Chapter 13

Zach's POV

I grasp Cammie's hand with mine, her small paler than usual hand dwarfed by my larger ones. I stroke the hair from off of her forehead and brush my hand down around her cheek. The doctor sedated her after her panic attack. I could hear them whispering to headmistress Morgan and Joe, who despite his anger at her had come back the instant he heard about her panic attack, from in the hallway. Their voices are carrying to me though I don't think I was supposed to be able to hear.

"I think we need to get her psychiatric help," The doctor was murmuring. "She has had a severe trauma and she is clearly not recovering. Everyone is coddling her and it isn't helping her get any better."

His words were blunt but in the back of my mind I knew that what he was saying was true. I hadn't been here, but I had the feeling that no one would actually make her do anything that she truly didn't want to do. She had been through a lot, so much more than some experienced, graduated spies that I know, and she hadn't even finished her years at Gallagher Academy. She had been attacked multiple times, she had been attempted to be kidnapped, been tortured and had her memory whipped. She had tried… tried to kill herself. She was fragile.

"We tried therapy once." Headmistress Morgan whispers, her voice choked. "That is why she is in this situation. He put it in her head to … to kill herself. He brainwashed her and he… he controlled her for so long. We tried therapy … and I nearly lost her because of it. I nearly lost my baby girl. I can't go through this again. I can't lose her so soon after losing Matt… I mean officially losing him. I just can't."

The sound of Joe's voice is barely audible as he responds, not quite loud enough to distinguish his actual words. But it is clear by Headmistress Morgan's response that she doesn't think it is the greatest idea.

"I will not put her in a situation where she could hurt herself or possibly others." She snaps, her voice harsh. "We don't know what else the bastard put into her head. It is not happening."

Joe and the doctor don't respond and I listen to the sound of her footsteps moving along the corridor, I'm assuming heading towards her office. I squeeze Cammie's hand tightly once more, bringing her hand to my mouth and placing a soft kiss to her warm skin. I know that Joe and the doctor are still standing in the hallway; the feeling of not being alone is the only thing giving it away. They are both highly trained spies and even without meaning to, they revert back to the field techniques of being incredibly still and quiet. I stand up, pushing the blue vinyl chair back with a slight scrape as I do. With one last glance at Cammie, I turn and walk towards the door to Solomon. The doctor nods grimly at me and Joe before turning and walking further into the infirmary to his office.

"So situation report?" Joe asks, his voice portraying his tiredness.

"I couldn't find him." I mutter, knowing exactly what he was talking about. "He had someone waiting to immediately take him away from Virginia. I traced him to Colorado, then Idaho, then to Seattle in Washington. After that I lost him. I was trying to track him from there when all this with Cammie happened."

"Ok." He responds. "Well I will get someone else onto it. I figure you will want to stay awhile. "

Without waiting for my answer, he gives a swift nod then turned to march back out of the infirmary, a pensive look on his face. I watch him go, before turning briefly to look back at Cammie, before following Solomon's path, trudging along the halls to my room that has been put into the old teachers wing.

1 week later

Cammie's POV

I wake up my mind foggy, and my mouth dry. The head of my bed is raised so I am in a slight sitting position. I roll onto my side and realise for the first time in a week that there is not a drip in my arm. It has been… well I am not sure how long since it has been since my freak out at Zach. They have kept me sedated as it seems that each time the meds wear off, I have a breakdown of some sort. It has been a haze of people sitting next to me, indistinguishable, human blobs with voices that buzz incessantly trying to talk to me and a lot of sleeping.

I roll back onto my back at the sound of a door opening.

Joe Solomon is leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed across his chest and his face stern but his eyes cautious, studying me seriously. A bag is sitting at his feet. It is odd for even an emotion to show in his eyes. I look down at his wrist to avoid his gaze and realise that they bandages have been removed. The skin underneath was red and angry, raised and puckered in a jagged line from where the blade bit into my skin. A bubble of shame wells up and forms a ball in my throat making it hard to swallow.

My face warms in a blush despite my best efforts under his stare. The meds have screwed with my ability to blend in with my surroundings. Also maybe the fact that I kept trying to kill myself, stupidly keeping the fact that I have been hearing the music even though I said it stopped after the first incident of falling off the roof.

"So I see they have weaned you off the meds enough for you to know who I am this time. I'm glad to find that your mother and the doctors seem to be listening to me." He says, his voice emotionless. "It is nice to see the blush despite the fact that it shouldn't be happening with the training I have given you."

I duck my head and pick at the thread that is still in the blanket over me. I hate the way people have been looking at me lately, thinly veiled concern and worry, and despite I'm sure his best efforts, he is showing them all now, which is what prompts me to talk.

"Yeah well you aren't exactly hiding your emotions well either." I say, my voice snarkier than I meant it to be, forgetting that I was going to ask him about his comment about my mother and the doctor.

He just smirks at me, bending down to pick up the bag and then moving closer without actually saying anything. He settles into the blue vinyl chair that is constantly beside my bed. It releases a rush of air in a squeaky huff as his full weight is placed upon it. The zips on the red backpack jingle as he once again places it at his feet. I am curious as to what is in it but I don't ask. He brings his right ankle up to rest on his left knee, leaning his right elbow on the arm rest, placing his chin in his palm. He studies me unabashedly.

"They think you should try therapy." He states, his voice casual.

I snort, causing his facial expression to morph into that of surprise.

"Because therapy went so well for me last time." I explain. "Do they not remember that my last therapist tried to get me to jump off a roof before he left? And very nearly succeeded might I add."

"Among over things." He comments, his eyes darting down to look at my wrist that I hastily cover with my hand.

"Yeah well…" I say, unsure of how to finish my sentence.

"Which is exactly what your mother told them." He answers, his voice matter of fact.

"You did?" I ask, my tone confused.

"I said the way to get you back to normal," he states. "Is to get you back into a normal rhythm."

"Meaning?" I ask.

"Meaning, everyone has been tiptoeing around you." He replies. "I think that if we let you settle back into classes, the way that everyone else is in classes, meaning going out on the field trips, then you will be able to get back to yourself."

"Seriously?" I exclaim.

"Your mother isn't too keen on the idea. And you know how stubborn she can be if she doesn't think something is a good idea." He answers, a small smile on his face.

I go to interrupt but he holds his hand up to stop me. He leans forward slightly before continuing.

"But," He says, "I think that I have her convinced that it is the best way to go."

"Is that what you meant by you glad that her and the doctors are listening to you?" I ask, remembering his comment again. '

"Yes." He responds. He doesn't elaborate any further.

Instead he bends down to unzip the bag that is at his feet. He rustles around in it for a few moments before sitting back up. In his hand is a manila envelope, filled with a sheath of papers. He places it on the bed beside me. My fingers instantly reach out for it, bringing it to sit on my blanket covered lap. I look back at him questioningly.

"This is your legend for the day." He stands up, bending to reach the bag and places it on the chair he just vacated. "These are a change of clothes. You have an hour to learn it, get changed and be waiting on the oval."

Without any further explanation he turns and strolls out of the room, leaving me behind, stunned. It takes me a few moments before I dive out of the bed and pull off the hospital gown, rummaging through the bag to pull out the clothes that I am hoping the girls have packed for me, considering it contains a pair of underwear and a bra. The idea of Joe Solomon going through my underwear draw sets me slightly on edge. The back also holds my comfiest jeans and sweater.

I quickly throw them on, grab the folder and race out the door to the oval. I will learn my legend there.

This is my chance to prove myself.