A/N: Well, for better or worse, I've decided to finally stop torturing Rorschach and Chloe and let them get to it--and if you can't guess what "it" is, then you're too darn young to be reading this. ;-) This is my first ever love scene, so please keep that in mind when you review. **Falls to knees, hands clasped, "Please, please, please!"**
More importantly, this chapter marks the full-fledged resurrection of Walter's persona, long thought dead after the Blaire Roche case. I think it'll be interesting to see how he conflicts with the Rorschach persona in future chapters. Enjoy!
*************************************************************************************
Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters.
*************************************************************************************
Kovacs woke to the unfamiliar sensation of contentment. He opened his eyes; his face was just inches from the slumbering Chloe's. She lay with her eyes closed, the corner of her mouth upturned, while morning light filtered through the window, casting silvery highlights in her graying hair like a halo. Still dreaming, he told himself. But this did not have the unreal quality of a dream. He reached out tentatively, touched her sunlit hair. Chloe shifted in her sleep. Kovacs jerked his hand away. Not a dream. He wracked his memory for how he ended up here, felt growing dread as it all came flooding back. Oh god, he'd taken off his face! She knew! She'd kissed him and now they were in the same bed together--and she was wearing nothing but her bathrobe! His face grew hot at the realization. His treacherous eyes wandered to the front of her robe to where it had loosened in the night, exposing a deep V of brown skin, the swell of a breast. Kovacs swallowed.
He was on the side of the bed against the wall, the open side blocked by Chloe's slumbering form. Maybe, he thought, if he wriggled down to the foot of the bed he could sneak off without waking her. He was just about to implement his retreat when the woman beside him breathed deeply and stretched herself like a cat. He felt the sinuous movement down the entire length of his body and shuddered. Chloe's eyes opened, met his. She smiled. "Morning. Feel better?"
He nodded feebly. Her eyes; she had no idea how they affected him. So many fragments of color strewn together, becoming more pronounced with her emotions so they rimmed her pupils like miniature sunbursts. Green for anger, gray for sorrow, and of course, blue for joy. Her eyes were very blue at that moment.
"Have to be at the clinic?" he asked quietly.
Chloe checked the alarm clock. "Not for a while." Her mouth curved; beautiful, full lips bracketed with smile lines. He remembered kissing those lips, remembered her hands on his stubble-rough cheeks. He desperately wanted to shove those memories away, but she was so close to him. He could feel the heat radiate from her body.
Chloe stretched again, rolling onto her back, and nearly fell off the bed. Only Kovacs's quick reflexes saved her from spilling onto the floor. His arm wrapped around her and yanked her back onto the mattress where she wound up pressed against him. Chloe giggled into his shoulder while he tried desperately to think of anything but this woman's body against his. "This bed really isn't made for two," she chuckled. She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. She could see the tension in his carefully blank face, felt it in his rigid body. Her own body tingled in reaction to his closeness. Her hand slid around his waist, under his shirt. She ran her fingers along the skin of his lower back. He shivered in response. His breathing grew husky; the pupils of his eyes dilated.
"Do you want me to stop?" she whispered.
Kovacs squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face away. "Y-yes." He didn't see the hurt on her face. He felt the hand withdraw from his skin, her body pull away as she rose from the bed. There was a chill where her warmth had been. He opened his eyes to see her heading for the kitchenette.
"You must be hungry," she said, voice neutral, "Why don't you go have a shower while I fix something?" Chloe heard the sounds of the bedsprings as he rose, his footsteps as he headed down the short hall, then the click of the bathroom door shutting. Stupid woman, she thought, practically threw yourself at him. She'd pushed too hard, scared him off. All because she'd let her hormones do the talking. It had been so long since she'd let herself be aware of herself sexually. She hadn't felt these urges since Byron died. Now that she was, who did she fall for? A man who spent his nights roaming the streets and back alleys in a mask beating the shit out of muggers and rapists. A man who flinched from the most casual touch. She'd only been able to kiss him last night because sheer exhaustion had weakened his resolve. Christ, she was a molester!
Chloe yanked the fridge door open; nothing breakfast-wise. Grabbed the lunchmeat, lettuce, mayonnaise, slammed the door shut again. She stomped angrily to the counter, grabbed two slices of bread from the breadbox, and set to making a sandwich.
Meanwhile, as the hot water cascaded over him, Kovacs experienced his own self-reproach. It was disgusting, his desire for her. Chloe didn't deserve someone like him, someone who did the things he did. A whoreson. If she touched him in any way it was only out of pity. It couldn't possibly be for anything other than that. Could not have been desire he saw in her eyes when she ran her fingers over the skin of his back. With a shudder, he turned the hot water off. Icy jets pummeled his body, yet the desire remained as did its evidence. Kovacs glowered down at the loathsome thing. Control. Control. But it was no use. Kovacs leaned his forehead against the tiled wall. His right hand crept to that repellent part of his anatomy, grasped it. Bile rose in his throat as he tended to his basest need. He climaxed within moments, though it brought no satisfaction. He cleaned up, turned off the water, and stepped out of the shower. Dried, he dressed in his rumpled clothes.
Chloe had changed into her scrubs while he was in the bathroom. He found her staring at the photo of her and her belated husband, her long hair tied in a ponytail. "Sandwich on the table," she muttered.
Kovacs looked at the sandwich; it was sitting on a white plate, a paper napkin folded neatly beside it. She'd even cut it in half; two neat triangles. He almost smiled at that. He wrapped the sandwich in the napkin and put it in his pocket. He slowly walked up to her rigid back, hesitated. He slowly placed his hands on her shoulders. She tensed, then let herself relax under his touch.
"Chloe," he said quietly, "I can't make you happy." He stepped away, hands sliding off her, and went out the apartment door. Down the steps, though the crowded clinic, outside. Without his face he was invisible; just another homeless man.
Chloe crossed her arms over her chest, placed her hands where his had been. She swallowed a hard lump in her throat. "Yes you could."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nightfall.
He heard the angry shouts, the screams. He ran down the nighttime streets towards the noise. There, two men grappled with a third. Another man had a woman pinned to the ground. There was the sound of tearing fabric, a scream.
Rorschach grabbed the would-be rapist in a headlock, twisted. Crack! Let the body fall aside, head lolling. The woman wriggled away, sobbing. Rorschach spun, kicked the knee of another attacker. Cartilage popped. The man fell screaming in agony. The screams ended in gurgles as Rorschach stomped on his neck, crushing his windpipe. The other man took care of the third attacker, knocking his head against a fire hydrant. The woman ran to her bruised and bleeding husband. Her torn blouse hung open, revealing a light colored bra. "Baby, are you okay?" She cupped the man's face, kissed him tenderly.
"I'm fine. Did they hurt you?" She shook her head.
Rorschach frowned. There was something familiar about the husband. The battered man looked to their savior. His eyes widened for a second, then the brow creased and his bloodied mouth smirked. "Looks like God really does have a sense of humor. Remember me, freak? The Cash-N-Go holdup?"
Understanding dawned. Yes, Rorschach remembered. Back when he was partnered with Nite Owl, before the Keene Act. They had arrested this man while robbing a check cashing service. "Let you out," he rasped.
"Got paroled two years ago. Met my Emma," he smiled fondly at the woman, "Been straight ever since."
Rorschach had serious doubts, but chose to remain silent.
"You better go," the man said, "Don't wanna end up where I was." He grinned. "You're the criminal, now."
Rorschach left, but not in a hurry. An anger was growing in him; not the all-consuming rage against injustice, which was familiar and welcome, but a new anger. It wasn't fair, he thought, that a thief should find a wife and build his happiness around her, while the vigilante who'd imprisoned him stalked the city streets alone. A few months ago, he'd never have given it any thought. It was simply the way things were, the way he'd chosen. But then he met Chloe, and suddenly it wasn't enough. He hated the feelings she brought out in him, the terrible wants the thoughts of her evoked. He wished sometimes he could hate her for that, but it was impossible. Wished his mind would stop trying to name the feeling in him, but it was relentless; he was losing the battle.
Don't think about it. Don't think it. Don't.
He loved her.
Rorschach balled his fist, smashed it into a wall. He welcomed the pain, the distraction it brought, but it didn't last. Nothing did. The memories assaulted him mercilessly: Chloe kissing him, Chloe touching him, Chloe sleeping beside him. Her hazel eyes, her mouth, her long neck, supple hands. Her easy laugh. Her mischievous, gentle, sad, loving smiles. Her scent.
She was lonely, too, he realized. Ever since her husband died. Maybe she thought he could fill the void left behind, if only for a few moments. Maybe that's all it ever was or would be. It made more sense to him than the idea of her reciprocating his emotions. Yes, that must be it. She was lonely, and he had left her alone. Would it be kinder to go back? To be with her? He trembled at the thought, fear warring with desire. Go back…stay away…
Go back.
He followed the route to the clinic.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chloe stepped out of the lit hallway into the darkened room, tightening the belt on her bathrobe. It had been a long day. She was tired and not a little depressed. She wouldn't stay up, she decided. Just turn in early.
"Chloe."
She yelped, startled, and spun to face the source of the voice. Her wet hair slapped her face and she angrily brushed it aside. "Jesus!" she cried, recognizing the shadowy figure in the dark apartment. "You scared me."
He stood before her silently. Images whorled across his mask, impossible to interpret. He took a step, another. Chloe remained still, neither advancing nor retreating from this familiar apparition. Closer, close enough to touch. Her heart began to pound in her chest. His gloved hands found their way around her waist. Chloe gazed at his morphing visage, enraptured. Her hands reached, found the bottom of the mask, peeled upwards. A mouth was exposed, lips slightly parted, breathing slow and heavy. She brought her own mouth to it. The kiss was deeper than the one she gave him last night. Deeper and stronger. She slipped her tongue past his lips, his teeth, exploring with gentle probes. His own tongue came in contact with hers, touching and sliding. She pressed herself to him and felt the bulge against her lower belly. Their mouths parted reluctantly.
"Do you want me to stop?" he asked her.
She pulled the mask the rest of the way off, letting it and his hat drop to the floor unheeded. She kissed the tip of his nose. "No."
Kovacs pulled off his gloves, let them fall. He cupped her face, ran a thumb over her full lips which parted in response. He kissed her again, deep and wanting. Their heated breaths mingled. His hands glided down the sides of her neck, slid under the robe, across the skin of her shoulders. The garment slipped from her body, puddled at her feet. Chloe pushed his overcoat off him, fumbled with the buttons of his shirt and peeled it off as well to join the growing pile of clothing at their feet. Her mouth left his as she trailed kisses over his jaw line, down his neck. He moaned as she lightly bit his shoulder. His own hands wandered to her breasts, hardened nipples rubbed against his palms. He caressed them lightly until she put her own hands over his and pressed them harder against her.
"Don't have to be so gentle," she teased breathlessly. Her mouth collided with his. His rough hands kneaded her sensitive breasts while her own hands unfastened the button on his pants and unzipped the fly. She reached inside, grasped the hardened shaft. Kovacs moaned into her mouth. Chloe pushed his trousers off his lean hips to drop around his ankles. She backed him towards the bed, still kissing. His feet tangled in his pants and he tripped, landed on the mattress with a startled grunt and a squeak of protesting bedsprings. Chloe giggled. She knelt, removed his shoes, socks, pulled the pants off and tossed them aside. She then stood and went to the little nightstand while Kovacs pulled himself the rest of the way onto the bed. She reached into the little drawer, pulled something out. She approached the bed with it clutched in her hand, straddled him, her knees bracketing his thighs, and opened her hand. It was a condom. Kovacs looked at her in surprise.
"Um, the clinic gives these out sometimes and…" Chloe's face darkened in a blush, "I thought, y'know, better safe than sorry…"
He caught the back of the embarrassed woman's head, drew her into a kiss. She leaned into him, relishing the feel of his lips, his tongue. God, he was a good kisser. She tore open the little packet, pulled out the condom, put it on him. They were both too ready, too eager to take it slow. They rolled on the narrow mattress until Kovacs lay on top of her. Chloe grasped his latex-sheathed member, guided him into her. She was tight from years of celibacy. He had to ease himself in carefully, eyes squeezed shut and jaws clenched against the howl that struggled to escape. His body screamed for quick release, but he forced himself to go slow, slow, until she was able to take his entire length to the hilt. Chloe wrapped her legs around him, held him inside her. Both panted heavily from the effort of restraining themselves. Finally, Kovacs moved his hips in an experimental thrust, drawing himself partway out and plunging back in. Chloe moaned in response, her hips bucked against him. They soon found a rhythm, their movements rough with desperate need for completion. Small sounds escaped Chloe's mouth, higher and higher. Their thrusts became faster, harder. Her fingertips dug into the flesh of his back, nails threatening to break the skin. Her eyes opened, gazed into his. A moment of pure connection. Then she cried out, back arched, her inner muscles clamped around him. Kovacs roared as he spilled into the condom. Their bodies collapsed, spent and sated, limbs entwined. They glistened with sweat, him on top of her, his softened length still nestled inside of her. Perfect bliss. Almost.
"Walter," he murmured, nuzzling her neck.
Chloe's eyes opened. "Huh?"
He raised himself onto his elbows to better meet her eyes. His carefully blanked expression was oddly tense around the mouth, the eyes. "My name is Walter."
Chloe gawped, then burst into laughter. She laughed until tears streamed from her eyes. It was all she could do to stammer the next sentence. "I…I'm p-pleased to meet you!"
Walter grinned.