Disclaimer - I don't own it.

A/N - And here is what began as an attempt at happy fluffy smut. It rather died, as there is no smut and I angsted all over it. Thanks to Tin Miss for previewing this for me and making sure it was post worthy. Make my day...review!

Note - We are now calling this I'm Fine, it was formerly known as Colloquy.

John's eyes snapped open to darkness and he lay still for a moment, simply breathing and trying figure out what exactly it was that woke him. He sat up and looked around in the dim twilight caused by the muted glow of a streetlamp outside his window. Movement caught his attention and it was then that he noticed the cyborg sitting in the floor. She tilted her head sideways and looked at him a moment before turning back to the odd shapes held in her hands.

"Cam? What are you doing in here?"

"Amusing myself," she deadpanned.

"In my room?" he asked, clearly annoyed.

"Your room is more interesting than mine." After a pause, she continued, "I don't sleep."

"I could make you sleep," he muttered darkly as he flopped back onto the pillows.

"No, you can't. You've already tried."

"What?"

"You tried. When you reprogrammed me. It never worked."

He paused for a moment, taking in this new information before sitting up once more so that he could watch her.

"What are you doing?"

"Playing."

"Playing what?"

"I don't know. Your new friend seemed to like these. She made robots. I do not make such things."

"What do you make?"

"Butterflies," she replied, holding one up for him to see.

"Butterflies," he echoed dimly.

"Yes," she answered, standing up smoothly and moving closer to him, holding it out like an offering. He took it gently in his hands and studied it - the detail astounded him, she had even worked a design into the wings.

"Legos. They're called legos."

"Legos. Thank you for explaining."

He looked up at her, studying her blank expression. "Are all reprogrammed terminators this way?"

"I don't understand."

"First you dance ballet and now…you make intricate butterflies out of legos. It's so…artistic…so…human."

"I'm different."

"No kidding," he whispered, holding the butterfly out to her.

"No. It's yours now. I gave it to you."

"Why?"

"I…I don't know. It felt like something I should do."

"Like making conversation?" he asked, sweeping the robot off the bedside table to clatter to the floor and placing the butterfly gently in its place. He sighed and lay down once more, curled in front of the pillows so that he was still facing her.

"Yes. Like making conversation."

She sat down abruptly on the bed and stared at him.

"You should sleep."

"I'm not tired anymore," he responded.

She reached out and brushed her fingertips across his temple, trailing them through his newly shortened hair, around his ear, and down to his neck before sweeping along his jaw, up his cheek and beginning the circuit again.

"What are you doing?" he whispered.

"This is a technique to get people to sleep. I saw it on the television. Do you feel sleepy now?"

"No."

As her fingertips swept along his jaw once more he caught her hand with his own, and pressed it firmly to his cheek.

He took a shaky breath and asked, "Do you feel this?"

"Yes."

Without releasing her hand he slid closer and turned so he was on his back staring up at her. "Do you really? Or is it all just a game?" he choked out.

Her head tilted to the side yet again as she felt drops of wetness slide along her fingertips. "You are crying."

His eyes closed in defeat and he shoved her hand away. "It was too much to hope," he whispered, so softly that she wasn't sure if the words were for her benefit or his.

"Hope for what?" she asked.

"That some part of you could be human."

"I look human."

"That doesn't make you one," he whispered, putting his hands over his face.

"I…I feel things. Not just like you, but I feel them."

"Because you are different?"

"Because I am different."

"What do you feel?" he asked, voice carefully neutral, as he lowered his hands and stared up at her.

"Good things now, when I am with you or when I am allowed to drive. I like driving. And shooting. Shooting is good. Bad things when you spend too much time with your new friend, when you show anger towards me, when you think I am lying to you."

"You can lie to me."

"That doesn't mean I always do," she replied.

"You said you loved me."

"Yes."

"What was that?"

"The truth. I love you and you love me."

"Machines don't know love!" he hissed, eyes flashing dangerously.

"Love is wanting the best for someone. Wanting them to be happy. Wanting them close to you. Wanting them to stay alive. I want these things. I know love."

"You can't want. You're a machine! Just a machine," he finished with a sigh.

"I'm different."

"Yeah…you keep saying that."

"You reprogrammed me. You made me different. I can want things. I can feel things. I can love things."

"Like me," he replied bitterly.

"Just you," she answered, reaching out and touching the back of his hand.

He shifted around, moving so that his head was once more on the pillow, and gazed up at her, his eyes boring into her own, searching for something that he wasn't sure he wanted to find. Cameron broke the gaze first, and, pulling the blanket back, lay down on her side on the small bed, being careful not to roll off onto the floor.

"What are you doing?" he asked warily, as she pulled the blanket over herself.

"Comforting you," she replied, sliding even closer to John and trailing her fingertips across his lips.

He rolled on his side and propped up on one elbow, staring deep into her eyes once more. "What do you want from me?" he breathed, face merely inches from her own.

"This," she whispered, leaning in and bridging the gap between them to press her lips to his.

He was somehow surprised at how soft her lips were, at the way her kiss felt like a normal girl's kiss - he has always wondered if it would feel mechanical, and was pleasantly surprised that it didn't. John slipped the arm that was holding himself up under her and eased them both down onto the pillow, still moving his lips softly against hers.

He opened his eyes to find that hers were closed, and watched her as he ran his fingers through her hair. She sighed, entwining her legs with his, and, finally, she pulled back and laid her head on his shoulder, nuzzling her face into his neck. One hand trailed down his chest until she found his other hand and linked her fingers with his.

"It's not a game or a lie. It never was," she whispered earnestly, raising up and looking him in the eye as she said it.

"I believe you," he whispered, kissing her softly once more. He slid down a bit in the bed and pressed close to her, burying his face in her neck, one arm moving to drape across her waist. She held him close, softly stroking the back of his head, listening closely until his breathing became deep and even.