He came out of nowhere one day. Just strolled past the guards as if they weren't there and into the camp, a strange still-young man with old eyes and a scar across his left cheekbone.
Finally challenged despite his odd assurance, he graced them all with an ironic grin and told them, voice lightly accented, "My name is Saïd. I'm here to join you. Where is John Connor?"
Heavily guarded, he was taken to the resistance leader, where he proved himself human by the simple means of slicing into his hand and displaying the bleeding wound. And thus he was allowed to join them.
He rose through the ranks quickly, fighting well and loyally, until finally he reached the position of most trusted lieutenant to John Connor himself. For all that, he kept his secrets well - and they were many. It took some years before he revealed the truth of his past, and then only to John, motivated as much by several bottles of contraband spirits as by his trust in his leader. It was John who broached the subject.
"You know, you've heard my story - "
Saïd cut him off. "Of course I have. Everybody has. You're a legend", he said, deadpan.
John shot him a look and continued. " - but I've never heard yours. Where'd you come from, Saïd?"
Saïd stared at him for a long moment, eyes dark, then sighed. "I was innocent once, you know", he slurred. "Wouldn't have said so at the time, but I was. We all were. So young. So innocent. Only sixteen. And then I saw my best friends die at the hands of a cop, both in the space of five minutes." He took another swig, direct from the bottle. "Hubert took the bastard with him, at least. I never went home again."
John just listened to him, too drunk to say much of anything sensible.
"They called me Saïd Cop-Killer, you know", he blurted out. "Because of my revenge. Only the bad ones, though, I made sure of that. The ones that really deserved it. Ironic, isn't it? Saïd Cop-Killer, international terrorist even if it was only ever on an individual scale, joining the group that wants to save the world. But I only ever wanted to make it better for kids like I was." He sighed. "Some chance of that now, huh?"
John would never know exactly what to blame for what he did next: the alcohol, perhaps, or the knowledge that one or both might die with the morning, or a wish to express his sympathy - or, more likely, some combination of all three. But even through the alcohol, he would never forget that Saïd had barely hesitated before returning his kiss hungrily.
And then they were rolling on the ground, dangerously close to the fire, hands tearing at each other's clothes, before remembering themselves in a burst of laughter and scrambling for the relative privacy of John's nearby tent.
Though it was never mentioned aloud, and no concrete plans of any kind were ever made (for fear, perhaps, of tempting fate), no one in the camp failed to notice when Saïd tacitly moved his few possessions from one tent to another, the following day.