New fic! Planned at least thirty chapters, so I'd better get writing eh?

The look on my mother's face said it all. And despite the fact that she was probably one of the best spies in the world, the solemn look on her face was evident. With the news that I suspected was going to come out of her mouth, I wouldn't have bothered hiding her sadness either.

Except, she wasn't upset for herself.
She was upset for me.

"Cammie -" She couldn't even finish the sentence without sitting in her chair at her desk, covering her mouth with her fingertips delicately (like every lady should whilst showing extreme grief, according to Madame Dabney) letting her eyebrows crease together in that expression that I wanted to forget.

There aren't many times I've seen my mum cry. The one memory that retained in my head so well above all of the rest, was the day we found out dad was missing.

So, upon seeing the sight before me, I began to fear the worst.

I reached out to wrap my arms around her but she simply grabbed my hand and held it, cradling it for a moment before releasing her grip.

My mum's office had never felt so cold and unwelcoming until she said those words;

"Cammie, Zach's gone MIA"

And in that moment, I let the tears slip down my cheeks.

3 years earlier...

One of the many benefits of being in a serious relationship with a civilian boy named Josh was that as a spy, suspicion isn't a problem, seeing as it is technically against protocol to date civilians. Technically.

To the general public, it seemed as if the household that they lived in, picket fences and all, was a happy, bustling household in which the local community were holding high hopes that the young couple living there would marry and have children one day.

But as I knew, that was far from the truth. In a much, much less covert way.

I didn't know how he had this hold over me. I could just kick his ass and be done with it. I mean he's a civilian for gods sake.

Having bruises wasn't the main problem. I could just claim that they were from a previous mission, or I went back to Gallagher and had the P&E coach give me some extra training. Lying to my friends this way was so easy.

The mental scars were a completely different story.

My lack of concentration was starting to take a massive effect on my work, leaving me unable to go on the missions that I used to and leading to the embarrassment of the director of the CIA having one of his best agents ask for easier work.

Then the flinching. The uncontrollable, spur of the moment flinching.

I hid them pretty well for a while, but lately, Bex is beginning to catch on the something is wrong.

She has tried talking to me, asking me if anything's wrong (in the spy way of course) and the glances towards me that are sneaky and calculated, but not calculated and sneaky enough to bypass my eye.

The beatings from Josh were repetitive and at frequent intervals, which is where my training to withstand torture usually comes in handy, meaning that they didn't bother me.

It's the mental beatings that really get to me.

He drove every good (civilian) friends I had out of the way, making false accusations and giving me beatings for that, withholds all of my money and only let's me spend it when it pleases him, the drugs, the drinking and the constant feel of his grimy touch all over my body.

But most of all, the thought that I actually put up with all of this, just for a cover.

There was a time when Josh Abrams was a sweet boy with sweet family and everything was just sweet and lovely and comfortable.

And then, just as sudden as a click of my fingers, Josh was the Josh he is today.

It has come to the point where I need to get out. And fast.

The phone ringing distracted my train of thought and I picked it up quickly. Luckily, Josh wasn't home today.

When I finally put down the phone, I smiled slightly and swiftly began packing.

After a tricky phone call with Josh, explaining that I was away with work for the next two months and that I love him and will not cheat on him, and a drive to the CIA secret base near Gallagher, I got out of the car and practically ran to the director's office, my suitcase trailing behind me.

I had a mission.

For the next two months I am to run surveillance on a man who is suspected of stealing drugs from the main pharmaceutical company in Boston. Nothing too hard, just a surveillance op.

Oh, did I mention this before? It's in London.

Yes, yes, yes, quadruple yes.

So finally, I can get away from Josh for a while.

Upon my arrival to the director's office, I was ready for my briefing. Ready to get away. Ready for anything.

"Hello Miss Morgan, please have a seat." His head nodded towards a seat in front of his desk and I sat in it, eager to get on with this mission.

"The only thing I have to say to you, as you seem pretty well prepared for this already", his eyes flitted towards my suitcase, "is that this is just a routine op. No high stakes and no mistakes. I want to know where this guy is at all times, with whoever and whatever, how he got there, his clothing, whatever you know the drill. Here's his folder and your fake identity", he handed me the folder and I began rifling through it. Grant Spencer, 21, unemployed, lives with his girlfriend...

Then I looked at my identity.

Tiffany St. James
DOB 21st April
Aged 20
Therapist
Lives in London
Currently in a relationship with Justin Smith.

I read the rest and had it memorised. I handed the folder with all the information about Tiffany St. James, apart from the obvious things like passports and drivers licenses.

The director then handed me two tickets.

For the same flight.

"Wait, has there been some mistake? You just gave two tickets. There's only one of me" I frowned.

And unknown voice chimed from behind me, "Oh, there's been no mistake"

The stranger walked into the room and stood beside the director, facing me.

"Miss Morgan, meet your mission partner-" but the stranger cut him off.

"My name's Zach. Zach Goode. And it's a pleasure to finally meet you, Cameron Anne Morgan"