Author's Note: Yeah, I know. I'm slow, real life is distracting, apologies. It's a long update, so hopefully that'll help make up for the inhumanly long wait. And because of that inhumanly long wait, you may want to skim over John's flashback (flashforward?) sequence from last time.
A couple of quick things before we get into it here. Despite a certain scene buried within these pages, this fic will not magically transform into a Jameron piece, for all the reasons outlined in my chapter 2 AN. Don't ask, it's not happening, again, for all the reasons outlined in my second chapter AN. I'd like to thank Wheresmyluce for playing sounding board and somehow deciphering my rambling, incoherent nonsense. I'd also like to thank CheekeyMonkey. Because of the lightsaber. Yup, the lightsaber makes her the single greatest cheekey or monkey to ever fic up the planet.
The usual stuff applies. I'm my own editor, there's going to be errors, if you see anything too grievous, do let me know. Either way, I thank you for your patience while shamelessly begging that you leave some feedback on your way out. To quote two of my favorite stalkers in the same sentence, take it easy, and I'll catch you on the flipside.
Travis remained in a daze as he led the group into a spacious, well-appointed kitchen. A table and chairs stood nearby, but Gant ignored them. Instead of offering a place to sit, he began rummaging through his cabinets, softly muttering to himself.
"Booze…booze. Where's the fucking…? I told her not to fuck with…I have a system here."
After he'd opened and reclosed the liquor cabinet three times, Sarah took pity on him, carefully shouldering him out of the way so she could reach the bottles that were staring him in the face.
"I have a system," he repeated, looking utterly lost as his ex began sifting through his drink supply.
"I know you do, Travis." Glancing over her shoulder, Sarah locked eyes with Cameron, brows raised in a silent question. Wordlessly, the cyborg crossed the room and started pulling down glasses that Travis had seen and ignored at least twice.
Gant stared wildly around the room until his gaze landed on the refrigerator. Seconds later, his feet had followed the path of his eyes. "Who's hungry?" he asked, throwing the fridge door open in a rough, jerky motion.
"I'm not," Cameron replied, passing him as she brought the glasses from cabinet to table.
Travis stiffened at the sound of her voice, but didn't turn away from his perusal of the fridge's contents. "We've got leftover soup. You want leftover soup?"
Noting how close the man was to mental collapse, John kept his voice carefully measured as he eyed the ex-soldier. "Sure Travis. What kind?"
Travis stared into the fridge, stared at John, stared back into the fridge. After a few moments, he blinked hard and shook his head, still examining the contents of his refrigerator. "Nah, you don't want any soup. Olga made it. Fucking Russian Commie food, shit's disgusting."
"Why is it disgusting?" Cameron asked, seemingly intent on making conversation with Gant while he had his nervous breakdown.
Travis didn't tense up this time, but he didn't turn away from the fridge either. "It's cold. Cold soup. Really, what's the fucking point? Fish, turnips, rutabagas. Every disgusting thing in the world, dumped into a bowl. Looks like green puke." Finally closing the fridge door, Gant looked at Sarah as she passed, loaded down with bottles. "What's that shit called, Sarah, starts with an 'o'?"
"I have no idea," Sarah replied, cursing silently, but offering Charley the hint of a smile as he took the bottles from her. Charley had taken the truths of Skynet and possible global destruction far better than Gant was.
"Okroshka," said Cameron as she set down glasses for three people. She had no interest in alcohol, and judging by Sarah's reaction to the news of John's childhood drinking experiment, Cameron doubted that the woman would want her son consuming it, future leader of mankind or not.
"What?" Gant asked, sounding almost detached from his surroundings.
"Okroshka," Cameron repeated. "The soup you described, starts with an 'o.' Okroska."'
"Oh yeah. That stuff. Starts with an…"
Gant trailed off again, standing still as a statue in the middle of his kitchen. At her wit's end, Sarah gestured for the others to take seats while she crossed back to stand in front of her ex. "Travis."
"Sarah."
"You okay?"
Gant shrugged, eyes only partially focused as he met her gaze. "I'm okay. I'm…I think I'm losing my mind though."
"You're not. Come sit down."
"I think I am."
"Fine," Sarah replied, "Do it later." Showing with her eyes that he'd better move and move quickly, Sarah went back to the table, pulling out one of the vacant chairs."Sit down, Travis."
Gant followed, without taking the chair. His eyes narrowed and some of the anger came back. "Quit ordering me around, Connor, I fucking hate that. You know how fucking embarrassing it was when you pulled that shit in front of the guys when we were on runs? I swear to God-"
"Sit down, Travis," Sarah ordered, silently cheering over the return of some of Gant's usual disdain.
Travis sat down. The vein in his forehead was visible again, and his fingers drummed restlessly against the table. "So," he began, eyes shifting between all of them, but lingering especially long on Cameron. "Robots."
"Cyborgs."
One response given simultaneously by three humans and one cyborg. Sitting between John and Charley, Sarah glanced at both of them briefly before locking eyes with Cameron. The machine hovered near the table, having chosen not to sit.
Gant meanwhile was looking at them with a different sort of strangeness in his eyes. "Well jeez, you don't need to get all snippy about it. Act like I'm supposed to fucking know these things."
"Now you know," Cameron replied. "I'm a cybernetic organism, not a robot."
"And…there's a difference?"
"There are many differences," Cameron began, only to be interrupted by Sarah.
"Let's save the technicalities for later," she said, already feeling like they'd been here for hours and accomplished nothing. "Look Travis-"
"Wait," said Gant, reaching over and dragging a bottle of tequila across the table. "Just…I need to…" He fought with the cap for several moments, hands twitching minutely as he went back to muttering mostly to himself. "Robots. Everything was fine an hour ago, and now robots."
"Cyborgs," Cameron corrected.
Gant managed to open the bottle, then proceeded to spill a good portion of it all over the table as he attempted to get the booze into his glass. Pity combined with impatience forced Sarah to action. Taking hold of bottle and glass, Sarah poured Gant a healthy dose of tequila before pushing his drink across the table and repeating the process for herself.
"Cyborgs," Gant mumbled, looking at Cameron as he spoke. "Fucking cyborgs," he said, rubbing at his temples. "I've got to quit drinking." With those words, he downed the alcohol Sarah had given him in one long gulp.
"Travis," John began, "I know this is a lot to take in-"
That was as far as he got before the sound of children yelling filtered down through the ceiling. That noise mixed with the sound of small feet pounding over stairs, heralding the arrival of Travis's children. The son entered first, the boy Sarah and Charley had glimpsed briefly during their last visit. A couple of years younger than Savannah, TJ Gant resembled his namesake, same hair color, same eyes, same complexion. The younger Gant came barreling into the kitchen clutching a doll in his hand. Without sparing a glance for the others, he crashed into Travis's legs, latching on for dear life.
"Daddy! Anna took my Transformers!"
Following that declaration, a blonde girl closer to Savannah's age ran in as well, a toy robot in her hand. "Only because he took my Barbie. Make him give it back!"
"I don't want your stupid girly doll, I only took it because you took my Megatron!"
"Why would I want this stupid thing?" the girl asked, staring distastefully at the action figure while keeping it out of her brother's reach. "I took your dumb toy because you took my Barbie. You started it!"
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not!"
"Did-"
"Guys!" Travis said loudly, the vein in his forehead prominent once again. "Guys," he repeated, tone somewhat back to normal. "Daddy's in the middle of something right now, can you go to your mother with this one?"
"We did," the girl replied indignantly. "Mommy said to ask you."
"Of course she did," Gant muttered "Three years in this country she knows what, maybe three phrases by heart. 'Tell your father,' has to be the first one she figured out." Shaking his head, Gant glanced at the others, met Cameron's eyes again, quickly looked away. Before either child could protest, he'd snatched up both toys, handing the doll back to his daughter. The Megatron, he held on to, eyes darting back and forth between the plastic robot in his hand and the living cyborg standing in his kitchen.
"Daddy," TJ whined, looking expectantly up at his namesake.
Travis blinked several times, shaking his head without relinquishing the toy. "Everyone," he said, the slightly dazed quality back in his voice. "In case you couldn't tell from the screaming, these are my kids. TJ and…TJ and…." Snapping his fingers repeatedly, Gant stared at his daughter without truly seeing her.
"Anna," Charley supplied, offering the girl a smile that probably wouldn't ease the sting of having her father forget her name.
"That," Gant replied, nodding an acknowledgement in to Charley. "Yeah. Olga picked it out. It was her mom's name. Or her grandmother's. Could've been an aunt."
"Should I slap him?" Cameron asked.
"What?" Sarah asked. "No."
"He's in shock, he's behaving irrationally. Slapping him might help."
"You're not slapping him," said John, voice firm.
"I'm not behaving irrationally," Travis stated, just as his wife entered the room. Olga was an older version of her daughter, but not much older. With the proper amount of squinting and imagination, Olga might've passed for being slightly beyond Cameron's purported age. The blonde's eyes narrowed as she looked at Sarah and Cameron, barely paused over John, then brightened as she spotted Charley.
If Gant noticed his wife's preoccupation, he didn't show it. Instead, he passed the child's toy over to her, looking relieved when it was out of his hand. "Olga honey, throw this out. And the other ones like it."
"Daddy!" TJ yelled, hitting his father's knee with tiny fists.
"Ha ha," his sister taunted. "That's what you get for playing with my Barbies."
"I wasn't playing with your stupid, dumb, girly Barbies!"
"Anna, leave your brother alone. TJ, I really hope you weren't playing with those things, but better them then that thing," he said, gesturing at the plastic figure being held by a confused Olga.
"But Daddy-"
"I can't have robots in my house, TJ. I'll buy you a train set or something." With that, moments after defending his rationality, Gant ordered his wife to burn all his son's robot figures, rather than simply tossing them. This led to Travis Jr. running off in a huff while his sister improved the situation by laughing and pointing. Exasperated, Gant turned attention to his wife, a pleading note entering his voice. "Honey…a little help?"
Olga didn't respond to that. Still holding her son's action figure, her eyes kept cutting between Sarah, whom her husband had introduced as 'the old Mrs. Gant' the last time they met, and Charley, whom she'd taken a rather instantaneous liking to, despite her almost complete inability to communicate with him. Even as she scowled at the other woman, Sarah couldn't claim surprise. Charley was hardly unattractive, and a year of living with Travis had shown her how inattentive he could be. That combined with what she was seeing here told Sarah that Gant's wife was closer to domestic slave than life partner.
Meanwhile, Gant's daughter seemed to have taken an interest in Cameron. She'd left her father's side to approach the metal girl, appraising her critically for a long moment. "I like your jacket," she finally announced.
Cameron looked down briefly, examining her coveted purple leather jacket. "Thank you," she responded, eyes returning to the child. "It's tight."
"Yeah. Want to play Barbies?" the girl asked, holding up her doll in invitation.
Following this, a series of exchanges took place, faster than Sarah could process them. Somehow, Cameron wound up having a play-date with Travis's daughter. This wouldn't have been possible if her hair wasn't covering the bullets Sarah had fired into the back of her skull. Anna, then entreated her mother to join them, which led to a long string of indiscernible Russian from Olga, and a lot of rapid finger pointing between herself and Charley. At some point during all this, Travis Jr. returned from wherever he'd been sulking. Obviously he hadn't gone far, because he knew of his sister's plans for Cameron. Apparently deciding that if Anna had befriended a total stranger he should too, TJ essentially begged Charley to join him in the other room and examine the action figures his 'mean, stupid Daddy,' meant to destroy.
And so it was that Sarah and John told the elder Gant about the possible destruction of mankind while his children played loudly in the next room. Fortunately for Sarah's peace of mind, the young Mrs. Gant soon became more interested in Cameron than Charley, after discovering the cyborg's language skills. Sarah half-listened to Olga and Cameron converse in Russian, wondering how long it'd been since Olga engaged in a conversation she completely understood. For their part, the children were entertaining themselves and Charley with a scenario involving one of Anna's dolls falling in love with one of TJ's robots, their earlier quarrel forgotten in the excitement of having new people to spend time with. Listening to a narrative about a human developing feelings for a machine struck Sarah as unpleasantly ironic, even as she refreshed Travis's memory on what she'd told him years ago, adding new information and accepting John's frequent assists.
By the time they were through, Gant had indulged in a few more shots of tequila, though he wasn't drunk. The minor breakdown of earlier seemed to have run its course, leaving Travis in a state of numb resignation.
"It was true," he said in a low, hollow voice. "Everything you ever told me was true," he stated, repeating earlier sentiments.
"Yes," Sarah replied.
Sitting back in his chair, Gant pressed knuckles to forehead as he'd done before, inhaling a deep, shaky breath. After a few moments, he sat forward again, resting his hands on the table, regarding the Connors with clear, determined eyes. "What do you need?"
Sarah answered him, detailing the immediate problem of identification for John and Cameron. John himself followed up with the more long-term goals, their eventual need for Gant's network of people, weapons, and other resources. Gant agreed to all of it without a blink, going so far as to invite them to invade his gun supply.
Gant's eyes rarely left Sarah during this exchange, cluing John in to part of the older man's motivations. After exchanging a quick nod with his mother, John rose from the table, raising a questioning eyebrow at his one-time father figure. "Anyplace I shouldn't go?"
Gant blinked in surprise, breaking his attention from Sarah long enough to wave dismissively at her son. "No, no John. You know where everything is. Anything I got is yours."
John couldn't help a small smile as he left Travis and his mother to hash things out, because he'd known that, too.
The kids were still vying for Charley's attention and Olga was still talking away to the girl she didn't know was a cyborg as Gant and Sarah sat alone at the table. It was Travis who spoke first, looking into the bottom of his half-filled glass rather than at his ex. "No wonder you were always serious as a fucking heart attack. I'd have a stick up my ass to if I had to carry around all that shit on my own."
"I'm glad you understand," Sarah retorted, a hint of venom entering her voice. Then, because Gant looked at her with genuine remorse, because she knew what he meant, Sarah softened her tone. "I tried to tell you."
"You did," Gant acknowledged, voice softer than usual. "Many times. I thought you were a whackjob."
"You mentioned that. Many times."
"Sorry."
Shaking her head, Sarah took a sip of her own drink. "Common mistake. You didn't exactly throw us out."
Releasing a derisive half-chuckle, Gant raised his own glass. "You kidding? In this business, I start cutting people off just because they're crazy, I'd lose all my friends. You remember Willie what's-his-name, thought aliens were coming into his house at night and attaching electrodes to his balls?"
Thinking the small talk might be Travis's way of keeping himself from going as crazy as Willie what's-his-name, and recalling her own shock after learning the truth from Kyle, Sarah chose to go along with it. "One of your best customers."
"Damn straight. Or Mitch? Short guy with that thing on his face, thought flu shots were the government's way of implanting us with tracking devices."
"I remember. You still deal to him?"
"He's been dead since before you blew yourself up. Didn't blow yourself up."
"Time jumped."
"That," Gant agreed, draining the contents of his glass. "I'm still…I'm still working on that."
"I know. What about Willie?" Sarah asked, determined to keep Gant from descending back into hysteria. "He still around?"
"Depends what you mean by 'around.' Hear he pissed off the wrong people, got dumped in the desert not far from here. Also before you…time jumped." There was a moment of heavy silence. Then, "You never cared at all did you? About me. You and I, all of it, it was all so you could get John ready."
'Travis…"
"You took me for a ride, got what you needed, then you took off and never looked back."
"I did what I needed to do."
"For John."
"It's all for John," she replied. "John, and everyone else."
"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is. Next to all that…"
Sarah saw the hurt in his face, saw how he'd thought they'd had something, even after all these years, even though it ended badly. "I'm sorry, Travis," she said, surprised by how much she meant it.
Releasing another deep breath, Gant looked away from her, eyeing his children in the next room, still much too loud and much too excited to care about whatever discussion the adults were having. "You know what's fucked up about this?" he asked, eyes moving to the cyborg currently sharing a couch with his wife. "I mean, besides the future apocalypse thing, which is very, very fucked up?"
"What?"
Travis shot her a quick glance before eyeing his children again. "You did exactly the right thing. Exactly."
Tracking Gant's eye line, Sarah watched Charley interact with the other man's kids, watched the joy it brought to everyone involved. Sparing another glance at the woman who'd replaced her in Travis's life, Sarah reflected on this bizarre domesticity Gant had carved out for himself. She knew he was right, she'd done what she needed to do, both then and now. And still there was the guilt of burdening him with this, burdening his family. The fact that she'd been right to leave him in the first place, that returning now was a necessity, those truths couldn't absolve her of the guilt, not completely.
Observing Cameron with the current Mrs. Gant brought unwanted thoughts of the former Mrs. Dixon. Those were never far from the surface, and watching Charley with the kids brought them up full force. She'd left him, too, and she'd destroyed his chances of a scene like this. His wife was dead, and thanks to complications from John's birth, so was any chance of Sarah ever giving him the children he'd always wanted. Not that she could've done that anyway, her life being what it was. Their life, she corrected herself. She thought she'd come to terms with it already, the fact that Charley forgave her, that he wanted in on the madness that'd been her existence for so long.
She must've been staring too long, because suddenly Charley's eyes were on hers, even as the kids continued to laugh and play and prod him for more entertainment. It was a short moment, as most of them were. There were always more pressing concerns, always things to do. But it was long enough to keep Sarah from drowning in old guilt. Then TJ was pulling at Charley's arm, and his father was pulling Sarah's glass away from her, and they were back to more immediate problems.
"Robots," Gant mused, topping off Sarah's glass and pushing it back across the table. "Anna's got this movie, Wall-E, has this little robot. I should throw it out, shouldn't I?"
Sighing quietly, Sarah again tamped down on her regret, on the fact that she'd been required to shatter his ignorance, deliver Reese's doomsday message to ears that could no longer deny the truth. "You all right?" she asked, for what felt like the hundredth time.
As she had with Charley moments earlier, Sarah met Travis's gaze. She watched his face, watched the slow, painful acceptance take over his features. Acceptance of the future, of the past, of their past. It was a difficult forgiveness, but it was there, Sarah recognized the look. She'd seen a similar expression on Charley's face before. And then Travis was grinning, a crazy, kamikaze smile she remembered from some of the more dangerous gun runs.
"To the future!" he proclaimed, louder than normal, but not loud enough to penetrate the din in the next room. Raising his glass at the same time he raised his eyebrows, Travis continued to grin as he asked a silent question.
Without her permission, Sarah's mouth curved into a half-smile as she took hold of her own drink. "To the future."
"Fuck it if it can't take a joke," Gant added, clinking glasses with her before knocking back another shot.
Sarah downed her own drink before speaking again. "There's something else I need from you."
John found Travis's gun cache without difficulty. The main one anyway, the stash his mother had pilfered from before they headed for the hills. There were smaller ones spread throughout the house and property, but the office was where Travis kept all his best stuff.
As John picked his way through a usually-hidden gun rack, he glanced over at Travis's desk and the items surrounding it. He'd been a kid the last time he left this room. Now the walls were adorned with the artwork of Travis's children. It was strange being back here, but good in its own way. Travis had taught him a lot in this room, most of the information related to guns and girls. More often than not, there'd been a drink nearby when Gant imparted his wisdom. The bottle of Jack Daniels at the corner of the desk made John smile a little. Some things didn't change. There were also a couple of tiny toy cars lying near the booze, signaling that TJ had been here recently. Some things did change.
"Olga finally talk herself out?" John asked, without taking his eyes from the shotgun he was examining. She'd been able to sneak up on him before, there were plenty of times that she still could. But John's level of awareness had increased since the time jump. Awareness of her, awareness of a lot of things.
Cameron was next to him in three long strides, taking hold of an AK-47. "Olga is preparing lunch. She gave me a blini recipe."
"A what?" John asked, frowning in confusion as he looked at the cyborg.
"Blini," Cameron repeated. "Thin pancakes. They're a Russian cusine."
John couldn't stop the chuckle from escaping. "You really think mom's going to use somebody else's pancake recipe?" Especially when it came from someone who'd spent the first portion of their visit ogling Charley.
Cameron nodded after a second's thought, apparently agreeing with him. For a moment, there was no noise except the clicking of gun chambers. John set the gun aside, picked up another rifle and refocused on his task. Then Cameron spoke again.
"Why did your mother choose Charley Dixon over Travis Gant?"
"What?" John asked all his attention once again on Cameron.
"Gant is an asset to the mission. He has ways of helping us."
"Which pretty much sums up why we're here right now."
"But your mother left him."
John sighed at the note of confusion in her voice, at the direction this conversation had taken. "Because she'd learned all she could from him. He wasn't…he wasn't useful to her anymore."
"That part I understand," Cameron replied. "But why did she eventually choose Charley? He doesn't have the skills that Gant has. Given the choice, it would've made more sense for her to stay with him."
"Charley did help us," John countered, trying to keep his frustration in check. "He saved Derek's life."
"Derek betrayed you. He put you in danger. He was a liability to the mission."
John closed his eyes and took a breath. "Not everything is about the mission."
"Yes it is," Cameron argued. "That's what your mother says. But she still chose Charley Dixon. She's made questionable decisions because of him."
Something clicked in John's head, a memory from when he first came back. Cameron and his mother had seemed to be getting on surprisingly well, then suddenly everything had gone back to normal, with his mom angry at the cyborg. Granted, it didn't take much to piss off Sarah Connor, particularly where Cameron was concerned, but John had a hunch that the time in the warehouse had been special. "Did you talk to mom about this, the night we jumped again?"
"Yes. She wasn't happy. She doesn't like it when I question her about Charley Dixon."
John's lips twisted into a wry half-smile. His mother disliked being questioned on anything, especially by Cameron. But Charley was a special case. "She loves him. You can't treat him like he's just another chess piece, just another part of the mission."
"But that's how your mother treated Travis Gant."
Sighing, John turned to face her more fully. He couldn't be angry, because what his mom had probably read as a threat was nothing more than Cameron's curiosity, her yearning to know. There was still so much that was beyond her programming, beyond her ability to comprehend. "She didn't love Travis. She loves Charley. It's different when you love someone."
"Why?"
"Why does she love him, or why is it different when you're in love?"
There was a moment's pause before Cameron's reply. "Why does she love him? They have many differences, it doesn't seem logical for them to be together."
This was getting harder with each passing second. "It's not about logic. You don't choose it, you can't. It just happens. And when it does…you want to keep that person. You realize you'd do anything for them, whether it's logical or not."
"People do crazy things when they're in love," Cameron replied, obviously quoting from some file in her CPU.
"Yeah," John replied, knowing that Cameron would at least recognize the strain in his voice.
Turning back to the weapons in front of him, John tried not to watch Cameron from the corner of his eye when she mimicked his actions. When they first came back he'd been angry, raw from all the losses, too devastated to think straight. He'd been confused about his feelings towards Cameron, as he still was. But enough time had passed for him to gain some small measure of perspective. He'd loved her when he left his mom standing in that basement. His anger at Cameron for not understanding what he did, for questioning his judgment the first time he saw her again, the anger made him want to deny the plain, honest truth. He'd risked everything for her, because he'd loved her.
He hadn't answered Charley when the older man asked if he was in love now. If asked again, he still doubted his ability to produce a response. The feelings were still there, that hadn't changed. Everything else though… The hole in Cameron's memory banks essentially made her the same as she'd been before, regardless of what she may've experienced after jumping ahead. John, he was a different person, a person still healing from the wounds of the last year. Sometimes he barely knew himself anymore. Except for the fact that he was John Connor, and he had a destiny, one he seemed unable to escape. And until he figured out more than that…
"Do you love me, John?"
The words came out of nowhere, heard only within his own mind. He'd made the mistake of looking at Cameron for a split second, and he thought he'd seen something in her expression. Whether it'd been there, or whether he'd been reliving a conversation with Allison…
He hadn't loved her. But he could have, and that was the hell of it. If he hadn't seen Cameron every time he looked at her… Without wanting to, he looked at Cameron again, still thinking he saw that flicker of something in her face. He half expected her to say what Allison had that night they were in the tunnels together, restocking the weapons cache, after months and months of growing closer.
But Cameron didn't ask whether or not he loved her. "I'm sorry," she said instead.
John swallowed hard, looking at the rifle in his hand to keep from seeing her. "Why? What are you sorry for?"
"Your losses."
John swallowed again. He didn't know why this was being said now, didn't think it mattered. Part of him, the childish, angry part that'd caused so many problems, wanted to snap, tell her that she wasn't sorry, that she couldn't feel that emotion. But John couldn't say that, not with any level of certainty. Cameron had said before that he didn't understand how the machines worked, how she worked. He still didn't, not anywhere close to fully, but he thought he had a better idea now, thought he heard and saw things that anger and immaturity had blinded him to before. Maybe once he was sure, once he'd dealt with his feelings for Allison, maybe then he could figure out where he stood with Cameron. But until then, until he'd fixed himself first…
"Thank you," he said in response to her apology. Because there was nothing else to say, not yet.
Another silence, again broken by Cameron. "So loving someone means needing them."
"That's part of it, yes," John replied, unable to keep the weariness from his tone.
"And your mother needs Charley Dixon."
John blinked. For a moment, he'd forgotten what started all this to begin with. "Yes," he confirmed, trying to explain in a way that would make sense to Cameron, end this discussion, and hopefully end the tension surrounding the Charley issue. "There are more important things than weapons, resources. He helps her in ways Travis can't."
"What ways?" Cameron asked, tilting her head slightly.
"He's…there. He trusts her in a way Travis never did. He makes her happy. Keeps her balanced."
"Balanced?"
"Sane," John elaborated. Then he realized what he'd said, and the healthy fear of his mother kicked in. "Don't tell mom I said that." His mother's mental health was a dangerous topic, very dangerous.
Cameron nodded agreement, half-turning to look over her shoulder. "Don't tell Sarah what John said."
Surprised John turned to see Charley standing in the doorway. How he'd heard Cameron's approach but not Charley's… The cyborg distracted him, she always had. "How long were you…?"
"Not long," Charley replied, mouth curved in the hint of a smile. "Your mom sent me to find you. We need to go over some things about the ID's."
Charley headed down the hall without waiting for a response, Cameron close behind. She paused long enough to add a sniper rifle to the collection they planned to take with them. She also stopped in front of Gant's trashcan, removing a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and throwing it inside. Squinting, John recognized it as the Russian pancake recipe they'd never get to use. With that gone, Cameron surveyed the room one more time before moving towards the door.
"Travis Gant should have a recycle bin in here. It's better for the environment. Are you coming?"
After promising to be there momentarily, John watched her leave, crossing the spot where Charley had stood, brow furrowed in confusion. It seemed impossible for Cameron not to have noticed his presence. Had she asked about Charley without caring that he was there to hear it? John wouldn't have put it past her, but somehow… There'd been a kind of peace in Charley's expression, something John wouldn't have expected if the older man had heard all of their conversation. And Cameron had been rather abrupt in her shift from talking about Charley, then John himself, then Charley again, even by her standards.
Without knowing how it got there, an idea began forming in John's mind. Charley was jealous of Gant, in some way or another. This was obvious, probably even to Cameron, not known for her insight into human interaction. They'd be working with Gant again, of that John was certain. If Cameron was too, if she'd tried helping in her own strange way… But she couldn't have known what he would say…
Unless she had. Unless she'd had a similar discussion with Future-John. She did have a tendency to get tripped up by the same things when it came to human behavior. Even if Future-John had attempted to explain the complexities of love before, that hardly meant she'd be guaranteed to understand them, to not ask again. They might not have been speaking of Charley and his mom in particular, but if Cameron had talked to Future-John about this before, she would've had a fairly good idea of what the John of today would say.
Shaking his head, John decided that short of asking directly, there'd be no way to know for sure. And if Charley was reassured, then it hardly mattered one way or the other. Rubbing a hand across his forehead, John studied the gun he was still holding. A Mossberg. One of his mother's favorites. John looked at the weapon, looked at the rack it'd come from, over at the doorframe Charley had stood inside. And just like that, John was somewhere else again.
Charley faced away from him, standing over the table with all the guns. Kyle had left the room, so it was just the two of them now. Still struggling to come to grips with all he'd seen in the last hour or so, John joined Charley at the table as the man checked every weapon. He handled the Mossberg with practiced efficiency, a sight that disturbed John somehow. Charley, the kindest man he'd ever known, shouldn't be that comfortable with firearms.
"Had to pick up a few things," said Charley, seemingly reading John's thoughts. "Your mom wasn't always an expert either, you know."
Intellectually, John knew this, knew there was a time when his mother was just a regular person with the usual problems and aspirations. But he'd never seen her like that, so picturing it now was a challenge. Charley though, he'd been a normal, if uncommonly good guy when he first met John's mother. And now he was here, in a dilapidated tunnel, surrounded by weapons, and judging by the way Reese had answered to him, a top ranking member of the Resistance.
"How…?" John asked, trailing off. There was another question he needed to voice, but couldn't. Fear and dread kept him from going there.
Charley put the gun down without letting go of it, moving his gaze back to John's. "Your mom set up a house after Michelle died, tried to find me a safe place."
"No one is ever safe." The words were a reflex response, out before John could stop them. They brought a grim smile to Charley's lips. That smile, and the shadow that fell over his face disturbed John even more than watching the older man handle weapons.
"No, no you're right. But I was safe for awhile. Sarah…Sarah came to me after you left, asked for help."
Charley's face, the catch in his voice when he said that name, the fact that his mother wasn't here… Charley was working on the gun again, no longer looking at John. The Mossberg was one of his mom's favorite guns, and the repetitive behavior with the weapon was one of her most prominent habits. The dull light in the room shone against that chain around Charley's neck, the one John noted when the older man first came in. There were rings attached, two of them. They bobbed against each other when Charley moved.
"Charley," John began, struggling to talk past the lump in his throat, one so big that it threatened to choke him. "Where's mom?"
For an impossibly long moment, there was nothing from Charley. He froze completely, still gripping the weapon, head bowed. Then he released the gun, seeming to sag a little, even as he straightened up and turned to face John more fully. "John," he said, voice rough with grief. "I'm sorry, Johnny."
It wasn't a surprise. She'd lost weight, he'd asked her if she was sick and she'd deflected. There was no way in hell for him to show up here without Sarah Connor banging down the door to get to him. If she'd been off on a mission or… Charley would've told him. It wasn't a surprise, but John still felt like he'd been tossed into a brick wall by one of the machines. He couldn't breathe, he felt cold all over. Charley's hands were on his shoulders, the man was talking to him, but John couldn't hear it. It was his mom's voice in his ears, telling him to run, always telling him to run. He wanted to obey, run back to the room he'd first appeared in, conjure up that time bubble again, go back to his mother, stay in her arms until the coldness went away. But he couldn't run anywhere. His legs were ready to quit on him, he'd collapse any second now. His mother couldn't be dead. He couldn't picture her as the normal young waitress she'd once been, and he certainly couldn't picture a world without her in it. And yet here he was.
John shrugged out of Charley's grasp, backing away on legs that desperately wanted to give out. He kept moving backwards, not knowing where to go, what to do. A noise managed to reach him through the haze, and he looked up just in time to see a redheaded woman stalk through the door. He had half a second to take in the rage and sorrow in her expression before her fist filled his vision, and the pain flooded his nerve endings.
John stumbled, would've gone down completely if not for Charley. The strength of the punch seemed disproportionate to the body that had thrown it. He'd have a black eye for sure, and it was questionable whether or not he'd be able to open that eye at all.
There was a flurry of shouting, a new pair of footsteps racing through the door, John allowed Charley to lean him against a wall, unable to protest when the man's steadying hold disappeared.
After swimming in a haze of shock and pain for a few more moments, John straightened up, pulling away the hand that'd been rubbing at his face. He opened his eyes to find Charley arguing with the woman who'd just slugged him. She was thin, but toned, the red hair instantly grabbing attention. Behind her stood the soldier who'd been guarding the door. Dark haired with several days worth of stubble, the man made a half-hearted attempt at restraining the redhead, who seemed to have calmed down anyway.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Charley shouted.
"What I would've done years ago if the opportunity was there," the woman countered, voice cool.
"I'm sorry, sir. She-"
Glaring at the young man, she got free of his hold, sending him back a few steps. "Back off, Travis. I gave you a concussion when you were sixteen, you think I can't do it again?"
"Savannah," Travis growled, teeth clenched.
Savannah. The kid who'd raced into John's arms when Kaliba entered her home. The kid who'd told him all about her favorite duckling toys shortly before telling him about the machine residing in her mother's basement. John approached slowly, noting something vaguely familiar about the soldier known as Travis. Kyle had said something to this man before entering the room, something that caused stirrings in John's mind, but he'd been too shocked to truly hear it. Meanwhile, Savannah and Charley had gone back to arguing.
"Now is not the time for this," Charley said, voice laced with more steel than John had ever heard from him.
"Really. Excuse me, sir," Savannah countered, the last word dripping with derision. "Should we throw him a welcoming party first?"
"Watch yourself." Taking a breath, Charley's voice softened as he spoke again. "I just told him about Sarah. Give us some time to-"
"Time," Savannah repeated, cutting across what he meant to say. "Don't you think he's had enough time?" Moving to address John over Charley's shoulder Savannah scowled contemptuously at the boy who'd taught her how to tie her shoes. "Sorry for your loss, sorry you're just hearing about it now. The rest of us have been dealing with it for a lot longer."
"Lieutenant Gant, would you take Lieutenant Weaver back to her quarters, please." It wasn't a question. "Andrews is due to relieve you in two minutes."
Gant. Travis. John hadn't thought of his mother's ex in years, and he didn't have time to start now as he struggled to take in all that was happening.
Savannah had turned her disgust back on Charley, eyes flashing. "I think we're past the point of you sending me to my room."
"You want to test that theory?" Charley asked, all softness gone from his voice. "You're off duty. I'm telling you to go get some rest."
Savannah shook her head at both of them, Charley in front of her, John slightly behind him. "You going to try protecting him from all this, sir? Or is it Dad that I'm talking to?
Charley's gaze grew impossibly cooler, his mouth drawn into a thin line. "Don't."
Savannah's eyes went to the chain around Charley's neck, from which the rings dangled. "Derek wouldn't like you wearing that," she said, nodding at the necklace. "It's a target."
"Derek isn't here right now. You're dismissed."
"Mom wouldn't like it either. Not that it matters anymore."
"Get out," Charley replied, voice dangerously low.
"You never answered my question. You going to protect him, like mom always wanted to? Like you protected her?"
By that point, Charley's face was cold stone. "Get. Out."
This time, Savannah listened, but not before one last glowering look at John and Charley. After a few quiet words with the older man, Gant followed in her wake. Despite her earlier behavior towards him, John saw Gant put a hand on Savannah's back when they left, and this time the redhead allowed the contact. With the door shut behind them, John was again left alone with Charley, and the question he was too afraid to ask. What had happened to his mother?
Sarah stood at the kitchen window with John beside her, watching as Charley and Savannah played a night game of tag. Sarah also watched her son, observing the strange, sad look on his face as he saw the other two interact. She was about to say something, what she didn't know, when John beat her to it.
"You asked Travis to talk to me," he said, without accusation.
Sarah could only nod. True, John wasn't as closed-off as he'd been after Sarkissian, but it was obvious that he was hurting. Gant might not be an expert on time travel or robots, but he'd seen war, he'd experienced combat, a claim Sarah couldn't make. John wouldn't talk to her or Charley, at least not often. She'd thought that with someone he trusted, someone farther away from the situation who better understood the ravages of PTSD… "I thought it might help."
John nodded, still watching Charley and the redhead with that melancholy expression. "Derek had a child."
Sarah blinked repeatedly. That had come out of nowhere, as was usually the case when John decided to volunteer information about where he'd been. Not that she hadn't hoped for something tonight, but to hear this…
"He and Jesse, they had a son."
Jesse, the woman who'd nearly destroyed her family. The timeline John went to had obviously been altered. Had there been a child for the other Jesse, the one Derek had chosen in place of his loyalty to John? Sarah tried picturing the older Reese as a father, found it difficult.
"They named him Matthew. After my grandfather."
If he didn't have her attention already, John would've gotten it then. It'd always fallen to her, answering the Kyle questions, not that she'd had much to offer. Still, she'd always been the one to tell the Reese stories, often on the same nights she told her son about Judgment Day and future wars. The irony was that John now knew more about both those subjects than she did.
"Travis said I needed to talk to someone, said I'd go crazy if I didn't." Releasing a shaky breath, John wandered away from his mother, pulling up a seat at the table. When he, spoke, his voice was soft, hesitant.
"Can we…can we talk about my dad?"
Something inside her twisted painfully, even as Sarah smiled and joined her son. He'd said those words a hundred times when he was younger. He seemed so young right now.
So they talked about Kyle. Rather, John talked and Sarah sucked in every detail, committing it to memory. There wasn't enough information for her liking, but that would always be the case. Reese it seemed, would always be a hero, always be gone. And the family he could've had would never know enough about him.
The arrival of Charley and Savannah put a temporary halt to the conversation. Charley looked at the other two, noting their expressions and declaring that he and Ellison would entertain the girl. Sarah kissed him a thank you, which earned bouts of laughter, real from Savannah, manufactured from John. An hour later when they were still talking, Sarah joined Charley in saying goodnight to Savannah, then spoke to her lover in the hallway before returning to John.
It wasn't especially late when they finally finished, but the dealings with Travis and the subject they'd just covered, had left both Connors weary. Sarah preceded her son out of the kitchen, but not before being pulled into a surprise hug that lasted an unusually long time. Not that Sarah would ever complain,
She was pulled into another embrace when she entered her bedroom, this time by Charley. After the hug, he seemed unsure what to do, and Sarah didn't help with that right away. Instead she searched his face, finding nothing there that she didn't wish to see, nothing but love and concern.
Charley knew what she was up to, and he didn't blame her for it. He was irrational when it came to Gant; he recognized this whenever he wasn't in the same room as the man. Sarah had once accused him of being jealous of Kyle, but that wasn't true, not really. He owed Reese for Sarah and John, he never once forgot that. He just wished that he could save her the way Reese had, save her from the hell that was supposedly her fate. It was the same with Gant. On paper, Sarah would be better off with the ex-soldier. He'd be more useful in easing the constant weight resting on Sarah's shoulders, at least in a practical sense. Foolish or not, that was the cause of Charley's dislike. That, and the fact that he found Gant to be a rude drunk who displayed slightly psychotic tendencies.
Mostly though, it boiled down to Charley's own insecurities. Insecurities that were very much lessened when he overheard John talking to the machine. It wasn't that John said anything he didn't already realize, at least intellectually. Hearing it aloud though, that made a difference. Hearing it from John made more of a difference than Charley would've thought possible. Sarah was right, Kyle Reese had been right. John Connor, the man who was slowly emerging before Charley's eyes, you trusted him, you believed in what he told you.
They went to sleep early, Sarah putting her back against Charley's chest. He stroked her hair, brushed his mouth against the shell of her ear, but did nothing else. Finally, after too long had passed with her resting but not sleeping, "You okay?"
Sarah released a breath as he moved away slightly, enough to slip a hand under her shirt, rubbing slow, comforting circles on the skin of her back. After reveling in the contact for long, silent moments, she shifted so she could face him. Brushing a hand along his cheek, the line of his jaw, she stopped at the back of his neck, pulling gently until her lips found the corner of his mouth. She kissed him more fully then, but still tenderly. Charley had an arm draped around her waist, but he wasn't doing much, wasn't demanding anything. He kissed her temple, then her lips again. After that, Sarah put her back to him again, but not before saying she loved him, and not without making sure his arm stayed draped across her. Minutes later, they'd both drifted off.
While the others slept, Cameron paced the perimeter of the house, doing her nightly circuit. Still, she never saw the tiny ripple of movement. She didn't see the machine known as Catherine Weaver slither into the house. She never knew that she wasn't the only one watching the tiny home in the desert.
