DISCLAIMER: The Sarah Connor Chronicles and its characters are the propert of James Cameron and Fox. No infringement intended.
CHALLENGE: Written for the 'Overblown Drabble Challenge'.
ARCHIVING: Only with the permission of the author.
Sarah didn't like machines; coffee makers, VCRs, Terminators sent from the future to rip out her insides or sever her son's head from his shoulders, she hated them all. Then, John sent that big hunking mass of inhuman flesh back in time to rescue them, and she'd been forced to temper her dislike with cunning disdain. The machine beneath the skin had never been in doubt, at least with that model, its stilted conversation and bulging biceps had never fooled her for a moment into thinking it was real.
Unlike Cameron. The girl was sleek and pretty, and just when she thought her emotionless, a smile would tug at her lips and Sarah would forget, for a moment, that she was anything other than human.
Sarah really didn't like Cameron; her efficiency, concern, soft skin, sparkling eyes and piercing sense of trust. She just wanted to gather her son and run as far away from the angelic devil as was humanly possible; because she was human and despite the gentleness of her touch or feather soft caress of her breath against Sarah's bare skin, Cameron was just another coffee maker with a few more buttons to be pushed.
Closing her eyes, Sarah blocked out the sight of the girl-woman-machine, as it talked with John, taking the time to answer his endless questions, her eyes forever straying in Sarah's direction. The patience of a machine tempered with the desires of a young woman; she left his side with disguised haste, the moment his interest began to wane, and took up her regular place beside Sarah, looking and not looking in her eyes, as the older woman tried to forget her existence.
The three of them stuck together in an endless circle of distrust, hate, confusion and love. The line between woman and machine forever blurred.
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