Area 52: If These Walls Could Talk

Category: slash humor

Pairing: J/D established relationship

Rating: PG through PG-13

Disclaimer: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Stargate (II) Productions, Showtime/Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. These stories are for entertainment purposes only and no money exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author. These stories may not be posted elsewhere without the consent of the author.

Author's Notes: As much as we love to read about Jack and Daniel's romantic exploits, did you ever wonder what his neighbors think of the strange sounds coming from apartment 8-4?

This series began in a chat room a few weeks ago, when Kali was musing over a plot bunny. Several of us jumped onto the idea, then recruited more help to fill in the additional story ideas which followed. Huge thanks go to Judy, who betaed the stories, despite the fact she only thought she was going to have to handle three. Thanks hon!

Prologue by Kali and Carolyn

"So, everyone still got all your bits and pieces?" Jack asked as the team stepped onto the ramp back at the SGC. Two pairs of rolling eyes and a single arched eyebrow were the only responses to his query from his exhausted team.

"What's the matter with you guys? We've got three whole days off after we finish the debriefing. Think about it. No BDUs, no MREs, no wormholes, no aliens - no disrespect intended, Teal'c. . ."

". . .free to enjoy good old Earth, land of the Tau'ri and home of the Atlanta Braves, who happen to be playing the Rockies for the next few nights. Shame I'm going to miss the games, though."

After exchanging a quick greeting with the general, the team continued towards the locker rooms to divest themselves of their off-world gear.

Sam was caught off-guard by his uncharacteristic defensiveness. Typically, after a mission, the colonel would ramble endlessly about his down-time plans, all the while teasing her over her lack of a life outside the SGC. They both knew it was untrue, but the habit was long-standing, and the banter always helped to bleed away the tension which prevailed off-world and reinforce the fact that they were home and safe. Teal'c and Daniel would silently observe the repartee, attending to their gear and occasionally trading a knowing look or, in Daniel's case, stifling a laugh. Both men were looking at Jack now, aware that he had altered the routine.

"She's right Jack. It's a six hour drive each way," Daniel added. "You must have something special going on to punish your Jeep like that."

"For your information, Daniel, highway miles are easier on a car than city driving."

"Oh, forget it. Go to Aspen and have your super-secret adventures. It's not like we're a team or anything, and might be interested in knowing what you're doing." Daniel turned back to his locker, effectively ending the conversation.

Sam hid a smile behind her hand. The colonel was now staring at Daniel's back, wondering how Daniel had now become the offended party when it was his private life that was being pried into. The colonel might feel her interest was intrusive, but Daniel could toss a guilt trip like Pedro Martinez threw fast balls. Both were works of art, and she enjoyed both tremendously.

"Good for you, sir. Have fun." Before he could respond, she gathered her toiletries and a change of clothes and headed for the showers.

Teal'c wondered why O'Neill's face turned slightly pink in response to his question. The debriefing over, Jack, Daniel and Teal'c had walked together to the locker rooms to change into civvies. Teal'c had made no plans for their downtime, and had been pondering a visit to see his son when O'Neill had mentioned his trip.

Daniel Jackson had paused to look over at O'Neill, a half-smile and a curious look of expectation on his face. Perhaps he, too, had never been to Aspen.

Teal'c observed O'Neill's face. The pink shade was deepening to red now. He was clearly embarrassed. Perhaps he was involved in unsavory pursuits in Aspen? Teal'c resolved to ask Major Carter to assist him with some research to learn more about this Aspen, all the better to understand his friend's distress. Daniel Jackson wore a look of amusement. This was unlike him. When O'Neill became distressed, it was usually Daniel Jackson who sought to comfort his friend. Now he appeared to be enjoying O'Neill's present state of discomfort. This was most intriguing.

A slightly choked 'you betcha' was the only reply Teal'c received. He quickly finished dressing and left the locker area to seek out Major Carter, determined to prepare himself to be of assistance to O'Neill when he returned from Aspen.

"Oh Jack, you should see your face right now!" Daniel finally gave in to the laughter which had been threatening throughout Teal'c's conversation with Jack.

"You were no help whatsoever, thank you very much." Jack was scowling, furious at himself for getting caught by his own fabrication. It wasn't supposed to be this hard. He held secrets that the worst torture could not pull out of him, yet an innocent exchange with a teammate over weekend plans had flustered him beyond reason. Maybe he was getting too old for subterfuge?

"I know. Aspen *Heights*. My apartment complex. I got that right away. They're going to figure it out, you know."

"The hell we do, and don't tell me you don't like this. You sure seemed to enjoy it last weekend."

"I did, last weekend. Oh, don't look at me like that. I like it at your house, not here."

"In case you haven't noticed, we have never done it in the yard, not that it hasn't been suggested. I suppose I should just be happy about the little celebration on the telescope deck. Hey, we are overdue for an encore."

"No Jack, at least not during a full moon. It was embarrassing enough without all of your bad puns. I meant we have privacy there. These apartment walls are notoriously thin, my neighbors are practically on top of us."

"Nah, too kinky, let's stick with just the two of us. Now where was I? Oh yeah."

"Huh, oh, just wondering if the neighbors could hear us, what they would be thinking. Oh, don't stop that. Ahhh. . . Jack."

Apt. 8-4 by Carolyn

"The Jack and Daniel Show. Courtesy of our next door neighbor and his hotty boyfriend."

"Are you telling me that Mr. 'I Have No Idea How Gorgeous I Am, You Must Have A Drooling Problem from a Medical Condition' plays for our team?"

"Tell me you haven't thought about him at least once and I'll try my best to be ashamed of myself."

"Nope. I have to change out the video card on your system and install some more RAM."

"You and your computer geek ways. . . sometimes I don't know why I don't run off with some hunky military-type like Daniel's man."

"Two reasons: one, my computer geek ways pay more for this apartment than your writing; and two, no one else would put up with your shit."

"Right, whatever. Just be quiet while you're messing with the mother ship. I want to listen."

"Do I want to know how you know so much about Daniel's life? First you know who the blonde girl is, and his feelings about her, and now you know the intricacies of his love life?"

"Which is why I'm glad we live next to a flight attendant. When she's gone, we can be as loud as we like."

"Oh, she lives upstairs in 9-4. She asked us to wait until after her bedtime to get, um, frisky, since she can usually pretend it's some erotic dream of hers."

"You just told me you've had a discussion about our sex life with our upstairs neighbor. How am I supposed to look?"

"Oh, well, in that case, never mind about it. Maybe you could ask her to give us pointers next time."

"She thinks we do just fine on our own, thanks. Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I think you need to get a job outside this apartment. You're getting way too friendly with the neighbors."

"That's computer geek mentality talking. It's a normal, natural thing to get to know the people you share a building with."

"Getting to know them is one thing, chatting about sex is entirely another. And don't sigh like that, this is important to me."

"Relax, Trev. I only had the one conversation, and she was totally cool about things. Like we should be about Daniel. He's been alone so long."

"Her name is Sam, and if I didn't know he was an only child I would swear they were siblings."

"Please tell me you have had real conversations with this man and not just sat here listening at the wall with a glass to your ear?"

"No need for a glass, these walls are *thin*, Trev. I suppose I could have figured the whole thing out from listening, but yes, to answer your question before the vein in your forehead bursts, I have talked with Daniel."

"Oh, now and then. We were both stuck here during that blackout a few months ago, remember during the blizzard, when you got stuck working on the servers all night? Well, Daniel's by himself, I'm by myself and we've got no candles. So, I went over and hung out with him until the power came back on."

"Oh, quit it with the sarcasm, you idiot. We just hung out and talked. I could tell he was pining away for someone, so I lent him an ear."

"I know you're itching for a fight, Trevor, but can we put it on hold for a bit? I want to listen to Danny and Jack."

"That's what Jack calls him when they're together. God, they are so crazy about each other. It's like movie love."

"Trevor, compared to those two, we have half-hour UPN sitcom love. Daniel and Jack have a 'waves crashing on a beach, orchestra swelling, doves flying through the air' kind of love."

"Is this the reason you pounced on me last week when I got home late from work?"

"Suit yourself. Either get over here with me or go play that Devil game you love so much. But make sure you wear the headphones."

"I got bored. I never should have cheated my characters. Now the game is no challenge."

"Why not? I switched my shift to be home with you more, and if you're determined to violate our neighbor's privacy all night. . . whither thou goest, I go too."

"That's Jack. He comes across as gruff, but he's really a big softie. Daniel brings that out in him."

"Daniel. He sounds really possessive tonight. Jack must have done something dangerous today at work. I heard them arguing earlier about Jack taking risks, and putting his life on the line unnecessarily. Daniel tends to go all alpha-male on Jack after days like this."

"If they're fighting when they get in, it's usually about work. Daniel was really vague about what they do, but from their fights, it sounds like it's dangerous sometimes."

"Daniel's lived here since we moved in, and I do work at home. . . in the living room. Thin walls, babe, thin walls. The good thing is, they've been giving me some story ideas. My next piece is going to be a love story about a military man and his scientist boyfriend."

"We bookish types seem shy and unassuming, but I recall reducing you to a puddle of goo a time or two."

"You sure did, babe. I'm thinking we should give Mrs. Madison some sweet dreams later on. What time does she go to sleep?"

"I think Daniel would be pissed off if there was a big, gaping hole in his bedroom wall."

"It wouldn't have to be gaping. We could get a small insert like what's on the door so it's small on his side but will magnify the view on our side."

"If what I've heard is any indication, this is a show we really don't want to miss."

Apt. 9-3 by Lea

Paula really didn't need this right now. She'd taken over a co-worker's early shift tomorrow and that was only six hours away now. She'd hoped the quiet streak would last a bit longer this time. 'Stupid super! I swear he puts that sign out on purpose now! 'Out for Lunch my ass! Like the man needs to eat anymore! My complaints are valid and all he does is nod and grunt. I've met rocks with more personality.'

Deciding that sleep would be a lost cause at this point she got out of bed and stomped as loudly as she possibly could to her study. This only caused Jackson's boyfriend, 'Jack but you can call me *Mister* O'Neill', to groan even more melodramatically. She'd even heard the soft reproach given by Dr. Jackson.

She wasn't fooled by his big blue eyes and sweet temper. She knew far too much about his intimate life to deem him some little boy blue. Miss Donovan from 7-3 practically adopted the 'dear boy and his dashing friend' from the get-go because they promised to save her from the big scary aliens.

Rolling her eyes at the sentiment she stomped a bit louder than before to really drive her point home. A small self satisfied smile played on her lips when the noise abated, only to vanish just as quickly when an "Ooooohh Jack!" was pronounced loud enough to wake the dead followed by a few barks of laughter from the man being praised.

'Dear boy, my foot! He's a little shit who thinks he can get away with anything because all he has to do is bat those blue eyes and people fall at his feet to do his bidding. Prick.'

She could not quite figure out who she hated more; Dr. Jackson or Jackass O'Neill. She'd tried everything short of accusing the man of a crime to get the Super to at least write him up, but was met with skepticism and contempt. Nobody else backed her up. The two freaks in 8-4 constantly undermined her, saying Daniel was the best neighbor they'd ever encountered. Miss Donovan was an old spinster who saw aliens not two men in a sexual relationship, so she received no help there. She could only hope the new tenants in 8-2 would take exception to this insanity.

Slumping into her easy chair, Paula picked up a book she'd gotten to read while those two made like rabbits in heat.

'Ahh back to Ricardo and Carlotta, two lovers separated by society but determined to let love decide their fate' She mused on the outrageous caption and opened the book. 'Why does everyone get laid except me?!' She grumped as she found that her spot in the novel was at yet another graphic explanation of Ricardo's talents as a lover. She sighed in disgust as Jackson began vocally praising his boyfriend's talents as a lover.

Setting the book aside she began leafing through her diary to a time when she wasn't the only one not getting laid and smiled at the memory.

"Ohh.. yes.. Tommy..." She moaned, a bit more theatrically than necessary, but she knew Jackson and his 'friend' were downstairs and it was time they got a bit of their own back.

"Paula.." Her lover moaned in her ear, licking it sloppily. She recoiled inwardly but kept up her moans of appreciation.

"Oh you like it like that, huh?" He grinned and began slobbering all over her. 'Ew!' Skin crawling she accepted her fate and made an internal note to take a very long and very hot shower when this was over. She liked Tom well enough, had hoped he'd make getting back at her downstairs neighbors a bit of fun, but all she wanted right now was him to come so she could fake it and be done with it all.

Although she inwardly cheered him on when he started hooting and hollering. 'And here I thought I was getting rusty!'

"HEY! YOU IN THERE!" A sudden and very loud bang on her front door. She recognized the voice instantly. "I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE, MISS HARTLEY, SO YOU BETTER OPEN UP BEFORE I OPEN IT UP FOR MYSELF!"

Her date looked at her a little lost as to what to do. She shook her head, gave him a little squeeze to remind him what they were doing, and grabbed his face for a very wet kiss. 'Ugh he drools more than Mom's Saint Bernard!'

"I WILL NOT BE IGNORED!" A loud bang against her door and suddenly the angry voice wasn't outside anymore. "Now, I'll give you to the count of three to get yourself presentable."

"Mr. O'Neill! This is breaking and entering...!" She sputtered as Tom withdrew and gathered the covers around himself.

"Three! And you better be decent because I already owe my therapist enough!" Suddenly he burst through the door, thankfully she'd managed to grab the covers away from Tom who lost the battle and fell to the floor with a dull thud.

"Mr. O'Neill! You, of *all* people have *no* right to come barging in here and..."

"Oh can it lady!" He glowered at her as Tom looked around in a panic to cover himself.

"Well at first I thought I heard a whale dying up here, so being the good humanitarian I am."

"I don't need your help in dealing with O'Neill, Tom." She turned back to the man in question. "Mr. O'Neill, I don't see how you have any room to talk. If you and your boyfriend can't take what you dish out continually to me, then I suggest you take a hike!"

O'Neill was fit to be tied but she could tell he knew he really did not have room to talk. Instead he relied of her compassion as he steeled himself for a moment and then spoke to her in a softer tone. "Look, Paula, I really am sorry for barging in and interrupting your... ah.. " He winced, "romantic interlude here, but Daniel and I recently got back from a very trying...trip."

"Daniel was hurt. Pretty bad. Right now he really needs as much sleep and rest he can get."

"Which," The man before her growled out, barely hanging on to his manners, "he's not getting with.. ahmm... all the noise."

"Not so fun when the tables are turned, is it?" She caught another flicker of frustration and smiled. 'Payback's a bitch and so am I.'

"So you want me to put my life on hold so your boyfriend can rest up and get better just so you can wake me at all hours?! I don't think so, O'Neill!"

'Wuss!' She screamed internally. She looked from the traitor to O'Neill and saw the wash of relief flood his face.

"He seems like a nice guy. Too bad about his boyfriend." An arm encircled her. "Don't worry love-muffin, there will be plenty of time for fun later."

She shoved Tom away from her, back onto the floor, and walked as calmly as she could to her bathroom to get on with that shower.

While she'd gotten the best of the smart mouthed man that day but he'd ultimately gotten what he'd wanted and so her victory was somewhat hollow.

When the moaning finally reached it's crescendo and stopped, Paula made her way back to her own bed. This time as quietly as possible. Those two were either asleep or on their way, and she didn't want to waste what was always a temporary calm.

Apt. 7-3 by Quinn

That's it. I don't care what the Superintendent says. This just isn't natural. Something strange is going on here. Oh, it started off small enough. My prized Princess Diana plate rattling in its stand. The little framed mirror in my hall knocked crooked every once in a while for no reason. The shade of my beaded lamp swaying wildly in the corner. Then one evening just as Vanna was turning a vowel, my little ceramic blue birds began to wobble on their shelf. They danced for a minute then crashed to the linoleum. I complained to the building's Super about the strange vibrations in the walls. He kept reassuring me that Colorado doesn't have earthquakes. There was nothing to worry about. When my autographed picture of Clark Gable fell from the corner of my bookshelf, I rang up the Super and demanded he come over immediately. When he came to my apartment, the tremors had stopped. He clucked and shook his head, but said there was nothing to be afraid of.

Nothing to be afraid of indeed. Things don't just fall by themselves. Mirrors don't tilt and lamp shades don't shake for no reason. My hearing may not be what it used to be, but I still got eyes in my head. It's unnatural, that's what it is. Something is causing it. Or someone . . .

What if it's. . .no. It couldn't be. Could it? Ghosts? Maybe the Super didn't feel the walls shake because it's only happening in my rooms. Is my apartment haunted? Is there some invisible man stalking through my home? Mercy sakes, alive. Does he stand over my bed at night, watching me sleep? Has he been peeking in on me in the tub? Oh my! I grab the phone.

"No, I know that. But you have to come quick. I think there's someone in my apartment."

"A ghost." The phone is quiet for a long moment before the Super's voice comes back on the line.

"Miss Donovan, I run a clean complex. There are no roaches, rats, or ghosts on the premises. I spray regularly."

I put the receiver back in its cradle. Maybe the Super is right. After all, he's paid to take care of the place. The owners wouldn't be too happy with him if he let ghosts wander around willy-nilly. He did say he sprayed for them. And didn't I see on television that ghosts leave slime behind or something? I hadn't noticed anything like that. Besides, a ghost would be hanging around all the time. These mysterious goings on are irregular. Sometimes they happen several days in a row, sometimes two weeks go by when all is quiet. No, it isn't ghosts. How silly.

But something odd is happening around here. Maybe a ghost isn't floating around the apartment. Maybe it's something else all together? The sway of the lamp makes me look up. The knickknacks on the shelves above the flickering television begin to twitch. I eye the dancing lamp shade dangling from its chain. Maybe these weird happenings aren't coming from my apartment after all. Maybe it's coming from upstairs.

I briefly consider calling the Super and asking him to go upstairs and have a talk with the tenant, but decide against it. He hasn't been much use so far. No, I'll have to deal with this myself. Drawing my robe a little tighter around me, I set off, determined to see this through.

It takes a while for me to get to the next floor. I have to squint at each apartment number until I find the one I want. I bang on the one marked 8-3 with my cane. It takes a lot of banging before the door cracks open. A pair of bright blue eyes under a disheveled thatch of hair blink at me from around the door. I catch a glimpse of a bare shoulder beyond the wood. I must have got the poor boy out of bed. It's a shame to wake him, but this is important.

"Well, um, ah, wait a minute." He closes the door. I stand impatiently in the hall and wait for him to open it again. I rap sharply on the wood to hurry him up. The door finally opens wide enough to let me in. He stands back, dressed in a bath robe over a pair of baggy pants and a tee shirt.

"Miss Donovan, what's so important that you had to talk to me right now?" he asks as he follows me into the living room.

"Strange things like pictures falling down, the walls vibrating, lamp shades bouncing around. Things like that."

"Don't be shy. I know the Super doesn't want to hear about these things, but you can tell me. I've seen what they can do too. I know they're here."

"Yes. I thought at first it was just in my apartment, but what with the lamp and all, I figured they had to be in your apartment too. Have you seen them?"

"I feel them thump sometimes. My ears aren't what they used to be, but sometimes I think I hear strange sounds, like nothing from this world."

"Oh, um. Yeah, well, you know as these old buildings settle they can make some pretty weird noises. It's nothing to worry about."

"That's what the Super is always saying. There's nothing to worry about. But I'm telling you, I know something strange is going on." I bang my cane down for emphasis.

"Everything okay, Daniel?" A tall barefoot man in jeans and a rumpled shirt appears in the doorway leading to the back of the apartment. The younger man jumps at his voice, spinning around to gape at him. The other man smiles at me before sinking into a chair and stretching out long legs.

"Jack? Ah, Miss Donovan this is my friend, Jack. He's, um, visiting. Jack this is my downstairs neighbor, Miss Donovan. She's been hearing strange noises."

"Aliens?" the other man draws out the word, cocking an eyebrow at us. Daniel shifts uncomfortably under his amused gaze. He turns those bright eyes on me.

"Miss Donovan, thank you for coming by to tell me about the, um, aliens. I'll keep a sharp look out."

"You never know with those pesky aliens," Jack says, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Especially the noisy ones. They're unpredictable."

"Oh, my goodness. It's a good thing you have a friend over. He can help you with those awful aliens."

"I'm always ready to lend a hand, or something, as the occasion presents itself."

"Thank you again for stopping by," Daniel turns away from his friend to put a hand on my shoulder, gently urging me to the door. "I don't think you need to worry about anything. If I come across the thing making all the fuss, I'll deal with it."

"Goodnight, Daniel. Tell your friend goodnight for me and remind him to watch out."

He gives me a little smile before closing the door. I make my way to the elevator with a light heart. It makes me feel good to know that I have such a nice young man taking care of this problem for me. The look he gave his friend just before escorting me to the hall said he'd have things sorted out in no time. Such a sweet boy.

Apt. 8-2 by Kali

Oh great, there they go again. He must have the stamina of a horse. It's just the nerves. Take a deep breath. I always start exaggerating when I get nervous. At least he's gone a lot. It's a little better than my last apartment; there I knew the neighbors' mattress schedule. With him, it's practically random. Total silence for days or weeks, then a bloody marathon session.

Andy warned me about the noise, but I didn't believe him. It was so quiet when I moved in. Andy was so nice helping with my boxes and holding the elevator, he gave me a lot of good information about the neighborhood, so why didn't I believe him about the neighbor we have in common?

I sure learned the truth the second week. I was just settling down in front of the fireplace after a hectic day at work, when suddenly I thought we were having an earthquake. After the walls rattled a bit, it sounded more like the bed collapsed next door. Were there really only two people over there causing all that noise? I had to talk to Andy about it; he knew everything that went on in this building. He said the 'cutie' in 8-3 was definitely a one-man man, just enthusiastic. Enthusiastic is one thing, that's... that's... oh I don't know.

I remember when I first realized Andy was right about one thing; 'cutie' was a 'sweetie'. The first time I met Daniel was so embarrassing. It was a couple of days after his loud homecoming. I had only been in the building for about a week when there was a blackout. I managed to climb the stairs all right. I can count to eight, thank you very much. However, I can't count to two. Okay, the number of doors to my apartment is different when coming from the stairs, and it was pitch black, otherwise I never would have just walked into someone else's apartment without even knocking.

It's a good thing Andy was there talking to Daniel instead of Jack, or I might have interrupted something. Especially as they seem to like the living room floor. I can just see them in front of the fireplace... if I had walked in on them I might have literally seen them in front of the fireplace. It was the only light in the apartment. I wouldn't want to interrupt them. I could have been quiet, watching. Yeah, right. One, I do not spy, that's Steve's way. Two, me quiet, with those two carrying on a few feet in front of me, grab a bag of popcorn and take notes, yes, keep quiet, no way.

Actually, since I didn't know my neighbors as anything other than faces, and noises, until that night, I would probably have fainted. Then two gorgeous naked men would have run to my aid. Is it warm in here suddenly?

I liked how it turned out. Andy told us stories about Trevor, and Daniel told about Jack. I told a few stories about Steve, but what do you tell a couple of sweet gay guys about your homophobic fiancé?

Steve didn't like it when I moved into a building surrounded by single men. I kept reminding him we were engaged, that it was only temporary. I never did tell him that, if anything, I should be more concerned about him, he's more their type than I am. I should tell him the truth, but it is too much fun watching him try to catch Daniel's 'woman'. He was so perplexed that time when he heard the activities from next door, after having seen the blond and the redhead leave. Oh shoot, what were their names again, I'm lousy with names.

I just hope they finish soon. It's bad enough trying to drown it out with the TV, but I have dinner guests coming in less than 15 minutes. Coming? I wonder who will come first, my guests, or my neighbors? Shame on me, I'm supposed to be mad. I told everyone I was having a formal dinner to celebrate my new apartment. I didn't warn, or plan, on a floorshow.

It's quiet, thank you, that was quite the 'climax'. I'm glad Daniel and Jack won that race. They were loud enough even Steve would have realized what was going on. But I know it is just a lull before the storm. I haven't heard the lady in 9-3 go storming by on the way to the super yet. I can see it now, Steve pouring the wine, while the candles flicker. Only they are flickering because the chandelier is swaying to the beat. I guess this is one way to discover just how uptight my soon to be in-laws are.

I wonder if 'ole momma dear' will live up to her reputation and go over there. I almost feel sorry for Jack. He gets a bit flustered by several of the residents here. Just wait 'til he meets her. Oh boy, that's almost worth the cost of admission alone.

Well, I better take these last 5 minutes for any last minute details, before the beat distracts me again.

Thought I was going to make it through dinner with no interruptions. Just as the coffee and dessert were being placed on the table, the boys next door woke up. Loudly. Okay, not that loud, they must be on the other side of his apartment, but it seems loud from here.

I can practically see the steam coming from Steve's ears. And he's off, ranting a mile a minute. His mother is starting to shake. Just as I thought she would join in on the ranting and start swinging her cane, she breaks down laughing. She motions for me to get closer. I barely hear her whisper, "Who is Spacemonkey, Daniel or Jack?"

Maybe I should tell Andy about the hearing aide. I know he loves to sit and listen. No, better, I'll tell Trevor, it should be worth an upgrade for my PC. One thing is definite, I will not tell Steve, all he needs is another way to spy on Daniel. I still can't believe he actually called the Super.

New day, but same old argument, Steve is not letting this drop. He can't understand why I was upset when he called the Super last night about installing security cameras in the hallways. I tried to explain that they weren't for security if he was going to use them to track regular visitors to the building. He just doesn't see any of the things he does as spying.

I was getting so frustrated; I know my voice was starting to rise. I just want to get away from this for eight hours. Would the elevator ever get here? We were just getting into it, with me asking how he would feel if the neighbors were spying on me all the time, just like he kept doing to Daniel; when the elevator finally opened. And I nearly walked right into... Daniel. He was wide-eyed, and looked a little shell-shocked. I smiled weakly, said good morning, and pushed past him to the back of the car. He heard, he had to have heard, of course he heard. Oh God, hopefully he will start one of those multi-day or multi-week things he does, so my face will have time to return to its normal color before I have to see him again.

I sag against the back of the elevator. Any more rants from Steve, and I will take up Jack's offer to introduce me to that cutie Major Paul. I just have to ask Andy first if he's heard anything about him. Won't do me any good, if it's just Jack's way of diverting the competition. Like Paul would stand a chance of getting between those two.

The Superintendent by Geminia

The door of apartment 6-9 opened, allowing a tall, stocky figure carrying a clipboard to emerge. Charles Marshall, superintendent of the Aspen Heights apartment complex, glared at his apartment number for the tenth time that day. He so wanted to go back to living in the basement. Not bad enough he'd been stuck with the apartment that was the biggest joke in the building, but it was amazing how many more complaints had begun to make their way to his door now that he was at arm's length, so to speak. Sighing, he took the pencil from behind his ear and began to trail it along the list of items scrawled across the paper resting on his clipboard.

"Apartment 5-2....leaky faucet....check." The pencil scratched that item off. "Apartment 3-4....A/C on the fritz....check." Two more items followed. That left--way too much. "Okay, let's see what we got here."

7-3: two complaints of items mysteriously falling from shelves. Oh, not again. He'd been dealing with old Miss Donovan for weeks now. She was sweet enough, but he was seriously starting to suspect that her mind was going along with her hearing. He'd finally convinced her that seismic tremors would affect the whole building, and since she was the only person complaining of this type of damage that was obviously not the case. Now, she seemed determined that either poltergeists or space aliens were behind it. He was really going to have to see about having her cable options limited.

Looking at his watch, he decided this one could wait til tomorrow afternoon. What was the next one...?

9-3: another complaint about her downstairs neighbors. Why was he not surprised? He would know if there were animals being kept in this building against code--when you'd been a superintendent this long, you learned to watch for clues...his severe allergy to anything with fur being the acid test. No one else had reported hearing any wild parties being held in the middle of the night and he wouldn't even dignify the fireworks thing with a response.

In fact the only person to have complaints filed about them was her--apparently she'd had a little one-on-one party of her own one night, resulting in several complaints from her extremely nauseated neighbors. He was getting very close to telling her to pack up and go out to pasture with all the other old cows. Well, that was another one to deal with tomorrow. He really didn't have the patience tonight.

8-2: a request to set up a security camera in the hallway....SCRATCH! Okay he was definitely going to have to have a word with the doorman about keeping that little dimwitted freak out of this building.

8-4: something about finding out where the studs in the walls were located and yet another offer to pay the rent for apartment 8-3...

Flipping over to another sheet on his clipboard, he ran his pencil down the list til he came to apartment 8-3; his pencil traced a line over to the name of the resident: Jackson, D.

He should've known. Ever since Jackson moved in there'd been strange things going on--not the least of which being some loud-mouthed military officer dragging him, semi-conscious, through the lobby a few weeks earlier--following a report of a suspected jumper on the 8th floor of their building.

Reaching the right apartment, he had just raised his fist to knock when he heard something within. What the hell was that? Some sort of steady pounding sound and when he rested his hand on the wall he could feel vibrations running all the way through.

"Dr. Jackson?" He rapped on the door, waited a few moments and when no answer came, tried again.

What the hell was Jackson hiding in there? He took a couple quick sniffs and waited. Nope, no sneezing; no itchy eyes. Had they finally come up with a truly hypo-allergenic pet? Damn. That's all he needed.

More strange noises, the pounding from within seeming to be getting more intense by the moment.

"Okay, I'm coming in there and I'd better not find any animals!" Taking out his pass key, he let himself into the apartment. "Dr. Jackson?"

The pounding had reduced now to a steady thumping and from the sound of it, was originating in the bedroom. A strangled cry rang out, causing him to jump a foot.

His face flushed as an idea dawned on him about what all the complaints he'd received over the last weeks had been based on.

No, that was just silly. There's no way someone having....two people doing.......

Okay it might explain some noises and the thing with 8-4, but broken dishes a floor away? Not to mention that busted water--

Suddenly the thumping once more turned to pounding and he could feel the floor vibrating beneath him.

Okay, there had to be more to it than sex! Mustering up his courage, he stormed to the bedroom...

And did an immediate about face, rushing from the apartment; the cry of 'Jack!' ringing through the air behind him as he slammed the door shut.

Looking down at the clipboard in his hand, he scratched his pencil through all the lines. All of this could definitely wait til tomorrow.

A glance up at the closed door and his eyes were drawn to the two new gold letters that had been affixed to all the apartments' doors just days before at the owners' request. He couldn't help a small chuckle as he turned and walked away.

A Room with a View by Carolyn

Friday, June 8th

Well, I finally left that womanizing asshole I was married to for eight wasted years and got my own apartment. I'd bet money that Derek had his first affair while we were on our honeymoon, the jerk. I might have fought him for the house, but I know for a fact that several of his 'special friends' were entertained under that roof, so I opted for a cash payment of half the value and a new place in which to make better memories of my own.

My best friend Kathy suggested I write my thoughts down in a journal to work through my post-divorce feelings. She seems to have adjusted pretty well after having divorced her own rat bastard three years ago, so I've decided to give this thing a try.

I'm living across the street from a high-rise apartment building which partially blocks what might have been a gorgeous view of the mountains -- damn those developers. I'm on the 8th floor in my building, and for the amount of rent I'm paying I deserve an unobstructed view. The high-rise is called Aspen Heights -- as if the two lonely Aspen trees on the block can make the name appropriate.

I'm feeling less bitter every day, but probably need to chill out just a bit more before even thinking about getting involved in another relationship. The three months I spent at Kathy's house were good for me, and this new apartment is hopefully the next step.

Sunday, June 10th

I was out on my balcony, arranging the potted plants which Kathy insists will bring a peaceful atmosphere to my apartment -- right, like a bunch of greenery will remove that hateful, cheating son of a bitch's memory from my mind -- when I thought I saw someone getting assaulted in an apartment across the street.

Derek never hit me, but Kathy got the crap beat out of her by her ex, so I had one hand on the phone ready to dial 911 before I realized I never got a good look at what was happening. I could end up on some 'crank callers' list in the 911 logs if I called the cops to put a halt to a friendly wrestling match.

For some reason, I had already unpacked my 'odds and ends' box -- things I never use, but just won't throw away -- so my opera glasses were sitting in a pile of things to be moved to the junk drawer once I designated it.

The opera glasses sure cleared things up. That was no assault happening, nor was it a wrestling match. Well, they were doing a bit of wrestling, but it looked like there'd be two winners in this bout.

It was two men. . . grappling with each other to keep their mouths locked together while simultaneously trying to remove each other's clothes. I think I forgot to breathe when they finally succeeded in getting naked, and *know* I stopped breathing for a minute when said naked men -- finely, finely built naked men -- assumed a horizontal position on the bed.

While heaving in great breaths of air to avoid blacking out, I dropped the opera glasses and broke the damn things.

I ran into the kitchen to get a glass of water while roiling pangs of guilt flooded through my body at having spied on what was clearly a private moment. I never used to be this freaked out by sex. In fact, the thought of two luscious guys going at it used to turn me on. Is this some terrible side effect from having a broken marriage? What if I can't ever enjoy seeing two people 'enjoying' each other again? What if *I* can't ever enjoy being 'enjoyed' again?

Thursday, June 14th

I was sitting in my living room reading a book when I noticed movement in that same apartment across the street. It was time to see if I had turned frigid in the past few months, and I was prepared. I'd gotten a lot more unpacking done, and found my binoculars packed in with my camping gear. It just made sense to put them on the side table near the balcony doors, since you never know when a rare bird is going to perch on your railing. . .

The truth is, on further reflection I discovered that when I was watching the guys through the opera glasses, when I wasn't feeling guilty, I managed a few moments of feeling tingly, if you know what I mean. Great, now I'm nudge-nudge wink-winking myself in my journal. Maybe I'm chemically imbalanced. Would my lawyer be able to blame that on my ex? Might mean more alimony. . .

Anyway. I watched the two guys enter the apartment and have a beer together. They were just talking and watching the television -- at which point I was certain that the whole sex thing was the product of my chemically imbalanced, sex-starved brain.

But then they got closer. And then they started kissing. And it was really nice. The 'tingly' was beating out the 'guilty' until I wondered what my mother would think of me sitting in a darkened apartment while using binoculars to watch two guys making out. I freaked about that thought for a while, binoculars forgotten on the floor next to me -- but then I wondered what Derek would think of me and my voyeuristic ways, and the next thing I know I'm adjusting the magnification and refocusing my view.

By that time, those two guys were sliding up against each other on the couch, getting some serious friction going in just the right places for guys, and maintaining an incredible lip lock. I figure they must be tankless deep sea divers, or else incredibly proficient at nose breathing to be able to kiss that long without breaking off. The movement became pretty frenzied there for a while, and I am proud to say that not one thought of my ex-husband flashed into my head while I was panting along with the two strangers. Tingly won out over guilty in the end.

Of course, now that I'm writing this down, and thoughts of my ex *are* flashing through my head, I am happy to report that my neighbor and his friend lasted much longer than that sorry asshole whose name I no longer share.

Friday, June 22nd

I've missed my new neighbors. Stupid job, and stupid, STUPID business trips. My boss really should have given me more than a few hours notice that his wife had gone into early labor and he wanted me to take his place for a weeklong trip to Seattle. I was looking forward to cutting out of work early while he was away to spend some more time on my apartment, maybe do some painting, finally finish unpacking. . .

Damn, I'm lying again. Okay, so I wanted to see if the neighbor-watching was a passing phase, or if I had truly become a shameless reprobate at the ripe old age of 31. If I was 80 years old and hadn't gotten any in a decade or two, I might be able to explain away the fascination, but my good old Catholic guilt has been eating me up since that friction demonstration last week. I blame it on the divorce. If I was getting some, there would be no need for the Peeping Thomasina routine I've fallen into.

The one good thing about the trip to Seattle is that I got to visit the REI store and picked up some new binoculars. My old ones only had magnification up to 8x25, but the new ones go up to 12x42. Sweet! I should be able to make out everything but their eye color now.

Saturday, June 23rd

After pacing back and forth in front of the balcony doors, I decided to just move one of my dining room chairs over so I could relax while practicing my reprobate ways -- of which I have become rather proud; I think I'm making progress, here -- and sure enough, my neighbor's friend showed up after dinner.

The guy who lives there is really good looking. He wears glasses, which make him look *very* sexy, and has a physique most guys would die for. His arms and back are beautifully muscled, like he does physical things but doesn't work for a sculpted bod -- and his chest is smooth. His light brown hair is cut short, sort of like a military cut, and I *so* wish I could see his eyes.

His friend is just a little bit taller, and had the same lovely muscle definition as my neighbor. I thought I saw the glint of dog tags last time, so I'm pretty sure he's military. He's got a great wardrobe: leather jacket, worn jeans, fitted t-shirts. I'm glad the weather has not decided to switch over to summer yet, so that I get to see that yummy leather jacket for a while longer. His hair is more gray than brown, but he doesn't look that much older than my neighbor, who I would guess is around 32. I cannot imagine anyone past 40 having a bod like that man does. With chest hair. . . And that butt. . . Meow!

I'm sitting here with my journal propped on my lap and the new super-duper binoculars trained on the apartment's bedroom.

Wow. They are being really tender towards each other today. The older guy -- who I have decided to name hotty -- is holding my neighbor's face -- who I shall now refer to as cutie -- in his hands and is kissing him so softly, so sweetly. Every now and then, hotty stops to make eye contact and whispers things to cutie. Aww, maybe I should rename him sweetie. Now cutie is talking, too.

Of course I'm making up the dialogue, but the gentle way that hotty is kissing his cutie convinces me that these aren't just two guys getting their rocks off. That is one achingly tender kiss being delivered, and happily received. I don't think buddy fucks involve this level of warmth and affection. Hotty is running his hands over and over cutie's chest, first exciting him, then soothing him, then pausing for a moment to rest his hand over cutie's heart and speaking to him again. Oh God, that had to be an 'I love you' right there.

They're kissing again, getting more urgent now, both trying to gain the upper hand on the other. Cutie's hands are roaming over hotty's back, kneading the muscles, sliding down lower and lower until they are cupping that gorgeous butt, pulling him closer, melding them intimately together. They break off the kiss long enough to settle together in the middle of the bed. The kisses become more playful, hotty peppering cutie's backside and legs with kisses as my neighbor reaches into his bedside table and pulls out . . .

Friction is one thing, but do I really want to watch what they were going to do with the lube and condoms? Maybe I should go see what's on pay-per-view tonight? Call Kathy and see if she wants to go out for dinner? Nah. I should just get over myself and pick up the damn binoculars again. Right. Okay. Alright, one quick drink of water and I'll see what's happening.

Oh wow. Double wow. Hotty is lying on top of cutie, whose facing him on the bed, and they're making love. I was right: no way no how is this a buddy fuck. Hotty is stroking in and out, cutie's got his legs wrapped around hotty's waist, and they are so very, very beautiful right now I could cry. Despite the increasingly frenzied movements, I can still see the tenderness between them.

Hotty tosses his head back when the frenzy reaches its peak, and cutie arches his back, his own head pressed back against the pillows. For a long moment, they are frozen in place, each wearing that odd grimace which could be either pleasure or pain, although in this case my money's on pleasure. Finally they relax, melting into each other as their muscles relax, blinding grins on both handsome faces. Cutie pulls the covers up to their waists, then snuggles down into hotty's waiting arms. After a few moments of shifting, they seem to get comfortable, and after a final kiss, they ease into sleep, hotty's arms still covetously embracing his love.

Sunday, June 24th

I rearranged the furniture this morning so that my big overstuffed chair was sitting in front of the balcony doors. I discovered the hard way that my dining room chairs are not meant to be sat in for hours at a time. The guys looked like they would be sleeping in for a while, so I actually went online and tried to find an FBI surplus website so I could buy a high-tech listening device at a discount. I wish I hadn't done that. I bet there's some government list which now has my name on it, waiting for me to head to the library and borrow a book on domestic terrorism.

I'm glad I couldn't find any links for a listening device. It would wreck the mood if it turns out the guys are saying things like 'fuck me harder, Myron' and 'take it like a good little bitch, Seymour'. The cutie and hotty I have become addicted to don't call each other things like bitch. I haven't decided if I want them to use endearments at all. 'Snookums' and 'honey lamb' would wreck the mood, too.

I think I'll stick to my own dialogue. . . This portable desk I bought works better for note taking, too.

Oh, good, they're waking up. They're reaching for each other. . . Kissing each other. . . Laving love and attention and adoration on each other all over again. Wow. They're just so beautiful. . .

I'm not feeling tingly today at all. While watching them, I figured out that it's not sex that I crave. I'd by lying if I said I didn't want to have sex, but it's not the only draw for me. That's why porn never turned me on like it did Derek. Porn is just two or more people fucking. If I wanted that I could dress up like a slut and pick up some guy in a bar for a one-night stand.

It's the tender touches, the reverent way that hotty and cutie map each other's bodies with their hands and their mouths that I want. It's the laughter they sometimes share after they make love, and the long hugs and consuming kisses they give each other when hotty leaves that is missing from my life. No one-night stand could give that to me, and voyeurism -- while entertaining -- is not what I need.

I suppose I'm going to have to take another chance on love. I thought that Derek and I had something special. I was wrong. But not every man is going to turn out to be such an asshole. Hotty and cutie have something so special, so amazing, I *have* to try and find it for myself.

I think it's time I stopped pining away for what I see in the apartment across the street and start looking for my own magic.

Thursday, June 28th

I was in the supermarket when I saw him prowling through the aisles filling up his own cart with groceries. I refuse to be ashamed of the fact that I followed him as he moved up and down the aisles in order, like he forgot his shopping list and tried staring at the shelves to recall what he needed. I doubt anyone else would have lingered as long as I did down the aisle from him as he spent a bit more time than typical in the produce section, but I think I covered my spying by fondling each and every one of the kumquats in stock -- checking for ripeness, of course. I got an odd look or two, but luckily Daniel never noticed.

I made sure I was right behind him in line, and am not ashamed to say that I accidentally (on purpose) rammed my cart into his heels. The close-up look I got of his face was worth it. He has stunningly blue eyes, and accepted my stammered apology so graciously. . .

And his name is Daniel. I was silently chanting 'use a credit card' as I waited for the cashier to finish scanning his items. This is one of those stores where children I could have given birth to are manning the registers, and their training seems to consist of 'how to give your customer a vacant stare if they ask you anything besides the total of their purchase' and 'be sure to thank the customer by name if they use a credit card'. I nearly shouted with joy when Daniel used his credit card. Daniel Jackson, to be precise. The pre-pubescent cashier muttered a personalized thank you to him which seemed to startle him, since his face screwed up in a completely adorable way as though he was trying to figure out if he knew the girl, then softened when she handed his card back. He smiled at her. It wasn't the smile he uses on hotty, but it was lovely nonetheless. I had to resist the urge to smack him with my cart again so I could see those blue eyes turned my way one more time.

After getting home, I realized I failed to get 98% of what was on my shopping list, but I do have plenty of kumquats.

This'll probably be my last diary entry, since I've begun a new relationship with an Air Force Major I met recently, and therefore consider myself finally over my rat bastard ex-husband. I forgot that I was even keeping this journal until I was searching for some sexy lingerie to wear under my dress for our two month anniversary dinner, and I discovered this book stuffed in the bottom of my lingerie drawer.

I haven't seen Daniel and his hotty at the apartment for a while, probably because I'm not looking for them anymore. The feelings I got from watching the two of them together gave me the guts to strike up a conversation with my new boyfriend, Lou.

Lou is nothing like I thought a military guy would be. I guess Daniel's hotty changed my views about the amount of passion hidden under those tough as nails exteriors. He works at Cheyenne Mountain, doing deep space telemetry or something like that. I'm pretty sure that it's something else, but he explained to me quite clearly that he could not talk about work. Believe it or not, that's fine by me. He's a hell of a lot of fun in bed, and he's got the sweetest blue eyes. He's invited me to meet some of his co-workers, which when he talks about them, makes me think this is the equivalent of meeting his family. This just might be serious. Yay!

After re-reading this journal, I've decided to send my favorite neighbor a thank you gift for his unknowing assistance in my post-divorce recovery. I know his name, I know his address, but I just can't decide if a jar of preserved kumquats is appropriate. . .

If These Walls Could Talk

by Carolyn, Geminia, Kali, Lea, & Quinn