Title: The Art of Self-Deception
Disclaimer: I don't own anything related to Terminator beyond this fanfic.
Author's Notes: This was originally written for a fanfiction challenge on another site. This is a one-shot revolving around Sarah and John.
Rating: PG
She saw him die tonight.
It wasn't the first time, just another one of her nightmares. She's lost count of how many times it's happened. Her nightmares are never exactly the same. Sometimes he's younger than he should be; a small child, or even just an infant. Sometimes she holds him in her arms. Other times he's just out of reach. But some things never change. It's always the machines. He always dies. She always lives.
And she always ends up here. Sitting next to his bed… watching him.
He looks younger when he's sleeping. Sometimes she forgets he's just a child. But right now, sitting here, it's easy to remember he's a sixteen year old boy. That he should be worrying about grades, learning to drive, and thinking about girls. That she should be nagging him about grades, teaching him to drive, and worrying about girls.
It's rare for her to catch John like this; to find him sleeping peacefully. He's no stranger to nightmares himself. It's rarer still that she allows herself to be so maudlin.
She's long past the point of self-pity. And she refuses to dwell on things that can't be changed. But on nights like these, when her nightmares drive her here, she can't help herself. She prefers to think of this as facing her demons…except nothing ever changes, so maybe it's just masochism.
John's starting to look like him. She's ashamed to admit it, but this is the first time she's noticed.
John gets his eyes from her, without a doubt. But they remind her of Kyle. It's not just the intensity …there's an honesty in his gaze, like he's looking at you and not through you. That's what truly sets Derek and Kyle apart, the eyes.
Then there's his hair. Not just the color but now the length is exactly like Kyle's. Before she can stop herself she's reaching out to touch it. John's a light sleeper by nature, reinforced by nurture. But stroking his hair is something she's done since he was a child. It's familiar and she can usually get away with it.
There are times, though few, when she lets herself imagine what it would have been like if Kyle had lived. What kind of father would he have been? How would he have measured up?
She doesn't have many memories of Kyle. There time together was so short. There is so much about him that she never knew. She does remember how out of place he was here, in this world. How things like money were foreign to him. But he'd been back for less than one day. He would have adapted.
She knows it wouldn't have been easy. But Kyle would have been able to give John so much. In their own crazy way, they would have been a family.
Except she's not the woman Kyle fell in love with so many years ago.
She's not even the same woman that fell in love with him anymore.
The realization hurts her; more than she would have thought possible. Even now, when it feels like the man she loved died a lifetime ago… it feels like a betrayal. Try as she might, it can't be denied.
She's not the damsel in distress anymore.
She's a soldier now. And there's no going back. She's sacrificed too much.
For him.
It's not enough. Her entire life, and it's not enough to make up for the childhood he never had. Or a father he never knew.
Or the burden he's carried all his life.
Everyday it takes a little more out of him. Derek doesn't see it. The machine can't understand it. But this is her son. And even though he won't admit it, it's impossible to ignore.
It's killing him, bit by bit.
She just pretends not to know.
She lied to him on his birthday. Looking back, the conversation doesn't seem real, not in the shadow of everything else that happened.
She knows why she did it. It wasn't the way he refused to stop working. It wasn't even what he said to her. It was the look on his face when he said it, something between acceptance and defeat. It twisted something inside her. So she looked him in the eye and told him that stopping Skynet was their mission, not their life.
He saw it for the lie that it was.
He just pretended he didn't.
This is their life. It is, literally, what he was born for. They run, they hide, and they fight. Hoping someday they'll win this war. That's all they know how to do.
They never talk about what will happen after they win, if they win. It's not just a matter of where they'll go or what they'll do. Neither of them knows what will happen without Skynet, or time travel, or Kyle.
But they both know what might happen, even if they can't bring themselves to say it aloud.
He might not exist, might never be born.
She might not even remember him.
Despite all she's endured, that thought is what breaks her.
Suddenly, her eyes are burning. And something in her chest feels tight. The slightest of sobs wracks her body. She does all she can to contain it. But it's too late. John's already waking up.
He shifts, sees her, and finally props himself up on one arm to face her. Then he's studying her, silently. The moisture in her eyes, not actual tears of course. The chair set within arms reach. The exhaustion written all over her face.
He knows.
He stifles a yawn, "It's still creepy mom."
But he acts like nothing's wrong. They act like nothing's wrong, that there is nothing outside of Sarah Connor's control. Because one of them finds comfort in the illusion and the other can't carry on without it.
"I know." And if her voice is broken, it does not break. "Go back to sleep."
He looks like he's about to argue with her but changes his mind. Instead, he lies down and closes his eyes. He might not say anything. But his compliance speaks volumes. His breathing has barely started to even out before she reaches out to stroke his hair again.
Only to have him grab her hand.
Of course he does. He's sixteen years old now and aged beyond his years. He's too old to let his mother fuss over him. So he takes her hand and pulls it away from his head.
He just doesn't let go.
Neither does she.
They only pretend not to notice.
A/N: I hope you enjoyed it. Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated, especially criticism.