I'm posting this early because things are about to get very crazy for me over the next few days, and I'd appreciate a review/a subscribe/whatever form of encouragement you'd like to give me! Also, please consider checking out my other fics! This is my only real multichapter fic, but I have a GG oneshot, and two Heist Society fics up that might interest you.
This chapter features what I'm pretty sure is the first nice, domestic scene with Matt, Rachel, and Cammie, so please enjoy!
Matt had called an hour ago, saying that he was leaving Langley soon. His mission had gone well. There were no problems with the debriefing, but he might have strained his bad knee on the mission, so he needed to stop by and see a doctor and make sure that everything was okay before coming home.
Because what I really wanted right now was another reminder that Matt and I had a dangerous job.
I was lost in my thoughts, running through the history of my own missions gone wrong, when I heard the electronic deadbolt on our door unlock.
"What's wrong?" Matt asked immediately, throwing his duffel and coat down onto the armchair that never held people, only coats and bags. As he walked toward me, where I sat at the kitchen island, he cast his eyes towards the open bottle of wine.
Sliding off of the stool, I hugged him, hard, and kissed him. He still smelled like airplane.
"Welcome home, sweetie." I said, moving away from him to retrieve a second wine glass from the cupboard.
With a sigh, he collapsed onto the other stool and took the glass from me, and filled up both.
"What's wrong?" He asked again, resting his head in his hands as he leaned on the island. Taking a deep breath, I retrieved the leftover pizza that had been keeping warm in the oven, and slid it onto the island in front of him. And then I pointed at the large pile of papers in the very center of the island.
"Those are Cam's registration papers for Gallagher. If she's going to be guaranteed a place before the admissions department starts offering places to non-legacies, these need to be in to Operative Development by the end of the month."
Matt nodded absentmindedly as pulled the massive pile of paper towards him as he bit into a slice of pizza. I sat down next to him, watching his face as he took in the variety of questions we needed to answer.
"On a scale of one to five," he read through a mouthful of food, "your child displays a tendency to explore their physical environment for new and strange things. Well, that one's a five. On a scale of one to five, you child displays a high proficiency for using computers and to any other pieces of advanced technology to which they might have been exposed. Also a five. On a scale from one to five, your child displays a talent for strategic thought. Yeah, I'd say that one's a five too."
Swallowing a sip of my wine, I sighed.
"I know. She's just turned eleven and she's already a perfect candidate for Gallagher. She could be top of her class."
"What even are the class sizes at Gallagher?" Matt asked, as he looked through the forms about the DNA test Cam would have to take.
"They're down to about 15 per grade now. Back in my day, we were up to around 25, but between the Berlin Wall falling and perestroika, they're a little more selective."
"Our daughter's special." Matt said, sipping his wine. It was like he was re-remembering an old memory.
"I know." I avoided his eye, even as he spun on the stool and took one of my hands in his.
"You and Abby went to Gallagher, and you turned out great. And that school means so much to you—I'm pretty sure you love it more than you love me—" I snorted. "And our daughter's good. She's a natural."
"I know." I turned back to him. "But even the best operatives get hurt, or get in trouble. How many people have been there to praise you, me, Abby, Joe after a job well done? But you know how many tight spots we've been in, and the number of times we've gotten hurt in the field. You know Cam's good with computers and great with science, but she won't take a desk job. She'll be a pavement artist, like her dad."
At that, Matt looked away from me, and swallowed more than half of his glass of wine in one go. Considering that that bottle of cabernet that had actually cost more than $20, that was a little annoying.
"Maybe it's because I picked this life, rather than being born into it, but I think she can do it."
"I know she can do it. She'll do it very well. The CIA will want her for sure, but I wouldn't be surprised if the NSA, Interpol, the FBI all started asking after her when she's still an underclassman. She tailed you, Matt. She's brilliant. I don't want to condemn her to this life, but what would she be like in a normal school? She's smart enough to get a scholarship at any one of the prep schools in DC, but even at the most academically rigorous and privileged schools, she'd be—"
"Miserable. And antsy. At public school, she'd either be too stifled to ever be happy or waste her potential because she feels trapped. At least, that's how I felt. At a prep school, she'd either be stigmatized as one of the scholarship kids, or, I don't know, start hanging out with spoiled politician's kids and party every weekend and get addicted to opiates by the age of 18." Matthew said, rolling his eyes.
"I mean… Those weren't exactly the scenarios that I imagined, but yes. I'm having trouble admitting that my daughter and only child could never be happy unless she joins the dangerous family business and spends her adult life getting shot at in foreign countries."
"Well, if she's going to be a pavement artist like you said, she's pretty good at it, so she really shouldn't be getting shot at—"
"Matt." I snapped. "I'd appreciate it if you—"
"Were less flippant about it." He finished. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I am. Believe me. I spent half of the flight home from Caspia thinking about the fact that someday Cammie might walk into the center of a military coup and walk out with classified files saved to a disk hidden in her hat, or do anything of the insane things that we do, like parachute onto an embassy. I just don't see much use in denying that it's going to happen."
"I know. I know I'm not being rational about this, but—"
"But you are being perfectly reasonable. I'm not saying that you shouldn't be concerned, but we need to do the best thing for Cam, and I think the best thing for her is to send her to Gallagher, to put our brilliant and amazing daughter on the track to be the incredible operative we know she can be. When she's at Gallagher, or when she graduates, or goes to college, she can decide then if she wants this life. Because the best thing we can do for our stubborn, independent, genius child is to not sell her short on her own potential."
I nodded, spinning the wineglass by the stem in my hands.
These were all things that I had thought before, but having someone, especially Matt, say them out loud helped.
"But you already knew that." Matt sighed, the corners of his mouth twisting upwards, just the tiniest bit. He reached forward to grab the bottle of wine between us, and refilled both of our glasses up to the very brim.
I leaned forward and kissed him.
I had missed him. Our house was always quiet—spies are quiet people by nature—but when Matt's gone, the house always seems to echo in his absence.
Breaking the kiss, Matt leaned back. He was smiling, that sweet, charming grin of his.
"Now, if you'll excuse me." He stood from the stool, and, crossing his arms, leaned against the island. His eyes fixated on the base of the staircase, and raising his voice, he said "I'm going to go and say goodnight to my lovely daughter, who I'm certain is in bed right now, and isn't trying to eavesdrop from the top of the staircase."
Matt's eyes caught mine as we froze, grinning mischievously as we heard a single floorboard creak. Giggling slightly, Matt leaned down to kiss me once on the top of my head.
"I'm going to say goodnight to Cam, and then I'll come back down and help you with the paperwork."
"No." I shook my head. "The paperwork can wait for the weekend. The wine, on the other hand, won't."
He smiled again.
"Sounds like a plan, love."
And, as quietly as ever, he crept up the stairs.