Ch. 44
The days went by so fast.
That was the only way he could explain how he had gone so long without talking to Laurie. He was always watching her though; he worried for her still. At night she haunted his dreams, the ones that stretched out into nightmares and had him bolting upright, so utterly awake and drenched in sweat. He wished he could talk to her, but all he could do was watch her. He waited for her to say something, give him any indication that she still cared for him, that she didn't hate him. If she did he'd rather know quickly and crawl off to deal with any heart he had left after it was crushed. At the same time, he would rather not know. He would rather continue to hope that she still wanted him, disgusting as he was. He was afraid that if he approached her, talked to her, she would take away even his hope and he would have nothing. He was afraid she would tell him she wished he was dead and that he would be compelled to listen. On the other hand, he also wished she would tell him -- just die already, and he would gladly do it. End this wretched existence, snuff himself out and make room for another bag of flesh to take his place. No one would miss him, anyway; good riddance.
Walter was surprised he had continued to go to work in this state. Mr. Petersen was a mess, however. He had started to become forgetful, and would sometimes stop in mid sentence and continue on with something else as if he had never spoken. Walter buried himself in the only work he had left. He still went out at night, but there wasn't anything there for him to do. For a couple of months he had kept his watch out for Agent Orange, but he had disappeared as if he had never existed. Maybe someone had gotten to him at last. Maybe his body was out there somewhere, rotting in some stale overlooked corner, becoming bloated and rotted and forgotten just as he would be.
Briefly Walter had considered finding Agent Orange, not to arrest him or accost him but to tell him, really tell him what he had done. The events that he had created to pull Walter into this sort of torment that made mere physical pain nothing compared to it. That made him laugh. What a ridiculous concept, explaining the complexities of emotion to a man who felt nothing. He was sure even Dr. Manhattan felt more than this psychopath. Was it ironic that he was all Walter had left? He wandered the streets as Rorschach, sometimes seeing Nite Owl II, ever polite, but cordially distant. Ozymandias had disappeared, and of course, Laurie, dear Laurie, was still at home quietly waiting for her body to heal.
It was around June of 1969 when Walter began receiving postcards. All from different Californian attractions, all with only one symbol -- a smile. Cocky bastard, I'm not following you to California. Or was this a friendly correspondence? Was Walter his only link to this world, some twisted sort of acquaintance that served only as a sort of grounding tool to keep him from drifting too far beyond reality? It would be ironic, if that was the case, considering Walter's bitter view of the man who was almost an adversary, more a symbol of his dark life than anything. Whatever any of this was, Walter didn't need it. Agent Orange could rot in California for all he cared. They had crime fighters there; they could deal with it. He just wanted Laurie back.
It wasn't until Rorschach saw her again that he realized how much time had gone by. She had come back only a week before, and briefly he considered joining her in the street; just walk up to her and join her side like he used to. He didn't want to see her disgust, however. He didn't want to see her repulsion, her utter abhorrence of his presence. In the end, all he could do was watch.
A few days later, Walter got the message from Nelson regarding the Crimebusters meeting and he almost went. He just couldn't, though. He didn't want to -- not right now. If Laurie had something to say to him he didn't want her to say it in front of Nelson, in front of Adrian, in front of Dan. They had formed some sort of business relationship, him and Dan. Sort of like two patrol officers who would nod to one another if they happened to cross paths. But even so, Dan was someone that was difficult to think about, given the fact that Walter now associated him with the downward turn of events that had gotten him into this rotten situation.
No, Walter didn't go.
He continued to watch Laurie, and a few days had gone by before he realized the Comedian, Blake, hadn't been around for a while. He noticed that Laurie ate breakfast alone, dinner alone. Sometimes he would stop by on his lunch break, too hungry for her to focus on the need to sate his stomach and she would be eating lunch alone. Why didn't she interact with her mother, at least? Then again, her mother wasn't always so easy to get along with, was she?
No, Blake was gone, and Walter wondered where to. He had an idea, but he just didn't want to think about it. He would watch Laurie and she would appear so sad, sometimes she would look out her window and almost see him. She never did though; he always hid now. He didn't want her to see him, not now, not like this.
One day ago, Walter received a letter. For one instant he was sure it was Agent Orange until he realized it was a woman's writing, and on reading the return address realized it was Laurie.
He didn't open the letter, so afraid of the contents was he. He let it under the cabinet and paced the room until he felt guilty for throwing her letter there with Agent Orange's disgusting writings. He pulled her letter out again and held it to his chest, somehow pleading with it to contain hope, something good, not abject horror as he was imagining it to be.
Walter opened the letter and read it:
"Dear Walter,
Please come and talk to me.
--Laurie."
It wasn't bad news, but it wasn't exactly good, was it? What was her intent? He couldn't tell. But she had written to him, hadn't she? She had reached out to him, and if there was any loathing towards him on her part, it was not apparent in her flowing words.
Rorschach set out that night in search for Nightshade. He saw her in the distance -- she seemed to be steadying herself, sitting down on an abandoned crate with her face briefly in her hand before she glanced around, on guard.
Rorschach didn't like the look she had on her face. It made him quite unsettled. For one terrifying moment he was so certain that he would turn away, run like the coward he was. No -- he was going to stop this. Put an end to his misery, or allow her to deal the final blow and be done and over with. Anything could be better than this uncertainty. He showed himself.
Nightshade seemed to look through him at first, until her eyes widened in shock. She stood up very quickly as he approached her, looking quite guarded.
"Rorschach?" she asked him.
Rorschach nodded, but that didn't seem to satisfy her.
"How do I know it's really you?" she asked him in a suspicious tone.
"It's me," he assured her quietly.
Now she looked relieved, and he felt a little better about himself. He came closer to her.
"I know they haven't talked about Agent Orange in a long while," Nightshade said, "But I can't help but be paranoid that one of these days he or someone else will dress up as you and stab me, or something..."
Rorschach paused, a little surprised by her way of thinking. It didn't sound like how she would see the world at all. Rorschach came out of his thoughts to realize that Nightshade had been looking at him. Had she said something to him? No, it seemed she was waiting for him to speak, but he didn't really have anything to say.
"So," said Nightshade, in a curt voice, "Long time no see, Rorschach."
Rorschach nodded to her. God, he wished he could stop nodding like a fool and actually say something.
"You appeared disturbed, so I came to see if you needed any assistance," he told her.
Nightshade looked at him, and for one moment he could see the hurt in her eyes. Then it was gone -- she was getting better at masking her emotions. Was that all his doing? Or something else?
"I thought maybe you had received my letter," she said.
"I did."
"Ah. Well -- I ran into Captain Carnage," she told him, politely. "He is disturbing to say the least."
"Why?"
"I don't know... it... doesn't matter. That's not what we should be discussing here."
Rorschach stood and waited for her. Finally, she turned and looked at him; her feelings were back again and blazing in her eyes.
"Why do you even care, Rorschach?" she asked him. "You've been gone forever. You never said anything to me, and suddenly you're back and want to know every detail about my life. You want to own it all, own me and you give me nothing in return. Well, what happened with Captain Carnage is none of your business."
Rorschach said nothing, and that seemed to frustrate her even more.
"Walter, what are we, really?" she asked, in an edgy voice. She pulled off her mask and roughly pocketed it to look at him clearly. "We never said anything about us, and where we stood. We just had that argument and that was that. So what are we? Are we still seeing each other but on a really long break? Or do we hate each other now? Tell me."
"We're whatever you want us to be," he told her.
Laurie looked angry.
"Are you saying that we're in this mess because of me?" she asked him. "I want us to be shitty, so we're that, is that it?"
"No," he was taken aback by her language.
"You know what I want? I want us to have a normal relationship. Yeah -- seeing as I never really saw one unfold in front of my eyes, it's kind of hard to want that, but that's still the case. I want someone who will love me and be there for me. Someone who will trust me and not walk away from any problem that comes up because he's scared."
Rorschach really didn't know how to respond, so he continued to stand silent.
"Dammit, Walter," Laurie whispered. "At least just say that it's over if it is. I don't want it to be like this -- it's torture."
"I don't want this either."
"Then what do you want? Just tell me -- stop saying things are all on me, and for once just tell me what you want."
"I want," Rorschach paused, feeling awkward, "I want to be with you."
"Then why aren't you?" Laurie threw up her hands. "You know what's crazy? I want to be with you too -- but for some reason, we aren't. Why is that?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know -- I know you do. Talk to me. Say anything," Laurie was looking desperately at him now. "Please."
"I love you."
Laurie looked taken aback.
"What?"
"I love you." Rorschach glanced around before he pulled off his hat, his mask. He looked at her and hoped that she could see in his eyes that he was being true.
"I love you too -- you know that?" Laurie's eyes were glistening with tears. "But you don't run away from people you love."
"I'm sorry."
"You don't have to keep apologizing--"
"I do."
"--When you repeat yourself too much, pretty soon those words lose their meaning. What are you sorry about? Tell me."
"I have a hard time..." Walter felt something was choking him, making him swallow his words, but he didn't want to. "I find it very difficult to express myself."
Laurie smiled sadly at him.
"But you have so much there to express, Walter."
"I do."
"Give me something, anything." Laurie was closer to him now, close enough that he could smell her, that sweet scent he caught at night in his dreams, when his dreams were better before they always became worse.
Walter kissed her instead. She gasped when their lips met unexpectedly, but she quickly threw her arms around his neck and sank into him. He put his hands on her back and drew her close to him, trembling at that contact he had pined for the months they had been apart. Standing there in the dark, face exposed and with her warm body pressed against him Walter lost himself in their kiss. Pushing into her, he tried to convey to her things he couldn't with words. Words seemed to freeze up as they came out of him, only to come out cold and distant, dropping from his lips like ice. The kiss required no cerebral action, no forming of rational decision, no search for the word with the perfect meaning that diluted the deep feeling that lay beneath it. Walter gave himself into that one kiss, clinging to it as if it were his only option left for him to live. He could feel her breath combined with his as her lips, so soft, yielded so easily against his own.
"Walter," said Laurie, and her eyes were full of tears again. Walter wished he could make them go away -- it seemed all he ever did was make her cry.
"I'm sorry for leaving you," he said to her, as he touched his forehead to hers. "I was just so certain that you hated me. Didn't want to see it if it was true."
"I don't think I could hate you if I tried."
Walter smiled at that -- he was so sure she could find a billion reasons to hate him if she put her mind to it.
"I'll try harder," he told her. "I'm very sorry. I'll...I'll make up for it. All of it; all of this."
"I know, Walter," Laurie was kissing him now. "Just don't leave me again."
"I won't."
Smiling, Laurie gave him one more kiss before she took his hand. Walter allowed her to take him home. Yes, it was his home as well as hers now, wasn't it?
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To be continued...