*Pathetic excuse for an Author's Note: I'm pretty sure that there's no character limit in chapter submissions, but I'm pretty sure I'd exceed it, if it did exist, if I even began to write how TERRIBLY AND TRULY SORRY I AM! I won't lie. I kinda sorta…completely forgot about this story I KNOW I KNOW I SUCK! But one random day I just pulled it up and…WORDS just started spewing out of my fingers! It was magical, guys. Anyhow, here it is. The LONG awaited chapter update. I had to re-read the story at least a dozen times just to get my groove back. I know how easy it is to get sloppy and lose the momentum of the story after so long, but I think this chapter fits in quite nicely (Also, for all intents and purposes, let's just say that cassette tapes fully exist in this universe. It'll make sense I swear!). BUT WHO GIVES A CRAP ABOUT WHAT I THINK! Even I don't, soooo lemme know what YOU think by um, you know…

REVIEWING! :D

P.S. Again, I sorry. Love you guys.

Rorschach's head tilted skyward. The telltale rumble just before a vicious downpour had caught his attention. He sighed wearily. He didn't mind the rain in the slightest. He was positive
Renee didn't mind it either. The rain did however remind him of a certain rainy encounter he had had with the girl. Woman. Child.

"Hmm…" he murmured dejectedly to himself.

She was always something different to him, always ambiguous and ever changing. A big part of him maintained a nagging feeling of discomfort and unease over this odd friendship of theirs. He had never gone out of his way to entangle himself in the affairs and problems of other people's lives. He already knew more about this girl than he knew about Dreiberg. The thought alone made him almost physically uneasy.

As the first few drops of rain began to fall from the sky, he relaxed his shoulders a little. He hadn't realized that he had tensed his muscles until a slight, dull pang pinched at his neck. But then he would always get a little anxious before their…outings. Though on the whole this pursuit that they had undertaken had proven to be successful, there were some nights that were…well…referring to them as "close calls" would be an understatement. And those days truly proved how strong an individual she really was. There were some days that were downright messy, and yet she was always prepared to jump ship if the situation went south. It was a cunning she possessed that was almost innate.

As he stood and waited for her still, he recalled one particular night wherein he found himself unarmed and frozen under the gaze of a particularly tenacious gun-wielding hoodlum. He couldn't recall exactly how the situation had gone awry, but he knew then that making a move for the gun was suicide. And just when he began to wonder if he had shown up too late and Renee had been killed, he heard a light rustling behind the gang member. Staring past him a little, he barely made out the barrel of another gun in the shadows, shaking and unsteady. As the form slowly stepped further into the light, he could only stand and play witness to a small, trembling hand holding the gun. Following the hand, he made out an arm, being held up by another little hand to still its shaking.

And out stepped his ward.

Though she donned the body of a frightened, young girl, her emerald eyes flared with a bravery and determination beyond her years. And that's all it took for her to pull the trigger. The thug was barely able to register the pain in his lower spine until he dropped like a stone. The sound of 200 pounds of fat and failure hitting the pavement synched melodically with the clang of the gun as it dropped out of Renee's uneasy grip. She hadn't quite whipped it down the alley and broken down as he had expected her to. No, this was one of those days when she truly astounded him. As her arm lowered after taking the shot, her fingers just went limp. The gun slipped slowly out of her grasp as her first victim buckled under his own weight. The two things fell simultaneously. Rorschach watched her carefully, studying her like a specimen under a microscope, catching her every nuance, her every twitch. He watched her gaze wander from the gun she had dropped, to the pile of twitching garbage she had just plugged, and finally to his face. Their gaze would hardly meet as all she could see were the languid, free-forming blots of ink across his smoothed-over features. But there were times he'd swear she could see right through it. This was one of those times.

She looked as though she was looking down a winding road that wound so far into the distance that she couldn't make out the end of it. And that was the problem. She sought desperately just to catch a glimpse of what awaited her at the end…But there was always something in the way.

"Let's go", she simply said.

They hadn't said a word until they reached the mouth of the alley. It was Renee who broke the silence.

"Is he dead?"

"No. Will most likely die of blood loss. Paralyzed from the hip down. He won't be getting help from anybody."

Rorschach finally concluded upon arrival at the meeting spot. Renee had already begun making her way home, when she stopped suddenly in her tracks. Turning her head slightly, she spoke, her voice softer.

"So…he'll suffer."

"All through the night. If he's lucky, he'll be dead my morning."

Carefully reassessing his words, she slowly turned around to face him. Rorschach braced himself for hysterical sobbing. But it never came. Instead she looked down at her hands. She was lightly wringing them, observing her own movements. After several seconds, she turned around and began making her way back home, but not without getting a final word in.

"Good."

Between his reminiscence and tuning back into reality, he had come to realize something. Never had anyone amazed him quite like Renee. He would even go so far as to admit that he…admired her. And that's what complicated things. He was always at odds with himself, always chastising one part of himself for being fond of her, and then having that part of him at odds with the part of him that resented her. But…why resentment? What had she done to cause him such grief and anxiety? What had she done to him that caused him to lay awake every night, thinking about certain things that he shouldn't be thinking, feeling certain things he had never felt (and never wanted to feel for that matter). The metal pipes through his apartment walls would clang and moan whenever someone would take a shower. And it was that harsh commotion that triggered them. His mind would follow the pipes down until they reached the shower head. Down the water would fall, drenching a soft, light-tan shoulder. And then, a small, feminine hand would pass over the shoulder, fingers tracing across the collar bone until they reached the base of a tiny neck. And down the hand would travel, lower, and lower, and lower yet until…

Rorschach exhaled sharply while fisting his hands deeper into his pockets. He found sweet distraction in the heavy rain that began to fall. But before he knew it, his thoughts fell to her once more.

Where the hell was she?

He had been waiting at the spot for almost twenty minutes and there was no sign of Renee. He considered the possibility that she just wasn't home. But considering the late hour as well as the weather conditions, he didn't think that was the case. Soon after considering, then disclaiming, several other possibilities, he found himself making his way back to her dwelling.

Reaching the faded front door, he raised his fist to knock once more. His arm froze when he looked down at the door knob. Being in the hurry that he was in, he hadn't paid much attention to the state of the door the first time around. Looking intently at the lock, he noticed a path of cracked wood. At the drop of a pin, he felt his heartbeat pick up. Outwardly though, he was calm. Opening his fist, he gingerly grasped the doorknob and in one swift motion, twisted it and pushed the door open. His stomach lurched as the portion of the door that carried the lock came flying off.

Someone had clearly broken in, and upon leaving, carefully put it back together, giving the appearance that nothing had happened.

Eyeing the floor, he noticed a fine layer of dust that had accumulated on the old, hardwood flooring. His head tilted slightly at the one damning clue he needed. A few sets of prints led a few feet down the hall and up the stairs. The same prints repeated, only they were going back out the door. But they were different. They shuffled through the dust erratically before finally ending at the front door. Remaining calm in his movements, he slowly stepped inside, each step giving way to a haunting creak. Halfway up the stairs, Rorschach stopped, following the prints with his eyes until they led him to a room. His eyes never leaving the end of the prints, he sprinted the rest of the way up and walked right up to the door where the prints ended. There appeared to have been a particularly eventful scuffle where he stood. Any poise or tranquility he held shattered into oblivion upon opening the door.

Rorschach went completely rigid at the sight before him. The room wasn't very big and didn't have much in it, but it didn't matter. The room itself wasn't important. It was what caught his eye at the window sill. All that was left behind was some torn fabric from her shirt and a small puddle of blood.

And he snapped.

With a feral cry, he made a break for the closest object to him. His hands flew to a nearby chair and he whipped it across the small room with a grunt. It cracked and shattered on impact. He tried to calm himself, but it was useless. It only served to infuriate him even more. The only sound that could be heard was his quivering, ragged breathing as he stood on bent knees amidst the wreckage he had created. His head lowered slowly. How could he be so stupid? How could he let this go as far as it had? Nothing was worth putting her at risk of being hurt. Rorschach clasped the side of his head with both hands at that final thought. He wanted to think that putting any civilian in danger was inexcusable.

But he'd be lying if he thought that.

And then…A deep, personal truth hit him with such force that he couldn't contain the savage cry that escaped from his core before charging at the wall and punching a hole the size of a melon right through it. Pulling his hand out slowly, he slumped against the wall, panting slightly. Because he realized that it went beyond making sure she was alive. He wanted to protect her…He wanted no one to lay a finger on her, no one to touch her. No one but him. This was his conflicted psyche at its worst. One part of him was angry with the other for allowing himself to be swayed into working with a civilian. Another part of him was angry for realizing that he…deeply and truly cared for Renee. And that's when things became incredibly complicated. Was it a paternal and protective care, or did it go…beyond that. As he slumped further and further down the wall, he could feel the slight vibration of clanging pipes through the surface. And as water flooded through the rusted, metal tubes, so did a torrent of deeply disturbing thoughts. That, coupled with his anger, did not help.

Through the sound of the running shower, he could barely make out harsh and heavy breathing. It assaulted his ears. It cried out. It begged. It wanted more. And he obliged. But he didn't dare open his eyes. He didn't dare allow his mind to grasp what his body was doing. What IT wanted. What IT begged for. But it did register that the breathing was not his. He felt pure want drip hotly down the back of his neck like venom. A pointed weight pierced his shoulder. Something clung to him for dear life. And it was at his mercy, pinned against the wall, willfully subjective to whatever he desired. Then, motions registered. An unsteady, wild motion at the hip. They were both doing it. And one couldn't do it without the other. He felt enveloped. He felt empowered. He wanted to destroy her. His vision was filled with painful, hazy blots. His eyes shot open. His mind, suddenly present. Five digits snaked slowly, but fiercely through his hair. And the hot poison that once dripped down his neck, his back, vanished. And in its place, a voice. Though small and defeated, like a broken violin, it boomed horribly in his ear.

"I…I love you, daddy"

With a viper's speed, he clasped the sides of his head. The storm outside was swelling as lightening split the sky and illuminated the small room. Every dark, ugly crevice shone for a split second, then receded into the shadows once more. Rorschach's hands shot down and his head fell back against the wall. He let the sound of the thunderstorm fill his mind, let it push out any lingering thoughts. His breathing turned shallow as he gritted his teeth, trying his hardest to ignore the sudden discomfort in his pants.

Rorschach was sure his mind couldn't take much more of this. Closing his eyes, he took a few deep, calming breaths. And as he slowly stood up, he felt his anger dissipate considerably. But upon opening his eyes, he was forced to face the reality of the situation. All emotional ordeals aside, he had a kidnapped civilian on his hands. Suddenly, Walter's thoughts began to fade. He felt a part of him resurface. A part of him that had been stifled for some time now. And then…There was only Rorschach.

He made quick work of the apartment. Swiftly making his way to the window sill, he inspected the blood on the floor. His intuition…The innate drive that allowed Rorschach to take control was back. He wasted no time on self-appraisal.

By the looks of it, the blood was significantly coagulated. With a velveteen touch, he dragged a finger through the gooey fluid. He watched intently as the trail languidly smoothed out.

"Hmm…" the vigilante mused. He deduced that the blood was left approximately eighteen hours ago. Though highly viscous, it still retained some of its liquid state. Storing away the fact, he moved on to the torn fabric. Grabbing it, his gloved fingers smoothed out the creases and trailed the rim of the material. He scoffed derisively. His first assumption was that a scuffle was the cause of the torn shirt. But after a second, more intent glance, he noticed how perfectly and precisely the material had been torn. He also noticed how much give it still had, meaning that it was slowly and deliberately torn by hand and purposely left there. Dropping it, he stood up quickly, ignoring the sudden head rush, and made his way to the door. His heart beat picked up slightly as he resumed the position he was in when he first walked into the apartment. From this vantage point, he scanned the room for anything he might have missed. His gaze panned…then stopped abruptly. He felt his heart pound once more. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it earlier.

In the small kitchen area, sitting neatly in the sink was a video cassette. His glare never leaving the black rectangle, he made his way to it. Picking it up, Rorschach turned it around between his hands as if he had never seen anything like it. The object suddenly seemed foreign to him. His head began swimming, but he pushed it back and resumed the motion. The tape bore nothing but a label that read "B.C.A.".

With a trembling sigh, a deep pang swelled in his head once more. A long night lay ahead, this much he knew. Though he felt that he'd be confronted by things he couldn't even fathom. This thing was bigger than him, and though he wasn't too sure what he was dealing with anymore, he knew that time was a factor. And that he'd need all the help he could get. Another visit to Dreiberg was in order.

And with a last glance at the apartment, he sheathed the tape into his vest pocket and made for the window. He was met by a torrential storm. A thunderous crash of lightening illuminated the city. His city. A sudden lump grew in his throat, forcing him to swallow deeply. Tonight was a test of all that he was. It would end tonight.

;)