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It wasn’t often that Dan’s life took him to places like the garment district. Normally he went to great lengths to avoid shopping for clothes, having been put off over the course of his childhood by a toxic combination of a borderline phobic dislike of crowds and body image issues that grew with his girth. Growing up, he’d been the sort of kid to disappear from the large department store where the assistants ran their eyes disapprovingly over his chubby frame and suggested the next size up, only to be found a few hours later in the bookstore down the street. Add into those memories a practical man’s unwillingness to tolerate any level of discomfort in the name of fashion and it was no wonder that he’d been ordering his clothes out of catalogues for years. He might have happily lived out his days in mail order cardigans were it not for his cousin Joe’s upcoming wedding. Searching through the back of his closet, Dan had been forced to admit that his old prom outfit (whose debut hadn’t been a great night) couldn’t be persuaded to fit his frame a second time. After all, he’d spent the years since the first time gradually turning puppy fat into solid muscle.
Nothing else he owned was suitable. When it had dawned on him that he’d have to go shopping for new clothes, Dan had found himself thinking some very uncharitable thoughts about the institution of marriage: Really, why did Joe need a piece of paper to prove his love? And if he did, why did that have to involve Dan giving up an entire day of his life to shop for an expensive suit he’d never wear again just so that he could go (dateless) to celebrate Joe finding someone to spend his life with when he, Dan, hadn’t? All the while trying to explain to intrusive elderly relatives why his baby cousin was getting married before him. The day was going to be uncomfortable enough, you’d think Joe could at least let him wear a sweater! But Dan knew that wasn’t an option. Besides, he also knew that he’d enjoy the wedding once everyone had relaxed a bit. Probably.
It was partly the whole thing with Rorschach that was getting in the way of him being excited about a big wedding. Having suffered through months – hell, years – of growing, one-sided attraction, Dan was gradually being forced to admit to himself that this wasn’t a crush that would eventually subside, this was a case of him being in love. With Rorschach. God help him.
Rorschach knew his partner wasn’t attracted exclusively to women, but as far as Dan understood it, he knew it in an I don’t know what to do with that so I’ll just ignore it way, the same he seemed to process a lot about Dan. As for who Rorschach was attracted to, Dan doubted he felt that way about anyone, or if he did, he hid it well. Rorschach probably saw relationships as a distraction from serving justice.
But Dan couldn’t stop unhelpful fantasies slipping into his thoughts. Hardly surprising really: he wasn’t exactly one to keep his fantasies in check. He was more of the Go Down to the Basement and Build that Massive Flying Machine You’ve Been Daydreaming About school of thought.
Maybe that was why he was stuck imagining a situation where he finally admitted his feelings to Rorschach and didn’t ruin their friendship instead of finding someone more approachable (i.e., anyone else) to bring to the wedding. He couldn’t get Rorschach out of his head as he started home, laden with shopping bags. At least he had his outfit now and in good time to get home quickly and unwind a bit before patrol. Really, Dan thought, costumed adventurers shouldn’t have to worry about things like traipsing through the garment district shopping for wedding clothes. It hadn’t occurred to him when he became Nite Owl that at some point he’d still have to deal with snooty store assistants’ reactions to his dubious taste in shirts. Maybe he’d assumed that when he became Nite Owl, he’d magically become confident out of costume too.
He almost didn’t hear the scream. Issued from down a narrow side street, it was brief but urgent, quickly stifled, quickly covered by the more mundane noises of city life. Dan didn’t hesitate to head toward it, his shopping bags still in hand.
A few turns led him to a long, narrow courtyard that ran alongside a rundown building. It was the setting to an all too familiar scene: three thuggish looking men, one with his arm wrapped around a young man’s neck, the other two circling like wolves. It could have been a mugging, or the settling of some grudge, or something worse. Dan didn’t need to know, only to stop it, but he was too far away to start throwing punches. He cleared his throat.
Of course, no-one seemed particularly concerned. He wasn’t Nite Owl right at that moment, he was Dan Dreiberg, flustered from running in his baggy day clothes and still gripping his shopping. Hastily, Dan dropped the bags. They hit the tarmac with airy thuds and seemed to deflate, sagging with an audible hiss. “I suggest you boys let him go” Dan tried to force into his voice at least as much authority as he felt when he was in costume. He wished he could clean his glasses: there was a smudge on one lens and once he noticed it, it seemed to cloud everything. “Do you hear me? Let him go and get out of here before someone does something they’ll regret”
One of the thugs laughed and stepped away from the victim to face Dan. He could have looked artistic in another situation, adorned as he was with a collection of piercings and multi-coloured neon streaks in his hair. He took a second to look pointedly up and down the length of Dan’s body. “Nah, I don’t think I’d regret cutting you down, you dickhead” He spun, planted a vicious kick in his victim’s stomach, turned back to warn, “You get the hell outta here ‘fore you get the same!”
Dan clenched his fists. “I asked you to let him go” Taking out three of them would be easy, but he didn’t like the hold the biggest had on the teen’s neck: the colour was draining from the victim’s face and he made no sound though his lips mouthed frantically, gasping. If these guys were intent on serious harm, Dan wanted their focus on him before all hell broke loose, or he might get the victim killed. It wasn’t all that unlikely that the big guy could snap his neck. Dan took a careful step closer. The neon-haired man grinned and threw another punch just to wind Dan up. Looking past him, and past the panting victim, Dan saw the third man pull something from inside his coat: a gun. Great.
And then there was another man, someone short and red-haired, stepping soundlessly out of the building and taking in the scene with a notable lack of surprise. If it weren’t for the gun, Dan would yell at him to call the police, but as it was he’d just have to hope he would. With no-one else having seen him, Dan expected the man to back up, get back inside, and get himself to safety.
What the man did instead was step closer. Realising he intended to try to intervene, Dan quickly turned his attention to the armed men, to stop them noticing this well intentioned – but reckless – civilian. Really, if the man wanted to help, Dan thought calling the police would be the more useful course of action. Not that he could judge. He addressed the man with the gun, “Hey now, you don’t want to use that.”
The redhead seemed to notice the gun and seamlessly changed course, heading for the gunman instead of the victim, still utterly silent. Dan continued, “Think about it. You could still walk away from this. Use that, and your whole life changes: are you ready for that?”
Words had never been the strongest weapons in his arsenal. If he couldn’t talk good old Joe out of locking him in the closet when they were kids, thought Dan, really what were his chances of talking some criminal out of using a gun? But he didn’t really need to reason with the guy, just hold the attention of the assembled assailants for the time it took to edge close enough to make a grab for the weapon. If he could just close the space between them a little, he could disarm the gunman before he had a chance to point the weapon at the teen turning white in the biggest man’s grasp, or Mr Have-A-Go Hero creeping up behind them.
They were all looking at Dan now – good – and the neon headed man stepped forward to block his path, swung a fist that Dan dodged, stepping placidly sideways and away from the attack. Fighting this guy first would just leave the gun right there to do its worst. Dan was aware of the victim stamping his foot a little, panicked, before the man holding him adjusted his grip to clasp hair instead of neck, to give Dan his full attention. Far behind them, Dan’s civilian ally crouched down, stood up again with an old brick in hand. Dan pushed Neon Head away just enough to keep all eyes fixed on him, not enough to seem particularly threatening. The guy just laughed and stepped back to give his friend a clear shot. The gun was raised.
A second before the shot rang out, Dan grabbed Neon Head and pulled him into the line of fire, ducked sideways as he did it to avoid the bullet on its way out the thug’s shoulder. Dropping the screaming man on the ground, Dan leapt forward to seize the gun…just as the redhead grabbed the gunman from behind, swinging the weapon up to fire at the sky and smacking its owner across the back of the skull with the brick. The last thug snarled, a desperate, animal reaction to the sudden change in events. Knocking the victim aside he lunged for the redhead with the knife. Before Dan could intervene it became apparent that the redhead didn’t need saving: As Dan stopped short in amazement, the last thug was effectively disarmed and rendered unconscious with a move that, well, a move that Dan had watched Rorschach use on patrol not three nights ago. Dan stared.
Then the victim crumpled on the ground groaned, demanding his attention. Dan knelt beside him. “Hey, it’s alright, you’re safe now. Can I take a look at that?” He reached for a cut that ran along the guy’s cheekbone, but his hand was swiped away. “Yeah, I’m okay” The teen stood, shakily. “Thanks and all. Those guys just came out of nowhere.”
Helping him up, Dan surveyed the damage: two men unconscious and another twitching and groaning with a hole in his shoulder. He turned to… to Rorschach. Rorschach with that unmistakable scar on the back of his right hand. Dan would never forget how his partner had been more concerned about his glove. As Dan watched, Rorschach’s hand twisted to block the scar from view. He was looking suddenly very nervous now that the danger had passed and Dan was staring at his unmasked face. In a voice softer than the growl he forced through the mask, he asked, “Is he alright?”
“I think so” Dan nodded, “But we need to call an ambulance for the rest of them.”
“Hm. Police too” Rorschach frowned. Usually on patrol it was Dan who handled that side of things.
Dan asked, “Is there a phone inside?”
“I’ll go”
Of course, Dan realised, he wouldn’t want Dan going inside, or Dan would see where Rorschach worked, maybe even find out his name.
Dan turned to the victim. “I guess you should stick around and talk to the police. Are you okay to do that?”
The teen nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m alright. I can wait.”
Rorschach gestured awkwardly to his workplace. “He can wait inside.”
“Sure. Good idea” Dan didn’t take his eyes from the kid. “How will you get home afterwards?”
The kid shrugged. “My bus stop ain’t far.”
Dan dug in his coat pocket for his wallet and handed over a few notes. “Call a cab if the police don’t give you a ride.”
The boy nodded, looking relieved. “Thanks. Yeah. And thanks for…” he gestured to the fallen assailants.
Dan watched Rorschach lead him inside and wondered if his partner was going to come back out again. Was this really where Rorschach worked? That sort of made sense: the guy could sew for America.
A smile spread across Dan’s face and stayed there at the idea of finally being on equal terms, each knowing the other’s face. Neon Head had passed out; no-one would overhear them if Rorschach decided he may as well tell Dan his real name now as well.
He was pretty close to what Dan had pictured based on seeing the mask lifted halfway up countless times. Maybe a little more densely freckled, and maybe his ears and nose didn’t fit the whole in quiet the way Dan had imagined, but overall, it wasn’t far off. Dan hadn’t expected him to be conventionally attractive. Rorschach wasn’t supposed to be good-looking, he was supposed to be lean and stern and ruthless, like a bird of prey. And he was.
And a redhead. That wasn’t going to help stop the daydreams at all.
Shaking himself out of his excitement, Dan stooped to check the thugs over. His sweater served as a bandage for the bullet wound and he was still kneeling on the ground clamping it around Neon Head’s bleeding shoulder when Rorschach returned.
Rorschach glanced quickly around and made a familiar frustrated noise when he spotted Dan’s shopping bags a little way off. “Your shopping Da – ahem – here.” He picked the bags up off the ground, taking care that none of the garments within tumbled out. He held them out but Dan couldn’t exactly abandon giving first aid to take them. Plus he was still processing the hasty amendment – his partner had almost said his name but hadn’t. A quick glance confirmed no-one else was around.
“The police said they’d be here shortly” Rorschach told him. He let Dan’s shopping bags fall to his side. “Thank you for your help. Not everyone would step in, in a situation like that.”
Dan stared up at him, beyond disappointed. Was this really how they were going to do this? Act like strangers? Surely Rorschach had to realise that he recognised him?
Carefully, Dan replied, “That’s…no problem. Are you okay, buddy?”
At the endearment, Rorschach’s eyes widened a little and his right hand twitched. He quickly covered it with his left, hiding the distinctive scar. “Fine.”
Dan was incredulous: Rorschach really did think he hadn’t worked it out. How could he think Dan was that incapable? Dan would be offended if it wasn’t so funny. He opened his mouth to use his partner’s name – and shut it again when he heard the sirens. For the first time ever, he was disappointed the police had arrived so soon.
Arriving home later than planned, Dan tipped his crumpled wedding outfit onto the bed and set about putting it hurriedly away in his closet.
Of course by the time the police were done taking his statement, and his contact details (should he be worried about that?) and telling him he should have just called them (who did he think he was, a mask?), Rorschach had vanished.
Rorschach aka Mr Kovacs – one of the officers had used the name, and Dan hadn’t been able to resist replying “Oh, is that the guy with red hair?” After all, he needed to know the name to give the statement. Otherwise he might have said Rorschach by mistake. Or at least, that’s how he planned to explain it to Rorschach.
If he and Rorschach even talked about today, that was. Rorschach had a chance before the police arrived to tell Dan who he was and he hadn’t. Dan knew he’d be hurt about that later, but right now he was still too excited about finally knowing his partner’s name and face to care.
He tried to focus on cooking, eating and getting ready for patrol, but he needn’t have hurried: Rorschach was late. Hanging around in the basement, waiting for his partner to show, Dan began to wonder if he’d turn up at all. Maybe he did know that Dan had recognised him and was upset enough to avoid him? After all, it wasn’t like that had been how Rorschach must have imagined unmasking to Dan – if he ever did imagine it, that was. Dan certainly had. And Dan was starting to think it likely that Rorschach had realised that Dan recognised him, after the event if not during. He’d hidden the scar, but he had to know Dan would recognise his freckled chin, his voice (even softened), his graceful way of moving.
Dan decided he would have to say something. This whole does-he-know-I-know thing was too much drama. Too much like being back at high school. He would say something as soon as Rorschach showed up. Hell, he could even greet him with “Hi, Mr Kovacs” except that Rorschach would probably kill him.
Dan really wished the officer had used a first name. As he tidied up for the sake of something to do while waiting, he couldn’t stop himself trying out a few first names: Thomas Kovacs, Harry Kovacs, Walter Kovacs, Vincent Kovacs. It was one of those lovely last names that went well with anything.
Finishing a final sweep of the basement – everything was in its proper place – Dan started to have second thoughts about saying anything. It was probably better to let Rorschach bring the encounter up if he wanted to. Maybe the right time to unmask properly would come along soon anyway. Maybe Rorschach just wanted to keep his privacy a little longer.
Or maybe he was embarrassed about having a day job, or his looks, or some other stupid thing that he’d know not to worry about if he could see himself through Dan’s eyes.
Before Dan could make up his mind what to do, Rorschach appeared, his body language betraying how much of a hurry he was in. “Evening, Daniel. Thought you’d be gone already.”
“Hi, buddy. No, I was waiting for you. Would you like coffee?”
“We’re late already; coffee can wait.”
“Right” Dan led the way into Archie and started the engines. As they burst through the calm surface of the river, he waited for Rorschach to say something like oh by the way you saw me out of costume today but obviously he didn’t. He sat silently in the passenger seat, looking down at the city shrinking as they rose. Finally, Dan said, “You know, it was a crazy day”
“Oh?” This very careful, hesitant.
“Yeah I was in the garment district and I ended up intervening in a mugging or something. I don’t know what the guys were planning but one of them had a gun.”
“Next time try mail order. Much safer.”
Dan shook his head. This really was how they were going to do it then. And yet he found he couldn’t do anything but go along with it. Rorschach had already been unwittingly unmasked enough for one day. Adjusting gears and drawing Archie into a graceful mid-air swerve, Dan hazarded, “It was really lucky someone else was around. This guy showed up and basically saved my ass.”
“I’m sure you didn’t need saving.”
“Well it could have turned really nasty if he hadn’t been around.”
“Hrm. Doubt it. You could handle three without help.”
It took everything Dan had not to say I never said there were three of them. Seconds after he got the urge under control, Rorschach realised his mistake and scrambled to amend it with, “Up to three, I mean. More if there wasn’t a gun. I wouldn’t like you to take on more and a gun with no armour.”
“Says the man who still refuses to let me make him armour.”
“Enk”
“But anyway, I’m really glad that guy was there. He was really something – a real fighter. Decent too, to step in like that.”
“There are still a few good people left.” The ink collected over Rorschach’s cheeks and stopped there, shifting and quavering but unable to escape. Knowing what his face looked like under there just made it even funnier to imagine him blushing. Dan grinned and continued, “Definitely. And for him to be so capable – he was exactly who I needed to show up.”
“Pft. I doubt he was anyone special.”
“Oh, you’re wrong about that. He was definitely someone special. Tough. Talented.” Dan stole a glance at his squirming partner and decided it was safe to set caution aside and end with, “Cute too.”
At that, the black ink swarmed like an opened-up ants’ nest and Rorschach’s breath hissed inward. Dan piloted more carefully than he had to, averting his smile – which shifted from playful to nervous like moving ink – from Rorschach’s view. After a strained silence Rorschach replied, “You’re joking now, Daniel.”
“No!” Dan heard the insistence break though his up-to-now casual tone but couldn’t hold it back. He glanced at Rorschach again, looked away, gripped the controls. “I’m really not. He was a very handsome man in his way. I know you don’t like to hear about my, err – what do you call them? Proclivities? But I’m just saying he was…well. I liked him. Do with that what you will.” Probably what Rorschach would do with it was avoid him for the rest of their lives. This had gone way too far. He’d only said cute to mess with Rorschach but he should have known that wasn’t smart. His partner wasn’t exactly stable when it came to attraction of any kind. This revelation would catapult him to any end of the bad reaction spectrum from quietly freaking out, to shunning Dan for months, to punching Dan out and breaking up their partnership for good.
Dan waited to see which it would be but from the passenger seat there was only silence. Finally, he gathered the courage to look at Rorschach properly again, trying to seem casual.
Rorschach sat very still, his ink blots still betraying a blush. Dan dropped his bad pretence at casual and studied his friend closer, a new, altogether gentler smile growing on his own face at the change in Rorschach’s. It was subtle but it was there. Rorschach’s cheekbones were lifted just enough that Dan could notice it through the mask. That meant one thing: Rorschach was smiling. Dan’s own smile grew as that sank in. He managed, “I hope I see him again.”
Another long silence.
Then, from the passenger seat, “Maybe you will.”