Disclaimer: Still own nothing. Alas.

AN: Combined two days, because the first entry was so very short. Also, I looked up a list of minerals commonly associated with alchemy (the Black Science referred to in the movie, I believe), and the only ones that looked anything like crystals and gems were quartz and cinnabar. Since quartz is a lot easier to find and comes in a wider variety of colors, I went with that.

August 7

"You want what?" the guard asked.

"Fabric," Geppetto repeated. "It must be durable—denim or canvas, perhaps. And clocks. Several of them. As many as you can find. Perhaps a few microscopes as well, and…" He looked at his designs again, careful to keep them out of the young woman's sight. "A needle and thread—strong thread—and scissors."

"Okay, okay, hold up." She didn't have the patience to put up with this sort of thing. "Can you write it down or something?"

Geppetto wasted no time rummaging through his new workshop for a pen and unused scrap of paper, muttering to himself as he went. That was weird. He hadn't done this sort of thing before, and it was disconcerting. Normally he was quiet and calm and a bit slow to think things over, like he was weighing every option. Now he was worried. Rushed.

"Pliers, screwdrivers," he muttered once he found the tools he needed. "Small ones—the sort you'd find in an eyeglass repair kit. And several of them. Wire-cutters. Clockwork dolls, if you can find any, and…" He glanced at his notes again. "Several women's sandals."

That officially counted as the weirdest part of the request.

"Excuse me?"

"Women's sandals," he repeated, sounding more sure of himself. "The sort with those tiny buckles. Like belt buckles, but much smaller. Do you understand?"

Understanding was overrated. The Scientist offered her the scrap of paper.

"Um… sure," Sam said, taking the list from him. "I think I can do that."

...

August 9

When shifts changed Peter was already standing in the airlock between the bunker and the outside world.

"Sam, we gotta talk," he said, his voice hushed so it wouldn't carry. He glanced back at the door almost suspiciously.

"What's up?"

"The old guy's building something," he said. "Got his hands on a bunch of old cuckoo clocks and he's been taking them apart and putting stuff back together. All day. Hasn't slept in at least two shifts, and he's been muttering to himself and…" His eyes flickered, a moment's hesitation to say the rest. "And he's been asking for stuff."

"Canvas and thread and junk, I know," she said, holding up an old plastic shopping bag.

"Sam, you haven't been buying into all this, have you?" he demanded.

"Where do you think he got the clocks?" Peter's mouth fell open a fraction of an inch. She glared. "Hey, he's the Scientist here, remember? And he's not gonna be able to help us kill that thing unless he's got the tools to do it. And if those tools are sandals, then so help me I'll get him sandals. I want this mess over with, Pete."

"But he's—but—" She opened the door and walked past him. "Just—just make sure he gets some sleep, okay?"

The door shut, and Peter's voice vanished behind the barrier. Geppetto sat huddled over a desk at the far corner of the bunker, hastily tinkering with something.

"Hey there," she said, holding up the bag. "Got you a present."

The old man glanced briefly over his shoulder before returning to work.

"Thank you, Samantha," he said. His voice was raspy and hoarse and a bit harried. "What did you bring me?" He didn't turn around.

"Eyeglass repair kit," she said, grabbing it from her bag and laying the tiny tool set on a crate beside his desk. "Got the canvas you wanted from a bombed out craft store, and the needle and a whole bunch of thread and all that. And pretty much all the shoes in my mom's closet." That got his attention. He turned quickly and snatched up one of the sandals as she dumped them on the crate.

"Yes," he murmured, examining the clasps. "This will be perfect. Thank you, Samantha."

"No problem." For a while, that was it. She retreated into silence and he resumed his tinkering, but that didn't last long. Sam never could stand things being quiet for long. Geppetto, for his part, once made toys for a living. He remembered when his children and grandchildren would play with his creations while he worked on his newer projects, loved the sound of human voices gathering around him, inspiring him, adding a sense of liveliness to his works. That was why he was more than content when Sam's patience gave out and she started talking.

"I'd be glad to get you more if you want," she said, picking at her nails. "Lizzy—my sister, I mean, I don't think I told you her name—she loved helping me figure out where to get all that stuff. It's like a big scavenger hunt for her, you know?" A moment of silence as she bit at a hangnail. "She hates being cooped up inside all day, but she can't go outside. Too much of a chance of getting bombed or shot or gassed. I've got her reading right now, but that gets old after a while, you know? Just reading every minute of every hour of every day for ever and ever and ever. And she's seven—it's not like I can hand her Stephen King or my old textbooks or anything."

"Indeed a predicament," he said with a half smile, glancing at her over his shoulder. Forget hoarse—he sounded awful. Sam got up and grabbed a water from a nearby cooler (the water was warm; the Rebels had more important things to worry about than keeping the cooler stocked with ice) and approached Geppetto. It wasn't the first time she'd peeked at his work desk, but the first time she could even begin to identify what she saw there. The shape was… human-ish, though the entire figure was no more than six inches long. Two arms, two legs and a head were perched on an intricate mechanical torso; each arm ended in intricate little fingered hands and at the end of each leg was a tiny jointed foot, carved from what looked like pieces of one of the clock's wooden cuckoos. It had been… what? A day since she'd given him those clocks? A day and a half? And already he'd fashioned it into a little metal something. No wonder he hadn't slept.

"That's pretty awesome," she mentioned, putting the bottle of water down on the only empty space she could find on his desk.

He shook his head absently. "I wish I could do better. I used to be a master of the craft, you know." He chuckled to himself and tightened a screw in the figure's hip.

"Looks fine to me." She certainly couldn't do any better.

"It's been years since I've done this sort of work," he said. "I've lost the precision I once had, the dexterity…"He shook his head. She touched his shoulder gently.

"You know, the same thing can happen if you don't get enough sleep."

"I'm fine," he assured her. "I just need to finish this."

"You can finish it tomorrow," she said. He opened his mouth to argue, but she cut him off: "I'm your bodyguard, remember? That means I'm supposed to protect you, and not just from all the nasty stuff out here. That means getting enough to drink." She picked the water bottle back up and pushed it into his hand. "And nap every now and then wouldn't hurt either."

"Perhaps you're right…" he rubbed the bridge of his nose under his glasses.

"All this is still gonna be here when you wake up. Promise."

"All right." He smiled gently and pulled himself to his feet. Those grey bushy caterpillar eyebrows had never seemed so heavy. "In case you leave before I wake, there's something I need you to get for me."

"Sure thing." She took his arm—it looked like he was about to fall—and slowly guided him to his cot.

"I need quartz. Three pieces of it, rather smooth and large. And more metal. Gold or silver or copper would be best."

"No problem," she said, letting go so he could take off his lab coat and hang it up. Quartz and pretty metal bits. Lizzy was going to love this.