A/N... Hello again... It's been a while... Nonetheless, I have not much to say other than that I hope you enjoy. Happy reading! I would love for you to review... No pressure. Please? ;)

"Dreaming about Providence and whether mice or men have second tries... Maybe we've been living with our eyes half open, maybe we're bent and broken..."

—Switchfoot

The day has dawned dreary, as always. The rain started early. A slow drizzle. It didn't stop, nor did the downfall get any heavier.

The roads were abustle, as always in the great city of the Big Apple. Mother Nature can't stop progress. Not in New York.

Cabs lined Fifth Avenue, shoppers returning the want-nots of Christmas-past quickly; the more quick the return, the less painless the guilt. Umbrellas made canopies over the claustrophobic sidewalks. For an individual of smaller stature, this was both a hazard and a help.

For those such as Miss Cameron Morgan that had forgotten their umbrellas at home, the umbrellas provided somewhat of a safety shield from the weather above. It also resulted in much more shoving than usual.

The rain was not welcome on a day such as this in Manhattan. It sensed this hatred early on.

It turned to sleet.

Cameron rushed down the sidewalk, slip-sliding in her rubber rain boots and wishing for an umbrella. It was amazing how quickly a little ice could clear out the streets.

Everyone disappeared into the decorated storefronts, afraid of what the freezing sprinkles could do.

Cammie pushed into the nearest coffee shop, shivering in her houndstooth trench coat and relishing the inside world's warmth.

As she ordered her usual cup of green tea, a strong and deep voice from behind her cut off the rest of her order.

"She'll also have a ham, egg, and cheese croissant. Hold the egg yolk. And I'll have a large cup of the classic blend with a double shot. Black."

Cammie turned slowly, recognizing the voice from some long-ago. The young man behind her had dark, tousled hair and a tall, strong build. What stood out the most, though, was that under thick, dark eyelashes, he had strikingly beautiful emerald eyes.

His presence seemed both extremely familiar and vastly foreign at the same time. She found the combination to be quite curious.

"Excuse me, I'm sorry... But how did you know exactly how I order?"

His smirk grew even larger, and his eyes twinkled even more brightly at this. "Spy," he replied, one corner of his mouth tugging up further into his smirk, almost as if pulled by a ventriloquist's string. His lips parted in an almost-smile, revealing a row of straight, white teeth.

Teeth that had obviously not been affected by his seemingly eager interest in strong, dark coffees.

This look that he gave her—almost one of taunting—made her heart beat like the wings of a butterfly. The sensation was not welcomed.

He watched her as if he was on the inside of some secret joke that she was unaware of.

She watched him just as he watched her, refusing to let him get the best of her. But Cameron had never been one to like games—especially his kind.

As the cashier rang up the order, Cammie rummaged in her purse for her wallet, only to be dismissed by the mysterious smirker as he handed the man enough cash to pay for both, then grabbed their steaming cups and her croissant and casually walked over to a table for two.

As if he hadn't just bought a complete stranger's breakfast. Because he hadn't. As if he'd known her for a very, very long time. Because... Well... He had. As if there was no doubt in his mind that the table that he sat down at was the one that she always preferred. Because he knew he was right, and he was.

The look Cammie gave the cashier was positively incredulous, but the old man, a character even at his feeble age with his naked women tattoos and earrings, merely winked at her and motioned for her to follow the much-younger man to the table.

Hesitantly, she walked over and sat gingerly onto the seat across from him. "Zach, you really didn't have to do that," she muttered, digging in her purse until she found a five dollar bill. "Honestly, let me pay you back."

He just looked amused and shook his head, pushing her hand away slowly with one hand while holding his steaming cup of coffee in the other. Where his hand touched hers, an all-too-familiar tingling erupted, and she jerked back as if burned.

This was not okay.

His not-so-subtle glance at the hand told her that he'd seen what she wanted him to see. The way his expression never wavered told her that she wasn't going to get the reaction he knew she wanted.

"Seriously, if this is some kind of pity... I'm going to pay you back. You of all people know that I hate—"

"Just shut up and eat your breakfast, Cammie," he cut off her babbling with a knowing tone. His eyes were still amused, but the look was strained as they flashed almost dangerously.

In his voice— in that moment— Cameron noticed something peculiar.

Then something even more strange dawned on her as she realized what was making this meeting both heart-wrenchingly familiar and heartbreakingly alien.

The Zach she had once known was no boy anymore. This Zach had grown up.

But, most important of all of these thoughts racing through her head was the knowledge that it would be to her advantage if she played the cards exactly how he had dealt them. This maturing hadn't been factored into his deck.

"What do you want, Zach?"

"What I want is not the question, darling. The question is this: are you going to allow your tea to go cold? Because that would be the worst pity of all."

The way he glanced down at her left hand insinuated that he wasn't, in fact, talking about the tea at all.

•••••••••••

She couldn't ever quite shake his gaze as she sipped her tea. She kept her eyes alert, always watching, but each time she felt his, she would look up to find them staring out the window into the distance.

For the first time since she'd known him, those emerald orbs looked tired. Zachary Goode was not one to tire.

Half an hour had to have passed before the next word was spoken.

"What happened, Zach?" Her voice was clipped, short and detached. He knew she was trying to sound unconcerned, but he knew her better than she knew herself. Cammie was always concerned—especially when it came to him.

He didn't answer her question. Instead, he asked one in return. "Why don't you eat waffles anymore?"

As much as she hated to be bested, she knew that she wouldn't get a word out of Zach until he got more than two out of her.

Some things never changed.

"It's a texture preference," she shrugged and took the first bite of her now-cold croissant.

The egg was too cooled to taste decently, and the once-melted cheese had hardened to an extremely questionable consistency, but she didn't notice. The bite tasted like a big wad of paper as she chewed and swallowed carefully.

Zach held back the urge to snort in disgust. She had never been one to be a liar.

"Cammie, it was a "texture thing" with giving up pancakes after your dad passed. It was on to waffles. Now it's a "texture thing" giving up your next favorite food after your mother passed away?"

His eyebrows raised in skepticism, and Cammie couldn't resist. She couldn't stand him being right and knowing it all the same. "Why do you even bother wasting your breath with asking questions that you obviously already know the answers to?"

"Now," he smirked, "what would be the fun in it if I didn't?"

"I can't believe your nerve."

"Touché."

His coffee cup made a hollow, empty sound as he tapped it on the old, worn tabletop. He watched her even more closely now, and she squirmed even more noticeably under his gaze.

"You're getting sloppy, Cameron," he teased, "letting me of all people get under your skin."

"Maybe I prefer being sloppy. When I'm being sloppy and blending in, I tend to be less likely to become the target of a terrorist organization. Or maybe I should relent. I'm sure that even now, your mother would be more than happy to finish off the last of the Morgan family's descendants. Or are you here to do the job for her?"

She knew that it was a dirty card, but he'd played dirtier on many occasions. She knew that she was wrong to mention the most clandestine of worlds out in the open in a small little coffee shop. She also knew that Max, the old man shopkeeper and part-time owner, as he described, was ex-MI6 and the only one occupying the shop besides them.

And even if he decided to leak to Mrs. Goode about her whereabouts, it was okay because she already had the leakiest of pipes sitting right in front of her.

"Now that wasn't fair and you know it, Gallagher Girl." Zach's voice was still playful, but his eyes were hurt.

"You're getting sloppy, Zach. Letting me of all people get under your skin," Cammie stood as she said this, more than happy to throw his words back at him.

She glanced once out to the bleary street, and then, seeing what she needed, who she already knew was waiting, threw the five back onto table and left.

"Cammie, wait! I need to talk to you! I have something import—" Zach was jogging to catch up with her, but she wasn't listening.

"Zach, the only important thing you have for me is a freshly polished bullet. You and I both know it."

She sensed more than saw him stop following her.

She didn't stop.

A chuckle came from behind the newspaper being held up on the nearest park bench, and Cammie wondered how it had somehow become immune to the still slowly falling drizzle.

"I told you she wouldn't listen to you. I told you she didn't care. You were just too much of a fool to listen," the woman's voice sliced through the dreary and bustling street like a shard of the ice that had been falling from the sky just under an hour before.

Cammie gauged Zach's reaction carefully, watching to see if he let the woman's words affect him. He didn't. The woman was wrong. Zachary Goode was anything but a fool.

"Nevertheless, if you don't hear him out, you're still making the worst mistake of your life, Cameron," the all-too-familiar voice called out again.

"Maybe so, Catherine," Cammie smirked, "but I assure you mine isn't as bad as yours."

She turned for one last look at Zach, watching his face carefully, his strong, beautiful, clean-shaven jaw set firmly. She met his eyes, and she knew that he saw the finality in hers by the way he looked away first. He met hers again, though, and the regret held in their depths was immense.

Zach was tall and broad, the strongest man she knew. He was smart and cocky and caring. But he was not safe around her, and she was not safe around him.

He knew this as well as she knew it.

His smile was just as sad as the one she gave him in return, despite her hostile comments before.

"Have a good life, Zach. Don't cheat yourself out. You can do so much better than stay entrapped in her web."

He nodded, and for the first time in a long time, felt the prickle of burning tears in his eyes.

"You deserve so much better than I do, Cam."

She studied him again, this time carefully contemplating what she should say. "Maybe that's what you think..."

He just nodded again.

"I loved you, Zach. I need you to know that."

Another nod. "And I love you," he said, almost so quietly that she didn't catch it. She didn't miss the change of tense between the two, and for once, regretted having said anything at all.

"Oh what a lovely little admission of affection," Zach's mom hissed from the park bench.

"And Catherine, I'll tell you the best thing you'll ever discover in life. This boy is an angel. You're breaking his wings. And once you finally realize that this is your son that you love that you're killing... Well... You'll realize that it's been the worst pity of all."

She smirked sadly back up at Zach and knew that he'd understood her previous intentions. He understood this game she had played with him, even if he hadn't suspected being a pawn forever in the grasp of her queen until that moment.

Slipping the engagement band off of her ring finger, she tossed it to him and sighed.

He should have known all along. The test was there, and he'd taken the bait.

"I can get another just like it. He'll never suspect a thing. You should have this one."

He knew what they were both thinking, and he knew that he'd confirmed that thought only moments before— he should have been the one giving her that ring all along.

"And Zach?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you too."

She was gone before Catherine could pull the trigger of the gun she already had aimed—gone long before Zach was able to speak again.

And when he finally did, it was a simple phrase, a knowing phrase, as he unraveled the piece of paper that was wrapped around the band of the ring.

'If only we could lose ourselves...' Cammie's handwriting still hadn't changed.

The evapopaper was gone almost before he could even grasp the words.

"I might be glad that we can't."