Author's Note: So, this one's a little more family-esque and a little less shippy-esque than I originally planned. There was a whole scene that materialized out of nowhere, and by the time that was added, the chapter was getting too long. As a result, a lot of Charley/Sarah moments will have to wait until next time. The good news is, 'next time' has been in my head for awhile now, so it shouldn't take too long to write up.

The character that's brought in here, the general situation, and some of the lines in the final scene of the chapter, I can't really take credit for them. They were part of an earlier draft of the Terminator 2 script. As with a lot of things in this fic, I took ideas from smarter, more creative people, and twisted them for my own purposes.

Three days after their move to the desert, Sarah was going stir crazy. She'd found new sympathy for John and the restlessness he'd battled while they got settled after the time jump. The state of limbo, the period between one name and another, it wasn't usually so hard for her to take. But these last two days had been difficult. She'd gotten used to living with Ellison back in L.A., but that was a different situation. She'd been alone with Ellison, free to vent her frustration on him whenever she desired. Now there was Savannah to consider. As quickly and inexplicably as Sarah had become 'Aunt Sarah,' Mr. Ellison had become 'Uncle James.' Sarah imagined it had something to do with leaving the girl in his care that night at the motel. Part of Sarah thought that she shouldn't have done that, the childish, irrational part that was unfairly jealous that Ellison had achieved the same status as her. And Charley. Charley. Of all the things Sarah shouldn't have done at that motel, letting Ellison babysit was near the bottom of the list.

Sarah could no longer be so free with her dirty looks or nasty comments towards Ellison, not with Savannah around. The lack of a verbal punching bag worsened her state of unease, but didn't cause it. That was all on Sarah herself, and Charley. By silent agreement, they'd decided not to discuss the motel, or the kiss. They weren't fighting exactly, but the act they put on for Savannah was still something of an act. Combined with furtive looks from Ellison and the usual difficulties of constructing a life from the ground up, all this was making Sarah restless, irritable and agitated, even by her standards.

On that third day of their life that didn't exist yet, Sarah left her bedroom and entered the main living area. There was a bag of Ellison's clothes by the couch, and she glared at it. It wasn't as if he could do anything else since she hadn't given him a room, but still. Derek and Cameron were gone, and there was no one else for Sarah to vent her anger on without feeling guilty. Despite that, Sarah found herself softening to him. Partly because Charley kept nagging her about it, partly because Ellison didn't snore or talk in his sleep like Derek had, mostly because the ex-agent made Savannah smile. And making Savannah smile had gotten considerably more challenging since that last day at the lighthouse.

Crossing to the kitchen, Sarah made herself a cup of coffee. Leaning against the counter, she savored the bitter liquid, even as it burned her lips. It was far too easy for her to think back a few days, imagine Charley's lips pressing against hers. Fortunately, Savannah's appearance kept her from getting too deep into thoughts she shouldn't be having.

"Good morning," the child greeted, rubbing her eyes as she sat down at the table.

"Morning to you," Sarah replied, mouth curving in a smile. Savannah was still in pajamas, but she'd obviously made an attempt at doing her own braids. All her training aside, that skill continued to elude her. "Bad hair day?" Sarah teased.

Savannah looked down, studying the table. "I tried on my own, but it's hard."

Sarah closed her eyes. Damn kid was so eager to please, as if Sarah's approval hinged entirely on the girl's ability to complete tasks set to her. Moving to the table, Sarah pulled up a chair next to Savannah, playfully flipping one of the braids. "It is," she said, fighting an urge to add that hair was the hardest thing to get right. She'd thought after three months that Cameron's stupid little sayings would be out of her head. "My roommate and I, we used to spend forever on our hair."

Savannah looked at Sarah quizzically. The way her hair was now, the way Aunt Sarah always talked about all the things she had to do, Savannah couldn't fathom Sarah caring so much about her hair. "Why did you take so long?"

Because she'd had the ability to do so back then, before Reese and the robots descended. "There was a lot of hairspray involved. I had another friend who wore her hair in a Mohawk, took her longer than us to get it right."

"What's a Mohawk look like?"

"Never mind."

"Maybe when I get better at braiding, I'll get my hair cut like that someday."

"No, you won't. And don't worry about the braids, you'll figure it out."

"But you'll help, right? Until I do?"

"I'll help."

Savannah nodded happily, recalling the problems she'd had with tying her shoes. Aunt Sarah always said she was smart, so Savannah liked to think she would've learned on her own eventually. But Mommy, the pretend one, the one who left, she'd had no patience. Even though she'd scolded Savannah for the same thing, the mommy who left didn't have patience either. Savannah still remembered Dr. Sherman's office, not being able to tie her shoe. Mommy had done it for her, but that hadn't made Savannah happy. Aunt Sarah, she helped, but she also let Savannah learn on her own. John, Aunt Sarah's son, he'd helped Savannah tie her shoe. Savannah might've mentioned this, but talking about John seemed to make Aunt Sarah sad. Aunt Sarah was smiling at her now, and Savannah didn't want that to change.

"Can I have some coffee?" Savannah asked, watching the older woman sip from her cup.

"Why would you want coffee?" Sarah chuckled, cradling her mug between her fingers.

"You drink it, Uncle Charley drinks it."

"Charley and I are grown-ups, never mind that he does a worse job on those braids than you do."

Recognizing the teasing for what it was, Savannah smiled this time. "Maybe you could teach both of us to do it."

"Maybe. Are you hungry?" Savannah nodded. "I'll make pancakes."

Savannah tilted her head sideways. "Uncle Charley says he doesn't understand how you can do all the stuff you do without knowing how to cook more than one thing."

"Is that what he says. Uncle Charley and I need to have a talk then, don't we?"

"He only said it because I asked him."

"Well, that's much better then." Resisting the urge to defend her cooking skills to a six-year-old, Sarah set down her coffee and left the table. Walking behind Savannah's chair, Sarah gently removed the bands from her hair, stashing them in her own pocket. "We'll fix your hair after breakfast. Maybe you can convince Charley to make French toast."

"I'm thirsty now. Are you sure I can't have coffee."

"Very sure," Sarah replied, heading towards the fridge.

"Can I have chocolate milk?"

"We'll see," Sarah teased, already pulling out milk and chocolate syrup.

"I can show you how to make it," Savannah offered, tone serious.

"Thanks. Been awhile, but I think I remember how it's done."

Sarah made the beverage and gave it to Savannah, trying not to laugh at the girl's solemn expression. "So," she asked, leaning against the table as the redhead took her first swallow. "What's the verdict?"

"Better than Uncle's James's," Savannah pronounced, nodding her approval.

"Yeah?"

Savannah nodded again. "He doesn't put in enough chocolate, yours is better."

"You've just made my week." She'd brought a napkin with the milk, and Sarah used it now to get rid of the mustache gracing Savannah's upper lip. They sat in easy silence for a few moments, until Sarah noticed how much Savannah was blinking, how heavy her eyes seemed to be. "Did you sleep much last night?"

Shrugging, the girl gazed into the depths of her milk glass. "Bad dreams," she mumbled before meeting Sarah's eyes again. "Uncle Charley says dreams can't hurt me, but sometimes I think he's wrong."

Sarah tended to agree. In fact, she tended to think that Charley didn't buy into his own platitudes. She should've lied, said something reassuring, but some days were harder than others when it came to the lying. "He's not wrong, not really, but maybe he is a little bit." Because if the nightmares kept coming for long enough, eventually they started to hurt more than the physical pains.

Savannah was fairly sure that that didn't make any sense, yet somehow she thought that it did. "You said Uncle Charley was smart," she pointed out, recalling a conversation just after Aunt Sarah got hurt.

"He is."

"But now you're saying he might be wrong."

The kid hadn't slept much and Sarah hadn't given her coffee. How was it that Savannah had the energy for all these questions? "Smart people can be wrong. Everyone can be wrong sometimes."

"Even you?"

"Let's not go there."

After a few more beats of silence, "I don't like it here."

"You don't? Why not?" As if she needed an answer. Savannah had loved Charley's place. The lighthouse itself was enough to make the property magical to a six-year-old, never mind the beach and the pleasant temperatures. This place was hot and desolate and not the ideal playground for a child.

"I don't like my bed, and I miss my old room." Her new room was bare, practically empty. The drawings and the posters and everything Uncle Charley bought to decorate her room were gone now, out of reach. And her bed wasn't the same without Buddy sleeping next to it. "I heard dogs last night, they kept me awake.

"They're not dogs, they're coyotes. And they won't hurt you."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

Savannah nodded hesitantly. "Can we…can we do something for Buddy? My friend at school had a dog, and when he died, they buried him in the backyard."

She'd forgotten about Buddy, forgotten how attached Savannah was to the animal. "Savannah, he's…we can't go back there."

"I know. I know we can't go back to Uncle Charley's house, but can't we do something anyway?"

Sarah hated to think it, but she knew the kid would probably lose plenty more friends in the coming years. There wouldn't always be an opportunity for proper mourning, a proper burial. "We can do that." Grabbing Savannah's empty milk glass, Sarah crossed to the sink and rinsed it out. Desperate to keep the girl in a somewhat decent mood, she said, "I think we can do something about your room, too."

Savannah's face lit up. "Can I have toys?" All she had now were the things Uncle Charley made her keep on the boat, in case something bad happened.

Sarah rolled her eyes good-naturedly, facing Savannah and leaning against the sink. "You can have toys. Some, not a whole store's worth. What else do you want in your room?"

Eagerly, Savannah told her, talking fast for several minutes while she described what she wanted her new space to look like. Then, abruptly, the subject changed and the girl was nervous again. "Is it bad that I was scared when the bad men came again?"

"No," Sarah replied gently. "No, Savannah."

"Uncle Charley made me run ahead of him," Savannah continued, like she was confiding a dirty secret. "I didn't want to, he made me. He said I should always run ahead if…"

"Charley did the right thing, and so did you. All right?"

The girl nodded, without looking convinced. "When he made me go in front of him, I thought he wasn't going to get to the boat. I thought they were going to hurt him, like your other friend. I was scared."

Sarah closed her eyes against bad memories. Derek dead in Weaver's home. Her own paralyzing fear that Charley and Savannah would be dead too. "You might've been scared, but you were brave, too. You did what we taught you to do, and that was very, very, brave."

Sarah's words eased her fear, but didn't abate it. "Are we staying here forever?"

"We're staying as long as we can." Sarah hedged. "Hopefully for awhile."

Savannah nodded and stared at the table again. Her vision was blurry and she didn't want Aunt Sarah noticing the tears. "Until the bad people come again."

It was a statement, not a question. Voiced with the same certainty young Marty Bedell displayed when he talked of the terminator coming to kill him. As with Marty, the certainty in Savannah's voice broke something in Sarah, while simultaneously hardening her resolve. Crossing back to Savannah, Sarah knelt by the girl's chair, waiting for her to look up.

"Hey," she said, quiet but firm as she wiped Savannah's tears away. She needed the girl to see her face as she talked. "Listen to me. I'm not going to tell you that we won't have to move, that the bad people won't come again." Savannah tried looking away and Sarah caught her chin with gentle fingers. "No one's going to hurt you. I'm here, Charley's here-"

"And Uncle James?"

Another time, Sarah might've scolded her for interrupting. "And Uncle James," she confirmed. "Charley, Uncle James and I, we're not going to let anyone hurt you. You hear me, you understand?"

Savannah nodded before realizing that Aunt Sarah needed more. "I understand," she said, somewhat surprised that she actually meant it.

"Smart kid," Sarah replied, kissing the girl's temple and wiping away the last of the tears. It wasn't until she stood up that she noticed Charley.

They locked eyes. Charley had hung back in the hallway as long as possible, telling himself he wasn't eavesdropping. Sarah walked over to him, and he should've felt nervous, but he didn't.

"You're staring."

Charley didn't deny it. Savannah had twisted in her seat to look at him, and the first thing he noticed was the lack of fear. He'd been trying to reassure the kid for months. The lighthouse made it worse, but she'd been scared for a long time, probably longer than he cared to consider. And for all his daily promises of safety, Charley had been unable to help. He understood why the John of the future was meant to be such a great leader, why people listened to him.

"Have you seen Elli…James?"

Charley smiled and forced himself to quit scrutinizing her so heavily. "He got in the shower after I finished."

Sarah cast an annoyed glance at the duffel bag by the couch. "If he uses all the hot water-"

"I warned him."

"Good. You see him again, tell him to get some shoes on. We're burying the dog and I want it done before the heat gets too bad."

It was understood that burying didn't actually mean burying. The best they could do was mark a spot and stand over it for a bit, acknowledging Buddy's death. It seemed to be enough for the child; it was certainly more than Sarah was used to. No funeral for either of the Reese brothers, no way of attending Dyson's. She'd run so fast, she'd missed her own mother's service. Too many lives lost, even the dog had died, trying to protect his family.

Savannah cried silently with Charley's arms clasped over her shoulders. Ellison stood just behind him, a detail not lost on Charley. They'd held similar positions at Michelle's funeral. Charley was trying not to relive that day in his mind, not to hear the priest's empty words of comfort.

Sarah stood next to Charley, but kept herself slightly apart from him. She made herself sneak glances at his face, at the pain there that had nothing to do with a dead pet. John had gone to him in the hospital that day, Sarah had not. Even if Charley had allowed her anywhere near him, she probably wouldn't have gone. It was too raw, she couldn't have faced the evidence of what loving her had done to him. She couldn't have faced it then, could barely face it now, but still forced herself to sneak the glances, to witness his pain.

Eventually, Ellison suggested that they go back inside. It was too hot out here, and there was nothing more to do for the dog. Savannah ran in ahead of them, breaking free of Charley's hold. She wanted to have her tears under control when the adults came in.

Ellison followed at a deliberately slow pace, giving Savannah time. Charley didn't move. He stared at the patch of dirt designated as Buddy's grave and did nothing else. Cautiously, Sarah closed the gap between them.

"We should go," she said, attempting to keep her voice even as she stared into the tortured lines of his face.

"Go ahead," Charley replied. "I'll be there in a second."

The distance in his voice, the way he refused to look at her, it was enough to send Sarah walking back towards the house. She got half a dozen steps before giving herself a gut check and turning around. She'd left him once before, refusing to face the consequences. She couldn't do that again.

Charley didn't even realize she was back until her hand touched his forearm. He looked up in surprise, pulled from his morbid thoughts. Her hand was sweaty and rough with calluses. It burned him, even as he reveled in the feel of it.

Sarah didn't mean for her hand to slip down his arm. She didn't mean to clasp his fingers. They were slick with moisture, toughened by self-defense lessons with her and manual work on the boat. His wedding ring felt unnaturally hot as Sarah's fingers brushed against it. Lightly, Sarah squeezed the fingers clasped in hers. "I'm sorry, Charley."

Charley didn't know what to say. She'd apologized dozens of times before, but only with her eyes. She'd apologized the night she brought Savannah, but she'd been distracted then, reeling from John's loss. She'd also followed up that apology by demanding that he foster a kidnapped girl who was a complete stranger to him. In his own state of shock over Sarah's reappearance, over John's disappearance, Charley barely noticed the apology. "I know," he replied, squeezing her fingers for half a second before slipping out of her grip and walking away.

He wanted to tell her it was okay, that it wasn't her fault. Part of him believed that. But some days were harder than others, and these last few, caught between memories of the wife he'd loved and the fiancé he'd loved more, these last few days had been tough indeed.

Breakfast was a quiet affair. Savannah sniffled occasionally while pecking away at her French toast and the rest of them stayed quiet. Sarah cut her food into pieces and moved it on her plate without eating.

Charley studied her from across the table. The anger was back, but it wasn't overwhelming. It should've been worse, since part of him was still in a cemetery with his wife. He couldn't afford to pick apart his feelings this morning, the energy just wasn't there.

Unable to take the silence anymore, Sarah locked eyes with Ellison, keeping her tone light. "How do you feel about a pink comforter set?"

"Wouldn't be my first decorating choice," he replied sardonically. "But since I don't have a bed, it seems like a moot point."

Savannah broke out into giggles, unknowingly providing the reaction Sarah had aimed for. "Not for you, Uncle James."

"Of course not," said Charley, the picture of seriousness. "It's for me, pink's my favorite color."

Savannah, finding this utterly hilarious, nearly choked on her orange juice. "You're funny, Uncle Charley."

"Don't encourage him," Sarah ordered, reaching for Savannah's napkin. Kid was damn close to having juice flow from her nose. "Thank you for that, by the way," she added, addressing Charley as she wiped Savannah's face.

Charley shrugged, enjoying Sarah's attempts not to smile. "You started it."

"Children," Ellison warned.

"You think pink is only for girls? Kind of a sexist remark, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Savannah agreed. She had no idea what she was saying, but it was fun teasing Aunt Sarah. Especially when Uncle Charley was there to keep her from getting too mad. "It's a sexist remark."

Sarah made a face. "See what you've done?" she asked, directing the question at Charley. "To Savannah, "Don't use that word."

"What word?"

"Sexist."

"Why?"

"Because it has another word in it that won't be leaving your mouth for the next thirty years."

"Thirty years?" Charley asked. "Isn't that number a little conservative?"

"Uncle Charley said it, why can't I say it?"

"Why do I feel like we've had this conversation already?" Sarah asked.

"Now you know how I feel whenever she copies something from you," Charley stated.

"This conversation too," Sarah replied, remembering their discussion of Savannah taking after her. "Propaganda," the brunette accused. "You exaggerate."

"I want a leather jacket," Savannah announced. "A brown one, like Aunt Sarah's."

This time it was Ellison who choked on his beverage.

"Can I have one?" the redhead persisted.

"No," Sarah replied, ignoring Charley's unrestrained smirk.

"Can I have a black one instead? You have a black one too."

"No."

"Can I have a blue jacket that's not leather?"

"Yes." To Ellison, "Blue jacket, pink comforter set-"

"Toys," Savannah added.

"Toys," Sarah confirmed.

"I thought you wanted to lay low, stick to essentials until the ID's came through?"

Sarah looked at Charley with feigned disbelief. "Toys are essential."

"Yeah," Savannah agreed, voice eager.

"Traitor," Charley teased, playfully cuffing the back of Savannah's head. "I thought you were on my side."

"She was," said Sarah. "And then she remembered which one of us promised her toys."

"Bribing a child," said Charley, shaking his head. "Isn't that a little beneath you?"

"As a matter of fact, no," she replied. Sarah smiled for a moment longer before turning serious again. "How much do you really know about computers?" she asked, aiming the query at Ellison.

The bald man made a so-so hand gesture. "Enough to get by, not enough to wind up on one of your lists."

Ignoring that, Sarah took a slip of paper from her pocket, passing it to him across the table. "There's a guy John used to buy from, takes cash without asking questions. The ID's are becoming a problem, and I want this tech stuff over and done with. We need to get this place set up."

"So you're sending me for bedding, toys, and computer equipment. Good to know I'm helping out."

"Thank you for your contribution. Make sure the bedding's a decent thread count, make sure the laptop has at least three gigabytes of memory. And make sure the motherboard and graphics card are decent."

Charley's mouth opened and closed several times. Ellison let his fork hover halfway between plate and mouth. Savannah looked at her as if she'd been replaced by a pod person.

"I heard John and the metal talking, last time they upgraded the computers."

The expressions of stunned disbelief cleared.

"What did you mean?" asked Charley, "about the ID's being a problem?"

Sarah shook her head in irritation. "Derek and Cameron, they had contacts I didn't, people I didn't know."

"And?" Ellison prodded.

"And, I no longer have access to those people. The ones I used to go to, most of them are." Sarah glanced in Savannah's direction, "gone."

"Most?" asked Ellison.

"Most," Sarah confirmed, an odd look coming over her face. "There's a man two hours away from here who was still in business, last I heard."

"This man deals in fake paper?"

"He deals in whatever makes money, jack of all trades. It's the guns and ID papers that I'm interested in."

"You're seeing him today?"

"That's the plan."

"Alone?"

"Also the plan."

"I don't think that's a good idea," Charley commented.

"Objection noted."

"I agree with Charley."

"Of course you do. It's a shopping trip, nothing risky, nothing complicated."

"Don't you always say that everything has risks?"

Sarah tried not to snap. She hated having her words thrown back at her, especially by Charley. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like what, overprotective?"

"Yeah, that."

"Because it irritates you. Because I remember what happened the last time you worked a mission by yourself."

"That was different," Sarah argued, losing the battle with her temper. "I told you, this is a shopping trip, not a mission."

"Okay, it's a shopping trip, no risk. Why don't you let me tag along then?"

"There's no point in you tagging along, you don't know what you're doing."

"So I'll learn, like you did." Charley wasn't entirely sure why he was pushing this, except for that look on Sarah's face that he couldn't quite get past.

"Maybe I'm not in the mood to teach today."

There was a moment of tense silence. Then, "I could go with her."

"You look like a cop," Sarah retorted, dismissing Ellison's suggestion.

"Is it necessary for you to say that like an insult?"

"Sorry," Sarah replied in a voice that suggested she wasn't.

"I'm going with you," Charley declared.

"Why?"

"Because you don't want me to, and that makes me curious."

"I hate curious people. You're not going."

Charley leaned back in his chair.

"You're not going."

"Really? So what am I doing then?"

"Help Savannah pick out Barbies, I don't care."

"I don't need help," Savannah stated.

"She doesn't need help. I'm going with you."

"You're not."

"Uh-huh."

"If I tell you you're not going, you're not going."

Two hours later, they were in the truck together, Sarah navigating over a rough dirt road. Her hands were white on the steering wheel.

"Are you going to be like this the whole drive?" Charley asked, more than sick of the silent treatment.

"What do you think?"

"And now I understand why John talked me out of that family road trip idea." A moment later, "You were supposed to laugh."

"I didn't."

"I noticed. So this guy we're going to see…?"

"Yeah?"

"What's his story?"

"What makes you think he has one?" Gritting her teeth, Sarah forced herself to calm down. "Ex-military, Green Beret. Went a little crazy after his last tour."

"A little?"

"A lot, a little. And if you make a mental hospital joke, I swear-"

"Sarah. I didn't say anything."

"Good," she said, pulling up in front of a large metal gate that blocked the road. It was being guarded by two burly men with rifles in their hands and pistols on their hips. Stopping the car some distance from the gate, Sarah looked at Charley for the first time in an hour. "Don't say anything. Don't do anything. Don't think about saying or doing anything, unless I tell you otherwise."

Charley held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, fighting his nerves as the gunmen approached the truck on either side.

"I mean it, Charley. No matter what anyone says or does-"

"You said this was low-risk."

Before Sarah could bite out a response, the guards were on them. Their weapons pointed at the ground, but they peered intently into the truck. The man on Sarah's side gestured for her to roll down the window. She did, indicating that Charley should do the same.

"This is private property," said the guy on the driver's side.

As if anyone could miss the last four no trespassing signs. "Tell your boss that Sarah is here."

"My boss?" the thug asked, playing dumb.

"Gant. Tell Gant that Sarah is here."

"Sarah. You got an appointment, Sarah? Because the boss knows a lot of people, a lot of women, and I'm pretty sure he don't know any Sarah."

"And I'm pretty sure you're wrong."

"You got a last name?"

"No. Tell him it's Sarah, give him a physical description."

After a moment's indecision, the man pulled out a cell phone, hitting a speed dial number. He walked a short distance away, muttering quietly into the phone. A few moments later, he returned to Sarah's window. With the press of another button, he put the phone on speaker, holding it up slightly. "Boss wants to speak with you."

"Great. Can we get a little privacy?"

"No."

Stifling a curse, Sarah leaned out to speak into the phone. "Hi Travis."

Charley had half a second to wonder why Sarah was referring to this man by his first name. Half a second, and then the yelling started.

"You fucking crazy lunatic bitch! What in fuck's name do you want?"

"Nice to hear your voice. You want to call off your men out here, maybe open the gate so we can do this in person?"

"Why the fuck would I want to see you in person? Crazy fucking-"

"I've got John with me."

There was a pause in the yelling. "You're lying."

"I'm not. I've got John, and I've got business for you."

"I don't need your business."

"Fine, we'll leave then."

Another pause. "Leave your truck, I'll have a vehicle sent down."

"No. We stay in our own car, I let your guys search us."

"Goddamn right you will. Fucking lunatic bitch."

"See you soon, Travis."

"Fuck off."

Ignoring the look on Charley's face, Sarah gestured for him to leave the car. They wound up standing next to each other while Travis's men patted them down.

"I think I might have to do a more thorough job," said the man who'd called Travis. He already had Sarah's Glock in his possession. "Don't want to miss anything."

"Hey," Charley began. The guy had already taken too long in patting Sarah down, and Charley was fuming in spite of the gunmen at his back.

"Charley," Sarah warned. Then, addressing the sleaze ball behind her, "You don't need to frisk me again."

"Oh yeah? What if I want to?"

"Your choice. Enjoy yourself, because you won't be using your hands again, not for a long time."

A cell phone rang. The man guarding Charley answered. Gant's voice was audible, even without the speaker phone engaged.

"Bring her the fuck in here so I can shoot her in the head!"

Gant's men backed off. Sarah and Charley got back in the truck. She refused to look at him as the gate started to open.

"I guess he remembers you." Charley sounded very much like he had after she first explained about the robots and the killer computer.

"He's not actually going to shoot me. It's part of a routine he does."

"A routine. I'm going to ask a question, and I'm going to hate myself for asking-"

"We have history."

"I guessed. I'm also guessing it wasn't the good kind."

"We didn't part on good terms."

"Again, I'm going to ask, and I'm going to wish that I hadn't-"

"Considering the way we left things, he's being more cordial than I expected."

"Sarah."

"There was a knife involved."

"Uh-huh. Who was holding it?"

"Travis. He was drunk."

"So he came at you with a knife?"

"He was upset. We were breaking up at the time."