Fic'ing to Christmas - Day Eleven - FIC: Lost in Time
Title: Lost in Time
Prompter: dhark_charlotte
Prompt: Firefly/TSCC // John's jump forward in time didn't turn out like he expected.
Rating: FR13
Betas: kaylashay81 and avamclean
Fandoms: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles / Firefly
Disclaimer: The characters of Terminator belong to Fox, James Cameron, etc. The characters of Firefly belong to Mutant Enemy, Inc., Universal Pictures, and 20th Century Fox. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
All fics by authors participating in this year's Wishlist challenge, can be found here: wishlist_fic
My Masterlist is here: Fic'ing to Christmas
He’d thought he knew what he was doing, following the liquid metal through time, his hand clutched tightly against the endoskeleton that was all that remained of Cameron. He thought tracking down Cameron’s chip, saving her, had been the right choice. But John, in those few irrationally thought out seconds, didn’t consider the possibility that something could go wrong, or that the liquid metal could screw him six ways to Judgment Day. He’d simply leapt, running on the emotional loss of Charlie and Derek. Losing Cameron had been too much to bear.
He’d knowingly jumped to the future to follow John Henry and Cameron’s chip. But it had gone wrong, so horribly wrong.
~*~
Lightning crackled around him, the dome barely stretched over his head, as he became aware of his surroundings. Just as soon as he noticed it, the lightning dispersed and he was left, alone, and naked, in what appeared to be a warehouse. He rose, rubbing his hands along his arms in an attempt to chase away the goose bumps that had arisen, and looked around.
The familiar sound of a gun cocking drew his attention up one of the metal staircases and to the agitated, grumpy looking man in a yellow shirt, with his gun trained dead between John’s eyes. And John wagered if the gun didn’t kill him, then the brute of a man holding it would finish the job.
“Mal!” the man called out, voice carrying through the building they were standing in.
John had no idea what he’d stumbled into, and blatant glances around didn’t produce any sign of Weaver. He frowned, jaw tightening in anger at her disappearance.
“How’d ya get here?” the man asked, carefully making his way down a few steps, the gun never wavering off John.
John took another glance around, trying to figure out where here was. He offered a shrug, fighting the urge to cover himself, not wanting to give the man another reason to want to shoot him.
Footsteps echoed through the building as others came at the call. His eyes drifted up to focus on a pretty brunette in cargo pants and a flowery shirt, and watched at her eyes widened almost comically as she took him in. He couldn’t help the blush that worked its way along his body, hands automatically moving forward to cover himself. Others appeared, all leaning over the railing and staring down at him.
“Mal, why is there a naked boy in our hold?” a male voice asked, drawing John’s attention to the blond man in a loud, Hawaiian shirt. Surely obnoxious Hawaiian shirts hadn’t survived in the future, and then John’s brain nudged him at the man’s words, particularly hold.
“Hold?” John repeated as he looked around the warehouse he was in, trying to figure out why it would be considered a cargo hold.
But the blond haired man didn’t get a chance to explain as he was joined by a black woman, long curls pulled back in a loose clasp against her neck, and a brown-haired man, who hand rested on the gun holstered to his hip. John looked them over, eyebrows rising at their choice of clothing, more like the old westerns he watched as a kid, and less in the military-style he envisioned those in the future would dress.
The brown-haired man stepped forward, sparing a glance at the gun-toting man, before he turned his attention back to John. “You want to explain what you’re doing on my ship?” he started and then added, a small smile appearing on his lips. “And where your clothes got to?”
“Ship?” John echoed, head swimming as he began to realize his jump to the future might now have gone exactly as planned.
“A’might touched in the head, Mal,” the man with the gun stated. “Ain’t right that we keep taking on fong luh passengers,” he added, his grip on the gun didn’t ease even though he clearly didn’t view John as a threat.
John swallowed hard around the knot of fear rising in his throat. “Where am I?”
Those watching him didn’t immediately respond, all turning their gaze on the brown-haired man that John assumed to be Mal. Finally, after he regarded John a few more moments, he spoke, “You’re aboard my ship, Serenity.” Slowly he made his way down the nearest staircase, and stopped on the landing, remaining above John, forcing him to look up at the man.
“You keep saying ship, but where? The Atlantic? The Pacific?” John asked, voice climbing higher as his questions went unanswered.
Mal’s eyebrows almost shot off his face at John’s questions and he cast a worried glance over his shoulder at the woman he’d appeared with. She offered him a silent shrug in reply. “Space.”
The reply was simple, but it weakened John’s knees, and shivers from the cold, and what he presumed was shock, started in his fingers and toes, working their way up his body. He took another look around the hold he was in, understanding pieces of it better now that he had an understanding for his surroundings. There was one question that remained. His stomach cramped, making him nauseous, as he realized he wasn’t going to like the answer. “What year is it?” he whispered the question, but in the quiet of ship he knew that Mal had heard him.
“2517.”
John’s knees buckled, his ass slammed down hard against the metal grating beneath him, and his breath left him with a whoosh. His chest suddenly felt too tight, his lungs not drawing in enough air, and darkness started crowding in around the edges of his vision.
He flinched, curling in tighter around himself, as something was tossed over his shoulders. Black combat boots appeared at his side, before the person crouched beside him and the hem of a blue flowing dress settled against the grated floor. Pale fingers reached past his face, grabbing the fabric and pulling the blanket around him. Long brown hair drew his attention up to meet the girl’s face. He hadn’t seen her before, when the others had appeared. She was pretty, if a little frail looking and he frowned when he realized she wasn’t Cameron.
“River,” someone called out, and the girl’s head came up, looking over his shoulder, and offering the newest voice a blinding smile.
“He’s lost,” she spoke and he shivered, fear sliding back into him at just how right she was.
“River, come here, we don’t know anything about him, or how he got here,” the voice urged, patiently speaking to her as one would a young child, or a scared animal.
She looked back down at him and he could read the pity in her eyes. “Time travel is difficult even under the best circumstances.”
His eyes widen in shock at her words, and a knowing smile brightened her face. “How?” he asked.
She pressed her finger to her lips and shook her head. Gracefully she rose to her feet, and he kept her in his vision.
“A naked guy appears in a burnt circle in the hold and her answer is time travel. She’s speaking crazy again,” the brutish man grumbled.
“Jayne,” Mal cut him off, the warning clear in his voice, and Jayne finally lowered his weapon.
“Time travel’s a might odd, even for you River,” Mal spoke to the girl as he came down off the landing and stopped a few steps away from them. His hand still rested on the butt of his gun in his holster, letting John know that he meant business. “Humor me though. Where’s he come from?”
River gazed back down at him for a moment, holding his gaze as she spoke, “Earth.”
He heard the others cry out in another language, but it was clear that Earth had not been the answer they were expecting. His heart slammed into his chest, felt the panic rise again, at the way that she’d spoken the word.
He really hadn’t been thinking when he’d followed the liquid metal, only concerned about getting Cameron’s chip back. He hadn’t expected anything to go wrong. He should have realized that not all metal could be trusted. The dark blanket of unconsciousness closed in around his mind, and John welcomed it, embraced it as he gasped for breath that wasn’t coming.
Prompter: dhark_charlotte
Prompt: Firefly/TSCC // John's jump forward in time didn't turn out like he expected.
Rating: FR13
Betas: kaylashay81 and avamclean
Fandoms: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles / Firefly
Disclaimer: The characters of Terminator belong to Fox, James Cameron, etc. The characters of Firefly belong to Mutant Enemy, Inc., Universal Pictures, and 20th Century Fox. The ideas and concepts in this story are mine entirely. Please do not copy or take this story without my permission.
All fics by authors participating in this year's Wishlist challenge, can be found here: wishlist_fic
My Masterlist is here: Fic'ing to Christmas
He’d thought he knew what he was doing, following the liquid metal through time, his hand clutched tightly against the endoskeleton that was all that remained of Cameron. He thought tracking down Cameron’s chip, saving her, had been the right choice. But John, in those few irrationally thought out seconds, didn’t consider the possibility that something could go wrong, or that the liquid metal could screw him six ways to Judgment Day. He’d simply leapt, running on the emotional loss of Charlie and Derek. Losing Cameron had been too much to bear.
He’d knowingly jumped to the future to follow John Henry and Cameron’s chip. But it had gone wrong, so horribly wrong.
~*~
Lightning crackled around him, the dome barely stretched over his head, as he became aware of his surroundings. Just as soon as he noticed it, the lightning dispersed and he was left, alone, and naked, in what appeared to be a warehouse. He rose, rubbing his hands along his arms in an attempt to chase away the goose bumps that had arisen, and looked around.
The familiar sound of a gun cocking drew his attention up one of the metal staircases and to the agitated, grumpy looking man in a yellow shirt, with his gun trained dead between John’s eyes. And John wagered if the gun didn’t kill him, then the brute of a man holding it would finish the job.
“Mal!” the man called out, voice carrying through the building they were standing in.
John had no idea what he’d stumbled into, and blatant glances around didn’t produce any sign of Weaver. He frowned, jaw tightening in anger at her disappearance.
“How’d ya get here?” the man asked, carefully making his way down a few steps, the gun never wavering off John.
John took another glance around, trying to figure out where here was. He offered a shrug, fighting the urge to cover himself, not wanting to give the man another reason to want to shoot him.
Footsteps echoed through the building as others came at the call. His eyes drifted up to focus on a pretty brunette in cargo pants and a flowery shirt, and watched at her eyes widened almost comically as she took him in. He couldn’t help the blush that worked its way along his body, hands automatically moving forward to cover himself. Others appeared, all leaning over the railing and staring down at him.
“Mal, why is there a naked boy in our hold?” a male voice asked, drawing John’s attention to the blond man in a loud, Hawaiian shirt. Surely obnoxious Hawaiian shirts hadn’t survived in the future, and then John’s brain nudged him at the man’s words, particularly hold.
“Hold?” John repeated as he looked around the warehouse he was in, trying to figure out why it would be considered a cargo hold.
But the blond haired man didn’t get a chance to explain as he was joined by a black woman, long curls pulled back in a loose clasp against her neck, and a brown-haired man, who hand rested on the gun holstered to his hip. John looked them over, eyebrows rising at their choice of clothing, more like the old westerns he watched as a kid, and less in the military-style he envisioned those in the future would dress.
The brown-haired man stepped forward, sparing a glance at the gun-toting man, before he turned his attention back to John. “You want to explain what you’re doing on my ship?” he started and then added, a small smile appearing on his lips. “And where your clothes got to?”
“Ship?” John echoed, head swimming as he began to realize his jump to the future might now have gone exactly as planned.
“A’might touched in the head, Mal,” the man with the gun stated. “Ain’t right that we keep taking on fong luh passengers,” he added, his grip on the gun didn’t ease even though he clearly didn’t view John as a threat.
John swallowed hard around the knot of fear rising in his throat. “Where am I?”
Those watching him didn’t immediately respond, all turning their gaze on the brown-haired man that John assumed to be Mal. Finally, after he regarded John a few more moments, he spoke, “You’re aboard my ship, Serenity.” Slowly he made his way down the nearest staircase, and stopped on the landing, remaining above John, forcing him to look up at the man.
“You keep saying ship, but where? The Atlantic? The Pacific?” John asked, voice climbing higher as his questions went unanswered.
Mal’s eyebrows almost shot off his face at John’s questions and he cast a worried glance over his shoulder at the woman he’d appeared with. She offered him a silent shrug in reply. “Space.”
The reply was simple, but it weakened John’s knees, and shivers from the cold, and what he presumed was shock, started in his fingers and toes, working their way up his body. He took another look around the hold he was in, understanding pieces of it better now that he had an understanding for his surroundings. There was one question that remained. His stomach cramped, making him nauseous, as he realized he wasn’t going to like the answer. “What year is it?” he whispered the question, but in the quiet of ship he knew that Mal had heard him.
“2517.”
John’s knees buckled, his ass slammed down hard against the metal grating beneath him, and his breath left him with a whoosh. His chest suddenly felt too tight, his lungs not drawing in enough air, and darkness started crowding in around the edges of his vision.
He flinched, curling in tighter around himself, as something was tossed over his shoulders. Black combat boots appeared at his side, before the person crouched beside him and the hem of a blue flowing dress settled against the grated floor. Pale fingers reached past his face, grabbing the fabric and pulling the blanket around him. Long brown hair drew his attention up to meet the girl’s face. He hadn’t seen her before, when the others had appeared. She was pretty, if a little frail looking and he frowned when he realized she wasn’t Cameron.
“River,” someone called out, and the girl’s head came up, looking over his shoulder, and offering the newest voice a blinding smile.
“He’s lost,” she spoke and he shivered, fear sliding back into him at just how right she was.
“River, come here, we don’t know anything about him, or how he got here,” the voice urged, patiently speaking to her as one would a young child, or a scared animal.
She looked back down at him and he could read the pity in her eyes. “Time travel is difficult even under the best circumstances.”
His eyes widen in shock at her words, and a knowing smile brightened her face. “How?” he asked.
She pressed her finger to her lips and shook her head. Gracefully she rose to her feet, and he kept her in his vision.
“A naked guy appears in a burnt circle in the hold and her answer is time travel. She’s speaking crazy again,” the brutish man grumbled.
“Jayne,” Mal cut him off, the warning clear in his voice, and Jayne finally lowered his weapon.
“Time travel’s a might odd, even for you River,” Mal spoke to the girl as he came down off the landing and stopped a few steps away from them. His hand still rested on the butt of his gun in his holster, letting John know that he meant business. “Humor me though. Where’s he come from?”
River gazed back down at him for a moment, holding his gaze as she spoke, “Earth.”
He heard the others cry out in another language, but it was clear that Earth had not been the answer they were expecting. His heart slammed into his chest, felt the panic rise again, at the way that she’d spoken the word.
He really hadn’t been thinking when he’d followed the liquid metal, only concerned about getting Cameron’s chip back. He hadn’t expected anything to go wrong. He should have realized that not all metal could be trusted. The dark blanket of unconsciousness closed in around his mind, and John welcomed it, embraced it as he gasped for breath that wasn’t coming.