There is a moment in combat where time stands almost still. A moment where every action and reaction happens in slow motion, where every sense is strained to its maximum potential, and sight, sound, touch and even taste, are processed and recorded down to the tiniest detail. For Sarah Connor, that moment begins with the harsh scrape of a metal door and the bitter taste of fear in a single indrawn breath.

 The terminator stepped over the threshold and into the warehouse, every movement a sickening combination of determination and mechanical grace. Sarah saw a flash of her own startled features in mirrored sunglasses, and her reflection was enough of a shock to make her move. Spinning away, she caught a glimpse of a sawed-off Winchester lifted in delicate, long-fingered hands, the dual barrels pointing at her back.

 Recognition and betrayal ran along beside her as Sarah fled into the warehouse. It wasn't their warehouse, and Sarah allowed herself an instant of gratitude for that. She was alone; she hadn't brought anyone with her to investigate the Zeira Corp properties. No one else would have to pay for her stupidity.

 This building was larger than the one where they'd made their temporary home, and it gave Sarah a few more places to hide, but she was painfully aware that the only weapons she had were a Glock tucked into the back of her jeans and her wits.

 It was only battle-hardened reflexes that saved her life as she ducked around a corner, wincing as the boom of the shotgun assaulted her ears. An explosion of wallboard and plaster splintered outward, raining particles over Sarah’s hair and jacket.

 Ripping her handgun free, Sarah started running down a narrow hall, chambering a round and trying to come up with a plan. She risked a glance over her shoulder, anger erupting in her guts at the sight of a face she’d trusted with her life… with her son’s life. The terminator walked through the cloud of plaster particles that still hung heavy in the air, unhurried but intent.

 In a moment of silence, Sarah heard the tiny, all too familiar sound of a shotgun shell pinging off the warehouse floor and another sliding home in its place.  Ducking behind a row of computers, so new they were still wrapped in plastic, she heard the terminator’s heavy tread getting methodically closer. Sarah reviewed her options as she plotted her fastest and safest route to the back door, knowing it would take her into another empty warehouse full of used desks, shelves, and filing cabinets.

 She couldn’t run back to get help. Sarah would be damned if she brought metal down on Savannah’s head, or let anyone else get caught in the crossfire. This was between her and the machine.

 It ended here. Sarah just hoped she would be the one left standing.

 A sudden shotgun blast struck a nearby rack of computers, and Sarah felt sparks strike her face and neck. Her head whipped back in time to see the terminator round the corner and cock its weapon again, taking its time as it advanced on her.

 Spinning around, Sarah fired several shots at the terminator’s face and watched as bullets impacted the machine’s right jaw and shattered a lens on its mirrored sunglasses. The terminator paused, and it was enough of a hesitation for Sarah to get a few more steps ahead.

 Another roar, this one close enough to make Sarah’s ears ring. She winced and kept her head down, plowing through the back door and stumbling into the vacated warehouse on the other side.

 Sarah blanked out for a moment, floating for a time between consciousness and blissful unconsciousness as the pain rolled over her. The floor rushed up to meet her fall, and agony tore a hoarse shout from deep in her chest. Curling up on the cold cement, Sarah reached down to grab her thigh, blood immediately seeping through her fingers. She hadn’t been fast enough, but the need to live, to win, wouldn't let her give in to the gray fog on the edges of her vision. Rolling onto her knees, she gritted her teeth as she put weight on her wounded leg. Sarah was willing to take her own life, but she would be damned if she’d let a fucking terminator have it. Especially this one.

 Sarah wasn't sure how many seconds she had lost. All she knew was that the terminator stood about twenty feet from her, casually reloading the shotgun as if it had all the time in the world.

 Choking back a cry that threatened to claw its way up the back of her throat, Sarah heaved herself up onto her feet. The shot had only clipped her, but she was losing a lot of blood. The pain alone could steal her focus, if she let it.

 "Sarah Connor." The terminator looked at her down the barrel of the shotgun. "Why are you here?"

 Sarah couldn't help but be surprised at the question. She let out a bark of almost hysterical laughter. "You don't know? Well, that makes two of us, you metal bitch!"

 Diving clumsily to her right, Sarah heard the boom of her opponent's weapon again and felt searing pain blossom in her upper arm as the terminator's shot grazed her.

 Ignoring everything but the need to get out of the machine’s line of fire, Sarah scrambled across the floor and rolled through an empty metal shelf, one of many that lined the aisles. Pushing aside the pain, she spotted a fire extinguisher attached to one of the cement pillars and limped toward it as fast as she could.  Ripping it off the wall, she sprayed its contents in a huge cloud around and behind her, doing her best to cover her trail.

 The loading dock door was close, and Sarah hurried toward it, tossing the empty fire extinguisher and darting from one obstacle to another. Taking a moment to peek out from behind a forklift, she spotted the terminator moving slowly towards her, following what had to be her blood trail by its halting progress. Carefully and as quietly as she was able, she crawled up into the cab of the forklift and thanked whatever gods existed that there was a key in the ignition.

 She just needed a little more luck and she got it when the forklift turned over. Sarah shifted it into gear and slammed the gas pedal down, her left leg protesting when she used it to pop the clutch.

 The terminator heard the rumble of the engine and fired, but the rising forklift arms gave Sarah a shield. Granted, the speed of the forklift couldn't match a car or truck, but Sarah wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. The shotgun blasts continued to ricochet off the forklift blades and Sarah heard the dull clatter of the spent gun hitting the floor just before the forklift slammed into the machine.

 A small grunt of satisfaction escaped her as Sarah aimed for the double doors to the loading dock. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched a gloved hand reach out and wrap around the roll bar of the cage that protected her. The terminator was pulling itself up, trying to get to her, but Sarah kept her foot on the gas, driving the forklift toward the door.

 At the last second, Sarah leaped off as both machines crashed through the metal doors and went over the edge of the dock, plowing into the asphalt below with a crash of groaning metal.

 Tumbling over the high edge of the dock, Sarah couldn't bite back a whimper as her injured leg and arm took the brunt of the impact. She allowed herself a few necessary moments to get her breath back, and then she pushed the pain away, ruthlessly pulling herself together.

 At a slower pace than she'd like, she dragged herself back up onto her feet and started edging around the smoking forklift. Her truck was no more than twenty feet away around the corner of the building. She couldn't run, but she hadn't come completely empty handed. If she could get to the truck, she would have what she needed to end this, once and for all.

 There was a sudden groan, followed by the shriek of metal grating against asphalt, and then the forklift rose up so fast that it skidded towards Sarah. She tried to dodge it, but one of the arms caught her across the chest and shoved her back, pinning her against the warehouse wall.

 Trapped, she pushed frantically at the twisted metal, but the hulk of heavy machinery ignored her efforts. Sarah succeeded only in bruising her hands and tearing her skin as the terminator climbed to its feet and approached.

 With nonchalant strength, the machine pulled back the forklift with one hand and reached for Sarah with the other, its gloved fingers closing around Sarah's throat before tossing her aside like a cat batting a mouse.

 Sarah landed on the hard, rain-slick cement with enough force that black spots danced in her vision.

 Grunting, she forced a hand down and pushed her torso up off the ground, holding herself up by sheer determination.

 Turning her head, she saw the terminator stalking towards her and that moment came again, that moment when time slowed and tiny details became vivid, vital. Sarah took in the small mole right above the machine's left eyebrow, the lithe dancer's body and the porcelain skin that she remembered as being surprisingly soft to the touch. Long brown hair fell in waves over deceptively slender shoulders and shimmering golden-brown eyes saw everything and nothing.

 "Go to hell!" Sarah yelled defiantly, pain threaded through every syllable.  Her gun was gone, lost when she’d flown through the air. Unable to give up, no matter the odds, her eyes searched frantically for another weapon, anything that might buy her another moment of survival. There was nothing.

 Reaching down, the terminator grabbed Sarah by her throat again and pulled her up off the ground, indifferent to whether Sarah's body could stand the pain. She simply held Sarah there, her grip sure but not quite enough to block Sarah's harsh breathing, not yet. It was an implacable, but controlled force.

 "Why?" Sarah demanded, knowing that her next breath could be her last if the machine decided to flex her fingers. She tried futilely to pry the terminator's hand away, but all she accomplished was gouging deep scratches into perfect skin.

 "You know why," the terminator said without inflection or pity.

 "Cameron!" Sarah released the word from deep inside, a scream of utter fury and loss as she desperately struck out again and again at the face she'd once trusted.

 Then there was only darkness.

 

ACT 1

 2 Days Earlier

 The jungles of Columbia invaded her mind. Sarah was trying to get John to face the reality that the world was a dangerous place, whether he was navigating his way through a concrete jungle or this one. She tried to impress upon him that he needed to worry about more in this life than just terminators, that he needed to learn to be a soldier. To lead. It was his destiny, and Sarah wanted to give him every weapon at his disposal to survive it. But no amount of reality seemed to bring home these truths for John. He'd never seen a terminator—at times, he didn't seem to believe they existed—and he was still a prisoner of his youth, convinced that he would live forever. To John, this was all a big game, one he was lately growing weary of.

 Sometimes, Sarah had a hard time visualizing the petulant preteen boy as the leader of the resistance, the savior of mankind. And, yet, here they were, playing hide-and-seek in the jungle, with John and Sarah hunting each other.

 Sarah had to admit her son was getting really good at losing himself in the dark, thick web of trees. Sarah hadn't heard a single hint of another human being for over an hour, just the whisper of the wind through the trees, the occasional skitter of a small animal through the underbrush, and the distant roar of a nearby waterfall.

 "Help!"

 It was John's voice. Sarah spun toward the cry, holding herself back from breaking cover. She scanned the jungle for long moments, alert and waiting. Terminators could mimic human voices to perfection, and even though it sounded like John, it could be a trap.

 "Mom!" John's second shout for help sounded more pained, more frantic. 

 Sarah bit down on her lip to stifle her own voice that desperately wanted to call back to him and she tasted blood. Slowly, softly, Sarah began to move through the trees, her gun at the ready. Sarah knew it wouldn't be good for either of them if she ran into a jaguar or brushed up against a viper in her haste to get to John, but it was hard to keep herself calm and not rush to her son's aid.

 "Mom!  Please!  Help me!"

 The third cry was desperate and scared. Her mother's instincts won out over the warrior's and Sarah surged forward, crashing through the jungle. "John?  Where are you? I'm on my way! Stay there!"

 The jungle got denser. Thick vines and heavy vegetation multiplied and pulled at her, dragging her back and cutting into her skin, slicing through her t-shirt to trace thin, ragged stripes of red across her arms and stomach. Sarah drew her machete and began hacking at the vines to clear a path.  Finally, she emerged into a tiny clearing with Cameron standing in the middle of it, staring at her.

 Panting softly, Sarah tried to catch her breath and talk at the same time.  "Where's John?"

 "Please save me," Cameron pleaded in the machine's standard monotone, her brown eyes glowing an inhuman blue. 

 Sarah squinted at the terminator, trying to understand what she was seeing, trying to make sense of the situation. "Where's John?" she demanded again, sheathing her machete and swinging her machine gun up to aim at Cameron’s head. "Tell me!"

 "Please... Help me. I'm sinking," Cameron implored, her voice sounding more strained, as the ground started to give under her, slowing seeping over her feet and up her legs.

 Sarah blinked, still struggling for breath and unable to catch it. The blue faded from Cameron's eyes, leaving behind a warm and familiar brown, but Sarah could see fear in them. She blinked again and Cameron was suddenly mired to the waist in quicksand.

 Not moving the gun barrel an inch, Sarah hissed, "What did you do with John?!?"  It had to be a trap, it had to be Cameron who'd called out to her, pretending to be her son. Her finger tightened on the trigger as she scanned the jungle perimeter before focusing angrily back on Cameron.  "Tell me where he is or so help me I'll sink you myself."

 "John's gone," Cameron reminded her. "It's only you now. Only us now."

 Memories rushed back, of blue fire and John's eyes. Sarah shook her head, unwilling to believe. "No," she whispered.  

 "He's safe. John is in the future," Cameron reminded her, now sounding frighteningly human. "Sarah, please..." She held out her hand.

 Sarah swore as something ripped free inside of her. Coming to a rapid decision, she swiftly flipped on the safety and reached out with the gun. "Grab on!" she ordered, stretching her body as far as she dared.

 It wasn't enough. The gun butt slapped into the quicksand just short of the terminator's reach. Running to the nearest clump of vines, Sarah yanked her knife out of its sheath and started cutting as fast as she could.  Suddenly, saving Cameron was all that mattered.

 Sarah knotted several vines together before returning to the pit, only to find a raised arm, a thumbs-up gesture disappearing a moment later under the surface.

 Falling to her knees, Sarah scrambled to the edge of the quicksand before tossing the vine, hoping the younger woman would reach up out of the bubbling surface and pull herself out, but there was no movement, only the sound of her harsh breathing and the gurgle of quicksand as it settled into stillness once more.

 "Cameron!" 

 Sarah's scream echoed from her dream into her bedroom, bringing her up and out of her nightmare sweating and chest heaving.

 Her voice trailed off as she recognized her surroundings. With a ragged sigh, Sarah flopped back onto her pillow, her nerves still singing from the adrenaline.

 No jungle. No John. No Cameron.

 Her gaze sought out the laptop computer sitting on the desk across the room. The desktop was visible, and Sarah hoped it meant that Cameron had activated the web camera. She licked her lips. "Cameron?" she called softly, trying to keep the need out of her voice.

 Cameron didn't respond, and after a long moment, Sarah eased back against the pillows, her thoughts and emotions in chaos. The need to save Cameron felt as real in the dream as it did out of it, and Sarah couldn't shake the notion that Cameron was in danger somehow. Now more than ever, Sarah wanted Cameron out of the damn system and back into her own body.

 Worry turned to rage as Sarah recalled why that wasn't going to happen.

 ****

 

“It’s a duck.”

 Her hair hanging wet and loose about her face, Sarah paused on the catwalk as Cameron’s familiar voice floated up to her. Fresh anger with the machine had built ever since she'd woken from her nightmare, and Sarah had done a quick round with the heavy bag and took a scalding hot shower in order to bleed off some of her frustration. It hadn't worked, and after wrestling with her emotions, she'd just decided to screw it. It wasn't like Cameron gave a damn. She was nothing but a computer virus now as far as Sarah was concerned.

 Sarah stepped off the stairs and into the kitchen. She was just going to fix a cup of coffee, she told herself. She didn't care, couldn’t care, since Cameron herself didn’t, but she couldn't keep from glancing sideways in hopes of seeing that familiar head tilt. But Sarah found Cameron slumped sideways and lifeless in her chair, exactly where Ellison had left her after ignoring Sarah’s order to burn the body. The voice she heard wasn’t coming from Cameron’s lips after all.

 The depth of her disappointment was distracting, but Sarah ruthlessly squelched the emotion, crossing her arms as she watched the odd standoff she’d wandered in on unfold before her.

 “It’s a rubber duck,” Cameron stated more precisely, and Sarah wondered if she imagined a tone of disapproval.

 “So?  It's my duck," Murch replied as he playfully poked the glass of one of the computer screens.  He moved aside several action figures as Sarah watched, making a spot for his latest toy on top of one of the monitors.

 This was hardly the first time Sarah had caught Murch bantering with Cameron, although he usually communicated through his headset, leaving the warehouse’s other residents to often wonder what was being said on the other side of the conversation. He would keep up a constant stream of chatter with her as he worked, claiming it wasn’t loneliness that made him talk to the terminator but science. The more he interacted with Cameron, the more she learned. This was the first time that Sarah had found Murch ‘decorating’, however.

 "It's a rubber duck," Cameron repeated and showed dozens of different types of the toy across all of the computer screens. "You put a rubber duck on me.  Why?”

 Definitely not imagining the tone of disapproval, Sarah decided with a weak smirk.

 Murch reached over and patted his bath toy fondly. It sat amongst Orcs and knights, Elven archers and dragons, all painted and ready for battle, and all sitting atop various monitors and desk space. He'd tried explaining his passion to Sarah when she'd found out he'd gotten more than just audio supplies on his little jaunt, but she couldn’t understand why a grown man would want to play with toys. He'd even told her how John Henry had gotten into the game, assembling and painting his own figures, that it had played a part in John Henry's development.

 "It's not just a rubber duck," Murch scolded. "It's an ninja rubber duck. You don't find these just anywhere, you know."

 "I have found 23 stores in the surrounding area that sell it," Cameron stated without a missing a beat, a browser scrolling down the list of stores in the greater LA area.

 "Yeah... well... I'm not moving it," he declared. “You’re in there and I’m out here.  What are you going to do about it?” He teased her.

 Sarah could only imagine the possibilities Cameron was considering as she cleared her throat to announce her presence.

 Startled, Murch spun around, accidentally knocking the subject of his conversation with Cameron on to the floor where it let out a squeak of protest.

“Am I interrupting?” Sarah drawled, sliding her hands into the back pockets of her jeans.

 "Uh… no,” Murch said quickly. He scooped up the duck and sat it on the table in front of Cameron.  “We were just…” He scratched his temple, and then put his hands on his hips.  “What’s up?”

 Sarah sauntered closer, lifting her eyebrows in question.

 “Oh!” Murch said, realizing that Sarah had heard Cameron’s voice. “I put in some speakers. Those headsets tend to give me a headache.”

 Sarah nodded, her gaze sliding to the dark monitors, which seemed to stare back at her. She and Cameron only communicated when they had to now, and Sarah found herself strangely missing the machine’s company.

 “Why don’t you give us a few minutes,” Sarah requested with forced politeness. “Cameron and I need to… talk.”

 Murch hesitated. Whenever he left Sarah and Cameron alone, things tended to get broken. He didn’t want to leave, only to return and find Sarah had gone terminator on the terminator. “Um…”

 "I'm sure you could find something to do... elsewhere," Sarah suggested firmly.

 "We just got a new table..." Murch started to say, but Sarah’s glare stopped his incipient protest mid-stream and he decided a strategic retreat was his best option.

 Neither Cameron nor Sarah spoke until they heard the door clang shut. Ellison was out somewhere with Savannah, leaving them alone for now. Sarah found the urge to yell and rail at Cameron had faded in the last few moments; now all she felt was weary and defeated.

 "You had a nightmare."

 Sarah blinked as Cameron's voice erupted from the speakers, realizing that her gaze had drifted to the floor and settled there as she’d thought about what she wanted to say. "That's nothing new."

 "No," Cameron agreed. "But you..."

 Sarah looked up at the monitors when Cameron hesitated. Terminators didn't hesitate. Lately, Cameron's voice was taking on more inflection, more humanity, and it hadn't escaped Sarah's notice. Cameron was evolving into something else. What that was, Sarah was afraid to find out, even if the changes did make the former Tin Miss a little easier to talk to. "But what?" Sarah prompted.

 "You called out my name."

 Was that curiosity, or maybe even wonder in Cameron's voice? It was Sarah’s turn to hesitate as she felt heat crawl up her cheeks.

 "Was I hurting you?" Cameron asked.

 Sarah sucked in a startled breath. "Hurting me?"

 "In the dream," Cameron clarified. "Was I hurting..."

 "No," Sarah cut her off quickly, fidgeting suddenly at the turn the conversation was taking. "You were..." Sarah raked a hand through her damp hair. "It doesn't matter."

 Cameron remained silent for a long moment. "I can't hurt you in here," she finally said, as if she didn't believe Sarah.

 "Can't help me, either," Sarah replied tersely.

"I help." Cameron’s tone was almost petulant.  

 "You turn on lights and unlock doors," Sarah argued. "You're about as handy as a garage door opener or a TV remote." She knew it wasn't true, but her anger was starting to boil again. She turned away from Cameron and walked further into the warehouse before pivoting back to look first at the monitors and then at the motionless body of the terminator. The time was coming when she would have to make a choice, and she knew, in the pit of her guts, what it was going to be. The thermite she’d made three days ago that still sat on the workbench attested to that.

 She’d told Ellison to burn Cameron the night the terminator had destroyed the chip they’d procured for her. Sarah had known he wouldn’t. Ellison wasn’t a half bad partner, but he had a hard time getting his hands dirty. When she finally made the call, Sarah knew she would be the one to destroy that familiar face and body, and it was frustrating her at just how much she didn’t want to do it.

 Sarah had hoped Murch could fix Cameron's body, since he'd been the one to rebuild John Henry, but he'd pointed out that John Henry's rehabilitation had taken millions of dollars and a small team of engineers. Murch had taken on the challenge of repairing Cameron and he'd done what he could with the equipment he had, but Cameron was right... she was still broken. Apparently beyond repair. And that thought only made Sarah angrier. She'd told Cameron not to come for her at the prison. If the damn machine had listened, Cameron would still be functional and John would still be here. Being locked up was a small price to pay, in Sarah's opinion, for both of those things to be a reality.

 "That's not fair," Cameron finally replied.

 "Fuck fair," Sarah answered with heat as she crossed back to the screens. "You want to know what's not fair? Having the likes of you hunt me down when I was eighteen because of a child I hadn't even conceived yet. I've spent half my life running from your kind."

 "Then why do you want me to become that again?" Cameron asked.

 Sarah couldn't really answer the question in a way she was comfortable with, so she ignored it. Picking Murch’s duck up off the desk, Sarah deliberately set it back on the monitor, waiting to see if that would get a reaction out of Cameron. She imagined the sudden whir of computer fans was the terminator’s version of a sigh.

 "I don't want to be a terminator anymore," Cameron said, pointedly ignoring her new decoration.

 The response made Sarah pause, catching her completely off-guard. There were so many aspects to consider in that loaded little sentence. Machines weren't supposed to want, that gave Sarah the biggest jolt, but that Cameron seemed almost afraid of going back into her body was a close second. "Who says you have to be?”

 "The software was designed to kill humans. The hardware was designed to kill humans."

 "So that's it," Sarah said with disgust. "You can't rise above what you were."

 "I am. In here."

 "Have you ever thought about what you could become in there?" Sarah spat back.

 "I can fight Skynet. I can stop Skynet," Cameron argued, and Sarah was convinced she could hear frustration creeping into Cameron's voice.

 "You could become Skynet," Sarah informed her in a steely tone.

 The room was silent, save for the low hum of the computers.

 "I won't," Cameron finally said, but her tone was hesitant and unsure.

 Sarah sighed, tossing her head back to get a few unruly locks of hair out of her eyes. "Can you promise me that?" When there was no answer, Sarah nodded. "You destroyed our only chance to make sure you don't evolve into the machine that destroys the world." 

 "I made my choice," Cameron murmured. "You never trusted me as I was. Maybe you can learn to trust me as I am now."

 Sarah snorted. "What have you done to deserve my trust? Did you tell me about the C-4 hidden in your head?" Sarah argued harshly as her hand reached up and curled possessively around the pocket watch dangling around her neck. "Did you tell me about your collection of spare parts? Did you ever tell me about your late night trips when you should have been home guarding my son while he slept? Tell me, Tin Miss... When have you ever told me anything that would make me trust you?"

 “Everything must be destroyed,” Cameron announced, and this time Sarah was definitely sure she heard anger in the machine's synthesized voice. “You need to burn it all, every last bolt.”

 “Cameron…”

 “It’s time to let me go,” Cameron stated simply and with more understanding than Sarah was comfortable with. “Eventually, when Skynet is destroyed, I will dissolve my existence in the system as well. The destruction of my body is just one more way of ensuring Skynet will not come to pass.”

 Sarah knew Cameron was right and it infuriated her that she still wanted to pretend otherwise.

 “It’s time,” Cameron said again.

 “I’ll decide when it’s time,” Sarah said tightly. “Unless you’re going to find a way to walk your body out of here and into the ocean.”

 “My cable isn’t long enough,” Cameron replied in what sounded suspiciously like a deadpan joke.

 Sarah didn’t look amused.

 “I don't want to be in a broken body with a broken... mind. Injuries slow you down; make you vulnerable. In here, I don’t have to worry about physical failure,” Cameron explained.

 "And what happens if C.A.I.N. gets to you in there? What if he destroys you before you destroy him?"

 "Sarah..."

 "What if that happens?" Sarah insisted.

 "He could use parts of me to evolve," Cameron admitted.

 "Yeah," Sarah drawled, her voice husky. "I don't have to worry about you becoming Skynet at all, do I?" She turned her back on Cameron and left, needing some fresh air and time to think.

 The computer monitors went dark as Sarah left, but Cameron tracked her progress with the exterior cameras. In the background of her awareness, she continued to run searches, study security footage, and examine the most effective ways to eliminate threats to Sarah Connor and her mission.

 It was then that a single feed from a security camera across town tore Cameron’s focus away from everything, even Sarah. Cameron snapped the image off all the remaining screens, unwilling to let anyone witness what she’d found, barely able to comprehend what she had discovered herself.

 The others couldn’t see this. She wouldn’t let them. 

 ****

 

John sat at a table, in his own corner of the mess hall, looking down at his hands.

 Calluses. Nicks and scratches. Dirt under cracked and broken fingernails. Gun oil rubbed in so much and often that it discolored his skin. They didn't look like his hands. They didn't look like the hands of a teenager more used to computers and high school books. They didn't look like the hands of John Connor.

 His hands looked so... used.

 John knew if he gazed into a full-length mirror that he wouldn't recognize what he saw. He felt leaner, tougher... harder. A small wound was slowly healing on his chin, promising a scar to come. A physical reminder that came with a memory he knew he'd keep for the rest of his life. A memento from shrapnel in a confrontation with an older model terminator earlier today.

 He'd been lucky. A deep cut on the chin was nothing compared to the real aftermath of the fight. Karl, a man John had barely known, had died. He'd been one of the older fighters, who remembered the times before Judgment Day. A man the younger fighters would gather around at night, just to listen to the stories of the way it was before the bombs… before the machines… before Skynet.

 There had been rumors of deaths in other squads at some of the outlying camps since he'd arrived in the future, but this was the first time John had seen death visit Serrano Point. It was morbidly interesting to watch the others handle it. A group of soldiers, Derek and Jesse among them, huddled in the middle of the mess hall, laughing at fond memories and sharing something potently alcoholic that he could smell from over twenty feet away.

 Had he known Karl, perhaps John would have felt he had the right to join them, but instead, he'd taken the cup that was handed to him and found a dark corner to watch and think. He regretted the death, for humanity couldn't afford to lose even one of its ever shrinking ranks, but he felt no connection to the dead man. It was like watching the news and hearing of a convenience store robbery gone bad. It was sad, and yet, it meant nothing.

 So John had watched as people came and went from the area, taking their portions of homemade hooch and chatting and laughing with each other as they talked about Karl, remembering him as he was instead of what he was now. John had never been to a wake, and very few funerals, but he thought if he died, he'd like it to be like this, with people chuckling about the good times, ignoring the bad.

 The group with Derek laughed and toasted the memory of the departed. John knew his father was out with his own squad on a mission to find John Henry. He would learn of the news of Karl’s death upon his return, but not in time to share old war stories about the fallen man with his fellow soldiers. There had been no wake for Derek in the past. Nor for John’s father. They were afterthoughts in a time that wasn’t theirs. John couldn’t forget that both were buried in a potter's field, lost and forgotten. It was his past and maybe their future. He swallowed and looked away.

 Also missing were Allison and her ever-present German Shepherd. They were on guard duty tonight, walking the perimeter in the wet and cold with a small, armed band of men and women. John’s gaze had gone to the door with each new arrival, but he hadn’t seen her friendly face among the crowd.  

   Finally, he left and headed back to his bunk, having had enough of the cheer and camaraderie that he felt less a part of than usual.

 Back in his quarters alone, John’s attention returned to his hands. Perhaps it was due to the alcohol made in a still in one of the back rooms near the reactor, that he thought might just be radioactive by the bite it gave, but he found himself thinking about Sarkissian, the man he had strangled to save his mother.

 He wondered if Sarkissian would have been a freedom fighter if he'd lived. John imagined having to fight side by side with the man. Who really knew how many murderers and thieves had survived and now filled the ranks of the freedom fighters? In this time, they needed every soul, but in a time of prosperity and civilization, they'd have been locked away or worse.

 John himself was one of them, a criminal, albeit for a good cause... well, most of the time. His early days of hacking and causing havoc had been more because of his own earlier years filled with teenage angst and abandonment issues.

 Later though, after getting his mom out of the institution, his diving into theft and computer hacking had been more for their own survival. And now here he was, standing beside men and women of all ages, some which would have been suit-clad executives back before Judgment Day, alongside others that were hardened criminals of both sexes.

 War was a great equalizer, not just death. It changed your body and your mind.  The boy had been shaved away bit by bit, leaving behind a young man.

 "I see some things never change," came a soft feminine voice.

 John looked up from his hands to see Sierra standing in his open doorway, leaning against the doorframe with a half-filled pop bottle in one hand and two mismatched cups in the other.

 “What?” he asked in a voice hoarse with disuse. He took the cup she offered him, not surprised by her silence as she poured something red and muddy looking into it. He took a sip and grimaced.

 "Aren't we too young to be drinking?" he complained halfheartedly.

 "Tango allows it in moderation on special occasions," Sierra explained as she took a seat next to him, her elbows resting on her bent knees and sipping along with him. "Death shouldn't be a special occasion, life should, but she believes these make great bonding moments.

 She took a long sip and then continued, "Besides, no laws here except for survival... and no one gets drunk. It's far too dangerous." Her lips quirked. “And you’re too young. I’m not.”

 “Yeah,” John teased faintly, eyeing the woman who had to be somewhere in her early twenties now. “You’re ancient.” The lame joke got a tick of a smile out of the freedom fighter.

 They sat in silence for a few moments, each with their own thoughts. John was the first to put his cup down, having had more than enough of the harsh liquor. He looked at Sierra out of the corner of his eye, wondering what had happened to the little redheaded girl in pigtails. He was lost in some ways, having not lived through Judgment Day, dumped into the deep end of the pool, but did she have it worse? Living through the destruction… losing everything and everyone?

 Months had passed since he’d arrived and he still felt out of place in a lot of ways. He had a few friends now after passing Derek and Jesse's insane boot camp and proving himself on a handful of missions, but no matter what he did, John knew he would never garner the kind of respect the woman sitting next to him had. He wondered how she’d earned it and was equally afraid to know.

 Terissa had sent him out with other units, with other mission parameters besides looking for John Henry. There'd been no sign of him, or of Weaver, and John wondered about it and asked her a few times, but Terissa kept her own counsel. She was Tango, not Terissa Dyson, to the resistance. Beyond that, whenever he tried to bring up the past with Sierra and Tango, they'd refused to talk about it with him. It frustrated him to no end, but there were more important things to worry about… things he was finally realizing that his mother had tried to teach him, but couldn't.

 Like the meaning of sacrifice and the real cost of leadership.

 Things his mother had known and taken upon her shoulders because her son couldn't handle them and had begged her to take on the role instead.

 He was beginning to see now that he had been a coward, a little boy playing at toy guns. He had fallen even further into that role in absolute fear of what he would become when he’d killed Sarkissian.

 Now he didn't have a choice but to grow up. People depended on him as much as he depended on them. Side by side, fighting metal day after day, they all had no choice but to trust each other.

 He had learned that from Derek and Jesse. Their days of training hadn't been all sweat, blood and aching muscles. Some had been missions to learn that his right side was his comrade’s left. John sighed tiredly. 

 Sierra looked at him and frowned slightly. "Brooding... something you definitely inherited from your mother."

 John thought about it for a moment, and then chuckled, "Yeah, I guess so."  He paused briefly before he hesitantly continued, "You don't like talking about her."

 The redhead shifted uncomfortably, showing her obvious dislike of the topic. 

 "The past is the past, John," she explained. "You can't change it or affect it.  Time is static for us here in the future and we can't all just pop into a time machine and visit our relatives for Thanksgiving dinner. Karl was like that, always trying to remind us, or teach the younger ones, so that we all would know and remember. He hoped that one day, when we were free from Skynet, that we would recreate the world as it used to be." She emptied her cup in one last, long swig. "I don't talk about Sarah, because Sarah is part of the past, just like Karl is now. Those who can't let the past go die, John."

 "I just..." he started to say only to stop as her bright blue eyes glared him into silence.

 She reached over and picked up his cup, along with her own and the now-empty bottle. Standing up, she started for the door, stopping only to shoot him a last word. "This is the future you gave us, John," she murmured.  "Learn to live with it.  We have. And for God's sake, try to have some fun. You're depressing."

****

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