Chapter II

Rorschach sits on top of the kitchen table instead of in a chair. Dan wants to scold him, correct him like an unruly child, and give a stern glare before hollering, 'Sit Right!' Alas, Dan knows how well that would go. About as well as a lead airship. Also, he likes his fingers how they are. He sighs. Maybe it doesn't even matter anymore. In a world without any people, the old rules of etiquette and civility simply do not make much of a difference. They merely will need to survive. Dan slumps in his chair and runs his hand through his hair. He stares at the ceiling, though there isn't anything especially interesting up there to look at. Everything in the kitchen goes blurry for a moment before he blinks. He doesn't know why. There must be something wrong with the light in the room. He takes off his glasses and wipes them with a small hand towel. He then gently rubs a small part of the towel in the corner of each eye. He's simply feeling frustrated. Not really sure how to process this weird new reality. The television emits a constant hiss, a white noise of nothingness against a violent snowstorm of white and gray. The radio emits the same ugly static, and Dan wants nothing more than to smash it into the wall, hear that most satisfying crunch, watch it disintegrate into a million tiny pieces.

The tension in the room is as electric as the buzzing appliances, hairs on necks and arms slowing standing. Anxious. Like a hammer thrown at a mirror, the spell is broken when Rorschach abruptly gets up, begins pacing like a tiger in a too small enclosure. And the world is too small. He is frustrated; a low growl waits in the back of his throat like a predator about to pounce on its prey. The wild cat is noticing a distinct lack of game planning, and it is not acceptable. Daniel gets up as well, quickly, nervously. He does not realize there are intense eyes, watching him, studying. Like a retreating creature, he heads for the basement door.

"I need to check some things downstairs," Daniel says. There is an odd note to his tone of voice; it cracks as though it is rarely used. Television sets and radios and police scanners don't lie, but he doesn't want—

And the tiger makes his move. "Things. What things need checking, Daniel? First, you check all the clocks, but find nothing unusual. Now you are going into your basement. Nothing down there but Owlship and abandoned gadgets and inventions. Will you next check electrical wires and plumbing? Your insistence on checking the working order of your home is nothing more than a distraction. Busy-work to keep you from accepting current reality."

Dan stops at the bottom of the stairs, turns quickly and glowers at the man in the doorframe. He opens his mouth to speak, to retaliate against the verbal assault, escalate hostilities, lob ammunition of his own, and god knows he has plenty to work with, and engage in full out war. It's petty, and he knows it. TV doesn't work. Radio doesn't work. Not everything is working, is it? Instead, he points up at the other man as if poking him in the chest from where he stands. He turns around and continues further into the basement.

Dan stands over a large box-like devise. Hand on cover, ear on hand; he listens, as if for a heartbeat. Rorschach somehow materializes right next to his shoulder. He is bent down alongside Dan, straining to see what his friend is doing. "Rorschach. You're hovering."

Rorschach takes a step back, sleek and feline, and stands upright. He pulls down at his overcoat, the movement is meant to appear dignified, authoritative. He nods in the direction of the devise. "Power generator."

It is fortunate for Rorschach that Dan is not feeling unkind after the little spat on the stairs. He generously keeps a 'No shit, Sherlock' comment to himself. He is not some petty kid, after all.

"Yeah," Dan says instead.

"Should conserve power, then. Use generator sparingly. Unlikely ConEdison is running at peak capacity." Or at all. Rorschach stuffs his fists into his pockets.

"No. Yeah, that's the basic idea. I really don't know what we're going to do, yet, though. I mean, we're good for now. But not indefinitely. Maybe if need be I can go looking for batteries? Also, I'm thinking maybe we should stock up. You know, perishables first, and then canned goods."

"Agreed."

"Yeah? I honestly thought you would protest that one. You know, 'cause that's sorta, uh, stealing. Technically. I mean you can't steal from nobody."

"Indeed. The world is a dangerous, unforgiving place, Daniel. Even without the human animal with which to contend, we still must fight and struggle to survive. It will be difficult to survive in the world alone. It would be better if we survived together. As partners." They shake hands and it is a lot like the old days, an expression of working better together than apart, watching each other's back, affirming a trust.

***

The sun is on the horizon, and it is a welcome sight. The morning spreads itself with an orange-pink glow, like melted ice cream. It has been years since Dan flew up in Archie. He had forgotten just how much he loved being up in the air, completely free, soaring like a real bird. The eeriness of a lonely world is readily apparent from this perspective, there should be a morning rush hour in full swing, people starting their day, opening up for business. Running the world.

"Hey," Dan says quietly, voice barely above a whisper. The other man nods and gets up from the co-pilot's chair. They have landed at a large department store, and Dan plans to liberate the store of some spare batteries, generators, and anything else he can think of. Archie has been reduced to a very expensive pickup truck, hauling crap all over the city. Initially he felt a little weird about flying around in broad daylight, but everything about their lives now feels upside-down. It's fine, though. The work takes a good chunk of the day, picking up stuff, taking it home, going back out again. They also hit up several different grocery stores in this manner. They get as many perishable items as they can stand. (And ice. Lots and lots of bags of ice.) They will most likely not use it all. Dan realizes, and rather dumbly too, as he should really have known better, that their life-style will change even more than he first imagined. There will be no one to collect garbage. There is no one to run the treatment plant. If they want fresh food, they are going to have to grow it. Or learn to scavenge. He had no idea just how much he took for granted.

***

When night falls, they are both exhausted, though Rorschach would never admit to such. It had been a long, stressful, and very busy day. Dan tells himself this is the reason he feels an overwhelming and crushing sense of weariness. It's fine, though. They'll get by.

Daniel is in the kitchen assembling cold cut sandwiches and scooping out globs of potato salad. Dinner. When the plastic container is empty, he moves to throw it into the trashcan, but changes tack mid-step and throws the container and its lid in the sink instead. (There is no running water. For dishwashing, and bathing, there now sit several jugs of water for boiling as needed.)

"Could be useful," Rorschach says, and Daniel blushes. There is reassurance in those words; neither of them knows really how to go about this. He slowly nods his head as he sets a plate in front of his housemate.

"I don't suppose there's anything on TV tonight."

"Or any night," Rorschach adds.

"Or any night," Dan agrees, wearing a grin. And it isn't funny, but he starts laughing anyway. It's all so ridiculous. "I think I finally get it," Dan says quietly. His partner makes throaty noise, and nods.

***

Rorschach takes the spare bedroom, though there is never any sort of spoken agreement. It is better to survive with another. Especially a trusted other.

***

Cold feet and boney limbs assault Dan in his sleep. "Everything okay?" he asks.

"Yes," the other man says. He pauses a long moment before adding, "Didn't want to wake up alone."

"Oh. Uh. Do you want …?"

"No."

"Oh, right. Good. Okay." Dan rolls over to look at his partner. Unfortunately, it is too dark to see. "Hey. You know, I was thinking. We don't have to stay here in the city if we didn't want to. We could go anywhere. Any place you've always wanted to see?"

"Daniel."

"Yeah?"

"Would not matter. Could go to any place. See any city. Would still be empty. Feel empty. Hollow world is not a free ticket to do as we please. Not children suddenly set free to roam amusement park after hours. With no other people in the world, the last vestiges of human civilization will crumble to nothingness, and we will be the only two men alive to witness our species demise. After we are gone, there will be no one to remember."

"Well, Mister Cheerful, you sure know how to liven a party."

"Yes. That is why…" He pauses mid-sentence and gently grabs Dan's wrist. He slowly brings Dan's hand to rest against his mask-less cheek. The hand brushes rough stubble, the hand's owner lets out a sharp exhale.

"Oh. Wow. Well. Uh. Can. Can I see?"

"Yes."

Dan goes to move for the light switch, but Rorschach grabs his arm to stop him. "Yes," but not tonight.

"Goodnight, Daniel."

"Oh. Okay. Goodnight, then."