I do not own Terminator: Rise of the Machines.

I am not in a machine apocalypse. From a certain point of view. ;)

Not A Church Youth Group Sleepover

In Between Hours

It's been a couple of hours, the patient's fever has gone down.

His coloring is less like death and his vitals, whilst still not optimum, have improved.

Katie's pumped him full of antibiotics and as much painkillers (not the dog neutering ones, thanks) as she has dared.

They've cut off his ruined clothing, decontaminated him as much as possible without endangering the fragile medical equilibrium she's worked so hard to build.

He's resting as comfortably as he can.

Kate's washed up, changed out of the clothes that might be contaminated.

Scrubbed her hands and arms, above the elbows all the way down to her nailbeds.

They're scoured and clean and she hopes it's enough.

And the big man next to her,- well she supposes he's not that big, definitely not Terminator big but something about him emits the feeling of him being a big dude,- looks like he's ready to drop to the floor.

She imagines he's exhausted, him having carried his brother as far as he said he did for as long as he did.

"You should take a break, Barnes. Clean up, get some food-"

The big guy immediately shakes his head.

"No, no, I'm not leaving him alone-"

And her voice is calm but firm.

Just like with John.

"You won't help your brother if you fall over. I'll stay with him, I promise."

And the conflicted man, hesitant and unsure, . . .

"You'll come get me when he wakes up?"

"Yes, of course."

. . . goes.

It's been a couple of hours, they've managed to organize themselves into something resembling civilization.

Injuries have been tended, food rationed out, beds assigned, accommodations arranged.

There's eight of them now, in addition to John and Kate.

Five men and two women, one with a little boy.

And one pregnant.

John has no idea how the pregnant woman made it this far, how she and her unborn baby survived this long in the wasteland world outside the Sierra Nevadas that has been described to him by her and the other survivors.

He knows she is a sign of hope, of possibility, of humanity, as they all are.

And he knows, though he cannot express, that she, and her unborn child, cause him vague disquiet and discomfort.

John and Tyler Russell have reviewed the information gathered in the days and weeks and months since Judgment Day.

They've marked amendments to the vague, wandering path Russell took from San Bernardino Valley to Crystal Peak.

". . . find us?"

They've talked.

". . . uncle was a dishonorable discharge from the military. Always talked about this hidden military base tucked away in the Sierras."

And John's been focused, attentive.

"Swore it was a place they did experiments on aliens, that Area 51 was a red herring. I figured it would at least get us out of the cities. Machines are like summer mosquitoes out there."

But even this man, this . . .

". . . National Guard, you know, weekend thing, . . ."

. . . incidental survivor . . .

". . . use a gun and bandage a broken finger at least . . ."

. . . has finally run out of words and wandered off.

And left John Conner alone.

John has done as best he could, found it slightly unnerving without Kate by his side.

The Terminator had said she would be his spouse, the mother of his children, his second-in-command.

But she's become more than that.

She's become his human grounding in the machine world.

And he's done alright, will learn to do better, with her by his side and the times without.

But right now he is new in this.

Kate?

And he really needs to see her.

So he goes to find her.

It's not that hard, finding Kate.

She's in the med bay, dedicated post-apocalyptic medical professional.

Head down on one arm, eyes closed.

One hand on her unconscious patient's shoulder.

He doesn't know if she's asleep or simply resting.

Either way, he feels so much relief when he sees her.

That red hair.

That tight, strained expression, even in rest.

And John wants to go to her, touch her hand, her shoulder, her hair, anything.

Just to make sure she is real and here and he is not alone in this mass of unfamiliar faces.

But she is tired, she is worn, she'll need all her energy to tend to Jericho, and probably, his mind whispers, that pregnant woman too, something about her worries him.

So he looks at her from the doorway, at Kate, at this woman he didn't even know. . .

Well, not really anyway.

. . . before a few months ago.

You know, if the machines were smart, they'd copy her instead of Uncle Bob.

And leaves her alone.

And goes back out to unfortunately face . . .

I wouldn't have a chance in hell.

. . . everyone else . . .

I won't tell them that though.

. . . not her.

Thanks to MadMikeE (wow, M.A.S.H., alright! The question is, how do we work Clinger into the machine apocalypse?) for so graciously reviewing the previous chapter!

Thanks also to Thanh Hau Tran Do for adding your support to this story. :)