Reconnoiter || Guns N Roses, David Bowie, Bon Jovi

Reconnoiter: Before

Thanks for reading! This is more like a prologue, just read through to chapter two and you'll understand most things! Trust me- it gets a lot better after that! Xo

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"It's pathetic," he stated, staring at the dashboard display. I sighed, "What did I do now? Is not talking as annoying to you as my voice?" Axl scowled at me for a few seconds. "No, chill." I didn't know how to 'chill' or exactly what that meant, so I just sat back in my seat quietly.

"If you would have let me finish... It's pathetic for anyone not to know what N.W.A is." I raised an eyebrow, and a few seconds later some explosively loud music begin to blast from the stereo system. I was cringing repeatedly but the corners of the Sergeant's mouth were turned up. "This one is called 'Express yourself.'"

Pleasure bloomed in those green eyes of his. It made them seem a lot more attractive, and they stood out against his red mane.

~~~

1978-

One, two, buckle my shoe.

Jess was a good man, the best person I knew, through the eyes of a seven-year-old; but maybe The Captain was even better- it was difficult to decide.

I didn't see him much, but I guess I didn't mind. I had plenty to do, roaming the endless supply of gardens, rooms and offices the White House had to offer, interrupting the progress of board meetings and public tours just to quench the never-ending thirst for adventure I'd procured at a young age. That, and playing with The Gingerbread Man.

Three, four, someone's at your door.

I was a perfect little girl to Jess, I could do no wrong. Sure, I ate sweets from the candy jar behind my mother's back, I drew pictures of flowers on expensive pieces of furniture, occasionally played mindless pranks on White house personnel; it was all water off a duck's back. I was the youngest girl.

Five, six, you'll be beaten with sticks.

Maybe my other siblings resented me for my father's obvious favoritism; I was the child he brandished on stage with him after tough presidential debates, fawned over by the American people. I was the one he made time for in his impossible schedule to read bedtime stories with, and if for some reason he couldn't, Cap always could. I was the poster child of the First Family, so I could do no wrong.

Sometimes I look back at the old photos of he and I together, staring at my wide brown eyes and chubby cheeks, trying to understand the appeal I held. I was small for my age, I had long hair that hung in ringlets, I wore dresses, I had flowers tucked behind my ears.

Seven, eight, you will be their bait.

The only one who wasn't stunned by my juvenile 'beauty' was The Gingerbread Man, and I only called him that to spite him. His stunningly green eyes always held some varying degree of disdain toward me, and his long red locks of hair were always wild and unkempt. I told him to get a haircut on many occasions, Mommy Jackie said that long hair on boys was trashy. He told me that "'Mommy Jackie' could shove her predisposed prejudice up her ass," and that sent me into tearful hysterics.

He was red, which made him a ginger. Thus, The Gingerbread Man was born.

He never liked me, yet several times a week he would appear in the South Garden, waiting for me to come. Perhaps he was eating from the tall Washington apple trees or plucking flowers off of bushes, but he always greeted me with the same thing: The stupid rhyme.

Nine, ten, they will kill you right then!

And immediately he would push me down into the dirt as hard as he could, and I would focus my efforts on avoiding tears. If I cried, the mocking would be worse. "What's wrong, President girl? Did that hurt?" I stood triumphantly on my little legs, craning my neck to stare up at him. This day was a hot one, and the sun beat down on us relentlessly. "No, Gingerbread Man."