Author's Note: First off, let me apologize for the wait. Life, school, writer's laze, and a certain someone have been distracting me from the noble pursuit of fanfic. However, I split this chapter up for the sake of my own sanity, which means that the other half is pretty well in my head, so hopefully the next update won't be so sickeningly long in coming.

Before you get into this, fair warning. If you didn't read chapters 10 and 11 of my previous story, you might want to skim them before going on. A character from there is reappearing here, back by popular demand. Well actually, only 2 people demanded it, and I planned to bring him back from the moment I first wrote him but anyway…I've tried to include all the relevant backstory here, but there's at least one joke that won't make sense without knowledge of chapter 11. Read it or don't, but if you're confused about anything, I'd refer back to the chapters mentioned above.

As always, thanks to those who commented previously, I'd love it if you nice reader people would drop some feedback on your way out. Oh, and to my two favorite stalkers, you guys owe me voice-type messages, don't forget. Happy day-after-Halloween to all, and to all a TSCC-filled night.


In certain ways, it was like nothing had changed. Cameron still paced the property like the world's most sophisticated guard dog, Sarah still threw out the occasional bionic Barbie joke, James and Charley still did their best to stay out of Sarah's way when she was hit with a particularly bad mood. It'd been more than a few days since John and Cameron returned, and most everyone seemed desperate to establish some kind of routine, some kind of pattern.

As routines went, John was doing a decent job of following his old one. He and Cameron were still nameless. His mother was taking longer than usual to acquire the new ID's, and John suspected he knew why. She blamed it on lack of contacts, and she refused to use any of the people Cameron suggested. She was making an effort with the terminator, but it was an effort made in small steps. Still, John wasn't buying her explanation for why he and Cameron didn't have identities yet. His mother was distracted, pure and simple. There weren't many things that could distract Sarah Connor, but John knew enough to realize that he himself was at the top of that list.

Without a name, John was confined to the house, hence the reestablishment of old routines. He paced the house like a restless animal, unable to keep still. And again, like old times, his mother was there. Hovering over him, even as she tried not to. She'd always gotten a little extra clingy whenever they moved, and this time her distraction, her maternal concern, was amplified to the tenth power.

Not everything was the same though. John wasn't always restless. Every member of the household, at one point or another, found him stiff as a statue, looking off into what should've been nothing, but obviously wasn't. He was home, but in a lot of ways, he wasn't really. Late at night, with Charley holding her, Sarah wondered and worried aloud, about whether he'd ever truly be home again.

She was hovering and she knew it, and she couldn't do a damn thing about it. She touched him impulsively, compulsively. Hair, cheek, whatever she had any chance of getting away with. Another change in routine, John let her do it, most of the time. No sighs, no eye rolling, just a warm smile and a loving look in those eyes that mirrored her own. More than simply putting up with the contact, John seemed to revel in it, seemed to need it just as badly as his mother. Hard as she tried, Sarah couldn't remember the last time it'd been like that between them.

Most of the time, John didn't have a problem with his mother's affections. But occasionally, during those times before he turned into the statue his mom always wanted him to be when there weren't any names, John needed a break. From everything. Even the mother he'd missed so desperately for close to a year. Sarah wasn't good with breaks, wasn't good with the idea of John struggling on his own. Fortunately, Charley was there during those times. He calmed her enough so that John could have the space he needed and, in turn, kept John from snapping at his mother as he'd been known to do in the past.

He was playing that role this morning, just before sunrise. The air was cool, not sweltering, as it would be soon enough. There'd been talk of finding a bigger house, but until the ID's came, talk was all it amounted to. As Charley moved away from the back entrance, towards the fire pit and picnic table, he couldn't help but hope that the relocation would be soon. He'd gotten used to the desert, and he'd forgiven Sarah and himself for the fact that Michelle had died in the desert. Adaptation and forgiveness didn't erase terrible memories, and Charley couldn't say he'd be sorry to leave this place, even though there'd been lots of good memories here too.

John was lying on his back atop the picnic table, hands pillowing his head. Charley couldn't tell if the boy was sleeping or not. What he did know, Sarah had panicked a little when she found his bed empty. She'd never liked not knowing her son's whereabouts, and losing him for, to them, six months, hadn't helped with that. When she'd seen him out here through the kitchen window, Charley had fought a minor battle to speak to John himself. Sarah's concern didn't always read like concern, and Charley had a feeling that John might not deal well today if she berated him for going out into the cold with no weapon, no warning, and no Cameron.

Charley approached the table John was using as a bed, realizing that the kid was in fact sleeping, albeit restlessly. He twitched and frowned, like his mother did much of the time. There were no sounds of distress. Usually, there weren't any with Sarah either, unless the nightmares were particularly bad. Mother and son had trained themselves to display control, even as they slept. Still, Charley knew the signs of a Connor fighting bad dreams, didn't matter whether it was the woman he loved, or the boy he loved like a son.

"John," he said quietly, noting the gooseflesh covering the kid's arm. Charley was dressed for the temperature, but John wore a white sleep shirt that offered no protection. "Johnny."

It happened incredibly fast. At the feel of a hand on his arm, John shot up with wide eyes, ready for a fight. If not for Sarah's training and the substantial improvement of Charley's reflexes, the older man would've suffered a great amount of pain. Fortunately, things had changed, and not all of them for the worst. Charley blocked John's automatic attack, staying calm and steady, even as the boy struggled against him.

"John. Johnny. Hey. Hey, it's me, John. It's just me, all right? You're fine, you're okay."

It took several long beats for the words to register, several more before John realized where he was. He stopped struggling after that, the fear in his eyes replaced with other emotions.

Charley released John's hands, trying to smile instead of frown. John was looking at him as he sometimes did in a way that made the older man…not uncomfortable exactly, but something close to it. The looks had started the day he and John talked at the kitchen table, and the boy showed no sign of wanting to explain what they meant. He offered things in small increments, people he'd known, information he'd gleaned, and pushing him when he didn't want to talk hadn't gone well. Charley was infinitely more patient than Sarah, but even he was getting desperate for more answers, even as he reminded himself that it hadn't been very long. He'd caught Ellison at the computer, looking up facts on PTSD. Lots of symptoms, lots of which John was exhibiting to some extent or another. That little Google session reaffirmed what Charley already knew, that they'd have to be very careful in their dealings with John and his emotions.

The boy in question was swinging his legs over the table, shoulders slumping as the adrenaline bled out. That indecipherable expression had been replaced by one of abject horror at what he'd almost done.

"Jesus. Charley, I didn't…"

"It's okay," Charley repeated. "No harm done."

"I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry."

"John," said the older man, more firmly this time, but still with reassurance. "Nothing to be sorry for. I should've known better, and I'm used to it."

"How's that?" John asked, standing in bare feet, on legs that still wanted to shake a little.

"Your mom," was the simple reply. Charley had saved his lover from more than a few nightmares in the last few months, and he'd also learned that there was a certain amount of skill involved. Quick and careful was the only way to avoid accidental injury. Even with practice, Charley still came close to a black eye every once in awhile.

John offered a weak smile, even as his face contorted into something else. "Happy as I am for you, let's not talk about you and my mom sharing a bed." He might've survived a post-apocalyptic horror show, but the merest suggestion of his mother engaging in intimate activities still made him want to run far, far away.

"Sorry." Charley faced the boy for long moments, sharing his grin, before growing serious again. "It's cold out here."

John shrugged, half-turning and looking off to the left. "I guess." He didn't feel cold the same way anymore, not after experiencing the cold of the future."

Charley moved until they were side by side, shoving his hands in his pockets and keeping his voice neutral. "Your mom was worried."

John closed his eyes momentarily. "I didn't mean to fall asleep. Woke up last night, felt like looking at the stars." John thought it a small miracle that Cameron hadn't tried following him. He'd met her in the hallway, she'd asked where he was going, he'd told her, and that was it. His mother had her keeping a close eye on Savannah, and John thought that to be part of why he was on a longer leash. Obviously, Cameron hadn't been readily available when mom and Charley woke up to find him gone.

Charley nodded at John's explanation, but said nothing. The boy had mentioned things since he returned, about how clean the air was, about forgetting what this or that looked or felt like. Charley guessed that a post-Judgment Day sky must look very different from this one. Sarah told him more and more that John reminded her of Derek. All the mannerisms, the odd behaviors that hadn't been there before. Technically, John had been out of his time even six months ago. Now…now things had only gotten worse, and what Sarah referred to as 'time lag' didn't seem to be improving.

Again, Charley reminded himself that it hadn't been that long, reminded himself of his promise to Sarah. That they'd make John okay, as much as such a thing was possible. "Well," he said, indicating the rapidly brightening sky, "stars are gone for now. You feel like heading back inside?"

John regarded the older man for a long moment, that strange look crossing his features for half a second before he managed to cover it up. "Yeah. Yeah, let's go."


Sarah was sitting at the kitchen table, pretending that she hadn't been waiting for them. "Hey," she greeted.

Smiling slightly at his mom's effort to appear casual, John claimed the chair across from her. "I'm fine," he said, without anger or annoyance.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to." Mentally squaring his shoulders, John sat forward, resting his forearms on the table. "We need names, Mom, documentation."

John's voice was still level, and Sarah fought to keep her defenses from going up. "I know that, John. These things take time."

"That's right. They'll take less time if we start working on them now." A pause, "We should talk to Travis."

At the mention of Sarah's ex, one of the many men she'd slept with to get John prepared for the future, Charley stiffened momentarily. He knew Gant had meant nothing, knew that was the case with all of them. Didn't mean he wanted to think of what Sarah had had to do with them. Resting his back against the counter, he watched mother and son interact, doing his best not to show a reaction.

Sarah blinked at John's words, showing her surprise for a few moments before replacing the mask. "You want me to talk to Travis. There are other people. Cameron-"

"Cameron's contacts are a year…" Shaking his head at the mistake, John rubbed a hand against his forehead, using the gesture to hide his eyes. When the hand dropped and he looked back at his mother, he'd forced himself into steadiness again. "Cameron's contacts are six months old, and if you wanted to use them, you would've done it already. You went to Travis before. You can trust him, Mom. We can trust him."

Sarah found Charley's eyes over John's shoulder, silently asking if he'd told the boy about their visit to Gant's ranch. She had the answer before she truly looked for it, and then had it confirmed when she met John's gaze again. "He helped…helps us, in the future?"

The pain rushed up for a moment, before John was able to tamp it down. Still, he had it under control by the time he answered. "He helps us now. We need to go see him."

Sarah was silent for a long handful of seconds. She'd been dragging her feet on the ID's, mostly because she couldn't seem to tear herself away from John, but partly because of Travis. Despite his numerous threats to blow her skull open the last time they met, he had done business with her. In fact, he'd snuck in some extra guns, stuff she hadn't paid for. The good stuff too, shotguns, AK-47's. She'd lived with him for a year, and apparently he still remembered what she liked.

She'd been toying with the idea of giving him the truth. Showing it to him, actually, so he'd know once and for all that she wasn't nuts. He had resources, the same ones that brought her to him when John was a kid. And he cared for John, of that she was sure. He cared, and they needed to start building a network, making connections. Setting up the Resistance.

"Okay. We'll go see Travis."

Immediately after announcing her decision, Sarah sought Charley's eyes again. Happy was not a good descriptor for his expression, but he did offer a strained look of understanding. He might not have been pleased, but he wasn't stupid either. He saw the bigger picture, and the bigger picture involved finding whatever allies they could, and doing whatever it took to stop Skynet. Even if that involved enduring more of Travis's remarks about Charley not at all being her type.

Cameron entered through the front door before anything else could be said, crossing the main room in three long strides and joining them in the kitchen.

"Where've you been?" Sarah asked.

"Patrolling the surrounding area," Cameron replied. "Looking for Catherine Weaver."

Charley frowned, not just because he shared Sarah and Ellison's distrust of the liquid metal who'd slithered in here the same night John came back. "I thought you said you wouldn't be able to see her if she didn't want to be seen?"

Tilting her head minutely, Cameron studied Charley as she pulled something from her jacket pocket, holding it up for the others to see. "Sometimes people get lucky. I found a penny."

Half of her wanted to point out that Cameron wasn't a person at all. Instead, Sarah pushed the urge down and smirked, just a little. If they couldn't keep themselves together now, then what hope did they have when it came to building and leading armies? She'd resolved not to let things fall apart again and she meant it. "Lucky you," she drawled. "We'll use it for gas money." Off the questioning cant of Cameron's head. "We're going to take a drive."


The two hour trek to Gant's place was a study in awkwardness. Sarah and Charley occupied the front of the Jeep, with John sitting as far away from Cameron as he could in the back. He wasn't displaying open hostility towards her as he had after she went bad, but there were other things there. Sarah shot him discrete glances in the rearview mirror, while he stared out the window, with a kind of blank expression that could rival Cameron's. Sarah didn't miss the irony of it, John pacing around the house, much like the metal girl, staring off into nothing, also like Cameron. Except Cameron never was staring off into nothing, Sarah knew enough to realize that. She was thinking, processing, whatever machines did in that department. And John was too, processing whatever he'd been through on the other side of that time bubble. He wasn't shutting her out, but Sarah still wished he'd talk to her more, tell her what he was struggling with. Hell, she'd even take him talking to Cameron, if doing so would actually help. That other irony hadn't escaped her either. John's departure, awful as it was, had brought her and Charley together. He'd left for Cameron's sake, and somehow that leaving had torn him away from her.

Sarah's musings were interrupted as they approached the gated entrance to Gant's property. The men playing guard today weren't the ones from before, when she'd come here with just Charley. Sarah shot him a glance as two armed men approached their vehicle, but couldn't get a read on him. That was a bad sign. Usually, Charley was an open book. She would've preferred him to stay behind with Ellison and Savannah but, like last time, he'd wormed his way into the passenger seat. Touching his forearm, she waited for Charley to look at her, holding his gaze. Last time, Travis had ignited some testosterone fueled part of his brain, and he'd ignored her instructions to stay out of the way. Sarah wouldn't deal with that again, not along with the prospect of what else she had to do. He gave her that same look of forced understanding, and it had to be enough, because Gant's men were tapping at the windows, rifles in hand.

Gaining admission was a hassle. Sarah gave the names on the documents Travis had provided for them, waiting while one of the sentries talked on his cell phone. Travis's enraged screaming wasn't quite as loud as last time, but it was clear that he wasn't happy to see them.

"He doesn't seem happy to see you," Cameron observed as Travis told his guard to tell Sarah to rot in hell.

"We have history."

"You know him. Don't you have history with everyone you know?"

John shifted in his seat, the hint of a smile curving his mouth. "Mom came at him with a butcher knife."

"You saw that?" Sarah asked, tone sharp.

"Kind of hard to miss."

"You were supposed to be sleeping."

"The screaming woke me up."

"Why did you attack him with a butcher's knife?" Cameron asked, sounding genuinely curious.

"It was a sheep skinning knife," Sarah corrected, "and we were breaking up at the time."

"Oh," Cameron replied, apparently satisfied. "Thank you for explaining."

A few months ago, Sarah had lied, used John as a way of getting to Travis. So this time, when she dropped his name, counting on Travis's affection for her son, the response wasn't entirely positive.

"Fuck off you lying, soul sucking, bitch."

After that, John got on the phone himself, keeping eye contact with Cameron in order to keep her from killing the guards, breaking the gate open, and generally ruining their chances at help. "Travis? Hey. It's John."

There was a pause in the yelling, but only a brief one. Gant hadn't seen or heard from John since before Sarah was sent to Pescadero.

Sighing noiselessly, John brushed a hand through short hair. "You remember that time I drank some of your scotch? Mom was gone on that run in Venezuela, and you didn't say anything when she got back?"

Another pause. Then, "Christ. John?"

"Yeah. Hey man. Can we talk, please? It's important?"

Seconds later, they were driving through Travis's gate, while Sarah glared at her son through the rearview mirror. "You were drinking?"

"Mom."

"You were drinking."

"Do we really need to talk about this now?"

Sarah glowered silently until they were parked in front of the house and out of the truck. Travis came striding out from somewhere in back of the building, heading straight to John. Charley and Cameron stood off to the side, one looking uncomfortable, the other mildly curious.

"Jesus kid. How…?" Gant trailed off, rubbing his eyes as if to clear them. "You don't look like you should."

Another small smile pulled at John's lips. "Hell of a greeting, after more than ten years."

Travis shook his head again, still looking John up and down. His eyes took on a different expression, and the confused frown he'd been wearing turned into something else. "What happened to you, John?"

John did his best not to close up at the question, at least not in a too obvious way. "What do you mean?"

Gant's eyes narrowed, but they were still full of concern. "I was a military man for a long time, John. You're carrying something you shouldn't be carrying. What'd you do, join the Army?"

Noting the tense set of John's shoulders, Sarah cut in before her son had a chance to respond. "We need to deal, Travis, and we need to talk."

Gant responded without taking his eyes off John. "What the fuck do you and I need to talk about? Only shit that ever flew out of your mouth was about bombs and robots."

"That's what we need to talk about."

Finally, Travis tore his gaze from John, focusing on his former lover. "You're unbelievable, you know that? I put up with your lunacy because you were a good fuck," he declared, ignoring or disregarding the pained look on John's face and the angry half-sound that came from Charley. "All that fucking bullshit about the end of the world-"

"It's true," Sarah cut in. Her voice was level, a contrast to his.

"It's true," Gant repeated, tone scathing. "What did you say, '97? Was that the year we were all supposed to burn?"

"Yes."

Nodding, Gant made an expansive gesture, waving his hands at their general surroundings. "And yet, here we all are. Sun's still out, birds still sing, and you're still crazier than a fucking-"

"We stopped it." John's voice was calm as he spoke to the man who'd once been his closest thing to a father, but his eyes burned with intensity as he willed Travis to listen. "Or thought we did. We slowed it down, but it's still going to happen if we don't work damn hard to stop it for real this time. We need your help, Travis. I need your help."

Sarah's eyes flickered between John and Travis. Her son's expression didn't change, but Gant's eyes had softened in a way she'd rarely seen during their time together. Travis's gaze was glued to John and Sarah almost believed that they had him, that John Connor, the man people trusted enough to die for, was making an appearance. Then Travis gave his reply.

"Oh hell, John." Gant's voice was low and sad as he shook his head, resting a hand on the boy's shoulder. Then the hand was gone, his attention returned to Sarah, and the anger was back. "Are you happy? Are you fucking pleased with yourself? Christ. Thought John was lucky enough to get away from you before you fucked with his head even more, but apparently-"

"Hey, that's enough," Charley began, stepping towards the group of three.

"Charley," Sarah said. The one word, the warning behind it, was enough to freeze him in place. She'd always loved his concern, his attempts to take care of her, even as she resented the hell out of them. At this moment, she was more in touch with the resentment feeling. She didn't need his protection, not when it came to Travis.

Sensing that the tension was reaching critical mass, John nodded towards Cameron. "Tell him who you are."

It didn't escape Sarah's notice that despite John's hot and cold reactions to the machine, he'd said 'who' instead of 'what.' She didn't have time to dwell on this though, because Gant was suddenly moving away from her and towards Cameron.

Having ignored her completely before, Gant was now pacing around the metal like a vulture, eyes taking in every detail. He was on his third circuit, gaze glued to her ass, before he finally spoke. "Hey cutie, what's your name?"

Cameron's reply was given to Sarah rather than the ex-Green Beret. "You had intercourse with this man?"

Coming around to stand in front of her, Gant answered before Sarah had the chance. "Hell yes. Many, many times."

"You," Sarah said, nodding at Cameron, "it was for the mission. And you," she continued, addressing Travis and ignoring the looks on Charley and John's faces, "it wasn't that many times."

"Hell if it wasn't," Gant argued. "Sometimes it was multiple times a night."

"Maybe it was. Maybe the boredom caused me to forget."

"Guys." John made an attempt at getting things back on track, even as his stomach rolled at the direction the conversation had taken. Yet in another way, it was almost comforting, seeing his mother and Travis at each other's throats. Reminded him of childhood.

"You're a bitch, you know that? Grade A, fucking whackjob bitch." Briefly, Gant's eyes cut to Charley. "And look, Mr. Not Your Type is still here. Guess that means you're still fucking him."

It was Cameron who answered, even though there hadn't really been a question. "Yes, she's still fucking him. Sometimes multiple times a night. I don't sleep," she continued, off the incredulous and heated looks coming her way. "I hear things."

"Enough," John stated, a definite edge to his voice. It seemed like they'd been here for hours, and all they'd accomplished was causing further damage to his already frayed psyche. "Cameron," he said, repeating an earlier request, "tell him who you are."

Cameron complied, addressing Gant with her usual lack of expression. "I'm a terminator, sent back from the year 2027 by John Connor. My primary objective is to protect John Connor and aid in the prevention of Judgment Day."

That earned her a snort and a derisive grin. "Terminator. Of course. Always with the goddamn terminators." To Sarah, "I suppose she's the one we talked about last time, the one you were fucking."

Rolling her eyes, Sarah addressed the group at large, Charley being the only one who would know what Gant was speaking of. "Don't ask." To Travis, "Yes, she's the one we talked about last time."

"I see. And where was she last time?"

"I was out of town," Cameron replied, answering for herself.

"You were out of town," Gant repeated. "And you were sent back by John."

"Yes."

"From the year 2027."

"Yes."

"Sent back by John," said Travis, gesturing toward the boy in question, "to protect John."

"Yes."

"Well. That makes perfect sense."

"Yes. It does."

At her wit's end, Sarah nodded towards the .45 that nearly always stayed holstered at Gant's waist. She herself was feeling edgy, having surrendered her weapon to Travis's guards before entering the compound. "Give me your gun."

"Fuck off."

"I need to show you something."

"Fuck off. I've seen everything you have to offer and let me tell you, its not-"

"Travis."

It was John that spoke. No one there had ever heard that particular tone from him. Gant's eyes locked on John's again. Sarah watched the wheels turn in his head, watched his forehead crease and his lips turn down. Then, with a shake of the head and a muttered curse, Gant handed over his firearm. "You fucking try anything on me Sarah, I swear to God-"

"Believe me Travis, I'm not trying anything on you. Ever again," Sarah replied, gesturing for the others to back away, with the exception of Gant. She also indicated that Cameron should remain apart from the group.

"What the hell are you driving at, Connor?" Gant asked. He'd wound up positioned next to Charley. Both men were too busy ignoring each other to notice the odd way that John watched them from the corner of his eye.

Not bothering with a response for Travis, Sarah stood back from Cameron, the others behind her. Raising the gun just slightly, Sarah raised an eyebrow as well. "Can I shoot you in the head with this?" She considered it a sign of self-improvement that she'd thought to ask first.

"If it will help," Cameron replied.

"Turn around."

Gant's eyes widened. For the first time since seeing John, he looked nonplussed. "Bullshit, Sarah."

"Just watch," Sarah retorted, taking aim at the back of Cameron's skull before clicking off the safety.

"Christ Connor," Gant began, moving as if to take the gun from her.

He never had a chance. Sarah fired three rounds directly into the metal cranium, Cameron's head jerking minutely with each hit. Charley winced, a muscle in John's jaw twitched, Sarah showed no reaction, and Gant lost every bit of color in his face.

Cameron remained perfectly still as Gant approached her, his mouth slightly open. He looked at her hard, going so far as to pinch the skin of her cheek. Cameron allowed this, but even Charley, not the best when it came to reading the cyborg, saw a flash of annoyance cross her features. After confirming the existence of what seemed to be real flesh, Travis circled around her as he had before, his movements much slower this time

Sarah watched him as he studied the bullets, moving closer. Impossibly, she watched his normally tan skin grow even whiter, watched the truth crash in on him. A vein had suddenly become very prominent in the middle of his forehead, and a tremor went up his spine as she reached his side. Clicking the safety back in place, Sarah passed him the gun. Travis took it, replacing it in its holster without taking his eyes off Cameron, without seeming to realize what he was doing at all.

"You all right?" Sarah asked, concerned in spite of herself. Compared to some o the others she'd been forced to take up with, Travis was a saint. And he'd always, always been good to John. "Travis?"

Sarah touched his arm for half a second. It was barely a touch at all, there and gone in less than a blink. The ex-military man jumped as if she'd put a livewire to his skin. He recovered quickly though, eyes meeting hers. There was no anger in his gaze. For the first time since before she'd left, there was no anger, no resentment, just harsh, painful understanding. "It was true. It is true."

"It's true," Sarah confirmed.

"All that shit you used to spout off, it was all…?"

"Yes. You okay?"

Travis blinked slowly, as if he was having trouble processing the question. "I…yeah. Yeah. I…I just….I think I'm having a small stroke…"

Immediately, Cameron turned so she was facing the other two. "Do you require medical attention?"

Gant jerked again, backing off several paces and almost tripping in the process. Watching this, Charley couldn't help feeling sympathy for the man. He remembered this moment well, the moment when the world spun on its axis and became something unrecognizable.

"You need a minute?" Sarah asked, hoping like hell that Gant wasn't about to pass out on her.

Blinking again, Travis seemed to come back to himself, at least enough to refocus on his ex. "A what?"

"A minute. You need a minute?"

Gant snorted again, a half-crazed grin twisting his lips. "Fuck that," he retorted, shock and disbelief coloring his tone. "I need a fucking drink. I need…lots of fucking…drinks…"

Gant's eyes returned to Cameron. When it became clear that he wasn't going to finish the sentence, John stepped forward, carefully modulating his tone. "Can we talk, Travis? Can we go inside and talk about things?"

Nodding in a dazed sort of way, Gant gestured towards the house and began walking. "Tequila, he muttered. "I need some goddamn tequila."

Charley had moved closer as well, and he fell into step beside Gant, wanting to be close at hand if the man really was having a stroke. Sarah was on Gant's other side, with John and Cameron taking up the rear.

"Are you all right?" Cameron asked, watching John as he watched the others.

"Fine," John replied. It wasn't an angry response or a brush-off. He wasn't angry at Cameron, at least not then. He was focused on the strange sight of the three adults walking together. Mostly though, he was looking at Gant and Charley, as he'd done before. It didn't take much to send him back in time. Or forward, technically. As he had so many times since returning home, John had disappeared again, unwillingly revisited the future he'd spent a year trying to escape from.

John wasn't sure what he'd said to them. After Derek and Kyle and the girl who wasn't Cameron, it was all a blur of explanations that he himself couldn't make sense of. They put him in a tiny room for a bit, fired off question after question. They let him keep Kyle's jacket though, and it was Kyle who now led him through the maze of darkened corridors.

John tried not to sneak glances at his father, failing miserably. He saw parts of himself there, and he sucked in every detail, his mother's stories of Reese the hero playing on a loop in his mind. Derek had been shocking enough but Kyle…

Before he could work himself into a nervous breakdown, Kyle had rounded a corner, stopping in front of a door flanked by a lone soldier. Reese spoke a few words to the man, and something he said lit up in John's mind, but it was just a flicker, and Reese was ushering him through the door now, and Reese was taking up most of his brainpower.

The room was small, with a battered desk and chair in the middle of it. There were guns on a nearby table, lots of them. Mossbergs. His mother had always favored the Mossberg. Crude maps hung all over the walls, lists of names and places. John tried to take it all in, tried processing the fact that his dead father was standing next to him. And then the door opened, and two became three, and John's world turned over again.

It was Charley. There was gray in his hair and indescribable weariness in his face, but it was Charley. Kyle said something as he approached, spoke in a deferential way, but John barely heard the words. He hadn't seen this man since the day Michelle died that horrible, pointless death. John raked his gaze over Charley, noting the same dirty, tattered clothes that everyone seemed to wear now. Something stood out though, something different. There was a chain around Charley's neck, gold, with two gold rings hanging from it. John's eyes left the necklace, moved up to meet Charley's disbelieving gaze, then flicked back to Kyle. His father and the man who'd loved him like a father, impossibly, together.

The look on Charley's face was not entirely unfamiliar. John remembered it from just after they jumped ahead, when he'd been caught breaking into the Dixon home. Slowly, the man approached, while Kyle backed off slightly.

"John?" he asked, resting both hands on the boy's shoulders. "I…I was starting to think you weren't…"

John wanted to speak, but couldn't. There were a million questions, a ,million things that needed saying, and all he could do was swallow hard, blink harder, and do his best to keep some semblance of control.

"We've….I've been waiting for you, Johnny. We have a lot to talk about."