Disclaimer: I do not own Big O.

Chapter 8

"You're a liar."

"What?" Roger asked, his face suddenly blank.

"I said you're a liar." She stared into his eyes, her own searching, gleaning for any kind of truth. Anything but what she had just heard. It must have been some kind of joke. But if it was, it was far from amusing.

"But…" he began.

"You think I don't know what you're trying to do," her voice was threateningly low. "But I do."

"Dorothy, what-"

He was interrupted once again, by her low, mechanical monotone.

"You asked me, the night before last, what I thought being human meant, in so many words. Well, Roger, I know what laughter and love and sadness are, even though I am just a pretty pile of scrap metal and silicon. I know that you have always been curious about how I work, at least on a mechanical and habitual basis. But if you or Angel think this is funny, may I inform you that I don't, and that I am here completely by my own will. If you continue to tease me in this cruel manner, I feel compelled to remind you that I am not bound here and I can leave any time I wish." At this, she stepped back prepared to leave for the repair shop.

Before her eyes, steam literally began to shoot out of Roger's ears.

"Leave? Leave? Any time you wish? You wouldn't leave me! Where would you go, you ungrateful robot?" He shouted.

"I hear that Mr. Beck is advertising for a maid…" she said, stung by being called a robot, but was prevented from continuing by the rather loud spluttering of Roger.

"BECK?" He had now lost all semblance of self-control. "BECK? You wouldn't dare!" He had grasped her shoulders in his anger.

"Wouldn't I?" She said, calmly as ever.

"You know as well as I do that that man is a complete ass!"

"It takes one to know one," she said, in her infuriatingly lucid voice.

"Dorothy R. Wayneright!" He began to shake her, with as much strength as he could muster (she was rather heavy, after all).

"Ye - es, - Ro - ger?" Came the broken reply.

Pushing her away suddenly, and began to pace irately.

"You want to leave? Fine, go! See if anyone here cares! Things were just fine back when it was just Norman and me, why did you have to come along and ruin everything?" He seemed to be trying to convince himself more than her, "You've made my life nothing but chaotic and miserable ever since you got here. I've said it before and I'll say it again, women are nothing but trouble. You're no different, damn it, even if you are an android! I wish I'd never taken you off of Beck's hands in the first place!" He stopped his tirade, his face flushed and his chest heaving.

"I told you that you were a liar," she said, quieter than before. "How can you love me if you wish you'd never met me?" With astounding speed, she fled the room and the mansion, running full-speed to somewhere, anywhere, just away, anyplace that Roger wasn't would be just fine.

Well, she had managed to get the truth out of him. At least that was something. Now she knew what course of action must be taken: she would hire herself out as a maid for another person and resign from her job with Roger. That was all there was to it, really. How could she stay with him now, now that he had his lover with him, now that they had joined forces against her in some kind of twisted practical joke? No, she would not stand for that. Just because she appeared to have no emotions within her did not give others license to belittle her struggles to free them.

She reached the repair shop just before sunset. She had a lot of questions she needed answered. Her only wish was that the repairperson who examined her was a woman… It would be awfully awkward to ask a man some of those things…

"Android troubles?" Angel asked, as Roger returned to the kitchen, where she was cooking pasta over the large stove.

"Something like that," he replied, sitting on a nearby stool with his head in his hands.

Suddenly, his head shot up and he looked over at her.

"What are you wearing?" He asked, scandalized.

"This?" She turned around, looking puzzled. "Roger, their just sweats."

"No, no, that's not what I mean. Is that… pink?" He narrowed his eyes in something like distaste.

"Yes. Don't tell me you have a dress code here?" She asked, an eyebrow raised incredulously.

"Actually yes, I do." He said, in a half-embarrassed and half matter-of-fact sort of way.

"Oh… I'm sorry," she returned to the stove. "What should I be wearing?"

"Black," was his blunt reply.

"Well…" She trailed off, apparently thinking very hard. "You know, I don't think I own anything black… Actually… How strange…" Her finger had come to her chin in thought. "Come to think of it… Everything I own is pink. Huh. Now that's odd."

Roger was backing away from her very slowly, as though she would turn on him and attack if he made any sudden movements.

"I'd never noticed that before, isn't that funny!" She laughed, oblivious, and turned to see that Roger had fled the kitchen, the door still swinging precariously on its hinge.

"I guess he's not a fan of pink…" She muttered to herself, totally unconcerned, and continued to cook her pasta.

(Well… Here's a short chapter for you. I just couldn't write anything more until I got this one out. I hope that satisfies the Angel fans… I managed to flame her without really being all that bitchy about it. Hope you like it.)