Summary: Please read Secrets I and II by Leyla Harrison and Madeline Partous respectively first. Then you'll get this. Rated: R - with a zest Spoilers: Not really. Date completed: December 7th, 1997. Acknowledgments and comments at the end. Secrets III by MD1016 Everybody has secrets. Fear, shame and guilt build them, hide them so we can forget they even exist. They're our buried evils; unwanted bastards of our desires and needs. Oh, yeah. They're the real us - when the rest of the crap is peeled away. And I know some pretty crappy people. In my line of work, it's unavoidable. Who am I? Nobody. Remember that. I'm the Nobody who knows all your secrets. It's my job. God. I fucking hate my job. One day, it'll kill me, I think. Fucking piece of shit that I am - it's not like I've got anything really to live for. No wife, no kids. No life, outside watching these two agents hump like dogs in heat. You ever feel like everyone's got someone but you? I've been watching them for a month or so, and at first glance, they looked like pretty miserable people. Sure, she's hot and intelligent and classy, but she had even less of a life than I do. I've got a camera in her bed room and one focused on her couch and in the weeks I've been playing spy, she's only masturbated five times, maybe. And even then it was under this thick quilted blanket, like she was afraid someone would walk in. Yeah. What a joke. No one ever walks in her place. The guy, he's a freak - believes in aliens and ghosts and shit - heh heh, yeah, he's real good friends with his right hand. But he was always alone. They both were. It made me feel like I was back at my mother's. God forbid. They'd come home from work and just stay home and do NOTHING all fucking night! They drove me crazy I was so bored. And then last week, in the middle of the night, when the Loser called her it was something like one in the morning, but she answered it. Now, I gotta tell you she'd been hot for something all that evening. Touching her self all over while she was watching TV and doing the dishes and stuff. Candles lit all over and that soft swaying music on low. Really sexy shit. So when she'd started moaning in the dark of her bedroom, yeah, I turned the Night Brightness knob on the monitor up to full. Hey, I'm male. And I don't mind telling you that I thanked God that night `cause she was on top of that damn bedspread of hers, and for once, I was getting to see something - a little tip for the hours I'd been putting in, you know - and that Loser goes and calls her. Yeah, he'd been pretty horny all night, too. And they started talking, saying the normal stuff: Did I wake you? I was up. What are you doing? It's a secret... She said that: IT'S A SECRET. That's where things really got interesting. My ears perked up right away because, as you know, I deal in secrets. Secrets is my middle name. So she says it's a secret, and I lean in to the TV and my God, the chick is still going at it! While she's on the phone with this guy! And he's her PARTNER! And I'm thinking to myself that I've really missed something somewhere; these two were never an item before and somehow I missed that there was anything there at all...Oprah calls it sexual tension. Yeah, yeah. I'm a guy, I know. But I'm not completely dense when it comes to these things, you know. So, anyway, while she's busy going at it, this guy, he asks her what her secret is, and she tells him. Can you believe that? She tells him that she's been lying there, touching herself and thinking about him making love to her - or fucking her - I can't remember the terminology she used. God, would I love to make love to that woman! And then Loser said that he's just been thinking the same thing, and I can tell you he had been, too. The guy's hung - I'll leave it at that. But this last bit of information kinda freaked the woman out. I don't know why. You'd think a chick would like it when a guy is thinking what she's thinking. But then, who can think like a woman? And so, she sat up in the bed and told him not to come over, or not to think about her or something, I don't really remember. But she did hang up on him and they both just sat there for a minute or so before they went back to doing what they were doing before the call. He came first. And no, that wasn't the end of it. Loser grabbed his phone and a towel and tried to clean up the mess he'd made, while he listened to her phone ring. Something like eight or nine times. She wasn't going to answer it. I could see it in the way she was just laying there, breathing in the dark. Staring up at me. Smoke detectors are great places for hiding surveillance equipment. Now you know a secret. God, I love the way she looked at me, licking her lips, satisfied and anxious, listening to the phone ring and ring and ring. And when it stopped, she looked at it like she was shocked that the guy hung up after ten minutes of listening to her line jingle. Of course, she didn't know that he'd left his own place at that point. Only I knew that. It's my job to know. So when the phone started ringing again, she grabbed it right away, like she was afraid it was going to run outta the room. Wait. I think this was when she told him not to come over. I think he said he was in the car and they needed to talk, or maybe he said he needed to see her. I'm getting old. I can't remember a fucking thing. So, when she hung up again, she laid back down on the bedspread - this part I remember - because she started taking off all her clothes. Real slow. Staring right at me like she knew I was there, and sliding her nighty up over her head and her panties down over her hips. The woman's a goddess incarnate. She must work out. And she reached down, over her breasts, over her belly, and ran her fingers through the hair at her legs. And Christ, if she didn't moan my name. Right then, looking right at me, fingering herself so fast I could hear the slick smacks, she said, "I've got a secret." Oh, yeah, baby. You've got me. Hard and breathless, and right where I wanna be. And I'm so close to the TV, I can see the individual grains of her. And she doesn't stop looking at me when Loser finally makes it into the room. He's huffing and rubbing his thighs, and Goddamn it, the guy's ready for another go! Un-fucking-believable! And he doesn't wait for her to invite him in, he just climbs on the bed and settles his shoulders between her legs and gives her what I wanted to. And she's moaning and grunting and clawing at his head, and the guy, he's getting even more turned on by it. By the taste of her. Shit. Even I could smell her, and I was in the apartment above Loser's place. Jesus, the screaming that went on that night! He got her right to the edge, and I know she was there, too: bucking and screaming and pulling his hair. But he didn't push her over. Oh, no, Loser is too slick for that. He knelt between her wet thighs, spread so far apart it looked like she was doing the splits for me, and he tore off his clothes. Well, nothing actually ripped, but I've never in my life seen anyone strip that fast. And then he laid down on top of her and fucked her. Hard. From the angle I was at, all I could see was her knees hugging his back and her ankles crossed and her fingers carving white lines on his neck. Man, were they going at it! This time she came first. Oh, yeah. And you know what she was whispering when he finally rolled off of her? What her beautiful lips were chanting when she finally closed her eyes? My name. Not his. Mine. He may have possessed her physically, but I know her secrets. I've seen them. Lived them. I own them. The End Acknowledgments: About a week ago, Madeline and Leyla sent me their stories, Secrets I and II. I loved them and instantly they sparked yet another image in my head. Basically, that's what you've just read. Each of the stories is told from a different point of view; telling the truth as each has chosen to see it. Heh heh heh...can you relate? It gives me great pleasure to contribute with two writers whose work I have enjoyed repeatedly over the several years that I've been online. These two women, like the countless other fan fic writers, have remained true to the show, even when the actors, producers, and writers have dismissed and denounced us. To all of those fan fic writers, Madeline and Leyla, and everyone who sees this piece and appreciates it for what it is - an extension of my love for The Show - I dedicate this work.