackity opens one eye, Multi’s staring at him.
“Repeat that.”
“Pierce me with that gun?”
“Not that part.”
“The tracker?”
“No.”
“The gun?”
“No!”
Quackity blinks twice, thinking. Then points at his neck.
“Pierce me?”
Something sparks behind Multi’s eyes.
The expression is almost unsettling.
“That’s it.”
“What?”
“That’s perfect.”
“What is?”
A grin slowly spreads across Multi’s face.
For the first time all afternoon, it looks genuine. Tension gone, replaced by burning passion, a new invention on its way.
Quackity stares. “…I’m lost.”
—
The final design is perfect.
Sophisticated without being flashy, elegant without drawing attention. The black metal complements Multi’s usual aesthetic so naturally it almost looks as though he has always worn them.
The added weight is subtle, barely noticeable, really.
Yet every now and then he catches himself reaching for them, reassured by their presence.
At first, he assumes it’s simply habit, a consequence of wearing something new. Later, he realizes it’s a bit deeper than that. The reassurance comes from knowing that, no matter where his partner is, the matching pair is somewhere out there.
On Quackity, however, they look even better.
Hidden beneath dark hair, they remain largely unnoticed unless he deliberately tucks a strand behind his ear. It’s like he’s wearing something that doesn’t truly belong to him, yet fits perfectly. Like it’s meant to be.
A secret concealed in plain sight. One only the two of them truly understand and are conscious of.
The left earring takes the form of a simple black stud, accented with silver along its edges.
At first glance, it appears entirely ordinary.
In reality, it functions as an emergency communicator.
A press against its surface activates it, black stud working as a button, though saying their designated code word out loud works just as well, if they ever find themselves unable to press it. The transmission is quiet enough that no one else could hear it unless they possessed some sort of supernatural hearing, being next to their ears.
The right earring houses the tracker.
A thick black hoop, thick enough to contain the necessary components without attracting suspicion.
It’s perfect. Simple, practical and reliable.
It provides coordinates, distance between the two pairs, direction of cardinal points.
Neither earring can be removed once secured, unable to be screwed off.
Neither can be broken, and Multi made certain of that. Countless prototypes had failed before he was finally satisfied, each discarded version teaching him another way he could have lost Quackity. Sleepless nights had been worth it, fueled by the desire of never going through that helplessness again.
Reinforced stainless steel. Black titanium coating. Waterproof system. Nuclear-powered batteries with an estimated lifespan of fifty years before replacement becomes necessary.
People might say it’s excessive, borderline ridiculous. May even say it’s entirely unnecessary.
Regardless, it’s unmistakably Multi’s creation.
When the time finally comes to exchange them, neither comments on the significance of the gesture.
No speeches or promises.
Just the quiet click of metal locking into place, permanently.
Multi’s fingers linger for a second after securing Quackity’s earring.
Long enough to feel the warmth of his skin. Also long enough to realize he’s still standing too close.
The scientist pulls away immediately.
Quackity doesn’t mention it, but the smile he fails to hide certainly doesn’t help.
For a fleeting moment, it feels strangely similar to a vow.
One neither of them acknowledges aloud.
Yet both of them seem willing to uphold it, somehow.
—
They both run into Roier completely by accident.
After a lengthy discussion regarding the Federation, giving out warnings, information shared, carefully selected details omitted; the casual meeting finally comes to an end.
As they’re saying their goodbyes, Roier suddenly points toward Multi’s ear.
“Cool earrings, man.”
Before the scientist can thank him, Quackity beats him to it.
“Thank you!” he says brightly. “They’re wedding bands.”
Roier freezes.
His expression goes completely blank as his brain struggles to process the statement.
“What the fuck?”
Still grinning, Quackity casually brushes his hair behind his ear, revealing the matching jewelry.
Roier’s mouth opens, but no words come out. His movements are akin to a fish out of water, desperate to gain air.
Across from him, next to the avian, Multi releases a long, suffering sigh.
Both hands come up to cover his face.
(The blush creeping all the way to the tips of his ears does absolutely nothing to help his case.)