Chapter Text
Tenna was not a quiet person.
That wasn't a bad thing, for the record. After all, Spamton grew up with four siblings, and he regularly delivered mail to nearly everyone in the Underground. If anything, silence had become unnatural to him.
That was partly why he enjoyed his husband's company so much. His wonderful performer had no trouble filling the air with thoughts and jokes and questions and humming. His life felt much less empty when he had Tenna in it.
But aside from the slight drag of his feet or the click of his cane, Tenna hadn't made a sound since he spoke to Gerson.
"I've got the kids," Gerson had said. His tone left no room for argument. "You go with your partner."
Any other day, Spamton might have argued. Might have stood protectively between Gerson and his kids. Might have complained about being bossed around.
This Spamton didn't even have the energy to argue. He just turned and trudged after Tenna. For possibly the first time in his life, he was grateful that his husbands slow, shuffling, uneven gait meant he could catch up with him now, even when neither of them would look at the other.
Tenna reached the door to their house first, swinging it open far more carelessly than he ever did. In all their hurry, they'd forgotten to lock it.
That was hardly like them. This was hardly like them.
"To: Tens," Spamton started, gaze firmly locked in the Pipis in his hand. He carefully wrapped her in her blanket, ready to go back in her drawer. "I dunno about you, but I've had enough excitement for one day. Ready for bed, silver screen?"
He finished tucking the blanket around their sweet girl - egg though she may be - and sat back, waiting for an answer.
And waiting. And waiting.
"Actually, Spammy," Tenna said at last, quiet and resigned. His tone alone sent chills down Spamton's spine. "I think I'm gonna take the couch tonight."
All at once, Spamton's brain slammed to a halt.
Tenna wasn't sticking around for an answer, though. In the time it took for Spamton to crash back into the present, he'd already limped his way back through the door.
An ugly, jagged, viscous feeling clawed its way up Spamton's throat.
Because they didn't do this. They didn't fight like this, they didn't shut each other out like this. Maybe when they were younger and fresh off their deal, but after so many years of being there for each other and talking through their issues and being a team...
The silent treatment really, really pissed Spamton off.
With a brand new anger, Spamton stomped after his husband. The robot had just settled his weight onto the cushion when Spamton leapt to the open spot, making him jump nearly out of his sockets in shock.
"Spammy!" Tenna yelped, with a mix of surprise and, now that he knew to listen for it, frustration. "I just said-"
"Ant: I heard you the first time. But you," Spamton growled, jabbing a finger into his chest, "don't get to make that decision by yourself. I'm your husband, you can't just say that without talking to me-"
"Oh, like you talked to me?" Tenna shot back, far faster than Spamton had expected. It left him wrong-footed enough for Tenna to barrel ahead. "Like how you told me the whole deal with Gaster's job? Like how you told me about the kids changing their names?"
His claws - though they'd been sanded for as long as Spamton knew him- were out, tugging viciously against his broken antenna while fangs gritted against each other.
Spamton had never, in ten years of partnership, seen Tenna like this before. That's why he could only gape at him, jaw flapping open, as Tenna mock-laughed. "Oh, no, wait a second! You didn't tell me! You hid it, let me sit in the dark, until you couldn't hide it anymore!"
This was already spinning out of control, and the helplessness only fed the fire burning through Spamton's chest.
Anyone else might call it shame. But Spamton? No.
He called it anger.
"That's not fair, Tenna. You know it's not fair!" His feathers bristled as he stomped a foot on the couch. "Why can't you just be happy for me?! Huh? Why do you have to be like this?!"
"You didn't tell me the whole deal, Spamton," Tenna repeated. His frown was jagged as his screen, the washed-out green tinted red. "If Ms. Alphys hadn't said so today... just when were you going to tell me the truth?"
"I don't know, alright?" Spamton snapped, only half aware of what he was saying beyond the red film in his vision. "Get off my case, cathode, jeez! This is exactly why I didn't tell you! Because I knew - you always do this!"
"Do what?" Tenna shot back, venomous. "Expect my husband to be honest with me?" Tenna rarely used his height to his advantage, always so hyperaware of his size and damage and how accidentally scary he might be. But now, he straightened his back and glared down at Spamton. "You haven't been yourself, Spams. Not since you got that job offer in the first place. Do you even know what you're agreeing to?"
Spamton scowled, anger flushing down his neck. So what if he didn't have all the details? It didn't matter!
Because Gaster hadn't asked the other Addisons. He didn't want anyone stronger, or smarter, or better.
Out of everyone in the Underground, Gaster wanted Spamton on his team. There's only been one other person in the entire Underground to choose him like that.
And right now, that other person was standing in his way of finally, finally becoming a Big Shot.
"You want me to be honest?" Spamton said sharply. "You want the truth so badly? Well, here it is. I'm tired of this life, Ant! I want... I want more."
Tenna stopped. His screen flickered once, twice. Slowly, he slid back down the couch before he repeated, "More?"
"C'mon, Tens! More!" Spamton flung his arms out wildly to the worn furniture, the second-hand junk, the walls made of scrap they'd welded together themselves. "More than this."
This was the first place in his entire life that Spamton had ever felt at home. In his heart of hearts, he didn't want to leave it.
But this was also their chance - his chance - to finally make it big. To do something greater than stuff mailboxes. To build a better life for his family; to take care of them the way he'd always dreamed about.
If he worked hard enough, he could show Tenna the real world, not just the recordings he loved.
"If you really love me, Tens," Spamton said softly. "Then you'll let me go do this."
Tenna watched him. His screen was off, but that had never fooled either of them. The weight of that gaze was unmistakable.
At last, Ant surrendered his hand, holding it out like a peace offering. Spamton didn't hesitate to press against it, letting Tenna run his fingers through the plumage on his neck.
They sat like that for a while. The only sound was a crackling in Tenna's chassis and the rustle of feathers.
"When you've gotten what you want," Tenna said, tired and quiet, "you promise you'll come back home?"
Spamton didn't do promises. Their rings were the closest thing he'd made to a deal since he left the other addisons behind.
And there were so many promises he couldn't make to Tenna right now. He didn't know how long the job would take, or how often he could visit.
He couldn't promise to bring Tenna to the surface, no matter how badly he wanted to.
But this? This was the easiest promise of them all.
"My beloved husband; I'll always come back to you, Tenna. I promise.
Do not look at him, Spamton reminded himself firmly. It was easier to keep his composure without meeting Tenna's gaze. Tenna took a long, measured breath. Then another, and another.
Spamton said nothing. He bit the inside of his cheek, determined not to give in.
It's for both of us, he told himself. It's for the best.
At last, Tenna's screen clicked on again. And he answered, just like Spamton knew he would, "Then we better get some rest, LoveLetter. After all, you've got a busy day of packing tomorrow."