The way she is; a killing machine with fragile beauty.

When I look at her I see everything I hate, but sometimes she looks back. . .and everything changes, just for a moment. For a second. For the time it takes for my heart to beat and my breath to catch.

The way she is; a protector, a constant, a creation.

Her eyes flash blue sometimes and it sends chills through me. It reminds me of what's behind that cold smile, delicate features, a slender frame that could crush me. She's something I don't understand. Her motives, her ways, her glances at me when she thinks I wont notice.

The way she is; stealing moments of me, pieces of me as I let my guard down.

I've trusted her. I trust her. It's both wrong and right and creates an itch under my skin that I can't scratch out. Every time we catch each other's eyes, every time we touch, every time her words confuse me as much as mine confuse her.

The way she is; stealthily crawling inside my head, over my skin and into my veins.

One night she stops at my door. Stops in her boots and skimpy clothing. I hear her breath as if it was human. I hear my own, trembling. Trembling for reasons other than what they should be. My hand reaches under my pillow, feeling out for the cold, stark hardness of my gun. I quickly discover that it's not there, and I blink up towards the door as it swings slowly open.

The way she is; cool and calm, power coiled up inside pale skin and achingly feminine features.

She walks towards my bed and I see it. . .my gun in her hand. It's balanced on the end of her finger at the trigger, as if mocking me for not realizing it was gone. Panic begins to rise in the back of my throat, but I don't speak, I just watch as she closes the door and advances further into the room.

The way she is; crawling over me as the gun is laid down on the bedside table. Hovering over me as I look up into her eyes and fail – not for the first time – to see just the machine behind them.

Her touch electrifies me and I don't stop the inevitable. The thing I've ran from. The thing that scares me as much as taunts me. The first kiss is hard and eager and we both moan into each other. I don't stop to wonder where her moans come from – what part of her programming - but they soar with mine as fingers dance over delicate skin and strong muscles. We wrap around each other until man and machine are one. Until we're hot and wet and climbing, clinging to each other, to the damp sheets, to the hope that we'll one day understand each other and our fate.

The way she is; it consumes me, it burns me, it keeps me reaching out to her every night after.

This is my fate. . .to finally be conquered by a machine; heart, body, and soul.