Seven Years after "Born to Run"
Timeline Delta Bravo Three, Code "Girls in Their Summer Clothes"
John woke up to find Savannah sitting on the end of his bed, watching him sleep--the way his mother had used to do so many times, the way Cameron did that one time right after they had rescued Savannah, right before John's trip into the future. What was with women and watching him sleep? She was wearing her favorite black nightshirt--a garment which typically went to the knee, but the way Savannah was sitting caused it to inch up to reveal bare thigh.
"What do you want?" he asked, still groggy.
Savannah didn't answer at first, only studied him intently. "When you went to the future, you saw me, right?"
John blinked. "Yeah. You know that."
"And I was leading the resistance?"
John eyed Savannah warily. He knew what it was like to have the specter of a future self hang over oneself, the agony of being bound to a destiny one didn't want but couldn't refuse. He knew it had hung over Savannah for the last seven years as much as it had over him his entire life--and he had had the luxury of disbelief while his mother was in the hospital, and of spending four years thinking that the need for that future had been averted.
What did Savannah want from him, now? Assurance that her fate really was hers to make? Or affirmation that she would be able to live up to her future self's exploits?
"Yeah," he said. "You did a good job."
Savannah nodded. "Did we fuck?"
John almost fell out of the bed. "What?"
"In the future," Savannah said, with deliberate slowness. "Did. You. Fuck. Me."
He should have known this question would come, sooner or later--indeed, if he was honest, there had been a part of him which had been dreading it the last seven years. But he hadn't expected it like this, not proffered with Savannah sitting half-naked on his bed, or phrased so bluntly or so obscenely. In front of certain contacts, his mother would have the dirtiest mouth in the county--it was a language she spoke, just like Spanish--but at home, in private, she never cursed, and neither did John or Savannah. Indeed, he wasn't sure he had ever before heard the word "fuck" drop from Savannah's lips before.
Savannah just stared at him, waiting for an answer. "I can't tell you that," he answered at last, not knowing what else to say.
"Which means there's something to tell, which means we fucked," Savannah concluded, as he knew she would.
"That future doesn't have to happen," John reminded her evenly, knowing how dangerous the ground they were treading on was. "In fact, it's already been changed."
Savannah frowned. "Are you going to take away everything I have to look forward to?" Her expression was serious, not playful or coquettish, just solemn--a solemnity more than a little reminiscent of the expression he had often seen on future Savannah's face.
She cut him off. "What, you won't fuck me until after Judgment Day? Or am I not as good as her?"
"It's not that."
She slid up the bed closer to him. "Then what is it?"
"Which is how old your me was when the machines came," she pointed out. "I'm old enough to lead humanity but I'm not old enough to have sex?"
"Not with me," he answered her, summoning as much strength as he could manage. "Now get out of my room so I can get dressed."
Her face fell, but she left nonetheless. As she walked out, John couldn't help but watch her. She wasn't yet fully matured into the twenty-two-year-old woman John had met in the future, but the familiar curves which had begun to show themselves a few years ago, first subtly and then will greater and greater emphaticness, were clearly visible from under the loose fabric of the nightshirt.
Every day she was more and more like his Savannah, but she wasn't there just yet.