Dichotomy IX
Title: Dichotomy IX
Pairings: Rorschach / Nite Owl II
Warnings: none, self-harm
Time period: early 1960s
Summary : skin and fabric; Nite owl sees Rorschach with his mask partially off for the first time.
It was after coming home from patrol for the night. In the bathroom,Walter had finished washing his face. No matter how hard he scrubbed, the warped reflection in the cracked mirror above the sink had remained unchanged. About to shave, he stared at his pearl-handled straight razor, the hot weight of temptation on his chest. Alluring idea, giving himself markings like a venomous toad. Signal to stay away. Warning his skin currently bereft of. His breath wheezed and his heart beat erratically.
The urge to mutilate the filthy sack of flesh known as Walter Kovacs burned inside of Rorschach. The lie had compromised him. He wanted to scar; criss-cross his skin, a series of angry red lines chartering a grid of madness. No one. No one would ever look at him that way again. Daniel should not have ever looked at him that way.
Nite Owl had seen a small part of Walter Kovacs peeking out from underneath Rorschach's face; his chin, stubbled with gingery fluff, old scars, and freckles. Rorschach recalled night that had preceded it.
***
The Red Baron Gang had visited a strip club. Apparently, they had been celebrating the occasion of one man's betrothal. The results had not been favourable for the adult entertainers who worked there, nor ultimately their clientele. It had been a difficult fight; the drunken audience was having trouble distinguishing reality from falsehood, and would not go to safety. Rorschach had had great fun with glass bottles, cigarette lighters, napkins, pool cues, and other sundries his hands found during the fight. Nite Owl was also in fine form, taking out multiple opponents with increased tolerance for pain in flurries of unmitigated violence.
It happened later. Ensconced in Archie after subduing the rowdy criminals and calling the police, night's patrols ended. Rorschach had received nasty slashes from the groom-to-be's engagement ring where he'd been clocked in the jaw. He could lick the cuts on the corner of his mouth and lip from inside the mask, but it was troublesome.
He pulled the mask up for a moment to attend the wounds. Rorschach's tongue slid slowly over his lips before finding the lacerations and nudging at them. He poked and prodded at the injuries with the tip of his tongue and looked over at Nite Owl about to ask his partner for alcohol to disinfect the wound.
The expression on Nite Owl's face was a betrayal. Undisguised lust and fascination. A violation of their partnership. All that was good between them! Justice, retribution, working together as a well-oiled machine of punishment, shattered by one look and a few inches of Walter's skin.
Rorschach lost his voice. Usually taciturn, he could find no words at all. Silently, he pulled the mask back down and turned away from Daniel.
***
He couldn't. He couldn't voluntarily harm himself. Could not enact the rite of self-reclamation. It would compromise his daytime identity; make the lie more recognizable while bringing it closer to the truth. Nor could he harm himself where the scars would not be visible; a secret geis, sigil against lust. Had scars already. Ultimately, pointless exercise that would give the city's predators a temporary advantage over him.
Daniel was not supposed to care what he looked like. Walter was not only dead and buried, he was unmourned. The skin underneath was meaningless; merely canvas beneath artwork. Framework and structure necessary; drawing underneath moot point when covered with thick enough paint.
A long time passed, and Daniel never uncovered the filth beneath pristine black and white. The smudges on his fingers from newsprint did it for him.