Find Rest By Any Means
R
Post-Karnak. Dan/Laurie. Dan is haunted.
It starts with nightmares.
Not even particularly frightening ones, just disconcerting. He dreams of darkness and of iced blood in snow and of pools of dark green in alleyways. When he wakes, shaking, startled, he tries not to wake up Laurie. He tries not to listen to the rushing-wind sound in his ears that makes his entire body tingle with acute fear.
"You OK?" Laurie asks, more and more often, brushing the back of her hand over his cheek. They aren't at a point where he can lie to her; when he tells her about the dreams and the worrying way they cling to his skin, she does her best to soothe him. Sometimes it works. Often it makes Dan feel a little sick, a little paranoid; and it's hard not to look back when they make love. It feels like he's being watched. He doesn't like that.
*
It's taken them long enough to properly settle, but now that they have, they begin recreating their identities. Laurie argues with him about the benefits of visiting a professional tailor, because they can't spend enough money to keep someone quiet. They make do, buying Kevlar at three different stores and learning how to work a sewing machine. Dan's only been able to save his goggles - Archimedes sits in the ocean, unusable, sunk deep enough to avoid submarines and boats. He still has the remote, of course, but he reminds himself that they need to be careful.
Fortunately, it's easy enough to recreate the other things he's lost. He tries to be more practical, working on a special radar and on a non-lethal taser and various gas bombs. He sleeps easy the nights he works the hardest. Predictably, he works until long after Laurie's gone to bed, smiling at him over her shoulder but not expecting him to leave his work for her. (Occasionally, the thought crosses his mind that he is replaying his parent's marriage; he dismisses it each time - after all, they will hit the streets together.)
The feeling that he is being watched is lessened by his definitive sense of purpose, which is a relief. He's never been one to harbor paranoia; it doesn't sit well with him.
*
Their costumes are almost finished, but they still don't have decisive names. Part of it is that it's hard to let go of who they were (faces on top of faces); part of it is that neither of them have ever had to worry about names before.
"Oh," Laurie says one evening, sprawled on the couch and stretching out a length of rope, "I know. You can be Rorschach II -"
"Laurie!"
" - and I'll be Ms. Manhattan." She grins at him upside-down, coiling the rope around her forearms. "Or is that too obvious?"
"No. No way." He knows it's a joke, but hearing that name (how long has it been now, how long) hurts in a way that he can't explain. It sets his teeth on edge, too, makes him panicky, and he's not sure he wouldn't hit her if she said that name again. The sensation is startling and nerve-wracking; he adjusts his glasses and sits back. "Don't joke about that," he adds once he's sure he will say what he means.
Laurie studies him, hair slipping over the edge of the couch in loose strands. She doesn't apologize; instead she gets up and wraps her bound arms around his neck. They stay like that a long time.
*
Their first night of official patrol is on foot and incredibly anticlimactic - which, really, Dan should've expected. They chase some vandals out of an alley, which they think means it'll be a busy night. It's not, though, the streets offering nothing more vulgar than Veidt's ads and the occasional crumpled porno mag loose in the breeze. The longer they skulk the streets, the less Dan wants to stay out. He knows they're not being followed - there's no subtle footsteps or shifting shadows, and when he checks his radar, he and Laurie are the only people on the streets within fifty feet.
He knows there's no reason to look over his shoulder, no reason to stay on guard. Still, he can't help but feel every brush of wind as a breath at his neck; the streetlights feel like eyes; a loose can hitting his foot feels like a hand reaching up, ice-cold, not stopping at his ankle but clawing up to his throat.
"Take it easy," Laurie says, trying to smile at him.
Dan looks at her, at the bold curves of her body, encased in dark spandex and Kevlar. His heart picks up, but it's not from lust. "Right," he laughs, "just feels a little weird being out again."
*
He expects the nightmares to cease completely once they pick up patrol, and for a time, they do. Dan works out after his day job (11 to 4 in a hardware store), tinkers with his gear, suits up - when he sleeps, it's a grateful one, hard to jar. It's the moments between that begin setting him off - one night during a shower, the water goes cold; he warns Laurie about it, but when she comes out of the bathroom she's frowning. Behind her, the mirror is obscured by steam.
Another time he's taking a nap - just a quick one - and is woken by their front door opening and slamming shut. Dan lays still and listens to Laurie moving about the kitchen, opening and shutting the fridge - but by the time he rouses himself out of bed, the apartment's empty. (Nothing's missing or even out of place, and when Dan asks their landlady if she'd heard anyone coming up the stairs, she insists she hadn't.)
And once - just once - he is washing his hands when he looks up. Suddenly he hears Laurie yelling for him - the mirror is broken and his hand is bleeding down his forearm - all he did was blink - and when Laurie stitches up his hand, he tells her that he doesn't want to talk about it (not that he doesn't know what's happening, never that, because the prospect closes his throat).
*
The nightmares, inevitably, pick up.
*
He'd only seen the carnage from a distance, why is it so vivid -
*
"Oh, Daniel. Daniel, Daniel, Daniel…Please -"
His face bruising like a video fast-forwarding, going black and blacker and splitting open, splitting raw and wide -
"Do grow up."
*
"Holy shit," Laurie moans, "Dan, what…Dan, talk to me, please."
*
They talk about taking a break from patrol until - until Dan is feeling better. "It'll give you some time to work on that new car," Laurie tells him, smiling only with her mouth and rubbing his neck. "You've been stressing. It'll be good for you. Hell, if you want I can keep patrolling - not like I've never done it alone."
"If you want," Dan says miserably, staring at his reflection in a mug of tea.
It lasts three days, until he sees an article in the newspaper about a double homicide - and he doesn't know if he can attribute his shivering to rage or something else entirely, but he does know that he can't remain docile any longer. He has a duty, and he can't shirk it just because strange things are happening to him. That night he suits up, and when Laurie asks him if he's sure, he only glares at her and snaps his goggles over his eyes.
*
There are long, twisting alleyways in his dreams - ones he knows by heart but which are contorted in his sleep. Ever present are long bridges of tentacles, dripping overhead, embedded into buildings that are on the edge of collapse. He moves over bodies, only catching sight of them in his periphery; their faces stay with him, decorated in blood that always seems so perfectly symmetrical, that resembles -
Always the path is the same, down streets that feel like cobblestone for all the debris and shattered glass underfoot. He is going to a skyscraper; it is untouched, brilliant against a horizon of gray steel and shining windows. The Veidt building. He must go to the Veidt building, because New York needs him, New York is turning in on herself and she needs him to do this. The graceless, ungrateful city deserves better, and that is why his path is always to the Veidt building, the shining V of the roof glowing like a beacon.
*
Nothing's happened outside of his control, not for two long, tense months; and if the nightmares and constant feel of being observed is the price to pay for that small peace, he's glad to pay.
*
He and Laurie bust their first major drug ring together; to celebrate, they climb into the backseat of his car and have hurried sex (zippers catching and Dan hitting his funny bone so hard that he doesn't stop cursing for a while). It's going pretty great, really - no problems with the equipment, and recently he's figured out this trick that drives Laurie crazy - and God it's been ages since sex has been so exciting.
Laurie's hooked her legs around his waist when it happens - he just starts shaking. At first he ignores it, but within a minute it's so bad that he's having trouble seeing straight, and…and it's not shaking so much as it is spasms, and he wonders dimly if he's having a seizure.
"Hey - Christ, what's the matter? Dan - Dan!" Laurie pushes herself up, holds his face at eye-level, but he can't - just - focus on her. "Dan, look at me, hey, what's going on? Shit, don't tell me you used to have epileptic seizures as a kid, god damn it - do you need a hospital?"
Dan moans and brings his arms in on himself, shuddering and bowing low. "Stop," he whispers, "stop."
"Dan -" Dim yellow light from a nearby streetlight illuminates the tears tracking down her face. "What is it, huh? Talk to me!"
"Please," he groans, because what else can he do? "Please, stop."
And it does.
*
Laurie lights up her third cigarette in half an hour. "I mean, we could try a priest. I guess."
Dan rubs his forehead, staring up at the ceiling. "Look, we don't even know if that's…if that's what's happening."
"Maybe you should call Veidt," she suggests, managing to intonate Veidt like fuck.
"No." Dan shuts his eyes. "I, uh…don't think that'd help. At all."
Laurie sighs and stubs out the cigarette, half-finished. "Well fuck."
*
Laurie's on recon for the night, silent as a mouse over her transmitter - she hasn't complained in an hour, which is a funny enough thought to make Dan smile to himself as he turns into an alley and adjusts his goggles. It feels strange to split up with her - working together is a matter of course and has been from the beginning. At least the night's been quiet so far, though a few hours ago Dan cuffed a pusher to a light post.
"Fuckin' wedgie," Laurie grumbles over the transmitter.
Before Dan can reply to that (now, Laurie, save the dirty talk for later) a scream rings out to his right. On full alert, Dan turns and bolts down the street, listening hard - there is another shout, cut short and muffled almost immediately, but it's enough. Running into the alley, Dan sees them - two men have a woman cornered. He can see a knife clear as day, running up her thigh, and if the woman is screaming anymore Dan doesn't hear it past the blood pounding in his ears.
Driven by acute, sudden rage, Dan storms towards them. He drives the heel of his hand into the neck of the first; the second turns, sees him, but it's too late because the knife was moving up her skirt and - and Dan knows what is happening before it happens for the first time.
There are only blurs, and a sharp pain in his wrist, and by the time he is himself again he is covered in blood.
*
They both agree another break is necessary. Laurie splints his wrist and lays against him at night, very still. He is acutely aware of every inch of his body, taut and dangerous. Dangerous. It's never occurred to him that anyone else would be in danger - he's across the country from Veidt, after all, and everything so far has been an internal breaking. Not even a real danger to him, just the panicked lashing out that comes with those trapped in corners.
*
When he dreams, it is cold. It is cold and palm trees rise out of the snow, bending against the Antarctic wind. It is cold, and his nose is sore, and his partner is telling him never compromise, and it doesn't even sound like goodbye, it just sounds irritated and rough.
It is cold, and everything is white and blue and frozen deep, cracking open. It is cold, and Dan reaches up to his face; he peels his skin away, blood frozen to his skull - and there is only a moment of pause where all he can think is New York, New York, and then the light is warm, the light is -
*
(Daniel, Daniel, Daniel.
Black and blacker and splitting, blood freezing on his neck, eyes rolled up, gone, only a cold sneer left, gone.)
*
"Dan. Dan."
He blinks.
"Where are you going?" The light that runs down Laurie's stomach is pale, very pale.
Dan looks at his hand, resting on the doorframe.
"I don't know," he answers her.
*
Dan is sitting in a chair in their kitchen, gloves resting in his lap. It's early August and the windows are open, but he is very cold. Goosebumps run up his forearms, climb their way into his stomach. He knows if he just turns around, if he just looks - but all he can do is shut his eyes. It is an admittance of presence, the only one he can safely give.
"What do you want from me?" he asks the air, but it's ridiculous. He knows the answer. Of course he does.
There is a pressure at the base of his skull. It might be an apology.
It's equally likely that Dan is just losing his mind.
*
"God," Laurie murmurs, staring at their mirror. Dan sits on the rim of the bathtub and takes off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes; they're incredibly sore. "This is seriously fucked up." There are patterns in black all across the mirror; the smell is so overpowering that Dan thinks he might vomit. "And you don't even…remember buying the paint."
"No." He puts his head in his hands. "I don't."
"Okay," she says. "Okay." Kneeling next to him, she hugs his neck. "Are you scared?"
"Aren't you?"
He can feel someone watching them.
*
Dan wakes up in a motel in Iowa, hair dyed brown again. He calls Laurie to tell her he's all right. He doesn't bother attempting the drive back.
*
After breakfast, things get fuzzy again.
*
The next time he is of present mind, he is standing in an alleyway - one he remembers well, actually, because he almost died here in '66. A Katie-head got lucky, put him in the hospital for a month. He doesn't feel anything in particular when he sees where he is. There's change enough in his pockets for a phone call.
"Hey, Laurie," he murmurs into the phone. "I love you."
"You're gonna be fine," Laurie snarls at him; he can hear the flick of a lighter. "Stop talking like - that."
Dan shuts his eyes. "Well, if I'm not," he insists.
"Yeah," she whispers. "Love you too."
When he hangs up, things fade out again. He's grateful at least for the phone call.
*
When Dan opens his eyes, there is symmetry looking back. There is no need to question anything about the moment. He knows what he has to do.
Dan tightens the belt of his trench coat, turns, and walks out of the motel.
The Veidt building is not far away at all.