Quis custodiet ipsos custodes?
(Who guards the guards?)
by Lt. Cate Pike
aka Stargazer83
written some time ago for b.cavis
o0o
His job is dangerous. Both of them are. There are a hundred scenarios in which he could end up dead.
So why is he here, adding another reason to the list why they (and he. maybe she, too) will probably end up killing him?
There really is no logical reason why he is here. She can take care of herself. He knows it, she knows it.
No need to follow her every step. Trail them when they're working, watching her back. Tailing her until she is home at night, safe and sound in her bed.
Breaking in and watching her sleep for a few minutes before he leaves and returns to the empty rooms he rented.
It all starts again the next day. Every day the same routine, until he has to leave and do what he is supposed to do. But always coming back and starting the ritual all over again.
Sometimes, he wonders if she knows that he's here. That maybe she feels the same electric tingle he does whenever he's within 200 feet of her.
She looks up from taking pictures and turns to the direction he's sitting at, and he has to fight the urge to jerk the paper he's not reading up to conceal his face.
But she doesn't look at him. Still she smiles. Beautiful.
Then a small frown appears on her face and she goes back to work when Gibbs snaps at her.
Maybe that connection he feels they have is just a figment of his imagination and his heart rate returns to normal.
He settles back, sips on his coffee and resumes his sentry duty.
Back to head quarters. Out of the office at an insanely late hour again. Apartment building. 23 minutes later the lights go out.
He forces himself to wait another 30 minutes before he goes up.
There's no need for light. He's been in here so often he can account for every square inch.
As always, the light in the corner is dimmed to the lowest setting. Just enough gold to keep the black at bay.
It's almost as if she keep it on just for him. To make his job easier.
His hand ghosts a few millimeters over her hair and face, then over her chest. Maybe if he concentrates hard enough he can feel her heart beat without actually touching her.
The rise and fall of her chest becomes the metronome that keeps him alive.
He's been here for more than 5 minutes already. Time to go.
On his way out, a stack of papers and photographs catches his attention.
Two photographs, made within the last two weeks. The crime scene shots.
In the background there's a crowd of people.
He is one of the crowd.
A few feet behind him there's another face that appears in both shots.
The glances at the file. Information that al-Qaeda shouldn't have.
Well he'll make sure they won't have it for long.
With a whispered prayer for the safety of his angel he leaves the bedroom.
End
