Advent: Day 2 (Sarah Connor Chronicles)
Day 2, Fandom - Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Ficlet
Characters: John, Charley
Rating: G
Word Count: ~990
Summary: John and Charley put up the Christmas tree. Pre-series, angsty.
oOo
John Connor sat on the floor glowering up at the sparkling green monster dropping pine needles in his lap. The lights still looked weird after their fourth attempt, awkwardly spaced such that the lower right part of the tree seemed empty and the top looked like it might burst out in multi-colored flames. Frustrated, he turned his glare on the man still standing beside it.
Charley shrugged apologetically. “Hey, give me a break; it’s been a few years. I never saw the point in decorating just for me.”
John could have pointed out that he didn’t need to now, that Sarah Connor and her son were more accustomed to a general lack of Christmas. But he had a feeling Charley already knew that. He gave a slightly overdramatic sigh instead.
Charley somehow maintained his exuberance in the face of the teen angst. “Bright side-it looks better than our last try. If we hang the ornaments strategically, it’ll look great.”
“It will?” John stared doubtfully at the tree. And to think, he’d thought tying the thing to the car and getting it into the house had been the hard parts. People really did this for fun?
“Sure. Have a little faith.” He mussed John’s hair as he passed; leaving John to shake it out of his eyes and push himself to his feet. Charley was back a moment later with a haphazardly packed boxed. Curious, John peered over his shoulder as ornaments of various sizes and colors spilled out. “Dig in,” Charley invited.
“I’m not sure I know how to strategically decorate.”
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. The point of the tree is to bring the Christmas spirit into the house, and it’s going to do that no matter how lopsided the lights. And your Mom’s gonna appreciate it because you helped with it.”
John blinked at him. “Okay. That’s really…well…”
“Corny?” Charley admitted. John burst into laughter despite himself, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah,” Charley groused, plucking a Santa ornament from the pile and thrusting it into John’s hands. “Make yourself useful, Chuckles, or my beautiful little speech there loses all its meaning.”
They went to work, making their way around the tree. John was amused by the eclectic mixture of ornaments, everything from ornate angels to childish creations. At one point he pulled out a manger scene made of popsicle sticks and construction paper, faces drawn onto the holy family. Charley saw his interest and launched into a story about making it in Sunday School when he was young.
John handed it to him. “I think I remember making something like that once.” He had a vague memory of drawing a smiling baby in the hay. Clearer was the memory of leaving that place in the night, leaving everything but the clothes he was wearing behind. “I don’t remember what happened to it,” he lied softly.
“We’ll make you a new one, then. I’ve got some glue and markers around here somewhere.”
He was a teenager; by all rights he should scoff at that and laugh it off. But for some reason he couldn’t. And those stupid lights were definitely too bright, because he had to look down and rub at his eyes. Charley patted him on the shoulder and turned back to the tree as he changed the subject. “You know what you want for Christmas yet?”
“I don’t need anything,” John answered absently, focused on a reindeer made out of clothespins he’d just picked up. It had eyes drawn on, one larger than the other, and a little red sticker for a nose. The yarn loop was tangled through the antlers.
There was a long moment of silent stillness. When John looked up, Charley was studying him closely. He placed the manger on the tree and then gestured towards the couch. “Johnny, come here for a second.”
John tensed instinctively, fingers tightening around the clunky little reindeer as he tried to figure out what he’d done. Sure, he wasn’t as into this decorating thing as Charley seemed to want him to be, and he might have been grumbling a bit earlier. But mostly he’d been quiet and done as he was told. He did the same now, moving to sit on the couch.
Charley sat on the coffee table in front of him. He took a long moment to think before he spoke. “I know you’re still getting used to this whole living arrangement. But I think you know I love your Mom, and that at the very least I’d like to be your friend.”
“I’d have thought you’d like to be my father,” John dared to say, not quite meeting Charley’s eyes.
Charley paused, and then reached out to gently touch his chin, redirecting his gaze. “Of course I’d like that, Johnny. I’d like nothing more. But I’m not going to push you, okay? Just like I’m not going to pry about any of your past Christmases. But you’re here now. And here we’ve got the tree and the decorations and the whole nine yards, all right?
“So tell me what you want for Christmas. I don’t have a huge budget of course, but whatever you’re wishing for, I’ll try to make it happen.” He paused. When he didn’t get an immediate response he smiled a little sadly. “Just think about it, all right?”
John nodded, but couldn’t say anything. Charley squeezed his knee and stood, going back to the ornaments. John stared after him and tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. Charley was offering more than the latest games or electronics. Things like stupid trees and childish ornaments and memories…and home.
But what Charley didn’t know was why John didn’t have those things. And what Charley didn’t know could get him killed.
What John was wishing for, he couldn’t have.
oOo
Ficlet
Characters: John, Charley
Rating: G
Word Count: ~990
Summary: John and Charley put up the Christmas tree. Pre-series, angsty.
oOo
John Connor sat on the floor glowering up at the sparkling green monster dropping pine needles in his lap. The lights still looked weird after their fourth attempt, awkwardly spaced such that the lower right part of the tree seemed empty and the top looked like it might burst out in multi-colored flames. Frustrated, he turned his glare on the man still standing beside it.
Charley shrugged apologetically. “Hey, give me a break; it’s been a few years. I never saw the point in decorating just for me.”
John could have pointed out that he didn’t need to now, that Sarah Connor and her son were more accustomed to a general lack of Christmas. But he had a feeling Charley already knew that. He gave a slightly overdramatic sigh instead.
Charley somehow maintained his exuberance in the face of the teen angst. “Bright side-it looks better than our last try. If we hang the ornaments strategically, it’ll look great.”
“It will?” John stared doubtfully at the tree. And to think, he’d thought tying the thing to the car and getting it into the house had been the hard parts. People really did this for fun?
“Sure. Have a little faith.” He mussed John’s hair as he passed; leaving John to shake it out of his eyes and push himself to his feet. Charley was back a moment later with a haphazardly packed boxed. Curious, John peered over his shoulder as ornaments of various sizes and colors spilled out. “Dig in,” Charley invited.
“I’m not sure I know how to strategically decorate.”
“You know what? It doesn’t matter. The point of the tree is to bring the Christmas spirit into the house, and it’s going to do that no matter how lopsided the lights. And your Mom’s gonna appreciate it because you helped with it.”
John blinked at him. “Okay. That’s really…well…”
“Corny?” Charley admitted. John burst into laughter despite himself, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah,” Charley groused, plucking a Santa ornament from the pile and thrusting it into John’s hands. “Make yourself useful, Chuckles, or my beautiful little speech there loses all its meaning.”
They went to work, making their way around the tree. John was amused by the eclectic mixture of ornaments, everything from ornate angels to childish creations. At one point he pulled out a manger scene made of popsicle sticks and construction paper, faces drawn onto the holy family. Charley saw his interest and launched into a story about making it in Sunday School when he was young.
John handed it to him. “I think I remember making something like that once.” He had a vague memory of drawing a smiling baby in the hay. Clearer was the memory of leaving that place in the night, leaving everything but the clothes he was wearing behind. “I don’t remember what happened to it,” he lied softly.
“We’ll make you a new one, then. I’ve got some glue and markers around here somewhere.”
He was a teenager; by all rights he should scoff at that and laugh it off. But for some reason he couldn’t. And those stupid lights were definitely too bright, because he had to look down and rub at his eyes. Charley patted him on the shoulder and turned back to the tree as he changed the subject. “You know what you want for Christmas yet?”
“I don’t need anything,” John answered absently, focused on a reindeer made out of clothespins he’d just picked up. It had eyes drawn on, one larger than the other, and a little red sticker for a nose. The yarn loop was tangled through the antlers.
There was a long moment of silent stillness. When John looked up, Charley was studying him closely. He placed the manger on the tree and then gestured towards the couch. “Johnny, come here for a second.”
John tensed instinctively, fingers tightening around the clunky little reindeer as he tried to figure out what he’d done. Sure, he wasn’t as into this decorating thing as Charley seemed to want him to be, and he might have been grumbling a bit earlier. But mostly he’d been quiet and done as he was told. He did the same now, moving to sit on the couch.
Charley sat on the coffee table in front of him. He took a long moment to think before he spoke. “I know you’re still getting used to this whole living arrangement. But I think you know I love your Mom, and that at the very least I’d like to be your friend.”
“I’d have thought you’d like to be my father,” John dared to say, not quite meeting Charley’s eyes.
Charley paused, and then reached out to gently touch his chin, redirecting his gaze. “Of course I’d like that, Johnny. I’d like nothing more. But I’m not going to push you, okay? Just like I’m not going to pry about any of your past Christmases. But you’re here now. And here we’ve got the tree and the decorations and the whole nine yards, all right?
“So tell me what you want for Christmas. I don’t have a huge budget of course, but whatever you’re wishing for, I’ll try to make it happen.” He paused. When he didn’t get an immediate response he smiled a little sadly. “Just think about it, all right?”
John nodded, but couldn’t say anything. Charley squeezed his knee and stood, going back to the ornaments. John stared after him and tried to swallow the sudden lump in his throat. Charley was offering more than the latest games or electronics. Things like stupid trees and childish ornaments and memories…and home.
But what Charley didn’t know was why John didn’t have those things. And what Charley didn’t know could get him killed.
What John was wishing for, he couldn’t have.
oOo