He had always wondered why she… it.

Silently chiding himself for thinking of the metal as a she, Derek Reese continued his musings. He was seated on a comfy deck chair on the back porch away from "The madhouse", with a bottle of beer in hand and his eyes closed. Just rest them Reese, don't drift off, not with the machine around, it can't be trusted.

He had always wondered why IT, much better, had done it…

Although he hated and despised the machine for threatening the life of his nephew John Connor, he could at least fathom a reason for that dark day. John himself had so eloquently explained it, "Just a wire knocked loose, or something". It had gone bad, reverted to its Skynet programming: Kill John Connor.

But this.

This was something completely different. He remembered every subtle move the machine made, every strategically planned manoeuvre, always so calculated and precise. He knows he should have stopped it, marched in that room and smacked it around a little. No Reese, don't be an idiot, it will mangle you with its pinky finger.

Speaking of fingers, he remembered them all too well. He knows it is simply a coltan endoskeleton hidden by a synthetic flesh covering, albeit a pretty synthetic flesh covering. He knows there are pistons and servos guiding its movement. But in this moment he didn't see the pistons or the servos, he simply saw the outstretched fingers of the machine, guided by something else entirely.

He saw them attached to the outstretched hand and arm, arcing in fluid motion, following the movements of the rest of its body as it flowed around the room gracefully. He heard some soft, somehow familiar music playing in the room.

Why does it even need a room anyway? It's not like it sleeps, that couch is damn uncomfortable. And what's with the music? Doesn't it have its own internal soundtrack? Hell yeah Reese, it's a 5 foot 6 mp3 player that stole your bed! Damn Metal.

Derek took a sip of his beer and returned to his memories.

The machine glided to the music, moving around the room with a poise and grace that no human could hope to match. He was by no means a connoisseur of dance; however he knew that he was watching something beautiful. And it irritated him, made him feel dirty, unclean, and made him feel like a traitor to his own race. He thought a machine designed and programmed to kill him and his brothers, in this moment, was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

He stood in the doorway to its room, unable to move. Silently watching, not knowing if it knew he was there. It had to know, it could detect movement from huge distances with its auditory sensors. Derek treat himself to another sip of his beer for remembering not to call them ears, they aren't. He felt compelled to watch it finish its routine. It ended with two perfectly formed feminine arms folding gently down towards its perfectly formed armour-plated chest.

If Lieutenant Derek Reese hadn't lived through judgment day, survived through several years of the war with the machines, not seen his comrades brutally slaughtered, he would have shed a tear at that moment. Instead he bottled it up and trudged off to the kitchen, all the while sniffling and taking deep, calming, unsteady breaths. He stuck his head in the fridge. Unknowingly to himself, Cameron did indeed notice him, and followed him.

She stood much as Derek had done a few moments ago, in the doorway to the kitchen, silently observing him. Unlike Derek however, she stood completely rigid, unnaturally rigid. She only ever let herself behave differently when alone in her room. At first she was given a room to protect the Baum families brother and sister cover. She had however grown attached to her room, and had to on several occasions literally throw Derek Reese out of HER room and back on the couch where he belongs. Comfort does not matter, it is my room, not yours. She watched him retrieve a beer from the fridge and turned to leave before she was discovered. I do not want another staring contest at this moment...maybe later.

Derek Reese continues to poison himself with alcohol. This could be a danger to John.

Suggested action: Catalog behaviour and maintain surveillance of Derek Reese...........

She returned to the sanctuary of her room and removed the Chopin CD from the stereo, placing it carefully in its case and in the top drawer of her dresser. Inside lay only the CD, her purple leather jacket, her Glock and the diamond John had given her after their raid on the resistance fighter's safe house.

They're a girl's best friend...Apparently.

A diamond is an inanimate object, it can not be a best friend to anything..........Suggested action: Store data for later analysis...........

She did not know why she kept her most prized possessions together and separate from the rest of her things. They do not matter. With the exception of the Glock, they would not aid her in her mission to protect John. She would not however ask John to assist her with this malfunction. The jacket was expensive; the diamond supply will not last forever, efficiency is important.

Possessions stored...........Suggested action: Resume patrol of Connor residence............

Ah, beer. It has the marvellous ability to seemingly make all of one's troubles disappear. He remembered downing the post recital beer VERY quickly. He couldn't bear the thought of the machine watching him. He knew it was in the doorway. You don't survive the war without knowing when metal's around.

He had survived the war, however he wasn't so sure he could survive what was erupting inside the house between Sarah and John. He quickly downed his beer, stood up from his comfy chair and left the safe haven of the porch heading towards the back door. Don't say anything stupid Reese, the machine will be the least of your worries if you piss off Sarah. Dancing machines he could handle, but Sarah Connor is an entirely different proposition. Double checking the gun was still present in the back of his waistband, he strode forward, confident he could put an end to this argument. Who the hell is this Riley chick anyway?