Author's Note: Attempt two. If people prefer the other one, I'll repost that. If it's not obvious, lol, this story is beginning after the campfire scene at the track in T4. Please let me know what you think, feed back would be awesome.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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The Ghost in the Circuit

By: Lady NeverAfterNon

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Blair woke slowly and struggled to open eyes gummed shut with sleep. It was one of those lovely battles that she had always enjoyed fighting as a kid, but now in the war torn future it was a rare treat indeed to get to enjoy waking up. The Waste was always cold, but she was warm right down to her toes. Not to mention comfortable; she was so insanely comfortable it should be a sin. The heavy arm holding her was draped across her back, pinning the faded blue coat between them. It wasn't a down comforter but damn if she wasn't the most content that she had been in years. She wanted to stretch and curl deeper into the man beneath her, but wasn't sure if she could get away with it.

He was awake; she could tell by his breathing and how his heart thumped a little faster than normal. She grinned at the fact that big, bad Marcus Wright, so lethal the night before, was nervous about holding a woman. It was downright funny, and a little strange. The man was an enigma, that was for sure. They had chemistry: she felt it, he felt it. The sparks practically flew between them like someone had stuck a telephone wire into a pool and the resulting explosion could have downed a city block.

He was also skittish, which frustrated her. Hence the stretching debate.

She had made it as plain as she could that she wanted him. She went as far as to practically strip for him, but he didn't take the bait. He wanted her, sure, her skin had practically burned under the heat of his gaze but he didn't make a move. Do you believe in second chances? Marcus Wright had ghosts nipping at his heels, and only a man tortured by his past would ask a question like that to a stranger.

Fuckit. She decided to stretch anyway. Her muscles needed it, and it would be one last test. She wouldn't continue to throw herself at a man who wasn't interested. She didn't have a lot in this machine infested shithole, but she had her pride.

She stretched and enjoyed the firmness of his body underneath her. Her joints popped and her muscles stretched. Lovely. She finally chanced a look up at his face. He was watching her from hooded blue eyes, and a muscle was working in his strong jaw. His gaze burned her and she wondered if the third time was the charm.

"Good morning," she said finally, and then was immediately embarrassed at how husky and scratchy her morning voice was.

"Good morning."

The reply was curt and her heart dropped into her stomach, unbidden. Well that was that then. An unspoken 'no' was still a 'no'. Blair cleared her throat and surgically and dispassionately extracted herself from his arms. The fire had long since burned out and she kicked sand over the ashes, while digging in her pack for some protein bars.

They were homemade and wrapped in wax paper and had the consistency and taste of dirt, but they worked to shut up her complaining stomach for the time being.

She offered him half. "Hungry?"

"No." He was already scanning their surroundings, searching for threats.

She shoved the remainder of her gooey granola block into her face, and shouldered her pack. Blair chambered a round into her service weapon and holstered it, but made sure it was unclipped and ready for a quick draw. They headed out, Blair leading the way. The wind blew at their backs, pushing them forward and skittering pebbles and coating their legs with grit.

Blair didn't look back at him, but she could hear the steady crunch of his boots just behind her. She wondered what he was thinking. Blair found herself wanting to ask, but couldn't find the guts to bridge the chasm that lurked between them. Marcus was a mystery. His face didn't bear the wear of years and years of war, and he didn't seem to be suffering any of the affects of radiation like some of the survivors who chose to live near cities that had taken the brunt of Skynet's pounding.

His voice jolted her from her speculating. "How long have you been in the Resistance?"

"Since I was old enough," Blair said, "I was one of the lucky ones to be able to join up right away. My dad taught me to fly and I got my pilots' license when I was fourteen. The Resistance was able to use me. After Judgement Day, when the radiation storms died down, I found the nearest Resistance base and joined up."

"Why so quick to risk your neck?" Marcus asked, "Seems to me you'd have a better chance at surviving if you stayed hid."

Blair smiled, a small bitter motion that ghosted across her face that was gone before it got started. "Because the machines killed my dad."

Blair tried to pretend that her voice didn't break, and busied herself with studying her compass. Marcus was quiet, and then she felt his hand briefly squeeze her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

"Did you have family?" Blair asked, "Before the war?"

"I had a brother."

Had being the operative word here. He didn't give anymore than that and Blair didn't press. She knew a painful subject when she saw one and Marcus was showing all of the tells. So something was up with his brother, something that put shadows into his eyes and a pained line in his forehead. She changed the subject.

"Will you be staying on with us, after we see about your friends?" she asked, rather hoping that he would even though he hadn't made any moves. He was growing on her already.

Marcus's brow smoothed and he rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "I don't-"

He stopped. Blair slowed her steps. The remains of a small town diner and part of a gas station loomed up out of the desert in front of them. The little town had probably been a small rest stop on the edge of a main highway, but that wasn't what had halted the conversation. A massive Hunter Killer trawled along the desert floor towards them, just barely skimming the hard packed surface. The machine's engines kicked up fat lazy clouds of dust behind it as it hummed along. Six Moto-Terminator's worked a grid pattern beneath it, their wheels spitting gravel and dirt as they changed directions. Hunting.

Blair swallowed. It was just a standard scout operation combing still standing structures for human survivors. They hadn't been spotted yet; if they had, they would know it.

She grasped Marcus's hand and yanked him towards the diner. They skirted the wall of the gas station, a dilapidated Holiday sign creaking ominously in the wind from the HK. Blair crept through the weeds, pressing into the rough sun bleached metal of the gas station's last remaining wall. The hot metal burned, but that was nothing compared to what the machines would do to them if they were found.

Marcus's fingers wound through hers and he gave her a quick squeeze. Blair looked back at him. He bent, so that his mouth just barely brushed her ear. "I had an aunt who had a restaurant once."

God his voice was sexy. It sent shivers down her spine, and her toes were curling. Freaking dammit, now was not the time for her libido to be noticing her insanely hot traveling companion. Her stupid hormones didn't have an off switch, but she'd be damned if she was going to pay any attention to them. Blair kept her face stoic. She craned her head back and whispered, "So?"

He quirked a smile. "Most southern places that serve food have cellars. Good place to hide in."

She quirked an eyebrow. "That's a weak leap of faith. You sure?"

"Not like we got a better choice."

He was right. Between them their arsenal consisted of a crowbar, her knife, and her service weapon, a Desert Eagle .44 Magnum. Not much for defense when their opponents outnumbered them and were machines.

She nodded. Staying as low as they could, they sneaked like ratty ninjas through the doors of the diner. The doors had once been red, but only a few flakes of pinkened lead paint remained. The doors were barely on their hinges, and Marcus had to hold them open for her when she squeezed in. He had barely set the door back in its place before a Moto-Terminator came whizzing around the outside of the diner, sun glinting off of its black body like the chitin of a large mechanical beetle.

Blair didn't even trust herself to breath. All it would have to do was swivel its red optics a 45 degree angle and they would be made. The Moto-Terminator didn't look, though. It was running a systematic check of the area. Craning around and poking into things before it had completely followed its search parameters was a human thing, not a machine one. And the machines were nothing if not systematic.

The machine moved on and they darted through the diner to the back. Blair winced at the sound of glass crunching under their boots. The Moto-Terminator's sensors were not as acute as the humanoid Terminators'. The situation they were in sucked, but Blair had to be grateful for the fact that it was a few Motos and an HK, and not a legion of model T-700's.

There wasn't a cellar in the diner. They both stared at the empty floor of the back room, devoid of cellar door.

"Fuck," Marcus muttered.

Fuck indeed, Blair agreed. The high pitched whirr announced the Moto-Terminator's return. Blair yanked at his hand, pulling him towards the remnants of the giant industrial oven. The door inched open, flakes of rust fluttering to the floor like delicate orange leaves. Blair heaved herself inside, mashing her body up against the filthy back wall to make room for him. He crawled in after her and pulled the oven door closed. It was the size of a luxury car trunk and smelled like rotting plants. She curled into his side, tucking her nose into his coat.

It was dark in the oven; all she could see was the dim curve of his jaw and the line of his throat. He was filthy, just as grubby as she was after a long trudge in the desert, but she wondered all the same what his skin would taste like if she were to put her mouth on it. They both watched the diner through the oxidized glass.

The Moto-Terminator rolled smoothly in, breaking down the door and rolling right over it. It's red optic sensors swept back and forth, running its standard search for squatters. She was afraid to breath for fear it would hear them. Marcus's heart thumped right underneath her ear, and while her body was wired with sick adrenaline, the sound was oddly comforting.

The Moto-Terminator rolled through the diner once, and then left, rejoining its group.

They stayed in the cramped oven until long after the rumble of the HK's engines had departed. Marcus kicked the door open and the ovens rusted out hinges snapped right off underneath his booted heel. The door dropped to the cracked and dirty linoleum with a loud clang. Blair crawled out after him, brushing dirt from her butt.

"I'll meet you outside," Marcus said heading towards a back room, "I gotta take a piss."

"Sure." Blair cupped her cold hands around her mouth and went outside.

The sun was getting low, and the desert got freaking cold at night. They were going to have to hoof it if they were going to make it back to base before dark. She stuck her hands in her pockets and puckered her lips, making her breath plume out in cottony white clouds. Fuck it was cold.

A tell tale whirr froze her breath in her lungs. Blair turned, slowly. A single Moto-Terminator had been left behind as a sentry and it was rolling around the edge of the diner right towards her. Its glowing red optic sensors landed on her heat signature in the cold almost immediately. Blair's hands were cold but it didn't impede her draw. Her gun cleared its holster and she fired, .44 Magnum rounds sparking off of the plate that protected the Moto's central processor. It didn't sit still and let her hit it. The Moto-Terminator roared at her, wheels spitting gravel.

M1919 Browning machine guns, one mounted on either side of the machine, opened fire. Bullets spattered the ground in two lines straight at her, dirt arching up in rapid columns. There was nowhere to run. Blair emptied the rest of her clip into the Moto, bullets pinging off the surface of the Terminator.

The gun clicked. Empty. Blair squeezed her eyes shut. She hadn't expected to go out like this, she always imagined she would go out in a fire ball with her plane. Not...gunned down like a dog. Fuck. At least with all the noise she made Marcus had enough warning to make a clean getaway. At least something good came out of this fuckstorm.

Marcus yelled. Her eyes snapped open in time to see him smash into the Moto-Terminator as it rolled passed, and the speed of his momentum sent man and machine crashing into the gas station's last standing wall. The Moto's machine guns fired wildly as it tried to throw Marcus off. Blair flung herself out of the way of the hail of bullets and, casting one frantic glance back at Marcus who sat astride the thrashing Terminator with a grim determined expression, and sprinted into the diner to look for something, anything with witch to bludgeon that hell on wheels to death.

She sprang over the remains of the door and looked around wildly, thick brown curls falling into her eyes. A fire extinguisher and an ax were mounted on a wall, covered by a cracked and dirty pane of glass. She padded her elbow with her coat and knocked out the glass. She wrenched the ax from the wall and raced back outside.

Marcus still held the Moto-Terminator pinned, hands white with strain. Damn, he was either insanely strong or insanely heavy to be able to keep that thing downed.

"Watch your hands!" Blair snarled.

Marcus's gaze flicked up at her and he looked a little disconcerted at the sight of the rusty ax blade and her grim steely eyed expression.

"Don't worry, I have excellent aim," she muttered, and chuckled at the look on his face.

Blair swung and the ax crashed through the black plate protecting the machine's central processor. The Moto-Terminator sparked angrily and gave Marcus one last good jostle, but he held on grimly and the red back light in the machine's optics finally died. Blair left the ax head buried in the machine and dusted off her hands.

"Well, that's that. Come on." She held out a hand for him, and he grasped it.

Blair grunted. The bastard was heavy, and she suspected that he was only letting her pull a portion of his weight. "What have you been eating, rocks?"

Her stomach punctuated the silence with a loud grumbling snarl. It had been a long time since her protein bars, and she was hungry enough to ask him to share his boulders or whatever it was that made his large ass heavier than her Warthog. A wicked grin pulled across his face as she covered her complaining guts with her hands, embarrassed. It struck her then just how damn good looking he was when he smiled. Dear god, she thought, I must not be the only one. With a smile like that, he probably has to beat the ladies off with a goddamn stick.

He laughed at her. "Why, you lookin' to get into my stash?"

Blair tugged at his hand. "Whatever. Base is just beyond that tree line, c'mon."

The walk through the trees was uneventful, and she almost cried in relief when she spied the barbed wire fence. A bed and food and did she mention lovely yummy food? Only a short walk away. Blair decided that she was going to bully him into eating with her before she took him to see Connor. She wanted to spend as much time with him as she could, before life's path took them in different directions.

"Blair."

His word of warning stopped her short, and she turned to see him eyeing a triangular beat up sign marked with a skull and cross bones.

"Don't worry, this is us. If we head due west at this point of entry, we're good. I'll go first," she chuckled and clapped his shoulder.

She hoofed it through no man's land, able to think of virtually nothing at this point but putting her face into something hot and filling and motorboating the shit out of it. Those protein bars were eons away now. Home was only a hole in the ground but ooooh she could not wait to be there.

"Let's go Marcus," she called, "I'm starving."

There was a crunch and a dull clank of one of the mines engaging. Blair wielded around to find a mine attached to his fucking leg. His wide blue gaze met hers and they shared a look of sinking horror before the mine went off, blowing Marcus onto his back. Blair sprinted to him, skidding to a halt in the dirt at his side and dropping to her knees.

"Marcus," she shouted, shaking him, panic getting the best of her, "MARCUS!"

He coughed, a horrible wet noise and blood bubbled up to coat his mouth. He'd busted some capillaries in his eyes, and those gorgeous baby blues weren't focusing on her but looking straight through her as though he were a thousand miles away. Which he was, he'd stepped on a fucking mine for chrissake. She was going to kill Barnes for putting the wrong mines in the safe zone. His hand curled around hers and he squeezed, hard. She squeezed back.

Blair turned and screamed for all she was worth. "Help! Someone get your fucking asses up here!"

Morrison was on duty, and the man's mousy gray head popped out of the Resistance's entrance. "Get the fuck over here," Blair screamed at him, "Or I swear to god I will shoot you."

She neglected to tell him that her gun was empty and that she was bluffing. Nonetheless he trotted over to her, followed quickly by Barnes. Both men grabbed Marcus by his shoulders and Blair grabbed his boots. All three of them grunted and heaved him into the air. He was so heavy it was almost insane.

"It'll be okay," she murmured at him when those unseeing blue eyes fell on her, "It'll all be okay."

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To be continued...