I do not own Terminator.
And I can't let go of Michael Biehn yet. He just has too much heart.
No Fate
Home For The Holidays
The air cools, leaves begin change.
Orange, red, yellow, brown.
The days grow shorter, sun lazier to rise, more eager to set.
They don jackets, scarves, when they leave the cabin, against the autumn's nip and chill.
And Sarah Conner watches Kyle Reese's awe for the world around him . . .
". . . suppose to see this, Sarah."
. . . return anew.
Feels her sorrow and love for him overwhelm her . . .
"Hey, you okay?"
. . . all over again.
And they hold each other closer . . .
"Yeah. It's just so beautiful. I didn't know there were so many colors in the world."
. . . as the nights grow longer, darker.
Colder.
But it's not all bad.
"-ick or treat!"
She makes them go out.
"Oooh, are you a fairy princess? I like your wand."
Out into the town.
"No, I'ma fairy princess witch and I'ma put a spell on you!"
Him and her and them.
"A spell? Oh n-"
And the dogs, of course.
"Poof! You're booger-eating monster!"
On a very special day.
"Oooh, boogers, yum yum yum!"
October thirty- . . .
"Hee hee hee hee . . ."
. . . first.
"Sarah, what is this?"
Halloween.
". . . -key, stuffing, rolls, mashed potatoes, green beans, pumpkin pie . . ."
"Sarah, is this food all for us?"
"Um, yeah. I don't know how to make a small Thanks-, well, I don't really know how to make a Thanksgiving dinner at all . . ."
She never really had to make it before.
Her mom always did.
Except for the year she thought she was too grownup and mature to go home for the holidays, instead giving thanks for pizza and Long Island Iced Teas and hangovers, yay, . . .
Sarah Conner fights back a sudden wave of renewed loss and regret that she never appreciated her mother when she had her and-
"I mean, whatever we don't eat now, we can eat later. I just have to find a hundred and one uses for leftover turkey."
Shrugs, stubbornly refusing to break down again.
It's just all the cold, drizzly November rain they've been getting lately.
And pregnancy, probably.
"Compared to Terminators, should be a snap."
"A whole tree? Inside? From outside?"
Sarah nods, grinning adoringly at complete confusion of the man she loves.
The man from the post apocalyptic future.
"Do we . . ."
The man who doesn't have any idea . . .
". . . burn it?"
. . . what a Christmas tree is.
She laughs, though an undercurrent of sadness that she has come to accept as part of loving and understanding him, courses through her.
"No. It's for decoration. For Christmas."
He still doesn't understand.
Perhaps the thought of Christmas had been too painful for those in the future to relay.
Like the blue clear sky and clean water to drink.
And a day without the threat of annilation and imminent death.
She hugs him then, kisses him.
"Don't worry, I'll teach you all about it."
And she does.
They string popcorn and loop it around.
"- almost out."
"I'll pop some more."
"I'll eat it."
And around.
She makes paper chains, hangs cinnamon sticks and dried orange slices.
Kyle helps her.
The tree sits in a bucket of lake water, wrapped with one of her grandmother's old handmade quilts.
And then . . .
"Now what do we do?"
"We put gifts under the tree."
"Gifts?"
"Yeah. We buy or make stuff for each other, wrap 'em up, and put them under the tree to open on Christmas morning."
"What stuff?"
"Whatever we want to give each other."
. . . she has to figure out . . .
What do you get the man who's never had anything?
"Merry Christmas, Sarah."
"Oh, Kyle . . ."
. . . post Terminator Christmas presents.
New Years Eve.
The fire is roaring in the fireplace.
The man she loves is sitting next to her on the couch.
And she's raising a glass of sparkling champagne . . .
". . . toast."
"What's a toast? Like the bread in the kitchen ?"
. . . to something they haven't quite decided yet.
"No. It's . . . it's an . . . it's an . . . honor you give to something or someone."
I think.
"Something you want to remember."
I should make sure there are dictionaries in the apocalypse.
If I'm going to be the mother of John Conner and all.
Of course, if I did, then that would change the future, which is Kyle's past and which is my future then he would be different, even though he doesn't know he already knows the definition of cunnilingus-
Ahem-
Then she gifts him a big smile, it's not hard, she loves him so much, he's so wonderful, so handsome, so tragic and strong and brave and . . .
Not supposed to be here-
And she shakes that off too.
"So . . ."
Smile. It's New Years.
". . . what should we toast?"
Kyle's face is gentle, his eyes, so green, so full . . .
"You. John."
. . . of love.
"Oh, Kyle."
For her.
"Happy New Year, Sarah."
"Happy New Year, Kyle."
"I love you."
"I love you."
New Years Day.
1985.
This will be the year she becomes a mother, Kyle becomes a father.
This will be the year Sarah gives birth to John Conner, the Leader of the Human Resistance, the Savior of the Human Race Against The Machines.
They will do it alone, Sarah cannot trust anyone but Kyle, no matter how much they believe they are safe from Machines, Terminators, The Future.
Any prying eyes.
She is frightened when she thinks of it.
Nervous.
And resolved.
It'll hurt, it'll be very bad, she has no doubt.
And she still doesn't know everything she needs to be ready.
But since apparently she will be the one to teach her son to be a 'great military leader', she supposes whatever happens, she'll live, recover.
Survive.
And move . . .
"Hey. Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah. I think so. So . . . do you want to go for a walk?"
"Oh. Uh. Sure. If you want."
"Okay . . . now let's see if we can get my marshmallow puff feet into those boots."
"Do you want to wear mine?"
. . . on.
Just a bit of mostly light fluff, hope you enjoyed! :)
Thanks to DinahRay for reading and reviewing the previous chapter and to Captpirate for adding your support to this story! :D