Author's Note: First off, let me apologize to the people this doesn't pertain to. I'm going to play the broken record game one more time, then we'll be done. No, I'm not pretending the Jameron stuff never happened, as you'll see in the chapter. I do think that people and relationships change, especially after traumatic events. John jumping to a post-apocalyptic future and enduring we-don't-know-what while he was there? I'm thinking that may've had an impact. Yeah, he did a huge thing for Cameron, and now he seems to be regressing in his treatment of her. Is that explained right off? No. Look at 'Samson and Delilah,' and the eps that followed. Not everything regarding the Sarkissian death was explained immediately, and John was a pretty big mess for a long time afterward. We're talking about a teenage boy who was already battling PTSD, prior to jumping into a war zone.
To those of you who only read the first fic because of the promise of Jameron…I don't even know what to say at this point. Read the AN from chapter two. Read my profile. I apologize if you wasted time, but when there are literally hundreds of Jameron fics here, I'm not sure why you'd wade through a Sarah/Charley fic when there are so many stories that are more to your taste. I like Sarah. If I see a fic that's clearly billed as taking place after her death or without her around, I usually don't read it, simple as that. When I've stated time and again that I have no interest in writing Jameron, all I can tell you is buyer beware. If something's not to your taste, why bother complaining when you know it won't be focused on the characters you like? It's like going to a comedy movie and saying that there aren't enough horror scenes.
Yes, I know Josh Friedman's position on Jameron. I'm not him, I'm not trying to be him, and I don't think that his word is law when it comes to fanfic. As to accusations that I'm anti-Jameron, first off, it doesn't matter. People are allowed to like or dislike whatever characters/pairings they want, regardless of what the show writers think. But, just to be clear, I've read Uncommoner's fics. I've read ElusiveSanity's fics. I've read KingSteve, I've read the 'Secret Diary' fic. Orsino's work is fabulous, in my opinion. What do all these fics have in common? If I hate a pairing, I'll go on record and say I hate a pairing. John/Riley, Derek/Cameron. There. Jameron has been done well at times. In the fanfic world. In the show, I simply wasn't convinced. There are lots of reasons for this, some of which will be outlined below. If you need Jameron to like a story, fine. I just remain unclear as to why you'd read something that has never, ever claimed to be a Jameron fic, only to criticize it for not being geared towards you.
Again, I apologize for the rambling. My intention is to clear the air once and for all, then let the issue stay buried. I feel like this defending myself thing was rather needless, since I've made no secret of where my interests lie, but there you go. Rather than complain about my supposed anti-Jameron tendencies, I'd ask that you just exit stage right if you can't comment on any other aspect of the story. Honestly, don't even waste the time typing a review, just move on to the dozens upon dozens of Jameron fics. If that means I'm left with just a few followers, that's fine. Relatively speaking, TSCC didn't have mass appeal either.
She'd dreamed about this night. For six months, Sarah had dreamed of having John n her arms again. She'd also had a lot of nightmares during that time, so the image of a terminator standing over Savannah, able to hurt or kill her at any moment, the scenario wasn't exactly new.
"Get away from her," Sarah ordered, voice close to a growl as she leveled her gun in empty threat. She couldn't shoot with Savannah right there, and the bullet would do nothing, even if her aim was good.
"Sarah."
Cameron, somewhere behind her. "Quiet." She'd seen Weaver in action, if only briefly. She'd also seen the other one like her, the one from years ago. If Weaver chose to do something to Savannah, Cameron wouldn't be fast enough to stop it. Sarah wouldn't be fast enough to stop it.
"Mom-"
John didn't finish the sentence. Ellison had drawn his gun, slower than Sarah. Weaver's arm, the one that wasn't touching Savannah, stretched across the room, forming into a spear. In the blink of an eye, Ellison's pistol was on the floor, and Catherine's weaponized arm was millimeters away from his throat.
"Point a gun at someone, you'd best be prepared to use it. I'm sure they taught you that at Quantico. Long time no see, Mr. Ellison. I hope you're having a pleasant evening."
"I was," Ellison replied, sweat visible on his dark skin. "Amazing how quickly things can change."
Weaver shook her head minutely, the smallest of frowns on her lips. "When last we spoke, you were much more the gentleman, James."
"Again, things have a way of changing," Ellison retorted, fighting to keep the fear out of his voice.
"Yes, I suppose they do." Still with a hand on Savannah's arm, and a sphere over Ellison's windpipe, Weaver swept her eyes over the rest of the group. "Would you mind lowering your weapons? You're frightening Savannah."
"I don't think that's us," Sarah refuted. Still, she gestured at the others, felt rather than saw them lower their weapons. Sarah didn't lower hers. "I'm giving you two options here. Take your hand off her, or I take your head off. I'd decide quick."
"Come now. I think we both realize that 'taking my head off' is easier said than done."
"True. I can be pretty resourceful when the need arises."
"Undoubtedly. You can also be astonishingly rude and obtuse."
"I suppose you would know. Tick tock."
Tense seconds went by before Weaver pulled both arms away from their tasks. Ellison released a harsh breath as the sharp point moved away from his neck, and Savannah shook violently again, even as Weaver stopped touching her shoulder."I apologize, darling; I didn't mean to wake you. Tell me, how was your gymnastics class?"
This wasn't happening. The liquid metal bitch was not in her house, hovering over a child that had somehow become hers, speaking to that child as if six months hadn't gone by. "Why are you here?"
Sparing a last look for the petrified girl, Weaver took three steps forward, her movements precise. She remained standing between Savannah and the others. "There are so many answers to that question. However, it's past Savannah's bedtime, and you don't seem in the mood for visitors, so let's stick with the simple ones. Chiefly, I'm here to thank you for looking after Savannah in my absence. You, James," eyes cutting to Charley, "and Mr. Dixon, of course. A pleasure to see you, Mr. Dixon."
Charley was next to, and slightly behind her. Sarah didn't have to look; she could picture the shock on his face without seeing it. The machines still gave him trouble, never mind the more advanced ones, the ones he'd never seen. "You're here to thank us. I didn't buy into that bullshit six months ago, either."
Weaver's eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. "I would appreciate it if you refrained from using that kind of language in front of my daughter."
"I'm not yours."
Savannah's voice, clearly terrified, but with an unmistakable tinge of defiance that Sarah had never heard before. Her eyes blazed in a way that Sarah would've remembered, had she seen it earlier.
Weaver's face showed the hint of surprise and something else as she addressed the others. "You've told her then."
"No," Charley refuted, his first word to the cyborg. "She figured that out for herself." He was fighting an urge to empty his clip into Catherine's chest, and his voice showed it.
Weaver half-turned to face Savannah again. Before that happened, Sarah decided that the 'something else' in the machine's expression could be pride. Sarah understood the feeling.
"Very good, darling."
Weaver reached out a hand again. Savannah scooted back from her on the bed. Her voice still quavered, but she didn't flinch this time. "Leave me alone."
"You heard her," said John, tone even. He'd shouldered ahead to stand next to his mother, at the front of the group. Cameron came up on Sarah's other side, next to Charley. John didn't have a weapon, and Sarah wanted to yell at him, wanted to yell at Cameron for letting him be stupid like this.
"John Connor. You look well. Greatly improved from the last time I saw you."
John didn't speak immediately. His shoulders were ramrod straight, his jaw clenched. Charley spared half a glance at the boy and, for the first time he could remember, saw his mother there. It was the eyes, Charley decided. He'd had Sarah's eyes already, but the fire in their depths… Charley had seen that from Sarah. John was a different story. Until now.
"Thank you," John said. The words hung in a way that told everyone involved that John wasn't responding to the comment on his physical appearance. He turned his eyes to Cameron and held them there until Cameron echoed his sentiments, addressing Weaver. Then John spoke to her again himself. "Would you please move away from her now?" he asked, voice still steady.
Three more precisely measured steps, away from the bed. "I think you realize John, that if I wished to harm Savannah, I could've done it a thousand times in a thousand ways."
With Weaver's attention away from her, Savannah shook again. The child's name, and the word 'harm' had Sarah tightening her grip on the gun in her hand. John noted both these things without losing focus on Catherine. "You're not helping the situation here."
"Apparently not." To Sarah, "And apparently, you and your boy still have much to talk about."
Fuck. She was showing her cards, her face, her confusion. Ellison's voice forestalled any response Sarah may've given.
"What about your boy, John Henry?"
"He's well enough. Obviously we'll be discussing his sudden urge to travel. Shall I give him your regards then, James?"
As she said it, Weaver was already beginning to slink back into the floor, on the verge of disappearing again. "Wait," said Sarah.
Weaver gave another one of those barely noticeable headshakes. "Unfortunately, I can't do that. You know what they say; time and tide wait for no man. Or woman, for that matter."
"You're not a woman," Sarah snarled.
"How very observant of you," Weaver praised, liquid silver crawling up her body. "A minor detail. Now, I have things to discuss with my son, as you do with yours. I'm sure the two of them will meet soon enough, we'll make a day of it." Barely turning her head in Savannah's direction, "You too, darling, we have things to talk about. You behave yourself until I get back."
The ground shifted again, and just like that, there was nothing to show that Catherine Weaver had ever stood there.
Things happened quickly after that. Sarah crossed to Savannah, Charley on her heels. The kid latched on to Sarah's neck with a strength that shouldn't have been possible for someone her size. Like John before her, Savannah couldn't stop the tears from coming. Cameron, always helpful in emotionally charged situations, was quick to assist this time as well.
"She's urinated. She's had an accident."
Sometime after Weaver's arrival, Savannah had wet the bed. Having this pointed out to her, and everyone else, didn't do much to stop the tears and the shaking.
"Would you get out of here?" Charley barked, either forgetting or not caring that Cameron could turn his spine to powder, if she chose to do so. "Can't you…make sure that thing is gone or something?"
"That thing is an advanced model terminator. And no, I can't make sure that she's gone."
"Why not?"
"She's too advanced for me to be able to determine if she's gone or not."
"Go check around," Sarah ordered, Savannah still close to choking her. "See what you can see."
"If Catherine Weaver doesn't wish to be seen, I won't see her."
"Cameron." This time it was John who spoke. Closing his eyes, he forced his tone to lighten. "Please, just check."
Cameron checked, but not before offering a final remark to the child. "You shouldn't be upset. Accidents happen."
Savannah continued to clutch at Sarah. "All right," murmured the brunette, having to fight to put any space between them. "All right. Easy, I've got you. Look at me." Savannah wouldn't at first. Charley rubbed her back and said something comforting, and the kid loosened her hold just enough for Sarah to get what she wanted. "Did she hurt you?" Sarah asked, automatically checking for injuries.
Savannah shook her head no.
Sarah released a breath. She wouldn't have to chase down the metal blob with some sort of jury-rigged, as yet non-existent, thermite weapon. At least not right now.
"Sorry."
It took a moment to decipher the word, the sobbing was that bad. Another moment passed before she realized what Savannah was referring to. "No. Don't be sorry," Sarah said, wishing her voice sounded warmer, wishing she could just stay here and hold Savannah. She didn't have that luxury. Ellison came up behind her, and she left him and Charley to deal with Savannah.
"Let's talk, me and you," she said, voice rough as she strode past John. There was no question that he would follow, no choice in it. Sarah made it to the kitchen before spinning on her heel and rounding on her son.
"You didn't think it might be a good idea to mention that she was back too?"
"You didn't ask." It was Cameron who responded, entering through the back door. "Catherine Weaver appears to have left the property."
Which, as already established, didn't necessarily mean anything. "I didn't ask?" Sarah repeated, voice dangerous. "I didn't ask?" Not all the anger was directed at Cameron. That was usually how it worked, actually. Cameron was around, and a machine, so she took the anger, whether it rightfully belonged to her or not. Sarah should've pressed John for answers, but he'd seemed so fragile, even before losing it in the bathroom. Mom won out over rational thinker. She should've pressed Cameron for answers. Whether she'd trust them or not, they would've been better than nothing. Instead, she let herself be goaded into a pissing contest over Charley, let the anger from that get the best of her. Not one of her better nights.
"She didn't know," John said quickly, trying not to fold under the intensity of his mother's gaze. "We didn't know."
"Explain that to me."
"She didn't come back with us. I…I wasn't sure she'd come back at all."
But he'd suspected, strongly. His face told her that much. "So. You and Tin Miss use one time machine-"
"TDE. Time displacement equipment."
"Cameron."
Sarah went on as if neither of them had spoken. "Weaver and her pet project use another. Is that it?"
"That's it," Cameron confirmed.
Fucking time machines were a lot more plentiful than Kyle Reese had made out. "John Henry's back, he took your chip."
"He didn't. I gave it to him."
"Cameron. Stop helping."
Sarah pretended that John hadn't spoken. "Why?"
"John Henry's survival is essential to John's. John Henry was no longer safe in his previous location."
"So you and John Henry put your processors together, and the logical thing to do was get the hell out of Dodge."
"Dodge?"
"Jumping ahead. The most logical thing you two could come up with was to run off into the future. Am I getting this?"
"Yes, getting the hell out of Dodge was the logical thing. And yes, you are getting this."
Like hell she was. "You gave him your chip. And yet here you are, gracing us with your presence. And apparently, John Henry's here too, somewhere. Tell me how that works."
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
"Can't."
"Why?"
"I'm not sure."
"You're not sure why you can't tell me?"
"No. I can't tell you because I'm not sure."
She was going to blow her own brains out. Really, she was going to take out her gun, save Skynet a shitload of trouble, and leave Cameron to clean up the mess. "John?"
"She doesn't know how she got the chip back, or the new body."
"She doesn't know. How exactly does she not know?"
"I have no recollection of what went on after giving my chip to John Henry. My last memory, after what happened six months ago, is waking up in this body."
No memory. Just like she had no memory of what she'd done before the reprogramming. "That's incredibly convenient."
"No, not really."
Rather than put her gun barrel in her mouth, Sarah switched focus to John again. "Amnesia. Talk."
"I don't know what to say."
He didn't know. Cameron didn't know. They might as well just record themselves saying the phrase and play the fucking tape every time Sarah asked a question. "How do you not know, John? Didn't you bring her back, isn't that why you left?"
"Mom…"
"You left to save her. Isn't that why you've been gone for six months? You left, you're here, she's here. Obviously, something went according to plan. So again I ask, how do you not know?" The anger snuck up on her. It'd been quietly building, yet it still snuck up on her. John looked young and shame-faced, and somehow that only made it worse. He opened his mouth and she cut him off. "Dammit John-"
"Sarah." Charley's voice was gentle as he exited the hallway, joining them in the kitchen. "Calm down."
Calm down. She'd thought her son lost for six months, possibly dead. He'd left her, with no guarantee of return. She'd gone against her better judgment, waited for answers, and wasn't getting them. And Charley wanted her to calm down.
"Mom-"
"Give me something, John. Anything. Anything besides 'I don't know,' because that's not cutting it."
"Sarah-"
"Stay out of this!"
Charley's eyes went hard and narrow. Sarah hadn't done the dismissing-him-out-of-hand thing in awhile. Charley hadn't missed it. He'd thought they were past it. If they weren't, Charley realized, then there was a problem. John wasn't his son, but he'd grieved for the boy, regardless. After the bank, after Zeira Corp. Staying out of this wasn't an option anymore. When Charley spoke again, there was no gentleness to his voice.
"Sarah. Back off."
The tone, coming from him, was sharp enough to catch Sarah's attention. Blinking, she tore her eyes from John and Cameron. "Charley…"
The inflection, the way her eyes were slicing into him, those things would've scared anyone else. Maybe they still scared him a bit, but not enough to do the sensible thing. "Back off," he repeated, voice still cool. "You wanted him to talk, let him talk."
In a way, this standoff was just as intense as the one in Savannah's room. John's eyes flew between his mother and Charley. Even Cameron seemed mildly interested. Long moments later, Sarah broke from Charley's gaze. Tension still rolling off her, she turned and pulled out two of the kitchen chairs, claiming one for herself. She made a gesture, and John sat down as well. Her gaze was still cold bordering on glacial, but she didn't protest when Charley took a seat next to her.
"Whatever it is that you do know, you tell me. Right now."
For a second, John wilted under her gaze. Terminators had nothing on his mother. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to look at her. "Nothing went according to plan. There was no plan. I wanted to save her, I didn't."
"She's here."
"Not because of me."
He'd looked for her, he said, looked for her while trying to be a soldier. Six months here had been close to a year there, he wasn't precisely sure how long. Time was marked in battles rather than days. He'd looked for her, him…whatever you called a machine that looked like a man, that was carrying the chip of a machine programmed to be female. He'd fought for his life in a future he wasn't meant to see yet, and he'd struggled. He wasn't the fighter his mother was, not yet. He wasn't the tactical genius that Future-John was reputed to be. He was a kid who'd jumped ahead, skipped over whatever training and experience would make him an adult. He told them this without using the exact words, but neither his mother nor Charley were stupid, they got the gist.
"You thanked Weaver. Why?"
John closed his eyes. "Weaver stayed away from me. Most of the time. Sometimes she didn't. Sometimes, there were fights, bad ones, with the machines."
"You're saying there were good ones?" Sarah asked.
"I'm saying…there were times when I should've died, would've. I didn't. Because Weaver stepped in, just enough to keep that from happening."
So she owed her son's life to the metal bitch. Great. Rather than comment, Sarah gestured for him to continue.
John closed his eyes. In the span of a few seconds, he'd chosen one future over another. His mother thought he'd chosen Cameron over her, he knew that. John wanted to say it wasn't true, but couldn't. He'd chosen to be a hero and go after Cameron. There'd been no heroics. Just months and months of cold and death, and, as usual, getting his ass pulled from the fire by a female terminator. And one day, after she'd done that again, she'd also led him to Cameron.
"Just like that," Sarah pressed, after he'd explained himself.
"Just like that."
She'd almost forgotten that Cameron was there. The metal girl had been still as a statue all through this, staring out the kitchen window.
"Why? Why then?"
"You'd have to ask her."
"You didn't?"
"If Catherine Weaver wishes to withhold information-"
"Okay," Sarah said, cutting Cameron off. "I get it. So she's the one who brought you back?"
"It would seem that way."
"And she's the one who wiped your memory files?"
"It would seem that way."
Sarah sighed. How often was anything what it seemed to be? "And I suppose you don't know why she would do that."
"That's hard to say."
Of course it was. Such a wealth of information. What Sarah did manage to pull from John, Catherine Weaver apparently wanted peace. "You've spoken to her about this?"
"Not…extensively."
"But enough to know that she wants peace."
"That's what she says. She helped me, Mom. I don't know how else to explain that."
So the best explanation was that Catherine Weaver really was just a simple, peace-loving machine, who wanted nothing more than to wear tie dye clothing and sing Kumbaya. "Helping you, creating this machine that's supposed to help you, is she doing that under your orders, Future-You?"
John looked away. "She wasn't much for long conversations." Mostly it'd been get in, keep him alive, get out before the other Resistance fighters saw her and pulled their plasma rifles.
Sarah sighed. Six months ago, Weaver said they had a common enemy. Common enemy didn't have to mean that they were on the same side. If she'd learned nothing else from what happened to Riley, she'd learned that. "So. You're home, and so are you," Sarah said, nodding towards Cameron. "And that's all because of Weaver, the benevolent, hippie terminator. Is that an accurate summary?"
"Yes, it's accurate."
It was Cameron who spoke, and it was Cameron that Sarah addressed. "And you, you have amnesia?"
"I have gaps in my memory banks that can't be explained."
"So, amnesia."
"Amnesia," the cyborg confirmed.
"Awesome." Because it would be cheating for them to have any real answers, that would be against the script, against the rules. Savannah's arrival, the look on her face, kept Sarah's frustration from reaching critical mass. Ellison was with her. He'd cleaned the girl up and done the necessary laundry after her accident, and Sarah murmured her gratitude as he passed, saying something about needing air. Cameron made him uneasy, Sarah knew. The cyborg had that effect on people.
Charley hugged Savannah goodnight, brushing his lips to her cheek and speaking near her ear as he did. Whatever he said made Savannah smile, however tremulous the expression was. Charley was good like that, good at putting people at ease. When he was done with Savannah, Sarah caught his eye. She wasn't sure what she was doing, whether she was apologizing or not, whether he needed it if she was. Charley looked as weary as Sarah felt, but he still offered her that crooked smile that signified so much between them. This time, it meant that they were okay, and some of Sarah's exhaustion eased. Charley, always good like that.
Savannah's hair was damp from the bath. Sarah sat with her on the freshly-laundered bedding and brushed it out, taking longer than necessary. She'd first done this right after John left, and the girl had found it soothing. Sarah felt the same way. Combing through the red locks was a simple, repetitive thing, and normally it was enough to calm Sarah down. The strategy was even more effective than cleaning the gun collection or laying into the punching bag until she was ready to collapse. Usually. Tonight, Sarah combed through long hair, fighting thoughts of how closely Savannah resembled the terminator who'd come calling earlier.
"Okay," Sarah declared, after dragging out the process as long as she could. Savannah hadn't relaxed against her, as she usually did. She'd calmed, but not completely, and Sarah was past the point of knowing what to do. "Under the covers with you."
Expecting a protest, or a request to sleep in her and Charley's room, Sarah was surprised when the child obeyed without complaint, staying silent until the comforter was pulled over her body.
"She said she was coming back."
Sarah released a controlled breath. There was anxiety in Savannah's voice, despite the girl's attempts to hide it. Perching herself on the edge of the bed, Sarah brushed red hair back from Savannah's face, staring into wide eyes. Weaver's words came back to her. The machine could have harmed Savannah a thousand times before. She hadn't. Didn't mean Sarah was okay with the way Catherine had run her hand along the child's arm. Had that been a possessive gesture? Sarah wasn't sure now. Everything had happened fast, the adrenaline kept her from remembering the exact nature of every moment. It could have been possessive though; Sarah was unable to rule that out.
"She's not going to hurt you. She's not going to do anything to you. You understand me?"
Sarah had made a similar promise once, when they first moved to this place. Savannah nodded then, confirmed her understanding, just like now. Shockingly, she seemed to accept the words, even after tonight's confirmation that alarms, guns, and the presence of family wasn't enough to keep Weaver away, if she wanted to be here. And still, somehow, Savannah trusted Sarah's words, at least trusted them enough. She'd forgotten what it was like, that acceptance. John hadn't trusted her that way in a very long time.
Sitting up in bed, Savannah reached out small arms, drawing Sarah into a surprisingly tight hug. "You promise, right?"
Closing her eyes, Sarah ghosted her lips over Savannah's temple. "Yeah. I promise."
She meant it. No matter that Weaver was more powerful than any of them, even Cameron. No matter what the terminator's reasons for helping her son, Sarah had no intention of trading one child for another.
Sleep was hard to come by that night, for everyone who actually needed it. Cameron paced the house, following Sarah's orders to pay special attention to Savannah's room. Sarah would never admit aloud to finding some bit of safety in the sound of Cameron's footsteps. That aside, Charley still woke to an empty bed, just after dawn had scraped over the horizon.
He showered and dressed, irrationally happy to find no sign of the machine. After that, he found Sarah dozing in Savannah's bed, holding the girl close. It was a sight that would've warmed Charley's heart, if he didn't know why Sarah had gotten so clingy. And it was Sarah. Charley had trained himself to Savannah's footsteps. If the kid had entered their room, Charley would've known. Sarah, she still had the ability to slip away from him. Necessity made Charley push that thought aside, necessity, and John's arrival.
Clad in sweatpants and a t-shirt, the boy said nothing as he observed his mother. She was sleeping, but she didn't look peaceful. She frowned, even as she rested, and one of her hands was clenching the comforter. Savannah was a different story. The redhead was snuggled against Sarah, head under the brunette's chin. She looked relaxed. She looked like how John remembered feeling at her age. Like his mother's arms could protect him from anything. Even after her post-apocalyptic bedtime stories, she'd managed to make him feel safe, even if that wasn't what she wanted.
Charley studied John as John studied his mother. The older man wasn't sure exactly what he was seeing there. Not jealousy, definitely not that. Longing maybe, longing for a different time, a different place. Before he could comment, John gave the pair a last look and headed towards the kitchen.
Charley hesitated in the doorway before crossing into Savannah's room. He tried to be quiet about it, but Sarah still stirred when he adjusted the blanket over her shoulders. She could still slip away, and he still had difficulty getting anything past her. She went tense for a few rough seconds, before realizing where she was, who she was with. Her eyes went to Savannah first, still sound asleep, then they found Charley.
'What's wrong?" she asked, voice low, but worried. "John-"
"He's fine. Everyone's fine." Charley had finally learned not to say 'safe.' Ever. On a long list of trigger words, that was one of the more dangerous choices.
"John's not fine. He's not."
Charley closed his eyes momentarily, because there really wasn't a valid defense for that. "Right now, he's as fine as we can expect him to be, I think."
Shaking her head, Sarah tried to get up. There were things to do, lots of them, like always. Savannah whimpered in her sleep, freezing Sarah in place.
Charley leaned down from his position over the bed, brushing his forehead against Sarah's and speaking close to her ear. "I know he needs you, but Savannah needs this. So do you."
Sarah closed her eyes, because she could do nothing else. She'd been the one to come in here, and Charley knew it. "I'll be out in five minutes."
"Ten."
"Seven."
Smiling softly, Charley cupped her cheek, quickly brushing his lips against hers. "Seven then. I'll take care of John."
He left, and Sarah watched him do it, thinking of how those words wouldn't mean much from nearly anyone else. Taking care of John had always been her job, and she'd always doubted anyone else's ability to do it. It was hard to doubt Charley on anything he said, it always had been.
Charley found John standing in the middle of the kitchen. Standing, looking, and doing little else. There was a distance in the boy's gaze, as if he wasn't quite where he appeared to be. "John?"
John blinked a few times, gaze moving to Charley. "I'm fine," he said.
Charley frowned. There was no anger in the response, no petulance, but there wasn't much else, either. "I didn't ask," Charley said lightly, moving past John and towards the fridge. "You've got to be starving.
"I could definitely eat."
He hadn't eaten last night. Charley didn't want to guess how long it'd been since he had a halfway decent meal. "Your mom will be up soon, I'm sure she'll be happy to rustle up some pancakes."
John's lips curved up. Some things didn't change, no matter what havoc was wrought on which timeline. Then his face went serious again. "Charley."
Turning at the somberness of the boy's tone, Charley set down the juice he'd grabbed from the refrigerator. "John?"
"Thank you. For…for mom. Taking care of her."
Charley tried not to squirm under the intensity of John's gaze, even as a warm feeling fought to envelop his heart. "John-"
"I know you did," the boy interrupted. "Thank you."
"You know what your mom would say if she heard that?" Charley teased.
"Yeah. She still needed to be taken care of, even if she won't admit it. We…we all need to take care of each other."
John's voice had changed slightly, and that distance was back in his gaze. "You're welcome, Johnny."
John blinked again, repeatedly, eyes sweeping over his surroundings before they locked on to Charley. "Sorry. This…it's a lot to get used to again," Pausing, John studied the tile under his feet. "I keep thinking I'm going to wake up."
John kept looking down, and Charley tried to keep himself from wondering. There'd been moments since his return when John seemed like a different person, a stronger one. Charley wondered what had happened to cause that, even as he realized that John was still nowhere near the man Sarah promised he'd grow into.
"It'll get easier. Might not seem like it now, but-"
John shook his head, meeting Charley's eyes again. "It's okay. I'm fine."
Again, no anger, and again, Charley worried. "Why don't you sit down? I'll heat up some soup." Sarah wouldn't take long, which meant that the pancakes wouldn't take long, but John somehow looked thinner in the early morning light, and Charley couldn't fight the need to do something, anything.
"No. Let's…I can wait for everyone else. Can you just…?"
John made a vague gesture in the direction of the table. Offering a weak, but genuine smile, Charley squeezed John's shoulder before preceding him across the kitchen. They sat opposite each other at the table and again, Charley found himself trying not to squirm. John was looking at him differently now, with a different sort of intensity that Charley didn't have a word for.
"Are you going to ask?"
"Ask what?" Charley questioned, countering the apprehension in John's tone by keeping his own voice calm.
"About what happened there."
He wanted to. There was so much yet to cover. After the non-information about Weaver, John had essentially shut down again. "You feel like telling me, you'll tell me."
John dropped Charley's gaze for a moment, looking off to the left. "Mom's going to ask."
Charley nodded slightly. "She's worried about you."
John's mouth quirked again as he returned his eyes to the man across from him. "She's always worried about me."
"True. Is that the worst thing in the world?"
Closing his eyes to the concern in Charley's features, John rubbed at an ache in his forehead. His mother's love wasn't the worst thing in the world. Recalling how hard he'd worked to push her away, that came close. Explaining that he'd left her to be a hero for Cameron, that he'd failed in that, that the only reason he was even back now was because… Explaining all that, the prospect of telling her what he hadn't yet, that was a lot closer to worst thing in the world status.
"She worried a lot, while you were gone." Charley said the words carefully, keeping them free of judgment. He wasn't trying to pour salt in the wound, but he felt the words needed to be said, just once. Charley remembered too easily the nights of Sarah crying when she thought he couldn't hear. There'd been times she made her hands close to bloody, using the punching bag to cope with all the sadness.
"I know that she worried," John replied, immediately regretting his tone.
Charley frowned, at the sudden attitude shift, even as John looked down in shame. His response, the way he gave it, it felt like old arguments. It sounded like a reaction to a well-worn subject, though they'd never spoken of this before. Charley replayed the strange looks from John, then he replayed last night, at the warehouse. John had said something, or started to, while they were hugging. Something about a promise Charley had made. Before last night, Charley hadn't seen the boy since Michelle's death. He hadn't talked then, all his energy focused on avoiding a complete and total breakdown. He'd been too distraught to speak, and he certainly hadn't made John any promises. Which meant…
"John," he began. That was as far as he got, before the machine stepped through the front door. She offered them a quick look, eyes lingering momentarily on John before moving down the hallway, presumably to continue her rounds. Charley's eyes flew to John's as the metal walked away. The boy's eyes carried a lot as he looked at the machine, more than Charley could decipher. John reminded him of Sarah in that moment. So much. So much of everything. More than he'd ever truly understand.
"So," Charley said, knowing he was entering dangerous waters, but feeling he had no choice. "You and the cyborg girl…?"
"Cameron," John corrected wearily. "Her name is Cameron." He was confusing Charley, and he knew it. He didn't think he could explain his hot and cold reactions to the cyborg. In fact, he knew he couldn't.
"Cameron. Sorry." The metal girl was hard for him to deal with. It'd been that way even before she went bad, even before the other machine took his wife away. He was trying, but Charley had never been able to wrap his head around John's choice that day. The choice to leave his mother for the machine. "Can I ask what's going on with you two?"
"Nothing," John replied, with that same tone of weariness. It wasn't enough, he knew that. He didn't feel up to explaining all that had changed since he jumped, but that hardly meant he wouldn't have to.
"You took one hell of a chance for her," Charley prodded, voice as neutral as he could make it.
John nodded, more to himself than to Charley. "I did, yeah."
Again, too many emotions for Charley to identify. Anger, sadness… John had left Sarah, left his time, to get the machine back. Last night, he'd seemed cool to her, except when he was forcing himself not to be that way. And yet there was more than anger and sadness in John's eyes when he looked at her, and he'd corrected Charley on using the cyborg's name. "Do you regret it?" Charley asked gently.
John rubbed at his forehead again, voice ragged when he answered. "No,"
"You love her?" Charley asked, after a small pause.
He'd anticipated the question, and still, John struggled with the answer. It seemed like forever ago, since he'd stepped into that time bubble. He guessed that he must've loved Cameron in that moment, for him to sacrifice what he had. Whatever love meant for a sixteen-year-old who'd met his first terminator the day after kissing his first girl, who's first girlfriend had been brought back to keep him away from a second terminator. He must've loved Cameron, whatever that meant for someone who'd never been in love before. He'd held a gun on Charley, on Derek, on his mother, to save her. Then he'd walked away from his mother, so he could do it again. So, there had to be love there.
"Look John, if you don't want to-"
"Do you know what she said to me, after that night in the junkyard? She said that I couldn't be trusted. And, do you know what she said to me, right before we came back here? She said that I'd made a mistake. Again."
Rationally, John knew he couldn't blame her for that. From Cameron's perspective, from most anyone's perspective, coming after her had been a stupid move. John couldn't disagree with them. And he couldn't expect Cameron to disagree either. He didn't know what he'd expected when he finally got her back, but criticism and nothing else hadn't been it.
His attitude towards her had changed from what it'd been after Sarkissian. He couldn't trick himself into thinking that she was dead inside, that she didn't experience some form of feelings. Maybe she even felt some form of love towards him. She'd overridden her directives to kill him, she'd tried keeping John Henry safe, so she could keep him safe. Maybe that was more than programming.
"There was a girl there. Allison." John didn't know where that had come from. He had no intention of explaining terminators being modeled after people, not when Charley hadn't even had a cup of coffee yet. He didn't want to talk about Allison, but somehow he did. He couldn't explain to Charley that he hadn't been able to see Allison Young without seeing Cameron, or that he couldn't look at Cameron now without seeing Allison.
"A girl. Did you…?"
"No," John replied before Charley could ask if he'd fallen in love with Cameron's double. "She was…she was a friend. A good person who didn't deserve what happened to her." The same could be said for so many people. Most everyone he'd ever given a damn about, in fact. John felt his headache worsening as his throat and chest tightened up.
Charley didn't know if he would've pressed for answers on that or not. John said last night that everyone had died for him, but he hadn't said anything about this Allison. Sarah's arrival made it a non-issue. He locked eyes with her as she joined them at the table, taking a seat next to him.
John wasn't sure how much she'd heard, but the look on his mother's face told him that it'd been enough. "Cameron and I aren't…I'm not with Cameron."
"I might've guessed that last night," Sarah replied, keeping her tone gentle, even as her eyes bored into his. It amazed her even now, seeing her own eyes reflected back at her. "You think that makes me happy?"
John ducked his head in shame. He doubted his mother would shed any tears over not having Cameron as a daughter-in-law. At the same time, he knew how stupid he'd been after Sarkissian. Long hours in dark, lonely tunnels had provided time to think on his own behavior, on hers. It was ridiculous now, the notion that his mom wished him to be unhappy. He'd figured that out for himself, even before it'd been told to him.
"I think I'm supposed to be alone."
"John," Sarah murmured, having no idea what to do for the look of suppressed agony on his face. "Did Cameron tell you this?" she asked, remembering a conversation with the metal, had over the vat of thermite that could've been her grave.
John sighed, everything about him screaming of heaviness. "No. Not Cameron. This is me talking. And I'm the one who…who chose to leave."
Sarah couldn't look away from him, John wouldn't let her. She read what he was saying, what couldn't be said aloud. She'd blamed so much on Cameron, out of convenience, out of a need to defend her son, even to herself. She hadn't liked the way John behaved around the metal, but John's behavior was still his own. "That's not what I want for you," she told him. "Being alone."
"It's not what I want, either. I don't want to be that person, that leader who always has to lose everything."
Sarah closed her eyes. Charley took her hand under the table, but it wasn't enough to settle her. She couldn't do this again, spend the remaining few years arguing with him about something neither of them had a choice in.
John saw the look on her face, saw what she was thinking. The hand that wasn't under the table was on top of it. Grasping his mother's fingers in his own, John poured everything he had into his next words. "I don't want to see the things that I saw there. Not again. No one should have to live that. I want to stop it, Mom. I need to. I need you, and Cameron…I need all of you. We all need to stop it."
'We,' not 'she.' Big difference from last time. Dropping Charley's hand and pulling out of John's grasp, Sarah stood up and moved to her son. Still sitting down, he didn't fight when she pulled him against her. Rubbing his back with one hand, she combed through short hair with the other.
Dammit, he was almost shaking again. His mother's arms still felt like the safest place in the world, even if that was an illusion. John held on to her, trying not to let all of the losses hit him again. He wasn't ready to feel that yet.
"All right. We're here now, all of us. We'll stop it."
John felt her lips on the top of his head, heard the love in her voice. If she was disappointed, she was hiding it well. He didn't see how she couldn't be disappointed. He hadn't been a great military leader, or even a particularly good soldier. All her hopes for him had come to nothing. But she kept holding him, and somehow that made him feel better, allowed him to think clearer. The world he'd jumped into, he wasn't meant to see it, not yet. So much time, so much potential training, all of it skipped over. Just because he wasn't the John Connor of his mother's stories now, didn't mean that he couldn't be. He didn't want to be that person, to live in a world where that person had to exist. He wanted to stop that from happening. But if he couldn't, he needed to be ready for it. He hadn't been ready for what the future held before, but he wouldn't make that mistake again.
John felt Charley's hand on his forearm, and it almost broke him. He didn't have to ask to know that Charley had included himself in his mother's promise. A noise caught his attention, and John pulled back just enough to seek out its source. Cameron, back from her latest circuit of the house. John thought he saw a flicker of something in her face before it turned blank again. She kept watching him, with that blank expression, showing no reaction to the fact that he was close to crying again.
And that was much of the issue, wasn't it? Maybe John loved her, even after a year apart, even after nothing more than her continued assertion that his feelings for her made him untrustworthy. Maybe she loved him, in her own way. Maybe she'd loved Future-John, and that'd been enough, for both of them. But right now, on the verge of losing it again, John needed more than that, and Cameron couldn't give it to him. He didn't doubt that she was evolving to some extent, he couldn't legitimately blame her for not doing it fast enough. But the truth was, he was nowhere near able to understand her feelings at this point, never mind his own. Maybe that would change one day, when he turned into the John Connor everyone needed him to be. The timing for so many things in his life had gotten so fucked up. And timing was important. Technically, it'd taken Charley and his mom more than eight years to get it together. And, for the time being, John couldn't separate Cameron from Allison, not completely. And he couldn't think of Allison without thinking of all the others he'd lost in the last year.
At the same time, he refused to fall into the trap that'd ensnared him after Sarkissian's death. He'd felt that happening last night, and done nothing. This morning would be different. This time would be different. Easing back from his mother, John offered her a soft smile. She hesitated a moment, brushed cool fingers across his cheek, then resumed her place next to Charley.
"Everything okay?" John asked, trying hard to fight back all the emotions that came from looking at her. "Everything's good around here?"
Cameron tilted her head minutely. "Everything's good."
There was a pause, an awkward one. For lack of anything better to do, Sarah fell back on tried and true methods. "I'll make pancakes."
"I'll reheat the soup," Charley declared, pushing down his uneasiness towards the cyborg and taking his cue from Sarah.
"I'll recheck the perimeter," Cameron declared, exiting the backdoor to begin another circuit of the property.
Breakfast was an interesting affair, for reasons other than the pancake and fish soup combination. Ellison and Savannah joined them shortly before food was to be served. Just after their arrival, Cameron again reentered the kitchen. After several minutes of watching the cyborg watch everyone else eat, Sarah made an annoyed sort of gesture towards the single remaining chair.
"You might as well sit down," she said gruffly.
Cameron, who'd been observing them from near the sink, sat down, while Sarah wondered what the hell she was doing. Except she already had an idea about that. Things hadn't been perfect before the car bomb went off, but Sarah had at least felt some form of unity in her household. Then everything had changed, and not for the better. Sarah could acknowledge, to herself at least, her role in what'd happened. What had passed for her family had fallen apart, and she could've done things differently. She wanted that sense of unity back. The machines had an easy enough time tearing them apart, no need to help things along.
Cameron didn't take any food. Charley regarded her from across the table, his expression a mixture of curiosity and wariness. "So, I guess cyborgs don't need to eat."
"No, they don't. I dislike the taste of fish," Cameron declared, eyes moving to the bowl in front of Charley.
Savannah was watching Cameron too. "I like gummi bears," she offered tentatively. "Do you like gummi bears?"
"I'm not sure. Possibly."
"We should get some and find out."
"Candy for breakfast," Sarah muttered. "How healthy." Her eyes went to John, who was devouring his food as if he expected it to disappear. Derek used to do that, until Sarah threatened to bash his skull in for the first of many times. She understood John's behavior, but still. Savannah was watching him too now, and Sarah did not need the girl picking up Reese-type table manners. "We don't live in a barn," she stated.
John swallowed a bite of pancake before answering. "And?" he asked
"And we don't eat like pigs," she replied. "You're going to make yourself sick."
"I'll be fine, Mom."
"Buddy used to eat like that," Savannah declared, watching John inhale his food. "Can we get another dog?"
"No."
The response was actually two responses. Sarah and Cameron had spoken the same word at the same time. Shooting the machine an annoyed look, Sarah repeated her words to John. "We don't live in a barn."
Sensing that she was fighting a losing battle, Charley touched her knee under the table. "Sarah."
"He'll be sick."
"And you'll be right, and he'll have learned his lesson."
Sarah shoved his hand off her knee, but said nothing more on the subject.
"I think it'd be fun to live in a barn," Savannah declared after long minutes of silence.
"It wouldn't," Cameron argued. "Barns are unsanitary." Switching focus, the machine addressed Charley. "That is an excessive amount of butter."
Charley looked at his pancake before looking at Cameron. "Is it."
"It is. Butter raises cholesterol. Excess cholesterol raises the probability of premature death due to heart failure."
Sarah closed her eyes. Cameron and her morning small talk. Charley was looking at her now, as if expecting her to handle this in some way. "You do use a lot of butter."
Before Charley could respond, John pushed his chair back and bolted down the hallway.. Seconds later, retching noises could be heard from the bathroom. Apparently a year of near starvation and an overload of pancakes and fish soup did not mix well.
Sarah half-listened to the sound of her son puking, while her other ear focused on Cameron's explanation to Charley about just how much more likely he'd be to die an early death if he continued his excessive butter consumption. Ellison, quiet up to now, left the table with his empty dishware in hand, speaking to her as he passed.
"I'm sure you've missed these family breakfasts."
"Go to hell," Sarah replied, only to face an admonishment from Savannah about using bad words.
(another) Author's Note: If you didn't get this already, no, I'm not diametrically opposed to Jameron. I simply think that on the show, John was still too immature to handle a true relationship with the Tin Miss, and Cameron hadn't evolved enough for that relationship to be possible yet. Obviously, I think that could've changed, given the proper amount of time. Do I have any interest in telling the story of that evolution? No. It's been done a hundred times, by people more qualified to write it, and I literally have nothing to add. So, one final plea. If you can't accept that, please, please, don't yell at me for not writing a story that I never claimed to be writing.
To the three and a half people who still care to read this, thank you kindly. This chapter is dedicated to the other two thirds of my brain. You guys are sweetchotic gorks and I thank you for your constant, infuriating nagging. Now leave me alone for a few days, would you?
