She catches him in a corridor and asks him if he knows what the thing is. He does. She wants him to tell her. "At least tell me. We're a team, right?" she implores. "It's not your concern," he says, and he brushes past her.
Back at the Connor Compound, Sarah's trying to screw down some floor vent, and John comes and growls that she should just throw a rug down, and "they'll never know the difference," and she tells him that she's sorry it's come to this. Not just the moving, but all of it. And then she reminisces about the time they wound up in some hippie town, going from farmers and good ol' boys to pot growers and kids named "Sequoia." He smiles, and says, "There was only one Sequoia. There were three Sages, though." Heh. There was a family in my hometown where all the kids were named after nature: River, Lake, Forest, etc. She tells him she felt bad about leaving, because he was just making friends and fitting in. Yeah, great, THIS should cheer him up. He reminds her that he was fighting every day. "Yeah, but you won those fights," she reminds him. That's one way of looking at it, he says, adding, "I hated that town," before leaving Sarah standing there, like NICE CHATTING WITH YOU, SON.
Oh, God, Ellison looks as bored as I do, because apparently John Henry has been transformed into a Dungeons & Dragons miniature-painting robo-nerd, prattling on about how it's important to put a matte layer on the miniatures, so the colors stick to it and provide the "illusion of depth," which I don't get, I mean, the miniatures are THREE-DIMENSIONAL, after all. John Henry says it's the detail work he finds most interesting, because there are so many choices. Like the eyes, which he read are the "window to the soul." "That's what they say," says Ellison, sounding ridiculously bored, and John Henry says he needs to choose the color more carefully. Ellison says it doesn't matter, because they're just statues, and they don't have a soul -- like, nice thing to say to the machine -- and John Henry looks confused and says that they have eyes. Then he says Ellison's eyes look tired, so does that mean his soul is tired? "No, my soul isn't tired, but I am," says Ellison. He gets up to go, and he picks up something that looks kind of like a remote starter for his car, only he points it at John Henry, who pleads not to be shut down, because his monster isn't complete. He's like a kid who, when his parents say it's time for bed, says, "I just have to do one thing!" Ellison sighs and picks up some paint to help him finish the damn monster. John Henry smiles. "Mr. Ellison? Does this make us friends?" Ellison looks up at him, and John Henry smiles, and Ellison doesn't even say anything, and they work in silence, and maybe Ellison's trying to teach John Henry how to be as rude as possible to the person whose company you're enjoying.