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The first time it hits him — really, truly, hits him — is when the moonshine still explodes.
It's nothing compared to the explosions they normally face, but it's still enough to get the adrenaline pumping. Kyle's eyes automatically seek out John, the way they always do; confirming his safety has become a honed reflex, as unconscious and desperately vital as breathing.
John is lying on his back, shaking slightly. At first Kyle thinks he's coughing due to the smoke, but as he moves closer he sees that no, John is actually laughing. Kyle crouches down next to him, wanting to get a better look.
John's eyebrows are singed, there's soot and dirt all over his face, and yet it's the most beautiful thing Kyle has ever seen. He wants to reach out and capture this moment, wants to press it close to his chest and keep it protected, forever.
It's a side of John that no one else gets to see, Kyle knows that. It's all the more precious for it, the knowledge that John trusts him enough to let loose, to reveal what's beneath the stoic persona he adapts in front of everyone else.
Truth be told, Kyle hasn't given much thought to the future. He's never known a world without war, and has no idea what to expect — or even what to hope for. The only thing he wants, with a yearning that almost burns, is for John to be able to act like this every day. To smile, not just at Kyle in moments like this, but all the time.
John sits up, eyes glowing bright in his dirty face. His smile turns into a sympathetic grimace as he reaches out, tilting Kyle's face towards the light to survey the damage.
"Your eyebrows are almost burned clear off," he says. "Hurts?"
John's fingers, so gentle against his skin, are a lot more painful than any burn could ever be.
"Nah," Kyle forces out, "I think I've had worse."
The touch lingers for a few seconds more — too long, too short — before John withdraws his hand.
"Mm, guess you're right about that. I think we were lucky. That stuff was probably liable to make us go blind."
Kyle snorts. "That would've been a very anticlimactic end for humanity's savior."
"Saviors," John corrects, smile faltering. "We should get back to the others. The explosion was small, but it could still get picked up by the sensors."
Kyle finds himself wanting to kiss away the melancholy, making the bleak reality recede once more. It's not a new urge, not by a long shot, but it is the first time he realizes just what it means. And it hits him, then, that what he feels for John isn't just a case of hero-worship for the man who saved his life and taught him everything he knows. Nor is it friendship, or the forged bonds of brotherhood shared by men who fought and died together. No, this is something much worse.
Kyle gets to his feet, extending a hand towards John. John takes him up on his unspoken offer, clasping his hand in a firm grip. Kyle hauls him to his feet, holding on to his hand for a few heartbeats longer than necessary.
It's all he can afford to permit himself. It'll just have to be enough.
----
It's not enough. That much is clear as Kyle kneels in front of John, taping his broken ribs.
John's breath is coming in shuddered little gasps, and Kyle suspects he would've simply keeled over if he hadn't been sitting down.
"Let me go get the medic," Kyle says for what feels like the hundredth time, gritting his teeth against the response he knows is coming.
"It's not so bad. You can handle it."
And it cuts both ways, John's unwillingness to be seen as a mere mortal by his men. Happiness and pain are things that are reserved solely for Kyle.
"Dammit, John," he hisses. "I shouldn't even be taping your ribs in the first place. It might lead to serious complications."
"I know, I know — but I need to function for a little while longer. I'll take it off once we've gone over the mission losses."
"At least have that wound on your forehead properly seen to. I'm terrible at stitches, you know that."
John leans forward, head coming to rest on Kyle's shoulder. "One more scar isn't going to make much of a difference. I may be a sucker for hopeless causes, but even I realize that my face is a lost cause."
He probably means it as a joke, but for Kyle it's the very last drop. It's the worst timing in the world, he knows that, but it's a distant warning, vastly overshadowed by the feel of John's warm skin beneath his hands. He shifts their bodies, getting John to sit back up as carefully as he can.
"Hey," he whispers, cupping John's neck with one hand. "Nothing about you is a lost cause."
John's eyes are blue, the way Kyle imagines the sky would look without the constant smoke and pollution of war. The blood from the cut on his forehead has run down his cheek, pooling along the scars and making them stand out even more.
Kyle tilts his head — such a small movement for something so momentous — and kisses him.
John's mouth opens up beneath his, not so much allowing entrance as taking the lead. His hands shoot out to grab Kyle's clothes, pulling him in even closer.
It's more than Kyle ever would've dared to hope for, and it probably doesn't do any wonders for his kissing technique — between his inexperience and the huge grin that's threatening to take over, he's probably rather clumsy. It doesn't seem like John minds, though.
Seconds later he's roughly shoved back. John's eyes are wide, something akin to horror in their depths. "No," he groans, "no, no, no."
"John, I..." he begins, trailing off when realizing he has no idea what to actually say. He's never seen John be with anyone, and that makes sense, it really does — but still, he'd hoped...
"This can't happen. Do you understand, Reese? This can not happen." John's voice is hard, brooking no protests.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean — I just..." Kyle stammers, before deciding to bite the bullet. Chances are he's already screwed things up beyond repair, so he might just as well go all out. "But you kissed me back, John. Why? Why, if you don't want this?"
"What I want means nothing," John says. There's a bitter twist to his mouth, and his knuckles are white from the way he's clenching his side. It must be hurting his injured ribs, and Kyle just barely restrains himself from reaching out and pulling his hand away.
"You've sacrificed enough."
John lets out a bark of laughter that sounds more like a sob. "Trust me, I haven't even begun making sacrifices. You'll notice that soon enough."
It's the kind of vaguely prophetic thing that John tends to say, and it sends a shiver up Kyle's spine. It sounds like death is looming just behind them, and that's just not acceptable.
"I'm not going to let you die," Kyle growls. "So cut the crap. That's one sacrifice you won't be making, got it?"
John squeezes his eyes shut as he takes a deep, ragged breath. "This never happened," he finally says. "Don't bring it back up, forget it even happened, and don't ever do it again."
It's been a long time since John gave him a direct order like that. Kyle swallows down his disappointment and keeps silent, not trusting his voice.
No verbal response is apparently required, as John grabs his shirt and walks out of the room, leaving Kyle behind.
----
John spends the next couple of weeks ignoring him. Oh, they're just as good together in the field as they ever were, but on a personal level... it's all gone to hell.
So when John approaches him after a particularly tough battle, bearing an old photograph of his mother, Kyle is desperate to take his chance.
And when John — after talking for a long time about what an amazing woman Sarah Connor was — tells him to keep the photo, Kyle understands.
He can take a hint.
That's why he knows what to say, years later, when John asks why he should send Kyle, and not one of the other volunteers, into the past. Kyle tells him what he wants to hear.
The truth, however, is another story. He's offering to go because he doesn't trust the others. They only want to save the world — he wants to save John.
----
John is holding out his hand again, just like when they first met, only this time the tables have turned. No longer is he reaching for Kyle to save him, he is — unconsciously or not — asking to be saved.
And Kyle isn't going to fail him, no matter the cost.
"Run," he tells Sarah, not taking his eyes off John for a second.
"What? Reese, come on, hurry!" Sarah yells back.
He feels a sting of guilt, but it passes quickly. Sarah doesn't need him. John does. Perhaps he could've grown to love her, with time, the way he was apparently supposed to — but everything he likes about Sarah is a trait he already loves in John.
"Pops, take her and get out of here. Stop Genisys from launching."
It's a relief to be able to trust Pops. To know that the two of them can succeed, with or without him. If it comes down to it, they won't hesitate to take him out.
He hears Sarah arguing with Pops before giving in. He knew she would; she's strong, and will do what needs to be done. Kyle will, too, even if their paths are different.
As they leave he reaches across the broken window and takes John's extended hand. It feels strange against his palm; metal bone and sinew, coupled with tearing fragments of nanomachines. But it still feels right.
Kyle keeps the machine going for a while longer, just in case he's miscalculated. He holds on to John the entire time.
Finally, he shuts it off. John lets out a moan and stumbles, almost falling to his knees. Their hands separate.
Cursing, Kyle sprints around the panel and through the door. He reaches John's side as he straightens up, seemingly no worse for wear.
He's still wearing the suit, but his face is no longer unscarred. He looks just like he always did; the way Kyle remembers him. What's more, there's a cut on his forehead, blood slowly dripping down the side of his face, following the jagged line of scars.
It's exactly like that day.
A soft smile curves John's lips. "Want to try again?" he asks.
Kyle is kissing him before the question has even registered, body acting on its own. John returns the kiss just as fiercely as the first time, but this time he doesn't break away.
It's Kyle who first pulls back, panting. "Are you truly my son?"
"Does it matter?"
"I don't know," Kyle retorts, "does it? If you were never born, then..."
John chuckles as he bends his head, pressing a kiss to Kyle's neck. "I used to worry about things like that. It killed me to send you back, but I still did it — because I didn't think I had any other choice. Now, I know better."
Kyle tips his head to the side, granting better access. John nips at his throat, hard, before licking the skin as if offering a tender apology.
"The future is not set," John says. "You and I, we can change fate."
"Genisys has to be stopped." It's a dangerous thing to say, but it's also the final test. Either his decision to stay by John's side will be reaffirmed and validated, or he'll simply be killed.
"Things can be different, Kyle. I know it's hard to believe, but I'll show you." His suit morphs into his old tactical gear, the blood on his face disappearing — though the scars remain. "Trust me," he whispers.
And so help him, Kyle does. If he's wrong to do so, it doesn't matter. To hell with the world and the notion of peace. What good is all that if John isn't there to see it?
"Alright," he says, "then let's change the future."