Effective

by Big D

Disclaimer: Not Mine. No Profit. No Shit.

AN: A slightly different version of John. Taking the character out for a test spin.

"Do you like this girl," Sarah asked quietly.

John bit back the first response that came to mind. The one that he knew would frustrate and annoy her. It was as honest question and deserved an honest answer.

"She's just a girl," he said. "It's not like we're picking out wedding china or anything."

The second part comes forth unbidden, but it's too late to back down now. Luckily, Sarah's not in the mood for a fight.

"If you care about her, you'll get rid of her before she gets hurt," she says softly, more in resignation than anger. A simple statement of fact.

John opens his mouth to reply, but stops. His eyes settle on the metal frame she's holding, on the white-knuckled grip of her right hand. He doesn't even think she notices how hard she's squeezing it, almost to the point of drawing blood. For the first time in what seems like months, he really looks at his mother.

Rawhide and whipcord are the first things that come to mind. She's lost weight… not much, maybe five or six pounds, but it makes a difference on someone who didn't have it to lose. Tight muscles shift under too-pale skin like a feral animal, constantly twitching, ready to run or fight at a moment's notice. Even bent over at work, her eyes move constantly, touching on everything in her field of vision but refusing to land on him for more than a heartbeat, just long enough to make sure he's still there, still breathing.

In that one, crystal clear moment, she is once again the half insane woman that he and Uncle Bob rescued from Pescadero State Hospital years ago, the same one who later tried to murder an innocent man in cold blood right in front of his wife and child. John felt his stomach clench. In the years after the destruction of Cyberdyne Systems and the T-1000, his mother had never stopped being vigilant, never wavered in her dedication to protect and prepare him for his destiny, even if it was one they hoped they had changed, but he had always thought that she had left that broken part of herself behind. Seeing it again, even just for a second, was extremely unnerving.

He had a sudden urge to wrap his arms around her and tell her that he loved her. That he would go to school tomorrow and break it off with Riley. To apologize for being such a brat and promise to do better if only she would smile for him and mean it.

For whatever reason though, the words wouldn't come, and a few moments later he found himself shuffling back up the path to his room, leaving his mother to battle her demons alone yet again. He flopped down on the narrow little rainbow bed that had come with the room and stared up at the ceiling as if all the solutions to his problems were hidden somewhere in the pattern of tiny bumps.

It wasn't long before a soft knock came at the door. John studiously ignored it, going for bonus sullen brat points, but Cameron walked right in anyway.

He lifted his head up to look at her. "Why are you dressed like a whore?"

It's a cheap shot and he knows it, but he's developed a bad habit of taking his frustrations out on her ever since his birthday. Something that has only gotten worse since the "Allison" incident.

She blinks in surprise, or what passes for it from a cyborg, and glances down at herself. She's wearing tiny black shorts and a white tank top that leaves her arms and shoulders bare while doing exceedingly little to hide the bright pink bra underneath, or the smooth, toned lines of her stomach. She looks up at him again, tilting her head to the side curiously.

"This is how I always dress."

John clicked his teeth distastefully. "I've noticed. Doesn't change the question."

She shrugged and walked towards him. "It's hot out."

"That's not an answer, it's an evasion."

Cameron gently eased herself onto the bed next to him, knees drawn up slightly so that they brushed against the side of his leg. She shifted so that her face and upper body were turned towards him.

"I feel heat," she said quietly.

He had refused to move over when she invaded his personal space yet again, which left the terminator pressed lightly against the length of his body, her head nearly resting on his shoulder. John moved even closer, turning on his side and propping himself up on one arm.

"Effective," he said quietly.

She blinked again and opened her mouth to speak.

John didn't give her the chance. "That's what you said when you saw Vick touch Barbara on the mouth." He reached out and pressed the tips of his fingers to Cameron's lips, pulling the bottom one down slightly. She watched him silently with those big brown eyes, the beginnings of a smile quirking the corners of her mouth.

John let his hand trail along the point of her chin and down the center of her neck, not breaking eye contact. "Just making conversation, right? But I'm pretty sure I figured out what you really meant." The back of his knuckles traced a line between the hollow of her breasts and she inhaled, pushing herself against his hand.

His voice was soft, speaking to himself as much as her. "Vick wanted something from her, something that he wasn't going to get by torturing or killing her, so he found another way. A more… effective way."

His hand found it's way to the hem of her shirt and slipped beneath it. He laid his palm flat against the taut plain of her belly and moved upwards again, pulling the fabric with him and exposing the perfect skin underneath. Cameron leaned closer, her lips parting slightly. The tips of his two middle fingers rested on the tiny strap on the front of her bra and his thumb stroked a small circle in the place beneath where her ribs would be if she was human. He could feel gooseflesh rising under his fingers.

"Is this what you think is effective with me? Flash a little skin, maybe fiddle with the 'ol fire hose if that's what it takes?" He didn't bother raising his voice, but bitterness crept into his tone. "Come in here, play the good cop and bad cop at the same time?" He made his voice higher and more monotone. "'You're going to get Riley killed, John. But don't worry about those raging teenage hormones, because I'm more than just a machine.' Is that the plan?"

Cameron's expression didn't change, but John thought he saw her eyes go slightly blank.

"You bring danger into Riley's life."

"I'm John Connor," he says dismissively. "There are unborn babies in Uruguay who are in danger because of me. What makes her different?"

She looked down slightly. "You're not John Connor yet."

His fingers curled involuntarily, nails digging into her skin. If she notices, she doesn't acknowledge it. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She glanced back up at him. "John Connor only puts people's lives in danger when it's necessary. Not because he's angry or lonely. He's not that selfish."

John growled wordlessly and rolled over on top of her. It was a useless gesture and he knew it, but he grabbed by her shoulders, pinning her down.

"What would you know about why I do anything," he snarled, leaning down to stare into her face.

Cameron looked up at him, a picture of serenity. Like they were chatting at the breakfast table.

"You and I talk about it a lot."

He closed his eyes and chuckled mirthlessly. "Yeah, that's right. You know all about John Connor, don't you? More than I know about myself."

"Yes."

"So tell me this. Your John. What would he do right now?"

He had been half expecting it, but it still came as something of a shock when Cameron craned her neck up and pressed her lips against his. After a moment, he began kissing her back, running his tongue along the inside of her lips until hers slipped out to duel with him.

She moved underneath him, rolling them over so that she was on top. A tiny part of his brain that wasn't busy making out with a cyborg noted how much heavier she was than she looked. Disguising a terminator as a pretty girl might seem like a pretty obvious move on the surface, but the weight from all that metal made a lot more sense when the it was wrapped up in a bodybuilder coating.

While he was chasing inanities in his head, Cameron was keeping busy. Her fingers moved through his hair as she kissed down the side of his neck. She reached the collar of his shirt, and John sat up slightly so she could pull it off of him. She bent back down and nibbled along his collarbone.

His own hands went to work as well, running lightly up the sides of her legs and pushing up her skirt. The warm, perfectly smooth flesh under his palms shifted and moved just like real skin and muscle would, and Cameron let out an all-too-human moan when his fingers dug into her backside, pulling her even more firmly against him.

She kissed the hollow of his throat, then leaned back on her heels. With a swift, fluid motion, she skinned off her top and tossed it aside. Her arms moved deftly behind her, unhooking her bra and slipping it off her shoulders.

Generally speaking, modesty wasn't a concept that Cameron had much use for, so she wasn't really showing him anything he hadn't at least gotten a glimpse of before. Still, there was a pleasantly satisfying difference between watching her march to and from the shower without bothering to bring a towel, and seeing her strip off while she was straddling him.

Had to be a guy thing.

She leaned down and kissed him again, the firm tips of her breasts pressing into his chest. John caught her by the shoulders as she released his mouth and began to slowly slide down his body.

"Not quite yet," John said quietly, wrapping his arms around her and tucking her head into his shoulder. "I need to ask you something first."

She began running her lips along the side of his neck again and made a soft, questioning noise.

He brushed her hair aside and whispered into her ear. "Who's Allison?"

Cameron went perfectly still. If John had thought she was capable of it, he'd say it was a stunned silence. She started to lift her head up, but he tightened his grip on her. She could have broken away from him easily, but she didn't try.

"Allison Young," John whispered again, a sliver of steel creeping into his voice. "From Palmdale. Who is she?"

Cameron said nothing.

"You know what I think," he said. "I think she's the person who's face you're wearing." He lifted her head off his shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Am I getting close?"

She looked down at him, her face… Allison's face, fathomless as ever. "Yes."

"She was someone I cared about? In the future?"

"Yes."

"You replaced her?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"To get close to you."

"To kill me?"

"Yes."

John felt his eyes narrow. "Did you kill her?"

A moment's hesitation. Almost like she didn't want to admit it to him. "Yes."

She was heavier than someone her size should be, but not so heavy that he wasn't able to push her off of him and onto the floor. She landed on her back next to the bed and John leapt to his feet, grabbing his shirt and slipping it back on. Cameron leaned against the wall, still bare to the waist, looking up at him with a typically unreadable expression.

"You're right," he said angrily. "I'm not the John Connor you know. I'm not the one who's still in love with a dead girl, and I'm not the one who's trying to replace her with a murdering erector set in a skin suit because I'm afraid to let anyone else get close to me."

He sat down on the bed across from her and leaned down with his elbows on his knees to look in her eyes.

"But you know what the real difference between me and that other John is? He trusts you. I don't. You lie to me, Cameron. You do it all the time, and every single time it happens I trust you a little less. Maybe he was able to look past that because of what you remind him of, but I can't. You haven't earned that. Not yet, maybe not ever.

Have you ever wondered why I didn't let mom and Derek burn you? I want to make this very clear, just in case you think it was because you told me that you love me."

He leaned in closer to her. "I let you live because when the bullets start flying, you're a really good place to hide behind. Nothing more."

He stood up and grabbed her shirt and bra, tossing them at her without looking.

"We're done now," he said quietly, the heat gone from his voice. "Put your clothes on and get the hell out of my room."

John stared out the window, listening to her dress and move towards the door. She lingered there for a moment, perhaps thinking of something else to say.

"Just go!" he snapped over his shoulder. He really didn't want to hear her voice right now.

The door closed with a soft click and he stood there for a moment, wondering for the millionth time why being John Connor had to be so fucking complicated. Sometimes it seemed like leading the human race back from the brink of extinction would end up being the easy part of his life, compared to living in this house.

"Fuck this," he muttered under his breath, marching across the room and grabbing his jacket. Maybe his mother was right. It galled him to think it, but maybe Cameron was right too. He really was being selfish by hanging out with Riley. He needed to break it off, before things inevitably got out of hand.

He pulled his cell phone out and thumbed her speed dial.

"Hey, did you ditch the parental yet," she asked him when she picked up.

He hesitated. They were supposed to meet tonight. He had made plans with her. Sullen brat morphing into full-blown rebellious teenager.

"John?"

"I'll be there in a couple of minutes," he said finally.

"See you then!"

He clicked the phone shut and went into the bathroom to grab his bag. Maybe dumping Riley was the right thing to do, but there was nothing set in stone that said he couldn't at least have one nice memory with her before it happened.

"After all," he said to himself as he slipped out the door. "It's just a day in Mexico. What's the worst that could happen?"

(end)

AN: I started this before it was revealed that Riley was from the future (Which frankly just makes me hate her even more. I dig the idea and I like the direction they seem to be taking it, but Riley as a character grates on me like nails on a chalkboard.)