Note: This little oneshot takes place during Only the Good Spy Young, back at Gallagher, while Cammie is still unconscious after the tombs. It's in Zach's P.O.V. and I hope you like it! I tried to balance angst-seventeen-year-old-boy-spy, and I hope I did it successfully! But, I think you should tell me if I did ok…in a review. Seriously, they are like drugs. Or how I imagine drugs would be. Can't say I've ever done them (although I have received offers). What I haven't received offers for, is to buy the rights to Ally Carter's books. So, as of now, I don't own the Gallagher Girls or super sexy Zach.
"The price of love is loss, but still we pay, we love anyway." –Next to Normal, Light
The light was harsh, and I kind of just wanted to cover my eyes and disappear. After everything…after Cammie, finding the notebook, the fire…I had to admit, I was slightly dazed. Could you really blame me? I know- I am a highly trained…something. But still, these last few days were enough to screw with anyone's head (and the painkillers the person who wrapped my arm slipped me probably didn't help). Life is never going to be the same. I mean, I've known this for a while, but it seemed like the moment the tomb went up in flames it finally solidified. Partly because the "good side" had Jon Solomon's notebook (at this point, I know no "good" or "bad", just "them" and "us", or rather "them" and "me"). This little piece of evidence, in tandem with Mathew Morgan's journal, was going to reveal some long hidden pieces of the intricate puzzle called the Circle. Slowly but surely, this mystery was being unraveled.
The second reason that life had changed for good was in the moment that the tomb went up in flames, I realized I was (this is hard to say, because admitting it makes it real) in love with Cameron Morgan.
Let me tell you, this is really inconvenient. Nonetheless, it was undeniable. In the instant I had shot the explosives, I realized I hadn't just wanted to say "goodbye" to this brilliant girl who was always (unnecessarily) doubting herself. I had wanted to say a million other things, but the most crushing of these things left unsaid were, "I love you."
I loved Cameron Morgan. I loved the way she was so well rounded, but humble enough to mistake it for being bland. There are very few girls in the world who can pull off being intelligent, beautiful, humble, and funny all at the same time. But most of all, I loved the way she loved. How despite losing a father, nearly being kidnapped several times, and being a young spy in training, she still managed to care unconditionally for her mother, aunt, teachers, classmates, grandparents, Solomon, roommates, and maybe even me.
I came to this realization while sitting in a highly uncomfortable chair in the Gallagher infirmary, shortly after arriving with an unconscious Solomon. My scraped right arm was bandaged, and I was still covered in soot. After I had shot those explosives, I hadn't had much time to think-until now. Between dragging Solomon out of the tomb to getting to Gallagher to…just everything, I hadn't had much time to think about the look in Cammie's eyes when I shot those explosives.
Because what scared me most of all, was that she might have felt the same way about me. Time and time again, people who cared about me got hurt (of course, there weren't that many people who cared, but still). Cammie, was not someone I wanted to see hurt in any way, shape, or form. I wanted to take her, run away with her, hide her in a bunker…but even then, Cammie would find trouble. Despite being "invisible" she was terribly good at attracting danger.
My mind was foggy, and all I wanted was to run, to sit in the middle of the floor in the fetal position, to see Cammie, for the Circle to be caught… I wanted things to be simple again. Or, to be technical, as simple as my life ever had been, because I was pretty sure my definition of simple wasn't the same as the dictionary's definition.
Needless to say, I was feeling pretty sorry for myself as I stared in an exhausted daze at the wall opposite of me. That was how Mrs. Morgan found me. In the harsh infirmary light, I couldn't help but marvel about how much she looked like her daughter. They had the same chestnut hair and high cheek bones. Hell, they even walked the same way, and had the same facial expressions. It was evident that by the way Mrs. Morgan studied me that she was comparing me to a kicked puppy.
"This mansion is a historic landmark, you know. There are a lot of better things to stare at than a white wall in an infirmary hallway," said Mrs. Morgan, as she took a seat next to me. I cast a glance her way, and noted that she looked just as tired as I felt (and probably looked too, but I haven't exactly been in contact with many mirrors lately). The sarcasm clearly took her a lot of work to muster up, and I kind of wanted to thank her for it.
Instead, I decided to make a fool of myself. Hey, if you had just gone through hell, you wouldn't exactly be smooth either.
"I want this to be over," was my witty reply, as I sunk a little deeper into the stone chair. The expression on Mrs. Morgan's face seemed to be even more distraught after that comment.
"You and I both, kid. At least now we are one step closer. You did well, you know," Mrs. Morgan replied after a moment, and when she said it, I could tell that she wished she had something more to offer to me than empty compliments.
My whispered reply was, "Not good enough. My mother got away, Solomon is out for the count, and Cammie…shouldn't have been hurt at all," the last part of my reply came out half strangled, and I could tell that Mrs. Morgan had caught on to my current predicament.
Turns out, it's rather hard to hide things from a trained ex-CIA agent. Especially when you're exhausted and painkillers are coursing through you.
"Look, I know you're highly trained, and I know it seems like a bad idea to care about anyone right now, but it's not that simple. Caring is not a voluntary action," advised Mrs. Morgan, sounding much more sure of her words than before. Hum, I guess she did have more experience in the spies-in-love field than in the comforting-awkward-and-drugged teenage-boys-field. Which, upon further reflection, I realized wasn't surprising considering the fact that she ran a school for girls.
"The choice to run away from the person you care about is," I said, as I vaguely wondered why my arm didn't hurt even the slightest bit. I guess that lady really did give me something stronger than Advil…
"Then you end up hurting the person you care about anyway. And isn't the goal of running away to not hurt them? Oh, that just sounded confusing. Look, I know it seems like there is no simple solution, and that's because there isn't. Love, is unavoidable, and in the spy world unfortunate. But just let me say this; I may have lost Mr. Morgan in the end, but loving him was the most satisfying thing I ever did in my life. Love makes everything brighter and happier; the world is suddenly filled with an amazing light. Every moment being with him was worth the pain of losing him," Mrs. Morgan finished her spiel with a grim smile, and my head was spinning. This was all too much. I wasn't supposed to fall for Cammie. Solomon wasn't supposed to be unconscious. I wasn't supposed to be receiving advice from Cammie's mom. Nothing was going according to plan. I just wanted to go home, but I didn't even know where that was…
I guess I must have drifted off as I was warring with myself, because next thing I know Mrs. Morgan is tapping my good arm gently in an attempt to wake me. I blink tiredly at her, and wish that she had just left me in this awful chair.
"Zach, why don't you relocate? There is an extra bed down the hall. Cammie won't wake until tomorrow morning anyways, and Mr. Solomon…" Mrs. Morgan trailed off, not wanting to say aloud the grim condition Joe Solomon was in, because then it became real. Not unlike me admitting to loving Cammie.
Without a reply, I yanked myself to my feet. I must have appeared rather unsteady, because Mrs. Morgan grabbed my shoulders. As she did this, my cloudy mind made the useless observation that she was taller than Cammie. Slowly, she steered me into a room to my right. Just then it occurred to me that while I was highly trained (and now highly experienced) I was still only seventeen. As Mrs. Morgan gently pushed me toward the white and sterile bed, I couldn't help but wonder if this was how mothers should act. That they should push you toward beds, not away from bullets. But as soon as my head hit that pillow, acts of devotion were the last thing on my mind. Still, I wasn't totally gone. I could still hear Mrs. Morgan say as she left the room, "You have my blessing to go after my daughter, Mr. Goode. Just remember that if you hurt her, I may not give you hell…but her three best friends will. Honestly, I think McHenry, Sutton, and Baxter are a force to be reckoned with."
Then, she gently closed the door to the infirmary room, and I was out like a light.