Summary: Rorschach breaks in and is offered food. That's it. That's the fic. Just a drabble to better establish Rorschach and Christine's relationship.
This takes place between Chapters 1 and 2 of Fugitives and Friends.
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It'd been a good, but long week, and Chris just needed to drink. So she fixes herself a tall Mint Julep and switches her turntable on before sitting down to read a trashy novel. As a librarian, these types of books feel like the enemy, but as a reader, it's one of the greatest sinful indulgences she takes on a frequent basis.
Both the drink and her mind keeps her from taking the novel too seriously, and it is quite ridiculous, so she takes a break by cleaning up the dishes from supper, and sings along to the record.
"I love your funny face~" Swaying and stepping in time with the music, relying on the few lessons her friend had taught her for the school dances, she's struck by the parallels. While she doesn't know his face, his outward appearance was something out of a comic book, and if it weren't for his reputation, one might laugh at his outfit.
"You dance?"
His gruff voice would've startled her had she not been so caught up in the music. As is, she pauses mid step, then quickly catches up to the rest of the music before answering him.
"One of my friends is a dancer, he occasionally teaches me some moves when we see . It's fun and a good way to catch up. Plus, then I get to show any potential partners my moves."
She smiles, too wide, her mind sneers, and asks how he's doing.
"Fine. Needed to thank you."
She laughs at the sheer craziness of Rorschach needing to thank her of all people, but he is silent and only two black spots move on his mask.
"You're welcome," she tells him, amusement warming her voice more than she'd like, "anyone would have done the same." This warrants a grunt from the vigilante.
"Anyways, if you really want to thank me, help yourself to some food. I'm sure you're well within a healthy limit-" Liar "-but it can't hurt to add some more meat to those bones."
"Don't take charity." She rolls her eyes.
"Please, you'd be doing me a favor," she scoffs. "You think I can finish that all before it goes to waste? You have put far too much faith in my planning skills. 'sides, you can't fight crime on an empty stomach." She pulls out a chair at the kitchen table and sets out the variety of Tupperware that holds her leftovers. Her heart skips a beat at the sound of the chair gently scraping against the kitchen floor and she tries to not bang the pans around too much; wouldn't want to scare him away when you've finally gotten him to stay. The realization that he's staying finally sinks in and she is fleetingly aware that she tells him goodnight and to let her know if he needs anything, she'll be reading in the bedroom.
It doesn't even occur to her to ask him how he got in.
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A/N: Funny Face performed by Fred Astaire is the song referenced.