Title- Becoming John Connor
Chapter- 25/?
Author- Dekardkain
Date- 08/13/10
Rating- T
Category - Action/Character study JC/C
Archiving- Would be an honor, just ask.
Warnings- Violence/language
Disclaimers- I don't own this, no money, yadda yadda.
Summary: Facing one's fate is the measure of a man. Changing one's fate is the measure of a hero.

Chapter 25 - 'Intervention'

Tashir, Armenia
10 Miles South of the Armenia/Georgia Border
March 11th, 2011
2113 hrs

A storm is coming.

It was probably an odd thing to notice, as it were, dangling upside down in the driver's seat of a totally wrecked German sedan, the only sounds reaching John through the smashed windows the steadily increasing wind and the drip, drip, drip, of the car's lifeblood seeping out onto some random highway in the North of Armenia. In his defense, the dull gray of the cloud-filled sky was the first thing he'd been able to make out when coming to, and it seemed fitting that on top of everything else this day had thrown at him, it would start raining now.

Currently supporting the dead weight of a 180 pound man, the lap belt was pulled too tight for John to release the catch, his steadily stiffening shoulder giving him no end to grief as he tried to reach up, or what would normally have been 'up', to disconnect the strap from the door jam. Finally locating the little red button of freedom was a short-lived victory, as all it accomplished was dropping him three feet onto his skull, the lights flashing behind his eyes while the world resumed it's odd tilting motions.

He tried to activate his radio, but the ear piece was long gone in the crash, most likely smashed beyond repair anyways. Letting slip a long groan rooted more in frustration than pain, which the adrenaline was still doing a passable job of making sure he wasn't feeling, John shoved himself through the mounds of crystallized safety glass littering the roof of the vehicle, wrenching first one shoulder, then the other out through the passenger side window, the driver's side crumpled so badly he never could have maneuvered his bulk through it.

Hissing as his lower stomach dragged across a jagged outcropping of rent steel, fresh blood pooling from the new wound, he shoved himself the last few feet and out onto the glass-covered highway, rolling onto his back and drawing deep breaths of the invigorating night air. "Urgh...great idea, John."

"Tried to walk away, but nooooooo." Pausing only to spit out a bit of accumulated blood, John chuckled, grimaced. "Dammit, I liked that car!"

Half shoving/half rolling into a sitting position, John ran a critical eye over the wrecked Mercedes, once confident it wasn't going to explode in the next few seconds, he leaned back against the cool metal with a sigh, only now allowing himself to do an inventory of his physical condition. Warm blood was steadily running down the left side of his face from a gash near his hairline, which made sense, the last thing he remembered was his skull bouncing off the steering wheel as the gray of the sky and the brown of the earth played spin-cycle around him.

The knee he'd originally injured falling off the side of a building during the Kruger Industrial fight was swelling quickly, stiffening up with every move he made, making the idea of a ten mile hike to the border that much less appealing. Not that John had any room to complain, it had after all been his plan. In his defense, it had worked... mostly.

Smashing a gloved fist into the already cracked passenger side mirror, John dug around until he found a large enough piece of the reflective material, snatching it up and dusting it off on his pant leg before examining his face. Not much worse than usual, though there was significant swelling down the left side where his head had bounced off the car.

After frisbeeing the chunk of glass across the surface of the highway, John decided it was time to see just how screwed up his knee was, abandoning the relative comfort of the ground and shoving off the car and onto unsteady legs. A few stumbling steps found him leaning against a rear wheel well for support, trying to pry open the crumpled rear door to get at the bag of weapons in the back seat.

His Colt was long gone in the crash and he had ten miles of hostile country to cover before crossing the Georgian border to meet up with Weaver's people, and with any luck, his own. After all, this harebrained stunt was nothing more than a desperate bid to buy them the room to make the crossing anyways, the idea being it would be easier for a single person to slip through heightened security after the first group crashed the gate than an entire team.

Of course in his original version of the plan he'd still been in possession of a German luxury car capable of speeds in excess of 150 miles an hour. So, yeah ... improvisation would be necessary.

His patience giving way before the door, John smashed a steel-toed boot through the still remarkably intact window, reaching in to grab Cole's Army duffel.

John's hand froze six inches shy of it's destination though, the sound of crunching glass behind him followed by the unmistakable and never less welcome sound of a hammer cocking back, "Back out slowly, Mr. Baum."

Letting slip a long sigh through his nose, Connor rested his forehead against the sidewall of the tire with a frown, "Thought I killed you in the parking garage."

"I can understand why you would think this." Using the hand not holding his PM on the young man's back, Dimitri lifted his sweater to reveal his tactical vest, a tight grouping of four rounds clearly visible over his heart. "You have an impressive aim for one so young."

"Yeah, well...," Raising his hands slowly and backing up from the Mercedes, John turned around to regard the man sent to hunt him down. "I was highly motivated."

Dimitri smirked, "I should be displeased with you, you know. You killed the son of my only surviving friend, not to mention quite a few of my more trusted men."

"I know." Connor reached for the most wistful look he could summon giving the circumstances, "Good times."

"But to be honest," The assassin ran a hand through his blood-caked hair, smiling down at the smaller man, "This has been the most fun I've had in twenty years. They just don't make Americans like you anymore, Mr. Baum. They all want to understand and empathize, to sit down with their enemies over a cold brewski. But you my young friend, you are like us. Not afraid to get your hands dirty. You understand that the outcome is more pressing than the method."

"If I thought like that," John glared at the man, "Arte Sarkissian would be burning beside her brother."

Dimitri just held up a single finger, shaking his head with a forced smile, "Mr. Baum, I should tell you, so that you don't waste your time: you can not make me angry."

It was John's turn to smirk, "Yeah, keep tellin' yourself that."

"Well, this was fun." Shaking his head, Dimitri shrugged out of his long coat, letting it fall to the ground at his feet along with his sidearm, leaving John to gawk incredulously. "But we should get down to business."

"You..." Glaring back and forth between the assassin and his discarded pistol, John screwed his face into a pointed frown. "You held me hostage with an empty gun?"

Dimitri chuckled, "You didn't ask."

Unzipping his own jacket and tossing it to the ground, John twisted his neck to the side sharply, an audible 'pop' echoing through the night air as he squared off against the larger man. "And I had such a good feeling about today..."

*15 Hours Earlier*
Yerevan Armenia
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton
March 11th, 2011
0642 hrs

There she was, sitting on a tropical beach, sipping a fruity drink served up in the traditional coconut cup, tiny little umbrella fluttering in the breeze while a veritable stable of muscly cabana boys attended her every need, when Rachel's cell phone dragged her out of dream land and straight back to the Armenian winter. Tossing the rumpled covers off her head, Lorne shoved her bangs out of her eyes and tried to lean over the edge to retrieve the pants she'd been wearing the day before, which just so happened to have one glowing pocket while her second least favorite form of machine screamed at her in it's horrible digital soprano.

"I'm coming!" Having misjudged the height of her hotel bed, Rachel made contact with the floor a little harder than she'd intended. Army-crawling the last few feet she snatched her pants up with a sigh, yanking her cell phone out and flipping it open in the same motion, "This had better be good. I'm talking, 'we've just nuked Skynet and we're all having a barbecue' good. I was this fucking close to finding out what Julio was packing under that Speedo when you..."

Two minutes later found the Corporal standing in front of Connor's bedroom door praying to every God she could think of the man was in a halfway decent mood. The amount of time it seemed to be taking to answer her knock didn't exactly bode well... if she'd woken him up, with this news, it wouldn't be pretty.

Rachel practically deflated with relief when Cameron answered the door, hastily tying off a mid-thigh length blue silk robe matching her nightgown. Lorne was pleased she'd taken her advice, and a little thrown off by how much older her friend looked in lingerie than her day-to-day clothing. Tucking a bit of errant hair back behind her ear, Cameron gave her that patented half-smile and nodded, "Did you need something?"

"Yeah." Frowning, Rachel pulled her right hand out from behind her back and offered the cyborg her cellphone. "Apparently Connor turned his off last night, Weaver's been trying to get a hold of him for the last hour."

Accepting the phone with a small shake of her head, Cameron stepped back into the room, motioning for her friend to follow. "Did she tell you what this is about?"

"Not so much," Lorne sighed, "But she might be a little... pissed off."

Pausing in front of the foot of the bed, Cameron pivoted on a dime, more than a little intimidating despite being two inches shorter than her friend without boots on, "What did you do?"

Rachel was just about to try out one of the excuses for her morning attitude she'd concocted on the way here when movement on the other side of the bed caught her attention and refused to let it go. Every other second John's head would pop up over the edge before dropping back down, causing the young woman's own head to tilt in an odd imitation of her best friend. "What the..."

Wandering around the edge of the bed with a quirked eyebrow, Lorne's shoulders sagged when her boss fell into full view. "Well, shit."

John smirked up from his position on the floor, never pausing in his morning sit-ups, "Problem, Lorne?"

"No sir." Rachel shook her head, "It's just that the reality is much less interesting than all the possibilities I had in my head before rounding the bed."

"Sorry to disappoint, Corporal." Connor's laugh had both women eying each other in surprise, "Phone."

Snatching the cell out of Cameron's extended hand with a shake of his head, John tucked it beside his head and resumed his sit-ups, "Connor."

Backing up slowly with the most suspicious look Cameron had ever seen on the woman, Rachel turned back to her friend, "What's up with him?"

Cameron frowned, obviously sharing her friend's confusion. "He's been like that since he woke up. He said he 'just had a good feeling about today'.

"O'Brien said he was singing the other day." Rachel went a little goggle-eyed, "If he'd... snapped, we'd know, right?"

The cyborg nodded, "I assume there would be a difference. Increasingly strange behavior, detachment from reality, deviation from established personality traits."

"Wow. That sucks." Both women found their attention drawn back to John's phone conversation, "Thanks for the heads up, give me a call when you know more."

Snapping the phone shut and tossing it onto the bed, John rolled to his feet with a sigh, picking up the t-shirt he'd been wearing the day before off the dresser and using it to wipe the sweat off the back of his neck. "Sarkissian's been lighting up his contacts in local law enforcement all morning, Weaver's not sure what it means yet but she's asking us to stay put while she figures it out."

"Briefing in thirty kids, I'm grabbing a shower." Leaning in to drop a kiss on his wife's cheek, John headed off in the direction of the bathroom. Just as he was about to cross onto the tile he seemed to remember something, glancing back over his shoulder with a smirk, "And... Lorne?"

Rachel frowned pointedly, squaring her shoulders. "Yessir?"

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't use the 'c' word on my allies," Shaking his head, John kicked the door shut behind him, hollering, "Just a thought!"

Lorne gawked at the door for a good thirty seconds, Cameron had pulled on her jeans and was buttoning her shirt by the time the soldier snapped out of it. "Why... why is my ass still intact?"

Cameron shrugged, trying to smooth down the front of her shirt with a frown - John's packing skills left a lot to be desired and many of her garments had become wrinkled, including her favorite purple button-up. Tucking her M9 into the back of her pants with a huff at her husband's inattention to detail, she turned back to her friend, "He appears to be in a better mood this morning."

"Well, obviously." Rachel snorted, scratching the back of her neck with a smile, "You still look all mopey though. You're not still on that 'John doesn't love me' kick, are you? Cause he seems fine."

"I think he still cares for me." Cameron paused, shaking her head, "I know he still cares for me. He fell asleep eighty seconds after cuddling me. It's just..."

"Cameron, if what I saw was any indication, the guy is ready to run a marathon." Rachel snorted, "Gotta level with you, not seeing the problem here."

"His body appeared to enjoy the 'hummer' as you described it, but afterwords he seemed distant again...he didn't even touch me." Cameron frowned, hugging herself like she was cold while glancing towards the bathroom door.

Lorne considered her words for a moment before responding, "Maybe he was just surprised. You said you've never done it before, right?"

Cameron eyed her accusingly, "It was my understanding that most males are delighted by the action. You told me so."

The Corporal looked torn between compassion, defensiveness, and the obvious humor of the whole situation from her perspective. "Cameron, he seemed plenty delighted to me just now."

"I don't understand." Pausing, Cameron's face screwed up in obvious confusion, "He enjoyed the contact with me, but he didn't cuddle me until I asked him to."

Rachel couldn't help but laugh at that, earning a glare from her friend. "So... he's a guy. I think we knew that already."

The cyborg shook her head vigorously, insisting, "But my John isn't like that, he always likes to be close to me."

"He's an incredibly tactile creature, even for a human." There was an unmistakable fondness in her voice, replaced by doubt when she turned back to Rachel. "Maybe I did it wrong? It certainly didn't taste very pleasant."

"No, that part is pretty normal." Lorne shrugged, "Probably shoulda warned you about that, my bad. There really isn't a way to do it wrong honey, did you remember what I said about too much teeth?"

"Yes," Cameron assured her, "He didn't cry out in pain so I'm assuming I didn't injure him. Perhaps something else is bothering him. All my data indicates he still enjoys sexual interactions with me."

Rachel was starting to feel like they were talking in circles, "Cameron, you know John better than anyone. What do you think is bothering him?"

She only had to consider the question for a second before responding, "I think the situation with his mother is bothering him. He's concerned about her, he's worried about losing her. I heard him talking in his sleep, he believes she hates him."

The Corporal nodded, "John... the General, didn't talk about her much. If he's worried about her, then it's nothing you've done Cameron. One thing that will never change about Connor, he blames himself for everything."

"Perhaps he's worried about not having her around to be a mother to be him." Cameron postulated, "It's my understanding that adolescent males still rely heavily on their mothers."

"Ummm," Rachel chuckled softly while holding up Cameron's left hand and motioning to the wedding band, "That usually stops about the time this happens."

Cameron smiled, head tilting to the side as she considered her best friend's advice. Before she had a chance to respond though, John made his way in from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist while he used another to dry his short-cropped hair. "Um, Lorne?"

Rachel was back on her feet in a second, shoulders squaring unconsciously, "Yessir?"

"I vaguely remember telling you to pass the word about a briefing." John rolled his eyes, turning his attention towards his bag beside the bed in search of clean clothes, "And I'm about to put on pants. So, unless you want this to get weird..."

"Understood sir." Smirking at her friend, Lorne slapped Cameron on the back and bounded out of her CO's room before she caught sight of anything awkward, slamming the door hard enough to make John wince.

"Gear up babe." Letting the towel drop and tugging on a fresh pair of boxers, John motioned to the bag of weapons Cole had left in his room the day before. "One of Weaver's subsidiaries has an airfield in Southern Georgia."

Cameron frowned slightly, having thought she'd made her position on 'babe' clear last night. Deciding to let it slide this time she set about emptying the Army duffel onto the bedspread, checking and loading their small arsenal. "Would it not make more sense to head south? The Turkish border isn't far."

"The Turkish/Armenian border is still patrolled by the Russians." John shook his head, "Not stirring up that hornet's nest. Wouldn't you much rather take on the Armenian Border Guard if we're forced to fight?"

The cyborg's head tilted a fraction to the side, a small smile gracing her face. She liked it when John thought of eventualities she hadn't, it proved just how far he'd come in the past few years. "Agreed."

Pulling a black t-shirt down over his head, John picked up one of the tactical vests from the bed and stepped up in front of a clearly confused Cameron. "I had Cole pick up one for you too."

"A vest is unnecessary." Cameron frowned, eying the desert-pattern flack jacket. "And it doesn't match my jeans."

"Neither do bullet holes. If I have to wear one, so do you." Shaking his head in amusement, John slapped the Velcro tabs into place for her before donning his own, "Besides, I don't have the good pliers with me."

Yerevan Armenia
Zvartnots International Airport Hilton
March 11th, 2011
0720 hrs

"Quit it!"

"Wasn't my fault! Lorne pushed me!"

"Did not!"

"Hey Huey, is that your rifle I'm feeling or are you just happy to see me?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't ya?"

"Enough!" John would have glowered back over his shoulder at the assembled troops... if there had been enough room for him to accomplish that. Cameron had assured him the elevator would support their combined weight, but seven people in full combat gear, weapons loaded and at the ready, each with a bag of belongings over their shoulder, meant they barely had enough room to breathe, let alone move. "We've got ten more floors, you'll live!"

Connor grumbled, shifting uncomfortably as much as the limited space allowed. It may be cold as hell outside, but stuck in an elevator with six other human beings and a cyborg was bad enough without adding a tank-top, undershirt, tactical vest, shemagh, and leather jacket. Adjusting the strap on his G36A2 so it was digging into his shoulder instead of his neck, John was staring at the slowly descending numbers when suddenly the car came to an unexpected halt at the eleventh floor, the only sound accompanying the traditional 'ding' the eerie cricket imitation of half a dozen safeties slipping into 'rock and roll'.

Unable to level their rifles in such closed quarters, the doors opened on a group of heavily armed and rather sheepish looking Resistance fighters, John smiling sickly at the elderly couple gaping at them from the hallway. After an awkward pause, he raised a gloved hand from it's resting place on the stock of his G36 and waved slightly. "Ummm... going down?"

The man seemed to consider their request for a second, the incongruity of the scene apparently requiring a few moments to properly grasp, before shaking his head slowly, "I think we'll wait for the next one."

John covered a smirk, not really knowing what to do, he repeated his earlier wave. "Have a good one."

"Da..." The doors closed on the man's still shocked face, everyone in the elevator heaving a simultaneous breath of relief.

Cole shook her head, knocking her shoulder into Connor's, "Real smooth, Johnny."

The younger man glowered at her reflection in the mirrored surface of the wall, "I thought this was a private elevator?"

"That one opened up onto the lobby," Darla reminded him with a smirk, "You wanted to go straight to the parking garage to avoid walking through the lobby looking like this, remember?"

Even Lorne snorted at that point, "Yeah, 'less conspicuous'. I definitely remember him saying that."

"I didn't exactly..." John sighed, drumming his fingertips idly over the butt of his rifle, "Just... shut up."

"You did say that John." Cameron reminded him gently, a smile tugging at the very corner of her lips, leaning in a few inches so only he could hear, "Quit being a freak."

He couldn't help but chuckle, dropping a kiss on her cheek. "They've got pretty much every cop in the city on their payroll and Weaver says they're watching the airport. I'm guessing they'll focus on the security gates and not the hotel, but what I guess and what happens don't always mesh quite as closely as I'd like."

Darla sighed, fingers drumming along the side of her SCAR-H in a fashion nearly identical to John. "Since when did criminals start going to the cops? I mean, killing is one thing, but to go and narc on us? That's low even for me."

"It's nice to know you have some standards, Cole." Lorne's dig brought a much-needed respite to a tense situation, even a few laughs escaping as they passed the first floor and into the garage levels.

Checking over his gear one last time, John pulled his bag a little higher on his shoulder, preparing to step out as soon as the doors parted. Fortunately for him, Cameron's hand on his side stalled his momentum just enough for him to look up before taking that step.

No one moved. No one breathed. No one wanted the fifty or so police officers congregated around their cars in the parking garage to notice them. Just as John was sure his luck had never been worse, a SWAT-style truck came to a screeching halt not two dozen yards from the elevator, disgorging eight men in tactical gear with sub machine-guns at the ready. The whole lot appeared to have just arrived, forming up to enter the airport and lock it down. It had never occurred to him the garage was likely the only place large enough for them to muster.

Shit.

At least John knew that Weaver's intelligence was good. Dooley let out a small cough behind him, causing half of the elevator to cringe, "Um... boss? Plan?"

John froze just as surely as he had when the doors opened, staring out at more than fifty armed men. Sure, they were crooked. Sure, they were working for his enemy. But they were cops, human beings, and John's beef had never been with them. He'd been trying to save lives. He'd been trying to walk away...

Unfortunately, before his brain had hard-booted, one of the officers turned to light a cigarette, catching sight of the elevator full of armed and armored civilians. He hesitated in shock for just a moment before opening his mouth to scream for reinforcements.

Cole didn't hesitate.

Before John could even process what was going on, she'd fired a quick burst into the officer's chest, tossing him backwards onto the concrete still having never uttered a sound. Shifting the barrel of her rifle a few inches to the side, Darla lobbed an M203 into the side of the nearest police cruiser, the shockwave from the explosion in the confined garage knocking many of the surrounding police off their feet, shrapnel dropping a few permanently. "Kill 'em all!"

A hissing sound behind John's head was followed by two smoke grenades rolling out between his feet, quickly engulfing the area in a suffocating fog. Darla had already sprinted off to the left, darting between cars with practiced efficiency, pausing every few moments to drop any targets unfortunate enough to enter her kill zone.

Cameron paused only long enough to toss a nod to Lorne, "Get John to the vehicles!"

John was about to protest, but she'd already stepped out, flanking right and dragging as much fire as possible away from the confines of the narrow elevator and disappearing into the swirling smoke. A shove from behind knocked him through the doors, Rachel pushing his head down and practically dragging him towards where they'd parked a few rows down, hollering back over her shoulder at Carmack. "You heard the lady!"

"On it!" Dooley shrugged nonchalantly, he and Private O'Brien taking up position directly behind John, nearly shoulder to shoulder as they backed up in tandem, firing off bursts at any muzzle flash they caught sight of through the smoke and hoping it wasn't Cameron or Cole. Huey jogged a few steps in front of them all, ducking low whenever a vehicle offered cover and sprinting between the gaps, trying to hold fire and avoid drawing attention the the retreating General.

Another explosion rocked the garage, this one massive enough to send them all sprawling to the floor, the fireball spreading out across the ceiling before contracting back into gouts of thick black smoke.

"Holy shit!" Shaking some broken safety glass from his hair, John was the first back on his feet, dropping two of the armored police stumbling towards him on instinct. Gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the senseless slaughter, it was his turn to pull Lorne up by the tac vest. "What the hell was that?"

Dooley groaned, yanking himself back to his feet and reloading his rifle. "Man... they hit the fucking van!"

Well, John was forced to concede the point, it had been a pretty big explosion and that van had been more than a little packed with munitions. "God-dammit!"

"Alright!" Mind finally kicking into the proper gear, Connor rose up over the car he'd been crouched behind just long enough to knock off the son of a bitch who had just emptied half a magazine into the wall above his head. "New plan! Dooley, you're with me. The rest of you make your way over to that pillar with the red paint at the top and hold position, be ready for pickup!"

Lorne looked like she was about to argue when John snapped, "Now soldier!"

No one hesitated after that, Carmack taking up position beside John and helping him cover the relocating squad with suppressive fire. Dropping back into cover to reload, Connor thumbed the receiver at his ear, "Cameron, copy!"

A few seconds passed, a shotgun clap from across the room telling him exactly what had his wife's undivided attention before her voice echoed in his ear. "Yes, John?"

"They slagged the van and I can't fit seven people in the Mercedes." Slapping home a fresh magazine and chambering the first round, he slipped back into position beside Carmack, eyes moving in perfect parallel to his G36A2's barrel. "Think you can commandeer that SWAT van?"

Easily peering through the haze with her thermal sensors, Cameron nodded before slamming another police officer head-first into the nearest car. She was well aware of John's feelings on excessive collateral damage, and besides, she was wearing her vest. "No problem."

"Great, get on it." Most of the assembled police who were still able to seemed to be fleeing by this point, the Resistance fighters more than happy to let them go. Unfortunately, their reprieve was short-lived.

A horrific screech off to the right was the only warning Connor had before the massive black Hummer emerged from the smoke and slammed directly into the car he and Dooley had been using for cover. Throwing an arm around the soldier, John barely managed to shove them both out of the way as the much heavier vehicle crushed them into the wall. Despite racking the back of his skull on the concrete, John was back on his feet just as the driver's side door opened, the most massive son of a bitch he'd ever seen stumbling out from behind the wheel.

John didn't hesitate this time, ignoring the rifle he'd dropped during the crash, he pulled the Colt from his thigh holster and put four rounds right over the man's heart before he had a chance to level his Uzi, sending him reeling back into the side of the truck, sliding down to the ground and going still. Helping Pvt. Carmack back to his feet, John shook his head, "Guess that's what happens when you bring a car to a gun fight. Cover their six until Cameron pulls the truck around, then get the hell out of here!"

Still shaking his head from the impact, Dooley frowned pointedly, "And what are you gonna be doing?"

"This is a getaway, remember?" Shoving the soldier's FAL back into his hands, John's smirk told him all he needed to know, "I'm not leaving my car."

The soldier could only sigh as his boss darted off between the rows, ducking low and disappearing into the smoke. "Man... his wife is gonna kill me."

Lorne and company hadn't seen signs of hostiles since the late arrivals had come barreling into the garage in their unmarked vehicles, Huey and O'Brien crouched nearby covering the other approaches. Headlights suddenly illuminated the thinning smoke in front of her, causing Rachel to level her rifle in preparation for another wave of attackers.

Luckily, Cameron could see her friend's reaction through the smoke and thought it best to radio ahead, "It's me Rachel, let me pull past and you can load in the rear."

Lowering her rifle as the SWAT van cruised by, Rachel fired a relieved smile in O'Brien's direction, "Evac's here kids. Lets move!"

Stepping up to the back and throwing open the doors, Lorne covered their six while O'Brien, Hendrix, and then Dooley clambered up and into the van. Grabbing onto the handle and leveraging herself up onto the rear bumper, she was just about to duck into the door when a gunshot clapped out from behind, the impact of the bullet slamming into the back of her vest tossing her face-first into the rear, knocking her off balance and sending the Corporal tumbling to the concrete.

Trying to force breath into stunned lungs, Rachel rolled onto her back, hands splaying out to the sides and frantically searching for her dropped weapon. It was too late though, she knew it was. The man emerged from the wispy smoke behind them, pistol trained squarely on her forehead, trigger finger already beginning to tense.

Refusing to close her eyes, Rachel just glared defiantly up at the son of a bitch, knowing her face would be the last thing he ever saw when Cameron got a hold of him. But when the shot came, the lights didn't go out.

The bullet went wide right, ricocheting off the back of the truck while the man's gun hand flapped uselessly, the only reason he hadn't collapsed the forearm under his chin, his once white shirt quickly turning to red as his lifeblood poured from the thin line drawn across his throat and soaking his chest.

Cole just calmly wiped the blue-black blade of her KA-BAR off on the man's shoulder before shoving him face-first to the ground, stepping over the still twitching body with the faintest smirk and making her way to passenger side door. "You owe me, Lorne."

Pulling herself back to her feet and collecting her rifle with a groan, Rachel could only shake her head while climbing into back and slamming the door behind her. "Cocky bitch..."

Cameron's head poked through the gap and into the back, "Where is John?"

"Ummm..." Lorne could only shrug helplessly, "He was with Carmack."

Dooley sighed, not at all liking the look the cyborg was shooting him. "Hey! I was just following orders, he told me to cover Lorne and then get in the van."

"So." Cameron glowered, "No one knows where John is?"

Before anyone could answer, the sound of an engine revving up directly beside the truck had Cameron glancing out the window to see a smiling John behind the wheel of his rented Mercedes, activating his radio just as he slammed the vehicle into gear. "I've had about enough of this country. Lets get to the evac site Cameron."

"You can follow me." The wheels spun, smoke billowed, then the treads caught and the car practically lept up the ramp and out of the garage, her husband's voice ringing in her ear, "But you'll have to keep up!"

Tashir, Armenia
10 Miles South of the Armenia/Georgia Border
March 11th, 2011
2100 hrs

John growled, slamming his fist into steering wheel as the vehicle came into view behind him. The same black Hummer, he was sure of it, mainly because of the damage to the front end and the massive streak of red paint left over from when it had tried to crush him into a wall.

Nearly the entire way through the country, flying as fast as the SWAT van's top speed allowed, without a single problem only to be chased down within ten miles of the border! Considering the lack of helicopters and flashing lights, John had a sneaking suspicion this was one of Sarkissian's mercs sent to finish the job.

Thumbing his radio onto the squad frequency, John let out a weary sigh, "We've got company. Someone trailed us all the way from the fucking airport."

"I don't get it." Cole broke across the channel, "Why hasn't he made a move?"

The wheels clicked into place in John's head, painting a picture he didn't want to deal with. "They're working with the cops! Fuck!"

Cameron frowned, "Of course, we knew that John."

"You don't understand Cam," John glared into the rear-view at the truck slowly closing in on them, "This is why they didn't follow us."

In the passenger seat beside the cyborg, Darla groaned, "This is not good, Johnny."

Losing her patience much faster than her best friend, Lorne stuck her head between the women from the back, "Can we skip the shorthand and just explain what in the hell you two are talking about?"

"They knew it would be a run and gun all the way to the border," Cole clarified, rubbing the bridge of her nose wearily, "Why risk it? Have one of Sarkissian's men tail us in an unmarked car, radio ahead when we get near the border."

John broke across the line, "It's a safe bet he's already contacted them, if we try to cross here they'll tear these cars apart before we get within two hundred yards."

"Okay," Rachel frowned, wishing now she hadn't asked, "It's not like they've got a wall around the country though, right? We just off-road a bit, cross the border a few miles down."

"Yeah," John agreed, "But that only works if our tail isn't around to ruin the plan again."

Cameron nodded, already preparing to turn the truck around, "I'll take care of it."

"No you won't." The grim tone of Connor's voice sent a chill racing down the squad's collective spine. "Get my people to the plane Cameron, I'll meet you all there."

Surprisingly enough, it was Cole who broke the silence, "What the hell are you thinking Johnny? We're not just gonna leave you..."

"You're not. It'll be easier for one person to crash the border than seven if my car gets knocked out." Checking his rifle and setting it aside in the passenger seat, John glanced up into the rear-view with a small smile, "This guy is mine."

Understanding that tone all too well, Darla simply nodded and fell back into her seat with a frown, "Good hunting, Johnny."

Cameron on the other hand was anything but resigned, shaking her head furiously, "You can't go back there by yourself. We can..."

"No Cameron." John sighed, willing his wife to understand why he had to do this. "You break it, you buy it, alright? I fucked this up, let me make it right. I'll see you at the plane, I promise."

In the passenger seat, Darla could practically believe her eyes, the cyborg beside her looked like she was about to burst into tears, "John, don't make me do this. I have to protec..."

"Hey." There was a long silence while Connor picked the right words, finally settling for short and sweet. "Do you trust me?"

Cameron didn't even hesitate, "Yes."

John just nodded to himself, tossing a small salute in the direction of the van in front of him, "Then I'll see you in Georgia."

A horrendous screech assaulted them all from behind as he pulled the car's emergency brake, turning into the spin just enough to get the car going the other way before releasing the brake handle and slamming the car back into gear, gunning it in the direction of their pursuer.

Switching off his radio, he was relieved to see the van, now in his rear-view, killing it's headlights and swerving off the highway. "That's my girl. Get 'em home."

The Hummer was closing quickly, though whoever was driving appeared to be hesitating, unsure of just that their quarry had planned. John's grin spread as he shoved the accelerator to the floor, rolling the driver's window down as the needle ramped upwards of ninety miles an hour.

"Lets do this."

Tashir, Armenia
10 Miles South of the Armenia/Georgia Border
March 11th, 2011
2121 hrs

Forward, backward, up and over, the world pivoting on an odd axis, just enough time for John's adrenaline-fueled brain to register that at least the cool breeze accompanying his short flight was soothing as it wafted across the white-hot skin of his increasingly battered upper body, only to be brought kicking and screaming back into the present as his back collided with the crumpled side of Dimitri's Jeep, sections of rent and jagged metal gouging straight through his shirt and into the skin below.

The battle was not going well.

Derek had often accused him of being too cocky, too sure in his own abilities, but John was in many ways his own harshest critic. It hadn't taken long once the soldiers moved in and he had a chance to observe their training on a regular basis that he'd understood how much he had left to learn, and he'd spent the majority of the last year doing exactly that. But he'd been training to fight Skynet, not human beings with decades of experience killing their own kind.

He'd gone into the fight knowing it would be difficult, but figured any disadvantage he had in size would be balanced out by his superior speed, mobility, and the endurance only youth could provide. Turns out, speed doesn't matter a whole lot when a guy can take every fucking punch you throw at him and smile back. The last ten minutes reminded John of nothing more than a recurring nightmare he'd had for a long time after Cyberdine, of trying to fend off a T-800 endoskeleton with nothing but his fists.

Dimitri didn't even deign to block anything that wasn't an attack on a critical area, instead allowing John's punches to land, and using the opportunity to grapple him, throwing him into the nearest solid object. The old soldier's face was a bloody mess, but each landed combo just seemed to piss him off more, and the next time he threw John just a little bit further, and a little bit harder.

At least Connor was getting a good taste of variety, so far he'd been bounced off both wrecked vehicles, a light pole, a concrete highway divider, and the street itself, which was probably the most fun considering the way most of the chunks of safety glass he'd landed on were still embedded in the skin of his back.

Yanking himself up by the Jeep's roll-bar with a long grunt, John shifted his weight onto the side of the vehicle, trying to force air into lungs encased by God knows how many bruised and broken ribs.

"This is good...as you say, ummm.. metaphor!" Dimitri paused in his relentless pursuit long enough to spit out a mouthful of accumulated blood, "Is it not, Mr. Baum? Americans, always holding on to hope until the bitter end. Always so sure of the inevitable triumph of truth, justice, and... forgive me, I always forget the third one. You should be proud, you and your men have done remarkable things, but I'm afraid you're fighting a war you've already lost."

John grunted, hearing the inevitable footfalls closing in on him again, an object in the back of the Jeep catching his eye at exactly the right moment, Derek's sage advice echoing in his ears - A fair fight is one you walk away from. A wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the fingers of his right hand wrapping around cool metal just as the mercenary spun him around by the shoulder.

"Yeah," This time John threw every ounce of his weight into his right arm, the tire iron clutched in his hand clipping the larger man right across the side of the skull and sending him to the asphalt for the first time in the fight. "I get that a lot."

Dimitri was on his back, one hand propping up his upper body while the other tried to staunch the flow of fresh blood oozing from the side of his head. "Der'mo!"

"That didn't sound complimentary." Closing the distance towards his hobbled foe as quickly as he could drag his inured leg behind him, John twirled the tire iron with a wry smile, "Wouldn't be getting angry, would you?"

"Mudak!" Letting slip a low growl, the mercenary rolled over onto his stomach, shoving off the ground and barreling directly towards the younger man with arms outstretched.

Fortunately for John, he'd long since learned his lesson about letting the massive son of a bitch within striking distance. He stood stock still, shoulders squared, until his adversary was less than five feet in front of him, head down with a full head of steam. John bounced onto his good leg at the last possible second, tucking into a tight spin that would have made even Cameron proud, bringing the tire iron down on the back of the man's skull with everything he had.

Dimitri had far too much momentum built up to stop, the added force of John's attack sending him crashing face-down onto the asphalt, skidding to a stop just shy of the upside down Mercedes. Connor himself wasn't immune from the impact, unable to steady his fall with his injured leg, his semi-graceful spin ended with a stumbling face-plant, the tire iron skidding across the highway in the process.

Even before he'd had a second to gather his breath, Dimitri was stirring again, dragging himself up the side of the car in front of him. "You have got to be... come on!"

Forcing himself to his own feet just a little bit faster, it was John's turn to embrace his anger, forcing his right leg to function the few steps he needed to build up steam, slamming full force into the larger man's back and crushing his face into the side of the car. He was still trying to right himself from the impact when an elbow shot out, catching him just in front of the ear and sending John right back to the asphalt with his ears ringing.

Dimitri merely grunted while stumbling back from the car, "I've had enough of you, Mr. Baum."

John had barely made it back to his hands and knees when a steel-toed boot slammed into his unprotected flank, first once, then twice, raining down blow after blow, his ribs screaming out in protest while every ounce of breath in his lungs rushed out through his nose and mouth, refusing to return. Catching sight of the tire iron just a few feet out of reach, he began dragging himself across the highway towards the bent and bloodied piece of steel. By this point, all he could feel was pain and... wet.

Blood was matting his hair, mixing with sweat and running in rivulets into his eyes and down his face. Cold sweat mixed with warm blood across most of his body, the sting of their mixing long overshadowed by the throbbing in his chest and the desperation of what had literally become a fight for survival. His right knee was so swollen he couldn't bend it or come close to putting proper weight on it, leaving the job of dragging his broken ass across the ground to nothing more than the clawing fingers of his uninjured right hand and whatever leverage he could get off his left knee.

The fact his opponent probably had a blood clot in his brain that would either kill him or leave him a vegetable in the next 24 hours was little solice when he'd be functioning for plenty of time to kill you slowly, painfully, in the interim. Considering Dimitri's current mood, that was exactly what John was expecting. Which sucked.

Not that he was going to die, not even that he believed he didn't deserve it, a good part of himself had felt that way for a long time already. It was the fact that he'd spent his whole life learning to fight Skynet, to save humanity from the machines, only to bite it on some forgotten military highway in a shithole most people had never even heard of.

Just wasn't fitting, in his admittedly biased opinion.

The sound of approaching rotor blades dashed any last bit of hope John had about getting out of here alive, from the intensity the chopper was already nearly on top of them, undoubtedly carrying Armenian Border Guard bought and paid for by Sarkissian. Of course, Dimitri waited until his fingertips were mere inches away from the tire iron before stomping on his wrist, John refusing to give the man more than a stifled groan as the bones mashed together under the pressure.

Obviously displeased with his adversary's suddenly Spartan facade, Dimitri wrapped one meaty fist around John's throat, hefting him from the ground like most people would lift a bag of groceries and slamming him into the side of the smashed luxury sedan so hard the upside down vehicle slid a good foot across the asphalt.

"Fuck!" John spit the word, swinging his good arm with everything he had left and crushing the larger man's nose into his face. Dimitri just smiled, shaking his head slightly in obvious amusement before slamming him repeatedly into the car at his back. The third impact finally garnered the mercenary's desired result, John crying out in agony as a rent section of metal pierced the back of his thigh down to the bone, snapping clean off the frame in the process.

"So?" Holding the squirming young man up just high enough for his boots to be dangling in midair, Dimitri eyed him curiously, using his free hand to wipe some of the accumulated blood from his brow. "Not the brave American Superman after all?"

Beyond caring about the pain, beyond caring about his destiny, all John could think about was wiping that smug fucking smile off Dimitri's face before he died. Small victories...

The laugh he managed to force out sounded more like a wheeze even to his own ears, but it was enough to give the man about to finish him off pause, the fingers of John's right hand slowly drifting down between his body and the car. The jagged edge of the sheet metal embedded in his thigh was easy enough to locate, John trying to cover the inevitable grimace as he wrapped his fingers around it and began to pull with one last smart-ass taunt, after all, it's what Dimitri was expecting. "I... was born... in Mexico... dickwad!"

"Well, in that case," Dimitri bowed his head a bit, catching sight of the way his prey's eyes were rolling back into his head from pain, he was determined to finish the man off before he lost consciousness. He wanted to see the fear in his eyes. "Buenas noches, Mr. Baum."

John suddenly howled in pain, his body arching forward and shoving both men a stumbling step away from the car, causing Dimitri to pause just a second in surprise.

"Hey... asshole." Lifting cloudy eyes towards the man still clutching his throat, John's lips pulled up the barest fraction at the corner, an unconscious trait he'd picked up from his wife. "My name is Connor!"

His right hand lashed out, the whoosh of movement, the glint of bloody steel, as he drove the jagged piece of sheet metal into the gap between Dimitri's shoulder and neck. He tore a large section of his own palm and fingers on the shard in the process, but he managed to jam it in far enough he was confident the man would never get it out without pliers.

The mercenary clawed feebly at the wound, blood pooling up around the edges until it had completely obscured the gleaming metal. Apparently realizing there was no way to get it out with his hands, Dimitri let out a roar, grabbing John by the shoulders slamming him down onto the hood of the car with enough force to rattle his molars.

Staring up at the darkened sky, the flashing lights of the hovering helicopter, the thrumming of the whirling blades drowned out by the ringing in his ears, John watched helplessly as his enemy prepared to finish the job.

In moments like these, the world seems to slow down to a crawl, reality becoming crystal clear in a way you honestly wish it wouldn't. The strobes of the landing lights blinking away, the rotor blades whooshing by in slow succession, the purple streak dropping down from the open door on the side, the... wait, what?

The car beneath him shuddered violently, the back end smashing down into the pavement with a thunderous crash and only further rattling John's skull against the metal of the hood. But in that moment, it was all worth it, because standing not five feet from his head, still crouching slightly from the impact of a thirty-five foot drop, was his wife. And she looked pissed.

Cameron didn't make a sound as she stomped across the fallen car directly towards the stunned and reeling Dimitri, easily hopping over her husband's prone form and closing the distance between herself and the mercenary. She may look like a normal teenage girl, but Dimitri wasn't stupid, and simple fact she'd survived that jump without so much as a limp told Dimitri there was nothing normal about her.

Picking up the tire-iron John had used against him earlier, he waited until the girl was just outside her own range before swinging away, the weapon crashing into her cheek with everything the mercenary had left. All he got for his trouble was a resounding 'clang' and a vibration so strong it forced him to drop his only form of defense.

Turning her head slowly back towards him, Cameron looked up at the man towering over her, eyes flashing red in a way they hadn't in a very long time. "My turn."

Every move was precise, every blow perfectly planned and meticulously executed, every injury inflicted in a way to maximize pain and minimize the chance her target would lose consciousness. She started on his legs, as it would be inefficient to have to chase her quarry around the area. Hobbling her prey with a swift kick to the right femur, shattering the bone like a human would snap a twig.

She wanted this man to feel every bit of pain he'd inflicted on her husband. Cameron might not have been here to protect him, but she was here in time to avenge him, so that was exactly what she did.

Only when the sheer weight of broken bones and ruptured organs threatened to finally render the mercenary unconscious did she finish him, breaking his neck with a twist of his wrist and letting him crash limply to the ground. Cameron stood there for a long moment, staring down at her bloody hands and trying to figure out what had come over her just now.

There had been no logical reason to inflict such bodily injury to the man, to drag the fight out as long as she had, yet as soon as she'd caught sight of John's battered and bloody face, she'd known without a doubt that was exactly how she was going to kill him. It hadn't been a conscious decision, it had been far more akin to a compulsion, reminding her for a frightening moment of the terminate orders that had once caused her to nearly kill her John.

"Cameron!" The chopper had barely touched down when Lorne hopped off the runner, ducking low to avoid the blades as she jogged across the ground towards her friend. "It's pretty freaking likely they caught us on radar when we crossed back over the border, we've gotta get back before we cause an international incident!"

Nodding numbly, the cyborg cast one last glance over the crumpled form of the man she'd just killed, pivoting on a heel and walking back towards her husband.

For his part, John was drifting in and out of consciousness, having slid down off the hood and propped himself up against the remains of the front bumper. Cameron drifted into his field of vision, blood marring her face and clothes, a deep gash across her right cheek revealing the gleaming metal beneath, the faintest hint of glowing red still tinging her eyes.

He tensed a bit when she kneeled down beside him, her fingertips ghosting over the bruises on his face before settling on his pulse point at his neck. "You'll be alright, John."

"Why wouldn't I be?" John smirked, grimacing when it stretched the skin of his face, "I'm having a great day."

"Of course you are boss." Shaking her head, Darla stepped up to his side, shouldering her SCAR-H and motioning to Dooley to help her. "We've gotta go, like yesterday. The radio in the bird has been screaming at us in Russian for the last three minutes."

"Well that's not very polite of it." John groaned as he was leveraged up and slung between the soldiers' shoulders, at least able to trudge along with them when they started shambling towards the helicopter.

Ignoring her General's ramblings, Darla glanced back over her shoulder towards Cameron, "How is he?"

"He should be alright." Cameron's voice was barely above a whisper, "No signs of significant brain trauma, his breathing remains unimpaired."

Even before the words were completely out of her mouth, John had slumped between the two soldiers supporting him, his head lolling back and forth, the toes of his boots now dragging across the asphalt. Hauling him the last few yards to the waiting bird, Darla and Dooley waited while Cameron climbed into the chopper before handing their General up to her and climbing in after.

Cameron shifted John down onto the bench beside her, laying his head down onto her lap as gently as possible before motioning to Huey to dust off with a quick swirl of her fingers.

Cole had barely closed the door when they were airborne, shredding air straight for the Georgian border, Huey hugging the ground as close as safety allowed in an effort to stay under the local radar ceiling. Shaking her head, the operator walked over to the couple, holding a bundle out in Cameron's direction. "He lost this."

Accepting the battered leather jacket with a forced smile, Cameron draped it over her husband's form and began running her fingers gently through his hair. "Thank you."

Nodding once, Cole stepped back and took up her seat across the aisle from them, crossing her arms over her chest, leaning back and closing her eyes, only now that Connor was safe would they allow themselves to relax.

Cameron was still staring off into space when Rachel dropped down onto the bench beside her, popping open a first aid kit and eying her friend with a small smile, "Lets get you fixed up, Cameron."

"No." The cyborg shook her head, absolutely unwilling to tend to herself when John was in so much pain.

"Don't be ridiculous." Rachel frowned, "These people may work for Weaver, but I doubt they've seen a cyborg before. We should stitch your cheek and cover it up."

Eyes still locked forward, Cameron snagged her friend's hand before it got anywhere near her wound, "No."

"Cameron." Letting out a small sigh, the Corporal took her hand and placed it gently back onto her husband's hair, "He would want you fixed up. You know that."

Cameron seemed to consider the young woman's words for a long moment, eyes finally darting down to her John's face for a split second before returning to the wall. Without a word she inclined her head a few inches to the side to give Rachel easier access to her face, an appreciative smile just barely slipping through.

Just as her friend began to thread the needle, Lieutenant Hendrix's voice came on over the P.A. and drained the last of the tension from the air, "Well folks, seems we've just crossed the border into Georgia. We should be at the airfield within the next fifteen minutes."

Glancing down at the man curled against her, Cameron stroked his cheek gently, "It's alright John. We're going home."

T.B.C

Thanks as always to everyone who takes the time to review, it really makes the effort put into writing this worthwhile.

Huge thank you to my beta Bigbew for helping with this like you wouldn't believe and practically Army-carrying me through a bout of writer's block. Hope the length of the chapter was worth the wait, let me know what you think.