Disclaimer: I do not own Big O.

Chapter 7

Dorothy awoke many hours later, with a sharp pain residing in the back of her head. Something was broken, she was sure of it. One of her chips had fried, her circuits had overheated, something… All she knew was something was definitely not right. As she sat up in her bed, she clutched her forehead in a curiously human gesture, trying to brace the heaviness that she felt. Did she need oil? Did she still need recharging? She just didn't know. What could it be that made her feel so strange? She was groggy and her limbs were weighted and leaden. She was very aware of the fabric moving over her skin; she heard it move and felt it move, with a slight, scratching, zinging rustle. What coarse fabric it was. How odd it was that she had never noticed it before? Slowly, she got to her feet and looked through her closet and drawers for something that was not quite so stiff and restricting. After many minutes of silent debate, she decided to put on some of the dance clothes that Norman had bought her so long ago. If she remembered correctly, he had given them to her in the pretext that he thought she was a dancer. She was just so thin and statuesque that it was obvious; what else could she have been designed for? This, of course, had been at the very beginning of her stay at the mansion, before they had gotten to know her reclusive and deliberate ways.

In that way she was very much like Roger. He sought seclusion, just as she always had. When company was desired, what better could there be than just two in a group? A larger gathering prevented the kind of personal understanding that she longed for above all else. She was a uniquely jaded and world-weary being and those who could identify with and accept the reasons for that were worthy of her undying respect. Alas, very few people knew the true and ghastly ironies that fate can inflict on poor, unfortunate souls such as hers, if indeed a soul she had. Yes, just two people in overstuffed chairs before the fireplace, with books open and a comforting, blissful silence for garnishment was Dorothy's dream of absolute happiness, and she could have sworn that Roger was a compatriot in this dream. Perhaps she had been mistaken.

Nonetheless, she resumed her daily toilette, putting on the black stretchy pants with the drab gray lines up the sides. The sweater was not much different, being a rather light zip-up, with the same gray lining along the sides and inside the hood. For her shoes, she chose some nice and malleable black Capezio shoes, another gift of Norman's. For some reason, she wanted to be very casual today. She could have sworn that it was a simple lack of apathy, and that was probably correct. She usually lacked just that, so what made today any different? She simply did not want to wear that silly dress that seemed to demand her constant formality.

And there was another alien word for her: "want." Since when did androids want and need beyond their master's wants and needs? It was not natural. It only proved to her beyond a doubt that she should go visit the mechanics maintenance shop later on. Something was definitely off. However, the problem with that was it would make her dodge her daily duties once again, and what would Roger have to say about that? Not much, if she could help it.

She didn't want to see him. She knew she didn't. She didn't want to be restricted, and she didn't want to see Roger. And Angel was still there, she was sure. What other reason could there be for her showing up with two suitcases? And what if he had actually invited her here? That would definitely explain away what Roger was so distressed about... She could not chide herself enough for walking willingly into that beguiling illusion, even for a fraction of a second…

Dorothy determinedly walked down the hall, examining the purple twilight of early evening. Her mechanical body went into stealth mode; something she was not programmed for, but had gradually learned anyway. As quiet as a cat, she strode through the halls with one destination: the front door. If she could make it there without incident, she would be satisfied. She continued on, just approaching her goal, just a few more steps would lead her to a temporary salvation.

Oh, curses.

It was with this thought that Dorothy ran straight into a broad, formally clad chest, white-striped tie and all. She jumped back, wary of his sudden intrusion.

"Where are you going?" He asked, his arms now folded in the business-like reproach of an employer.

"I need some repairs," she said gruffly and refused to say another word.

"You seem fine. What's wrong? And why are you going out in your pajamas? It's almost seven!"

Ah, Roger: the archetype of tact.

"I don't know. That's why I'm going to the shop. And these aren't pajamas," she explained in a monotone.

"Then what would you call them?" He asked.

"I don't know. If you'll excuse me…" She made a gesture towards the door. He continued to block her path.

"Roger, what…?" A sudden urge to break something or scream came upon poor Dorothy like a tidal wave. What was this all about? Why couldn't he just let her go on with her business? Why couldn't he go back to his little pink-clad streetwalker and leave her be?

"Dorothy, I'm not letting you leave until we straighten this out."

Hesitantly, she stepped backwards and waited.

"What has been going on with you this week? You seem different than when you came here… What I mean is… You're acting very strange." His frustration was rising once again. He was a negotiator! A smooth-talker who could talk his way through any conflict, no matter how unsolvable, why on earth did he always lose that when talking to Dorothy about emotions, something she shouldn't even comprehend?

"Will Angel be staying with us for very long?" She interrupted. She relished the look of further confusion that came to his face.

"Ah… That is to say… Yes. She's, ah, having a bit of a crisis at home, and she needed a place to stay." He seemed a bit upset for the subject having been changed.

"Oh, I see. Is that all?" She asked.

"No, that is not all! If you'd quit trying to confuse me, I'd be able to get this out! Ah, ahem, that is…" He spluttered and laughed nervously as he saw Angel's face peering out the kitchen door at them. He grasped her by the arm, and led her into the chamber adjoining his room. The piano was the solitary figure within its walls, seeming to lament for its loneliness. Roger only stopped pulling her when they had reached it.

"Why didn't you play the piano this morning?" He pointed at it, his face the example of childish frustration.

She was taken slightly by surprise.

"I… I forgot." She said, her voice very quiet. Did he actually like her waking him up that way? "Is that what you're upset about, Roger?" She asked, rather disappointed.

"No! I'm upset that you keep running out on me! Every time I think we've finally gotten through to one another, you always manage to run away. Just stay for a minute, and let me say everything."

She didn't dare to get her hopes up this time. She had learned her lessons from before, he couldn't possibly be talking about what she hoped he was. He was talking about a friendship and nothing more.

"You once asked me, if things had been different, would we have maybe fallen in love." He took a step towards her.

She refused to believe. He was talking about the piano, and not about love. It was impossible.

"Well… My answer to that is…"

He couldn't…

"I already do love you."

(Well… That's the end of the chapter. Sorry it's taken so long, and no doubt you're furious with me for ending it right there, but, well… It couldn't be helped. Chuckles evilly And now, without further ado, I have some replies to some rather interesting reviews, lol…)

Haein: LMAO… You make me laugh! D Of course that was only said to prove a point. Angel is a woman, and Dorothy is a machine. Which would a man logically chose? If I were a man, even though I'm not, I would probably choose the one with real flesh. Dorothy, obviously, has the same assumption.

Sandalwoods:o.o Well, here's the chapter… Please don't poke my voodoo doll…

Sakura Blossom-Cilla-85: Dorothy MUST think that much, because what else can she do! Her only other escapes are playing the piano and cleaning up after Roger, for god's sake, what would you do? Lol…