A/N::: If you're a hardcore Zammie fan, bare through this, 'kay? There's some at the end, but this is mostly a heart to heart thing.

I changed up what happened in GG4 a bit ;)

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Questioning the Heart

Cammie POV

I stare at him through the one way glass as he sits there, arms cuffed behind him, his gaze directed at the white wall across from him. I stand still, shocked, that I would have to interrogate him, this man I came to hate with a passion. How had it come to this? If someone had told me, seven years ago, that I would be in this position, I would have laughed in their face. Me, interrogate him? A boy, who I once felt so strongly about? Who had once made my heartbeat skip? Impossible.

But now he sat there, stone-faced, his emotions gone.

He probably lost them along with his self-respect, I thought bitterly, glaring at him as though I could simply kill him with a look. I could feel my nails digging into my palm as though the simple feeling of pain would solace my raging thoughts.

I don't know how many nights I'd spent imagining our last time together, how many hours I'd spent dissecting every sentence he had said to me, every look he ever gave me, trying to understand him, if not only for my country but for myself. I did countless recon missions, followed any and all believable leads that would lead me to this man. A man, who, seven years ago, was my dream boy, had made my top-five list of things that could unhinge me. Now his face was splashed all across America's Most Wanted list.

Funny how the world seemed to work itself out.

"Cammie?" The British accented voice did not surprise me; instead, hearing Bex's lulling voice helped get my emotions under control. Her callused palm landed on my shoulder gently. "Are you sure you want to go through with this? I mean, we usually don't allow agents with personal matters—"

I shake my head, almost sad, at what she was implying. "Zach and I, we broke our ties years ago, Bex. Seven years ago, you could have told me to do this, and I would have refused. But now, all I want to do is grill him so hard, he pees himself." I could tell Bex grinned; she was the type to, at the crude comment I made.

I suck in a breath, stand up straight, and let any and all hints of doubts escape me. There was no room for mistakes. "It'll be okay, Bex. I'll treat him like any other captive." My hand was on the knob when I heard her muttered reply.

"That's what I'm afraid of." And despite myself, I smirk.

I rub my temples, closing my eyes as I try to release to tension building up in my head. I've been at it for at least three hours; three hours of rewording, repeating and reiterating the same question to the same man. I even tried to change the topic a few times and catch him off guard. Hell, I even tried (not saying I succeeded) in flirting with him. But Zach Goode was well trained; he gave away nothing, not even the slightest twitch. You'd think that after three hours of staring at the same white wall would make a person go blind, or at least drive those nuts. Apparently Zach's already there, because that's what he's been doing for the past 180 minutes, staring at the spot right above my head.

"So how's your payroll?" I ask nonchalantly after regaining my composure. I lean back on the legs of the wooden chair I'm sitting in, pushing against the metal table between us.

He lifts his shoulders in a weak shrug, his gaze unmoving. "Decent."

"What about your living expenses? They must get pretty piled up, since your payroll is just decent."

He shrugs again. "Covered."

"How's life treating you?" I try.

"Fine."

"What's your favorite color?"

"Green."

"Like your eyes?" A shrug. I want to strangle him so badly. "You watch T.V?" I try, gritting my teeth.

"Unlikely."

"So you do?" Another shrug. "What's your favorite T.V show?" Shrug. "Favorite song?" Shrug. "Favorite musician?" A shake of the head. I decide to drop the "favorite" questions.

"Any family?"

"Non-existent."

"Ha!" I stab the air with my finger, pointing at him. "Finally, a two worded response!" I know. Pretty pathetic. But all his answers have been one word, or no response. All of them.

But he just smirks. "Hyphenated."

I squint. "Liar."

He shakes his head. "Nope."

"Boss?" I say aloud, knowing that Rebecca Baxter, head of the Interrogative section of the CIA, is watching, probably on her last nerve as she watches our battle drag out.

I hear a sigh resonate in my ear. "He's right, Cam." I mutter a curse but brush it off quickly.

"What about friends?" I try.

"Non-existent," he repeats.

I scratch my head and sigh loudly. "You're killing me here, Zach," I whisper. He shrugs. I feel tears of frustration well up in my eyes. I told myself I wouldn't cry in front of him. I specifically did. But wait… did his gaze just waver slightly?

"Keep crying, Cam," Bex whispers into my ear. Not something you hear every day. But then again, when do you see the one boy who broke your heart and danced on it every day?

"I was never the same, you know," I whisper. I drop my weight, letting the chair crash loudly onto the carpet with a thump. I let my head fall into my arms, because every good lie has some truth snaked into it. And my lies/truths were no exception. I wrap my arms around myself unconsciously. "You broke my heart, Zach Goode. You broke it, and you left me to pick up the pieces." My voice was full of bitterness, and when I look at him, I see his gaze is now on me. Finally, I think. "You remember, don't you? That day when we were trapped in the ruins at Blackthorne with your mother chasing us. That was the day Joe Solomon died, Zach. But of course you know that. You're the one who shot him in cold blood," I hiss. His eyes harden immediately, but I could tell I was getting under his skin. I need to push him more.

"Your mother—" I shake my head, at a loss for words to describe her. Her red flowing hair, her pale face, the green eyes that matched his exactly. "Your mother was a criminal. And yet you aided her. Did you know Solomon, the man you so eagerly killed, was willing to adopt you? As his legal son?" The first hint of emotion is the shock. The shock and the way his head snapped back just an inch. A notable inch. "My mother," I saw lowly, "my mother was willing to risk her position for you. She was going to get you a clean slate. I bet you didn't know that, did you? Even when you looked her right in the eye and let your mother shoot mine. You and I, we both watched your mother kill mine." My voice cracks; tears threaten to spill as the familiar aching of my heart returns. The one I managed to block after the years, coming loose now.

"I know you didn't kill her with your hands, Zach. She came after us on her own accord, knowing the risks. But I hope you know that she risked her life just as much for me as she did for you."

"You don't understand," he whispers. I wipe away my tears, only a bit surprised that he finally spoke. "You think you understand, Cameron, but you don't." He lifts his limp head, his eyes full of raging emotions. I sit back, surprised.

"I know that you killed Solomon in cold blood. I know you let my mother die, even though she was willing to give everything for you—"

"I don't need pity!" he screams so loudly, I hear Bex curse, probably having spilled hot coffee on herself. "You think your mom was a saint, Cam? Sure, she risked her life for the both of us, but you weren't there when she told me I was evidence. Evidence for a rampage terrorist who was out to kill her daughter. You weren't there when she threatened that she would take everything away from me if I didn't swear allegiance against my mother and help them kill her. Sure she wasn't the perfect soccer mom like yours, but for God's sake Cam, she's my mother nonetheless. At the time, I didn't know who the fucking psycho was." He shudders in a breath, his eyes wild.

"You're wrong," I manage to say quietly after minutes of silence. He finally calms down, his gaze not as steady but not shaky either.

"You don't understand," he repeats numbly.

"I do," I say, "because I was there. You just didn't see me." At this, he looks straight at me, his face alarmed. "You didn't see her face, Zach. You were too busy staring at your shoes. But I saw her. I saw her face twist with regret when she threatened you, and I don't doubt a higher-up made her say that."

"You're lying," he says, but doubt colors his voice.

I shake my head. "Hidden vent, Zachary. And did you know, after you left, Solomon came in and they talked about how they could get you out of the CIA's eyesight? No, that look you're giving me tells me you didn't." I let out a shaky sigh. And then I say something that I didn't even think about. I just blurt it.

"How did you feel about me, Zach?" He just looks at me, his face blank as he tries to process the barrage of information. And then a corner of his mouth lifts up just slightly, and he tilts his head to the side.

"How do I feel about you," he repeats slowly, testing the words.

"How did you feel about me," I correct, because it's too late to take it back. Might as well sink with the rest of my dignity.

He sighs long and loud. "When your mother threatened to take everything away from me, I knew she meant one thing and one thing only," he says quietly, almost randomly, "you."

"Me?"

He nods. "You're the only one who I worried about back then, Cam. I cared for Solomon, but not the way I did for you," he says quickly, the last part rushing out. But I know he's lying. I feel myself stiffen, my body tensing as I sense this turning against me.

"You're lying," I state.

"I'm not, Cam. I—"

"Really?" I hiss. "So do you care to elaborate why the hell you shoved me off the damn mountain cliff to my imminent death?" I emphasize words loudly, just to see him flinch and wince. "Not only that, but you killed our teacher, your soon-to-be father, and watched my mother get murdered right before your eyes!" I stand and slam my palm hard on the metal table. I have never forgiven him for it. For any of it. "So do you have some reasonable explanation for any of that, or should I just categorize it with the rest of your mysterious crap?" I seethe. I expected him to shout, or apologize, or maybe even shed a tear. I did not expect him to smile, as if ridiculing me for my emotions. I open my mouth, ready to slap the grin of his face, when he speaks.

"Were you there when Solomon and I spoke about a Back-Up plan at the cemetery?" he says quietly. No words come out of my mouth, so I shake my head. "No, of course you weren't. It was weeks before you were nearly kidnapped in London. Solomon came to me, and told me that if there was ever a situation where I had to prove my loyalty to my mother or Cavan where I had to kill him, he said that it would be alright. He showed me where to shoot him, too. Right here." He taps a spot above his own heart with his chin. What does that have to do with—

"He's alive," I whisper, my mouth faster than my brain (strange, huh?). "Are you trying to say that Joe Solomon is alive? Where is he?" I demand.

"Did the CIA even look for his body?" Zach asks. I shake my head.

"I guess they assumed he was blown to smithereens along with the rest of the mountain when it exploded. Speaking of which, how did you escape?" I remember falling, my last view of Zach and his mother standing on the cliff as they grew minuscule, ant size as I plunged into the icy-depth of the raging swell of river.

He shrugs. "I was knocked out by a tap on the head by a boulder. Next thing I knew, I was lying on a bed, my mother hovering over me, everything I had gone." He closes his eyes. "I never forgave myself. For either of their deaths. I was tortured every day by the fact that I had killed them with my own hand. I even attempted suicide, until my mother brainwashed me, of course." He opens his eyes to find me staring at him, confusion and shock evident on my face. He closes his eyes again. "Yeah. She made me believe that they deserved to die, and my conscious was clean; no blood stained my hands, yet. She convinced to go against everything I believed in. The rest you know, I believe. I killed Senators, murdered Governors. The whole nine yards." He sighs, opening his eyes again. "I won't blame you if you don't forgive me, Cammie," he mutters. "I've yet to forgive myself."

"You never answered my question," I mutter.

"Because you're a Gallagher Girl," he says so simply. "I couldn't let mom get her hands on you. Besides, I knew you'd survive the fall. I've thrown myself of it a couple times, actually. It was only a one-hundred feet drop."

I'm staring at the ceiling, my mind processing the new information. I'm balancing on the chair's back legs again, rocking slightly back and forth.

"Cammie!" A voice booms in my ear. Before I can stop myself, I yelp, the sensation of falling overcoming my senses.

"Cam!" That's Zach's voice, probably worried that I'll hit my head. Damn Bex and her loud voice intruding my thoughts while I'm in deep concentration!

I manage to twist my body to the side, rolling off on impact, the fall cushioned by the carpet.

"Cam! Are you okay?" I groan a reply to Zach's question, shaking my hair out of my face. I hear him let out a breath. "I guess that means you're okay?"

"Just dandy," I huff.

"Damn it Cameron, why are you not on your toes?" Bex hisses in my ear, the earpiece still intact.

"You're not supposed to shout so loudly, Becca," I mutter, rubbing my back as I stand, picking up the chair as well.

"Just get out of there, Cameron," comes her stern response. "You're not going to get what we need today. Just get out—" I rip off the earpiece, silencing her and my now pounding headache. Ever since she got head position, she's been nothing but a prick.

"Alright," I say, regaining composure. "I need to get serious here, Zach. The past is past, and we'll get to it eventually, but not now. I need you to tell me their next move. Cavan's next move," I specify.

"Do you fall often?" he muses.

"Zach," I warn. "Now's not the time. This is probably the only time I'll be able to meet you face to face for a long time. But if all goes well, a long time might not be too long."

"I knew you couldn't resist me," he smirks. But then the humors gone before I can bark at him, his face so serious I wonder if he had even made that remark. "They'll try to finish the job before anything. And then they'll come looking for me."

My eyebrows furrow. "You mean assassinating the President?"

He nods. "I can tell you the next couple of missions I was supposed to go on, if they'll be any help. I doubt it, but Mom always kept meat arm's length despite us being blood related and all." I nod, all business-like. I glance at the one way mirror to my right, nodding to Bex; I could tell he was telling the truth.

"Okay," I say, pulling out a pad and pen in a little pocket underneath the table. "Solomon's location, every detail of every plan you ever made of overheard. Tell me what you know."

Three Years Later

I'm sitting on the bank in front of the lake in front of the Washington Monument, watching the sun rise over D.C., another day where sleep was unreachable, when it happened.

The hands covered my eyes, and I was thrown instinctively into Fight Mode, using the same maneuver I used years ago on a normal boy to flip my assailant over me, or at least trying to. The person's center of gravity is stronger, but I managed to bend two fingers on each hand quickly, making them release just as easily. I'm on my feet, my arm already lashing out when it's blocked and I'm pulled into a tight hold, the motions too fast for me to catch sight of him. I bring my arms in between our chests and manage to push off him. I kick and make contact, the person moaning quietly as my foot gets him in the stomach. It's all a blur and over just as quickly. He lands on the edge of the pond, landing face first into the water, his murky brown hair already rising out of the water as he sputters and coughs. I'm breathing hard, on my ass where I was thrown hard. I'm on my feet, but before I can get five steps, there's a tug at my ankle, and I'm yanked down, landing on my knees with a yelp as air is forced out of my lungs.

"Cammie," the person rasps, "it's me god damn it!" I freeze, my escape on pause as I recognize the voice.

"Zach?" I huff.

"Who else but your lovable spy?" He's smirking, despite being half soaked.

"You asshole," I half yell. "You don't sneak up on a person at six in the freaking morning! I could have killed you," I'm yelling as I pull out short blade from a sheath inside my sweater to prove to him I could have.

"I needed to see you as soon as I got out," he says quickly. "Bex told me you run around here in the mornings. I decided to give it a try." He gets up and offers me a hand. I take it, seeing as how the adrenaline is draining from my body, and I'm unsteady. I manage to lean against a tree, getting my breathing under control.

"I thought you were in for at least five years," I mutter. I hadn't expected to see Zach this soon.

"I got out on good behavior," he grins, but I can tell how much it wasn't true. Prison, I can tell, wasn't kind to him. He was pale and skinnier, his muscles still there but not as defined. He had heavy bags under each eye, his eyes telling a different story than his words.

"What did they make you do?" I whisper, meaning the CIA.

He looks away, mumbling something about swearing a binding allegiance, but I don't pressure him to speak. Instead I nod, understanding that it was too soon.

"So," he says after we sit side by side, a comfortable space in between us, watching the sun make its way in the sky, "did you miss me?"

"I don't know how to answer that," I say honestly. I let my head rest on my knees, wrapping my arms around my legs. "Seven years you were gone, Zach. Seven years I learned to hate you. I devoted my life to tracking you down and destroying you. How is three year's worth of time with only one five hour visit supposed to make up for all of that?" I whisper.

"I don't expect a welcome party," he says quietly, "but I hope you don't shun me from your life, either."

"I'm trying," I whisper, tears creeping into my eyes. "I'm trying to get used to it all. But it's hard, Zach. My Mom…" A sob manages to escape, and before I know it, I'm bawling my eyes out like I should have years ago. Zach's arms are around me as I cry, not getting to personal but comforting. He doesn't say anything, which is just fine. Words would make it uncomfortable.

After ten minutes, I'm taking deep breaths, my body tired from the running, attempted escape, and emotional tidal wave.

"I know, Cam," Zach whispers after I finish wiping my nose and eyes. "I know it's hard to trust me. I know you hated me all those years, and you probably still do. And I don't blame you. Not if you don't ever want to see me again, or even speak to me. Just tell me to go right now if you can't stand the sight of me." I don't say anything. "I just need you to answer one thing then, Cameron. How do you feel about me?"

I hate the fact that my reply is immediate, I don't even need to ponder it.

"I never stopped loving you, Zach. I hated what you did, I hated what you were, but I love you. Despite all the crap I went through to find you, I don't regret it one bit. And maybe somewhere in my heart, I believed that you would someday return as my knight in shining armor, despite it all. I love you Zach Goode, and don't you forget it."

"Thank you, Cammie," he whispers. "Thank you for believing." He plants a kiss on my cheek softly, a feather compared to it all. But we just sit there and enjoy each others' company, knowing that we can only move forward and hope for the best.

A/N::: A story is not a story unless you kill off a few characters :) Btw, Solomon is not dead. =/ Woot! 4,000+ words XD

THIS IS A ONE-SHOT. Please don't ask me to make it a Two-shot unless you have an outline, because honestly, this story took FOREVER. Maybe not forever, maybe five hours? Oh well.

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