Fic: "No Other Gods Before Me," T: SCC, Kyle/Sarah, PG-13.
Title: "No Other Gods Before Me" 1/1
Author: monimala
Fandom: Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles
Rating/Classification: PG-13 for a few dirty words, Kyle/Sarah, AU, set post-series.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, and Fox sucks for canceling this show.
Summary: 975 words. Written for life_on_queen, who responded to my call for first kiss prompts with the suggestion of Sarah and Kyle after the events of the series finale.
Everyone talks about her in hushed tones, with reverence. Like she's some kind of deity. In fact, Kyle hears the capital letters in their voices: Her, She, Our Leader. But just like with God, he refuses to believe in something he can't see, can't touch. So he barrels his way into Sarah Connor's life, into the position of her most trusted ally. He makes a place for himself at her almighty side, until she requires nothing but the respect he'd give any soldier he goes into battle with. He keeps her secrets, even the ones she won't tell him.
They break a group of kids out of a Skynet work camp and she regards him with cool amusement, wiping a filthy hand across her brow before she reloads her AK. "That should have been you in there, Reese."
"No," he disagrees, slumping against the wall beside her to catch a much-needed breath. "I've never been a kid." She doesn't say anything, doesn't get a chance to, because a 600 is right on their tail and they have to provide cover, but he sees the flicker in her eyes. Sarah Connor thinks he's too young for this shit.
People say she's forty, fifty, sixty, but to Kyle she's ageless. She's the boss, all grit and strength and quiet fury. There's silver in her dark hair and lines around her mouth, but he's never seen anyone more capable, more beautiful. He's been serving under her for six months when he realizes he worships her just like the rest do. No, not like the rest. And not like a kid.
It happens when he marches the new guy into the tunnel she's dryly dubbed "my office." Punk kid who arrived naked as the day he was born --at least until he stole Kyle's jacket-- and refuses to say where he's from. Sarah's eyes widen in shock even before he can give his report and her hands tighten into fists. "Get out, Reese," she snaps, not even looking at him. "Leave us."
It's like being slapped. Worse. Like being excommunicated. Pushed out of her light and her grace. Kyle is too shocked to do anything but stumble back to his sleeping bag and sulk like a snot-nosed kid, wallowing in a cheap bottle of bourbon someone rustled up during the last supply run. And he realizes he loves her. He's fucking crazy about her. Her. She. Our Leader. Derek takes the bottle away and slaps him, sharp, upside the head, telling him he needs to have his wits about him, but it's too late… his head's already scrambled, filled with thoughts of Sarah. All the times she almost smiles, all the times she looks at him like they've lived a thousand lives together… and the one time she didn't bother.
But Derek's blow stings, propels him upwards, and reminds him of who he is. Kyle fucking Reese, who didn't take shit from anyone and fought tooth and nail to become Sarah Connor's right hand man. He passes the kid on the way out of her office, barely spares him a glance, but feels his gaze on him like a laser sight. John, he'd said. John… Connor.
Kyle lurches against the tunnel wall, reaches out to steady himself. "Fuck," he hisses.
Sarah stands there, watching him find his feet, watching him make the crucial connection. Her arms are crossed around her mid-section like she's been gut shot, and when he doesn't say anything but "fuck" again, all she says is, simply, "No, Reese, you're not mistaken. John is my son."
Her son. Barely younger than him. Back from the future, the past, or god knows when.
"Is that… is that what you see when you look at me?" he demands. And Sarah tries to hide it by turning away, but she winces, she *winces*. He stalks over to her, reaches out. Touches her because he damn well can. She is not above it, not so high that he can't wrap his fingers around her shoulder and feel how *human* she is. "Did you make me your second just to keep a place warm for him, Sarah? A surrogate son until the real one shows up? Because I have to tell you, I do not consider you my mother."
She shudders, a full body tremor, and her hair is loose and in her face, hiding her expression. "Reese," she whispers, voice like steel. "Reese, you don't understand, and you can't. Trust me."
He's not sure he can force her to move, but he tugs at her anyway, urges her to face him. "Then make me understand, Sarah," he pleads, hearing the hint of bourbon in his tone.
She's the boss, all grit and strength and quiet fury. There's silver in her dark hair and lines around her mouth, but he's never seen anyone more capable, more beautiful.
And her eyes are damp, shining with unshed tears.
"Kyle," she murmurs for the first time, like his name was made for her. "Oh, Kyle, I wish…" She shakes her head, biting back whatever it is she doesn't want to say. Then she takes his face in her hands and gently presses her lips to his.
It's the barest of touches, feather-light, and still his knees want to buckle. Then she's kissing him harder, like she can't stop herself. It's heat and noise and dust and nothing he's ever felt before in his life. His hands move, restlessly, up and down her back; she strokes his jaw with her thumbs. "You are not second," she gasps, before kissing him once more. "You have always, always been my first."
This is what religion must feel like.
Because he believes her, he believes *in* her, more than anything in the world.
And he'll still keep her secrets, even the ones she won't ever tell him.
--end--
June 23, 2009
Author: monimala
Fandom: Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles
Rating/Classification: PG-13 for a few dirty words, Kyle/Sarah, AU, set post-series.
Disclaimer: Not my characters, and Fox sucks for canceling this show.
Summary: 975 words. Written for life_on_queen, who responded to my call for first kiss prompts with the suggestion of Sarah and Kyle after the events of the series finale.
Everyone talks about her in hushed tones, with reverence. Like she's some kind of deity. In fact, Kyle hears the capital letters in their voices: Her, She, Our Leader. But just like with God, he refuses to believe in something he can't see, can't touch. So he barrels his way into Sarah Connor's life, into the position of her most trusted ally. He makes a place for himself at her almighty side, until she requires nothing but the respect he'd give any soldier he goes into battle with. He keeps her secrets, even the ones she won't tell him.
They break a group of kids out of a Skynet work camp and she regards him with cool amusement, wiping a filthy hand across her brow before she reloads her AK. "That should have been you in there, Reese."
"No," he disagrees, slumping against the wall beside her to catch a much-needed breath. "I've never been a kid." She doesn't say anything, doesn't get a chance to, because a 600 is right on their tail and they have to provide cover, but he sees the flicker in her eyes. Sarah Connor thinks he's too young for this shit.
People say she's forty, fifty, sixty, but to Kyle she's ageless. She's the boss, all grit and strength and quiet fury. There's silver in her dark hair and lines around her mouth, but he's never seen anyone more capable, more beautiful. He's been serving under her for six months when he realizes he worships her just like the rest do. No, not like the rest. And not like a kid.
It happens when he marches the new guy into the tunnel she's dryly dubbed "my office." Punk kid who arrived naked as the day he was born --at least until he stole Kyle's jacket-- and refuses to say where he's from. Sarah's eyes widen in shock even before he can give his report and her hands tighten into fists. "Get out, Reese," she snaps, not even looking at him. "Leave us."
It's like being slapped. Worse. Like being excommunicated. Pushed out of her light and her grace. Kyle is too shocked to do anything but stumble back to his sleeping bag and sulk like a snot-nosed kid, wallowing in a cheap bottle of bourbon someone rustled up during the last supply run. And he realizes he loves her. He's fucking crazy about her. Her. She. Our Leader. Derek takes the bottle away and slaps him, sharp, upside the head, telling him he needs to have his wits about him, but it's too late… his head's already scrambled, filled with thoughts of Sarah. All the times she almost smiles, all the times she looks at him like they've lived a thousand lives together… and the one time she didn't bother.
But Derek's blow stings, propels him upwards, and reminds him of who he is. Kyle fucking Reese, who didn't take shit from anyone and fought tooth and nail to become Sarah Connor's right hand man. He passes the kid on the way out of her office, barely spares him a glance, but feels his gaze on him like a laser sight. John, he'd said. John… Connor.
Kyle lurches against the tunnel wall, reaches out to steady himself. "Fuck," he hisses.
Sarah stands there, watching him find his feet, watching him make the crucial connection. Her arms are crossed around her mid-section like she's been gut shot, and when he doesn't say anything but "fuck" again, all she says is, simply, "No, Reese, you're not mistaken. John is my son."
Her son. Barely younger than him. Back from the future, the past, or god knows when.
"Is that… is that what you see when you look at me?" he demands. And Sarah tries to hide it by turning away, but she winces, she *winces*. He stalks over to her, reaches out. Touches her because he damn well can. She is not above it, not so high that he can't wrap his fingers around her shoulder and feel how *human* she is. "Did you make me your second just to keep a place warm for him, Sarah? A surrogate son until the real one shows up? Because I have to tell you, I do not consider you my mother."
She shudders, a full body tremor, and her hair is loose and in her face, hiding her expression. "Reese," she whispers, voice like steel. "Reese, you don't understand, and you can't. Trust me."
He's not sure he can force her to move, but he tugs at her anyway, urges her to face him. "Then make me understand, Sarah," he pleads, hearing the hint of bourbon in his tone.
She's the boss, all grit and strength and quiet fury. There's silver in her dark hair and lines around her mouth, but he's never seen anyone more capable, more beautiful.
And her eyes are damp, shining with unshed tears.
"Kyle," she murmurs for the first time, like his name was made for her. "Oh, Kyle, I wish…" She shakes her head, biting back whatever it is she doesn't want to say. Then she takes his face in her hands and gently presses her lips to his.
It's the barest of touches, feather-light, and still his knees want to buckle. Then she's kissing him harder, like she can't stop herself. It's heat and noise and dust and nothing he's ever felt before in his life. His hands move, restlessly, up and down her back; she strokes his jaw with her thumbs. "You are not second," she gasps, before kissing him once more. "You have always, always been my first."
This is what religion must feel like.
Because he believes her, he believes *in* her, more than anything in the world.
And he'll still keep her secrets, even the ones she won't ever tell him.
--end--
June 23, 2009