"Cameron."

The attention of the terminator, which had been focused on the laying of concrete, turned suddenly to the man standing over twenty yards down the tunnel. A single dark brow rose up toward her hairline in question. She kept learning new things like that. He motioned her to him with a very slight motion of his head.

John watched as Cameron moved through the tunnel crowded with workers. While a few of the men and women cut their eyes in contempt, she kept her own focused completely on him until he was close enough to touch. As had become their habit, he held a hand loosely and discretely by his side allowing Cameron to lay the tips of her fingers on his skin. Brown eyes drifted shut in a long blink before opening and focusing again on his.

"All systems go?" He asked quietly. The corner of her mouth turned up and a nearly imperceptible nod signaled yes. "I could have told you that," he mentioned for what had to have been the hundredth time.

"Yes, but you're not as accurate as I am," she argued.

"That's true," he responded. A moment passed in comfortable silence as John observed the comings and goings around Cameron and himself. Motioning toward the construction he asked, "How much longer do you think?"

"If the schedule is kept, thirty-three days," she said, turning to take in what he saw. They had been working twenty-seven without interruption. An enormous amount of progress was made each day, as not an hour was wasted. The heaviest work was performed by terminators, which were eight in total.

Given the uneasiness the human population had around the machines, the only time they worked together was when Cameron was on site. The only times Cameron was on site was when John was on site. This worked out well for everyone.

"Seven and thirteen will finish laying concrete in no more than an hour. They will then assist nine, ten, and twelve in laying crossbeams," she said. The machines, as they were acquired, had been given numerical identification.

"Good." He could feel Cameron's eyes on him, evaluating. She wouldn't be able to hold herself back for long. She might be built to last for centuries, but sometimes she could be impatient.

"What's wrong?" She queried. When he shook his head indicating nothing she placed a hand on the inside of his elbow and turned his attention to her. "You called me over here for a reason." He shrugged. Had Cameron the ability to become frustrated she would have ground her teeth together. Instead, she simply stared until John rolled his eyes imperceptibly and relaxed his posture a fraction.

He looked directly into her eyes and promised, "Later." Brushing past her, he began walking closer to the cement vault that would eventually serve as his quarters. "Walk with me, please," he requested.

As the cement dust crunched under their feet, the man and his machine walked until they arrived at the section of the tunnel were the crossbeams lay. "No cranes?"

"Not necessary," Cameron replied. John grunted disbelievingly. "You have seen what they can do."

"Yeah, I know," he acquiesced.

"I will assist as to avoid any mishaps," she supplied absently, missing the look she received.

"You will do no such thing," John announced.

Cameron's head turned deliberately and her facial expression was one of surprise. "I have already confirmed with Wickham that I would. He is concerned with the logistics. My presence eases those concerns to a degree."

"I said no."

"Why?"

"If you let them, they'll treat you like all the others." From the look on her face, he could tell she was about to confirm his words. "No, you're not. You know that. It's not your job to make them happy."

"Thank you for explaining."

"You're welcome." Looking over the area Wickham was in charge of, he said, "Do you want me to tell him?"

"That is not necessary. My absence will be indicative." There was a long pause before she spoke again. "What other duties would you have me perform?"

"Cameron, my problem isn't with you overseeing everything here. Especially dealing with the metal." He looked now, seeing faces rather than looking over them, and noticed there were quite a few sets of eyes taking in his conversation. It would have bothered anyone else, but too many years had passed in which the eyes of others looked on him seeking answers he didn't have. Very little bothered him anymore; disapproval of others, most of all. "My problem is you performing tasks beneath you. They couldn't come up with the plans for this thing," he said, motioning toward the bunker. "Not a single human or machine in this place can do what you do."

"What exactly is it that I do, John?"

"You know the answer to that question."

"Protect you."

"Yes, and you do a fine job."

"Thank you." She looked at him long enough for him to know she was working through a problem. One he probably wasn't going to like.

"What is it?" He asked.

"You don't know why they go bad, but it happens." She looked to the 888s and then into his eyes. "What protects you from me?"

"Faith."

The End