Wayward Son / Sarah Connor Chronicles – No One is Ever Safe

by devra and JoaG

Daniel stared at the bowl of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and swallowed. He hated the feeling of being hungry and nauseated at the same time. Still, he sat and picked up his fork and gingerly speared a tine into the hollow of a piece of cheese-laden elbow macaroni.

He chewed slowly, swallowed, and when nothing happened, followed the single piece with a small forkful. He was keenly aware of both father and grandmother watching him and when he swallowed, he prayed that he wouldn't embarrass himself further by having to make another run for the bathroom.

Their silence was unnerving. His grandmother took a seat opposite him, sipping a cup of tea while his dad picked up the pot and ate the leftover mac 'n' cheese. Daniel kept his gaze on his food, wishing they'd leave the room and let him eat in peace.

But it seemed his dad was right. By the time he'd eaten a bit more, his stomach was starting to settle.

"Did you hear from John?" Daniel glanced at his grandmother, still trying to figure out how angry she was. She hadn't spoken a word yet.

"Why? Should I have?" his father asked.

"I was wondering how he was feeling." He stirred his fork through the pasta and tried to spear a piece of macaroni on each tine.

"I'm guessing he's feeling about the same as you." His dad put the pot under the faucet and ran water into it.

"I'll stop by when I get home and see how he's doing." His grandmother's voice was gentle. "I'll let you know."

Daniel glanced at his dad, and he nodded. Okay, so he was permitted to talk to his grandma. It was just his friends who were off limits.

"And if you ever, ever scare me like that again, Daniel Jackson O'Neill," his grandmother said in that same, soft voice, "I swear I'll up and move the hell out of town. I'm too old to be put through that kind of stress."

"Grandma—"

"No. You said your sorries last night. I just want us to be clear about this so we don't have to talk about it again. Now," she said as she stood up, "it's time I get my old bones home. Driving around all night with your heart in your mouth takes a toll on a body."

His appetite gone, Daniel pushed aside his half-eaten bowl of mac 'n' cheese and sat there crying. His grandmother kissed his father's cheek, and then walked past Daniel without even a glance in his direction. It hurt, her anger and disappointment, more than he ever thought it would.

When the front door shut closed, with tears still streaming down his face, he stood and dumped his fast congealing meal into the garbage. He rinsed the bowl and fork, put them into the dishwasher and walked past his dad.

But his dad took hold of his arm as he passed by. "She'll get over it."

"But I won't," Daniel said morosely.

"Then maybe a lesson was learned today." Letting go of his arm, his dad walked out of the kitchen, leaving him standing there.

He heard the faint chirp of his cell phone. He followed it to his discarded jacket in the closet, grabbed his phone from the pocket and turned it off without even checking who was calling or how many calls he'd missed. He tossed the phone onto the kitchen table, so his dad could see he wasn't breaking his rules.

Standing at the kitchen window, he stared outside. Listlessly watching a bird meander across the lawn in search of bugs, Daniel wrapped himself up in self-pity. Sometime later the house phone rang. He stayed there, not moving, listening to his dad run up the stairs to answer the phone.

A moment later, his dad walked into the kitchen and handed him the wireless. Daniel looked at the phone in his dad's hand before reaching for it.

"Hello," he said tentatively.

"Hey, man. You okay?" John's voice sounded almost cheerful.

"I'm fine. You?" He glanced at his dad, who was rummaging through a cabinet for something.

"I'm okay. Hey, get this. My mom painted the kitchen while I was sleeping."

"So, the memories..."

"Still there, but at least I can walk into the room without seeing... You know?"

"Yeah. That's great." His dad took out a bag of cookies from the cabinet and opened it.

"Hey, you sound a little off."

"I'm grounded."

"Ah, shit. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. I deserve it." He kept his gaze on his dad's back, expecting a look from him, but it was as if he wasn't even in the room.

"No, I mean it. If I hadn't called you yesterday—"

"If you hadn't called me, you might have done something stupid, like continued drinking by yourself and passed out in Donovan's park where you could have gotten mugged. Or worse." This time there was a twitch in his dad's shoulders, which he tried to cover by reaching into the cookie bag.

"Well, still, you wouldn't be grounded if not for me."

"It's not the first time. I'll survive." There was an awkward silence. "What about you?"

"I'm not grounded."

"Lucky." His dad cleared his throat, and Daniel knew he'd only been allowed this call because he'd been worried about John. "Look, I gotta go. I'll see you tomorrow, at school."

"Yeah, man. I..."

"It's fine. See you tomorrow." Daniel cut the call before his envy at Sarah's leniency made him bitter towards his friend.

"So, he okay?" His father held out a cookie as Daniel put the phone down next to his cell.

"Yeah. His mom didn't ground him." He shook his head petulantly, not wanting the cookie, especially a chocolate chip one. He still had memories of those going down with a mouthful of whiskey. He probably would never be able to look at another chocolate chip cookie for his entire lifetime.

"What did she say about the tattoo?"

"I don't know. He didn't mention it."

His dad took a bite of cookie and chewed. "Kid got off too easy, if you ask me." Reaching up, his dad pushed a lock of damp hair that had fallen into Daniel's eyes behind his ear. "Still, I guess he's got enough issues at the moment to worry about."

"Dad, this morning, you told John's mom about Liz—"

"Yeah?"

"Mrs. Baum had been locked up in a mental hospital for three years. I don't think that's going to go over real well."

"Ah, crap." His father grimaced. "That's right. I do have a talent for sticking my foot in my mouth." He stared at his cookie a moment for popping the rest of it into his mouth.

"No comment."

"Smart ass."

Daniel ducked as his dad tried to tousle his hair and he dodged out of reach. Slightly off balance, his arm smacked against the edge of the doorjamb and he stopped, the sudden sharp pain a reminder of another part of last night's foolishness. "Ow." He rotated his arm, checking out the reddened skin.

"So, do I need to bring you in for a tetanus shot?"

"What?" His dad was staring at his tattoo. "No. We went to Sue. You know, Jason's sister?" He fingered the stud in his ear. "She's good."

"Still. I want Fraiser to take a look at that."

"Yes, sir," Daniel replied glumly. He glanced at the clock, realizing it was going to be a long, boring evening. "If it's okay with you, I'm going to pull up my homework assignments and get started."

"Go right ahead."

Daniel walked into his bedroom, and walked out again a second later. "My books. They're in the garage."

"Garage?"

"Yesterday. I came home, dumped my stuff and went out looking for John on my bike." That wasn't exactly the order of things, but for now it would be enough.

His father's expression changed a few times until he nodded. "Go."

________________________________________

Lungs straining, legs burning, John ran down the endless hallway, the sound of the terminator's slow footsteps echoing directly behind him, rhythmic, purposeful, keeping up with him no matter how fast he ran. He turned into the kitchen, ran for the door, and to his horror, found that it was locked and barricaded, the chains holding it closed rattling loudly as he shook the handle.

He could see him mom and uncle outside, arguing over who was going to cook the steaks. He pounded on the door, but they didn't hear him over the sound of thunder. He ran for the nearest weapon, a gun, hidden in a kitchen cabinet behind a box of rice, and grabbed it.

The assassin's shadow grew longer, larger, closer as the footsteps got louder. With an assurance he knew wasn't normal, John took a deep breath from lungs no longer winded, took a shooter's stance with legs that felt as strong as iron, and waited until the growing shadow took form.

Lightning flared, blinding him. He squinted and fired, knowing his aim was true. The retorts were loud over the continuous rumble of thunder. Still, he heard metal strike metal and knew he hadn't missed.

The thunder rumbled, low and angry, his vision cleared and he saw the terminator had fallen behind the kitchen table. He ejected the magazine, slapped a fresh one in, and backed up, keeping the gun aimed at the robot. Circling round the table, he was ready to shoot it to prevent it from getting up, when something next to it caught his eye. For a moment he thought it was a shadow, until he realized it was a quickly growing pool of blood.

In horror, he took the final step, and saw what he'd shot down.

Cameron. Who was staring up at him, her face contorted in pain as her mouth worked soundlessly, blood trickling from her lips. She reached out, coughing, and caught his ankle with a blood-streaked hand. She coughed, gasped, and went still, her head falling sideways lifelessly as her hand continued to grip him mercilessly.

John screamed. He tried to get away from the person he'd just murdered, from the look of accusations Cameron had given him, from the feel of the gun in his hand. But something was holding him, trapping him, his legs caught in the dead woman's grip. Kicking and yelling, he finally managed to free himself, only to fall backwards into open space.

The jar of the fall stunned him and he lay there, unable to move. Lightning flared again, blinding him and he cried out again.

"John." Hands grabbed him and he fought back, until his mother's voice penetrated his confusion. "John. Stop it. Wake up."

"Mom." The blinding brightness was gone, dimmed to three regular 60-watt bulbs hanging from a ceiling fan. He was on the floor in his bedroom, his legs tangled with his sheets, one leg still trapped and raised in the air alongside his mattress.

"Wow, and I thought I had nightmares." Derek reached for the sheet, twisted it slightly and suddenly John's foot was free.

"Are you hurt?" Cameron leaned over his mom's shoulder.

"Me? No. You? Are you all right?" John tried to scramble onto his knees, ignoring the ache of his bruised body.

"I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be? I'm not the one who fell out of bed."

"I shot you. You were dead. I shot..." John looked around, Derek's words finally registering. "I was dreaming."

"Nightmare, more like." His mom touched his cheek. "No fever."

"I'm not sick." Irritably, he pulled away from her touch. The emotions from the nightmare were still with him; fear for his life, horror at what he'd done to Cameron and on top of that, the guilt he'd felt for killing Frank Morrison was quickly overshadowing everything once again. Using the bed, he pulled himself up and limped away from the watching trio. His hip and thigh were sore but after a few steps, most of the pain eased off. He wished he could brush off his feelings just as easily.

He'd been heading towards the kitchen for some water but suddenly he didn't want to see the place where he'd killed a man. Despite its coat of paint, nothing else had changed. A man had lain there, dead, from his hand.

Deciding to get water from the bathroom, he twirled on the spot and nearly walked into the following trio. "Excuse me." He sidestepped them all and continued to the bathroom.

Five minutes later, bladder emptied, stomach sloshing and his face still damp with splashed-on water, John returned to his bedroom. His mom was sitting on his bed, waiting for him. He gave her a quick, forced smile and sat down beside her.

"Want to talk about it?"

"It was just a bad dream."

"This was more than just a dream." Her hand on his back felt like a claw from the grave and he shuddered. "Get under the blankets. You're cold."

He obeyed, although his instincts were telling him to grab his pillow and blankets and curl up underneath the bedroom window. He tolerated her touch as she pushed strands of hair away from his eyes, a gesture that used to give him comfort now seemed cloying. Suffocating. He wanted her to leave him alone but the moment she lowered her hand, he missed her touch. Suddenly he wanted to be in her arms, to be rocked and hugged, to be told everything was going to be all right and that she'd take away all the boogiemen and robots and hold them at bay until he grew up. He wanted to be that little boy again, the one who knew he had an important future but also knew it was far, far away.

He so didn't want to grow up.

When his mom got up and turned the light off, John forced himself to stay in his bed. Every time he shut his eyes, he saw either Cameron's bloody, pain-filled face or that of Frank Morrison. He found himself clutching his blankets, his fists curled so tightly around the material that his fingers were starting to cramp. Forcing himself to unclench his hands, he tried to relax. Instead of counting sheep, he began taking apart all the guns in their arsenal, picturing each piece, each step, and then putting them back together in his mind.

The tedium of the exercise began to lull him towards sleep, and he felt himself drifting, until he jerked awake, the memory of seeing the blood seeping out of the Morrison's body chasing all thoughts of sleep away. God help him, but he wanted the oblivion he'd had on Daniel's roof and he wanted it badly.

He turned restlessly. Cameron's footsteps, which were usually a comforting constant during the night, came towards his door. "Go away." The footsteps paused, then continued forward. He saw Cameron's shadow as she opened the half-closed door all the way and stepped inside. "I'm trying to sleep."

"You're restless. Are you having another bad dream?"

"No." He turned onto his stomach.

"People have bad dreams because they're upset. Why did killing Frank Morrison upset you?"

"It didn't," John said, his words muffled by his pillow.

"You're lying."

"I'm not lying."

"You've killed other people before. In the future." Cameron sat exactly where his mom had sat an hour ago. "You always tried to hide it, but it always upset you."

"I killed people? Aren't we at war with machines?"

"The machines sometimes use humans. To betray the other humans; they are referred to as 'greys'."

"Greys? I don't think I want to hear about it."

"One of your men had been captured and brainwashed by the machines. When you found out, you wouldn't let anyone else kill him. You did it yourself. Then you went and got drunk."

John snorted. "Some leader, huh?" He peered at her with one eye as she canted her head sideways at him. "Obviously I don't change much in the future."

"Daniel always said that was why you were such a good leader. Because you cared." She stood up and walked out, the only sounds this time were the few squeaks of floorboards beneath her weight.

The rest of the night he spent either tossing or turning or staring out the window. When his mom got up, he was already sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee.

"You don't look like you got much more sleep last night." She poured herself a cup of coffee and grimaced when she took a sip. "Who made this?"

"I did." Cameron glanced at John before turning her attention to his mom. "John didn't sleep last night after his bad dream."

"Is that true?" His mom pinned him with a worried stare.

"I slept—"

"John..."

"Okay, I didn't get much sleep." He drained the cup and reached for his backpack. "I'll sleep tonight."

"No, you'll sleep today."

"Mom, I spent half of yesterday sleeping. Do you think maybe I just screwed up my sleep cycle?" He slung his backpack over his shoulder.

"I think you screwed up your brain," Derek commented as he walked into the kitchen and grabbed a mug from the cabinet. "You stole two bottles from my room. Does alcohol poisoning mean anything to you?"

"I'll pay you for what I took—"

"It's not about the money. But you need to think about what you did yesterday."

"Yeah. Of course I do," John mumbled.

"John, you can't keep going like this. You're staying home today and resting. You," she snapped, pointing to Cameron, "you're going to school and telling everyone John's sick."

"I'm not sick."

"You will be if you keep this up. You need to sleep—"

"If I couldn't sleep last night, what makes you think I'm going to sleep now? That daylight is going to make it better? That painting the kitchen is going to make me forget that someone died right over there because of me?" He pointed to the exact spot his mother was standing on.

"No, of course you're not going to forget." His mom walked to the table and put the cup down, leaning both hands on the table to stare at him over it. "Just like I'm not going to forget the terror you put me through, disappearing like that. Do you have any idea what kept going through my mind? Do you have any idea what I kept picturing in my head? I've seen what those things can do." She glared at Cameron for a second, who was retrieving her school bag by the door, before turning back to John. "Do you have any idea how scared I was? How worried I was?"

He'd expected this lecture from his mother yesterday. He knew he deserved it but he truly wasn't in the mood to hear this right now. Maybe if he'd had more sleep, if he wasn't so on edge, the words wouldn't have blurted out of his mouth without thought. "Were you so worried about me because I'm your son? Or because you're the mother of the future Messiah and you thought you failed?"

Her face turned from anger, to bewilderment. "John, how can you even ask that?"

"I don't know, Mom." The anger was gone; all that was left was weariness. He let the backpack fall to the floor and leaned tiredly against the wall.

"When you disappeared, all I could picture was you lying in a pool of blood somewhere." His mom lowered her voice, her words barely a whisper. "That man you killed, in my mind, he wore your face."

"I didn't mean to worry you."

"But you did. You're still worrying me." She moved away from the table and came to stand directly in front of him. "Would a sleeping pill help?"

"I doubt it."

"Physical activity is known to tire a human body." Cameron walked to the edge of the kitchen's entrance. "Maybe you can tire yourself out." She walked out of the room and a moment later, the front door snicked shut behind her.

"The machine's got a point." Derek ran a hand through his hair. "We could go for a run—"

"John's not going anywhere except to bed."

"Mom. I don't want to go to bed." The last five hours had been hell and the last thing he wanted was another repeat in daylight.

"Then... we can do some work in the yard. Weeding. Raking. Flowers to be planted."

"We're not going to be here long enough to bother—" Derek went quiet with one look from his mom.

"What do you say? Maybe Rose can give us some pointers as to what grows well around here."

________________________________________

The last thing John had expected to be doing today was gardening, but several hours later, with back, legs, shoulders and arm muscles burning let alone the blisters on his hands, he was very proud of their accomplishments. Several small ornamental trees, several trunkfuls of plants and a few hanging baskets now decorated their back yard. His main accomplishment, though, was the simple underground watering system they'd installed. Using the plans Sam had designed for Rose's yard, it hadn't taken him long to adapt it to theirs.

He grinned as Cameron walked up the walk, her head swiveling around to look at the profusion of flowers surrounding the house.

"You like?"

"It's... colorful." She turned her gaze on John. "Unlike you."

John stared at his dirt-encrusted clothes and muddy hands. "I need a shower."

"We all do." Derek slapped John's back as he went up the stairs. "And I get first dibs."

"How was school?" His mom, just as dirt-encrusted as John, came out of the house just as Derek was going in. She'd washed her hands; her skin was white and clean right up to her wrists. The rest of her arms were dirty. She was carrying two bottles of Snapple and she handed one bottle of the iced tea to John.

"John's friends asked about him. Daniel was concerned and asked me to tell you he's sorry he missed you today," Cameron said as she followed Derek inside.

"I'll see him tomorrow." John saluted Cameron's back with the Snapple as the door closed on her.

"She got something against nature?" His mom sat on the back steps and John joined her there. "I just ordered pizza. We've got just enough time to shower before we eat."

John took a deep guzzle of his drink as he stretched his legs in front of him, then leaned forward, trying to work out the kinks in his back.

________________________________________

John was pacing the hallway in front of the bathroom. Twenty minutes to brush one's teeth was infuriating as hell, but double that and John had to pull himself up short and throw himself at the door, demanding his uncle hurry.

He was dirty and grungy, his muscles were screaming but it was the need to pee that was pushing him over the edge. "Pleasepleaseplease," he prayed, hugging his two towels and clothes to his chest. His mother was using her bathroom and he was one step from going outside and watering one of the new plants when the bathroom door opened and Derek, followed by a cloud of steam, entered the hallway.

"It's all yours, kid."

"Did you leave me any hot water?"

"I don't know, John," Derek's wink took the sting out of his words. "Did you leave me any whiskey?"

________________________________________

Screw the pizza. Standing under the stream of water was better than pepperoni on anything. He stretched and raised his arms over his head, moaning at how wonderful the warm water hitting his aching muscles actually felt. Eventually, the house's elderly hot water tank gave up the ghost and John had no choice but to admit defeat and get out of the shower.

________________________________________

John sniffed the air over the pizza boxes appreciatively before dropping into his seat at the kitchen table.

"Took you long enough," Derek groused good-naturedly, flipping over the lid of the top box.

"Pepperoni, please." John shoved his plate under Derek's nose. "Age before beauty, buddy."

"If you give me the first slice of pizza, Derek, you better be sleeping with your eyes open tonight."

"Definitely never crossed my mind," Derek said with a smile towards John's mom as he placed the first slice onto John's plate.

John served his mother and was just taking a slice for himself when Cameron, who'd been a silent observer at the table, leaned over and skimmed her hand from his cheek to his neck. He jumped and the pizza slid off his plate back into the box.

"Ah, damn, must the metal do that at the kitchen table?"

"John's flushed." Cameron looked around, trying to gauge why no one appeared concerned.

"Sun will do that to a person," his mother said with a smile. "Even Derek."

Derek touched his cheek. "Been a long time since I've been out in the—"

"Sunburn," Cameron observed, cutting off Derek's sentence. "Thank you for explaining."

John just took a slice and devoured it, reaching for seconds before Derek or his mother finished their first. With the second slice, he picked the pepperoni off, made a pile of them, then popped them one by one into his mouth.

"Table manners?"

"Sorry." John yawned, smacking his lips. Halfway through his second slice he could feel himself losing focus. He rested his elbow on the table, the cup of his hand supporting the chin of his heavy head. He chose to ignore the heat of Cameron's gaze and focused on the lack of conversation between his mother and Derek. The two of them never made small talk with each other. They weren't rude... Okay, at times they were, but the true art of conversation between them was dead. John closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence.

"Nice tat, John." There was the barest hint of humor in Derek's statement.

Suddenly John shifted position and sat up straight, struggling to pull down his sleeve to cover the base of the ankh.

"Ankh," Cameron said, forcibly struggling with John to expose the entire tattoo. "Egyptian symbol of life. Immortality. The hieroglyph was—"

"I know what it means." Angrily, John slid the chair away from her probing hands and crossed his arms, hiding the mark.

"Were you drunk?"

John nodded. "When we got—"

"We?" His mother's eyebrows shot heavenward.

"Daniel," John mumbled, pulling the now cold cheese of his slice.

Derek hid his smile behind another slice of pizza.

"What's so funny?" his mom growled, thankfully shifting her attention away from him and onto his uncle.

"Come on. Pick your battles," Derek commented, waving his triangle of pizza at his mother. "He's going to eventually get quite an assortment of tattoos."

"I will?" John picked up his shirtsleeve and looked at the ankh with a smile.

Cameron studied him. "You don't have an ankh, though."

"Yeah, I do, see?" He gently prodded the still reddened area around the tat.

"In the future, you never had an ankh tattooed anywhere on your body."

John choked. No way did he want clarification of how Cameron knew the ankh tattoo wasn't imprinted anywhere on his body. "See, I've changed history just by getting this tattoo. Damn, that was easy."

"I'm glad you thought so," his mother rose, collecting their dirty dishes. "You're on dryer duty."

"But we have a dishwasher," John whined.

"I know, but I have you."

________________________________________

His mom washed the dishes. John dried, exhausted, swaying in time with every swipe of the towel across the wet dish, glaring in hatred at the silent Maytag dishwasher.

"Okay, stop." She turned off the water, dried her hands on her pants, simultaneously plucked the towel and the plate from his hands and placed both on the counter. "You're an accident waiting to happen. Go to bed."

John sidestepped his mother and gazed out the window. "Still light outside."

"So?" She guided him towards the staircase. "I promise you, just close your eyes and it'll be dark."

He struggling against her push for all of ten seconds then gave in and used the banister to haul his body up the stairs, hesitating once when he glanced over his shoulder. "Mom, I'm fine, you don't need to trail me."

"Mother's prerogative," she answered with a smug smile. "Sorta like making you dry."

"Fine." He was thoroughly annoyed. Pissed. And while he would never admit it, exhausted to his very core, hurting in places, in muscles that he was pretty damn sure had never even existed until today.

________________________________________

After making a pit stop at the bathroom, John literally crawled into bed, toeing off his sneakers once he was under the covers. Even without closing his eyes, the room was pitch black, his mother had already closed the blinds and the curtains, but his bedside clock betrayed the imagery. "Just a nap."

"Just a nap," his mother repeated, pulling the blanket up around his shoulder. "Close your eyes."

John yawned. "Wake me... In an hour. To test the sprinklers."

"An hour."

It occurred to him just as he was drifting off that not once since he'd been in the house, had his thoughts been about Frank Morrison.

________________________________________

Incrementally, John fell asleep, and Sarah stood and watched, waiting until his left hand grasped the blanket and tucked it under his chin. Sixteen years, give or take a few missed ones, the hand tucked under the chin was always the sign John was down for the count. She unplugged his alarm clock, kissed his cheek and smoothed back his too-long bangs. "Sleep well," she whispered, leaving the door to his bedroom open a crack. Just in case. Admittedly, for her sake as well as his.

________________________________________

The sense of pride Sarah felt in the transformed backyard made her feel very uncomfortable. Gardens and flowers with in-ground sprinklers were for the other woman in line at the grocery store, not her. Never her.

"My mother used to have a garden." Derek stood up, wiping his hands on his pants, leaving a mixture of grease and dirt in their wake.

"Mine, too."

"Sarah Connor," Derek said with a tsk, his eyes holding more than a glint of amusement. "Newly painted kitchen. Garden with flowers. Damn, woman, you don't seem the type."

Her return gaze was critical, territorial. "For John."

"And maybe," Derek verbally prodded. "A little for you?"

She glared long and hard, mentally denying his words. "John needed this," Sarah replied stubbornly.

"I'm not denying he needed the change. The refocus..." Infuriating her even further, Derek held up his hand, putting a halt to her objections. "Give me a second."

Feigning disinterest, Sarah watched him walk to where he'd been working when she'd first entered the backyard. "Oh." With a soft hiss and a gentle breath of air pressure, the sprinkler heads - strategically scattered and based on John's calculations - rose with a precision that would make any orchestra conductor proud, working in unison, covering the back yard. She wasn't quick enough to hide her smile.

"It's okay to smile over the little things, Sarah."

"I'm going to check on John," she said abruptly, glaring when Derek grabbed her arm.

"Maybe all this time, I've been wrong. That to stop Skynet from happening, we have to change John. The battle he needs to fight needs to be his battle. Not yours. Not mine. And not his father's. Maybe in the beginning, John needs to save a piece of himself. This house. This garden. Rose. Daniel. Me. You. You have to be vested in humanity, Sarah, to desire to save it."

________________________________________

John never sprawled. Ever. He always tucked into himself, taking the least amount of space possible. Tonight was no different. Because he was no different. Their life might be different, but their mission, her mission, was still black and white to Derek's grey. Keep John alive.

There was more than enough room so when Sarah sat on the edge of the bed, habit taught John to open his eyes.

"Mom?" he mumbled. "Okay?"

"Sprinklers work fine. Good job. John?"

"Hmm?"

"That psychologist that Daniel's dad mentioned, I'm going to give her a call. Okay?"

He closed his eyes, patting her arm. His smile, unlike hers, stayed in place even after he fell back asleep.

________________________________________

Derek growled, loud enough that Sarah looked up from the paperwork she was studying.

"Lookee, tin girl." He pointed at her with his beer. "Walk in front of me while the home team is up at bat, and God help me, I'll find a way to short circuit you."

Sarah had the distinct impression that the machine hesitated just a moment or two longer out of spite before her continued check of the perimeter.

"What are you smiling at?" Derek questioned, grabbing the remote like a lifeline.

"One of the little things," she answered seriously.

________________________________________

"I think I'm going to get another beer. Want one?"

"No." Sarah took in the empty on the table and the half-full one still in his hand. "This time when you go check on John, open his window."

Derek winked at her. "So next time when you go check on John, you can make sure to cover him?"

"I changed my mind—"

"Don't open the window?"

"No, you can get me a beer on your way back."

________________________________________

Sarah fell asleep on the couch and woke up to a disgruntled Derek staring down at her.

"Go to bed," he ordered impatiently.

"You go to bed," Sarah spat back. "You have a bedroom. Go use your own bed." She levered her body into a sitting position with a groan.

"Old habits are hard to break. I sorta like the couch thing," Derek admitted. "This way, I have a distinct home field advantage and I can keep an eye on the machine when I can't sleep. It helps pass the time."

________________________________________

Mad. Betrayed. Angry just didn't cut it as Sarah paced in front of the primly seated Cameron. Back and forth, with Cameron's gaze following her movements, furiously working on a speech that would penetrate the machine's circuitry and become imbedded in the compartment of her chip reserved for 'things that should never be done again'.

"John was having a nightmare."

"Shut up," Sarah hissed, going over to close her bedroom door. Last thing she wanted to do was draw Derek's attention to the tin miss and add fuel to his fire of hatred.

"He was distressed. I was offering him comfort."

"You were offering him comfort using my voice."

"I've observed that your voice has often brought John a sense of peace when his sleep is disturbed."

"My voice." Sarah tapped her chest. "The one that belongs to this body."

"I was using your voice." Cameron canted her head at Sarah. "I've used other voices besides this one and you've never objected."

"When the mission required it," Sarah growled, frustrated.

"My mission is to protect John. Keeping his sleep peaceful and free of nightmares is a form of protection—"

"No," Sarah yelled, then forced herself to contain her anger. "Just no. You are not to use my voice in connection with John. Ever. Not now. Not in the future."

Cameron nodded. "There's no need to be jealous, I can't replace you in John's life. Not now or in the future. You'll always be his—"

"Get the hell out of my room."

________________________________________

Sarah moved her pacing to John's room. She stared at him, annoyed that even in sleep he hadn't been able to sense that hadn't been her. He muttered in his sleep, shifted and his vocals increased slightly in pitch.

"John," she whispered, approaching his bedside. Kneeling, Sarah was at eye level with him. "Go back to sleep."

Always the stubborn teenager, he opened his eyes and smiled sleepily at her. "Hey."

"Hey," she echoed. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah," he answered with a yawn. "Missed you. Strange dream."

"Yeah?" Involuntarily, she swept his bangs off his forehead. "Want to share?"

"Garbage in. Garbage out," he sighed, closing his eyes. "Just nonsense."

"Those are the best kind." She crossed her arms and dropped her head on the pillow they created. It had been years since she'd done this, but tonight, the instinct to watch over and protect John, even in sleep, was intense, going beyond motherhood.

________________________________________

The next day was overcast and cool, his mother and Cameron were out, Derek was downstairs doing whatever Derek did to keep busy and John was doing homework, or attempting to. Admittedly, he was distracted, the window in his room and the world outside holding more appeal than the opened math book on his desk, which was the reason he saw Daniel pedaling furiously down the block, head down, intent on his destination.

John stood and reached for the latch to undo his window and yell out a hello, but something about Daniel's focus stopped him. It made him rethink his greeting and slowly, John sunk back down into the chair, feeling a bit jealous that Daniel had a place to run to.

Frustrated and annoyed, John turned his attention back to the problems in front of him. Math was much easier to solve than his own life's problems

________________________________________

"Hey." Daniel stood in his grandmother's kitchen, inches from the side door, ready to make a quick escape.

She looked up from the cutting board, an array of sliced carrots and potatoes spread out before her. "Hey," his grandmother echoed back.

This was awkward and there was no one to blame but himself. "Stew?" Well duh, asshole. Of course. Vegetables. Simmering pot. The wonderful odor was beginning to permeate the kitchen.

Without answering, his grandmother picked up the cutting board and using the knife she had in her hand, she scraped the sliced veggies into the pot.

"Smells good."

Slowly, she placed the cutting board and knife into the sink, then dried her hands on the towel draped of the edge of the sink.

"I'm sorry," Daniel blurted out.

The towel was folded, refolded, then refolded once again until his grandmother was satisfied with its size and placement, but still she didn't turn to face him. "I know you are, mhuirnin."

Daniel waited for her to face him. Seconds. Minutes. The old-fashioned clock on the wall ticked the passage of time. "You're still angry."

"No."

Daniel exhaled, his grandmother's confession gave him hope and he took a few steps forward and stretched out a tentative hand to her shoulder.

His grandmother reached around, grabbed his hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed it, the held it against her check.

There was warmth. And wetness.

Tears.

"Please don't cry," he begged, throwing himself against her back, snaking his free hand around her waist, dropping his head on her shoulder, burying his own tears in her neck.

Daniel cried along with his grandmother, he hadn't meant to shed a tear. On his bike ride over, he'd promised himself he was going to be an adult about this. Come in. Apologize. Say he was sorry a few hundred times. Then his grandmother would hug him. Pour him a glass of milk with a side order of cookies and they'd be good to go.

Wrong. He'd done the come in, the apology, the sorry, but then things sorta began to get fucked up. His grandmother hadn't followed along with his grand scheme and now, now he was lost and unsure how to fix this.

________________________________________

The two of them sat next to each other at the kitchen table, mere inches but definitely miles apart. Leave? Stay? Daniel wasn't sure exactly what he should do. He knew what he wanted, but he was unsure how to get from here to there.

Suddenly, his grandmother's hands covered his. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry."

"I'm sorry." Daniel swallowed. "For everything."

"I know you are."

"You said you weren't angry anymore."

She patted his hand. "I'm not."

Daniel didn't understand. Okay, she didn't act like she was angry, that was true, she was behaving like... "You're hurt," he blurted out, his heart breaking. Anger was one thing; it blew in, blew out. Hurt took longer to heal. A lot longer. Experience had taught him that.

For the first time since Daniel entered this kitchen, the smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of his grandmother's lips, confusing the hell out of him.

"You're smiling?"

Her smile broadened just a little, but enough to give Daniel hope that all was not lost. "I'm smiling because you finally realized the repercussions of your actions."

"That I hurt you?"

Slowly, she nodded. "I was worried. You're not a little child who gets lost in a mall because they don't know better. You should've known better." She held up a hand when he began to apologize. "You're a teenager. I understand you don't always think with your head, but your heart, Daniel. You should've thought with your heart."

"I thought I was, thinking with my heart. Helping a friend."

Her hands slipped off his and she folded them primly on the table. "Me and you, we're sort of at an impasse, aren't we. Helping John—"

"John's sixteen. I'm fourteen..."

His grandmother raised an eyebrow to his statement.

"John needed an adult. Not another kid. I thought that I could..." Daniel sat back in the chair. "And I couldn't. Not really."

"No, you couldn't. Your intentions were good."

"I screwed up."

"You'll get no argument from me."

"Will you forgive me?"

"In time, mhuirnin."

Tears blurred Daniel's vision.

"Doesn't mean I don't love you."

"I know," he sniffed, swiping his fingers under his glasses.

"Good." She rose, kissed his bent head, then went to stir the simmering pot. "How about some cookies and milk?"

Okay, that worked, and had been one of the things on Daniel's forgiveness list. "I'd like that."

"Would you also like if we called your dad, asked him to bring over some fresh rolls and the three of us can have stew for dinner?"

________________________________________

"Colonel O'Neill!" This was stupid, and if John really, truly had stopped to think about it, he would've stayed up in his room, struggling through Global History instead of bounding down the steps and out of his house when he saw the Avalanche park in front of Rose's house.

"John." The colonel closed the driver's door slowly and switched the brown bag he held in his right hand into his left.

John stopped short. Face to face with the man had John second-guessing his rash decision. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah?"

Shit. John hadn't really thought beyond the apology. "I'm not too good at this friendship thing," he stuttered. "I crossed a boundary asking Daniel to... Ummm..."

"Drink with you?"

John nodded. "Among other things."

"You took advantage of my son. Of his friendship." There was no anger in the colonel's voice, just a statement of fact. It would've been better if he'd yelled and ranted.

"I've never had a friend before." Lame, but true. "I didn't understand. I made a mistake."

"You're lucky. Your mistake could've proved fatal to you. To Daniel. To the human race."

He was dumbstruck with hurt.

"Daniel wasn't what you needed. Not at that moment. You needed a..." Colonel O'Neill faltered, then cleared his throat. "You needed help, John."

"I. Know." John wrapped his hoody tightly around his body. "I'm so sorry."

"Daniel is just putting himself back together—"

"I can't undo what I did," John interrupted. "Take back what happened." A slow burn was beginning to percolate. John could feel it bubbling below the surface. Inadequacy had been a monkey on his back his entire life.

"Call me," the colonel said. "When things get bad like that. When you need help. Me. My mom. Your mom. Your uncle. Someone will always be here for you. You're not in this alone."

John was speechless.

"Yeah, I understand. We're a bit overwhelming." He shook the bag in this hand. "Better get this inside before someone comes looking for me."

John was unable to move. This idea of help, of relative strangers not only watching out for him, but for caring. And believing. "Thank you," he whispered.

"Just remember."

"I will," John answered solemnly. "I promise."

________________________________________

If someone would've asked John on Thursday what he thought he'd be doing this weekend, this wouldn't have been his answer. Arms crossed, John stood at his bedroom window, glancing down at the backyard, trying to figure out when his uncle's mention of steak and potatoes at breakfast turned into this out of hand barbeque. Inviting only Rose had expanded to include Daniel, Colonel O'Neill, and the rest of SG-1, Alexandria, Cassie, and Doctor Fraiser. This was so unlike his mother or his uncle, that John couldn't help but feel uncomfortable.

There was a gentle knock on the doorframe. "Hey, man, coming outside?"

John ran his fingers through his hair before shrugging his shoulders. He tapped on the window. "My luck with barbeques isn't exactly stellar."

Daniel didn't wait for an invitation. He just walked into the room to stand next to him. John couldn't help but grin at the elbow poking him in the side.

"And your point is? My track record with brownies isn't exactly stellar either, but that doesn't stop me from eating the ones my grandma brought with her."

"My mother's never done this."

Daniel pressed his nose to the window. "This? Cook? Doesn't look like my father is giving her a chance to—whoa, is she going to hit him with the spatula?"

Only his mother could manage to make a cooking utensil a formidable weapon. "My mother isn't sociable. I love the woman, but asking people for help, having people help, is a foreign concept. But here she is..."

"She seems to be doing a better job than you are."

"I don't always trust her."

"Huh?"

"This is going to be home. Friends. And we'll have barbeques. And have a favorite pizza place. The Chinese restaurant on the corner will be on speed dial. I'll go to school. She'll learn the shortest route to get me to school when I wake up late. People will know us. We'll get to know people... And then, poof. I'll be packing one bag and the weapons. She'll serve pancakes and we'll be on the road before the dishes are washed and dried."

"So you're going to spend all your time waiting for that to happen?"

"No, I'm going to spend all my time preparing for Judgment Day."

"Did you ever think that this, right here, is preparation?"

"A barbeque?"

"Friendships. A home. A sense of belonging against all odds."

He gave Daniel a look as if the kid had lost his mind then tried to hide his laughter behind a cough, failing miserably.

"What?" This time the elbow in his side poked a little harder. "What'cha laughing at?"

"I was going to ask you..." This time John burst out laughing.

"I can wait," Daniel said with a wave of his hand. "Finish laughing." He hummed the theme from Jeopardy.

"Sorry." The laughter turned into tiny snickers, which John fought to control. "All those deep, heavy words of wisdom. I was going to ask you how old you really were?"

"Me?" Daniel smiled. "People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones."

"Hey," John said with an indignant huff that sent his bangs flying. "I jumped eight years. You went backwards. I'm only twenty four to your over the hill—"

"Eh!" Daniel raised a finger to John. "You so don't want to go there."

________________________________________

John looked at the burger Colonel O'Neill had just put into his plate.

"Is there a problem? Do you want cheese with that?"

"Can I..." John offered him back his plate. "Can I have one a little less..."

"Charred?" his mom filled in. She picked up his burger, swinging in between her thumb and pointer finger. "Hockey puck material, O'Neill."

"Everyone's a critic." He winked at John and exchanged plates. "Try this... This one's still bleeding."

Hurriedly, John dropped the plate on the shelf attached to the grill, stepped back, closed his eyes for a second and swallowed. The visual of the red juice dripping out the side of the undercooked burger was a little too much for him to handle. "It's okay, I'll have a frank."

"You're an asshole, O'Neill," his mom said, flinging the hockey-puck imitation burger at him.

"It's okay, Mom." John grabbed her arm before she took out the Colonel with a paper plate and bun. "I'll stick with a frank."

"John..." The Colonel shook his head at the burger resting on his shoes. "You're mom's right. I should've—"

"No apology necessary." He turned towards his mother and smiled. "Though I think my mom might owe you one." John kissed her cheek. "Go ahead, Mom, I'm listening."

________________________________________

John drifted into the living room, eyed the couch with longing but dropped down on the recliner instead, palming the bottle of Snapple.

Daniel followed in his wake and stood before him.

"You're worse than Cameron."

"Where'd you get the Snapple?" Daniel asked, completely ignoring his statement.

"Fridge. Help yourself."

Daniel returned, drinking a Snapple and fell into the couch. "Cassie's looking for you."

John leaned forward, the neck of the Snapple bottle dangling between his fingers. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder and scooted to the edge of the chair. "That thing, you know, when we were up on the roof?" He flashed a smile. "What you said about Cassie. Was I imagining..."

Daniel's smile was huge. "The 'A' word? Nope. Wasn't imagining."

"So she's like a little green man?"

"I wouldn't say that within ten feet of her if you value your life."

John shrugged, working his thumbnail under the Snapple's label. "She doesn't look like an—"

"And you don't look like a savior."

John tapped his Snapple against Daniel's. "Touché."

"Hey, guys."

Guiltily, Daniel and John both turned towards Cassie.

"What'cha doing in here?" She eyed the arm of the chair where John was sitting but chose the couch instead.

"Looking for John," Daniel answered.

Cassie turned her attention to him. "What are you doing in here?"

John raised his drink. "Getting a Snapple." He smiled a slow smile at Cassie.

"What?" Cassie whipped her head from side to side, then bared her teeth at Daniel. "Is there something stuck in my teeth?"

John got up off the chair and sat his ass on the coffee table right in front of Cassie and Daniel, still smiling.

Cassie punched Daniel in the arm. "You told him, didn't you?"

"Ow." Daniel rubbed the injury with the bottle of Snapple. "It happened to come up in conversation one day."

"Conversation? That I wasn't born—"

"I'm glad he told me," John blurted out.

"Yeah?" Cassie blushed. "You are?"

"Considering Daniel really is a senior citizen. And I'm truly twenty-four and the savior of mankind, your being an alien isn't weird at all."

"Twenty-four? Savior?" Cassie hit Daniel again. "What didn't you tell me?"

John glared at Daniel. "You didn't tell her?"

Daniel shrugged. "It like, never came up in conversation."

Cassie crossed her arms and sat back. "Well, it better damn be coming up in the conversation now. I'm all ears."

John took a deep breath and begged silent forgiveness from his mother, but he was going on instinct now, insulating himself with people whose roots were as abnormal as his. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but some day their knowledge would be a literal lifesaver. "In a nutshell, my father came from the future to protect my mother from robots—"

"Terminators," Daniel said.

"Yeah, we call them terminators."

"Terminators?" Cassie asked softly. "Why did the robots want to kill your mother?"

"So I wouldn't be born."

Cassie held up her hand. "Your father is from the future? How did he get here? Or there? Or whenever—"

"I sent him back. Well not me, me. The future me. Grown up me."

"The John that's the savior of mankind," Daniel blurted out.

"Thanks for clearing that up," John answered sarcastically.

"My pleasure." Daniel stood. "Look, John's story is very thrilling, but I've heard this before and it makes my brain hurt." Daniel stepped over John's legs. "I'm going to find Alexandria."

________________________________________

Daniel would be the first to admit that John's story scared the shit out of him. A few more years and the roof was going to fall in. John had had his entire life to adjust, Daniel hadn't. April 21, 2011.

Okay, they, he and John, were going to be relatively safe and so was his father, Teal'c and Sam, because they were going to be offworld, but he'd never see them again. Ever. And his grandmother, Daniel couldn't even imagine.

He touched the glyph on his bicep. They were going to change this. Even if they took tiny baby steps to do it.

Alexandria pushed his hand away and gently traced the outline of the chevron. "What's it mean?"

"An ancient symbol for home." Not a lie. Not even a little one.

"My father would've flipped out."

"His father did flip out," his dad said as he walked past them.

Daniel couldn't help but smile at the tolerant grin Alexandria flashed his father. When he was out of earshot, she pulled Daniel to the corner of the backyard. "Sit," she ordered, giving Daniel a gentle push to his chest. He sat when the back of his knees hit the seat of the folding chair. "I'll be right back," she promised.

________________________________________

Even though Daniel had told John his grandmother's brownies were okay, the fact that Alexandria now stood before him, offering him one, took it to a whole different level. "Not funny." How dare she? Daniel went to smack the brownie onto the paper plate she held out to him but she was quick and moved it out of his reach.

"Not meant to be funny." She took a tiny bite, then placed the brownie plate and all into his lap. "Last time you had one... You told me..."

"You are beautiful, I don't need to be high to tell you that." He put the plate on the ground. "I have so much to apologize for—"

Alexandria pressed a finger to his lips. "Save it. I'll admit being your girlfriend is never boring."

"Is that a good thing?"

Her curtain of curls hid the gentle brush of her lips against his. "Does that answer your question?"

________________________________________

Derek walked over to a smiling Colonel O'Neill who was watching his son and girlfriend from a discrete distance. "You're going to be very proud of him."

"I already am." The colonel raised his beer in a silent salute. "We're going to change the future. They're going to change the future."

Derek remained silent. In his opinion, Skynet was inevitable. The perpetual loop. Sending a terminator to kill Sarah Connor forced John's hand in the future to send back Kyle. And so it went. So on and so on and so on. Point. Counterpoint. The perfect description of Hell.

"Yeah," Derek eventually answered with false enthusiasm and a sharp clap to the colonel's back. "The future will be changed. Has been. Will be." But some things would never change. Kyle's life in exchange for John's. The machines. In Derek's future, he could count on one hand, not including himself or John, the number of people at this house who would survive Judgment Day and beyond.

________________________________________

"You can close your mouth now," John said sadly. He'd never shared his story with anyone except Daniel, and the expression on Cassie's face was the reason why.

"Oh, sorry," she stuttered with an embarrassed giggle. "I didn't realize."

"I did," John answered softly.

"You know, I think alien falls below savior in the list of impressive things. I'm thinking you might actually hold the title. Damn, I've been bumped. Daniel falls to number three..." She smiled. "Alien took the first spot over Fountain of Youth boy for years." Her sigh was long and exaggerated.

"You're very strange, Cassie." He'd envisioned a myriad of different reactions, but acceptance had never been one of them.

"No, I'm not," Cassie said seriously. "I've seen more things in my sixteen years of life, the majority of them being since I was eight, than most people even can imagine. I've lost my parents. My brothers. My family. My friends. My home and my planet. A Goa'uld attempted to kill me on more than one occasion." Her laugh was bitter, her eyes cold and dark. "So, don't you dare, John Connor, judge me on my acceptance of the story you've just told me."

It was John's turn to stutter out an apology.

"I've lost my family once, I'm not losing this family to anyone or anything. There will be no Judgment Day. No Skynet. You got that?" Cassie's face was hard, cold, unrecognizable.

"Got it," he answered with a sharp nod. "No Judgment Day."

The anger slid from her expression and John was once again staring at the Cassie he knew. Intelligence and wit hidden behind a falsehood of flightiness.

"So ever think of dating an alien?"

"The fact that I'm sort of a marked target kinda doesn't bode well for dating, unless we take a cache of weapons, my mother, Derek and Cameron."

"Was that a no?"

Before he lost his nerve, John leaned forward, quickly kissed her and broke the kiss just as quickly for fear she'd kill him.

There was Cheshire Cat smile on her face. "I take it that wasn't a no?"

"Maybe we can get a group rate when we go to the movies?" John asked innocently. "Me, you, Cameron—"

Cassie pulled on the front of his shirt, tugging him in, kissing him without any quickness.

"Oh," was all John was able to manage when Cassie released him.

"Not bad for an alien, huh?"

________________________________________

His mind was elsewhere while he rinsed out his Snapple bottle and he ended up hitting the rim of the bottle and spraying water in every direction. "Damn." Served him right for trying to hurry up and go outside to join Cassie.

"Why did you lie to Cassie about Judgment Day?"

Shocked at Cameron's intrusion, John jumped and the slick bottle slipped from his grasp and managed to hit the sink just right, shattering into what seemed like a million pieces. Angrily, John spun around. "Were you eavesdropping?"

"There's no need, my auditory abilities—"

"Cut the shit, Cameron, you were listening. Didn't make a difference where you were, you heard our conversation."

"Why did you tell her there'd be no Judgment Day? You don't know that. In actuality, the odds are more in favor of—"

"Because that's what she wanted to hear."

"And Cassie kissed you because you told her what she wanted to hear? You lied to her?"

The mood was lost, shattered right along with the glass. "I didn't lie," John hissed at Cameron.

"You told her 'No Judgment Day'."

The last three words from her mouth were spoken in John's voice. He stared at his protector in violated shock.

"You can't guarantee the absence of Judgment Day."

John took his anger and frustration out on the roll of paper towels, ripping off a wad and wiping up the mess he'd made. Too bad his anger clouded his judgment; he reached for the broken glass with the same single-minded purpose as he grabbed the paper towels. "Shit." The blood flowing down his thumb was instantaneous.

"Let me see," Cameron commanded.

Strong hands spun John around, and he reluctantly presented the bloody appendage to Cameron. "It's nothing." John jerked his hand from her grasp and wrapped a piece of wet paper towel around the injury. "You told me you've lied about important things. Judgment Day is important."

"If I lied, then you wouldn't be angry with me?"

"Is Judgment Day inevitable?"

"You're changing the future." Cameron took his hand, cleaned off the blood, then held the paper towel tight enough for the bleeding to stop.

"But it's not enough, is it?"

Cameron answer was a gentle kiss to his lips.

John squirmed from her grasp, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That wasn't effective?" She cocked her head at John, her hair falling from where she'd tucked it behind her ear.

"No, that wasn't effective."

Cameron touched her lips with the pads of two fingers of her right hand, then inspected them.

"Why do you do that? Attempt to emulate human emotions?"

"I'd rather wait to answer that question."

"Fine." John snatched her hand and deposited the bloody paper towel in her palm. "I won't hold my breath."

________________________________________

John enveloped Rose in a hug, squeezing her even harder when she hugged him back. "Thank you for the cake. It was delicious."

She pushed him away, holding him at arm's length. "Your mom told me that you never were able to celebrate your birthday."

His mother joined them, kissing his cheek. "Much better than the store bought one John would've had to endure."

"Much better," he agreed. "But you didn't have to, Rose. Birthday is long gone."

"Consider this a taste test for next year's."

John glanced over at his mother. Next year. They never made plans. Not a week, not a month and definitely not a year in advance. "Don't change a thing, it was perfect just the way it was."

________________________________________

Evening had fallen.

Janet had driven Teal'c back to the SGC. His mother, Rose, Cassie and Alexandria were in the kitchen, the light giving rise to their shadows as they moved in front of the window.

Derek and Colonel O'Neill were talking in hushed tones, with an occasional burst of laughter, giving John a touch of hope that all wasn't as bleak as Derek led him to believe or that maybe his uncle was feeling no pain because laughter really wasn't in the man's repertoire.

Cameron was patrolling. John lost track of the number of times she'd passed his field of vision.

He and Daniel were sitting in the farthest corner of the yard, bathed in darkness.

Sam approached them with a smile, then kneeled down between their two chairs. "You short circuited Daniel's GPS."

"Yeah." John glanced at Daniel, who turned away.

"With common items found in any hardware store," Sam continued.

Now it was John's turn to look away and he caught Cameron's gaze as she approached their group.

Sam would have none of that, and she squeezed his knee, bringing him back to focus. "And you thought this was a good idea because..."

"I wasn't thinking straight?" John grimaced but he didn't dare push Sam's hand off his knee.

"A triple-eight could eventually triangulate a tracking device," Cameron said. "John saved Daniel's life."

"I did?"

Sam stood, arms crossed and stared at Cameron. "And you know this because?"

"Between John's phone and Daniel's GPS, the terminator had no problem tracking either of them to the SGC once he'd identified Daniel. That's what I would've done."

Sam made a face. "Guess it's back to the drawing board for me."

________________________________________

John slid down in the chair, resting his head along the back.

Daniel mimicked his position. "Hard to imagine, isn't it?"

"Not according to my mother or Derek." John hesitated, unsure of how far to go with this because saying the words gave dimension and depth to his thoughts.

"Hey, man, what the—"

"Skynet sent a terminator back to kill my mother. I sent my father back to protect my mother thereby bringing me into the picture, but if Skynet would've never come back to kill my mother, I'd never have been born and their problems would've been over."

"You're making my head ache."

"Eventually, Skynet's going to figure that out."

Daniel gave him a light punch in the arm. "Not on my watch, it isn't."

"We can change Judgment Day, you know. But we'll never stop it. After the Turk, there'll be someone else. Something bigger. More dangerous."

"Holy shit, who pissed in your cereal tonight?"

"Fuck you." John stared up into the night sky; the muffled conversation Derek and the colonel were still engaged in created a comforting buzz to John's jumbled thoughts.

"Look, I'm sorry, but you're confusing the crap outta me."

"I almost wish we didn't play around with trying to stop Judgment Day."

"What? You're nuts."

"No, listen. April 21, 2011. We know the date. We can protect everyone because we'll see it coming. Rose. Alexandria. Cassie. Janet. We can save them. Keep SG-1 from going offworld. Protect ourselves at the mountain."

"John..."

John closed his eyes and hoped that the darkness hid his emotional tears. "After all this, Daniel, I want to be selfish. For once in my life, I don't want to think about anything," he said, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands, "but protecting the people closest to me."

"You don't mean that."

"Maybe, we've already changed when it happens, you know. We'll never see it coming. April twenty-first, day of destruction, will come and go. Hell, my mother and I stupidly thought it was all over once before and it almost cost me my life. They found me. Like they're going to keep finding me. Or you."

"I'm not too sure if you're scaring the shit out of me or you're just incredibly maudlin tonight."

"Maudlin rambling work for you?"

"Very emo, but I'll take the fact that Cassie kissed you tonight as temporary insanity due to hormones."

John groaned and flung his arm over his eyes. "Who had the big mouth?"

"Cassie kissed and told."

John groaned even louder.

"She wasn't complaining at all."

"Thanks for sharing."

"Chalk it up to distraction techniques. I learned from my dad."

Suddenly, John connected the dots with Cameron's kiss in the kitchen, like Daniel bringing up Cassie. Distraction. Pure and simple. He sighed, frustrated at the head-butting attitude he was encountering.

"Think of it this way, in this future, I'll already be here." Daniel tugged on John's hoody. "Saves us a couple of years looking for each other. That's gotta count for something."

"Longer for you to drive me nuts?"

"More chances for me to save your ass?"

"In your dreams, Jackson."

"Daniel. And, just for the record, I am never going to call you General Connor."

"I hope you never have to," John answered softly.

________________________________________

John cut himself another piece of Rose's cake and poured a large glass of chocolate milk. He ate and drank slowly, savoring the richness.

"You could sit down, you know." His mother grabbed a fork from the drain board and captured a chunk of cake from John's plate before he had time to retaliate.

"Not fair," he groused good-naturedly.

"Live with it," she answered with a chuckle and a grin.

It was like a slap in the face. Just like his uncle's laughter, the smile his mother wore while she shared his cake was so out of character than John could feel a familiar fear take root. The cake turned to sawdust and he struggled to chew and swallow without choking. Pushing the cake plate off on his mother, he concentrated on the milk. He made a show of looking for the chocolate syrup, adding more than the required/recommended amount already in the glass and sipped it slowly, studying his mother over the rim of the glass.

"Have some milk with that chocolate?"

John tried and lost the battle of holding back a smile at the line, and with his tongue, he swiped it across his top lip, wiping away the evidence of his guilty pleasure.

________________________________________

He might be sixteen years old but he wasn't stupid. He pulled his duffle bag out from under the bed. There hadn't even been time for dust to settle on the material and he unzipped it with a sad resignation. A week's worth of stuff. Underwear. Socks. Two tee shirts short of a week's worth. He began to rummage through the overflowing basket on his dresser, trying to remember if this was clean or dirty.

"Are you planning on running away?" His mom was slouched against his doorframe, her eyebrows raised in confusion.

Angrily, John approached his mother, a tee shirt in each hand. "Are you planning on making pancakes?"

She straightened up, and though she was a few inches shorter than he was, his mother was still able to look him directly in the eye. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"You always make pancakes when we move on. Pack a bag. Guns. Pancakes." John strode over to his opened duffle bag on his bed and threw in the tee shirts he was holding. "Bag. Guns. Pancakes," he muttered.

She was standing across the bed from him in seconds and she ripped the duffle from his hands and dropped it on the floor by her feet. "What the hell did you ever get that idea?"

"From you."

She touched her chest and stared at him. "Me?"

"The barbeque. Friends."

"So because of how we spent the day, you're assuming that it's bag-guns-pancake notification?"

"You always do something nice first." John began to tick off items as he spoke. "Movies. McDonald's Happy Meals. A visit to a toy store." He snorted, "Hell, I'm too old for that, so I got a barbeque with friends. And even a birthday cake. I'm guessing the pancakes will be for breakfast."

"Have you told him yet?" Derek was standing in the doorway to his bedroom, the smile on his uncle's face pissing John off just slightly more than he already was.

"He hasn't shut up long enough."

"Tell me what?" John demanded, stopping himself just short of stamping his foot in annoyance.

His mom picked up his duffle and dumped what he'd already packed on his bed. "Not going anywhere."

"Why not?" John's head whipped from his mother to his uncle.

Derek laughed, a sound that was so getting on John's nerves today. It was rusty, as if Derek hadn't done it for a very long time. "Make up your mind. Do you want to go?"

John thought of this house, Rose, SG-1, Daniel, Cassie, Dria, this room, this life, a birthday cake, his mother's smile, his uncle's rusty laughter, Cameron's awkward kiss. "I don't want to go. I don't want to run anymore." He closed his eyes and sighed. "These people are the answer."

"We know," his mom responded softly.

John opened his eyes, surprised. "You know?"

"They want us to stay here."

"They?"

Derek nodded. "The SGC offered..."

"We're staying?"

"Staying," she answered with a nod.

John turned towards Derek. "What did the SGC offer you?"

"Job. Jobs. It appears that our skills and our familiarity with the machines—"

"Cameron stays with me. She's not going to be—"

"Whoa," Derek threw up his hands. "Your pet is still yours."

"We're staying," John repeated.

"Yup. And you've got an appointment with Dr. Kayton next Thursday. And I thought I'd make waffles tomorrow if that's okay?"

"You know how to make waffles?" Derek asked, managing to duck just as his mother threw a pair of his wadded up socks.

________________________________________

John couldn't sleep. He'd lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, when he realized he was smiling. He tried and failed to suck the smile in. He had plenty of morbid thoughts to concentrate on, but for some very strange reason, nothing was working.

He got up, powered up his computer and dragged the blanket from his bed around his shoulders, tucking it around him as he got comfortable.

The porch light was on at Rose's and through the sheerness of her curtains, John caught the glow of the kitchen light. Separated by a street didn't stop John from feeling comfortable with her presence.

"You're awake."

"Shush," John warned Cameron, motioning her into his bedroom. "Don't want you waking anyone up."

Back straight, hands hanging limply in her lap, she sat on his bed. "You're smiling," she mentioned after a few moments.

"I am."

"Are you okay?"

"I think I'm happy."

She repeated the word. "Happy?"

"Yeah, novel concept, isn't it?"

"Why?"

"Why is it novel or why am I happy?"

Cameron paused, studied John as if she were literally contemplating the question.

He hugged the blanket closer. "We're not going anywhere. We're home. I'm home. I've never been able to say that. Not in my entire life."

"Home is where the heart is," Cameron stated.

John opened his mouth then shut it. "Yeah, that's about it in a nutshell." His smile broadened. "Thank you for explaining."

"There's still the possibility of Judgment Day."

"Please, Cameron, just for tonight, don't rain on my parade." John waved away her 'duh' expression. "Save it for another time, okay?"

________________________________________

He spent an hour on the computer fiddling with saved files, Cameron watching him as he tried to worm his way into a particular folder when he was ambushed by a yawn. John rubbed his eyes and began again, keystroke by keystroke, boring repetitive work and he woke up only when prodded by Cameron.

"I think it's past your bedtime."

John's 'ha ha' was swallowed up by another yawn. "I'm waving the white flag."

"Is that another idiom?"

"Another?" John traversed through his sleep-addled brain to remember. "Yeah, that's another one of those things." Whatever else Cameron was saying was lost to John as he burrowed under the blanket and fell asleep within seconds.

________________________________________

John woke to the sound of rain on the window and an unfamiliar, fantastic smell filling his nostrils. He was so damned comfortable under the covers and in bed that he warred with himself for a few moments about which took precedence, but his growling stomach made the decision for him.

He entered the kitchen, stopped and burst out laughing. Derek was cooking; his mom was hanging over his uncle's shoulder giving directions.

"Pancakes?" John whispered to Cameron.

"No." She shook her head. "Waffles."

"Waffles?"

"Do waffles make you happy?"

John shrugged, "I'll let you know after I taste them."

"Morning, John." His mother didn't even look up when she waved. "They're going to burn, Reese, you better..."

Oh, God, this was so Norman Rockwellish that John had to blink a few times to make sure that it truly was their kitchen, their house. "Mom?"

"Set the table, these will be done if..."

Derek opened the top of the waffle iron – they had a waffle iron? "Look how beautiful these are. See the color..."

________________________________________

They ate breakfast and for once, even with Cameron at the table, the conversation wasn't about the Turk, or terminators, or Judgment Day. And it probably would change by dinner tonight but for now, it was enough. Strange, considering his life, but for today it was enough.

After breakfast, he retrieved the duffle bag which had been stuffed under his bed, used the pull down stairs to the attic and climbed up. He shoved the bag into the corner. Here, he hoped, the duffle would lose it color, the material straps would eventually crack and rip and dust bunnies would obliterate it from sight.

________________________________________

John didn't even check the time, he just knew that he was up, therefore, the entire world should also be up, when he dialed Daniel's number.

"..."

"Did I wake you?"

"YeahIthinkwhattime'sit?"

"Ten."

"As in morning?" Daniel groaned. "Don't." He cleared his throat. "Worry. Up."

"Good, didn't want to wake you."

"Considerate of you, John."

"I try, Jackson."

Daniel sighed. "Daniel. If you wake me up, the least you can do is call me by my name."

"Won't happen again."

"I seriously doubt that. Where are you, by the way?"

"I'm home, Daniel. I'm really home. For good."

The End