A/N: I can dance…woo…go me! As a side note: each and every chapter will be filled with mindless Roger/Dorothy stuff. Yes, I am that avid a fan. This story is so lame. It's filled with mush and all that Valentine's Day-style stuff.
But you wouldn't be reading this if you weren't avid Roger/Dorothy, would you? Bear with me.
The title of this evil story will soon be changed. You all okay with that? Thanks for your reviews. You get a gold star!
Disclaimer: Big O is property of…the people…who own Big O… And most of this plot and things are derived from CLAMP's creation, Chobits. But I'm sure you don't mind, do you? To be on the safe side, plots derived from Chobits, things, people, and the name Hibiya: not mine. For those who could identify it: congrats! Have a gold star!
-
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
Roger paced around the comforts of his room, and yet walking around testily attempting to figure out a plan of action helped nothing; he had absolutely no sleep that night, and much to his alarm there was no inane classical music pounding in his ears that morning. He felt as if his shoulders were draped with lead, owing either to his lack of sleep, or…
He didn't want to go out of his room; never dared to exit because she might be there. But did Roger really fear her?
Or maybe he just feared what he would feel when he saw her.
It was dry and dismal outside—a rather large cloud shaded a tint of wolf gray loomed over the majority of lofty buildings; Roger's mind flickered spontaneously towards his thoughts of the previous day…that Dorothy would like the sun out.
Well, the sun wasn't out, and Dorothy was probably not pleased.
A rapid knock on the door snapped Roger out of his short-lived daze, and Norman's queries about his health emitted through the wooden seal of his quarters. He couldn't hide any longer. Roger took a deep breath, a sense of foreboding creeping into some area near his ribs. And he exited his room.
Dorothy sat stoically at the table in the center of the room. Silence reigned for about four minutes.
"It's almost noon, Roger." Dorothy finally spoke up, frosty gaze fixated into her cup. "Your client called. You are late."
Oh, damn. Roger pressed one hand to his forehead and swore loudly, stalking back to his room claiming he had to dress—and yet somehow, probably stalling for time. There wasn't too much time for a shower; rolling his eyes, he changed into his suit and ran a comb through his hair a couple of times. And then the Negotiator closed his eyes, obviously troubled. But, again, now wasn't the time… Roger let out an uneasy sigh, walking out of his room and preparing to head to the Griffon.
The familiar tap-tap of Dorothy's steps greeted him from behind, and he could feel himself smiling gratefully underneath his skin. He craned his head around to give her a friendly greeting, but found she had simply walked straight past him towards her own seat. And he heaved a sigh inwardly. Damn.
The doors shut, and there was an eerie silence as Roger pulled out of the massive "garage" in which his car was housed.
After a while, Roger sighed again, more audibly.
"Are you still mad at me?" he questioned, fingers tightening around the wheel. He felt like a kid who had aggravated their parents and then apologized almost meaninglessly, only to find that said adults were holding small/large grudges.
Dorothy was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head. Roger opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off abruptly.
"I do not wish for this 'entering room without permission' fixation to continue, Roger."
"Alright, alright. Sorry." Roger held up one hand in self-defense, tilting the wheel with his other. Nonchalant outside, but he felt a bit of relief settle into the back of his mind.
"Are you humoring me, Roger?"
"No, not at all." Roger leaned against the seat, quite thankful that Dorothy was able to get over it so quickly. "At least you're in a better mood." Dorothy made a small "hmm" sound in her throat—a small sign of amusement on her part, and he glanced at her for what he hoped was a fraction of a second. Too late—Dorothy had caught his glimpse, and her eyebrow cocked.
"I'll accept those undertones as a sign of concern." Her stare reverted back to the dashboard, and she unclipped the seatbelt as they pulled over at a moderately large two-story house.
Waiting in a small gazebo a little ways away from the right side was a woman, peacefully drinking lemonade as rain sprinkled lightly over the grasses.
"Hello." Julia Hibiya smiled warmly at them, and her eyes appeared to flicker faintly when they met Dorothy's cool gaze.
"Miss Hibiya." Roger extended a hand, which the young woman graciously took; Dorothy stood slightly behind him, hands clasped in front of her and face set in stone. He continued.
"So, your robot is missing? You said others' bots were missing as well. Do you…know those people?"
"Yes." She smiled gently; her expression seemed…worn, as if weathered by misfortune. "This is a rather…extravagant neighborhood. More people can afford androids here…and more androids got stolen here."
"Interesting."
There were some times when Roger doubted whether he was a Negotiator or some kind of superhero or detective.
"Is there anything particular you'd like to note before I begin—" Roger trailed off, mind reeling for adequate word choices; sighing dejectedly, he finally settled on: "—investigation?"
Roger hated referring to his line of work as "investigation" or anything of the sort. To tell the truth, he really preferred the term "negotiating"…but Roger knows that isn't quite his exact line of work, and he always disliked that.
"Yes. Four peoples' androids were stolen, and of those people, their androids were taken to Cherubic for customization."
"Do you have any type of picture to help identify these androids?"
"Only my own…"
Julia's timid, chocolate gaze slowly shifted to an ivory-colored picture frame sitting near her left hand, where the glass of lemonade sat collecting dew on the surface. A charred picture: Julia, standing serenely next to a tall, looming figure with a black coat and ruffled hair. Strange, fox like ears stuck mechanically out of the top of its—no, his—head. But what stuck out most of all was matching bands wrapped on android and human woman's finger…
Wedding rings…
The thought of an android being able to marry a human flickered almost, ALMOST unwillingly in his mind; in that moment, his thoughts stumbled all over the damn place until he nodded, unable to think of anything much to say.
So he turned around and began walking back to the Griffon.
Roger didn't hear the soft crunching of the grass beneath heeled shoes; he turned around to tell Dorothy to hurry up.
Dorothy, however, remained at the edge of the porch, ebon eyes fixated on the photograph. Noticeably, Julia decidedly chose to say nothing to disturb her "trance"… Roger blinked dully, and then briskly trotted back, his pace slowing as he approached his robotic companion.
As he placed a broad hand over her shoulder, she appeared to snap out of it; she nodded hurriedly, turned, and began walking to the Griffon. Julia seemed to hold some light of curiosity in her eyes. Roger stared at the woman.
Finally, he couldn't help himself. "…Did you place that photograph there for any particular reason?"
Julia's eyes glittered gently, and she folded her hands on her lap as if each motion was dictated by grace.
"I've heard quite a bit about the Negotiator's android companion." Julia said simply, black curls dangling off her shoulders. Roger stared. "I was told her eyes were blacker then shadows… I decided to teach her something: something small, insignificant, but something. It's the least I could do for her part in the negotiation…"
Roger began to mull things over slowly, although he was still, to put it lightly, confused as hell.
A moment of silence passed in which Roger realized he would get no audible explanation, so he sighed perceptibly, turned, and began to walk to his expansive black car.
Julia's stare slowly shifted towards the photograph, and although Roger couldn't see it, Dorothy held a small, new ray of hope that hadn't been there that morning… Placed there courtesy of Julia Hibiya.
Yes, an android and a human can fall in love.
-
"What was that all about?" Roger inquired, pressing his hands on the wheel and glancing sideways at Dorothy, hoping to find some answer.
"It was nothing. Forget it."
As a red light flickered in front, Roger watched her eyes intently, hoping to find some feeble flicker of emotion or reaction. He wasn't too surprised, however, when he found nothing there except the mere reflection of the outwardly dull scenery unto her equally dreary eyes… No, her eyes weren't dreary. Roger blinked again as Dorothy's shaded eyes shifted smoothly to meet his.
He blinked, and then allowed a shadow of a smile to flicker on his face.
They weren't dreary at all.
Dorothy's fingers twitched occasionally, her brows furrowing in what appeared to be deep and alert concentration; she seemed quite anxious or something of the sort, and her feet fidgeted every now and then.
Roger glanced at her squirming uneasily in her seat, eyes narrowing every now and then. She was probably thinking of the people who stole the androids, or something of the sort…
The same ghost of a shadow flashed, again, on his face, and he reached his hand over, resting his palm on top of her fidgety, slender, and rather icy hands.
Dorothy's icy touch seemed to become deathly still under his hand for a fraction of a second, but she immediately relaxed, eyes kept straight ahead. He could infrequently feel her fingernails tap her skirt for some reason, and he frowned slightly—why was she so restless? If you had viewed from afar, it could be viewed as somewhat of a caring gesture could also be seen as a way to simply keep her hands from moving. After three or four minutes, however, Dorothy seemed to calm herself considerably.
"You alright?" Roger inquired stiffly, and that familiar fear of what he would think regarding her and a few circumstances returned. She paused, closing her eyes for a moment as if gathering some thoughts…or an excuse.
"I'm fine," she said slowly, almost enunciating the "I'm" as if trying to prove a piece of her humanity. "There is nothing to be concerned about… Roger."
Roger frowned at the pause, right hand tightening over Dorothy's and left clutching the wheel. She made a sound in her throat similar to a sigh, willowy fingers intertwining with his.
Life wasn't the best, but it was okay.
-
A/N: I don't necessarily like how this chapter ended, but whatever. Read, review, or do nothing.
But you wouldn't be reading this if you weren't avid Roger/Dorothy, would you? Bear with me.
The title of this evil story will soon be changed. You all okay with that? Thanks for your reviews. You get a gold star!
Disclaimer: Big O is property of…the people…who own Big O… And most of this plot and things are derived from CLAMP's creation, Chobits. But I'm sure you don't mind, do you? To be on the safe side, plots derived from Chobits, things, people, and the name Hibiya: not mine. For those who could identify it: congrats! Have a gold star!
-
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
Roger paced around the comforts of his room, and yet walking around testily attempting to figure out a plan of action helped nothing; he had absolutely no sleep that night, and much to his alarm there was no inane classical music pounding in his ears that morning. He felt as if his shoulders were draped with lead, owing either to his lack of sleep, or…
He didn't want to go out of his room; never dared to exit because she might be there. But did Roger really fear her?
Or maybe he just feared what he would feel when he saw her.
It was dry and dismal outside—a rather large cloud shaded a tint of wolf gray loomed over the majority of lofty buildings; Roger's mind flickered spontaneously towards his thoughts of the previous day…that Dorothy would like the sun out.
Well, the sun wasn't out, and Dorothy was probably not pleased.
A rapid knock on the door snapped Roger out of his short-lived daze, and Norman's queries about his health emitted through the wooden seal of his quarters. He couldn't hide any longer. Roger took a deep breath, a sense of foreboding creeping into some area near his ribs. And he exited his room.
Dorothy sat stoically at the table in the center of the room. Silence reigned for about four minutes.
"It's almost noon, Roger." Dorothy finally spoke up, frosty gaze fixated into her cup. "Your client called. You are late."
Oh, damn. Roger pressed one hand to his forehead and swore loudly, stalking back to his room claiming he had to dress—and yet somehow, probably stalling for time. There wasn't too much time for a shower; rolling his eyes, he changed into his suit and ran a comb through his hair a couple of times. And then the Negotiator closed his eyes, obviously troubled. But, again, now wasn't the time… Roger let out an uneasy sigh, walking out of his room and preparing to head to the Griffon.
The familiar tap-tap of Dorothy's steps greeted him from behind, and he could feel himself smiling gratefully underneath his skin. He craned his head around to give her a friendly greeting, but found she had simply walked straight past him towards her own seat. And he heaved a sigh inwardly. Damn.
The doors shut, and there was an eerie silence as Roger pulled out of the massive "garage" in which his car was housed.
After a while, Roger sighed again, more audibly.
"Are you still mad at me?" he questioned, fingers tightening around the wheel. He felt like a kid who had aggravated their parents and then apologized almost meaninglessly, only to find that said adults were holding small/large grudges.
Dorothy was silent for a moment, and then she shook her head. Roger opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off abruptly.
"I do not wish for this 'entering room without permission' fixation to continue, Roger."
"Alright, alright. Sorry." Roger held up one hand in self-defense, tilting the wheel with his other. Nonchalant outside, but he felt a bit of relief settle into the back of his mind.
"Are you humoring me, Roger?"
"No, not at all." Roger leaned against the seat, quite thankful that Dorothy was able to get over it so quickly. "At least you're in a better mood." Dorothy made a small "hmm" sound in her throat—a small sign of amusement on her part, and he glanced at her for what he hoped was a fraction of a second. Too late—Dorothy had caught his glimpse, and her eyebrow cocked.
"I'll accept those undertones as a sign of concern." Her stare reverted back to the dashboard, and she unclipped the seatbelt as they pulled over at a moderately large two-story house.
Waiting in a small gazebo a little ways away from the right side was a woman, peacefully drinking lemonade as rain sprinkled lightly over the grasses.
"Hello." Julia Hibiya smiled warmly at them, and her eyes appeared to flicker faintly when they met Dorothy's cool gaze.
"Miss Hibiya." Roger extended a hand, which the young woman graciously took; Dorothy stood slightly behind him, hands clasped in front of her and face set in stone. He continued.
"So, your robot is missing? You said others' bots were missing as well. Do you…know those people?"
"Yes." She smiled gently; her expression seemed…worn, as if weathered by misfortune. "This is a rather…extravagant neighborhood. More people can afford androids here…and more androids got stolen here."
"Interesting."
There were some times when Roger doubted whether he was a Negotiator or some kind of superhero or detective.
"Is there anything particular you'd like to note before I begin—" Roger trailed off, mind reeling for adequate word choices; sighing dejectedly, he finally settled on: "—investigation?"
Roger hated referring to his line of work as "investigation" or anything of the sort. To tell the truth, he really preferred the term "negotiating"…but Roger knows that isn't quite his exact line of work, and he always disliked that.
"Yes. Four peoples' androids were stolen, and of those people, their androids were taken to Cherubic for customization."
"Do you have any type of picture to help identify these androids?"
"Only my own…"
Julia's timid, chocolate gaze slowly shifted to an ivory-colored picture frame sitting near her left hand, where the glass of lemonade sat collecting dew on the surface. A charred picture: Julia, standing serenely next to a tall, looming figure with a black coat and ruffled hair. Strange, fox like ears stuck mechanically out of the top of its—no, his—head. But what stuck out most of all was matching bands wrapped on android and human woman's finger…
Wedding rings…
The thought of an android being able to marry a human flickered almost, ALMOST unwillingly in his mind; in that moment, his thoughts stumbled all over the damn place until he nodded, unable to think of anything much to say.
So he turned around and began walking back to the Griffon.
Roger didn't hear the soft crunching of the grass beneath heeled shoes; he turned around to tell Dorothy to hurry up.
Dorothy, however, remained at the edge of the porch, ebon eyes fixated on the photograph. Noticeably, Julia decidedly chose to say nothing to disturb her "trance"… Roger blinked dully, and then briskly trotted back, his pace slowing as he approached his robotic companion.
As he placed a broad hand over her shoulder, she appeared to snap out of it; she nodded hurriedly, turned, and began walking to the Griffon. Julia seemed to hold some light of curiosity in her eyes. Roger stared at the woman.
Finally, he couldn't help himself. "…Did you place that photograph there for any particular reason?"
Julia's eyes glittered gently, and she folded her hands on her lap as if each motion was dictated by grace.
"I've heard quite a bit about the Negotiator's android companion." Julia said simply, black curls dangling off her shoulders. Roger stared. "I was told her eyes were blacker then shadows… I decided to teach her something: something small, insignificant, but something. It's the least I could do for her part in the negotiation…"
Roger began to mull things over slowly, although he was still, to put it lightly, confused as hell.
A moment of silence passed in which Roger realized he would get no audible explanation, so he sighed perceptibly, turned, and began to walk to his expansive black car.
Julia's stare slowly shifted towards the photograph, and although Roger couldn't see it, Dorothy held a small, new ray of hope that hadn't been there that morning… Placed there courtesy of Julia Hibiya.
Yes, an android and a human can fall in love.
-
"What was that all about?" Roger inquired, pressing his hands on the wheel and glancing sideways at Dorothy, hoping to find some answer.
"It was nothing. Forget it."
As a red light flickered in front, Roger watched her eyes intently, hoping to find some feeble flicker of emotion or reaction. He wasn't too surprised, however, when he found nothing there except the mere reflection of the outwardly dull scenery unto her equally dreary eyes… No, her eyes weren't dreary. Roger blinked again as Dorothy's shaded eyes shifted smoothly to meet his.
He blinked, and then allowed a shadow of a smile to flicker on his face.
They weren't dreary at all.
Dorothy's fingers twitched occasionally, her brows furrowing in what appeared to be deep and alert concentration; she seemed quite anxious or something of the sort, and her feet fidgeted every now and then.
Roger glanced at her squirming uneasily in her seat, eyes narrowing every now and then. She was probably thinking of the people who stole the androids, or something of the sort…
The same ghost of a shadow flashed, again, on his face, and he reached his hand over, resting his palm on top of her fidgety, slender, and rather icy hands.
Dorothy's icy touch seemed to become deathly still under his hand for a fraction of a second, but she immediately relaxed, eyes kept straight ahead. He could infrequently feel her fingernails tap her skirt for some reason, and he frowned slightly—why was she so restless? If you had viewed from afar, it could be viewed as somewhat of a caring gesture could also be seen as a way to simply keep her hands from moving. After three or four minutes, however, Dorothy seemed to calm herself considerably.
"You alright?" Roger inquired stiffly, and that familiar fear of what he would think regarding her and a few circumstances returned. She paused, closing her eyes for a moment as if gathering some thoughts…or an excuse.
"I'm fine," she said slowly, almost enunciating the "I'm" as if trying to prove a piece of her humanity. "There is nothing to be concerned about… Roger."
Roger frowned at the pause, right hand tightening over Dorothy's and left clutching the wheel. She made a sound in her throat similar to a sigh, willowy fingers intertwining with his.
Life wasn't the best, but it was okay.
-
A/N: I don't necessarily like how this chapter ended, but whatever. Read, review, or do nothing.