Diagonal
"Extending from one edge of a solid figure to an opposite edge."
It's all his fault.
Blood is spattered all along the alley, in clumps, in arcs, so high above his head he has to wonder how they got there. He looks down at the wrench he still has in his hand, ponders how hard you'd have to swing to get a sweep like that, and remembers. He did it. He did it to a boy, only pretending he was a man, who now lies dead at his feet with a decent dent in his skull.
There are others like that around him. They don't move, some because they can't and others because they can't, most of them victims to his blind and mindless rage. Some of them are Daniel's victims. Those are the ones that will be able to move tomorrow.
He can't remember what set it off. All he can remember is pouncing, a blurry haze punctured with some minor discomfort here or there, and a dull cry that brought him crashing back to earth. He seems to be operating on a hair trigger, lately – it's becoming harder and harder for him to maintain control. On many occasions, he goes into some kind of fog, loses track of who he is, and awakens to find himself surrounded by mutilated criminals. For Daniel's sakes, he tries to be careful and restrain himself. He tries to make sure he stops before the filth's heart does. Usually, it doesn't work, and they're left staring at a body. In those moments, Daniel simply sighs and does his best to look away.
Of course, Daniel knows. He knows about the Roche case. He's already said aloud, almost musing to himself, that his partner seems different. To his dismay, Daniel tries to battle it in his own way, rather than the mindless violence Rorschach typically tries to drown himself in. Almost every night, when they climb out of Archie and into Daniel's basement, he practically manhandles him until they get into the kitchen and proceeds to force food down his throat. He still tries to get Rorschach to sleep on his couch, or at least the cot in the Nest. Rorschach typically says no, but he is still weak enough that sometimes he gives in, and spends a few hours staring guiltily at the ceiling before he sneaks out again.
He hates it, but he knows why he tries. Daniel is hopelessly naïve enough to believe that everything will turn out for the best in the end. Daniel can't see the abyss that hangs around Rorschach, waiting for him to go too far. Waiting for him to fall.
Tonight, watching blood trickling from the Nite Owl's forehead, he wonders if he's finally gone tumbling down.
A woman, Rorschach remembers. Whatever started this had something to do with a woman, quite unsurprisingly. Desperate to look anywhere but his partner, he casts his glance back around the ring of bodies around him. One of them is indeed a woman – but her dress is modest, except for the gaping holes in her blouse and trousers, stained red with blood (such a waste of good fabric). Not a whore, then, he knows that much – but he still doesn't understand.
He looks back at Daniel's forehead, can sense his empty stare even through the broken goggles. His fists tighten, relax, and he drops the wrench. Where did he even get it?
"…Jesus," Daniel says, almost fearfully. He reaches up and touches the wound gingerly, smearing blood over his brow. Rorschach can still feel the way his arm shook, the way his hand reverberated with the strike of iron against skull. He almost feels sick, knowing that if he'd put even a little more force behind the blow, his partner could have been lying by that boy, identical cavities in their heads. They were only lucky his aim was off, that he hit more of the goggles and less of his skin…
Rorschach's fingers twitch.
Daniel removes his broken eyewear and examines them. He visibly swallows, taking a deep breath.
"Jesus," he exhales again. They look at each other, and the air feels heavy. Behind him, a taxi roars past the mouth of the alley, headlights briefly illuminating them. At the sudden intensity, a few of the scum moan, too incapacitated even to twitch. They need to move, standing here like this is compromising safety and identity, but before he can suggest moving on, he's struck by words he's heard so often, they shouldn't surprise him anymore.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
He won't answer, at first. Can't answer. What would he say? Rorschach never thought he'd hear those words coming from Daniel, even though he's heard it all his life. For a moment, he imagines it hurts – just a bit – but the illusion fades, and he remembers that nothing hurts him anymore.
"Accident." It sounds like a cop-out, even to Rorschach. Daniel scoffs, incredulous.
"Accident? Accident? Is that really all you have to say? Look at what you did! This is the farthest thing from an accident!" Rorschach raises an eyebrow and revisits the mutilated lenses in Daniel's fist. They do take a long time to fix – his anger is understandable. It's not like you could waltz into a store and buy a new pair. Accordingly, he bows his head and tries to sound sorry. It isn't difficult.
"Didn't mean to hit you. Would offer to fix goggles, but not my area of expertise –"
Suddenly, Daniel is much closer, and his finger is in Rorschach's face. It takes a lot of self-control to keep from reaching up and breaking that finger immediately; the only thing that stops him is that it's Daniel, Daniel, and he's already damaged him enough. Still, he can't help but snarl and take a half step back. His partner follows.
"That's not what I was talking about, Rorschach, I –" The fight seems to leak out of him, like a hole in a balloon. Falling back again, Daniel gestures helplessly at a boy by his feet. "You killed them. Granted, they…" He bites his lip, even though Rorschach already knows what he's stifled. They did deserve it. He doesn't know why, but certainly, they deserved it – scum is scum. Sin is sin.
Daniel seems to steel himself, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before he continues. "They raped her. They killed her. I won't deny that." Startled, Rorschach glances back at the modest, dead woman, and wonders – is that what set it off? Did they stumble on the act, or arrive to find her already dead? "But, Jesus, Rorschach, those were kids. This isn't our job. We're supposed to turn them in – just turn them in."
Daniel is laughable, sometimes. Rorschach allows himself a grunt in a chuckle's stead. "Already taken justice into own hands, wearing masks. Might as well go rest of the way."
"No!" That anger's back – more than back, Daniel's furious now, and all of a sudden, Rorschach is severely uncomfortable. This is too… revealing, he decides. Nite Owl is standing in front of him, goggles off and guard down, and if anyone else were to stumble in or if one of the rapists (he likes that he now has a word he can attach to them, looking down at their battered bodies and not feeling a wisp of remorse) were to stir, they wouldn't see Nite Owl. They'd see Daniel. He can't let that happen.
"Nite Owl," he says sternly, stiffening. Nite Owl – not Daniel. It's the best way to get his attention, usually, but tonight he's completely ignored. It's not something he's used to.
"You bludgeoned them! With a wrench! That's not justice, that's just goddamn brutality!" They're too close, now; Daniel is a hairsbreadth away and his fists are clenching so convulsively that it's hard to keep his own hands from doing the same. "You could have killed me, too, Rorschach."
That's going too far. "Would never," he snaps. "Would never. Partners."
Daniel laughs, a mockery of his usual cheerful countenance. It's a disgusting sound.
"You came close.
The blood on his forehead is very distracting; it's still moving down his face, slow as syrup. Rorschach's imagination betrays him, maliciously showing him a picture of Daniel's face completely covered in crimson, steadily flowing from a fatal wound. He would never betray his pride – he can't – but the thought forces him to avert his eyes. He can't let himself entertain that notion. It's just too much.
"Look at me."
He can't, he can't, all he can see is blood and knocked-in skulls and dead children and dead Daniel. He feels so out of control, so loose, like at any minute he's going to go spiraling into the sky or down into hell. It's too much to manage. Daniel's too close, he can smell his cologne, and it's mixing with the blood that seems to seep from these walls. He can't handle it. It's just too much.
"Look at me, damn it!"
Rorschach looks. There's only a trickle of blood, easily fixed, easily wiped away. Daniel's staring at him, angry, but confused, too. His eyes aren't quite focused right – he probably can't see. For the first time in a year, Rorschach feels like he might throw up. He'd forgotten how unpleasant that was.
Dan puts a hand to his temples and squeezes. "God, what the hell is wrong with you? What's made you like this?"
Rorschach gathers himself enough that he can respond without trembling. "Nothing wrong."
"Bullshit."
Then it dawns on him – it is bullshit. Everything's wrong. Walter, he thinks with revulsion, is supposed to be dead – but he's still here. He's still throwing him off, steering him in a direction he doesn't want to go anymore. Rorschach doesn't have to be sorry for what he does in the name of justice – it's justice. It's righteousness. The rapists lying around him and righteousness cannot mix; sin is sin; sin must be punished. Walter is trying to make him sorry.
"You've been like this for almost a year," Daniel is saying. One of his hands hangs in the miniscule space between them, as though he doesn't know what he wants to do with it. Rorschach wants to shove it away. "I haven't said anything, but… it's like someone flips a switch, and you're not you. You're someone else." His hand decides to land, finally, instead of fluttering nervously. It perches on his shoulder, meant to be comforting, but to Rorschach it feels like a cage. He swats it away.
"Let go."
"No." This time, both of his hands are on his shoulders, gripping tight. "I won't."
"Let go, Daniel." He hates to use his name like that, surrounded by people that could spread his identity throughout the underworld in a heartbeat, but it's necessary. Rorschach doesn't want to be touched, especially not now. Daniel needs to let go.
"No!" His hands are like steel traps, keeping him rooted to the spot, and Rorschach is reminded of how physically imposing Daniel is compared to him. Even with the elevator shoes, he's miniscule, and he feels like a sparrow caught by a hawk. A mouse caught by an owl. "You've been like this since you lost that Roche case. Damn it, Rorschach, I understand that her death was hard on you, but it's been a year. You have to move on, it's unhealthy to –"
That's it. Daniel's gone too far – he doesn't know, he doesn't understand, it isn't even about the little girl anymore, it's about making sure that the monsters don't get away anymore, and that he prevents it from happening again. He has to get out, he can't take it anymore, but he's still trapped by Daniel's hands. They grip harder and harder by the second. Daniel's shouting, now, trying to maintain his attention. Quickly, not allowing himself to think on it, Rorschach draws back his arm and strikes him as hard as he can on the nose.
It works. The hands fly away and quiver above Daniel's face, muffling a cry. There's space between them again, and Rorschach can breathe. He pants, raises his fists for another strike if necessary, and says, "Warned you, Daniel. Said let go –"
Daniel looks up at him. Blood is pouring from his nose, dribbling over his gloves and undoubtedly staining the material. Rorschach lowers his arms and stares. After a moment, the crimson has covered the lower half of his face, and it's like that image come back to haunt him, but worse, because the hurt in Daniel's eyes is much worse than he could ever envision.
It takes him a moment to remember that his shoulders are free, but when he does, Rorschach turns and runs.
He sprints all the way back to his apartment building, throwing himself up the fire escape and through the window without second thought to himself. In the dim light, he quickly notices that his left hand has blood on it – it's still wet. Daniel.
Rorschach tries to growl, to roar, to put all of his confusion into a noise loud enough to wake the dead, but all that comes out is a moan. Disgusted with himself, he rips off his mask and runs into the bathroom, stares at himself in the mirror. It should be punishment enough, it should, but all he notices through the cracked visage is that there's blood everywhere. It's on his hands, predominantly, dry and cracked along with wet and nauseating, but it's spattered all up his trench coat, on his arms, and stained onto his shoes. Most of it isn't Daniel's, it's not, but he can almost feel a broken, larger body draining itself onto him.
Leaping into the shower, he throws on the water, hot enough to scald, and wishes that he owned a bar of soap. Instead, he scrubs at himself with his hands. It doesn't do anything – the blood won't come out, it'll never come out, even if he takes his clothes to the cleaner's dozens of times (or even if he sneaks them in with Daniel's laundry, like he used to, returning in the dead of night to find them neatly folded and waiting for him on the kitchen table). The spots might disappear, but Daniel's blood will always stain his gloves. Blaire Roche's blood will always stain his hands.
Finally, he does throw up. Bent over, dripping wet and peering through strands of disgustingly orange hair, he watches the water pick up all the grime and dirt that comes with an unused shower and carry it down the drain. He waits for the vomit to disappear, and then he sits. Hands in his hair, Rorschach stares at the drain, wishing that if he sat here long enough, the water would erode him away and carry him down, too.
He sits there, covered in blood, and wonders if he really is Rorschach – and if he's not, then who could he possibly be?
No. It is bullshit. Everything's wrong.
It's all his fault.
Weird one, I know. A little different. I just knew I needed a chapter with Rorschach's POV (since I have only one so far, not including the last chapter), and the phrase "It's all his fault" hit me and… stuck. I played with an idea like this several times before, but this one… I think I like this one best. It is weird, Rorschach is hard to manage, and I hope I didn't let anyone down with this chapter. I also felt bad since it's been a month (holy crap) – I haven't given up, I promise… I've just been busy with summer classes. This story will be finished. It will.
Also, I'm kind of irritated that I used the word "bullshit" in Rorschach's narration because unlike what some people think/write, Rorschach never curses. Ever. The worst thing that comes out of his mouth is whore, which is bad in itself (to me), but he never says anything worse. I was watching one of the movie B-rolls, and during an argument with Laurie (I laughed so hard I cried) he says something along the lines of "picked a hell of a time to blah blah blah" and I was shocked. I'm glad they didn't include that part – it would have been almost as jarring as the one time movie!Rorschach called Dan "Dan" instead of Daniel. He's just repeating what Dan said, though, so I guess it's okay. :) I'll forgive him this time.