Just because I've been dying to do this for awhile, and I'm so excited I get the chance to :D And because GG5 comes out next week in the US :D :D :D

Her words are like velvet, flowing into his ears; he can't deny her that. Soft, smooth and subtle, endless like music; the most intoxicating sound. She smells like something he can't quite name, but it's enchanting, and makes him want to bury his face into her silky porcelain skin.

"Dead?" He whispers, like it's a faraway, foreign thought that he's never experienced.

"Dead." Her hand brushes his shoulder, and it's like his lungs are being crushed. "I'm sorry."

"Can't be." His heart is numb, and he gets up from the chair he is sitting in, pacing the room, brushing past her.

"He betrayed you." She murmurs in his ear, her hand brushing against his in a comforting gesture. "You and your family. And now they're dead."

"He wouldn't do that." He tries to convince himself.

"I'm afraid there are few things Joe Solomon wouldn't do." She says. "Betrayed you to the CIA, too, and betrayed me."

"He never said you were…" His voice trails off.

"We're not bad people, Matt." She says. "I'm not a bad person. He's the one who's a radical. A renegade."

"Rachel and Cammie are dead." He says, coming to terms with it.

"Because of a man whom you thought was your best friend." She sighs, and she really is so convincing. His face crumbles – the tears flow freely.

"They're my world." He whispers.

"Not anymore." She replies. "The CIA is after you, you know. They'll kill you. And Cammie and Rachel would certainly not want that."

"I can't leave here." He murmurs.

"Cammie and Rachel would want you to be happy." She says, sadness riddling her face. "Take as much time as you need." Her hand squeezes his for a split second, and she exits the room which overlooks the sea and the cliffs, leaving him to his misery.

Days later, he walks over to her. She's watching her son play in the grasses by the beach, by herself for once. Everything had gone by in a blur; people running around the base frantically. He had spent days imagining what it would be like here – he didn't expect big, white stucco buildings on cliffs overlooking the Mediterranean. It was a bit more picturesque than he thought.

"They're really dead, aren't they?" He sits down next to her. Their eyes lock, and she doesn't reply. "You wouldn't lie to me. Would you?"

"I wouldn't get anything out of lying." She whispers. "And we're friends – why would I lie to my friend?" He doesn't say anything.

"What do I do now?"

"Stay as long as you want, but I would advise you not to go out there. Not alone." There is something in her eyes that, even though he wants to run back to America, tells him that staying here would be in his best interests. After all, where would he go?

"I thought he was my best friend." Matt whispers.

"I thought he was my friend, too." Cassandra Goode says, crossing her arms against her chest. He looks behind him at the magnificent complex, and he supposes it isn't a bad place to stay. He looks back at the sea. The sun is beginning to drop, reflecting red and gold light against the waves.

"He's a cute kid." He nods to her son, who is making a sand castle.

"He's growing up too fast." She says, not looking at him.

"They all do." He laughs, for the first time in days. "He's just like his dad." She doesn't say anything, and he drops the subject. He knows she and her husband had been having problems for awhile before his mysterious death on a mission. Shortly after, she left the CIA, and now here she was; doing what, he didn't quite know.

Cassandra was always an enigma wrapped in a conundrum. She was a friend of Rachel and Abby's for awhile, and whenever they were in a big group: him, Joe, Brian, Cassandra's husband, Cassandra, Abby, and Rachel, she always stuck out. Rachel was quiet, but friendly and optimistic. Abby was loud, outgoing, and honest. Cassandra always floated mysteriously in the background, not quiet getting attached to anything. Maybe that's why she was always seen as the most attractive of the group – she was a puzzle that people always tried to solve. Whether Brian figured her out, he still didn't know.

"Pretty sweet set up you have here." He looks behind him again, and she shrugs.

"It's one of the nicer ones. My favorite is the one on the Serengeti, in Tanzania." She says. "I've always loved Africa – it's just so free, so open." She doesn't say anything else.

"We're in this together, aren't we?" He says. He's known her for years, but he still can't quite comprehend her.

"Of course." She smiles at him, the first genuine smile he's seen in a long time.

She slips in and out the base frequently – he doesn't know where she goes, or what she does, but she always comes back. His days become repetitive, and he doesn't interact for the most part with the others at the compound. Her son is in constant care with others, and he rarely sees them together anyway. From what he notices, Zach is a sweet kid, eager to impress, who has natural talent.

After a few months, they move away from Greece to Tanzania, the place she loves so much. Below the base, on a cliff, spreads the vast fields of the Serengeti – winding rivers surrounded by the African wildlife, dense brush and beautiful, solitary trees. He can see why she likes it.

He also notices in their time there, she doesn't leave once. He finds her for a third time on a deck overlooking the plains. The sun is setting, making the sky red.

"It's gorgeous." He comments. She shrugs in her seat.

"Zach loves it here, too. All the animals." She laughs softly. "I've been on too many tourist-y wildlife safaris here to count. I prefer the landscape – everything is so untouched." There's a long silence.

"So, I'm never going to leave here, am I?"

"You can leave if you want. No one is keeping you here." She says, folding her arms over her chest. "I mean, I'm assuming you don't want to be gunned down, but…" He laughs, and she cracks a grin.

"What exactly do you do?" He asks her, and the grin slips off her face.

"A little of this, a little of that." She looks up at him, shielding her eyes with her hand from the setting sun. He raises an eyebrow at her vague answer, but she's one of the only people he's never been able to read, so he doesn't say anything. "I'm sorry about Rachel and Cammie. I know you loved them a lot."

"I did." He says, and for a second, the tears welled in his eyes again. To never hear them, see them again? It was heart wrenching. "I guess I'll just have to move on." It's growing chilly as the sun dips further and further, and she moves over on the reclining chair to make room for him.

"That's what I did." She shrugs against him, and he is suddenly aware of their closeness in the chair – their legs pressed against each other, their feet bumping together occasionally. It isn't awkward, however. She smells like the sweet, musky scent of the savanna stretched out before them, and her long, dark red hair swishes in his face when she shifts in the seat gently.

"Did it take long?" He folds his arms over his chest.

"No, but I had to get over him quickly, for Zach – act like nothing's changed, even though it has." She says, "But, that isn't the case with you…" He looks away from those big, dark eyes back at the red sun, which begins to grow blurry from the tears clouding his eyes. She notices, and stays silent, but she moves a bit closer to him as the sun dips below the savanna, darkening the world. The cold wind blows her hair around them.

"Want to head inside?" She suggests, standing up. He nods, and follows her inside, his back to the African night. The room inside is dark. "Funny how you got out here – this is one of my private rooms." She doesn't bother to turn on the lights – the moon illuminates the room brilliantly. There are some couches around a fire place and a TV, and he can see doors leading to other rooms.

"If you don't mind me asking," He says, trying to get his mind off his dead family, "whatever happened to you and Brian?" He looks at her, and it's like her eyes are glowing in the dark. "I mean, you guys always seemed so happy, but he said you were having some issues." He can't read her expression, but it's torn between confusion and suspicion.

"We fought a lot." She says simply, leaning back against the wall behind her. Her face is half lit up by the moon outside, making her skin seem even more pale and flawless.

"About?" She looks torn between silence and saying something. He reiterates, "About?"

"You." She says, likes it's no big deal. He knits his eyebrows together in confusion.

"Why about me?" She looks too casual standing there against the wall, her arms crossed lazily, but it's like she's examining him, trying to make up her mind about something.

Before he even notices she's walking towards him, she's grabbing him by the shirt, and crushing her lips against his in a passionate kiss. She pulls away from him before he knows what happened.

"I love you." She shrugs, standing close to him. "And he knew." He spends a few long moments trying to process what's going on.

"You love me?" She shrugs again, a cute smirk gracing her lips.

"Pretty much. And Brian knew."

"Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"I'm not idiotic." She scoffs. "You loved Rachel. And I wasn't in the mood to get in a fight with her and Abby."

"Brian knew?" He asks, still confused.

"He would see the way I would look at you, the way I talked about you." She says with a sigh.

"But, he loved you so much – "

"And I loved him, too. He was sweet, and understanding, and a lovely man. But I loved you more. He was a friend, but I loved you passionately and selfishly. Not the way I could ever love him." She whispers, shaking her head. At that moment, he wishes he could read her more than anything. His eyes rake her body; he didn't realize how short her shorts were until just now, and she's tugging at the sleeves of her long sleeve cotton shirt. Her toes are furrowing themselves into the thick carpet, and she's waiting for him to say something.

He slowly walks towards her, and she makes no sign of any emotion. Curiosity, if anything. She walks back a little with every one of his steps, until she's leaning against the wall again. He can feel her eyes on him, her breath on his neck, the heat of her body so tantalizing close to his.

He remembers what she said; Rachel and Cammie would want you to be happy. And with that kiss, the fire, the need for skin on skin contact was ignited. And here she was, standing just a few inches from him.

His lips capture hers in a kiss. She tastes dark, and mysterious, and he figures this is what the apple on the Tree of Knowledge must have tasted like to Eve; the best thing in the world, and wonderfully forbidden.

A slender arm slips around his neck, pulling his lips closer to hers. Her tongue pushing in his mouth and he reacts without thinking. His hands grip her hips tightly against his, and her other arm moves around his lower waist, pressing him closer and closer to her.

He lets a hand slide up from her hips, slipping under her soft cotton top, fingers gracing the silky soft skin underneath. The other hand migrates to her thigh, groping the pale skin there roughly. She lets out a muffled moan and he suddenly fathoms what this is leading to. He tears his lips regretfully from hers, and her breathing is heavy. He closes his eyes, his forehead on hers, and tries to conjure up images of Rachel, and Cammie in his mind.

He can't.

Her personality starts to creep out more and more, but he doesn't mind; she's a bit sarcastic, and has a dry sense of humor. She speaks the truth constantly, and doesn't mince words. She enjoys being in control, and he finds her games amusing. She's a bit of a welcome change after Rachel – so much darker, and while Rachel was adorable and gorgeous, Cassandra is just sexy, and dark and tempting in a way Rachel never was.

He spends countless days with her, and countless nights in her bed, to be honest. Part of him feels disgusted with himself – his wife just died for Christ's sake, and here he was, sleeping with another woman. That part diminishes a little each day with those lethal words she whispers in his ear. After all, they would want him to be happy, right?

Time passes, but he doesn't comprehend it. These bases they travel to don't offer any hint of time passed. She comes and goes often, never saying what she's doing or where she's going. Really, the only indication of time is watching her son, Zach.

They stand in a kitchen of a complex in the highlands of Argentina, both sipping cups of coffee, making biting remarks about something. Little digs – it was like they were children, seeing who could win.

"Mom, can I have some cereal?" They look away from each other to see Zach, with his mother's eyes and dark hair, standing in front of them, hands in his pockets. She blinks, a bit shocked and confused.

"Um, sure." She says, heading towards one of the cabinets, and taking out Cheerios.

"So, how old are you now, Zach?" He makes small talk.

"Twelve." He says simply. Matthew always found it hard to connect with him, in the short conversations they've had. He's always been on his own.

"How's school?" Zach looks at him like he's an idiot.

"It's summer."

"He's going to Blackthorne in the fall, though." Cassandra says from behind them, bending down in front of the fridge to get some milk.

"Are you excited?" Matt asks, and the boy shrugs.

"I guess." Cassandra hands him the bowl of cereal and a spoon, and Zach just stares at them inquisitively, and Matt can feel the awkward meter rising. "Thanks, mom." He walks out of the room, and they both let out a sigh.

"You're sending him to Blackthorne?" He turns to Cassandra. She nods.

"I can't keep him cooped up in here forever. He'll be able to meet new people. And besides, Brian went there."

"And Joe Solomon." He whispers, and she looks up at him.

"Joe Solomon isn't with Blackthorne anymore. You know that." Her voice is icy, but Matthew just shrugs.

"I still can't believe he would do that to us."

"Well, he did." Her voice is a tad snappish, and her smile is impatient. "And you don't have to see him ever again."

"Do you miss them?" She asks him one day. They're both staring up at the dark ceiling, and she looks over at him.

"Yes. I always will, I think." He says. "But I have you."

"But you have me." She whispers softly back, and he smiles down at her. She buries her face into his chest. "You have no idea how lonely I was before you came along." Her voice contains a fragility he didn't know she contained.

"Well, I'm here now." He says, hugging her tighter to him, and he never, ever wants to let her go. "And I'll never leave you, no matter what."

"Promise?" She replies, snuggling closer to him, feeling drowsy.

"Of course. After all, where would I go? With the CIA and everyone after me." She doesn't reply for awhile.

"Of course."

"So, Zach…" Her son is back for the summer, and he hasn't seen him in awhile. He's about thirteen, or fourteen now. "How's Blackthorne?"

"Good." He shrugs, fishing through the cabinets in Cassandra's kitchen for food.

"Did you learn a lot?" He still can't connect to the kid, for whatever reason.

"I guess."

"Your mom says that you get good grades." Zach stops shuffling, and turns to face Matt.

"I highly doubt my mom checks my grades." He scoffs, staring at him intently.

"She cares about you, Zach." He says. He's watched the relationship between son and mother disintegrate before his eyes into almost nothing.

"No." He shakes his head. "I can assure you, she doesn't. And I don't care. I gave up on her awhile ago."

"You speak like she's evil, or something." He tries to laugh, but Zach's face is cold.

"There's a reason she hasn't told you what she does, Matt." He says icily, and he sounds so much like his mother it's uncanny. His dark eyes are studying him the same way his mother does. "You really don't know her, do you?" The question is rhetorical, of course, but Matt can see the hatred in his eyes.

It terrifies him.

"Hey, do you want to head for a walk to-" Cassandra walks into the room, and finds the two men staring at each other. "Oh, Zach. I thought you were watching TV or something…" Zach looks away from Matt.

"I was just leaving." He brushes past his mother, and stalks away.

"What was that about?" She asks after he leaves, moving next to him. Matt sighs.

"Nothing. Just being a teenager." She can see the lies in his eyes, but says nothing. And he keeps what her son said to himself, and pushes it into the back of his mind.

It's almost like Zach disappears for awhile, and Cassandra is spending more and more time buried in her work. Whenever he asks what it is, she just tells him it's important, and needn't concern him. It's late afternoon, and he's sitting in her private living room at a base in Norway when her son bursts in the door. He's been avoiding the bases more and more, but here he is.

"Hey, what's-"Zach's eyes lock on his, and he can see the determination and rage in his eyes. He rushes towards him, and to Matt's surprise, takes a rumpled piece of paper out of his pocket, and shoves it in his face.

"You know these people, don't you?" He says urgently. It's a picture, he realizes. And in it is a teenage girl, and a beautiful woman. She looks so familiar to him. Then it hits him; it's Rachel.

"Where'd you get this?" He demands, and Zach's eyes are cool.

"From her." He points to the teenage girl in the picture. "Cammie. Your daughter."

"How…" He's staring at the picture, and the boy's words are racing through his head, pounding into his brain.

"They think you're dead. Joe Solomon thinks you're dead. Everyone thinks you're dead." Zach whispers, and his heart is pounding in his ears.

"You mean they're not…"

"They never were." Zach answers his silent question.

"Are you telling me the truth?" Matt says, looking into his eyes.

"I have no reason to lie to you." Zach says. "And I've met them. And they miss you. A lot." Matt's heart stops.

"But why…"

"She lies, Matt." Zach says coldly, looking right into his eyes. "She lies."

Cassandra looks up from the papers on her desk when Matt charges in. She smiles gently, and his stomach turns.

"Hey, I was just about to see if you wanted to grab lunch." She notices his expression, and furrows her eyebrows together in confusion. "What's wrong?" He throws the photograph onto her desk, and she leans forward to look at it. She just sighs.

"I knew I shouldn't have sent him to that stupid school." She murmurs.

"That's all you're going to say?" His voice is rising and she just stares up at him, cool and collected. He leans in closer to her. "They were alive all these years and you never told me?"

"You were on a need to know basis. And you didn't need to know." She says, and there's no emotion in her voice. "You might've done something drastic."

"Like?"

"Run away. And we couldn't have that, now could we." She leans back in her chair, lacing her fingers together.

"What do you do here, Cassandra?" He says, trying to keep his roaring emotions at bay. "Why am I here?"

"You're here, Matt, because we thought you had something we needed. You didn't, but we couldn't have you leave and tell everyone." She says softly, in control, as always.

"The CIA isn't…Joe Solomon isn't…" He can't even finishes his sentences he's so angry. "And all this time, you knew." She's lied so much, straight to his face, but perhaps the grandest deception of all was her sweet smiles, soft touches, and toxic words. His voice is loud when he continues. "How could you do this to me? You knew how much I loved them!" He watches the hard edges of her face go soft, and a glitter of some emotion forms in her eyes.

"I wanted you for myself." She says. "Call me selfish, or egotistical, but I didn't lie to you when I told you I love you." She stands up slowly, and her voice is soft. "I only did it to protect you." His blood is boiling, because all of this is a game to her; a game she always has to win.

"I'm leaving. Back to my family." His words cut like knives, and he knows that hurt her.

"But you said…you said you would never leave!" In that moment, she is pleading, and he wonders if she's lying again, like she always does.

"That was before I found out who you really are." He looks her straight in the face. "You're…you're…"

"I'm not a monster." She whispers, and he watches a few tears escape her dark eyes, the biggest display of emotion he has seen out of her. He just glares at her, and as he steps towards to door, he notices out of the corner of his eye that she's walked around the table. Her mask has spun back up, and the tears have dried. "It won't be the same, anyway."

"And why not?" He has his hand on the doorknob.

"Because you'll always love me more than you love Rachel." She deals the final blow, and he pauses, hating her remark. He turns around slowly, his eyes locked with hers. A smirk is on her full lips, and she's leaning against her desk casually. In one move, he locks the door.

His heart is beating in his ears, because, despite how much he hates it, he knows she's right.

He stalks towards her quickly, and watches the grin slide off her face. Before she can say anything, he's throwing her hard enough against the wall to make the picture frames rattle wildly. She takes in a sharp breath, and his lips are crushed against hers before she can act.

She tries to move, but she's pinned too tightly between him and the unyielding wall. She tries to place her feet on the ground, since he has her a few inches off of it, but she's stuck. She's trying to think of a way out, but his mouth is attacking hers, and he's pressed just so close to her that she finds it hard to concentrate.

His hands seem like they're everywhere, grabbing her forcefully, and his harsh lips leave hers to trail down her neck. He's biting hard, and she lets out a soft whimper, trying to press herself closer to him, but she physically can't.

His mouth trails down to that soft spot between her neck and her shoulder, and his teeth scratch against her skin. Her head lolls to the side, giving him better access. His rough hands are pushing up her already short skirt, and she lets out a loud groan. Her heart is beating in her ears and it felt like each brush of skin to skin contact set her blood aflame.

Part of her hates it; she likes to be in control, constantly. And here he was, throwing her around, dominating her. When his mouth graces over her throbbing pulse, in a hazy mix of pain and pleasure, she decides that she actually likes it. He's ripping her clothes off faster than she can protest (even though she wouldn't, in this hot and bothered state), and with one last hard kiss his lips leave her skin. His hands cup her face, and his gaze is smoldering. His eyes are boring into hers, but she refuses to look away.

"Don't think of this as forgiveness." The tears well up in her eyes, but he doesn't care.

He just captures her lips in another sultry kiss.

She can't even look at him afterwards. She turns from him, and silently begins to pull on her clothes, ignoring the dull pain shooting between her thighs. She can already see the bruises forming on her hips from where he held her so closely to him.

Not to say she didn't enjoy it, of course.

He looks over his shoulder at her, not saying anything. He doesn't know what to do now; his loving family misses him, but he'll always be tied to Cassandra.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, and he looks up at her. Her eyes meet his sadly. She takes a deep breath. "I shouldn't have kept you from them." He waits for her to continue. "It was cruel of me to lie to you."

"I know." He says, and her shoulders drop.

"Go." Her voice is cracking. "I know you want to." He pulls on the rest of his clothes and exits quickly, not looking her in the face. She sits on the couch, waiting for him to come back.

He doesn't.

The next few days are in a word, confusing. Zachary Goode notes that Matthew Morgan still hasn't left this base, even thought no one would stop him now. He spends his time locked in his private quarters.

The boy doesn't see his mother until one day, he goes into her private suites in search of a book in her library when he sees her lying on the couch. He is in the position to see her, but she can't see him.

She looks shockingly unprofessional, in yoga pants and a hoodie with the hood up, sleeves pulled down over her hands. If she notices him, she doesn't say anything. The TV is off, and he thinks she might be asleep until he notices her face.

It's stained with tears.

In his sixteen years, he has never seen his mother cry. Even at his father's funeral, she had hidden her tears well. But now, her face is red, eyes blurry, and it's like she's hiding from everyone.

He watches her face crumple, but her tears are silent. He looks on, and he thinks that really, she deserves it.

Right?

Everything ends where it began; Greece. It's hot, and the water is a source of relief for the people. Not the two of them, however. It isn't the epitome of a romantic encounter, or a tearful goodbye; no picturesque sunset, no blooming wildflowers or majestic wind.

It's dusk, and a storm is rolling in. Clouds are gathering in the sky, and she can hear thunder in the distance on the cliff she's sitting on. The waves are a thrashing, foaming mass of black and white, and he can see the flashes of lightning in the distance. The wind is cool, and it chills her to the bone. She pulls her sleeves tighter around her, and she ignores the footsteps behind her until he's standing close enough to touch.

"What do you want?" She wants to ask why he hasn't left her yet, but she doesn't. He doesn't respond, the wind whipping his hair, making his shirt ripple. She turns around to look up at him, but he's not looking at her, so she stands up next to him. "I'm surprised to see you haven't left yet." His harsh eyes lock with hers, and she can see the repressed anger in his gaze.

"No, I haven't." He says, his voice low, barely distinguishable from the crashing of the waves below.

"No doubt you've considered it?" She tries to say it in her usually biting tone, but it just comes out weak and pleading.

"Yes."

"So what are you waiting for?"

"I made you a promise. And I won't go back on that." He says, and her lungs squeeze around her heart. "And you were right."

"About?" She says, and he takes a step towards her.

"I love you," Her heart stops beating in her chest. "with the worst, most selfish part of myself." At that moment, the thunder claps above them, and the freezing rain pours down, drenching them in an instant; clothes sticking to skin, her dark red hair plastered to her face. The rain hides the tears slipping down her face. "They're different people now, and so am I. You've changed me, and I know things would be different now." He inches closer to her. "Why couldn't you tell me they were alive? Why'd you have to lie?"

"You would've left me." She says honestly. "And you're the only thing I have left." The silence is deafening. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Just tell me the truth, alright? That's all I ask." She nods, and words echo in her mind; the truth will set you free.

"I'm sorry." She whispers, and he can barely hear her over the pounding rain. "I'm so sorry." He closes the gap between them, kissing her.

There is nothing romantic about kissing in the rain – it's cold, and water is streaming all around them, and it's sort of an angst-y act.

A lot like them, he thinks.

She falls apart in his arms, and she holds onto him for her life, because she was truthful when she said he was the only thing she had left. Her son, husband, family, and friends; all gone. Her skin is like ice, but he gives her heat.

She tries to murmur more apologies against his soft lips, but he stops her.

"The rarest kind of love," His hands cup her face, so close to her it's tantalizing. "is the one that sets your soul on fire, the kind that makes up keep reaching for more, the kind that makes you give everything you have when you have nothing left to give, the kind that ignites the passion in your heart, and that's what you've given me."

And it's true, because he knows that for all of eternity, being in love with Cassandra Goode was the best mistake he would ever make.