A/N: I had a heck of a time figuring out what this chapter should be about. Sorry it's a short one, but I promise to keep on posting. This story ain't done yet!
*************************************************************************************
Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters.
*************************************************************************************
After Rorschach left, Chloe put an extra blanket in her laundry basket to use as a makeshift crib, then tucked the baby in. She put the basket beside her bed to more easily hear if the little girl woke in the night. The next morning, after washing, feeding, and changing the baby one last time, Chloe carried her down to the clinic area where Maria and Rachel were already preparing for the day. They were shocked and delighted, cooing and doting over the little squirming bundle while Chloe placed a call to Child Services. They arrived shortly to take the infant into custody.
"Bye, baby." Chloe stroked her downy hair, kissed her forehead. The baby gazed at her alertly, already showing improvement from a few hours' attention. Chloe felt a bittersweet pang as she watched the infant disappear into the social worker's vehicle and drive off to begin her new life. She headed for her station to take her mind off it with work when Maria intercepted her.
"What're you doing?"
Chloe frowned. "What do you mean?"
"It's Saturday, remember?" Maria smirked at the other woman's perplexity. "Your day off? Morgan's on his way over to fill in."
"Oh, crap! I forgot I lost a day sleeping." Chloe winced. "But wouldn't that count as a day off? Maybe I should just--"
"Hell, no! You've already skipped your last two days off," Maria scolded, "You need a break. Now get outta here." She grinned. "We'll survive one day without you."
Chloe gave a short, rueful laugh. "Fine, I'll go."
"That's the spirit!" Maria patted her shoulder and headed back to her station.
Shaking her head, Chloe went back up to her apartment. Since she was free for the day, she might as well make an attempt to thin out her book collection; her poor shelf was starting to groan under the accumulated weight. Chloe dug out her hideous white plastic tote bag with the zipper on top and loaded it with as many paperbacks as she could bear to part with. She would take them to the bookshop for trading and hopefully leave the place with fewer books than she'd taken in.
She decided to wear her skirt today. Chloe normally wasn't into girl stuff, but she liked the way this skirt looked on her. Deep blue (of course) with dark purple and indigo patterns. It swirled around her when she moved and made her think of gypsies and faraway exotic places. For a top she put on a black sweater that wasn't baggy and wasn't too tight. She brushed out her graying hair, let it hang loose around her shoulders. She smiled at herself in the mirror hanging on the bathroom door; hardly recognized herself without her scrubs. Satisfied, she slung the heavy tote over her shoulder and headed out the door.
It was a nice day, if a bit cloudy. Not too cold. Chloe strolled the eight blocks to the little bookstore without any particular hurry. FAR-OFF PLACES: USED BOOK STORE, the painted sign over the door declared. A bell jingled softly as Chloe entered the shop and smiled at the mingled scents of old paper and fresh coffee. Bester, the shop owner's tuxedo cat, lounged in one of the old wingback chairs scattered throughout the place, doing what bookstore cats did best, i.e. sleep. Chloe gave him a friendly stroke before approaching the counter where a bored twenty-something man thumbed through a copy of Asimov's Foundation. Chloe set her tote bag on the counter with a thunk. "Hi. I'd like to exchange these."
The clerk reluctantly set his book aside and unzipped the tote. His eyebrows rose as he viewed the contents. "You read all these?"
"Yep." Chloe hooked her thumb towards the shelves behind her. "Mind if I look around while you tally those?"
"Sure," he muttered absently as he pulled out the used volumes and stacked them in front of him.
Chloe wandered through the shop, now and then pulling out a book to read the synopsis on the back. Let's see…Philip K. Dick's Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?, Andre Norton's Moon of Three Rings, Foster, Sturgeon, Van Vogt… She soon had her arms loaded with paperbacks. She hurried back to the counter and spilled her acquisitions in front of the clerk. The two exchanged amused, sympathetic looks.
"Well," the clerk said a few minutes later, "your store credit just about covers it. You owe us ninety-three cents."
Chloe dug a dollar out of her skirt pocket. "Thanks. I don't need the change." She hefted her moderately lighter bag and left the shop. Jingle. Outside the clouds had grown thicker, the air had that pre-rain smell. Long as it's not a storm, Chloe thought with a shudder. Too many bad things happened during storms. Despite the changing weather, she decided to take a more circuitous route home and enjoy the walk. Maria was right; it had been too long since Chloe had taken the time to unwind. She forgot how pleasant it was to just amble along, nowhere in particular to go. Perhaps she'd find a restaurant and eat lunch there instead of making something at home. That'd be a treat. She turned a corner and saw a newsstand ahead, run by an overweight older white man wearing an old-fashioned cap like they had in the Depression-era. He was in the middle of a heated discussion with a rough looking woman who had a copy of Hustler tucked under her arm. A young black teenaged boy was sitting against a hydrant reading a comic book, a cigarette in his mouth.
"Alls I'm sayin' is this whole union strike thing sounds a little too commie-like," the newsvendor said.
"So you're sayin' it's fair how th' company gets a cut of our tips?" the woman bristled, a fearsome sight.
"Christ, Joey! I ain't sayin' that. I'm just sayin' cuttin' off the public transport'd be a great step in crippling this here capitalist city--" The man paused mid-rebuttal, eyes drawn to an approaching figure. "Aw, hell."
Chloe followed his gaze and beamed. The street prophet came, sign towering above him, his face an inscrutable mask. The newsvendor rallied a nervous smile and reached for a paper he had set aside specifically. "Here, y'are," he called before the weirdo reached him, "New Frontiersman, hot off the press."
Kovacs reached into his pocket, pulled out the appropriate change. He folded the paper and tucked it into his coat.
"World hasn't ended yet, I see," the newsie observed.
The street prophet regarded him with flinty eyes. "We'll see." He walked away, much to the newsvendor's relief, and noticed a smiling black woman in his path. He froze as recognition came, eyes widened in surprise.
"Looks like I'm following you,now," Chloe laughed. Kovacs frowned; he didn't like to be surprised. Didn't like the way his eyes took in every detail of her, how different she looked in ordinary clothes rather than her androgynous scrubs. She looked…pretty. "Why are you here?"
"Took the day off," she said, switching her tote bag to her other shoulder. She gave a little chuckle. "This feels weird, seeing you away from the clinic. I was gonna grab some lunch somewhere. Wanna come?"
"No." He wasn't prepared for this. He didn't know how to react with her outside her environment. It was difficult enough whenever he met with her at the clinic.
"You sure?" she persisted, "I'm buying. You were such a gentleman when I conked out on you the other day, least I can do is get you a sandwich or something." Her smile was winsome, teasing, bordered on flirtatious. The Walter part of him could not resist.
"Alright," he murmured. Damn.
Chloe beamed. "Great! Put your sign away and let's make a day of it. I'm betting you could use a break, yourself." Kovacs hid his sign behind a dumpster with great reluctance. He walked beside the woman, eyes cast down and hands stuffed in his pockets. Chloe pointed ahead. "Hey, how about that place?" The Gunga Diner. Kovacs shrugged. They went inside. The place smelled heavily of fried meat and cooking grease; the kind of place where "salad" consisted of a few limp lettuce leaves and a lot of dressing. Chloe liked the place immediately. They took an empty booth by the huge front window. Chloe pulled out a paper menu and started reading, but Kovacs didn't bother as he always had the same thing.
Christine winced when she saw the crazy redhead come in. The guy freaked her out and he never left a tip. Then she noticed the woman with him and the waitress's eyebrows shot up. What the hell? She approached their booth cautiously and deposited two glasses of water. "So…what can I get ya?" she asked the woman.
Chloe scrutinized the menu. "Oh, I guess I'll have the turkey club. Just the sandwich, please, nothing for the side."
"And to drink?"
"Coffee."
Christine jotted it down, then turned to the man who stared out the window as if expecting someone. "The usual?" He nodded. The waitress walked away. Lady doesn't seem crazy, she thought.
"You eat here a lot?" Chloe asked.
"Sometimes." Kovacs pulled a paper napkin from the dispenser and absently tore off a corner, still watching the street outside. Chloe didn't push him for a conversation. She had grown comfortable with his silence. She watched his hands shred the napkin, long slender fingers and bruised knuckles, and thought about their relationship. If Rorschach was a feral dog, then the street prophet was an alley cat, battle-scarred and furtive, for whom an act of kindness, like as not, was a cruel prelude to a kick in the ribs. Yet he still responded to kindness, albeit cautiously, because deep down inside he longed for something more than bare survival. This wasn't quite accurate as an analogy, though. Chloe pitied alley cats; she didn't pity him. She enjoyed spending time with him, learning to interpret those fleeting expressions that snuck past his defenses, his infrequent words. She liked the rare moments when his eyes looked at her with an intensity that made her insides quiver, and the foggy memory of him carrying her to her bed, how safe and content she had felt. Things she hadn't felt in years; thought she'd never feel again without at least a little accompanying guilt. But there was no guilt. Chloe smiled.
The waitress returned with their food. Kovacs's usual was a hamburger. For him food was uncomplicated, a means of replenishing his body's energies and nothing more. Chloe watched in amusement as he added a ridiculous amount of sugar to his coffee, threatening to overflow the cup. The silence between them continued as they ate. When they finished, Chloe paid the tab and left a tip for the waitress, then they exited the diner. The clouds hung low over the city, the sun a vague white disc in the sky. The rainy smell was stronger. A few fat drops patted softly on the pavement, splashed against men and women hurrying to find cover.
"Uh oh," Chloe said, walking faster. There was a building ahead with a huge green awning which she and her companion headed for. The rain hit with the suddenness of a faucet turned on. Chloe laughed in astonishment and started running, Kovacs beside her. They stopped under the awning, drenched, panting from exertion. Chloe laughed breathlessly, her eyes shone. Her long graying hair was plastered to her head and neck, her clothing clung wetly to her body. Kovacs couldn't help but stare.
"Thought you hated storms," he muttered. Chloe shook her head. "Thunder and lightning, yes. I love rain." She looked at him, head cocked to the side and eyes narrowed in scrutiny. She pointed to her cheek. "You got something on your face."
Puzzled, he wiped his hand over his cheek, skin rasping against the stubble. "Better?"
She shook her head. "C'mere." She beckoned him closer. Rorschach wanted to pull away, but Walter leaned closer, his cheek turned for her inspection. He felt her fingertip brush against him. "It's right--" It happened quickly; she darted forward, her lips brushed against his cheek, feather light, and she stepped back with a mischievous grin. Kovacs gaped at her, his face growing hot. "W-why did you do that?"
"Because I wanted to," she answered, voice quiet and smile subdued. The intensity in his eyes was there again, stronger than ever. Chloe's heart pounded in response.
"Aahhh! No!" The screaming was close. Kovacs didn't think, just reacted. He ran towards the sound. Three or four passersby stood at the mouth of an alley, wide-eyed and unmoving. The red haired man elbowed through them. A man with a snub-nosed revolver was robbing two young women. Kovacs slammed into him, but the man did not go down. They struggled on the wet pavement, rain drumming down around them, while the victims cringed and the witnesses stared impotently from the alley mouth.
Kovacs felt cold metal pressed under his chin. "Back the fuck off," the mugger snarled, shoving the smaller man from him. Kovacs lunged towards him again, teeth bared in rage, heedless of the weapon pointed towards him. He was fast, he could reach him before--
SLAM! A white blur struck the side of the mugger's head, knocking him against the wall. The gun fell from his numb fingers and Chloe darted forward to snatch it up and point it at the stunned man. Her plastic tote lay on the ground where it had fallen.
"Shoot him!" Kovacs shouted.
"No. He's not going anywhere," Chloe's voice was calm, her hand held the gun steady. "Would somebody mind calling the police?" Someone from the watching crowd ran off. The mugger groaned, rubbed his head. "The hell…?"
"Police won't hold him," Kovacs growled, "He'll be out assaulting more innocents in a few days. No one will blame you for defending yourself. Shoot him."
His words brought a deeply troubled look to her face. Her eyes kept shifting to glance at the street prophet. "No. I won't do that."
"Shoot him!"
"N--"
The robber lunged, roaring in fury. Chloe shouted in alarm and dodged, swung the gun. It connected with the back of the man's head, just behind the ear, and he crashed to the sodden pavement, unconscious. "Shit!" Chloe's nervous giggle had a hysterical edge, "I can't believe I did that." She met the street prophet's eyes. There was none of the earlier intensity, only anger and disappointment. It made the laughter die in the woman's throat and the smile vanish from her face. The distant sound of approaching sirens reached them. The street prophet turned, walked through the growing crowd which parted easily for him, and disappeared. Chloe stood in the drenching rain, let the revolver drop from her fingers. It landed in a puddle with a splash. High above her, thunder rumbled.