Author's Note: Sorry for the delay. Getting ready for college is being rather stressful but I didn't forget about you guys so here's chapter 3. To be a bit different, this chapter is part 1 of 2 so hang on to your keyboards when it's over and don't get mad thinking, "Raaaarl cliffhanger!" because part 2 is being finished as you read.

August 2, 11:56 p.m.

Dan held the yellowing paper in his hand longer than he should have, looking at the aging reminder of how long ago the good times were. With a sudden heavy heart, he gently cast the napkin aside and raised his eyes to the television. Should focus on the now instead of feeling nostalgic about the past. Reporters from across the city were interviewing members of the masses gathered to watch the "news of the decade" and Dan wasn't sure if he wanted to listen. He knew how they all felt about masks and their actions so why bother hearing it again.

Sure enough, when the reporter from NBC made his way through the crowd, asking, "What do you think about vigilantes", Dan's ears met with the usual responses:

"They're a menace!"

"Murderers!"

"They think they doin' justice? Leave it to the cops!"

"Go home, heroes!"

"They did good once but not so much anymore."

The last person, a graying man that Dan noted with a sad smile reminded him of the late Nelson Gardner, was asked to elaborate. The man shrugged and seemed to gather his thoughts a moment before replying, "Well, the Minutemen were never bad guys. They did their job right and cleaned the city, got awards, picture taken, the whole deal it comes with being a hero. Then the next generation shows up and-well…"

"Then everything changed?" inquired the reporter.

"Exactly," the man admitted. "I mean I get we're talking about the same group that caused the need for all this," gesturing to the crowd a moment then adding with a sigh, "but they did put down some big figures in their glory days."

Big figures.

Dan put the television on mute once the man finished his statement and the reporter moved to a woman carrying a sign saying "Hang the Capes", and then tossed the remote across the sofa before drawing his attention back to the box. Sure, he never got awards or anything like Hollis did but he was positive that he had his photo taken at the scene of a crime. Naturally, he never hung them up for the sake of compromising his identity when company (especially family) came over but he knew he kept those photos somewhere. He was never photogenic due to his glasses and round, pudgy face he had as a child but he thought he took a damn good picture in his Nite Owl getup.

Digging eagerly into the box, he extracted the first thing that felt like newspaper against his fingers. The first couple clippings were just some more about Hollis and the Minutemen then drifted into clippings about bank robberies, break-ins, drug rings, and the like that were used for leads (Dan tried his best to not notice that every one of those articles were scribbled on here and there, words either circled or underlined, all in the same red ink and childlike scrawl).

When he finally found what he was looking for, Dan read the headline once then twice then looked at the photograph beneath. There he was as the Nite Owl but his cape was torn slightly on one side, his entire suit covered in what appeared to be mud. He looked like a horrid mess and yet, in the photo, Dan was smiling, beaming even. He looked as happy as he was when he found out he got accepted to Harvard or even happier, teeth gleaming for the camera and dimples exposing themselves on his cheeks. Of course, he wasn't alone; draped over the shoulders by Dan's arm, looking just as filthy and discombobulated, was Rorschach, arms folded, hat and trench missing, suit jacket ripping at its trim, covered mask to boot in mud yet, like Dan, his posture showed no discomfort. He seemed to stand with pride at Dan's side, shoulders relaxed under Dan's hold, head tilted in a nonthreatening way towards the camera, gloved fingers parted slightly as his biceps.

After studying the picture another moment, Dan smiled and looked back at the headline: Daring Duo Take down Tiny Drug Lord at Docks.

December 11, 1965

It was a cold night, the end of autumn bringing about the icy gusts of winter wind onto the bodies of the citizens of New York. Barely anyone was out at night during this time of the year but that never meant that there wasn't anything to be done. While most people were staying warm in their homes or local bars, they failed to hear the sound of boots rapidly hitting pavement echoing through the alleyways, the sounds of someone in a chase or being chased.

At the center of an intersection of brick walls and fire escapes , a man stopped to catch his breath, heart pumping so rapidly he thought it'd burst, resting. He had been running for 15 minutes straight now and he needed a break but he knew staying here for too long was foolish because they'd get him and he wouldn't be able to stop them due to his exhaustion. He wiped the sweat off his temple and sighed until the sound of someone approaching immediately grasped their attention.

"Crap!" the man hissed to himself, straightened up then took off in a run. Unfortunately, the slow, careful padding behind him turned into fast, determined strides then morphed into a full blown sprint that made the man's throat clench and sweat run even colder on his skin as he ran.

Crap, crap, crap, crap!

His destination came into view down the alley before him, making him push himself harder until he barely felt his feet hitting the gravel anymore. "Almost there," he huffed softly. "Almost there, almost…" When he was a few feet away he stopped, something or, rather, nothing meeting his ears. The other footfalls had ceased so suddenly that the man shivered at the stillness around him. He turned around, observing his surroundings. He was alone, it was quiet, it was cold, and it all felt wrong. "Hello?" he called out a couple of times, pausing in between to listen, but was met with more spine-tingling silence. With sigh, he turned and made his way to the end of the alley when suddenly he was pounced on and shoved onto the floor with an undignified shriek of surprise escaping his lips.

Landing hard on his stomach, the man gasped when he felt the weight of his attacker straddling his back, pinning him more into the pavement that dirt got into his mouth. The man struggled and coughed, trying to buck his attacker off to no avail, only making the other man dryly laugh as he squirmed beneath him. When he finally gave up and flopped helplessly on the pavement, the attacker slowly raised his hand, leaned down so his lips were near the man's ear, then thumped the man on the head before muttering, "Tag. You're it, Nite Owl."

The man, Nite Owl, groaned. "Yea, yea, I know. Geez, I thought I lost you two blocks ago. You really are faster than you look, Rorschach. Now," he sighed as he squirmed again, "Can you please get off? You're also heavier than you look."

The man named Rorschach let out a humored hurm then said, "I'm actually quite comfortable, thank you. Docks will still be there so perhaps I'll rest here a moment." Then he crossed his legs and comfortably sat on his companion's back, much to his disdain.

"Come on, man; I'm not playing anymore. Game over."

"Funny. If I recall correctly, the game was your idea."

"Yea, well, it's over. You won."

"Then say it to make it official."

"….Do I really have to?"

"Yes."

"But I already said you won…"

"Yes but you agreed to say it if I went along with it and won in the process. Now, say it."

Nite Owl sighed deeply then began, "Rorschach is faster, stronger and more agile than I will ever hope to be. I look up to him so much and am blessed to work with him. He is the tag champion of the universe." He turned to look at the man still seated on his back. "Better?"

Rorschach nodded. "Better." He then got off his partner and extended a gloved hand to help him stand. Nite Owl took it and pushed himself off the ground, dusted off dirt from his costume, straightened his goggles and cowl to look more dignified even though the shifting ink on his partner's face formed a jack-o-lantern like grin that made him wonder if he found his disgruntled appearance amusing. Nite Owl smirked and cocked his eyebrow. "Y'know, I think this is the quickest we've ever got to anywhere. Told you playing tag would motivate us to haul ass over here but still have fun."

Another nod from the smaller, swifter man as he stood beside him. "I suppose so. I did win after all."

"Yea only because you got a head start."

"I did no such thing. Being a sore loser, Nite Owl?"

"Me? Oh no, sir, never."

"Hurm…No need for games in the first place. There's work to be done that doesn't require lollygagging."

"Hmph, lollygagging you just participated in and had fun."

When Rorschach canted his head towards him and let out a low warning growl, Nite Owl just smiled wider and clapped the man on the shoulder. "Come on, buddy, time to do what we do best." Then the pair stepped out of the alley into the chilly open air of the harbor.

….

The wood of the pier beneath their feet creaked and echoed as waves crashed against the shore. The lamps weren't bright enough to their liking so Rorschach walked ahead with his flashlight in hand and Nite Owl followed close behind him.

"Man," he mumbled, scanning their deserted surroundings. "It's darkness like this that really makes me think adding a night vision setting to my goggles would not be such a bad idea."

"I agree," Rorschach admitted, "but aren't you already working on a hundred other projects? You mentioned something about a ray gun last week."

"That's already done actually," Nite Owl answered proudly then, after a slight pause, continued with a tired sigh, "it's Archie that's taking up most of my time."

The man leading him froze mid-step then turned, flashlight aimed at his face as its wielder asked, voice showing obvious curiosity, "Archie?"

"Uh yea, that's….uhh…what I named it. Well his real name is actually Archimedes, like Merlin's owl, so I just shortened it since…heh...I think both of us agree that "Archimedes" is a real mouthful."

"Fitting name considering…" he moved the flashlight around Nite Owl in a way he guessed was a polite way of saying "this silly owl theme you have going on" before asking, "but what is Archie?"

"Oh," now Nite Owl wished the flashlight wasn't gleaming so brightly on his face so the masked man holding it couldn't see him blush. "Archie is….an airship."

Rorschach lowered the flashlight slowly and took a step forward to look at his partner with his own eyes. "An airship? You are making an airship?"

"You make it sound like it's something ridiculous."

"Being around you on a nightly basis has made me learn to accept some of your ridiculous actions and just label them as eccentric if you must know."

Nite Owl folded his arms and sighed, "Well yes. I am making an airship for us to use on patrol so we don't have to go running across the street or in alleys. Besides, I prefer not nearly turning into road kill by leaping in front of a taxi or being trampled on by a police horse by spooking it like somebody I know."

Rorschach clenched his hand around the flashlight tightly, looking away from him and muttered under his breath, "Those both occurred one time."

"Yea, they did," the taller man noted, "but that doesn't mean it can't happen again. I figured some form of transportation would be practical and would save me a few gray hairs worrying like a madman about you getting hurt."

The shifting face looked up at him and he felt invisible eyes boring into his as the black ink spread over the white cloth like the wings of a butterfly. "You…worry about me?" The surprise and softer tone in Rorschach's voice suddenly made Nite Owl feel an ounce of pity towards the short man with a short temper to boot and a sense of humor drier than the Sahara.

You'd think the guy never had anyone care about his well-being.

"Yes," he answered, "Of course, man. You're my partner and we're a team. I mean, I don't know what I'd do if I ever saw you in pain or lost you. Friends care about their friends."

Rorschach stared at him a moment or two longer, the crashing of the waves booming in his ears as seconds ticked away, then rasped, "I care about you too, Nite Owl. I make it my sworn duty to keep you safe along with the rest of the city. You are a good man."

Nite Owl smiled and pulled his partner into a quick hug, ignoring the ennk it caused, and then said after letting go, "So, uh, let's find this ship, huh?" Rorschach nodded, aimed his flashlight ahead of them and continued their walk.

Both men hoped this wouldn't be a total bust; leads weren't coming in as much as they would've liked and, if they did, it just sent the pair on a wild goose chase. It seemed that no one, absolutely no one, knew the whereabouts of dwarf drug mogul, Big Figure. Nite Owl never heard of the guy (he never did business in the underground) so when Rorschach brought him up during small talk one night of patrol, he was intrigued. Apparently Rorschach had been a mask long before him (since spring of '64) and became hot on Figure's trail by the end of the year until one bad patrol led to another and he tossed that case aside; that is, until he met Nite Owl and the other man eagerly insisted on helping him bring Big Figure down. "It's what partners do," he had said with his ever so boyish grin that sometimes made Rorschach wonder just how serious this spirited young man was about crime fighting; regardless of that mental debate, he agreed to let Nite Owl help him.

Everyone they interrogated swore they knew something but they'd either lie or say old news to save themselves from losing a few fingers (or just a swift kick to the stomach if the mask playing "bad cop" was having a nice evening) and nothing came even close to what the duo were looking for.

It wasn't until two weeks ago when a shabby looking man approached them as they climbed down a fire escape with interesting news. "Yous guys lookin' for the Figure, am I right?"

They nodded.

"Heheh, good," the man laughed. "Word of the underground is that the runt and his cronies bought themselves an old ship down by the docks and are taking a ton of the stuff, "high quality goods", 'cross the Atlantic." Rorschach lunged forward before Nite Owl could stop him, slamming the man against the dumpster in the alley. "When?" he snarled, gripping the collar of the man's shirt tighter for emphasis. "Next Saturday," the man croaked. "Ship leaves in the evening but who really knows with that slippery little twerp." And that was that.

Now there they were, Saturday night at the vacant harbor, no sign of a ship anywhere. Nite Owl didn't know how long they've been wandering around but, by the position of the moon, he knew it's been more than an hour and his feet were hurting. Rorschach, however, seemed to have all the energy in the world, poking around at everything like a crazy little terrier, determined that this case wouldn't become another failure.

"Rorschach!" Nite Owl called out from where he sat against a trashcan, raising his voice above the waves while the other man waved his flashlight around, walking along the sandy shore. "Maybe that guy was bluffing. I mean, look around! I see crates, a few barrels, saw a motorboat or two back where we started, but no ship anchored at a dock."

"It's because it's not anchored!"

"What?!"

Rorschach waves his arms over his head, looking rather silly in Nite Owl's tired eyes, beckoning him over to where he stood. When he finally stumbled across the sand to join his partner, Nite Owl yawned. "Alright, what is it? What do you mean it's not anchored?"

"It's not anchored," the masked man repeated, "because it's there." He pointed the flashlight out to the ocean. Nite Owl followed where it was aimed and uttered a humorless chuckle when he saw it: out in the middle of the ocean, anchored in place, was an aged cargo ship, lights glimmering back at them. "Well I'll be." He paused. "Um, one problem though." When Rorschach looked up at him, he nodded his head out to their target. "Just how exactly do you expect us to get there?"

His partner raveled and unraveled his free hand in his ivory scarf as he thought a moment then asked, "You mentioned something about a motorboat, correct?"

"…..Yes."

"Perfect. I hope you paid attention when your engineering professor delved on the mechanics of boats."

"You can't possibly mean-"

"Yes and you're driving."