Okay. So, this is important.
PLEASE READ.
I can almost feel all of the RecordOfCovOps readers glaring at me. I know. I know. It's been a long time. And, now I'm publishing a one shot.
Thing is. I can't only write when I'm feeling it. If I force it...it ends up being awful awful stuff. And, after I read GG5, this particular subject bothered me.
And, though Entry 11 of RecordOfCovOps is halfway done, I couldn't let this one go...unwritten.
The whole Bex + Zach thing. It bothered me. I would've thrown my book against the wall, but I was in public.
So, I didn't.
But, still. After reading the fifth book (which was a-INCREDIBLE), I had to rationalize with myself.
I had to think about the whole Bex and Zach summer thing, what would have happened, and how it would have changed their relationship.
Otherwise, I just wouldn't be able to sleep at night. Haha. Well, that's a bit extreme.
But, hopefully you know what I'm getting at.
So, in that attempt to calm myself down and explain the evolution of this relationship, I wrote this one shot.
That might turn into a couple of one shots.
Just to fill in that summer between Bex and Zach (with Cammie, and therefore Zammie being the main motivation).
As well as to expieriment with Bex's POV, and improve my writing through more editing (I edited this baby A LOT).
So. This is in NO way a Bach...er...Zex...er..see, it doesn't even sound right. Main point: I'm PRO-ZAMMIE.
Anyway. I'll shut up.
This is what has been on my mind for the past couple weeks.
It's a little piece I like to call Truce ( a word that I think very much describes Bex & Zach)
Takes place right after Cam ran away.
Let me know what you thinK! Please :)
And, enjoy!
- Sweetly
Disclaimer: I do not own the Gallagher Girls, or Zach...
I'm not going to lie. Not about this.
I'm not going to waste my time feeding you false modesty.
I am the strongest, the most agile, the most coordinated girl at the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women – a school for very coordinated, very agile, very strong girls.
It's not an opinion.
It's a fact.
I've mastered over 20 different weapons.
I can easily take on a man four times my size.
And, despite what my age may suggest, I am anythingbut weak.
Strength: that's something I'm good at.
But, for the past two weeks, I've been everything but strong.
I've been everything but clever, and cunning, and smart.
I've felt everything but confidence.
I've been everyone but myself.
Not, that anyone would notice.
I've made it my goal nowadays to hide the weakness,
to cover the wounds and keep fighting, keep living,
as if nothing was wrong. As if my best friend wasn't gone,
as if every odd wasn'tin her favor to be dead somewhere.
I had to at least act strong. One of us did.
Otherwise, Lizzie wouldn't be able to stop crying.
And, Macey would just shut everyone out.
They didn't deserve this. And, neither did I.
But, I had to be the rational one, the strong one.
And, strength, even fake strength:
that's what I'm good at.
So, when I shifted in my bed, I focused on everything but the pit in my stomach.
I focused on everything but the fact that Cam was gone and there was nothing I could do to find her. Nothing but stay here, listen to news wires and radio broadcasts from hundreds of different countries,
searching, pleading for some sort of hint.
But, there was nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
So, I shifted on top of my sheets and listened to the constant muffled traffic outside my window instead.
Constant. Traffic. Really, I'd rather be listening to the static of another dead end. But, I just couldn't bring myself to tap into anymore wires.
Therefore, I was stuck here. Listening to horns. And, sirens.
And, everything else that would be left out of any normal lullaby.
London always had its disadvantages.
And, though I liked being home, I liked sleeping better.
Because, sleeping meant not thinking about Cammie, or her idiocy, or the idiocy of the idiot that had taken Cam's room for the summer. The one fully responsible for her disappearance.
I didn't even want to think about him.
I'd really rather kill him; chuck him out the window in his sleep.
But, I had to restrain myself for a few reasons:
One. Once he's found on the street, there would be questions.
Two. Even if I did cover it up, my parents are the best of M16.
They'd find out. And, I'd probably get grounded.
So, for now, I just pretended he didn't exist.
For now, in the midst of all this, I just slept…or attempted to.
But, that's easier said than done.
My head ached, my eyes drooped. And I was honestly physically unable to do anything else but roll on my side, smash my pillow into my face and think: Cam is a bloody idiot. Cam is a bloody idiot. Cam is bloody idiot.
It was three in the morning, for God's sake. I was supposed to be snoozing. I was supposed to be dreaming. I was supposed to be doing anything but worrying about that jerk who decided to pick up and leave her family, her friends to sit here and wringing their hands raw.
"Selfish, bloody idiot." I muttered into my pillow.
I knew it wasn't true. I knew she had her reasons. But, right now, I couldn't care less about any dumb reasons she had for getting herself killed. I just wanted her home.
And, I wanted that stupid light turned off.
Wait. Why is that light even on?
I sat up, squinted through the dark and stared down the sliver of light seeping in through the seam of the door. Then I glanced at the clock.
3:04
"What the…"
I didn't hear any doors open. There were never any footsteps up the stairs.
I hadn't even heard the click of the lamp, or noticed the burst of light.
I hadn't noticed anything.
But, this wouldn't be the first time.
So, my imagination ran wild, hope took over.
There's only one person that would be in that lounge this late at night.
There's only one person who knew where our flat was,
and could get there unnoticed.
Someone who's gotten by unnoticed before. A lot.
So, I guess that's why when I booked it to the door and flung it open,
I could only say one thing to the figure standing there:
"Oh. It's just you."
But, that wasn't really the right way to address Zach.
There was nothing familiar or remotely comforting about him as he stood there.
Wide-eyed. Frozen. Like he totally wasn't expecting me in my own house.
Like he'd been caught.
Caught doing what. I had no absolutely no clue. Because, at the moment, I couldn't quite think of just what required endless stacks of yellow sheets torn from who knows how many of my father's legal pads.
"What is all of this?"
The coffee table, the sofa, the carpet were all covered. Zach had shot up from his position on the lounge couch and simply stared at me like there weren't piles and piles of paper blanketing the loft like snow. Like all of this was perfectly normal, and the thing out of place in that room was me.
"Why are you up?"
"What?" I shot out, astonished, "Why am I up? Why are you up?"
"If you went to bed at one, you should have stayed asleep for at least two hours. And, according to your normal behavioral patterns, you don't ever wake up between 3:30 to 4:00."
Zach shook like a Chihuahua as he grabbed a thick file of papers perched on the sofa arm and started rummaging through them, manically mumbling to himself in the process.
"I thought that was solid fact."
"What are all of those?" I pressed, once again. Ignored.
"You're not supposed to be up." He muttered, panicked, "It says so. In here."
He fingered a line on a page, filled front and back with handwriting,
scribbles –mindlessscribbles.
"In where?"
"In my notes."
Okay, when has Zachary Goode ever taken notes?
That was a question for…
Well, that was a question for Cammie who would eventually ask Macey who would eventually find some way to logically explain his psychotic behavior. But, neither was there, and, quite frankly, I felt as lost and alone as Zach looked. Not that I was buying it.
So, all I could do was stare at him and he searched his pages and wonder when and how Zach turned into Liz within the eight hours it took up to jump over the pond.
I stepped toward him, the crunch of notebook pages crinkling beneath my feet.
I looked down and picked up the collection of papers in front of my door.
Now, I've analyzed and decoded everything from Josh Abram's trash to the Blackthorne's security grid.
But, no matter how much experience in the area of "deciphering-anything-and-everything-there-is-to-decipher", there was no making sense out of the words on those pages.
Names.
Places.
Numbers.
Everything you could imagine was scrawled onto the page as if from the start, the writer felt as if he didn't have enough room. And, because of it, you could barely read a thing.
"What is…" I don't even know what I was trying to say. And, I don't even think it mattered. Because, when I looked up I spotted a stack that made all the others pale in comparison, and with my noticing of it, the world stopped.
The pile was perched on the end table, the contents obviously gone through, searched through as if they held some sort of clue, some sort of key to a lock.
And, the name of that lock was printed in big letters on the top page: CAM
And, from then on, something took over me.
I lunged for the pile immediately. And, with me, Zach reached forward.
But, despite the fact that he was bigger and closer, I got to it first. And, when my hands snatched away the pile, they trembled, flipping through the thin, worn sheets.
They were filled with…dialogue.
Pages and pages of endless dialogue.
"'They're sending Gallagher Girls down laundry chutes so don't show up here and lecture me about what's at stake…'" I read immediately concluding, "This sounds like Cammie."
It sounded like my best friend. When times were simple. When she was safe.
Or, that's what we had thought.
"That's because it is Cammie." He snapped as I scanned, absorbed, starred at the content in disbelief.
It was like a those papers were part of some case study on everything there was to know about Cameron Morgan, or everything he knew. The file was thick, the penmanship harsh and desperate.
Like he wrote it quick, as if to somehow understand my best friend in a matter of hours - which, let me tell you, is impossible. I know because it's been five years and even Liz has yet to crack that code.
And, something about that made me laugh. Somehow his efforts were so stupid, so useless.
It was almost funny.
"Is this like every word she's ever said to you?"
And, by the look on his face, the way he gathered the rest of the papers on the end table cradling them like they were all he had left, I could tell nothing about this situation was funny at all. Not to him.
And, suddenly my laughter seemed out of place.
So I resorted to anger. And, it was pretty easy to be angry when the idiot wouldn't respond.
"Zach! What are y– "
"I can't find her." He interrupted me as if I wasn't even talking.
His voice simple, weary, tired.
I rolled my eyes.
"Of course you can't. You told her to run, remember?"
Those words were meant to hurt. But, if the did, I couldn't tell.
Because Zach just looked up and stared at the wall behind me.
As if he was out of his bloody mind, as if he wasn't paying attention at all.
So, I forced him to.
Because his lack of attention was the reason Cammie was gone.
And, I wasn't going to put up with it all summer long.
"You told Cameron – The Chameleon- Morgan to run and hidefrom her friends and her family, from the people who actually care about her, and can protect—"
"I didn't tell her to do it alone!"
"Yeah, well. She did. And, she's gone."
It took me awhile to realize I was shouting.
I remembered my parents, asleep downstairs, and lowered my voice to a caustic whisper,
"My best friend is gone. And, there's nothing you can do about it."
"I didn't mean to do this!" He hissed, charging toward me, but when he did it wasn't out of anger, it was out of desperation. It was in that second that I realized, Zach might actually be in pain.
I noted the fact that this, once again, wouldn't be the first time I didn't notice something when I should've. And, that fact, especially coming from him, felt like a swift kick in the stomach.
But, to me, Zach might as well have been part of the Circle.
Because, if Cam was out there, dead, it was on his head as much as if was on any ancient terrorist organization. Whether he felt bad about it or not.
And, that made him a bloody awesome punching bag.
"You were the only one," I said through my teeth, "the only one who knew she had the idea in her head. You were the only one that knew. And, you didn't do anything to stop her."
"I didn't know sh—"
"Exactly." I snapped, "You didn't know what she would do. That's because you don't know her. And, that's why this whole searching thing is something you should leave to me."
Zach was silent. The tension in the room was as thick. And, it was quite clear that I had won the power struggle. I had won the battle of strength.
That didn't shock me.
But, what did shock me was the fact that Zach didn't give up. Nor did he continue to fight. He just whirled around like a mad man crunching through papers, disregarding everything I had said, and continued his search for God knows what.
"It's gotta be in here. It's gotta be in here," he said over and over.
"What?"I snarled, "What could possibly be in here?"
And, that's when I realized something.
"Zach, do you know something I don't?" My voice strained at the thought.
No answer."Do you know where Cam is?"
That seemed to make him want to talk, because he whirled on me, gritted his teeth, and said,
"If I did, do you think I would be here?"
Our town house in London was not a shabby place to live. Like, at all.
The walls were all washed a regal white. The furniture, though very prim-and-proper-esque, was worn down to a point perfect for reading books on cloudy days. The wide windows displayed an unbeatable view of the city. And, every time the cold rain blew in, my parents would light the fire place down stairs, and heat would spread wrapping the house in some sort of thick blanket of…home.
Take my word for it. It was a nice place to be.
So, Zach wasn't exactly a prisoner.
But, he made it sound like he was just that. He made it seem like our little London home might as well have been the Circle's headquarters. And, I couldn't blame him. Sitting here, seemingly comfortable, and safe while Cammie was out there alone, and as unsafe as she could ever be. That made me sick.
I couldn't blame him for wanting to be anywhere else.
So, I just shook my head and said, "No."
"I know Iwouldn't be here at least."
He looked at me as if he was surprised I wasn't yelling at him, or prepping to throw him out the window for that matter – which, note, I could still do if all else failed.
And, trust me, I was surprised too.
Two seconds ago, I had enough rage to come through with the whole chucking-him-off-the-balcony idea. But, now, the little loft was quiet, the sound of the streets seeped in through the walls,
and all that was left was my voice saying,
"You really care about her, don't you?"
He turned away from me.
"You do like her." I smirked.
I knew now wasn't the time or the place, but something in me felt my best friend smile.
Wherever she was. And, I wanted to hang onto that.
But, Zach, once more, didn't answer. He just froze for the second time that night, whipped around to face me, his eyes growing wide
"Why are you up?" He asked.
"The light." I pointed at the lamp he was using.
That's when Zach's face dropped.
And, that's when I knew Zach had completely lost it.
He hadn't only gone bonkers, scribbling who knows what on who knows how many legal pads he stole from my dad's office. But, he'd lost his instinct, his training.
The hour told me he didn't want me to see whatever the heck was on those papers, or at least the fact that he was writing them. That was pretty darn clear. But, if you want to hide, your best bet is in plain sight. And, if plain sight isn't an option, always stick to the shadows. That was something I had learned from The Chameleon herself.
But, he had turned on a light, left it on, and got caught.
It was sloppy. And, by the look on his face I could tell he knew that.
By the look on his face I could tell, Zach Goode had officially gone crazy.
He collapsed onto the couch, buried his face in his hands, and if I didn't know any better…
I would have thought he was crying.
Zachary Goode was crying.
(or, at least, that's what it looked like)
And, for some reason, I only just then noticed that everyone around me had hit rock bottom.
There wasn't any strength left. Anywhere.
"Zach, look," I said, but I didn't know how to finish that sentence.
I didn't know where to go with the conversation, whether to comfort him or kick him out.
I didn't know anything anymore.
I felt weaker in that moment than I ever had been before.
And, I couldn't fake it anymore.
My back hit the wall behind me. Slowly, I slid to the floor, and before I knew it. I was crying too.
And, though I wasn't sure why they picked right then to come, I didn't stop the tears. I didn't stop them as I stared out the window, saw the moon and suddenly heard my best friend's voice in my mind.
"Cam-" my voice cracked a little, and Zach looked up but I didn't dare meet his gaze afraid of how much farther I would crumble.
"Cam always used to say that whenever she missed her dad, she would look up at the moon. And, somehow she'd know he was somewhere, watching the moon, and missing her too."
I grimaced at the thought, so hopeful and optimistic.
"But, I can't feel a thing," I said staring at the saucer in the sky, "And, if I could…"
"I'd find a way to let her know that I want to punch her in the face."
Zach chuckled a little then looked out the window too.
"Seems about right."
"It's not your fault, you know" I said honestly, knowing it was the truth
and almost feeling as if Cam had forced me to say it to him.
"I feel like it is." He confessed to the window.
But, as much as I wanted to blame Zach,
it wasn't his fault Cammie was gone. It wasn't my fault either.
We were one in the same, really.
We just both wished it hadn't happened.
We just both wished we had locked her up in that mansion,
chained her to her bed and made her stay.
But, it was foolish to think either of us could ever do that,
even with all the strength in the world.
I guess that's why it was kind of painful to admit the honest truth.
"There was no stopping her…"
To which he replied, "Never is."
"What would you say to her," I asked after awhile,
"if you could say one thing before she left?"
He didn't answer.
So, I did.
"Just come back." I muttered, "I know why you want to leave. I know what you have to do. Just make sure you come back."
"Don't leave." Zach said as if to remind me what was out there, "Don't leave without me."
"We've got to find her, don't we?"
"We have to find her." He said then whispered, "Ihave to find her…"
"Before theydo."
I nodded reluctantly deciding I was going have to spare Zachary Goode.
I was going to have to keep him alive, at least for a little while.
At least until we brought Cam back home.
"Truce?" I stood up, crossed my arms, and looked him in the eye.
He smirked, "Truce."
"Good," I said giving one more look to the moon.
"We'll find you, Cam. And when we do, you better run for your bloody life."
Zach seemed to smile, and with that I reached over and turned off the lamp, leaving him to the moonlight. And, amidst the shadows, I don't know what it was. But, I could see the outline of Zach's face. And, somehow I knew that he wouldn't be staying in our London loft for much longer.
"Do what you have to do," I said to the dark,
"just don't write any more notes. It freaks me out."
"Goodnight, Bex," I heard him say as I turned to the door and disappeared from the lounge.
And, that was the last time I saw Zachary Goode.
Until two weeks later.