A Brief Acceptance (1/?)
Daniel stares down at the sleeping man below him. He awoke this morning to find that his lock had been broken once again in typical Rorschach fashion. Spotting the empty can of beans on the table next to a scarf and hat he normally would have trudged back up to bed to sleep a bit longer, secure in the knowledge that although a psychopath had broken into his home in the night it had been his psychopath. However, one tiny detail had worried him.
Namely, the blood trail leading to his living room. It wasn’t unusual that Rorschach tracked a bit in from his nightly outings; however what was unusual were the bloody prints suggesting the pint sized terror had used the wall to support himself. This, of course, told Dan that his “friend” for lack of a better word was injured.
So he had followed the smears of red into his living room wearily, a thousand worries probing his mind, all involving an unpleasant little man that regularly raided his refrigerator.
He walked towards the door, heart pumping a bit faster than usual in anticipation, and saw a leg dangling off the end of his couch. He crept further in, and carefully peered around the doorframe at the leg’s owner; and yes, it was Rorschach, and yes, evidence suggested he had been bleeding.
But more importantly, he was breathing. He looked Rorschach over carefully, feeling himself exhale in relief. Rorschach was stripped down only to his stained wife beater and pants, rumpled and twisted around the toned figure they covered. A rather large cut was visible on his shoulder, and Daniel nervously shuffled closer to inspect the wound. Leaning over he was relieved to see that it had been cleaned out somewhat and stitched up tightly. Some medical thread and a needle lay on the coffee table with a small pool of blood, accompanied by a wet stained rag he guessed had been used to wipe away some of the dirt and grime.
He sat down in his recliner with a sigh, massaging his temples. Rorschach had been getting clumsy. Or rather, he just didn’t care anymore. Ever since Karnak…
Dan squeezed his eyes shut. He refused to think about Karnak. About Veidt. About the massacre of millions in the name of peace.
No, he wouldn’t think about it; he was alive, and that’s what mattered… Right? He glanced over at Rorschach tiredly, resting his chin in his palm. Rorschach was all that he had left now. Everybody was either dead or, in Laurie’s case, had abandoned him. He set his jaw firmly. He sure as hell wasn’t going to think about that either.
But it was true, Rorschach was all he had left. Unfortunately he wasn’t sure how long he would have Rorschach either. Sometimes he went days without seeing him; Dan had tried to convince Rorschach to move in with him, that it was the safest move, that they had to stick together now in this uncertain world. But Rorschach had grunted and walked way, and Dan hadn’t brought it up since. Had been too scared.
And Dan wondered how long Rorschach could keep quiet about what Veidt had done. Or how long it would be before Rorschach slipped, before Rorschach was finally just too weak, before Rorschach died. Dan didn’t want him to die. He felt things for Rorschach that weren’t exactly feelings of friendship… Something more. He tried to convince himself that these feelings had emerged out of loneliness, a last ditch attempt at finding something worth living for, his mind’s way of saving him even as it propelled him deeper into his own private hell. This theory didn’t quite work though… Didn’t fit the timeline so to speak. Because as long as he had been denying it, he had felt like that long before Karnak. Before the Roche case even; when Rorschach had been Walter, (although Dan still didn’t know this was his name,) pretending to be Rorschach.
Rorschach stirs and Dan’s eyes flick up at him in horror, as if simply thinking about their relationship was a sin. But Rorschach draws his knees closer, wrapping his arms around his own body in a desperate clutch. And then he grunts, and Daniel thinks he hears him cry out a word, something not quite distinguishable. He leans closer, tilting his head, and Rorschach repeats the word again, body trembling as if wracked with pain or tears or something equally unpleasant.;
“Daniel.” The name slides out of his cracked lips quickly but unmistakably.
Daniel. And then he begins to stir, and Daniel’s mouth is agape.
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x-posted because I'm a whore :D