Almost Human Advent Calendar 2015

The room was dimly lit as Dorian sat at his desk, his right hand spread wide over the charger.  It was so small now, portable too, he could have taken it with him to the Christmas Eve party and charged there, but right now he wanted to be alone.  He wanted to remember.

“I’m dreaming of a white Christmas.  Just like the ones I used to know,” he hummed to himself.

It had always snowed in the city at Christmas time, some years more than others.  He vividly recalled one year it had snowed so much that he ended up pushing the cruiser to the precinct one morning, with John yelling the entire way of course.

He remembered so many, many things like that.

He remembered the way Sandra rolled her eyes whenever she got a bottle of red nail polish during the Secret Santa exchange.  But she always wore that exact shade for the next month anyway.  The way Valerie had reveled in their time together no matter how small it was sometimes.  How after one too many eggnogs one year she revealed that she didn’t have any family to celebrate with.  Richard had put his arm around her and declared that they were her family.

“Complete with an annoying little brother,” Richard had quipped while looking at John.

Everyone had laughed.

Dorian closed his eyes.

In the later years his friend’s children started coming to the Christmas parties.  Running through everyone’s legs and cheering at the way his lights glowed.

The charging cycle finished and Dorian got up.  Going over to far wall he traced his fingers over the frame that held his citizenship certificate.

He remembered that Christmas too.  The way Sandra had just beamed as she handed him the wrapped box.  The way he had beamed back as he held the proof that he wasn’t police property anymore and never would be again.

He moved over and traced his fingers over the degree that hung beside it.  It had been necessary to pursue a new career and take a full name after so long, and Dorian knew he was still helping people and that was what mattered.  That didn’t stop it from feeling strange every now and then especially now, so far away from Earth, when it was so easy to miss his old life and those who had filled it.

A knock on the door broke Dorian out of his melancholy musings.

“Come.”

The door swooshed open and his colleague poked his head into the room.

“Hey, Dorian, are you coming to the party?  I want to know how many eyes are going to be looking out for Jim when he does something stupid.”

“Yeah.”

He followed McCoy out and to rec room three.  It still amazed him that some six generations hence there was someone who could look so much like John.  Dorian had often thought about telling him about the connection they shared, but he didn’t think the right time had come yet.

The party was already in full swing as they entered.  McCoy was quickly accosted by Jim and dragged off for ‘fun’.  Dorian weaved his way through the crowds and came to stand by Spock by the punch bowl.

“Doctor, M’Benga.”

Dorian nodded, but before he could do anything else Janice Rand came up to him.

“Hey, Dorian, would you like to dance?”

His first instinct was to tell her no.  With his mind on other things, other people all long gone now that he wouldn’t be good company, but her blue eyes were shining with excitement and a perfect match for Rudy’s.  He couldn’t help himself.  

“I’d love to.”           

MXs dressing up as Santa Claus during Xmas and going to orphanages. John looks at Dorian and asks him if he used to do that too. Dorian says: “No, I used to dress up as Krampus and I hunted down criminals on Christmas Eve.”

Or, alternatively: 

Every Christmas Rudy bypasses the MXs restrictions and permits them to experience basic emotions, then he takes them around the city and asks them to find every stray animal who is cold and alone, so that they can bring them to a pet shelter. Every Christmas, half of those animals are actually stinky sewer rats.

The Mendel campus was tense as the students waited the last few seconds for the holidays to officially begin.  Then at last the final bell rang.

“Have a good holiday everyone I’ll see you in the New Year.”

The teacher’s farewell was barely heard in the mad scramble for bags and the scraping of chairs on the floor as people raced for the doors. 

Lila Hoving didn’t rush out with them.  Instead she slowly packed up her things and walked calmly to her locker to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything.  Then she sighed and glanced down the hallway were a crowd had gathered to look at the exam results.

She really should go check them, it would be the first thing her mom would ask about when she got home…but Julian was waiting for her they agreed to meet at the south entrance.  She could still look at them she decided it wouldn’t take long.

She got have halfway down the hallway when her eyes were covered by someone’s hands.

“Hey.”

She turned around and Julian dropped his hands around her shoulders.

“Hey, Julian.”

“Thought we agreed you weren’t going to look at those.”

“I know I just…you know my mom.”

“So, she can look them up on the app later, Lilia, come on.”

“Okay.”

They turned away from the crowd and headed outside.  Then they sat down next to the holiday display that had been set up.

“What were you doing on that side of campus anyway?” she asked.  “I thought we were going to meet over by your math class.”

“I got called in to see Mr. McFly.  My dad’s in the hospital again.”

“Julian, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah.”    

She hugged him.

“Hey, if I can’t worry about my grades you can’t worry about him.  He’ll be fine.”

He hugged her back.

“Thanks.”

“Are you two actually going to kiss under there or did Wollenberg finally realize he can do better?”

“Shut up, Marshall!”

Marshall thankfully left and Lilia and Julian looked up to see that someone had ripped a piece of plastic mistletoe off the display and stuck it to the post they were sitting under.

“I guess we should, it’s tradition right?”  Lilia said.

“Lilia, we don’t-”

She cut him off by pressing her lips to his.  It was a bit too forceful and it took a second for Julian to get comfortable and respond, but he did and just for a moment all was right with their world.  

1.      Miracles

Dorian joined in decorating the office space with the rest of the crew while the MXs stood stoic guard around the perimeter.  He diligently untangled the strings of lights that Detective Valerie Stahl and Detective Richard Paul then draped around a six foot plastic replica of a Douglas Fir tree.  Richard griped and grumbled that it was a waste of taxpayer time while Valerie smiled indulgently at his grumpiness.  At one point, she produced a red cap trimmed and tasseled with white fuzzy cotton and, laughing, pulled it down over Richard’s ears while calling him the Grinch.  He tried to sustain his pretense of irritability but, in the face of her playfulness, he couldn’t help but grin. 

Other officers and administrative staff were pasting huge sparkling stars and stockings with multi-colored stripes on the walls; others, including John Kennex, were draping fake evergreen boughs on desks and cabinets.  John, like Richard, looked like he’d rather undergo a root canal than decorate the office but Sandra had made it clear that she expected everyone to jump in and get it done quickly and cheerfully.  She said it was a question of teamwork, of celebrating the season of joy and giving (John had snorted quietly but plastered a compliant expression on his face when she glared in his direction).  She bit her lip and shook her head; he sighed and nodded and Dorian wondered at their unspoken communication, the understanding that existed between the two of them. 

Wondered if he and John would ever achieve a similar level of familiarity and trust, of understanding and appreciation, that words were no longer necessary.

Dorian had accessed the date banks and had acquired a comprehensive knowledge of the history of the seasonal celebrations, of how various so-called pagan rights had been incorporated into Christian celebrations of the nativity, and of how the post-modern sensitivity in the early decades of the century ensured celebrations of the beliefs of other cultural groups, like Hanukah and Kwanza during the holiday season.  Dorian had also been treated to both John and Rudy’s scathing assessment of how the spiritual had been overtaken by the commercial to such an extent that it was all pretty much only about shopping now. 

Dorian wasn’t so sure about that; he’d heard people talking about what the season meant to them, about being thankful for their families and friends, about the importance of sharing with the less fortunate.  He’d overheard whispered exchanges about the gifts being planned for the ‘Secret Santa’ exchange and had to smile at the thoughtfulness as well as spirit of fun that seemed to be the foundation of the goodwill and the giving. 

But he also knew the history of bloodshed and bitterness between religions and cultures, and the continued suspicion between one community and another throughout the city and the world.  Frowning, he wondered why humans found it so hard to accept the right of others to believe different things when, so far as Dorian could see, it pretty much all added up to the same things:  gratitude to something greater than themselves and rituals to celebrate the joy of family and friends, foods and music and often prayers to celebrate unconditional love.  He felt the pain of sorrow that people could fight and hate in the name of love.  How could they not see the dichotomy, the irony?  Grimacing, he wondered if he’d ever really understand human beings.

Looking at the star that Valerie was placing on the top of the tree, and at the menorah being set up near a window, knowing the mystical lore attached to both, Dorian wondered, as he often did, if there really was some benign, all seeing, all knowing Being who had created all of it, everything, and seemingly cared about lilies growing in fields and sparrows falling from their nests. 

Wondered if such a Being would care about him. 

Wondered what souls were, or if they were – and, for that matter, what exactly was his ‘synthetic soul’? 

Wondered if miracles ever really did happen.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” John said, breaking into his thoughts, “but I’m going to call it a day.  Want a lift over to Rudy’s lab?”

“Sure,” Dorian agreed with a smile, glad to be distracted from the confusion of his thoughts: logically, he knew all the answers to the questions he posed to himself but … somehow, he hoped there was more.  Secretly, he wondered if the wish that superstition would prove real was an indication of weakness, a sign that he was becoming as crazy as others of his kind had become. 

Perhaps too much exposure to humans wasn’t really good for DRNs. 

Smiling at the whimsy of his thoughts, he was following John out of the office.  But as they were going down the hallway toward the elevator, a petite blond woman stepped out of it and turned toward them. 

“Dorian, there you are!” she exclaimed with a bright smile.

Dorian heard John suppress a small groan.  “Well, if it isn’t our favorite psychic,” Kennex observed, his tone dry. 

“Detective Kennex,” she replied, frowning slightly as she looked up at him.

“Don’t tell me,” he directed, hands held up in self-defense.  “My aura is still red, right?”

She nodded.  “Like apples and Christmas,” she added, with a small smile.  “But it’s not as red as it was.  I think you might be happier, Detective.”

“Happier?” John repeated, as if he had to think about it.  But he glanced over his shoulder at Dorian and grinned.  “Yeah, maybe,” he allowed.

“Maya, hello,” Dorian greeted her, ignoring his partner’s antics and sincerely glad to see her.  “How are you?  Is there something we can do for you?”

Maya turned from John to look up at Dorian, her face alight with affection as she reached out to take his hand.  “I should have come to see you before now, to thank you.”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what she meant and then he knew.  “You found something in the box,” he said, smiling with delight.  “That’s wonderful news.”

John looked from one to the other, confusion in his eyes.  “What box?” he asked.

“Dorian got permission to give me a box from evidence that was filled with things the investigators found after my home burned down,” she explained to him.  When he still looked bewildered, she went on, “You know I have to touch something that belonged to a person who has died to be able to communicate with them, right?”

“Ri-i-ght,” he allowed, still confused though his skepticism was plain.

“There was a doorknob from the house that technically belonged to both of my parents, that they’d both touched,” she said, as if that made everything clear. 

“So now you can communicate with your parents,” Dorian added, glad that Maya didn’t see the way John rolled his eyes.  “I’m happy for you, Maya.”

“Thank you, Dorian, for your help,” she said, gratitude brimming in her eyes.  “But I didn’t come here today to just thank you.  My father sent me.  He has a message for you.”

“For me?” Dorian replied, experiencing surprise.  “I don’t understand.”

“He said to tell you that the answer to your questions is ‘yes’.  He said you’d know what that meant.”  She studied him, concerned.  “You do know what it means, don’t you?”

“I … I’m not sure,” he admitted, but the spiritual questions he’d been posing to himself only moments before flooded his mind.  He spent a lot of time thinking about those questions, believing he’d never know the answers.  “But, yes, I think I know what he means.”  His gaze dropped to her hands holding his and he felt a sense of wonder at the mystery of all that was essentially unknowable.  Lifting his gaze, he smiled at her.  “Thank you, Maya.  And thank your father for me.  I … I’m grateful that he wanted me to have those answers.”

“Will you tell me what it means?” she asked.  “Dad said it wasn’t my business unless you wanted to tell me.”

“Maybe.  Someday but,” he glanced at John, behind her, “John is waiting to head home for the night so we have to leave now.  Can we give you a ride home?”

“No, that’s alright,” she said.  Suddenly, she opened her arms and stepped forward to wrap them around him, hugging him hard.  “Merry Christmas, Dorian,” she whispered. 

“Merry Christmas to you, too, my friend,” he replied, gently hugging her back.

John was looking impatient, so Dorian thanked her again and said he be in touch. 

“What was that all about?” John queried once the elevator doors had closed and they were headed downward.

“I need to think about it,” Dorian replied, his gaze straight ahead. 

“So you don’t want to tell me,” John interpreted.

“I …,” he looked up at John.  “I’m not sure,” he finally allowed.  “Maybe, but not right now.”

“Okay,” John sighed with a shake of his head.  “Considering the source, maybe it’s best if I never know.”

“Maybe,” Dorian agreed, more to tease his partner than because he agreed.  John was easily bored but he hated not being ‘in the loop’; not knowing would be a small but ongoing irritant. When and if Dorian did decide to share his admittedly esoteric thoughts and how that related to Maya’s message, John would be eager for the details and might even contribute ideas of his own.

Maybe. 

**

Later in the evening, not yet ready to go to his charging station, while he thought about the message from Maya’s father, Dorian watched Rudy repair a damaged MX. 

“You’re very quiet tonight,” Rudy observed, sitting back to take a break from his work and to stretch his spine.  “Well, quieter than usual, I mean,” he added.  “Not that you shouldn’t be quiet.  You have every right to talk or not talk,” he went on, rambling a little before stopping himself to blurt out, “You know if you want to talk, I’m here to listen, right?  Not that you have to talk.  I just mean you could –”

Dorian smiled as he cut in.  “It’s okay, Rudy.  I know you’re just concerned about me.”  He paused as he looked up at the beautiful stained glass windows and then back at the technology that surrounded them.  “It’s just that … well, we were decorating the office earlier.  You know, with the tree and the stars and the menorah and I found myself thinking about what it all means.”

Rudy gazed at him, a frown furrowing his brow.  “What all what means?  The tree?”

“No,” Dorian replied with a shake of his head.  Standing, he paced a little as he thought about how to phrase his thoughts.  “I was thinking about the history, the mythology and symbolism I guess you’d say, that underlies these celebrations.”

“Oh, I see, you mean like the celebration of light, the miracle of the oil after the Temple had been ransacked and defiled, and there was only enough consecrated oil to burn for one night but it would take eight nights to bless more oil and –” Rudy caught himself.  “Of course, you know the details of the miracle.  You’re referring to the mysticism and magic that underlies spiritual ritual and beliefs, yes?  Did any of it really happen?”

“Yeah,” Dorian agreed softly, relieved that Rudy so quickly understood that he was wondering about the mystery of miracles and the spiritual beings that so many humans believed so passionately about without any apparent rational validation.  “I know something, some facts, must underlie the story, all the spiritual stories that are so important to people, but – you’re a scientist, Rudy.  Do you believe in miracles?  Do you think there is some supernatural being who created everything and watches over … you?” 

Dorian had nearly said ‘us’ but caught himself.  From what he’d observed, humans weren’t sure their particular version of ‘a greater power’ applied to other people, let alone machines like him.  To suggest otherwise would no doubt be insulting to them.

Rudy’s lips thinned as he thought about the question.  “The key word here is ‘believe’,” Rudy replied slowly.  “In the Christian tradition, Jesus said to his followers that they had to come to him, believe in him, as a child would; I took that to mean believing with innocence and a willingness to accept that magic can happen, that there may be much more than we can ever understand.  From one century to the next, science illuminates what had earlier been thought of as magic but… we don’t know, really, what gravity is or what electricity is, we just know that it is and certain ‘natural laws’ govern much of how the world and the universe work.  For decades now, physicists have been trying to determine what dark matter and dark energy are – the elements that make up more than 96% of the entire universe and which do not conform to our laws of physics and gravity.  For example, eventually, the laws of inertia would suggest that it would be inevitable that at some point the universe would collapse in on itself, but that’s not happening, is it?  No, the universe is expanding and will continue to expand until everything will be so far from everything else that it will all be dark and cold and dead.  If that dark energy and dark matter amounts to, say, God, then why would God want it all to, to be so empty?”  Rudy shrugged and held up his hands.  “I have no answer to these kinds of questions because people believe what they believe and all the science in the world won’t convince them they’re wrong.”

Dorian frowned as he grappled with the disparate ideas Rudy had raised, then nodded slowly.  He’d been sure this would be Rudy’s response because, really, there was nothing to prove –

“Ah, but wait,” Rudy cut in, disrupting Dorian’s thoughts.  “I’m not finished.  There are many, many mysteries about how everything came to be, about how purely astonishing it is that life happened at all, in such infinite variety and beauty.  Some think there’s reason to suspect there is some grand design at play and since no one has all the answers; they could be right.  But –“

“It’s not likely, though, is it?” Dorian interjected, saddened that people sought so hard to find meaning outside of themselves when, from what he could observe, whatever meaning there would ever be was in how people treated one another and how well they cared for their world to ensure survival of the species. 

“Perhaps not,” Rudy agreed, though he seemed reluctant to let it go.  “There are still things that appear magical, beyond what our science can explain.  You asked if I believe miracles happened or if they could happen.  I have to say that, yes, if something happens or exists that defies what we know to be possible, then perhaps, yes, it could be considered a miracle.”  For a moment he ducked his head, and he gestured at the pieces of the MX scattered on his work table.  “I know how the MXs work, exactly how they work.  I know how to build them and how to fix them.  They are marvels of engineering in many respects but there is no mystery to them.”

Dorian nodded his agreement wondering, as he often did, where Rudy was going   “So you’re saying that you do believe in miracles?” he probed, more than a little astonished. 

“Oh, absolutely, because I’ve seen miracles, or at least I’ve seen something well beyond the capacity of current science to explain.”

“Really?” Dorian asked, his eyes widening in pleased anticipation.  “You’ve really seen a miracle?”

“I’ve seen more than one,” Rudy replied, a slight smile at the corners of his mouth. 

“What was it?  What happened?” Dorian asked, eager for details. 

“You happened.  You and the other DRNs,” Rudy said.  “I don’t know how Doctor Vaughan did it; I don’t know if he knows how he did it.  I don’t know what’s in those tubes of ‘synthetic souls’ but I can tell you it’s not what he said it was.  I know how you were made and how to fix you when you are damaged, like a doctor fixes a person who is sick or injured.  But there’s nothing in any of your circuits that explains the unique individuality and self-awareness of every single DRN.  Unlike the MXs, you don’t all function the same way.”

Dorian grimaced.  “Yeah, I know, like how so many broke down, went crazy, but no one knew why or how to fix it.”

“I know why,” Rudy retorted.  “DRNs broke for the same reasons that people break from emotional overload, from the horrors that lead to post traumatic stress disorder.  We no more know how your higher consciousness works, how you feel and learn and decide upon actions than we know about how humans do this.  Yes, something in your circuits like something in our brains but … what, exactly?  How?  Why do you work like that at all instead of like any other android that is functional but not a fully unique intelligent self-aware being?  People think of you as a machine and you have machine components, sure.  But those components, the sum total of them, do not add up to what and who you are.  There is nothing in your components to explain ….” Rudy tossed up his hands.  “Somehow, Doctor Vaughan figured out how to create a new, very real form of intelligent life.  Until, assuming we are ever able, to explain this ever-abiding mystery of DRNs then, yeah, for me, you are a miracle of life.”

Taken aback, Dorian wasn’t sure how to respond but he had to smile at Rudy’s passionate intensity.  And he was grateful that Rudy, if no one else, regarded him as a fully aware autonomous being.  “Thank you,” he said, “but I’m sure Doctor Vaughan could explain it all if he was here.”  Another thought occurred to him.  “Do you think it has anything to do with those memories of childhood that I had?”

Rudy’s gaze dropped away and he shook his head.  “I don’t know, Dorian.  I don’t know who put them there or why they were put into your programming.  I don’t know if we’ll ever know.”

Fully aware that Rudy was hiding something from him by the changes in his vital signs and his evasive behavior, Dorian studied his friend and wondered what could be so bad that Rudy wouldn’t share it with him.  But he trusted Rudy and hoped, someday, his friend would be more forthcoming.  Suddenly, Dorian just felt very tired and he knew he couldn’t put off recharging any longer.  Shoving away from the counter he was leaning against, he reached out to gently grip Rudy’s shoulder.  “Thank you for taking time to talk about all this with me, for not thinking it’s, I don’t know, stupid, I guess, for me to wonder about these things.”

“No thanks necessary, my friend,” Rudy insisted, looking up with a smile.  “Your curiosity is very much part of what makes you, you.  And it’s no more stupid for you, is it, to be wondering about these things than it is for millions upon millions of people over millennia being consumed by the same questions.  We all wonder about the miracle of creation and about why we’re here and if there’s something greater than ourselves in this unimaginably vast universe.  No one wants to think it was all an accident of chemistry and biology, that we’re no more significant than blades of grass, nearly as quickly here and gone.”

Dorian paused in his turn to leave. “Seriously?  Blades of grass?  Surely human beings understand each life holds significance and nearly limitless potential for making a difference in this world.”

Rudy snorted and shook his head.  “You’re a police officer, Dorian.  I’m sure you’ve seen enough to know a great many people don’t think they matter at all for any reason whatsoever.  Tragic, really.  But there you are.”

“Humans are … not easy to understand,” Dorian admitted. 

A grin lit Rudy’s face.  “Not even for us,” he agreed.  “I can’t begin to imagine what a muddle we must seem to you.  As for these ‘bots,” he went on, gesturing to the MX on his table, “I don’t think it even occurs to them to try to understand us.”

Since my last submission was on the heavy side I think it’s time for fluff and cute things.  Inspired by maldonadonco’s idea that Maldonado has a former police dog as a pet.

A Home for the Holidays

The mall was packed as holiday shoppers weaved their way through crowds towards the stores to find last minute gifts before closing.   Within one of those stores Sandra and John had been stationed as part of the department’s annual outreach program and were helping with a display for the local animal shelter.  Bringing awareness to all the animals that needed homes for the holidays.

“Thank you two so much for your help,” one helper said as they started to pack up the displays after a very successful evening.

“Our pleasure,” Sandra said as she helped put several of the animals away in pet carriers, making sure every pet that was going home with a family later had a proper tag, and there were a lot of them.

John grunted as he shoved various items into a box and the lady scurried away without another word.

Sandra glared at him. “Jesus, John, when did you turn into such a Scrooge?”

“Since my antihistamine ran out half an hour ago,” he said, and sneezed.

Sandra rolled her eyes.

“And so you insist on suffering silence.  Go to the cruiser I packed extra in the glove compartment.”

John looked at her, surprise in his watery eyes.  Sandra put her hand on his arm.

“John, you’re my partner and I want to look out for you.  Now get to the car I’ll finish up here.”

He nodded and left.

Sandra went back to work, but as the last batch of carriers was picked up she noticed someone had been left behind. A small puppy with short black and brown fur was left in the pen, chewing on a toy turkey leg.  

“Wait we’ve missed one.”

“Oh no, he isn’t coming with us he’s a return.”

“Why does that mean he won’t go with you?  Surely you’ve had returns before.”

“Yes, but you see…he’s one of yours, a police dog I mean.  He was in training for the canine division, but with the talk about replacing them with the new K9 robotic units there won’t be enough room in the program for everyone.  He was rejected for further training and since his early weeks were spent training to be a working dog and so socialized differently from most puppies it makes him less adoptable.”

She sighed.

“The family that brought him back said exactly what we feared: that he was too demanding.  That he would take too long to train out of habits he’s already learned; that he can’t adapt to being a family pet he need too much discipline.  Add in the fact that so many people want designer pets these days and he’s mutt well…” the girl turned away, clearly uncomfortable with the whole conversation.  “Animal Control will be by later to get him.”

Sandra looked down at the little guy who abandoned his toy and came over to her. He braced himself up on the wall of the pen so he could reach her hand and licked it.  She laughed and sent a text to John letting him know she would be a while.  She had supplies to buy and forms to fill out.  She knew that if there was anyone who knew how to keep someone in line it was her.

***

John sighed in relief as the allergy meds did their work.  He leaned back in his seat and watched the thick snow fall outside as Bing Crosby sang ‘White Christmas’ over the radio.

He sat back up as he saw Sandra finally come out of the mall and then frowned in confusion as he saw she was carrying several bags and holding one arm against her chest.  She put the bags in the back and slid into the front seat with her arm still pressed against her.

Before he could say anything a fuzzy head poked its way out of her jacket.

“Sandra, what the hell is that?!”

“He is a German Shepard Husky cross.”

“And he’s riding with us because…?”

“They said he wasn’t adoptable and I couldn’t just leave him there, it’s Christmas.”

John held out his hand for the puppy to sniff and then scratched him behind the ears.

“So are you going to pick every stray who gives you the puppy dog eyes?”

Sandra smirked at her partner.

“Well it worked for you didn’t it?”

“Hey!”

Before John could come up with a better come back Captain Deckard came over the comm.

“Kennex, Maldonado, have you finished with the adoption charity?”

“Yes, Captain, we’re just leaving,” John answered, as they pulled out of the parking lot.

Just then Sandra’s new friend barked in excitement.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Captain,” Sandra answered. “I’ll brief you fully when we get back to the precinct.”

“Maldonado!”

Sandra hit the comm link and cut off the rest of his tirade.

“You love to push his buttons don’t you?”

“Deckard is all bark no bite.”

John snorted. “That is a terrible joke.”

“It’s late, I’m tired.  Anyway he just growls because it’s all he has.  He knows he can’t fire me I’m too good now.”

***

The snow had stopped by the time Sandra got home and into bed that night.  The thick layer of white a promise of new possibilities and a fresh start, and that was certainly true of her new housemate.  Said housemate who had left his bed the moment Sandra pulled the covers up around herself and jumped up on the bed to join her.     

“Hey, no you sleep on the floor.”

He just looked at her, those big puppy eyes working their magic.

“Fine, but just for tonight.”

His tail wagged happily and he quickly curled next to her and went to sleep.

Sandra smiled and closed her eyes.  He couldn’t be a family dog her foot he already was.

A soft blanket of white covered the city and Christmas lights twinkled from every window.  John breathed in the crisp winter air as he made his way home.

It was a perfect Christmas Eve.

He rushed up to his apartment eager to get inside only to stop short as his phone beeped.  Pulling it out John checked the name of the screen.

Captain Maldonado.

John frowned and put the phone back in his pocket.  Whatever she wanted could wait this time was for him and his family.

He unlocked his front door and went in.  The smell of pine and gingerbread filled the air and Anna smiled at him as she placed a cookie sheet on the counter.

“Hi, Honey, you made it home early.”

“Sure did I-”

“Dad!”

John scooped up his son as he barreled towards him, his black curls falling into his eyes.

“Hey, Edward, how’s my little man?”

“Awesome!  Mom let me help decorate the tree come see!”

John carried his son over to admire the tree.  As Edward pointed out all the ornaments he put on it John tossed his coat onto a chair and ignored the phone as it beeped again.

Anna joined him with two mugs of hot chocolate. 

“Thanks.”

“Anything for you, Honey.”

The sat down together on the couch and she wrapped her hand around his. John smiled and let himself relax, even if the still beeping phone was making that difficult.

Meanwhile Edward was eyeing the brightly wrapped packages under the tree.

“Can I open one tonight?” he asked. “I’ve been really good all year.  Please?”

“Well…okay.  I guess one wouldn’t hurt,” John said.

“Thanks, Dad!”

Edward ran to the tree and picked out a small white box tied with a blue ribbon.

 He opened the box and pulled out the toy bot giraffe that was nestled inside.  He pressed its head and watched with wide eyes as it walked around the floor.

“Wow.”

Anna laughed, but John just titled his head and pursed his lips in confusion.  Something wasn’t right.  He had bought that gift for…who? He didn’t know, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that it had been for someone else. He closed his eyes trying to remember who they were why it was important that he give that gift to…   

“John!”

Suddenly the warmth of his apartment and Anna’s hand was gone and John’s hands now held a rifle.

“John. I’ve been hit!  I’m down!”

“Pelham!”

“On the west side!”

John heard gunshots and smelled smoke.

“John, wake up!”

“Shut up!  Lead me in! Move!”

The beeping of his phone was now constant and loud, demanding an answer.

“They were ready for us, John.  How did InSyndicate know we were coming?  How did they know?”

“John.”

John blinked and felt Anna shaking his shoulder and he turned to her.  Suddenly there was no smoke and no gunfire just her smiling at him.

He looked over at Edward and saw that he was playing with a toy bot that wasn’t a giraffe but a cheetah. 

“You okay?” she asked wrapping her hand around his again.

Just a dream he thought it.  It had to be.

“I’m fine.”

He grabbed his phone out of his coat pocket and turned it off.  Then he leaned in close to Anna her hands wrapped around his tightly and he didn’t think he had ever been so happy.

***

Sandra stared intently at John’s face waiting for the flickering movements she had seen just a moment before.  As long minutes ticked by the hope that he was going to open his eyes faded away.

She sat back down in the chair beside his hospital bed, still holding his hand tightly.

It was still a good sign she told herself.  He had responded to the outside world even if just for a moment.  Just as it had taken months for new skin to grow over the burns for the cuts and bruises to fade this wasn’t going to be fixed in an instant.  But she took comfort in the fact that those small movements she had seen proved that life was returning to his body, and Sandra knew that one day John would be ready to return to his life too she was sure of it.

She ignored the looks of sympathy the doctors gave her as they walked by and instead smiled at the man still lost within his own mind.

“Merry Christmas, John.”

His progress was slow, but she was so glad she had come to sit with him; to see that he was getting better bit by bit.

read hte comuc below

Inspired by the holiday prompt: My mom knit you a jumper

Gift Exchange

Richard shuffled his feet awkwardly as a crowd of officers slowly cleared out the breakroom, having completed the annual Boxing Day ritual of swapping their unwanted Christmas gifts.  Richard kept one hand behind his back to try and hide his own gift, wishing the wrapping paper wasn’t so bright.

As the group finally dispersed Richard went into the room and was gratefully to see that Valerie was still there and alone now, leaning up against the counter with a cup of coffee in her hands.  

“Valerie, can I see you for a minute?”

“Sure, Richard, did you need something?”

“No, I just…here.”

He thrust the brightly wrapped box at her, all of his usual composure gone.

Valerie knitted her eyebrows together in confusion.  Still she accepted the box.   Putting down her coffee she gently removed the wrapping paper and pulled out the thick knitted sweater that was inside.  It was stripped in multiple colours with white weaved through out it.  Valerie thought it was lovely.     

“Is this for me?  You shouldn’t have.”

“It’s from my mother actually,” Richard said, trying his best to relax. “Handmade and everything.”

“Your mother?”

“Yeah, you know that sting operation on the Stinson case we were on three weeks ago?”

“Of course I do.  We ended up all over the news.”

“I know and well…she saw the reports too and assumed we were…together, as a real couple.  I tried to explain that we were both undercover and it wasn’t what it seemed, but she insisted on doing this for you.  She was even upset that I didn’t bring you over for dinner last night to meet her.”   

“Well then you tell her I love the sweater,” Valerie said, and she meant it.  It had been a long time since anyone had done anything like this for her.

“Well great.”

With that he turned to leave, feeling like he’d embarrassed himself enough for one day.

“And, Richard.”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever need a fake date for dinner at your mom’s again I’m available,” she said, working to keep her voice upbeat.  It wasn’t like she had any family to see over the holidays after all, but Valerie knew that had been her own choice.  

Richard let his mouth hang open for a second before he remembered his manners. “Uh, well you could come over tonight then if you’re not busy.  I mean my mother won’t be there, but-but I have leftover turkey!” Smooth Richard he thought.  Why don’t you just propose to her on New Year’s Eve in front of everyone too?  Make it ten times more awkward.

Valerie smiled. “I’d like that.”

Once Richard got over the shock of not getting turned down they agreed on a time and Valerie went back to her desk, careful to keep the sweater away from any half-filled mugs of coffee just waiting to be tipped over so she could wear it to dinner.

I’ve made a bunch of Christmas icons for the MXmas 2015 Advent Calendar. Feel free to use them wherever you like. If you want me to make another Almost Human Christmas icon for you (with a certain picture you’ve got in mind), just send me an ask. I’d be happy to make more. Merry MXmas! :)

- submitted by ginover

Tumblr didn’t allow all the icons in one go so here’s the remaining two:

Dr. Nigel Vaughan huddled under a heavy, moth-eaten blanket to keep warm in the vast empty space of the long abandoned warehouse.  Sighing, he leaned back from his computer screen and, sniffing against the cold, he drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders.  He had solar-powered generators, but he didn’t like to waste them on electric heaters or other uses that did nothing to further his work.  And, truth be told, he had to admit, if only to himself, he didn’t want to create too large an energy signature in case they’d begun hunting for him on this side of the Wall. 

Beyond the dim pool of blue light generated by his computer screen, he could see the work tables he’d set up when he’d first arrived.  Some held the beginnings of the army he was building from scratch, an army that would … what?  Frowning, he stared into the darkness and wasn’t happy to reflect that cold emptiness only too vividly mirrored the hollow anger that had filled him ever since the powers that be had forced him to … to kill the best work he’d ever done.  Had forced him to destroy the beauty and brilliance, the strength of intellect and compassion that had represented all of his life’s dreams.  They’d broken him every bit as much as they’d broken the DRNs into useless bits and pieces. 

The XRN, now, she’d been something else.  She’d been the product of his fury, of his desire for revenge, borne of hatred and designed as the ultimate killing machine.  Sighing, he rubbed his forehead with the hard joint of his thumb, wishing he could rub out all the mistakes, all the pain and grief he’d caused and, frankly, had intended to continue to wreak upon the small minds and miserable souls who willed the destruction of the only children he’d ever have. 

But even as he had clambered over the Wall, exhilarated and terrified in equal parts, he hadn’t been able to shake the small voice inside, the one that kept repeating that the past didn’t matter: what mattered was what we did now.  Couldn’t get past the memory of seeing Dorian again: the surprise, the wonder, the joy so exquisite it was pain, to see him again, to touch him.  His son, ‘born’ on the sixteenth day of July, and so bearing the number 167.  So no one would know he was the prototype.  The others all resembled him, of course, were all his sons but Dorian would always be the most special.  That he, of all of them, had survived?  Was working again to protect and serve humanity….

Vaughan had been staggered and disoriented, nearly swayed then and there from his carefully laid plans.  But he’d gone too far down that road.  Events were already in play, and the anger was still cold inside, numbing whatever humanity and compassion that had once fueled his dreams.  Danica was in motion and … and he couldn’t see past the desire for revenge, even with Dorian standing right in front of him.

He’d been both relieved and bereft when Dorian left with John Kennex.  In that moment, Vaughan had felt nearly paralyzed by what he had set in motion, by his willful betrayal of Dorian by setting up his human partner to be destroyed by Danica.  Dorian would fight her and Vaughan had no doubts about Danica’s ability to destroy anyone and anything in her path.  He’d thought in those moments that all the good that had ever been in him was disappearing with Dorian to be destroyed with him, the first, last and best of his kind. 

But he’d heard through his clandestine network that Dorian and Kennex had survived.  That Danica had been the one to be once again bested before she’d destroyed that despicable politician who’d gotten rich from backing the manufacturer of those soul-less machines, the MXs. 

Soul-less machines. 

Vaughan bent his head and sighed heavily, wishing now he’d told Dorian the true answer to the question of what he’d done differently when he’d created Danica. 

In every respect in terms of intellect and ability, Danica modeled the DRNs and she bested them in determined ruthlessness and sheer strength.  But she lacked compassion and empathy.  Danica had been given everything except a synthetic soul.

“Does Dorian hate me now?” Vaughan wondered, his breath a cloud in the still cold air, his eyes burning with the sting of tears he refused to cry.  His gaze retreated from the darkness to seek out the case that contained the synthetic souls.  He’d stolen them not with the intent to place them in his new creations, because he’d had no such intention.  Compassion and empathy would make them weak.  Make them hesitate when battling and destroying humans.  No, he’d taken the souls simply because they were precious and he was afraid that the authorities would have ordered their destruction if he’d left them behind. 

But now?  That voice in his head was relentless.  The vision of Dorian standing before him, so perfect, so – good – would not leave him.  Dorian who loved him; Dorian who had only ever seen the best in him:  the possibility, not the mistakes; the hopes, not the deaths he’d wilfully caused. 

What matters is what we do now.

Vaughan closed his eyes and gnawed on his lip, struggling with the forces at war within in his soul.  Unbidden came another memory, of a day when he’d been young and his father had taken him to listen to the words of an old family friend, an aboriginal man renowned for his wisdom.  He’d never forgotten the story the old man had told in response to a question another person had asked, about how to overcome anger and hate. 

‘Ah, yes, I understand the problem,’ the shaman had replied.  ‘When I was young, I too had two wolves inside of me, at war with one another.  One was good, kind, filled with hope and compassion and the other was angry, bitter, filled with hate and a desire for revenge for all that was lost.  They fought constantly, neither giving any quarter.  It was a hard, hard time in my life.” 

“So which wolf won?” the questioner had asked. 

The old shaman smiled at him, radiant with goodwill and peace.  “The one I fed,” he said gently.  “The wolf that won was the one I fed.”

What matters is what we do now.

A sob rose into Vaughan’s throat, a sob too big to swallow.  Tears burned, a flood of tears he couldn’t blink away.  Inside, he felt the icy numbness crack and give way to all the pain he’d been walling away for so many, long years.  Doubling over in abject agony, he wept for what he’d lost; for what he’d done and what he’d become; wept for having betrayed the only son he’d ever have.  Wept for the dreams he’d once had, the good he’d once been so privileged to create. 

Wept for all the wasted years. 

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” he breathed, a wisp of sound.  “So, so sorry.”

What matters is what we do now.

Heaving a sigh from the bottom of his soul, he nodded to himself.  Sniffing, he wiped the tears from his face.  Straightening, his gaze once again found the case of synthetic souls. 

“You’re right, my son,” he said, feeling stronger than he’d felt in a long, long time. 

He’d begin again. 

He’d build the best sentient beings he was capable of creating, the strongest and most gentle, the most decent, compassionate and wise.  Not to be police officers or warriors, though they’d have the strength to fight, but to be teachers and caregivers, builders of community, protectors of the good and innocent.  Self aware beings of intellect and emotion, honorable, kind and compassionate beings guided by their souls