This is definitely a bit darker than the original series. But hey, they're spies. What do you expect?
Based off of Katy Perry's Thinking Of You. All rights go to their respective owners.
Italics are present tense, regular font is memories.
The silky black fabric slides over her lithe frame and settles on her hips and shoulders. She fastens her earrings on and checks her makeup in the mirror, paying special attention to her red lipstick and liquid liner. Slipping into her heels, Cammie glances at the mirror. She looks good.
Grabbing her purse, she's about to leave when she turns back, having forgotten something. Hesitantly, she picks up the big bottle of perfume on her dresser. Inspecting it, she sets it down. Then, fingers trembling, she opens a drawer and pulls out another smaller bottle. Spritzing that scent on instead, she picks up her purse and hurries out the door.
She was running late to the agency - the boss was going to kick her ass. Jamming her feet into her shoes and pulling on her jacket, she scrabbled for her bottle of perfume as she simultaneously poured coffee into her mug.
Her fingers encountered a small glass bottle, definitely different from her perfume's plastic container. Setting the coffee jug down, she picked up the bottle. It was expensive-looking and definitely new. Sniffing at it cautiously, she immediately fell in love.
Then she smiled. Only one person could have been stealthy enough to leave this here without her noticing.
Riiiing. Riiiiing.
"Hello?"
"Zach?"
"Gallagher Girl; to what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Thank you so much."
"For what?"
"You know perfectly well what."
Laugh. "You're welcome."
That was one of their last conversations.
It was dark in the room - dark, quiet and filled with tension so thick she could've cut it with a butterknife.
Cammie pressed closer to the man, body warm against his and something inside her reaching for more. His hands were strong over her skin and his lips moved persuasively, almost persuasively enough.
If she closed her eyes tight enough, she could make believe that it was him. But he had left a long time ago, determined to save her from more ruin.
Oh, the irony.
The gun was cold in her hands from the night air and her feet were killing her because of the high pumps she was wearing. Crouching against the wall opposite her target, she unleashed a single bullet.
"Black bag him. Now." Her walkie-talkie crackled quietly in response, then Liz's voice came through. "Already? Cammie, Bex and Macey didn't even get there to back you up - "
"Just bag him. I'm tired and I want to go home," she snapped. There was a silence. Cammie sighed. "I'm... I'm sorry, Liz. I didn't mean to yell."
"It's okay." Liz's voice was soft, understanding. "I know it's hard, being back here after all these years - "
"Let's not talk about it, okay?" Cammie had to work to keep the sharp edge out of her tone. Liz fell silent.
Bex and Macey stole up to Cammie's side, the former tapping her shoulder. "Could you slow down? You might as well grow bloody wings!"
Macey silently took a seat on a nearby bench, reaching behind her to dip her fingers in a fountain. Cammie looked away.
"I'm going home," she said shortly. Standing up, she left her friends and the dead man dappled in moonlight, walking into the shadows and away.
"Zach, you know we're supposed to be inside!"
"Come on, just a bit farther. Here. See, there's a bench. I told you so."
Cammie sighed. "I know there is - why are we out here? I'm cold."
Zach pulled off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "There. Sit down."
The jacket was still warm from his body heat and she snuggled into it. "What are we doing?"
"Making out."
"We can't sneak out of a senator's party to - "
"Shhh."
The fountain behind them burbled.
She often wondered where he got off, assuming that she could live without him - that she would live better without him. Who was he to determine her life's course like that?
They had had so many memories. Fights, kisses, nights spent under the stars, recon missions, text messages, secrets shared under the covers, discreet touches, screaming matches, love.
There was too much to catagorize, too much to think of. She couldn't blend in when he was around, she couldn't pretend to be a chameleon and just watch instead of taking part. His gaze was always on her, ever since that day with candy in the elevator and red slippers.
He was perfect, she thought. And maybe that was the problem. They were spies, after all, and they lived in a world of shattered glass and broken dreams. Perfection was for normal people.
He'd left on a cold March morning, before the sun had risen. She'd threatened, begged, pleaded, persuaded, screamed, and fought for him to change his mind. In the end though, they were both quite calm.
"How can you assume that I'll be better off without you?" she asked.
"I bring problems," he answered, not meeting her gaze. "And now that the whole spy world knows whose son I am, what I'm connected to, I can't drag you down with me."
"Do you think I give a damn about what other people think about - "
"You'll be better off with someone else. Someone who can actually make you happy instead of making you cry every night before he walks in at 3 in the morning. Someone who can care about you. Someone who doesn't risk his life everyday and then gets drunk as hell at night trying to forget his past." He picked up his bags, gave her a bitter smile. "In short, someone who's not me."
He walked off the porch steps and was almost to his car when she stopped him with one last question.
"Did you ever love me, or was that all just another lie?"
He turned quickly, visibly shaken. And for the first time in a long while, Cammie saw Zach without his mask, without his hard armor.
"I love you so much it scares me."
And then he'd gotten into his car and driven off.
She gets into her car and turns the key in the ignition, hearing the engine purr to life. She struggles with the tears behind her eyelids for a minute before taking a deep breath and pulling out of the driveway.
The drive is long. She dreads the moment her tires hit gravel, the winding path that leads nowhere. The rain pitter-patters on her windshield and the trees are all a slick green, sky gunmetal gray.
Finally parking her car, she gives herself a moment to recollect her thoughts. Then, slinging her purse over her shoulder and grabbing an umbrella, she gets out. The worst of the rain slides off her umbrella as she walks slowly along a smaller path.
Small stone markers dot the landscape, hidden behind a copse of trees. This is the burial ground for unnamed people, people who lived their lives in shadow, people who held secrets too terrible for anyone to know. This is the burial ground for spies.
A plain gray slab of rock is in the near right corner. Trembling all over, Cammie walks slowly towards it.
Zachary Goode
Born in 1994
Died during service to the CIA
5th of November, 2019
She's not sure who's crying more: the sky or her.