fic: "Good"
Title: "Good"
Rating: PG
Pairings: 16-year-old Walter Kovacs
Word Count: 345
Warnings: Walter's brain. We go inside it.
Disclaimer: Don't own Alan Moore's creations (or his titanic beard-- goddamn, that thing is huge).
Summary: 1956, Walter is called to the principal's office.
Author Notes: From what I gleaned from the GN, young Walter probably was the quiet type who had a few acquaintances (perhaps from boxing and gymnastics) but no actual friends. Walter is still totally messed-up, in his own way, but nowhere near as extreme as Rorschach (yet).
Halfway through class, Walter is summoned to the principal’s office. A few classmates turn around to watch him obediently tuck away his notebook into his bookbag. The boys from Walter’s boxing team begin to chuckle in their thick Jersey accents “OOoh,whaddya do, Walter?” and Walter frowns momentarily before realizing they probably mean no harm (admittedly, they never push him too far, since they see how Walter regularly knocks out Goliaths twice his size at boxing practice).
But Walter’s no troublemaker - he’s the private type, showing aggression only in the boxing ring, and a good student - which makes the situation all the more puzzling.
Heading up the steps towards the office, a horrible thought crosses Walter's mind. What if Mother has come to see him, after all these years? He glares at the iron railing of the staircase and grimly fantasizes about how he would refuse to even look at the miserable bitch. Turn her out on the streets-let her see how it feels.
Walter has the occasional dark flights of fancy, but Kovacs always interrupts- Don’t be stupid. Last thing she’s ever going to do is come here, begging for your forgiveness.
Ushered into the office by the secretary, Walter immediately feels apprehensive at the sight of a policeman talking in a low voice with the principal. The two men pause in their conversation, while Walter enters the room.
Adjusting his spectacles, the principal says, “Walter? You might want to sit down for this, boy.”
Walter, as usual, does as he’s told.
A strange silence follows.
For one split second- Walter has a quick, needy, eager stream of thought -What if Father’s come back? Somehow found a way? Could he be the policeman...? No. Stupid. But even if he’s dead, just to know, just to know his real name- Is he back? What if he’s - What if he’s back, please God-
“Your mother's dead.” The policeman gives vague details about finding her in the South Bronx, then murmurs sad condolences.
Walter can't speak.
So Kovacs does.
"Good."