NOTES: This is the sequel to my previous story "Only Lonely". I'd recommended reading that one first. This story takes place during "Strange Things Happen at the One Two Point".
SUMMARY: The truth of John and Cameron's relationship spreads to those willing to go to any lengths to undermine it.
DISCLAIMER: All characters herein are the property of someone other than me. No profit has been earned.
"Fuzzy Dice"
Chapter 7
T.R. Samuels
John Connor threw back the bedcovers and slid upright on the edge of the bed. He rubbed his face with his hands, flinching at the sharp reminder of the stitches before his shoulders slumped beneath an invisible weight. In a laboured motion he reached out to the bottom draw of his nightstand and retrieved a neatly rolled pair of boxers, unfurling them with a flick of his wrist before sliding them over his hips.
As he dressed Cameron rose up behind him, her body uncoiling from its cosy nest, lithe and serpentine. She placed her hands on his shoulders, fingers and thumbs kneading his flesh as she pressed her mouth to his neck, his skin salt on her tongue.
"What's the first thing you'd like to do today, John?" Her tone was lascivious and downright horny, a smile in her kiss that left little mystery.
There was only one thing Cameron wanted from John in the morning, and it involved only one kind of getting up.
He shrugged from her grasp and stood up, floorboards creaking beneath his weight as he headed for the door. Her eyes widened as they followed him, his sudden absence like a black hole.
"John?"
He turned to her in the doorway, disappointment marring his face, resisting the lure of her dishevelled appearance.
"You should have told me sooner."
Without another word he stalked out, moving down the hallway where she heard the timber squeak of the bathroom door as it slammed shut with a bang.
She drew her hands to her lap and replayed his response, searching for the error in machine heuristics and forcing a recalculation. Perhaps it had been unwise to say anything; revelations to John were often fraught with emotion. But she hadn't wanted to lie.
In an economy of graceful motion she rose from the bed and began to get dressed, pulling on her underwear and hooking the clasp of her bra, adjusting the straps before pulling a shirt over her head. The hem of the cotton material slid down over her stomach, the place her hand lingered where the warmth of John's touch remained.
Stepping barefoot down the hallway she approached the bathroom, pausing before rapping her knuckles on the door.
"It was not a mission priority until now, John."
He did not respond and with only a slight hesitation she tried the handle, the door swinging open where she found him in front of the mirror, squeezing a dollop of toothpaste onto his brush before shoving it in his mouth. She watched his rough actions before trying again, her tact shifting gears as she decided against reiterating the negative effects of zealous brushing.
"There is no guarantee that the Engineer will help us."
John spat a coagulant of frothy white paste into the sink, water washing it into a whirlpool of stringy lines tinged with pallid red.
"I'm sorry that I didn't tell you sooner, but I was uncertain if it was for the best."
She swallowed uncomfortably as he seized the bar of soap and washed his face, shoving it back on its bowl as he splashed the suds away with cold water, repeating the action as it soothed the painful throb in his cheek.
"John…" Her strategy was failing and her voice grew smaller. "What do you need me to do?"
"You can hand me a towel."
Glancing downward at the rack Cameron deftly slid a white cloth from its identical partners, handing it out for him to snatch away before he buried his face in the cotton and stood up straight.
He was so certain all of this had stopped.
The lies, the deceit, the mixed messages. He didn't care about the orders of his future-self or what was prudent to the mission; he just wanted her to tell him the god-damn truth!
Old and ugly memories began flashing through his mind, back to bitter times when they had been cold and untrustworthy, constantly at odds and burnt with jealousy if anyone came between them. A wretched time when they neither risked nor loved and his child wasn't growing inside her.
Cameron watched nervously as she waited for him to finish, feeling awkward and small beneath his seething rage. John's anger could be frightening; reducing soldiers to blubbering idiots and techs to their constituent parts. She was all the more fearful for his sake, his anger often leading to foolhardy action and regret.
"Please don't be angry."
John blew the air in his lungs, drowning out the fire as he threw down the towel and rested his hands on the basin.
He wanted to be angry. Wanted to tell her how upset he was, but Cameron was in his soul and in his blood and any attack on her was an injury to him.
"I'm not angry… I'm furious!" His tone sharpened but he did not shout, turning to face her where he suddenly looked more fearful than enraged. "Have you any idea what mom would do if she knew?! She'd hit the god-damn ceiling! And I'm the idiot that keeps making the case that you're trustworthy and don't keep secrets anymore!"
His logic forced a recalculation, John's mother not a variable she always factored in. "What do you mean?"
"Cam… I understand that you do these things for my benefit and I do appreciate it; but ignorance isn't going to help us." His eyes tried to convey the wave of sincerity he felt inside, his demeanour the sudden diplomat, staring into her with an unblinking gaze as he took her shoulders in his hands.
"We have to trust one another or we're lost."
She twitched her head as her expression baulked, the computation of abstract thought the most vexing of human equations.
"I trust you, John."
"No you don't. Not all the time." He watched as the instant objection rose in her throat. "Admit it… sometimes you don't trust me, or what I'm going to do. If you did you would have told me everything ages ago."
There was no accusation or blame in his voice, making Cameron struggle to comprehend, her response no longer certain as she vowed to not make a mistake, less than eager to exacerbate him further.
Sometimes John could be very complicated.
"Sometimes… you're difficult to understand." She shifted on her feet. "I don't like not understanding you."
"That's why people trust, Cam. Trust means that you don't need to understand someone, you just trust them." He let go of her shoulders and picked up the towel. "Lies destroy trust."
He was met by the vacant expression of incomprehension, the look that always made him want to kiss her.
"Sometimes it's unwise to place trust in people."
"Yeah, that's true. But if humans didn't trust one another, we wouldn't have anything. No technology or civilisation. If we want to build something meaningful that lasts, we have to trust one another."
Cameron felt a sudden wave of realisation, it clear to her now how she had trampled across something dear to John, a concept central to his beliefs that underpinned his character.
A part of her fell down inside, feeling foolish and unworthy, her past lies all catching up with her at such an unforeseeable point in her life when she was, in every possible sense, in bed with John Connor.
"We can't ever lose trust, Cam. Not now, not ever. So if there's anything else you need to tell me, now's the time."
Why was he always so profound when he had so small an audience? His words erasing any doubt in her mind that he was the one to lead them.
This John in this time. Her John and not her general.
"I'm sorry. I won't keep things from you again."
His mouth became small as he gnawed at his lower lip, eyes looking vulnerable and wanting as they stared into hers, searching for the spark of sincerity. Seeming to find what he was looking for he raised the towel back to his face, dabbing away what damp remained before turning back to the sink.
"So this guy… the Engineer," He threw the towel into the hamper as he reached for the mouthwash. "He's the guy I sent back to the 1960's. The same guy that built the time machine in the bank."
Amidst his ritual ablutions Cameron had ridden a rollercoaster; the devastation of their argument clamped firmly beneath mechanical stoicism as she steeled herself to engage him.
She couldn't bear it when they argued. The only thing she had grown to despise.
"Yes… in part."
"He have a hand in the moon landing too?" Her brow creased so he shook his head. "Never mind."
"He was a prominent engineer and scientist in the future. He was instrumental in pioneering the early reverse-engineering projects of Skynet technology."
"So he figured out how to reprogram terminators?"
"Besides you he is the individual most responsible for the Resistance's research and development, mainly by reverse-engineering Skynet technology, including the Time Displacement Equipment."
John felt suitably impressed; the man that built a time machine in the sixties obviously knew his stuff, his credentials probably enough to fill a phone book. A man the Resistance would deem invaluable in the war with Skynet. Begging the inevitable question in John's mind as to why his future-self would ever part with him in the first place for an off-the-wall, hippy science project.
"I'm not certain that he will be willing to help us."
"Why not?"
"The Engineer can be… intractable."
"That would have been a long time ago for him, nearly forty years. Things could have changed."
She admitted to herself that so much could be true, but Cameron had her doubts. Her last meeting with the Engineer had been at the side of General Connor and it had not gone well.
Hopefully her John was more equal to the task.
Expecting the embrace of forgiveness and mutual repentance they shared after arguments, Cameron was dishearten when he turned away from her and continued wash, flipping on the shower before taking a swig of mouthwash. Her arms lowered awkwardly from their hopeful preparation as the foolishness of it sank in her heart.
She left the room, swallowing the lump in her throat as she walked away, oblivious as John watched after her in the mirror.
####
Within the glass citadel of the Alistair Grand the human diversity of Southern California was homogenised by a conflux of business professionals, blithe executives, and the independently rich; its clientele a gleaned genre silently declared by the depth of its pockets. Amidst them bustled the private army of the establishment, uniformed and segregated, the grease on the wheels that made the big engine tick as they carried luggage, washed and cleaned, and manned the desks.
Jesse and Derek were strangers in a strange land as they walked arm-in-arm through the spacious lobby, jeans and combat boots across tapestry carpet, the flies in the concierge's soup as he looked down at them in distain along the bridge of a crooked nose, watching until they passed beyond the veil of glass and out onto the street.
"I'll call you tonight," Jesse said, her arm pulling him back as he went to leave. "Once you clear out the storehouse we can make our next move."
He gazed down at her, worry and uncertainty impossible to hide, the sobriety of morning bringing clarity and dehydration.
"Don't worry. Everything will be apples."
He wanted to believe that. Wanted and needed as a sadness crept inside him, the thought of what was to come more daunting than storming the walls of a Skynet fortress, the foul taste of betrayal poison in his throat.
For the rest of the night they had drew their plans against those he had called his friends. His family. The only things he had left. Both factions held something dear within them, things from his past that dwelt strangely in the future.
His head began to hurt and he rubbed his eyes, finding the strength to nod.
"I know. I'll call you when it's done."
He turned to leave before she pulled him back again. "Hey."
Her hands reached up and pulled him down to her mouth, kissing him for all she was worth as though it were the last time, their forms moulding together as he drew his arms around her.
"We'll get through this mate." She promised with a smile as they parted; a winning grin with barracuda teeth.
"I know, Jess. I'll see you later."
The synthesized discourse of Derek's words crackled through the earcups of a pair of circumaural headphones, the device plugged into the dish of a parabolic microphone that pointing surreptitiously from the window of a Jeep Liberty. As the would-be conspirators parted ways emerald green eyes tracked the woman through a pair of binoculars, watching her re-enter the hotel as Derek climbed into his truck and pulled off into the morning traffic.
Sarah Connor dropped the lens to her lap, pulling the headphones from her head as the anger shrunk inside her to white hot point, its intensity focussed like a laser beam that put her high on adrenaline and purpose. The monochrome of necessity was a welcome salvation from her usually morality, the fate of 'Jess' decided in a nanosecond.
With a modicum of maternal pride she powered off the small device she had taken with her, the one custom built by John after he had fitted both their cars with radio transceivers, realising for the first time how industrious he could be when given enough reign.
She had taught him everything she knew and let him flourish on his own, the rewards of those labours now hers to enjoy. Radio trackers, computer design, firearms and emergent leadership; John was well on his way, somehow finding time in that busy schedule to run off to Mexico and put his girlfriend up the duff.
Her pride quickly deflated. She would have to shorten his leash when this was over.
She glanced up the surface of the glass and steel fortress where the mystery woman found her stronghold, a simple plan forming in Sarah's mind as she switched on the engine, swinging the vehicle out and headed for the hotel's subterranean car park.
Even in the light of day the lot was drenched in gloom and she reversed the jeep into a shrouded bay, sealed on two sides by form-cast concrete. Reaching onto the back seat she packed away the equipment, covering the case over with a non-descript blanket to deter any thieves before stepping out onto the asphalt and heading for the trunk.
Her eyes shifted around before opening the rear door, rolling back the decoy items and reams of protective cloth to the impressive arsenal that lay beneath; broken down barrels of machined black metal and boxes of bespoke ammunition, all kept cosy and secure in a tray of form cut rubber.
Making her selections she slipped one in the back of her jeans, the others beneath her jacket before slamming the door shut and locking the vehicle as she strode into the parking lot entrance, playing it Bogart, stepping from the cold echoes of screeching tyres and onto the carpeted hallways of the hotel gymnasium.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" The young man behind the counter asked, his arms and torso bulging beneath an ill fitting polo, built like a model and with the brains to match.
Sarah smiled coyly as she gauged him up and down. "Hi there. I left my bag here the other day. Blue. Nike."
"Hang on. I'll go check our lost and found."
As he scurried away her face fell to neutral as she leaned over the desk, turning the computer screen toward her before grabbing the mouse. She clicked 'guest list' and fingered the roller, scrolling down to the handy search engine and typed in 'Jess'. The computer rumbled as it set about its electronic skulduggery, a few seconds later filling the slender screen with only two matching results;
Hammond, Jessica – business suite 342
Flores, Jesse – guest suite 215
The last name triggered a dislocation.
Jesse Flores.
The needle in her brain skipping off the record as her memory filed back in a fraction of the time it had taken the computer. Remembering the time their house had been burgled and she was strong-arming a jeweller with Derek and Cameron, the lizard of a man bricking it as the cyborg had pushed him and he'd dropped the name that Derek had tried to cover.
'Jess' for 'Jesse'.
She pushed back from the desk and headed for the nearest elevator, glancing at the floor plan before stepping inside the metal carriage and hitting the button for the appropriate floor. The stainless doors slid shut like a closing vice as the lift began its ascent, her mind filling with synthesized vengeance, willing herself to do what needed to be done.
Jesse Flores. The programmer behind Skynet, Kyle's murderer, and the bastard that beat her son.
The elevator pinged as it reached its destination and her emotions flat-lined, the suicidal resolve of the maternal lioness setting to a red hot stone as she pulled the Glock from behind her and chambered a round.
Most people brought hell down on their enemies.
She was bringing it up.
####
The California sunshine beat down from a sapphire sky onto a rickety vehicle as it made its way along the road to Beverly Hills, the asphalt a baked hotchpotch of bumpy repair work that trialled its withered suspension. The boulevard was flanked either side by towering palm trees that swayed in the ocean air, the town beyond a cosmetic oasis within the crush of humanity that was Greater Los Angeles.
With the current lack of vehicles, John and Cameron had sprung the old Jeep Cherokee from its tarpaulin grave at the back of the garage, pressing its tired hulk back into service with some new sparkplugs and a liberal oil change. After some coaxing the analogue behemoth of the twentieth century had rumbled back to life, snatching itself from the jaws of the scrap yard to the roar of God's plumbing.
"What the hell is this place?" John asked as Cameron parked up, his gaze sweeping across an array of water fountains and emerald grass beyond a barrier of palisade fencing.
"The home of the Engineer."
"This place?!" He glanced around what he could make out of the palatial mansion and its grounds before he shook his head, disappointment reaching the borders of exasperation. "Why the hell didn't you tell me about all this sooner?!"
"I made a promise."
"To who? Future-me?"
"To the Engineer. I promised I wouldn't come after him. We all did."
"What does that mean?"
"Sending him back to the sixties was his reward. From you. For everything he had done in the future. We promised that we'd let him live out the remainder of his life without calling on him again."
"Well then I suppose it's fortunate that he isn't worried about affecting the timeline."
There was more truth in his statement than he knew, but Cameron stayed her tongue.
"The Engineer is rarely concerned with anything."
This was all too much and John shook his head. "I don't get this. Why would I let him come back through time if I knew he could cause problems? It doesn't make any sense, does it?" It was thinly veiled and its direction was obvious, even to Cameron, perturbed by John's apparent need to cloak it in so accusing a manner.
She switched the engine off and withdrew the key from the ignition, toying with the fob as she drew it to her lap. His manner since this morning had troubled her greatly and it was time she faced it head on, explain herself and let him decide rather than allow ill feelings to fester.
That was the way things had used to be, and Cameron never wanted to go back.
"John… I don't hide things from you because I don't trust you." She began quietly, staring idly at the key. "I'm a soldier and I have a duty. Sometimes that duty means that I can't tell you why I do things or keep things from you. I was ordered to keep secrets from you for your protection and that of the mission. Not because I wanted to."
John stared at her as she turned to face him, integrity and honesty in her eyes as she placed her heart on her sleeve.
"No matter what, I'll always trust you, John and I want you to trust me. Even when I lie to protect you." She shook her head, the failure overwhelming as tears rolled down her cheeks, her face still impassive. "That doesn't make sense."
Why was she always so profound when she had so small an audience?
In an instant, John felt like the lowest form of life, the distrust and suspicion evaporating in a nanosecond as he reached out and drew her against him in a crushing hug. He kissed the side of her head and moved across her cheek, tasting the salt of her tears before finding her mouth, moving across it in heavenly motions. Round, wet, and deliberate.
The moment she tasted him all the pain went away, passion warming inside her as she threaded her fingers around the back of his head, holding him to her as she delved greedily for what she needed and burned for. Her tongue slipped inside and he groaned into her, perfection only a layer of clothing away.
"John… we should… stop." She struggled to tell him, her tone as enthusiastic as an Amish accountant.
She was probably right, but he couldn't help himself, handling Cameron's kiss as well as a rock star handled heroin.
Time slipped away and the world dissolved, only reappearing when he was forced to break away, oxygen now a perilous issue. She tried to kiss him again, his breath be damned, but he dug deep and resisted, leaving enough time for them both to come to their senses.
"No one makes up like we make up, Cam." He smiled against her forehead, his breathing deep and under control. "We should argue more often."
She shook her head against him. "I don't like it when we argue."
"Cam… arguing is normal. It's healthy. It's what people that love each other do." He tried to explain, wanting to rid this irrational fear from her once and for all. "Look at me and mom, we argue all the time but we still love each other. That'll never change.
"No matter what arguments or mistakes we make, I will always love you," His fingers stroked down to her belly. "Both of you."
He sealed the promise with a gentle smile, cupping her cheek in his palm. She gave him her wily grin, the one that made him weak and they shared one last kiss before John clicked the handle to his door, swinging it open and moved to get out, high time they get down to business.
"It's a girl." She suddenly blurted, freezing him in the doorway.
John turned back to her slowly, dumbstruck as he searched her eyes for her meaning, not daring to hope.
"That's one less secret between us."
Her hand rested against her stomach and John was lost, slamming the door closed and flying back into her arms, loving her more that moment than he ever had before.
####
Within a darkened hallway of the Alistair Grand a pair of black combat boots crept along the commercial carpet, static tingling as the carbon barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun hung idly above them in Sarah Connor's skilful hands. A small flashlight lit her way as she gripped its rubber sleeve between her teeth, enough to navigating her way to Jesse's room.
After finding room 215 she had not broken stride, walking past and down the corridor where she'd grabbed a maid in a headlock and knocked her unconscious, stuffing the woman into a janitor's closet and stealing her universal key card. Inside the tiny cubicle she had reassembled the shotgun hidden beneath her coat, sinister metal and forged carbon clicking together crisply before she fed it florescent shells of angry red.
Within the closet she had found the electrical switchboard, clicking off a selected few to kill the corridor lights across this side of the floor, masking her stealthy approach.
"What's happened to the lights out here?"
Sarah froze at the sound of the voice, clicking off the flashlight and pressing flat against the wall.
About twenty yards the way she had came a doorway was wide open, the light inside illuminating the opposing wall in a shaft of yellow light. At its centre stood an eight year-old girl, her head a mat of pigtails as she gazed up and down the blackened hallway and squinting into the dark.
"Get back here this second, young lady. Leave it to the janitor." The child's mother called from within, allowing Sarah to exhale as the little girl obeyed and closed the door.
She paused for a moment to catch her breath, clicking the flashlight back on before pushing on down the hall.
She reached the door, the lights within a constant beam under the narrow crack at the bottom. She slipped the key card from her breast pocket, guiding it toward the mouth of the scanner just as the light beneath became broken with shadow.
Sarah froze, the plastic card poised at the ready.
The shadow formed two equal columns a few inches apart; a pair of legs, coming to a stop at the other side of the door. The pin-prick of light that shone through the peephole was blackened by interruption and Sarah held her breath.
For several seconds there was silence. No change at all. Then abruptly the shadows moved away, clearing the paths of light as the placid footsteps of the figure beyond the doorway recede back into the room.
She allowed herself to breath, hoisting her weapon carefully in a tiring arm before feeding the card as quietly as she could into the mouth of the scanner.
BANG!!
In a flash of splintering timber and buckshot the centre of the door was blown outward in a gapping hole, showering the hallway in flying shrapnel and a circle of natural light.
Sarah spun from the wall, kicking in the remains of the ruined door in a single, fluidic motion before bursting into the apartment.
In an instant she came face-to-face with her enemy as Jesse jacked another round into her shotgun.
In a blur of motion, Sarah aimed and pulled the trigger. The blast tore a leather chair to smithereens as the Resistance soldier dove into the bedroom, rolling to her feet before launching herself across the bed.
Jesse grimaced in pain as she landed on the floor, a ruby patch of blood smeared across the bed covers and carpet. She looked down to the wound on her thigh, the jeans and flesh torn open by a glancing blow.
A shotgun jacked and Jesse buried her head as the room was assailed with a deafening hailstorm of flying metal, the air above her filled with more lead than a Texan gun range as her attacker pumped round after round.
The weapon clicked empty and Jesse moved, roaring to her feet as Sarah spun for cover, firing two rounds into the sitting room.
Levelling the gun, Jesse pushed forward; ready to take the bitch down while she reloaded her weapon, show the amateur how you really get the drop before the spherical body of a frag grenade was suddenly tossed from behind the peppered wall, landing with a thud at her feet as the pin spun away and Jesse slung her weapon, diving backward toward the bathroom and slamming the door shut
The whole building rocked as the apartment was annihilated in a devastating explosion, plaster and mortar blasting about as the windows blew out onto the street.
Through the smoke and debris Sarah Connor swept her weapon, moving in for the kill as she blew what remained of the bathroom door from its ruined hinges and marched inside.
Jesse was nowhere to be found, the window smashed open by a hurled sink basin where Sarah caught sight of her, vanishing across the street below, beyond her range and out of reach after sliding down a length of kernmantle rope, anchored to the radiator and prepared in advance for this very purpose.
The echo of a fire alarm tore Sarah back to the hotel. Her time was up and she had to move.
"Damn."
I get the sense from the show that John has a great desire to trust and believe in Cameron, but her lies keep dashing those hopes. It was nice to incorporate his fear of her lies into the story and let Cameron defend herself; there are a great many soldiers and government workers that have to keep secrets from their partners, even though they probably don't want to.
Please read and review.