Spies in Skates [Book Three]

*BONUS* Zach POV: Even Robots Need Blankets

Hey guys!! Long time no write - but literally, it's been like 2 months, it's so depressing. And now I'm back and I didn't know what to write and was kinda just floundering but I knew I needed to write SOMETHING to get the ball rolling, so I decided to write a Zach POV. It was actually kinda difficult...I feel like it ended up too Delta-ish...I can't decide if I like it or not, but since I feel like I haven't updated anything in ages, I feel like I owe you guys this. So, enjoy this!

Please don't put too much in store from this for Nat and Zach and everyone's future! This takes place in July, roughly six months after SiSkates, so keep in mind that Zach's still going through a lot emotionally. That's all I'll say now; you'll figure it out.

Love you all! Gracias!! <3 vb123321

****Zach POV:

Even Robots Need Blankets

It was with great reluctance that I sank into one of the chairs outside of Jer's office. Some dark-haired guy sat two chairs to my left, busy on his phone, and Jer's clouded window mocked me from a few feet away. Three o'clock, he had told me; he never mentioned a waiting list.

Slumping a little lower in the chair, I ran a hand through my hair, letting it spill over my forehead as I stared blankly at the wall. My eyes prickled tiredly and I wished Jer would hurry up and call me in so that I could leave. The blast of air conditioning was almost too cold, especially after the humidity of the July air I had just stepped out of. Though that, of course, was nothing compared to how hot it had been in Texas.

But I didn't want to think about Texas.

"My appointment was at two."

I jolted, glancing in surprise at the guy to my left. He had slipped his phone back into his pocket and draped his arms casually over the chair's armrests, his grey eyes flicking over my face as he grinned lazily. I realized then how young he was – probably no more than two or three years older than I was.

"I'm just saying, don't expect to get out of here soon."

"Are you serious," I muttered, glaring at Jer's window. "And he specifically told me not to be late."

The guy shrugged. "Bosses are allowed to do that."

"He's not my boss," I said shortly, my fingers curling on the armrest. "I'm doing him a favor coming to talk to him."

"You're not CIA?" A spark of curiosity lit in the guy's grey eyes. "Me neither. It's nice to meet a kindred spirit in this place. So – what is it? FBI?"

My lip curled derisively. "No. I'm not in an agency."

"Really?"

Now I had his attention; he might have claimed that he wasn't CIA, but by the way he scrutinized me, I knew he had some spy training. I felt like he had my dossier right in front of him. He didn't question me further, though, just tapped his fingers thoughtfully against his armrest and then said, "I'm Charlie, by the way."

"Zach," I mumbled, glancing back at Jer's office.

I kept the guy's face in my peripheral vision, but he registered zero emotion at my name, I was relieved to note. I was sick and tired of hearing the usual responses – oh, you're Zach Sullivan; do you know how long we were looking for you last winter? And, of course, the whispers and furtive looks of those who clearly thought I should have been thrown in jail the moment I showed up.

And Jer thought I would join CIA. Occasionally – very occasionally – the offer was kind of tempting. I'd have a job, have some purpose in my life, maybe get to see Nat on a more scheduled basis...but could I really imagine myself working with any of those agents? I couldn't even picture working an assignment with Patrick – I operated alone. That's just how it was.