Hallelujah: Auld Lang Syne (Codsworth)
Another year coming to a close. Codsworth should be hanging green garlands and playing with Shaun. He should be buzzing past sir and ma'am as they kiss under the mistletoe; he should be playing Santa with a silly hat perched on his head and grumbling good-naturedly about the task even as he passes gifts among his family.
He was built to serve; without serving he has no purpose.
A robot with no purpose is just a thing, a piece of junk to be scrapped down for parts.
Codsworth should be doing all of these things and he isn't. It's a failure, although whether the fault lies with him or the rest of the world, he's not sure. What he does know is that for the first time in over two hundred years, he's of some use, he's with what remains of his family.
Mistress returned two months ago, looking the same as she always did, if a little haunted. She's come and gone so many times since, returning each time a bit scruffier more tired. Once she came back with a laser burn so bad on her shoulder that Codsworth worried she would die.
But she didn't, and now she's back. She returned two days ago, marching into Sanctuary Hills with an overloaded pack and slept for twelve hours in her old room in their home. It's been nice, in its own way, having Mistress back, although he wonders if she'll ever find Shaun. The boy was sweet, cooing the way babies did.
Codsworth misses him.
When he asked her how long she'd be back, a haunted expression flitted across her face, and she'd put one hand on Codsworth's battered metal and said simply, "Christmas should be with family."
Family.
He'd never thought to be considered among those hallowed ranks; he was a machine and machines weren't built to be family, or even friends. He's heard rumblings, of course, over the last two centuries; it'd be impossible not to. He'd heard there was a place somewhere in the Commonwealth that made people who were machines, or maybe machines who were people. They could be family, he supposed, but he'd never thought a lowly robot butler, a Mr. Handy, could be part of Mistress's family, even with the diffident love he feels for her.
She comes out of the house now, a look of wonder on her face as she looks at the sky. Codsworth was so busy with his project he hadn't even realized it was snowing. It's done this a handful of times since the war, but he doesn't remember how long it's been since the last time. The first time the snow was green and it burned away everything it touched. He'd stayed inside the house, looking at the unnaturally vivid snow and if he could have wept, he would have. To face eternity alone -
No one should have to go through that. Not even a robot.
Her hair is loose in long waves around her shoulders. She shivers slightly and he rushes to her.
"Ma'am, might I get you a coat?" He knows he sounds officious and he hates it a little, but he can't help it; it's the way he was programmed.
She bears him no ill will, though; she shakes her head and sticks her bare hands in her pockets. Looks up at the sky with a faint smile.
"Snow," she breathes softly, the smile spreading. Up and down the street, refugees - he can't help but think of this generation of damaged people that way - coming out their doors to look up at the sky, some of them breaking out into quiet cheers. At the far end, near the bridge, a child giggles, and Codsworth feels a genuine pang of sadness as he thinks of Shaun.
To never see the boy grow up -
But she's seen past him now; she's walking around him, a small gasp coming from her as she looks at the big tree at the center of the cul-de-sac.
The lights glint brightly through the snow, green and gold and red reflecting on the scavenged ornaments he's spent the last few decades pulling from the attics of all the houses on the road. It took some serious effort to get to the higher branches, and he burned through his fuel faster than expected, but it's all worth it when he sees the look on her face as she gazes on his work.
She's enraptured, her mouth open in a small "o". In fact, everyone who now lives in the ruined houses steps out, as if in a dream, and walk slowly towards the circle, eyes on the big tree. She turns to him, watching his eye stalk.
"Codsworth…did you - did you do this?" Her voice is a wondrous thing, astonished and sad at once.
"Well, you see -" He pauses, starts again. "Yes, ma'am, I did."
Her eyes light up, although there are tears there too. Oh dear, he thinks, I didn't mean to make her sad.
"Codsworth - it's wonderful," she says, and if he had skin, he'd be blushing at her praise.
They all walk around the tree, a tribe of survivors, brought together by Mistress's ingenuity and will to endure, and Codworth feels a perverse sense of pride in them. These people may not see him as one of their own, and that's fair given his metal exterior.
He's still glad to have given them this.