I find myself getting more and more tired, the unfamiliar pressing exhaustion; the weight of it all heavy and pressing. Each night there's a twinge in my left wrist that won't go away, memories of old bruises and injuries that flash with phantom aches when I roll over in bed. Feelings of uselessness that keep me awake into the early hours of morning.

I don't tell Adrian that, sometimes, when it gets too hard to stop thinking about it, I sit at the balcony of the penthouse, staring down into the city below – the streets lined with twinkling orange-gold, the soft humming of lights, of voices in the night. I still remember how it felt in those hours before dawn – where there's only me and him, Dan and Rorschach, Laurie and Jon and the Comedian in the streets, pushing back the rising darkness, the monsters that go bump in the night – trying to protect these people from what they can't and won't see. When we were the guardians; the men and women on the watchtower, keeping people safe. I don't tell him that I long for the feeling of being real, for once. And there are things, I'm sure, that he doesn't tell me as well. I wake up wrapped tightly in his arms some nights, his breathing shuddery with the after-effects of crying.

I don't know what's hurting him, and it terrifies me more than anything.

The FBI still hasn't been able to arrest Rorschach. There are rare occurrences when I see him on my way to work - though, the fact the whole world is watching means that we're barely able to say anything to each other. Every few weeks or so I'd hear from him on the news; rapists left dead in front of the police station, crime bosses delivered to prison by his hands, whispers on the streets of the man with the black and white mask. It does make me sad to see him like this; pushing himself to the limits of human will just to achieve what he believes is right. And, of myself, I feel guilty that I couldn't do what he still does every day.

I meet up with Dan and Laurie once or twice a month. Often it's almost normal. We're just friends wanting to catch up on each other's lives, to stay connected. But it's awkward sometimes, the mechanical routine of it - the silences in between where we remember those endless sunsets, trying to recognize our old friends and companions, the people who fought with us tooth and claw in these new forms.

Tonight, it's cold and dark outside, and the light is growing dim.

I yawn as I slide a bookmark into place, closing the book and placing it on the coffee-table before I stand and stretch. Adrian is still at his desk typing, and he looks up and smiles briefly at me as I walk into his office.

Below, I can hear police sirens in the city.

I look around the room, my eyes lingering on the various Egyptian artifacts on the wall, the books stacked on the loveseat, a glass of water on the table catching the pale light. The back of my head tingles with cold, and a soft click sounds when the heating system turns on.

My bare toes dig into the wool carpet as I fidget. "Do you miss it?" I finally blurt out, glancing in his direction before my gaze lowers to the floor, embarrassed.

"Miss what?"

"Being...going out there each night. Being a vigilante."

He's quiet for a long moment, warm blue eyes looking at me, and I feel self-conscious.

"Yes," he finally replies. "I do miss it, at times. What we're doing here, in this company, it will save so many more lives than we...than the Watchmen ever could. But...I admit, it felt good to know that I was protecting this city."

"We did help people, didn't we?"

"Lena, we did." He turns off his computer and stands. "Are you alright?"

I scratch at the ragged edge of my fingernails, bitten to the quick, and I flinch a little as a bead of bright red forms from the rip. "I'm fine, but I...I think about these things sometimes. Like, I don't know if we'll live to see the 2000s. There's so much...disaster. With all the gang violence, and the war doesn't seem to end. And, and everything that we did - all those criminal empires we took down, the civilians we protected - d'you think that it will it all be for nothing?" I can feel the tears prickling in my eyes, and my voice trembles.

"I thought that...that we would know how to save ourselves. I thought we would know when to turn back from - this war. But it doesn't look like it's ...gonna happen."

My hand goes up to wipe at the tears now sliding down my cheeks as I begin to cry silently. The burning in my throat increases as a soft sob escapes me, and I cover my hands with my face, folding in on myself. Before I know it, Adrian is standing before me, pulling me into his arms, whispering soothing words into my ears.

"Shh, love, darling. Shhhhhh, I'm here. I'm here, Madeline."

I cry until I feel hollow and empty inside, and by then he's already guiding me into the bedroom. After we're both undressed I crawl under the covers, hunching over into a ball and rubbing at the goosebumps all over my forearms. Adrian slides into bed as well, and takes my cold hands, gently squeezing them. He kisses each fingertip before he kisses my mouth again. His arms wrap around me and I curl into him, feeling so weak and in need of protection.

For long while it's quiet. Not a terrible kind of silence, but imperfect at the same time. I nuzzle my cheek against the warm muscle and skin of his neck, and make a soft noise as he shifts. Like this, here, it feels almost like when we started all of it. And I can pretend that we just made it home and that it's time to rest. I can pretend that we're still young and we still have so much time ahead of us.

He exhales. "I've been...having nightmares, as of late." His voice is hushed when he finally finds the right words to speak, and I close my eyes, trying to find the stillness I usually feel when I'm beside him. "I dream of...swimming in a dark, open sea. And there's a ship, in front of me. I'm swimming towards it. There are these sounds - not the sounds of waves, no, but - voices."

His gaze is strange and far away as he gently traces a finger down my cheek - the near smile he has seems so horribly pained as he looks into my eyes.

"The ship is black and dark and it smells like death. Like a thousand - a million souls have died aboard its rotting deck. And it's cold - so very cold, and my whole body hurts. Sometimes I can see it if I close my eyes." His voice becomes fast; he takes a breath and I shiver at the look in his eyes. "And it's then that I see - there are heads nailed to the prow, some with gray, desiccated skin still hanging from the skulls in strips, others only...bleached bone, and they're looking at me, like it's my fault that- "

"Adrian." I'm pleading him - it hurts me to see him like this.

He looks down at me, briefly, a tender smile curving onto his lips, his eyes full of some unnameable emotion. "You're always here when I wake up. You don't know how much it...how much it means to me, to know that you'll always be here."

"We both need someone to listen. We both need someone to stay." I squeeze myself against his body, hugging him tightly, wanting so badly to chase away the fear in his eyes, wanting to protect him like he's protected me all these years. "Oh, Adrian," I whisper, suddenly so tired, so worn and weary.

A soft sigh. Warm skin pressing against my upper arm and shoulder. My eyes are sliding closed, fingers pressed against his collarbone, thinking about heartbeats and icy palms and seawater.

He kisses my forehead.

"Forgive me, Lena," I faintly hear him say as I drift off.

Oh, the streets you're walking on –

a thousand houses long –

Well that's where I belong,

And you belong with me,

Not swallowed in the sea.

You belong with me,

Not swallowed in the sea.

You belong with me,

Not swallowed in the sea.

-Coldplay, Swallowed In The Sea