Heaven Has Nothing
Fandom: Watchmen
Title: Heaven Has Nothing
Characters/Pairings: Dan/Rorschach
Summary: Memories and misery; putting things in perspective.
Ratings/Warnings: R for imagery. Mentions of child abuse, violence, murder. Non-consequential OCs. Character death inextricably involved.
Notes: Weird and contrived style, for which I apologize.
Memory One: All This Talking is So Much Silence
It’s very bright out here, very white and Dan’s not sure how he feels about that. He sits next to Rorschach with a muttered greeting, but Rorschach (of course) says nothing. Rorschach hasn’t spoken in a very long time, which is part of the reason Dan’s here now and part of the reason he feels so awkward.
He knows what he wants to say, but he’s not sure how to start, so he just barrels into it.
“Do you remember the first night we patrolled together?” He asks, drawing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. The pose feels childish, totally indicative of the insecurity he feels, but he can’t help it. “I mean, really patrolled together, not just dropped in on each other as backup in a nasty fight or passed each other on the streets.” He trails of, looking at his friend for a response. There is (of course) no change in his countenance.
“I remember it because even then I worried about you. I didn’t even know you, man, but it was March and it started to rain when I met up with you and all you were wearing
---
All he’s wearing against this weather is a trench coat, the collar popped uselessly against the freezing rain and driving wind and Dan doesn’t really know him but he’s worried. A man could get sick in this weather, especially in their line of business.
It’s the costume, he supposes; people recognize him by it. But they don’t really - it’s the mask they remember, and maybe the hat, but mostly it’s his presence. It’s certainly not the coat. He’s felt that back against his own enough times to know there’s nothing insulating about that coat, and he has to be freezing. Dan certainly is, but at least he’s got the cape.
But this guy is tough, very quiet as they walk side by side, and he feels more than a little stupid when he finally asks, “Man, aren’t you freezing?”
Rorschach (like the test, like the mask, creative on top of everything) doesn’t say anything, just hunches his shoulders against the chill, and they both forget about it when the shrill beacon of distress pierces the night.
He’s awed as always by how smoothly this man - now his partner, and he’s guiltless in his glee over this - drops the collar of the punk he’s knocked out and moves to intercept the man who tries to break from his group and run. Analogies for his partner, all of them trite and banal, flash through his head as he holds his own against the two men that are left - a lightning storm, a wild fire; something natural and fiercely dangerous and terribly beautiful when you can watch it from a safe distance.
There’s something wonderful about the asynchronous huffs they exhale as their opponents fall, and Daniel suddenly understands what Hollis meant about brotherhood and camaraderie. He lets Rorschach drag the criminals together, listening with half an ear and a stupid grin as he growls about exactly what their degenerate activities are doing to the city, while he checks on the woman they were trying to mug.
When she’s safely on her way and the cops alerted to the location of the criminals, they move on together, heading to follow a lead Rorschach picked up. It’s a good one, another step closer to the goal that has united them. But the night is still young and Dan is pleased when Rorschach doesn’t head off on his own. Together, he intones, they are more efficient.
The rain never lets up, but it doesn’t wash away the scum of the city (as Rorschach so eloquently puts it). Two hours in, Dan notices a distinct stiffness to his partner’s movement, a slight shudder when the wind blows at them. “Hey,” he offers, “maybe we ought to look into getting you a thicker coat.” It’s really more a joke, but Rorschach looks at him for a long moment, his mask frozen in demonic scowl (or at least, that’s what Dan sees).
“Fine like this,” he says stiffly and keeps walking, leaving Dan to worry a moment longer before following.
His muscles ache and his head is spinning when he returns home in the earliest hours of the morning. It’s all good pain though, even the bruises; pain that proves the truth of his partners words - together they get a hell of a lot more done than they could alone. For the first time since he stepped out into the night in his costume, he realizes how fast everything happens. He shocks himself with the deep sense of pride he suddenly feels at how much good they can do together in one night.
Unless, of course, his partner get himself sick, he thinks dryly as he steps under the hot spray of the shower. This kind of weather requires consideration. Maybe tomorrow night it’ll be warmer, or at least drier, and Rorschach will be a little more comfortable in his thin coat.
He falls asleep feeling like a child waiting for Christmas morning, exhaustingly excited by the prospect of his next night working with Rorschach. They’re going to be magnificent together, he already can tell.
---
was that damn trench coat. You looked like you would freeze to death before the night was over. But I was impressed too, because you didn’t complain even when it was obvious you were soaked through and beyond cold. I thought you were… I don’t know, inspiring. You were so dedicated.”
Dan pauses to draw a breath, exhaling it with an utterance too tired to really be laughter. “It wasn’t until much later that I realized that it was more stubbornness than anything. Which wasn’t always bad, I mean… no one else would have hung around and kept me going as long as you did. But it was terrible too, because I knew no matter what happened - no matter how many times some punk broke your arm, no matter how many times I sewed your skin closed - no matter what, you were never going to slow down or change.
“Not your mind, not your coat. You refused to change.”
A sigh escapes him, arms tightening around his knees. He wants to pull himself into a ball and crush this feeling out of himself, to make himself as small and hard as he can so this grief and pain will wash off him. But he can’t do that, he’s not good hardening himself (soft, Daniel, you’ve gone soft) and he’s not good at displacing emotion. So instead he forces himself to relax, trying not to shiver as he stretches out next to Rorschach. When he turns his head, the other man hasn’t moved, shows no sign of speaking.
Of course he doesn’t. His silence is as unyielding as the bitter cold.