Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Watchmen characters.
JUBILATION
The weather steadily warmed. Walter was glad of it; there was more for him to do in warm weather, plus he could take Danielle outside and keep her in her playpen while he worked in the yard or the garden. It wasn't as if he didn't trust Elsie to take good care of her; Walter just sometimes felt anxious if he didn't have his baby in view. In moments of introspection, he worried that he might stifle his daughter with overprotectiveness. For now, while she was still an infant, it was fine, but what about when she got older? He could well imagine Danielle growing into an active, independent little girl who would soon become resentful of her troublesome father.
Stop it, he chided himself. Chloe was right; he worried too much.
In her playpen, Danny stood leaning against the padded top rail, watching her father yank out last year's dead vines and stalks with solemn eyes. Walter smiled and felt his heart lift as she grinned in return. She then clamped her mouth over the padding. Walter wondered if she might be starting to teethe.
"Walt!" Elsie called from the porch, "Zane's on the phone. He wants ta talk to you."
The redhead frowned in puzzlement. "Coming." He stood, dusted his hands off on his faded jeans, and headed for the playpen. Danny reached her chubby arms out to him with a gurgle of anticipation. Walter smiled. "There's my girl." He lifted her out, kissed her cheek, and walked with her to the house. Inside, he handed her off to Elsie and went to the kitchen where the phone awaited. The receiver rested on a small table that stood beneath its wall cradle. Frowning at the tangled mess of the cord, Walter picked up the receiver and uttered a gruff "Hello."
"Hey, Walt," Zane Dobbins's melodious voice called out, "You remember that dead tree out behind my house?"
Walter grunted; Zane had been complaining about that tree all winter, worried that it might topple onto his house.
"Well, now that it's finally warmed up 'round here I was wonderin' if ya might come by this Saturday an' help me dispose of it. I ain't as young as I used ta be an' I might just lop off my own foot if I try this on my own. There'll be one 'r two other fellas ta help," he was quick to add.
Walter considered. The tree was a massive old elm. Sizable though it was, with two or three men working on it, it probably wouldn't take more than a day to fell and cut up. Besides, Elsie and Chloe were always admonishing him to get more involved with the neighbors. "Alright."
"Great! Uh, one more thing, though," Walter detected the older man's hesitation, "Fallon's gonna be one o' th' other men."
The redhead pursed his lips. His grip tightened on the receiver. "He knows you're asking me?"
"Yeah. Says he's willin' ta work with ya, if you are."
The last time he saw Fallon was at the last Sunday social, when he'd upset little Alvin with his harsh honesty. Given their history, neither man was certain of each other's company, and they had never spent the amount of time together that would occur if they both helped Zane with his tree.
What should he say? He knew what Rorschach would have said.
"I'll be there." Was that a sigh of relief he heard on the other end of the line?
"Alright, then. See ya this Saturday." They agreed to a time, said their goodbyes. Walter hung the phone on its cradle, his brow creased in a troubled frown. Was this a mistake?
He found Elsie seated on the living room floor playing with Danielle. She jangled a set of colorful plastic keys in front of the baby, who laughed and reached out to grab them. A minor tug-o-war ensued with Danny the victor. She beamed and waved her prize about. Clitter-clatter.
Glimpsing her nephew-in-law from the corner of her eyes, Elsie turned. "I think she's about to start teethin'."
Walter nodded. Kneeling, he smiled and stroked his daughter's wispy hair. Danny beamed, held up the plastic keys to show them off.
"So," Elsie ventured, "What'd Zane want?"
Walter told her. He also mentioned Fallon. Elsie looked concerned. "Sure you're up for it?"
Walter drew himself up in mock offense. "Handled worse. I can take care of myself."
The old woman smirked. "I know. Indulge an old lady's need t' mother you." She often said that whenever Chloe was exasperated with her. Walter never felt exasperated, though he pretended otherwise. Truthfully, he needed a little mothering to make up for all the years of neglect.
"Wish you were my mother," he said suddenly, surprising them both.
Elsie blinked. "Oh…" Her expression softened. She laid a gentle hand on his shoulder. "That's the sweetest thing you ever said to me, Walt," she smiled, eyes gleaming, "I'd've been thrilled ta have you for a son."
"Really?" That single word came out so quiet and uncertain it could easily have been missed. A rare moment when he allowed his vulnerability to show.
Elsie gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Really."
He stared at her for a heartbeat, then nodded, his habitual blank expression already falling back into place. He picked up his daughter, still clutching her plastic keys, helped the old woman to her feet, then headed back outside without another word. He didn't trust his voice at that moment.
NEW YORK
Laurie fastened the last strap on her Kevlar vest with a resigned sigh. Dan had gotten her the latest in protective body armor, less bulky than its predecessors, its outer fabric patterned after her costume. Still a pain in the ass to wear, though. She didn't have quite the same freedom of movement with it on, and in her line of work, even the smallest handicap could prove deadly. But considering that she was now protecting for two, what other option did she have?
You could retire, her traitorous mind suggested. Laurie scowled. There was a time when retirement seemed so good. Then came the Keene Act to make the choice for her, and suddenly it didn't seem like such a great thing. Laurie hated having decisions made for her. It was something she had to endure throughout her childhood. From the moment Laurie was born Sally Jupiter had done everything she could to indoctrinate her. She called it a legacy, but Laurie knew it was just her wanting to live vicariously through her younger, stronger daughter. It caused years of bitterness between them that they were only just learning to get past.
I won't make the same mistake, she promised herself. When her child was born she would do everything she could to keep him or her distant from masked adventuring. Even if it meant retirement.
"You ready?"
Laurie looked up at her husband's voice. Daniel stood in full Nite Owl regalia, his cowl pushed back like a hood to leave his head bare. There was something about seeing Nite Owl with Daniel Dreiberg's bespectacled head that never stopped being funny.
"Yeah. Just a sec." She picked up her mask, slipped it on. Dan did the same with his own mask, and the pair of them boarded the waiting Owlship.
A new gang had surfaced over the last few months, an offshoot of the Knot-Tops calling themselves Queues. More vicious than their predecessors, they were steadily infringing on Knot-Top territories. Authorities feared that the situation would soon escalate into an all-out gang war which would put many innocent lives in jeopardy. Dan remembered a gang war he and Rorschach tried to break up years ago. They eventually succeeded, but not before dozens of bystanders—some of them families—were caught in the crossfire. It was a horrific experience that Daniel didn't relish the thought of repeating.
While he piloted Archie, Laurie turned up the volume on the police scanner. There was a minor skirmish between a group of Knot-Tops and Queues a little over a mile away. It was in a bad neighborhood, which meant the cops weren't likely to be in a hurry to get there. "Time to go to work." Nite Owl set a course.
Far below, also headed towards the fray, two lithe silhouettes leapt from rooftop to rooftop, as silent and agile as cats. Both wore special boots, thin-soled and without treads, to grip the irregular masonry and conceal any distinguishing marks from the authorities. Both carried bows and quivers strapped across their backs. Bowman and Archer, the Headhunters, out to gather trophies.
It was not long before all the masks converged on the scene. Twenty-odd men and a few women were locked in battle. Both groups bore only a superficial resemblance to each other: whereas the Knot-Tops tied back their hair in the style of ancient Japanese samurais, the Queues shaved their heads completely bald except for a single long plait down the back, as the Chinese once did. The symbols on their clothing, likewise, were Chinese rather than Japanese.
The battle was a vicious one; several members of both groups lay motionless on the ground. Some of them would never move again. While both gangs carried guns, most preferred to stick with the more up-close weapons such as chains, knives, and lengths of pipe. One Queue wielded a baseball bat that bristled with tenpenny nails, swinging it at his foes with gory efficiency. So caught up were they all in their violence that none of them noticed the Owlship swooping in until its lower hatch hissed open to disgorge its two passengers. Nite Owl landed amidst a group of combatants—three Queues, two Knot-tops—and commenced to laying out the startled gang members with a series of efficient kicks and punches. The Silk Spectre, meanwhile, focused her attention on the man with the spiked club. Her pulse raced with excitement; this was her first night back on the job since she got over her cold. She couldn't even bring herself to feel guilty over her enjoyment as she shattered the man's nose with a quick elbow jab and broke his wrist with a hard twist of the arm. The bloodied baseball bat clattered at her feet, followed soon after by the Queue who choked from a hard punch to the throat.
Silk Spectre turned and her fierce grin faltered as she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. In the strange elastic quality of subjective time, she just had time to think: Damn, I'm losing my edge. No sooner did the words form in her mind than a narrow blur whipped down to strike the Knot-Top in the arm. He skewed, his finger squeezed convulsively on the trigger, and Silk Spectre felt a giant punch her in the stomach.
"Laurie!" Nite Owl cried, seeing his wife fall. He ran towards the still-standing Knot-Top, but before he reached him a second black arrow whooshed down and buried itself in the man's neck.
Perched upon a second story ledge without fear of its precariousness, the Bowman quickly nocked another arrow and sent it down to intercept a Queue who nearly stabbed the distracted Nite Owl as he ran past. From another ledge, the Archer shot down a Knot-Top before he could draw his gun on the distressed mask. Missiles rained down, clearing a path for Nite Owl as he rushed to his wife's side. Silk Spectre managed to sit up before he reached her. "I'm okay," she wheezed, hands clamped to her stomach, "Vest stopped the bullet."
Nite Owl crouched beside her. "The baby."
Laurie's eyes widened. "Oh, god. Y-You don't think—"
A loud roar interrupted their panic. The two masks each jumped aside in opposite directions, narrowly avoiding a heavy length of chain swung by a grimacing Queue. A behemoth of a man, his left eyebrow was pierced by a safety pin. He was about to lash out with the chain again when Nite Owl, no longer in the mood to play fair, brought out his emergency taser and fired it at the gang member, toppling the huge man and leaving him convulsing on the ground.
Ignoring the pain in her abdomen, Silk Spectre returned to the fighting, followed by her husband.
Bowman, out of arrows, shouldered his bow and vaulted from the ledge, landing with casual grace onto the pavement below. From his belt he drew out two cylindrical devices. With a flick of each wrist, two batons periscoped out. Click-click! Across the street, the Archer did likewise, and the two of them joined Nite Owl and Silk Spectre in mopping up the rest of the gang members. In a few swift, brutal minutes, it was all over.
Panting from their exertions, Dan and Laurie hurried to each other. "You okay?" Dan asked, voice thick with worry.
Laurie nodded. Her hands rested against her aching middle. "Doesn't hurt that bad." Neither one of them spoke of the fear they had for her pregnancy.
"We'd better get you to the Medic." Nite Owl pressed the control on his wristband to summon Archie.
Ignoring the couple's drama, the two Headhunters stowed their batons and each drew a wicked knife from a leg sheathe. They set about retrieving their arrows, distinguished by their fletchings—one white stripe for the Bowman, two for the Archer—and cutting the topknots and braids from the men and women they'd shot. Laurie couldn't help but stare. "They always do that?"
Dan glanced at them. "Yeah. Apparently, they like to keep score." The Owlship settled to the ground, its side hatch opened. The couple boarded without a word to the other two masks, knowing their thanks would not be acknowledged. Once Archie sped off, the Headhunters came up with their final tallies.
"Twelve," Bowman declared in an eerie whisper devoid of emotion. The severed ponytails dangled from his belt like wolf tails collected for bounty.
The Archer straightened, returned the last retrieved arrow to its quiver. "Fifteen."
The Bowman acknowledged the other's win with a tacit nod.
Sometimes superheroes got hurt. When they did, like as not, they went to see the Medic. Like his clientele, this underground doctor's true identity was unknown. He'd treated nearly every member of the Watchmen at some point, back before the Keene Act, at which point he vanished into obscurity. Now, with the sudden resurgence in masked adventurers, his hidden clinic was once again open for business.
Aside from the obligatory lab coat, he always wore a surgical mask as well as a pure white domino mask. His brown eyes twinkled merrily as Nite Owl and Silk Spectre entered his clinic. "Well, well. Long time no see. What can I do for you two?"
Silk Spectre explained, "We got into it with a couple of gangs. One of them shot me in the abdomen."
"Evidently, the armor was sufficient to protect you," the Medic observed wryly.
Laurie pursed her lips. "I'm pregnant."
"Ah. Well, that does change the scenery a bit." He gestured to the door leading to his exam room. "Please, step into my office."
Nite Owl spent the interminable time pacing the length of the small lounge which served as the Medic's waiting room. The furnishings, though sparse, were quite comfortable, but Dan could not bring himself to sit still. It seemed an eternity before the door finally opened and the Medic beckoned to him. Nite Owl felt as if he couldn't move fast enough. He found his wife seated on the edge of an exam bed, refastening her costume.
The Medic cut to the chase. "Well, I've got great news. From what I can tell, you're in no immediate danger of a miscarriage."
"Oh, thank Christ." Dan and Laurie embraced. Drunk on adrenaline, laughed with unabashed relief.
"But," the doctor continued once they calmed down, "I must warn you that you might not be so lucky if you receive another blow like that. Though the decision's entirely yours, Silk Spectre, I feel I have to recommend that you step down from crimefighting for the duration of your pregnancy." Though his tone was serious, there was no hint of reprimand, no unspoken question as to why she was out there in the first place when she knew of the risk to her unborn child. The Medic never judged, for though he seldom left his underground clinic, he too was a mask, and he understood the motivations that drove them.
Laurie bit her lip, nodded. "Thank you, doc."
The Medic gave a modest shrug. "That's what I'm here for."
Back aboard Archie, Laurie sat in the copilot's seat, staring down at the mask she held in her lap. "Guess you'll get to have all the fun for awhile." Her voice cracked.
Dan activated the autopilot and got out of his seat. Pushing back his cowl, he knelt before his wife and gripped her hands. "We could probably both use a break from this."
"No," she sniffed, shook her head, "Weird as it sounds, I'd feel better knowing you were still out here patrolling."
The corner of Dan's mouth quirked. "Trying to get me out of the way?"
Laurie gave an unsteady chuckle. "Sure. Beaus will be lining up outside my door." Her face slowly crumpled. "Jesus, Dan. I almost got our baby killed."
"C'mere." He drew her into a hug. Laurie rested her head on his shoulder, tears falling from her eyes, while Dan stroked her hair. "Lots of expectant mothers put themselves in risky situations, y'know. Soldiers, police…"
"You saying I've got nothing to feel guilty about?"
Daniel snorted. "You're gonna feel guilty no matter what I say. Just try not to beat yourself up too much, okay? You're alright, the baby's alright. That's all that matters."
"Right." She pulled back, looked at him with a rueful smile. "This is one weird family we're starting."
Dan grinned. "Weird?" said the man dressed as an owl, "How so?"
Laurie laughed and wiped her eyes. "Okay, enough self pity." She rested a hand on her belly. "Things could've been a lot worse."
Dan pulled off his gloves, reached out to cradle his wife's face in his hands. "You know, when I saw you go down…I didn't even think about the baby. I was scared out of my mind thinking…" He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.
Laurie leaned forward to kiss him. "Everything's gonna be fine."
"Yeah." They kissed again, trying to banish dark thoughts of what might have been.