Hello everyone! Sorry this chapter is late, but 1. I had a little trouble writing it, and 2. I've had family visiting this week, so I couldn't really find much time to write. Anyway, the good news is that I have the next few chapters finished already, so regular posting should resume. And as always, thanks for reading!

Despite what their friends and family might have joked and teased, Rachel and Matthew had arguments—they were just much better at resolving them than most young couples. Neither one of them enjoyed being angry, even though both Matthew and Rachel were known to have fearsome and imposing tempers. They were both too rational, their understanding and their convictions and their priorities too much in sync for any serious misunderstandings or arguments to occur. Issues between the two of them resolved too quickly to really build up steam.

Most of the time.

Of course, there must always be an exception.

Now, Matthew and Rachel Morgan were not a typical couple. Typical couples didn't have a series of physical and cyber dead drops set up so that they can communicate with each other even while operating in deep cover. Typical couples didn't meet at a prearranged time and introduce themselves with a code about hydrangeas and then flirt with each other while searching for three ex-KGB agents in Paris. Typical couples didn't have to sweep their newly purchased 3-bedroom, 1.5-bathroom townhouse in Arlington for bugs and other security breaches every evening after work.

But even Matthew and Rachel Morgan could fight about the kinds of things that most couples fight about. Like money, their careers, and their long-term plans for their shared life.

Three months after they said their vows and after they returned from a perfect 10 days in Paris, Matthew was called to a meeting under the Pentagon City Mall to meet with certain members of the Department of Operative Development. He really had no idea what the people of Operative Development might possibly have to say to him, but in his business, that wasn't unusual.

Still, Matt was a little surprised and a little weary as he returned to his car in the mall's parking lot on that bitterly cold February morning. He wanted to talk to someone about it, but Rachel would be in meetings all day, and Joe was somewhere in South Africa. He could, part of him thought, call and talk to his mother—he could make her understand the situation without violating any kind of confidentiality laws by speaking in very, very vague terms—but decided against it. Instead, as Matt mindlessly finished the paperwork from his latest mission, he had no choice but to think about the meeting by himself.

And during this time, Matthew came to some incorrect—but fair—conclusions.

Later, that night, over a dinner of dumplings and orange chicken from their new favorite Chinese take-out place, Matt finally had a chance to tell his wife about the meeting. He had been thinking about it all afternoon, but he still rambled slightly as he explained the situation to the woman who sat cross-legged on the couch beside him.

"They offered me a job. Surveillance and Evasion teacher at Blackthorne. I'd be gone through the week eight months of the year, with travel back to DC provided every weekend. But the pay would be much better—just under twice what I'm making now, and I have room to negotiate—with much less risk. I don't like anything that I've heard about Blackthorne, but Joe and some of the other alumnus are trying to change how the school is run. I'm not one of them—I wouldn't fit in there—but I could help change the school."

"Do you… Do you want to?" Rachel asked, looking entirely unsettled as a dumpling slipped out from between her chopsticks.

"Rachel." Matt said, his voice more steady and even and his eyes more serious. "If we… There is no equivalent to Gallagher for boys. If we have a son, I don't want him to experience the things that I have heard about Blackthorne. Gallagher is incredible, but I've spent years wondering how Joe could possibly be as well-adjusted of a human being as he is after having gone to Blackthorne. I want our future child to have the best possible education. I don't want them to feel suffocated, or unchallenged, the way that I did. I want the spread their wings and fly cliché for them. If we have a daughter, she's set—we'll have the greatest little Gallagher Girl. But it's not so straightforward if we have a son."

"Well. First, I don't really appreciate that you've already decided that our child is going to go to either Gallagher or Blackthorne—"

"Rachel, doesn't it seem inevitable? With two parents in the business?"

"No, Matthew, it's not inevitable." Rachel, said, raising her voice. She leaned forward to put her plate on the coffee table, and sat up to look her husband in the eye. "We are only going to send our child to either of those schools once we actually have a child and get to know them and then we decide if it would be the best thing for them to go to Gallagher or to go to Blackthorne. But are you really doing to make such a drastic change for the sake of a child that I'm not even pregnant with? Are you really ready to make a change that will mean that you're in Maine for three quarters of the year? We've been married for three months, Matthew. Do you want to commit to something that will change our marriage now? Do you want to be away from each other, so consistently, for eight months out of the year?

"I don't want those things, Rachel, but practically, there are advantages."

"Practicality? You think this should be decided just on practicality?"

"I haven't decided anything, Rachel, but I was thinking—" Matt's voice grew steadily louder.

"Oh, what were you thinking?" Rachel's voice grew steadily sharper and more dangerous.

"I thought you would want me out of the field!" Matt said, spinning sideways on the couch to match Rachel's steady glare head on. "I thought you would understand that, if I were to accept this job, then I would be in a better position to make sure that you have all of the support you need at home to continue going into the field. I know I would be gone, but we could hire a nanny, so if Abby or Joe or your father aren't available to watch our child, then you wouldn't have to pass up a mission that might make your whole career. That's one less sacrifice that you would have to make. And it wouldn't be ideal to be gone for so long, but I'll have the whole summer with you and our child, and I would make every moment count. I don't want to leave this business, but you have to see that having one of us leave the field would do nothing but benefit our family."

Matt felt, his heart racing, that he had expressed himself quiet well. But Rachel stared at him, her eyes wide, her anger mixed with disbelief.

"Do you want me out of the field? Because I don't want to leave the field, and I would never ask you to make a decision that I wouldn't make." Rachel's jaw was set, her eyes narrow. "I don't want you to play it safe for my sake. Matthew Morgan, you're a damn good operative, and so am I. I don't think either of us should leave the field until we're ready, and I don't think you're ready. I know I'm not ready; even if we find out that I'm pregnant tomorrow, I'm going to return to the field when I can."

"Rachel, I know. I would never ask you to leave the field. And I'm not ready to leave the business, yet, but I don't know. I could leave the field if I needed to. But I haven't decided yet—I've only been making a list of the pros and cons since they asked me. I wasn't going to decide anything without you."

But Rachel just shook her head. As she took three deep breaths and forced her eyes shut, her shoulders relaxed. Slowly, she replied.

"Matt. I love you. I want us to be happy. I want us to have a happy family. Of course, I want you to be safe, and I want nothing but the best for our future child. But I don't want to upset this. We're still newlyweds, Matt. I don't think we can really decide what we want for ourselves long term until we've had some time to think about it. I want us to be happy and safe but I don't want either of us to regret anything because regrets don't make you happy. Do you—do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

His jaw set, Matt nodded.

"Of course, Rach."

Nodding in return, Rachel looked away and cleared her throat.

"Okay. Why don't we—why don't we take thirty minutes to just—think—and then we can talk about it again."

"Okay."

"I'll clean up." Rachel said, picking up their plates, and walking, tall, to the kitchen, while Matt sat rigidly on the edge of the couch.

The next day, during a break between two meetings, Matthew Morgan dropped by the Department of Operative Development. While he was there, he informed the Director of Secondary Education that, while he was honored to be asked, he must regretfully decline the position of Surveillance and Evasion teacher at the Blackthorne Institute.