The bed romantically strewn with ammo was a nice touch in your amazing Hammer/Cameron love scene!
...SLEDGE HAMMER! crossover with TERMINATOR: THE SARAH CONNOR CHRONICLES.
Okay, I can do that.
This got way longer than I anticipated. It's too big for a comment, so you get a ficlet here.
"Get Connor, Doreau," said Sledge Hammer. He kept his eyes carefully on the Terminator -- "Cameron," Connor had called it. "Tell her we've got her package."
"Her -- " Dori Doreau, her perfectly-tailored suit as immaculate as ever, looked aghast. "Sledge, she just *killed* a biker gang. An entire gang! With her bare hands!"
"I saw that, Doreau." Sledge glanced briefly at Cameron's hands, dripping red; the knife wound in her shoulder, the gunshot graze in her neck. "Made for a heck of an improvement to my neighborhood! Besides, everything Connor and that Reese fellow said checks out."
"The biker gang served as a network for humans drawn to the promise of authority under the rule of Skynet," said Cameron. "They had to be eliminated. To preserve the future."
"See?" said Sledge. "There y'go. C'mon, you go get Connor. I mean, *I'd* do it, but for some reason that crazy lady doesn't like me."
"It's not that simple," Doreau said. "I don't even know if I can *find* Connor. And what're we supposed to do with her until Connor comes for her? We can't just leave her dripping blood in your living room."
"It's okay, blood comes right out of this carpet. Actually, that's one reason that I rented --"
"She's not human, Sledge! She's a machine! A living weapon!"
"I'll be fine, Doreau."
Doreau glared at her partner. Then at Cameron. Then, with a grunt of disgust, she turned and left the room. The door slammed shut behind her. Sledge turned back to his visitor, who hadn't moved. She was still dripping blood. Sledge rummaged in a drawer, then turned on the sink and tossed her a dishtowel. As she rinsed her forearms, the water spiraling down the drain turned red. She cleaned herself unselfconsciously, mechanically. Like Doreau, cleaning her guns.
Sledge himself cleaned Gun with love, but he knew his methods were unorthodox.
He stepped closer, to where he could see the gleam of metal beneath his visitor's skin.
He hoped Gun wouldn't be jealous.
"Cameron," said Sledge, "what you did in that bar was violent, excessive, and totally unnecessary. I loved it."
Cameron blinked. "I do not understand."
"That was a compliment," Sledge said. "Cyborg like you, I'm sure you get a lot of compliments."
Sledge looked at her. She was small, smaller than Doreau, but he'd seen her rip a man's arm off and fracture his skull with it. "Then Connor and her gang don't know what they've got." He looked at the knife wound. "Boy, I bet you have scars, huh?"
"This is not natural flesh," she said. "It is artificially grown and nurtured, constructed around a metal endoskeleton forged of Coltan and other materials, with minor regenerative components consisting of mimetic polyalloy -- why is your breathing heavy?"
Sledge said, "Don't stop."
"I am a Terminator, class TOK715," said Cameron. "You would not understand the majority of my specifications, even if I felt it wise to share them with you."
"Can't exactly write a letter to the factory to get your history, can I?" Sledge glanced at her neck. The gunshot wound was deeper than he'd thought. It wasn't bleeding any more, but the edges were ragged, and underneath he saw Cameron's true self, the glint of the future's metal. "Jeez," he said. "Does that hurt?"
Cameron turned off the faucet and dried her arm. "I feel sensation that could be classified as 'pain.' But It does not hurt. Not in the sense you mean."
Sledge blinked. "Really?" He reached up a hand, fascinated, then stopped. "May I?"
After a moment of what he guessed was robot surprise, Cameron nodded and presented her neck. Sledge touched the wound gently. He avoided the torn skin and muscle, not wanting to cause what passed in her for discomfort, but found the deepest damage, where the cold shine of Cameron's endoskeleton reflected the light. He brushed a fingertip across it. Her endoskeleton didn't feel quite like anything he'd ever felt. But the sensation was still familiar; he felt it every time he wiped Gun's barrel after cleaning and oiling her, brushing the soft cloth over her surface, polishing his fingerprints away.
"God," Sledge said. "You're so beautiful."
A moment, then Cameron turned to face him. Her endoskeleton slid away from his fingertip as she moved, and Sledge felt a pang of regret before she looked up and into his eyes. As her gaze locked onto him, her eyes did something -- strange. It was almost a glow, and he didn't know if that meant she was processing something, or accessing some seldom-used sensors.
"You wish to mate with me," Cameron said. "Have carnal knowledge of this body."
Sledge said, hoarsely, "Oh, God, yes."
"This will be an interesting experiment," she said.
Despite her size, she was too heavy for Sledge to carry into the bedroom -- he could tell that, just from touching her -- so he didn't offer. He was pretty sure she could carry him, but that was just too weird. They walked together, hand in hand. The bulk ammunition order was spread across the bed. Sledge muttered apologies, and started shifting boxes -- he'd meant to deal with them this weekend; in addition to the loaded cartridges he'd gotten for practice, he had a bunch of reloading supplies to deal with, including the new cartridge molds; he'd been meaning to try out a couple of Keith and Buhmiller bullet designs on felons for *years.* One of the boxes tipped, scattering cartridges across the bed, and Sledge knew he'd be finding them for days, but he couldn't wait any longer: he kissed Cameron, and she kissed back, and they lowered themselves on to the bed amongst the scattered ammunition, and if it wasn't exactly wonderful on a physical level, it was the culmination of everything Sledge had lived for since his father had first let him handle Gun back at the circus, years ago.
"I have to tell you," Sledge said, much later. "There's someone else."
Cameron lay on her side next to him. She didn't prop herself up, as a human woman would. The third arm problem didn't seem to bother her. "Your partner?" she said.
"Huh? Doreau? Oh. No. No! I don't know. She's not bad. You know, for a woman. At least she can fight. We have fun sparring sometimes." They did. Doreau was good, and she was smart enough to know that with Sledge's size advantage she'd have to be fast and cheat. Doreau might look proper, but over the years and bruises he'd come to realize she was really good at cheating. "No, this is -- look, it's not Doreau. But this one -- this isn't even an option with her. And we couldn't -- people wouldn't understand. But -- you remind me of her. It makes this... great. And kind of strange."
"You do not seem frightened."
"No," said Sledge. "I -- actually, I think I'm happy."
He turned onto his side and cupped her cheek in his hand. The streetlight outside reflected from the visible part of Cameron's endoskeleton, and Sledge felt a strange sensation, one that he hadn't felt in years, not since before his wife ran off with some geek from the Peace Corps. Cameron's skin felt like a human woman's, soft and warm, but she didn't look at him like human women did: not with that strange, mingled pity and disgust, with at most a reluctant, occasional respect. Cameron looked at him the way she looked at everyone else: that same calm, mild curiosity. "Thank you," he said.
As he leaned over to kiss her, there was a pounding on his front door. "HAMMER!" bellowed the voice of a woman he'd come to dread. "Get your ass over here and open the door! Cameron, are you in there?"
"Yeah, Connor," Sledge said quietly, rolling his eyes. "Be good to see you, too."
Sledge found his pajamas and made his stumbling way toward the door while Cameron disappeared into the bathroom. The pounding on the front door didn't stop until Sledge opened it and the Connors burst into the living room. Doreau wasn't with them. Sledge wasn't sure if he was glad of that or not; now he'd wonder what Doreau had known or suspected would happen.
"Connor," said Sledge. "Nice to see you. Hey, there, John boy -- oh, how cute! Are you carrying a nine millimeter again?"
"Don't give me that 'big bore' crap, Hammer. It's all about bullet design."
"Right. Which is why I get the bullets designed to be as large as possible!"
"I told you, John," Sarah said. "I don't want you carrying anything smaller than a .45."
"Look, I'm not shooting humans. The nine's faster. Gives better penetration against Terminators."
Sledge said, "Young man, you listen to your mother. Actually, though, you might want to try .454 Casull, if you can -- "
"Enough," said Sarah. "Cameron, let's go."
Sledge looked over his shoulder. Cameron had emerged from the bathroom fully dressed. A bandage covered the knife wound in her shoulder, and another covered the bullet wound to her neck. Sledge couldn't see her endoskeleton any more.
Sarah Connor left Sledge's apartment first, without looking back or saying goodbye. John wasn't far behind her. "Goodbye," said Cameron as she passed.
"Hey," said Sledge. "Come back and see me sometime?"
"Perhaps," Cameron said. And then she was gone.
He closed the door slowly and made his way to the friedge for some milk. He probably wouldn't see her again, he knew. He didn't have contact information for her. Did Cameron even have her own cell phone? Maybe Sledge could get Doreau to pass a message on. But that would go through Connor, and she'd wonder why.
Maybe some things just weren't meant to be.
Sledge made his way back to the bedroom, back to the shoulder holster he'd slung over the back of a chair. Gun didn't object as he took her into hand. Her grips nestled into his palm as snugly as ever, and her subtle perfume of Hoppe's No. 9 and sperm whale oil -- he went to great lengths to make sure Gun was properly lubricated, and if that involved early morning trips to the fish market and bribes to Japanese fisherman with contacts in the whaling industry, so be it -- rose to his nostrils as he rested her against his face.
"You understand," he said. "Don't you?"
She didn't answer, but Sledge slept that night with Gun on the pillow next to him, her frame nestled into the divot Cameron's head had left, and when he woke the next morning he found a good sign: around Gun's cylinder was a strand of Cameron's hair.