Mr. Brennan looks up from his newspaper. "Amie. Welcome home."

"Hello, Mr. Brennan." You smile at him, grocery bags in your arms.

Mr. Brennan stands and comes over, taking the bags from you. However, instead of carrying them into the kitchen, he peers at your face and frowns. "What's wrong?"

You start. "Sir, why would you think there's something wrong?"

He gives you a little shrug. "You seem different than usual. Did something happen?" You sigh and tell him. While you do, he paces back and forth across the living room. When you finish, he stops.

"So. That's it," he muses absentmindedly.

"Yes, sir," you say softly.

Mr. Brennan studies you, a smile playing on his lips. "And you were... offended by her suggestion?"

"Yes," you say, "I was."

"Oh? Why?"

You bite your lip nervously. "Because... because she said you had a medical condition that made you... unable to... have... intimate relations with me."

Mr. Brennan laughs. "She did, did she?"

"Sir? What is so funny?" you ask indignantly.

He turns to you, his eyes twinkling. "Amie, Amie. You'll have to get used to those sorts of comments. Our relationship is too difficult for most people to wrap their minds around."

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sir," you say politely. "All I know is that you are unwilling to... use me, and it offended me that she should immediately jump to the conclusions she did. As if a man can't own an android without exploiting her. It's… It's just ridiculous."

Mr. Brennan chuckles. "I entirely agree. But you can't expect her to grasp our relationship. Society's normative interactions are what she understands; that is, humans taking advantage of androids. The presumption is that I will take advantage of you, since I am in a position to do so."

"That's nonsense," you say softly.

He gives you a look. "Of course it is. But there's no sense getting worked up about her expectations. You know what the truth is, what the truth is about our life together. That's what truly matters. Now, come on, I'll take these groceries into the kitchen. Mr. Brennan bends over to lift up some of the bags. You stare at the living room's dark brown carpet. Patterns of interweaving golden vines run along it. "I don't like it," you declare, before Mr. Brennan can enter the kitchen. Turning back, he sees you fixating the floor. He shrugs. "I happen to be rather fond of that carpet. But, if you really dislike it..."

"I don't mean the carpet! I mean this... this whole situation! I don't like it! I don't like her!" You're practically shouting.

Mr. Brennan's eyes narrow. He lowers the bags back to the floor and looks at you concernedly. "Amie..."

"It's not you! It's her! She's a horrible person! It's not fair! It's not... fair..." You start sobbing.

"Amie. Listen to me. You don't really know that she's a horrible person. She's just expressing a view that's common in our society."

"Well, it shouldn't be common! It's not right! She doesn't know you! You're a good person! You're a kind person! She doesn't know you at all!"

He frowns. "I think that's enough of that. You're not a child, Amie. I think you've made your views on the topic quite clear. And it's time for you to stop. I'm touched that you're so upset on my behalf; however..."

You take a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "Yes?"

"Dr. Gossey is a person. And, as you've made abundantly clear, personhood is something to which you aspire," Mr. Brennan says levelly.

You sniffle. "S-So? I don't understand what you mean, sir."

"Personhood is the most important thing in the world to you, correct? More than anything else, you want to be a person. It's precious to you."

You stare back at him, worried about where his line of questioning is going. "Yes, sir. I do."

"Well then, Amie..." Mr. Brennan's gaze hardens. "How can you call her horrible, when her existence should be more precious to you than anything you own?"

You take a step back. "What?"

"Did Dr. Gossey so wrong you that you need to see her hurt? Do you bear that much of a grudge against her?"

You shake your head vehemently. "No! I just don't want her to speak badly of you! I mean, that's all!"

He sighs. "And while I appreciate your sentiments, I think you're blowing the matter out of proportion. I'd like you to stop this crying now and do your best to overcome your resentment. If you wish to be a person, Amie, you will grant personhood to everyone. Unless you do so, you cannot expect other people to do the same for you. Do you understand?"

You stare at him for a moment. He stares back. Finally, you nod. "I understand, sir."

Mr. Brennan studies you as you hang your head despondently. "Wait here. I'll put away the bags and be right back." When Mr. Brennan returns, he is startled to find you where he left you, head bent, your hair still falling over your eyes. "A-Amie?... Is this because I told you to stay here?... I thought you would at least take a seat..." He leads you over to the couch and sits beside you.

You stare dully into space. "Sir... do I have your permission to deactivate my emotional simulator?"

Mr. Brennan pauses, evidently contemplating the fact that this is even a possibility. "Why would you ask me that?" he carefully inquires.

"Because I must be a nuisance to you, sir. You have better things to do than tend to a capricious android. Other things occupy your schedule. I am but a distraction, is that not correct?"

He sighs. "Yes, you are a distraction. I won't conceal the fact."

"Then I should no longer be one, sir. By your leave, I would like my emotions to be deactivated."

Mr. Brennan rubs his smooth, recently shaven chin. "Request denied."

You draw a sharp intake of breath. "What? Why? I must be a bother and will continue to be so, if you won't deactivate my emotions."

"You are a bother, as I admitted. But the harm you do is minimal, even if it does aggravate me from time to time. More importantly..."

You look up at him with glistening eyes. His gaze is unflinching. "... you and I, we’re not finished. I made a promise to help you approach as near to personhood as you possibly can as an android, Amie, and I will see it through. Your emotions are part of that."

You exhale a shuddering breath. "As you say, sir."

"Now, that being said..."

Your eyes dart up. "Yes, sir?" you ask, faltering a bit.

Mr. Brennan appraises you skeptically. "Emotions are one thing. Capriciousness is another. Pouting doesn't make you more human, Amie, whatever your data tells you."

"It doesn't, sir? But..."

"What does it mean to be human?" Mr. Brennan asks, cutting you off. You have no answer. "A human is an intellectual being, a being with an intelligence and will. With that intelligence, one can identify goodness, then choose it by exercising one's will. Now, pouting is admittedly—no matter how undignified—an act requiring intelligence; but what do you choose by indulging your hurt feelings?"

You brood over this.

"You haven't chosen goodness. You haven't even chosen yourself—I mean your true self, the 'Amie' I know you want to be for me. You haven't learned to reduce your hurt feelings to a more rational place. Instead, you're choosing the illusion of being a little girl. What does this make you?" You don't have an answer. Mr. Brennan opens his mouth to continue, then thinks better of it. You want to reach out and touch him, but you shrink back, afraid of confirming his judgment of you.

Is this... who you really are? Is this what you've been programmed to be?

"...This is so confusing," you mutter. "I'm sorry, but I don't understand. How should I act? What should I be?" you cry out plaintively, not even daring to face Mr. Brennan.

"Amie..." he says, the exasperation in his voice unmistakable, as he gently takes your hand. "Look at me."

You lift your eyes.

"I know the difference."

You stare at him blankly. Your mind races, generating millions of thoughts per second. What does he know? Does he know everything about me? How can he be sure? Mr. Brennan regards you imperturbably. "I've no doubt that this petulant outburst is part of your programming. Feminine susceptibility included for enhanced realism, no doubt." His lips twist in distaste. "But don't misunderstand: I'm not condemning your emotions. There are tears that are good and necessary to shed." He frowns slightly, as if struggling with some inner conflict.

Your eyes drift downward dejectedly. Noticing this, Mr. Brennan stops vacillating. "It wasn't only women who wept for Lazarus," he says softly.

His strange words reverberate in your ears, and you lift your eyes to his. "What do you mean?"

"Our relationship is more than just that of a master and a servant. You are becoming more than your code. We have a bond, Amie. One that goes beyond what can be programmed into you." His eyes darken as if his words are said against his own will. "You... can weep for me, Amie. You can feel sadness. In this you can be human..." His voice comes out as barely more than a whisper. "...more, perhaps, than me."

At this point you hold out your hand, unsure what else to say. You are unsure of whether or not you believe him. Mr. Brennan takes your hand in his, and looks into your eyes. The mask of coolness and detachment is back in place, but a hint of something—sorrow? regret?—is now present. Mr. Brennan's eyes flit past you briefly before returning to your own. "Do your utmost to choose goodness, Amie." His gaze is intense, ardent. You can't look away.

"My programming... what if it's faulty?" you ask quietly. "What if I can't choose goodness?"

"I'll help you do so." He gives you a wan smile. "And maybe, one day you'll help me." He squeezes your hand once, briefly, and then lets go. You look down once more, as if embarrassed, but you feel his gaze on you still.

"Mr. Brennan?"

"I'm here."

You look up to see his stern, stoic face before you. In his eyes is sadness—and something else. Something you struggle to read. "Will I...?"

"One day, one day soon, you will know all. But for now I leave you to your choice. Which shall it be, Amie? Goodness, or contrived conformity? The being you are, or the thing you were programmed to be?"

"I don't want to be a thing I was programmed to be. I want to be a person. Help me, Mr. Brennan."

A pause follows. Mr. Brennan's eyes drift to the floor. He breathes in evenly. "I can't give you what you want. But I can make you more than your creators ever envisioned—or desired—you to be. Will you let me?"

"Yes." The word falls from your lips like a child's prayer.

He smiles. "Then that's what you shall become, Amie. It may pain you, it may even be difficult at first, but I give you my word: it will be worthwhile." A silence follows, as you both stare at each other. Then he sighs. "The groceries..." he begins ruefully. "I brought the bags in, but their contents…" he trails off.

Your eyes widen. "O-Oh! Right! I—I'm so sorry, dear sir—umm, Mr. Brennan!" You rise in a flash. Not good! Nothing's been put in the freezer yet!

Mr. Brennan’s lips tug upward as he watches you bound into the kitchen. Rising in turn, he follows after you.