You stare wordlessly at Amie. She stares back, with equal intensity. Then, she smiles. It's a sincere smile, free of any pretense. One that shows her warmth, her kindness. You feel an unpleasant sensation in the pit of your stomach as you receive further confirmation that Amie is more human than you thought, and you yourself less so. Once again, in her bumbling sort of way, she's managed to say something you needed to hear, even if inadvertently.

"Sir? Are you all right?" Amie asks, still regarding you, but now with something of a childlike expression. You realize that you've been frowning for the past few seconds, deep in thought. You drum your index on the armrest of your lounge chair, then straighten yourself and nod. "Yes. I'm fine. Thank you for reminding me of an important point, Amie. There is a distinction to draw between absolute perfection and created perfection, one which, I own, I have been guilty of failing to make on many occasions. Thank you for your honesty, as always."

Perhaps sensing an unspoken 'but' behind your praise, Amie waits for you to continue. "On the other hand, I categorically reject your abysmal pun and suggestion to 'build my own happiness,' as it were. I simply lack the proper materials for such an undertaking. I lack something that you, Amie, seem to have in abundance." You pause, fingers idly resuming their rhythm on the chair as you appraise your companion. "What might that something be?"

You get a confused look from Amie; she has no idea where this question is going. You give her a faint smile. "You're an android, Amie. Do you know what that means?"

"That I'm not human?"

"Which means what? What are you exempt from?"

"..." Amie looks down. She seems to have figured out your meaning. "From... from death, sir," she says, quietly. "I will not die."

"Indeed. And that is certainly a powerful advantage. One that I do not have. Yes, while you can dedicate your physical and mental powers to the edifice of your own happiness, for my part I am constrained to build on an arenaceous foundation. The bricks I lay down are fissiparous, and the mortar I use begins to crumble almost as soon as it is applied. Eventually, the entire building collapses and crumbles to dust. I need new bricks, a new mortar. I need something else." You pause once more, then exhale slowly. "I need freedom. You believe that transient happiness is the goal of my short-lived existence. I can only hope that it isn't, if only for my own sake."

"That... I didn't..." Amie falters. She looks down at her hands, clasped in her lap. "I'm sorry, sir. I... don't know what else to say."

You take a sip of tea, then grimace. It's lukewarm. Setting your cup down, you continue, "I'm not upset, Amie. Death isn't something to be feared. And if I don't fear death, it's because I'm not trying to build happiness in the first place."

"You're not?" Amie's voice is quiet, but she looks up at you, her eyes full of emotion.

"No. I'm trying to build something durable. Something beyond happiness, an unalterable joy that will survive my death." You leave the remaining tea in your cup, preferring to drink it cold a few minutes from now. Meanwhile, Amie ponders your words. She has a half-curious look, half-anxious expression. As if she doesn't dare believe what you've told her. "Sir?" she asks, hesitant.

"Yes, Amie?"

"What's the difference between happiness and joy?"

"Happiness is pleasant, but fleeting. Joy is unwavering. It's bigger than happiness. I want to build something with joy as its base."

"Can you... Can you teach me that?"

You smile at this guileless request, turning your neck slightly to look out the window. "I don't know, Amie. But I'll keep trying."

Amie's face brightens, then softens with a smile. She nods, her blond hair swishing against her shoulders. "I'll trust you, then. Please... Please don't die, sir."

You toy with the string of rosary beads in your pocket. The crucifix dangles from it, cold and heavy in your fingers. "Even if I die, you have to trust that my joy will outlive my life. That despite my death, my existence will persist."

"So you... you can't fail?" Amie's words are slow, but the question is urgent.

"No."

"How...?"

"Because I'm immortal." Studying the astounded Amie, your lips subtly curve to form into an infinitesimal grin. "Why the surprised face, Amie? Your beliefs are programmed to match my own, are they not? I believe that I have an immortal soul. Don't you?"

"Yes, sir." Amie's response comes in a whisper. She's staring at you now, her brilliant blue eyes wide. You can see a mixture of emotions flickering in them, even if you can't interpret them with exactitude. "None of this is beyond you, Amie," you comment. "You can see the truth."

"I can?" Amie rouses herself from the pensive mood she was in a split second ago. She looks slightly apprehensive, yet eager.

"You can," you confirm. "It's easy, in fact. First, happiness and joy. Would you be happy if you were hit by a car?"

Amie splutters a little, then manages to compose herself. "No, sir. I would be quite... unhappy."

"I'd imagine. Now, what if you were hit by a car because you pushed me out of the way, taking the brunt of the impact for my sake?"

"That would... make me happy, sir." There's a tinge of red on her cheeks now. "I would be happy that I helped you. Oh—I think I understand what—" she cuts herself off, a funny look on her face. You notice it. Why is she hesitating? She found the answer. Meanwhile, her jaw is moving, but nothing is coming out. "Amie, say it," you say commandingly.

"...I can't." Her voice sounds desperate.

"Say it, Amie."

"I... can't. You're going to hate me for it!"

Why is she acting like this? You frown, annoyed. "Amie, I order you to tell me what you're thinking."

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, resigned to her fate. "I... I was going to say... 'I think I understand what you're driving at!'" she squeaks.

Now that... is one horrific pun. Attempting to not make a face, you let out an awkward chuckle. Amie follows suit, though before long, she's breaking into laughter. The tense atmosphere is broken, and for the first time in days, it seems, you feel like... for lack of a better word, you feel like you can breathe easily again. Amie's crystalline peals of laughter are like a balm to your ears. This interaction with her... somehow, there's a sense of nostalgia about it. It's almost absurd, given the brevity of the time you've spent with her, but there's a certain feeling of 'rightness' about the situation.

Gwen. It's because of Amie's solicitude on her behalf that there's been this uneasy, underlying feeling between you and her for the past few days. You feel a pinprick of regret. If you hadn't taken her to Amir's house, then none of this would have happened.

You sigh. You don't know. Maybe you should try to say something to Amir. You dismissed the hypothetical out of hand, but is there the possibility that he would listen to you? That you could explain, calmly and with steady, clear reasoning that his conduct is making him and his androids miserable? That his approach isn't working? Even if he doesn't agree, at least you would have tried. You call yourself his friend and continue to pray for him, but is there something more you're supposed to be doing?

"Amie," you begin, as she wipes away a tear of amusement from her eye and blinks, "I'm going to speak with Amir."

Amie's eyes widen. "You are?" she says, in a tentative but rising tone. Her hopeful eyes lock with yours.

"Yes, I'm going to tell him that his actions are not conducive to joy, much less happiness. He needs to have a better outlook on life, and to stop being so damnably hypocritical about his faith. I'll..." You exhale, then continue, "... I'll tell him about my plan. Our plan. I'll suggest that he do something similar with his... wives. At least, I'll ask if Gwen and Ophelia can't visit us from time to time. I don't imagine he'll be pleased, but I'll try my best." Succeeding in forcing out the words, you glance at Amie.

Her expression is serenely radiant. She looks as if she has been praying for something like this, however absurd the notion strikes you. She acknowledges your words with a solemn nod, a reassuring smile gracing her lips. "I'm sure it will go well, dear sir," she says. And, hearing her say that, you feel like it must.

Replacing your empty teacup and the porcelain plate littered with crumbs back on the tray, you remark, "By the way, you happened to choose the only plate that's cracked. Though I left it with the others to keep the set complete, you can remove it."

"No, I chose it on purpose," Amie replies. You don't miss the little smile that forms on her lips. You frown. What are you missing? Why did she choose that particular plate...? You think for several seconds while Amie looks at you without elaborating further, an enigmatic expression on her face. Can it be…?

"... Our conversations about meaning," you say at last. "You were applying the concept to this occasion. The cracked plate, as a hint to me. Your sentiments for me are unchanged, hence the sweetness of the cookies, but there was a fracture in the foundation of our relationship..." You stand, facing Amie. Her face is placid, her demeanor as calm as ever. She seems to be waiting patiently for you to continue. Fragmentary thoughts and impressions within you begin to align themselves into a coherent whole. "You chose this plate because you wanted me to understand that what was broken could be repaired."

"That is correct, dear sir," Amie says softly. You study her face. She looks embarrassed by the fact that she even made the attempt, yet you know her efforts have been crowned by success. "Very well done, Amie," you murmur. She looks up at you, wearing an expression you can't describe as anything other than bashful pride. An odd, faintly exultant sensation fills you. This is another excellent result. At this rate, you'll be able to proceed from symbolism to...

The grandfather clock strikes half past four. This teatime dragged on longer than intended. But it was constructive. Now, to call Amir...