Find Her, Keep Her

This daylong game of cat and mouse is wearing on him, but there isn't time to stop looking for her or this 'Jody' she's been seen with.

Everyone is waiting for an excuse to burn her, and she's just handed them one. Even if he can find her, he doesn't know if he'll be able to fix her.

As he passes a small outdoor cafe, he sees a blond teenage girl sitting alone at one of the tables. It's not much, but it's all he has to go on.

The chair opposite her is askew, and what must be a second person's meal sits almost untouched.

The girl doesn't even try to disguise her disreputable and conspiratorial nature.

Her eyes track every purse, back pocket, and piece of jewelery in an absent search for marks, and she smiles to herself as she imagines getting her hands on them. To him, it's obvious that she has already found- and possibly lost -something big enough to keep her from making a move for the time being.

She soon notices him, and a conceited smirk tells him that he's the sort of target she usually looks for. A hint of fear seeps into her eyes when she realizes that he's coming directly toward her.

Now it comes down to her confidence in her own abilities. If she thinks that he's a forgotten victim of one of her cons, she'll bolt unless she's certain that she can talk her way out of it.

If circumstances were different, he'd enjoy beating her at her own game, but he doesn't have the time or the interest at the moment.

Professional courtesy is the route he chooses. Taking a seat across from her without making a scene, he blends in perfectly, and speaks before she can decide whether to be scared or confused. "I need to get a tattoo removed."

She goes with confusion. "Excuse me?"

"I thought you might know a good place. Since you've had it done before."

"I don't have-"

"Advertising is bad for business, but we both know that you're wearing at least one sponsor's logo."

"You son o-" she's cut off.

"I'm sure that you've tried to start something real, but you keep going back to your old ways. You fall for a guy and everything's great... until you can't control yourself anymore. You make off with something of his. You start small- cash, a watch, an iPod, something easily lost -then he wakes up one day and his stereo's gone. You keep trying, but you can't stop."

The truth hurts, but it's obvious that that's not why he's here. He's like her, and he'll leave when he gets what he's looking for. "What do you want?"

He lifts from the table a crude sketch that is obviously the girl's own handiwork. "Brunette, 5' 6", 120." Her eyes reflexively dart over his left shoulder. "Thank you." He stands and starts heading down the sidewalk.

"Hey," Jody calls. "Who is she?"

He doesn't look back answer. "Someone who shouldn't be around people like us."

As the minutes pass, so too does a phone booth- a rarity -followed soon by confused and concerned bystanders, talking amongst themselves about a recent passerby.

Though he can't make out their words, he doesn't have to. The the quiet discourse turns to hushed whispers, then to silent and disbelieving stares, telling him that he's getting close.

All he can do now is hope that she isn't hunting him.

A small playground across the street catches him by surprise as he rounds a corner. It almost seems hidden, and that's the only reason that he pays it any mind.

He returns his eyes to scanning the faces of those around him, only for them to dart back to the playground.

It's her. Barely more than a shoulder is visible as she sits at the bottom of a slide, facing away, with her head drooped down, but he knows that it's her.

His heart pounds in his ears as he crosses the street, not knowing if he's approaching the who or the what.

Soon, he stands at the edge of the playground, and as he watches her, he feels his hands begin to tremble.

There will be no going back once he lets her know that he's there.

If she's gone bad, it doesn't matter if he's ten yards, or one hundred yards away, she'll run him down and she'll kill him.

Even knowing this, he finds himself hesitantly calling her name, rather than moving closer.

She doesn't respond, and he tries again, louder, and with more authority.

With no excuses to be made, or options to be weighed, he moves closer.

When his ears perk up at the sound of a whimpering girl, his eyes dart around the area, expecting to find that someone who has ventured too close has been left cradling a broken limb, or a dead dog.

After another few cautious steps, he's struck by the realization that the sounds aren't coming from one of her victims; they're coming from her.

The revelation brings more confusion than concern. "Cameron, why are... Why are you crying?"

She sobs that she wants to go home, but that her mother won't even admit to having a daughter.

His mother doesn't have a daughter, so of course she's not going to 'admit' that she has one. That doesn't explain her tears.

"Cameron-"

"My name is Allison," she sobs. "From Palmdale."

"Your name's not Allison. You're not from Palmdale," he states firmly, now standing over her. "Your name is Cameron, and you're from..." he trails off when he sees the fear in her eyes. If she weren't a terminator, he'd think that she was intimidated by him, but even the knowledge that she's a machine doesn't stop him from kneeling, or softening his tone. "My mom's gonna freak if she finds out that you wandered off like this."

"I don't even know you!" she screams.

He recoils, and is momentarily stunned. "It's me. It's John."

"John who?!"

"John Connor," he says shakily. The look of understanding on her face brings a relieved smile to his. "You remember me?"

Her hand closes around his throat before his brain even registers the movement, and pulls his face to within inches of her own.

As her hold tightens, he struggles weakly, and tries to plead with her, but no words escape.

Her eyes stare into his confusedly, then fall to the hand around his throat, widening in shock at what she's doing.

Tossed away like nothing, he bounces off of the nearby merry-go-round, and lands heavily beside it.

Spinning lazily from the collision, the carousel squeaks quietly, mocking his struggle to lift himself up.

With a pounding headache, and a throbbing back, he approaches her, too concerned with his close call and resultant discomfort to notice the look on her face. "Welcome back," he says raspily, not even sure himself if it's relief or sarcasm in his voice.

"What's happening to me?!" she screams, looking down at her slender hands, horrified by the power they somehow possess. "Why would I hurt someone?!"

Second by second, the tissues in his neck and throat swell, making it more and more difficult for him to breathe, forcing him to shout merely to produce a whisper. "You went bad again." When she looks up at him, her pleading eyes nearly make him forget that he still might die if the swelling in his throat doesn't stop soon. "You're a... You used to be... a very... You used to work for someone very bad. I- we -broke its hold over you. But then you got hurt, and some of your old prog- some of your old... conditioning -resurfaced."

His story is absurd, but it's obvious that he knew what she was capable of before she did.

The shock of what has happened starts to wear off, and she begins to cry again. "I'm... dangerous?" she sobs, staring at her hands.

He sets his own in them, bringing her eyes to his. "Extremely." It's not what she wants to hear, and she pulls her hands back. "I trust you, Cameron... even if you don't remember your name." As he listens to her sob, and watches tears stream down her cheeks, reason finally leaves him, and he takes her into his arms. "You're okay now. I won't let anything happen to you."

"P-promise?" she whimpers, her face buried in his chest.

The painful reminder of that day makes him hesitate for a moment. "Promise," he answers.

It takes forty-seven minutes of whispering reassurances, gently rubbing her back, and lightly stroking her hair to calm her down.

If not for her subtle movements, he'd be certain that she had fallen asleep in his arms, and if not for her quiet, steady, breathing that he's not used to, he'd ask if she were all right.

"John?" she whispers into his chest. "What am I to you?" She feels his body tense at the question. "Are we... together?"

He swallows the lump in his throat. "No... nothing like that. But I... I care. About you." She nods against him.

"You love me?" Again, he tenses. "I mean... Cameron?"

It takes him a few seconds to think of a response. "She knows the answer to that."

"I'm sorry. That I'm not her, right now."

"You're still her," he says quietly.

"I'm scared, and I shouldn't be."

"Am I scaring you?" he asks worriedly.

She shakes her head against his chest. "No, I feel safe right now." Her eyes open, and she stares at the T-shirt that's touching her eyelashes. "We do this a lot... don't we?" When he doesn't answer, she nods. "I thought so." She feels him trembling. "What's wrong?"

Even with his voice so hoarse and quiet, she hears the grief in it, and it's painfully obvious to her that the tremors are suppressed sobs. "We, uh... we haven't done this before." He sniffs, and takes an unsteady breath. "You, um..." he trails off, not trusting himself to put it into words.

"I don't feel the same way," she finishes softly. The unmistakeable sound of a lone whimper escapes his lips. "I'm sorry."

"It's... it's not your fault. You're a good soldier, and you... you do your job. You do your job without... caring. Too much."

"But you care," she says against him. "You care about me."

"Too much," whispers, blinking back a few tears. "I care too much."

"You said that we've never done this before... so maybe when I remember who I am, things will be different."

He momentarily loses the struggle against his emotions, resulting in several quiet whimpers before he regains control. "Things are never different." Steadying his breathing, he fights back his feelings. "This isn't the first time that I've brought you back."

"But if you protect me, then-"

"No, you protect me. Because you're... because it's your job. I'm... not supposed to protect you. You'll be..." another whimper interrupts his sentence. "You'll be very upset with me for doing this."

"Why?"

His laughter comes out broken by quiet sobs. "I don't know... Maybe this time, you'll tell me why."

"I'll-" he cuts her off.

"Stop. Please. You can't make promises for someone else, and I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Oh... okay," she says regretfully. "Would you mind... staying like this... a little longer?"

Tightening his embrace, his hand glides over her back reassuringly. "No, I don't mind." His eyes close, and he lightly rests his chin on top of her head. "I don't mind this at all."

With her relaxing in his arms, hours pass beneath his notice.

His eyes open at the sound of his ringing cellphone, and it comes as a surprise that the sun is now low in the sky. He feels her stirring in his arms, but she seems to be asleep.

Careful not to move too suddenly, he reaches down and squeezes the phone through the denim of his jeans, shutting it off, then returns his arm to her.

"That was probably Sarah," she says. "You should let her know that you're okay."

"Sarah?" he asks, slowly pulling back to look at her.

She lifts her head and stares blankly. "Sarah Connor. Your mother."

His brow furrows. "Cameron?"

"Yes."

He looks disbelievingly at his arms, still halfway around her. "H-how long have you been... you?"

Her head tilts. "I've always been me."

He frustratedly shakes his head. "You know what I mean."

Straightening slightly, all emotion drains from her face. "One hundred eighty-seven minutes."

"Three hours?!" His attempt at a shout emerges as a menacing whisper. "Why?!"

She looks down thoughtfully. "It seemed-"

"Like something you should do," he finishes bitterly.

"...'Right'," she says.

Mistaking her correction for a confirmation, his injured throat turns his snort into a squeak. "Next time that you want something to do, think about what it means to people." As he starts to stand, she quickly takes hold of him and pulls him back down, then lifts his chin to expose his badly bruised neck. "I'm fine," he snaps. "Don't worry about it."

"I am worried about it," she says softly, still holding his chin up.

"Well, don't. When mom asks, tell her that I tried to get into a club with a fake ID, and that the bouncer didn't like that. When she asks where you were, just tell her that there were too many people around, and that I wasn't in any real danger." With his head all the way back, and his chin held firmly between her finger and thumb, he sighs impatiently. "Can I have my jaw back, or are you going to keep it for the next 'one hundred eighty-seven minutes'?"

He's startled to feel her lips touch where her thumb had been pinching his carotid artery, then his larynx, then where her fingers had been squeezing against his jugular, before finally placing another light kiss on his larynx. "Does that make it feel better?" she asks, releasing her hold on him.

He falls back, clutching his throat as though she has tried to kill him again, except his heart is beating even faster. "Why did you do that?" he demands. "Was it just something else that you thought you should do?"

"You love me, John, and I want to love you," she answers quietly. Her eyes fall to her right hand, then turn to the matching bruise on his neck. "I'm not sure that I know how."

After processing her words, he slowly rises to his feet, staring uncertainly at her. When the pain in his neck reminds him that he can't be dreaming, he holds out his hand to help her up. "Whatever you figure out... you let me know, okay?"

She takes his hand, but stands on her own. "I prefer you to be happy."

"What?"

"Machines can't be happy, but I prefer it when you are. I also prefer being close to you. The closer the better." He stares silently, unsure of what to say. "No definition of love fits, but those are the closest."

After several seconds, he looks dejectedly at the ground. "You mean that it would make your mission easier if you could keep me close to you."

"My mission requires that you to live, not that you want to." She places her hand on his cheek, and turns his face toward her own. "I would like you to want to."

Watching him as he searches her eyes, she doesn't think that he'll find what he's looking for, or what she hopes he'll see.

Slowly, she leans closer, bringing her lips to his, making him forget about everything else as she feathers his lips with her teeth, and a gentle suction.

Time stands still for them, as they experience a real, meaningful, kiss for the very first time.

As it comes to an end, he takes her lip between his teeth, tugging playfully before releasing it. "Did you feel that?" he asks hopefully.

She gently strokes the side of his face, gazing unblinkingly into his eyes. "I have sensation; I feel. I wouldn't be very good at this if I couldn't feel."

Laughing quietly, he rests his forehead against hers, looking down at the lips that he's just tasted. "I want this to last forever... but I'm-"

"You've had a long day; you're exhausted," she finishes, still running her hand over his cheek. "Let's go home."

It's nearly two in the morning before the hours long shouting match between himself and his family is through, and it's just after four by the time that he's had his first meal since the previous morning, and finished washing away the day's sweat and dirt.

Finally able to rest, he lays staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The thought of losing Cameron, the state in which he found her, holding her in his arms, their first kiss, and the scripted argument with his mother and uncle to cover it up, all leave his emotions running too high for him to sleep.

Giving up on sleep, he starts to sit up, only for a slender hand to gently push him back down. "Cameron?" he whispers surprisedly. "I didn't hear you come in."

"I thought that you'd fall asleep soon," she says quietly. "You need to rest." She watches him for several seconds, then looks at the doorway. As she turns her eyes back on him, her head tilts to one side. "Do you mind if I stay here tonight?"

"Wha-? Yeah. I mean sure. I'd like that."

She surprises him by laying down beside him, on top of the covers. Seemingly satisfied, she stares quietly at the ceiling with him. Finally, she breaks the silence. "John... am I your girlfriend now?"

Her question makes him doubt that their kiss meant as much to her as it did to him. Rolling onto his side, he stares fearfully into the darkness that conceals her from him. "I hope so," he whispers.

The fabric of the pillowcase sings as her head turns to face him. "Your only one?"

His mind takes several seconds to come up with a reason for her to have to ask. "The only one," he states with with finality.

When she doesn't say anything he turns onto his back and closes his eyes, trying to relax next to her. "Are you afraid that I'll go bad again?"

"No," he answers without hesitation. It would have been a shout if not for his throat. "But I am worried about you. That... your glitch will happen again."

"It won't," she says too quickly. "It shouldn't," she amends. "It shouldn't have happened at all." Her mood lightens noticeably. "But I'm glad it did."

He quietly replies, "I'm not. It doesn't make me happy to see bad things happen to you."

"If bad things didn't happen, I wouldn't be here." As he tries to decipher her exact meaning, she slips her arm under his shoulders, and effortlessly repositions him until his head rests on her chest. "I'll still be here when you wake up," she assures him. "Sleep now."

He pulls his arm from under the covers and wraps it tightly around her. "I'm sorry for how I've treated you," he whispers.

"It's okay. Everything's better now. Everything's perfect."

Her gentleness soothes him, while the firmness reminds him of her strength. His eyes close, and he soon drifts off to sleep, comforted by the knowledge that she will always protect him, always be with him, and that there will always be a place where even he can feel safe.