Watchman (c) Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons, I only entertain this absurdly fluffy idea.
The relationship between Dan and Rorschach is taken more from the movie than the novel.
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CHAPTER FIVE

"Why didn't you just kick it in?" Dan said as he motioned for Rorschach to come in.

"Only one good leg." Rorschach motioned down with his head. Dan looked and saw the puddle of dark water cascading down his steps. He looked up his ex-partners right leg and noted the gaping gash in the pinstriped cloth and pale flesh.

"Oh shit, Rorschach," Dan said, feeling foolish, but not letting it slip into his voice. Dan look Rorschach up and down, sighting several other wounds as he walked out just beyond the door frame and grabbed Rorschach's left wrist, pulling the vigilantes arm over his shoulders. Rorschach tried to pull his arm away, but Dan held fast, placing his right arm around Rorschach's back to help him into the house.

"You came for help, now take it," Dan said, before Rorschach could say anything.

"Hurm," Rorschach grunted as he let Daniel lead him into the first floor bathroom. Rorschach seemed lighter than Dan would have thought and he winced every time Dan helped him take another step. Dan suspected that he had one or more broken ribs when Rorschach gave a cough. Dan saw the white of Rorschach's mask turn pink, then red.

"Jesus Christ, Rorschach. Just how badly are you hurt?" Dan inquired as he sat the vigilante on the toilet. Dan flipped on the light and gasped at the amount of blood that covered his friend, guessing that most of it was from the other guys. Though he knew well enough, that plenty of the blood was actually Rorschach's.

"Looks worse than it is," Rorschach grunted. Dan knelt next to the vigilante; casting sideways glances to ascertain the truth, and reached under the sink for the suture kit. Dan noted the wounded leg, more than labored breathing, and some facial damage he couldn't see. The same shoulder he'd help stitch a couple months back was wounded again.

"Don't you know how to get out of the way, Rorschach?" Dan asked, almost jokingly. He knew full well that Rorschach could move. Most crooks didn't. Rorschach pulled his mask halfway up his face and whipped the blood from his lips.

"Did move. Sixth man came from nowhere," Rorschach stated, taking the kit from Daniel. "Going to need painkillers," he said as he opened the kit, retrieving a medium needle and forceps.

"I'll bring the bottle." Dan exited the bathroom into the hall, closing his front door on his way to the kitchen. He'd seen Rorschach pretty beat up before, but this was almost life threatening. Rorschach's voice was lower; and slower, than usual and it sounded as if it hurt to talk. Dan grabbed the bottle of painkillers and a bottle of water. He cracked the water and heard a loud RIP come from the bathroom. Dan jogged back to the bathroom to notice that Rorschach had finished ripping the hole in his pants bigger, making it easier for him to get at the wound. Dan handed the pill and water bottles to his friend.

"They won't kick in for about an hour, you know that right?" Dan questioned as he opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve the bottle of alcohol.

"Can live with it." Rorschach popped eight pills in his mouth and drained the water from it's bottle. Rorschach ungloved both hands and threaded the needle. His hands shook slightly and were paler than normal.

"Rorschach, you do not look well. How much blood did you leave on the street?" Dan asked as he slid down the bathroom wall to sit across from his friend. He started to wonder if Rorschach was going to need more attention than Dan could offer.

"Enough. More of the others though." Rorschach paused his stitching. His hands were shaking, badly. He clenched and unclenched them several times before picking up the needle to continue.

"You need to see a doctor, Rorschach," Dan stated, making Rorschach pause momentarily.

"No doctors," he said without looking up.

"I know that you don't trust them, but I've got one that I can. I can get him here in. . . ." Dan stopped as Rorschach's half masked face looked angrily at him, the scrunched blots moving fast and furiously.

"No doctors, Daniel." Rorschach said each word like a threat.

"No doctors," Dan whimpered. Dan remained silent as Rorschach stitched his leg. He watched the hands become a little more steady as the painkillers slowly kicked in. He barely heard the murmurings escaping Rorschach's mouth. He looked on as Rorschach pumped his hands several times every couple minutes, trying to get his lack of blood flowing through them again. He watched the bruised hands grow pink with warmth and blood, then watched as the blood receded, turning the nimble and calloused hands pale once more. Finally, Dan found the courage to speak again.

"Need me to do any of this for you?" He saw Rorschach pause, not dropping the needle and forceps.

"Shoulder will need two hands," Rorschach stated. Fresh blood slid out from under Rorschach's mask and down his chin, dripping onto the sleeve of his trench coat.

"Looks like you may have some facial damage," Dan noted.

"Can take care of it myself." Rorschach knotted the last stitch in his leg and cut the thread.

"You might need better eyes. . . ."

"Says the man wearing glasses." Dan felt Rorschach's sarcastic eyes on him.

"You must have lost a lot of blood." Dan took the needle and forceps from the outstretched hands of the vigilante.

"Why do you say that?" Rorschach questioned as he removed his trench coat so Daniel could get at the wound better.

"Because," Dan started as he ripped the hole in Rorschach's shirt bigger. "You just made a joke. You almost never make jokes, Rorschach." Dan quickly cleaned the needle with alcohol, then began to stitch up the shoulder wound. As Dan observed the wound, he noticed that it followed the same path as the one he repaired months ago.

Rorschach ignored what Daniel had said and asked for the alcohol. Dan handed it to him and continued to stitch up his friend in silence. Rorschach carefully poured some of the alcohol atop the stitches on his leg. He grunted against the pain as he pressed his hand onto the wound, trying to get the alcohol underneath his neat stitches.

"May I have that?" Dan pointed at the bottle in Rorschach's left hand. Rorschach handed the bottle to Daniel, right hand still pressed into his leg. Dan gently cleaned the shoulder wound.

"Fine now, Daniel."

"Still need to stitch your face," Dan said, setting the alcohol and tools near the sink.

"I'll do it myself. Need to leave." Rorschach motioned from Dan to the door. Dan stood and extended a hand to help his friend to his feet. Rorschach stayed seated, his head slowly turning up to see Daniel's face. Dan took the hint and closed the door as he left.

Rorschach remained seated for several moments, making sure that Daniel had gone off to do something else. Only when he heard a commotion in the kitchen did Rorschach shakily stand from the toilet. He put a light weight on it and the leg held him up. Almost. Rorschach caught himself by grabbing the sink. He put most of his weight on his good leg and turned towards the mirror.

He reached a hand up and pulled his face off. He flattened the fabric in his hands, the blots unmoving. His face was most important to him. Rorschach turned on the hot water and began to wash the still fabric in his hands, being as careful as he could. He added soap to his face; lovingly rubbing it into the surface. When he was satisfied with how clean the fabric in his hands was, he turned off the water, and set his face around the alcohol bottle to dry.

When Rorschach finally looked in the mirror, a man named Walter Kovacs stared back at him, surveying the same damage he was. Split skin on his nose, a cut above his right eyebrow and below his right eye, and a split lip. All the wounds looking much worse off than they really were.

Rorschach moved his face from around the alcohol bottle. He picked up a wash cloth and dampened it with the burning liquid. He cleaned his face of most of the blood, cleaning each wound to within and inch of its life; trying not to get any of the liquid in his eye. The lip and nose would heal fine on their own, but the cut above his eyebrow needed stitching.

Suddenly Rorschach heard a scuff just beyond the bathroom. He glanced at the door through the mirror. The handle was slowly turning. Rorschach's left hand found the closest item to throw; a ceramic mug holding Daniel's toothbrush.

"Only warning, Daniel." The handle stopped, but Rorschach held the mug at the ready. The handle snapped back into position and Rorschach heard the someone scuffle away. Only when Rorschach heard more commotion from beyond the bathroom walls, did he released the mug. He looked down at the suture needle and figured it too big for the location of the wound. He opened the kit once more and pulled out a smaller, thinner needle, threaded it, and stitched several sutures around the cleaned wound. He grimaced as he pulled the thread taught. There was small knock at the door.

"Rorschach?" Dan called through the bathroom door, hand poised on the handle.

"Moment." Was all Dan heard. He waited a few moments before hearing that he was allowed to enter. Dan slowly opened the door; peeking, to make sure he really was welcome in the small washroom. When nothing came flying at him, Dan entered the room fully. Rorschach was slowly, tenderly, and painfully trying to pull his trench coat back on.

Dan huffed as he reached out to grab the collar of the coat and pull the coat with a gentle force from his ex-partners hands. When Rorschach turned, Dan gave him the same stern look he was sure to be receiving from the masked man.

"We're not done yet, I need to see." Dan pointed at Rorschach's chest. "You more than likely have broken ribs." Dan placed the coat along the top of the sink.

"Know I have broken ribs." Rorschach reached for his coat. Dan grabbed his hand and with as gentle a force as he could muster, he forced Rorschach back onto the toilet.

"I know that you normally have no one looking after you, but you're here, in MY home. You, Rorschach, came to me. Now let me see." Dan motioned his head to Rorschach's chest, whom; suddenly, wasn't arguing. He already had his fedora removed and was slowly; grudgingly, removing his shirt. Dan saw the massive bruise spanning most of the right side of Rorschach's torso. He knelt before the bare-chested vigilante as Rorschach placed the fedora and shirt atop his trench coat. Dan reached out with one hand and saw the muscles tense beneath the skin, making him hesitate.

"I'm just going to count," he assured his friend. The muscles relaxed slightly, but remained taught. Dan pressed his fingers; with a light pressure, into the flesh of Rorschach's chest and counted seven broken ribs; the bottom five on the right and the top two on the left. The rest were most likely cracked.

"Stay there, you need some sort of padding." Dan riffled through the cabinet under the sink, looking for the gauze. Rorschach gazed at his friends back from beneath his face. He'd known Dan to be compassionate, but Rorschach had never kept any for himself. Fondness; he thought, made people weak; it had done so to Daniel. Rorschach's thoughts muddled for a moment, before coming back into a sharp, almost painful focus. He would have to deal with this weakness for now.

Thinking of the sharp tone Daniel had just used and how much he'd sounded like the Nite Owl he had once been. Rorschach almost cracked a smile beneath the shifting face the world saw. Nite Owl was how Rorschach wanted to remember Daniel, not this sad, increasingly pudgy shell that encompassed his one time partner.

"Here they are," Dan said as he pulled three rolls of gauze from beneath the sink. He set two on Rorschach's coat. "Can you turn that way, please?" Dan pointed towards the door and Rorschach obeyed. That's when Dan noticed that the bruise wrapped around his friends back. He gave a small chuckle.

"Someone tackled you?" he questioned as he began to wrap the vigilantes torso.

"Said he came from nowhere." Rorschach voice sounded strained as he straightened up, trying to make it easier on Daniel. Normally he wouldn't have allowed this. . .affection, but Rorschach had already decided that he couldn't do it properly himself; as he had several months ago.

"You need to where some sort of armor, Rorschach," Dan stated as he picked the second roll of gauze from Rorschach's coat to finish wrapping the vigilante's chest and shoulder.

"Had this discussion. The faults outweigh benefits," Rorschach stated bluntly, turning his head to look at Daniel. "Can't wear it if it slows me down."

"I know, I know. . . . But something would be better than simply knowing how much of a beating your body can take." Dan secured the gauze near Rorschach's shoulder. "You're staying here tonight, by the way," Dan said as he grabbed the last roll of gauze.

"Need to get home. I need to get fresh clothes." Rorschach turned his whole body to face Daniel, attempting to reach for his clothes. Daniel shoved the gauze into his outstretched hand.

"Wrap your leg. You're staying here." Dan could tell that Rorschach was staring him down. Sometimes, Dan hated not seeing his friends face. He'd rather read it than try to read shifting inkblots.

"We used to be about the same size. I'll find something for you to wear. Anyways, I know you, you'd probably find someone else to hurt on your way and I'd rather not think about what could happen to you then." Dan picked up both needles and scrubbed them with the alcohol.

"Hurm." Rorschach began wrapping his leg, shaking his head at the concern being flung at him. He was disgusted by it; stitching and wrapping was one thing, but this was overkill.

"Sleep downstairs then," Rorschach replied, trying not to suffocate the wound by wrapping it too tight.

"I've already made up the guest room for you." Dan glanced at the black and white, constantly shifting face; placing the needles back in their kit, and only imagined the glare he was receiving.

"The basement is fine," said Rorschach, his words thick with disgust. Daniel always seemed like a mother hen. Rorschach hated being babied like this.

"Look, Rorschach, you need some place warm and comfortable. Not the goddamned cot in the basement. All I ask is that you stay 'til tomorrow night, when I'm sure you'll be able to kick someone's ass; most likely mine, with out getting yourself killed." The sharp words cutting just like the knives that had already harmed Dan's ex-partner. "I'm not walking you up or down any stairs in this house, not on that leg. . . ."

"Leg holds me fine," Rorschach interrupted, forcing his body to stand. He put half his weight on his wounded leg. It shook beneath him, but failed to crumble. Dan didn't flinch as Rorschach inched his masked face closer to his own. Neither man faltered, staring each other down, perfectly willing to hold 'til the other cracked. Dan spoke first.

"Sometimes you have to kick people in the ass to get them to do what you want 'em to. Don't make me," Dan managed to keep his voice level. He tried to keep his breathing even as he looked in the area where a persons eyes would normally be. Not many men could threaten Rorschach; the most brutal man from New York's underbelly, and live to tell the tale of it. Dan watched the blots shift from one form to another, as if trying to ascertain some sort of falsehood in his words. He clenched both fists to seal the deal and felt as it he was suddenly holding his breath.

Rorschach reclined from his former partner, grabbed his shirt, fedora, and coat, and turned to leave the bathroom. He limped, but Rorschach could walk just fine. Dan followed at a distance, making sure that his friend wasn't going to try and leave.

When he turned and entered the guest bedroom, Dan finally let his breath go, his body shaking with a sudden rush of adrenaline. It always amazed Dan how Rorschach; a rather short man, could intimidate people whom were much taller than him. Dan had read the blots, clear as day. Rorschach didn't want all this attention at the moment. He glanced back at the door to the bedroom and was fully surprised that it wasn't slammed shut. Dan turned back into the bathroom a moment to grab the bottle of painkillers. As his hand touched the bottle, he heard the door slam closed. Dan sighed, knowing that Rorschach would more than likely throw a lamp at him if he tried to open the door now. He walked down the hall and knocked on the door.

"Rorschach. . . ?" Dan heard the lamp leave the nightstand and the plug rip from its socket in the wall. "All I want to do is give you the painkillers. In case they wake you up in the night." When he heard no response, Dan placed the bottle on the floor by the door. "They're out here if you want 'em. I'll bring down clothes in the morning," Dan said, his voice feeling and sounding heavy.

Dan walked back to the bathroom to clean up. He picked the suture kit from the sink and placed it in the cabinet below once again. He placed the bottle of alcohol back in the medicine cabinet; noting how tired he looked in the mirror, and walked out into the hall. He cast one last glance at the door; seeing that the little white bottle was no longer sitting at its foot, before trudging through the kitchen to his living room. Dan slumped on the couch, rested his elbows on his knees, and placed his head in his hands.

"He's in worse shape than he's willing to admit," he mused to the room. Dan fell quiet, thinking of his wounded friend, hoping he would make it to tomorrow.