O Prolong Now the Sorrow (1/3), Watchmen (2009)
Saturday, 16 January 2021 14:14![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
derwent_fFandom: Watchmen (2009)
Pairing: Brief Dan Dreiberg/Laurie Juspeczyk, Gen or Pre-slash Dan Dreiberg/Adrian Veidt
Rating: T
Summary: April 1986. Dan Dreiberg is preparing to move when the phone rings and brings Adrian Veidt back into his life.
Notes:
- Fill for this prompt in the old kinkmeme: After Karnak, Adrian forgets everything, even himself, who he is, what he's done. Dan tries to pick up the pieces. Crossposted to the new kinkmeme on DW.
- Brief Dan/Laurie in the first chapter. Artistic licence taken with regards to the medical stuff.
- Title from Donald Justice's poem "There is a gold light in certain old paintings".
Another box taped shut, another part of his life neatly packed. It was unsettling, really, how his life fit so easily into boxes. Dan would be the first to admit that his life had lost its luster – once he led a relatively rich one, years ago, but not anymore. Not even Laurie’s presence beside him really helped, no matter how much Dan wished it to.
With a sigh, he told himself to stop being ridiculous. It was just moving blues. He’d lived here for decades, after all. He forced himself to focus on the next stack of books. They were the easiest among his belongings to sort and pack, so they were first to go into the boxes.
Well, all his books except for one.
Rorschach’s journal lay on his work table, down in the Nest. Dan made a mistake leaving it out on the dining table the night he brought it home. The resulting argument with Laurie ended with an ugly silence. Sure, it was beyond reckless of him to break into the New Frontiersman’s office, but Dan couldn’t find it in him to regret his action, especially since only two days later the office was burned down. It had been almost two months since the fire, but the police’s investigation still wasn’t heading anywhere, supposedly because they still had their hands full of recovery effort.
No one was fooled, though. It was obvious the arsonist was someone angered by the newspaper’s publication of Rorschach’s journal, which accused Veidt as the true mastermind behind the November attack. Only four people alive knew that the journal spoke the truth. Everyone else – excepting the most paranoid conspiracy theorists – drowning in the reconciliatory, peaceful mood that prevailed after the attack, had denounced the publication as typical the right-wing rag’s hate-mongering. The anger previously directed at Dr. Manhattan now turned, laser-focused, to the newspaper, and its office was besieged by daily protests until its demise.
He was startled out of his thought by the telephone’s ring, its insistence tearing through the house’s silence. Sally, perhaps, or maybe the real estate agent? He hauled himself up from where he was sitting on the floor, almost tripping over another cardboard box, and picked it up.
“Mr. Daniel Dreiberg?”
“Speaking.”
“Mr. Dreiberg, my name is Dr. Albert Lindsay, from Mount Sinai Hospital.”
Cold trickled down his spine. “Is – is Laurie alright? Did something happen?”
“Who?” The voice on the other end hesitated for a moment, and Dan felt a tiny spark of relief. She was safe, then.
What little relief he won, however, vanished at the doctor’s next words.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dreiberg. I’m calling on behalf of Adrian Veidt.”
“Adrian?” he echoed. The name sounded strange coming out of his mouth. He and Laurie hadn’t spoken it in the house, not since November.
“Yes. He’s currently under my care here. Could you come right away? It’s a most pressing matter.”
“I –” he faltered. He wanted nothing to do with the man. Hell, that was why he and Laurie were moving away in the first place.
“What is it about?” he asked reluctantly.
“I’m afraid it’s too sensitive to be discussed on the phone. Please, Mr. Dreiberg.”
Dan closed his eyes. He should say no and hung up. But there was a faint pleading note in the doctor’s voice, and Dan was always too nice for his own good, or so his father used to say.
Dan took a deep breath. “Alright.”
Dr. Lindsay was a man in his sixties, with the air of genial family doctor that was in contrast with his sleek, sterile office.
“Well?” Dan said, after they had sat down.
“Mr. Dreiberg, you are a ... friend of Mr. Veidt, I presume?”
He stopped himself from snorting at the last second. “Colleague would be a more appropriate term. Former colleague, that is.”
He blinked in surprise at Dan. “That ... certainly complicates things.”
Dan sighed, impatient. “Look, can you just tell me what’s going on?”
Lindsay’s grey eyes took Dan in, appraising him.
“Five days ago, after Mr. Veidt failed to show up in his office at his usual schedule, his secretary found him unconscious in his living room. The in-house medical team at Veidt Industries was called, and they made the decision to bring him here. This morning he woke up.”
Here the doctor paused. He spread his fingers on the desk between them, face drawn tight in recollection.
“I went to check on him. I greeted him, Morning, Mr. Veidt, glad to have you back with us. And he looked at me, uncomprehending, and asked, Who?”
The doctor looked up, eyes meeting Dan’s, who felt as if the ground had been pulled from beneath him.
He took off his glasses with unsteady hands and began polishing them. The whisper of cloth against glass was the only sound heard for several moments. Finally Dan put his glasses on again, and looked right into Dr. Lindsay’s eyes.
“What’s your diagnosis?”
“We’ll have to run more tests, but so far, focal retrograde amnesia. He has no memory of his life; he doesn’t even remember his own name.”
A nervous laugh bubbled up his throat; Dan clamped his mouth shut. This was absurd. But then, what did he know about absurdity? The man he used to consider a friend turned out to be a mass murderer. “What’s wrong with him?”
“We don’t know yet. We ran the customary tests – head trauma, alcohol and drugs, the works – when he arrived, but nothing turned up. He was, as far as we could tell, as healthy as his physical appearance suggests.”
“Nothing’s unusual in the slightest?” Dan’s mind scrambled for possible causes. “Adrian, uh, he was involved with energy research with Dr. Manhattan.” Lindsay flinched upon hearing the name. “Have you asked his secretary? People from his research team?”
“We have. And still we found nothing.” He slid a Manila folder across to Dan. “All the information you want can be found inside. The sooner we can conduct further, more comprehensive testing, the better.”
Dan’s hands stopped halfway from opening the folder. “Why haven’t you?”
“Because, Mr. Dreiberg, in his condition, we don’t think the patient is capable of making informed decision. That’s why we – us doctors and his lawyers – made the decision to call you here.”
Despite the cool air conditioning inside the room, Dan felt his palms begin to sweat.
His face must’ve reflected his feeling, because Lindsay’s voice softened on his next words. “Mr. Dreiberg, I’m telling you all of this because Mr. Veidt gave you power of attorney.”
For a moment, silence reigned. Then a strained, almost hysterical laugh escaped from his throat. “There’s gotta be a mistake,” Dan tried to explain, “Adrian and I – we’re not on speaking terms. Hell, our last meeting was – it didn’t end well.”
Lindsay’s eyebrows rose so high they disappeared behind his hair. “Well, apparently Mr. Veidt didn’t think so.” He stood up. “I think it best if we go see him.”
“Mr. Veidt, you have a visitor,” Dr. Lindsay said, walking in first, lips curled up in a reassuring smile.
Dan stepped inside the room. Adrian was sitting on the bed propped up on pillows, gazing outside the window at the spring afternoon. Now he turned his head, and Dan was struck by the vulnerable expression on his face. Not an expression he’d ever expect to see. Not a word he’d ever expect to use to describe Adrian Veidt either.
As the doctor said, he appeared healthy, if a little thinner and paler than Dan remembered. Although perhaps it was because of the hospitalization.
“This is Daniel Dreiberg,” the doctor introduced him, “He’s a friend. You gave him power of attorney.”
Adrian’s lips rose into a tentative smile. “I’m sorry,” he said (and damn, today was a whole train of the unexpected running over Dan, wasn’t it), “I don’t remember you.” Was that embarrassment flickering in his eyes?
Dan took a fortifying breath. “It’s ... fine, Adrian.”
With an encouraging nod, Dr. Lindsay stepped out. Now they were alone in the room. Adrian was still looking at him with that unsure look in his face, and Dan found himself wishing that he’d stop. He looked around instead. It was the VIP room, complete with a set of couches and TV for visitors. There was a chair beside the bed, and he remembered something the doctor said about Adrian’s secretary. It was rather sad, though considering Dan had only Laurie in his life, who was he to judge?
Suddenly he felt tired. His body slumped against the wall.
“Please, sit down,” Adrian said, gesturing toward the chair. His accent was thicker than ever.
“I won’t be long,” Dan snapped. A muscle in Adrian’s jaw twitched. Once that face would have remained as smooth as marble. Dan couldn’t find it in him to give a damn. Adrian dumped all these unwanted responsibilities on him, dammit, without even asking, and after Karnak.
“The doctors need to run a thorough testing to find out what’s going on. Lindsay would walk you through it.”
Adrian nodded. “Alright,” he said softly.
“Alright,” Dan echoed. “I’ll let him know,” he said as he turned away. For a second Adrian’s mouth parted, but he seemed to sense better and snapped it shut.
He stepped out of the room, desperate to escape this surreal dream, only to find himself under the sharp eyes of the doctor and two lawyers in well-tailored suits.
Dan took the doctor aside. “I’ve talked to Adrian. Run the tests,” he instructed. Lindsay nodded. Then he called the men and introduced them as Adrian’s lawyers. He went inside to check on Adrian, leaving Dan to fend for himself.
The lawyers handed Dan a paper containing a statement written by the PR department, announcing that Adrian Veidt was being hospitalized for exhaustion. It made sense; announcing to a recovering world that one of its most influential benefactors had lost his memory would be disastrous. He gave his approval for the release. Then before they could demand any more from his time, he made up a flimsy excuse of what a shock this whole thing had been, and escaped with a speed that would’ve rivaled Adrian’s.
He roamed the streets aimlessly until the sky turned black and the streets almost empty, the latter being one of the changes he didn’t think he’d ever get used to. Five months after the attack, and the city still hadn’t rediscovered its old self yet. Dan understood, really – it would be beyond callous if people started going back to the old normal so soon after such a devastating destruction, and if the faces of the random passers-by on the streets were any indication, no one had the energy to have fun anyway, too exhausted by both the recovery effort and the effort it took to get through the day.
It felt wrong – this was not the city Dan spent his whole life living in. But the world had turned upside down in less than a year. He thought he knew who his friends and allies were, what sort of people they were. Turned out he was wrong, so wrong. Nothing was certain anymore.
At least he didn’t have to worry as much about being mugged or worse. Crime rate was still at historic low, though Dan couldn’t share the optimism pervading the air. It remained to be seen whether Adrian was right in his belief that the attack would be wake-up call humanity needed. It was ironic, really. For the longest time, Dan had always thought he was the starry-eyed one.
The living room light seeped out from behind the drawn curtain. Laurie jumped up from the couch in relief.
“I was starting to worry.”
“Sorry. Ended up taking a longer walk than I planned to.” He wondered if he should feel guilty for how easily the lie came out. “You didn’t read my note?”
“I did. Just –” she shrugged, “You know.”
“Yeah.” He kissed her cheek. “Don’t wait for me; I’m in an urgent need for a shower.” She wrinkled her nose, laughed and went to bed.
Dan went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of wine. Then he climbed up the stairs and into the bathroom, dumping his slightly wet clothes to the laundry basket. The sting of hot water on his body and aching feet made him groan in pleasure.
Dan could wreck his brain trying to explain Adrian’s motives, but he knew better than to labor under the delusion that Adrian’s mind was comprehensible to mere mortal like him. He spent the better part of two decades thinking he knew Adrian, not as well as he would’ve liked, of course, but enough to consider him a friend.
The truth was, in the ‘60s, back when their steps were still light with optimism (and wide-eyed idealism, at least for him), he would say Adrian was a friend. Rorschach was the one he partnered with most often, true, but there were cases better suited for cooperation with Ozymandias. After patrol, more often than not they hang out together, and occasionally even on nights they weren’t patrolling. It was stimulating, to have someone who not only understood his technical talk about Archie but also with whom he could bounce ideas off.
Dan thought he understood Adrian, a little. They never shared much about their personal lives, but Dan went to his place a few times, back when Veidt Enterprises was in its infancy and Adrian still lived in a normal (albeit fancy) apartment instead of a penthouse. Coupled with the occasional remarks, he built up a profile of Adrian in his mind: only child, wealthy parents, lonely childhood (it mustn’t have been easy being the smartest kid in the class, even if he tried to blend in. Ask Dan how he knew, and he wasn’t even a genius like Adrian), the stubborn resolution to forge his own path, and finally the desire to do something for others.
Now he realized that he was merely projecting. Somewhere deep inside him there was that lonely little boy lurking around still, too eager to make friends and find his people.
He leant his forehead against the damp wall. He was a fool then, and he was a fool now.
Hollis’s absence crept upon him at unexpected moments, like an unseen cut that made its presence known when stung by water. He never felt it more keenly that he did now. Hollis would’ve known what to do, would’ve let Dan ramble on as he tried to figure the whole problem out. Dan let out a weary sigh and closed his eyes, as the water continued to rain down upon his body.
Two days later found Dan in the Veidt Enterprises’ lobby. Lindsay called him yesterday, informing him that so far the tests still hadn’t revealed anything wrong with Adrian. They’d scheduled more tests, and in the meantime, the doctor asked him to bring some of Adrian’s personal items, to help jog his memory.
So there he sat on one of the couches in the lobby at eight in the morning. A woman in a smart gray suit strode towards him. She held out a hand and smiled, the warmth surprising Dan. “Mr. Dreiberg? I’m Sophie, Adrian’s secretary.”
He returned the smile and shook her hand. “Please, call me Dan.”
“Alright. Follow me, please.” She led him to a discreet elevator, separate from the others. A commotion at the front door made Dan turned his head back. Two mailmen were pushing a trolley stacked to the top with colorful envelopes inside the building.
Sophie caught his gaze. “Get-well-soon letters,” she explained as she pressed the button and the elevator door slid open to let them in. “Since the PR release we’ve been receiving tons of them.”
She fished out a set of keys from her pocket. One of them was golden. She inserted the key into the slot beneath a golden Hieroglyph symbol, turned it, then pressed the symbol.
“Keys to Adrian’s penthouse. They were inside the envelope containing his emergency instructions, along with the letter naming you as his emergency contact.”
Reluctantly, Dan took the keys. He turned them over and over in his hands. Sophie stared ahead tactfully. Whereas Adrian’s previous secretary exuded an intimidating aura, with her Amazonian height, icy blue eyes and perfectly coiffed blonde hair, Sophie was the embodiment of friendliness, her strawberry blonde hair tied into a ponytail, leaving her face open and green eyes shining.
The elevator dinged and the doors slid open without a sound. They stepped out into the foyer of Adrian’s penthouse. A few paces in front of them was Adrian’s living room – the wall of glass, with its once-glorious view of Manhattan, an exact replica of the one in Adrian’s office one floor below. To the right was a corridor; to the left an expansive kitchen peeked out from behind an intricate wooden partition.
“The corridor on the right led to the guest’s bedroom and bathroom. On the left, after the kitchen is Adrian’s bedroom and en-suite bathroom. Of course, you have total access to everything.”
He felt his stomach dropped. He spent yesterday desperately hoping that this was all a mistake, a nightmare, or that the phone would ring with news of Adrian’s miraculous recovery of memory. Being inside his penthouse told him in no uncertain times how real the whole thing was.
Dan could feel Sophie observing him from the corner of her eyes. He tried to smile, but ended up with a grimace, “I don’t suppose you could tell me where he keeps important stuff?”
She shook her head. “I’m afraid this is the furthest I’ve ever been. You know, this is only the second time I’ve come up here. The first time I stood where you are while Adrian explained what to do in an emergency. It was in November last year, after the attack,” her smile was tinged with sad surprise, “I wasn’t expecting to come back so soon.”
Dan wondered if he should offer reassuring words. But then Sophie straightened up, put that professional face back on, and nodded at him, “I’ll be downstairs if you need anything.”
And then Dan was alone.
The most likely place he’d find any personal items was, of course, the bedroom. But Dan wasn’t ready to intrude Adrian’s sanctuary, so he wandered through the living room first. Egyptian was still the theme of choice for decor, but the artifacts and artworks weren’t as ostentatious here as they were in Adrian’s office below. Two floor-to-ceiling bookcases flanked a sophisticated TV set, across a set of purple couches. He peered at the shelves and recognized some of the collections from Adrian’s old place. Adrian’s taste was as impeccable and befitting a man of his stature as one would expect: canonical and even obscure works from Western and Eastern literatures with volumes of history and philosophy dominating.
As he’d expected, there was nothing useful there. A quick examination of the guest’s bedroom revealed nothing but the fact that Adrian was considerate enough of others’ taste to furnish the bed with white sheet instead of the ubiquitous purple.
The kitchen was next. The whole utensils were top-notch, but they didn’t look well-used and the fridge was bare. Combined with the other rooms, they reminded Dan of glossy photographs in home décor magazines, perfectly decorated but not really lived in.
That left only one more room.
Adrian’s king-sized bed was covered in silk purple sheet. No surprises there. He stepped into the expansive bathroom. A search of the medicine cabinet yielded nothing unusual, no suspicious pills or bottles. Neither did the large walk-in closet. The only places left were the two nightstands on either side of Adrian’s bed. The first drawer on the right side nightstand contained various sex toys and devices. The drawer below was empty.
Well then. Dan knelt in front of the left side nightstand.
There was only one thing inside the top drawer: a picture frame lying face down. Dan lifted it out carefully and turned it over. A couple on their wedding day gazed back at him. The groom’s face would have been handsome were it not for the cold and haughty expression. The bride’s was beautiful with hint of aristocratic bearing. They stood unsmiling in their well-tailored outfit, which in itself wasn’t unusual – Dan’s parents were as demure in their wedding picture. But even years later, their picture still radiated the bliss and love animating the newlyweds’ pose. The lack of warmth in the Veidts’s photograph unsettled him. He took out the picture from its frame. Scribbled on the back was the date: Berlin, 1937.
With a jolt, he realized that he didn’t know their names. Adrian had never told him in their conversations, and neither did Adrian ever mention them in any of the countless interviews he gave. It was almost as if Adrian’s life began at seventeen after their deaths. He filed it away for further rumination later, and put the picture inside his bag.
The lower drawer contained two things: one an old, dusty journal (he was seized by the urge to laugh), and a small collar. The journal’s pages were filled with ticket stubs, sketches and photographs, and other random scraps of papers. Dan flipped through it. He could chart Adrian’s journey in its pages: Europe then Middle East via Turkey, and finally Africa. Short notes in various languages were scribbled randomly all over the pages.
It raised more questions than answers, and it fed this impulse in Dan that had always wanted to pick Adrian’s brain since their first meeting. Into his bag went the journal.
The collar was puzzling. It was too small for a human, and anyway if it were a sexual thing, it would’ve been found inside the other nightstand. His fingers felt along the inside. There were symbols engraved there, but not letters. He brought it closer to his eyes and saw hieroglyph.
Oh. Bubastis’s old collar, back when she was a kitten. It was totally sentimental, and yet not unexpected, not really. If there were one living being Adrian genuinely cared about it was her. Carefully Dan returned it to its place. A hospital room didn’t seem like the right place to re-acquaintance Adrian with such an intimate memory.
He took the elevator down one floor to Adrian’s office. Sophie was on her desk just outside.
“Find anything useful?”
“A little,” he answered. “I’d like to check his office, just to be thorough.”
“Sure. You don’t have to ask, you know,” she said as she opened the doors.
The memory of the last time he was here made him falter for a second. Then resolutely he banish the thought away – now was not the time.
He went to Adrian’s wide desk and rifled through the drawers once again. The search was futile, as he’d expected. Though he did find out that the Pyramid diskette wasn’t there anymore. There were folders that maybe he should glance through, but he doubted they were personal in nature.
Dan returned to Sophie’s desk. “Uh, do you have any biographical details on Adrian?”
“Well, we have a short profile for press and other publication needs, but it only contains the most general information.” She took out a sheet of paper and handed it to Dan. He skimmed it and yes, nothing revealing there. Immigrated to the US as a child with his parents, parents died when he was seventeen. Became a vigilante called Ozymandias upon returning after his travels to the East and began building Veidt Enterprises. The rest was a list of achievements, both his personally and the company’s.
He grimaced. Sophie winced in sympathy. “I’ll take it anyway. Thanks, Sophie. Uh, I’ll let you know if I need anything.”
“You’re going to see him today?”
“I’m going straight to the hospital, actually,” he answered.
“Can you give this to Adrian, please?” Sophie pulled out a lavender envelope. “It’s a card, from me and the staff,” she nodded at a couple other desks.
“Sure,” Dan put it inside his bag.
He ran into Adrian and his nurse on the corridor. They just wrapped up another test, as it turned out.
After the nurse left, Dan handed Adrian the card first. “The card’s from Sophie, your secretary, and some of the other staff.”
Adrian read it. “That’s very kind of them,” he said, voice soft, accent already barely detectable. “Everyone here, too, they’ve been nothing but kind.”
Dan rolled his eyes, “Of course, you’re the great Adrian Veidt.” The words came out sharper than he intended.
Adrian looked at him. “Everyone but you,” he said. “Though in some ways it’s to be expected. The hospital staff can hardly treat a VIP patient like me with less than excellent service, at least not if they want to retain elite clientele and potential donors. And since my staff depends on me for their livelihood, they are hardly in the position to not play nice.”
He went on, “You’re the only one whose connection to me is entirely personal. So what did I do, that you don’t even bother?”
Difficult as it was, Dan held his gaze. Adrian’s tone was light, but his eyes betrayed his apprehension.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Dan supposed he should be grateful that amnesia didn’t rob the World’s Smartest Man™ of his intelligence. But then again, his quick visit to the library yesterday did tell him that.
As for Adrian’s question ... Well, what was he supposed to say? ‘You killed fifteen million people and destroyed five cities, planted the blame on our former colleague, caused the death of my partner, and after that had the gall to drag me back into your life?’ As if Adrian would ever believe that. Dan certainly wouldn’t in his position.
So Dan asked him instead, “Would you prefer I do?”
Adrian looked down and away. “No.”
Uneasy silence descended between them. After a moment, Dan reached inside his bag and took out the frame, journal, and profile. He put them on Adrian’s lap, who examined them curiously.
“Your parents’ wedding picture,” Dan explained, reaching over and taking the picture out of its frame. Adrian turned it over and read the writing behind. “They, uh, passed away when you were seventeen. After that you traveled to the East. There are pictures and stuff on the journal there. You can read more about what happened after you returned to the US in that paper.”
“And of my life before my parents passed away?”
Dan drew in a deep breath. “I don’t know, Adrian,” he answered, “You never told me, or anyone, as far as I can tell.”
Adrian’s face fell. Dan tried frantically to come up with something, anything. For all Adrian’s charm and confiding manners, he never actually revealed anything substantial about himself.
“Uh, you were an only child. And despite being a genius, you made sure never to do too well in school.”
“... I see. Thank you, Dan.”
“You’re welcome?” It came out hesitant. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I’ll leave you with them. Hopefully they’ll help jog your memory.”
“Hopefully,” Adrian said, though his tone didn’t sound confident.
Dan stood up. “By the way, where’s the TV? I think there was one the first time I came here.”
“Lindsay took it away. Said it was better for me to get information about myself in a more ... controlled manner.”
“... Right. I’ll see you tomorrow,” the words came out automatically.
Adrian looked as surprised as he was.
He had to tell Laurie eventually, and not just because of their impending move to the West Coast. To say that Laurie didn’t take it well was an understatement.
“The fuck,” Laurie whispered, trembling with rage. “Are you telling me he doesn’t remember a single thing?”
Dan shook his head. “Not even his own name.”
“So, after everything he did, after killing all those people ...” her voice rising, “He gets to forget?”
Her entire body coiled with boundless anger, but there were no thugs for her to beat up, nothing to channel her anger into. So she paced around the room, a frustrated animal in trapped in its cage.
Dan let her steam it off, watching from where he stood in front of the windows, surrounded by half-full card boxes and the afternoon light.
Laurie halted abruptly. She turned to look at him, “You said the doctors didn’t know what’s behind this. What if it’s just the next step of Adrian’s plan?”
“Dan,” she went on urgently, “Think about it. He could’ve done this to himself – created a device or a pill or something, so that he could go on living without the burden of what he did.”
That was possible, yes. It had crossed his mind more than once in the previous days. It was an easy answer, convenient. But the memory of Adrian’s battered face, framed by the wall of TVs behind him, surfaced to his mind.
He shook his head, slowly. “I don’t think so, Laurie. In Karnak ... you remember, he said he’d made himself feel every death. I think he genuinely meant it. Misguided as it is, I think he truly believed that it was his cross to bear.”
“We’re talking about Adrian,” her voice rising, “He pulled the wool over our eyes for years!”
“I know,” he said, exhaustion coloring his voice. He wished he could believe Laurie’s theory; his life would’ve been easier. Her face softened.
“Alright, this doesn’t have to change anything,” Laurie reasoned out. “You could, I don’t know, transfer your power of attorney to someone else, or whatever, and we can still move as scheduled. Right?” she looked up at him.
Dan flinched.
“Dan?” A hint of fear, and worse, betrayal, crept into her voice, and Dan suddenly remembered that masks were the only people Laurie ever knew in her life. The move was supposed to be a new start for them, a chance for them to sever any remaining connection to their vigilante days. They were going to build up new lives, try to discover who else they could be.
Except.
Except that Dan had tried it once, hadn’t he? He spent the first few years after the Keene Act doing exactly that. The only thing he learnt was that he was not capable of reinventing himself, of starting over on a fresh page.
And that was without the burden of Adrian’s secret weighing down his soul. That was without Rorschach’s death haunting him. For all of the scars it left upon him, New York was his home, and surrounded by card boxes filled with what remained of their lives, Dan realized that he didn’t want to live anywhere else. He didn’t want to be anyone else. He’d lost so much, he didn’t want to lose this part of him too.
Besides … Dan wanted to understand. Miniscule as the odds were, this was a chance for him to seek it. Not just about Karnak, but also about what made Adrian turn out that way. Perhaps, in helping Adrian discover his past, Dan would find something, anything, that might make some sense of the entire enigma.
He looked at Laurie. Her face had turned white. That face had always been dear to him, would always be. Without the truth hanging over their heads, they might have a chance at love. He hoped she could forgive him one day.
