A/N: Just a short one-shot that I wrote at one in the morning. Oh, by the way, I drew the cover art. Enjoy! :)

I woke up screaming. Again. By now, Bex, Liz and Macey had all started wearing ear plugs so I wouldn't wake them up for the eighth day in a row. I sat up slowly and swiped the hair from my face, trying to ignore the fact that it stuck to my damp forehead. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I got out of bed and put on some running shoes - I had to clear my head before I could try to get back to sleep (try being the most important word in that sentence).

Stepping out of my room, I crept down a flight of stairs, stopping on the second floor. Silhouetted in the moonlight in a window alcove was Mr Solomon, staring out at the manicured grounds of the Gallagher Academy. I walked up to him and leaned against the wall, Solomon's eyes staying focused on outside.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, knowing the answer before I even spoke.

"Yeah, I was going to go running," I responded automatically, "Can I sit?"

Nodding, he scooted up a little and after kicking off my shoes, I slid into the space he made, bringing my knees to my chest. I mirrored the way he sat - our feet meeting in the middle. For a few minutes, we sat in silence, not willing to ask each other what we were thinking. I couldn't take the awkward quietness, so I whispered, "Why are you out here? Someone might see you." Nobody in the mansion (except for the teachers and my friends) knew that he was alive - they still think that he died as a traitor. Well, minus Tina since she has a theory that he's hiding out in Mexico.

"It's three in the morning on a Saturday." he chuckled quietly whilst still looking outside, "I doubt anyone would be awake right now." He turned his head slightly and our eyes met - a thousand unspoken things passed between us. "That reminds me, why are you out here?"

"I don't really sleep anymore," I admitted, "but when I do, I just wake up from these faint memories that I can't even remember happening or... something else." I couldn't bring myself to say if even if I knew the truth - it was too painful.

"Your dad?" he guessed (correctly), shifting in his seat.

I didn't trust my voice, so I just nodded. Now is not the time to cry, Cammie! my inner voice screamed in my head. It was only a few weeks ago when I found his grave for the second time. The small clearing surrounded by dead trees haunted what little dreams I had - the tiny glimpses of what happened the first time flickered in my mind, trying to escape.

I placed my head on top of my knees and said, "I miss him." Without warning, a tear slid down my cheek, burning on my freezing skin. I wiped it away quickly and looked away from Mr Solomon. Instead, I looked out of the window, tracing patterns on the fogged up glass.

"We all do." was the only thing he said.

"Everything that's happened this semester is just too much for me. I've killed a man, found my father's grave and almost committed suicide." I sighed, pressing my hand on the frozen glass, "It's like everything bad happens to me and the people around me."

"Not everything bad happens," he countered, "I'm alive and well."

"But if it wasn't for me last semester, you wouldn't have been in a coma in the first place!" All the emotions I had tried to keep bottled up finally spilled over (along with the tears).

I felt so stressed for so long that it was a relief to let it all out. Mr Solomon pulled me into a fatherly hug and I cried softly into his shirt. "Don't blame yourself for anything - it's not your fault." he murmured, holding me gently.

Pulling away from him, I muttered, "It's always my fault." Because it was. If I didn't write that one stupid line in my first CoveOps report, none of this would've exploded in my face like this.

"Listen to me," Solomon said, gripping my shoulders tightly (well, as tightly as a man that just came out of a four month coma two weeks ago can), "You are the daughter of Rachel Morgan and Matthew Morgan. You are already one of the greatest spies in Alpha Net history. You are already a legend to hundreds of spies twice your age. You're like this not because I trained you to be, but because you were determined to find out answers for yourself. Stop thinking about yourself as the problem here - you're the answer to everything. People need you. We all need you, Cammie."

I was lost for words at his short speech; the serious tone of it echoing in the empty hallways. The look on his face told me he meant every word of what he said. Wrapping his arms around me almost protectively, I leaned my head on his chest. I was physically and emotionally tired from the events that took place in the last three months and it just felt good to tell someone how I really felt - not the lies of 'I'm fine' or 'I'm okay' to hide my pain - it was the truth.

A huge burden was lifted from my shoulders and I felt happier. Less confused and angry. It was the perfect way to end a horrific year for me, even if it started with the one man I could fully trust (and was sitting with at the moment) jumping off of Tower Bridge into the River Thames. Even though I couldn't remember half of the things I did in the summer, I'm glad that it's all over for now.

We still have the next (and last) semester to tie up loose ends and save/kidnap Preston Winters, but that's not important at the moment. What's important is the fact that all of us survived this ordeal in one piece. Together, we can make it through whatever is thrown at us (however cliché that sounds).

I felt myself drifting off to sleep, too tired and too comfortable to move from where I was. With a yawn, I closed my eyes, instantly falling asleep in the arms of my father's best friend. And for once, the nightmares never came.