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Chapter Text

This was her fault.

They had been visiting her parents after all; it had been her choice to fly over the whole goddamn country and spend the week at San Diego for an extended Christmas vacation. For a special birthday present. The winter up in Boston had been cold and harsh for almost a straight month, and the family of three had felt like a warm change was sorely needed. So how could Mrs. Bangalter dismiss her father's invitation to visit sunny California?

Now, as she sat in a cheap IKEA sofa  in the hospital's waiting area with her husband's arms acting as her anchor, she let out a small sob. The guilt of the situation was eating at whatever resolve Mrs. Bangalter had left. Her sanity had left her two hours ago, leaving the young mother mumbling incoherent words. Mrs. Bangalter's eyes had long since dried up from when she first spilled tears, leaving her cheeks puffy and red.

She could barely register the soothing hand that her husband was using to brush her hair. Occasionally, the man would let out a cough and a sniffle. It occurred to the woman that he needed her as much as she needed him at the moment.

Soon, two hours became three. Late afternoon became night. As time progressed, Mrs. Bangalter felt her body grow weary and tired, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to fall asleep any time soon. The wall mounted clock at the end of the hallway read 10:21. It felt like three in the morning.

And then the doors to the Operating Room opened up. Instantly, the Bangalters looked up to see a familiar old man in blue scrubs. It was Dr. Sampson. The doctor looked at the parents and let out a small huff as he threw his operating gloves into the trash. His own expression was one of sadness and remorse. Dr. Sampson took his time as he washed his hands; seconds had passed, and the old man could feel the parents' stares bore holes into his back.

When he finally came over to the parents, he let out a heavy sigh and didn't speak for the longest time. The balding doctor wet his lips before finally beginning.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bangalter, we went ahead with the surgery." The doctor said in a tired, strained voice.

"At first, it looked like we were able to remove the shrapnel from his right shoulder. That had been successful. The shrapnel hadn't hit any arteries or broken any of his bones." And here Dr. Sampson paused, feeling pressured as he thought of what else to say. He rubbed the back of his neck, massaging the creases out of it as he explained. "However, when we reached Thomas' abdominals. . ."

"Please tell us that he's going to be alright." Mr. Bangalter pleaded when the doctor's voice trailed off . The man's voice was sore of crying and it croaked like a bullfrog, making his words seem harsh and desperate. They were. The man rubbed at it subconsciously before wiping a tear out of his eye. "Is our son going to make it?"

The pause that came afterwards was deafening. Mrs. Bangalter's ears rang until that was all that she could hear.

"No." Dr. Sampson finally said, a frown forming at the edges of his lips. His grey eyes looked into each of theirs with a sad, knowing look. "There had been too much movement before the paramedics could arrive to the scene. It caused quite a bit of internal bleeding. When we tried to remove the shrapnel from his abdominals, we soon noticed that if we would be able to remove it, there would be no way to prevent the bleeding."

The doctor paused as the parents soaked up his words, tears returning to their eyes. Even before he could finish, the two already knew what he was going to say. Still, Dr. Sampson found that he couldn't leave without finishing his prognosis. They had a right to know.

"Right now, the piece of metal in his stomach and intestines is what keeping your boy alive. It's causing him extreme pain, so we had to put him in an induced coma. But for the moment, Thomas is alive." The doctor said as he sat down in a plastic chair next to the Bangalters. He leaned forward, clasping his hands together and resting his elbows on his knees.  "There's no way that we can save him. It's only a matter of when now."

"When?" Mrs. Bangalter managed to choke out.

"Thomas is on life support now. If we took him off, he'd die within the next few hours." Dr. Sampson explained. "If you choose to remove the shrapnel from him now, he'd die within minutes. Life support can give him a few days longer, but soon enough he'll die from blood loss."

Mrs. Bangalter felt her heart drop into her stomach. Gravity also fell from her senses, leaving her feeling weightless for a few long, agonizing seconds before the weight of the world dropped back on her shoulders. Mrs. Bangalter realized that she was hyperventilating from the news, and her husband was now rubbing circles on her back in an attempt to soothe her. It was not working.

Despite the hour, the hospital was quiet. It seemed as if the three of them were the only ones inhabiting the entire building. For that one moment, there were no nurses in sight, no other patients in the emergency room nearby, and the Operating Room was all but empty. Empty, save for one small figure covered in a white, starch blanket on top of an operating table.

If Mrs. Bangalter looked at her son's figure closely, she could see the iv drip and tubes connected to his body. Thomas was motionless, already dead to the world. The heart monitor Thomas was connected to was just out of the woman's sight, but she could practically hear the steady beats of her heart, despite a glass wall separating them.

However, if she tilted her head to the left, she could see the green line zipping up and down in jagged spikes. Thomas was still alive, but unconscious, just like Dr. Sampson said.

"Are you giving us an ultimatum?" Mr. Bangalter asked, his wife still in a trance.

"I wouldn't put it that way, but yes." was the doctor's reply.

"Can . . . can you give us a few hours to decide?" Mr. Bangalter asked in return, his gaze now turning to where his wife was looking at, and on their son. The man soon felt his own shiver of desperation flow down his spine, and he gripped at his wife's sides for support. "Please, just a few hours."

"Of course. I'll get a nurse to wheel your son into an open room for the night."

Dr. Sampson departed soon after that, heading who knows where in the hospital. At that point, the two parents stood up from their seats. At first, their steps were wobbly, as if they had just gotten off from a boat, abroad for weeks. When feeling finally returned to their legs, the Bangalters entered the empty Operating Room. The only person in the room was Thomas.

Another shiver travelled through the air as Mrs. Bangalter noticed once again how still her lively boy was now. She went over to his side and took his small hand, feeling how cold and clammy it felt in her sweaty ones. Mrs. Bangalter squeezed it softly, hoping that that would be enough to wake the young child. To her dismay, Thomas barely moved, looking as still as a statue.

The two waited by Thomas' side for the nurse to arrive. Ten minutes of dead silence, and then two young women came into the room. They slowly removed non-vital equipment from Thomas's body and prepared the vital machines to roll with the cot they had brought with him. With an experienced approach,  the two nurses removed Thomas from the operating table and onto the cot. Motherly instinct kicked in and Mrs. Bangalter had to intervene to place a pillow under Thomas' head.

When the two nurses were ready to leave, the Bangalters followed closely behind them. They took the family down the hall and into another wing of the hospital. By the looks of it, it was the recovery/residential wing of the hospital. Rooms with windows allowed the parents to peer inside on sleeping patients. A few were still up at this hour, watching television, but most rooms had blinds over the window, allowing the patients within some privacy as they slept.

The nurses finally stopped at a Door labeled 138 at the top. A nurse unlocked the door and soon rolled Thomas over to one side of the room. Soon, Thomas was back into place, and the nurses were on their way out the door. One of them, a short woman with her blonde hair in a tight bun, turned to them and gave them an empathetic smile.

"You can stay here for the night. No one else will be using the room." She said before nodding her head and closing the door behind her. She left before either parent could thank her.

But it didn't matter in the end. The two parents went over by Thomas' side and held onto his hands, squeezing them again, and sat into two adjacent chairs. In silence, the two listened to his slow, deep breaths, focusing on the rising and lowering of his chest and not on the bandage that was just below said chest.

It felt like forever before they finally managed to fall asleep. And when the two parents did, it had been a long and restless one. By eight next morning, it felt like the two hadn't had an ounce of rest. It had been the sun shining through the window that had awoken Mr. Bangalter, and he had been hesitant to wake up his wife.

She looked somewhat peaceful in her sleep, and he knew that as soon as he woke her, she would wake to the awful news that her son would be dead within either hours or days. But as the hospital slowly woke up with bustling nurses in the hallway, Mr. Bangalter took his wife's shoulders and gently nudged her awake.

And he had been right. As soon as she woke, the peacefulness in her face hardened into thin, grim lines. Mrs. Bangalter got up into a standing position and looked at her son. She did nothing at all, didn't even move a muscle before muttering,

"I'm going to call my Mom and Dad. They ought to know what happened." Mrs. Bangalter said as she took her cell phone out of her purse. As she looked through her contacts, she paused and wiped another tear out of her eye. "And that there'll be a funeral they need to attend."

Mrs. Bangalter was just about to walk out of the room when the door suddenly opened up, startling the two parents. At first, they expected, and feared, it would be Dr. Sampson to come through the door, informing them that they'd need to make a decision sooner or else he'd do it for them. But instead, they were met with a tall man that they had never met before.

The man wore grayish purple patient scrubs, and the sling brace he wore on his left arm only confirmed their suspicions. His arm was bandaged up, and a faint spot of red covered just below his chest, where the gauze was thicker than at the rest. He was tall and thin, most likely an athlete of some kind in his spare time. His hair was graying at the sides, showing the two parents that he was a man who was beginning to enter his middle age.

The man took one look at Thomas in bed and then returned his determined gaze back on the parents.

"Are you Adriane and Elliott Bangalter?" The man asked. He sounded winded as if he had just run a marathon despite his condition. He held out a hand with his palm towards them, as if stopping them from moving any further.

"Yes?" Mr. Bangalter asked, sounding slightly worried now by the presence of another person. Instantly, the man's concerned face fell into one that was full of relief. Mr. Bangalter couldn't help but give his wife a questioning glance before returning his attention on the new comer. "And who are you?"

"Me?" The man asked rhetorically through a small but kind smile. "I'm the man your son saved last night."

Thirteen hours earlier. . .

A night on the town had been what the Bangalters had been planning with their five year old son. With some encouraging words from Mrs. Bangalter's parents, the two took Thomas out into the city of San Diego while the sun lasted in the early January night. Thomas was all too eager to go out and experience the new environment. His curiosity was getting the better of him as he grabbed onto his father's hand and pulled him down the street.

"Come on, Dad! I'm starving!" Thomas shouted as giddily as a five year old should. The force he had behind each pull was startling to his father, who could only suppress his laughter in surprised chuckles with each tug. Behind them, Mrs. Bangalter couldn't hide her amusement as she let out a hysterical laugh that rang like silver bells. This only encouraged the little boy even more. "Hurry, I want tacos!"

"Okay, but make sure that you don't spoil your appetite on appetizers." Mr. Bangalter said as he finally gave into his son and picked him up. The man put Thomas on top of his shoulders, the young boy gripping at his hair for support. "Easy up there, sport. I don't want to end up bald like your grandpa George."

At that, Thomas made a sound of disgust. He thought grandpa George smelled weird.

The group had went out to eat first, trying some spicy Mexican food at a restaurant a few blocks away from where they were staying. After much of Thomas's begging, of course. The place was packed, as it was a Friday night after work hours. Despite it being crowded and just a bit too loud, the family did enjoy themselves. The group left after about an hour at the restaurant, full of not only spicy tacos and other Mexican dishes, but of dessert as well.

"What do you want to do next, Thomas?" Mrs. Bangalter asked as she kneeled down to the ground to wipe a piece of salsa off of the boy's face. He groaned as she did it, but nonetheless stood still for his mother. "This is your night."

"Can we watch a movie?" Thomas asked, looking at both his mother and father for approval.

"We can do that when we get back home, Tom!" Mrs. Bangalter said as she finally stood back up from off of the ground. Thomas frowned as she said the words, and instantly she felt sorry for speaking in jest. "Can you think of anything you want to do while visiting your grandpa George and Granny?"

For quite some time, it looked like the child was stuck. The two parents shared a knowing look, and then Mr. Bangalter nudged his son slightly to the left with careful fingers, and then tilted his head via chin up and left. When Thomas finally caught sight of what the two adults had seen long ago, he let out an excited gasp and started to scurry towards the direction.

"A carnival!" Thomas cried in delight. Without even looking, the young boy grabbed at his mother's hand this time and pulled her forward. She could feel his excitement as Thomas clenched at her fingers in a tight vice. Slowly, he pulled her forward, making her bend over as a counter balance. "Come on, come on! Let's go!"

The two parents shared a knowing look. This would certainly tire their five year old out for the rest of the night. The three made their way towards the towering carnival, travelling several blocks in the process. The night grew older as they walked, with the sun just sitting on top of the horizon, turning the sky a beautiful collage of reds, oranges, and pinks.

"I thought it'd be closer than it was." Mr. Bangalter muttered as they neared the carnival. He paused to look behind them, only to see that the Mexican restaurant was now out of sight. His eyes travelled back to the carnival, which he could now see that it was packed full; the crowd was loud and boisterous, but more importantly very large. "I guess appearances can be deceiving."

"It's going to be a long walk back to my parents' place." Mrs. Bangalter said before taking a sip out of her water bottle. She wiped a layer of sweat off of her forehead, unaccustomed to the warm and humid temperatures in the beginning of January. "And an even longer one if we have a sleeping child on our backs."

They had been crossing the last block to the carnival when the worst happened.

There had been no warning beforehand. It was just a silent, quiet street corner before the rush of the crowd. And then within seconds, it felt like a warzone. There had been a flash of light, and then an ear shattering thunderclap soon after. The wolrd around the family instantly heated up, making them feel as if they had been standing out in the middle of the desert for hours.

Then came the cries of the people around them. Mr. Bangalter instantly seized his wife and child under his arms and protected them behind a postal box. Thomas let out a small scream of fear and Mrs. Bangalter didn't lose her grip on either man.  

The explosion ended, and the cries of onlookers had died down enough for the family to clear their own heads. Slowly, Mr. Bangalter peered over the safety of the postal box. His eyes instantly fell onto the smoking remains of what looked like an old Ford Focus. Smoke wafted through the air and the rubble, leaving the ground looking charred and hot to the touch. Shrapnel was dotted across the road, and a few nearby windows had broken from the projectiles.

"What was it, Elliott?" Mrs. Bangalter asked in a scared, hushed voice.

"Car bomb. Some kind of terrorist attack." He answered as he loosened his grip on both of their bodies. Mr. Bangalter looked around the vicinity, looking for anyone else who had been injured or in the blast zone. Instead, he found a few people already phoning the authorities. "It's not safe here, we should probably leave."

Needing no further encouragement, Mrs. Bangalter nodded and hesitantly stood up. She checked herself for any injuries, but saw that she had was clean. Mr. Bangalter was also unharmed, save for a scratched cheek he had hit in his mad dash for cover. Without even thinking, Mrs. Bangalter took her water bottle and unscrewed the cap. She dotted her fingers with the warm liquid and trailed a finger pad over the wound.

"Thomas, are you okay son?" Mr. Bangalter asked as he took the water bottle and took a sip. The parents started to hurry back away from the scene and back towards their grandparents house. When there was no answer, the two paused, a shiver of fright running down their spine. "Thomas?"

When the two turned around, Mrs. Bangalter let out a small cry. Thomas was not in sight. She rushed back down the street and towards the postal box, hoping that her son was still there. He was not. Mrs. Bangalter started to panic, and if it wasn't for the warm hand on her shoulder rooting into place, the mother would have certainly started on a hysterical searcg for her son.

"Thomas!" Mrs. Bangalter called out in a shaken voice. She paused, waiting for an answer, but she did not receive one. Her next call was louder, and it sounded more like a plea for help than anything. "Thomas!"

Seconds passed, and the silent world seemed indifferent to her cries. And then, there was an answer.

"Mom! Dad!" Thomas' voice rang through the air. It was not a scream of fear, but one of urgency.

"Tom! Where are you!" Mr. Bangalter asked, looking for a small figure out in the destroyed street. He eyes darted to and fro, hoping to catch a glimpse of his son. "You need to come back here right now!"

"There's a man here! He needs help!" Thomas called out again, oblivious to his father's orders.

"Get back here!" Mr. Bangalter continued, his own voice now shaken as well.

There was no response from the child. Rather, instead there was a series of grunts from somewhere in the wreckage. They heard the sound of fabric being pulled on asphalt; it was far from the safety of the postal box, giving the two parents some direction of where their kid was. Mr. Bangalter left the safety of their cover to search for their kid. In the far off distance, the two could hear the sirens of approaching ambulances, police cars, and possibly a fire truck.

"Thomas! Where are you!" Mr. Bangalter shouted again, cupping his hands around his mouth in an attempt to amplify his shout.

And then Mr. Bangalter's heart gave out as he finally spotted his five year old son. He was bent over, walking backwards at a slow pace as he grunted and groaned. In the small boys arms was a man's, which was covered in blood, soaking the white cotton fabric of his shirt. Thomas was bringing him away from the carcass of the destroyed car, and behind the safety of another. He was halfway there.

"Please, Thomas! Let go of the man's hand! Come back over here this instant!" Mrs. Bangalter shouted at her child when she finally caught sight of him.

Thomas stopped for a second, looking like he was considering what his mother wanted. He then looked down at the unconscious man, and then frowned. His mother knew that frown; it was that stubborn frown Thomas got whenever he wanted something. And he would work until he got what he wanted. And Thomas began to pull the man back into safety again.

"Thomas, no-"

And that was when the second bomb went off.

Chapter Text

"I'm the man your son saved last night." The man said, giving the Bangalters a kind but soft smile. 

For a few seconds, the two parents stood there motionless, unaware of what they should do in this situation. After a brief period of silence, Mrs. Bangalter looked over towards her husband, who had a confused look on his face. And then he shook it off and stepped towards the new arrival.

"Well, I'm glad to see that you're alright, mister." Mr. Bangalter said, a small frown forming as he stuck out his hand for the other to shake it. It lasts while they shook hands. His next words were spoken with a little bit of venom in them. "It must have been hard for you, surviving a terrorist bombing like that."

"I wouldn't have survived if it wasn't for your son and what he did to help me." The man said, oblivious to the venom in the man's words.

He came further into the room, closing the door behind him. The sound of the busy hospital was cut off as he closed the door. The man paused as he pointed towards his shoulder.  It was the shoulder that was bandaged; the white gauze was wrapped around his skin tightly, stopping the bleeding. Still, the white gauze had been stained a faint pink from the wound.

"When I awoke earlier this morning, a nurse told me about how brave your son was. They said that if he hadn't moved me out of the blast zone, I wouldn't be here right now." His words were kind and genuine, but it had the opposite effect on the two parents.

"You don't say." Mrs. Bangalter said, her voice a mixture of cold resentment, remorse, and sarcasm. She gave the man a hard stare with her gray eyes, which finally seemed to phase the man. The man's smile suddenly faltered, and he gave Mrs. Bangalter a questioning glance. "I'm glad that you're safe, I really am. But if you would please give me and my husband a moment alone."

"Could I please thank the kid before I go?" The man asked, sounding somewhat desperate in his plea.

The two parents made eye contact after the man finished. A shiver travelled through Mrs. Bangalter's body, and her husband gave her a worried look. The two held a wordless conversation together, with only their eyes their means of communication. Only a few seconds had passed, and then Mr. Bangalter gave her a stiff and reluctant nod in her direction, which made the woman sigh.

Mr. Bangalter turned to face the man, who had viewed the entirety wordless conversation. It had left the stranger confused, which was showing in his green eyes. Still, he waited for their approval or denial before moving a muscle. And then, with the man's eyes on him, Mr. Bangalter nodded his head. He moved over towards his wife and then motioned towards the cot, which was behind the room's separating curtain.

"Thank you." The man said with a relieved sigh.

Slowly, the man stepped into the room even more. The two parents watched as the man stepped over the room's divider. They could hear his padded footsteps walk to the cot, and then they stopped. Silence encased the room. The two parents knew what had silenced the kind but intrusive man. Slowly, the two joined the man, only to see that he stood in front of the foot of the cot.

The man was looking at Thomas, who was still unconscious. The beeping of the heart monitor was low and monotonous, but it was soft enough that it faded into the background. Thomas was paler than he was last night, looking just as sick as he truly was. His curly brown hair, which once held life, was now limp against his head. His eye sockets now looked sunken and too old for his body.

This had not been the sight the stranger wanted to see.

After another long minute of silence, the stranger turned to the Bangalters. All hope and kindness in his face was replaced with depression and hopelessness. He glanced down at Thomas one more time before bending down and gripping the end of the cot with his good hand.

"What happened?" The man asked.

"He's dying." Mr. Bangalter said as he crossed his arms and leaned against the room's wall.  Even though his position looked casual, the man was hunching forward, as if that would protect him from his situation. "He wanted to save you. And he was, but there was a second bomb. He took a shard of metal into his intestines. There's nothing the doctors can do."

"Dr. Sampson told us that he had only a few days left, at most." Mrs. Bangalter added. "He's on life support now, and it's our decision on how it would be best for our son to die."

"There's nothing the doctors can do?" The man pressed, repeating Mr. Bangalter's words.

He was met with grim shakes of their heads from both parents. His words seemed to be affecting Thomas' mother. Her face's grim expression had been broken, and now her lower lip was quivering. Mrs. Bangalter forced herself to sit down in a chair next to Thomas. She took his tiny hand in her and grasped it tight in both hands. Tears were already brimming in her eyes.

"Nothing." She answered, her voice breaking halfway through the word.

The stranger turned to face Mr. Bangalter, who nodded in confirmation. The man then ran a hand through his short, graying hair. He huffed his breath out of him as his eyes travelled to the window overlooking the few city blocks in front of him. The sun was barely visible, only the top of it was above the roof of the next building. Still, the clouds surrounding it was bathed in the sun's colors and light. The beautiful sunrise was indifferent to the Bangalter's sorrowful feelings.

Several minutes passed; it felt like a lifetime. And then the man took out his cell phone.

It was such a habitual thing that the two parents didn't even bat an eye. The man used his good hand and tapped on the phone. He was staring at it intently for a long while before biting his lower lip and nodding. The man went over to the table near the small television set and set the phone down. The clatter of the phone on the glass surface made Mr. and Mrs. Bangalter turned towards the man, their attention on him returning.

"I can save your son." The man said, his own voice sounding like he was going to choke up. He ran his hand through his hair again, making the grey and black strands look somewhat messy. The man waited for a reaction from the parents, but he was met with two blank stares, and then suspicious, hurt ones. He frowned when he realized that the Bangalters though he was messing with them. "I can save your son. It's probably not the best option for him, but it's the best that I can do."

"How?" Mr. Bangalter asked, leaning forward and stepping off from the wall. His expression turned exasperated and his volume rose, showing how clearly hurt he was. "How can you possibly save our Thomas?"

Mr. Bangalter's question was answered with the stranger's own. "How much do you know about the Automaton Project?"

The two parents shared their confused looks with each other. In this day and age, everyone has heard of the Project; every other month there's an article in the newspaper or a news segment on the television about the program. It would just be to inform that a new celebrity or important business administrator had decided to participate in the Automaton Project, for their own personal gain. The Automaton Project was the wealthy's way to cheat death, and that was most of what the two knew.

Freddie Mercury. Larry King. Even SNL star Chris Farley. These were only a few people that the Bangalters heard about when watching the morning or evening news. They were all still alive because they decided to put themselves into a robot body after they died.

To some people it was an inhumane practice; proof that science had gone too far. To others, it went against their religion and morals.

But to most it was a cure for cancer, or more years with an elderly loved one, but most importantly something that was unachievable. Because of that, many people disregarded the Automaton Project as nothing but the new fashion trend for the rich. And that was what the Bangalters saw the Project as: a fashion trend for the rich and famous. Something that was above their class.

"Yes, we've heard a bit in the news." Mr. Bangalter said, glancing at the turned off television subconsciously. "We've seen a few . . . participants on Television and. What does that have to do with . . ."

Mr. Bangalter's voice trailed off after he connected the dots. At that, Mr. Bangalter made eye contact with the stranger, who smiled at his recognition. Mrs. Bangalter, who had been slow on the uptake, swiveled her head back and forth between the two men until she realized what the man was offering them. She subconsciously gripped Thomas' hand when she made the connection.

"You're a part of the Automaton Project?" Mrs. Bangalter asked, stunned.

She was answered with a nod from the man. The man coughed and looked at her, smiling softly. He stuck out his hand again, yet this time neither parent took it. This left his hand hanging there for quite some time before pulling it back. The man then coughed to clear his throat.

"I don't believe I've properly introduced myself. My name is Andrew Pines. I'm a film producer, although I tend to actually dabble in making films most of the time." The man, Andrew Pines, said. He turned his attention back on Thomas. "Your son saved my life last night; I would be dead if it wasn't for him."

 He paused, waiting to see the parents' reactions. When the two gave him confused, but hopeful looks, he continued.

"I know that you two don't know that much about me, but know this: I am a big believer of debt and favors. And because of what Thomas did last night, I am in his debt." Andrew said as he went back over to the cot. He watched as Thomas continued his slow, gentle breathing. It was then that the Bangalters could see how Thomas' still figure pained his as well. When he next spoke, he didn't look away from Thomas' prone form.

"You said the doctor's can't do anything for him. But I can. Let me save his life."

When Andrew stopped speaking, the Bangalters knew that he was waiting for their approval. The two parents were left speechless. The two held each other's gazes. They knew what this man was asking for. And while they knew that they would jump at any opportunity to have Thomas back, something was gnawing at the edge of their minds.

Andrew Pines could give them back their son. But at what cost? 

"Will he ever have a normal life?" Mrs. Bangalter asked, a hot cup of coffee in between her hands.

The three of them were in the hospital's cafeteria, sitting down at a table in the far corner. Hopefully this would allow the Bangalters and Andrew Pines some privacy. It had been hard for them, especially Mrs. Bangalter, to leave Thomas behind when he looked so frail and vulnerable. But a nurse had walked into the room just when the three were about to leave, so the film director was able to convince her to join them.

It had been roughly half an hour since Andrew Pines barged into the Bangalter's lives. And now Andrew was looking down into his Styrofoam cup of coffee intently. He didn't answer right away, and his eyebrows furrowed together as he thought hard. Then the film director let out a small sigh and sat his coffee down on the table.

"I can't answer for sure, but I'm afraid not." Andrew said after his long pause. He bit his lip before continuing. "If you truly are considering this, then Thomas will be the youngest participant of the Automaton Project. The media will want to cover it, and I don't know how long that would last.

"And that won't be it. I'm sure. There'll be more stuff as he grows up." Andrew added, his expression turning slightly grim. "Before you go with this, ask yourself: will the good outweigh the bad?"

His question surprised the two parents. Mr. Bangalter, who had been eating a bagel, placed it down on his paper plate and gave the other man a startled look. Hadn't Mr. Pines just been begging for the two to agree to his suggestion? And now, just when the two were about to agree to his circumstances, Andrew was asking them to think this over.

The stress of the situation was not helping the two think. Mrs. Bangalter set her coffee down and put her head in her hands, rubbing her temples with adequate force. Frankly, her nerves were finally shattering any patience she had left. Without realizing it, Adriane had made her decision as soon as Andrew Pines declared that he could save Thomas.

After all, a mother would go to hell and back for her son.

Mrs. Bangalter grasped at her husband's hand and squeezed it tightly. He squeezed back, giving her the reassurance she needed to know that she was making the right choice. A quick glance at Mr. Bangalter's face, to which he nodded, confirmed that he had the same mentality.

"Whatever he's going to go through, we'll be there for him." Mrs. Bangalter gave Andrew Pines his answer, nodding her head to reassure herself. But before they could continue, she leaned forward, a question hanging at the edge of her lips. "But please, why are you doing all of this for us? My husband and I, we don't make that much money. I'm a part-time teacher's assistance, and Elliott is a mechanic. Why would you do this?"

She was met with a brief silence as Andrew thought. "My first response would be because you couldn't be able to without my help. You wouldn't have the funds or the time to produce your son a new body, and he would be dead within the next few days. That's the obvious explanation. But it wouldn't be the real one.

"The way that I see the Automaton Project . . . it's from a different perspective than most. I view the project as a second chance to go through life. A chance to do something different. And that was why I invested in the project." Andrew paused to take a sip of his coffee. "Instead of a filming career, I might have taken a job as a cook in a restaurant, or as a fisherman up on the coast of Alaska. I would have lived a second life.

"But what your son did for me last night, he gave me my second chance. I would have died last night if it wasn't for Thomas, and they wouldn't have been able to save me in time to implant me into a new body. And while he did that, I robbed him of his first chance. Because of what he did, I indirectly robbed him of his life.

"When I first saw him in bed, I thought about what I just took from him. Thomas was never going to meet his best friend, have his first kiss at a school dance, take embarrassing photos from Christmas parties, learn how to drive. Even going to school and forgetting homework. He's going to miss all of that. The guilt of that is tearing me apart inside. I want to give him his first life back. It will be different, yes. But like you said, you'll be there for him. And that is why I want to help Thomas."

Andrew Pines stopped after that, feeling that he had given the two parents a reasonable explanation. In truth, it was more than the Bangalters could hope for. His words sounded true and his actions sounded just. But they didn't really care if his motives were either to give Thomas his 'first chance' in life back, or if this was just a publicity stunt to get noticed. Right now, the two wanted their son back.

"What do we have to do?" Mr. Bangalter asked.

"Most likely sign paperwork. I'll have my lawyer get everything ready while we wait for the body to arrive." Andrew Pines said as he took out his cell phone from his pocket. He set the phone down on the counter and pushed it to the Bangalters. He had the phone on the map app. It was centered at San Francisco. "This is where I was storing my body. It'll take about five to six hours for it to arrive. During then, we'll have to-"

"Can we see?" Mrs. Bangalter asked, interrupting the man.

"What?" Andrew said, confused.

"Can we see what he'll look like?"

It took only a few seconds for Andrew Pines to understand what she was asking for. When he did finally realize, he took his phone and went through his pictures. When he found what he was looking for, he handed his cell phone over to Mrs. Bangalter.

"This is the model I chose." Andrew added as he watched their reaction. He felt like the two hadn't heard him, for their eyes were glued to the phone. Andrew waited for some time, watching their expressions and reactions. When he saw the two of them frown, he frowned himself. "What? What's wrong?"

"He's going to be a kid in an adult's body." Mr. Bangalter muttered, his eyes still glued to the photo on the film director's phone. "He's going to be a freak. Perhaps we shouldn't go through with-"

"No! No, no no. I was getting to that." Andrew said as he took back his phone. "I told you that I wanted to give him back his life, and I intend to do just that. What kind of life would Thomas live if he was trapped in an adult's body when he goes through elementary school? My gift to you won't just be a second chance at life, but I also wanted to commission a few more bodies?"

"Why?" Mr. Bangalter said, frowning in confusion.

"Bodies that he can grow into." Andrew said plainly as if he was making perfect sense. "Bodies that will be different sizes, that grow as he grows mentally. Like one the size of a five year old, another at the age of a ten year old, et cetera. I don't know how many I can afford, but I'll do as many as I can."

He would have gone on further, but Andrew was stopped by the sight of tears running down Mrs. Bangalter's face. At first the film director thought that he had hit another sore spot on the mourning women. But when she wiped the tears away, he was met with a happy, desperate smile. Mrs. Bangalter let out a sob, which actually sounded more like a choked laugh if anything.

Slowly, she got up from her seat and drew Andrew into a hug. She squeezed his back, careful about his injury. Andrew returned the hug and patted the woman on the shoulder. As he did so, he could see that Mr. Bangalter was just as happy as his wife.

"Thank you so much. I don't know how we can ever repay you." Mr. Bangalter said in a soft spoken voice, tears beginning to drip out of his own eyes.

"He already has."

And so the group of three split apart after their meal. Mr. and Mrs. Bangalter went back to be with their son and inform Dr. Sampson of what was occurring. Hopefully the doctor would approve of their course of actions. Fortunately, they found the man in Thomas' room waiting for them. The two fought for his consent, and while the doctor was at first hesitant, he reluctantly said yes.

Andrew Pines went to talk to his lawyer and his representative of the Automaton Project, trying to go through the legalities. It had taken longer than the film director thought, and apparently it was a more difficult process to switch ownership of the body from himself over to Thomas. The new body was already on its way down from San Francisco and, just like he said, it would take about five to six hours to arrive. His lawyer convinced him that the legalities would be dealt with before then.

The three would just have to prepare for the procedure until then.

When Andrew reentered Thomas' room about an hour after he had left the Bangalters, he found the two more alive than before. Their eyes were brighter, and their soft smiles more cheery. Mrs. Bangalter was in the chair next to Thomas again, holding his hand as Dr. Sampson worked over the machines connected to the kid's body. Another set of doctors were huddled around the second cot in the room. It occurred to Andrew that that was where the new body would be.

"How did it go?" Mr. Bangalter asked when he returned from the restroom.

"It's being taken care of. The new body will be here in a couple hours, along with some specialists. They'll put Thomas in the body as soon as they're able to." Andrew said as he pocketed his cell phone. "I placed an order for a new set of bodies. I talked with someone at the Project; they promised me that they were already working on the first one."

"How long will it take to make them?" Mrs. Bangalter asked, going limp in the chair from relief.

"They said two weeks until the first one is complete. Until then, they recommended that we kept Thomas unconscious. It'll be safe for him to wake up in the smaller body."

"Two weeks?" Mrs. Bangalter said, sounding as if she was trying to convince herself. She caught her husband's gaze. "We can wait two weeks."

Chapter Text

When Thomas finally woke up, it had been a slow and disorientating process. The world had been completely dead to him, as if he had been asleep for days. His thoughts were slow, and so was his response time. His memories were hazy, and Thomas could barely remember anything save for his own name. The only thing the small child could register was that the world around him felt heavier. He felt heavier.

Sound was muffled in his ears, as if someone had stuffed cotton into them. Thomas could pick out voices, but he couldn't tell how many were speaking and who they were. There was one woman and several men, but that was all he could tell. And then, just as the small child was growing increasingly frustrated, a ringing started to cover up the sound of the voices. The ringing grew in volume, and then it turned into buzzing that changed pitch.

Thomas didn't like this. Not one bit.

Thomas wanted to scream out to the people around him, to ask them to stop the buzzing. But his mouth wasn't working, and neither his eyes which were refusing to budge open. It was at that moment that Thomas finally realized that he felt like he was bounded, wrapped around in a thick blanket and was unable to move a single muscle. Now he felt claustrophobic, as well as disoriented from the buzzing in his ears.

And then the buzzing stopped. It was slow to go away, but in its placed returned the voices. And now they rang with clarity.

" . . . omas? Thomas? Can you hear me, sweetie?" Mom asked, her voice sounding small and worried. She paused as if waiting to get a reaction out of her son. He could not and continued to feel frustrated. "Please Thomas, squeeze mama's hand if you can hear me."

And he tried. He really did try. But he could not find his hand, and he could not feel the warmth from his mother's. It felt like his own hand had never existed, and the numbness from the apparent loss was making his senses tingle.  He did not like that feeling either.

"He's not squeezing. Are you sure he's awake?" Mom said, her voice stronger now as it filled with urgency. Her voice was then softer, giving Thomas a clue to know that she had left his side. "Please tell me that he's alright."

"His brainwaves tell us that he's conscious now, Mrs. Bangalter. And from the readings so far, we can confirm that his hearing is operational." A man said. Thomas didn't know who it was, and was confused to hear his words. "He can hear you now."

"But why isn't he responding?" Dad's voice said, coming from the other side of Thomas' head.

"We still need to reboot his other systems. It'll take some time, and if we move too fast through the process, it could cause Thomas to panic." Another strange man said, sounding older than the first. "We need to talk him through it slowly or else he'll be scared through the whole ordeal."

Thomas was confused. He was confused and scared, just like the man had said. What was happening to him? Why couldn't he move his body? Why couldn't he cry for his Mom, or ask his Dad what was happening? Why couldn't he feel anything?

Once again Thomas tried to open his eyes. All that he could see was darkness, and he wasn't sure if that was because he couldn't open his eyes or if it was just pitch black where he was. There weren't even after images dancing behind closed eyes. Thomas had never been scared of the dark before, but know he was beginning to be.

"We're going to restart his nervous system now. It should take a few minutes." The second man said. "After that, we'll allow the body to move on its own accord."

None of this was making any sense to the five year old. But what he could understand was that this numb-like torture would go away very soon. Thomas would just have to wait patiently for it to go away. It felt like forever to the child, whose only distraction from the darkness was the sound of his parents whispering calm words into his ears.

"It'll be alright Thomas, you're going to be okay."

"It's just going to be a little longer. Stay calm, son."

And then feeling did finally return to him. He could feel the warmth of his mother's hand in his own. Thomas could feel her squeeze his hand gently every so often to comfort him. Thomas could feel Dad's overlapping theirs, his rougher palms protecting them in a firm embrace. In that moment, Thomas instantly calmed down significantly.

Thomas could feel his body now. He could feel his toes, the rising and lowering of his chest, and how he was laying down.  Thomas could feel the fabric of the bed he was under, and the pajamas he had on (and he also noticed that the material the pajamas were made out of was not entirely comfortable). He could feel the breeze of a fan blowing on his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Despite the warmth of his Mom and Dad's hands, Thomas still felt cold.

"Can you feel this, Thomas?" Mom asked again as she squeezed his hand. Yes, he could feel the squeeze, but he still couldn't tell her that. As if sensing his irritation, Mom added. "I know you can feel it, sweetie. I just wish you could tell me yourself."

"Are you ready?" Dad asked, his voice had grown softer as he turned his head away from Thomas.

"His readings are good on this end. Brain activity is along standards as well." The older man said, sounding further away than before. "I believe it's safe enough to give Thomas the reigns of his new body. We're sending the signal to it right now. Hold on for a second."

An electric chill ran through Thomas' spine after those last few words left the man's lips. His body surged with it unconditionally, and Thomas found himself cringing at it, finally able to cry out in surprise. The child was suddenly able to yank his hand out of his mothers when he flinched. Thomas clenched his hand into a fist and began to curl himself up into a little ball. He felt like he was flung into a pile of fresh snow in the dead of winter, which only stung him with bitter cold. Thomas was unused to the way his body felt.

As he did so, Thomas could hear his mother cry out frantically, "What's happening? What's wrong with him?!"

"His body is reacting to the power surge, that's all Mrs. Bangalter. He'll grow accustomed to the surge once he's well acquainted with operating the new body. Sooner than you'll think, he won't even notice it." The first strange man said. "For now, give him some time, he'll come around eventually."

Thomas only paid partial attention to the man's words, and he only stood half of what he heard. Right now, Thomas could only concentrate on his shaking body and how his skin now felt like it was on fire. He didn't dare open his eyes now, afraid of what would happen now that he finally had control over his body again.

However, he could hear himself breathing now. His breath huffed out of his lips, and his voice trembled as he did so.  The people around him stopped to listen to him. Slowly, Thomas calmed down, and unclenched his fist. Thomas reached out for his Mom again, which she quickly grabbed a hold of. Mom's hold on his hand seemed to tighten, but it didn't hurt Thomas.

"Mom?" Thomas was finally able to squeak out once he had calmed down enough.

"I'm here, Thomas. I'm here." Mom said reassuringly.

"Where am I?" Thomas asked, his body finally loosening in his joints. He slowly uncurled from his position and was then pushed back down onto his back by strong hands. He didn't resist the movement, but was startled at the contact. "Where am I; what's happening?"

"You're in a hospital, Thomas. You were in an accident. Do you remember the accident? " Dad asked, squeezing Thomas' shoulder as he spoke.

Thomas tried to nod his head, only to find such movement much more difficult than before. His neck was stiff, and his head felt heavier. All that he was able to was move it stiffly in an up and down motion. When he grew too frustrated, Thomas was forced to comply vocally.

"Yes. . . . no." Thomas said after thinking for a few seconds. Thomas couldn't remember much. The furthest he could remember was that they had gotten tacos for dinner. And then his parents wanted to take him to a carnival in town. After that, things were too fuzzy and too hard for him to dig through. "Why am I here?"

There was a pause, as if his parents were taking a few seconds to process what he said. Thomas wanted to open his eyes and see what was actually happening, but he was still too scared to peek.  No, it was better just to avoid it.

"There's usually a lapse of memory when we transfer the conscious from one body to the next." A person said, answering a question that hadn't been asked verbally. It confused Thomas, but he thought his parents would most likely understand. "Your son went through two transfers before waking up; there was bound to be some stuff that had been lost. Try to jog his memory."

"Thomas, there was an accident." Dad said, taking the man's advice. "We were on the way to the carnival, remember? There had been a bomb, and you were caught in the middle of it."

"You saved a man's life, sweetie. We couldn't be more proud of you." Mom said, her voice sounding rough as tears were coming back to her eyes. Her tone then took to a more motherly fashion, one that Thomas knew all too well. "But don't you think it'll get you out of trouble. You're grounded when we get home, mister."

"You were hurt, pretty badly Thomas. But you're all better now." Dad said, keeping his hold on the boy's shoulder.

"We haven't gotten any readings from his visuals. His optics must be malfunctioning." The second man said again. There was a long pause before he continued, and Thomas could tell that the man was closer. "We might need to put him under again to fix the problem."

"No!" Thomas screamed. He didn't want to go back into the silent darkness. He didn't want to go through with that again. "Don't do that!"

"It'll be okay, sweetie. It'll just be a little longer, and then you'll be all better. And then we can go home soon." Mom said, rubbing her thumb over the back of his small hand. "You just need to be patient for mommy."

"I don't want to open my eyes."

His last statement was met with silence. With their voices suddenly silenced, Thomas was able to hear their footsteps and the sound of the hospital around him. Still, he didn't dare open his eyes. Their words only scared him even more, for he would never want to go back to the dark willingly.

"Thomas, can you please open your eyes?" Dad asked Thomas.

"I don't want to." Thomas restated.

"Can you please do it for us? We promise you that everything is going to be alright, sweetie." Mom asked, although it was closer to begging at this point. "We'll be right here for you. And if you want to stop, you can tell us anytime. But please, try to do it for us."

His mother's words were able to coerce him. Reluctantly, Thomas finally made the mental effort to open up his eyes. Only, instead of opening them up slowly like he did on lazy mornings after taking a nap, the world around him suddenly blinked into existence. It was like he had had his eyes open all this time, but only now was he able to see through the darkness.

Thomas first saw his mother, who was sitting down next to his left side. She was staring down at him, her  face was red and covered in dry tears. She swiped a blonde strand of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. When Thomas managed to turn his head to face her directly (his head still felt too heavy to him), she smiled at him and her nose sniffled.

"That's my boy." She said through a soft whisper, and she patted his hand in approval.

Slowly, Thomas swiveled his hand in search for his Dad. The child found him on the other side of the bed. He was standing up, bent over his prone form with only his hand on his shoulder as an anchor. Unlike his mother, his Dad wouldn't meet his eyes, and was rather looking down at his body as a whole. Thomas used his free hand to try and grasp towards him, but his father lashed out and pushed his hand back down.

"Steady there, sport. You'll need to take these things slowly." Dad said, sounding as if he was reprimanding the poor boy. His Dad turned to face the other way, his sad expression still glancing over Thomas' body once, and then he spoke to someone out of the boy's line of sight. "Can he sit up now?"

"He's in control of his own systems now. But we'll monitor the readings for any problems." The man said.

Dad nodded and then slowly let go of his grip on Thomas. With his Dad's eyes still on his body, Thomas was slowly pushed up into a sitting position from both parents.  The two helped him stay there as Mom was able to push a pillow behind his back.  The pillow definitely helped, as Thomas found that he still didn't have much strength in him. Thomas plopped back down onto the pillow, feeling like a wet towel after someone used it.

But now he had a better view of the room that he was in, instead of the ceiling and the luminescent lights that hung overhead. He could see his Mom and Dad still, and now a couple others. There were three men to his right. Two of them wearing lab coats and gloves, while the other was leaning against the back wall, watching the family silently. Thomas kept his eyes on him for a few seconds before turning back to look at the men in lab coats.

Were they doctors? They looked like doctors, and they were also in a hospital. So to Thomas they were obviously doctors of some kind. It didn't help that Thomas in his assumption now that he could see that they were working over someone else. The kid tried to look at the other guy, but the two lab coat wearing doctors kept blocking his field of vision.

"You're going to need to take it easy Thomas as we explain what happened to you." Dad said as he finally took a seat next to his cot. Dad quickly looked over to Mom, and they shared a nervous, desperate look together. "It's going to be hard, for all three of us, so please tell us if you're confused."

"Thomas, you were severely injured." Mom said. "We thought we were going to lose you. And then something happened. . ."

Thomas' attention wandered, despite the fact that he knew his parents were trying to have a serious discussion with him. The two lab coat wearing doctors were finally packing up their equipment, allow Thomas a glimpse at the man that they had been working on. What Thomas saw made the kid gasp out loud.

There was a robot right next to him. There was a robot in the same room as him. Thomas had seen robots before, on the TV back at home, but he had never imagined that he would ever be able to see one up close before. He thought that they looked awesome, despite the mutterings that Thomas had her from his Dad sometimes. They always looked so cool and futuristic-like, even if some of them looked a little scary.

He couldn't help but looked at the thing, especially its helmet like head. The head was a reflective silver and it reminded Thomas of a motorcycle helmet. The lights from overhead shown on the polished metal, making it gleam and sparkle. There was a thick, black bar in the middle of the helmet; it was a visor of some sort, and Thomas could only guess that that was where the robot man looked through.

His father noticed how Thomas was not paying attention to their words, but rather on the robot man resting on the cot next to them. Dad's voice hitched before stopping completely. Dad gave Thomas a stern, disappointed look that brought the kid back to their conversation.

"Thomas, things are different now. You're not the same anymore. You're still Thomas, but you are going to have to get used to some new things." Dad said in a strict voice, most likely continuing where he had left off before. He paused, as if reading Thomas' facial expression. "Did you hear anything I just said, Thomas?"

Thomas shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

"You need to listen to your father, sweetie. This is important stuff." Mom added, once again drawing his attention away from the robot.

"Who's the robot?" Thomas asked in a hushed voice, unable to keep his curiosity to himself any longer.

It was with that question that Dad seemed to give up on the poor boy. The man let out a huff of frustrated air and rubbed his temples with the pads of his fingers. His actions hurt Thomas emotionally, as he didn't mean to make his father upset. He hunched his shoulders and brought his blanket covered knees up to his chest to hug them.

"Sorry." Thomas whispered in a hurt voice.

"No, it's alright Thomas." Dad apologized in a tone of voice that was only slightly aggravated.  His frustration was now prevalent, and even the lab coat wearing doctors were giving the man a startled look. "It's just that we don't know how to break the news to you."

"Elliott." Mom said harshly under her breath. "Be careful."

"What's wrong?" Thomas asked, looking at Mom for the answers.

It was at that moment that Mom seemed at a loss of words. Now Thomas was scared. To see his parents look so stressed out and emotional, not to mention the events that he had just gone through, Thomas didn't know what to expect. He finally understood that something bad, really bad, had happened. And that it happened to him.  No longer were his thoughts on the robot man, but now on himself.

"What happened to me?" Thomas asked when he didn't get an answer to his first question.

A few more seconds passed, and then Mom's resolve broke. She turned to the table beside her chair and took a mirror off of it. It had been facing the wall, and now Mom was keeping the reflected side against her shirt. She looked into Thomas' eyes as she did so, and she frowned. Slowly, she turned the mirror around and placed it in front of Thomas.

Thomas was confused of what he saw. That was not him looking back through the mirror. It was the robot. It had the same shiny metal helmet and black visor. Thomas didn't move as he stared at the robot, wonder if it was not a mirror at all, but just a picture. And then Thomas finally tilted his head, and so did the robot.  The movement startled Thomas, who jumped back in surprise. So did the robot.

Still not understanding what he was looking at, Thomas went to grab the mirror off of the cot. He froze when he saw that a black, fabricated hand reached out for the mirror instead. Thomas stared at the hand, which was compromised of a black material, and it was protected by shiny silver metal pieces on the back of the hand and fingers. Thomas moved his fingers, and watched in horrified awe as the black hand performed the movements, the metal on the top glittered as light reflected off of it.

Thomas brought the hand up to his face, hoping that he would feel smooth, warm skin when he made contact. Instead, he watched as the black hand came up to the robot's face, and he felt the cool metal on the pads of the fabric fingertips where his cheek ought to have been. It was then that Thomas made the connection.

He was the robot.

The first few months were hard for Thomas, as they were all for the rest of the small family. They had taken a plane back to Boston as soon as the doctors allowed it, wanting to get away from negative memories and back into a place of comfort and privacy. Their flight back to Boston whizzed by Thomas without him even noticing. He was still taking in the fact that he was now a robot. It was taking the five year old a long time, which was understandable.

When they had landed at an Airport just outside Boston, the Bangalters were met with several big name news vans and a crowd of people, reporters and onlookers alike, waiting for them. Thomas, who was still shell-shocked from the realization, almost freaked out at the sight of all the people who were looking right at him. Fortunately, the airport's security were able to dispatch the reporters in time enough for the Bangalters to leave safely.

But they soon found that the media were following the family home. Everyone wanted to get the big scoop on the Automaton Project's youngest participant, despite how much the family needed time alone together. Fortunately, It didn't last long. After ten days of following the family around and camping outside their suburban house, all but a few reporters had left. And even those soon left.

Hopefully that would be the last time Thomas and his parents would have to deal with all of that. But it wasn't just the panic-inducing encounter with the media that was hard on Thomas; it was the small, every day things as well.

No longer did Thomas have to sleep, rather he had to power down every night to recharge his inner energy source, a pair of very expensive, large, and fragile batteries in the back of his head and upper neck. The doctors had given Mom a set of cords and cables before they left, giving her instructions and information on the process.

Apparently, because of his smaller body, they had to make custom batteries to fit, which meant that they held less charge than the standard size. Thomas would have to "sleep" more often now until he was transferred over to his other body. Even just talking about a transfer over to another body both confused and terrified the young boy.

He could no longer eat as well, which made dinner and breakfast with the whole family awkward for the first two months. Thomas didn't have to eat anymore, as he no longer had a mouth and a digestive track, but he was still required to sit at the table as his parents ate. This was sometimes their only time together as a family, and thus their only time to fully interact with one another. During these times, Thomas wondered if he would ever forget what food tasted like.

And it didn't take a genius to understand that the restroom had become completely obsolete for Thomas.

This left the poor boy feeling alienated, which was a difficult thing to accomplish when you were only five years old. He would spend most of his time now watching TV or improving of his reading skills before he joined school next September. Rarely did he ever go outside, too scared of what people would think of him. The neighborhood kids did of course ask him out to play once the weather grew warmer. But after a few hurtful words and a couple phone calls to other parents, Mom and Dad advised that Thomas kept to himself until he grew accustomed to the changes.

When the beginning of March arrived, Thomas was still stuck in his sulking shell. Adriane and Elliot Bangalter realized that they had to do something to get Thomas back to his normal self. This was not what they wanted their son to become, and they knew that if this was going to be a down spiraling trend, their son would never be happy again for the rest of his life.

So, on a bleak Saturday afternoon, Thomas was awoken from his "nap" by his mother. The world around him blinked into existence as his vision restarted. Mom had turned off the morning cartoons, television remote in hands, and was looking at Thomas with soft, caring eyes. Mom smiled as she helped Thomas off of the couch and into his room, where a new set of clothes were waiting for him on his bed.

"Where are we going?" Thomas asked in a small voice, sounding nervous. Mom and Dad never took him out to run errands anymore.

"You're going to get stir-crazy if we keep you in this house a moment longer." Mom said as she helped Thomas put on his clothes and then into a puffy coat. Apparently, even if he was a robot, Thomas was still affected by temperatures just like any normal person. "So I'm going to take you out, and you're going to enjoy it."

Mom put on her own jacket on and grabbed the car's keys. The two left the house and locked it, only to find that it was just about to rain. They ran to the garage and Mom helped Thomas into the back seat, buckling him up safely. She entered the car and started the engine. Mom closed the garage door behind them as they left the driveway.

Thomas waited patiently in the back seat, watching the world whiz by them as Mom drove. The snow on the side of the road was melting, leaving behind a whitish brown mush  that looked icky. Ten minutes had passed before Mom finally slowed down and took a left into another driveway. She shut off the car, waited for a few seconds, and then turned around to face Thomas.

"Well, here we are." Mom said with a smile. She grabbed a thin book from the passenger seat and handed it over to Thomas, who took it with both of his black, fabric hands. She couldn't read his expression, since he didn't have one, but she knew that the boy was confused. "Come on, we don't want to leave her waiting."

Mom opened the car door and climbed out of the van. Thomas watched as she came over to his door and opened it up. As she undid his buckle, Thomas looked at her and asked,

"Who's waiting?"

"You'll have to wait and see, sweetie."

Mom took Thomas' hand and led him up to the front door. The two paused at the doorstep, and then shared a glance together. Mom could tell that Thomas was nervous, but hopefully this would help him break out of the forming shell. Slowly, Mom brought up her hand, and knocked on the front door.

The door opened soon afterwards, and in front of the two stood a matronly looking lady. The woman looked older than she actually was, with her dark brown hair pinned up into a tight bun. She wore a floral dress and a pair of large glasses, which she used to stare down her nose and look at Thomas expectantly. Thomas suddenly felt extremely nervous, and shuffled to hide behind the safety of his mother's legs.

And then the woman's hard stare was broken. She gave Thomas a loving smile and then bent downward to come to his eye level.

"There's no need for that, my child. I'm a good friend of your dad's, which means I'm your friend as well." The woman paused and waited for a response from Thomas.

". . . Hello." Thomas managed to utter out.

"My goodness, you're a quiet one. Hopefully we can fix that." The woman said, giving Mom a look after her last sentence. She looked back down at Thomas, who was slightly more comfortable in front of the strange lady. "My name is Mrs. Lafferty, and I heard that you wanted to learn to play the piano."

Chapter Text

Chapter 4:

"Thomas! Come downstairs and practice your scales!" Mom called out to the boy. Her voice was muffled, but the volume was loud enough to catch the boy's attention. Thomas let out a small groan and got up from his sitting position. As Thomas was putting away his toy cars, Mom called out again, her voice more demanding this time. "Thomas!"

"I'm coming, Mom!" Thomas yelled back.

Thomas placed his toy cars into their container haphazardly, making a lot of noise in the process. He shoved the container against the side of a wall, next to a small bookcase, which made a dull thud. The small boy hopped onto his bed and crawled over to his nightstand. He opened the drawer and pulled out his piano music from inside and shut the drawer. Thomas jumped off of the bed and ran out of his room. He clamored down the stairs like an elephant and jumped the last few steps, landing on the wooden floorboards below.

"Hey, no jumping in the house." Mom called out, peeking her head out of the kitchen. In her hands was a frying pan, and Thomas could hear what sounded like a grilled cheese sizzling off of the hot surface. She pointed a finger at the boy, but Thomas could see the smirk at the edge of her lips. He wasn't in any real trouble. "You should know better than that."

Thomas nodded his head as an answer. Mom winked and made a clicking sound in the back of her throat and disappeared back into the kitchen. That was enough of a dismissal for the both of them. The sound of the sizzling grilled cheese continued, louder now, which meant that Mom had her attention back on her cooking. Thomas continued his way towards the living room, where the small piano was waiting for him.

Thomas hopped onto the piano stool and settled down onto the hard wooden surface. The boy quickly pushed the cover off of the vertical piano. With the keyboard now free, Thomas grabbed the small music booklet off from the stool and placed it on the music rack. He quickly flipped to the correct page and then started to play the correct notes of the octave.

D, E . . . F#, G, A, B . . .

Thomas continued to play his scales, his black clothed fingers tentatively playing the correct notes. It produced light, delicate notes that filled the lower half of the house with their sound. Surprisingly, the increasing pitch of each note drowned out the sound of Mom's cooking, which seemed to provide Thomas a bubble from the outside world.

For a beginner, Thomas had a natural skill for the piano. He was a fast learner, and reading the music in front of him was easy for the boy. But the skill was his ultimate downfall; because he seemed naturally proficient in reading music, he was also naturally lazy about practicing his skills. His father, who had once been a part time musician, had made it his job to beat that laziness out of him. Something his Mom had eventually agreed with.

Thomas practiced his scales a little longer, about ten or so minutes, and then he looked at the homework that Mrs. Lafferty assigned him. He took the book off of the piano and held it in his two hands. Carefully, he read the woman's hand writing; it was basic enough for the preschooler to understand.

Do numbers 14, 15, and 17 in book. Practice all scales I taught you. See you next Saturday, Thomas!

Well, Thomas had already completed his scales. That was one half of his assignment already complete. He set the booklet back down on top of the piano and then flipped to the correct page again. As he worked on number fourteen, he saw Mom sit down onto the couch from the corner of his vision. She held her plate of grilled cheese and watched Thomas practice in silence.

Just as Thomas was finishing up his homework several minutes later, Mom finally got up from her seat. She returned shortly afterwards, having placed her dirty plate in the dishwasher in the kitchen. Thomas could feel her eyes on his back, but he decided to finish the practice piece before swinging his legs over to the other side of the piano bench.

"Do you have a second, kiddo?" Mom asked as she plopped back down in her seat on the sofa.

Thomas nodded and slipped off of the piano bench. He came over to her side and struggled to get onto the leather couch cushions. Mom took one of his hands and helped pull the kid close to her. Thomas instantly fell into her lap, falling into an all too familiar and comfortable position. She wrapped her arms around the boy and settled into the cushions of the couch. The two then cuddled together, despite how awkward Thomas' robotic head rested against her shoulder now.

Neither one of them wanted to bring that fact up.

"You know that I have a board meeting tonight, right?" Mom asked as she took his hand and squeezed it affectionately.

Thomas nodded his head and said softly, "Yeah?"

"And that your Dad will be home tonight instead?" Mom continued. She waited for Thomas to nod his head again. After a few silent minutes of thinking, the boy did so. Mom let out a small huff of air and ran her free hand through her blonde hair. Thomas hadn’t been this shy or quiet before the accident. "Well, you know that new movie you wanted to see, right?"

That got a better reaction from the kid. Thomas instantly perked and turned his head to look straight at his mother. Despite not being able to know if Thomas was smiling or not, Mom had a gut instinct that told her that he was excited about this turn of events. Who knew that having her son placed in a robotic body would make her so proficient when it came to reading body language?

"The one with the panda?!" Thomas asked, his voice becoming higher in pitch as his excitement grew.

Mom couldn't help but laugh when she saw that Thomas was practically vibrating from the new wave of energy travelling through him. She nodded as she laughed and loosened her hold on the boy.

"The one with the panda." Thomas was about to burst out of her hold, but she stopped him from doing so when she patted him on his boney knee. Well, she didn’t know if it was boney, but it felt like it was. “But, you’ve got to finish your practicing before you can go. And Dad won’t be back for at least another two hours.”

Thomas let out a small grumble and slunk out of his mother’s hold. He made his way back onto the piano bench and started plucking out notes. They seemed a little bit more erratic and disconnected than before. Shrugging it off as just one of his moods, Mom went upstairs to do laundry. Soon, half an hour passed and Thomas had decided that he had spent more than enough time playing the piano. He pushed off of the bench and turned on the TV.

By the time that Mom was done with the laundry upstairs, Thomas had managed to lay face down into the cushions of their couch. His head was tilted towards the Television, not because he needed to breathe, but because he was still watching the show that was on. Mom glanced over the couch to see if he was plugged in to charge, but found that the boy was just bored from over anticipation. She patted his back carefully as she passed and then went to her office to work.

Dad arrived home later than Thomas and Mom had anticipated. The two hours had actually been closer to three and a half. However, to a kid who was over excited about something as fantastic as a movie, Thomas felt like it was more like seven hours than three. Thomas, who had been feeling exhausted after watching too many cartoons, forced himself to up to his room and bring down a cord to charge himself. The kid went back downstairs and plugged in the cord into an outlet before falling back down on the couch. Now with newly practiced ease, Thomas inserted the end of the cord into the back of his neck. Seconds later, the world around him faded black. And then he slipped into the closest form of unconsciousness he could attain.

When Thomas awoke, it wasn’t because he was fully charged. Someone had unplugged him to wake him up. Thomas felt groggy for a few seconds, and then he looked up to see his dad standing up in front of him. Thomas pulled himself up into a sitting position and looked at his dad. Dad smiled and held out his car keys.

“You ready to go see a movie, kiddo?” Dad said, his questioned egging the child on.

“Yeah I am!” Thomas said, overly enthusiastic.

Thomas popped off of the couch and ran to the entry way. He struggled to get his shoes on (the designers of this body hadn’t been too particular about the hand and finger ratios), and then ultimately had to get help from Dad. Mom came out of her office to say goodbye to the two men. She kissed Dad on the cheek and patted him on his backside before getting down on her knees to help Thomas into a thin jean jacket.

“You two have fun tonight!” Mom said as she stood back up.

“You have fun at your meeting.” Dad said, opening the door and leading Thomas outside towards the garage. 

Her response was a loud laugh. “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be a bushel of laughter when we talk about budget cuts!”

It had only been ten minutes since the two left when there was a knock on their front door. Adrianne had been in the process of starting a shower when she heard the hesitant, but loud knocking. Her hand had been running through the warm stream of water, and she quickly pulled her arm out of the shower and turned off the valve. Mrs. Bangalter paused to listen, wondering if she was imagining the sound. But then, just as she was about to pass it off as her imagination, there was a second knock.

"Hold on a second! I'll be right there!" Mrs. Bangalter said as she took a towel off of the towel rack to dry her hands.

The woman exited the bathroom and walked down the stairs, her eyes glancing at the clock out of habit. She had forty minutes until she had to get to the school board meeting. She hoped that whoever was at the door wouldn't take up too much of her time. Or wasn't a reporter. The family had had enough run-ins with reporters to last a lifetime.

The person knocked again just as Adrianne entered the entry way. She opened the door soon after the person finished their knocking, without even answering the person vocally. Mrs. Bangalter didn't see the point when she was already there.

She was met with another woman who had a very concerned look on her face. The woman was dressed quite fashionably, wearing a gray suit and tie that fit her small figure, short figure. She was about the same height of Mrs. Bangalter, perhaps slightly shorter, but she looked much older than the young mom. The woman had dark brown hair which was stylized into ringlets, dark brown eyes, and naturally tanned skin. She held a briefcase in one hand, which she clenched tightly when she noticed Mrs. Bangalter glance down at it.

Adrianne's first thought was Oh god, not another reporter.

"I’m sorry, but my husband and I don't make time for reporters." Mrs. Bangalter said though a frustrated sigh. The small family thought that they were through with this nonsense. She gripped the side of the door, ready to close it at any time "We just want our privacy. Now this is the only time I'll ask nicely, but would please leave the prem-"

"Please, I am not a reporter." The woman said through a panicked, nervous tone. Her free hand went to stop the door if Mrs. Bangalter decided to close it on her.

Mrs. Bangalter blinked, surprised to hear the woman's heavy French accent through English words. The mother gave the woman another look over, and noticed that her face wasn't the stoic one most reporters wore whenever she encountered them. Instead, it was a face that she herself was all too acquainted with. Adrianne Bangalter rose her eyebrow in question, wordlessly demanding an explanation.

"I am here to talk about your son. I am here to talk to you." The woman continued, her voice rough and very hesitant.

"What are you if you aren't a reporter?" Mrs. Bangalter asked; she was still very suspicious about the woman.

"A mother that is very concerned about her son."

That response surprised Mrs. Bangalter. She instantly dropped her hand from the door and stood up a little bit straighter. She watched as the woman took her briefcase in both of her hands, taking a more humbled posture. The woman for the longest time wouldn't meet Adrianne's eyes, but when she did, it was only for a minuscule of a second. It was as if the French woman was afraid of rejection.

"Why don't you come in for a second?" Mrs. Bangalter offered, opening the front door even more as an invitation. The woman's eyes looked up to her with a spark of hope, which made Mrs. Bangalter nod in encouragement. "I'll make a new cup of coffee if you would like some."

"No thank you; I do not think coffee would help me." The woman said as she took the invitation.

The stranger walked past Mrs. Bangalter, but paused at the end of the entry way. She took in the house's environment, including the drapes covering the windows and the furniture inside. Mrs. Bangalter closed the door quietly and came up to the woman's side. Adrianne waited until the woman was ready. Or rather, she waited until the woman surer of herself, if she was to be frank. When the French woman let out a small sigh, she knew it was time to start whatever the woman wanted to talk about.

Adrianne then led the woman into the kitchen and then sat down at the small table. The woman sat down in the chair opposite of her. The woman set the briefcase down next to her feet and then ran a manicured hand through her thick brown hair subconsciously. When she was done with that, she held her hands together, clenching them until her knuckles were starch white.

"Why do you want to talk about my son?" Mrs. Bangalter questioned, leaning back in her own chair.

"He is a participant in the Automaton Project, yes?" The woman asked, ignoring her question.

"Yes." Mrs. Adrianne answered with an irritated sigh.

"How did you achieve that?"

Ah, so the woman noticed how middle class their small family was. "A good man gave my son a second chance to live out of the goodness of his heart. If it wasn't for him, my son would be dead. We now consider this man a close family friend."

"So you did not actively participate in the Project yourself?" The woman pressed further.

"No, we didn't have the money or the means to."

"Is it difficult for your son?"

Mrs. Bangalter let out a sigh; this felt like an interview. She could only guess that the woman had a tape recorder concealed in one of the pockets of her suit. And by the end of the week, she could only imagine the header on every newspaper that read: FIRST INTERVIEW WITH THE BANGALTERS: LIFE WITH A ROBOT SON. She shouldn't have let this woman in her house; her talk about a being concerned with her own son must have been a stunt. But now Adrianne felt like she couldn't kick the woman out without feeling guilty.

"It was. For the first few months, at least. And I believe that it still is for him, but he has gotten better in the past month or so. He’s more himself." Mrs. Bangalter said in a slightly irritated voice. "I hope that when school starts two months from now, he'll be better. It's not good for him to stay cooped up in the house all summer."

"Does he know what happened to him?"

"Yes, but I think he's trying to ignore the difference. A kid his age can only take so much at a time."  Mrs. Bangalter said as she scratched her head. She paused for a second, thinking of her son in the silence. Adrianne found herself frowning the longer she thought. "Sometimes I wonder if it's going to be too much for him."

The woman nodded her head as Adrianne spoke, looking forlorn as she stared out of the window and into the backyard. She bit her lip as she thought herself, and then she started to tap the wooden table with her fingertips. A sigh shook through her body, and Mrs. Bangalter could clearly see that the woman was self-doubting herself, although she did not know what of.

"If I may, why are you asking me all these questions about my son, Thomas?" Mrs. Bangalter finally asked, her curiosity and suspicions getting the better of her.

The strange woman turned to look at her again. She nodded, knowing that she had asked too many questions in such a short amount of time without answering any of hers. It had been rude to barge into their home and demanding answers.

"I don't I believe I gave you my name. My name is Julie de Homem-Christo. If you can't tell by my accent, I am not American. I live in Paris with my husband, my husband's brother, and my son." The woman said, her voice was kept at a soft level the whole way through. However, she was able to put certain emphasis when she mentioned her name and her son. "And my son is dying."

A shock went through Adriane, one that felt eerily similar to the one she felt back in January. Back when Dr. Sampson told her that there was nothing to do for Thomas. She almost jumped back in her chair, but managed to calm herself down enough to just grip the side of the wooden table for stability. The shock was enough to get Mrs. Bangalter's heart pumping in her hearing again.

However, her reaction didn't go unnoticed. Mrs. Homem-Christo could pinpoint her reaction, and smiled a soft, understanding smile. The woman's eyes were beginning to tear up a little bit, making the ends of her eyes watery. She wiped a forming tear away, smudging her mascara in the process. He attention was not on her appearance, but on the woman in front of her, so she didn't notice.

"He's been dying slowly for the past two years now. He's spent most of his life in the hospital a few blocks away from our house." Julie said, her voice beginning to choke as it grew heavy and clouded with moisture. "My boy has had lung cancer ever since he was four. He's had surgery and chemotherapy more times than I can count."

She paused for a second, clearing her throat.

"We're running out of options, and he's getting weaker every day." Julie paused as she bent over and picked up the briefcase. She set it onto the table and opened it up after putting in the combination. Slowly, she took out a piece of paper and handed it over to Adrianne. The woman took it and held it up in the light; it was a picture. "Here's my son when he was four."

Julie paused as Adrianne stared at the photo. It was of a small boy, dressed in a green polo and a pair of small khakis. He was walking down an empty street in the middle of the day with his hand held by his father's. The boy wore a navy blue baseball cap on his head to shield his eyes from the sun, but Adrianne could still see long, flowing brown hair, much like his mother's, poke out of the hat around his ears.

The man's smile was at the top right of the photo, but other than that, Adrianne couldn't see his face that well. The boy was eating an ice cream and was looking up at the sky, watching something that wasn't in the photograph. The woman could only guess it was a bird or an airplane. He wasn't paying attention to his ice cream, which was very close to falling out of his hand.

"What's his name?" Adrianne asked, keeping her eyes on the boy in the photo.

"Guy-Manuel de Homem-Christo. Although we mostly refer to him as Guy."  Julie said as she took out what looked like another photo of her boy. She handed it over to Adrianne, who took it in her free hand. "This photo was taken before I took a flight to America. One week ago."

It was the same boy; he had the same face shape and build, despite being slightly larger due to his age. But still, he wasn't large. He was quite small and thin looking, along with pale and weak. He was laying in a cot that had been very similar to the one Thomas had been in months ago. He was asleep, looking exhausted if Adrianne went by the dark circles under the boy's eyes alone.

He was hooked up to an oxygen tank, with the plastic tubes tapes to his cheeks and under his nose. If he had lung cancer, then this would have been his only source of oxygen to breathe. Almost all of the long, thick brown hair that had been in the first picture had disappeared, with only a few thin strands remaining. But even those looked like they had lost their life and luster. The once brown hair looked closer to gray. It looked so delicate, that if someone tried to smooth the hair, it would have most likely been pulled off of the poor boy's scalp.

Suddenly, hard realization dawned upon Adrianne. She set the two photos down on the table, and Julie placed them back in the briefcase. Adrianne put her two elbows down on the table and held her temples as she thought.

"You want to know if it’s worth saving your son from the pain he's already in." Adrianne stated, knowing without question that this was what the woman wanted.

Julie nodded before muttering, "Yes."

"I can't make that decision for you. Putting me in that position again would be too much for me to bare." Adrianne muttered as she rubbed her temples slowly.

"I am not asking you to make this decision. I am asking you if your son will forgive you later in life for what you've done to him." Julie clarified. "Would your Thomas hate you for what you did to him later in life? Would he hate you for the rest of yours?"

Adrianne stared at Julie, both confused and haunted by the woman's words. She had never really thought of it like that. She had never thought of losing her Thomas in any other way than death. But to think that Thomas would grow to hate what they did to him so much that he would disown them . . . that was too much. And now that the French woman had spoken them, new fears sprouted in the back of her mind.

"If I save my Guy-Manuel, I would be saving my boy. But if he hates me for the rest of my life, I would lose my son. Do you see my point?" Julie said after an indefinite amount of silence in the kitchen, save for the running dishwasher. "I would do anything for my boy, but I do not want to lose my only joy in life."

"The question you are asking can't be answered. Not for a long time." Adrianne stated, hoping that her own fear wasn't audible in her words.

"No, but answer me this: Is it worth it, even now?"

Adrianne wasn't able to answer the woman; at that precise moment in time, she heard the front door open. Adrianne perked up at the sound and left the table, leaving the other woman behind. With her head poking out of the kitchen, she saw her husband and Thomas already arriving back after their night on the town.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, furrowing her eyebrows together in confusion. She watched the two take off their shoes before continuing. "What happened to the movie?"

"I forgot my wallet." Elliot said as he set his boots down. He came up to his wife and kissed her on the cheek.  She patted him on the back as he did so. Adrianne hoped that he couldn't see the newfound worry in her eyes. "And I realized it too late. Now we've missed the movie entirely."

At his words Adrianne looked down at Thomas, wondering what the boy was feeling. She was met with the blank stare of the black visor when Thomas looked up at her.  Thomas was completely still for a few seconds, giving him a very inhuman-like quality. And then Thomas tilted his head, which broke the small trance Adrianne had on her son.

Thomas brought his hands up, wordlessly demanding to be picked up for a hug. Adrianne chuckled at the kid's demand and bent down. She wrapped her arms around his figure and brought him up into a tight hug. She kissed the side of his cold helmet, to which she could hear his small groans in protest.

"So what are you two going to do now?" Adrianne asked as she moved her head enough for Thomas to rest his on her neck. "I have to leave soon."

"Well, we can wait for a while and then go to the next showing." Elliot offered as he looked at both his wife and son. "Or, we can go rent a move down at the local Blockbuster. It's up to you, Thomas. What do you want to do?"

Thomas' reply was small and soft. "Can we wait to go again?"

"Of course we can, kiddo! Why don't you practice your piano until then?" Elliot said as he took Thomas from Adrianne's arms and plopped him back onto the floor. Thomas let out a louder groan than before and trudged into the living room like a dejected puppy. "None of that now, come on! It'll all pay off when we see Kung-Fu Panda!"

Thomas didn't seem to agree with his dad and let out another groan.

Now that Thomas was out of hearing range, Adrianne turned to Elliott. She quickly remembered the French woman in their kitchen, and how she was still there. She had heard everything. And Elliott didn’t even know that there was another person inside their house. Adrianne wouldn’t know how her husband would react to the intruder, even if she did invite Julie in.

“Elliott, we have a visitor.” She said, her tone low enough so Thomas couldn’t hear them. Elliott turned to face his wife, giving her a questioning slant of an eyebrow. He almost looked suspicious. He opened his mouth as if to ask who she was talking about, but nothing left his lips. Adrianne took his elbow and led him towards the kitchen. “She’s not a reporter. But she did want to ask us a few questions.”

“Wha- okay, then. I guess that’s alright.” Elliot said as she led him into the other room.

When the two arrived, Adrianne found the woman packing up her briefcase in a rush. As Julie stood up from her seat, she glanced at the two parents. She smiled at them before clenching her briefcase in her hand. Julie came to meet the parents half way, looking as if she was preparing to leave. Perhaps that was what she wanted to do, now that the two men were back.

“Thank you so much for your time, miss.” Julie said. She gave Adrianne a knowing look and placed her free hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. It was a reassuring action that seemed to do the French woman better than Adrianne. Julie then turned to face Elliott, who looked completely confused.  The woman’s expression hardened into something unrecognizable. “I’m sorry that I had to waste yours. I must be off now. I have other stuff I have to do in America while I’m here.”

“I hope you’ve found the answers you were looking for.” Adrianne said, looking confused as well. The woman was leaving only after fifteen minutes? She hoped that she didn’t scare the woman off.

Julie bit her lip when Adrianne spoke. She seemed to frown at the words, but hid it well from the two. Julie glanced over at the piano, where Thomas was practicing. Since he had his back to her, she couldn’t see him, but it seemed to be enough. Julie muttered something under her breath that Adrianne and Elliott couldn’t quite catch. She turned to them again, and then said softly,

“I haven’t yet. But I’m closer than I was before.”