Watchmen (c) Alan Moore and Dave Gibbins, I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.
Only character I own is Samantha Haley. And a few extraneous characters that no one will remember in the end.
Please don't kill me for doing this to Rorschach. It was something I had to get out of my brain. Rated M for language and violence, 'specially in the later chapters. Not sure if can actually be called "Mary-Sue"…but don't hate me…please?
Looking for constructive reviews, please.

Author's Note: Nothing much to say.
1964


THE FIRST ENTRIES

Well, that's it. I'm officially moved in *smiley*. Carter took longer than I thought he would to help me move in, the hobo. I should have known that when he found the place the first time that he was as high as a goddamn kite. Oh well, the point is I'm all moved in now *smiley*.

Believe it or not, it's a pretty nice place, aside from the landlady. I didn't have to buy any furniture, which I found to be an amazing plus. The bed is a queen too1 I have all this room to spread my sketchbooks out on. It did get pretty hot in August, but at least it has plenty of windows to let in fresh air...as fresh as it can get in NYC *smiley*. And the closet in the bedroom has a false back! I found it by happenstance, (I tripped over my box of photography supplies and hit it *smiley* oops) it's an extra little room. Just big enough to be a darkroom *smiley*. All I have to do is clean it out, buy a desk, and put the red and regular lights in it! I am so very happy to have my own darkroom *smiley*!

The man across the hall from me is...weird... I guess, I don't really have another word for him. He's definitely NOT backward, like the landlady said. He just seems to have a different way of viewing the world. He's no hippie though...he's...he's something else. He never says, "Hi,"...to me anyway. I think he sees something he doesn't like. Maybe it's the fact that I've be "watching" him. I just poke my head out almost every time he leaves, is all. I'm curious, like Alice...or a cat... And yes, I know what curiosity did to it. I'll try not to let it happen to me *smiley*.

He's started to get the strangest hours at work. Despite how quiet he generally is, sometimes he wakes me up when he comes home at three in the A.M. if he comes home at three A.M.. Sometimes he doesn't come home 'til six or seven. Every now and again he doesn't leave 'til four in the afternoon. I guess he really personifies the word unique. He has a great face for sketching though, I just wish I could capture the sadness that his face has written.

Welp, I guess that's all I have to say for today. I'll talk to ya tomorrow *smiley*

September the twenty-sixth, nineteen sixty-four. -Samantha *smiley*

Samantha closes her diary and placed it back on her bedside table, laying the black ink pen atop the white cover. She stretched out long and yawned before getting out of bed. Samantha checked the time on her wind-up clock. Two thirty in the afternoon. She stood from her bed and opened the immediate window. The air was just starting to chill, but summer still had a tight grip. The bohemian walked across her room to her dresser and pulled out a sari. She wrapped it around her waist, deciding to leave her wife beater on.

Samantha turned back to her bed and piled the few sketchbooks she had strewn out on top of each other. She walked into her living room and placed the various books against the windows; fanning them so she could look at multiple sketches at once. As she set the last book against her window, Samantha turned at a noise from across the hall. She lightly jogged to her door and opened it slowly. Walter was halfway down the hall when Samantha poked her head from her apartment. Kovacs stopped and turned to the intrusive girl.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Kovacs," she said, a slight smile playing on her lips. It took everything Walter had to not turn away from her smiling face.

"Good afternoon, Miss Haley," he said. He'd been ignoring the girl for the better part of the few months she'd been here, but something about her today made him break a little. For the first time he noticed her eyes. They were a vibrant, jade green...one was. The other wasn't quite, but he couldn't; and didn't want to, place what the difference was just now. He watched her smile come out full. She beamed.

Kovacs turned from the young hippie and continued toward the stairs. He could still feel her bright eyes on him; a feeling Walter didn't particularly care for, especially from a woman. Kovacs began to descend the stairs, staring the woman down. Her smile didn't falter; which irritated him to no end, even though he couldn't place why.

"Have a calm night, Walter," Samantha called as he vanished beneath the landing. She closed her door and leaned against it, still beaming. "At least he said something this time." Samantha sighed as she propped herself away from the door to continue with her day.

Rorschach's Journal. September 27, 1964:
The city is calm and quiet. Quieter than comfortable. Like a storm is somewhere off the horizon.
No one deserving of retribution is out. Tonight...I'm left with nothing but my own thoughts.
She said hello to me again... I responded. I don't know why. For months I've ignored her.
Something in her voice called. Like a siren to a sailor. Should have left her wanting...should always leave her wanting.
Despite upbeat façade, her voice carries a twinge of sadness...as if lonely...or scared of something. A woman that looks the way she does, shouldn't have problems finding someone. She could have the love of any man she wants.
Something is...different about her. Doesn't use her body the way most do. A transsexual perhaps? May look into further.

Rorschach placed the rubber band around his journal and slid both the lightly weathered book and pencil in his pocket. He walked along the gravel roof of an apartment building two blocks from his old work. He jumped down to the fire escape and walked down the wrought iron steps to the alleyway.

Rorschach trudged out to the street and looked around him. Almost no one was out on the streets. It was ominous, as if the city itself was the only bully that needed to be taken care or. Rorschach walked along the street, heading home earlier that usual. He placed a hand in each pocket of his trench coat and hunkered his shoulders against the Autumn chill.

It was a mostly quiet walk, only cats chasing mice and rats and the occasional whore asking to suck his cock for a few measly bucks. He ignored almost everything around him, trying to focus on keeping the intrusive girl out of his mind. Four blocks from his apartment house, Rorschach finally came upon someone deserving; an early morning mugging or a late night rape. He smiled beneath his shifting black and white mask. His night wasn't a complete waste after all.