Rorschach's Journal
Title: Rorschach's Journal, December 18th, 1974
Canon: Watchmen
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Rorschach, Daniel
Summary: It is a cold, cold night to spend alone.
Rorschach’s Journal, December 18th, 1974:
Snow falls on pavement today, covering the dirt and grime with a false sense of clean. Snow does not clean the streets. We do. Paroled with Daniel like usual. Stopped a pickpocket. Justice felt good - not enough, never is, but satisfied for now.
It is cold and so I turn collar against the night and Daniel notices and offers his home and company. Refuse because that is the right action to take, but still, he insists.
After much argument, agree to stay, but not for long. Though we may rest, the city never does. Daniel putters around kitchen like house wife trying overly hard to please and pushes mug of hot tea towards me. Claims it will make me feel better.
Remove gloves and touch mug with frozen fingers. Tea is good. Bursts of flavours on tongue, many barely remembered from years long past and the fruit and mint aftertaste feels oddly out of place. Does not finish drinking. Cannot.
Daniel makes sandwich. Despite rejection, he still puts them in brown paper bag and thrusts it into my hand. Bread and beans and cucumbers. He is a good man. I tell him so and he flusters and wrings his hands and says that it is just a sandwich.
I leave with the sandwich tucked firmly away and funny feeling in stomach that has nothing to do with tea. He clasps me on shoulder and tells me to be careful. I tell him that I always am.
Winter winds blow, harsh and cutting like butcher’s knives, but tonight, I cannot feel them. Tonight, I am warm.
Canon: Watchmen
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairing: Rorschach, Daniel
Summary: It is a cold, cold night to spend alone.
Rorschach’s Journal, December 18th, 1974:
Snow falls on pavement today, covering the dirt and grime with a false sense of clean. Snow does not clean the streets. We do. Paroled with Daniel like usual. Stopped a pickpocket. Justice felt good - not enough, never is, but satisfied for now.
It is cold and so I turn collar against the night and Daniel notices and offers his home and company. Refuse because that is the right action to take, but still, he insists.
After much argument, agree to stay, but not for long. Though we may rest, the city never does. Daniel putters around kitchen like house wife trying overly hard to please and pushes mug of hot tea towards me. Claims it will make me feel better.
Remove gloves and touch mug with frozen fingers. Tea is good. Bursts of flavours on tongue, many barely remembered from years long past and the fruit and mint aftertaste feels oddly out of place. Does not finish drinking. Cannot.
Daniel makes sandwich. Despite rejection, he still puts them in brown paper bag and thrusts it into my hand. Bread and beans and cucumbers. He is a good man. I tell him so and he flusters and wrings his hands and says that it is just a sandwich.
I leave with the sandwich tucked firmly away and funny feeling in stomach that has nothing to do with tea. He clasps me on shoulder and tells me to be careful. I tell him that I always am.
Winter winds blow, harsh and cutting like butcher’s knives, but tonight, I cannot feel them. Tonight, I am warm.