Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Watchmen characters.
NEW YORK
The last costumed children said their hasty thanks and ran off into the night. Laurie shut the door with a weary sigh. "I can't believe people let their kids out so late."
Daniel, lounging in the couch with their son curled up in the crook of his arm, smiled. "It's a special occasion."
"Sure. It'd be real special if some freak got hold of 'em."
Dan rose, careful not to wake the baby, and went to his wife. "You okay?"
Laurie shrugged. "I guess. It's just…tomorrow." She didn't need to go any further.
Dan nodded in understanding. Then, almost casually, he mentioned, "Tonight's two years since Hollis was killed."
Laurie gaped. "Oh, god! How could I even forget that? Dan," she went to him, put her arms around him, careful not to squash the infant between them, "I'm sorry."
"Hey, it's fine." Dan tried to keep his tone light, and failed. "He was just one person. You were thinking about millions."
"But he was your friend." Only someone who grew up without any could understand how precious real friends were. She kissed him, meaning only to give him comfort, but then it deepened and Laurie experienced a sudden flare that shocked her. They hadn't made love since Wally was born; hadn't had the time to give it much thought. Laurie suddenly realized how much she missed it. Dan must have felt the same way, because when they drew apart she saw his cheeks redden.
"Um," Dan stammered, "We should put Wally to bed."
"Right." She glanced around. "Where's my mother?"
"In her room." A faint smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth. "Said she was tired."
Laurie felt a grin spread across her own face and repressed the urge to giggle. God, what are we, fifteen?
They took their son to his room and gently placed him in his crib. Despite the growing arousal between them the couple took a moment to gaze down at their baby as he snuggled under the blanket Dan pulled over him. A tiny thumb went straight into his mouth and he began to suck contentedly.
Dan put an arm around his wife. "He's growing so fast."
"I can't even imagine what he'll be like as he grows up." Laurie met her husband's gaze, then they smiled and headed for their own room.
"I missed you," she whispered as their mouths connected. Dan started to unfasten her jeans. She tried to wriggle out of them, only to lose her balance and topple, laughing, onto the bed. She kicked her jeans off the rest of the way. Her bare legs hung over the side of the bed. Daniel knelt, reached over to hook the waistband of her panties. Laurie arched upward to let them slide off more easily. "I'm actually nervous," she chuckled unsteadily.
Dan grinned. "That makes two of us." He removed his glasses and set them aside, then gently spread her knees apart.
Laurie gasped at the first touch of his lips. "Oh..." She rested her hands against the back of his head, wordlessly urging him. Her moans and soft cries made Dan's own excitement grow until he knew he couldn't wait any longer. He struggled out of his pants and joined his wife on the bed. Her arms and legs went around him, so tight he thought there might be bruises the next morning. He slid into her without effort and thrust into her again and again, too close to climaxing to take it slow. That was alright with Laurie; she was every bit as eager as him. They reached their peak seconds apart from each other, and afterwards they lay in a tangle of limbs, still half dressed.
"Laurie," Dan murmured, "I missed you, too."
Laurie felt more contented than she had in a long while.
"That ended too soon," Dan muttered tiredly into her shoulder.
Laurie grinned. "We could make another go of it."
Her husband groaned. "I think I'm getting too old. I don't have the stamina." He shivered as Laurie slid her foot up and down his leg.
"Clearly," she grinned mischievously, "that's not the case." She felt the evidence of his arousal pressing against her thigh. He chuckled and kissed her, a slow melding of lips and tongues. When they parted, his expression grew sober. Laurie frowned. "What?"
"I have to leave early tomorrow morning. There's gonna be rallies and demonstrations all over the city. Some of us," and by us he meant other masks, "think the Banshee might make a move."
Laurie's face grew troubled. She'd thought much the same. So had the cops; they were bound to be out in record numbers, even for a day as emotionally charged as All Souls Day. "You won't be in costume, will you."
Dan shook his head. "None of us will. Each of us is going to a different gathering as civilians. Try to keep out eyes peeled for anything suspicious."
"That'll spread you pretty thin."
Dan shrugged. "What else can we do?"
What else, indeed. Laurie kissed him again. "Let's not think about that now," she whispered, pushing him until he was on his back and she lay on top of him. "Let's pretend you're not too old."
Smiling, Dan helped her out of her shirt. "I'm definitely game."
They were awakened once in the night by their son's crying. Dan went to take care of him, and the rest of the night they slept in each others arms undisturbed. It was one of the most peaceful moments they could remember.
Laurie was surprised to discover herself alone in bed the next morning. She rose with a groan, checked the baby's room to find the crib empty, decided to indulge in a long shower before going downstairs. Clad in a bathrobe, hair wrapped in a towel turban-style, she descended the steps to find her mother bottle-feeding Wally in the living room.
Sally looked up at her arrival. "Well, look who finally decided to join the land of the living."
"Good morning to you, too, mother." She glanced around, saw no sign of Daniel anywhere. Disappointed, she stated, "He already left."
Sally nodded. "About an hour ago. Strange seeing him go out the front door like an ordinary person."
Laurie moved to sit beside her mother and gazed down at the infant suckling away at the bottle. "He could've at least woke me to say goodbye."
"I told him as much myself," Sally shrugged, jostling her grandson who made a faint sound of protest, "Sorry, sweetie. Dan said you needed your rest," she continued, then snorted. "He's one to talk. If those rings around his eyes get any darker he'll have to change his name to Nite Raccoon."
Laurie mustered a smile at her mother's levity, but her heart wasn't in it. The television was on, the morning news inundated with with footage of rallies, protests, memorials, taking place not just in New York, but in every city around the world that suffered losses in the attack two years ago. And her husband was in the thick of it, alone.
I should be out there with him. Her conscience ate at her for such a thought. She regretted not being out there, not just because she worried for Daniel, but because, in all honesty, she missed the life. She missed putting on that ridiculous costume and going out at ungodly hours to fight the continual mayhem of the city. She missed it so much there were instances—brief, terrible microseconds of thought—where she regretted even having a child and all the responsibilities that came with him. But she made a promise to herself and, more importantly, to her son that she would never return to that life. No matter how incomplete she felt now, she resolved to keep that promise.
But still… I should be out there.
Sally looked from the corner of her eye at her daughter's troubled face and felt as if she could read every regret and doubt in her expression. Should she tell her now? Sally scrutinized the younger woman with surreptitious care. No, not yet. She would only get angry and storm off at this point. But soon.
Will it happen today? The thought echoed through all the masked adventurers' minds; the fear that the Banshee would strike his most devastating blow on this day, November 1st. Will it happen today? Will more people die before we can stop it?
There were countless gatherings throughout the city; demonstrations, memorials, survivor reunions. Some consisted of groups of a few dozen individuals, while others contained audiences numbering thousands. Among the latter, the superheroes, shed of their disguises, blended in with the crowds, eyes open for anything remotely suspicious. But there were only so many vigilantes to go around, and the Banshee could very well attack one of the gatherings they were unable to observe.
Nite Owl drew the short straw and wound up mingling with the crowd at the rally for the Temple of the Azure Way, dressed in a pair of jeans and a brown plaid shirt; not Nite Owl this time, but Dan Dreiberg—or rather, Sam Hollis. It was easy to tell the curiosity-seekers from the true believers; the latter wore medallions around their necks with the hydrogen atom symbol associated with Dr. Manhattan. They also possessed that feverish look seen in many religious fanatics throughout history. One of them handed Dan a flier, indigo letters on sky blue paper: God's Second Son, Born of Man's Science, and a simple line drawing of Dr. Manhattan hovering in his cruciform pose. Dan snorted. He could just imagine Jon's reaction to all this nonsense. The last thing the hyper-evolved man ever would've claimed to be was a god or messiah. This Temple was a joke.
Up on the newly erected stage, a young man strode towards the podium. All eyes turned to him, numerous camera lenses brought him into focus. More than a few news programs considered the increasingly popular cult worth at least a few minutes' airtime. The young man smiled, tapped the microphone to check if the sound system was on. Dan half expected to hear the whiny feedback one always heard in every movie and TV show, but of course, that didn't happen.
Satisfied, the young man leaned in and spoke in a slick baritone, "Ladies and gentlemen, could I have your attention, please?" As if he needed to ask. All the aimless milling about and chatting had ceased, people's gazes riveted to the stage. The young man smiled in satisfaction. "It is my great pleasure to introduce the founder of the Temple of the Azure Way, Sister Blue."
A handsome woman in her late thirties with shoulder-length blonde hair generously salted with strands of white mounted the steps of the stage and approached the podium (or pulpit, as she thought of it) as her announcer stepped gracefully aside. Sister Blue smiled benignly at her congregation. When she spoke, her voice was rational, reasonable, and filled with compassion.
"You know me," her words carried through the sound system, emerging from the massive speakers set up along the stage, "Many of you are here because you are followers of the Way. Many of you are here because you are curious, probably wondering what kind of crazy woman started this wacko cult."
Her followers chuckled and shook their heads, while the curiosity-seekers blushed or glared in defiance. Sister Blue looked at them all with the same friendly smile. She's good at putting everyone at ease, Daniel thought, impressed with her poise. Were it not for the tattoo on her forehead, he would almost believe she was sane.
"Two years ago," she continued, "I was just another New Yorker hoping to get through each day with a minimum of fuss. I kept everyone at arm's length, including my family and the neighbors I'd lived beside for years. I lavished affection on my cats. I cheated on my taxes. I had a series of empty, loveless relationships with empty, loveless men. I avoided the news programs and kept my head in the sand.
"And then, one night while I lay in bed, I woke to a blinding blue-white light. Oh yes, we all know what it was, and I was one of millions who witnessed it firsthand."
She lifted the mic from its stand and moved away from the pulpit. With her free hand, she lifted her long skirt to afford everyone a better view of her legs. There were several gasps in the audience. Sister Blue's legs were a pair of stick-thin metal prosthetics. She could just as easily have gotten a pair that looked more or less natural, but the self-proclaimed priestess understood the importance of shock value when stating her case. Already she saw faces that showed hostility seconds before transform into expressions of sympathy. They would be more willing to listen now.
"The wall of light pushed its way through my apartment building so fast I could do nothing but huddle in terror under the blankets. But it stopped just short of taking my life as it had so many others. Fate showed me mercy, at the cost of my legs."
People sighed, murmured. Their expressions showed how fresh the tragedy was for them, how heavily it weighed on their minds.
"We all know what happened that tragic night. It took many long months before I understood why."
Sister Blue let the skirt drop. Her posture straightened, a look of determination appeared on her face and her voice rang out, clear and strong. "In 1959 a miracle occurred. God had sown within the minds of brilliant men the creation of a new form of energy, so that one man could be transformed into something greater. His mortal name was Jon Osterman. The name bestowed on Him by our government was Dr. Manhattan. But in our hearts, we who follow the Way know the truth. This was no man altered by circumstance; this was God's messenger on Earth. The Second Coming. The new Messiah. Here to show Man the error of his ways, to save us all from ourselves. His presence staved off nuclear annihilation. His influence pushed back the Communist threat in Vietnam. His thoughts could transform the universe! And yet, He could not change human nature."
She shook her head, sorrowful, profoundly disappointed. "We were given a miracle and we exploited it. We turned an ambassador of peace into a weapon. For decades we let ourselves sink deeper into complacency and decadence, and when we grew bored with Him, we attacked Him with baseless accusations, saying that His very presence was poison to those around Him. He offered us a glimpse of the divine and we spat in His face!" Droplets flew from her lips. Veins stood out from the sides of her neck, pulsed beneath her tattooed symbol. Now she looked like the fanatic Dan knew her to be, but he seemed to be the only one who felt that way. Even the other skeptics were moved by the woman's passion and ground their teeth in rage at the injustice Dr. Manhattan endured. Daniel shook his head in dismay. She was better than good; she was a master at playing the crowd.
"We had our chance at Paradise and we threw it away, just as Adam and Eve did in the Garden. We have squandered every gift bestowed upon us like spoiled children, snatching it all up and demanding 'More! More!'" Her voice suddenly dropped, her body stilled. A dramatic pause. "And our Lord," she murmured, "for all His divinity, finally had enough. In his His wrath, he struck out at us like the ungrateful breed we are, and turned His back on this world. Humanity finally convinced Him that we are not worth saving. He has left us to our doom.
"Even now, despite the harsh and justified punishment we incurred, we continue our slide into damnation. Nations still eye each other with suspicion. Gangs still roam the streets. Crime and violence still abound. Our leaders grow fat off our labors. Law enforcement is riddled with corruption. Masked vigilantes run freely through the streets, striking down the innocent with the guilty indiscriminately. The good," she declared, "are very much outnumbered by the wicked.
"But," her voice dropped even lower, causing the people in the crowd to lean in as if there were no speakers to enhance her every word, "there is still hope. We who remain untainted by the evil which surrounds us, we can band together. We can show our Lord that there are still those on this Earth worthy of redemption. We can prove to Him that we have seen the light and understood its meaning. The light of purity. The light of the Azure Way! No longer shall we tolerate this degenerate society. We must purge evil from this world and restore it to its ancient glory. A pristine world, unspoiled by the grasping hands of Man. Together we shall bring about a new Eden!"
A roar of voices, cheering, waving. Sister Blue waited a few minutes until the sound abated. "Only then," she concluded, "will He return to lead us to the glory of Heaven!"
The people bellowed with even greater fervor. Even many who came to this rally thinking it was all a load of hot air joined in. Daniel stood amidst this display and hoped to hell Sister Blue was running some kind of scam; there was nothing more dangerous than a True Believer.
Dan was unaware that he wasn't the only one in the crowd who did not participate in the cheering. Another figure stood unnoticed on the outskirts of the audience. None saw the tightly clenched fists, nor heard the words uttered in a hoarse snarl: "You lying bitch."
JUBILATION
A plastic cube sat before her, its topmost face riddled with holes, each a different shape. Numerous plastic blocks lay scattered beside the cube, each one a shape which corresponded with the holes on the cube. Danielle looked at these objects in dismay.
On the opposite side of the cube, seated cross-legged on the floor, Walter reached out and picked up one of the blocks. He showed it to his daughter, a triangle shape. He brought it to the triangular hole, showed her how the shapes matched, then he let go and the block disappeared. Clunk.
Danny blinked. She picked up the cube, which was as big as her head, and shook it. Rattle rattle. She grinned. She liked things that rattled when she shook them. But then her daddy gently pulled the cube away from her and set it back on the floor between them. He picked up a square-shaped block and handed it to her. Danny examined it with a puzzled frown, gave it an experimental shake. No rattle. She brought it to the cube and tried to wedge it into the hexagonal hole, but the block wouldn't cooperate and disappear like the other one did for her father. Frustrated, she threw it aside with an angry "Ba!" The block tumbled and came to rest a few feet away.
"Think she might be a tad young for that, Walt?" Elsie asked from her seat on the couch.
Walter threw a scowl over his shoulder, but the older woman was unimpressed. "Supposed to stimulate her mental growth," he retorted, quoting the words on the toy's packaging.
Elsie smirked. "I think the designers had older kids in mind, like two-year-olds. Danny's still only one."
"I know how old she is," Walter grumbled stubbornly, "Craig gave it to her. He thinks she's old enough."
"And what does Craig know about toddlers?"
"He's a teacher."
"He teaches grammar school! That's a whole world away from babies, Walt."
Danny flung a trapezoid at him. It bounced off Walter's shoulder. He sighed, started to gather up the blocks.
Elsie rose from the sofa and went to stand beside him, placed a hand on his shoulder. "Relax, Walt. We all know she's a smart cookie. Takes after her momma's side of the family," she added smugly.
Walter gave her a dirty took, but she wasn't fooled. He finished collecting the blocks and rose to put away the educational toy. His gaze wandered to the TV screen and he paused, the perpetual crease between his eyes deepening. The morning news was showing live coverage of one of the many gatherings occurring throughout the world. This particular one was a rally for that cult Walter heard about. There was that lunatic woman with the tattoo on her face, stirring up the crowd to a fevered pitch. The image wobbled as the cameraman was jostled by some of her more ardent followers.
Walter went to pick up the remote from the coffee table and flicked to another channel. Another news program, another rally, but this one consisted of families of those survivors who committed suicide in the weeks following the attack. Angry people making unreasonable demands for some sort of retribution against Dr. Manhattan. As if anyone knew how to find him, or could do anything to him once they did. As if he were responsible. Walter switched off the TV, tossed the remote onto the table, then turned to see Elsie's sympathetic look. He shrugged. "Nothing on worth watching."
"Guess not."
She moved to take the toy from him. "I'll put this away. You just keep spendin' the quality time with Danny." She headed up the stairs to her grandniece's room. The toybox was situated under the window. She put the cube away, stared at the rest of the box's contents until her eyes alighted on an object that brought a smile to her weathered features. She picked it up and went back downstairs, found Walter playing with his daughter. Danny covered her eyes with her hands. Walter gave a theatrical gasp. "Where's Danielle? Where did she go?"
Danny quickly pulled her hands away. Walter's eyes widened. "There she is!"
The toddler laughed, covered her eyes again. Her daddy sighed. "Oh no. She's gone again."
Elsie stifled a laugh. Good lord, what would people think if they found out Rorschach was alive and playing peekaboo with his baby girl?
They looked up as she approached. Elsie lowered herself into a sitting position on the floor, grimacing slightly at her protesting joints, and held up the object she found in the toybox. Danny beamed. Walter groaned. Elsie handed the object to her grandniece, flashing a smug grin at the redhead. The toy was a squat cylinder with a simple picture of a farm scene stenciled around the outside. Danny eagerly accepted it from her great-aunt, clutched it in both little hands, and upended it.
Moooo!
Danny giggled in delight. She turned it rightside up, then tipped it over again to hear the drawn-out lowing. Walter knew from bitter experience that she could be entertained by that thing for what seemed like hours at a time. She shook the cylinder. Moo-ooo-ooo! It sounded like a depressed cow with hiccups. Walter snorted, amused in spite of himself. "This is ridiculous."
"Well, granted, it ain't as sophisticated as peekaboo." Elsie smirked.
The redhead drew himself up. "Was only humoring her."
"Sure, Walt. You weren't having the least bit of fun."
"None in the slightest." His mouth twitched.
Whuff! The muffled sound of Nixon announcing someone's arrival surprised the two adults. They exchanged puzzled looks, wondering who would show up without calling first. Seconds later the front door opened and Chloe entered.
"Well!" Elsie's eyebrows went up. "What gives, Chlo? You forget something?"
Chloe tossed her car keys onto the ledge by the door, kicked off her shoes, and sauntered into the living room. Her movements were casual, but her brow was furrowed. "Lila told me to take the day off."
Another look between Elsie and Walter. "What for?" a wary Elsie asked.
Chloe paused, pursed her lips. "I don't feel like talking right now." She headed for the stairs. "I'm gonna go change out of these scrubs."
They watched her ascend the steps, troubled by her behavior. Walter glanced at his daughter, still occupied with her noisy plaything, looked at Elsie. The older woman nodded; she would look after the child. Walter stood and followed his wife. He found her in their bedroom. She'd removed her scrubs top and was rummaging in the dresser for a T-shirt. That worrying expression was still on her face.
"What's wrong?" Walter asked.
Chloe turned to him, hugging a folded shirt to her chest. She bit her lip, shrugged. "All anyone's talking about is the attack. It's all I've heard all morning. I dunno, last year it just didn't seem real enough. But now…" Another shrug. "I was getting some fresh gauze from the supply closet and the next thing I knew, I was crying. Lila found me, told me to go home. Said she'll call me if she needs help later." She fumbled with the shirt, trying to unfold it, and it dropped from her hands. "Dammit," she sighed without conviction, bent to pick it up and felt a touch on her shoulder. Her throat tightened around a lump that burned like acid. She left the shirt where it lay, straightened, and put her arms around her husband.
Walter returned her strong embrace. He stroked her shoulder-length curls. "It's okay."
"I just…I thought I was handling it, you know?" She sniffed. "I thought I could just stop myself from remembering."
Walter closed his eyes and felt the sadness return. The sadness he managed to hold at bay while playing with his daughter. And the remorse. "Don't think we'll ever learn to handle it."
We. That's right, Chloe reminded herself, she wasn't the only one with the bad memories. Walter's were far worse. She drew back to gaze into his eyes, cradled his face in her hands. She saw worry and sorrow in his ocean-blue gaze. Chloe kissed him lightly. "I'm alright."
"I know." Walter smiled. "You're the strong one."
She chuckled wryly. "I thought you were the tough guy."
He shook his head. "Wouldn't need you so much if that were true."
A sad smile appeared on her face. Chloe leaned forward to rest her forehead against his. "I love it when you do that."
"Do what?"
"Show me how vulnerable you really are."
A faint, amused sound. "That's a good thing?"
"You trust me. Just like I trust you."
Yes, he trusted her, more than anyone in his life. More than Daniel, even, who for the longest time was the only person he could call a friend. But Walter never showed Daniel the face beneath his mask.
Walter's lips brushed against hers. "I love you."
A light touch deepened into a kiss. Their embrace became almost painfully tight, yet neither of them wanted to let go.
"I don't wanna think about that day," Chloe whispered when the kiss ended. Her breathing was husky with repressed sobs. "I don't wanna think at all."
Walter understood. All the times his wife comforted him, now was his chance to do the same for her. He kissed her again and gently steered her towards their bed. Neither of them spoke. They stumbled to the bed, shedding their clothes along the way. Then they clung to each other with the same desperate need to give and take comfort in their closeness. Their bodies joined with familiar ease, and soon they were lost in each other.
As Walter moved inside of her, Chloe gazed up at him, into his intense stare. She wanted to draw him into her with all her senses; the scent and taste of his sweat; the feel of his skin, the feel of his weight atop her, and the feel of him inside of her; the sound of his labored breaths; the sight of him, the spray of freckles across his nose, the sadness and the love in his eyes. God, she felt so alive. Not the faded ghost she felt herself becoming moments ago with the memories of so many dead crashing through her mind. We're alive, she thought with gratitude as she felt her climax approach.
She saw his eyes widen an instant before she came. Back arched, eyes squeezed shut, she cried out in release and heard her husband's voice mingle with hers. Then they went limp and they lay together, him atop her, their bodies still joined.
Chloe ran her fingers through her husband's red hair. "Thank you."
"For what?" he asked, head pillowed against her chest.
"For being here."
Walter inched forward and slowly nuzzled the side of her neck, moved further up to kiss her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Chloe turned her head and their mouths connected in a slow, deep kiss, tongues and lips caressing.
"I love you," she whispered against his lips. She felt them stretch into a smile.
"I love you, too."