I didn't sleep the rest of the night; once I had calmed down, Scott had brought me a cup of tea and dragged a kitchen chair up the steps and leaned it against the wall, his feet kicked up and resting on the empty side of the bed.

I had asked him to leave, not wanting to ruin his chance at sleep, but he refused.

"It's my job to protect you," he stated as he lifted his feet up on the bed and settled himself into his chair. "From anything."

His eyes finally fluttered shut around 3am, and I knew he would be exhausted in the morning.

I just laid there, curled up on my side and staring at the wall. I was terrified of what I would see if I dared to close my eyes.

Every so often, a few unexpected tears would escape, and by the time the first of day's rays glowed through the doily curtains, the tears finally dried, and I wondered if I had finally run out.

I had never cried so much in my life, sharply reminding me just how cushy my life had been.

I flip over onto my other side, my knees tucking into my stomach as I stare at Scott; his head lolled to the side and his mouth parted. His arms were crossed over his chest—a position I determined to be his signature pose.

I think back to the conversation we had on our trip up, how it had just been Scott and his sister growing up. He clearly didn't have the white picket fence and apple pie life I had grown up in, and I had to wonder if that held any motive to the man that he had become.

Nothing about the sleeping man in front of me screamed "FBI" except the badge that noted him as a government agent.

My gut churns as a nagging feeling creeps up my spine that there is a direct connection between his family and his career choice.

Birds begin to chirp outside the window, and even though my body aches with exhaustion, I squirm at the thought of staying in this bed for a moment longer.

Carefully, I draw the covers away from my body, swinging my feet over the side of the bed and lowering them onto the cool wood. I push myself off the mattress, and with careful steps, escape through the partially opened door.

In the hallway, I peek over my shoulder, relaxing when I see Scott hadn't moved at all.

My descent into the kitchen isn't as graceful, and I cringe with each groan of the steps but are happy when my feet finally sweep across the beige tiles of the kitchen.

I begin rummaging through the cupboards, knowing somewhere there was tea, and hopefully some coffee to brew in the ten-dollar pot from Wal-Mart that I had had in my first apartment. It takes some searching, but I find a box of generic Lipton tea in the cabinet closest to the door that leads to the backyard, and next to it, a container of coffee grinds with only enough scoops left to make a few cups.

I get to work making the drinks, happy to find coffee filters next to the pot, saving me from having to go old-school and use a paper towel instead. There's no teapot, much to my disappointment, and with a defeated sigh, I throw the cup into the microwave, making a mental note to pick up a tea kettle when I go for groceries.

The microwave dings after a minute and I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic as I lower myself into the kitchen chair that looks like it was stolen from a 1950's diner, with the table to match.

Outside the window, I watch the trees sway in the frosty, March wind, the rising sun a deceiving warmth as the cold seeps through the tiles beneath my feet and climbs up my legs, causing a shiver to run down my spine as I draw the steaming cup to my chest in a desperate hug.

"Do you want a sweatshirt or something?" A groggy voice asks from behind me. I turn away from the window as Scott wanders into the kitchen in the same clothes as yesterday. I hadn't thought about how Scott never had a chance to pack his own overnight bag before rushing me to the safe house.

"If anyone needs clothes, it's you." Scott reaches into a cupboard for a mug, the hem of his shirt lifting up slightly above the waistband of his jeans, flashing a sliver of skin.

I swallow. "How long have you been in those clothes, anyways?" I tuck one leg under my lap as I turn in my chair, watching as Scott closes the cupboard and makes his way over to the coffee pot.

He eyes close as he thinks, his free hand rubbing under his eyes.

"Uh...what's today?" He picks up the steaming pot and brings it to his nose, his entire body unwinding in the scent.
"Sunday." I take a sip of tea as he begins to fill his cup. One eye closes, the coffee still flowing into the blue mug as his lips vibrate.

"Three," he says unsure. "Or two?" I can see the coffee splash at the brim of the cup as Scott pulls the pot away and starts to place it back on its holder before pausing.

"Do you want a refill?" Scott holds the pot towards me, and I shake my head.

"I don't drink coffee." I bring my own mug up to my lips and take another drink. Scott raises an eyebrow, looking between me and the pot in his hand before finally putting it back.

"Anyways, I'm not entirely sure. Whenever Friday night was." He slurps his first sip as he walks over to the table, taking a seat across from me.

"Friday night?" I scrunch my nose. "Did you not go home or something?" I laugh, not thinking about my words.

Scott doesn't respond and I glance up at him, a knowing smile on his lips.
"Oh," I nod, heat flooding my face. "Right." I plant my elbows on the table and bring my mug in front of my face, trying to hide my embarrassment.

Scott opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by a knock at the door, causing Scott to go rigid in his seat.

His head sharply turns towards the front of the house and he stands slowly, the legs of his chair scraping against the kitchen floor.

"Wait here," he instructs, stepping into the hallway, reaching behind his back and under his shirt, grasping the butt of a gun with a white pearl grip that definitely didn't look FBI issued.

I quickly drop my mug onto the table, jumping from my seat and following behind him.

"Do you not own a holster or something?" I whisper, standing on my tip toes to look over his shoulder, hoping to see something through the curtained windows ahead.

His head whips back twice, not expecting to find me there.

"What the hell are you doing?" He hisses, stopping and facing me so quickly that I don't have time to stop before bumping into his chest with an oomph.

"I told you to wait in the kitchen." He glares down at me, causing me to huff and roll my eyes.

"Right, because hitman knock on the front door." I quip, watching as Scott's jaw flexes.

"Stay. Behind. Me." He points at me as he raises his gun again and continues to the front door, pressing himself against the wall as he uses his left hand to peak through the curtain as I watch next to the banister.

His eyes scan the porch and his body relaxes as a smile appears on his face. He steps away from the wall and unlocks the door, revealing a man and woman, both in suits.

"Hey guys," Scott greets them as he steps aside, allowing them in. The woman is in a grey pantsuit, her dark hair straightened past her shoulders and a light smile on her pink lips. She nods to Scott as she steps inside, the man following behind her in a classic black suit, his piercing eyes darker than his skin and his lips pressed tightly together.

"Mitchell, let me introduce you to your day team." Scott shuts the door and returns his gun to the back of his waistband.

"This is Agent Jessica Montville," he motions to the woman, her beautiful brown eyes as soft as her smile as she raises her hand in a small wave.
"And Agent Jacob UpDegraff." Scott motions towards the man who just nods, and I instinctively roll my shoulders back and stand straighter under his gaze.

"They'll be your protective detail while I'm gone." I just nod, not entirely sure what else to do.

A silence falls over the group and a picture of sunflowers on the hallway wall suddenly captures my interest.

"Well," Scott claps his hands together and all eyes turn to him. "I'm going to head back to the bureau. Get to work on those warrants." Scott locks eyes with me.

"These guys will take good care of you," he assures you, his features softening. "And you have my number if you need anything."

I just nod, not mentioning the fact that he had confiscated my phone yesterday so that their IT team could make sure there were no bugs and turn off anyway to track my location.

"I'll see you later tonight, then." He smirks. "Try not to cause too much trouble for them." He winks and I roll your eyes at him before he hurries up the steps to grab his stuff, leaving me with Jessica and Jacob.

I pop my lips, unsure what to do next.

"Coffee anyone?"

-/::\-

After Scott left, my agents and I unpacked the car with the rest of my clothes that they had picked up and packed for you. I still had to wait for my laptop, which would be returned with my cell phone, but I was happy to have some comforts of home.

Once the packing was done, and there wasn't really anything else to do, and I was off to an awkward start with my day detail; Jacob was probably one of the least personable people I ever met. He had yet to say a single word as he roamed through the house with precision, his hands clasped behind his back. Friendly or not, he was clearly all business, which meant safety for me.

But that left Jessica, or Jess as she has told me to call her, to fill in the quiet gaps, and she was making sure there were none. From tv shows to the news, Jess had something to say about everything, and I had to wonder if it was a result of working with a silent partner, or if she was just naturally this chatty. Either way, you had no idea how someone like Jacob could stand it.

After an hour, I had suggested a trip to the grocery store, happy for a change of scenery.

Between the drive to the store, and the actual shopping (with Jess and Jacob only inches behind me the entire trip), it had taken me a little over two hours, and I had groaned when I realized it wasn't even noon by the time we returned to the house.

So after making lunch, I decided to unpack, figuring I might as well make myself at home.

By three o'clock, everything was hung and folded away, and I once again found myself m with nothing to do.

I fall back onto my bed, my arms stretched out and gaze at the ceiling.

"This is gonna suck."

-/::\-

Scott typed furiously, the hit of each key echoing through the empty squad room. He wanted to make sure that the warrants were perfect and ready to sign by 8am tomorrow when the federal prosecutor got into his office and brought them to a judge.

Once those were finished and awaiting signatures, Scott decided to head home for a bit before heading back to Mitch.
It wasn't typical for a case lead to be on a witness' protective detail, but he was going to personally ensure Mitch's safety, even if it was the last thing he did.

The trial was going to happen, Vine would spend the rest of his life in jail, and Scott would watch as Shelton's empire finally crumbled.

His drive home is quick, and he parks in his usual spot in the garage, not bothering to lock Baby up, knowing that no one will bother her.

His apartment is on the sixth floor, and even though there's an elevator, he takes the steps, going two at a time until he reaches the white door that always welcomes him home.

He steps inside to the open flat, the kitchen and living room shared in the large space filled with dark, but modern furniture his sister and Jeremy had helped him pick out, insisting that, as an adult with a nice apartment and good job, he couldn't buy things off craigslist. The afternoon light poured in through the picture windows that took up the entire living room wall, making the already large apartment seem bigger.

He tosses his keys on the counter with enough force that they slide into the fishbowl that sits on the corner.

"Hey, Chad." Scott peers into the bowl, the blue beta swimming low by the rocks. He picks up the fish food container and sprinkles some flakes in, Chad eagerly going after each piece.
"Sorry about that." Scott puts the food back down. "You know how work can be." Chad was the only boy in Scott's life, and he was usually the only one to hear about his day. His sister looked at him like he was crazy the first time he talked to the fish, but both of them let it go, knowing Scott was too involved with work to ever put time into his personal life and have a real man waiting for him to get home.

He steps away from the counter and shrugs off his button down and kicks off his boots, sweeping them up and dropping them in his closet and tossing his shirt in the hamper.

After last night, he was exhausted, even with the two cups of coffee he had at work.

The sound of Mitch's screams still echoed through his ears and he can still taste the panic from waking up and thinking he had been in danger.

At first, he was relieved to find Mitch alone, but then he saw the tears streaming down his cheeks and the pure terror on his face as he had kicked at the sheets, throwing himself against the headboard.

It had just been a nightmare, but Scott had had enough of those to know how sickeningly painful they could be.

He couldn't sleep for weeks after his mother's murder, always watching her struggle for the gun, the echo of the deathly shot, the feeling of hot tears running down his face as his mother held him one final time and told him, like all mother's do, that it was going to be okay, even though she knew it wasn't.

It wasn't until Richard took Scott to Dr. Moseley, an older woman with tight dark hair and a soft voice, that the nightmares started to fade, and Scott could finally sleep again.

He didn't even stop to think before approaching Mitch, cupping his damp cheeks in his hand and promising him that he'd be okay, and that no matter what, Scott was going to protect him.

So he had dragged the kitchen chair to Mitch's room and set up for the night, the same way Richard had when Scott would wake up screaming for Connie.

He knew Mitch wasn't going to sleep, but he stayed anyways, hoping that he could give him some peace of mind that even though he was terrified.

He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, but some god damn morning bird had perched itself right outside the window and screeched until Scott woke up.

He wasn't surprised to find Mitch gone and he padded downstairs to the kitchen, finding him seated at the table, hands wrapped around a mug as he stared out the windows.

Mitch's shoulders were pitched, and he somehow looked smaller in his chair as goosebumps explored over his arms and a shiver ran down his spine.

Scott didn't have much, but he was pretty sure he had his dad's leather jacket in the trunk if Mitch had needed it.

Neither of them mentioned the coffee, which Mitch had clearly made just for him, but falling into bed now, it still made a smile appear on his face.

No one ever did anything for Scott, even as simple as making him coffee, but that tends to happen when you spend your whole life taking care of other people.

Sure, Mitch were a cheeky pain in the ass who didn't follow orders, but at least Scott knew he was grateful.

He relaxes into his bed, face down and arms wrapped tight around his pillow and lets himself settle into a few hours of sleep.