Did I mention that I was awful at updating? A bit of Zammie. Enjoy.

"Come inside," His rough voice cut through the stillness of the night.

The figure on the balcony did not move.

Not even when Cryptic reached his arm out to touch their shoulder. The figure's attention was held by something below them on the street, or maybe by the buildings that surrounded them. Whatever it was, Cryptic didn't know. But what he did know, was that they shouldn't be there.

"Come in-" He prodded again, only to be cut short.

"I heard," A soft, impatient voice said.

Cryptic was done waiting. He forcefully turned the figure to him, pressed their body against the balcony's railing and his body. He didn't think about the minimum amount of space left between him and the other person or the irritated and distant look in the blue eyes that meet his green ones. "Then why didn't you?" He questioned bitterly as his hands rested on either side of the person on the railing, trapping them in a sort of make-shift cell.

"Haven't you heard of giving a girl her privacy?" The person said. "And her space, too?"

Cryptic groaned. If there was one thing he learned about Chameleon, it was that she could be stubborn. Not necessarily in a good way, but stubborn for her own good. He leaned back, but his grip on the railing didn't loosen. It tightened until his knuckles were a faint white. His gaze on her didn't shift.

"Come inside." He repeated, his voice dangerously low.

"I will," She spat back, but the look on her face proved that she didn't mean the harshness of her words.

"No," Cryptic released one of his hands from the railing, slid his hand down the side of her arm. The cotton fabric of her jacket was warm beneath his touch as he enclosed his fingers around her wrist. "You're coming in now."

He tugged at her wrist, pulling her towards the door that led back inside. Chameleon turned her back to him again as she released her hand from his grip. She wasn't going in the easy way.

Cryptic tried another way.

"You better come in."

"And why is that?" She asked, never turning away from the balcony.

"They can spot you. Your pursuer. You wouldn't want that now, would you?" Cryptic reasoned.

A silence progressed. Leaning on the railing opposite to Chameleon, he tried to get a look at her face. Even if she was facing the other way, he could see the moonlight dance across her features. He could see the shadow that passed over her face.

The young women had worries about this mission, and it was obviously displayed on her face.

"Cammie," He said, softer this time, as he reached for her hand again.

"Don't call me that," She abruptly turned to him, blue eyes dancing with a burning fire. Her shoulders tensed; her posture was rigid. "Only my friends can call me that."

Cryptic felt the small of his back hit the cool, hard surface of the railing. He placed a hand to his heart as though he had been hit there, her words being the bullet that was slowly causing him pain. He told her, "I didn't know."

"Well, now you do." Cryptic noted that she was furious at him, but the uneasiness she spoke her words with and her body posture showed that she didn't want to be. Chameleon sighed, "Look, how can I trust you when I don't even know who you are?"

"You don't have to." It was Cryptic's turn to be stubborn. As much as he'd love to get on Chameleon's nerves, he needed to get her back into their temporary apartment first. Formalities and other such things could be handled later.

"Well?" She asked. Cryptic didn't answer her, only left her with silence.

"Who are you?" Chameleon asked as she walked closer to him. She was trying to analyze his features, or at least what she could see of it. Cryptic lowered his head. He didn't need her to see the look that passed over his brow. He hoped that as he turned away, she'd lose interest-that she'd do what he'd requested of her and go inside the apartment.

His eyes drifted down to the streets, where the dim illumination of street lamps and headlights of cars made it difficult to spot movement down below. Anyone in the shadows could be an enemy. A stranger. From experience, Cryptic could tell that people one couldn't see shouldn't be trusted. He wanted to slip into the darkness; become nothing. It was better than answering a question he didn't know how to answer.

Who was he, anyway?

"You don't want to know." He murmured, avoiding all eye contact with the young women. The ray of light that danced across the balcony floor seemed far more interesting than the conversation-than her face.

"What's your real name?"

Cryptic gave a short laugh that held no hint of humor. He didn't doubt that the girl or her friends had broken into the C.I.A. databases to find out what the answer to that was. He meet her eyes again. It wasn't time to come out of the protection he built around himself over the years. It was far too soon, and the persistent young women wasn't going to get much out of him.

He leaned into the moonlight so she could see his face-not that it would matter since his features were passive. "Don't you already know that?"

Chameleon blinked in confusion. She probably wasn't expecting that from him. Maybe that was why he believed her when she said, "I really don't know."

Another silence passed by them, this one prolonged and uncomfortable.

Chameleon sighed in frustration. The young women's hands curled into fists. Cryptic didn't need to be a seasoned operative to know that she had enough of this. Her voice raised as she demanded, "So I'm supposed to go into this without knowing? I'm supposed to trust you and the two others who came from your school just because they're good and they were assigned on this mission? I don't like going in blind. If I'm going to this, tell me a little bit about yourself. That's the least you could do."

Cryptic hesitated. He had been in her position before-knew that not having enough information could drive one crazy. But he couldn't tell her. She wasn't allowed to know much and knowing wasn't necessarily a good thing. He bit his lip to prevent retorting that it was her fault for getting herself into this situation, yet it wasn't the time to reflect back on mistakes. "Yes," he mustered. "Do you want to stay alive?"

Perhaps the young women had had enough of his nonsense, or she acknowledged the fact that it wasn't such a smart idea to stay outside at a late time. Whatever the reason, it was enough to make her march through the door that led back into the apartment. He followed in after her.

"Zach." He mumbled.

That got her to stop in her tracks. "What?" She perked.

"You asked for my name," Cryptic shut the sliding door to the balcony. The sound echoed in the empty and quiet room. "I'm Zach."

She gave a brief nod, a hint of a smile on her lips. "Good to know."

Then she turned and sauntered down the hall to her room, her figure slowly disappearing as she went. Cryptic pressed his back against the cold, hard door and let out a sigh. The moonlight seemed a little bit brighter now they were inside. He let his thoughts run to the mission: Chameleon wouldn't be safe. Not for long. Neither would everyone else assigned on it, but he could only hope. He also wondered how long he would have until he had to reveal the truth to Chameleon. When the doubts started to weigh down on his mind, he dismissed the thoughts and pushed himself off of the door.

He could deny the truth.

Well, for now, at least.

He tried not to think much about it as he trudged down the hall to his own room. Maybe the thick veil of lies he hid from her will be cleared up like the bright sun the morning after a rainy night. But until then, him and the lies would remain hidden in the night, blurred by the heavy rain.