Author's Note: Hoping to clear up any confusion, I'm intending Allison to be 18 or 19, so I'm ignoring the phone call to Mrs. Young in "Allison from Palmdale." Instead I'm accepting as fact Cameron's statement from "Dungeons and Dragons," where she says that John and Kyle Reese escape from Century City work camp in 2021. I believe these two things are conflicting.

John was a little banged up from the confrontation at Century City, but not nearly as much as Allison. Derek let him use a small office to inspect any injuries and alter any clothing. John decided a change of shirt and a short facial wash were all that was needed.

Walking back to the kitchen, he found his thoughts dominated with Allison. What a whirlwind their relationship had been so far! Physically, she was exactly his type. Or had he been manipulated by Cameron to think that way? It was pointless to argue the notion with himself, he decided.

Emotionally, she was all over the place, but that was understandable considering the circumstances. Maybe I could give her the stability that she needs.

In any event, it was clear that she felt similarly about him. Her kiss was something he would never forget, one that left his spine tingling.

But more importantly, his life suddenly had more meaning to it than the nearly farcical idea of him as a messiah, something that had bothered him since his childhood. John would have to deal with that aspect of his existence anyway, but with a woman to love and fight for, his motivation was better defined.

One thing troubled him, however. Allison was the same alias Cameron used during one of her malfunctions. She didn't reference a last name, but did she say Palmdale or Glendale? John couldn't remember, but it was far too important to dismiss as a coincidence.

And, of course, the fact that Cameron and Allison were mirror images was definitely by design. He needed to reconcile this conundrum—and the sooner, the better.

John entered the kitchen only to find Derek and Kyle already there, in addition to two other individuals he had never met. They were already feasting on some pasta and vegetables, probably from canned goods secured in an earlier scavenging mission.

It wasn't exactly the breakfast of champions, John thought, but it would suffice. Especially now that the fast food wars had been rendered moot.

The kitchen was what he had come to expect, post-apocalypse. There were a few decades-old microwaves in addition to a large, gas stove, along with a myriad of appliances, plates, cups and utensils one would normally associate with a dining area.

Ten cafeteria-style tables with complimentary benches occupied the bulk of the hall, which was clearly a meeting or culinary room for Zeira. Several other families, couples, groups and individuals were enjoying their meals as well.

Seeing John arrive, Derek arose and invited him to join their meal.

"Here he is," Derek said. "John Connor, I'd like you to meet Sergeant Dale Barnes and Corporal Anna Williams, two of our technical experts. They were curious to see the chip you extacted from the 600."

John offered his hand in greeting first Anna, a petit, blonde-haired woman with glasses, and then Dale, a dark-skinned, wisp of a man with a goatee.

John fished the chip out of his front pocket and sat down in the middle of the table, opposite of Derek, but next to Kyle. The techs were on the end.

"One T-600 CPU," John said, exposing the processor and placing it gently on the table between the five of them. "I'd like to be there when you hack it. I've done one before so I think I can be of some help."

The two glanced first at each other and then to Derek for guidance. Derek had some reservations.

"You can control it, right?" Derek asked John. "I don't want it pinpointing our location for Skynet."

"Higher voltage accesses defense and strategic analysis, at least in the one I've hacked," John conceded. "We can either avoid those ranges or analyze it somewhere not as vulnerable as base camp."

"Yeah, it's probably best done at Bedell's HQ," Derek decided. "He's gonna join us down here in a little bit, so we'll let him make the judgment. They may want to get it to Command."

"Command?" John asked.

"Well, we're technically 'The Resistance,' not under direct military supervision," Derek explained. "As you can see, we have families and children here, so we can't be expected to operate like an army unit. We're sort of an extension of Bedell's unit—we do some recon and forward observation—but not too much fighting. Kyle and I have rank—I'm a master sergeant, Kyle a corporal—but we feel responsible for the people in this facility, so they take precedence. Still, we sort of help them, and they help us. We've been here for more than five years without Skynet detecting us and we wanna keep it that way."

"Understandable," John said. "But Command…"

"Is real military," Derek continued. "Survivors from the actual Army, Air Force, Marines, Navy. Other countries, too. Bedell's one of them. They're taking the fight to Skynet all over the globe, but it's been going on…"

"For 10 years," John said, finishing Derek's sentence.

"With dubious results," Kyle added. "They can't really protect the civilians either, which is part of the reason why we were taken prisoner. We pretty much fend for ourselves, and they help where and when they can. But they have their hands full."

"I was never able to piece it together," John admitted. "We had just been trying to survive, but we had very little contact with anyone other than small families and groups like ourselves."

"But if the military can't protect us, isn't that counter-intuitive?" John asked. "I mean, isn't that their job? Shouldn't we be behind the lines?"

"The problem is there are no lines," Derek answered. "The damn machines are everywhere. And these new infiltrators are looking more and more human."

"Those 600s are tough," John admitted, "but they've got a long ways to go if they really want to look human."

Derek nodded in agreement. Then he furrowed his brow and stared at the chip as if contemplating something very deeply. "How the hell were you able to hack one of those chips before?" he asked.

All eyes turned to John. It was time for another story, but he was better prepared in this case.

"A flight went down near our camp a few years ago," John explained. "We investigated in case there were human survivors, but only found mangled terminators. I guess they were 600s, but I don't really know. Only one head out of the five we found was serviceable and it had been severed from the rest of its 'body,' so we took it. My dad was a computer expert before the war and I had always been interested in that stuff, so we tried studying it."

"That's probably how they tracked us down and destroyed our camp,"John said, turning his head sharply at Kyle, as if he was in a state of unexpected comprehension. "I hadn't really thought about it until now."

Kyle gave an understanding nod. "That's what they do," he said. "You said you're the only survivor?"

"I don't really know," John answered, thinking of his mother. "I need to find out for sure, though. I wanna go back."

"That's probably unwise," Derek countered. "Place is probably crawling with metal. But we'll go anyway."

John smiled, but didn't want to over-sell his tale. "I would be very grateful."

"Hey, why don't you eat?" Kyle asked, changing the subject. "I thought you were hungry."

"I am," John answered. "I'll just wait until Allison arrives."

Derek and Kyle exchanged smirks that spoke volumes.

"Well that didn't take long, Romeo," Kyle said. "What, did you find her some roses or something?"

"Yeah, something like that," John responded.

With almost impreccable timing, Allison arrived.

"Sorry I'm late," she announced. "I couldn't find a thing to wear. What's to eat?"

John hopped up, turned and greeted her with a hug and a small kiss. It had felt like an eternity since he had seen her. The Reeses couldn't help but smile at the new couple.

John quickly introduced her to the group and they sat down next to each other.

"Let's see—we've got raviolis and some green beens," John told her. "Thanks for joining us."

"I'm sorry I'm such a mess," Allison conceded. "I tried to fix my hair, but I can't do much with these bruises and…"

She stopped as John turned to face her and looked straight into her eyes.

"I've never seen such a beautiful woman," he said, smiling. "Who else could look this good after battling a T-600?"

The rest of the table chimed in out of encouragement. Allsion smiled and thanked them in turn. Her right hand found John's left and intertwined it in a tight embrace.

"Is that the chip?" Allison asked. "Can I see it?"

John nodded. "Just be careful," he said, handing it to her. "Don't touch any of the circuits."

"I was always good at fixing things," Allison said, delicately inspecting the chip with her free hand. "My dad let me help him repair our radios, transmitters and other small electric devices because my fingers were small enough to fit into the tiny spaces. Maybe I can help here, some way."

Let me help? Someday a poet might recommend these words, even over 'I love you,' John thought, remembering reading the passage somewhere.

"I knew there was a reason to save you," John said, winking at her.

Dale and Anna suddenly snapped out of their seats, saluting at full military attention. Derek and Kyle did likewise, although with considerably less ardor. John and Allison only arose at the former's prompting, when he realized that Martin Bedell was approaching.

Bedell acknowledged them with a curt salute of his own, acting almost annoyed at the tradition. "At ease," he said.

"Captain Bedell, this is Allison Young," John said. "Her bravery was instrumental in our escape from Century City."

"Yes, indeed, I witnessed it too," Bedell said. "We'll need a full debriefing on your tactics, Ms. Young,"

"Actually, John did the work," Allison said. "All I did was run."

"Yeah, but how did they miss?" Bedell asked. "They never miss."

"I don't know," Allsion admitted, somberly. "All I remember is running for my life and the machine punching me over and over. The last thing I saw was John knocking it over."

John twisted slightly and backed behind Allison so he could reach up and caress her shoulder with his right hand as she relayed the account. John empathsized with her as she subconciously winced in pain during her description.

"But what was your plan?" Bedell continued, from the other side of the table.

"Were you hoping that Peter Pan was going to fly you over that electrified fence?" Bedell said, as he placed one hand on the table and wildly gestured with the other. "Can you jump really high? Were you going to burrow under? What?"

John moved in front of Allison and leaned toward Bedell, eyes blazing.

"I'll give you my debriefing now, Captain," John said with remarkable control. "In private."

Bedell took the clue. "We'll use your office, Reese," he said.

"Of course," Derek said, beckoning to his right.

John retrieved the chip from the table as he gently disengaged from Allison's grip.

"It's okay, finish eating," he whispered, kissing her tenderly on her forehead. "We'll straighten things out."

"Okay," she said, trying a smile. "I love you."

John was a little shocked by her sudden proclamation, but he felt the same anyway.

"I love you, too," he said smiling back.

Derek led the two men to his office, which was little more than a closet with a desk, two chairs and a file cabinet. John allowed his uncle to leave before pulling the curtain closed. It wasn't going to muffle the noise, but he didn't care.

"Don't speak to her like that, Bedell!" John said, angrily whirling. It wasn't quite a yell, but the curtain wasn't about to contain his intensity. "She's traumatized by the incident! She was nearly killed!"

"Easy, Connor," Bedell said cooly, as he sat behind the desk. "You do know there's a war on, right? We need as much intel on the enemy as we can get."

"I don't care," John said, leaning on the desk with both hands rounded into fists until he was face-to-face with Bedell. "She's off limits, understand?"

Bedell regarded John for a moment before answering. "You're speaking to a superior officer, Connor," he warned.

"I'm not in your army," John answered.

"Fair enough," Bedell said. "What's your report?"

John backed away and sat down, opposite of Bedell. He realized he had been castagating him quite loudly.

"Sorry, she's been through a lot," John admitted. "I'm just protecting her. It would do her well if you apologized."

Bedell raised his eyebrows, considering John's statement.

"And besides," John continued, "I have the information you need."

His interest peaked, Bedell leaned forward. John mimicked his approach and spoke to him sotto voce.

"This knowledge is for your ears only," John said. "You know what you saw at Presidio Alto and you know all the things I told you have come to pass. What you don't know is why I'm privy to all this information."

John took a deep breath. He could not divulge everything, but Bedell needed certain facts and the timeline was the logical place to start.

"I just arrived here today," John said.

"In Los Angeles?" Bedell answered. "Where've you been?"

"Not where—when," John answered. "I time-traveled from 2009 to today."

"What in God's name for?" Bedell asked, confused. "Why the hell would you wait so long to join us?"

"It wasn't my choice," John answered. But it was a good question, John thought, one he would have to ask Weaver. Eventually.

"Think about it: do I look any older to you?" John said. "From my point of view, I just left Presidio Alto six months ago. No offense, but you definitely have put on some years since I last saw you."

Bedell thought about what John said, momentarily staring blankly at the wall. John studied him, seeing not a fresh-faced, wet-behind-the-ears cadet, but a battle worn, tired veteran. He made note of his eyes, in particular, observing a fatigued, weary expression, like he hadn't slept in years.

"We've been fighting for so long, Connor," Bedell lamented. "We've lost so many good people. I can't even remember life without war."

"It wasn't my intention to skip over the battle," John said, pitying his old friend. "We were trying to stop the machines from starting the war, but we were attacked, cornered and forced to time-leap."

"We?" Bedell asked.

"Me, my mother and a terminator," John answered, as if he knew the question was coming.

"A terminator?" Bedell said, aghast, stuggling to keep his voice down. "The enemy!"

"No," John corrected, raising his hand and waving his index finger to dismiss Bedell's objection. "Advanced model, from 2027. It's reprogrammed, an ally. The same terminator helped us escape Century City."

Bedell looked shocked. "That won't sit well with certain people, Connor," he warned.

"I'm aware of that, Captain," John said. "Which is why only certain people should know about it. In fact, I don't think it should go beyond this room at this point."

John was skating on thin ice here. He was speaking in half-truths. Weaver wasn't reprogrammed, but Cameron was. He wasn't certain how ready people in general would accept the fact that machines would also fight at their sides. Bedell would be an initial test of this revelation.

"The machines are the enemy, of course," John continued, "but the key to victory will be using them against one another. We will learn their secrets and reprogram them."

John dug the chip out his pocket again, offering it for Bedell's inspection.

"We've rarely been able to capture one intact," Bedell said, examining the circuitboard. "They're incredible at retrieving fallen soldiers. They'd make SEALs, Rangers or Marines proud, I guess. But even in the rare cases where they failed, they have some sort of self-destruct virus imbedded in the code."

"Virus?" John said, puzzled. "The CPUs in later models that we captured self-destructed—they were fried and inaccessible. But the first CPU I hacked gave me no trouble. Did your techs switch the chips to 'write' mode?"

"You're asking the wrong guy, Connor," Bedell said. "Get Barnes and Williams in here."

John opened the curtain and asked Derek, who had maintained a silent, but respectful distance from his office, to retrieve the techs.

"Sergeant, corporal," John greeted them. "When trying to hack a CPU, did you switch the chip away from "read only" mode?"

The two exchanged questioning glances.

"Excuse me?" Barnes said. "Where's the switch?"

John grabbed the chip and examined it for quite a few moments, tilting it at different angles in the poor light. Finally, he found what he was looking for: a miniscule circuit barely visible to the naked eye, nestled very neatly against the chip's shielded tab. He indicated his discovery to the techs.

"We've never even considered it," Williams admitted, shaking her head.

"Jesus Christ!" Bedell said, rolling his eyes. "All this wasted time!"

"But we can start learning now," John said.

"Absolutely," Bedell agreed.

The four walked back into the dining area, rejoining Derek, Kyle and Allison.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do," Bedell announced. "Connor, we're making you a technical sergeant, effective immediately. Barnes and Williams—you're under his command. You're gonna hack this chip and see what we can learn. If you're successful, we'll take the results to Command."

This move surprised John—a battlefield commission on his first day. I guess trust is earned.

"I would like Allison on my team too," John said. But he wasn't really asking.

John looked at Allison and saw a delightful response—her eyes reflected the hope and enthusiasm of a new hire. John's heart leapt upon witnessing her genuine excitement.

Bedell was walking out, but he stopped and turned slowly. John hoped he would do the right thing.

"I concur," Bedell said.

Allison could no longer suppress her joy, as she sprang up from her seated position and hugged John.

"She'll still be a civilian, though," Bedell added. "And Ms. Young—my apologies for my behavior before. It was rude and unwarranted."

"Thank you," Allison said, turning back to John, who smiled and winked at her.

More author's notes: To those who are worried about John being a lowly sargeant, don't be too concerned. Extra credit for those who can pick out the passage John remembers when speaking with Allison at the table.

Extra credit for those who can pick out the passage John remembers when speaking with Allison at the table.