I disclaim.

A/N: Sorry it took so long, this was a hard one to write. Also a warning: I drop the F bomb in here a couple times. Tried to avoid it but it was in character.

Zach Goode

Zach could be charming or obnoxious or annoying or sweet. Or anything except himself. Changing your personality was like putting on a pair of shoes—you changed for the occasion. He'd been taught from a young age that people changed depending on who was around. His foster father was a charming guy when Joe deigned to come by and a real bastard when he was beating his frustration into him. Personality was a choice or a weakness, and no matter which it was better to keep them guessing.

But Cammie didn't want any of his masks. She wanted him, no bullshit. Cammie, who was sweet and kind and innocent—everything he wasn't. Or was he? He was sure he wasn't innocent but for the rest… he'd been changing for other people so long he couldn't quite remember who he was.

Who are you?

A simple question really. Children could answer, the kindergarteners who ate crayons and sixteen year olds who barely knew where they were through hazes of various drugs: each one had an answer, an identity. I'm Annie Parsons, I'm Alexander Thomas. I'm smart, I'm caring, I'm rebellious.

He was no one.

What was his real name? Was it Zach? Something more exotic? He'd always felt like a Fitzpatrick or a Carlos. And if he didn't know his name how could he decide his identity? Counselors, teachers, mentors, enemies—each one had pressured him to make a decision to choose a personality. It fit better into their little square molds of who a person should be, why he was. A loose cannon, an angry orphan, a smart troublemaker. He could be anything, so long as chose. But it was impossible—how could he be one person for the rest of his life? What if halfway through he decided it would be better to be a villain than a hero?

He was a spy.

What else was there?

Cammie asked him questions he couldn't answer. Made him think. But she never made him choose. He was sweet and then snarky and sometimes angry and she just handed him all his shit on a platter. And then threw it in his face.

Over the years she'd never asked more of him than he could give. Three years of meetings in dark hallways and empty houses and stolen moments. Of laughing and crying and fucking and a few injuries he preferred to forget about.

Three years playing double agent to the Circle and being anyone but himself and now it was the moment of truth. For the first time in his life he needed to answer the question. Who are you? He could be the right hand of the Circle or he could be Zach Goode, spy but overall nice guy. Two plane tickets sat in front of him, one stapled to a paper, time and date, location and name written in harsh, small letters.

Cameron Morgan. Gallagher Academy. 16 May. 1200hrs.

The other was inside an envelope, along with a thick invitation, its cursive embossing promising him a warm smile.

We are pleased to invite you to the Graduation of Cameron Ann Morgan. Ceremonies begin noon of May 16th, on the gardens of the Gallagher Academy for Exceptional Young Women. Dress is formal and invitations must be presented upon arrival. We thank you for your support of our graduates and look forward to your attendance.

The Morgan Family

He was sure Cammie had forced her mother to send it—Rachel had warmed only slightly. But here it was, a possible defining moment. Zach Goode, Cameron Morgan's boyfriend. In that role he could be nothing but himself, which was an intimidating thought, considering he wasn't quite sure himself was worth it. This was Cammie's way of finally pressuring him. Last time he'd seen her, hurriedly dressing before her train left, taking her back to the safe bubble that was her life, she'd hinted that it was coming. Nowhere to go himself, he'd still been in bed, enjoying watching her lithe, conservative moments. Then she'd turned to him and dropped the bomb that was currently ticking in his mind.

"Are we a couple?" Pushing long hair away from her face, she never stared at him, barely even looked as she pulled on boots.

"Well we certainly did some coupling a couple hours ago." He smirked, always ready for a verbal round or two.

But she wasn't playing. "I'm serious. Because yesterday I was tapped for a CIA operation in Budapest and I was sitting there, thinking 'I can't take this, because I don't know if Zach can get away, and this a two year deep cover surveillance situation.' And that was a little frickin' upsetting because I'm not that girl—the one that makes life decisions depending on a boy. I hate those girls. And then I thought 'Well even so, I don't know if it would matter because my mother was basically gone the first year of parent's relationship and that obviously worked out fine right?' And then it struck me—'we' aren't in a relationship. We're not in anything." She took a breath, slipping her gun into her ankle holster and, for a moment, being still. He'd never seen the Chameleon, the girl who never stood out, be so out of place as when she was sitting on that ugly carpet, looking embarrassed and insecure. "I understand why we've never defined this. It's complicated. We're complicated. But soon I graduate, and that's one of those moments when you're supposed to be able to stand up and know, just for a moment, that you're going to be alright and have a plan. My plan can involve you. Or not. I'm a big girl—I can kill a man and everything—you leaving will not ruin my life."

He took a deep inhale himself. "We're a couple. If I choose anyone, I choose you."

She stood and walked to the door, bag on her shoulder and leaned against the cheap wood, still not meeting his eye. "But I love you. We've never said it but… there." He stayed silent. "This is a lot. I understand that. But right now—we just had sex in some stranger's house. My mother has no idea where I am. I've avoided the hard questions, I have never asked for more than you can give, and right now I'm baring my soul and you can't even open yourself up enough to placate me into forgetting about this whole thing. So…I need you to figure yourself out. Because I can't give up fantastic opportunities in foreign countries for a relationship composed of me and whoever-the-hell-you-are-at-the-moment. It's pathetic. It's April. In May I plan to accept my diploma and get started with whatever's thrown at me. I'd like to start with you, but I need you, not a legend. Come and be with me. But don't come and be someone else."

And then she was gone, down the stairs, and away again. As he stripped the bed for the out of town owners the words had been picking away at his head. She wanted him. But who was he?

Who was he?

And wasn't it selfish of her really? To make ultimatums like that? She'd seen the scars and the darkness—knew it was hard for him to decide, to be exposed. He would what? Go to this graduation and meet her grandparents, wear a suit and take her out to dinner, in a tactical nightmare restaurant where all they'd think about was how many ways there food could be poisoned the second they put their orders in? Never.

Now he looked at the two tickets, same destination. One choice would neuter him, force him into a mold of boyfriend. The other would force him into a role of murderer.

He'd killed before and not thought a second of it. Yes the first time he'd puked, all over his shoes, sickened by the brain matter more than his actions. You didn't become a field agent without the understanding that life was fragile. Killing was easy. The Circle was asking him to murder. To point his gun at Cammie's soft, pink skin and pull the trigger as many times as he needed. When the ticket came he hadn't been surprised. You can only hunt to capture for so long. Eventually you had to step up the game, had to cut your losses.

If he killed Cammie he wouldn't vomit. He'd put the gun to his head and pull the trigger. But he'd be free.

No responsibility or guilt. No girlfriend. No identity. He'd die never able to answer the question that had plagued him since he was that snot faced kindergartener.

Who are you?

He picked up the invitation, suddenly sure for the first time in a long time. Sure since the first day he laid eyes on the plain, beautiful, quiet, everything girl in the Mall.

Good or bad, charming or obnoxious, he was Zach Goode. He was dangerous, he was lost… he was whipped. And he was in love. Zach Goode was in love with Cameron Morgan and he was her boyfriend. It wasn't much and it would probably get them both killed, but it was who he was.