Authors note: Well hello my perfect little spying munchkins of old! It might please you to know that I'm updating these next two chapters together because for starters this one is kind of not exciting in anyway what so ever, whereas the next one will hopefully get your little fangirl hearts pounding with Zammie worry and joy (YOU HEARD RIGHT! IT'S FINALLY STARTING! IT'S HERE! EVERYBODY DO THE CONGA!(Although now I've told you that I kind of want to make you wait a little longer)and now I guess I have a lot to live up to). Also, they kind of fit together, they could be one chapter really, I just think it works better with the next chapter being on its own. In fact this was supposed to go in the last Chapter somewhere ,but I just couldn't fit it in, so now we've travelled slightly back in time so we can jump straight back to the damp and depressing cell we left Cammie in. There's not really anymore to say but ENJOY AGAINST YOUR WILL!

P.s. Super tired and I can't update these at any other time today but I promised you a wednesday update. They've only been half proof read so I'll do it properly as soon as I can.

Disclaimer: Look, I'll call you when I own Gallagher Girls, okay? 'Cause it still ain't hapening!...jeez...*walks off stage.*

Chapter. 14 - The Adults.

Matthew Morgan sat with his head against the cars window, at some point Rachel had slipped her hand into his. A CIA driver sat ignoring them in the front, but Rachel couldn't keep her eyes of her husbands face. There was something wrong with him, he had been getting more and more closed off and worse for days. The headmistress couldn't help but feel more than a little guilty Matt appeared to be taking their daughters reapearing situation worse than her. They were both her parents, weren't they supposed to be dealing with this together? She had always thought it, but despite her constant bravery Rachel had never geared up the strength to ask her husband more, that there was something about Cammie and the Circle and this whole situation Matt wasn't telling her about.

There was something, of course, but what Matt was going through wasn't nearly as bad as what Rachel's darkest imagination could imagine but at the same time ten times worse. Since his daughters return he had been haunted by that music. He always had been, taunting him and surrounding him with a thick smoke he couldn't run through to reach his daughter. But now it had changed, now it never stopped. Ever. Constantly on repeat reminding him that he was the reason they had managed to get to his daughter in the first place. He barely slept, and what he did get was plagued with nightmares. He'd sneak into the bathroom and spend hours looking at himself in the mirror, taking in every repulsive detail inside and out of the man who had taken his daughter away from him. He had accepted he was crazy, he rolled around and choked on the ashes he created with his insanity every day. Teaching was difficult, living was impossible. He was yet to understand how somebody hadn't locked him away yet or rendurded him a danger to children. He didn't need to be labelled that though, he already knew it.

He was angry, so angry. Angry that his attempt to make the world a better place for him to create a family in had turned his family into something making the world just that much more tainted and twisted. Angry that he had believed the world could change in the first place. Angry that the bloody circus music sounded so damn jolly. It was enough to make him want to shoot something, or cut something or break all the bones on the first thing he saw. The two people he had killed on the mission he was driving back from had sort of come as a relief, when once upon a time he would have had to tell himself he had done it for a good reason, they had taught him to do that at school, like that was the toughest part of the job for everybody. And it had been, but now some of his anger was directed at the fact that he hadn't been able to kill more of the buggers and he was absoloutly terrified he should be the one in the Circle of Cavan, and not Joe.

Almost none of this showed in his face or from his body language though. He just sat rather exhaustedly, which was competely normal for jetlag, staring slightly begrudgingly out the window in a disguise of a perfect little bland bottle of water. That when you opened you found it was splattered with artifical flavourings nobody wanted. Lib ty all. The letters were gone from his sight within an instant. But he was certain they had been their, zooming across the window with the other faded antique and motel signs in the neighbourhood that had practically all closed down. If he wasn't crazy he wouldn't have doubted it, but he had been thinking about it. He was always thinking about the dead end from Italy, just like he was always thinking about any of this. It wasn't enough to stop him sitting up fast and unexpectidadly as he hit the back of the driver seat.

"Pull over!" He ordered, the driver continued to drive looking impatient. "Pull over!" Matt repeated louder.

"I'm not your personal vallet, Morgan." It was the first thing the Agent had said since there mission had ended.

"PULL OVER!" Matt yelled, hitting the back of the chair again. He would have looked like a child having a tantrum if his tone hadn't been so desperatelly urgent. The other Agent rolled his eyes and pulled over. Apparently, not fast enough for Matt, because he had the door open and was running through the drizzle before the vercile had stopped moving. Rachel sighed and rolled her eyes like she had been waiting for this, like it happened everyday, and apologized to her coleage before leaving the car and following after her husband.

"Matt..." She called calmly, and slightly exasperatly as she wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep, forever would be good. "Matt, what are you doing? It's freezing out here." She climbed over rubble to in a row of knocked down buildings, of what Rachel assumed had been rows of appartments. Her husband stood on a pile of rubble in the centre of it all staring at a sign that barely exsisted anymore. Most of the letters had been chared out, but a few of them were still visable.

"Liberty Halls." Matt said under his breath, he repeated it over and over. Rachel was sure the reading wasn't for her benefit which just made her stare at her husband worridly as she took in the wild eyes he had adopted as he read the sign over and over.

"Anything? Is there anthing you know?" Joe's voice had been uncharatistcly harsh (and in perfectly natural Itallian) but Matt had told himself it was just another of his best friends covers he slipped into so easily. He didn't do anything, he just stood behind him and listened desperately, whilst his body showed only resigned interest as Solomon knelt over the dying woman. He didn't even do anything to stop his best friend as he slapped the old italian woman that owned the jewelery cart and demanded near enough the same again. He just thought that concidering this was a man who had been shaped by both the Blackthorne Institute and the Circle of Cavan he was suprisingly gentle and limited in the way he did this work. Matt was about to marvel over how Solomon had managed to turn out so peachy and loving and rainbows in the first place, He had always had the opposite view on his situation, when the old woman choked and spat out blood. Her breaths coming ragged and desperate.

"Liberty...H-Hallsss..." It sounded as if she was in a great deal of pain, that tortured her when she spoke, but Joe didn't relent as he pulled her up by the top of her blouse, her head falling back limply. And Matt wasn't sure he wanted him to.

"What does that mean? Why is that important?" he demanded and she choked on her own blood again.

"So cold," she sounded little and naturally then Matt's heart went out to her, he wanted to make this easier for her, but he didn't have time for that. This was for his family. "Cold." She whimpered. "L-like, Winter...sss..." Joe let her body fall to the floor unkindly. It was only then that Matt realised the old woman had been scratching out something on the floor and it wasn't a nervous tick. Random letters from the two words she repeated. Liberty Halls. Lib ty all . She couldn't speak anymore, her mouth boiled with blood, but Matt could tell she still had a little while longer until Death claimed her, even if it was a hell of a lot shorter than the uncertain time he had. Silently she mouthed a beg for her death. Over and over. Matt wished he could do it, kill the woman who had just helped them, even if they did come across as no better as the people who had just used her. It was the kindest thing they could have done, but Matt just couldn't convince himself she deserved it.

Joe, However, didn't blink or look regretful or hold any form of anything someone in his postion should do. Maybe Matt should worry about him after all, because he was completely relaxed as he kicked the old womens head in in a way that snapped her neck in a second. Matt was pretty sure even he hadn't been told how to do that, even if it looked pretty simple. He hated how often he forgot Joe had been trained as an Assasin and not a Spy, it made it harder to get over the little hints of what they had tried to make him and the both of them pretended they hadn't.

"Some use that was, although it's better than what we had an hour ago." Matt really needed to worry about his best friend more.

At the time that had been better than what they had an hour ago, considering an hour ago all they had was a bowl of pasta neither of them really wanted as they waited for a lead that hadn't shown up. At the time he should have worried about his best friend more, this hunt had been doing the worse to him, he should still be more worried about him. But Matt couldn't help but notice that maybe the hunt was doing the same to him, even without the aid of Blackthorne and the Circle.

"I need to text Joe." Matt announced after the worrying amount of minutes Rachel had spent trying to get through to him. He bounded down the rubble and furhter out into the area, He seemed to be taking in everything around him wihtout actually looking up. Rachel still couldn't take her eyes of him though, and couldn't tare her mind away from dwelling over the fact that she hadn't quiet realised, even after all these years, just how much she had lost ,and was still losing, from when the Circle stole her daughter.

Well I don't actually know where half that stuff came from. I don't even know what parts and characters will end up being the most important for this story...Meh well, these bottom Authors notes always just seem to be me dwelling on hopelessly lost I am at writting things. It's a good thing winging it normally works for me, I mean, that's all I've been doing with each chapter of this and it's not turning out that terrible. ;)