Octagon Project 3: Zachary McHall

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***THREE YEARS LATER***

"Who's there?" Mel growled protectively as she closed the heavy wooden front door and quietly set her car keys on the small white shelf unit next to her in the entry way. Rocker and the others were working late tonight and her little girl was sound asleep on the large, white, leather wrap-around couch despite the living room window being wide open. The breeze from outside made the pale curtains whisk around like snakes held by their tails and it only set Mel on edge even more. It had been three years since they left the Octagon and the only break-in they had was two years ago. They never found the person but they left a note for only Rex to read which pissed Mel off. Walking light footed to the kitchen, Mel began to reach for the knife block when a voice spoke. 

"I wouldn't do that." They said. Their voice was cold, deep, and had a familiar husk to it. Mel froze in her tracks but kept her hand hovering near the blades in case she needed to grab one. "You wouldn't want to wake the kid." Finding the direction of the voice, Mel had three steak knives flying near the window in seconds, pinning one of the curtains to the creamy wallpaper. The intruder sighed. "I see you've still got your touch." They whispered next to her ear. Spinning around wide eyed with her fists flying, she got pinned into the corner of the counters. That was when Mel's breath caught in her throat and she waited for the man to step back to hold onto the beige granite counter behind her for support.

"W-What are you doing here, Zack?" She breathed. He smiled kindly at her.

"Just thought I'd pay you a visit."

"Y-You disappeared for three years. You ran from the CIA."

"Oh I'm still running from them." Zack informed her almost too casually as he leaned against the counter and crossed his arms. He wore what looked like the special uniform he'd had back in the Octagon, only black from his hood to the same worn out black military boots as he always has. It made her smile just the slightest.

"What?" Zack asked as he observed her.

"You haven't changed much since I last saw you." She huffed out and looked back up at him. His eyes were still the same entrancing silver blue and the scars on his face weren't any lighter than they had been three years ago. The only real difference was his hair; it was longer than she'd ever seen it. A single strand hung in front of his face, down past his chin, and the rest was pulled back in a lazy bun.

"So tell me," Mel began, snatching a knife and pinning him where he stood against the counter with the blade to his throat, "what are you doing here?" He didn't flinch.

"I need your help." He said with the same gentle eyes as he grabbed her wrist and lowered the knife. "But first you should put Grace to bed." He said, causing Mel to point the tip right back at the top of his throat flush against the skin. He raised his hands innocently. "I've been keeping tabs on you. Why wouldn't I?"

"I could turn you in right now." She grumbled lowly.

"But you won't. You're completely underground Mel." She took a deep breath in hearing him say her name again. "Turning me in would get the others arrested just as well."

"Looks like you're still sharp." She grumbled as she set the knife down on the counter and stepped away from the familiar stranger.

"Yeah and you're still impulsively pulling knives. Are you sure it's a good idea to let you raise a kid?"

"Excuse me?" Mel crossed her arms offensively, glowering at him with fire in her green eyes. Zack sighed, lowering his head.

"I didn't mean it like that." He indirectly apologized, "It's just -"