No Way Out
Dan doesn't really know what to think when Rorschach doesn't show up. The papers come out and the papers yellow in the gutters; a rapist is killed and an official warrant for Rorschach's arrest is put out. He's not a hero anymore, not a masked avenger or masked adventurer or pursuer of justice - people call him a vigilante, now, and a menace. America's hatred for him becomes law. Anyone caught assisting him will be put to trial. There is no explicit order for him to be brought in alive.
Dan watches newsreels cut his face out with sharp lines and does not know what to think.
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Dan was in the business before Rorschach ever heard about the tragedy of Kitty Genovese's death. He was Rorschach's senior by seven months, but somehow he always felt the less experienced of the two. Rorschach took to his calling with a vicious conviction that was formidable and never allowed for mistakes; it was six months into their partnership until Dan actually saw Rorschach get hit. He had a sharp eye and a sharp mind that more than made up for his attitude and that cured him of much of his arrogance within the first year. Knives put them in their place so that bullets would not end them.
And Underboss fell, and Big Figure fell, and for the first time Dan caught a glimpse of Rorschach's smile, vivid and real and full of hard-earned pride.
To say they never did good is a lie. To say they only did good oversimplifies it.
Looking back, Dan can't decipher where their selfishness began and ended - and looking forward he can not tell if it will have made any difference at all.
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Hollis has been diplomatic all year, talking Dan through the perspectives of the cops while always reminding him that what they are doing is just. He shows Dan pictures of police and masks shaking hands, smiling, and swears to him that they are not staged.
"They really loved us," Hollis tells him. "I don't know what changed, but there y'are."
Dan tries to keep Rorschach out of their conversation and, more or less, succeeds.
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It was early winter when Rorschach kissed him on the cheek, immediately after so vehemently denying that it was his intent that Dan said he believed him.
Mostly, though, he was too stunned to put up a fight about it.
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Dan knows he's still alive only because of the papers, though more and more often he must hunt through tiny articles to catch any relevant news. There are many faces that appear in the obituary, haggard and just shady enough, cause of death vague. It disturbs him that so many of them have families. He's never paid direct attention to these kinds of things.
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It started off small, discrete, almost nonexistent. Rorschach would lean closer to him than strictly necessary, ask Dan to help him with less and less important injuries and insist Dan let him reciprocate. On Dan's 29th birthday, he found a tailored suit hanging next to his Nite Owl ensemble with a note tucked inside that justified the gift in a roundabout way and ended mid-sentence. November of that year, Rorschach sat on Dan's bed and wrung his hands together, refused to let Dan touch him, delicately peeled Dan's clothes away.
On Dan's 31st birthday, Rorschach offered to take off his mask, silently slipping Dan's hands up under it.
Dan never did.
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In retrospect, it all feels like one mistake after another - and the worst part is that none of it can be simplified. It was abusive, emotionally draining, sick - but it was never a one-way street and the fact remains that Rorschach would lay on his bed for hours, some nights, just resting his hand over Dan's heart. The fact remains that they took care of each other, kept each other alive.
It's been a month since the Keene Act. Dan doesn't know what to think about any of it, anymore. None of it feels right, but it doesn't feel wrong, either.
Resigned, he starts locking his doors again.
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Rorschach will not compromise, never has compromised. He'll never know, but Dan is almost certain that somewhere along the way - before 1985, before the Keene Act, before, even, Rorschach kissed him on the cheek - he asked a compromise of him.
Maybe that's where they started to unravel.
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It's been four months since the Keene Act passed. Dan stops checking the newspapers.
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On Dan's 38th birthday, he finds an unfamiliar suit in his closet - brown jacket, pants and tie, dark blue shirt. In one of the pockets is a note, but there is nothing on it but two mirrored r's. There's no one else in the brownstone, but he wears the suit the rest of the day regardless and keeps the doors unlocked, just in case.