Sorry, sorry, sorry, I'm sorry. CAN I JUST SAY THAT TWENTY TWO FOLLOWERS IS A LOT MORE THAN I EVER EXPECTED AND I REALLY APPRECIATE IT. So I know it's been like forever, and I'm sorry. It's just like, school is ALMOST done. I hope to update a little more frequently over the summer. Thanks for all the follows, it's awesome you guys. Really, thank you. So it's 1:40 am and I'm doing this for you.

Disclaimer: If I owned Skins, Emily and Naomi would have some sweeter moments, but I don't, so damn.

Naomi

When I was thirteen years old, my father was murdered.

It's not something I tend to emphasize, but I accepted it a long time ago. Something horrible happened and there's nothing anyone can do about it. Of course, some days it gets to me a little more than others, but if you look at the pluses, it makes my job a significant amount more gratifying. I get to stop people like the ones who killed my father. If there was ever a way for someone like me to get justice, working for the FBI is as good as I'm going to get. The men that killed him were never found. I keep that in mind when I'm on the job; any criminal I'm after could have played a part in my father's murder.

My father, Andy Wood, was one of the most successful, intelligent, and well-known lawyers in London, which is where we lived when he was alive. Because of him, mum and I lived luxuriously; I attended an all-girls private school that I loved for obvious reasons and our house was big enough for a family of twenty. The publicity of it all made me quite popular, which I didn't dislike. Having the interest of every girl in the school, regardless of whether they liked me or my family's wealth, is an ego boost if you're thirteen years old. However, I was never attention hungry. It was nice being noticed but I've always managed fine on my own.

Mum worked as well; regardless of how many times dad and I reminded her she didn't have to. Like the typical, stubborn Gina she is, she refused to rely on a man to pay the bills and insisted on making half the rent. She got a job as a family therapist and became rather successful herself. Any extra money went into savings accounts. At the time it seemed ridiculous, the idea of ever needing extra money for anything was an odd thought.

She's a cliché and she's fucking terrible at picking names but not a day has gone by where I'm not grateful for my mother and her independence. Things would have been a lot worse had she not saved up enough to get us by.

When my father died, we sold the house and left London immediately. My father was famous in his line of work, so when he died, naturally, we couldn't escape it. It was in our face everywhere we went; the top story on every news channel and the front page in every newspaper was broadcasting his death. School sucked. At least two different girls a day would approach me with sorry expressions and I couldn't escape the hushed whispers or secret glances of silent groups of people who thought they were being subtle. I appreciated people caring, I really did, but I got tired of everyone pussy footing around me like I was thin ice about two seconds away from cracking. I just wanted everyone to stop bringing it up. I was reminded everywhere I went that my father was dead.

We gathered up the money in the savings accounts; every bit mum saved up and every bit dad left for us. That, plus selling the house, left us with enough to move to Bristol, buy a small place, and get me enrolled in another private school. Mum was able to keep her job as well, which was nice. She could have afforded a better house for us, something a little bigger than a town house built for three people maximum, but she spent as little as possible on everything to ensure my education stayed at its best. That's where all the money really went, towards my expensive schooling. I really do appreciate the fuck out of that woman.

Although my father was considerably popular, he never let it go to his head. All the reporters swarming around him whenever he won a case, or the constant, unnecessary questions about his personal life, didn't affect him. It pissed him off actually, and that was always my favorite thing about him. I prefer minding my own business; I know I got that from him. He was a family guy too. Instead of working on weekends, he'd take mum and I out for ice cream, or to the park, or to a movie. He always thought of something different to do with us.

The Saturday before he died was the day he gave me his ring. The three of us were at the park and everything was perfect. The sun was out, but a light wind blew just enough to prevent us from burning to ash. The kids running around and climbing all over the old wooden playground usually annoyed the shit out of me, but that day, I found their laughter and small screams of excitement cute. The food we had brought with us tasted a little better than usual, and we were happy. We were sitting on a bench, watching some seagulls surround a group of kids scattering bread crumbs, when my father said one of the last things I'd ever remember hearing him say.

"Your mother and I were in Spain when we found out we were pregnant with you," he said. "It was awesome," he was the kind of guy who said awesome too much, "and surprising, but in a fantastic way." He smiled then, and I never forgot that smile. "Of course, we had to schedule an earlier flight home, but there was a small shop across the street from our motel that I had to visit before we left. Don't ask me why, I don't know." He grabbed my wrist, placed the ring in my hand and closed my fingers around it. "To make an incredibly long story understandably short, I saw this and I had to buy it. Not so much for you as for myself, which is selfish I know, but hey, sue me." I remember how mum and I both laughed when he said it. He'd used that joke so many times.

I remember looking at the ring for the first time as he watched and not understanding its apparent significance. I felt bad, like I should have understood, but I didn't.

"The inside," my father said, "there's a word engraved on the inside."

I looked closely and sure enough, there was a word printed in small, neat, cursive writing.

"Luchador," he said softly, "pretty corny hey?"

I knew what it meant. Everyone knows that luchador means fighter in Spanish.

"At the time, I'll admit this to you both once and once only," he pointed his finger at mum and I, "I was terrified."Mum snorted at that. He pretended not to notice. "I figured, maybe this would supply some form of encouragement. Stupid, I know, I know, but it did help. Suddenly finding out you're going to be a dad is scary, but I knew I had to be a fighter. I had to be a fighter for you and for your mother." He pushed a strand of hair the wind had blown into my face behind my ear, "I see so much of myself in you, Naomi." It always felt weird when he said my name, but that's how I knew he was serious. "You're a fighter too, you know. I knew the second you were born that you were strong. I think you're responsible to take good care of this now, yeah?"

At that point all I could do was nod. None of us said anything else after that. We just sat together and watched the seagulls follow around the group of kids expectantly even though they had run out of bread.

He was found two days later.

Now, it's easier to understand my relief as I showed Effy my necklace when I flew through our door last night after bolting away from Emily again. Or why I would do something undoubtedly risky and stupid like reveal my face to a stranger while on the job to get that ring back. It's all I have left of him.

I had the ring on a chain around my neck when the police picked me up from school on the Monday. It's always been too big for my fingers. They drove me to the station and the first thing I saw when I was walked in was my mother being held up by a large police officer with darker skin as she screamed and thrashed at him with whatever strength she could muster. What followed is predictable enough. I was informed on what had happened, I broke down, mum and I got our money, and we left.

I was always fine on my own, but growing up without my father was what made me prefer being on my own. I didn't really have a mother either, then. It's hard to get help from someone who's going through the same thing and is just as fucked as you are. Mum drowned herself in work, as if that would make anything better, and I was a numb, emotionless sack of depression for about six months before I started working out.

I became quite obsessed. I researched fighting techniques and cardio exercises, got into gymnastics and attended seminars at local gyms. For whatever reason, feeling the adrenaline rush and the pain of pushing myself to the limit made what happened in London disappear for a bit. Not to mention if I hadn't of turned to exercise I would have ended up fighting with mum and punching holes in the walls. It was a great was to manage my anger and I couldn't stop; it was all I could do to forget. I exercised to a point where it consumed me. It was like that for three years before JJ found me when I was sixteen. Apparently he had noticed my frequent visits to different gyms. He made up some fake fight club and asked if I wanted to join. I was delighted that I finally had something new to do. Obviously, he took me to Kieran instead of a group of kids in a fight club like I had expected. He explained how he thought I would be a good asset to their team. Kieran was a little frustrated with JJ for exposing a teenager to such a serious organization, but after observing my skills, he got over it. He explained everything to me, making sure I understood I could never tell anyone, and he gave me a choice. Everyone gets a choice whether they want to join or not because of the conditions; help save the country from some of the worst criminals but live a life of risk and secrets. At that time I was already alone and all they wanted me to do was show up at the base on weekends and some days after school and watch and practice whatever they told me to. I had nothing to lose, so I accepted and started what ended up being two years of professional training. Eventually, I turned eighteen and was finally allowed to call myself a special agent. Now here I am, twenty years old and working for the FBI.

However, twenty-year-old, badass, female FBI agents still need their mummy sometimes.

The door creaks slightly, like it always does, as I gently close it behind me. It takes a total of one and a half seconds before the frantic footsteps undoubtedly belonging to my mother get nearer.

"Naomi, love!" she engulfs me in a crushing embrace before I have time to object.

"Hi mum," I manage to squeeze out. "I love you and everything, but I can't hug back without arms." Her grip loosens immediately. After my arms are free I willingly return the hug. She pulls away and I'm taken off guard as she smacks my arm sharply.

"Ouch!" I back away to avoid and further attacks, "What did I do?"

"When was the last time you came to see me?!" She crosses her arms.

"Sorry mum. I've been super busy with work is all, I swear." I've managed to convince my mother that I'm a journalist, which comes in handy when I have to leave for specific assignments for, sometimes, weeks on end. I still make a living, obviously, regardless of the lie. Fuck, I make three times as much as a bloody journalist does, she just doesn't know that. "Don't be mad."

She un-crosses her arms, "You get a free pass this one time Naomi Campbell. I'll go put the kettle on." With that, she disappears into the kitchen.

There are three photos of dad on the wall in the hallway. He was a handsome man; dark brown hair, always gelled back the way you'd expect a lawyer to gel his hair, bright green eyes that said there was more to him than his job, and for a lawyer, he was pretty buff. I got my looks from mum.

There's nothing more nostalgic than walking into mums kitchen to the smell of tea. I sit at the small table that's built for four but only ever seated the two of us as mum joins me with two mugs of tea.

"So," she says, "how's work?"

Oh, fine, just saving most of Bristol from some of the United Kingdom's most wanted criminals.

"Great," I lie, "I would have come sooner, I just haven't been around," another lie. Lying has become my second nature over the years.

"You look tired, love," she places her hand over mine. Visiting mum has always been somewhat of a stress reliever for me. She helps me with the problems I'm too stubborn to reveal to anyone else and gives me advice only a mother can give. Half the time she doesn't know the actual problem she's helping me with or what she's giving me advice on, but it helps all the same.

"I am, mum. Getting sleep, who knew it'd be so hard hey?"

She looks at me pitifully, "Is this about a girl?"

For fucks sake. She assumes every problem I have is over a girl.

"No mum," I sigh.

"Naomi, don't be a twat, you know the rules. If you find someone-"

"It's not over a bloody girl mum!" I cut her off. She fixes me with a stern glare. I sigh again and pinch the bridge of my nose, my elbow resting on the table. "Sorry," I breathe out. I focus on the smell of my tea as she continues to stare at me. "What?" I ask.

"What's the rule Naomi."

I have, by far, the world's most impossible mother.

"If you find someone, you've got to cherish it," I mumble out like a grumpy child who's just been forced to apologize.

"Good," she beams.

"I hate you."

"You love me."

"Unfortunately."

We're interrupted by my phone buzzing aggressively in my pocket. I check the caller ID; it's Kieran. He never calls me, he always get's JJ to, because it'd be easier to explain why a boy my age is calling me and not a man almost twenty-five years older.

"Yeah, It's me, hang on," I say into the phone. I hold up a finger to mum and mouth 'one sec' before stepping outside and closing the patio door behind me. "Kieran…" I say skeptically.

"How soon can you get here?" he says like it's a demand instead of a question.

"Uhh, I'm just visiting mum right now, so I guess whenever. Why? What's happened?"

"Just be here in ten minutes, something happened, you're looking at a difficult one here Campbell."

The line goes dead before I can ask. I look up towards the grey sky and exhale slowly. It never ends.

"Mum, I just have to run and help a friend out with something urgent real quick," I say on my way back in, "I'll come see you later tonight, I promise."

I kiss her cheek and head for the door before she can protest. I'm putting my shoes on as she yells from the kitchen, "Does this friend happen to be female by any chance?"

I shake my head and smile subconsciously. Nosy till the end, that woman is.

"Just leave my tea in the microwave!" I shout before rushing out the door.

I arrive at the base seven minutes later. I enter my code into the keypad, make my way upstairs, and head straight for Kieran's office.

"What's the emergency-?" I stop abruptly. Everyone's already sitting at Kieran's huge table while Kieran himself stands at the head across the room. JJ looks nervous while everyone else looks clueless. I guess they waited for me again.

"Sit," Kieran orders. He almost looks worried.

I take a seat next to JJ.

"What's going on?" I ask for what feels like the fortieth time.

He throws a plain brown folder onto the table. It lands directly in between all of us. There's a picture of a magnificently tanned boy with short jet black hair and a harsh looking scrape on his chin paper clipped to the front.

"Frederick Mclair," Kieran announces. "The suspect located near us we've decided to infiltrate."

"He doesn't look that scary, Kieran," I say flatly.

"The two men I sent last week were found dead this morning."

I hear more than see everyone except Dallas gulp.

"You six are my backup. I gave you a fair warning. We're doing this a different way this time." He looks at JJ who's trying desperately to hide his concern by fiddling frantically with his thumbs. His hard exterior softens, "I wouldn't put this plan into action if I thought there'd be any risk of any of you getting killed," he looks away from JJ and across the room at everyone else, "You know that."

Everyone visibly relaxes in their chairs, because we do know. There's not a doubt in my mind that everyone here would trust Kieran with their life. If he says he doesn't think there'll be a risk, we believe him.

"The last two were sent to befriend Frederick and get some information through trust. They were bugged in almost every place we could manage to bug them. When they were found, all the equipment we wired them with was gone, not a camera, microphone, nothing. That's what WE," he gestures at everyone, "are doing differently. No bugs. You six are going to have different jobs in this mission, but every job is critical, understand?"

We all nod.

"Our guys were killed because, we suspect, Frederick found out they were bugged and sent another member of the gang, or multiple, after them. There's no way to say for sure, there was little evidence established on who did the killing. Anyway, my point is, if I give one or two of you the same task without the equipment, he'll have nothing to discover, therefore he'll have nothing against you. This mission is entirely independent. You're on the job, but you aren't, get it?"

We all nod again.

"Drink alcohol, go to clubs, smoke weed, I don't care, your job is to make him trust you."

JJ chose now to blurt out the question that's been bouncing around in all our heads since Kieran started talking.

"Who?" He says so fast Kieran doesn't catch it.

"Pardon?"

"Whose job is it? Who's going undercover?"

Nobody says anything for five seconds that feel like minutes before Kieran averts his eyes in my direction. Everyone looks at me. I look at everyone, then at Kieran.

"Me?" I ask stupidly, pointing towards myself.

"I'm thinking so," Kieran admits.

I don't say anything. I've gone undercover too many times to keep track, so this isn't exactly daunting news, but I have this strange gut feeling telling me not to be so nonchalant about this assignment. I can't tell why.

"Okay," I say so everyone will stop staring at me expectantly. "Yeah, fine, whatever," I shrug, "just tell me what I have to do."

"Yes, good, okay! We need to kick this plan into action as soon as possible. Campbell, since you're in charge of the undercover work, this all starts as soon as you get involved. Now, everyone else out, I need to speak to you alone," he says casually, pointing at me.

JJ pats my shoulder on his way out and offers me a small smile before disappearing behind the office door.

"His girlfriend, who he lives with, is our only valuable link. His mother's dead, dad's fucked off somewhere and his sister moved to California four years ago," Kieran starts. I nod along as I listen.

"The two who tried this mission the first time tried to befriend one each. One of them became friends and got to know Frederick, while the other did the same to his girlfriend. While this was going on, they were still wired, so we got to know a little bit about our subjects' personalities. As far as we know, the girl doesn't have a clue. She's not an enemy to us. She could technically be considered a hostage even. Anyway, I'm not letting you go straight to Frederick, because it's too dangerous if you're the only one going undercover-"

"Which I will be?" I interrupt.

"Yes, which you will be. Now, as I was saying, too dangerous. As for the girl… Well, after observing her personality I've come to the conclusion that she's a bit too…" He taps his fingers on the table, "Nosy. And bossy; and she takes possessive jealousy to an extreme, which he probably loves. It'd be too difficult to get to him through her, because she's too difficult. I wouldn't put my worst enemy through that," he grimaces slightly. "So I got Jonah to dig into it a little more and I've come up with an alternative I think might just work perfectly."

"Question," I interject. "What's her name?"

"The girlfriend? Did I not say?"

I shake my head.

"Mm, right. I swear I mentioned it. Anyway; Katie Fitch."

My eyes widen slightly. This is not happening. I heard him wrong. I must have.

"Fitch?"

"Yes, Fitch," he confirms.

"Right," I shake my head the tiniest bit. He didn't say Emily, he said Katie, and Fitch can't be that uncommon of a last name. I'm just overreacting. "Anyway," I gesture for him to continue, "Carry on. What's the new plan?"

"I want you to go through her sister, Emily Fitch."

I stare at him. I don't reply to his instruction, I just stare. This isn't happening. I can't tell him it won't work because Emily's already seen my face and already hates me, because if I tell him that, he'll know I got careless. Or worse, he'll ask how I ran into her, and I really don't have an excuse for that. I don't even know why I helped her that one night. It was just one of those times where you don't think about your actions until after you've committed them. After it's too late.

I have to figure out a way I'm going to get her to trust me.

"Campbell!"

I snap my head back in Kieran's direction, "Yeah?"

"I said, when can you start?"

I sigh internally, "Whenever I have to."

I slump through my front door and kick off my shoes lazily. Effy's sitting on the couch, like usual, with a mug of tea, typically. She barely blinks at my petulant entrance.

I called mum on my way home and told her I'd come over after going home for a nap. Partly because I need one but mostly because I want one and after what just happened, I'm letting myself be selfish.

I sulk over to Effy and quickly kiss her forehead. "Night. Wake me when I'm thirty," I call as I drag my feet to my room.

I have to ask Emily Fitch to trust me.

"Long day?" Effy calls back.

"You have NO idea."

Thanks for reading, I still love you all. I hope this was worth the wait somewhat.