Sarah/Cameron drabbles (Eagles Titles Challenge)
This fic is rated: PG
Fandom: Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles
Characters/Pairing: Sarah Connor/Cameron Phillips
Summary: just a few random drabbles
For slashthedrabble's prompt #167: "Eagles Song Titles" (Pretty Maids All in a Row, I Love to Watch a Woman Dance, I Dreamed There Was No War)
Warnings: girl-kissage
Word Count: 3x100
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
Cross-Posted were_lemur, sarahcameron, slashthedrabble
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles is distinctly and emphatically NOT MINE. This FanFic is an act of love, not profit.
Sarah staggered through the bedroom, and flopped on her bed. Cameron followed her, and dropped beside her in the exact same pose.
"I thought you didn't sleep," Sarah said.
"I don't."
So get off the bed. But Sarah didn't want to explain her reasons -- especially since she couldn't quite explain them to herself. She let out a sigh, and Cameron did the same.
When John was seven; he'd spent hours copying her every move. It had driven her nuts then, and Cameron was driving her nuts now.
It didn't help the situation when Cameron rolled over and kissed her.
Sarah was careful not to watch Cameron as she danced.
She told herself that it was just that the dancing terminator creeped her out; there was just something wrong about the concept. (Though the one time she got a fleeting mental image of John's previous protector in a pink tutu, she couldn't quite suppress a bittersweet smile.) That so much grace could coexist with the lethal potential of a killing machine ...
Sometimes, Sarah had to forcibly remind herself of the metal beneath that soft skin.
If she let herself watch Cameron dance, she was afraid might forget to stop.
Cameron padded barefooted into the living room, and knelt before Sarah. Took arthritis-twisted fingers in her own.
"You must hate this," Sarah whispered. Cameron cocked her head to the side. "Being stuck with an old woman," Sarah elaborated. She swept one hand down the length of her body. She hadn't aged well; the gunshot wounds and broken bones and general wear-and-tear had made her old before her time. She walked with a cane, now.
"I will likely have between fifty and eighty years of function remaining after your death," Cameron said. "I have no intention of voluntarily extending that duration."
Fandom: Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles
Characters/Pairing: Sarah Connor/Cameron Phillips
Summary: just a few random drabbles
For slashthedrabble's prompt #167: "Eagles Song Titles" (Pretty Maids All in a Row, I Love to Watch a Woman Dance, I Dreamed There Was No War)
Warnings: girl-kissage
Word Count: 3x100
Feedback: yes, please! Concrit welcomed.
Distribution: archiving, linking or remixing ok, just credit me and drop me a line!
Cross-Posted were_lemur, sarahcameron, slashthedrabble
My FanFic Masterlist
Disclaimer: Terminator: Sarah Connor Chronicles is distinctly and emphatically NOT MINE. This FanFic is an act of love, not profit.
Sarah staggered through the bedroom, and flopped on her bed. Cameron followed her, and dropped beside her in the exact same pose.
"I thought you didn't sleep," Sarah said.
"I don't."
So get off the bed. But Sarah didn't want to explain her reasons -- especially since she couldn't quite explain them to herself. She let out a sigh, and Cameron did the same.
When John was seven; he'd spent hours copying her every move. It had driven her nuts then, and Cameron was driving her nuts now.
It didn't help the situation when Cameron rolled over and kissed her.
Sarah was careful not to watch Cameron as she danced.
She told herself that it was just that the dancing terminator creeped her out; there was just something wrong about the concept. (Though the one time she got a fleeting mental image of John's previous protector in a pink tutu, she couldn't quite suppress a bittersweet smile.) That so much grace could coexist with the lethal potential of a killing machine ...
Sometimes, Sarah had to forcibly remind herself of the metal beneath that soft skin.
If she let herself watch Cameron dance, she was afraid might forget to stop.
Cameron padded barefooted into the living room, and knelt before Sarah. Took arthritis-twisted fingers in her own.
"You must hate this," Sarah whispered. Cameron cocked her head to the side. "Being stuck with an old woman," Sarah elaborated. She swept one hand down the length of her body. She hadn't aged well; the gunshot wounds and broken bones and general wear-and-tear had made her old before her time. She walked with a cane, now.
"I will likely have between fifty and eighty years of function remaining after your death," Cameron said. "I have no intention of voluntarily extending that duration."