#sonarmech

“I’m sensing some hostility, Robert. You mad at me?”

“Look. What’s done is done. Change back and let’s go to the locker room.”

Sonar scratches the back of his head, displacing another shelf of pollen. Robert feels his eyes water. Thank god he isn’t allergic.

“About that… I can’t?” Sonar replies. “Stomach’s too full. If I shift now, it might like… kind of burst?”

So much for having less bat to clean. “Okay, fine, whatever,” Robert sighs. “C’mon.”

They do their walk of shame through the branch, a trail of pollen following in their wake.

“Shouldn’t this be a job for Waterboy?” Sonar asks as they enter the locker room. Robert collects a pile of towels and several bottles of soap.

“Do you want Waterboy to do this?” Robert asks.

“No way. Dude’s weird. And I think I scare him, a little.”

“I think he’s going to have his hands full anyway with the mess you made on the way here.”

“Point taken.”

“Go stand in the showers. And don’t turn the water on yet.”

Robert thinks he knows what to do. He’s been on the dog grooming side of YouTube before. That’s close enough, right? He grabs one of the shop vacs from the nearby janitor’s closet, then he trades his polo and slacks for his running shorts. No matter how he does this, things are gonna be messy.

He only realizes how ridiculous he looks—half-naked with his arms full of supplies and a vacuum rolling behind him—when a freshly showered hero boggles as he passes. Not like this job allowed for much dignity anyway.

Robert smiles and nods at him. “Can you put one of those ‘closed for cleaning’ signs outside the locker room? Thanks, man.”

The hero nods back, but keeps glancing at him owlishly as he walks away. Robert shakes his head and follows the trail of pollen to the showers. Sonar is standing in the center of the green and brown tile, sniffling a little.

“What’s the vacuum for? Why are you naked?”

“I’m not naked. I just don’t want to wash my work clothes between shifts.” Robert brandishes the vacuum cleaner by the handle. “And I’m blowing you with this before we wash you.”

“Blowing me, Robert? Didn’t know you were that kind of guy.”

“As fun as all these HR violations are, the clock’s ticking.”

The vacuuming is a disaster. As soon as Robert turns it on, pollen explodes into the air. It gets everywhere. His eyes, his mouth, no mucus membrane is safe. The pollen’s floral, melon flavor cloys in the back of his throat. He should’ve borrowed Waterboy’s goggles for this, but it’s way too late to stop now. Robert tries to be methodical about it, starting at the top of Sonar’s body and working his way down, but it just keeps resettling! He reverses the flow of air and tries to catch the pollen as it floats. That seems to do the job, blowing the pollen off then sucking it up, but it’s slow, annoying work.

After twenty minutes of vacuuming, most of the loose pollen is in the shop vac. Robert wheels it back into the locker area. “Alright. Water time,” he says.

“What?” Sonar replies, louder than necessary. Shit. They should’ve plugged his ears.

Robert turns the shower on and gestures Sonar forward. Once Sonar steps into the spray, he transforms from a puffy moth to a wet, pathetic-looking dog.

Cute, Robert thinks. Maybe I could put this online. Surely there’s some bat enthusiasts who’d like this.

Robert lets the water run a little while, then turns it off and hands Sonar one of the soap bottles. “Start with your front. I’ll work on the back.”

“You got it, boss.”

Sonar has to kneel down for him to reach his shoulders. Robert squeezes a generous amount of soap into his hands and gets to work. He stuffs his fingers into Sonar’s neck fluff. Around his chest and upper back, his fur is much thicker. He really has to work his fingers deep to get lather at the root. The suds are initially pollen yellow, but they slowly turn brown the longer he massages.

Sonar struggles to clean himself, Robert realizes. Maybe he should be grossed out, but it feels more oddly satisfying than anything as the dirty suds begin to run clear. Robert falls into a groove: working in the soap, massaging it beneath what he assumes is some kind of bat-hybrid version of a dog’s upper coat, rinsing and massaging the lather and gunk away. Quite literally rinse and repeat.

“You’re kind of good at this,” Sonar mumbles when Robert’s rubbing between his shoulder blades, wrist deep in wet fluff.

“Used to date a software developer. Worked long hours and had terrible posture. Gave him a lot of back rubs. Guess I got good at it.”

“Him?”

“Yeah, him.”

“You like dudes sometimes, Robert?”

Robert laughs, then coughs as some wayward pollen manages to find his lungs. He has a feeling he’ll be coughing it up for days. “More than sometimes.”

“Huh. You don’t really ping on my radar.”

“There’s some kind of joke in there, I know it. Radar. Sonar.”

“I’d stick to your day job.”

The conversation quiets during another round of rinsing. Robert’s made it to Sonar’s lower back. He’s careful to keep his hands above board. Sonar busies himself with his right wing.

“Anyways, that’s cool,” Sonar says. “I sometimes like dudes too.”

“Really? Thought you only liked drugs and boobs.”

“Hey. Man boobs can be nice. Especially if there’re drugs on ‘em.”

“Sorry to say I don’t have much of either.”

“You got something against itty bitty titties, Robbo? They look good on you. Proportional.”

“Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.”

They lapse into companionable silence. The Z-Team is a bombastic group, and Robert rarely hangs out with any of them one on one. Somehow, covered with sticky-wet pollen and desperately missing his lunch, he’s enjoying himself.

Speaking of. Robert glances at the clock. “Almost one p.m.”

“Wha, already? Damn, time sure flies…”

“You good to finish up?”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it.”

Robert pats Sonar’s back, then turns on one of the other shower faucets. He takes off his pollen-laden shorts and steps under the spray of hot water, trying to rid himself of as much mess as possible before he settles into a desk for the next few hours.

Sonar hunches under his own shower. Not lathering, his eyes narrowed, just seeming to enjoy the water. Robert can’t help but to think about the puppy videos he likes to watch with Beef.

When Sonar moves next, its quick, a there and gone motion as he glances sidelong at Robert. Robert might’ve not noticed, except when Sonar looked, he also squeaked once—softly—before looking away.

Uh.

What was that?

Sonar turns his own shower off like nothing happened. He stands up straight, does a little full-body shake that puffs up his fur and flings water everywhere.

Robert’s trying not to downright stare at him, but it’s hard not to—is he reading too much into one wayward look? But Sonar… squeaked? Peeped at him? He’s wondering this at the worst possible time, too, when he’s also realizing how large Sonar is in beast form, how unused he is to seeing him like this up close.

Sonar catches his eye again, of course he does. Robert hasn’t stopped staring. It’s hard to tell, but it looks like he’s smiling.

“I’m going on ahead. See you in a bit, Robbie boy. And uh… thanks.”

“Yeah, anytime,” Robert murmurs. “See ya.”

Sonar walks away. Robert listens to the sounds of his heavy claws against the tile, the far door opening and closing as he leaves the locker room. Only then does Robert rub his hand over his eyes and let out a long, beleaguered sigh. He turns the heat up on the shower, hoping to burn off whatever weird feeling’s come over him.