a/n: as per usual, comment/criticism more than welcome

The morning light filters through his closed eyelids like a pale orange canvas. For a brief moment, a shadow dances over his field of vision, it fleetingly blocks the warm, filtered sunlight. Back and forth. Back and forth. When Dan opens his eyes, a pair of icy blues stares back. Cold. "Having fun? Seriously, because that's not creepy or anything."

He pulls his focus back, back enough to take in the entirely of the face so intently fixed on him. Even through morning haze and blurry vision, he becomes cognizant of the fact that his long time partner (and friend?) is a complete stranger. The hard, dour face is a surprise, even though it probably shouldn't be. He wonders what sort of hardships he has had to endure, probably didn't have—

"Staring, Daniel."

"Right. I was staring." Dan rubs his face, swings his legs over the bed, and sits up. Let the day start.

***

Dan scrapes the last bit of scrambled egg from the pan onto the other man's plate. He sits in front of his own plate, pushing the egg around with his fork. He addresses the fluffy yellow substance. "Do you have something I can call you?" His voice is quiet; he knows he would never ask this under any other circumstances.

"Usually called 'eggs' Daniel."

"I'm trying to ask a serious question. The jokes are cute, but…" he lifts his head to meet the eyes across from him.

"No," he turns his head away as he replies. "Just. Rorschach. Do not wish for… psychoanalysis. Do not want to discuss the matter, have things to do."

"Yeah, I'm sure you're very busy. Probably some drug-ring or prost— oh, wait." Dan smiles weakly and puts his hands up in a vague defensive manner. He sighs. "All right, whatever you want, man. I never said anything about psychoanalysis. I don't hold any claim about understanding any of that shit. So, if this is just a bit too existential over toast, then I can appreciate that. But, you know, it's just us now. We might as well stop hiding away from whatever…"

Rorschach gets up suddenly, tosses his breakfast, plate and all, into the trash. "Speak for yourself."

Dan traces an outline of a blemish in the grain of the tabletop, wonders how long it has been there, and why he is only noticing it now. "So, uh, my offer still stands, if you're interested." It is a total non-sequitur, a change of course about as subtle as an on-coming truck, but he doesn't care.

Rorschach makes a deep throaty sound. It is a contemplative noise, thoughtful, and solemn. "Yes, an afternoon spent in the library reading books about compost. Sounds very entertaining."

Dan puts his hand over his heart and feigns indignation. "Not just. Gardening, and canning, too. You know, preserving stuff? For the winter? And anyway, compost is very serious business."

Rorschach snorts. "Your project, do not wish to intrude."

"Right. You're probably content to survive on ramen noodles and canned corn for the rest of your life. And besides, you don't have to learn all there is to know about vegetable gardens. You can do, uh, whatever it is Rorschachs do best."

"And that is?"

"What? Oh, I don't know, man. It was a joke."

"Hard work. Earning your keep by making an honest living through honest labor. Doing what is required with out objection or complaint."

"What?"

"Hard work. What 'Rorschachs' do best."

And Dan just laughs and laughs. "All right, man. Sounds like I have a volunteer. Whadda ya say about taking a walk up to the Public Library."

***

The Main Reading room of the New York Public Library is a cavernous place, huge, empty and much, much too quiet. Dan sits at one of the long tables with a stack of books in front of him. The hardwood floor taps out a constant click click click as Rorschach paces the long aisle between the angled tables. Dan thinks of an impatient schoolteacher, waiting for his class to finish their exams, arms behind his back, occasionally peering over students' shoulders.

He gets up from his seat suddenly, the chair scraping against the hardwood floor too loudly, gratingly, like fingers on a chalkboard. "This is stupid," he blurts out abruptly.

Rorschach stops his incessant pacing, cants his head slightly. "Problem? Coming here was your idea."

"I thought I liked the idea of a long term project, you know? Something we need to help us to survive, something to keep busy doing, but it's stupid. This feels so wrong. Planning a goddamn garden at the end of the world, like it's some kind of vacation from reality. There should be people here, you know? Reading books, talking too loudly, but. But there's nothing. Not even goddamn pigeons outside crapping all over everything. Fuck it. I - I want to go." His eyes mist up a bit, and he does his best to blink it away, roll his eyes upward toward the ceiling. His fists are balled up, and he's not sure if he's angry or depressed.

In a flash of motion, a wave of his overcoat like a flag caught in a violent wind, Rorschach is in Dan's face, noses almost close enough to touch. Dan's breath catches in his throat, because, god, what's he going to do, or say, this is….

"Quitting. Typical. Planning long-term is within our interests for long-term survival, and suddenly want to give up because you do not wish to face reality. This, Daniel, is our new reality. It will always feel 'wrong.' As it should. Survival will not be and easy thing. It will be hard work. But we must. We must because it is all there is left." His hands are on Dan's face, and he his close, too close, and Dan wants to run, those eyes are intense and ice-cold, and if he doesn't get away, he's going to— he shivers violently and pulls at his coat, as if the temperature just dropped a sudden 20 degrees.

Dan shakes like a wet dog after a bath, and the moment passes. He picks up the stack of books from the table, holds them to his chest like a plate of armor. "Yeah, okay." Is all he says, and pushes his way past his partner. Rorschach, not being one to be one-upped, turns on a dime and out paces Dan. He doesn't look back. They play this childish game until they reach the main door. Dan walks over and pats Astor (Or is it Lenox? He can never remember) on the top of his head. He looks up at Rorschach sheepishly. "What?"

Rorschach huffs and smirks.

They don't talk the rest of the way back. It is a comfortable silence, though, shoulder to shoulder, like it was. Like it should be. Two heroes against the world. Except there is no 'world' now. It is just the two of them. They lock eyes, if ever briefly, and make a silent, unspoken pact.

***

Dan never expected, in a million years, to see this. Rorschach has never been known for his cleanliness, and yet, there he stands, in front of the sink, washing up after dinner. It is proof positive that this really is a strange new reality.

He shakes his head and smiles as he heads outside. He strips off all his clothes, drapes them on the steps in front of his house, and dunks a washcloth into a large pot of boiled water sitting on the sidewalk. The last relics of daylight feel liberating on his back as he begins washing his hair. He never hears the footsteps click-clacking behind him.

***

"You say I have got to have a change of scene

'Cus every night I have the strangest dream

Imprisoned by the way it could have been

Left here on my own, or so it seems"

- Traffic, Feelin' Alright?