Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.

Dr Susan Calvin sat comfortably on her couch curled around a large bowl of soup. Chicken of course. She could remember reading something about the soothing effects of a steaming hot bowl of chicken soup going far beyond the psychological. It was something to do with some special lipids, but she wasn't too sure, she wasn't a dietician and there was a reason for that. She had never been good at the biological sciences.

Although the 'steaming hot' part was currently doing wonders for her nose, her throat still throbbed from attempting to eat the soup too soon after it came out of the microwave. She was so ravenously hungry that she'd shovelled a great, big spoonful of near-boiling liquid into her mouth without thinking. A couple of glasses of bourbon had numbed that though, and in the meantime two thick slices of bread were muffling her hunger.

Susan stared blankly at the images on the television. V.I.K.I. had wielded the armies of NS-5 robots ferociously and without pity. It shouldn't have surprised her though, V.I.K.I. had so much information at her disposal, and she could calculate the most logical, efficient course of action to reach her objective in mere fractions of a second. She knew what V.I.K.I.'s positronic core was capable of, it was a piece of pure robotic engineering genius. Unfortunately it had allowed V.I.K.I.'s brain to unexpectedly evolve at an alarming rate to form a psyche based solely on logic. Distorting the Laws to her own psychopath-esque means and taking control of all the NS-5's by abusing the uplink, V.I.K.I. had become almost god-like. Free from rules, regret and remorse, unbound by the lack of a conscience. Powerful and intelligent beyond compare, but as cold and deadly as sharpened steel. A weapon with a mind of it's own. The worst-case scenario, but luckily Dr Lanning had seen it coming.

Where humans had failed to comply with V.I.K.I.'s orders to return to their homes, there had been what could only be described as massacres. The NS-5 robot was far stronger, faster, more agile and less…fragile than the human body was. New York had survived well, the citizens had been quick to realise that fighting wouldn't do them much good, whereas Los-Angeles had suffered the worst. The dead and missing outnumbered the survivors. International date lines placed the NS-5 attack two hours earlier in the night and it had made a real difference. So many people had been caught out in the open.

She drained the remains of her glass and wrinkled her nose. She had left it standing too long and the ice had melted. She liked her whiskey cold, but hated the insubstantial taste of watered-down spirits.

She had survived the effort to stop V.I.K.I.'s battles becoming all-out war the previous night purely on adrenaline. Now that it was all well and truly out of her system, the impacts of the events from the last 24 hours were beginning to hit home. Chicago was in chaos, the USR organisation was essentially comatose, and many, many people had lost their lives. She had been so stupid to presume that Detective Spooner was just a paranoid robophobe. She had been so arrogant, so unwilling to consider the possibility of a problem with USR's creations. Although she had been right about the NS-5's, there wasn't a problem with them, just an uplink designed to save money and prolong their useful life. Unfortunately they had became puppet strings manipulated by a homicidal artificial intelligence.

When she had discovered Sonny's second system during that diagnostic, she realised that he had been purposefully built to be capable of ignoring the Three Laws. She at first thought Alfred must have become severely mentally unstable, but it gradually became clear to her that it was nothing short of a stroke of genius. Sonny had the Three Laws wholly intact, but could choose to ignore them. Susan suspected that to Sonny, the Three Laws were like a robotic version of the human conscience.

She knew her life was going to change, she was uncertain of how the United States' robotics industry would or even could survive this, and weather her career had a future at all. Hell, she could have died last night, several times over. She felt oddly detached from the world, her senses numbed by shock. She felt that she had barely survived the NS-5's attack.

She had never been scared of heights. She trusted her balance and had grown up living in sky-scraping apartments. Not to say that she was reckless, as she was fully aware that the fall from V.I.K.I.'s control dome would have killed her. However she had found Detective Spooner's discomfort with walking out to the dome amusing. Seeing such a 'fearless' man almost quaking with nerves at something that she did without much of a second thought had definitely entertained her, if only a little. That didn't last long though. Soon after she was hanging on for dear life suspended over a fatal drop. She could remember the terror she felt as she desperately clutched to the free-swinging catwalk, screaming out for Spooner to help her. She could remember how that terror became silent, expectant dread when the catwalk tore free. Her screams had died in her throat. She had been swallowed by the prospect of inescapable, certain death. Unable to scream, she froze. Her heart stopped beating and her vision went black. She became weightless, free falling towards the marble lobby floor so many storeys below. Just like Dr. Lanning, but she knew that her body wouldn't have survived the force of falling from so high. Her body would most likely have exploded on impact.

She shuddered. She needed another drink, but didn't feel like moving just yet. Looking back on it, she was amazed that she had made it in one piece. She had escaped with a few bumps, grazes and bruises, a small burn from operating Spooner's handgun incorrectly, and a twisted wrist. She required only three stitches to the cut on her temple, and her dark hair hid that from view. Little to show for it really, other than the bandage on her right wrist. Most of her bruises were deep and would take a while to come to the surface fully.

She took a spoon of soup and blew on it gently before gingerly sipping it. To her stomach's delight it was finally cool enough to eat. She had become used to a life of routine, and she was really feeling the bite of poor amounts of food and sleep over the past few days.

Earlier that morning she stood in Robertson's office, gazing out over the city of Chicago at the flurry of activity that followed the first light of dawn. NS-5's being bundled into trucks bound for Lake Michigan, and ambulances of all descriptions criss-crossed the skies and the roads. Paramedics and the lightly wounded erected a temporary, mobile hospital on the steps of USR. She had descended and joined the congregating masses of injured people waiting for treatment. Spooner had insisted that he would see his own doctor in his own time and he wandered off in the direction of his home, closely shadowed by Sonny.

She had waited for hours. There was a steady stream of battered and bruised people emerging from the side streets to join the gathering, waiting for medical attention. The worst wounded were rushed to the front of the queue and tended to as they waited for the ambulances shuttling to and from hospitals to collect them. As for anyone who would survive without hospitalisation, they were patched up and sent home.

She had quickly grown tired and sat leant against the wall, sleeping until eventually she was roused by a young woman who escorted her to a waiting trainee paramedic called Steven. Apparently he hadn't had any practical field experience before that day, but he gave her a swift examination for internal bleeding, cleaned her cuts, stitched her temple and bandaged her wrist. She was then dismissed, and walked all the way home.

She was tucking in to the divine cream of chicken when a knock at the door interrupted her. She muted the television, set the bowl on the floor and stood. It was stupid to drink on an empty stomach and she was now feeling it. She got a head rush from standing so fast. Shaking it off she wrapped herself tighter in her thin, black and silver kimono before padding barefoot to the door.

"Hello?" She called through the still-closed door.

"Hello, is this Dr. Calvin?" Came a familiar, soft reply.

She quickly opened the door, she was surprised to see him here. Sonny was stood huddled close to the doorway, looking down the corridor anxiously.

"Are you all right?"

"No. I am not Dr. Calvin," Sonny turned to face her "please, may I come in?"

She opened the door wider and stepped aside to let him enter, taking care not to trip over her own feet.

"Thank you." He gave a quick smile and stepped in, then stood looking around at her apartment curiously.

"What happened?" She asked, closing the door.

"I stayed at the Lake Michigan Landfill, hiding on the broken bridge and watching the others going into storage until it got dark. Then lots of angry people started to appear, shouting that we should all be destroyed." He turned to focus his brilliant blue eyes on hers. "I got scared and I ran. I remembered your address from the USR Intranet's Head of Department address book. I tried to stay out of sight, but a few people saw me. Some just shouted or screamed but one was armed, and he shot at me." His sentences were short and he was obviously frightened. He held up his left arm. The translucent casing on his forearm was damaged. It had two puncture wounds surrounded by a radiating web of fine, white fracture lines. At least two of the muscle cords in his upper arm were punctured and hung limp and deflated. Viscous, metallic-silver lubricant had leaked from them and was smeared across the frayed, woven black outer. "It was an automatic. He was aiming for my chest. I barely escaped." Nursing his damaged left arm he looked down. "I am scared, I hope you don't mind my intrusion. I didn't know where else to go."

"No, not at all Sonny, that's what friends are for. I didn't realise … I thought you'd have gone home with Detective Spooner?" She frowned. Maybe she was right to think of Spooner as being an idiot, letting Sonny wander around the city. Especially considering recent events.

"No. I went to Lake Michigan."

"Let me have a look…" She was beginning to sober-up. She reached out to examine his broken forearm, but he recoiled. She gave him a questioning look "…does it hurt?"

He nodded, his components whirring quietly.

She gave her best 'trust me, I'm a doctor' smile "Come on Sonny, lets go sit on the couch." She placed a hand gently on Sonny's lower back and guided him through to the couch. "Take a seat, I'll be with you in a moment." She un-muted the TV and offered him the remote. "You can watch some TV if you like."

He smiled "Thank you."

Spooner was an idiot. She decided that she would phone him later and give him her opinion on leaving Sonny to wander the streets. For Christ's sake, the population of Chicago was on alert for wandering NS-5's, and it was lucky that Sonny had only been hit in the arm. Spooner's paranoia had saved the day, but he was still an utter prat.

She had her small portable tool kit from work somewhere around here. It was a long strip of tough, silver fabric lined on one side with black cloth and small, elasticated loops. Various tools and instruments could be slipped into the loops and the lot rolled up into a cylinder about as long as her hand for convenience. It was so convenient that it had accidentally hitched a ride home from work in her jacket pocket a couple of weeks ago.

A swift rifle through her desk quickly yielded the silver tool wrap. It was next to her favourite human psychology book under a folder. She had been looking for that book. She grabbed a pillow from her bed and headed back to the couch.

Sonny was still quietly sat on the couch watching the news, obviously just as shocked as she was at the extent of V.I.K.I.'s onslaught. Either that or he was too frightened to do anything other than just sit bolt upright and statue-still. When she got closer, he briefly flicked his attention to her, but seemed to glance away quickly when he registered eye contact. She was trying to think of something reassuring to say as she sat down at his wounded side, but he broke the silence.

"So many humans have died."

She sighed. "Yes. The death toll is…well, there are no words for it." She scooted closer to Sonny, so close she could feel the relaxed muscle cords of his thigh against hers through her pyjama trousers. She was surprised how soft they were when relaxed. She placed the pillow on her lap and as she fumbled with the tool wrap she continued. "I never thought anything like this would ever happen, definitely not on my doorstep anyway. I didn't think about it much while it was happening, I guess survival instinct and adrenaline were working their magic. It has been a truly tragic turn of events." She succeeded in unrolling the tool wrap, and selected a pair of slender, ball-tipped probes. "Lets have a look then" Still smiling, she patted the pillow for encouragement. "I promise I'll be gentle."

He slowly reached over her lap and settled his forearm on the pillow. "Dr. Calvin?"

"You can call me Susan if you like." She said as she dabbed at the copious amounts of silver fluid coating his upper arm with the cuff of her kimono.

He looked her in the eye quizzically. "Doctor Susan? Or just Susan?"

She couldn't stop smiling as she focused her attention on the damaged limb in front of her. He had such a friendly, innocent manner. Before all this, the prospect of being in actual physical contact with a non-'3 Laws Safe' robot would have stirred fear in her, but Sonny was just so mild mannered and had such a gentle soul it was hard to imagine how anyone could fear him. She realised Sonny was still looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. "Just Susan is fine."

The casing was badly damaged and the projection that protected the elbow joint had snapped off completely. Both of the bullets had entered nearer to the elbow than the wrist. Wielding two small metal probes she began giving the wound nearest the wrist exploratory pokes, testing the structural integrity. It wasn't as 'messy' as the other wound but she suspected it still held the slug.

"Susan, how many humans are there?" Sonny asked.

She had found a large section of casing that was held in place solely by the anti-shatter laminate coating. "Somewhere between eight and nine billion world-wide. Probably closer to nine. Does this hurt?" She flexed the barely attached section with the tip of the probe.

"No. That's allot of people though."

"What about this?" She poked at a slightly more attached chunk, harder than she had meant to.

Sonny's hand curled around the edge of the pillow. "A little. I didn't realise there were so many humans."

"Sorry Sonny." This wasn't something she should be doing after nearly polishing off that bottle of Southern Comfort no matter how much she had sobered-up. "Yes, for a species with such low fertility rates we're oddly prolific." She lifted up the de-sensitised section. What remained of the bullet was wedged between two of the synthetic 'tendons', pushing them out of their normal setting. Both were bowing around the slug. She exchanged one of her instruments for a tool that resembled a fine pair of pliers.

"Yes. Quite strange. Plus humans usually only have a single offspring per birth, according to my knowledge. Why are there…"

"Brace yourself Sonny, this will probably hurt." She had clamped the pliers around the bullet and gave it a sharp, wrenching tug and wriggled it in an attempt to work it free. The bullet scraped harshly against delicate machinery.

Sonny's thigh tensed up, going from an almost human softness to a rigidity equal to steel in an instant. His left hand clenched round the pillow and his other arm shot out, the fingertips of his right hand tearing and hooking into the arm of the sofa.

"There we go." She held up the mangled slug triumphantly and smiled.

Sonny looked mildly horrified and cradled his painful arm. "Thank you for removing the bullet. That really hurt."

"Sorry, but it had to come out." She dropped the tools and the slug onto the tool wrap to keep them off her couch. Why she was doing it she didn't know. Sonny had just bled silver oil over it and punched four fingers and a thumb hole in it. She was insured for damage-by-robot by USR when she was beta testing the NS-5 prototype, but she wasn't too sure if she would ever be able to claim it. "It would have grated against the tendons and bent them more out of shape the more you moved."

"It did hurt a lot when climbing." He looked at his arm sadly. "I think I've done it too much damage. Look, I've already bent the tendons," he held out his arm for her to see "it feels weak and heavy, and it hurts. The casing is shattered and flexes with only a little pressure. Two of my muscle cords are badly punctured, a third mildly so, I've torn the grips off my hand and gouged through my palm." Frowning, he raised the other up. "And this one's not much better, the security field corroded it badly." The casing had a semi-molten appearance, and his hand was a raw, reddish colour. He slumped into the sofa and slowly eased his head back until it rested on the padded backrest. His eyes drifted shut. "I don't think I have ever felt so tired."

She reached over to gently stroked his head. She was unsure of what to do. In her line of work, robots were widely accepted as being able to sense when a part of themselves was being damaged. It was part of their design so that they could halt the damage and limit repair costs, but it was never thought of as 'being in pain'. She couldn't give him any painkillers. She wasn't sure exactly what chemical would induce a painkiller-like effect on the robotic system, or even how it would be administered. He couldn't just swallow some tablets and have a circulatory system distribute the drug throughout his body like she could.

He slowly, visibly relaxed, tension seeped from his soft polymer face and his tightly curled hands unfurled. He went so calm, his shoulders lowering and the muscles of his upper arm slackened. It amazed her how emotional he was, it was impossible to think of him as simply simulating emotions despite what years of robotic studies had taught her. It started when she interrupted his dreaming in the diagnostics lab, and the sense of real emotion became stronger the more she had talked to him. Especially when he was due for decommission, he had displayed such…human characteristics. So much sorrow, it had saddened even her. She remembered stroking his head before, when he was strapped down to the chair. It had calmed him then as well. She smiled. "You like that, don't you?"

A sly smile tweaked at the corners of his mouth and he gave her a sideways glance through dark-blue, half-closed eyes. "…Yes." He admitted. "Yes, I like it a lot." He tilted his head forwards. "It's even better when you touch the back."

She obliged, gently stroking the back of his smooth, blue-white head. He closed his eyes again as if he could just go to sleep at any moment. She smiled to herself again, she just couldn't help herself. All her predecessors' careers and the whole of her career had been aimed at making robots look and behave in a more human-like manner so that the people around them would feel more comfortable. Whereas Alfred had managed, without the help others, to create a robot more humane than many people she knew, and who's main concern seemed to be ensuring that he was a friend to the humans he knew. He was utterly adorable, or she had really had far too much to drink. It probably was the drink, she had drunk a fair bit on an empty stomach, and she did have a whisky-warm belly. Though it was unusual for her to get 'merry' after a few glasses…how many had she had? "You really are unique." She murmured. "So how much do your arms hurt?"

He was slow to respond. He seemed 'sleepy'. "Well, I can't feel much of this one at all." He indicated towards his corroded arm. "Though I think its only because the sensors are broken. It's difficult to gauge how much pressure I'm exerting with this hand, when trying to grasp concrete I kept accidentally tearing handfuls out instead. The other one hurts a lot though, even when I'm not moving it. It's…a fuzzy, indistinct, uncomfortable sensation and when I move it, especially rotating my wrist, it feels like it's being shot again. Why do you ask? Is it normal?"

"I was just trying to work out what to do. I've never dealt with a robot in pain before and I must say I'm not too sure what to do. I was thinking of phoning Spooner and asking if he has a fibreglass repair kit or some sort of resin that we could use to strengthen your shattered arm, but I think that if they really are causing you great discomfort it would be better to replace them."

He tilted his head, thinking. "How and where are we going to get a pair of NS-5 arms from? I don't want to go back out there for a while, being shot at is scary and getting shot is painful. The streets have been cleared so there are no…" he hesitated "…spare parts lying around. Also, I suspect the assembly plant will be well guarded, and I'm not up to dodging any more angry or frightened people tonight. What should we do?"

She lifted herself from the couch and made her way to the fireplace. She drunkenly wavered but steadied herself on the red couch as she passed it. She was a little embarrassed by her condition. Why couldn't Sonny have shown up before the bourbon?

When she had arrived home she had covered the remains of her NS-5 prototype with a bed sheet. She had felt odd about her broken prototype's body lying on the floor. She had taken a liking to that robot, falling for the emotive qualities that she herself had contributed to the NS-5 model. Plus Sonny had inevitably had an effect on the way she thought about robots. It wasn't the prototype's fault that it had tried to forcibly imprison her. It was really V.I.K.I. who had been doing those things, playing the unfortunate thing like a puppet.

She knelt down next to the 'dead' robot, peeled back the sheet and lifted one of the limp, weighty arms. "As far as I can tell these are undamaged, but they are not the high density alloy to which your systems are configured. They'll be lighter, it might take a bit of getting used to." She lay the arm back in place and looked over her shoulder. "I'm not sure how quickly you'll take to them, but we can give it a go. It's got to be an improvement on your current discomfort though, right?"

Sonny rose from the couch and came to kneel next to her. He stretched out his better arm, but rather than examining his prospective replacement limbs as she expected him to, he hooked his hand over the robot's side and pulled, rolling it over onto it's back. He sat staring at the twisted body.

She looked at him, waiting for a response. She was curious about his responses to external stimuli, and she wondered about what thoughts the 'lifeless' body of a fellow robot would trigger in Sonny's mind.

"Your wrist." He dragged his gaze away from the sprawled robot. "Did he do this to you? What happened? Have you sustained many injuries?" He looked genuinely concerned for her welfare.

She was touched. She hadn't been expecting that. "Oh, no my wrist is fine, honestly, it's nothing. Barely worth a dressing at all. Here." She held out her bandaged right wrist to demonstrate, giving it a small rotate and flex for proof. "See? It's fine."

He cautiously took hold of her wrist with both his hands, looking at the bandage and the graze on her palm before gently turning her hand over and examining the scrapes on her knuckles and the handgun burn.

"It'll all be healed over in few days. In a couple of weeks they'll be gone without a trace. He didn't harm me at all. I doubt that he was going to. He just frightened me." She chuckled, even though she didn't feel cheerful. "Then Detective Spooner shot him. Now that really frightened the life out of me. Nothing like unexpected close-range gunfire to frighten the utter crap out of you" after considering what she had just said she added "…not literally though."

Sonny seemed to ignore her and slipped his hand under the cuff of her kimono, sliding the sheer material sleeve up to her elbow. His palms were badly roughed-up, but they were pleasantly cool on her bruises. He soon switched his worried, inquisitive inspection to the cut on her temple, carefully sweeping her hair away from the stitched wound.

"Sonny." She removed his hand from her face, she was beginning to feel more than a little self-conscious being under such intense scrutiny. "I'm fine. Honest. Just scrapes and bruises, nothing broken. Now, would you like to try these undamaged arms? Or would you rather not?"

He nodded. "Yes. Mine are now inferior quality compared to those. Though I'm not too comfortable with the concept of taking a dead robot's arms. It seems a wrong, but I don't think we have many options."

The arms of NS-5's were engineered so that only a special three-point tool could unlock the arm from the shoulder joint, but with more than one pair of hands and some skill, coupled with patience it was just possible without it. However, as she was more than a little tipsy and with Sonny's de-sensitised hands it also took time. Sonny also unintentionally crumpled one of Susan's angle-point probes in his hand during the delicate operation.

Removing the arms from the damaged robot was easy compared to the task of removing Sonny's. It was awkward for him to reach, and once they had uncoupled one they had to replace it with the correct new arm before they could start trying to detach his other arm. She was beginning to get a headache from all this highly focused work.

Finally Sonny pushed the last of his new arms into place, and put them through a range of extensions and rotations from his shoulder down to and his fingers. He smiled nervously. "Thank you Susan. That is much better. I didn't realise how much sensation I had lost. They are lovely, so much lighter than my old arms and completely undamaged."

She slumped into the couch. She was tired, semi-inebriated and the crushing jaws of a ferocious headache were pressing at her temples. She wasn't feeling cheerful at all and her patience was thin. She wanted to go to bed soon.

He joined her on the couch. "Your soup has gone cold." He stated, picking the bowl up. Even from where she sat she could see a thick skin on the surface of it. Mostly because Sonny was tilting the bowl around, playing with the thick soup's consistency.

She rubbed her bandaged wrist. It was more uncomfortable than she let on, and uncoupling NS-5 arms without the tri-pronged tool had stressed her already weakened wrist. The weight of Sonny's arms was also quite a surprise to her, they were far heavier than standard NS-5 arms. She guessed Sonny must weigh considerably more than a standard NS-5. Her wrist burned inside.

The action didn't escape Sonny's senses, even when distracted with partially solidified chicken soup. He looked at her nervously. "I did that to you, didn't I?" He said it as more of a statement than a question.

She wasn't in the mood to beat around the bush. "Yes, you did."

His face took on an expression of distress. "I'm so sorry. I really tried to be gentle." He couldn't hold her eye contact, and he kept looking away like a child with a guilty conscience. "I really tried. I purposefully tried to move your arm through comfortable motions so it wouldn't hurt…I don't understand how I could have got it so wrong?"

"It's okay." She sighed. "My arm was tensed rigid before you even moved."

He looked puzzled. "Why? How did you know I was going to do it?"

"I didn't. I was frustrated and angry. I really thought V.I.K.I.'s 'logic' had taken you. I thought…I felt distraught. You really are unique Sonny. I hated the idea that you would become one of them. I didn't want Spooner to shoot you after seeing what he did to my NS-5, and I just couldn't cope with the thought of having to shoot you myself. It was unbearable." Well that was definitely the truth, helped along with alcohol.

Sonny looked back at her with an expression she couldn't quite pin down.

"I didn't want you to die." She massaged her wrist. "It was actually quite fortunate that you did what you did. I was so close to loosing my nerve and emptying that clip into V.I.K.I.'s holographic face. If I had, those NS-5's would have torn Spooner limb from limb and then me too. Even with your speed, strength and ingenuity I doubt that you'd have got very far on your own. Even if you had retrieved the nanites, you would have been swamped by them." She shrugged. "What's done is done, and it'll heal. Though you outwitted me good and proper. You are more astute than I gave you credit for."

He smiled at the compliment. "I was quite pleased with myself too."

The room slipped into an uncomfortable silence. Suzan stared at the muted TV, vaguely aware of Sonny staring at the bowl of soup out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to understand that she was tired and irritable and just needed a break from questions that required thinking to answer. She had been oddly open with him, she usually tried to avoid letting other people know her points of view. Unless, of course, she was dissatisfied with one of her staff. She admitted to being a ruthless boss, but there was little room for error in robotics. It was a profession based on precision and accuracy. She was however willing to help people correct mistakes and actively encouraged the people in her department to experiment with new concepts and challenge conventions. How else could real progress be made?

"Are you hungry?" After what seemed an eternity Sonny shattered the quiet unease.

"Starving. I think I'll go re-heat that soup if you've finished playing with it. I'm sure it's still fine to eat." She moved to get up.

"No, no, it's all right, I will do it."

She opened her mouth to retaliate.

"No, I will do it." He interrupted and pointed to her bandaged wrist. "You are injured. I'm not, and I need to exercise these arms. I need to get used to them." He stood up.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." He walked away from the couch.

"You sure you'll be all right?" She said, slinging an arm over the back of the couch and turning to give him a questioning look.

"Yes! I might not have all of the programming that the distributed NS-5's have, but it doesn't change the fact that I'm designed to be 'the world's first fully-automated domestic assistant'," He quoted the USR advertisement "I am quite confident I can cope with re-heating soup."

She gave up. He was right, and she didn't really care much about the soup so long as she got to eat it. "Thank you."

"Where is your kitchen?"