. . . But What We Make
by Bethe
~*~
Author's Note: Okay, here's my second note for the series. I probably don't even need it, but just in case. . .
I'm introducing a new "divider" thing. Here's a sort of key so you can follow along so much easier: ~*~ means a change in POV (example, from Reese to Reese's voice-over, from voice-over to John). *** means a memory or dream sequence from one character's POV, usually the same POV in the preceding section.
Okay. I apologize for those of you who get it upon reading it, but you just have to spell it out for some people. (if you don't, then you get all these annoying emails, and then you have to add to the chapter and reload it, and it just gets tedious.) Thanks and enjoy (I hope).
P.S. I'm so sorry it took me this long to get this chapter out. First, my muses went on strike. Nothing got written. It was chaotic. Then I was in the midst of moving back to college, and I've just now had some time (and inspiration) to get this chapter completed. Here you are (I'm sure you've been foaming at the mouth for it).
~*~
The dream is always the same. It's yet another sunny California day, and I'm walking my dog. But my spirits are not high. All around me is beauty, and all I can feel is remorse. Mourning, for they are already dead. The world just didn't get the memo. I look up, and the sky's clarity nearly blinds me. Bright yellow and purple flowers bend in the summer breeze. I can hear children playing in the distance. A family on bikes rides past me, for I've slowed down almost to the point of being stationary. I struggle to keep from crying. I can't let them know. 'Gotta be strong, kiddo,' comes my father's voice somewhere from the depths of my mind. I grit my teeth and keep moving, needing the sense of normalcy on this day; this day which had started so clear, and would end so black. I look up, and a cloud has appeared. Only it's not a cloud. I close my eyes, spread out my arms, and whisper, 'I'm sorry.'
Then the world fades to red.
~*~
Third time's a charm, they say. Not tonight. No stars were out. Not even the moon dared to show itself. So when the bright blue bolts of light that were associated with this sort of phenomenon lashed out, it made all the more stark contrast.
The events happened just like before, but with one exception. The sphere didn't burst open. It merely melted, leaving less destruction. From the blurry haze stepped a woman. Naked, like the other two that had come before her. Eyes the color of jade slowly took in her surroundings. She blinked, then headed for the city.
~*~
It was hard to imagine me doing those things that he said I would do. Then again, it's funny that I haven't thought about Judgment Day, not even once, until he showed up. And suddenly it's like I have apocalyptic vision. It makes me wonder what would happen if he hadn't been sent back. Would I still do these things? Sometimes, I doubt it. Maybe I'm hoping for no fate too much.
I suppose I'll never know.
~*~
"What do you mean, I sent it back?" Reese asked, a disbelieving scowl appearing on her face. The T-101 maintained his firm grip on the wheel and kept his eyes on the road, seemingly scanning for obstacles.
"You felt that Sarah Connor deserved better than to die believing something that wasn't true. So, you stole the leukemia cure from a Resistance lab. Then you activated a T-101 and programmed him to go back to 1997, the day of Sarah's death. He arrived just moments after John Connor had left her side. He revived Sarah Connor and successfully administered the cure. Then he took her to a safe location. When she recovered, she took out his brain chip and destroyed it."
"But that T-101, it was you, wasn't it?"
"Yes."
Reese frowned in concentration, then asked, "But how can you be here if you were terminated?"
"Sarah Connor was one of the three billion who died on Judgment Day, but I withstood the attack. The Resistance captured me. I was useless, however, without my chip. Katherine Brewster-Connor, remembering the stories from her husband, began working on a new chip, hoping to somehow upgrade me."
"Like a circle. . ." Reese murmured. She stifled a yawn before crossing her arms over her stomach.
"You should rest," he said in an almost soft tone. Reese shook her head.
"I could never sleep in something that was moving," she whispered, feeling a rare pang of homesickness.
"We must stop anyway," he spoke up after a few moments. "We must acquire a new vehicle."
Almost as if on cue, the engine began to make a clacking noise. The Terminator, spotting an abandoned warehouse, pulled the car off the road.
Within thirty minutes, they were under the sturdy shelter of the warehouse. Reese was grateful for that. Despite the warm weather during the day, the California night was a force to be reckoned with. It was still cold in the building, but she would rather be a bit chilled than spend one night out there.
She shivered and turned from the window and found a spare tire to sit on. Rubbing her upper arms briskly, she asked, "Did my mom give you a name?"
The Terminator, who had been searching for any kind of heat source for Reese, stood up fully and looked at her. "No," he replied matter-of-factly. "I did not need a name."
Reese sighed. "Well," she said, sounding resigned, "If you're going to pass as human, you're going to need a name."
"Why?"
Reese scoffed. "Aren't you things supposed to be super-intelligent?" she asked. Then she shook her head. "I can't go around calling you 'Term' for short. I don't want to keep using he and him. And I certainly can't call you 'it'. You have to have a name." She was silent for a beat. "No, we're not calling you 'Bob'," she quipped upon seeing the look that had come on his face.
"Is that not a feasible name?"
"You're not a Bob," she answered pensively. "Jack. From now on, you answer to Jack," she said after much thought.
"Jack," the Machine said to himself as if to try the name out. Reese shivered again, and his attention refocused. "I cannot find any blankets for you." He removed his heavy leather jacket and draped it around her shoulders. "Will this be sufficient?"
Reese offered a smile of thanks and slid her arms through the sleeves. "We'll see," she murmured. "I have more questions."
"Later," the Terminator, renamed Jack, answered abruptly. "You must sleep." Reese shook her head.
"Can't. Too stressed." She smiled softly. "My mom, whenever I would feel worried or sick or scared, and I couldn't sleep, she would do something that soothed my nerves." She bit her lip. "I really miss that right about now," she whispered as a tear rolled down her face.
"What would she do?" Jack asked.
Reese closed her eyes and tilted her head slightly. "I would rest my head on her knees, and she would just slowly rake her fingers through my hair." She opened her eyes. "But Mom's not here. She's sixteen now, I think." She sighed and shivered once more.
"Would it help you to sleep?" he asked. Reese bit her lip and glanced warily over at him.
"Are you asking what I think you're asking?"
"You must sleep," he said softly. "You will need to be at your best awareness for the days to come."
Reese sighed once more, an action that was becoming fairly redundant. Then, without a word, she got up and walked over to the Machine. She lay on her side on the cold concrete floor and rested her head on one of his leather-clad knees. After what seemed like a hesitation on Jack's part, he started to slowly brush through her hair with his fingers. She began to relax and she absently noted that his fingers were warm. As she drifted off into sleep, an image of her mother flashed briefly into her mind. Then all was dark.
~*~
When it came to my parents, I was always very perceptive. More so than my two other siblings. I guess you could say that Allie and Bobby were stuck in the all-encompassing naivete that existed in the years before puberty made everyone a cynic. I guess I just wasn't the average child.
I always knew that something wasn't right with Mom and Dad. I mean, Dad was hardly around anyway, off doing his 'savior-of-mankind' shit. But when they were together, something didn't sit right with me. They weren't like other couples I'd seen around. They didn't share meaningful glances, or tender touches. Hell, the only time they spoke civilly was about the war. And even then, it was touch-and-go.
When I was about thirteen or fourteen it hit me: I've never seen them kiss, even when they thought I wasn't watching. I've never seen them hug, hold hands, or experience the embarrassment of overhearing your parents doing the mattress mambo late at night. Never.
They didn't love each other. After that startling epiphany, it all made sense. And, I guess I could understand why they didn't love each other, yet they were together. Fate, destiny, whatever, had appointed them to be the two most important people in the coming years, and had appointed them to be together. Who were they to question it? So, they followed the pattern and got married.
Thinking about it, I also realize that they definitely would need someone to care about during those long years of waiting for the rads to go down. I think their relationship was one born mainly out of necessity. It's not like they couldn't stand each other, but love was not there. Merely 'like'.
What kind of fate is that?
~*~
John Connor was propped up by an elbow and watching his wife sleeping. He rarely saw this side of her since he did most of his sleeping in his office. Her face was washed with the warm light of the fireplace, blurring any sharp lines. She looked like she did before the T-X had intruded on their pseudo-peaceful lives. She looked like an innocent. She was beautiful.
His gaze remained on her face, but his mind traveled elsewhere, back to 1994, namely the day before the world changed.
***
John was pissed. Janelle was really getting on his last nerve. It seemed her mission in life was to bitch and moan at him about his pigsty of a room. What she didn't seem to get was that he liked his shit where it was. In a way, it was symbolic of his life. To an outsider, it was chaos. But to John, it was oddly comforting.
For an instant, he almost wished he could be back with his real mother. But then he remembered what it had been like to live with Sarah. Every cut, every scratch was cause for worry. Constant earplug usage. GSR so thick on his hands he could feel it before he could even touch his skin. And fear. Constant fear of the unseen and not yet created threat to their very existence.
He'd take Todd and Janelle over that any day.
That in mind, he cranked his tunes up louder. Axl Rose wailed in that whining voice of his, drowning out Janelle's admonitions. He turned a page in his gaming magazine without even looking up. He sensed, rather than heard, the door close. He glanced up, then at his watch. Leaving his music on, he got out of his bed and put his shoes on. Then he quietly opened his window and crawled out, hitting the grass with a soft thud.
He arrived at Mike Kripke's house ten minutes late, not like it mattered. People usually didn't show up until about an hour into the party. But John and Mike were buds. He wouldn't mind just hanging out with a good friend for awhile. What he expected to find once he reached the basement was Mike, and maybe another guy they knew. He was to be surprised.
Mike was nowhere in sight, but a vision in white was sitting on the couch, watching the television. She had long auburn hair that spilled over her shoulders as fluid as silk, and it made a stunning contrast with her pure white shirt. She turned her head to see who had entered the room, and John's heart jumped up to his throat. She could quite possibly be the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. Her eyes were a rich green. Her lips, full and soft-looking. And her skin glowed like a child's; unblemished. But she definitely wasn't a child.
"Hi," he managed after clearing his throat multiple times.
"Hi, John," she replied.
"Do I. . .know you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She smiled, and his heart did one of those annoying leaps again.
"You probably don't know me, but I know you," she said. "I'm Kate. Kate Brewster. We have math with Shelton together."
"The smart chick?" he asked incredulously. "The one who's always in the front?" She nodded somewhat shyly. Before saying anything more, he walked over to the couch and sat down beside her without even asking for permission. "So, what's a classy dame like yourself doing at a party thrown by a dirtbag like Kripke?"
"Well," she began, "this is supposed to be the party. All my friends told me that I couldn't miss it." She looked around. "I don't see any of them here. Besides," she shrugged, "what else is there to do on a Friday night in this town?"
"You do have a point," John said. "Where is Mike anyway?"
"Beer run, I think."
The two were silent for a long time.
"So," John said slowly, "what kind of movies do you like?"
"I'm kind of an indie girl, I guess. Mainstream movies are just too commercial these days. No plot, but lots of action."
"I know what you mean. Hey, have you seen Clerks?"
Kate furrowed her brow. "No. I haven't really heard of it."
"Oh, come on!" John exclaimed with a teasing smile on his face. "You haven't heard of Clerks? It's great. And funny. You should watch it sometime."
During their conversation about the lack of really good movies, people started showing up. Mike came back, liquor in tow, and the party started, but John and Kate were still just talking. At first the party was kind of loud, what with the music and all. But it started to get mellow when people coupled off. Then it was back to John and Kate just talking. When they both noticed how quiet the room had become, they wrapped up their debate on what was better: mayonnaise or Miracle Whip, and looked at their feet.
Kate blushed softly, and John felt an urging in his heart that was beyond explanation. It felt like he had been put in that situation for no other reason than to kiss her. Who am I to argue with fate? he asked himself, half-jokingly. He slowly leaned forward until their lips met in a kiss that was chaste for a moment, and only a moment. He brought one hand to the back of her head and the other to her shoulder, and he held her to him.
The rest of the night was a blur, but he had a little bounce in his step when it was over.
~*~
To Be Continued. . .