I was his. I knew him. He was mine. That was all there was to it. I would be there when he woke up of a morning, laying against his warm bare chest. I was the only one who ever got to see into those deep mesmerizing eyes. I would lay stretched out on the bed as he would get up and make ready for the day.
With a finally warm embrace he would leave me. I would wait for his job to be finished. I would wait for him to return. I needed his hands. They were strong and deadly but they could be incredible tender when he wanted them to be. Of course, he was only tender with me.
They called him Six. But I knew his real name. I knew everything about him. How he liked his coffee. That he took two showers a day- a cold one in the morning to wake him up and a hot one at night to make him relax. I knew that he loved a great many people but that he never wanted to show it. But with me? He was different. I had seen him cry. I had seen him string together curse words in anger. I had seen him sick.
But unlike the others- I never doubted him. I knew he would come back.
He would come in after his job was finished. He would train for a while, then if I was lucky I would get a nice back rub before he slinked off for his nightly rituals. I didn't mind that he would have a cigarette in the bathroom. I also didn't care if he didn't. He was perfect. He would walk out of the steamy bathroom- usually with a towel draped over his head. He would throw back the covers and take up a book. I would climb in next to him and curl up against his warmth. With his strength enveloping me, he would hold me.
I was there for him every day, and he for me. The last morning with him was no different. And even though White didn't approve, Six had tried to talk White into changing his mind. It didn't work. The drive was short. But it was the last moments I had with him. He dropped me off and introduced me to the little girl- Delilah. The last memory I have of my beloved Agent Six was him reacing out and scratching me right between the ears.
"Good kitty."