FIC: The Collapsed Girl (TSCC, PG)
Fic entry for svmadelyn's Fourth Annual Kink/Cliché Challenge (see details here). My prompt was the Crush / Unrequited Love cliché. The master list can be found here. Thanks to svmadelyn for the deadline extension!
Title: The Collapsed Girl
Author: Danahid (danahid)
Fandom: TSCC
Spoilers: S1
Pairing (if any): Gen
Rating: PG (some language)
Length: 1,305
Disclaimer: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles (TSCC) is owned by Fox and many people who are not me. No profit being made. No infringement intended.
Archive/Distribution: Please ask.
Date: May 27, 2008 (Rev. 6/6/08)
Summary: When (If) Cameron Knew
THE COLLAPSED GIRL
Cameron didn’t know the girl’s name. The girl was of negligible interest, one of many interchangeable girls who were John’s classmates at Campo de Cahuenga High School.
When the girl collapsed in the hallway at 8:57 am on Tuesday, October 21, Cameron pushed John roughly into a row of lockers. She kept him pinned against locker 247 while she performed a brief environmental scan. She assessed the threat to John to be insignificant. Her analysis confirmed that the girl was injured, but the injury was not life threatening; it was related to a preexisting condition and as such presented no risk to John’s wellbeing.
John had come to the same conclusion despite his not having the benefit of Cameron’s analysis. He shoved at Cameron’s arm. “Let go, Cameron. We’re going to be late for class.”
Cameron nodded and stepped aside. “It’s safe.”
“Whatever,” John muttered as he gathered his scattered books. “Stop being a freak.”
Cameron did not remind him that she did not take orders from him. She nodded again and led the way down the hallway. She was about to step over the collapsed girl when John stopped.
“Don’t,” Cameron said.
He glared at her.
“Mom wouldn’t like it,” Cameron continued. She lowered her volume. “We need to stay under the radar.”
“We don’t want to get noticed,” John said. There was something in his tone, a qualitative shift in modulation that Cameron categorized as bitterness. His mutinous facial expression supported her conclusion. She filed this information to relay to Sarah Connor later.
“Yes,” Cameron agreed. “We don’t want to get noticed.”
John gave her a look that she was unable to classify. She was sixty-four percent complete processing it through her neural filters when he dropped to his knees beside the collapsed girl.
Cameron watched him turn the girl’s head to the side with careful fingers. He gently smoothed the girl’s hair away from her face. Unexpectedly, Cameron was reminded of the time John stroked her hair back after he had removed and then replaced her chip. Her observation and memory coalesced, were accompanied by something she could not name, a splinter of code that she could not identify. She tried to isolate the malfunctioning program.
John glanced up at Cameron. “She’s having an epileptic fit,” he said.
Cameron paused her self-test long enough to nod. Her previous analysis had identified and dismissed the information. The collapsed girl was unimportant. “We should get to class,” Cameron said.
John shook his head and turned back to the girl shaking and stuttering on the ground.
“You’re okay,” he told the collapsed girl as he slid his book-bag under her head. His voice was so soft that even Cameron’s advanced hearing could barely distinguish his words. “Take it easy,” he murmured as he stroked the girl’s hair.
Cameron’s self-test ended inconclusively. She deliberated initiating more sophisticated tests before deciding that she could not spare the cycles. John’s current situation was becoming increasingly unpredictable. Students were milling around them, watching John care for the collapsed girl. Cameron was continuously scanning the growing crowd, and she discerned nothing more threatening than curiosity, anxiety, and boredom, but her sensors were impeded by the sheer number of humans. Her mission parameters did not permit this level of risk. She needed to extract John from the situation.
Cameron was considering possible conversational approaches when Morris nudged her shoulder. She assumed that John’s friend had worked his way through the crowd of students to stand beside her, and an idle part of her neural cortex was impressed by his determination.
“Hey,” Morris said. He gestured toward the collapsed girl. “Does John know her? Do they have classes together?”
Cameron tilted her head to assess Morris. “No,” she said. She did not elaborate. She did not explain that John Connor did not know the collapsed girl, that John Connor had never met the collapsed girl before today, that John Connor did not know the collapsed girl’s name, that John Connor was taking an unnecessary risk. She did not inform Morris that John Connor was too important to the survival of the entire human race to be involving himself with the comfort of one individual.
Cameron mentally dismissed Morris and returned to considering verbal approaches that might convince John to remove himself to a safer location. She knew from experience with this John that the wrong approach would make him roll his eyes and refuse to talk to her. She had examined and discarded 147 possible variations when the collapsed girl threw up on John.
The milling crowd of students stepped back in disgust. John moved closer. He wiped the girl’s mouth gently with the corner of his t-shirt. “You’re all right,” he said soothingly. “You’re all right. Everything’s okay.” He used a clean corner of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from the girl’s forehead.
As Cameron watched John caring for someone he had never met, she was again aware of a hiccup in her neural cortex, an unanticipated glitch in her programming. She could not parse the code; it matched no pre-loaded patterns and reflected no established pathways. She watched John’s gentle touches, his unselfconscious kindness, and her sensors were flooded with something - a feeling? - she could not name. She was frozen, transfixed, with the same code looping over and over behind her eyes.
Suddenly she was reminded of the other John, the John Connor Cameron did take orders from. They were different, her two Johns. This John viewed her as a nuisance and a curiosity. He was fascinated by her chip. A normal teenage boy, he was interested in her body. But he did not feel love. She wasn’t sure what she felt for this John, wasn’t sure she could “feel” anything at all, but she sensed that something had changed. Some new neural pathway had been forged as she witnessed John’s unconditional compassion. She found herself wanting to understand this intense feeling. Whatever the feeling was, whether it was a “feeling” at all, it was important to her. It rewrote her programming in its own image. It illuminated her purpose, made profound her mission to protect John Connor now and in the future. It looped over and over again behind her eyes.
Around her, the crowd of students was beginning to disperse. John was helping the collapsed girl to her feet. Morris had gone to class. Cameron watched John ask the girl if she could make it to the nurse's office on her own, or if she needed help. The girl shook her head (Cameron automatically noted that the girl appeared embarrassed) before hurrying down the corridor. (Cameron also noted that it was the wrong direction if the girl wanted to go to the nurse’s office.) Finally it was just them, her and John, standing in the hallway.
“We’re really late,” John said. “So much for staying under the radar.”
He looked at her, and she read a multitude of expressions flashing across his face. He seemed to be apologetic, wary, proud, concerned, anxious, and happy all at once. As Cameron cataloged his emotions, she observed her slower processing speed and realized that John would notice it too. Immediately she partitioned her new code so that she could function as if her world’s axes had not reversed themselves. The metaphor presented itself, and Cameron did not dismiss it. It fit her current state.
“Do you want to clean up before class?” Cameron asked. She was pleased that her voice sounded as monotonous as usual.
John shrugged. “Guess I should. I don’t smell so good, do I?”
“You have smelled better,” Cameron stated.
John arched one eyebrow but did not reply. He slung his book-bag over his shoulder and headed down the hallway toward the bathrooms. He glanced back. “You coming?”
Cameron followed.
END
Acknowledgement: The basic elements of the epileptic fit situation in this story were inspired by a Cate Kennedy short story. Heartfelt thanks to Ms Kennedy for her inspiration.
Title: The Collapsed Girl
Author: Danahid (danahid)
Fandom: TSCC
Spoilers: S1
Pairing (if any): Gen
Rating: PG (some language)
Length: 1,305
Disclaimer: Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles (TSCC) is owned by Fox and many people who are not me. No profit being made. No infringement intended.
Archive/Distribution: Please ask.
Date: May 27, 2008 (Rev. 6/6/08)
Summary: When (If) Cameron Knew
THE COLLAPSED GIRL
Cameron didn’t know the girl’s name. The girl was of negligible interest, one of many interchangeable girls who were John’s classmates at Campo de Cahuenga High School.
When the girl collapsed in the hallway at 8:57 am on Tuesday, October 21, Cameron pushed John roughly into a row of lockers. She kept him pinned against locker 247 while she performed a brief environmental scan. She assessed the threat to John to be insignificant. Her analysis confirmed that the girl was injured, but the injury was not life threatening; it was related to a preexisting condition and as such presented no risk to John’s wellbeing.
John had come to the same conclusion despite his not having the benefit of Cameron’s analysis. He shoved at Cameron’s arm. “Let go, Cameron. We’re going to be late for class.”
Cameron nodded and stepped aside. “It’s safe.”
“Whatever,” John muttered as he gathered his scattered books. “Stop being a freak.”
Cameron did not remind him that she did not take orders from him. She nodded again and led the way down the hallway. She was about to step over the collapsed girl when John stopped.
“Don’t,” Cameron said.
He glared at her.
“Mom wouldn’t like it,” Cameron continued. She lowered her volume. “We need to stay under the radar.”
“We don’t want to get noticed,” John said. There was something in his tone, a qualitative shift in modulation that Cameron categorized as bitterness. His mutinous facial expression supported her conclusion. She filed this information to relay to Sarah Connor later.
“Yes,” Cameron agreed. “We don’t want to get noticed.”
John gave her a look that she was unable to classify. She was sixty-four percent complete processing it through her neural filters when he dropped to his knees beside the collapsed girl.
Cameron watched him turn the girl’s head to the side with careful fingers. He gently smoothed the girl’s hair away from her face. Unexpectedly, Cameron was reminded of the time John stroked her hair back after he had removed and then replaced her chip. Her observation and memory coalesced, were accompanied by something she could not name, a splinter of code that she could not identify. She tried to isolate the malfunctioning program.
John glanced up at Cameron. “She’s having an epileptic fit,” he said.
Cameron paused her self-test long enough to nod. Her previous analysis had identified and dismissed the information. The collapsed girl was unimportant. “We should get to class,” Cameron said.
John shook his head and turned back to the girl shaking and stuttering on the ground.
“You’re okay,” he told the collapsed girl as he slid his book-bag under her head. His voice was so soft that even Cameron’s advanced hearing could barely distinguish his words. “Take it easy,” he murmured as he stroked the girl’s hair.
Cameron’s self-test ended inconclusively. She deliberated initiating more sophisticated tests before deciding that she could not spare the cycles. John’s current situation was becoming increasingly unpredictable. Students were milling around them, watching John care for the collapsed girl. Cameron was continuously scanning the growing crowd, and she discerned nothing more threatening than curiosity, anxiety, and boredom, but her sensors were impeded by the sheer number of humans. Her mission parameters did not permit this level of risk. She needed to extract John from the situation.
Cameron was considering possible conversational approaches when Morris nudged her shoulder. She assumed that John’s friend had worked his way through the crowd of students to stand beside her, and an idle part of her neural cortex was impressed by his determination.
“Hey,” Morris said. He gestured toward the collapsed girl. “Does John know her? Do they have classes together?”
Cameron tilted her head to assess Morris. “No,” she said. She did not elaborate. She did not explain that John Connor did not know the collapsed girl, that John Connor had never met the collapsed girl before today, that John Connor did not know the collapsed girl’s name, that John Connor was taking an unnecessary risk. She did not inform Morris that John Connor was too important to the survival of the entire human race to be involving himself with the comfort of one individual.
Cameron mentally dismissed Morris and returned to considering verbal approaches that might convince John to remove himself to a safer location. She knew from experience with this John that the wrong approach would make him roll his eyes and refuse to talk to her. She had examined and discarded 147 possible variations when the collapsed girl threw up on John.
The milling crowd of students stepped back in disgust. John moved closer. He wiped the girl’s mouth gently with the corner of his t-shirt. “You’re all right,” he said soothingly. “You’re all right. Everything’s okay.” He used a clean corner of his t-shirt to wipe the sweat from the girl’s forehead.
As Cameron watched John caring for someone he had never met, she was again aware of a hiccup in her neural cortex, an unanticipated glitch in her programming. She could not parse the code; it matched no pre-loaded patterns and reflected no established pathways. She watched John’s gentle touches, his unselfconscious kindness, and her sensors were flooded with something - a feeling? - she could not name. She was frozen, transfixed, with the same code looping over and over behind her eyes.
Suddenly she was reminded of the other John, the John Connor Cameron did take orders from. They were different, her two Johns. This John viewed her as a nuisance and a curiosity. He was fascinated by her chip. A normal teenage boy, he was interested in her body. But he did not feel love. She wasn’t sure what she felt for this John, wasn’t sure she could “feel” anything at all, but she sensed that something had changed. Some new neural pathway had been forged as she witnessed John’s unconditional compassion. She found herself wanting to understand this intense feeling. Whatever the feeling was, whether it was a “feeling” at all, it was important to her. It rewrote her programming in its own image. It illuminated her purpose, made profound her mission to protect John Connor now and in the future. It looped over and over again behind her eyes.
Around her, the crowd of students was beginning to disperse. John was helping the collapsed girl to her feet. Morris had gone to class. Cameron watched John ask the girl if she could make it to the nurse's office on her own, or if she needed help. The girl shook her head (Cameron automatically noted that the girl appeared embarrassed) before hurrying down the corridor. (Cameron also noted that it was the wrong direction if the girl wanted to go to the nurse’s office.) Finally it was just them, her and John, standing in the hallway.
“We’re really late,” John said. “So much for staying under the radar.”
He looked at her, and she read a multitude of expressions flashing across his face. He seemed to be apologetic, wary, proud, concerned, anxious, and happy all at once. As Cameron cataloged his emotions, she observed her slower processing speed and realized that John would notice it too. Immediately she partitioned her new code so that she could function as if her world’s axes had not reversed themselves. The metaphor presented itself, and Cameron did not dismiss it. It fit her current state.
“Do you want to clean up before class?” Cameron asked. She was pleased that her voice sounded as monotonous as usual.
John shrugged. “Guess I should. I don’t smell so good, do I?”
“You have smelled better,” Cameron stated.
John arched one eyebrow but did not reply. He slung his book-bag over his shoulder and headed down the hallway toward the bathrooms. He glanced back. “You coming?”
Cameron followed.
END
Acknowledgement: The basic elements of the epileptic fit situation in this story were inspired by a Cate Kennedy short story. Heartfelt thanks to Ms Kennedy for her inspiration.