Fandom: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Summary: "I'm a machine. I can't be happy." Even a snake can be cruel.
John doesn't have to look at her to know her expression never changes when she fights. He's always running when her fists curl, so even if he'd wanted to see he couldn't have. But who would want to?
He's seen his mother fight since he was a child, her teeth clenched against pain or fear, her eyes darting to make sure he's getting away. Cameron is as stoic as his first cyborg protector, when she isn't acting. He has only mistaken Cameron for a person once. He doesn't need to watch her in her element to be reminded of what she is.
Driving down the highway with the windows rolled down, he resents the way she revels in the wind. If she could, she'd blot out the sun. What right does she have to bathe in it? It's not like she can experience it properly anyway.
“I wouldn't be worth much if I couldn't feel,” Cameron says, and it strikes a chord. The drive is very quiet after that.
There is nothing graceful about her when she puts her fist through cinder blocks. There is nothing at all in her face when she cleans a gun on the kitchen table. She paces all night until they tell her it keeps them up (she's metal, her footsteps are heavy). Then she determines the average number of hours they're unconscious, and the house is quiet until Cameron comes home just in time for school.
Cameron can't even be compared to a snake. Snakes are alive when they kill, and they think of other things than which mouse needs to die next.
Also, snakes don't blink.