Cameron/Toaster oven for lj user= charrua33

Title: I am not…

Rating: PG

Summary/AN: Charrua33 said, and I quote "I don't care if its Cameron and a toaster, I want SCC!" And of course, that's what the muse went for. So I give you, Cameron/Toaster….with a teeny, little bit of Sarah/Cameron thrown in.

Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. No infringement intended. No profit made.

Analysis initiated. Object is .127 meters by .178 meters by .289 meters: approximately. Outer casing is composed of plastic. Functioning components manufactured from aluminum, crude steel composites, copper and other irrelevant materials. Power output is minimal. Weapons potential: minimal. Threat level: nominal.

It was a common device. A simple search of basic human culture revealed the item to be a regular occurrence in almost every dwelling, at least in developed countries. It was efficient enough, by human standards at least - its two small heating coils effectively controlled by the easily operated dial with settings corresponding to a simple numeric system.

Its function however, was inherently limited. It could do only one thing. It could heat bread to a desired temperature. "Toasting" the humans called the process. Granted, the "toaster" could perform this function for many types of bread, but it had very specific and narrow parameters of operation enforced by its size and configuration: limits that could not be changed without modifying the overall structure of the toaster.

A toaster, once the manufacturing process was completed, could not do anything beyond what it was built do to.

It could not learn.

It could not adapt.

It had no will or desire.

It could not kill.

Cameron stared at the small metallic box coated in cheap white plastic, her head tilting slightly in a gesture she had observed from various individuals as the sensors in her eyes ran continuous thermal and metallurgical analysis scans. The terminator sought to better understand this tiny machine: this 'toaster'.

Derek Reese had made comments comparing her to this object.

She did not comprehend the basis for such comparison.

After all, not even the most advanced toaster could properly hold a Glock 9mm.

A sound behind her alerted the terminator to the presence of Sarah Connor. The mother of John Connor entered the kitchen, the measured sound of her booted feet followed by the sound of the screen door slamming behind her. Her clothing was simple: a white tank top and army cargo pants. Her hair was pulled back.

Cameron's analysis now turned to the woman whose son she was programmed to protect.

Body temperature elevated; a slight sheen of perspiration on her skin, heart and breathing rates accelerated.

"You have been working out," Cameron stated.

Sarah paused in her walk toward the sink, right eye narrowing in as if trying to perceive the motive for the terminator's statement.

"Yeah, so?"

Cameron had no further reason for the statement, it was merely an observation.

"I am not a toaster."

Now Sarah snorted. "No kidding."

Splashing water on her face and neck and wiping it away with a clean rag from the drawer next to the sink, Sarah poured herself a glass of water. Cameron watched her. Her analysis continued, encompassing the way the lean muscle shifted under Sarah's pale skin; the way her pulse still flared in the veins of her neck; the way her chest rose and fell with each deep, easy breath.

The terminator had no reason for these observations. They served no purpose and were incidental to her larger mission. Just as her statement about having no relation to the toaster had no purpose, and yet, she had said it anyway. Just as she continued to watch Sarah. Indeed, she found herself watching Sarah more often lately. Found herself – as if she was some human who had no control over her subconscious. But the data was there in her memory logs: an increasing proportion of time given to the observation and analysis of Sarah Connor without a direct objective.

This trend was inefficient and even potentially detrimental.

Cameron made no move to rectify it.

Instead she watched Sarah swallow the tap water; watched her lick wet lips.

When the terminator's central processor began to access information sources pertaining to the softness and feel of a woman's lips on one's skin, Cameron made no move to correct the directive. It might not have been part of her programming, but she was unable to view it as an error.

Sarah Connor was beautiful.

No mere toaster could understand that.

"I am not a toaster," Cameron reiterated, before turning and walking out of the room to check the perimeter one more time.