iv. something funny
As tired as they were, neither one of them felt like going back to sleep just then. Kate thought John should get some more rest, but he wanted to explore. She went to put the clothes she was washing in a dryer while he poked around the main room.
It felt not unlike the set of a post-apocalyptic 1950s sitcom. Or a post-apocalyptic 1950s hotel lobby. At any rate, it was kinda creepy and the couches probably weren't comfortable even in 1958. Several shelves of books held classic works of American literature.oddly enough there was no Tolstoy.
Connor noticed a stack of boxes against one wall, and when Kate reentered the room she found him rummaging through them. It looked as though he was preparing for a retro garage sale, as each box proved to be full of odds and ends from the various decades that the shelter was better maintained.
Kate looked through the stuff he had pulled out; mostly it was office supplies, things like notebooks and ballpoint pens, as if someone decided that documentation would be important in the event of nuclear war. Which, she had to admit, would not be a bad idea. She picked out some supplies for herself, thinking maybe writing a journal could help her deal with things.
"Awesome!" Connor yelled, pulling out a Polaroid camera from the late 1970s. "I wonder if it still works," he said, excitedly tearing open a packet of film.
Kate watched him, bemused. When he had loaded the camera, he stood up and said, "Okay, Kate, smile."
"What?" she sputtered. "But I-"
"Come on, we should take pictures before we clean up, you know, record the first day. We can show them to--" He was going to say 'our children,' but stopped himself. "-to, you know, other people," he finished lamely.
Kate, feeling uncomfortable posing for a "before" picture in the wake of nuclear holocaust, was about the protest again when she remembered the photo in his knapsack.... She realized that he had a point; photographs were important, for history and for sanity.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked, standing with her arms at her sides.
"Just think of something funny."
Something funny? Now? She laughed bitterly at the stupidity of his request, but before she could comment he snapped the picture. -Smart man,- she thought.
"Sorry," he said, holding up the developing picture. "I didn't know how else to make you smile."
She walked over to him and they watched the picture develop together. He had managed to catch her at the perfect moment of bitter laughter, and her smile was very incongruous with her stained clothing and bandaged face. But somehow the disorderliness made her smile all the more beautiful, and Connor stared at it a little too long before saying, "Okay, my turn."
He stood right where she had and folded his arms, trying his best to look like a leader. At the moment he looked more like a tired hobo, but the potential was there. Kate looked him over through the viewfinder-the pant leg cut to the knee, his ankle bandaged, the rest of him bloody and torn, but still strong despite it all.and, she had to admit to herself, more than a little handsome. -This man is going to save the world,- she thought as she took his picture, and she shivered.
As they watched his picture develop, Connor couldn't remember the last time his picture had been taken. Obviously he had avoided such things for the past decade, and trips to the Sears Portrait Studio had never been high on his mother's priority list. He guessed the only times his picture had been taken were during the brief time he was separated from his mother.one school picture and a few police shots.
They put the pictures next to each other on top of her new notebook and then headed to the kitchen. Connor was curious to see what they would be eating during their "stay."
"I think we'll be able to do more with it than you might think," she said helpfully as he stared at the cans of twenty-year-old vegetables.
They began looking through the food, separating what they deemed edible from the rest. Connor felt quite at home in this bastardization of a domestic scene, but as the day wore on (Day? Night? Who knew?) Kate grew more distant and eventually failed to respond to him at all. Connor was concerned, but when he finally asked her what was wrong (a silly question, yes), she abruptly said she was going to bed and left.
Connor dithered with the food on his own for a while, but without Kate he felt the isolation closing in on him. He decided he could use some sleep too.
She had turned out the lights in the bedroom, and though there were a few emergency lights along the baseboard he couldn't really see anything. He assumed she would have laid down where she was before and subsequently almost sat on her; he stammered an apology, but she just rolled over and away from him.
At a loss, he got under the covers and listened to her harsh breathing. He wished he knew what to say or do to help, but part of him knew there wasn't anything. Kate squirmed so much she eventually usurped all of the covers, and he let her keep them.
-------
The initial shock having worn off and the adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours out of her system, Kate became a ghost, albeit an incredibly weepy one. As the reality of what had happened became clearer, as she thought not just of her father and Scott but of friends and co- workers and her job and the animals at her clinic, she began to cry continuously. She cried when she thought about the past, she cried when she thought about the future. Even the thought of something once as mundane as rainbow sherbet or a station wagon would send her to the depths of despair.
Connor was powerless to do anything. He kept an eye on her as she spent most of her time curled up on a couch in the main room, but any time he approached her she would take one look at him and begin sobbing anew. He sensed that it had nothing directly to do with him-sensed, hoped, they're pretty much the same-but if he couldn't even get close to her there was little he could even try to do to help her. And it wasn't even as if she yelled at him or even told him to go away; she was just so lost in her own misery that he knew she was beyond his reach.
Kate's anguish was a knife constantly turning in Connor's chest, and by the end of the week he was even more of a mess than he had been when they met in the veterinary clinic. She spent roughly a week on that couch, numbly nibbling crackers he laid next to her, and it was a week of pure torture for him. It occurred to him that whatever the future Katherine Brewster had done, the present one would maybe never recover.and whatever the future John Connor had done, would he be able to reach the same heights? .It is not healthy to be left alone with such thoughts.
Connor tried to fill the time by doing some redecorating. He gathered everything they might use in food preparation and set up the kitchen and dining room as efficiently as he could. He cleaned some more clothes and carefully laid them out. He found an old framed portrait of JFK and tucked the snapshots of his mother and Kate inside the frame; this he put on his nightstand. He put their notebooks and some pens in the drawers.
He slowly began to go insane.
Connor was sitting at the dining table with his head down, having reluctantly consumed half a can of fruit cocktail, when Kate walked in and sat down. Startled, he sat up and looked at her warily. They both looked destroyed, and he opened his mouth to say something when she broke the silence first.
"Tell me about your mother," she said hoarsely.
As tired as they were, neither one of them felt like going back to sleep just then. Kate thought John should get some more rest, but he wanted to explore. She went to put the clothes she was washing in a dryer while he poked around the main room.
It felt not unlike the set of a post-apocalyptic 1950s sitcom. Or a post-apocalyptic 1950s hotel lobby. At any rate, it was kinda creepy and the couches probably weren't comfortable even in 1958. Several shelves of books held classic works of American literature.oddly enough there was no Tolstoy.
Connor noticed a stack of boxes against one wall, and when Kate reentered the room she found him rummaging through them. It looked as though he was preparing for a retro garage sale, as each box proved to be full of odds and ends from the various decades that the shelter was better maintained.
Kate looked through the stuff he had pulled out; mostly it was office supplies, things like notebooks and ballpoint pens, as if someone decided that documentation would be important in the event of nuclear war. Which, she had to admit, would not be a bad idea. She picked out some supplies for herself, thinking maybe writing a journal could help her deal with things.
"Awesome!" Connor yelled, pulling out a Polaroid camera from the late 1970s. "I wonder if it still works," he said, excitedly tearing open a packet of film.
Kate watched him, bemused. When he had loaded the camera, he stood up and said, "Okay, Kate, smile."
"What?" she sputtered. "But I-"
"Come on, we should take pictures before we clean up, you know, record the first day. We can show them to--" He was going to say 'our children,' but stopped himself. "-to, you know, other people," he finished lamely.
Kate, feeling uncomfortable posing for a "before" picture in the wake of nuclear holocaust, was about the protest again when she remembered the photo in his knapsack.... She realized that he had a point; photographs were important, for history and for sanity.
"What do you want me to do?" she asked, standing with her arms at her sides.
"Just think of something funny."
Something funny? Now? She laughed bitterly at the stupidity of his request, but before she could comment he snapped the picture. -Smart man,- she thought.
"Sorry," he said, holding up the developing picture. "I didn't know how else to make you smile."
She walked over to him and they watched the picture develop together. He had managed to catch her at the perfect moment of bitter laughter, and her smile was very incongruous with her stained clothing and bandaged face. But somehow the disorderliness made her smile all the more beautiful, and Connor stared at it a little too long before saying, "Okay, my turn."
He stood right where she had and folded his arms, trying his best to look like a leader. At the moment he looked more like a tired hobo, but the potential was there. Kate looked him over through the viewfinder-the pant leg cut to the knee, his ankle bandaged, the rest of him bloody and torn, but still strong despite it all.and, she had to admit to herself, more than a little handsome. -This man is going to save the world,- she thought as she took his picture, and she shivered.
As they watched his picture develop, Connor couldn't remember the last time his picture had been taken. Obviously he had avoided such things for the past decade, and trips to the Sears Portrait Studio had never been high on his mother's priority list. He guessed the only times his picture had been taken were during the brief time he was separated from his mother.one school picture and a few police shots.
They put the pictures next to each other on top of her new notebook and then headed to the kitchen. Connor was curious to see what they would be eating during their "stay."
"I think we'll be able to do more with it than you might think," she said helpfully as he stared at the cans of twenty-year-old vegetables.
They began looking through the food, separating what they deemed edible from the rest. Connor felt quite at home in this bastardization of a domestic scene, but as the day wore on (Day? Night? Who knew?) Kate grew more distant and eventually failed to respond to him at all. Connor was concerned, but when he finally asked her what was wrong (a silly question, yes), she abruptly said she was going to bed and left.
Connor dithered with the food on his own for a while, but without Kate he felt the isolation closing in on him. He decided he could use some sleep too.
She had turned out the lights in the bedroom, and though there were a few emergency lights along the baseboard he couldn't really see anything. He assumed she would have laid down where she was before and subsequently almost sat on her; he stammered an apology, but she just rolled over and away from him.
At a loss, he got under the covers and listened to her harsh breathing. He wished he knew what to say or do to help, but part of him knew there wasn't anything. Kate squirmed so much she eventually usurped all of the covers, and he let her keep them.
-------
The initial shock having worn off and the adrenaline of the last twenty-four hours out of her system, Kate became a ghost, albeit an incredibly weepy one. As the reality of what had happened became clearer, as she thought not just of her father and Scott but of friends and co- workers and her job and the animals at her clinic, she began to cry continuously. She cried when she thought about the past, she cried when she thought about the future. Even the thought of something once as mundane as rainbow sherbet or a station wagon would send her to the depths of despair.
Connor was powerless to do anything. He kept an eye on her as she spent most of her time curled up on a couch in the main room, but any time he approached her she would take one look at him and begin sobbing anew. He sensed that it had nothing directly to do with him-sensed, hoped, they're pretty much the same-but if he couldn't even get close to her there was little he could even try to do to help her. And it wasn't even as if she yelled at him or even told him to go away; she was just so lost in her own misery that he knew she was beyond his reach.
Kate's anguish was a knife constantly turning in Connor's chest, and by the end of the week he was even more of a mess than he had been when they met in the veterinary clinic. She spent roughly a week on that couch, numbly nibbling crackers he laid next to her, and it was a week of pure torture for him. It occurred to him that whatever the future Katherine Brewster had done, the present one would maybe never recover.and whatever the future John Connor had done, would he be able to reach the same heights? .It is not healthy to be left alone with such thoughts.
Connor tried to fill the time by doing some redecorating. He gathered everything they might use in food preparation and set up the kitchen and dining room as efficiently as he could. He cleaned some more clothes and carefully laid them out. He found an old framed portrait of JFK and tucked the snapshots of his mother and Kate inside the frame; this he put on his nightstand. He put their notebooks and some pens in the drawers.
He slowly began to go insane.
Connor was sitting at the dining table with his head down, having reluctantly consumed half a can of fruit cocktail, when Kate walked in and sat down. Startled, he sat up and looked at her warily. They both looked destroyed, and he opened his mouth to say something when she broke the silence first.
"Tell me about your mother," she said hoarsely.
