A/N: This is part three of my CIA Series which began with Followed and Nor Do They Understand. Reading them will, hopefully, not be required for enjoying the story, but you won't understand some of the references in this one without knowing what happened in the other two stories. The title of this story comes from "The Old Astronomer to His Pupil" by Sarah Williams.
Disclaimer: Only my OCs belong to me. I do not own any of the NCIS characters. They belong to DPB. It is unfortunate but it is the way it is.
I Have Loved the Stars Too Fondly...
by Enthusiastic Fish
Chapter 1
"He looks rather peaceful while he's sleeping, don't you think?"
"What?"
"Look."
"We're not supposed to be looking into his apartment at all. Awake or asleep. That's part of the assignment."
"...and it's a stupid part. If he's going to get taken, they won't politely wait until he's left."
"It doesn't matter what we think. You're new to this detail. We don't overstep our bounds. As soon as we do, we're no longer assigned to this op."
"Don't you get bored just watching?"
"No. Did you know that it's been over a year and he still hasn't stopped looking over his shoulder? It's not over for him. What we are doing is important. It's not the most exciting assignment, but I believe it's one of the most vital."
"What exactly is he, that so many resources are being expended just to make sure that he stays safe?"
"That...I'm not completely sure of. All I know is that whatever else he is, he is someone others would risk a great deal to control should his abilities be known. Now, turn the equipment away from his apartment. That's an order."
"All right, fine. It's not like he'd know anyway. He's asleep."
The camera swung away...so the observer didn't see her target roll over...awake.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Tim opened his eyes, wondering what it was that had awakened him this time. Even now, hardly a night went by that he didn't wake up at least once, either from the dreams that still disturbed his slumber or from some nebulous feeling, one that he generally chalked up to an increased level of paranoia.
Laying on his back, he stared up at the ceiling and wondered how long it would take him to get to sleep again. He would, of course...but it was all a matter of how long. Was it worth getting up and walking around? Perhaps. He swung his legs over the side of his bed and wandered to the main room.
This was standard fair for him, had been for the last year...ever since his last encounter with the CIA. He sighed. On the surface, his life was back to normal. He was working. He hung out with his friends on occasion. He was even writing...but he couldn't really enjoy it, not like he used to. Sometimes, he could forget that he was under continual surveillance. Sometimes, he could forget that he was always under threat. Sometimes, he could even forget the secret he'd kept for the last year. It was so nice when that happened. It was nice to forget, but it never lasted and he was at the point now that he could almost accept his life as it was. In fact, if it weren't for the fact that he had to keep this secret, he really thought that he could move on. It was knowing that he was still hiding things from his friends that bothered him the most. Carew had kept his promise. The surveillance was subtle. Tim had seen them a couple of times. When that happened, he had gone up to them and told them so, knowing that he wouldn't see them again.
Tim sat down at his computer and looked just above and behind his monitors. There, mixed in with all his hard drives and junk was a box. It wasn't a normal box. It was one he had made himself...and inside, he had decided to keep what he hoped no one would ever see. So far...it had remained untouched except for the few times he had made adjustments to the contents. He smiled at it, as mixed as his feelings were. It was an off-again-on-again hobby he had. Every so often, when things started to pile in on him, he'd ask Gibbs for the use of his tools. Gibbs had always said yes. For some reason, there had never been a single suggestion that he buy his own tools, that he work somewhere else. Gibbs had never asked Tim why he wanted to do it, and Tim never had volunteered a reason. When he went over, Gibbs would work on his boat and the two of them would rarely speak at all...rarely even look at each other...but Tim would go home, successful or not, feeling better. That was why he kept it up, and more than likely, why Gibbs allowed him to.
In the past year, he had become the roving computer genius. That had been Jenny's idea. If Tim was someday going to be required follow through on the secret he carried, it would have to be established that he sometimes went away. Thus, he roved. He had done work at nearly every federal building in and around DC...with the exception of the CIA. He hadn't been there. He had told Jenny that he wouldn't go there, and so far, either no one had asked for him or Jenny had put her foot down. He smiled again, wistfully, this time. It was a hard life he was living, but at least he was living it.
...but tonight...or rather this morning, he had a feeling that things were about to change. There was a sensation in his gut that told him the pressure that was building was about to give way. If he was right...
I need my sleep. With that thought, Tim stood up and returned to his bedroom. He lay down and went to sleep in seconds...back to the dreams of light.
x.x.x.x.x.x.x
Elsewhere, the two men who were meeting were alone. It was strange because, in this place, one was rarely alone. In fact, the meeting was strange all around from the location to the time to the participants.
"Why are you meeting with me, sir?" one of the men asked. "This isn't usual. Whatever happened to plausible deniability?"
"It's where it usually is," the other replied easily. "Why do you think I suggested we walk around outside as opposed to indoors? No one is nearby."
"And meeting at three in the morning?"
"It's one of the rare times I'm not on display. I'm sure there are a few hangers-on, but generally-speaking, people are in bed...as I would like to be...as my wife would like me to be."
"You chose the time."
"Oh, it wasn't a criticism...not of you, anyway. It's merely a commentary on my lot in life."
He smiled. "It's one you chose, sir."
"I'm well aware of that. Now, to business. I've been told that you need more help."
"Yes, sir. We'll get through eventually, but it might be too late by that time. None of us have the necessary expertise."
"Thus, the reason for this meeting. I have the man you need." He held out a file.
"Who is this?"
"Read it."
"An NCIS agent? Why would I need that?"
"Read the file. The whole thing."
"Now, sir?"
"Well, I'm not letting you take the file with you...so now would be a good time."
"Why not?"
"Because...this is my own file. I gathered all the information myself. He's an interesting person."
"You found all this yourself?" The file was thick.
"I have excellent contacts."
"He's just one man, sir."
"Yes...one man...but the one you need. Read."
With a sigh, the first man read the file. He didn't get very far before he looked up again.
"You're kidding, right?"
"I don't kid. Not about this."
"No way. No one could do what he's done."
"But he did."
"Are you sure?"
"I have testimony of it. Keep reading."
Silence descended as the first man continued his perusal.
"Is this the Levi Carew?"
"One and the same."
"The director of the CIA."
"Yes."
"Wow." Silence again.
The second man took the opportunity to sit on a conveniently-located bench. It wasn't often he got to sit down with someone and not be the center of attention. Five minutes passed. Then, ten.
"Why do you think he's what we need?"
"Have you seen what he's done?"
"I'm not sure I believe it."
"Believe it."
"You've seen this program?"
"No. He destroyed it both times. The second time, the coding was all encrypted so no one got a look at it before he destroyed it. The first time...well, the only people to see it the first time happen to be dead...partially because of him."
"He killed them?"
"No. Carew did, but he helped."
"Well, I can't say that I'm sorry about that. That group was a loose cannon."
"Yes."
"You don't want me to make him do that again, do you?"
"Do you want him to?"
"As nice as that might be...I don't think we have the time. Having legitimate access to the NSA will probably be enough."
"The NSA does not spy on US citizens. Its targets are exclusively international."
"Wow...you are good at plausible deniability."
The second man only smiled.
"You're just going to hand him over to me? What makes you think he'll agree?"
"He's a patriot. For all that's been done to him by representatives of this country, he is still a patriot...and he knows about the possibility."
"He does?"
"Has for over a year. He hasn't forgotten it either...and I don't think he will."
"How do you know? Have you met him?"
"No. I haven't. I've just made a study of him."
"Why?"
"To remind me of the kinds of things that go on in this country without my knowledge...and what damage that can cause. His psyche profile is in there, as are his psychological evaluations."
"Evaluations?"
"He was committed for a brief period directly following his last interaction with the CIA."
"Committed? And this is the guy you want helping us?"
"Did you finish reading?"
"No. Not yet."
"Finish it. You need to know it all."
Silence descended once more and the second man dozed for a few minutes.
"I see what you mean. He's what we need...and we can have him?"
"Yes...if you're interested."
"Definitely...but I'm not sure how to proceed. Most people who get involved in these operations do so willingly, not under any form of duress. I don't like the idea."
"Would you take a suggestion?"
"Is it a suggestion?"
"Of course. I'm in no position to give you orders."
The first man laughed out loud. "You're not? You're the only one in a position to give me orders."
"I am, aren't I?"
"What's the suggestion?"
"Be honest."
"Honest?"
"Yes. This is a man whose life was nearly destroyed by manipulation, threats and lies. He deserves respect and the truth."
"I can't tell him everything."
"No. You can't...but you can be honest. You can be yourself, the witty and urbane man sitting in front of me..." He smiled at the cynical look on the first man's face. "...and you can tell him what you're doing and what you need him for. He won't trust you, not at first. You'll have to earn his trust, but if you work to deserve it, I don't think you could have a better man helping you."
"It sounds like you know him."
"I don't...although I think I'd like to. He's managed to make his life work, even with this hanging over his head and his continued surveillance."
"Surveillance?"
"He's been under protective surveillance, courtesy of the CIA."
"Carew, again?"
"Yes."
"I don't understand that man."
"Nor do I. I doubt anyone does. So...you want him?"
"Yes, sir."
"You've got him. Get your usual contacts to give the orders in the usual manner."
"You don't want to do it yourself, sir?" The first man stood up, grinning widely.
The second man grinned as well. "I am the President of the United States of America. I am not a messenger."
The first man looked out on the lawn in front of the White House. He yawned. "Will do. How soon can I have him?"
"Let's say...tomorrow. Tomorrow morning, if the warning goes out this morning."
"That'll give me time to get everything organized. Thank you, Mr. President."
"My pleasure," he said and then sobered. "Just get the job done. This isn't something we can put out a warning about. It needs to be stopped...quickly and quietly, with no fuss."
"As always, sir."
"Good. You'll see yourself out? I'd like to get some sleep."
"I'm already gone, sir. What if someone did see us?"
"I can see the tabloids already," the president said, sighing. "'President meets with secret male lover!'"
The first man laughed again. "How exciting. To think all this time and I never knew," he said facetiously.
"Funny old world."
"Isn't it?" The man turned to go, but stopped. "Thank you, Mr. President. I'll admit I had my doubts. I didn't vote for you."
"I trust you aren't too disappointed?"
"You've worked out pretty well. I might even consider voting for you in the next election."
The president rolled his eyes and walked back into the White House. The first man took a moment to look around at his surroundings. He had probably been to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue more than any person who didn't actually work here. He still got a feeling of being in a special place. Silly perhaps for a man in his position, but it was the truth.
The truth. The truth was a chancy thing, hard to pin down, equally hard to define. However, the President had been right. Timothy McGee, after everything that had been done to him, deserved to be treated like an intelligent human being. He deserved the truth.
"I just hope you're ready for it," he said aloud, and then left for his personal exit.