Fic: Take Flight
Title:Take Flight
Author:EtherealFlaim
Genre:Slash (implied)
Rating:PG (language)
Fandom:Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Characters:John/Derek, originals
Summary:John finds himself losing his hold.
Author's Notes:John's initial reactions here reflect an internal dialog I had with myself not too long ago; thus the plot bunny. Written for the nascent slashdom over at scc_slash. Yes, I know this isn't my OTP, but it was begging to be written.
The corridor stretched endlessly in front of him. The silence and confinement was oppressive, and the dank wet air dampened any joy that he might be able to feel about the situation. As he walked, he found that his every sensation was echoed back in on him. A sharp pain in his back briefly occupied his entire brain, before being replaced by the echoing sound of his footsteps. As his mind dwelt on his soft footfalls, his thoughts wandered to the sensation of walking. He decided after a few steps that it felt more like his feet were holding onto the ground than anything else.
John laughed out loud. He could almost believe that maybe if he wanted to, his feet could let go of the ground in the tunnel, and he'd be free of the hold of gravity. He cracked a smile; the first that he could remember in many days. Just to occupy himself for a little longer, he decided that he might as well try. He focused on the feeling in his feet, and imagined as he was walking that his feet got bored of the ground and left it behind.
He took a few more steps, and then the smile fell from his face as he realized--falling immediately back to the stone floor--that he had just taken a few strides in thin air. He shook his head and resumed walking. He tried to tell himself that it was just a product of his overstressed and underrested imagination, but he couldn't.
"Fuck it." he said aloud. Two paces later, he threw his arms out and instead of putting one foot in front of the other tucked it alongside his other knee fully expecting to find himself facedown on the concrete. Instead, however, he felt himself gliding slowly along the coorridor, the toe of his left foot dragging lightly through the shallow pools of water.
John wasn't entirely sure what to think about this development, but he decided that he might as well enjoy it. He brought his hands back to his side and tried walking again, but instead of using the grimy floor of the tunnel he let his feet find purchase on the few inches of air above it. He smiled to himself. This wasn't so hard. He leaned forward and stopped walking, instead letting the air carry him along the tunnel far faster than he was even capable of running. As he got more and more confident, he leaned forward further and further until he was skimming along inches from the floor of the tunnel. When he reached the surface hatch--hours before he could have hoped to have reached it by foot--he effortlessly banked his flight and rocketed up through the open manhole into the crisp, night air. A few hundred feet above the desolate city from which he'd surfaced, he slowed his ascent and took pause to admire the view.
From up here, he could almost forget the terror, destruction, death, and fear that perpetually filled the waking hours of every surviving free human. It was too beautiful to keep to himself. He had to show Derek, who had been his only hold on reality and the only source of beauty in his life over the last eight years. He knew his mood was starting to wear on the younger man, knew that his arms didn't provide the same warm comfort that Derek had loved so much. He also knew that he was probably not even satisfying his lover's most primal needs.
Maybe, he thought, I can start to repay some of that by sharing this.
The idea of repaying Derek for even a tiny part of what he meant to John made the leader of the resistance float higher still with rare elation. With that thought, John made up his mind: Screw the machines and anyone who might see him, he was going to go visit Derek.
John looked upward, and with barely a thought rocketed into the night sky.
---
In less than a minute, John coasted to a halt a mile or so above the bunker that housed John and the rest of the survivors who weren't actively on assignment. He reoriented himself so that his feet were below him again and plummeted to earth, slipping quietly through the broken hatch that didn't really cover the back entrance to the bunker. He walked--on the right-hand wall this time--down the corridor toward the room which he and Derek had shared for the last two years when one or the other of them wasn't heading up a mission. When he got there, he stepped through the open doorway and allowed himself to "fall" toward the bed where Derek would be sleeping. He stopped and turned to face the bed with a smile and froze--
"Derek?" he asked the empty room, willing the scattered sheets to answer and tell him where his lover was. John let himself fall to the bed and buried his face in the pillow. He didn't know what to think, and wasn't about to let his mind follow all of the worst-case scenarios. John climbed out of the bed and sprinted out of the room. Looking in the rooms adjacent to Derek's, he found their occupants sleeping restlessly. His heart beating even faster, John raced even further down the corridor, weaving around turns and skidding to a stop at the blown-out wall that served as an entrance to the fighters' mess. He hopped inside and looked around. There were a handful of men with meals in various stages of consumption. Nobody was really talking, but that was pretty typical of the mess hall at night. What was not typical, however, was the fact that none of them had noticed John. Ever since he could remember, his feet could barely touch the ground inside the mess before the entire hall would be on its feet in silent acknowledgement of their champion.
John could almost feel the synapses in his brain firing as everything clicked into place. When his heart resumed beating, he turned around and stepped back through the shattered wall. John knew exactly where Derek would be. With that, John took a deep breath and took flight.
---
John flew around corners, down ramps, through small damp tunnels, and finally shot through another shattered wall into the tunnel he'd been walking down scant hours before. He was barely aware of the wind blowing his hair or the flashing of the few remaining flourescent lights as he sped down the corridor. In a few seconds, he sped around a corner and saw in the flickering light further down the tunnel a group of men, and from the clothes they were (or were not) wearing John knew they were his fighters. As he closed in on the pair of men, a third man came into focus sitting on the wet floor of the tunnel.
John knew before he came to a halt beside the men what he would find.
The two fighters were standing at the wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible in the flickering light, and making it very apparent that they knew they were never to speak of what they were witnessing. Derek was sitting on the floor, with tears rolling down his cheeks. Despite the tears, however, his voice was clear and sure.
"John, you bastard, get up. You get up right now. We can't afford this right now. You know how much we need you!"
John crouched next to Derek, and looked down at himself. His lifeless body was cradled in Derek's arms, a pool of read blood staining the front of his shirt and most of Derek. John felt the corner of his mouth turn up slightly when he realized what the sharp pain he'd felt in his back had been. He didn't know who shot him, but somehow he didn't care right now. What mattered right now was Derek.
John extended his hand, and wiped the tears from the fighter's face. He felt Derek's breath catch briefly in his throat at the touch.
"John?" Derek breathed.
John leaned closer to the man, his lips inches from Derek's ear.
"Derek, you can't sit here and grieve. The resistance must go on, and you're the only one who can keep it going right now. I know you've never wanted to lead, but neither did I. I've been grooming Pearson to take over for me, so when he's a little older you can hand things over to him, but right now you've got to stay strong."
"John..." Derek whispered, hanging his head and caressing the pale cheek beside his shoulder.
John lifted Derek's chin and leaned in to give him one final kiss.
"I love you Derek. Goodbye."
------
Derek felt the light, not-quite-warm-enough pressure on his lips recede, and felt rather than heard his lover profess his love for him. He allowed a single tear to slip down his cheek as the last of the life faded from the weight in his arms.
Derek stood, carrying John in front of him, and turned to the two men who had awoken him and brought him to the scene.
"Alvarez, go wake everyone. I want them all assembled in the mess before I get there. Go."
The shorter of the two men took off at a run.
"Pearson. You've always been at John's side. I don't intend to replace John, but there were things that he only confided to me. You will stand by my side just as you stood at his, and when I leave--and I will--you will take the reigns. John always thought you were too young, but in my eyes that's one of your strengths. You're already two years older than John was when he took charge of a fledgeling group of rebels. Everybody respects you, and you've lost more than most to this fight. But now, I have a task for you. Collect one or two people whom you trust. Confine every metal who is supposedly loyal to John, and question them. And when you cannot determine which one of them did this, I want you to destroy them. All of them."
Travis Pearson nodded. He understood all too well Derek's mistrust of the metals, and had seen the wound in John Connor's back. The single shot was far too well placed to have been shot by a human hand. He turned and set off at a jog toward the bunker. He knew it would be his responsibility to take over if something should happen to John Connor, but never expected that something actually would.
Derek was left standing in the hall alone. He looked down at the lifeess form in his arms, and bent to place a single kiss on the cooling forehead before he had to walk with the body and tell his fellow fighters that their beloved leader was dead.
"I love you too." Comments are like a box of chocolates! They're all good, but sometimes it's the darker ones that you like the best.
The corridor stretched endlessly in front of him. The silence and confinement was oppressive, and the dank wet air dampened any joy that he might be able to feel about the situation. As he walked, he found that his every sensation was echoed back in on him. A sharp pain in his back briefly occupied his entire brain, before being replaced by the echoing sound of his footsteps. As his mind dwelt on his soft footfalls, his thoughts wandered to the sensation of walking. He decided after a few steps that it felt more like his feet were holding onto the ground than anything else.
John laughed out loud. He could almost believe that maybe if he wanted to, his feet could let go of the ground in the tunnel, and he'd be free of the hold of gravity. He cracked a smile; the first that he could remember in many days. Just to occupy himself for a little longer, he decided that he might as well try. He focused on the feeling in his feet, and imagined as he was walking that his feet got bored of the ground and left it behind.
He took a few more steps, and then the smile fell from his face as he realized--falling immediately back to the stone floor--that he had just taken a few strides in thin air. He shook his head and resumed walking. He tried to tell himself that it was just a product of his overstressed and underrested imagination, but he couldn't.
"Fuck it." he said aloud. Two paces later, he threw his arms out and instead of putting one foot in front of the other tucked it alongside his other knee fully expecting to find himself facedown on the concrete. Instead, however, he felt himself gliding slowly along the coorridor, the toe of his left foot dragging lightly through the shallow pools of water.
John wasn't entirely sure what to think about this development, but he decided that he might as well enjoy it. He brought his hands back to his side and tried walking again, but instead of using the grimy floor of the tunnel he let his feet find purchase on the few inches of air above it. He smiled to himself. This wasn't so hard. He leaned forward and stopped walking, instead letting the air carry him along the tunnel far faster than he was even capable of running. As he got more and more confident, he leaned forward further and further until he was skimming along inches from the floor of the tunnel. When he reached the surface hatch--hours before he could have hoped to have reached it by foot--he effortlessly banked his flight and rocketed up through the open manhole into the crisp, night air. A few hundred feet above the desolate city from which he'd surfaced, he slowed his ascent and took pause to admire the view.
From up here, he could almost forget the terror, destruction, death, and fear that perpetually filled the waking hours of every surviving free human. It was too beautiful to keep to himself. He had to show Derek, who had been his only hold on reality and the only source of beauty in his life over the last eight years. He knew his mood was starting to wear on the younger man, knew that his arms didn't provide the same warm comfort that Derek had loved so much. He also knew that he was probably not even satisfying his lover's most primal needs.
Maybe, he thought, I can start to repay some of that by sharing this.
The idea of repaying Derek for even a tiny part of what he meant to John made the leader of the resistance float higher still with rare elation. With that thought, John made up his mind: Screw the machines and anyone who might see him, he was going to go visit Derek.
John looked upward, and with barely a thought rocketed into the night sky.
---
In less than a minute, John coasted to a halt a mile or so above the bunker that housed John and the rest of the survivors who weren't actively on assignment. He reoriented himself so that his feet were below him again and plummeted to earth, slipping quietly through the broken hatch that didn't really cover the back entrance to the bunker. He walked--on the right-hand wall this time--down the corridor toward the room which he and Derek had shared for the last two years when one or the other of them wasn't heading up a mission. When he got there, he stepped through the open doorway and allowed himself to "fall" toward the bed where Derek would be sleeping. He stopped and turned to face the bed with a smile and froze--
"Derek?" he asked the empty room, willing the scattered sheets to answer and tell him where his lover was. John let himself fall to the bed and buried his face in the pillow. He didn't know what to think, and wasn't about to let his mind follow all of the worst-case scenarios. John climbed out of the bed and sprinted out of the room. Looking in the rooms adjacent to Derek's, he found their occupants sleeping restlessly. His heart beating even faster, John raced even further down the corridor, weaving around turns and skidding to a stop at the blown-out wall that served as an entrance to the fighters' mess. He hopped inside and looked around. There were a handful of men with meals in various stages of consumption. Nobody was really talking, but that was pretty typical of the mess hall at night. What was not typical, however, was the fact that none of them had noticed John. Ever since he could remember, his feet could barely touch the ground inside the mess before the entire hall would be on its feet in silent acknowledgement of their champion.
John could almost feel the synapses in his brain firing as everything clicked into place. When his heart resumed beating, he turned around and stepped back through the shattered wall. John knew exactly where Derek would be. With that, John took a deep breath and took flight.
---
John flew around corners, down ramps, through small damp tunnels, and finally shot through another shattered wall into the tunnel he'd been walking down scant hours before. He was barely aware of the wind blowing his hair or the flashing of the few remaining flourescent lights as he sped down the corridor. In a few seconds, he sped around a corner and saw in the flickering light further down the tunnel a group of men, and from the clothes they were (or were not) wearing John knew they were his fighters. As he closed in on the pair of men, a third man came into focus sitting on the wet floor of the tunnel.
John knew before he came to a halt beside the men what he would find.
The two fighters were standing at the wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible in the flickering light, and making it very apparent that they knew they were never to speak of what they were witnessing. Derek was sitting on the floor, with tears rolling down his cheeks. Despite the tears, however, his voice was clear and sure.
"John, you bastard, get up. You get up right now. We can't afford this right now. You know how much we need you!"
John crouched next to Derek, and looked down at himself. His lifeless body was cradled in Derek's arms, a pool of read blood staining the front of his shirt and most of Derek. John felt the corner of his mouth turn up slightly when he realized what the sharp pain he'd felt in his back had been. He didn't know who shot him, but somehow he didn't care right now. What mattered right now was Derek.
John extended his hand, and wiped the tears from the fighter's face. He felt Derek's breath catch briefly in his throat at the touch.
"John?" Derek breathed.
John leaned closer to the man, his lips inches from Derek's ear.
"Derek, you can't sit here and grieve. The resistance must go on, and you're the only one who can keep it going right now. I know you've never wanted to lead, but neither did I. I've been grooming Pearson to take over for me, so when he's a little older you can hand things over to him, but right now you've got to stay strong."
"John..." Derek whispered, hanging his head and caressing the pale cheek beside his shoulder.
John lifted Derek's chin and leaned in to give him one final kiss.
"I love you Derek. Goodbye."
------
Derek felt the light, not-quite-warm-enough pressure on his lips recede, and felt rather than heard his lover profess his love for him. He allowed a single tear to slip down his cheek as the last of the life faded from the weight in his arms.
Derek stood, carrying John in front of him, and turned to the two men who had awoken him and brought him to the scene.
"Alvarez, go wake everyone. I want them all assembled in the mess before I get there. Go."
The shorter of the two men took off at a run.
"Pearson. You've always been at John's side. I don't intend to replace John, but there were things that he only confided to me. You will stand by my side just as you stood at his, and when I leave--and I will--you will take the reigns. John always thought you were too young, but in my eyes that's one of your strengths. You're already two years older than John was when he took charge of a fledgeling group of rebels. Everybody respects you, and you've lost more than most to this fight. But now, I have a task for you. Collect one or two people whom you trust. Confine every metal who is supposedly loyal to John, and question them. And when you cannot determine which one of them did this, I want you to destroy them. All of them."
Travis Pearson nodded. He understood all too well Derek's mistrust of the metals, and had seen the wound in John Connor's back. The single shot was far too well placed to have been shot by a human hand. He turned and set off at a jog toward the bunker. He knew it would be his responsibility to take over if something should happen to John Connor, but never expected that something actually would.
Derek was left standing in the hall alone. He looked down at the lifeess form in his arms, and bent to place a single kiss on the cooling forehead before he had to walk with the body and tell his fellow fighters that their beloved leader was dead.
"I love you too." Comments are like a box of chocolates! They're all good, but sometimes it's the darker ones that you like the best.