A/N: Here is where the graphic novel/movie and my story overlap. It might add a new perspective to Rorschach's actions, especially towards the end. Or not. What do I know? ;-)
For the parts focusing on Rorschach I've decided to use excerpts from the journal entries in the novel, as well as referencing events. I will be sticking mostly to the GN-verse, but there are at least two moments in the movie I liked better: the first being Rorschach's confrontation with the child killer (how can a cleaver to the skull not top a mere torching?), and the second being Veidt's use of the energy bombs (that fake Squid Monster thingy from Dimension X or whatever was just plain silly).
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Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters.
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Craig Danvers, Dr. Lila Danvers's son, was waiting for her at the bus depot. Chloe smiled tiredly at him; it had been a days-long, dull trip in which she had nothing but her worries for company. She and Craig embraced briefly, then she asked the question she feared to have answered. "How is she?"
Craig gave her a reassuring smile. "Better than we hoped. Ma doesn't think there's any serious permanent damage. Her coordination's a little wonky, but that's about it."
Chloe heaved a sigh of relief. "She still in the hospital?"
"Yeah," Craig smirked, "and complaining every minute. But you know Ma; she'd keep a kid with a sprained ankle overnight for observation." He helped her load her suitcase in the trunk of his car, then drove them the rest of the way to town. Chloe smiled as the sign came into view: JUBILATION WELCOMES YOU.
Jubilation was the type of town that measured its population in the hundreds; a cluster of houses, a church, and a diner/general store. The town's children were bused to a neighboring town for schooling. It was the type of place that only got visitors when someone got lost on the back roads. That was how Chloe had met Byron.
Craig drove her straight to the hospital, knowing she would want to see her aunt before settling in at the house. Jubilation's "hospital" was actually Lila Danvers's home, its once massive foyer and parlor converted into a waiting room and exam room, its guest rooms fitted with hospital beds and life monitoring equipment. Elsie lay in the largest of these converted rooms, sulking at the involuntary bed rest. The moment she saw her niece step through the door she turned on the silver haired woman standing beside her.
"Damn it, Lila, I told you not to call her until I was back in my own house!"
"Nice to see you, too, Els," Chloe said, smiling in relief at her aunt's typical orneriness. She went to the bed and kissed the older woman on the cheek. "Y'know, if you wanted me to visit, you could have just called rather than scare me to death with all this stroke business."
Elsie snorted. "As if a simple invitation could ever drag you away from that clinic of yours." Elsie Mayweather was lighter-skinned than her niece, with prominent freckles across her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were dark brown, almost black, and her silver-gray curls were cut short so they bounced loosely around her head. She had lived alone ever since her husband was lost at sea during the second world war, in the house that had been in the family since Jubilation was founded. A cute little place, painted sky blue with white trim, it even had a white picket fence. Elsie once said when her time came she would leave the house to Chloe, to "keep it in the family."
Chloe pulled up a chair next to Elsie's bed and sat down; Lila and Craig stepped out to give them some privacy. "How're you feeling, Els?"
"Fine. Bit clumsy's all," the older woman shrugged. "You know what the oddest part about this stroke is? I can't stand the taste of peaches anymore. Imagine that! I'll never be able to eat Deb Blascoe's peach cobbler anymore."
Chloe frowned. "I thought you hated Deb's cobbler."
"I do, but now she'll just blame it on my stroke-addled taste buds rather than the fact that she's a lousy cook!" The two women shared a laugh over that. Elsie stroked her niece's hair. "Child, you're getting as gray as a mule."
"Well, I'm already as stubborn as one."
"Ain't that the truth. Runs in the family." Elsie grinned. "So…you got a fella back in the city?"
Chloe couldn't quite hide the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Well, there is someone…"
"Oh?" Elsie leaned towards her in wide-eyed eagerness.
"His name's Walter. He just sort of stumbled in one day." Through my window, bleeding from a knife wound.
"What's he like?" Elsie prompted.
"Quiet, driven…"
The older woman frowned. "He's not a lawyer, is he?"
"God no!" Chloe laughed, "Nothing like that."
"Thank goodness."
Chloe's smile took a melancholy edge. "He's nothing like Byron."
Elsie patted her arm. "Good. It wouldn't be fair to either of you if he was. Byron was one of a kind. He wouldn't want you clinging to his memory through someone else." She smiled tenderly. "Does this Walter make you happy?"
"Yeah," Chloe nodded, "He does."
"Then I'm sure whenever I meet him I'll love him, too. He isn't here, is he?"
"No. He…" Chloe hesitated, "He has a lot of work to do. Couldn't get away."
Elsie smirked. "Sounds like someone else I know." Her niece feigned innocence.
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After some reasoned debate and not a little griping on the patient's part, Lila finally agreed to release Elsie into Chloe's care. Craig drove them back to the house, carried Chloe's suitcase for her while she steadied her aunt up the porch steps. Sprawled on the porch was the ugliest dog Chloe had ever seen, all wrinkly nose and blotchy fur lying in a boneless heap. The animal didn't so much as lift an eyelid to acknowledge them.
"What's this one called?" Chloe asked. Her aunt always named her dogs after U.S. Presidents.
Elsie nodded at the comatose animal. "Nixon. Laziest animal on the face of God's green earth. Probably wouldn't move if his tail was on fire."
Chloe laughed. Didn't say much for the older woman's opinion of the current President. They said their goodbyes to Craig, then she and Elsie wound up sitting on the porch glider rather than going inside. It was a beautiful day, not too chilly. They sat side by side in silence and watched the trees wave their multicolored leaves in the breeze. Chloe noticed a pair of binoculars on the end table, picked them up. "When did you take up bird watching?"
"I didn't," Elsie pointed in the direction of the Henderson place, some distance away, "Sometimes young Michael Henderson does his yard work without a shirt."
Chloe burst into laughter. "You dirty old woman!"
"I may be old, but I ain't dead." She snatched her binoculars from the giggling woman, brought them to her eyes. "Drat. He's got a sweater on." This only made her niece laugh harder. Elsie set the binoculars on her lap and smiled at the younger woman. "You don't have to stick around, you know. I'm fine, and knowing Lila she'll be checking up on me every hour just to make sure I don't have another stroke." She snorted.
"I want to be here," Chloe said quietly, "I've missed you." She couldn't hide the guilt she felt; she should have visited more, or at least phoned once in a while. She should know better than to take the people she loved for granted.
Elsie bumped her lightly with her shoulder. "I've missed you, too. You're always welcome here, you know that. This place is as much your home as mine. Stay if it pleases you, but don't let it be out of some sense of familial obligation, alright?"
"Don't worry. It's purely for selfish reasons." Chloe grinned.
"Alright then. Just until I can walk without wobbling all over the damn place, then you should get back to that fella of yours. Maybe drag him down here to meet the eccentric old bag."
Chloe rolled her eyes. "Oh, Elsie! You're not eccentric. You have to be rich first."
The two women laughed and chatted into the evening, while the sunset painted the sky with colors to rival the autumn trees.
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Chloe's absence left a void. He had been lonely most of his life; it had made him self reliant, better able to wander the nighttime streets for hours on end without distraction. He had been lonely, but until Chloe left he had never felt it. He felt it now, and it brought an extra bitterness to him.
Rorschach's Journal. October 12th, 1985.
…This city is afraid of me. I have seen its true face. The streets are extended gutters and the gutters are full of blood and when the drains finally scab over, all the vermin will drown. The accumulated filth of all their sex and murder will foam up about their waists and all the whores and politicians will look up and shout "Save us!"…and I'll look down and whisper "No."
Walter withdrew as the pain of missing Chloe grew. It was Kovacs who walked in the daylight, brandishing his sign; Rorschach who patrolled the nighttime in search of wrongs to avenge. He hadn't been near the free clinic since the day he watched her leave on that bus. She said she'd be back, but…what if she changed her mind? Those times she talked of her childhood, visiting Jubilation, had filled her with such joy in remembering. What if being there brought those memories flooding back, overwhelmed all other thoughts or considerations? What if she met someone there from her youth? Some handsome, good hearted man who once played hide-and-seek with her all those years ago and knew all her delightful quirks, her likes and dislikes? A shared history? No, he would not dwell on such distractions. Back to sleep, Walter. Back to that dim corner of the subconscious where you hid all those years from the memory of Blaire Roche. Nothing you can do about Chloe, one way or the other. Let Rorschach focus on what could be done.
Such as this murder. Blood on the sidewalk, washed away now. Badge in the gutter, canary yellow smile with a splash of crimson across one eye. Brought to mind a specific man. Inside the apartment wrapped in yellow police tape, the answer was quickly found. The Comedian was dead. Murdered. What sort of person could kill one of the few remaining masked heroes left? Someone new? Someone out to eliminate the competition, or remove a threat? Why stop with the Comedian? Best to assume they wouldn't, he decided. Best to warn others, whatever good it would do.
Rorschach felt an unfamiliar tremor deep in his gut; an icy sliver of dread. This was only the beginning.
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People were often under the mistaken impression that because he spent the bulk of his time sprawled on the porch, Nixon was a stupid dog. Nothing could be further from the truth; he was an exceedingly intelligent canine who knew the key to longevity was to avoid strenuous activity at all costs. It was a philosophy that had served him well in his five and a half years on this earth, and he didn't see any point in changing it. Nixon had managed to whittle down his responsibilities as the household dog to but a single task: if his keen ears picked up the sound of a vehicle's approach, he would announce the imminent arrival with a well timed bark. So, when he heard the familiar muted roar of Henry's pickup in the distance, he dutifully lifted his massive, blocky head and let forth a casual whuff. That accomplished, he lowered his head to its previous position atop his broad paws, satisfied in a job well done.
Chloe stepped out onto the porch, drying her hands on a dishtowel. She had managed to convince Elsie to sit and watch TV while she did the dishes; trying to get Elsie to let anyone do anything for her was a chore in itself. She grinned at the tall figure that unfolded itself from the pickup's cab. "Hank!"
"Chlo!" Henry Dobbins bounded up the porch steps in two long strides, lifted the laughingly startled woman off her feet in a bear hug. "Heard you were back. How long're you staying?"
"Not too long," Chloe answered as the tall man set her back on her feet, "Two, three weeks. Just until Elsie's better." She beamed up at her friend, with whom she'd spent countless summers playing with and who, at the age of twelve, was the first boy she'd ever kissed. Six-four, long and lean, with golden hued skin and almond eyes courtesy of his Japanese mother, and the basso voice and tightly curled hair of his father. When he wasn't helping his father at the general store he fulfilled his duties as Jubilation's sheriff. "You look great."
"So do you," he smiled, "City's been good to you?"
"Well as can be expected. How's Corrine?"
Henry's smile faded somewhat. "Didn't work out. We got divorced two years ago."
"Oh, I'm sorry." The news saddened her; they had seemed so happy.
Henry shrugged. "Wasn't meant to be."
"Wanna come inside? I can fix some tea and we can reminisce about the good ol' days."
"Sure." He followed her into the house.
Elsie turned her head to see who followed Chloe in and beamed. "Hey there, Henry. Come to visit the invalid?"
"'Fraid not, Els. I'm here to call on your fair niece."
"Well, you can call, but I can't guarantee she'll answer," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "Chloe's got a fella back in the city."
"Really?" Was that a flicker of jealousy Chloe saw? Don't be silly. He's practically family! Of course, one didn't kiss family the way she'd kissed him all those years ago. Chloe shook her head. What was she thinking? She was with Walter; maybe not at that precise moment, but…
"Do you want tea or coffee?" she called from the kitchen, pushing the disquieting thoughts from her mind.
"Tea's fine," Henry answered, settling himself on the sofa. Chloe found the box of mint, stuffed the dried leaves into the infuser, set the water on the stove to boil. She found some cookies in a cupboard and set them on a tray. From the living room she could hear Henry and Elsie chatting. She'd forgotten how much she liked Hank's voice, how its percussions seemed to vibrate the very air around her. It was that voice that had moved her to kiss him, when she was twelve and he was almost fourteen and nervous as hell. She smiled at the memory. It had been out by that sprawling old oak they loved to climb. Henry's voice had only just changed and it still startled them every time he spoke.
"Careful, Chlo. You're gettin' too heavy for that branch," he'd boomed.
Chloe had scoffed; she'd hung by her hands from that branch thousands of times and it had held her, no problem. Dangling by her skinny arms, she'd kicked her legs contemptuously. "It's plenty strong enou--aauuugh!" The branch had snapped like a dry twig. Only Henry's quick feet and long reach had saved her from a nasty spill. He caught the girl with an oof! and set her weak-kneed on the ground.
"Told ya," he'd rumbled with a smirk, still steadying her with his arms.
Chloe had stared up at him, both irritated and relieved. He had gotten so much taller than her the last few months. She actually had to crane her neck to look him in the eye. Her hands were on his chest; she felt the rise and fall of his breaths, the thrum of his heartbeat. Her own changing body reacted to the closeness in strange new ways, bringing a flutter to her chest and heat to her face. The two youths had stared at each other for one timeless moment, then Chloe had impulsively grabbed the back of his head and pulled him down, crashed her lips against his in a kiss filled with awkward sincerity. It ended as suddenly as it had occurred, and the two of them had gaped at each other in wide-eyed astonishment. Henry quickly released her from his arms. Chloe stumbled, regained her balance, and glared up at him. "You tell anybody about that and I'll kick your ass."
"Don't worry, I wo--"
Wheeeeeee! The kettle's whine startled her from her reverie. Chloe lifted it off the stove, poured its steaming contents into the teapot. She set it on the tray, along with three cups, spoons, the sugar bowl, and the little pitcher of milk shaped like a cow. Chloe never liked that pitcher; every time she poured milk into her tea it looked like the cow was vomiting. She hefted the loaded tray and carried it into the living room, set it on the coffee table with a faint rattle.
As the three of them wiled away the afternoon talking of days past and times apart, Chloe wondered in the back of her mind if she should feel guilty for being so comfortable here that she didn't even miss New York. Not the clinic, not the patients she'd cared for. All she really missed, she realized, was Walter.
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Rorschach's Journal. October 16th, 1985.
In the cemetery, all the white crosses stood in rows, neat chalk marks on a giant scoreboard. Paid last respects quietly, without fuss. Edward Morgan Blake…buried in the rain. Is that what happens to us? A life of conflict with no time for friends, so that when it's done, only our enemies leave roses…
Rorschach stared down at the crimson wreath; Moloch's farewell to the man responsible for his years of imprisonment. Already the petals curled from the relentless cold, the raindrops glistened like glass beads. The vigilante bent, carefully freed one of the roses, stuck its stem through the hole in his coat's lapel. He tried to imagine how Chloe would react to such a sentimental gesture. If she were still in New York, he would have gone to see her, would have handed her that fading bloom just to get a smile from her. But she wasn't here.
Rorschach tried to shove the melancholy thoughts from him as he left the graveyard. The rain, the flowers, the lonely headstones; they stirred up emotions best ignored. They served no useful purpose, only distracted him from his duty to seek justice for the Comedian, for all the masked heroes. No point in brooding over things he could not change. Whether or not she returned, it was up to Chloe, and her alone. All he could do was cope.
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Lila Danvers asked Chloe out to lunch at Deb's, the diner half of Blascoe's Diner & General Store, to "catch up on old times," as she phrased it. The two women sat across from each other in a booth eating the Blue Plate Special (chicken fried steak, mashed potatoes, gravy) and drinking iced tea. The doctor was one of those rare women who seemed to get handsomer the more she aged. Her sensibly short silver-white hair gleamed like spider silk, a nest of smile lines surrounded each stormy gray eye, her weathered countenance evoked both respect and reassurance in her patients. She was the first woman doctor Jubilation had ever known, and she had proved herself more than capable over the years. There wasn't a man, woman, or child in town who hadn't been to her house from time to time to have their hurts tended to. Not one person who didn't trust her implicitly with their life.
"Elsie taking her meds?" the doctor asked.
Chloe nodded, swallowing a mouthful of food. "Yeah. She's stubborn, but she isn't stupid."
"That's good." Lila smiled. "So, how have you been getting on at the old place?"
"Good. Lot of fond memories here. Forgot how much I missed it."
"There's something I want to ask you," said the older woman, suddenly serious, "I know it's rather sudden, but how would you like to stay on in Jubilation as my nurse? Population's grown a bit over the years and I could really use an extra pair of hands from time to time."
"Uh…" Chloe found herself incoherent with surprise. "W-what about Craig? Doesn't he help you?"
"Craig's too busy teaching grade-schoolers their multiplication tables. Besides," she lowered her voice conspiratorially, "he faints dead away at the sight of blood."
Chloe couldn't help but smile at the image; big brawny Craig Danvers keeling over like a corseted damsel. But…stay in Jubilation? Leave the clinic? Her apartment? And what about Walter? Would he be willing to move out here with her? Could he? "Lila, I don't--"
"You don't have to give me an answer today," the doctor smiled reassuringly. "Take your time, think it over. I won't make a fuss if you turn the job down."
Chloe nodded, relieved to be given some leeway.
The television situated high in the corner behind the diner's counter showed sober men in dark suits discussing the Russian invasion of Afghanistan. The image flashed to the familiar image of the Doomsday Clock, its hands creeping towards midnight. Chloe frowned. She hated that damn clock. All it did was stress people out even more. What was the point in stylizing something as huge and ponderous as nuclear war? It wasn't as if anybody could do anything about it one way or the other. It was all in the hands of the powers-that-be, not the common man or woman. Why not show something people could control, like a Cholesterol Clock or a Budget Clock? "The Education Clock is set at half-past-idiocy." Chloe smirked.
After dessert (Elsie was right, the peach cobbler was terrible) the two women said goodbye for now and went their separate ways. Chloe strolled down the main thoroughfare, enjoying the sunshine which filtered through the sunset leaves of the autumn trees. It was always sunny here, it seemed. Not like New York with its perpetual gloom. Halloween decorations dotted the yards and houses; dancing skeletons, cardboard ghosts and black cats, jack-o-lanterns. Every year at this time Elsie opened her pumpkin patch at the back of her property to the public. Parents would bring their youngsters to choose a pumpkin for later carving. Chloe smiled at the memories of toddlers trying to lift vegetables as big as themselves, and the inevitable ewws and yucks as they pulled out the pumpkins' slimy innards. And anything left over in the patch, well, Elsie had a whole box full of recipes. Pies, puddings, tarts, spiced pumpkin, pumpkin sorbet. Every year Elsie swore she'd never eat another damn pumpkin as long as she lived, and every year the cycle began anew.
It suddenly occurred to Chloe that she was actually giving Lila's offer some serious thought. She could be happy here in the aptly named town of Jubilation, helping to care for the people she'd grown up with and their families. No more strung out prostitutes, no more broken down homeless people, no more abused and neglected children. This place wasn't perfect, but it was far better than what she had to look forward to in New York. In truth, there was only one real reason for her to go back to the city at all; Walter. Would he be willing to put away the mask and live out here in this peaceful little town? Was she willing to leave all this behind and return to the crime and misery of the city for him? It worried her that she just didn't know. She didn't know.
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The painted silhouettes seemed to have cropped up everywhere. Two figures, male and female, seemingly caught in the act of kissing. Rorschach didn't like them, didn't like the feelings they brought out in him. Just when he thought he'd gotten control over Walter's emotions something brought them bubbling to the surface once again. He missed her. So much. He worked himself to exhaustion to avoid dreaming of her when he slept, and even that didn't always work. He missed leaning against the wall and talking with her. Missed sneaking in through her window and climbing into bed with her, to sleep or make love, it didn't matter which. He missed being with her. These constant, nagging thoughts of her distracted him, made him careless. If Rorschach had exerted better control over himself, he wouldn't have fallen for the trap so easily.
"Rorschach! This is the police, Rorschach. We know you're in there. It's all over."
A goddamned trap and he'd walked right into it. He didn't make it easy for them, but in the end his struggles were futile. The pigs had finally caught him.
"No!" he roared as the latex fabric was ripped away. "My face! Give it back!"
Detective Steven Fine watched with grim satisfaction as the vigilante was cuffed and dragged kicking and screaming into the patrol car. He had finally caught the bastard; finally caged his unicorn.
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There was someone in the room with her. Chloe sat up in bed, stared at the blackness in search of the intruder. "Who's there?"
"Chloe." That voice. His voice! "Walter!"
The mattress dipped under his weight, his thin strong arms encircled her. She hugged him back, desperately. "God, Walter, what are you doing here?"
"I missed you."
She blinked away the tears. "I missed you, too." She searched by touch, found his lips in the darkness. A long, soulful kiss.
The door splintered. Shadowy figures rushed in, eyes aflame. They grabbed Walter who roared and struggled, but could not break away. Chloe screamed, tried to hold on to him, felt him slip away…
"Chloe! Wake up!"
She woke, gasping. The bedside lamp was on, illuminating the concerned face of her aunt. "You were having a nightmare, sweetheart."
"I…he was…" Chloe sobbed. She let Elsie embrace her, cradle her against her like a child.
"Shh, baby." The older woman rocked her gently. "It's all over. It's all past." She crooned and soothed her niece until the younger woman drifted off, then carefully tucked her in as she had when Chloe was a little girl. My poor baby, she thought, Still having bad dreams about Byron.
The next day Chloe wrote a letter, sealed and addressed it with care, and dropped it in the slot at Jubilation's little post office. She felt some relief in doing this; there was no backing out now, whatever happened.
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Locked away in his cell, Walter Kovacs experienced his own terrible dream. Earlier that day he had told the fat, complacent head-shrink about Blaire Roche. Told about the man who had kidnapped the innocent child, violated her, butchered her, fed her to the dogs like worthless scraps. Told him what Rorschach did to that man, the meat cleaver arcing into his diseased skull over and over, slaughtering the humanity within himself. But in his dream that night, it wasn't little Blaire who had died so terribly. It was Chloe. Chloe who had been murdered. Chloe, chopped into pieces. Chloe, eaten by vicious dogs. Kovacs woke in the darkened cell with a wad of pillow stuffed in his mouth, his larynx all but rupturing from the suppressed screams.
Did she know about his arrest? Was she in New York even now, trying to see him? Stay away, he silently begged. Something terrible was brewing, he felt it. Something so devastating he feared it would sweep away everything in its path, including the one thing on this wretched earth Walter treasured. Stay away, Chloe. Stay safe, far from here.
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Chloe avoided the news; didn't watch it on TV or listen to it on the radio or read about it in the papers. It was all the same anyway: the Russians, nuclear war, Dr. Manhattan's abrupt departure from the Earth (maybe he knew something they didn't). Because of this willful ignorance, she was unaware of Rorschach's incarceration until long after the fact. Henry had stopped by for another visit--something he did a lot lately--with a newspaper tucked under his arm. He'd set it on the coffee table while he and the two ladies drank coffee and chatted, and Chloe happened to glance at the page. She dropped her cup. It shattered on the hardwood floor, hot coffee spattered her jeans, unnoticed. It was right there, an update on the notorious vigilante Walter Kovacs, a.k.a. Rorschach, captured by police on October 21st. Days ago!
"Chloe!" Henry grabbed her shoulder, shocking her back to the present. "Are you okay?"
"I have to get back to New York," she said, "I have to go now."
"What're you talking about?" Elsie exclaimed.
"Walter's in trouble, Els. I need to see him."
Elsie looked down at the newspaper, at the article. "Walter Kovacs? Your Walter is Rorschach?"
"Yes," she answered simply, solemnly, "I love him, Elsie."
Her aunt stared at her for a long moment, then her expression softened into a sad smile. "Go on then, baby. I understand."
The two women embraced, then Chloe turned to her stunned friend. "Henry, I need a ride to the depot."
"Hold on a second!" He waved his hands frantically. "This guy you've been seeing, you knew he was a wanted criminal all this time? And you didn't tell anyone? Jesus, Chlo! Jesus! Why would you do something so--"
"Be careful, Hank," she spoke with dangerous calm. "If you don't want to help me, I understand. I'll find another way to get to the bus depot."
Henry stared at her, at the certainty in her eyes. There were no doubts, no second guesses. She meant everything she said. "Alright," he sighed, "I'll give you a ride."
"Thank you."
Chloe hurriedly packed a small overnight bag, then she and Henry piled into his pickup and headed for the neighboring town of Lovettesville, where the Jubilation children went to school and the buses came and went. But when they got there, they discovered the bus to New York was held up for repairs.
"Well, don't you have a substitute?" Chloe demanded.
The man in the booth sighed impatiently. "Look, lady, this area ain't exactly a high-demand tourist area. You're just gonna have to wait a couple more days."
"Dammit!" Chloe kicked the wall in frustration, ran her fingers through her loose hair. "I can't wait," she said, pacing, "Something's going to happen, I can feel it. I have to get to him. Maybe I can hitchhike--"
"Chloe." Henry took her hand, reached into his pocket, placed the keys to his truck in her palm. Chloe looked at him in astonishment. "Hank?"
He smiled. "The old girl may be ugly, but she's reliable. She'll get you there."
"Hank, I cant--"
"Yes you can," his smile was wistful, "I may not agree with your taste in men, but you're my friend. Take the truck. Go see your man."
Eyes filling, Chloe stood on tiptoe to kiss her friend's cheek. "Thank you."
"Go on, now. I'll find a ride home." He watched as his childhood friend climbed into the pickup, adjusted the seat, started the engine, and rattled off down the highway towards the city and whatever fate awaited her there.