((It's been quite a few years now since I originally posted this story. This idea has been floating in my head for a while and is out of sync on one of my previous plot points, so forgive me. Enjoy. ))


late 1960s

I heard shouts outside. Deep guttural shouting.

I turned over in bed. The clock blinked 2:08 am. The power must have gone out at some point for the numbers to be blinking, intermittent red flashes like police lights. But it was dark, which meant it could not be much later than the deceptive digits.

The shouts were getting closer but they were coming from the street, towards the front of my building. I remembered that I had finally fallen asleep close to midnight, still no Walter at my side, and I drifted off to a car alarm from a block over.

I could make out the voices outside, but barely. They were harsh and sharp. Two men.

I pushed down the covers to the chill air and raised myself up to better distinguish the distorted voices.

"Don't want to be here!"

"You need help! Now, is this her place?"

My stomach turned into a knot and I was out of bed in an instant, bare feet on damp carpet,

- Fuck, we must have a leak again -

I scampered to find my robe in the light of the flickering streetlamps beyond my window.

Shit.

Tell me this wasn't happening.

I wasn't supposed to see this.

But I knew.

"You know what I said, I-"

"Shit!"

Something – someone – Walter – fell against my front door in a heavy heap.

I was down the steps by the next exclamation -

Goddammit!

- doors unlocked and opened to the frigid night air and two figures who I swore I would never see and would never see me in their states.

He was slumped on the stoop, the brown-cloaked ally bending over him, hands under stubborn arms.

I barely paid attention to either of their words.

"We were in the area and I insisted-"

"Not supposed to see me like this!"

"You're too wounded and we're too far from the ship."

"Both of you just shut up!"

Another car alarm started blaring from a block over, vying for attention.

Dan snapped up full-figure, mask and goggles over his head, eyes wide to see me. It's been a while.

"Connie, I-"

"Get inside. Now. I'll take care of him."

"I'm sorry, we were close-"

"Get inside, you can't see his face."

He pushed past me into the apartment without another word and as I bent down to help Walter

(Rorschach)

stand, I finally felt the blood at his side. He was resisting - ashamed, frustrated, infuriated at myself and his partner for being here, for forcing me to see him like this.

"You have to get up, we have to get you upstairs," I said.

"We could have made it to the ship, could have avoided this."

I managed to get him up with an arm around his waist, struggling to hold him upright as he continued to fight back at me, like a stray cat outside my school building I'd grab with gloved hands.

He kept muttering curses beneath his mask as I pulled him inside. Dan was standing in the kitchen, lost and confused because he shouldn't be here, Rorschach will be so mad at him, he knew this was wrong, knew he'd never hear the end of it, but it had to be done.

As I pulled Walter

(Rorschach!)

inside my apartment, kicking the door shut behind me, I took off his hat and dropped it to the floor, hoping Dan would rest it on the table. I pulled him up the stairs with a sideways glance back down at his partner. I tried a half-hearted smile to assure him that everything would be okay, this stubborn ass would be fine, but his eyes were still lost as he took off his gloves and tossed them beside the fedora.

At the top of the stairs, the man in my arms grunted again and fell to the floor, blood still pooling through all the layers of clothes he wore tonight.

I shouted back down to Dan to get the alcohol from under the sink. I had left it there after I cut myself on a knife chopping carrots for a stew. Everything else I needed was just feet away in the bathroom.

I released myself and went halfway down the steps to snatch the bottle from Dan's nervous hand.

My only thoughts were to disrobing him next. Walter

(RORSCHACH!)

had stood up, starting to unbutton the heavy coat. Placing the alcohol on the carpet of the landing, I pushed his hands away.

"I'm going to do this for you," I said.

He huffed, grumbling more crap about how I shouldn't be doing this, and I ignored him as I got the coat off, tossing it over the railing. As I undid his suit jacket, I heard the coat begin to fall. I looked over my shoulder for an instant, seeing Dan's shadow move to catch it. Jacket off, his undershirt was soaked, sticking to the wound.

"We have to get you into the bathroom now."

I wretched the mask from his face before he had a moment to breathe, and dropped it to the floor.

"I'm sorry."

His seething was interrupted only by a brief coughing fit as he turned and stumbled into our bedroom to the bathroom. Alcohol again in my fist, I left the mask and jacket on the floor. I didn't want to see either of those for a while.

He collapsed on the floor, back against the tub, as I dug up a pair of scissors and fresh packages of bandages from under the sink.

He immediately regretted his decision and struggled to stand. "Give it back to me. Daniel can do this," he said.

I pushed back down on his shoulders. "Except he can't see your face. And your mask is filthy."

He clenched his fists, tightening his jaw in frustration-turned-resignation as he sat splayed before me.

I knelt in front of him, scissors against his skin as I tore through his beater so the remainder could be taken off, leaving just a small bit then to be removed with a drench of alcohol and clean fingers.

"So just shut up and let me do this," I said.

The tiles were bruising my knees, trying to bribe me to stand and walk away, to give up, to give in to his selfish complaints, and just leave.

I found my needle and thread, crude instruments for the upcoming portion of my procedure, and set them on the toilet tank. More alcohol to clean away the blood, splashes staining my robe and my skin. As the blood and dirt dried, my robe would soon resemble his mask.

Whatever had happened, at least this was a clean knife cut. No shards, no other elements that I could see or feel. Just Walter bleeding out the side of his abdomen through an opening I could stuff that damned mask into if I really tired.

Of course I was in a panic, I never had to do this before, and my eyes were already beginning to glaze over. But I grimaced through his insults and more shit about Dan, not you and I slapped a wide square of sanitary gauze against the cut. Maybe too hard, but I was getting sick of the crap.

"I should have left you out on the street, pretended not to be home, Walter. Hold this in place, I need the rolls."

"Don't you-"

"I don't want to hear any more," I snapped.

This entire time I hadn't once looked into his eyes, I realized. Only that brief moment of despair when I had wrenched up his mask. But I didn't want to. I didn't want to see Rorschach, because that's who he still was as I was helping him on the old tiled floor of my bathroom, the mirror covered in paper and black bags so he never had to look at himself.

I reached back up, remembering the thread.

"Dammit. Once it stops bleeding…"

Instead I found the gauze at my side and for half a moment I remembered that tonight the mirrors weren't covered up. That's right, I had taken down the covers before I went to sleep, because I actually do like to look at myself sometimes. And I was too exhausted to remember to put them back up, just in case…

I glanced up, I could feel his eyes following.

Snapping my head back, I reached out to cup his face, still avoiding those eyes.

"Walter… DAN," I shouted across my shoulder. "Bring up a glass and the towel down there. Set them on the landing!"

I was woefully unprepared for this tonight. I thought I had previously gathered everything I would need, storing the items under the bathroom sink. But this really was never supposed to happen, so I had forgotten a few things over the years. A few very necessary things for this.

"Got them!" Dan yelled.

"Hold on, see if you can sit up straight," I said.

I left Walter and grabbed the glass and towel from the landing, meeting Dan's eyes for a split chagrin moment before returning to the bathroom.

I filled the glass with water to give to the man on my floor, his blood on my hands staining the towel I shoved behind his back for more support.

I needed to contain myself, but the cold and the shock of this event was slowly seeping into my flesh, and I would begin to shake like a child in a thunderstorm if I didn't focus.

I replaced his hand with my own on the patch over his wound, already soaked with blood.

I changed gauze, this time carefully, pressing in an effort to stop the bleeding.

"I need sew this up."

I could feel him trying to look at me, but I just kept looking at my blood-soaked hand over the gauze on his stomach.

"Connie-"

I could feel it now, the trembling, barely, but noticeable.

I was cold, that's all.

"I need to fix this."

Had to focus.

I grabbed the needle and thread and went at him.

"You're filthy," he said.

Cutting the thread, I laid my last gauze over my crude attempt at playing nurse, and with great difficulty, wrapped him up.

I was shivering now.

Nerves. The cold.

I stood and stepped back to lean against the wall, swiping a towel off the sink to wipe my hands.

"Connie, I'm sorry."

Those eyes that were now only meant for me, looked up, trying to stabilize my aversion.

There he is. There was the realization. I bit back tears.

From Rorschach to Walter, I was sure he had a routine, and tonight that routine was broken as he was forced to come into contact with this life while still in the persona of the other.

"Shit happens, Walter, I'm just glad I could handle this." I swallowed back more words, the same ones I always used, always repeating myself, It's okay, it's fine, do what you need to, I'm here.

This is what I had constantly struggled with, each time he disappeared, convincing myself that I knew he would return in one piece, that I knew he would get out there and fuck someone up, that he would never be the once to be fucked up.

But here we were.

And in a dark corner of my mind, I was always wondering why I was so patient, so understanding, even when the frustrations nearly tore my heart in half every time he came back with a cut, a new bruise, a rip in his gloves that he thought I didn't notice. I used to ask myself why he came to me (because sometimes those were the only times we had together), then I would ask why he did not (because his partner knew more than I did), why did I put myself through this, why didn't I give up and move on and away and those questions would fill me with guilt and disgust at myself because we have been through these arguments so many times over the years and I realized that the questions may never be answered.

It was best to stop asking why, or how, and just to say I love you, which is really what all those questions lead to in the end.

I always came back to the same conclusion, to get my mind off the matter and to just love him.

I knelt back down and finally looked at him, finally caught the guilt and shame and anger and confusion and gratefulness in his eyes. This was a moment that should have never occurred in our relationship, this something, that we managed to hold onto all these years. The hard tiles and cold draft from my stubborn windows yearned for us to depart from this break in the norm.

He took my tainted hand from my lap and smiled, something so full and rare to see from his lips that I burst into tears and tried my best to cover my sobs with my other hand.

He didn't move or motion to comfort me, he barely blinked, but his smile faded and he squeezed my hand in confirmation.

This was the first time I had ever lost my demeanor in front of him; as angry and questioning and confused as I could be sometimes, I never broke down into tears before him. Usually this was reserved for long nights after work or a day grocery shopping or tutoring. Sometimes I needed this. But I was suddenly ashamed because I also feared this would only give his accusations from the years strength.

You should move on. You shouldn't have to see this. You shouldn't wait for me.

My tears must have summoned Dan because I heard his footfalls outside the room.

"It's okay," Walter managed to cough, squeezing my hand again. Dan couldn't see this. See him. "Fine. She's just pissed."

I mustered a laugh and dropped his hand, smiling an apology because I knew this could never be discussed.

"Rorschach, do you want your mask?" Dan asked.

"I'll get it," I choked. "Just stay here," I begged Walter.

"Don't touch it. Please."

"I'm not afraid."

Of it? Of you? They're really one in the same, aren't they.

I wiped my eyes again, and stood, shutting the bathroom door behind me, and met Dan in the hallway.

"Is he okay?"

I nodded, fully aware of my sore eyes, and bent down to pick up the mask, cradling it in my fingers like the dove it had once been when Walter first revealed it to me. Now wounded, I held it more delicately than before, no longer angry at this object that I had so fervently accused of bringing upon danger, fear, uncertainty. I could not blame this constructed fabric, Dr. Manhattan's damned invention, for interfering with the state of my life, our lives. I would never understand what runs through his mind. I could only hold on to this shield for him, to clean it, to repair it, to protect him.

But now I asked Dan, hushed, "His wound wasn't severe enough that you had to come here, Dan. Why did you bring him?"

His eyes flickered over my shoulder. "You wanted to come out with us once and decided against it. You take care of the man I know nothing about and he comes to you marked up at the end his shift. I thought that if you finally experienced what I get to see, maybe you'll understand more. I don't know, I'm sorry, it was stupid. If he gives you crap later-"

"He won't. This will all be brushed to the shadows after tonight. If anyone gets crap, it'll be you."

Dan laughed. "Guess I did more harm than good, huh?"

"No… It's.. it'll be okay. And thank you… for coming. A lot when through my head that I hadn't through about in a while. So thank you."

Dan nodded and departed down the steps. I could not watch him leave, because I could not form an attachment, couldn't wonder what the world would be like if we were all allowed to be friends in the open, if I could visit their hideout. It was not allowed.

Tonight would not be so easily forgotten, I realized. I shuffled back into the bathroom, overtaken by exhaustion now that the stress was beginning to wear off and my tears had dried with Walter's blood on my skin and my robe. I don't remember when that happened. When I was carrying him, I suppose.

He had managed to sit on the edge of the tub, hand at his waist on the bandages which would soon need changing.

"Connie." He reached up a hand.

"Okay." I gave Walter the mask, Rorschach's face. He stuffed it in a pocket.

I turned on the faucet to rinse my hands, looking up briefly to study the bags under my eyes, crisps of blood that had somehow stuck to my eyebrows, and a bruise on my forearm that I must have gotten from pulling him up the stairs.

I heard him grunt at my side and shuffle over. Walter's fingers brushed my arm and I looked at him, sheer exhaustion now blanketing another assurance that I would be here.

"Thank you," he said.

For not touching his face more than permitted.

"Sometimes…I forget. I forget that you wait for me. Do so much when I'm out, manage to stay so focused, usually not until it's over that I remember to come here, to you. I'm sorry."

I tried to muster a soft smile, but I was just so tired. "I'm always here. I'm not going anywhere, you know that. There's nothing you could ever do, no way to scare me, that would make me stop waiting. Ever since that first time you beat a man to a pulp on the subway car… for some reason, I was never scared."

He gripped the edge of the sink and reached up to cup my face in his scarred and bruised hand, the slightest grimace of pain streaking across his brow.

I helped him out of the bathroom to the bed. I didn't care about staining the sheets; it was time for rest.

I saw Rorschach briefly tonight, momentarily fearing that he would take over, that this masked man was not Walter at all, but an overpowering persona that might one day decide this other self was the real self.

I shut off the lights and propped up beside him on the bed.

"Going to leave after I rest."

"You should rest for a long time then."

The alarm outside had stopped. I'm not sure when.

"Can't stay here like this."

I took his hand from his lap and placed it in mine. He did not look at me as I spoke, something that had been lingering for the past few years, the one conclusion I really could offer as a promise.

But he never did like promises…

"Despite all the frustration and anger and confusion, fear, and pure exhaustion that I've experienced with you, because of you, I would never trade that for a…'normal' life, because that would mean not being with you. You saw a side of me I never wanted you to see. I do cry. But it is something I manage and take hold of. I go through a full range of negative thoughts and 'what ifs,' which are ridiculous, it does nothing. Every scar I see develop on your face, your arms, your side, it means that you're bringing another element of good to this world, and I am so happy to be the one to see that at the end of the day."

He traced his thumb over a healing paper-cut I had received the day before hanging posters. What a contrast to the reasons behind the marks on his own body.

"Still wonder sometimes why you haven't run."

"I'll never run. I have nothing to run from."

I wouldn't dare touch the scar once it healed. This couldn't happen again. The sun would wipe our memories of this night and I would still wake to a man stumbling from my bed, refusing my assistance. I'd force myself to stay put, concentrating on the morning sounds of screaming children running from mothers, fire hoses spraying away human remnants, knowing that even with bloody stitches, the man I could not know would stumble back to be found by Dan and fixed up proper.

I would wait until the next time he limped up the stairs into my bedroom that I'd be forced to acknowledge that Walter Kovacs was simply protecting me from Rorschach.