Hello! Thanks for stopping by. This is a new story by yours truly. It starts right at the end of the "bed" scene in Born to Run and goes AU from there. This is NOT a post-BtR story, nor is it just a rewriting of that whole scene/episode. This story will also be continued...

Please note, that I am not abandoning my fans or my other current story, Be Not Afraid of Greatness. This little baby was just SCREAMING to get out, so I had to write it. I am going to update BNAG next, and will finish that while I write this. I'm a teacher, and summer is coming = lots of writing time!

On a bigger note, this story is COMPLETELY UNRELATED to my other series, (starting with Irony, thy Name is Cameron, and continuing with That Which We Call Fate and Be Not Afraid of Greatness.)

I do hope you find this just as enjoyable, but there is a slightly different tone to it that I've been quite eager to share with you all for a while. Don't worry... THIS IS A JAMERON FIC! Please review, and let me know what you think so far. Now, on to the show...

PROLOGUE...

"John? It's time to go."

John Connor froze, and felt his heart stop momentarily in his chest. It rebounded at double the speed as he realized what he'd been doing.

Oh God, I almost kissed her! Oh God… and she knows. She's looking at me like that. She knows.

Attempting not to blush, and doing his best to keep his eyes looking anywhere except her bare chest, he carefully pulled his hand out of his cyborg protector's chest cavity. Trying not to get her synthetic blood all over the motel bedding, he awkwardly climbed off her and headed straight for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him with a loud click.

He scrubbed his hands with soap without paying much attention to what he was doing. His mind was racing with a million things at once, and when he stuck his hands under the steaming water, he let out a yelp at the instant scalding they received.

The door swung open and Cameron stood in the doorway, apparently having had time to replace her black bra, but still with the open gash right under her rib cage. She took one look at his red hands and immediate turned off the faucet. She turned the cold knob all the way on and took hold of his wrists gently, leading them under the now ice-cold running water.

The dramatic temperature change made John shiver and goose bumps to appear up his arms. At least, that's the excuse he had given himself for their appearance. As he let the cold water soothe the stinging in his hands, it took a long moment for him to realize what had just taken place.

He yanked his hands out of the water and stared at Cameron. "What are you doing in here?" he asked vehemently.

Confused by his sudden illogical reaction, Cameron pointed to the still running water. "I heard you yell. I thought perhaps you were in danger. I recognized the signs of scalding on your hands and reacted. I have extensive files on first aid and treating…"

John held up his red hand to stop her. "Whatever. Just… thank you. I'm fine now, okay? You don't have to come rushing into the bathroom. You know, the door… privacy…?" He motioned towards the door with a raised eyebrow, hoping she got the point.

She did. Without another word, she turned off the running water in the sink and left the room, shutting the door behind her a little louder than necessary, in John's opinion.

He sighed and looked down at his red hands. Now that they were out of the cold water, the sting of the burn was starting to come back, and he found himself wishing he hadn't pulled his hands away from hers…

STOP THAT! He mentally berated himself. Suddenly wanting to kick something, he chose to slam the toilet seat lid down instead and sat down with a huff, burying his face in his hands and forgetting all about the stinging pain.

XXXXX

Cameron stood in front of the tarnished vanity mirror that sat adjacent to the bed as she carefully stitched up the incision in her abdomen. She didn't need many stitches, just a few to close the wound. She would not get infection, and her skin would heal faster than a human's would.

She tied off the end of the thread and inspected her work before opening a gauze bandage from their first aid kit. She heard the shower in the bathroom turn on, and quite unnecessarily, her eyes tracked to the closed bathroom door.

John had been silent inside the room for seventeen minutes. At first she didn't quite understand his reaction, but upon analyzing her actions and his behavior, she realized that he might have been embarrassed by her intrusion. She had decided to apologize when he came out, but he never did. Now it seemed he wanted to take a shower, and based on past experience, she guessed it would be at least another fifteen minutes before he came out.

It gave her just enough time to do what she wanted to do. Finished with taping the bandage to her skin, she pulled on her shirt and sat down at the small table. She took the complimentary stationary with the motel's emblem printed on it that she found on the nightstand and tore off the top sheet of the pad. Writing on the table instead so as not to leave any trace of her words, she wrote John Connor a final letter.

XXXXX

John let the water cascade over his body, trying not to think about anything at all, but of course that was impossible. His mind kept toggling back and forth between breaking his mother out of prison, and having his hand wrist-deep in his cyborg's chest.

His cyborg? Well, technically she was his cyborg protector. Maybe even… his friend? Maybe. When it came to Cameron, John always had a difficult time figuring her out. She was just so… different than the others. And she was way more advanced than the T-800 he had called Uncle Bob years ago. Sometimes, he would swear that she could actually feel something.

Like tonight. He'd put money down that Ellison had said something to upset her. Having Sarah Connor as a mother, he knew a pissed off woman when he saw one.

And that line of thinking led to a thousand other questions. Why was he referring to her as a "woman"? She was a machine. She wasn't even a "she"! She just looked like a "she", didn't she?

John squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his forehead against the shower wall. It all made his head pound to think about, so he forced his train of thought to turn to breaking his mom out of jail.

Cameron would be doing most of it, of course. She said she'd be all right, assuming everything went as planned. They would drive by and pick up the priest, as he'd have to relay the message to Sarah first. There wouldn't be much of a warning time, but he had to let her know. If he just let Cameron break in without telling her, Sarah might suspect it's another machine coming for her. Which would probably lead to her managing to escape on her own, and everything being almost for nothing.

Almost. The possibility did tease its way through his brain, but Cameron shut it down fast. Sarah Connor could be elusive when she wanted to be; they might actually have a difficult time finding her themselves if they let her run.

He turned off the shower water and grabbed the too-small towel off the small shelf. Not really wanting to put on dirty underwear, but not particularly wanting to go commando either (especially when his jeans had a habit of sliding down too low), he grimaced as he pulled on his dirty boxers followed by the jeans that were growing a little stiff with grime. When he pulled his shirt over his head he realized just how bad his shirt smelled, and wondered why he had even bothered to shower in the first place. Feeling kind of sorry for Cameron having to sit in the same vehicle as him, he finally opened the bathroom door and found her standing watch at the window, quite obviously waiting for him. He sat on the edge of the bed and tugged his boots on, sans the dirty socks that were starting to make his feet itch.

"Are you ready?" he asked, knowing it was a stupid question, but not feeling comfortable with the silence.

"Yes, I am ready," she responded, and waited for him to pull on his leather jacket before opening the door.

XXXXXX

"You understand the message, Father?" John asked seriously. He felt terrible for asking the man… no, forcing the man to go through with all of this. Surely if there was a God, he'd be going to hell for it.

The priest nodded, trying to hide the fact that he was trembling. He knew what the girl in the back seat was, and it scared the hell out of him. "Yes," he said. "Are you sure about this, John? She was very adamant about you leaving."

When he didn't get a response from the young man, he hesitantly continued. "If I may say so… Mothers have a certain wisdom about them. It usually bodes well for us to follow their advice. It's why the Lord made it a commandment, after all."

John swallowed hard, and ignored the dread growing in the pit of his stomach. He cleared his throat and looked straight out the windshield, avoiding the man's stare. "Cameron will be right behind you," he answered.

The priest nodded, and without actually looking at her, asked, "How long?"

"Approximately twenty minutes, to ensure your arrival." Cameron answered. She was aware that Father Armando knew what she was, and that it terrified him. She kept her voice soft, and avoided making eye contact. She didn't need to frighten him any more than she could tell he already was.

He nodded once again and climbed out of the vehicle. Before shutting the door though, he briefly turned back around. Unexpectedly, he made the Sign of the Cross in front of John, and mumbled a prayer under his breath. "Dios te bendiga, mi hijo." And with that, he turned around and walked towards the entrance of the prison.

John watched as the man disappeared through the doors, and the uneasiness that had settled in his stomach rose to his throat. "You too, Father," he whispered, and gripped the steering wheel tight.

He couldn't figure out what it was. The feeling of dread was overwhelming to the point he was starting to sweat. They'd gone over the plan several times. It was essentially "flawless" as Cameron had reassured him each time. Knowing that still didn't help, though.

The silence in the truck didn't help either. Cameron wasn't much of a conversationalist, and she seemed oblivious to the tension in the air as she sat stiffly and calmly in the back seat, constantly scanning their surroundings for anyone or anything that might hinder their plan.

"Time's up," she said. Had it really been fifteen minutes already?

"You know what to do. If we're not out in twenty minutes, you leave without us." He heard the clicking of her checking the shotgun, but didn't turn around. Instead he looked up in the rear view mirror, and their eyes met.

His heart picked up speed as she held his gaze, waiting for him to acknowledge her orders. It was all he could do to give her a silent nod.

Without another word, she opened the door. He felt the truck shake under him as she closed the door, and heard her footsteps on the pavement as she walked away.

One. Two. Three.

"Wait!"

It was a hoarse croak, little louder than a whisper, but it was enough. She heard him, as if she was waiting for it, and stopped in place.

XXXXX

A half an hour had gone by, and the priest heard the guard down the hall walking back to Sarah Connor's cell. Time was up.

"Maybe something happened?" he said, almost panicky.

Sarah stared straight ahead, her face an emotionless mask.

"We would have heard if it had," she said.

As the guard approached the door and unlocked it, Father Armando placed his hand on her shoulder. "Maybe… he decided to listen to his mother."

Sarah gave him a bitter smile and patted his hand. "For once, Father," she said, and listened as their footsteps trailed down the hall.

"For once…" she whispered to the emptiness. And for once, she let a single tear streak down her cheek.