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He should be happy.
Like, objectively. Logically. This- it only goes up from here right? Hah, literally, up…
Ah, anyway. The little outsider had gone, and hopefully (hopefully) made it, Doc was back and Momo had done all he could.
The notebooks had been found, He fixed the transceiver, talked to Zbaltazar, found Doc, and took the furball to the sewers.
Granted, he didn’t exactly find the notebooks himself, and he only fixed the transceiver thanks to Doc’s note and Seamus actually found Doc and he couldn’t even go with the little outsider but- but he had helped. He helped!
He took another sip of his drink, before slamming it down back onto the strangely sticky wood table with perhaps more force than necessary.
Momo hasn’t spoken to Doc yet. He should, he knows he should, it’s been, what, years? He doesn’t know, he lost… time. Quite a lot, after Zbaltazar left, and Clementine left, and Doc-
He thought he was dead. Or, whatever death would entail, for a companion.
You know, maybe he shouldn’t even talk to Doc! He’s with his son, that's important! He could’ve… Well, Momo is aware he maybe could've been a little bit more kind, a bit more compassionate towards Seamus, especially when Doc first meant missing. He should let them have their time.
Seamus never blamed him, per se- he was far too kind for that, a wonderful reflection of his father. They never spoke, though, certainly not, aside from the occasional clumsy greeting. Momo understands. Afterall, with the other two outsiders gone, he was the easiest and most available to take out the grief on.
As if Momo wasn’t grieving too, though, especially after Clementine and Zbaltazar left. He’d lost his everything, his goals, his aspirations, and- and he was just supposed to- to continue? Without them? Without his outsiders? It’s not his fault he- he…
Maybe he was too scared, and couldn't go through the sewers the first time or the second time, but that wasn’t… It…
His head hit the table, hat having been previously abandoned beside him. The cool surface was a small relief against his now overheating faceplate, and he wrapped his arms around the sides in a feeble attempt to minimize the noise coming from downstairs. His processors were too inhibited by the drinks to think this much. He missed his friends.
He was the last to join the outsiders by quite a while- also, coincidentally, the youngest. The three of them had already been friends for months, years perhaps, before he happened to prove himself useful during a random night in the very same bar he was now sitting in.
He loved them. He loved his friends, the outsiders. They, along with their shared goal, were everything to him. They still are everything to him, even after all this time. He’s just not entirely sure that sentiment is as reciprocated as he’d like.
None of them ever made him feel that way, never said anything about his occasional blunt way of speaking, his dramatics, none of it. They were all far too kind for that.
He often used to stay awake long past the recommended time for his system, trying to come up with any positive to the outsiders keeping him around.
He always came up blank.
Thankfully, they never seemed too concerned with this, and continued treating him as one of them, even if he knew they'd kick him out upon coming to their senses.
It was a twist of fate that Momo left before they could. Perhaps it was better that way.
The only hope he had was that the little outsider would find his friends, and that he’d see them one day too. He knew that his message wouldn’t be passed along, despite the furball's intelligence, they didn’t seem capable of speaking their language.
Zbaltazar had called him brave once. It was after he'd first pitched the idea of creating the transmission device, as a means to speak with the upper levels- and eventually, get up there themselves. He'd preened in the moment, rode that high for weeks, but now it just felt like a hollow space in his heart. The outsiders made him brave, and after Doc left, part of that braveness had left with him- and the rest of it, when the other two left.
He wanted them to know that he’d changed. He wasn’t scared anymore, he was back. He had hope again! He could do it!
He- He had been brave! He was brave- He is brave!
Isn’t he?
He groaned, pushing himself up slightly to hold his head in his hands. His vision spun slightly, cementing the fact that all the drinks had finally gotten to him.
“... Momo?”
“Oh-!” He gasped, jolting up, coming face-to-face with none other than the only robot he was trying to avoid.
Doc sat across from him, where he always used to when they’d meet at this bar, and for a moment he was hit with a sense of deja-vu so strong Momo could’ve sworn that, had he looked to his left, he’d see Clementine and Zbaltazar sitting there, too.
He didn’t though, obviously. It was just another stinging reminder.
“Doc! You…” Momo paused, taking a moment to convince his voicebox to work. “It’s… good to see you.” He mumbled after a moment, averting his eyes.
“As it is you, Momo.” Doc replied, leaning forward and pushing one of the bottles littering the table out of the way.
The bar was silent for a moment, broken only by the incessant tapping of Momo’s foot against the floor, and the overactive fans in his head.
Doc hummed, staring at Momo in an attempt to convince the other to meet his eyes.
“You didn’t go with the others.” He said, not bothering to dance around the subject he wished to discuss.
Doc had always been like that. Not that was a bad thing, not at all. Momo also had a tendency to be blunt, though Doc was always somehow softer with it, well spoken, conversational. He’d missed it, missed hearing the other’s voice.
Momo fidgeted for a second, readjusting his posture.
“I… I didn't. They made it, though, or at least- Zbaltazar said both of them did.” He stumbled through his words, instinctively reaching for his drink in the silence that followed his confession.
Doc pushed it away though, out of Momo's reach, and he couldn’t help but mourn its loss.
He finally looked up, meeting Doc’s face. He expected anger, maybe, disappointment. Instead, he’s greeted with something akin to concern.
“But you didn't.”
“I couldn't!” He exclaimed, throwing his arms up “You were gone, you weren't with us! Everyone thought- I thought you were dead! For good! How was I supposed to just-?” His words dissolve into a pixelated mess.
The conversation dies out, giving Momo a second to collect his thoughts. Was he angry at Doc? He couldn’t tell, honestly. There was too much going on, too much too quick. He couldn’t make any sense of- of any of it. He looked away, vision back on the bottles at the end of the table.
Doc sighed.
“I’m sorry.” His voice is quiet. Almost apprehensive, if Momo didn’t know any better. “I was supposed to be back in a few days, a week at most. I wasn’t expecting to… Well, you know.”
“It wasn’t your fault, was it?” It was barely a question. Doc wouldn’t leave, not like that, not so suddenly. He has a habit of getting caught up in his projects, sure, but not like that.
“It… No, I suppose it wasn’t.” He said, dejectedly. “I wasn’t expecting to find you still here. I thought you surely would’ve gone… with the others. Did something happen?”
“No.” Momo’s tone was bitter. “I’m just a coward.”
Doc frowned.
“The Momo I know isn’t a coward.”
“The Momo you know left when you did.” Half of him wanted to stand up, leave, get out of this awful conversation, but he couldn’t. Not when finally had his friend in front of him again after so, so many years. His hands were gripping the edge of the table separating them like a lifeline.
It felt unreal to have Doc so… so reachable. He could get up now, take a few steps, and hug him like nothing had changed.
“Well, that’s simply not true.” The doctor states. “You aren’t a coward, Momo. Time has not been kind to either of us, but you’re no coward.”
Momo hums, slightly too frazzled to form a meaningful response.
“I didn’t even know if you wanted to talk to me, after all this time.” Doc smiles, though it's strained, and he averts his eyes. “I suppose I’m glad I knew where to find you, when you weren’t in your flat. Time has left that particular habit alone, I see.”
Momo manages a small laugh at that, because that is true, isn’t it? He always does return to this table, upstairs and in the corner of Dufers bar, where they all used to sit and discuss the outside. It feels so far away now, but isn’t it closer than ever?
“You came searching?” He asks, instead of something important.
“I figured you may need some time, but…” Doc looks back towards Momo, and trails off.
Momo is looking at him again, actually taking in his face this time, staring hard as if trying to commit it to memory. He’s changed, sure, he’s a little more rusted, wires a little more tangled, joints a little louder, but he’s back.
God, Momo had missed him.
Doc gets up first, oddly enough, but Momo is quick to follow, and all of a sudden they’re hugging in front of the table where it all started, as if nothing was wrong, as if they were just finishing a meeting and were saying their goodbyes.
It was different, though. It wasn’t the casual embrace of people who knew they’d see each other the next day, it was more desperate. Momo could feel it in the way Doc’s arms tightened around his waist, clutching his shirt as if he was scared he’d disappear in front of him, in the way he couldn’t keep his own hands still, touching Doc’s back, arms, head, to make sure he was really there.
“I missed you, I missed you so bad-”
“I know, I know, I did too, I really did-”
The empty room was quiet, minimal noise coming from downstairs, only full of the rustle of fabric and the occasional scrape of metal on metal and whispering.
They stay like that for a long while, neither exactly willing to move, willing to break the peace.
“We should look for them.” Momo said into Doc’s shoulder, voice slightly muffled in the fabric.
“We will.”
“We’d have to go through the sewers, find a way through. It’ll be dangerous.”
“Not with- Oh, I haven’t shown you!” Doc pulled away, though still held onto Momo’s shoulders. “It’s wonderful, Momo, simply wonderful, my weapon works, you know!”
“The light?”
“The light!” Doc grinned, grabbing his hand and beginning to pull him along. “We’ll cut through the zurks with no problem, no problem at all!”
Momo laughs at his enthusiasm, full of a sickly sweet nostalgia, and with the idea of the outside suddenly much closer than it’d been in almost a decade.
“We’re closer than ever, don’t laugh!” Comes the response, though it too is said through a smile.
Closer than ever, closer than they think.