A/N: As you've no doubt realized from reading the first chappie, I've digressed from the usual damsel in distress method used in so many Rorschach/OC stories. I thought it'd be refreshing to have someone save him, for once. I'm not sure how long this story's going to be, but I do know how it will end, which is something of an anomaly for me. That and the fact that I actually like what I'm writing so far. Anyway, on to Chapter 2!
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Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters.
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Chloe leaned against the wall outside the clinic, eyes closed against the brightness of the day. Despite the heavy pollution blanketing the city, the ever-resolute sun managed to batter a few of its more persistent rays through the smoggy barrier. It warmed the late August air enough that she didn't feel the need to put on her coat.
Things were more hectic than usual at the clinic. Flu season would soon be upon them and Veidt Pharmaceuticals had donated 150 doses of vaccine. People were frantic to avoid the illness.
A shadow passed over her face for a brief moment. Chloe opened her eyes to find the cause. She grinned. "Hey!"
The redheaded street prophet paused, turned. His face remained expressionless as a mask.
Chloe pushed off from the wall and approached him, still smiling. "You following me?" she teased.
"No," came the monotone response.
"Here to get vaccinated? You better hurry. The way things are going we'll run out in a couple of hours."
His cold blue eyes seemed to bore through her skull and out the other side. Most found the sensation unsettling. She seemed oblivious.
"Don't need it."
"You sure? It's gonna be a nasty strain this year," she warned, "I already got my shot."
He remained silent. Chloe shrugged. "Okay. If you change your mind, the line's over there," she indicated the impatient row of people stretching down the block, then let her arm drop back to her side. "I'm Chloe, by the way. I gotta get back. See you around," she grinned, "If the world doesn't end, that is." And with that she turned and jogged off, disappearing through the clinic's front door.
Kovacs tightened his grip on the sign. Yet again the woman had approached him unasked and tried to strike up a conversation. No amount of silent glares seemed to put her off. Just smiled and chattered on as if they were old acquaintances.
His was a mind of rigid perception; thoughts and concepts and human beings compartmentalized with fanatical precision. The fact that he could not quite figure this woman's place in his mental filing system annoyed him to no end. He had observed her from a distance, both showing his mask and as Rorschach, for the last three days and had so far uncovered nothing more sinister than an inordinate fondness for pulp science fiction novels. Her life centered around the free clinic. She made no time for socializing; didn't visit the local night spots or attend neighborhood gatherings. Just worked and read and slept. Surveillance could tell him nothing more. If Kovacs was to uncover any misdeeds, he would need to get closer to her.
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"I'm not gonna lie to you. Needles hurt," Chloe said, looking the somber nine-year-old in the eye, "But your mama wouldn't have brought you here if she didn't think this was best for you. Flu is no fun, believe me."
The boy's expression said that yes, he agreed influenza was unpleasant, in theory; but needles were a known discomfort and he wasn't enthusiastic about getting one stuck in his arm.
"Now," Chloe continued, "once we're done, you can look forward to getting either a sucker," she held up a wicker basket, "which will rot your teeth, or a cheap plastic toy," she lifted a cardboard box, "which you'll almost certainly grow bored with in about ten minutes.
"But," she held up a finger for emphasis, "if you keep perfectly still so I can get this over with that much quicker, I will let you take one of each. Deal?"
The kid nodded enthusiastically, eager for the promise of quick and easy gratification.
"Alrighty then." Chloe swabbed the boy's arm with alcohol and readied the needle. "Feel free to make some noise." Jab.
"AAUUUGGGGHHH!"
"Whoo! Nothing wrong with those lungs," Chloe laughed. She carefully applied a cartoon-embossed band-aid to the boy's arm. He accompanied his embarrassed mother out the door moments later with a yellow lollipop in his mouth and a green rubber lizard in his hand.
Chloe pulled off the latex gloves with a snap and tossed them into the waste receptacle. She looked towards the waiting line and smiled. "Maria, I'll take that one." She waved the next man to her.
Kovacs approached the nurse's station, sign in hand. He leaned it against the wall and sat in the provided chair. His eyes were now level with hers.
"Changed your mind, I see," Chloe grinned, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves.
Kovacs rolled up his sleeve and proffered the exposed arm. Chloe wet a cotton ball with rubbing alcohol and swabbed a patch of skin. She frowned thoughtfully. "You know, there's something familiar about you."
"Talked to me a few minutes ago."
She giggled. "That's not what I meant. Something else. Something…" she waved a hand as if to pluck a solution from the air. "Hell, I dunno. It'll come to me." She unwrapped a prepared syringe, slid the needle into his skin with practiced ease.
Kovacs experienced mild relief when she dropped the subject. For a brief moment he'd worried he might have slipped somehow.
He focused on the woman's subtle body cues. Pupils reacted normally to the light, breathing normal, no signs of sweatiness or fidgeting. If she was abusing meds, her body gave no sign. He had observed her interaction with the child and had to admit he had been somewhat impressed with her handling of him. It was all the other two nurses could do to inject the thrashing, shrieking kids (and quite a few adults) without breaking the needles.
Finished, Chloe capped the spent needle and tossed into the yellow trashcan with the biohazard symbol on the side, then placed a band-aid over the puncture wound. She plucked a purple sucker from the basket and held it out to him. "Here. You look like you could use some sugar," she winked.
Again, the blank stare.
"If you don't want it you could try saying, 'No thanks, Chloe. I'm sweet enough.'"
For just a fraction of a second, she could have sworn she saw his mouth twitch as if a smile had tried to sneak past his defenses. Then it was back to his usual inscrutable facade.
Kovacs took the offered candy, put it in his pocket. He stood, pulling his sleeve down over his bared arm. He picked up his sign.
"Thank you," he said, so quiet she almost didn't hear.
"You're welcome," Chloe smiled. He left.
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The street prophet wended his way through the ever-flowing crowds of pedestrians and wondered what was wrong with him.
He walked by the clinic nearly every day now. He would see Chloe leaning against the wall, taking a breather from the barely contained chaos. Sometimes she looked so exhausted she could barely stand, yet she always managed a welcoming smile for him which he then acknowledged with a small nod. The times he did not see her left a faint nagging disappointment that gnawed at the back of his mind for the rest of the day.
At night, in his face, Rorschach perched on the roof of the building across the alley from the free clinic. It offered a perfect view of Chloe's apartment window. Sometimes the light would be on and he'd catch a glimpse of her silhouette through the drawn curtains. He told himself it was for her protection. Her little apartment was vulnerable to attacks from the roving perverts and brutes that infested this city, and she lived alone, helpless. Never mind the quickening of his pulse when he saw her figure in the window, the lingering thoughts of her smile, her laugh. She was nothing to him but a potential victim in need of rescuing; he could no longer bring himself to view her with suspicion.
He did as instructed; cleaned and re-bandaged his stitches twice a day, and tried to ignore the little thrill he felt as he saw the pile of gauze diminish. Soon the stitches would have to come out. Rorschach would be paying the nurse another visit.