Rorschach is a nightmare all by himself. A flurry of shadow and silence, his comings and goings and rough gravely greetings threaten to drive Daniel insane. The eternal unknowing, the unending worry, and the sense of guilt that accompany each growled farewell are maddening.
"Fine by myself," the smaller man growls bitterly, the ink of his supposed face swirling in sharp bursts that put Daniel in mind of angry outbursts. He knows that Rorschach will never admit to wanting help, and he knows he cannot go back to the way things were, but the bitterness in his former partner's voice makes him wince internally. Sometimes, when he's alone on the steps of his basement or sitting at the desk working on some knickknack he'll never use but wants to build anyway, he thinks that Rorschach visits just to burn him with guilt.
Of course, for the most part, he knows it's not true. Rorschach doesn't make people feel guilty, he doesn't think that way. His visits are mysterious breaks in Dan's increasingly lonely life. It's disruptive, because Dan has become used to the loneliness, is sometimes even comforted by it. He intentionally keeps all his friends at arm's length, because he is afraid of making a commitment to them that he will eventually falter on. He has never been as good with people as he is with mechanical things, and would much rather be continuously lonely than constantly expecting abandonment. At least if he's lonely, he's not hurting anyone. Or getting hurt.
He can't put Rorschach at arms distance, though, and this disturbs him. With Rorschach, it's all or nothing, and it's on the other man's terms entirely. When he's there, he's there, a quiet tense, bundle of muscle and lethal intent and bunched leather. His presence is both limited and all consuming, because when he's there, Daniel is immediately aware of it and yet can ignore him if he's working on something, but when he's gone, Daniel is suddenly hollow. He is not used to wanting people around, on wishing someone would stay when they say they're going to leave.
There is absolutely nothing to gain by trying to persuade Rorschach to linger, to give his 'work' a rest for a little while. There is nothing to gain in encouraging Rorschach's appearances with open windows or extra tins of food in the cupboard. There is nothing to gain from sitting in semi-comfortable silence with the masked man, in the basement or in the dining room over a cup of coffee.
There is nothing to gain, and yet he always buys more cans of tuna and beans that he will ever really eat on his own. He leaves the sugar cubes in a bowl, where they are easily accessed and always in stock. He makes sure to have coffee on hand, in the off chance that Rorschach will agree to stay long enough for a cup.
It always goes back to memories. Rorschach never really needed Daniel, or Nite Owl for that matter. All Nite Owl had been to him was a extra pair of hands and an occasional voice of reason. Someone to help break codes and keep an eye out on patrol. He likes to think they worked well together, despite all their various and intense differences. Because when Rorschach moved, Daniel moved with him. When Rorschach fought, Daniel fought with him, back to back. When Rorschach had thrown his last punch, Daniel was only seconds behind. Imperfect synchronization that was somehow more beautiful for its inaccuracy.
Daniel needed Rorschach. After the first few months of crime fighting, he would have given up without any laws forcing him, if it weren't for Rorschach's firm belief that they were doing the right thing. Daniel clung to his partner, dependant on him as a remora is dependent on larger fish for survival.
For as long as Dan's known him, it's always been Rorschach's nature to take more on himself than he has too. It is because of this that he has become the nightmare he is- trying to fight every evil that caught his attention. Daniel does not know which case shattered his old partner's mind, which case gave him the sudden stark, cynical sense of the world being a place of absolutes. Daniel doesn't want to know which case did this. He thinks about it sometimes, wondering if he could have been there; if he could have prevented this downward plunge.
He wakes up screaming to this day from night terrors. He refuses to let himself remember what exactly it is that he sees, but some of it slips through anyway. Rorschach ripped limb from limb; Rorschach caught by the cops, in Sing Sing, riding the lightning; Rorschach clinging to his arm, bleeding and slipping and so far beyond his help its petrifying.
Rorschach is a nightmare that plagues him in waking, his lack of presence leaving Daniel's imagination to fill in. To imagine him dead in the street, finally overwhelmed by the sheer volume of goons, beaten bloody and left to rot in the gutter, in an alley, in a dumpster with the other forgotten, obsolete things.
Rorschach is also the dream of a nearly forgotten concept; the illusion of an ideal that has slipped beyond Daniel's grasp. Rorschach embodies the strength and courage and determination that Daniel had hung up with his cowl and mask. The smaller man is gruff and violent and suffers from a regrettable lack of self-grooming, but he's also the bravest and most honest human being Daniel has ever had the pleasure of speaking with.
So he leaves his basement door unlock and doesn't complain when he finds his front door broken in or a window pried open. He buys more food than he needs and stocks his pantry with things he doesn't particularly like, and just smiles (trying not to look too relieved) when he comes into his kitchen and sees his friend sitting there. Because somewhere along the lines, Rorschach has also become a parasite. The kind that clings to the skin, travels through the blood, and sneaks up into the brain. The kind that sticks and doesn't let go, and eventually is needed for survival. Because if it's ripped out, it rips out what was originally there to begin with.