Warnings: slower than I'd anticipated, gratuitous song lyrics at end for extra BAW D:
But at least Rorschach gets a long chapter. Finally!
Also, this is addictive :P
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Rorschach was floating through fathomless depths.
The reasonless drive that had been his one true guidance in life tugged him awake. It was like surfacing from the bottom of the ocean, and for a minute Rorschach was disoriented, unsure where his bare mattress was, or why he couldn't hear traffic and shouting, sounds that constantly permeated the thin walls of his overcrowded apartment building.
Swatting at his hat, Rorschach gazed around until the unfamiliar shapes finally registered as Daniel's living room, tinged blue from fading afternoon light. Memories of Daniel coaxing him into dinner resurfaced. He must have nodded off shortly after. He couldn't remember getting to the couch.
Stupid. Careless. Rorschach chided himself without much vehemence. He was still new to fully occupying this body. Still learning its limits. There was a balance to be struck. Some fatigue, hunger, and strain sharpened his wits, but too much would leave him vulnerable. He was not some pervert, denying himself for twisted pleasure. Things that did not directly further his mission simply held no interest for him anymore. Not that they'd ever had much. But collapsing from neglect was absolutely not part of the equation.
Rorschach rose and rubbed a crick out of his neck. He made his way to Daniel's bedroom, careful to avoid the squeaky parts of the familiar hallway. Sleeping on his partner's couch had been a guilty pleasure for Walter – it was a good deal more peaceful than the places he lived, and Daniel's proximity was strangely comforting. Even then the guest bedroom had seemed a step too far, though, too much of an admission that even as a mask he needed human things. But he was Rorschach now, no longer kept up any pretenses. Now he didn't like to sleep in Daniel's house because he was exposed while unconscious, and also could risk Daniel's identity. What if a nosy neighbor spied through the window?
He peered into Daniel's room to find his partner sprawled out on top of the bed, still in full costume. He was sleeping on his stomach, the cape blanketing him and obscuring his form. Also careless, although interesting. Daniel hadn't done this since the heady early years of their partnership, when Walter was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For a long time he'd been sure there would be a catch, because there always had been one, but it never came.
Now that he'd ascertained Daniel's status, Rorschach did not linger. That would be inappropriate. He slipped back to the kitchen, puzzling over his partner's odd behavior. The renewed enthusiasm was heartening but what had caused it? It couldn't be from being sick, that didn't make any sense. A woman? That made no sense to Rorschach either, but it was at least more consistent with what he knew of the other man. Daniel had started to flag after they put the Twilight Lady away back in 68. It had been barely perceptible, Walter hadn't noticed it, but in retrospect it seemed that was where the cracks had begun. Coincidence that Daniel perked up now that another vice queen had surfaced? Unlikely. Disgusting, but unlikely.
Once in the kitchen Rorschach proceeded to make coffee loudly. It was 4:12 pm. They'd slept 7 hours. While the machine percolated he rattled drawers and banged cupboards open and shut until Daniel finally emerged, swaying and bleary, rubbing at his face.
"Okay, okay, I'm up, knock it off." he muttered groggily. He groped at the coffee and blindly poured two mugs of steaming brew, then promptly buried his nose in one.
After adding a satisfactory amount of sugar, Rorschach sipped his own and let the mild stimulant clear off the remaining cobwebs of deep slumber.
Restlessness set in, case gnawing at him. He chaffed at Daniel's slow movements, his insistence on still more food before he'd dust the VCR. Rorschach choked down oatmeal and dashed to the basement, only to pace as Daniel examined the evidence.
Covered in vendor's prints. Everything else too smeared. Waste of time.
But it was, at last, dark enough for Rorschach. Dark enough for Nite Owl. They eagerly climbed into the owlship. Daniel's expression wasn't visible in the dim light, but Rorschach knew it was aglow. Flying always made him happy. Quickly settling into accustomed positions, Daniel steers them down the access tunnel, and then Rorschach is pressed into his seat as they go up. The heady ascent still makes him catch his breath, ever so slightly, and dislodges one of the few glittering shards of Walter's memory.
They have been working together for only a few months and already accomplished far more than either had while alone. An informant has told them Big Figure would be making a major deal that night, on the other side of town. Daniel shyly suggests they take his airship. Walter is curious, agrees. He is fascinated by Nite Owl's seemingly endless supply of gadgets and excited at the prospect of flying. For Walter, air travel is like penthouse apartments and tropical cruises on billboards in winter – things that manifestly existed, in some stratosphere high above him, utterly out of reach by honest means. But not as Rorschach, he realizes, mind blazing with the possibilities of areal tactics. He visits the Nest for the first time, inspects the craft, amazed at Nite Owl's industry and ingenuity. He says as much, and Nite Owl flushes with pride, tells him his name is Dan. The precious information is offered without guile. Daniel expects nothing in return except to take Walter flying. Daniel tells him where to sit, and he waits with baited breath as Daniel checks over many complicated-looking gauges and lighted buttons. He ought to be terrified, but somehow implicitly trusts that his partner will not smash them to bits. They start forward, smoothly gliding down the dark tunnel through which they'd just emerged. He feels in his gut the change of momentum as they start to ascend, and wonders how they will get out, when the roof opens up and in a great billow of steam and fog they rise, rise, rise, up into the starry heavens. The grimy city recedes below and the ugly grays fade until it is just a constellation of pinprick lights on velvet blackness, mirroring the clear night sky above. "Beautiful," he breathes. Daniel forgets himself and claps him on the shoulder, but this one time, Walter doesn't mind.
Sparky Pete's isn't far, they'd taken the owlship mostly to expedite further travel. Within minutes they are above Scrap Alley, a moldering byway on the lower east side that has accumulated chop shops and unsavory junk dealers. Daniel sets the ship to hover over a low roof while they deftly jump to the gravel and tar surface and descend a fire escape. Pete's shop is a half-basement, accessible by a recessed door in a cramped, blind outpocket of street littered with the guts of cars and electronics. They enter, causing the few greasy patrons within take one look and clear out with gratifying haste and circumspection.
Rorschach still memorized their faces for investigation later. Thieves and addicts, most likely.
The shop was all unfinished concrete, exposed plumbing, and bare bulbs crammed to bursting with miscellaneous gadgetry. They walked past several metal racks piled with glossy entertainment equipment before catching sight of the proprietor himself.
Sparky Pete was a round little man with grease smudges on his face along with a tiny pair of glasses. He wore a vest covered with pockets over a worn t-shirt that might have been blue once and sat behind a chipped and scarred wooden counter fiddling with speaker bits and some screws. His most distinguishing feature amplified the small movements of his head – his hair, nearly a foot long and somehow convinced to stand on end, was blindingly white and currently sported electric blue shocks up the sides. He claimed the fright-wig made him stand out and helped with sales.
"Nite Owl!" he squealed, sounding genuinely happy. His gaze fell to Rorschach and wilted a bit. Rorschach sauntered over to a carefully stacked tower of videogame consoles and leaned against it casually, putting just enough weight to make it rock slightly.
Pete turned pale. "Well-hey-long-time-no-see-I-guess-you-want-that-TV-it's-right-here-just-like-I-said!" He scurried behind the counter and they followed to where a smallish television sat on a table among other miscellaneous junk waiting to be fully appraised.
Instead of getting straight to business, Daniel picked up a pair of binoculars on the table for closer inspection, much to Pete's delight. "Good eye sir, good eye! Just got those in, genuine military grade infrared binoculars! The latest technology, just what a person with nocturnal habits such as yourself needs!" Rorschach silently glared at his technophilic partner, but Daniel only switched the misbegotten goods on and started using them.
"You won't see anything like these from another vender as, ah, discrete as I!" Pete prattled on. Rorschach idly picked up a nearby camera. It was weighty and complicated looking. The serial numbers were scratched off. Obviously stolen.
"I'll cut you a real good deal on these beauties, as I'd rather see them in the hands of a distinguished gentleman such as yourself. Cash only, of course—"
The camera hit the ground with a satisfying *KRAK!*, accompanied by the musical tinkling of falling glass and delicate bits.
"Iaa!!! What?! The TV's right here! You said not to touch it!!!" Pete yelped, clutching at his hair. Nite Owl put the binoculars down and took out the mugshots. Rorschach strolled closer.
"Guy who sold you VCR. Want to know if he's here." Rorschach gestured at the ten photos now laying across the table.
"Oh… Well I…" Rorschach thumbed idly at a sleek-looking projector, and Pete thought better of attempting to dissemble. He bent over the photos and licked his lips nervously. Rorschach noted that no spark of recognition came to his eyes, which instead grew more panicked by the moment. But then they narrowed, and Pete leaned in to scrutinize one photo closer. Something that had started to clench tightly in Rorschach relaxed.
"This… this guy. He looks pretty close. I think it might be him."
"Think, or know?" Rorschach growled, tightening his grip on the projector.
"What do you want from me!?" Pete threw up his arms, growing irate. "I only saw him briefly, and if it is him this photo must be old because he has hair in it! Do you want me to lie to you?!! I think it's him, it looks like him, but I'm not sure!!!"
Rorschach listened to the outburst closely, analyzing Pete's tone and inflection. He considered these, watching Pete's agonized fidgeting. Agitation appears born of genuine frustration, not fear, nor self-righteousness of compulsive liar. Rorschach looked at the back of the sheet Pete had indicated. Henry Louis Wallace. Age now 28, divorced, prior conviction of burglary, questioned for attempted rape of teenage girl, never charged.
"Hurm. Possibly true. Will be taking television now." Pete stiffened, but wisely swallowed any objections. The TV was fairly small, easy enough to carry. The main difficulty was that Rorschach had to be cautious to make as little contact as possible and to not shift his hands around. He headed for the door, but Nite Owl lagged a bit, insufferably intrigued by all the gadgetry. Pete was already pitching again when Rorschach neared the stack of game consoles.
"Oh, yes! That's a particularly nice scanner, very small, and you'll be interested to know it can track police AND air traffic control frequencies—"
Rorschach made sure to bump the display as he passed by. Vile devices. Contribute to youth idleness and delinquency. The edifice tipped and clattered magnificently as consoles rained to the ground.
"AIEEEE!!!!" Pete wailed. Nite Owl hurried out.
Once back aboard the Owlship and hovering safely above the city, Rorschach skimmed his notes on Wallace while Daniel dusted the TV for prints. The portable setup was cruder, but still good for clear prints, and partials could be taken back for better analysis if need be. But they'd question Wallace before doing that. He had been in the address book of the first victim and a coworker of the other two.
Daniel let out a triumphant whistle. Rorschach hurried over to see.
There were several clear fingerprints on the glass of the television as well as a handprint on the top. Daniel quickly scanned them and ran them through the police database.
The prints belonged to three different people – the ones on the glass had belonged to the third victim and a Brandon Carver. Rorschach knew from his own investigation that Carver had been in an on-again, off-again sexual relationship with the third victim. No known link to the other murders. The handprint belonged to Henry Louis Wallace.
Daniel started to head the ship towards the last listed address in the police records, but Rorschach had a different address in his notes. Same area – people like him moved a lot, but not very far. Daniel corrected their path slightly and they sped through the night like avenging angels. The only kind that existed.
Daniel was looking at him with a quirked smile. In the flickering light of the consoles something looked different about his face, but Rorschach couldn't quite figure out what. His lips?
"You haven't done that in a while." Daniel whispered, smile progressing to a grin.
Rorschach distantly realized he'd been humming.
So remember when we were driving, driving in your car
The speed so fast I felt like I was drunk
City lights lay out before us
And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder
And I had the feeling that I belonged
And I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone
–Tracy Chapman
