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I do not own Watchmen. I cry at night.

***

Her arm had all but gone numb from the pain. It was dislocated. She knew it. She knew that she needed to pop it back into place. But she just could not bring herself to do it, afraid she might hurt herself, or not do it right. So it was, she left it. A day off work, there was no one who would notice her predicament. When she got paid tomorrow, she would go to the hospital, she rationalized.

Her day consisted of laying in her pajamas, eating the last remnants from her beloved carton of chocolate ice cream, cursing the television for not having anything requiring brain cells to watch, and trying not to aggravate her sensitive arm. A day well wasted.

Licking the last drop of ice cream from the back of the spoon, she sighed. Must have more ice cream to further medicate arm... she did not bother shrugging on her coat, her arm would no doubt protest. Venturing outside her apartment, she set out in search of ice cream.

Walking along the street, her mind drifted towards what she had fought against all day. Her hero. They call him Rorschach. Because of him, she was alive and well...well, mostly well. Nothing too bad. Hell... she thought. It did hurt. She could not deny that.

But she was still here. And ice cream did still exist.

***

Trudging back and forth. Sign held high. No one spares me passing glance. Long for night. For true face. For retribution. Woman meets my eyes. Stare back. It's her. My eyes hold hers, she does not flinch. Nods head. Her blazing red hair fans out in breeze. Her green eyes flash. I can't help but turn and watch her pass. I retreat to side of building, watch her enter grocery. I fade, blur into scenery. Am used to being invisible. Watch her. One arm held close to body. Still dislocated? Must hurt. Found other shoe. She does not know me. I follow her. Mind asks why. I ignore it for now. Do not know.

***

Chocolate mint ice cream in the bag, bounce in her step, she begins the voyage home to enjoy her spoils. She trots towards the newstand and smiles a genuine smile at the vendor. He rolls his cigar in his mouth and wags his eyebrows at her.

She shakes her head, laughing. Continues on.

***

She smiles at sleazy newspaper vendor. Find myself wanting to break his nose. She has dimples.

***

Three blocks from her house, school children rush past her. The giggles pervade the air and she cannot help but join in. She tries not to trip as they run past, tagging each other.

Up ahead, she sees a little girl nearing an alleyway. Her bright purple dress flows around her small legs. I used to have a purple dress... she smiles wistfully.

But then a man yanks the girl into the alleyway, clamping a hand over her mouth.

No one else sees. But me.

Her smile fades into a grim, sober expression. Without thinking she runs. Fast. She nears the alley and turns, skidding to halt. She hears faint talking, sound of little sneakers scuffing the ground. A whimper.

***

I see it. Little girl abducted. She sees it. She runs toward them. Stupid. No weapon. I turn and run to get face. Must hurry.

***

She crouches behind a dumpster. Ice cream dropped. Melting, forgotten. Her hand searches the grimy ground for anything. Anything that she can use. Her hands skim across paper, wet ground, and finally... wood?

A baseball bat. Discarded most likely for all the chunks missing from it. Her good hands grips the handle. Splinters dig in. She does not care.

She peeks around the corner. The man is kneeling in front of the little girl. Her underwear is around her ankles.

Her good hand grips the bat harder. Knuckles turning white. Palm studded with splinters.

He has shoved something in her mouth to keep her quiet. The little girl is scared.

Now.

She quickly leaps up from the dumpster, yelling.

"HEY!"

The monster turns, dumbfounded. He doesn't know what is about to hit him.

CRACK!

His body drops to the ground. Unconscious.

She runs to the little girl, then slows when the girl backs away like a frightened animal.

"Hey... shhh..." She approaches slowly. "I'm not going to hurt you, honey."

The little girl's watery eyes are wary. "I promise... I won't hurt you."

***

Red. Red hits him good with baseball bat. He drops to ground with satisfying thump. Feel thrill go through me. Admiration? But he is not dead. But neither is little girl. Neither is Red.

***

She takes the dirty rag from the little girl's mouth. She helps her pull her little underwear up. They have kittens on them.

"It's okay. I'm sorry. It's okay. No one is going to hurt you now."

She strokes her tangled hair until the little girl's cries become hiccuping sobs.

"Do you know your way home?"

The little girl sniffs yes.

"Go straight home. Don't stop for anything or anyone."

***

Throat tightens when little girl is helped to get dressed. Can't help it. Little girl runs from alley.

Red stays.

***

She knows she should go home. She should turn and leave the alley. Mourn the loss of her ice cream. Relish the thought that she saved the little girl.

But what of the monster?

He still breathes. He'll get up. Go home. Nurse his sore head. Go back out on the streets. Find another little girl. This time one in a yellow dress. Polka dots on her underwear.

She cradles her bad arm. Bat still in hand, she shifts back and forth. She feels the weight of the bat in her hands. Sees the smear of blood on the grainy wood.

And she makes a decision. The decision of a lifetime.

The man stirs. He grunts and moans. And she knows it is not enough.

She nudges him with the bat. Pokes him in the ribs.

He rolls onto his back. His eyes blink. He sees her.

She knows she must look scary. Face set into a stony expression.

She asks him.

"So you like to rape little girls?"

Her voice is rigid. Steel. Velvet.

"Please. I didn't... didn't do anything to her." He whimpers. "It's not what you think."

***

I watch.

***

She tilts his chin up with the end of the bat.

"I said... you like to rape little girls?"

The man's adams apple bobs up and down. He swallows down the bile rising in his throat.

"I need help... call the cops. I admit I need help."

She looks at him. The way his statement does not reach his eyes. The easy way out.

"I will help you." She says.

His eyes glisten. "Thank you..." He whimpers, smiling.

And she grits her teeth against the pain and takes the bat in both hands. She raises it above her head.

She sees the realization in his eyes.

The resounding crack should have been heard by everyone. But no one listens. No one cares. No one would help even if given the choice.

She bludgeons him in the head repeatedly. The sounds becomes wet. The bat becomes red.

Red like her hair.

She does not care about splinters. She does not care that her arm is on fire.

Tired. She drops to her knees beside the monster's body. And she cries.

And it is not for the monster that she does.

***

I see everything. Intrigued is not right choice of word. Obsession imminent. Red. Seeing red.

***

Red is aware that someone has come into the alley. Dropped down from the fire escape. But it feels familiar. She sees black and white. Smells bad cologne and she knows it is him. The savior. Her arm is numb. Red feels herself being picked up. She leans into the warmth.

Drifting off, she wonders how she will get home.

Little does she know, he knows the way.

***

Red would have fallen asleep in alley. Pick her up. Took home. Left body with rest of garbage. Fitting. Almost like poetry. Knew way to apartment like back of hand. Broke lock. Flimsy. Need better one. Not safe. Lay her on bed. Should have left. But arm would need attention after awake. Stay. Sit in chair. Her face looks softer when asleep. Resist urge to push strand of hair out of face. What is this? Not like me. Arms and chest feel alive where I carried her. Goddamnit. Face red. Red.

***

Red wakes to find a Rorschach sitting in a chair beside her bed.

"Hi." Is all she can think to say.

His lip quirks beneath the mask. He cannot remember the last time he smiled.

"Hello." His voice a low growl.

"You found me?"

Grunt of affirmation.

"How?"

"Followed you."

She smiles. Dimples appear. Rorschach's throat tightens.

"I killed him." Her smile disappears just as fast.

"Need fix arm."

She closes her eyes, nodding.

"I know. But I don't have the money to go to the hospital."

He snorts. She opens her eyes, looking at him. Amused.

His face flushes. His ink shifts abruptly. "I'll do it."

"Free of charge?" She laughs.

He gets up from the chair in one fluid motion. She holds her breath, again awed by his grace.

He tugs on the sleeve of her good arm, motioning for her to sit up. She winces, willing herself to move.

Once up, she waits expectantly. Arm stiff, cradled to her side.

Rorschach's hands tighten into fists, leather gloves creaking. Can pulverize criminals but cannot bring self to touch girl.

He grunts and reaches his hands out, hesitating only once, before gently grasping her elbow and straightening her arm out. She holds her breath in anticipation.

"Will hurt." He grunts.

"I know." Her voice is small.

He jerks her arm quickly. The bone pops back into the socket. She bites her lip, preventing herself from crying out like she wants to. Her eyes water in response to the immense pain.

She feels stupid for crying.

Red does not scream. Is stronger than thought.

She finally looks at him. Blood stains her lip where she bit it.

"Ow." She deadpans.

"Told you." He responds.

"That you did." She rolls her neck back and forth, working out the kinks.

"Thank you, again." She says meaningfully, her eyes seeking his behind the mask.

He sees admiration there in her eyes. And something else he cannot recognize. Pain, yes. But something else.

He nods his head curtly, not one to receive many thanks.

She suddenly cries out. He jerks, looking around the room.

No intruders? What.

He looks back.

"I dropped my ice cream. In the alley." She admits sheepishly.

Crestfallen, she stands up. Stretching, her legs crack.

He watches her, bewildered. "Hurm." Know no one who laments loss of ice cream. Investigate further?

His eyes follow her movement of her stretch. Her arms extended up, her eyes closed, the curve of her spine, and her shirt. He notices that her shirt is riding up. Rorschach glimpses bare skin. He quickly averts his eyes. Face hot, he battles the fluttering in his stomach.

Hope she did not notice. What is wrong with me? No better than sleazy men who ogle whores on corner.

She does not notice.

"Food." She states.

His head lifts up to look at her. He likes food. Has not eaten in 2 days. His stomach growls audibly.

Smiling, she affirms. "Food."

He follows her form into the kitchen. Hovering in the doorway, he watches her cook.

Cold beans would have been fine with him.

But she dashes around. Frying chicken, shredding it. Sprinkling cheese on tortillas.

Sharp cheddar. Mouth waters.

Melts cheese on tortilla in pan. Sprinkles shredded chicken over. Hums as she cooks. Do not recognize song.

She folds over tortillas and piles them high on a plate.

Been so long since had good meal. Beans in can. Cereal from Dan's. Whatever can get.

He lifts the mask up to take a bit. He knows that she is watching his lips. He is painfully aware.

He cannot help the wave of pleasure that rips through him as he eats the food.

She smiles.

"You like it!" She gushes.

He grunts in acknowledgement, too busy eating food.

Eats one. Lets me have rest. Her eyes never leave my exposed scrap of skin. Self conscious. Replace mask after eating. I do not say thank you. Feel bad for not.

Without saying anything she goes back into her bedroom. Rorschach follows.

She reclines on the bed. He opts for the chair.

"You know..." She begins, clearing her throat. Nervous. "I just want you to know that if you ever..."

She pauses. Her eyebrows scrunch up as she thinks whether she wants to say it or not.

Like way her eyebrows meet when deep in thought. Looks honest. Remember look on face when she ended child rapist's life. Feel hot lick of something in stomach. Unfamiliar. Must be food.

"Look, I appreciate all that you've done for me. I... I really like having you here. Don't be weirded out, but anytime you need a place to stay. My place is open for you."

Her eyes lock on to his mask.

"Anytime you need it. My food too."

He is shocked to say the least.

Do not understand what this is. Pity? No. Her eyes too wide open to suggest pity. She does not feel sorry for me. Am not used to this. Find urge to accept offer. Why?

She watches his mask for some sort of reaction. Nearly impossible.

Barely audible. "Thank you."

Her eyes widen. "You are most welcome."

They sit together in silence.

She falls asleep. He watches over her.

Cannot figure Red out. Should be out. Patrolling. Cannot bring self to leave.

***

Late at night. Red wakes up out of a dream. Her chest heaves in and out. She looks to see Rorschach is still in his chair. His chair?

"Rorschach?" She whispers into the dark of the room. "Are you awake?"

He does not answer. Does not stir. His head rests on his shoulder.

She says all of this into the darkened room:

"I want you to know. When I was little, about 7. My dad died. He was a good man, my favorite man. My superhero. Shot in the head by a mugger. A year later, my mom remarried. I did not like him. He smelled like alcohol 24/7. He looked at me weird sometimes.

My mom let him do whatever he pleased just to keep him with her, around always. 3 months into the marriage, it started to happen. He would come into my room late at night. He would whisper to me. Hold my arms down. Touch me. Touch himself.

No matter how much I told him to stop, he wouldn't. He'd call me names, tell me that no one would believe me. He'd call me a slut. I was ashamed. I wouldn't make friends in fear that they would find out what a bad person I was. And the worse thing about it... She knew. The entire time she knew.

I remember one night when he came to visit me, I looked through the crack he left in my door. And there she was. She made eye contact, averted her eyes, went into the bathroom, flushed the toilet, and then made her way back into her room. She didn't help me...I hated her. I missed my dad. So when I turned 17, I went to my mom. I told her that I hated her. Never wanted to see her again.

I got a job as a librarian. Stayed in motels until I got my own place, this place. And here I am. I still think to myself sometimes. How come my mom didn't love me? Was I not worth being loved? Not worth it to be cared for, protected? And then I realized, she was NOT my mother. No mother would do that to their child. I don't miss her.

And today. Killing that monster in the alley. He reminded me so much of my step dad and my mom..."

Red started sobbing now.

"It felt good..." She whispered reluctantly.

"I just wanted you to know that." She wiped her eyes, blinked a few times, then closed them.

She drifted back to sleep.

Rorschach heard all of it. His heart twisted. His mind raced.

So many similarities. Mother. Anger. Vermin. Thought I was asleep. Heard everything. Throat constricting. Want to hunt down stepfather. Make him drink his own blood until he vomits. Protect her.

Red had known he was awake. Had counted on it.

***

He waited a few more hours. Finally worked up the nerve and swept the strand of hair from her face. She moaned in her sleep, leaning into the touch. His hand recoiled as if burned. Unused to response.

Not so bad. Not dirty like thought it would feel.

Then he left, this time using the window. Anxious, he found, to see Red again.