Title: Eye on Essen
Author: spaghettitoes
Recipient: 4nn4
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Constanze, Jenny, Ingo, Florian, Tom, Claudia, Ben, Vanessa, Deniz, Roman, unnamed extra, original character. Tom/Flo, Vanessa/Extra, Deniz/Roman.
Summary: One of the employees of the Steinkamp centre gives us an inside view on what happened around episodes 995-999.
Rating: Soft R
Warning(s): Creative, slightly stereotypical, character insight.
Word Count: 4,391
Author's Notes: Beta’d by my patient darling who puts up with so much!






This, this was what Ekkehardt lived for. This was what made everything worthwhile: settling down at his computer in the small hours of the morning with a bowl of microwave popcorn and a litre of cola. This was also the reason he and his dentist were on a first name basis. Editing together the weekly bulletin for his blog however was the culmination of his week and he felt incomplete without it. Summarising life into weekly instalments, looking back and reviewing it neatly left him with a sense of purpose and accomplishment. Getting triple the usual number of comments with every video post didn’t hurt either.

Removing his notebook from underneath a mostly empty coffee mug Ekkehardt flipped the pages back to Monday and decided where to restart his home-made drama. As he read over notes and timestamps for Roman and Deniz he felt nostalgic, remembering how certain he had been that people would catch on to him. Their online fan base had been quite something at the time and he could see how well they kept an eye on it. He knew eventually someone would mention his blog on the wrong chat board and he’d be fired.

It was almost laughable when he realised how short-lived that interest was. Essen had no time for the internet unless it served their immediate agenda and his subscribers knew what they were doing. Twelve year olds with a propensity for gossip were not permitted. Making the animated Brad Pitt warning people about other notice boards had been fun, a lot more fun than he thought a grown man should get from playing with a picture of another man’s head but the one thing he had learnt from this job was that sexuality, especially his, was a fluid concept.

The tenor bleep signifying the end of the information transfer was an immensely satisfying thing. Not only was it a signal that he could start editing his video together but a reminder of the three days he had spent carefully bypassing security protocols to allow his PC access to the CCTV system for the first time. The exorbitant amount of protection in place on the system told him someone else had overseen its installation – the Steinkamps’ concept of privacy was negligible at best.

Humming thoughtfully around a mouthful of popcorn Ekkehardt’s fingers danced through his notes and he decided to start with the main lobby.

* * *

Camera 6 gave the best angle of Constanze as she worked at the desk, the full force of her smile and the endless waves of hair combining to knock Ekkehardt back in his chair. But he had to wait for just the right time to introduce her so instead he sped up the feed from Camera 7. The centre’s staff and visitors hurried past in a blur while he hummed the Benny Hill theme song to himself. He would never use that in the sound-track, it would spoil any façade of artistic endeavour he put on his work, but it summarised the Steinkamp centre perfectly. Just when the hurrying feet got too insistent, suggested that maybe he should be working faster, that everything needed to be faster and more efficient, Ekkehardt faded into Camera 6 and melted in his chair.

There was a perfect song for Constanze he just hadn’t found it yet. It played quietly in the back of his thoughts as he watched her smile warmly to everyone that stopped at the desk. When she grinned excitedly to herself at some good-looking visitor or giggled at an email she shouldn’t have been reading he moved in closer for a conspiratorial moment only they shared. She had received two emails that made her laugh this week, the blog knew and now they would see how she had laughed. Everyone could enjoy the moment when she held her hand to her mouth in shock then gently bit her lip before clicking it again.

Normally he’d fade right off into another room completely, the pool was his favourite, but recently someone else had caught his attention. There would be at least one moment where Jenny passed through reception looking lost. This time she’d slipped in on Camera 5 and he faded the video in time to her footsteps. Eyes wide she absorbed her surroundings until it darkened her face. Poised and elegant, sorrow flowed in her wake, twisting like the ripples of the pool. Ekkehardt paused the video and touched her face with gentle concern before cutting to a lone swimmer on her final lap of the pool. Looking over his notes he circled the red pen around a reminder with a sigh, wishing Jenny had danced this week. It had been too long.

He needed Ingo. One pool shot blended into another and Camera 9 gave the best view, encompassing Ingo and his class. The comments on these clips said everything, most people watched for the extraordinary collection of women in bikinis exercising. Ekkehardt watched for Ingo, for the cringingly bad jokes and the cheerful wiggle of his hips. The combination sparked something inside him that seemed beyond his newly discovered appreciation of his own gender. Something about the free abandon, the lack of restraint that Ingo radiated was pulling.

As he demonstrated the next exercise, not afraid to become closely acquainted with the gaudy pink pool noodle in front of an audience, Ingo joked with his class and laughed, jokes so bad and inappropriate Ekkehardt felt himself blush. Every woman in the class must have felt the same way, guilty smiles covered with hands. Giggles were silenced but inevitably visible as they shook in the water.

Ekkehardt let the original video play on while he pondered his notes again, scribbling out old ideas and adding in new ones, occasionally looking up and squinting at Ingo’s latest pose.

In a burst of action Ingo was removed and a bouncing cut used to replace him and his class with a very self-assured Florian walking down the corridor towards Camera 12. Florian’s hips sprung back with every step, the standard-issue Steinkamp polo shirt hanging helplessly from his shoulders, wildly trying to contain the energy he threw out with every movement. He rounded the corner and switching to the feed from Camera 14 Ekkehardt bestowed upon his subscribers Florian’s facial expression when he spotted Tom by the bar with his sister. The video had to be slowed down to portray the moment completely, a glimpse of recognition and a second of thoughtful stillness before Florian’s expression softened and his eyes fixed on Tom until his gaze was returned.

The sudden aversion of Florian’s eyes and his subtle smile was timed perfectly and Ekkehardt clumsily aimed a handful of popcorn into his mouth as he watched with wide eyes fixed on the screen. He had long since stopped trying to decide if he wanted Florian or wanted to be him. He longed to know more about him, about how someone so young had learnt to subtly manipulate people, to be what the situation demanded of him. In Ekkehardt’s eyes he seemed to know, instinctively, how to behave with people; flirting boisterously with the outgoing girls, preening and asserting himself with teammates, becoming innocent and fragile when he needed something. From his control room he had learnt little of Florian’s history but wanted to know what had happened to create such a beautiful and terrifying creature, one so keened to survive and yet ready to abandon himself to pleasure.

Ekkehardt had never seen the moment Tom and Florian first met but he wanted to analyse it and understand what Florian had seen. He played to Tom’s hidden desire perfectly. With a sudden cut to the feed from Camera 15 Tom’s eyes caught onto Florian and followed him, lingering on where he had left the room as Isabelle continued to talk unheard. Tom nodded faintly and made his excuses before following Florian, his pace held down but a pressing urgency apparent on his features.

Florian’s timid smile was just visible as he backed into the sights of Camera 29, looking at Tom with encouraging eyes and a half spoken hello.

Tom remained silent, an intensity building in him retained only for Florian, deep blue eyes surrounding and drowning him. The image blended perfectly into Camera 24, angled down on them as Florian lifted himself onto the edge of a crate. There was an aura of excitement and trepidation as he watched Tom approach, unable to divide the two emotions but welcoming them anyway. Ekkehardt felt a lump catch in his throat as he remembered the concentrated energy in Tom’s expression. He had captured it once on Camera 17 and re-watched it the entire night. Something Florian had done, something he did in that moment of eye contact, caused the laser like concentration of Tom’s passions and thoughts.

Tom leaned over Florian, pushing him back on the crate as he pressed himself along the length of Florian’s body. They kissed insistently, always did, Tom strong and demanding with every fibre of his being and Florian more than ready to be caught-up in his pull. Camera 24 was high in the ceiling and this particular storeroom gave no alternative point of view but it was enough. Tom pressed on, his hips moving against Florian’s with dizzying skill, the hard push of denim against a cheap cotton blend. Watching him was hypnotic, the careful slide and subtle twist of his body leaving Ekkehardt speechless. There was nothing left for Florian but to hold on, clinging and grasping to the man overwhelming him. The weak microphone on Camera 24 could detect the pleading gasps and moans Florian released as he fell deeper under Tom’s influence and Ekkehardt could only wonder at such abandon and disregard for personal welfare.

The first time Florian’s pager went Tom plucked it from his belt and dropped it to the floor before without a glance; his hand quickly returning to push further under the distraught, standard-issue Steinkamp polo shirt. On the second electronic announcement Tom groaned with anger and frustration, pulling back enough to look him in the eye. Oblivious, Florian tugged him closer again, clawing his hands across Tom’s back as he explained about the pager. Florian’s expression changed in an instant, the wall separating him from reality sliding out and he slipped from under Tom, apologising and swearing as he left.

Ekkehardt faded the video out for the next scene, keeping the original feed playing as Tom collapsed onto the crate and rolled onto his back. Even frustration was attractive on him, his hair splayed out, tumbling around his face as he bit his bottom lip and unzipped his jeans.

This would never make it onto the web, it wasn’t that kind of blog, but Ekkehardt couldn’t stop himself watching the clip again. He sank lower in his chair and tried to ignore the pulsing he felt, rubbing his hand firmly down the seam of his trousers as though expunging a dull ache.

Tom hurried away fabric and moved further back. He laughed lightly at himself as he settled into position, hair hanging over the end of the crate and feet poised on the side. The abandon on Tom’s face was intoxicating as he succumbed fully to the moment; Ekkehardt couldn’t close his eyes or look away from his smile, the steady and enthusiastic movement of his hand and the playful moans that echoed around the room.

No matter how many times he watched Tom, Ekkehardt felt the same ache but he had given in too many times. Instead he let it build until it hurt, watched the scene to the end because he couldn’t stop it, hands clasped firmly to the arms of his chair as he listened and imagined.

* * *

Pacing the halls was required, pacing and the serious contemplation of the new AMD processors. Ekkehardt returned to his chair with a coffee he would forget to drink and renewed enthusiasm for his task. He opened his notebook out, the two pages lying side by side and detailing the carefully constructed plan for the next clip. Source material hadn’t been a problem but it had taken a while to find just the right backing music.

This would be the comic relief in his video and Ekkehardt laughed to himself as he cut one piece of footage into the next so Claudia danced back and forth across the screen. In a way it made him laugh, seeing her appear suddenly on different cameras, eyes narrowed and vigilant. She moved like a bird of prey, long arms and legs moving with careful grace. She had stalked quietly in the background on so many of his monitors he had, for a while, been terrified she was on to him. But with time he developed a feeling of kinship with her; they were both watching from the sidelines, looking for some connection, some way to be a part of the world they were watching. Even if ultimately her goals were more nefarious than his he felt some sympathy for her, for how desperately she wanted to be part of the story rather than an observer.

Ekkehardt watched the montage of Claudia a few times, laughing quietly to himself and eating popcorn. He knew what was up next, he pointedly avoided looking at his notes because even he didn’t want to watch the hen-night, thrown together in the centre at the last minute. After watching the footage the following morning he had dedicated most of the day to writing his opinion about it for the blog, an endless stream of thought that had wandered well from the original point. Flipping through his notes it all started to pour through his mind again, until he caught on another name and smiled.

Finding the right point on the tape was easy and Ekkehardt let himself watch it in full, an irrepressible smile spread across his face, before cutting it together.

Tom and Ben appeared on Camera 1, sunlight fading behind them with the enviable sloth of a summer night as they approached the Steinkamp Centre. There was an undeniable bounce to their footfalls, a light dancing rhythm as they talked and laughed together. A sharp cut to Camera 2 and they were dancing, freely letting the rhythm in both their minds unite their actions. Tom moved freely, effortlessly and infectiously. Ben had no qualms in matching him, letting their legs slide together as Tom moved around him. The rhythm of Tom’s chest undulating caused a surging, palpable energy that passed into Ben and radiated outwards.

Their laughter was childishly innocent as Tom turned around and Ben slapped his backside, falling onto Tom’s shoulders and chuckling into his ear as they walked towards the front door. Fading into the feed from Camera 4 carefully revealed their mischievous grins as they plotted quietly together. With their first step through the main doors Ekkehardt faded out to black, more than happy to ignore the fiasco that followed.

Fading in slowly to the feed from Camera 9 Ekkehardt watched Jenny again, her silent contemplation of the party and its guests only part of what weighed on her mind. He sighed when she did, her chest rising and falling slowly as she tried to muster energy, planned the façade she would wear for her audience as she tried again to salvage another disaster. Her shoulders dropped. Her careful poise broken she stayed in place, unwilling or unable to move. Ekkehardt felt himself break, wondered if this was what it was like to see heroes and gods fall from grace. The Jennifer Steinkamp he saw was a shadow of the woman he had come to know when he first moved to Essen. He remembered every time he had seen her walk along corridors and from one room to another, confidence ebbing away. He thought she might stay there, might fade into the wall or become nothing more than the image on his screen.

No camera showed where Vanessa had come from. When she wanted to she moved through the centre like a child sneaking through a favourite playground. She knew every gap, every short cut and she appeared behind Jenny like she had been wished there. Creeping in behind her and wrapping warm arms around her waist Vanessa rested the side of her head between Jenny’s shoulder blades, holding to her with innocent compassion. Neither spoke but Vanessa held tightly to her sister as though she might fly away, keeping her grounded, making her tangible.

Camera 11 showed Jenny’s face and the tear that rolled silently down her cheek but Ekkehardt couldn’t show it, instead he zoomed in on Vanessa’s face, fading out slowly, giving the time needed to read the fear and love on her face.

Vanessa was quickly becoming one of Ekkehardt’s favourite people. She had spent most of the time since her return in the centre, talking with her friends and family. He had never seen her before, sure he’d heard people talk about her, stories told and events recalled but he’d become certain she was a mythical being. No one could match up to the expectations he had for her. Watching her he smiled, felt scandalised and embarrassed, rolled with laughter or spent hours in careful contemplation. He knew the time was coming when she would leave again and he clung to every moment he could get with her.

Warm but subtle music faded in over the darkness until Ekkehardt knew the mood could change and then he faded in to the feed from Camera 48, to Vanessa and one of the party guests standing beside a window. The woman, long hair slicked over her shoulder, looked down to the rink as Vanessa talked to her enthusiastically about the centre. It was a tale that required exaggerated gestures and a smile so broad and bright it outshone the lights spotting the ice rink.

Vanessa’s attention remained on the woman in her company, a careful hand reaching across to occasionally fix a lock of hair or play with an edge of fabric. A gentle blend into Camera 47 revealed the moment when Vanessa pulled her companion closer, when their lips met with fierce energy and fingers drew through hair, clawed at skin. Vanessa’s top moved without resistance, gave up her warm skin easily as she encouraged their actions further into the room. Any moral dilemma was taken from Ekkehardt when they chose the one desk in the office unobserved by any camera and he left his subscribers with the torturous moment as they moved from view, replaced by the stationery that was scattered to the floor.

The rink at night was beautiful, best viewed through Camera 32. On occasion someone would sneak in to practice hockey or figure skating and only switch on the rink lights. The darkness of the surrounding stadium bled away until the space failed to exist, until there was only the ice and brilliant light that illuminated it. As soon as the lights flickered on Ekkehardt knew he would include it in his video no matter what happened. Looking at it now he took a deep breath and questioned that decision.

Deniz walked slowly from the door to the edge of the rink, his eyes fixed on the ice as he replaced his shoes with skates. The brief glimpses he had seen of Deniz or Roman in the last few days had left Ekkehardt with a distasteful sense of finality about their relationship and it was starting to hurt, seeing two people so broken.

Deniz looked lost in the rink alone and he stayed on the sidelines for so long that it looked like he might never venture out, dwelling in the pale glow of reflected light. Slowly fading to Camera 31 showed the pained thoughts that bore on him and turned his expression. When at last he stepped onto the ice, one trembling and uncertain foot touching down he looked so hurt and unsure that his eyes shook as the light caught the tears welling in his eyes.

Both feet firmly balanced on tearing blades Deniz paused before pushing out and as he moved Ekkehardt cut back to Camera 32. A flurry of ice rose up behind Deniz, flying behind him like the tail of a comet to twist in the confusion he left behind and fall back to the ground. Every grain caught the light as it travelled, sparkling and dimming before it melted into the brilliant glow of the indeterminate surface of the ice.

Deniz reached out his left arm and as he sped forward Ekkehardt felt a twist of pain in his stomach. There was no doubting what he was doing; the routine, the last one Deniz had performed with Roman, was etched into his memory and over-shadowed with pain. Deniz must have felt it too and as he slowed to stop he collapsed on himself, his feet still balanced on the ice but his body folded down and a shudder in his shoulders. He stood up in a sudden arc, momentum pushing him forward and demanding his attention as he wiped at the tears flowing freely from his eyes.

Camera 34 was there for competitions and it gave an exceptional view of Deniz as he stopped in the centre of the rink, his face portraying the unbridled agony that this change in his life caused. His face was alien for a moment, too hurt and lost to be the man who had skated on this ice before. Still, the rink echoed memories of what he had been and the things he had done. There was too much there to be left behind, to be cast away and forgotten. It couldn’t be dismissed or he would become someone else, a person he didn’t know.

Deniz stood tall on the ice, a seed of realisation planted in his mind he tried one final time to call back the past. He raised his right arm into the air briskly and looked ahead as he dug the tip of his blade into the ice. Ekkehardt felt a painful sting as he remembered the try outs and realised what he was doing. Deniz’s eyes retained the desire, the need for Roman beside him and he clung to it with desperate certainty. But as he waited, reflecting a time when he knew unfailingly what Roman would do, it slowly faded. Knowing what he wanted he held on to the idea and willed it forward, calling Roman back to the ice, back to him. He closed his eyes, the light highlighting the concentration in his features as he focused his thoughts and willed Roman, wishing and hoping with the passion of a child set on the first star of night. But there was only the glow of light around him and the gentle hum of the fluorescent bulbs.

A heavy breath escaped gently parted lips, the gentle mist twisting around Deniz’s face before it faded and he opened his eyes to the silence around him. Wishing would never be enough. He pushed forward and moved slowly to the edge of the rink, looking over his shoulder as he stepped into the shadow. Away from the dazzling lights of the ice rink the rest of the room rolled out before him and he slowly walked away, his head hung low in contemplation.

As the lights switched off in quick succession the room was washed with darkness, the sudden contrast a shock to the eyes and the camera sensors. A remnant of light clung to the corner of the screen that could easily be an illusion.

Ekkehardt’s mind and fingers worked instinctively, pulling up the footage from Camera 36, awkwardly aimed between support beams. His hand shook as he tried to match the time stamps and he reached for his cola, drinking to distract himself as he counter ticked by. It was difficult to tell when the light first appeared, when the door had opened and the faint glow from outside tried to compete with the spotlights.

As he refined the filters and the settings adjusted the image cleared and there was no denying the familiar figure that stood in the doorway.

Roman waited, primed for movement but holding himself to the edge. He cast a small and unimposing shadow, overwhelmed by everything in front of him. Roman was poised and eager to move, Ekkehardt had seen enough of Roman to know that much, to recognise that desire Deniz inspired consuming him. But the inaction, the self-doubt was new. It was more than anxiety or fear, a crippling loss of confidence in his ability to trust his own judgement.

With a deep breath that moved his chest in a slow and painful sigh Roman dug his hands into his pockets, his shoulders falling in defeat. He turned slowly and left, the last flicker of light leaving with him and the ice rink lost completely.

* * *

Ending it like that felt bad, felt wrong but Ekkehardt didn’t want it any other way. Of everything he had seen, locked away but unable to separate himself from what happened in the Centre day to day, this was the most important message he could send. He had seen people brought down by schemes and underhanded deeds. Plans, businesses and lives had been destroyed by bad choices and the malice of others but to see Roman so destroyed by himself was unsettling. Because Ekkehardt knew it was inside him too, his own insecurities and doubts could eat him away and undermine him just as easily if they were given power.

Saving and finalising the video Ekkehardt stood up and paced the room, the bowl of popcorn tucked under his arm for easy access as he ate the last of it. He stopped and looked at the wall of monitors, watching as the early risers moved around outside. There was nothing to do now but wait for another day to unfold before him. He yawned, starting the upload before he fell into the recliner and relaxed, falling asleep before the progress bar reached 100%.