late may.

"And, this is your room." The Baxter's London flat had been home to numerous special occasions: temporary holding cell for an Albanian terrorist, Christmas dinner with Jordanian royals, and where Rebecca Baxter took her first steps at only seven and a half months old. The flat housed the legendary Baxter family on breaks from M16, and was the scene of many planning sessions to take control of a hostile regime, thwart an environmental conspiracy at the hands of ruthless corporations, and perhaps a birthday party or two. Who could forget the time the Japanese ambassador almost choked on that shrimp? If walls could talk, indeed.

But never in the ten year history of this flat had there been a guest as noteworthy as Zachary Goode.

His eyes flicked over the sparse guest bedroom. There was simply a bed, a dresser, and closet. The window faced the bustling downtown roads filled with taxis and harried pedestrians. Truth be told, it wasn't much, but it was something. "It's nice," he said simply, to break the unsettling silence.

Bex pursed her lips. "It's kind of shit. The bed frame clashes with the curtains."

"I didn't take you for an interior decorator."

"There's a lot you don't know about me." The mischievous glint in her eyes negated her deadpan delivery. Since Cammie had ran away, the infamous spark in her eyes had been long absent, taking her sense of humor and daring along with it.

Cammie. The ghost of friends and almost-girlfriends past. The imminent elephant in the room. The second she made her escape from the Gallagher Academy was the second that the dynamics of everything had changed. The initial shock of her escape still loomed. Everyone stopped asking how and soon wondered why she would run away with no warning, no supplies, and no backup. The image of Headmistress Morgan attempting to keep a stoic face while announcing her daughter's disappearance to the school was forever ingrained into everyone's minds. Security measures increased, and fear and hopelessness did as well. Rachel Morgan and Joseph Solomon immediately set off to find Cammie, and placed Zach in the care of Baxters for the summer.

...

"Why should I go to the Baxters? Why can't I go with you?" Zach had asked Solomon, on the day of departures. "I can find Cammie, I know her better than you. I'm an asset-"

Solomon sternly cut him off. "There are many, many people who would like to see you dead, Goode. Never forget that. You'll be safe with the Baxters." He paused for a moment, letting the words mingle in the air and averting his protege's gaze. "And you and Rebecca should look out for each other. She's hurting just as much as you, you know."

That was more or less how Zach found himself on a six o'clock flight to London with Bex. She hadn't spoken more than ten words to him, preferring to stay mute for most of the trip. He didn't mind the silence at all, he couldn't imagine where a conversation with his (sort of) girlfriend's best friend could lead. Painful thoughts and empty regrets, perhaps.

On the taxi ride to the flat, Bex had immersed herself in a book (The Brothers Karamazov, Russian text, very unlike her) while Zach gazed at the scenery. He had been to London before, of course, and every time the city looked different. This time, it was clouded with the classic London rain and gloomy skies. Or maybe it was just him. The Baxters greeted the two at the front door of the brownstone building, all smiles and hugs to their oddly quiet daughter and cordial to their newest house guest.

"It's lovely to meet you," chirped Grace Baxter, who didn't look anything like a woman who had recently single-handedly took down a Ukrainian drug cartel. "We've heard so much about you."

He returned her warm smile. "Good things, I hope."

"Things," Bex corrected under her breath. Her father shot her a stern look, to which she mouthed, "what?"

Abe Baxter clapped Zach on the back. "So sorry we can't stay too long for a proper welcome, but we're going to have dinner with an Argentine dignitary."

"Eco-terrorist, more like," interjected Grace with an eye roll. "But his wife makes amazing empanadas."

"We're mostly going for the empanadas. These take downs can be bloody boring." Abe sheepishly admitted. "Anyhow, enjoy yourself, Zach and make yourself at home. Don't be afraid to get comfortable." His eye flicked over to his daughter. "Bex, stay out of the evidence locker and don't even think about prank-phoning the Russian embassy again."

"Alexei and I had a good laugh afterwards," she argued, showing the first flash of personality that Zach had seen since Cammie left.

"Bex, darling,almost starting an international incident isn't a good laugh," her mother sighed. "Alright, we're off. Have fun, you two." She grabbed Abe's arm and led him away from the door.

"But not too much fun!" Abe had cried over his shoulder, obviously realizing just who he was leaving his daughter with—a boy. "I mean it!"

...

Zach flashed back to the present and looked back up at Bex curiously. This was the longest continuous repartee they have had up to this point. Maybe the jetlag made her friendlier. However, those words echoed in his ears, there's a lot you don't know about me. "Rebecca Athena Baxter. Born September 17th, 1994 in, contrary to popular belief, in Casablanca where your parents were working undercover. Lived in Argentina, Japan, and Zimbabwe. Moved to London at the age of four, after traveling the world with your parents. First non-American Gallagher girl. Codename Duchess. Skilled in hand-to-hand combat, stealth, and, to my surprise, baking." He cocked an eyebrow at her slightly stunned visage. "Deathly afraid of needles."

At first, her expression was virtually unreadable. Then, her eyes locked with his. "Zachary Harrison Goode. Born January 11th, 1993 in Seattle, Washington. Traveled in the Eastern Europe circuit with your mum, Catherine Goode until moving to upstate New York. Attended the Blackthorne Institute, and excelled in the art of assimilation. Moderately good at combat, but your left hook isn't as strong as your right due to what I presume was a childhood injury." She paused, before smirking. "Good kisser, according to one Cameron Morgan."

He couldn't help it, he snorted at the last bit, despite Cammie's name sending a cold chill down his spine. Years of spy training and sticking to a nondescript aesthetic allowed him to keep his physical reactions—redness, sweat—from coming up. "Good research, Baxter. Can I ask how?"

She shrugged. "A good spy never tells. Plus, it doesn't hurt to have parents in M16."

"Noted." Judging by his encounter with her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Baxter were probably very lax in the information that their daughter accessed. He was dying to ask if she had searched for Cammie through their database, but he knew that she had to and that the answers were bleak.

A somewhat awkward silence fell over them before Bex broke it once more. "Anyway, there's some Chinese food in the fridge. Get used to it, none of us cook. And I certainly don't bake, Liz probably added that in the system as joke." She said bake like most people said do meth.

Zach considered that for a moment. "You know, I can cook." The second he said those words, he regretted it.

Now, it was her turn to laugh. "You, cooking? Was there an instructional course at Blackthorne?"

"Oh, it didn't come up in my file? When we weren't learning how to brutally kill our enemies, we were learning how to make a mean lasagna," he deadpanned. Her eyes widened at his nonchalance about his school's true bearings, but then the glint was back. She slightly grinned, and he knew that his honesty had earned him an atom of respect in her book. Hopefully that would make things easier.

Still looking at him cautiously, she nodded her head toward the door. "Kitchen's that way."

"So," Bex said slowly, thoughtfully chewing on a bite of her food, "I'm still alive."

The two were in the Baxter's living room, watching a soccer (football, as Bex would always correct) game while eating dinner. Somehow, Zach had managed to scrape together a meal of spaghetti and garlic bread from the slim pickings in the Baxter kitchen. While he cooked (it helped to clear his mind), Bex sprawled out on the couch and yelled obscenities at the referees. It was an odd day, to say the least. He certainly didn't imagine himself preparing dinner in a flower printed apron that Bex had "found."

Maybe on another day, he would've been slightly annoyed that that was the only comment she had to make about his cooking, which was usually more warmly received. But, any word coming from Bex was something, at least. As much as he said otherwise, he knew that a summer of silence would only leave him alone with his thoughts (and fears), which would probably kill him. He suspected it was the same with Bex.

"What can I say? I'm a man of many talents," he mused, taking a bite of some bread.

She scoffed. "You boiled some pasta, you didn't take apart a nuclear reactor."

"Similar processes."

"In the loosest definition of similar."

A wave of quiet washed over them, and they finished their food with no more banter. On the TV, Germany had scored, prompting Bex to yell out, "Fuck!" and chuck a throw pillow (he noticed the coincidence) at the wall.

Zach clicked his tongue. "You seem to take soccer seriously." Which was a vast understatement, as on his way to the guest room he peeked into Bex's. One wall was nearly plastered in photos and newspaper clippings of matches. For a second, he wondered what Cammie's room back in Nebraska looked like, before shaking that thought away.

"You could say that." And enough time passed to where Zach thought she would leave it there, but she continued. "I used to play when I was younger. I think I was eight when I finally joined a local girl's league, I'd just come back from holiday in Shanghai and I was excited to stay in one place for once. The other girls hated me because I was faster than them, stronger than them. My parents had been training me since I could walk, after all. I played striker, and once I kicked the ball so hard, it hit one girl right in and knocked out three of her front teeth." She chortled at the memory, and he had to as well. "At least they were baby teeth."

It vaguely registered with him that that was the most he had ever heard Bex talk, ever. It was strange that while he was interested in Cammie, he seldom spoke to her friends. From the moment he laid eyes on her, it had always been her and nobody else. He prompted her to go on. "What happened after?"

"The coach benched me for the rest of the season because the girl said I aimed for her on purpose. It's not my fault her head was so massive, it was impossible to miss. Anyway, it didn't matter because I left to Kenya with Mum and Dad for one of their missions. That was the end of my football career."

"What a shame."

"Not really. I got to bust a double agent in Nairobi, so I'd say it was a fair trade. Did you play sports as a kid?"

His childhood was a childhood in the broadest sense of the term. If you could count tagging along with his mother on dangerous missions all over the world, holding her gun through airport security, and frequently being babysat by the Russian mafia as a childhood. "I played hockey for a little while," he said finally, thinking back to a time where one of the mafia members taught him how to play during the brutal Moscow winter.

The soccer game played on, Germany scored once more, and the word "fuck" was screeched about seven more times before Bex murmured, "Hockey is a shit sport."

Spy training helped him once more, this time in the hearing department. "You've just never played it."

She shook her head in disappointment. "I have." A deep breath escaped her lips. Her eyes clouded, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed she clenched her fist. "Once, I got to visit Cammie during winter break. In Nebraska, which is barely a state, if you ask me. But we played hockey with two of her cousins, both boys and very brutal." Instantly, Zach could picture the farm where she lived. It was rustic, maybe falling apart a bit, but it embodied the word "home." Maybe it smelled like apple pie twenty-four seven. Her cousins probably looked like her, with similar facial features and smiles. He could imagine they were protective of her, even though she could handle herself.

Bex narrated his internal imagery. "...they challenged us to a game, two-on-two. We accepted, but before we got to play, Ms. Morgan pulled us aside and told us to go easy on them. No special maneuvers or choke holds or anything, which made things a bit boring. Anyway, we played like total cowards. They kept scoring on us, but we knew if we played to our abilities, we'd destroy them and then they'd wonder how two scared girls could possibly beat such manly men.

"So, Cam came up with a plan for me to fake a fall so they'd be distracted, and she could score. Plus, her cousin Eli fancied me a bit, so he was always watching me anyway. I pretend to lose my balance, and Eli and the other one rush over to me while Cam storms toward the goal. Only she lost her balance for real and smashed face first into the makeshift goal." He could see her, all determined and rushing for a win, only to fall; he cringed on her behalf.

"What happened next?" he asked, utterly interested.

"I got up from the ice and skated over to her and helped her up. Then, I asked her how she could possibly mess that up. And she said the sun was in her eyes. And I was like, "Bullshit", because it was cloudy. And she was all, "You were too busy with Eli!" And then one second we're arguing and the next thing I know, she tries to put me in a sleeper hold while I swung for her face." At this point, Zach and Bex were both laughing through the tale. The first time either of them had laughed since Cammie left.

Bex recovered and continued, "It escalated fairly quickly, it was probably all the pent up energy from not being able to do shit all break. We laughed about it after. Ms. Morgan and her cousins, didn't though."

Then, Zach effectively killed the somewhat light mood in one sweep. "Do you have any more stories about Cammie?" he asked, not even bothering to fully conceal the eagerness in his voice. Like any good spy, he had to know more. He knew Cammie, but he didn't know her the way her best friend did. While his bond with her was fueled by intrigue and attraction, Bex's bond was made of trust and shared memories. He couldn't deny it, he wanted to experience a bit of that as well.

But obviously Bex didn't see that as an option. The second those words slipped out of his mouth, she seemed to remember the predicament she was in. Her best friend was missing. She didn't know if she was going to ever see her again. And she was stuck here, not looking for her. With the boy who had arguably helped put Cammie's life in more danger. Her footsteps were heavy as she put her dishes in the kitchen, keeping her eyes firmly on the ground. The clatter of the ceramic echoed in the still air, he didn't know one could put dishes away with such contained emotion. Her eyes met his once more, but this time they were narrowed and illuminated with a flash of anger. The message was unnervingly clear, and Zach could feel his stomach drop with that one look.

"Yeah. I do." And with that, she retreated back to back to her room and shut the door.

okay, i've had this idea milling about in my head since i read gg5 because ZACH AND BEX ARE THE BEST FRIENDS TO HAVE EVER FRIENDED. i can't help but laugh about all the rage people had about this because you thought they would start banging or whatever. shit, this pairing is platonic and beautiful. they work out together and probably gossip while watching 'mean girls' because you know bex made him watch it and he then tried to make fetch happen. that is canon.

so this is just going to be a series of vignettes about their summer of bff-ness. i understand this first chapter is probably terrible and they're ooc, but that's what happens when i don't write forever and asha is a shit beta. because english is rly hard 4 her ok. and there's some back story, so yeah.

i may update 'the week of living wildly' if i have some time over this weekend. i have most of the story written, it's just finishing it and posting it in a timely manner that gets me.

for those wondering where i've been: school. it's required. and if you have my parents, it's required to get A's.

keep it real and tell me your thoughts,

em. but asha says hey.