#ogsy

A good spy always tried her best to find a high vantage point. As Joe Solomon would say, a higher observation point let you notice things that you may not see at another angle. It let you calculate your field, gave you precious extra moments to calculate exit strategies and map perimeters, and overall, was just good practice in general.

But Joe Solomon was in a coma, and Rebecca Baxter was getting tired of turning the spy on every single day. That evening, with the orange glow of the sun over the Bosphorus Strait, Rebecca Baxter was trying to be a teenager.

Those had been the words her mother and father had thrown at her and Zach before promptly kicking them out of the flat they were staying in that week in Istanbul. Abby and Buckingham had arrived earlier that day, and the two of them were being left out in the cold. Again. 

Bex leaned over the railing overlooking the Strait, her eyes scanning the water thoughtfully, as if waiting for Cammie to jump out in a wetsuit and apologize for running away. She could smell spices from the nearby markets, could hear the faint traces of Turkish prayer nearby (technically, the Gallagher Academy didn’t teach Turkish, but she’d spent more than enough time in the country to pick some of it out). 

Istanbul was a city that seemingly never slept. It seemed to match the boy who was standing beside her, hands shoved in his pockets, staring out at the Strait with her. She had become accustomed to a comfortable silence with him, what with the endless plane, train and car rides, the amount of times they’d been forced to find their own entertainment when the adults kicked them, and the general air of comfort that happened when two people spent enough time together.

They had spent a lot of time together. Which meant the adults were working nonstop to find Cammie…so that had to be a good thing, right?

“So is this another country you’re crossing off the bucket list?” she asked, trying to break the silence. “Or was Croatia the exception?”

He smiled for what felt like the first time in hours. “I wouldn’t call diving in the Adriatic Sea as visiting the country of Croatia, but yeah. I’ve never been this far east, I think.”

“It was only a little bit of diving, and we technically tried that ice cream parlor in Zadar,” she quipped back, nudging his shoulder with her own.

He laughed softly, tension easing from his broad shoulders slightly. “So, have you Baxters tracked down arms dealers in this country, too, or was your mom lying about Marrakesh?”

“I’ve been here a few times,” she teased, gazing fondly at the shimmering water. “Did you know Istanbul is the only city in the world spanning two continents?”

“I did, actually. Despite the whole ‘assassin’ thing, Blackthorne’s curriculum isn’t that bad, Baxter,” he joked back, his gaze falling on the people walking throughout Sarayburnu Park, the nightlife of Istanbul passing through the little park as people walked along the water, as couples held hands and families took sugar-crashing children home for bed.

A pair of birds were chittering on the railing next to him, and his attention shifted, scanning the golden and black feathers of the little birds next to him. He always liked looking at birds up close, how their feathers signified mating and weather patterns, how you could identify a bird through just its call.

She must have noticed his shift, how his eyes raked the birds, and how his breath caught in his cheeks, afraid to scare them off. “What?” she asked.

He hesitated for a second, a soft pink creeping up his cheeks. “They're finches,” he finally admitted, gesturing toward the small birds. “European goldfinches, specifically. You can tell by the red face and yellow wing bars.”

“Go on, Professor,” she teased gently, leaning closer to hear him better. “I didn’t know you were such a bird boy. Shall we get Big Bird here?”

He rolled his eyes at her, but laughed as the two birds flew away, then turned back to face her, “I went through a bird phase when I was eight. It drove my mom crazy, but she gave in, I guess. Bought me a bunch of bird books, and even took me out to a sanctuary near where we were living at the time.”

“A bird phase? Seriously, Zach?” Bex’s laugh was melodic and free and burst out of her without warning, and soon enough the two of them were laughing so hard they both had tears rolling down their cheeks, the liveliness of Istanbul momentarily making them forget the air of sadness that had coursed around them the entire summer.

“Laugh all you want, Duchess, but when the bad guys kidnap us and send us to…I don’t know…Siberia, and all we hear is a Baikal teal, I’ll know exactly where we are, and you won’t” he shot back, and his eyes seemed more playful this go around, the ghost of a true laugh on his lips.

“Right, because the bad guys famously kidnap spies and put them close enough to a window to hear a bird outside.”

“It’s still useful!”

“So if this whole spy thing doesn’t work out, are you considering a career as an ornithologist?” she teased him, her hand almost subconsciously brushing his arm before poking him lightly.

“Don’t tell anyone, but yes.”

“Your secret’s safe with me, Zachary. Although, when your hit show on the Nature channel airs, I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my poker face,” she joked. She suddenly became aware of the air between them, the fact that they were teasing and laughing and smiling despite everything that happened.

It wasn’t quite right, but it wasn’t quite wrong either, and she was tired of feeling her sadness and grief in everything she did. Today, she was a teenager, just like she’d told her mother. Which is why she felt comfortable leaning her head on his shoulder, the two of them watching the lights twinkle across the Strait. Technically, they were staring at another continent, but to them, it felt like they were the only two people in this city. On this planet.

When he turned to look at her, he found her watching him, her eyes the darkest brown he’d ever seen them. His gaze bore into hers, and he suddenly became very, very aware of his surroundings, felt every hair on his arm brushing against her hand, the arm that had been innocently thrown around over her waist felt a thousand times heavier.

He could hear her breathing, could almost feel the blood pumping inside her body. He was dangerously aware that she could hear his heartbeat, and then their faces were inches apart. His hand went to brush her hair out of her eyes, but there was no familiar spark. Brown eyes bore into green, and then she dropped her gaze to his lips, and he couldn’t help but flick down to hers as well.

They didn’t move, both too afraid to cross a line they had absolutely no business crossing. When his eyes met hers again, his heart ached with the reminder that there was a different pair of brown eyes that he wanted to be looking into at that exact moment. A child shrieked thirty feet away, and his hand snapped back to his side, and the trance they were in broke.

The moment was over. He pulled back, shaking his head softly, and when he spoke, his voice was low and thick, “We can’t.”

She moved her hand from his chest, letting it drop to the railing beside them, then closed her eyes, her voice was equally soft when she said, “I know. I miss her.”

The heat of his body was starting to fade away, and she felt herself shiver despite the warm July air. Her breath still wasn’t quite back to normal, and he knew his heart was beating at a million miles per hour, even if his hand had dropped from her waist.

Bex was an incredibly purposeful person. She never moved without reason to, rarely fidgeted, and almost never let herself get caught off guard, but then she was fidgeting, adjusting the cross-body bag she’d been carrying, playing with the hem of her tank top. 

“I’m sorry,” she blurted, because she needed to say something. “I didn’t mean to—and we shouldn’t—”

“Bex,” he cut her off. He forced a smile, and she couldn’t lie and say it didn’t shoot her heart rate right back up. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, too. That wasn’t…that wasn’t me at all. I’m sorry.”

“I mean, obviously not,” she replied, her hands now tightly gripping the railing, “Because that would be… that would be—”

“Yeah.” Zach’s voice was low and soft, “It would be…”

“She’s my best friend,” Bex cut in, and God, she had never wanted more in her life than to have Dr. Fibs’ teleportation watch (still in the prototype phase) so she could avoid the awkwardness of this conversation.

“And I—” Zach started, then stopped. He shook his head, and Bex saw the muscles of his broad shoulder tighten. “I love her.”

“Of course you do. We all love her.”

The silence stretched again, this time brittle. They both tried to pretend it hadn’t happened. That they weren’t standing too far apart now. That their voices weren’t just a little too tight.

“So,” Bex said eventually, grasping for normal. “We should head back—my parents will be wondering where we are, and we have to be in Bucharest tomorrow.”

He had never been more grateful for a conversation change in his life, and he once again thanked his lucky stars that the Gallagher Academy’s Culture & Assimilation classes were so extensive (because a Gallagher Girl really could talk her way out of almost any situation). 

The memory of poking fun at C&A classes with Cammie the day after he first met her caused his heart to sink even more, but there was no use bringing that up now, especially after what had just happened.

“Do you think it’s too late to convince your mother your cover should be a snotty American tourist?”

She smiled at him, the moment over, and the awkwardness dissipating for now, then held a hand to her heart in mock offense. “You wound me, Zachary. Is that how little you think of me?”

The two of them started walking along Sarayburnu Park, making their way towards the pedestrian bridge that would let them cross a continent, and the city, and neither of them spoke of what had almost happened just a few minutes earlier.

“She told us she loved us before she left,” blurted Bex out, trying to break the tension. Beside her, Zach was like stone, the intimacy and softness of the last thirty minutes completely gone as he listened to her speak, humming for her to continue. “I should have…I should have known she was leaving when she started talking about how ‘whatever happens this summer.’ I should have known. I’m a spy, Zach, and I’m her best friend, and I couldn’t even see what she was trying to say.”

“I know,” he said simply, and she noticed then that he was fidgeting, his hands absentmindedly playing with the belt loop that helped up a worn pair of khaki shorts. She glanced at him, confused as to how he knew.

“I read her report,” he admitted, his gaze dropping back down to the concrete, hands back in his pockets. “Mrs. Morgan wouldn’t let me read it, I think because she’s still super pissed at me for…giving her the idea, so I snuck into her office through that one passageway and read it.”

The lights across the strait seemed to be twinkling even more now, and she tried to concentrate on that instead of having to look at him again, too afraid her face would betray her emotions. “You two really are alike, you know?”

Zach gave a sharp laugh. “Are we? I guess I’m the idiot who gave her the idea and didn’t think she’d actually go through it without me. I don’t know her as well as I thought I did.” The last part was said quieter, as if he was almost ashamed to admit it.

“Yeah, well, join the club,” she replied, then carried on, “But you two are alike. I’m kind of shocked you haven't run off and left us to go look for her.”

He hesitated then, as if wanting to say something but not quite being able to bring himself to spit it out. “She…did she ever…” he trailed off again, as the two of them waited at a traffic light with a gaggle of other tourists. She hadn’t seen anyone on their tail, but hot weather, foreign countries, and the dizziness of the last few minutes were totally distracting her.

She waited for him to finish, and he swallowed once more before saying, “Did she ever say anything about me?”

Pedestrian traffic started flowing as the light turned green, and the two of them kept walking, approaching the end of the massive bridge, crossing into Asia. Her face must’ve given away her puzzled expression (although, she had given up keeping her guard up around him around 48 hours after Cammie went missing), because he added, almost painfully, “I mean, she told you guys she loved you before she left, and all she told me was that she couldn’t leave with me. I didn’t get to—God, this is so embarrassing to talk about—I didn’t get to tell her I loved her before she left, and I just wondered if she ever…said anything about me.”

A pair of teenagers, British tourists from the sound of it, passed them on the sidewalk, planning a night out in the bars with their friends, living a carefree life the two of them could never hope to live. Bex opened her mouth once, as if to speak, then closed it, almost sheepishly, before pausing and turning to face the boy she had almost kissed. “No,” she said softly, “I’m sorry, Zach.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, I think your feelings are valid. But for the record, I know her more than almost anyone else, and I can promise you that girl is in love with you.”

His eyes were soft then, and she could almost see him light up just a little. “After Josh,” she started, and ignored how he stilled, “I think the whole thing kind of shook her, and she’s been a little more…guarded.”

Zach laughed softly again, “I know the feeling.”

“But,” continued Bex, her voice stronger this time, “If and when we find her, and she comes back, and if and when I finish kicking the absolute crap out of her, you and your girlfriend should maybe go on that movie date you asked her on a year ago.”

They were walking shoulder to shoulder again, but it felt different now—as if they both remembered the person who should have been between them at that moment, laughing and chatting and disappearing across a market square instead of across the world.