Derek, who is presumably STILL DYING, GUYS, flashes back (well, forward, I suppose) to being shackled in a futuristic prisoner transport. He's with a couple of his men (including Wisher, but not Kyle) sitting next to him. Sitting across from him is another soldier, slumped over to one side, seemingly out of it, gripping a canteen. Derek asks if he minds sharing the water. No response. Derek asks his buddies if the guy's still alive. No response from them, even though they ARE still alive. So Derek reaches over for the canteen. Suddenly, the soldier grabs Derek's arm and turns to face him. It's a Terminator with half his face blown off, who slugs Derek, knocking him out. Way to help Derek out there, guys. Little warning probably would have been appreciated.
After commercials, Charley Dixon stands in the living room looking at the inert body of the T-888, laid out on the dining room table. Cameron and Sarah watch him. "So. Skynet. Robots...from the future," he says. He points at Cameron. "And you're a..." "Yes. I'm a..." she says. Sarah asks him if he needs a drink. Yeah, that's a big ten-four. Sarah asks Cameron if she doesn't have an endoskeleton to dispose of. Cameron said she's already got the thermite ready. Charley's all, "Thermite?" And Cameron, zipping the T-888 back up in a body bag explains that thermite is an incendiary chemical that burns at 2,500 degrees, hot enough to incinerate the endoskeleton. She effortlessly hoists the T-888 over her shoulder, and walks out. Sarah follows her. "There's beers in the fridge," she tells Charley, like, sorry I walked out on you eight years ago only to pop back in when we need sketchy surgery done on my brother-in-law from the future, and now I can't even be bothered to get you a damn beer myself. Fortunately, John's already at the fridge, and he brings Charley a beer, and unlike any other 15-year-old ever, doesn't ask for one himself. "Are you mad at me for...getting you mixed up in all this?" asks John. What, reuniting him with Sarah, his long-lost love, who's aged literally what, two weeks over the past eight years? (Side note: Charley is I think supposed to look older because his hair is a quarter-inch longer than it used to be.) Charley says no. "I guess I wish I would have known back then. I wish you could have trusted me." "I do," says John.