I was down because Terminator is over and I would have been watching it tonight. So I wrote this during the time slot. I know we're all sick of fics with this scene, but I just love it, and I wanted to get at Sarah's thoughts while she was watching. This is a one-shot for now, but if I continue to procrastinate on my quantum homework, I do have ideas to expand this. Enjoy!
John's fingers tremble as he cuts into Cameron's scalp, slow and uncertain. Derek and I watch. John is the best out of the three of us to do this, but I wonder now if I should have volunteered. I'm seeing something that hurts me more than the night I lost Kyle. Part of me had been filing away the instances, adding them up, but I wouldn't let myself complete the math. Now I have no choice but to face it.
His free hand cups her chin, drifting to the back of her head, quick but still caressing her hair. He bites his lip, opens his mouth and closes it again. Breathes hard and knits his brows, nostrils flaring. Derek is pacing behind me, footsteps disturbing the chilled instructions Cameron gives to John's neck as he leans over her. The floor creaks as Derek stops, breath on my ear, voicing one of my unspoken concerns: "Maybe…maybe it's not the Turk that creates Skynet. Maybe it's her. Maybe this was her plan all along."
The knife is thrown down with a clatter. John looks up, flushed. "She's a machine. She doesn't have a soul and she never will. You don't have to trust her, you can trust me."
I meet his eyes for a long minute, wishing I could do that. I know my son, I know when he's lying, I know when there's something he won't tell me. Every mother does. Just as every son knows what to tell his mom. He would fool anyone else. In his words I heard, not for the first time, an echo of the man Kyle told me he would die for.
My eyes flick away to the floor, and I give the tiniest nod. Derek straightens and resumes pacing. I'm not sure he was fooled, either.
Now John reaches over, using both hands to pull back the slice of Cameron's scalp, folding it down to reveal the circular port containing her chip. The smell of blood wafts my direction. Blood. The ultimate smell of humanity, copied by the machines. John swallows as he reaches for the screwdriver and slowly opens the port. It pops open with a hiss of gas, sticky "blood" getting in her hair as the cover tumbles down. He puts the screwdriver down and takes the pliers. He falters, hand in midair, face drawn.
"It's okay, John," the machine says, her chocolate eyes looking up at his. He looks down at her. "It's not the first time we've done this."
I draw in a deep breath, but say nothing. The machine's encouragement worked. He sets the pliers and his jaw, knuckles on both hands locked and white. He pauses, then with a grimace, turns the tab in a rush. There is a whirr and a hiss, and the machine goes limp.
John's hand shakes even more as he pulls the chip out, blue light from inside her skull shutting off as he does. He slowly brings it up to eye level, gazing at it, breathing heavily. Too heavily. He looks my way and then to the ground, stuffing the chip into a small bag.
"Let's get this into the CPU interface," he says in a rush, standing and leaving the room in an instant.
I watch him until he's out of sight. Derek meets my eyes, my thoughts reflected back at me in his face. "I'll take him to the traffic light," is all he says before he follows John. Leaving me alone in the room with the shell of the terminator, her arms crossed over her stomach, head tilted on the pillow, looking like a normal human corpse. Except for the gaping hole in her head with metal shining through.
I sit in the dim light, thinking. I remember the terminator John named "Uncle Bob" as a boy, remember how all I could see was death while John saw a father. Perhaps now I still saw death while John saw a…
I shiver. A what, a girlfriend? I look at her, lifeless and staring. I look at her curves and fair features. John is a teenage boy. This thing in front of me fulfills much of a teenage boy's thoughts. It's not just her looks, though…sometimes she has a personality. Distant but present, inquisitive and loyal. We move so often we can't form attachments. I know John has never had a real girlfriend. This machine was his only option.
Understanding a possible explanation doesn't make my skin crawl any less. They are the enemy, not something you can take to a movie or out for dinner. Parents always feel like their child goes for the wrong sort, and they feel they messed up somewhere along the way. I wonder where I went wrong. I wonder what his father would say. I hope Derek will step up and say it in his place. I hope John will listen.