“LYING IN PALMDALE”
The war was over. So said General John Connor. Their defense grid was down and the Resistance had won. So said General John Connor. All they had to do was clean up the lingering metals, and the earth was theirs again. So said General John Connor.
But perhaps it was what he didn't say that was what really mattered.
He never mentioned the second war-- or perhaps the first-- being fought in their history books even now as they took their patrols out and put down the remaining machines. He never mentioned Skynet's past tense plan to eliminate him and every resistance fighter that had ever made a difference as here in the present-- or the future-- they mourned their already fallen comrades. He never told them that right now their fate was in the hands of a metal whose face came from a girl he had sent on a suicide mission and whose name was that of a traitor.
Yes, perhaps it was what he didn't say that was what really mattered.
The familiar shower of gunfire surrounded him, a barrage of plasma shots lighting the night with a blaze shooting stars. And for once, it didn't feel like they were losing. They were pushing the machines back farther, taking them down line by line. To his left, Blake fell, taking a shot to his midsection until his guts were hanging out of his ribcage. They didn't stop for him. To his right, Gaver had a blast tear through his shoulder, taking the arm with it. He fell to the ground screaming in pain. They didn't stop for him; however, a shot that somehow seemed singular in the large group surrounding them rang out and abruptly Gaver's screaming ceased.
General Connor didn't have to ask why.
The last machine fell, a blast to its combat chassis sending it spiraling to the ground heavily. It spasmed as though trying to adjust from the electrical surge that had scrambled its wiring. Connor didn't give it the chance. He stepped forward and ground a boot into its metal skull, aiming his rifle at its head. With a simple squeeze of the trigger he blasted the thing's chip along with half its head.
A cheer rang up as those who had survived the night celebrated. One step closer to victory.
He glanced back at the battlefield, covered with metal and flesh, deactivated and dead. Was this what winning felt like? Funny, it felt a lot like losing.
"Pull their chips!" He yelled out the order to his men.
Without question they did as told and began the tedious process of removing each and every CPU on that battlefield. Something Connor had begun to make mandatory. As a group of three men made to do as they were told, Connor stopped them.
"You three," he addressed, pointing at them. "Check the perimeter. I don't want any surprises."
With three identical salutes and "yes sir"s, they darted off to begin their sweep.
Connor's gaze flicked down to the gruesome skull, now half blown away, of his enemy. His green eyes hardened resolutely before he pulled himself away to begin checking the machines. After all, they were tricky bastards...
The night had become still and quiet, the lingering stench of burning contaminating the air. His boot kicked at the machines as though he were playing a game of kick the can. Heads rolled, chips removed, glowing eyes dimmed forever. All normal everyday events that were familiar and completely expected. No, he didn't want any surprises, but when he reached the edge of the field to the ground covered in ashes not metal, he certainly got one.
The first he noticed was the shaking. Whether from cold, exhaustion or simply fear, he couldn't say, but her body rattled heavily shaking the ash from her. The flakes floated aimlessly until finally collecting once more on the ground surrounding her. The second thing he noticed was her position. Curled up into herself like a child, her knees clutched to her chest and her face pressed inward. And the third thing he noticed was a sob. A gentle, quiet, desperate sob that might have very well been nothing more than a breath escaping her lips.
He shook his head slowly.
Approaching her, gun at the ready, he eyed her suspiciously. Remembering they tricky bastards...
Carefully, he knelt down and reached out to her, grabbing her shoulder. He turned her over and stopped.
...
The group had been gathered in the war room. A group made up of about ten of Connor's best. Second In Command Katherine "Kate" Brewster. Colonel Henry Jackson. Captain Justin Perry. First Lieutenant Derek Thomas Reese. Lieutenant Tom Carter. Sergeant Doogie "Watchdog" Harris. Sergeant Kyle Reese. Elizabeth "Liz" Anderson. William "Bill" Anderson. And Allison Young.
An odd collection of people with little in common beyond the grime of their uniforms. Some men, some women. Some barely old enough to qualify as either. Some siblings, some without families at all. Some who had been there since the beginning of the war, right there standing beside General Connor. Some only recently taken into the folds of the resistance.
What they all did have in common was their unwavering loyalty to him. That made them valued assets. That also made them dangerous. No one should be willing to give so much for one man.
Seeing as how they were willing to give up so much, however, he was using it to his advantage. At least, he had been until she stepped forward and volunteered for the mission. That was an unexpected turn of events. Firstly, he hadn't been expecting a volunteer to begin with. The fact that she was the one to volunteer... it made something squirm inside him and vaguely he hoped it was just a worm.
Everyone had fallen silent at the woman-- the girl's-- sudden offer. Connor was staring at her hard and although she flinched slightly under his gaze, he had to give her credit. She didn't back down.
"Jackson."
"Sir," Jackson straightened up, turning to Connor.
"Get the supplies ready. Take Perry and the Reese boys and make sure it's done right."
"Yes sir!" Jackson saluted, and left taking the Reese brothers and their CO Perry with him.
"Carter, I want a report on patrols when they get in. Anderson--" He glanced at Elizabeth to clarify. "Make sure Dr. Liang is ready for incoming. Brewster, I want the others debriefed. "
Their orders addressed, the group slowly filed out. Connor's eyes returned to Young making it perfectly clear she was to remain. When the door closed behind them, he spoke.
"I won't let you go."
Her stance had been stiff since her arrival, but she softened slightly at his words-- however gruff and harsh a tone they may have accompanied. "I can do this sir. I am doing this."
"I'm ordering you not to go." If she were a machine, she would have been unable to defy his orders. But she wasn't a machine. She was human. And that fundamental difference was changing everything. He was going to lose her.
"It's my choice. I volunteer."
Angrily, he slammed his fists down on the table and leaned forward. "Like hell it's your choice!"
"You need me," she challenged. "Someone you can trust."
"I'll send someone else."
"Who? Who else can you trust? Trust to go in there and--"
"And what? Die for me?"
She didn't answer. She knew just as well as he did that anyone in this camp would die for John Connor. It didn't have to be her. There was no reason for it to be her.
As though sensing his thoughts, she gave a smirk and said, "Because can you think of any better person for this kind of weapon?"
His eyes closed slowly. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but she was right.
"If they really are...” She didn’t want to say it. “Then I'm the perfect candidate." Her voice had become quiet. She knew it, too. Knew it long before the words left his mouth.
"It's suicide."
Gazes locked. Wills battled. For the first time, he lost. His edge let up ever so slightly and he pulled back from the table.
"You're right," he stepped forward and hesitantly put his hands on her shoulders. "I need you. So remember to come back."
She gave him a genuine smile, so rare, so prefect. "Now that's an order I'd be happy to follow." With that, she turned from him and made to leave.
"Allison," he called to her. She turned, eyes wide-- it must have been her first name, she always looked so... hopeful when he used her first name. "Don't do this."
"I'm sorry," she whispered quietly. With a shake of her head, she turned and left to get ready. Ready for her mission. Her last mission.
...
Her eyes were flickering between open and closed, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, consciousness wavering. She was thinner, dirtier, a lingering stench of burnt flesh wafting from her. Her hair was ragged and tangled, matted down, heavy. There was a harsh wound on her head, dried blood still lingering there and the bruising around her neck looked severe.
But she was alive.
"Sir," came the voice of one of three approaching soldiers. "The perimeter's secure."
Connor was barely listening, only vaguely registering that it was a young soldier by the name of Carson addressing him. He pulled the young woman, barely more than a girl, to him and lifted her slightly into his arms.
"Sir?"
The approaching footsteps were careful at first, but Carson must have seen her, because he blanched backwards, yelling "Sir! It's still alive!"
Connor heard the rifle powering up as its handler took several hasty steps backward. The two others followed suit. He shook his head.
"Stand down," he commanded.
He could practically hear the frown forming on the kid's face.
"But sir--"
Connor glanced back at the trio of boys, eyes fierce. "I said, stand down."
"... It’s a metal," Daily, standing beside Carson, muttered quietly.
"No, it's Allison Young," Connor countered easily, standing and pulling her up with him.
The third boy shook his head-- Gore-- and Connor realized that he had probably been there when her... replacement returned to the camp. This was going to be difficult to explain.
"Young is dead," cried Gore. "Just look! She doesn't even have the bracelet!"
Connor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Of course she doesn't."
"Sir?"
"If the metals took it, how the hell would she get it back?" He demanded pointedly.
All three seemed momentarily puzzled by the question. A legitimate question. But Gore wouldn't be deterred so easily. "With all do respect, they've already fooled us once."
Yes, they had fooled them once. Fooled them all so near perfectly.
"So, how do you know she's not a fucking metal?"
Connor raised his eyebrows, almost as though amused by the question. "You mean besides the fact that she's exhausted, crying and I can lift her?" He countered blandly. "This." He lifted up her arm and pulled back the dirty sleeve of the cotton uniform she had been given to replace her own. There, a barcode. Identification for Skynet work camp prisoners and one of the leading symbols of the Resistance. "Machines can't have tattoos."
Gore stared curiously at the burn. He didn't have one himself. None of those three present did. "How do you know that sir?"
"They heal too fast."
No one questioned how he knew that.
--
He had taken Allison to the poor excuse for a med station, curious and worried whispers following him as he went. Suspicion was to be expected and it would take some doing to get rid of that. Allison was lost completely to unconsciousness by the time he got her there and the doctor was apprehensively seeing to her.
She was the only injured they brought home that night.
Brewster had followed them in and now stood stiffly in the doorway watching the scene.
"I want to know when she's up," Connor ordered harshly. "I want to be the first to know, hell if you could tell me before she knows it that would be fucking great."
"Yes sir," replied the small woman, Dr. Liang.
Without a backward glance, Connor left the room to be followed immediately by Brewster. She walked at his quick pace silently beside him down the tunnels that were their home. The silence didn't last.
"How's Young, sir?" She inquired, voice awkward.
He had a feeling she had her doubts, too. But then, she'd never much cared for Young to begin with.
"She's alive," Connor bit out. "The question is why?"
The question wasn't necessarily directed at her. Sometimes he just needed to think out loud and she just happened to be there to hear it.
"Sir?"
"She shouldn't be," he explained, still less interested in a conversation with her and more in the need to puzzle the night’s events out. "There's no reason for her to be alive now. They copied her, Brewster. They copied her and sent that copy here. That copy successfully infiltrated Tech-Com--"
"Yes, but she didn't do any damage. You caught her in time," she countered, daring to interrupt. "You reprogrammed her personally, sir."
He didn't like the way she said personally, but didn't call her on it. He had more important things to do than get in a pissing contest with Brewster.
"That's what's worrying me..." He trailed off with a frown. "Doesn't it all seem a little too... easy?"
"Nothing's easy with a metal, sir. 'Cept maybe killing it, and that's only if you've got a good eye and a big gun."
He nodded. "Exactly. And I'm getting the feeling we don't have a big enough gun at the moment."
They continued on down the hall in silence for several moments, Connor obviously still running through scenarios in his head. Although used to his constant preoccupation with... everything, Brewster couldn't help but get annoyed with it sometimes.
"Sir," she said with an easy sigh. "Maybe they just made a mistake."
He didn't answer for several long moments and she figured he hadn't been listening. Which wasn't very hard to believe really. Half the time she really didn't expect him to.
"They don't make mistakes, Brewster."
Eyes directed to the General at her side, she frowned. "Sure they do!" She argued. "Every time we win a battle. Every time we free prisoners, every time we--"
"They don't make mistakes," he repeated firmly, giving her a harsh look. "We do."
--
He'd gathered them in the war room to talk strategy. These last few weeks were crucial and he wanted to make the most of them. The less lives they lost here at the end, the easier-- how ever slightly-- everyone would sleep after it. Brewster addressed the key holding points, while Jackson suggested several tactical advantages. Perry was silent for the most part, as he often was, jumping in when needed and discussing the best men for the mission.
A knock on the door interrupted their meeting-- which strictly speaking didn't happen-- and before anyone could growl about not being disturbed, the iron slab opened and a small Asian woman popped her head in. The doctor, they noted.
"Sir, she's awake," Dr. Liang informed him in that familiar quiet tone she so frequently used.
With a single glance at those around him, he gave a curt nod. "We'll finish this when I get back," he declared turning from what few commanding officers had lasted this long-- not many he observed-- and walking out the door. Liang, ever the quick one despite her stature, was already halfway down the hall and rounding the corner when Brewster had exited the room as well. She walked quickly to catch up with Connor. Several moments were spent in silence, but as had been his experience, silence so rarely lasted.
"Why are you so interested in Young?" She piped up after those moments were up.
"Sorry Brewster, that's classified," he told her curtly.
"I'm your goddamned Second in Command!" She exclaimed incredulously. "If you can't trust me--"
"Exactly, Brewster," he said, rounding on her. "If I can't trust you."
She looked hurt by his words. This wasn't some random soldier, some new recruit, some person he'd randomly saved from the clutches of metal. This was Kate. They'd known each other too long for him to be so... cold. "You know, once upon a time..." Kate trailed off.
"Yeah, once upon a time in wonderland," he finished for her with a hard stare. He knew where she was going with this, what she really wanted to say. And he couldn't let her get there. "Things change Katherine." His voice had softened marginally, but was no less firm. "I'm sorry."
"No, things don't change John," she emphasized his first name, noticing the flinch. "Nothing ever changes anymore!"
"It changes more than you think," he muttered, wondering how many different timelines were floating around out there. How many times he'd rewritten the future. How many times he'd sent his father back, watched his mother die, waited for the inevitable fall of human civilization. Yes, things changed. Maybe not the way they wanted them to, maybe not the way they planned, maybe not for the better or the worse, but he could never deny that they changed.
Turning away from her, he began a quick pace towards the infirmary. He had one more change to make.
"John! Sir!" Brewster called after him, but he had already rounded the corner and was gone. He was gone-- to Young-- and she was left there, standing, watching him go. She really thought he would change his mind one day...
--
Seething, because it was better than crying, she made her way back to the war room, slamming the iron door behind her. She shook her head angrily. "She's just a soldier! She's just a goddamned soldier!"
Colonel Jackson glanced up from the plans splayed out on the table. He frowned slightly. "We're all just soldiers, Brewster," he reminded pointedly.
"I know that Jackson. I just mean..." She trailed off staring at her hands as if they somehow held the answer.
Jackson nudged Perry with a knowing smirk. "Not that you're jealous or anything."
Perry snickered quietly in response.
Brewster glared at the pair of them. "I'm not jealous," she countered heatedly. "I'm concerned."
"Is that what they're calling it these days?" Perry muttered innocently.
She ignored his last comment, although the daggers in her gaze might have suggested she knew perfectly well what he said. "Connor's way too fixated on her and I'm just a little concerned that he's losing focus on the important things. She's a distraction."
"I'll bet she is," Jackson replied with a sly grin.
Brewster did not appreciate the comment.
"I swear to god, those fucking machines should've killed her," she muttered darkly.
This last statement made Jackson frown deeply. While he certainly didn't want the girl dead-- she was just a kid-- something about what Brewster said didn't sit well with him. 'Should've killed her'. She was right. They should have killed her. It's what they did after all. Their entire purpose was to wipe humans off the face of the planet.
So what the hell was she doing alive and free?
"But they didn't," he finally threw out there.
"What?" Brewster glanced up at him confused, evidently not expecting a response.
"They didn't," he reaffirmed. "She's still alive."
"Obviously," she commented dryly.
"Why?"
Perry was glancing between the two of them uncertainly. He didn't really like where this was going and wasn't entirely sure he wanted to be around when it got there. Clearing his throat, he made to speak up, but Brewster beat him to the punch.
"What are you implying Jackson?" She asked carefully. "Connor already said they might have let her go."
"Sure, right, because metals always let humans just walk away from their death camps, right?" He countered pointedly.
She didn't answer immediately, mulling the facts over in her mind. "Are you suggesting...?"
"I'm simply saying that the last person to just walk out of a Skynet work camp alone was Private Stone."
Brewster's eyes narrowed. "Stone..." She muttered.
"Are we really sure she can be trusted?" Jackson asked, eyebrows raised.
No, Brewster decided. No, they weren't. Because Jackson was right. The last person to escape from a Skynet work camp alone, without help, was Private Alexander Stone. A traitor whom had cost them two bunkers and a lot of lives. He was dead now, and the only regret anyone had was that Connor didn't get to do it himself. Machines' idea of loyalty was apparently slightly skewed.
--
He walked in, dismissing the small Asian nurse, who must have been waiting for such a dismissal, because she was waiting patiently at the door. She disappeared a moment later.
As soon as Young saw him, she attempted to get off the stretcher and salute. An attempt that almost had her crumbling straight back down to the floor. Luckily, Connor had quick reflexes and caught her in his arms. "Easy there, Young, easy," he told her soothingly, helping her to sit back onto the cot.
"Sorry, sir," she mumbled in apology not meeting his eyes.
He frowned. With thumb and forefinger he grabbed her chin and lifted her face up to look at him. "It's okay," he promised her quietly.
"When I saw you out there... When I heard the shots... I thought I was dreaming." Her voice was so small, gentle and scared. "Am I dreaming John?"
He stiffened at the use of his first name. No one used his name anymore, and yet somehow he'd heard it twice that day. "I hope not," he kidded. "Pretty crappy thing to dream about."
She tried to smile, but it melted in the wake of tears. Sobbing, she shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir, I'm so sorry! I failed, I failed in my mission..." She took shallow breaths, hiccupping in their wake. "I screwed up, sir, I failed you!" She leaned forward and buried her face in his shoulder, clinging to his jacket.
With a slow sigh, he shook his head. "No, Young, you didn't. You did good." He began to caress her hair gently in comfort, holding her in his arms. "You did really good."
Several long moments passed like that with her woven into his arms, sobbing harshly. But as her sobs subsided, something changed. What began simply as comfort grew into something more. The grip on his jacket that had started out as desperate shifted. It became soft and subtle, drifting from the collar to wrap around to the back. The gentle caresses through her hair began to thread deeper and tangle in the heavy locks. The face pressed into the crook of his neck loosened, turning to brush lips along his exposed neck.
His hand slid down her back and he leaned in towards her ear. "Allison," he whispered to her.
Pulling back just slightly until she could see his face, her eyes searched him as they always did for something more than a General there. It wasn't until she was satisfied she'd found it-- a glimmer hiding in those green eyes-- that she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.
She'd missed him.
--
They lay there in his bed together, her on her stomach, him on his side tracing slow circles along her back. A small smile slid along her lips, the first one she'd given in months. She let out a contented sigh, and turned her head to gaze up at him. He gave a weak smile back to her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered to her quietly.
She gave a small shake of her head. "I volunteered, remember?"
"I should have stopped you," he countered heavily.
Her smile fell slightly, Lieutenant Reese's words echoing-- not for the first time-- in her head. “'If it's something you believe in, someone you care about, don't ever let anyone-- and I mean anyone-- stop you.'” "You wouldn't have been able to no matter what you did John."
She noticed he still tensed slightly at the use of his first name. Something she still found strange. Not the only thing she found strange about this enigmatic man that was trying so hard to save the world. What was left of it. Her savior, her general, her lover.
"I could have tried."
"You did," she reminded him gently.
His eyes closed as he let out a sigh and the lazy circles along her back stopped. Instead, he pressed his hand firmly into her skin, palm flat along the small indentation of her back. Frowning, she reached up a hand to gently run along his stubble-covered jaw.
"It doesn't matter," she whispered. "I'm here now. We're together. So everything's okay again."
When she felt the slight tremble of his hand on her back and the slow shake of his head, she knew somehow her words were wrong.
