Part 11: Talking is Hard Sometimes

He lets her take the afternoon with Savannah. They have removed an arm joint from the cyborg's frame, and are disassembling it. It only takes them an hour or so to strip away the skin and tissue, then they have the exoskeleton free and are flexing all the metal bones and fingers. She is letting Savannah touch every joint, every switch, every lever. Letting her see how strong it is. Letting her see how it's put together to move, to touch, to crush. She's pulled out a gym bag he didn't know she had, and is showing Savannah various bundles. He recognizes one of them as a wrapped lump of coltan.

He is busy with research of his own. The perk of having his own computer with him is that her case file is one of the few he scavenged from the FBI, and now that he has given her his commitment, he wants to refresh himself on what's gone on before he got here. He isn't aware that she's come back inside with Savannah until he sees a swath of white in his field of vision, and realizes that her bandaged hand is resting on the table beside him.

"Now, that is not what I meant by learning," she says.

She is trying to keep her tone playful, but he senses that she's really upset with him.

"This isn't learning?" he asks.

"No. It's propaganda. And it doesn't tell you anything about how it really was."

"It tells me that you've been dealing with this for a lot longer than I've been."

"Oh, come on. That's not really what you're reading that to learn."

He folds down the screen. "True. But you don't want to talk about what I do want to learn, so what other choice do I have?"

"That's not fair. Don't put this on me."

"But it is on you. It's all about you, Sarah, and I'm trying to make it about us so that you don't have to stay alone in this, and you're not helping. I can't think of a way to conceptualize what you've been through that isn't trite or underestimating. I need to know what's happened. I need to know where you're at. I need a place in this."

"You have a place."

"As what? Your drone? I'm worth more than that, Sarah. You're resisting me, but underneath it all, you know. I'm worth more."

"Stop."

"No. We're having this out. It's past due. Look, I see how it's been for you. On some level, anyway. Maybe I don't have Judgement Day in my head the way you do, but I've seen enough my own self to have my share of dreams. Give me credit for that at least."

"Fine. One point for you."

"It must have been hard for you," he says. "Going it alone with him is hard in its own right. Going it alone with him, with all of that other stuff on top of it, I can only imagine..."

"Don't," she says. "If you start psychoanalyzing me, so help me god, I'll throw you out tonight and you'll never see Savannah again. I'm not crazy."

"I didn't say you were."

"No. They did. And part of you will always be them."

"That's not fair."

"Sure it is. You live with an obsession for long enough, and it changes you. Mine was 'Stop Skynet. Save John.' Yours was 'Stop Sarah Connor.' It was in your dreams, just like Skynet was in mine."

"Things change," he says. "On your end, too. John is ready to save himself. And you have Savannah to protect. And me to help you."

"But without Skynet, Savannah wouldn't be where she is. It's still the same for me. Stop Skynet. Save John. That's all there is, James. That's all there ever will be."

"So we're just cogs to you, Savannah and I? Just checkpoints on your way to John's future greatness?"

"I never wanted him to be great. I never chose this, Ellison."

"And Savannah?" he prods. "Me?"

She bites her lip, tries to find the words. And can't. She shakes her head, so on the verge of tears that his heart breaks for her. But he has to finish this.

"You need to work this out," he says. "John's future, your future, heck I would even settle for a clear line on your present at this point. Talk to me, talk to Savannah, talk to Mr. Fur for all I care, but whatever's eating you about this---besides the obvious, I mean---you need to work it out. You hear me?"

"You don't give me orders, James Ellison."

"Damn straight I do. And do you know why, Sarah Connor? Because I care about you. You're stubborn, infuriating, inflexible, single-minded, intense, mercurial and all-out annoying, so I don't know why. But I care. So I'll give you orders if I want to, and God help you, you'll follow them. Understand?"

She has nothing to say to that. Yet. But he'll get her. He knows he will.

--

He decides to take Savannah for a little drive. They're running low on food, and in light of recent events, on medical supplies as well. He has a craving for pizza, and the trailer doesn't have an oven big enough to cook one properly. He knows there is a town about half an hour away, and he's itching for a change in scenery. Sarah is still giving him the silent treatment after their little blow-out, and he suspects she is as stunned by his declaration of friendship as she is by being spoken to the way he spoke to her. When he goes to tell her about his little road trip, she is hunched over a notebook, diagramming the cyborg's arm. her work is meticulous; detailed. She's a careful artist, and he has no doubt she'll have an excellent study of the cyborg's major systems when she's done.

"We're taking a drive," he says. "We're low on things."

"Take cash."

"I know. You'll be okay for an hour or so?"

She hesitates, then offers him her first token of acceptance. "Get cell phones while you're out," she says. "One for each of us. We'll have to stay in touch if we're going to start going places."

"Done. Anything else you want?"

"Chocolate," she says. "Good chocolate. No nuts, no caramel, no cookie pieces. Just plain. As much as you can find. And Vodka coolers."

"No to the alcohol," he says. "That's not what you need right now."

He waits for the defensive comeback. She resists. With some effort, judging from the look on her face. But she resists. She's trying, God love her. He appreciates that.

"Fine. Beer," he says. "A six-pack. Between us."

"Coolers. A twelve-pack. But I'll share."

"Vodka, one bottle. And cranberry juice. We'll make our own."

"Get orange juice instead and you have a deal. I'm trying, you know. This isn't easy for me."

"I know."

"There was us, there was them. The world was divided neatly that way. It's hard to think of it another way."

"I understand."

"And 'them'...well, there was the metal kind and there was the human kind, and sometimes the human kind was just as bad. And you had a part in that, James. You had a part. You'll need to account for that, at some point. You'll need to account for it, to me."

"I'm trying to. Everything I've done since I saw what this is really about, it's been me, trying. You've got to understand that. A person does the best they know. And when they know better, they do better. I'm trying."

"And I'm trying too. So that'll have to be enough, I guess."

"It won't be enough," he says. "For either of us. But it's a start."

--

He doesn't want to leave her. Now that she's pointed it out to him, about the phones, he spends the drive to town worrying that the metal will come and the trailer will turn to rubble in his absence and he'll come back not knowing his fragile new world has ended. When did he start caring so much about this prickly, unfriendly creature? When did he start viewing her as his and Savannah's co-family? He barely hears Savannah's chatter in the car; his mind is so preoccupied.

"I want to get some things," Savannah says.

They're at one of those general stores last seen in 1950's movies, and she's tugging at his sleeve. "Uncle James, I want to get some things."

He nods assent while he studies the chocolate selection. Dark Cacao Sixty Percent? Belgian Extra-Smooth? Plain old Dairy Milk? There is one with a Mexican wrapper. He grabs three bars of it, along with two each of everything else. There is something about the Mexican chocolate that he thinks Sarah will find appealing, though he would be hard-pressed to explain just what.

Savannah comes back with three sketchpads, and an armful of art supplies. As diversions go, it's harmless enough, and he adds them to the cart without comment. It isn't until they are back in the car that he thinks to ask her about it.

"It's from Dr. Sherman," she says.

He's startled at the mention of this name. "What is?"

"The drawing. He's the one who taught me."

"Oh. I see."

"He said that sometimes you want someone to listen, but maybe you don't want to talk, not even to Mr. Fur or to your daddy who it feels like is there sometimes even though he died. So he taught me to draw, because it's sometimes like talking too."

He doesn't know what to say that. But he's overwhelmed by a feeling of love so strong---for both of them---that he almost has to pull over until it passes.

"I got enough pads for all of us," Savannah says.

He wants to cry. He wants to tell her he understands, that he loves her, that she's safe again. But she's a smart little girl, and she knows that talking is hard sometimes. She'll forgive him.

--