NOTE: Okay, first off, I would just like to thank all of you awesome people who are reading and reviewing, it really means a lot that you give my story the time of day ;) Now, this chapter is a bit long. Some of it might be a bit slow, some of it will (hopefully) be exciting. But please keep in mind this is a transition chapter to get to the theoretical epic-ness. :D Oh, and song of the chapter is Wild Child by Enya.

12. Long We Have Stood Alone, Now We Are Partners in Crime

Manhattan was right. Time speeds up to a breathless pace, so fast it's almost miraculous. The week after reconciling with Cadence is very busy, and at the end of each day my head is still reeling.

The first day, Cadence and I meet at Wendy's and spend all of our time there writing out notes. She says that I'm a good writer; she's better and I tell her. Our conversations are stilted and awkward, but I find a fierce kind of satisfaction in it; we get more work done without the pleasantries.

That first day we write out almost fifty notes, and when I head out on patrol that night my hands hurt when I ball them into fists. I'm convinced I now have carpal tunnel.

The second day, Cadence meets me in the morning, walking to school from Dunkin Donuts. She tells me she gets out early in the afternoon so we'll have plenty of time to distribute our notes. Then she hands me the computer and says if I break it I'll owe her six hundred dollars and three years worth of writing. She's only half-joking.

I spend the day in McDonald's, waiting for Cadence and scanning through Infowars. Of course, it doesn't take me long to get sidetracked. Daniel is on my mind; I have to find him. I type in his name to see what comes up, but there's not much.

Hurm.

Wasting no time, I type in the words "nite owl" and click on the first link that pops up. It takes me to an online newspaper article entitled "The Nite Owl Flies Again". There is a picture of the owlship and beneath, a caption dated August 1st, 1994. The breath catches in my throat, nearly choking me. He kept patrolling? An unexplainable warm feeling flutters in my stomach, and I feel a strange urge to smile. It's immediately followed by a jolt of cold fear. Patrolling alone?

My hands shriek in protest, still sore from writing so much yesterday, as I squeeze them into nervous fists. I continue to search the internet, hoping for but also fearing any news about Daniel. My heart pounds hotly in my chest each time I open a new page, fearing to see any news of his death, and then feeling light-headed each time I learn of the contrary. In the back of my mind, I realize that Daniel must have been avoiding any and all notoriety; I can find plenty of articles on Nite Owl, but none on Daniel Dreiberg.

I lose track of time. I don't notice that it's a quarter to three until Cadence clears her throat at my side. I jump and a smile twitches at the corners of her mouth.

"It's usually you who sneaks up on me," she comments, amused. Her expression is tentatively friendly and hopeful; I ignore it.

"Lost track of time," I mutter, closing the pages and turning off the computer. When I look up at her again, her expression is shadowed with disappointment but she just nods her head toward the door and says, "We should hurry. My mom just called and said she gets off at four, so we only have an hour."

I nod, all business, and we head out. She wears her headphones around her neck with the volume turned up to full so we can both hear the music. I look at her curiously, allowing myself a question. "Why do you always listen to your music?"

She looks back at me; her eyes flicker quickly with surprise and then relax into an open, easy brightness. "You see, the trouble with life is there's no background music. And so I have to make my own," she explains, offering me a smile.

I nod wordlessly and turn to stare straight ahead. Though I try to tune it out, her music still weaves into my thoughts, and I realize that I like it. It is a very diverse range of genres and types, but all very beautiful in unique ways.

And then I hear a song that sends a flood of icy chill through me, while at the same causing my chest to heat up with a fluttery, nostalgic joy. "What's this one?" I ask sharply and then try to control my agitation.

Cadence blinks at me. "Wild Child by Enya," she answers. "Why?"

"No reason," I lie. "It just sounds familiar, that's all." I hope I don't sound as defensive as I feel. She doesn't look convinced but doesn't pursue an answer. Smart of her. When we arrive at Hastings we get immediately to work, and are successfully able to distribute all of our notes. She buys us both a coffee, and when she hands the clerk the money I notice there's writing on it.

"Did you write on that?" I ask curiously.

She nods, smiling at me. "It says 'Join the Resistance Movement' and then at the bottom I put links to Infowars and Prisonplanet," she explains, sounding proud.

I nod to her, looking away. "Good thinking," I respond, allowing no emotion to show through.

That morning after patrol, in the short hours of sleep I can grab, that song tangles in my dreams.

The third day, Cadence catches me unprepared again. We meet at Wendy's, and I inwardly groan when she suggests we write more notes today. "How can you keep writing so much?" I demand, unthinkingly following her to the front counter.

She flashes me a wry smile. "Years of practice," she answers and orders her food.

After she hands the cashier her money, I lean over and whisper, "You write on it?"

"Of course I did! You don't think I'm an idiot, do you?" she exclaims and then narrows her eyes. "No, no. Don't answer that." I almost chuckle but I save myself in time.

When we go back to our table, at first we just work and eat in silence. But then Cadence surprises me. "So...are you really Rorschach?"

I stop and stiffen, looking up at her in shock. She is looking at me with a timid but openly concerned expression. I glare at her. "It's not any of your business," I snap. Which I realize, as I'm saying it, is pretty much a clear and concise yes.

Her eyes flash with anger; she narrows them and leans across the table to hiss, "It is my business so long as we're working together, now give me a straight answer or I leave right now."

My mind shrieks at me to retaliate, but I am momentarily dumbfounded. The way her mouth is set in that stubborn line, the way her eyes bore directly into mine, unblinking... She's more confident, I think, and though it rankles to realize, I also feel an unexpected rush of wry pride for this change in her. I search her face for any signs of a bluff but she gives nothing away. It's as if she knows I can't walk away, I think and twitch my lips to hide the sarcastic smile curving the corners of my mouth.

"Alright, but keep your voice down," I growl gruffly.

Cadence smiles and leans back, nodding. "Okay," she agrees, automatically lowering her voice. Her eyes burn with curiousity and excitement at her brief victory. "Well? Are you?"

For a moment, I pause, remembering Manhattan's warning: There is one more thing you will need, but you must be careful when you use it...You are supposed to be dead.

But she's already seen me as Rorschach. She's smart; she can put two and two together. It would take a lot of lying to dissuade her now, I think. Besides, deep inside of me, my instincts whisper warnings that if I don't tell her, if I'm not honest with her, there might be trouble.

"Yes," I reply quietly, with clear reluctance. Silence greets my words, and as it stretches on I look up, wondering what she's thinking. She is staring down at the table and I can't see her expression. "Well? Why don't you say anything?" I snap, my voice made sharper by my anxiety.

"You were always my hero," she mumbles almost incoherently, and before I can respond her head snaps up and she looks at me with a confused, anxious expression. "How are you here?" she asks. "You're, like, only twenty!" she continues, her voice rising. Her confidence gone, confusion and disbelief take its place and I feel a flicker of satisfaction. I am in control again.

"Twenty-one next week," I reply with a smug smirk.

"Exactly! So how are you even here? You're supposed to be dead! And even if you weren't, you'd be as old as Eddie's dad!" she exclaims.

When she says that, a red flag seems to flicker alertly in my mind. I blink at her. "Eddie's dad?" I repeat; I don't even stop to ask who Eddie even is.

Cadence looks at me in surprise, hearing the change in my voice. "Yeah...Sam," she answers slowly, shrugging. My heart sinks with disappointment, and inwardly I sneer at myself. Why would it be Daniel? Stupid, wishful thinking...

"...don't even know how the hell this is even possible!" Cadence's words prod me from my letdown; she's continued with her frantic words. My amusement returns then and I feel powerful again.

"Cadence. Calm down. Some mysteries are better left mysteries," I interrupt and then return smugly to writing out notes.

She gapes at me. "Are you joking?" she shrieks.

"Your mother's here," I reply calmly, pointing out the window with my pen without looking up.

Cadence let's out an offended gasp and sits there for a moment, deliberating. Finally, she grabs her coat and backpack and stands up. "Fine. But this isn't over, Walter," she sneers and I look up to see her blue eyes blaze furiously into mine. I return her gaze calmly. She glares at me a moment longer before slamming her chair into the table so hard it rattles.

The fourth day, Cadence meets me on the corner of 23rd and Louisiana. She stands with her arms crossed over her chest, staring challengingly at me. "Cadence," I greet her, nodding.

"I'm skipping school" is the first thing that comes out of her mouth.

I stare at her, shocked, and it takes me a moment to find my voice. "You're...skipping...school?" I repeat slowly.

"Did I stutter?" she replies scathingly.

"No, but...I thought you were supposed to be...you know..." I trail off, unsure of what I'm trying to say.

"What?"

"I don't know...a good kid?"

Cadence lets out a short bark of a laugh. "Yeah, well, the 'good kids' are just the ones who don't get caught. Look, I called myself in sick- nobody can tell the difference between my mom's voice and mine- so we can get shit done."

I am silent for a moment, staring at her in shock, and then I just grimace and shake my head. "Expected better from you, Cadence," I grumble. "And don't say that word."

Cadence blinks and draws back, looking surprised. "What word?"

"That word! The vulgar one you just used."

"Oh, you mean shi-"

"Yes, that one," I interrupt impatiently and start walking toward McDonald's.

She laughs, following. "Are you serious? Okay, first of all, everyone uses those words, and second of all, you can't tell me what to do," she argues and then shakes her head. "Okay, you know what, you're not gonna get me off topic. You're gonna finish the conversation we started yesterday."

She glares sternly at me until I growl impatiently. "Yes, alright, alright! Wait till we get to McDonald's," I grumble.

But we don't get to McDonald's. I hear the shouts at the same time Cadence does, and we both look at each other in alarm. We don't say anything, and privately I can't help admiring her courage as we both follow the cries to a deserted side road. In the middle of the road, three men have ganged up on a younger-looking man, tearing into him viciously, like feral animals, barking out obsceneties and threats.

I don't hesitate. I feel Rorschach pulsing underneath my skin, tugging me forward, leading me on. I feel Cadence at my side, sticking close. I look down at her; she is scared, horrified, but her face is set in that stubborn, determined expression. "Stay back," I snarl at her, pushing her away.

Stumbling backwards, she gapes at me, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What? No!" she protests. But I can't waste any time arguing.

The men stop when they see me. They sneer at me, and I can see their mouthes move but I don't concentrate on what they're saying. My body is pulsing with cold, calm assurance. I see what I must do, and it is clear. I fall on them, swooping down silently, slashing and arcing with my body through their midst until the only one standing is the bloody, trembling victim.

He watches me, breathing heavily, his eyes fixed on me warily. I stand there for a moment and then growl, "Get yourself to a hospital."

He nods quickly, holding his arm, which is hanging uselessly at his side and must be broken. But as he's turning to limp away, Cadence hurries over. "Wait," she orders and looks down at the unconscious attackers. "Take pictures of them with your phone or something so you can identify them," she explains.

The young man's eyes narrow. "Oh, I can identify 'em without pictures," he mutters, glaring down at his attackers.

My vigilante instincts kick in. "You know them?" I demand.

"Oh, I know'm alright. We go back a long way," he replies darkly.

"Gangs?" I inquire.

He hesitates but then sighs. "Yeah..." he admits reluctantly.

Cadence looks at me, eyebrows furrowed in concern, and I blink at her, wondering what she's thinking. Then she turns back to the boy and murmurs, "Well, you don't want to be associated with them anymore I presume. So take pictures of them. So that when you go to the cops, they don't automatically assume you were part of a gang."

And suddenly I understand. Oh. Police brutality has been on the rise. She doesn't want this boy to be a possible victim twice in a row. Smart girl.

The boy seems to think so, too. He nods to her and takes pictures of his attackers with his phone. It is then that I notice the tattoo on his wrist. It is small, black, and delicate, and I almost can't tell what it is at first. And then, as I peer closer while trying to maintain inconspicuous about it, I realize that it's an inkblot, still red around the edges. New. He is a truther, I realize in shock.

What do you see? a voice whispers, just a breath, nearly inaudible. It twines through my mind like a memory and then disappears. Right after it, I hear another whisper, just as quiet but softer, gentler: Two lovers kissing. Blinking, I shake the shiver from my spine and try to ignore the strange whisperings. Probably just my imagination anyway.

The boy thanks me quietly, wiping the blood from his eyes and then cradling his broken arms while he walks away. Cadence stands next to me, watching him leave, her face distressed, torn. The boy is almost out of sight when she turns to me, eyes wide with anxiety. "Should we have helped him get to the hospital?" she asks.

"He could walk. He'll be fine," I assure her. She still looks uncertain. "Cadence. He'll be fine," I repeat, sighing. "We don't want to get involved right now. Not yet, at least. For as long as we can, we have to stay inconspicuous."

Cadence bites her lip but I know she knows I'm right. After a moment, she blinks at me as if realizing something. "You really are Rorschach," she breathes, sounding amazed and worried at the same time.

I roll my eyes. "You didn't believe me before?"

"No, that's not it, it's just...hard to take in," she explains.

I nod, feeling an unexpected softening at her disbelieving expression. As if she's lost in a terrifying new place. And I've known exactly how that feels. "Come," I murmur. "Let's go somewhere to talk."

I promised to tell her how and why I'm here. I suppose I must keep that promise.

That night I am out on patrol, but my mind is still on Cadence. She had taken in my story fairly well. Her shock had already worn off by then; explaining the reasons behind my miraculous existance just seemed to make things more real for her.

The only things I didn't tell her were the things about her. Partly because Manhattan just keeps sending cryptic little puzzles for me to solve; I don't want to tell her anything unless I know what I'm talking about. But mainly because I don't want to get her in as deep as I am. She shouldn't have to solve my problems for me and I don't want her to.

The moonlight shines down through the clouds as they part at the exact moment I step into the alley, illuminating the writing on the wall. My heart skips a beat in my chest. My jaw drops. "My God," I breathe.

"Wait! Where are we going?" Cadence pants, slowing to a halt.

"Just come on!" I insist impatiently, grabbing her wrist and dragging her the rest of the way. When we get to the alley, I point to the wall, looking at her meaningfully. I watch her face, smiling slightly as her eyes widen with shock and she lets out a little gasp.

"Oh my God!" she exclaims and turns to me, the smile growing wide and excited on her face.

On the wall, among spraypainted portraits of various inkblot patterns, are the words 'Join the Resistance Movement' with the same double 'R' symbol Cadence uses in her notes.

I nod, trying to hide my smile. But, in truth, I am as excited and hopeful as she is, and my smile won't disappear. "I saw it last night on patrol. I was wishing I could've contacted you then," I admit.

"Wow, that is awesome," she breathes, shaking her head in amazement. We both fall silent, examining the artwork on the wall, and it's only then that I realize I'm still holding onto her wrist. She seems to realize this at the same time and we both glance at each other, blinking in surprise, before she snatches her hand away. She gives me a small, embarrassed smile and I look away, but not before seeing her face grow a bright, rose red. Well, at least she has the decency to be embarrassed.

I am just about to drown in the despair that the awkward silence burning between us will last forever when Cadence speaks up. "Walter?" Her voice is quiet, tentative, and I am automatically suspicious.

"What?"

"I have a question...a, um, favor I wanted to ask of you."

"Alright..."

And then, once more, she surprises me.

"Teach me to fight."

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Alrighty, hope you liked the chapter. Please review!