Italic type indicates it is quoted, everything else is mine.
The sixteen year old John Connor awoke with a start to see Cameron Phillips, the alias given to the unique cybertronic killing machine known as a Terminator was sitting on the edge of his bed staring at him as he slept."Don't do that," he cocked her head questioningly, "my mom used to do that, I really hate that." He would never understand why people were fascinated by watching him sleep, maybe because that is when he was most vulnerable. Seeing the future leader of mankind at his weakest must convey some kind of thrill. He thought wryly that if he got a good enough agent that he could make millions on Pay per View.
She blinked several times as if she were naïve to the fact that she was one of the most complex and efficient killing machines ever created and that she herself was created solely to kill him specifically. "What's going on?" he asked apprehensively.
"You need to understand how it works," knowing Cameron she could have meant anything by that.
"What?" he asked slightly annoyed.
"This chip, this body; the software is designed to terminate humans. The hardware is designed to terminate humans. That's our sole function," she almost sounded as though she were describing a curse, she sounded sad and tortured.
"Not you," he said in a consoling but less than convincing tone.
"No. Not anymore. But, what was there is still there. It'll always be there."
He looked down and swallowed hard, "So down deep, you wanna kill me."
"Yes, I do." she said matter of factly, but in an almost lustful way.
He sat up straight, not in fear but anticipation, "Then why don't you?"
"I might some day," he wasn't sure, but it sounded like a fact, not conjecture. He started to think that her killing him would be impossible, who would send her back? Maybe she killed him by mistake somehow and came back herself to try to fix it?
"I need to show you something. This body…" She stood up quickly and pulled off her shirt, not in a sexy way, but not robotic either… clinical would be the best word for it. It was as though she were a patient about to be examined by a Doctor. She sat back down on the bed and removed her bra as well before lying down on her back nervously.
Her trepidation made him uneasy, "Get on top of me. Put your knee here". John mounted her with a leg on either side of her body and he could see that she was breathing fast. She reached down to her jeans pocket and the hand came back out with a knife. She depressed the button on the switchblade and the blade popped out; she handed it to John.
She said softly as she drew a line under her ribcage on her left side, "Right here. If I'm damaged, we should know." John swore that she looked terrified and she held her breath as he pushed the knife in, he pulled it toward the center of her body until there was a six inch incision. He could tell that she felt it; he wouldn't describe the look on her face as pain. It was more like someone was running their fingernails across a chalk board.
He cocked his head in amazement as she started breathing again, "Cameron, you can feel that?"
She nodded, "I can feel pain if I want to and I want to right now. I wouldn't be able to act human if I couldn't..."
"Why do you want to feel pain?" he asked confused.
"For the same reasons you want to feel pleasure John. It makes you feel alive."
He looked clearly confused, "So, you're some sort of masochist?"
"No. I don't derive pleasure from pain; it merely makes me feel more alive. Just as you love fear, for the same reason," she panted.
"I don't like fear, people travel across time to try to kill me, I live in fear…" he scoffed.
She cocked her head the opposite direction of his, bringing their lips uncomfortably close, "Connor often lamented the loss of rollercoaster's and skydiving, he loved the thrill."
He smiled, "I do love rollercoaster's, but my mother never really takes me on actual vacations. I've never been skydiving, so I like it?"
She nodded very slowly, "yes. You dream about it."
She moved his hand with hers into the incision, "Reach down, under the breast plate. There. What does it feel like?" She felt him fumbling around inside her rib cage and winced as he hit a sensitive area due to his inexperience.
He smiled playfully so she would know he was teasing, "It feels very erotic."
"Yes. Yes, as it should." she stated matter of factly.
He looked confused, "Why?"
"You are touching me in ways no man ever has. I have opened myself up to you completely. You have seen the core of my inner being. You have the ability to render me powerless with a touch…" he smiled and laughed politely. "Right there John, that's it, like that…" she moaned."What does it feel like?"
"It feels cold. That's good, right?" he asked uncertainly.
"That's good. That's perfect." She lifted her head slightly, "John, do you want to taste the flower of my womanhood?"
He laughed loudly this time, "You have been reading my mom's romance novels haven't you?"
"Yes, the ones on the back of the toilet. They all have the same man on the cover. He is not you."
"No, he is not…"
She looked into his eyes, "I love Conner… I begged him not to send me back here. I cried John."
He looked at her seriously, "I'm sure it was hard for him to do…"
"No, he treats me nice sometimes, but mostly as if I am a tool. I am more than a tool…" She seemed hurt and abruptly said, "John...it's time to go." She sat up suddenly and started sewing herself closed.
He cupped her head in his hands, "Sometimes humans detach themselves from people they love, when they are sick or they know they are going away…"
Her head snapped up but her hands continued sewing, "Or, if they are going to die… I have given thought to that. There isn't an old Cameron in the future. My days are numbered." She finished sewing and tied it off and got redressed.
He stood up and extended a hand to help her up, "Cameron, my name is John Connor… Come with me if you want to live…"
She beamed and blinked in adoration, "You know… your wife doesn't like me very much…" she laughed as she walked by him. He knew she was taunting him, but as she looked back over her shoulder at him he knew that she would die for him. Could machines love? He didn't know the answer to that question, but she would die for him and in his world that was good enough.
