A/N: Just a word of warning. This chapter starts out light, but I've written some pretty damn grim stuff here. In fact, parts of it are downright gruesome.
I borrowed a few phrases from the graphic novel to use in Rorschach's conversation with the newsvendor. I figure he's a creature of habit and would pretty much give the same responses every time he bought his paper.
The excerpt from the book Chloe reads later on is taken from Kindred by Octavia E. Butler, a fantastic read from a marvelous author. Check it out. It's got the most attention-grabbing opening sentence I've ever read.
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Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters, nor do I own the literary works of Octavia E. Butler.
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Chloe warmed the stethoscope against her palm before pressing it to the baby's chest. There was some congestion, but not enough to make her think this might be pneumonia. Just a severe cold.
The baby coughed. His chubby hands grasped the collar of Chloe's scrubs top. "Hey now," Chloe smiled, disentangling the cooing baby's fingers, "I'm not that kind of girl." She straightened, draped the stetho around her neck, and indicated the baby's anxious mother wait a moment. She went to the medical supply cabinet and grabbed a bottle of children's cold medicine. Now came the difficult part; young Mrs. Silva's grasp of English was somewhat shaky, and most of Chloe's limited vocabulary of Spanish wasn't fit for a young mother's ears, so she spent the next few minutes explaining when and how much medicine to give the baby using mostly drawings on scrap paper and pantomime. Thankfully, Mrs. Silva was a bright lady and caught on quickly.
"Muchas gracias, señora," the woman clasped the nurse's hand, then gathered her child in her arms and exited the clinic.
"De nada," Chloe sighed, then called the next patient. A youngish man with purple hair limped forward.
"Hey, Maria," Rachel, taking an older woman's blood pressure, called out from her station, "How come you didn't help with that?"
"Don't speak Spanish," Maria replied absently while taping a man's sprained wrist.
"Really? You told me your last name was Ortiz."
Oh dear, Chloe thought.
Maria slowly shifted her gaze to regard the clinic's newest member. "And?" she asked, voice deceptively calm.
"Well, you're Mexican, aren't y--"
"I'm from Oregon, damn it!"
Rachel's eyebrows shot up, almost disappearing behind her bangs. "Okaaay. I was just asking."
But Maria was not to be placated. "Why does everybody think I speak Spanish just 'cause my grandparent are Latino? I mean, they don't expect you to speak Polish, or Chloe to know Swahili." Her hands flailed about in emphasis.
Chloe nodded thoughtfully. "She makes a valid point." She turned to the younger nurse, "Why don't you speak Polish, Rache?" The other nurse giggled.
"Oh sure!" Maria snorted, "Crack wise. You guys just don't know how irritating it is dealing with those stupid assumptions." She turned to her patient. "Am I right, sir?"
The man blinked. "Qué?"
Dr. Parson entered the clinic to find Maria shaking her head ruefully, hand covering her face, while the rest of the nursing staff laughed uncontrollably. "Sounds like I missed a doozy."
"Sorry, Matt. You had to be there." Chloe managed to regain her composure. She pointed to the closed door with EXAM ROOM stenciled on it. "Mr. Frakes is already waiting."
"Thanks." The young physician nodded and went in.
Chloe finished with her patient and took her break outside. She leaned against her usual spot at the clinic's outer wall and watched the endless stream of pedestrians walking by. She kept her eyes peeled for a hand painted wooden sign and its redheaded bearer, but no such luck. The street prophet hadn't made an appearance in several days. Maybe he was tired of their one-sided conversations, Chloe thought. She sighed.
"Hi, Chloe!"
"Hey," Chloe smiled at the approaching figure. Mimi was seventeen, but her delicate Asian features made her look even younger. Her belly protruded through her plain brown sweater. When she had made her first arrival at the clinic, she had been nearly unrecognizable from the girl she was now. Her spiky hair had been dyed a vibrant red, eyes and lips garishly made up, and her clothes clung tight to her too-thin figure. Another lost daughter of the streets. When she found out she was pregnant, Mimi had utterly transformed. She quit her drug habit and the prostitution that had financed it, and started taking classes to earn her GED. She was determined to be a good mother.
"Here for your exam already?"
Mimi nodded. "Um, is Dr. Parson the one working today?"
"Yep." Chloe smiled at the girl's ill-concealed pleasure. Matthew Parson was a good looking guy. Sadly, his romantic interests didn't lie with those of the feminine persuasion. Chloe didn't have the heart to tell her so. Mimi thanked her and hurried into the clinic.
Chloe returned to watching the crowd. It was a dismal afternoon. The sky was a single massive cloud, heavy and gray. Its ominous growl was that of a sleeping dragon. Chloe hated storms. If it broke tonight she knew she'd get no sleep; she would keep the lights on and play the radio to blot out the noise and flashes. Watch late night TV or catch up on her reading, and pray there wasn't a blackout.
She found herself wondering what Rorschach did on such nights. Didn't criminals take shelter like everybody else? The masked vigilante didn't strike her as the type to take a night off. He would probably go stir crazy, climb the walls like a caged rat. Chloe thought about him quite a lot. On their second encounter, a sense of familiarity had swept over her as if she should know this person better. But she couldn't for the life of her figure out why this should be. It was probably so obvious she couldn't see it; like a mural made up of thousands of paint dots, you had to step back for the patterns to resolve into an actual picture. Chloe knew she should take a mental step back and let the puzzle solve itself, but her mind perversely continued to pick at the details. Maybe it was guilt over what happened almost four nights ago. Rorschach couldn't get out of her apartment fast enough after seeing the way she'd looked at him. When she wasn't obsessing over her sense of knowing him from somewhere, her mind kept dredging up the unhappy ending to their last encounter. It was very bothersome.
Let it go, Chloe. She sighed.
The looming cloud cover rumbled in its sleep. The dragon was restless.
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High above the city, a water molecule drifted. As it moved, it collected a following, drawn by mutual attraction. They were soon so many the thin air could no longer hold them. Gravity asserted itself. The newly formed raindrop plummeted from the cloud of its birth. Random cosmic quirks labeled by many over the millennia as Chance, Luck, or Fate prevented the water drop from meeting an early demise. It plunged through a flock of birds, narrowly missing the trailing edge of a wing, and tumbled past the massive airships hurrying to dock before the weather struck. It miraculously passed unharmed through a tangle of yellowing leaves on an overhanging branch of one of the unnaturally straight trees planted throughout the city's streets, and ended its short but eventful life with a splash into an upturned eye.
"Hrrmph!" Kovacs blinked the moisture away with an annoyed grunt.
"Here y'are, New Frontiersman," the stout old newsvendor passed him the day's issue. Kovacs dug in his pocket, pulled out a quantity of loose change. He counted each individual coin with care as he placed them one by one into the vendor's waiting hand. Anybody else, the old newsie might have rushed him along with the classic, "C'mon, pal. I ain't got all day," but this guy made him nervous. Those cold unblinking eyes made him think of venomous snakes poised to sink their fangs into the next unfortunate schmuck who didn't watch where he put his foot down. Still, he was a professional, so he gamely attempted the ancient salesman's art of small talk.
"So, how's the enna the world comin' along?" God help him, it was all he could ever think to ask. That damn sign.
"It'll happen today," the shabby man replied as always, "Today for certain."
Clink, the last penny landed. Kovacs lifted his piercing gaze to meet the nervously sweating man's. "You'll keep my paper for me tomorrow?"
"Abs'lutely." He dreaded what might happen if he didn't.
Satisfied, the street prophet stuffed the folded paper into his coat pocket and left to continue spreading the news of impeding doom.
"Weirdo," the newsvendor muttered.
Kovacs paraded slowly down the busy sidewalk. The flow of people parted around him like a stream around an immovable boulder, reacting without seeing. His sign and tattered clothes rendered him invisible to their selective eyes. Raindrops pattered around him, working themselves up for the big downpour. Would have to repaint the sign. He came to the intersection which led to the free clinic. As he had for the last four days, he paused, then turned the other way. No signs of criminal activity there, he told himself. No reason for further interaction. Plenty more filth infesting the city that needed his attention.
She would be standing outside at this time, he knew, leaning against the wall. Watching the passing faces…maybe looking for his? Doesn't matter, Rorschach hissed. Must continue the work. Always the work.
Night settled in. The sleeping dragon woke. Rain buffeted by turbulent winds stung like a thousand needles. Lightning shrieked through the goliath cloud. Alley cats squeezed under ledges with stray dogs, the violent weather bringing a temporary truce. Nothing moved but the twisting trees and a single figure, searching. For evil never sleeps. It only goes into hiding. Water sluiced from the brim of his fedora. The pavement in this neighborhood was so uneven that in places the puddles were ankle deep. Rorschach sloshed through them, ignoring the cold water which seeped into his shoes. He turned a corner and paused. For just a fraction of a second his ears picked up a sound that was not created by the weather raging around him. He willed his straining ears to filter out the roaring wind and lashing rain, the explosive cracks of thunder. There. He hurried towards the faint sound like a hound to a trace of blood. A dark alley loomed ahead. Rorschach turned into it. The dark was absolute. The vigilante had broken his flashlight the night before; used it to shatter a rapist's jaw. He silently cursed himself for not buying another. As if sensing his dilemma, the lightning came to his aid. It illuminated the alley in a series of strobing flashes.
FLASH
A giant loomed over a small figure curled on the filthy ground.
FLASH
The giant raised a booted foot.
FLASH
The boot came crashing down on the figure's protruding belly. A thin wail echoed down the length of the alley and assaulted the watching vigilante's senses, bringing his blood to a boil. Rorschach raced down the narrow passage in stuttering leaps.
FLASH…FLASH…FLASH
ROAR!
The giant fell under the wiry man's colliding body. They rolled on the muddy, shit strewn pavement, their curses and blows muted by the all encompassing tempest. Sausage-thick fingers caught Rorschach's neck in an unbreakable vice-like grip. The lightning revealed an ogre of a man, bearded lips peeled back from crooked teeth in a feral snarl as he thrashed the smaller man. Rorschach's own gloved hands grasped the blocky skull, his thumbs found the twin soft orbs of his eyes. They offered no resistance to the digits' relentless push. In and in, through slimy pulp to the rancid gray flesh behind them. The howling wind could not subdue the shriek of the giant as Rorschach squeezed and dug through layers of brain matter. The hands around his throat tightened in desperation, threatening to crush the vigilante's trachea. Then the massive body spasmed and went still. Rorschach extracted his thumbs from the ragged bloody holes, shoved the limp corpse off of him with a grunt of effort. He climbed to his feet and staggered to the smaller figure.
A girl, her face a battered pulp, one eye bloated shut, missing teeth. Blood oozed from her nose, her mouth, flowed from between her legs. So much blood. She clutched her bulging stomach.
Rorschach knelt, hefted her slight figure into his arms. Blood and water ran down his long coat and dribbled onto his shoes. The girl whimpered plaintively. He moved as fast as he could, hampered by the girl's dead weight (the Walter part of him cringed at the unfortunate choice of words). Hospital too far. Even if he found a working payphone, she would probably bleed to death before the paramedics arrived. No other choice. He headed for the clinic.
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Chloe sat cross-legged on her bed, reading.
…I think Kevin was as lonely and out of place as I was when I met him, though he was handling it better…
It was the only thing that could distract her from the cacophony outside. The words flowed from the page straight into her mind, summoning images as vivid as memory. The pages seemed to turn of their own accord as Chloe's eyes roamed.
…He was like me--a kindred spirit crazy enough to keep on trying. And now, finally…
"CHLOE!"
She put the book down and hurried to the window. The flashing clouds revealed a familiar coated figure bowed under the weight of a still body. Chloe rushed to the door, ran down the stairs. She unlocked and flung open the clinic's door. Rorschach burst in, carrying a bloodied, whimpering girl. Chloe pointed to the nearest nursing station. "Lay her down on the table." She grabbed the phone while he did so.
"9-1-1. What is the nature of your emergency?"
"I have a battered woman at the free clinic on Walston," Chloe rushed to the station, the phone's long cord trailing behind her. She froze for only an instant when recognition occurred. No time for emotion, only action. "Patient is a seventeen year old Asian female, six months pregnant," she said into the receiver she held on her shoulder with her chin while her hands worked, "Severely beaten. There's extensive bleeding from the vaginal region. Bandages!" She pointed to the appropriate cabinet. Rorschach rushed to comply.
"There is an ambulance on its way. It should reach you in fifteen minutes."
"Fifteen? The hospital isn't that far."
"The severity of the storm is causing low visibility," the operator explained, "Any faster and they risk a collision."
Shit.
"Chloeee." It came out as a moan. Mimi's right eye was a swollen mess, her left eye open and glazed with pain. Her mouth opened, revealing split lips and jagged broken teeth.
"It'll be okay, baby." Chloe worked frantically to staunch the bleeding. The phone's receiver slipped from her shoulder and hit the floor with a loud clatter, skidding several inches as the taut phone cord retracted. The emergency operator's voice droned unintelligibly from the earpiece. Chloe shouted instructions, not daring to leave the girl's side. Rorschach scurried to gather the items she needed, in one case breaking a cabinet lock to gain access. The minutes ticked by as the two fought to save the woman and her unborn child.
Mimi sobbed as stabbing pains shot through her body. Her abdominal muscles cramped to rock hardness. Chloe filled a syringe and searched the girl's arm for a vein.
ROAAAR!
The dragon raged above. Chloe's hands jerked in alarm, the syringe fell from her fingers.
"Chloe!" Mimi screamed. The lights flickered overhead. The young mother's body spasmed and her two saviors watched helplessly as her womb's precious contents slid out and tumbled wetly to the floor.
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The blood was everywhere, on the floor, on Chloe and Rorschach's clothes. Too much. Mimi lay on the exam table, her flesh bone white, panting as her body struggled for oxygen. It had only been six minutes since the vigilante had brought her. The paramedics weren't going to get there in time. They couldn't save her.
Chloe took the girl's cold hand in her own, placed her other hand on a brow icy with sweat. Mimi's remaining eye stared glassily up at her. Chloe couldn't tell if she saw her or had drifted into a haze.
Movement from the corner of her eye made the nurse turn. Rorschach knelt, a towel in his hands he had found in the linen closet. He carefully scooped up the tiny innocent's remains, swaddled it in the thin terrycloth, and stood to place the sad bundle beside its mother. He lay it in the crook of Mimi's arm and lifted her hand to rest it on top of the still infant. His movements were slow, almost reverential.
A low sound emerged from the young girl's mangled lips. Chloe looked her in the eye, squeezed her hand. She brushed the sweaty, matted bangs from Mimi's forehead. "Shhh."
Rorschach watched as Chloe comforted the dying girl. Even as her eyes welled with tears her face remained calm, tender. A gasping breath. A shudder. Stillness. Chloe closed her eyes. Rorschach wished to god she would break down and cry, scream, beat him with her bloodied fists. But she only passed her hand over the younger woman's face, shutting her sightless eye. The nurse's eyes opened again and she stared at the vigilante. This was worse than the sadness that had driven him away four nights ago. Her hazel eyes were filled with utter despair.
Through the faltering tempest came the distant wail of a siren. The ambulance had arrived, too late. Rorschach felt ashamed by the relief that flooded him; he had a reason to escape this nightmare. Chloe said nothing as he departed, only stood by the two victims waiting for the paramedics to take them to a colder, darker place.
The police arrived shortly after. This was a crime, after all. Chloe told them all she knew, save the identity of the man who had brought the doomed girl, giving instead a vague description--tall, brown hair, white. They kept their questions short, out of deference to her obvious exhaustion as well as the fact that law enforcement exerted little effort in such cases that occurred in this area of the city. Secretly they all thought amongst themselves: better these animals kill off each other than come after one of us.
Mimi and her baby were placed in the same body bag and loaded onto the ambulance. The paramedics drove off, no longer troubling themselves with the flashing lights and the siren. There was no hurry now.
Chloe sat on the floor, back against the wall, her knees drawn up and her arms curled around them, her face buried in the nest of her forearms. The blood remained; it was not the job of the police or the paramedics to see to such a mess. Need to clean it up, Chloe thought. Couldn't have patients walking into such as this.
Footsteps intruded on her thoughts. Chloe lifted her head to gaze upon a pair of legs clad in purple pinstripes. "Thought you'd left."
Rorschach held out a box of tissues; one of the clinic's. The place used more Kleenexes than it did band-aids. Chloe took the box, yanked out a tissue, and blew her nose. "Thanks." She looked up at the familiar unreadable mask. "How did it happen?"
"Man attacked her," he rasped, "Big, prison tattoos on his neck and arms."
"Lobo. He used to be Mimi's pimp," she sniffed, "Wasn't happy when she quit. She was his most popular girl."
"Won't be selling any more girls."
"That's comforting," she murmured tonelessly. A sad grimace began to contort her face. "She wanted that baby so badly."
The words brought bile to his throat. Rorschach growled, "Better dead than whoreson."
"Shut up!" Chloe flung the tissue box. It bounced off the stunned masked hero's chest. "You don't know her! She quit that life! She was off the junk and eating better and taking classes! She was learning to knit, for Christ's sake!" Her voice broke. She covered her mouth with the back of her hand to stifle the sobs.
Rorschach stared down at her, his normally rigid shoulders sagging ever-so-slightly. He slowly sank to one knee in front of her so that his face was level with hers. She met his fathomless gaze.
"I wasn't fast enough," the words were so quiet, so full of regret, "Heard a sound in the thunder. Wasn't sure. Hesitated. Took too long to find her and…I…"
Chloe, in sympathy, reached out, but instead of placing her hand on his knee she lightly grasped the crease in his pant leg just below the knee joint. Rorschach felt the gentle tug.
"You know what our problem is?" she asked, "We both care too damn much. You try to beat the bad out of people. I try to patch up the good. And nothing ever changes. But we just can't seem to let ourselves stop." She chuckled ruefully. "Quite a pair, aren't we?"
Rorschach didn't answer, just looked at her as some indefinable emotion rose in him. Outside, the rumble of the storm grew distant. He stood and, after a moment's hesitation, held out a gloved hand. It was a hand that had meted retribution on the flesh and bones of countless wrongdoers, slender fingers like bands of steel. Chloe took it without a qualm and let the vigilante pull her to her feet. She stared at his shifting mask with an expression he could not put a label to.
"What?" he asked.
"For a second there," she pointed to her own face for emphasis, "I thought I saw an angel."
Rorschach smiled faintly beneath his face. Me too.
He stepped outside the clinic moments later, gazing out into the glistening night. The storm had passed, leaving behind the smell of ozone. It gave the city the illusion of cleanliness. Out there, he knew, there were thousands of women and girls and young boys selling their bodies. Most cared only for the habits such activities fed. But a few, a precious few, desired something better. Yet they dared not attempt to leave, for their lives were not their own. They were ruled in terror and brutality by greedy men who viewed their charges with less compassion than a butcher would a helpless lamb. Rorschach's gloved hands curled into fists. Tonight terror would visit them.
Inside, Chloe filled a bucket with hot water, added the strongest disinfectant she could find, and took it to the bloodstained nursing station. She knelt, dipped a sponge into the soapy mixture, and began scrubbing away the night's grisly reminders while outside the masked hero set out on his quest. So they went, each cleaning up the night's mess in their own way.
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Chloe finished as the first rays of dawn penetrated the thinning clouds. She dumped the pink water, put the bucket and sponge away, and stumbled up the steps to her apartment. There she stripped out of her ruined shirt and sweatpants, stuffing the clothes into the trashcan, and made her way to the bathroom. She spent nearly an hour standing under the streaming showerhead, head down and eyes closed in weariness. After, she dressed in fresh clothes and carefully went back downstairs. Rachel and Maria had already arrived and stared at the exhausted woman in surprise.
"What the hell happened to you?" Maria asked. Chloe told them. They were heartbroken over Mimi's death. Rachel needed to walk away to get a hold of herself.
"You should go back upstairs," Maria said, wiping her eyes, "You're in no condition to work today."
Chloe nodded, but instead of returning to her little apartment she went outside. The last trailing clouds scudded across the blue sky and sunlight streamed down onto the gleaming wet city. Despite the chill, Chloe went to her usual spot at the wall and slid down until she sat on the cold pavement, heedless of the wetness soaking into her pants. She sat with her head thrown back, her eyes closed, letting the autumn sun warm her.
Minutes later, she sensed she was no longer alone. Chloe opened her tired eyes. A figure stood over her, silhouetted in the morning light. For a moment she thought…but no, he wouldn't be so foolish. She squinted and the silhouette resolved itself into the street prophet, minus his sign. Chloe managed a little smile. "Hi." She patted the wet pavement beside her. "Wanna help me prop up the wall?"
He wordlessly moved to the place she indicated and lowered himself down beside her. They sat in silence, not looking at each other. Surprisingly, it was Kovacs who spoke first. "You okay?"
"Didn't sleep," Chloe murmured, staring ahead at nothing, "Bad storm. Never could sleep during them. Byron used to stay up with me, even though he thought it was silly." She smiled faintly.
"Byron?"
"My husband. He died…mmm…six years ago." God, had it been that long? "There was a fire," she continued before Kovacs had a chance to figure out a less than blunt way of asking. "Whole building went up. I got out. He was behind me," she swallowed, "I thought he was behind me." Somehow, her nearly emotionless tone made those brief words all the more tragic.
"I'm sorry," the street prophet said, looking at her.
Chloe turned her head towards him. Her hazel eyes shone with unshed tears and her lips curved in a sad, ethereal smile. "He would've liked you."
Kovacs stared. He didn't know what to say to that.
The woman's eyes drifted shut. A tear ran down her cheek, unnoticed. "I'm very tired," she whispered.
"You should sleep," Kovacs said, worried for her.
"Yeah." Chloe slowly leaned to her right. Her head came to rest on his shoulder. Kovacs tensed. The slow evenness of her breathing told him she had fallen asleep. Despite his own discomfort with such closeness, he held himself still. The woman had exhausted herself trying to save the girl and her unborn child, and when her efforts failed she had held her composure to give one last bit of comfort so the poor victim would not have to suffer dying alone, then she'd spent the rest of the night cleaning up her blood. Not even Rorschach, for all his ferocious strength, could have found it in him to do all that. So the street prophet let her sleep. He could do that much for her.
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"Rache," Maria nodded towards the door, her hands busy applying disinfectant to a diabetic's foot ulcer. The younger nurse turned and gasped in surprise. A man with red hair entered the clinic, a slumbering Chloe in his arms. He regarded her with unsettling blue eyes. Warily, Rachel gestured for him to follow her. She led him up the back stairs to Chloe's apartment. On the landing, she gingerly reached into the sleeping woman's hip pocket for the key and unlocked the door. Rachel hovered nervously in the doorway as the redhead entered the little apartment. He immediately went to the bed and lowered his burden onto the mattress. Chloe's hands gripped the lapels of his ratty coat. She mumbled something plaintive and unintelligible. The man gently freed himself from her grip.
"Shh."
He pulled her shoes off, drew the covers over her. Chloe sighed and snuggled deeper into the bed's soft comfort. The red haired man watched her sleep. His hand moved of its own accord to brush a strand of hair behind her delicate ear. The corner of her mouth twitched. The man turned, walked past the amazed Rachel without a glance of acknowledgement. He stepped out of the clinic into the bright morning.
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A/N: There you have it; my longest and darkest chapter yet. And to head off all you nitpickers out there, I am well aware that Chloe never gave her name to Walter's Rorschach persona. But I figured, given the circumstances, neither one of them would have noticed the slip.
Thank you all again for your wonderful reviews. They motivate me all the more into continuing this story. I will be posting another chapter soon. :-D