iii. frame of reference

"John."
Connor's eyelids fluttered.
"John."
He shook his head, trying to clear it. Where he had felt hot before he now felt cold, and everything felt fuzzy.
Again, "John."
His mind finally focusing, Connor looked up and saw Terminator standing inside the doorway. This time he knew he was just a fever dream like his mother had been, but nonetheless Connor was happy to see him.
Terminator didn't smile, but once Connor noticed him he put his arms out in a fair approximation of the desire for a hug. Connor got out of bed more slowly this time - - the fever was getting worse before it got better - - but still ran with enthusiasm to Terminator, throwing his arms around him and almost knocking himself unconscious in the process.
Terminator, unmoved physically by Connor's running hug, put his arms carefully around him. "You are sick," he stated, having instantly run a scan of Connor's body.
"Yeah but I'm...I'm getting better. Kate...she gave me medicine..." The mix of fever and emotions were overwhelming him, and he began to crumple to the floor. Terminator caught him, however, and moved him over to the bed.
"She is already serving you well," Terminator said.
Connor stared up at him, his head swimming. "She's...she's great. I think I'm in love."
"That will make your marriage to her easier."
Connor laughed out loud. "Man, haven't you learned anything?"
Terminator was quiet for a moment, as if trying to formulate the right way to say something. "Whether you live...makes a difference to me."
Connor now had to fight tears again. "I wish you were here."
"You will be fine on your own."
He looked down. "I guess we'll have to be, but still."
"It is early. You will find your strength." He added, "You have to. Everyone is counting on you."
-Another- person with faith in him. He looked up, but Terminator's face remained impassive. Whatever he may have learned to "feel," he hadn't learned to manifest it visually. "Right now -no one- is counting on me. I'm not the world hero yet."
"Katherine Brewster is counting on you."
"Call her 'Kate,' okay? No one refers to people by their full names like that."
Noting this, Terminator said, "Kate is counting on you."
Connor inhaled slowly. "I heard you the first time." He buried his face in his hands. "You really think I can do it, huh?"
"There is no question that you will do it. You are John Connor."
"I know my own name," Connor replied a little testily, tired of his name, his mere existence, simply -who he was- being enough to prove that he would become this great leader. -Of course I'll do it. You've seen me do it. It's happened, it's going to happen, it's happening right now.-
Connor closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Dream or not, he didn't want to spend it being angry at one of the (literally) few people he'd ever felt close to.
"Tell me again...that we'll be okay," he said quietly, staring at the floor. When no answer came, he glanced up, certain Terminator was gone.
But he wasn't. He had tried (largely unsuccessfully) to smile, and he gave Connor a thumbs-up.

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Connor woke and was startled to see Kate's face so close to his. She was sleeping with her head resting on one hand; the other was so close to Connor's face he was probably breathing on it.
He stared at the engagement ring on her finger, feeling a vague and absurd pang of jealousy towards this man he had never seen. How much had he loved her? How much had she loved him? ...How much did she love him still? He could hack into computer systems and use just about any small arm known to man, but in affairs of the heart he had no frame of reference.
Kate twitched in her sleep and made a low mumbling sound. He wondered what she was dreaming about. ...Was she dreaming about Scott? Would she awake expecting him to be next to her, and would she be inconsolable when she saw Connor instead? He was very much used to waking up without the ones he loved, but she was not.
Her sleep became increasingly agitated, and he thought maybe he should wake her up. He moved to shake her, but as soon as his hand touched her arm she jerked awake. "Ohmigod," she gasped, putting a hand to her head.
"Are you okay?" Connor asked. "Did you...have a bad dream?"
Covering her eyes, she said, "It's-it's a dream I've had before. But now it makes sense." Her eyes were filling with tears. He didn't know if he should move to comfort her or just let her be, but before he could make a decision she reached out to him, clutching him and resting her head on his chest. He put an arm around her and waited for her to speak.
"In the dream I'm-I'm running through the streets...no particular streets, just streets that begin to fill with people. And I'm screaming at them, telling them to run, except I can't scream, I'm voiceless. And then there's fire, fire everywhere, and people are bursting into flames and...and even though I'm running right through the fire I'm okay. I'm not even hot. And still I can't say anything, I can't do anything but run and try to scream." She was shaking. "And it wasn't 'just a dream.' All of those people were killed...but I'm okay."
Connor held her as she tried to calm down. He was so used to the idea of so many people dying, had never known any different, that he was relatively unaffected by survivor guilt. Billions of lives would end, but his would continue; that had simply been a given in his world. But Kate had been plucked from those billions, had meant to be saved; and she was still having to grasp why.
Kate took several deep breaths, willing herself to get a grip. Her cheek was resting right over Connor's heart, and she let its beating steady her and keep her grounded to this new reality. Yes, what had happened in her dream had essentially come true; but she had been chosen to survive for a reason, and she owed it to those who had died to live up to her survival. She allowed her breathing to sync up with John's; this was her whole world now.
Understandably, it would take a little bit of time to adjust.
Eventually Kate sat up; sniffling and red-eyed, she absentmindedly looked around the room. The decor was no longer what one would call "modern," but at the time of installation must have seemed the height of post-apocalyptic comfort.
The silence was making Connor nervous. "I dreamed about them," he said quietly. "I dream about them a lot but...this time was different. I mean, -they were here-."
Knowing who 'they' had to be, Kate nodded.
Connor stared at the ceiling. "As much as I miss her, as much as I think about her all the time...I'm glad my mother didn't live to see this."
"She would have been proud of you," Kate said softly. She put her hand in his.
"They said we'd be okay."
She smiled sadly. "Did you believe them?"
He squeezed her hand and smiled back. "Against my better judgment...yeah."