A/N: This chapter contains what the entertainment industry euphemistically refers to as "adult situations." I'm letting you all know this because I wrote it a tad more graphic than I usually do, so if you're squeamish about that kinda thing you'd best avert your eyes.
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Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters; they belong to Alan Moore, Dave Gibbons, DC Comics, and Warner Brothers. Nor do I own the poetical works of Andrew Marvell. Chloe, Elsie, Hank, Nixon, and all the other residents of Jubilation, however, belong to me. So hands off!
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Olivia was transported to the larger, better equipped hospital in Lovettesville as soon as she was deemed stable enough for travel. She had been comatose since her husband discovered her. Though neither Lila nor her colleagues in the Lovettesville hospital came right out and said so, none believed there was much chance of her ever waking. The trauma was just too severe.
After sending Deputy Kyle Hauper to guard the Mayweather house, Henry Dobbs organized a search for the still missing Alvin. The parties consisted mainly of local civilians led by police brought in from neighboring towns on the sheriff's request for assistance. Trained hounds were also brought in the hopes of tracking the child, but the light morning rain was sure to have washed traces of the boy's scent away. Henry held out little hope of finding anything, but at least the search kept everyone busy and, hopefully, distracted them from their vengeful thoughts. God help them all if Alvin was found dead; not only would Henry have lost his only witness to the brutal attack, but the mob which had been narrowly turned away the previous night could prove unstoppable with such a tragedy as motivation. The sheriff hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was not entirely convinced that Walter Kovacs was the one who attacked the Harrisons. His activities as Rorschach pointed more to a twisted sense of justice rather than petty revenge, and Olivia Harrison was morally straight as an arrow ever since she became a mother. But if not Walter, then who else could have been capable of such a grisly act in this town?
Vernon Birdsong was conspicuously absent from the search for good reason; Olivia was his baby sister. He and his wife and daughter were all in Lovettesville with Fallon, waiting tearfully at Olivia's side and praying her eyes would soon open. When word of the thwarted mob reached him, the pastor holed up in the hospital's chapel and silently begged God's forgiveness, for he'd sorely wished he had been there to take revenge for his sister. That the supposedly reformed vigilante's presence had brought the good people of Jubilation to such a woeful state…it was more than the pious man could bear.
Vernon was unaware that young Judi Birdsong watched her father in his prayers. She kept out of sight, careful not to make a sudden move which could set the beads in her hair to clicking against each other. It frightened her to see her daddy on his knees, weeping in anguish and impotent rage. Though at the age where most girls began to feel embarrassment towards their parents, Judi had always viewed her father as something of a superhero (though she wouldn't have uttered that unpopular word aloud). No matter how terrible things seemed, he had always maintained an air of calm authority. It shook the preteen girl's small world to see her pillar of strength brought so low. The only thing to rival that hurt was the conviction that her father was wrong, that the notorious Walter Kovacs was not the one who hurt her aunt and took her little cousin away. Judi remembered all too clearly how the slight redhead had helped Alvin down from the jungle gym; how patient and gentle he had been. She could not believe the same man who had done that could also take a baseball bat to Aunt Olivia's skull. But Judi was old enough to know that rising to his defense would only anger her parents. She was only a child, after all. Her opinions carried no weight with them.
Meanwhile, Myra Birdsong sat at Olivia's bedside and witnessed with dread her family's unraveling. Her sister-in-law all but dead, her nephew missing, her husband and brother-in-law distraught, her daughter silent and withdrawn. Only hours ago things had been so good, but a single violent act revealed to the pastor's wife just how much of what Myra had perceived as stable and certain was in fact illusion. How easily it could all be taken away! How drastically it altered the people she thought she knew most. What would they do, she wondered, if Olivia should perish or Alvin be discovered dead, or worse, remained forever missing? Would Vernon's fierce morals crumble in the onslaught of grievous rage? Would Fallon's hard won sobriety be swept away in a tide of alcohol and grief? Myra shuddered and tightened her grip on Olivia's limp hand. Please, she prayed, putting all her fears and hopes into that single word.
Across the room from Myra, huddled within himself, Fallon sat alone. Wife gone. Son gone. The two people who mattered most in Fallon's world, who were his world. Gone. He had failed them both as husband and father. He should have been there to protect them, should have listened to Olivia's worries over the dangerous man who now walked among the people of Jubilation. But he had made light of her fretting; told her she'd blown things out of proportion, as she often did. Fallon had been stupid, complacent, and his family had paid the price. He stared at his battered wife, her features misshapen and unrecognizable, and felt bile rise in his throat. Dark, half-formed images swirled through his foggy brain. He shoved them to the back of his mind, unwilling to face the memories of that terrible night. Instead he nursed his boiling rage, his almost lustful need for retribution.
That red-haired freak would pay, Fallon swore.
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Kyle Hauper, lifelong resident and only full-time deputy of the town of Jubilation, raised the axe above his head and brought it down in one smooth motion. The split log tumbled from either side of the ancient and much-scarred stump in two equal halves.
"That oughta do it for now, Kyle," Elsie called from the porch, "Come on in for some dinner."
"Okay, Mrs. Mayweather," said Kyle, polite as ever. He left the axe stuck in the old stump and picked up the halved pieces of wood to throw onto the woodpile. The spry twenty-something man had barely worked up a sweat from his exertions. He trotted up the porch steps with an unconscious spring in his step that made many an older man glower in envy.
Chloe had been surprised to see who Henry had sent over as their "minder." Last time she saw Kyle he had been a gawky teenager with braces and a nasty case of acne. She found it difficult to take the guy seriously as a cop, even if he was armed. Didn't help that he kept smiling that goofy grin of his; adulthood had done nothing to diminish his cheery disposition. It had only faltered a little when Chloe introduced him to Walter. The young deputy eyed the former vigilante warily as they shook hands, but once sufficient time had passed without anyone dead Kyle's habitual good humor soon reasserted itself. Ever helpful, and more than a little bored, he had asked if there was anything he could help with and Elsie took full advantage of Kyle's innocent offer. She was well on the way to having enough firewood to last the winter.
Aside from Kyle, the entire household was fraught with anxieties both shared and private. It stifled conversation, soured appetites.
"Where on earth is Walter?" Elsie grumbled as they gathered at the dining table, "I told him we were sitting down to eat."
"Said he wasn't hungry," Chloe muttered, preoccupied. Walter had been holed up in their room for most of the day. Brooding, she assumed.
Elsie frowned. "Bad mood's no excuse for skipping meals." She spoke as one who had experienced the Great Depression firsthand and therefore never took food for granted. She reached for her cane.
"I'll do it." Chloe stood and left the dining area before her aunt could protest. She climbed the stairs slowly, locked in a silent debate with herself. Tell him now or later? How should she break it to him? How would he react? What would they do if Henry came back to arrest him, or the mob returned to finish what they'd started? The stream of questions distracted her to the point that the sight which confronted her when she opened the bedroom door didn't register for several seconds. Chloe blinked, then gasped as comprehension arose.
Walter was in the process of stuffing his meager possessions into a large duffel bag. He glanced up at Chloe's entrance, but didn't pause in his task.
Chloe stared open-mouthed, one hand still clutching the doorknob. "What're you doing?"
He didn't answer. He emptied the top drawer of the dresser, walked to the bed where the bag lay, and crammed in extra pairs of socks. He moved in a series of jerks rather than his usual efficient grace, as if locked in an internal struggle. His face was pale and utterly blank.
Chloe recovered from her initial shock and felt anger rise in its place. She stormed into the bedroom. The door swung shut behind her. She grabbed Walter's shoulder, made him turn and face her. "What the hell are you doing?"
"Packing." His tone was matter-of-fact, as if she'd asked about the weather.
"Packing," Chloe echoed, deadly calm, "So you're running away."
"Yes."
"Without me."
Walter remained silent; he didn't trust his voice. Confronted with Chloe's obvious hurt and anger, it was all he could do to look her in the eye.
Chloe balled her fists. "You bastard. What, so you thought you'd just sneak off without me? Without even telling me? Just bug off and let everybody think they were right about you?" His silence infuriated her all the more. "Say something!"
Walter turned his back on her. "Nothing to say." He zipped the duffel bag in one swift movement. Ziiip! Picked up the bag, turned towards the door. He'd thought it through; the deputy would be on his guard come nightfall, so Walter decided to sneak out the back while the others were occupied with dinner and his absence would go unnoticed for several hours. He would go cross country for a while, maybe hitchhike later. Walter didn't kid himself; he knew that he would be caught at some point. Escape was never his true intention. Unfortunately, he hadn't taken into account Elsie's insistence that he eat, nor Chloe's volunteering to fetch him. A snag, but he maintained some faint hope that she might remain silent out of loyalty to him.
But Chloe proved as stubborn as her aunt. She moved to block his path. "You're not going anywhere."
"Get out of my way," his voice was dull, weary.
"If you leave it'll look like you're guilty," she desperately tried to reason with him, "They'll come after you. You'll go back to prison. Is that what you want?"
Walter stared at a point somewhere over her shoulder.
"I won't let do this," she said.
His free hand reached out and shoved her roughly aside. An angry shout escaped Chloe's mouth, her hand lashed out. There was a sharp smack that seemed to fill the entire room. The couple froze. Walter stared at her, stunned, his cheek reddened with the imprint of her hand. His mind swirled with memories of another's hand which struck him in his youth, the sense of wounded betrayal he'd felt each time it happened. The duffel slipped from his numbed grasp and thunked onto the floor. Chloe's hands flew to her mouth to stifle her guilty cry. Tears welled in hazel eyes tinged gray with sadness. Shakily, she lowered her hands. "Oh god, Walter, I'm so sor--"
Walter slammed her against the wall. Fingers like bands of steel clamped around her upper arms. His contorted face loomed in her vision, eyes like shards of arctic ice. "I'm doing this for you!" he snarled in a voice like Rorschach's rasp, "When the mob comes back they'll be too out of control to care who they hurt to get me. I can't protect you from the whole town!" He faltered, turned his face from her, eyes squeezed shut. His grip on her arms relaxed, hands slid down until they hung loose at his sides. "Can't even protect you from me."
Chloe brought her trembling hands to his face, made him turn his head to look at her. "I told you I'd never leave you. Did you think I wasn't serious?" A tear escaped her left eye, rolled down her cheek. Walter so wanted to brush it away, but he kept his hands at his sides, no longer trusting himself to be gentle.
"I won't leave you," Chloe said once again, resolute, "and I won't let you go without me. If you really wanna leave and start over somewhere else, then that's what we'll do. Together."
Walter shook his head, still in her grasp. "I can't keep you safe--"
"I don't need your goddamn protection, Walter. I need you," her voice cracked on the last word. That as much as the words themselves eroded Walter's resolve. He stepped into the circle of her arms, pulled her into a strong hug. He stroked Chloe's long graying hair as she sobbed into his shoulder.
"I'm sorry I hit you," she sniffed.
Walter thought of the bruises he'd unintentionally left on her arms days ago. "We're even."
"But if you try to sneak off again I'll brain you with Elsie's frying pan."
He snorted. "Can still joke, at least."
Chloe pulled back to meet his gaze, cheeks wet from spilled tears. "Who says I'm joking?"
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Kyle frowned. "Did you hear something?" He was seated at the dining table with Elsie, plates full and waiting for the others to join them.
Elsie had heard something, in point of fact. It was only a matter of time, she knew, before the stress of the last few days pushed those two into an argument. "Didn't hear a thing. Must be your imagination."
"Sounded like shouting." The deputy started to rise from his seat.
"I said," Elsie spoke in a no-nonsense voice, each word carefully enunciated, "It's. Your. Imagination."
Kyle stood in a half-crouch and briefly considered pressing the point, then wisdom prevailed. "Yes, ma'am." He sat.
Elsie picked up her fork and speared a bit of casserole.
"Aren't we gonna wait for them?" Kyle asked.
"Like one dog waits on another." Elsie took a bite. She would save the couple's food for later; from the sound of things, they had a lot of emotional baggage to unload and the least she could do was respect their need for privacy.
After a moment's hesitation, Kyle picked up his own fork and dug in.
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"We should probably go downstairs and eat," Chloe murmured without enthusiasm. She and Walter still held each other, her head against his shoulder.
"Mmhm." Walter stroked her back in soothing motions, his calloused hands whispered against the fabric of her thin sweater.
Chloe smiled. "You hungry?"
He slid his hands slowly under her shirt and ran them over the skin of her lower back. "Mmhm."
Fingertips trailed up her spine; she shivered in response. Her smile broadened. It wasn't often that Walter made the first move. Chloe found that she liked it. Despite the somberness of a few minutes ago, or perhaps because of it, the mood shifted quickly to a far more pleasant distraction.
Walter's hands crept higher until they encountered the back clasp of her bra. He fumbled with it to give her a chance to pull away if she wished, but Chloe's only action was to brush her lips against the side of his neck. The feel of her breath on his skin caused a flare of desire. Walter unhooked the clasp of her bra and ran his hands over the expanse of skin between her shoulder blades.
"I need you too, Chloe."
"I know," she whispered. They pulled back just enough for their lips to meet. Tongues danced and probed in their joined mouths. Chloe slid her hands to Walter's front and unbuttoned his shirt. They reluctantly ended the kiss so Walter could pull Chloe's sweater over her head. He tossed the garment aside as Chloe slipped out of her loosened bra. She then grabbed the lapels of his open shirt and peeled it down, restraining his arms in the process. Chloe smirked at her captive, pressed herself against him. The cotton fabric of his wife-beater rubbed against her hardened nipples. Walter lunged and captured her lips with his. As the kiss deepened Chloe pulled his shirt the rest of the way off and let it drop at their feet. She slid her hands under his wife-beater to feel the muscles of his chest and stomach. Walter's hands cupped her breasts, squeezed them gently. Chloe moaned into his mouth. Walter ended the kiss with a light nibble to her lower lip. His hands left her breasts to grip the round cheeks of her bottom and lift the startled woman off the floor. Chloe yelped, wrapped her arms and legs around him. Sometimes his wiry strength astonished her. Walter smiled and carried the dismayed woman to the bed, gently lowered her onto the mattress. He gazed down at her for a moment. Gone was the gray nimbus from her hazel eyes, replaced with blue happiness. Chloe smiled up at him. "I love you, Walter."
"I love you, too." He kissed her.
Chloe started to undo her pants, but Walter took her hands and gently pinned them to either side of her head. "Let me."
"'Kay."
He unfastened the button, pulled down the zipper, then slowly slid her jeans down her legs, taking her underwear with them. When they reached her ankles Walter pulled off her shoes and socks, then slipped her pants off completely. He then removed the rest of his own clothes and couldn't help but blush a little at Chloe's intense stare; still self-conscious in spite of their familiarity with each other's bodies. Chloe expected him to join her on the bed, but instead he knelt and placed his hands on her knees to spread her legs apart.
Surprised, Chloe stammered, "Y-you don't have to--"
"I want to," he said quietly. Walter ran his hands over the incredibly soft skin of her inner thighs; her legs opened wider in response. He stared at her womanhood with a mixture of nervousness and curiosity, having never been comfortable with looking at this most intimate part of her before. He had expected to feel disgust, but instead he found it strangely alluring; the way the folds of her labia served to conceal and at the same time accentuate her feminine nature. He carefully parted the soft folds to reveal the glistening entrance to her core, and above it the innocuous little nub which he knew could bring her so much pleasure. Walter leaned in to taste her.
Chloe gasped, the muscles of her thighs twitched. Walter peered from the V of her legs. "Hurt you?"
"No," she giggled nervously, "Just caught me off guard. It's alright."
Reassured, Walter lowered his head once again.
Chloe moaned and squirmed as Walter experimented with lips and tongue. "B-better than alright."
Walter smiled. Encouraged by her reaction, he continued with greater confidence. He delved into her warm entrance to taste her distinctive flavor, flicked the sensitive nub with the tip of his tongue, fastened his lips over it and began sucking. Chloe's moans turned into cries of ecstasy. Her clenched fists wadded the bedding and her back arched as waves of pleasure washed over her. Walter's own arousal grew as he brought her closer and closer to the edge. Her cries and moans soon left him unable to hold back any longer. Chloe felt a sense of loss when his mouth withdrew, only to experience a greater pleasure as his manhood slid into her and he began to pump in and out of her with hard, deep thrusts. They were both so ready, so wet and hard and eager for completion.
"Oh god!" Chloe all but screamed as her orgasm struck with the suddenness of an electric shock. Walter continued thrusting even as she came down from her high, his own climax fast approaching. Chloe matched his rhythm, raised her hips over and over to meet his thrusts. Their eyes locked; his blue gaze burned with intensity. Chloe was amazed to feel a familiar tingle start to build in her. Again? Yes, again. Walter slammed into her a final time and Chloe's voice rose with his in joyous union. Then the moment slipped away, as it always must, and left only its echo behind.
Walter collapsed, exhausted, his weight a comfort to the equally tired woman beneath him. They lay like this for several minutes, bodies slippery with mingled sweat. After a while Walter managed to pant, "That…was…"
"Yeah," Chloe grinned, eyes closed, "'mazing what a little stress can do."
Walter nuzzled her slender neck. "More than a little," he murmured.
"Yeah," Chloe repeated in a more sober voice. She bit her lip. "I need to tell you something."
Walter lifted his head, looked into her worried eyes. He brushed the sweat-dampened hair from her furrowed brow. "What?"
She swallowed. "I'm…pregnant."
His expression didn't change. Chloe's eyes widened. "You knew?"
"Suspected."
Chloe touched his cheek, still red from where she'd slapped him moments ago. "Are you scared?" she asked, a tremor in her voice.
Walter nodded, lip trembling. He answered in a hoarse whisper, "Yes."
"Me too."
She kissed him, tasting herself on his lips, then tenderly cradled his head against her shoulder. They drew strength from their closeness even as the worries they'd held at bay with their intense lovemaking resurfaced. They understood then that whatever happened, however this dark period of time ended, they would face it together. There was no other choice; neither could survive without the other. Neither wanted to.
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My Love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis, for object, strange and high;
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility…
…But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.
For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic power depose.
(excerpts from "The Definition of Love" by Andrew Marvell)
