(A/N: I don't own the genius that is Watchmen, nor "Paradise" by Vanessa Carlton. Also, I wrote this over a 24-hour period, so I apologize if it's not so spiffy. Since the timelines in the book and movie are conflicting, that was a little confusing, so bear with me.) Also, this is my first posted (super-long) oneshot, so please leave constructive criticism when you R & R. Thanks! -Remy)

Once upon a year gone by, she saw herself give in

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw what could have been

Well, nothing hurts and nothing bleeds when covers tucked in tight

Funny when the bottom drops, how she forgets to fight.

"Paradise" - Vanessa Carlton

There is a multitude of photographs on Sally Jupiter's wall, memorabilia from her days on the New York streets as Silk Spectre. There's hardly enough room for anything else, but it's her greatest pride.

A breeze from an open window in her California rest resort makes the curtains blow around for a second, causing a ripple effect as it disturbs other loose items in her room. Her olive-colored eyes settle on a faded newspaper article dated January twelfth, 1939. There's a picture of her twenty-year-old self, standing and grinning proudly in front of a group of officers, holding a newspaper proclaiming her first big crime bust.

"So, Miss Jupiter, did you ever believe you'd be doing this?" asks a curious reporter for The Daily World. Sally smiles with her cherry-red lips together, adjusting a loose strand of auburn hair before another handful of cameras flash.

"I was a waitress for two years, then a burlesque dancer for a little while," she says, laughing to herself. "I didn't expect to get anywhere!"

The group of reporters and photographers bursts into laughter, and Sally shows off her pearly white teeth in another dazzling grin. She loves the publicity.

"Why don't you come up here and take a picture with us, doll?" says one police officer, and his other friends in uniform nod in agreement, none of them able to take their eyes off of her.

She giggles. "Of course, fellas!" They make room for her on the steps in front of the New York City Hall, and she smiles that famous adorable grin, holding a newspaper that broadly reports, above a picture of her at the crime scene, "Criminal World Goes Ga-Ga Over Silk Spectre". And in a flash, Sally Jupiter becomes America's sweetheart.

Sally smiles to herself, her crimson-polished nails running across the type on the article. She sighs, feeling her glory days so far away - forty-six years since that picture was taken, to be exact. She's sixty-seven years old now, just another sad old coffin dodger who lives too much in the past. Her hand finds her blue martini glass and she takes a swig. If Laurie were in the room right now, she'd be scolding her mother for drinking at such an ungodly hour in the afternoon.

She eyes an envelope lying on top of a huge leather-bound scrapbook that sits on the coffee table.

"Dear Miss Jupiter, having seen you in the news lately, I wished to introduce myself. My name is Captain Metropolis, and I too am a costumed adventurer, with a keen interest in stamping out crime and injustice wheresoever it should rear its ugly head. I am delighted to find that you share these inclinations… Blah blah blah," Sally sighs as she scans over the latest letter to reach her mailbox. Laurence Schexnayder, her agent, is standing over her shoulder and reading along.

He points to a sentence in the next paragraph. "I think there might be some mileage in this," he says, looking at her through wire-rimmed glasses.

She furrows her brow and reads aloud again. "I suggest that such a group might be called 'The New Minute Men of America'…. oh, Larry, Jesus Christ! Are you kidding?!"

Laurence sighs, putting one hand on her shoulder. "It's from Nelson Gardner, Sally. He's a lieutenant in the USMC. I think you should take up what he's offering. Just think of the publicity!"

"Larry," she begins sternly, looking up at him with incredulous hazel eyes. "I'm not saying it's out of the question. I'm just saying that people might see a group of adults in costumes more as entertainment than… than something they can look up to, something they need."

"I thought you were all about the spotlight, Sally," he says. "Publicity first, then saving the world, right?"

His grin is anything but reassuring, and Sally sits in her recliner, wondering why she really started doing this in the first place.

Sally grins as she sets down the letter and shakes her head, picking up what is perhaps her most prized possession - the Minutemen photo from 1940. Her finger traces along their familiar faces… Silhouette, the controversial and tragic Austrian beauty - murdered in 1954 along with her girlfriend. Mothman, the once well-to-do gentleman from Connecticut who's now rotting away in a Maine asylum. Dollar Bill, whose famous red cape was caught in a revolving door, resulting in his death from multiple shots in the head in 1951. Nite Owl, the policeman who carried out his comic book-fueled dreams of costumed vigilantism and now runs an auto repair shop. Captain Metropolis, the Marine lieutenant who first organized the group, who had been decapitated in a car crash in '74. Silk Spectre- Sally herself, in all her twenty-one year old glory, in that playful pinup-style yellow and black costume, beaming at the camera, unaware of what would unravel in the next few moments. Hooded Justice, the original masked vigilante, whom no one knew anything about, really - no one even knew if he was dead or not.

And there, in that ridiculous sickly green and purple boiler suit, a thick cigar between his teeth and a cocky grin on his face, was Edward Blake. The Comedian.

"Okay, that's it! Nice picture, folks!" says the photographer after the camera's absurdly bright flash goes off. The eight costumed crime fighters all move from their frozen positions, and Sally rubs her eyes, that smile still spread across her lips.

"We can move? I can finally scratch my armpit?" grumbles Comedian.

Sally blinks and giggles. "Ooh, I got spots in my eyes…"

"Really?" he replies, turning around to face her and standing up simultaneously. "Lemme take a look an' see if I can fish 'em out for ya…"

"Oh, Eddie! Gimme a break," she rolls her eyes, gently pushing him with her gloved hand. As they start to walk out of the room, she sighs happily. "Boy! Real photo sessions! Do you think my hair will come out looking okay, H.J.?"

Hooded Justice, whom she walks arm-in-arm with, speaks in that low voice that's muffled under his simple purple executioner's hood. "Frankly, Sally, I don't go in for all this… razzle dazzle. I'd rather be on the streets, doing my job."

The Comedian scoffs. "Streets nothing!" he says brashly. "Why don't Uncle Sammy get us into Europe, where the action is?"

Hooded Justice sighs. "Well, firstly, we aren't at war. Secondly, we should avoid political situations…"

Nite Owl interrupts the rising argument with an awkward laugh. "C'mon, what's all this discord I hear? Meeting's over! Listen, everyone meet in the lobby in five minutes. We'll go back to the owl's nest for a beer."

Sally tucks a strand of copper hair behind her ear and walks over to the table where she's left a bag of clothes to change into. "Fine, you guys go ahead. I gotta change."

As the others disperse, she undoes the collar of her dress and lets it slide to the floor, leaving her in her black lace-up boots, fishnets, garters and corset. For her, it had never been a sex thing - though many thought otherwise. For her, it was a money thing. And for a few, God bless 'em, it was a goodness thing.

"Hi."

Sally turns her head to see The Comedian walking in, that simple black mask adding to his threatening appearance. Though how someone could look threatening in a purple and green boiler suit, she didn't know.

"Eddie?" she gasps, her eyes widening. "What the hell are you doing here? You knew I was changing."

He steps up right behind her, the rich smell of a cigar carried on his breath. "Sure I did. You announced it loud enough." He puts his hands to her small waist and her heart starts pounding. "C'mon, baby. I know what you need," he says in a low voice. "You gotta have some reason for wearin' an outfit like this, huh?" he whispers into her ear.

"No," she says softly, moving his hand away. He puts it back. "I said no, Eddie," she tries more firmly, but it's to no avail as he leans in and kisses her neck.

"Sure, no," he chuckles. "No spelled y-e-s."

"No, spelled n-o." Sally glares up at him, turning to face him. He moves in. She punches him with her gloved right hand in one swift movement, making him wince. He crouches down for a moment as if deciding whether to stand back up or fall to the floor. "Eddie?" she asks, almost feeling guilty.

His fist rams into her stomach in a split second, a disturbing laugh echoes in her ears. She cries out in pain as her body hits the cold concrete floor. She clutches her abdomen, looking up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes. Her slams his left fist into her pretty face, making blood run down her nose.

He picks her up from the floor and swings her around in a half-circle, throwing her onto the pool table. He kicks one of her legs over more to the side. She coughs up blood and cries to herself as he unbuckles his belt. Suddenly the only sounds are of a sob escaping her lips and his labored breathing as his hand runs down her back.

"Sally? What's keeping you?"

Eddie turns in shock towards the door. Hooded Justice is standing in the room now. Sally bites her lip and lets out another sob, helplessly bent over the pool table.

"You vicious little son of a bitch," HJ hisses, taking Eddie by the front of his shirt.

"Hey, wait! She wanted me to do it! She - " Eddie protests, but HJ's right fist decks him in the face.

Sally cries silently into the green felt of the pool table as HJ beats him almost senselessly, insults exchanging amidst punches. She doesn't forgive herself for years.

Sally's face is frozen; she's reminded herself of how Edward Blake changed her life. He had been kicked out of the Minutemen after the incident, she hadn't pressed charges, and with the publicity expertise of Laurence Schexnayder the group made it through unscathed. She opens the scrapbook to a random page and finds the photo from her retirement party in 1953.

"We're gonna miss you, Sally," Hollis smiles shyly. She beams at him, her hands moving to her very pregnant belly. "It's been a good fourteen years."

Sally smiles. "Why, thank you, Hollis. We'll be sure to keep in touch, yes?"

He nods and takes a sip from his glass. Sally turns to her right, where Eddie is sitting, his chocolate-colored eyes on her.

"You gonna miss me too, doll?" he asks, exhaling a puff from his cigar and grinning up at her. "Not gonna be the same without the famous Silk Spectre, now, is it?"

She genuinely smiles at him. He moves his hand closer to her, but keeps it on the white tablecloth, just inches from her belly. Their eyes lock for a moment, until Sally feels Laurence behind her, glaring at them both.

"Stay away from him," he scolds her under his breath. She stops smiling and slowly sits down in the middle of her guests, one hand on her belly and the other dangling at her side.

She doesn't flinch as Eddie's fingers brush against her own. She's the only person he's ever let his guard down for.

The baby kicks as Sally and Eddie hold hands under the table, hidden from everyone else who would disapprove. This is how it should be.

Sally swallows back the forming lump in her throat and turns the page, seeing a picture of baby Laurel Jane and smiling. She has her eyes, her smile, her nose - but everything else belongs to her father. Laurel Jane Juspeczyk, born in late 1953. There's no one in the world Sally loves more than her daughter - not even her daughter's father.

"Eddie," Sally whimpers as he kisses her neck. It's the first day of spring in 1953, and she's finally let him into her bed after a decade and a half. He exhales onto her smooth bare skin, breath warm and full of the woodsy smell of a cigar, as he proceeds to kiss down her body. She reaches for his belt buckle and the metal clink of it coming undone doesn't bother her now. He wriggles out of his pants and soon enough all that's between them is the air they breathe, and soon enough even that disappears as he leans back down and spreads her legs. She doesn't object.

He's gentle. She feels safe with him, she feels loved and wanted and cared for. He's never been this way with anyone, and after today he never will be again. When they finish making love an hour or so later, he spoons behind her, his muscles relaxed against her flawless skin. She memorizes the pattern of his breaths, the smell of his cigars.

"I love you," she whispers to the nightstand on her side of the bed. He sighs and kisses her shoulder.

"I love you too, doll," Eddie says, and falls asleep moments later.

The next morning, she rolls over to find his side of the bed empty and nothing more than a thin but elaborate silver and diamond ring on her nightstand. She hugs a pillow tightly to her body.

"Eddie, you bastard," she whispers, but a small smile tugs at her lips.

Sally finds herself toying with the silver ring on her right ring finger. He's still with her. He always will be. She leans back in her chair and turns her head to the right, letting the sun shine on her light grey hair.

As long as Laurie's alive, so is Eddie, she concludes, then takes another swig from her margarita. Laurie - raised to be just like her mother and fight bad guys since she was just a little girl. She may have resented her mother quite a while for it, but Sally knows that deep down, being a housewife has never been in her daughter's genes. It certainly had never been in her own.

She turns to another random page in the scrapbook, frowning a little bit when she sees a photo from her and Laurence's wedding. Sally was all smiles in the picture, however feigned it may have been, but Laurence looked stoic and rat-like as usual. She snorts at the letter that is stapled next to the picture.

" 'Maybe now is the time to pull out and cut our losses. We've made quite a sum, you know, and I've often talked about a place out west somewhere; maybe now's the time we could take it on as a viable partnership proposition together,' " she reads aloud and laughs. "Damn nearest thing I ever got to a proposal."

After more than a decade of shouting at each other, they had broken it off.

"How would you know how a woman feels?" Sally snaps at Laurence. "Shit, how a man feels, for that matter?"

"Oh, that's cheap. Even for you, that is cheap!" he scoffs back, clenching his fist. "Well, c'mon, let's hear the rest…"

"Why? So you can put it in a letter to one of those magazines you read? 'My wife described how his rough hands slowly squeezed…' "

"Stop that!" he points an accusing finger. Sweat is forming on his brow due to the stress. "What, were you drunk? Or just lonely?"

"You wanted to hear, so okay, you listen," she says more softly, exhaling deeply. "First off, he was there, right?"

"Oh, spare me."

"Plus, he was gentle. You know what gentleness means in a guy like that? Even a glimmer of it?" She feels tears sting at her eyes. "It means you reached something. It means you reached some of that magical romance and bullshit that they promise you when you're a kid…" she drifts off, losing herself in thoughts of Eddie.

"It also means a broken marriage; an uncertain future for our child…"

"My child," she corrects him. "That's what all this is about, remember? Anyway, don't you worry about her future. That's taken care of."

Laurence gets fed up and moves out of their bedroom into the hallway, Sally following him closely. His attention is caught by a moving shape in the living room.

"Laurel Jane?" he says angrily, noticing Laurie in the living room with a snow globe in her tiny five-year-old hands. "What are you doing down here? What - "

"Larry, don't you dare take this out on her! She's only a kid! She's vulnerable…" Sally pushes him aside and kneels down to comfort her daughter. Laurie, startled by her stepfather's brutality, drops the snow globe and sends it shattering to the floor.

"Fragile," Sally mumbles, and holds her daughter close.

Sally feels the tears stinging even more noticeably now. She sets down the scrapbook and looks fondly at the framed photo of Laurie on the table by her chair. She's grown up to be her mother's success story - when Sally couldn't do it anymore, she went on and lived through her daughter.

She gets up and goes over to her bed, flips absentmindedly through the newspaper, and her eyes stop on one of the pages she typically skips - the obituaries.

"Funeral for Government Agent Blake Held Today," the headline on the newspaper's most depressing section reads. Sally's lips part in a silent gasp. She'd heard Eddie had been murdered just a couple days or so back, so why was the funeral coming as such a shock to her?

He'd always thought he'd get the laugh, hmm? Well, the joke's on him.

She tries to laugh, it's what he'd want her to do, but she can't bring herself to do it. Her fingers shakily reach for the framed sepia Minutemen photo.

She kisses the glass and sets it down on her nightstand, then reaches for a tissue and wipes the tears streaming down her face.

There is a fresh, cherry-red lipstick stain around Eddie Blake's smug, grinning face.

"Eddie…" she murmurs tearfully, then manages a quiet laugh to herself. "You bastard."