#kohut

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So come on, get higher, loosen my lips

Faith and desire and the swing of your hips

Just pull me down hard

And drown me in love

—

Felix wore his heart on his sleeve, but he also tended to overthink, especially when it came to saying what was on his mind.

He wasn't sure what her men thought of him, he assumed that when they invited him to Tapper's, it was a way for them to size him up — he should've known she'd be there too.

He did pretty well for an 8-bit — her soldiers placed bets on him, most thought he wouldn't be able to handle more than a sip, let alone a whole mug of Tapper's special brew — Tamora was definitely in awe of how much Felix had been holding out on her.

It was true what they said: a bit of liquid courage could do wonders for nerves.

Gone was the man who thought through every sentence before he spoke it, and in his place was a more loose-lipped fella — though, still just as polite.

“Stop pouring him more, Markowski,” Kohut chided jokingly, smacking the man on the back of his head. “Look at him, he's swaying!”

“Easy, fellas,” Felix chuckled, raising his mug before knocking another drink back. “I may not look like much, but I'm juuuust dandy—” The burp he let out was more of a hiccup, it was squeaky, pitiful, but he covered his mouth as if it were a thunderous belch. “Oh my, pardon me!”

Tamora sat next to him, nursing her own mug while she eyed him, and while she wanted to pull him away and jump his bones, she kept herself in check… mostly.

Maybe she shouldn't have let him drink more than one mug, but he insisted he could handle it.

Why did she believe him?

For modsake, the mugs were the size of his torso. One mug and he'd already been swaying in his seat…

Felix was definitely more than just a bit tipsy, and if Tamora was honest, she found his state more than just a bit amusing.

“Alright ladies,” Tamora stood up and nodded at her men. “Evening was peachy, but Fix-It and I are headed out.”

They didn't dare argue with their commanding officer as she scooped up the giggling handyman in her arms and kicked the door open.

“Gosh,” Felix murmured before giggling some more. “Those boys sure are swell!”

“Bunch of ladybugs, but they're good men,” Tamora quipped. “How you feeling, Pint-Size?”

“Oh, I'm fit as a fiddle,” Felix chirped, snuggling into her embrace. “I'm in the arms of the most lovely gal in all of Litwak's, she's takin’ me home, she'll be by my side when I wake up with one doozy of a hangover, and… I can do this…” He trailed off as he placed sloppy kisses against her neck, but just as soon as he started, he dissolved into another giggle fit.

Tamora shook her head, pulling him closer as a subtle smirk played at her lips. His talk was sweet, but it was also honest.

“Mhm, I believe you're drunk, shortstack.” She huffed out, returning his sloppy kisses with a peck on the top of his head.

“Looove drunk,” Felix mumbled, refusing the urge to shut his eyes even if they were starting to feel awful heavy. “You're like… hehe… you're like that quicksand we were stuck in…”

She could tell from his slurred speech, all his coherent thoughts had been thrown out the window and whatever he'd say next probably wouldn't make a lick of sense, but she found herself curious about where he was headed with that.

“Uh-huh… Care to elaborate?”

“Well, you…uhm… You pull me down hard, and—” Felix paused, gazing up at her with half-lidded eyes, rosy cheeks — which she knew wasn't just because of the alcohol — before swooning and finishing his ‘explanation.’

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It wasn't something that Tamora had asked him to do — hell, it hadn't even come up in conversation at any point, and she wasn't aware he was there in the first place.

Felix had heard about the memorial grounds from Kohut, and in his mind, there were no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

He and Tamora were set to get married, and in the same chapel that she'd almost married him. While he couldn't talk back, Felix deemed it important to face the man who had been his Lady Love's first love and pay respect to him.

Removing his hat before he stepped forward, Felix cleared his throat and bowed his head.

Dr. Brad Scott

Comrade, brother in arms, honoured soldier, and fiancé.

Felix placed the flowers he'd been holding next to the burial — they were calla lilies, ones he'd grown himself in advance.

“It's nice to meet you, Mr. Scott,” Felix began, fiddling with his hammer at his side. “I'm Fix-It Felix Jr., and uh… as you can tell, I'm not from your game,” He chuckled.

Stepping closer, he brushed away some dirt and debris covering the name plaque before smiling wistfully.

“There, that's better,” Felix murmured. “I don't wish to disturb your resting place, Sir, but I suppose I… Well, I just wanted to pay my respects.”

The conversation was one-sided, but it was important. He had to do this, not just for his sake, but for Tamora's too, even if she'd never know about it.

“Tammy talks about you a lot,” Felix stated, struggling to keep his voice steady. “I think you'd be glad to hear that she's doing well. She's smiling more often — oh, she's just radiant!” His eyes watered slightly, and he knew the dust was not to blame.

“I promise, I won't take up much more of your time,” He swallowed thickly, wiping his eyes before any tears could fall. “Tammy and I are getting married in a month or so, and I just wanted to stop by and chat... and fill you in, I suppose.”

Felix stayed silent for a moment, and finally, he let out a shaky breath before smiling as cheerfully as he could.

“I gotta go now, Tammy'll be expecting me any minute,” Felix tittered. “At ease, Sir.” He saluted the grave before turning to head out.

A soft breeze caressed the flowers Felix had left behind, and as a petal dropped, it covered one word.

----

If a sprite asked any of Hero's Duty's soldiers what they thought about the handyman who somehow managed to get past their sergeant's maximum security level wall — that she'd put up to keep anyone from getting close to her — they'd all get the same response.

"Fix-It? He's a bang-up guy!"

"Real good guy!"

"He's got gumption."

"He's earned his place in our platoon for sure!"

They'd all taken a shine to the little fella, and it was clear as day that they respected him… but soldiers will be soldiers, and any member of the platoon knew that even with respect, some good-hearted jokes were bound to happen — just ask Private Markowski.

One evening, while Tamora had to stay in Hero's Duty overtime, her men invited Felix to Tapper's for some bonding time. Felix wasn't a drinker, and that was fine — no one ribbed him for ordering water instead of beer. So Felix thought, "What the heck, why not?"

One root beer later.

Felix spilled the beans, he'd been planning on proposing to their commanding officer, and he was asking for their blessing.

They already respected him, he had their blessing the moment they saw how happy he made Tamora.

That didn't mean they weren't going to have fun with this, after all, who could pass up an opportunity like this?

—

"Quests?" Felix furrowed his eyebrows and fiddled with the hammer at his side.

"Yeah, if you want our blessing, you just have to complete a few quests." Greene took a swing of his root beer before placing the mug back on the table. "Nothing too hard—"

"Well, lay it on me, fellas," Felix giggled — who knew 8-bits were such lightweights? "C'mon, I can take it!" He was already hopping off his seat, but Kohut caught him midair and gently placed him back on the barstool.

"Hold up, little man," Kohut looked between Felix and his comrades, and they all silently agreed with what the look communicated. "Your mission starts tomorrow. Right now, it's downtime, Cadet."

"Ohh, yessir!" Felix put on a serious expression, saluted Kohut, and not a moment later, he was a giggling mess again.

If anyone asked Kohut how he felt about Felix, he'd say that his respect for the man doubled that night. For he knew, it wasn't the root beer talking when Felix had been ready to take on anything they threw his way.

—

They all agreed overnight, none of the quests were to put Felix in harm's way. Not only because their sergeant would kill them if anything happened to him, but also because they cared for him as if he were one of their own.

The rules were simple: nothing too dangerous, and absolutely nothing to do with Cy-bugs.

The first quest had been to sneak cherries out of Pac-Man. They hadn't expected him to be able to lift them, let alone get them out of the game… They never would've guessed that the little guy was stronger than he looked.

"You gotta lift with your legs, fellas," Felix chuckled as he carried the giant cherries out of the game and walked past them. "What's my next mission?"

They decided to scratch 'arm wrestling' off the list. Mod only knows how strong the arm Felix used to swing his hammer was, and no one wanted to find out.

They went with shooting — in HIS game just in case anything went south. All he had to do was shoot a tin can off a brick… from a distance.

Felix lined up his sight with the target, cocked the handgun, and with a steady hand, he pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the can dead center, and Felix grinned as he blew the smoke coming from the barrel of it.

"Gotta have good aim when fixin' stuff," Felix chirped. "Don't wanna hit your thumb instead of a nail, believe me, that smarts."

Markowski's respect for Felix was high enough, but that gained him +100 bonus points.

His final mission? Propose to their sergeant, because he earned their blessing… and they'd run out of ideas.

—

They'd protect that man as if he were one of them, because in their eyes, he was. Every one of their weapons was trained on the window of the chapel.

“Do you realize how embarrassing it is seeing Markowski faff about like that every time I put him on the field? If these are the soldiers I’m supposed to have whipped into shape…what does that say about me, Kohut?”

“Ah, so this is a matter of pride. Should have guessed.” Kohut grinned. 

“It is not a matter of pride, and you know it, Corporal.”

“Oh, and I’m Princess Peach.” 

“Shove it, Kohut.” She punctuated her statement with a physical shove. “Do you realize that every time I see that guy’s goofy mug, it reminds me that I’ve failed? That there was one person I could never reach no matter how hard I tried?”

“Well, perhaps…” 

Kohut braced himself for impact—criticism, even the gentle criticism he often gave, wasn’t something the sergeant took lightly. But one of the corporal’s strongest assets was his empathy. He had heaps of it for every man in the corps—even Kersavage, rotten as he was. And he felt strongest of all for poor, downtrodden Markowski, feeling useless and unloved. 

He looked up at Calhoun with his trademark intense, yet gentle stare. “Perhaps you’re not tryin’ hard enough.”

The sergeant’s jaw contorted, as it often did when the corporal’s point hit a little too close to home.

“I don’t want you to blame yourself for how Markowski turned out,” Kohut clarified, “not at all, TJ. But don’t take your anger out on the poor kid, either. I hate to call you out—“

“Stop lying, Kohut. It’s what you live for.” deadpanned Calhoun.

“Guilty as charged, Sarge.” Kohut smirked. “But you’ve always been so hard on him. I think you’re going about this all wrong.”

“Well, no matter how hard I am on him, nothing I say or do is hard enough to crack through that thick skull of his and make his brain start working again.” Calhoun pursed her lips.

“But in front of the boys?” Kohut questioned. 

“I’d do the same to any of them,” retorted Calhoun. She fixed the corporal with a warning stare, momentarily forgetting his imperviosity to them. “Including you.”

“It’s not just that, TJ.” Kohut knew he was cruising for, at the very least, a bruising, but for the poor private’s sake, he forged on. “It’s the way you talk about him when he’s not around. Like he’s some sort of…of a lost cause.”

“Isn’t he?” Calhoun’s scowl deepened. 

“Only if you make him out to be. How’s he going to get better if he knows you’ve made up your mind that the only thing he’s good for is cleaning toilets?”

“Why should I give him hope?” Calhoun volleyed back.

“Because he’s got potential, TJ.” Kohut sighed deeply. “And it hurts that you can’t see it.” 

“Where in that mound of marshmallow fluff do you see potential, Kohut?“ 

“You’ve heard the General’s speech, Sarge, you know what we’re fighting for.”

Like a sleeper agent, Calhoun automatically recited the speech that General Hologram intoned as he bestowed the Medal of Heroes on those lucky players that reached the top. 

“Bravery…integrity…grace under pressure…and above all, Dignity.” 

Calhoun emitted her first laugh of the day—but it was a wry one rather than a genuine chortle. “Were we listening to the same speech? The guy runs for the hills every time a Cy-Bug chases him. Cracks under pressure faster than a porcelain plate.”

“But he shows up every day, on time, ready to fight.” Kohut defended. “He’s quivering like a Jell-O mold, but he gets out there and he does what he can. Even though he knows his head’s probably getting chewed off, in more ways than one.” He nodded to his superior. “If that isn’t a hero, I don’t know what is.”

“So, you want me to just…throw him out on the battlefield and let him act like a total cluck?” Calhoun asked indignantly. 

“No, no.” Kohut shook his head. “But I don’t want you to go on treating him like a total failure. Because he’s starting to believe it. He’s determined to change, that one. But there’s not so much fire in his eyes, nowadays. And I think it’s thanks to you.”

Calhoun’s steely expression began, slowly but surely, to soften. She inwardly cursed the corporal for breaking down her walls the way he always seemed to do so well. Because, in spite of herself, Calhoun felt a twinge of guilt deep inside her. She’d always prided herself on “tough love”—but how much love was really in her public criticisms and countless whacks upside the head? And could Kohut really be right? Could the way she treated Markowski be hurting him? 

“I’ll try, Kohut.” Noticing the way his brow mischievously raised in acknowledgment of her pang of conscience, she reverted back to her sarcasm. “If it means you’ll stop hounding me, I’ll try.”

“No promises, Sarge. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.” Kohut made a “looking at you” gesture.

Calhoun’s lips finally curved into a smirk.