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vaznettiLike others on my friends list, I seem to be toying with a new fandom. So here's a character study, I suppose, for Sarah Connor.
Double Vision
by Vanzetti
PG, Sarah Connor, no spoilers beyond the concept
Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
hossgal for beta-reading
Summary: Sarah has not always found weapons beautiful.
Sarah has not always found weapons beautiful. She can remember the early days, grit in her eyes, bones aching and hands blistered and her teachers shouting again and do it right, this time, and for fuck's sake, she was just a waitress, not some kind of hero. But there was John, and she didn't have time to care that she was tired, or couldn't get it right: she had to.
So she did.
Somewhere along the way the guns became reassurance, clean and skin-warmed and predictable: a weapon does what you make it do.
This machine, the one she watches now, is the same. It has its orders, and it will obey them. Not her orders, not her son's, but that other person, the other John Connor. The envelope of flesh, the camouflage of skin and hair can't conceal the real purpose of those smooth arms and long legs, that unnatural, dangerous grace. But then it lifts its head and smiles, shakes the box of Cheerios to see if they need more, takes the garbage out to the curb, teases John out of a sulk, like the girl she pretends to be -- it pretends, Sarah tries to remember that. A weapon, not a girl. A weapon can become familiar, even dear from use. Sarah has learned to care for her weapons -- memory of hot dust and slow vowels, take care of it and it'll take care of you -- but she does not want to love them.
end
Double Vision
by Vanzetti
PG, Sarah Connor, no spoilers beyond the concept
Thanks to
hossgal for beta-readingSummary: Sarah has not always found weapons beautiful.
Sarah has not always found weapons beautiful. She can remember the early days, grit in her eyes, bones aching and hands blistered and her teachers shouting again and do it right, this time, and for fuck's sake, she was just a waitress, not some kind of hero. But there was John, and she didn't have time to care that she was tired, or couldn't get it right: she had to.
So she did.
Somewhere along the way the guns became reassurance, clean and skin-warmed and predictable: a weapon does what you make it do.
This machine, the one she watches now, is the same. It has its orders, and it will obey them. Not her orders, not her son's, but that other person, the other John Connor. The envelope of flesh, the camouflage of skin and hair can't conceal the real purpose of those smooth arms and long legs, that unnatural, dangerous grace. But then it lifts its head and smiles, shakes the box of Cheerios to see if they need more, takes the garbage out to the curb, teases John out of a sulk, like the girl she pretends to be -- it pretends, Sarah tries to remember that. A weapon, not a girl. A weapon can become familiar, even dear from use. Sarah has learned to care for her weapons -- memory of hot dust and slow vowels, take care of it and it'll take care of you -- but she does not want to love them.
end
no subject
Date: 2008-01-17 01:25 pm (UTC)I hope the show has a good long run, too.