Tin Man One Shots #1

Independence Day AKA The OZ's Independence Day

You are cordially invited to the first annual Independence Day ball celebrating one year of her Majesty, Queen Lavender's return to the throne. The ball will be held in the grand ballroom at 7 P.M. with music, dancing and refreshments with fireworks to follow

The invitation sat on the dresser below the mirror. It wasn't dated, but everyone knew when it was to be held, and it was being held tonight. The invitation had confused Wyatt since he didn't understand why they needed to be 'invited' to a party that was basically in their honor, but Ambrose had just smiled and told him it was simply to remind them so that they'd not forget.

Wyatt really hated dancing; the ballroom kind, the 'for fun' kind. It reminded him too much of how Adora had liked to dance. How he would come home from work to the sound of music or her humming happily as she spun about the room preparing dinner or putting Jeb down for a nap, and it hurt too much to remember those times.

Last year, six months after Glitch had regained his brain and his memories and become Ambrose along with the ability to walk once again after endless weeks of physical therapy, the first thing he had wanted to do once he could move about freely without the aid of a cane or someone to help support him was dance. And much to Wyatt's dismay, he didn't want to dance with just anyone; he wanted to dance with him.

Wyatt had grudgingly agreed at the insistence from the doctors that it would further help him in his mobility, balance and free movement. He was tight lipped about it and when the ex-head case had asked what was wrong, he had told him it was nothing. Months went by and Wyatt continued to dance with him reluctantly whenever he'd ask. It wasn't until the day the man had had enough, knowing that something was bothering him and sounded like Adora that Wyatt finally broke down and told him. He still remembered that conversation like it had happened yesterday.

"Wyatt Cain!" Ambrose said haughtily, dropping his hands and brushing Wyatt's away from his slight frame in the process as he glared at him. "If you don't tell me what's bothering you right this minute, I swear I will walk out that door and never speak to you again! I know it's not 'nothing' like you always say. Every time I ask you to dance, you close yourself off and it's like you are made of tin!"

Wyatt sighed heavily, looking hurt and Ambrose's attitude softened marginally. "I hate this," he answered. "I hate doing this!"

Ambrose blinked, looking shocked and hurt. "Y-you don't want to dance with me?" he asked in surprise and it was like he was holding back tears.

Wyatt exhaled heavily once more. "No, it's not that..." he said quietly. "It's not you."

Ambrose swallowed, looking at him uncertainly. "Then what is it?" he asked softly, his expression changing to one of concern when he saw how tired Wyatt looked. Despite the reluctance and even iciness when it came to dancing, their friendship had grown since his surgery, but he'd never seen the man looking so tired, so run down.

Wyatt sighed and moved away, slumping down in an over stuffed, high backed chair. "Adora," he answered quietly, looking up to meet his friend's concerned brown eyes. "She always loved to dance... it... it reminds me so much of her... it hurts."

"Oh," Ambrose breathed softly and closed his eyes, his hands going to his lips a moment as he took in this new information. Opening his eyes, they shone with sadness and understanding and he moved to kneel at Wyatt's feet. "I'm sorry... it never even occurred to me that... that was what was wrong."

"It's all right," Wyatt answered. "It's not your fault, you didn't know."

"No," Ambrose said shaking his head. "I – I should have realized... but..."