"It's interesting to see you here, Cammie darling." She smirks up at her from an ornate mahogany desk, red hair falling around her shoulders like a waterfall of blood. "You look well."
The teenager doesn't respond for a long moment, and then she picks up the paperweight on the desk, turning it over in her hands thoughtfully.
"It wasn't hard to find you." Cammie says lowly.
"You thought it would be harder?" Catherine Goode leans back in her chair, hands clasped gracefully in her lap. "Did you ever consider that I knew you were looking for me?"
"I didn't come here to talk." Cammie's hands still.
"Then why did you come here?"
"You already know." Her eyes finally meet hers.
"I do already know." Catherine grins, biting her lip. "I just want to hear you say it."
Cammie scoffs coldly. "You love doing this, don't you?"
"Of course I do." She leans forward, elbows on the desk. "Say it, Cammie."
"I'm here to offer my...services." She begrudgingly admits, and cringes when Catherine laughs.
"How ironic. Little Cameron Ann Morgan wants to join the terrorist group that killed her darling father."
"Don't you dare talk about my father." She says through her teeth.
"Have you ever thought that I could just reject you?" Catherine's eyebrows quirk in mock confusion. "I did say all Gallagher Girls are pesky. Or I could kill you."
"No, you wouldn't." Cammie's smile is sad and knowing. "You love to play with me too much."
"You're right." Catherine smiles brightly, before standing up. She's just a few inches taller of the younger girl, but it seems to Cammie like she's towering down over her. "There's bound to be a condition, I assume."
"Don't hurt my family, and don't hurt my friends."
"And Zachary?" Catherine raises an eyebrow.
"I don't think you have the guts to harm your own son." Cammie's eyes narrow.
"Do you want to find out?" Their eyes meet for a long second, and just then, Cammie has the urge to strangle her, really.
"Don't hurt Zach, either." She adds, and she tenses when Catherine reaches out to touch her hair.
"You know, you're really quite average, for a spy. Average abilities, average pavement artist." Her hand stills on the side of her face.
"You want me anyway." Cammie points out.
"True." Catherine laughs, before stepping away from her slightly. "Welcome to the Circle of Cavan, Agent Morgan."
"Where does your mother think you are, Cammie?" Catherine asks her as she sinks into the hard wicker chair across from her at a cafe on Saint Mark's Square in Venice. She can't see her eyes behind those massive sunglasses, and it unsettles her.
"Exploring the world. Travelling." She shrugs, slowly pushing the flash drive she requested across the table towards her.
"Surely the CIA offered you a place?" She takes a sip of her black coffee, turning the flash drive over in her hand. Cammie pauses for a moment.
"You know all of this already, don't you?" Cammie questions, fingers tapping the table. "You have so many double agents."
"Yes, I did already know." Catherine stands. "Walk with me, Cammie."
Cammie starts after her, keeping her space, but then Catherine's arm is locked in hers. She even smells dangerous, Cammie thinks, and the older woman's skin is so hot that Cammie thinks that she's burning.
"You could very well be one of them, you know." Catherine says as she leads her leisurely down a deserted street.
"How do you know I'm not?"
"You may have been trained at the Gallagher Academy, but you are a shit liar." Catherine points out. Cammie's eyes glance around quickly, at the oddly empty buildings. It's too quiet, she thinks, too far from the crowds. "Relax, Cammie." Catherine notices her tense disposition. "I'm not going to kill you, nor torture you nor assault you nor rape you. We're just having a chat."
"Words can be just as dangerous as a knife." Cammie points out lowly, and Catherine laughs.
"Yes, that's true. That's why it's good to have a way with words."
"You certainly do."
"A compliment, really." Catherine slows their pace, and Cammie can hear the click-clack of her heels against the old cobblestones.
"Zach's looking for me." Cammie changes the subject.
"I know. I do keep tabs on my own son, you know." Catherine sighs.
"What ever happened to his father?" Cammie asks casually, and the other woman stops.
"The Circle killed him. He was a civilian, you know, and they made me watch as they tortured and killed him." She says emotionlessly, and Cammie blinks.
"Are you lying?"
"Would I have a reason to?"
"You want me to pity you, perhaps?"
Catherine chuckles humorlessly. "No, I don't want you to pity me. In the end though, it was a good thing."
"How is the murder of Zach's father a good thing?" Cammie asks, exhaling and turning to face the redhead.
"There is no place for love in the Circle. I learned that in a particularly harsh way, but still - I learned it." Cammie can't identify the look in her eyes. "You best learn that too, Cammie love."
"I'm not like you." Cammie shakes her head.
"No? I think you're a lot more like me than you realize."
"Is it done?"
Cammie nods, and Catherine lets out a sigh.
"Good. Not too messy, I hope?"
"No." She steps forward slowly, joining Catherine at the massive window. "How're you?"
"Like you care." She scoffs, and Cammie can see their reflections floating of the city in the window.
"Well, I think you would be more tolerant of me than the rest of the Circle." Cammie crosses her arms awkwardly, and Catherine slowly reaches out to touch the glass - her reflection does the same, until their hands meet.
"The glass is cold." Catherine points out, and Cammie raises an eyebrow in confusion. "We're so high up. Feel." She reaches over before Cammie can step away, taking her hand in hers, linking the fingers together before pushing against the glass. It is cold to the touch. Cammie glances at the other woman out of the corner of her eye, who proceeds to exhale onto the cold glass.
She proceeds to draw a heart in the cloud of moisture that remains. She pauses briefly before drawing a smiley face in the heart. Cammie can't help but laugh slightly. She adds a star to the drawing before it begins to fade.
Their eyes meet, and together they lean forward, lips hovering over the glass, and breathe out.
"Quick, what should we draw?" Cammie asks as the impromptu canvas begins to fade. Catherine thinks for a moment, and then begins to draw with her finger rapidly. Cammie knows what she's drawing instantaneously, and rushes to fill it in.
They watch the crest of the Gallagher Academy fade into the skyline.
"Once a Gallagher Girl, always a Gallagher Girl, it seems." Catherine says sotto voce. "No matter how hard I try."
"Is that a bad thing?" Cammie turns to face her, leaning against the window. Catherine doesn't answer her question, but instead squeezes her arm gently. "You think I'm naive?"
"No, I think you're just a girl."
"Not anymore." Cammie says dryly, and Catherine appraises her slowly.
"No, not anymore." She agrees quietly, before turning and walking away. She's nearly out the door when she calls over her shoulder to her.
"William has a folder downstairs for you, Cammie. He'll brief you on your next assignment." Cammie nods to her back, and crosses over to the elevator. "And Cammie? I'll see you soon."
"I didn't think Nebraska was your scene." Cammie pulls her jacket closer to her as she stops in front of Catherine, who's leaning on a beat up Toyota. "Not your kind of car, either."
"So many snarky comments, Cameron - you think you'd be happier about going to see your grandparents."
Cammie blinks, and Catherine grins.
"But - my mother - "
"Is otherwise occupied. It's Christmas Eve - have you forgotten?" Yes, she had. Did she really lose track of all that time? "I don't have any family of my own, Zach is...god knows where, and you've been working very hard. You deserve it."
"My grandparents." Cammie states dully, climbing into the passenger's seat. It seemed such a normal and trivial thought, compared to this new life of hers. They drive through the snow, out of Omaha and into the plains, covered in inches and inches of snow. She only speaks when they pull to a stop in front of her grandparents' house.
"They can never remember we were here. They'd tell my mother."
"Don't worry, I brought the special tea." Catherine smirks, retrieving bags out of the trunk, and Cammie raises an eyebrow. "I have a plethora of clothes - you can borrow some."
As they walk to the front door, it all seems surreal, a fragment of the past come back to haunt her.
"Cammie!" Her grandparents are thrilled to see her, wrapping her in big hugs.
"And who's this, sweetheart?" Her grandmother turns to Catherine, who's leaning casually in the door frame, the snow from outside whirling around her.
"This is Catherine, my..." She hesitates, because Catherine certainly isn't a mother figure, and she's nothing like an older sister or her old friends at Gallagher. "friend."
"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Morgan." She shakes their hands eagerly, and Cammie watches on in awe because she totally forgot how excellent an actress she is.
It's only then that she realizes she just brought the woman who killed their son into their home.
And naturally, they love her.
"Your grandparents are nice." Catherine comments lowly as they lounge on the couch that night. Her grandparents have gone to bed, leaving them to their own devices. It's nearly midnight, and all is dark except for the old, gleaming lights on the Christmas tree.
She nods with a yawn; she's exhausted, and her grandparents gave them both extra strength eggnog on top of it.
"You said you don't have any family?" Cammie closes her eyes and snuggles deeper into the worn leather couch.
"My parents died when I was young. I never had any of...this." She glances down at Cammie, half asleep on the couch. "You're wasted, aren't you?"
"No, what are you talking about?" She tries to say it seriously, but she giggles halfway through it.
"Shockingly low alcohol tolerance." Catherine tisks, sinking down on the couch. She reaches for Cammie's blanket.
"What are you doing?" Cammie cries, yanking it back.
"There's only one, and I'm cold! We'll have to share." Catherine insists, trying to tug it back.
"Your feet are freezing!" Cammie complains, trying to huddle down in the couch deeper. After a few long seconds of tugging and grumbling, their legs are pressed together, feet tangling, and Cammie's head in slumped into her shoulder. "You smell pretty." She mumbles into her hair, half asleep.
Catherine laughs, before finally shutting her eyes. "Merry Christmas, Cameron."
"How've you been?" Her mother smiles at her, eyes shining and Cammie's stomach flips in guilt.
"Good. I just got through 'B' - Beirut, Bangkok, Bangladesh...among others. I'm headed to Cambodia soon."
"I could come with you, if you want." Rachel says brightly.
"Mom, you know I want to do this by myself." Cammie says tiredly, and Rachel sighs.
"I know." She looks down at her nails. "Do you have any plans on settling down?"
"No, not at the moment." Cammie cuts her off. A long silence ensues; it used to be quite easy to talk to her mother, but not anymore. She stands abruptly. "I'm going into Roseville, okay? I'll stay the weekend."
"Okay, sweetie. Be back soon, okay?" Rachel smiles gently at her daughter as she struts out of the office.
She worries about me. She thinks I'm going to crack. Cammie thinks as she stomps her way in to Roseville. The trees are just in bloom, and as she sits down casually in the gazebo in the center of town, a flood of memories rushes her. Suzie the Cat, the fair, Josh -
"Coffee to help you ponder your thoughts?" And of course Catherine is standing in front of her with two coffees in hand.
"Thanks." She takes one as Catherine gracefully flops down next to her.
"How's Rachel?"
"Trying to be understanding." Cammie scoffs, and Catherine sighs.
"How very Rachel of her." She laughs good-naturedly. "What's on your mind, Cammie?"
"I just-" She stops. "I'm just remembering."
"Remembering is a dangerous thing." Catherine says, taking a sip of coffee. "It is best not to dwell on the past."
"Easier said than done." Cammie grumbles.
"Of course it is." She grins softly, turning to face the younger girl. "Tell me, Cammie; do you like being with us, in the Circle? Being with me?"
Cammie looks at the ground. Did she like assassinating politicians, killing innocent people for no other reason then profit and power? Of course not. But she liked being with Catherine. Of course, Catherine is a raging sociopath that Cammie doubts is capable of true emotion but she understood everything so much better then her friends, her family, then Joe ever had. She could just look at her and know everything.
And to her own humiliation, she starts to cry.
"Cammie..." Catherine sighs, pushing her hair back gently before pulling her into her chest. She smells like cinnamon and laundry detergent; like home, and when she pats her head softly it makes her cry harder. "I'll let you leave, if you want. I want you to be happy. You can go. I won't...hold it against you."
Cammie laughs at the irony of Catherine Goode trying to comfort her.
"I'll stay." Cammie decides, closing her eyes and curling closer to her, and she's never felt so young as she does in that moment. "I need to be here."
I need to be with you.
"I was born here, you know." Catherine tells her as they walk down Pioneer Square in Seattle, arm in arm. She's been keeping her close, Cammie thinks - less far off operations in countries that most people couldn't even locate on a map.
"Do you miss it?"
"This dreadful place?" Catherine laughs dryly. "No, not at all. I grew up in a group home. It was like the orphanage in Annie, only worse.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Cammie tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear that has blown in her face.
"We all have scars, Cammie." She says lowly, eyes far off, and really, they're both poster children for a mental health ad or something. So she slips her hand in hers and squeezes gently.
"Let's get out of here, then. How does Hong Kong sound to you?" Cammie asks with a small smile, and finally, after a long moment, Catherine's trademark smirk returns.
"I can feel the smog filling my lungs as we speak, darling."
As they walk away, Catherine looks back one last time.
"You okay?" Cammie asks worriedly. Catherine smiles brightly, biting her lip slightly as she turns back to Cammie.
"Yeah, I am."
She embraces her when she next sees her.
She's waiting for her on the steps of the National Gallery in London. The newest Vermeer exhibit is opening, and somehow (Cammie doesn't really want to know now), Catherine acquired tickets.
(There is also the owner of the largest canary diamond in the world in attendance, so. There's that.)
"You look gorgeous, Cammie." Catherine says sincerely, and Cammie immediately blushes. Her dress is not nearly as short as Catherine's, nor as tight (she is no where near that confident), but she thought she looked decent at best.
"You think so?" Cammie grins.
"Absolutely." Catherine nods with a bright smile, linking her arm in hers as they ascend the steps.
The diamond business takes thirty minutes, tops, leaving them to wander the National Gallery at their own leisure, flutes of champagne in their hands. Most of the party-goers stick to the main entrance hall, but they find themselves alone in a room with a massive Delacroix.
"Beautiful." Cammie comments, leaning closer to the painting then would ever be normally allowed.
"We could steal it, if you like it that much." Catherine steps next to her, and Cammie laughs slightly at the thought of having something so exquisite all to herself. She takes a sip of champagne before flouncing down onto the ottoman in front of the painting.
"The Execution of Jane Grey." Cammie states the name of the painting, looking sadly at the blindfolded girl.
"Her cousin named her heir to the throne, but Queen Mary beheaded her. She was fifteen, I believe." Catherine replies, crossing her legs casually as she leans against the wall next to the painting.
"Shouldn't you be looking at the painting?" Cammie smiles with a raised eyebrow.
"I like watching you much better." She says softly. "You look so happy, so excited."
Cammie prays she can't see her flush, but she knows she does because she slowly approaches her, and Cammie tenses, but Catherine only moves to sit next to her.
"Do you ever think about what you could have been, Cammie?" She asks as she folds her hands into her lap.
"No." Cammie says quickly, and Catherine laughs knowingly. "Yes. Sometimes."
"Do you regret the choices you've made?"
She turns to look at her, and Catherine's just staring at her, so close that she can feel her minty breath on her face. She can hear her heart thudding in her ears, sweat creeping on the back of her neck, and she doesn't feel very spy like, not then.
Catherine's hand rests gently on the side of her face before grasping her hair gently, guiding her closer to her softly. Cammie swallows hard, and part of her is so nervous, stomach cartwheeling, but the other part of her thinks this is...easy.
Her lips look soft, Cammie thinks, then blushes harder.
"I asked you a question, Cammie." Catherine whispers, leaning closer and Cammie's eyes widen.
"Never." Cammie answers, closing the distance between them.
Her lips taste like something new and inviting, an intoxicating cherry and pomegranate concoction. It feels like every fiber of her being is ripping apart, but at the same time, everything is coming together, the gears in her mind and body finally moving smoothly with out delay.
She whimpers that she loves her against her lips when her hand pulls harder at her hair, but if Catherine hears her, she gives no indication.
It was never like this with Zach.
She doesn't know how long they stay like that, and part of her thinks how inappropriate it would be to be caught by security making out with another girl in the National Gallery, but the thought exits her mind quickly when Catherine pulls on her lower lip with her teeth.
And then her hand is moving up her dress, and her mouth is on her neck and she feels like she can't breathe.
"Catherine, I've never-" Catherine's mouth sucks harder on her skin and she gasps.
"Tell me what you want, Cammie." Catherine says softly, dark eyes meeting hers languidly under dark eyelashes. Cammie bites her lip as her hand moves higher.
"You."
"Do you feel like I've corrupted your innocence?"
"Who ever said I was innocent?" Cammie mumbles into her pillow. She blinks tiredly up at Catherine, who has this knowing little smirk on her face that speaks volumes. "Was it really that bad?"
"No, no." Catherine protests. "The first time was a bit...rocky, though."
Cammie groans into her pillow at the mention of it. "Do you like mocking my sexual ineptitude?"
"It was only a bit inept at the beginning." Catherine says, turning the page of the magazine she's reading. "To be fair, you had zero experience, with either men or women. I mean, it was better than I expected."
"You did all the work. I kind of just sat there whimpering." Cammie moves her head into Catherine's lap, closing her eyes again. She's likes the way her hand immediately goes to her hair, her long fingers brushing it out of her face.
"You've improved by leaps and bounds." Catherine grins faintly.
"To answer your question, I'd been corrupted long before I joined you."
"There's nothing better then jaded young people. We should go to Paris and smoke cigarettes and complain about the downfall of society."
"That's always fun." Cammie comments as Catherine shuts her magazine and sinks back down into the blankets. Cammie's hand finds hers, and she slowly runs her fingers over the ring on her left hand. "Could I get one of these?"
"You don't want of these, darling. Not really." Catherine whispers. "They mark you."
Cammie exhales slowly, before wrapping an arm over Catherine's waist. It's an awkward gesture, and she's attempting to comfort her but she doesn't really just know how. Catherine smiles sadly, though, to her surprise.
"You know, the vein in this finger," Her fingers brush over the ring finger in Cammie's left hand. "leads straight to the heart."
"Have I ever told you I love you?" Cammie blurts, and she's felt it since that night in London but hasn't dared say it aloud. And in that moment she has no idea why she says it but she does and wow it just got awkward.
"No, you haven't. Enlighten me." Catherine's grin is languid as she turns on her side to look at Cammie.
"I just..." She can feel herself blushing. "You're different than I'd thought you'd be, but also exactly like how I thought you'd be, and I kind of love that. I kind of love you."
"What an eloquent declaration of love, Cameron." Catherine chuckles lowly, and Cammie hits her arm playfully. "It's time to go to sleep, darling."
"Good night." She whispers, curling closer to Catherine.
She doesn't miss the fact that Catherine doesn't say she loves her back.
"You didn't go to Georgetown." Catherine nods at Cammie's dark blue sweatshirt one day as she goes to refill her coffee cup.
"No, it's my..." Cammie trails off, knotting her eyebrows in remembrance. "father's."
Catherine starts rambling on about her time at Princeton, but Cammie's lost in thought because she just realizes she's in love with the woman who killed her father.
"You killed him, didn't you?" She says lowly, cutting Catherine off.
"Killed who?" Catherine asks in confusion, stirring sugar into her coffee.
"My father."
"I was there when he was killed, but I didn't actually take his life, if that's what your asking." Catherine's hands still as she meets Cammie's eyes.
"How could you?" Cammie can't even look at her. "He was my father, he was a good man!"
"You really should've brought this up before we started sleeping together." Catherine points out.
"It broke my mother's heart. Because of you, he missed everything! Every important moment in the last twelve years. He did nothing wrong! And you killed him." Her voice is at a hoarse shout, and she hates the tears streaming down her face.
"He knew too much, Cammie." Catherine steps closer to her. "You have to understand that. The CIA does the same thing. They eliminate those who know to much. It's all a matter of perspective."
She forces air through her lungs, letting the oxygen surge through her veins, trying to think clearly because Catherine's right. The CIA does it all the time, and Cammie's part of the Circle now; hell, she's eliminated threats before. Her father just happened to be one of them.
"Do you understand me, Cammie?" Catherine stares at her intently, and Cammie slowly nods.
"Yes. I do." She whispers lowly, and Catherine smiles gently.
"Good, then. Lunch?"
"Lunch."
She really isn't as excited as she should be about seeing her mother and friends again. Part of it is probably that they're all yelling at her.
"She's turning her into you, Cammie!"
"You're just like her now, aren't you?"
"How could you?"
"This isn't you!"
"She killed your father!"
"I don't know how you found about this, but I can assure you, I'm fine. I'm happy." She insists, running a hand through her hair and wishing they would all just leave.
"You're not like her, Cammie." Zach shakes his head sadly, and Cammie rolls her eyes.
"Cammie," She hears Catherine's voice call to her from down the hall as she returns from grocery shopping. Everyone in the room tenses, and Cammie finds the urge to scream into a pillow. "They didn't have that Greek yogurt you like, so I had to get-"
Catherine blinks at the sight of Zach, Macey, Bex, Liz, Rachel, and Joe standing in her living room. Her momentary paralysis lasts for a brief second, before her trademark smirk returns to her lips.
"Why, this is a surprise." She laughs lowly, setting the bags down on the table before sinking onto the couch next to her.
"Just give her back to us, Catherine." Rachel pleas in exasperation, arms crossed over her chest, eyes tired.
"You all seem to be under the impression that I 'took' Cammie, when in fact she came to me all on her own. Isn't that right, Cammie darling?"
"This was my decision. My choice." Cammie confirms, and shivers as Catherine runs a hand through her hair.
"How could you ever hope to understand her?" Macey shakes her head in disgust.
"How could I? How could you!" Catherine mocks coldly, her hand freezing in her hair. "No one you have any hope of understanding what Cammie has been through, who she is. You have never seen the things she's seen, feel the things she's felt. It's no wonder she came to us, to me."
"Let her come with us, please." Liz urges, tears in her eyes.
"You think I'm holding her here against her will?" Catherine laughs cruelly. "Cammie can leave whenever she wants. She's here on her own free will, and I think that's killing you. That no matter how hard you tried to influence her, she still chose this path, chose me." Catherine crosses her legs restlessly. "But Cammie has a mind of her own; what do you want to say, Cammie?"
Cammie stares at her feet, and she can practically feel herself shaking as she stands.
"How dare you come here." She says lowly, the words piercing the air like a sharp knife. "How can you think that you know me? You have no idea what it's like to be me."
"Cammie-" Joe reaches for her, and she jerks away, feeling the anger flow through her veins.
"Get your hands off of me." She says through her teeth, and doesn't care the wave of hurt that flickers in his eyes. "You all tried so hard to understand what was happening to me, how much pressure I had on my shoulders, but you never could. She does. She understands better than anyone, she knows what I'm going to say before I even say it.
"And I did this to protect you!" Her voice raises to a shout. "I did this so you all could be safe, and this is how you thank me?"
"She killed your father, Cam." Bex whispers hoarsely, biting her lip.
"You know nothing." Cammie shakes her head with a cruel laugh. "You all say I'm like her now, and you know what? I think that's a good thing." She grabs Catherine's hand, linking their fingers together and dragging her to her feet. "Come on, Catherine. We're leaving."
"If you say so." Catherine seems vaguely amused. "Nice seeing you all."
Her mother reaches for her one more time. "Cammie, please-"
"STAY AWAY FROM ME!" Cammie screams. "STAY OUT OF MY LIFE!" She charges from the room, refusing to look back. "They don't understand." She murmurs under her breath as she flings open the door. "No one understands."
"Cammie," Catherine squeezes her hand as Cammie leads her blindly down the wide, industrial hallways of the Circle of Cavan base. "Cammie, stop."
"No!" Cammie cries loudly, ashamed of the tears that have begun to leak down her face.
"Cammie, sweetheart, slow down." Catherine's voice is soft and full of concern, so Cammie stops, but refuses to turn. She rests a hand on her shoulder. "Talk to me, Cammie."
"Did you see the looks on their faces?" She's practically hysterical when she turns to face Catherine, face red and stained with tears. "My family, my friends? They love me, and they just wanted to help! And I...I..." She's hiccuping through her sobs, and Catherine sighs, eyes sad, as she pulls her into her arms.
Her hug is tight, and Cammie allows herself to hug her tighter back. Her face is buried in her shoulder, but her sobs soften when Catherine's hand runs through her hair.
"You are so brave, Cammie. Standing up to your family and friends." Catherine assures her. "You can leave whenever you want, you know. If you are unhappy-"
"I'm happy wherever you are." Cammie whispers, allowing herself to look at Catherine. "I bet I look like a mess." Cammie tries to laugh, and Catherine smiles, placing her hands on either side of Cammie's face.
"You look beautiful, Cameron Ann Morgan." She assures her, kissing her gently. Her lips taste like Cammie's tears and just a tad waxy from her lipstick. Cammie lets herself lean against the wall, hands on Catherine's hips and her tongue in her mouth, and everything that just transpires kind of just fades away.
"I'm just like you now, aren't I?" Cammie chuckles lowly, and Catherine's grin sends shivers down her spine.
"I know, darling." Her lips are on her neck, and she can feel her smile against her skin. "Just. Like. Me."