I just want to begin by saying that within this chapter and the next, I am going to start to tackle issues that might be offensive to some people, such as religion and sexuality. I'm sorry if I offend, it's just that this is how I view the character, and it is my view only. I'm not going to change it, but if you find the material distasteful, feel free to boycott my work.

Part 7

To say Adrian was fuming as Mr. Campbell led him away from the podium would have been an understatement. His jaw was set in obvious anger, and his fists were clenched so tightly that Grace was afraid the finally-healing wound on his right palm might break open.

She rushed forward, speaking low. "Hey. Don't get all thrown out of place by this. He's just a guy. A pencil-pushing, average Joe. Don't let him unhinge you."

Adrian sighed, bowing his head and unclenching his fists. "You're right. It's just…" he paused, licking his lips and squinting against the sun. "People assume that since I'm a man of power, that I am invincible. That I haven't lost a damn thing in this. They can't even fathom the magnitude of what I have lost."

"Then why don't you tell them?" she said, and it really sounded more like "tell me."

All expression left his face, and it seemed like he might turn to stone right there. "Because. They have their own plight. They don't want to hear about mine. Besides… it would just give them another reason to tell me that I don't know what suffering is."

Grace had nothing to say to that because, the truth was, he was right. People always assumed the rich didn't suffer. That they could buy their way out of sadness. This was just people taking out their anger and depression from the attacks on the easiest prey. And categorizing Adrian Veidt as easy prey was not something that could have been done beforehand.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of press releases and paperwork. While Grace had started to title herself as Adrian's caretaker, there were still times when she couldn't look after him all of the time. There was a private meeting amongst the executives and Veidt, and she just wasn't permitted to attend. So, Adrian told her to deal with her own problems and stop trying to solve his.

So, she went to the bank on Roosevelt Island to request a collection on her homeowners insurance, and cancel all of her utility bills. After all, that nice flat of hers in upstate New York was now reduced to square footage in the statistics of ruin. But, as it turned out, the entire population of New York had the same idea. The line went out the front door of the bank, and ran a block long. So, she decided to freshen up a bit.

Luckily her accounts were still active, so she bought some new clothes. After all, she'd been in the same dress pants and blouse for four days, and her wardrobe was hardly accessible. Even in her college years, she hadn't gone that long without changing. She'd been constantly spraying on layers of perfume, which was ironically Veidt's brand, but it was starting to fade, and she was out of perfume.

Now where could she go? She desperately needed a shower, and she was pretty much one hundred percent sure that all hotels even relatively close were full. So she did what she thought was her only option. She went back to Veidt's apartment. After all, he was going to be in meetings all afternoon.

She used the key she had been given… okay taken, but nonetheless, she was in Veidt's quiet penthouse half an hour later. She used the shower in the secondary bathroom, feeling a bit awkward about using his… she wasn't sure why.

In her opinion, that shower was probably the best shower in the history of human bathing customs. She felt like she could actually see her sorrow and grief from the last few days falling off with the dust and grime. She shampooed and conditioned twice, just to make sure the "ew" was gone. And damn… it made her wonder about Veidt's sexuality. If there was a heaven on Earth, this company bottled its smell and put it in their hair care products. It made her want to shampoo a third time, but she denied herself to avoid wasting all of Adrian's shampoo.

Wrapping herself in a terry-cloth towel, she decided to explore his apartment more thoroughly since he wasn't here. She grabbed a comb, which contrary to popular belief, is not made for brushing hair that classifies as a mane. After breaking several of its prongs, she decided to finger-comb her hair as she aimlessly walked around his apartment. Nothing in the foyer was of any greater interest than it had been yesterday, so she walked into his bedroom.

His bed was neatly made, and there was nothing out of place. There was no way he was straight. Completely, any way. No man on Earth lived this clean.

She raided his closet to find that it was all dress shirts, dress pants, and some high-end sweaters. What, no Hawaiian flower prints? No man was complete without Hawaiian flower prints. She grinned to herself as she pulled out drawers of his black dresser. Aha! Boxer briefs; the best of both worlds.

Everything was well organized; not a single garment out of place. So she decided to go for the one place that would tell her something about him; his bedside table.

She bit her lip as she pulled on the top drawer; there might be very revealing things in here. She almost felt bad about it. Almost.

A… bible! She would never have expected Adrian Vedit to have a bible. Especially one that looked like the original. She raised her eyebrows in astonishment before shunting it (nicely) aside to go through his other belongings. Beneath it was the old picture of the Watchmen; the Comedian on the far left, Silk Spectre, Dr. Manhattan, Adrian, Nite Owl, and Rorschach on the right.

Grace lifted a hand and ran a finger over Dr. Manhattan. It seemed so simple, looking at an image of the man that destroyed her life, and snatched the lives of others. It seemed ironic that it would be sitting under the bible. The only being that could snatch lives as quickly as the Supreme Being, pictured simply, right next to Adrian. She sighed, thinking of Mr. Luca and Mr. Campbell, who probably prayed every night until the accident. Had they lost their faith? They were probably doubting why their God would let someone… well, not Him do such a thing. That considered, what did Adrian believe? She would have thought, being the smartest man, that he would consider all things rationally… that he wouldn't acknowledge the existence of something he couldn't prove.

"Well, this is every man's fantasy," came a voice from behind her, and she actually screamed as she spun around to see Adrian, one hand in his pocket, the other behind his back, leaning casually against the doorframe. "Walking into their bedroom to see a woman, wearing only a towel, going through his belongings."

"I…" she stammered. "I wasn't… I was just…" she stopped trying, and stared down at her bare feet, feeling very… naked.

Adrian stepped closer, and plucked the picture from her fingers. "Find anything of interest?" he asked, and it implied that he already knew the answer.

"No," she said sheepishly, and he smiled.

"Unfortunately, I learned quite recently to never keep damning information in a place where someone else can easily access it," he said, staring down at the picture.

"So…" she began, backing farther away in the hopes that no extra skin would peek through the towel. Gay or not, she still didn't want to be nude in front of him. "Where do you keep it?"

He grinned, and took another step closer, so his breath was making the remaining water droplets on her face chill and crawl down her skin. He simply tapped his temple, grinning somewhat sadistically. "In here," he said.

"I see," she said, and continued to back away. "I noticed you have a, um… a bible," she said, in a last-ditch effort to save herself and get out of this.

"Ah, yes," he said, returning the picture to the drawer and pulling out the tattered book. "It was my mother's. It's a good read."

He would say that about the bible.

"But do you… believe?" she asked, trying to position herself so that she could run out the door and to her clothes should any… mishaps occur.

"Rather vague question, don't you think?" he said, opening the book. "Do I believe in what? God? The existence of an afterlife? The visitation of Jesus to Earth? Was Jesus even divine, or just a prophet? It is difficult for me to answer these. God? Possibly. I suppose I'm what you call Nostic; a truth seeker. Not the old Greek description of a Nostic, who by definition was faithless in all things. The modern definition; a man who refuses judgment until proof is found and validated. But, as a scientific mind, I must acknowledge the existence of unexplained phenomena. So do I believe? Absolutely. Am I willing to stake my life upon it? Absolutely not," Adrian said, and tossed the book back into the drawer.

Grace's mouth hung open. She hadn't expected such a deep answer, but she shouldn't have expected anything less from him.

"Wow," she said, and realized exactly how close he was. Would a gay man be that close? "I never thought of it that way."

"I tend to have that effect," he said, and if possible, moved closer. "Now if you wouldn't mind," he continued, and for a second she thought his hand was touching her stomach. She shuddered and looked down, to see her new clothes in his hand.

"Oh, yes. Of course. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry. I was just… curious," she said, tentatively taking her clothes from him and holding tightly to the towel with her other hand.

"About what?" he said, finally stepping back, which she was incredibly thankful for.

She stammered for an answer that wasn't "your sexuality."

He read her face. "Do me a favor," he said. "On my bookshelf in the sitting room, there is a book entitled Alexander the Great by Ulrich Wilcken. In that, you may find the answer you seek. To this question, anyway."

"And, um," she said, with slightly more confidence. "What question, exactly, do you think I'm asking?"

He just smiled, and everything in that smile said, "I know exactly what you're asking."