Author's Notes: Omg. We're totally in the graphic novel now. Ahhh, this is kinda weird. And I toyed with a couple ways to go about it because… well, it's GN. You could just go read it. I wanted to give some kind of insight into the scene and I'm pretty excited with how I handled it personally (hurp a derp bragging. XP) But yeah, I hope you like it too! The only thing I'm not too pleased about is the lack of creative title. Oh well.

38. Reunions

The yellow pin sat heavy in his pocket, weighing it down more than a small piece of plastic and metal possibly could. When he put his hand in the pocket, the imprint of blood splashed against the veneer of paint felt warm and wet and condemning against his gloves, scalding in its implications. Blood was far more loquacious than any person he'd ever met. And far more truthful.

The events unfolding before him weighed down his mind as much as the pin weighed down his pocket. And his destination made him feel uncomfortable and queasy. He didn't really appreciate it. His avoidance of Daniel's home had been deliberate. He didn't like being there anymore. But the idea of not telling Daniel, not warning him of what could very well be the biggest threat to his existence was unacceptable. The worst kind of betrayal. And he didn't want that voice to join his conscience. Didn't want that blood staining his gloves.

His discomfiture increased as he made his way down the street, lampposts casting spotlights on the streets that were suddenly just a little cleaner. Rather, not covered with the obvious filth. The deception made him angry, made his fingers curl around the little pin, the edges biting into his gloves.

Dodging the corona of light from the nearer lamp, he walked up the steps of a tall brownstone. The lights were out and the house looked colder that way, more forbidding and unfamiliar. Rorschach preferred it that way. Felt less like he was seeing someone who—

With a growl, he braced himself against the doorframe and swung his leg up. The lock gave with infuriating ease but the shock of it sent dull little spikes of pain up his ankle. Would be easily ignored were it not for its frequency. Didn't Daniel sometimes express concern for his ankles back when—

Baring his teeth, he pushed his way through the door and found his way to the kitchen. He didn't turn on the hall lights. He didn't need them. And that disturbed him, against his will. Just because he hadn't been here in a while didn't mean that he wouldn't remember. He used to spend many nights here. Remembering where rooms were didn't have to mean anything.

He walked into the kitchen and flicked on the light and immediately wished he hadn't.

The fluorescent lights made the room feel fuzzy around the edges and edging in the realm of memory. The warm phantom-smells of coffee and maybe takeout edged around his senses, fogging them. Unbidden images of nights bent over paper and news clippings, brow furrowed, red pen cutting out a trail, the exultant grin when things clicked, moments when the life is worth it for what they will accomplish.

Rorschach broke through the fog of memory with a glare. He was never all that impressed with the past. He never had that much use for it.

Opening the cabinets, he pulls out three tins without looking at them. He sets them on the table and seats himself, noting in the back of his mind that he shouldn't angle away from the door so much. It wouldn't do to leave himself open to any kind of attack. He doesn't trust this space.

He didn't move.

***

He'd been through two and a half tins before he heard footfalls in the hallway. Cautious, slow and deliberate, but there was a familiar cant to them, a slight shuffling that he recognized, so he didn't move. Chewing through another spoonful of beans, he stared at the opposite wall and waited. The amount of food sat like a stone in his gut.

When the door creaked open and the silhouette became more pronounced, Rorschach inclined his head in greeting.

"Hello Daniel." The name came out heavy on his tongue and for a moment, he didn't want to turn around, struck with the absurd notion that perhaps if he didn't turn around, he wouldn't have to face what they'd become. "Got hungry waiting. Helped myself to some beans. Hope you don't mind."

"Rorschach..?" The uncertainty riding on Daniel's voice disgusted him. He turned to see that disgust mirrored in Daniel's eyes, no matter how softened around the edges it was. Daniel seemed to catch himself and stumbled around the words, "Uh… That is, no! No, of course I don't mind…" He trailed off, and the look of incredulous fascination reminded Rorschach that it'd been almost three years since he'd last seen Daniel. Reminded him of how he must look and smell and sound like. The realizations made him want to punch Daniel right in the face. Anything to wipe that disgusting expression from his eyes.

"You want me to heat those up for you?"

The words, so inoffensive and quietly awkward pulled up memories of words spoken in just that manner and Rorschach wanted to pull back his lips in a snarl. But he knew that would pull the cautious disgust behind Daniel's eyes to the forefront. And Rorschach didn't want that. For some reason.

"No need," He grunted instead, "Fine like this."

An almost-smile flickered across Daniel's features before he seemed to realize just who exactly was in his kitchen. And who wasn't. Rorschach watched as Daniel tried to recover some kind of familiarity. It was like watching a trapped bird try to fly.

"So, uh… long time no see!" The false brightness in his voice repulsed him and he wished distantly that he could leave, "How have you been keeping?"

He needed to get this over with. "Out of prison. So far. Take a look at this." He flung the leering yellow pin onto the table. The blood and death and damning implications painted across it looked out of place in the warm domesticity of Daniel's kitchen but Rorschach didn't do anything. He watched as Daniel shucked off his coat and picked it up, brow furrowed with a look that said he knew exactly what it was, but didn't want to face it. Didn't want to see it. Typical.

"Uhh… what is it? This little stain, is that bean juice or..?" And the statement was so asinine coming from a man who spent ten years of his life knee deep in the blood and depravity of others, who would know what blood looks like with almost as much intimacy as he did, that the question was almost funny.

"That's right. Human bean juice." Rorschach even allowed himself a laugh, in honor of the Comedian, who would undoubtedly found this conversation to be hilarious. As for himself, Rorschach hoped his laugh sounded as rough and horrible to Daniel as it did to his own ears. "Badge belonged to the Comedian. Blood too. He's dead."

Brown eyes widened in shock beneath those stupid glasses. "Dead? What, you're talking about the Comedian?"

"Investigated a routine homicide. Victim named Edward Blake. Found the costume in Blake's wardrobe. Seems he was the Comedian." Rorschach was getting sick of the obvious questions, the smells, the phantom images. He wanted to leave. "Somebody threw him out of a window."

Somebody..?" Daniel's eyes were suddenly sharp, alert. "Listen, maybe we could talk about this down in my workshop. I feel kinda exposed up here." He glanced at the windows and the calculating, cautious expression mingled with memory that the lines were blurring between past and—

"Also, that way you can use the hidden rear exit. Uh, when you leave that is…" He trailed off awkwardly, suddenly aware of what he said and how it sounded. But Rorschach was grateful for it. It reminded him that he was here on business, unpleasant as it was, and needed to be gone as soon as possible.

"Right down this way," Daniel pushed open the door and walked down, "Uh, you haven't been down here in a while."

"Neither have you," Rorschach retorted, and it was supposed to be an observation and the bitterness lacing his tone disturbed him, so he added, "Lot of dust."

Daniel adjusted his tie, "Yeah, well, you know. Sometimes I come and sit down here for a while, but there doesn't seem much point since I retired." And there it was, a direct allusion for the distances, and the dust and a direct violation of the unspoken rule between them. The thing that compelled them to leave things unmentioned, hovering in the air between them. And the hull of the Owlship was covered and Rorschach wondered if Daniel had ever uncovered it since that day when Rorschach had disbelieved the truth and actively searched for a reason to disbelieve the reports—

"Listen, about the Comedian…" And once again, Rorschach was grateful for Daniel's barely-hidden desire to be rid of him. It pulled him away from things long buried, "Might it just have been an ordinary burglary or something? Maybe the killer didn't know who the Comedian was…"

A stupid question. And one Daniel knew the answer to as much as Rorschach did. He didn't really understand why the man was being so unthinking tonight. He didn't want to consider the possibility that maybe Daniel's intellect had eroded along with his physique. Daniel's mind was still a valuable commodity and one that, unfortunately, Rorschach may have need of in the future.

"An ordinary burglar? Kill the Comedian?" Rorschach allowed the distain for the suggestion creep into his voice, "Ridiculous."

He couldn't see Daniel blush, but he could hear it. "I guess it doesn't seem very likely." There was another considering pause, but this time Rorschach could sense that there was more interest now, a little more effort. "I heard he'd been working for the government since '77, knocking over Marxist republics in South America…" Daniel paused here, mulling over the evidence, "Maybe this was a political killing?"

"Maybe," The concession was grudging but it was there. It was a good theory. "Or maybe someone's picking off costumed heroes."

"Um. Don't you think that's maybe a little paranoid?"

And if Rorschach had been thinking rationally, he would have heard the slight grin in Daniel's voice, detected the teasing lilt that he'd grown accustomed to before. As it was, the words, taken at face value and mulled over in the harsh light of past whispers from others whose opinions didn't mean nearly as much to him, cut him across his skin. "That's what they're saying about me now? That I'm paranoid?" There was an awkward pause and the anger simmered away, just bubbling at the edge of his consciousness. "The Comedian was active for forty years. Men make a lot of enemies in that time." And then, because he wanted Daniel to get as angry as he was, just so he would feel less ridiculous, "How's your friend Hollis Mason these days?"

"Hollis?" Daniel's voice was surprised, taken aback. Suspicious. "What does he..?"

"They were both Minutemen, when Blake was sixteen and Mason was the first Nite Owl." Rorschach paused for effect, "That book Mason wrote. He said some bad things about the Comedian in it."

"Rorschach, I don't like what you're implying," Daniel's voice was sharp, dangerous and he almost sounded like the Nite Owl again. Rorschach hadn't forgotten how best to upset Daniel. Just go after the people he cared about. Person. Mason was the closest friend he had. "Hollis is an old man. If you're thinking about going over there and scaring him…"

"Implying nothing," Rorschach hoped his dismissive attitude was frustrating, "Just an observation." There was another pause, but it was more hurt and awkward and pained than he wanted it to be. Daniel seemed on the verge of saying something and the last thing Rorschach wanted at that moment was an apology he didn't deserve, "Anyway, thought I'd let you know. In case somebody's gunning for masks. Better go now. Things to do." He turned and walked towards the exit, needing to leave as soon as possible before he suffocated.

"Yeah, well, the tunnel brings you out in a warehouse two blocks north…"

"Yes. I remember." Rorschach hadn't meant for the words to come out as sharp as they had, but there was a tightness in his head that he couldn't place, "Used to come here often. Back when we were partners." The words, having pulled themselves out of the darkness on their own, chipped pieces of his mouth on the way out. And it hurt, oddly enough.

"Oh. Uh, yeah…" There was something in Daniel's voice that sounded like longing, but Rorschach already knew that was impossible, "Yeah, those were great times, Rorschach. Great times. Whatever happened to them?"

Rorschach wanted to scream. Wanted to turn around and punch Daniel in the face over and over and over until it didn't look like a face anymore because there was always so much betrayal and loyalty and hope and despair and disappointment crushing crushing crushing and there wasn't really any answer that was simple enough for the infinite chasm stretched out before them, for the space that separated them and warped their vision with disgust except…

"You quit."

-

-

-

A/N: YAY. Rorschach is bitter! Dan is awkward and therefore asks stupid questions! Seriously though? "Is this bean juice" ? Yes, Dan. Yes it is bean juice. Because you've never seen blood before. And bean juice is totally red. :/