Title: The Old man
Author: gega cai
Pairings: John Connor, OC
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Some language
Word Count: N/A
Summary: Some great men live on to see the world as they had hoped and worked hard to change. This is a story of John Connor 10 years after Skynet's defeat.
Disclaimer: Characters and other likely inventive scenarios based on the world created by James Cameron and William Wisher Jr.

Author's Note: This fic is, basically, a sequel or expansion to my fic Wish You Were Here. The OC terminator that is John's companion is an OC and was originally mentioned there. Fic is T1 and T2 compliant.

The Old Man
Part 1
by gega cai

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John Connor has survived his childhood, Judgment Day, the war against the machines, and the beginning of humanity's struggle to rebuild civilization.

Shortly after defeating Skynet, Connor went on a solitary mission to destroy all of Skynet's technology with the help of a terminator he reprogrammed shortly before the human resistance won the war. He and his terminator, Uncle Joe, make quick work of what is left of Skynet. After purposely choosing not to be involved with the rebuilding of civilization once humanity gained freedom from machines, John Connor has spent the last decade erasing the enemy and reflecting on all that he has seen and done with the bittersweet comfort of knowing he did what he was meant to do and will join his family soon.
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"Will you shut the hell up? He will spot us if you two keep making so much noise!" a young man cautioned to his companions in a raised whisper. The other two quietly snickered, but did as they were told as they positioned themselves to get a better view.

The three young men, probably approaching their twenties, were crouched along a large overturned freighter. It's large hull, somewhat eroded, was one of a few remaining beached watercrafts that littered the beaches from years of sporadic post-apocalyptic battles in the area. Its rusted and plasma blasted exterior almost seemed inviting against the biting cold wind from the ocean, which glittered in the setting sun. All was quiet except for the waves and the mumblings of young men in pursuit.

They watched intently across the beach. A breeze from the ocean came up hard and they squinted from the force of the cold wind. One turned away as he drew in his long coat around his face and slid his back down the side of the freighter's half-submerged hull in the sand. He sat with his knees drawn to his chin and whispered, "What do you think they're doing?"

"Shut up, Bugs," the apparent leader barked again. Another gust of wind cut through them and they all cursed at it as they slid to sit against the hull with Bugs. Before anyone could make another sound or movement in protest, the leader gestured with his hand to be still and he stuck a thumb over his shoulder to indicate behind them beyond the freighter. Again, they raised to their feet to look over the hull at a pier some distance ahead of them.

Again, they watched in silence but not for long. Something approached from afar as they each held their breath before gasping in amazement; one even allowing his jaw to drop at the site: Against the pink and orange evening sky, strode the rarest thing to walk the earth. There it was, right in front of them! The pier was very old and it creaked and crunched under the weight of the thing walking across it. The boys had trekked a very long distance to see it. Actually, to see it and him.

The terminator's large, dark figure strode steadily before stopping mid-way on the pier. It looks so...so human, one of the boys thought in amazement. It stood, feet apart, with its hands at its side. It wore dark boots with dark cargo pants tucked in. An old fitted long-sleeved thermal shirt that looked gray from age allowed the men to witness the beauty in its design. Tucked underneath its underarms rested two shoulder holsted guns. The sleeves of the shirt were rolled and neatly tucked at the elbow which exposed the machine's arms that were mostly metal peeking through scarred flesh with chunks of skin missing along the forearm. They could make out the remains of flesh-like tendons and muscles from the distance.

Like a predator, it slowly scanned the beach from one far end to the other where the young men ducked at the last minute.

After a moment, the boys looked out again. They watched in disbelief as it just stood there, watching. An actual terminator walking around had not been seen in several years. The new generation wouldn't know what to do if they saw one. They would recognize it, of course. Stories and dismembered relics of the machines were very popular. But, when the boys heard that John Connor and his terminator might be nearby, they quickly decided to see him with their own eyes. They had even decided to approach him. Brave and stupid is what their friends had called them as they left.

Suddenly, another figure started across the pier. The sun was nearly set and the figure was hard to make out. He was about a foot shorter than the machine and wore dark cargo pants and boots as well. He wore a faded military sweater. They could see he had some build, but he was older and leaner than his mechanical friend. The boys did not need to see the features of the face to see that it was, in fact, a man. It was the old man, alright. The boys each looked at each other in agreement before looking back at the great John Connor, once mankind's leader and savior. He casually walked past the terminator and knelt down to a crouch at the end of the pier over the water. He was looking out at the ocean. Probably watching the sun set, thought one of the boys. A simple pleasure at the cost of so many lives lost. With the sky turning dark blue, both Connor and his terminator left the pier and the boys to reflect on what they had seen.

"Should we try to talk to him?"

"We came this far, right?"

"Man, some people say he lost it. He could have his terminator set to kill if anyone gets too close."

"I think it's worth the risk to meet him."

Again, they all looked at each other in agreement.

-- -- -- -- --

As John entered a small house just off the beach, he removed his heavy sweater and tossed it on a dusty, sunken couch against a wall. He adjusted his undershirt as he checked his old over-sized wrist watch. He made it several years ago during the war. It had many features, including being solar powered and a tracking system for all his reprogrammed machines online. He switched it to power-save mode; the blinking liquid crystal symbol indicating the location of Joe faded as the watch went blank.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his eyes, a brief expression of fatigue. Not that he needed to express a lifetime of sleepless nights and long treks across a scorched Earth; the deep scars down his face and collection of wrinkles hinting at his often furrowed brow spoke for him. He had small, but visible wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. For a man that had seen so much and carried so much weight upon his birthright, he looked somewhat younger than he was. His hair, not yet receding, was still dark with peppered gray hair and streaks of gray at his temples, which he found amusing.

It had been sometime since John had been to this house. If it were a home, it was in need of dusting and plumbing. A large screenless television with its insides gutted out for spare parts was the focus point of the living room. Above the television, John had placed a large map of what was the United States. Several marked cities and drawn routes with little writings by John's hand were scrawled all over the map. There were also strings strung with pins that made spaced and cluttered shapes on the map. These were old Resistance bases or settlements. Most of them were new cities now.

John disappeared from the living room as he walked through the dining nook into the kitchen. The terminator entered the house, scanning for any anomalies as usual. It stepped forward so that it was behind a cushioned chair on the opposite wall of the television. John had made a desk of an old dining table left by the former inhabitants. The desk sat under the large living room window that viewed the coast. Random gadgets and appliances littered the floor around his desk. Only he (and the machine) could tell what was what among the piles of papers, pictures, computer parts and odds and ends. Returning from the kitchen with a bowl of food, John plopped down in the chair in a cloud of dust and rolled it back, avoiding the machine as if it were a piece of furniture, to his desk. The terminator spoke with a masculine, yet, soft digitized inflection as John looked out of the window into the darkness, "What should we do about them?"

John finished his bite before he responding, "Let them do what they want, Joe."

Joe looked down at John to read his body language to better evaluate his answer. John did not seem bothered by their presence. They did not seem to be a threat, especially since the machine found no weapons on them when it scanned them from a short distance. John sat back in the chair and absently handed the bowl to the terminator after finishing his meal.

The machine returned from the kitchen a short while later. John was already pouring over the pocketed notes he made from their extended journey away from the house. John might consider it a home, but the concept of home was never really in John's programing. He'd always been on the run. Nothing left there in the house was of any real importance and was expendable. Anything John valued had either been destroyed years ago or was backed up in his mind and in Joe's CPU.

He worked silently writing and reading his notes. Every few minutes, the floor creaked under the heavy weight of the terminator walking through the house to check the exits and rooms as it was expected to do. Finally, John interrupted: "Joe, sit down. You're making it difficult to concentrate when you walk around like that."

Without any hesitation with its order, the machine sat on the end of the couch nearest John in the darkness. It was just outside the glow of John's work light. It sat motionless and stared straight ahead as John worked. Movement outside the window allowed John to take a break from his work. He could make out the figures of the young men outside. Brave or stupid, John thought as he leaned back into the chair.

"I'd like go back to L.A., Joe," he announced without taking his eyes off the darkness outside.

Joe turned to look at John. John could see in the corner of his vision the red glow of its eyes turn to him in the darkness. It already knew what John had in mind and despite its better judgment based on the data, it complied, "Then we will prepare for your return."