#uncle bob

A dense snow had fallen in Wyoming. Sarah had picked the state as the temporary place to stay after an incident with John in Mexico.

You weren't complaining– the hot desert days of Mexico were long and sweat-filled. The cold was great for a change and especially welcomed by you.

Currently, you were curled against the old couch left in the home with a nest of blankets to cuddle your body. The house was cold, outside chill seeping through the wooden walls and insulation to nip at the tip of your nose.

John and Sarah are out, leaving just you and the Terminator in the house. It’s near-deathly quiet in the house, the robot present makes little to no noise, the only exception to the silence being a Christmas movie you’d scrounged out of a dust-covered and rickety dresser.

There's sudden movement and noise that arises from somewhere else in the house and you think Sarah and John might be back.

The Christmas movie plays on through the noise and for a long while there is no talking outside of the film. You're starting to get worried because John is never this quiet.

“Sarah?” You call, “John?”

There's no answer. Only rummaging in the kitchen. You breathe in shakily and rise to your feet, grabbing anything you can as a weapon. What if an intruder has entered– wouldn't Bob have warned you..?

“Bob?” You ask, praying that the noise is really just him.

Your heart is in your throat now–

Someone or some thing moves from around the corner and in an instant you've hurled whatever was in your hand at their body with a shriek, jump, and action of pure instinct.

The object collides with the supposed stranger. Only, it isn't a stranger. It's Bob. Standing in the entryway to the living area.

“Jesus Christ, Bob!” you huff, and your hand moves to steady your racing heart. “Don't scare me like that.”

The robot frowns and furrows his brows at you. It's like you can physically see the cogs turning in his mechanical head.

“Why did I scare you?” He finally asks, and he says it so confused you feel like you know where this is going.

“You didn't answer when I called,” you sighed, “I thought someone had broken in. Why didn't you respond when I called out?”

The Terminator looks even more puzzled by now– if that was even possible. “I heard you call John and Sarah, why would I answer if that is not my designation?”

You make an ‘oh’ with your lips because you're starting to understand the mistake now.

However, the moment now fades as your wandering eyes notice the steaming white cup on the counter behind him, “what's that?”

Bob turns to follow your gaze, resting when he faces the cup. “It's cocoa mixed with hot water. John told me humans like it.”

You hum, but you're still not quite understanding. “I didn't think you could consume that kind of stuff.”

“I can't,” he deadpans, “It's for you,” and extends the mug out to you.

“Me?” You reply, taking the mug from him. Its aroma wafts to your nose, making your mouth almost water. Curiously, you raise the brim to your lips and take a small sip.

The warm liquid tastes heavenly to you, and the snow falling in the window behind the Terminator sets a picturesque mood. It makes you smile. “Thank you, it’s really good.”

“I'm glad,” Bob replies, and he shoots you an attempted smile, even though it looks more like a grimace.

The front door opens and you hear John's unmistakable voice followed by Sarah's grumbling. You step away from Bob, flashing him a final smile before taking the sweet drink with you to greet the others.

Bob stays where he is, because somewhere deep beneath all his programming, there's some piece of him that feels something over that smile you just gave him, and he's not sure what to think.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!