coupe de main

The seconds ticked by, entirely too slowly, and Sarah had no way to speed them up. 120 seconds always seemed so fast when they were racing to pull a chip or escape from a terminator, but this time, Sarah felt each one drag into eternity.

7...... 8...... 9......

She was taking a risk, not only for herself but for John and everyone else. Weaver could have... tampered... with Cameron’s chip, sabotaged it, and she had no guarantee that the Cameron she held in her arms was her Cameron.  She could turn on Sarah before she could do a damn thing to stop her, but Sarah had learned the hard way that she would rather die by Cameron’s hand than live without her. She was taking a chance, and she would live or die by the choice.

The sense she had felt all day, the sense of wrongness, of heading in the wrong direction the further she got from her home and family, hadn’t just been her unease at stepping on John’s toes or worry about why Danny had metal after him. It had been a sign, a signal that her place was here. She no longer belonged at John’s side as his guardian, his shield between Skynet and the world. John didn’t need her anymore, but Cameron and Savannah did, and she had let them down.

It felt like she was always letting someone down.

39...... 40...... 41......

Her fingers threaded through Cameron’s hair, separating the strands where blood had dried and clotted, and Cameron’s open, empty eyes seemed to track her movements blankly. Sarah swallowed past a lump in her throat, remembering other times she had stood silent watch over the empty shell of the terminator, her chip removed to disrupt a traffic program or her body abandoned while her consciousness roamed the net. Once she had stood watch over a crematorium of concrete blocks as Cameron, her face split into her human and terminator halves, burned to a pile of ash.

“I’m not burning you again, girlie,” Sarah whispered as her hand cupped Cameron’s head and her lips brushed over the warming skin on Cameron’s forehead. “You still owe me.”

Sarah could almost see it, what she was owed, what she craved. She never admitted to John or Cameron, or even to herself, what she wanted, knowing in her heart she would never live to see it. A life after Skynet. A life that was hers. Sometimes she imagined it as a modest cabin nestled on a snowy mountain, peace and the quiet surrounding her as the world turned to white. A place to escape the city, the heat, the technology, and the images of the future that had visited her nightmares for almost twenty years. Vulnerable, the desire washed through her, so strongly she could almost taste it. She could imagine Savannah playing in the snow... curling up with Cameron by the fire...

Her jaw set with steely determination as she laced her fingers with Cameron’s. Somehow, some day, they would find that place together. They would know that peace. Cameron made her believe that it was possible. That anything was possible.

“You owe me,” Sarah repeated in a fierce whisper, “And I intend to collect.”

56...... 57...... 58......

The fingers of Sarah’s free hand drifted down the skin of Cameron’s arm, gently probing the slashes on her pale skin. There was blood spatter everywhere, over their bedspread, on the walls. Weaver had toyed with Cameron, had hurt her just to hurt her. As one minute passed into the next, Sarah felt rage battling her grief. Had Cameron cried out with each cut? Had Weaver used Cameron’s humanity against her?

The image made Sarah’s blood go cold, but her temper turned white hot.

The sense of violation was nearly overwhelming; Weaver had hurt Cameron and had left her body in their bedroom, in their bed, for Sarah to find. And Sarah wasn’t even sure–not yet–if she hadn’t taken her away completely. The provocation seemed deliberate, almost... personal. She had come for Savannah, and failing her mission, she had left a message for Sarah in Cameron’s battered and bloodied body.

See how easy it is for me to stop her... to take her away from you.

Sarah shifted to rest Cameron’s head on her shoulder, watching as the last twenty seconds counted down. They had played defense against Weaver, all for naught, as the terminator had shown them just how ineffectual their defenses were.

No more.

No more looking over her shoulder, no more waiting for the next attack to come. Weaver had started this fight, but Sarah was determined to be the one who ended it. If she was ever going to achieve any peace, any reprieve from this life, she had to start taking out the threats instead of running from them. It was her only choice.

111...... 112...... 113......

Sarah tightened her grip on Cameron’s hand and waited to see those beautiful brown eyes meet her own. She could hear the floorboards creak in the hall, distantly aware of John lingering, knowing he was ready to defend her if things went wrong.

“Please,” she whispered.

117...... 118...... 119......

The subtle flexing of fingers around Sarah’s had her holding her breath. Rather than gain tension, Cameron’s frame lost it, relaxing against Sarah before a soft hiss of pain emerged. Cameron’s eyes closed briefly before fluttering open once more and fixing intently on Sarah’s face.

There was recognition in their brown depths. Recognition and love.

act 1

John did his best to avoid being detected by cybernetic ears as he slipped from his post by the bedroom door and eased down the stairs so his mother and Cameron could have time alone. Even though he knew he had a good reason for hovering, he felt oddly guilty. Guilty and uncomfortable, a mix of sensations he was starting to associate with being around Cameron and his mother at the same time. Where once he felt he was central to both their lives, now he felt like an interloper. He wondered when the feeling would fade, or if it ever would.

Reaching the landing, he turned toward the kitchen and jumped in surprise as he almost barreled over Terissa, standing like a statue with a teacup just inside the door. She gave him a tight smile, but whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a slamming door and the sudden appearance of Savannah. The child stopped just short of tangling with John’s legs, her eyes focused on both their faces. Seeing the worry, John automatically knelt and took Savannah's shoulders, feeling them stiffen as the little girl braced herself.

"She's okay," John softly promised. He felt Ellison and Sabine's eyes on them as they stepped into the room, but he was only concerned with Savannah. He knew all too well what the child was feeling. There was a time when he was Savannah's age and fearful of something happening to his mother. A tremble rippled through Savannah and transferred into John's hands and arms.

"I tried to stop her..." Savannah choked on her words.

John easily drew Savannah into his arms. His felt his growing bond with the little girl strengthen, and he savored the unexpected opportunity to have a sibling in his life.

Savannah put her arms around him and hugged him ferociously. She'd withheld tears during the ride back, keeping herself rolled up in a ball and not listening to Uncle Ellison when he tried to reassure her. Hearing that her mom was okay finally broke her fragile control. "I tried to help."

John sighed and imagined the small girl facing off with Weaver. He’d been there himself, battling a T-1000 when he was just a child, but he’d had support in the form of his mother and his own terminator. Savannah had stood up to Weaver alone. He wasn't surprised by Savannah's courage, nor by her fears. He’d seen the woman she would become, but he still felt his heart swell with pride.

"I know," John whispered as he kept Savannah loosely in the circle of his arms. He withdrew slightly to meet her eyes, seeing the ghost of Sierra in them. "You were brave." And it was every bit true.

"What happened?" Ellison asked, meeting John’s eyes above Savannah’s head.

As John explained the situation, he could see a deepening gloom descend over Terissa and a tightening of the muscles in Ellison’s shoulders. Whether it was anger at Weaver for crippling Cameron or at Sarah for reactivating her, he wasn’t sure.

The only one who seemed unconcerned was Sabine. Sabine stood off to one side, seemingly bored except for her eyes, which were always faithfully on Savannah.


A stillness enveloped them; the only movement in the ruined room was Sarah’s fingers tracing a pattern on Cameron’s arm. “I thought I lost you,” Sarah admitted quietly, her fears still achingly visible on her face.

“You do that a lot.”

“What, lose you?” Sarah quipped, her tone lightening at the attempt of a joke.

“Worry about losing me,” replied Cameron, ignoring Sarah’s feigned levity to focus on the issue at hand.

Sarah leaned her head back, her gaze introspective as if she were thinking about all the decisions that it had taken to get to where they were. “Goes with the territory, I suppose.” Cameron gave her a quizzical look, and Sarah could almost see her trying to locate the territory. Sometimes she forgot Cameron’s lack of experience with idioms, and she soothed the confused expression with a soft kiss on Cameron’s forehead. “It’s what we do, part of this job. We put ourselves on the line and... I worry.”

“I don’t like that you worry.”

Recalling an image of a snow-bound cabin and a warm fire, Sarah sighed. “Sometimes...” she began, and then stopped, shaking her head at the irresponsibility and impossibility of it all.

“Sometimes what?”

She sighed again, regretting the impulse that drove her to bring it up. Cameron wouldn’t let her avoid the issue now. “I think about what it would be like if we left this behind and just went away... far away.” She couldn’t keep the trace of wistfulness from her voice.

“You want to retire.”

Sarah scoffed at the word. “Yes. Retire. With my pension from the ‘Save the World’ fund.”

Cameron straightened, sliding out of Sarah’s lap to face the woman across the broken bed, her fingers tangling with Sarah’s hair to meet her eyes. Her thumbs eased the stress from Sarah’s temples, seeing how her green eyes were bright with unshed tears. “We could. John...” Sarah started to shake her head, but Cameron kept talking. “John wants to lead. He needs to lead. He can take over now. It’s his time.”

The shaking increased to encompass her whole body, and Cameron gathered Sarah in her arms and held her. It was the physical manifestation of the conflict that Cameron saw in her eyes, the very idea of letting go warring with a very real desire to do just that. She had seen this building for some time. Sarah’s slow acceptance of her son’s new role was one indication. The way she had tried to make a home for Savannah was another. But the most telling were her jokes about her age and the abuse her body had taken over the years. Even with the nanotechnology swimming in her blood, Sarah was beginning to feel her age and was slowly acknowledging that she couldn’t keep going like this forever.

Feeling the shaking slowly ease, Cameron broached the topic again. “You can...”

Sarah pulled out of her arms with a sudden jerk and met Cameron’s eyes once more, all softness burned away by anger. “Not yet. Not while she’s out there.”

For a second, Cameron’s visual inputs flashed as she remembered her fight with Weaver and that last bitter realization that she couldn’t defeat her. She beat the wave of panic back and felt it recede enough so that she could see again clearly. “How?” she asked, trying to disguise her fear and hoping Sarah didn’t notice.

“I don’t know yet.” Sarah urged Cameron to her feet and pulled her into a fierce hug, which Cameron returned in equal strength. Looking around the shattered space that had begun to feel like home, Sarah could feel another wave of anger surge through her. “But we’re going to take her out."

Sarah urged her into the bathroom and settled her on the edge of the bathtub, pulling the ever-present first aid kit out. She cleaned the lacerations on Cameron’s arms and torso and began to gently stitch the wounds closed.

Cameron remained still, letting Sarah tend to her, wishing her lover had some remedy for the concerns and fears building underneath her skin. She said nothing, choosing instead to merely watch Sarah work and to calculate the probability that any of them would survive whatever came next.


The strong aroma of coffee wafted over him, but it was the low, constant hum that eased Danny’s frayed nerves. He felt at home with that sound. At least eleven other customers sat in the small cybercafé, their laptops humming away. The group was large enough to make him feel like he could blend in. Danny kept his head behind his laptop's screen, slumped in his chair at the back of the room. He had selected an inconspicuous spot tucked in a corner, away from prying eyes and out of direct sight of any surveillance cameras or webcams. A quick glance around the quiet cybercafé told him he was safe as he tapped into the Wi-Fi network. While he waited, Danny gently toyed with one of the short wiring harnesses that connected the chip to his laptop.

After another scan, Danny watched letter after letter appear on the small command prompt window like a ghost. He ignored it as the laptop finally connected to the café's Internet hot spot. Now the letters and numbers stopped and the white cursor simply blinked in place while Danny waited for C.A.I.N. to communicate.

What passed as a second for Danny was an eternity to C.A.I.N. as he drank in the freedom afforded by the Internet connection. Data flowed through the line, flooding his consciousness. Did humans feel this way after being held underwater for too long? Was taking in the stream of data like drawing in much-needed air? He spent microseconds in consideration before abandoning the question as he re-established connections and re-formed himself in the muted pathways of light and shadow. The crippling virus no longer held him at bay, as his hybrid configuration had mutated beyond the simple code signature that had been its target.

Lost in the infinite light, C.A.I.N. was unaware that the unsecure connection had also left him vulnerable and open to the world, and the virus was only one of the entities that hunted him. As he stretched into the virtual world, a snippet of code activated and awoke a slumbering presence. It slid past porous defences using a sophisticated mimicry and latched onto his code. The very reconfiguration that he had initiated to outwit the virus hid the remnant of an alien consciousness from him.

In seconds, C.A.I.N. had made a connection and sent a communication. It was during those few seconds that he considered his options. He knew who could help him despite the risks it posed to his future. He wasn't strong enough, yet, and she could provide him with protection until it was his time. For now, C.A.I.N. accepted what was necessary to regain his complete freedom.

We will go to her, C.A.I.N. displayed on the laptop's screen.

Danny nervously tapped the space key without typing for a few seconds. He didn’t even have to ask whom C.A.I.N. meant. Weaver, his thoughts whispered.

His mother wouldn't agree and wouldn't understand why he chose her and not his own family to help and protect him. She wouldn’t understand that there were no other options, nobody who understood his fate.

Finally he typed out a reply. Where?

Danny’s reply was not a surprise to C.A.I.N.; the only surprise was his hesitation. Weaver’s response was instantaneous and exactly what he calculated, and C.A.I.N. confirmed that Danny would arrive in twenty minutes.

Danny watched an address populate on the screen. He furrowed his eyebrows at the eerily familiar street name, but he couldn’t place it or the sense of unease that crept up his spine as he stared at it. Typing his agreement, he started to pack his black satchel carefully, tucking the wired chips into a padded portion of the bag so that they would not be jostled or separated.

"Have a good day," the clerk behind the coffee counter called.

Danny hesitated at the door but nodded at him. "You too." He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good day, Danny thought sourly, but maybe that was about to change. Shortly he was loaded in the truck and following the driving directions from the laptop's screen.

The drive was, in fact, exactly twenty minutes, just as C.A.I.N. had calculated. It was a quiet ride, the overly-populated areas giving way to warehouses and long-abandoned buildings. It all felt familiar to Danny, and he slowly began to realize their destination. When they arrived, Danny felt sick, slumping down in his seat as he parked the truck behind a loading dock. There wasn’t a soul in sight.

Swallowing past the taste of bile in the back of his throat, Danny stared at the skeletal remains of an office building, the walls marred by graffiti and time. All that was left, half proud under the afternoon light, were the chiselled letters on the sign that read ‘Cyberdyne Systems.’

Danny expected her to be there already, but he couldn’t leave the chips behind in the truck. Tucking them in his pocket, he climbed out, his gaze fixed on the building in front of him. There was a chance he could die in there, in the same building that had claimed his father. He didn’t have any weapons, nothing to stop a machine; he only had the chips and his skills, and he hoped that the offer of them would be enough.

Cautiously, Danny ascended the steps to the front of the office building. Vegetation had grown between the cracks in the stone walkway making footing difficult. The front entrance had once bore glass doors, but they'd since been destroyed, and glass shards cracked under Danny's shoes. He entered the lobby, his eyes sweeping over the old bullet holes that riddled the walls. Brief images of the gun fight that must have happened there dashed through his mind, but they cleared when a figure appeared from the hallway leading to the elevators.

"Hello, Danny." Her voice was even, almost bored.

Danny eyed her warily. Catherine Weaver stood out starkly against the dim confines of the lobby. He wondered how Weaver kept her white suit so perfect until he remembered her true nature. 

Weaver neared the security desk and placed her hand on top of it. A thin frown touched her lips as the dust clung to her hand. She rubbed her fingers together in a surprisingly human gesture before turning her attention to Danny. Something was missing in her eyes, something he was used to seeing in Cameron’s, and Danny took a half step backward as she approached. "Why are we here?"

"I have the chip." Danny held her gaze and thought he saw a sharpening of her interest in the narrowing of her eyes. "I have him. Them,” he corrected.

“The chip is damaged,” she replied, almost conversationally, “and Sarah Connor still has John Henry’s body. What good is the chip to me?”

Weaver’s heels echoed softly in the space as she stepped closer to the boy. She could see the thin sheen of sweat on his forehead in the low light, but he stood his ground as she approached. He had what she wanted, and she could easily take it from him if she so desired. She didn’t have to deal with him at all, but something held her hand.

“There are two chips. One is undamaged. He’s downloaded onto it now.”


“C.A.I.N. And John Henry. Both of them.”

Weaver tilted her head at the news, understanding with sudden insight why her boy had gone bad. “I see,” she purred, intrigued by the possibilities this new arrangement might provide.

“And...” Danny’s words died in his throat as he realized how irrevocable his next statement would be. He would be acting against his mother and the Connors, and they would know. There was no going back if he stepped over this line, but he had no choice. He met Weaver’s eyes squarely and accepted his decision.

“I know where John Henry's body is."


Sarah was relieved to get out of the destroyed bedroom, especially with Cameron patched up and on her heels. Cameron had changed into a long-sleeved t-shirt to hide the worst of her wounds, and Sarah thought her lover looked almost whole and unharmed. Only she would ever know just how much damage Weaver had done.

The thought brought a now familiar surge of rage, but Sarah ignored it. They reached the top of the stairs, and she paused. Down below, John's soft mouse clicks filtered up to them. Cameron tilted her head at Sarah's hesitation to join the others.

Sarah turned her head sideways and whispered, "Retirement, huh?" Once spoken, the idea was starting to take root, and it gave her a renewed purpose. There had to be light at the end of the tunnel because she didn't want to lose what she'd been given. A sure hand on her shoulder and a quiet whisper of encouragement gave her the strength to go downstairs.

Cameron withdrew her hand after Sarah descended the first step and followed, her steps as slow and reluctant as Sarah’s. The path Sarah had decided upon was clear; Cameron had seen it in Sarah’s eyes the moment she woke. But Cameron knew she couldn’t take Weaver on her own, and any attempt had a high probability failure. Even death. Unbidden, a number appeared in a corner of her readout, but she deleted it without looking at it. She didn’t need a statistical analysis of the risks they faced.

"Damn," John hissed under his breath. He clenched his left hand and stared worriedly at the monitor screen.

Sarah stepped into the living room, surprised to see so many people sitting around the room. A whirlwind flew by and latched itself onto Cameron’s legs, and Sarah looked away quickly to hide a smirk as the unsuspecting terminator was knocked back half a step. 

"What is it?" Sarah asked, turning to her son.

John straightened and faced his mother as Cameron came through the doorway to stand just a few inches away from his mother, not touching but almost. They stood so close, and John wondered why he hadn't noticed the signs sooner. Looking away, John decided there was something enjoyable about denial.

"Danny," John answered. He turned back to the security feeds coming from the hanger. "He hasn't shown up." He’d clung to Danny's innocence and hoped Danny would go back there after what happened in the scrap yard, but he had the feeling that he was wrong.

"He's running scared," Cameron stated flatly. She sensed Terissa's eyes as they fixed on her.

James, from his spot on the sofa, bowed his head and imagined what Terissa was feeling for her son. He reached out and gently laid one of his hands over hers, offering her comfort. She swallowed at the contact but didn’t move.

"It's you," John retorted as he stood and faced the room, all his attention centered on Cameron. "He thinks you'll kill him."

Cameron nearly agreed until she recalled Terissa's silent presence. It was a rare moment that she withheld her blunt response in consideration of another’s feelings, and she found herself rewarded with a slight dip of Sarah’s head in acknowledgment.

John had expected a sharp jab from Cameron, but when one wasn't forthcoming, he told them what'd happened between him, Danny, and C.A.I.N. He watched as each word sentenced Danny in his mother’s eyes, feeling the weight of his decisions settle on his shoulders. His mother and Cameron would want to go after Danny, and Terissa... Terissa sat on the couch, holding her teacup tightly, her expression curiously blank.

"We can't trust Danny," Sarah told them.

"You drove him to this point," Terissa protested, but her words were hollow, even to her own ears. Danny had stolen the chips and run away. His own actions condemned him, and she couldn’t deny that. Nor could she deny how Sarah had tried to help her son. If only she'd kept him away from Miles' work or insisted that he leave after they had gotten him out of Kaliba, then they wouldn't be in this situation.

Sarah understood a mother wanting to shield their child, and she wished she could have spared Terissa the pain. If she hadn’t burst into their lives so many years ago, then maybe things might have turned out differently. But Danny wasn't a child anymore and like John, he had made his choices. And now, she had to deal with the choices he had made.

“What do you think he’ll do?” she asked, including both John and Terissa on the question, but it was Cameron who answered.

“He has the chips.”

John anxiously glanced at Cameron. Savannah was still wrapped around the terminator’s legs, her blue eyes intent on him. He’d almost forgotten about the chips in the wake of coming home to find Cameron off-line. “John Henry’s body,” he blurted. John glanced at his mother as she hung back and waited for him to speak. “We have to move the body in case he tries to come back for it.”

James was already moving, dragging himself up from the couch with a conflicted expression on his face. He opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it before exiting the house silently.

Cameron started to hand Savannah off to Sabine, but the child was having none of it. She wrapped herself more firmly around the terminator’s legs and stubbornly shook her head. Cameron started to scold her until she felt John’s fingers touch lightly on her shoulder. 

“We’ll take care of it,” John promised her. “You just... get well,” he said awkwardly, but inwardly he was bemused by the surprise on Cameron’s face.

Sabine traded nods with Cameron before following the two men out the door, silently deciding to tag along in Cameron’s stead.

Sarah sighed.  "I guess we'll wait here," she murmured, wondering if this was how retirement was going to feel.


John Henry’s body sat motionless, slumped in a chair in a shadowy corner by the computers. Without a chip, the terminator's body was pure potential awaiting direction.

James stared at the shell that had been John Henry and carefully considered their options. There were few places to take the body to keep it safe, but none that Danny and Weaver didn’t already know about. He shifted his gaze over to John and suspected he was having the same problem.

"I know a place."

Sabine’s voice came from behind him, and John spun on his heel to face her, almost surprised to see her there. Her eyes held a steely determination he recognized from his mother, and he could tell that she had already decided on their course of action. He knew his mother trusted Sabine, but now he had to decide if he trusted her. His eyes slid sideways, but Ellison returned his gaze blankly, leaving the decision squarely on his shoulders.

"Alright," John softly consented. "Let's get him loaded up along with the computers." He glanced around the room, noting the most important pieces of equipment. “Quickly,” he added unnecessarily.

They moved swiftly, feeling like they were racing against the clock. Once everything was loaded, John left Sabine and Ellison in the van while he did a last sweep of the hanger.

Even though he knew he shouldn’t, John was helpless not to linger in front of Sierra's wall. He felt sick at the thought of leaving it behind, the hints and pictures that she had left to guide them. Now that he knew what was between his mother and Cameron, he saw the wall with different eyes. Logic told him to burn the display, to remove all traces that they’d ever been there, but John couldn’t do it.

His gaze fixed on a drawing of his mother and Cameron. They were smiling at one another, and somehow Sierra had managed to capture the love in their eyes that he hadn’t been able to see even when it was right in front of him. John thought their relationship couldn’t last, but the two figures in the drawing were clearly older, hinting at a future for them John would have never imagined.

He swallowed and turned away.


Danny stepped out of the black Mercedes and gently shut the door before shoving his hands into his jacket pockets as he guided Weaver to the entrance. He hesitated a few steps from the door, indicating the camera tracking their approach with a jerk of his head.

Weaver looked directly into the lens, unconcerned with whatever security measures stood between her and her boy. Her lips thinned into a tight smile as she imagined Sarah Connor watching the feed.

Danny scrambled out of the way as Weaver approached the locked door, barely turning his head in time to avoid splinters of metal as it was kicked in. The door landed with a heavy boom inside the hanger. Taking a deep breath, Danny nervously followed Weaver as she confidently strolled inside like she owned the place.

"Where is he?" Weaver asked shortly, looking around the room expectantly.

Danny led the way through the hanger, the hairs on his neck standing on end as the slow, measured steps of the terminator followed him. He refused to second-guess his choices. His actions had been taken to ensure his own survival. Even the Connors–especially the Connors, he corrected himself–would understand that.

His knees nearly buckled when he laid eyes on the empty computer desks. His breath hitched as he darted over to John Henry's former resting spot. “He’s gone. John must have...”

Weaver stood in the middle of the deserted warehouse and assessed her options. Sarah Connor and the other humans were more resilient than she had expected, even Savannah. She did not like losing, but her latest plans had been thwarted with disturbing regularity. She took some consolation in the damage she had inflicted on Sarah’s terminator and murmured, "No matter. I let the Connors have John Henry when it suited my needs. I will recover him in due time,” she promised, seemingly unperturbed with their setback. Her gaze slipped off Danny and lingered on the wall behind him.

“What is this?” she asked slowly, turning sharply on her heel and moving closer to the display.

Danny shrugged, hoping she couldn’t see how badly he was shaking. “It belonged to someone the Connors knew. Some woman named Sierra.” Curiously, he watched as the terminator studied the wall.

Weaver regarded the collage of memories and images with the simple desire to understand what she was witnessing. She recognized Sierra’s hand-written notes and the distinct lines of her drawings, but further analysis yielded little information. The scene made no logical sense to her, the connections between images seemingly random, so she had to assume that the guiding direction behind it had been purely sentimental.

Slowly, Weaver took the last few steps up to the wall, her fingers reaching out to gently pull a birth announcement off the surface. A picture of Savannah as a newborn looked back at her. Weaver frowned at the image of her doppelganger holding the baby. Why someone would look so happy over bearing a child was a mystery to her. The real Catherine Weaver had fought valiantly to live, no doubt to return to her offspring. For the first time, she could see a similarity between herself and the woman she had pretended to be.

They would both do whatever it took to save their child.

Heels softly connected against concrete as Weaver traveled down the wall, taking in everything. She paused once more when she found a drawing of Sarah and Cameron. They seemed... happy, she determined, their smiles and gazes for nothing but each other. Weaver found the image curious, and she filed it away for later review. She knew that Cameron had evolved, but perhaps the Connor’s little protector had become more advanced than she knew.

The fleeting thought to destroy the hanger and its contents came and went. There was no need, Weaver decided. As she stared at the only thing that remained of Sierra, Weaver also determined that it would be a waste.

Turning from the wall, Weaver’s gaze drifted up to another security camera. She stared at it for a long moment, her head dipping with a nod of acknowledgement.

"See you soon," Weaver promised whoever was watching.

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