#Rachel Morgan

[gildengirl]

{Rachel getting a team together for a mission}

Rachel: What do you consider to be your best quality?

Matt: Well, I'm a real people person.

Joe: I don't answer stupid questions.

Townsend: I speak Swahili.

Abby: My eyes. Oh, and I guess my hair, too.

#can you even imagine these five on a mission together #PLEASE #Gallagher Girls #Gallagher Girls Series #First Gen #Rachel Morgan #Matthew Morgan #Joe Solomon #Abigail Cameron #Edward Townsend #incorrect quotes #source: That 70s Show

[g-girlshavingfun]

Abby: That shirt looks great Joe.

Joe: Thanks.

Abby: But I bet it would look even better on Rachel’s floor.

Rachel: Are you hitting on Joe… for me?

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls incorrect quotes #incorrect gallagher girls quotes #incorrect quotes #source: unknown #abigail cameron #Abby Cameron #Rachel Cameron #rachel morgan #joe solomon #joseph solomon #Rachel x Joe #Joe x Rachel #Is this not how DJGC ended? #She’s so tired of these two

[bryn-not-brynn]

🤧🤧🤧🤧 sorry, not sorry (but I'm kinda sorry cause this kinda of hurt my heart)

@averagejoesolomon

@carryonstarkid

"The more he thinks about it, the more it comes down to the same two options he always runs into: Joe or Rachel. Except this time, the answer ain’t so obvious."

-Full Circle, 1989

I am so in my feelings about this line in particular because it struck me that Matthew Morgan loves these two people so much that he walks this tightrope for the rest of his life. His two soul mates.

He quite literally goes back and forth between the two of them until someone ends the turn on Joe. Just how it started.

Matt in all of his love, takes these two makes them his top priorities. Shows them a lot about true love, which softens Rachel and assures Joe. Matt waltzes into their lives with all the sweetness and promises of rising sun and is torn away like one of those infamous Midwestern tornados.

What's left are two people without their soul mate. Both Joe and Rachel are no longer being loved like they were. Neither is the priority of someone's affection. Connections? Gone. There's essentially a "Matt shaped hole" in their hearts.

Maybe he knew he wouldnt be around forever, so he probably nailed it into both of them that when he was gone theyd need someone. Rachel was allowed to fall in love again. Joe was allowed to fall in love with whoever. That kind of thing?

Matt, in his final act of kindness, gives them one another. Both of them hold one of the last pieces of Matt. They miss that Matt like love. Not that they know it, but they are capable of loving like he did, forever touched by his heart.They slowly realize that they had the same soul mate. In their own way, Joe and Rachel are made for one another......by Matthew Morgan. They are soul mates in their own special way because of him. Ugh. Why.

#ally carter #gallagher girls series #joe solomon #matthew morgan #rachel morgan #why why whyyy

[averagejoesolomon]

I hope y'all are ready. See you Sunday 🧡

#Full Circle #Gallagher Girls #Matthew Morgan #Rachel Morgan #Abigail Cameron #Joe Solomon

[superblycaffeinated]

Find the list of January Prompts I’m participating in here - join in! I love seeing all the different stories people come up with from the same words 💙 I actually didn’t pop the words of the prompt into this one, just more of the general feeling that they brought to me. Please enjoy Joe being Joe and also the tiniest hint of a nod to the listen series by @averagejoesolomon in the form of a spoon, a dad and his daughter in this 

Joe could use a shower, a warm bed, and a decent cup of coffee. His jet-lag hasn’t caught up to him just yet, that feeling of an op clings to him, keeping him going far longer than possible. Adrenaline and anxiety curl around tense and tight muscles still, making his brain more alert than it should be. 

Which is why he slows his steps when the black town car rounds the corner, heading in the same direction as him. Eyes track the moving vehicle from under aviators as he pulls out the burner, maintaining his course towards the idling jet, dialing the number he’s had memorized for the past several years. 

It rings three times, he speaks five numbers into the receiver clearly, then a click. 

“Rachel Morgan, Headmistress of the-”

“Catch me up here, Rach-Ms. Morgan,” he corrects, staring as the car’s red brake lights glow, and a teenage girl climbs out of the backseat. 

Rachel’s voice is crackled and stiff over the line, but he can detect the amusement in her tone. “We have an international student who just so happened to also need a lift home. Win-win.”

The teenage girl stands with her arms crossed next to the trunk of the car, a stubborn pout on her lips before she sees him. He can tell she’s startled at the sight of him - hesitant - all of it clear just from her eyes, but she’s pretty good at hiding it - her body language and pout remain intact. 

He ducks his head, lips barely moving against the phone as he hisses, “How is me, sitting on a jet, alone, trapped with a teenage girl for eight hours, a win-win, Rachel?”

“You need a ride, she needs a ride, and I need you both here. Quite literally the definition of a win-win, if you ask me. Actually, it’s technically a win-win-win. They should give me a trophy for that many in a row.” 

Abe and Grace Baxter climb out of the car and he watches the girl melt into her mother’s embrace as he grows closer to the trio and the waiting jet. 

He shakes his head, ever so slightly, and laughs, amused, but irritated nonetheless. 

“You know, you’re becoming more and more like your sister each passing day?”

It’s meant as a joke, a light-hearted jab, like they used to. But things aren’t the same anymore, and they haven’t been for quite some time. 

If he were there, in person, maybe he’d see her eyes, feel that air that surrounds Rachel and tells him the silent things he needs to know. But he’s in London and she’s in Virginia, and all he can do is listen to the tight way her words come out. 

“Well, I suppose I should take that as a compliment. Everyone likes Abby more anyways. Always have, right?”

“Rachel, I didn’t mean-”

“Best get going, Mr. Solomon. At this rate, you and Ms. Baxter will be crashing my welcome back speech.”

The phone clicks and then she’s gone. 

He’s at the car now, and Abe Baxter has his hands on his daughter’s shoulders, smiling.

“Don’t forget that thing I taught you with-”

“With the spoon. Yeah, dad, I got it.” She rolls her eyes, tone seeming to be brushing it off, but Joe can see the way she loves her father fiercely, all from those eyes that give her away. 

Grace smiles at him, “Sorry we can’t stay and catch up, Joe. Duty calls. Keep an eye on our girl?”

He nods, a short but courteous thing and offers his best smile. He drops the burner, stomps on it, and pulls the pieces apart before tossing it to Abe who catches it without looking up. Rebecca Baxter watches it all with eager, hungry eyes - like a sponge trying to absorb every last drop. He suspects she’ll be one of his new students who gives him a run for his money. And that’s before he hears:

“Darling, give Liz and Cammie our love!” 

She waves as the town car doors close, watching until it disappears and her bags and trunks are loaded into the plane. 

Joe is fairly certain his heart rate has increased exponentially because not only is he about to be trapped on a plane with a teenager, but a teenager who just so happens to be best friends with the one girl he isn’t ready to see again. 

Rebecca turns to face him, her hand out, overconfidence radiating out of her like she thinks she’s a seasoned operative like her parents, like him, and not the inexperienced teenager that she is. 

Joe is one thousand percent positive he can hear Matthew Morgan, somewhere, wishing him an apprehensive:

Good luck, buddy. And get ready.

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #joe solomon #rachel morgan #bex baxter

[incorrectgallaghergirlsquotes]

Matt: *Introducing Rachel* This is my better half. Matt: *Introducing Joe* And this is my bitter half.

#gallagher girls series #incorrect quotes #gallgher girls #matthew morgan #joe solomon #rachel morgan

[doodle-do-wop]

Happy Pride Month to Rachel Morgan, wouldn’t have figured it out without you <3

#this is a joke #kinda #i think im soooooo funny #Gallagher Girls #Rachel Morgan #if Rachel looked at me i would cry and propose(in that order) #i am once again asking for Rachel's hand in marriage

[letlizsayfuck]

Can the Gallagher Girls cook?

Bex: Oh lord, where to start? As the only child of two highly active field agents, Bex is everything a good spy must be. Stunning, wickedly smart, charismatic, etc. She's also painfully British. Her kitchen skills are limited to boiling potatoes and putting the kettle on for tea. Sure, she knows what good cooking tastes like. She's surrounded by it all year long. But when she's not at school or tagging along with her parents on international ops, Bex sustains herself primarily through protein shakes and Indian takeaway.

Cammie: Cooking abilities (or lack thereof) run matrilineally in her family. No further explanation needed.

Liz: She's a chemistry genius. Liz can take any household item and turn it into an improvised explosive. She's worked out how to transform the entire contents of Macey's makeup bag into a lethal poison. What she can't figure out is how to make a decent pot of rice. See, cooking is an art and Liz is a scientist. Recipe instructions like "cook until just right" or "season to taste" just don't make sense to her. How is she supposed to "add a pinch" of salt when there's no precise metric measurement for a pinch? How can she cook something over "medium heat" when she has no idea exactly how many kelvins "medium heat" is? Her poor, sweet Alabama Nana has firmly banned Liz from the kitchen after her last attempt at chicken casserole resulted in a hole melted straight through the stovetop.

Macey: No way the mid-2000s, "I only eat 800 calories a day" heiress would know her way around a kitchen, right? Wrong. For the first 15 years of her life, Macey McHenry would not be caught dead in a kitchen. Starving socialites had no business hanging around "unnecessary calories". Her relationship with cooking develops over the first winter break back from Gallagher. A desire for coffee after pulling an all-nighter puts her in the kitchen at the exact same time as the family chef. Her newfound interest in learning keeps her perched on a barstool, observing as the chef starts to prepare their breakfasts. It becomes a routine, and soon enough she's dicing onions and flipping omelets right next to them. By the time she returns for the spring semester, Macey not only enjoys eating but knows how to make most of her favorite foods without help.

#gallagher girls #gallagher academy #cooking #ally carter #cammie morgan #bex baxter #rachel morgan #macey mchenry #liz sutton #Britain invaded half the world for spices #Then proceeded to not use any of them in their cooking #spy school

[still-nix-d-goffic]

The Hallows Characters as Gaia Avatars

Rachel - Jenks - Ivy

Nick - Ceri - Al

Newt - Kisten - David

Johnathan - Trent - Quen

#kim harrison #The Hallows #Rachel Morgan #Gaia Online #Ivy Tamwood #Dead Witch Walking

[heres-the-gallagher-girl-tea]

How do you think Zach asked Rachel for Cam's hand in marriage?

So here’s the thing. Zach didn’t just have to ask Rachel. He had to ask Joe.

You see, Joe Solomon takes his role of stepdad very seriously. Once, Cammie called him dad without thinking about it, and it was pretty much the best day of his life. And yes, he loves Zach and has taken him under his wing and he’s basically his kid.

But that doesn’t mean he gets a free pass.

There was a rather intensive test. And while Rachel rolled her eyes, she let it happen—mostly because she wanted to watch it play out.

(She did make it clear that it was ultimately Cammie’s decision and they would support her no matter what. Joe agreed, although they both knew he would try and dissuade her if Zach didn’t meet his very high standards.)

So Zach shows up, and he’s a world class spy, he’s not afraid of anything. (He’s shaking in his boots.)

He has a speech planned. “Your daughter means the world to me, I will do everything in my power to make her happy for the rest of her life” blah blah blah.

Joe was not impressed.

He took him to a course that makes those American Ninja Warrior courses look like a kindergarten playground.

There was also a written test, and a practical final eerily like the Covert Ops final but like…way harder.

(Zach passed, but he almost failed a couple times.)

Joe gives him the shovel talk, but ultimately gives him his blessing.

Rachel laughs and pulls Zach to the side, letting him know that those ridiculous courses were never really a factor in whether or not he could marry Cammie. And then she told him, with a sweet smile on her face, “If you ever hurt my daughter, I will kill you with a piece of uncooked spaghetti.”

#gallagher girls #gallagher academy #zach goode #Joe Solomon #Rachel Morgan #canmie Morgan

[gildengirl]

Gallagher Girls: Holiday Headcanons

Cammie & Zach:

They start to make their own little traditions over the years.

One of their favourites' is getting in the car after it's dark and driving around to look at all the Christmas lights and decorations.

They like to make up little ratings, pick out their favourite house, the best street, and things like that.

Zach usually drives while Cammie controls the Christmas music and occasionally makes Zach take a few sharp and sudden turns because "Oooooh, that street looks good" and "We have to see that one!"

It's also a pretty good way to exercise some in-vehicle countersurveilance techniques.

Zach grew up without having many traditions in his life—the holidays were never an exception, so he likes that he finally gets to make them with Cam.

His favourite part is seeing Cam light up when they spot THE HOUSE.

Her face is frozen with the kind of joy a 4-year old might have, she's so giddy her smile hangs wide open, and Zach always drives real slow just so it lasts a little longer.

Every hour driving, every aimless turn, every year it's all worth it for that single moment.

To him, it's more magical than all the Christmas lights.

Abby & Townsend:

One year, Townsend comes home to find a tree has appeared in their apartment, boxes that were clearly once in storage have been placed throughout the living room, decorations are scattered across every surface, a few rogue bulbs are rolling around on the floor, and he's pretty sure that what's supposed to be hot chocolate is boiling over on the stove.

It's like a Christmas bomb went off.

And there, in the middle of everything is Abby, playing Christmas music with the volume cranked up as she tries to untangle a never-ending string of lights.

He starts to help, but only after "Abigail, how can you disassemble a bomb, but not untangle a bloody string of lights?" "Are you just going to stand there and ask questions, or actually help me?" "How did you even get the tree in here?" "Just help me!"

She is pretty cute when she's frustrated.

They bicker about how to decorate the tree, what ornaments go where, and how many times a person can listen to "Last Christmas" before going completely insane (Abby's pick, not Townsend's).

After everything's on the tree and Townsend puts the star up, maybe they end up slow dancing to "I'll Be Home For Christmas," just swaying there in the glow of the tree; taking a moment to enjoy their chaotic little Christmas.

And then Wham! comes on again....

Rachel & Joe:

Most years they like to escape to the cabin.

Winter mornings there are some of the most peaceful mornings they know.

Joe makes the coffee while Rachel settles on the couch by the fireplace with a book or newspaper, and somehow everything is so much more quiet with a fresh layer of snow.

Every other year, Rachel pulls out a few old boxes filled with decorations and pictures, and little souvenirs from all the times they had to spend the holidays in some other part of the world.

There's pictures of Cammie's first Christmas, childhood ornaments made out of Popsicle sticks and clay, cards and gifts that hold a fortune in sentimental value.

There's something that manages to touch everything in those boxes—and that's Matt.

He's in the pictures, he's addressed in the cards, he's a memory that lives in every toy and trinket that's home is now in a box.

Once it would have been too painful—to rummage through old memories, but time has a way of healing, and more and more it just feels right—to remember someone who gave so much—loved so much.

Because they both have no doubt, that the best gift was being loved by Matthew Morgan.

And they're just glad they have each other to remember that.

#Tis the damn season for some headcanons #and a little fluff #okay a lot of fluff #I kinda broke my heart with that last one though #Idk how to think about Rachel and Joe without getting sad #these are the first headcanons I've posted so idk what I'm doing but I know I'm having fun #Gallagher Girls #Gallagher Girls Series #Cammie Morgan #Zach Goode #Zammie #Abigail Cameron #Edward Townsend #Tabby #Rachel Morgan #Joe Solomon #Jachel? #Matthew Morgan

[g-girlshavingfun]

Matt: Hey! Be safe.

Rachel: We will.

{Rachel leaves to go on mission}

Abby: [Dramatically cupping Joes face] Be safe!

Joe: I’ll be so safe.

Matt: Would you guys stop?

Joe: [Faking tears] I’ll be safe for you!

Matt: Stop. I’m gonna kill you.

Abby: But how would that keep us safe?

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls incorrect quotes #incorrect gallagher girls quotes #incorrect quotes #source: Outer Banks #Rachel Cameron #rachel morgan #matthew morgan #abigail cameron #Abby Cameron #joe solomon #joseph solomon #Matt x Rachel #Rachel x Matt #Those two give him so much shit #he hates them #(he loves them)

[bryn-not-brynn]

Woah. Hold up. I actually wrote a thing. It was stuck in my head, begging to be put on paper or in text, haha. I think my ideas from the older gen are now strongly influenced by the wonderful Full Circle story from @averagejoesolomon, and many other amazing writers here. So thanks everyone for making this fun!

So whatever this thing is, here it is.

Joe is deeply calmed by Rachel's presence. Even as friends, her decisive nature brings his unsure soul to a grounding point. Matt without question was the one that saved Joe. It was Matt who pieced him back together, saved him from himself, and cared enough to ease some of his hurt. After Matt dies, Joe shatters again. Not how he was before; he is now broken knowing the loss of that much needed love. It's only Matt's memory and the promise of protecting Rachel and Cammie that keeps Joe in some sort of half-living state.

After warming up to one another again, Joe realizes how much it was that Rachel played a role in his healing. Unable to hide some of his more overwhelming trauma from her with panic attacks he tells her small things just to get her off of his back.He notices with amusement that Matthew must have stolen words right out of Rachel's mouth to comfort him, or maybe it was visa versa, either way they sound unbelievably similar trying to talk him down.

Once they are together and Rachel knows everything? Oh, man. Joe learns a peace that he never knew was possible. If Matt was like his anchor, then Rachel is like his safety net. He's not entirely sure what it is. He doesn't much care. Aside from some really bad night terrors and panic attacks, they can almost pretend that Joe hasn't been hurt, that Joe isn't scared of anything.

He wonders, awake at night with Rachel aleeep beside him exactly what it is that brings him so much comfort. Maybe it's just all of her, all the time. Maybe if it is just the loving touch of a woman? Sleeping next to someone you love every night, like someone to scare the monsters inside him away? Someone who knows the right things to say, gives the best hugs,wants to hold him, and is willing to drop it all for someone she loves. Someone who allows him to be so weak and simultaneously thinks of him as strong. Maybe it's having someone who knows the worst things you've ever done or seen and still looks at you every day like she's luck to have you? Although he's entirely convinced that he's the lucky one and no one could change his mind. Lucky to have had Matt, to be loved by him. Lucky that Matt was so damn stubborn to get him and Rachel to get along. It's like he knew they'd need each other after he was gone. Lucky that he and Rachel found a way to get back in the same room as one another, to share their grief rather than hide it. Lucky, after everything that he's been through that he gets to have a happy ending with her and Cam. Lucky to get to love Rachel. Lucky that he's so so loved by all the Morgans in his life.

#gallagher girls series #ally carter #joe solomon #rachel morgan #so so sad #matthew morgan #i love them #luckily he knows how to cook but there was no good spot to fit that one in

[averagejoesolomon]

It's heeeeere! This one surprised even me, so I hope you're ready! I'm so stoked to share 1986 with you all. If you're new here, you can read Full Circle from the beginning on Ao3. Enjoy!

Chapter Three

In the white-steepled churches of Nebraska, Hell is said to be fire, and brimstone, and torture. Nine layers of labyrinthine stone cast in a heat so demonic that even a soul can feel it. There are stories devoted to its wrath. Songs written about its misfortune. Matt’s childhood church, situated on the far edge of Hay Springs, has an entire window dedicated to the fall of Lucifer, wings burning as the angel descends from clean, uniform strands of blue to the chaotic, shattered shards of red. He always wondered what would happen if he reached out and touched the glass—if he would feel the fire in his fingertips. He’s never had the guts to try.

And anyway, Matt knows better now. Hell isn’t hot embers and smoldering chains. Hell is a two-cushion loveseat in a Russian safe house.

He blinks awake for the sixth time in five hours, his right foot on the verge of total numbness. Last time, it was his left hand and the time before that it was his entire right shoulder. It seems every part of his body is keen to fall deeply asleep before he gets the chance. In a halfhearted attempt to soothe the prickling static, he throws his leg over the arm of the loveseat and sinks back into his drowsiness.

When his entire calf begins to buzz in response, Matt reckons this is some sort of karmic payback—for what, he doesn’t know, though he’s surely tallied up some serious ill will over the past few years—and he finally surrenders. With a sigh, he rolls to his feet and convinces himself that five hours of sleep is enough to run an op on.

This is Moscow, after all, and mornings always come early in Moscow.

It helps when the crisp, smoky scent of bacon wafts through the room. Matt latches onto it like a hound on a rabbit, shaking feeling back into his foot as he lumbers through the predawn darkness. With as little noise as he can muster, he cracks open the door and slips into the low, golden light of the living room, careful not to cross into any of the shadows Rachel still sleeps through. 

“Morning, mate,” someone greets him. “You must be Matthew.”

Across the room, where carpet gives way to linoleum, a broad-shouldered brick of a man stands at the stove top. The glow of the range light outlines the stockiness of his silhouette as he scrapes a spatula against cast iron, dueling with the pops and sizzles of bacon fat. “Uh, yeah. Matt’s fine,” Matt mutters, softly shutting the door at his back. “You must be… the husband?”

At this, the man breaks out into a broad grin, as though the wind is at his back from here on out. It’s beyond endearing. “That I am, Matt,” he says. “Although most people call me Abe.”

Matt’s next words get caught up in a yawn. “Mighty nice to meet you, Abe,” he drawls, twisting sleep from his eye. “Don’t suppose you’ve got any coffee over there?”

“Tea?”

“Mm.”

Abe’s laugh, much like the rest of him, is a small but mighty sort of ordeal that’s perfectly suited to the ease of slow mornings. “Understood,” he says. “I did spot some grounds in one of these cabinets—ah, yes, the one with the map of the Moskva shoreline taped to it. How about I heat up another kettle and let you handle the rest?”

“Sounds awfully fair to me,” Matt agrees. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Without breaking focus, Abe points the spatula toward the living room’s sole chair, just at Matt’s side. “Your bag, by the way. You’ll be happy to know it’s bug free.”

Sure enough, Matt’s backpack rests beside a lonely throw pillow. It looks pristine and untouched, but Matt knows better. Abe has been through every zipper, every pocket, every shirt, every sock, and every last bristle on Matt’s toothbrush. Probably for the best. A fella can never be too careful in Moscow.

“Thanks,” Matt says, grabbing the bag by its top and unzipping the main compartment. This early into an op, all of his clothes are still neatly folded and grouped by type, so it’s easy enough to rummage below his sole sweatshirt and slip into the concealed pocket sewn into the lining. The resulting device is no bigger than his palm, save the long rubberized antenna sticking from the top. He runs his thumbs against each ridged knob. Finds the hard plastic switch along the side. “D’you mind if I…?”

Abe eyes Matt just in time to see him gesture broadly toward the room. “Not at all,” Abe tells him. “Although you should know that I already swept the place last night. We’re clear.”

This is said with the sort of calm, reassuring tone that probably works wonders on assets and assailants alike, but it doesn’t do much to put Matt at ease. Not in Moscow. Not when he’s lost three guys in the last year, not when Langley won’t let him fly overseas without signing a half-dozen waivers, not when he’s only just learned Abe’s name. Rachel Cameron is one room over and Matt would prefer to live long enough to make things right with her.

“Sure,” he cautions, still sluggish from a night of sporadic sleep. “And I’m not looking to offend, but they do build bugs straight into the walls, here in Moscow.”

Abe nods, laying another few strips of bacon into his pan. “Yes, I’m aware.”

The part of Matt that was raised with Midwest politeness struggles against the part of him that’s trained to survive a volatile Russia. “Sometimes they’re remote activated,” he goes on, trying to keep his tone light. “And after your first sweep, once you’re sure you’ve got everything, they turn on a second batch.”

At Matt’s continued insistence, Abe finally glances up at Matt when he says, “Which is why I did another sweep this morning.”

This ain’t the first impression Matt likes to make, but he also can’t compromise like he’s used to. Instead, he holds his arms out to each side, trying to broker a little bit of peace on the subject. “It’s not you I don’t trust,” he promises. “It’s just the Soviets can be real bastards sometimes, is all.”

“Right.” Abe considers this and seems to take in Matt anew. Then, just as quickly, he drops his attention back down to breakfast. “Well, I’m told you’re the expert. Far be it from me to stop you. Do you want one piece of bacon or two?”

And that’s that. “Four, please,” says Matt. “If we can spare it.”

“Four it is,” Abe replies.

Matt’s stomach rumbles at the thought. “And eggs?”

“Of course,” says Abe. “I like to fry them in the leftover fat.”

“Good man.”

With breakfast on the horizon, they leave one another to work, descending into the sort of easy quiet that doesn’t feel like it needs filling. For his part, Matt searches the room the way he was taught, starting with the perimeter and spiraling inward. He has access to the kind of tech that Langley only spares for agents regularly posted in this part of the world—minimizing the risk of equipment being captured, reverse engineered, and shared among enemies—which might explain why he finds his first bug in five minutes flat. It’s a tricky one, tucked inside a hollowed door hinge, but it’s enough to keep Matt vigilant throughout the rest of his search. The scanner click, click, clicks in his hand as he goes. Goddamn Moscow.

He’s about halfway through his sweep, ruling out a potential false positive triggered by a wayward nail sunken into a crooked floorboard, when Grace makes her first appearance of the morning. She seems to have gotten no shortage of sleep, positively glowing as she joins Abe at the stove top with a soft, “Good morning, darling.”

He mutters his own sweet nothings in return, lends her a kiss on the cheek, and leans into the way her arms wrap around his waist. Something about the way they sway, and touch, and giggle sends a flush to Matt’s face. Even though he knows he ought to look away, he can’t seem to stop himself from stealing glances at their casual intimacy. The simplicity of her chin on his shoulder. The peace of his voice, kept low and rumbling so only she can truly hear. A calm and unbroken back-and-forth between two people who really, honestly love one another.

Matt turns his attention back toward the floorboards, lest his chest collapse under the weight of his own want.

He overturns every cushion, unscrews every light bulb, checks every outlet, and disassembles the entire phone, promising to piece it back together when he’s done. Meanwhile, Grace pours herself a cup of tea, props herself onto the countertop, and begins to debate the finer points of egg making with her husband. “Honestly, Abraham,” she says, taking a sip. “The yolks are meant to be runny.”

“That may be so, my love,” he allows, “but sometimes a yolk simply must be sacrificed for a crispy edge—I don’t make the rules.”

“Likely story,” she teases. Then, across the room, “What was that you said to me last night, Matt? The guy with the spatula makes all the rules?”

By now, Matt is standing on top of the dining table, combing through each component of the overhead lighting. He doesn’t break focus when he says, “Guy with the knife, I think is what I said.”

“Close enough,” Grace replies.

This prompts another one of Abe’s compact laughs. “Close enough,” he echoes, breaking away from a busy stove top to make a move toward Grace. “I ought to show you close enough.”

“I’d like to see you try—” But her words are interrupted by her own short squeaks as Abe pokes at her sides, her legs, and anywhere else that may cause her to squirm and smile.  “Oh, you absolute beast of a man,” she says through a laugh like sunshine. “You stop it, stop that right now.”

Abe obliges, but not without trading ticklish teasing for an eager and earnest kiss. Grace meets him with equal enthusiasm, leaning in without another word. Her arms fall loose along his shoulders while her legs wrap around his torso. With no end in sight, Matt glues his eyes to the light fixture, focusing hard on each individual piece needed to reconstruct it. It takes everything in him not to clear his throat, as he wonders whether or not this is how the third wheel on his Radio Flyer trike always felt.

Thankfully, Grace has the good sense to break away in the presence of company.  “You’re going to burn your eggs,” she tells Abe.

“Eggs?” Abe sounds like he’s never even heard of such a concept, still leaning in close to his beloved. “Who ever cared about eggs? Let them burn—let the whole world burn.”

“I would, darling,” she says. “Except I think Matt probably prefers his breakfast to be… well, eatable.”

Matt would do just about anything not to be included in this particular conversation, but this point does seem to slow Abe in his tracks. With a sigh, he gives up his hold on Grace and returns to the perfectly mundane task of frying eggs. “Yes, well,” he says. “You really ought to try sitting at the table, Matt, rather than standing on it. Really, breakfast will be ready shortly.”

Matt, glad to be back in more neutral conversational territory, screws the final piece back into the light fixture. “Just wrapping up,” he says. “Can never be too careful.”

“Even so,” Abe agrees, “nothing that can’t wait until after a good breakfast. Titanium locks, bullet-proof windows, sound-proof paneling in every wall—”

“Amen to that,” Grace chimes in, with a little more flirtation in her tone than Matt feels comfortable hearing.

“We’re safe for now,” Abe assures him. “So come make yourself some coffee while the kettle’s hot.”

Matt reckons they’re about as safe as mice running through a room full of spring traps, and it’s only going to take one wrong step to bring fury down upon their necks. Frankly, he’s a little concerned by the attitude in the room. He likes Abe. He likes Grace. He’d hate to see them end up dead before he really got to know them, so he channels the same energy Joe once gave him, when he needed a wake-up call of his own.

He climbs down to the ground, reaches into his pocket, and leaves six missed bugs at the center of the table. 

Their eyes both go wide, and they’re not smiling anymore. “Look,” says Matt. “I’m sure you’re excellent agents. Rachel knows how to pick‘em—except maybe myself, as the one notable exception. And I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but this ain’t a usual romp through western Europe. This is Moscow. When the agencies send us in, they immediately assume we’re dead until proven otherwise. We’re not safe here, and we won’t be safe anywhere we go.”

The pair of them take on the same look Matt’s teammates used to when his mama scolded them for playing ball in the house. It sends his insides twisting, because he’s never been good at this kind of thing. Maybe that’s why he lets them off the hook so soon. “Good news for us, though,” he says, crossing into the kitchen. “Those bugs are long dead, which is why we didn’t catch them sooner. No signal. Must’ve fried up years ago, and the Soviets didn’t want to risk retrieving them. Probably out of date, too, so they won’t tell us much—my guess is mid-to-late sixties. Completely useless, and if I’m remembering the specs right, they wouldn’t be able to transmit through our jammers anyway.”

He rattles this off during a thoughtless coffee routine, moving through mugs, filters, and grounds. “As far as live bugs go, you’re right. We’re clear for now,” he goes on, reaching for the kettle. The water steams as he pours it over dark roast. “Well done on that, Abe.”

Abe plates the last of his eggs, a little more life in him now that Matt’s scorn has been met with renewed reassurance. “Thank you.”

Matt’s well within his wheelhouse now and can’t stop himself from rolling onward. “We should keep up with regular sweeps, in case of sleepers. And we’ll need to sweep again every time we leave and come back—there’s no telling who can get in while we’re away, I don’t care how secure Langley says we are. The pencil pushers in charge of  managing the safe houses aren’t the same people putting their ass on the line by staying in one, y’know?” Water trickles into his cup and it seems like a waste to get so little use out of these grounds. “And no matter how many times we sweep, don’t say anything you wouldn’t want to explain to a KGB agent after twelve-to-eighteen hours of torture—coffee for anyone else?”

He might be imagining the dumbfounded shock on Abe and Grace’s face, with the way they watch him, jaws dropped ever so slightly, as though they’re not quite sure if he’s some half-man-half-computer hybrid. It’s possible they just didn’t hear his call for coffee, but before he can offer again, a third voice answers. 

“I’ll have one.”

The thing about Rachel Cameron is that she never looks out of place in a room. This is different from Matt, who sinks into the crevices of a crowd to go unseen—Rachel doesn’t go unseen, and she never will. She’s a lot like Abby in that way, wrapped up in enough beauty and stature that it’s impossible to miss her presence. But while Abby is the white-hot crackle of static over a signal, Rachel is the low and even buzz. She is the steady constant that’s always supposed to be there, acting as she’s expected to act, being as she’s expected to be.

Even now, buried somewhere in the backmost forests of Russia, she looks well and truly in her element. Gone is the heiress he last saw, replaced with someone who has spent the last two years getting her hands dirty and isn’t afraid to show it. She’s a mix of denim, and flannel, and a good night’s sleep, leaning in the doorway with an eye toward the entire room. “Now you see why I looped in a specialist,” she says, working her way toward the table. “And a coffee aficionado.”

When Rachel sits, the entire room follows suit. Abe and Grace bring plates to the table and Matt makes quick work out of pouring a second cup of coffee, delivering it, and taking the seat at her side. “He’s clever, Rachel,” Grace comments. She finds a seat in Abe’s lap, ignoring the table’s fourth and final chair. Abe doesn’t seem to mind. “You didn’t say he was clever.”

Rachel blows ever so slightly at the steam of her mug. “Sure I did.”

Abe, who has already cut into his eggs with the side of his fork, shakes his head. “I distinctly remember you saying trustworthy,” he says, one cheek stuffed. Matt finds this tidbit to be awfully interesting. “Reliable and trustworthy—”

“And good in a crowd,” Grace adds. Even more interesting.

“Yes, good in a crowd, thank you love,” he says. Then, back to Rachel. “But you never warned us he’d be clever, too.”

Matt does his best to bite back a creeping grin, glancing up at Rachel. There’s no sign of a crack in her usual cool demeanor, save the slightest purse of pink lips, but she swiftly covers this with her first sip of coffee. Like a barn cat with eyes on a field mouse, he can’t resist pouncing on the moment. “Reliable and trustworthy, huh?”

Her eyes flit toward him. “Careful, Matthew.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He hides the rest of his smile behind a sip of his own coffee and by the time he turns back to Abe and Grace, he’s got his grin reigned in. “In Rachel’s defense, I’m only clever on occasion. Y’all happen to have met me in my area of expertise—I’ve been in and out of Moscow so many times, they ought to give me a key to the city.”

Grace rips off a bite of bacon. “I’m surprised Langley sends you over that often,” she says. “Six only sends in agents as a last resort.”

A twinge of something sharp and electric zips between Matt and Rachel, because they both know Grace is onto something. More often than not, Matt is in the Soviet Union on his own orders, not Langley’s, and that’s the kind of thing that has all the makings of their usual fights. Rather than work their way toward an argument so early in the morning, Matt shifts the subject. “MI6?” he asks. “I didn’t realize this was a joint mission.”

Grace shrugs. “More like a tag-along, really,” she says. “You lot are running this one—Six just wants to know what you find.”

“Grace is being humble,” Rachel cuts in, apparently satisfied to skirt around the frustration, same as Matt. “We worked an extraction job in France a couple years back, and you’d be hard pressed to find someone more knowledgeable about escape and evasion tactics.”

Matt digs into his breakfast. “Useful skill set to have in this part of the world.”

Rachel joins him. “When they told me to put a team together, she was one of the first on my list,” she goes on. “And lucky for us, she was able to open up her schedule.”

“Yes, well,” says Grace, “I do still owe you one after Paris, and anyway you’re much better company than some of the stiffs at Six. Acting all high and mighty with their Windsor knots and their posh boarding school backgrounds.”

Abe is gentle in her ear when he reminds her, “Darling, you have a posh boarding school background.”

“Yes, but I don’t go around acting like it, do I?”

“Certainly not, you’re perfect in every way.”

This is said with another one of their sickly sweet kisses, which prompts Matt to fixate on his eggs as though they are the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. When they carry on a little too long for comfort, Rachel steps in. “You’ll have to excuse these two,” she tells Matt. “They’re still in their honeymoon phase.”

Grace breaks free with a doting glance toward Rachel. “You can hardly blame us.”

“That’s sweet,” says Matt, and he means it. “How long have you been married?”

The two of them turn toward one another, mentally running through the numbers. Grace hangs from Abe’s shoulders. Abe’s hand rests along her leg. Finally, Abe replies with, “Oh, probably, sixteen hours, by this point?”

Matt, who made the mistake of sipping his coffee again, chokes on the answer. “Sixteen hours?” he repeats through a cough. “You’re not in the honeymoon phase—you’re on your honeymoon.”

“Why travel on your own dime when your agency will pay the airfare for you?” says Grace, downright logical about the whole thing. “And this will be better than sitting on some boring old beach anyway.”

Matt’s morning starts to make more sense, given the context, and he’s glad to have a reason for all of the extra love going around. He’s not quite sure how he would have handled it, if Grace and Abe were like this all the time. Honeymoon is fine. Honeymoon is good. “I suppose congratulations are in order.”

Grace waves a hand. “We left our congratulations back in London where they belong,” she says. “I’m far more interested to find out what I’m supposed to be doing in Moscow.”

The table turns toward Rachel, who sits completely at ease as she finishes her last bite of eggs. Once again, she looks perfectly positioned to rise to this moment, as though she knew the conversation would lead this way eventually and all she had to do was wait patiently for everyone else to catch up with her brain. Matt wonders how many times she’s had to wait for the rest of the world to rise to her level. He’s not sure a number that high can be counted. “We’re confident there are no bugs?”

“As confident as we can be,” Matt confirms. “And if we’re wrong, we’ll find out soon enough.”

Rachel doesn’t seem especially satisfied with this answer, but she must decide to contend with it, because she goes on with a strong and easy cadence. “Right,” she says. “The details are need-to-know, but long story short, my last op uncovered a possible exchange happening in the city tomorrow.”

It’s like a switch has flipped in the room, and he’s now sharing the table with entirely different people. 

Grace asks, “Two agents?”

Rachel answers, “As far as we know.”

Abe asks, “What agencies?”

Rachel answers, “Langley would very much like us to find that out.”

Grace asks, “What are they exchanging?”

Rachel answers, “Passports.”

Abe asks, “We’re in Moscow for a bunch of bloody passports?”

Rachel hesitates. The moment is brief, but Matt knows her well enough to spot it. He watches closely, looking for any of her usual tells. Chewing on her cheek. Jutting out her jaw. None of them come, which tells Matt that she’s trying very hard not to say something, and she’s trying even harder not to show it. 

“We have reason to believe,” she starts, “that hostile agents have intelligence about select US operatives. Aliases. Cover legends. Official cryptonyms. And we suspect that once they get their hands on the passports, they’ll be able to confirm the real identities of everyone on that list—walk back every mission they’ve taken part in, target their families, target their allies, target them.”

Rachel speaks like stone. Sits like glass. She divides her eye contact in perfect thirds across each of them, as though she’s counting the seconds. Rachel is strict and disciplined by nature, but she is never rigid. Not like this.

Abe doesn’t seem to notice. “So these aren’t fakes,” he clarifies. “These are real, genuine passports—name, picture, birth date.”

“Correct,” says Rachel.

“And we need to intercept them,” says Grace. “Before our hostiles blow the cover of every US operative they have access to.”

Rachel nods. “They get the passports, some of our best operatives die,” she confirms. “We get the passports, those operatives get to live another day.”

It’s a continuation of the same dangers he’s been hearing all summer—agents selling out other agents for hundreds of thousands of dollars. Stolen identities leading to the very real executions of significant allies and informants. Ten dead last summer. Plenty more missing. Now Rachel’s gone and pulled him into a Moscow op, and there’s no such thing as coincidence.

So Matt asks, “You said select US operatives?”

And Rachel answers, “Yes.”

Matt asks, “How select?”

Rachel answers, “We think it’s between six and ten passports.”

Matt asks, “Who are they targeting?”

Her eyes linger now, no longer bouncing evenly between everyone and landing firmly on Matt. Rachel’s out-of-character reluctance reads a lot like her in-character stubbornness, but somehow Matt can spot the subtle difference. She’s nervous, which ought to scare the shit out of everyone else at the table. She’s nervous, which ought to tell them all everything they need to know. 

Still, he needs her to say it. “Rachel,” he tries again. “Who are they tar—?”

“Soviet specialists.” It comes out fast. Cold. An icicle falling from a rooftop and shattering along the sidewalk. “US operatives with ties to the Soviet Union.”

Abe and Grace turn toward him, and suddenly everyone at the table is watching him like he’s a dead man walking. Logistically speaking, he doesn’t need to ask his next question. Everyone already knows the answer. But he still has to get it out, if only for the sake of his sanity. “Do they have my passport?”

Fire and brimstone have nothing on the look in Rachel Cameron’s eyes when she doesn’t seem to have an answer. “I don’t know… I tried to—” She takes a deep breath. Sets her jaw, the same way she always has. “I don’t know, Matthew.”

It’s his mama that comes to mind first. Then his pops. Joe, Joe, Joe. He’s always known the risks of this profession, but he’s always had a way of justifying them. Rationalizing them. Except now all he can picture is a Soviet bullet in his mama’s forehead and that’s a mighty hard image to wave away. Before he knows what he’s doing, he stands. Nods. “Excuse me.”

And then Matt bolts toward the sole bathroom, hunches over the toilet bowl, and hurls up all four pieces of bacon.

#Full Circle #Gallagher Girls #Ally Carter #Matthew Morgan #Rachel Morgan

[superblycaffeinated]

So, first of all, ummm thank you?? I teared up when I first read this, and definitely did while responding too. Also, thanks for your patience in literally a whole year for this? AND, I’m sorry, I didn’t quite write a fic for it, just some more general musings on the subject? I’m gonna dive quite a bit more into Rachel/Zach and all of the adults with Zach in my little baby Zach series, so I hope that answers more of this, when the time comes but for now...

So, I think I share the same sentiments as many that by the end of UWS, Rachel has grown to love Zach quite a bit. He’s one of her ducklings, one of the many people she cares deeply and strongly for. 

However, I think she absolutely had similar thoughts as Abby for quite awhile - she just approached them in a sort of way only Mom Rachel Morgan could. And maybe she didn’t trust Zach because of his mom, or his school, or a long list of reasons, but I honestly think it comes down to one very simple thing:

He was a teenage boy. 

And like, I don’t think Rachel was gonna be head over heels about her daughter seeing Zach, or any boy for that matter - BUT she’s Rachel and knows that it’s pointless to tell her daughter (or any of those girls) no about something like seeing a boy. I mean, basically the first rule of teenage girlhood is to absolutely date the bad boy your parents tell you you’re forbidden to see. And maybe her and Abby discussed this - maybe they discussed it all. The mom, the school, the badboy of it all. Maybe Abby saw Rachel taking her little more lax approach (see why, below) and Abby said "nah, I'm the aunt who's had my fair share of leather jacket wearing smirking green eyed cuties at her age and I smell trouble and I'm going to say something about it."

Also, it’s not like Rachel has paperwork to do, or a whole giant school to run, or you know, this guy from her past who’s comparable to Indiana Jones all up in her business (who has his own secrets she wants to know BTW), but no, that’s not enough - she just had to spend an entire semester pretending like her daughter wasn’t sneaking out to see a boy, falling in love, and getting heartbroken. 

Which leads me to - Rachel just watched her daughter fall in love for the first time and then get her heart hurt. Why? Because she wanted to do this job more, than have a normal life with a boy. So, who is she to stand in the way of a boy Cammie could be with, if that’s what she wanted? A boy who knows her school and this life and dances a pretty mean waltz and hold on, did he just make her laugh actually? 

I think Zach being inside those walls, under her nose, with The Joe Solomon stamp of approval (I mean, who all have truly, really gotten this stamp? Matthew Morgan and....? Yeah. that's what I thought.) was all it really took to be honest. Did she jump for joy and open her arms immediately? No. She's Rachel. I think she had to do what Rachel does - learn more, observe, and most importantly, trust her gut. 

I think that when she looks at Zach, she gets a little sliver of open doorway into a part of Joe she doesn’t get to see often. I think she’s reminded that you are not your family if you don’t want to be, that your past doesn’t dictate your future, that first impressions can be misleading. I think Zach surprises Rachel, just like Joe did, and continues to surprise her, and surprising Rachel Morgan is impressive, and no easy feat. 

But, the most important thing that I think of in terms of Rachel approving of Zach?

She watched that kid fall head over heels in love with her daughter - protect her, defend her, risk everything to save her and be with her, breakdown because of her - but still get up and fight for her...

Rachel loves Zach because Zach loves Cammie, and it's as simple as that at the end of the day 💙

#gallagher girls #gallagher girls series #rachel morgan #zach goode

[incorrectgallaghergirlsquotes]

I have been a silent reader of your ao3 fic and I must say that your writing is SUPERB 🔥💯 can I please request a short story about how Rachel felt seeing Zach and Cammie together? Do you think when she told Zach to stay in her office, do you think they had the talk, like Rachel asking what his feelings are for her daughter?

First of all, thank you so much! You’re all so sweet to read my writing and then to compliment it is just amazing. Seriously ♥️

I think the wait in her office scene is book 4 before they go to Blackthorne? Somebody let me know if I’m wrong lol but I think they definitely had some kinda of semblance of that talk. By that point I get the feeling Rachel has decided she kinda likes Zach at least that’s the vibe I always got from her. I portray her as very hesitant about Zach in my fic, but we’re still in the early stages. There’s certainly a turning point where she decides he’s okay, but from Cammie’s perspective that we get in the books she seems pretty chill with Zach. Especially in contrast to the other adults. She likely asked what his intentions were, even just in general, and however he answered got him her approval. Probably something about protecting Cammie.

I think she’ll finally get to witness them interact soon and we’ll explore how both her and Joe react to that over on ao3 so stay tuned!

#ask #answered #gallagher girls #zach goode #rachel morgan #cammie morgan