Moza sighed, slamming the lid to her boombox open mid-song, and picking up the CD. After a moment of contemplation, looking at the label, she sent it sailing across her bedroom with a flick of her wrist. Alkaline Trio's latest album bounced off the wall with an unforgiving 'CLANK', and after spinning like a top, came to rest on the white shag carpet. "That was my last CD," Moza said in an tired exhale.
The fourteen year old turned to her sister, the robot, sitting crossed legged on the bed. She wasn't smiling either. But Sparrow Jones practically never did. Currently, the teenage robot was staring down at her lap, her face fixed with concentration. It was as if it had taken a moment for her to realize the music had stopped, because her head suddenly jerked upwards, meeting the human's gaze. "Oh..." she said, quietly.
They'd been listening to music only for about an hour that afternoon, but Moza had started this mission to find music that Sparrow liked over a month ago. Each member of the Jones family had done their part to try and make her feel welcome and belonging, and while it had been a rocky road, it finally seemed to work: Sparrow no longer wished to leave. Although it still didn't seem like she was entirely comfortable with where she was, yet.
In order to help assimilate the war-ruined robot into teenage life, Moza had taken it upon herself to introduce Sparrow to a number of aspects of the culture, from makeup to magazines, to MTV2 to making-nice with the popular girls, despite making fun of them behind their backs. The aspects of being a teenager seemed to sink in, but very slowly. It was like having a little sister just starting junior high, only Sparrow was technically older, just massively inexperienced. If it weren't for the fact that she excelled in her academics and had the ability to give a potential hallway threat a lethal wedgie, Sparrow might have not had the courage to get through that first difficult month of school. She was doing a lot better now, answering peer's questions without hostily, bringing comebacks to sarcastic remarks, and politely but cooly turning down offers to attend at-home study groups with boys, in which Moza informed her that there would actually be no studying involved.
Contradictions such as that continued to make Sparrow's head spin. But progress was being made. And the next logical step in the robot's path to assimilation, after learning the basics of social navigation in an American high school, was to find out what kinds of things she liked, and find other people at the school who liked those things. Finding friends with common interests had been Robot's very first goal when he began going to school, and while it worked out OK in the long run, it resulted in him jumping into the social pool with his proverbial hands tied behind his back. His daughter had the upper hand-at least she was better versed in telling apart sarcasm from an honest statement, not to mention thus far, she'd been a much more discriminating judge of character. Moza liked to think she helped a great deal in making Sparrow this way, but it was likely that being trained to defend her own life had left her naturally wary of people.
But this was where they'd reached a dead end. Common interests among teenagers implied excitement over one or multiple pieces or genres of entertainment. Heartbreaking romantic tragedies, dystopian YA fiction. Music...
Surely, there wasn't a sole on Earth who didn't enjoy some sort of music. Even the grumpiest man on earth had to have a favorite song, something that made him content within the deepest part of his soul. And robots were not an exception. In fact, as Robot explained it, robots were usually quite fond of music as an auditory form of repetition. Most songs have an even number of beats, a formula that equates to a rhythm that is satisfying to both a human and machine's ear. Genres that robots tended to prefer involve music, like pop, rock, and even rap, due to the lyrical rhyming and consistent patterns the melody tends to follow. Whereas genres like free-form jazz and, surprisingly, electric club music, made a lot of robots uneasy and distracted.
Since music was an immediate form of entertainment that didn't require context from other media in order to be enjoyed, Moza thought she'd start there with Sparrow. But though she borrowed CD after CD from the library, and tediously went through every disk in her collection, she couldn't find anything that the robot actually enjoyed. Like watching TV and movies in the family room, Sparrow barely regarded the entertainment, spacing off in her head somewhere. Neither sports nor comedies nor documentaries could break this girl from her mental bubble. It was all just mindless images to her. And music fared no better. From Beethoven to The Beastie Boys, all of it went in one ear and out the other.
The only thing Moza could think to do at this point was focus on the kind of music that got herself hyped, and hoped that with enough time, Sparrow would just get into it too. And it was beginning to deeply frustrate her that alternative rock, which she was so passionate for, was just more noise for Sparrow.
Realizing she probably scratched her new CD, she grunted and rubbed her temples. "This is hopeless. If I can't find anything you like, what are a bunch of highschool girls who don't care about you going to introduce you to that I haven't thought about yet?"
Sparrow looked up from her lap suddenly. She nearly forgot the point of this mission was to find something she liked, so that she could broach a topic with potential friends. Biased though she might be about her skater park music, she was still trying to help. "I'm sorry," she said.
Moza met her gaze, looking suddenly guilty for the way she'd phrased her rant. "Don't be," she said with a shrug. "You can't help what you don't like." She folded her arms and rested her head on the computer desk behind her, looking up at the ceiling, while Sparrow occupied herself during those moments, following her gaze.
An awkward moment of silence followed, in which Sparrow almost missed the music for the fact that she had barely registered it was on. Just when it was becoming unbearable, a crackling noise broke up the tension in the room. "Girls, we're leaving in 10 minutes," said Robot's voice, static-filled and slightly distorted on the intercom. "Grab your jackets, we're already running late."
Moza groaned, leaning back in her chair and reaching for the switch on the square device next to her computer tower. "Alright, father-droid, we'll be down."
"Thank you," Robot responded politely. "And please don't call me that. You know I'm not fond of nicknames."
"Sure thing, Dad-a-tron Six Million," Moza replied, smiling to herself.
"Huh, Six Million?" Robot replied thoughtfully. "This old unit's not doing so bad."
Moza switched off her side of the intercom, stretched, and pushed herself to her feet. "Come on," she said to Sparrow, "Better hurry or else mom'll slam the car through the wall."
The girls arrived at the bottom of the stairs just in time to see Robbie arguing with his father over winter attire. "But I hate wearing this thing!" the little robot whined.
Robot zipped up Robbie's orange jacket with a look of well-practiced patience. "Come on, Robbie, your internal heater is broken, and I don't need your hardware to frost over."
"But it looks so stupid!" Robbie said. The instant Robot let go of his jacket, he shoved away from his father and spun around, looking horrified as the girls met his gaze from across the room.
Like Robot, Robbie normally didn't need a heavy jacket. His internal heater would keep him warm and his systems functioning at optimum efficiency, even during extended periods outside. But the heater had broke sometime in the early fall, which was why they were headed out today-to get Robbie a minor repair. And little robots tended to have a negative reaction to the cold, so Robot had bought Robbie a traditional children's winter jacket. It was bright as an orange, and almost as round as one. If not for his shiny glass head, from a distance, Robbie could pass for a stuffed animal.
Moza barely suppressed a snicker with the palm of her hand. "Nice one, Robbie. Remember when you used to make fun of me for my winter jacket?"
Robbie 'humphed' at his older sister, the human, now wearing a slimmer winter jacket that was flexible enough to put her hands on her hips. He turned away and attempted to fold his arms, but found that he couldn't properly cross them, as the arms were too heavily padded. He began waving his arms frustratedly with what little movement he was able to muster, and Robot laughed warmly as he scooped up his son in his arms. "Come on, Robbie, Shannon's got the car warmed up."
Robbie glared at his father, hating to be picked up like a toddler when he was already in the second grade, but said nothing as Robot hit the 'open' button for the front door on the wall, and the classic human house wooden door slowly opened by itself. He allowed his daughters to exit the house before he and Robbie did, and then shut the door with another tap of his elbow.
Outside, the neighborhood was buried under inches of pure, untouched snow. A little white dog in the nearby yard was creating a perfect crop circle with his paws, running and yapping back and forth from clockwise to counter clockwise, and back again. Half of the houses were already ornamented with Christmas lights, and the other half looked straight out of the back of a postcard.
Sparrow had been too busy taking in the scenery that she nearly jumped when she felt her feet slide on a wet spot on the front walk. Moza stopped and grabbed her hand. "Careful. Snow and ice, remember?"
Sparrow nodded. Even as she had gazed out of her window that morning and took in the neighborhood in the pretty vision setting they called 'winter', she forgot about the annoying thing they called 'ice.' It was hard to believe that there were parts of the world that could be almost as warm as the desert in the summer, and then turn to this six months later. Sparrow couldn't remember any of her winters from before she was taken away, and she couldn't get over how jarring it was to see all the demands of this kind of weather change, from humans (and Robbie) dawning heavy coats, to buying bags of salt, to switching to snow tires and stocking up on soup and hot chocolate. Even robots who spent time outside had to mind their functionality as the weather changed. It was one thing if you lived in an environment like this all year round, but how did they do this, every year?
The doors to a sleek, four door mini van slid open automatically, and upon helping Robbie up the step to the back seat, the rest of the family piled in-Robot and Shannon in the front, Sparrow and Robbie in the middle, and Moza stretching out in the bench in the far back.
As usual during these drives, Robot and Shannon carried out their own conversation, usually about little interesting things that happened at their jobs, or something more relevant, such as the astonishing realization that despite being adults now, their parents still managed to be so very embarrassing to them sometimes. Per usual as well, Robbie and Moza were on the verge of an argument, this time about Robbie's inability to move his arms and Moza taking advantage of this to reach over the middle seat and drape a backseat blanket over the front of his eyes, blinding him.
Sparrow, as usual, kept quiet, and locked her gaze out onto the passing streets.
The 'old people' van the parents purchased two months ago was fairly nice, with backseat warmers, storage compartments and even a DVD player. Robot had been particularly heartbroken about turning in his silver bachelor car to cover two-thirds of the cost of this thing. But now that they had a third child to drive with, they needed a bigger vehicle. It was unsettlingly comfortable, after having been exposed to the frigid weather outside. If not for Robbie and Moza's bickering, she could almost fall asleep here-
"DAAAAAAAD!" Robbie shouted at the top of his voice.
Shannon slammed on the break, just in time for the light at the intersection to turn red. She exchanged annoyed looks with Robot, making a silent acknowledgement about who's turn it was to parent. "Alright, Moza, enough is enough," he said in his sternest voice.
Moza, looking surprised, peered up from the back of the middle seat held up her hands in defense. "What? I stopped ages ago."
Robot turned around in his seat, eyes widening, and had to suppress a chuckle. Robbie's jacket hood had fallen up and over his head, explaining his blindness. He reached back behind the seat and yanked the hood back down. Robbie grumbled. "How much longer until we get there?"
"It's gonna be a long drive, Robbie," Shannon answered. "We're heading all the way to a shop in Mayner for your parts."
Robbie sighed, loudly, but had nothing to more to say. Because both JNZ and Lightoller were defunct now, the Jones had to find other means to take care of themselves. Most of the time it meant Robot was on his own for repairing himself and his family. But in cases like Robbie's, when a special part was required, Robot had to take him to a robotics tech-or in this case, a regular mechanic who had a background robotics as well.
Moza took this opportunity to put down her phone and lean over the middle seat. "Mom, can we put on 1.04. The River?"
"No way!" Robbie protested, "You always get to pick the station!"
"Not last time, Mr. 'Let's Listen to Radio Disney'!" Gross."
"Hey, I hate Hannah Montana," he said, sticking his tongue out. "But I like the other stuff. It makes me happy. Oh, let's listen to Christmas music!"
Moza groaned loudly, smacking her head against the seat. "Don't we get enough of that whenever we got to the store?"
"I still haven't heard 'I Want a Hippo for Christmas' yet!" Robbie said. "Dad!"
Shannon and Robot exchanged grimaces at the thought of being stuck in the car for over an hour with migraine inducing Christmas songs, though they were both a little sick of Moza's music, too. When they reached another red light, Shannon turned around. "Hang on: You two always get equal shots at the radio, but Sparrow never got to pick the station once."
"That's because she doesn't care," Moza said with a shrug, having had enough of the subject of Sparrow and music for today. "She just tunes out."
Something about that had struck a nerve, and Robot turned around, looking directly at his robot daughter determinedly. "Would you like to pick the station, Sparrow?"
Sparrow's eyelids fluttered as she came back to the present. "Uh... I don't know the stations to choose from."
"Just hit the 'seek' key," Shannon explained, pointing to one long bar among several silver keys on the center dashboard. "It'll flip through the local station one by one."
Gingerly, Sparrow reached forward and extended her hand between the driver and passenger's seats. She tapped the button and suddenly, the car was assaulted with loud mariachi music. She winced and took on a terribly pained expression as the loudness set off her trauma. Robot yelped, Moza covered her ears, and Robot and Shannon both reached for the volume at the same time and tuned it to an acceptable level, their hands brushing each other accidentally. Situation fixed, Shannon stroked his hand once before they pulled away.
Never having heard that kind of music before, her curiosity peaked. Sparrow reached forward and tapped 'seek' again. The next station had a commercial for used cars, with a man with a strangely Jersey accent for this area. After getting her 30 second fill of information from that, she hit the button again. The next station sounded like it was playing some 80s hairband rock. Robot instinctively reached forward to guard the dial so he could listen to this and test his memory of the band's name, but Shannon shook her head at him. Embarrassed, he pulled his hand away, and let Sparrow continue seeking. By the time they made it to the interstate, Sparrow had skipped passed orchestral music, blue grass, country, pop music on Radio Disney (to which Robbie protested when it was skipped-they were playing Alvin the Chimpmunks, and Sparrow didn't stay on it for longer than a second), and a dozen rock songs.
Moza wasn't the only one who was somewhat disappointed that Sparrow had no taste for rock and roll. The few times that they decided it was their turn to pick the station, Robot and Shannon always picked rock, though their specific song taste differed a little.
Jet, Robot's brother and the kid's uncle, also was a fan of rock. He explained that the intensity of it one of those things that soothed him from all the terrible things he'd seen. But rock songs tended to make Sparrow overwhelmed, if she noticed them at all, especially the heavier stuff that Moza's best friend, Jess, tended to listen to. There was even an unfortunate incident where, upon Jess coming over and bringing some of her own CDs nearly caused a disaster. The instrumental in Metallica's "One" sounding almost like a machine gun made Sparrow's anxiety skyrocket to the point that she nearly leaped out of the second story window. From that point on, Robot banned heavy metal in the house unless it was on headphones. Moza was annoyed, of course, but she cared enough about her sister to obey.
After skipping back to static-only stations in the unreachable 9.00s, Sparrow removed her finger from the dashboard, and slowly sat back down in her seat. A few moments of hesitation later, Shannon sighed and tapped the forward 'seek' until the first station with audible music came through. A popular hip hip song soon filled the car's background, and after what had just happened, nobody had the heart to reach over and change it-Well, Robbie might have, if he wasn't trapped in the puffy jacket.
Robot glanced back at Sparrow, something aching deep inside of him. He thought that if he just took her home, made her comfortable, did everything that a parent should have for their child, that she would come out of her shell. Was he wrong, or was this the best he could hope for? Robot recalled Moza telling her about Sparrow's growing comfort with using sarcasm and shooting down boys who hit on her. In that sense, she'd come a long way from the jittery, volatile girl when she was first enrolled in school. Her whole affect seemed to have calmed down a lot from what it used to be. But... she still was not acting at all like Beautrix, the daughter who was taken away from him to begin with. Instead of constantly asking questions, and bringing brightness to his life, she stayed quiet, dark and up against windows, like everywhere was still a prison.
Logical error of the heart: How could he miss someone so badly who was sitting there, right in the backseat? Had he known how reclusive she was going to be, he was starting to doubt if taking her away from saving lives was worth it. Over there, she was a hero, but here... she was empty. If there was ever a clear picture of a robot with an eliminated purpose, this was it.
He felt very guiltly just then. It was selfish to think of her that way. He had been so fortunate that things had worked out to where the whole family was together again, herself included. He just wished he knew of something that would bring out her personality.
They drove in silence for a while, Shannon staying focused on the road, and Robot himself spacing out, Moza listening to something on her MP3 since she didn't get her radio choice, and Robbie slowly attempting to get one arm free from the jacket.
The ride to the repair shop hadn't been as long as Shannon made it out to be. In the time it took Robbie to complete his careful mission, Robot was scooping him back up in his arms and into the warm, well heated garage.
Moza was the last to exit the van, with Sparrow needing to get out before Moza could crawl over the middle seat. Like the roads and lots they'd passed, this area wasn't shoveled yet, and dozens of sludge-ridden track marks ran on and off of the shop's property. And just like outside of the house, Sparrow had forgot how slippery wet snow could be. Moza watched on in incredible embarrassment as Sparrow took one step on the ground, extended her other, and as soon as she was out of the seat, proceeded to fall on her rear.
"Hey, you OK?!" Moza shouted.
Sparrow blinked, sitting in the muddy, dirty snow, looking baffled about what just happened. She became very aware of the fact that someone was laughing. Two people, actually. Sparrow turned her head slightly to the side, and saw two teenage girls of roughly the same height, standing outside of a truck parked across the lot. They looked like any of the girls that went to Sparrow's school, even though it was likely that she'd never seen them before. One of them made a show of pretending to fall like a cartoon character on ice, and then staying right on their feet, before an older man, presumably their father, ushered them inside the shop as well.
In the time it took Moza to crawl over the middle seat and join Sparrow at her side, she had started giggling, too. And it was seeing Moza's smirk that pushed Sparrow over the edge.
All of the sudden, the cruelties of the world came crashing down on her. The bloodshed and the ruined innocence of war was something that took years to harden to-to not have a reaction to. And less than six months home had done something to her. To where the simple embarrassment of a fall could devastate her to her core. How weak had she gotten?
But it wasn't just that. It was snow. Ice. Sludge. Wet concrete. It was winter. Christmas. Dawning coats. Family trips. A van. Bickering. Hoods falling over faces and passing the blame on siblings. It was hip hop and Radio Disney. It was having a favorite station to argue for. All these things that meant nothing to her. It was all alienating-everything was an inside joke that she was excluded from.
In war, her existence had meant something. But here, she as just an empty, useless robot, sitting wet in the snow. Like a discarded appliance that had missed the trashcan.
Some force deep within compelled her to close her eyes very tightly, and when they opened, her vision was blurry. She blinked rapidly trying to clear it, but the blurriness persisted. She had no idea what was happening until Moza leaned in close. "Wait, are you crying?" She twisted her body, looking to somewhere on the right. "Mom... mom! Come here!"
Sparrow heard the driver's side of the van slam, and a pair of agitated boot steps later, Shannon was with them, a mixture of concern and surprise washing over her face. "What happened?"
"She fell!" Moza said. "No duh, mom!"
"Moza, don't take that attitude with me. Why didn't you help her?"
"She got out before me! And how am I supposed to know she's gonna slip and fall taking the first step out?"
"Stop!" Sparrow suddenly shouted. "Just leave me alone!"
In a desperate urge to preserve whatever dignity she had left, she reached to her left and pressed her hands on the ground, reading to stand. But the patch was too slick, and Sparrow had moved too quickly. Before she'd made it off of her backside, she slipped and fell in the sludge sideways. A grunt of frustration escaped the robot's mouth as her hands and arms were now wet, too. None of it was helped by the blurriness of her vision, which wasn't going away. She sat there, not moving, for about ten seconds, all of them in total silence, before she extended an arm to her adoptive mother, and let her pull her to her feet.
Standing, Sparrow could still feel the slick ground under her feet, but with Shannon to lock arms with, she was soon walking on dry, virgin snow, her steps returning to a confident stride. But her head stayed low, and she noticed Shannon hadn't let go of her arm. Only letting go when they reached the entrance.
A rush of warmth wrapped around the robot as she, Shannon and Moza entered the office. Moza made a big deal of kicking her sneakers on the big black welcome carpet, but Sparrow didn't see a point in removing the snow from her feet. She was already cold and wet from the shoulders down.
Seated next to a desk, Robot and Robbie were talking with the shop owner, and the ladies walked in just in time to catch the tail end of an argument.
"But dad, it would look so cool!"
Robot sighed. "Robbie, you're not getting a red Power Ranger decal on your back. You're here for a repair, not a makeover."
Free from the puffy jacket at last, Robbie crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his father-jokingly, of course. The man behind the desk looked perfectly amused, as if nothing was uncanny about this father-son exchange that happened to be coming from a pair of robots. He looked at Robbie. "Be happy your daddy's looking out for you. I wish my pops was there to stop me when I got this baby:"
Lifting his arm off of the desk, the mechanic pushed up his sleeve and exposed a faded, brown, upside down cartoon character etched into his skin. Robot extended his eyes out a few inches for a better look, while Robbie turned his head a perfect ninety degrees sideways. "Is that supposed to be Taz?" the little robot asked, uncertainly.
"That was my best guess, too," the shop owner said, peering at the drawing on his own forearm.
Robbie looked suddenly nauseous, and leaned against his father's sleeve, dropping his arguments for a decal, as Robot grinned triumphantly. It was at that time that the men realized the women were present, and all turned in their direction.
"Well, if it isn't Robot's better half!" the shop owner cried out, laughing as he took Shannon's hand for a shake. "Good to see you again, hun."
Shannon flashed him one of her most awkward, and yet endearing smiles, and tried not to look bothered by having her hand shook around a lot harder than the man probably intended. "It's been a long time, Matt. Haven't been back here since Robot needed a tune up."
"I see you're keeping the old boy out of trouble," Matt said with a wink. "Marriage is looking mighty good on both you kids, I'll tell you what." His gaze switched to take in all of the family, but when his eyes fell on Sparrow, he frowned. "Your oldest having a bad day?"
Robot spun around in his seat, and he, too, only then noticed the sopping wet shebot. "What happened?"
Shannon was about to explain, but Sparrow demonstrated that she was perfectly capable of speaking for herself. "I slipped, that's all." She kept her eyes on the floor, not just because she was ashamed, but she couldn't stand to see the concern that laced Robot's face. She was still struggling with the idea of giving up a great deal of her independence so Robot and Shannon could truly attempt to parent her. She didn't need them to fuss about her on top of that. Especially not Robot. She didn't think she'd ever get over the guilt of not being the daughter Robot remembered. She didn't need him to worry about her.
Against Sparrow's wishes, Shannon grasped her arm again and squeezed. "That's what I'd been meaning to get to. You wouldn't happen to have a towel around here somewhere, would you, Matt?"
"That-that's not necessary, really," Sparrow started, feeling herself back away. "I have a water proof casing, I'll be fine."
"Nonsense," Matt insisted, standing up from his desk. "It's my fault that damn parking lot ain't shoveled yet. It's no good for a robot to be in wet clothes for that long, rust proof or not. You know, I think my daughter mentioned leaving a backup pair of gym clothes in her car," he said, scratching his chin thoughtfully. "She's about your height. Let me ask her, she's around here, somewhere."
"Aw, thanks, Matt," Robot said with a sigh.
Sparrow's mouth fell open to protest, but the decision had been made, and it became a faint sigh instead. Besides, as the tears finally subsided and she got her clear vision back, she realized she was a lot more wet than she had previously thought. Her slush covered pants hung wet and heavy against her body, and she felt gross. The thought of getting something to change into didn't sound so bad.
Shannon approached Robot. "How long did he think the repair would take?"
"About an hour," Robot shrugged. "It's a fairly simple procedure."
"Think we'll get home in time to see America's Funniest?" Robbie asked.
Sparrow grimaced. That was that show with home videos, largely of people falling down. She could just picture her fall-the thing that finally unleashed the pain her heart had been building a wall from-captured on a security cam somewhere, then sent into the show for millions of home viewers to chuckle at for a few seconds, before rolling right into the next clip.
Moza noticed Sparrow's expression and frowned, almost like she could read her mind, but said nothing as she turned away. Soon, Matt returned with a clean, folded pair of sweats for Sparrow to change into. The shebot took the pants into the next room, which lead to the bathroom, and discarded her own, sopping wet pants. She dried her shirt off as much as she could with the paper towels in the restroom. They were stained, too, but not nearly as bad, and at least she was dry now.
Instead of returning to the family, however, Sparrow decided to take a seat in one of the foldable waiting chairs in the garage. It was colder here, and darker than Matt's office, but better in some ways. She needed time alone before she could face people again.
She could hear another mechanic was dealing with the mother of the girls that had laughed at Sparrow earlier in an office at the other end of the room, but aside from that and a few customer cars with their hoods popped open, the garage was empty. Must have been a slow day. Perfect for Robbie's appointment. Even better for Sparrow's nerves.
The most surprising thing of all, however, was that she hadn't even been aware of the music playing throughout the building until now. It was definitely louder here than in the office, and despite the echo of the garage, Sparrow heard it more clearly. Guitar strings. An gentle melody. A woman's voice.
...Staring at the blank page before you
Open up the dirty windows
Let the sun illuminate the words that you cannot find
Reaching for something in the distance
So close, you can almost taste it...
Teenage culture was still largely a mystery to Sparrow, and she didn't understand much about fashion either, but even she felt self conscious in the bright gray, athletic pants. One of the reasons she normally chose darker colors was to make herself feel less noticable. The more obscure, the more likely she could fade into the background, where she wouldn't be asked about where she'd been or the things she'd seen, or asked to join in on the here and now.
Maybe part of her anti-social behavior was her own fault.
"Customer or client?"
Sparrow looked up from the oil stained floor. A young woman was standing before her, hands on her hips. Listening to the music, Sparrow hadn't even heard her walk up. "Pardon?"
"Here to get your car fixed, or here to get you fixed?" the female said with a smirk. Sparrow now saw that she was awfully young, perhaps in college, or even high school.
As if she was guilty over something-perhaps leaving the family-Sparrow stumbled to find words. "Oh. No. I'm not either-I'm... here with the Joneses." As she said the words, though, she knew they were inaccurate. She was the Joneses-one of them, anyway. But boy, she didn't feel like it. But why bother explaining to a perfect stranger that she felt like an extra in her own family?
"Ah, I should've figured," the girl said, shaking her head. "Silly me." She stepped to the doorway and peeked into Matt's office. "Your little brother's cute."
Sparrow opened her mouth to correct the human, but was surprised when she had guessed correctly. Robbie was her younger brother, despite the two of them having pretty much never bonded. She was hardly close with Moza after all Moza had worked to integrate Sparrow into society. "I suppose that is the common sentiment," Sparrow said. "Although I am a pretty poor judge of cute things."
The girl turned to look at Sparrow, looking amused at the way she talked. "Why aren't you out there with them?"
Sparrow grimaced. "I just... wanted to be alone." The shebot was hoping the human would take the excuse as a hint. But instead, she took it as an invitation to pull up the seat next to her. He hated how eager to be compassionate humans could be sometimes.
"I get that," the girl said, looking more serious. "My own family drives me crazy sometimes."
Sparrow looked away from her. "It isn't anything they did. I..." she struggled to find an excuse which didn't open the door to her whole backstory. "I've just had a rough day," she said, borrowing Matt's phrasing. "Slipped in the snow. Had to change."
The girl's eyes moved to Sparrow's legs. "I thought those pants looked familiar."
Sparrow blinked. She couldn't believe it had taken her this long to notice the girl's large bright, orange curly hair. The same color as the shop owner's. "Oh! You're-"
"Matt's daughter," the girl nodded. "That's OK. Not everybody gets it at first. Must be the glasses." She pushed the bridge of her glasses up her nose with her finger. Sparrow had to admit they did pull attention away from everything else. They were huge, almost as big as saucers, with a thick, black plastic frame. Beyond that, she had pale white skin, a long sleeved teal shirt, a black button-up corset that emphasized how skinny she was, sand colored uggs and black print disco-era pants that had colors to match the rest. Uggs weren't anything special. Sparrow saw every other girl at school wear them this time of year. It was the rest of her outfit that surprised her. Suddenly, she didn't feel so fashion-brain-dead if this girl was brave enough to pair this so-popular-its-invisible footware with the loud and outdated disco pants. "Oh, shoot," she said, suddenly. "I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Gwen," she said, extending her hand.
Sparrow eyed it hesitantly for a minute before grasping her hand and shaking it. "Sparrow."
Gwen furrowed her brow. "I'm sorry?"
Sparrow felt her face grow hot, dropping Gwen's hand. "That... is my name."
Suddenly, Sparrow became aware of the pants that she herself was in. "I'm sorry," the robot started, pinching the fabric of the sweats in her fingers. "I didn't realize these were yours. You probably want them back-"
"Don't worry about it," the girl told her. "Keep them. They're just my back-up gym pants, and I've only got another semester left."
Something inside Sparrow felt crushed upon hearing this. "You're a senior."
Gwen looked surprised. "You're not a senior?"
Sparrow shook her head. "Sophomore."
She didn't know why this girl being older disappointed her. It wasn't even like they'd gone to the same school. But as far as Sparrow understood how high school worked, upperclassmen didn't 'hang out' with underclassmen. Like it was an unspoken rule. In fact, upperclassmen barely acknowledged the underclassmen existed, except the few seniors that hazed them. It was like two different species coexisting in the same building, brushing shoulders every day, but never really speaking to each other. Sparrow didn't understand why it had to be this way. She just understood that it did. And now she dreaded the moment when Gwen would excuse herself and walk away.
But to Sparrow's surprise, Gwen just brushed the subject aside like it didn't even matter. "I hope this doesn't sound weird. It's just that, well, I haven't had a chance to really talk to a robot girl before," she said, frankly. "And you're really pretty, too."
At once, all of Sparrow's interest dropped, and her systems let out a 'whirr' of exhaustion. Great. Here we go again. Robot's upgrades to made her ready for civilian life included edits to her physical design that made her look more accurate to her physical age, as well as more appealing for socializing with humans. And this 'makeover' just so happened to make a dozen or so people remark about her 'prettiness.' The facial reconstruction was the most useless, superficial change to her design, and while at first it was nice to be recognized specifically as a female for the first time, she quickly grew to resent the compliments. How was she supposed to take Gwen seriously, now?
"Wow, you didn't like that at all," Gwen remarked, her face turning sour in what Sparrow realized was a reflection of her own face, reacting to the compliment. "I'm sorry, I guess?"
Sparrow was impressed that someone was paying that much attention to her. It wasn't often that a stranger could read into a robot's body language so quickly. "No, no, thank you for saying so, I guess." She clasped her hands to her face, trying to put her feelings into words. "I just think appearance is so unimportant. At least in the world I came from."
The girl looked away with a frown, and Sparrow still felt as though she'd said something wrong. But she couldn't lie-the girl had seen that talking about her looks made her uncomfortable. "Your parents like birds?"
"Huh?" Sparrow asked.
"I mean, your name..."
"Oh! No, my father didn't name me that. It's a kind of long story." She paused, tapping her claws together to an even rhythm-something that Robot had given to Sparrow, a habit passed down by coding. "A kind of really long story."
"How long is really long? I've got all day," Gwen explained, folding one leg over the other and knitting her fingers. "I just drop in on the weekends to keep dad company."
Sparrow had half a mind to ask what a seemingly normal teenager was doing wasting their time here on a Saturday. However, given her odd fashion sense and lack of hesitation when bombarding a nobody-robot-girl with a bunch of questions, Sparrow had to guess that Gwen didn't quite fit the definition of 'normal' in the general humans' eye, and perhaps didn't acquire the normal social calendar that went along with it. In fact, Sparrow had about a dozen questions to ask Gwen instead, but none more desperate than the one that had dug at her since practically entering the room. "What is this song?" she asked, her eyes flicking up to the ceiling where the tiny speakers were.
Gwen's eyes trailed up there, too, but her brow was knitted. "That? It's 'Unwritten.' You know. Natasha Bedingfield? Was all over the radio a while back?"
But instead of nodding with the jogging of a recently forgot memory, Sparrow just shrugged. Little did Gwen know that Sparrow hadn't even been here before the start of this year. This was her first time ever hearing the song.
"You've got to be kidding," Gwen said, looking awed. "Girl, where have you been for the past three years?!"
Sparrow looked her dead in the eye, the syllables finally tumbling out of her mouth like packing peanuts out of a knocked over box. "Delivering supplies to civilians in Iran."
Gwen's smile was long gone. "If that's a joke, it's not funny."
"I don't joke," Sparrow said, still tapping her fingers on her lab, but a lot quieter this time. "I'm not very good at it, anyway. I'm just getting the hang of sarcasm."
"Jesus," Gwen exhaled, horror creeping into the disbelief on her face. "You're serious?"
But instead of replying, Sparrow became silent, eyes flicking back up to the speakers again as she focused on the music again. "What is that song that is playing now?"
Gwen blinked again. "Oh... um... 'Put your Records On,' I think. Yeah. Corinne Bae or something. You know, if it's annoying, I can change the station-"
"No, no!" Sparrow said, flailing her hands. "Don't! I... " The robot's mind whirred, trying to find the words to describe how she was feeling. "I like it." She looked awestruck as she spoke.
Gwen's smile returned, and it was then for the first time that Sparrow noticed the line of braces on her teeth. Unlike other humans, the dental apparatus didn't look jarring. In fact, it just seemed to fit the rest of her. "Well, that's a relief. For a second there, I thought it was making you feel worse."
"Actually," Sparrow said thoughtfully, "It's the best music I've heard in... a while, anyway." The robot didn't know how to explain yet that she couldn't remember if she enjoyed any music before her memory as Trixie was wiped, and what music Trixie enjoyed. But the fact was that Trixie was gone, and her opinion didn't matter anymore. Sparrow, however, enjoyed what she was hearing. She gazed at Gwen with intent. "Who picked it out?"
"I did," Gwen shrugged with a grin. "Dad lets me change the station when I come over. Usually he's got some 80s rock on or something-you know how dads are."
Sparrow nodded, amazed that she knew exactly what Gwen was talking about. "And they don't make you pay Christmas music?"
"Who?"
Sparrow stopped, and rubbed her chin. "I... don't know. It just seems like a rule that all business must play repetitive holiday themed music 30 days before Christmas."
Gwen laughed. "No way! If that was the case, every time I went anywhere, I'd have to wear earplugs. Christmas music can be fun, but it gets annoying fast for a lot of people. Music shouldn't pressure you to feel a certain way, especially during this time of year, when everybody's already so stressed out. Which is why I usually pick something that's easy to fade into the background."
Sparrow would have liked to point out that this kind of music was the only kind that hadn't faded to the background for her, but instead, she found herself asking another question. "What station is this? I'd like to hear more of it when I get home."
"Oh, this is XM," Gwen explained, "It's OK, but it gets old fast, so I'm always changing the station. And it doesn't play some of the best stuff-wait!" She stopped, looking excited. "If you like this, you gotta hear Regina Spector. Come on, my MP3's in the other room."
Ushering Sparrow up out of her seat, Gwen lead her across the garage to the office where the music was controlled. By instruction, Sparrow was supposed to accept offers of social interaction with teenagers, as part of her mission to assimilate. This had lead to some grueling afternoons where Sparrow was obligated to sit in on some random after school clubs. The students that had asked her to attend some of these clubs were only trying to make her feel welcome, but all except for the social activist club felt like a waste of her time. And even the activist club honesty felt like too much of a joke for Sparrow, who'd seen the worst situations humanity could inflict upon each other, to take seriously.
But the robot found that she didn't mind this Gwen girl's offer to share some of her music. For almost an hour, the teens hovered around Gwen's portable music player, one headphone each. They went through song after song that, despite Moza's efforts to expose the robot to all music she could think of, that Sparrow had never heard before. There were indie male artists with acoustic guitars, a Celtic women's choir, and a bunch of instrumental soundtracks to movies from the '60s and '70s that Sparrow had never seen.
But by far, Sparrow's favorite discovery were the artists who played the piano. Sparrow had heard some piano when Moza was showing her music, but usually it was in classical orchestras where the instrument was drowned out by other instruments, or in solo pieces that were just too intense. But the kind of piano that Gwen liked, apparently, was in slower, simpler songs that were a lot more soothing. It took her a while, but eventually, Sparrow decided that the piano songs were the ones that spoke the most to her. And Gwen must have nailed down Sparrow's taste pretty quickly, because her favorite artist of all of them turned out to be Regina Spector. She wasn't even sure why the particular song that kept playing in her head, "The Calculation," did so. The lyrics had even less to deal with her and her experiences than the other two songs that had come on over the radio that she'd liked earlier. Though there was the inevitability later on of a certain cat-shirt wearing somebody making the humorous observation that the song dealt with a homemade computer, and thus a robot could relate.
Sparrow was enjoying herself so much that she was surprised when Gwen's father, carrying a fixed-up Robbie, came into the room. "I was wondering where you'd been, girl!" Matt said to his daughter.
"Just plotting the end of the world, dad," Gwen said, rolling her eyes. "How'd the repair go?"
"Great!" Robbie answered for himself, as Matt set him down on the floor. Free of his jacket, he ran around the room in circles. "No more stupid jacket! No more stupid jacket!"
Matt grinned as he watched the young robot run circles around his back office. "Gee, I feel like a doctor or something. I wish my clients got this excited all the time."
"I think the last thing we need are cars that can talk," Gwen said.
"You know what I could use, though," Matt said, rubbing the back of his head. "A six pack of soda and a nice hot dog."
Gwen rolled her eyes. "Aw, dad, do I gotta?"
"I'll throw you a couple bucks your way, if you do."
"I guess I could use some chips." Gwen turned to the female robot. "Wanna come with me? It'll make the ride faster."
Sparrow hadn't even realized she'd been smiling until she felt the return of a frown on her face. "Oh... I would like to, but I should get back with my..." she looked at Robbie, running around in circles on the floor. "...family."
The human girl nodded. "Well, alright. You have a phone, right?" Gwen asked. "Let me know your number so we can text sometime."
Sparrow's frown sagged lower. "I don't carry a cell phone. Not yet, anyway. But," she ejected a tiny slip of paper from her mouth. "This is my house number."
Gwen snatched it up without a second of hesitation. "Awesome! Catch you later, then."
And Sparrow watched her bob out of the room, a strange feeling of satisfaction came over her. Like finding the puzzle piece that fit, after an hour of searching. Something was finally starting to make sense, although she couldn't quite articulate it.
When Sparrow and Matt rejoined the rest of the family just outside the door from Matt's office, Robbie ran straight for the tallest mountain of snow he could find, and threw himself onto it. The top of the snow melted, and when he peeled himself up, left a perfect imprint of the little robot, bolts and all.
Shannon and Robot wrapped up their conversation with Matt, thanking him again for the speedy repair, while keeping an eye on the little automaton that was making their neighbor's dog back home look calm, as he ran around the yard, celebrating his freedom from the imprisoning puffy jacket.
Sparrow's focused shifted from her little brother, to Gwen, who pulled a second hand-looking sedan out of the parking lot, and onto the road to the nearest convenience store. The female robot waved at her just before she disappeared down the road and out of sight. And it was now that Moza, who had wandered up beside her, finally spoke up. "Hey, listen, I'm sorry."
Sparrow snapped out of her reverie, and turned to her. "Sorry for... what exactly?"
"Like, what I said in the car. About you tuning out. I didn't mean it."
"You don't have to apologize." After a quiet pause. Sparrow worked up the nerve to break her eyes from the floor to Moza. "I noticed you didn't apologize for snickering at my fall, though."
"Well, no," Moza explained. "That was hilarious, and I'm not sorry for it."
The surprise of that response make Sparrow snort, and she shook her head. Moza might not know what music Sparrow liked, but she was starting to figure out what kinds of things to say to the hardened shebot to unlock a little smile. "My life is a mess, and that was just the hood ornament on top of it all."
"It'll get better," Moza told her, elbowing her in the shoulder. "Look, you've already made a friend."
Sparrow watched as Moza pointed out to the tire tracks of Gwen's car leaving Matt's parking lot.
Friend, her databases defined: A person, man or machine, from which one can ally with. Usually discovered among common interest during interface. See 'companion.'
Sparrow watched skeptically as the late afternoon wind kick glittering snowflakes up into the air, and already starting to bury the car tracks. "We'll see."
As it turned out, Sparrow's doubts had been in vain.
Gwen had dialed the Jones household the next day, looking to talk to the teenage robot. At first, Sparrow was nervous. Never in her life, that she could remember, was she particularly verbose, and she didn't think she'd be much company over the phone. However, talking with Gwen just came naturally. It wasn't like the girl had been through the same experiences Sparrow had, or that she'd been through a similar level of trauma at some point in her life. For some reason, Gwen just made herself relatable. Though the human by far did most of the talking, she was a good listener when she needed to be, and she had a way of articulating her optimistic replies that didn't sound condescending to Sparrow.
Soon, Sparrow was taking car rides with Gwen to the mall, and visiting her house to watch TV, and do small, stress-relieving activities, like baking cookies, and playing board games. Though she was not navy, Sparrow had a liking for the thinking involved in Battleship, dubbing it a much faster, less boring game of Chess-a classic, heavy strategy-based game that most Type B robots had a knack for.
Once Sparrow had grown comfortable spending one on one time with the human, Gwen offered to take Sparrow out for coffee. Once again, Sparrow's anxiety kicked in at the first mention of this outing. She didn't know why, either. She'd faced life-threatening danger and spat in its face. Why did something as simple as ordering a beverage at a store intimidate her?
When the time came, Gwen made it even more simple for Sparrow than she'd expected, by ordering the drinks and bringing it to the table. It was crowded at the coffeehouse, and Sparrow felt herself shrinking back into the booth for every unfamiliar voice that spiked above a whisper. Just when she felt like she'd disappear into her thoughts and into the fabric, there was Gwen, handing Sparrow a small, hot cup of tea. She couldn't consume too much of it, though the insane amount of honey in it did taste good. And once they were chatting, Sparrow felt herself slowly surface again. And for every intimidating social activity Gwen would suggest after, the robot felt like she was becoming more real.
Of course, the thing they bonded over the most was music. Though she practically sobbed over the "mainstream" music that Sparrow had acquired a taste for, after having exposed her to all the kinds of rock music she herself liked, Moza let Sparrow have her old iPod. The shebot then loaded it with every new soothing song Gwen introduced her to. Even when she wasn't listening to it, she found herself humming tunes that got her through the most stressful parts of her day-going to school, taking these 'final exams' that every high schooler dreaded, and running to escape before being crushed by the hundreds of bodies flooding out of the doors for holiday break.
It was strange how Gwen had effected her. Even though they went to different schools miles away, Sparrow just imagined that they were running out of the doors together, and that made the experience less like a war flashback and... almost fun?
Once school was over, Gwen and Sparrow spent even more time together. Now it was Gwen's turn to come over to the Jones house. When she did, she brought over an early Christmas gift for Sparrow-an iPod dock. Now Sparrow could listen to music in her room without putting on headphones. At once, the gray, poster-less room seemed to come alive. And for the very first time, the room Sparrow slept in felt truly like her own.
And Sparrow herself wasn't the only one to notice the transformation. Though the music wasn't being played at nearly the ear-shattering volume that Moza's music tended to, Robot and Shannon both paused when passing Sparrow's room. It was unusual for any kind of noise to be coming from behind that door, and it made the man-bot and woman exchange surprised expressions.
For as long as Sparrow had been home, the parents had to constantly remind themselves that someone occupied that room. Sparrow's tendency for being quiet made herself something of a ghost in the house when she was just in her room, although Moza was the only one blunt enough to mention it out loud. When her friend was around, however, Sparrow almost became a different person. Robot came to a screeching halt and nearly dropped his basket of laundry when he thought he heard her laugh.
That said, when Gwen went back home, Sparrow returned to her old self. She opened another textbook and shut the music player off. She was serious again.
It was confusing, and frustrating, especially for Robot. He remembered his human friends having a profound impact on his personality as well. When he was out and around them, he used more slang, less contractions, and in general, became louder. But even after Robot went back home at the end of those days, his parents noticed that his mild mannered personality slowly started to fall away. Being around teenagers had made him more like a teenager than he could have ever been if he'd stayed sheltered, and he truly believed that his friends had helped shape him into the young man that he became.
With Sparrow, however, she retreated to the safety of her quiet almost non-existence as soon as Gwen went home. It was as if Sparrow's personality went out the door with the other girl.
Robot wished he could make it stay.
One day when the kids were all out, Robot was cleaning up their rooms. In Sparrow's, he found her iPod was in the dock, and the screen was on. Curious, he grasped it in his claw and pulled it from the doc, checking out the name of the track Sparrow had left it on.
Suddenly, he had an idea.
The 25th of December began for Sparrow like any other morning.
Back when she was in the middle east, soldiers didn't really get the luxury of enjoying the holiday, and the robots who served them were especially excluded from any small level of celebration that might go on. As such, Sparrow regarded the day like any other, even during her very first Christmas back home, last year. Though she got clothes, books, and a dozen small tokens of affection from the robot and human pair who claimed to be her parents, she wasn't as outwardly pleased as she thought she should have been. She was grateful, that much was certain, but still didn't quite feel like she really belonged here, so the gifts felt less like hers, and more like they belonged to a girl whose identity she'd been forced to assume. Beautrix. This mysterious other version of herself that had died when Sparrow was born. She almost wish she could have met the girl Beautrix would have turned out to be at this age. Maybe Sparrow would have a better idea of who she herself was supposed to be.
The calendar behind Sparrow's eyes read in plain, white font: December 25th, with a smaller font caption at the bottom that read: Christmas Day. All day. She blinked away the date as she lay in bed.
And that's when she noticed the time. The clock in her head read 5:22 am. Almost two hours before her alarm was set to go off.
What had woke her up?
Usually an auditory disturbance was enough to do the trick, but she didn't remember hearing anything. She chalked it up to a truck backfiring somewhere down the street, and rolled over in bed with a grunt. Since being put back on a regular sleep routine, she was as annoyed as any human would be at waking up before she had to.
And then, she heard it. So familiar, she almost chalked it up to her imagination.
Music.
She opened her eyes and sat up in bed. It was faint, the slightest sound waves just trickling into the room, but once she heard it, she was certain of what it was.
In the dark of her room, Sparrow's eyes landed on her iPod dock. The music player was gone. She flung the covers back, feet landing without slippers on the cool, carpet-less floor. Had Moza taken it back? The shebot's rapidly-waking mind ran through a dozen scenarios as she pushed open the door, rushed to the end of the hallway, and listened.
The music, and its source, was undeniable now. Standing at the top of the staircase, she could make out the imperfect notes of a song being played live in the living room, trickling into the den. The piano, a narrow piece of furniture which, up until that point, Sparrow assumed was just a decorative piece to fit the human half of the house's esthetic and prop up a number of dusty knick knacks, was being used for the purpose for which it was built.
Christmas is a time for miracles, said the voice of an actress on a sappy TV special Sparrow had been obligated to watch with the family some nights ago. For whatever reason, that phrase surfaced in her head just then.
It couldn't be. Sparrow's body tensed up. But the song, the notes, it sounded just like...
Like the artist playing live.
Sparrow lost all inhibitions, running down the staircase faster and lighter on her feet than a human her same size, her bare feet making a faint rapid 'ting' on the steps. She zoomed through the den and up to the opening of the living room. Peering inside, she couldn't believe her eyes.
Inside the dimly lit room, the piano's key-cover was tossed aside, revealing a row of bright ivory keys that were being played, as if they were every day. But Sparrow wasn't used to the sound of such an instrument in person, and the piano's booming live sound took her aback.
But it was who was sitting on the well-polished bench and hitting those keys that really staggered her.
Not only was it not a woman miraculously playing one of her most famous songs on the piano in the Jones' living room, but the figure wasn't even human. A familiar, six and a half foot man of metal was near perfectly belting out the cheery melody, engraved so deeply into Sparrow's mind. For a while, she watched him with his back to her, his back arched slightly, his form fitting burgundy robe tight at the elbows. Every once in a while, he'd pause for a fraction of a second, as if making sure that he was playing the song correctly, than continue on without losing tempo.
She was going to wait until the song was over, but before long, she was compelled to join him at his side, sliding without a startle onto the free side of the bench. She wanted to watch his claws as they fluttered over the keys, slowing like a bird approaching a rest-worthy branch as he hit the last notes. And then the song was over, and the two robots sat in silence for what felt like hours.
Until Sparrow found her voice. "That was... beautiful," she said, hesitantly. The shebot remembered telling Gwen that robots weren't very good judges of pretty things. But Sparrow knew that nowhere else on earth, spare a live concert with the artist herself, was she ever going to hear a closer rendition of "The Calculation" on a live piano. That qualified as pretty in her book.
Systems whirring, joints squeaking, the middle age Robot Jones turned and looked at his daughter, a warm grin on his unbuffered face. "You think so?"
Sparrow nodded, her pupils small, her face in awe. "Regina Spector... how? How did... when did you decide...?" Sparrow sighed. There were so many questions on her mind, and it wasn't even 6am yet. She looked the adult robot in the eyes. "Why?"
Robot held his claws over the keys without touching them, hitting the air above them in line with the song, having started over in his head. Whatever had compelled him to go through the effort of learning the song, he was enjoying it a lot. "Well, I didn't really know what to get you for Christmas." Carefully, he lowered his hands to his sides. "I remember the disappointment on your face when all you got was some books and clothes last year."
Hearing this, Sparrow felt a rush of guilt. "Oh... I didn't mean to be ungrateful," she said, awkwardly.
"I don't think you were," Robot told her. "It took me a while to figure it out what I was doing wrong, but I think I've done it." He looked at her seriously. "All this time, I've been expecting a different person to come out of you. Someone who will act like the everything she's experienced when she was away never happened. Someone who's just a normal, average, teenager." His expression became incredibly apologetic. "I was trying to get Beatrix back. Even if I couldn't admit to myself that that is what I was doing, that's what my heart was holding out for." He looked away from Sparrow, shamefully. "I don't know how I could expect you to love me back, given that my love for you must appear very conditional."
"I-I don't think that at all!" Sparrow said, her voice high and wraught with more emotion than Robot had ever remembered hearing from her. "You never made me feel like you were waiting on someone else to appear. Frankly," she rubbed her shoulder, "sometimes I wonder what Beautrix would have been like, if she was still here."
"But, she's not," Robot said, grasping her shoulders. "And you are. And you are all that I care about."
Sparrow's eyes pupils wobbled. She remembered what this felt like, this aching of waking emotions after years of having trained them to stay down. She remembered feeling this way when she'd been intent on going back into military service, and Robot had cried over over her decision. Ultimately, a desire deep down inside her to be that daughter that was worth so much parental loyalty compelled her enough to put off leaving. She had always told herself that if this didn't work out-if she just was never going to play the part of the normal American teenager, she always had a way out. A way back to a greater purpose. Now, it was over a year later, and Sparrow couldn't ever see herself trade in this life. Maybe it was selfish, but she cared about her own existence, now. And she cared about her family, and the sacrifices they made to find her.
In reality, she treasured every useless skirt and boring book she received on the holidays, because it was more than she'd ever gotten before.
But this... This song. This token of consideration. It was something else entirely.
Again, she felt the strange sensation behind her eyes, like she'd fallen in Matt's parking lot again. But this time, it was in the form of joy. She managed to hold her eyelids tight long enough to force the tears back. She still wasn't comfortable with showing emotion if she didn't have to, even if all her war programming to hide her weaknesses was gone now.
To distract herself, she took her eyes off Robot, and onto the keys. "You learned the piano just to do that, for me?"
Robot grinned. "Well, your grandmother made me learn the piano when I was a little younger than you are right now, so I wasn't all that new to it. Though it's been quite a while."
Sparrow looked at him thoughtfully. "I hadn't known that."
"Oh, that reminds me," Robot said, reaching into his pocket, and producing Sparrow's iPod. He gently pressed it into Sparrow's open palm. "Forgive me for intruding on your personal space, but we haven't spoken much since your new friend started coming over, and I thought maybe she was showing you some tunes you were really interested in."
Sparrow rested the skinny iPod on the side of the piano silently. It occurred to her just then that there were many things about her father, her creator, and her technological predecessor, that she didn't know about. Often when invited to discuss things at the dinner table, she found her mouth staying shut, unable to think of anything worthy to say. But Sparrow admitted there was something awing about, after 14 years of being a random army robot, discovering who her father was, and that he was a robot to boot. There was so much to learn about herself that she could learn from him alone. After all, they were built for roughly the same purpose: Integrating with humans. She wondered what it must have been like, to be the first of his kind, to bond with humans on a personal level unlike any robot that had ever come before him. Surely, if Sparrow had doubts about her ability to assimilate to civilian life, he would have to had encountered doubts about his ability to do the very thing he ended up doing so well.
She looked down at her own hands, wondering if a sound so beautiful as she had just heard could possibly be made by the same hands that had been soaked in soldier's blood.
She regarded the warm spot in this half robot, half human household, and supposed that greater miracles had happened. "Do you suppose that you could teach me?" Sparrow asked.
"Teach you what?" Robot asked, puzzled. "To... play piano?"
"Yes!" Sparrow said in a hushed cry, brushing the tops of the keys with her fingers. "This is the most beautiful instrument I've ever heard." She struggled for words again to describe how she was feeling. "I... want to play the song myself."
Robot rolled his eyes playfully. "Well, OK, but we'd better start off with the basics first. The only thing more rusty in this house than my gears is my piano skills, so-"
The automaton flipped open the dusty music book on the top of the piano to the first page and began explaining to his attentive student what the musical notes stood for.
Originally Published December 25th, 2018
Author's Note from the Story:
I wanted to get this cleaned up but it's a Christmas time fic, so better post it now.
So a few years ago I posted the Thanksgiving Moza fic, and I got a LOT of great feedback on it (which I'm still incredibly thankful for, thanks to everybody who comments on my writing, compliment or criticism *cries*), and it made me really excited, especially since I wrote most of that thing ages ago. I didn't think much about it, but seeing positive reactions to the characters and the way I wrote RJ and Shannon (I guess?) made me want to continue writing current-day-set RJ fics. This time around, since I didn't even acknowledge the more tragic of the Jones children in that story, here's a fic that's dedicated entirely to Sparrow, and her continuing struggle to conform to home life after the war, and accepting the role of this normal girl she was always meant to have.
Hope you like it, and everybody have a Happy Holiday season and a Happy New Year!
Whatever Happened to Robot Jones? © Greg Miller & Cartoon Network
The non canon characters belong to meh.