Mom

A dirt-covered finger traced the edge of the old photograph. I always wondered if you'd think I was crazy for doing this. Not very battle-ready. But then, you used to do this, too, didn't you? There was no photograph, but there would be moments, even if the middle of training, when you'd get this look in your eye -- I knew you'd be thinking of Kyle.

"Sir?" A voice intrudes from a respectful distance.

"Yes, Pym?" He shoves the photograph back into his breast pocket, before the captain could see his commander's bout of sentiment. But then, they'd heard so many stories about her, his men might want to do the same if given the chance. "What is it?"

Pym saluted. "We have a new recruit, Sir."

Damn it. He knew his leadership had made his something of a legend, but that didn't mean he had to personally oversee every move his men made. "We get dozens of recruits a day, Pym. Give me one good reason why you felt I had to approve this one."

Pym swallowed tightly. He had fought squads of hunters without breaking a sweat, but something about Connor always scared him to death. "He wants to join your squad, sir."

"So?" He turned his attention back to the gun he had been putting together. "Lipcowitz can check his qualifications as well as I can." So help him, if this was one of those boys who just wanted to get a look at the great Connor....

"I know, sir. Lipcowitz said you'd want to see Reese yourself."

"Why..." Suddenly he stopped, looking up sharply at Pym. "Did you say Reese? What's his first name?"

Taken aback, Pym hesitated a moment. "Ky... Kyle, sir. Kyle Reese. Do you know him?"

"No." He could have kicked himself, reacting like that. "Intelligence reports." The one great all-useable excuse. You could use intelligence reports to explain everything. "Bring him in."

"Yes, sir." Pym turned to someone behind him. "Bring him in."

The man standing in the doorway was young, yet. It would be a good five or six years before there was even a chance of him having to meet his destiny. He was strong, though. He had done plenty of fighting already. A small part of his brain noted with some amusement that it finally knew where John had inherited his nose.

"Kyle Reese, sir. It's an honor." He didn't salute, but his entire being radiated respect and admiration.

So this is him, Mom. The man you saw in your dreams up till the moment you died. Maybe he was even worth it. How had Lipcowitz known to send him? Maybe it was just his fighting skills. "What does he do?"

"Would you like a demonstration, sir?" Pym looked vaguely alarmed.

"Later." He was surprised at the lump in his throat. He had never even met the man, except through the stories his mother had told him. It seemed now like those had been enough. "He can go now."

"Thank you, sir." Reese seemed about to leave, but then the photograph peeking out of John's pocket caught his eye. "Pardon me, sir, but is that of... her?"

He smiled inwardly. None of these men had ever met his mother, but she had somehow become just as much of a legend as he was. He normally wouldn't, but... "Yes, it's her."

"Can... I see it? Reese seemed shocked at his own impertinence.

Hadn't his mother said something about Reese having a photograph of her? He didn't want to part with it just yet, but... "Yes, you can look at it." He slowly handed it over.

Carefully reholstering his gun (no one would even think of going around unarmed) Reese reverently took the photo. "She's beautiful, sir," he said with complete honesty. "But she looks so sad. What's she thinking of?"

"I don't know." He knew his voice was too rough, but better that than the emotion fighting to break the surface. Quickly taking back the photo, he added, "She never said."

"Sorry, sir." Now Reese saluted. "Thank you sir." In a moment, he followed Pym out the door and was gone.

He watched them go. So there he is, Mom, from the look of it half in love with you already. He even asked about the photo, just like you said.

I wonder how he'd feel to know you were thinking of him.

He touched the photograph one last time before returning to his weapon.

THE END