Mini Stories and One Shots

Gallagher Girls Fanfiction: Zach POV (3)

I’m going to do something a little different here, folks. I’m going to do a scene from Cross My Heart & Hope to Spy. Maybe you’re familiar with the dancing scene, the covers, and the whole blackout shebang? Well, I’ll give it my best shot! ‘Cause I’m not a boy, never mind a super hot spy one.

Oh, and guys, please bear in mind that he obviously won’t be super in love with her. They’ve just met! Don’t expect me to make mushy sentences with him saying how beautiful she looks – does anyone think ZACH’s mind actually works like that? ‘Cause I certainly don’t! Sidenote: Expect him to be cocky; this is the old Zach we’re talking about!

Zach POV (Charming and Debonair International Art Thief):

I twirled Liz – I mean Maggie – around, holding back an eye roll. It didn’t take a good operative to know that she had absolutely no experience in the covert fields. So I just laughed and kept on dancing, not needing to glance behind me to see Cammie dancing (yet again) with Dr Steve.

Despite the fact that I knew exactly what job field he was in, it didn’t bother me. Steve was what I would call...One of the more inexperienced of operatives.

“And I was named after my grandmother... And I’m a Gemini...and a vegetarian...and...” I twirled her again to stop her from talking and save her the oxygen she seemed to need, judging by her red face.

We danced past the eighth graders and I smirked when I saw McHenry give the more daring one the evil eye.

“And my favourite food is cheese...I have three dogs called—”

“Know what? I’m going to go get a drink,” I interrupted. I raised her hand to my lips, not kissing it, but playing the part of the charming and debonair fellow I was supposed to be. “Till next time?”

She flushed and fast-walked away and I grinned to myself. Charming and debonair.

Dodging the couples dancing around me like missiles, I made my way to the punch bowl where Mr Mosckowitz was grilling Cammie – I mean Tiffany – and twirling his (obviously) fake moustache.

“—Mr Secretary. I did.” Cammie nodded her head along, playing the part of the good little intern she was supposed to be.

“So tell me, Tiffany, are you enjoying the party.”

Just as I grabbed two drinks of miscellaneous liquid, I piped in. “Tiffany is the life if the party,” which, unsurprisingly, was yet another lie I had to tell this evening.

I held up a cup of the red liquid and handed it to Mr Secretary, saying, “Excuse me, Mr Secretary, but I believe this is your drink.” Another lie – or professional guess – I really had no idea what his drink was.

I never missed what he whispered to St. James, and I chose to ignore what she whispered back.

And suddenly, he was British. He grabbed my shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Thank you, my good man,” he jeered. And just for all clichés that is England, he added, “Good show!”  

The next thing I knew, he was chattering away about how inconsiderate people treated him. After all, “the under-secretary is just like a secretary, but under.”

He turned to a distant-looking Cameron Morgan. “Isn’t that right, Tiffany?” he asked, looking for the confirmation she would have normally gave; if, of course, she was listening.

Deciding to be a good little spy boy, I saved her. “I wonder Mr Secretary,” turning my gaze to him, “would you mind if I borrowed Tiffany for a moment?”

I never missed the sly wink he sent me. “Not at all!” and then he was scampering off, his moustache flailing.

“They’re playing our song,” I made up, smoothly taking her hand and leading her to the centre of the dance floor. The smirk I was holding back threatened to break out on my face. I could tell Cammie most certainly did not want to dance with me, but she had to. And that little fact made my grin a little more genuine.

I looped my arm around her waist and took her left hand in mine. “So tell me, Tiffany St. James.” I sent her a cocky smile. “What does a girl like you do for fun?” I asked flirtily, eager to see how she’d react.

Surprisingly, she answered with a, “I didn’t tell you my name was Tiffany St. James.” She glanced up at me and I saw how she expected to catch me out. “How did you know?”

I cocked my eyebrow at her devilishly. “Oh?” Good one, Gallagher Girl, but not good enough. “I always make it a point to know the names of.” I pulled her in tighter. “Beautiful women,” I finished, dipping her and letting the smirk I had been so badly holding in show on my face.

She froze and I rolled my eyes. “Come on Gallagher Girl, relax a little.” When she tensed even more and her eyes darted around the room, I grew curious. I so badly wanted to check my surroundings, to see if there were any loose members of the COC dotted around, but I couldn't lose my cover. I just needed her confirmation. “Gallagher Girl, are you okay?” I asked, searching her eyes.

But she didn’t answer. And at that moment, I knew something must be very, very wrong.