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... )
Danielle Dreiberg didn’t read the same stories as other young girls as a child, more intrigued by the exploits of Sir Galahad than in waiting to see if a handsome prince might come along to awaken Sleeping Beauty, so perhaps she could be forgiven for forgetting the cardinal rules of fairy tales. Be kind to ugly strangers; there is no greater power than a kiss and nothing, nothing is ever as it appears.
He’s hideous. Danielle thinks, eying the freckled man currently measuring her waistline, flicking the tape with the ease of long practice. The freckles, the hair. Even with that shade it looks like a shag carpet. Pug nose, maybe broken once or twice.
Aloud she says, “Can it be finished by next week?”
The man grunts in what she assumes is assent, leaning over to make some notes.
Great, sparkling personality as well. She struggles to be polite, “I hope it’s not too much to ask, but I’ve got this important conference. I’m going to present a paper and I’ve been out of the academic scene for quite a while,” She avoids thinking about the implications that a gaggle of spectacled old men terrify her more than a gang of the mob’s thugs.
At least with the thugs she has Rorschach at her back.
Realizing she’s trailed off, not that the little jerk is paying any attention, she fumbles, “I just-”
“Ms. Dreiberg,” his voice is surprisingly gentle, his close proximity as he measures her arm giving the words an uncomfortable intimacy, “Please do not worry,”
She glances over at him, his hand resting on hers as he holds the tape, and meets his gaze straight on for the first time.
Blue. His eyes are blue.
“And it’s really weird, you know?” she says, “He’s the ugliest man I’ve ever seen. Got this pug nose and really strange orange hair,”
Rorschach makes a noncommittal sound, but she ignores his obvious lack of interest and barrels on. It’s not as if he ever has much to contribute to these late night patrols.
“Shorter than me,” she continues, “Though I’m pretty tall for a woman, so I suppose that’s okay. Freckled like the Milky Way with a personality worse than yours,” Her tone is teasing, but Rorschach doesn’t rise to the bait, “But, when he looked at me, all I could think was that he had the most beautiful eyes I’d ever seen,” She shakes her head, “They were blue, his eyes, light and really intense. Like he could see past all the bullshit. Like he could really see me,”
“Hurm,” Rorschach speaks for the first time that night, “Light blue like water, sign of weak and mutable person,”
She shakes her head, “I don’t think so. Those weren’t the eyes of a weak man,”
“Judas also had red hair. Untrustworthy, duplicitous,”
She laughs, “Now, that’s just silly,”
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In retrospect, she probably should have waited until after he was finished pinning before asking.
Brushing off his mumbled apologies, she catches his hand, ignoring the sting of metal in her arm and tries to meet his eyes again.
“Walter, will you?”
He’s desperately trying to reclaim his hand, “Not proper, Ms. Dreiberg,”
“I’m not a customer after today. How about coffee?”
“Ms. Dreiberg”
“Please, Walter, look at me,”
He raises his eyes, reluctant, and she looks in them. Sees fear, and underneath, a strange, curious longing.
“Please?” she doesn’t drop her gaze, letting him see her honesty in this.
His fist clenches and he pulls away from her. Her heart plummets.
“Tomorrow,” he says, and the words seem to take great effort, “Get off at four. Will meet you for dinner at five. Acceptable?”
“Thank you,” she says, her spirits lifting even as her brain asks her what the hell she thinks she’s doing.
“I ended up taking him to a hot dog stand,” she confesses to Rorschach, “I wasn’t sure what else to do, and it was close by. He was just so weird about the whole thing. Plus his table manners are just shy of atrocious. My mother would have whipped me for behaving like that,”
Rorschach makes a sound that makes her turn and check her partner for injuries.
“Are you okay?” she asks, concerned, “Did that last guy get you?”
“Am fine, Danielle,”
They continue down the street.
“Actually, I’m being a bit harsh. My mother would have just nagged my ear off,”
“Hurm, whipping perhaps preferable,”
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The childish look of wonder in his eyes when she apologizes and replaces his cone breaks her heart.
“I’m crazy,” she says, “absolutely barking mad,”
“I agree,” replies Rorschach, threading a needle with a length of suture, “crazy to turn back on man with switchblade,”
She ignores him, ticking off points on her fingers, “Ugly as sin, emotionally unavailable, socially stunted, nasty temper, and I’m pretty sure sexually naïve as well-ouch!”
“Hold still!” Rorschach sounds distressed, “cannot fix this if you keep fluttering like brainless butterfly,”
“I don’t understand it!” she wails, “I thought it might be because I haven’t had sex in over a year,” Rorschach is choking behind her, “but even basic instinct shouldn’t overwhelm all faculties of logic and reason! He’s a terrible choice! What the hell is wrong with me?”
“Danielle,” Rorschach is gripping her uninjured shoulder, a gesture which shows how serious he is, “Please hold still,”
“I’m sorry,” contrite, she glances over her shoulder at her partner, “thank you for giving me a hand,”
“Always have your back, Danielle,” The hands which broke a man’s arm tonight are gentle against her skin, and with the pain fading under the medication, she’s suddenly very aware of him. His heat behind her, the quick efficient way he stitches up her skin, and, a memory, earlier that night, how he fought, all sinew and discordant grace.
She can feel heat rising in her face and hopes the dim light of the Owl’s Nest hides it. Anxious, she finds herself babbling.
“I guess I’m exaggerating a bit. He’s not that bad. Walter, I mean,”
Rorschach grunts an assent.
“He can be kind, he’s just a bit standoffish with strangers, and he seems to like children. He’s very loyal,” Rorschach’s hands have stopped moving, just resting against her back, “And supportive. He’s someone, someone I could see myself spending my life with, a…”
“Partner?” Rorschach’s voice is as unreadable as his mask.
“Yes,” she whispers.
They’re both silent.
“Am sure you will know what to do,” Rorschach says finally, “Are a good woman, Danielle,”
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“Walter-” she begins, but he interrupts, uncharacteristically energetic.
“One moment, Danielle,” he says, “Have something important to say,”
He reaches for his pocket and produces a small box. Her stomach drops out beneath her.
I’m an idiot if I didn’t see this coming.
“During this time we’ve spent together, I have come to care for you very much, Danielle,” Walter says, stumbling slightly as though the words are in a foreign language, “would be honored if you would be willing to enter into marital contract,”
The words are rehearsed but the emotion in them isn’t, and Danielle’s torn between laughing at his bizarre use of “marital contract” and crying because she has to turn down the first man who’s proposed to her in her life.
“Walter,” she says, “I also care for you, and the fact that you proposed means a lot to me, it really does, but I can’t accept,”
The brightness in his eyes fades a bit, he looks unsure, “Am confused, Danielle, is too soon?”
“That’s not it,” she sighs, “Walter, I’m not proud of this, but I’m afraid I may have been with you for the wrong reasons,”
His brow furrows in confusion.
“I love you because I see someone else I love in you,”
He stands, sudden and jerky. His face twists slightly before blanking out, emotion vanishing and leaving a mask more expressionless than even Rorschach’s.
“Love someone else?”
“Yes, but, Walter-”
“Understood,” his body twitches in what might be a polite bow, “Will not bother you again. Good afternoon, Ms. Dreiberg,”
“Wait, Walter!”, but he’s gone, vanishing ghostlike into the park crowds.
Danielle trudges home to indulge in the remains of a tub of chocolate ice cream and a long cry.
Rorschach is two hours late for patrol, and when he finally limps in, gloves and trench streaked with blood, Danielle realizes he’s been out without her, tearing through gang members and drug runners. His posture is hostile, humming with an anger she doesn’t understand, and for the first time since they came together as partners, she feels afraid.
“Rorschach?” she approaches slowly, as though he’s a wild animal, “Are you alright?”
“Am fine, Danielle,” he rasps, “Should move along. Is Owlship fueled?”
“Oh, yes, I juiced Archie up a few hours ago, but Rorschach, are you sure-”
“Am fine,” he stalks past her towards the Owlship and the sight of his hurt makes her reach out, disregarding all instincts of self-preservation.
Pain explodes in her face and she tumbles backwards. The room spins crazily.
She hadn’t even tried to block.
Love really does make people stupid. She thinks, watching the pipes above her vibrate like plucked strings.
Rorschach’s beside her in an instant, easing back the cowl to check the damage, distress in every line of his body, mumbling apologies. Not once, in years they’ve worked together, has he struck her in anger and she wonders what could have pushed him so far.
He’s stripping off his dirty gloves, pulling clean gauze and disinfectant from the first aid kit, and the sight of shears in his hand jogs a memory.
In her addled mind the puzzle pieces finally align and she knows.
The red hair.
The grace with a thread and needle.
The way he handles her, acknowledging her strength while simultaneously supporting it.
Her hands rise of their own volition, clasping his face.
He freezes.
She rolls the mask up, over his mouth and nose. He doesn’t stop her.
She draws him close, until she can feel his rapid breath against her own mouth.
She kisses him, whispering his name, and the sound he makes is that of a dying man coming back to life.
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Spindle, Shuttle and Needle: Epilogue
Life isn’t like fairy tales.
Her kiss doesn’t change Rorschach into a handsome prince. He still breaks the lock on her door with annoying frequency and behaves for the most part like the bastard child of a conspiracy theorist and a Puritan minister. But then there are the things that make it all worth it.
The moment Walter screws up the courage to ask again.
The line of Rorschach’s back against her own, a solid anchor in a storm of conflict.
The look on Walter’s face when she tells him she’s going to have a baby.
The feel of Rorschach’s hand in hers at the end of a patrol.
With an ending like this, Danielle thinks, who needs happily-ever-after?
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okay. I can die happy now. -warmandfuzzies-
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that was incredible. that was funny, and heartwrenching and the last installment was perfect, perfect, perfect.
this was everything i was looking for, and more. i wish it was longer, but you made it WORK even with the sparseness; so thank you, thank you. you've made me fall in love with Danielle/Rory all over again.
wow.
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