A/N:

Thanks to everyone who reviewed: BaconBabe77, LydsLife, Gazza, Iamthebestwriter and my few guests. Special thanks must go to chronicyouth.2002 for such lovely compliments! You truly made my day!

Happy reading!

Chapter 2: Porcelain Conversation

"Ugghhh." I moaned then leaned over the toilet rim again, retching once more. The white porcelain inside had been painted a disgusting, mushy green (a near match to that of the army bases exterior paint job actually) and wafted a putrid stench upwards. I honestly couldn't remember what or when my last meal had been (in New Zealand maybe) but I was pretty sure that it had not included carrot. Yet, I could clearly see little orange pieces floating around in my puke. Why was that? Why did vomit always seem to have carrot in it?

I leaned back on my heels and attempted to pull my hair out of my face. Only now did I wish that I had wrestled my hair up into one of those silly army grade buns, as Sargent Brown had suggested. At least if I had, my brown/blonde locks would have been safe from escapee puke flecks. I flushed the toilet, grimacing at the sight of my stomach contents draining down the sewage pipes and flopped sideways on my butt. I rested my head on the toilet stall wall resignedly. Tears that had welled up in my eyes as I heaved were finally released down my cheeks in a torrent. I've always despised crying and would usually do everything in my power to prevent the salty water from escaping my tear ducts, but, couched on the tiled floor pathetically, I couldn't seem to find the energy.

I just couldn't believe it. It was all so confusing and backward and strange and…. And… Just wrong. I had spent my entire life trying to protect the people I loved and now... My stomach flipped but I steadied my breathing and didn't barf again. As I continued to sit, sobbing uncontrollably and trying not to vomit, I thought back to the exchange I had with General Starvish just minutes ago.

"Have you ever heard of a man called Nicholas Ride?"

My blood turned cold. That was the fake name that I had given to HIM all those years ago in a Washington hospital. It couldn't be him, it couldn't. It's a coincidence, that's all.

"Nope. Never heard of him." I said, controlling my voice from climbing several octaves by talking not much louder than a whisper and keeping my face impassive.

General Starvish narrowed his eyes and evaluated me carefully, arms still clasped on the table in front of him. "Mmm." He hummed after the pause, "Well, he is the co-creator of a quite successful online blogging community."

My breath stopped in my throat uncomfortably. Suddenly, this was sounding less and less like a coincidence.

"The website – Tumble Weed – or something silly like that has recently been linked to a quite violent terror organization. Ride appears to be harmless. All we have been able to gather is that he is currently raising his orphaned siblings and–"

Starvishstopped suddenly and stared at my hands which were twisted in my skirt, nearly tearing the fabric. "Everything okay, Sargent?" He questioned. I untwisted my hands and let them hang limply by my sides.

"Yes, Sir." I forced myself to respond reasonably. "Go on."

He looked at me suspiciously, but continued, "And he seems to check out. However, we cannot ignore the situation and we cannot proceed in apprehending Ride until we know for certain that he is affiliated with terrorist movements which may threaten the safety of American citizens. Furthermore, we want to know exactly what they are planning to catch them in the act and end them once and for all." Starvish paused to unclasp his hands and lay them on the desk. He sat up straight, sticking out his chest importantly. "The President has personally asked me to send in my best soldier to uncover the truth of situation and to…. detain the person responsible."

My stomach bubbled. I felt immensely sick. I wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and never talk to anyone again but I knew that I couldn't show weakness, not straight to the General's face. "And your best soldier would be me, sir?" I asked, attempting to sound like myself but my words came out forced. "I'm flattered."

The General huffed out a laugh, apparently not noticing my… offness. "I cannot tell you how to proceed Ride….. Interesting, I hadn't realized that your surname was the same as the man in question... What a coincidence! Anyway, I'll leave it up to you on how you intend to gain access to the Mr. Ride's inner circle and support you in any way necessary. A car will take you into San Francisco at oh eight hundred hours tomorrow."

I nodded, thinking that if I was to open my mouth I would likely throw up.

The General nodded in return. "Dismissed." He said, waving a hand at me and swiveling back around in his chair to gaze out the window at the setting sun.

Silently, I turned on my heel, opened the door and walked calmly out of the room, leaving Starvish alone. Almost as soon as I had closed the door behind me, I sprinted down the hallway and back to the bathhouse to find a toilet I could puke up into…

Which I had just finished doing.

Just thinking about the whole thing made me want to chuck my cookies again but I didn't. Eventually, once I had finished crying, I stood shakily in my heels (why, oh, why was I forced to walk in these death traps), left the stall door to bang shut behind me and washed my mouth out at one the sinks. I avoided looking at myself in the mirror, not wanting to see an officer's uniform with me shoved into it. Finally, I exited the bathroom to find Sargent Brown sitting on a nearby bench flipping through a manila folder.

I sighed and walked over to stand awkwardly in front of her. When she didn't look up, I figured that she didn't hear me approach and so, in a cracking voice, I said, "Hey."

She jumped almost a foot in the air and clamped a hand over her mouth in surprise. She clambered to shut the folder which had fallen open onto the bench beside her but clumsily knocked it onto the ground in her haste. Once she had scampered to pick it back up again, Brown looked up. She laughed when she realized it was only me and dropped her hand from her mouth where it hadn't moved from, seemingly frozen there.

"Jesus! You almost gave me a heart attack–" She stopped abruptly and stared at me worriedly. I raised an eyebrow at her. "…..Are you okay?" She asked hesitantly. It was then that I remembered I hadn't checked my reflection before leaving the toilets. My eyes must have been seriously red and puffy from all the overzealous sobbing I had participated in.

"I'm fine." I lied, deciding I honestly I couldn't bring myself to care that I looked like hell at the moment. "I just wanted to know if there was anywhere around here that I could crash for the night."

Sargent Brown still looked worried but didn't comment further. She stood and told me that the living quarters were across campus and that she'd take me there now. I nodded and motioned for her to lead the way.

We walked in silence most of the way. Then, when we were nearing yet another green building, "I have your briefing for tomorrow," Brown said conversationally, waving the manila folder. "Did you want to have a look at it tonight?"

I nodded and took the file. I really didn't want to talk right now. "Okay, great. I'll see you tomorrow morning! I'll have someone bring you a tray from the mess hall after supper." Then, very seriously, she grabbed both of my shoulders and looked me directly in the eyes. I was forced to gaze into her pale green irises as she held me. "It's going to be okay." She said. With no warning she leaned in and hugged me, making me feel even more uncomfortable than I already was. I stood awkwardly in her embrace. Finally, she detached herself from me, her mousy brown bun bumping my nose in the process. Then, just as unexpectedly as she had hugged me, she disappeared. Stunned, I stood in front of my room staring at the place Brown had been for probably five minutes before heading inside.

What the hell is wrong with these people? Jesus.

My dinner had arrived whilst I was reading over the briefing Brown had given to me. I ate, cross-legged on my cramped single bed, still in my skin tight black skirt. Prawn cracker crumbs trampolined off the taught material across my knees.

I flicked through the files carefully. Ordinarily, I didn't receive a briefing. I was typically provided with simply a name and a last seen location and the understanding that I make whoever the government was after as dead as possible before requesting a new name. I had, on one other occasion, conducted an operation with a number of other soldiers under my command where I had received a briefing folder, similar to this one, but that mission had been at least a year ago now.

The folder in question contained a map of the San Francisco area with circles drawn around relevant areas (ie. Nicholas Ride's office and the location of his sibling's schools). Other documents describing Nicholas's approximate daily schedule and appearance were also archived in the folder as well as evidence of his alleged terrorist activity.

As it turned out, Nicholas had 4 siblings, of which he had sole custardy (ages 9, 11, 15 and 18). He himself was 18 with dark hair and equally dark eyes.

I had tried my best to deny it, brush off all the markers as coincidence, but, when I reached the pictures taken of him and his family on surveillance equipment, I couldn't continue denying it.

Nicholas Ride was the one person I have dreaded seeing and the boy that I have missed the most these last few years. I had given him the fake name scribbled on the papers in front of me and, on top of that, his real name as well, at a facility called the school located in Death Valley.

Tears, that had begun welling up in my eyes as I stared at the photos, threatened to spill out. Staring back at me through the photos was a very grown-up version of the boy I had once loved and cared for. He looked nearly the same as I remembered; dark, shaggy hair falling into his eyes, olive tone skin, slight but muscular build. My fingers stretched out to comb down the side of my face, but I stopped myself. I wanted to throw the files as far away from me as possible, grab my stuff and run away to a place where nobody knows me and the government can't find me.

It was HIM.

Not only that but the "siblings" for which he cared, were, undeniably, my ex-family, the Flock. All five of them. Living and (apparently) thriving in the city of San Francisco.

And Nicholas Ride, apparent terrorist organization fraterniser, the person I was directed to (by the President, may I add) watch over and maybe "detain" (which I doubted actually meant detain) was Fang.

The damn in my eyes spilled over and, for the second time today, I was crying uncontrollably.

I honestly hate the way things turn out in my life.

A/N2:

Thanks for reading. Don't forget to review!

~El