I've just spent half the morning following my boss around the
building - just to watch him walk.

It's been quite a strain keeping enough distance between us not
to be spotted, yet staying close enough to see what I wanted to see.

He clearly has no idea how eyecatching he looks striding through
the corridors, but I'm not the only one who's noticed: an amazing
number of secretaries, researchers and clerks seemed to *have* to
look out of their offices just as he passed (I think they have an
early-warning phone network). You could see the appreciation, longing and lust written across their faces as they watched his tall, muscular
figure go by.

The man is legendary, of course, for quite a few reasons: his
strict by-the-book attitude, the extraordinary hours he works, his
punishing fitness regime, the ability he has to make an agent feel
about two inches tall without even raising his voice, his unfailing
courtesy to janitors, cleaning staff and cafeteria personnel, the way
he homes in on the one less than satisfactory aspect of your report...
and also, apparently, his walk...

Actually, "walk" doesn't even begin to describe what he does.
"Prowl" is the best I can come up with: there's a fluid grace, an
effortless power that brings to mind nothing so much as a jungle cat -
a tiger, or a panther. Something compelling, sensuous and faintly
menacing.

He usually reads files as he walks (never an idle moment, I can
hear him thinking), but some internal radar keeps him on a
die-straight path. He never has to correct his course to avoid
anything or anyone. This could have something to do with the alacrity
with which everyone else moves out of his way, of course, especially
if he's wearing the patented glare, but it's an impressive
performance, nonetheless.

When he's not reading he's observing - that calm, neutral gaze
takes in everything: who's closeted in Archives all day, who's
loitering in the hallway gossiping too often, who's coming or going
from somewhere they haven't a good reason to be... He knows his people
well, despite having only brief and formal contact with most of them,
and I think he does this regular "tour of inspection" with that in
mind. He rarely sends Kimberly with messages or uses the phone when he
can spare the time to go himself and most days he'll find a reason to
walk the halls for half an hour or so. He knows about all the office
romances, who's not speaking to whom, who's got health or family
worries, who's not pulling their weight, has got too involved in a
case, or is working too hard. I've seen time and time again when he's
quietly stepped in to defuse a situation, to give a team a clearer
perspective, to offer advice or support, or just to arrange time off
for an agent who needs it. He would say it's just part of his job.

He's an instinctive leader - sure of his own strength and
purpose, generous with his time and attention. When you're talking to
him you feel the unwavering force of that sharp intellect and that
intense gaze focussed entirely on you - it's quite an experience.
He's genuinely concerned for the safety and success of his agents, but
more than that: for them to feel supported and valued, to feel the
pride in and dedication to the work that *he*feels.

I can't believe now that I misread him for so long - saw him as
just an obstructive bureaucrat, saw his attention to detail as
narrow-minded, his insistence on proper procedure as lack of
imagination, his criticism as prejudice, his checking-up as a personal
insult...When all the time he was steering me away from personal and
professional self-destruction. Standing on the shifting line between
my controversial work and his own truly bureaucratic colleagues and
superiors. Trying to keep me within bounds that he could justify to
them, while having to argue the validity of some pretty unconventional
conclusions in my cases, just so that the work could continue at all.

In truth, I was as stubborn and graceless and petty as I thought
he was and it's a wonder he put up with me. Since I opened my eyes and
my mind and my heart to see just what an extraordinary man he is, we
still don't agree a lot of the time, but I understand him far better
and I think he understands me as very few others do.

So he probably spotted me trailing him this morning within the
first minute. I don't think much gets past him and my technique did
get sloppy when I had to lean against the wall and catch my breath
after watching him devastate a clutch of typists with an unconscious
flex of his shoulders.

He walks like an athlete - powerful, loose-limbed, relaxed yet
controlled. He walks tall, with no hint of slouching or round
shoulders. He strides out from the pivot of his lean hips, using the
full length of his legs, creating a rhythmic tilt of that perfect ass
that gives me such ideas...

I've watched him this morning doing his job in a way that most of
the high-ups wouldn't recognize. Watched him shake Agent Marlowe's
hand as he asked after his wife and new baby son. Watched him check
with Agent Willis on the progress of her physiotherapy following the
accident in Austin. Watched him remind Agent Burnett that there's more
to life (and work) than the Dagwood case and that two all-nighters
back-to-back is probably more than enough to prove his enthusiasm.
Watched him break up Agents Bruce and Carlisle's little tete a tete
before they completely disgraced themselves in the stationery store.
Watched him wish Wilbur Dennis, the grouchy old janitor on the 4th
floor, a happy birthday. It wasn't all appreciated, but you could see
all those to whom he spoke look thoughtfully after him as he walked
away...

Watching him, *my* morning wasn't wasted either.