Little Things and All They Do
Little Things and All They Do
Dan, Rorschach - PG
Random h/c fluff. Dan and Rorschach are dorks.
There aren’t many nights that are worth savoring, Dan’s found-usually there’s too much blood, too many screams, to want dwell on a patrol. But tonight is a rare night where everything, from the weather to the activity to his mood comes together perfectly; where it’s wonderful just to breathe the fall air. Dan drinks in the night as he takes the sidewalk at a relaxed stroll.
Walking next to him, Rorschach is miserable.
To be fair, he’s been working on a bad ankle all night, after a bad landing wrenched it enough to force a limp. He’s hobbling along now, hunched so far into himself you wouldn’t know there was a person under the fedora’s brim. It can’t be just the ankle, though-Dan’s seen Rorschach go hours on worse. There’s a weariness about him tonight, a drag to his steps and a listlessness in his posture, as close to apathy as Dan’s ever seen from him. Dan’s been quelling the urge to ask what's wrong all night.
Caught up in his thoughts and good mood it’s a few seconds before he registers the absence at his side.
“Rorschach?”
His partner is lowering himself to sit on the front steps of a rowhome, hunching forward with arms on his knees. He keeps his head up, looking straight ahead into the empty street but the posture is forced, like it would be too much for him to let it droop and complete this picture of exhaustion.
Dan hesitates, running through his options here, then goes to join Rorschach. Rorschach doesn’t react as he settles himself a step behind him. They sit quietly for a stretch. It weren’t for the fact that he had no idea what's going on with his partner, it would be pleasant.
“The Orange Avenue complex isn’t far from here,” Dan says eventually. “I figure we can check it out and if it’s no good go for regular patrol the rest of the night.”
“The last two sites had more evidence were still busts. We'll likely have to scope out more places that could serve for drug storage and start again.” Rorschach pauses. “We could do Orange Ave. tomorrow.”
“C’mon man, I know you. You’re going to hate yourself in the morning if we don’t at least check out this last place.”
He nods but doesn’t make a move to get up. “Just. Need a minute.”
From the surrounding blocks drifts the shrieks and giggles of playful kids. It’s been dark for a good hour, but it’s a night to be milked as much as porch lights and parents’ watchful eyes will allow.
“Hey,” Dan says to Rorschach, “you wanna hear a joke?”
Rorschach look back at him. What the hell are you on about, the blots say.
“C’mon, it’ll cheer you up. Knock knock.”
Rorschach stares. The ink swirls through its paces. “You cannot be serious.”
Dan’s smile widens into a grin. “Knock knock.”
Rorschach swings his head back towards the street with a small sound, incredulous and long-suffering. Then, flat and dry as cardboard: “Who’s there.”
“Who.”
“Who who?”
“Hey don't steal my schtick, I'm the owl here!”
Rorschach snorts, shoulders shaking, which is enough of a reaction to send Dan’s spirits soaring. “I suppose that’s where you got the idea for your theme?”
“I only draw from the best.”
“Why did the peanut call the police?”
Rorschach’s still looking out over the street and giving no signs that he just said what Dan thought he said. Which was bizarre enough that Dan’s not sure he didn’t imagine it. “Hmmm?
He repeats, with no change in tone, “Why did the peanut call the police?”
“Um. Why?”
“Because he was a salted.”
With that, Dan doesn't care what the neighbors think; he claps a hand on Rorschach’s shoulder and laughs loud and long. God, he loves nights like this. He could almost lie back to look up at the sky, right here, if they weren’t on some poor person’s front steps.
He gives Rorschach’s shoulder a squeeze once he has his breath back. “You okay, man? Jokes aside, seems like you’re having a rough night.”
“Been better,” Rorschach answers. “Been worse too, though. Thank you.”
“We should still head out to that complex tonight. But whenever you’re ready.” The breeze slides around them and Dan takes a deep drag of the autumn air. It smells of leaves and smoke and the urban grime that always clings to Rorschach. “I don’t mind waiting.”
Dan, Rorschach - PG
Random h/c fluff. Dan and Rorschach are dorks.
There aren’t many nights that are worth savoring, Dan’s found-usually there’s too much blood, too many screams, to want dwell on a patrol. But tonight is a rare night where everything, from the weather to the activity to his mood comes together perfectly; where it’s wonderful just to breathe the fall air. Dan drinks in the night as he takes the sidewalk at a relaxed stroll.
Walking next to him, Rorschach is miserable.
To be fair, he’s been working on a bad ankle all night, after a bad landing wrenched it enough to force a limp. He’s hobbling along now, hunched so far into himself you wouldn’t know there was a person under the fedora’s brim. It can’t be just the ankle, though-Dan’s seen Rorschach go hours on worse. There’s a weariness about him tonight, a drag to his steps and a listlessness in his posture, as close to apathy as Dan’s ever seen from him. Dan’s been quelling the urge to ask what's wrong all night.
Caught up in his thoughts and good mood it’s a few seconds before he registers the absence at his side.
“Rorschach?”
His partner is lowering himself to sit on the front steps of a rowhome, hunching forward with arms on his knees. He keeps his head up, looking straight ahead into the empty street but the posture is forced, like it would be too much for him to let it droop and complete this picture of exhaustion.
Dan hesitates, running through his options here, then goes to join Rorschach. Rorschach doesn’t react as he settles himself a step behind him. They sit quietly for a stretch. It weren’t for the fact that he had no idea what's going on with his partner, it would be pleasant.
“The Orange Avenue complex isn’t far from here,” Dan says eventually. “I figure we can check it out and if it’s no good go for regular patrol the rest of the night.”
“The last two sites had more evidence were still busts. We'll likely have to scope out more places that could serve for drug storage and start again.” Rorschach pauses. “We could do Orange Ave. tomorrow.”
“C’mon man, I know you. You’re going to hate yourself in the morning if we don’t at least check out this last place.”
He nods but doesn’t make a move to get up. “Just. Need a minute.”
From the surrounding blocks drifts the shrieks and giggles of playful kids. It’s been dark for a good hour, but it’s a night to be milked as much as porch lights and parents’ watchful eyes will allow.
“Hey,” Dan says to Rorschach, “you wanna hear a joke?”
Rorschach look back at him. What the hell are you on about, the blots say.
“C’mon, it’ll cheer you up. Knock knock.”
Rorschach stares. The ink swirls through its paces. “You cannot be serious.”
Dan’s smile widens into a grin. “Knock knock.”
Rorschach swings his head back towards the street with a small sound, incredulous and long-suffering. Then, flat and dry as cardboard: “Who’s there.”
“Who.”
“Who who?”
“Hey don't steal my schtick, I'm the owl here!”
Rorschach snorts, shoulders shaking, which is enough of a reaction to send Dan’s spirits soaring. “I suppose that’s where you got the idea for your theme?”
“I only draw from the best.”
“Why did the peanut call the police?”
Rorschach’s still looking out over the street and giving no signs that he just said what Dan thought he said. Which was bizarre enough that Dan’s not sure he didn’t imagine it. “Hmmm?
He repeats, with no change in tone, “Why did the peanut call the police?”
“Um. Why?”
“Because he was a salted.”
With that, Dan doesn't care what the neighbors think; he claps a hand on Rorschach’s shoulder and laughs loud and long. God, he loves nights like this. He could almost lie back to look up at the sky, right here, if they weren’t on some poor person’s front steps.
He gives Rorschach’s shoulder a squeeze once he has his breath back. “You okay, man? Jokes aside, seems like you’re having a rough night.”
“Been better,” Rorschach answers. “Been worse too, though. Thank you.”
“We should still head out to that complex tonight. But whenever you’re ready.” The breeze slides around them and Dan takes a deep drag of the autumn air. It smells of leaves and smoke and the urban grime that always clings to Rorschach. “I don’t mind waiting.”