TSCC Fic: Breakdown
The metal had left awhile ago. Where she'd gone and what she was doing, Sarah didn't care to know. The mechanical girl had sat like a statue for the longest time, showing not the slightest reaction to John's state. Not that Sarah expected anything different. John either didn't notice or didn't care that Cameron was gone.
The tears showed no sign of slowing, not that Sarah expected them to. John had curled himself tighter on the couch, as close to a fetal position as it was possible to get for a sixteen year-old boy. Sarah continued her endless stroking of his back, his shoulders, wherever she could easily reach. She combed her fingers through his hair. Somehow, the shortness of it still surprised her. She tried to remember the last time he cried like this and closest thing she came up with was four years ago, after that second machine was no more. He'd buried himself against her right after it happened and despite the haze of shock, exhaustion, and pain, Sarah remembered combing through his hair and thinking of how long it'd gotten. It'd been short when she got thrown in Pescadero. Not as short as now, but still. It'd reminded her of what she'd barely acknowledged before, while they ran for their lives and attempted to stop the end of the world. People changed in three years. Her son had changed in three years.
Shamefully, she remembered the time just after her escape, John attempting to hug her while she did nothing more than pat him down in search of bullet wounds. She remembered John crying and the machine being confused by it. Briefly, she wondered if Cameron understood the concept of crying, the emotions behind it, answering her own question before it truly formed. The metal didn't get it, would never get it. Sarah recalled Cameron's comments that he was destined to be alone, that no matter what, he needed to be alone. Kyle hadn't mentioned that part when he was explaining about John being the savior of humanity, with countless people ready to do anything for him. No, Kyle hadn't mentioned that part at all. As she wiped some of the moisture from John's face, she wondered if her son had anyone in the future, anyone at all. Did he still break down like this sometimes? If so, was Cameron his only source of comfort, the metal girl who couldn't even react as he sobbed uncontrollably right in front of her? That idea made Sarah tense.
John wasn't sleeping, but he'd fallen into a state of relative calm. The sobs had eased and his shoulders weren't shaking as much. However, his mother's distress seemed to catch his attention, in spite of what was happening in his own head. He twisted a bit, tried to move.
Sarah brushed one hand through his hair again, using the other to keep him in place. "Shhh," she murmured, determined not to let go yet.
In spite of her efforts, John kept trying to move, kept trying to look at her. When she was nineteen, six months pregnant and scared out of her mind, he used to do this. With a dog and memories of her dead lover for company, Sarah had cried a lot. She'd been alone and terrified in a shack in the desert , and she'd cried, felt like giving up more times than she cared to admit. And when she did feel like quitting, when things got worse than usual, John would kick her stomach or do a somersault, move in some way that made his presence known. After that, she'd toughen up and remember why she was there, what she needed to do.
It hadn't changed after he was born. If things got too bad, John had a tendency to crawl (eventually walk) on over and remind her again. Most times, it was his father Sarah was crying over when John would show up and crawl into her lap and hug her as tight as he could. She didn't start hiding her tears for Kyle Reese until John was old enough to know why they were there. It wasn't always about Kyle though. When John was two or three, she'd gotten beat to hell by one of the men she was supposed to be using. She'd been crying silently and bleeding and she'd smelled like booze because of the bottle he'd hit her with. John should've been sleeping and she hadn't realized he wasn't until he'd come into the room and sat with her, not seeming to mind the smell. Sarah was reasonably sure he'd forgotten this and hoped like hell that she wasn't wrong.
Her son continued to shift, trying to read her eyes and know what was wrong. Sarah stilled him again, touching his too-short hair and rubbing his arms. "Shhh, John."
It was the first actual word from her mouth since he fell into her lap again. She hadn't even touched him before the sobs had come and he'd lost control. Sarah wondered if this was only about Riley and knew that it couldn't be. He'd cared for the girl, enough to be blinded by her, to break the rules and do foolish things. He hadn't loved her though, at least Sarah thought that he hadn't. This wasn't just Riley. It'd been building since before the blonde showed up. On his birthday maybe, since Sarkissian? The dead man was certainly the beginning of their most recent bout of problems.
Hearing his name seemed to reopen the floodgates. A fresh round of tears came and he screwed his eyes shut, pressing into her lap. There was a desperation in his actions that Sarah recognized. It was the same desperation she felt every time he did something ridiculous and nearly got himself killed. It was the desperation that made her touch his hair or his face, made her hug him too tightly whenever there was a close call.
John clung to her like he thought she would leave. She wouldn't, not tonight anyway. He started mumbling things, things that were hard to understand. The only word Sarah could make out for certain was 'sorry.'
She continued to hold him, whispering nonsensical things. She didn't delude herself into thinking he was apologizing to her, though she guessed it was a possibility. She wanted to soothe him more, tell him it was okay, that it would be all right. But she'd never been able to do that, not even when he was small enough to believe her. Because she'd known since before his conception that things might not be okay, probably wouldn't, in fact, and she couldn't lie to him about that. She'd tried to for a time, in Nebraska with Charley, but it hadn't worked. Maybe this moment had been imminent since Charley's wife died, or since Sarah woke her son from his comfortable bed and his comfortable life and told him to pack a bag and leave it behind.
John kept crying. That desperation coming off him hadn't gone away. Sarah wanted to say that it was okay, that she was here and she always would be. That's what a normal mother would say. But that would be a lie and she wasn't a normal mother.
"Mom…"
The word was choked, barely intelligible. She could've heard him wrong. "Shhh, John. Shhh."
She wasn't really trying to stop the tears. He needed this and part of her realized that he wouldn't get it in the future. Not from her, not from anyone. Future John wouldn't have this luxury.
Sarah hadn't wanted him to cry after the escape from the hospital, when the machine asked about why his eyes were leaking.
She hadn't wanted him to see the tears for his father.
Maybe if she'd let him cry, let him see that his mom was a person, maybe he would've talked to her after Sarkissian, after he realized who Riley was.
But no, the past was the past, and time machines aside, it couldn't be changed. She'd tried to raise John Connor, raise the leader Kyle said their son would be. John Connor had to be tough, strong.
John Connor had calmed again. He was starting to drift. Sarah considered rousing him enough to get him upstairs and into bed, dismissing the idea. If she let go of him, he'd shut off again, play at being tough and strong and everything else John Connor was expected to be. Sarah didn't want that yet. She wanted to be a mother and comfort her son before fate separated them.
She sat on the couch and listened to John's breathing even out, and thought again about how long this had been coming. Not since Riley. Not since Cameron. Not since leaving Charley or watching the second machine melt to nothing. It had been on the way since before he was born, before his conception.
John shifted again and mumbled another incomprehensible phrase. Sarah held him tighter and stroked his back and murmured words that weren't words. Closing her eyes, Sarah forced herself to stop thinking and concentrate on her son. He needed her now and she'd be there until he woke up tomorrow and closed off again and tried to live up to the responsibilities of John Connor