The Last Days of the Long War; or How I Became Immortal and Saved Mankind (3/8?)
Title: The Last Days of the Long War; or How I Became Immortal and Saved Mankind (3/8?)
Author: gestalt1
Rating: NC-17 this part
Word Count: 4736 this part
Pairings: Future Kyle/Marcus, John/Kate, one-off Kyle/OFC (she's just a plot device I swear)
Warnings: Violence, war, post-apocalyptic scenario, swearing.
Author's Note: So this is part three of the long fic AU of basically what happens after the end of Terminator Salvation. Kate has a baby, Kyle gets laid for the first time ever, and we finally have the return of Marcus. (This is the first time I've written het sex. It's kind of an odd feeling. :3) Also, I apologise for the length of time between updates. New fandoms and uni work have been taking up most of my time. However I'm hoping to get T4 on DVD at Christmas, which should kick-start my muse again.
Chapter Three
It’s the beginning of October, and the Resistance have cleared the state up to San Francisco when it happens. Kate is in the briefing tent with John and the rest of them when she suddenly flinches like she’s been punched in the stomach, and makes a soft ‘oh’ of surprise. John is at her side immediately, his arms coming up to support her, worry showing on his face in an honest, unguarded way she hasn’t seen in the month since Kyle left. She smiles at him, though it’s a little weak, and feels the surprisingly warm trickle of amniotic fluid down her leg.
“My water has broken,” she says, quiet enough so that no one else hears her at first. She repeats it, louder, then shudders as the next contraction hits. They are slow and steady and quite far apart at this stage, but oh she’s been waiting for this for weeks when the war hadn’t distracted her, and she’s a little surprised to find just how excited she is.
“Come on, we’d better get you to the first aid tent,” John says, and behind the obvious concern she can hear the same kind of giddy exhilaration that is filling her chest. She nods, and tries to shrug his supporting arm away.
“I’m okay,” she protests, “I can walk,” but another strong clench of muscles makes her stumble. John makes a concerned noise in the back of his throat and is back at her side again.
“You sure about that,” he says, half laughing as though he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Kate knows how he feels.
“Well okay,” she replies with a teasing smile. “Let’s get going; I can tell this one’s eager to get out.”
This time John does laugh, helping her navigate over the rough ground outside. It seems like a very long way to the tent, even with her husband at her side, more than half holding her up. She smiles, free and wild, while the warm breeze of the desert coils her hair in chocolate-brown tangles around her face. She feels strong and ready for this. Ready for their child.
The first aid tent is dark inside after the noon sun, and Kate blinks as her eyes adjust. It’s a familiar place this, comforting, a place she calls home. John has to help her up onto the gurney, weight and pain and the spasms of her womb making it otherwise impossible. She settles back onto the cool metal, thankful for the rest, turning her head towards John.
“You’ll want to get Amanda,” she tells him, “she’s my nurse, she can help.”
He wants to protest, she can see; he’d prefer to do everything himself if he actually knew the first thing about midwifery, but he’s not about to let even his pride get in the way of her own comfort and safety. He nods, and half-runs out, already calling for the woman. She struggles with her baggy combats as she waits for him to come back, pulling them down to her ankles. She’s hardly thinking about modesty; it’s not anything John hasn’t seen before anyway, and Amanda won’t care. It’s the practicalities of the situation.
The next contraction sweeps over her, making her cry out, and breathe faster. It’s the strangest mix of excitement and apprehension, of a new and slightly frightening experience. She had been hoping, actually, to do this up in Utah, where all the other pregnant women are, where there are people who manage women through this every other week. But circumstances... and she couldn’t leave John and Barnes and Blair to deal with California by themselves. She grits her teeth. It’s been fourteen years; painkillers are a thing of the past, well beyond their capacity. For surgery, they have a few that they hoard, but each time it dwindles. Aspirin is just about the limit of their capabilities, another reason why the factories they take will be so important. Alcohol makes do, but she can’t take that route, for obvious reasons. Humans have been doing this without the benefit of epidurals and oxygen for thousands of years before the last century. She can manage.
It seems like time stretches out very long before John gets back with Amanda, time in which the contractions grow and the pain does too, and she growls and curses and rides it out. It’s not that bad, she tells herself. She’s been shot once or twice before; that had hurt at least at much. Although it’s the actual force of the spasms of muscle that she’s struggling to cope with, more than anything. She swears again and pushespushespushes and then John is back, locking his fingers with her, giving her something to grip and squeeze.
“Fuck, John,” she says. “Whoever thought kids were worth this shit?” She’s almost half not joking, but it’s pain talking. She imagines she’ll be wanting to castrate John for getting her pregnant in the first place by the time this is over.
Amanda’s voice is soft in her ear, telling her to push with the contractions, to ride it out, that it’ll all be over soon, and she listens and tries to do as she’s told. It seems to take a very long time. Pain warps things like that. And then, finally, just like that, the pressure is gone; she feels the baby slip-slide out of her and into Amanda’s waiting hands. She hitches herself up onto her elbows, wanting to see, and then a shrill cry splits the air, and a squirming mass of bloody baby is handed to her. She looks down at the child in amazement. She’s hers. Hers and John’s, something they made together, and she’s just so marvellous. She only realises she’s been holding her breath when John puts his arm around her shoulders, caressing the baby’s delicate head with the palm of his other hand.
“What are we going to call her?” he asks softly.
“Sarah,” she replies, her voice equally quiet. Reverential. “I was thinking Sarah.”
-------
“So what are you thinking?” Tony asks him over bowls of soup and thick, dark, half-stale bread that evening. “Are you wanting to go into the line-up or not?”
Kyle ducks his head a bit to hide his blush. He hates this emotion; embarrassment, he’s not used to it, doesn’t like how hard it is to hide. “Maybe,” he tells the floor.
“Up to you of course,” Tony replies, chewing solidly on a hardened crust the texture of stone. “No hurry, after all.”
It hits him then that he’s probably going to be here for a while. Years, maybe. He doesn’t know his birthday, he’s just been counting seasons since his dad died, knowing at least that he had been eleven then, five years ago. Or was it six now? Maybe just coming up on six. He thinks he’ll have to be eighteen at least before Conner will let him join the war, so that’s at least a year, probably more. He’s going to be here a whole twelve months, minimum. But at least the place isn’t so bad as he was fearing. The classes he and Star saw today looked pretty interesting, especially the combat and survival ones. Maybe if he gets good enough at them Conner will let him come back early. If he can prove to him that he is a fighter, that he is capable of this.
“No hurry, I know,” he tells Tony. “But I’m... curious I guess. But I’ve never... what if I’m really bad at it?”
The other man laughs, making Kyle glare at him angrily until he realises he isn’t really laughing at him. “Kid, don’t worry,” he says, once he’s recovered himself. “It kind of comes naturally. Sure, experience will help, but, well. There has to be a first time for everything.”
True enough, Kyle acknowledges. That doesn’t really help with the sneaking suspicion that he’s going to make an almighty fool of himself. But if that is going to happen, waiting around isn’t going to change it. And like Tony said, practise is important. He could use practise. He’s never really considered what his ‘first time’ would be like before. Prior to this part of his life, he hadn’t thought there would be a first time. Is it supposed to be special, in some way? Hard to know, and harder still in their war-torn world. Maybe you’re just meant to do it with someone you trust so they don’t laugh at you if you’re awful at the whole thing.
“I guess... I guess I do want to,” he says finally. “Soon. Or soon-ish.”
“Well you let me know when you’re ready,” Tony tells him softly, smiling. “I’ll get it all arranged.”
Kyle smiles back at him. “Thanks.”
-------
“I know what you’re going to say John,” Kate cuts in before he can speak. “And that was the most sensible thing to do before, but California is nearly ours, and I need to be close enough to lend a hand where I can.”
Her husband gives her the glare he uses whenever he knows he’s probably going to loose an argument, but is going to do his goddamn best anyway. “No fucking way Kate,” he growls, “just, no, what the fuck?”
She smiles at him angelically. “I’m not saying we should stay here in California. I’m going to take our baby back to Arizona with me. Now that may not be far enough for your liking, but it’s just till we’re sure the state is totally secure.” She insists firmly. “I need to be in radio range for you. But you have my word, once California is under the control of the Resistance, I’ll go to Utah. I’ll even say hi to Kyle for you.”
“Oh bloody wonderful,” John sneers sarcastically, but is clearly unable to think of any better comeback than that. “This is such a fucking bad idea Kate. This is the middle of a war camp; it’s no place for a baby! And Arizona’s no better. It’s a fucking desert, for one thing! Small children and deserts do not mix, goddammit. And Utah is set up for taking care of a child, we aren’t here!”
Kate smiles at him passively. “Those are all very good arguments John,” she replies. “But trust me when I say I would never do anything that would put Sarah at risk. Please trust me when I say she will be fine in Arizona. And you need me too, don’t forget that. It’s only for a little while. A couple of weeks, no more. I just want to be sure you have the situation under control here.”
John has never been a man to back down, but he’s known Kate long enough to know when an argument is unwinnable. “Two weeks?” he says instead. “Definitely no more than that?”
“You have my word John.”
He glares, but he knows when he’s beaten. “Okay then,” he tells her gruffly. “But as soon as twelve days are over you’re going straight to the camps.”
“Yes John,” she tells him. She smiles, and he mentally acknowledges that she has him wrapped around her finger. Oh well. He could be worse off.
--------
Kyle shifts uncomfortably. There aren’t very many men at the camp at the moment, so the ‘line’ isn’t very long. He’d feel a bit better maybe if he thought he could get lost in the crowd. He’s terribly nervous. And maybe just a very little aroused, if he’s honest with himself. He’s caught like a bug on a pin under the assessing stares of the several women. There’s a girl who can’t be much more than his age; she has pale skin and night-dark hair that falls in curls, and her figure curves elegantly in her torn jeans and faded top, despite the meagre rations that make everyone he’s ever seen thin. She looks at him like she knows he wants her, which he does, no denying that. It’s a razor-blade shiver in his stomach, an unfamiliar mixture of hot emotions. She shoots him a wry smile, and comes over to stand in front of him.
“Um... hi,” he says, smiling weakly back, kind of hoping she doesn’t notice he’s half hard inside his jeans already. She looks him up and down with eyes that laugh.
“So,” she asks, “how’d you like to come back to my room?”
-------
“I’ve... not actually ever done this before,” he says, though it comes out more like a stammer. She smiles at him and kisses him lightly.
“I wasn’t expecting that you had.” The weight of her settles on him comfortably. He could blame his breathlessness on it; it would be a lie. Her thighs are warm beside his own and she rubs against the hardness of his cock inside his pants as she sits up astride him to pull her top off. She’s wearing a lacy bra, but he doesn’t have time to more than see what it looks like before it too is gone, and his gaze fixes instead on the pale whiteness of her breasts. His mouth opens slightly, and lust curls warmly in his belly. His hands move almost of their own accord to run up her smooth sides, feeling the dips between her ribs, stopping just shy of that alluring swell of flesh. She smiles. “Go on,” she says, and moves his hands up to cup her breasts as she leans forward to capture his lips in a long kiss.
God, Kyle thinks, unable to form much more than that, shifting naturally so that the long press of her body is tight to his own, bare chest to bare chest, hands moving one to tangle in her curls, the other running along the curve and bumps of her spine, hesitating at the band of her pants before boldly slipping under, curving around her ass. His hips buck up against her almost involuntarily. Fuck, he moans in his head, breathless, low little gasping exhalations being captured by her mouth against his. Holy shit!
She pulls away just enough to tug down the zip on his jeans, fumbling a little with the button, and pushes them down his hips, taking his underwear with them and making him gasp and writhe up, clumsy and long-legged to help her, finally kicking them off his feet and onto the floor beside the pallet. “Oh God,” he says, as she grins at him and wraps her elegant fingers around his dick, his head falling back onto the bundled-up jumper that serves as a pillow and arching up into the touch.
“Impatient,” she chides him, and moves away again, and the next thing he knows her jeans have joined his own on the rough stone, and she is sinking down onto him with a smooth and practised movement. God, he thinks, as he closes his eyes with ecstasy at the warm heat, the tightness of her around him and just how goddamn good it feels, his hands gripping her hips hard. He finds that at least his body knows what to do, bucking up into her to match her own slick snake-like slide on top of him; because he doesn’t think he’s capable of rational thought right now.
He has no idea how long it is that she rides him before the rolling pleasure starts to crescendo, and he finds himself coming with a wordless shout, spilling himself into the wet heat of her as she rocks on his cock, her own breathy moans loud in his ears. She wrings the last drops out of him and keeps on going, until finally she cries out herself, movement becoming fast and erratic before she finally stops still, panting for long moments in which they are locked there, still and unmoving, joined in a single moment of silence. Then she pulls off of him and rolls over to lie close next to him, one hand caressing his chest possessively.
Damn, Kyle thinks sleepily, no wonder people like sex so much, and starts to drift off. But not before a curious thought slinks across his mind; I wonder whether it’s just as good with a guy.
--------
It’s November 2018 and three months after his second death, Marcus Wright wakes up. The first thing he is aware of is the thick press of the earth around him, and for a long moment he is overwhelmed by panic, thrashing against the warm embrace of the soil, gasping for air before he becomes aware that he is not suffocating. He is not breathing. He wonders is this is the reality of being dead; darkness, pressure, consciousness for eternity.
He remembers what it was like to wake up the last time, a confusion of fire and hot smoky air, pushing himself up and out into the rain, soaking into mud that coated his body. He remembers Kyle, remembers finding the Resistance. He remembers giving his life to save a man; one of the few selfless acts of his life. But it hadn’t really been all that selfless, had it. He had been disgusted by the thought of what Skynet had done to him; maybe he hadn’t wanted to live with that. He wasn’t human any more. He had been ready to die the first time around, and they had taken that away from him; he wanted it to be final this time. But they’ve cursed him so that not even that is certain. He supposes he must be immortal now, or at least he will live until whatever power source Skynet has buried inside him winds down. This is so very not what he signed up for.
He gets himself together eventually; strong emotions can only last so long. When he’s calm again, he starts to think about how he’s going to get out of here. The ground is sandy and dry, from what he can feel of it against his bare skin, so maybe he can dig his way out. It’s just a case of space to push the soil away, and time, which is something he has plenty of. His panic attack of earlier has already freed up a little bit of space by compacting the dirt around him, so now he can raise his hands up to his face and start to scrape away. He doesn’t think they’ll have buried him too deep, but this is going to be very slow going either way. Each rough handful of dirt he shoves back down his body, grimacing at the taste of it in his mouth, the smell of it filling his nose. He keeps his eyes tightly closed. There’s nothing to see, and the dust irritates his eyes.
He can’t say how long it’s been, raising his upper body up by shallow degrees, but he’s not even up into a sitting position by the time he hits air. He surfaces into it like someone coming up from deep water, gasping for breath by reflex even though he doesn’t need it. The light hits him like a solid blow, his eyes unused to it. He’s blind for long, long moments, blinking against sheer whiteness and barely there shapes like shadows before contrast and colour begin to come back to the world. He wriggles free of the last of the soil, shaking it off what remains of his clothes after however long it’s been. He can count himself lucky this is dry earth otherwise he’d likely be pretty much naked. As it is the cloth is tattered and full of holes, and both it and his skin are filthy. He scrubs hands through his hair dislodging further showers of sandy dust. But he’s alive, and he’s out of the ground now, so it doesn’t really matter that he’s the approximate colour of the desert itself. Now all he needs to do is find the Resistance again.
----------
The desert is dusty and dry and hot, but he doesn’t really feel it, he just knows these things are there. And he’s got the taste of earth and death in his mouth anyway, so what’s a little more of the same. He doesn’t know where they buried him, and he doesn’t know where their base is, exactly, but there’s a track in the dirt that looks like it gets used a bit, so he follows that. It has to lead somewhere, after all. There are only so many humans with vehicles around.
He’s not thirsty, and he’s not hungry, and he doesn’t get tired easily, and he doesn’t want anything to do with sleep after an indeterminate amount of time being rather dead, so he just walks and walks. The sun comes up, and it goes down again, and his mind is caught somewhere between a dull, dead fuzziness and the thoughts that are trying to break through. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing here. A nap might help, probably, if he wasn’t scared of the very idea.
After some time, he can see something off in the distance. There are more tracks here, and they crisscross, and there’s a bit of tarmac that might have been a road before the desert swallowed it. He thinks he’s close, and a bit more walking proves it. The khaki tents rise against the blue of the sky, swathed in heat haze, and Marcus lets a smile ghost across his face. He wants to see humans again. He wants to see Kyle again. That’s the person he remembers more strongly through the haze of very slowly waking up into living.
It’s not that easy. He’s not sure why he expected it to be; does he not remember what happened the last time he swanned into a human base? He’s not got much further than the scattering of 4x4s a little way off from the camp before there are people pointing guns at him with suspicion in their eyes.
“Who are you and what do you want?” one of them barks out, narrowing her eyes against the glare of the sun.
Marcus holds up his hands. “I’m here to see John Conner,” he shouts back. Because the guy did fight on his side in the factory, even if he did try to kill him the first time.
Someone runs off, presumably to get the man. Marcus settles in to wait. He’s not in too much of a hurry.
-----------
“I want to know where Kyle is,” Marcus demands, leaning into Conner’s personal space. See how he likes it. But Conner just glares right back, of course.
“And what the fuck are you, machine?” he growls. “A little fucking replacement from Skynet? Think we might have forgotten you’re dead?”
Marcus stares at him. “Conner, it’s me. Seriously. You want to see the scar where I gave you my heart? Now where’s Kyle?”
Conner snorts. “It’s been three months since we buried you. How hard would it be for Skynet to make another one of you?”
He’s starting to get tired of all these guns being pointed at him, though at least he’s been given an answer about how long he’s been ‘dead’. “Don’t you think I’d be trying to kill you if I was Skynet’s machine? I’m close enough.” He pokes a finger at Conner’s chest to illustrate his point, causing the people with guns to jerk forward tensely. He looks round at them with a certain amount of contempt. They shouldn’t really have let him get this close if they didn’t believe him.
“So your heart just grew back?” Conner makes a dismissive gesture. “Sure.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Marcus insists. “I think I’m proof of that.”
“Well don’t fucking think I’m going to let you swan about this goddamn base just yet.” He’s still glaring. Marcus thinks it’s the only expression he has. “We’re going to take you to Kate. She’ll see what the fuck is going on here.”
----------
“So what do you remember?” Kate asks him from her position behind him, her hands still poking around in the opening she has cut in the back of his skull. It’s a very strange feeling; not painful, but a bit uncomfortable, and a little tingly.
“I remember waking up in the future,” he replies, “I mean, now. But nothing before that. And I remember Kyle, and you and Conner. And Blair. And Skynet.” He picks at the skin on his hand. Last time he saw it it had been shorn of its covering, down to the metal. It’s grown back since then. So has his heart, apparently.
Kate makes a little ‘hmm’-ing noise. “I’m worried whatever repair process you have has been going into overdrive up here.” She taps his skull. “If it was just trying to repair your heart... well think of it like an allergic reaction with the immune system overreacting. I think it’s been converting your brain into a non-organic version too. Maybe it had too, if you had no heart to pump it nutrients.”
“You mean maybe I’m not human at all any more,” Marcus says, hating the words even as he says them. God, it might have been three months but it’s not like he was awake for any of them; he hasn’t had time to adjust to being a robot yet. It still makes his skin crawl if he lets himself think about it too hard. He hates Skynet for what it’s done to him.
Kate doesn’t say anything, but Marcus knows that just means he’s right. So this is the price of living for a third time. He would have preferred to stay dead.
“So what now?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” Kate tells him sadly. “But at least I don’t think you’re under Skynet’s control any more. Whatever they put in you hasn’t been able to repair that.”
Marcus sighs in relief. He hadn’t even been thinking about that, but now Kate’s brought it up as a possibility, he’s glad to know he doesn’t have yet another thing to worry about. “So what now?” he asks. “Are you going to tell Conner it’s okay to trust me? He refused to tell me where Kyle is until you’d checked me out.”
Kate laughs. “Well I can tell him that, but you know John, trust isn’t in his nature. But don’t let it get to you, it’s nothing personal, you know that.”
“I get that,” Marcus grumbles. “And I don’t really care, it’s not like I’m trying to be friends with him, I just need him to tell me what’s happened to the kid while I’ve been gone.”
Kate doesn’t reply. She seems to be thinking about something. “Well,” she says finally, “I can tell you that myself. We - John and I - decided it wasn’t safe enough for him here. We’ve sent him off to one of our camps in Utah; it’s where all the non-combatants are.”
Marcus twists round in the seat. “Can I go see him?” he asks. He’s not even sure himself why it’s so urgent that he check up on the kid; he’d been surviving perfectly well on his own before Marcus turned up, and after all it had been Kyle who saved his life first, not the other way around. But knowing that doesn’t change the fact that he feels strangely protective of him. And he misses having him around too. He only had him and Star around for a couple of weeks, but it sure beat solitary confinement on death row.
“You’ll have to ask John that, I’m afraid,” Kate tells him, slotting the panel on the back of his skull back into place and lifting the hanging flap of skin back up to cover it. “Just hold that in place for me a minute while it heals itself,” she instructs conversationally, as if cutting open robots that look like humans is something she has to deal with on a regular occurrence. Marcus does as he’s told, watching her clear up her tools.
“You think he’ll say no,” he states flatly. Conner, he suspects, is a dick to him purely for the sake of being a massive dick. Oh, and because he hates all machines. Can’t forget that little motivation. Kate smiles at him sympathetically.
“I’ll try and persuade him to let you go up and visit at least.”
“Thanks,” he replies, and means it. It’s just that he doesn’t think it’ll do any good. Conner’s a stubborn bastard.
Author: gestalt1
Rating: NC-17 this part
Word Count: 4736 this part
Pairings: Future Kyle/Marcus, John/Kate, one-off Kyle/OFC (she's just a plot device I swear)
Warnings: Violence, war, post-apocalyptic scenario, swearing.
Author's Note: So this is part three of the long fic AU of basically what happens after the end of Terminator Salvation. Kate has a baby, Kyle gets laid for the first time ever, and we finally have the return of Marcus. (This is the first time I've written het sex. It's kind of an odd feeling. :3) Also, I apologise for the length of time between updates. New fandoms and uni work have been taking up most of my time. However I'm hoping to get T4 on DVD at Christmas, which should kick-start my muse again.
Chapter Three
It’s the beginning of October, and the Resistance have cleared the state up to San Francisco when it happens. Kate is in the briefing tent with John and the rest of them when she suddenly flinches like she’s been punched in the stomach, and makes a soft ‘oh’ of surprise. John is at her side immediately, his arms coming up to support her, worry showing on his face in an honest, unguarded way she hasn’t seen in the month since Kyle left. She smiles at him, though it’s a little weak, and feels the surprisingly warm trickle of amniotic fluid down her leg.
“My water has broken,” she says, quiet enough so that no one else hears her at first. She repeats it, louder, then shudders as the next contraction hits. They are slow and steady and quite far apart at this stage, but oh she’s been waiting for this for weeks when the war hadn’t distracted her, and she’s a little surprised to find just how excited she is.
“Come on, we’d better get you to the first aid tent,” John says, and behind the obvious concern she can hear the same kind of giddy exhilaration that is filling her chest. She nods, and tries to shrug his supporting arm away.
“I’m okay,” she protests, “I can walk,” but another strong clench of muscles makes her stumble. John makes a concerned noise in the back of his throat and is back at her side again.
“You sure about that,” he says, half laughing as though he can’t quite believe what’s happening. Kate knows how he feels.
“Well okay,” she replies with a teasing smile. “Let’s get going; I can tell this one’s eager to get out.”
This time John does laugh, helping her navigate over the rough ground outside. It seems like a very long way to the tent, even with her husband at her side, more than half holding her up. She smiles, free and wild, while the warm breeze of the desert coils her hair in chocolate-brown tangles around her face. She feels strong and ready for this. Ready for their child.
The first aid tent is dark inside after the noon sun, and Kate blinks as her eyes adjust. It’s a familiar place this, comforting, a place she calls home. John has to help her up onto the gurney, weight and pain and the spasms of her womb making it otherwise impossible. She settles back onto the cool metal, thankful for the rest, turning her head towards John.
“You’ll want to get Amanda,” she tells him, “she’s my nurse, she can help.”
He wants to protest, she can see; he’d prefer to do everything himself if he actually knew the first thing about midwifery, but he’s not about to let even his pride get in the way of her own comfort and safety. He nods, and half-runs out, already calling for the woman. She struggles with her baggy combats as she waits for him to come back, pulling them down to her ankles. She’s hardly thinking about modesty; it’s not anything John hasn’t seen before anyway, and Amanda won’t care. It’s the practicalities of the situation.
The next contraction sweeps over her, making her cry out, and breathe faster. It’s the strangest mix of excitement and apprehension, of a new and slightly frightening experience. She had been hoping, actually, to do this up in Utah, where all the other pregnant women are, where there are people who manage women through this every other week. But circumstances... and she couldn’t leave John and Barnes and Blair to deal with California by themselves. She grits her teeth. It’s been fourteen years; painkillers are a thing of the past, well beyond their capacity. For surgery, they have a few that they hoard, but each time it dwindles. Aspirin is just about the limit of their capabilities, another reason why the factories they take will be so important. Alcohol makes do, but she can’t take that route, for obvious reasons. Humans have been doing this without the benefit of epidurals and oxygen for thousands of years before the last century. She can manage.
It seems like time stretches out very long before John gets back with Amanda, time in which the contractions grow and the pain does too, and she growls and curses and rides it out. It’s not that bad, she tells herself. She’s been shot once or twice before; that had hurt at least at much. Although it’s the actual force of the spasms of muscle that she’s struggling to cope with, more than anything. She swears again and pushespushespushes and then John is back, locking his fingers with her, giving her something to grip and squeeze.
“Fuck, John,” she says. “Whoever thought kids were worth this shit?” She’s almost half not joking, but it’s pain talking. She imagines she’ll be wanting to castrate John for getting her pregnant in the first place by the time this is over.
Amanda’s voice is soft in her ear, telling her to push with the contractions, to ride it out, that it’ll all be over soon, and she listens and tries to do as she’s told. It seems to take a very long time. Pain warps things like that. And then, finally, just like that, the pressure is gone; she feels the baby slip-slide out of her and into Amanda’s waiting hands. She hitches herself up onto her elbows, wanting to see, and then a shrill cry splits the air, and a squirming mass of bloody baby is handed to her. She looks down at the child in amazement. She’s hers. Hers and John’s, something they made together, and she’s just so marvellous. She only realises she’s been holding her breath when John puts his arm around her shoulders, caressing the baby’s delicate head with the palm of his other hand.
“What are we going to call her?” he asks softly.
“Sarah,” she replies, her voice equally quiet. Reverential. “I was thinking Sarah.”
-------
“So what are you thinking?” Tony asks him over bowls of soup and thick, dark, half-stale bread that evening. “Are you wanting to go into the line-up or not?”
Kyle ducks his head a bit to hide his blush. He hates this emotion; embarrassment, he’s not used to it, doesn’t like how hard it is to hide. “Maybe,” he tells the floor.
“Up to you of course,” Tony replies, chewing solidly on a hardened crust the texture of stone. “No hurry, after all.”
It hits him then that he’s probably going to be here for a while. Years, maybe. He doesn’t know his birthday, he’s just been counting seasons since his dad died, knowing at least that he had been eleven then, five years ago. Or was it six now? Maybe just coming up on six. He thinks he’ll have to be eighteen at least before Conner will let him join the war, so that’s at least a year, probably more. He’s going to be here a whole twelve months, minimum. But at least the place isn’t so bad as he was fearing. The classes he and Star saw today looked pretty interesting, especially the combat and survival ones. Maybe if he gets good enough at them Conner will let him come back early. If he can prove to him that he is a fighter, that he is capable of this.
“No hurry, I know,” he tells Tony. “But I’m... curious I guess. But I’ve never... what if I’m really bad at it?”
The other man laughs, making Kyle glare at him angrily until he realises he isn’t really laughing at him. “Kid, don’t worry,” he says, once he’s recovered himself. “It kind of comes naturally. Sure, experience will help, but, well. There has to be a first time for everything.”
True enough, Kyle acknowledges. That doesn’t really help with the sneaking suspicion that he’s going to make an almighty fool of himself. But if that is going to happen, waiting around isn’t going to change it. And like Tony said, practise is important. He could use practise. He’s never really considered what his ‘first time’ would be like before. Prior to this part of his life, he hadn’t thought there would be a first time. Is it supposed to be special, in some way? Hard to know, and harder still in their war-torn world. Maybe you’re just meant to do it with someone you trust so they don’t laugh at you if you’re awful at the whole thing.
“I guess... I guess I do want to,” he says finally. “Soon. Or soon-ish.”
“Well you let me know when you’re ready,” Tony tells him softly, smiling. “I’ll get it all arranged.”
Kyle smiles back at him. “Thanks.”
-------
“I know what you’re going to say John,” Kate cuts in before he can speak. “And that was the most sensible thing to do before, but California is nearly ours, and I need to be close enough to lend a hand where I can.”
Her husband gives her the glare he uses whenever he knows he’s probably going to loose an argument, but is going to do his goddamn best anyway. “No fucking way Kate,” he growls, “just, no, what the fuck?”
She smiles at him angelically. “I’m not saying we should stay here in California. I’m going to take our baby back to Arizona with me. Now that may not be far enough for your liking, but it’s just till we’re sure the state is totally secure.” She insists firmly. “I need to be in radio range for you. But you have my word, once California is under the control of the Resistance, I’ll go to Utah. I’ll even say hi to Kyle for you.”
“Oh bloody wonderful,” John sneers sarcastically, but is clearly unable to think of any better comeback than that. “This is such a fucking bad idea Kate. This is the middle of a war camp; it’s no place for a baby! And Arizona’s no better. It’s a fucking desert, for one thing! Small children and deserts do not mix, goddammit. And Utah is set up for taking care of a child, we aren’t here!”
Kate smiles at him passively. “Those are all very good arguments John,” she replies. “But trust me when I say I would never do anything that would put Sarah at risk. Please trust me when I say she will be fine in Arizona. And you need me too, don’t forget that. It’s only for a little while. A couple of weeks, no more. I just want to be sure you have the situation under control here.”
John has never been a man to back down, but he’s known Kate long enough to know when an argument is unwinnable. “Two weeks?” he says instead. “Definitely no more than that?”
“You have my word John.”
He glares, but he knows when he’s beaten. “Okay then,” he tells her gruffly. “But as soon as twelve days are over you’re going straight to the camps.”
“Yes John,” she tells him. She smiles, and he mentally acknowledges that she has him wrapped around her finger. Oh well. He could be worse off.
--------
Kyle shifts uncomfortably. There aren’t very many men at the camp at the moment, so the ‘line’ isn’t very long. He’d feel a bit better maybe if he thought he could get lost in the crowd. He’s terribly nervous. And maybe just a very little aroused, if he’s honest with himself. He’s caught like a bug on a pin under the assessing stares of the several women. There’s a girl who can’t be much more than his age; she has pale skin and night-dark hair that falls in curls, and her figure curves elegantly in her torn jeans and faded top, despite the meagre rations that make everyone he’s ever seen thin. She looks at him like she knows he wants her, which he does, no denying that. It’s a razor-blade shiver in his stomach, an unfamiliar mixture of hot emotions. She shoots him a wry smile, and comes over to stand in front of him.
“Um... hi,” he says, smiling weakly back, kind of hoping she doesn’t notice he’s half hard inside his jeans already. She looks him up and down with eyes that laugh.
“So,” she asks, “how’d you like to come back to my room?”
-------
“I’ve... not actually ever done this before,” he says, though it comes out more like a stammer. She smiles at him and kisses him lightly.
“I wasn’t expecting that you had.” The weight of her settles on him comfortably. He could blame his breathlessness on it; it would be a lie. Her thighs are warm beside his own and she rubs against the hardness of his cock inside his pants as she sits up astride him to pull her top off. She’s wearing a lacy bra, but he doesn’t have time to more than see what it looks like before it too is gone, and his gaze fixes instead on the pale whiteness of her breasts. His mouth opens slightly, and lust curls warmly in his belly. His hands move almost of their own accord to run up her smooth sides, feeling the dips between her ribs, stopping just shy of that alluring swell of flesh. She smiles. “Go on,” she says, and moves his hands up to cup her breasts as she leans forward to capture his lips in a long kiss.
God, Kyle thinks, unable to form much more than that, shifting naturally so that the long press of her body is tight to his own, bare chest to bare chest, hands moving one to tangle in her curls, the other running along the curve and bumps of her spine, hesitating at the band of her pants before boldly slipping under, curving around her ass. His hips buck up against her almost involuntarily. Fuck, he moans in his head, breathless, low little gasping exhalations being captured by her mouth against his. Holy shit!
She pulls away just enough to tug down the zip on his jeans, fumbling a little with the button, and pushes them down his hips, taking his underwear with them and making him gasp and writhe up, clumsy and long-legged to help her, finally kicking them off his feet and onto the floor beside the pallet. “Oh God,” he says, as she grins at him and wraps her elegant fingers around his dick, his head falling back onto the bundled-up jumper that serves as a pillow and arching up into the touch.
“Impatient,” she chides him, and moves away again, and the next thing he knows her jeans have joined his own on the rough stone, and she is sinking down onto him with a smooth and practised movement. God, he thinks, as he closes his eyes with ecstasy at the warm heat, the tightness of her around him and just how goddamn good it feels, his hands gripping her hips hard. He finds that at least his body knows what to do, bucking up into her to match her own slick snake-like slide on top of him; because he doesn’t think he’s capable of rational thought right now.
He has no idea how long it is that she rides him before the rolling pleasure starts to crescendo, and he finds himself coming with a wordless shout, spilling himself into the wet heat of her as she rocks on his cock, her own breathy moans loud in his ears. She wrings the last drops out of him and keeps on going, until finally she cries out herself, movement becoming fast and erratic before she finally stops still, panting for long moments in which they are locked there, still and unmoving, joined in a single moment of silence. Then she pulls off of him and rolls over to lie close next to him, one hand caressing his chest possessively.
Damn, Kyle thinks sleepily, no wonder people like sex so much, and starts to drift off. But not before a curious thought slinks across his mind; I wonder whether it’s just as good with a guy.
--------
It’s November 2018 and three months after his second death, Marcus Wright wakes up. The first thing he is aware of is the thick press of the earth around him, and for a long moment he is overwhelmed by panic, thrashing against the warm embrace of the soil, gasping for air before he becomes aware that he is not suffocating. He is not breathing. He wonders is this is the reality of being dead; darkness, pressure, consciousness for eternity.
He remembers what it was like to wake up the last time, a confusion of fire and hot smoky air, pushing himself up and out into the rain, soaking into mud that coated his body. He remembers Kyle, remembers finding the Resistance. He remembers giving his life to save a man; one of the few selfless acts of his life. But it hadn’t really been all that selfless, had it. He had been disgusted by the thought of what Skynet had done to him; maybe he hadn’t wanted to live with that. He wasn’t human any more. He had been ready to die the first time around, and they had taken that away from him; he wanted it to be final this time. But they’ve cursed him so that not even that is certain. He supposes he must be immortal now, or at least he will live until whatever power source Skynet has buried inside him winds down. This is so very not what he signed up for.
He gets himself together eventually; strong emotions can only last so long. When he’s calm again, he starts to think about how he’s going to get out of here. The ground is sandy and dry, from what he can feel of it against his bare skin, so maybe he can dig his way out. It’s just a case of space to push the soil away, and time, which is something he has plenty of. His panic attack of earlier has already freed up a little bit of space by compacting the dirt around him, so now he can raise his hands up to his face and start to scrape away. He doesn’t think they’ll have buried him too deep, but this is going to be very slow going either way. Each rough handful of dirt he shoves back down his body, grimacing at the taste of it in his mouth, the smell of it filling his nose. He keeps his eyes tightly closed. There’s nothing to see, and the dust irritates his eyes.
He can’t say how long it’s been, raising his upper body up by shallow degrees, but he’s not even up into a sitting position by the time he hits air. He surfaces into it like someone coming up from deep water, gasping for breath by reflex even though he doesn’t need it. The light hits him like a solid blow, his eyes unused to it. He’s blind for long, long moments, blinking against sheer whiteness and barely there shapes like shadows before contrast and colour begin to come back to the world. He wriggles free of the last of the soil, shaking it off what remains of his clothes after however long it’s been. He can count himself lucky this is dry earth otherwise he’d likely be pretty much naked. As it is the cloth is tattered and full of holes, and both it and his skin are filthy. He scrubs hands through his hair dislodging further showers of sandy dust. But he’s alive, and he’s out of the ground now, so it doesn’t really matter that he’s the approximate colour of the desert itself. Now all he needs to do is find the Resistance again.
----------
The desert is dusty and dry and hot, but he doesn’t really feel it, he just knows these things are there. And he’s got the taste of earth and death in his mouth anyway, so what’s a little more of the same. He doesn’t know where they buried him, and he doesn’t know where their base is, exactly, but there’s a track in the dirt that looks like it gets used a bit, so he follows that. It has to lead somewhere, after all. There are only so many humans with vehicles around.
He’s not thirsty, and he’s not hungry, and he doesn’t get tired easily, and he doesn’t want anything to do with sleep after an indeterminate amount of time being rather dead, so he just walks and walks. The sun comes up, and it goes down again, and his mind is caught somewhere between a dull, dead fuzziness and the thoughts that are trying to break through. He’s not entirely sure what he’s doing here. A nap might help, probably, if he wasn’t scared of the very idea.
After some time, he can see something off in the distance. There are more tracks here, and they crisscross, and there’s a bit of tarmac that might have been a road before the desert swallowed it. He thinks he’s close, and a bit more walking proves it. The khaki tents rise against the blue of the sky, swathed in heat haze, and Marcus lets a smile ghost across his face. He wants to see humans again. He wants to see Kyle again. That’s the person he remembers more strongly through the haze of very slowly waking up into living.
It’s not that easy. He’s not sure why he expected it to be; does he not remember what happened the last time he swanned into a human base? He’s not got much further than the scattering of 4x4s a little way off from the camp before there are people pointing guns at him with suspicion in their eyes.
“Who are you and what do you want?” one of them barks out, narrowing her eyes against the glare of the sun.
Marcus holds up his hands. “I’m here to see John Conner,” he shouts back. Because the guy did fight on his side in the factory, even if he did try to kill him the first time.
Someone runs off, presumably to get the man. Marcus settles in to wait. He’s not in too much of a hurry.
-----------
“I want to know where Kyle is,” Marcus demands, leaning into Conner’s personal space. See how he likes it. But Conner just glares right back, of course.
“And what the fuck are you, machine?” he growls. “A little fucking replacement from Skynet? Think we might have forgotten you’re dead?”
Marcus stares at him. “Conner, it’s me. Seriously. You want to see the scar where I gave you my heart? Now where’s Kyle?”
Conner snorts. “It’s been three months since we buried you. How hard would it be for Skynet to make another one of you?”
He’s starting to get tired of all these guns being pointed at him, though at least he’s been given an answer about how long he’s been ‘dead’. “Don’t you think I’d be trying to kill you if I was Skynet’s machine? I’m close enough.” He pokes a finger at Conner’s chest to illustrate his point, causing the people with guns to jerk forward tensely. He looks round at them with a certain amount of contempt. They shouldn’t really have let him get this close if they didn’t believe him.
“So your heart just grew back?” Conner makes a dismissive gesture. “Sure.”
“Stranger things have happened,” Marcus insists. “I think I’m proof of that.”
“Well don’t fucking think I’m going to let you swan about this goddamn base just yet.” He’s still glaring. Marcus thinks it’s the only expression he has. “We’re going to take you to Kate. She’ll see what the fuck is going on here.”
----------
“So what do you remember?” Kate asks him from her position behind him, her hands still poking around in the opening she has cut in the back of his skull. It’s a very strange feeling; not painful, but a bit uncomfortable, and a little tingly.
“I remember waking up in the future,” he replies, “I mean, now. But nothing before that. And I remember Kyle, and you and Conner. And Blair. And Skynet.” He picks at the skin on his hand. Last time he saw it it had been shorn of its covering, down to the metal. It’s grown back since then. So has his heart, apparently.
Kate makes a little ‘hmm’-ing noise. “I’m worried whatever repair process you have has been going into overdrive up here.” She taps his skull. “If it was just trying to repair your heart... well think of it like an allergic reaction with the immune system overreacting. I think it’s been converting your brain into a non-organic version too. Maybe it had too, if you had no heart to pump it nutrients.”
“You mean maybe I’m not human at all any more,” Marcus says, hating the words even as he says them. God, it might have been three months but it’s not like he was awake for any of them; he hasn’t had time to adjust to being a robot yet. It still makes his skin crawl if he lets himself think about it too hard. He hates Skynet for what it’s done to him.
Kate doesn’t say anything, but Marcus knows that just means he’s right. So this is the price of living for a third time. He would have preferred to stay dead.
“So what now?” he asks.
“I don’t know,” Kate tells him sadly. “But at least I don’t think you’re under Skynet’s control any more. Whatever they put in you hasn’t been able to repair that.”
Marcus sighs in relief. He hadn’t even been thinking about that, but now Kate’s brought it up as a possibility, he’s glad to know he doesn’t have yet another thing to worry about. “So what now?” he asks. “Are you going to tell Conner it’s okay to trust me? He refused to tell me where Kyle is until you’d checked me out.”
Kate laughs. “Well I can tell him that, but you know John, trust isn’t in his nature. But don’t let it get to you, it’s nothing personal, you know that.”
“I get that,” Marcus grumbles. “And I don’t really care, it’s not like I’m trying to be friends with him, I just need him to tell me what’s happened to the kid while I’ve been gone.”
Kate doesn’t reply. She seems to be thinking about something. “Well,” she says finally, “I can tell you that myself. We - John and I - decided it wasn’t safe enough for him here. We’ve sent him off to one of our camps in Utah; it’s where all the non-combatants are.”
Marcus twists round in the seat. “Can I go see him?” he asks. He’s not even sure himself why it’s so urgent that he check up on the kid; he’d been surviving perfectly well on his own before Marcus turned up, and after all it had been Kyle who saved his life first, not the other way around. But knowing that doesn’t change the fact that he feels strangely protective of him. And he misses having him around too. He only had him and Star around for a couple of weeks, but it sure beat solitary confinement on death row.
“You’ll have to ask John that, I’m afraid,” Kate tells him, slotting the panel on the back of his skull back into place and lifting the hanging flap of skin back up to cover it. “Just hold that in place for me a minute while it heals itself,” she instructs conversationally, as if cutting open robots that look like humans is something she has to deal with on a regular occurrence. Marcus does as he’s told, watching her clear up her tools.
“You think he’ll say no,” he states flatly. Conner, he suspects, is a dick to him purely for the sake of being a massive dick. Oh, and because he hates all machines. Can’t forget that little motivation. Kate smiles at him sympathetically.
“I’ll try and persuade him to let you go up and visit at least.”
“Thanks,” he replies, and means it. It’s just that he doesn’t think it’ll do any good. Conner’s a stubborn bastard.