Finally got this one out!

I've been noticing more and more Rorschach x OC fics and... Tell you the truth, I'm a little terrified. I read a couple of those and wonder: Does my fic really look like that? Sound like that? I'm really hoping it doesn't.

Anyway, it should be implied that I don't own Watchmen or any of the characters, etc. etc. Please enjoy!

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"Marja I told you, I have no idea how to contact him. I'm extremely surprised that I've even seen him two or three times now, much less talked to him." Brygida said over the phone, "... No I'm not conspiring against you... No, I'm not trying to destroy your dreams. Listen, do you have any idea how bad he smells? I wish that I'd dragged him back to my apartment and-- ... No not that!" She sighed, rubbing her temples, "Marja calm down... Look, I gotta go, I'll talk to you later."

Before Marja could say anything else, Brygida hung up the phone. Marja had been on her about introducing her to Rorschach for the entirety of the 15th of October. Quite frankly, even after what happened two nights before, Rorschach was kind of terrifying her. The constant flip flop of what she thought of him was getting to her, so she decided that it would be a good idea to start getting home early and staying inside. No more late night outings.

He had almost punched her. And had actually hit her once. She didn't understand why she wasn't more afraid of him before.
Probably her sick sense of fascination with the new and strange. But once it all set in, he really was quite scary.

She didn't know if she was ever going to see him again, but if she was destined or fated to meet with him again, she would want a break. She had just noticed how he smelled as she stood next to him for a prolonged period of time.

The other two times, she had been relatively close to him, he had only been there for a short amount of time, or she was upwind from him. But being next to him in front of a fire...

He smelled like bad cologne poured on a hot summer New York sidewalk. Her nose twitched as she thought about it. She really did just want to drag him to her apartment and scrub him like a rag doll until he was raw.

Though, he probably wouldn't like that much.

She shook her head and sighed, "Okay, no more freaky people in masks. Time for reality... Well, reality that isn't crazy. He probably is crazy. You'd have to be crazy to dress up like that and go out in public."

Brygida sat with her blanket and weak cup of coffee as she read the day's New Frontiersman at the news cart. It took a particularly strong right-winged side of things, but Brygida found it very interesting the read about the things that right-winged idealists, unlike herself, wrote about.

She had always reveled in outside opinions. She had spent her life learning about things that didn't have to do with her, and it gave her a broader view of things. She believed that everyone was right in their own respect, but that gave her no grounding of her own. She didn't have many strong beliefs about things like politics or religion, because she had been taught how to see things from many different sides. Her father disliked that about her. She knew that her father loved her, but she couldn't help but see that he didn't like what her mother had taught her about the world.

'Your fault, papa.' She thought, taking a sip of coffee, 'You were never there to teach me about anything, so the only person you have to blame is yourself.'

Her father was a World War II veteran; he wasn't dragged in the Vietnam War since he was disabled. The bottom of his spine had been shattered. He refused any kind of surgery offered to him, and he was very adamant about staying in bed for the rest of his life. Apparently he had already served his time on earth and was now just waiting to die.

Which was what caused her mother's massive stress. She had to make all the money, do all the work around the house, and take care of her daughter (or, that's what she thought), all at the same time, it seemed.

Which was probably why the poor woman was so spastic. Brygida loved her mother dearly, and she had something you might call love for her father.

But nonetheless, she continued to read the wacked out stories in the New Frontiersman.

Daniel Dreiberg was a simple man. Simple enough to walk down the streets practically unnoticed. Simple enough to let his glasses steam up when a prostitute rubbed up against him like a starved cat. And simple enough to hate himself for thinking dirty thoughts when he got home.

And unfortunately, he was also simple enough to be paranoid. For the past few nights since Rorschach had visited him with news of a Mask Killer, he had been looking over his shoulder, despite the disbelief he had for such a theory. The sudden appearances of Rorschach had also made him regress back to his younger days. Back when he and Rorschach were a team. Before Rorschach had become so terrifyingly detached from the world.

Daniel missed Rorschach the Younger. He missed his old partner. His old friend.

Wiping off his glasses, Daniel sat in front of his TV and stared, his mind placing pictures onto the blank screen as it replayed his old days as a crime fighter.

He remembered the day that Rorschach returned from the case he had been investigating about the little girl's kidnapping. He gait was quicker. He didn't stop to say hello that day. He was completely unreachable, even though his partner was running after him and yelling like crazy.

That was also the first time he had ever seen Rorschach kill someone.

"Rorschach!!" Nite Owl yelled, his voice becoming hoarse. But Rorschach didn't stop. It looked like he would never stop. He was now a man on a mission. What his mission was, Daniel didn't know. But he was worried.

It was midnight. But there were still people on the streets, still teenagers making out in the corners. But Rorschach didn't stop to tell them to get home because it was dangerous. So Dan did that part.

Some kids were running in the streets in front of their apartment, waving around sticks like swords and yelling and pretending to be soldiers in the army. Rorschach didn't bother to shoo them inside, even though he always had a soft spot for kids. So Dan did that too.

Finally, Rorschach stopped, and Dan stopped next to him, out of breath, his throat aching. He put his hand on Rorschach's shoulder, "What's gotten into you, man...?"

The man with the fedora didn't answer for a couple of seconds. He stood there, silent, not looking at Daniel, not really looking at anything. He saw through it all in that moment. Stared at the streets and saw the sewers beneath, rats gnawing on garbage. He saw through the buildings, the businessmen and their whores hard at work.

And unfortunately, he saw through himself. He saw the horror of humanity. He saw his own darkness, his flaws, and he didn't look away. Behind him, Daniel lifted up his goggles, his eyes sympathetic and worryful. Rorschach didn't dare look back. Though aware of his own ignorance and inner shadows, he didn't want to have to see Daniel in such a light.

"What's gotten into me, Daniel...?" He started, pausing slightly, trying to find the right word, "... Truth." He continued walking, a confused and very worried Daniel Dreiberg following after him. The night screamed in it's silent agony as the jaded Rorschach took his throne at the very bottom of the food chain, staring up into the throngs of people floating around in pools of denial, lust and greed . The Cheshire Cat smile moon grinned sardonically, shining her light on the one thing that Daniel did not want to see:

Some poor guy getting mugged.

Rorschach wasted no time, left no limb unsnapped, and only when he was completely satisfied that the man was on the brink of death did he kill him.

And Daniel was horrified.

Rorschach walked away, unfazed, not bothered at all by what he had just done. Daniel stared at the body that used to have a life. He saw in the body the deterioration of the world, of humans, of life. But he shut it out. He didn't believe it. He followed after Rorschach without another word.

There was a knock on the door.

Daniel started from his daydreaming and stood up, brushing off the dust that he imagined collected on his being whilst in his morbid fairy tale land. He straightened his glasses and went to open the new lock to his door that he hadn't quite gotten accustomed to yet. A pair of glasses stared back at him once he finally got the door open. He smiled, surprised and charmed, "I didn't think you would actually think about coming back to my house."

Brygida smiled, "You said that you were lonely... And I need a better cup of coffee than that weak stuff at my job, anyway. May I come in?"

"O-Of course!" Daniel let the girl in, locking the door behind him.

The conversation started with the typical "How are you"s and tales of old times, or in Daniel's case, the less superhero involved tales of old.

As he looked at the girl talking, he couldn't help but notice her lips that were just ever so slightly off center. It was interesting. Not very pretty, but interesting. As she continued to talk, Daniel somehow found more and more things that disproved his theory of her being a good-looking girl. And he came to the conclusion that she really was not all that beautiful. Since he had met with Laurie on the 13th, he had been thinking more and more about women, in general. Laurie was beautiful. Brygida just didn't measure up.

He smiled and nodded as she continued to talk about the subject that he had brought up. She had a very soothing voice, though. Laurie's pierced, and he liked that because she was a very piercing person, but Brygida's just lulled you to sleep, into a feeling of comfort.

She noticed Dan's eyelids fluttering.

"I'm not boring you, am I...?" She asked, taking a nervous sip of coffee.

"No! No, not at all." Dan smiled again, "You have a nice voice. The kind that mother's go for when they're trying to get their kids to sleep. It's cute."

Brygida frowned, "I don't really like being called cute..."

Dan put his hands up, playfully defensive, "I'm sorry, I will never call you cute again. Noted."

Brygida laughed a little, and eyed a box of cookies on his counter, "Do you think I could, perhaps... Partake in the consumption of your cookies?" She bit her lip in the fabricated anticipation.

"Go ahead. I was conned into buying them from a little 4 year old Girl Scout and her mother." He replied.

Brygida relished the sweetness of the cookies like she did the air she breathed. With limited personal funds, she could only buy a minimal variety of food. Sure, she got in all the basic food needs and whatnot, but a cookie every now and again practically saved her life.

After a lighter conversation, Brygida stood up and thanked Daniel numerous times for the food and company. Daniel said that he was only too happy to have her by.

He didn't invite her to come again.

But she didn't seem to notice as she smiled and waved, leaving his house around 7 in the evening.

Daniel really did find her interesting. But he didn't find her attractive. She was a good friend, but she looked so much better when she was distraught, in trouble, hurt... She looked better as a victim.

He shook his head. Strange thinking for someone who was supposed to be around in order for people like her to never have to look like that. He guessed that some people just looked better when they were disheveled and helpless.

Brygida didn't meet Rorschach on the way home. When she opened the door to her apartment, she felt accomplished. Successfully getting home without something horrible or ridiculous happening was now a goal for her. She put her keys and other items on the couch and sat down next to them, turning on the 12-inch television and watching Bugs Bunny hop around the screen, Daffy Duck yelling G-Rated profanity at the gray bunny. She laughed, munching on another cookie. Daniel had given her the entire bag. Out of pity?

Maybe. But she didn't mind being pitied every now and again if it meant cookies. Snuggling into the fluffy blankets that her mom had knitted for her when she was a bit younger, she yawned and stretched all her limbs out, like a clumsy cat. She fell asleep early that night, around 9 at night.

Outside her window, across the street, just a little bit to the left, an older man lost control of his wheelchair, thanks to his niece-by-marriage. She was a conniving girl. She had been planning to kill him ever since he had started talking about suicide and who he was going to give his money to after he died. Poor old veteran.

She watched as a taxi rounded the corner, a smile on her face as she crossed her arms and watched the old man's wheelchair stop just in time to see the taxi...

But the man and the wheel chair were taken calmly from the road by a man in a mask as the taxi ambled by at an easy pace of 21 miles per hour. The man turned around to look at the girl, who was completely horrified at the turn of events. Rorschach, sick to his stomach, walked across the road. The girl was frozen. Rorschach walked behind her as she found her voice and begged him not to hurt her, as she bruised easily.

The masked man almost laughed as he kicked the girl's knees out from under her, her face smashing into the concrete. The man in the wheelchair across the street was in a coughing fit. He didn't pay any attention to what Rorschach was doing to his niece.

She was dead within seconds.

The old man re-crossed the street and stared at the young girl's body. He spat on it. Her side of the family was always so terrible.

Rorschach began to walk away.

The old man yelled after him, "God bless you!" Strange thing to say.

"What god?" Rorschach replied, and he walked away.

The old man laughed, taking out an alcohol flask and giving Rorschach a salute, "Ain't that the truth." He took a long swig and sighed happily.

He wheeled himself off another block, into his apartment building. The night was still young. He thought about calling over some friends and a hooker or two... But then thought about his near death experience.

One friend and four hookers would be much better. Life was short, might as well live it up.