3. Snow Angels

Hank wasn't a religious man, but right now he was sure that all the gods in the world hated him. He turned around, cursing being suspended and still having to work. A young man – barely an adult – wearing a dark green coat, with a beanie and a scarf covering his head and face, was pointing a gun at the cashier. His hands were unsteady, and his posture wasn't quite as confident as someone holding a loaded weapon should have. From that and the insecure voice Hank could tell that whoever was robbing the store could easily be persuaded to rethink their life choices with the good old flash of a badge and maybe a wave of his service weapon. But he wasn't on the job, and his guns were safely away from his jacket pockets. Still, he was a cop, and he had decades of experience with ordering around stupid kids who thought waving guns at cashiers' faces made them big boys.

The cashier was blinking nervously, his hand going towards something. The kid jabbed his gun in the air.

"Don't touch the alarm! And-and don't speak the voice activation shit either! If you still got security androids, call them off and hand me the money! Now!"

The cashier didn't move for two seconds, which was apparently enough to send the kid into a nervous hissy fit. He waved his gun around again.

"Goddammit, do it now!"

Hank could more sense than hear Connor's now silent footsteps somewhere behind him. He cast a look at his partner, who was standing near the back of the store, half of his face still skinless and eyes scanning the place and the robber. Hank silently motioned him to stay put, call the cops, and be ready. Connor's LED immediately turned yellow, this time as a sign that he was calling. Hank nodded approvingly, and then turned and walked over to the robber.

He knew he should probably be more cautious, should have stayed back and started talking to the kid from a safe distance. But he had quite frankly had enough of this shit – all of the shit – and he wanted to go home. So he stopped right behind the kid – too close for comfort – and watched him turn around. The kid gasped and started to move his gun, but Hank grabbed the kid's forearm near the elbow and forced the gun towards the floor. The kid had some muscle tone, but he was considerably smaller than Hank, and he didn't seem to have much experience in escaping holds. His scared green eyes flickered to Hank's face, and Hank said in a deadly calm tone:

"Kid, I don't know what you've got yourself into, but it's Christmas, and I'm having a shitty day. So maybe put the gun down and be nice so we don't have to make it even shittier because I really don't want to deal with this kind of crap right now."

"Wh-who the fuck are you?" the kid stammered, "Step back, old man, or I'll shoot!"

"Sure you will. I'm a cop, and you're under arrest. My partner's just called for backup. They'll take you to the station and you better not make this difficult."

The kid looked lost. Clearly nothing had gone according to the script in his head. Hank would have felt almost sorry for him if he wasn't so annoyed.

"I swear," the kid tried in a small, nearly cracking voice, "I-I'll-"

"Yeah, don't bother," Hank said and threw a quick glance over his shoulder, "Connor! Let's get him out of here."

"Sure."

"Hey!" the kid snapped indignantly, "You can't do this! I bet you're not really even a- fuckshitwhatisTHAT?!"

He had taken one look at a half-exposed android face and had his legs almost fail him right there. Connor gave a small, barely audible sigh of annoyance. Hank almost smiled at that.

"I know right?" he turned to the wannabe-robber and pushed him a little, "Alright, start walking or I'll sick the Terminator over there on you."

There was a moment where the kid may have been considering being smart about it. But it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. He took one more look at both Hank and Connor, and then he moved. Hank had just enough time to twist the kid's arm and to grab the gun before the kid wriggled free and broke into a run.

"Oh, come on!" Hank yelled, maybe at the wannabe criminal, maybe at the universe.

He ran after the retreating back, but was quickly outpaced by Connor, who shot out of the store like he was made for this kind of shit. Which he was, to be fair. The kid glanced over his shoulder, yelped, and yanked down a trashcan that opened and threw up plastic bags, out-of-date readymade lasagne boxes and even a few glass bottles – the non-recycling bastards. Connor jumped over the mess in his way and turned a corner with Hank doing his best to keep up. His lungs hadn't been prepared for this kind of shit at the moment. The winter air was stinging his airways, making him regret his unhealthy life choices. A few years ago he could have easily caught a whelp like the one they were chasing now. But now he was really struggling to even keep him in his sights. His legs pumped, and he felt his pulse pounding in his ears. It reminded him of a time not long ago, when he and Connor had chased androids who had gone emotional and possibly murderous on abusive people. To how that time had reawakened something dormant in him. Namely the appreciation for the rush that came from apprehending bad – or in many cases misguided – people.

There was a small voice in the back of his head that told him that he had missed it. Missed living and allowing himself to enjoy it. Missed making an effort. Then it dared to add that maybe he could go back to that.

He rounded another corner, stumbled through the snow and kept his balance. He righted himself just in time to see Connor launch himself at the now screaming young man. The kid lost his balance, and both he and Connor tumbled into the powder snow that poofed into the air all around them. The world's least glamorous snow globe. When the snow settled, sparkling and still postcard-worthy, the robber was pinned to the ground with his hands twisted behind his back, and Connor was holding him down with one deceptively wiry – no pun intended – arm. The ground around them was a mess, a mutant snow angel hidden somewhere under the two.

It took Hank a too-long moment to catch his breath.

"Nice one, Connor," he gasped, and then looked almost amusedly at the squirming robber, "Hey, kid? What the ever-loving shit made you think that you could somehow outrun an android?"

Connor's LED suddenly flashed yellow, and he looked up and to Hank's right. He opened his mouth to warn him, but luckily instincts were faster than words. Hank turned and managed to almost jump out of the way of a plank that swung at his face.

Son of a bitch hadn't been trying to get away, but rather to get to his allies who had been waiting farther away.

Hank might have been proud of that deduction if he a) wasn't an experienced police detective who did this kind of shit for a living and b) didn't just witness the world flash in stars and pain explode in the side of his head. The piece of wood had grazed his temple and scratched at his cheek, but he had hopefully managed to avoid a concussion. He stumbled backwards and lifted an arm between himself and a new swing, after which he grabbed the plank and twisted with enough force to disarm his attacker.

The plank flopped into the snow and the sound stung Hank's aching head. He knew the hit he'd received hadn't been a bad one, but it still hurt like a bitch. He blinked blood out of his eyes and tried to identify who had just tried to flatten his face. It was a fairly young woman, with a curly mop of hair smushed into an ushanka hat and angry eyes blinking from above a thick knitted scarf. She was swearing up a storm and fumbling for something in her belt. A gun, probably. Hank was quick to pull the gun he had confiscated from the kid and point it at her. She froze.

"Shit!" she spat, "Kevin, how the hell could you fuck this up so bad?"

The kid, who was apparently named Kevin, was now lying on his stomach all on his own without the gentle encouragement of an unyielding robot arm. It took Hank's rattled brain an annoyingly amount of seconds to realise that Connor wasn't holding the kid down anymore, but was rather standing a few steps farther away in the chokehold of an impressively large guy. The idiot had probably been too focused on both helping Hank and trying to hold the kid down to realise that there had been a third guy in hiding. Even a supercomputer could only multitask so much especially when said computer only had two arms and two legs. Hank quickly checked his partner for injuries. Connor seemed to be fine and completely unconcerned by the arm that was built like a log and currently pressing against his throat with force that would have been incredibly uncomfortable for a human. It looked more like Connor was deciding not to kick the guy's ass purely out of common courtesy.

"Okay," Hank said in his best cop voice, "First of all, you", he pointed his gun at the woman again, "Put that gun down. And you", he jabbed the finger of his free hand towards the guy holding Connor, "Let him go so I don't have to charge you for assaulting an officer."

Sure, Connor wasn't officially an officer yet, but that was about to change soon if Hank had anything to say about it. The kid in the ground very carefully lifted his head.

"And you," Hank said and the kid – Kevin – cringed, "Stay down. I ran out of patience with shit like this a long time ago today."

"Fuck you, old man!" the big guy snapped, "You shoot any of us and I'll tear the plastic's head off!"

"Maybe I'll shoot you first, then," Hank growled. Sure, he wasn't really going to shoot anyone if he absolutely didn't have to, but they didn't need to know that. And sure, he was handling this all unprofessionally as all hell, but someone had just threatened his friend and he was suspended anyway. So fuck protocol.

The Big Guy frowned, looking almost lost for a second.

"Uh… then I… uh…"

"Wow," Hank rolled his eyes, "You sent a kid to rob a store and now you can't even get your script straight? That's… yeah, that's pretty weak, guys."

"Shut up!" the woman said, "We're just doing what we can to get by."

"Yeah, sure," Hank said, "I don't care if you're trying to get a Christmas present for your dying mum. I'm still taking you guys in."

The woman opened her mouth to speak, but then she looked at Kevin, who had started to squirm uncomfortably in the snow.

"What? You're seriously doing this for your mum?" the woman asked.

Kevin looked at the snow like it was the most interesting thing in the world. He was probably blushing like mad underneath his scarf.

"Well, she's not dying," he mumbled.

Big Guy's face suddenly broke into a smile.

"Aww, respect, man! At times like this, we should be thinking of our families."

"I completely agree, Mr. Brim," said Connor, "When was the last time you called your mother? If I'm not mistaken, she's still alive and well."

"Yeah, yeah, she is," Big Guy nodded vigorously and looked eagerly at the woman, "Hey, Jane, maybe you should call your family too!"

The woman named Jane sighed.

"Maybe I should, yeah," she said slowly, "And… wait, what the hell are we doing? We should-"

She didn't manage to finish her sentence, because during her brief distraction, Hank had closed the distance between them and slammed her to the ground. He disarmed her of the gun on her belt around the same time Big Guy started swearing again. Hank turned towards Big Guy, a flash of worry for Connor striking him as hard as Jane's plank had a moment ago. Big Guy's mouth opened into an angry snarl, which quickly turned into an almost comical wheeze when a perfectly placed android elbow to the solar plexus dropped him like a sack of bricks. Connor dusted off his too-thin-for-this-weather jacket and stepped away from Big Guy like nothing had happened. The son of a bitch even had the guts to flash a small smile and a somewhat sarcastic apology to the gasping man on the ground. Then he turned to Hank and frowned at the wound on Hank's face.

"Are you okay? You should get that wound cleaned as soon as possible."

Hank wasn't sure whether to yell at both him and the world, or to laugh.

The kid named Kevin practically ran to the police car that wheeled to the scene some time later. After securing the two less cooperative thugs, Hank waved a sympathetic hand to his co-worker, Tina Chen, who had responded to Connor's call. She was one of the many unfortunates to get the Christmas shift on this shitty year and the only one who wasn't busy locking the back of the now full car and had a moment to chat.

"Hang in there, Chen!" Hank said.

Tina gave him a small smile.

"You too. Aren't you supposed be suspended? Why're you busting crime on your free time?"

"Not my intention. Just a crappy day."

Tina laughed dryly.

"You do look like crap. And Connor- whoa, what happened to your face?"

"Coffee," Connor replied, "Have a nice day, Officer Chen."

"As nice as it can be," Tina flicked her hand in goodbye, "Happy holidays, you two!"

As the self-driving cop car sped back towards the precinct, Connor turned and cast a very insecure and somehow weary look at Hank.

"I don't look that bad, do I?"

Hank gave him an apologetic smile.

"Yeah, you do. But it's uh… getting better."

Hank put his hands into his pockets, suddenly feeling very tired. His cheek still burned from the wound, and his legs felt like lead, "You know, we should probably really head home. I think this day is just one of those when everything's out to get us somehow."

He paused, then pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Except we still don't have the keys. Shit!"

Connor shifted his feet a little bit. He looked almost… sheepish?

"Actually," he said slowly, "I looked up lockpicking instructions the moment you told me you forgot your keys inside."

Hank blinked several times.

"You what?"

"Why did you think I wanted to buy paper clips?"

Hank stepped a bit closer to Connor, towering over him and doing his best to look even a little bit threatening to the state-of-the-art combat machine who could probably break him in at least five hundred ways if he really tried.

"You're telling me you've been able to get back into the house for over two hours already?"

Connor smiled. It was an especially fake smile he was definitely doing on purpose right now.

"Yes. But I figured fresh air would do you some good."

He then lowered his head a bit, shoulders slumping in a very human gesture.

"To be fair, I did estimate that our time out here would be less… filled with unfortunate occurrences."

He looked back up, almost hopeful.

"Did it make you feel even a little bit better, at least?"

He was doing the puppy eye -thing again. Fuck. Hank had to build up more tolerance to that. Preferably before Connor learned to deliberately weaponise it.

"Well… I guess this was better than not getting up in the morning," he said at length, "I mean, I got to yell at annoying people and bust some idiots trying to rob a store."

He found himself replaying the moment he was breathing in frigid air and almost enjoying the run. Then the longer moment at the mall, where androids and humans alike were trying their best to spend time together in peace. Where Connor had looked like an excited, goofy kid and where Hank had decided that the world wasn't completely broken yet. Then he thought of the adrenaline-rush again, and the mutant snow angels that had dotted the snow.

"And yeah… I guess I feel pretty good now."

Better than any Christmas in the last three years, at least.

Thankfully, Jenkins's snowmen had stopped singing by the time Hank and Connor returned. Hank hoped to all gods he didn't believe in and who probably hated him that they would stay silent. He leaned to the wall while he watched Connor – whose face was thankfully intact again – carefully twist and bend paperclips into lockpick-shapes and then start to work on the lock.

The door swung open about ten seconds later, and Sumo's excited barks greeted them. The huge dog jumped up at Connor, who caught him into a hug.

"Easy, Sumo. We're happy to see you too," he said into the dog's fur, "Just wait a moment, we need to get inside first."

The house was the way they'd left it. Christmas lights in a straight line, lingering scent of spices from Connor's cooking, and everything neatly in their places. The neatness had become more or less normal after Connor had moved in – the kid had way too much processing power to just sit idle during the days – but the lights and the scents were like a weird, intrusive but not entirely unwelcome memory from a happier time. A time when even Jenkins's snowmen would have felt more appropriate. Connor immediately made a beeline for the first aid kit and returned with disinfectant and Band-Aids. While Hank cleaned his face, Connor fidgeted in place and finally managed a quiet:

"Hank?"

"Yeah?"

"I… I hope you don't mind, but I have a present for you."

Hank stared.

"Seriously?"

"…Yes? That's why I said it."

"Hell, and I didn't get anything for you. Or anyone."

Connor smiled.

"You gave me a place to stay and were responsible for at least ninety percent of my journey towards free will, so I think you have given enough."

"Hey, hey! Don't get sentimental on me now. Just…" Hank vaguely waved his hand, "Shit, I'm not good at this."

With another smile, Connor pulled something out of a cupboard. It was a thin, square box wrapped in a somehow very serious, red and gold paper.

"There aren't currently many open stores in Detroit for obvious reasons, so I had to order this online and convince the delivery android I could guarantee her safety here."

"You went through all that trouble?"

Connor shrugged, looking at the walls almost embarrassedly.

"Well, it was… nice to have something to do. And I wanted to give you something."

Wanted to. There it was again. He was making so much progress. Hank smiled, clumsily took the gift and tore the wrapping. From the shape and weight, he had already guessed it to be a vinyl for his jazz collection, and it turned out he was right. A man with a saxophone and the words Charles Lloyd shone on the old cardboard cover. It was the real deal, an old, physical vinyl, not easy to find in this day and age.

It was thoughtful. It was awesome. It was more than a sad alcoholic deserved. Hank suddenly felt the spicy air almost clogging his throat and something stinging his eyes. He would have blamed the dust, but he knew for a fact that Connor had vacuumed the whole damn house yesterday.

"I didn't have this one," he managed, "This is awesome. Thanks."

He wasn't good at thanking people. But from the way Connor's LED blinked a happy blue and his face broke into a real smile, spitting out that word and really meaning it had been worth it.

It was a good moment. And of course that had to also be the moment Jenkins's snowmen started singing again. Even Connor winced at that, his LED flickering yellow for a second.

"Oh, hell no," Hank muttered. He stomped to his gun drawer, pulled out his revolver, still with the one bullet in it, and walked back to the window. Connor put a hand on his shoulder.

"I don't think that's a good idea…" he started.

"Yeah, I know," Hank said, "But damn, it would feel so good. You think I could get two of them with one bullet?"

"I don't think that would be appropriate…" Connor pointed out, and then glanced at the snowmen outside, "I think you could get even all five of them if you angled your shot just right."

Hank let out a short laugh.

"Good to know."

He sighed.

"Yeah, but I guess you're right."

He glanced at the gun in his hand, thought about the evenings spent wallowing in despair and alcohol. About the rounds of Russian roulette, the clicks of an empty chamber he was both glad and disappointed to hear. The fact that now… that now, even in this fucked up world full of dead kids and racist assholes and extinction and politics, there were people who were singing carols like it was a normal thing for flesh and plastic to hold hands at a mall. The fact that there was a friend next to him, someone he'd already gone halfway to hell and back with to free a newly sentient race of people. Someone who had somehow decided that spending the first weeks of his self-aware life with Hank of all people was worth it. He thought about a world where he could be like the Kellers – or how he was now – and spend Christmas lamenting all the things that were wrong. Or he could try to shape something new out of the ruins that were his life.

He almost laughed at that. A relieved laugh, not a fake one. But he kept it inside and settled for a slightly out-of-practice smile instead.

"Well, since we're not shooting snowmen…"

He slipped the only bullet onto his hand. It was somehow heavier than he remembered. He knew it wasn't enough, that it would be so easy to just put another bullet in. That a few good days wouldn't change the fact that he'd have many difficult ones ahead. But it was a start. It was symbolic, and some weird part of humans always looked for patterns and symbols. Rituals. To follow and to break. And he had a feeling that he had some rituals he could start breaking. Right now.

He handed the bullet to Connor, who took it slowly with a questioning frown on his face.

"Happy Christmas," Hank said, "If it's your first gift ever, then sorry it's a shitty one."

But Connor was smiling an unsure, almost moved smile that somehow made everything feel that much more significant.

"Thank you," he said.

In the end, they decided to drown out the singing of snowmen under the tunes of Charles Lloyd. As the saxophone and the piano filled the house, as Sumo settled on half on the couch and half on Connor's legs, and as Hank got hungry and started to sort through all the festive foods Connor had cooked up, Hank again dared to think that the day hadn't turned out to be a complete disaster after all.

And thankfully, this time the universe decided to let him have that.

Author's Note: Thank you all so much for reading!