A/N

Not much action this chapter, it was a necessary evil for the storyline. More will come later on – cross my heart. I've exams so updates will be longer and more frequent in a few weeks. Enjoy : )

Previously

Cameron closed her eyes and turned partially away. He watched the wind play through her hair.

"What? Not going to cry are you?" He says bitterly, rhetorically "There wouldn't be much point; not with me."

Cameron turned back to him "No." She says softly, vehemently. "I won't cry." She steps back towards him. "I do nothing but what you expect of me."

"What?"

Although standing directly before him, she does not meet his eyes. "I'm a scary robot. That is what you ask of me, and that is what I give you. To be anything else, anything more...you cannot comprehend the concept. Let alone accept it."

Sometimes

Chapter 4

For a moment, everything stops. He has to make the conscious decision to breathe. She spoke clearly, coherently. He heard her. But the words seem disjointed, meaningless...to join them, to discern their meaning... is...impossible. It's impossible; what she said.

He manages to look at her, and now she is staring back; wide brown eyes, so open and yet so guarded. The world spins once more and he tries to speak, but finds no words.

Somehow through the daze his mind, his voice, conjures a single thought.

One word.

"Cameron..." two syllables filled with so much; confusion, suspicion, fear and... hope? Each runs through his mind, over and over again, flipping and turning, merging until he knows there cannot possibly be words for what he is feeling.

He watches her watching him. He knows he needs to say something, anything else. Her face gives no clues; it is still, unnaturally so, even for her.

If there was a test, he knows he obviously failed. She dropped her gaze and walked past him.

He stares after her, watching her quickly making her way down the hall.

She turns to go down the stairs, eyes flashing to him once more. But she does not hesitate.

...

John had warned her; in the future. That humans were constantly learning, evolving- much like her. That they could be vastly different people (metaphorically speaking), at different stages in their lives. That he would be different. She knew what to expect, yet it still unnerved her, troubled her.

Out of sight, descending the stairs, she increased her pace. It was incredibly important to be far away from John right then.

He made self control very... difficult. She had had not intended to say what she did; she didn't intend many things when it came to John. Today she had come too close to saying things that should not be said.

She knew she had been right, though, even if he could come to understand...to accept would be impossible.

...If she had nerves, if she could be said to be troubled...had Cameron been human, something of a sarcastic snort would have escaped her at that.

But she wasn't human.

Still, she could be troubled, she could be...disrupted. Disgruntled. Disturbed...her mind ran through other 'dis' words.

She had always been intrigued by language; it was one of the first things she had noticed, after her reprogramming- how humans had so many words, so many variations and shades of meaning. So much mad and wonderful chaos. In its programming Skynet had used only the most basic and functional of language.

It was almost a revelation to her, that time she had heard the red-haired woman singing that bizarre tune; it was soft and flowing, faint traces of an accent creeping into her voice, the melody resounding pleasantly in Cameron's mind. There was a beauty to it, beyond its favourable pitch and rhyme. A certain poetry.

In amongst all the ugliness that surrounded, somehow, for some reason, that woman had created an illusion of beauty, if only for a moment.

Not many people sung in the future; let alone wrote or recited poetry. Frivolous beauty; art for art's sake, if you will, was simply not something people could see the use of, or had the time for. Those that could remember, that is.

Later that night John had caught her reciting the song to herself, her face a picture of complete puzzlement; she gave no indication she was aware of his presence, until her head lifted and she spoke.

"I don't understand." She had told him, leaning cross-legged against the cold, grey and dirty concrete.

"What don't you understand?" He asked gently, sitting down across from her. Legs pulled up to his chest, his hand cradled his very heavy feeling head.

"This song..."

"Could you repeat it, please?" He listened to the musical lilt of her voice as she recited the first few lines. "It doesn't seem to make much sense, no. I must say though," The corner of his mouth twitched "The accent was a nice touch. Very authentic."

Strangely enough, Allison had always been an atrocious singer; he had teased her about it, many years ago. The unwanted flash of memories re-awakened painful feelings of loss and guilt, the melancholy he always felt around Cameron. He often wondered if he would ever be able to separate the two of them, stop the constant comparisons.

In response to his comment Cameron simply cocked her head. He sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I'm sorry Cameron, I'm exhausted. What exactly was it about the song that you didn't understand?"

"How can words be so..?" She stopped. Although her face did not portray it, he could sense her bafflement, her frustration.

She began again "Singing is socially cohesive, a bonding behaviour. The act releases endorphins and reduces stress. It is useful, efficient. Why do you feel the need to interweave a storyline, why use outdated terms and colloquialisms? A simple reverberating alternating monotonous tone and pitch would do as well...and" here she frowned, a recently acquired gesture "...I do not know."

"Which do you think is better? Better, mind, not efficient- alternating monotonous tone and pitch; or words, strange and useless as they may be?" She did not answer him.

He observed her. It was the not knowing that was driving her mad, he knew. Not knowing humans, no longer knowing herself, having an identity beyond a mission. It was times like theses he questioned his decision to allow her life; her autonomy, free will.

Not that he ever really had a choice. If he were to believe what he had been told that night so long ago, it was always going to be like this, was meant to be like this. Her. Cameron. Her and him. Him losing her.

So much for the whole 'no fate' line.

He looked back to her, before continuing. "I know you don't understand right now, but you will someday, I promise."

"You can't know that."

"No, but I believe it."

"That is the definition of illogicality."

He laughed. "I prefer faith... have a little faith, Cam."

There was a pause before she continued, "Faith is not part of my programming." Cameron countered.

He raised an eyebrow. "And you think it's a part of mine? Cameron, by its very nature faith does not come naturally- to any of us. It takes a leap, trust in the unknown, or despite of it."

"It is unadvisable to trust the unknown."

"I don't need to. I trust you. I have faith in you."

"You shouldn't. I have not given you reason to; and it is dangerous for you to place your trust in anyone but yourself, John."

He almost smiled at the slight chastisement. "I don't need a reason, faith, remember?"

She detected the teasing lilt to his tone. The one that often signified his ignoring her very valid point "John," She warned.

"Cameron." He replied, mainly for the pleasurable feel of it rolling off his tongue. His voice betrayed his body's aching tiredness however, and came out rough and dry.

She knew that further reminders of the necessity of sleep would be pointless. She studied the concerned, albeit exhausted expression of his face. "You are being kind." She observed. "Most aren't. To me, I mean. They hate me. You don't. Why?"

Her words forced his attention away from his aching muscles. Never before had she given an indication of being aware of the emotions of others, of his. He had relied, perhaps too heavily, on her not being able to read him. "Does it bother you, the way they hate you?" He asked, pointedly ignoring her question.

"No." She said simply. "Insofar as it does not impede my protecting you."

"Why not? If you can understand how they feel, how can it not?" Rarely had he challenged her like this, he didn't like to, and she could barely understand her psyche, let alone articulate it.

"I don't care if they hate me, because you don't." She said it calmly, as though it were perfectly obvious. Her gaze broke away from him and she stared stoically the right.

He didn't speak after that, after thirty seconds she glanced back to see him looking at her with furrowed brows. She looked away again, until twenty seconds later – "John?" She prompted.

"Why do you care that I don't hate you?" The fluorescent light overhead flickered painfully.

She didn't answer, instead replying "Why don't you?"

She uncrossed her arms and placed her hands upon the knees of her folded legs.

He, also, did not answer the question.

She was surprised when, moments later, he pushed himself away from the wall, and instead of leaving, moved to sit next to her. He mimicked her seating position and cautiously placed his right hand upon her left.

Her hand curled around his as she continued to look forward; neither entirely sure for whose comfort the gesture was meant.

...

John glanced over the balcony, seeing Riley standing near the garden, absentmindedly kicking the gravel. She shivered and pulled her jacket tighter around her. She looked confused and very concerned. Probably wondering what exactly Cameron was telling him, just how screwed she was. He had had a plan; patience and observation. But in light of recent developments, perhaps it was time to reconsider, to re-adjust the plan somewhat. And move it forward.

He turned to leave and join her, not noticing Cameron's stealthy shadow move below.

Please don't hurt me! I swear this is a here and now Jameron story, not Cameron and Future John.