This chapter took awhile because it is very long. It's more of a character chapter than the others, since our main character seems to be incapacitated for the moment. Unfortunately, there is only very little focus on Diana and Lasko here. The good news, however, is that it really dives into Dan's character, highlighted by the few important people he's been surrounded with (who are really the stars of the chapter in my opinion), and it's probably the only chapter so far where Dan is not completely cynical and pissed off.

There is also one new character introduced here (chapter title, duh) and though she won't be around long for the entire story, her influence on Dan is very important to his stability. So, enjoy, and I hope this one isn't too touchy-feely.

Chapter 10: Nadine

It is March 2006.

"Yo, man," Benitez said, patting Dan's shoulder. "You were right. I went too far the other day, and I'm sorry."

Dan looked at Benitez after he had set down his things on the new bed he had just moved to, and gave a subtle grin. "It's fine. I understand."

"Didn't remember that you were…touchy about that kind of shit. I should have known better. I'm sorry."

Benitez remembers the little girl, too. In fact, they all do. It hung like a dark cloud over his unit, but he was thankful that they were more independent this time around rather than in large squads. It was infuriating at times, too, that people in the unit looked at him as though he were someone else. He was someone else now. But what made it infuriating was that he was punished for something he had suffered, and things could never be the same again.

"It's not just that, man. Don't worry about it," Dan assured, getting ready to clean his carbine. "I've just been…pissed off lately. Couldn't make my dad's funeral. My mom is gone, now. Girlfriend won't send me letters anymore…"

"I'm listening," Benitez said in an assuring tone.

"I don't like to complain about my predicament much," he sighed, removing the pieces and looking down at him. "But I just feel so frustrated. All the time. Sometimes I just want to do…something, you know? I just want to do something…really, really dangerous. I swear to God sometimes I'm just on the brink of frenzy, you know?"

Benitez shook his head as Dan sighed. "No, man. I don't."

"It's hard to understand. I don't expect you to," Dan replied.

His comrade smiled with a nod. "Alright, man. We only have a few weeks left anyway, then we're off R&R."

"And hopefully out of this hellhole."

"Hopefully. Wanna catch dinner tonight with the rest of the guys? Then hit the club?"

Dan, for some reason, had somewhat brightened up when he heard about it. "Yeah. That'd be nice. Getting sick of all these protein bars, anyway."

Benitez only nodded, which cause some sort of irritation inside of him. He hated silences, but he was used to them.

"A man who travels into the abyss can find the most interesting things about himself. In the darkness, he finds that he can do things he never imagined he could do. It's the ones who don't get lost that stay alive."

To hear these words at the time of his mother's death left him with a refreshed state of comfort. Dan turned to face Benitez, but his comrade was already at the door of the tent, the words burning right into his head, almost as if it wasn't his fellow soldier who said it. Benitez took a deep breath and turned to face him one more time before leaving.

"Friends, Danny," Benitez said. "Friends keep you alive."

Awake. His eyes shot open, but in reality it was rather slow. He tried to lift his head, but there was no strength within him left to do so. In fact, most of his body felt numb and heavy and lifeless. It took a moment before Dan realized that he was undressed to his boxers and that his face was no longer on. A warm blanket was thrown over him to shield him from the cold of last night. It was an even longer moment before he realized what had happened to him, though he couldn't remember how he got here. He had been shot. A woman. Her voice was coated with a British accent. Silenced pistol.

Before he could meditate on what happened, his senses hit him hard. He picked up a faint, fresh aroma that emanated from somewhere in the room; a kind of feminine scent that made him feel withdrawn. Usually it aggravated him, but since he was so weak, he could only suffer the discomfort of such an atmosphere.

Then he realized that this wasn't his apartment. His muscles propped him up into a sitting position, though immediately, he felt the subtle sting of the wound on his left arm that ripped something awful right through the deltoid. It was heavily bandaged and cleaned. And stitched. Quite well, too.

"Don't get up," spoke a voice.

Dan had trouble speaking. His head actually felt like it was still lying down on the couch, and as he lifted himself up, it took him awhile to register everything correctly.

Alex came over to him and tried to lay him back down. Had he any strength, he would have resisted her touch, much like a wounded animal, beautiful and wild and feral. Except, he didn't. She put a hand on his chest and the other behind his neck, setting him back down and he submitted. Her warmth was quick to be sensed, and it made him uncomfortable.

"I gave you some antibiotics and a thousand milligrams of Vicodin, so I'm sure you're feeling the side effects right now. It was all I had," she told him, rolling the blanket back over him. "I cleaned your wounds, too. You lost a bit of blood."

He was listening, but he couldn't bring himself to look at her face, since he felt exposed and vulnerable to her will. More than that, he was concerned about what she'd think of him now, since she knew who he was and what he did with his time. Embarrassing.

"You should probably stay in bed for the rest of the day," she said with warmth. "Don't try to get up and move. You'll only hurt yourself."

But she never asked him. She didn't scold him like a frightened mother. She was warm and accepting and glad that he was alive.

"Go back to sleep," she smiled, putting a hand on his forehead. "I'll be around."

In his sleep, he rarely had extravagant vivid dreams, not since he was a child. They never consisted of fairies or giants or dinosaurs, nor were they so terribly imaginative that he could review it with a clear mind. No. His dreams were more like video files on a hard drive. They replayed scenes that he could remember, over and over again. The scenes, themselves were not important, since the only imagination that his mind allowed itself was to change the situation. It was the people in them that mattered.. He dreamt of the little girl many times, and in every one of those dreams, she died. Often, it was a reminder to him why he could not have what he desired the most, and why he would never have it. He also had dreams of Benitez back when they did their last tour in the Middle East. In those dreams, Benitez always seemed to be a point of regret for him, even though he should never regret anything; that justice was justice and simplicity was more effective than complexity.

But now, his current dream was of someone very important. Someone he shared only a few precious hours with; a beacon in the abyss that he trudged through. And she was very beautiful indeed, but he could not remember her completely. He wondered why we punished ourselves so terribly for things we were not responsible for, and why our minds are so compelled to fix those irrevocable errors.

People often said that Rorschach never cared, and that he was just a criminal amongst criminals who satisfied his lust by pounding down men who would much rather hurt innocents. But that wasn't true. When Dan read the journal, he understood. Rorschach promised that when their sex and murder foamed up about their waists, they'd shout for help, and that he'd deny them salvation.

But he never did that.

In the end, Dan understood that Rorschach, no matter how maladjusted people may have believed him to be, was the only one who cared. He was the only one to make a stand to save them; to give them their salvation; to give them redemption. Walter, though, was a man who had already been chest-deep into the abyss, swallowed up within its punishing depths until he became the abyss himself.

Dan's only question, now, was if he would have the strength to stand up and suffer for those who deserve redemption. And this woman he dreamed of, no matter what her predicament, no matter what her vices were, was worth saving. And Alex, despite her involvement with the city's enemies, was perhaps worth saving, too. In the face of death, Dan realized that they were worth the endeavor. So, no more child's games. There had to be a purpose now.

So, Sarah gave him a little warning, huh?

Yeah. He show up yet?

He returned about half an hour after she shot him. He's in decent shape, but it looks like he's hurting quite a bit.

You sound compassionate.

No. It's just an observation. Pity. Pity is more like it.

He killed—

I know. I don't forget things like that.

Good. You better not. He's just an animal like the rest of them, a dog without a leash.

How much longer before it's over?

We still need to take care of the Russians, who are already weak and crippled, then we have to get rid of the Chinese, then the Irish.

Lucky you have two extra sets of hands to deal with each of them.

No. I have three.

Shut up. I'm not doing this just because I'm ordered to. I want him to pay for what he's done.

Remember why you have to be careful. He's smart. Strong. If he starts getting help, I want you to tell me so we can get rid of them.

Don't worry. He's going nowhere. He's fallen right into my crosshair, which could make the ends perfect if things go right. Do you honestly know if we'll be alright?

Everything will go according to the plan. The rest of the city will follow suit, then we'll be done, off to the Bahamas or some shit like that.

Guess you'll be fine after all.

Yes, I will be. Look, I have to get into uniform. Bye.

Bye.

There had been no call from Bronstein since their meeting in January; Dan felt like he was being left out. Maybe they found a better tool to do their bidding. There has been no information about any prostitution ring, either. They had been keeping him at arm's length.

"I hear back home it's still pretty shitty," said Duane Nichols. "I mean, everyone's getting tired of this phase. It's a long phase, isn't it?"

"They raised taxes back home," Benitez said. "My wife had to give up almost half her paycheck because she make, like, eighty grand a year."

Dan turned to his comrade. "What does she do?"

"Yeah, landscaping?" Duane said.

There was a light chuckle at the table.

"Fuck you," Benitez shook his head. "No, she's a clinical nurse."

"Seventy-fifth percentile?" asked Dan.

"Yeah. You got a job?"

He shrugged.

Benitez imitated Dan's shrug. "So what does 'this' mean?"

"I got nothing," he replied.

Duane looked at him while they sat at the table of the Westernized club that played American pop music that was obviously from a year or two ago but nonetheless popular here. In the background, a handsome Arabic bartender dressed in Western clothing served a few more American troops their liquor. There were plenty of women dancing away on the stage, entertaining the rest of the troops on R&R. During R&R, no one expected to have experiences as defining as in the battlefield. R&R was when soldiers could be people, and yet, Dan felt like he was slipping further away from humanity all the time. Dan and Benitez remained silent, as though both of them had known the reason why.

"What about your girl?" Duane asked him.

There was no answer. Benitez neither looked at Dan nor Duane, instead leaving his eyes towards the ground. Dan didn't answer, taking his beer and gulping down the rest of it. Duane suddenly realized where he had trespassed and nodded in acceptance.

His girlfriend had not sent him any letters since...

He couldn't remember. Sometimes the days seemed to bleed into each other.

She probably still remembered him, though, he assumed, and was probably too busy. She had attended Adrian Veidt University for Medical school, and it was probably one of the most intense professional schools, constantly being in competition with UCLA as having the top public (and affordable) medical school in the nation. Yes. She was busy. But couldn't she have sent letters?

"Whatever," Dan said with a scowl. He stood up and sipped the last of his beer. "I'm going to go take a leak."

He placed the bottle on the table and turned around, stepping past one of the beautiful waitresses who seemed to have too much makeup on. Dan headed towards the men's bathroom door across the room, trying to keep his mind off his girlfriend back home. Upon reaching the door, which was next to the women's bathroom and a door that probably led to the back of the club, he bypassed a man who sported a dark suit and aviator sunglasses. Not the local type, obviously. Dan sighed and entered the door, shutting himself away from the loud music and women and alcohol.

After finishing his leak, he went to wash his hands at the rather dirty sink and threw water in his face, wetting the collar of his uniform at the same time. He took a breath with his eyes closed.

In fact, no one had contacted him in awhile. He was alone and isolated and incomplete, the same way it used to be when he was a child. It was a haunting thought to him that he was getting used to being out here, even though home was the only place he wanted to be. But would they accept him again? No. They were all gone. His father, his mother, and now his girlfriend. Dan found it ironic that though he was the one placed right in the middle of the crossfire, he was the only one left of his family circle. God had his jokes, but Dan wondered where the punch line was.

His eyes began to water. He hung his head low and began to sob.

Before he could let himself go, he heard noises coming out of the vent above him. A woman moaning. Heavy breathing. Dan looked back up and listened a bit longer before putting his foot up on the sink to climb up towards the vent. A man and a woman in a private room together. It was obviously from the door to the back, and not the women's bathroom.

Immediately, Dan headed for the door and peeked out to see if anyone was watching him or if anyone was emerging from the backdoor. Luckily, the three doors were in a blind spot from anyone seated at the tables and he entered the door that led to a short hallway in the back. Dan followed until the hallway led to a perpendicular corridor. The exits were at each end.

The doors in front of him that were evenly spaced from each other probably served as peep show booths for sexually deprived American soldiers. He faced the right end of the hallway and quietly stepped down towards the direction he assumed the sound was coming from. The doors to the left were different. Women probably whored themselves out here. Dan kept moving until he heard the sex noises again, both of them howling like uncouth animals behind the door. He reached for the knob and slowly tried to turn, but it was locked.

Frowning, he turned, then, to the supposed peep show booths and reached for the one right across from the door he just tried. Slowly, he turned the knob and the door opened into a small dark room with a glass wall right across from the door. A man dressed in an expensive suit was seated in a comfortable chair in front him, facing the glass wall. Dan stepped forward and shut the door behind him.

"I'm done wit' my drink," said the man without turning around, his voice weighed heavily with a Cockney accent. "No more, mate."

Dan played along and nodded. "Absolutely, sir."

He reached over to the small table beside the British man and picked up the empty champagne glass and napkin, but his attention was more focused towards what was happening behind the glass wall.

He spotted a woman dressed in scant lingerie, standing in the middle of the room, but she was not entertaining anyone. In fact, she was cuddled and afraid, with likely no idea of where she was, and though her body had matured like a woman's, she didn't seem a day over 18. Her eyes swelled with innocence. Over a small intercom emerged a voice.

"Bidding will start at $200,000."

The British man raised a hand, signaling to Dan. Apparently, he outstayed his welcome.

"Come on now, Yank, this ain't a goddamn peep show. Get out."

Dan nodded. "Yes, sir."

He turned around and left with one more look at the woman up for auction, a fiery glint in his tearless eyes. Dan shut the door behind him and looked both corners. He heard a noise from the other side of the hallway and spotted the real waiter carrying a bottle of champagne out of the room. Dan looked to the door across from him, remembering that it was locked. Then, he took a left and went to the next room as fast as he could and decided not to knock. He twisted the knob, thanking luck that it was unlocked and went right inside the door, turned to look out, and shut it as softly and hastily as he could.

Dan took a breath and leaned his head against the door in relief.

Then he turned around. His jaw dropped and all the breath in his body escaped him at once.

She sat up on her bed and covered her scantily-clad body with the blanket, neither frightened nor surprised. Her beautifully-shaped lips formed a smile and she brushed her short blonde hair to the side, past her mesmerizing green eyes. Dan kept his back to the door to maximize the distance between them and took a second to take his breath back. He dropped the champagne glass that he was carrying.

"You are the next one?" she asked with a certain sincerity. "I've been waiting for you."

From the creases in the blanket alone, Dan could tell that she had a voluptuous body, almost perfect in every way, and perhaps too perfect to be real. She removed the blanket and stood up, revealing her half-dressed figure which would melt any male with a pair of eyes. Dan swallowed and then cleared his throat, trying not to look at her.

Then she looked discouraged, putting her head down with slight sadness in her body language.

"I understand that I am not so beautiful to look at sometimes," she said, much to his surprise. "If you want, I can direct you to another room."

She had to be joking.

"Please. Say something," she said.

Footsteps.

"Something," Dan whispered, his mind back into the moment at hand.

He turned around towards the door again and listened to what was happening on the other side. From what it seemed, the waiter had just entered the room a few good doors next to the one Dan had just been in, and it sounded like he was retrieving all of the champagne glasses. He'd have to use his time wisely before they find out something's wrong, since the Brit that Dan had taken the glass from would inform the waiter about said glass being taken. Then he'd be found, taken to a dark room, and probably be beaten to death with an aluminum bat. Or chainsawed. Or something. He shuddered to think about it.

The footsteps stopped.

"Should I show you another room with another woman waiting for you?" she asked him, her right hand caressing her left arm nervously. Her skin was well-tanned, as well, and yet she was so humble.

"No," he managed to say. He had to focus on getting out.

"Then," she looked up with starry eyes, "what shall we do?"

Her accent was American. She seemed like she had been here for a long time.

"What is this place?" Dan asked.

"This place?" she smiled. "It's a club."

He gave her a glare.

She looked down. "People are…sold…here. Girls."

It must have been the prostitution ring that Bronstein had informed him about. Dan was sitting right in the middle of it.

"And you're sold?"

"Not yet," she said. "But soon."

Sighing, Dan knew he had to take a moment to think. He ran a hand through his hair and walked towards the bed and plopped down onto it. The moment somewhat overwhelmed him in the sense that he had found the place (supposedly) that he was supposed to find. He'd have to leave and return some other time. But what about Bronstein? He couldn't even contact the man.

As he hung his head low, a sensation of fingers ran through his hair, sending a chill down his spine. She bent over and put her hands on his thighs, to which he immediately brushed her away and stood up facing her, only inches away from her face. Her eyes were so fiery with lust that now he couldn't look at her in the eye.

"I have to get out of here," Dan then said.

"Is it because of me?"

He was surprised yet again.

"No. Of course not."

"Then," she looked away. "Could I…"

She seemed to have trouble saying what she had to say.

"What?"

"Could you give me some money?" she asked. "It's not for me. I just want to show my boss that I got some extra tips tonight."

The woman turned around to reach for a set of clothes, and revealed the scars on her back to him. Dan looked away in disgust.

"It's unpleasant. I know," she said. "But, please. I can't go back tonight without the money. If you can spare a few dollars, I will not forget you."

Giving her a stern expression, Dan reached for his back pocket. What a whore, working in such a degrading job. But then again, she could have probably been picked up a long time ago and was abused by her 'masters,' involved in a slavery-prostitution ring with old pedophiles and fat, oafish men with insatiable desires. She could be here against her will.

Then the thought crossed his mind. She could be useful to him.

"What is your name?" Dan asked, putting his wallet away.

She seemed saddened when he tucked his wallet back into his back pocket, but looked at his name tag. "Nadine. Nice to meet you, Sergeant Dan."

"You from the States, Nadine?"

"Lake Tahoe, California."

"When's the last time you were there?"

"Years ago," she said. "I was sixteen."

"How old are you now?"

"More than old enough."

She reached for a pair of jeans and slipped them on just after she put on a tank top, but halfway, she stopped and began taking her clothes off again as if something had just come to her realization.

"What are you doing?" Dan inquired.

"I'll have to work for that extra money," she said. "Because you decided not to give me any. I understand. I'll make the rest of it if there are any others tonight."

He put a hand on her shoulder in an awkward way, as if he had forgotten how to communicate with the opposite sex. "Put your clothes back on."

"Why?"

Then, he held her hand.

"You're coming with me."

He woke again into darkness and his head seemed clearer. Less weighed down by narcotics. He looked at the clock. 11:00 PM. Dan actually had the strength to sit up and put his feet on the floor, letting out a groan due to his weakness. Looking at his wounded arm, he realized that Alex had already applied a rather old-looking arm support on him so it wouldn't be hurting every time he moved. He shut his eyes again and thought about the recollection, but couldn't remember much, and after awhile, he gave up and decided to walk around.

Limp around, actually.

Grunting, his weak steps along the soft carpet were loud enough to be heard in the quiet room, but it only took him a second to stop when he saw the bit of light underneath the door to Alex's room. The other light came from underneath the bathroom next to it and the shower was not running. From the door, he could hear soft, melodic humming. She had probably just finished. Her apartment was obviously more expensive than his if it could support separate rooms. Dan didn't want to intrude, so instead he studied her apartment, looking for the little things he could not detect the last time he was here. A few pictures of her and some friends. A photograph of her parents next to it. Her mother was half-Hispanic and her father was white. Another photograph; this one from her youth. A teenaged photograph of her in a cowboy hat, playing the guitar. So happy. Obviously, the pictures were not taken on the East Coast, and they seemed to be from what looked like the Midwest. Her teen pictures were taken here, though. No doubt about that.

It led to him questioning why she was here in the first place, instead of places like Los Angeles, where the talent business thrived. But, then again, Veidt-Virgin Records was based here, and it rivals Capitol Records in LA.

He didn't get it. Her upbringing seemed so innocent, yet she was here with the scum, hanging with them in the clubs and working for jerkoffs like Delahunt and playing their little games.

Maybe she just wanted it.

No. That could not have been. Dan refused to accept that as the reason, even though his routine cynicism differed from his conscience.

The door opened and she came out, a bath robe covering her body. Dan looked away.

She gasped in surprise. "Sorry. Didn't know you were up. Be back in a sec."

Apologizing already?

Alex went to her room to get dressed and Dan turned around to look at other things in the main room, but noticed that her door was not closed and only very slightly ajar. He kept his eyes away. A stereo. The guitar from her picture. A vase with fresh flowers that complimented the room scheme in some strange way. Stress-release candles. Dan walked over to the window and poked his fingers through the blinds to see the outside world and knew that if he hadn't been so stupid he would be out there by now, tracking down that Brit bitch who had shot him. He noted her accent again and remembered hearing it from somewhere. It only took him a second. Those damned Protectors. If they want to have this city, then they can have it. They didn't have to shoot him.

They could have just asked.

This meant that there was something they tried to hide. Why didn't she finish him off? Why only a few flesh wounds? Now there were more people involved, and things were beginning to cloud up. Dan would have to watch his step from now on, as everything could be a potential trap. If the Protectors were so adamant about destroying the criminal structure, then why would they go after the Diablos? The Diablos didn't know how to organize; they were damned-near anarchistic. The Protectors could have gone after Delahunt way before he could have, because they were stronger in numbers and apparently great shots. Delahunt had connections. Maybe this was retaliation for doing their job for them. Then again, that wouldn't make sense.

Dan needed to know who else had connections.

But, with the little control he had over his body, he wouldn't be prowling the streets again anytime soon. Maybe a week and a half at the least before he is in shape again. Maybe more.

"How are you feeling?" she said as the door opened from behind him.

She was dressed in her (rather conservative) pajamas, though Dan half-expected something whorish such as lingerie.

"Shot."

Alex laughed, but covered her mouth with her hand. "Sorry. It must be really hurting."

"I'm alive," he said. "Feel decent, actually. A lot better than the last time I've been shot."

"You've been shot before?"

He nodded with a slight sigh, indicating the way he felt about the memories that had just surfaced. "In my first tour."

"How many tours?" she asked, walking over to the couch and sitting on it after she scooted his pillow over. She motioned for him to come to her. "Sit."

The least Dan could do was be nice to her.

"Three," he answered, sitting across from her. "Four long years abroad."

"How did you get shot?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you found getting shot so interesting."

"I did save your life, you know," she said playfully with a smile.

He looked away to conceal a slight smirk, making it seem as if it was difficult to speak about his first tour. "I was in Israel for about eight months. Didn't do much. Didn't see much action. Mostly, we were on road patrol in the outskirts; got to know the civilians, the religious workers there…lots of people. The day I was shot was when our squad was made to track down a possible bomber hiding inside the city somewhere," he continued, pausing slightly to swallow and take a breath. "Private Benitez and I were assigned to KD at the base and couldn't go."

"KD?"

"Kitchen duty," he said. "I was still pretty crazy about action back then, because I came so I could help eradicate the terrorists, not patrol some sort of city. That was too boring. So, since we knew one of the majors at the base, we convinced him to let us follow the squad with our own backup team in case anything went wrong. We followed them through the streets, but an explosion went off. Too small to be a bomb. Large enough to be trouble. Benitez and I continued down the streets where civilians had already panicked and evacuated.

"Since Benitez was a great rifleman and I was a better one, we decided to split and take the high ground; left the Hummer behind. The Hummer was hit with a roadside mine a good quarter mile later. Benitez was following me when we heard the explosion."

He then looked at her and shrugged.

"I was distracted and out in the open. Looked towards the explosion. Took a hit. Simple as that."

She nodded, but found it strange how callous he seemed towards such a harrowing experience. "Your friend saved you?"

"Yes," he replied, and she nodded. "Actually, the only reason he was alive was because I was shot. Don't think he'd have taken it really well. Probably would've died on the spot."

For some reason, Alex couldn't look at him, taking a breath to compose herself. "What happened to him?"

He took awhile to answer.

"Got shot on my third tour," Dan said. "Died."

"That's it?"

"Simple as that," he repeated coldly.

She looked back to him. "Did you ever grieve for him?"

Dan looked down with a sigh. He couldn't recall much of him, but maybe it was more of the fact that he didn't want to remember anything that had happened back then. He liked to believe that it was all behind him.

"Don't know," he said. "Can't remember. I get frustrated often. To try to put it in words is hard. I feel this mix of guilt and fury and…"

His voice somewhat shook. Alex didn't reply, and there was another silence. Dan had a pensive expression, staring into space and it seemed that for the moment, disclosing this sort of information was not much of a bother. He was actually having a non-antagonistic conversation with her for once.

"And I don't know why and I can't fix it," he followed up. "But maybe that's the point."

"I wonder what goes through your head sometimes," she said, repeating the same words she had said during their breakfast together earlier in the morning.

He snapped from his thoughtful gaze and looked at her. "Do you regret asking?"

Alex stood up and stepped in front of him, close enough that he had to look down and away from her exposed belly-button. She reached a hand out and very slowly approached to touch him as if she were touching a wounded tiger: beautiful, yet fearsome and brutal, comfortable with roaming in the concrete jungle, his home and territory. There was a release of stress and tension as Dan exhaled at her running her hand through his hair, feeling a sense of comfort that he hadn't felt in too long.

"No," she said, the words floating out in a comforting whisper. "I'm glad you told me. And I'm always here to listen."

Dan finally had the courage to look up at her and she smiled so warmly, so soothingly that he managed to return the little bit of smile he had within him. Alex caressed his cheek the sweetest way she could.

"Now, get some rest," she said. "I'll see you tomorrow."

He was glad she didn't ask about Rorschach, but in a way, he felt that he'd have to explain it to her at some point. It was the least he could do for her kindness to him. The least he could do happened to be a lot of things.

He pulled her through the streets and hid her in his embrace in the dark alleyways as he canvassed the neighborhood for any random vacant hotel. Plenty of the troops were in town on R&R, most of them not even realizing why they were over here in the Middle East. Men died every day in some of the worst ways possible, but that didn't stop the partying, didn't stop living life like it was the last day. Dan had already called Benitez and informed him of the situation. Benitez had made a smarmy comment about him finally warming up to a woman and shut the phone. On the northeast side of town, there was a tourist hotel that most soldiers wouldn't even go to, but since the other places in the area were booked, it was the only place he could go. He needed answers, and she had them.

Nadine, who seemed to remain as easygoing as any high-class American Dan has ever seen, was one of the strangest women he had ever met. She must have been brainwashed by the bastards who were planning to sell her.

"Yeah, I need a room," Dan said with haste. He was in such a hurry that it seemed either he or Nadine was on some narcotic substance. "Quickly."

"Yes, sir," spoke the Arabic man behind the counter. "We don't get many soldiers here."

He followed with a sarcastic remark. "Great. What rooms are available?"

"Would you prefer smoking or non-smoking, sir?"

Dan exhaled with frustration. "Don't care. Smoking. Wait. Non-smoking."

"We currently have four rooms available, sir. You are very lucky, sir."

"The cheapest. Get me the cheapest."

"You don't want one by the balcony, sir?"

"I. Don't. Care."

"Pardon my English, sir. Maybe I was rude, sir."

"Fine!" Dan barked under his breath. "Get me the balcony, then."

Nadine let out a chuckle as he handed his card over the check-in counter. After a few moments of transaction, the serviceman nodded.

"Very good, sir. You won't be disappointed, sir."

Then, Dan held out his hand. "Give me the key."

"Would you like us to carry your luggage, sir?"

"Give me the fucking key," Dan whispered threateningly, hoping not to make a scene.

"Okay, sir," the man said, handing Dan the key. "Enjoy your night, sir."

"Thank you," Dan said begrudgingly, snatching the key away from him and heading to the elevator.

The room was at a fairly high floor. He got to the elevator and punched in the 'up' key, and the door immediately opened as he and the woman got on. The twelfth floor was a decent ways up. He wasn't planning to stay the night.

"You're very good with people," Nadine noted.

Dan rolled his eyes. "Oh, so she knows how to make smartass remarks, too, huh?"

Usually, her alarm would go off to wake her up, but it was actually her cell phone that brought her awake. Diana reached over and grabbed her phone, wondering just who the hell was calling her this early at 4:30 AM. Lasko. Honestly, she wanted to toss the phone across the room and get another two hours of sleep. Then when the phone stopped ringing, there was a text.

Hey. Outside. Freezing my ass off. Let me in?

She wanted to type a very nice "go screw yourself" but did not have the brain energy to do so, instead getting up and electronically activating the front door for him. Diana went and sat in the stool next to her kitchen counter, her head falling and rising as she was about to drift back to sleep. Then, after a quick moment, the doorbell rang. She dragged herself to the door and opened it, but the top lock was still in place, opening the door only enough for her to see him.

"Hi!" he said with abnormal enthusiasm.

She could barely even see him since she was so tired. "It's four in the morning. Are you strung out or something?"

Lasko paused for a second, taking the question quite seriously. "Not right now. No."

"Why are you here?"

A strange, uncontrollable giggle emerged. "I hadn't slept. You know what this means?"

"You were out getting money again, weren't you?"

"No," he shook his head, but then thought about it. "Yes, actually. But even better. I was doing some real detective work."

"And this can't wait?"

"NO!"

She shushed him immediately. "Shut up! You're going to wake everyone up. Show me what you've got first to convince me to stay out of bed."

Lasko raised his cell phone to show a photograph of a marked crime scene. In the center, on the pavement, was a body. A man on his back with a bullet wound in his sternum.

"A murder?" she looked up with a terrifying glare. "You woke me up for a goddamn murder?"

"Wait till you look at his face," Lasko said, pressing the button to show the next picture.

Diana looked at the picture, then her eyes widened, surprised and awake and aware. That face.

"Did you catch the killer?"

"The night officers were there just in time, but nada. The murderer jumped into the shadows and disappeared. Fucking shadows, man," Lasko stated. "They needed a night detective, and I was the one closest by. Gonna let me in now? Falling asleep here."

She nodded. "Yeah. Let me get dressed."

The victim had a cheap mask on, but the mask was painted symmetrically, with ink blots evenly spaced on the face. No. Rorschach couldn't be dead already, could he? The victim in the picture was just an everyman in a Halloween costume, and he was killed for it. Last time she checked, Halloween was over. And so was Thanksgiving and Christmas. So Halloween was really over. Either way, the picture was interesting. The situation was more confusing now. They'd have to find out what happened to this victim, get ballistics on the bullets, and then pursue Johnson.

He led her into the room and then shut the door suspiciously, turning around to see if the place was secluded enough. It should be. Dan then went and checked the bathroom in case something was in there, but maybe he was overreacting. They didn't have much time, did they? If they didn't, then they'd probably be tracked down, shot, and butchered to pieces by now.

"I'm right here, you know," Nadine said, stepping forward and stopping him.

She ran a finger down from the lapels of his clean fatigues to his belt, staring intensely into his eyes with fierce attraction. Her hand finally reached his crotch.

"Ahhoookay," Dan reacted jumpily, pushing her hand away. "That's not why I brought you here."

"You rescued me from that awful brothel," she spoke with a seductive, melodic tone. "That makes you my hero, doesn't it? I just want to repay you for your selflessness."

Nadine leaned in for a kiss, nearly stealing all of his willpower away, but Dan managed to put his hands on her shoulders and keep her at a reasonable distance. She looked slightly confused.

"I need to ask you some questions," he said.

But the way she was dressed reminded him so much of home, especially the suburb that he grew up in and those days back in the summer when he and his girlfriend would waste their days away watching the sun reflect off the lake water, then receiving some insane sunburns because he hated putting on sunscreen. It was all so far away from him now; it was some other experience in some other life that he did not know of.

"What kinds of questions?"

Maybe the questions could wait. The honest, but not-quite-so innocent personality of Nadine's gave the question a mark of curiosity rather than offense. Her eyes moved down to his lips, then back up to meet his own.

"Do you ever miss home?" he ended up asking, letting her go. She stepped back and took a breath.

"Home?" she replied with a soft smile, revealing a sense of nostalgia. "I don't think about it."

"Why not?"

Nadine went and sat on the hotel bed while he leaned against the wall. "I've been a personal slave to a man for these few years. He wouldn't share me with the others. Sometimes, he was a caring man, and other times, he abused me. Left me scars."

She began to toy with the bracelet on her wrist.

"But I was thankful. Thankful that it was he who beat me and not a careless man. You see, he…cared…for me, even if it was like caring for a dog. I thanked God every night for sparing my life each day," she told him. "I've seen his other girls. He sold them to other men. Terrible men who were worse than he was. Frightening, disgusting men with voracious appetites and degrading carnal desires. I cried many times for them. I had cried even more knowing that I was to be sold soon. I was becoming too old for him. He liked his women young."

Dan reached for a cigarette in his pocket and lit it as it touched his lips.

"What about you?" Nadine asked. "You ever miss home?"

"No," he shook his head.

"How long have you been here?"

"Long enough to call this home," Dan said, exhaling a breath of smoke. "The truth is, I don't miss home at all."

Her head tilted just a bit. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I have nothing left to return to," he said, then swallowed, finding it somewhat difficult to speak to her about himself. "I never had anything. I guess you could say I enlisted because I wanted to leave home. Home was…well, it was home, but I never liked it much."

Nadine finally gave him a look of ridicule. "Don't say that."

He looked up at her, surprised at her suddenly commanding voice.

"Don't you ever imply to me that you were unloved," she said to him, standing up and closing the distance between them. "Our lives are a carousel, and we are children. We go out to play, and as we go up and down, we are going in one large circle. When we are too tired to do what we want to, we come around right back home, to a place where there is always someone who loves us."

She sniffed and held back a sob, her eyes beginning to water. Slowly, she came forward and leaned herself into him.

"I want to go home, Danny…" she said, her voice cracking into fragile sobs and whimpers. "I'm done playing. I want to know if there's someone out there who still loves me."

He couldn't respond. There was nothing to say. Instead, he put his arms around her and embraced her in the most comforting way that he could, and for that moment, he could almost feel something down within the pit of his stomach rise up. Nadine looked up at him with her yearning green eyes and he was frozen.

"Tell me I'll be okay," she said, scooting in closer. "Tell me I'll be fine, Dan. Make me feel fine…"

This time, he did not resist. Their breaths traded passionately as he brought her entirely to him and ran his hand up her back and up to her neck, sending chills throughout her body. His felt his way down her backside, and he could feel her slightly cold hands make their way up his shirt and run down his chest.

"No," she then said after detaching her lips from his. "Only if you want to. You probably don't think of me as respectable."

"I want this," he said, kissing his way up her neck. "As much as you do."

She smiled, despite feeling much depression a moment ago, and he carried her over to the bed while she removed her top. Dan could not believe what he was doing. But it felt good. It was something that he hadn't felt in a long time.

He wasn't alone.

The next chapter will really move the story forward, so for you plot lovers, I've got something interesting details lined up. Hope you guys enjoyed.