Author's Note: I should clarify that the tie in with the movies will ignore the events of T3. The tie-in will be with T4. Kate will be a significant part of that tie-in, but she won't show up for quite a while, and possibly not until the final chapter or two... I haven't mapped out everything 100% yet, but have a general direction where I want to end up. So don't worry... all of our favorite TSCC characters will still be here, and I may mix in other T4 characters as well, such as Barnes, Blair Williams, Star, etc. Once the movie comes out, I'm sure I'll get plenty of ideas for other tie-in/cameo appearances. Until then, I'll be focusing on the end-of-S2TSCC characters.

Rewriting The History of Things To Come

Chapter 2 – Get Out Of Jail Free

John didn't sleep much that night. Something about laying his head on jagged concrete just didn't bring sleep to the ex-savoir of mankind. There wasn't much light, but John could see random shadows of passers-by cast on the walls from the distant light bulbs and random small campfires that some of the refugees had set up.

He sat next to the door of his cell, hanging on to it with his hands, and resting his head in the gap between two bars. Despite the ever increasing dull pain of the rusting steel bars digging into his forehead, he was actually becoming a bit relaxed in this position. He closed his eyes and thought for a moment that he might dose off for a short while, and maybe he did. It was hard to tell, because seemingly instantly after his heavy eyelids closed, he felt a warm, semi-rough, wet object being dragged across his forehead over and over.

He looked up to see the source of this odd sensation; a German Shepherd Dog, licking his face. Once he figured out what was happening, he almost immediately felt a rush of happiness. Giggling slightly, he reached through the bars and rubbed the dog behind its ears, while enjoying the barrage of dog-kisses he was receiving. This was the best treatment by anyone or anything that he'd received since he arrived in this time, and he was damn well going to enjoy it.

Since he was busy petting the playful dog, and scrunching his eyes closed while its tongue continued to lap at his face, John didn't notice a person walk up next to the dog. John's moment of joy with the dog ended when the person grabbed his hand and yanked it, hard.

John was pulled forward into the cell door, smacking his face on the steel bars.

"What do you think you're doing with my dog?!?" a young woman's voice shouted. "Don't you EVER touch my dog, you Burbank SCUM!!"

John recognized the voice. He also recognized the abuse. It was Allison.

"I was just petting it... I'm sorry!" John asserted. He yelped in pain as Allison twisted his arm, threatening to break it. "Please! Don't break my arm!" he begged. "He... He reminded me of a dog I had when I was younger... Max."

Allison eased the torque on his arm, but still held her grip. Noticing that mentioning his childhood dog seemed to gain a bit of sympathy from the infuriated girl, he continued. "I miss him... please. He was killed by a machine when I was 13." John forced a choked-up sort of, half-cry to mix into his speech, although he didn't have to act very hard. He DID miss his dog, Max; one of many victims to the dark cloud of death that followed him everywhere.

Before he knew it, the grip on his hand was released, and he fell backwards, landing on his rear. A few moments of silence passed while he rubbed his sore arm, and Allison glared at him through the bars. John was the one who broke the silence. "Your dog... he got a name?"

Even though it was dark and he could barely see her, he could tell, almost feel her glare intensify, and her eyes become angered slits.

"HER, name is Ardwinna," Allison growled.

"Oh," John said a bit embarrassed. "Pretty name..."

"Ardwinna was the Celtic Goddess of hunting," Allison said, the contempt now waning from her voice. "My Ardwinna helps me hunt metal," she turned her head to the dog, speaking in a baby-ish voice, "isn't that right, Winnie... good girl..."

Seeing Allison hug her dog and smile almost made him forget the vicious bitch that just beat him up... again.

"What is your problem anyway?" John spat, washing the smile from her face.

"My problem?" She stood up, "my problem is punks like you and the rest of those Burbank assholes. You elitist, sexist bastards."

"I tried to tell you... I'm not from Burbank!" John stood up as well, and walked up to the cell door. He stood confidently and clenched his jaw. They were both fuming with anger toward one another and standing close enough that he could feel her breath on him. Their noses were nearly touching as they engaged in a death-stare contest. It amazed him how such lovely eyes could become so ugly when filled with spite and hatred. John took a deep breath and tried once again to reason with her. "Look, I don't have any idea what this bullshit is about Burbank. I've never been to Burbank, I don't know anyone there, and I sure as hell have never done anything to you, so maybe you should back off and cut me some fucking slack." He kept his stern composure, but tensed his stomach muscled in anticipation of the impact of her fist coming through the bars.

She didn't hit him. She didn't even say another word to him. She just turned and walked away. When she was about five feet away, she snapped her fingers and whistled, signaling the obedient dog to follow her.

John reveled in this small victory; or at least a victory in his eyes, since he didn't get slugged again. A small grin came to his face as he watched her walk away.

"Today's your lucky day, kid," said a soldier who was sliding open the door to John's cell. "Old Man Ellison vouched for you. Says he knows you from somewhere but wouldn't say where."

Ellison. It was a name from John's recent past, but everyone else's ancient history.

"Agent Ellison?" John asked, confused.

The soldier cocked an eyebrow. "Agent!? Ha! Agent of what? The Rocking Chair Task Force?" Composing himself, he continued, "nah... I don't know him as Agent anything. People around here just call him the old man, or Old Man Ellison. He's pretty respected though, so if he says you ain't one of those Burbank punks, then his word's good enough for most of us."

"Most of you?" John worried.

"Yeah... Me, Sully, Wisher, The Reese Boys... most of us."

"So who doesn't trust him... or me?" John asked, already knowing the answer.

"Allie," the soldier responded. "But don't take it too personal. She'd kill her own dad if she found out he was one of Grissam's men over in Burbank." He signaled for John to follow him. "Come on, the old man wants to talk to you."

John was relieve to be vindicated of being a "Burbank punk" whatever that meant. But he still felt a bit hurt that Allison would hold a grudge. Why did he care so much what she thought of him? Was it the fact that she reminded him of Cameron with every word and every movement she made? Of course it was. But he never had to struggle for Cameron's approval. He never had to look into those eyes and see hatred and contempt. He never saw anything in Cameron's eyes, except maybe his own reflection.

Every time he started to draw comparisons between Allison and Cameron, he realized how very little there really was to compare. Cameron had structural chassis members instead of bones, hydraulic pistons and servo motors instead of muscles and tendons, a nuclear power cell instead of a heart, and a chip... a goddamned computer chip instead of a brain or soul. How he ever allowed himself to fall in love with a living image of a human, he'll never understand.

"John. John Connor." James Ellison sat up from his rocking chair and offered his hand to John.

John took his hand and gave it a good, firm shake. "Ellison."

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

"You were expecting me?"

"Sure. I saw you and Ms. Weaver vanish in the time machine right before my eyes. I just didn't know what year you went off to." Ellison sat back down in his chair. Old Man Ellison, that is.

John didn't quite know why they called him an old man; he couldn't have been older than mid fifties... early sixties at the oldest. But then again, in this world, making it to your 30th birthday was cause for celebration, so he supposed the title was appropriate.

"What about that machine... John Henry, that jumped in time just before me? He must have been through here too, right?"

"I haven't seen John Henry since 2009." He looked at John, knowing the news disappointed him. He knew that John wanted to find Cameron's chip and get her back in some way, shape or form. But he was telling the truth. John Henry simply hadn't arrived yet. "Are you sure you jumped to the same year as John Henry?"

John closed his eyes and thought about this, and his answer to himself was, No. He blindly followed Weaver. He didn't even know what year he had ended up in. Again he scolded himself for making such a rash decision, and trusting that T-1000 thing instead of staying back and fighting Skynet with his mother. He should have let Weaver go on her own to find John Henry. God damnit, John. You really fucked up this time.

John looked again to Ellison. "What year is this?"

"2030."

"Oh shit! Didn't The T-800 and Kyle go back to 1984 from 2029?!? Kyle is still here! If Skynet sent back the Terminator and Mom has nobody to protect her or even warn her, she'll be killed!" John was getting hysterical. If this irrational wild goose chase for Cameron's chip resulted in his mother being killed, he would never forgive himself.

"John. Relax," Ellison said, trying to calm John down. "I don't think Skynet would have sent anything back in time to kill Sarah. Why would it? No offense John, but you don't matter here. Haven't you noticed?" Truth was, he didn't even know if time travel had been invented yet.

A feeling of relief washed over John. Of course the Skynet from this alternate future didn't want to kill him or his mother. This Skynet didn't even know who he was. And from what John could tell, there was no one leader of the resistance (if there was even an organized resistance at all) so Skynet may have not seen the benefit of researching and developing time displacement equipment.

"Yeah," John finally said. "You're probably right. This... alternate future is totally messing with my head. Things have changed, a lot haven't they?"

"Maybe to you, John. To me, and everyone else, this is not an 'alternate' future. This isn't even the 'future'. This is reality. This is now." Ellison sounded a bit offended.

John picked up on Ellison's tone and apologized. "I'm sorry. It's just that..." he paused to think for a moment, "It's just that my whole life, people have been telling me about the future. Telling me that I'll be this great leader. Kyle told my mom, mom told me. The Terminator sent to protect me in 1995 told me. Cameron told me, and Derek told me. They all talked about it in the past-tense, like it had already happened... like it was a history lesson. They taught me about the history of things to come. Now, it's like someone rewrote it all, and I just don't know what to do anymore."

To Be Continued...