VIVERE
Chapter One: She

"We have traveled this world for years.
We have consoled each other's fears.
We dried each other's tears.
Yet always in doubt, and never in bed
Of we.

With a fever, with a passion
within anger or with compassion
In a rage, when distrustful,
when she's screaming or when she's lustful."

Author's Note: This story takes place during the timeline of Terminator Salvation. I am going to state quite plainly that I like reviews and find them encouraging. If you like what you see, please comment and keep reading. If you don't like it, please stop reading and find something that suits your fancy. You are free to do that ^_^

Story Summary: In the year 2018 Skynet's influence has spread effortlessly over the globe. Humanity struggles to keep its toe-hold in a dying ecosystem that no longer has the will to support them. Mankind's only hope is the relentless men and women of the Resistance spread in small pockets all over the earth. This is the story of one team's desperate bid for survival as they are forced to flee the Machines when their base is overrun.

Disclaimer: Skynet and all official characters of the Terminator franchise do NOT belong to me.

~***~

September 8, 2018

Ross Cutter winced visibly from his tiny corner of the cellar hide-out. He could hear very plainly the crashing that echoed from down the claustrophobic hallway and he was afraid. Not even a Hunter-Killer made that kind of racket. No, nothing mechanical could replicate the horrific din that was filling up his ears and all the corridors in their private cement tomb. He held his breath and waited for a moment until footsteps echoed down the hallway towards his room, their quick pattering followed by the weighty crash of something taking flight in a way that it was never meant to.

Almost on cue, something tapped urgently on his door, "Doctor? May I please come in?"

Allowing himself a small, indulgent smile, the doctor slipped a little lower into his seat and called out, "You're welcome to hide out in here until she calms down, Ratchet."

The door opened, admitting a quite small and harried looking youth. The boy was whip-thin and wiry, all muscle and bone but still on the skinny side of malnourished. He sported a rather impressive bruise over one of his velvet-brown eyes and a very contrite look lingered around his down-turned mouth. Doctor Cutter couldn't quite resist comparing his guest with a kicked puppy come to hide and lick his numerous wounds.

"I am wery sorry, Doctor…but Tucker…she vas upset vith me," Ratchet apologized in his garbled Russian way, sitting down in an available seat.

Cutter looked sympathetic, "The same old argument?"

"She is restless. She says that ve are useless out here and she vishes ve vould attempt a meeting vith a main branch of ze Resistance. I tell her she is not in state to mowe and she trows tings at me," the kicked puppy look got downright pathetic, pulling at the edges of Ratchet's huge brown peepers.

"Mood swings, eh?" The older doctor asked, chuckling when the lad, affectionately called Ratchet, nodded, "Well that's to be expected, son. Pregnancy makes women a little bit restless and emotional."

"I had hoped wonders ceased vith the daily womiting."

The practical doctor just chuckled at the boy's woes, "Well, I hate to tell you, kiddo, but babies happen when you stick it in someone on a regular basis."

"I am not regretting fathering ze baby…"

"Well that's good. It's a bit late to start having second thoughts."

"You seem wery relaxed about all zis."

"I'm not the one being used as target practice nor am I the one who will have to worry about 3 am diaper calls once the baby comes in a month," Doctor Cutter couldn't resist sounding smug, amusement dancing in his blue eyes.

Ratchet's painfully young face shifted. The soft, puppy-dog look in his visage faded and was replaced by something that added at least ten years to his boyish features. He looked a weary 30 instead of a lively 18. Concern and something akin to cold fear drifted across his eyes and Ross watched it carefully, gauging what he was looking at. He watched as the small shoulders tensed up and the long-fingered hands knotted together.

"Ratchet…Pietr…tell me what's bothering you," Ross prompted.

For a moment, the Russian said nothing, turning inward in his sudden vein of deep thought. It took another soft verbal jab to get him focusing again, "…doctor…how can you be relaxed about zis?"

"What are your concerns?" The Doctor's brows drew together as he studied the boy.

"Wery soon, there will be an infant here. Zere are only three of us here. Ve hardly hawe enough ourselwes…" Ratchet put his face in his hands.

Ross only steepled his fingers and listened, looking over the tips of them to study the much younger boy as he continued to voice his worries, "Here ve are protected. Ve find vays to protect ourselwes and continue resisting."

"But Tucker wants to move us closer to San Francisco," Doctor Ross finished in a very deadpan tone.

Pietr "Ratchet" Genya nodded grimly.

Ratchet, Ross and Tucker were the only three remaining members of the small pocket Resistance group working out of Roswell, New Mexico from the basement of an abandoned military bunker.

Once, the place had belonged to a somewhat larger conglomeration of Resistance fighters. Secured as they were in what was often referred to as 'the concrete tomb', the rag-tag team had been free to stockpile what weapons they could scavenge and conduct their lives out of the view of Skynet's many HK units. Out of sheer luck they had managed to secure for themselves the perfect sniper's hideaway, fighting machines in controlled bursts before disappearing underground once more. It was a method that worked. It kept them alive and fighting day after day.

At least…it had until Tucker had become restless.

Her family of the nation's former military before the ominous events of Judgment Day, Tucker had command in her blood. She had always longed to be close to the action. To be honest, ending up in Roswell had only been a fluke on her part after an injury separated her from the rest of her team during a mission in the area. While she'd recovered, she'd been happy enough to stick around with the tiny band that had rescued her. She'd stayed longer thanks to her interest in their little mechanic, Ratchet…but as of late her mind had wandered back to San Francisco. At first there had only been suggestions, but in the past 8 months her fixation had intensified thanks to her 'condition'.

Despite being a calm and rational man, Doctor Ross had to admit that her disposition was annoying. Ratchet found it selfish. Neither said a word.

Ross exhaled firmly through his nose, "Goddamn the both of you for being so irresponsible."

If Tucker hadn't been with Ratchet's child, both of the remaining men would have just let her go the minute she'd started insisting. However, the baby complicated matters. Baby or no baby, Tucker was determined to rendezvous with the Resistance in San Francisco. If they would simply stay at the underground bunker, the baby could be reared in some semblance of safety, but the woman wouldn't hear of it and Ratchet wouldn't let her travel alone with his child. Essentially, the team was losing whatever edge they had thanks to the indomitable temper of a stubborn young woman.

"Doesn't it burn you at all that she wants to drag all of us PLUS a newborn baby into danger?" The doctor goaded lightly.

"I do not like ze voman, Doctor, but it iz my responsibility…" Ratchet sounded defeated, knotting both hands up into his shaggy, brown hair.

Ross's thin lips quirked, "If you don't like her, then why did you sleep with her?"

"Attention from an older voman…it iz…flattering. It vas only once…"

"That's all it takes, kid. I'm just pissed that you're learning it the hard way."

A tense silence stretched out between the two of them. Doctor Ross remembered a time when, despite the dangers of their bleak world, he and the young Russian had known some measure of contentment. Their friendship was long-standing and it brought them camaraderie…comfort. On occasion, Ross had even indulged in Ratchet's body when the stress became too much for either of them. The feeling of brotherhood was still there, but it was strained by the foreign variable Tucker represented.

"How do I care for child out zere, Doctor?" Ratchet sounded miserable. His accent (and mastery of the English language) always worsened when he was stressed.

"Damned if I know, Pietr. If I had my way, your kid would be born, warm and safe, right here in the bunker and KEPT here where the HKs can't find us. Unfortunately, it doesn't look like either of us are going to get our ways."

Ratchet was silent for another long moment before biting down on his soft, pink lower lip, the painful youth back on his face, "…I should go back to Tucker." He stood to go.

The taller doctor stood as well, drifting over and wrapping the teenager into a quick embrace, kissing the top of his head. Most days he could stay completely professional around Ratchet. After all, now that the boy was going to be a father, they had put an end to their occasional flings. However, there was something terribly vulnerable about the smaller Russian right now and Russ found himself responding to it as he had in the past. It almost hurt that Pietr didn't offer him anything back, pulling away instead, his eyes on the ground.

"Nyet, Doctor," Ratchet said in soft tones before disappearing back out the door.

~***~

"Why do you always leave?"

The small Russian stopped short at the greeting he received as he tried to re-enter his room.

Tucker was sitting alone under a threadbare sheet on the tattered pallet that functioned as Ratchet's bed. She was only in her undergarments, the sheet barely rising over the small swell in her abdomen. Her long, auburn hair was loose around her shoulders and her gray eyes were focused on her own loosely clasped fingers. She didn't even bother to look up at Ratchet to know it was him.

For a moment, Ratchet hesitated before shrugging out of his battered old military jacket and exposing the equally damaged hoodie underneath, "I do not like being around you vhen you are throwing tings at my head."

"I'm sorry," she sighed.

Pursing his lips softly, Ratchet shook his head and started yanking off his shoes, "Iz not your fault. Doctor Ross says iz because of ze baby."

"You're trying to be gracious. Are you that scared of pissing me off?" Tucker gave him a small, rueful smile.

"You gave me a bleck eye."

"I'm sorry for that too, then. I'm just going stir crazy. I don't know what's happening with the rest of the Resistance. I don't know any of the new developments. All I know is the inside of this miserable little bunker."

Ratchet gave her the sharpest look he could muster as he sat down on the edge of his bed, "Zis is my home. Newer forget zat, Tucker. Ve are still ze Resistance ewen if we are smaller."

The older woman smiled a little and it was a sad smile, "You've got such a fire in you, Pietr."

"I know. Iz why you slept vith me," he teased, trying to let go of his resentment.

"Seduced you is more like."

"Da. Zat too."

She reached up to brush the back of her knuckles against his cheek, "You don't love me at all."

"Nyet...but you do not love me either."

"I wasn't accusing you, Pietr. It was a one night stand. I guess I'm just curious. You don't love me and I don't love you, but every time I scream at you, you always come back not an hour later."

Sighing and forcing a small smile, the Russian boy laid a slender hand over her stomach, "Iz because you are still comrade, ewen if I do not love you. Iz also my responsibility to you and to ze baby. Ve must…how does Doctor Ross say…stick together."

Tucker smiled back and pulled Ratchet down so that he lay next to her, tucking her head up under his chin. He allowed it easily and wrapped protective arms around her. No, he didn't love her in the way a man should love the mother of his baby, but there were still the occasional flashes of fondness she inspired in him. The way it was these days, you learned to be at least a little bit compassionate for the people you worked with or you could very well die. Ratchet's smile became a little more real as Tucker took his hand, her eyes slipping shut.

Returning to his room hadn't been nearly as traumatic as anticipated. It allowed the boy's adrenaline to sluice harmlessly off, leaving him exhausted. He drifted off to sleep almost as quickly as the woman beside him.

The bunker was silent around them.

~***~

September 10, 2018

Eyes hidden behind black-tinted goggles smeared with the dirt of the desert, Ratchet scanned the barren landscape for any signs of life. He pulled his bandana up over his mouth and pulled his hoodie low over his brow before sneaking out of the hidden bunker entrance. It had been almost two weeks since their last strike against the machines and it was finally safe to make another foray out. After all, they needed to sweep the area clean before they made their next supply run. Ross wanted the area clear in time for Tucker to deliver. He swore he'd be damned before he delivered a screaming baby while fighting off Hunter Killers.

God bless the practicality of doctors.

Shouldering his war-worn MP7, Ratchet jogged off across the landscape, keeping his head low and his eyes open. All around him, abandoned military installations rose up against the skyline like broken teeth. The small Russian boy used them to his advantage, ducking behind a shattered wall and checking a tripwire they'd installed there about three months ago. It was still taut. Nothing had come by this way.

Ratchet carefully stepped over the wire and circled around towards where he knew the back entrance of the underground complex was. It was a good sign that nothing had found their front door. Now he just needed to make sure that nothing had wandered into their back door. Who knew? Maybe they'd gone underground so long in this god-forsaken slice of nowhere that Skynet had stopped sending machines into the area. It was wishful thinking, pure and simple, but hey, kids were allowed to dream.

His feet were silent in the dust as he jogged along, only his gear rustling and shuffling. He mused that he'd never seen the desert this silent. Not even a lizard stirred in the dirt. It would make hunting difficult in the coming weeks, but it was a good sign.

As he neared the back of their complex, the small boy kept his eyes peeled for signs of trouble. His guard was lax. The whole place looked downright deserted, no signs of either animal or machine. None of their traps had been tripped and there were no tell-tale signs of recent activity anywhere. He eased off with the sneaking and just began to walk, never seeing the subtle changes wrought to the landscape. Not until his foot hit the re-aligned trip wire.

In an instant, the taut wire sent him face first into the earth, cracking the lenses in his goggles and leaving a bloody line down his face from a rock. It didn't help that the sudden collision with the ground triggered a completely new hidden mechanism buried discreetly under the dirt. It was a beartrap…archaic, but brutally efficient. When Ratchet put his hands out to cushion his fall, the left one landed right on the trigger and the beastly thing snapped closed over his forearm. His surprised wail of agony rent the air as the teeth of it crunched through skin, muscle and bone.

His gun went skittering off across the terrain, leaving him helpless and chained to the ground. It seemed that perhaps there had been Terminator activity of a more delicate sort than they were used to. SOMETHING had managed to sabotage their booby-traps. Ratchet groaned, watching his red blood seep into the thirsty soil.

Distantly, he thought he heard a drone whirring in the air. An Aerostat was coming, lured by the sound of his scream. It was coming to check the traps.

Other machines would follow.

~***~

The tiny hairs on the back of Tucker's nape stood on end.

She had been sitting at a small, purloined desk working on putting her gun back together after a cleaning when the scream had cut across her consciousness. The acoustics of the concrete bunker were perfect for carrying the sound of agony. From the timbre of it, she knew immediately who it was and stood on wobbly legs, completely ignoring the rounded bulge at her belly that did its damndest to hinder her movement. Her knuckles were white from the grip she had on her gun as she ran out of the room and down the hallway.

Tucker yelled as she went, "Ross! Doctor Ross! Pietr's in trouble!"

The scruffy doctor was out of his room and holding a weapon before she had even finished her sentence, his eyes wild and dark, "I heard him. The whole damn desert probably heard him. It came from near the rear entrance. You – "

"Do NOT tell me to stay here," Tucker threatened, her green eyes flashing.

"Woman! I will tell you to stay wherever you're needed! If there IS a trap and you go charging out there, you could kill your kid!" Ross was a snarling inferno of anxiety over their youngest teammate and he was in no mood to argue with Tucker again.

She cocked her gun and shoved past him, "Fuck you! I'm not leaving Pietr out there! He's still green!"

"Tucker!"

Both of them were running. Tucker was putting out top speeds just to reach the end of the hallway and get to the surface. Russ was hauling ass to grab Tucker and throw her in a closet somewhere until all of this was over. How the hell could a pregnant woman run so damn fast anyway? It seemed like every step he took equaled two or three for her and before he knew it, she was pelting out into the tainted sunshine beyond their hidden back-door. The doctor let out a growl and did his level best to follow, his jaw falling open when he finally emerged in time to freeze right next to Tucker.

The scene was gruesome beyond anything either of them had seen in a long time.

The T-600 had dragged Ratchet up by his right arm, thoroughly mangling the left one when it was yanked forcefully out of the bear-trap that had pinioned him until its arrival. The small Russian fluttered on the edges of consciousness, clearly having taken a beating for struggling. No Harvesters had come yet, but that was likely because it was anticipated that no more than this Terminator unit would be needed. Ratchet was groaning weakly as a cold gun-muzzle nudged his temple. The Terminator had subdued its victim accordingly, preparing to finish the job.

"PIETR!" Tucker yelled out, throwing herself forward. She was drawing attention, trying to distract the T-600 until she could afford to take a shot without hurting the wounded mechanic.

Frozen, Ross could only watch in horror at the sick play unfolding in front of his eyes. He felt his gut go cold as Tucker slammed her small body into the metal side of the hulking beast, sending it a little off balance and giving it incentive to drop Ratchet. Ross's blood froze when the T-600, hands free, hit the woman so hard with the back of its massive hand that it sent her flying like a ragdoll. The doctor could hear something in her crack as she hit a free-standing wall. It was that sound that broke whatever trance he'd been in.

Gritting his teeth, Ross aimed at the now-unnarmed and unoccupied T-600. He showered the monstrosity with bullets, spraying face and abdomen with a mindless will born of desperation. His teeth were gritted. Even when the Terminator unit took a few shuddering steps in his direction, Ross didn't waver. There was too much adrenaline pumping through his veins for him to possibly consider being afraid. Distantly, the doctor became aware of an animal scream ripping through the dusty air and, in some vague corner of his mind; he knew that it was him.

The T-600 got close enough for him to see sparks jumping off of its mangled wiring harness before it finally collapsed. The hellish red light in its eyes faded, but Ross didn't stick around. He gave the monster a kick in the head out of spite before running over to his fallen teammates.

Though mangled and miserable, leaking blood like a faucet, Ratchet had managed to hobble over to where Tucker was laying. Assessing him from a distance, Ross could already see that the Russian was not only suffering from a nearly mutilated arm, but also from a broken leg. He had probably gotten it from the last minute scuffle with the T-600 before they'd found him. If his state hadn't managed to distress the doctor, then the look in his big brown eyes certainly would have. Ross knew that wide-eyed look of concern very well. Something was very, very wrong.

"Pietr, how is she?!"

The boy shook his head, trying desperately to rouse her, "She's breathing, but not responding…she's slumped all weird…like her back…"

"Is broken," Ross finished bluntly, "Damnit! It must have happened when the Terminator threw her. I can't fix this…fuck!"

Ross avoided looking at Ratchet, knowing that horrible look of stripped innocence he'd see if he did. He hated that look because he knew it usually meant there was nothing he could do, but he couldn't block out the tremulous sound of Ratchet's light tenor, "What…what about the baby?"

For a moment, Ross froze.

Doctor mode followed swiftly, "Get her inside, now!"

Tucker was unconscious, so moving her would be easy enough. She wouldn't be awake to feel the rending agony of a broken spine being manipulated and moved. It was a fortunate thing since Ross had to move her alone. Ratchet's arm was too far gone for him to do any lifting. All the small mechanic could do was stumble along, limping as rapidly as possible to keep up and almost falling multiple times as he struggled down the steps. He watched helplessly as Ross disappeared into the nearest open room, knowing good and well that the man would begin the process of ripping the mother of his child open.

Ratchet stopped short in the hallway. He couldn't make his feet take another step knowing what was waiting for him. He was terrified of what he'd see and his arm was still burning with white-hot anguish.

Self-loathing ate at Ratchet as he slumped. If only he'd paid attention…then maybe things wouldn't have gone to hell like this. If he'd kept his eyes open he wouldn't be hiding in the hallway while Ross cut open a dying woman to save a dying baby…HIS baby. He was nauseous from the pain of his arm, dizzy and cold from the blood loss, weak from the shock and filled with a deep shame over what he had caused today. Those wretched feelings clung to him as he slowly slipped into the blank nothingness of unconsciousness. Honestly, he didn't really want to wake up again.

~***~

September 11, 2018

Consciousness trickled back slowly, light filtering back in like pieces of a puzzle dropping through the ether. It was painful.

Things came in fractured flashes of realization.

First, Ratchet knew that he was laying back on something a bit softer than the floor (but not by much). Next was that his entire body ached. It didn't burn anymore, but instead his entire being was infused with a very cold, very stiff sort of atrophied feeling. His damaged arm sort of seemed to tingle now instead of pulse with torment although wiggling his fingers was the oddest sensation he'd ever experienced. The last thing he became aware of was the face of Doctor Ross Cutter looking down at him through a hazy halo of light spreading out from the naked bulb overhead.

Ratchet blinked blearily as the good doctor's voice sifted through his fog, "There is a god. At least I managed to save SOMEONE today." It was not a happy voice.

"R-Ross?" Ratchet choked out, his pupils rapidly fluctuating as they tried to adjust to the light. It made him look drunk.

"Don't move, Pietr. You're probably still dizzy as hell."

"Vhere…vhere am I?" The small Russian asked and tried to reach up to wave the doctor off. That was odd…only one of his arms responded. The other must have been a sling or something then.

"You're in your room. Look, Pietr…"

"Where's Tucker?"

It was the next piece of the puzzle that came back to the ailing mechanic. He was worried when Ross didn't respond to him, only pushing soft brown hair out of his eyes and avoiding the question for a moment. The concern he felt when the Doctor CONTINUED to avoid the question brought the earlier events into startling clarity. Instead of the steady filter he'd been receiving, the memories were now a violent tidal wave, each crashing home with the force of a sledgehammer. Ratchet gasped and tried to sit up, only to be forced back down by the stronger, taller Ross.

"Ross! Vhere's Tucker?!"

Ross winced and then sighed, "Pietr…there wasn't anything I could do for her. That hit mangled her. Even under ideal circumstances with the best doctors in the world she was a goner. I took her out and laid her to rest this morning."

The look of pure, hollow loneliness that consumed the teen's face almost killed Ross. The tone of his voice when the boy spoke again was enough to test Ross's already dubious faith in God, "…ze baby…?"

Ross's lips thinned, "Pietr…"

"Iz my baby alright?!"

"I don't want you to see her, Ratchet."

"Fuck you! If my baby is aliwe, I vant to see!"

"Pietr! Listen to me! I don't think you should!"

The doctor grabbed the small Russian's shoulders and forced him back down onto the pad of worn blankets that he called a bed. He looked at him seriously, almost desperately. He would do anything right now to dissuade Ratchet from seeing the child that Tucker had delivered, but the boy was wild-eyed, trying to struggle in his desperation. Ross inwardly cursed the fucking crazy world they lived in that forced teenagers to endure this kind of sheer misery, studying the child who had fathered a child.

At last he sighed and relented. The dark-haired doctor stood and moved over to a box filled with ripped up sheets, reaching in and pulling out a small lump. He took a moment to study the thing before walking back to the bed and settling it gently against Ratchet's chest, watching as the boy instinctively cradled it with his good arm. A part of the doctor wilted inside when the other arm tried to do the same, fumbling pathetically to do so without the hand it used to be attached to. Luckily, the teenager seemed too awe-stricken by the tiny life in his arms to notice that he was down a hand.

The boy's chocolate brown eyes were massive and doe-like with wonder, "It…it is so small, Doctor…"

"I still don't know if she's strong enough to make it yet, Pietr. I didn't want you to see her and get attached if she's going to die," Ross explained his earlier reluctance.

"She? I hawe…I hawe daughter?" Pietr's English slipped as his breath hitched.

Pietr stared down at the tiny, pale face nestled down in blankets. It seemed so fragile…so small…and so helpless. In all of his young life, the Russian boy had never felt so humbled and so frightened. He was utterly absorbed by the girl he held in his arms, too absorbed to see the look of unmitigated apprehension that was eating its way across Ross's face.

When the doctor spoke, it was tentative, "Pietr, don't name her."

"Vhat?" The teenage Resistance fighter unconsciously tried to hold the infant closer.

"I still don't know if she's going to live out the week or not, Pietr. Until I know…don't name her. If you do, it will be ten times more painful if she dies. So just…don't."

"But…"

"If she lives the rest of the week," Ross said firmly before reaching down and taking the infant back, sitting on the edge of Ratchet's bed.

Ratchet almost seemed ready to argue until he caught sight of the stump where his left hand had once been. It was an ample distraction from his daughter. All he could do was stare in horror until, at last, he lowered the arm back down to the bed. Ratchet didn't ask how or why. He knew all of that. His teeth were clenched hard to fight back the tears that thought he was too old to spill.

Doctor Ross Cutter wished for the tears that he thought proved some shred of childhood innocence had survived.