August 2, 11:55 p.m.

Dan is alone, the clock ticking closer and closer to midnight, waiting for news as to whether or not his life will change drastically. His nerves are getting to him, his head hurts, and he can't stay still. After ages of trying to distract himself, sweeping the kitchen, polishing his owl figurines, he gives in and flops on the sofa before the television in defeat. Everything, every single fucking thing he had fought for will all mean nothing in a few moments and he still can't wrap his head around it. Dan runs his hand through his chocolate brown hair and thumps his foot on the floor until the sound annoys him and he stops.

He rises from his seat again and paces around the living room for what feels like an eternity until something on the shelf above the television captures his eye: a shoebox with a violet ribbon tied around it, his memory box filled with keepsakes.

Yearning to look at something that wasn't the tv, he walked towards it and, standing on his tiptoes, Dan plucks the box from its resting place and holds it in his hands a moment before setting it on the coffee table, unraveling the ribbon and looking inside. What he sees at first looks like trash and he laughs at himself for keeping such rubbish tucked away until he looks closer and realizes what they are: photographs, notes, newspaper clippings, and trinkets here and there that he can't exactly make out.

Suddenly filled with curiosity, Dan reaches inside and pulls out the first few items in the box. He grins when he sees that they're old newspaper clippings he collected of Hollis while growing up. Dan laughs at how much he has, noting the obsession that will eventually drive the fanboy into writing a letter requesting to take up the mantle. Being careful to not rip the yellowing paper, Dan gathered every snippet he could find in the box and stacked them nicely beside it in a perfect little pile. Digging deeper into the box, he extracted several drawings that, after a few moments, make him flush crimson at how silly they look. The first sketches of Archie and his costume looked absolutely ludacris compared to their final products, with Archie displaying wings on the side like an airplane and the Owlsuit covered head-to-toe in feather-like plates that Dan remembers with a laugh he thought about making out of chainmail. I definitely can't throw these away, and sets them beside Hollis's photos and articles with a humored smile.

Looking back into the box, Dan's smile shrinks a little as he picks up the next item: an old napkin with an infamous symbol displaying a lowercase "r" and a dot that is mirrored on both sides after being folded in half. He holds it in his hand a bit longer than he should, wondering for a few moments why this display of his partner's symbol is so significant in the first place until he turns it over and sees the words "RORSCHACH" scribbled on the back and remembers.

March 23, 1965

The second Nite Owl makes his way across the rooftops, cape billowing behind him as he leaps from building to building. Tonight's patrol is slower than usual with a purse snatcher being the only thing Dan has stopped all night. Other masks must be out tonight because I got nothing, Dan thinks. The moon is full above him, casting a beautiful glow over the streets of Queens that the streetlights cannot. He stops on a ledge to take in the sight until a cry a few alleys down catches his attention. "If this is another purse snatcher, I swear…" Dan mumbles to himself before setting off in the direction. What meets his eyes are a gang of five Knot Tops surrounding a woman who is against the wall, crying in fear.

Attempted rape maybe, mugging, both? Dan thinks as he swoops down like his namesake onto the scene. The gang members turn their attention to him in an instant, giving the woman enough time to get up and run.

"Well, well, look who it is," laughs one of the Knots, "a little birdie came out to play." The other gangsters laugh in unison but Dan learned from Hollis to take such mockery lightly and to focus of the job.

"I thought I made myself clear last time," Nite Owl said, using his best authoritarian voice and stance to make his point, "or are you really as stupid as you look?"

The first Knot that spoke laughs again as he shakes his head before saying, "Oh, Mr. Owl, I did take your lesson into account, really I did," he trails off a little as his eyes move away from Nite Owl to something behind him without Dan noticing, lips forming a devilish grin that made Dan clench his fists. "But as they say, sir," the Knot continues, eyes moving behind Dan again, his grin widening, "there's always strength in numbers."

Dan frowns and is prepared to answer until the sound of boots behind make him whirl around, bringing him eye to eye with ten more Knot Tops, all with weapons in their hands. In an instant they attack, surrounding Dan with no way of escape, swinging at him with brass knuckles, knives, bats, bike chains, and crow bars. Dan sucker punches the closest Knot Top, picking up the dropped baseball bat and swinging it at the approaching Knot trying to attack him from behind.

His cape swooshed around him as he fought at the center of the deadly circle, a fury of kicks and punches, taking down as many Knot Tops as he can. It seemed, unfortunately, the more he took down, the more showed up. Eventually, Dan was starting to feel tired, his legs quacking, his hands in pain from being clenched for so long, and sweat dripping down his forehead into his goggles. Using whatever energy he had left, he floored a large Knot Top handling what looked like a butcher knife with a swift kick to the jaw before his head was struck with a fist sporting brass knuckles.

Dan immediately toppled over, face first, cracking one of the lenses of his goggles, sending the shards of glass into his cheeks. "Come on, come on, get up, you have to get up," he says over and over to himself, making the gathering Knot Tops howl with laughter. When he managed to get on all fours, a bat collided with his back, taking the wind out of him and he flopped back to the ground, coughing. For the first time since donning the Nite Owl costume, Dan was afraid for his life. He could barely see, it hurt to breathe, he couldn't fight back as fists and weapons collided with his body as he lied limply on the gravel, cape draped over him like wings. The sound of a gun being loaded made his heart sink, shame filling his body, feeling the end.

He was hoisted up by his neck by a large gangster and turned abruptly, making him gag even more, so he was looking the first Knot Top that spoke tonight in the face before casting his eyes down, noticing that he now carried a pistol. Dan whimpered and gagged silently, as the gun was raised, the barrel aimed for between his eyes. No, no, no, no…..

"There, there, it'll all be over soon," Dan heard the Knot say before closing his eyes, "this would only hurt for a few seconds."

Clenching his eyes tightly, waiting for the gun to go off, Dan failed to see a shadowy figure leap from a neighboring fire escape, nor did he see the gang disband immediately, faces that once leered now showing terror as they ran away. What he was able to hear, however, surprised him. The sound of a surprised gasp, followed by a snarl that sent shivers up his back. The snap of bone, the scream of anguish that followed it and the skittering of something metallic being kicked down across the gravel was enough to encourage Dan to pry his eyes open. Though his vision was unfocused from blood and sweat, he was able to make out the scene: the Knot Top that was holding the gun to his face was now on his knees, the weapon now on the opposite end of the alley, whimpering in pain as his wrist was held above his head by a dark figure standing before him, a hat on his head, and a coat billowing around him in the late night breeze.

"Luke, ya big oaf, HELP ME!" the kneeling man cried over his shoulder at the Knot holding Dan before the gloved hand holding his wrist tightened its grip and he howled in pain. Dan was immediately dropped to the pavement with a thud, causing another surge of pain to move through his body as he curled to his side, eyes closed to hold back tears and clutched his body in agony. The man, who he now found out was named Luke, rushed forward, fists raised at the figure holding his boss captive, but was stopped short by a boot colliding with the side of his face. As Dan crawled his aching body to the brick wall beside him, the sounds of fists and feet meeting flesh echoed in his ears, as well as various oofs, arghs, and ahhs as the fight continued long after he turned away.

Supporting himself with a trashcan, Dan steadied himself and turned around in time to see Luke's large form crumple to the floor beside his boss, now sobbing softly and cradling what Dan suspected with a smirk was a dislocated wrist. He stayed perfectly still as he watched the figure take in a deep breath, roll his shoulders and flex his hands as he walked to his broken opponents and bent low enough to meet them at eye level. When he spoke, it was something unlike anything Dan has ever heard: a deep rasp, like sandpaper, low enough to be interpreted as a hiss but filled with enough rage and adrenaline to make it a growl.

"Gentlemen," the man began, "I hope you've learned your lesson tonight."

The Knot Tops below him shuddered, mouths opening and closing around words that never came out, eyes wide with sheer terror.

"Please, man," the head Knot spoke, "we're sorry. Honest, we are. J-just let u-u-us go."

"Heh, let you go? After you dare beat and mangle one who is superior to you."

Dan wondered who he was referring to before noticing the man's head cocked in his direction.

He stepped toward the pair slowly, every step followed by a snarl, making Dan think of him as a rabid dog.

"Scum. Like you. Make. Me. Sick." The sound of his boot kicking each man in their gut rang throughout the alley.

When both men were sobbing, the man reached into his coat pocket and extracted handcuffs, snapping them around the head Knot's good wrist and one of Luke's, then gripped them by their jackets and dragged them out to the sidewalk, leaving Dan alone near the trashcan. The sound of silence along with his blood loss made him slump in his corner, lolling his head to the side as he rested his eyes.

…..

Minutes passed as Dan rested, but the sound of approaching feet shook him awake. Opening his eyes was just as painful as anything else he endured tonight, making him wince and groan. Expecting the worst from whoever was approaching, Dan clenched his fists and brought himself to his knees but was surprised when he heard the words, "Are you alright?"

Turning his head, Dan was face to face with the man who gave his attackers what he felt was the beat down of the century.

"Uh," he began, "Yea, I mean not really, I mean…" His mind when blank as the man, face still concealed in the darkness of the night and the brim of his hat, tilted his head and hummed.

Sighing, Dan raised his hand to shake that of his savior. "Thanks a lot, man. I would've been a goner if you never showed up. You're probably thinking how I can even find myself worthy of wearing a cape and calling myself a mask when I can barely hold my own in battle, right?" He went silent a moment then asked, "How did you do that anyway? Finding me and beating the crap out of those guys?"

The answer the man gave surprised him. "I was on patrol. Heard the sounds of distress and came to investigate."

"Haha, what are you a cop?"

"Hurm. Far from, actually." The man then took Dan's hand in his but, rather than shaking it, helped him to his feet. While standing and stretching his legs to loosen up, Dan noted how much smaller he was yet was able to pack such a powerful punch that would make him the terror of the underworld if word got out of this pint-sized fighter patrolling the shadows.

"What do you m-", Dan was about to ask but what his eyes focused on left him speechless. This man wore a mask yet it was the strangest Dan had ever seen. Shifting pools of black ink made their way across white fabric like paint on a canvas. The mask hid the man's entire face and Dan wondered how he could breathe through the thing, much less see.

The surprise on his face must have been noticeable because the man then chuckled before remarking, "Weren't you taught as a child that it's rude to stare?" making Dan flush crimson in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I just…I didn't know you were…uhh." He gestured to his own mask and hoped the man got the hint.

Hand now on the small of Dan's back to help him stand straighter, the man made another sound in his throat and said, "I keep a low profile unlike some other masks. You wouldn't exactly see what I've done beside stories of Dr. Manhattan, or Ozymandias," he hesitated a moment but when he spoke again, Dan noticed the smile in his voice. "Or even you, Nite Owl II."

Dan laughed; he was still feeling embarrassed but a bit more at ease when seeing the humor in the oddly clad masked man holding him as they walked side by side. They stopped at a gas station a block or two away for a moment as the man went into the bathroom and came back with soap, water, and some paper towels to clean Dan's wounds. He made sure to keep still but couldn't help but shiver at the foreign touch of leather covered hands gently wiping the blood and dirt off his face.

When he finished, the man disposed of his makeshift first-aid supplies then, surprising Dan again, asked if he was hungry. Before Dan could nod, his stomach growled to answer his question. They walked another block until a hot dog vendor came into their vision. The man nudged Dan to sit on the stoop of the tenant building they were in front of and dug around in his pockets until, with a satisfied grunt, extracted enough dollar bills for food and approached the vendor. Lucky for them, the vendor was so tired from working the nightshift that he didn't seem to be surprised or intrigued by the masked man making a purchase that Dan smiled when his companion came back with two hot dogs and sodas in his hands.

They ate and drank in comfortable silence before standing and continuing their stroll (Dan didn't feel like it was a patrol anymore). The man kept his hand on Dan's back until he assured him a few blocks later that he felt good enough to walk on his own.

They walked at an equal pace, never falling out of step. Dan didn't bother asking why the man still insisted on staying with him because, in a way, he was enjoying himself and it felt nice to be in the company of a fellow mask. The two exchanged stories of previous brawls and heroic exploits as they walked, Dan listening in quiet admiration as the man described in detail how he took down drug smugglers in the warehouse district single-handedly.

When the first hints of sunrise peaked over the skyscrapers, the pair decided it was time to call it a night. With a stretch to snap his still aching back, Dan turned to the man leaning on the wall beside him and smiled. "Hey," extending a hand to his companion, "I still can't thank you enough for everything tonight. You're proof that there is nobility out here among all the madness." Pools of black ink swirled over the man's cheeks as he accepted Dan's hand and shook it.

"Everybody needs protecting once in a while. Even those who swear to protect everyone else."

Dan smiled from ear to ear then, feeling brave, said, "You know, this was nice. Maybe…I don't know, if you're up for it we could, umm, meet up here….again…tomorrow night for patrol."

Feeling like a kid asking the girl of his dreams out and waiting for the upcoming rejection, Dan stood in silence as he watched the man retract his hand, breaking the handshake, and stare back at him, gears obviously in motion as he thought about Nite Owl's proposition.

Dan sighed and was about to turn and head back to his brownstone when a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks.

"I'd like that."

He almost couldn't believe it and he grinned brighter than he has in what felt like eons as he turned back to the man, now with one hand in the pocket of his open trench and the other fiddling with his cream colored scarf, black ink moving franticly over his face as he raced his head to meet Dan's eyes.

"No kidding?"

"I don't kid. It's bad for my reputation."

Dan couldn't help but smile as he clamped a friendly hand on the man's shoulder, smirking when he felt him tense then relax in his touch. "Tomorrow night then."

"Tomorrow night," the man nodded.

The two exchanged their good-byes and were starting to walk away in opposite directions when Dan froze. God, I'm such an idiot! I don't know his name! Spinning around, causing his cape to swirl about him, Dan called out to the man now turning down the next alley and cried out, "Hey! I never learned your name! Wait up!"

Breaking into a slow jog, careful not to sprain his knees any more than they were already, Dan frowned when he made it to the intersection he saw the man walk down but didn't see him. Sighing and bowing his head, he turned on his heels and was going to head back down the path towards his house when something caught his eye: a napkin with a mustard stain from the hot dogs he and the man ate earlier, folded up neatly on the ground in the place Dan saw the man stand before he disappeared. An average person would have just thought of it was trash and would have disposed of it after picking it up but Dan wasn't exactly an average person. Instead, he unfolded the rumpled paper and studied the curious emblem drawn in the center in black ink. Looks like a "r"…no, two "r"s…and dots? He didn't understand and shook his head, now feeling the need to throw the napkin away.

As he crumpled it up to do so, Dan noticed there were more letters on the opposite side of the paper and quickly unfolded it, smoothing it on his leg to rid the napkin of the wrinkles he added. He read the word looking back at him once, then twice, then three times in his head before saying it to himself.

"Rorschach." He paused. "Rorschach?"

He wondered for a moment if that was what his new companion called himself. Makes sense, he thought. The black inkblots, of course! Rorschach inkblot tests. Man, the guy is clever. Dan smiled a minute at the paper before folding it into a neat square and holding it in the palm of his hand, deciding to keep it as a memento of tonight.

As he walked home, he couldn't help but say the name again and again to himself, liking how the word rolled on his tongue. It was a curious name for a curious man and Dan couldn't help but smile at how perfectly it suited him.

Once home, Dan stripped himself of his costume, laying his broken goggles on the worktable so he could fix it later, showered, cleaned his wounds once more, then lied down on his bed, noting how much it felt like a cloud under his battered body. Reaching out to turn off his bedside lamp, he hand froze and, instead of flicking the light switch, reached next to it and grabbed the napkin from where he placed it when he came home. He smiled again at the item and wondered what the future held for him and this Rorschach.

"All a part of the job", Rorschach had said while he tended his wounds hours ago. "We live on the edge and learn to face the elements of surprise so often that, after a while, we welcome what causes the average man shock and awe with open arms."

Smiling, now wrapped in his comforter rather than wearing his filth covered costume, Dan said to himself in the darkness of his room, wishing he said it hours ago, "Then I welcome you to my life in open arms, Rorschach."

With nothing else but sleep on his mind a few minutes later, he gently placed the napkin back in its place, turned off the light and closed his tired eyes, hoping to get plenty of rest. Tomorrow's patrol, he was sure, is going to be the greatest he's ever had in his career as a mask thanks to a small, vicious yet well-meaning masked man he could associate with the word "friend".