| "When Thou Seekest With All Thine Heart" | ||
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Morgan, NJ apartment, 2130 hours Eric sat silently watching her for a time after she lay down. He watched, and he thought, as he often did when nothing urgent demanded his full concentration. He was somewhat surprised that she had accepted his word so easily, that she would accept his presence. She had not, in fact, demanded any more of him than he'd initially offered, and he felt, somehow, that it was not enough. He wanted to be more sure that they could at least operate amicably together in the future, at most could become . . . What did he hope for? A deep relationship of some sort, certainly, but how far would he go? How far COULD he go? He'd been hurt by his ex-wife's lack of understanding, her exit from his life. It had not been on good terms, and he blamed himself, could not trust himself to do any better again. Nor had he made the attempt, taking all reasonable efforts to avoid and ignore women since then, except as teammates. If HE couldn't trust himself to love, how could SHE, the one he'd betrayed, trust him to respect and preserve her life? Yet there she lay in front of him, as though his presence alone allowed her to sleep, removing her from some greater evil. So it was, and so, He guessed, it would be for some time. It would be hard, and nothing could be known in advance. He would have to feel his way carefully through the volatile and fragile terrain. It would be difficult, but he would proceed as she would allow. Clearly, something had her agitated, on edge, and perhaps paranoid. She was an operator, like himself, had been forced into that role and personality, perhaps, but it was, undeniably, a part of her. The instincts honed by their training did not leave them easily, and even less often betrayed them. Thus, he believed she had a genuine reason for her anxiety. Still, it was clearly not being good to her. He considered attempting a massage, lighting the candle, a number of other things that might help her relax, but decided against them. Not while their relationship was so tentative would he attempt anything so invasive without her explicit permission. Any number of causes could be the case, and it would not do to assume, as a primary law of spec. war. Is to never assume. Several things could be figured on, however. First, the threat had been around for some time, long enough to deprive her of several weeks of good sleep. Second, it had not made itself explicitly known, or she would have dealt with it one way or another. Was it, then, imminent? Watching her still form, falling into slumber, he had no way of knowing. His body shifted, as he thought, into mission mode, much as it had when he'd been set to guard Operations in Geneva. There was a difference, though. This was personal, as dangerous as that could be. So Paige was instinctively aware of a threat, one she had, intentionally or not, made him responsible for protecting her from. The next question was how best to do so. Her security was tight in the building, he'd already noticed, and he glanced to her gun to confirm it's location. He was really quite short at the moment when it came to armament, and though he should explore and know the terrain of operations (her place) He might not find other weapons. Tight security or not, he'd made it to her door, and a determined attacker could blow or break it down once that far. What good, then, could he do? In a fair hand to hand battle in an open room he was good, and might be enough with Paige to fend off an attack, but he didn't like the odds. He was a hunter, not a guard, and would do better outside on the prowl. That, however, would leave her alone, and he was sure, if she were under surveillance, so was he, and his departure might be observed. There were measures he could take, however, inside. First came the "by the book" security measures. Make sure the lights were off, windows curtained, doors and windows locked. He then explored, finding potential weapons, nice assortment of kitchen knives he made sure he knew the location of, tucking one into the back of his belt. He paced the floors till he managed to do so with his eyes shut without bumping into anything. Next came the problem of making things more difficult for potential attackers than it would be for him. He'd already determined various places that he could hide and await them, but he needed to slow them down. First he considered cutting up the carpet, bunching it in places, but decided against it lest Paige be offended. He then emptied one of the beer bottles into the sink, smiling a little at the thought of her potential reaction, and placed it, upside down, on the door knob. Any movement would send it crashing to the floor, alerting them to the incursion. Next came caltrops on the other main approach, the deck. He lacked caltrops, the small triangular tops with a spike on each side, so, in lieu of them, he wrapped a second empty bottle in a towel and, careful to avoid making too much noise, crushed it. The pieces he scattered across the deck. The enemy might wear thick soled boots and not be cut by the glass, but stepping on it would make noise Eric would easily detect. He sat against the back of the couch on which Paige slept, peering at the blinds closed across the sliding French doors in front of the deck. There was little, if anything more he could do. He'd considered various home made bombs, mines, and other anti-personnel devices, and decided against them. If Paige was paranoid now, what would the discovery of such things do to her? Eric's counter-measures were, he hoped, sufficient to give him the edge, and it was unlikely that anyone would choose to make a move while he was there, anyway. They hadn't moved so far, and another man had been around. They would be unwise to move now, with him there. Even if they could overcome him and get to Paige, they would know that it would be more difficult, more costly, and would blow whatever cover they were keeping so fastidiously that even Eric had missed them on his drive around the complex. No, they would be all right. He was accustomed now to the sounds, feelings, scents of the place, catalogued them all in that part of his brain dedicated to sensational memory. Were something to change, he could instantly compare it with the memories subconsciously, and make conscious decisions accordingly. It would do to take a nap sitting there against the couch, as any change would wake him up, and he could act on it. So he did. May 8 0400 hours. A vibration in the couch, movement, and he was awake. It had been two hours worth of sleep, maybe, for him, and it seemed Paige was more alert and active than she had been. He held his peace, even as he briefly felt her breath above him over the back of the couch, felt her eyes on him. She turned away, from the sound of it, walked to where she had left her gun, and took it to the French doors. The sound of the gun being lifted from the surface on which it had sat was unmistakable, as was the sound of the safety being slid off. He cracked his eyes, his heart rate increasing significantly. What was she about to do, or more relevantly, was she going to shoot him after all? Bad dream caused a change of mind toward him, and now she would act on that? No, she faced away from him, staring out the slightly parted blinds toward the docks. He watched her for a time, his mind roving aimlessly as it processed the information it received, came to full wakefulness, and went over what he might do or be doing. She stood still, relatively speaking, though she fidgeted. Operatives did not normally fidget. Neither, then again, did they normally stand still, unless it was necessary for their observations. What, then, was she up to? He rose smoothly, silently, and approached her. This was unknown territory for him, this behavior, and he'd seen no record of it in her profile, nor had Madeline seemed aware of it. He'd found no messages around the place telling her to watch, and no one had called or signaled in any other way he could tell. Yet there she stood, staring out the parted blinds. He stalked her now, worried for his own safety . . . "Click" Safety on. He moved a little more. "Click" safety off. He froze mid step. No effect. He moved his foot forward. No effect. Placed it on the floor. "Click" safety on. He shifted his weight. No connection, it seemed, existed between his movement and her behavior with her pistol. Was she unaware, then, of him? Did she not care what he did? Either was possible. Never assume. At any rate, he'd been trained not to approach armed persons from directly behind unless you intended to incapacitate them. Were you to startle people, they could hurt you with or without intention. He moved into her peripheral vision. No effect. Nearer, no effect. He moved to the blinds, looking out them to see what she might be watching while keeping her in his own peripheral vision, but saw nothing . . . outside. Something was different inside, different about her, her eyes. They moved about randomly, but did not focus on the things before them, so she wasn't really looking after all. There, their eyes met, only she looked through him. Strange. He walked around her, being less careful now about his silence, watching her as she continued to fidget, play with the pistol & its safety. He considered taking it from her, for her own safety, of course, but as he moved his hand slightly in his direction he remembered another thing he'd heard. Sleep walkers were better off left asleep, as to be woken from whatever they were dreaming could be a serious shock, and could have negative physiological as well as psychological re-percussions. He stayed his hand, stood behind and to the side of her at a safe distance, and held his own vigil. 0600 hours. Eric was feeling tired. He'd stood still for more than two hours straight in the past, but not often, and he didn't enjoy it. He was mightily tempted to just let her do her thing, whatever it was, and accommodate his own needs, but that gun, and her absent play with the safety, worried him. No, he would stand watch, ready to move and act if it was needed. With relief he noted a change in her. A relaxing of some of the muscles in her shoulders, perhaps? He'd thought she might have been meditating, which usually meant relaxation, but perhaps concentration on something had overcome the meditative state? He could not be sure, but he felt something different, a change in her fiddling. She was done with whatever it was. He approached slowly, not silently, if that would have been effective on her turf, but in such a way that she could detect him were she alert. Again, a slight change. She might not even be aware of it, but her body told him she was aware of his approach. He stopped at a safe distance and spoke quietly, gently. "Where were you?" She did not move or acknowledge she heard his voice. She wouldn't have to, he knew she was quite aware of him. Her breathing however seemed to quicken when she felt something coming. He noted the reaction and moved closer to her, though far enough away as to not invade her space. He was being careful. "In the water that is not�" he continued, offering the suggestion of the possible explanation for her unusual behavior. "No," she said quickly, too quickly, as she looked to him. He knew it was difficult, stripping away the layers of deception one built around the truth of one's inner self, to hide the turmoil that lay within, but he hadn't thought it had been all that difficult for her. She'd gone again, after the burning, after all. And the benefits were immense and measurable. He'd noticed she hadn't acted as though her ribs or shoulder were bothering her, when he arrived a few hours before, and she'd been working out too. She answered the questions even as they formed themselves in his mind. "I left my baseball there," she said softly. He was silent for some time just watching her as she studied the docks. "I have never seen you do this before, nor heard that you practiced it." he offered gently, requesting more, hoping to understand what she had been doing, why, what it might have to do with him or his presence or vice versus. She narrowed her eyes and flicked the safety off the gun. That was intentional and conscious, and he involuntarily went into threat response mode, though there was little he could do without a weapon. Get to her and wrestle it from her before she could bring it to bear, maybe? But that would not be conducive to the building of a productive relationship. He might do it if he had to, might trust his reflexes and action to be quicker than hers, but the uncertainty gnawed at him, and the tension rose noticeably. She clenched her jaw and turned fully to him. She studied his eyes carefully and saw hardly anything that reflected back to her. He had nothing really to show her in his eyes or expression, and the default was to maintain a mask of neutrality. So he did, and she continued to search. He continued to wonder, to watch the gun out of the corner of his eye, turning what he'd seen over in his head. He WOULD figure this out, one way or another. "Leave it alone," she said softly though with a tone laced with warning, "it has nothing to do with you." Leave WHAT alone? Her "zoning out," for lack of a better term? Her playing with the pistol? Or something more that she now pondered? It had to be the latter. Something was going on, probably tied in with her evident paranoia, and she didn't want his involvement in it. She'd told him earlier that she did not wish to make it (the other man) his business, but clearly, she was not happy about something. Something was wrong, and if he was going to be in ANY kind of relationship with her other than an antagonistic one, he would not be a part to allowing this something to stand. He stiffened a little at the verbal shove, all the more determined to solve the mystery. Just then her cell phone rang, drawing his eyes. It seemed to surprise her, as she flinched, and his body took over. She had the gun, the safety was off, and it was loaded. She was moving, perhaps to use it, and he had to stop her before she used it on him. He did not register these thoughts, only moved to act instinctively before he could stop himself, and she reacted accordingly, snapping the gun up to center on his face. He might still disarm her before she could send the signal to fire, but by this time his conscious mind regained control. He was no threat to her. If she wished to kill him in cold blood, or for revenge, she would have done so already. As long as he stood down, so would she. Yet the gun remained, trembling in the hand of the paranoid operative operating on precious lack of sleep. Not an acceptable situation. Any thing, any nerve impulse could cause her to squeeze that trigger the quarter pound farther needed to put a bullet in his head. He slowly raised his left hand, not the one he would use were to try anything drastic, placed it in contact with the barrel of the gun, and his eyes locked with hers, began to move it to the side. There, it was safe. His heart went out with compassion to her as she dropped her arm to her side, trembling, bowing her head, about to cry perhaps, were it allowable. Then that obnoxious phone rang again. She retrieved the device from the table, setting her pistol where the phone had been, and answered. "Yeah," she said quietly. Eric continued to listen to the one sided conversation, though his keen ears and keener desire for information picked up some of what Gray, He thought, was saying. "What's up?" she asked. Something about "Safe House 2," and "nice." "Yeah, sure," she replied. She looked to Eric who had made his way over to her. She looked at him with a smile, "sorry about that, it's been difficult�adjusting." He nodded his head, understanding. He'd been fortunate, for whatever reason, not to have to deal with the tension and reflexes of his training getting in the way of normal relationships. Something, clearly, was bothering her more than it had him, and she was not, he thought, adjusting only to life on the outside. Then again, perhaps she was more tied into Section 1 life than he. At any rate, he'd seen it happen to enough people, being taken over by their training and doing something stupid that he could not be upset about its occurring with her. . "Ok, well, that was Gray I have to go." She said evenly. "Mission?" he asked. What WAS her position in this new agency, this new life? What did Gray have her doing? Was it more of the same as Section, or was it a part of her difficulty? He had to find out, and this might be the first step. She shrugged, "I dunno, me and Baz, one of the guys on my team are going out�somewhere."He nodded his head and stood there watching her impassively, though he could not help, not help but recognize the pang of jealousy he felt. Never mind. It was her life, he was just there to make sure she kept it, not that she gave it to him. "Where do you live?" she asked suddenly He frowned a moment looking around. "do you have a map?" She nodded and went to a small cabinet sifting through one of the drawers. She pulled out a map of the northeast and handed it over to Eric. He opened it, studying it for a moment, tracing his finger to a particular corner of north west New Jersey. "Here," he said his finger finally still. She leaned in looking for a moment as the image was captured in her head. "Cool, cell phone?" He fished it out of his pocket and handed it over. She memorized the number then put hers in. "At least this stupid memory is good for something," she mumbled. She handed the phone back and looked at him for a moment. "I just need some time," she said softly. "I know," he said quietly. It wasn't like he had an agenda and a deadline. Gray asked him to address a clear and present danger to her mental health, but anyone who was anyone knew you couldn't do a thing for someone's health if they didn't want you to. As for the clear and present danger, unless she told him about it, all he could do was keep and eye out, and deal with whatever he found. So time she would have to her heart's content, as far as he was concerned. "Set the alarm before you leave, k?" He nodded his head and she left him for the shower. He waited a moment till he was sure she was gone, flipped his cell phone back out, and pushed two buttons. A series of calls went out to the cell phones of the brood, and each of them were quickly on the line. Fortuitous that. He had to leave a message more often than he'd like especially with Cindy. Some things never seemed to change. He spoke in a subdued tone, keeping his ears open for unexpected sounds from the shower. "Surprise training scenario to implement immediately. Subject in Morgan, by the docks, heading to SH2. Discreet surveillance relay, self primary,. . ." Sure that she was in the shower, he removed the beer bottle from the doorknob, unlocked a number of bolt and other locks, re-locked the main doorknob lock, and having no key and little time to get into position, shut the door neglecting the others. He continued speaking as he hurried down the stairs and out to the range rover, starting the engine and unlocking the doors remotely as he approached. In two minutes arrangements were made and he was well on his way to being in position. He hoped they had, hoped he still had what it would take. It was one thing to track an enemy, quite another a friend, or whatever she was now to him. He was so uncertain, and would have to remedy that ASAP. Return |
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