Tell me the wars you're fighting
behind the smile you're hiding

i.

"Let's get married," Zach whispered into my ear one night as we crashed at a hotel in Islamabad during another mission.

I snorted. "Really? You couldn't have picked a more romantic moment?"

"I'm always romantic." His arm squeezed around my middle before he loosened his grip a little and rolled away, staring up at the ceiling. "I'll ask more nicely when we get back home—I just wanted to plant the idea, I guess."

As if I hadn't ever thought about it before. No, there was another reason for Zach's outburst. I sensed a trace of uncertainty in his voice. Propping myself up on one elbow, I studied his outline in the dim lighting.

"Zach?" I reached toward him, my tone serious this time, not teasing. "You know what my answer is going to be, regardless of how you ask."

He mirrored my pose and turned to me, his dark eyes pulling me in like magnets. I held my breath, not wanting to break the moment, not when Zach was looking at me as if committing every one of my features to memory. Eventually, the corner of his mouth turned up into one of his signature smirks. "Would it be too cocky of me to venture a guess?"

"Yes," I huffed, running my fingers through his hair before pulling him in to kiss me. He chuckled, easing me backwards so we were lying down again.

"Consider your message received, Gallagher Girl."

ii.

The apartment we moved into earned Macey, Bex, and Liz's approval, as well as my mother's. Zach leaned against the doorway while they chattered and examined the wallpaper and the furniture.

"Not bad, Goode," smirked Bex, one hand resting on her stomach, where she was starting to show.

He shrugged. "What can I say? I have impeccable taste," he said, smiling, his eyes meeting mine from across the room. I touched the golden wedding band on my finger, twisting it around slightly and thinking of the similar one on Zach's left hand, smiling in return.

It was a nice place. Small, cozy. It would suit our purposes well, until we could save for something bigger and better.

I hadn't told Zach yet, but looking at Bex's gently swelling belly reminded me: I wanted to buy baby clothes and build a crib and change diapers and tuck someone in at night. I wanted laughter to bounce off the walls, I wanted to play hide and seek, I wanted to pack lunches and send someone off to school.

I wanted to start a family.

iii.

Bex brought her baby over as soon as she was up and about again, which, for Bex, was fast.

"He's a little devil, all right," she declared, propping him up on her knee.

Macey reached for him, settling him in the crook of her arm and rocking him back and forth. "Hey there, Anthony," she cooed. "I don't believe your mother for a minute. You're an angel, aren't you?"

Bex laughed. "Not at night, he isn't! Doesn't let me sleep for a second."

Liz crawled over to peer over Macey's shoulder at Anthony, who gurgled at them happily.

"Have you tried playing Mozart?" she asked. "I mean, it might actually keep him awake a little longer, but at least it'll stimulate his brain. Supposedly. At least it doesn't hurt."

"Liz," said Bex kindly, "you've told me. At least three times."

"Right," said Liz, looking sheepish. She swung her gaze to me. "What about you, Cammie? Are you and Zach…?" At this, she blushed. I couldn't help being amused; we were twenty-six, but Liz still had her moments.

"I don't know," I answered honestly. "We haven't really talked about it yet. Just enjoying married life."

Macey cackled, handing Anthony back over to Bex. "Good, because I've been meaning to grill you on that."

"Macey!" cried Bex, scandalized, pretending to cover Anthony's ears even though he had already dozed off. "Not in front of the baby."

I looked around at my friends, these girls who had been to the end of the world and back with me. Sitting around my coffee table, the sunlight spilling through the blinds of my living room, it was easy to imagine we were just a group of close friends catching up with each other and fawning over one of our kids. It was easy to forget about our lives outside this room, the hustle and bustle and danger of it all.

Especially when I watched Bex beaming down at her son. She looked radiant. Happy.

Peaceful.

iv.

A year and a half passed by in the blink of an eye. "Bex says Anthony's starting to string together full sentences," I announced as Zach crawled into bed, turning off the light.

"That's great," said Zach, pulling the blankets up around him and turning toward me, his cheek pressed against his pillow.

I fiddled with my ring, twisting it around my finger. "Zach…" I hesitated, trying to figure out the right words for what I wanted to say. "That could be us."

He stiffened—barely, imperceptibly—but I'd been trained in details all my life. I knew unease when I saw it.

"Zach," I said, finding his hand, running my thumb over it. "Zach, what aren't you telling me?"

Zach took a deep breath. "I'm not sure it's a good idea, Cammie."

The air whooshed out of me. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I don't exactly have the best track record when it comes to parenting."

"Look at me, Zach," I demanded, taking his face in my hands. "You are not your father. You are not your mother. You're—"

"Good?" asked Zach, sitting up. He didn't move my hands away from his face, but he didn't lean into my touch, either. "Good guy, yeah, okay. Good dad—that's different."

I sat up with him. I stared into his eyes, and most of what I saw was fear. Uncertainty. But also—determination. He wasn't going to give in.

I'd broken into a lot of buildings over my lifetime. But breaking into people is different. Zach still had walls up that even I hadn't breached, and there was something rising between us now, some sort of barrier that I had to stop before it could snap fully into place.

"I'll be here," I whispered. "We'll be in it together."

Zach wavered, looking torn, before he shook his head. "Don't ask me to do this, Cammie," he pleaded. "I can't…I won't be a good father."

"How can you know that, Zach?" I argued, trying a different approach. "Why can't we try?"

"Try?" Zach laughed, his voice rising slightly. "Try? This isn't some experiment, Cammie. If we do this, there's no way back."

For so long, I'd counted on Zach being able to see me. That he, out of everyone, would always find Cameron Morgan, beneath all my insecurities and all my fears. I'd believed that he would always understand.

But he didn't. Not this.

"Zach," I said his name again, this time with a hint of desperation. "This means a lot to me."

He got out of bed, moving towards the door.

"Where are you going?" I hissed, following him.

"Out," he answered, pulling on a jacket. "Maybe we both need some space, for a little while. To clear our heads. We can talk about this in the morning."

I was suddenly furious. I grabbed his arm. "You can't just leave," I protested. "So what, this is our first major disagreement. It was bound to happen some time. And you're going to take off in the middle of it?" My voice wobbled.

Zach extracted himself from my grip gently. "Cammie, please. I just…I need to think."

And then he was gone.

v.

He was going to come back. I knew it in the same way I knew exactly how much time had passed since he'd walked out the door (2 hours, 43 minutes). He was going to come back because he was Zach and we had been through everything together, through gunshots and explosions and music and laughter—

I turned off the lights. I set out a glass of water. And then I went upstairs and crawled under the covers and closed my eyes, telling myself to go back to sleep.

He was going to come back.

vi.

He wasn't coming back.

It'd been five days, and still—nothing. I probably could have tracked him down if I'd really put my mind to it, but Zach had wanted to disappear. After years of having done the same, I knew the feeling. So I let him have it: that one, small, victory. I didn't look for him.

I didn't cry, either. But I went on autopilot. One of my ears was always trained to the sound of footsteps, of a key turning in the lock, of the sound the bed made when Zach's familiar weight settled in it, next to mine.

Three weeks later and I still brought home too much food. I stared at the pale blue wallpaper in the living room, at the gently worn rug. I'd been wrong—the place wasn't too small.

It was too big.

vii.

New Year's Eve: the perfect time for Zach to swoop back into my life, I thought a little bitterly as I shoveled snow off the front pathway. Bex had invited me to her house for a party, but I'd shaken my head at her. I needed time to think, to figure out some sort of plan for myself.

Because after three months, I'd come to accept some facts.

A firework exploded overhead, lighting up the night sky. I turned to the garden gnome beside me, brushing some snow off his sad little head. "Looks like it's just you and me," I mused, turning to go back indoors.

And then there was Zach, at the gate, his hands shoved in his pockets, perfect timing and all. I wanted to hit him and hold him and maybe even cry a little, but instead, I just laughed.

"You're starting to get predictable."

"Cammie," he said, his voice breaking. He looked stricken, as if he'd just killed someone. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

I walked toward him, ice crunching under my boots, and took his hand.

"Come inside, before you catch a cold," I said, and when he squeezed my fingers in return I knew everything was going to be okay.

viii.

"I'm sorry," Zach whispered again later, his arms warm around me.

I ran my hands along his chest, relearning its contours—but mostly checking for any new scars. "It's okay," I whispered in return, arching upwards to meet him. "You're back. It's okay."

"No it's not," said Zach, pressing his nose into my shoulder. "What kind of parental instincts are those? Fight or flight? I'm a coward."

"I told you," I said, running my fingers along his jaw. "You're a good guy."

We stared at each other for a long, long time. And then finally, through the darkness, I saw the shadow over Zach's eyes lift. He leaned down and kissed me—slowly, softly, before deepening it. Outside, another firework went off; I jerked a little, startled, and Zach laughed, easing off of me.

He was serious when he spoke again. "I don't want to mess this up."

"So don't," I said, pulling him back down.

ix.

As a spy, there comes a point when you have to put away all the pain and betrayal of your past. Our profession might make us better equipped to survive some scrapes, but there are some things nobody walks away from unscathed. We aren't superhuman. Our lives are just as fragile as the next person's—what makes us special is that we are able to piece ourselves back together and move on.

I understood that, more than ever, as I held someone else's life in my hands. As I stared down at the face of our future, watching her take a small, shuddering breath. She was tiny. Breakable.

Beautiful.

"Zach," I whispered, reaching for his hand. "Zach, look at her."

"I am, Gallagher Girl." His voice cracked. "I am."

And this is the face of letting go
And these are the things we already know

A/N: So I finally read United We Spy today and was struck by an immense amount of feelings, one of which was never-gonna-be-a-dad!Zach, which spurred me to write this fic. Needless to say, I am sad the series is over, and looking back to my old pieces for the books has shown me just how much I've grown in my writing as well. That said, I'm pretty content with how the series ended. So I guess this is my final contribution to the fandom? For now at least. Thanks to anyone who has read my other pieces, and if you haven't sorry for being all sentimental. XD I'm not even that big a presence, I'm just getting a little mopey that Gallagher Girls was the first fandom I wrote for but I feel like I'm out of material for it for now.

And if you've stuck with my long-winded note this long, please leave me a review to let me know what you think about the piece! This is by far my favorite work I've done and it would mean a lot to me to hear your guys' opinions.

Also: lyrics (and title) are from "So Far Gone" by James Blunt.