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"Are you sure it's safe to cook in this?" Turing peers into the oven.
"I haven't died yet." Hal looks up from a log of cookie dough. "We need to finish these quick."
"Why?"
"I made enough to take to Ms. Flores, Tomcat, Lexi, the Boys, and Jess. I don't like being out too late." He glances up. "Can you lay these out on the tray?"
"Of course." Turing gently moves the round, sugared, gingerbread onto a shabby looking pan before pulling open the oven and pushing them in.
"How long?"
"Ten minutes."
Turing grabs a timer off the counter, twisting to 10. They set it down and walk over to Hal, climbing up on the bed with him.
"I knew this was a stereotypical idea for Christmas. But I didn't know people actually did it."
"Hayden never did it?"
"No. Did he?"
"Yeah. We burnt them and used them as hockey pucks."
"I do remember finding a photo of you and him in the snow."
"Hmm." He looks up as the timer dings, pushing the cutting board to the side, shuffling off the bed, and grabbing a silicone oven mitt. He opens the oven, barely moving his head away before the wave of heat hits him, then reaches in, pulling out the tray of unburnt cookies.
"They look great!"
"Yeah, they do." Hal tips the sheet, letting the cookies slide off onto a plate. He turns, stopping short as he nearly runs into another tray of cookies.
"I took the liberty of getting another tray ready."
"Thanks, Turing."
"You're welcome."
"Alright, one more tray after this one." He takes the tray, pushes it in the oven, shuts the door, and sets the timer.
"It has now been exactly 3 years since I came to find you."
"Yeah?"
"Yes."
"Three years." He looks down at his hand. The matte metal twinkles under the small chain of Christmas lights he bought. Courtesy of Ms. Flores. Just a few smaller implants. Where the nerves have been irreparably damaged.
While she would likely never say it out loud, she did feel. Somewhat responsible for the ordeal. Maybe for not asking more questions. Not warning them.
"Does it still feel weird?"
"Nah." He looks up as the timer dings again, shoving the silicone over the hand. Turing places the last of the cookies on the first, now cooled, sheet, handing it off once Hal has an open hand.
"Thanks."
"Do you have any plates?"
"I bought cellophane bags and ribbons."
"Where are they?"
"Bag on the desk."
He closes the oven door, grabbing the plate of cooled cookies and brings them over to Turing as they thumb through the different bags.
"I like this one." They hold up one with small poinsettias placed in a nice pattern.
"Perfect for Ms. Flores."
"Not too on the nose?"
"I think she'll appreciate it."
"You're probably right."
"Pat... what would Pat like?"
"He could probably eat a cookie."
"Or we could get him some fish? Salmon?"
"That’s brown bears."
"A bear is a bear, Turing."