A/N: I must confess, there were one or two moments writing this that I got kinda misty. I've become so swept up in these characters' stories that I can't help but empathize with them.
Most of the dialog for the Rorschach scenes are taken directly from the book, as I'm sure most of you will realize. As I'd mentioned in the last chapter, I decided to use the energy bombs from the movie for Veidt's catastrophic "practical joke," but all the rest is pretty much GN-centric. I hope you all like reading my ideas on what went through Rorschach's mind as the story progressed as much as I enjoyed writing them.
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Disclaimer: I do not own Watchmen or any of its characters.
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He'd been sitting idle too long in his cell, alone with nothing but his nagging fears of impending doom. It was almost a relief when the riot started, when Big Figure and his goons came for him. Killing the goons turned out to be ridiculously easy. Rorschach stepped out of his busted cell, trailed after the retreating dwarf, while all around him the prison clamored with rampaging inmates settling old grudges or just causing mayhem. He saw his quarry dart into the men's room, moved to follow.
"Rorschach!" He almost jumped at the voice. Dreiberg, clad in his old Nite Owl costume, and the Silk Spectre; here to rescue him.
"Uh, we're not interrupting anything?" Nite Owl asked, puzzled as to why his former partner didn't stop walking down the poorly lit hall.
"No," Rorschach rasped, "Excuse me. Have to visit men's room." As he stepped through the door, he heard Laurie gripe, "Oh, for Christ's sake!"
Big Figure huddled in the corner of the filthy bathroom, bug-eyed with terror. "L-listen, Rorschach! I know you're pretty pissed at me, b-but we can work something out, can't we?" the little man stammered, "I got resources, man! I got connections! Help me outta this jail and I can give you anything you want! Anything!" His cartoonish voice grew shrill the nearer the redhead came.
Rorschach paused less than a foot away from the cowering dwarf, expression contemplative. "Anything?"
"Anything!"
"Hurm." His hand cupped his chin in a thoughtful pose, then suddenly lashed out, gripped the little man by the front of his prison-issue shirt and lifted him to eye level, tiny legs dangling. The vigilante's voice reached a new depth of cold; arctic cold. "I want you to die."
Afterwards, as the toilet overflowed with bloody water, Rorschach followed the two impatient masked heroes to Dreiberg's Owlship, Archimedes. He watched the hellhole that was Sing-Sing shrink into the distance. He was free. Free to bring retribution on whoever was responsible for his incarceration, and perhaps avert disaster.
Far below Archie, in the well-lit neighborhoods, children dressed as ghosts and pirates invaded the streets in search of sugary gratification. All Hallows Eve. Chloe would be back by now, he realized. Back in her little apartment, perhaps working late at the clinic. If she hadn't known about his capture before, she most certainly did now. He wished at that moment that he could go to her, reassure her that he was alright. But Rorschach had a killer to find, a killer of masks. He had stumbled onto something huge and terrible when he'd started investigating the Comedian's death. Whatever it was, whoever had conspired to eliminate all the Watchmen, including the indestructible Dr. Manhattan, was sure to effect the entire city, if not the world. And only he could hope to prevent it; him and Nite Owl, for Laurie was abruptly whisked away by her former lover. Dreiberg did not take her sudden departure well. It occurred to Rorschach that Nite Owl and the young Silk Spectre had moved into new territory with their relationship. Anger and resentment flared at this realization; that his former partner should have had someone in his life when Rorschach was forced to remain separated from Chloe. As if he wasn't in enough turmoil already.
Rorschach's encounter with his landlady didn't help matters, either. He glowered at her, with her flabby, hickey-marked neck and her mismatched offspring. That she would dare to act so helpless and frightened after the lies she'd told.
"How much did they pay you to lie about me, whore?" he hissed, mask horribly expressionless.
"Oh please, don't say that. Not in front of my kids…" the woman begged, "Please. They…they don't know."
And the little ones stared at him with tear-streaked faces, clinging to their mother. Stared at him as if he was a monster. What if Chloe were here to see him like this, terrorizing a woman and her children? The anger seeped away, replaced with remorseful sorrow. I'm sorry. "Got what we came for," he said to the concerned Nite Owl, "Finished here now. Let's go." He wished he could forget the sounds of that sad, broken family sobbing in his wake. One more sin on his overburdened conscience.
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Chloe drove until exhaustion threatened to veer her off the highway, found somewhere to grab a few precious hours of sleep, then drove some more. A hard lump of ice weighed heavily in her stomach; a nameless fear which brought urgency to her journey, as if to beat some unknown deadline. She could see the lights of the city in the far distance; twinkling faerie lights. New York seemed so magical from a distance, its countless flaws invisible from afar. Chloe wasn't fooled. She knew the city too well.
The radio, which she kept at high volume in an attempt to hold weariness at bay, suddenly announced a riot at Sing-Sing. Several prisoners had escaped, including the notorious Rorschach, rescued by fellow Watchman Nite Owl, long thought retired with the enactment of the Keene Act. Chloe felt some relief at this. She had dreaded what might happen to Walter, locked away with the enemies of his past. But the icy burden remained. Whatever premonition her subconscious held from her had not been averted by Rorschach's escape. The urgency only seemed to grow the closer she drew to her destination. Chloe pressed down on the accelerator, pushing the speedometer another 10 mph above the speed limit. Time was running out.
The Doomsday Clock read two-to-midnight.
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They remained hidden for hours under the water; long hours with nothing to do but sleep and fret. It made Rorschach irritable. If he could only do something, anything to distract him from his fears!
"Hate this," he groused, "All day on riverbed. Drowned corpses more useful. You said we could proceed."
"This is no picnic for me, either," Nite Owl grumbled in return. The forced intimacy of their surroundings made for short fuses.
"Implying something?" Rorschach's sarcastic tone grated, "About coat, perhaps? Slightly musty. Apologies. Can't all be fastidious. Can't all keep hands clean." The fact that his spare coat was the same one he'd worn on the Blaire Roche case, with the same ancient bloodstains, didn't help his mood. The two former crime-fighting partners continued to gripe and lash out at each other.
"Been lazing around a long time. Maybe you've forgotten how we do things."
"Lazing…?" Nite Owl's expression darkened with rage. "Listen, I've had it! Who the hell do you think you are?" He stabbed an accusatory finger at Rorschach, who was too stunned by this uncharacteristic outburst to respond. "You live off people while insulting them! Nobody complains, because they think you're a goddamned lunatic…"
Those words, so similar to the ones Chloe once used, weighed Rorschach with sudden guilt. Dan was right; he was snapping at the one person who'd ever considered him a friend, who'd risked his life and his freedom to get the ungrateful vigilante out of jail. Rorschach felt like an asshole.
Nite Owl, true to his nature, immediately apologized for his anger-fueled words, which only added to the guilt. Rorschach held out his hand. "Daniel…You are…a good friend. I know that," he hesitated, unaccustomed to apologizing, "I am sorry…that it is sometimes difficult."
His former partner, obviously touched by the gesture, grasped his offered hand. "Hey, forget it. It's okay, man. It's okay."
But it wasn't okay. Without his anger to distract him, the dreaded foreboding swept in with a vengeance. What if they failed? There was just the two of them against God knew what sort of adversary. Someone with enough power, influence, and connections to take out the Comedian, to set Rorschach up for imprisonment, to drive Dr. Manhattan into self-imposed exile. What chance did they have? What chance did Chloe have?
"Uh…" Nite Owl disengaged his hand from Rorschach's tightened grip, startling the vigilante from his disturbed reverie. They regarded each other in awkward silence, then Nite Owl, to their shared relief, suggested their next course of action. They would do things Rorschach's way; they would set out to question the underworld, willing or otherwise.
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Chloe had been on the road eighteen hours since her last long stop in which she'd indulged in a few hours of hastily grabbed sleep. Towards the end she nearly nodded off, which scared her enough to find a shitty little motel to stop for the night. She dragged herself into a room that smelled of stale cigarettes and flopped onto the bed, not bothering to pull back the covers; she doubted the sheets were clean enough to safely lie on, anyway. In the dark, her bleary eyes were drawn to the glowing face of the room's alarm clock. 12:00a.m. November 1st. All Souls Day.
"Happy birthday to me," she murmured, then drifted off into exhausted slumber. She had no memory of what she dreamt that night; only the lingering sense of loss which brought tears to her eyes and wrenching sobs to her throat. She couldn't get back on the road quick enough.
Time was running out.
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Rorschach's Journal. November 1st, 1985.
Final entry? Left Veidt's office just before midnight. Dreiberg convinced Veidt's behind everything, is serious about visiting Antarctica. Owlship capable, apparently, but are we? Veidt. Cannot imagine more dangerous opponent…
…For my own part, regret nothing. Have lived life, free from compromise and step into the shadow now without complaint.
Rorschach dropped the heavy envelope into the mailbox, climbed up the ladder back into Archie. The part of him that was Walter wished he'd had enough time to write to Chloe, to let her know how often she was in his thoughts, how desperate he was to keep her safe. To tell her that he loved her. But time was of the essence; he felt this certainty stronger than ever. Nite Owl and he turned for Antarctica, their success as terribly uncertain as their survival.
I cannot fail. Whatever happens, I mustn't fail, even if it costs my life. So long as she's safe.
Nite Owl turned his Owlship to the south, and their long--perhaps final--journey began.
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Chloe cursed the need to stop, but the truck's converted engine was running low on power (how an electric engine could make such a din, she'd never know. Noisiness seemed a prerequisite for rusty old pickups). She found a station, plugged in the charger, went inside the convenience store to buy a sandwich and watery coffee. The cashier gave her a wary look as he rang up her purchase. She couldn't blame him. After days of little sleep, in the same rumpled clothes, her hair a tangled mess, eyes bloodshot, she probably looked like someone on the verge of a psychotic break.
Back on the road, she ate her sandwich without tasting it and sipped the horrid coffee, eyes glued to the cityscape in the distance. Had it been daytime, she might have been able to make out individual buildings from her current position. If all went well, she would be in New York before midnight.
"Almost there, baby," she whispered, "Almost there."
On the dashboard, the minute hand crept steadily onward to meet its little brother at the twelve.
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At midnight on November 2nd, 1985, Walter's world ended in a burst of blue energy that dissolved all it touched into atoms and left a smoldering crater in its passing. The horrific scenes of devastation from all over the world flickered across the wall of televisions. All gone. Buildings, people…Chloe. He'd failed. Fifteen million people around the world were dead, three million alone in New York, but only one face dominated his thoughts.
Chloe! Oh, God, Chloe. I'm so sorry…
Not even Jon, for all his vaunted powers, had been able to prevent it. Veidt, the mad pacifist, emerged victorious. He had duped the planet; his brave new world ensured. Already he was convincing the others to keep quiet, to play along or risk nuclear war. To compromise their integrity for peace.
Walter didn't care. The world could burn to a cinder tomorrow or transform itself into the Garden of Eden; none of it mattered. He'd failed. She was gone.
He headed for the door. Behind him, Dreiberg called out, "Rorschach, wait! We have to compromise…"
"No," Walter rasped in Rorschach's voice, "Not even in the face of Armageddon. Never compromise."
The arctic cold could not compete with the numbing despair in his heart. Beneath the Rorschach mask the tears began to flow. He walked towards the Owlship, not caring if he reached it.
"Where are you going?" came the eerie voice behind him, and suddenly he knew how to end the pain.
"Back to Owlship. Back to America. Evil must be punished," he rasped without feeling, "People must be told."
"Rorschach," Jon lifted a deadly hand, "You know I can't let you do that."
Sweet relief washed over him. He turned to face his savior. "Of course. Must protect Veidt's new utopia. One more body amongst foundations makes little difference." He removed his Rorschach mask; the polar winds froze the tears to his face. He would die as Walter Kovacs, a human being. Please, God, let me catch a glimpse of her in your kingdom before sending me to Hell.
"Well? What are you waiting for?" his voice quavered from the weight of his sorrow, "Do it."
But Jon hesitated. Hesitated! Why now, of all times, should one mortal's death trouble him? "Rorschach…"
"DO IT!"
Light engulfed him, blinding blue.
I love you, Chloe.
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A/N: Stay tuned for the thrilling final chapter! Coming soon to a computer monitor near you!