Disclaimer: I don't own Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles. I play in the playground, tis all, I swear.

Summary: When Cameron's identity is compromised, Sarah has to make a decision before her family is exposed and Skynet closes in.

A/N: This idea has been swimming around in my head for a while, so now I've just decided to give it a go. Hope you enjoy.

John's eyes followed the second's hand of the English classroom's wall-mounted clock as it ticked around and around. He cupped his chin in his hands and yawned loudly. He hated English. Around the classroom John knew that similar expressions of boredom were on the faces of his classmates. The end of school just couldn't come soon enough!

The scratch of pencil on paper occasionally reached his ears and like all the other times John had heard the sound, he turned his head and looked at his robotic guardian, his protector; or as everyone else in the classroom believed, his metal-head sister. Cameron was looking down at her exercise book and was recording every dull word that emerged from the English teacher's ceaseless mouth.

"Hey." John whispered to her, reaching over to tap her elbow. "You know you don't have to do that."

The pencil paused in its flurry of movement as Cameron looked up and stared at John with her usual expressionless gaze and said, "But you asked me before class to take notes for you."

"I was . . . joking." John said weakly. Cameron just stared at him, confused, curious, questioning — if a robot could look like that. "You don't have to write notes for me. It's not as if I actually need them."

"Oh. Thank you for explaining." Cameron replied softly, but by her expression John could tell she didn't fully understand.

"John and Cameron Baum!"

John jerked as the sudden shout echoed through the classroom. He turned away from Cameron and looked at the English teacher. Amused chuckles emerged through the other students. English class for them had just passed into remotely interesting.

"Is there something you would like to share with the class?" The teacher's voice was moderated now.

John shook his head and tried to sink into his chair. He hated being singled out in class almost as much as he hated class itself. He looked back at Cameron and almost groaned. His sister was peering at the teacher calmly and her mouth was opening to answer.

"I don't have to take notes for John."

Oh, crap!

The chuckles tittering from the other students erupted into full-blown laughter, along with amused words of: "What a freak," and "Weirdo."

"Congratulations, Miss Baum." The teacher rolled his eyes. "Now if we could please get back on topic?"

John directed another glance at Cameron and shook his head softly at the questioning expression on her face. If she wanted to ask questions she could wait till after class.

Suddenly the door to the classroom burst open and a dark-haired student walked in, a schoolbag slung over his shoulder. John had seen him before; he was in a few of his classes – including English.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Walker, have you finally decided to join us?" the teacher said, both looking and sounding increasingly irritated at the continuous disruptions to his class.

The student cracked a grin and pulled a note form his pocket. "Sorry, sir; it took a bit longer than usual."

"Mm," the teacher hummed as he glanced over the note. "Take your seat, and next time you decide to take an hour to do a ten minute job, you'll have a detention waiting for you."

Walker glanced at the clock and then sighed as he slipped through the isle of desks and made his way towards the back. He smelt of paint, John noticed as the other student passed by his desk, and his hands were covered with the stuff.

All thoughts of the paint rapidly disappeared from John's head as the school bell rang, loud and clear. He sprang to his feet, pulling his bag up onto the desk, and stuffed his unopened English folder inside. He zipped up his bag and waited for Cameron to do the same.

Haste was a word lost on Cameron. Well, at least in these situations it was.

His foot tapped impatiently as Cameron slowly and methodically placed her books in her bag and positioned it squarely against her hip. The classroom had all but emptied, only the teacher and a few straggling student's remained. "Are you ready?" he asked Cameron impatiently.

"Yes." Cameron responded simply, unfathomed by – or just completely unaware of the sarcasm in John's voice.

John moved away from his desk and walked towards the door leading out of the classroom. With a swift yank, he pulled the door open and emerged into the hallway. Locker after locker lined the far wall, but hardly any students were rummaging through them. What the . . .? He thought, confused. The hallways were always crowded after school. Always.

A roar of laughter erupted to his left, and John glanced around, frowning. A throng of students were crowding around the hall near the end of the line of lockers. What the hell?

"John. The exit is this way." Cameron said as he began to walk towards the crowd.

"Yeah, I know. Just wait a second." He paused in his stride as Cheri Westin walked swiftly down the hall, away from the crowd of students. "Hey, what's going on?" he asked her.

Cheri met his eyes briefly, but didn't slow in her pace as she walked away, books pressed against her chest, head slightly down. She looked frightened, angry too. He looked over his shoulder, watching Cheri disappear through the school's exit. What the hell is going on here?

The students parted easily, too easily, as he approached them. And every face John saw seemed to be wearing sly, disdainful sneers and grins. Suddenly he found himself at the front of the crowd, staring directly at the source of the other's amusement. Cameron was at his side, she was always at his side.

"Metal-head!"

A second wave of laughter erupted from the students. John spun around, grabbing Cameron's arm and pulling her along as he went. "Come on, let's go home." He told her quietly. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Walker, one of the first people to escape through the door once the bell rang, push his way out of the crowd. The paint on his hands suddenly leapt out in John's mind. Did he do this?

John didn't turn around and pursue Walker though; he just kept walking, away from the students, away from the lockers. Away from the painted image of a girl's head; a blank gaze, wires producing from her neck; a metal plate covering her skull and half of her face. Who the girl was meant to be was unmistakable.

They walked away from the crude graffiti of Cameron, painted over her locker as if taunting them with the truth.