fourteen: EVA

I'm not sure when it was. Time just sort of seeps into itself in this business. Or maybe it's just my time. My "business." But I do remember what I concluded the last time I had a spare moment to be honest with myself: I'm pretty bad at this. I'm an idea person; I'll give myself that. But a runner executes. Flawlessly. I'm careless. I can't be bothered with the details. Sometimes I find my hand leaving traces it shouldn't leave, imprints even a rookie would know to erase. My other hand doesn't correct it. None of it has caught up with me, yet.

Apetri is the only one who has ever come close. But I can trust him. I don't know why. But I can. He doesn't know I can see him -- watching. I first noticed it three jobs ago. I ran a few more queries and found he'd been doing it almost since I started. I was so angry with myself. And with him. As it went on, and there was some time to think, to realize some irrefutables, it felt different. There was an amused phase. A cat and mouse phase. And finally, after more reckless recons, a few near misses, and a few passing thoughts of career suicide, Apetri's voyeurism became something altogether unfamiliar -- safe.

He was a silent partner, someone whose eyes I could see watching me in real time, as the long slog of a data run reached it's fourth day. He hardly ever slept, and neither did I. I've never told anyone that my circadean rythms have come to mimic his. He's much better at it than I am, which makes me have to crash a few times per month, unable to keep tabs on him for a few hours, or days.

My last crash was yesterday. When I came to, booted up, and took in my assembly status, one data point announced itself above all others: he wasn't there. No one was.