I do not own Terminator.
And I can't let go of Michael Biehn yet. He just has too much heart.
No Fate
Then (The Past) and Now
Her life is quieter here (except when she blasts music).
Her life moves slower here (except when she's practicing kicking and punching and Kyle is pretending to attack even though she can see he has his teeth gritted in worry and discomfort for her the whole time).
So, yeah, mostly quieter and slower.
It wasn't always like this.
L.A.
She hardly ever stopped moving.
West Los Angeles Junior College, studying what, boys, how to scoot along in life, have a good time.
Waitressing, making just enough money to pay rent and take herself to the movies when her date stood her up.
Friends.
A few, enough.
The world had been her oyster and she had been there to enjoy it.
Until it had all changed.
The terminator came on the twelfth of May, looked for her, left a trail of similarly named bodies she still has trouble processing the existence of.
Found her on the thirteenth, decimated her entire existence in two short, horrible days.
Leaving everything she had ever known a smoking, hollow husk by the evening of the fifteenth.
Kyle Reese had shown up as well, turned her understanding of herself, her life, the purpose of her very existence completely upside down.
And taught her the true meaning of pure, true, passionate, honest . . .
". . . across time for you, Sarah."
. . . love.
As she's ruminating these relatively fresh memories, a warm, wet tongue licks the back of her hand.
And she glances down . . .
"Hey, Max."
. . . at the German Shepard who's always close at hand.
They had gotten two of them, brothers, soon after settling in the cabin.
Rescued from the animal shelter, both from the same litter, hardly more than a year old.
"We use them to spot terminators."
One to keep with each of them . . .
"You want a pet, boy, huh? You want a treat?"
. . . at all times.
Because as terrified as she is, Sarah Conner is determined to become tougher, more resilient, . . .
". . . with you."
"No."
. . . than she has been.
"It's not safe-"
"I know it's not safe. I know."
Become the person she must be.
"I'm scared to death all the time, Kyle. I'm terrified all the time."
For whatever the hell is coming their way . . .
"But I have to learn to do this, on my own."
. . . in the uncertain future.
"And I'll have the dog. And the gun too. Okay?"
Long pause, she could see him fighting himself over what he knew she had to do.
"Okay."
And she had smiled, given him a quick kiss.
"I'll be back."
And when she goes into town for supplies, she takes him with her.
She drives her dad's jeep they keep stashed away from the cabin as a getaway vehicle, drives it every so often to make sure it stays in good working condition, tank filled, oil fresh.
Her mom never bothered to get rid of it after his heart attack.
So it's Sarah's now, she guesses.
Sarah's and Kyle's.
And the dog's too, as comfortably as he sits in it.
She takes the pistol with her, the one she's learning to load, to clean, to dismantle, reassemble.
To shoot.
She keeps it hidden, no reason to scare the locals.
Keeps it tucked into the small of her back.
But it's with her at all times.
It and the dog . . .
". . . dog in here, ma'am. There's a 'no pet' policy."
"I have seizures. The dog can sense them before they happen."
"Oh. Alright then. Just make sure he doesn't piddle on the floor."
"I won't."
. . . no matter where she goes.
So Sarah Connor learns to shoot, learns to fight (as much as the man she loves can manage to pretend to attack her).
And goes grocery shopping from time to time.
She's very frugal, a lot of canned food and processed meat and Bunny bread.
Her mother's insurance policy will come in and she had a hefty one.
But Sarah doesn't know the future, how long things will be as they are or what they will be when they change.
"What's this?"
"Oreos."
But she knows she won't be bringing home any steak and lobster for the foreseeable future.
And that's . . .
"They're a good treat."
. . . okay.
She gets to cooking, dog laid out on the floor nearby.
Kyle comes in after a while and she doesn't hear him.
Because the radio is turned up and she is . . .
". . . hear it for the boy . . . let's give the boy a hannnnddddd . . ."
. . . belting it.
Stirring the chili and moving her feet, swinging her hips, her shoulders.
Throwing her head back and singing with her eyes closed.
He's given up chiding her for listening to music too loud to hear an approaching terminator . . .
". . . dog is for, right?"
"Right."
"So you gotta let me play sometimes. Besides . . . you know you like it."
These last two words relayed in an almost off-key sing-song voice.
As she grabs his hands, swinging whatever hips she's got to the beat of the music.
Brushing up against him and playfully smooching a kiss on his lips, the lips that have never denied her, could never deny her.
". . . across time for you, Sarah."
And then she lets him go, turning down the radio to both peaceful dogs sprawled on the floor with contentedly swishing tails.
And sets bowls of chili down on the small kitchen table for both of them.
Saltine crackers. Soda.
". . . not much. But it'll fill you up, even if it's just with gas."
And he doesn't seem to understand just then.
But she thinks he does . . .
"Oww."
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah. My stomach . . ."
"Yep, that's the chili!"
. . . later.
Now that they're as secured as possible away in the woods, have seen no disturbances . . .
"Kyle, can bears be terminators?"
"I don't know. We don't have bears in the future."
"Oh."
. . . they're starting to feel a little more . . .
"Kyle?"
"Yeah?"
"Come here. With me. Just for a little while."
"Okay."
. . . comfortable.
"Kyle . . ."
"Sarah . . ."
At least for little whiles at a time.
Thank you for reading and taking the time to review, nancyi1313. ! I appreciate that. :)