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: This is how I think he'd react to; not only a civilian but, a woman figuring it out, you're welcome to think differently. I get a little brutal, but nothing compared to what will happen later in this story. So if you don't like a woman being hurt, I wouldn't read this. And just so y'all know, I do not condone this kind of behavior, neither has anyone done this to me or anyone I know. I just watch a lot of movies and TV shows and happen to have a pretty active imagination.
1966


NOT MINE TO TELL

I still can't believe I've been living in this dive for just over two years now. Here it is, almost Halloween '66 and I'm still pretty happy. I expected the city to have outright eaten my soul by now! Ha-ha! *smiley*

Shairp had another kid the other day and Michael's turned into a disgusting little fifteen year-old, always hounding me! That boy is so fuckin' horny it's obnoxious. I really wish he'd leave me alone, I don't wanna have to break my baseball bat over my landlady's son's head.

I sketched this wonderfully happy couple today, which...when I think about it, is so strange considering the war going on in Vietnam. I've seen some of the things they send the TV stations here...it's the only thing that makes me glad they don't want women in the military. That kinda stuff gives me the chills. Not to mention Dr. Manhattan... To think he used to be your average, everyday human being is...a little tough to swallow...even with a grain of salt...or a spoonful of sugar. Time to change the subject, I'm creeping myself out just thinking about it.

I think Walter is starting to catch on to me. I don't think he knows that I know he's Rorschach. Wow...now that's a mouthful *smiley*. But I'm sure he'll catch up to that fact soon. I had to stop following and taking pictures of him because he threw a dagger in my general direction back in August. Repeating myself, I know, but it was scary shit, man! He embedded the dagger into a brick wall! For someone without superpowers, he sure has a lot of strength.

I really hope he and Nite Owl can do something for this rotting city. She's gotten pretty rundown these past two years. She gotten wicked grimy. Covered in blood, vomit, shit, and a body count that could possibly rival LA. And I just found out yesterday that Carter was killed in the war. God... To think, he was just my age. Maybe this festering city has eaten a little of my soul after all... I gotta stop thinking about this sad stuff. I'm only twenty-two, I need to be happier! *smiley*

Walter acknowledges me on a daily basis now...well...daily basis is stretching it a bit. Sometimes he says hello, sometimes a little nod or his "Hurm." But there are days where he just plain ignores me. They're getting to be few and far between though. I still have pretty one sided conversations with him though. And I don't think, well...I doubt he notices, but when he stops at Bernie's to get his copy of the New Frontiersman, that I smile at him. I know that I irritate him to now end, but...I think he needs someone...

Someone besides goddamn superheroes...

Welp, I think that's all for tonight. I'll talk to ya tomorrow *smiley*!

October the twentieth, nineteen sixty-six. Samantha *smiley*

Samantha re-read her entry before sketching Walter Kovacs and Rorschach's faces back to back on the opposite page. She grinned at it and stretched before placing her journal and pen on her bedside table. "Ow." She massaged her lower back as she laid on her bed, letting her bare legs hang over the side. "Oh, long day hunched over a sketch book," she said, sitting back up to check the time. "God almighty... One in the morning. I gotta get some sleep, good night world," Samantha said turning the lamp off and sliding under the covers. She turned once and fell asleep almost instantly, with a little smile on her face.

A sudden crash woke Samantha seconds later. She propped herself up; breathing heavily, and listened for footsteps; which crunched over broken glass, but didn't come for the girl in the bedroom. They headed away, toward her front door. She heard each lock slide out of the way, allowing the intruder to exit her apartment. Samantha chanced a glance at her clock, it was actually three thirty in the morning.

The girls slid from beneath her covers, snagging the baseball bat from beneath her bed as she stood. She heard the door begin to close and; against her better judgment, called out softly, "Hello?" She heard the door stop, but no longer heard footsteps. Samantha stood, bat aloft until her clock hands pointed out it was quarter of four. Slowly she made her way to her bedroom door, adjusting her underwear and tank as she walked. She opened it a crack, just barely enough to see her front door propped open ajar. Taking a deep breath and a small step back, she slammed her door open wide and waited for an attacker. None came.

Samantha poked her head out and peered around the room. The window to the fire escape was broken in, a few of her sketch books strewn among the pieces of broken glass. "Hello?" she called again, a little louder this time; still holding the bat high, her grip murderous on the handle. The late October breeze was the only answer she received. She listened over the light, chilling breeze for any sound. She heard sounds of sex coming from her landlady's apartment, nothing from the hallway, but she could just barely make out the low, steady breathing coming from somewhere IN her apartment. Whomever was in here with her, was listening for Samantha too.

She kept her grip on the bat, but lowered the instrument to walk to her front door. She was never more glad to be wearing such a small amount of clothing before. She heard the rustling of pants and possibly a jacket from her kitchen; though she pretended to not notice it. She pressed out into the hallway, looked both ways and called, "Hello?" one more time. Again no answer came, except the rustling of clothes.

Samantha stepped back into her apartment and closed the door. She was able to get the chain lock in place before a figure launched at her from her kitchen. A cutting knife became embedded in the wood just right of her head. She wasn't able to think on it much longer because the figure was close enough for her to raise the head of the bat into the intruders gut.

He grunted but was still able to push the bat away and press his body into hers; pinning the doorknob in her stomach and the deadbolt in her ribs, a hand wrapped around the back of her neck; keeping her face pressed against the door. She didn't scream out but brought the bat back into his gut and pushed him away. When she got out of his reach, she raised the bat high once more and managed to turn the lamp next to the chair on. The face that stared at her was constantly shifting under a filthy fedora.

"Rorschach!" she exclaimed.

"Quite a collection you have." His gravel voice told Samantha without a doubt that Walter Kovacs was Rorschach. The vigilante locked the deadbolt and the simple knob lock before pulling the knife free from the door frame.

"I think you're fascinating." Samantha tried to keep the quiver from her voice. From the shift in his mask, she hadn't done a very good job. The girl stepped back as Rorschach stepped closer. She couldn't tell if his eyes were on her, but when he passed her to her clippings collection she knew he was trying to lure her into some false sense of security.

"Fascinating?" he repeated the word as if it were alien to him. "Think someone who beats up scum for a living is fascinating?" He turned to the hippie. He was surprised, despite what he'd just done to her, she wasn't shaking...much. Though her knees were trying to tumble her body, she held the bat extremely steady. She moved slowly, but with purpose. Samantha wanted at least the coffee table and couch between her and the vigilante.

Rorschach simply watched her steady movements, waiting for her to slip so he could overtake her. She cast a downward glance, making sure she wouldn't cut her bare feet on the large shards of glass. Her next step; however, was not so steady. One piece of glass on top of another slipped under Samantha's cautious movement. In one fell swoop, Rorschach launched himself passed the coffee table and over the couch; toppling it as he landed, and grabbed the hippie by the throat.

Samantha grunted as her body hit the wall separating the kitchen from the living room; causing her to drop the baseball bat, and gasped when the knife was placed under her chin, forcing her to look up.

"Why are you following me!" the vigilante demanded.

"I'm not...not now anyhow. I swear, I haven't since August!" she added when the knife was pressed harder into her neck. Samantha hadn't had the courage to look Rorschach in the eyes just yet. It was best not to, he might kill strength.

"What about the sketches?"

"I have a very good memory." The girl finally cast her eyes down at the vigilante a moment. They conveyed little fear; which greatly surprised Rorschach, her body trembled terribly beneath him.

"What about him? Follow him?" Rorschach nodded to the fallen sketchbooks.

"No... Not really. He...he just walks around the area I work. And he lives across the hall." Samantha took a deep breath; it was going to take a lot of courage to say the next line, and looked him dead in the eyes; at least where they would be. "But you already know that. Don't you, Mr. Kovacs?" She saw the black and white of his face shift menacingly. Rorschach tossed the knife away, made the hippie kneel on the floor, and dislocated her right shoulder in one swift motion.

Samantha almost screamed out, but she covered her mouth with her free hand. She began breathing heavily, trying to control her pain. She'd learned well from an old boyfriend how. She glance at the vigilante to her right; tears streaming down her face as her breath came in controlled gasps. Kovacs still held her arm; and was contemplating breaking it.

"Who have you told?" he finally asked after several minutes, his voice violently dangerous.

"No one," Samantha said through her tears and gasps. "God, I swear on my life I haven't told a goddamn soul," she added when Rorschach began to twist her arm. "If I had, ARGH, don't you think the papers would have said something about it!" she shouted when Rorschach had twisted her arm close to its breaking point. "I can see the headline now, 'Rorschach, slumming it out like the average American. Just as twisted as everyone else!'" Her hand left her mouth to hold her shoulder. Rorschach still had her arm in his hand; and still thought about giving it the final twist, when he let it go.

First it spun, then fell limp to the floor. Now she cried out. Tears fell in large drops to the wooden floor and Samantha slumped to her left side, cradling her dislocated shoulder as best she could. Rorschach knelt beside the girl and picked up a large, jagged piece of window pane.

"Two years...almost anyway. It'll be two years Thanksgiving. That's how long I've known," the girl said without prompting. She watched the shifting of Rorschach's mask slow as if thinking while he looked at her clipping collection. She didn't try to get away, she just laid there, in the broken glass. Slowly he turned his head back to her.

"Why...?" he started but the rest of the question escaped him as Samantha spoke.

"Why what? Haven't I told anyone?" Her tears still flowed, but the fact that she was crying no longer reached her voice. Rorschach nodded. "It's not my secret to tell." Slowly Samantha pushed herself to sit up and watched the man before her. He dropped the piece of pane and stood.

Kovacs looked down a t the young woman before her. She looked like a crumpled paper doll. A tear-stained face. Thin lines of blood down her neck. Cradling a useless arm with her bare legs. Rorschach grimaced beneath his shifting mask. A weak, helpless woman. . .but somehow stronger than most. She had tried to fight and didn't scream out until the end.

Samantha shakily stood and took several steps away from her neighbor. "You don't hafta stay, you know? I know you don't like women." She glanced back at the still motionless vigilante. He mask was almost still, as if it were also wondering what she might do next. Samantha swung her lifeless arm back and her body into the wall; popping her shoulder back into its socket. Rorschach jumped at the action, not expecting it. Samantha's mouth was wide in a noiseless scream as fresh tears fell down her face. She slid down the wall and sat crumbled on the floor.

"Fuck me," she exclaimed. "You never get used to doing that kinda shit," Samantha said with a giggle as she laid back against the wall and slid to the floor. She glared at Rorschach, still standing there. "Get out," she ordered sharply.

Kovacs shook his head, as if coming out of some sort of trance. He walked to the door, removed his fedora and slipped his mask off before unlocking and opening the door to the hall.

"Walter," called Samantha half-heartedly. He didn't turn but acknowledged her voice with a small nod. "I swear on my life, I will never tell a soul who he is." Kovacs turned in time to watch her point to the still mask in his hand. She was standing; still holding her shoulder, her right hand out to shake on her promise.

"Walter looked from the slightly shaking hand to her face. Samantha was dead serious. "I'll die before I tell anyone, I promise you that." Walter let his eyes rest on her lightly mismatched ones a moment before taking her hand and shaking it.