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And she appreciates that, in her own way. Her own weird way. And on the fourth day after he followed her, she goes back to the bank. The same as before. Getting ice cream. Flirting with the guard.
But before that. Before that, sending both Sarah and John texts. One to Sarah, a 911 text saying that John was in trouble and she was having difficulty extracting him. And another to John saying that she was in trouble.
And waiting.
Oh and wasn't that going to be fun? John was closer, got there first, walked up to Allison frowning. "...What?"
Sarah was all of two minutes after.
While waiting, she'd taken the time to flirt with the guard. Distract him. Keep him from well...anything. "Sarah. John! This is George." She smiled at both of them. Smiled. "Thank you for coming. That was very quick." And the smiled faded off her face.
"Are you-" the guard started to ask before being unceremoniously cut off by her grabbing the gun right out of his holster and punching him in the face. He went down quickly.
"Seriously. Great, really." At least she hadn't shot the guard but when Sarah looked at John like he was supposed to magically know what the fuck was going on he hissed at her in Spanish. "[You're the one who told her we needed money don't fucking look at me.]" He turned to Allison. "This is your show, fucking go."
He'd asked for no casualties, so she was going to do her very best. She'd picked a time with the least people, the least number of customers in the bank. She was, even to herself later, suprisingly efficient at carrying this off. Threatening the teller. Getting the money. Getting the teller to escort them to the back entrance and getting the girl's car keys.
Knocking her unconscious as well.
It was all very efficient.
Getting home meant packing everything traceable while Sarah and Allison went to get papers. Not being too shocked when they came back and Allison was quiet and Sarah was agitated and John and Allison were siblings, now. Getting everything into the car, driving for damn near an entire day through deserts and off major freeways in order to get to Arizona. When Sarah got tired, John drove. None of them slept much anyway.
Allison hadn't said a word to Sarah since they'd left the city. Hadn't spoken to either of them since they'd left the state, other than to offer to drive. She wasn't surprised when no one let her. Not really. She busied herself by counting cars. Countng birds. Telephone poles. The money. At every third gas station, she'd exchange some of it. Trying to make it untraceable. Them, untraceable.
She'd killed Enrique Salceda. Her first casualty. He'd been trying to get more money than what the papers were worth, threatened Sarah with the FBI. 'Everyone can see what you did to that girl'.
She didn't understand what he meant. But it upset Sarah. So she'd killed him. Which upset Sarah more. Made Sarah hit her. It didn't hurt. Not really.
John had no idea what the hell was going on with Sarah and Allison and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. So he pretended he didn't see it. The same way he pretended he didn't hear the snide remarks Sarah would make at Allison like she was stupid. The same way he ignored the feeling in his stomach when he did the same thing, out of frustration.
But Sarah was sleeping and Allison was quiet and it was starting to bug him, like flashes of metal in the corners of his vision. "You 'kay?" Not quite a whisper but his mother doesn't exactly sleep soundly. Even in the back of the car.
She glanced over at him and smiled. Again with that. "I'm okay, John. Thank you for asking."
"We'll get there in another couple of hours," he pointed out. John liked it when she smiled and when Sarah "fixed" Allison, the smiles would be gone. "Thank you for not killing anyone back there."
Her smile falters. "I didn't want to kill anybody. We aren't cruel."
"It's fine, you're fine." It obviously wasn't but it was more shit John didn't want to know. "The bank, it was really well done." Whatever happened with Sarah, he really, really doesn't want to know. But he could see the bruise, the cut, underneath the makeup.
Smile again. "Thank you. Was it efficient? There weren't any flaws?" It's likely that she won't tell him even if he does ask. Killing him had clearly been an error, she just didn't understand why.
Slightly worried smile from John. He can't help it. "It was very efficient. Flawless, I think." Which is half of the reason he won't ask. The other half being he doesn't want to get into a shouting match with his mother over hitting Allison.
"No. No, not flawless. Next time, maybe." She peers at the gas tank indicator, leaning towards him. "We need fuel."
That is slightly startling but not bad enough to make him swerve, or anything. "Less than fifteen miles to the next gas station."
"All right." She counts out money. For fuel. Snacks. Soda.
And John tries to calm his heartrate, pay attention to the road and check on his mother in the rear view mirror. She stays asleep when they get to the gas station which is either worthy of worrying over or a minor miracle.
Perhaps watching the girl you brainwashed rob a bank and murder a man is exhausting and stressful. Who could say?
Allison busies herself with filling the car with gas, and hands John money for everything else. Have fun with that, John.
John blinks at the money. "What do you want? For snacks, I mean." One question should not be so difficult, he thinks.
She shrugs, looks at him and makes an indifferent face. "Corn chips?"
It doesn't sound right, but John shrugs in return. Gets snacks, water, Gatorade. Corn chips for Allison. Trail mix, because he's weird like that.
It isn't right. It's not right at all, and once they're on the road, she eats about a quarter of the bag before folding it up and putting it away. "She's sleeping a lot."
"I know." Offering her trail mix, since there's M&Ms in that and he's not eating them.
Interesting how she just takes the M&Ms. "She should sleep more."
It makes John feel a little better about himself anyway. For some weird reason. "We all should. I doubt we will."
"I don't need sleep. I think she's upset with me."
"You need a minimum of three hours, don't push it." Where did that come from. "...Why?" Against his better judgment, his nerves, and the sick feeling in his stomach.
"Three hours. All right." She looks at him, a flash of guilt or maybe worry in her eyes. "Because of the bank. Because I didn't warn her. Because I tricked her." Right.
"Thank you." For not making that a fight, at least. "...She'll get over it." It's not the bank. John sighs.
No, it is not. "I don't think so."
He could point out she's lying, but it wouldn't do them any good he thinks. "What do you want to do, then? I don't know how to make her not upset at you." He can barely manage 8 hours of being awake without an argument.
"It's all right. She can be upset with me." She glances back at Sarah. Still asleep. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters." He can't put his finger on why, but. "Everything does."
"Maybe. Why?"
Of course she would ask why. "Can't you just trust me on that?"
... "I trust you."
John nods. "Two hours until we get there."
She takes out her new license, examining it. Emily Gage. Not even the same first name. "What will we do there?"
John is Henry which is a new kind of special, in his book. "I don't know. Figure out that thing she stole." He shrugs.
So very special. Perhaps Sarah is Dorothy. Right. "That thing she stole."
"The Turk."
"What is that?"
"A computer program. That plays chess."
She looks at him. "I see."
He shrugs. "She thinks it's the basis for Skynet's neural programming. It's brain."
"...a computer program. That plays chess."
"Welcome to crazy population three."
"I'm a machine. I can't go crazy."
"Yeah, well. I sent you back to deal with this as opposed to...slightly less crazy, sans my mother."
"I don't know what you were thinking." Lord. Is that a joke?
"Yeah me neither." Might be. John smirks anyway.
Somehow, Sarah manages to sleep almost the entire two hours. Once they get to the new, rental house there is much, much unpacking. And the room Allison gets is smaller. More cramped. It doesn't bother her. She doesn't sleep.
There is a few weeks of...psuedo-normal, in Arizona, with their little family unit. John did try to figure out The Turk II, but he didn't (despite Sarah's insistence) try to reverse-engineer the thing. It was intereting. It wasn't out to kill them all, he thought.
It just played chess.
So that was marvelous and frustrating.
The other frustrating thing? Waking up one morning and Allison wasn't up. Which was weird. John asked about it when he saw his mother.
"She's rebooting."
He frowned. "From what? Things have been quiet."
Sarah frowned. "She keeps reverting."
"...Reverting to what? Mom, you don't -" He sighed. "You don't know anything about programming, really. If I didn't trash whatever base programming she had in 2030 or whenever, why do you keep fucking with it?"
She ignored him and started going through the fridge. "We're out of eggs."
John thew up his hands and went to knock on Allison's door.
Allison was laying on her bed, recovering from the reboot. They were harder than the reprogrammings, but didn't take as long. 120 seconds. At the knock, she sat up, stood up and went to the door. A little wobbly. "Yes. John."
John looks worried. "...You okay?" Coming in the room and leaving the door open because several weeks without a lot of yelling? Damn near priceless.
She nodded. "I'm okay. Yes. What did you need?"
"Would you be willing to go to the grocery store?" Slight glance in the direction of the kitchen. "I think we've all been cooped up in the house too long. I'll give you a list?"
"I can go to the grocery store. Yes." She gets a piece of paper out of her dresser and a pen.
So John writes a list. With a little stick figure in the corner with a sign that says "Emily is Awesome" because John is twelve. "Thank you."
She takes note of the stick figure with a sort of...detached amusement, and folds the list up. Puts it in her bag along with her gun. Money. "You're welcome." And off for shopping!
Shopping! Awesome and slightly time-consuming, however, which was apparently not a good thing.
Because there is a car with California plates near the driveway and a guy who really can only be described as a goon standing outside on the porch. Allison might recognize him. Maybe. From Griffith Park. Not the man who shot her, but one of the men with him.
Not the man who shot her, no. But maybe one of the ones who shot her parents. Or her sister. At any rate, she stops her car behind that car and stares at the porch. Trying to decide what to do.
Grabbing her bag and the gun inside it and making her way to the porch. "Hello." Friendly voice, and how hard is that.
The goon grins. It's not very likely that he recognizes Allison, not yet, or if he does, he's not worried about her. Considering that as soon as she's in reach, he makes a grab for her.
And she? Makes a grab for his hand, catches it and twists. "Why are you here?"
He yells but doesn't answer her, tries to throw her off or at least into the doorway. Tries to move them both into the house, where there is furniture to knock some small chick into.
There's a very heavy sound from John's room. Someone, something, falling to the floor. Someone yelling.
She gets knocked into the couch, and twists his hand the other way. Grimacing and swinging her bag towards his head. His face. The gun inside ought to ensure that hurts.
And the sound makes her distracted. Makes her look up.
The guy reels but she's still holding on so there's only so far he can get. Distracted means trying to catch Allison's wrist, trying to twist it, trying to break it.
Whatever is going on upstairs gets a lot worse before there is the sudden absence of sound.
And, to be honest, distracted means he does get her wrist. Does twist it, does break it. Which makes her head fill with white hot pain, because her brain is trying to tell her to ignore it. To fight it.
And the sudden absence of sound gets through. Makes her bite her lip and fight past the pain. Use her broken wrist and his twisted one as momentum to shove him towards the window, moving with him. Pushing hard.
Out the window he goes, onto the lawn, trying to disentangle himself from Allison, either to do more damage or just to get the fuck away. Either way, dazed and cut to hell he manages to get free of Allison...right before getting shot through the shoulder from John's window.
From John considering it's a rifle and not a handgun. Which sends the guy bolting for the car before Sarah makes her way outside. "We've gotta go."
Allison gets up. Slowly. Her hands and her shoulder are cut up from the window, her wrist is most defintly broken. But she still gets up. Looks at Sarah. "Do you have the money?"
"John's got it." And he does, in fact, along with a duffel he tosses to Sarah and his backpack, with the laptop in it. "Three minutes. We'll get in the back."
It probably says something that Sarah doesn't argue with him. Once they're in the car, John starts focusing on getting glass out of Allison's arm.
She winces the first few times, but after a bit it starts to numb. Dull. "Who were those men? What did they want?"
"Sarkassian," Sarah says from the driver's seat. John is still very quiet, doing his best to get the glass out Allison's arm without hurting her. Cleaning the cuts. Sarah glances at them. "What's the damage?"
"Superficial cuts. Deep cuts on my hands. My left wrist is broken."
Sarah hmms. "John? I need to you find Charlie for me."
He looks up, sharply. "We've talked about that."
"Things changed. Find him for me, when we get there."
Allison keeps still, processing everything that's happened tonight. Today. She recognized that man. "Where are we going? Are you still upset with me?" To Sarah. Not John.
"You did good tin man. We're going to a secondary house."
John, done getting the glass out of her arm, starts with her hand. Undamaged wrist first.
It's weird that she's vaguely pleased at any sort of praise from Sarah, right? Right. "All right." She holds her hand still for John, not wanting to make that harder on him.
John ends up putting Allison's hand on his knee to keep it flat. When she's not shaking, or the car is, he is a little. Of the three of them he's the quietest now, most withdrawn.
The secondary house is only 35-40 minutes from where they were. Which is apparently on fire, if the news is any indicator.
"Why is the house on fire?" When he moves to her other hand, she'll have a harder time keeping still. Fidgeting and wincing and biting her lip again.
John has her sit at the table, frozen peas wrapped around her wrist, while he looks up something. Someone, really. He won't mess with her hand while she's in pain and his hands are shaking. "To get rid of the body," he tells her, after giving his mother a phone number and she goes outside to call Charlie Dixon.
"Oh." She hadn't seen a body. "Who?"
"The man who shot you." There is unaltered food here, though all John knows is that the juice doesn't taste weird, so he gets them some. Gets Allison a straw.
"...oh." She doesn't drink. Just sort of hovers over the glass. "Are you all right?"
John drinks his juice. And shakes his head, a little.
"Are you hurt? Tell me how?"
He shows her where he hurt his wrist, torquing it to get free. "The rest is just...in my head."
She looks at her hands, then his wrist. "I can't fix it...tell me what happened?"
"Charlie's an EMT. He'll fix it." Even though John thinks the man deserves a normal life, free of them. "If Sarah asks you, I am telling you she killed him. Understand?"
She tilts her head. "I understand." Does she? Not exactly.
"If she asks you, that's what happened. That's what I told you happened." Trying to will poor Allison to understand. "Because that isn't what happened. Okay?"
"If she asks me, I'll tell her that's what you told me happened."
"Thank you." Putting his head down on the table as Sarah comes back in. "I'm going to get Charlie. I should be back tomorrow, day after. Try not to get into anything." John just waved.
"What did happen?" She asks, after Sarah is gone.
John sits up, leans against the shoulder of hers that isn't cut up all to hell. "He surprised us, him and the guy you got out the window." The guy John shot. "Tied Mom and I up, started kicking her. Beating her." John closes his eyes. "I strangled him."
"I'm sorry." She should have been there, she thinks. To protect him. To protect them. "Why was he there?"
"She stole The Turk from him. God knows what else." Knowing Sarah. "Don't be sorry."
"I'm sorry you had to do that."
"Better me than you," John says, and means it.
"No. I don't think so." And she means that. She picked up a pair of tweezers from the table and pulled the rest of the glass out of the hand with the broken wrist. "Do you need to talk about it?"
John watches her do this. "What's to talk about, really? I killed someone. I don't like it."
"So have I. You shouldn't like it."
"Well good to know that neither of us are sociopaths."
"Yes. It is good to know that." She flexes her fingers to make sure she got all the glass out. "You were right."
"Mm, here, do you need help?" Applying slight pressure against her fingertips to see how good the response is, if there's nerve damage. "Right about what?'
"It's good to have help." Her fingers twitch almost instantly, and she makes a face. "She isn't upset with me anymore."
John hisses. "Sorry, I won't do that again." He glances at Allison. "Yeah. That's something."
"It's okay. Do we have gauze?" She looks at him. "Isn't it?"
"I'll get it," he says, and stands. "I hate the constant arguing, the fights, the...restarts or whatever the hell she's doing to you. God forbid we be a calm household waiting for the world to end."
Well, she certainly can't get it. "Reboots. I was glitching."
Fortunately it's not very far; nearest first aid kit is above the freezer. "Yeah, I never saw one."
"You were asleep. I couldn't focus on anything. She had to reboot me. It doesn't take long. 120 seconds."
Gauze. Antibacterial stuff, for the cuts. Bandages for her hands, her arm. The most impressive and terrifying first aid kit ever. John just brings the whole thing over. "Why did she hit you?" Since they are exchanging not quite secrets.
Allison is getting used to those kits. "This one might need stitches." Pointing. "I killed someone she didn't want killed."
"Charlie is better at that than she is. Than I am." So hopefully it won't scar as badly as her leg has. "I'm sorry she hit you." He won't ask who.
John, one assumes, cares enough to be more careful than Sarah was. "I was wrong." As if that makes it okay.
He does. Which is, as he tends to say, something. "I'm still sorry." It really doesn't make it okay, not even a little bit.
Not even remotely. "Okay. The other one shot my mother. The woman I called my mother."
Once he finishes with her hand, her arm, John checks the cut from when Sarah hit her even though it's mostly healed. Because he couldn't before, because he's craving contact, because his head is a wreck. "I liked her." There's a small flash of anger that he didn't hit the man in a more vital spot and John has to swallow it down.
She lets him, because...no one has checked that, except for her. Any makeup she was wearing is gone at this point. "I know. She liked you too."
It's not infected, or anything. It's taking longer to heal than it should, but they're both like that. "...I'm sorry."
Drugging people tends to do that. "Why are you sorry?"
"That they died." They didn't have to. "For a lot of things, really."
"Oh. I see. It's all right." Really? Is it? No. She shifts the conversation. "What town are we in?"
"Hereford." No lie. "Ten miles or so from the border."
"Are we staying here?"
"I think so, yes." His mother would probably want to. Eventually John pulls his hand away from her face and has no idea what to do with himself.
She stares at him for a moment, and looks at her hands, her wrist. "She took the eggs with her."
"...There's other food." John has no idea what that's about.
She smirks, just a bit. "The car will smell." ...okay, Allison.
"...Oh." John chuckles. "She'll deal."
"Yes. She'll deal."
John smiles, and puts his head on the table again, watching her a bit. "Sorry, I'm kinda weird right now."
"Should I be doing something?"
"No. It's fine. Let me know if I'm being annoying."
Yeah. That's going to happen. "Annoying?"
"Bothering you." John doesn't know. He feels clingy, which is weird.
"You aren't bothering me." She wouldn't say if he was. "Do you want to lay down?"
He thinks about it. "Does that mean you have to go back to your room?"
"No. I don't have to." Sarah's not here.
True. "Okay then." Up John gets. "I just..." He sighs, trying to find a way to express what's going on with him without sounding like a lot of things he doesn't want to be. "I don't want to be by myself I guess. Right now."
Following. "I understand." She wasn't there to protect him then, she'll be there now.
He laughs a little before he lays down. "Not like...I think something's going to happen to me. I just don't want to only have to listen to myself, right now." As opposed to normally when John feels like there isn't enough space. Oh, claustrophobia.
She sits on the bed beside him. Lays on the bed beside him, careful of her arms. Her shoulder. "I understand."
"Are you ever lonely?" John feels really fucking ridiculous asking this but. Allison's never actually laughed at him. Just looked at him like he should duck.
"I understand what it's like to be lonely." Which isn't quite the same.
John hmms. "Better than nothing, I guess. Do you miss it? What it was like before you got here."
"The future?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. I miss him sometimes. I guess. You."
"I'm sorry. We'll get there eventually, I guess." Not that it makes him feel better right this second, but.
"We talk. Sometimes. About him being lonely. So I understand."
"Most of the time I just want to be alone. When I don't it's...weird."
"I'm sorry. What can I do?"
"You're here, you're talking to me. What more could you do?" John. That is not the best way to word that.
"Other things. I'm sure." Lovely. "What do you want to talk about?"
Apparently now John realizes how his question sounds because he turns very red. "I don't know."
Oh, John. "What did we talk about before?"
John has issues. "I usually just listened to you talk. About school, about your family. Whatever."
John has entire subscriptions. "That's...difficult. I don't want to talk about that."
"I know, I wasn't meaning to ask you to. Talk about whatever, I'm not picky."
"Will Charlie stay?"
"Permanently? Maybe. He'll probably...go back and forth, really."
"Has he done that before?" She touches his face. She had, perhaps, noted the need for contact.
"Before we lived with him." John closes his eyes because it's nice and...unnerving, all at the same time.
"Does he know about this? The machines?"
"No." John suspects that's why Sarah is going to him as opposed to having him drive out here.
"Oh. He won't like it."
"No, he won't." He sighs and opens his eyes again.
"I'm sorry. What would you like to talk about now?"
"I don't know. Don't be sorry."
"Why not?"
"...I don't know. I just don't want you to be sorry."
"All right." She keeps her hand where it is, watching him. "Is this helping?"
"It does." He's pretty sure it shouldn't. "Does it bother you?"
"Bother me? Should it bother me?"
John closes his eyes. "I can't answer that for you."
"It doesn't bother me."
"Okay." He nods.
"Sometimes it's nice to have help."
"That's true."
"I like helping you."
John's at a loss for a reply to that for a few moments. "I appreciate it. I need your help, right now."
"With not being alone?"
"Yes."
"You don't always want my help. What would make you less alone?"
"I don't. I'm sorry." John shrugs. What would make him less alone, he thinks, is a conversation he cannot have with her.
"You didn't answer my question." She tilts her head. "Will he fix my hand?"
"I don't...think it's appropriate." He looks at her. "Yeah, he will."
"My question?" She hmms at that. "Good. I can't protect you like this."
"The answer that comes to mind." John tilts his head, a bit. "You know you can get better just for the sake of getting better, right?"
"Oh. I see." She absolutely does not. "No, I can't."
John looks at her. "No, you don't." Still, he doesn't know if he should explain it. "You could. I wish you wouldn't get hurt. I get that you're supposed to protect me but I don't like you getting hurt."
"No, I don't." She adjusts her hand on his face a bit. More comfortably. "I didn't get hurt protecting you. I got hurt because he wanted to hurt me."
"What would make me less alone would be...something like what we were before everything changed." There. Admitting that makes John very uncomfortable. "I still don't want you to get hurt."
"Oh." She thinks she understands. "That would be difficult."
"I know, that's...why I thought it was inappropriate." Kind of.
"She'd reprogram me again."
"I'm trying to avoid that." And John will. But Sarah has her own reasons for that.
"But you want to be less lonely."
There's a catch, here. "...Maybe what I want isn't all that important, right now."
"I don't understand." She kicks her boots off, curling up a bit.
"I want to be less lonely, yeah, but I don't want you reprogrammed at the drop of a hat because of that."
"I don't think my reprogramming depends on that. She isn't very good at it. She has to fix it a lot."
"I know. I don't like that, either." John sighed. "I don't want to give her reasons."
"I don't tell her everything. I don't tell you everything."
"What do you think, then? What should I do?"
She thinks. "I think, you should do what you want to do. Because she's going to."
John covers her hand with his own. "What about what you want?"
"I want you to be happy." Which...is different than 'I don't want anything'.
He closes his eyes. "I'm going to regret this, later." If he remembers it at all.
"Are you?"
"Maybe." John laughs a little, lets go of her hand, puts it around her waist instead. "Maybe."
She doesn't mind that. Why would she? "Is that bad?"
"I don't know." Mindful of her arm, her shoulder. "Ask me later."
"I'll ask you later." If she remembers.
Big if, for both of them. "Thanks." John is just going to...lay here and try not to let himself get agitated about what it is and isn't.
She moves her hand over his heart. Checking that again? "You're welcome."
Heart rate goes up, woot. John just smiles, kind of lopsidedly.
"Are you all right?"
It takes him a moment to figure out why she's asking. "That's normal."
"Oh. What else is normal?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I still like you, Allison, so I guess all the standard physical responses for that."
"I like you." But is she saying it or repeating it?
John stares. "You sure about that?"
"I like you," she repeats. "I'm not supposed to."
Eyes closed, eyes open. "Did I tell you you're not supposed to?"
"No. You didn't tell me that."
Well, then John is not going to ask the obvious question. He's not stupid. "Don't tell her. Don't admit to it."
"I won't tell her." Until she does.
Until Sarah makes her. Until Sarah proves that she is crazy, but also not stupid. "I'm sorry." And John kisses her, which probably made more sense in his head, as far as order of events goes.
They're having a bad day. Events can be as out of order as they like. She kisses him back, however which...takes quite a bit of maneuvering with her good hand on his face and her other on his chest.
How many bad days will happen in the next three and half years? How many times will they do this and forget?
He's still aware of her arm, her wrist, but John pulls her closer anyway. Because they're stranded ten miles from the border without a car. Because today has been a very bad day. Because he likes her.
So many times they'll do this, so many different iterations. So many times they'll forget. Be forced to forget or just have it happen. Because it isn't fair. She's careful of her arm, her wrist, his wrist. But still she kisses him. Still, she tries to get closer.
Here, Allison. If John wraps both his arms around you and rolls onto his back, that eliminates the need for using your arms for balance, right? At least, as far as John figures. So that is what he does.
That does, in fact, work fairly well. It's appreciated, based on her oddly enthusiastic reaction. But more kissing is good, right?
Oddly enthusiastic reactions are awesome, and that awesomeness is only shadowed by more kissing. Mostly because wanting something, from Allison, her desire, makes John feel a lot less worried about all of this. About them. Because it reminds him of the girl he liked. So there is more kissing, in return, and slightly breathless laughter when John has to stop.
She looks down at him, mostly concerned at this. "What?"
John shakes his head and smiles at her. "I like the way you kiss." Which is brain is telling him is bizarre but John's not really letting his brain have a lot to say in regards to his actions right now.
At least his head isn't exploding. "Oh." She looks mildly puzzled. "Thank you?" If he likes it, she'll certainly do it again.
Yes, thank God. "You're welcome." Smirking. And more kissing.
A lot more of that, she thinks. So he's less alone. Less lonely. Because she likes him. Despite her programming.
It helps. Later, when John knows they'll forget, that will be a double-edged sword. But for now? It's nice. Very nice.
She agrees. Very, very nice. Though, she does have to breathe every once in a blue moon.
Yes, breathing. Breathing is good. Pauses for breathing allows John to push Allison's hair behind her ears with one hand and hold her with the other. Allows him to smile at her. "Hi."
Smiling back at him, only a little hesitantly. "Hello."
The hesitance worries him. A little bit. He tries to hide it. "How are you feeling?"
She sees it anyway. Smiles brighter. "I feel better. How do you feel?"
"Better. Not lonely." Obviously.
That? Appears to make her happy. "Good." She kisses him again.
John laughs but he definitely kisses her back. "Will you stay in here, with me? We don't have to do anything." Else, one imagines he means.
"Anything? Oh. Yes. I'll stay in here with you."
He smiles and blushes, a little. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Resting her head on his chest. Closing her eyes.
But before that. Before that, sending both Sarah and John texts. One to Sarah, a 911 text saying that John was in trouble and she was having difficulty extracting him. And another to John saying that she was in trouble.
And waiting.
Oh and wasn't that going to be fun? John was closer, got there first, walked up to Allison frowning. "...What?"
Sarah was all of two minutes after.
While waiting, she'd taken the time to flirt with the guard. Distract him. Keep him from well...anything. "Sarah. John! This is George." She smiled at both of them. Smiled. "Thank you for coming. That was very quick." And the smiled faded off her face.
"Are you-" the guard started to ask before being unceremoniously cut off by her grabbing the gun right out of his holster and punching him in the face. He went down quickly.
"Seriously. Great, really." At least she hadn't shot the guard but when Sarah looked at John like he was supposed to magically know what the fuck was going on he hissed at her in Spanish. "[You're the one who told her we needed money don't fucking look at me.]" He turned to Allison. "This is your show, fucking go."
He'd asked for no casualties, so she was going to do her very best. She'd picked a time with the least people, the least number of customers in the bank. She was, even to herself later, suprisingly efficient at carrying this off. Threatening the teller. Getting the money. Getting the teller to escort them to the back entrance and getting the girl's car keys.
Knocking her unconscious as well.
It was all very efficient.
Getting home meant packing everything traceable while Sarah and Allison went to get papers. Not being too shocked when they came back and Allison was quiet and Sarah was agitated and John and Allison were siblings, now. Getting everything into the car, driving for damn near an entire day through deserts and off major freeways in order to get to Arizona. When Sarah got tired, John drove. None of them slept much anyway.
Allison hadn't said a word to Sarah since they'd left the city. Hadn't spoken to either of them since they'd left the state, other than to offer to drive. She wasn't surprised when no one let her. Not really. She busied herself by counting cars. Countng birds. Telephone poles. The money. At every third gas station, she'd exchange some of it. Trying to make it untraceable. Them, untraceable.
She'd killed Enrique Salceda. Her first casualty. He'd been trying to get more money than what the papers were worth, threatened Sarah with the FBI. 'Everyone can see what you did to that girl'.
She didn't understand what he meant. But it upset Sarah. So she'd killed him. Which upset Sarah more. Made Sarah hit her. It didn't hurt. Not really.
John had no idea what the hell was going on with Sarah and Allison and he was pretty sure he didn't want to know. So he pretended he didn't see it. The same way he pretended he didn't hear the snide remarks Sarah would make at Allison like she was stupid. The same way he ignored the feeling in his stomach when he did the same thing, out of frustration.
But Sarah was sleeping and Allison was quiet and it was starting to bug him, like flashes of metal in the corners of his vision. "You 'kay?" Not quite a whisper but his mother doesn't exactly sleep soundly. Even in the back of the car.
She glanced over at him and smiled. Again with that. "I'm okay, John. Thank you for asking."
"We'll get there in another couple of hours," he pointed out. John liked it when she smiled and when Sarah "fixed" Allison, the smiles would be gone. "Thank you for not killing anyone back there."
Her smile falters. "I didn't want to kill anybody. We aren't cruel."
"It's fine, you're fine." It obviously wasn't but it was more shit John didn't want to know. "The bank, it was really well done." Whatever happened with Sarah, he really, really doesn't want to know. But he could see the bruise, the cut, underneath the makeup.
Smile again. "Thank you. Was it efficient? There weren't any flaws?" It's likely that she won't tell him even if he does ask. Killing him had clearly been an error, she just didn't understand why.
Slightly worried smile from John. He can't help it. "It was very efficient. Flawless, I think." Which is half of the reason he won't ask. The other half being he doesn't want to get into a shouting match with his mother over hitting Allison.
"No. No, not flawless. Next time, maybe." She peers at the gas tank indicator, leaning towards him. "We need fuel."
That is slightly startling but not bad enough to make him swerve, or anything. "Less than fifteen miles to the next gas station."
"All right." She counts out money. For fuel. Snacks. Soda.
And John tries to calm his heartrate, pay attention to the road and check on his mother in the rear view mirror. She stays asleep when they get to the gas station which is either worthy of worrying over or a minor miracle.
Perhaps watching the girl you brainwashed rob a bank and murder a man is exhausting and stressful. Who could say?
Allison busies herself with filling the car with gas, and hands John money for everything else. Have fun with that, John.
John blinks at the money. "What do you want? For snacks, I mean." One question should not be so difficult, he thinks.
She shrugs, looks at him and makes an indifferent face. "Corn chips?"
It doesn't sound right, but John shrugs in return. Gets snacks, water, Gatorade. Corn chips for Allison. Trail mix, because he's weird like that.
It isn't right. It's not right at all, and once they're on the road, she eats about a quarter of the bag before folding it up and putting it away. "She's sleeping a lot."
"I know." Offering her trail mix, since there's M&Ms in that and he's not eating them.
Interesting how she just takes the M&Ms. "She should sleep more."
It makes John feel a little better about himself anyway. For some weird reason. "We all should. I doubt we will."
"I don't need sleep. I think she's upset with me."
"You need a minimum of three hours, don't push it." Where did that come from. "...Why?" Against his better judgment, his nerves, and the sick feeling in his stomach.
"Three hours. All right." She looks at him, a flash of guilt or maybe worry in her eyes. "Because of the bank. Because I didn't warn her. Because I tricked her." Right.
"Thank you." For not making that a fight, at least. "...She'll get over it." It's not the bank. John sighs.
No, it is not. "I don't think so."
He could point out she's lying, but it wouldn't do them any good he thinks. "What do you want to do, then? I don't know how to make her not upset at you." He can barely manage 8 hours of being awake without an argument.
"It's all right. She can be upset with me." She glances back at Sarah. Still asleep. "It doesn't matter."
"It matters." He can't put his finger on why, but. "Everything does."
"Maybe. Why?"
Of course she would ask why. "Can't you just trust me on that?"
... "I trust you."
John nods. "Two hours until we get there."
She takes out her new license, examining it. Emily Gage. Not even the same first name. "What will we do there?"
John is Henry which is a new kind of special, in his book. "I don't know. Figure out that thing she stole." He shrugs.
So very special. Perhaps Sarah is Dorothy. Right. "That thing she stole."
"The Turk."
"What is that?"
"A computer program. That plays chess."
She looks at him. "I see."
He shrugs. "She thinks it's the basis for Skynet's neural programming. It's brain."
"...a computer program. That plays chess."
"Welcome to crazy population three."
"I'm a machine. I can't go crazy."
"Yeah, well. I sent you back to deal with this as opposed to...slightly less crazy, sans my mother."
"I don't know what you were thinking." Lord. Is that a joke?
"Yeah me neither." Might be. John smirks anyway.
Somehow, Sarah manages to sleep almost the entire two hours. Once they get to the new, rental house there is much, much unpacking. And the room Allison gets is smaller. More cramped. It doesn't bother her. She doesn't sleep.
There is a few weeks of...psuedo-normal, in Arizona, with their little family unit. John did try to figure out The Turk II, but he didn't (despite Sarah's insistence) try to reverse-engineer the thing. It was intereting. It wasn't out to kill them all, he thought.
It just played chess.
So that was marvelous and frustrating.
The other frustrating thing? Waking up one morning and Allison wasn't up. Which was weird. John asked about it when he saw his mother.
"She's rebooting."
He frowned. "From what? Things have been quiet."
Sarah frowned. "She keeps reverting."
"...Reverting to what? Mom, you don't -" He sighed. "You don't know anything about programming, really. If I didn't trash whatever base programming she had in 2030 or whenever, why do you keep fucking with it?"
She ignored him and started going through the fridge. "We're out of eggs."
John thew up his hands and went to knock on Allison's door.
Allison was laying on her bed, recovering from the reboot. They were harder than the reprogrammings, but didn't take as long. 120 seconds. At the knock, she sat up, stood up and went to the door. A little wobbly. "Yes. John."
John looks worried. "...You okay?" Coming in the room and leaving the door open because several weeks without a lot of yelling? Damn near priceless.
She nodded. "I'm okay. Yes. What did you need?"
"Would you be willing to go to the grocery store?" Slight glance in the direction of the kitchen. "I think we've all been cooped up in the house too long. I'll give you a list?"
"I can go to the grocery store. Yes." She gets a piece of paper out of her dresser and a pen.
So John writes a list. With a little stick figure in the corner with a sign that says "Emily is Awesome" because John is twelve. "Thank you."
She takes note of the stick figure with a sort of...detached amusement, and folds the list up. Puts it in her bag along with her gun. Money. "You're welcome." And off for shopping!
Shopping! Awesome and slightly time-consuming, however, which was apparently not a good thing.
Because there is a car with California plates near the driveway and a guy who really can only be described as a goon standing outside on the porch. Allison might recognize him. Maybe. From Griffith Park. Not the man who shot her, but one of the men with him.
Not the man who shot her, no. But maybe one of the ones who shot her parents. Or her sister. At any rate, she stops her car behind that car and stares at the porch. Trying to decide what to do.
Grabbing her bag and the gun inside it and making her way to the porch. "Hello." Friendly voice, and how hard is that.
The goon grins. It's not very likely that he recognizes Allison, not yet, or if he does, he's not worried about her. Considering that as soon as she's in reach, he makes a grab for her.
And she? Makes a grab for his hand, catches it and twists. "Why are you here?"
He yells but doesn't answer her, tries to throw her off or at least into the doorway. Tries to move them both into the house, where there is furniture to knock some small chick into.
There's a very heavy sound from John's room. Someone, something, falling to the floor. Someone yelling.
She gets knocked into the couch, and twists his hand the other way. Grimacing and swinging her bag towards his head. His face. The gun inside ought to ensure that hurts.
And the sound makes her distracted. Makes her look up.
The guy reels but she's still holding on so there's only so far he can get. Distracted means trying to catch Allison's wrist, trying to twist it, trying to break it.
Whatever is going on upstairs gets a lot worse before there is the sudden absence of sound.
And, to be honest, distracted means he does get her wrist. Does twist it, does break it. Which makes her head fill with white hot pain, because her brain is trying to tell her to ignore it. To fight it.
And the sudden absence of sound gets through. Makes her bite her lip and fight past the pain. Use her broken wrist and his twisted one as momentum to shove him towards the window, moving with him. Pushing hard.
Out the window he goes, onto the lawn, trying to disentangle himself from Allison, either to do more damage or just to get the fuck away. Either way, dazed and cut to hell he manages to get free of Allison...right before getting shot through the shoulder from John's window.
From John considering it's a rifle and not a handgun. Which sends the guy bolting for the car before Sarah makes her way outside. "We've gotta go."
Allison gets up. Slowly. Her hands and her shoulder are cut up from the window, her wrist is most defintly broken. But she still gets up. Looks at Sarah. "Do you have the money?"
"John's got it." And he does, in fact, along with a duffel he tosses to Sarah and his backpack, with the laptop in it. "Three minutes. We'll get in the back."
It probably says something that Sarah doesn't argue with him. Once they're in the car, John starts focusing on getting glass out of Allison's arm.
She winces the first few times, but after a bit it starts to numb. Dull. "Who were those men? What did they want?"
"Sarkassian," Sarah says from the driver's seat. John is still very quiet, doing his best to get the glass out Allison's arm without hurting her. Cleaning the cuts. Sarah glances at them. "What's the damage?"
"Superficial cuts. Deep cuts on my hands. My left wrist is broken."
Sarah hmms. "John? I need to you find Charlie for me."
He looks up, sharply. "We've talked about that."
"Things changed. Find him for me, when we get there."
Allison keeps still, processing everything that's happened tonight. Today. She recognized that man. "Where are we going? Are you still upset with me?" To Sarah. Not John.
"You did good tin man. We're going to a secondary house."
John, done getting the glass out of her arm, starts with her hand. Undamaged wrist first.
It's weird that she's vaguely pleased at any sort of praise from Sarah, right? Right. "All right." She holds her hand still for John, not wanting to make that harder on him.
John ends up putting Allison's hand on his knee to keep it flat. When she's not shaking, or the car is, he is a little. Of the three of them he's the quietest now, most withdrawn.
The secondary house is only 35-40 minutes from where they were. Which is apparently on fire, if the news is any indicator.
"Why is the house on fire?" When he moves to her other hand, she'll have a harder time keeping still. Fidgeting and wincing and biting her lip again.
John has her sit at the table, frozen peas wrapped around her wrist, while he looks up something. Someone, really. He won't mess with her hand while she's in pain and his hands are shaking. "To get rid of the body," he tells her, after giving his mother a phone number and she goes outside to call Charlie Dixon.
"Oh." She hadn't seen a body. "Who?"
"The man who shot you." There is unaltered food here, though all John knows is that the juice doesn't taste weird, so he gets them some. Gets Allison a straw.
"...oh." She doesn't drink. Just sort of hovers over the glass. "Are you all right?"
John drinks his juice. And shakes his head, a little.
"Are you hurt? Tell me how?"
He shows her where he hurt his wrist, torquing it to get free. "The rest is just...in my head."
She looks at her hands, then his wrist. "I can't fix it...tell me what happened?"
"Charlie's an EMT. He'll fix it." Even though John thinks the man deserves a normal life, free of them. "If Sarah asks you, I am telling you she killed him. Understand?"
She tilts her head. "I understand." Does she? Not exactly.
"If she asks you, that's what happened. That's what I told you happened." Trying to will poor Allison to understand. "Because that isn't what happened. Okay?"
"If she asks me, I'll tell her that's what you told me happened."
"Thank you." Putting his head down on the table as Sarah comes back in. "I'm going to get Charlie. I should be back tomorrow, day after. Try not to get into anything." John just waved.
"What did happen?" She asks, after Sarah is gone.
John sits up, leans against the shoulder of hers that isn't cut up all to hell. "He surprised us, him and the guy you got out the window." The guy John shot. "Tied Mom and I up, started kicking her. Beating her." John closes his eyes. "I strangled him."
"I'm sorry." She should have been there, she thinks. To protect him. To protect them. "Why was he there?"
"She stole The Turk from him. God knows what else." Knowing Sarah. "Don't be sorry."
"I'm sorry you had to do that."
"Better me than you," John says, and means it.
"No. I don't think so." And she means that. She picked up a pair of tweezers from the table and pulled the rest of the glass out of the hand with the broken wrist. "Do you need to talk about it?"
John watches her do this. "What's to talk about, really? I killed someone. I don't like it."
"So have I. You shouldn't like it."
"Well good to know that neither of us are sociopaths."
"Yes. It is good to know that." She flexes her fingers to make sure she got all the glass out. "You were right."
"Mm, here, do you need help?" Applying slight pressure against her fingertips to see how good the response is, if there's nerve damage. "Right about what?'
"It's good to have help." Her fingers twitch almost instantly, and she makes a face. "She isn't upset with me anymore."
John hisses. "Sorry, I won't do that again." He glances at Allison. "Yeah. That's something."
"It's okay. Do we have gauze?" She looks at him. "Isn't it?"
"I'll get it," he says, and stands. "I hate the constant arguing, the fights, the...restarts or whatever the hell she's doing to you. God forbid we be a calm household waiting for the world to end."
Well, she certainly can't get it. "Reboots. I was glitching."
Fortunately it's not very far; nearest first aid kit is above the freezer. "Yeah, I never saw one."
"You were asleep. I couldn't focus on anything. She had to reboot me. It doesn't take long. 120 seconds."
Gauze. Antibacterial stuff, for the cuts. Bandages for her hands, her arm. The most impressive and terrifying first aid kit ever. John just brings the whole thing over. "Why did she hit you?" Since they are exchanging not quite secrets.
Allison is getting used to those kits. "This one might need stitches." Pointing. "I killed someone she didn't want killed."
"Charlie is better at that than she is. Than I am." So hopefully it won't scar as badly as her leg has. "I'm sorry she hit you." He won't ask who.
John, one assumes, cares enough to be more careful than Sarah was. "I was wrong." As if that makes it okay.
He does. Which is, as he tends to say, something. "I'm still sorry." It really doesn't make it okay, not even a little bit.
Not even remotely. "Okay. The other one shot my mother. The woman I called my mother."
Once he finishes with her hand, her arm, John checks the cut from when Sarah hit her even though it's mostly healed. Because he couldn't before, because he's craving contact, because his head is a wreck. "I liked her." There's a small flash of anger that he didn't hit the man in a more vital spot and John has to swallow it down.
She lets him, because...no one has checked that, except for her. Any makeup she was wearing is gone at this point. "I know. She liked you too."
It's not infected, or anything. It's taking longer to heal than it should, but they're both like that. "...I'm sorry."
Drugging people tends to do that. "Why are you sorry?"
"That they died." They didn't have to. "For a lot of things, really."
"Oh. I see. It's all right." Really? Is it? No. She shifts the conversation. "What town are we in?"
"Hereford." No lie. "Ten miles or so from the border."
"Are we staying here?"
"I think so, yes." His mother would probably want to. Eventually John pulls his hand away from her face and has no idea what to do with himself.
She stares at him for a moment, and looks at her hands, her wrist. "She took the eggs with her."
"...There's other food." John has no idea what that's about.
She smirks, just a bit. "The car will smell." ...okay, Allison.
"...Oh." John chuckles. "She'll deal."
"Yes. She'll deal."
John smiles, and puts his head on the table again, watching her a bit. "Sorry, I'm kinda weird right now."
"Should I be doing something?"
"No. It's fine. Let me know if I'm being annoying."
Yeah. That's going to happen. "Annoying?"
"Bothering you." John doesn't know. He feels clingy, which is weird.
"You aren't bothering me." She wouldn't say if he was. "Do you want to lay down?"
He thinks about it. "Does that mean you have to go back to your room?"
"No. I don't have to." Sarah's not here.
True. "Okay then." Up John gets. "I just..." He sighs, trying to find a way to express what's going on with him without sounding like a lot of things he doesn't want to be. "I don't want to be by myself I guess. Right now."
Following. "I understand." She wasn't there to protect him then, she'll be there now.
He laughs a little before he lays down. "Not like...I think something's going to happen to me. I just don't want to only have to listen to myself, right now." As opposed to normally when John feels like there isn't enough space. Oh, claustrophobia.
She sits on the bed beside him. Lays on the bed beside him, careful of her arms. Her shoulder. "I understand."
"Are you ever lonely?" John feels really fucking ridiculous asking this but. Allison's never actually laughed at him. Just looked at him like he should duck.
"I understand what it's like to be lonely." Which isn't quite the same.
John hmms. "Better than nothing, I guess. Do you miss it? What it was like before you got here."
"The future?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know. I miss him sometimes. I guess. You."
"I'm sorry. We'll get there eventually, I guess." Not that it makes him feel better right this second, but.
"We talk. Sometimes. About him being lonely. So I understand."
"Most of the time I just want to be alone. When I don't it's...weird."
"I'm sorry. What can I do?"
"You're here, you're talking to me. What more could you do?" John. That is not the best way to word that.
"Other things. I'm sure." Lovely. "What do you want to talk about?"
Apparently now John realizes how his question sounds because he turns very red. "I don't know."
Oh, John. "What did we talk about before?"
John has issues. "I usually just listened to you talk. About school, about your family. Whatever."
John has entire subscriptions. "That's...difficult. I don't want to talk about that."
"I know, I wasn't meaning to ask you to. Talk about whatever, I'm not picky."
"Will Charlie stay?"
"Permanently? Maybe. He'll probably...go back and forth, really."
"Has he done that before?" She touches his face. She had, perhaps, noted the need for contact.
"Before we lived with him." John closes his eyes because it's nice and...unnerving, all at the same time.
"Does he know about this? The machines?"
"No." John suspects that's why Sarah is going to him as opposed to having him drive out here.
"Oh. He won't like it."
"No, he won't." He sighs and opens his eyes again.
"I'm sorry. What would you like to talk about now?"
"I don't know. Don't be sorry."
"Why not?"
"...I don't know. I just don't want you to be sorry."
"All right." She keeps her hand where it is, watching him. "Is this helping?"
"It does." He's pretty sure it shouldn't. "Does it bother you?"
"Bother me? Should it bother me?"
John closes his eyes. "I can't answer that for you."
"It doesn't bother me."
"Okay." He nods.
"Sometimes it's nice to have help."
"That's true."
"I like helping you."
John's at a loss for a reply to that for a few moments. "I appreciate it. I need your help, right now."
"With not being alone?"
"Yes."
"You don't always want my help. What would make you less alone?"
"I don't. I'm sorry." John shrugs. What would make him less alone, he thinks, is a conversation he cannot have with her.
"You didn't answer my question." She tilts her head. "Will he fix my hand?"
"I don't...think it's appropriate." He looks at her. "Yeah, he will."
"My question?" She hmms at that. "Good. I can't protect you like this."
"The answer that comes to mind." John tilts his head, a bit. "You know you can get better just for the sake of getting better, right?"
"Oh. I see." She absolutely does not. "No, I can't."
John looks at her. "No, you don't." Still, he doesn't know if he should explain it. "You could. I wish you wouldn't get hurt. I get that you're supposed to protect me but I don't like you getting hurt."
"No, I don't." She adjusts her hand on his face a bit. More comfortably. "I didn't get hurt protecting you. I got hurt because he wanted to hurt me."
"What would make me less alone would be...something like what we were before everything changed." There. Admitting that makes John very uncomfortable. "I still don't want you to get hurt."
"Oh." She thinks she understands. "That would be difficult."
"I know, that's...why I thought it was inappropriate." Kind of.
"She'd reprogram me again."
"I'm trying to avoid that." And John will. But Sarah has her own reasons for that.
"But you want to be less lonely."
There's a catch, here. "...Maybe what I want isn't all that important, right now."
"I don't understand." She kicks her boots off, curling up a bit.
"I want to be less lonely, yeah, but I don't want you reprogrammed at the drop of a hat because of that."
"I don't think my reprogramming depends on that. She isn't very good at it. She has to fix it a lot."
"I know. I don't like that, either." John sighed. "I don't want to give her reasons."
"I don't tell her everything. I don't tell you everything."
"What do you think, then? What should I do?"
She thinks. "I think, you should do what you want to do. Because she's going to."
John covers her hand with his own. "What about what you want?"
"I want you to be happy." Which...is different than 'I don't want anything'.
He closes his eyes. "I'm going to regret this, later." If he remembers it at all.
"Are you?"
"Maybe." John laughs a little, lets go of her hand, puts it around her waist instead. "Maybe."
She doesn't mind that. Why would she? "Is that bad?"
"I don't know." Mindful of her arm, her shoulder. "Ask me later."
"I'll ask you later." If she remembers.
Big if, for both of them. "Thanks." John is just going to...lay here and try not to let himself get agitated about what it is and isn't.
She moves her hand over his heart. Checking that again? "You're welcome."
Heart rate goes up, woot. John just smiles, kind of lopsidedly.
"Are you all right?"
It takes him a moment to figure out why she's asking. "That's normal."
"Oh. What else is normal?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I still like you, Allison, so I guess all the standard physical responses for that."
"I like you." But is she saying it or repeating it?
John stares. "You sure about that?"
"I like you," she repeats. "I'm not supposed to."
Eyes closed, eyes open. "Did I tell you you're not supposed to?"
"No. You didn't tell me that."
Well, then John is not going to ask the obvious question. He's not stupid. "Don't tell her. Don't admit to it."
"I won't tell her." Until she does.
Until Sarah makes her. Until Sarah proves that she is crazy, but also not stupid. "I'm sorry." And John kisses her, which probably made more sense in his head, as far as order of events goes.
They're having a bad day. Events can be as out of order as they like. She kisses him back, however which...takes quite a bit of maneuvering with her good hand on his face and her other on his chest.
How many bad days will happen in the next three and half years? How many times will they do this and forget?
He's still aware of her arm, her wrist, but John pulls her closer anyway. Because they're stranded ten miles from the border without a car. Because today has been a very bad day. Because he likes her.
So many times they'll do this, so many different iterations. So many times they'll forget. Be forced to forget or just have it happen. Because it isn't fair. She's careful of her arm, her wrist, his wrist. But still she kisses him. Still, she tries to get closer.
Here, Allison. If John wraps both his arms around you and rolls onto his back, that eliminates the need for using your arms for balance, right? At least, as far as John figures. So that is what he does.
That does, in fact, work fairly well. It's appreciated, based on her oddly enthusiastic reaction. But more kissing is good, right?
Oddly enthusiastic reactions are awesome, and that awesomeness is only shadowed by more kissing. Mostly because wanting something, from Allison, her desire, makes John feel a lot less worried about all of this. About them. Because it reminds him of the girl he liked. So there is more kissing, in return, and slightly breathless laughter when John has to stop.
She looks down at him, mostly concerned at this. "What?"
John shakes his head and smiles at her. "I like the way you kiss." Which is brain is telling him is bizarre but John's not really letting his brain have a lot to say in regards to his actions right now.
At least his head isn't exploding. "Oh." She looks mildly puzzled. "Thank you?" If he likes it, she'll certainly do it again.
Yes, thank God. "You're welcome." Smirking. And more kissing.
A lot more of that, she thinks. So he's less alone. Less lonely. Because she likes him. Despite her programming.
It helps. Later, when John knows they'll forget, that will be a double-edged sword. But for now? It's nice. Very nice.
She agrees. Very, very nice. Though, she does have to breathe every once in a blue moon.
Yes, breathing. Breathing is good. Pauses for breathing allows John to push Allison's hair behind her ears with one hand and hold her with the other. Allows him to smile at her. "Hi."
Smiling back at him, only a little hesitantly. "Hello."
The hesitance worries him. A little bit. He tries to hide it. "How are you feeling?"
She sees it anyway. Smiles brighter. "I feel better. How do you feel?"
"Better. Not lonely." Obviously.
That? Appears to make her happy. "Good." She kisses him again.
John laughs but he definitely kisses her back. "Will you stay in here, with me? We don't have to do anything." Else, one imagines he means.
"Anything? Oh. Yes. I'll stay in here with you."
He smiles and blushes, a little. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." Resting her head on his chest. Closing her eyes.