[SCC] Know Thy Enemy, Know Thy Self - IAWL - John Connor, Derek Reese, Kyle Reese - Gen
TITLE: Know Thy Enemy, Know Thy Self
SERIES: It’s a Wonderful Life
AUTHOR: indiefic
CHARACTERS: John Connor, Derek Reese, Kyle Reese
RATING: PG for language
WORD COUNT: ~1700
WARNINGS: Spoilers for all of season 2.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.
TIMELINE: post Judgment Day
NOTES: This is a series of vignettes set post “Born to Run”
***
Derek walks into the section of tunnel where the young soldiers are inventorying munitions. He’s distracted, off-kilter. “Akers. Mendoza. With me. Now.”
He turns on his heel, but pauses at the threshold. He glances over his shoulder. “You too, Connor.”
***
Derek eases up to the edge of the ridge, peering over with the binoculars. It’s dusk. He hates this time of day. Too fucking hard to make out shapes in the fading light, too many shadows. They’re on top of a bluff which is enough of a problem all by itself. But in this case, the risk is worth it. They have a view of the entire valley spread out before them. It’s a patchwork of destruction, several square miles of wanton devastation, the morbid remnants of what was once several blocks of densely developed metropolitan Los Angeles. Now it’s nothing but concrete rubble, twisted rebar and gaping craters.
At Derek’s right, Connor crawls to the edge, peering over, careful to use as much of the meager cover as possible.
“What’re we looking for?” the kid finally asks.
“My brother.” The reply is flat. Derek’s mind is elsewhere as he fruitlessly scans the uneven terrain for any trace of Kyle.
“What happened?”
Derek lowers the binoculars and glances over at John. Mendoza holds out his hand and Derek reluctantly hands over the binoculars. Mendoza is the eagle eye of the group. If anyone can spot Kyle in this mess, it’s him.
Derek crawls back from the edge and John follows. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Derek takes shelter next to the burnt out husk of what used to be a tank. “Got a call about an hour ago,” Derek says without looking at John. “Kyle and Wang were on their way back from a supply run. Hit an old mine. Totaled the Jeep. Took out Wang.”
“Is Kyle okay?” John asks quickly.
Derek finally looks at the kid, somewhat shocked at the depth of concern on his young features. He presses his lips together. “He was okay. His rifle was damaged. Unreliable. Said he torqued his ankle pretty badly. We need to find him.”
“Boss.”
Derek is moving before Mendoza is done speaking and he wordlessly crawls to the edge and takes the binoculars again. He swears.
“What?” John demands.
“Metal.” Derek doesn’t even bother turning around as he says it.
John crawls to the edge again and sees the machine. There’s no doubt it’s a cyborg. Even at the distance of several hundred yards, John can see that one arm has been stripped of flesh, the coltan alloy glinting in the fading light.
“What the hell is it doing?” Mendoza asks.
“Fuck if I know,” Derek counters.
John holds out his hand for the binoculars and Derek pauses a moment before handing them over. Pressing the binoculars to his eyes, John has a much better view of the cyborg. “Recon,” he says.
“How the hell would you know?” Akers asks from his position near the tank shell.
John gives him a hard look, handing the binoculars back to Mendoza. “What the hell else would it be doing out here?” he asks. “There’s nothing of strategic importance here, no resources, nothing. It’s just looking.”
“Ah, fuck,” Mendoza curses. “I found Kyle.”
They all peer over the edge and despite the fading light, they can see the scene clearly. Kyle, half-hobbled, carefully making his way across the terrain about a hundred yards down the bluff from them. He can’t see the cyborg yet. The cyborg doesn’t have line of sight on him either, but it obviously senses something and heads to intercept. Its path toward Kyle takes it behind a field of concrete rubble that provides absolute cover from their vantage point on top of the bluff.
“Shit,” Akers curses.
“Kyle!” Derek yells.
Kyle’s head whips toward Derek, but just as quickly whips back toward the cyborg as he finally sees his pursuer.
John reacts without thinking, vaulting over the edge of the ridge. He can feel Derek grasp at the back of his jacket, but he slips away, bounding down the steep incline toward Kyle bellowing, “No!”
Kyle has his malfunctioning rifle in his hand, but he doesn’t raise it, too shocked at the sight of John bounding toward him.
“No!” John bellows again, shaking his head and swinging his arms in front of himself. “NO!”
Kyle is still staring at him, wide-eyed as John smashes into him, sending them both crashing to the ground, the rifle skidding uselessly out of reach down the incline.
The cyborg is on them and they both roll over, looking up at the machine. John is half draped over Kyle, pinning him down as he holds his hand up in front of himself. The machine just stares down at them.
Out of the corner of his eye, John can see Kyle glance toward the rifle. “Don’t even think about it,” John hisses, never taking his eyes off the machine.
Kyle finally gives up, holding his hands up.
The metal cants its head to the side and then straightens it again. And proceeds on its way.
John and Kyle are still breathing hard, watching the machine as it methodically makes its way to the south.
After several more moments, John finally takes a deep breath and moves away from Kyle, pushing himself into a sitting position. Derek, Akers and Mendoza carefully pick their way down the incline and Kyle just stares at John, wide-eyed.
Derek skitters to a stop in front of the pair and looks down at both of them in turn. “What. The. Fuck.”
Akers and Mendoza pull up short behind Derek and all of them stare at John, looking at him like they’re reassessing John’s humanity.
John lets out a shaky breath and straightens his flak jacket. “I told you,” he says, carefully enunciating the words, trying not to let on how terrified he was. “The machine was doing recon. It wasn’t clearing out a resistance stronghold or deliberately hunting Kyle. It was just looking.”
Derek, Kyle, Akers and Mendoza continue to stare at him with the same wary expressions.
“They aren’t mindless killers,” John continues. “They’re programmed with specific missions. If you aren’t their target and you aren’t a threat to them, they’ll leave you alone.”
Derek finally shakes his head in an expression John can’t read. But as Derek reaches down to offer the boy a hand up, John gladly takes it. Akers and Mendoza help Kyle to his feet. Kyle is bruised and battered, but obviously not critically injured.
Derek glances at his brother thoughtfully for a moment, like he’s saying a silent prayer. And then he looks back to John, his eyes narrowing. “Not mindless killers,” he snorts derisively. “Your mom teach you that too?’
A hysterical bark of laughter escapes John’s lips before he can stop it and he shakes his head vehemently. “No. Definitely not,” he says firmly. “My mom hated the machines. She taught me that with enough thermite, you can make one of them completely disappear.”
The answer seems to appease Derek and his posture relaxes.
For quite a while the focus is diverted from John as the group rigs together a splint for Kyle’s leg and laboriously manages to get him up the incline and into the remnants of an old Dodge pickup. Akers takes the wheel as Mendoza mans the machine gun bolted to the roof. Kyle sits in the bed of the truck with his back against the back of the cab, wounded leg stretched out in front of him. Derek sits on Kyle’s right, rifle in hand as he scans the terrain. John hops in on Kyle’s left and the truck immediately starts to move.
John knows that Akers is picking his way along the bombed out roads as carefully as possible, but Kyle and his swollen ankle are still being jostled around pretty badly.
“Thanks for that back there,” Kyle says.
John’s lips curve into a tight smile and he momentarily ducks his head.
“Well, not for the shoulder to the sternum,” Kyle amends, rubbing his chest, “but that was some quick thinking.”
John nods, embarrassed.
Kyle’s teeth are gritted together and even in the near dark, John can tell he’s pale. He swallows thickly and turns to face John again. “Thermite,” he muses. “Can’t say I’ve ever gotten close enough to try that on one of those metal motherfuckers. Your mom sounds like a hell of a woman.”
“She is,” John agrees. He stops short. “Was,” he amends, his throat tightening painfully.
“What was her name?” Kyle asks.
“Sarah,” John says softly, meeting Kyle’s gaze. “Sarah Connor.”
Kyle looks at John and just for a moment, John thinks there might be a spark of recognition, but it’s gone too quickly, replaced by a quick intake of breath as the truck lumbers over a fallen telephone pole.
“So she hated the machines,” Kyle says, obviously fighting for focus. “But you don’t?” He looks at John speculatively. Derek glances over, his expression far more suspicious than his brother’s.
John shrugs. “Hate is counterproductive,” he says. "It blinds you to their true nature."
“Their nature is to kill,” Derek snaps.
“So is ours,” John counters. “But it’s not all we are, any more than it’s all they are. If you hate them, it’s too easy to lash out blindly. And we’ll never win that way. We need to learn how they work or we won’t ever win this fucking war.”
Kyle and Derek watching John in silence. He swallows harshly and looks away.
[end section]
SERIES: It’s a Wonderful Life
AUTHOR: indiefic
CHARACTERS: John Connor, Derek Reese, Kyle Reese
RATING: PG for language
WORD COUNT: ~1700
WARNINGS: Spoilers for all of season 2.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.
TIMELINE: post Judgment Day
NOTES: This is a series of vignettes set post “Born to Run”
***
Derek walks into the section of tunnel where the young soldiers are inventorying munitions. He’s distracted, off-kilter. “Akers. Mendoza. With me. Now.”
He turns on his heel, but pauses at the threshold. He glances over his shoulder. “You too, Connor.”
***
Derek eases up to the edge of the ridge, peering over with the binoculars. It’s dusk. He hates this time of day. Too fucking hard to make out shapes in the fading light, too many shadows. They’re on top of a bluff which is enough of a problem all by itself. But in this case, the risk is worth it. They have a view of the entire valley spread out before them. It’s a patchwork of destruction, several square miles of wanton devastation, the morbid remnants of what was once several blocks of densely developed metropolitan Los Angeles. Now it’s nothing but concrete rubble, twisted rebar and gaping craters.
At Derek’s right, Connor crawls to the edge, peering over, careful to use as much of the meager cover as possible.
“What’re we looking for?” the kid finally asks.
“My brother.” The reply is flat. Derek’s mind is elsewhere as he fruitlessly scans the uneven terrain for any trace of Kyle.
“What happened?”
Derek lowers the binoculars and glances over at John. Mendoza holds out his hand and Derek reluctantly hands over the binoculars. Mendoza is the eagle eye of the group. If anyone can spot Kyle in this mess, it’s him.
Derek crawls back from the edge and John follows. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Derek takes shelter next to the burnt out husk of what used to be a tank. “Got a call about an hour ago,” Derek says without looking at John. “Kyle and Wang were on their way back from a supply run. Hit an old mine. Totaled the Jeep. Took out Wang.”
“Is Kyle okay?” John asks quickly.
Derek finally looks at the kid, somewhat shocked at the depth of concern on his young features. He presses his lips together. “He was okay. His rifle was damaged. Unreliable. Said he torqued his ankle pretty badly. We need to find him.”
“Boss.”
Derek is moving before Mendoza is done speaking and he wordlessly crawls to the edge and takes the binoculars again. He swears.
“What?” John demands.
“Metal.” Derek doesn’t even bother turning around as he says it.
John crawls to the edge again and sees the machine. There’s no doubt it’s a cyborg. Even at the distance of several hundred yards, John can see that one arm has been stripped of flesh, the coltan alloy glinting in the fading light.
“What the hell is it doing?” Mendoza asks.
“Fuck if I know,” Derek counters.
John holds out his hand for the binoculars and Derek pauses a moment before handing them over. Pressing the binoculars to his eyes, John has a much better view of the cyborg. “Recon,” he says.
“How the hell would you know?” Akers asks from his position near the tank shell.
John gives him a hard look, handing the binoculars back to Mendoza. “What the hell else would it be doing out here?” he asks. “There’s nothing of strategic importance here, no resources, nothing. It’s just looking.”
“Ah, fuck,” Mendoza curses. “I found Kyle.”
They all peer over the edge and despite the fading light, they can see the scene clearly. Kyle, half-hobbled, carefully making his way across the terrain about a hundred yards down the bluff from them. He can’t see the cyborg yet. The cyborg doesn’t have line of sight on him either, but it obviously senses something and heads to intercept. Its path toward Kyle takes it behind a field of concrete rubble that provides absolute cover from their vantage point on top of the bluff.
“Shit,” Akers curses.
“Kyle!” Derek yells.
Kyle’s head whips toward Derek, but just as quickly whips back toward the cyborg as he finally sees his pursuer.
John reacts without thinking, vaulting over the edge of the ridge. He can feel Derek grasp at the back of his jacket, but he slips away, bounding down the steep incline toward Kyle bellowing, “No!”
Kyle has his malfunctioning rifle in his hand, but he doesn’t raise it, too shocked at the sight of John bounding toward him.
“No!” John bellows again, shaking his head and swinging his arms in front of himself. “NO!”
Kyle is still staring at him, wide-eyed as John smashes into him, sending them both crashing to the ground, the rifle skidding uselessly out of reach down the incline.
The cyborg is on them and they both roll over, looking up at the machine. John is half draped over Kyle, pinning him down as he holds his hand up in front of himself. The machine just stares down at them.
Out of the corner of his eye, John can see Kyle glance toward the rifle. “Don’t even think about it,” John hisses, never taking his eyes off the machine.
Kyle finally gives up, holding his hands up.
The metal cants its head to the side and then straightens it again. And proceeds on its way.
John and Kyle are still breathing hard, watching the machine as it methodically makes its way to the south.
After several more moments, John finally takes a deep breath and moves away from Kyle, pushing himself into a sitting position. Derek, Akers and Mendoza carefully pick their way down the incline and Kyle just stares at John, wide-eyed.
Derek skitters to a stop in front of the pair and looks down at both of them in turn. “What. The. Fuck.”
Akers and Mendoza pull up short behind Derek and all of them stare at John, looking at him like they’re reassessing John’s humanity.
John lets out a shaky breath and straightens his flak jacket. “I told you,” he says, carefully enunciating the words, trying not to let on how terrified he was. “The machine was doing recon. It wasn’t clearing out a resistance stronghold or deliberately hunting Kyle. It was just looking.”
Derek, Kyle, Akers and Mendoza continue to stare at him with the same wary expressions.
“They aren’t mindless killers,” John continues. “They’re programmed with specific missions. If you aren’t their target and you aren’t a threat to them, they’ll leave you alone.”
Derek finally shakes his head in an expression John can’t read. But as Derek reaches down to offer the boy a hand up, John gladly takes it. Akers and Mendoza help Kyle to his feet. Kyle is bruised and battered, but obviously not critically injured.
Derek glances at his brother thoughtfully for a moment, like he’s saying a silent prayer. And then he looks back to John, his eyes narrowing. “Not mindless killers,” he snorts derisively. “Your mom teach you that too?’
A hysterical bark of laughter escapes John’s lips before he can stop it and he shakes his head vehemently. “No. Definitely not,” he says firmly. “My mom hated the machines. She taught me that with enough thermite, you can make one of them completely disappear.”
The answer seems to appease Derek and his posture relaxes.
For quite a while the focus is diverted from John as the group rigs together a splint for Kyle’s leg and laboriously manages to get him up the incline and into the remnants of an old Dodge pickup. Akers takes the wheel as Mendoza mans the machine gun bolted to the roof. Kyle sits in the bed of the truck with his back against the back of the cab, wounded leg stretched out in front of him. Derek sits on Kyle’s right, rifle in hand as he scans the terrain. John hops in on Kyle’s left and the truck immediately starts to move.
John knows that Akers is picking his way along the bombed out roads as carefully as possible, but Kyle and his swollen ankle are still being jostled around pretty badly.
“Thanks for that back there,” Kyle says.
John’s lips curve into a tight smile and he momentarily ducks his head.
“Well, not for the shoulder to the sternum,” Kyle amends, rubbing his chest, “but that was some quick thinking.”
John nods, embarrassed.
Kyle’s teeth are gritted together and even in the near dark, John can tell he’s pale. He swallows thickly and turns to face John again. “Thermite,” he muses. “Can’t say I’ve ever gotten close enough to try that on one of those metal motherfuckers. Your mom sounds like a hell of a woman.”
“She is,” John agrees. He stops short. “Was,” he amends, his throat tightening painfully.
“What was her name?” Kyle asks.
“Sarah,” John says softly, meeting Kyle’s gaze. “Sarah Connor.”
Kyle looks at John and just for a moment, John thinks there might be a spark of recognition, but it’s gone too quickly, replaced by a quick intake of breath as the truck lumbers over a fallen telephone pole.
“So she hated the machines,” Kyle says, obviously fighting for focus. “But you don’t?” He looks at John speculatively. Derek glances over, his expression far more suspicious than his brother’s.
John shrugs. “Hate is counterproductive,” he says. "It blinds you to their true nature."
“Their nature is to kill,” Derek snaps.
“So is ours,” John counters. “But it’s not all we are, any more than it’s all they are. If you hate them, it’s too easy to lash out blindly. And we’ll never win that way. We need to learn how they work or we won’t ever win this fucking war.”
Kyle and Derek watching John in silence. He swallows harshly and looks away.
[end section]