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Description
  The first memory that unit B.O.B. ever collected was that of a tiny, squirming infant.
"Keep an eye on her. If she cries, don't bother soothing her. She'll cry it out eventually. She's just doing it for attention."
That is what the masters said to him before they left. His very first orders. Instructions. Unit B.O.B. was designed to follow those.
The infant slept for the first part of the day after the parents left. As the sun rose, unit B.O.B. closed the curtains, in order to keep the light level suitable for human sleep. Other than that, the environment did not change. Humidity and temperature stayed constant.
That is why unit B.O.B. did not understand why the infant had woken up. She opened her eyes slowly, and stared up into his optics.
Unit B.O.B. first mistook the opening of her mouth for a tired yawn. Instead, what came out was a quiet whimper. Unit B.O.B. instinctively cocked his head in question.
The next sound the infant made was a scream. Tears came out of her eyes. She squirmed, kicking her legs up towards the ceiling. There was more screaming.
Unit B.O.B. scanned her carefully. She had already eaten, and was not due to eat for two more hours. Her diaper did not need changed. There was no reason for this sudden outburst. Unit B.O.B. remembered the orders he had been given.
The screaming became louder, much louder. Snot was coming out of the infant's nose, and she hiccuped before letting out another shrill wail.
Unit B.O.B. was designed to follow orders.
The noise the infant was making grew to a decibel level that he had not thought possible. The infant then rolled over in her crib, and grew quiet, sniffling softly. This scared unit B.O.B. This was not normal infant behavior. This was cause for concern. Enough concern to break protocol.
Unit B.O.B. approached the crib. With a single finger, he reached in and gently wiped the infant's tears away. She looked up at him, and her screaming picked up once more. Unit B.O.B. withdrew his finger and stepped away from the crib. His systems reeled in horror as he realized what he had done. The masters had said not to interfere with the infant's crying, but he was the one who caused it. He had failed to follow orders. He was dysfunctional.
If he was dysfunctional, he should send a recall order to the Omnium and deactivate. At the factory, his systems would be reset, and any dysfunctional programming would be purged.
However, deactivating right now would leave the infant without any attendance. Unit B.O.B. decided this would trouble the infant, and the masters, more. So he stood vigil.
But the infant's shrill shrieks still pierced the air. Unit B.O.B. decided that, if he could not follow orders, then his best course of action would be to solve the problem he caused.
He approached the crib once more. The infant's crying increased as he came into her view. He gently wrapped his hands around her, lifting her up out of the crib. He cradled her against his chest and began to rock back and forth.
Slowly, the infant's crying died down. Unit B.O.B. continued to rock her until she stopped squirming. Eventually, she let out a content giggle.
Unit B.O.B. returned her to her crib as gently as he had taken her. The infant blinked a few times and smiled up at him.
That was unit B.O.B.'s first meeting with baby Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe.

A year later, unit B.O.B. had entirely dismissed the idea of deactivating himself and sending out a recall order. Every day he watched over baby Elizabeth (which he now called her by; "the infant" was no longer a respectful title, he deemed,) and made sure that she was safe and happy.
  Breaching the masters' orders was his second nature now. He regularly engaged with baby Elizabeth whenever she was upset, and took measures to ensure that she was content. He began taking her out of her crib as soon as the masters left the household, allowing her to play on the ground freely. Occasionally, he convinced himself to play with her, citing the tried and true logic that protocol had already been broken.
Unit B.O.B. took special notice when she began to brace herself against the walls of her crib and stand on her feet. He felt- no, unit B.O.B. was not designed to feel; rather, he noted that this progress on baby Elizabeth's was. . . exemplary. He began to help her with her progress, holding her up as she imitated the motions of walking.
When the masters came home, unit B.O.B. made sure to return her to her crib where she belonged. When the masters came into the room, baby Elizabeth stood up in her crib to see them.
During the celebration that followed was the first time unit B.O.B. had seen baby Elizabeth held by someone other than himself.

Two years later, baby Elizabeth Caledonia was now toddler Elizabeth Caledonia. Instead of a crib, she was confined to her room. It was unit B.O.B.'s job to ensure she didn't leave, and, as a secondary objective, to develop her speech capabilities.
He had several speech lessons installed into him to assist at this objective, but he found that toddler Elizabeth did not respond well to his automated voice. He instead preferred to invent his own lesson: what he called the "point and repeat" method. He would point to an object in the room and use a recording from a nearby radio broadcast to label it, and toddler Elizabeth would repeat it.
  Coincidentally, the clearest-sounding radio broadcast station was a nearby country station. Unit B.O.B. did not think this would have any impact on her speech capabilities, however.
One day, however, toddler Elizabeth did something unexpected. Instead of listening to unit B.O.B.'s lesson, she pointed directly at him.
"Wha's that?" She asked, and repeated. "Wha's that?"
Unit B.O.B. looked behind him.
"Noooooo."
Toddler Elizabeth walked towards him and put her hand on unit B.O.B.'s leg.
"This." She said firmly.
Unit B.O.B. brought his hand to his chest.
"Wha's this called?" She pressed firmly on his leg.
Unit B.O.B. hesitated. His full unit name would not be pronounceable nor memorable to her. Nor was it being broadcast on any nearby radio stations.
The three year old bounced up and down in anticipation. "Come on come on come on!"
Unit B.O.B. decided that a modified name would be necessary. The acronym of his name made an easily-pronounceable, one-syllable word. He scanned the radio stations again. He quickly caught the word of off a passing commercial, and played it out for toddler Elizabeth to hear.
  She giggled at the corny cartoon voice recording.
"Your name is 'Bob'?" She said between giggles.
Unit B.O.B. nodded.
"I'm Eli- Elisibet." She stumbled on the vowels. "Your name is gooder."
Unit B.O.B. felt- no, he wasn't designed to feel; rather, something, well, developed in his processor that was similar to the human emotion of affection.
In fact, he liked it so much that he determined the name "unit B.O.B." was far too long to be necessary. "Bob" was much shorter and much more fitting.
"Show me more words, Bob!" Toddler Elizabeth pulled on his leg again, pulling him out of his thoughts.
Bob gave her a pat on the head. She grinned. He then began with the lesson.

At four years old, toddler Elizabeth's parents were horrified to discover that she spoke with a thick lower-class southern drawl. Their theory was that she had perhaps inherited it from her late grandfather. Bob did not tell them the real truth. Plans were made to send her to speech therapy, but those plans never came to fruition. Instead, Bob noticed that both masters now subtly avoided speaking to their child.

"Hey Bob, when are mother and father coming?"
Soon-to-be-six year old Miss (she was far to old to be called a "toddler" anymore) Elizabeth kicked her legs under the table as she sat. Bob shrugged in response.
"Why don't you know? You know everything!" She pouted. "When will the cake be ready?"
Bob held up 5 fingers.
"Five minutes? Mother and father better be comin' back soon." She crossed her arms.
Bob went back to the kitchen as the scent of chocolate filled the air. He couldn't look at her any longer. Bob couldn't bear to imagine the look on her face when she learned the truth. He had learned, by tracking the plane's location, that the master's business flight had made an extra stop in a resort in the Caribbeans on its way home. Her parents would not arrive for another day or two. They would be more than late for her birthday.
The oven beeped. Bob opened it and took the cake out. He got the strawberries and frosting out of the fridge and began to decorate it. Lastly, he put six candles on top. He lit them, one by one, with a small electric spark from his finger.
He picked up the cake, but he paused before walking out of the kitchen. He shook off the. . . not a feeling, but the knowledge of her disappointment. He stepped into the dining room.
Miss Elizabeth had set the table with four plates. Two for the masters, her parents. Bob could not figure out who the fourth one was for. Miss Elizabeth said nothing as he placed the cake down on the table, and took a step back.
She eventually spoke. "Are they comin'?"
  Bob wanted to nod, but he couldn't lie to her. It was against his programming. He shook his head.
  As predicted, he heard sobs came shortly after. Each sob seemed to blast a hole in his logic processor. He could feel. . . sadness. There was no denying it this time.
He went and stood next to Elizabeth's chair. She covered her face. The makeup, which he had helped her put on this morning, was smudged on her hands. Bob then reached down and patted her head. She did not stir. Gently, he stroked her arm.
Suddenly, she stood up in her chair and leaned against his chest. She rubbed her face against his suit jacket, smearing her tears against it. She wrapped her arms as far as they would reach around his torso.
Bob froze. Then, slowly, he reached his arms around her as well.
He stayed that way until Miss Elizabeth pulled away. She rubbed her eyes and nose clean before sitting down again. Eventually, she spoke.
"Why aren't they coming?"
Bob didn't have an answer for her.
"Come on. You know." She looked him in the optic, then looked down again. "Did they forget?"
Bob had come to a conclusion about this query. Luckily, it was not supported by evidence, so it was not technically "lying" if he did not tell her. Instead, he shrugged.
"You're right, of course they didn't!" Miss Elizabeth came to her own conclusion. She then got up out of her seat and cleaned up two of the plates on the table. She climbed up on the cabinet containing all of the plates and put them back.
She returned, then gestured to the remaining plate. "Come, sit."
Bob cocked his head.
"This cake ain't gonna eat itself!" She responded.
Bob obeyed, sitting in the dining chair. It was a little small for his size, but he made it work.
"Now, cut me a piece."
Bob took the knife from off the plate. He hesitated, before cutting the cake in quarters. He gave one quarter to Miss Elizabeth. She smiled, before grabbing her fork and digging in. He watched.
She paused her eating and looked up at him. She spoke with a mouth full of cake. "Aren't you gonna have some?"
Bob shook his head, tapping the place where a mouth would be if he was human.
"Oh." Pieces of cake came out of her mouth as she laughed.
She continued to devour her slice. As she did so, Bob played an automated rendition of "Happy Birthday".
  Miss Elizabeth looked up and smiled. Her teeth were covered in chocolate stains.
Bob took a picture of her smile, saving it to his internal hard drive. It was an image he wanted to have for the rest of his lifetime with her, however long that would be. He hoped it would be for many more birthdays after this one.