A/N::: Somehow, this turned into a semi song-fic -.-" I'm sorry, I know this is late, but I couldn't think of much, an this weeks been hectic. Thanks for hanging on =/

Disclaimer::: I don't own the song or the G-Girl series. Never have, never will.

Song::: Lullaby- The Spill Canvas

Ch. 2

Berceuse:

a lullaby or cradlesong

Cammie POV

I felt the first sign of movement while watching TV.

I was in my third month of pregnancy, watching Maury. It was weird, actually. I never was the type to watch a show full of over dramatized drama, but ever since I found out I was pregnant, I've gotten an undeniable urge to watch people go at it.

I had already informed my family and friends, and they were just getting over the shock and death threats (to Zach). I was lazing on the couch, an empty bag of M&Ms at my feet, when I felt my stomach lurch.

"Whoa!" The remote flew from my hands where it hit the coffee table with a clunk. "Holy mother of all that is holy," I gasp, feeling like something was trying to kick its way out of my stomach, "this kid is kicking me!" I yell, loud enough for Zach to hear from the kitchen. "It's kicking me!"

He appeared seconds later, wiping his hands on a rag. "Cammie, what's wrong?"

"This kid!" I replied, hysterical. "It just kicked me! Out of nowhere! For no reason at all!" I pointed at my small, round stomach, shocked.

Zach smirked, sitting beside me. "Hon, that's normal. Haven't you read any of the books Liz got you?" We both looked towards the pile of books, all with the word "baby" somewhere on it, in a neat, untouched stack. Zach sighed. "What a waste," he muttered.

"Excuse me! You're not the one with a kicking person inside of you!" I shoved him away, and he gave me a look of hurt, holding his shoulder.

"That hurt, Gallagher Girl." I couldn't take him seriously because he was grinning. And just when I thought the kid had stopped, the feeling of something trying to kick its way out of me starts again.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" I don't know what to do, so I clutch Zach's arm, hard. He winces, but doesn't move away.

"It's okay, Gallagher Girl, it's okay," he breathes, but he himself seems panicked, which makes me freak even more. "Uh, ah, just stay calm! Um, if we just stay calm, maybe it'll go away!"

"This isn't some feral animal, Zach! This is your kid!" I yell, the movement unyielding. I don't know why I'm freaking out. Maybe because the idea of a baby, an innocent life, still scares me. Or maybe because I don't know what will become of the tiny life. Or maybe because I'm just not used to having a tiny person inside of me. Yeah, I think maybe that's it.

"And so now I'm to blame!" I hear Zach mutter, as his hands hover over my stomach. But then he quickly pulls them back, afraid that his hands, hands that were trained to kill, might somehow affect the being inside of me. "You have to stay calm, Cammie," he soothes. "The baby might sense your panic; find your Zen place and breathe." I do what he says, images flashing through my mind as I suck in shuddering breaths. Images of our honeymoon on Bahamas beaches, scaling the Eiffel Tower, hurling towards the earth at breakneck speed.

And out of some old memories, my mind conjures images of my younger days at Gallagher. The four of us, Macey, Bex, Liz and me traveling through the hidden passageways of Gallagher, finding its secrets and underlying meanings. Zach and me, staring at each other the night of the first ballroom exam in a hidden tunnel.

I can feel my heartbeat slow down; can hear my once panicked breaths slowing to intervals. I can here Zach heave a sigh beside me, chuckling nervously. I open my eyes, only to see him staring off at something that I couldn't see.

"Zach?" I whisper. He doesn't respond, so I reach for his hand and squeeze it reassuringly. He looks at me, his gaze anxious and unsure.

"We'll be okay, Zach," I mumble. Once the adrenaline disappears, I feel suddenly drained. My eyelids droop despite my best efforts to stay conscious. "We'll be okay," I repeat, managing a last weak squeeze before my eyes flutter shut. I feel a butterfly touch my forehead; a quick brush and then it's gone, along with everything else.

It's been a week since the incident. Zach refuses to acknowledge it, brushing me off when ever I try to tell him that being afraid to touch his own child isn't a bad thing. As spies, we're paranoid that everything we touch can be a lethal weapon. Because that's what we grew up, learning to kill and survive for our country. A simple magazine can be rammed down a person's throat; a pen can be used to slit a throat. And our hands? Liz wrote a list of over two hundred ways to kill someone with just our hands and body.

She says it's still not even halfway finished.

So I don't blame Zach for being afraid to touch my stomach. I'm afraid too, sometimes. But he's been avoiding me and acting as if nothing's wrong, disappearing sometimes for hours despite the fact that he now has a more flexible schedule until the baby's born (he insisted before that he'd be the one to drive like hell once the baby was about to "drop"). But now he just disappears all afternoon, only coming home to make dinner, make sure I eat, and usually disappears again. Until today. Today this stops. I'll make sure of it.

"So how's your mom?" he asks nonchalantly, washing our dishes, despite already cooking. I'm only three and a half months pregnant, but he's still all husband-y, not letting me on my new hideous kankles unless it's to move from the couch, table, and bed. I have to tell him to let me pee on my own, but even then he waits at the door, unless he isn't around.

"Well, she's stopped pestering me about letting her give you a good smack," I snort. I watch him carefully as I speak, noting every pause or twitch. "You know, she's been meaning to talk to you, actually. But every time she calls, I have to tell her you're out, because… well, because you go out. When she asks where, I have to tell her that you're on a mission or at the office, filling out a late report." He finishes the dishes, continuing to dry them. He doesn't speak, so I take this as a "continue" sign. "Grant called today, actually. He seems to be doing fine, being at home and watching Alex while Bex is off in Russia on a mission."

"Just like Rebecca to rip the pants off of Grant forcefully," he comments. He slows down his pace, taking his time to dry off the plates.

"He asked for you, actually, of course. He said something about competing in parkour at the park?"

"Aw hell," he blurts. "I forgot that I had to meet up with him today. When did he call?"

"Around six-ish, maybe."

Zach sighs, drying his hands, his back still to me. "I guess ill just have to reschedule later, then." He turns to leave, but I stop him, using my advantage of being near the entrance to block it.

"We need to talk," I say seriously. He takes a step back, raising an eyebrow. And then smirks.

"No need to be so dramatic, Cameron." Without looking away, he sits down in a chair lightly, interlacing his hands and resting his chin on them. "So talk, hon."

I dig my nail to keep my anger intact. Zach has always had an unnatural fetish to annoy me. I sit across from him, staring him down.

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"I have not."

"You leave every afternoon, you hardly ever speak. Even now, you're looking everywhere but at me," I hiss angrily. I feel betrayal and anger rush through me. This is what you get for pissing off a pregnant woman. "Are you seeing someone else? Are you only still here for this kid? 'Cause if that's it, than leave. I rather raise this kid on my own than with someone who doesn't care!" Even through my blurry vision, I can sense his surprise.

"You think… I'm seeing someone else?" There's a hint of humor in his voice.

"What am I supposed to think!" I yell, hysterical. "You disappear without a word, you come home all broody and quiet, and I don't know WHAT to think!" I bury my face in my hands, trying to tell him that I'm afraid of this kid and in reality, afraid of losing him and having to raise a BABY on my own. My own sobs seem loud and shuddering to my own ears, but I can't seem to stop. I'm finally able to release all my frustration and confusion, knowing that whatever happens, one way or another Zach will know what to do.

"Cammie…" I hear Zach whisper. I feel him tugging at my wrists lightly, as if to pull my hands away, but I refuse. I don't want to see the pity and satisfaction on his face when he tells me he has a new lover. I don't want to know about the other family, he's chosen. Maybe she isn't being hunted by an ancient terrorist group. Maybe she's safe and simple, or maybe she's a spy like me. Or maybe she's an assassin he met on a mission, and they fell in love at first sight, like Mr. and Mrs. Smith. God, I hate that movie, now that I think about it.

"Do you really want to now what I've been up to?" he mutters quietly. By now, the tears have dried and my sobs have stopped. But I still don't want to look at the second guy ever to break my heart. "Do you?"

"Of course I don't," I whisper numbly, almost bitterly. "I've just brought this up to cause a scene and make you hate me more."

"More? I don't hate you, Cammie. Cammie, look at me." I don't but he forces my chin up, and I conjure my best Morgan glare to stare at him. "I don't hate you, Cammie. I could never hate you. Or our kid," he adds. He sighs, and seems to make his mind up about something, because he stands, still holding onto my wrist. He tugs, but I refuse to stand. He sighs. "Don't make me carry you to the car, Cammie," he threatens. I get up because if it isn't bad enough that my heart's beating fast because he's holding my wrist, I don't know what'll happen if he carries me.

We're in our Camry without a word, Zach driving, of course. I press myself against the door, trying to get as far away as I can from the man I love in such a confined space. The cold glass feels nice against my hot cheek as we speed through the winding roads. I close my eyes, trying to enjoy to smooth, quiet ride.

Is he going to show me their flat? Or is he going to humiliate me by having her parents there? What if other people know? What if I'm the only one being left in the dark, wondering, while everyone around me knows and pities me silently? Just the thought of Zach's betrayals makes my throat burn and tears stream down my cheek relentlessly. Why can't he make this painless? Why is he dragging this out? What did I do that was so bad that he needs to torture me like this?

Before I know it, lost in my own turmoil thoughts, the engine cuts, and Zach hops out to open my door. I ignore his held out hand, managing to uncomfortably touch the ground. I look at the small, wooden lit building in front of me, expecting a house. Instead, I see a sign over the building, the setting sun reflecting onto it.

"What are we doing at Palumba's Piano Store?" I ask, completely confused. Where's the beautiful idealistic lover and cozy home?

"I'm showing you what I do with my spare time," he responds vaguely. He takes my hand, and I don't refuse, simply dazed in wonderment.

"Ms. Palumba?" Zach calls out once we're inside. There are expensive pianos scattered everywhere, along with the occasional keyboard. An elderly woman appears from a back room, smiling warmly at Zach.

"Zachary dear! You're here early!" She engulfs him in a tight hug, forcing Zach to let go of my hand. "You left in such a hurry this afternoon, I was worried that I'd said something wrong!" She stretches his cheeks like a grandmother would do; kissing his cheeks where she'd just pinched them. He blushes when he sees me smiling at him, ready to make a joke.

"This is Cammie, Ms. Palumba," Zach says hastily, rubbing his sore cheeks, "my pregnant wife," he adds. Before I know it, she's hugging me as well, taking care to not press my slightly bulging stomach.

"Oh! What a beautiful young lady! Just like you said, Zachary!" it's my turn to blush as she examines me, making Oh and Ah noises as she inspects my growing stomach.

"You certainly got lucky, Zachary dear," she says, winking at me. I smile politely, still confused.

"Thank you," I manage. I glance at Zach, who's looking around for something. "Ms. Palumba?" I say quietly while Zach seems to not be paying attention. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course dear."

"How is it that you know Zach?" She smiles.

"He comes here everyday and practices playing the piano. Actually, he just—"

"Can we borrow a room?" Zach interrupts. "If it isn't a problem of course."

"Of course not, dear!" She pulls out a set of keys, holding out a gold one. "I'll let you use the Steinway today." Zach's eyes widen.

"Really?"

Ms. Palumba winks. "You've earned it, Zach. Go ahead." She holds it out, and he holds it carefully.

"Thank you. I'll be careful, I promise."

"I know you will." She leaves, heading towards the cashier register.

"Come on, Cammie. I have to show you something." He grabs my hand, and I decide that even though I don't know what's going on, I might as well stay open-minded as to how I feel towards Zach.

We go down a hall, passing closed doors, some with tinkling noises coming from behind them. "I've been working on something all weeklong, ever since the incident with the baby, Cammie, and I found this store," Zach says. We reach the last one on the last one on the left, and Zach opens it excitedly, like a kid on Christmas. "I got an idea while I was checking out the pianos and signed myself up for a few classes." He opens the door, and it's completely dark. He flicks on the light, and I see an intricate looking piano sitting elegantly in the middle of the room, looking delicate. Without thinking, I walk towards it, lulled by the beauty. I pass my hand across the top, feeling the smooth wood underneath my fingers. I tap a key and flinch at the low, resonating sound.

"It's beautiful," I whisper. Zach beams.

"I haven't played on this one yet," Zach admits, sitting on the leather bench. "But I've been practicing for a while, and I think I've got the song down." He plays a few notes expertly, and I feel a warm feeling fill my body. Just hearing him play a few notes sounds angelic.

He takes a deep breath, sits straight, before playing a song I've never heard.

It's so melodic, so heartwarming, I feel myself sinking slowly, carefully to the ground. Every key he hits, every note he plays, makes my heart beat hard, makes the tears flow down my cheek relentlessly.

And then he starts to sing.

It's the way that you blush when you're nervous.

It's your ability to make me earn this.

I know that you're tired, just let me sing you to sleep.

I don't know what else to do but cry out of joy. I want to hug and kiss him and tell him I love him, but I'm too paralyzed to.

If you need anything, just the say the word.

I mean anything.

Rest assured, if you start to doze, then I'll tuck you in,

and plant my lips where your necklaces close.

While you were sleeping I figured out everything,

I was constructed for you, and you were molded for me.

Now I feel your name, coursing through my veins.

You shine so bright it's insane, you put the sun to shame.

I can't help but laugh and cry. Did Zach really do all of this? For me? I could ask him, or try to, but I want to listen to him play, listen to him sing me to sleep.

If you need anything, just the say the word.

I mean anything.

Rest assured, if you start to doze, then I'll tuck you in,

and plant my lips where your necklaces close.

He presses the last keys, and I can see he's sweating. He rubs his palms against his jeans, breathing hard. His face is flushed, his hair a mess. And yet I can't help but think he's beautiful.

"What do you think, Cammie?" His voice is soft and quiet in this loud room. He finally looks at me, and sees the tears. "Oh Cammie, I didn't mean to make you cry. Please, no more tears." He gets down on his knees beside me, rubbing away the tears that fall. "It's supposed to comfort you when the idea of having the baby scares you. Please, please don't cry Cammie."

"Zach," I choke out. Before he can speak, I wrap my arms around him tightly, sobs escaping me. "I love you," I whisper into his ears. "I love you so much."

"So you're not mad?" he mutters, his arms holding me.

I kiss him long and hard. "Does that answer your question Goode?"

He smirks. "Yes, it does."

A/N::: tried to get this done in one night. I'll face the consequences tomorrow morning .

Anyways, review!