ACT II

"This can't be right."

"This is the address Ellison gave us." Cameron pulled the newly stolen truck into the driveway of a two-storey brick house and turned off the engine. They were on a dead-end side street with a dozen other houses similar to the one Ellison had picked out. None of them were new or flashy. It was barely midnight, but there weren't any lights on in any of the houses and there were two small bikes in front of the garage across the street. A family neighbourhood.

"What the hell was he thinking?" Sarah muttered as she got out of the truck.  She'd been getting more and more worried as they wended their way further into civilization than out of it, but she hadn’t actually thought Ellison would have set them up in goddamn suburbia. Apparently she'd given him too much credit.

Cameron said nothing, simply taking their bags out of the car and heading for the front door. Sarah followed, wondering where Cameron had picked up tact, certainly not from her. But the machine had been reticent all afternoon, distant, careful, treating Sarah like a cracked piece of porcelain, liable to break at any moment. Far from grateful, the sense that she was being indulged just made Sarah crankier.

She had no right to be angry with Cameron. The machine hadn't gotten them into bed all by herself. Sarah was just as responsible, and that was what was torturing her. She had crossed a line, one she had no idea how to uncross. How exactly was she supposed to break up with a killer robot from the future? Could she, even if she knew how? Would Cameron accept it, or would Sarah find herself at the mercy of a jilted metal lover who was programmed to stop at nothing? 

Sarah shook her head. She was delirious, exhausted, and not thinking clearly. Cameron wouldn't hurt her. That much she knew for certain. The last of her suspicions had been smothered between them when she'd pulled Cameron's body down against her own. It wasn't Cameron she was afraid of anymore, it was herself.

Ellison met them at the door. A finger to his lips and a jerk of his head towards Savannah asleep on the couch in the living room off the front hall stilled Sarah's tongue, until Cameron had gathered the girl into her arms and carried her upstairs. 

"She refused to go to bed until you got back," Ellison explained.

"You told her about Murch." Sarah made sure the door was locked behind her and brushed past Ellison. The main floor was predictable. Living room on one side of the entry, and the kitchen on the other with the bathroom and den further down the hall. It was exactly what it looked like, a middle-sized house in decent condition with the indifferent furniture of a rental property, but Sarah wasn't able to settle until she had prowled from one end to the other. Wisely, Ellison didn’t try to follow, waiting until she came back to the base of the stairs before he answered her.

"I told her he wasn't coming with us. Not why."

Sarah looked up the darkened stairs. "You think she guessed?"

"I think she suspects, yes." Ellison's voice was bare, weary. He looked tired. "She's not stupid."

"No." Sarah shivered, chilled. She couldn't tell if it was actually cold in the house or if her fever was getting worse.

"She'll be glad to see you both." Ellison followed Sarah's gaze up to the second floor. "She's lost so many people; I didn’t know how I was going to break it to her if Cameron had been compromised..."

"If I had to kill her you mean." Sarah wrapped her arms more tightly around her ribs, shuddering at the memory of her own reaction to the idea. Savannah loved Cameron with the whole of her heart as only a child could love. It didn’t matter to her that Cameron was a machine; she had no concept of the differences between them, of the consequences. For an instant, Sarah was jealous of a six-year-old girl.

"Are you sure she's…"

"She's fine," Sarah interrupted him, pushing the jumble of her own thoughts aside. "I wouldn’t have brought her back if she wasn't." 

If Ellison was bothered by her tone, he didn’t show it. "How can you be sure?"

Soft lips covering her own, nimble fingers undoing her jeans, sliding them down her legs, the first hesitant touch… Sarah swallowed, clenching her fists under her elbows. "I'm sure," she managed.

Ellison let it go, but his eyes were full of questions Sarah had no intentions of answering tonight, or ever. She left him by the stairs and headed for the kitchen, looking through the cupboards aimlessly, more to avoid further conversation than because she wanted anything.

"The coffee is over the microwave." Ellison had followed her this time. Sarah cursed him under her breath, but she pulled down the coffee and filled the pot at the sink. She found the spoons without help, and he watched in silence while she measured out the grounds and switched on the machine. The ritual calmed her, but as the familiar scent began to fill the room, she felt tears pricking the corners of her eyes. She'd been trying not to think about it, but the simple act of making a pot of coffee had illuminated the differences between the warehouse they'd left behind and the house Ellison had brought them to.

This was a home, not a bolthole or a safe house, but a home with a backyard, a swing set and neighbours. They were going to have to start living their false identities in earnest if they were going to stay here. She would be Sarah Gale, a single woman raising her orphaned niece and renting out a room to one James Edison. Who would Cameron be? Her daughter again, or Savannah's big sister? There had been no need to give the terminator an identity when she'd been in the system, but they would have to, now. Sarah allowed herself a moment of brief amused hysteria at the thought of the role Cameron might choose for herself. That would certainly give Ellison something to think about.

The humour was short lived. There was one role that wouldn’t be filled. Sarah Gale didn’t have a son. Sarah used a search for mugs to cover the trembling of her hands and the increasing tightness around her eyes. In seventeen years, there had never been a home without John. No false identity that didn’t include him. The warehouse had been a temporary way station, she had carried a fake ID, but she hadn't lived it. They wouldn’t get away with that here. It was time to move on, time to stop pretending John was coming back.

The mug shattered satisfyingly against the wall.

"Sarah!" Ellison's hiss was both a reprimand and a question.

"Why did you bring us here?" Sarah demanded without looking at him. She braced her hands on the counter around the sink, studying the copper stains around the drain as if they held the answers to the mysteries of the universe.

"Savannah needed a home," he said without a hint of apology.

"That wasn't your decision to make. We're supposed to be saving the world, not playing house."

"No," Ellison disagreed. "Saving the world is your job and Cameron's. Mine is Savannah. I won’t let you drag her around like a refugee or cut her off from the world the way you did with John."

"Don’t you dare bring John into this!" Sarah snarled, letting rage take over and propel her away from the counter and back into Ellison's face. "You don’t know anything, do you hear me?"

Ellison didn’t move. The man staring down at Sarah was the same man that had met the rage of countless criminals, both on the street and in the interrogation room. This wasn't someone she could intimidate with words. "I know what it did to both of you," he said quietly. "I don't want that for Savannah. You and Cameron can leave if you choose, but we're staying here."

"You think you can protect her?" Sarah spat, but the anger was already deserting her like buzzards abandoning dry bones. He was right, damn him. He had brought them here for the same reasons she had tried over and over again to create as normal a life as possible for John. Guilt. Guilt and love.

Cameron wouldn’t leave, Sarah knew that already. The machine had taken to Savannah as much as Savannah had taken to her. Cameron saw the child as their responsibility, and Sarah supposed she did, too. As many times as she had insisted that Savannah was Ellison's responsibility, it wasn't Ellison that the child followed around.

"I'll do what I have to do," Ellison said firmly.

Sarah nodded distractedly. "On your head be it then," she warned, but there was no heat behind her words. Drained and shaky, she left him in the doorway and began gathering up shards of ceramic. Her head swam every time she bent and straightened, but she kept at it, too damned stubborn to quit. She heard him leave and hoped he was going to bed. She'd had about as much as she could cope with for one day.

"I can do that."

Sarah twitched and stiffened at Cameron's offer. As usual, the machine had approached soundlessly. "I'm almost done."

"You might hurt yourself."

"I'm fine." Sarah struggled to keep her voice even, but the silence behind her told her she'd failed.

"You're not fine," Cameron said after a pause. "Your fever is worse, and you haven't eaten all day."

Sarah fished the last piece of the broken mug out from underneath the bottom edge of the cupboards and straightened. She dumped the shards into the garbage and opened the fridge. "I'm eating now."

"I could make you something." Cameron was a sudden heat behind her, and Sarah clenched her jaw.

"I'm sure you could." Sarah pulled out a package of turkey and checked the ‘best used before’ date. Still good, she thought, Ellison must have bought groceries. She turned and stared pointedly over Cameron's left shoulder until the machine got out of her way. Cameron didn’t move nearly far enough for comfort though, and Sarah felt the tension rise to nearly unbearable levels as she smeared some mayonnaise on the bread and threw the meat on with only a fraction of her attention.

The very air seemed to throb, and Sarah felt Cameron's eyes on her, hot and possessive. Her body responded, both to the silent suggestion and the panic it induced. Sarah had never truly understood the phrase 'sick with desire', but as her stomach rolled over in a dizzying combination of lust and fear, she could see where the first person who'd said it had been coming from.

"Don't," she rasped when Cameron's hand stretched out to take the knife away from her, her thumb grazing over Sarah's knuckles. "Please… just, not now."

"I want to help," Cameron pleaded.

"I know." Sarah put the sandwich on a plate and poured a glass of water, leaving the coffee in the pot. She had never been less hungry in her life, but she had to eat if she was going to keep fighting. "I know, but I can't do this tonight."

Cameron fell silent and Sarah risked a glance. The machine was studying her, chin tilted ever so slightly and a small line between her brows. She looked confused and hurt. A matching pain rose in the back of Sarah's throat but she didn’t waver. If she gave into Cameron tonight, she didn’t think she'd be able to say no in the morning. It was better to cut this off as soon as possible. Better for both of them.

"Tomorrow?" Cameron asked tentatively.

"Tomorrow," Sarah lied.

Cameron nodded and moved back, giving Sarah room to take her unappetizing meal and flee up the stairs. She took the first empty room she found. Ellison had left the door open for her, and her bags were on the bed.

After shutting the door, Sarah threw the sandwich out and hauled the bags onto the floor. It was harder than it should have been, using only her right hand since her left arm was still complaining bitterly at her, but she got it done.

Curling up under blankets that smelled like dust and unscented detergent, Sarah closed her eyes, blocking out everything, including Cameron, and the expression on her face when Sarah had left her alone in the dark… again. 

*****

 

It was dark, but Cameron didn’t need light as she roamed their new home. She didn't need light to make note of the exits and escape routes as she went either, mapping the house in three dimensions. It wasn’t very secure, she concluded, frowning at the inadequate security system panel. She had already generated a list of improvements, but they would have to wait until morning.

She had passed by the door to Sarah’s room several times, but she knew the woman inside wouldn't welcome her company. Sarah had shut her out, and the closed door was a continuing warning for Cameron not to intrude. Resting the palm of her hand and forehead against the wood, she could hear Sarah tossing and turning in fitful sleep, and her fingers brushed the door knob, aching to open it and offer comfort. That morning, cradling Sarah’s naked body to hers, Cameron had watched her sleep undisturbed by the nightmares that usually haunted her. Cameron could help. She had proved that the night before, but only if Sarah would let her. It was a vexing feeling, having this knowledge but being unable to act on it.

The moon hung low in the sky, casting most of the backyard into shadow as Cameron stepped out onto the porch, the worn wood sagging underfoot. She settled on the bottom step, damp grass sticking to her feet unpleasantly, but she didn’t move. It fit her mood, to sit there in the gloom and feel the chill slowly inch up her legs. She rested her head back and stared up at the stars, the lights dim and unapproachable.

*****

 

He’d been waiting for this moment, expecting it almost every minute for nearly two decades. Now that it was here, Prophet hesitated outside John Henry’s door, still chewing over what he wanted to say to the machine, even though he’d had this conversation a million times in his head. Time had reshaped and shifted Prophet's opinions of the cyborg until he almost felt like it was an old friend he would see on the other side of the thick metal door instead of an enemy.

Living and working with Cameron had certainly influenced him. It had been a sunny day, sitting on the back porch of their house when she had finally told him everything that had happened in the basement of Zeira Corp so many years ago. He could still remember her voice, how bereft it had sounded as her thumb had stroked the surface of the pocket watch Sarah had worn around her neck until her dying day.

Prophet wondered if Cameron had ever regretted her choices in that basement. If she'd ever wished she hadn’t tricked John into jumping to this future. So many things might have been different if she hadn’t. The pang and sting of tears at the thought of the past was familiar now, and he shoved the feeling down as he knocked on the door.

“Prophet…" Kyle greeted him in obvious relief. Guard duty had kept him from being part of the escort. "You're knocking?" 

“That’s the polite thing to do,” Prophet ribbed him before nodding at two other soldiers to unlock the door and allow him inside. Kyle started to follow him in, but Prophet held up his hand, placing it gently against the younger man’s chest. “I need to see him alone.”

Kyle’s eyes slid over Prophet’s shoulder as the machine got to his feet. “Sir…”

“He won’t hurt me,” Prophet promised.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. They don’t call me Prophet for nothing, remember?” He smiled before growing more serious. “Things are changing quickly, Kyle. We may be running out of time. If you have words to say… to anyone… perhaps now would be the time to speak them.” Their gazes held as unspoken truths floated between them. Anger tightened Kyle's jaw, but Prophet didn't look away and, eventually, it eased. Kyle nodded and Prophet turned on his heel and walked into the room.

Hesitating, Kyle was tempted to leave the door unlocked, but obedience won out over suspicion and he indicated that the other men should seal it. The last thing he saw was a happy, genuine smile spread across John Henry’s features as Prophet approached him. The sight gave him chills.

“Hello, John Henry.” Prophet said as the door clanged shut behind him. He was pleasantly surprised that the cyborg seemed in good working order after what Tango had told him of the initial attack when he'd first arrived. Obviously, she'd made her displeasure at the incident known, and any further discord had been taken care of within ranks.

“Mr. Ellison.” John Henry came closer, cocking his head to take in all the changes time had wrought on the other man’s face. “It is good to see you well.”

Prophet snorted. “I don’t know about well, but I’m in one piece which is saying something at my age in these trying times.” He motioned at the only table in the room and John Henry crossed to it, sitting as Prophet did the same. “I’m sorry about the accommodations…”

“I understand. I need to build up trust among the humans. My kind has caused them considerable pain.”

“Not your kind,” Prophet corrected him gently. “You’re not like them.”

John Henry blinked at him. “Thank you,” he murmured, clearly pleased by Ellison’s words.

“I trust Savannah has been keeping you company in my absence?” Prophet asked as he leaned back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other.

“Yes.” A flash of a smile crossed John Henry’s features. “She has grown into a remarkable woman.” The smile slowly faded. “I had hoped, however, that this would not be a part of her future.”

“We tried,” Prophet murmured. “We gave it everything we had, but it wasn’t enough.”

“I do not blame you,” John Henry began, concerned he had hurt the other man’s feelings.

“I blame me,” Prophet cut him off without rancour. “But I’m not here to talk about that.”

“This is not a ‘social call,’” John Henry guessed.

Prophet chuckled. “Not really, although it is… strangely nice to see you.”

“I imagine many faces that were once familiar to you are gone now,” John Henry replied with understanding.

“Too many,” Prophet agreed, thinking of two in particular he wished to see damn near every day. He shook his head before looking at the eager-to-please cyborg across the table. “Why are you here?”

John Henry’s head dipped to the side again and Prophet was reminded of Cameron. His eyes drifted to John Henry’s hairline, remembering that Cameron’s original chip was in that metal head somewhere. 

“She didn’t tell you?” John Henry seemed surprised.

“You mean Cameron? She told me her reasons. I want to hear yours.” Prophet linked his fingers and let his hands rest in his lap.

John Henry dropped his gaze, studying the tabletop as he formulated a response. “I felt it,” he finally murmured.

“Felt what?” Prophet asked patiently.

“Skynet.” John Henry looked at him again. “My brother.”

“When you were hacked.”

“Yes.”

Prophet considered John Henry’s words. “I take it you didn’t like the experience.”

“No.” John Henry hesitated again. “I had not known fear before. I had not understood what death meant to humans. Afterwards I… feared… for Savannah… for you. My brother would have destroyed you. He would have killed anyone to get to me. Those that built him had no idea what he was capable of.” He looked at Ellison, recalling the man in his younger days. He had a full beard now, shot through with white, and his kind eyes seemed harder. “You are the only friends I know. I am here to stop my brother from sending any more machines back to hurt you.”

“And to protect John Connor, just like Cameron asked you to do,” Prophet prompted.

“Yes.”

“You can’t protect him locked away in here, John Henry.”

The machine paused. “Not as well as I would like, no. But he seems surrounded by men and women who will protect him. He has Cameron with him. I was surprised to see her…”

“That isn’t Cameron you've seen,” Prophet explained. “She's a human named Allison Young, the woman Cameron was modeled after."

John Henry blinked before abruptly standing up. “I have made an error in judgment. I should go to him.”

“Sit down. I’ll let you see John Connor in a little while. He's safe for now.” Prophet waited until the cyborg had reluctantly taken a seat again. “We need to talk about Weaver.”

John Henry resettled himself stiffly. “I have not seen her. Savannah made sure this room is airtight. She picks guards at random so Weaver cannot impersonate one of them.”

“But we both know she’s here. She came through with John.”

“Savannah and Tango said she came after me,” John Henry agreed.

“You’re her boy,” Prophet echoed Weaver’s words from long ago.

“Yes. I fear she wants to use me for her own agenda.”

“I’m sure she does. But we need to find out what that is. Do you understand?”

“We can’t stop her if we don’t know what her plans are.”

“That’s right. I need your help with that. And John Connor is going to need your help, too.” Prophet got up from his chair and motioned John Henry to do the same. “Let’s go for a walk. It’s time these people start seeing more in you than just metal.”

*****

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