A/N: I hope people read these. I haven't put 1xR yet because the story isn't there yet. But that's where it's going. Thank you for coming to the second chapter. I wish you enjoyment.

Salka/The Voyeur

A ten hour drive from her isolated, upscale home city made a big difference. Fall came earlier to the new place; people tended to mind their own business; and the university was packed. Sleep came easier with the start of school and work, when there was less time to dwell on not being at home. And with more sleep came less time to stare outside her windows at night.

Relena had discovered in her first week of sleepless nights that all her windows—which were situated on the same side of the apartment—allowed her a view of the other end of the U- shaped property. Lying flat on her stomach in bed, too drowsy to do anything constructive and somehow too alert to fall asleep, she held a blind open with her finger and watched for any movements or changes in the lights across the way. She'd never been privy to the sleeping habits of many others and was surprised that so many people were active even into the early hours of the morning.

A window of particular interest to her was the only other unshaded one, just a few levels below her own. She'd not seen the man again since that first night—not all of him, anyway. His feet made appearances often, as did his shadow coming from the kitchen. Different lights from further in the apartment shone through to the living room window sometimes, indicating that he had a television he sometimes turned on and different shades of yellow and white bulbs in other fixtures.

Relena had watched enough to know that he was awake enough at night to either be returning or leaving at a very late hour, (or early, depending on one's perspective.) Her observations had been so close that she was certain that he was alone. But when she realized that she had noticed that he always wore the same sort of black sock, she knew there was a problem.

"This little obsession is a result of boredom." She spoke to no one in particular, and her voice bounced off the walls of her unfilled apartment. "And it's unhealthy. Tonight, I'm going to sleep." I'd better.

Her self-motivational talk came two days before the start of the semester. It resulted in a dose of night-time cold medicine that kept her asleep until noon the next day and gave her strange dreams about musical buildings.

When she checked her email for the third time the Sunday before the first day of school, she finally saw a new message. It was from Lucrezia Noin, her boss as of the next day. I was an arrangement negotiated by her older brother, Milliardo. Though she had only learned of his existence after her father's death, when she learned that she had been orphaned and adopted before she could remember it, they had forged a surprisingly easy sibling relationship. While she had been adopted by a well-to-do politician and his wife, Milliardo had run away and somehow put himself through military academies by scholarship. Apparently, he'd met Noin in one such institution.

Call me, the message said, followed by her phone number. Relena punched the numbers on her phone.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Noin? This is Relena Darlian. I received your email."

"Oh, good, I was hoping you'd check. I know it's late notice, but I just had a morning meeting moved to the same time as my first class."

"Oh—"

"I hate to miss my first class ever, but I'll need you to cover for me. Can you do it?"

"Uh, that is, I—I'm not sure I'm qualified to do that."

"I know, I'm sorry, I know you're not a class assistant, but I just need you to hand out the syllabus and give them my contact information. It's a grad class, so I'm sure they'll be well behaved."

"Okay. I'm sorry about that. Of course I'll do it."

"Thank you, so much for doing this. I'll leave the syllabi next to my office door. I'll email you the time and the room number right now."

"Thanks, Ms. Noin—"

"Please, just 'Noin.' Sorry, it's a result of military academy. What can I say?"

There was little sleep for Relena that night, for all her nerves, and she took to her chair in her darkened living room. Some people were up, but less than usual; and the most interesting occupant never turned on his lights—at least while she watched.

Along with a chill wind, the next morning was a nightmare. She struggled to find her way to Noin's office on a tiny map she'd printed out, trying to stay out of the way of people who knew where they were going. She'd meant to situate herself on campus that morning, as her classes didn't begin until the afternoon.

To her surprise, she wasn't the only one to arrive to the classroom early. There were already a few younger men seated far apart from each other in the plain room. She tried her hardest not to look at them. She took a seat at the table in front and dropped the stack of syllabi on the surface. She busied herself by reading the cover page. 'Advanced Dynamic Response'? Dear God, I'm definitely not qualified for this.

"Is this Advanced Dynamic Response?"

A tanned man with narrow eyes and dark hair was standing over the desk. She replied 'yes' without missing a beat, without really paying attention. Because it was diverted by something going on behind him; another man was entering the room, looking straight ahead, with a light step. The man who'd spoken to her passed in front of her vision just before the man she was watching seated himself. It reminded her that she was staring. She stopped—but she'd already noticed his shaggy brown hair and his dark blue eyes.

Blushing, she looked back down at the desk. It was impolite to gawk, even if someone was so good-looking. Inappropriate. Someone in the class had a watch that beeped, and she remembered why she was where she was. Her own watch told her it was eight o'clock—time for their first class to begin. She stood and went to the far side of the classroom, handing the stack of papers to the man sitting in front.

"If you could just take one copy and pass it down, please. You can put the extras on the desk." She tried to raise her voice like she'd heard her professors do in the past, but it bounce back to her off the bare walls sounding shaky and somewhat strained. "Unfortunately, Dr. Noin could not be here today. I'll put her contact information on board so you can—"

"Uh, this says we need the fourth edition of Engineering Mechanics: Dynamics. I have the second—will that be okay?"

"I'm sorry, but I really don't know. I'm actually just your professor's assistant, so I have nothing to do with this class. I'm not even a part of the Engineering Department. Like I was saying, I'll just leave Dr. Noin's contact information on the board, and you can field you questions to her."

She stretched her arm as high as she could above her head to copy Dr. Noin's email address and office hours on the dry-erase board and felt an unexpected, unpleasant tingle on her back she knew must be coming from the eyes behind her.

Halfway finished, a movement she saw in the corner of her eye made her pause to watch. The man she'd had to stop herself staring at was walking along the wall toward the front of the room. He stared straight ahead, and the only graceless, undeliberate movement about him seemed to come from the swing of the messenger bag hanging at his side. An implacable sense of recognition tingled her mind as she watched the back side of him move out the open door.

When she finished writing, she collected her things and left the class without a word, her mind on that strange man who had walked out early. Who does he think he is? Is he above needing to know how to get help from his professor? She knew if she were in any sort of engineering class she'd want to memorize her professor's email.

Her obligation fulfilled, Relena followed her map to the building where the political science department was located. A meeting with her advisor was necessary to get the key to her office. The halls were quiet and narrow, and she had to explore to find Dr. Une's office.

She knocked on the door softly.

"Come in."

"Good morning, Dr. Une. I'm Relena Darlian."

"Yes, come in. Have a seat."

She perched on the edge of a chair, nervous for her first personal meeting with her graduate advisor.

"How are you finding the campus, Relena?"

"It's lovely, ma'am, but I think I'll like it better when I don't have to use a map so much."

"So it goes. I don't suppose you've been to any classes yet?"

"Not until this afternoon."

"Then perhaps we should meet at the end of the week. We'll discuss your work then, and start talking about research. How does that strike you?"

"That would be fine, ma'am."

Relena found her office on the fifth floor of the library among a sprawl of others. They were little more than cubicles, really. They had high, lurid, red walls; the doors were plastic and had long rectangular windows in them; the tops of the cubes were open to the library's ceiling.

Having little to fill the office with besides her laptop and a few notebooks, she got it in her mind after about ten minutes of sitting quietly at her new desk that she'd go to the library's atrium for a coffee at the café she'd seen on her way in.

It took some negotiating to secure the cheap lock on the door. She tried not to shake the flimsy walls in her struggle, but she guessed she was making a scene after all when she realized that someone was standing in the narrow pathway looking at her.

Turning her head sideways, her eyes came to meet those of the man she'd already seen that morning. Some chunks of his bangs covered thin sections of his blue eyes—but that did nothing to detract from his penetrating gaze.

"What?" It came out sounding more offensive and aggressive than she'd meant, but she didn't feel sorry for it. Especially when he squeezed past her to continue further down the pathway, smirking before looking away. At least, the thought it was a smirk. Doesn't someone have to smile to smirk?

***********************************************************************

The first month of school passed, easing Relena into a routine and developing sense of normalcy. To boot, there'd been no cause for her to tend to Dr. Noin's morning class anymore, nor had she come across anyone familiar in the vicinity of the grad student offices—the shaggy haired, blue- eyed, smirking man was scarce.

Of course, she was still employed by Noin. For approximately twenty hours a week she busied herself with making copies, processing Scantrons, posting notices around the Engineering department, and filing document request forms for her. The job was less a matter of meager pay and more a matter of busy work. Relena lived off—and probably would for a better part of her life—the inheritance left to her by her adoptive father and her biological family.

She'd actually split the value of the Peacecraft estate with her brother—a brother who told her he'd be coming to visit at the end of the week in an abrupt email that arrived around the time the Relena noticed the leaves starting to curl in on themselves. The trees in the courtyard below her windows had three-pointed leaves. She could see the change in them every day, once they started yellowing. They were a major source of distraction, especially when she hit particularly dry spots in her assigned reading. At those times, she would take to staring absently out her living room window from her chair. In the daylight the windows across the way appeared uniform, unoriginal without the distinctions of curtains and different hued lights.

It had been four months since she'd last seen her brother, so she took advantage of the Saturday on which he visited to go shopping early and make him dinner. Stark and out of place in the beige hallway outside her door, she thought he would have been more surprised if he'd arrived in plain clothes rather than the crisp uniform he wore. Contrarily, his ever long brown hair hung loose behind his shoulders, and his bangs needed clipping.

With a warm, easy hug he greeted her.

"How have you been?"

"Hmm, I've been, I guess."

He arched an eyebrow.

"So-so."

"Would you like to give me a tour?"

"I would. I guess you're the first person to see it."

"The first? You mean you don't have any friends?"

Relena shook her head.

"No boys?"

She squeezed her eyebrows together. "No."

"Alright, then. How about this tour?"

Relena moved throughout her house, pointing out special touches of hers and facts about her things.

" 'This is supposed to be an extra bedroom, but I only use it to study, which is why it's so plain.' 'My closet is built for two people, I think, but I don't mind the extra space.' 'I dropped my coffee pot the first week I was here, so I use a little pot and just tape down the pin, because the machine itself still works….' "

"Why haven't you put curtains up here?" He stood before the three large panes in the living room.

"Oh. I don't know, I guess I like the view."

"As a matter of safety, I would advise you to at least put some blinds up. You never know what sort of person might be looking in on you, learning that you're young and alone."

"Oh, don't be paranoid," –she ignored his scowl—"I hardly spend any time out here anyway. Listen, I went all out since I've not had a chance to cook for anyone yet—"

"You cooked?"

"Don't use that tone, Milliardo. Of course I do; how do you think I've been subsisting on my own?"

"Fine, fine."

"Right. I found a recipe for this dish, and I even bought wine. How about that?"

"How about that."

"You can have a seat out here. I'm getting the wine and the hors d'ouvres."

Relena pottered around in her kitchen, pouring wine in new glasses and arranging slices of cheese on a small plate. As she carried it out to the living room, she observed her brother at the window, staring at something in a decidedly downward direction. She intended to ask what he was looking at after she set the tray carefully on one of the couches, but he addressed her first.

"Do you know anyone else in the building, Relena?"

"Just the manager and the leasing agent. Why?"

"Not any other residents?"

"No. What's wrong, Milliardo?"

"I've seen this man before. In Istanbul, a month ago, in fact."

"What man?" Relena moved to the window, nervous for reasons she could not identify. She stood next to her brother and looked up at him. "Where?"

"Down there, in that window."

"Which one?" The sun had not yet set, and no one had turned their lights on yet. "Where?"

"That one down there, without the shades."

It was enough for Relena; her eyes shot down to the window where she hoped she'd finally see a face to match to the black socks she'd come accustomed to. The frame was empty of any body, though.

"Eh, he left."

"Oh." It disappointed Relena more than she expected it should have. She remained at the window, even after Milliardo moved away."

"You're sure you don't know anyone here?"

"Yes—who was he?"

"Definitely not a friend. Don't worry, it doesn't matter."

"What do you mean he's not a friend?"

"I said not to worry, Relena. Just get yourself some curtains, for God's sake. What's this? Brie?"

"Yes. Did he see you?"

"I'm sure he didn't."

Whether or not her cooking passed for satisfactory, she could not be sure; Milliardo ate everything without complaint. Over a desert of mixed fruit, Relena kept pouring wine.

"May I have some water instead, please?"

"Going soft?"

"No, I'm just going for drinks with Noin later."

She raised one eye in amusement. "Really?"

He nodded.

"Okay."

Being her first visitor, and her first friendly company in weeks, her stomach tightened as Milliardo prepared to leave.

"Have fun with Noin. Don't do anything I wouldn't." She said the last part with only half a heart.

"Now, don't ask that of me. I've got to have some fun on my one day off."

Relena sagged.

"No, I was only kidding, Relena." He put her hands on his shoulders. "I'm so glad I've been to see you, because I can see you're doing everything right. You've got yourself in order."

"Thanks. But you're just saying it doesn't look like I'm having an interesting time of things, aren't you."

"I didn't say that. I'm proud of you."

"Thank you."

"But I still worry about you all alone. I meant it when I said you need to cover your windows. You don't know what kind of sick men are around."

"Are you talking about the one you've seen before?"

"They're everywhere."

"Stop trying to scare me. Off with you."

"Thank you for dinner."

He hugged her firmly and she had to squeeze her eyes shut to keep everything inside.

"Have fun."

"Be careful."

She watched him until he disappeared behind a bend in the hall.

Alone, she was left to clean up the dishes of two people. But she was only one.

It was unwanted, begrudged, but not wholly unexpected when she exploded into a fit of quiet sobs when she settled into her chair in the resounding quiet and darkness of her home. The lights across the way stood out in the night, and were blurred through her tears.

She cried until she couldn't anymore. She cried until she couldn't move. Through her swollen, warm eyes she stared absently out her windows, depressing herself further by keeping her promise to her brother by staying invisible despite the bare window. All the lights were out, so she sat close without any concern.

When the emotional exhaustion caught up to her body and she began to feel drowsy, she lifted her head to take in one final account of the lights across the way. In her distress she hadn't noticed—and she could have hit herself for it—that the object of her special interest's light was on. With shadows. And feet. And activity.

She pitched forward in her chair, as if being a foot and a half closer to the window would make a difference in her view. He was doing something in the kitchen, judging from the movement of his shadow and his feet. She looked to the table. There were several black, irregular shaped pieces spread out across the table—she looked away, uninterested and unable to identify them.

A gasp escaped her when he sat down at the table and she got her second full view of him. It's been a long time coming. Her view revealed little of the man's features, as he was hunched over the things on the table. He picked them all up and put them down again while she watched him confidently from her dark distance.

What she paid attention to was the profile she was able to discern with much scrutiny. The shape of his chin, his nose, his…hair. Dozens of images came to her mind to rest alongside her view of his bangs in profile: the stock-still silhouette in a window; black socks moving across a carpet; a belligerent and ambivalent grace; a strange smirk outside her office.

The man across the way stood, the pieces on the table gathered and assembled, and put his hand on the object on his table. I know who… he's…. Her eyes moved from the black socks at the floor, to the gun under his hand, up to the bangs that hung over his forehead. In recognition, at last.

A/N: This was a little longer than I intended, and it's got me thinking that the entire piece will be a little longer than I originally planned. But I think it's going to be okay. But let me just tell you that I'm definitely feeling iffy about this, and I'd really appreciate some feedback. Is something not working for you? Is there anything you have to say about—well, anything about it? Because I feel like I'm shooting in the dark the entire time I write this. Thanks a bunch for reading. –Penguinator27 1/10/09, 11:48 pm.