"Dear, don't you think we should go visit the kids? It has been a year, you know, and it would be a nice thing to do for them." Sue's not trying to nag, but she can't help it, and already she knows this is going to be one of those long, drawn-out fights that lead to sulky silences and lousy make-up sex.

"I'm not going to South frickin' Dakota in the middle of winter to freeze my ass off. I like my ass where it is." Diana reaches out and grabs Sue. "I like yours where it is too."

"How much time would we be spending outside? Airport to car, car to door, door to car, car to airport. And don't you want to make sure everything's running smoothly? Our reputations are at stake with those two, you know. I don't want to say anything, you know that's not how I am, but I don't want to wander back to Connecticut and find out no one takes us seriously anymore."

Diana rolls her eyes. "Like anyone's ever taken either of us seriously." She leans back in her recliner and picks up her copy of the Republic, making it as clear as possible to Sue that this conversation is over and the matter is settled. Sue knows better. This conversation might be over, but the matter is far from settled. It's been a while since Sue felt the need to make a point to Diana, if only because she owes more than her life to Diana and Diana's never been afraid to bring that up, but she knows all the tricks, both the ones from their shared past and the ones that seem to come to her as naturally as breathing these days. She begs, she pleads, she cajoles, she wheedles, she nags, she complains, and she doesn't stop until Diana finally agrees to arrange the flight to South Dakota and the appropriate rides to the ranch outside Rapid City.

A muted shiver runs down Sue's spine when they pass through the door. She knows that if it hadn't been for Diana, she would have passed through this door and never come back again; even if the emotional impact is blunted and muffled, the knowledge that she could have ended up behind the green and gold door instead of Lauren, that she could have been the one stripped naked and transformed into something other than human (more than human, a little voice in the back of her head whispers) shakes her to her core.

She doesn't look to the west, to the green and gold. That's a past she'd do well to leave behind her. Instead, she follows Diana through the red door and into the comforting embrace of navy blue walls and silver trim. She keeps her head down. She doesn't dare let herself get caught in the seductive thrill of the highlight reel, because Diana's not going to save her twice.

A couple of deep breaths later, and she's ready to look at the two… easier to think of them as control units than as Huskies, because they're not really Shea and Ann anymore anyway. Things haven't changed much in a year. Two blonde ponytails- only the slightest bit longer than they had been before- hang over the backs of the chairs, somewhat darkened by neglect. Two pairs of glazed blue eyes in two expressionless faces remain fixed on the endless loop of Connecticut glory, never shifting focus, never blinking. Sue leans over to check the monitor between the chairs; both heartbeats are very slow and very steady, while both brains show the intense activity of running a half dozen bodies at once. Neither of them notice her presence hovering over them. Somehow she had expected that they would feel her, sense that the woman who had given them her deft passing and girl-next-door charm for the media was once more with them.

Up so close, she can see small specks of dust on Shea's shoulder, and she blows them off gently. Her breath stirs the fine hair on the back of Shea's neck, but Shea doesn't blink, doesn't flinch, doesn't shiver, doesn't react at all. Not all the dust comes off. Sue reaches out to brush it away. Shea's skin is cool to the touch, glossy and shining in the reflected television light, too hard and too smooth; a protective coating that developed soon after the conversion was finished, necessary to slow down decay, Sue recalls from the notes she stole from Diana. Makes it easy to take a step back, take a deep breath, and try not to cringe under Diana's mocking, judging gaze.

Except that Diana's not looking at her at all. Diana's combing her fingers through Ann's hair, tucking a few imaginary loose strands back behind Ann's ear and minutely tightening one of the wires behind the headphones. "You're doin' great, kid, they all love you there," she says quietly as she kisses Ann's cheek. "Sweet dreams."

"Not that she can have anything else," Sue says quietly, and Diana looks at her, startled. "We made sure of that, remember? Well, except for... Ann."

Diana allows herself a grin at that memory of success. "Looks like the kids are all right, hon. Except for the dust. We gotta talk to the boss about that."

"Maybe we can buy her a cleaning service for Christmas." Sue doesn't look back. She keeps her gaze fixed on the space between. "You were right, dear. I'm starting to feel the cold even in here. Let's go home."

Diana nods and slips her hand into Sue's. Her skin is still soft and warm against Sue's, and that's enough to allay Sue's fears.