I do not own Terminator.
And I can't let go of Michael Biehn yet. He just has too much heart.
No Fate
Almost The Leprechaun Leader of the Human Resistance
It takes forever for the Savior of Humanity, the Leader of the Human Resistance Against The Machines to be born.
Or it feels like.
He has to be born at some point so that he can grow up to be the Savior of Humanity and the Leader of Human Resistance Against the Machines, doesn't he?
He can't lead from her womb, can he, use her vaginal canal as a bullhorn.
That would just be too-
-weird, what am I thinking, I am not telling Kyle that-
"Hey, what are you thinking?"
Ahem.
"Nothing."
And time drags on and on and on-
Please let me have this baby, I just can't be pregnant anymore, please-
And she feels the tension of the waiting.
January wanders by, becomes a distant, frozen memory.
February arrives, even Valentine's Day floats on past.
"Happy Valentine's Day, Kyle."
"What's Valentine's Day?"
"A day to celebrate our love."
"Oh."
"Sorry I don't feel much like celebrating. I'm three hundred months pregnant."
"I don't mind. Are you alright?"
"Yeah. Peachy."
President's Day comes and goes.
I bet none of these dumb presidents have ever been pregnant for three hundred months.
They were all men.
And still, John Connor waits.
Stays cozy.
And continues . . .
"-ssss-"
"Sarah?"
"I'm okay. There's just not even room for both of us in here anymore."
. . . to shove against all of Sarah Connor's internal organs.
"Is there anything I can do?"
"I don't think so."
And her ribcage.
"But thanks."
It's almost March for crying out loud.
March.
February twenty-seventh.
And she has about decided that . . .
This child is never going to come out.
. . . February will come and go without a John Connor born into the world.
It's going to happen.
Kyle never told me that part.
The Savior of the Human Race, the Leader of the Human Resistance Against The Machines . . .
"Hey, you alright?"
"Yeah. Yeah . . ."
. . . is going to be a freaking leprechaun.
"I'm okay."
She wakes him up, it's the middle of the night, she hates to wake him, he hardly ever sleeps well but-
"Kyle, . . ."
She really has to.
". . . it think the baby's coming."
Because . . .
"I'm having contractions. They're four minutes apart."
He's up immediately, ever the soldier, ever ready.
But this . . .
"Okay. I'm here. I'm ready."
. . . will be a different kind of battle.
But apparently Sarah Connor is not ready.
Not quite, not yet.
The pain comes and goes, leaves her, shows up again.
She tries to breathe, walk, she tries . . .
I wish my mother was here.
. . . to be brave.
It takes hours, she wishes she had waited longer to wake him up.
"I'm sorry, Kyle. I should have let you sleep."
"No, Sarah, I'm glad you woke me."
But she was anxious about the baby and didn't want to be . . .
I've never given birth before.
. . . alone, by herself.
She asks him to rub her back.
He does, pressing, rubbing, as much as she asks him.
Until she makes him stop because inexplicably she can't stand it anymore.
She's already gone to the bathroom, terrified she was going to birth him right into the toilet, what kind of the mother was she, oh god-
But she had just urinated, pooped.
A lot.
And so that was okay.
And she had gone again.
And again.
Breaking into sudden sweats and shakes.
She had even thrown up suddenly and without apparent reason other than pregnancy and impending childbirth.
Wherever she is, the dogs are nearby, just the way they've taught them, lots of treats and rewards over months and months.
So she focuses on them, pets them, brushes their hair.
They lick her and whine, if dogs can smell terminators, can they also smell childbirth?
She lays down, stands up.
She's here, she's there.
She's drinking water, eating toast and jam.
Kyle dogs her steps almost as much as the actual dogs.
He doesn't speak much but he's there, he's alert, he's present.
He's . . .
Annoying the shit out of me, oh shit that's terrible I love him but get out from under my ass, no, wait stay with me don't go-
And eventually . . .
"OH-"
"Sarah?"
. . . she's really glad . . .
"OH-"
. . . he's there.
Another wave of pain grips her and she screams-
Her mother told her once she didn't have 'birthing hips'. At the time, she had laughed, gee, thanks, Mom, but she understands what that means now-
And she bears down, she bears down-
And for a split second, as she's pushing with everything she's got, and -
Reality slips sideways on her-
Thanks to Hooleby for adding your support to this story! I appreciate that. :)