Disclaimer: This is a second snippet at showing the atmosphere and feel of the future from which Jesse and Cameron hail out in the show, the one in which John Connor is widely perceived as a distant leader who trusts machines more than humans, with Cameron his closest confidant. This one shows the Future John's point of view and should be read after "A cyborg's memory", my first snippet.
Warning: some mildly graphic descriptions of injuries and such in the text
Now, onto the text:
A single sun ray, travelling millions of miles to Earth, managed to break through permanent cloud cover that covered the once green planet. It travelled to the surface, illuminating ravaged landscape that was once the continental United States. After coming all the way, it managed to go through a bulletproof window and land on a face of the most important person in the world. John Connor, leader of the Human Resistance, General of the united human army, the Chosen One, stirred in his sleep.
Without opening his eye, he smiled as his senses confirmed the familiar picture: the wondrous fragrance of the one person who was the most important to him, her warm, yielding flesh, surrounding his. Cameron. She really was one of the kind, he reflected – terminators didn't need to sleep, and they certainly didn't need to ever close their visual sensors, cutting off the most important source of incoming information, especially for prolonged periods. Cameron, however, would lay in bed with him every night until he was deeply asleep, then carefully get out so he wouldn't wake up, go on to her nightly duties and finally return in the morning (guided apparently by some complicated algorithm which calculated the range in which he would wake up that day), check his vitals to determine his condition and the time when he would wake, then shortly before that time undress herself and cautiously sneak in, close to him, pretending to be sleeping (eyes closed and all that) – just so he could wake up next to her peaceful body. And what's more, she apparently enjoyed every moment of that, every day. John tried to imagine himself in that situation, doing that every night for her and never losing the satisfaction, and just couldn't. Women were mysterious in general, but the curious creature lying next to him was one of a kind.
He opened his eye and his smile got wider as he observed the face of an angel nearby. She was pretending to be sleeping, her expression peaceful and serene.
It usually takes 6 to 7 seconds for her to open her eyes when I open mine, let's see…
Cameron stretched, smiled and opened her eyes. "Tin morning," she said to him.
Five-and-a-bit seconds. Hm. That's interesting.
"Tin morning," he replied. She leaned in for a kiss, and he readily obliged. Tin morning – that was their inside joke, something made before his incident, before even they began to share the bed together. To be honest, he didn't remember now how it originated – something about how in their conditions no morning can be good? Something about her being referred to as "a tin can"? Yeah, something like that, probably. Still, she observed the ritual religiously, and he didn't mind.
After she leaned back from the kiss, she carefully touched a side of his face, her expression now radiating concern. "How are you?"
"The face is healing, I think, I just wish I could hurry it a bit. Still, it'll be fine." No, it wouldn't, not really. John knew he should be glad that plasma burst which liquefied nearly half of his face in a fraction of a second left him alive at all, but there was a price for everything. The pain would appear as he went through the day, starting from the itching, intensifying to a dull throbbing, and by the evening becoming a constant irritation, distracting him from doing anything worthwhile. The only time the pain got away was when she was around, for some reason. He knew why she asked, and knew why he had to lie to her – the day would be busy, and as acting General of the Resistance she had many duties, all of which she would drop the instant she sensed she should be with him. Which she absolutely shouldn't. He could get through the day – he knew he would, he did it so many times – and winning the war was more important than any concern she had for him. Should be more important, at least, if he actually managed to get her to understand that.
And as for the night… she had to be with him at night, okay, he got that one the hard way. The only night in last year in which she was not with him – when he specifically ordered her away – he had a nightmare about falling into the sun, face-first. The heat was unbearable, and his right eye caught fire, then the right side of his face, then the whole face. He shocked himself awake, screaming and sobbing, in an agony of pain for which he wasn't prepared for. He couldn't do anything – he lay on a bad helplessly, sobbing from pain, curled into a ball, until Cameron, who heard his agony through her listening device from another side of the Bunker, rushed into a room and jumped into bed with him, hugging him with her entire body. Gradually the sobbing stopped, then the pain got away, and at last he was even able to fall back to sleep again. She stayed with him all that night and all next morning, never leaving his side, abandoning all her duties as an acting General to be with him. He was still ashamed of that – the Resistance was more important than his well-being, and her missing probably wrecked a delayed a lot of plans, and all that because of his weakness, but she wouldn't budge on the night issue and, to be honest, he himself couldn't press it. She never left him the following nights, not until he was deeply sleeping, and he had to accept that.
He leaned in to kiss her, to get away from the troubled thoughts, and she leaned in to accept it. The kiss was long, and he sensed that she was more than willing to take things further, but it was morning, and the day was going to be an important one. With a supreme effort of will he managed to break the kiss, but as he moved his face away she let out a soft sigh which almost broke his heart. What is she doing? She was acting unusual today, she should know that it is better to leave this stuff to the evening… First the five seconds, and now this…
By now she should have already gotten up, but she continued to stay in bed, playing with her hair, a coy smile on her face. "We have time," she half-whispered, and John couldn't help himself – he found her whisper voice to be so outright sexy, and she knew it, the vixen. She leaned in closer, increasing her apparent breathing, making her cheeks flushed, and he found himself losing control. At times like these, he really wished he could understand what she was thinking about…
His right eye, skin and bone all melted together into a single liquid mass by the force of the plasma blast, dripping to the floor … the people nearby coughing and vomiting when the smell hit them… she running towards him, knowing she would be late but doing it nevertheless…
Never again.
I failed and he suffers now because of that. His pain now is because I failed then. I must not fail him again.
He lied to me today. He is in pain, and he hid it. He needs that sex to remove the pain; he doesn't know it yet. I will give it to him.
Cameron leaned even closer, still flushed, brought their bodies together and whispered: "John, please… This will be quick if you want, I promise."
John was so surprised by this open plea that he found himself unable to resist. As a cyborg, a terminator made for infiltration and assassination, she was not equipped to get pleasure from sex; it was just not in the program. The first time they did it, she initiated the encounter, and did it quite suddenly; he was so surprised by these completely illogical actions that he concurred mostly from curiosity, to try to see the reason and the possible changes it may bring. After a long time he still could only guess that she did these things for him, for his satisfaction, and started that first encounter to please him. But before this day, having receiving a clear signal of disapproval, she always got the message and backed off. And a good thing that was, too - after a prolonged time with him she knew exactly what buttons to push, if needed. Now, however, she was ignoring that and advancing further: why? What happened today that changed it, and just when he thought he understood her reasoning? She really is one of a kind. He would have to think about it, but for now his body readily responded to her advance, and after a relatively short bliss he had to admit it felt great – maybe it would even starve the pain for a bit. Still, she had things to do, and under his stern eye she giggled like a schoolgirl and sprinted out of bed, starting to put on her underwear and giving him a show.
He needed that. He is without pain now; good. He will need that in the afternoon as well; he doesn't know it yet. I will have to modify my plans.
As she went to the bathroom to pretty herself up, John unexpectedly found himself wondering about her lingerie. Where the hell is it coming from? He was not an expert, but it looked expensive and even before the war probably cost a lot; post-Judgement day the things were literally priceless, useless for everyday survival and unheard of by the majority of women, who had no need for them and few means to find them. Cameron, however, owned a lot of different sets and updated her collection fairly often. The most amazing part was, when he made inquiries, both Cameron and bunker staff swore that this stuff was regularly and voluntarily sent from the frontlines. Yeah, right, as if grunts on the frontline, who hadn't bathed properly since the bombs fell, just happened to encounter pristine shopping malls and unlooted Amazon basements, carefully collect the thongs and bras and send them to their Good Ol' Commander, knowing he would appreciate this. Oh yes, and do that every month or so. More likely, Cameron pressed some poor officers into doing that extra work on the side. He could picture that: she advancing on poor guy, locking him into some dead end, face cold, voice threatening, him sweating profusely and promising to do everything just to get alive out of this encounter, later ordering his men to do that ridiculous task. But if so, she did it with an extreme cunning, since he couldn't find a single person treated that way or a witness to such encounter, and why all bunker stuff would defend her on that he had no idea; so the mystery remained.
Cameron emerged from the bathroom looking like a movie star, the makeup on her face bolder than usual (again deviation from the normal – what is she planning?). This was another strange thing about her – the makeup. Stuff was as rare as lacy lingerie now, and about as useful – half of all social conventions crumbled after Judgement Day, for most people clean water was a rarity which should not be squandered, and any woman who scavenged after makeup instead of something useful like food would not last long. The only women with makeup aside from Cameron that John saw were wives of the very highly placed officers, and in their case it was very obvious and quite poorly applied, just to show the fact that they owned it, the skill to apply it properly apparently lost along with a multitude of others after the War began. And yet Cameron got it somehow, applied it skillfully every day and it never seemed to bother her that she was the only one doing so. She was definitely not doing it for his sake – he would love her with all his heart if it was her with half of the head missing and stubble that you can sharpen knives on. The rest of the people she met were usually afraid of her on some level, so he doubted it was to impress someone else. What figures? Apparently she just liked that stuff. Great, a vain cyborg and a cripple of a man. A match made in Heaven – or Hell.
Cameron started dressing before the mirror, her usual outside outfit these days, dark jeans, combat boots, a long-sleeved shirt, a blazer, and thrown over that the symbol of office – a sand-colored jacket with general stars shining shoulder straps. When John recovered enough to be able to talk after his incident, the first thing he did was to gift it to her, along with all the rights that entailed. She was already trying her hand at running the Resistance, after all, continuing his mission, it was only fair for him to make that official. She was more capable than any human officer he met, and a lot more time-efficient with it, more than any human, including him. Since that day when she received the jacket from him, he hasn't seen her without that it, not even once, when she was outside his room. She usually does a quick check, just two seconds, front and back, to see if all is fitting correctly… Ah, at least this hasn't changed.
Living with a cyborg changes you, on a level that you may not even realize at first. Humans are wired to judge the emotional state and condition of another person based on their emotions and gestures and outward signals, but with a cyborg all that is pointless – the cyborg is in full control of all these signals at all time, showing only what she wants and when she wants it. So instead of looking for hidden meaning in her face expressions, he looked at other things, and the key turned out to be in the timetable. He learned just how long it takes her to open her eyes in the morning, to wash, to get ready, to come to him in the evening, to let him enjoy her in the night. The key was not even in the duration, but in consistency – if something is repeated from day to day, well, then apparently it serves its purpose and nothing better can be suggested at the moment. Any deviations do not happen from mistake or carelessness or desire to try something new or even a simple lack of proper internal timer, like it may be with humans – there is a reason for every break of the routine. This morning was full of deviations, and behind every one of them there is a meaning. John would have to see if tomorrow she will continue the pattern laid today, or return to an established routine, or tries something else entirely – and there would a meaning behind all that too. A cyborg never does anything that is not logical.
Having judged herself sufficiently prepared, Cameron began walking towards the room exit, but paused at the door and turned to give John a smile. That also didn't change.
"Go get 'em, tiger!" He said to encourage her. The day would be busy, and she was not as late as he was afraid of. She nodded and left his abode, two heavy doors shutting behind her.
He was in pain, and he lied about it. His pain puts him in danger. He lied to me today about pain. His lie put him in danger. I must protect him from danger. I must make sure he doesn't lie to me again so he doesn't put himself in danger again.
This is my fault too. He can lie about pain because he is in pain. He is in pain because I failed then. His pain puts him in danger. He is in danger because I failed then. He suffers now because of me. I must make sure he is not in danger again. I must make sure I do not fail him again. Never again.
John looked at her back with a slightly sad smile as she left. When she was out, he began wondering how many seconds – or would that be fractions of a second? - would her smile last as she stepped out of his room. He could see clearly that she was happy only when she was here, with him, never outside – why? She subtly tried to keep him in this room ever since his incident, tucked away safely from all the danger of the world, but she was not always like this. It couldn't be that he's her mission – that was present from the start, and she didn't act back then like she acted now, she had other interests and desires besides him, studying the world which was unfamiliar to her. What has changed her so much, so subtly that he didn't even notice it? She seemed to love him beyond the parameters of her mission, beyond what should be possible, devoting everything she did to him. He also loved her with all his heart, he didn't realize before how much he could love her, he needed her, he couldn't have survived that shot without her, but the War was more important than his or her feelings. John felt that if he ever hoped to get out of this room (for she would likely not allow him to go outside and endanger himself once again) and return to active command without breaking her or her love, then he had to be smart. He had to understand her, to find out a reason as to why she was doing it. For a cyborg never does anything that is not logical, and living with cyborgs changes you, on a level that you may not even realize at first - as John Connor, leader of the Human Resistance, General of the united human army and a man hopelessly in love with a reprogrammed cybernetic organism, knew better than anyone else.