Author's Note: This one-shot was inspired by and is a response to the fic Wrath's First Christmas, by Avisu. I recommend reading that first. Also, I followed Joseph Staten's example in Contact Harvest for writing AI. There is no way I could have concieved the idea of algorithms on my own.

The Prophetess of Wrath belongs to Avisu, the Chieftain Exilius belongs to Exilo. Both are used with their permission. Kazanna is mine.

Genre: Friendship

Disclaimer: I don't own Halo.

Out of the Blue

If there was one thing Kazanna had learned about the San'Shyuum known as the Prophetess of Wrath, it was to expect the unexpected. Not having had much experience with that particular alien race—hardly surprising after recent events—the artificial intelligence could not say for sure that the young female was exhibiting normal behavior for a San'Shyuum her age or not.

In truth, the AI had nothing against Har—as she insisted her friends, a term which seemed to apply to everyone, call her. In fact, while she found the San'Shyuum a fascinating specimen, her childishness also awoke an old protective instinct buried deep inside Kazanna's memories from the mind of the woman she had been created from.

As dangerous as she knew it was—dwelling on such emotions more often than not led to rampancy—Kazanna was attached to the young female. Perhaps that was where the mountains of patience she possessed when dealing with what should have been an irritating youngster came from. She simply could not find an iota of annoyance or anger—though her algorithms quickly helped her sort these feelings out whenever they occurred—where the San'Shyuum was concerned. Wrath never knew it, but while Kazanna was able to track the whereabouts of her crew aboard the vessel—and often did, if for no better reason than to more quickly deliver messages—she kept a special figurative eye on the young San'Shyuum, who turned out to be the only member on board who could give the AI trouble with that. She spent more time tracking the aftermath of where Wrath had been than the San'Shyuum herself.

Though the prophetess had the Jiralhanae Chieftain Exilius quite tightly wrapped around her finger—the most capable body guard aboard the vessel—Kazanna assumed a quiet, but near constant, vigilance. The Brute was, after all, only an organic, and, unlike herself, subject to the injuries that befell a physical body. Should he fail, Kazanna would not let Har come to harm. In fact, seeing as how the prophetess doted on her loyal guardian—and because his presence helped her accomplish her task—Kazanna extended that protection to the green armored Jiralhanae as well. Her algorithms pressed her not to dwell on such ideas, but something at the center of her being remained steadfast in the sentiment.

Further, it was refreshing to have a subject so eager to talk to. The prophetess possessed a passionate thirst for knowledge that Kazanna could relate to, wanting to learn everything possible about her new roommates, a sentiment which the AI returned, thus their conversations were never dull, and the AI had gleaned immense information from their interactions. Hence, the relationship that formed between AI and San'Shyuum was not a bad one.

She really should have seen it coming.

Her first clue was that the San'Shyuum spent an unusual amount of time in her own room, alone, long enough for the AI to discreetly check that she had not fallen ill. This again was a common practice that she employed with any members of her crew, despite the knowledge that such possessiveness could also be a sign of rampancy, though she reasoned that it was only her duty to ensure that the ship continued running at peak efficiency.

The next hint was the flurry of movement as the San'Shyuum began racing around the ship, much more energetically than was usual, such that when she reached the bridge, Har was across the floor and tapping on the platform before the AI could activate her hologram.

In a whirlwind, she smoothly deposited an envelope on the holo-projection platform, catching the AI by such surprise that she could do no more than blink and gape at it before comprehension settled in, and the AI could only laugh silently at herself for not having been expecting it as she gazed down at the Christmas card addressed to her.

Of course. Today was the 25th of December.

She mentally berated herself for being surprised, having been preparing her supply of subduing sleeping gas to quell any holiday parties that got out of hand. The crew had even decorated the ship. Normally regulations prevented such things, but even on full military ships such situations often ended with a crewman or more in the brig, and as this was a scientific vessel, with an interspecies crew, which thus far had a history of needing such treatment…she would not be worth the title of a Fourth Generation Smart AI if she wasn't prepared.

Still, not having had a childhood filled with memories of Christmas mornings, she had never applied the holiday to herself. It was simply something that kept the morale of the human crew high, and she had adopted wishing them a Merry Christmas as a way to add to the festivity. It had never meant anything to her. She gazed down fondly at the white square, the orange light from beneath the envelope silhouetting the card folded inside, the only one she had ever gotten.

Her algorithms were insistently sending alerts with an increasing warning, and she allowed herself to listen to them, settling her whirling feelings before dismissing them.

The captain—finally reacting to her call for assistance—reached over then, lifting the envelope, grinning slightly as he read the cover. "What shall I do with this?"

"Open it, please," Kazanna answered, and quieted her algorithms by reasoning that it would not do to hurt the San'Shyuum's feelings and risk the peace the races had formed.

Amused, the captain did as she asked—ripping the top more than she would have liked—and compliantly held it up before her, allowing her to read the carefully written—if untidy—note that Wrath had inscribed. If she had had limbs, a warm feeling would have spread through them. Kazanna was touched.

"Thank you, Captain," she said, glad that, unlike humans, she could control what her voice sounded like, for had she been organic, it would have been thick with emotion. He dutifully refolded it and reinserted it back into the envelope, pausing as he tried to figure out what to do with it. "Just leave it here," the AI lightly answered his unspoken question. "It's not harming anything."

He nodded and replaced it, turning to return to his duties—as did the majority of the crewmen on the bridge—and Kazanna glanced down at the unexpected card again.

As an AI, and not confined to a physical body, therefore able to, at times, transcend space, Kazanna was not accustomed to being caught off guard or surprised by anything. She did not appreciate the unexpected—a trait from which most of her annoyance with organics as a whole originated from—and hence her enthusiasm to handle most tasks herself. Anything unexpected, unforeseen, unanticipated, unpredicted, or without warning was—while perfectly within her power to contend with—an unwelcome figurative headache to her, and just one more event that demonstrated to her just how much more ideal an AI was than an organic.

Yet this out of the blue card nonchalantly resting on her holo-platform completely defied this principle about the unexpected, because Kazanna found that she liked this unexpected surprise.