Author's Notes: WOW. I suck. There is really no excuse at this point, and I doubt that I even have any readers at this point, but I am very very sorry, since this has taken liiike two years. What is wrong with me. .;; at any rate. Here's a chapter, I hope it doesn't suck.

Warnings: None.

44. That I Might Reach You

Rorschach is angry, Dan can tell. He paces and growls and rages quietly behind Dan as he pokes listlessly at Archie's keyboard. He just can't find the energy to care right now. He is run down, not enough sleep, running on coffee and a pathetic sense of cosmic despair and Rorschach knows it. It enrages him, but he won't speak up, because that might imply that he's worried, and they never could have that.

Dan's sort of sick of all his bullshit.

So Rorschach grumbles and grizzles until he can finally think of something reprimanding enough to say. "Hate this. All day on river bed. Drowned corpses more useful." Dan reflects idly that Rorschach can be really rather dramatic when he wants to be. He stops behind Dan, and Dan can smell the musty scent of dirt and mildew and iron-and-rust. "You said we could proceed." He sounds accusing. He always sounds accusing.

"These computer searches I've been running are procedure," Dan reminded him, trying to keep the bite of exasperation out of his voice; it never did him any good. The words you should know this didn't come, nor did don't you remember how we did this before. Because that would be the very worst thing to remind Rorschach right now. So instead he settles on, "When it's dark again, we'll go up." And then, in a pique of childish petulance, "This is no picnic for me either."

Rorschach bristles and then, predictably, picks up on the wrong thing, "Implying something? About the coat perhaps?" And Dan furrows his brow at him, because yes, he really does hate that coat. Because it's That Coat, and something terrible happened to Rorschach in it and Dan really hates that he still has it. But somehow, he doesn't think that that is what Rorschach is talking about. "Old. Slightly musty. Apologies." He doesn't sound apologetic at all, "Can't all be fastidious. Can't all keep hands clean."

And there it is, out of the haze of world-weariness and ambivalence, that spark of anger that Rorschach has always, always been able to rise out of him. And goddammit, he is not going to rise to this now. "I wasn't…" And even that came out too harsh, "Look, I just meant we took enough unnecessary risks retrieving your outfit this morning." He doesn't say costume, because it's not. The prison grays and the blank, freckled face is more the costume and Dan tries not to dwell on that because it might just manage to break his heart. And he's hoping that the reminder of that startlingly close moment where Rorschach let a bit of his costume break will send him back to quietly grumble in the corner.

It does the exact opposite. "Unnecessary?" Rorschach's voice is sharp, "Cowering down here in sludge and pollution, conjuring names on screens, learning nothing: that is unnecessary." And wow, he is on a roll, "Give me the smallest finder on man's hand. I'll produce information. Computer unnecessary." Dan is getting really, really frustrated now, and grips the handle with a white-knuckle hold as Rorschach keeps talking, "This face all that's necessary." There's a pause, and the shuffling slide of fabric over skin, "all I need."

And, once upon a time, that would have actually been impressive. Now, however, it is just annoying. "That's bullshit," Dan replies flatly, Rorschach chuffs behind him, "You need darkness to work with, just like I do. And we both needed the sleep we grabbed." He stares at Rorschach in unimpressed challenge, "Right now, I need some pattern that makes sense of the data we have." And Rorschach knows this; this is how they worked in the past and dammit, it makes sense. Without data, hunches remain hunches and there's only so far finger breaking can take you. "The Comedian mentioned an island and some plot against Jon. My computers suggest Jon could have been set up, possibly by the company all his supposed 'victims' worked for…" Dan trails off then, because there's something there. There's something. There's something glaring that he's missing, and he simply can't put his finger on it—

"Possibly." Rorschach growls, training in on the one word that will give him weight in this argument, because this is actually an argument right now, "We should ask questions of the underworld."

And Dan makes a show of looking out the window, at the dark, bubbling world they are hanging in some kind of slimy suspended animation. "Isn't that what I'm doing?"

"Don't play games with me," Rorschach snaps, and the anger he has managed to stir up in Dan's gut is starting to rise up in his throat, "You waste time looking for pattern when pattern is obvious. The mask killer—"

"If you'd listen, that's what I'm trying to say!" Dan's actually starting to shout now, because goddamn this is annoying, "What if there is no mask killer?" And that seems to have stopped Rorschach enough to give Dan room to breathe, because he is far too old to say something that is shaping itself to be "get off my back, man", but if he doesn't say something else, it will work itself out to something he regrets, "Look, the comedian learned, accidentally, about some island, some scheme against Jon. The plot against Jon comes first. Blake's killed when he discovers it."

Rorschach actually seems to grudgingly consider it, but he's so stuck on his theory and he simply can't stand the idea of admitting Dan may have a point right now, so he persists, "Who knew Blake suspected anything."

Dan hesitated for a moment, trying to keep a handle on the tangle of his thoughts, "This Dimensional Development company employed Moloch. Maybe his place was bugged when Blake visited?" He chewed on his lower lip in thought, "That'd also explain how they knew about your investigation and were able to frame you without requiring any mask killer."

Rorschach's challenging posture didn't change. "And Veidt?"

…Well damn. That is definitely the problem. "Adrian's a problem," He admits grudgingly, and since when did they both become so petty? "That was a clear-cut assassination attempt, using a hired killer…"

"Exactly." Rorschach sounds rather triumphant, the asshole, "So trace killer. Visit bars. Squeeze people." And then he turns to him, tucking his journal in his coat, "Been lazing around a long time. Maybe you've forgotten how we do things."

And yeah. That's basically the last goddamn straw. All the anger and guilt and misery and disappointment that Rorschach has reached down and stirred up in Dan's gut, gritty and dizzying, finally bubbling up to the surface and tumbling out of Dan's mouth before he can do anything about it. "Listen, I've had it!" He's standing up, although he can't remember when he got up, "Who the hell do you think you are? You live off people while insulting them and nobody complains because they think you're a goddamned lunatic." And here every frustration and irritation and pain comes pouring out, culminating in one plaintive thought, begging for clarification:

"Do you know how hard it is, being your friend?"

And yep. There it is. The invisible line has been crossed and that was really, really unacceptable because Rorschach isn't supposed to know. He isn't supposed to be privy to all of Dan's worries and frustrations and how Dan still thinks of Rorschach as a friend when Rorschach obviously doesn't care one way or another about Dan, and how he is sure that the bulk of the other man's feelings towards him are a sickening mixture of disappointment and embarrassment. And yes, that stings, but that's how it is, and he wasn't really too keen on the idea of revealing that much.

So it is time to save face. "I…look, Rorschach. I'm sorry." And of course he's the one apologizing, "I shouldn't have said all that. Listen, you were right. We've been down here too long. It must be dark enough to surface by now. I'll take him up." Mostly because Dan's starting to feel claustrophobic under Rorschach's motionless gaze, so he turns, and fiddles with the controls, feeling like shit. As usual.

"Daniel…"

And he turns without meaning to, brow furrowing at the unusual hesitation in Rorschach's voice, the tone alien enough to override the pettiness Dan intended to cling to. Rorschach was standing behind him with an arm outstretched, hand reaching in his direction.

"You are…a good friend," Rorschach stammers, and there's really no other word for it, he really is stammering, clearly at a loss for how to communicate this, "I know that. I am sorry…that it is sometimes difficult."

Holy shit.

Rorschach is apologizing. Rorschach never apologizes, especially not now, not lately. And now not only is he apologizing, he's apologizing for being an asshole. This is unprecedented. And the sheer unprecedence of it makes Dan a little nervous. Rorschach is showing little bits of himself, making little concessions and it feels a little to Dan like preparation. And a little like a goodbye.

"Uh…hey…" And as usual, words pile up in the back of his throat, and articulation escapes him, "Hey, forget it. It's okay, man." He squeezes Rorschach's hand, "It's okay."

And of course he would only have a handshake to try and communicate his appreciation for having been his friend. To try and say how much this other person means to him, despite all the bullshit. And how it has been an honor, in a strange and fucked up way, to have worked with him (it's been an honor working with you, gentlemen). And only then does it occur to him that they've been holding this handshake for a really long time.

"Uhh…" Dan stares at their hands for a moment before resting his own hand on Rorschach's forearm gently. And suddenly, this is awkward, and Dan doesn't quite know why, but Rorschach feels it too, and he snatches his hand away. "Well anyway, there's…" Dan clears his throat, "There's no sense waiting down here any longer." He glances up at Rorschach and then back down at his control panels.

If this is going to be a goodbye, then Dan is going to be damned if he lets this be another wave of regret in his life. Not this time. "I mean, down here in this junk garden, is this any place to hold the reunion of the Nite Owl-Rorschach team?" Rorschach looks up at him, still rubbing his hand self-consciously, and something like understanding passes between them. Nite Owl grins, his smile cutting like cold steel.

"Y'know, some nice, straightforward brutality, after wading knee deep in this conspiracy weirdness for so long…" Nite Owl presses at the control and Archie hauls himself up out of suspension into flight.

"Hell, it'll be like coming home."