Wow, I hate having to title things.
Listen to the song Screwdriver by The White Stripes.
I dunno. It just seemed fitting.
Hnngh. Chapter titles don't necessarily have to make sense. I'm declaring this now.

This is the first multi-part story I've ever had an ending to. The problem is that I don't have a complete middle. Oh well. Something will be figured out eventually. I guess.

I started out just writing a couple scraps of ideas just to get them out of my head, but it started to go a little further.
Tried to keep the characters fairly in character, given the circumstances of the silly plot. I mean, I know Rorschach wouldn't really do this, whatever, but he does in this story.

Also, be somewhat nice. We're only here to have a good time : )

.Black Math.

Amidst cruel laughter and feigned concern, the older boys asked him what he was doing out so late. Said it was too bad he'd made such a stupid mistake, that he'd have to give them his cash. There was no cash to give though, so knives were pulled and punches thrown. James did his best to defend himself, fists flying and scoring a few decent hits, but how many were there? Five? Maybe six? And knife cuts burned. Distracting. Scary. In the end, he couldn't make it, but he'd be damned if he didn't go down without a fight.

Rorschach, shadowy guardian of the city, took the matter into his own hands, snapping the neck of the hoodlum about to deliver what was possibly the final killing stab. Another had both his arms broken, and the third had his face beaten to a bloody mess. What was left of the group had managed to escape, hopefully too terrified to think of committing another crime. Rorschach stared at the boy laying on the ground, judging how bad his injuries actually were.

"Hey. I saw you yesterday," James said, still breathing heavily. "In the newspapers."

It was better than a thank you. Rorschach hated it when people wanted to thank him, wanted to try and repay him. He decided the injuries were non-threatening after all. "Good for you." And he began to walk off. "Go home."

James managed to scramble to his feet, following clumsily after. "Alright. Done. Don't know where else you want me to go."

"Hurm."

"Hey, I know you just saved me and all, shouldn't ask for something else, but you wouldn't happen to have a couple bucks, would ya? I'm really hungry."

"Come."

--------

The door was locked. Rorschach poised to kick.

"No! Stop!" Dan had come home just in time. He ran the rest of the way down the sidewalk, not entirely confident that Rorschach would be patient enough to wait for him to unlock the door. "What's, ah.... what's going on exactly?"

"Came for dinner."

"In the middle of the night. Of course. And you brought a date this time."

Once inside with the lights on, the cuts and bruises James had received from the recent spat were much more noticeable.

"Good Lord, Rorschach! What did you do to him?" Dan asked, shocked at the boy's condition.

Rorschach didn't seem offended by the accusation. He just strolled on into the kitchen. "Saved his life."

"Come into the bathroom," Dan sighed, leading the way down the hall. "What happened? Are you alright?"

"Yeah. Was getting roughed up." James sat patiently, letting Daniel clean up his wounds and apply a bandaid or two here and there. "Asked him for a few dollars so I could eat and he brought me here."

Dan frowned a little. "I see."

Back in the kitchen, Rorschach was helping himself to a takeout box of some sort of rice dish. He shoved a similar container of spaghetti across the table. Excited, James made for the box, but was intercepted by Dan, who had the decency to warm up the food for his guests. Dan was afraid to ask, but as he set the reheated meal on the table, he had to know. "You're not planning on leaving him here, are you?"

"Thought about it." Rorschach admitted between (and during) bites of his dinner.

"No." Daniel tried to be extra forceful.

"Did. Thought about it."

"Oh? And what did you decide then?"

"Stays with you, gets sent to unwanted children home. Bad place. Stays on streets, gets killed. Stays with me, lives."

"While you're overflowing with great ideas, why don't you open up 'Rorschach's Home For Orphans And Runaways'?"

"No. Bad idea, Daniel."

--------

He was determined to make this work. Rorschach didn't like to be wrong. He finally decided to take off his face. It was safer to have it hidden while he was at home.

"Listen, I don't know what you're wanting in return for this" James said awkwardly. "If you were wanting to do things...."

"What? No!" Rorschach spat. He slammed his newspaper down on the table, apparently finished with it. No way he would be asking a boy to do things with him. That was something unethical men did. Who did this kid think he was talking to? Some corrupt filth roaming the streets hoping to exchange good deeds for sex? "No!" He stood up from the table, shoving his chair into it loudly. Hit the light switch and fell heavily onto the bed.

James slept on the floor that night.

Am I the only one who thinks that sometimes Rorschach&Daniel=House&Wilson? Yeah, maybe that's just me.

I love "hurm."