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Title: An Anonymous Gift
Rating: G
Fandom: The Tick (Live Action 2001)
Characters/Pairings: The Tick, Arthur
Word Count: 1,523
Disclaimer: Not in any way responsible for anything but my own words, no profit, no owning, no capes.
Spoilers: Not in the slightest.
Warnings: Nope. Brace yourself for silliness and peculiar fluff.
Original Prompt: My own 'Shrodinger's Prompt' on Tumblr. "The doorbell rings (or there’s a knock). Your favorite character(s) find a smallish carrier has been left just outside the door. Inside the carrier, wrapped in a soft, fuzzy blanket is…"
Summary: Something is left on the doorstep for Arthur and the Tick.
Author's Notes: I'm still only haphazard at The Tick ficcery, so be kind when you roll your eyes and laugh. I had some delightful responses to my prompt and felt like it was only fair to give it a go, myself. The Proof-Loofah ™ and Beta-Stick © were my sole responsibility, so lemme know if I oopsed.
Arthur was in the middle of buttering toast when the doorbell rang. He waited to see if the Tick was going to answer it, but the silence stretched on past the third and then fourth swipe of the butter knife. “Tick?” Arthur yelled. “Can you get the door?”
“Technically, I can,” the Tick replied from down the hall, closer than the bedroom and with an echo that made it clear he was speaking from the bathroom doorway. “But you were very clear on not leaving the bathroom area ‘til we’re completely dry.” It was easer—and cheaper—to tell the Tick he couldn’t leave the bathroom still dripping than to keep slipping on puddles outside the bathroom door, soaking his socks stepping onto squelchy-wet area rugs, or to pay for carpeting in the entire hallway; even then, there’d still be the problem of squishy socks.
Sighing and rolling his eyes, Arthur frowned as he called back, “But it’s been almost ten minutes since the shower shut off, what are—never mind. I don’t want to know. Finish drying off, then come out.” Putting down the butter knife and sliding the paper plate of toast onto the top of the still-warm toaster, Arthur went to the door. Whoever had rung the bell had probably already left.
Opening the door, Arthur nodded with a little knowing grimace. No one was there.
Well, except for the little plastic container sitting on the much-abused welcome mat.
Arthur crouched down—he wasn’t quite so naïve anymore as to just pick it up and take it inside—and got a closer look. It was actually one of those heavy-duty plastic containers with a vented lid, fitted with a handle. Just the sort of clear-sided ‘cage’ people kept their pet spiders, small reptiles, or sometimes mice in; it was water-proof, so useful for frogs or turtles, and the like. The lid was vented by long, slender openings on either side of a pivoting plastic handle. In his boyhood, Arthur had kept turtles in a similar lightweight cage, arranging a little pond amidst sand and rocks for them. This one, however, was filled with a small bundle of blue and green cloth. No, it was probably a pet-blanket, a fleecy and soft one by the look of it through the clear plastic.
“What’s in the box, Arthur?” The Tick’s voice directly behind and above him, in a stage-whisper that was nearly as loud as his normal speaking voice, made Arthur squeak in surprise and nearly fall onto his butt.
“I don’t know yet,” he answered honestly, glancing up to see that his friend was dry and wearing his usual blue suit, as well as a highly curious expression with upright antennae. “No one was here when I opened the door, just this. So, I guess it’s been left for us.”
“It’s not ticking is it? I mean the clock kind of ticking, like a ticking clock strapped to explosives kind of ticking. That kind of ticking’s usually bad,” the Tick said with far less concern in his voice than most people would have when talking about unexpected ticking packages on their doorstep. Most people aren’t essentially indestructible, though.
“No. No ticking. No obvious triggers or unusual things. I’m thinking maybe someone’s just abandoned a gerbil or puppy or kitten or something…” Arthur’s voice trailed off as he reached for the lid, but a larger, blue hand came down past his head and caught his wrist.
“Wait, Arthur.” The Tick tugged gently—he’d learned how to manage to be gentle in some applications, after a lot of practice and an occasionally bruised Arthur—his voice was back down to a stage-whisper again. “If anything’s going to jump out with teeth or claws or something, you’re a bit more shreddable than I am, so I should open it.”
Though he was tempted to argue the point, Arthur really couldn’t deny he was, indeed, considerably more ‘shreddable’ than the Tick. So, with a little sigh, he rose and stepped back to allow the Tick to crouch down before the little cage to have a look.
The Tick’s big blue hand made the plastic-walled container look even smaller than it was, and he pulled the lid off without any obvious attempt to examine it; however, there was a folded piece of paper tucked underneath the slightly domed lid, which the Tick handed to Arthur without hardly giving it a glance. “It’s probably a case of some poor citizen in the building needing a good home for an extra puppy or kitten,” said the Tick in a strange mix of pride and amusement, his antennae curving forward. “Remember that litter of mutant kittens on Halloween, Arthur?” He reached in with a big blue thumb and forefinger as he spoke, catching a fold of the fuzzy blanket and pulling up and to the side. Nothing exploded.
“Yes, they loved you, but I remember them shredding my suit like it was paper on their way to attack Batmanuel first.” Arthur leaned one elbow on the Tick’s nearest shoulder as he unfolded the paper, watching from the semi-safety that being partially behind the Tick provided.
A laugh suspiciously like a giggle escaped the Tick as he caught another fold of blanket and pulled it aside. “I’ve never heard a superhero scream like a little girl before.”
“Aw, Tick, that’s a bit… harsh,” Arthur said, trying very hard to sound sincere past an overwhelming urge to giggle, too. He was distracted from reading the very slanted and scribbly writing on the paper by the Tick’s partial turn toward him, which jostled his elbow off its perch.
“Oh, right, little buddy,” the Tick said, pointing at Arthur to emphasize his agreement with Arthur and his antennae curled a little to either side as he frowned in concentration. “Uhh… wait, I remember. Yes. That implies there’s something wrong with little girls as compared to little boys… ehh… or men… or, uh… superheroes who happen to be men.” As he spoke, the Tick’s face was slowly scrunching up with approaching frustration.
“Close enough, Tick,” Arthur murmured, patting the Tick. Who would’ve guessed that dragging themselves to that ‘Diversity And Equality for Superheroes’ seminar would actually lead to the Tick retaining something. The hand-puppets and break-away discussion groups had been… okay, sort of nerve-wrackingly hilarious, but still… Arthur returned his attention to the note with an effort, reading it aloud as he puzzled out the horrible handwriting.
“Ohhhh, Arthur!” the Tick cooed in unmistakably ‘spotting a sweet baby creature with big eyes’ tones, pulling Arthur’s attention from the itemized list at the bottom of the note. The Tick was lifting his hand clear of the last folds of the blanket in the plastic carrier, with something cupped in his big blue palm. “Arthur, we have to keep her!”
The first thing Arthur saw was a downy-furred, pale pinkish-orange tail curled around the Tick’s thumb—or what Arthur initially thought was a tail—and then he got a look at the whole creature.
Though it was about the size of a four or five week old kitten, it most definitely was not a kitten. In fact, it looked very much like a fuzzy octopus.
The little tentacled beast had big, black eyes like domed buttons nestled near the base of its rounded, furred head. Instead of eight tentacles, though, it only had five; one of which was wrapped around the Tick’s thumb, two others around his pinky and forefinger, while the last two hung over the sides of his palm, curling and uncurling slowly.
Arthur was speechless.
Smoothing two fingers over the fuzzy curve of the thing’s head, the Tick’s voice fairly dripped with poorly-stifled squee. “She’s so soft, Arthur! Oh, she likes me!” All five tentacles were curled around the Tick’s hand and fingers and it was making a burbling, popping sound, like someone blowing air bubbles through loose lips. A very tiny someone… thing… that probably didn’t actually have lips. Bringing the little creature up to rub against his chin, the Tick looked up at Arthur in a way he couldn’t possibly mistake, saying with smitten enthusiasm, “We’ll call her Peaches!”
Shoulders slumping, Arthur just put his hand over his eyes and surrendered to the inevitable with a long-suffering sigh.
~~~
.
Rating: G
Fandom: The Tick (Live Action 2001)
Characters/Pairings: The Tick, Arthur
Word Count: 1,523
Disclaimer: Not in any way responsible for anything but my own words, no profit, no owning, no capes.
Spoilers: Not in the slightest.
Warnings: Nope. Brace yourself for silliness and peculiar fluff.
Original Prompt: My own 'Shrodinger's Prompt' on Tumblr. "The doorbell rings (or there’s a knock). Your favorite character(s) find a smallish carrier has been left just outside the door. Inside the carrier, wrapped in a soft, fuzzy blanket is…"
Summary: Something is left on the doorstep for Arthur and the Tick.
Author's Notes: I'm still only haphazard at The Tick ficcery, so be kind when you roll your eyes and laugh. I had some delightful responses to my prompt and felt like it was only fair to give it a go, myself. The Proof-Loofah ™ and Beta-Stick © were my sole responsibility, so lemme know if I oopsed.
Arthur was in the middle of buttering toast when the doorbell rang. He waited to see if the Tick was going to answer it, but the silence stretched on past the third and then fourth swipe of the butter knife. “Tick?” Arthur yelled. “Can you get the door?”
“Technically, I can,” the Tick replied from down the hall, closer than the bedroom and with an echo that made it clear he was speaking from the bathroom doorway. “But you were very clear on not leaving the bathroom area ‘til we’re completely dry.” It was easer—and cheaper—to tell the Tick he couldn’t leave the bathroom still dripping than to keep slipping on puddles outside the bathroom door, soaking his socks stepping onto squelchy-wet area rugs, or to pay for carpeting in the entire hallway; even then, there’d still be the problem of squishy socks.
Sighing and rolling his eyes, Arthur frowned as he called back, “But it’s been almost ten minutes since the shower shut off, what are—never mind. I don’t want to know. Finish drying off, then come out.” Putting down the butter knife and sliding the paper plate of toast onto the top of the still-warm toaster, Arthur went to the door. Whoever had rung the bell had probably already left.
Opening the door, Arthur nodded with a little knowing grimace. No one was there.
Well, except for the little plastic container sitting on the much-abused welcome mat.
Arthur crouched down—he wasn’t quite so naïve anymore as to just pick it up and take it inside—and got a closer look. It was actually one of those heavy-duty plastic containers with a vented lid, fitted with a handle. Just the sort of clear-sided ‘cage’ people kept their pet spiders, small reptiles, or sometimes mice in; it was water-proof, so useful for frogs or turtles, and the like. The lid was vented by long, slender openings on either side of a pivoting plastic handle. In his boyhood, Arthur had kept turtles in a similar lightweight cage, arranging a little pond amidst sand and rocks for them. This one, however, was filled with a small bundle of blue and green cloth. No, it was probably a pet-blanket, a fleecy and soft one by the look of it through the clear plastic.
“What’s in the box, Arthur?” The Tick’s voice directly behind and above him, in a stage-whisper that was nearly as loud as his normal speaking voice, made Arthur squeak in surprise and nearly fall onto his butt.
“I don’t know yet,” he answered honestly, glancing up to see that his friend was dry and wearing his usual blue suit, as well as a highly curious expression with upright antennae. “No one was here when I opened the door, just this. So, I guess it’s been left for us.”
“It’s not ticking is it? I mean the clock kind of ticking, like a ticking clock strapped to explosives kind of ticking. That kind of ticking’s usually bad,” the Tick said with far less concern in his voice than most people would have when talking about unexpected ticking packages on their doorstep. Most people aren’t essentially indestructible, though.
“No. No ticking. No obvious triggers or unusual things. I’m thinking maybe someone’s just abandoned a gerbil or puppy or kitten or something…” Arthur’s voice trailed off as he reached for the lid, but a larger, blue hand came down past his head and caught his wrist.
“Wait, Arthur.” The Tick tugged gently—he’d learned how to manage to be gentle in some applications, after a lot of practice and an occasionally bruised Arthur—his voice was back down to a stage-whisper again. “If anything’s going to jump out with teeth or claws or something, you’re a bit more shreddable than I am, so I should open it.”
Though he was tempted to argue the point, Arthur really couldn’t deny he was, indeed, considerably more ‘shreddable’ than the Tick. So, with a little sigh, he rose and stepped back to allow the Tick to crouch down before the little cage to have a look.
The Tick’s big blue hand made the plastic-walled container look even smaller than it was, and he pulled the lid off without any obvious attempt to examine it; however, there was a folded piece of paper tucked underneath the slightly domed lid, which the Tick handed to Arthur without hardly giving it a glance. “It’s probably a case of some poor citizen in the building needing a good home for an extra puppy or kitten,” said the Tick in a strange mix of pride and amusement, his antennae curving forward. “Remember that litter of mutant kittens on Halloween, Arthur?” He reached in with a big blue thumb and forefinger as he spoke, catching a fold of the fuzzy blanket and pulling up and to the side. Nothing exploded.
“Yes, they loved you, but I remember them shredding my suit like it was paper on their way to attack Batmanuel first.” Arthur leaned one elbow on the Tick’s nearest shoulder as he unfolded the paper, watching from the semi-safety that being partially behind the Tick provided.
A laugh suspiciously like a giggle escaped the Tick as he caught another fold of blanket and pulled it aside. “I’ve never heard a superhero scream like a little girl before.”
“Aw, Tick, that’s a bit… harsh,” Arthur said, trying very hard to sound sincere past an overwhelming urge to giggle, too. He was distracted from reading the very slanted and scribbly writing on the paper by the Tick’s partial turn toward him, which jostled his elbow off its perch.
“Oh, right, little buddy,” the Tick said, pointing at Arthur to emphasize his agreement with Arthur and his antennae curled a little to either side as he frowned in concentration. “Uhh… wait, I remember. Yes. That implies there’s something wrong with little girls as compared to little boys… ehh… or men… or, uh… superheroes who happen to be men.” As he spoke, the Tick’s face was slowly scrunching up with approaching frustration.
“Close enough, Tick,” Arthur murmured, patting the Tick. Who would’ve guessed that dragging themselves to that ‘Diversity And Equality for Superheroes’ seminar would actually lead to the Tick retaining something. The hand-puppets and break-away discussion groups had been… okay, sort of nerve-wrackingly hilarious, but still… Arthur returned his attention to the note with an effort, reading it aloud as he puzzled out the horrible handwriting.
“Dear Tick and Moth Man—hey, they got it right!
I saw on the news how you saved my misguided rival’s kitten experiment despite their viciousness, so I knew you both had good hearts.
The next stage of my current research requires that I go out of the country for a long while and there’s no way I can take all my little ones with me on planes and trains and ships and possibly submarines. My colleagues have taken the others into their labs and into their care, but this is the last one and no one’s left who could take her in. She is amphibious, inquisitive, and affectionate. The requirements of her care and feeding are listed below. Please, please, give her a good home.
Sincerely,
An Anonymous Scientific Genius
PS: She’s not evil, I promise.
PPS: No, really, she’s not.”
“Ohhhh, Arthur!” the Tick cooed in unmistakably ‘spotting a sweet baby creature with big eyes’ tones, pulling Arthur’s attention from the itemized list at the bottom of the note. The Tick was lifting his hand clear of the last folds of the blanket in the plastic carrier, with something cupped in his big blue palm. “Arthur, we have to keep her!”
The first thing Arthur saw was a downy-furred, pale pinkish-orange tail curled around the Tick’s thumb—or what Arthur initially thought was a tail—and then he got a look at the whole creature.
Though it was about the size of a four or five week old kitten, it most definitely was not a kitten. In fact, it looked very much like a fuzzy octopus.
The little tentacled beast had big, black eyes like domed buttons nestled near the base of its rounded, furred head. Instead of eight tentacles, though, it only had five; one of which was wrapped around the Tick’s thumb, two others around his pinky and forefinger, while the last two hung over the sides of his palm, curling and uncurling slowly.
Arthur was speechless.
Smoothing two fingers over the fuzzy curve of the thing’s head, the Tick’s voice fairly dripped with poorly-stifled squee. “She’s so soft, Arthur! Oh, she likes me!” All five tentacles were curled around the Tick’s hand and fingers and it was making a burbling, popping sound, like someone blowing air bubbles through loose lips. A very tiny someone… thing… that probably didn’t actually have lips. Bringing the little creature up to rub against his chin, the Tick looked up at Arthur in a way he couldn’t possibly mistake, saying with smitten enthusiasm, “We’ll call her Peaches!”
Shoulders slumping, Arthur just put his hand over his eyes and surrendered to the inevitable with a long-suffering sigh.
~~~
.
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Date: 2013-01-04 08:48 am (UTC)From:so nice of you to provide a quality description of your own fic! You know it's not going to be something normal like a kitten or a baby, even if it's not really evil (really) but this is an adorable bit of weird and fluff that could go so many ways. Love Author, so reserved, so used to going with the flow it kind of made me think of John Watson, and now I want you to write a Sherlock and John meet Tick and Author. It's your fault for being so good at the unique.
Love it =)
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Date: 2013-02-18 09:41 pm (UTC)From:Muwahaha, your comment is full of awesome! Ohhh, the idea of that crossover is both hilarious and frightening. *chortles*
If I can, I will, but I still thank you for the lovely wonderful commenty goodness!