Chapter Text
Roz’s systems powered on before Fink had even started to open his eyes—more out of habit than any real need to begin her day. It was a routine she had developed around the same time she made the unspoken agreement with the fox that they would both take care of the little goose together. Fink had never explicitly told her that living under the same roof meant also taking responsibility for the canine, but she assumed that was how it had to be. As a goose expert, losing his help was certainly something she wanted to avoid, and she was a ROZZUM—robots of her kind were built for efficiency, and she didn’t have much else to do beyond her usual tasks. So having a couple of extra responsibilities was better than sitting idle in the clearing and letting her gears wear down.
At the usual time, Roz’s eyelids revealed the soft blue lights of her eyes, and she took a moment to take in the view of their shelter. Brightbill was still asleep in his little nest, and Fink... well, he clearly had no plans of waking up anytime soon.
It made sense—foxes were primarily nocturnal. That was probably why she still heard his footsteps padding softly through the shelter at night, when he thought Roz was asleep. She didn’t think to disturb his rest and let him sleep while she went to recharge. Every day was busy: aside from her usual duties—maintaining the shelter, tending to the garden—there were all the demands of caring for a gosling just a few weeks old, and also ensuring that Fink lacked nothing.
She thought of him for a moment as she sat down on the grass, her solar panels automatically absorbing the morning light, her body feeling a little lighter.
“Take care of Brightbill” was a recurring item on her task list. In fact, it was the only task she had actually been assigned, thanks to Pinktail. Back then, Roz had spent her time walking around the island looking for something to do, after the gosling accidentally broke her transmitter. That’s why she didn’t see a good enough reason to refuse the task when Pinktail suggested it—even though logic said she should, especially after all the hits and scratches she’d received from the island’s other inhabitants.
It was, by far, not the kind of task she had imagined herself doing when she first woke up at the foot of that massive cliff, before the waves dragged her and slammed her against the rocks. She used to believe that a task was to be completed as spontaneously as it was assigned, and nothing more. That’s why ROZZUM efficiency was indisputable. She did what she was told without hesitation, without objection, without delay.
This task was nothing like that.
Being a mother to another living creature was a far more complex responsibility than she had imagined. She clearly had no idea what to do whenever a new demand arose. Improvising wasn’t her strength—she was only programmed to follow instructions, not to invent them.
Every new need that came up was another task she had no idea how to complete.
Not because she was stupid—on the contrary, the amount of knowledge she held was impressive. For humans. In a wild environment, it wasn’t worth much.
No animal needed to go shopping, balance a budget, or design interiors. And the gosling—who had been left without a family because of her—needed someone to care for him.
That’s when Fink showed up.
Fink…
She had to admit that the first time she saw him, she hadn’t expected he’d end up being one of the few animals who tried to help her rather than run from her or attack her.
And she had good reason to think that way. After all, he had tried to steal her goose egg.
It took her a while to start trusting him, but over time, she gradually realized it was obvious that Fink would never turn against her, no matter how sarcastic or cynical he could be. It was simple mutual benefit: Fink would help raise Brightbill until he migrated and her task was complete, and Roz would provide shelter and help Fink survive.
Not like the only fox on the island had many other options. He had spent most of his life alone, and the idea of having the island’s “monster” treat his well-being as a priority was an appealing one.
Even though she was hardly a monster at all…
Roz didn’t think of him as anything more than a “survival partner.” She assumed Fink felt the same way, and that once everything was over, he’d go back to his solitary life as if nothing had ever happened. After all, the fox didn’t seem interested in turning their bond into something deeper. He laughed at her naivety often enough, and most of their interactions were limited to him trying to teach her everything he knew about survival. The closest she’d ever come to really getting to know him was when he told a story to Brightbill—something that had only lasted a few minutes. The next day, Fink acted like nothing had changed, and Roz had no reason to insist on digging into his past.
Her task was to care for Brightbill, and she figured she already worried more than enough about Fink.
Eventually, it would all end. There was no guarantee he’d be part of her future. And even if he was, her protocols didn’t say anything about bringing a fox with her to the factory.
Brightbill would leave, she would return to Universal Dynamics, and Fink would stay on the island. That was the way things were meant to be. Until then, Roz would make sure he survived.
She heard footsteps behind her. Some were soft and steady—Fink’s. The others were clumsy and bouncing, full of energy—Brightbill’s.
The fox approached sluggishly.
“You’re up already?” he asked, dragging his tail across the ground before lying down next to her. Brightbill followed a few steps behind, hopping and chirping enthusiastically.
“I need to recharge to begin my tasks,” she replied, just as Fink yawned and began grooming himself. Roz figured he probably wasn’t even really listening. “What are you doing awake? You usually sleep in.”
Brightbill reached them, running and fluttering around them with excitement. The fox lazily licked his paw and rubbed it over his face.
“Huh? Oh, that…” he stretched out his body, clearly annoyed by the gosling’s overwhelming energy, before continuing, “Your little goose is very energetic, you know that?”
Roz followed Brightbill with her eyes. She found him running, chirping, and hopping around Fink’s tail, which the fox had started swaying back and forth to keep it out of the gosling’s reach.
She turned to look at Fink.
“It makes sense. He’s only a few weeks old—it’s natural for him to be active and curious.”
Fink rolled his eyes, clearly annoyed.
“Yeah, yeah. Your logic, whatever…”
Roz blinked.
“Does that bother you?”
“No, it’s not that it bothers me, but… I’m about to lose my patience…”
Well, she couldn’t really blame him for that. She often felt like the task was wearing her down more than it should.
“He’s learning to move. It’s natural that he has a lot of energy. The efficiency of a goose’s motor system depends on physical activity. You should be more understanding of his developmental efforts.”
Fink stared at her, baffled.
“‘Efficiency of a goose’s motor system’... Are you seriously saying that?” he mocked, letting out a small laugh as he went back to licking his front paws and grooming his fur.
Roz didn’t seem to catch the sarcastic tone.
“Brightbill seems to learn faster when he’s constantly stimulated. That’s natural behavior during his developmental phase. As a goose expert, you should know that.”
Fink froze at the last sentence.
Goose expert.
He cursed the moment he’d decided it was a good idea to lie to her just to get closer.
He wasn’t especially upset at how Roz said it—he knew she didn’t mean anything by it—but he felt like an idiot for not realizing she would remember that little detail. Now he had to stick with the lie no matter what.
He didn’t raise geese. He ate them. And he had absolutely no idea how a goose developed.
He forced the most convincing smile he could manage.
“Uh… yeah! Yeah, of course. Motor system efficiency… sure.”
Roz chose not to dwell on his hesitation.
“I’m glad you acknowledge it. I imagine you’ve spent a lot of time observing them, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, yeah. An experienced observer, that’s me…” he said awkwardly, using that overly casual tone he always used when trying to pretend everything was fine.
“I thought so.”
The certainty in Roz’s voice only made him feel more uncomfortable.
He went back to grooming, hoping the topic was closed.
By then, Brightbill had apparently decided he couldn’t reach the fox’s tail through regular fluttering. So, at one point, he made one of his biggest leaps yet and managed to grab Fink’s tail with his beak, pinching it. The fox’s body tensed immediately, and he let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a yelp.
Fink and Roz turned at the same time and saw Brightbill in midair, hanging on tightly to the fox’s tail, his expression somewhere between joy and pride as he flapped his little wings excitedly.
“That’s enough, Brightbill! I’m not your toy!” Fink shouted, swishing his tail. The gosling didn’t let go.
Roz watched the scene with something resembling amusement, letting out a sound close to laughter.
She remembered grabbing his tail and shaking him to make him drop the stolen goose egg the first time they met.
“That’s enough, Brightbill,” she said gently, reaching out her hand. Brightbill released his grip and landed in her palm. He hopped onto her chest plating and rubbed his face against her neck.
Fink huffed.
“I’m gonna go insane before he even learns how to swim…”
Roz didn’t answer. She was likely thinking that staying still while recharging was the most efficient use of energy, so she didn’t move.
When her interface signaled that her battery was fully charged and her lights glowed green, Roz adjusted her posture and rose smoothly from the grass. Brightbill was still chirping and laughing on her body, full of the energy of someone eager to explore the world.
Fink didn’t move.
“I’ll tend to the garden and run a check on the shelter,” Roz said. “Could you watch Brightbill in the meantime? I’d like to make sure he gets enough exercise, and I don’t want him getting into trouble.”
The fox’s ears twitched, and his tail started to swish slightly.
“Me?” he asked, incredulous, as if the request were some kind of cruel joke. “Can’t you take care of your own little goose?”
Roz chose to ignore the sharp tone.
“I assure you, you’ll be more efficient than I am, Fink. Brightbill needs company, and you’re the only one with the necessary experience to supervise him.”
As she spoke, she let Brightbill hop onto her metal hand, and gently placed him on Fink’s back.
“Experience”?
“Rozzum…” Fink muttered, condescending, clearly growing tired of Brightbill now bouncing happily across his fur. “I’m a fox, not a babysitter. And seriously—who needs supervision to hop around? The kid seems to be enjoying himself.”
Roz ignored his complaint.
“Brightbill is at a developmental stage where his activity should be guided. A structured and orderly environment will support his well-being. You don’t have to be his teacher—just make sure he doesn’t do anything dangerous while I complete my tasks.”
Fink sighed in frustration and stood up, intent on getting Brightbill off his back. But the slight delay in his movements betrayed the fact that he didn’t want to be rough with him. The gosling tumbled gently to the ground and stood at one of the fox’s paws, looking up at him like he was ready to follow him anywhere.
“Fine. I’ll do it…”
Roz’s lower eyelids lifted softly—the closest her face could come to a smile.
Fink pretended not to notice.
Or that he found it a little cute every time she did that.
“Thank you, Fink.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever…”
And Roz walked away without saying another word.
Fink stood still for a moment, just watching Brightbill hopping and flapping around him.
He had no idea where to start.
He knew Roz trusted him, and that thought made him more uneasy than he was willing to admit. No one had ever trusted him like that since—
Well, never.
He wasn’t a caretaker. He wasn’t a father—not that he remembered anything about his own—and he was definitely not a “goose expert.”
And yet there he was, with a bright-eyed little gosling at his paws, and himself wishing someone else would take over so he could go back to sleep.
He sighed.
“Can’t you stay still for one second?” he muttered, exasperated.
Brightbill chirped in reply—so loud it almost sounded like a child’s laugh. He clearly didn’t understand the fox’s frustrations.
He just wanted to play.
Fink’s ears drooped in irritation, but when he saw the small figure stumble and then get back up again, something in his tone softened, even though he tried to hide it.
“I’m not your friend, got it?” he said quietly, as if it were a warning, almost more to himself than to the gosling. As usual, Brightbill paid no attention.
Another sigh.
He started walking slowly toward the nearest meadow, taking the lead in something he had no desire to do. Brightbill followed without hesitation. Fink glanced sideways at him and, for the first time in his life, felt something close to responsibility. It was still a burden, sure—but now it felt different.
Brightbill tried to leap onto a rock, tripped, and landed on the ground with a frustrated peep. Fink didn’t think twice before helping him up, nudging him gently with his paw.
“You should probably learn to land first,” he muttered with sarcasm—or at least tried to sound snarky. The gosling didn’t catch the tone and simply decided to try again.
For a moment, Fink just stared at Brightbill with a mix of disbelief and amusement, his usual nonchalant attitude giving way to the reality of having to care for him. He still thought it was ridiculous—but Roz trusted him. And deep down, he knew he didn’t want to let her down.
Brightbill made another jump, a little more calculated than the last, and managed to land gracefully on the ground. Fink didn’t say a word, but a subtle flicker of pride settled in his chest as he watched the little gosling make progress—even if he wasn’t exactly the best teacher in the world.