Title: As There Are Stars at Night
Chapter 1: A Change
Author: Ista of the Dreamers
Rated: G-PG13...I guess
Disclaimer: I don't own any of them, and I never came up with the characters or the movie...darn
Stuff: This is my first fan fic devoted to A.I., and I hope that all who read it, like it. Those who have not seen the movie may not understand some of what is going on, but most things are clear, I hope. :) Please give me feedback if you'd like, but give me a chance. I only saw the movie a week ago., so...I just like writing, and hope to write more in the future.
As There Are Stars at Night
Gigolo Joe placed his right hand on the doorknob to room 186.
He had been released that morning by the police almost as soon as he had been captured, flown by helicopter back to Rouge City, then to Haddonfield. By what officers told him was his dumb luck, the man who had actually killed Samantha Bevins had been apprehended around dawn because of suspicious activity. The man had confessed to the killing, which made Joe free to go. There were also a few kind words put in on his behalf from a certain Professor Allen Hobby concerning Joe's help with a particular project of his, which he would not give clear details on.
"Just make sure that that Mecha is well cared for," was the professor's personal wish, and the police had no reason to debate with him. The Professor was a man of great importance, his influence extending through many branches of the government and business.
So Gigolo Joe was released, with a brand new green registration label attached where he had cut the old one away. He was fully operating, fully back in business to continue what he was programmed to do. Though he wasn't especially excited about returning to his old job, for some strange reason. What was he supposed to tell the police? Thank you? For once in his life, he had found a true friend, a friend that cared about him, that needed his help. The police had separated him from the little Mecha called David, and he would never see him again. David HAD a purpose with which to keep living. He loved somebody. But what reason had Joe to live? He didn't love anyone. He wasn't programmed to love in that pure, warm, friendly way.
Joe never said a word to his captors. He simply walked out of the station and onto the street where he stayed a long time until it began to get dark . . . and he began getting customers.
He had walked up the stairs, some people noticed, with a little less bounce and flair as usual, without so much as a twist, or a turn, or a swirl of his black jacket that glimmered in the dark. Most people liked Joe. He was well mannered, more than most Mechas. Some women at the motel had shivered as he had shuffled past them, and up the stairs. They reached for their phones to reserve time with their Joe.
"Be happy, ladies," the motel owner said with a smile. "Joe's back."
So now Joe was in front of the door of the lady who was waiting for him. He was stopped, but why? He was programmed to open the door. Hadn't he opened this door before? Hadn't he been in this motel before? Yes, he had, and it was blue on the outside, and creamy beige on the inside, and the candy machine down the hallway was always broken. Orga were always complaining about it, and he would laugh with them. And the window by that machine held a great view of the city. You could see the stars shining out of it every night.
Joe shook his head as something inside of him stopped. His hand clutched the doorknob, it turned, and he entered.
She was lying on her side on the bed, wearing a red velvet dress, head propped gently on delicate fingers. She was watching him, eyes on his every move as he walked into the room and closed the door behind him. Her dark hair was cut short, shorter than to her shoulders. She had had him before, or had she? He couldn't remember, or it was that he didn't choose to? As a reflex, his head cocked sideways very quickly and an old love song began playing inside him, but she could hear it too. Her lips curled upwards.
"Hey, Joe. Whaddya know?"
His voice would not come. Instead, he remained silent. He was thinking his approach through.
"Where've you been, Joe? I've been trying to see you for ages."
He shrugged and moved closer.
"Was she better than me, Joe?"
"No," he whispered, edging onto the bed, though it did not bring him any satisfaction, strangely enough. It was cold.
Her hands sneaked to his shoulders, rubbing gently.
"You're so quiet tonight, Joe . . . almost tense."
He merely looked at her.
She laughed and lay back. "It's all right, though. Somehow, the silent type suits you . . . but not in those clothes."
Her hand reached for his jacket to pull it away, but she drew it back. Joe could tell she wanted something else.
"I want poetry first, Joe. I want sweet talk and soft words. Make love to me through your words."
He sat straight on her bed, but somehow, the words did not come. Was something inside him malfunctioning, or was he just not finding any inspiration? Instead, he leaned forward, taking her gently in his arms. She didn't mind, simply smiled, and allowed herself to be taken by him. His head came down to hers. She closed her eyes, ready for the first sweet kiss of the night. Joe was about to close his eyes as well when he stopped.
She lay there, eyes closed, breathing soft, and steady. Ready. Ready, Joe.
What was wrong with him? He couldn't complete the gesture of affection.
No, he mouthed.
Her eyes opened, questioning.
"I . . ." He finally found his voice. "I can't do it."
*End of Chapter 1*
If you'd like me to continue, I will post the next chapter soon. Thank you for reading this! :)