Here's a new chapter sooner than I thought (I've had a lot more time since I'm between jobs). Sorry there's no Rorschach/Walter in this chapter, but there's a lot to get set up for a big exciting story lol. I'll try and make the next chapter a little more dynamic than "Two characters have dinner and talk" but dang I need to do the exposition!

Plenty of Rorschach/Walter in the next chapter, promise!

Sam hadn't slept the whole night in over a week—she was beginning to feel like her apartment was haunted. Bad enough she had felt like she was being followed to and from school for two days after the break in—worse, now she was convinced that her things were moving while she was gone. She could have sworn she'd bought a can of baked beans, but she'd be damned if she could find it now, and her books were all out of order. It was driving her to distraction, and she was catching hell for it since she was now overdue to turn in this quarter's grades.

She even thought she saw him once too. Walking to the station one morning, Sam had stopped at a crosswalk and looked up at just the right moment. He was across the street from her, on the sidewalk that ran parallel—a shorter man in the same black hoodie and ski cap. He was leaning against the building, reading a newspaper; there was no reason for her to suddenly suspect him of anything—the man was utterly unremarkable. Then they had made eye contact and from across the street she had been confronted with piercing blue eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, heart pounding as though she expected him to rush across the street. The crowd surged forward to cross, and she lost sight of him. It had only been a few seconds—she brushed it off as her own paranoia.

All of these thoughts and fears were nagging at her as she sat down to read the paper during her lunch in the teacher's lounge. Sam nearly dropped her cup of coffee when she got to the local news and read the headline "Copy Cat Continues Criminal Cleanup!" It was a short piece about the unlicensed hero activity taking place near her neighborhood. The article said it was another Rorschach imitator, leaving the original hero's calling card with each of the bodies. There was a quote from a local who declared it was the real Rorschach. It was all too weird to be coincidence—the man who broken into her apartment was now operating under the vigilante's identity. And apparently doing a good job of it as well.

Daniel Dreiberg called her less than an hour later. She felt an irrational stab of paranoia when she saw his name appear on her phone—like she was about to open a door into a dark room. "How you doin' Sam?" his gentle, familiar voice put her ease though, as it always did.

"Won't lie, Mr. Dreiberg, it's been a shitty week."

He laughs sympathetically, "So I've heard kiddo; I'm in town for some meetings—how about I come over for dinner tonight?"

She smiled and ignored how her co-workers were eavesdropping, "That'd be great…I could use your opinion."

"Well, in my opinion you should make your spaghetti, Laurie can't cook Italian to save her life; and, please, I say it every time—call me Dan."

"Sorry Dan, I'll make it up to you with garlic bread." She replied with a laugh.

"That's my girl; see you at seven."

After hanging up, Sam felt a twist of guilt at her initial reaction; it felt silly to say out loud but Dan was the closest thing she had to a father. There was no reason to suspect this was anything more than just a bad week. Why would anyone follow her? There had been a few strange instances after Joshua died—but that was eight years ago.

She managed not to think about her intruder at all the rest of the day—in fact she made it as far as walking up to her door that evening with an armful of groceries. Sam paused just a moment before sliding her keys into the lock—there was no one inside, she reminded herself. Letting herself in with a deep breath, Sam was pleased to see the living room looked completely the same.

She didn't notice the spoon until she moved to put the colander in the sink while the pasta boiled. It wasn't in and of itself terribly threatening, but it had certainly not been there when she'd gone to the school that morning. She stared at the spoon for a long moment, as if it would somehow disappear back to its rightful place, or she would suddenly remember 'Oh yes, that's right, I did have a yogurt this morning…' But she hadn't, and it remained where it was. Her hands shook a little as she lifted the lid of the garbage can—well, someone had a yogurt this morning! Sam slammed it shut again with a huff—suddenly frustrated that this intruder was freeloading off of her like some kind of oversized alley cat. And the fact that he had thoughtfully washed the spoon only bothered her more.

Sam nearly jumped out of her skin when there was a knock at her door. She opened it hesitantly, and then sagged in relief when it was Dan—of course it was Dan, who else would it be?

"Hello kiddo," he said warmly, stepping forward and embracing her in a firm hug.

She smiled against his chest and then moved back, "Hello, hello. It's good to see you." They headed into the kitchen where Dan took a seat at the small dining table in the corner.

He accepted the beer she offered with a smile and then ran a hand through his graying hair. "How've you been? Shitty week aside, of course."

Stirring the simmering pot, Sam examined the sauce with a tired smile. "I've been fine—the kids are great this year."

"Been seeing anyone?"

She scoffed, "Certainly not."

Dan frowned lightly and took a drink, "I just worry about you. It's been eight years."

The thought of the DMH Director being kept up at night out of concern for her made Sam laugh ruefully, "I'm sure you have much bigger fish to fry than to worry about who I am or am not seeing."

He gave her a very fatherly look, "Alright, I remember, no talking about you. Tell me about the break in."

And so she did—explaining every detail of the break in she could remember while they ate. Afterwards, she showed him the hole in the wall; by the time Sam finished, Dan was frowning deeply, looking every inch the old veteran that he was portrayed as on the news. He adjusted his thin wire frame glasses on the bridge of his nose as he examined the damage.

"To have come in from this window almost suggests that he didn't know the apartment had been expanded…" Dan said to himself thoughtfully. "God only knows how he knew about the third costume though."

Sam frowned slightly, "There were three?"

He nodded, "Must have been. The police took the first when they arrested him – it's currently on display in the Met for the memorial. Rorschach and I came back here after I broke him out to get his extra costume, but it was in the corner…he didn't even look at the wall then. Just grabbed his stuff from a corner and left—had a run in the with the land lady…" Dan's voice trailed off as he remembered, looking off into space as he tried to puzzle it all out. He looked over at her in surprise, "Sam? You okay kiddo?"

She had dropped her drink, the bottle lying forgotten on the floor—she had her hand over her mouth; it was shaking. "Oh God…" she murmured, "Oh God I remember that…" The memories of that night crashed over her and Sam stumbled as she took a seat on the sofa—the sounds of two men speaking through a door, her mother so very, very afraid. A threatening redheaded man with terrible eyes coming out of the shadows…she'd had nightmares about a shadow man for a year…

Dan looked utterly confused for a moment and then blinked, his own eyes going owl-wide. "You were one of the kids," he breathed in amazement and then took a seat next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"Oh wow," Sam murmured, rubbing her eyes as if to push the memory away, "I had completely forgotten that."

The older man ran his hand across her shoulders soothingly, "You just can't keep away from us masks can you?"

She laughed softly and shook her head, "Probably a sickness of some kind." Pushing herself back up to her feet, Sam blinked the memories back and ran a hand through her hair though, "So this guy might not have known that this apartment was expanded, and knew about a bag that it's likely only Rorschach knew about? Not exactly the reassuring 'don't worry Sam, he's a complete imposter you're totally safe' I was hoping for."

Dan shrugged, "Sorry kiddo—of course he's an imposter. Rorschach's dead." There was a flicker of old sorrow across his features, "I watched Manhattan kill him after the attacks." Something about that caught Sam's ear and she filed it away for later—she was more concerned with her irrational paranoia and whether or not to bother him with it. But for all his softness, there was little that went past his notice. That sharpness was focused on her now. "What's wrong?"

Sam bit her lower lip a bit, then remembered how Joshua used to chide her for being too quick to show all her cards. "It's just so weird," she finally answered in a half-truth. "How could he know these things?"

The older man gave her a reassuring smile and stood to pick up the bottle, setting it on the table. "Oh who knows what can be found on the Internet these days, kiddo," he said, patting her back. "You don't have anything to worry yourself unless food starts to go missing." Dan laughed at that, shaking his head, "Rorschach used to just come and go; eat all my food. Course I just encouraged him—buying those sugar cube catering packs."

She could only hope she didn't look guilty. "Sugar cubes?"

"Oh yeah, he ate them like candy—damned if I know what he saw them in." Dan suddenly looked down to his shoes muttering, "Poor guy."

"You two were really close?"

The older man snorted softly, "He didn't let anyone close, but I flatter myself that he probably trusted me most." He had a faraway look in his eyes that she knew very well—that old grief that time couldn't wash away after eight years or twenty-five.

"I'm sorry," she told him softly, feeling useless.

Dan blinked out of his thoughts and sheepishly pulled his glasses off to inspect them, taking a deep breath. "Nothing to be sorry for, kiddo. I realized after a few years that it was probably what he wanted."

Sam frowned at that, "Suicide by Manhattan?"

"No, no, suicide would be too cowardly," Dreiberg answered with a shake of his head, "I think he just wanted to go out fighting—an honorable death." Putting his glasses back on, he gave her a sad smile, "Sorry kiddo, I wanted to cheer you up and here we are reminiscing about the dead."

She smiled and shrugged, "Well it's not like they'll speak for themselves. Thanks for coming by Dan."

They made their good-byes, and Sam was left leaning against the door, thinking about missing food, noble deaths, and sugar cubes.

---

Outside, Daniel Dreiberg was standing with his arms tucked behind his back, frowning darkly. After moment, he realized it was a very 'Adrian' pose and he shifted, choosing to cross his arms instead. He didn't like to think about how much Adrian had rubbed off on him over the years, but it was a game he'd had to learn and with it came the need to fit into Adrian's mold. Not that Laurie really minded the fact that at 63 he was in better shape than he was in his 'early retirement'. Still…that was neither here nor there. And he had far more to worry about.

Specifically this new copycat…and even more specifically what Sam wasn't telling him about him. It stung slightly that she felt the need to keep things from him, but it was certainly understandable—government surveillance was higher than ever and most citizens were still afraid of terrorists after the attacks in 2001.

His car pulled up outside and Dan looked up to the roof of the building before climbing in. He couldn't tell of the shadow that moved was the imposter, or a ghost; God knows the city had enough of both.

The buzz of his phone brought him out of his thoughts, and he scowled slightly, knowing already who it was. "Mr. President, what lucky timing." Dan could see his driver slouch slightly and glared at him through the rearview mirror. "Yes, I was just leaving….It's just another imposter," he listened for a long time, expression growing darker. "You're the one pushing research into teleportation; why don't you tell me what the blue flash has to do with anything?" Another lengthy pause, then "I swear you're getting paranoid in your old age, Adrian—I watched Rorschach die."

He made eye contact with his driver through the mirror. "It's just a coincidence—we've had plenty of imitators before and plenty will show up after. Good night Mr. President." The phone closed with a snap and he slipped it back into his inner coat pocket.

"Do you believe in coincidences, Mr Dreiberg," his driver asked.

Dan snorted softly, "The hell I do. I want you have one of ours keep an eye on Samantha Knight—someone quiet."

"Yes, Mr. Dreiberg."

"And David?" The driver looked back up, "It would be unwise to share about my movements without my knowledge."

"I'm sorry Mr. Dreiberg," the younger man admitted, breaking eye contact, "but the President called me directly and told me to inform him when I was picking you up. That's it."

"Good man." Dan relaxed fraction, he had trained enough young heroes to know when they were lying. David was damned talented and still an idealist—Dan was glad that he'd plucked him out of the program to be his assistant before he'd caught Adrian's eye.

They are quiet for sometime longer before David clears his throat softly, "Forgive me for asking but…"

Dan could only sigh in exasperation, "I've been through this so many times…It's not Rorschach, David. I don't care how he knew about that damn uniform—he's not acting like Rorschach. Rorschach stopped leaving criminals tied up even before the Keene Act in '77—the murder of Blair Roche threw him over the edge. This is just some kid looking to keep a legend going and so long as he's not on a murderous rampage, then I'm happy to let him."

"Yes Mr. Dreiberg."

Dan watched the lights of the city go past as they left, thinking about third costumes, dead heroes, and sugar cubes.