I do not own Terminator.

And I can't let go of Michael Biehn yet. He just has too much heart.

No Fate

Finally

And she screams, Sarah Connor screams, cries and screams, pushing and pushing and pushing-

She's in the bathroom and she's pushing as hard as she can-

I was wrong, I can't do this, this is impossible, I can't-

Hands grip hers and she looks up, up into the eyes of the man she loves, the man who fucking caused all this pain and misery-

"It's okay, Sarah, it's okay, squeeze my hands, squeeze them, hold on to me-"

And she tries, she tries-

But his hands aren't enough, for once his hands aren't enough-

And she reaches up, groping blindly, grabbing for his shoulders-

She grabs for his shoulders, squeezing and groping and squeezing-

"Look into my eyes, Sarah. Disconnect from the pain. Look into my eyes-"

"Shut the fuck up, Kyle, you're not giving birth, this fucking hurts-"

And the pain is tearing her apart and she's screaming-

She's screaming and pushing and everything in the world is pain-

And his head is -

"-coming, oh god, I think he's coming!"

And she reaches down, feels-

"His head is coming!"

And she pushes, she pushes-

And she lets go of Kyle, lets go-

"Oh god, oh fuck-"

And turns, grabbing hold of the clawfoot tub, gripping so hard her hands will cramp and ache for days later-

And she crouches, all the way down, as far as she can go-

"Kyle, get the baby, get the baby-"

And the baby's shoulders get caught, he stuck, she's being ripped apart-

"Get out, get out, get out!"

And something slips, something releases-

"Kyle, the baby-"

And she senses him reaching under her, is vaguely aware she is still screaming, teeth gritted, jaw clenched, every muscle in her body rigid and to the point of snapping-

"Waaaaaa . . ."

And the baby is crying.

Sarah Connor slumps, hits her head on the bathtub, she'll have a sore spot later on, she won't care in the least-

Her legs are gone, she has no strength left.

Kyle has the baby, wrapped up in a towel, out of the way.

So Sarah allows herself to collapse, slip to the floor, fold up like laundry, go limp-

"Sarah-"

And Kyle's there.

Kyle's there, hovering above her as the shakes take her, hollowed out, empty-

"Kyle,-"

And racked with pain.

"-get the baby."

Kyle's face pinches with worry, Sarah hardly notices, she's on her way to dying, but she can't, her son needs her-

"Kyle, get John."

And he does, Kyle does.

Sarah Connor watches in a haze of pain as Kyle Reese leans down.

And picks up their son in his arms.

"Give him to me."

And he does, Kyle Reese does.

Sarah Connor holds out shaking arms.

And Kyle Reese lays their son, John Connor, into them.

He's cleaned her up.

Gotten her up off the bathroom floor.

And into their bed.

Lined with towels and blankets.

Another towel between her legs, soaking up the blood and offings.

She's delivered the placenta, there on the bathroom floor, allowed Kyle to cut the cord, rubberband the stump on what will be the baby's belly button.

She doesn't know about the bathroom, in a better world, she would have jokingly suggested calling the insurance company and writing the bathroom off as a total loss.

But for now, she doesn't know and she doesn't care.

Kyle has given her painkillers, over-the-counter, the only ones they could safely procure.

He's given her water, he's given her crackers as requested.

And now she's laying on her side, every single, last molecule of her body completely spent.

She's laying on her side.

Holding her son.

Her son.

Son.

"Hey baby, . . ."

John Connor.

". . . you sure don't look like the Leader of the Human Resistance to me."

In her arms.

"You don't look like anything . . ."

Blinking heavily.

". . . but a sweet little baby boy."

Whew, everybody okay?