A/N Hi. So thank you to everyone who has reviewed, it makes my day to see those updates in my inbox telling me that so and so has posted a review to my story. With that in mind, please review and enjoy.
P.S.
Sorry but there won't be another update for at least a week because I will be up at my cottage:(
Bex helps me up off the bench and through the halls as quickly as a nine month pregnant lady can go which, let me tell you, is pretty damn fast when it's important. After we finally get through the hallways full of students heading to the dining hall for dinner, occasionally slipping into a secret passage, we are stopped in our tracks by Mr. Solomon and my mother who are blocking the front door.
"Mom, move." I order, putting every ounce of authority and spyness I possess into my voice.
"Cam, I can't do that."
"Move," I say again.
"Cammie…" starts Mr. Solomon.
"Shut up," I say rounding on him, "just shut up!"
"Cammie." My mother's voice is cuts like a whip.
"Sorry," I say stiffly to Mr. Solomon, not feeling very sorry. For God's sake, my husband is in Paris on a mission that one agent has already gone missing from. I need to get to the CIA headquarters now. "Now move."
"No," mom says again.
A crowd is gathering so I decide to act like the mature adult that I am and clutch Bex's arm very firmly instead of punching my mother in the stomach then slamming my fist into her chin to knock her out. "Why?" I ask diplomatically.
"Why? Because you're worried about Zach and assuming I know you like I think I do you're going to go straight to the director's office and right now, having yourself placed under CIA custody isn't going help anything. Also, you said that Zach will be home by Friday and so before you freak out, why don't you just say hi to him then since the Director wouldn't tell you something like that unless he was sure."
"How do you know I said he'd be back Friday?" I ask. "I haven't talked to you yet."
"We bugged the gun range," Mr. Solomon answers before my mother has the chance.
"You what? We agreed that nobody would bug that room." I say, momentarily distracted.
"Yes and because we agreed it wouldn't be bugged, we bugged it. You have a habit of using unbugged spaces to hatch plans that end in somebody being in mortal peril." He says drily.
My mothers, taking my momentary distraction as giving in talks before I can come up with an adequate come back. "How about you stay for dinner darling?" My mother says.
"Fine," I answer realizing that I'll never get past her and Mr. Solomon pregnant as I am. On the way into the dining hall I glance at the sign that dictates what language we'll be speaking tonight. French. I almost laugh out loud at the irony… so is Zach. As we pass through the door I look at Bex. "Have a helicopter here in half an hour," I whisper in her ear.
Dinner is delicious. It's a pity I have to miss desert, especially because it's supposed to be crème brûlée, a personal favourite of mine. Oh well, I'd rather go yell at the Director. After twenty-five minutes, I stand up and excuse myself to use the washroom (which I actually have to do) and invite Bex to come with me. The second we are out of the hall, I lead her up to our old room and into the bathroom off of it.
"Is the helicopter here?" I ask her, trusting that this room isn't bugged because any student would check at least once a week.
"Yeah," she says, "Cammie are you sure?"
"I need to know Zach's okay," I answer. My hand drops to my stomach. "Our child isn't growing up without a father."
"Alright, but why are we in the bathroom."
"I need to pee." I shrug.
Bex sighs. "Hurry up," she says as she steps out of the room.
After I pee I lean against the sink, studying my face in the mirror. It looks like the face of any other average American 26 year old you might find across the USA except for my eyes. My eyes are those of a person who has seen too much, a person who can never forgot what she's seen but tries any ways. I have the eyes of a person who wakes screaming from nightmares that have been the same since high school. My eyes are the eyes of somebody who can shoot a gun and knows how to kill, who has killed. Mine are eyes that will never see the world like other people do, who will always look at people and catalogue every little aspect of their outfit, every detail on their shirt, everything they do in the brief time I see them in case they come back and try to kill me, in case somebody tries to kill them, because that's what spies do. My eyes aren't the eyes of your average spy though, my eyes are the eyes of a spy who by all rights should have died well she was in high school; and right now, my eyes are the eyes of a spy who needs her husband but knows that maybe she'll never get him. They are the eyes of a soon-to-be mother who doesn't want her son to grow up without a dad. They are the eyes of a scared teenager who's been through hell and just wants her boyfriend because he's the only one who makes it okay. They're the eyes of a scared young woman who's been through hell and just wants her husband because he's the only one who makes it okay. Banging on the door breaks me out of my thoughts and I wash my hands quickly before opening it to find a pacing Bex.
"Remember the last time we ran away from Gallagher?" I ask her, recalling how we had left on Macey's jet in the middle of the night for Rome where we kidnapped Preston and, in the process, saved his life.
"Yeah, it was great except for the fact that we almost died and you killed seven people."
"We always almost die and they would have killed me." I say defensively.
"Yeah, yeah. Just get us out of here. I miss Grant. I haven't been able to see him once since I got back and he is supposed to be at the CIA today. I've been gone for too long and when I got back, they didn't even give me a chance to see my husband, just told me that Gallagher had called MI6 and asked if I was available to teach and that Grant was going to be in the States anyways so I could see him once I got here."
I snort a laugh. "He marries you and convinces MI6 to let him join even though he isn't a British citizen and you haven't seen him yet even though you got here yesterday. Rebecca Baxter, I expected more from you." I say mockingly.
"Shut up and get us out of here." She returns with a glare.
And so I do, we walk down to my favourite passage way and even though I have a bit of trouble squeezing past the old tapestry on the wall with my pregnant belly, we finally make it outside and into a waiting helicopter.
The pilot turns to us once we're buckled in and glances at my stomach. "Bex," he whines, "you didn't say she was pregnant. I don't want her going into labour on my chopper."
"Hector, I told you she was pregnant at least twelve times on our mission."
"Oh, this is that Cammie." He sticks his hand out. "Hector. Pleasure to meet you, although I feel like I already have from the way she talks about you." He says, jerking his thumb towards Bex. "I was with Bex on her most recent mission. Nine months bunking with her gets on your nerves, let me tell you."
I grin. "I bunked with her from grade seven to twelve. How many times did she throw ice water on your face?"
"Twice," he grumbles as he takes off. I laugh.
When we finally land at the CIA headquarters, I have puked twice and am starting to wonder why I didn't just drive. It would have taken longer but I wouldn't be sitting with a bucket on my lap. Oh well, what's done is done. Bex helps me out of the helicopter and after we say good bye to Hector and watch as he takes off again, we both go inside headquarters.
"Go find Grant," I tell Bex when I see her looking around anxiously.
"Are you sure? I can come up to visit the Director with you." She offers.
"Bex, go find your husband."
"Alright, but I'm walking you to the Director's office first," she answers. Her general lack of stubbornness tells me how much she's missed him and I smile as she leaves me at the door to the Director's office and walks off towards the gym where Grant likes to practice. Then I remember that for all I know, I'll never see my husband again and my smile fades until the reflection of myself in the framed painting outside the Director's door shows a face so depressed and aged that it takes me a moment to realize it's me. I sigh and then brace myself for whatever is to come. Then I open the door.
"Cammie," says the Director, looking up from the seemingly endless pile of paper work on his desk. "Twice in one day, what a lucky man I am."
"What is Zach doing in Paris Director?" I ask, my voice as cold as ice.
"That's classified Cammie."
"Really… and why is that sir?"
"That's classified Cammie."
"Is it? Well would you like to hear my theory sir?"
"Not really Cammie. As you can see I am quite swamped with paper work right now."
"I don't care sir." I say. I can see Madame Dabney's disappointed face in the back of my mind but I really don't have time to feel sorry about my lack of manners at the moment. "You see sir; I think that Ava Grey, the P&E teacher at Gallagher, was sent on a mission to infiltrate a group of assassins that were killing politicians and messing up important deals between the United States of America and other countries around the world concerning national safety. I think that Ava Grey was told it would be a low risk mission, just recon, and that it wouldn't take more than a month. That all she had to do was wiggle her way into a middle rank and find out what she could. I think that it turned out to be more than just a simple recon mission, that the group of assassins turned out to be bigger, better organized and less willing to welcome outsiders than was anticipated. I think that she messed up and got caught." I pause and look at the Director for a minute. "How am I doing so far?" I ask him. He doesn't reply so I continue. "I think that two days ago when her superiors found out she'd been caught, they came directly to you and that together, you decided to send Zach, completely disregarding my earlier request to make sure he wasn't sent on any missions until I had given birth at the earliest." I take a breath than look at the Director once more. "How'd I do?"
The Director folds his hands together than places them on the desk in front of him. "Well enough I suppose," he answers," though you are missing one key point."
"Then enlighten me, because right now, my husband is in Paris trying to finish a mission that has already been compromised once and on top of that, I am going to assume that he is trying to free Ava Grey. I don't see how the missing piece to this puzzle could do anything but make my day brighter."
"Alright then, here is my version. As you said, Ava Grey was sent on a mission to infiltrate a group of assassins that were killing politicians and interfering with important deals between the United States of America and other countries around the world concerning national safety. It was a more dangerous mission than anticipated and her cover was blown. She was then taken captive and after that, we have minimal information about what happened to her. This is where my story differs from yours though Cammie, because Ava Grey was compromised a little over a month ago and when we received word of this, her superiors asked for Zach to be sent to take over her mission and retrieve her. I said no to that request because you were eight months pregnant. We sent Macey McHenry instead." My heart drops to my stomach because I know what is coming next but the Director seems oblivious and continues without pausing. "Macey's cover was blown two days ago, not Ava's. We had no other agents that we trusted or thought capable of doing the mission then Zach so we called him and requested that he take it. We gave him a choice and he said yes because of Macey. We haven't seen or heard from her for a week and when confirmation came that she had been compromised, we had no other choice. Cammie, I'm sorry," he finishes.
I ignore the Director as I leave his office and walk down the hall, trying to ignore the grief and worry I am feeling right now. It doesn't work so I punch the wall, leaving a hole in the drywall. It doesn't help.