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## and what if it all goes to hell? (at least you won't be by yourself)

|| Fluff.

“Are you both insane?” Cliff asks. She’s really lost her mind, this time; she’s pushing him into a goddamn Destination XL, because of course, because apparently punk band shirts are not appropriate for a wedding, not even a gay one, and also because this is how his life always fucking goes. The point: “I don’t have money to buy a fucking suit!”

Larry holds the door open. He gestures to Jane. “Who said anything about buying? We’ve got Flit, remember?”

He expects Jane to go into one of her long, spiraling rambles about how the Underground is not a shuttle, but instead she just nods -- again, this is his life, apparently he’s doing this whether he likes it or not.

“What, you’re just okay with this, Jane? Using Flit like that?”

“Flit agrees with us.”

“God fucking damn it.” He lowers his voice, whispers to Larry: “You’re really advocating for stealing, Larry?”

Honestly, Cliff doesn’t even care. He just wants to make a point.

“Not stealing. Just borrowing. Flit said she’ll take it back.”

“And what, you believed that?”

Larry stops for a moment. Looks down. He hadn’t considered that, and fuck, Cliff is probably right, but, well. They’re already here. So. Cliff is going to try on these suits and look presentable.

No one even stares, when they walk in. The other men in the store act as if it’s perfectly normal to see a man wrapped entirely in bandages and a literal robot walk into a frankly hideously expensive clothing store. Cliff looks at a random price tag — this basic t-shirt is twenty seven fucking dollars. Who pays $27 for a fucking plain black shirt? Everything about this situation is bad.

He watches as Larry glances around the store, studying each item of clothing… he knows this feeling, too, understands this particular longing for change. He cannot see Larry’s face, but he knows the expression he’s making underneath the bandages; Larry’s been wearing the same clothes for sixty years. It’s normal to want some variety, after that.

He leans in closer to Larry. Places a hand on his shoulder — it startles him. “Why don’t you pick something out, too, if we’re really gonna do this? There might be something here that’ll fit you.”

He expects Larry to curl back into himself, to completely reject the idea. For a moment, he looks like he almost might give into that loathing again — to the fear that kept him from being himself for so long. Cliff can’t even imagine what living in that way was like; horrible, terrifying, brutal. But there’s a flicker in his chest, a reminder, and Larry nods slowly.

“Yeah, I guess I could.”

He reached out and paws at a brightly colored paisley shirt. Cliff wishes that he could smile. Jane smiles. Everyone feels some sort of serenity, in this moment — there’s nothing evil here, there are no monsters or antagonists. Just Cliff, his friends — his family — and joy.

They deserve it.

He feels a tug on his sleeve. “Hey,” Jane says, “what about this?”

She’s pointing to a dark purple velvet suit jacket. It’s not something he would ever have worn before the accident, but now… it actually looks appealing. It’s funny how becoming a robot changes you.

“That’s nice,” Larry says.

“Yeah, okay, that could work,” Cliff agrees. He touches the velvet, imagines feeling the texture again. “Does it come in robot size, though?”

Jane searches through the rack, picks out the biggest size she can find. “Let’s try a 5X. There’s a mirror over there.”

Larry helps Cliff maneuver the suit over his robotic body, comments in his own sarcastic Larry way that he’s not helping with the pants, and Cliff feels —- this is respite. This is a break. He wants to savor this.

He looks -- good in this. Like, really good. He’d kiss himself if he could, that’s how good he looks, and it’s been so long since he’s felt this comfortable with his appearance. They should steal more often.

“I like it. You did a good job, Jane.”

“I know.”

“Thank you. Both of you.”