The realization had taken him by surprise. They'd told him long ago that he was a Guardian. He'd been selected. Born to it. He'd have a specific charge to watch over.

And she wouldn't be born for almost two decades.

Occupy yourself until then, they'd said. We'll let you know when we need you. Get a job. Be patient.

Patience was not Roger's forte. He'd been a teenager when rock and roll came to London, and had been one of many young men who had joined a rock band.

It had royally pissed the Council off to see his face all over England, and later, America.

This is not what we meant by a job, they'd said.

Screw them.

Then they'd told him to go to Nebraska, he was needed. He'd stayed with the band, even when his best friend, the group's drummer, was found dead. They'd hired another drummer, but nobody could come even close to what Keith had done... so they had gone their separate ways. And he no longer had any excuse to give the Council.

He'd stopped by from time to time to check on her, but she was never really in danger. Well, almost never. The Council had been irate when they'd found out that his three year-old charge had barely missed both a patch of quicksand and a water snake while trying to dog-paddle upstream in the Platte River during springtime after she had slipped away from her parents. He'd been there, though, ready to jump in. But even then, she'd been unafraid and self-sufficient, never calling for help or letting up until she was once again standing on a sandbar. She hadn't needed his help.

She'll never know you're there, they'd told him. Just keep an eye on her, you won't have to talk to her or anything. Not unless she's called.

And then she'd been called. Roger had thrown Royal Fit number forty-seven that day. He vaguely remembered walking out of the meeting room to see Dionysus retreating after leaning against the door and listening to the whole conversation, his shoulders gently quaking as he laughed.

Yes, he had been dragged into this gig kicking and screaming. They wouldn't let him quit. And now he had been yanked. For that reason alone he was pissed. He was not a pawn they could toy with.

He had suggested to Susanne that she talk to Dionysus. You might find it advantageous, he'd told her. He'd heard about Celly's other Guardians, but it had all been vague references and innuendos. He suspected that there was some truth to them, and he was right. He had turned in his official resignation and gone into hiding right after his last conversation with Susanne. He was careful to do that as quickly and as much in character as possible. He needed it to go through as quickly as possible, so that it wasn't held when they learned of Christopher's untimely demise. If it didn't go through first, he would still be under the Council's jurisdiction when the inquiry began. Roger had merely been suspended, not officially booted. They were much more careful about that now. It was easier to keep a Guardian under their jurisdiction than risk another Dionysus case.

Of course, now the whole Otaku-Guardian policy would probably be reviewed.

He was careful not to concentrate on Susanne too much. He needed to stay hidden awhile longer, and conversation would not be a good idea.

Of course, the best way to stay hidden was to blend in... he'd found that stripes worked well in the forest. He yawned and shifted a little so that he made better use of the patch of sunlight. As long as he kept his eyes narrow, he looked just like any other tiger in the forest.