A/N: DISCLAIMER- I do not own Watchmen in any way, shape, or form.

This plot mostly follows the graphic novel, with little tid bits of the movie in it. The actors from the film are how I picture the characters to look like. Francise Jean Speziale/The Queen is my own creation.


"Murder."

"What happened?"

"Thrown from apartment window."

My thumb glided across the smooth yellow surface. First tracing the iconic smile and then the bloodstain.

Murdered.

"Someone knows."

Still gazing at the pin, I whispered,
"Take me to where you found this, Rorschach."


I was young. I was seventeen.

The mask fad was booming. All over there were people dressing up and taking the filth of society into their own barbaric hands. Maybe it was out of suburban boredom. Maybe it was out of the need to escape my home life. But I became one of these people. I ran away from my family. I lived on the rundown streets of ghetto New Jersey. I stole food to survive. I showered in homeless shelters to keep clean. In a garbage bag, I carried my only cherished items: my hero costume and its accessories. Back then it was just tight fitting black clothes with steel-toe boots, brass knuckles, and a hockey mask. On the back of my long sleeved shirt, a crown emblem blazed. I was the Queen of the streets.

I was young. I was hotheaded.

I worked, without pay, at a small boxing club. In exchange for menial labor, I received training. My boss, Joe, would train me everyday after my shift. He would give me home-cooked meals, helped me when I was too bruised to move, and showed me how to take medical care of my wounds. He was the only father figure I ever had. I was relentless in my training. I became the best out of the young kids at the club, able to beat any of them at a challenge. I brought what I learned to the streets. I stopped robbers, muggers, small gang fights. I even helped a kid escape a fire. I saw my alias in the papers. A tickle of pride set itself in my chest. I felt like somebody.

Not soon after the fire incident, I saw an ad. An ad for masked heroes. Captain Metropolis from the old Minutemen was forming a new alliance. I took a train to the city. I left Joe without a last word. I left my old streets. New ones waited for me.

What a joke the meeting was.

I was seventeen and I still was not the youngest one at attendance. That title belonged to Silk Spectre II. I stood next her, feeling like second-rate shit. I was a street urchin. My costume was cheap. I looked dirty. I had a bigger, more athletic build. She was petite and womanly. Her outfit accentuated her figure and made her look professional. They all looked professional, even the one named Rorschach.

Doctor Manhattan stood across the room. Apathetic. He would sneak glances at Silk Spectre. He seemed ominous to me. Something I could not understand. Was he a man? Was he God? Was he our own personal man-made God? His abilities were limitless. He could vaporize a person in a second. Us mortals in costumes were just pretenders compared to him.

Doctor Manhattan was the real thing.

Nite Owl II seemed the most sincere out of the group. He explained his and Rorschach's partnership and the headway they had taken against the gangs of the city. Ozymandius sat in a chair as everyone else stood. He came off as aloof and somewhat pompous. His costume irritated me. Very showy. Very gaudy.

Then there was the Comedian. He was reclined in a chair. Reading a newspaper while drinking from a flask. I was most curious about him. I read Hollis Mason's book. I was aware of the allegations against him. Could he really be that bad? He didn't seem that horrible of a person.

Captain Metropolis, that old cod, welcomed us all to the first meeting of the Crimebusters. It was short-lived. It was a joke, the meeting. Orchestrated straight into disaster by, none other than, the Comedian. Not too far into the meeting, he disrupted it by challenging Ozymandius.

"-I wonder who that would be? Got any ideas, Ozzy? I mean, you ARE the smartest guy in the world, right?" came his bitter, rhetorical questioning.

Captain Metropolis' shoulders slumped, his eyes cast down in defeat. Perhaps he was all ready use to his ex-comrade's disruptive and obnoxious antics. Soon, the Comedian was burning the plan chart.

"-then Ozzy here is gunna be the smartest man on the cinder."

Metropolis continued to whine over his display as the Comedian left. Soon, the others dispersed. I almost felt sorry for the old man as I turned away.

"Somebody has to do it, don't you see? Somebody has to save the world…" He called after us.

I continued walking towards the door.
Outside it was cold. It was dark. My bag of clothes was where I left it.

"Hey."

I turn around and the young Silk Spectre is standing behind me.

"You don't happen to have a lighter do you?"

"No, sorry." Was my answer.

The Comedian comes from the darkness. He saunters over to the other girl. I back away. He holds her face, saying something to her as he inspects her features. She breaks away slightly to ask for a lighter. He holds it up to her. The Comedian almost seems tender. Suddenly, a car comes screeching to a halt. A red-haired lady barges out. She's screaming at the girl and the Comedian. Silk Spectre I. She steals away her daughter and they ride away together. The Comedian stands alone, just watching them leave him in the street.

I was strangely reminded of my childhood. When my dog defecated, I would have to pick it up and toss it into a small stream in the backyard. It made me wonder… Perhaps the Comedian knew exactly how discarded dog shit felt. Said man suddenly turned and stared at me. I stared daringly back. Stared back into something dark. He finally turned and walked away.

I thought about what he said at the meeting. Were we just kids in costumes? Accomplishing nothing? Absolutely nothing? I recalled Hollis' book. He said everything got dry and boring after all the masked villains left the game. Was that why it originally all started? Because some kids wanted to fight each other in costumes? I didn't want that. I didn't want that at all. I wanted to actually make a difference in this city. Give people hope. Show them that I, unlike their political leaders, have not forgotten them.

In the sky, I see a soft orange glow breaking through the peaking buildings. The darkness is turning an angry purple from smoke. I run towards the sound of sirens. I have not forgotten my people.


I didn't realize how lonely living in New York would be. In Jersey, I had Joe. In Jersey, I had the club. I had nothing in this city. Nothing but my nightly escapades. People like me, we're invisible to normal people. They refuse to look at me; afraid I might annoy them for spare change. My life is devoted to them. Yet they avoid me as if I had the plague. Maybe I do.

My meals were scarce. I no longer had the fortune of getting the occasional home-cooked meal from Joe. It was constant garbage scraps for me. Shelters inside the inner city were poorly funded. I was lucky to get any food from them. I was becoming emaciated. An abandoned dumpster became my home. The rats were beastly and the flies licked my young skin. I was getting sick.

I had a fever. My muscles ached and my bones screamed, but I still did my job. I caught a man sexually assaulting a woman outside of a seedy bar. She cried for him to stop. She cried for help. There were people standing. Watching. Doing absolutely nothing. I pulled him off.

CLINK

My brass enhanced punch collided with his jaw. Again, I drew my arm back.

CLINK

His nose broke. Blood flowed. My vision was spinning. I rammed him into the brick wall. Grating his face against the harsh surface. He slumped against it. Vision getting blurry. It was too hot. My face hurt. I threw a garbage can on top of him. Kicked him in the ribs with my steel-toed boots. Again. Again. He cried for me to stop. He cried for help. I kicked him in the face. Broke his cheek bone.

People were pulling me away from him.

I ripped their hands off of me and stumbled away. Down the corner, I throw up. My hockey mask traps the sick and it splashes against my burning face. I collapse to the ground. I shake. My body is cold. My face is scorching. There is a fog. I blink. I am alone. I blink. I am not alone.

There are two men above me.
They look like an owl and an old fashioned mobster.

Darkness.

"Queen?"

Someone was sponging my forehead. I could feel the cool beads slip over my temples and under my ears. My eyelids were too heavy to lift. They called for me again. It's hard to hear. As if a thick glass separates the real world and me.

"Queen? Rorschach, can you get a glass of water?"

Soon after, I'm being pulled to sit up.

"Queen, you need to cool off. Drink this."

A glass touches my lips. I open my mouth and take sloppy sips. My cheeks feel like they have a heartbeat. More water is placed on my forehead. I start shaking.

"Jesus, she doesn't look good at all. She must have been living on the streets. Look at how thin she is… Doesn't smell that great either."

"Hurm. Show symptoms of flu. Need medicine."

"Check the cabinet. I think I have some flue medications in there."

I try to open my eyes again. My vision blurs and then slowly clears. Nite Owl is sitting next to me. Still in his dark uniform but his goggles have been removed. His attention is on the sponge in his hands as he dunks it into a pan of water. He sees me awake.

"Hey…" is his awkward introduction.

I simply stare lazily at him. My mouth feels too dry to talk. My lips feel like they're glued together. The sponge is placed on my forehead again. He dabs it on my cheeks and neck. A crease forms on his brow as he tends to me,

"You shouldn't have been going out and doing the superhero thing when you're sick with the flu, you know that? Oh, thanks, Rorschach." From out of my view he reaches for something.

"Here. Take these." He places tablets in my hand and patiently waits with another glass of water. I bring a shaking hand up to my lips, rip them open, and then pop the meds. Nite Owl gives me the water to wash it down. I murmur a thanks and try to sit up.

"Whoa-ho! You're not going anywhere. I can't let you go back out there." He pushes me back down on… What was I on? A couch.

I'm too exhausted to fight him. I feel as if my body hates me at this point.

"Heroes have to take care of one another, right?"

I close my eyes and turn my head away, irritated by his sentimentality.

"Don't have time to baby sit." I heard Rorschach's rough voice and then the receding echoes of his footsteps.

"Oh, well… I'll see you later then."

He made me stay with him in his home. The first few days were foggy. I was cold no matter how many blankets he would pile on me. Then my face would become too hot and uncomfortable and I'd have to remove all the blankets once again. He forced me to eat. I had forgotten what fresh food tasted like. It almost made me sick. I refused to leave the room he allowed me to stay in. I didn't want to get acquainted and accustomed to the rest of the house. Being able to shower everyday, being able to be warm at night made me scared. Shit, even having someone treat me like a human being felt weird. I planned to leave as soon as I could.

There was a knock on the door. Nite Owl, no… Dan, as he has been making me call him, came in with a tray of food. I return my visage to the window. Snow was floating softly outside. Sticking to the window until it melted and drifted downwards. Dan slowly takes a seat beside me on the bed.

"You know, I don't mind if you stay here. It really isn't a burden, if that's how you feel you are."

I didn't understand. He barely knew me, yet he took care of me. Fed me. Now he wants to house me. Not even Joe did all that for me. A bitter feeling crawled through my brain. I ignored Dan's existence and continued to look out the window.

"I could create a better uniform for you. I had to throw out your mask… I was able to wash off the throw up, but in the end, it still smelled bad. And the clothes you had were getting a bit torn up. So…"

I turn towards him, lifting a brow. Why did he want me to stay with him? I looked into his eyes. Questioning. Maybe he was simply lonely, I realize. The only person I've seen him around was Rorschach, and he doesn't provide very good companionship. My bitterness ebbs away and I feel somewhat sorry for the older man. The only friends he had were freaks in costumes.

"That'd be… nice." I decide is the right thing to say. Dan smiles at me and I truly notice how nerdy the man who dresses up as the Nite Owl is.

I smile back.

"Well, do you have a name besides Queen?" my smile drops.

I hated my name. I loathed anything that reminded me of my mother. It wasn't even a nice sounding name. Francis Jean Speziale. Sounded like a name that would belong to a librarian, or a person who worked in a cubicle.

"Just call me Q." I nod to myself.

"Alright, Q." he takes off his glasses to wipe them clean. "Just give me a few days to make your uniform-" he places his glasses back on. "-then we get to see some action on the streets."