Watchmen Kink Meme 2: Electric Boogaloo. Or not.
Alright, alright, I'm back now. Here ya go kids. (You're just lucky the other one didn't run out in the middle of my vacation grumble grumble)
Rules of the meme:
1. Anonymously post a pairing and prompt you would like to see written. Since this is a kink meme, there is supposted to be a kink involved, but normal well-written prompts should work ( Read more... )
They arrived on the same day- Rorschach materialized in a compact ball deep in the cushions of Dan’s couch; the slightly battered package buried underneath the Ornithology Magazines and junk mail in his mail box. He tended to Rorschach first, leaving the unexpected piece of mail temporarily forgotten in his intray.
“Hey buddy, you ok?” Dan was hesitant, he hadn’t seen any sign of Rorschach for months- not so much as an empty sugar bowl. Rorschach didn’t even offer one of his patented monosyllables in response, merely nodded his masked head against the pillow- a worn throw pillow with a knit owl that Dan’s grandmother had made for him. The unnatural stillness of Rorschach’s fetus-curled form made Dan deeply nervous. Long years of partnership had taught him that Rorschach had two modes- frenetic energy and intent calm- and he knew which was a greater danger signal. Dan studied the rise and fall of Rorschach’s pointed shoulder blades for a moment, then left his partner in peace.
The puzzle of Rorschach’s behavior wouldn’t let him concentrate on reading, and after half an hour Dan sighed and retreated to the Owl Nest in search of something to clean. The task left his mind free to mull unchecked and he dusted and straightened, content on autopilot, until he found the rags. In a corner of the tunnel, almost invisible in the poor light, Dan found a small heap of old t-shirts and cut up towels that he kept for polishing Archie. The t-shirts had been plain Hanes white cotton, the towels had been grey. Now they were sticky and rust colored with clotted blood. Dan dropped them in automatic disgust before he realized where they must have come from and all the air was sucked from his lungs.
Turning on his heel, Dan fled back to the living room, taking the stairs two at a time. The couch was empty- no Rorschach. Dan stood, breathing hard for several anxious, bewildered moments. Gradually he recognized the roaring in his ears for what it was- the pipes. Rorschach was running the shower. Rorschach was hiding his injuries. Rorschach was running the goddamn shower. This was worse than he’d thought. The unease that had begun gnawing at Dan’s guts when he’d found Rorschach prostrate on his couch ate its way up into his throat and he took the stairs to the landing very slowly.
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“Rorschach? Man, are you hurt? Let me in.”
The water stopped, then Rorschach’s voice, harsher than Dan remembered, “Fine. Am fine Daniel.”
“I know you’re hurt Rorschach, let me in. Let me help.”
“No Daniel. Unnecessary. Will need your help- later. Will ask for it.”
Dan stroked the door feeling more helpless and frightened than he had since his last awful nights as Nite Owl. “Right- how do I know you won’t just disappear? That you’ll let me help you?”
“Came here, didn’t I?”
There was nothing to say to that so Dan sighed and turned to head back downstairs when Rorschach called after him, “Daniel? Could borrow some clothes?”
Dan shook himself and went to find something that would fit his slight partner, desperately trying to ignore the surreal wrongness of it all.
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I love this. F5 F5555 argh more please?
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I love this so far. I love Dan's reaction to finding Rorschach burrowing in his couch after months of absence.
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That is more than enough to make me D'AWWWW. D:
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...I'm a terrible person. :D
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That is more than enough to make me D'AWWW. D:
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Rorschach padded softly into the living room, shirtless, Dan’s pants not rolled at the ankle but rather tugged up around his rib cage, leaving only the top half of his torso visible. The old EMT training that had never completely faded kicked in and Dan began to make a mental inventory of the injuries. The mask was draped across Rorschach’s nose, hooked over his slightly jug ears, still dark with blood. Rorschach apparently was still Rorschach enough to skip washing his ears. He was missing at least one tooth and there was an ugly, strawberry-colored band, the width of a belt, circling his throat. Dan took it all in as he motioned Rorschach to sit on the couch, thinking only I’ve never seen Rorschach barefoot before.
His partner held out a hand swollen and bruised a color no human skin should ever be. Three of his fingers were crudely splinted and Dan gingerly reset them. Speaking as carefully as he moved, Dan asked, “Want to tell me what happened?”
“No.” The answer was immediate.
He didn’t press, continued to offer what help he could, just the right balance between too impersonal and too gentle. An ace bandage around tightly around a swollen ankle, a daub of alcohol on a cotton swab to clean the remaining blood out of Rorschach’s ears. Rorschach turned, resting his head against the armrest to give Dan access to two perfectly round, livid burns, the size of quarters in the middle of his back.
As Dan spread aloe on the burns Rorschach spoke, “Can’t guess Daniel? Very bad. Deductive skills worse than expected.” He said it with the tone of someone repeating a joke they didn’t understand.
“It looks like you were attacked. Badly,” Dan could feel the cords of Rorschach’s neck twist in protest as he massaged the rope burn.
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“No, buddy,” he measured his words carefully, “Not if you don’t want it to. It doesn’t change who you are.”
Rorschach sighed and relaxed imperceptibly. Dan took one last long gaze at the two burns, they seemed to be boring into him as much as Rorschach. He placed a strip of clean white gauze over each and carefully pressed the medical tape down with his thumb.
The smaller man rose shakily from the couch. His breathing for the last few moments had grown increasingly erratic. Dan only hoped that when his ex-partner inevitably punched him he’d have the sense not to do it with the hand Dan had just spent all that time splinting. Instead Rorschach merely inquired if he could sleep there another night. Rorschach’s courtly politeness- always so incongruous and familiar- made Dan’s chest ache.
“Sure thing- as long as you need. You remember the rules though, you have to take the guest room, and no shoes in the bed.”
Rorschach grunted, “Remember.” He turned to go, “Thank you Daniel. Were always a good friend.”
Dan sat for a long time after Rorschach left, idly twining the remaining scrap of gauze tightly around his finger, watching it flush and swell until the pain sank in, then unwinding it slowly. He thought about broken fingers and the way when a man’s head struck a wall the right way- or the horribly wrong way it made him start bleeding from the ears and nose. He thought about sprained ankles and bruised throats and deep cruel burns.
Even taken all together none of these injuries was really serious. Rorschach could and did take worse every night of the week. There was something else, something about the insidious intimacy of the wounds and Rorschach’s subdued quiet that prickled unpleasantly at the edges of his mind.
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Rorschach turned, resting his head against the armrest to give Dan access to two perfectly round, livid burns, the size of quarters in the middle of his back.
If those are from what I think they are and you write them being given I'm pretty sure I will be in my bunk owlship. Playing hallelujah and shooting flamethrower.
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