Title: Patchwork Girl

Author: Elessar-4-TnT

Disclaimer: I don't own Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles.

Summary: Wow so it has been 2 years and TSCC is off the air. A lot's changed. I'm so sorry to those who were dutifully reading this that I left you hanging, but quite frankly the surprising end to the show just undercut my creativity and I had no idea where to go with it because I had certain plans. It has taken me some time to come back around to being confident enough to finish it up how I want. Should have this done by Christmas. I did a minor re-write to the end of Chapter 11 because I couldn't even take myself seriously after writing it.

Chapter 12: Exit Strategy

"I don't have to explain myself to you…" John muttered as he threw on his jacket, storming across the lawn on his third trip to the Jeep. Sarah was after him as Cameron ignored her, passing through the door to make another trip back to John's room for supplies.

"Yes YOU DO!" she shouted. Catching up with him, she spun him around by the arm. Cameron's face snapped sideways in attentive notice of John's endangered state. Though her eyes were locked on her son, Sarah noticed instinctively.

"And you," she jutted a hand out at her before turning to look at her. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"

"We're leaving," Cameron answered simply. "To get supplies in Arizona."

"After what I just saw in there, John, you're crazy if you think I'm letting you go to Arizona with that thing…" she snapped an eye at Cameron, "…alone."

John shook her arm free, throwing a duffel bag into the Jeep's backseat. He sighed. "This… this will be good for you," John said, then faced her. "It will be good for both of us," he said, shaking his head. "Something's happening to her that I can't explain." He shrugged dejectedly, watching his mother simmer – confused, distraught, and not a word breaching her lips to convey the turbulence whirling within. "An existential meltdown, a machine overload, call it what you will."

"Really?" Sarah demanded, hands on her hips. "And what does having an existential crisis have to do with dry humping?" she demanded with a raised brow.

John shook his head, "We're not doing this now, mom." Turning towards the house, he met Cameron at the door. "Is that everything?"

"It should be enough," she replied, her eyes moving from John to Sarah, who stood squarely between John and the driver side door. She didn't move.

"Are we going to have a problem?" Cameron asked, taking two steps forward. John's hand extended lightly in front of her, coming to rest against the sleeve of her favorite jacket. Her favorite jacket… he mused, a smile briefly crossing his lips.

Sarah took a few steps towards him, folding her hands. "Derrick's…"

"I'm not waiting for Derrick," John shook his head. "I'm taking my laptop and some equipment to work on her chip. I love Derrick but the fact is…" he said, shaking his head with finality, "I don't trust him to be around her when she's vulnerable." Cameron stood defiantly beside him and took his hand, squeezing tightly. John looked sidelong and thought he saw just the fastest glint of fear strike into the terminator's eyes.

"And me? Why don't you want me there?" she looked from one to the other, challenging them to produce a viable answer.

"We need to do this alone," John answered. "I'm not asking."

He strode past her to the door. She turned, her hand going to her forehead as her thoughts raced, but she didn't stop him. Too overwhelmed by what she had heard, what she had seen, she bit her lip to contain the pressure building beneath the surface of her deceptively impassive jaw.

Cameron climbed into the seat next to John and shut the door. When John turned and looked through the open car door, he found Sarah standing there watching with a fullness and a fear in her face that… maybe that she wouldn't see him again. His hand rested on the door as he paused half-way in the jeep.

"One day…" John began, his voice gravelly, as his eyes fell to the ground, searching the dirt and rock. "This… 'John Connor' that I'm supposed to become," he said, trying to bury the contempt that had grown over the years for his full moniker and the stigma it bore. "This… 'savior', I always hear so much about," he shook his head with a wry smile. "He'll have to do things… survive, lead, kill, lose people," he said shaking his head. "You've prepared me for it, but… I can't ask your permission anymore."

Standing there, Sarah considered a hundred different arguments, counterpoints – even a plain and simple "I'm your mother, GET in the house!"

Sensing her hesitation, John shut the door and keyed the engine. She felt him slipping away for the first time since she was dragged away to Pescadero. The wounds of that day opened with surprising ease, catching her breath in her throat. The blade that tore at her open heart; once again, slickened by the lifeblood of a machine she watched taking him away once again.

"I love you," Sarah mustered against the coughing rumble of the exhaust. "Be careful." Her voice trickled out through equal parts rabidity and sadness, the black amalgam suffusing her drawn face and settling on troubling thoughts of his passenger. John's head appeared in the window.

"I know… I will."