Authors Notes: It's just a random scene that came to me. Let me know if you guys like it or not. I'm not so sure about it. At first I had John written into this with a POV scene but it just didn't feel right. Please review Thanks.

Disclaimer: If it was mine we would have a season 3 and 4 and 5 and 6 and I think you guys get the point.

Sarah Connor knows that there are some things that will never change.

Staring out the window of a random hotel room, she thinks it's a Motel 8 but she's forgotten now, she looks over the open desert. There's no movement, like a tomb for the surrounding world. Countless stars light the ground with a silver glow that Sarah knows will never be imitated. She can see for miles into the sandy abyss. The only sound is John's quiet breathing behind her, shallow and even in sleep, and her own heart beat. It thuds in her chest, pumping blood to her ears and giving the desert a song.

This, the open death of night in the desert, will never change.

Somewhere in the semi-darkness lurks a monster that's after her son. Sarah knows this for a fact. The terror that gnaws constantly at her heart reminds her with every beat. It flutters like a caged bird that sees a cat. And as the cat grows closer, the bird's wings beat faster and Sarah feels it being to choke her. But as time drags slowly on Sarah adjusts to the new level of panic. She has learned how to let it settle in her chest and throat without it making her sick. One day, the day she sees her son die at the hands of a machine, Sarah knows the terror will kill her. Sarah also vows that today is not that day.

This, Sarah's promise to protect her son, will never change.

A hand, slender and pale in the moonlight, touches Sarah's shoulder. There's no longer a missing heartbeat when this happens. Sarah turns to look into Cameron's large doe eyes. The orbs reflect that pure silver light Sarah has bathed herself in. She can see herself in them, see the future, and the truth that she will fail. A part of Sarah, the same part that promises to protect her son, hates those eyes. They make the bird that controls her terror flutter in panicked, aimless circles. It isn't because Sarah distrusts those eyes, somehow she has come to rely on the machine behind them, but because they are as dead as the desert that saps so much of her attention. Still, every night Sarah rises when Cameron's cool skin touches hers.

This, a quiet obedience to Cameron's appearance, will never change.

Cameron silently leads Sarah outside, into the sting of night air. Sarah trails aimlessly behind with her arm pulled straight out but she's not being forced. She wishes she could force herself to protest as they disappear into Cameron's room. There's a door connecting it to John and Sarah's but none of them have ever walked through it. An unspoken agreement between the trio had been set; that door was for emergencies only. Just like the unspoken question that had been in John's eyes when Sarah got Cameron a room; the curiosity had faded with no words.

This, the silence that binds them together, will never change.

It's only Sarah's voice that ever breaks the night. No words break her lips. Panting, whimpers, and moans convey everything on their own. Sarah feels no need to speak. Not before. Not during. Not after. She never asked Cameron to come to her room and lead her away, she never asked for Cameron to kiss her, and she never asked Cameron to touch her. But Cameron did. And Sarah also never told her to stop. But every night, as Sarah's lost in the feel of the terminator's fingers moving inside her, she wonders. The words form on her lips as she gets closer to orgasm but before they tumble forth Sarah breaks. Her world turns upside down. No one is after her son, there's no panic attempting to choke her, and for a second there's no silence controlling her life. Sarah Connor doesn't exist. There's only freedom.

This, the second she secretly lives for every day, will never change.

And in the next moment, when Sarah can open her eyes but before reality comes crashing down, Cameron's face hovers over hers. Mussed silky locks tease Sarah's sweaty face and perfect lips beg to be kissed. But the one thing Sarah sees are the large doe eyes that look into hers. Every night she is shocked. She expects to see the dead desert night staring back at her, reminding her of everything she's running from. Instead, when Sarah looks into Cameron's eyes after they've had sex, she sees the sun.

This, Cameron's eyes conveying something a machine shouldn't, will never change.

Sarah falls asleep. It's only a light doze that ends in less than an hour. When she rises, hair still stuck to her body with dried sweat and clothes piled on the floor, Cameron isn't there. Sarah gets dressed and runs her fingers through her hair, detaching the salty locks from her forehead. But tonight Sarah doesn't leave, she sits on the edge of Cameron's ruffled bed and buries her face in her hands. And Sarah Connor, the mother of destiny, cries.

This is change.


Cameron knows that she is a machine.

Cameron also knows that machines are unable to love. This is a contradiction. Because Cameron also knows that she loves Sarah Connor. She doesn't understand how this is possible, therefore, she does not acknowledge this fact. Love must be a malfunction in her system, it is best for everyone if they do not know she is malfunctioning.

It is best that Sarah and John don't know she is malfunctioning because Cameron's mission is to protect John Connor. Cameron has no doubt that Sarah would deactivate her if the woman thought the machine had a glitch. Cameron doubts the night routine her and Sarah share has endeared her to the woman.

That's why Cameron leaves every night. She watches Sarah Connor come to orgasm, the openness of the hazel eyes, and the freedom that's reflected in them. It stirs something in the terminator, a burning desire to tell Sarah that she feels, that she loves her. Because Cameron can only describe this as love, the need to protect, nurture, and be part of Sarah's life. How beautiful she thinks Sarah is and how unique and special. There is no one in the world like Sarah Connor and Cameron wants nothing more than to be part of her heart.

But Cameron knows she is a machine and so she leaves before these words, wants, and whims can pass her lips.

She stands between the two hotel doors. They are exactly five point two feet apart and the wall between them only covered a foot of that space. It was hollow, just two pieces of drywall that barely stopped sound from leaking through. Cameron didn't mind this, it meant she could monitor John's breathing and heart rate from her room. He was awake now, woken by his mother's cry of pleasure that took place forty-two minutes and fifteen seconds ago. John is waiting for Sarah because even though it is her job to protect him from machines it is his job to protect her from everything else. Though Cameron and John have never broken the careful silence kept hanging between everyone both of them know that John has failed. Sarah needs someone to rely on and it isn't her son.

As a machine, Cameron knows that she could be there for Sarah.

Cameron hears Sarah wake up and get dressed. The quiet creak of the bed tells her the woman set down. Staring out into the desert, Cameron waits for Sarah to walk by with her eyes cast down. Neither of them would speak but Cameron would want to.

Sarah's breathing grew ragged and a tiny sob found Cameron's audio receptors. She stood fast, feet glued to the cheap concrete of the walkway. The wind whisked across the desert, broken by nothing as it swept the first layer of sand from everything. It brushed over Cameron's skin and picked up her hair for a moment. "Change" it whispered, not quiet loud enough for the terminator to hear.

Machines did not hear voices on the wind and, because they did not hear them, they did not listen to them.

Cameron knows she is a machine but Cameron is in love with Sarah Connor.

This, both know by morning's light, will never change.