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The room is rectangular in dimensions. It is longer than it is wide, making the far wall distant from the singular door. This door is made from thick metal. The dark gray material is hardly reflective. It takes pressing right up against it to show even a vague impression of color. The walls are completely white, in contrast, like freshly fallen snow. A pop of color comes from the dark blue curtain hooked up to a metal framework on the ceiling. It can cover the toilet and sink when it’s pulled around. This color disappears again because of a metal frame holding a mattress beneath the one window in the room that directly touches the ceiling. Even balancing on the headboard makes it impossible to reach. The mattress is covered in a sheet, blanket, and pillow— all of them varying shades of gray.
It is the most comfortable place Tails has ever stayed. This room is meant to be a cell, but it’s way better than the room the empire gave him. Tails does debate if this room is better than the horrid tents he would have to sleep in during his field missions, but Tails decides that the safety of this place and the softness of the mattress compared to the hard ground make this place better. He would like a little more color, but Tails knows prisoners like him don’t deserve so much.
Honestly, prisoners like him don’t even deserve a room. They should have thrown him in the bowels of their base. They should have executed him already. He’s doing nothing but taking up space and wasting resources. If the Freedom Fighters were smarter— if they were anything like the empire Tails served before he was captured— he would have already been tortured for all the information in his head and his body would have been thrown into one of the mass graves far, far from the empire’s imperial palace.
“Tails!” The kit sighs. He lifts his eyes from the ground he was staring at to the figure on the other side of his cell door. Tails rescinds his earlier statement. The Freedom Fighters are torturing him. It’s different from how the empire would do it, but Tails considers it to be so much worse.
The metal door swings open. Obviously, a figure stands on the other side holding the keys to open the door. The Blue Blur, the Saviour, the Speed Demon— there are many names associated with the hedgehog standing there. He prefers the name Sonic. Tails doesn’t like that. He feels like ‘Sonic’ doesn’t hold nearly as much weight as the hedgehog himself does. Sonic is the face of the Freedom Fighters. The entire rebellion against the empire worships him as a hero. Everyone in the empire knows who he is, too. Tails heard all the rumors whispered by the other soldiers when he was on the field and the engineers when he was confined to the workshop. Sonic is a living legend. It is only because of him that the rebellion can hold itself together. He’s their hope, and that’s made clear when they plaster his face all over their propaganda.
That same hedgehog steps into Tails’ cell. He closes the door behind him. Tails raises an eyebrow, saying, “You don’t need to come here every day.”
“What are you talking about? You’re my favorite part of the day,” Sonic responds. He sounds so earnest about it, too. The smile on his face is bright and pure. Tails wants to call it fake. He so desperately wants to call everything Sonic does fake. This can’t be real. It shouldn’t be, anyway, but Tails struggles more and more every day to draw a clean line between him and Sonic— everything he’s been taught in the empire and everything Sonic can’t possibly be offering him with the Freedom Fighters. “Aren’t I your favorite part of the day, too?”
Tails’ first thought is ‘yes,’ so he hurriedly tacks on that it’s only by a technicality. Tails is bored every other hour of the day. The other guards don’t interact with him more than necessary. They pass him his meals (three, by the way. They gave him, a war prisoner, three meals of good food. He hates how it’s so much better than the slop the empire served him). Sonic might be his torturer, but at least it’s something. Sonic is color and sound and energy, everything Tails lacks in this rectangular room.
“Well, I’m about to be your favorite part!” Sonic chirps when Tails doesn’t answer. With the speed that put Sonic in a position where he could be the face of a rebellion, Sonic is at Tails’ side. The hedgehog flops onto the mattress. He lies across it while Tails sits on the edge. The kit huffs. He turns his body, dragging his leg onto the bed to stare at Sonic. The hedgehog holds a bag against his chest. He lifts it toward Tails’ face. The kit jerks back, but his nose catches a whiff of something… good. “I brought you cookies!”
Tails’ brows furrow together. He eyes the bag. He’s going to assume cookies are food. Sonic ignores Tails’ confused expression. He pulls the ribbon around the bag to open it. Sonic slides one of these ‘cookies’ into his paw. Tails leans closer to it. It’s a rough circle made from a dark brown material. There are even darker spots in the cookie’s surface that Tails thinks are a different ingredient. He doesn’t know what they could be, though. He doesn’t know what anything he’s looking at. Tails’ only viable comparison is a biscuit, but the cookie looks softer.
It is softer, too. Tails knows because Sonic shoves the cookie into his mouth. Tails would like to spit the cookie out to spite Sonic, but the flavor hits him before he can commit to this action. Tails has never tasted anything like this before. It’s different from the food the guards bring him every day. It’s completely different from whatever the empire has. It’s good. It’s… sweet. The last time Tails had something sweet was when he ate berries while on an expedition. His commanding officer was not pleased about that one, but Tails thinks the beating was worth it.
Tails shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth. He takes the bag from Sonic’s paw. He starts eating the other cookies in the bag. Sonic’s laughter is distant in his ears. Tails vaguely feels Sonic’s paw on top of his head, moving through his fur. Tails would normally swat Sonic’s paw away, but he leaves it for now. He’s too concerned with eating the cookies. “Slow down, bud. I’m not going to take them from you, and I’m pretty sure you don’t want me giving you the heimlich remover.”
Tails subconsciously listens to Sonic. He stops eating the cookies so quickly. He continues eating them, though. When he finishes, he’s a little disappointed, but he’s mostly satisfied. A warmth spreads throughout his body. He crumbles the plastic bag in his paw. He moves his thumb across the material, listening to the wrinkling sound.
Tails focuses on that for a long moment. After a bit, though, he remembers the gentle pressure on his head. Sonic is still petting his head. Tails turns to tell Sonic off. This action causes Tails to notice something else. His tails— for he was a mutant born with two of them— are moving. Tails frowns. He has always been so careful about forcing them down. He can’t let anyone notice them. He has to show as much disdain for his mutation as everyone else if he ever wants to fit in with them. It’s odd to see them whipping from side to side, reminiscent of the campfire he and the other soldiers would surround to eat their slop.
Tails releases a frustrated noise. He drops the plastic bag on the sheet. He uses both of his paws to grab onto his tails. He shoves them into the mattress. Tails uses too much pressure, but he doesn’t care about the pain. He needs them both to stop moving. He needs them to obey. Tails has already proven he can be good at that in the empire, so why can’t a part of his own body follow his lead?
“Hey, hey, don’t do that,” Sonic murmurs. He grabs onto Tails’ wrists. Sonic’s touch doesn’t hurt. Tails should know by now that Sonic isn’t going to hurt him, but he always finds himself surprised by it. It doesn’t matter, though. Tails isn’t going to let Sonic pull his paws away from his tails. Understanding in his irises, Sonic frowns and tries to look into Tails’ narrowed eyes. “Come on, Tails, they’re just showing that you’re happy. Amy is going to love hearing that her cookies were good.”
“Would you shut up?” Tails grits out. He doesn’t care what Amy thinks. She’s another Freedom Fighter. If Sonic has to work in a team, she’s usually one of its members. For this reason, she’s known throughout the empire. Not as famous as Sonic, but Tails thinks a lot of the rebellion’s female recruits come from those inspired by her.
(Traitors, the empire calls them. Tails should, too. He doesn’t. Tails doesn’t consider them recruits or traitors; they’re all soldiers and pawns at the end of the day, regardless of the side they chose. At least they got a choice in who they sided with. Tails was stuck in the empire’s military since the day his parents sold a mutant freak who had just enough intelligence not to get killed.)
Sonic chuckles. “No can do, my vulpine friend. I’m quite well-known as a chatterbox, and—”
Tails doesn’t necessarily shout, but a loud, aggrieved noise does come from him. It’s born from an irritation that has been building bit by bit since Tails was captured by the Freedom Fighters. Sonic makes it worse. His tails not doing as he tells them to make it worse. Those cookies made it worse, too, no matter how much Tails liked them.
“What’s wrong?” Sonic says, slow and soft.
Tails glares at him. The answer is obvious, but Sonic genuinely looks concerned. Tails scowls. His expression falls apart with a sigh. “I’m just tired. When is your council going to decide what to do with me?”
“Soon, hopefully. I mean, they have a lot to deal with. They also don’t like how I keep interrupting all their meetings with my input about what we should do with you,” Sonic explains. The council is a group of people who act as the collective leader of the Freedom Fighters. Most of them have individual responsibilities, but important decisions are made by the entire council. Tails’ fate is going to be decided by them, too. It would be strange for a minor like him to get so much attention, but he is one of the empire’s leading engineers. He’s made far too many weapons for the military he was sold into. He’s indirectly killed or maimed so many people that he knows he deserves death himself.
“What do you want to happen to me?” Tails frowns. Despite being a figurehead of the Freedom Fighters, Sonic is a wildcard. He’s someone who does as he pleases. This is the reason why he comes into Tails’ cell— sometimes with foreign objects like the cookies he brought today— when the other guards stay firmly on the other side. His status as a flight risk makes it impossible for him to serve on the council. He doesn’t get to make decisions, but he still has considerable influence because of his popularity. They don’t have to listen to him; they usually do. At least, that’s how Tails interprets it. Sonic talks a lot, and Tails is good at listening and rationalizing.
“I want them to put you into my care. I’m certain I can keep you from getting into trouble… Well, keep you out of the kind of trouble I can’t persuade the council not to punish us for. I get into trouble myself all the time, though, so I’m sure we’ll be fine,” Sonic confidently states. A humorous smile curls into his lips. Tails is so confused by that expression that he doesn’t notice Sonic sliding their paws together. He holds Tails’ paws, keeping the kit from holding down his tails. They, thankfully, stay down, but Tails can’t trust them anymore.
“Why would you do that? I make weapons. The only time I go out on the battlefield is to see if they work. You go out to fight. I’m not fighting or building weapons for the Freedom Fighters. I’ve already told you, your council, and every single member I’ve seen that,” Tails argues with Sonic.
The hedgehog shakes his head. His smile weakens somewhat, but it’s no less true as it remains on his face. “Yeah, no, I know that. When I say putting you in my care, I mean that. I’ll take care of you. I’ll give you a room. I’ll give you food. I’ll give you entertainment and stimulation. It’ll work out. We’ll figure it out together.”
Tails waits. He waits some more. He keeps waiting, but Sonic’s expression doesn’t change. He doesn’t add anything else. There’s no punchline. Tails tries prompting one; he tries showing that he’s ready for whatever Sonic’s going to say. Sonic says nothing else. The silence ebbs between them. Finally, Tails can’t take it, so he says something, “Where’s the joke?”
“What joke?”
Tails huffs. “The joke! You can’t be serious about all that, so where’s the part that’s supposed to be funny? Chaos, just tell me what you actually meant with the council.”
“I didn’t mean anything else. I’ve been begging the council to let me take you from this damn cell. I don’t know how you can stand it, by the way. I’d go insane if I was locked in here for more than an hour. And this is your… what? Third week? Your mind is stronger than mine,” Sonic flippantly replies. He leans in close with his trademark smirk. “I’m still faster than you, though.”
Tails ignores that. He tries tugging his paws from Sonic’s hold. He doesn’t get very far. He lets it be for now, and instead focuses on Sonic’s expression as he speaks, “What are you talking about? Why would you want…”
Me? Why would you want me?
“Since my daily visits and the cookies I brought weren’t clear enough, let me say plainly that I’m fond of you,” Sonic explains. He squeezes Tails’ paws reassuringly. He looks at them, too, with a somber expression overtaking his face. “You remind me of myself, too.”
“How are the two of us similar at all?” Tails was a mutant sold to the empire who later became one of its top weapon creators. Sonic must have had a somewhat normal life before he joined the Freedom Fighters and became the face plastered on their posters and propaganda. Tails is a prisoner, and Sonic’s a free Mobian. Tails never had anyone care about him, and Sonic is surrounded by friends. He talks about them all the time, after all. The only stories Tails has are times when the soldiers and engineers he works with decided to do the bare minimum and not be an asshole to him for a little while.
Sonic exhales. He pulls his paws from Tails’ grasp. He grabs onto the plastic bag left on the mattress. Sonic leans against the headboard, letting his feet slide closer to him. This raises his knees. Sonic spreads the plastic across his thigh, smoothing out the wrinkles in the material. “When I was a kid, I started exhibiting my speed. The rebellion was smaller, then. They saw an opportunity with me. I was drafted. I was turned into a figurehead and sent marching into battle. I could have been fine doing one of those things, but they made me both. I can’t stand seeing my face everywhere. I know it’s important for us to rebel with how shittily the empire treats us, but I… How can I encourage people to join a war when I know how terrible it is? I think you feel a similar way with your inventions.”
Tails opens his mouth. Vitriol sits right on his tongue. It stays there, too, as his mouth snaps shut. Tails’ shoulders fall forward. Tails tells himself that he makes these weapons to protect the soldiers on the empire’s side. He always doubts his efforts when the death toll comes back. He always hates himself when he’s forced to see his inventions in use.
And maybe Sonic does feel a similar way when he sees the bright-eyed recruits, so happy to follow the words written on the same paper as Sonic’s smiling face and thumbs-up.
Tails shifts his body on the mattress. He sets his back against the headboard. He leans his head against Sonic’s shoulder, though. Sonic glances at him. He shows his open palm to Tails. The kit takes it, letting Sonic hold his hand. Tails closes his eyes, hiding from Sonic’s expression when he mentions, “I… If anything has to happen to me… If I got a say… I’d like to stay with you, too.”
“If that’s what you want, I’ll make sure it happens,” Sonic murmurs back. He sets his head on top of Tails’ head.
The Freedom Fighter’s torture is far more effective than the empire’s, Tails realizes. Tails wouldn’t have broken with the empire’s beatings, but he crumbles like glass beneath the comforting weight of Sonic’s persistent, genuine affection.
The Freedom Fighter’s torture is so effective that Tails actually falls asleep next to someone as if he actually trusts Sonic not to hurt him. Maybe he was wrong earlier. Maybe he’s as disobedient as his tails are.