“We got a live one, here!”

It didn't remotely resemble a bark, Kyle recognized in the back of his mind, but he still swiped his arm out in a signal for Wolfy to quiet. His head still pounded, continued to pound insistently, and noises – any noise, including his dog's – found a way to personally rip through every nerve attached to his brain.

“It's a kid!” someone shouted. “The dog is with a kid! Sir, come look at this!”

The debris around him shifted underneath a moving weight, much too heavy to be Wolfy, much too light to be a terminator. Kyle opened his eyes slowly.

There were focused, direct beams of light, he realized – spotlights: it was night.

He had to blink a few times for the blur around the edges of the face in front of him to straighten out, which revealed the unmistakably feminine features of a older woman. She was smiling at him sympathetically.

“Hi, sweetie,” she said calmly. “You're a little hurt, but you're going to be okay. You're safe now.” She laughed a little when Wolfy gladly licked her elbow and attempted to sit in her lap. All Kyle could do was slightly nod, relieved beyond reason after recognizing her Resistance uniform.

She looked familiar otherwise, but his hazy mind could quite recall where he had seen her before.

“What's you're name, honey?” she asked, touching his forehead gently.

“Reese, Kyle Reese.”

Her expression changed from boring saccharin to confused and back to something equally kind but far more genuine. Her smile widened, her eyes gave a little sparkle.

“I'm Kate Brewster.”

He felt her fingers intertwine with his hair before she even said anything. He sighed and leaned against her, not bothering to take his eyes off the boy because he knew she was looking at him, too.

“He's about what I expected,” Kate admitted as her hand worked down to his neck, massaging it gently.

John finally turned his gaze onto hers. “Really?”

Kyle was lying on a medical bunk several yards away, a crude IV pump hooked to his side administering both fluids and antibiotics. The doctor hadn't hesitated to diagnosed sepsis when he was first bought in, but, although critical, his life could still be saved. There were a few days of uncertainty, when the fever raged unchecked despite the coldpacks they kept applying.

Kate had done John the favor of keeping updated on Kyle's status, even staying by his bedside when she could find the free time. This not only helped ease John's anxiety quite a bit, but it also had the unexpected yet welcome side effect of confuting many of the rumors circling around John and Kyle's relationship, if not halting them completely.

“He's a survivor, a fighter,” she said softly, “like someone else I know.” After giving John a warm smile, returned her eyes to Kyle. “He kept asking about the young girl he was traveling with. We didn't find her.” She reached out with her free hand to grab his.

John could barely make out Kyle's expression from this distance; he was speaking in low tones to his friend while Wolfy sat obediently with his head on Kyle's lap. The other boy held an air of false cheerfulness, easy to see through even from this far away, that Kyle didn't bother to respond to. He kept his head low, looking somewhere between his friend and his dog but actually fixing his gaze on nothing permanently. His face was kept purposefully emotionless, as if burying anything he was feeling, hiding it from the whole of the world. John had the distinct, sinking realization that he would be seeing quite a bit fewer of Kyle's unguarded smiles from now on out.

“What did you tell him?” he asked.

“Nothing; I'm – I've never been very good at that,” she said and then sighed, finally leaning her head on his shoulder. “I'll probably be crying before he is.”

“He won't cry. He never does.”

“Poor kid,” Kate said sadly, her voice muffled by his shirt.

“I'll tell him,” John said, burying his face in Kate's hair. He imagined the look Kyle would give him – the smallest hint of pain, the lightest touch of grief, before the unbreakable facade of stoicism took control again. Those slight glimpses of humanity, ever so brief as they were, were the key. They would always have to be there, in him. His mother wouldn't love Reese without them, of course, but neither would Kyle be Kyle without them. The boy was an unmistakable mix of inflexible determination and willowy heart. He needed both, and so he had always been both. For Sarah, for John, and, someday, for the men he would lead.

“I love him,” he blurted out suddenly. He had wanted to say that for so long, but there had been no one to say it to. Not his men, certainty not Kyle. The implication had been there when he had sent Kate his personal, encrypted messages, but even then he could not specify the exactness of Kyle's identity or his feelings on it for fear of putting the boy in harm's way. He could only trust that Kate would read between the lines and discern his thoughts from his broken words.

She obviously had. “Of course you do. He's your father.” He smiled at that, despite it all. It was a good feeling, to have it all out there in the open, even for just this moment. He had lived with the secret his whole life, and told it to so few. Something about him saying it, and her confirming it, made it all real, shutting away his childhood pain and loneliness in favor of an odd kind of acceptance.

He kissed the top of Kate's head and held her tight.

He turned fifteen today. Well, at least he had or would on a day close to this one. His parents had always celebrated his birthday over a range of days when he was with them. Whether it was because they were unsure of the exact day on which he was born or because they never for sure knew what day it was currently, Kyle didn't know. When he had first entered Connor's bunker, the Registrar hadn't even bothered to ask for the day, only the month and the year, so not knowing the day had never proved a problem.

And now the Resistance recruiter was making his rounds and Kyle's month and year finally matched up with the age minimum. His new dog tags, for convenience sake, listed today's date as his birthday, so today he officially turned fifteen. Which was perfectly acceptable to him.

He strolled along the hallways, proudly displaying his gray-blue uniform. The newly assigned plasma rifle, a device which, up until the past year or so, had been almost unusably heavy, was slung comfortably over his shoulder.

Wolfy was walking at his side, willingly leashed for the first time in his life. Perry said the dog would be an asset and so allowed Kyle to keep him provided that he kept him under some method of obvious control. A leash seemed to be the only thing that really met that requirement. Wolfy didn't seem to care one way or another.

Kyle stopped hesitantly at the familiar alcove where John Connor had his quarters. The tattered curtain was tied back, signaling that the General was in and available. There had always been a slight sense of formality between them despite how much Connor had looked after him. Kyle knew he was welcome here, though, even if he did feel the need to augment his sentences with “Sir” more often than probably should be necessary.

But now things were changing. He wasn't a kid anymore; he couldn't just go in there and ask for a book or a weapons lesson. He was a soldier, and Connor was his commanding officer. For some reason that thought made him nervous, like Connor would look at him differently or expect something more from him than he could give. He had always wanted to make Connor proud, and this was surely the way to do it, yet the nagging fear remained. What if he failed?

Connor was sitting at his desk, starring intently at some papers, completely absorbed in them. Kyle slowly made a few steps to cross over the threshold as quietly as possible. Connor's eyes flicked up, noticing a presence, but clearly not seeing who it actually was. This confusion wasn't helped when Kyle belatedly remembered that he had to salute a commanding officer while they were both in uniform.

Kyle stood there, fully at attention, until Connor gave a half mumbled, “At ease, soldier. Give me a second.”

Kyle felt like an idiot as he nervously deflated. Connor didn't recognize him, and he wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad thing. Unfortunately, Wolfy wasn't too keen on waiting any longer and, with a quick and sharp wiggle of his neck, was out of his new collar and jumping up on the desk.

Papers flew every which direction, and Connor bolted back in surprise. Kyle would have found look on his face funny, he supposed, if he weren't so embarrassed by his inability to keep Wolfy in check.

Connor wasn't mad, though – Connor hardly ever got mad. Instead, he patted the dog on the head affectionately before finally looking up.

His expression rivaled his earlier surprise tenfold.

“Kyle?” he asked.

Kyle's throat tightened. He had never heard Connor use his first name before. Not sure what to made of it, he attempted a nod and a really pathetic smile that probably came out as more of a grimace.

Connor stood up slowly and walked around towards him. Wolfy scrambled off the desk to join them, knocking what remnants of stationary there were clean off.

“It suits you,” Connor said flatly, giving him a good once over. Kyle felt a blush rise to his cheeks at the attention, and he gripped the now empty dog leash a little harder.

“Thank you, sir,” he replied, although he was not entirely sure it was a compliment.

“You're all signed up, then?”

Kyle nodded at that, worried. Connor wasn't known for asking obvious or rhetorical questions. But the man looked almost distracted ... and pained.

“Good,” Connor said more forcefully than needed, clasping his hands behind his back defensively. “You're sure, then?”

This was not how Kyle had expected this conversation to go. He remembered vaguely when Connor had asked that question before, when he had first told him that he wanted to be trained. The same look, the same displeasure, had appeared on Connor's face then, too. He hadn't said anything since – in fact, he had pushed him in every soldierly art imaginable – and Kyle had just assumed that Connor had merely been in a strange mood that particular day.

“This is who I was meant to be,” Kyle said. He wasn't sure where the words had come from, if they came from him at all. His voice sounded so mature then, as if something else, something bigger than he himself was, had spoken for him and through him. He had meant to comfort Connor, to reassure him, but he wasn't sure exactly how or why. He didn't even know if it would work until some of the furrows in Connor's brow lifted.

“Under Perry, then?” Connor finally asked, softly.

“Under Perry,” Kyle confirmed. “In New Mexico.” His heart tugged a little at leaving what had become his childhood home. He would have Wolfy and his best friend Jacobson, though, and that would have to be enough. Perry was going to be a familiar presence, too, and the man had mostly forgiven him after the infamous knife incident.

“Right.” Connor sighed and turned away from him, walking towards the makeshift mantel. There he picked up one of the photographs. “I want you to take this.”

In his confusion, Kyle couldn't find the urge to look away from Connor's weary eyes until the picture was nearly thrust into his hand. He looked down to find the star-crossed gaze of young Sarah Connor - not looking back at him, but at the forever-indefinable netherworld.

His mouth dropped open to offer thanks, to ask why, to refuse such a precious gift, but nothing came out. His voice was choked, and it was enough just to breathe.

“It's oh-seventeen hundred, soldier,” Connor reminded him after a beat or two. “Isn't Perry's group scheduled to ship out soon?”

“Yeah,” Kyle responded dumbly, not taking his eyes off the photo.

“Better get going, then.” Kyle looked up to nod, and then Connor did something strange: he patted him on the shoulder with a fondness that Kyle had never really seen him express to anyone outside of Kate Brewster. His smile, too, was genuine, if mirroring his mother's sadness.

Before Kyle could speak again, he found himself being shooed out of the room. He turned to say something, anything in what could very well be the last time he saw Connor, but, before he could think of something appropriately profound, a hand grabbed his elbow.

“C'mon, Reese! We'll be late!” Jacobson nearly yelled and started dragging him along. “Get the dog back on the leash!”

He had to turn to face forward before he fell and, after the moment of disorientation passed, he took one last backwards glance at Connor. The man gave him surprising goofy wave before returning to his quarters, dropping the curtain behind him.

I'll see him again. It was more of a promise – a certainty – than a thought. He didn't know how he knew it, and he didn't think to question it. It was Fate, he decided – a realization he, until this very day, had never found so appealing.

When the rush of emotions and movements passed, a wave of calm understanding went through him. He was focused; he was ready. A group of young kids, whom he would have called his compatriots not but a day earlier, looked on at the gathering new recruits with something akin to respect rather than envy.

He favored them with a small smile, but it wasn't the expression one child would give another. It was patronizing without the condescendence, parental without the affection. Kyle didn't quite know the word for it, but he knew what it meant.

Turning away, he allowed his smile to widen. Clasping a friendly arm around Jacobson's shoulders, he marched with him towards the rest of the soldiers and, finally, towards adulthood.

Author's note: Thanks for reading!