flighty_dreams

TITLE: Past and Present 1/2
AUTHOR:

flighty_dreams
CHARACTERS: Derek Reese, John Connor
RATING: PG-13 for some language
WORD COUNT: ~1750
WARNINGS: Spoilers for Season 1.
DISCLAIMER: Don't own 'em. Don't know who does.
TIMELINE: Set about two years before Derek time travels.
SUMMARY: A peek into Derek's mind.

My first foray into Sarah Connor fanfic. Fell in love with the show almost right away, and been reading all the fic I can find. And today this ficlet idea wouldn't let me go. I wrote it all at work today.

* * *

The night Derek turned 31, he drank enough to forget everything after his fourth beer.

But when he woke up the next morning, surrounded by his hungover friends, it was still there, staring him in the face, as red-eyed as any metal. He couldn’t run from it like he could a machine, darting through the trash and debris of a ruined world and hiding underground. This was something that could not be outrun, and it could not be avoided, no matter how much alcohol he consumed in vain attempts to forget.

Reality. Truth.

He’d now spent most of his life in this hell of a world.

And every year, as he fought more battles, lost more friends, and crossed another line he’d thought he’d never cross, the memories of his previous, peaceful life grew fainter and fainter. The fifteen year old boy who’d stopped playing catch and looked up at a sky full of missiles was someone else, a kid who’d died in that moment, reborn when his whole life shifted to one focus: protecting his little brother. Survival was his imperative; it was all that mattered.

Years had passed, and he thought himself as jaded as a man could possibly be, but this latest little event had shown him otherwise. Thirty-one now, and some part of him deep inside hurt to know that he’d spent most of his life not only fighting the machines, but fighting for whatever scraps he could find to keep the Reese brothers alive. And there was no end in sight, no victory over the machines within reach. All he had ahead of him were more long years of pain and struggle, more years like the past 16 hellish ones. And it surprised him that some little corner deep inside his soul had carried the hope that this wasn’t true, that one day he’d be able to give his brother a normal life again, or at the very least that by now there’d be some sign that humanity was winning, that his sacrifices and struggles weren’t in vain.

If Derek didn’t hate the machines so much, this dreary realization might’ve made him give up. Fine, he would never walk clean streets full of happy people again, and he and Kyle would never go out for ice cream again, or go see a movie at a theater again, or get to play craps or blackjack at one of those huge casinos they’d seen in movies as kids. But Derek Reese wasn’t a quitter, he was a fighter, and he wouldn’t let the damn metals take him down easy. He’d go down fighting, and so would Kyle, because even if the Reese brothers didn’t get dealt the cards they would’ve wanted, they’d sure fight for whatever they could hang onto.

Yes, hate kept Derek going, no matter what happened to him. Each metal he took out was a victory he could point to and say, “I did that.” The machines had ruined his life, so he was happy to end the existence of every metal he could find. It might’ve all belonged to a different person, but Derek did his best to remember everything from Before. Even as more time passed and it became harder to remember, he clung to whatever he could keep, using it to fuel his loathing for the machines.

Hate wasn’t what kept Kyle going though, which surprised Derek. Maybe it was because Kyle had been so young, and he couldn’t remember their lives Before very well. And maybe being unable to remember was a blessing; you couldn’t miss what you’d never had. Sometimes Derek envied him, for that and for clinging to that damn photo, claiming it as his good luck charm, his symbol of hope. Derek sometimes wished he could use something as simple and stupid as a photograph to keep him going, instead of hate and rage, but he didn’t resent his brother for being different.

It amazed him that Kyle could still be a dreamer, clutching the photo of a long dead woman as they scrambled from one battle to another, barely hanging on in the struggle for survival. And wanting to keep his kid brother optimistic, Derek shielded him as much as he could, preventing him from making the tough choices. Let Derek take all the guilt, so Kyle could have a better life. The hardships they faced were still there, and Kyle wasn’t naïve, but despite it all there was a still a piece of innocence to him that Derek would preserve at any cost—even if it meant committing murder or self-sacrifice.

Derek turned to look at his brother now, making sure Kyle was still where he’d last seen him, laying on the ground several paces away sleeping. They were deep inside the tunnels, about as safe as they ever got, but paranoia was too ingrained now. Derek mused that the drinks must’ve made him pass out early last night, because everyone else was still asleep. It was a rare quiet moment, and Derek had used it to think, something he seldom stopped to do. Life was too frantic most of the time; a night of drinking with friends for stuff like birthdays was about the only break they got.

Movement out of the corner of his eye drew his attention instantly, and he saw John Connor bring a hand up to his head and cringe as he groaned softly. Smirking, Derek watched the “savior of mankind” deal with waking up hungover.

Frowning in irritation as he noticed Derek’s attention—and amusement—Connor mumbled, “Like your head’s any better.”

There was a reason Derek hadn’t chuckled, just smirked. “True, it’s not,” he admitted, pitching his voice softly, “But I’ve felt worse.” That truth sobered him, reminding him of injuries he and Kyle had had in the past 16 years. As his thoughts turned inward, he watched John stumble onto his feet and step carefully over Kyle and Billy to reach Derek’s side.

“So how’s it feel to be 31?” Connor asked quietly, drawing Derek’s focus back onto him.

“Honestly?”

Connor nodded, his gaze sharp, missing nothing even with a hangover.

“Another year of hell, with no end in sight.” He’d meant to say it jokingly, but to his internal dismay, it came out weary instead.

There was an awkward pause then, the kind that uncomfortable truths always created. It lasted for several long moments as they both hesitated to speak.

“What do you miss most?” John asked, cutting straight to the real issue, seeing through him as always.

Derek considered his response carefully. There were so many possible answers, but what did he miss most of all? After a minute to ponder it, he had a reply.

“Being able to walk around, go to the park, the mall, the theater, and not having to fear anything, not being paranoid. I miss there being no machines, just people, going about their lives. Feeling safe.” He shifted restlessly, uncomfortable revealing so much to this man.

“Feeling safe,” Connor repeated, his expression thoughtful, as if it were a foreign concept to him. Remembering the man’s history, Derek realized it probably was.

Derek rubbed at the ache in his head, feeling self-conscious. “I think I just need a break.” He smiled wryly at John. “Not like it’ll happen, of course.” He paused before adding, “Constantly watching your back runs you down eventually. You lose your edge, bit by bit, if you don’t take a break.” He meant the words both for himself and for Connor, who he knew worked harder than any of them.

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” John acknowledged, his eyes dark and heavy. Derek didn’t envy him, literally carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. He turned back to look over at the rest of their friends, who were sleeping through his soft conversation with John Connor.

A hand on his arm brought his attention back to the man at his side. Derek frowned, confused as he noticed how intently Connor was studying him, an odd expression on the man’s face.

“Derek.” John said his name quietly, but there was a hard edge to his tone.

“Yeah?” he asked, his brows rising, but he was careful not to speak loud enough to wake the others.

Connor let his hand drop, releasing him. “I have something to tell you. Do you trust me?”

Even wondering what this was about, Derek only hesitated for a moment. “Yes.”

A light shone for a moment in John Connor’s eyes, and his mouth curved into a smile before straightening out again. In the hushed tone of a confession, he said, “You will feel safe again.”

“What?” Derek asked, startled.

“You will have to be patient. It will take time. But one day you will feel safe again.”

“John, I don’t see-”

“Shh. I know it doesn’t make any sense to you right now. But one day you’ll go to the park again, and see a movie, all those things you wanted to do.” There was an earnestness in his tone and face that made Connor seem younger suddenly.

Derek felt first confusion, and then anger. Why was Connor fucking with his head like this? What was the point of false hope? Derek lived in this screwed-up reality, not some dream world. Hate could get him through this, as it had all along. He wasn’t Kyle; he didn’t need some fairy tale to keep him going. Connor gave Kyle that stupid picture, and now he was feeding Derek this stupid lie. Did the man actually think it would work?

“Connor, what the hell are you-”

John cut off his rising voice with a finger against his mouth and a warning glance toward the others. Lowering his hand he said quietly to Derek, irritation in his voice now, “Didn’t you just say you trusted me?”

Derek scowled at him. “I do, but I don’t trust you not to bullshit me if you think it’ll make me feel better.”

Laughing softly, Connor said, “Okay, point taken.”

“I’m not Kyle,” Derek growled, still annoyed.

Connor’s expression shifted, becoming as serious as one of the metals. “I know,” he told him softly. “But I’m not bullshitting you. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

“You have a plan?” Derek asked with habitual suspicion.

“Don’t I always?” Connor replied, grinning wryly.

Exasperated, Derek rolled his eyes and then glared at him. He still didn’t really believe, but he was willing to let it go. “You better not be bullshitting me.”

“I’m not.” John’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Happy birthday.”

Part 2