Friendly Affairs part 7

	The road stretched out in front of Mike like an endless web of blacktop and street-lights; twisting and weaving through patches of sleepy homes and neon lit businesses that offered neither comfort nor reprieve as he drove aimlessly in search of some abstract escape from the mess he had left behind. With no real goal in mind, and no ultimate destination to travel to, the act of driving itself became its own escape.
	After all, there was a peace to be found in the mindlessness of minor course corrections; in the subconscious automation of stopping and starting at traffic-lights; in shifting through gears and keeping his car in its power-band. It gave him function- Gave him a task he could lose himself in to forget about what he had done- To forget about work.
	Work: Where all of the people he had let down resided- Where he had succumb to his desires and crossed a line he would never be able to step back from- Where he had chosen to abandon his responsibilities instead of trying to fix things. He couldn’t go back there, not after what he did. Not yet, anyway. The restaurant spelt only shame in his addled mind; while the prospect of heading home and giving himself a chance to breath proved equally unappealing. He needed to be active- Needed to be on the move. And so he drove, without aim and without thought; running away from something he knew that, ultimately, he couldn’t really escape.

	It was six a.m. by the time Mike had nearly run out of gas and stopped to refuel his car. His cell had gone off a few times while he was on the road, but it was only then that he found the will to check it. As he suspected, Chica had left him several voicemails since he had walked out on her; all of which he promptly deleted before he could listen to. The fact alone that she was using the company phone for personal use meant that she was desperate, but he just couldn’t stand to hear her voice right now.
	Unsure what to do now that he was finally forced still, Mike huddled in his car in the parkinglot of a rundown minimart; eating what had to be the worst breakfast burrito he had ever tasted in his life, while staring at his cell and wondering what it was the Chica had tried to tell him. Seemingly by chance, it went off again right then and there, and Mike instantly scrambled to answer the call before it could go to voicemail. But as he looked at the screen, it wasn’t Chica who was calling this time, but someone far worse- Someone he hadn’t once thought about since this whole ordeal began, but who would no-doubt give him more hell for his actions than any of the animatronic friends he had so hastily abandoned.
	“Hey there, champ!” Mike’s boss spouted as he answered the call. “Where the hell are you? Miguel says you weren’t here when he checked in this morning.”
	“That’s um, hard to explain, sir.” God did he mean that. Mike didn’t have the first clue how to rationalize this to anyone without coming off like a complete loon.
	“Well, you better get thinking then! Be here in a half an hour or Miguel’s on the nightshift from now on. Capiche?”
	The manager hung up before Mike could reply, and once again, he was left all alone; with only his dower thoughts and a few remaining scraps of his terrible breakfast to comfort him.

	The drive back was a stressful one, as Mike struggled to think of a rationalization for why he had left midway through his shift. Worse still, he had almost no idea where he was, and scrambled to find some kind of recognizable landmark that he could work off of as he blitzed through the early morning traffic in a mad dash to meet his boss’s deadline. But after finally getting his bearings and making it all the way to the restaurant’s parkinglot just minutes before his time was up, something caught Mike’s eye that stopped him from rushing into the building to being his long and painful groveling session.
	In front of the lobby, Mike's boss and two other men were standing around and talking between each other. Actually, it didn’t seem to be talking so much as fighting; as a short man in a heavy overcoat pointed and gestured aggressively in his manager’s direction, while a lager, well-built man towering behind his more talkative counterpart simply stood there and waited with his arms crossed menacingly.
	Whatever they were saying didn’t appear to be particularly pleasant, but to his credit, his boss maintained a casual posture and an even smile throughout. The placating attitude seemed to do little to appease the two though, as the shorter one grew visibly more agitated each time his boss spoke, until Mike was sure the big guy was going to make a move. But before things could truly get out of hand, one of them spotted him watching from his car, and the two immediately backed off as his boss continued on as if nothing was wrong; even going so far as to wave goodbye as they drove away. Only then did Mike step out of his vehicle, and pensively approached his inordinately cool employer.
	“Ah, there you are, buddy! I thought you were going to be sitting in that car all morning,” he greeted him as if nothing was wrong.
	“What was that all about, sir?” Mike looked back down the road in the directed the car had sped off.
	“Eh, just some business partners getting heated over nothing,” he dismissed him; quickly changing topics while never once losing his casual tone. “C’mon, let’s get out of the cold. I got some yelling at you to do, and I sure as hell don’t need to be freezing my ass of while I do it.”

	The two walked through the lobby and main room on the way to the office; with Spring and Chica watching silently as they went about their morning routines. The tension was downright suffocating, and Mike was glad to be out of their sight when the office door finally closed behind him; far preferring the anxiety of whatever verbal beat down he was in store for over the silent, lingering eyes of his predisposed friends.
	“Alright, let’s hear it,” his boss began as he took a seat. “Where the hell did you go last night? And why the hell did you think it’s okay to just walk out on your shift?”
	“Well, you see-” Mike began to explain.
	“I’ll be honest, I’m disappointed in you,” his manager cut him off. “I thought you were a good kid. I thought we had an understanding. Being a nighttime security guard is a huge sign of trust, you know.” The more he spoke, the more he was beginning to remind him of Foxy. “Do you know how many expensive assets you just up and abandoned? Hell, you could have at least finished that job in Kiddy Cove before bailing. As is, I don’t know if the paint will even be dry before customers start coming in. And you just know some uppity helicopter-mom is gonna complain about that.”
	“It’s just, sir, the robots-”
	“Exactly! The robots!” he concurred; though to what exactly, Mike wasn’t sure. “One of those alone are worth a small fortune to any would-be hood looking to make a quick score. Not that you’d know it from interacting with them. Damn things wouldn’t even tell me when you left last night…” his blathering seemed to stall, and Mike was just about to open his mouth and try again, only to be cut of once more. “Aaanyway, this is your first major infraction, and you’ve been a real trooper otherwise; coming to talk in person and all. Plus, uh, I think you might have saved me from getting my thumbs broken just now. So I’ll tell you what,” he opened a drawer in his desk and shuffled around inside until finding and producing a crumpled piece of paper. As Mike looked it over, he recognized it as a list of some of the music equipment they had in the storage room. “Found a guy online willing to buy some of that junk we’ve got backstage. Gonna pay in cash, too. I came in early today to move it all out to the loading dock, when I caught wind of your thing, and then got even more sidetracked with my thing. So here’s the deal: You make up for skipping out on work last night by hauling all this crap out back before we open today. Sound good?”
	His boss outstretched his palm and waited expectantly for a reply. With no other option and no real reason not to other than his reluctance to be around the performers, Mike nodded in agreement and shook his hand; his manager practically ripping his arm from its socket as he jostled him around with a vigorous handshake.
	“Great! Good! You’re saving me a real hassle here. Not to mention a sore back,” he chuckled to himself. “Just try not to make it a repeat of the last time you were here during the day, eh?” He then made a fist and slowly swung it through the air; making a clicking sound with his tongue as he stopped it a few inches from Mike’s cheek.
	“Hah, you got it, sir!” Mike forced a happy tone as he thought back to that farce of a fight he had just barely managed to avoid. “The last thing I want to do is cause any more problems. Honestly, I’m surprised that didn’t lead to any issues.”
	“Oh, it did,” his boss replied matter-of-factly. “But it turned out that between nobody seeing it happen, and you hitting him so weakly that it didn’t even leave a mark, well, the case got thrown out before it even began,” he beamed. “Plus, the guy apparently has a bit of a criminal record already. Typical lowlife stuff: vandalism and arson and all that. No credibility whatsoever. Couldn’t’a picked a better guy to slug.”

	He was sure the words were meant to be reassuring, but as Mike left the office, all he could think about was his car getting trashed or his home being broken into sometime down the line. It wasn’t as if the creep knew who he was -hell, he wasn’t even wearing an employee uniform when they met- but it was hard not to worry after hearing that he had pissed off of former convict. It almost came as a relief to spot Chica tentatively approach him from the corner of the room; no doubt having waited there all throughout his meeting for a chance to intercept him.
	Suddenly, the inevitability of this confrontation seemed a lot more manageable when weighed against the looming anxiety of what would happen should he ever run into her harasser again. But as she stopped a few paces in front of him, all the worry and regret he had felt earlier seemed to wiggle its way back into his mind. This was, after all, the thing he had spent half the night running from, and even after all these hours left to himself, Mike still had no idea what to say.
	“Hey,” was the best he could muster on such short notice; sheepishly acknowledging her presence with a halfhearted wave and waiting for whatever it was she had to say.
	“Hey,” Chica echoed back. “I um, I called you. A few times, actually.”
	“I know,” Mike admitted; deciding to withhold the fact that deleted her messages before hearing them.
	The two of them went quiet again as both struggled to find a way to break the ice.
	“Look,” she tried again. “I’ve almost run myself dry waiting up for you, and if I don’t recharge soon, I’ll probably end up shutting off.” Mike blinked in surprise upon hearing that. It was going on seven now, and each of them needed about three hours to recharge and reboot for the coming day. With the restaurant opening at ten, she was cutting this close. “Just, tell me you’re okay.”
	“Chica?”
	“Please, I’ve been worried sick all night,” she reached forward and clasped his hands in her own. “Above everything else, I just want to hear you say you’re alright.”
	“I… I’m okay, Chica,” Mike abided by her request; though not entirely sure if he meant it.
	The bird breathed a visible sigh of relief upon hearing the words, and for a moment, the two simply stood there and held hands, until the sound of the lobby door opening cause both to quickly recoil. Looking over, the round faced girl Mike had met before had just come in to start her shift, and her arrival seemed to signal the end of their painfully brief reunion.
	“Alright. No matter what else, I- I’m glad you’re okay,” she said with a pained smile. Before Mike could respond, Chica glanced over to make sure the girl wasn’t looking, then quickly pecked him on the cheek. “Everything else can wait ‘till tonight, but right now I’ve really got to go.”
	 And then she was gone; rushing to the maintenance room just as quickly as she came. The whole encounter lasted maybe thirty seconds at most, but what was said between them was just enough to give Mike the peace of mind that their relationship wasn’t in complete ruins just yet. Indeed, he was beginning to feel almost optimistic that all of this was just a simple misunderstanding, right up until he spotted Miss Foxy appearing from the side hallway and stopping dead in her tracks as the two caught eyes. The both of them froze at the sight of the other –paralyzed in place at the sudden notion of social contact after everything that had happened- until Foxy hastily turned around and went back the way she came.
	No, this wasn’t going to be solved with a few rushed words and some hand-holding; he had seriously screwed up, and it was going to take real effort to set it all right. Still, at the moment Mike had other concerns, and while it pained him to see Foxy turn her back like that, it would ultimately prove to be one less distraction keeping him from fulfilling his current assignment.

	With his list in hand, Mike made his way over to the stage; giving Spring and the newly arrived employee a polite wave as they wiped down the room’s dining tables and chairs. Concerningly, Spring said nothing as he passed, and simply nodded a reply before getting back to her task, while the girl responded with a much more amicable, “Hey, Mick. Come to join us on the day shift for once?”
	“Ah, just moving some stuff for the boss,” Mike replied casually; doing his best to mask the awkwardness of not knowing where exactly he stood with Spring right now.
	“Hmm, he should’a just got one of the robots to do it,” the girl muttered. “It’d be a better use than playing guitar.” She then glanced down at the table Spring was currently scrubbing. “Or cleaning tables, for that matter.”
	“Not a fan of rock and roll?” Mike tried to keep the conversation civil; keenly aware that Spring had once again kept her mouth shut.
	“Oh no, I love it. But you gotta have soul for that kinda thing, you know? Can’t just have some machine play an instrument like that,” she replied assertively; looking toward him as if waiting for his approval.
	“Do you play?” he avoided her statement and changed up the subject; having gotten a pretty good picture of why Spring was so unwilling to speak.
	“Nah, never learned. You?”
	Mike smiled and proudly pointed to Spring before informing her, “Yeah, she’s been teaching me. Isn’t that right, Springy?”
	For the first time that he had ever seen, Spring clammed up from an acknowledgment of her musical prowess. It would have almost been amusing if the circumstances were different, but right now he wanted nothing more than to see the rabbit find her nerve and stand up for herself.
	“Y-yeah,” the bunny stuttered through a trembling muzzle; looking over and meeting the skeptical gaze of the dayshift employee, before following up with a more confidant, “Mike is a quick leaner too. I bet I’ll make him good enough to come up and play something on stage with me by the end of the year.”
	The girl scoffed and gave them both a fairly dismissive, “Whatever.” before going back to her tables, while Spring glanced over toward Mike and smiled appreciatively.
	After nodding back, he left them both to their cleaning and began to poke around backstage.

	Almost everything on his list was labeled with a brand-name a serial-number, which was good, because Mike didn’t know what the hell half of this stuff was. If it wasn’t for his little display with Spring just now, he probably would have gone back out and asked for her help, but Mike felt he had pushed his luck enough on that front already. Instead, he buckled down and got to work reading the labels of every amp, switchbox, and unidentifiable electronic thingamabob he could find, before cross-referencing it with the names on his list. Whenever he found something he was looking for, he would drag it out onto the stage to later be carried back to the loading dock, before going back and doing it all over again. It was a tedious process, but much like driving, provided him with a task to lose himself while mulling over recent events.
	Treating the bots as anything less than normal, everyday people had never really occurred to him during his tenure at Freddy’s, but each time he emerged back onto the stage, Mike couldn’t help but notice the icy, distrustful glare of the dayshift girl as she watched Spring from the corners of her eyes. There was a palpable tension in the air as the two begrudgingly worked together, and it was a relief when he returned one last time to find Spring alone and the girl nowhere in sight.
	“Where’d your friend go?” Mike asked as he placed his final item down with the rest of his pile and wiped the dust from his hands.
	“Helping in the kitchen. Don’t worry though, she’ll be back to make sure I finished up right,” Spring lamented, before taking on a slightly more cheerful tone. “Thank you, by the way. For standing up for me like that.”
	“Well, I couldn’t stand seeing you any less than your normal cheery self.” There was that word again: Normal. Foxy had stressed it the previous night, but it was only now that he was starting to realize that what he just witnessed between Spring and that girl could very well be what she considered normal, and that this was that exact kind attitude that Foxy feared would end up rubbing off on him one day.
	“Yeah, but I still appreciate it. Especially with how we’ve been teasing you so much lately,” the bunny looked down at her feet ashamedly. “I um, I heard what happened between you and Miss Foxy.” Mike didn’t say anything, but his expression went ridged at the mention of last night’s affair. “None of us realized how much we were affecting you. I swear, if we had known, we all would have just come clean and apologized.”
	“Yeah, well, it was still a pretty lousy thing to do, Spring,” Mike said with far more vitriol then intended; enough for Spring to recoil at the intensity of his voice.  Immediately regretting the tone, he tried to recompose himself before continuing. “I didn’t mean to yell, I’m just… How could you act that way? Forget me for a moment, how could you do that to Chica? I thought you guys were friends?”
	“But… Wait, she didn’t tell you?”
	Mike squinted dubiously as the rabbit stammered in sudden confusion; shooting her a low, “Tell me what?” in an uneasy tone.
	Spring’s eyes went wide as she realized what was happening.
	“I- It’s just- Mmmmmm,” she uttered a nervous moan, and began tapping one of her feet against the floor while clamming up from the stress. “We were just having some fun, I swear. Chica said it would be alright. That you would enjoy it. It wasn’t until you kissed Foxy and freaked out that we- That I- Ohhh, I really wish someone else was here right now.”
	Mike just stared. It had all been another one of Chica’s jokes; the flirting, the tension, everything. She had acted so worried just now –all handholding and words of concern- all the while knowing that everything he had been put through was entirely her fault. It should have been devastating, or eye-opening, or… or something, and at any other time, he probably would have been furious; but today had been an emotional rollercoaster, and right now Mike was far too burnt out to care. All he could think about was moving all of his junk to the back, and then finally going home.
	“Good one,” he responded blankly; before turning away to get back to work.
	“It’s not like that!” Spring insisted. “It wasn’t supposed to be… cruel. Just, talk to Chica about it, okay? She’s- She can explain everything. Better than I can anyway.”
	Mike looked back and nodded silently before walking away; grabbing a few of the smaller items from the pile of equipment and heading to the back of the building. Spring wasn’t there when he returned for more, and he didn’t see her again for the next few trips either.

	As he worked, Mike didn’t bother putting much conscious effort into examining Spring’s little slip-up, but all throughout his travels to and from the loading dock, he could feel the gears turning in the back of his mind; reliving and recontextualizing a dozen or so key memories from the past few weeks. All of this being another one of Chica’s little jokes made a disturbing amount of sense, but he couldn’t shake the notion that there was something more at play here than a -heartless at worst; misguided at best- prank.
	Foxy had kissed him; there was no doubt about that. And when he kissed her back, she had been more than willing to indulge. Then there was Spring, with her come-ons and her questions. What was she expecting to happen if he proved to be receptive? For someone who could barely handle a prank breaking down in her face, she was sure playing things fast and loose with her part in their little game. On top of all that though, was his peepshow over the cameras while Chica was… No, even his subconscious wasn’t ready to tackle that one quite yet. Mike had the feeling he would never figure that one out on his own anyway. For now, all he could do was speculate.

	By the time everything had been moved from to the back, Mike was a mess. His head hurt and his arms were tired as he went looking for his boss to tell him that the job was done. It didn’t take very long, as a never ending stream of barely constrained complaining led him back to the main room; finding a shrill voiced middle-aged woman verbally berating him, Spring, and the girl manning the check-in booth. Drained as he was, it was still cathartic to watch his boss get a taste of his own medicine; as the woman talked over and shot down every single attempt he made to appease her.
	Mike felt like he could have sat down and watched this particular sight play out for him all day –even wondering if he could somehow get them all to move up onto the stage- right up until the moment she shifted her scorn and started going after Spring. Suddenly, Mike’s catharsis switched to irritation as the woman claimed that her precious child hated Spring’s hosting of his birthday party.
	On and on she spat verbal fire; insisting that rabbits weren’t cool, that such a clumsy machine had no business being around children, and most damming off all, that her music wasn’t good. It didn’t take an expert to see the crack in Spring’s customer friendly facade upon hearing that one, and Mike was nearly ready to go over there and tell the woman exactly what she could do with her opinions. But before he could muster up the will to get himself involved in yet another work-related altercation, Mike felt a hand placed on his shoulder in a bid to hold him back.
	“Better not press your luck,” Foxy said flatly from behind. “You’ve already come to Spring’s rescue once today. That makes it one for each of us now, you know.”
	“How did you-” he sputtered in confusion. Gossip usually traveled fast in places like this, but it hadn’t been THAT long since Spring’s little moment of triumph over her crabby coworker, and as far as he was aware, Foxy had never left her Cove since spotting him. Momentarily distracted from the drama at the lobby, he turned to her for an answer, only for Foxy to knowingly tap on the side of her head.
	“Riiight, brain internet. I keep forgetting you can do that.”
	He then glanced back to Spring; standing at the other side of the room and eating the abuse with a strained but never breaking smile forced across her face. It was a heartbreaking sight, but ultimately, Foxy was right: He would only do more harm trying to come to her rescue, and with no other course of action to take, Mike simply sighed in defeat.
	“She can take it,” Foxy reassured him. “Spring is stronger than she lets on.”
	“Yeah,” he begrudgingly agreed before turning to face the vixen fully; having absolutely no clue what to say.
	“So, uh, Spring also mentioned something else when we were chatting.” Foxy’s voice sounded remised, and Mike knew exactly what was coming next. “It’s complicated to explain, but please believe me when I say I’m genuinely sorry about-”
	Mike put his hand up and stopped her.
	“Save it. I’ve had a long day. Just tell the boss I did what he asked after he’s done with that,” he pointed behind him; where the disgruntled mother was now demanding a full refund because she didn’t approve of the color of the icing used on her son’s birthday cake.
	With a pained but understanding expression, Foxy kept her jaw clamped shut and nodded in compliance. Then, for the second time that day, Mike walked out on her; this time not bothering to look back as he trudged toward the side exit left the building.