This was part of a weekly Watchmen fanfiction challenge and the theme ways "The many ways to perceive pain" and I thought, "It would be really interesting to explore the times when Adrian Veidt felt pain in his life..." So, here it is. For better or for worse.

Thy Kingdom Come, Thy Will Be Done

By: Lisa Gomez

A prickle of pain resounded in his heart as the coffins were lowered. Pain had been a very foreign concept to Adrian, as foreign as his mother's accent, and he didn't even know that emotion existed until now, as this lump appeared in his throat and his tears threatened to overcome him and fall into their graves, the only moisture in the dry suffocating afternoon. But just like life, the pain lived for a moment and then disappeared into eternity. He prayed to a silent God that it would be the last time he would ever feel this lonely or alienated.

***

Seventeen proved to be a significant age for Adrian. When he had walked into the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York he had no idea that walking into a mere structure made of red brick in a neo-Gothic style would change the rest of his life. The first thing he realized when he stepped into the Alexander the Great wing was how alike they looked. The wavy, blonde hair, the light intense eyes… the body full of poise and purpose, the perfect physical specimen with intellect far beyond his years. Adrian spent hours mimicking exact battle poses; scrunching up his face to copy Alexander's intense expressions, widening his eyes to see the way he saw, feel the way he felt. The mosaics and paintings and statues and murals engulfed his being until this great man was all that Adrian could ever hope to be.

Reluctantly, the museum was closing for the night and Adrian knew he had to leave but tears were welling up in his light eyes. He had finally found a friend, a being in which he knew so much of and yet so very little. Alexander was everything; a friend, a mentor… a father figure. Alexander taught him more in those lone hours then Adrian's father had taught him in seventeen years. A pinch of pain resounded in his body as he walked away with his loneliness and torn up heart. He counted all of his steps, imagining that this is how Alexander felt when his beloved horse Bucephalus died, defeated and alone.

***

"Then Ozymandias here… will be the smartest man on the cinder…"

How dramatically ironic the Comedian was. His laugh, his lighter, his 'holier-than-thou' grin made Adrian want to suffocate on the smoke the Comedian left behind. However impressive and attractive the Comedian was, whatever dirty thoughts infiltrated through Adrian's mind lingered in the room like the smoke from the Comedian's cigar. He was everywhere now… in the disappointed faces of Daniel Dreiberg and indecisive mess of black and white on Rorschach's visage; he was in Laurie's jealous countenance, in Jon's lonely apathetic gaze… he was in Adrian's heart, body and soul. Adrian knew that no matter what he would do, for the rest of his life, the Comedian had left his mark on Adrian's existence, like a stray ash from a cigarette butt that would cling to the cheap fabric on a business suit, like an alluring sexual laugh at five o'clock in the morning that would drift in and out of the room until a partner would breathe in their last breath. A stab of pain resounded in Adrian's conscience because he knew that he would never be the same again. The Comedian was a joke that Adrian would use over and over again until the audience would finally laugh and their faces would hurt so much from smiling that Adrian would be forced to stop the joke that was the Comedian's life.

***

Adrian had realized that stress was a very common problem in his life. It wasn't easy owning a majority of American souls or planning to become this century's savior. Working out soon became his form of escape. He wasn't going to buy drugs or become an alcoholic, he wasn't going to go to Studio 54 and have the occasional tiffs with David Bowie on who was more attractive, while the Village People looked on, frustrated sexual tension filling the air and hormones racing through their bodies. He wasn't going to do what people of his amount of fame did to release stress, he was going to work out; a lot. His plan was to have more muscle matter than the Comedian and Jon put together. While that was a foolish goal, Adrian didn't care if he was being naïve. He was frustrated and fatigued and he didn't know what else to do. He would work his triceps and calves for hours, perform numerous sets of crunches, jog for half an hour and then finish off with the Smith Machine, doing 10 squats in a matter of seconds. Adrian usually put 200 pounds of weights on the barbell but today he was feeling adventurous. Despite working himself to the limit, he wanted to keep pushing himself further and further. Adrian Veidt did not believe in limits. Adding an extra 50 pounds of weights, Adrian was determined to perform 5 more sets. On his fourth set, however, he felt a burning sensation in his right shoulder and he immediately fell to the floor, unable to support his weight or any weight under his condition. A spasm of pain resounded through his upper body and he cried out in agony, Bubastis running over and instinctively licking his upper back. Adrian cursed at himself, hating his weakness and hating the fact that with every squat he imagined the Comedian and Jon kissing, only adding to his stress instead of relieving it.

***

Although his many scientists, not servants Adrian reminded himself, had kept Adrian company, he required more intelligent conversation than in the form of energy and the conversion of particles. It was ironic that Adrian longed for Jon's conversation because that is exactly what Jon and he would talk about, but nonetheless, Adrian invited Jon and Laurie to his Antarctic home. The snow was falling silently but steadily outside and Adrian couldn't help but feel as frozen as his exterior. His plan to use and frame Jon was turning into an actualization now, instead of just a dream, and the guilt that it caused both froze him and animated him. Adrian knew the instant that Jon and Laurie appeared, wincing at the sudden flow of icy air and muttering that his hair had fallen out of place. Adrian introduced them to Bubastis, and Laurie immediately ran over to pet her, while Jon remained frustratingly still. Naturally, science invaded their conversation.

"… With your help, our scientists are limited only by their imaginations." Adrian had meant this to be a comforting thought, a subtle thank you to Jon for existing. But Jon's reply rattled Adrian's bones.

"And by their consciences, surely?"

That killed Adrian. God killed Adrian. A pinch of pain resounded in Adrian's mind, drowning out any noise Laurie's or Bubastis' footsteps made.

"Let's hope so." Was the devil's only reply to God.

***

"Shhh… not now, girl." Bubastis was proving to be bothersome; no matter how many times Adrian had tried to quiet her down, she kept growling and pawing at him, craving more love than Adrian ever needed. On most occasions Adrian had given her his utmost attention, or rather, the most attention one could give while staring at the numerous televisions, the window to society's soul. Tonight, however, was a different story entirely. Adrian had stumbled upon many interesting channels in the past, but none interested him more than the one he was currently transfixed upon. He didn't even know what it was called… he imagined it was something like 'Boys Gone Wild' or some other foolish unimaginative name. Whatever the name, the actual creation was what was important. In its most simplistic term, it was porn. He didn't like to think of it that way, however, and described it more in terms of 'art in its darkest of indulgences'. What made it so beautiful was the way that the two boys' bodies were being pushed together, the way their sweat formed into tiny beads on their flawless bodies, the way their cries of exuberance left their open mouths and flowed into their ears… somewhere along the way of trying to match their moans and fighting to keep up with their movements, Adrian's hand had found itself in his pants, tenderly massaging an attention craving organ, much more in need of stroking than Bubastis was. Adrian's open hand lay near Bubastis' mouth but he would never dare use his beautiful creation for such filthy thoughts. He imagined that maybe God felt the way he did, and everyone in the world was being watched by God, much like the people Adrian watched on his television sets. If this was true, God was the dirtiest entity in the entire universe. Adrian was close to a release, close to the most satisfying feeling that he had felt in days, close to feeling heavenly and if heaven was anything like this he wanted to die- right- now;

"Ow!..." Adrian muttered, recoiling from the quick jab of bitterness that pulsed through his open hand. In her anger of being ignored, Bubastis had bitten Adrian's free hand and a throb of pain resounded through Adrian's entire arm. Adrian threw the remote at his creation, purposefully missing and flinched when the exact television screen that was causing him pleasure cracked and broke just like his empty soul.

***

Albert Einstein and Jon Osterman liked to think that time was relative. It is strictly on an entity's point of view and was different with every organism that ever existed. In Adrian's point of view, it was 11:25pm. He knew that the time of the day differed greatly in Moscow, New York, Los Angeles and the other great cities… but the end result was still going to be the same. In relative terms, Adrian the Great was going to save the world from nuclear holocaust. In relative terms, millions of people would be killed. In relative terms, millions of people were going to find out if another God existed besides Jon. In relative terms, some people were going to hell and some people were going to heaven. In relative terms, 15 million people were going to turn into nothing. In relative terms, everyone would feel pain.

A twinge of pain resounded through Adrian's hands because his finger lay on the button… just… too… long.

***

Fear pulsed in every vein of his body and an excitement that he had never felt before filled his body with purpose. Jon was walking right into his trap and he felt a sort of jubilance and regret at the fact that in mere seconds a God would die, perish in the very thing that created him. Adrian would kill a God. That alone caused so much excitement that he was shaking from his shoulders down to his feet. Jon was saying something, something about how he should be thanking Adrian for making everything unpredictable again. On the contrary, Adrian should be thanking Jon for being so predictable and falling right into his plan. There was something, however, that he had not predicted. Adrian's creation, the beautiful god-like cat had refused to move an inch. Adrian sighed… it was almost as if Bubastis knew what was going to happen and was accepting her fate. Adrian was certain now that he resembled a God just as much as Jon did… Adrian was going to kill Bubastis, but not because he was cruel and had no heart, but because certain circumstances as they were made her death necessary. Adrian was certain that this was how God felt.

This was the second fateful push of a button he had done in less than an hour. He hesitated.

"Forgive me, girl." Blue light erupted, almost blinding Adrian and a throbbing of pain resounded in his heart at the thought that God was now dying and his own creation was going to cease to exist. Adrian knew that this was what Alexander the Great felt when his beloved horse Bucephalus fell, never moving again.

***

He stood there motionless, gazing at the television sets with no feeling. Presidents were shaking hands with each other, widows were wiping their tears, and memorial services were being broadcast. He would've sat down if Dan hadn't obliterated his chair. It was a small price to pay for a chance to show off his extraordinary speed. Not wanting to watch his newly created heaven alone, Adrian instinctively called out Bubastis' name but the sound quickly quieted, and it never left his throat… the sound never formed a word. So many of the people he killed would never form another word or thought again.

Adrian Veidt never cried, at least, not for long stretches of time. There had been the occasional welling of tears, whether it be by straining a muscle or watching an excruciatingly relatable film at five in the morning or some random thought of how perfect Jon and he would be together, or how beautiful the Comedian's death was. Tears seemed pointless, a convenient way to lubricate the eyes… a mechanism Jon surely didn't need. But for some reason, maybe it was the bitter cold of the uncompromising snow, maybe it was the newly formed cuts and bruises that Dan had so unflinchingly created, maybe it was the echo of Rorschach's last words, or maybe it was the morbid silence that had erupted in the room because no beautiful cat was walking around, and it was so so silent despite dozens of recorded people half-living, Adrian Veidt felt pain. Adrian Veidt cried. He cried for a very, very long time. An ache of pain resounded in his existence and he tried to find solace in the only thing he even remotely cared about anymore. He tried to think of a quote that Alexander the Great had told himself in times of hardships, times of war. Only one stood out in his mind and it was so very appropriate.

"I would rather live a short life of glory than a long one of obscurity."

He was such a wise man. Adrian reveled in the fact that he had outlived his idol. But not by much.

Years later, when the world felt secure, when less and less people believed in Rorschach's journal, Adrian picked up the gun that Laurie had dropped when Adrian had kicked her so long ago. Adrian remembered how he went on to explain to Dan about obvious heroism and how there was no place for it in his brand new world. Taking his own advice, he felt a trickle of pain when the bullet entered his brain but only for a second.