A/N: I'm back! And I would say I'm sorry for the long time I've been gone but I'm sure most of you don't want to hear it. But for those who do, here's a short explanation: I had a very bad concussion and couldn't do anything for months. Tada! Anyway, now onto the story!

DISCLAIMER: All I own is the plot, the rest belongs to Ally Carter.

Just a Flinch

The snow outside was beautiful; it seemed to enfold the nature surrounding the school in an almost timeless fashion. I slowly traced my hand across the window, my fingers making a vague shape through the frost.

Sitting on the window seat with my knees curled into my side, I felt nice and calm. Something I almost never felt anymore. At least, not since my memories of the summer came back. It's hard to act normal all the time now; to give everyone the impression that even after everything I went through, I didn't change.

The months of capture will forever be embedded in my mind. No matter what I thought before the memories came back, the pain will never become just a distant memory. I will forever see the maniacal glint in Catherine's eyes as she lugged a blade through my flesh. Nothing will ever change the fact that her henchmen decided to do as they pleased with me.

Leaning my head against the cold stone wall, I desperately try to forget todays lesson in CovOps. We learned advanced techniques of interrogating hostiles. "Interrogation", I silently scoffed, "at least now I can understand Catherine's methods."

Suddenly, a hand on my shoulder startled me out of my reverie. I automatically cringed away from the contact as my mind recalled the torture I went through.

"Hello Ms. Morgan," said the man standing at my shoulder, "hard to believe isn't it? That even while in a world of pain, we can find beauty in the simplest of things." His voice was soft and familiar, almost like if he spoke too loud we'd wake up the slumbering storm that was slowly drifting away from Roseville.

I looked up at Mr. Solomon's face and my mind automatically memorized the new wrinkles by his eyes, "Pain Mr. Solomon? What pain?" I watched as his eyes glazed over, lost in his own memory.

He then shifted his gaze towards me, his expression one of amusement and a deep sense of sadness. "You mean to tell me you're not in any pain?"

I almost started to say that I was fine physically but I stopped myself as I remembered that pain could transcend the boundaries of the physical and traverse the planes of the mind. And with that, I know he meant the memories. And so I answered him with a sigh, "I'm fine."

He sat on the velvet couch across from me with his arms splayed along the back. For a moment he said nothing and we continued to study each other. Finally he stated, "You flinched."

I open my mouth to protest it but I shut it almost immediately. He's a spy I remind myself, of course he noticed it.

He seemed to read the shame in my gaze and he smiled gently at me, "I'm not reprimanding you Cammie, I'm just stating a fact." I looked back out the window, the darkness of night was slowly creeping in. As I didn't answer him, he continued "In fact, it's something I'm struggling with too."

I whip my gaze back to him, uncomprehending and shocked. Mr. Solomon? Struggling? Never.

He smiled wryly at me and laughed, "I'm not superman, you know. I have more than one kryptonite."

Then it clicked, Catherine had him too. In Mr. Solomon's past, he felt the radiating pain as he was hoisted up solely by his ankles, dangling, like a shirt on a close line.

I closed my eyes and debated with myself for a moment on if I should continue this conversation. For so long now, I couldn't bring myself to relive those days in hell. Yet as I glanced back over at him, I remembered Abby's voice talking to my mom as I eavesdropped.

"Rachel," she said "he won't talk to me."

I decided to talk to him then, not for myself but for him. Maybe, we both needed somebody who could understand, "It's gotten better." I shifted so my body is facing him, "I'm not causing any bodily harm to the person who decides to poke me anymore." He smiled encouragingly at me, "But it's a slow process."

Mr. Solomon nodded, "Teaching the subconscious is tricky and as spies, we value it to save us from danger. So, for us it's even harder." His eyes drifted away from me and looked at the ceiling, "In fact, some even say it's impossible."
In the back of my mind I understand what he said but a stubborn part of me refused to believe it, "It's not. There's no way it's impossible." I know I sounded like a petulant child but I didn't care. The only sliver of hope I had left, rode on the fact that someday (no matter how distant) I would be back to normal. I'd be the Cammie of junior year.

He just shook his head at me: his beautiful eyes alight with understanding, his mouth tilted in an ironic smile "Cammie, we've all been taught from a young age to remember everything, so how do you expect to forget something so monumental to your present self?"

I kept my gaze steadily on him and bit my lip, hadn't I just been thinking along the same lines? I sighed and ran my hand through my hair, "Then what can we do?"

At my question he smiled, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He laughed at the comical expression that must have lined my face, "We keep our heads up, make ourselves wake up day after day and sooner or later we'll realize that this new 'us' isn't that bad." He rubbed his shoulder and continued, "We'll learn to curb the new instincts we've gained and get everyone else to accept us the way we now are. Then everyone will see that we're okay."

At that I shook my head, "That's just it Mr. Solomon, we won't." I got up from my seat and walked over to him, my hands lightly tracing the couches edge "We'll never be okay by their standards. But sooner or later we'll be okay by our standards."

It seemed now that our roles had been reversed, him the student and I the teacher. A second ago he had seemed so sure and proud but now as I came closer to him I noticed the unhinged look in his eyes, one that reflected my own. "How can you be so sure?" He muttered in a way that I knew he didn't mean for me to hear.

But I answered anyway, "The memories will scar. We'll move past them and be better for them." I don't know if I actually believed my words but I hoped that Mr. Solomon would.

If I couldn't heal myself, at least I could help heal him.

His eyes bore into mine as he contemplated what I said and I knew then, that his moment of vulnerability had passed. His posture straightened and serenity graced his features once more. "You're right Ms. Morgan." He smiled sadly at me, "And the way you flinched back there? Wasn't just a flinch, no, it showed experience and instincts. And as horrible as those days were, you came out better for them. You now have knowledge that surpasses all your peers and they don't even know it." He stood up from his seat and began to walk away.

He stopped walking and looked at me over his shoulder, "And the best part? To them, that flinch will never mean any of that. No, it will mean nothing."

I watched as his Italian shoes clicked on the wooden floor and hoped he was right. But the broken part of me knew it wasn't true. And that part of me? Overrode the rest. So as he walked away, I agreed that a flinch wasn't just a flinch. But I couldn't see the good in that. No, the flich wasn't just a flinch in the same way this summer wasn't just any old summer. They were both things I'd kill to never have known, to forget.

A/N: So what do you think? Personally, I really want all Cammie's memories to come back as that'll add real dimension to her character. But I'm also kind of miffed that no one realizes that Joe went through a similar experience as he seemingly comes out fine (mentally). So here I tried to portray them as broken and not really sure what to believe. For those of you who know grief and mental pain in general, you can probably relate to how scattered their minds are. In healing you have good moments and bad moments and I hope my interpretation is realistic. Oh any lastly...

Review please!