Heaven Has Nothing (Memory Two)
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 Two: You Were Gone When I Found You
“I blamed myself, you know,” Daniel says after a moment, staring up into the whiteness. He expects the sting of sun in his eyes, the glare of refracted light, but there is nothing. Just blankness, an unmarked canvass waiting for ink.
Time doesn’t matter here, and he lets it stretch between them. Perhaps he hopes his words will serve as bait and the silence as a line drawing back, teasing Rorschach into speech or motion. He is not surprised, however, that his friend neither moves nor speaks after several minutes (hours, days, no-time). At this current moment, he’s not exactly certain that Rorschach can move. Nothing seems to be holding him back, but then again…
“I never figured out what happened, but all the sudden you pulled away. We were doing so well, we were great together, and then
---
They had been doing great work together, every night something vibrant and exciting in a life that was growing increasingly dull and lonely. Every successful stakeout, every broken code, every crime ring disbanded; every moment of every night they spent together were the most meaningful moments of his life.
As close to the situation as he is, he doesn’t think of this as sad or pitiful. Quite the contrary, the stark loneliness of his day-life only serves to highlight the beauty and freedom of his nights, the delight of companionship. He’s never met anyone like Rorschach, so intense and so passionate, so completely devoted and in the moment.
So it’s like a sharp punch to the gut the night that the other man just doesn’t show up. He goes on patrol anyway, because maybe he’s out there caught up in something, and even if he’s not Daniel isn’t going to act like a girl who’s been stood up. But the night is miserable for all its action and sweet warmth, and he doesn’t run into Rorschach at all. He goes home feeling irritable and depressed.
A few nights later the smaller man is just there in his basement when he goes down stairs; just standing awkwardly half in and half out of the shadow. Daniel swallows his relief almost as quickly as he does his resentment; it quickly becomes apparent that this man is not the same man he was last week.
All the intensity is there, but none of the humanity. He’s gone back to silence, too, and something about that is stinging with implication. Dan doesn’t think he’s done anything wrong, but he must have. Why else would his friend throw up so many walls between them so suddenly? Why else would he lunge wordlessly and recklessly into a fight with the barely restrained energy of a man seeking violence?
For the first time, Dan watches Rorschach work and feels the keen edge of fear slice into him, a bite that leaves him feeling guilty. But if he’s not careful he’ll kill the punk he’s got pinned and it’s obvious that he doesn’t care even a little, the way his fist slams into the guys face, and there’s blood everywhere and someone is sobbing and someone else is screaming, shouting stop stop and
and
Rorschach tries to hit him when he grabs his wrist mid-punch. Only when the shouting stops does he realize it was coming from his own throat; he feels horse and a little nauseated. The man trapped under Rorschach is babbling apologies and pleas and it’s fucking pitiful. Rorschach himself if tense in Dan’s grip, still angled to hit him but frozen in place, caught between confused realization and blind rage, and that’s pitiful too. Daniel has no idea what to do, what’s happened, and maybe that’s the worst of the lot.
“You have to stop,” he says, and his voice is anything but strong, giving away all his insecurity and weakness, but the man growling up at him relaxes a fraction. “I’m going to let go now.”
To be honest, he expects Rorschach to either go back to beating this guy to death - and who the hell knows, maybe the guy deserves to die for the sins he’s committed against the city and it’s almost-innocent populace, but Dan is sure as hell not going to say he has the right to make that decision.
Hours of tense silence later, they’re standing in his basement again. The harsh florescent lights seem to strive to make the blood on Rorschach’s coat look as garish as possible. Dan is embarrassed and enraged with himself to find he’s still a little afraid of the man who he has trusted with his life every night for years. He’s extremely on edge.
“Did not intend…” Rorschach gives one of his nonverbal syllables, disgruntled and apparently as edgy as Dan himself. “Wouldn’t have hit you.”
“I know,” he lies without thinking, without guilt. To do otherwise seems pretty stupid. “I know.”
He doesn’t see his partner for three weeks after that. The nights, warm and gently easing into summer, seem as hollow and pointless as his days.
And now, to his shame, they are tinged with fear.
---
you just stopped showing up.” His arm drapes across his eyes, erasing whiteness with blackness. The emptiness of this place is hollowing, leaving every emotion to echo through him, all the guilt and sorrow. There’s something like anger there, but so sharply turned inward that it cannot surface, resonating within himself.
He was told to talk, for all the good that seems to do.
Swallowing, he turns his head to look at his friend, jumping slightly at the sight of those fierce bombardier’s eyes trained on him. They are a muddy brown (but not just brown; there is a splotch of pale blue in the left, a sectoral heterochromia that is subtly beautiful) and deeply sad under all the intensity, and they had been closed to him for as long as he’d been visiting. Having them open was an encouraging surprise, but (as with most things in this place) it stung, too. Stung that his pain was the cord to finally tug his friend into response of any kind.
“Hey, buddy,” he manages in a whisper, before burying his face in his hands and sobbing something like relief.