"You're a remarkably stubborn man, Mr. Smith," Dr. Carter said to his patient, who appeared much better and was even sitting up in bed.
"I have often thought so too," Norman sighed. "Thank heavens."
Dorothy said nothing, but reached over to brush a few strands of hair out of Roger's eyes. Norman hoped it was his imagination, but she seemed to be moving slower than usual. She'd seen Roger through the worst of his illness these past several hours, holding his hand all the while, but now just as Roger was recovering she had begun to fade.
Hurry, Colonel, Norman wished silently. Please . . . .
As if in answer to the butler's prayer, a heavy-fisted hammering could be heard on the front door of the mansion.
"I'd better go see to that," Norman said hastily, and all but ran toward the entrance.
"Everything you wanted," Dastun panted from his own haste, handing Norman the box of cybernetic components. "Am I in time?"
"Not a moment too soon," Norman nodded. "I may need your help to get her to my workshop. I cannot tell you how glad I am to see you, Sir!"
"Roger all right?"
"He will be, though his illness was worse than I first thought." Norman carried the precious box into a side room and placed it in the dumbwaiter he used to transport items to and from his basement workshop. "Please, I fear we're running out of time."
Both men dashed upstairs to Roger's room, startling Dr. Carter.
"Jeez, Roger, you look like hell!" Dastun exclaimed, appalled at the change in his appearance.
"Thanks," Roger whispered back almost inaudibly, but with a weak smile.
Dastun had to agree with Norman's assessment of the situation, though, as Dorothy turned toward them. She was always pale of course, but now she looked more haggard than usual, and trembled slightly as she stood up to greet Dastun.
"Roger's condition is improving, Colonel," she said. "He should be well again soon."
"Glad to hear it," Dastun responded, taking off his hat. "How are you feeling?"
Dorothy seemed confused by the question. Dastun realized with some embarrassment he'd never treated her as if she were a real person before, and he'd caught her off guard.
"I am very glad Roger is better," Dorothy answered, and began to sway unsteadily on her feet. Dastun and Norman both rushed forward to prop her up before she could fall, and Roger struggled to get out of bed to reach her too. Dr. Carter had to lean his full body weight onto his patient's shoulders to hold him back.
"Dorothy . . . !" Roger whisper-shouted her name, and Dastun felt like a heel pulling her away out of his reach.
"Don't be alarmed, Sir," Norman said as he led her toward the door. "Miss Dorothy is in need of some maintenance, but Colonel Dastun has been kind enough to fetch the components I asked for. I'll have her fixed up in no time."
'No time' proved to be several nerve-wracking hours, during which it took Dastun and Dr. Carter's combined efforts to keep an anxious Roger from getting up and charging down to Norman's workroom in spite of his illness. While the doctor expressed astonishment at his patient's rapid recovery (and expansive vocabulary), Dastun found himself longing for the comparative restfulness of riot patrol. The military police officer also couldn't stop thinking about another woman, one with mischievous eyes and long blond hair . . . .
At last, Norman returned – and not alone. Dorothy, looking much more herself with her customary headband back in place, gave a small, glad cry as she saw Roger again and ran to his side. He wrapped his arms around her in a fierce hug and, completely oblivious of his audience, kissed her firmly on the lips. After recovering from her surprise, Dorothy responded with equal passion. Neither one even noticed as Norman, Dastun and Dr. Carter shuffled out of the room to give them some privacy. The doctor, though, required a bit of a shove before he took his disbelieving eyes off the couple and allowed Norman to shut the door.
"You will remind Mr. Smith he is not to engage in any strenuous physical activity, won't you?" Dr. Carter asked the butler.
"As soon as I have the opportunity to do so, doctor," Norman beamed. "Now if you gentlemen don't mind, I really must get back to my other patient."
"Other patient?" Dr. Carter said with incredulity.
"The one in the basement, of course."
Dastun practically choked with laughter as Dr. Carter muttered something about "crazed clients" and fled down to the sidewalk as fast as his legs would carry him. But the officer winced as he saw the hands on the mansion's grandfather clock and realized it was time for him to get back to work also. Putting his hat back on, he stretched and headed wearily toward his patrol car. Well, it's not as if he hadn't performed plenty of other shifts on no sleep . . . . and no food either . . . .
As he got in the vehicle, a familiar, welcome scent rose up from the passenger seat – donuts! A fresh bag of donuts was waiting for him, and an unopened auto-hot cup of coffee! As he reached into the bag, he saw a pair of angel wings scribbled on it in pencil.
"Son of a gun . . . ." He grinned so wide it practically made his cheeks hurt as he grabbed the first donut and wolfed it down with a lightness of spirit he hadn't felt in a long, long time . . . .
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