Act Fourteen: Long Path of Recovery

Act Fourteen: Long Path of Recovery

By Darkwood

Time has passed since Roger faced Red Destiny and the Trio of the apocalypse. Big Duo lies in the hands of Alex Rosewater, but the Negotiator has bigger demons to fight before worrying about the copy-like counterpart to Big O. Faced with an injury, and the only person capable of tending him with Big O back to its prior state of unavoidable disrepair, Roger is trapped by his nightmares and his caretaker, Dorothy, whose resemblance to R*D is so striking he fears her presence. Can Paradigm's top Negotiator free himself of his demons and return to business as usual, or has the moral-minded ex-Military Police Lieutenant finally met his match?

          in his fevered dreams, Roger hides the key to a large mystery that calls him back to the past, a familiar rundown house twelve blocks from the Smith mansion. Dorothy, understanding his wish for privacy, does not pry into his problems, but attempts to comfort him as best she can without much prior knowledge of either the action or the sensation. Has the enigmatical young android-woman finally achieved her apparent long-term goal of human emulation, or is it something more?

AN: Time does not pass sequentially from part to part in this, and at times there will be flashbacks within a part set in the virtual 'present' of the fic. All titles are working titles. At times the perspective will change to a certain person in 3rd person, for instance the dining room scene were in Roger's eyes he uses Dorothy's name but since that part is in the 3rd objective I also use 'that girl' in Angel's viewpoint. Artistic license taken here, in case you were wondering, and I carry the thing everywhere I go.

            I don't know how long this act will be, so I'll just say expect anywhere from six to ten parts, including interludes, and the length depends on the emotions evoked by the events, or memories as the case may be. I might put my take on what happened during the short time between R*D and my Act Fourteen during Act Fifteen, but I am not yet sure of that.

            Also, the first parts of this are more emotionally oriented than most of the Big O episodes are. I decided that rather than give only short glimpses into the characters' feelings, I would go slightly 'Deeper' as Mikage would say. The action will come in time, after Scene 3, I believe. The structure of these Acts as I write them is rooted in the play format that is oft used in script writing. The Scenes are generally longer than the Interludes, but some of these break that rule. Dorothy's depth will be explained in Act Fifteen.

Act Fourteen – Interlude: As Different as Night and Day

          'It suddenly occurred to me that my whole life's emotions culminated in her synthetic being, and I wondered if I hadn't taken a blow to the head and fallen into purgatory or if I was really and sincerely faced with the possibility that my unworthy person was in love with a perfect angel that was mimicked by the devil herself.'

          Every morning I wake to two things. And both are the same. Her face.

          And yet neither are the same.

          Thus springs my nightmare into reality.

          I can still recall the words she called in that eerie voice, as she chased me, not aloud, but every now and then someone will say something that sets it off. If I could do anything in the world it would be to forget the events that transpired… is it? Yes, almost a full month ago and still I can't sleep at night.

          I have two different visions when I am scared, what I see and what is happening. More than once I've felt myself screaming only to feel her cool, tender touch upon my brow. She does not touch me anywhere and only at night, but she does comfort me during the twilight hours. I have but to speak in a whisper and she will come, slipping unafraid through the darkness carrying a single candle, more for my benefit than hers, and she will sit next to me on the bed and gently wipe away my tears or the sweat from my brow, the too long straps of her sleeping gown falling down to blend with her crushed velvet wrap. I wonder if she feels cold at all.

          Or is the wrap for my benefit as well?

          I do not know, but I do know that she is the angel – my savior from the dark, and yet also its harbinger. I think she senses it as well, though she cannot possibly understand how it torments me to see the melancholy in her disposition deepen to sorrow as she sees fear in my eyes when I look at her. I feel so sorry. It is my weakness, I should suffer, not she. She has done nothing except exist and the crime that lies in existence is one that no mortal, human or no, has ever overcome.

          So I lie here panting, and the door to my room opens quietly, and closes just so.

          She walks in movements appearing more graceful with the adult cut of her nightgown, towards me, a creature of pure imagination, a vision of pleasure and delight. I can feel myself sweating all over; see the crazed, wide eyes of RD set upon her face. "Roger…"

          "Dorothy?" my voice is broken, it sounds so frail. My mind cannot take much more of this. I cannot live a lie, not telling her. She takes her seat, perching precariously near the edge, one delicate knee elevated from the resting position of the other to support her weight and balance her as she leans in towards me. Her arm, extended, propels her hand towards me, and her cool skin brushes against my temple and flits across my brow.

          "Roger, I am causing you anguish."

          I do not know how to reply.

          "I am not sure how, or why, but it is the truth, is it not?" I nod, dumbly. "Do you wish me to leave you alone? I can return to my room if I am bothering you." She begins to pull away, the gentlest touch of the pads of her fingers ghosting back towards her fey body.

          "No," I respond, reaching out towards her. She grasps one of my hands in her own, small fingers somehow engulfing my larger hand in the gray light of the evening. Her delicate fingers making white bars over that bridge of my knuckles.

          Her other hand moves up and brushes my temples again, petite fingers slowly tracing over one of my eyebrows and then down to wipe the tears from my cheek. It feels like we are in some old tale of a girl and a monster that had been thus transformed from his human state by his own actions towards a powerful being he wronged. Fate is a hard mistress, she turned me out three years ago when I mistook my duty for my beliefs, and I pay every day for that mistake.

          I close my eyes and she runs her thumb gently over the flesh there, and I feel sleep begin to reclaim my fevered body and tortured mind. "Stay," I whisper, my voice coarse in even my own ear.

          She changes her position a little and whispers a low response that I cannot make out as I slip back into my dreams.

          And the two of us… we are not the same, though we are one half of the same whole… we are just as different as we can get and still share certain things in common.