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Chapter 03: Truth & Reconciliation
Harbinger
"Truth & Reconciliation"
NEW MEXICO (RED VALLEY/THE CABIN)
She approached from within the curtain of white smoke, her angelic features glowing through the mist, making John’s eyes sting from the light. He held up a hand to shield his vision and small warm fingers curled around his, gently pulling his arm away so that he could see her without filter. Her entire body fluctuated, shifting from opaque to completely transparent at random intervals, revealing the chrome body beneath. This didn’t bother him though; he knew what she was and accepted her with a warm embrace.
Her body settled into its endoskeletal form and he found himself pressed against the harsh cold metal of her bodice. Her steely fingers stroked his neck and hair. Her metallic lips pressed against his nape, delivering an ice cool kiss that sent a shiver down his spine, but he drew his head back and looked her in the eye. Her glowing blue orbs stared back at him, the only signs of emotion coming from deep within those twin oceans. He stroked her coltan cheek affectionately and she leaned into his touch, giving a static purr of content.
Without hesitation, without any thought to what he was doing; John pressed his flesh and blood lips to her metallic equivalent. She was so cold and he was so warm; they complimented each other perfectly, his Ying to her Yang. Separate, they were nothing. Together, they were everything. John kissed the side of her face and pulled her back into a loving embrace, his brow furrowed in confusion as a gleeful and fully skinned Cameron approached the couple, shaking a pair of bacon slices and raising her eyebrows enticingly.
--
Cameron stopped in her tracks, the breakfast tray held steadily in her hands as she stared nonplussed at John’s bizarre behaviour. He has lying on his back, hugging a pillow closely and placing gentle kisses on it, his hands exploring the corners and groping here and there. Cameron frowned and tilted her head to one side as she mused over this strange behaviour. Her first conclusion was the most logical and immediately understandable: John was having a sexually oriented dream.
A small smile crept on her lips as she carefully placed the tray on the floor and knelt beside the bed, slowly leaning forward until her face was inches away from his. He continued his affections on the pillow and Cameron had to suppress her amusement when his hips jerked inexplicably. Cameron narrowed her eyes at the boy and decided to wake him before he did anything that would embarrass him further. She drew in a deep breath, using her false lungs to gather the air around her and blew out again, her breath blasting John like a gale.
John jerked awake and looked around frantically before remembering his surroundings and slumping back onto the bed, burying his head in the pillow again. After a moment he shuffled so that he could see her with one eye and blinked blearily at her, one side of his mouth curled in an obvious smile; “Hey, good morning”, he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow. Cameron smiled back and gently brushed his fringe out of his face, smoothing it down to his ears.
John blinked at the affection and responded in kind, tucking her troublesome lock behind her right ear, her smile widening into a full beam. John sniffed and raised his head, squinting in the direction of the kitchen before casting Cameron a sly grin. “Do I smell bacon?” he asked. Cameron answered by retrieving the tray and holding it for him to see, the sizzling bacon wafting under his nose. John let out an appreciative groan as he examined the perfectly prepared meal. “I love my cyborg”, he sighed.
Cameron felt her cheeks flush in an automatic response and she flicked her gaze away from his eyes as she held the tray out for him to take. John threw the pillow aside and took it eagerly, sitting into an upright position as he tucked into his eggs. Cameron settled on his bed, crossing her legs as she watched him eat. She loved watching him consume food; something about the way his jaw moved as he chewed just tickled her so. John often complained about this habit, but he decided to let her stare this time, in payment for breakfast.
As John took a swig of orange juice, Cameron felt a query pop onto her HUD and felt compelled to ask it, despite the likely consequences. “John?” she started hesitantly, a small appeal for his permission. John replied with a “hmm”, signalling her to continue. “Why were you trying to copulate with the pillow?” she asked in her most innocent and child-like voice. John choked on his juice and fell into a coughing fit. Cameron had anticipated this response and patiently waited out his choking reflex until he was fit to speak.
After about fifteen seconds and several rasping breaths, John finally put his surprise into words; “Wha- What?!” Cameron inclined her head slightly and looked pointedly at the pillow to his left. “In your sleep you were trying to have intercourse with your pillow. Were you dreaming?” she enquired, still maintaining her naïve demeanour so as to avoid John’s usual aggravation; he finds it harder to be angry towards wide eyes, she’d observed.
John cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “I err… I dunno what you mean, Cam.” She detected the lie in a nanosecond and leaned forward a little, a devious smile on her lips. “Were you dreaming about me?” she asked with a mischievous gleam in her eye. “No!” he exclaimed a little more forcefully than he’d intended. Cameron’s smile faded and was replaced by a look of hurt. “No, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I…” he babbled hastily, but Cameron suddenly burst into a playful giggle.
John froze, his mouth agape, before slowly smiling at her behaviour, feeling the warmth of something indescribable filling his every atom. Cameron shuffled onto her knees and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his cheek before pinching one of his sausages and taking a small bite. She then held it to his lips invitingly and he let her hand-feed him, his whole body feeling like it was made of nothing but air. Once the last piece of sausage was tenderly placed in his mouth, Cameron sealed the affection with another kiss, tasting it on his lips.
John had never felt so at peace with the world. Everything felt so natural and good and… right. Looking back, John could see the subliminal message his dream had entailed. Even though she was made of metal and wires beneath her beautiful flesh sheath, he knew her soul was still real. This was the only part of her that mattered and was the only part he cared to see. Flesh was flesh, metal was metal, but a soul was something different altogether; an entirely unique and celestial entity that transcended all prejudices and distinctions.
She was unique.
She drew back and smiled, her cheeks puffing in that adorable way of hers. John raised his hand to cup her face but something caught his eye and he squinted at a small case beside Cameron’s comfy chair. “What’s that?” he asked, his voice losing its suppleness. Cameron simply shook her head and gently pulled his gaze back to face her, but he raised his chin and slipped from her grip, his eyes glued to the case. “I’ve seen that case before…” he frowned as realisation dawned on him and looked her straight in the eye. “It was the Mexican’s.”
Cameron kept her eyes on his chest and continued to stroke his cheek. John studied her carefully for a moment before brushing her hand aside and moving the tray off his lap. “John?” she pleaded, but he shut her out and slid off the bed, scooping up the case and popping it open in the space of a few seconds. All $100,000 of the bribe money greeted him and John let out a shuddering breath, closing his eyes; “Is he dead?” he asked through gritted teeth.
A moment’s silence passed before she answered in a blank voice; “Yes.”
John slammed the case shut and threw it on the bed, his face darkening with anger and frustration. “Was it worth it? Huh? Does his death make us safer now?” he fumed, his voice rising with each word. Cameron simply stared at him without expression, but her eyes betrayed a hint of sadness. “He was a threat to us. I only wanted to keep you-” she began, but John cut across with a snarl; “Safe?! Really?! You know, I’m starting to get VERY sick of my safety coming at the cost of other’s lives! What makes you think I want that on my conscience?!”
Cameron narrowed her eyes at John and slid off the bed, squaring up to him; “In the future you have to send many to their deaths every day. In the future you know the value of sacrifice.” John scowled and crossed his arms; “Well I’m not in the future yet. I’m not that person yet”, he growled. Cameron tilted her head to one side and her eyes became little more than slits; “No”, she declared; “you’re not.” John clenched his jaw and his eyes blazed like burning coals. Cameron remained indifferent; “Finish your breakfast. Then go to work.”
She brushed past and disappeared into the kitchen, the faint clatter of plates and cutlery reaching his ears, followed by the rush of water as she scrubbed them clean. John stared down at the lovely meal she’d made for him and felt a small glow deep down, but then his gaze slid to the case and that glow suddenly became so very cold. He knew it would never be easy. She’d always be a machine… he would have to keep that in mind. But she still had so much more to learn about ethics. She was half human, after all. It was time she acted that way.
--
NEW MEXICO (RED VALLEY/LeROY’S GARAGE)
Enrique, the Shipkovs, the thieves, and now the Mexican; how many more have to die to keep me safe, he wondered.
John wiped his greasy hands on an already greasy rag and let out a sigh at the complexities of life. Everything was so convoluted; nothing was ever simple for John Connor. My birthright, he mused. Tossing the soiled rag on the tool bench, John took a moment to lean against the wall, closing his eyes in a small moment of peace before he was required to start on the next project. A slight breeze blew through the garage, causing a pile of papers to flutter, catching John’s attention.
He squinted at one page, the headline standing out, and pushed off from the wall. He scooped the paper and scanned the front page, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach as he read the banner headline: ‘NEXT STOP, MURDER’. John had barely read the first few paragraphs before he knew with full certainty to whom they were referring to; an elderly man, Mexican, found murdered with three gunshot wounds (two to the chest, one in the head).
Cameron had killed him execution style. ‘Forensics predict the headshot was the cause of death’. He stared at the black and white body of the man who tried to bribe John Connor and knew that he was just one of many to incur the merciless wrath of his cyborg protector. But was that all she was to him? Just his bodyguard? No, he told himself; she is so much more. But times like these really tested his devotion to that belief. He couldn’t help but wonder if all of it, everything she had expressed and given; was it all just programming?
He held true to the notion that her devotion stretched beyond simple programming. Indeed, she had confided in him that she had chosen not to kill him last year when she was damaged in that damned Jeep explosion. She was adamant that, after he reactivated her, she could think clearly again. Her mind having rebooted properly, she was able to take the time to just stop and think about what she was doing. When he gave her that gun and made her promise not to kill him, she had lied to him at first, if only to prolong her survival.
She’d confessed it all to him after he’d reactivated her in the truck, after he thought he’d lost her completely to Jason’s machinations. She told him about how she held him in her sights and the command to terminate him had come into effect. She told him that she’d acknowledged that command, and then consciously, willingly, out of her own true desire; overridden the command and handed over the gun along with a promise to never hurt him again.
She’d broken that promise.
Not by choice. He knew that. But she’d broken it regardless, and John couldn’t help but question just how flawed she actually was. In many ways, in a lot of ways, she was just as fragile as himself. She was susceptible to corruption, but unlike him, she could never be coerced upon her own will. It took a subtle and masterful virus to undermine her override directives and turn her into an assassin again. Times like these made John all the happier that he’d crushed that Infiltrator bastard in the Mojave Desert.
“That wasn’t me!”
She cried this to him in pure desperation, and at the time he was convinced that it was a lie, but now… now he was no longer sure. They had never spoken of that outburst, even after her second plea in the desert. It was a subject they both avoided, but at the same time he desperately wanted to ask her about it. Would she give him a simple answer, or would she dance around the subject and wean his thoughts onto something else? I won’t know until I try, he told himself.
John was tired of the fights, tired of the misunderstandings and mixed messages. He wanted it out in the open now. His patience was finally up and he needed to know if she really felt the way she claimed between those trucks a year ago, and again when trapped in the desert. Both times she’d claimed to love him and made promises of closeness and devotion, desperately begging him to save their love. Was it just self-preservation? Had she yet to discover her feelings? He could only wonder.
Flipping his phone open, John hit the first and only number on his speed dial and pressed the phone to his ear, eagerly awaiting her response when…
“John Baum?”
John spun around and felt his heart clench as two sheriffs stood shoulder to shoulder, their hands resting on the butts of their guns. John slowly snapped the phone shut and gave them a polite nod.
“Hiya officers, is there something I can do for you?”
--
NEW MEXICO (RED VALLEY/SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT)
John impatiently tapped his fingers on the hard wooden armrest of the “interrogation” chair, defiantly exercising his right to silence whilst waiting for the sheriffs to begin their proceedings. The one in charge, a burly man with a thick moustache, rifled through his files, comparing his details with John’s driver’s licence. After several long moments of distraction, the sheriff cleared his throat and snapped the file shut before chucking John’s licence back to him.
“So let’s get to it then, shall we?” he said, discarding all thoughts of pleasantries. John sighed and pocketed his licence, his mind quickly working on a viable alibi; “What do you want me to say? We had a misunderstanding and we got into an argument, and that was all.” The sheriff narrowed his eyes at John and pulled up a chair, sitting in reverse so he was leaning on the back rest. “What did you argue about?” he asked, his tone betraying the obvious suspicion he harboured.
John scanned the room briefly before answering, taking note of the exits should the need arise; “I told you; he thought he recognised me as a kid he knew back in Mexico. I had no idea what he was talking about and I tried to tell him this, but he was certain that I was who he said I was. He wouldn’t listen.” The sheriff nodded slowly and inclined his head to John’s pocket; “And are you who he thought you were?” the sheriff enquired, his eyes boring into John’s.
John met his gaze and lowered his voice as he spoke slowly, making sure that the sheriff would understand in no uncertain terms; “I have NO idea what he was talking about, okay. I’ve never met the man before and I have nothing to do with his death.” As soon as he said this, John knew he’d put his foot in it and the sheriff raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “Who said anything about his death?” he asked, his suspicion doubling twice over. John kept his cool and simply shrugged; “I read the morning paper.”
“I see… So you’ve had all morning to work on a story, huh?” the sheriff persisted. John slammed his fist onto the armrest in frustration, causing the sheriff to flinch slightly, his hand edging towards his gun. “I’m telling you, I had nothing to do with his death! I was at home when it happened! I dunno, maybe he mistook someone else for someone he supposedly knew and they were less forgiving than me!” he suggested, his frustration getting the better of him.
The sheriff stood up, his hand still on his gun as he picked up the phone and slammed it on the desk next to John, handing him the receiver. “Alright, you call an alibi of your whereabouts and we’ll settle this here and now, how’s that?” he offered, challenging John with his glare. John gritted his teeth and swiped the receiver, pressing it to his ear as he typed in Cameron’s number. This was the last thing he wanted to do. There was no telling how she might react, and the last thing he needed was for her to come in guns blazing.
--
NEW MEXICO (RED VALLEY/EN ROUTE TO SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT)
The wind flowed through Cameron’s hair, tickling her facial sensors over and over again, some strands getting caught on her sunglasses. She switched up a gear on the small scooter she’d commandeered a week ago, buzzing down the desert road at a respectable speed. John was in trouble… again. He sounded calm over the phone, though she could detect his annoyance and knew that some of it was directed at her. She need not ask why he was arrested, as she’d seen the morning news on the internet. This was going to be awkward.
John was still mad at her for killing the Mexican, this would likely not improve after him being arrested for her crime, and she was hesitant as to whether she could fix this calamity. Though she was sure that she could get him out of this mess, Cameron was more concerned at how well he might take the whole affair. Funnily enough, and even though it held no tactical value, Cameron considered his feelings to be of a higher priority than springing him from jail.
Therein lay the indecision; should she charge in and take out the sheriffs, grab John and escape back to the cabin? Or should she bite the bullet and face up to her mistake, and talk him out of their custody? A tough choice and not one she could make on a whim. Mistake? Was what I did really a mistake, she asked herself. The target was a direct threat to John, he could have come back another day and made the same demands. John gave him all of our money; we would’ve been forced to acquire more money through illegal means.
Illegal activity attracts attention. Attention must be avoided at all costs. Let the cheerleader die. It doesn’t matter. Terminate the robbers. It doesn’t matter. Terminate the Mexican. It doesn’t matter. So long as John is safe. He is all that matters. I can’t let anything happen to him, she thought. Cameron would watch an entire city burn if it meant that John Connor was safe. She would prevent her own creation if it meant John Connor was safe. She would throw herself upon the sword if it meant that her John was safe.
My John.
Even as she pulled up outside the visitor’s entrance and flipped the stand into place, Cameron had to muse at her use of the word “mine”. John wasn’t her property, she had no deed of ownership and he was not her possession in any sense of the word. But he was still hers. No one could look at him the way she did. No one could talk to him the way she did. No one could touch him the way she did. No one could ever love him the way she did. He was hers and she was his.
Cameron regarded the lax reception area and decided that now was the time for action, but what form would it take? As if by instinct, her hand drifted to the under-seat compartment where a pair of Glock 17s were loaded and ready for slaughter. But as she weighed the costs of such an action, it was the prospect of John’s reaction, not the deaths of all involved, that made her pause and remove her hand from the seat. She pocketed the keys and removed her sunglasses before striding over to the entrance and approaching the desk with a smile.
“Hello, I’m here to see my boyfriend, John Baum. I was told he was picked up for questioning earlier”, she told the desk clerk with a nervous smile. The clerk cleared his throat and tapped away on the computer for a few seconds before glancing up at her; “And your name, please?” he asked. “Cameron Phillips, I’m his-” she began, but the clerk finished her sentence for her; “Girlfriend, yeah, he told us as much”. Cameron couldn’t help but smile to herself at the thought of John calling her that.
“Yeah, we got him in holding for an alibi. You can go in and see him once you provide a testimony of his whereabouts.” The clerk picked up his phone and informed the Chief of her arrival. After a few seconds, he put the phone back down; “Okay, if you follow Bill here”, he nodded at Bill, a small sheriff to his right; “he’ll take you to the Chief.” Cameron smiled at the clerk and nodded; “Thank you.” Bill indicated for her to follow and she kept pace with him as he led the way to the Chief’s office.
The office was small but glorified, the Chief’s unimpressive certificates littering the wall left, right, and centre. The Chief looked up from a file and gestured for the chair; “Sit, please. You can go, Bill”, he said gruffly. Bill nodded and closed the door, leaving Cameron to sit on the small chair, crossing her leg over and unbuttoning her cardigan. “Can I see him”, she asked timidly, projecting an air of innocence and vulnerability. “First things first, missy; we gotta know where your hubby was at the time of the murder”, the Chief grumbled.
“We’re not married”, she blurted, not quite sure as to why, and blamed it on her penchant for correcting people. The Chief shrugged and picked up a pen; “So what’s his story then? Where was he at about one in the morning?” he asked. Cameron cupped her hands together and rested them on her knee; “He was at home with me”, she answered. “And what were you doing at the time?” he pressed. “We were asleep”, she replied. The Chief stopped writing and narrowed his eyes at her; “Together?”
“Yes…” she answered cautiously, detecting an accusatory tone in his voice. The Chief tapped his pen for a moment as he considered her closely; “How old are you?” he asked suddenly. “Nineteen years three months, why?” she countered. The Chief continued to tap his pen as he looked her up and down. “Hmm… Cos’ you look a bit young to be the age you claim”, he said, his eyes now boring into hers. “Are you aware of the legal age of consent between two adolescents”, he continued.
Cameron blinked; she could see where this was going and knew that she would have to be very careful from here on out. Her outer sheath was modelled perfectly to her human predecessor, who was herself on the cusp of turning 20. John’s relationship with the human Cameron was the topic of little controversy amongst the Resistance, given that he was a good 16 years older than she. It wasn’t so big a deal though, what with the human race being on the brink of total annihilation and procreation being a necessity.
But times were different now and tolerances were lower. Cameron knew she faced a potentially volatile situation and couldn’t help but long for the weapons she left behind. “I’m not an adolescent, but yes; I am aware of the law regarding underage relations”, she replied, adding a hint of annoyance to every syllable. The Chief watched her for a long moment before sitting back in his chair; “Then you won’t mind me asking exactly what you were doing… in bed”.
This time it was Cameron’s turn to narrow her eyes as she replayed the memory of her and John curled up together on that cold night. “We were sleeping. It was cold, I was keeping him warm. Nothing happened”, she assured him, keeping her voice steady but firm. The Chief remained silent for a long moment before writing a small note on his paper; “Fair enough. So you can confirm that he remained with you all throughout the night and never once left?” Cameron raised her chin slightly and fixed him with a stare of certainty.
“Yes, he did not leave my presence until the next morning, and that was so he could go to work”, she explained. The Chief let out a small bark of laughter and shuffled in his chair; “Lock and key, huh?” Cameron tipped her head to one side as she examined his statement and realised its meaning; “I care about him. I want to see him safe.” This was not entirely for the Chief, but for her as well. Cameron needed to voice her feelings, if only in a cryptic manner, just to reaffirm what she already knew to be true.
“John had nothing to do with the man’s murder, I swear to that”, she declared, her voice heated by her conviction. The Chief wrote her words on the paper and sat upright again; “Well in truth, we haven’t any real evidence besides the argument, and reports from our affiliates in Mexico confirm that this guy has a history of getting under people’s skin. Your guy doesn’t seem like the murdering type and you’re certainly not lying; and I’m very good at seeing through lies.” Thankfully not, she thought.
“He can go. I’ll have him brought out to you”, he offered, but Cameron was struck by a sudden inspiration; “No! I would like to collect him from the cell myself, if that is alright with you.” The Chief shrugged and called for Bill to come and collect her, leaving Cameron to her thoughts as she waited for the young sheriff to arrive. She wanted to be the one to walk into that cell and personally remove him from custody, to show him that she was not the heartless murderess he accused her of being.
--
John sat twiddling his thumbs, his back against the cool brick wall of the cell, staring blankly at the dull orange plaster of the interior. For the past half hour, John had been expecting the sounds of gunfire and chaos, but he had yet to hear anything of the sort. Could it be, he thought; that Cameron might actually try something a little more subtle than blasting her way to my cell? His question was answered almost instantly as the guard called out to him; “Hey, you got a visitor.”
She came into view, the sun’s misty rays partially obscuring her body as she approached the bars, her hair glowing like gold. John stood up from the wooden bench and stood over by the cell door, his hands in his pockets as she placed hers on the bars, the pink nail polish glittering at him. “So you decided not to mount a gun-crazed rescue attempt, huh? Well done, I guess you are learning after all”, he mused. Cameron smiled and pressed her head against the bars, just staring at him intently with those brown eyes.
“It would have been quicker… but I didn’t want to upset you again”, she confessed, reaching out to stroke his neck affectionately. “I don’t want us to be so averse all the time. I don’t want there to be any more distrust between us, not anymore. I just want things to be perfect, don’t you?” she asked, her fingers caressing his jaw. John took her hand and kissed it, closing the gap between them so that his forehead was resting against hers, the bars being the only thing keeping them apart; “Of course I do, but you keep spinning me about all the time.”
“I’m a cybernetic organism, built to terminate any and all threats to those I choose to protect. It’s my nature, no more changeable than your need to breath. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth… and I would do it all over again in a heartbeat if it means keeping you safe”, she explained in a whisper. John let out a sigh; he wanted to tell her that rising above one’s nature was part of being human, but he knew that she would only repeat her previous assertion: she is a cyborg; she can never be purely human. He would have to come to terms with that.
“I know, I just… It’s so hard to balance, you know. One minute I see you as a normal human girl and then the next you turn into a cold machine. I can’t… It’s just so hard to know which part of you is you”, he sighed, rubbing her soft knuckles with his thumb. Cameron removed her head from the bars and planted a tiny kiss to his brow; “I’m both, John. What you see is what I am. The only question that matters is: can you love a machine?”
John considered her question carefully; could he love a machine? The answer was no. But then he looked at it another way; “I can’t love a machine…” he told her, causing her to face to become ashen for a long moment; “…but I can love you. I can’t love a Terminator, but I can love a Cameron.” She was visibly confused, her logical mind detecting a dozen contradictions in his statement, none of them helping her to understand his meaning. John could see her confusion and reached between the bars to stroke her hair.
“What I mean is that you might consider yourself a machine or a cyborg or whatever, but I consider you as more than that. You may not be human, but that doesn’t mean you’re not a person. Does that make sense?” he asked. Cameron’s eyes darted from left to right as she analysed his words, realising the truth behind them and the acceptance she’d been longing for so long. A single tear welled in her eye and she pulled him into a passionate kiss, the tear running down her cheek and onto his lips.
They slowly broke apart and John looked deep into her chocolate eyes as he stroked her cheek; “I forgive you. Let’s go home.” Cameron wiped her face with a beaming smile and turned to the guard sitting down the hall; “Can you let him out, please?” The guard put down his paper and slouched over with the keys, releasing John from his cell. He immediately pulled Cameron into a comforting embrace and held her close for a long moment before she gently pushed him away and took his hand, leading him out of the cells and to the nearest exit.
John welcomed the sun on his face as she led him to the car park and let out a sigh for being free from the confines of that cell. Cameron stopped at the scooter and placed the key in the ignition, buttoning up her cardigan and tying her hair back. John stared at the scooter in confusion; “Err… where’s the truck?” he asked. Cameron finished tying her hair and flicked her sunglasses open; “At the garage, remember. We’ll stop by on the way back to retrieve it”, she explained, putting on the shades and swinging one leg over the scooter.
“Right, of course we will. I need to let LeRoy know that everything’s cool too, otherwise I might not be welcome tomorrow. Wait!” his ramblings suddenly punctuated by his ego; “Shouldn’t you be riding shotgun?” Cameron just smiled and popped the stand off, placing her hands possessively on the handle bars, shuffling forward slightly to allow him room on the back. “Cameron, c’mon, seriously!” he protested, but she tapped the space behind her, the grin on her face becoming a full gloating beam.
John let out a long sigh as he slouched over to the scooter and awkwardly swung his left leg over the other side, settling behind her uncomfortably. He placed his hands on her hips and gave her a small kiss on her shoulder; “You kill me, you know that?” he joked. Cameron started up the scooter and looked over her shoulder at him; “I know.” She then pulled away from the drive, almost sending John flying off the back as she swung around and sped out of the car park and onto the main road.
“By the way; love the cardigan…”
To be continued…
Next: Chapter 04: Sophie's Sorrow
Previous: Chapter 02: Thirty Pieces of Silver
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Latest page update: made by Veran
, Dec 7 2008, 8:19 PM EST
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Cameron Phillips
Derek Reese
Fan Fiction
I-950
I-NX Infiltrator
Jason Corvain
John Connor
Sarah Connor
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T-1000
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