Author's Note: Hey all. Once again, Gant isn't mine. He was created by James Cameron, but he was a casualty of script rewrites. His physical description, the description of his house, and his general attitude can be attributed to Mr. Cameron. The rest is pretty much me, taking liberties with Mr. Cameron's leftovers. As always, I hope you enjoy, and I shamelessly beg you to drop some feedback on your way out.


Travis Gant owned a sprawling ranch surrounded by razor-wire fencing. There were vehicles parked in front of the main house, a collection of gutted trucks that looked like they belonged in a junkyard. There were more guards roaming the property, but they paid little attention as Sarah parked the truck and got out.

"Stay back," she told Charley, holding up a hand.

The house in front of them was a large hacienda that had seen better days. Charley was more focused on the man striding out from the front door. "Sarah."

"I said back off," Sarah snapped, moving forward to meet Gant.

Charley ignored her, matching her steps. "He said he was going to shoot you in the head."

"He said that every day for a year," Sarah retorted. "It's a thing he does to show affection."

"Affection."

Halting, Sarah put a hand to Charley's chest and shoved, forcing him to stop. "I've got it, Charley. I told you before that I don't need another hero, so back off." Sarah walked again and Charley stopped following. She could feel the hurt rolling off him, but had no time for it. Their host was nearly upon her.

Charley stood back, clenching his fist as Sarah approached her ex. Gant was every inch the unstable Green Beret Sarah had described. He wore combat boots and cammo pants, and there was a .45 holstered at his waist. He was lean, but muscular, bear-chested except for a denim vest. His hair was long and somewhat unkempt, but he had the bearing of a military man, ramrod posture, alert gaze, no wasted steps. In fact, his no-nonsense gait looked remarkably similar to the way Sarah was walking now. Still a fair distance away, Charley stepped forward a bit as Gant and Sarah met in front of the house.

Sarah heard Charley move closer. She vowed to yell at him later about the importance of listening. Now, she focused on Travis. He was scowling at her, arms crossed over his chest.

"That's not John."

"You don't seem surprised."

"That you lied? No, I'm not surprised. So where is he?"

"Somewhere other than here."

"Lucky him. He grow up enough to realize what a psychotic fucking whack job you are? He finally learn enough to ditch your ass and never looked back?"

Sarah winced inwardly. Outwardly, she showed no reaction. "I'll tell him you say hi."

"Do that."

Charley frowned. Voices carried in the otherwise-silent yard, and he could hear every word of the exchange. He could also hear that Gant's voice had softened on that last reply.

Gant himself was looking Sarah up and down. "You're gorgeous, by the way. You cut your hair."

"You grew yours."

"You haven't changed much. Plastic surgery, or does crazy just look good on you?"

"House hasn't changed much either," Sarah observed, looking off to the side. "I think that truck on the end was in that exact same spot when I left. You fix the transmission yet?"

Gant threw his hands in the air. "I'll get to it. Christ! It's just like you to show up after more than a decade so you can continue your quest of nagging me to death." As he said it, Gant's eyes dropped lower.

Because she needed him, Sarah gave Gant half a second to stare at her chest before putting an end to the ogling session. "Travis, my face is up here. Look at it."

"Don't flatter yourself," Gant responded, eyes moving upward. "I have a lazy eye, you fucking know that."

"Lazy, wandering, same difference."

"My eye got fucked up in Kuwait, while I was rescuing the guys in my squad from-"

"I know. I've heard the story. More times than anyone should have to."

"Bitch. You still ranting about the end of the world?"

"Yes."

"Of course you are. And John's still the savior of mankind?"

"Yes."

"And he's where now, off fighting terminators?"

"I need guns, ID's."

"And you came to me."

"Not my first choice."

"No, I guess not. That would've been Enrique, right? You hear what happened to him? My guys in L.A. tell me he died last year."

"Happens to everyone eventually."

"True enough. You know how it happened to him? Metal. Like the metal you were always blabbing about. I hear he got shot, right after he met with you."

"And?"

"And he met with you eight years after you supposedly blew yourself up. You know what I did when I heard about you blowing yourself up?"

"Would you like me to pretend that I care?"

"I celebrated. Polished off a bottle of gin and a twelve pack."

"How is that different from every other day of your life?"

"And then I heard that you hadn't in fact blown yourself up. You know what I did when I heard that?"

"You polished off two bottles of gin and a twelve pack."

"No, that time it was scotch. And then I heard you landed yourself in jail. But you got out. Some jailbait little girl sprung you. Incidentally, this girl was supposedly the same piece of jailbait who was with you when you blew the bank."

One thing about Travis, he always stayed in the loop. "What do you want me to say, Travis?"

"I want you to say a lot of things, but I'm not stupid enough to think that you will. So the jailbait, I heard she got roughed up pretty bad busting you out. She got pretty roughed up, yet somehow you two made it out. Was she a terminator too?"

"Yes."

"A good one?"

"Sure."

"Let me guess. You got tired of ripping men's balls off and keeping them in jars, so you switched to the other team. That about right?"

"If I say yes, can we start dealing?"

"Sure."

"Then yes."

"Terrific. So where is she now, your good terminator girlfriend?"

"We decided to see other people."

"Other people," Gant repeated. "People like him?" he asked, nodding over Sarah's shoulder.

"He's not your concern."

"Does he have a name?"

"He will, once you get us our ID's."

Ignoring that, Gant raised his voice, looking in Charley's direction. "Excuse me," he said, voice suddenly pleasant. "Friend of Sarah the Crazy, do you have a name?"

"Travis," Sarah warned, voice low.

"You are the most impolite whack job I have ever known. And you don't scare me anymore." To Charley, in a conversational tone. "Would you come over here please? I'd like to meet her latest victim."

"Stay there," Sarah snapped.

"Stay there? He's not a fucking dog, Sarah. Though if he was, I'm sure you would've taken him in for a nut-chopping by now. Seems like he's not afraid of you either."

Sarah glared. Charley had come to stand next to her. He looked surprisingly calm and confident, and it made Sarah want to strangle him. "I told you not to move."

"I ignored you."

"Good man," said Travis, extending his hand to Charley. "I like him. Even though he's not your type."

"Really," Charley said mildly, shaking the other man's hand. "So what is her type?"

Gant's eyes quickly swept over Charley, though his tone and expression remained friendly. "Not you. Be thankful."

"Travis."

"He's not your type."

"No, he's not."

"You feeding him the usual bullshit?" Without waiting for an answer, Gant looked at Charley. "Leave. Leave while you still can. Woman's a fucking plague."

Sarah glanced at Charley without wanting to. His expression had gone studiously blank. "The guns, Travis. The papers."

"She will suck away everything good in your life," Gant continued pleasantly. "And then she'll leave." To Sarah, "I didn't find out until later that you fucked a trail of gunrunners and paramilitary men from here to Mexico."

"Gant," Sarah hissed, taking a step forward.

This time it was Charley who put up a restraining hand, showing no reaction to Gant's comments. "You seem a little bitter."

"Admittedly. You'll get acquainted with the feeling, you stick around this one long enough." To Sarah, "You get that I sort of loved you, right?"

Sarah swore quietly to herself. "You need to quit drinking."

"Not going to happen."

"Then you need to shut up."

"We had some good times, in between your bouts of delusion. I did sort of love you."

"That's your problem."

"Interesting way of showing love, pulling a knife on her."

Gant returned his attention to Charley. "She told you about that. She tell you about this?" Half-turning, Gant pulled off his vest, exposing a large and ugly scar on his left shoulder-blade. "She didn't tell you about that, did she?" Gant pressed, pulling the vest back on and facing them again.

"She didn't. Why don't you tell me?"

"Consider this a cautionary tale. That knife, the vision of psychosis standing next to you used it in an attempt to carve off my tattoo. My symbol of our devotion to each other."

"I told you not to get the tattoo," Sarah snapped.

"It was a Christmas present for Christ's sake!"

"I remember. My present consisted of you branding my name into your shoulder. You should've just got what I asked for."

"I bought you the goddamn AK-47 for your birthday; sue me for trying to be romantic."

"Speaking of guns…"

"Fine, fine. Don't say I didn't warn you." With that last remark to Charley, Gant turned away and strode towards his house, gesturing for them to follow.

"You forgot to mention that little detail in the truck." Charley kept his voice low as they trailed behind Gant.

Sarah shrugged without looking at him. "He was upset. He was making me upset."

"You were breaking up at the time," Charley finished, parroting her explanation from earlier.

"That about covers it."


Twenty minutes later, the three of them were in Travis's sitting room. He and Sarah were engaging in a heated debate over prices.

"You trying to fucking rob me? You want my kids to fucking starve?"

Sarah frowned. "You have children now?"

"Boy and a girl. Speaking of…" A boy of about three had just walked into the room. "What's up, TJ?"

The kid pulled at his father's arm, ignoring the strangers. "I can't find my Transformers."

Gant rolled his eyes in Sarah's direction. "Goddamn robot toys. Like I didn't get enough of that shit from you." To his son, in a very different tone. "Ask your mother to find them."

TJ stuck out his lower lip and looked over his shoulder. An attractive blonde woman who could just barely pass for legal stepped into the room, joining father and son.

"Honey, have you seen TJ's action figures?"

The woman looked at him blankly.

"Hell," Gant muttered under his breath. "TJ, go look in your room, daddy's busy right now."

TJ left without looking happy about it. His mother remained next to her husband's chair, silently observing Charley and Sarah..

"Honey, this guy doesn't have a name yet," he said, indicating Charley. "And this is Sarah."

The blonde stared at Sarah, eyes narrowed. When she spoke, it was with a heavy Russian accent. "Who..is.. she?" the woman asked, seeming to struggle with the words.

"Sarah," Gant repeated, enunciating the name. "Sarah, meet Olga. Mrs. Gant. "

"Charmed," Sarah replied.

Olga still looked confused. Gant rubbed his temples, gesturing back and forth between the women. "Sarah. Sarah was the old Mrs. Gant."

"Excuse me?"

Gant shot Sarah an annoyed look, ignoring her tone. "Give me a break. Olga's from Moscow, there's a language barrier."

"Moscow. Did you order her from a catalogue?"

"It was a website, you self-righteous bit-"

Clearing his throat loudly, Charley locked eyes with Gant for half a second before focusing on Olga. "Nice to meet you," he said, offering a smile.

Olga's face spit into a wide grin. The words didn't seem to register, but Charley's smile seemed to be communication enough. "You like tea? I make tea."

Gant's eyes flew between Charley and his wife. "Olga, why don't you go help Travis Jr. find his toys?"

Olga kept looking at Charley, pointing from herself to him. "I make you tea," she repeated.

"He doesn't drink tea," Sarah stated, clenching her hand on the arm of Travis's couch.

"See, there you go." Vacating his chair, Gant took hold of his wife's elbow, addressing Sarah. "Fuck this. A thousand added to your offer and we've got a deal."

"Are you forgetting about that gun run in Nicaragua?"

Gant closed his eyes. "Five hundred added to your offer."

"Done."

"Thank the fuck Christ," Travis mumbled, leading his wife out of the room. "Back in a minute."

"I can hardly wait."

"Fucking bitch," Travis grumbled, glancing at Charley before he left. "She's going to leech all the life out of you, I hope you know that."

A minute passed in complete silence. Sarah and Charley were sharing a loveseat, avoiding each other's gazes. It was Charley who spoke first, looking at Sarah from the corner of his eye.

"That guy he mentioned, Enrique…" Asking her if she'd killed a man was somehow easier than asking about the rest.

"He was betraying us, he contacted Ellison."

"So you killed him."

Sarah gave Charley a dangerous look. "I didn't. I wasn't even sure he'd ratted us out until Ellison told me. Cameron killed him, before I could stop her."

Charley looked at her with shame in his eyes. "Sorry. I should've known."

He should have, even though there was so much he hadn't known. Sarah didn't press the issue.

Desperate to lighten the mood, to think of something besides Gant's comments, Charley said "Quite a switch, you to Olga."

Sarah made a derisive noise. "I'm thinking there were some women in between. But yeah, quite a switch."

Charley smirked a little. "I'm thinking he needed someone a little tamer, after you."

Sarah made the noise again, but her mouth twitched upwards.

"Old Mrs. Gant?" he teased, pressing his advantage.

"Don't."

"Didn't seem like you liked her."

"I don't. I don't dislike her either," Sarah lied, thinking of how Gant's wife looked at Charley.

Charley knew he should stop, but this was far too amusing. "Remember that girl Vicky, from the diner?"

Sarah remembered Vicky. She'd been assigned to train the overly-perky teenager after Vicky got hired part-time. Sarah remembered her, and tried not to care that Charley did too. "Disgustingly cheerful, incapable of getting from kitchen to customer without dropping something. What about her?"

Charley grinned, recalling the girl's attempts to flirt with him. "Is that why you didn't like her, because she was cheerful and clumsy?"

"I got sick of sweeping up the broken plates."

"I'm sure you did."

Several of Gant's men began to enter and leave the room, setting a large selection of guns and ammo on the table. Sarah waited in silence a few seconds, and then her cell phone started to vibrate.

Charley listened as she exchanged codes and quick words with Ellison. Gant's men continued to bring in firearms.

"No. No, she can't have ice cream. It'll spoil her dinner." Rolling her eyes, Sarah put her hand over the mouthpiece and addressed Charley. "He wants to know about supper."

"Tell him it's his turn, I cooked yesterday."

Sarah relayed the message and listened a few more seconds. "Put her on." Covering the mouthpiece again, Sarah addressed one of Gant's men, who held a case of small pistols. "Put those away," she snapped.

"Huh?"

"The cheap stuff, put it away. The stash in his office, bring me something from there."

"You know about that?"

"I know about that." Travis's guy slinked away, taking the unwanted guns with him. Noting Charley's bemused expression, Sarah offered a quick explanation. "Travis never liked change. I took a few weapons from the office before I left."

It couldn't be healthy that this situation was starting to feel normal, but Charley grinned anyway. "Parting gift?"

Shrugging, Sarah moved her hand from the mouthpiece, tone softening as she spoke to Savannah. "Hey. No. I said…you can bring the ice cream home, you're not getting it now." To Charley, "You still like cookie dough?"

"Is that a serious question?"

Shaking her head, Sarah resumed her other conversation. "Tell Uncle James to get a quart of chocolate. And cookie dough." Another pause. Sarah frowned into the phone. "What? We're working on that now. What?"

"What's the matter?"

Sarah covered the mouthpiece again. "Who's Thomas?"

"The turtle." Off Sarah's blank look, "The stuffed animal I bought the other night."

Sarah spoke into the phone again. "No. Thomas doesn't need a new name. No. No. I said…all right. Good, I'll see you later." Sarah hung up as the last of Travis's men were leaving. "Who's Ariel?"

Charley raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

"Why does Savannah want to change her name to Ariel?"

Charley bit his lip to stifle a chuckle. "I'm guessing because they both have red hair, and because she made me watch the movie every day for two weeks."

"What movie?"

It was Travis who answered as he rejoined them and sat down again. "The Little Mermaid."

Sarah stared at him. "You know about this?"

"My daughter's obsessed with the fucking thing," Gant replied, shooting Charley a sympathetic glance.

Sarah blinked repeatedly. It irritated her, the men knowing something she didn't. "What's it about?"

Travis threw up his hands and rubbed his temple. "What the fuck do you think it's about, it's about a fucking mermaid. God! Your ability to not listen is fucking astounding! Olga and I have better conversations, and half the time she can't even pronounce my name!"

Sarah couldn't legitimately defend herself, so she picked up a shotgun instead. "How soon can you get the ID'S?"

"What's the point of answering? Whatever I say, it won't be quick enough for you." Shaking his head, Gant pulled out the photos she'd given him, scrutinizing Ellison's picture. "This guy looks like a cop."

"He's not," Sarah replied, still busy with the weapon.

"Looks like he is."

Charley did an admirable job of holding his composure. Inwardly, he was thinking about Sarah making the same remark on Ellison's appearance earlier that day. "Do you really think she'd associate with a cop?"

Travis considered that. "Good point," he said, moving on to Savannah's picture. 'So what's the story? Kid supposed to be yours, are you married? What kind of bullshit am I slinging here?"

Sarah stopped examining the gun. "We're not married."

"Oh?" Gant pressed. His eyes had suddenly locked on to Charley's wedding band.

Charley stuffed his left hand into his pocket and picked up a pistol. "We're not married," he repeated, mouth suddenly dry. "I'm not her type."

Charley barely spoke for the rest of the meeting, allowing Sarah to feed Gant whatever lies she'd thought up to represent their lives.


Gant bitingly suggested that Sarah look up her terminator girlfriend, bring her along next time. Sarah told him that they'd have to do lunch sometime. Olga attempted to give Charley a bag of homemade cookies for the road. Sarah said he was diabetic and Charley didn't argue. That had been an hour and a half ago, and the silence in the truck was driving Sarah insane.

"Are you going to talk to me?"

Charley looked out the window. "I tried that on the drive over. Didn't work out."

Sarah's eyes flicked sideways. Charley's hand was clenched tight against the center console. "So what, you're angry with me now?"

"I'm not angry."

"I told you not to pretend," Sarah snapped.

Charley turned his head to meet her gaze. "You need to give me some time," he ordered tightly.

Sarah could only take another thirty seconds, then she was speaking again. "I told you not to come."

"I know."

"I told you-"

"I know Sarah. You've told me not to do a lot of things; I ignored you, my problem."

"That's not what I meant."

"You sure about that?" Charley took a breath and leaned his head back, trying to regain control. "What Gant said about you…?"

When she'd explained things to him last year, she'd managed to gloss over the part about men as part of the mission. "He was right. He had skills and resources that I needed, that John needed. So did the rest of them."

Charley didn't want to ask how many skilled men with resources had come before him.

"You're angry."

"No."

"Charley."

"I'm human, Sarah! Just…what do you want me to say?"

She shouldn't care. He shouldn't have to say anything. "I want you to say that you get it."

"I do." And he did. That didn't make it easy, picturing what she'd had to do to learn what she'd learned. "I do, Sarah."

Sarah looked at him, looked at the road. He sounded the same now as he had this morning, when she apologized about Michelle. He looked the same too. He understood, but he was human, so he struggled with that understanding. But somehow Sarah felt better, just knowing that he was trying. "They didn't mean anything. Travis didn't mean anything."

Charley knew that, but it didn't stop him from struggling. "You were with him a long time," he said, trying not to care that she'd spent longer with Gant than she had with him.

"I was with him until he stopped being useful."

A moment of silence. Then, "He liked John." It wasn't a question.

The usual mask fell away, just for a second. "He did. John was always more likeable then me."

Charley chuckled a bit, appreciating her try at humor. "He's an easy kid to like."

Sarah blinked hard. Charley was no longer clenching the center console. Sarah blinked again and tried not to grip the wheel too hard.

"Did…did John like him?"

Sarah released a sigh. "John was desperate for someone other than me, and Travis…Travis was good to him, better than some of the others. He taught him how to fix engines."

Charley looked out the window again. The boy had never been clear on where he'd acquired his mechanical skills. "So John liked him."

Sarah fought a silent war in her head. Then she reached down to the console, covering Charley's hand with hers. "He liked you more. He was upset when we left Travis's place. When we left Nebraska, he barely spoke to me for a week."

"And you?" he asked tentatively.

Sarah put her hand back on the wheel. "Don't ask me that, not when you already know."

They were silent for another few minutes, then it was Charley who couldn't stand the quiet. Offering her a crooked smile, he said, "I think I finally get it."

"What's that?"

"What you saw in me. After I found out…everything, I couldn't figure it out. I'm not your type."

He wasn't. Her type would logically be men with guns and explosives and a healthy dose of paranoia mixed with PTSD. "You're not. That was a point in your favor."

She said it jokingly, but she also meant it, and Charley smiled. "See, that's what I mean. You and Gant, you got used to a certain type, then you needed a break."

"Are you comparing me to Travis?"

"What if I was?"

Sarah took her foot off the gas. The road was empty save for them, so there were no worries about accidents. "Then I'd tell you to get the hell out of this truck."

Charley laughed. "All right, I'm not comparing you with Gant. Can I compare myself to Olga?"

"Go ahead."

They laughed, and Sarah pressed down on the gas pedal. Soon enough, the atmosphere became serious again. "I think Travis honestly does miss John."

"I think he does," Charley said quietly. "But not like you do."

Sarah tightened both hands on the steering wheel. "No one misses him like I do."

"I know," said Charley, covering one of her hands on the wheel. "Just like you know that I miss him too."

"Yeah. I know that."

For a moment, they were still. Then Charley moved to take his hand away. Cursing her own weakness, Sarah laced their fingers together, guiding them until they rested back on the center console. "I miss him, Charley. I thought…I tried tricking myself into thinking it would get better, but it hasn't."

With nothing to say that would make a difference, all Charley could do was squeeze her hand. She squeezed back, and he expected her to let go afterwards, but she didn't.


Sarah took a detour without warning him, to that storage locker she'd mentioned. They were still holding hands when she parked. Charley asked if he should go with her. She declined, but she also ran her palm over his cheek before leaving the truck. She returned with a small cardboard box and placed it in the backseat. Charley couldn't see what the box contained, and Sarah didn't offer the information. Charley didn't ask. She made another stop, this time to Walmart. Again, he stayed in the truck, because she said it would only take a minute. She returned quickly with a small plastic bag that also went in the backseat without Charley seeing its contents.

Ellison and Savannah were there when Sarah and Charley returned to the house. Sarah pulled a copy of The Little Mermaid from the store bag and declared that they were having movies and ice cream later that night. There was something else in the Walmart bag, and Sarah took that to her room, along with the box from the locker.

Closing the door behind her, Sarah set both items down, tipping the bag until the tape recorder fell out onto the bed. Digging through the box, she checked to see what number she'd left off on, how many tapes there were. Then she put the box in her closet, next to her shotgun.

Recorder in hand, Sarah sat down at the head of the bed, knees drawn up in front of her. Then she pressed record and gave the date, along with the tape number.

"John. It's been awhile since I've done this. I wish I could tell you there was a reason for starting again. I wish I could tell you that we'd won, or we're winning, or that we're even close. I don't even…these tapes are more for me than you, like before." Pausing, Sarah took a breath and closed her eyes. "I love you, John. I miss you. Charley's here, and he misses you too."