A Brief Acceptance (10/11)
When they walk into his house, having climbed the stairs from the basement without gusto, Rorschach looks at him for a moment and then turns to walk into the living room. He’s practically staggering, and Daniel catches up with him easily.
“Where are you…?”
“Couch.” Walter cuts in, stopping to glance over his shoulder.
The flash of brown eyes, baggy and emotionless, startles Daniel. He was going to argue, to insist his bed is big enough for the both of them, that the sofa will only prove detrimental to Walter’s back. But something in the man’s face scares him; or, rather, it’s the absence of something. Of an expression, any expression.
“Okay.” He mumbles, convincing himself that he’s only giving up because he’s too tired for the obviously ensuing argument. “If you need anything… Well, I’ll be in my room.”
Rorschach sinks down onto the couch silently, strips his shirt off. Daniel pulls his eyes from the ripple of muscles, getting the message. He isn’t wanted right now. Maybe he never was.
“Uh… Right then.” He sighs, retreating back to his room with large plodding steps. Things aren’t going well. Their efforts have left them empty handed, and, worst of all, have caused Walter to become even more despondent than usual. How long can they go before they’re caught and subsequently killed? Veidt isn’t and idiot. As Daniel snuggles into his blankets, muscles surprisingly sore from doing nothing all day, he tries to shove it all from his mind. Karnak, Veidt, Walter, all of it. It’s not long before the gentle patter of rain on the street outside lulls him into honey sweet slumber.
It must be near four in the morning when he wakes up; something large settles on the mattress next to him and the springs creak in protest at the added weight. He rubs his eyes and props himself up, already knowing what he’ll find; there lays Walter, blankets pulled around his shoulders, eyes closed defiantly. It almost reminds Daniel of a child who’s had a nightmare and crawled into their mother’s bed for protection from whatever penny-dreadfuls terrorize them. He practically shudders at what kind of things must slink through Walter’s subconscious if he does in fact dream as “normal” people do. But, everyone’s human, even broken Walter Kovacs.
Daniel sinks back into the bed, wriggling until he’s a few inches from Walter, fully expecting to be shoved away; but Walter doesn’t move, and Daniel gets the impression that he’s holding his breath. He reaches out, rests his hand on Walter’s cheek, who remains still. Dan realizes he’s pretending to be asleep, that he wants to be touched like this but won’t be demeaned by allowing it while he’s awake. No, not Rorschach scourge of the underworld, but touch starved Walter, frightened and alone.
He massages the pad of his thumb over Walter’s cheek, smiling as he hears the breath catch in the other man’s throat. It’s heart breaking, knowing Walter has probably never been treated so gently, and he leans in and plants a soft kiss on the creased forehead, smoothing the wild red hair aside. He takes him into his arms as Walter gives particularly unconvincing snores, cradling him against his broad chest like a child, and Walter settles against him without any complaint, still feigning sleep. It’s the first real physical contact they’ve had since their stake-outs began, and Daniel is thankful, thankful for the small opportunity at not feeling so alone. Not feeling the still raw festering wound of Laurie’s desertion.
To Rorschach’s credit he doesn’t mention the incident the next day, nor will he after the next several times it happens, scattered instances in which he agrees to stay away from patrol for a single night at Daniel’s behest. During the day they still watch Veidt religiously, Dan’s nerves flaring up periodically; after all, this is different then when he was in costume, and each day the prospect of being discovered by Adrian seems increasingly likely. Sometimes he still creeps down to his basement in the darkness, looks at his old costume with both reverence and disgust and shame. But on the nights Rorschach stays it’s worth it just to hold him in his arms and hope it means something. It has to, it has to, Walter said he loved he loved him didn’t he? Daniel frets that the confession was a mistake, a phrase spouted in the wake of passion. That maybe Walter doesn’t understand its weight, just as he doesn’t understand so many of the delicacies of human interaction. But when he finds the man crawling into his bed on the nights when the air is pregnant with moisture, thick and humid, he finds it increasingly difficult to care. And on the few nights when innocent caresses turn to hot heavy strokes, when panted names tumble through the air, he finds he doesn’t even care, because it’s enough to feel alive, to be allowed to pretend that Walter loves him; why should he care if it’s true? Whether it is or not Daniel still garners the same languid caresses, still feels his own affection. The reality of the other man’s feelings will not affect that, and so during their quick sessions he manages to forget his qualms.
“L-love, Daniel.” Walter chokes out as Daniel takes him into his mouth on one such occasion, and Daniel can feel his heart leap into his throat. Walter’s hips jerk spastically and Daniel holds them down firmly, eyes watering as he bobs his head up and down, tongue curling around Walter’s member, hand moving to massage the base of the shaft. His knuckles brush against course red pubic hairs, and when Walter comes Dan swallows despite the unpleasant taste.
“Dirty, Daniel.” Walter pants weakly as Dan pulls himself up, flopping next to the other man, wiping the remaining semen from his lip. “Bad enough… Shouldn’t have swallowed it.” He mumbles incoherently, and he truly does look guilty, even disgusted, but it seems that he finds himself repugnant rather than Daniel’s ministrations.
“It’s fine.” Daniel whispers, kissing him gingerly. “It’s ok when it’s us, I promise.” He’s forced to give these hollow assurances frequently even though he doesn’t know if what they’re doing is right, and could on his own part frankly care less. He pauses, inhaling raggedly as his erection brushed Walter’s bare skin “I love you too Walter.”
The hard brown eyes search his own, a rough hand resting uncertainly on his side. “You…” Walter shifts uncomfortably. “You still need to orgasm.” He fumbles the words inexpertly, and Daniel’s heart warms at the awkward phrasing.
“Um, yeah… I-it’s ok, I can finish myself.”
Walter shakes his head stiffly, and one moment he’s moving away and the next oh god his mouth is on Daniel’s cock, warm and wet, and teeth lightly scrape him, and it’s clumsy and ill executed and amazing. Daniel cries in ecstasy an prays that this isn’t the last time that they’ll do this.
His worries are typically dispelled when a stubbled jaw crashes against his own unexpectedly in the night, blunt dirty teeth leaving territorial marks on his neck. These encounters keep him going, keep him from having a damned panic attack every time they spy on the world’s smartest and arguably fastest man. And when they see him leaving in an old beat up car again, this time a dull red one, they manage to follow it, the image of Walter pale and naked and human is what flashing through Daniel’s mind.
They’re silent that entire ride, their tension palpable. They keep a good distance, letting several cars separate them; there’s one instance in which Adrian looks in his rearview mirror and Dan swears that their eyes lock there for a moment. There’s a shock of adrenaline and Daniel’s knuckles turn white from the ferocity with which he clutches the wheel of the rented car.
“Daniel.” Walter says calmly, as reassuring as is possible for him to be. Daniel nods slowly, feeling the contents of his stomach slosh sickeningly, apparently plotting their escape.
“I’m fine.” He deadpans, relaxing his grip a little in an effort to prove the statement. “Just fine.”
Rorschach grunts, leaning back in his seat; despite his cool façade Daniel can see the way his adams apple bobs repeatedly. They talk even less lately, not because they’re drifting apart but because they’ve become adept at reading the other’s moods. Walter continually proves he can go beyond this and actually know what Daniel’s thinking though Dan finds the death mask of Walter’s face as imperceptible as his actual mask, possibly more so. Besides, words seem meaningless to Daniel after Karnak, small trifles which are lost to history as soon as they pry their way free; Daniel has come to prefer just being with someone, knowing that he’s not alone or dead.
Eventually they end up in a deserted area, ramshackle sheds and broken glass. They turn off before the buffering cars do and get out, stretching stiff joints. They stand for a moment exchanging a wordless glance, each shrugging on a discreet ragged jacket and checking the deep pockets for their contents.
“Ready?” Rorschach asks, expression unreadable. Daniel feels an odd sense of calm drift over him, smothering his fears and doubts and nausea.
“I’m ready.” He answers, and with that they begin, treading through barren alleyways and cracked streets that show immutable evidence of what Adrian has done. It’s an hour, maybe two before they find the car, rust spots like a beacon through the descending shadows. Dan’s breath hitches in his throat, but he knows what they have to do, and forces himself to continue. Veidt’s car is deserted, parked next to a large warehouse with unnaturally sloping walls, seeming to beckon them closer.
“What if someone’s with him?” Daniel says so low it’s nearly a whisper. Walter doesn’t answer, because they both know he won’t be and they both know it doesn’t matter. It’s happening tonight, it has to. The things in his jacket suddenly seem so heavy and they weigh him down.
It’s easy finding a crack in the wall of the warehouse that Veidt is obviously in, a small hole created by the rust that eats at the monstrosity’s side. Rorschach doesn’t hesitate, presses his eye to it resolutely, and Daniel looks around nervously feeling a nervous certainty that their necks will be snapped at any moment. It’s odd to think that a man like Adrian who is an avid vegetarian and pacifist has the power to take on virtually any man alive; even stranger to think such a humane man would be the perpetrator of mass murder.
From the corner of his eyes he sees Walter freeze, every muscle of his body clenching beneath the alien clothing. He steps away from the building, shaking visibly, face contorted in rage or repulsion or both. Daniel quirks his head quizzically, mouths “what?” But Rorschach just clenches his jaw tighter and shakes his head weakly as if to say don’t look don’t look. Dan opts to ignore the cues in Rorschach’s posture, steps forward and leans down to peer inside. He expects, from Rorschach’s reaction, to see Veidt killing a damn kitten or something, but what he gets is much worse.
At first he can only make out Adrian’s face and why the hell is he making that expression? The answer is simple, and when Daniel understands he staggers back, the color draining from his face.
Adrian Veidt is fucking a boy of what looks to be 16 in some god forsaken warehouse, his perfect features twisted in ecstasy, his golden hair tussled and sweat soaked. Daniel doesn’t dare think why on Earth the man would be doing this, doesn’t wish to consider his odd fetishes. He just gapes dumbly at Rorschach, wishing it to all just be some elaborate joke, knowing it’s an outlandish thing to hope.
They walk away from the unpleasant scene quietly, Daniel shaking his head incredulously. “This is what he’s been sneaking away for every month? To violate some undoubtedly ill-begot teenager?” Dan asks, straining to confine his voice to a whisper, tone threatening to erupt into a scream. His hands gesture wildly in lieu of his nausea. The boy was crying damn it and that bastard just kept going, kissing the thin neck in some sick imitation of love.
“Have to go now Daniel. While he’s preoccupied.” Walter returns stiffly. His voice quakes as they near the door, bespeaking his anger and disgust. It will be locked, Daniel’s sure, but his own frequently splintered front door is evidence of Rorschach’s ability to easily circumvent such measures.
The gravel crunches heavily under his feet and Daniel gulps weakly. “But the boy, he-“
“The boy deserves retribution. Best chance we have. Wasting time.” Walter’s eyes are cold and there’s a jolt up Daniel’s spine. He knows Rorschach is right but it’s wrong, so wrong. He nods slowly anyways, reaching into his pockets, grasping the contents that are cold and biting to the touch.
“No hesitation.” Rorschach rasps as they stop several feet to the right of the door. “Wait until he’s away from the boy and do it.”
Daniel nods again, stomach churning because oh god oh god this can all be gone in a moment, Rorschach and Walter and everything. He hesitates when Walter asks if he’s ready. He leans forward, grabs the smaller man roughly, and mashes their lips together, eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the feel of the cracked lips beneath his own and the smell of the grubby skin that yields to his fingers. He pulls away, inhales deeply, shivers as Rorschach allows this indiscretion. “Ready.”
When they rush forward it’s almost as if Daniel isn’t in his own body, instead a floating entity watching its vessel as Rorschach kicks down the door. Adrian looks up with such innate terror that Daniel lets out a horrified laugh, finding the scene disgustingly absurd as Adrian pulls out of the boy who sits up, tear streaked face turning white as parchment. Adrian runs at them without hesitation and they in turn surge towards him, Dan’s legs heavy and unwieldy as tree trunks. An animalistic roar bursts forth from Rorschach and Daniel swears that fluid blots of black shift over his unmasked face. In the corner the boy cowers, scrambling to cover himself, and with a sickening lurch of his stomach Daniel realizes he’s bleeding.
“Now.” Rorschach growls, and they each pull two fire arms from their pockets. It’s too damn simple, too ineloquent a way to kill a man like Veidt, but it’s the simplicity that is their best bet. Oddly enough Rorschach had agreed to this plan, realizing his typical improvisation would not work on a man with the speed of the wind and the strength of a leviathan. Veidt hurls something, a hammer from a nearby crate, unimaginable rage tearing at his handsome face.
Just as the hammer connects with Walter’s head, Veidt’s aim horribly immaculate, four gun shots echo through the tin walls, two from each of the men that clutch the guns; one, Walter, tumbles to the ground and oh god his head looks smashed in and there’s blood blood blood, red and thick and fluid.
Veidt screams something but it’s lost in the moment, and he raises his hands; catches two of the bullets, one in each palm, flying backwards from the impact. He hits the ground with a sickening thud, blood welling up from his head, from his chest. Yes, Adrian had proved he was fast enough to catch a bullet that night in Karnak, and yes Dan and Rorschach had anticipated he could catch at least two. But the debauchery he’s pulled himself away from has clouded his mind, he’s let his only weakness become his downfall, his Achilles heel, and he only has so many hands.
“Walter!” Dan screams, dropping his still smoking guns in a tactically idiotic move considering Adrian’s previously demonstrated skill at playing dead, but Daniel can only think oh god oh god he’s dead, why not me why not me.
Somewhere in the corner the boy screams shrilly but Daniel can’t bring himself to care as he drops to his knees and grabs Walter’s face that shines red with blood. Tears well up in his eyes and blur his vision and what does he do, what the hell is he supposed to do?
Adrian is probably dead judging by the amount of crimson that leaks around him but Daniel doesn’t check to make sure, just sobs and shakes his friend who’s eyelids flutter pathetically as if struggling to open. He presses his forehead to the other man’s chest, fingers knotting in the ruined white shirt, screaming and screaming and screaming.
Rorschach had been right; everyone has a weakness, even the world’s smartest man. Adrian’s were young boys and, un-poetically enough, bullets.
Daniel’s is Walter.
--------------------------------------
x-posted
“Where are you…?”
“Couch.” Walter cuts in, stopping to glance over his shoulder.
The flash of brown eyes, baggy and emotionless, startles Daniel. He was going to argue, to insist his bed is big enough for the both of them, that the sofa will only prove detrimental to Walter’s back. But something in the man’s face scares him; or, rather, it’s the absence of something. Of an expression, any expression.
“Okay.” He mumbles, convincing himself that he’s only giving up because he’s too tired for the obviously ensuing argument. “If you need anything… Well, I’ll be in my room.”
Rorschach sinks down onto the couch silently, strips his shirt off. Daniel pulls his eyes from the ripple of muscles, getting the message. He isn’t wanted right now. Maybe he never was.
“Uh… Right then.” He sighs, retreating back to his room with large plodding steps. Things aren’t going well. Their efforts have left them empty handed, and, worst of all, have caused Walter to become even more despondent than usual. How long can they go before they’re caught and subsequently killed? Veidt isn’t and idiot. As Daniel snuggles into his blankets, muscles surprisingly sore from doing nothing all day, he tries to shove it all from his mind. Karnak, Veidt, Walter, all of it. It’s not long before the gentle patter of rain on the street outside lulls him into honey sweet slumber.
It must be near four in the morning when he wakes up; something large settles on the mattress next to him and the springs creak in protest at the added weight. He rubs his eyes and props himself up, already knowing what he’ll find; there lays Walter, blankets pulled around his shoulders, eyes closed defiantly. It almost reminds Daniel of a child who’s had a nightmare and crawled into their mother’s bed for protection from whatever penny-dreadfuls terrorize them. He practically shudders at what kind of things must slink through Walter’s subconscious if he does in fact dream as “normal” people do. But, everyone’s human, even broken Walter Kovacs.
Daniel sinks back into the bed, wriggling until he’s a few inches from Walter, fully expecting to be shoved away; but Walter doesn’t move, and Daniel gets the impression that he’s holding his breath. He reaches out, rests his hand on Walter’s cheek, who remains still. Dan realizes he’s pretending to be asleep, that he wants to be touched like this but won’t be demeaned by allowing it while he’s awake. No, not Rorschach scourge of the underworld, but touch starved Walter, frightened and alone.
He massages the pad of his thumb over Walter’s cheek, smiling as he hears the breath catch in the other man’s throat. It’s heart breaking, knowing Walter has probably never been treated so gently, and he leans in and plants a soft kiss on the creased forehead, smoothing the wild red hair aside. He takes him into his arms as Walter gives particularly unconvincing snores, cradling him against his broad chest like a child, and Walter settles against him without any complaint, still feigning sleep. It’s the first real physical contact they’ve had since their stake-outs began, and Daniel is thankful, thankful for the small opportunity at not feeling so alone. Not feeling the still raw festering wound of Laurie’s desertion.
To Rorschach’s credit he doesn’t mention the incident the next day, nor will he after the next several times it happens, scattered instances in which he agrees to stay away from patrol for a single night at Daniel’s behest. During the day they still watch Veidt religiously, Dan’s nerves flaring up periodically; after all, this is different then when he was in costume, and each day the prospect of being discovered by Adrian seems increasingly likely. Sometimes he still creeps down to his basement in the darkness, looks at his old costume with both reverence and disgust and shame. But on the nights Rorschach stays it’s worth it just to hold him in his arms and hope it means something. It has to, it has to, Walter said he loved he loved him didn’t he? Daniel frets that the confession was a mistake, a phrase spouted in the wake of passion. That maybe Walter doesn’t understand its weight, just as he doesn’t understand so many of the delicacies of human interaction. But when he finds the man crawling into his bed on the nights when the air is pregnant with moisture, thick and humid, he finds it increasingly difficult to care. And on the few nights when innocent caresses turn to hot heavy strokes, when panted names tumble through the air, he finds he doesn’t even care, because it’s enough to feel alive, to be allowed to pretend that Walter loves him; why should he care if it’s true? Whether it is or not Daniel still garners the same languid caresses, still feels his own affection. The reality of the other man’s feelings will not affect that, and so during their quick sessions he manages to forget his qualms.
“L-love, Daniel.” Walter chokes out as Daniel takes him into his mouth on one such occasion, and Daniel can feel his heart leap into his throat. Walter’s hips jerk spastically and Daniel holds them down firmly, eyes watering as he bobs his head up and down, tongue curling around Walter’s member, hand moving to massage the base of the shaft. His knuckles brush against course red pubic hairs, and when Walter comes Dan swallows despite the unpleasant taste.
“Dirty, Daniel.” Walter pants weakly as Dan pulls himself up, flopping next to the other man, wiping the remaining semen from his lip. “Bad enough… Shouldn’t have swallowed it.” He mumbles incoherently, and he truly does look guilty, even disgusted, but it seems that he finds himself repugnant rather than Daniel’s ministrations.
“It’s fine.” Daniel whispers, kissing him gingerly. “It’s ok when it’s us, I promise.” He’s forced to give these hollow assurances frequently even though he doesn’t know if what they’re doing is right, and could on his own part frankly care less. He pauses, inhaling raggedly as his erection brushed Walter’s bare skin “I love you too Walter.”
The hard brown eyes search his own, a rough hand resting uncertainly on his side. “You…” Walter shifts uncomfortably. “You still need to orgasm.” He fumbles the words inexpertly, and Daniel’s heart warms at the awkward phrasing.
“Um, yeah… I-it’s ok, I can finish myself.”
Walter shakes his head stiffly, and one moment he’s moving away and the next oh god his mouth is on Daniel’s cock, warm and wet, and teeth lightly scrape him, and it’s clumsy and ill executed and amazing. Daniel cries in ecstasy an prays that this isn’t the last time that they’ll do this.
His worries are typically dispelled when a stubbled jaw crashes against his own unexpectedly in the night, blunt dirty teeth leaving territorial marks on his neck. These encounters keep him going, keep him from having a damned panic attack every time they spy on the world’s smartest and arguably fastest man. And when they see him leaving in an old beat up car again, this time a dull red one, they manage to follow it, the image of Walter pale and naked and human is what flashing through Daniel’s mind.
They’re silent that entire ride, their tension palpable. They keep a good distance, letting several cars separate them; there’s one instance in which Adrian looks in his rearview mirror and Dan swears that their eyes lock there for a moment. There’s a shock of adrenaline and Daniel’s knuckles turn white from the ferocity with which he clutches the wheel of the rented car.
“Daniel.” Walter says calmly, as reassuring as is possible for him to be. Daniel nods slowly, feeling the contents of his stomach slosh sickeningly, apparently plotting their escape.
“I’m fine.” He deadpans, relaxing his grip a little in an effort to prove the statement. “Just fine.”
Rorschach grunts, leaning back in his seat; despite his cool façade Daniel can see the way his adams apple bobs repeatedly. They talk even less lately, not because they’re drifting apart but because they’ve become adept at reading the other’s moods. Walter continually proves he can go beyond this and actually know what Daniel’s thinking though Dan finds the death mask of Walter’s face as imperceptible as his actual mask, possibly more so. Besides, words seem meaningless to Daniel after Karnak, small trifles which are lost to history as soon as they pry their way free; Daniel has come to prefer just being with someone, knowing that he’s not alone or dead.
Eventually they end up in a deserted area, ramshackle sheds and broken glass. They turn off before the buffering cars do and get out, stretching stiff joints. They stand for a moment exchanging a wordless glance, each shrugging on a discreet ragged jacket and checking the deep pockets for their contents.
“Ready?” Rorschach asks, expression unreadable. Daniel feels an odd sense of calm drift over him, smothering his fears and doubts and nausea.
“I’m ready.” He answers, and with that they begin, treading through barren alleyways and cracked streets that show immutable evidence of what Adrian has done. It’s an hour, maybe two before they find the car, rust spots like a beacon through the descending shadows. Dan’s breath hitches in his throat, but he knows what they have to do, and forces himself to continue. Veidt’s car is deserted, parked next to a large warehouse with unnaturally sloping walls, seeming to beckon them closer.
“What if someone’s with him?” Daniel says so low it’s nearly a whisper. Walter doesn’t answer, because they both know he won’t be and they both know it doesn’t matter. It’s happening tonight, it has to. The things in his jacket suddenly seem so heavy and they weigh him down.
It’s easy finding a crack in the wall of the warehouse that Veidt is obviously in, a small hole created by the rust that eats at the monstrosity’s side. Rorschach doesn’t hesitate, presses his eye to it resolutely, and Daniel looks around nervously feeling a nervous certainty that their necks will be snapped at any moment. It’s odd to think that a man like Adrian who is an avid vegetarian and pacifist has the power to take on virtually any man alive; even stranger to think such a humane man would be the perpetrator of mass murder.
From the corner of his eyes he sees Walter freeze, every muscle of his body clenching beneath the alien clothing. He steps away from the building, shaking visibly, face contorted in rage or repulsion or both. Daniel quirks his head quizzically, mouths “what?” But Rorschach just clenches his jaw tighter and shakes his head weakly as if to say don’t look don’t look. Dan opts to ignore the cues in Rorschach’s posture, steps forward and leans down to peer inside. He expects, from Rorschach’s reaction, to see Veidt killing a damn kitten or something, but what he gets is much worse.
At first he can only make out Adrian’s face and why the hell is he making that expression? The answer is simple, and when Daniel understands he staggers back, the color draining from his face.
Adrian Veidt is fucking a boy of what looks to be 16 in some god forsaken warehouse, his perfect features twisted in ecstasy, his golden hair tussled and sweat soaked. Daniel doesn’t dare think why on Earth the man would be doing this, doesn’t wish to consider his odd fetishes. He just gapes dumbly at Rorschach, wishing it to all just be some elaborate joke, knowing it’s an outlandish thing to hope.
They walk away from the unpleasant scene quietly, Daniel shaking his head incredulously. “This is what he’s been sneaking away for every month? To violate some undoubtedly ill-begot teenager?” Dan asks, straining to confine his voice to a whisper, tone threatening to erupt into a scream. His hands gesture wildly in lieu of his nausea. The boy was crying damn it and that bastard just kept going, kissing the thin neck in some sick imitation of love.
“Have to go now Daniel. While he’s preoccupied.” Walter returns stiffly. His voice quakes as they near the door, bespeaking his anger and disgust. It will be locked, Daniel’s sure, but his own frequently splintered front door is evidence of Rorschach’s ability to easily circumvent such measures.
The gravel crunches heavily under his feet and Daniel gulps weakly. “But the boy, he-“
“The boy deserves retribution. Best chance we have. Wasting time.” Walter’s eyes are cold and there’s a jolt up Daniel’s spine. He knows Rorschach is right but it’s wrong, so wrong. He nods slowly anyways, reaching into his pockets, grasping the contents that are cold and biting to the touch.
“No hesitation.” Rorschach rasps as they stop several feet to the right of the door. “Wait until he’s away from the boy and do it.”
Daniel nods again, stomach churning because oh god oh god this can all be gone in a moment, Rorschach and Walter and everything. He hesitates when Walter asks if he’s ready. He leans forward, grabs the smaller man roughly, and mashes their lips together, eyes squeezed shut, focusing on the feel of the cracked lips beneath his own and the smell of the grubby skin that yields to his fingers. He pulls away, inhales deeply, shivers as Rorschach allows this indiscretion. “Ready.”
When they rush forward it’s almost as if Daniel isn’t in his own body, instead a floating entity watching its vessel as Rorschach kicks down the door. Adrian looks up with such innate terror that Daniel lets out a horrified laugh, finding the scene disgustingly absurd as Adrian pulls out of the boy who sits up, tear streaked face turning white as parchment. Adrian runs at them without hesitation and they in turn surge towards him, Dan’s legs heavy and unwieldy as tree trunks. An animalistic roar bursts forth from Rorschach and Daniel swears that fluid blots of black shift over his unmasked face. In the corner the boy cowers, scrambling to cover himself, and with a sickening lurch of his stomach Daniel realizes he’s bleeding.
“Now.” Rorschach growls, and they each pull two fire arms from their pockets. It’s too damn simple, too ineloquent a way to kill a man like Veidt, but it’s the simplicity that is their best bet. Oddly enough Rorschach had agreed to this plan, realizing his typical improvisation would not work on a man with the speed of the wind and the strength of a leviathan. Veidt hurls something, a hammer from a nearby crate, unimaginable rage tearing at his handsome face.
Just as the hammer connects with Walter’s head, Veidt’s aim horribly immaculate, four gun shots echo through the tin walls, two from each of the men that clutch the guns; one, Walter, tumbles to the ground and oh god his head looks smashed in and there’s blood blood blood, red and thick and fluid.
Veidt screams something but it’s lost in the moment, and he raises his hands; catches two of the bullets, one in each palm, flying backwards from the impact. He hits the ground with a sickening thud, blood welling up from his head, from his chest. Yes, Adrian had proved he was fast enough to catch a bullet that night in Karnak, and yes Dan and Rorschach had anticipated he could catch at least two. But the debauchery he’s pulled himself away from has clouded his mind, he’s let his only weakness become his downfall, his Achilles heel, and he only has so many hands.
“Walter!” Dan screams, dropping his still smoking guns in a tactically idiotic move considering Adrian’s previously demonstrated skill at playing dead, but Daniel can only think oh god oh god he’s dead, why not me why not me.
Somewhere in the corner the boy screams shrilly but Daniel can’t bring himself to care as he drops to his knees and grabs Walter’s face that shines red with blood. Tears well up in his eyes and blur his vision and what does he do, what the hell is he supposed to do?
Adrian is probably dead judging by the amount of crimson that leaks around him but Daniel doesn’t check to make sure, just sobs and shakes his friend who’s eyelids flutter pathetically as if struggling to open. He presses his forehead to the other man’s chest, fingers knotting in the ruined white shirt, screaming and screaming and screaming.
Rorschach had been right; everyone has a weakness, even the world’s smartest man. Adrian’s were young boys and, un-poetically enough, bullets.
Daniel’s is Walter.
--------------------------------------
x-posted