And, tada! Here we have a sequel to Fool Me Once, Fool Me Twice. If you haven't read it, then I recommend you do. Even though the first chapter isn't confusing to read out of context, there will be more events and characters coming up from the previous series! Fool Me Once, Fool Me Twice was something I wrote to get out a plot idea I'd had in my head ever since I read the GG series. It was short, and I finished it within a month. Fool's Gold is going to be a little different. It's going to be more character driven, and will deal with different issues, now that our characters are a lot more grown up. I'll also be exploring slightly more descriptive scenes, not just in terms of sexual situations, but also in terms of action, torture, and the fun spy stuff. So, chapter ratings will vary from T to M, with appropriate warnings when necessary.

I also want to add how I will also continue posting deleted scenes for Fool Me Once, so if you're not following that story, then go ahead because I'll be doing that at the same time as updating chapters here.

I would also like to point out that I will not be updating as frequently as I did with Fool Me Once, Fool Me Twice...however, I will not leave with work WIP. So even if updates are further apart, I very much intend on finishing this story because I have a pretty good idea of the plot and how I want to see it progress. But, it'll be a lot longer than Fool Me Once was.

Anyhow, with that out of the way, let's proceed to chapter one.

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to Ally Carter. I don't own copyrights to canon Gallagher Girls series material and only own creative and intellectual property.

Chapter Rating: T

Fool's Gold

Chapter One

I promise you – and these are words not spoken lightly – that there is no better feeling in the world than finding an inviting bed after a long day. This is coming from someone who has been tortured, hunted, and nearly died multiple times. There is no better feeling. So, naturally, when I fumbled my way through the door, routinely double checked the locks, tried to remain half-awake through a shower, and finally lay down on my bed – I was out in a matter of minutes.

Perhaps it would be easier to explain the source of this exhaustion if I were to throw in some context. As a fit, twenty-five year old bartender-slash-waitress-by-day-government-agent-by-night who spent most of her time on her feet, you would think I'd have better stamina. But, let it be said, that majority of my time when I wasn't cleaning tables and/or fighting three guys at once, I was trying to catch up on some shut-eye. After all, when one didn't get the right amount of recuperation, one also tended to burn out.

So, when I finally had a weekend to myself, I took full advantage. Sure, it was a bit of a damper that I didn't have Zach by my side yet, but that was one of the few things we'd had to get used to when we moved in together. Being a spy in a relationship with a spy meant that there were days when he sat in the office of the architectural firm he worked at, pretending to be the good designer that he surprisingly was, while I probably ran through sewers in New Delhi. And then, there were days like today, when he zip-lined (probably) between skyscrapers in Paris (I'm assuming – it's all very classified until it's all mission accomplished and paper work filed), while the highlight of my night was that nobody puked all over my work space. Like I said – there was no better feeling than crashing.

That is probably why I barely registered the familiar hum of the burglar alarms being turned on, even though I'd explicitly left them turned off for when he returned. It's why I didn't shift, even once, when a body quietly moved through the halls, dropping a bag on the inside of my bedroom door. And it's why I smiled lazily, instead of jumped, when I heard the shower turn on and finally opened my eyes to see the sliver of light under the bathroom door. Only Zach would kick some ass, fly halfway around the world in a matter of twenty-four hours, and still have the strength to take a shower before getting into bed. Sometimes, living with a neat-freak was a pain. But sometimes, it was worth it.

I finally turned under the covers, my joints popping deliciously, as he turned off the bathroom light and slipped under the sheets. He smelled like peppermint, and heaven, and Zach. I smiled in my half-awake state, letting him pull me closer.

"You're back," I whispered, my voice scratchy.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered back, kissing my forehead when I put my head on his chest, finding comfort in the steady sound of his heartbeat.

"What time is it?"

"Four in the morning. Sleep."

"I missed you," I whined under my breath, already feeling myself losing consciousness.

"I missed you more," were the last words I heard before I fell asleep, again. As much as I wanted to stay awake and welcome him properly, I was just too tired.

"You're very tired, aren't you, Cammie?"

"Yes."

"That's okay."

It was easy. All I had to do was jump. I looked down at the ground below me, through the rain, ignoring the chill of the ice under my feet. But the grass looked so inviting, so warm. It was like a magic trick – like a circus. I laughed.

In the distance, the tail lights vanished, and I looked up, squinting at the sun. The rays reflected off the ice and my eyes closed, my feet stepping off the ledge, and into oblivion.

I shot up, my hands flying to my chest where my heart was racing. The early morning sunlight filtered through the blinds and I squinted, turning away harshly. I was alive. I was okay. I hadn't died.

A warm hand touched my waist and I jumped violently, nearly tumbling out of bed.

"Hey. Hey, it's me, Cam," the owner of the hand said, tugging me closer. I fell back into the sheets, burying my face in his chest, breathing deeply.

"I'm s-sorry," I finally said, looking up at Zach. His eyes widened and he shook his head, kissing my forehead. My eyes closed, and he kissed the lids too, pressing soft kisses all over my face.

"Don't be. It's not your fault."

"I woke you up," I insisted, trying to blink away the images.

"Not really," he said, and I opened my eyes and propped my head on his chest, noticing the lack of sleepiness in his eyes and the lit up Kindle on the nightstand. I raised a curious eyebrow.

"Slept on the plane. Jetlag," he said, by way of explanation. Then he pulled me closer, wrapping me up in a tight hug as if he could protect me from the nightmares. I didn't really blame him for trying. There were enough nights when I had to hold him and rock him back to sleep when he woke up gasping for air.

I guess I should've mentioned that, too.

Even though sleep is the absolute best, it can be the absolute worst, too.

"Was it the attic again?" he whispered gently, not wanting to push me, but wanting an idea of what words to not mention around me for the rest of the day. The attic. That was my mind's favorite memory to throw at me – the room I'd been tortured in during that fateful summer. Of course, in the years since, I'd had tons of more trysts with death and pain. But my mind always reverted to the nightmares of the teenager who'd been on the run; the innocent girl who had died in the hands of the Circle.

I shook my head.

"No. It was the balcony," I replied, not meeting his eye. The balcony. My mind's second favorite scab to pick at. It wasn't so much the memory of feeling at peace with the idea of falling to my death, as it had to do with the humiliation, and feeling of violation, at being mind-controlled and forced into the situation. The first few times Zach had woken me up from it, I'd barely been able to look him in the eye. But now, it was easier, knowing that he wasn't going to judge me for it.

He tightened his arms, and the feel of him around me, and the faded smell of his soap enveloping me was the best comforter ever. He didn't say anything, and I imagine he was reliving it himself.

I'd once asked him to talk to me about it, to hear his version of events during that messy year. At first – the summer before Georgetown and when we'd first moved to New York - it had been difficult for him to articulate how he'd felt. He'd chosen to simply narrate events of how he found Bex, how the Baxters took him in, Greece, Budapest. Then he'd moved onto the more difficult narrations – him running away, him trying to find me, him trying to find Catherine, him having to come back after failing. But then, when he'd had no more stories to tell, he'd told me the stories of how terrified he'd been when he was awake, and the terrors that met him when he slept. In the dark of the night, he told me how Macey had found him that night, worried after I hadn't returned from my appointment with Dr. Steve, and how they'd found my note in his office. Then he told me how his heart had stopped when he heard Liz's screams for help and had reached just in time to watch me pitch myself off the fifth floor.

And then, for the first time since I'd met him, he'd held me in the quiet of the sunrise and cried. We'd wept together, letting ourselves fall apart amidst the comfort of our first home, as the sunlight hit the bare walls.

Now, six years later, the sunlight hit pale yellow walls, glinting off the photos of us, our family, and our friends. I watched it, sighing deeply, and then let myself rise up and out of bed. Immediately, the chill hit me. Although the thermostat kept the apartment warm, the bed was warmer. I welcomed it, letting it wake me up completely. Zach simply propped himself up on his elbow, watching me take a few gulps from the water bottle on my nightstand. Beside it, the light on my phone indicated unread notifications.

I picked it up and walked out of the room, hearing him get out of bed and follow me. Turning on the coffee machine in the kitchen, I sat on the bar stool while he sat across from me, his eyes glued to the Kindle, again.

"What are you reading?" I asked, while going through notifications. A text from my daytime boss wishing me a good weekend, a text from Abby wishing me a good weekend on behalf of Townsend (my other boss), two texts from Liz confirming our lunch date. There were a couple of emails I ignored, none catching my eye.

"Hmm…just let me finish this chapter," Zach said, flipping a page on the screen in front of him. "Then I'll make breakfast."

"Let me," I insisted, feeling bad for waking up so suddenly, even though I knew he didn't hold it against me.

"No, really," he laughed, and I pouted. Okay, so he was a much more gifted cook than I was. It's not like I was hopeless in the kitchen. I could make a digestible pancake or two. Even scramble some eggs. If it was a decent night, I could even make some good pasta. But when it came down to which meal was tastier, he won the competition. It took him a few seconds to finish reading whatever chapter he was reading now, before he turned the device off and moved to the fridge.

"Bacon and sunny side up?" he asked, grabbing the carton of eggs.

"Yes, please," I smiled, joining him and pouring myself a coffee. I would've hopped up on the counter beside him to watch him cook – and he would have let me too; anything to make me comfortable on a morning that started out so shaky. But I knew how it would secretly get to him that I was sitting on a space meant to prepare food. Instead, I sat on the closest stool to him and tucked my feet under me, content with my coffee.

"How was Paris? Or – was it Paris?" I asked, wrapping my fingers around the warm mug.

"Piece of cake," he snorted, cracking an egg into the greased skillet. "It's almost like they want to give me information. And then they think they can win a losing fight by pulling guns. Amateur."

I smiled at his confidence, glad that his mission had been a success. Maybe that's why he wasn't as exhausted. Still, I let my eyes linger on whatever skin I could see around the thin white t-shirt and grey boxers. They narrowed on some bruises bubbling on his right calf, and a scrape or two across his left forearm. I noticed a smaller scrape at the back of his neck, and remembered the hint of a bruise on his forehead earlier. But what caught my eye was a dark line on his back, glinting through the shirt. As if cowering under my glare, a bubble of blood seeped into the material.

Immediately, I stood up, abandoning the coffee on the island. He turned around, hearing the scrape of the stool I'd left.

"Wha – hey," he complained as I turned him around and lifted up the shirt. "Handling hot utensils here."

"Zach," I snapped. "You're bleeding."

"It's nothing, Gallagher Girl," he sighed, putting the egg on a plate, and tossing in a few strips of bacon, as if he was used to my constant scrutiny.

I ignored it, bending down till I was at eye level with the cut. It slashed across his back, but it wasn't as deep as I'd feared. Of course, I was comforted knowing that he'd had to go through a mandatory checkup before being debriefed – like all agents did – and would've received appropriate medical attention. This one didn't even need stitches. I gently touched the spot where the bubble of blood had made itself known, and he hissed under his breath when I made contact. Wiping it away, I watched as no more blood sprang up. I let the shirt slide back down and straightened up as he turned around again.

"See? I told you it's nothing," he said, putting an arm around my waist while his other hand wielded a spatula.

"Doesn't mean I can't worry," I replied as he pulled me closer, putting my arms around him and standing on my tip toes to kiss his neck. He turned his head and intercepted it with his lips. I hummed in delight, letting him pull me tighter against him, his lips moving against mine as if he'd been away forever. I suppose, in my world I'd only gone a day without him. In his world, he'd been in another country and fighting some drug lord, and wanted to be reminded of his simpler life back home. I let him kiss me for a few more minutes before pulling away and breathing deeply. He turned back to the breakfast, a slight flush across his neck. I grinned, pressing a quick kiss to his chest. He returned it by letting his hand slide down lower and playfully smacking my ass.

My only response was to steal a strip of still-hot bacon, laughing as he complained about table manners.

"Must you leave?" he whined, a few hours later, watching me run around the room. The breakfast had been heavenly, and we'd snuggled up under a blanket later, watching the episodes of Quantico that he'd recorded the previous weekend while I'd been in Beijing. That, of course, had led to a debate about the authenticity of the crime shows we watched. He strongly believed in artistic licensing, citing examples from books he'd read. I, on the other hand, simply found it boring when something seemed unlikely to happen. Naturally, the heated debate had turned into heated making out, which found its way to our bed for heated sex. By the time my alarm chimed at noon, neither of us could move from the twisted sheets we lay on.

Now, I was scrambling, because I was supposed to meet Liz for lunch, in five minutes. I hopped from one foot to the other while trying to simultaneously zip up boots and put on some lip balm. Not having the time to do anything with my hair, I simply tossed it into a bun and grabbed my jacket. Zach groaned as he sat up in bed. I eyed the slightly red marks on his neck and chest, courtesy of my nails, and was sorely tempted to just jump back into bed. But, I hadn't met Liz in nearly four months and we'd been planning this lunch for weeks. Or rather, she had, while I simply nodded, too excited to meet her.

"Say hello to her from me," Zach finally said, when I reached down to give him a quick kiss goodbye.

"Will do," I replied, grabbing my keys and purse.

"And tell her to say hello to Jonas from me, too!" he hollered as I walked out of the room. I made an affirmative noise as I breezed through the apartment, and shut the door behind me.

As I checked my wallet to make an inventory of the cash situation, I thanked my lucky stars that Liz had decided on an outdoor lunch in Central Park. I'd told her about an amazing falafel stand near one of the many gates to the Park, and it was only a few blocks down from our apartment building. As I quickly walked in the right direction, I unzipped my jacket. The fall chill was evident in the air, but the sun was shining bright, and I decided to make the most of it. Of course, I'd already known it would be a warm day, since Liz had planned an outdoor lunch after checking up all sorts of weather prediction algorithms.

"Cammie!" I heard her squeal in delight, as soon as she spotted me. I grinned and threw my arms around her, hearing her laugh as I nearly lifted her off the ground.

"I missed you," I smiled, as soon as I pulled away. "Look at you! You're so pale! You are not getting enough sun in Moscow!"

She laughed again, shrugging. After she'd finished her research work in California, Liz had been referred to another research facility in Moscow, by way of one Jonas Anderson. A few months after Liz had moved, he'd moved there too, wrapping up his work in Tokyo. They'd spent the past four years there, working on some spy technology or other, under grants from the Russian government. Of course, that was just a cover, while they also ran intel for some of the deep cover American spies in the country. Currently, Liz was corresponding with a research facility at Columbia University, and her first step had been to come see me.

"Zach sends his greetings for you, and Jonas," I added. She beamed, but I'd known her for more than ten years. And, also, I was a spy. It wasn't difficult to notice the way her smile faltered by a minute degree, and her eyes tightened at the mention of her boyfriend. I narrowed my eyes at her, but decided to save the questioning until after we were fed. Ordering two falafels for each of us, and two cans of Coke Zero, we walked through the park arm-in-arm until we found a bench for us to sit on.

"So," I started, after I'd scarfed down the first falafel. She raised her eyebrows curiously, mid bite.

"Don't act like I didn't notice your face when I mentioned Jonas," I said. She made a face, turning a little red, taking her own sweet time to chew and delay the inevitable.

"Liz…" I said in a warning tone.

"What?" she asked, after taking a sip of soda to wash down the food. "It's nothing. We may have had an argument before I left for New York. We've actually been having a lot of those."

The way she added the fact in a morose voice had me frowning. Her and Jonas arguing? That was something I found difficult to believe. Sure, we'd never actually seen much of their relationship with our eyes, but arguing was something that fit more with Grant and Bex – who argued a lot. How he'd gotten her to say yes to a marriage proposal was beyond any of our sensibilities. Even Zach and I argued frequently enough, both of us too stubborn for our own good. But from what I'd seen of Liz and Jonas, they were cute and quiet and adorable. I couldn't imagine them fighting. Especially frequently.

"Argument about what?" I asked.

"It's nothing," she insisted.

"It's something if it's bothering you. And if it bothers you, it bothers me. So, spill," I said. "Or I'll call Macey."

"Okay," she said, crushing the falafel wrapper and tossing it in the trash. If anyone could get it out of her, it was Macey and Bex – the former with incessant questioning, and the latter with bodily threats to Jonas. Neither seemed like things Liz wanted.

"You know how this Moscow thing was only supposed to be for two years, right?" she started, and I nodded in encouragement. "Well, after the two-year contract finished, Jonas and I decided that we really liked Moscow. We liked being away from all the drama and the danger, and the constant worrying. Jonas is like me – as in, we don't come from a family of spies. And while that's awesome in a lot of ways, it's also really tiring. I mean, I can't even begin to explain how angry Ellie was when I barely made it to her high school graduation. But it was nice, you know? It was like our own world."

"I'm sensing a but –"

"But," Liz sighed, giving me a sad look. "I miss home. I miss America. Jonas doesn't. I want to move back here, but he wants to stay there because he's been looking into more career prospects within Russia – or, at least, Asia. He doesn't wanna come back here, and I don't wanna stay there anymore. Not for the rest of my life, anyway. And – and I think if we don't come to a compromise soon, we're going to break up."

She sounded so forlorn that I immediately put my arms around her, pulling her into a hug. The protective, best friend in me cursed Jonas for not understanding Liz's needs. But, from the point of view of someone in a relationship, I knew, logically, his needs were as important as hers. I'd been lucky Zach wanted to settle in New York; just as Bex had been lucky when Grant started working in the CIA foreign alliances department, allowing him to settle in London. Macey didn't have any such problems, since none of her boyfriends so far had been serious enough for her to worry about settling. But Liz had this real problem in front of her.

"Liz, I'm sorry," I said, pulling back from the hug. "I can't even imagine how difficult it must be."

"What do I do, Cammie?" she asked, tucking back a lock of bright blonde hair.

"You know me," I cringed. "I suck at boyfriend advice."

"You know who would know?" she asked.

"Macey," we said at once. Liz smiled sadly, pulling out her tablet and opening her video chat app. She lit up when she noticed Macey was online. Immediately, she hit the call button and a few seconds later, Macey's face appeared on the screen.

"Hi!" Macey grinned, and then her grin widened when she noticed me in the corner of the screen.

"Cammie! Ugh, you lucky girls. I can't believe you're together right now," she complained, wrinkling her nose. I noticed that her diamond stud had been replaced with a smaller, subtler silver one.

Liz opened her mouth to explain the reason we'd called, but Macey held up a finger.

"Hold on. I'm calling Bex – Hey! Bex! Come online!" she spoke into her phone, and then cut the call. We waited patiently for a few more seconds, before the screen split into two and Bex's face took up the other side of the chat. The lighting around her reminded us how she was in a completely different time zone, already into evening.

"Can we take a moment to appreciate how all of us happen to be free right now?" Bex said.

"Okay, but not too many moments. Sparrow is almost done with lunch, and then she wants to go to the mall," Macey said, speaking of the President's daughter, Charlotte, in code words.

"What's up? Liz, you look like your cat died," Bex said, frowning.

"Heisenberg is just fine, thank you," Liz said, rolling her eyes, before she narrated the exact dilemma she'd narrated to me. As expected, Bex's initial reaction was to hunt down Jonas and blackmail him. This was followed not only by Liz telling her to back off, but also a confused and slightly horrified Grant in the background, who'd overheard the threat towards his best friend. Macey merely frowned, before finally shushing all of us.

"Okay, honestly, Liz? It's a catch-22. If you think your relationship is worth the sacrifice, then you've got to make the effort to make the move with him. Maybe the global opportunity will be good for you, you know?"

Liz opened her mouth to protest, but Macey continued.

"But, if you need to move back here and aren't willing to sacrifice, then you have to come back. It's your life, and it's your career. The same goes for him. He has to choose what's important to him. And if your needs don't match – then, I'm sorry, Bookworm. But you can't be with someone who holds you back; and you can't hold him back either."

Liz nodded, as if she'd known this all along. I put an arm around her to comfort her, and she leaned her head onto my shoulder. We stayed that way for a few more minutes before Macey apologized and said she had to leave – not before she reminded Liz that no matter her decision, she'd always have us by her side. Bex reiterated the sentiment with slightly more vigor and passion, and then disconnected after Grant kept interrupting her to find out what was happening with Jonas. Liz turned off the tablet and put it back in her bag. We both remained silent, watching the sunlight slowly hide behind the grey clouds that rolled in.

"What?" Liz looked up, horrified. "There's supposed to be no rain! Clear skies!"

I laughed, tossing the remaining food wrappers and empty soda cans into the trash. Liz continued to look flabbergasted as I dragged her out of the park and she walked me down to my apartment building.

"I still don't get it – I mean the meteorological report –"

"Okay, Liz. I don't care. It's okay," I chuckled, and then pulled her into another hug.

"Are you sure you don't want me to drop you to Columbia?" I asked.

"No," she sighed, giving up the flustered argument about the weather. "I'll be fine. I have got some thinking to do, evidently."

"And you know Zach and I are just a phone call away?" I reminded her.

She nodded, smiling.

"And you'll meet us for dinner before you have to leave tomorrow?"

"Yes. I promise," she said, hugging me again before she flagged down a taxi. I stayed there until the yellow car was out of sight, and then climbed back up to the apartment.

"Zach?" I called out as soon as I entered, hanging my coat on the hooks near the door.

"In here!" he called out from the study. The study – or the guest room, really – was the other room in our two bedroom apartment. We rarely had guests, usually spending holidays and reunions at Gallagher, or in London. For the most part, Zach had converted the room into a study, fully utilizing the bookcase, as well as installing a desk for the stacks of blueprints he needed for his work as an architect. The other side of the room had two separate filing cabinets, for each of our case files – at least the ones that were safe to leave a CIA facility. I left my shoes in our bedroom before making my way to the other room, flopping down on the bed that was never slept in.

"How was lunch?" he asked, looking up from the design board.

"Dramatic," I sighed. "Liz and Jonas might break up."

Zach frowned, and I wondered who he was more worried about – Liz or Jonas. I waved the thought away, knowing that he counted both as close friends. Honestly, I think the thing that was bothering all of us was the reality of breaking up. Macey and Preston had been fairly young, and not-so-serious, when they'd been doing whatever it was that they were. Josh and I (I ignored the slight sting I still felt when I thought of his death) were doomed to begin with. But other than that, our lives had been so entirely not normal, that our relationships and friendships were the only normalcy we had. It wasn't just the spy business that brought us together – it was the Gallagher and Blackthorne thing. We were a very tightly knit sisterhood, and brotherhood. We'd always assumed we'd all remain together, so it seemed almost awkward to admit that things didn't always work out, even if you were on the same playing field. I shuddered at the idea of that ever happening to Bex's or, worse, my relationship.

I turned to watch Zach studying the sketching paper in front of him. It had a calming effect, watching him work – a lot like I used to feel when I used to watch Liz read or listen to audio lectures. It had been a pleasant surprise when Zach had first told me the cover he'd been assigned, something that had been assigned after calculating his extra-curricular interests from his Blackthorne reports. You could've colored me surprise when I realized he could draw. What could this boy not do? He read, he cooked, he was a brilliant dancer (and a hottie) and now he drew. And this was all without considering what a good agent he was. It was almost annoying. But he'd simply shrugged and smirked in the way that he did, and I'd let it go. It's not like he'd had other options - he'd been all for becoming a cook or even fixing cars in a garage. But, at least, one of us needed a job that looked like it paid enough for us to afford this apartment, without the money we earned from the government.

And it's not like I didn't have equally appealing options for a cover. After all, I'd completed a good chunk of my psychology degree from Georgetown – enough to earn an internship in counseling services. If not, I'd even had the option of doing a nursing degree and joining a hospital. But being in a counseling or a medical environment didn't seem like enough of an escape from an already do-or-die life. Besides, I didn't really want to study anymore. I already knew PhD level sciences, math, and politics. I did graduate from a school for geniuses. I didn't need more. So, bar-tending it had been. It took a lot more elbow grease, but it kept me moving and happy – and on a bad day, I could rely on a good shot or two to keep me from punching someone in the face.

"What thoughts are you lost in?" Zach asked, and I realized I'd zoned out while staring at him. I shook my head and stood up. This entire Liz and Jonas dilemma was getting to me more than it ought to. After all, as their friend, it was my job only to make sure I was there for both of them. Still, a nervous flutter settled inside me, worrying about the possibility of Zach and I ever facing an issue we couldn't compromise on.

"Nothing. I'm going to take a nap, and then maybe afterwards I can get started on dinner," I said, kissing the top of his head as I stood up, frowning at the dark clouds churning outside. Liz's weather prediction was out the window (no pun intended), as I watched the slight drizzle start, threatening a storm within a few hours.

"Weather's really picking up," Zach frowned as well, turning in his chair to look out the window.

"Yeah," I mumbled, not wanting to jinx it by mentioning how it seemed like an omen.