I had a complaint about length on the last chapter. Let me explain really quick: There is a reason things are short right now. One, I like cliff hangers at the beginning of a story. They keep people interested. Two, I'm setting things up. I'm just getting warmed up, explaining what's going on and who's who. Which is important, because I use like, nine OCs in this story to varying degrees of activity. Think of it as a first date-you're just getting to know each other for now. Like, one or two more short chapters, and then crap starts happening for real. Bear with me guys. I know what I'm doing.

PS: I'm making up the last names for the boys (Jonas and Grant). If I'm wrong and you happen to know the correct last names, leave me alone. This is fiction, and more importantly fanfiction. I'll make them up however I want to make them up.

Summary: Cameron Morgan left the Gallagher Academy, her family, and Zach for a reason. A good reason, too, if you wanted her opinion. But can a tragic failure on a mission, a psychological breakdown, and a hallucinogenic trip down memory lane force her to confront the past she swore never to revisit?

Rating: T for Teen, due to language, violence, hallucinogenic episodes, and heavy emotional trauma. Rating may go up to M later.

Rainbow Balloons

Liz was waiting in the Headmistress's office, box of chow main in one hand, chopsticks poised in the other, and a manila folder spread out on her lap. Jonas smiled and started to creep up behind her on the couch.

"Jonas Abbott, do not even dare."

He let his arms fall back to his side. "Was I really that obvious?"

"No, but I'm God," Liz countered seriously, not bothering to turn around.

Grant snickered and followed Macey into the room. "Hi, God."

Liz turned around at that, smiling beatifically at the new arrivals. "Hi, guys. How was the trip?"

"Long. Very long," Macey complained, bending down next to Liz to plant a kiss to her forehead. She flipped the folder closed and whisked it behind her back. "No work at a reunion party, dear. It's bad form."

Liz made a weak grab at the file. "Aw, come on. You didn't have to take it."

"Yeah, we kind of did," Bex said, pulling Liz out of her chair and hugging her tightly. Liz squeaked but took it anyway.

"Missed you too," she muttered once the British agent relaxed her grip.

Bex held Liz at arm's length and looked her over. "I like the glasses," she pronounced finally, nodding in firm approval. "Very funky. Very you."

Liz reached up to touch the thick arms of her glasses. They sported an electric blue sunburst pattern cut out of the metal, and wrapped all the way around the lenses like goggles. "Thanks. They're pretty knew," she said with a shy grin.

"Hi guys," Rachel Morgan called into the office from a room normally hidden behind a bookcase. "I'll be in there in a second."

"Take your time," Jonas called back, glancing at Zach. The other boy had found his way into the corner of the room, arms folded over his chest and eyes fixed on the window. Jonas stepped back against the wall and studied Zach. You okay, he mouthed.

Zach gave a terse nod and glanced at the door. I'm fine, he mouthed back, offering a slight smile to reassure his friend. Jonas nodded and turned back to the gathering, not entirely convinced.

Rachel surfaced from the back room, the bookshelf sliding into place behind her. "Hi everyone," she said, offering a slightly breathless smile to the collection of young adults in the room. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a thick turtleneck sweater, she looked more casual than possibly anyone present had seen her, but just as broken hearted as they remembered.

"Hi, Mrs. Morgan," Grant said, stepping forward with an expression a tad too solemn for a Christmas gathering. "Thanks for inviting us all."

"Oh, don't mention it," she said dismissively, busying herself straightening her already spotless desk. "It would've been Liz, Joe, and I all by our lonesomes here otherwise." She turned back to him and smiled, her eyes looking a little damp at the corners. "We're all very glad you could make it."

"Sorry I'm late," a voice said from the doorway. "Just making one last pass through Level Three."

Zach smiled and pushed out of the corner. "Hey, Mr. Solomon."

Joe grinned and shook his head. "Zach, you're twenty three. I'm almost fifty. Call me Joe." He gripped Zach's hand and pulled him into a rough hug. Quietly, he asked, "You doing alright, kid?"

"Just fine."

"We'll talk about lying to your mentor later," Joe promised seriously, releasing him and turning to Rachel. "Take out here yet?"

"Just got here," Liz answered, holding up her carton of chow mein. "The delivery kid said it was the biggest order he'd ever delivered on his moped."

"Hope he didn't get caught in the blizzard," Macey said, crossing her arms. "Chefs have Christmas off?"

"Liz talked me into it," Rachel admitted, rifling through one of three brown paper bags sitting on and around one of the chairs. "Aha. Mongolian beef," she exclaimed, pulling out a carton and a pair of chopsticks. She retreated behind her desk, opening the box and pulling apart her chopsticks. "Well, go on. Dig in, everybody," she said, waving everyone towards the bags. "There's something for everyone in there."

-x-x-x-

Cammie pushed her hands against her eyes and took a series of deep breaths, trying to focus on the whir of the helicopter blades over her head. "I've lost people before, this is nothing new. I've lost people before, this is nothing new. I've lost people before, this is nothing new," she repeated under her breath. Never had a mission failure affected her so badly.

Eight fingertips pressed gently against her forearms. Slowly, they slid up to her wrists and snaked around, pulling her hands away from her face. A pale face appeared over her fingers, a navy blue beret perched atop a cloud of cinnamon curls. "Cammie," the young woman said gently, her French accent somehow working its way into Cammie's troubled soul like a deep tissue massage. "Cammie, look at me, sîl tu plait."

Cammie tried to pull her hands back to her face, but the girl's grip held strong. "Go away," she moaned, struggling not to cry. "Zoé, go away."

Zoé Desmond didn't let go of her friend's wrists, but moved to sit next to her on the helicopter's bench. "Cameron, look at me," she demanded quietly. "This was not your fault-far from it. I know you think it was, but it was not, do you understand?"

"They were so young," Cammie whispered despondently. "She was six..."

Wordlessly, Zoé let go of one of Cammie's wrists and placed her hand on the side of Cammie's head, pushing it towards her own heart. She glanced at the other occupants of the helicopter-Luka was dutifully staring at his scuffed combat boots, arms crossed firmly over his chest, probably feeling responsible in some abstract way; Freddie was fiddling with deactivating live charges, upset that her handiwork wasn't used at all; Ben was clicking rapidly on his laptop, completing a report to upload back at base while the damage was still fresh. The other two were hidden away in the cockpit, where she couldn't see them. She'd check in with them later, probably. They were the last on her list, anyway-they hadn't been on the ground for the fallout.

Suddenly, Luka stood, rubbing his neck and looking uncharacteristically solemn. He crossed the compartment in four of his loping strides, taking a seat on Cammie's other side. One hand found Cammie's shoulder blades, rubbing absentminded circles.

Without a word, Cammie pulled away from Zoé and pushed her face into Luka's pullover, her shoulders heaving with each breath. The French native sighed in bittersweet contentment-at least she was crying. Things would run their course, it would be fine. She nodded at Luka and stood, moving over to Freddie.

For a long few minutes, Luka rubbed Cammie's shoulders and let her cry. She'd been hit hard, that much he knew. Even before the catastrophic failure, something had been off. He didn't know what, and he didn't know how far back it went, but he knew better than to ask. Cammie's file was Level 8 security back at HQ for a reason, after all.

Cammie's legs pulled up on the bench and her head slipped down from Luka's chest. He shifted and positioned her head on his thigh, aimlessly stroking his partner's hair. Every now and then, she hiccuped or sniffed sullenly, but for the most part, the sobs had passed. "You'll be okay," he whispered, more to himself than to her.

"Ladies and gents, bundle back up. We're almost home."

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