John Connor is fueled by three things.

Anger. Anger for the machines that ruined the beautiful world he once lived on.

Hatred. Hatred for Skynet. Simple as that.

Passion. Passion for life, for the future. Passion for the fighting the machines to win this war.

The soldiers he commands can see these traits. They can see his anger, his hatred, and his passion. He's the perfect leader. These things make him strong and powerful. However, he is only a human. And every human has a weakness.

And his is pain. Pain he chooses not to show, but it is still there, buried deep down. Pain for the countless men and women he's lost in this war. It cripples him, to the point he is overcome with a darkness that consumes him and sends him into uncontrollable trembles and his breathing becomes so quick that he feels like he's suffocating. Of course, he would never let anyone see this. This pain only shows itself late at night, around 2 or 3am, when he is alone in his room sitting on the edge of his bed. He knows it's been getting worse and worse these past few months. He's losing sleep, something he isn't able to do much anyway. He needs to get sleep as often as he can and he can't be kept awake by a stupid anxiety attack.

So that's why he's making his way down to the medical bay. If anyone asks why he's down here, he'll use the excuse that he needs to be stitched up after their most recent mission. It's not a lie either, he does have a painful cut on his arm which does inevitably need to be stitched up, so he might as well do both in one go.

He reaches the heavy metal door leading to the medical bay and gives it a shove. It opens up and he steps in silently and sees only one person in the bay; Quinn. She's a nurse who's been thrown into the medical world since J-day. Her mother, Mackenzie, was one of the first doctor's that the resistance had. Mackenzie was killed three years ago, whilst she was on the battlefield trying to nurse an injured soldier. A terminator was dropped from a helicopter only three feet from them. John had seen it happened and tried to run to them, but he was too far away and Mackenzie was shot in the head instantly by the machine. He can still remember the gruesome sight of her head snapping back from the impact, her body slumping forwards face first in the dirt and the blood staining her greying blonde hair.

It was John himself who told Quinn. He still remembers that day. It was July 29 and Quinn was standing in the medical bay. She was about to be hounded by twenty two injured soldiers, but John had reached her first. When he walked in she rushed to him, expecting him to be injured too. He was, but only with minor injuries that could wait. There were other nurses in the bay so he pulled her aside into the corner. She looked surprised and opened her mouth but John speaks first.

"She's not coming back, Quinn." He whispers.

She only stares at him. No words leave her mouth. He can see her eyes starting to brim with tears, but then the floodgates open. And by floodgates he means the door to the medical bay. The injured soldiers are brought in. Some can walk, others are carried in. Quinn looks at the door and swallows hard, wipes her eyes and quickly runs back to join the other nurses. She has a job to do. She can mourn later. John joins her and helps carry the injured men to the metal tables they use as make shift operating beds.

It takes almost four hours for the nurses to patch up the soldiers. They had lost two, one died almost instantly while the other managed to hang on for a few hours. One had lost a leg and the other had a bullet ricochet through their rib cage and finally lodge itself in the lung. He lost too much blood during the operation.

The nurses are exhausted by the end of it. One has fallen asleep in the corner of the room while others crawl back to their rooms. Quinn is still standing, leaning against a counter. She's covered in blood and is trying her best to scrub it off her arms. John had come back from carrying on of his dead soldiers to the make shift morgue they have in the next room when he saw her. He approached her carefully.

"Quinn…" he whispers. She stiffens and looks at the floor.

"I'm s-sorry I couldn't save th-them. I tired, I did."

"Quinn-"

"But the blood was too much and I couldn't stop his leg bl-bleeding."

"Quinn, its oka-"

"And then we tried to re-remove the bullet and it was to-too much and I-"

"Quinn, stop." He says firmly. He had walked beside her and takes her by the shoulders, making her look at him. He is alarmed when he sees her face. She looks terrified and her eyes are watering, and there's a splatter of blood across her face. She's shaking under his hands.

"Did she suffer?" she asks him. He knows she's asking about Mackenzie, her mother.

"No. It was quick," He responds. She nods and looks at the floor again, and he can feel her begin to tremble even more. "I'm sorry." He says. She nods again and steps forward, pressing her face against his chest. She's doing this to hide the tears that are streaming down her face. He can feel them soaking his shirt and he considers telling her to stop crying and toughen up. She's not the only person to lose her mother. But for once, he decides not to. He puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close and rests his head on hers. A moment of comfort in the night isn't always weakness or a bad thing to do. Since that night, John and Quinn have been friends. Well as friendly as you can be during a war. But John knows that he can trust her with his anxiety.

Quinn walks over to him, tossing her notebook on the counter. She looks at him and offers as good a smile as she can considering the circumstances. Today she helped deliver a baby girl, the daughter of one of John's soldiers; Miranda Anderson. But the baby didn't survive. John's used to the sight of body bags but he's certainly not used to seeing one so small. The bag is on one of the metal tables and Miranda is sitting beside it. Her face is vacant and she is just staring at the small bag. John looks at Quinn, silently asking if there is anything he could do. But Quinn only shakes her head. No one could get Miranda to move, she can only move when she's ready. Quinn gestures to one of the smaller rooms linked to the main bay. This is where the nurses and doctors deal with more personal matters, away from prying eyes. John follows her and then sits on a metal chair in the middle of the room.

Quinn sits down opposite him and tucks her hair behind her ears before looking at him. "Okay, how can I help you?' she asks.

"Something on my arm is sore." He responds, not wanting to tell her the reason why he's really there just yet. Quinn nods and stands up and walks over to him and instructs him to take off his shirt. He does so and Quinn takes his arm and examines the wound. John clumsily bandaged it himself and when she removes the bandage her nose wrinkles. It's about six inches, shallow but jagged.

"You should have come to me first before you bandaged it," she grumbles. She put on gloves and takes a piece of cotton, dips it in rubbing alcohol and begins cleaning the cut. "How did you get this?" she asks.

"Ran into a piece of rusty metal." He answers. He's not lying either. He wasn't watching where he was going and simply ran into an old rusty pole. Quinn rolls her eyes and then reaches for a sterile needle and thread and begins stitching the cut closed. It doesn't take her too long, she's had a lot of practice.

"I need your help with something else." He says quietly when she's almost done.

"Of course. What is it?" she answers as she finishes her last stitch.

He glances at her before answering. She doesn't return his look, she's too busy examining her work. "I, um, have trouble sleeping sometimes." He says.

This is when she stops and looks at him. "What's the cause?" she asks. She reaches for a small roll of cloth bandages and begins wrapping it around his arm.

He shrugs and looks at the ground before answering. "Anxious I guess."

Quinn chews on the inside of her cheek, a bad habit she has. Sometimes she'll bite so hard blood fills her mouth. Anxiety is something that many members of the resistance deal with, along with PTSD and depression. It's the horrible effects of a war.

"I don't have any medication to spare for you, we need all the sedatives we can get. But when you have these anxiety attacks, I have something to help. Do twenty five jumping jacks and count while you do it. After that take ten deep breaths. Then to sleep I need you to lie on your left side and cover your right nostril so you're only breathing your left side. Trust me, it helps. And tense your muscles. Start with your toes, squeeze them together then release. Then do your knees, fingers and so on. Then once you're done all that breathe deeply and count every breath until you're asleep. It will help," She says. John nods and stands up, slipping his shirt over his head. "Wait I have one more thing for you." She says and disappears out of the room, but is only gone for fifty seconds. When she returns she has a small cloth pouch in her hand. She hands it to him and when he takes it from her, he looks at her with his eyebrow raised, wanting an explanation.

"It's lavender. I found some when I was on a supplies run last time. I use it when I can't sleep, just smell it while you're doing your breath exercises. It helps, a lot." She tells him. John nods and reaches up, touching her cheek with his hand. It's as gracious as he gets and it's his way of saying thank you. He begins walking out but her voice stops him at the door.

"You're not the only one who deals with this, John." She tells him.

"But I'm not supposed to be weak, Quinn. This is weakness to me." He answers bitterly.

"It's not weakness. It took strength to come to me for help. And it takes strength for you to deal with this so often and still lead us every day. You're so strong and everyone can see that. But you're also only human." She tells him. He glances back at her one last time before walking out without responding. He is only human, but he's not allowed to be weak. His mother taught him that. And his soldiers can never know. Right now the only person that knows his weakness is the girl with the lavender.