Chapter Text
Time seems to stop.
The first beginning is a moment, frozen, when the slanted orange of the October sunset pours through the windows of the lab and illuminates the room like a jack o'lantern, dust mites floating between the computers and over the desk near the wall. His backpack is there, tossed carelessly onto the rolling chair that won't stop squeaking; beyond that are printouts of second and third and fourth drafts of reports, projects, essays, exams, strewn haphazard over the tables across from the door. The workstation is a mess, complemented by the posters hanging above- school announcements, reminders of deadlines, running tallies of table tennis tournaments and a schedule of who's responsible for locking up the lab each night. There's a faint murmur from the hallway, of the last students hanging around the campus until rush hour dies down.
It's silent, otherwise, because the boy in the middle of the room is stock-still, unbreathing, hardly daring to blink- and the green piece of hardware in his hand is so light he can barely believe it exists at all.
Like it might float out of his grasp, and drift away.
'TADASHI HAMADA.'
His thoughts, too, are frozen for an instant. It's all here, all of it, not just the procedures and source code- but the memories, the personality, the friend who saved his life. He isn't gone. Tadashi's work isn't lost.
It hits him like a physical pain, frantic energy and happiness that bursts from a dark corner and tears down the foundations of what he thought he was ready for, because he's been trying to move past it all, he really has, hoping to start a new life with his friends and the school and everything else- he just got out of class, even, and he only meant to grab a few things before he headed home, and if he turns he can still see the backpack only a few feet away where he let it fall when he wandered over here to Baymax's metal hand a few minutes ago back when he didn't have the chip, before the whole world changed. And now that he DOES have it, he can-
He can-
It's making him shake, almost dizzy, because he can do it. He’s sure. He knew it back when Tadashi showed him Baymax for the first time, that the real genius was in the chip itself, and everything else wasn't nearly as irreplaceable. Just metal and wires, and that- he can re-create that. Myriad thoughts fly in different directions; were Tadashi's original research and blueprints lost in the fire? How much do the others know? Could the institute let him use the labs for a project like this? Can he muster up even a fraction of Tadashi's work ethic and perseverance?
What if he gets it wrong?
The last one causes him to stop, and the thoughts- already pushed to the extremes of emotion- flip again. There's a fierce determination, now, and he can almost feel the excitement buzzing in his head and in his hands and racing on his skin, raising goosebumps all the way. Not only can he do it, but he has to. It's not even a question. He has the chance to get Baymax back, and he won't stop until he succeeds.
The whole world feels different.
The frozen moment shatters apart, and Hiro flies through the lab like a banshee. Tearing around corners, feeling like his feet are barely touching the ground, he bursts into the quiet dark of the main space, past the desks and tables neatly set up for tomorrow's classes, past personalized cubicles and doorways leading to other areas of the building, past a few upperclassmen who are trying to watch a video on a smartphone screen, until he finds who he's looking for, because Wasabi is staying late, he's been staying late every night this week working on his next Applied Physics project, and if Hiro can't TELL somebody about this soon, he's going to rocket off into space-
"Whoa, slow down, little man."
Hiro knows he'll remember that later, the way Wasabi grins at him with an easygoing tilt of his head, and how that changes when all the words come out in a rush and he holds up the chip- ‘he kept it in his hand, he saved it, he's still here’ and Wasabi just looks at him for a moment, not comprehending, until the realization hits his eyes at the exact moment that Hiro takes a deep breath and says more clearly:
"I can build him again."
It's a look, shock and wonder and euphoria, and it starts a gigantic hug and a flurry of excited phone calls and texts- are you busy, good, get to the Lucky Cat, we're all meeting right now- look Fred I refuse to call it 'defcon five' just get to the café already- because this news is too big to only share with one person. He feels like he's dreaming during the anxious ride in Wasabi's van back to the café- the trams would be too slow, but Wasabi's meticulous standard of following every traffic rule and guideline makes it seem like this is taking even longer.
-hiro can we at least call it a CODE
RED EMERGENCY TEAM MEETING
-if we call it that
- will you hurry up and go to the café
-yee
-alright fine
And this, here, is the second beginning, in the hectic energy of the restaurant, where the faint smell of baked dough and tired crowds and fruit and cream and chocolate all drifts overhead. There's the double-sized table in the corner with the coffee spill that never quite comes out, the booth where Mr. and Mrs. Takomo are discussing whether or not the raspberry turnovers are made with organically grown fruit, and the group of high schoolers near the window trying to make some kind of fort out of the napkin holders while recording the whole thing on their phones. It’s a familiar chaos, and at the cash register, Cass Hamada is in the middle of three conversations, trying to apologize for the short delay to one customer, explaining the weekend specials to another, and attempting to parcel out exact change for a third. Her smile is professional, but tired, because she can handle the stress and bustle of a successful restaurant as well as the best of them, but that doesn't change the fact that she'll be thoroughly glad to sit down and relax with Mochi and a bowl of rocky road ice cream when this is all over.
And in the center of it all, she suddenly sees Hiro darting through the customers and the maze of tables, and he hasn't even bothered to drop his backpack yet, scanning the building like he's looking for someone.
He's been gone all day, and when she catches a break in the line of customers, she calls his name with a smirk- it'll be a joking reprimand, for not even saying hello when he finally came home. But when he turns, startled, with that look he has sometimes, the one where he's so focused that it’s like he's forgotten anything else in the world even exists, she stops.
Because Hiro's smiling. He's beaming, a grin that seems to electrify his eyes and his nose and even his hair, more sticking-up than usual, like he's so happy that it's trying to explode out away from him and make the rest of the room as joyful as he is. There’s a spark there, excited, but not nervous or stressed or harried; it's so unlike the way he's looked these last weeks. So when he scampers behind the counter and crashes into her with a hug, she can't think of what she was going to ask him for a moment.
Somehow, it doesn't seem to matter.
She's finally able to stammer out a question about how the day went, and he brushes his hair away from his eyes with a barrage of chatter she doesn't recognize- something about a project for one of his classes, and working on something he thought he wouldn't be able to complete, and his friends are probably going to be over soon, and is it okay if they move two of the tables together near the jukebox so they can all fit, because no one ever sits over there anyway and he'll help her out with the café before and after so she has a little less work, he promises, so would that be okay, please?
Cass can't bring herself to do much more than say 'of course', and ruffle his hair the way he always complains about. He scowls, but he's still smiling, and almost immediately dashes away- almost colliding with Mrs. Matsuda, but then he’s politely apologizing and asking her how her day’s going as she heads to her table. Whatever good mood this is, it’s enough to even make him a bit sociable. Cass is dumbstruck.
She breathes out, taking just a second to close her eyes.
The steady hum of the restaurant floats over her.
…
It's been such an awful month.
She doesn't think about it often- at least, not on purpose. She has to fight to keep from replaying the events in her head, over and over, and it usually doesn't do anything except make her more depressed. The fire, of course. The way Hiro had looked when she finally found him, terrified eyes shining with the blaring red lights of the emergency vehicles and the grisly orange coming from the building. The funeral. The pervasive, inescapable darkness that hung over the café for so long, and the uneaten plates of food she kept bringing back from Hiro's room.
The bizarre, gut-wrenching story that played out over the news only days ago, with a presumed-dead professor- one of Tadashi’s heroes, even- who was suddenly accused of terrorism and attempted murder, of all things, arrested and shunted into a cell and out of the public eye just as quickly, with so little time for anyone to process what had happened.
(And the terrible, paranoid suspicion, that jolted her out of nightmares and into wild lucidity one night, then another, and another- the thought that there had been six of them, those heroes who fought him off and saved lives in the center of the city, and the leader with the dark mask was so small, only a child's height- and Hiro was spending more and more time with Tadashi's friends- and her grief over losing her nephew was so strong, so palpable, and there was no way in heaven or hell that she could imagine Hiro throwing himself into danger day after day- and she had to push away that worry, had to tell herself that it simply wasn't possible, that she was jumping to conclusions. After all, the sixth figure was some kind of hulking robot, and she'd never seen anything like it before. More importantly, Hiro was impulsive and stubborn, but he wouldn't do something like this. He couldn't. And she would only drive herself crazy if she let her fear get the better of her common sense. He's only fourteen.)
But suddenly, only days ago, she saw the first signs of life in the way Hiro was acting, beyond the despair and jittery panic of the previous weeks. And she let herself think that maybe, finally, they were making their way through the worst of the storm. They could never get back to the way things were before Tadashi died. But they could make it through.
Then, he started school.
And now he's-
-happy?-
-he's looking over the display case at one of their repeat customers who always likes throwing banter back and forth with them, raising his eyebrows in mock anger and shooing him away- "Excuse me, who let you in here?"- so Mr. Kyomi turns it right back and pretends to storm back out the door, complaining over his shoulder that Riu's Diner would never be so disrespectful to their customers, and maybe he'll just take his business somewhere that appreciates him, and his wife is rolling her eyes while Cass tries not to laugh too hard. She already has their usual choice dialed up in the computer by the time Hiro actually takes their order.
…She's happy, too.
The restaurant is loud, but not abrasive. Mr. Kyomi takes his change and, with a devilish smirk, loudly congratulates Hiro on having his twelfth birthday; Hiro pauses, then cocks his head and remarks, "Well, thank you, but you're the one who should be celebrating. Twelve isn't nearly as impressive as a hundred and thre-" Cass shoves her hand over his mouth, but not before Mr. Kyomi's jaw drops and, from her table across the room, Mrs. Matsuda snorts into her coffee.
…Okay, so maybe his burst of happy energy isn't 100% a good thing. She cuffs the back of his head, and Hiro takes a second to apologize to Mrs. Kyomi and give her husband nothing but a shrug, then darts away to gather up some dishes. Cass is trying to stammer out a proper apology, since Hiro probably crossed a line there- but she's distracted by the other customers waiting at the front, and soon enough she loses track of the Kyomis entirely. Really, this whole day feels a bit out of her control, so.
"Hello?" Eventually, with her attention pulled in different directions, she almost misses that one of Hiro's friends has reached the register. She wants to say his name is Gary- but she's only ever heard Tadashi and the others refer to him as 'Wasabi' before. Despite his size, he seems to be hunched over, looking almost apologetic. "Just a small coffee," he says, then sheepishly adds, "The whole gang's gonna be here soon, so Fred will probably blast through half your menu. Fair warning."
"Yeah, yeah," she says with a laugh. "Hiro already told me." The money switches hands, and the order's punched in, so she keeps talking while fixing up the cup of coffee. "Were you boys working late?"
In response, he sighs dramatically. "If I never have to cite another research article again, it'll be too soon."
She shakes her head. "Gotta admit, those are terms I haven't heard in- huh." She sets the coffee down, then narrows her eyes. "I'd say about twenty, twenty-one..."
Has it been that long, since she was in Hiro's shoes? Worrying about grades, and lectures, and papers, and studying all night with friends? Lost in thought, she snaps out of it when Gary raises his eyebrows, clearly expecting her to continue. "Minutes," she says. "Since Hiro mentioned the same thing."
A perfect save. Gary laughs and takes his coffee, thanking her again. Soon he's over near the main floor, nudging Hiro as he passes with a tray of dishes. She only hears part of the conversation- "-waiting anyway, so you might as well help me, man-" and sees Wasabi wave his receipt in the air, as if to say, paying customer, sorry, before she catches the ding of the door's bell just in time to wish the Takomos a nice evening as they leave.
She breathes deep, with the smells and the sounds and the warm light filtering in from the windows, and she's happy.
The 'gang' arrives like a thunderbolt, later, when she's focused on taking stock of the registers and computer totals for the day. True to form, Fred places the order for everyone, with three specialty drinks and eight different pastries, while the others move to where Wasabi's already sitting.
He even catches her off-guard, pausing after the order is already rang through and paid for- suddenly adding, "Oh, and I guess I should get stuff for everyone else, too.” She's startled for a moment, before he snickers and dances away, tossing a 'Gotcha!' over his shoulder as he goes. One of the girls shakes her head when he gets closer- Ethel, Cass is pretty sure, but again, Hiro's friends deal in nicknames so often that she can never be sure. Someone calls out 'you're such a dork', and Fred takes a bow before spinning a chair around and sitting in it backwards.
She turns back to the registers. They seem… good. A close group, but not closed-off. And Lord knows Hiro could use close friends, especially given that his peers at school are unanimously four and five years his senior.
Another thought hits her: more than once, Hiro's friends have confided in her that Tadashi's optimism and kindness really impacted them, inspiring them to be more like him in their own lives. And now she has to wonder, as she catches Hiro with another tray of dishes and mentions that his friends are here, if maybe…
His eyes light up again, and he absentmindedly sets the tray down on the nearest counter before he practically sprints over to the group.
Maybe they're doing the same for Hiro.
She doesn't hear the conversation. In a way, she doesn't feel like she should, because it seems somehow- not private, exactly, but something close to it. She glances up again, once in a while, seeing Fred leap up from his chair and headlock-hug Hiro with one arm while he roughly noogies his hair with the other hand, and hears bits of the laughter and excitement and questions. The other girl- Tadashi called her 'Honey Lemon'- is the most animated out of all of them, shrieking with a tone that causes a few other patrons to glare at their table.
More eager conversation, more beaming smiles, but she can't tell what they're saying from here. So she hides her own smile, and turns away, and focuses her attention on the simple-but-busy work of getting the café ready for the evening close.
The sun's just barely dipping below the buildings across the street.
It comes out of nowhere, a surge of wistful happiness so strong that she nearly tears up on the spot. But she fights it back, and wishes the leaving customers a good night, and works on clearing the tables. Once again, she can barely hear Hiro's friends joking and chattering over some shared secret.
…They're happy, too.
And when they finally leave, when Fred bids the café goodbye with a strange kind of soulful monologue on the front curb, and Ethel punches him in the shoulder as they walk to the tram stop across the street, Cass watches them for a moment as the evening grows quiet. And when her last few part-timers clock out and head home, and when she tells Hiro he doesn't have to help her clean up tonight but he insists anyway, tackling the list of tasks pinned to the kitchen doorway for each closing shift, she watches the determined drive in his steps and thinks that maybe, at last, they're starting to get better. Maybe they can get through this.
Maybe they'll be all right.
…
Distracted, she moves the stale pastries from the display case to the fridge, to be discounted for tomorrow.
…
Hiro's working on more dishes in the kitchen.
…
The registers are done, so the only thing left to worry about is the sweeping and mopping on the main floor.
…
She opens her mouth, about to ask Tadashi which one he'd rather do, and she'll take the other task herself, and since it's relatively early, maybe when the three of them are done they can throw in a movie or something if he doesn't have too much homework-
…
Cass stops dead in the middle of the floor.
…
It's been weeks.
…
She shouldn't- she shouldn't still be-
…
There have been a lot of days, when she has to be strong. For Hiro, and for herself. When she can't let it overwhelm her.
This isn't one of those days.
She's crying, and she doesn't really care because it's already been a pretty emotional day and she doesn't have to hide from anyone- and pretty soon, Hiro's calling her name, and then he's quiet, and then he's hugging her again.
It drifts through her mind again: maybe they’re starting to get better. Maybe they can get through this.
There’s a feeling she’s too exhausted to identify, deep down in her gut, reaching and twisting and hurting, but… something brighter, too, and she knows that Hiro can feel it just the same. There's a brief moment, where she feels ashamed for letting the tears dampen his mood, but he hugs her tighter and mumbles, "It's okay," and she knows that it is. There's nothing to apologize for.
It's still a good day. They'll get better. (And she doesn't listen to the worried voice, the one that sounds just like herself sometimes, saying how long will it take, because it's hard to see any progress at all, any way forward, any sign that things can ever get back to the way they were- but it's not really about getting 'back', she knows, because life doesn't work that way, and you… in the end, you just have to…)
She can't make sense of her thoughts, and that's alright, too. She squeezes Hiro's shoulders and lets him go, giving him a brief smile and clearing her throat to ask if he can grab a broom and dustpan from the closet.
After all, there's work to do before the café opens again to greet the morning.
...
...
...
Eventually, much later, the lights in the lobby flicker out as night creeps over the city, shadows dragging past the buildings on the hills. The cool autumn air grows colder, while the few brightest stars pierce through the metropolis's light and shine above. Further off, the barely-audible roar of San Fransokyo's downtown nightlife is matching the faint man-made glow on the horizon. Half the city is stirring, as the other reaches the end of the day.
And Hiro opens the attic window and leans out, smiling, breathing in the crisp chill of the world outside before he steps back and falls onto his mattress. The lamp is already off, and the cold light of the half-moon is just enough to make out the green tinge of the computer chip as he turns it over in his hands.
He squints to look closer.
The transparent cover, and the circuitry behind- they're difficult to see clearly, and he didn't notice anything earlier, but… he straightens, scrambling to turn the light back on and study the chip more closely, and-
And-
Oh no
But he might be overreacting-
And he might-
not be-
…
This is the third beginning.
He can't be exactly sure what the chip originally looked like, since he didn't examine it rigorously. But the sinking feeling builds and builds until it feels like it's going to swallow him, tearing down all the exuberance and confidence from earlier and replacing it with a cold, sharp panic- because Hiro knows wiring, and he knows that the circuits aren't supposed to look like that.
Honestly, he realizes dimly, he should have seen this coming. Baymax took the chip out in some kind of scientifically-unknown dimension between dimensions, clasped his fist around it, and launched it with the speed of a rocket out into the world.
Where Abigail Callaghan's pod crashed… straight into the concrete.
And during the day, during the whole day, Hiro never once stopped to think that maybe the chip could be damaged. Everything he felt when he first discovered the chip- it's all freezing, crystallizing, becoming something much more fragile, balanced on the edge of a cliff. He was okay, this morning; he was keeping himself busy, and feeling better, and trying to get started on all the course work that he'd have to make up, and then he'd found the chip, and everything had been wildly different, and he'd been walking on air for the rest of the day, and he even held it together when Aunt Cass was having a rough night, and now all of that has whiplashed right back around to panic, because in the space of a single day Baymax was gone and then here and now he's gone again-
"No," he blurts out, louder than he meant, and nearly falls out of his bed in his hurry to get to his feet. "No, no, no-" And he's grabbing for his phone, still holding the chip in his other hand, because he has to- has to talk to one of the others, maybe to get advice or just to tell them what's going on, he's not sure, but something. And he's still mumbling, still frantically spitting out no and Baymax and a few other words that Cass probably wouldn't approve of. In the space of an instant, a stray thought explodes through the rest: he's being too loud, and he probably woke up Tadashi, and he should apologize quick and explain, and maybe he'll know what to do-
He catches himself just as he looks up to the bed across the attic, behind the curtain he hasn't pulled back in a month.
His phone is already in his hand.
…His face is burning, like he just said something dumb in front of the class. But there's no one else up here.
He ignores it, trying not to think about the sudden sharpness in his chest, that’s pushing down and weighing on him heavier and more distinct than the worry over Baymax- because he's fine, he's moving on, he's doing better, this is ridiculous, he's FINE- and scrolls through the contacts on his phone until he finds the one he's looking for.
…
Honey Lemon isn't answering.
…
He turns back to the window, after he realizes he's still staring at the curtain across the room.
…
He ends the call before her answering machine can start. She's probably sleeping. Because- it's late, he notices with a jolt. It's really late.
Hiro closes his eyes, and very deliberately sets the chip down on his bedside table.
He tries to focus on the rational side of his mind: the chip will still be here in the morning. He's exhausted. Freaking out, right now, won't help anybody. Fighting against the rush of adrenaline and fear in his throat, he tells himself: tomorrow.
He'll get started on… well, everything. Tomorrow.
This doesn't really change the mission. They asked him, when they were all here earlier in the evening- so what's the plan, now? And it was obvious, then. He would rebuild Baymax, from the ground up. Voice, inner machinery, database, everything. With all he's been learning at school, it would be relatively simple, compared to the AI in the chip itself.
Now, he simply has to work on repairs for that, too.
Slowly, he sinks back to a sitting position on the edge of his bed, and turns off the lamp. The attic's as quiet as ever, even with the faint whine of the breeze as it carries through the open window. He forgot about it, but he doesn't feel like getting back up to close it again.
The moon's shining through, at his back. He can see his own shadow stretching across the floor towards the other end of the room.
…
He picked up the chip, again, at some point. He doesn't really remember. But now he’s spinning it back and forth between his fingers, switching the cool plastic from hand to hand.
…
He thinks of how happy they were, before. It was as if he'd told them they'd each won a million dollars. He's almost angry, now, at himself- he shouldn't have told them so quickly, especially if he ends up being wrong. How's that conversation going to go? "Hey guys, sorry, turns out one of our best friends and the lasting legacy of Tadashi's life's work actually ISN'T coming back! Oops!"
He looks down at the chip again, and this time, instead of the circuitry behind the faded case, he catches a glimpse of the smiling face stickered onto the other side. It doesn't even look like Baymax, not really, but for some reason that image sticks in his mind, and Hiro has to brace himself against the sudden wave of he's gone that slams into his memories. Obviously he misses him, but he tries not to dwell on it too much. It's not like feeling bad is going to bring him back. And he promised himself he wouldn't fall into that dark, mindless state like after Tadashi's death.
Of course he misses him. Of course he wishes he could have him here, right now, to give him a hug and awkwardly tell him things will be okay, and stumble his way through a hilariously literal interpretation of grief counseling.
Hiro blinks back tears. Now, he's looking at the corner of the room, where the charging station used to be.
…Of course he misses him.
This time, it steals over him quietly, almost softly, like a blanket being pulled over his shoulders. He folds his arms and lets his head fall forward, burying his face in his sleeves. Even though there's no one up here to see.