Anywhere else, a child's stage-whisper would be funny. Now it's as though the entire universe has stopped. Nite Owl had suspected, of course, but he'd at least hoped otherwise, for both the child's and his partner's sake. When his heart starts beating again he hears a choked-off sob and a despairing ohmygod and there's a flurry of motion as Blaire's parents turn to her but all he can see is his partner looking smaller than he's ever seen him before and that upsets him more than anything else he can think about right now.

He doesn't know how to help his friend. He's afraid to do any more than just stand near him for fear of him flying apart at the seams, so he settles for letting his personal space bleed into Rorschach's to let him know he's there and wishes he could do more.

"Don't be mad, Mommy..." Poor Blaire is so confused, but it gives Nite Owl a paradoxical sense of pride in his partner's ability to keep the worst of what happened from the child. He watches Rorschach straighten at the sound of her distress, still so closely attuned to her, and resolves that his partner won't be alone, no matter the outcome.

.

Mommy is hugging her so tight again, and she's crying but trying to smile instead. "It's okay, honey. We're not mad." She lets go a bit to look at her. "We're not." And she shakes her head to show she means it.

Her Daddy reaches over to stroke Blaire's hair softly, again and again. His smile is all wobbly like Mommy's. "Your Mommy's right, Skipper." His big hand touches her face for a second and then he stands up to look at Nite Owl and Roar-shack. "It's okay."

.

"It's okay," he hears, and looks up to see something kindred flaring in Blaire's father's eyes. The larger man offers his hand, looking right at him. He knows he shouldn't, but manners and some other unnamed need win out over misgivings and spur him to reach out in return. His bloodstained hand is clasped firmly in both of the other man's.

For a long moment Mr. Roche simply looks at him. "I ain't gonna ask - but I know you didn't do anything I wouldn't've done in your place."

The words are a balm and a burden all at once. He feels Nite Owl stir beside him and wishes for one instant that he could just lean back into his partner so he could stop working so hard to hold himself up. His head turns to watch Blaire watching him. "I'm... sorry I didn't get to her sooner."

The grip on his hand tightens gently. "You found her. You found our baby and you brought her back home."

It's too much. The acceptance, the gratitude he can see overpowering the sadness and uncertainties in their eyes is burning into him and he can't breathe anymore. This isn't something he knows how to fight and it's going to shatter him into thousands of pieces.

.

A small sound escapes Rorschach, and Blaire's father seems to understand. His hands release him and he steps back with a parting clasp of his shoulder. Nite Owl steps forward almost apologetically into the silence.

"We should go." He doesn't say before the police get here and he doesn't have to.

Mrs. Roche rises, looks from him to Rorschach. "We won't-"

He nods to reassure her. "We know. It's all right."

His partner stirs suddenly. "Don't make her lie." He regards them in turn with a brief surge of his usual strength. "Whatever happens, you let her tell the truth." After a stunned pause, both parents nod.

He watches Rorschach submit to the brief, undemanding hug Blaire's mother gives him. She lays one hand over his where it clutches his jacket and offers him a watery smile before turning back to her daughter. "Blaire, honey - it's time for Rorschach and Nite Owl to go home now."

.

Her mother lets her approach him again and he is thankful for that small miracle. He kneels one last time and just looks at her.

"Will you come back?" Her tiny hand reaches out to run down his scarf, pulling gently at it.

He has to swallow hard. "I don't know, Skipper."

Her mother's hand strokes down her hair once. "They have to help other people too, sweetie. But if they ever need to, they can come here, all right?"

His head bows under the weight of that trust and he's glad to hear Nite Owl offering quiet thanks for both of them because he doesn't have words to answer.

Blaire appears to be satisfied with this arrangement, and turns to gaze up (and up) at Nite Owl without letting go of his scarf. "Thank you for letting me ride in Archie." Her other hand goes near her mouth again as Nite Owl crouches down.

"You're very welcome, Blaire. I'm glad I could help." A large gauntleted hand is offered and she shakes it with a shy smile. Then Nite Owl is stepping back and her attention is on him again.

He's distantly aware of the others murmuring nearby, words tumbling about softly that we'll get her to a doctor a woman doctor yes that would be a good idea but he's not letting any of that get through, not when he's trying to say goodbye and not think about how if everything goes well he may never see this little girl again.

She reaches up to touch the mask and he lets her, wondering what patterns she's seeing appear under her fingers. They wander carefully over his forehead, down the bridge of his nose, finally resting at his cheek. Her head tilts slightly to one side. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too." And he hugs her, careful not to touch her skin with his gloves and memorizing the sigh she gives and the strength in her arms and the way she holds on to his scarf until the very last second.

.

The ride back is silent except for Archie's various hums and whirrings. Rorschach is motionless by the window, guided to that spot by Nite Owl and seemingly content to remain there with his jacket still draped over his arms. Nite Owl doesn't know if he's looking at the city below them or at something inside his own head, and doesn't ask.

His partner's trench coat lies off to one side where it was tossed earlier with a vehemence normally reserved for combat. One lapel is peeking out from the rumpled pile, smeared with something that still glistens wetly in spots. Rorschach won't look at it. Nite Owl wonders what the best way of disposing of and replacing it will be.

They reach the warehouse entrance without incident - no alerts on the police scanner, no flashing lights, no sirens. The tunnel walls embrace them and he steers Archie gratefully into the familiar cluttered safety of the Owl's Nest.

"Rorschach. Stay here tonight."

His partner just looks at him, his posture wary. "Why?"

They're at the steps leading up to the lockers, where they normally part for the evening. Nite Owl weighs caution against candor and the latter wins for once. "You shouldn't be alone right now. A lot has happened, and... Well, I'd like to be able to make sure you're all right."

It's a risk, he knows. His partner prides himself on his independence and expressing such sentiments can wind up driving him farther away. But this was anything but a normal patrol.

Rorschach retreats a step, back toward the tunnel. "I'll be fine." His voice is still raw, making a mockery of the assurance. "I won't impose on you."

"I have an entire guest room I'm not using. We don't even have to see each other, if you don't want."

His partner is shaking his head in protest but his energy is flagging. "I have to be at work..."

"Call in sick."

"I can't, I'll lose my j-"

"I'll help you find another." He takes off the goggles and pulls back the cowl, no longer the vigilante Nite Owl - just Daniel Dreiberg. "Please, Rorschach. Please, just stay here."

It's enough.

.

Dan makes coffee. He knows it's not the best idea at this hour, but coffee is something normal, and warm, and will give them both something to look at besides one another when the silences stretch out too long.

He joins Rorschach in the living room where the light is dim and less intrusive. They sit in parallel on the couch - elbows on knees, mugs in hand - silent because Rorschach isn't talking and Dan won't try to make him.

Dan has changed out of the armor, opting for jeans and a t-shirt. He's foregone wearing shoes and his hair is still mussed and he feels terribly disheveled next to Rorschach, who has only removed his hat - he hasn't even lifted his mask to drink the coffee he's holding. His jacket lies folded neatly in his lap.

A part of Dan wants to turn on the television to see if anything's been said about the Roche case or the fire in Brooklyn (or whether the police are going to come after his partner and he's an accessory now, isn't he?) but he knows it wouldn't be helpful. Anything except for the news seems too inane for a moment like this, despite the likely need they both have for a distraction. So he just sips his coffee and sits, not knowing what will happen next but willing to stay up all night if that's what his partner needs.

The minute hand on the wall clock creeps from the four to just past the seven.

"He bought her."

Startled, Dan recovers his grip on his coffee mug and looks over to Rorschach. "What?"

"Bought her. Like she was a toy, or a pet. A thing." Rorschach's fingers are tightening on his own mug and his shoulders hunch forward. The patterns in the mask swirl sluggishly into something large and dark.

Dan doesn't speak, not knowing what to say and not wanting to break the spell if Rorschach is talking. Small ripples appear in Rorschach's coffee, prompting Dan to set his drink down and kneel at his partner's feet to look up into the mask in readiness for whatever is coming.

"When I got there... could hear her crying. He was - her dress... He was singing a lullaby to her while he-''

His voice breaks and his untouched coffee sloshes over his gloves until Dan rescues the mug and sets it aside. Rorschach is shuddering, fingers clawing at the space where the mug used to be and the mask flutters with the force of the breaths sawing in and out of him. Dan can only watch, hands hovering near but not daring to touch until Rorschach scrabbles at his own hands with an incoherent snarl, tearing the gloves off and flinging them away to reveal blunt, powerful fingers with deeply bruised and swollen knuckles. They claw upward into the mask and Dan has just enough time to realize what is happening and consider turning away before his partner wrenches it free of his head and hurls it across the room.

He sees shockingly vibrant copper hair and sharp cheekbones and too-bright eyes and teeth bared in an awful grimace, all in a breathless rush. Then the bared, abused hands return to drag the head down, closing it in the gate of his forearms.

.

She's gone. Safe at home, alive, with her parents where she should be but he's been too still and it's too quiet in here and he's supposed to be stronger than this but he's not, he's disgracing the uniform he chose so carefully for himself.

He can't stop hearing it. That horrible unnatural singing that twists a loving comfort into something obscene, and her crying, and the echoes of his footfalls on the floorboards. The sharp, slapping impact of fists on flesh that dissolves into wet crunching. Screaming. His fists remember the rupturing of skin and the cracking of bone and he can still feel the swing of his arms down, down and there's nothing to ward it off anymore because she's gone and now he's trapped with it scraping through his head.

.

Dan doesn't think about the fact that he's seeing his partner's entire face for the first time, or wonder just what it means that he's taken the mask off oh my god what just happened because all that registers is the pain radiating from the man in front of him that calls him to move near, reach out, and it's as natural and necessary as breathing to do so.

He returns to the couch, ignoring the niceties of personal space this one time. He doesn't say "It's okay" because it's really really not, but other words come out steady and slow and this tremoring anguished stranger he only knows as Rorschach lets Dan gather him close, turns in his arms and presses in like he wants to be inside him and clutches at his shirt so tightly he can feel seams threatening to give way.

He leans back until the corner of the couch is holding them up, riding out the earthquake that's in his friend. He should have been there, he thinks, but says "You saved her" and holds him tighter instead. He dares to place a steadying hand at the back of the other man's head, carefully smoothing down short unruly locks. "I'm here," he says to his friend and the darkness alike as the front of his shirt grows damp.

.

Daniel's voice washes over him, seeking out the noises in his head and calmly staring them down one by one. The arms around him feel strong enough to hold him together so he lets himself be eased down close enough to hear the steady heartbeat that fuels them. His own pulse responds, slowing its frenzied hammering to fall into step beside it.

The tension bleeds out of him and his arms slide down, not in an embrace but a slow collapse. He hears the words good man and considers believing them.

.

After a time Dan risks reaching down to retrieve Rorschach's suit coat. Carefully he drapes it over its owner, catching the faintest trace of Blaire's scent within it as he does so. A battered hand reaches up to touch it as it settles, and a long exhalation shudders through them both.

There is nothing left to do now but wait for the dawn.

-fin-