Disclaimer: I don't own Terminator. This is a version of the original movie, in which Sarah is, although not quite the badass warrior she will one day, still tougher than she was for most of the first film. BTW: feel free to picture Linda Hamilton & Michael Biehn if you like, but I first saw Terminator Genisys, and forever picture Sarah and Kyle as Emilia Clarke and Jai Courtenay.

Chapter One

Kyle's Arrival

Los Angeles City: May 12th, 1984

The night was calm and damp from the recently ended rain shower, the alleyway silent save for an old homeless man mumbling drunkenly to himself.

Suddenly, a brilliant blue glare lit up the wet brickwork of the buildings. A large shockwave sent trash hurling into the air. Painted over windows shattered, making rats scurry away in fright, blinded by the bright light.

The blue light condensed itself into a ball, several feet in the air, and from that ball a man fell, smacking hard into the pavement. He groaned in pain for a moment before his senses returned and he scrambled up into a defensive position, twisting his neck to take in his surroundings.

He was in his early-to-mid twenties, but had a hardened air about him that aged him dramatically. His hair was blonde, but dirty from lack of washing. His eyes were grey-blue and filled with wariness as he studied his surroundings. It was obvious that he was a soldier from both his manner and the many scars that littered his malnourished and muscular body. He was also completely naked.

Kyle studied his surroundings for a moment in search of any threats before he began to jog away, ignoring the pain still lingering from the machine. He couldn't decide if it was the worst pain he'd ever been through or not, but it definitely ranked up there at least, making him limp slightly. "Disconnect, Reese," he remembered John telling him a dozen times. "That's what my mother always said to do with pain. Just disconnect."

John's mother. The reason he was here in the first place. He had to find her. He had to save her.

Just as he was reaching the far end of the alley, a hoarse voice drew his attention.

"Hey buddy," a man, seated in a doorway, drawled. From the sound of his voice, Reese guessed he was drunk. Strange to think that he was in a time where alcohol was for amusement or comfort, not for dulling pain before a medical procedure. "Did you just see a bright light?"

Reese stared at the man for a moment, then glanced down at his naked body before abruptly lunging at the man. He easily subdued the protesting man and took his pants.

Kyle was just fastening the jeans when he heard a siren and a black-and-white car (a police car, John's voice reminded him helpfully. The current law enforcement.) pulled up. The doors flew open and a cop leaped out.

"Hold it, right there!" The officer yelled as Reese hitched his pants and bolted like a shot. He didn't know what would happen if they caught him, but one way or another he would be delayed. And his mission was too important to risk wasting even a second.

The cop drew his gun and raced into the alley after him.

He entered the connecting alley and paused in confusion. Kyle was nowhere in sight. A second later, the soldier came leaping into view. Before the cop could react, Reese grabbed the handgun and aimed it steadily at the officer, who stayed still.

"What date is it?" Reese demanded, not letting the gun waver and keeping his finger on the trigger. He didn't want to shoot any humans if he could avoid it, but he would if necessary. The important thing was to fulfil his mission. No matter what.

"May 12th," the cop responded, his bemusement at the question obvious.

"What year?" Kyle growled. The cop opened his mouth to reply, but the sound of more sirens cut him off. Kyle glanced towards the sound and made a run for it.

He dashed through the maze of alleys and climbed a fire-escape, smashing a window to enter a large, open room filled with clothes on hangers and signs. A shop, by the looks of it. The first one he'd ever seen that wasn't destroyed and looted.

He didn't have time to look around, though, as he heard the cop speaking to another one, warning him that Kyle had taken the gun.

He crept through the racks, keeping low to avoid being seen, grabbing clothes and pulling them on as he went.

He made his way up an elevator and out the window, climbing back down the fire-escape again. He ended up beside the police car, and quickly opened the door, silently amazed at the lax security the people of this time seemed to have. Still, it helped him, so he pushed the thoughts away as he stole a shotgun and hid it under his coat before closing the door again. Then he quickly exited the alleyway into a street.

Although it was late at night, and the sky was black, the street was as bright as midday from the streetlamps that lit it at regular intervals. Kyle looked around, feeling a jolt of uncertainty for a moment, before he caught sight of a phone booth. Remembering John telling him about how people Pre-Judgement Day had their addresses listed in the phone book, which had copies in each of those booths, Kyle hastened over to it, trying not to draw attention from the few people scattered around the area.

He pulled the door of the booth shut behind him and lifted up the book, opening it and flipping through the pages. He only had a rudimentary ability to read, but it was enough. He found the 'C's, and looked through them until he found the one he was looking for 'Connor, Sarah J. 308 Westburne Heights Apartments, Mulberry Street, LA.' Tearing out the page, he turned and left.

Énergie Fitness Club, LA: Friday, May 13th, 1984

Nineteen-year-old Sarah Jeanette Connor pulled into the parking lot of her fitness club. Finding a free space, she kicked the break of her beloved motorbike and slung her leg off.

She darted over to the door, fixing her plait, that had gotten mussed from her helmet, as she did so. The receptionist, a friendly young woman named Lisa, grinned at her as Sarah paused at the desk to scribble her name on the register.

"Heya, Sarah," Lisa greeted her cheerfully. "How's it going?"

"Busily," Sarah retorted. "Matt's finally proposed to Ginger, and she's gone crazy. The apartment's covered in wedding mags, and she's busy booking taste testings, and dress fittings, and all. As maid of honour, I'm apparently obliged to help her with all of it, though I'm not complaining about getting free cake, I must admit." She winked at Lisa, who chuckled cheerfully.

"Well, you're here so much you won't have to worry about not fitting into your dress, at least," Lisa grinned. "Is term almost over then?"

Sarah nodded. "Almost. Finishing up in two weeks, thank god. The class time is digging into my free time. What with the championships coming up, I need to practice."

"Oh, please," Lisa scoffed. "You're the best shooter in California. You won by miles last year, and you placed the under-eighteens twice, as well as winning when you were seventeen. You make military war vets feel like failures. I have no doubts that this will be the third year in a row that you bring home the gold."

Sarah grinned proudly at that. Her mother had died when Sarah was a baby, and her Army father had been lost on how to raise a daughter. He'd solved his dilemma by raising her like she was a boy. Instead of playing with tea sets and dolls, Sarah had learned things like how to care for and fire different types of guns, multiple self-defence styles, hunting and fishing. The girliest things she'd done was ballet and gymnastics, which her grandmother had pressed her into doing. Admittedly, Sarah had enjoyed them just as much. She also had an interest in art and music, (again, nurtured by her grandmother who'd been desperate to make Sarah more 'ladylike') but those were more gender-neutral than anything else.

Not that Sarah had ever minded how her dad had treated her, despite Nan's despair. She'd always enjoyed the various activities they'd done together, and she was capable of taking down any man. Now that her father was gone, continuing those activities made her feel closer to him.

"We'll see," she hummed. "Anyway, I'm gonna head up to the gym. I want to do at least two hours, and I've to go to the grocer's and take a catnap before work at eight. I'm working 'til closing."

"That sucks," Lisa sympathized. "Better head on up then. See ya."

"See ya," Sarah waved casually over her shoulder as she headed for the locker room. After changing into a dark green tank top and black leggings, she grabbed her Walkman and headphones and headed to the main gym, where she climbed onto a tread mill. Turning on Elton John, she lost herself in the music and burn of the exercise.

She changed machines several times, going from the tread mill to the cross trainer to the spin bike. She was on the rowing machine, eyes closed, when someone abruptly pulled her headphones off, making Sarah's eyes snap open in outrage.

"Hey!" she snapped. Ginger's face came into focus, the other woman's own headphones dangling around her neck and a grin on her face as she cocked her hip.

"You know it's four-thirty, right?"

"Four-thirty?" Sarah repeated, eyes widening. She quickly checked her watch, swearing when she confirmed it. "Damnit! I need to shower and get to the shop. I'll have to skip that nap I was gonna take."

Ginger shrugged. "C'est la vie," she declared philosophically as Sarah clambered off the machine and began to do a few quick stretches to cool down. "If you want to skip showering here and just head home, I can pop to Walmart. You can catch a few z's, then shower after. You should be good."

"Thanks kiddo," Sarah breathed. "That's be great. I'm on 'til six-thirty tonight."

"Yuck," Ginger made a face as they began heading back to the lockers. "You should get a job with normal, non-nocturnal hours. You know, like me with my yoga classes."

"No, that wouldn't work for me," Sarah shook her head. "If I worked days, I wouldn't be able to do as much during them. I'd have to give up either volunteering at the YMCA, reduce my time at the range, or else school. And giving up school isn't an option. Not if I want to get a non-minimum wage job that doesn't involve being a secretary." She stopped in front of her locker and quickly opened it to pull out her bag.

"You'd be a terrible secretary," Ginger stated. "Oh well. I suppose you'll just have to deal. Just don't work yourself to death, 'kay honey?"

"I won't," Sarah promised. She leaned in and pecked her friend's cheek as she slung the bag over her shoulder. "See you at home kiddo," she said, before heading for the door. Ginger started in the other direction, no doubt going to get her fiancé from the weights room.

"See ya," Ginger called back, just before the door closed.

Westburne Heights Apartments, Mulberry Street, LA: May 13th, 1984

It had taken Kyle the best part of both the night and the day to track down the building where Sarah Connor lived, but he'd done it eventually. Currently, he was huddled in his stolen car. He'd stolen a 'burger and chips' from a man selling food nearby, and was currently savouring it. It had a range of things on it, and Kyle wasn't really sure what. It was delicious though. Definitely the best meal he had ever tasted.

Finishing off the last of his meal, he licked his fingers and took a sip of water from his bottle, which was resting beside the bag filled with guns and ammo that he'd taken from a weapons store the night before. Then he tapped his fingers on the wheel, once again debating whether or not he should try and track Sarah down. He'd been hovering outside her building for three hours now, but he hadn't seen any sign of her yet. But no, leaving was a bad idea.

He knew that she was a bartender (whatever that was) at a nightclub, and studying 'Classical Studies' in college at this time, but that was it. He didn't know the name of where she worked or studied, nor did he know her schedule. His best bet was to remain watching her building until she arrived home. At least he knew what she looked like.

He still had far more information about Sarah Connor than the Terminator did, which was a relief. He'd already heard on the radio about a woman called Sarah Connor being murdered in her home that morning, and nearly panicked until they'd gone on to add that she was a thirty-eight-year-old mother of two. He felt bad that he couldn't protect the innocents from being killed, but in the long run, they didn't matter. Only Sarah Jeanette Connor did.

A red motorbike came speeding into the parking lot, and Kyle hastily crouched down, angling himself to be able to see without being seen. His heartbeat sped up as he took in the young woman swinging her leg off of the bike.

He'd looked at the photo that John had given him a million times, memorizing every detail, and he'd known she was beautiful. John had once told him that the picture didn't do her justice, and now that he'd seen her in person, Kyle wholly agreed.

Sarah had long, dark brunette hair, currently pulled back into a long braid to keep it out of the way. She moved with a graceful elegance, and her toned form spoke of a great deal of time spent exercising, unlike many of the people that Kyle had seen since his arrival in 1984 the night previous. Her skin was tanned, and she had a distracted expression on her lovely face. She was dressed in a black leather jacket with blue jeans and a dark purple shirt that emphasized her healthy figure. A pair of headphones, plugged into a small box that was hooked onto her belt, covered her ears.

Kyle guessed that it was one of those 'Walkmans' he'd heard about. John had said that his mother loved music and art. Kyle only knew a tiny bit about both of those things, but John had described as seeing and hearing life. He understood why someone would enjoy something like that.

She bobbed her head to whatever she was listening to as she slung her bag over her shoulder and headed for the entrance to the building.

She didn't even glance at him, and Kyle couldn't decide if he was disappointed or relieved at that fact.