It's a typical autumn day, a little on the gloomy side, and the wind picks up randomly whipping her hair into her face. Dan laughs and brushes her hair aside so she can eat. She'd think he was flirting, that he was in love with her, but she knows for a fact that he's in love with someone else. Instead she thanks him and continues eating her food, trying to ignore her heart that longs for human connection.

The rain shouldn't come as a surprise, but they are woefully unprepared. Her suede jacket is no oil coat, and his is barely a step above hers, so they make a run for a nearby storefront with its dry overhang. They're laughing as they jostle in each others space, for protection from the rain, looking for all the world as if they're lovers, and she has to keep chanting in her head that they aren't, that she can't lean up and kiss him (just a bit, just a bit?) and she doesn't want to misconstrue the relationship they have because it's been so long since she's felt this comfortable (Dan is a comrade, he knows how we feel, and he doesn't judge, he helps at times, and it is such a comfort to know you're not alone with these thoughts). She keeps her distance, but moves a little closer when the cold wind blows. It's during this moment of weakness and warring instincts that he springs the question upon her.

"Will you come with me to the gala?"

Water slowly runs down Dan's face in little rivulets and he's so very handsome as he takes off his glasses to wipe them on his sweater as he waits for her answer. And she wants to brush the curls out of his face (wants to not be alone, to get rid of this ache, to just forget for a while) but instead mirrors him and dries off her glasses, delaying her own response, trying to clear her mind, to ascertain her motives are pure (they're not, but a grown adult controls their urges) as if her first instinct isn't what rings true.

"I'd be honored."

~~RR~~RR~~

The dress she buys for the gala is a little outside of her price range, but it is beautiful and she feels like a million bucks even as she swishes through her apartment to the radio, trying to find all the misplaced components of her sewing kit after dinner.

She catches her reflection and twirls with a smirk on her face, then stifles a scream as she catches sight of Rorschach standing in her living room.

"Oh R, it's just you," she says after slowing her breathing. "I've got some wicked garlic bread and spagheetti I just made, if you want you can help yourself!"

He doesn't respond at first, and while she technically doesn't know what he's staring at, she feels his gaze rove across her form in time with the swirling of his mask.

"Nice dress, little loose." Her lips curve into a rue smile.

"You caught me as I was searching for my sewing supplies to get this to fit better. My friend invited me to a gala and this dress was over my price range so that there's no way I can go to a tailor..." He paces around her, his movements short and quick, like a cat, before stopping in front of her, just an arms' length away, the closest they've been since she forced him to lean on her.

"I sew." Chris blinks and shakes her head in confusion.

"Pardon?"

"As a thank you, I'll tailor it." She swallows for no reason, overly aware of her heart beating in her ears and sternum.

Don't do it. He'll be too close to you. He'll know-

No, he won't know. He can't, and will never know.

Accept his thank you and he'll never come b-

"Oh, far out! That would be, if you're sure, I'd be more than happy to take you up on your offer." How many sentences had she started? "Help yourself to some food, it'll give me time to find all the sewing... stuff." She desperately needs time to recollect her composure. He lets out a gruff grunt, as if the idea is barely tolerable and disappears into her kitchen.

Chris is still looking for tape when he emerges.

"Do you think you'll need measuring tape?" she calls over her shoulder, searching through a drawer. With his dissenting answer, she straightens and turns to him placidly. "Where shall I stand?"

He is surprisingly gentle. The pins rarely prick her, and he is efficient despite his leather gloves. She taps her fingers to the songs on the radio, humming once in a while, keeping her mind off the close proximity with the masked man for the most part.

(The firm press of his fingertips spread waves of warmth at the contact, she suppresses all but the smallest of shivers. If he notices the odd inflection of her voice at his touch, he doesn't say a word.)

The work goes by quickly, too quickly her traiterous mind whispers.

"When's the gala?" he asks once she's out of the gown.

"A few weeks from now, why?"

"I'll come back to finish." She startles at that, searching his mask for- what, she doesn't know and lets out a soft chuckle.

"Thank you."

~~RR~~RR~~

A/N: Thanks to the anon on my tumblr who left such a wonderful ask! Really motivated me to get this chapter up 3