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wellownedbkupwhere do you share Terminator: Salvation fanfic??? i don't feel like joining a new fandom, but still!!
Title: What It Was Like
Pairing: Marcus Wright, Kyle Reese
Spoilers: for Terminator: Salvation
Marcus’ memory is still a little fuzzy, still running on adrenaline and this disgust for how he knows he was dead. Sure of it in the way that he’s still sure of his own name and that this isn’t the world that existed when he signed away his body at the end of his days. He knows what that kind of evil was. But he doesn’t understand the machines, the child soldiers, the city destroyed.
And this kid. Shotgun pointed at his chest and bandanna at his neck, too skinny by half and it shakes Marcus to his core. Reminds him of idiotic things he did as a teenager when his father was not glaring from his recliner and his brother wasn’t underfoot. He has to be gruff with the boy, with Kyle Reese (God, what a name), so that there’s that distance between them. Even when they’re back at what the boy (distance, must keep that distance) calls ‘headquarters’, a ramshackle building brightened only here and there by chimes and pillows that he’s sure the little girl brought in to make it better. Even then, he can’t help but teach the boy something else, something to help him not lose the gun to the next person who comes by with an ounce of common sense.
He lets them sleep, probably the first long sleep they’ve had since they were in their mothers’ arms, and keeps watch for whatever comes in the area. The eerie quiet won’t let him rest, anyway, and he swears he can almost hear the whirring and vibrations of the machines, however many there are. The kid comes and slides in beside him against the crumbling concrete blocks that serve as a wall around here. Sheer dint of will makes Marcus’ reaction less of a startle and more of a flinch. He hopes the night shields that for him.
“What was it like?” The boy’s voice is soft, but all too intense in the silence of the night.
“What was what like?” he finds himself replying, eyes still searching the horizon for something endlessly.
“Life before Judgment Day. I was too little; I don’t remember. And no one talks about it.” He glances over his shoulder at the curled up figure of Star, the little girl, wrapped under a blanket and clutching a pistol. “I need to be able to tell her something, sometimes.”
“It doesn’t matter, kid.”
“Kyle, and yeah, it does matter.” His eyes flash in the spare moonlight. “Gotta have something to want to get back to, when we win this thing. It can’t always be war and Skynet and surviving on 2 day old coyote.”
Marcus thinks, remembers days of iron bars and concrete cells, of solitary confinement on Death Row only broken by visits from the cancer-ridden Serena Kogen. “The sky was never this blue, Kyle. But back then? Man had control over the machines.” He builds the tale bigger and bigger, talks about the stuff he only remembers from his childhood and the time before he went to prison. And he says nothing as Kyle curls up against his shoulder and listens for hours, breathing in sync and watching the horizon.
Title: What It Was Like
Pairing: Marcus Wright, Kyle Reese
Spoilers: for Terminator: Salvation
Marcus’ memory is still a little fuzzy, still running on adrenaline and this disgust for how he knows he was dead. Sure of it in the way that he’s still sure of his own name and that this isn’t the world that existed when he signed away his body at the end of his days. He knows what that kind of evil was. But he doesn’t understand the machines, the child soldiers, the city destroyed.
And this kid. Shotgun pointed at his chest and bandanna at his neck, too skinny by half and it shakes Marcus to his core. Reminds him of idiotic things he did as a teenager when his father was not glaring from his recliner and his brother wasn’t underfoot. He has to be gruff with the boy, with Kyle Reese (God, what a name), so that there’s that distance between them. Even when they’re back at what the boy (distance, must keep that distance) calls ‘headquarters’, a ramshackle building brightened only here and there by chimes and pillows that he’s sure the little girl brought in to make it better. Even then, he can’t help but teach the boy something else, something to help him not lose the gun to the next person who comes by with an ounce of common sense.
He lets them sleep, probably the first long sleep they’ve had since they were in their mothers’ arms, and keeps watch for whatever comes in the area. The eerie quiet won’t let him rest, anyway, and he swears he can almost hear the whirring and vibrations of the machines, however many there are. The kid comes and slides in beside him against the crumbling concrete blocks that serve as a wall around here. Sheer dint of will makes Marcus’ reaction less of a startle and more of a flinch. He hopes the night shields that for him.
“What was it like?” The boy’s voice is soft, but all too intense in the silence of the night.
“What was what like?” he finds himself replying, eyes still searching the horizon for something endlessly.
“Life before Judgment Day. I was too little; I don’t remember. And no one talks about it.” He glances over his shoulder at the curled up figure of Star, the little girl, wrapped under a blanket and clutching a pistol. “I need to be able to tell her something, sometimes.”
“It doesn’t matter, kid.”
“Kyle, and yeah, it does matter.” His eyes flash in the spare moonlight. “Gotta have something to want to get back to, when we win this thing. It can’t always be war and Skynet and surviving on 2 day old coyote.”
Marcus thinks, remembers days of iron bars and concrete cells, of solitary confinement on Death Row only broken by visits from the cancer-ridden Serena Kogen. “The sky was never this blue, Kyle. But back then? Man had control over the machines.” He builds the tale bigger and bigger, talks about the stuff he only remembers from his childhood and the time before he went to prison. And he says nothing as Kyle curls up against his shoulder and listens for hours, breathing in sync and watching the horizon.
