It is a little known fact that the tittering giggles and hushed whispers of office secretaries can, at times, sound oddly reminiscent of the same noises made by painted whores gossiping about clients in the predawn hours. As Nicole enters the tenth story lunch room of the Veidt office building, those noises, combined with the wave of discount perfume that assaults her nostrils and the too short skirts and low cut blouses that meet her gaze, cause a small wave of nostalgia to wash through her. Not as strong as the memories that had been resurfacing whenever she glanced through her scrap book in the past week, but enough that she had to bite her tongue against the urge to reign in the slacking employees with a swift slap or pull of the hair.

It wasn't that she held some deep seated belief all members of her sex were secretly whores or some other such garbage, she was sure at least one of the flighty women before her would faint from shock and outrage at the mere suggestion, but stupid women were stupid women no matter what profession they kept. It appeared secretarial work attracted the same basic type of women prostitution did; the secretaries simply had fewer personality disorders. They were probably paid less, too.

"Oh, Nikki! You have to see this!" One of the more painted women, the personal secretary for Nicole's direct boss gestured frantically with artificial nails for Nicole to join them at gawking over whatever had made this mornings headlines. It annoyed her to no end that the woman assumed that by virtue of a shared gender alone they were somehow intimate enough to address her by that wretched nickname. Even the Owl had only called her by that once, the look he received in return being more than enough to assure such a thing would never pass his lips again. The girl before her wielded the serene peace shared only by young children and the truly ignorant, however, causing Nicole's repeated threats against her personal safety to fall on, if not deaf ears, than at least an empty head. It was people like her than made the red head truly miss wielding her riding crop.

The vapid stares being directed at her from the group were not going away despite her best blood chilling glare. It was either go over to them now or deal with their over the shoulder glares and poorly concealed whispers for the rest of the week due to her snub. The small beginnings of a headache started pounding behind her eyes as she resigned herself to her fate, stepping into the artificially scented crowd which absorbed her like a sponge.

"Can you believe it?" one nameless female form giggled at her left elbow, leaning far too much into her personal space for Nicole's taste. "I always thought heroes were supposed to be dashing and romantic, like Mr. Veidt or Dr. Manhattan," a wave of longing sighs and titters swept through the crowd at the mention of the company head. "Not like that. No wonder the police locked him up!"

"What in the nine layers of Hell are you all blabbering ab…" her annoyed query died in her throat as the newspaper headline finally came into view, Nicole's heart stopping mid beat before picking up again at double speed.

"Give me that," she snarled, snatching the paper off the table and backpedaling madly away from the rest of the group, a sea of annoyed moans and protests following her retreating form out of the lunch room and down the hall.

"Hey! I paid for that!"

Her three inch heals clicked loudly against the tiled floor as she marched down the hallway, the newspaper clutched against her chest as if it might attempt to free itself from her grasp. For the first time in years she cursed the fact she didn't read the newspaper or watch televised news regularly, hadn't felt the need since Nite Owl retired and there were no longer articles referencing the masked vigilante for her scrap book. The world was always the same, day after day: people were born, they lived to fuck each other over, and then they died. End of story. No need to waste her time observing all the new and creative ways in which they did it. But to find out about this from that group of brainless, doe eyed Barbie dolls was really too much. She bit her lip as she slammed her office door behind her, locking it swiftly to stop any interruptions. She wondered if the Owl knew yet.

The chair groaned in protest as Nicole practically threw herself into it, slamming the paper onto the desk she started reading, the sheer unreality of the article before her sending a hand searching blindly for her cigarettes without conscious thought. Rorschach arrested last night. Rorschach apprehended by police after murdering a retired old man. Rorschach in Sing Sing, awaiting trail. Rorschach a thirty five year old ginger with a normal, human name, covered in bruises and bleeding like any other person. It was too incredible to be believed.

The lighter trembles in her hand as she ignites what is sure to be the first of a large number of cigarettes. She reads the article five times, nearly the entire front page occupied with the earth shattering news of the New York City Police Department arresting the world's last hero. Celebrating it. In less than two weeks every last crimebuster, save the Owl and the second Specter, had been attacked or put out of commission. The assassination attempt on Adrian Veidt in the very building she now occupied was still sending shock waves through his company's system over twenty four hours later. And now this.

"Fucking psycho was right."

The battered blue eyes of the unmasked Rorschach stare at her in silent condemnation from the top of her desk and she flips the paper over, covering the emotionless face with the black and white of the newspaper. Twenty years ago, when he and his partner had still been young and new to the game and she thought she had enough experience to know how to handle masks, she'd had more than one opportunity to unmask the vicious vigilante. That had never been the nature of their relationship, however. He'd been Rorschach and she'd been the Twilight Lady and whatever faces happened to reside behind the masks were simply immaterial. Even though she'd hung her mask up long ago and the vigilante knew her real name and face that had been her choice. It hadn't been like this. Looking at the stripped bare face of her old enemy felt wrong in a way she couldn't quite describe. Like staring at the naked form of a rape victim. It wasn't a practice people generally found to be acceptable.

All the small knots that had managed to appear during the day caught on her rings and finger nails as she ran a distraught hand through her mane of hair. What if the Owl wasn't okay. She hadn't talked to him in a week, ever since the three of them had eaten the apology dinner together in the nest. The death of Dan Dreiberg, random bird lover and professional shut in, would hardly make headlines. Especially when compared to news like this, or Dr. Manhattans' departure over the weekend. While she still held confidence that the aging man could handle himself in most situations, the arrest of Rorschach turned the whole thing upside down. She had first hand experience of how little the masked man's strength and stealth had changed since the days of their youth. Rorschach wasn't a nearly seventy year old man attacked before bedtime; he was a dangerous and highly mentally disturbed mask who had somehow fallen into a trap, and it had to be a trap, despite his near debilitating level of paranoia. If whoever was behind this decided the Nite Owl was next to go, Nicole doubted Daniel would be up to the task of stopping them. Lighting up her second smoke, the retired villain had to admit she probably wouldn't be either.

If something had happened she could…could what? Look for clues? Go rescue him? The idea of her dusting off the mask and fighting her way past whatever assailant had been plaguing the crimebusters was ridiculous at best, and blatantly suicidal at the worst. In her youth she'd only been able to combat Nite Owl and Rorschach with superior numbers and fire power. She'd be worse than useless in a rescue mission.

She'd have to find help, she supposed. The only hero really left to turn to was the retired Ozymandias. While she knew Veidt was well aware of her past identity, the thought of going to her former enemy-by-default and current boss for mask related business made her skin crawl. She would have had no problem hunting down Rorschach to rescue the retired Owl. Rorschach and she had history, real history, not the awkward connection of having once been in competing fields during the same time period. There was always the second Silk Specter, if she got truly desperate for help. But the scantily dressed heroine had always seemed like nothing more than a publicity stunt to her. Like the original Specter. Like what Ozymandias had become. No. She really had no idea what steps she could take if the Owl had been harmed.

Regardless of what she would or would not do if the Owl were in trouble, she needed to know. Even if everything was fine, Daniel would probably appreciate checking up on him after hearing about Rorschach's arrest. That was if he hadn't already gone and done something stupid for the sake of his former partner. The thought drew a groan from the red head, adding yet another worrying 'what if' to her pile of nauseating possibilities.

This was, most certainly, the last time she allowed that flock of brainless harpies to drag her into their little circle, no matter what they had to say.

Third cigarette. It was time to make the call. The phone cradled carefully between her ear and shoulder, she dialed the nest with one free hand, the other clutching her chair's arm rest tightly enough to turn her knuckles white. She closed her eyes as the phone rang, concentrating on the demand that the Owl answer his phone as if she could force him to be home and alive and well through sheer force of will. If he was out somewhere safe and happy, lecturing about his birds or having a lunch out, she was going to kill him later. If he were out plotting the rescue of his old partner, she was going to wait until he did it, and then kill them both. Nicole had the feeling such an act would spare her a lot of future stress.

Any homicidal considerations were quickly put to rest as the Owl's usual hesitant voice replaced the obnoxious shrill ring of the phone.

"What the hell are you doing home?"

"I, uh, what?" The confusion in his voice would entertain her if she wasn't so worked up from worrying over his safety and future plans. "Hold on a minute…"

Nicole blinked in surprise as Dan's voice suddenly became muffled; he'd apparently placed his hand over the receiver to block a side conversation from carrying over the phone. It didn't entirely cut off the sounds, however, and she was rather certain that was a distinctly irritated female voice demanding to know who was calling. It didn't speak highly of Daniel's reputation with women that the first thought to cross her mind was the mask killer was a woman and currently holding him hostage rather than the more logical conclusion of him having a guest.

"Hey, sorry about that, Nic, just, uh, entertaining right now."

"If they're in your house against your will, Dan, say 'Nothing much' right now."

"What?"

"Do they have the line tapped?"

"Nicole, I…I can't even imagine what you're getting at. Are you okay?"

"Dan, who is in the house with you?"

"Laurie, Laurie Jupit…Juspeczyk. You know, the, uh…"

"I know who she is, Daniel."

Christ, that woman worked fast. It was a matter of public record that the Silk Specter had survived since the age of eighteen by being Dr. Manhattan's personal companion. No other job, resources, or talents, as far as Nicole knew, outside of some basic martial art skill. Now it seemed the formally government supported escort, once her meal ticket had left the planet, had wasted no time in slipping into the pants of next available watchman. Nicole was sure the Specter would have gone for the far more economically viable Veidt if the man's preference weren't what they were. The former Vice Queen was mildly impressed.

"Oh, right." The phone was muffled again; apparently a brief argument over the appropriateness of the Owl telling the world the retired Specter was living with him was taking place. The red head took the opportunity to light her fourth cigarette, drumming her painted nails on the well polished wood of her desk until the Owl's voice returned at normal volume.

"So, ah, what's going on? It's not like you to call in the middle of the day."

"Well, it's not exactly a normal day, is it?"

"Oh?" The confusion in his voice had to be faked. It had been a while since the Owl had had anything to hide from her; it was surprising how good he was at it. Then again, it was much harder to pick up his deception without the tell tale signs of his expression and body language to help her out.

"Rorschach. He's in prison."

"Oh …that."

"Yes. That. I hope you're not thinking of doing anything stupid."

"What do you mean?"

The confusion was back and Nicole was starting to get concerned. Nite Owl had busted into the headquarters of major crime figures in the old days to pull his partner's ass out of the fire. Granted, he usually caused as many problems for his partner as he solved, but he still tried. Daniel's tone, however, seemed to imply no consideration of assisting his former friend had even entered his mind until she spoke up. Her stomach churned in nausea at the idea that the Nite Owl really wasn't around anymore.

"Something stupid, like trying to get him out before the other prisoners or the guards, for that matter, have the chance to kill him off." She spoke the words slowly, hoping against all logic and evidence to the contrary that the man on the other end was simply a far better actor than she had previously taken him for.

"Get him out of Sing Sing?" The voice was surprised, shocked even. The bile from her stomach slammed against the back of her mouth, mixing unpleasantly with the acidic taste of smoke and tar.

"He's your friend." She accused, her voice little more than a whisper of the lump of disgust building in her throat.

"Nic…" Daniel, not the Nite Owl, started with a sigh, only to pause suddenly. "Hold on, okay?"

The voices went soft once more, but she could make out the basics of the discussion. She'd never guessed the Specter, another member of the crimebusters, would share her feelings on the masked vigilante's sanity. The sheer disdain and moral superiority that dripped from the woman's voice made her spiraling disappointment in Daniel shift into something harder, however. Something darker. She thought she heard a small sigh, and the sounds of high heels against hard wood fading into the distance over the phone line. When Daniel returned to their conversation, anger had settled firmly in the small hole the Nite Owl's absence had left in her chest.

"Ah, sorry about that…"

"Why," Nicole growled, cutting of the pathetic man before he had a chance to explain, "don't you tell your slut to stay out of matters that don't concern her and get back to what she's good at: staring at the bedroom ceilings of real heroes."

"Nicole! What the hell is wrong with you today?"

"No, Dan. What the fuck is wrong with you. Christ, is this how you were like when we started out? Dropping your friends and responsibilities for the first piece of tail that came your way? Maybe I really do owe Rorschach an apology if this is how you acted when we started fucking."

"Jesus Christ, Nicole. What are you even talking about?! You called me to make sure I wasn't going to do anything, didn't you? Why are you getting so upset!"

"Because I thought I'd have something to talk you out of, Daniel! He's your friend goddamn it. You're the fucking Nite Owl, you're supposed to care when bad things happen to your partner!"

"Rorschach and I aren't partners anymore. And I haven't been the Nite Owl in a long time."

"You sure as hell got that right." The urge to slam the phone back onto the receiver was nearly overwhelming, but she resisted. She wasn't done with him yet.

"I've been in prison, Dan. I know what it's like and they…" she paused, attempting to get her voice under control. "They are going to kill him. Kill. Him. There isn't going to be a trial, no matter what the papers like to say. The shrink they're getting him isn't going to get him transferred to a nut house. Unless someone does something, he is going to die."

"Nicole, really, I think you're over reacting. This is Sing Sing, not some poorly staffed prison. They've got him under constant guard, and the media would go nuts if this doesn't make it to trial. Besides… I, uh, well I always thought you didn't even like him."

"I don't. Personally, I think he deserves every horrible, fucked up thing that's going to happen to him in there. Every atrocity will still be too good for that psycho. But you, Dan…you're supposed to care. You're supposed to be a hero." She hated how pleading her voice had become, how needy.

There was a pause and sigh on the other end, and she dared to hope for a second that Daniel was finally coming back around. The tired voice that crept over the line made her close her eyes in resignation, however, the cold truth finally settling on her shoulders after nearly a decade of denial.

"They don't allow heroes anymore, Nic."

"No." She stated hollowly, "I guess they don't."

"Look, ah…why don't we meet up…?"

The rest of Dan's commentary was lost as she set the phone back into it's receiver with a gentle click. She didn't slam the item, didn't throw the objects on her desk against the wall in mad fury, didn't do anything but bury her face in her hands. The cigarette fell from limp fingers to the desk top, soon mixing with the small drops of salt water dripping from between her fingers.

The mask killer had his victory, it seemed. There were no heroes any more.

AN: We are getting closer to the end. The plan is for another three chapters; four at the most, with the story ending at the same time the Watchmen ends. All the usual requests for constructive criticism and comments still stand. Thank you to everyone has followed the story this far, and especially to my reviewers.

On a side note, I am seriously considering taking down the chapter where Dan and Rorschach talk. While I enjoyed writing it and liked it at the time, I'm concerned it doesn't fit in overly well with the rest of the story and that it has fallen into the too sappy trap that so many Nite Owl/Rorschach fics are prey to. If you have a suggestion for one way or another on that, or on anything else, please leave me a note or send an email to .