I feel his eyes on me from across the room. Though he may not be aware of it, he watches me almost constantly. I am certainly aware of it--I am always conscious of the heat contained in those mysterious eyes. He tries so hard to conceal his emotions, but I have heard him sob out my name at the height of passion. I have felt his touch on my brow when he thought I was sleeping. I can easily see the love and pain swirling in those helplessly expressive green eyes.

His gaze follows me as I walk across the room. I add a little swing to my stride--an action that started as a taunt has become a habit. If he's going to watch me, I might as well give him something to see. Although the constant stare can be unnerving, it is also comforting. At times, it leaves me breathless, wrapped in memories of skin and sweat and need. At times, it soothes me and reminds me that he will always protect me, always guard me from harm.

I wonder if he can feel my gaze the way I feel his. Most of the time, though, I don't need to watch him. I can sense his presence when he's near. When he knocks at my door, I know it's him. I know without looking whether he's in his office. What I don't know is when or how this connection developed. The first time he gave me one of those rare, beautiful smiles? The first time he placed those talented hands on my hips? The first time we kissed, or made love?

I think it is his pain that calls to me. God knows, I have had pain. A father who deserted me. A mother who despised me. A series of men who used me. But it is nothing compared to the pain he has known. He likes to think that the pain is buried deep inside of him, hidden from the outside world. Little does he know that he wears it like a cloak. It swirls around him and dogs his steps. It makes me want to heal him, to reach out my soul and soothe his. Not that he would ever accept my comfort. No, he has accepted his own personal hell as punishment for the sins he feels he has committed.

Is he a good man? I don't know. Are any of us in this godforsaken place "good" people? Perhaps that's the sacrifice we must make to keep the rest of the world safe. The souls of the few are slaughtered for the good of the ignorant many. What's more important is that he doesn't believe he is a good man. He punishes himself daily for the lies he must tell and the lives he must take. To him, it doesn't matter why he does it. He may think I don't understand this, but he always underestimates me. I see and understand more than he knows, both about Section and about him.

His sense of guilt is one of the things that keeps us apart. He mouths excuses. "Forbidden." "Protocol." "Safety." But underneath it all, his self-hatred is so intense that he doesn't think he deserves to be happy. And maybe he's right. Maybe I don't deserve to be happy either. Tough shit. If the gods want to punish us, they can bloody well reach down from heaven and do it themselves. I refuse to do it for them. And I refuse to let him go when I know what it feels like to touch him. To have him turn those eyes on me and let the love in them shine out for a brief, blessed moment.

So I wait, and I plan. Because one day I will figure out a way to slip past his defenses. He's told me that he can't let me become his weakness. If he's honest, he'll admit that it's too late. I am his weakness, as he is mine. He just needs to learn that having a weakness doesn't have to make him weak. I can make him stronger, as he has done for me. When he lets me, I will return his gifts to me tenfold. I will protect him and shelter him. I will chase away the demons that haunt those eyes.