Cromartie
They were in mid-move, mid-drive to the new house in Phoenix when Allison noticed that the car was being followed. Generally, she would ask Sarah what she should do but John's mother had gone ahead to the new house. To secure it. To get things ready.
And John was asleep. So it was up to her to decide what to do. All right. That was fine. She was very efficient.
First, she made sure that her gun was somewhere that she could get at it, somewhere it wouldn't be seen right away. Then, she looked in the rear view mirror and pulled over. Slowly. To see if maybe the other car would just go by.
If maybe it was a coincidence.
No such luck there. They pulled over with her.
Pulling over got John to wake up, albeit not in the best mood ever. Moving always made him feel like shit and his brain felt like someone was waging war against it from the inside. So waking up because Allison was pulling over, for no good reason that John could discern? Wasn't helping the shitty mood.
"The hell?" Groggy and frowning. "Why'd you stop?"
Allison kept her gaze on the rear view mirror, watching as the other car's door opened up to let out a man a few inches taller than her, maybe, wearing a suit. So that was interesting, wasn't it? "We were being followed."
"Okay." Sighing and sitting upright, before the guy in the rearview actually catches his attention. "Shit. Allison. Drive fucking drive!"
Gauging John's reaction to the considerable lack of threat that the other drive appeared to pose. "Drive. Fucking drive? It seems likely he would just follow us again."
"It's fucking Cromartie what is wrong with you? I am not trying to get my ass killed out here, FUCKING DRIVE!" Screaming helps, right? It gets the man to move a little faster, either way.
Allison tilted her head, calculating. Risks. Making assessments. Coming to conclusions.
And then, she put the car in reverse and backed into the other man. Knocked him down. "I'm not trying to get your ass killed out here."
"Could've fucking fooled me." Now John's awake. And reaching for a gun, because if driving over this fucker worked the man would've been dead years ago.
So when he rolls out from under the car? John is not surprised, at all.
Allison was pretty sure he wouldn't stay down. Allison is, based on John's reactions and the fact that this man is up and moving, assuming that he is an infiltrator. One of Sarah's machines. So she blocks John from his gun, from moving from his seat at all and gives him a Look. "Stay. Here."
Then she grabs her own gun, and gets out of the car.
"For the love of Christ." Yeah. Staying here. That's totally going to happen, Allison.
Well it might, because John realizes he can probably assemble his rifle and shoot this guy in the head. Only that means scrambling around the interior of the car to find all the parts to his rifle. Handguns are a lot easier to use in a car, you know.
The man smiles at Allison as he dusts himself off. "Well, that was interesting. I am Agent Kester, I am afraid I need you and your friend to come with me." There's something odd about the smile. About the man.
Allison tilted her head at the 'agent', watching him for a moment. He had to be an infiltrator. A federal agent would show his identification. A normal girl would ask for them. Neither of them had done either of those things. Infiltrator. "You need my friend and I to go with you."
Head tilt the other way. "I cannot comply." And then, only then did she pull out her gun. "You should get in your car now, Agent Kester. You should drive away." She'd give him that chance once.
Agent Kester kept smiling. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I've been looking for your friend for much too long." He also sems rather unphaszed by the gun. "John! Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"
"Fuck you, you psychopathic sadistic motherfucker." Way to be helpful, John.
"Thank you, that was very helpful." Oh, Allison. She aims her gun at his left knee and fires. Judging by the look on his face, he was not exactly expecting her to actually shoot him. "If I let you leave, will you go? Will you stop following us and leave us alone?"
Kester fell against the girl's car, staring at her. At John. He had not been expecting that. Not even remotely. The pain was blinding, and angered him. A lot.
"No he won't leave us alone." John. If you shut the hell up, that would probably be more useful than screaming out the window, you know. As it is, the rifle is two-thirds complete.
Kester takes a deep breath and tries to use the car to pull himself up. "I'm afraid I can't do that." The boy had gotten away and they weren't supposed to. None of them were supposed to. And now this bizarre girl shot him in the knee.
She nodded once. "Oh. All right. Thank you for explaining." And then she shot him in the other knee, stepped closer and shot him in the shoulder. The right and she was about to shoot in him the left shoulder when he suddenly snatched out, grabbing her by the wrist and twisting.
"You should drop the gun now, miss." Ever-polite voice conflicting with all the blood. All the damage.
"Motherfucker," John muttered, trying to find the scope for the rifle. Although now that the guy was on the car, that might be a moot point, he realized. Not enough distance.
So trying to find the handgun, again.
She bit her lip, using momentum and her own wrist to shove Kester into the car. Kicked out and aimed for one of his blown out knees in order to get him to let go. And when that failed to work she kicked again. And again. In rapid succession until he did let go. Until he finally made some noise other than polite terror tactics.
Until he screamed.
There. Handgun obtained, loaded, checked. John opened the door, walked up to Cromartie, and shot him in the back of the head. Twice.
"We're leaving." Come on, Allison, time to go.
She looks at John, and then at the other man. Picked up her gun and followed John back to the car. Passenger side this time. "We should take a different route."
"I'm aware. You should change." He's also aware that they need to find a carwash, and quick. Blood, hoorah. "Now is as good at time as any."
Truckstops are good for that. The carwash.
She nods, leaning back to get a change of clothes from her motel bag. Changing quick, while they're still on the backroads. She inspects in the mirror, making an odd face. She'll need to clean up in the car wash bathroom, obviously. Another face, when her wrist twinges while pulling on her jacket. "I have damage."
"Bandage it." John is not in any better of a mood. At least they're nearing the truck stop, however. "First aid kit, under the seat." Things John was not expecting to happen: seeing Cromartie again, killing the man, feeling no remorse over it.
She leans forward a bit, pulling the first aid kit out from under the seat. It's interesting, trying to wrap an ace bandage around your own wrist and hand. But she manages it, eventually. "Are you damaged?"
"No." Lies, boy. "No physical damage. I'll fix that when we get there." A nod to the bandage but he really can't have her drive or pull over to fix it right now.
So a little more driving and they're at the truck stop. John grabs Allison's bloodied clothes, the guns they used, more clothes for himself, and a small bottle of bleach. "Meet me in ten minutes by the carwash." Off he goes to change, burn their old clothes and wash the traces of a discharged firearm off his hands.
And off she goes to wash her hair in the sink, wash blood off her face and hands and go stand in line in the truck stop's gas station to get a couple sodas and a bottle of gatorade. In ten minutes, she's back at the car wash. Waiting.
So is he, smelling slightly like gun oil and bleach. When he's certain no one is paying them any attention and that the car is getting cleaned, he gives her gun back to her and hand her a small towel with bleach and water on it. "Wipe your hands with this."
There is also a small but contained fire in an oil drum a ways from the men's restroom.
The gun gets stowed in her jacket and she wipes her hands down quickly. Because she suspects he is upset with her. "All right. Thank you." For what, she's not entirely certain. But.
If she'd woken him instead of pulling over, well. John thinks something might have been different. Either way he's glad she does things quickly and the bleach towel gets thrown into a nearby garbage can. "Let me see your wrist."
Kester or Cromartie or whoever might still be alive. "I think it'll be okay." But still, she shows it to him. Strained cartiledge. Pulled tendons. Nothing too major. She's had worse.
He figures. And rewraps the bandages a bit better. "You'll be fine." Still short. Still upset. At her and the world. "Sarah doesn't need to know about this. For the record." Car is done, time to go.
"Sarah doesn't need to know about this." She nods. Back in the car, where she hands him a soda. After a few minutes on the road, she will ask. "Are you upset with me?"
"You should have woken me up instead of pulling over." So. Probably? It's bad that John can't tell, isn't it. "You have no idea who that man was."
"I didn't have all of the neccessary information." She opens her soda and drinks. "I have no idea who that man was? No. That man was Agent Kester."
"He was not fucking Agent anything." Flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. "You can't believe everything everyone tells you, for fuck's sake. How stupid could you be?"
John, you ass.
"No. He was an infiltrator. I hit him with the car, and he got back up. He said his name was Agent Kester. Did you know him? He called you John."
"Yes, I know him." John glares at the road. "He lied. Obviously."
"What was his name? Why are you upset with me?" Watching the road now too. "Are we far from Phoenix?"
"Cromartie. Because you stopped the fucking car instead of waking me up. Less than an hour."
"Cromartie." In her head, this becomes Chrome Artie. Oh, that programming. Ha ha, Sarah. "I didn't have all the information. And you need more sleep than I do."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead." Is that really the best thing to say?
Not really, considering the look that she gives him. "That's not sleep."
He shrugs. "So fucking what?"
"Sarah would be upset."
"She'll live. Or she won't and the world would be a better place." Wow, John. Way to project.
She thought about that. For a long moment. "Maybe she does need to know." Since he's so upset.
"Fine. Tell her if you want, I don't give a shit."
"I don't want anything. I'm just a machine."
"Make up your own damn mind about whether or not you're going to tell her. I say she doesn't need to know. You feel that something supersedes that then by all means, soldier the fuck onwards. Just don't bitch to me when she takes it out on you."
She gives him another odd look. "Bitch to you?" When has she ever, John? "If she takes it out on me, than I am to blame."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever." She hasn't. John is being a grade A asshole today. "If you say so."
"I say so. Sarah says so. You say so." She looks at him again, and then back at the road. "I did not have the parameters on Agent Kester aka Cromartie."
"And you're not going to get them from me." Enjoy that, Allison.
Oh, she does. Really. "Then, I have to ask Sarah. Was he an infiltrator?"
"No. But she'll probably say he was so, whatever. She doesn't know, okay? And I don't want her to."
She thinks about it. Her programming is protect John Connor. She did that. "All right."
John just nods. And will be silent for the rest of this ride unless she asks something else.
"How much longer until we arrive?" Is that the robot version of 'are we there yet'?
"We're in Phoenix, now. Another 20 minutes before we reach the house." Possibly.
"Have you seen the house?" Changing subject? Nooo.
"No, I haven't." John rubs his eyes.
She hmms. "I'm sorry." For? Who knows.
"Don't be." Yeah he doesn't either. Possibly for his mood. Which, honestly, even he knows isn't her fault.
Doesn't mean he's going to shake the asshole guise this week.
So that'll be a fun week, won't it. "All right."
So. Time to unpack the house, eventually, since they're probably here, right? And time to deflect Sarah from asking anything about why John is in such a pissy mood. Allison explains her wrist away by saying that she slammed it in the car door.
That gets a smirk and a 'good job, Tin Man', so clearly that worked.
Hell she possibly could have told Sarah that John did it and she would have believed it. Considering the piss poor mood the boy is in. Sarah asks him what's wrong, a few days later, and he says "We moved."
Honestly, he's always in a bad mood when they move. Sarah thinks those few years in Palmdale might have spoiled him, a little. Which isn't that far off the mark.
So the assholishness gets turned down, a bit, for lack of a better word, but all that really means? Is that John avoids Allison and Sarah both and keeps himself busy with setting up this new house and memorizing the details of his new life.
Again.
And John was asleep. So it was up to her to decide what to do. All right. That was fine. She was very efficient.
First, she made sure that her gun was somewhere that she could get at it, somewhere it wouldn't be seen right away. Then, she looked in the rear view mirror and pulled over. Slowly. To see if maybe the other car would just go by.
If maybe it was a coincidence.
No such luck there. They pulled over with her.
Pulling over got John to wake up, albeit not in the best mood ever. Moving always made him feel like shit and his brain felt like someone was waging war against it from the inside. So waking up because Allison was pulling over, for no good reason that John could discern? Wasn't helping the shitty mood.
"The hell?" Groggy and frowning. "Why'd you stop?"
Allison kept her gaze on the rear view mirror, watching as the other car's door opened up to let out a man a few inches taller than her, maybe, wearing a suit. So that was interesting, wasn't it? "We were being followed."
"Okay." Sighing and sitting upright, before the guy in the rearview actually catches his attention. "Shit. Allison. Drive fucking drive!"
Gauging John's reaction to the considerable lack of threat that the other drive appeared to pose. "Drive. Fucking drive? It seems likely he would just follow us again."
"It's fucking Cromartie what is wrong with you? I am not trying to get my ass killed out here, FUCKING DRIVE!" Screaming helps, right? It gets the man to move a little faster, either way.
Allison tilted her head, calculating. Risks. Making assessments. Coming to conclusions.
And then, she put the car in reverse and backed into the other man. Knocked him down. "I'm not trying to get your ass killed out here."
"Could've fucking fooled me." Now John's awake. And reaching for a gun, because if driving over this fucker worked the man would've been dead years ago.
So when he rolls out from under the car? John is not surprised, at all.
Allison was pretty sure he wouldn't stay down. Allison is, based on John's reactions and the fact that this man is up and moving, assuming that he is an infiltrator. One of Sarah's machines. So she blocks John from his gun, from moving from his seat at all and gives him a Look. "Stay. Here."
Then she grabs her own gun, and gets out of the car.
"For the love of Christ." Yeah. Staying here. That's totally going to happen, Allison.
Well it might, because John realizes he can probably assemble his rifle and shoot this guy in the head. Only that means scrambling around the interior of the car to find all the parts to his rifle. Handguns are a lot easier to use in a car, you know.
The man smiles at Allison as he dusts himself off. "Well, that was interesting. I am Agent Kester, I am afraid I need you and your friend to come with me." There's something odd about the smile. About the man.
Allison tilted her head at the 'agent', watching him for a moment. He had to be an infiltrator. A federal agent would show his identification. A normal girl would ask for them. Neither of them had done either of those things. Infiltrator. "You need my friend and I to go with you."
Head tilt the other way. "I cannot comply." And then, only then did she pull out her gun. "You should get in your car now, Agent Kester. You should drive away." She'd give him that chance once.
Agent Kester kept smiling. "I'm afraid I can't do that. I've been looking for your friend for much too long." He also sems rather unphaszed by the gun. "John! Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"
"Fuck you, you psychopathic sadistic motherfucker." Way to be helpful, John.
"Thank you, that was very helpful." Oh, Allison. She aims her gun at his left knee and fires. Judging by the look on his face, he was not exactly expecting her to actually shoot him. "If I let you leave, will you go? Will you stop following us and leave us alone?"
Kester fell against the girl's car, staring at her. At John. He had not been expecting that. Not even remotely. The pain was blinding, and angered him. A lot.
"No he won't leave us alone." John. If you shut the hell up, that would probably be more useful than screaming out the window, you know. As it is, the rifle is two-thirds complete.
Kester takes a deep breath and tries to use the car to pull himself up. "I'm afraid I can't do that." The boy had gotten away and they weren't supposed to. None of them were supposed to. And now this bizarre girl shot him in the knee.
She nodded once. "Oh. All right. Thank you for explaining." And then she shot him in the other knee, stepped closer and shot him in the shoulder. The right and she was about to shoot in him the left shoulder when he suddenly snatched out, grabbing her by the wrist and twisting.
"You should drop the gun now, miss." Ever-polite voice conflicting with all the blood. All the damage.
"Motherfucker," John muttered, trying to find the scope for the rifle. Although now that the guy was on the car, that might be a moot point, he realized. Not enough distance.
So trying to find the handgun, again.
She bit her lip, using momentum and her own wrist to shove Kester into the car. Kicked out and aimed for one of his blown out knees in order to get him to let go. And when that failed to work she kicked again. And again. In rapid succession until he did let go. Until he finally made some noise other than polite terror tactics.
Until he screamed.
There. Handgun obtained, loaded, checked. John opened the door, walked up to Cromartie, and shot him in the back of the head. Twice.
"We're leaving." Come on, Allison, time to go.
She looks at John, and then at the other man. Picked up her gun and followed John back to the car. Passenger side this time. "We should take a different route."
"I'm aware. You should change." He's also aware that they need to find a carwash, and quick. Blood, hoorah. "Now is as good at time as any."
Truckstops are good for that. The carwash.
She nods, leaning back to get a change of clothes from her motel bag. Changing quick, while they're still on the backroads. She inspects in the mirror, making an odd face. She'll need to clean up in the car wash bathroom, obviously. Another face, when her wrist twinges while pulling on her jacket. "I have damage."
"Bandage it." John is not in any better of a mood. At least they're nearing the truck stop, however. "First aid kit, under the seat." Things John was not expecting to happen: seeing Cromartie again, killing the man, feeling no remorse over it.
She leans forward a bit, pulling the first aid kit out from under the seat. It's interesting, trying to wrap an ace bandage around your own wrist and hand. But she manages it, eventually. "Are you damaged?"
"No." Lies, boy. "No physical damage. I'll fix that when we get there." A nod to the bandage but he really can't have her drive or pull over to fix it right now.
So a little more driving and they're at the truck stop. John grabs Allison's bloodied clothes, the guns they used, more clothes for himself, and a small bottle of bleach. "Meet me in ten minutes by the carwash." Off he goes to change, burn their old clothes and wash the traces of a discharged firearm off his hands.
And off she goes to wash her hair in the sink, wash blood off her face and hands and go stand in line in the truck stop's gas station to get a couple sodas and a bottle of gatorade. In ten minutes, she's back at the car wash. Waiting.
So is he, smelling slightly like gun oil and bleach. When he's certain no one is paying them any attention and that the car is getting cleaned, he gives her gun back to her and hand her a small towel with bleach and water on it. "Wipe your hands with this."
There is also a small but contained fire in an oil drum a ways from the men's restroom.
The gun gets stowed in her jacket and she wipes her hands down quickly. Because she suspects he is upset with her. "All right. Thank you." For what, she's not entirely certain. But.
If she'd woken him instead of pulling over, well. John thinks something might have been different. Either way he's glad she does things quickly and the bleach towel gets thrown into a nearby garbage can. "Let me see your wrist."
Kester or Cromartie or whoever might still be alive. "I think it'll be okay." But still, she shows it to him. Strained cartiledge. Pulled tendons. Nothing too major. She's had worse.
He figures. And rewraps the bandages a bit better. "You'll be fine." Still short. Still upset. At her and the world. "Sarah doesn't need to know about this. For the record." Car is done, time to go.
"Sarah doesn't need to know about this." She nods. Back in the car, where she hands him a soda. After a few minutes on the road, she will ask. "Are you upset with me?"
"You should have woken me up instead of pulling over." So. Probably? It's bad that John can't tell, isn't it. "You have no idea who that man was."
"I didn't have all of the neccessary information." She opens her soda and drinks. "I have no idea who that man was? No. That man was Agent Kester."
"He was not fucking Agent anything." Flexing his fingers on the steering wheel. "You can't believe everything everyone tells you, for fuck's sake. How stupid could you be?"
John, you ass.
"No. He was an infiltrator. I hit him with the car, and he got back up. He said his name was Agent Kester. Did you know him? He called you John."
"Yes, I know him." John glares at the road. "He lied. Obviously."
"What was his name? Why are you upset with me?" Watching the road now too. "Are we far from Phoenix?"
"Cromartie. Because you stopped the fucking car instead of waking me up. Less than an hour."
"Cromartie." In her head, this becomes Chrome Artie. Oh, that programming. Ha ha, Sarah. "I didn't have all the information. And you need more sleep than I do."
"I'll sleep when I'm dead." Is that really the best thing to say?
Not really, considering the look that she gives him. "That's not sleep."
He shrugs. "So fucking what?"
"Sarah would be upset."
"She'll live. Or she won't and the world would be a better place." Wow, John. Way to project.
She thought about that. For a long moment. "Maybe she does need to know." Since he's so upset.
"Fine. Tell her if you want, I don't give a shit."
"I don't want anything. I'm just a machine."
"Make up your own damn mind about whether or not you're going to tell her. I say she doesn't need to know. You feel that something supersedes that then by all means, soldier the fuck onwards. Just don't bitch to me when she takes it out on you."
She gives him another odd look. "Bitch to you?" When has she ever, John? "If she takes it out on me, than I am to blame."
"Yeah, sure. Whatever." She hasn't. John is being a grade A asshole today. "If you say so."
"I say so. Sarah says so. You say so." She looks at him again, and then back at the road. "I did not have the parameters on Agent Kester aka Cromartie."
"And you're not going to get them from me." Enjoy that, Allison.
Oh, she does. Really. "Then, I have to ask Sarah. Was he an infiltrator?"
"No. But she'll probably say he was so, whatever. She doesn't know, okay? And I don't want her to."
She thinks about it. Her programming is protect John Connor. She did that. "All right."
John just nods. And will be silent for the rest of this ride unless she asks something else.
"How much longer until we arrive?" Is that the robot version of 'are we there yet'?
"We're in Phoenix, now. Another 20 minutes before we reach the house." Possibly.
"Have you seen the house?" Changing subject? Nooo.
"No, I haven't." John rubs his eyes.
She hmms. "I'm sorry." For? Who knows.
"Don't be." Yeah he doesn't either. Possibly for his mood. Which, honestly, even he knows isn't her fault.
Doesn't mean he's going to shake the asshole guise this week.
So that'll be a fun week, won't it. "All right."
So. Time to unpack the house, eventually, since they're probably here, right? And time to deflect Sarah from asking anything about why John is in such a pissy mood. Allison explains her wrist away by saying that she slammed it in the car door.
That gets a smirk and a 'good job, Tin Man', so clearly that worked.
Hell she possibly could have told Sarah that John did it and she would have believed it. Considering the piss poor mood the boy is in. Sarah asks him what's wrong, a few days later, and he says "We moved."
Honestly, he's always in a bad mood when they move. Sarah thinks those few years in Palmdale might have spoiled him, a little. Which isn't that far off the mark.
So the assholishness gets turned down, a bit, for lack of a better word, but all that really means? Is that John avoids Allison and Sarah both and keeps himself busy with setting up this new house and memorizing the details of his new life.
Again.