Ch. 60

Walter felt as if his stomach had been wrenched from his guts, dragged along the concrete, then unceremoniously dumped back down his throat. When all was said and done, he was happy to find that he was standing in New York -- Manhattan to be exact -- and in one piece. He barely had time to recognize this fact when Laurie appeared next to him. She lurched for a moment before she turned aside and promptly vomited.

"Uh, oh god," said Laurie as she staggered back to her feet. She turned her head in several directions before she spotted him. Walter held his arms out to her and she collapsed into them, panting heavily. "That was terrible. Walter, I'm so glad you're okay."

"Are you all right?" Walter asked.

"I think so," she said. "Just hold me, please."

Walter nodded. He ran his hand down Laurie's back in a soothing motion and her breathing calmed somewhat. He was silently glad that she had managed to get herself back with him. He had been in the middle of requesting this to Manhattan when he had interrupted him by sending him here. It really concerned Walter to think that someone so detached from humanity and so wholly unpredictable as Dr. Manhattan was working for the government. It was an unsettling thought, regardless of whether or not he was on their 'side'. Thrown into the wrong hands or even given the motivation, he could incinerate the world without a second's thought.

"W-Where are we?" Laurie asked.

"Manhattan."

"Ugh," Laurie shook her head. "Is this some kind of joke?"

"No idea," Walter said, though he was smiling. It probably was.

The journey back to Blake's house was slow, but when they made it finally, Laurie held up her hands with a dismayed sound.

"I don't have my keys," she told him.

Walter nodded and rummaged through his knapsack and pulled out the keys and handed them to her. She gave him a strange look and opened the door.

"What else did you pack in there?" she asked him.

"Our costumes," he told her. "My keys. Essentials."

Laurie nodded, then closed her eyes for a moment as if she were dizzy. She stumbled into the house with Walter's help, then collapsed onto the couch.

"Never again," she told him. Walter went into the kitchen to retrieve a glass of water for her and she gratefully accepted it.

Walter regarded Laurie for a moment before he moved to the phone. He left a message for Nelly and Dan, then sat at the end of the couch next to Laurie's feet.

"How did you know to pack?" Laurie asked him. "I mean, how did you figure that Dr. Manhattan was going to be at the conference?"

"It was something your father said before, about Nixon," he said, shrugging. "How he said he would be taken out the appropriate way. What's more appropriate than to enlist Manhattan's help once more?"

"And if it hadn't turned out to be Manhattan?" Laurie asked.

"Then no real time wasted," he said. "We would have left tonight anyway."

"But it's already--" Laurie started to say, "Oh, right... the time difference."

Laurie groaned and settled back down. Half an hour later she said she felt better enough to get up again. They took turns showering, and Laurie announced that she was starving so Walter took her out to a restaurant nearby.

"Can you believe Agent Orange is dead?" Laurie had asked, during a lull in dinner. Walter winced.

"Couldn't have imagined a better ending for him," he told Laurie, quietly. She gave him a mournful look, but said nothing more on the matter. When they went to bed that night, they took advantage of the privacy given to them at long last. Walter lay awake even after Laurie had gone to sleep. He thought of the implications of Agent Orange's appearance in California, of the stories from New York that had led Walter and probably everyone else in New York to believe that he had returned. If there was some lunatic out there trying to pretend to be Agent Orange, Walter was going to catch him. Afterall, this new killer wasn't the real Agent Orange -- just an imposter, so he wouldn't be playing the same kind of game. It was just another criminal that needed to be rounded up. No obsessions, this time. The thought calmed Walter somewhat. He fell into a dreamless sleep full of the occasional voice, once even that of Mr. Petersen, but never Rorschach.

The next morning, Walter's mind was still roiling with details of the fresh case, dream voices all but forgotten. He wanted to go over the facts with Laurie, but she seemed to have different ideas.

"I need to go to work," Walter pointed out to her, though he didn't protest further for quite some time. Walter tecnically had no need to return to work, considering that he had returned home earlier than anyone had expected. However, Walter was worried about Mr. Petersen. He didn't stay in bed for very long, and soon he was giving Laurie a quick half a dozen kisses before he made his way back to his apartment. He half-expected there to be new post cards from the Agent Orange imposter, but he found everything undisturbed and left as they had been before he had gone for California.

After a quick change, Walter headed out, walking through the places that were so familiar to him and at the same time quite foreign. Blasted Dan was right -- things had changed so much in the past week and a half; Walter couldn't even begin to put his finger on why this was the case. In the short amount of time he was gone, Walter had even forgotten how long it took him to get to work. He overestimated the time and found himself a little too early. He attributed the empty shop to his punctuality and tried not to think so much of it. He used his keys to open the door and paused for a moment before he started to bring out the displays. He tried to ignore the small film of dust that had gathered on some of the furniture. Mr. Petersen was old, and he would not be able to see some details with his bad eyesight.

It wasn't until it was nearly lunch time with still no sign of Mr. Petersen, along with a repeat customer who came in exclaiming that the shop hadn't opened in days that Walter finally gave in and started to panic a little. He used the phone number Mr. Petersen had insistently given to him -- it was to Mr. Petersen's residence. Walter paced the room as much as the phone cord would allow as he listened to it ring in his ear. He was half-relieved, but at the same time much more worried when a voice he didn't recognize answered. He was glad someone had come to the phone, of course, but knowing also that it wasn't Mr. Petersen's voice, he feared the worst. The voice turned out to belong to a neighbor, who was watching the house while Mr. Petersen was away. For an instant Walter hoped it was for vacation, but wasn't surprised when he was told that the old man had been in the hospital for days.

After hanging up, Walter kept reasoning to himself that the Mr. Petersen was in the hospital so he must surely be in good hands -- he should be better in another week, no worry necessary. His heart betrayed him many hours later when he made his way to the hospital after work. His pulse was quick and strong, and it made his vision swim a little as he unconsciously gripped the dozen white lillies in his hands tighter as he made his way to the front desk. Half an hour later, Walter felt very foolish and out of place sitting in the waiting area with all five of Mr. Petersen's living relatives.

"Not conscious," Mr. Petersen's son, the only relative who bothered to identify himself, told Walter. "Been out for days; probably not going to make it."

Walter didn't like the tone of voice he used, but that was how they spoke of him, every one of them. Walter knew nothing of his employer outside of work and even he seemed more distraught than Mr. Petersen's own loved ones, who seemed ready to quit the waiting game and just go on home. It was as if they wanted the old man to die so they would stop being held up in the hospital, as if he were an obligation, a nuisance, a waste of time. The thought made Walter very sad. He waited as much as he could until visiting hours were over and long after the relatives had gone home. Mr. Petersen's son briefly spoke to Walter before he left. For an audience at a later date, he explained. 'Or whenever the man's dead. I need to speak with you about the shop.' Was what had been said, to be exact. It really made Walter's stomach turn. How had Mr. Petersen alienated himself so much -- even from the ones that had been born of him? Walter wished he could ask Mr. Petersen when he woke -- if he awoke -- and he knew for certain that he would never have the chance.

"Walter, what's wrong?" Laurie asked him as he entered Blake's home that evening. He just gave her a mournful look and shook his head.

Laurie folded her arms, but didn't enquire further. She just regarded him for a moment before she held out her arms and let him rest his head close to her heart. Feeling warm and safe and loved, he let the words slip from the confinement of his lips.

"It's Mr. Petersen," he told her. "I don't think he will live long."

He told Laurie everything -- of his cold, out-of-state relatives, of his condition, of his fate -- Walter was surprised when he concluded with concerns about his job.

"I was given the privelege of working where I did, Laurie," he told her, finally, "And soon it will be taken from me to die with a kind old man who gave me a chance."

"Well," Laurie paused, and though Walter couldn't see her face from where he was, he knew she was biting her lip. "Can't Mr. Greer take you back? I'm sure he would be happy to."

Walter thought it over for a moment, before he reluctantly nodded his head.

"Yes, I suppose you're right," he said, feeling at least a little relieved. "Yes, I suppose that could be a fall-back, worse comes to worse."

"Oh, Walter," said Laurie, with a gentle squeeze. "Worse comes to worse, you can always stay here."

"Perhaps, but I do not wish to be indebted to you for anything."

"Walter," Laurie held him at arm's length and regarded him with a stern expression. "How can you say that, given our relationship?"

"I just mean..." Walter paused. He didn't know how to say it, so he finally shook his head. "I'm sorry. Th...Thank you, of course."

Laurie smiled and kissed his forehead. Walter smiled at the gesture, but he felt uneasy inside. He wanted to explain to Laurie what it was about the arrangement that ill-suited him. The idea made him feel emasculated somehow -- he wanted to be able to provide for her and not rely on her savings to coast along in life. He knew she didn't mind, but it was something that was important to him.

It was just that it was unfair that it all had to come down to this. Not just his job, but everything. Mr. Petersen may have lived a full life -- sure, that's what they all say about those who succumb to the diseases of old age -- but when was there ever a time when it was right to die? Walter loathed having had to rely so much on the favor of a senile gentleman. He felt as if he had used the old man, somehow, though Mr. Petersen would never have suggested that was the case. Their relationship seemed so fleeting, as if there could have been so many more words exchanged that were now drowned in lost opportunities. A terrible regret filled Walter's heart, and for one agonizing moment he was so sure that Blake would die too and the idea left him devastated. Walter tightened his grasp on Laurie and let out a strangled cry into her chest. Laurie seemed bewildered as she tried to console him, but instead he let himself fall into a quiet despair. He let his mind wander into the darkness, embracing it, even as he sat with Laurie next to him, close enough to hear her steady breathing. Walter ventured into the shadows, looking for demons that he was sure to find. He would face them tonight; but still, there was no voice there to stir him deeper. Walter was frustrated -- here he had prepared himself, and after all this, he had finally opened that door to find there was nothing behind it; there had been nothing but the fear of what he would discover. In the end he came out exhausted, but accepting of his fate. Walter knew then that there was more to what had changed in California than a few surface details regarding him, Laurie, and even their relationship. It overwhelmed him to think of it all. Walter tried not to lose himself too much in searching for the true answer but instead turned to Laurie. She was well loved that night.

The next day was Sunday, so Walter had no business going to work, though his heart willed it. After much lamenting in silence, Laurie finally suggested that they go there, much to his surprise. He hadn't expressed his desire to visit the shop to her, but she seemed to know what his mind was on and he loved her all the more for it. They peeked in on the empty shop, and Walter allowed them one moment of silence as he let them in and surveyed the interior until he felt a shiver go through him and instantly he didn't want to be in there anymore -- not right now, not today. Walter took Laurie's hand and led her away from the place and into the more familiar areas that they loved. They walked through their favorite part of the park, hand in hand and enjoying the comfortable silence between them.

"I almost wish I didn't have to tell Mother we're back," Laurie told him, when they had finally settled on a park bench. "But it seems wrong to be here and not let her know -- I mean, I thought of maybe letting Dan do it once he comes back, but I figure she's bound to find out from him that we were here all along. Then she would get angry, you know?"

"Mm."

Walter could feel Laurie smiling beside him.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked, in an almost teasing tone.

"I'm thinking that we should patrol tonight," said Walter. "Would you like to go?"

"Are you kidding me?" Laurie asked, her hand darting to his before she clasped it firmly. "Finally. You wouldn't believe how much I missed it. Is that strange?"

Walter smiled at her and shook his head a little. To him that wasn't strange at all; only endearing. That night when they patrolled, Walter felt free. Blake was right -- the temperature was more suitable here -- for their costumes, anyway -- and it felt good. The streets were still empty, and Rorschach knew it was because of the new Agent Orange. It seemed this killer was more erratic -- once Rorschach knew the original Agent Orange's reasoning, it was easy to see what crime he was punishing for; could see patterns in his work and why his victims ended with their fate. With New Agent Orange, Rorschach was starting to wonder if he was just killing for sport. Rorschach mulled this over in his mind as he and Nightshade spent most of their night refreshing themselves, getting familiar with their old surroundings again while actively searching for any clues on Agent Orange's imposter. They were still used to Californian time, so they spent more hours outside than was customary and came home feeling exhausted but fulfilled. Walter went to work the next morning with a clear head and a bright outlook.

Come noon, Mr. Petersen was dead. Well, Walter was informed of it around that time, at least. It was almost unbelievable -- the phone had gone off, Walter had picked it up and held it to his ear and listened as the world kept moving around him. It was Mr. Petersen's son giving him a brief description of when and how, and that was it. He had again reiterated the importance of talking to Walter at a later date, after the funeral arrangements. Walter was surprised he even got an invitation to attend judging by the son's curt tone and the way he brushed Walter off when he tried to express his condolences. Walter was left standing with the phone in one hand, trying not to take in the details of his surroundings. The shop was too unbearable to look at now. Walter wanted to leave the place, but he found himself rooted to it nevertheless. He left the shop open late into the night, hours past closing time. He allowed himself to do so after deciding this was one gesture he could give Mr. Petersen, the only way he could honor the old man's memory with what little he had. Walter tried not to look too far ahead when he closed the shop for good that night. As he hung up his tape he took one last sweep around and felt remorseful. He doubted Mr. Petersen's relatives would want to continue running this place. He knew that this was it -- this was all that remained of Mr. Petersen and it was a ghost now, soon to be just as dead as he was -- now on its last breath with only memories of what it used to contain; this was its final moment. In the dying evening light Walter saw his shadow stretch out before him, one hand outstretched as if in entreaty, beseeching him for a chance to take it all back. Walter vowed to recall this image of him, this pleading shadow aspect of him that begged to be saved. Had he been her all along? Walter nodded as if to another person. It was all right, he intoned -- they had a place to turn to, both of them. All was not lost, even if people died around them. There was still hope; they still had Laurie.

Nevertheless, Walter turned and went home with a heavy heart.

-----

To be continued...