Getting On [Watchmen]
Title: Getting On
Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape, manner, or form, own the Watchmen or the characters said comic/eventual film adaption contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Alan Moore and I do believe DC. No infringement is intended.
Fandom: Watchmen
Characters: Dan Dreiberg
Continuity: Set a few years after the events of the graphic novel.
Warnings: Spoilers for the ending.
Summary: Dan’s been working out.
Author’s Note: Hard criticism, as always, greatly appreciated and encouraged. Used the old names because, I dunno, I can’t associate it any other way. Sorry.
Dan's has been working out.
Honestly, he knows he’ll never be up to snuff again - no, the days of easy muscles and limber joints has passed, replaced with aching bones and a strange affection for dozing off during late night movies. But it’s nice, to feel like he’s doing something with himself again, putting his body to use again. It’s been too long.
With exaggerated motions, Dan lifts his arm up, watching the play of muscle under all the softness of his… well, fat. Might as well be upfront. He’d let himself go after giving up the ghost; there hadn’t been much point in keeping up appearances if it wasn’t going into anything productive. Of course, then, it had been a simple matter to work off a few excess pounds, just a week or two of weight lifting and push-ups and he’d be in top shape.
When had that stopped?
He frowns at his reflection, feeling somewhat ridiculous as he stood there in nothing more than his briefs and goggles, hair freshly tousled and eyes still heavy from sleep. But the windows are closed and drawn, Laurie was out, and it's just him. Him and Laurie’s mirror.
He wonders if she’s noticed yet - if she’ll say anything, compliment him. It’s been good, these last couple years; their conversations are light and they both conveniently suffer from amnesia whenever the news comes on, when Veidt smiles into the camera and reassures the masses about the restorations and the new day that’s coming and all those lovely little lies he’s so good at spouting.
And Laurie’s still so beautiful. A little thicker, and the bags under her eyes are getting darker, but she’s so perfect, everything he could want. A warm cheek on his shoulder in the theatre, a thoughtful mug of coffee in the morning and a spitfire whenever he forgets to run the dishwasher in the evening.
That’s what makes it okay, he supposes. Okay to forget, because they- they can’t look back, or they’ll lose what they have and that would be, well, that would be…
Sighing, Dan gives his reflection one last, long look, and trundles back to the bed, sitting on the edge. He stares at his hands, turns them over and over, noting the lines and the parts that are still calloused, crisscrossed with the little scars from his heyday. Those had been good times, in their own way. Kind of. Sometimes. When he wasn’t thinking too hard on it.
He remembers the good things; the high of the fight, the feel of latex and the idiot rush of youth. Archie humming under his feet. The exhausted, easy sleep after a night well-spent, straight through without waking up uncomfortable and sore and feeling like he’s… getting on. Bruises seemed to disappear so quickly when he started out, hardly worth noting. His body’s both duller and sharper at once, and sometimes it’s not so bad. Sometimes he doesn’t even remember not feeling like this.
He's been working out.
He wonders why he bothers.