Disclaimer: I do not own Cammie or Zach

Every Memory

I wish that without me your heart would break
I wish that without me you'd be spending the rest of your nights awake
I wish that without me you couldn't eat
I wish I was the last thing on your mind before you went to sleep

- Kate Nash
(The Nicest Thing)

She should not have expected his apartment to be anything other than it was. The place was immaculate, not a hair out of place. The floor was shiny and looked new and happened to match the white wallpaper that stuck firmly to the walls. There were no dishes in the sink or glasses left out, only clean table tops and a perfectly folded tea towel hanging from the stainless steel oven. On the opposite side of the small apartment, the soft blue duvet on the bed had been nipped and tucked so tightly that no creases could be seen. A penny could be bounced on it. The place looked like it had never been lived in, like it was out a magazine. The only thing that seemed off were the stacked cardboard boxes that sat in the dusty, under used closet.

She did not know why she had expected more, something of substance. He was a spy, he was taught to keep clean, and to leave no tracks. But staring at the characterless room gave her a cold, hollow feeling. Her room was decorated with pictures and colors, and her bed was hardly ever made. But that meant that her room was being lived in, that there was something to the girl that stayed there. Looking around, she felt as though his personality reflected the room. Perfect, tidy, and closed off. It was so typical.

She closed the door as quietly as she could, feeling as though she couldn't make a sound in the stoic apartment. Her eyes drifted over to the empty closet, where the door was left wide open, and stared at the boxes in them. They were, quite possibly, the only things that could ever tell her something more about Zach Goode. But she didn't dare touch the boxes; she was worried about what she would find in them. She wished he had unpacked, made it even the slightest bit cozier. She didn't understand why he didn't rent a hotel room; he never stuck around long anyway.

Her fingers touched the white on the walls, wondering if he'd even ever stepped foot in the room. It seemed like no one had been here in ages. But there were no cobwebs or an ounce of dust, someone must have been cleaning.

Cammie had always thought of boys as horrible, disgusting, messy creatures. However, Zach's apartment was the complete opposite of the stereotype she'd formed in her head. He was much too guarded with his things, he could not even relax in his own home.

"What are you doing here?" The owner of the apartment's voice said behind her, and she felt a chill run up her spine. She hadn't even heard him come in.

"Trying to find you," she replied without blinking, still looking around the room. She was still trying to find a flaw or anything out of place.

He knew better than to ask her how she got in. She was a spy— locks were like simple math for third graders.

He did not look like he had much to say to her response. He had not been expecting her, she could tell that much. He looked at her as if he wanted her to go on— to tell him why she had been looking for him in the first place.

"I can't believe you live here," she said instead, not being able to get over it.

He shrugged, his hair falling into his eyes.

"It's an apartment, nothing flashy."

"It's not anything," she amended. "There's nothing here."

"That you can see."

"That's kind of the point," she replied. "It looks like no one lives here."

Zach had walked over to the open closet. He closed the door, looking as though he'd never meant to leave it open.

"It's just somewhere to sleep," he said. "What's the big deal?"

She bit her lip and looked away from him.

"Gallagher girl?" he prodded, his eyes glinted.

"I don't even know you," she said quietly, not meeting his eyes.

He raised an eyebrow but she had not noticed— her eyes were glued to the floor.

"Where did that come from?"

"Look around," she said. "There's nothing here. It's like you don't even exist."

His lips turned up into a smile, but it was forced.

"That's kind of the point."

"Is it?" she asked, finally meeting his eyes again. "Why wouldn't you decorate your home with pictures or . . . something?"

He shrugged but there was something in his expression that made her feel uneasy, a pit formed in her stomach.

"I haven't gotten around to it," he replied. Years of experience told her he was lying. And Zach was good enough to hide a lie, even from her, which meant he wanted her to ask. He wanted her to know.

She didn't feel like playing games though. Not anymore, not this time.

She looked away from him. "I should go."

"Why did you come here?" he asked before she could even take a step. She sighed and glanced back at him.

"I came here to try and find out who you are."

"You know who I am."

"Do I?" she asked. "Because it really doesn't feel like I do. Zach, I don't know the first thing about you. But for some reason I trust you with my life. It doesn't make any sense."

"Of course you know me," he said as if it were ridiculous question.

She shook her head and let out a solemn, humorless laugh.

"I don't," she said. "I don't think anyone does."

He raised an eyebrow. "What is that supposed to mean?"

She shrugged. "You don't let anyone close enough to find out anything about you. It's like you're a ghost— nothing more than a shadow."

"That is not true," he said. "Just because it's not you—" she heard the defensive tone take place in his voice. He did not want what she said to be true, but he knew that it was.

"See?" she said, as if he were proving her point. "You're pushing me away because I'm trying to find out something about you."

His eyebrows pushed together, he felt like he was being tricked.

"What do you want to know?" he asked, the suspicion in his voice blatant.

A smile tugged at her lips. "Where are all the pictures?"

It seemed like a strange question, and maybe it was. But Zach understood what she meant. She wanted to know where he kept his pictures, if he even had any.

Zach turned away from her and re-opened the closet and pulled out the box that had been on the bottom of the stack. He placed it on the made bed and opened it up, backing away for her to have a look for herself.

She picked through the photo frames and stacks of developed pictures, sure enough they were all pictures of Zach. Some were with Grant and Jonas, other were with Joe Solomon and other people who looked like high clearance spies. Many of them were of who Cammie assumed to be his family. He even had a few pictures of his mother.

"Is this you Dad?" Cammie asked, pulling out a picture of a baby Zach in Catherine's arms, a tall man with Zach's beefy structure and smile holding his arms around them.

Zach nodded slowly, glancing at the picture over her shoulder.

"Where is he now?"

She knew it was a personal question, but that was the point. She wanted him to open up to her.

"Dead," he answered. The word was dead itself, holding no identifiable emotion. She glanced up at him, obviously wanting him to tell her why.

"He died when I was a baby," Zach said. "I never knew him."

Cammie nodded and but the picture neatly back where it had been. Zach looked over at her, "satisfied?" he wondered.

"Not really," she answered truthfully as she turned away from the box. But her smile was genuine and it made his heart beat a little bit faster. "But it's a start."

She was obviously pleased. Maybe showing old family pictures was not something big to just anyone, but for Zach she knew it meant a whole lot. It meant he trusted her, care about her even. He was willing to share his past with her, willing to let her get to know him.

"You should hang some of these up," she suggested.

Zach looked hesitant. "What's the point?"

That made her smile, she pulled another picture from the box, this one was framed and was of Zach, Grant and Jonas, she wasn't sure where, but they all looked happy. Even Zach.

"There is no point," she replied. "You just hang up pictures. It's what normal people."

He smirked at her. "And I'm normal?"

"Of course not," she said. "But photos are memories, they can define you. And I don't want you to be defined as the weird guy who doesn't have any pictures in his apartment and is suspected of being a serial killer."

He rolled his eyes but allowed her to take the photo and stand it up on the kitchen counter. She smiled. "Perfect."

"Is that it?"

She shrugged. "For now. All though I am a tiny bit disappointed," she said.

He raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"There aren't any pictures of me."

Cammie was surprised when a light tint of red appeared in Zach's cheeks. It hadn't been a big deal to her; especially since she was sure they'd never taken a picture together and was only teasing him.

"Are there?" she asked, doubting herself in spite of his reaction. She looked back at the box.

"Not in there," he said and started to pull something out of his back pocket. It was his wallet and she held her breath as he opened it up, pulling a slightly rumpled piece of paper from it.

He handed the wrinkled, bent photo over to her.

The smile that graced her face was instant, and a glow in her heart emerged, making her feel like she needed to catch her breath. It was of the two of them, and she was surprised because she could not recall the picture being taken. It had been at the ball their sophomore year, she knew because of the sparkly red dress she wore. They were dancing, but neither of them were looking at the camera. They were looking at each other, but they both look happy Cammie was almost disappointed that she couldn't remember the moment. Her breath caught as she looked at it, almost feeling like she wanted to cry. She did not know he could be so sweet, and she certainly hadn't expected him to care about her this at much.

She looked back at him, unable to hide her happiness. The smile he returned was slightly shy, as though he was embarrassed to have shown her that.

She didn't know what to say, she couldn't think of anything intelligent or uncliched. She wanted him to know she was grateful for letting her in, for opening up, but also for caring about her the same way she care about him. She settled on two simple words.

"Thank you."

Just wrote this, don't know where it came from.
Review if you would like