Dravon POV..

"God shut up!" she yelled plugging her ears.

I smirked, she led me into this one, "What did you want to talk about?"

"Your mother."

My who?! I heard my gun clatter to the floor.

"That's classified." I picked up my gun and put my ear protectors back on.

I felt her walk up behind me and place her hands on my shoulder. Our bodies were pressed together. She lowered my protectors.

Her breath was hot on my neck, "Please tell me."

Goose bumps slid down my back. I shivered.

"No," I raised my gun.

"Please Dravy," she cooed in my ear.

I cocked the gun, "No Treak."

"Come on, secret for secret."

Once my target was lined, I fired a round. Her hands instantly covered her ears and she curled away from me.

I smiled and shot two more. When the small cloud of smoke disappeared I looked at my shots. Perfect tens.

"Damn Dravon! God you're an ass!" I barely heard her over the ringing in my ears even though she was yelling right behind me.

I turned around and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "It was only fair, you tried to seduce me. Rule number one: don't make a guy with a gun lose his self control. Consider yourself lucky you weren't on the other side."

Treakle's head tilted so she could look around me. I moved out of her way and waited for a surge of admiration as she looked at my perfect shots.

"You can say it, I'm awesome."

When she looked back at me her face was white as a tub of sour cream.

I wonder if it's just a woman thing to go from happy to petrified in two seconds. Or maybe Treakle is just bipolar. I'm going with the second one.

"What is wrong with you?! God I swear you are the weirdest girl I've ever met!" I yelled putting my gun on the small counter behind me.

"Do you ever miss a shot?" she questioned eyeing my gun suspiciously.

"Uh, no, why do you-"

"I had a dream where you-" she put her hands over her mouth as she was about to tell me something secretive.

"A dream where I?"

Her eyes glazed over and she lowered her hands. "A dream where you were a child. You were in bed, and your mother was going to read you a story. She's a spy isn't she?"

"Was." I turned my back to her and leaned over the counter.

"She died?" her voice was full of regret. Probably for bringing the subject up.

"Why are you dreaming about my mom?"

"I don't know. That's why I wanted to talk about it with you... my dreams either come true," she eyed my gun, "or they hint at something." Treakle placed a hand on my shoulder. An irritating shiver rippled through my body, originating at my shoulder. I shook off her touch.

"My mother has nothing to do with you." I lied.

"Then why am I dreaming about you guys?"

"I don't know!" I shouted turning to face her, "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe people have secrets because they don't want people to know things?! Maybe you just enjoy causing people pain by bringing up emotional subjects! Would you like me to talk all about how I've known your dad for years? Oh yeah me and him are like best friends! Do you know what his favorite color is? I do. It's purple. And your mom? She loves the color green. She also loves mint chocolate chip ice-cream. That's why your middle name is Mint. Do you want me to go on about your parents?" slowly my voice lowered into a harsh whisper.

Treakle had tears pooling around her eyes, but she had too much pride to let them fall. "I thought you didn't like to see me hurt?"

A cruel laugh escaped my lips, "I could care less if I hurt you."

"Hypocrite." Before a tear could get past her cheekbone she wiped it.

"Not really, but sure. I'd never physically harm you though."

"But you can hurt my feelings without batting an eye?"

"They're just feelings. They'll grow back."

With speed only a spy can posses she reached around me, grabbed my gun, cocked it and pressed it against my heart.

"Now that you're done hurting me, I think it's time I share the pain. Tell me about your mom, or I shoot."

"Wow, never pictured you as one for giving ultimatums." I reached my arms around her back in a hug. The gun squashed into my pectoral muscle.

Treakle pulled back forcefully, her finger tightened on the trigger, but I called her bluff. I walked closer; the gun touched my shirt again.

"Treakle, put down the gun, you don't know what you're doing."

Her mouth and eyes widened, she looked at the gun in her hands.

"NO!" she shrieked, her voice getting two octaves higher. "This is my dream!"

I stepped away. She...she... "You dreamt you were going to shoot me?" My voice had a hint of fear in it.

"Yes. Wait no. No. I dreamt you and your mom, then this. But I didn't shoot you!" her tears dropped like rain as she gripped the trigger tighter, "You shot me."

"Treakle put the damn gun down."

"That's what you said in my dream!" she cried.

"Look I won't shoot you. You have my gun anyway." Fear crossed her face. Bad choice of words, "Sorry, sorry. Even if I had my gun I wouldn't shoot you. How many times have I told you that I can't take a life?"

"Just tell me about your mom." Her whole body was in convulsions. Treakle is quite obviously scared beyond belief.

"Take the bullets out the gun first. Then I pinkie promise I will tell you." I held out my pinkie. She stared at it before unloading the gun and tossing it onto the floor. I closed my eyes and sighed. When I felt her link pinkies with me I looked at her and smiled.

"That is so fifth grade."She smiled back at me.

For the record, Treakle Mint Kemp is officially bipolar. She was about to kill me over a dream she had, and now she's making pinkie promises with me. Even I, Dravon Isaac Stewart, cannot keep up with her mood swings.

"Okay. Ha-ha, where to start?" I sat down on the floor putting my head in my hands. Am I really going to tell her? Does she need to know? Do I want her to know?

I felt her do the same, "Tell me a bit about her."

"She lost her mind. She lost her personality. She lost her will to live." I counted off on my fingers. I was about to go on but the words stuck in my throat.

"Not like that, start slow, when she wasn't a victim of spies' syndrome. What was she like?"

"Well, her name was Devi Stewart. She loved to write and sing. And," I racked my memory, stretching it far back to before the breakdown. "And that's all I can remember."

"In my dream she was going to read you a story, did she do that often?"

"No." I said between gritted teeth. "She only did that before a mission."

"Why is that a bad thing?" she wasn't contradicting, she was honestly curious. "Isn't it nice that she'd do something before she risked her life?"

"How would you like to only have a mother for five minutes?"

"Better than no mother at all!" if she was standing I could just see her going into that defensive stance, tiling her hip up and down.

"No, it's not. Sometimes I wish I never knew my mother. And I don't say that like some silly teenager who would instantly regret thinking such things. I honestly wished my mom passed away before I was old enough to remember her."

She gasped, making it even harder for me to carry on. It's bad enough telling her my about black sheep mom, I don't need her thinking bad of me.

"How could you say that?!"

"Maybe if you wait I'll justify myself."

"What could you possibly say to justify saying that? I would give up everything to be able to know my parents."

"Seriously, Treakle, I can reload that gun over there faster than you can swallow, don't tempt me."

"You threaten people a lot!"

"Shut up!" I dragged the "u" out in 'up'.

"Okay, whatever. So why do you feel that way?"

"Whenever she wasn't on a mission she wouldn't ever leave her room. If I ever went in there she'd throw something at me. What loving mother throws a lamp at their six year old son?"

Treakle avoided my gaze.

"Exactly. No good mother could put their child through as much pain as I have. Don't get me wrong she never abused me. But oh she loved to talk." A bitter smile crossed my lips. "One time, she had just got back from a mission, and I went into her room to check if she really was home. She was covered in bruises and cuts, I went to hug her and she pushed me away. I asked if it was because her "boo boos" hurt. She replied, exact words, "No you idiot, I just don't want you to touch me." Now it doesn't sound that bad, but keep in mind, I was six. I felt crushed. I felt dirty. I felt unworthy. I felt unloved.

"Another time, when I was five I think, an older kid beat me up at school, and I mean beat me up. I had a broken arm, I had bruises everywhere, and he knocked two teeth out. My mom never came to see me in the emergency room. Our maid, who was on vacation, had to pick me up because no one answered the house phone. When we got home I was surprised that it wasn't empty. My mom sat there with the house phone in hand screaming at me as to why I couldn't be a big boy. Why did I let him beat me up? Then she topped her scolding off with a "you disgust me." I was five. As if I could protect myself from a fifth grader." I scoffed.

"Wow, Dravon I'm so sorry."

"What is a sorry going to do for me? Do you really think that's going to help? Oh thank you so much, you said sorry, now all my memories of my mom being a heartless bitch have disappeared thank you ever so much!" I stood up.

She copied me, "You know what I mean. I'm just- that sucks alright. I'm unhappy you went through that."

"Whatever. Are we done bringing up bad memories?"

"No, just one more. Well two. First one, why were you always so happy when she read you stories? Why did you love her so much if she hurt you so badly?"

I smirked, "She was my mom. I'd forgive her no matter what she did. I guess she wasn't as bad as some other kids' parents. And I guess I should be grateful, in some sick way, that my mom only hurt my self esteem. I was never good enough for her."

"Is that why you always try to get peoples approval? Why you do whatever it takes to be number one?"

Huh. I guess I do strive to get peoples approval a lot. But not always. There are certain people in this world I could care less if they liked me. My mother wasn't one of them.

I can't tell Treakle this, especially after her last comment, but everything I do is to show my mom that I am worthy of her love. I am good at things.

"To get my self esteem up I guess."

"That woman messed you up bad."

"Alright quit bashing my mom. What was the second thing?"

"How did she die?"

"With spies, you don't get details. They just don't come back."

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