Authors Note: This was by far the hardest chapter to write; I had an unfortunate loss in my family, and it seemed that the longer I was away from this, the more likely I was going to scrap the whole thing. It was thanks to some of my good friends on Greatest Journal and most especially Patchworkdove, that I found the momentum I needed to continue. So much momentum in fact, that I wound up with waaay too much for one chapter! So, I've gone ahead and split up the two; chapter six will be done very shortly. Thank you so very much for your kind words and encouragement; I hope you especially enjoy this installment!

Disclaimer: I, Robot is the property of the estate of Isaac Asimov, Twentieth Century Fox, and all other legally bond parties. But, alas, I am not one of them. I'm making nary a cent, so please be merciful and sue me not!

After breakfast, Sonny cleaned up, marveling at how just the mundane activity served to bring him far more calm than he'd felt the last few hours. Susan had emerged from her room an hour ago, and was exploring the cabin. His ears picked up the sound of a door being opened, and a moment later, he could see her through the kitchen window, looking as though she was searching for something in the wildly growing shrubbery outside.

She looked beautiful, her normally pinned up hair was down and over her shoulders as she bent to examine the flora around the secluded cabin. Day had broken fully, but it still carried the chill of early morning, and she could only attribute that to the fact that they were at a much higher altitude here. Even though she was a good twelve feet away, he could see the goose bumps on her arms clearly. What possible reason could she have for not dressing properly? It wasn't as though they hadn't adequate clothing there. He was concerned for her well-being, and it wasn't just because his internal programing told him to do so. This was born of a sincere desire to ensure her safety, and something much more than that. He would feel an impossible emptiness if something bad should happen to her. He couldn't quite put a name to what his feelings represented, but the fact that they were there brought an indescribably warm sensation throughout his cores.

He spent so much time gazing at her that he was certain she might catch him at any moment. He quickly turned his attention back to household chores. If she became aware of what was brewing within him, he was certain that she would react with nothing short of disgust.

After all, she was human, warm to the touch, soft, delicate, brilliant, pleasing to his optical senses, mental network, and a host of other senses he had no way of naming yet.

He was cold, mechanical, unsure of his place in the scheme of things, but certain that it would never, could never, include such a wondrous creature as Susan Calvin by his side. She would be there for him, of that he was very certain. Just not in the way that he most wanted.

She looked as though she'd stepped right out of very old film, the wind starting to play about her, causing her hair to take on a life of it's own. Film... they had been watching one when things had gone horribly wrong. He paused in his appraisal of Susan to see if he could figure out what had happened last night.

Movie playing...so much he didn't understand, but his friend patient, helpful, pausing the old-style dvd to explain... asking many more questions... too many most likely, but that could not be helped for it was his inquisitive nature, working overtime...

But that was all he could grab hold of. And it was scarcely enough.

Why can't I remember? He nearly shouted in frustration.

Finished with cleaning, he turned his attention on the photograph from last night. There was something about what was written that he felt he should know what it represented, but the parts of his memory that might hold the information were also the same that were obviously damaged. There was really only one way to get to the bottom of this, and it concerned her. He would have to ask for her help again, and hope that this time, things were sufficiently patched between them to make for better results.

o-o-o-o-o-o

Del stilled himself, pretending that he was still bound, while his mysterious captor continued to babble. The large man would never allow himself to step out of the shadows caused by the too bright light in the hall, keeping his face obscured. Del watched as he busied himself with whatever was waiting inside that ominous looking case, making a final connection here, realigning a wire there. The man knew exactly what he was doing, and seemed to be having too much fun preparing what the detective was certain was an instrument of torture.

"Now then, Mr. Spooner, if you'll just allow me a moment to apply these to your arms-" these being a wicked-looking pair of skewer-thin electrodes, the tips of which were needle sharp and presently headed straight for him. Not being one to enjoy even the idea of making contact with sharp objects, Del knew it was now or never. He slowly moved his arms so that they were now holding steady against his side instead of behind him.

Del felt the odd rope-like material fall away from his sore wrists. Part of him knew it was most unusual for them to just unbind without any kind of real effort. In fact, he hadn't had to exert any manner of force at all to remove them. He merely wished them undone.

And it was done.

"I suppose it is rather rude of me not to introduce myself, Mr. Spooner. Please accept my most sincere apologies, I'm usually a much better host. The name's Connor Keening, and you," he continued, coming nearer, "are going to be a tremendous help to the SOH."

SOH. Where had he heard that before? He felt as though he hadn't had a decent meal in days, though he was certain he had only been missing barely a day. It was making it extremely hard to think, however, and information he could usually recall on short order was now incredibly elusive. Something about a case he'd worked on, and not too long ago at that. Young punks involved in organized mayhem, something about humanity...

"Whoa, hold on there cueball, you're one of them? One of those freaks from the Humanity thing? I knew y'all were a little cracked, but I didn't think you were prone to kidnapping and threats of bodily harm!" He knew Keening hadn't noticed that he was now unbound, and that was going to be his way out.

The element of surprise.

A loud ringing sounded, and Del's captor frowned in exasperation.

"What is it? Yes...yes I am, well, trying to, anyway...no, no that won't be necessary, oh damn! Now the doorbell...yes, yes...look I'm going to have to call you later, after I'm done."

He stormed out of the room, and Del wondered for half a second whether fate was actually being kind, or if he should proceed with caution..

Firmly deciding to hell with fate or caution, he stood up, shaking free of the last of the ropes. They fell to the cold floor, promptly dissolving. What kind of material was that, and how would a man that supposedly was part of a society that had no use for such technology in possession of it?

As interesting as those riddles were, he understood that time was the most important factor to consider at the moment. For instance, why had his captor suddenly taken off, leaving the door wide open? Was it a trap? So many things had happened, it was becoming more and more easy to look a gift horse in the mouth. He stood up, and moved closer to the door frame, his eyes much better adjusted to the harsh light beyond. There appeared to be no other people in the immediate area; he had the distinct impression that Keening would be the sort to do his dirty work all on his own. Del slipped from the room and moved carefully into the hall. He originally thought that the light's effect on his eyes was due to an extended period spent tied up in a cramped, light-deprived room. He now was beginning to realize that the whole path beyond was awash in artificial, hyper white incandescence. Fighting off a keen desire to shield his eyes, he pushed down the hallway, trying to ignore the fact that the light was doing much more than just making him a little uncomfortable. It was playing with his mind, and making him severely disoriented. Was this the reason for such a security system, surely that was what it had to be. What other use could there be for such an intrusive lighting system?

There was precious little time to ruminate over the oddities of his surroundings; he was certain his "host" would return at any moment, and though his arm was quickly getting back to full use, even he didn't possess enough bravado to test it out. In fact, the longer he stayed bathed in the unnatural light, the more he was amazed at how he was even able to conquer VIKI and get out of USR with all of his parts still intact. Just the thought of what had occurred made him pause, and suddenly he was filled with nothing short of terror. He was certain that if he had to face a similar situation again, he would completely and utterly fail. There could be no other way for him. He was a failure after all, wasn't he? He couldn't save that poor eleven year old girl, no, because he was too occupied getting rescued by some dirty robot that only operated on logic. But not reason, never that. It was as impossible to them as editing sweet potato pie out of his life would be to him. And look how easy it was for them to be swayed! One moment they are the epitome of helpfulness and selfless servitude to humans, the next, cold, calculating, incredibly strong and able to kill with out a second thought, and all because someone (or in VIKI's case, something) flipped a switch.

Thinking it would be in his best interests to do so, Del pressed himself against the wall, seeking out even the slightest bit of security. Did he imagine, or was the wall really that warm? He pressed harder against the abnormally hot surface, raising his arm to shield from the light that was causing more than a little distress. It was sapping him of energy, his breathing becoming shallow and labored. A fine rivulet of perspiration trickled down his face; though he tried to fight valiantly, it was to no avail. He sank lower to the floor; impossibly, the light grew ever brighter and more harsh in intensity, until even the contrast of his smooth mocha-colored skin no longer appeared.

Only the light, burning his eyes now as if he had somehow traveled too close to the sun, remained, and even his faith in his own reality faltered. Del was so consumed with the vestiges of madness that he failed to notice that he was no longer alone in the hallway; that someone was approaching closer, a loud rumble roaring in his ears masking the echo of heels over linoleum, the subtle 'whoosh' of linen and wool, the soft dulcet tones of a woman's voice raising and falling in hushed terror...

"Mr. Spooner, Mr. Spooner...please, wake up...you must wake up now!"

He opened his eyes slowly, trying to take in his surroundings. How long had he been unconscious, a minute, an hour, a day? There was no way he could tell on his own. Everything feel too real, hyper real. He was lying on an impossibly soft surface, and at first he thought he was on a very well-made sofa. He certainly wasn't in the dark, cellar-like room he'd been in before. It was all too strange, almost as though he'd awakened into a whole different reality. The light here was normal, unobtrusive. The coverings over him were of the finest quality, and he realized with a start that he was no longer clothed as he had been before. He lifted the blankets to find that he was now clad in a simple but uncomfortable pair of linen pants, and nothing else.

He placed the blankets down again and finally took notice of the young woman seated to his left. She was, to put it quite simply, beautiful. Her modestly cut wool suit was simple, but very well made. She wore her hair down, and at first what he took to be chestnut was actually a deep midnight shade. The contrast it made with her pale porcelain skin lent her a further ethereal appearance. She seemed genuinely concerned for his well-being, but he knew better than to take anything at face value.

After a time, he found enough strength to speak.

"Where the hell am I?"

o-o-o-o-o-o

Susan walked along the grounds, hoping the crisp, cool air would help sort her thoughts. There had to be something, anything that would help them unlock the memories that lay buried within Sonny. Discovering what happened the night previous was the key to finding Det. Spooner, and she was determined not to let her current lapse in logic stand in the way.

It was quiet outside, just the thing to help her gather and organize her wayward thoughts. Not that it wasn't within the cabin, but inside there was him. And right at the moment, she was not yet prepared to share the same space, hadn't properly steeled herself. She needed to be able to help, she needed to be effective, and her current behavior frustrated her to say the least.

Wayward thoughts seemed to be something that she was becoming increasingly aquatinted with. She tried to remember the last time in her life when she was so confused, so scattered. Any time when she had been so tied up in knots over a situation that she couldn't devote her cool mentality to something else more meaningful, and far less daunting.

There was no precedent.

This was perhaps the most confounding time in the brilliant doctor's existence, and with all of her formidable skill and training, she was no better equipped to handle the onslaught than a first year psych student. Walking usually did wonders to clear her mind, at times even more than her usual method of running through increasingly complicated computations. She absentmindedly ran a hand through her hair, a growl of frustration released at the realization that she neglected to bind it before she left the cabin. It would scarcely do her any good to maintain an air of control and respectability if she couldn't even remember to fix her bothersome tresses.

'You're out here, in the middle of nowhere, Susan, who's going to notice, or care,' She argued with herself. Really, they hadn't been out of the City even 24 hours, and already she was beginning to exhibit signs of mental instability. There was no one to notice, certainly not her house mate.

He literally wasn't wired that way.

She sighed, heading back towards the cabin.

Now wasn't the time to ruminate over her insignificant feelings toward a certain self aware robot. He was just getting used to having feelings himself, and how treacherous and difficult she would make things if he knew how she regarded him! Why did she even feel the way she did? It made no sense, was completely illogical, and had no value in her previously ordered existence.

"Physician heal thyself indeed," she muttered as she crossed the threshold that lead to the kitchen. Disordered thoughts were hardly her usual mode of operation, and she was damned if they were going to muck up the works now.

"Susan, are you all right?" She jumped at the calm tones spoken behind her; she hadn't noticed he was there when she first entered. He moved gracefully and quietly until he was almost against her. She had grabbed a cup to get a little coffee for her nerves; it was quivering in her hands now, and she found herself expending a great deal of effort to set it back down on the counter. Why in the world was he so close, anyway? She could hear him quite well enough from across the room. And why was she trembling like some idiotic schoolgirl? This really was getting out of hand, and Susan came to the conclusion that if she didn't get a grip, and fast, Sonny was going to find himself without yet another ally, and Del would never be found in time.

Why she had the distinct feeling he was in imminent danger, she couldn't be certain, but the feeling that he was was nothing short of overwhelming. He solved the mystery of how Dr. Lanning died, he helped to defeat VIKI, and probably just as astounding to him as it was to her, he grew to respect and admire Sonny. She owed him that, and they hadn't long known each other, but she was becoming more and more used to the idea of Del Spooner as friend.

The thought of him being in peril seemed to break her from the thoughts she'd just as soon rather not be entertaining, and she turned, finding herself staring into a pair of luminous and soothing blue eyes. He looked back at her with nothing but the purest of concern, and when she failed to find her voice, he added,

"You appear to be in distress. Would you like to lie down for a while?"

Oh dear.