#mxmas 2015

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The station’s work christmas tree

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read hte comuc below

they namd her Black Cheetah

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I don’t think I can make it to grandma’s grave this Christmas so uh yeah here’s Maya visiting her parents. I hope she’s okay.

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Gift Exchange

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

Gift Exchange

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

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

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

“Sure, Richard, did you need something?”

“No, I just…here.”

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

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

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

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

“Your mother?”

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

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

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

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

“Well great.”

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

“And, Richard.”

“Yeah?”

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

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

Valerie smiled. “I’d like that.”

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

The End

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

- submitted by ginover

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

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A Light in the Darkness

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Soul-less machines. 

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

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

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

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

What matters is what we do now.

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

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

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

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

What matters is what we do now.

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

Wept for all the wasted years. 

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

What matters is what we do now.

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

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

He’d begin again. 

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

“For you, Dorian.  Because of you, because of who you are and what you stand for.  I’ll build them for you, my son.”

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The toy giraffe in Christmas colours.