The first time he admits to himself he might be in love with her they're in a cia black site in yet another interrogation session. He squints at the sun, decides to go back to DC because his monkeys are gone and he's so frustrated, so goddamn saturated of this place. He needs to get out. He's taught her everything he knows, given her every piece of advice he can think of already, yet he can't shake off the feeling that he's leaving her behind, alone and unprotected. It's bullshit, he knows, she can take care of herself just fine. He's in love, but it's not enough to make him stay, because he's so tired of pretending his feelings towards her haven't crossed the professional line long ago and the feeling of hopelessness he gets when he thinks that not even once she has given him any sort of sign he sees him as more than a colleague is just crappier than all of his interrogation sessions put together. And his fucking monkeys are gone. He tells her, eyes strained on her face to catch any sign of... well, emotion. But she's nothing if a little surprised, her face stony when he tells her to be careful, when he invites her to come with him in a last attempt of eliciting a reaction. He doesn't go back to Pakistan with her.

The last time he tries to make himself forget about her, he's watching one of the characters of some old tv show rerun making fun of a ginger whose hair color is remarkably alike a CIA agent's he's yet to stop thinking about, when his phone rings. He's startled to discover it's a pakistanian number, his heart picking up speed as he hits the green button, 'cause who else would call him on his land line in the middle of the night if not her?

He answers, ready to be confronted with another of her crazy requests, but it's Jack. He realizes something is wrong ten seconds into the call. It takes no more than two for his heartbeat skyrocket after hearing the reason of the call. Two words, and then it's the closest he's even been of fainting.

"It's Maya."

He looks at himself in the mirror. His face is clammy, a bluish hue to it under the harsh bathroom lights. It shouldn't have affected him that much to know that she was almost executed outside of her own place, really. It wouldn't be like he hadn't seen it coming. He's been worried about her since the minute he boarded that plane back to DC. Still, the reality of almost losing her is terrifying. But she's alive, she's okay. She's coming home. He keeps repeating the words like a mantra until his hands stop shaking. She's okay. He'll see her in a few hours. Fuck.