One Door Closes, Another One Opens

by JoaG

This takes place in Season 2 between episodes 10 Strange Things Happen at the One Two Point and 12 Alpine Fields .

3. Chapter 3

Sarah carried a tray containing a bowl of Campbell's Chicken Noodle soup and a grilled cheese sandwich; two of John's comfort foods whenever he was sick. John was still sleeping so she placed the tray on the bureau and sat on the bed, watching him. He moaned softly and she realized he was dreaming.

It didn't seem to be a pleasant dream, not from the way he began breathing and the noises he was making.

"John. John, wake up. You're dreaming."

He startled awake when she touched his shoulder, coming up off the pillow, gasping in fear, eyes searching frantically until he found her.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." He fell back into bed and drew his arm across his eyes.

"Are you sure?" She reached for his cheek, relieved at the coolness of his skin.

"I'm sure."

"Are you hungry? I brought you something to eat."

"Soup and a grilled cheese sandwich?" He lowered his arm and began shoving pillows against the headboard so he could sit.

That was her cue, and she got the tray and put it across John's lap.

"Need anything else?"

He shook his head and picked up a triangle of his grilled cheese and bit into it. He chewed slowly, staring at the far wall.

"The research you were doing for me on the three dots? One of the hits you got is a conference in two weeks' time. Do you remember that?"

Still staring at the wall, John's brow furrowed slightly. "No."

"It's a UFO conference," she added with an apologetic smile.

"Oh. That one."

"I think it might be worth attending."

"UFOs, Mom?"

John's voice sounded defeated. Once upon a time, he'd have teased her or would have downright ranted about how idiotic this was. Now he merely stirred his soup and took a half-hearted bite of sandwich.

"Let me get the papers. You'll see." She got up, hoping to stir some enthusiasm in him, even if it was that rant. When she came back, he'd placed the tray on the bed, the soup barely touched, the sandwich only half-eaten.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"Not really."

"Do you want something else? I can make you something else."

"No. I'm fine."

She handed him the papers and put the tray on the bureau, out of the way. She sat on the bed and waited expectantly while John skimmed through the information.

"I don't know," he finally said, letting the papers fall onto his lap. He'd gone through it all so quickly, she wasn't even sure if he'd really read much of anything.

She took the papers back and sat there, staring at him. He seemed lost in thought, his expression of sorrow one she hadn't seen in a long time. Still, it was better than the anger he'd been carrying all these months.

"Do you remember the accident?" she asked, hating the faraway look in his eyes. It sent a shudder up her spine; the first time she'd seen it had been directly after Cameron's chip had been damaged and she'd gone after them with intent to kill.

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, but I need to know where you were going. If you were running away from something dangerous—"

"I got angry at Riley. I left. I was heading to the Pier to get some air." His voice was emotionless.

"You weren't going to see Charley?"

That got a reaction out of him. She kept her face blank as he looked at her, startled. A few seconds later, he shrugged, his expression going blank again. "Maybe." That was said grudgingly.

She rubbed his blanket-covered leg. "I'm sorry you never got to see him."

"I should go."

"Go where?" She stilled the rubbing, keeping a hold on his leg so he wouldn't move.

"To my room. Give you back your bed."

"I told you before, I don't want you going up and down the stairs with that knee and the vertigo."

"I'm not dizzy."

"But your knee's still swollen." She moved her hand along his leg to gently probe at the injured joint.

"I'm fine."

"Are you still tired? Do you want to lie down again?"

Instead of answering, he shoved the covers back and slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood, limped across the room into her ensuite. Giving him privacy, she took his nearly untouched supper and brought it back to the kitchen.

She heard the television go on while she was cleaning up. When she finished, she was surprised to see John lounging on the sofa in the den, watching television. It had never held an appeal over him – seeing him staring at the screen and not fiddling with something just seemed so wrong.

At least he was up. She went back to her research, laboriously following up every link she could find on the convention, wishing she could rid herself of guilt and ask John for help. At least that way she'd get her information faster.

By the time she was ready to call it a night, she'd gotten enough information to warrant a visit to the conference. As with every time she'd checked on John, he was still sprawled on the couch, staring at the television.

"I'm heading up to bed. I'll sleep in your room tonight."

He finally pulled away from the sitcom he was watching, giving her a glassy stare. "You don't have to."

"Cameron will be here, if you need something during the night." Sarah raised her voice as Cameron walked by, wearing a leather jacket and heading for the door.

Her words stopped the robot in her tracks. She glanced at John then at Sarah before turning around and taking her jacket off and draping it on the edge of a couch.

"Do you need anything before I head upstairs?"

"I'm fine." John turned lethargically to the television again.

"How's your head? Do you have a headache? Do you need something for the pain?"

"It's not bad. I'm fine."

"Okay." She sighed, glad he wasn't in pain but wishing he'd show a bit more of his old self. "Goodnight."

Halfway across the room, she stopped where Cameron was waiting. "You do not leave this house tonight," she whispered so John wouldn't hear. "You make sure you're within hearing distance and you make sure if he gets sick or needs something during the night, you come and get me."

"I promise."

"He's not himself." Once again she was surprised to find herself confiding in Cameron. "He's got his memories but there's something..."

"Maybe he liked not remembering better."

"Don't even go there," she hissed, hating to admit to herself that she'd thought the same thing. She strode past Cameron and ran up the stairs, trying not to believe that her son was happier when he had no memory of her.

________________________________________

Sarah woke up with the light streaming in the wrong way. It took her a moment to realize she wasn't in her own bedroom.

She heard the television as she descended the stairs. Cameron was standing at the window, keeping an eye on the street and an eye on John, who was lying on his side on the couch, TV remote held loosely in one hand, his other hand grasping a pillow cushion to his chest.

"Did he even go to bed?" Sarah demanded of Cameron.

"No. He only fell asleep an hour ago."

"Shit." She eased the remote from him, slowly lowered the sound and when John didn't wake, turned the television off.

Thirty minutes later, after a shower and a change of clothes, Sarah emerged from her room to find John awake and had turned the TV on again. He looked anxious, jumpy, just like he'd seemed right after last night's nightmare. "How about you come help me make some breakfast?"

For a moment Sarah thought John was going to ignore her. But then he stood, followed her to the kitchen and before she could ask what he wanted to eat, he'd poured a smattering of cereal into a bowl and covered it with milk.

"I was thinking of making an omelette," Sarah said sadly as John sat at the table and chewed listlessly.

"This is fine."

She had barely finished toasting bread when John finished his cereal, rinsed his bowl and returned to the television.

________________________________________

By the end of the second day, Sarah had had it. While John kept insisting he was fine, she preferred the boy with the temper and the hatred in his eyes to the one who did nothing but sit around the house and pretend to watch television. He wasn't sleeping, the growing circles around his eyes were testament to that. He wasn't feverish, he was eating – not with his usual gusto but eating nonetheless. He just had no interest in anything. Nobody could entice him into conversations, he wouldn't sit before his computer except when she requested help with some research, and even then he'd lose focus and end up staring into space.

"I need you to look at him again," she said into her cell phone, watching John through the patio doors as he stood outside on the balcony, staring out over the city's lights. "He's not himself."

"He needs a doctor, Sarah," Charley replied. "I can look at him and tell you that his vitals may be normal but if there's any brain damage from the concussion—"

"He's not sleeping and I don't think it's the concussion. He's having nightmares."

"I can pretty much relate."

"He's been under tremendous stress."

"Sarah, give me a break here."

"You lost your wife, Charley." She tried to keep her voice gentle. "But John, he knows it was because of him. He has to live with that knowledge that he's hurt you by just existing." She hurt Charley; it was just as much her fault as John's. Moreover, if she had insisted they take the time for Charley to examine Michelle instead of the two of them playing the pissing contest over Charley, then they might have been able to save her. "It's taking a toll on him. We saw a doctor, he said John had PTSD. I think he needs—"

"PTSD? Sarah, is he getting counseling?"

"No. Of course not. How the hell can we go to someone and tell them what's happening—"

"John needs help."

"Don't you think I don't know that! And I think it's gotten worse. Can you talk to him?"

"What about the doctor who diagnosed him?"

"Dead."

"Coincidence?"

"I don't know, but I'm thinking yes. Please, Charley. I don't know what to do."

He needs to talk to someone."

"He was going to see you when he had the accident."

"I can talk to him tomorrow after my shift, but I'm not a shrink. I don't know if it'll do any good.

"Thank you."

"How about a change of scenery?"

"You mean, take him to the zoo or the movies?" That came out a little harsher than she'd have liked. "He's not seven—"

"I was thinking more like a couple days away from everyone. Something that might remind him of good times. Safe times. Just you and him."

For a moment Sarah thought Charley was about to include himself in the mix, and she felt a pang when she realized he wasn't.

"The beach. He likes the beach. He loves the water." The time spent in Dejalo had been one of carefree abandon for him, for a change. Maybe that was why he'd brought Riley there, to find those good memories again.

"Look. I know a guy who knows a guy and maybe I can get you a house by the beach for a couple of days."

"That's only a stopgap solution."

"I know. But maybe that's what John needs right now. Anyway, it can't hurt."

"This house..."

"Two hours away. Lots of privacy. Incredible view. Private beach. Michelle and I spent our anniversary there one year."

"And you think you can get it for me?"

"I'll make some calls. Let you know."

"You'll still come talk to John?"

"Let's try the house first, and if I can swing a day or two off," there was emotion in his voice and Sarah could picture the smile on his face as he spoke, "I'll come join you."

________________________________________

Sarah came down the stairs and dropped the backpack on the sofa before going into her bedroom to gather her own belongings. Shrugging it onto her shoulder, she went back into the living room to get the second pack and pick up the keys to the Jeep.

"John and I are going away for a couple of days," she announced as she strode into the den.

"You're what?" Derek, who'd been lounging on the sofa next to John, stared up at her in shock.

"You heard me. Let's go."

"Where are we going?" Cameron asked as she walked into the room from the kitchen.

"John and I," Sarah stressed the words, "are taking a vacation. You two can hold down the fort. Try not to kill one another." She turned to John, who hadn't moved. "Come on."

"Why are we going?" John showed no expression or indication he was going to get up off the couch.

"Because I need to get away from everything for a while. No more research. No more trying to figure out the puzzles in our basement. No more running from triple eights. I just need time alone with my son." No internet. No television. Hopefully no phones and nosy girlfriends. Just peace and quiet, the two of them, the beach, and hopefully some healing.

For a moment she thought she'd be left standing there like an idiot, packs hanging from her shoulder. She hoped it was the encouraging smile she gave John that finally got him moving. He took one bag from her, then the second before heading towards the garage.

She caught Derek's gaze. His eyes flicked to John as he stepped out the door, then back to her. He gave her a short nod of understanding.

"Call me if you need me. We'll be about two hours out."

"I should go with you."

Sarah nearly blinked at the look of expectation on Cameron's face.

"No, you should stay here." She turned on her heel, giving the robot her back. "We'll see you in a couple of days," she threw over her shoulder.

________________________________________

John was quiet, not even asking where they were going. That made her nervous and within ten minutes, she started talking to cut the silence.

"You know, it's been years since I've had to pack for you. I hope I got everything."

"As long as you got the guns and my boxers, I'm sure you did," John answered disinterestedly, staring out the window.

She let the gun comment ride. "Well, it's only for a few days." She waited expectantly, and he finally asked.

"Where are we going?"

"To the beach," she answered happily. Her smile faded when John was silent again. She concentrated on driving, until John spoke up again a few minutes later.

"What's the real reason for this trip?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"You always have a reason, Mom."

"Okay." She tapped the steering wheel with her index finger. "You needed to get out of there."

"Me?" He turned, finally, to look at her.

"I'm worried about you. I thought a change of scenery might help."

"I'm fine."

"No, you're not fine. You're not sleeping, you're barely eating. You're sitting around moping all day long."

"I'm not moping." He turned away again to stare out the side window.

"I just hoped that, getting away, just you and me, like it used to be, well, might help make you feel better."

"You and me." He snorted and shook his head. "Like it used to be."

She wasn't sure if it was a statement or a question. "You were happy when you were younger. You loved learning and travelling and... Hell, John, you were happy even a few months ago before you—"

"Before I killed Sarkissian." His voice dripped with emotion.

"I was going to say, before you met Cameron. But you're right. Sarkissian's death—"

"You mean murder. I murdered him. With my bare hands."

She debated pulling the truck over. This was a conversation that was late in coming and she wanted all her faculties if she had to discuss it. "You had to do it. He was going to kill us." She slowed, checking traffic, getting ready to pull onto the side.

"Don't."

"What?"

"Don't stop." His voice was back to being emotionless.

"John, we have to talk."

"Not here. Not now."

She accelerated, the opportunity lost, her son closed to her once again.

He was fighting sleep by the time she made the turnoff and slowed down. Charley had given her clear directions, though, and she found the house without any problems. He was right; the neighbours on either side were far and separated by trees, giving them as much privacy as she could want.

She pulled up in the driveway, and letting John bring their bags in, went straight for the loose rock on the patio where the keys were supposed to be hidden under. And there they were, in a small space under the stone, wrapped inside a Baggie.

She made a quick tour of the house. Two bedrooms, large living room, dining area, stocked kitchen – well worth the money she'd paid for it. John had come in and was standing in the living room, staring through the patio doors at the beach.

"I'm going for a walk." He went outside and began walking towards the water. She watched him until he turned and followed the water's edge.

She hid their weapons in easy-access locations, prepared lunch, then took out one of the books she'd brought with her and settled down on the deck, waiting for her son to come back.

________________________________________

When fatigue set in after only thirty minutes, John acknowledged that he wasn't fully recovered yet from the blow to the head. His head ached from the sun's glare and he was limping openly now. He carried his boots and socks, pants rolled up so that he could walk on the sea-dampened sand which was easier to maneuver than the dry sand further up the beach that had over-taxed his knee.

Walking felt good, though. He realized that he'd spent too much time cooped up inside. Walking until exhausted was even better because that way he might actually sleep without nightmares. And the pain distracted him from his emotions, which were constantly chipping away at him. The anger he'd felt these past months was gone, and without it to hide behind, John felt horribly vulnerable.

As he walked, he kept a lookout for their truck parked in the driveway because he'd stupidly forgotten to get a good look at the house before walking out. Right now all he wanted was something to eat and to be off his feet for a few hours. Television would be nice, something mindless to watch to keep his brain from working.

"Sandwiches sound good?" His mother's voice came from beneath a large umbrella set up on the deck.

He took the stairs slowly, trying not to bend his knee. "Sounds good." He flopped onto a chair next to her and massaged the throbbing joint. It was cool here, cooler than the beach, and immediately his headache eased as he leaned his head against the back of the chair. The patio doors opened and his mother came out, carrying a large tray which she put in front of him on the picnic table.

She handed him an ice pack, which he placed on his knee, followed by a tall glass of lemonade and two Tylenol. Aperitif dutifully consumed, he looked eagerly at the plate of sandwiches and the pile of chips before him.

By the time the plate was empty, John was feeling sated and sleepy. He wondered if it was the sound of the waves, but he hadn't felt this relaxed since... he'd woken up in the hospital and couldn't remember his name. He wiggled his toes, watching the now-dried sand encrusting his feet trickle to the wooden deck.

"I could use a nap. Interested?" his mom asked.

"Maybe." He stood slowly, testing his knee, pleased to see that it was more stiff than painful. He brushed the last of the sand from his toes, held the door open while his mother brought in their dirty dishes, and headed for the living room. Comfy couch, stuffed chairs, coffee table.

"Where's the TV?"

"Hate to tell you but there isn't any."

"You're kidding."

"Be honest." His mom waved towards the picture window. "Who needs a television when you've got this?"

He stared at the beachfront. It was pretty from over here but it wouldn't distract him for very long.

"Anyways, I thought you were going to lie down?"

While his mom looked tired, he was sure that the whole nap thing was a ploy to get him to take one. He shrugged. He'd lie down until she fell asleep and then see if he could find something to read. She followed as he headed for the smaller of the two bedrooms and paused in the doorway while he rolled himself up in the comforter.

He lay there, listening as she went into the other bedroom and got into bed. While he had no intention of sleeping, he came awake gasping, drenched in sweat, his arms cramping from the strain of holding Sarkissian down, the crack of a broken neck echoing loudly in his ears.

The central air quickly chilled his damp clothes and he shivered as he shoved the comforter aside and got out of bed. There was no sound from his mother's room and John kept walking, out the door, down the yard, stopping only when the sun-heated sand warmed his feet. It would be impossible to walk again with his knee so he sat down, one leg tucked beneath him, the other, swollen knee and all, stretched out before him. He stared at the sea, let the sounds of the waves roll over him, and rubbed handfuls of sand between his palms, trying to eradicate the sensation of death from his hands.

For a while he picked out tiny shells from the sand, putting them into a pile, just like he'd done as a child. Then he got up and limped to the water's edge. He stepped into the water, felt the current pull back and draw the sand from around his feet, letting him slowly sink.

He pulled out of the hole when he was ankle deep and regardless of his clothes, waded until the water was up past his knees. He'd loved the ocean when he was a kid, had spent hours playing in the sand. But now keeping his balance and wading in the water with a bum knee was too painful, too difficult.

And he wasn't a kid anymore.

A cloud covered the sun and suddenly he was cold. Returning to the beach, he sat in the sand and dug his feet in to warm them up. Granules stuck to his soaked pants and he watched the water drip down his leg and across his feet, making dark splotches on the sand. A glance up at the sun showed the cloud was small and it would be warm again in a minute. He wished the sun could chase away the chill in his soul just as easily.

________________________________________

John looked lonely and miserable, sitting on the beach. Sarah's heart ached for him as she stopped next to him.

"Couldn't sleep?"

She sat down next to him, a breeze teasing at her hair. She looked at John's hair, missing the long locks he'd fought and argued so hard to keep.

"I slept," he answered in a monotone.

"Did you call Riley to let her know you were going away for a few days?"

John shrugged.

"Is that a yes or a no?"

"No."

"Maybe you should call her before she shows up at the house and tempts Cameron into doing something she shouldn't." She tried to sound like she were teasing, but it fell flat.

"I didn't bring my cell with me."

His shoulders rose slightly, as if he was waiting for her to yell at him. Instead she wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her chin on her knees, staring at the water. "Are you mad at her?" she asked after a minute.

"I don't know."

"What about me? Are you still mad at me?" She held her breath, waiting for his answer.

"I'm not mad." He was still talking without expression.

"Are you upset because I wouldn't tell you about your memories?"

"No." Not once had he turned to look at her since she'd sat next to him. He continued talking, still staring at the water. "I understand why you did it."

"Understanding doesn't mean you have to like it." Frustrated with John's answers, or rather lack of them, she stared out at the water. "Ignorance is bliss. I wanted you to have a bit of time without having to worry about—"

"Information is power."

"Do you really feel that way, John? Wouldn't you rather be out there, not knowing what the future holds?" She pointed to a fishing boat off in the distance. "There are times when I sure as hell would rather be in that fisherman's shoes—"

"You made sure that never happened, didn't you?" Again, he wasn't accusing, just stating the facts. His lack of emotion began to scare her more than his lack of memories. "You had your chance to be normal and live a normal life."

"Is this what you want? John? Is this really what you want? To turn your back on everything and live the few remaining years like everyone else? Just let the machines win without putting up any resistance? Just give up? Because if it is, then everything we've done, every sacrifice we've made, every death taken by the machines, was all for nothing. And that makes us no better than them. Because we didn't even try."

"They have no feelings when they kill. No remorse." John's voice was suddenly hoarse. He blinked, his eyes filling with tears as he continued staring straight ahead.

Sarah felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe he'd finally talk. "That's what makes us different. We feel. We regret our actions even when we have no choice. We hurt."

Then the tears were gone, as fast as they had appeared. And her hope faded again.

She sat with him for a while longer, but the silence was becoming uncomfortable. She brushed sand from her pants as she stood. "Don't stay out here too long; you're going to burn."

John came in a short while later, limping heavily as he collapsed onto one of the couches in the living room, stretching his legs out onto the coffee table.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

She needed to stop asking that question because his answer had been and always would be those two words. Sighing, she got the Tylenol from her bag and handed him two, along with a glass of water. He took the pills without comment, gulped down the water and handed her the empty glass. She didn't miss the way he rubbed at his forehead.

"Sun give you a headache?"

"The glare, I think, on the water and sand."

"Close your eyes for a while." Sarah pulled the curtains shut, making the room a little less bright. She left him lying there, hoping he'd sleep. When she came back to check on him thirty minutes later, he was sitting up, staring out the window.

"How about you shower, and we go out and find some place to eat."

"I thought you said this place was stocked."

"It is. I just thought you might have enjoyed something other than my cooking."

When John shrugged, Sarah put a hand to his face, testing for fever. His cheeks were warm but his neck was cool. "No fever. For a moment there, I thought you were sick."

"We can go out if you want." John leaned forward, about to get up when she placed a palm on his chest, holding him in place.

"We can eat here, if you're not feeling up to going out. Or you can stay here and I'll go bring something in."

He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the couch. "Greek?"

"Greek it is. That is, if there's a Greek restaurant in town."

"Anything. Doesn't matter."

________________________________________

Forty minutes later, she came back into the house bearing Greek, only to find John asleep exactly where she'd left him. The food went into the oven on low to keep warm while she picked up her book and settled in a chair across from him.

She couldn't focus on the words before her, her attention constantly flicking towards John. The bruising on his temple was starting to fade, but the dark circles under his eyes were growing. The sun had put color and freckles on his nose and cheeks, but beneath that, his skin was paler than normal.

His breathing was guttural, partly from the fact that his head was resting on the back of the couch. His eyes began moving behind closed eyelids and his fingers spasmed once, twice and he rose off the back of the couch, gasping.

"I'm fine. I'm okay," he answered before she even asked the question. He was breathing heavily as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Hungry? I've got supper in the oven keeping warm."

"Sure." John stood there working out the kinks in his neck and shoulders.

Supper was pretty much a quiet affair; Sarah gave up trying to coax John into conversation, watching as he spent more time shredding his souvlaki than eating it.

When she cleared the table, she put a hand on his shoulder as she took his plate. She had a fleeting wish that the tin miss were here right now to assess John. But then he turned to look at her and gave her a smile. She couldn't help smiling as she kissed the top of his head.

They went for a short walk after the sun set; the moon was three quarters full and shone down on the ocean with a surreal quality. They sat for a while in the sand, not talking, watching the white caps gleam in the moonlight as the waves broke on the beach until the sky clouded over.

It was the evening chill that finally drove them inside. A storm was brewing, the wind bringing a dampness that spread goose bumps over both of them.

Sarah had to admit that she'd enjoyed their time together, even if all they had done was sit companionably together. She'd needed it and even John seemed more relaxed tonight.

It wasn't even nine o'clock when John picked up another stack of magazines and wished her goodnight.

"Tired?"

"A little." He flipped through the magazines, not meeting her eyes.

She went to him and hugged him. "Get some sleep," she said as she let him go.

"You too."

Thunder peeled as she made the rounds of the house, the storm coming closer as she checked the weapons she'd hidden. She had planned on reading some more but ended up staring out the patio doors, watching the storm illuminate the water. She finally headed off to bed as the storm died down. She fell asleep to the patter of rain hitting against the bedroom window.

________________________________________

It was still raining the next morning when Sarah woke. She got up and went to the kitchen, intent on making coffee before anything else. She had just turned the coffee maker on and was heading for the bathroom when she glanced out the window, and froze. She knew immediately that the forlorn figure sitting out on the rocks, in the rain, was John.

Coffee forgotten, she stepped outside. She was soaked by the time she walked down the yard and reached the beach.

"What are you doing out here?" Wind whipped her hair into her face and she turned her face into the wind.

Shoulders hunched against the cold, John jumped, startled, when she spoke. He seemed to be searching for an answer. "I needed some air." He looked exhausted, and something told her that unlike her, he hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Then he shivered, and Sarah put a hand on his arm.

"Come on inside. I've just put the coffee on."

He nodded, moving stiffly, arms wrapped around himself. She berated herself for having had a good night's sleep without even once thinking about John.

"Go shower and warm up," she said as she opened the patio door to let him inside first. "I'll have breakfast waiting when you come out."

"You're all wet—"

"I'll survive for ten minutes. You, on the other hand..."

"I'm sorry. I thought you were still sleeping."

"Obviously. Go. Shoo. Scram. Before you catch pneumonia."

He hurried out of the kitchen, leaving a trail of water and sand. She was no better. She dried her face and hands on a dishtowel, rubbed it quickly over her hair to stop the worst of the dripping, and then scrambled several eggs, put bread in the toaster, and microwaved several pieces of bacon.

By the time John came out of the shower, breakfast was on the table, waiting for him.

To John's credit, he was mopping up the kitchen floor by the time she was showered and in dry clothes. He'd cleared his plate from the table and she was tempted to go check the garbage can to see how much breakfast he'd actually eaten.

"Did you manage to at least eat half of what I gave you?" Sarah popped bread into the toaster for herself.

"I wasn't really hungry."

"John, did you eat? Are you still feeling nauseous? Dizzy?"

"No. I'm fine." He continued mopping, making his way across the kitchen.

"No, you're not fine." She grabbed the handle of the mop, forcing him to stop. "You're not eating and you're not sleeping, and I don't know what to do to make it better." She was yelling, getting angry because she didn't know what else to do.

"I don't think you can." Level headed, John was calm, not raising his voice as he pulled the mop from her and kept on cleaning.

"I wish I could. I wish I could tell you everything would be fine and kiss away your fears."

"Me, too." John's answer was barely audible.

"But this is our life, and I'm sorry, John." She held her hand out. "Here, let me finish. You go lie down and try to sleep."

"I got this."

"I can finish this."

"Mom, I said I got this. Go and eat. Your toast are done."

"Is it nightmares, John? Is that what's stopping you from sleeping? Nightmares about what happened?"

"You know, I was dreaming about the triple eights even when I couldn't remember who I was. How pathetic is that? I didn't dream about you or Derek or Charley or Cameron, I dreamed about the damned machines."

"The machines have defined who you are, who you're going to become."

"I think it was easier not knowing who I was."

"I know." She watched him finish in the kitchen and move into the hallway, following his trail into the bathroom with the mop. "You didn't answer my question. Are nightmares stopping you from sleeping? We can see a doctor, maybe have him prescribe something to help you—"

"Drug me, you mean?" John looked up at her angrily. "Keep me quiet and happy and out of your hair?"

"What the..." She stared at John; the cold hardness of the past months had come back and even though this is what she'd wanted, maybe she should've been careful what she wished for. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Do I?"

She put her hand up to indicate she wasn't continuing with this conversation. John was tired, which meant he was cranky and she wasn't going to antagonize him. Now wasn't the time. She went to the window and looked out at the gloomy beach. Everything, including the water, was gray. Just like the mood inside this house.

She grabbed her now cold toast and buttered them, slathered peanut butter on top and ate standing up, supplementing her breakfast with vitamins and minerals, all the while browsing through the stack of cookbooks piled next to the microwave.

A couple of recipes caught her eye and by the time she finished eating, she was looking through the cupboard to see if she had all the ingredients needed to make the muffins she'd decided on. She needed comfort food right now, something fattening and rich and – she dropped the Tupperware container of flour on the table with a loud thump – fine, it wasn't for her, it was a peace offering for John. There, she'd admitted it.

So why was she feeling like she was trying to bribe her son?

She'd only gotten the dry ingredients measured out when John came into the kitchen. He stood a moment watching and then curiosity got the better of him and he came to read the recipe. Without being asked, he began measuring out the ingredients. They'd done this when John was a child; he'd love to help her bake. His reward had always been to lick the batter-laden beaters, spatula and bowl. Today was no exception, and while she spooned the batter into the muffin pan, John was busy cleaning up the beaters with his tongue.

She smiled when she saw the streak of white on the tip of John's nose. "You've got some..." She wiped the batter away with her fingers, then handed him the bowl and the spatula.

"You should bake more often."

She put the muffins into the oven, set the timer and leaned back against the counter.

"Derek would eat us out of house and home if I did."

John smiled, the earlier anger gone.

"Maybe I can teach Cameron to bake."

The looked at each other for a moment, and answered, simultaneously, laughing, "Nah."

She tidied up while John paced around the house. By the time the muffins were done, his back and forth from window to door to window was about to drive her crazy. She placed a just-out-of-the-pan muffin on a paper towel, poured a glass of milk and placed both on the kitchen table. It was a relief to have John sit still for the few minutes it took him to devour the muffin.

She nibbled one while he ate a second. He got up from the table, licking his fingers.

She cocked his head towards the door. "The rain's stopped. Want to go for a walk on the beach?"

He answered her with an eager grin.

Walking on the wet sand seemed easier on John. He still limped but not as bad as yesterday. Carrying their shoes in their hands, they meandered along the seaweed laden shore, pointing out beached starfish, poked at snails and mollusks clinging to rocks and watched pelicans diving after fish.

She kept glancing at him, worried over how tired he looked. She'd hoped this getaway would help him but if anything, he looked worse now than when they'd left yesterday.

Back at the house, Sarah settled on the deck with her book, feeling guilty pleasure at the act of doing nothing but reading. John joined her after a minute, magazines in one hand and a muffin with several bites missing in the other.

"Did you leave any for me?"

In answer, John took a huge bite of muffin with a twinkle in his eyes.

"Are you even reading those?" Sarah asked, motioning to the magazines as John settled in another chair.

He swallowed. "You didn't bring anything for me to do, and I'm not about to read that smut." John made a face at the Romance book she held in her hands.

"We could take a drive into town after lunch, see if we could find you a book or two to read." He was right; in her mind he was supposed to be recuperating, and considering how much he'd slept before he'd gotten his memory back, she'd sort of been expecting him to do so again.

"Whatever."

He didn't sound eager for an outing. He finished his muffin while flipping through the magazine.

Sarah lost herself in her book for a while until her eyelids grew heavy. She gave in to the temptation, closing her eyes for just a moment. The sound of the surf was a lullaby, the occasional rustle of paper as John turned a page reassurance that she wasn't alone.

A gull cried out nearby, and Sarah came awake with a start, the three dots from her dream haunting her as she got her bearings. Blue eyes were looking down at her, a frown marred the familiar forehead.

"Wow, that was some doozy of a dream."

"Charley." She shoved a handful of hair out of her face, feeling disoriented. The sun had come out while she'd slept, warming up the day. Her watch said she'd slept for nearly two hours; her body and mind were sluggish. "How long have you been here?"

"About forty minutes." Charley was sitting in the chair John had sat on earlier. The magazines were on the deck, weighed down with one of several shells that had been used as decoration.

"Why didn't you wake me?" She sat up and rubbed fingers over her scalp. Wind had whipped salt and sand into her hair. She needed a shower.

"You looked like you needed the sleep."

"Where's John?" She looked to the beach and didn't see him. "Is he inside?"

"I don't know. I didn't go in. I rang the bell and when there was no answer, I came around back and saw you here."

In a flash, she was inside the house, weapon in her hand, frantically looking for John, calling his name, while Charley tagged after her. A quick search showed no sign of him. Their Jeep was still parked in front of the house, so he had to be in the area. She grabbed her phone from her pants pocket, then replaced it when she remembered John hadn't brought his cell with him.

Walking past Charley, she headed back outside, walking to the beach.

"I'm sure John's fine." Charley jogged a few steps to catch up with her.

"He's not himself," she said curtly. "He's not sleeping, barely eating." She quickly scanned the beach, hoping to glimpse him coming back this way.

"Well, he's sleeping now." There was amusement in Charley's voice and she turned to him, confused. Then she saw John, lying on his back on the sand, in the shade of a palm tree.

"John!" she cried out, her first impression being that he'd been hurt. But John's eyes opened and he turned towards her even as she ran to him. He blinked sleep from his eyes as she knelt next to him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." He sat up, quickly glancing at the gun still clutched in her hand. "I'm fine. I think I fell asleep." He gave her an apologetic smile. Then he spotted Charley. "Hey." The smile grew into a grin. "What are you doing here?"

"I let your mom know when I told her about this place that if I could get the time off, I might come down for a day or two and join you."

"And obviously you got the time off." Sarah, still kneeling in the sand, was looking at John carefully, searching for any signs of illness. She tucked the gun into the waistband of her pants then expertly used her shirt to hide its presence. "Why are you sleeping out here on the beach and not in your bed?"

"I was looking at the clouds." John stood, slapping sand away from his pants and shirt.

"You seem a little tired." Charley offered Sarah a hand and helped her up, but his attention was on John. "Your mom mentioned you were having trouble sleeping."

"And you're not?" John snapped. "Knowing that Judgment Day is coming and there's nothing you can do to stop it?"

"I'll admit it worries me. And I'll admit there are times I look forward to it." The joy was gone from Charley's face, the stark reality of his loss so evident for a moment that Sarah had to look away. Even John was affected and lowered his gaze, his bare foot making circles in the sand until Charley spoke again. "Can I give you a once over? Make sure there's nothing physically wrong?"

Shrugging, John turned and started back for the house.

"I take it that's a yes," he said softly to Sarah as they followed more slowly.

________________________________________

John was nothing but embarrassed as Charley took his vitals and performed tests they'd done repeatedly at the hospital. He stared straight ahead, keeping his eyes fixed on a spot on the wall where shadows of a branch outside swayed in the breeze. The numbness he'd felt deep inside was fading, and he didn't know if that was a good thing.

"Well, everything looks good." Charley began putting away his equipment, giving John the all clear to put his tee shirt back on. "Are you having any problems with your memory? I don't mean the kind of problems you had, but, simple things, small things."

"No."

"Problems concentrating?"

"No."

"Dizziness? Headache? Fatigue?"

"No."

"Your mom said you're not sleeping."

"I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

"You just said everything was good."

"I said your vitals look good now. Keep this up and you'll be back in the hospital."

"I just wish..." He didn't know what he wanted. He lowered his head and swallowed when Charley placed his hand on the back of his neck, just above his shoulders.

"Are you sure you're not experiencing headaches or dizziness? They could be part of the reason you're not sleeping."

The headaches were manageable. The dizziness and nausea came and went. Today, so far, it had gone more than it had come. "Those aren't the reasons I'm not sleeping."

"So you are suffering some discomfort." Charley's fingers rubbed against the muscles and he twisted his head, letting him get to the areas that were taut.

"It's better. Honest."

"Better enough to go out for a meal and actually eat it?"

John didn't answer, and Charley nodded. He stopped the massage and reached into his bag. He searched for something and then handed John a blister pack with two pills inside.

"Dramamine. It'll help with the nausea and just maybe, if you get a half-decent meal inside of you, that'll help with the headache. Tylenol can also help with the headaches. And I'll be honest; the pills may make you drowsy."

John had been reaching for the blister pack and froze, fingers barely an inch away from the meds.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Charley nudged John's fingers with the pills. "The real reason why you can't sleep?"

"Just... dreams. I keep waking up from stupid dreams." He took the blister pack and pretended to examine the pills.

"You're over-tired, can't get into a deep sleep."

"Yeah."

"I can give you something tonight to help you relax, and help you sleep. You're wound up so tight, Johnny, you're going to give yourself an ulcer before you're eighteen."

"I took these before. They won't put me to sleep."

"They might if you laid down. But I'll give you something stronger tonight. Okay?"

John nodded as he poked the Dramamine pills through the back of the blister pack.

"There's a really great seafood restaurant a couple miles from here. How does that sound to you?"

"Sure."

"You go take those pills and we can go for a short walk in town, give them a chance to kick in first. Maybe stop off at the pharmacy on our way to lunch and get you some more of those."

John got some water from the kitchen to swallow the pills with.

"So, what's the verdict?"

Keeping his face averted, John listened as Charley filled his mom in.

"We have Dramamine," his mother said when Charley explained what he'd just given John. "You should have told me, John." She approached him and ran fingers across his cheek. "You kept saying you were fine."

"I am. It's not that bad." He pulled away from her and saw the hurt on her face, and immediately felt bad.

"I'm sorry. I should have realized that—"

"It's okay, Mom."

"I told John I'd take you out to a great seafood restaurant not far from here. We can do a bit of sightseeing first. How's that sound?"

"Sounds great. Are you up to it?" she asked John.

"Yeah. Seeing the town might be nice." Anything to keep him distracted might be nice.

________________________________________

Charley was right. By the time they walked along the wharf just outside of town, John was feeling better. The smell of tar and rotting fish mixed with seaweed and salt water as well as diesel fuel wasn't nauseating, just strange. He stared into the water, watching the seaweed undulate in the current just below water level.

"There's this little bakery in town that has really great pastries. We could stop in on our way back."

"Pastries? I thought you liked my muffins." His mom smacked Charley on the arm and he laughed.

"How do you know so much about this place?" John asked as they started back towards the truck.

"Michelle and I spent a week here for our anniversary a couple years ago."

John hadn't expected that answer, although he should have. He closed his eyes against the remembered anguish he'd caused Charley, and stumbled over an uneven board, wrenching his knee.

"Careful." Charlie gripped his arm, steadying him.

"I'm sorry..." It all felt so meaningless. Everything was all for nothing.

"John, don't. Don't do this to yourself." Charlie stopped, and his grip forced John to stop, too. "It's okay." He let go of his arm and cupped both hands along his jaw, staring at him avidly. "It really is. I'm going to be fine, and so are you."

John nodded within the confines of Charlie's hold, blinking back the tears that were prickling his eyes.

"You're tired. I know. It's okay."

He caught his mom glancing worriedly at them and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

________________________________________

And Charley was right again. He'd surprised himself at how hungry he was as soon as he'd started eating. Now he was half-dozing in the truck, sated and sleepy and relaxed and without any headache or nausea that had plagued him for what felt like forever.

He jerked awake as they pulled into the driveway, not even remembering closing his eyes. Fatigue suddenly overwhelmed him and with it came the feelings of overwhelming despair and hopelessness.

Leaving the truck without a word, he made his way down to the beach, not answering his mom when she asked where he was going. The glare of the sun blinded him, triggering a headache. The afternoon heat and humidity was suffocating; this was definitely a hole up in an air-conditioned room type of day. He sat on the blazing rock nonetheless, the heat scorching through his jeans after a few seconds.

He stood, wiping the seat of his pants as he walked to the shore. The sun glinted off the water, sending spikes through his eyeballs. The scent of baking seaweed was nauseating and suddenly the lunch he'd enjoyed just a short time ago made his stomach feel uncomfortably full. The problem with pills was that they wore off and allowed reality to seep back in.

The house's air conditioning felt wonderful when he returned and his stomach settled a bit now that he was out of the sun. He leaned against the doorway separating kitchen and living room, watching how his mom looked at Charley. They hadn't spoken about leaving Charley in West Fork; he'd learned from a young age that crying over what they left behind never got him anything. Right now, this very moment, it was obvious what his mom had given up to keep him safe. And to keep Charley safe.

Frustrated with everything, he pushed off and walked across the living room, feeling their eyes on him as he stood and stared out the window. The beach blurred for a moment and he swayed. The urge to lie down was overwhelming. He fought it off.

His mom patted the couch next to her as he walked past and he sat. He listened to their reminiscing for a while, fidgeting, restless, unable to get comfortable, unable to concentrate.

"Where's your phone?" John demanded during a lull in conversation.

"Jacket pocket." His mom glanced at the leather jacket hanging from a closet doorknob.

"I'm going to call Riley." He stood, his head clearing a little as we walked. It took him a while to remember her number, then walked to his bedroom, sitting on the bed and listening to the phone ringing. He was about to hang up when Riley finally answered.

"Where were you?" he demanded, his tone of voice sounding sharper than he'd intended.

"Hello to you, too," Riley snapped back. Music in the background competed with her voice.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound that way."

"Something wrong with your phone that you're not answering my calls?" The music faded and he supposed she turned down the volume.

"I didn't bring my phone with me."

"And you went away without bothering to tell me." Now John could hear voices in the background. Someone called Riley's name.

"It was my mom's idea. We left on the spur of the moment."

"Your sister wouldn't tell me where you went."

"You went to the house?"

"Duh. Of course I did. You weren't answering my calls."

"I told you I'd call you." Someone called Riley's name again and it sure as hell didn't sound like her foster siblings or foster parents. "Who's that?"

"What? Nobody."

Someone giggled close to the phone. After a moment John realized it was Riley. "You're not home, are you?"

"So what if I'm not?"

"You went out without me."

"It's Saturday, I was bored and you sure as hell weren't rushing to be by my side. Of course I went out without you. Do you really think I'm gonna hang around in my room waiting for you to call? I'd have been happy to hang out with you, even if you're not feeling great. Your loss—."

"Say goodbye, Riley," a male voice said into the phone.

"Goodbye, Riley," she intoned, laughing. "I'll see you later, John." A moment later he was listening to dead air.

"Shit."

John couldn't even drum up jealousy towards her. She was right; he'd left home without a second thought about her. Calling her had been a mistake; he'd hoped for distraction and had gotten nothing but annoyance.

Once he'd replaced the phone back from where he'd gotten it, he returned to the kitchen. The box of pastries they'd picked out before returning to the house had been opened. He peered inside, looking for the chocolate brownie he'd chosen. He wasn't really hungry but eating would at least pass the time.

"Want something?" His mother put two small, dirty plates into the sink.

"Where's the brownie?"

"Oh. I ate it."

"You ate the brownie?" John shut the box angrily. "You knew I wanted that."

"No, John, I didn't."

"All I asked for was one stupid brownie and you had to go and eat that out of the whole box of stuff."

"Watch the attitude, mister."

"And what? You'll send me to my room without my toys? It's not like you're going to take away TV rights or my laptop because thanks to you, I already don't have any of those."

"John. That's enough." Charley walked into the kitchen, coming to stand next to his mom, bristling with anger.

John turned on Charley, but his mom was faster. "Charley, stay out of this."

"Yeah, Charley, stay out of this. Because Mom might revoke your rights, too. Make you sleep on the couch tonight instead of in her bed. You are staying the night, aren't you?"

"John—"

"What the hell's gotten into you?"

Charley was about to say more, but quieted when his mom put a hand on his arm, and said softly, "I think you owe Charley an apology."

"I think maybe I should go," Charley said, glaring at John.

Sudden realization that Charley was leaving brought John to his senses.

"No! Please, don't go. I'm sorry." He turned to his mom, then to Charley. "I didn't mean that. I didn't... Mean..." To his horror, he lost all control of his emotions and began sobbing, barely able to get the words out.

"It was my fault. I told Mom... We weren't running. Sarkissian found us... It was my fault. They all died... All those FBI agents... My fault."

He couldn't see Charley through his tears, couldn't see his face. He reached blindly and felt someone grasp his arms.

"We should've run... Like we always did... Like we always do... My fault... Cameron's chip... The explosion... My fault."

Hands grabbed him and crushed him against a hard chest.

"My fault Cromartie found us... My fault Michelle's dead... I killed him... I killed Sarkissian... But... Was too late. We should've run... My fault... Please... Please... Don't leave us." Then it was too hard to talk. He was sobbing into Charley's neck, barely able to catch his breath.

________________________________________

Sarah tried to take John from Charley, comfort him, reassure him, but John had a death grip around Charley. And it looked like Charley wasn't about to let John go either. She met Charley's haunted eyes, then wrapped her arms around the both of them, feeling John's body shaking with each sobbing breath.

The tides were turned, it seemed. A few weeks ago, it had been John holding her when she'd broken down as they'd finally rid themselves of Cromartie. The stress they'd been living under, the fear, the constant looking over one's shoulder – it had ended for her but the guilt had continued eating at John.

Charley was mumbling reassurances, words that John probably wasn't hearing. The tears went on unabated for long minutes until she began to worry. She whispered Charley's name and he raised his head and gave her a reassuring nod. Shortly after, John's sobs eased, even though his breathing remained ragged and shaky.

"Bed," Charlie mouthed, and Sarah released them, taking hold instead of one of John's arms. Together they led him to his room. He followed blinding, rubbing at his eyes which were red and swollen. Charley left them as they reached the bedroom door, allowing her to bring John to the bed, appearing again holding a wet washcloth just as she got John to sit.

"Here." He handed John the cloth while Sarah crouched to remove his boots. John took the cloth and stared at it in confusion.

"Mom?" He looked at her with a look of such despair, so much fatigue showing on his face. She abandoned his boots, sitting next to him and pulling him against her. He leaned into her, like he'd done as a child. Like he hadn't done for years.

He started getting heaver, and it was time to ease him away from her and onto the bed. Meanwhile Charley had taken John's boots off, and as John blinked tiredly up at her, she took the cloth still clutched in his hand and gently dabbed at his face with it.

Charley took it from her and pressed the cloth against John's eyes. "Hold this here." He picked up John's hand and brought it to his face, showing him what he wanted. Charley pulled blankets over John and sat next to him, one hand on his shoulder. Even as she watched, John's hand went lax and fell away from his face, allowing the cloth to slowly unfold and fall onto the covers.

His breathing eased in sleep, deepening, evening out. She gently touched his temple, just below the bruising, then picked up the facecloth. Together they tiptoed out of the room.

"I need a drink." Charley headed off into the kitchen while Sarah sat on the couch, head in her hands, the now warm facecloth clenched in one fist.

Something cold nudged her arm and she looked up to see Charley standing before her, offering her an opened bottle of beer.

"Thanks." She grabbed the beer and downed half of it before coming up for air.

Charley did the same; he stood there, staring at the closed door of John's bedroom.

"What he said..." Charley broke off as he sat down next to her. "Sarkissian. He's one of the guys who died in the fire at your house."

"Are you asking if it's true?"

"Yeah. I'm asking."

She glanced at Charley, but he was staring out of the window.

"I trained John well. But a sixteen year old boy shouldn't have to kill a man in order to save his mother's life." She took another sip of beer and had to force it down, afraid she would choke on it. "He should be worrying about girls and zits, not androids and post traumatic stress."

"You should be proud of him."

"I am." She licked her lips. "You have no idea how much." She leaned her elbows on her thighs, letting the beer bottle dangle between her legs. Shoulders slumped, she'd never felt so alone, her goal so far away. Always she'd known John would take over one day, become the man he was destined to be. The soldier his father had told her he'd be. But right now, her son was lost and she had no idea how to help him.

Charley sat next to her, his thigh pressing against hers. Then his arm was around her shoulder, and she leaned back into his strength.

"He'll be all right." He kissed her temple and she closed her eyes for a moment. "He's exhausted. He's obviously been under a lot of stress—"

Sarah snorted.

"A helluva lot of stress," Charley amended, giving her a little squeeze. "But fatigue and pain got under his defenses. This might be a good thing."

"Seeing my son break down is a good thing?"

"You said he was angry before the accident. Taking his anger out of you."

"Yes."

"He didn't look like an angry person just now."

"Things have been a bit better the last few days." She took another sip of beer and this one went down more easily.

"I'm not a shrink but... Well, let's see how things are in the morning."

"He won't sleep till morning. He'll be up in an hour."

"We'll see." Charley sat back, pulling her with him. She leaned against him, giving in to him. With a sigh, she turned her head and rested against his chest, listening to his heartbeat.

________________________________________

The sun was just clearing the horizon when John woke up. He lay in bed for a while, feeling more clear headed than he'd felt in a long while. The past days were a blur, feeling almost dream-like.

He flushed with shame when he remembered his breakdown, crying like a kid in Charley's arms. He turned around restlessly, wincing as his bruised shoulder and ribs connected with the mattress.

Finally he got out of bed, the need to pee becoming too pressing to ignore. He slowed, then stopped when he saw that his mother's bedroom door was closed. He tiptoed up to it and put his ear to the door, and when he heard nothing, slowly turned the knob and peered inside.

In the bed was a familiar sight which made him smile. Charley and his mom sleeping, the way it should have been. He shut the door carefully and made his way to the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, bearing a tray filled with toast, scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee, John knocked, entered his mom's bedroom again and cleared his throat loudly.

"Is it morning?" his mom groaned, turning onto her side. She lay against Charley's chest and he winked up at John as she ran a hand through her hair. "John?" She sat up suddenly. "Are you okay? How are you feeling? Did you sleep okay?"

"I'm fine. I hope you two got some sleep last night." From his mom's blush, he was pretty sure they hadn't.

"What's this?" His mom gave him a pleased grin as he handed her a coffee.

"An apology for going all emo on you last night."

"No apology necessary." Charley took the mug John handed him as he sat up and leaned unashamedly against the headboard. "So, no dreams?

"I slept really well." He stared at his feet, embarrassed. "You were right. I needed to sleep."

"Told'ja."

"Yeah. Well..." He handed each their breakfasts. "Enjoy."

"What about you?" His mom paused, a slice of bacon hovering just before her lips.

"I got some in the kitchen."

"You're going to eat alone?"

"The whole idea was giving you two some time alone." He waggled his eyebrows up and down suggestively.

"You march right up to that kitchen and bring your breakfast back here, double-quick, young man," his mom laughed.

"You heard her," Charley added, cocking his head towards his mom. "And we both know what happens when we disobey."

"You have to shoot extra rounds in the firing range?" John said over his shoulder as he hurried to the kitchen.

Laughter followed him as he hurriedly dumped his breakfast onto a plate and returned to his mom's room. He sat at the foot of the bed, plate balanced on one crossed leg, joking around and eating, and for a while he felt like he'd been brought back in time to those carefree days when it looked like the world truly had a future.

________________________________________

"Storm's coming."

Charley was right. The surf was agitated, whitecaps breaking on the beach, the waves coming up high onto the shore. Even though the sun was out, dark clouds marred the horizon, promising a change in weather sometime soon. John stared out the window as he rinsed the last of the breakfast plates.

"How about a walk on the beach before the storm hits?" Charley came up to John from behind and laid an arm around his shoulder.

"You sure you got the right Connor?" John fluttered his eyelashes at Charley, getting a laugh in response.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Mom, Charley and I are going for a walk," John yelled, heading for the back door. It was only when he'd gone through and was on the deck when he realized maybe his mom would like to come with them.

Charley must have seen his hesitation. "It's okay. I wanted to talk to you."

"Ahhh." Suddenly this walk didn't sound quite as appealing as it had a second ago. They walked to the shore in silence. There was a strong breeze, whipping bits of seaweed and sand.

They stopped walking, staring at the dark clouds looming ever closer. Several fishing boats who'd gone out early were speeding back to the safety of the harbor. The view was almost surreal – the sights and sound of wind, waves and sand were something out of a dream.

"What do you see?" Charley waved at the expanse of water and sky.

"I'm trying to remember this." John took a deep breath of salt-heavy air. "So when it's gone, I can live on these memories." Thunder rumbled from afar, as if affirming John's words.

"John, you and your mom are in a pretty difficult situation—"

"Mom said she sometimes wished she were one of the people in that boat, not knowing what's going to happen. Lately I've been thinking the same thing. That it would be easier to just have Judgment Day happen and just let the machines take over."

"You're not serious, are you?" Charley sounded shocked.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am. I mean, I was." John signed. "It's all so pointless, sometimes. Mom talks about fate but we can't change it." He swiped at the sand with the toe of his boot and was immediately sorry when the motion hurt his knee. "We can't change any of it."

"Those few days when you couldn't remember any of these things - were you better off then?"

John shrugged, digging his hands into his jeans' pockets. "I kept trying to remember who I was. Praying for forgetfulness doesn't work because you keep praying to remember what you've forgotten."

"Not knowing the future is the same as not knowing who you were. You're our future, John."

"I don't think I can be what the people will want in the future. The person who leads them in war. The person they die for willingly. Mom thinks my life is worth more than anyone else's. But it's not. All those FBI agents who died, their lives weren't any better than mine. Neither was Andy Goode's or Michelle's."

Charley rubbed his face with his hand, not meeting John's gaze.

"I think you've already become that man, John."

John laughed sharply. "Oh, yeah. People have died because of me, but not because they were willing to sacrifice themselves for me. Not yet."

"You've got Derek and your mother. I think even that scary robot of yours would be willing to give herself up for you."

"Yeah, but—"

"And you've got me."

"Charley—"

"You keep remembering the things that count, in here." He placed his fingertips against John's chest. "That's what makes it worth fighting for." Thunder pealed more loudly, followed by a strong gust of wind. "You know, I've been trained to help people out of horrific situations. Accidents. Suicide attempts. Murders. I've talked a jumper off the edge of the building, dealt with people so high on dope their feet didn't touch the ground. But I honestly don't know what to say to you, Johnny. I've got no words of wisdom, because you already know, deep inside, what needs to be done."

John closed his eyes; he truly felt he didn't deserve Charley's trust.

"Tell me something. Your mom told me what happened, that day, with the fire."

John pursed his lips, wishing that one incident had been deleted from his brain with the concussion.

"If you had to do it over again, would you do it any different?"

John thought about it, deliberately went through each and every event in his mind instead of letting his mind run amok with the memories when he dreamed.

"Could you do it any different?"

He realized there had been no other way. "Not if I wanted us to stay alive. They were going to kill us; it was kill or be killed."

"Then you need to add these memories to the ones worth fighting for. Remember the desperation to live, and never give it up."

The wind brought a sprinkle of rain, thunder threatened to bring more.

"Let's get inside before this storm hits or your mother will kill us."

________________________________________

"What are you doing?" Sarah stared at John, who was sitting on his bed, cards laid out on the comforter, playing Solitaire. "Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine, Mom. Why?"

"Because you've been holed up in here for the past two hours. Charley thought you were sleeping."

"No. Just passing the time." John glanced out the window at the storm outside. "I kinda ran out of things to read."

"You could come out and join me and Charley."

The grin John gave her was full of mischief. "I'm fine here."

"What? You've locked yourself in your bedroom so you can give me and Charley some privacy?"

"It's the least I could do."

"Get out there," Sarah laughed, pointing to the door. "Charley found a game of Monopoly; let's see who's got the most brains to rule the world."

________________________________________

"Live and learn," Charley crowed as John handed over the last of his Monopoly money and made a show of counting the cash as he added it to the enormous piles before him. "Tsk tsk, Sarah." Charley wasn't even trying to hold in his grin. "You might have taught the boy how to fight and how to shoot, but you missed the boat teaching him about money and investments." He leaned over the board, rubbing his hands in anticipation. "I'll take that little piece of property right there." Pointing to the last of John's assets, Charley winked at him. "And we can call it even."

Moaning in frustration as the last of his properties was now in Charley's possession, John handed over the deed. "I never had to worry about money, seeing that there won't exactly be prime real estate around in a couple of years."

"That may be true, but there will be things to barter in order to survive and get people motivated to do things." Now that Charley had wiped out John, he leered over at what remained of his mom's cash and possessions. "Now, let's see, whose turn was it?"

"And sometimes," his mom said with a twinkle in her eye, "the only way to get your way is to stir things up." Before Charley could react, she stood, grabbed the game and upended it, spilling everything onto the floor. "And when the people have finished cleaning up the mess," she added as Charley stared at the spill of paper and tokens, "we walk away with the spoils." Moving so quickly that Charley had never noticed, his mom waved all the cash he'd amassed during the game.

"I forgot why I never played board games with you." Laughing, Charley pulled her against between his legs, one arm looped around her waist. She leaned down and kissed him soundly.

As John sat back and watched them, he realized he hadn't seen her smile and laugh like this since the day before they'd left Charley and ran.

"And with all that, it's suppertime, and I've got nothing to offer you boys. Any chance one of you might be willing to take me out for supper?" She smiled at them coquettishly.

"Don't look at me." John dropped to the floor, keeping most of his weight on his uninjured leg, wondering as he began picking up the game pieces and dropped them into the game's box if there was a way he could give them some privacy together. "Charley got all my money."

"And you got all of mine," Charley snorted as he kicked a few stray pieces John's way. "But I think I can scrounge up a few bucks to feed you. What do you guys feel like eating?"

"Actually," John said as a plan fell into place, "I'm not that hungry. Why don't you two go eat and I'll make myself something here."

"Are you okay?" Immediately his mom became serious and crouched to help him clean up.

"I'm just a bit tired. I might just go to bed after I eat and get some sleep."

"It's still light out."

"Yesterday you were after me to go to sleep and now you're complaining because I want to take a nap?"

"Okay, then we'll eat here. I can scrounge up some pasta and—"

"Mom. I'm fine." He rolled his eyes over in Charley's direction. "Can't you take a hint?"

"Oh." His mom stared at him in surprise, then started laughing. She pulled him close so she could kiss the top of his head. "Brat."

"Hey. I resemble that remark."

"Exactly." She stood and fluffed back her hair. "Give me ten minutes. Then you can surprise me with supper."

"Are you sure?" Charley asked when his mom had disappeared into her room.

John rolled his eyes again as he picked up the last game piece. "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."

"I'm not making any promises, Johnny. I'm so not sure about this. It may be too soon after Michelle."

"Just take it one day at a time." John stood with the help of the table and placed the box on it. "If it works out, great." He silently prayed that it would work out. "If not, at least you'll have tried."

"When did you get so smart?"

"Smart? If I were so smart, I'd be at home with my feet up watching TV instead of spending the evening reading bad romance novels." He squinted his eyes. "And don't tell Mom I'm reading those."

Charley laughed as he slapped John on the back. "You okay with finding something to eat?"

"Yeah. There's leftover Greek with my name on it."

"Okay. I'm ready." His mom had changed into dressier pants and a sleeveless top. "You're sure about this?"

"Yes, Mom," John droned, rolling his eyes. "Take your time. Take the scenic route on your way home."

"We just might do that," his mother said impishly.

He waited until they were out of the house, wolfed down the leftovers like he'd said he would, then took ten minutes to throw his belongings into his backpack before scribbling a note. He grabbed the Jeep's keys, locked the door, and headed for home.

________________________________________

John had been home for nearly two hours when his cell rang. He took a deep breath, sucked in his courage, and answered. "Hi, Mom."

"What the hell were you thinking?"

"Um... Surprise?"

"Where are you? Are you home?"

"Yep. Sitting in the dining room with Riley and Cameron." He tried to keep his voice light despite the obvious anger coming through the phone.

"Let me talk to Cameron."

John stood, walked over to where Cameron was reading a book, and handed her the phone. "Mom wants to talk to you."

Cameron took the phone, glanced at the call display, and answered, "Hello." To her credit, her expression barely changed when she answered, "Okay," and handed it back.

"Mom?"

"I told Cameron she's got baby-sitting duty."

"That's okay. I'm not planning on going out. As a matter of face," he added, glancing sideways at Riley, "I'm going to go to bed early tonight. I'm kind of beat."

"You were in no condition to drive—"

"Mom, I'm fine." He kept walking, going through the patio doors out onto the back deck.

"You're still suffering from the effects of the concussion. What you did was foolhardy."

"I'm home now, safe and sound. And honest, I was fine driving."

"I'm packing now; we'll be home early tomorrow morning."

"Mom."

"Why didn't you tell me you wanted to come home?"

"Mom."

"I would have—"

"Mom." John raised his voice, trying to cut through his mother's ranting. When her words stopped, he cut in quickly. "I meant what I said in that note. I wanted to give you a bit of time with Charley." He turned to glance behind him as Riley joined him on the deck. "Look, I'll call you tomorrow, okay? Enjoy yourself."

"And what about you? I rented this place for you."

"I know. And I appreciate it, more than you know." He walked away from Riley, moving along the deck. "But I think you also needed a break. We both did. This is your time - enjoy yourself."

His mom sighed loudly in his ear. "You're really feeling okay?"

"I'm okay. Just a little tired."

"Make sure you go to bed early."

"I already told you I will."

"Okay. I'll see you tomorr—"

"Tuesday."

"What?"

"You've got the house till Tuesday, right? Day after tomorrow?"

"Yes, but—"

"Then I'll see you Tuesday."

"I don't know...

"Mom, please..."

"Okay. I'll see you Tuesday."

"Tuesday. Bye."

"Problems?" Riley asked, sitting on the edge a chair near the patio doors.

"No. Everything's fine." He sat next to her on the chair.

"So wanna go a party tonight? I know a place where the music is supposed to be killer—"

"I'm not going." The Dodge truck pulled up into the driveway, the headlights illuminating Riley's face for a moment, almost blinding John as the truck turned.

"Your mom's not here. Come on. No hassles. No lies. No explanations. No curfew." She grinned at him, waggling her head teasingly. "Nobody to explain the hangover to in the morning."

"I've got enough of headaches to last me a lifetime," John said shortly. He watched Derek get out of the truck and walk their way. "Anyways, I'm sure there'll be tons of guys you can flirt with."

"Are you still mad at me about that?" She rubbed his wrist; ironically it was the one she'd shackled him with the handcuffs.

John looked up at the sky. Too much pollution, too much light; there were no stars in sight. Not like at the beach. He missed the peace and quiet and almost regretted his decision. And was suddenly envious of his mother. "I'm not mad, but I don't feel like a repeat of that right now."

"Hey." Derek came up the stairs two at a time. "When'd you get back?"

"A couple hours ago. Mom's still there."

"She is?" Derek glanced at Riley, looked at John, then back at Riley. "Why're you here?"

"Charley came to visit. I was ready to come home."

"So your mom and Charley..."

"Yeah." John couldn't help smiling. Derek simply shook his head and went inside, but not before glancing at Riley once more. Only when the door closed behind him did John realize Derek had never met her before.

"Come on. Come with me." Riley grasped John's arm and tugged gently. "It'll be fun."

"Riley, to be honest, the only thing I want to do is get some sleep."

"You're serious." She sounded shocked as she let go of his arm.

"I am."

"I thought you said you were better when you called me tonight."

"I am. I just don't feel like going out."

"Fine." She stood, her body stiff with anger. "Be like that. You don't know what you'll be missing." She stomped off, then slowed, turning her head to glance behind her to see if he was following.

He went after her, holding her bike while she put on her helmet, feeling ambivalent as she pedaled off, this time without a background glance.

"Do I know her?" Derek asked when John went back inside. He'd been standing near the door, not hiding the fact that he'd been watching them.

"Riley? I don't think you met her."

"No. I've seen her somewhere."

"She's been around a few times."

To John's surprise, Derek turned to Cameron. "Is she in your database?"

"What? You've got to be kidding me!" John stared at Derek in shock.

"She's not," Cameron asked. "Why did you ask?"

"I don't know. Somehow I got the impression..." Derek ran a hand over his mouth. "You're right. I must have seen her around here."

"No. You're hiding something." John stepped into his uncle's space. "She's my girlfriend. What aren't you telling me?"

"Nothing, John. She looks familiar; I just can't place her. Maybe she reminds me of someone I knew from the future. It'll come to me eventually."

Derek spoke again just as John turned from him. "And she's not your girlfriend. Not if she treats you that way."

"Riley's..."

"Jealous," Cameron supplied. "That's why she's acting like a bitch whore."

"Really?" John gave her a sarcastic smile. "What's your excuse?" He felt satisfaction at the confusion on Cameron's face when he went upstairs to his room.

________________________________________

"Enjoying the sex scenes?"

John jumped, startled as his mother leaned over his shoulder, glancing at the period romance novel he was reading.

"I was just, um..." Yeah, he'd definitely been enjoying the sex scenes. "I didn't hear you drive up." He shut the book quickly and put it down on his bed as if it were covered with something filthy.

"Obviously. So that's where my book got to. I searched high and low for it; I never thought you had taken it." She picked it up and flipped through the pages.

"I didn't. I mean, not deliberately." He cleared his throat. "I must have picked it up with some of my clothes. I was just, you know, curious about what you found interesting in this. You don't usually read this sort of..."

"Smut?" She sat down on the bed next to him, smacking him on the arm with the book.

John's grin matched his mom's. "If you say so." She looked happy and relaxed and he knew he'd made the right decision in leaving them. He couldn't help hoping that she and Charley might make things work this time around.

Her scrutiny, after a moment, became uncomfortable. "I'm fine," he said, breaking the silence.

"I didn't ask."

"You were going to. Sixteen years experience..."

She patted his hair, touched his shoulder. He didn't brush her off, and let her see for herself that he truly was fine. "Charley's fine, too."

John looked at her, surprised. "I didn't ask."

"I know. Sixteen years experience..." She winked at him, stood, tapped the book against her palm for a moment, her teeth worrying her lower lip. "Derek's worried about Riley."

This was old news to him. "He said she looked familiar."

"Any reason why you're reading bad romance stories instead of being with your girlfriend?"

John tried not to fidget as he tried to put into words what he was feeling. "I'm not so sure she's what I need right now. I mean, yeah, she helped me get through some bad times."

His mom's face was stone; he'd have thought she'd have expressed some sort of relief at his words.

"But she's a little too high maintenance for my taste. Plus, I guess with everything that goes on around us, she's probably safer not being around me."

"I'm sorry, John."

"I guess you're probably happy..."

"No. I know things have been hard for you lately." His mom sat down heavily on the bed. "And I understand why you needed to be around someone who didn't remind you of your future."

"No, it's fine. Really."

His mom's hands swept through the air. I'm just sorry that this is what you came back to when your memories returned."

"I came back to my destiny. Like some smart man is going to say someday, my fate is what I make it. And I'm taking charge, now."

The end