'Are you coming or not?'

Hank stared at Jean's text message. Again. It was already the 20th of December. She had written a day ago. He really should write her back. He exhaled and got up from the kitchen table. The water was boiling – finally. He threw the pasta in and stirred the tomato sauce.

The front door opened and Sumo barged into the house, heading straight to his bowl. Hank chuckled. "Well, it seems I'm not the only one who is hungry."

Connor closed the door and wiped the snow off his clothes. "He tried to case a cat, but it was too fast for him."

"Ah yes, sometimes he forgets that he's a little too old for that shit."

"What are you doing?" Connor entered the kitchen and craned his neck to look into the pots.

"I'm trying something new. This canned food is getting old. I mean … how hard can it be to make a decent sauce?"

In this moment the smart phone vibrated. Hank checked it – it was of course Jean. Why hadn't he just written her back? Crap.

'You dead?'

'Not more than usual.'

'And the rigor mortis prevented you from texting me back?'

'That's it, had to wait until I could move my fingers again.'

'Well, are you coming or not?'

Hank hesitated. He actually wanted to go … on the other hand he wasn't sure if it wouldn't be awkward. He looked up and saw Connor carefully stir in the pot, his mouth was a little open – he looked fascinated. Hank couldn't supress a smile.

His phone vibrated again and caused him to look at the screen.

'Listen, I know we're not good at this stuff. But perhaps it would good for both of us? You can even bring that miraculous partner of yours if you want.'

Bring Connor? He bit his lips.

After a moment of hesitation he wrote: 'I'll ask him.'

He put the phone on the table and wiped across his face. He couldn't possibly invite an android to Christmas dinner, could he? On the other hand even that would never surpass Christmas 2029 with his parents.

He glanced again at Connor. Why was he even considering it? And why on earth hadn't he just written Jean that his partner was otherwise engaged? Hank realised that he actually wanted to invite Connor … fucking hell.

It was impossible of course.

He picked the phone back up

'He can't and neither can I.'

'Okay.'

Hank gulped. He wasn't proud of himself.

'Do you have time to go over the boxes today? I'm heading into town now and could come by in an hour or so.'

Crap. There was that too. Well, perhaps it was better to get it over with. 'Okay.'

'Great. See you.'

"How is the sauce?" asked Hank. His voice sounded throaty.

"Its consistency suggests that it is ready," Connor lifted the wooden spoon and used his index finger to touch the red sauce. He put the finger in his mouth. "I'll register the composition – here does it taste good?" He handed Hank the spoon. "If it does I'll have a sample of good food!"

How was it possible that his machine was so eager? Hank felt an iron grip around his heart. He licked he spoon.

"It's decent, but not particularly good."

Hank put the spoon back into the pot with the sauce, grabbed the pot with the pasta and dumped it into a colander. He fixed himself a plate of food and sat down at the kitchen table. Connor filled up Sumo's dry food bowl. He realised that the TV wasn't on – it was strangely quiet.

The silence didn't bother him. It felt comfortable.

His thoughts returned to Jean. Why hadn't he just said that his partner was an android? He had countless chances to just tell her – and what's easier than write a text?

He shoved a forkful of pasta in his mouth. Somehow he didn't want Jean to know. Perhaps Gavin had been right after all – he had cleaned up his act because of Connor.

But why? Why had he done for an android what he couldn't do for his partner and his wife, heck or any other friend he had?

Connor sat down next to Hank and started to read a book. Why he still read physical paperbacks than just downloading the texts was beyond Hank … but like with everything else he did there was enthusiasm and wonder.

Perhaps- perhaps it was this quality that had gotten to Hank? Hank ate the last of the pasta. For all his posturing about real people and the real world he was nothing but an old, joyless cynic. Jean had a favourite saying from some writer: A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing.

They had both liked the quote. It had suited them back in the day. But now … Hank wasn't so sure anymore.

"There is this quote: A cynic is a man who knows the price of everything, and the value of nothing. Do you know who's from?"

Connor nodded eagerly. "Oscar Wilde, he wrote the play 'Lady Windemere's Fan' it was-"

Hank laughed. "Thank you, I was just wondering about the writer. It's something my ex used to say."

He cleared his throat. "Speaking of her … she is coming over. We want to check the boxes in my garage."

"Do you want me to leave?"

The question startled Hank. "No, no … I'm not kicking you out. I just thought I should mention it." He stared on the empty plate in front of him. "In these boxes are the clothes and the toys of my son."

"Is this him?" asked Connor.

Hank looked up, Connor was hold Cole's picture in his hands.

"Yes," he got up and grabbed a beer from the fridge. He opened the can and sat down. "His name was Cole, but I guess you already know that from my file."

"The book I found was his, wasn't it?"

Hank took a gulp. "It was. You know, even after all these years …" he stopped talking. His throat felt tight. "It was a long time ago. Jean is coming over because she wants to get some of his things."

"In the file it says that it was an android surgeon that failed to save Cole's life after the car accident."

Hank scoffed. "And now you're wondering if that was the reason for my droid-antipathy? What the report doesn't say is that the surgeon who was supposed to be on duty was too full of Red Ice to operate." He licked his lips. "That's the world we live in … a world where people have to find comfort with a fistful of powder." His sight fell on the beer can in his hand. "Or something else."

"I'm sorry for you loss, Hank."

Hank gulped the rest of the beer down quickly. He checked the time on his smartphone. Jean would soon arrive. He had thought that he could just let it happen, let Jean see who is partner was without having to explain anything.

But he knew that he couldn't take it, going through the boxes would be difficult enough. Damn. He blinked and said in a hoarse voice: "Would you mind going on a walk with Sumo?"

"Of course not," said Connor and almost jumped on his feet.

Hank watched Connor and Sumo from the kitchen window. Heavy snowfall had once again set in. They soon walked out of his sight. Hank exhaled. He would tell Jean, just not today.

-0-

Minutes later the doorbell rang.

"Hi," said Jean. She was still wearing her green parka and her woollen cap.

"Hi Jean, come in. We can drink a cup of coffee before we go in the garage – it's not exactly warm in there."

She stepped inside and Hank felt slightly nervous.

"Good idea, I worked last night and I'm half sleep-walking." She shed her parka and her boots and took a few steps inside.

He went into the kitchen and poured two cups of coffee.

Jean took a sip of coffee. "That pony tail looks good on you, Hank."

"Yeah, I figured that I looked less like a hobo that way."

"Indeed." She sighed. "Let's go into the garage. Knowing us it's going to take forever anyway. We can take the coffee with us."

He frowned. "Okay."

They put their jackets on and headed towards the garage. Jean remained silent until the garage door was shut behind them.

"Where is Sumo by the way?"

Hank drank some coffee. "He's with my partner."

"Again? He really loves that dog, doesn't he?"

He sighed. "Let's just start, okay."

Hank put his mug on the floor, grabbed the first box and used a cardboard cutter to open it. Jean took a deep breath and joined him.

They both worked silently, showing each other occasionally something they found – Mr. Carrot, Cole's first shoes and other things of sentimental value. Hank hand to sniff a few times but he managed to hide it rather well he thought.

"Hank? I think these are your things," said Jean and handed him a rather small box.

He opened it and saw that it was his old parade uniform, there were also some old certificates from the police academy in it. In a small case was a single coin. "Will you look at that – it's my lucky coin from my first year on the force."

Jean folded one of Cole's T-shirts and put in into a box. "I always thought you were still carrying that around with you."

Hank stared at the dollar coin. He had forgotten about it. He put it back in the case and shoved it into his coat pocket.

Jean put the second box with Cole's clothes into the trunk of her car. "I think that's all I need," she said. "You can keep what you want and- well, it's time that you had a garage to put your car in."

Hank nodded. "Perhaps you're right."

She rubbed her hands together in an attempt to warm them up. "It's a pity that you can't come to the dinner."

He hadn't expected her to bring that up again. "Um, well …"

She smiled. "It's alright. It would've been awkward I guess. But of course not as bad as Christmas 2029 with your parents."

He chuckled. "That was one for the history books, eh?"

She opened the car door. "Well, I'm off then."

"Bye."

He watched her drive away. What a woman. No bullshit and though as nails. A pity that he had screwed up … Chris was a lucky man.

He put his hands into his pockets and inhaled the cold air. His fingers touched the case with the coin in it.

-0-

The precincts Christmas feast on the 24th December consisted of a lukewarm alcohol-free punch in the break room and a boring speech from Fowler. Hank and Tina stood in a corner eating a dry cake.

"We'll go in a bar later," said Tina in quiet voice as Fowler droned on. "Do you want to come along?"

Hank laughed dryly. "Thanks, I appreciate it. But I'll just head home."

Tina had the sense not to ask if he had some family gathering. Hank clapped politely when Fowler had ended his speech, put the mug with the punch on the table and made his way through the room, brushing gently his colleagues away.

When he arrived at his desk, Connor looked up from his screen, pulling his hand away. Hank watched as the artificial skin returned to the white hand. He had noticed that Connor refrained from connecting himself directly with the computer when he was around.

He licked his lips. "You don't have to do that, you know. I don't mind that you use your hand instead of the keyboard."

Connor hesitated shortly before his hand turned white again. "Well, if you don't mind." He touched the screen. It turned black and lines of code appeared in quick succession.

"How was the party?" asked Connor.

He shrugged. "Boring as always. Nothing special."

Connor seemed a little disappointed. "I see. Are you going to another Christmas party?"

Hank grabbed his coat. "Well, I'm heading to Jimmy's bar for a drink."

Connor let go of his screen, blinking. There was a twitch in the corner of his mouth. If Hank didn't know better he would've thought that he was … cheerless. But androids did have emotions, right? "Alright." He touched the screen; the code lines appeared once again. "Good night, Hank."

He looked alone. Why was he looking lonely? And why had he even asked about the party? Hank felt his chest tightening. Because nobody had invited him. Androids weren't invited of course … just as they weren't allowed in Jimmy's bar.

Connor had been invited to a Christmas dinner and Hank had denied him that. Fuck. Who cares if androids aren't supposed to have feelings – perhaps Connor was different because of his heuristic programme? "You know what? I changed my mind." He tried to sound casually. "Let's go somewhere else. It's too crowded in the bar anyway."

Connor blinked, after a moment a smile spread out on his face. "You changed your mind?"

"Yeah, we worked enough for today, partner."

-0-

Hank pulled the car up and killed the engine. "Here we are."

"New Center Park? I thought you wanted to go to a bar?" said Connor and looked around on the dimly lit car park.

"Nope. Come on, I think we're already late."

Hank exited the car and put his woollen cap and his gloves on. Connor joined him, only wearing his usual android uniform.

"You sure that you're not cold?" asked Hank with a frown.

"I'm fine."

Hank grunted and started to walk towards the entrance of the park. It was snowing lightly. In the distance he could see lights and hear quiet music of the annual public Christmas concert. It had been years since he had last been here.

Hank glanced from time to time at Connor. He was looking around, visibly fascinated from the colourful and festive shaped lights and decorations put up at the snow-covered trees. In the middle was a huge fir, decorated with golden and red Christmas baubles, ribbons and on top of it a huge star. It was all too gaudy for Hank's taste, but Connor seemed to like it: He stared at everything with wonder and curiosity.

The choir on the stage in the middle of the park had just finished singing a song Hank didn't recognize. The singers scrolled through their tablets until they had found the next song. The conductor cleared her throat. "Carol of the Bells by Mykola Dmytrovych Leontovych."

Hank nudged Connor. "Hey, listed to this – it's a popular Christmas song."

The choir started singing the carol, Hank rubbed his hands together and went to get a hot wine punch from one of the stalls, leaving Connor to listen to the music.

When he returned Connor was still attentively listening. They were now singing "Ode to Joy". Connor turned to Hank with a broad grin plastered on his face.

"I like this."

Hank chuckled. "You don't say. I thought you're a Christmas person." He nipped at the wine and grimaced, it was too sweet for his taste. But al least it was warm.

Connor had turned his attention again on the stage, his LED flashing from blue to yellow. There was a half-smile on his lips, and Hank felt content. This felt right.

He pulled his smartphone out of his pocket, activated the selfie-mode and put his arm around Connor's shoulder.

"Let's commemorate your first Christmas," he said.

Connor nodded and they both looked into the camera, it flashed and Hank patted on Connors shoulder. He checked the photo, it was actually nice. They were both smiling, Hank looked a little dorky with the paper cup in his hand. Connor smiled his genuine smile … his LED was clearly visible.

He took a deep breath and sent the photo to Jean.

'Merry Christmas from Connor and Hank,' he wrote before he put the phone back in his pocket.

It wasn't exactly a smooth way to tell Jean who his partner was, but then he wasn't smooth – just a grumpy old crank.

He hesitated for a moment before he reached again into his pocket, fingering the case in it. He had thought about it countless times. He took another gulp of hot wine. It was silly.

Fuck it, he might as well just do it. He grabbed the case and closed his fist around it.

He cleared his voice. "Well, there is only one thing missing now."

Connor's eyes went wide. "What is it?"

Hank handed Connor the case. "A Christmas present." He shrugged. "It's just a little something." He back to the choir, feeling heat crawling up his cheeks.

"I don't have a present for you, Hank. I'm sorry."

Hank set his sights again on Connor and gave him a dry laugh. "There is no need. This is your Christmas party, partner."

Connor opened the case and held the coin up.

"Uh, it's- it's my lucky coin. I used it to carry it around when I was rookie. Thought that you could use it, seeing as you're the rookie now," said Hank.

"Thank you, Hank." Connor gazed fascinated at the coin, he weighted it on his wand, then he flipped it up and caught it with an incredibly smooth and fast movement.

"Just don't lose it."

Connor flipped the coin from one hand to another, catching it between his fingers. "I won't."

Hank smiled and looked again around. It was actually nice. People seemed to be happy, the lights were bright and cheerful. It felt good, he felt good. It had been too long.