It was a striking image. Nicole's favorite one of the Owl and her, even if the small psycho cluttered it up. Even though they had posed for several pictures together since, nothing ever quite topped that one candid photograph. A beautiful summer evening, the one of her arrest in fact, where Nite Owl and Rorschach marched her out towards a police car in handcuffs while the small gathered crowd cheered. She was in her tight leather outfit, garters, knee high boots, and all. She was even still wearing that painfully ridiculous mask which had seemed like such a good choice in the late sixties. God, she missed the sixties. Hands cuffed behind her back, the Nite Owl had one concealed hand on chain between her wrists, the other wrapped firmly around her bare skin, just where shoulder met neck. No one in the newspapers ever commented on the fact he could have just as easily placed that appendage on her black leather covered upper arm, as was standard police procedure. She was grinning in the picture. Not at the awaiting cops, not at the journalists shouting questions and snapping pictures, but at him. A curved, coy smile of one who knows the real game had only started, half lidded eyes glowing up at him from behind dark lashes. And he was smiling back at her, a small, barely perceivable rising of the corners of his lips. His eyes looking only at her.

They'd been so young, then.

During her first month in jail she had written the editor in chief of the local newspaper and requested a full size version of the picture. Like most men, he gave the Twilight Lady what she wanted as quickly as possible. The matron of the women's prison had even been kind enough, after a few small 'gifts', to let her hang it on her jail cell wall. When she was finally released, the three years feeling like infinity to the insatiable woman, the picture had come with her. Other than her costume, it was the only item she took with her from jail into the real world. It had been framed and displayed proudly on the living room wall of her old apartment, right up until Nathan had been born and she'd moved to a classier part of town.

She couldn't explain it to anyone, not even the Owl seemed to really understand, how Nathan's birth had been the final nail in the coffin of the Twilight Lady. It wasn't as if she dressed up or ran the criminal rings like she used to once she was let out of jail. She had enough money, carefully hidden for her through a variety of old friends and contacts, to not need crime anymore. And once she had the Owl to toy with, the excitement of the profession was no longer critical either. But somewhere in the back of her mind she'd always believed she could go back to it, if she ever needed to. At the drop of a hat she could take the old mask, dust it off, and be back on the streets. Then Nathan had been born and the years that had passed since she'd worn the mask crashed down on her. She hadn't been the Twilight Lady in over half a decade when Nathan had come around. It had been time to stop pretending.

And so she had taken down the photograph, removed it from the frame and pasted it into a scrap book with all the other images and clippings from those times. She moved from the heart of the city, the dark, filthy streets where she had thrived, and rented a nice townhouse up town. Perfect family neighborhood, it made the Nite Owl's nest look like a worn-down shack in comparison, really. She tucked the costume away into an old chest, got a legitimate job swimming with the socially accepted sharks of society in business. In her crimes days she'd really been nothing more than a glamorized accountant and PR representative anyway, transitioning to the legal side of the coin had been much easier than she anticipated. The Owl pulling enough strings to get her a job at Veidt industries certainly hadn't hurt, either.

She hardly spared a thought for the old, untitled scrap book anymore these days. Too much living as Nicole the mother and business woman to worry about the Twilight Lady and her adventures. The encounter with Rorschach that morning had brought it forcefully to the forefront of her mind, however. The past had felt real enough to touch last night, with the masked man's hand wrapped around her throat like she was in her twenties again and sitting in high end brothel rather then her civilian bedroom. It had been a long time since she'd really remembered, so many details she had thought lost resurfacing as the past and present reunited for that short half hour. As much as she hated the man, she could almost thank Rorschach for that.

She traced a long finger along the curve of the Nite Owl's mask, the photograph soft and plain and nothing like how the real item had felt. Smoke curled from the lit cigarette in her hand as she gazed at the image, the past playing before her minds eye as the young Nite Owl dragged the masked women towards the police, a short, masked teen hovering uneasily in the background, avoiding the publicity around them. The scrap book nearly slipped off her lap as she started at the sharp ringing of the phone. She closed the book and placed it almost reverently on the coffee table beside her, walking to the kitchen to answer the interruption. She leaned against the door frame as the familiar hesitant voice came over the line.

"H-Hey." The Owl sounded uncertain, and she couldn't blame him. She hadn't explained her sudden call that morning yet. He didn't know if she was still angry at him.

"Hello yourself."

"You sounded upset this morning."

"Hmm, I wonder why."

"Look, I'm sorry he showed up. I didn't think he'd be taking things this far, or I would have warned you about him."

"What the fuck is going on out there that he's sniffing around my house?"

There was an exhalation of breath on the other end. She could almost see him cleaning his glasses with his shirt as he rolled the answer to her question around his mind.

"Look this really isn't something we should talk about over the phone. Would you, uh, that is…" Even when the world was burning, Dan still couldn't manage to take the lead in a social situation. She'd be annoyed if she wasn't so used to it.

"Asking me on a date, big boy?"

"No! I mean," he coughed on the other end, clearing his throat, "I mean just some old friends getting dinner, right? I know a place downtown I could get a table at tonight, if you're free, that is. Might be short notice for a babysitter."

"Eh, Nate can handle himself fine."

"Nicole," that note of shocked moral outrage he had worn like a badge during his crime fighting days was creeping through, "he's seven. This is New York. You can't be serious."

"I was taking care of myself in much worse parts of town when I was a hell of a lot younger than he is." She drawled, grinning despite herself when she heard his disapproving sigh on the other end. "He's sleeping over at a friends house tonight, don't worry."

"You could have just said that."

"And not hear you worry? Where's the fun in that." He let out a small laugh on the other end, and her gaze drifted to the living room, the closed album still sitting on the table where she'd left it.

If Nite Owl had something important to discuss with her, something that couldn't be put off, he'd break into her apartment in the dead of night. Like Rorschach, but without the collateral damage. The Owl always had enough gadgets and gizmos that no lock or security system could prevent him from opening it without him having to resort to brute strength. Full costume, gloved hands gripping her upper arms as he made sure she was listening, tight enough to feel it but not enough to bruise, the masked face leaning forward, running the tip of his nose along the side of her neck, pushing her back against the wall, pinning her, her fingers balling into tight fists in his cape for reasons completely unrelated to whatever terrible news he had to report…

"So, uh, I'll meet you there around 8? I'll book the table."

Daniel Dreiberg, on the other hand, asked her to a nice, friendly, definitely not a date, dinner. He'd probably even pay for it. She sighed into the phone, shifting her position so the scrap book was no longer in her field of vision.

"I miss you, Squawks." She whispered, smiling sadly at how the old nickname felt on her tongue.

"Oh?" he sounded surprised, "We could get together more often, if you want. I mean we see each other a couple times a month, but if you feel that way…"

"Not what I meant." She sighed, cutting him off and hanging up the phone with a gentle click before he had the chance to respond.

She snubbed the cigarette out in the kitchen table ashtray and checked the clock wearily. It was only 5:30, over two hours before they were supposed to meet up. She didn't have that kind of patience. Dan was obviously home, and the man didn't have any other social obligations, save his weekly meeting with the first Nite Owl. Hadn't in years. Worst care scenario was she interrupted him writing some article or other about his stupid birds. She wouldn't be crying any tears over that.

She had questions. Rorschach hadn't spoken to Dan in nearly a decade it seemed. For that antisocial maniac to not only be speaking with Dan, but actively looking into any threats against him, something big must have happened. Something huge. There had been nothing special in the newspapers beyond the normal fear of Armageddon for the past few weeks, so it had to be something to do more with masks and villains than normal society. This wasn't a conversation she wanted to have in a restaurant. In fact, she was fairly positive it would be less of a conversation and more of a screaming match on her end. Anything that involved something Rorschach was interested in usually did. Or had, back when Dan was still Nite Owl and had a psychotic partner for her to scream at him about. She couldn't help but smile slightly as she slipped on her coat, heading out to call on the old man a few hours before he expected it.

Christ, but those had been the days.