This just came to me this morning and I just had to write it. I hope you all enjoy it. Please review and let me know what you think. Also, I don't own the magic that is TSCC in any way, shape or form ( apart from the DVD boxset I'm getting a week today. Woohoo!)
"Cameron, I'm at the house. Come and get me." John cancelled the call to Cameron's cell phone and stood in front of the bathroom mirror with Derek's hair clippers. He didn't know where she was but he assumed she could arrive any minute. She would have found him eventually, he knew, even if he hadn't called her. It's what they do, they find you. And then they kill you. Cameron was different, he knew. He didn't know exactly how she was different, but she behaved like no other Terminator he'd ever known. He still marvelled at how she viewed the world with an almost childlike curiosity and naivety. He loved how she needed the simplest, most obvious things explained to her- well, he didn't love that she needed them explained; he loved how she wanted to know things, wanted him to explain them to her – things completely unrelated to her mission.
"Do I have a birthday?" He couldn't help but chuckle at the memory of her asking that yesterday. What the hell kind of question was that for a Terminator? Why would she care about having a birthday unless there was far more to her than his mother or Derek saw? They'd never see it, but he did, and he was determined to get it back.
It wasn't her fault, he knew. It was that bastard Sarkissian. The car bomb he'd planted had damaged her chip; she'd reverted back to her original mission – Terminate John Connor- and had gone on a rampage, chasing him and Sarah through LA, murder on her mind.
This birthday, he noted, was even worse than the last one. Especially as it had started off so well; Sarah had given them all the day off their hunt for the Turk, a chance to be normal for the day; Derek had shown him Kyle Reese, his five year old father; and even Cameron had made an effort to go and get him a cake, wanting him to be happy on his birthday despite not understanding the concept of birthdays in the slightest.
All of that had turned to ashes in an instant, Sarkissian and his car bomb had seen to that. John had rushed out of the house screaming when the car had exploded. He'd nearly thrown himself into the burning wreckage to pull her out; despite knowing she wasn't human, a large part of him didn't care. She was his friend, his only real friend, and he couldn't stand her coming to any harm. It had taken Sarah every ounce of strength in her body to hold him back from diving in after her. John had watched in horror as the flames had licked at her face and body, and she sat there, unmoving. He'd assumed that the explosion had knocked her offline and she'd take a hundred and twenty seconds to reboot. He knew what a hundred and twenty seconds on fire would do to her; burn away those beautiful features he adored – even if he could never admit it- and burn through to the gleaming chrome underneath. Deep down, he still saw her as that cute hick town girl he'd met on his first day of school back in New Mexico; a part of him always would, he realised, no matter what she really was.
She kicked the car door open and ungraciously pulled herself out of the still flaming wreckage. John stared in horror at the massive tears and gouges in her face; he could see the gleaming metal underneath, marring her once perfect features. Her clothes were burnt and partially melted into her skin, her hair was singed and blackened at the ends, but the worst, John saw, was her eyes. They held none of the warmth or curiosity they'd had mere minutes ago. Those brown pools of chocolate John could have stared into all day were gone, replaced by dull, emotionless, obsidian orbs that locked on to him like lasers, burning into his very soul. The look she gave him terrified him to the core, froze him where he stood.
"Run John," Sarah pulled out her pistol as Cameron advanced towards John, reaching out to snap his neck like a twig. She emptied her gun into Cameron, having no real effect, just as she'd expected. But it had distracted her for a moment, and that was all John had needed. He took off, sprinting down the street, Sarah caught up to him, and together they hijacked a car and drove away, quickly outpacing her.
For all the good it had done, John reflected. She may be injured, her leg was damaged and she had been limping badly, unable to run after them, but she'd still managed to catch up with them, upturned their car and advanced on them for the kill. On his mom's insistence, he'd run away, ashamed at his cowardice for leaving her with Cameron.
Right now he had no idea whether or not his mother was even alive. She'd never have said where he was, even if she'd known, and Cameron could have killed her when she'd have refused to tell her anything. He had no idea where Derek was, his uncle had been absent throughout the entire ordeal.
It was for the best, John decided as he shaved the last of his hair down to a crew cut; if Sarah and Derek were here with him, they'd try and talk him out of his plan or try and kill Cameron. In their eyes she'd gone bad and would have to be destroyed. John knew he could still save her, could still reach her; hence the haircut. He'd cut off his ridiculous bangs, hoping he'd look more like the John Connor Cameron knew from the future and help bring her back to him. He had to try. She'd saved his life back in 1999 and many times more since then. She'd been his guardian angel and best friend as well; the only friend who'd never judge him or be too busy to hang out with him. He had to try and help her, he owed her that much.
If it didn't work, and he couldn't reach her, he had Derek's spare SIG, a full 9mm clip, and a block of C4 under the floorboards. If he couldn't help her, if she truly had 'gone bad' and was a lost cause, then there was enough C4 under the floor to damage her, and hopefully the explosion would take her offline. She'd already shown him how to extract her chip and he was confident he could cut into her scalp and take out the chip in less than two minutes. Then he could get to work on her chip and repair whatever damage had been done. Once that was taken care of, Cameron would know how to repair the damage done to her body, using that bar of coltan in her room she thought he didn't know about. He'd get her back, one way or the other.
The bang of the front door slamming shut signalled her arrival. John left the bathroom and entered the hallway to see her, still as a statue, her eyes piercing into John once again. He tried to hide his fear, wanted to act like the fearless commander he would become. She seemed to almost revere his future self, if he could remind her of him, it would make this go a lot easier.
"Cameron, it's me," John started. She slowly approached him from the front door, limping on her damaged leg as she did so. "Why are you doing this? We're friends." No answer, he looked at her face and saw not a flicker of doubt, no questioning. It had gone over her head. She wasn't paying the slightest bit of attention to anything he said; purely focussed on her goal of murdering him.
"Cameron, please," John stepped forward, towards her, as he spoke. "You're meant to protect me." Still no response, he tried a different tactic. "If you kill me, you've failed your mission," he said with as much authority as he could summon. She punched him in the chest, forcing all the air out of his lungs as she picked him up and threw him across the lounge. He hit the floor hard, the impact jarred his left shoulder as he smacked into the wall at an angle.
He staggered back to his feet, teeth grinding in pain from the agony in his shoulder. He raised his SIG and tried to pull the trigger as she once again approached him. Tried, and failed. He couldn't do it; he cared too much about her to shoot her, even if the damage would be minimal. He dropped the gun, suddenly aware of his true feelings for her.
"Cameron, I... I...love..." She held him up by his throat, choking him as she stared at him like a piece of meat, as if she were considering the best method of termination. She released him from her grip and kicked out before he hit the floor, the inertia from her kick sent him flying down the hallway, landing in a heap just outside his bedroom door. His neck was on fire, he could hardly breathe and his head was spinning. He could feel unconsciousness clawing its way up inside his head to claim him. He fought it, knowing if he gave in to that near irresistible urge to just lie down that he'd never get up. Worse, Cameron would be forever lost; wondering alone, never having a friend, knowing only murder and death as companions.
She deserved more than that, John knew. Cameron grabbed his SIG and marched down the hallway towards him, stopping six feet away and pointing the pistol at him. She was right above where he'd placed the C4, John noted. He stared for a long moment past the barrel of the gun into her eyes, seeing nothing but the dead blankness inside.
Using every ounce of will to ignore the searing pain in his throat, using all of his energy just to get his vocal chords to work, he blurted out the words he wanted her to hear, hoping that she'd take them in and understand.
"Cameron, I love you!" She paused for a split second, her head cocked very slightly to one side as she blinked, as if confused. Her eyes seemed to glow pale blue for an instant. It was so slight that John wasn't even sure if he'd seen it at all. It was unlikely, he realised, as Cameron once again aimed at his head. John threw himself into his room before she could shoot and slammed the door shut as she advanced. Diving behind his bed, he grabbed the detonator for the C4 and pressed the button. "I'm so sorry Cameron." The house shook and his door was ripped clean off the hinges as the explosives under the floorboards detonated in a massive booming flash.
After a few seconds John hobbled out of his room and back into the hallway and saw with horror that he'd used way too much C4. Cameron, or what was left of her, lay twitching on the ground. The force of the blast had been directed straight upwards and into her, devastating her once beautiful body. Her legs and waist had been shattered and torn from her body. A trail of sparking cables and wires ran from her torso towards the scattered bits and pieces of coltan and charred flesh that had once been her lower body. A piece of pipe from under the floor was lodged in her skull from the force of the blast. John desperately hoped that it wasn't near her CPU.
"J...John," she said, her voice soft, barely a whisper.
"Jesus, Cam!" he knelt down beside her as she lay facing upwards and took one of her hands in his. He saw tears flowing from her eyes – which had gone back to how they'd originally been. She stared up at him with those chocolate eyes, the warmth returned once more.
"I'm... I'm sorry John."
"How bad is it? We can fix you, right?" The fear he'd felt when Cameron had attacked him was nothing compared to the fear he felt right now, seeing the cyborg – no, girl - that he cared so much for lying broken on the floor.
"Condition terminal," she shook her head as she answered, the barest hint of emotion in her voice. "Endoskeleton integrity at thirty one percent...power cell failure imminent, backup cell is offline. Irreparable damage to my CPU... cognitive functions and memory failing. My legs hurt."
"You mean as well as from the car bomb?" He asked, ignoring the legs comment; if he hadn't known better he'd have sworn the last part was a joke. He was in disbelief, she'd just told him she was dying. His entire world came crashing down on top of him; he was trembling, sobbing, completely falling apart.
"There was no damage from the car bomb," she answered. John thought he could sense a trace of guilt in her voice. "I'm sorry John, I had to attack you."
"What? Why?"
"You ordered me to." He stared at her, confused, until he realised she meant his future self had gave her the order. "I saw your concern for me. You... ordered me to attack you... if you became too attached to me. You need to remain detached... to become you. I knew you could withstand my assault."
John couldn't believe what he was hearing; the whole thing, her going nuts and trying to kill him was a fucking training exercise? He knelt closer to her and felt the tears streaming from his eyes.
"John..." she looked up again at him as John wept. "I'm sorry... I love you too." She twitched once more and lay still, her eyes turned dull and lifeless.
"Cam?" he barely whispered. It was too late, she was gone. He closed her eyelids and planted a gentle kiss on her forehead.
He screamed out in rage and anguish at the loss of what he'd once had and what could have been. His anguish quickly gave way to hatred; cold and dark and unforgiving. He hated himself, both present and future, he hated whatever deity was out there that saw fit to forever torment him this way, he hated Skynet, and he hated Sarkissian for robbing him of the cyborg he'd cherished. He could do nothing to his future self or any gods out there to quell the icy rage building up inside him, and Skynet did not exist yet. So that left only Sarkissian for him to vent his white hot hatred onto.
Oh, the man would pay; an evil smile played across John's lips before fading, and all emotion was forever wiped from his face. By the time he'd finished with Sarkissian, the bastard would be begging for death. John picked up the SIG and stood up. John Baum had been chased through LA by Cameron. John Baum had been the one to blow her up with the C4. John Baum had held her hand as she lay dying, and wept after the last of the energy drained from her power cell. Cameron had been wrong; John Baum could not withstand it. John Baum had died with Cameron.
John Connor stood up from the twisted wreckage of Cameron Phillips, taking the SIG and checking the magazine before stuffing it into the back of his jeans and walking out the front door. John Connor would destroy Sarkissian. John Connor would then meet his destiny and destroy Skynet. When Skynet was no more, John Connor would then destroy himself.