Captcha fic 6- huskier to -
"Always. It feels like always."
The blood is slowing, but the coppery fear-taste is still burning the back of his throat and he can't stop pressing his fingers to the pulse at his partner's neck to make sure it's still there.
"I couldn't tell you. I didn't know if -"
They have close calls all the time. Just last week there was that katiehead with a gun... They risk their lives and think nothing of it, just concentrating on the takedown. They could have been killed any number of times by now.
"Can you hear me?"
He's fighting tears, and it makes him angry. They can't go to a hospital. All this work they do, all this work...
"I wasn't honest with you. With myself. I'm sorry."
Breaths flutter against his ear.
"I'm sorry. I love you. I'm sorry."
Captcha fic 5- new engulfed -
He can't breathe. Can't convince his lungs to fill, or to release. Air shudders in the in-between of his muscles' indecision, finally sobbing out of him in a rush while his fingers twitch in confusion, wanting to clench, wanting to latch onto something but (afraid) uncertain as to what, or where.
No one has ever...
Eyes hold him, pin him in place as he teeters on the edge of standing, falling, as his mind stutters to a halt at the simple, unexpected sensation of hands reaching past layers of (defenses) fabric to skate the gentlest of fingers down his sides.
Captcha fic 4- illness chides -
It's his own fault, and he knows it.
Dan caught the bug last week and Rorschach had still pushed him to patrol. Criminals don't care if you're sick. They won't slack off just because you're not feeling well. Dan had done his best, suppressing coughs and snuffles through stakeouts and breathing through his mouth when his nose got too stopped up.
It made him a little slower and frayed his temper to a point that he may have used more force than was his wont, but that was all right. The reek of menthol and the litter of kleenex on Archie's floor became just another testament to Nite Owl's dedication.
He wasn't sympathetic toward his partner through any of it, because that wasn't what Nite Owl needed. What he needed was to stay strong, to not let his guard down, and to know that his partner still had his back as they went out every night.
Now he suppresses yet another sneeze and is at least thankful his nose hasn't started running (yet). His throat alternates between burn
Captcha fic 3- the doorways -
"Geddown, kid!" A shotgun blast comes from in front of him and the thug he hadn't seen behind him goes down when the rubber bullet takes him high in the chest. He rolls, getting a brief glimpse of the Comedian's combat-cheerful face and dives to
gather up the impossibly small life into his arms even though his hands - the ones that can manipulate the tiniest circuits with ease - feel far too large and clumsy for something so fragile and he's scared half to death. Laurie smiles up at him in exhausted triumph, and she's never looked so
crushingly dull, but this is what his father wanted and he's good at it. This bank was his father's legacy to him, and the best chance he'd have at a solid career for supporting a family someday, so he runs it now with the utmost
anxiety after hearing his friend's reaction. He doesn't know anything at all about this character, and a comic book movie? God, this cou
Captcha fic 2- commuter Mr -
She sees them all, depending on the day.
Midnight to three there are the drunks who don't want to go home yet. The happy drunks are all right, but they don't often have much money left by then. The angry ones, the ones dumped by girlfriends or the losers of fights - they're the worst. She counts herself lucky if the marks fade quickly.
Two to six is when the truckers come by on their way to pick up or drop off whatever. Sometimes all they want is someone to talk to, a pathetic substitute for the wife left behind. Other times she feels like G-18 on some travel bingo card. Lots of them have speed, though, which is a nice bonus.
From seven to eleven she can maybe get some sleep. Or eat. Both, if she's feeling ambitious.
Lunch hour onward is busy. The white collars typically start things off, sneaking off for their "meetings" and "appointments". The blue collars come later, wanting a pick-me-up before going out with the guys, or back to the ball and chain at home. Then come
Captcha fic 1- birth minutia -
"What? What did I do?"
Daniel is following him down the stairs, past the Owlship, catches up with him in the tunnel.
"Please, Rorschach, I don't understand what's made you so upset?"
The distress is genuine; he can hear it. He stops, but does not turn around. Daniel is wise and does not touch him.
"Prying, Daniel. Multiple times now."
"Because I asked you where you're from?" Bewilderment now, layered on top of the distress. Either he truly doesn't understand or he is much better at lying than he seemed to be.
"And eye color. And family. And habits." It's obvious their partnership can't continue.
Wh-- Rorschach, that wasn't prying, I was just... trying to get to know you, just a little! You're my partner, we watch each other's backs - and hell, I like you! You're my friend, that's what friends do!"
A small sliver of doubt slips in and his step falters. Daniel's voice is still ringing true.
'That's what friends do'.
...He wouldn't know.