He had yelled at her again, for his typical morning wake up call. If he woke up at what she considered a reasonable hour it wouldn't be necessary, or she could play something else. Not like he would ever bother asking. He should be grateful she cared enough to rouse him at all. Had she not he would have missed an appointment he had later this morning.

She sighed internally. She could have done so outwardly had she wanted to, but thought it would just irritate him further. Well, not that she minded irritating him.

"Could you not play the piano first thing tomorrow morning?" Roger growled, still obviously annoyed with her. "Try using another method in the morning if I have to get up at what you consider to be a reasonable hour."

This interaction had set her to thinking, circuits firing and looking for some alternative. She knew of gentler ways to wake someone from their slumber, but while the idea of waking Roger with a kiss amused her, she did not think he would appreciate the sentiment. There were also less gentle ways. A cup of cold water, or pulling the blankets off of him, or just tipping his bed over. The former option would mean having to do more laundry, and the latter would probably receive a worse reaction than her piano playing.

Well, no matter, now that breakfast had passed and Roger had left, she would help Norman take care of the house.

"Miss Dorothy, would you mind helping me with a rather cumbersome task?" The elderly butlers request brought her back to reality. He was standing in front of the storage room, carrying a large box.

"Of course, Norman." She took the heavy box from him, allowing him a chance to open the door.

"In here, if you wouldn't mind."

"No." She placed the heavy box down. For her the weight was nothing, but she could tell that Norman was tired from having carried the box as far as he had. The store room was filled with old boxes of various items, typical things people stored away, clothes and things people couldn't quite bear to part with but had no real use for. Dorothy never did quite understand the human emotion of sentimentality. "What do you require my help with, Norman?"

Norman looked around the room with his one good eye, and gave a weary sigh. "Master Roger has finally decided it is time to clean out the more, useless, items from the store room."

"That seems like a logical decision, coming from him."

"Yes, quite right." The elderly gentleman pulled a small list from his waistcoat pocket. "However, there is much else to be done around the house. Not to mention that I need to visit a few shops in town to buy parts for Big O's repairs…" He sounded exasperated. Dorothy knew, that while Norman would never admit to it, he tired more easily recently. Big O and Roger had been in quite a few fights, and the repairs were both time and energy consuming. Dorothy had begun to help with the repairs, and had even started cooking some of the smaller, simpler meals.

"I'll take care of it. What did Roger want removed from the storage room, and what did he want done with it?"

"Ah, he asked that many boxes from the years 30 and 35 be sorted out, and all the, shall we say, grungier clothing, is to be donated."

Her circuits fired quickly, as she realized those years would be Roger's teenage years. "What of the other objects that may be in those boxes?"

"The records, papers, and other objects may be kept. But those in broken and unusable conditions are to be throw away." He seemed relieved at her offer to do this for him. Norman showed her where those boxes where in the room, in a dark corner where the lights barely reached. It was at times like this she was glad to have a built in headlamp.

She set to work sorting through the boxes. There weren't many, but all of them held some rather interesting items. As Norman had said, the clothing was rather grungy. A leather jacket well worn with rips and frays at the edges, jeans and slacks with rips in the legs, flared out ends and large metal belt loops. Suspenders with metal bangles. Dorothy felt much of this clothing would be found on those teenagers that called themselves, what was it again? Punks, that was it, punk rockers. This clothing had to have been Rogers in his late teens, but Dorothy found it hard to believe that he had even actually worn these.

She had finished sorting out the last box, which had held a number of records and discs, when a black case caught her eye. It had been hidden in the corner, and she hadn't paid it much mind while cleaning. But now that her task was done, she could let curiosity get the better of her.

She clicked open the case, and the object inside brought her back to the argument she had with Roger that morning. 'This could work….'

The next morning a blaring of an amplifier forced Roger from his rest, and to his feet before he had a chance to even wake. 'She didn't! Dorothy wouldn't….' He never had a chance to finish the thought. Before he reached the door, the sound of string being strung, and the roar of an old punk rock anthem reverberated through the lounge.

He flung the door open to see his worst nightmare come to life in his living room. There was Dorothy, near the fireplace, amp and electric guitar plugged in. If that wasn't shocking enough, she was wearing some of his old worn out clothing. The pants and jacket far too large for her small frame, but what she had done with the suspenders, making them cover her chest in a way that would make Angel jealous at how much it showed, but also exposed her midriff. He had to avert his eyes quickly.

He wasn't sure what song she was attempting to sing, as the blare of the guitar drowned her out, but when she finished playing she turned the amplifier off and gave him a cheerful good morning, at least he thought it sounded that way. For a another minute or so his brain tried catching up with what he had witnessed. When it had he was finally able to speak.

"Dorothy, what the hell are you wearing?"

"Some of your old grunge clothing. I'll change back into my dress before breakfast."

"Ok, but… why? And how did you get the suspenders too...?" He didn't want to admit it, but the sight of Dorothy dressed up like she was... It was rather cute. He left the question off, feeling it better left unsaid.

Dorothy looked down at her outfit, as if only just then noticing the scandalous nature of it. "Oh, I felt that if I was going to wake you up with the electric guitar, I should dress the part." She began unplugging the amp and guitar, so that she could put them away. The sleeves of the jacket made her look smaller than she was. "The suspenders are a bit tricky, and if I don't change soon they might actually fall off."

Again, it took his brain a second to catch up to what he had heard, but by that time it was too late, for Dorothy had left the room. All he could do was yell after her, "R. Dorothy Wayneright! Where did you learn the guitar!" He really needed to do something about her.

We Have Come to Terms

I got this idea from a little omake manga I found on Japanese twitter some time ago, but only now did I have time to write it.