How did we get here? To this point of living?

[samsonydelilah]

This references events explained here & here.

She forgot things faster than John did, lost bits of herself that she'd gained back those few days. It got worse for her, with Sarah, after that. Even worse yet after Riley died. More reprogramming sessions, some with John there. More than a few when John wasn't home. When she didn't have to pretend that they didn't hurt.

Because it did. It hurt.

And then came John's birthday. John had been out, walking or doing something on his own. And Charlie had gotten cake or made cake, because Sarah had gotten caught doing something minor. Was in jail for the time being. And it was John's birthday, but Charlie had forgotten ice cream.

So she'd offered to go and pick it up, and Charlie had said okay. Had given her the keys to John's car.

When she got in the car, started the car, she had to sit for a moment because everything was suddenly buzzy and noisy. And just as fast as it was buzzy and noisy, it was silent and quiet and nothing. She couldn't remember anything. Who she was. Where she was. But she was driving.

And just a suddenly as that, everything was back. Everything was back, and she couldn't stop shaking. She'd barely driven a block away and she was shaking. Everything was back and it was so inexplicably wrong and horrible and terrible and sick that she turned the wheel sharply and slammed into a tree.

Charlie had pulled her out of the car, she knew that much. Had pulled her out and carried her back to the house, bleeding and in so much pain. She didn't think she should be in this much pain, but she was.

She could smell the cake on the counter where he set her down, lay her down. She stared at the ceiling, watching Charlie move around above her. On the phone while he worked on her, shouting at someone as he tried to fix her. At John, she thought, and she didn't know why.

She didn't know why she couldn't breathe, why her leg and foot felt like it was on fire. She didn't understand anything.

Nothing decent ever, in John's opinion, happened on his birthday. So when Charlie starts fussing, John wants out. Out of the house, away from people, gone. It's a day without Sarah, at least, so he doesn't have to deal with the most awkward, fucked up birthday presents ever.

Twenty-one. Other people would be, what? Drinking. Something social. Here was John, somewhere he didn't want to be, with a million reasons not to celebrate his birthday. But he would, because Charlie wouldn't let him get away with not celebrating. Didn't mean he had to like it. Didn't mean he wanted to. Everything was fucked. Riley was dead, and Allison was more metal everyday and John was tired of it. Of trying to figure shit out.

He let the phone go to voicemail the first time Charlie called. What could it possibly be, anyway? When the phone immediately rang again, then John wondered. Worried a bit. Answered, finally.

"Allison was in an accident."

Anything Charlie said from that point onward was half-lost in the droning in John's skull. Charlie had to scream at him to get him to respond. "...What?"

"How far are you? I need your help, she won't listen to me and she's going to hurt herself worse!"

"Okay. I'm coming." She was driving his car, why was she driving his car? John hung up on Charlie without thinking, running the blocks he'd wandered in the last hour or so. It took too long, and all he could think of was Allison bleeding in the grass and screaming and Sarah.

John nearly collapsed a block from the house. Somehow, he managed to make it. Into the kitchen, to the counter, where Allison was dazed and gasping for breath and John didn't even look to see what all was wrong with her. "What do you need me to do?"

"Hold her. Get her to calm down." So that's what John tried to do.

It was like she was drowning, like they were back in the lake and instead of holding onto her, John had let go and now she was drowning. Later, she would realize or someone would explain to her that her lung had collapsed. Pneumothorax. But right now, she was terrified and gasping and trying to scream.

She couldn't calm down. Charlie kept trying to help her, to fix her and she couldn't calm down. Couldn't stop struggling against it. But then John was there, John was there and she could stop. Because John was there.

"Shh, shh. I'm right here." Touching her face, holding her hand. Holding her shoulder, holding her down while whatever Charlie did to help her breathe made a wet, thick sound. Suddenly, Allison was gasping and John kept thinking about the park. About Allison bleeding, fainting, in the park. "I've got you."

He watched her eyes go out of focus. Watched her twitch, and gasp, in a way that had nothing to do with the pain she was in. "What did you give her?"

"Painkillers, antibiotics. I can't take her to the hospital, not like this, not..." Charlie frowned, unable to voice the worry that Allison had driven into the tree on purpose to John. "...What?"

John flinched, frowned, kept holding her hand. "The painkillers. We're sensitive to painkillers, it might make her worse."

She could hear Charlie swearing. Shouting. Couldn't focus on anything anymore, not the ceiling, not the pain. Not even on John. Everything was hot and cold and it hurt to take in a breath. But at least she could breathe now. "My...my...my foot. Something...my foot." She couldn't stop shaking, stammering.

The pain flared back up when she felt someone tugging at her boots, cutting them off when one of them wouldn't budge. Sarah wouldn't like that, she thought. Wouldn't like blood on the counter. Wouldn't like a ruined birthday.

"It's broken," Charlie said, and John sighed. If they got through today it would be hell getting Allison to stay off her feet, he knew it. If they got through today. But they had to, because Allison had to survive and help him.

There was too much blood. Not that John normally had problems with blood, but there was blood, bone, and no metal. Not even a little. John had to struggle to stay upright. So many things were wrong.

She screamed, finally, when Charlie got her foot back into place. Regretting it, because she wasn't supposed to scream around John, wasn't supposed to make noise around Charlie. But she couldn't help it, not at all. Couldn't help gripping John's hand tightly or feeling like she was going to be sick. It was so hot and she didn't understand what was happening.

She could feel, she'd be useless if she couldn't feel. But she shouldn't feel like this. Not at all like this.

Watching Allison in pain, like that, was possibly the worst thing he could remember. Hearing her scream. John kept hold of her hand, didn't let go or move or flinch, but slowly the color drained out of his face. Slowly John realized that they were just kids, no metal, no heroes, and that she'd almost gotten killed. Because of him. In his place. Something.

"How long," he asked Charlie, "before whatever you gave her knocks her out?"

It was like listening to a discussion while underwater. She couldn't focus on any of it, but some things got through. None of it made any sense, they might as well have been speaking another language. She stared at the ceiling, watched it swim and blur out of focus, tried to shift her focus onto Charlie, onto John, but she couldn't hold it.

She tried, though, desperately. Long enough to to tell him something. Long enough to try to, anyway. "...broke your car. Sorry..." And then, she was out. Burning. Feverish.

'Fuck the car' was on the tip of John's tongue but he kept it in. Squeezed her hand, touched her hair, her face, and ignored the look Charlie was giving him. The what the hell is going on, John look. Because he felt bad keeping Charlie in the dark, but he could barely make any sense of it then how could he explain any of it to someone else?

Once he was certain he could breathe again, John picked her up. Was careful not to jostle anything. "Not her room, she won't get better in her room."

Charlie had shrugged. There was a guest bedroom. It was brighter that Allison's, anyway. Warmer. More lived-in somehow. It didn't feel like a place where bad things happened, like her room did. Once Allison was settled, once John was certain she could breathe, he sat there. Watched her. Took her pulse. Tried to quiet the noise in his own head.

When Charlie came back to check on them, nearly an hour later, John hadn't moved. "You look worse than she does. Get some sleep." None of them, not John, not Sarah, and definitely not Allison, slept enough in Charlie Dixon's opinion.

John, tired of arguing and hiding and fighting things, did as he was told. Well. He went, anyway. But he didn't sleep.

She didn't sleep so much as fall unconscious and stay that way for three, maybe four hours. When she woke up, she didn't really feel all that awake. Everything was fuzzy. Quiet and spinny. And she was in the wrong room. She wasn't in her room, it was the wrong room.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, it felt like a good idea to get up. And she nearly fell right back down when she did. Her foot hurt that much, ached that much, that the leg nearly collapsed under her. Somehow, she stayed upright and managed to get to the door. Dragging her foot behind her. Making her way to...somewhere, she couldn't focus, and somehow it seemed like a plan to get a gun.

She didn't know how she ended up at John's door, in John's room. Why it ended up that she aimed a gun at him. She didn't think she was going to shoot him. Didn't want to. Part of her...part of her wanted to. Part of her wanted to shoot herself. Part of her wanted to drop the gun and climb into bed beside him.

She went with that choice.

Once John was certain she was out again, asleep again, he got up. Tried to tell Charlie...something. That they had to leave. But the phone rang, the answering machine kicked in and what was a window was suddenly a pinhole.

Six hours wasn't long enough. John went back to his room after that.

Six hours wasn't long enough at all.

After another hour or so, after her fever broke and she could breathe a little bit better, Allison managed to wake up. Open her eyes and stare at John. Ignoring the pain in her foot, in her chest...was not an option.

"Hi." John did not look one bit better than he had when Charlie sent him to bed the first time. Rather, John looked like someone with pneumonia that had run a marathon in the rain. Sick and off-color. What a pair. "I'm sorry."

"Why?" She couldn't get her voice above a whisper, couldn't stop worrying over him. "I broke the car..." And herself.

He shook his head. "I don't care about the car. I'm sorry this happened." He was sorry she came into his room, feverish and with a gun, and he made no move to stop her.

"It was my fault, not your fault. You didn't do it." It's probably better that he didn't try to stop her. Something might've happened.

"It was an accident. It wasn't your fault either." Not that John will ever think of this, like so many other disasters in his life, as not his fault. "I just need you to get better." Sarah will not have more than fifteen minutes alone with Allison for months after this. They will be well on their way to New Jersey.

"I couldn't think. There was too much noise." The fact that she'll be basically useless to Sarah with a broken foot will help, no doubt about that.

Noise. John frowned. Noise reminded him of water, reminded him of drowning, but it didn't make any sense. Or it made too much. His own head was buzzing as it was. "I'm sorry. Don't worry about the car, just get better."

"I couldn't remember...okay, I'm sorry. I won't. I'm sorry I broke me." Deep, raspy breathing. "I won't be very efficient..."

It took a look to keep himself from flinching. "You didn't break you. I should've been driving." Should you? Didn't she? "Don't worry about that."

"You can't get your own ice cream. I did. I did break me." Wincing.

"It's okay. We'll get ice cream when you're feeling better." Purposefully ignoring that last part. Or maybe his brain just couldn't process the idea that she, for some reason, tried to kill herself with his car on his birthday. Like birthdays weren't already fucked enough, for both of them.

Charlie, no doubt, is processing that enough for the both of them. Debating what, if anything, to say to Sarah about it.

Allison shook her head and then just plain shook. Cold now, instead of a fever. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'm sorry..."

One hopes that after what John had and hadn't told him today, that Charlie won't end up telling Sarah much, if anything. And that he'll leave, like John asked him to.

"Shh. It's okay. I know." He didn't. He wanted to. Climbing under covers with her, to hold her, to try to get her to stop shaking. "It's fine."

"It is. It's fine. Why is it fine?" Pressing closer, holding onto him. Because she doesn't know. She doesn't understand.

John was having a lot of trouble keeping his voice level, even. "It's fine because I don't want you to worry. I just want you to get better. I need you to get better."

"I can't protect you like this. I know."

"But you'll get better." She will. She had to, in John's opinion. "I promise not to get into any trouble until you're better." Oh, John.

Well. Okay. That makes her snort, just a tiny bit. Which in turn, hurts. "I didn't mean to crash." Didn't you?

"I know." No, John. You don't. "Don't worry about that." There was a very quiet hint of desperation in his voice. Something in John's mind was cracking the more they talked about that. The more he thought about it.

"I hit a tree." Something in her voice trembles at that. "I didn't...I'm sorry. It was selfish."

John whimpered. No, he was not going to be in a good state by the time Sarah Connor got home. Which might be better, considering. John upset, angry, and freaked out frightens Sarah possibly more than John calm and telling her what she can and cannot do. John upset is a lot stronger and more paranoid. "A tree?" He'd thought it was a traffic accident. Hadn't listened when Charlie told him different. "Selfish?" Now we have parroting from him. Same problems, new reason. Same programming, different triggers.

"Yes. I couldn't remember anything. And then I did." She remembered everything. Too much. Or just enough. Just long enough to panic. Just long enough to break and want to break some more. "I pulled the wheel."

"A blackout." There was a sob but it got...stuck, somewhere, in his throat. John shook, shivered, pressed his face into her neck. Smelled sugar and blood and not a lot else. "I'm sorry."

"Yes. I didn't mean to." Didn't she? She touched the back of his head, fingers threaded in his hair. "I'm sorry."

Words aren't working by that point, for John, so he just stayed there. Constantly reminding himself that she was alive, and would be okay, and damn anything that tried to change that.

Eventually, she falls back asleep. Actual sleep this time, which is new and different and infinetly more painful.

John doesn't sleep so much as succumb to the fact that his brain is firmly stuck in fuck this shit mode and won't go anywhere else. Won't let Allison out of his sight. Out of his arms. And when Sarah got home, it was Charlie that fielded her. Told her...a version of what happened, what was wrong with Allison. Dealt with the shouting and wondered when they all lost their collective minds (nearly four years ago). Shouted back at her "The girl's got a punctured lung and a broken foot, what do you think they're up to!?"

Well that woke up John. Long enough to glare at the door should it open. Wonder of wonders, it didn't.

It certainly woke Allison up. Or at least pushed her into a state of groggy quasi-awareness. She can't imagine that Sarah didn't see the broken car and assume something happened to John. "John...?"

John kept listening. Heard Charlie say something about "...they were close before all this insanity about infiltrators, and it's his birthday for crying out loud, leave them be..." before he realized that Allison was saying something. Turned over to look at her, in the dark. "Hmm? I'm here."

Charlie Dixon is a good, good guy. "What's going on?" So groggy, so out of it. Odds that she thinks she's talking to future John? Very high.

John completely perpetuates the Future John idea without realizing it. "Sarah is being crazy, nothing new. Charlie is talking to her." Or alternately yelling at and talking to. "It's fine."

"Okay. I think you're upset with me. Will she be upset with me?"

"She won't have a chance to be." Threat or a promise, there, John? "I'm not upset with you." In the hopes of proving that and to get the part of his mind that began to panic every five seconds about Allison, John put his arms back around her. "Why do you think I'm upset with you?"

That seems to relax her, his arms around her. It certainly keeps her from shaking. "Because I crashed into a tree. Because I blacked out."

"I'm not upset with you for that. Scared. Worried. Not upset."

"Scared?" As if that's confusing. Out of the realm of possible things.

"I don't want to lose you. I won't."

"Then, I should be sorry." Oh, Allison.

"No, no, please don't." More holding.

"I can't...don't what?"

John flinched. "Don't be sorry. What can't you do?"

"I can't promise you won't."

"I know you can't. I fight to keep you. I'll keep fighting, whatever or whomever I have to fight."

"What if you have to fight me?" Which might be as close as she'll get to admitting what happened. What she did.

Maybe.

"I'll fight the part of you that would take you away from me." John moves closer, careful not to put any pressure on her chest on her foot, but gets in her space as much as he can. "I can't lose you, Allison." Not even to herself.

"Why? I don't understand." Because she's groggy. Because she hurts. Because she knows how bad this will be.

"Because I need you." His voice shakes. "I need you a lot."

"To protect you. From infiltrators."

John shakes his head, slowly. "Not just for that. I need you. That's all."

"I can't protect you from me. From me taking me away." Grammar be damned.

Instead of answering her right away, John put his hand against her throat. Lightly. Feeling for her pulse. "...I know."

Tensing a bit at that. Just a bit. "I don't want to go. Not really..."

John couldn't explain himself if he tried. Moving his hand from her throat to her cheek. "Okay. I need you. Stay?"

"I'll stay. Yeah. Yes. Okay. I don't want to go."

"I don't want you to go." Slight panic before John manages to reign that in a bit. "I need you. I can't explain anything right now."

"You're scared? Yes? That's right? Because I blacked out."

"Yes. Because of that." Because she drove herself into a tree. "I don't want to lose you."

"I didn't mean to. I'll try harder." Because she drove herself into a tree, because whatever Sarah is doing to her when John isn't there is worse than dying. Worse than being dead, than killing herself. "So you don't lose me. So you're not alone."

John has no idea what Sarah is doing. Won't know, until the day she tells him about the things he's not been home for. Even when he remembers programming and the things he does know, his imagination only goes so far. He only lets himself imagine so much. "Okay. I don't want to lose you, I don't want to be alone." Understatement of the year.

"I won't go. I won't leave you. Alone." With Sarah. "If I lose you, I'll find you. I won't stop."

Sarah won't be able to get these two further than 20 feet from each other for a while. "Okay. Okay." The stress of everything, the phone call, the accident, her screaming, his mother and Charlie and his birthday has definitely gotten to John. Shaking and mild stuttering and he won't let go of her. Can't. Doesn't want to. If he lets go, he knows something terrible will happen. This, his mind is certain of.

She touches the back of his head, pets at his hair. As if he were the one that was hurt. Because she has to protect him. Always. "I'm okay. I'll be okay..."

"I know." He doesn't. John thinks he's never lied so much without being able to help it. "I'm sorry."

"I know. I don't understand why you're sorry. It's not your fault."

"I'm sorry because I'm freaked out, because I can't calm down. I should've been here."

She doesn't know what to say to that. "Why weren't you?"

"I hate my birthday. I didn't want to celebrate. I didn't want to argue with Charlie about that."

"I don't think it would've been different if you'd been here."

For some reason that just breaks John a little more. He presses his face against her neck, and tries to remember to breathe. To not shake. It only works about halfway.

"Do you trust me?" This is hard. This is hard when she's groggy and hurting and has to push through.

"Yes." Automatic. No less real. John can't remember where that started. Doesn't care, right then.

"Do you trust me to be okay? That I won't go?"

Odd, broken little sound. So much is broken, right now. "...yes."

More petting at his hair, pulling him closer. Something like comfort for him, and because she can't stop shaking. "Why? Why do you?"

"Because I'll fall apart if I don't." And it would be much worse than whatever he's doing now. John reaches up, reaches over, puts his hand against her cheek and keeps it there.

"Because you'd be alone? Lonely?" Hand over his hand.

"Sometimes...sometimes I think I'm alone when you're here. That would be worse. Not trusting you. Then there's nothing."

"I don't know how to fix that."

"It doesn't need fixing. There are things that don't need fixing. Trusting you isn't broken." John twists his fingers in between hers. "When you're here and I'm alone that's just me being stupid."

"You aren't stupid." She squeezes his fingers. "I should know better. I should understand more. I won't do it again. I won't leave you."

"Sometimes I think I am. Sometimes I can't see, I can't think. Sometimes I feel stupid. Sometimes I forget things." He squeezes back. "You will, know better, understand more. I'll help. I'm glad."

"I forget things. That doesn't make you stupid. You can't see? I don't understand." She wants to understand more, wants to know better. She doesn't want to hurt him, and thinks...no, knows that this has hurt him more than anything. She doesn't know how to fix that. "I'll never leave you."

"I can't see problems..." Words. Damnit. "Think objectively. I can't do that, sometimes, and I feel like I'm blind. Blinded. By a situation, a thing." It has and it will. For reasons even years later he'll have trouble thinking about, trouble voicing. Things that would upset a normal person. "Okay. I believe you."

"What situations? What things? Me? By me?"

"No." Small laugh. "The things that break us. The things Sarah does."

"She does a lot of things." She pauses. "I'm not supposed to scream in front of you. Don't tell."

John holds his breath for a moment. "Because it hurts. The programming hurts." Of course it does. "I won't tell. We don't talk. We don't get along."

"Yes. It hurts when she does it." And sometimes when he does. A lot of the time. "I know."

"I don't want it to hurt. I don't like reprogramming you. I don't want that anymore." Not that he really did to begin with. But it was a system in place he didn't think he could fight against. "I don't like her."

"I don't want to glitch." She doesn't understand why that still happens. "Do you love her?"

"You won't." Is it really that easy, John? "No."

"I won't?" Is it? "Because of the war? Because of me?"

"You won't." Apparently, he thinks so. "Yes. Because of those things. Because she would hurt you instead of accepting what she doesn't agree with, what she doesn't understand. Hurt you to hurt me."

"I believe you." Apparently, it's that simple. "Why does she want to hurt you?"

Time will tell. "I don't know. It's hard, trying to think like her. I try not to. So I don't understand why, but she does it anyway."

"Should I stop her?"

There's a moment while John considers just what stopping his mother means and he has a very vivid recollection of Riley's body at the morgue. "No. No. I'll think of something."

She winces again, squeezing his fingers. "Okay. If you're sure. Okay."

"I'm sorry this happened." For some reason, John can't stop saying that. For a lot of reasons. "Forgive me for all the damage I've done?"

"But it isn't your fault." She'll never, ever stop saying that. "What damage?"

He thinks if he were stronger, a better person, things would be different. "To you. I hurt you."

"I did." He presses his nose to her throat. What if she stops breathing, what does he do then? "I didn't mean to but I did."

"How? What did you do?" It helps to feel detached from it. Hurts to feel detached from it.

He hears it. The there but not quite. He's done that too, with her. John can't fault her for it now. "Kindness. I should've been kinder. I should've stopped the programming." Small sob. The girls he knows keep trying to kill themselves. What does that say about him?

"How? How would you have? I can't even stop her."

"I don't know. I don't know. These things shouldn't happen. None of it. You shouldn't get hurt."

"Neither should you." Squeezing his hand again. "Tell me what to do, John."

"Get better. Don't let her corner you. Don't leave me. Don't leave me alone."

"I will, I promise. I won't let her corner me." And thus was born the tale of 'that one time Allison tried to kill Sarah'. "I'll never leave you, I promise."

"Please don't. I can't do this without you, I can't." Deal with his mother. Learn to fight a war he wants no part of.

"I won't. If I lose you, I'll find you. If you lose me, I'll find you. I promise."

"Okay. Okay." John still can't relax. His brain is firmly set to scared and paranoid.

"You won't go either?"

"No." More shaking. "I won't go."

"Okay." Tighter hold. "I'm sorry. About the gun." She barely remembers it.

Small, small whimper. "I took it apart."

"I don't know why I did that. Why did you do that?"

"Because it scared me. Because it was something I could do."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I scared you."

"Shhh. It's not your fault."

"It is my fault. I should be careful. I shouldn't be selfish."

"I'm selfish. I've been selfish." Allison even told him such.

That she did. "You're real." Therefore, allowed?

"You're real to me." So.

"I should've thought. I should've remembered. But I couldn't think..."

"Then it's not your fault." But it's still, in John's mind, his. "Remembered?"

"How could it not be?" Long, long, hesitant pause. "...Riley."

"You couldn't think. It wasn't your fault." Logic, meet stubborn love laced with paranoia.

John screws his eyes shut as tight as he can. "What about Riley?"

"I didn't have to crash." Hand on his cheek now. "I should've remembered what happened to her."

"You were scared. It wasn't your fault." He tilts his head towards her hand. "...Sarah killed her."

"It wasn't yours either." She closes her eyes. "Riley killed herself."

"I should've been home." Another stuttered breath. "She tried to. Sarah killed her after."

"It's your birthday." Which means he doesn't have to be home, apparently. "Why?"

"I hate my birthday. Because she wanted me to think you did it. Because she broke Riley."

"I wanted to get you a present." When? "I didn't do it. I didn't kill her. Is she killing me?"

"A present?" God, John's head is spinning. "I know you didn't. I don't know. Maybe. I won't let her."

"For your birthday." Poor, poor John. "Don't. Don't let her. I could kill her."

"A present. What present?" Something is not processing. "I won't. Don't do that. I'll think of something."

"A birthday present." Because it's your birthday, John. "What will you think of?" Oh, Allison.

"I know, but..." Okay. Obviously his brain is just not catching on to that. "A present. I don't know. I will."

"Because it's your birthday. A bike. I don't know. Something. A present."

"Get better. That's a present."

Long, long, looooong pause. "That's not a very good present."

On a normal day, that would make John laugh. Today isn't normal. "It's my birthday. That's what I want."

"I'll get better. For your birthday."

"Thank you."

"I won't be 100%, but I'll be better."

"Better is enough. I don't even know what 100% means."

"Not injured. Functional. Not damaged."

"I'm never 100% then."

Weird look. "You aren't a machine."

He can't see your weird looks, his face is still buried in your neck. "Doesn't matter."

"It matters. You don't have to be 100%."

"It doesn't. If I don't then neither do you. That's fair. That's all."

"Why don't I have to be?"

"Because I don't. Because I can't. Just be better, better is enough."

"Better. And don't let her corner me. And don't leave you ever."

'Yes. That's all." Later, maybe, if John can ever recall this conversation with any clarity, he'll see the sort of thing he's set them up for.

"And I'll protect you. From machines. From metal. From skynet. From her Okay?"

"Okay. That's okay."

"Because you need me?"

"Because I need you. Because I want you to stay. Because I can't manage this without you. Because I love you. Okay?"

Her hand twitches, just a little. Just a bit. The pain is enough to dull it, to take away from the programming a little bit. "Okay. I know. Okay. I love you. I won't go."

John turns a little. So he can see her. So he can take her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry that breaks you."

"It breaks me?"

"The twitching. It hurts." Hurts her. Hurts him, to know that he's done that.

"Everything hurts right now."

John nods. "But this, this is different." And he covers his face with her hand.

...Don't ask.

"Why is this different?" That? Also gets an interesting look.

"Because it's ours."

"I don't understand."

"Things we want but can't have. Each other. That's different from the accident. It's different because it shouldn't ever make you hurt. Feeling something should make you automatically hurt. I don't want that."

"The accident is distracting it." Whatever that means. "I'm sorry."

"Is that good? Distracting it?" John kisses her palm. "You didn't do it, don't be sorry."

"I don't know. It's different pain." She closes her eyes again. "I didn't?"

John makes a quiet sound. "You didn't. I'm sorry it hurts, either way."

"You didn't do it either." She presses a kiss, quick and barely there, to his forehead. "Tell me what's wrong with me, so I know.

John's silent for a moment, moving her hand to the side of his face and keeping it there. "She broke you so that you wouldn't love me."

She pauses, for a long moment. "I don't think it worked very well." Considering how near-mindlessly devoted she is to him in her machine state, and how much she loves him when she's not...great programming there, Miss Connor.

"She's not very good at it." Slightly bitter, since it's done so much damage. More thankful, than that. That it didn't do more. That she couldn't make Allison completely forget.

"She isn't. No." One wonders, exactly, what she was trying for.

Corrupting what was already in place. Bending their feelings for each other into something she could use. But feelings are interesting things and Sarah doesn't have a good grasp on how powerful the attachment is. Never did. "I'm sorry."

Because the person she felt that way for, could understand that sort of attachment about, her John for lack of a better term, is dead. And all she has now is Charlie. Good, good guy Charlie. "It isn't your fault."

"I'm still sorry."

"So am I. Still sorry." Hand moving slightly on the side of his face. "What's wrong with me from the accident. So I know?"

John nods a little. "Collapsed lung. Broken foot. I think that's it."

"I couldn't breathe."

"It was punctured." Shake. Breathe. "I don't know."

"Charlie will fix it." Petting. "What don't you know?"

"I...I couldn't focus, on what Charlie said. Was wrong. I couldn't focus." John is lucky his brain didn't simply shut down.

Charlie is probably lucky John's brain didn't shut down, the way she was panicking. "Wrong?"

"With you. After the accident." Eventually, it probably will.

"Because you couldn't focus? Why?" And then, she will panic all anew.

"Because you were bleeding. Because you were hurt. Because it reminded me..." Well then he'll have to fight to make sure it's not right now, then.

"I've bled before. I've been hurt before." Shot, stabbed, cut, injured protecting him. "It reminded you?" Tall order, that.

"I never liked it." True. "...Griffith Park." Slow, stuttering voice. Very tall order.

"Were you able to focus those times?" Good question. "I was shot." And she is not helping.

"...Not always." Because he believes what he sees more than he believes what he's been told, and he's never seen metal when she's hurt. When she's bleeding. "Yes." Shaking now.

She's not sure what to make of the lack of focus. Not sure what to say or how to help him with that. "In the leg. Different leg."

It takes John a long time to realize he should say something as opposed to letting the noise burn him out. "...Yes. You were shot. You were in shock."

"Oh. It hurt.. Burned. Are you in shock?"

John curls into her. As much as he can. Breathes, stutters, holds his breath. Lets it go. "Yes." To all of the above, Allison.

She understands now, thinks she understands now. "Oh. " Pets at his hair. "Tell me what to do. Now. Not 'get better'."

"Stay." If she leaves this room, this bed, this several feet of space they're occupying John will lose it and he can't even think of what the hell it is. Himself, maybe.

She seriously doubts that after her little jaunt around the house, she'd get further than a foot away from the bed. "I'm staying. What else?"

"I don't know. I can't focus." A foot would be enough, honestly. "I'm sorry."

"Do you need a sedative?"

"That would mean you move." So. No?

"I could call Charlie. On your phone." Certainly by shouting across the house, she can barely get her voice above a whisper.

"No, no. No people." If Charlie comes, Sarah might. John can't take that. He whimpers, pulls his face into her throat, against her shoulder.

Petting his hair again. "I need to fix this."

"Why?" Oh, John. Really?

"Because I have to protect you." Because she loves you. "Because it's my fault."

"But it's all in my head." The noise, the pressure.

"It's my fault."

"...N-no. It's not."

"You can't focus because I'm hurt."

"Yes. No. That's..." And the word is gone.

"What? That's what?"

John gasps. Because it hurts, what his brain is trying to do, what he's trying to say. "That's not. It isn't. There's no metal. Blood, bone, tendons, no metal. Not once. Never seen it."

Pushing him back a bit, so she can look at him. Because now she's worried. "John?"

He winces, when he pushes her, because he doesn't want to lose to contact. Is nearly desperate not to. "Allison." His eyes, when open, are completely out of focus.

She keeps as much contact as possible while still looking at him. Trying to ignore her pain in favor of his. "John. Talk to me."

"I don't...no...know what to say." Closing his eyes, opening them again. "It's loud."

"What's loud? Talk louder. Over it." Like he told her. Who cares whose in the next room.

"There's..." Wince. Gasp. Hell. This, John thinks, is a brand new hell living in his head.

"Noise, it's loud. When you're bleeding." A pause. Louder. "There's only blood. No.." Flinch. "Endoskeleton. No metal."

"But I can see it. Why is it loud?"

"Because I'm supposed to see it." Shake. Louder. God, it sounds like he's arguing with her, most likely. "But it's not THERE."

She doesn't care how it sounds, if it helps him. If Sarah comes in here, she'll stop her. Broken foot or not. Puncture lung or not. "It's a lie?"

With any luck, she won't. "Fabricated. A glitch. Designed to fit into an improper worldview." Distancing himself from it, now, because it hurts so much. "Bones don't feel like metal. Don't look like metal. You're not a machine."

"Is it a glitch that you don't see it?" She tenses, but only a little. "No, no. I am."

"N-no." Fighting to get the words out. "It's...a glitch, error in programming because you can't do that to people why doesn't she listen? You can't program people. Machines will reject programming. People reject programming. There's no machines, here, just two people." Shaking. "You aren't."

She won't argue the point, not anymore. Not right now. Just pet at his hair and hold him. "Louder."

"You aren't..." Gasping. "A machine. You're not. There's NO metal. I don't see it. I don't FEEL it! It isn't there!"

"What does that mean? If it's not there, if I'm not..." slight twitch. "If I'm not a machine."

John closes his eyes, keeps them closed. "It means you're Allison."

"John. Look at me. Please. What else does it mean?"

Opening his eyes is hard, but he manages it. After two, three minutes. "False programming. There was no infiltrator in Griffith Park."

"She lied?"

"Yes." Shaking, shuddering so violently that John has to close his mouth to keep his teeth from knocking together. "...Three months."

Holding tighter. "Three months?"

"I lost three months." Holding her back.

"What happened after that?"

"We changed names." Allison robbed a bank.

"What else is wrong? Tell me." She can't tell if this is helping or hurting.

It's both. "...Everything's wrong. Wanting isn't a glitch. Glitches don't exist." Well that's an interesting conclusion to reach.

"Metal doesn't exist? Machines?"

"...They might. They don't. Here. Between you and I."

"Tell me what to say. Do.How to help you focus."

"You love me. You know what to say." John was never told how to reset himself. Sarah never thought he'd need to.

"I do love you. Yes. I love you. You need me to say it?" Sarah is severely lacking efficiency and sanity.

"Saying it helps." Small whine. It still hurts, it's just not as loud. "Why. Things from before."

"Why I love you?"

John nods. "Yes. You're pretty." Okay.

"Because you talk to me. And listen to me. And you know how to talk to me. Because you love me. Because you're all I have left. I'm pretty?"

"You put up with my crazy." More like she's a definitive part of your crazy, John. You tell me the truth, when you can. Sometimes. You're pretty. Very pretty."

"You're not crazy." Right. "You don't always treat me like I'm metal. You make me want to be real. You don't care if I'm not real. You have nice eyes." What, guys.

Normal people totally have these conversations. Just not...like this. "I am sometimes. I'm sorry, that I do sometimes. You are real. My eyes are weird." Ffs, John.

Not even remotely like this. "You don't mean to. I know. Your eyes are weird?"

"I don't know. Weird kind of blue. Crazy."

"That's not weird." Okay, kids. "I...I like it when you kiss me, even thought it hurts sometimes. I like that you try to help me."

"I want you to be happy. Better. Okay. I want you to be able to want things. I like kissing you. It hurts more when I don't." Lovesick or something like it. Thank you, Sarah.

"I want to want things." What, Allison? "It hurts more?"

"You can. You will." John nods. "I miss you. I want you and I can't..." Small shake.

"I'm right here. You can't what?"

"Have you. Like that. I won't ask you to do that." Bitter laugh. "Sleep with me. She thinks I'd program you to sleep with me."

"But you wouldn't. I know."

"I want to. Want you to. But not like that."

Kiss to his cheek. "I know. Not like that. You wouldn't, I know."

"Having you here should be enough." John. You are not a monk.

"Why? Why should it? Isn't that worse?"

"If...If I were a better person. Having you here would be enough. I wouldn't be lonely at all.

"Why does that make you a bad person?"

"Because it's not fair."

"You're allowed to want things."

"Only if you are too."

"I want things. When I'm not supposed to."

"I want you to want things. I want it to be fair. What do you want?" Fuck supposed to.

"Her gone. To be real. You, sometimes. A bike."

"She'll be gone one day." John, that's not helping. "You are real. I want you to. A bike. When you're better?"

"She was in jail. Got out." True. "I'm not always real. What when I'm better?" So many topics.

"I know. I wish she hadn't. You're always real, even when you don't think so. A bike, when you're better?"

"How did she?" Oh, Allison. "I don't always feel real. Oh. A bike. When I'm better, yes. I can't ride a bike now."

"I don't know. I didn't ask." Yeah. "Even when you don't feel real, you are. Promise. Don't try to ride a bike now."

"I trust you. I believe you. I won’t.”

"Okay. Okay." And now? John's brain has had enough. Sorry, Allison, but he's going to more or less pass out on you.

And that's fine. That's fine. As much as that worries her, as much as she wants to watch him until she wakes up, she can't manage to stay awake once he's out.