Act Fifteen – Interlude: Brush with the Past

"If I had known what would happen, I never would have let her go outside. I never would have let her out of my sight. But then thinking things like that is like thinking I could've done something to stop what happened. And I'm most certain that I could not have."

On my way outside, I passed an old man on the staircase. He paused, looking at me from under the wrinkled folds of his brow, and offered me a kind smile. "You look stunning this evening, my dear," he said in a kind voice. "Your father would be most proud of you this evening. You look every inch the young lady."

"What do you know of my father?" I asked in a quiet voice. It disturbed me that someone I did not recognize might recognize me. And then I got a better glimpse of his face as he turned me towards him.

I knew that face, from when Roger had trouble working through his last case, and from the long ago darkness of the 'operating room' table that was my creation place.

Gordon Rosewater.

I had thought the old man would be dead by now.

"Soldano was quite the craftsman. Even the real Dorothy would've been flattered by your likeness to her."

I did not quite know how to respond. As far as any of the other guests at the ball knew, I was just another escort to one of the guests, or maybe a guest myself. He turned to me and leaned over to take my gloved hand, kissing my cheek. But this particular guest was different. He knew me, most likely everything about me, and some things I did not know myself.

"You're warmer than she is, you know."

"Warmer than who?"

Dastun steps away from me, taking Nadine out onto the dance floor. I look for Dorothy, but she is nowhere in sight. I feel, suddenly, as nervous as she must have, standing beside me and excluded from the conversation. I hadn't realized how tense the air between us was, after David was left behind in the entrance hall. But there is no reason for my nervousness, and so I try to shake it off.

I look for Dorothy again, and cannot see her. Where would she go? In my glancing around, I find David talking quietly with a small knot of older businessmen. She isn't with him… and she wouldn't know anyone else to go and talk to…

"Long time no see, Roger Smith."

"Angel," I turn and find that she is right behind me, resplendent in her usual pinks, with her blond hair done up with gems in it.

"I was wondering if you could spare a dance for an old friend."

"You're hardly someone I'd call an old friend, Angel."

"We've not been through enough to be familiar with one another, you mean? I don't think that's entirely correct, Roger." She steps around in front of me. "You seem distracted by something."

"I am," I find my eyes still scanning the crowd, "escorting someone this evening, and she decided to take a step outside for some fresh air. I was just looking to see if she'd come back inside."

"That's not very gentlemanly of you, Roger, letting a lady see herself outside like that," Angel smiles brightly at me, and again I am struck by her beauty, and how empty it is. She might as well have been made a doll, the way that Dorothy was supposed to be.

Odd that I find her more human than I find Angel.

"You obviously don't know her so well."

"Who is she?" her voice is bright, and calls my eyes over to her. "Do I know her?"

But Angel can be just as human as any other woman. And just as jealous.

"You were the last person I'd ever have thought to have been particular about who I spend time with, Angel."

"Everyone has dreams, Roger Smith. Everyone."

I smile faintly at her. You can't help but admire such honesty, in such a spectacular environment, from such a beautiful woman, no less, it's almost impossible to ignore. I had been saving my dances for Dorothy, but under the circumstances…

"Would you like to dance, Angel?"

She blinks back the brightness in her eyes, and I can tell that there is a genuine look of shock on her face, not just random confusion. I extend a hand that she glances at mistrustfully for a moment, and then she finally takes it. "You're a dangerous man, Roger Smith," she says as I lead her out onto the dance floor.

"Dangerous for who?" I reply, stepping up to take her in my arms for the waltz.

"You endangered yourself by coming here, Roger. Why did you come?"

"It's not something I would expect you to understand, Angel."

"Because I'm a heartless monster?" her voice is empty, detached, and she leans her head to the side, eyes drifting away from me. "Appearances can be deceiving, Roger Smith."

"Now Angel, tonight is supposed to be a joyous occasion."

"This coming from the man who hates Paradigm?" She stills, drawing away from me as the large clock in the entrance hall begins to chime, not quite midnight. The strikes of the clock shake me, and she steps farther away. "You who celebrate nothing? That's a good joke, Negotiator."

Gordon had no answer to my question, but instead turned and walked over to the edge of the landing that overlooked the dance floor. He said nothing, but looked down very pointedly.

I thought he was talking about the "real" Dorothy Waynewright, whom I have never known.

But I was wrong.

It was seeing the two of them dancing that drove me out to the balcony, despite my curiosity at what Gordon had meant. I had decided that I was suitably reorganized to return to Roger Smith, mostly because it was safer, in my mind, than staying in Gordon's questionable presence, but once my eyes caught sight of the pink dress swirling with him on the dance floor, that all changed.

My hand lifted slowly to the shoulder of my own gown, much darker, made mostly of velvet, and I did not realize that I had the flower torn off and was crumpling it in my hand until the long pin in it stuck into my hand and I was alerted to what damage I was doing to my pseudoskin.

"You have done yourself damage, Miss Waynewright," Gordon said, looking sidelong at me.

At that, I turned and stalked out into the cold. I was not followed.

I was not programmed to be bothersome.

If he wished to spend his evening on the dance floor with that woman, then it was his choice, as far as I was concerned.

"Well I'd love to take up your entire dance card, Miss Angel…"

"Just Angel," she corrects swiftly. "I'd think that after so much time you'd be comfortable calling me that, Roger."

"As I said. I should look for my own escort." I glance up at the upper balcony. "And it appears that someone is watching the two of us rather intently. I'd hate to make Alex Rosewater jealous."

She flushes, and starts to say something before thinking better of it and sweeping a curtsy and heading towards a staircase with two guards at the foot of it.