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There was a lot that Devon wasn't noticing about her lately, Ellie mused. He didn't sense the underlying tension that guilt brought to her interactions with him Saturday night. He didn't see through her determinedly cheery smile and the increased frequency of her hand on his shoulder or back all day Sunday. It wasn't that he was blind or dumb, it was just that at his heart he was an honest person, and he expected the important people in his life to deal as honestly with him as he did them. If Ellie didn't make it obvious that she wanted to talk about a problem, he wouldn't pursue it. For today, that was a good thing, because it meant she'd have a chance to regain her equilibrium regarding a certain sexy neighbor whose geographic proximity was suddenly ... disturbing. It meant she'd have time to determine if the sensations she'd felt yesterday were a fluke, or if she needed to invest some serious mental effort in controlling her body's reaction to John Casey.

Chuck and Sarah came back home Monday afternoon, while Ellie and Devon were both at work. Devon got off before Ellie did, so when she came in through the door late that evening it was to the sight of the three of them gathered on the couch, watching some hokey beach movie and laughing at each other's sarcastic comments about it. She smiled and waved 'hello' on her way past them; as they were too engrossed in ridiculing the movie to pay her much attention, she got a few distracted waves and one 'hey' in response.

"Good to see you too, yes my day was fine, thanks for asking," she muttered as she made her way into the master bedroom. She dropped her bag on the floor with an aggrieved sigh, but only got a few steps away before she had to return and put it in its proper place. She'd had a rough day, and her mood was sour. She acknowledged to herself that keeping away from her loved ones might be a good plan for the rest of the night. "I'm taking a shower and going right to bed," she called out toward the living room. A variety of disinterested mutters answered her. Rolling her eyes, she pulled out pajamas and entered the bathroom.

The shower helped, but she still didn't feel like dealing with people tonight. Sometimes just being with others was exhausting. She wasn't an introvert – she always enjoyed a good party and she welcomed companionship very much – but there were times when the demands of others on her time and attention just got to her. Especially after a long day of ungrateful patients, an incompetent x-ray tech, and a superior who used her as a scapegoat for his own error.

Intruding, distracting thoughts of callused fingers touching her face or the way a particular pair of muscled arms lifted a microwave didn't rate a mention, not at all. Days like this, it was best just to come home and go to bed. So she did.

********************

John frowned at the screen showing him surveillance of the Intersect's home, and told himself there were other things he should be doing. All the feed from the hidden cameras was recorded, so that he or Walker could review it if need be. They didn't typically spend a lot of time just sitting in front of the monitors. He definitely needed to find something else to occupy his time. And in just a few more minutes, he would...

There. She was home. He watched the less-than-enthusiastic greeting Ellie got and narrowed his eyes. One of those morons ought to get up and ask how her day was, or at least make eye contact – didn't they see the way her shoulders were drooping? But none of them did. And it wasn't his business, he reminded himself. He was levering his torso to stand and go find something else to do, until he saw that Ellie headed straight into her bedroom.

He smirked as she half-threw her bag on the floor, only to go back two seconds later and gently retrieve it. She couldn't treat even an inanimate object with disrespect; that fit with what he was coming to know of her. She called something out to the others, and then opened a dresser drawer. He was making to get up and leave the monitors again, but just then she pulled out pajamas and headed into the bathroom. And he sank back down into his chair.

Ellie turned the water on and brushed her teeth at the sink while it warmed. John drummed two fingers on his chair arm. She pulled the band out of her hair with one hand and stood a long moment just staring in the mirror. Her expression wasn't particularly happy; John's fingers ceased their movement. Finally, Ellie shook her head and turned away from the mirror. She pulled off her socks and then, in the next second, her scrub top.

John blinked – slowly, not in surprise, because really, what else had he been sitting here expecting her to do after turning on shower water? - and told himself that now it really was time to get up from the chair and leave the monitors alone. But it wasn't helping that echoing in his head was the sound of her voice from Saturday, all breathy-sounding, saying ... well, never mind what she'd said. It was just making it difficult for him to get out of his seat, when the sight in front of him was of her untying the waist of her scrub pants and efficiently sliding them down a lovely length of leg. And anyway, it wasn't like he hadn't seen Ellie in the altogether before; there had been over a years' worth of surveillance footage recorded of that household, by now. But up until now it had only been incidental, glimpses that he hadn't given any thought to. It came with the job, this seeing people in their private, most intimate moments. It happened quite a lot and wasn't a big deal – or if it was, you were an agent with a head problem and didn't belong on the job.

This wasn't the same as other times, though. Before yesterday, he hadn't stood in her kitchen and heard her accidentally admit to being physically attracted to him. Before yesterday, he hadn't known what her hair felt like. He'd certainly never sat and watched ... just for the sake of the watching. The other glimpses of skin he'd gotten had all been excusable because he'd been in pursuit of the bad guys, working for the greater good of the nation. This had no such noble goal. He frowned at the screen. Ellie was down to her underwear and bra, now. She had on plain, sensible, white things. No frills, no lace. The sight was immobilizing anyway. His jaw clenched as he wondered if she had anything black or skimpy or lacy, or all three, away somewhere in one of those dresser drawers. Devon would know; that thought made his lip curl fiercely.

Ellie was reaching around to unclasp her bra. John squinted at the screen, a strange mass of upheaval in his chest, and then with a growl he slammed his eyes shut and shot to his feet just as the straps were falling from her shoulders. Somehow, much as he wanted to see Ellie naked, sitting and seeing her disrobe while she was unaware of him watching was ... cheap, that's what. Dirty voyeurism. An invasion. It made him the bad guy. He performed that part plenty of times, sure, but only when doing so served the greater good.

This didn't. His back to the screen now, he ruthlessly tamped down the urge to turn back around and watch her shower. He was hungry. Not necessarily for food, but a sandwich would just have to do.

Later on in his living room, sandwich finished but his hunger uncurbed, John paced around the spartan space with his arms crossed. He was in search of something to occupy his thoughts, anything besides a woman he couldn't have and shouldn't want. There was always drinking for times like this, but given his current mood, loading his system up on alcohol seemed imprudent. No, a little discipline was what was needed here.

He passed his little bonsai tree. Unfortunately, it needed no attention. Beside it, his hero, Reagan, smiled benignly out from behind framed glass. John paused, twitched his shoulders uncomfortably, and paced away. The next time around the room, he avoided Reagan's knowing stare altogether. That didn't help his discomfort, though. So the third time, he halted his pacing and frowned down at the picture.

"Hey, I didn't watch! Not for long, anyway."

Reagan's answering gaze was unwavering. With a growl, John reached out, picked up the frame, and flipped it around to face the wall. That was better. Reagan could use a little time-out.

He headed across to his chair and the new tactical operations book he'd picked up last week. He hadn't gotten through half a page, though, before he clapped it shut and got back up.

"Sorry, sir," he muttered as he turned the photograph back around. He managed a smile, even though it was sheepish. Hey, he was only human.