[fic] Anthem; Watchmen; Dan/Ror
Title: Anthem
Fandom: Watchmen
Pairings: Dan/Rorschach
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: July 4, 1968.
Originally written uh, 7/4/09 (surprise!) for the Fourth of July KM prompt.
It was hot, hot and humid enough that sweat gathered along the back of his neck under the cowl and heat collected beneath his gauntlets as their patrol wore on.
So it was a relief when his his upright, stiff-backed, no-exceptions partner finally made an exception for the holiday.
"We've done good work tonight," Rorschach had said, surveying the remnants of a drug den whose unlucky owners were currently languishing in handcuffs attached to the stairwell. "The police will be occupied watching the fireworks crowd. We should wait before making the call."
It had absolutely nothing, Dan was sure, nothing to do with the way his partner's face had reflexively turned toward the sound of explosions, colors escaping through gaps in buildings to play across the slick latex. Nothing at all.
They were at the top level of a mostly-abandoned building, perched on the fire escape like his own namesake, their legs dangling through the railings. It was dark enough that Dan felt safe pulling back his cowl to let the breeze steal through his damp hair. Rorschach had somehow wrangled from somewhere two bottles of Coke, still cold. Hendrix's version of Star Spangled Banner was pealing out from someone's open window.
Fireworks rose up all over the city: legal, illegal, amateur, professional. A riotous celebration. Rorschach, remarkably, forgot to grumble about permits.
The old, worn pride from Dan's childhood-the one which had been bruised by all the things he'd seen in his line of work, all the doubts, all the scathing editorials about masked heroes-felt revived and vividly alive. They did what they did so people could light up the sky like this. This was his city. Their city.
Beside him, Rorschach took a long, languorous drink of Coke and smiled.
Fandom: Watchmen
Pairings: Dan/Rorschach
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Summary: July 4, 1968.
Originally written uh, 7/4/09 (surprise!) for the Fourth of July KM prompt.
It was hot, hot and humid enough that sweat gathered along the back of his neck under the cowl and heat collected beneath his gauntlets as their patrol wore on.
So it was a relief when his his upright, stiff-backed, no-exceptions partner finally made an exception for the holiday.
"We've done good work tonight," Rorschach had said, surveying the remnants of a drug den whose unlucky owners were currently languishing in handcuffs attached to the stairwell. "The police will be occupied watching the fireworks crowd. We should wait before making the call."
It had absolutely nothing, Dan was sure, nothing to do with the way his partner's face had reflexively turned toward the sound of explosions, colors escaping through gaps in buildings to play across the slick latex. Nothing at all.
They were at the top level of a mostly-abandoned building, perched on the fire escape like his own namesake, their legs dangling through the railings. It was dark enough that Dan felt safe pulling back his cowl to let the breeze steal through his damp hair. Rorschach had somehow wrangled from somewhere two bottles of Coke, still cold. Hendrix's version of Star Spangled Banner was pealing out from someone's open window.
Fireworks rose up all over the city: legal, illegal, amateur, professional. A riotous celebration. Rorschach, remarkably, forgot to grumble about permits.
The old, worn pride from Dan's childhood-the one which had been bruised by all the things he'd seen in his line of work, all the doubts, all the scathing editorials about masked heroes-felt revived and vividly alive. They did what they did so people could light up the sky like this. This was his city. Their city.
Beside him, Rorschach took a long, languorous drink of Coke and smiled.