Chapter 14 is up.

Warning - I'm not very good with fluff. I don't even know if you can call this (some of it) fluff. I apologize for any grammatical/spelling errors.

keep calm and read on;

My eyes opened to see the sky had turned from blue to black with glittering stars, the curtains drawn acting as if it were framing the picture. I realized I had slept for awhile before realizing something else.

I also got this … feeling. A feeling that I hadn't had in what seemed like years, but was so familiar that it was as if the last time I felt it, it was only yesterday. It was the same feeling I felt when I was on the plane to Paris for the mission, and the one I got in the women's washroom in the bar when I met Nicholas. And I knew, like usual, there could only be one thing causing it.

I rolled off the couch as quietly as I could before managing to crawl and stand up, my back against the wall beside my bedroom door. I breathed deeply, then spun to the open doorway and ran in, pushing him down onto the bed.

"I knew it," I looked him dead in the eyes, my hands gripping his shoulders tightly, "What are you doing here?"

He gripped my shoulders as well, then rolled over so that he was on top now, looking at me. "Well, you don't look at all surprised to see me. And I was expecting a little more enthusiasm … you know, maybe a welcome back party?"

"Oh, you want enthusiasm?" I smirked, then releasing my grip, used my hands to punch him in the shoulder and doing it again a number of times. I pushed him off of me, continuing to punch him, "You son of a—"

"Now, now, easy, Gallagher Girl," He recoiled, as my punches seemed to knock the wind out of him. But I didn't really care.

"YOU." Punch. "MADE." Punch. "ME." Punch. "THINK YOU WERE." Punch. "DEAD." Final punch which sent him back, doubled down, coughing. And that's when I noticed the blood on his shirt.

"Oh, my god, what happened?"

"Just a scratch," He winced, trying to hide the pain in his voice, "I'm okay."

I led him to my bed, where he sat down while I examined the cut on his chest. It didn't look too deep, but it had to be cleaned up.

"Ugh," I left the room and came back with a bowl of warm water and a cloth. I opened his shirt, dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed at the blood on his chest. "Make me think you killed yourself, and then come into my house, practically dead … you selfish bastard."

"Aw, you missed me," Even through the pain, he still managed to be as smug as ever.

"Don't get your hopes up." I wrung the cloth and cleaned the wound.

"You didn't seem surprised to see me." He repeated, subtly trying to be nonchalant though I knew he was genuinely curious.

"I just knew you weren't dead." I said, not looking up at him, "You were sloppy. That audio file of you calling Emergency Services – after you 'jumped', the phone hung up. Who would hang up the phone? My curtains were drawn, when I knew I closed them—" I stopped there. I couldn't tell him about the feeling I had. I'd be boosting his ego, which was high enough already.

"And?" Zach asked, "You didn't seem finished."

"I just … knew." I replied shortly. "I had a feeling."

I hadn't cried yet, I thought.

"Oh, your Zach senses were tingling?" He gave me his infamous smirk.

"You know, for a dead guy, it's amazing how full of yourself you still are."

"I'll take that as you missed me," He winked. I gave him a fake laugh, before punching him in the shoulder again. He winced and I left and came back to cover his wound with a bandage.

"Take it off."

"What?"

"Take it off," I repeated.

"Whoa there, Gallagher Girl, we gotta keep it strictly G-rated—"

"Your shirt, idiot. Take it off." I turned to rummage through my closet and tossed a jacket to him. "Wear this while I wash your shirt."

"Can't stop looking at me?" He teased.

"Just shut up and do as I say."

He winked again to piss me off, then took off his shirt, threw it to me while he put on the jacket.

"Perfect fit," He smirked before looking down and realizing something, "Wait … is this my jacket?"

"Oh, um, yeah," I said coolly.

"You kept it all these years?" He smiled.

I left to put his shirt in the wash and came back. "Well, don't feel special. I just haven't cleaned out my closet in a while."

He smirked as usual, and lay down on the bed. I decided it was time to interrogate him.

"So," I began, "Why are you here and not … you know, dead?"

"Why? Do you want me dead?"

"No," I replied instinctively, "I mean, what's up with the public 'suicide'?"

"Well, just cause you put away the head and her little monkey doesn't mean it's over. Some of the Circle was still out there. I just had to finish the job."

"That doesn't explain why you had to kill yourself," I pointed out.

"Well … some guys in the CIA had the same idea as me, and since we had a bit of a run-in and they recognized me as someone they were quite interested in interrogating—" He explained.

"You had to get off the grid by making them think you died," I finished.

He nodded his assent when I asked after, "Well, why'd you apologize to me and come here?"

I saw the boy in front of me change covers from Zach Goode, the spy to Zach Goode, the boy who had nothing else in the world. "I just wanted to make things right," he responded quietly.

Going after the rest of the Circle, finishing my father's mission; saying I'm sorry before he plunged to his 'death' … it was for me?

I gulped. "So, why are you here? Why'd you come back to see me?"

He stood up to meet my eyes, brown on brown. "I think you know why."

"If I knew," I breathed, not taking my eyes of his, "I wouldn't be asking."

He reached up to brush a strand of hair out of my face. "I had to say goodbye."

"What?" I stepped back a little while he stammered out, "Gallagher Girl, I can't stay here. I have to go on the move."

"But they-they think you're dead!"

"I have to hide. They might find me."

"I … I'll go with you." The words were out of my mouth before I knew I said them.

He smiled softly, stepped closer, closing the distance between us. I knew we were both thinking of that time years ago, when the roles were reversed—when I was thinking of running away, and Zach and wanted to come with me.

"You can't leave again," he reminded me, "I'm not safe, Gallagher Girl. There's nothing here for me."

"What about me?" I whispered, so quiet I thought he wouldn't hear me, but as he had always reminded me, he was a spy. In response, he pressed his lips to my forehead softly.

"So that's it? You're just gonna leave? Again?" I stepped back.

"Life isn't a fairytale, Gallagher Girl. Sometimes it is, but for spies? It's never a fairytale." He turned around, about to leave when I heard him whisper, "I'm sorry. For everything."

He was about to start to walk out when I spoke up. "I forgive you."

He turned back to face me. "What?"

"I can't not forgive you, Zach. You weren't the only one that killed … my dad killed your dad, too." I remembered the tape of my dad and Cassandra Goode, that fact only realized now.

I hadn't received the reaction I expected from Zach. I had expected him to be relieved. After all he'd done, just for me … I expected him to finally be at peace. Instead he stood in front of me, "No. You're not supposed to forgive me. You're not, that way I can leave more easily and I know you'll forget me and you let me go—"

"I can't," I admitted, my guard down after the longest time of it being up, "I can't let you go."

He stared into my eyes for the longest time until he swooped down, our lips meeting, his hands in my hair, pulling me closer to him. There was nothing but me and him and the kiss. I felt my stomach churning until we pulled away, our foreheads resting on the other, breathing deeply.

Zach kissed my lips lightly again, before he did what he did best. He left.

Almost done!

dftba;
-S