Title: Gears
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author Notes: This is impossibly long and vaguely inspired by Key the Metal Idol. The Extra at the end is utterly pointless kitten fluff but it was just too much fun not to include. I wrote a second extra that is mostly fun with robot blow jobs. If people are interested, let me know. I promise I haven't forgotten about "decree of fate" and there will be an update soon.
It was Charles' quarterly visit to Dr. Wickram. Since the untimely death of his father, Dr. Offdensen, Dr. Wickram had taken over Charles' little checkups.
Charles was laid out on the examination table, waiting to hear the damage report.
"You've been drinking again." Dr. Wickram smiled encouragingly down at Charles. Charles hadn't drunk since that one disastrous incident after Dr. Offdensen death.
"Is that a problem?" Charles didn't really like discussing his personal life but if his father had trusted Dr. Wickram to look after him, then Charles would just have to try to trust him too.
"No, no. It's good to see you enjoying yourself. A little liquor never hurt anyone."
Charles scoffed derisively. "Dethklok doesn't know the meaning of a little liquor."
It pained the doctor to see Charles so jaded. Charles hadn't been a particularly happy person, at least not for a long time, but it had gotten worse since his father's demise. He didn't laugh any more. All he ever heard were mirthless outbursts at derisive black humor. If it weren't for the band he'd run off with, Dr. Wickram would have sworn Charles had forgotten how to smile. But through the stony faced gloom, recounts of Dethklok's antics would occasionally bring forth the ghost of a smile.
"Well, if you like, I can make it so that even large amounts of alcohol will be no problem."
"I suppose that's for the best, wouldn't want them to get suspicious." It was meant to be a joke but Charles said it with such great self loathing that the doctor couldn't bring himself to even smile in response.
Dr. Wickram cracked back open the panel concealing the inner workings of Charles' chest. No longer covered by the artificial flesh Charles could hear the faint whizzing of gears that stood in for a heartbeat. Dr. Wickram rooted around till he found the ingenious bit of machinery that allowed Charles to consume alcohol. Switching out the old converter for a new one of his own invention he closed Charles back up. When the panel was snapped back into place the doctor gave the artificial skin a loving pat before stepping back. He didn't think of Charles as a son, like Charles's creator, Dr. Offdensen had, but he still thought of Charles as family. Like a nephew or a younger brother. Which was ridiculous as Charles had been around longer than him. Which reminded him.
"You have a birthday coming up." Still sitting on the table, Charles froze in the middle of buttoning up his shirt. "You should do something to celebrate. Not many people get to see their hundred and twenty third."
That was another sore point for Charles. "Yes, well as far as the rest of the world is concerned I'm only turning forty something."
Dr. Wickram moved to sit next to a now fully clothed Charles on the examination table. "They care about you, you know. I'm sure your father wouldn't mind if you let a few more people in on the secret."
Charles shrugged off the arm and the comfort. "He wasn't my father," he said bitterly. "I don't have a father, I wasn't born. I don't even have a birthday, just the anniversary of the day I was made."
Dr. Wickram tried again to put a comforting arm around Charles. "He may not have given birth to you in the conventional sense, but he gave you life and he loved you like a son."
Charles bit back a retort. Even now he couldn't bring himself to speak ill of the old man. It was true that, for whatever reason, he'd loved Charles.
"More like one would love a toaster. How could he love me, I'm not human."
Charles finally accepted the comforting embrace. Dr. Wickram had been his father's apprentice and successor and Charles regarded him as almost family. Not that a robot like him deserved any family.
Burying his head in the comforting shoulder he might have let a few tears escape except he had had those ducts closed off years ago. They served no propose save make him appear more human. Charles didn't like to forget that he wasn't.
"Hey, that's not true he loved you very much and you loved him too."
Charles spoke with his face buried in Dr. Wickram's lab coat. It was one of his father's old coats, Charles could tell. It still smelled faintly of his father's favorite tobacco, a scent forever etched into his memory banks. No matter how many times it was washed, the sent still lingered. "I'm just a machine, I can't love anybody."
This was a familiar argument. They'd been having it even before Dr. Offdensen died. "I can tell you loved him from how badly his death affected you. You went on a bender and wound up managing a death metal band. If that's not morning, what is it?"
Charles detached from the doctor's shoulder to give another ghost smile at some fond memory of the band. "They never asked me why I looked so grim. Nathan used to say I looked like the right had of death himself every time I wound up in a publicity shot."
Charles stood up then and adjusted his tie. Dr. Wickram stood up too and spoke in a businesslike manner. "Everything seems to be in working order. You should be good till your next check up, but don't hesitate to call if there is a problem before then."
Charles collected his suit jacket and cell phone from a side table. Forty nine messages and he'd only been gone for a few hours.
"Would you consider installing a blue tooth directly into my main processor next time?"
Dr. Wickram chuckled. "Oh Charles, you know all this new fangled technology isn't compatible with your clock work system."
Charles sighed as he read through the missed call list. "I know, but it was worth asking."
As Charles ran off to answer an important missed call, Dr. Wickram sat down at his work bench. Now that Charles was gone he let the weight of his concern show on his face. It pained him to see Charles so very withdrawn. When they'd first met, years ago, he had been light and happy and had never once complained about what he was. Then again he hadn't thought of himself as a robot back then. He had just been Dr. Offdensen's beloved project and son. It was years before anyone had mentioned the word robot to him and even longer before Charles had begun using the word in association with himself. Dr. Wickram supposed that 'robot' would be the appropriate word for what he was, but that was not what Dr. Offdensen had called him when he had created him in the late 1800's. Dr. Offdensen had called him the first alchemic-mechanical human. Dr. Offdensen had been one of the last great alchemic masters, able to perform impossible feats with bits of metal and a few ancient runes. Charles had been one of his greatest achievements. A mix of ancient alchemy with modern, at the time, technology to create a living being capable of thought and movement and speech. His other great invention had been the technology that kept first the doctor and later his apprentice alive long past their expiration date. Dr. Wickram had been born in 1908. He didn't look a day over forty.
Dr. Wickram had learned all the secrets of Dr. Offdensen's trade but had never built another human. He couldn't bear the thought of creating another being that would share Charles' pain. So instead he stuck to making mechanical pets and keeping Charles it tiptop shape. Dr. Offdensen would have wanted his son to be well cared for.
Charles came home and dealt with all forty-nine crises from during his absence. Most of them were from the band members. They were out of Popsicles, Pickles said I was ugly, William won't stop stabbing me. Charles felt a bit like some kind of robot nanny which was at least a little funny, until William had said it.
Through a carefully calibrated system of fluids, Charles turned a pale gray at the dreaded nickname. Most days he could take it with the same bland indifference he took most of Dethklok's antics, but not today. Not with the painful memories of his deceased father and his condition so fresh in his mind. Not right after a visit to his mechanic.
Charles turned on his heels and marched out the door shouting his catch phrase as he let the door slam. "FOR THE RECORD, I TRIED!"
He went he went back to his office to silently fume while he finished up some paper work. Unexpectedly there was a knock on his door half an hour later. Without even waiting for a 'come in' Nathan entered. Charles was just surprised he'd knocked in the first place.
"What is it?" he said testily as he paper clipped a finished document to be photocopied in triplicate later.
Nathan shuffled his feet nervously. That got Charles' attention, Nathan was never normally nervous. Charles put down the paper work and truly looked at Nathan.
"I'm err... I'm sor... Shit I should have made Murderface do this. He's an ass and we don't mean it when we call you robot. I didn't want your feelings hurt by something that jack-ass said."
That was really sweet. It brought a robotic ghost smile to his lips. Nathan almost blushed at the half smile but averted his eyes from the hypnotic pull at the last moment. "Err, we know you're not a robot. That would be stupid."
That was not the right thing to say. The stony frown was back before Nathan had even finished speaking.
Charles busied himself once more with the paperwork. "Yes, well if there is nothing else I uh, have work to do." The defection was delivered in his characteristic robotic monotone.
Nathan turned back reluctantly. Every time he thought he was getting through that robotic mask, Charles would deflect and the mask would go right back on. The man had more emotional walls than Murderface, and that was saying something. Nathan left the room reluctantly. Some day he was going to get him to drop that robotic act long enough to figure out how the other man really felt.