Author's Note: I write on impulse. I have no plans to make any of these fanfictions into originals, except maybe this one, depending on how it ends up. I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'll be updating other stories too. Goodbye, writer's block! :))

12/20/13: I went back and fixed most of the mistakes I made. MORGAN is not Cammie. She's the little girl that Zach found in the woods. There will be NO cross-generation romance in this story.

Chapter 1

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"I don't think you're being very fair," Morgan remarked, ducking as the sword went over her head.

Zach just shrugged, broad shoulders tensing for a second, before he swung again. His movements were fast and precise, like he'd been using the weapon for years and years. And he had.

The forty-year-old man had been trained to use every weapon ever made since almost three decades ago. He was getting old, but he refused to let that cease his skill. Every assassin was taught to kill until the day they died, which was usually on the job. He was lucky, in a way, because the war stopped his killing. Temporarily. He could do as he pleased, and might even die in peace.

He smiled wryly when the sword flew from his hand. He sure was getting rusty.

Taking advantage of her empty-handed component, Morgan used her own sword to strike. Her blow was perfect, fast, and strong. But that wasn't good enough to sway the man, because his foot darted out and he kicked the handle out of her grasp. It joined his weapon on the ground.

Then she was on the floor and a hand was thrust in front of her face. "How did you-"

Zach smirked and hauled the girl to her feet. "I haven't lost a fight in a very long time, Morgan. You should know that."

"Whatever, dad," she huffed, stomping into the kitchen to find something to eat. He wasn't her real dad, and they all knew that. But she refused to call him anything but. In a way, it made him feel better about the whole situation.

Following after the girl, he found her digging through the cupboard for food.

"Don't worry, Pops. I'll beat you by the end of the month. You're not getting any younger, you know?" She smiled in content when she found a box of cookies and eagerly stuffed two into her mouth.

Zach glared. "I'm not that old. And if I'm correct, you just spent half of our training time on the ground."

Morgan ignored him in embarrassment and he couldn't help but laugh. She pointed her cookie at him. "You, sir, are terrible. Simply terrible."

The young female in the room watched fondly as her 'parent' grumbled about his age. He wasn't old, really, but nobody feels ecstatic about graying hairs. Not that it did anything to remove her dad's arrogance, of course.

"What's Gallagher?" she asked out of nowhere when he finally finished.

Zach looked at the girl with widened eyes. "I went to school there for a while. Haven't I told you that?"

She shook her head. "You never mention anything from before the war."

Her guardian's expression darkened at the mentioned war. Morgan set down her cookies and folded her hands on the table. "There isn't much to tell. We graduated, then the Royals took over."

Morgan wanted to groan. He always did that. "But why? Why would they want to do that?"

"Power." It was the gruffness of her dad's voice that made her wish she hadn't asked. "They wanted complete power, and what better place to start? The civilians were already giving the country a bad name. Might as well finish the job."

She thought this over. If it was true, why would they completely change everything? Wouldn't it have been easier to just start over somewhere new? It couldn't have been easy to conquer a country, especially one with so many soldiers.

But most of them were at war, she remembered. They saw an opportunity and took it.

It was something she would do, she realized. If there was something she really wanted and there was a way to get it, she would do it. That's what she was taught.

"I'll be back."

Before anyone could reply, she was out the door, enjoying the wind blowing around her and the feeling of dewy grass against the soles of her feet.

Zachary Goode stared after her as she ran, deeper and deeper into the forest. He saw her jump high, catching a branch and swinging onto a tree. His frown turned into a slight grin. She was like a monkey. Her black hair disappeared and all he could see was the rustling of leaves as she jumped from tree to tree.

"She's going to be fine," he told himself. "The city guards don't come out here and there's no way she'll be attacked."

The man tried hard to reassure himself of her safety, but it took more effort than he liked. She was always seeking or attracting trouble, whether she knew it or not. And despite being raised by a former-assassin-turned-spy, she was impatient and could easily mess something up.

it was times like these that he wished he had a life-long companion.

Then, with one glance in the direction of the girl, he went back inside.

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"Oh Morgan!" a male voice sang as he walked through the trees. "Little Miss Morgan, having so much fun. But only when she has a gun!"

His voice grew louder until he was sure she would hear him from anywhere in the forest. "My love! Oh how I wish to hold you in my arms, stroke your silky hair, taste your soft sk—"

A dagger embedded itself into the tree behind him, cutting off his theatrics along with a few strands of hair. Seconds later, a girl was jumping from a tree, landing gracefully on the ground. She glared. "Adrian, you are such an annoying pest. Why do I even bother talking to you?"

The man winked, yanking the dagger from the bark. "Who knows? Maybe you like me. Maybe you love me. Maybe you secretly wish to have my babies."

She accepted the weapon kindly, gently securing it into the waist of her pants. Then she punched him in the shoulder. "I told you before. My dad wants attractive grandchildren. And he hates your face."

Adrian shrugged off the insult, already preparing several of his own to shoot back at her later. "If he hates my face so much, why did he threaten to hang my head on his wall?"

Morgan's mouth slipped into a feral smile. "Because the dartboard broke."

"That was very good, my dearest Morgan," he said. "But not good enough. It takes a lot to anger a fine specimen such as myself. Your jokes do nothing to disarm me!"

"You're not that great." As she spoke, Morgan looked him up and down. He was the local Blacksmith's son and usually spent his time helping his father out. It was days like these that Morgan found herself wandering alone in the deepest parts of the forest.

His eyes were dull and dark, like everyone else in the village. Times were tough and it sure was taking a toll on everybody. Everyone but the Royals, that is. Upon her examination, Morgan found herself staring at the three lines on his hand.

Red, white and blue.

They marked the Resistance. She frowned, causing her companion to look down as well. He knew she hated those lines because they were a sure way to get killed, but he held pride in the colors. They were the same colors his country used in their flag, and he refused to let them go.

"Why must you insist on wearing that mark?" she asked. It was a question he'd heard several times before. Each time, his answer was the same.

"Because if I'm going to die, I'd like to be wearing the colors of the land of the free and home of the brave." He said it proudly, but Morgan just sighed.

"My dad says that the country was spiraling down even before the Royals took over. He said that people were losing their morals."

"Coming from the assassin, that hardly means anything," Adrian retorted. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he wished he could take it back.

Morgan stepped away from the boy, grey eyes turning an angry shade of silver. Her fingers clenched tightly and her feet were ready to bolt. But she wanted to say something first.

"Don't insult my father," she hissed. "He may not be the best man, but he's still good."

And then she was running.

Her anger rolled off of her in waves and she was hoping he knew it. Hoping he felt it. It was an unspoken rule when it came to people she befriended. Never, under any circumstances, insult her parents.

After a full hour of hiding out in a tree, she saw him walking away. He was probably headed to help his dad. Another few hours passed as she just sat there quietly, thinking. She could go home, or she could find Adrian and apologize for running off.

But my actions were justified, she reminded herself. His were not.

"Home it is, then," she murmured to nobody in particular. It wasn't like there was anyone around to hear her. "Maybe dad's got food set out."

Morgan cringed in thought of her father's cooking. Zach didn't have very much...skill...in the kitchen. It was nothing to be proud of.

She climbed down the tree, and when her feet finally ran out of branches to use, she dropped down, down, down onto the forest floor. The smug girl grinned to herself as she stood straighter and began to saunter out of the forest.

Her footsteps halted when movement caught her eye.

Dagger in hand again, she turned to the man at the base of the tree, smiling at her in a demented sort of way. "Morgan Goode, I have a proposition for you."

Author's Note: I don't really like this chapter. It was a very choppy start to my story and it was short. Yes, I'm trying to make my chapters longer. Thank you, to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed this! Maybe I'll start doing review replies...

-M