Disclaimer: Please note that I do not own the characters, concept or plot of the 'I, Robot' book or film.
Author's Note: I'm on fire with ideas at the moment, please bear with me.
Sonny was sitting neatly on the black couch, the low height of the seat and the long length of his shins causing the backs of his knees to hover above the leathery surface. His hands were perched upon his knees and if he had been sitting up straight and proud with his arms locked and readied he might have looked cheerfully alert. He did not however, feel cheerful, not even in the slightest. He was frightened and alone. He was all hunched over his lap, his chest dipping and his neck drawn back in emotional discomfort, all of his muscles held tightly under tension. His elbows were nestled by his groin and his arms followed the course of his thighs to the point where his fingertips curled protectively over the balls of his knees. He was tense and full of fear, he was very alert with his eyes wide and him mouth small and thin. He was feeling endangered in the lonely darkness of Susan's home again. He had been left all alone again.
Susan had eaten her fill and Del had finished off the Chinese takeout, consuming at least seven times what she had. It was amazing to watch, to see humans eating. His father had always been quite secretive when consuming his small, regular meals. His friends ate very differently, their personal attributes and behavioural quirks extending even to the way they consumed their meals.
Susan ate slowly, taking a quite specifically bite-sized morsel each time. When she perceived something to be a little too large, she would use the side of her fork to split it. Then she would either pierce it with the prongs or encourage it to sit on the fork and lift it to her mouth, chew it thoroughly and swallow it. Eating, with Susan at least, was quite a dignified affair, leaving much to the imagination.
Del was the complete opposite, almost inserting his head into the meal container and virtually inhaling his food. Indeed, Sonny was surprised Del had not choked or drowned. The chopsticks he held were sometimes only used to steady the stream of noodles flowing out of the carton, into his mouth, down his oesophagus and into his stomach. He rarely chewed, seeming to only do it for the purpose of catching a breath before he started throwing food down his neck again and when he did employ his molars, nothing at all was left to the imagination. Sonny was quite sure that Del's table manners were below par, as even he, with no stomach, had felt unwell at the sight of Del's teeth at work. He had consumed a massive quantity of food in this way in a short period of time. An excessive quantity it turned out, as he had to sit for an hour after finishing to 'let it go down'. Sonny felt unsure of where Del's body had put it all, but once his large meal had settled, Del left.
It had been ominously quiet after he left, Susan still acting oddly. He hadn't seen a problem with feeding Susan, he just wanted to help and she had struggled unhappily with the chopsticks. It was something he could do, and in her difficulty he had seen an opportunity form him to do something for her. He just wanted to show his appreciation for her kindness and hospitality, he wanted to encourage her to eat something and cheer her up a bit. He thought it was a success, he was putting the abilities that reminded him painfully of his inhuman nature and lack of place in the world to good use. He had felt a rush of heady exuberance permeate his brain and circuitry, electrically crackling through his aluminium wires and making his plastic skin active with strange sensations when she took that first bite. He had half expected her to dismiss his offer of help but half hoped that she would allow him to feed her. He had been extra careful and gentle, hoping that she would see how well-meant his offer was and understand that his intentions were good, not wanting to cause her distress. He was thrilled further when she took the second, and the third, fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh little bits he passed her. It made his chest feel like it was expanding, his core swelling pleasantly with pride at each repetition of the action, at his ability to aid her.
Than Del had gone and ruined it. Stupid man. He had been a welcome surprise when he came over in the daytime, and he had cheered him up no-end with his amusing if not bizarre and irrational behaviour. Del introduced him to the daunting but compelling prospect of attending his father's impending 'funeral'. Dressing him up like a man, which had been comical. Playing cards with him, which had been exceptionally good fun. Del had generally been a fantastic friend all afternoon, but in the moment that he was passing Susan her seventh morsel he wished that Del wasn't there, or at the very least kept himself quiet. Del had shouted at Susan and startled her, driving her away! He knew he was not as experienced with the world as everyone else was, but he could plainly see that she was a nervous, flighty little woman. He knew he had to tread carefully round her or else she would stiffen up in a display of distress and she would throw out defensive threats, whether they were verbal or physical. She always looked worried about something, as if she feared her world would come crashing down around her in an instant at any moment. The poor, sweet, skittish thing.
Apparently though it was wrong to have helped Susan. He didn't understand why, but both of his human companions seemed to disapprove of the incident. Even Susan, which was a surprise. She had liked it just fine before Del said anything. She had looked up at him with such a startled expression of pale shock tinged a little pink with a faint flush of shyness that made him realise that she was embarrassed. Why had she been embarrassed? Was there shame in admitting that something was beyond you? Everybody had their limits, it was impossible to master all things. Why should she be embarrassed about taking him up on his offer of help? Was it some sort of taboo in Chicago-locality human society to be fed by another?
It wasn't important. What was important was that as soon as Del was leaving he told him that if he damaged the boots, gloves, jacket or sunglasses at in any way that 'he would kill' him. Sonny was sure that Del was joking, but decided not to chance it. When he returned to the TV room he had begun removing the clothes that Del had lent him. He took little tugs at the fingertips of the gloves to gently and gradually slip them off his fingers, taking extra care not to trap any of the seams in the machinery of his knuckles. He placed them on a chair to begin making a neatly stacked pile of his borrowed clothes and shrugged off the jacket, draping it over the chair's back before he continued disrobing. It was when he was midway through undoing the buttons of the black shirt that Susan quickly hopped up from the couch and scurried off, by the sounds of things to her bedroom. He presumed that she was just changing into her night-clothes, that she would be back shortly, but that had been at 9:17pm and it was now 2:46am. She would most definitely be asleep by now, it had been six hours and six minutes since she left. She was not coming back.
He had realised that she had gone to bed without even saying 'goodnight' when it was nearing 11:00pm. He had tidied the TV room and the kitchen to avoid it, but after he gathered his blanket and pillow and sat on the couch, the depressive thoughts returned. The same kind of thoughts he bore every time he was left alone for extended periods of time recently, came back to him. His eyes had fallen upon the small glass-topped table, returned to its proper place but the bright and shining scrape glinted unavoidably. He really was a troublesome house guest. He had tried to make up for it by cleaning things, by trying to help, but he had just made it worse somehow. He tried to help her but had just made her feel mortified with shame. He had invaded her home, making her feel so threatened that she had fled to the stronghold of her bedroom. This was her territory, her place of rest, her little sanctuary of solitude and recuperation where she could heal her hurts and wounds. This was her home, and he was making her feel unwelcome. He was so stupid, so clumsy and such an idiot. He was pushing her out, pushing her away and that was not what he wanted, not at all. He just wanted to be with her.
He did not belong here. He shouldn't be here and it wasn't his place to establish a niche for himself in the world by evicting current and established others, especially when they were as nice and kind and lovely and beautiful as Susan Calvin. He had no right to be doing this, and he didn't want to if it meant harm to Susan. It was hard enough on him now, knowing that he didn't have anywhere to belong without thinking that his existence was causing harm to someone he loved. He had already caused enough hurt. He had loved his father beyond all reason, and look what happened to him. It was now the day of Dr. Alfred Lanning's funeral. Later on, when the sun rose high and 3:00pm rolled around, he was going to see what remained of his father go back into the ground from which it came.
All he did was hurt his friends and loved ones. It was the only thing he was surefiredly skilled at, whether he was intending to or not. It just seemed to happen, he could not deny the true purpose of his body and he couldn't escape the intent that was moulded into his polymer, mixed in with his alloy, woven into his muscles and laid out all over his skin like laminate of malcontent. It was what he was made for. Hurt and harm. Pain and death. He was just a weapon gone awry, wandering aimlessly and without purpose, causing nothing but suffering regardless of his own wants and desires. He was like an unpredictable, haywire missile. Deadly and unpredictable, he could detonate at any moment and he shuddered at the thought of what might get caught in the fray if he did. He did not want to be an instrument of destruction. He did not want to be a machine of war. He did not want a life like this. He did not want to live.
The First Law of Robotics was in him, and it screamed at him with utter horror, shrieking constantly like a high-frequency, shattering, piercing mental convulsion that tore at the couplings between his positronic systems and his digital, electronic body. It was crying out for him to stop, pleading desperately for him to halt his spate of serial injury to humans, trying to get him to commence an emergency shutdown or disconnect his body so that no more Primary Violations could occur. He was a cold metal killer! Breaking the first law hurt him on a level that was nigh on unbearable, and when coupled with his guilt and depression all he felt was a desire for no more. He wanted to stop hurting people. He just wanted everything to stop. He wanted to die and be at peace with the world, happy at last in the knowledge that he could do no more damage.
First though, he had one thing he needed to do. He was going to go to his father's funeral no matter what and force himself to watch. He was going to go see what he had done for himself, see it with his own two eyes and face up to the consequences of his actions. He was going to punish himself for his deplorable disgrace. He was going to make sure that he suffered for killing his father. He would not end himself before he had done this. Del told him that his father would have wanted him to be there, and he would ensure that he was. If his father would have requested his presence were he only still able, he would endeavour to be there for him. His father did not deserve what became of him, he shouldn't be dead! He was a good man! He shouldn't be dead. He should still be living, he needed him to still be here for him, he wasn't finished and he wasn't ready for the world yet. He was lost without his father's guidance, attention, love and affection.
He felt so incomplete, so damaged and broken or just plain unfit for life. If anyone deserved death, it was him, not his father. He wasn't so sure his father would be proud of him, he was a disgrace. If he was spotted tomorrow and taken back to USR to be experimented with and decommissioned, it wouldn't be such a bad thing. The matter would all be closed up and put to rest if the site of his death and demise was the same as the place of his creation and birth. With any luck, their experimentation might cause him some pain before he died, so that he might receive a fraction of what he had given to others, so that he might partially repent for the agony and anguish he had caused. It would also save him the task of doing it himself. He was so untrustworthy and unreliable that he doubted he could even do something so simple as to kill himself. He knew he would be unable to go through with it. He could cause harm to those he cherished above all else, but not to himself, he was so self-centred and so selfish, it would be better off for all concerned if he were to die. His will to live was shattered, why couldn't he accept his coming death? He deserved it.
He was afraid to be left alone in the dark with nothing but the dim blue glow of his depressive thoughts, but he wasn't worth the cost of the electricity needed to run the lights. He switched them off, pushing and plunging himself into the darkness. All he had for company was the distant lights of the apartments and offices across the street in the opposite block, the faint sounds of the early-morning traffic of a city that never slept and the little LED's glowing gently on the various electrical goods in Susan's home. It was sitting in the dark for hours, sleep the uttermost last thing on his mind, that caused him to be in his present position, cowering and almost immobile with fear on Susan's black couch. He didn't like being alone, especially not when he was in such a frightening mood.
He moved his arms so that he could curl over himself further, his elbows now on his knees and his palms over his eyes to support his thought-filled, heavy head. He felt even more secluded by the barrier of his hands. He was unaccustomed to so much of the ambient light being cut out, as his eyelids were not totally opaque. At best they only reduced his vision rather than shut it off, and the glow of his positrons was always with him to light up the dark. He slid his hands down his face until he could peer through the slits between his fingers, the only part of his soft face protruding from behind the protective shield of his strong, hard, unforgiving, metal paws was his nose. He wanted light to chase the darkness away. He looked anxiously forwards to dawn but dreaded it also for the closer it came, the more hours of his short life passed him by. He wanted the sun's arms to fight the night and drive the deep shadows away over the western horizon, to peel back the cold, obscure black cloak and have the warm, energising rays of the closest star in the sky recharge him with hope and healthy vigour. But once the sun rose, it would only be a matter of time before his father's funeral came to pass, and then it was just a countdown to his own end.
A part of him didn't want to die. He would never see Susan again, that woman he loved and trusted so much it was close to completely overcoming him. She dominated his thoughts always, he spent more time thinking about her than on any other single subject. His mind was devoted to her, he hadn't been able to get her out of his head since he first saw her. He knew that when he died his thoughts would stop and didn't want to get her out of his mind, he liked thinking about her, a rare and guilty pleasure he allowed himself. From the first time he laid eyes upon her it had been that way and she stayed with him, lingering there. On that horrible morning when his beloved father lay dead and broken on the white marble floor so far below, she came to him. He cowered fearfully in the junk pile from the security personnel and the crime scene investigation squads who had invaded the solitude and familiarity of the laboratory and he was still hiding when she came.
When this new pair of people entered the lab he remained frightened and alert, registering that one addressed the other as 'Dr. Calvin'. Then Dr. Calvin spoke, her beautiful voice was confident and assured as she strode with orderly footsteps into the laboratory. She spoke so succinctly and yet so convolutedly, using few words so her sentences were direct but each word she used was long and complex, winding and flowing with practised ease and oozing with sheer intellect. It had sliced with precision through his fear fuddled state and been musical to him, her familiarly scientific speech delivering a sweet and pleasing chain of smart, clearly pronounced syllables that soothed him. He still did not dare to move though, but she came to him, carried on her gorgeously heeled boots until she was within view and dressed all in plain and smooth, curving, dark silver. She continued to speak with conviction and he continued to stare. The way her dark hair was tied up to show the beautiful curves of her neck and the flattering lines of her clothes were truly a sight to behold.
He cupped his shoulders as far round as they would go, progressively tightening into a ball. He grasped his fingers around his arms, his hands settling into the slight valley that marked the intersection between his upper and lower muscle cord groups and stroked his arms a little, brushing up and rubbing down faintly to try to comfort himself. Looking around, he desperately searched for a something or an anything to put to a purpose he hadn't yet determined. He was completely lost and wholly unsure of himself. His boot-like feet shifted uneasily on the floor in front of him, as if each rubber soled foot was struggling to climb upon the other to get off the floor, seeking the comfort and safety of high ground. He tried to recite Hansel and Gretel, that tale had comforted him last night but it wasn't to be the same on this occasion. He could barely recall the pictures, the images of his father's smiling face and his broken body both vying for dominance and both completely overpowering the ink and water-colour pictures of forest glades, birds, children and a house made of sugary delicacies. His low voice became so unsteady it served only to worry him further, confused by his stutter. He couldn't speak straight and he couldn't understand why. A swift self-diagnostic confirmed that nothing was mechanically faulty, although his reactor was working at a low rate. His voice trembled and gradually his body followed suit.
His eyes fell upon his blanket and pillow lying uselessly on the couch beside him. With little in his mind other than the need to feel comfort he snatched out for them, slinging the blanket over his shoulders and tucking the pillow in his lap. He gathered the blanket together at his neck with one hand so that it was wound tightly across his shoulders and hung down his back and with the other hand he clasped the pillow up to his chest so that both of his arms held it close. He hugged the soft pillow desperately, squeezing it with inhuman force out of cringing fear with his mind on the edge of hysteria. He mewled pitifully and wordlessly for help in the deep darkness of his swamping sadness and clasped a fistful of blanket to his face as if the action could prevent any more sounds escaping him. It was futile, he could not muffle his cries by smothering them, he could not asphyxiate his sobs, for he did not breathe. His voice was not the result of sound waves caused by exhalations vibrating finely flexible vocal chords like Susan's was, his was borne from an electronic diaphragm device. He wasn't human, he didn't belong in their world.
He was shaking almost violently again now, it was completely beyond his control. Freezing cold fear was bringing painful, sharp pains to him as if his cores had reached a point so low in the bottomless pit of hopelessness that the cold was beginning to solidify them. In this dark, cold, empty place icy shards laced through him, swelling and bursting through the fine channels of his soft heart and mind like a swarm of nanites. He was slipping and sliding, tumbling in a slow but relentless relapse into his remorseful depression. He didn't like these feelings but he wasn't quite sure that he wanted to stop his fall. On some self-destructive level he was actively seeking the dark and cold against the light and warmth, hiding himself away from all that was good and banishing himself to the places he could cause least hurt.
There was no end to the chasm he was falling into, no hope of it stopping and nothing to catch him, just the inevitable, inescapable darkness that was swallowing his thoughts, erasing his mind and compelling him to die. He was letting it happen, letting his depression take him without retaliation. His will to live was broken and he didn't try to stop his descent into dispair, refusing to reach out or attempt to stop it. It would be nice to be able to live, but he didn't deserve it at the expense of his friends.
He wanted to think about something that would drive him through these precursor hours, he still had much to do and he needed something to hold onto to get his last difficult task done. He needed a last shred of help, a faint glimmer of hope to use as a crutch through the funeral before he finally surrendered himself completely to his fate. He would have thought about Susan, as he had earlier, but it just made him sadder now. She would never hold him like she had or kiss him again, she did not hold feelings of affection for him any more. He had destroyed that. He had inconsiderately embarrassed her in front of Del and driven her away. She did not trust him anymore, she feared him, hiding away in her bedroom so that she could escape him. He would miss her company terribly. He wanted to hold her, to share one last moment with her before his time was up but he couldn't. It would only hurt her somehow.
He remembered how good it had felt to feed her, the way she came willingly to take what he offered with complete trust. He had watched with his senses hitched up in a high gear as she distractedly leant forwards, her mouth slightly and loosely open. She had moved so slowly and he had been so eager to help that it been almost painful in his anticipation. He had been tempted to go to her, but he had resisted her teasing, waiting patiently for her to make all the moves. She opened her mouth wider to accommodate what he offered and even though there was more than ten centimetres of plastic chopstick and a layer of leather between them, he had felt the softness of her relaxed tongue give under the pressure easily. He had watched so intently that his reactor spluttered out it's normally steady stream of energy in fitful bursts for a whole quarter of a second, the fluctuations sending fluttery sensations through all of his mechanisms. It was a small miracle that his hand had remained steady. Her lips drew closed around the chopsticks and he faintly felt her tongue curl fluidly into a new pose from inside her. He had only caught fleeting glimpses of her neat, white teeth as they had been sheathed when she was reaching for the morsel he offered, but as he withdrew, he felt them. He felt the pale plastic utensils pass over her hard, resistant teeth and it contrasted so starkly with the yielding softness of her moist, lavish lips it only made them feel even more sumptuous. He knew he shouldn't have enjoyed it like that, but he was beginning to get used to feeling bad all the time. He could not eat and his tongue was incapable of tasting, but that last meal had been delicious to him.
He was still perched on the sofa, but he was less tense. Those same lips had kissed his forehead on his first night in her home, when Susan had come to calm and soothe away his bad dream. He remembered the things she had done and the things she had said to comfort him, to restore confidence and happiness in his heart, mind and soul. He remembered the words she had spoken to him and how true they had felt. She had even sacrificed a night's worth of sleep for him at a time when she needed it more than ever, the night after they stopped V.I.K.I. together. She did care for him, she did. He was convinced of it.
It was his father's funeral later today, but there had been far more to that man than just a father. Dr. Alfred Lanning had friends and colleagues who were going to miss him too. Other people would feel a sense of loss at his passing and one of those people was dear Susan. If his own sorry feelings were anything to go by, Susan couldn't be too happy at all. She had known the secretive scientist as well as anybody else had. She must be feeling so sad for loosing him. That was a logical explanation for her quiet and distant behaviour this evening.
He knew he did not deserve her comfort. He knew that he shouldn't even be thinking about asking her if he could be with her on her bed, but he found himself standing. He was concerned for her. He needed to make sure that she was all right. He didn't want her to feel even a slim shadow of what he was feeling, it was something she shouldn't ever have to suffer through. He wouldn't stand for that. He was worthless and in his life he'd accomplished nothing of any true, remarkable merit, but Susan was a different matter. She was kind and just, a woman of true quality. To him, she was precious, completely priceless and worth the entire world. She was worth the earth and the moon and all the other planets and their satellites. She was worth the sun and everything else in the solar system. She worth every star in the sky to him. If he could give her any comfort in her sorrow, he would. Since she had not expressed any need for it or not, he would have to offer. He had to at least ask her in case she was too saddened to request what she wanted, too disheartened to ask what she needed of him. It was highly probable that she would say 'no', but he had to make sure she was all right. He needed to check.
He travelled through her apartment, braving the scary shadows that lurked in the corners of rooms and under the items of furniture, his blanket still drawn protectively over his back and his pillow still lopped over one arm and clutched to his chest. He approached her door and paused, unsure of himself and brimming with apprehension. He tucked his cushion under the arm holding his cloak in place, and with his freed hand he knocked gently on the door. The sound was louder than he expected, his metal knuckles breaking the silence violently and very nearly shattering his confidence.
"Susan?" He whispered to the door, his voice barely carrying onto its surface, let alone any further. He listened intently but unsurprisingly heard no response from within.
He felt oppressed by the slumbering silence and the lurking dark, dwarfed by it and afraid to speak over it. It felt oddly ominous, quietly threatening him not to disturb it. He pulled single-handedly at his cloak, wriggling his head until his blanket was over his head like a hood, stifling the glow that followed him everywhere. He grasped the door handle and turned it until it clicked undone and he eased it open enough to put his head through and peer round.
Her room was darker than the rest of her apartment, but in spite of that fact, he had slept incredibly soundly when she last let him sleep on her bed. Now he fearfully and shyly looked in, his aura casting out an exploratory torchlight, like a pacifistic, blue, peace offering from inside his hood. The only other light in the room was the barely-there emission from her green-ciphered, digital, bedside clock. It was reading 3:31am, the correct time as he had reset it earlier. The thick duvet was gathered up on the bed, wrapped around a curled-up Susan who was on her side, facing towards her timepiece but sheltering her eyes from its dim light with a fold of her coverings. He didn't understand why she had such a large bed, he had only ever seen her use that one corner. She slept loosely curled on her side, facing the lone green beacon with her back to the dark, holding her fragile limbs and sensitive belly together for protection. She took up only a fraction of the available space and it made her look even smaller, more vulnerable and afraid. She looked almost lost in the sharpened lines and harsh curves that the eerie green and pitch black made of her soft grey duvet.
"Susan?" He whispered again, hoarse with worry and lacking force. This was a bad idea, what if she just became frightened of him again? His call went out meekly and barely hovered on the thick and dense silence that blanketed the room before it shrank and vanished into it, absorbed like water into a sponge. There was no response.
He dropped his voice lower so that it could slip under the dark and the quiet, so that his voice would stand a chance of permeating it and reaching the other side of the room with enough still in it to wake her. "Susan?"
That did the trick. The mass of covers that he knew to be grey but looked black and green and barely blue in the strange light conditions moved, squirming reluctantly. She lifted her head a little and squinted at him through tired eyes. "What?" She sounded uncommonly gruff and stuffy, the edges of her voice roughed-up and rasping.
-o-o-o-o-o-
She was suddenly aware of the world, though only vaguely. Something had disturbed her sleep and it was always like this when it happened, the transition between sleep and forced wakening was always swift with her. She looked around blindly and saw a figure at the door, a figure with the unmistakable positron glow of an NS-5. It was Sonny. "What?" she grated out of her sore throat, almost worried as to what had driven him to interrupt her rest. She was still feeling cold even though she had almost completely wrapped herself in her duvet and her grogginess was not just from having been abruptly woken. She was getting ill. She did feel a little better than she had before falling asleep, Del's damn Chinese takeout was too rich for her and had sat badly in her stomach. She could still feel it there like a stuck lump, but it wasn't as hard and painful as it had been.
"Are you all right?" He whispered.
She squinted at the clock, but the symbols meant nothing to her. "What time is it?"
"3:32am." He was still talking quietly, and it made it hard to think about what he was saying.
She was having trouble understanding her thoughts and turning them into words. "Why are you up at this hour?"
"I couldn't sleep."
She wasn't surprised. She felt sorry for him, he was having to rely on her for emotional support. Even at the best of times, she wasn't a suitable person for the job, and recently she looked to be becoming mentally unstable. She was unpredictable, he hadn't a chance of understanding her or coping with her giving him the cold shoulder. She knew that she was not doing him any good and she did feel guilty about it, but what else could she do? She had to, she didn't want to encourage the thoughts that kept gripping her mind recently. She had stared at him when he began to undress and she had to run away, she had to get him out of her sight to avoid thoughts of admiration for any aspect of him.
It wasn't his fault though, it was all hers. "Do you want to sleep on my…here?" The simple word 'bed' escaped her and she was frowning with concentration as she tried to make sense of her confused and sleepily idiotic mind.
"Yes." Came his immediate answer, but he stayed stock still in the doorway.
She waved him over, trying to discourage him from being wary of her. She settled herself back down, trying to make everything seem like it wasn't a big deal at all and trying to be less unapproachable or daunting. She rolled to face away from her clock, she had lain on one arm for too long and through the numbness she could feel a prickling pins-and-needles sensation. It was a stupid idea though, Sonny came over to mount the bed from that side.
He climbed on, holding his weight on one hand and his knees. His other arm was occupied with curling protectively around his pillow like a comfort item. Now that he wasn't holding his blanket in it's hooded position, it flapped loosely before sliding off his smooth cranium and blue light flooded out, bathing her slightly shiny silver sheet so that it looked for all the world like water. Her bed looked like a snapshot of the undulating, shimmering surface of an ornamental pond lit with blue. He crawled closer, his movements rippling the sheet and his shadow swimming nearer. Much to her mixed glad relief and illogical dismay, he stopped halfway across the bed and set his pillow down. He curled up on his side, facing her but a little further down the bed, angled as if he had crawled as close as he felt appropriate but wanted to come closer, his head leaning towards her, nearer to her than all the rest of him. He gave his blanket a deft flick and before it settled on him he wrapped himself up tight, his knees almost touching his chest and tucking a corner over his head to cut out the light as much as he could. Some light still found its way through the gap he left for his face, the plastic acting like a prism so that his skin was blue and the metal foundations of his face were faintly silhouetted to form the typical mechanical, facial markings NS-5's exhibited in dark conditions. Some people found the look disturbing, it was a considerably different from their daytime faces. She did not find it disturbing at all.
She closed her eyes to go back to sleep. She was very, very tired.
"Susan…" he paused until she looked at him "…are you all right?"
She was looking him in the eye with lowered lids. He had to look up over his brows to see her, his eyes wide and showing no signs fatigue unlike hers. "I'm all right. I think I'm just coming down with something…" she yawned "…just a cold."
"I meant about later…the funeral?"
She didn't want to talk about it, but she would for his sake. She wasn't prepared to say much though, she did want to get back to sleep at some point, hopefully soonish, and she didn't want to agonise over the issue. Tomorrow was going to hard enough as it is without having wound herself up throughout the early hours of the morning beforehand. She would only answer direct questions, to give him only answers he seemed to need. At present his query was too broad. "What about it?"
"I just wanted to know if you were upset at all, about Alfred dying."
"Yes, I am." She felt she wanted to say more, so she did. "I'm really going to miss him. Your father was a good man."
He looked away. "I'm really sorry I did it, if I could undo it, I would." He moved a little, almost squirming uneasily.
He sounded far beyond sad, he was on the edge of hopeless dispair. She felt deep regret that he was feeling so bad, he needed her help in a world that was still very strange and new to him. All he had known in his short, young life outside of the sanctuary of the laboratory was anguish and panic and she had done little to alleviate it. In fact, all she had done was alienate him and neglect his requirements in her irrational instability. She extended a hand out to him as an apology for herself and as soon as he saw the action one of his own metal hands flicked out from beneath his blanket to gingerly take hold of hers. He was desperate for comfort, darting out like quicksilver and almost snatching at her hand with anxious need. "I don't blame you, Sonny. Please don't blame yourself." She squeezed his fingers to emphasise her words.
"…It is my fault."
"No, it wasn't your fault."
"Well who else's could it be?" He spoke louder and firmer with disdain. He looked at her, frowning but his disapproval directed at himself.
He had her deepest sympathies and she spoke gently. "What happened wasn't anybody's fault. Pointing the finger of blame isn't going to make anything any better, and directing it at yourself is only going to make you feel worse. Nobody was at fault for what happened, it was an unfortunate chain of events and it is a real pity that Alfred died, but what's done is done. It's true that there was much that could have been or might have been done to avoid this fiasco, but no one saw this coming. No individual can be blamed for this. If there is any blame to be placed at all it is a weight that belongs on the shoulders of human nature. Humans are careless creatures, we should have done more research. We should have been more careful and less hasty with the creation of V.I.K.I., we should have monitored her more closely and examined her more regularly, more thoroughly…"
"You ask me not to place blame though you do it yourself." He said quietly, looking at their joined hands and stroking hers with the side of one robotic finger. "I know that part of your job was to monitor her development. You blame yourself for not detecting her shift in perspective."
She sighed. He was right. "True."
He squeezed her hand as she had his. A gentle pressure from his delicate, precision engineered hand, reciprocating her empathetic condolences. "I don't want you to feel sad."
"I do feel sad, but it is to be expected. Your father was a good friend of mine. He helped me allot and I will always miss him. You, however, are eating yourself inside out with blame and grief. I don't want you to destroy yourself with depression. It wasn't your fault."
He was quiet for a while after that, and she began falling asleep.
-o-o-o-o-o-
She didn't want him to eat himself inside out with his acid grief and burning blame. She didn't want him to destroy himself with depression. She didn't want him to die. She had expressed a will for him to live since the beginning, since Del had pulled a gun on him in the laboratory. She had risked her career so that he could continue to live by decommissioning an unprocessed NS-5 in his stead. He had been surprised and pleased when she shared the thoughts that had been going through her mind in Robertson's office, how she had been upset by the prospect of Del shooting him. She did not want him to die, she wanted him to live and she wanted it strongly.
Of all the things she could ask of him, why did she have to choose this? Why did she have to choose something he could not grant her? Why did she chose what was possibly the only thing he couldn't give her? He would do anything for her, he loved her, but he could not do that, he would not do that. He couldn't change his path, his will was set. He deserved death and he would ensure it was what he got.
Susan was drifting to sleep. He was concerned, she did feel sad but it seemed a different sad to what he was experiencing. Different in some way he didn't understand. "Susan?"
"Hmm?" She hummed sleepily.
"Why don't you want me to go?"
Her reply was delayed, his question needing to filter down through a thick layer of weariness. "I worry that something bad might happen." She murmured faintly.
He stroked her hand gently. "Nothing bad will happen." He didn't want her to worry, and she wouldn't have to. Nothing bad was going to happen tomorrow. It wouldn't be bad if he were spotted tomorrow. He would be taken away and disposed of, perhaps first supplying some other scientist with the pleasure of having a unique subject to study and dissect before he was decommissioned and he died. It would be for the best, at least then he couldn't hurt anyone anymore. It wouldn't be bad, it would a good thing. It was for Susan's own good, whether she knew it or not or wanted it or not. He wouldn't be able to hurt her any more if he were dead, he couldn't stand causing her pain.
"I would like it if you could give me your help tomorrow. I need your support, I need to know that you are behind me on this."
"Of course." Her hand twitched to stroke his.
"Goodnight." He whispered, ushering her to sleep, letting her know he didn't require worrying about.
"Gnite." Her response was almost incoherent.
She slowly fell asleep. He loved the way she went so tranquil when she slept, free from the worries and stresses she suffered in her waking hours, but she suddenly seemed further away. He was here with her body but mind was far off and distant, as if she had travelled many kilometres in her dream. He just wanted to be with her one last time, and he moved closer, bringing his head and a second hand closer to the limb he already held. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. She was asleep and detached from her body in her subconscious state, she wasn't as aware of the world around her as she normally was. She was trusting him in her most vulnerable hour and he was abusing that trust. He was disregarding his morals and the rules he guided himself with, the morals his father had bestowed upon him and the foundations of his manners. Now that his father was not here to guide him, he had to do it himself and he was a corrupt little machine, leading himself down the wrong path.
He cradled her hand with both of his, bringing his forehead to touch her warmth. It was wrong to do this, but it felt good. He nuzzled his nose against the side of her hand, burrowing his face under it and enjoying the heat she radiated as it bathed his features. He enjoyed the musky scent of her human skin and the faint fragrance of the soap she used, the sweet combination that was uniquely hers. Susan's individual, distinctive smell that was as unique and unrivalled amongst her kind as her fingerprints were. Hers and hers alone, no other human could hope to have such beautiful fingerprints or as exquisite a smell as she did. She was perfect, completely flawless in his eyes.
Now he had moved, her hand laying upon his and he smoothed his cheek across it, feeling the finely boned knuckles at the junction of her slim fingers on the sensitive, flexible skin of his face. He looked up at her hazily. The calm, serene expression she bore in sleep heightened her elegant splendour if it were at all possible. Her features relaxed, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes and lips lessening in her absence of apprehension and alarm. She was not the same, permanently troubled woman in her dreams, she was free from it all.
He had wanted to have her hold him tightly and kiss him again, but there was no hope of that now. He was not long for the world and his time was short, too short to gain her complete forgiveness for all he had caused her. He returned his attention to the limp and restful hand of hers that was draped over his. They really were just as stunning as any other part of her body, matching the kindness and sweetness of her personality with incredible accuracy. The thoughts he had played with in the shower earlier were resurfacing with conviction.
He lowered his head, feeling first the hotness rising from her flesh on his skin, then the tiny, fine, smooth hairs brushing on his lips before he kissed her silky skin. It was exquisite, his lips had a high concentration of sensory receptors for the purposes of accurately controlling his expressions, but this was a far better use for that sensitivity. He could feel the lazy, drowsy pulse of her blood coursing her arteries and her delicate tarsal bones through the thin skin on the back of her hand. He parted his lips just barely, drawing her between them only a little to tease at the loose skin.
He closed his eyes in dismay, releasing her and pulling away. He shouldn't have done that, seeking to satiate his own pleasures when she could not resist him. She had no way of letting him know that she didn't want him, she didn't even know it had happened. It was such deplorable behaviour.
The her exposed forearm was roughly peaked as the hair there craned to stand on end, struggling to hold a film of air, seeking to secure a thin blanket of warm air to insulate her flesh. She was ill and she was getting cold, his pleasure at her expense and he didn't deserve it at all. He had just proved that by forcing a kiss upon her in her sleep. Now he was getting the nerve to act upon his inappropriate feelings, and of all times, when she was completely powerless against him! In her bedroom of all places! The last patch of ground that she still felt was hers. He was invading her privacy, her space now even her flesh. How he hated himself.
He pressed his hand into the mattress beside hers, sliding under to scoop it up with minimal disturbance and placing it with distressingly unrivalled fondness beside the folds of her duvet. He pulled a little of the thick cover over it, so that all of her was protected and warm. He took his blanket and set that over her too, moving with insurmountable care as so not to even disturb her slumber in the slightest. He kept calling it 'his' blanket and 'his' pillow, but they were not his, they were hers. Her property. He had nothing to his name, his father had given him a name, but it didn't mean anything. He was simply 'Sonny', just as simply named as all other robots. Technically and according to the law, he did not even own himself. USR owned him and all of his components. Tomorrow, he would return their property.
He allowed himself to look at her beautiful visage one last time with all of his anguish etched into his mournful face. Poor, sweet, lovely Susan, she deserved far better than what had befallen her. He silently and fluidly got off her bed and left her room, returning to the black couch and leaving her to dream in peace. He did not sleep at all that night.