Title: In Better Days
Disclaimer: I, in no way, shape, manner, or form, own the Watchmen or the characters said comic/ film adaption contains. All publicly recognizable characters are copyrighted to Alan Moore and I do believe DC. No copyright infringement is intended.
Fandom: Watchmen
Characters: Ursula Zandt (Silhouette), Bill Brady (Dollar Bill), Byron Lewis (Mothman), Eddie Blake (Comedian), Sally "Jupiter" Juspeczyk (Silk Spectre I), Hollis Mason (Nite Owl I) Rolf Müller (Hooded Justice), Nelson Gardner (Captain Metropolis), 'Nurse' ('Dawn' is her given name in the Sourcebook)
Continuity: Comic
Warnings: Will be added in headings to relevant chapters.
Summary: Minutemen ficlets strung together by prompts.
Author's Note: Harsh criticism encouraged.

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Chapter Title: Rescue
Characters: Mothman, Dollar Bill, The Comedian, Silk Spectre I
Warnings: None

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"My God, Byron, you're adorable," Sally chirps gleefully, tugging on one wing with friendly affection. Her presence is overwhelming – it always has been, teasing and flirting and loud enough to command the attention of a room, and maybe that's what holds Mothman rooted to the spot. "Just look at that grin!"

"'m just, um, t-thanks, Sally," Byron mumbles, toeing the floor. It isn't the first time he's been cornered like this but it is the first time Sally has done more than wave and move on, and that is enough to make his cheeks flush. Glad for the mask, he shrugs slightly and tries to catch someone's eye; Hollis is across the room – talking to Nelly and Silhouette, too far to save him now, and Bill is God-knows-where.

"And just look at that little tie. Byron, you're precious." She sweeps in to loop both arms around his narrow shoulders, giving them a squeeze. She laughs artlessly as she pulls back again, eyes crinkling at either corner in an absolutely hypnotizing way. "Have I ever said that? Probably not. We never talk, really. Here, I'm thirsty, let's get some punch." She smiles, sweet and warm and bright and he nods mutely as she tugs him across the center of the room. The music plays on in the background, loud and jarring but comfortable enough in its own way.

"So, how've you been keeping? I saw you in the papers yesterday, with the cat burglar. God, his face must have been priceless! They said you just dropped straight on him, right out of the sky." She giggles, flashing her million-dollar smile and handing him a cup.

"I—it wasn't anything, really," His hands shake a little when he takes the proffered drink, and their fingertips brush. "It was just a spur of the m-moment… um," She hasn't let go of the little plastic cup yet and their hands are touching and he's not so sure what he's supposed to do now—

"Have I ever told you how cute that stutter is?" She asks, eyelids drooping and at long last letting him take the cup.

You've never paid me any mind before, he thinks, but he manages a nervous smile and averts his eyes to take a polite sip of punch. "Well—"

There is sudden weight on his shoulder. The Comedian's smile is wide and easy, the effortless stretch of muscles so long used to the gesture that it means little to nothing at all. "Byron. Bud." He squeezes a bit too hard, and Byron reluctantly lifts his eyes to Eddie's.

"Um, h-hi?"

"What are you two lovebirds up to?" Bryon can feel Eddie's bicep shift as he leans in low, conspiratorially, and smoke drifts lazily down to mouth level, thick and nauseating, and Byron just manages to reel in his gag reflex before he retches all over Sally's nice shoes.

This is not a good place to be. "We're n-not—"

"Oh, Eddie, you're such a tease," Sally laughs over him, lips curving up just a twitch higher than before. She lifts the ladle invitingly, tilting her head aside. "Punch?"

"Nah, doll. What with a long drink like you around."

Byron rolls his eyes almost on instinct, and coughs as the smoke again drifts to his mouth. "I'm just gonna go—"

"Aw, Byron, don't be like that," Eddie shakes him slightly, and Byron's head wobbles from side to side comically, wings shaking. "Not when I just got here. I might get to thinkin' you two were up to something."

Sally shrugs. "I don't see how it would matter to you," She says, and takes a delicate sip of her own punch, watching Eddie over the lip of the cup. "What happens between me and Byron stays between me and Byron."

Byron swallows nervously; he does not want to be between them now, does not want Sally to imply something more than innocence in their relationship (well, mostly, anyways, because despite it all she is drop-dead gorgeous). He reaches up to tentatively pluck at Eddie's sleeve, wanting to duck away but knowing it's useless until the Comedian deems it allowable. "I-I think I'll go see if H-Hollis—"

"See, when you say things like that, well, Sal, I'm an awful jealous guy." Eddie laughs, and Byron's wings shake a little harder.

"What's there to be jealous of? We're all friends here," Sally replies blithely.

"Cozy friends," Eddie practically growls, and Byron is sure there will be bruises in the morning, all for nothing. He stomach flip-flops, and he wants nothing more than for Eddie to just let him go so he can retreat to somewhere less—awkward. By Silhouette or Hollis or—

"Hey, Byron," Bill smiles gamely, as he brushes Byron's arm with his own. "Sally, Comedian."

"Hello, Bill," Byron manages, trying very hard to catch the larger man's eye and failing miserably. Beside him, Bill looks rather imposing, all muscle and long legs, his cape draped casually over his broad shoulders. Built like Greek sculpture, and sweet as honey, his smile lopsided in a way that makes Byron's heart skip, just a little.

Byron's wings are vibrating with every tremor that wracks him.

"Listen, can I just borrow Mothman here for a second?" Bill doesn't really wait for an answer, already tugging on Byron's wrist, towing him for the far side of the room. "It'll just be a moment."

"Try to keep him in one piece," Sally says absently, game already forgotten, as she turns back to the table. Eddie's arm slips free, and Byron is all too ready to be dragged off again, half-trotting to keep up with Bill's longer stride.

"Sorry," Bill says, half-under his breath and almost lost in the blaring trumpets of the next track. "I wasn't really sure but you looked kinda—well, sorry."

"Thanks," Byron replies, just as quiet, and adjusts his angle enough to grab onto Bill's fingers with his own.

"No problem." Bill flashes one of his infamous smiles, and squeezes Byron's hand gently. "Rescue missions come with the territory."