Entreaties Of Deceit by Lopaka Tanu

Title: Entreaties Of Deceit
Author: Lopaka Tanu
Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator or Terminator: Salvation.
Characters: Marcus, The Terminator, Kyle, Sarah.
Words: 5907
Prompt: The machines sent back another model, one who knows Kyle intimately.
Fandom: Terminator/Terminator Salvation
Pairing: Kyle/Sarah, Kyle/Marcus
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Language, Termination, Violence, Language.
Summary: Sent back in time, Marcus is lost as to what his ultimate goal is.
Author's Note: A study in manipulation and the various means to overcome it.
______________________________________

"What does a teenage boy know between love and lust?"

Those words echoed in his mind as he drifted. Distantly aware that he was dreaming, part of his mind acknowledged them. Only a small part, though. He had no desire to confront it.

Warmth buffeted him from all directions. It flowed like a gentle tide, ebbing and rising with the lazy beat of a heart. He knew what this meant.

Everything was familiar. The sense memory was there, yet, he couldn't access it. The knowledge felt just beyond his reach. He yearned for it. To know why.

Why what? It was an important question.

Too much. Thoughts drifted in and out of his mind. They flitted about aimlessly for no apparent reason. He understood it all, though.

Then it grew distant. He was alone again. That didn't come with a feeling of loss. Freedom tugged at him.

Blue eyes opened.

~~~~~~~~~~

The world came back to his senses in stark clarity. Sharp, like a snap, he was suddenly aware that he was there. With it came pain. It was so strong that it staggered him. Marcus tried to remain kneeling as his skin felt alive with fire. A thousand points of ice pricked his skin.

Heart racing, he felt his stomach start to rebel. Tears stung at his eyes while bile choked his throat. Marcus groaned as he fought a full-body shiver.

His frantic thoughts tried to make sense of what he had just experienced but all he kept coming back to was the pain. There had been light. That much he could recall. Everything else was hazy.

A wave of dizziness forced him to go down on all fours. He groaned with weariness when nausea threatened again. It was over, but the after effects were killer. Shock was setting in now.

He shivered as he curled up. Marcus barely had time to wonder where his clothes were before another tremor wracked his body. Teeth clenched, he rode this one out until his joints felt like they might tear his body into pieces. It finished quickly, thankfully, leaving him weak with exhaustion.

Sucking in a shuddering breath, he coughed twice. "What the hell...happened?" The last word caught in his throat. It was more of a shock to hear his voice. His voice sounded hoarse from long use. No memory of even speaking before that existed, though.

Still, there was no answer. Only the noise of crickets and a wind blowing through the trees met him. He heard more nightlife as his body and breathing settled down.

With mild surprise, Marcus realized that he was alone.

Curious, he looked around him for the first time. The stars were out shining brightly above. They were so beautiful that it hurt his eyes to look. Or maybe it was the stinging from the cold that made the tears run down his cheeks.

On an impulse, he glanced down at his hand. Pink flesh covered in freckles was all he found. There was a small scar from when he was ten and had cut himself with a paring knife trying to throw it at a target. Nothing out of the ordinary was to be seen.

Closing his eyes, he clenched his fist tight. It had all been a dream. He coughed while a shiver ran down his spine. "Fuckin nightmares." Bits and pieces started to drift back, but he batted them away. They were unimportant. Dreams weren't important, especially the bad ones.

It took a moment to calm himself down. He took a deep breath and relaxed his tense muscles. They had been so tight that a cramp between his shoulder blades made him wince. Eventually, he was able to unwind enough that he could move again.

Standing up, he shivered from the cool night air. He was in a warm climate, he knew, because there were trees palm trees about. If it was a cooler climate, they would have been fried by the cold air. Like his nuts. As he stood tall, he hunched over enough to cover his bits with both hands.

Now that he was standing, he was interested in finding out how he had gotten here, wherever here was. He scanned further now that he had some height to him. All he found were more trees and lots of grass. They were everywhere. Well, everywhere except the ground directly beneath him.

Marcus looked to his bare feet. He shifted nervously in the compacted soil. Where he had woken in was a half-foot deep crater. He was at the center of a bare patch of earth.

Sighing, he headed for the lip of his hole and climbed out. This proved a little difficult with his hands between his legs. Yet, dignity prevented him from making things easier.

With no clear direction in mind, he started off between the tall patches of weeds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shivering and stumbling, Marcus' feet were killing him by the time he came across the first sign of civilization. It wasn't much, just the trash from a camp. A few feet from the empty potato chip bag and soda cans, he found the scorched remains of a fire pit. It smelled terrible and made his nose wrinkle.

Yet, it was all extremely familiar.

Clutching his sides, he scanned for tracks. If he could locate those left behind by a vehicle, he could probably follow them. Wherever they led had to be better than the middle of fucking no where.

He had left behind the trees for flat scrub and ever scarcer clumps of wild grasses. How long ago, he wasn't sure. Time had lost meaning between his aches and the urge to go on. There was no point looking to the stars. He wasn't a fucking astronomer.

He wasn't a seaman either. Some part of his memory twinged and he recalled from some where that they used the stars to navigate by. It had been years, probably decades since he had thought about that.

Marcus realized he was probably delirious. Lack of body heat and water was making him light headed.

Frowning, he tried to focus on what he had been trying to do. He searched the ground for a clue. Finding deep grooves in the fine dirt, he raised his eyebrows. That was when he remembered.

Tracks. Car. Probably a truck from the size.

"Right." Clearing his throat, he followed along after them. Hopefully he would find a road or maybe even a cabin with someone staying inside. Robbing a few clothes from unsuspecting tourists wasn't the worst thing he had ever done.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Shivering again, Marcus searched ahead of him. He had been following the track for a while now. Instead of leading him to a road, the damned thing had taken him back to the woods. He was now surrounded by tall pines. They were in every direction, which made it difficult to tell if he was near something.

Well, he snorted, he was near more fucking trees!

Marcus was so lost in his thoughts that he stumbled when the ground under his feet changed. Suddenly he was on pavement and his feet scraped across the cold asphalt while he regained his balance. Eyes wide, he took a moment to reorient himself. He had missed coming upon the road because the tree bows hung over the edges. Where the dirt path intersected, the grass had grown near waist high.

The road was narrow at best, definitely one lane. Hell, he would have thought it a driveway if not for the stop sign he noticed a few feet away. Atop that was a road sign with 'Spruce Lane' in bold, white letters.

Clutching his sides, he turned slowly to look up it in both directions. The T-point intersection led to another single lane road. Despite the high grass and the tree limbs, it was in great condition. So, people did use it, even if only to repair the roads.

That at least confirmed for him that there were cabins in the area. Well, if not cabins, houses. There had to be someone around who lived out here. Probably rich people. 'Them fucking snobs from the hills like having retreats out in the woods.'

Any guilt he might have had about planning to rob people suddenly evaporated. Rich people were a different breed all together. They deserved it. Besides, it probably gave them a story to tell when snorting coke off a 'call girl's' stomach.

A loud popping sound ripped through the quiet night. It was so unexpected that it startled Marcus badly. Heart racing, he swallowed quickly and turned to face it.

Squinting, he found it coming towards the junction. A single point of light in the distance and growing fast, it was definitely a motorcycle. Part of him relaxed a little at the idea of seeing one, at the same time, made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The last time he had seen a motorcycle hadn't ended well.

Marcus put it from his mind. That had been a bit of nonsense and he wasn't wasting any more time on it.

As the bike drew closer, he stood up straighter. That caused his nuts to jiggle a little and he remembered his lack of clothing. Hands going to his privates, he hissed in anger. Whichever of his mates that had left him in the woods without a scrap of cloth was going to fuckin' pay!

Almost before he could blink, the bike was upon him.

The rider was a burley man with a pair sunglasses and a leather jacket. He slowed, but didn't give any indication he was going to stop.

Marcus assessed the man with a critical eye. He sized up his opponent and judged him for threat. What he found made his spine grow rigid. Anger inexplicably welled up in him and he stood at attention.

In return, the stranger seemed to do the same. His head tilted a little while he scanned Marcus from head to toe as he made to pass.

On instinct, Marcus reacted to the stranger's presence. His arm automatically shot out to clothes line the man off the bike. Eyes wide, he stared at it in disbelief. It was fucking insane and there was no rational reason for him to have done it. He barely had time to brace himself to have his arm snatched out of joint at the very least.

The pain never came.

Instead, the large mass of the man's chest impacted against his arm and barely staggered him. To his surprise, the bike continued on down the road, engine roaring freely.

The man fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He hadn't made a sound from the moment of contact to the impact. Yet, the force of it was strong enough to send his glasses flying.

Stunned, Marcus watched over his shoulder as the bike continued on through the intersection to crash in the trees on the far side of the road. Its engine continued roaring for a moment longer, then cut off. The sudden silence was deafening in his ears. He couldn't believe it. The fucking thing had worked!

Reality came slamming back into existence when a hand wrapped around his ankle. The crushing grip should have ground his bones against each other. There was pain, enough to make him hiss and jerk, yet, it wasn't right.

Marcus stared at his ankle as if it would reveal clues to what was going on. The fingers flexed tighter and he heard something that shouldn't have been. It sounded vaguely metallic. Before he had a chance to process what any of this meant, the hand jerked his leg forward.

He came crashing down to the road with a mighty thump. Landing on his ass, Marcus felt the grit and stone scrape across his skin. His hands went out to absorb some of the impact, but only managed to rub them raw in the process.

Sitting up, the man cocked his head to the side before looking to Marcus. The entire left side of his face hung unnaturally. The flesh around his eye was torn and putrefaction had set in.

That isn't what drew Marcus' attention, though. Sitting there in equal positions, he saw a specter from his nightmares staring back at him. There was no time for the horror over realizing the truth.

The red eye's lense constricted to a fine point as it focused on him. Releasing Marcus' leg, the machine reached forward to grab for his neck.

The counter was automatic, again. Adrenalin surged through him. Circling his arm over, he slammed it down on the machine's own. This knocked it away. He didn't wait for it to make another move. Bringing up his right leg, he slammed it against the leather strapped chest, hard!

With a metallic thump, the Terminator slammed back against the concrete a second time.

Marcus moved faster than it could reach for him, rolling away. He felt the wisp of air over his bare skin where the metal tips of its fingers narrowly missed. On his hands and knees, he rose up. Sucking in a quick breath, he put all his strength into getting to his feet.

This time he heard it when the machine sat up. The tell tale sign of gears grinding was clear. He listened for the whine of servo motors as they jerked the metallic chains and cables to maneuver the monstrosity. It was a noisy fucker, obviously having sustained a great deal of damage.

Not completely standing, he decided to rush the thing. With a primal cry, he charged forward and slammed into it with all his strength. He took it around the chest and picked it up.

The leather and rotting flesh covered hands scrambled for purchase as the Terminator was raised. It tried to catch on something, but found only slippery, sweaty skin.

Red welts raised where the sharp edges dragged over his back. This only served to piss him off more. Screaming, he slammed the machine to the ground.

Motors whined in protest as the machine impacted the street hard. The force of the hit knocked its arms to the side and head back.

Stomping over the fallen machine, Marcus searched for a tool or weapon, anything to deal with this. His eyes landed on metal a few feet away and something in his mind clicked. Narrowing his eyes, he stomped over to the street sign. He heard the machine already getting up behind him, but ignored it.

Upon reaching the sign, he wrapped a skinned raw fist around it and pulled. He ignored the sharp edges of the metal that bit into his palm. The sign resisted for a moment, but then he jerked harder and growled in anger. Suddenly, a large mass of cement came out of the ground and the pole was free. Weapon in hand, Marcus turned to face his opponent, swinging.

The Terminator had made good time and was almost within reach. That was all the closer it got before the cement casing for the sign slammed into the side of its head. The casing cracked and the machine went down hard.

Marcus was so enraged that he snarled at the fallen tincan. Stomping over to it, he stood over its chest to take aim. It stared up at him to lock on his features as he raised the poll. Then he slammed it down with all his strength.

Cement and steel drove straight down into the face of the Terminator. It caved inwards with the sound of a paint bucket being crushed. Arms shot out as motors went wild. Circuits inside sparked as the machine tried to defend itself.

Twisting the pole viciously in a circle, he ground it down further in. Sparks shot out and the smell of burnt plastic wafted up to his nose. This only pissed him off further and he raised up the sign to jam it in again. It came down with a satisfying crack and the machine ceased all movements.

Still, that wasn't enough for Marcus. He picked up the pole a third time and slammed again. He raised it three more times until the casing hit the road where the Terminator's head had been. Lifting it a seventh time, Marcus examined the bits of twisted metal stained in red strips that had been flesh.

It was dead.

Dropping the pole, he stepped over the body. He knelt down beside it and stared at the now decapitated figure. He had done it.

It was real, and he had killed it. He had destroyed a machine.

Marcus turned his hands over. He examined the cuts in his palms and fingers where the pole had sliced his skin. In the gaps between his flesh he saw something else that reflected the moonlight. Dazed, he looked up at the night sky and found the moon. It had risen above the trees sometime during the night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

There was no ID on the body, not that Marcus expected there to be. A quick search of every pocket had turned up only a blood stained address book and a half dozen weapons. Those, he had the feeling, would prove useful. The clothes were needed now.

The boots were a size too small, but they were shoes, so he wore them anyways. Putting them on had felt less appalling than when had last taken a dead man's clothing. At least this time they hadn't been soiled. Robots didn't piss themselves when they died.

All he had to put up with was the hint of rotted meat. The fucking machine's skin suit had been dead long enough to stink. At least he didn't have that problem.

Unclenching his fist, he stared down at the exposed skin on his palm. Where had been deep gouges were only red lines. They would soon be gone too. Flexing his hand, he turned it over and admired the design. If he didn't know there was a metal skeleton, he would have sworn that it was really his body.

Zipping up his 'borrowed' leather jacket, Marcus glanced over at the thick knot of trees. Buried under a shallow pile of needles and woven branches were the scrapped remains. It wasn't the best possible location, but it was convenient. No one would suspect it to look that there was a killing machine under there.

Heading for the bike he had fished out of the trees, he felt the small of his back. The gun was a comforting bulge. It was securely placed and wouldn't fall out when he sat down.

That left only one thing he hadn't thought of. He unzipped the pocket of his jacket and pulled out the address book. Turning it over, he scanned for anything that might indicate something useful. A quick flip through revealed nothing of value to his trained eye. There was only one address for Spruce Lane, but he had a feeling that they had already been taken care of.

Sighing, he tossed it back the direction he had left the fucking Terminator. All that was left was to explore the world he found himself in. There were a lot of questions he wanted to ask, but there was no one to give him answers.

He snorted. Maybe he should have saved the Terminator long enough to have gotten some from it.

With a bored expression, he threw a leg over the bike and climbed on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The roar of the engine vibrated it between his thighs. This was at once familiar and alien at the same time. The last time he had ridden one of these was damn near ten years ago. Back then that one had been a good bike. He glanced down at the red body of the one he was on now. This piece of shit was hardly road worthy.

'Where the hell did that fuckin machine get this thing?'

It sputtered as if in response, causing it to lose a little momentum, before picking up again. Gripping the throttle, he gave it a little more gas. The engines vibrations picked up while he shot down the road.

Lights flashed by. Security lights on farms or cabins, flood lights occasionally, had been all he saw at first. That was the first indication he wasn't where he thought he was. It hadn't been the first time for that since he woke up. Now, though, there were street lamps. He would fly out from under one like a batshit moth hell bent on reaching the next.

There was no destination in mind. He hadn't a clue where he was going or where he had been. Street signs passed by so quickly that he barely even registered they were there. A quick look at his speedometer told him that he was pushing the bike's limits. Not that it mattered.

Again, fate, or some bullshit seemed to have it out for him. Red lights flashed in the handlebar mirrors. Then the siren reached his ears.

The police car quickly shot up to match his speed. It's siren was loud as it pierced the night.

By now, Marcus could see his shadow when the lights flashed over him. Not that it mattered, he wasn't slowing down or stopping for anyone. The pig could go fuck itself!

"This is the Big Bear Lake Police, you will pull your vehicle over now!"

Raising his left hand, Marcus flipped the fucker off. He scanned the area around him for a turn off. All he found were side roads that led down between long, open fields. There were no quick ditching turns unless he wanted to end up in the ditch, that was.

"I repeat, pull your motorcycle over this instant!"

Marcus smirked. That wasn't a repeat, that had different words. He had merely rephrased the command. Snorting, he shook his head.

Keeping his eye on the road ahead, he continued on. There was no stopping, no slowing down. He was on this for the long haul. If the fatass in the cruiser behind him couldn't handle that, oh well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The cop car had given up about ten minutes into the chase. When he breezed past a county line sign, that seemed to have taken the fight out of the prick. Now he was in another jurisdiction.

Los Angeles, the city of confused angles. Snorting, Marcus drove on past another road sign proclaiming this particular burb's name. He didn't really care what this one called itself. It was full of low-income housing and plenty of lights to see by. What he noticed most was the style of cars.

He had to be in the eighties, he realized. It was a little disorienting to come across that.

This was all too fucking weird. So much had happened since he had fallen asleep in that death chamber. Marcus grinned. The smile was one of pure disbelief.

Another thing that made his world turn on its ear was the deja vu. The last time he had been in this hell hole there were a few less buildings and a lot more skulls. Things had been easier then, which was strange in and of itself.

Growling in the back of his throat, he gunned the engine louder. The noise echoed back at him from the houses closest to the road. More than a few lights came on as he passed.

Coming to a corner, he ignored the sign and plowed on around it. He didn't even bother slowing down. With his new form, he was basically indestructible. Well, that wasn't exactly true. He could be killed by a street sign.

Snickering, he turned south.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Marcus had no idea what possessed him as he pulled over. There was simply an overwhelming desire to stop. It wasn't just any location, but at a gas station. He glanced down at the fuel gage and frowned. He would need it soon, but it wasn't an emergency.

He almost ignored it and kept on driving. Yet, he found his hands already guiding the motorcycle along the curb. When he passed the gas station, he felt himself growing distant in his own mind. The world around him took on an almost dream like quality.

Distantly, he was aware of the bike turning into a motel parking lot. The engine grumbled softly as he eased it under a second story crosswalk. Driving into the courtyard parking lot, he glanced over.

On the right side of the entrance was a sliding window with a ledge. The night clerk watched Marcus through the open window, an expectant look on his face.

Pulling into the first open spot, Marcus ignored the man. He kicked the stand down and shut off his bike. Climbing off, he reached down under his leather jacket to the small of his back. The handgun was pulled out, safety turned off, and cocked in a single fluid motion.

He checked it over for any flaws. Upon finding none, he headed for the line of doors on the wall closest to the motel office.

A dog outside the office noticed him and began to growl warningly.

Marcus glanced over at with a raised eyebrow. Still a little hazy as to why, he stared it down until the dog whimpered. He had a thought that something might be wrong when he heard it.

It was quick, just a sudden inhalation of breath. That was all it took to draw his attention.

Marcus' gun swung around in a flash, but felt like he was moving under heavy water. The laser scope instantly found its target.

She had a moment to look confused. The target located on the center of her forehead.

As his finger moved to squeeze the trigger, something else flashed on the edge of his vision. It was enough and he lost his lock on the target. When he fired, the bullet went wild and struck the stucco finish. Shards rained down where it hit.

Bringing the gun to bare, he took aim at the new target. He found a gun of similar caliber pointed back at him. It was clutched in the hands of a man a little younger than himself. Seeing his face made Marcus freeze.

The younger man had no such trouble. He fired the moment he got a clear shot.

Everything sped up on Marcus the moment he felt the bullet hit his chest. He suddenly had control of his entire body, including every sensation. Pain exploded in his left shoulder and he jerked around with a grunt. "Fuckin hell!" The bullet made a tinking sound when it bounced off his metal endoskeleton.

Already in motion, the man had been reaching out for the woman. He froze just as his finger tips brushed her arm. Swallowing, he glanced back at Marcus with wide, green eyes.

By then, Marcus had recovered enough to raise his gun again. This time, he took aim for the younger man's face. "Do that again, and I put a bullet through your brain."

Pushing the woman behind him, the guy raised his gun too. "I can...'t let you harm... her." His voice cracked a little, making him sound out of breath and startled. Staring at Marcus with one eye, he shifted so he could see him better. "You can't be..."

Marcus raised his chin in defiance. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't?" Still, he lowered his gun just enough to negate most of the threat.

"Marcus." He sounded lost and in a great deal of pain. Swallowing around the thick knot of emotion his throat, he exhaled slowly. "You're Marcus Wright."

Irritation stung at the back of Marcus' head. Reaching back, he scratched the itch. "Yeah, what of it." Something about the kid's wide eyed stare bothered him. There was something off about it. "Who are you?"

Lowering his weapon as if in a daze, the younger man stared at Marcus. He licked his lips and took a deep, shuddering breath. "My name is Kyle."

Shaking her head, the woman grabbed at Kyle's hand. "What are you doing? He's here to kill us!" She tried to jerk him away from the confrontation.

"No, I'm not." Accent thickening, Marcus raised his gun to point it straight up. He smiled when Kyle took aim at him in response. "I think it's just you."

That made her gasp. Shaking her head, she plastered herself against Kyle's back. "What do you want? I haven't done anything to you or anybody else."

"Lady, I don't give a fuck about you." He glanced up at the motel around them. Nodding at Kyle and her, he snorted. "I'm guessing from the looks of things here and the way you're draped over him like a cheap suit, you're Sarah Connor."

Kyle reached back around his jacket to grasp Sarah closer to him. "Leave her alone."

Seeing this made Marcus' jaw clench. He narrowed his eyes. "Looks like that psychotic bastard got what he wanted from ya after all." Taking in her with a dismissive glare, he snorted. "It must run in the family." Shaking his head in disgust, Marcus dropped his gun to his side.

This wasn't worth his time or energy. Turning away from them, he started back for his bike. Whatever had possessed him to come here was long past. He was halfway there when he heard the footsteps behind him.

"Marcus." Kyle was back to being breathless. He rushed to catch up, but stopped just short of reaching the larger man. "Wait. We need your help." He sounded like he meant it.

Marcus stopped near his bike and placed the gun at the small of his back. He didn't turn around, but he didn't climb on either.

Taking this to mean that the other was listening, Kyle cleared his throat. "There's a Terminator..."

"It's dead." Holding out his leather jacket, Marcus dropped it over the gun's handle. "Where do you think I got these spiffy threads? Last I checked, only bums smelled this bad, dead ones at that."

Nodding, Kyle didn't seem to realize he couldn't be seen. He put his own gun away and cleared his throat. "Where are you going to go now?"

Pausing for a second, Marcus considered it. He hadn't honestly thought about it. In fact, he had been flying by the seat of his pants since he had awoken in the woods a few hours ago. To be honest, there wasn't an answer. So, he shrugged.

"You could stay, with us," Kyle added a little hopefully. "Someone's got to look after her and teach John. Even if the Terminator is dead now, we have to be ready for the future."

Looking down at his bike, Marcus took in the red paint. It flaked around the gas cap and the metal body was starting to rust. The thing definitely was a piece of shit.

A large hand settled on his shoulder. The difference to the last time he had felt it on his skin was noticeable, yet oddly familiar in its grip. It was almost possessive in its familiarity.

"Please, don't leave." Kyle's voice was thick with emotion, almost choking him with it. "Not again." He took a step closer so that he was almost touching Marcus' back. "You're the only one who knows, who remembers it like I do."

Taking a deep breath, Marcus glanced over his shoulder. He caught the lost expression on the man's face and it made him want to flinch. "That's 'cause I'm a machine, kid."

Kyle's grip tightened until it would have been painful on anyone else. "I don't care. That doesn't matter to me." This time he gave up any attempt to hold back and pressed his body against the larger man's. His right hand slid around the thick waist to rest over his over his stomach.

Marcus felt his body tighten in response. Pillow soft lips pressed against the sweat dampened skin of his neck. It was as if Kyle was trying to prove his words to him. The erection he felt against his thigh went a long way to confirming that.

"Stay with me." Speaking in a heady whisper, Kyle squeezed the other man with all his strength. "I can't lose you a second time."

Out of the corner of his eye, Marcus saw the woman approaching. The look on her face filled him with the urge to reach for his gun. Only the heat of the man whose arms he was in kept him still.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Epilogue:

The picnic table was hard against his ass. After sitting there for almost a full hour, Marcus' backside was near asleep. He would have left, except it wasn't really up to him. A shadow fell over him and he turned to face his right.

Easing herself on to the bench next to him, Sarah sighed with relief the moment she touched down. Looking out where he was watching, she smiled with a sound of pleasure. "He looks like he's enjoying himself."

Watching Kyle push the little boy on the swing, Marcus grunted in agreement.

Sarah glanced over at him. What she saw made her shake her head. Then she turned to watch her son and his father again. "Kyle seems to get a kick out of it too."

"Yes." He didn't sound entirely pleased with the thought. Marcus didn't care to think about why.

However, Sarah did. The smile slipped from her face a little. "What is your problem? It's been almost two years, Marcus." She raised her chin to indicate the father and son. "Kyle's learned to relax and enjoy himself, do you really resent him that much?"

Marcus just looked at her.

The smile completely disappeared. Sighing, she looked down at the picnic table. The scattered remains from a birthday party littered its surface. "He's John's father, they need each other."

There were so many things Marcus wanted to say to that. The urge to snap at her in return was strong enough that he had to clench his jaw to keep it in. He was so wrapped up in his own brewing emotions that the hand on his shoulder startled him into jerking away.

Sarah kept contact by sheer force of will. Her iron resolve was evident in every line of her face. "We are not trying to take him away from you." She said each word with extra emphasis. "You are a part of our family, as much as any of us."

He wanted to shake her hand off, but for some inexplicable reason, didn't. Marcus just sat there and watched Kyle pushing his son on the swing.

Following his line of sight again, she took a pained breath. The sight of her son reaching for his father made her sigh. "You don't think it bothers me." Her voice was husky as she spoke. "That it's my son who sent..." she trailed off with a swallow. "We won't let him grow up that way. I won't let him become so heartless."

Raising a finger, Marcus pointed at the way Kyle responded to John's reaching hands. "He already manipulates him." He sneered. "Kyle responds so well, like a good dog at heel."

Sarah's hand clenched in the muscle tissue of Marcus' shoulder. "I won't let it happen." Yet, both of them knew, deep inside, she was lying.

On the playground, Kyle picked up the dark haired tot. Swinging him around, he smiled at the baby's squeal of laughter.

THE END...............................