Fic: Familiar (Watchmen)

[anactoria]

 
Title: Familiar
Author: anactoria
Characters: Dan, Adrian, Bubastis, OC
Rating: PG-13
Summary: An amorous business associate tries to meddle in the personal affairs of Adrian Veidt. This is a bad idea.
Notes: Written for enfergarcon for the wm_secretsanta exchange. I hope that you enjoy it, and that it isn't too far off what you wanted!
Thanks to flyingrat42 for beta-ing. :) Any remaining mistakes are, of course, my own.



Dan sets out for Adrian's place early, figuring that he'll walk rather than taking the subway. It's a fair distance, but then he has plenty of time on his hands these days.
 
He's surprised at how much he's been looking forward to this afternoon. It's not like he and Adrian were ever close friends, before. Sure, they helped each other out, occasionally, and maybe even stuck around for a beer after breaking a case open successfully, but Dan can count those occasions on the fingers of one hand. And he had Rorschach, and Adrian mostly worked on his own, and everyone seemed pretty happy with things staying that way.
 
So Dan still isn't quite sure what made him say yes when he got the call, a couple of months after the Keene Act, inviting him over for coffee. Adrian had actually sounded apologetic, saying that he would have been in touch sooner, but hadn't wanted to compromise Dan's identity by associating with him publicly, and Dan had found himself blinking at the receiver in surprise. Surprise at just being remembered, maybe, or at the idea he ought to be able to expect friendship from someone. It's not as though any of them ever socialized like... well, like normal people.
 
Still, he's glad he did say yes. He isn't getting out much at the moment, and it's -- nice -- to have somebody to talk to.
 
Not that Dan's completely friendless. There's Hollis, of course -- but Dan would feel guilty going round there and bothering him more than once a week, like a little kid hanging around demanding attention while the grown-ups are trying to work. (And there's that look, too. It's a sad little look, one that Hollis sometimes gives Dan as they're saying their goodbyes at the end of a beer session, one that he obviously thinks Dan doesn't notice. But its message is loud and clear. Twenty-five years younger than me, it says, and already twice as washed-up. Poor kid. )
 
He hasn't heard from Laurie in weeks. And Rorschach -- well.
 
Rorschach hasn't been the same since the Roche case, but they were partners, even friends, for years, and Dan has to believe that there's something there that isn't just gonna fade away. But Rorschach's visits have started to tail off since it's become apparent that Dan isn't going back to crimefighting, and when they do come they carry with them the same kind of emotional exhaustion that usually accompanies a particularly arduous telephone call from his mom. He just ends up feeling like a disappointment, like not a single thing has changed on that front since he was twelve years old.
 
So maybe what he really means is, it's nice to spend time with somebody who doesn't want to talk about the past. Adrian doesn't seem particularly interested in reminiscing about catching bad guys, doesn't lecture him, or look at him sympathetically and ask whether he's okay in the same tone of voice you'd use with an elderly relative. He actually asks Dan what he thinks about things that are happening in the news now, asks him questions about birds, for God's sake, and does a pretty convincing impression of interested when Dan answers. He acts like they're just regular people.
 
That's something of a novelty. Being a regular person instead of a half-self, a ghost in the daylight world.
 
And it takes some getting used to. Dan's spent so long feeling like the real part of himself was the part that hid in shadows and patrolled the city after dark that he still forgets, sometimes, to switch those nocturnal instincts off. Forgets that Nite Owl doesn't exist anymore, and that this is all there is, now. The streets are different in daylight. He isn't going to stumble upon shadowy goings-on down every alley; there are no adversaries hiding in the city's dark corners, stalking him across the rooftops or through the streets.
 
Well. There aren't usually.
 
Dan's been vaguely conscious of an engine idling along behind him for the last few minutes, but he's been too lost in his own thoughts to pay it much attention. But the sound follows him around one corner, then another, and he has to admit that something definitely isn't right.
 
He risks a quick glance over his shoulder. It's a company van; he catches the name 'Carter' on its side, a logo done out in red and glaring yellow. Dan can't be certain, but a faint tug at the back of his mind suggests he's seen it before, somewhere.
 
No time to wonder about that at the moment, though. He dodges down a side-street, doing his best to look unconcerned, even though his heart is beating double-time.
 
Somebody's found him out. That's the only thing that makes sense. Someone's discovered that he's -- that he was -- Nite Owl, and they're out for-- what? Revenge? A story? Blackmail? (And now, just after he's been forced to retire? Somehow that seems like the most unfair thing of all.)
 
Dan isn't surprised when the van pulls up at the other end of the narrow street, or when three burly guys with security ID tags attached to their jackets climb out of it. And when the foremost of them calls, "Hey, bird-boy!" in his direction, his heart stops racing and just sinks.
 
There's no point in running away now. If these guys -- or the people they're working for -- have worked out his secret identity, they probably know his address, too. Better to face it out here than to draw attention to his home. Besides, these guys look like they rely on intimidation to do most of their work for them. They're all heavy muscle, and probably not much speed, and they've ranged themselves in front of him in a straight line, with no regard for blocking escape routes, haven't bothered to look around them for anything he might be able to use as a weapon. Dan's out of practice, but he's pretty sure he can still take them, if he has to. Even if the cops showing up and questioning him is the last thing he needs right now.
 
Resigned, he stands his ground. "What do you want?" he asks, sighing.

The guy in the middle smirks. "Our boss," he says, "Wants you to fly back home to your little nest. And stay away from your boyfriend up at Veidt Enterprises."
 
"And who's your--" Dan's brain catches up with his ears, then, and he stops, blinks, stares. "...Wait, what?"
 
"You heard me. Our boss has a meeting scheduled. And he doesn't want you getting in the way again." The word 'meeting' is underscored by something that might be a snigger, and that just confuses Dan even further. He looks blankly at the guy for a second.
 
Then he remembers something.

He knows where he's seen that logo -- the one from the van -- before. It was a letterhead, on something Adrian had been reading over last time he showed up there. But then Adrian had bundled the papers together and set them to one side with a relieved smile, and Dan hadn't thought any more about it. Well, not until Adrian's secretary had interrupted their conversation, frowning and saying apologetically that Mr. Carter had showed up for the meeting a half-hour early, and he was being very insistent, and what should she tell him?
 
Adrian had quickly covered up his irritated look with a smile, and had said, "I'm in a meeting with a representative from the Cornell Lab of Ornithology, with regards to their latest conservation project." And he'd actually given Dan an amused, conspiratorial little look. "I'm sure he'll understand that I can hardly give short shrift to a charity spokesperson."
 
It had been years since Dan had written anything for Cornell's publications, and he hadn't been sure whether to be surprised that Adrian even knew about that, or startled by how naturally the lie seemed to roll off his tongue.
 
So that's why this Carter guy seems to have it in for him. Still doesn't explain the whole 'boyfriend' thing, though. Maybe they're just trying to get to him, get him pissed off enough to throw the first punch. They'd probably be right up for a fight against an easy target -- and Dan has to admit that an easy target is probably exactly what he looks like.

But they're not here because they know who he is. That's the important thing.
 
The middle guy is still moving menacingly towards him, though. "You deaf?" he inquires. "Get outta here."
 
Fighting down the urge to hit him -- though it would be satisfying, and damn, he'd love to see the guy's face -- Dan shrugs, defeatedly. "Fine," he mutters, and turns for home.
 
Curiosity gets the better of him somewhere around the end of the side-street, though, and he pauses one he's around the corner, back to the wall, close enough that he can just about make out what's being said.
 
"Fucking Mickey Mouse job," one of the thugs is grumbling. "I ain't got no problem with busting heads. But threatening some little science geek so Carter can try and get in Veidt's pants? I feel like a fucking tool."
 
"You seriously think he's a queer?"
 
"You blind or something? How many straight guys do you see parading around in a purple fuckin' suit all day?"
 
"I meant Carter, dumbass."
 
"Well, he sure as hell has a hard-on for that creep. Couldn't be any more obvious if he hired a fucking zeppelin to advertise the fact. Why else would he send us to get the guy's boyfriend outta the way?"

"Boyfriend? You think? That guy?"
 
"Likely as anything. Why would someone like Veidt bother hanging out with some bird-obsessed weirdo if he wasn't getting something out of it? Ah, like I give a fuck anyway. Let's get out of here."
 
Dan closes his eyes as he listens to the van drive off, takes off his glasses and rubs at the bridge of his nose. He has a pretty good idea why, and he's been an idiot to even think otherwise. Charity.
 
* * *
 
"Dan." Adrian's voice on the other end of the line is surprised, and then reproachful. "You didn't tell me you couldn't make it today. Is everything alright?"
 
"Uh. Yeah. About that." Dan swallows, wondering if mentioning this is a stupid idea, but what the hell. "A weird thing happened to me on the way over..."
 
After he finishes relating the whole thing -- with a few judicious edits -- there's a moment of what Dan would take for stunned silence if he were speaking to anybody else. For a second, he's sure that he's going to regret spilling what just happened. Adrian's usually pretty good at reading between the lines, and Dan has no idea whether this Carter guy has said anything to him in the meantime. He hopes things aren't gonna get awkward.
 
Then: "I see." Adrian's voice is level, but there's a tightness in it that Dan's heard very rarely over the years, and that very definitely means 'pissed off'. "Yes, I'm familiar with Richard Carter. Carter Plastics has made quite a name for itself recently; I'd been considering taking the company on as a supplier for the Ozymandias line. Richard has been a little importunate of late, but I’m surprised that it’s gotten this far out of hand." A sigh. "Still," he goes on, more brightly, "The situation is nothing that can't be dealt with. I'm only sorry that Carter's -- employees -- managed to prevent your visiting today. I'm likely to be tied up for the next week or so, but perhaps you'd like to come to dinner sometime after that? It's the least I can do."
 
"Uh," Dan replies, blinking in surprise. He wasn't expecting a second invitation. If anything, he'd kind of thought Adrian would be relieved at not having to put up with him. "Yeah," he manages, after a second. "Yeah. I'd like that."
 
This time, the warmth in Adrian's voice doesn't sound forced. "So would I. I'll see you soon."

* * *
 
The phone rings late, and Richard Carter frowns. He's a had a bitch of a day, and he's only just managed to convince himself that he isn't actually upset about Adrian Veidt cancelling their meeting at the very last moment. And after he'd actually thought he was getting somewhere, too. Perhaps he'd come on too strong. Running off Veidt's fuckbuddy like that might have been too risky, thinking about it, especially if any of the guys had let slip who it was that wanted him out of the way.

Fuck. If that bird-nut weirdo has gotten him shoved to the back of the line again, he's gonna punch somebody himself.
 
A call at home -- and at this time -- almost always means trouble. A deal that's fallen through, or an issue with the latest batch of figures. It isn't gonna be good, whatever, and he allows himself a moment to grumble under his breath before picking up.
 
"Yeah?" Richard grunts into the receiver. He's in no mood for niceties, and if it's his incompetent fucker of an operations manager the idiot can damn well--
 
"Mr. Carter. I do hope I'm not... disturbing you?"
 
Richard actually blinks at the phone in amazement. He'd know that voice anywhere.

Christ, that was what hooked him in in the first place. He isn't in the habit of getting his kicks in the boardroom, and he certainly doesn't need any nasty little rumors about his preferences screwing up his reputation, but the second he heard his name spoken in that voice -- low and velvety, caressing each word like a precious stone -- he'd been unable to help himself. Still, he's never come close to expecting this, especially not after today. Adrian Veidt, calling him at home, after hours? He doesn't even give this number out. Which means Veidt has actually made the effort to track it down. Richard can hardly believe his ears.
 
And he's still standing there in silence like a complete moron, he realizes. Nice, Carter. Way to impress the guy.
 
"I felt I should call you personally to apologise for this afternoon," Veidt goes on, before Richard has the chance to gather himself or think of anything to say. "You must think me very rude."
 
"Uh," Richard manages. "No. No, not at all. I know you're very busy."
 
"I did have certain... matters to attend to, it's true. Something came up at the last minute. I'm sure you understand." There's a shade of something there that might be amusement, and Richard feels his palms begin to sweat. Shit. He knows.
 
"Mr. Veidt," Richard begins, bracing himself for the inevitable humiliation. He should have guessed it was too much. "I'm sorry about your friend. I think there's been, ah, a misunderstanding--"
 
"I rather think there has," Veidt says, but he doesn't sound pissed. If anything, there's a touch more warmth in his tone now, and Richard feels as though he's being gently teased. "Daniel and I are old friends. But we're friends, and nothing more. I simply insist on making time to see him because... well, he's a little lonely. While eagle-owls may well be fascinating creatures, I hear they aren't the greatest of conversationalists."
 
"Huh. A charity-case, you mean."
 
"I wouldn't put it quite like that. But anyway, there's nothing for you to worry about there. If you take my meaning." A beat. "And please, do call me Adrian."
 
Richard's heart thuds, and he isn't sure whether he wants to sigh with relief or punch the air in elation. Unless there's something wrong with his hearing, Veidt -- Adrian -- has just told him to go for it. "Wow," he breathes. "I don't know what to say. I mean -- I didn't think you--"
 
"You don't have to say anything... Richard." The words are spoken softly. Reassuring, inviting, curling around him like the tendrils of a vine. "I must confess, at first I wondered whether I was misreading your intentions. It's good to have confirmation. But perhaps we should talk, soon. In the flesh, so to speak."
 
"Yeah." Richard swallows. "Yeah, that'd be good."
 
"I'm glad you think so. In fact, I do have a little getaway to which I like to invite friends, occasionally. It's very private. Ideal, really. Perhaps -- if you're at liberty to do so -- you'd care to join me for the weekend?"
 
"Sure!" Richard blurts out, before he's even had time to think about it. "Where's your place? I'll book a flight."
 
He'll have to shuffle a few things around, but that's okay. He won't need to cancel anything big -- and the way things are going, he's sure to get the contract from Veidt Enterprises. Among other things.
 
Yeah. More than okay.
 
"Oh, I wouldn't dream of letting you do that," Adrian murmurs. "I'll have one of my private jets put at your disposal. Oh, and Richard?"
 
"Yes?"
 
"One thing. Don't mention this to anyone just yet, will you? I have some associates who would be unhappy to learn that I was... favoring you like this."
 
Richard feels a catch of doubt, at that -- but when he thinks about it for a second, it makes sense. He sure as hell doesn't want to jeopardize the contract. And malicious gossip isn't something either of them needs. "I get it," he says. "Of course not. You can trust me. See you soon."
 
"Good." Adrian's voice drops to a purr. "I'll look forward to it."
 
* * *
 
The place is impressive. Richard has to give it that. He'd felt a twinge of apprehension on the flight down, once he'd realized just how far they were going -- but he's glad that he gave it a chance. It's all glass and marble, echoing and inhumanly huge, and when Adrian shows him into the vivarium he lets out a whistle of astonishment.
 
Adrian turns his head with a modest little smile. "I'm quite fond of the place myself," he murmurs, eyes lowered, almost shy. Jesus. Richard's heart quickens. "But there will be plenty of time to look around later. It's been a long trip. Can I offer you a drink?"
 
Come to think of it, a beer sounds great right about now. Richard's opening his mouth to agree when there is a rustling in the bushes behind him, accompanied by a low growl. He breaks off, spins round, startled.
 
But Adrian just chuckles. "Sorry. I haven't introduced you to Bubastis, have I? Come on out, girl. It's okay."
 
That last part is addressed to the bush, and Richard blinks, then stares in astonishment at the sleek, unnatural shape that emerges from the undergrowth. 'Bubastis' is... well, a cat, he guesses. A big cat, only her purple-tinged fur is like nothing he's ever seen on any nature documentary, and her crazy-long ears ought to make her look ridiculous.
 
They don't. Maybe it's the unfriendly swishing of her tail, or the way she eyes him balefully as she pads around him to Adrian's side. Whatever it is, Richard has to suppress a shiver. Then he gets mad at himself for being scared of a goddamned cat.
 
Adrian reaches to down to scratch the top of her head, apparently unconcerned. "A genetically-engineered lynx," he explains. "She's quite something, isn't she? Some people find her a little disconcerting, at first, but I'm sure you're not that irrational."
 
So the cat accompanies them back into the main building, slinking alongside Adrian like a familiar, like a shadow. A shadow with really fucking big teeth.
 
"Here we are," Adrian announces cheerfully, motioning Richard ahead of him into a large, luxuriously-furnished sitting room.
 
Richard steps past the heavy doors, hovering just inside the room, uncertain as to whether he should take a seat or not. Adrian seems pretty big on politeness, after all.
 
The cat circles around him, slow and deliberate, like she's stalking something, then positions herself between Richard and the exit. The low thrum in her throat rises, almost a growl again now. Adrian smiles pleasantly at him.
 
The doors close, solidly silent, and he is alone with them.
 
* * *
 
"Was nice of you to invite me," Dan mumbles, realising that his sentence structure is beginning to fray around the edges, and then realising that he doesn't really mind. "You didn't have to."
 
He winces as the words slip out, looks down, fiddles with the stem of his empty wine glass. It isn't the first drink he's had tonight -- far from it, in fact -- and perhaps that's where the honesty is coming from.
 
"It was good of you to come," Adrian replies, still sounding far more sober than he has any right to be. "I'm glad you could make it." He lets Dan's lapse into self-doubt pass graciously unremarked-upon, allowing him the opportunity to pretend it didn't happen.
 
With some effort, Dan manages a small smile. "At least I didn't have any of your business cronies trying to send the heavies after me this time around."
 
"Mmm." Adrian picks up the wine bottle with a caressing hand, shares the last few drops between the two glasses, and sets it down carefully. Then his eyes widen, as though something has only just occurred to him. "I heard something interesting yesterday, actually. It seems that Carter's company had been in real financial trouble recently, although he'd neglected to mention that in any of our preliminary talks. Anyway, he's been missing since last week. As, coincidentally, has several hundred thousand dollars of the company's money. The authorities have found no trace of either."
 
"Huh. Sounds like you had a lucky escape, then."
 
A wry smile. "I can't say I'm entirely sad to see the back of him, I must admit."
 
Something soft brushes Dan's hand beneath the table, then, and he looks down in surprise. Adrian's cat -- Bubastis, he remembers. He's only seen her on a couple of occasions, and each time he's been impressed by her grace and deadliness, and more than a little intimidated. Right now, though, she's nuzzling against him like an inquisitive kitten, and he can't help a grin. (She isn't looking quite so deadly at the moment, either; she's sleeker, perhaps a little too well-fed. Apparently even the world's smartest man is a soft touch when it comes to furry animals. Who knew?)
 
"I didn't think you kept her at home," he says, distractedly, reaching up to give the back of her neck a tentative scratch. "This place must be a little small."
 
"Well, it certainly wouldn't do as a permanent home for her. But Karnak can be lonely, and I have to say, I appreciate the company, too." Adrian's tone softens. "You aren't the only one who could use a friend, Dan."
 
Their eyes meet, and the warmth and the sadness Dan sees there make him blink and look back down. There is a moment of a silence then, one that threatens to stretch out into awkwardness.

It is Adrian who breaks it, and this time his tone is deliberately light. "One doesn't see much in the way of wildlife, living on the twentieth floor. That's one thing I'm afraid I don't love about New York."
 
"Tell me about it." A thought occurs to Dan, and curiosity makes him look Adrian in the eyes again. "Speaking of wildlife, I was looking through the latest edition of Living Bird magazine earlier today. Apparently the Cornell Lab received an anonymous donation to the tune of a few hundred grand last week. Wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"
 
"Nothing at all, I'm afraid. You'll have to look elsewhere for your mysterious benefactor."
 
There's a hint of amusement in Adrian's voice; knowing, not telling. But then Bubastis lets out a contented purr beneath Dan's hand, and he forgets all about it.