Closure

"A bringing to an end; conclusion."

Rorschach sits at Daniel's kitchen table, trying to feel welcome instead of constantly looking for a way out. He remembers many occasions when he sat here and felt like he was home, as if he belonged somewhere, but that all happened long ago, and he doesn't feel like that anymore. Instead, his muscles are tense, waiting for Daniel to spring an unseen trap, because he knows this meeting can't be for social purposes. Daniel had stared at his face long and hard, begging him with his eyes to come by so they could talk, and he had. It was the least he could do, he rationalizes, pulling at his scarf a bit so he has more room to breathe. After all, even though they haven't patrolled together in months, Nite Owl is still his partner. He can stand a quick conversation.

This feels anything but quick or easy, though. Daniel sits across from him, looking very serious and wearing his civilian clothes. His thick glasses are perched on the edge of his nose, so he looks over them with a face that makes Rorschach very uncomfortable. By now, he unwillingly knows all of Daniel's expressions simply by proxy, and he has only seen this one a handful of times. It means that his partner is searching for what to say, doesn't know how to put his thoughts into coherent sentences. Sometimes, it also means he's trying not to hurt Rorschach's feelings. This, of course, is ridiculous, because Rorschach doesn't have feelings to hurt – Daniel is still stuck in the days when Walter existed, and no matter what he does, he can't get him unstuck.

Daniel clicks his tongue and rolls his lips, biting them until the skin turns white. Putting off their inevitable conversation. Rorschach rolls his eyes in response, even though he can't see it, and clenches his fists inside his pockets. He wants to chide him, to demand that he speak and spit out whatever he's trying to say, but he won't do that to Daniel. Instead, he clears his throat and puts one hand on the table, thinking this gives off an appearance of confidence. "Why did you ask me here?" he enunciates, his voice creaking from disuse. That's six more syllables than he's said in a very long time.

Daniel runs a hand through his hair, leans forward, and puts his face into his palms for a second. Rorschach is very quickly running out of patience, but he settles back into the chair when his partner finally opens his mouth.

"God," he says as a start, his hands clasped as if in prayer in front of his mouth. "We've been working together for a long time, haven't we?"

He knows the exact amount of time (twelve years and four months), a habit left over that never really died with Walter, but he pushes it out of his mind and waits patiently. Daniel has more to say. He can tell by the way his hands continue to hover around his mouth, as though waiting to keep something he did not want to say from flying out.

"It's been great," he continues, "don't get me wrong. This is what I signed up for. Protecting the innocent, doing a job I thought needed to be done." The past tense has Rorschach's ears burning, and he sits up a little straighter, leaning forward. Daniel, in response, almost imperceptibly slouches backward and curls in on himself. "I thought this city needed me."

Rorschach glances at the calendar on the far side of the room, a gift from some kind of bird-of-the-month club featuring a screech owl. He knows perfectly well what day it is, and what day it was yesterday. He knows that yesterday, things might have changed for some people, but they haven't changed for him. Somewhere inside him, he had hoped that they hadn't changed for Daniel, either, but now he knows he was wrong. For a moment, he thinks it might be painful, but when Daniel finally gets to the point, he is pleased to realize that he feels absolutely nothing.

"I can't do this anymore, Rorschach."

Nine months and ten days later, Rorschach sees Daniel for the first time since very early August 4th, 1977. He has become fat, looks defeated, and seems empty. Daniel tries to give him money, mistaking him for a homeless man, trying to be good in a world that sometimes demands the opposite. He knows Daniel wants to believe he's still making a difference, still affecting someone somehow, and even though he can't forgive him, he waits until he disappears before he leaves the money in the gutter. He lets him walk by, and marvels at the realization that they are still two men in disguise, one out of necessity and one out of fear.

"Need permission to do what is right?" Rorschach finds himself saying, unable to keep scathing disappointment out of his voice. Daniel winces – that was a low blow, and they both know it, but Rorschach can't make himself feel guilty.

"The people don't want us. They want the police."

No one has ever truly wanted Rorschach – they accepted him, because he came in a package with Nite Owl II, who was charming and handsome and represented good old American values. It never bothered him, still doesn't, so to hear Daniel make such a weak excuse puts a hot twist of indignation in his stomach. If it were about being wanted, he would have quit long ago.

"Giving up," he says, almost to himself.

"No," Daniel retorts, a little too quickly. "I'm not giving up. I'm retiring. There's a difference."

"Not where I'm standing."

They size each other up, Daniel undoubtedly searching for some other pointless words to throw between them, and Rorschach searches Daniel for what made him so feeble. They haven't seen each other in months, not since they had fought about what to do with the Twilight Lady, but that can't be enough time for someone to change so drastically.

Of course, Daniel would argue if he had the chance, Rorschach had changed overnight two years ago, immediately abandoning the personality he'd mistakenly considered his friend. That, however, was different.

"Look, Rorschach, we've been at this for over a decade. I'm tired. Have you ever been so tired, it's like you carry it around with you? It sits in my bones, weighs me down, and I feel old." Yes, actually, he has felt that tired before, because while Daniel was wasting his time at that college getting a degree he'd never use, he'd had a full day-job. He opens his mouth to say so, but Daniel runs a hand through his hair again, a nervous tic, and laughs a little forcefully. "Jesus, I feel old. And I'm only thirty-two. You can't be that much older."

Thirty-seven, Rorschach thinks automatically, and it surprises him, because he really is much younger than he remembers.

"I'm thirty-two, and I haven't had a girlfriend in years. Men my age have families by now. Careers. Shit, by the time my dad was thirty, he was practically in charge at his bank. He'd already made half his fortune. And what have I got?" Daniel scoffs, sounding much more cynical and jaded than he really is, and part of Rorschach cringes at the tone, because Daniel doesn't ever sound like that. The other part scoffs back – he hasn't earned the right to feel that way. "I dress up like a goddamn owl, fly around in a toy ship, and pretend I'm actually doing the world some good when I know I'm not!" he shouts, slamming a fist on the table. It startles Rorschach, and immediately his body responds with a fight-or-flight instinct that makes him want to punch Daniel between his eyes. Within a few seconds, though, his eyes soften, he regains control of himself, and he pushes his glasses up his nose. "None of us are."

"Wrong," Rorschach says. The atmosphere in the kitchen is practically suffocating him; he knows how this discussion will end, and yet he can't help but try to change it. He didn't want to see his partner for a very long time, left him alone and channeled his anger into the living punching bags crawling around their city, but he knew he was still there. He knew that if he came into the Nest at a certain time of night, Daniel would be there, tinkering or putting on his suit. The idea of no longer having that familiarity does not sit with him well, and he can't let him give up simply because the government tells him to. "Police are corrupt. Politicians are dirty. Everywhere, filth accumulates and pretends to work in the name of justice. Only true justice lies behind masks. Can't leave the people to drown."

"I can't carry that kind of responsibility anymore."

Eight years, two months, and fifteen days later, Rorschach has been following Daniel for around a week. Even if no one else does, he truly believes that there is a mask killer stalking New York, and there is something deep inside his gut that won't let him leave his ex-partner alone for very long. Since he spoke with Daniel last Friday, the first time they had exchanged words in years, there has been an unpleasant feeling rolling around inside him where he's long believed all feelings are dead. He is beginning to truly remember long nights spent with his partner out on the streets, the time he lost his tooth, taking down Big Figure, falling asleep in the warm brownstone, the night he struck Daniel twice. He hates it, pushes it down as far as it will go, and watches as his ex-partner and Laurie Juspeczyk walk down the street together, close enough to touch.

Rorschach stands, knowing before Daniel does that their conversation is over. He stuffs his fists back into his pockets, curling them around empty sugar cube wrappers, and flexing them as if they were around a throat. Watching him, Daniel frowns as he adjusts his coat and scarf, pushing his hat down a little more firmly on his head. He tries to convey finality, in the way his body turns automatically to the door down into the basement, and the way he clears his throat, so that he won't have to say it out loud. After all, Rorschach may not have feelings, but Daniel does, and Rorschach is a little more sensitive than usually given credit for. Finally, when he's taken a few steps toward the stairs, Daniel gets it, and he hears wooden chair legs scrape across the linoleum as he jumps to his feet.

"Where are you going?"

"You quit," he growls. "We're done." Despite the anger in his voice, Rorschach is surprised to feel absolutely nothing. He's imagined a moment like this before, several times, and in each of his scenarios, he's assumed something might have hurt. In his mind, the Nite Owl II/Rorschach crime-fighting team had been totally intermingled, tangled up to the point that splitting them up would be just as painful as someone cutting off his left arm. This separation does not hurt – and that might be, he decides, because they have already been separated for a while.

"No, Rorschach," Daniel says, and a hand falls on his arm, grasping him just above the elbow. He turns to look back at him, passively examining the desperate glint in his eyes and the expression that says he has done something irrevocably wrong. "You don't have to go."

"Yes," he says, his tone even this time. Carefully, he removes the hand from his arm, purposefully not touching him more than necessary, and steps a bit closer to the basement.

"This doesn't mean –" His voice falters, and he swallows twice before he can speak again. "This doesn't mean we have to stop being friends. You're still welcome here. Couldn't we just –"

"We're done," Rorschach repeats, and leaving Daniel staring after him with a blank, hurt look, he walks down the stairs, past the suits locked up in glass cases, around Archie, and makes his way into the tunnel. His footsteps echo all around him, noisy as a thunderclap in his ears, and he still feels quite pleasantly empty. He knows Daniel thinks this is temporary – this wouldn't be the first time they'd separated on less than friendly terms – and they'll make up and become the sort of friends who go out to Sunday brunch with each other, sans disguises. He can't bring himself to believe that ending his tenure as Nite Owl II means ending his partnership with Rorschach, because he still thinks Walter is in there somewhere.

It's almost laughable.

And he still doesn't feel anything.

Eight years and two days shy of three months later, it is so very cold. He used to think he had a niche in the world, created by depravity and filled by Rorschach, and all he'd needed was to know that he was cleaning up his city. Even after his arrest, he'd thought, for a few short, wonderful minutes, that he had fallen back into a place where he belonged. There was so much comfort in that handshake on the ship, something he used to take for granted, the first non-violent physical contact anybody'd made with him in ages. It felt natural, standing at Daniel's side and facing down an enemy, even if their enemy happened to be the smartest, fastest, and most depraved man on earth.

Now, he realizes it was the worst possible thing he could have done, letting himself become complacent. He had done his best to remain pure for so many years, and in the end, it hadn't mattered anyway. He failed. They all failed. He stands, stares at the screen, and feels tears sticking between his cheeks and the latex of his mask. As the others argue about whether or not to remain silent, he knows what he has to do, has already made up his mind, and with a few clipped words, he heads back out into the snow. Daniel argues with him, for a moment, and he finds himself hoping beyond hope that he will come with him so that they might tell the world what Veidt did. If he ever needed a friend, he needs one now, with the tears constantly flowing and a quiet identity crisis growing in the back of his mind, and he won't let himself wonder how exactly he's going to get back to New York with Archie frozen and no other means of transportation.

But Daniel doesn't come. He is inside still, with Laurie, and Doctor Manhattan is staring him down, and all he can do is cry. He is crying for the people who have died, he is crying out of anger and frustration at his failure, and he is crying because he isn't Rorschach anymore. Something has happened over the past few days, and he is no longer that emotionless being embodied in black and white, but he can't be Walter, because Walter is long-since dead and buried. He is trapped by this, because if he isn't Rorschach and he isn't Walter then who is he, and in desperation he yanks off the mask and bares his face to Manhattan.

In his mind, he can see Daniel, stronger than he ever gave him credit for and weaker than anyone he'd ever met, a paradox blended into too many shades of grey to count, and he wishes he could say goodbye, but he is with Laurie. It is so very cold, and suddenly forty-five feels like enough, and he knows that this nameless, faceless being doesn't have any place in Veidt's new world, and he demands one thing from the all-powerful, impotent being in front of him, and suddenly it isn't so cold anymore.

Before Rorschach realizes it, he's back at his apartment, the sun is rising, and he sits down on his mattress. The emptiness lingers for another few moments, but after a time he replaces it with thoughts of how he'll find enough money for rent, and where he'll find food before he goes out to patrol. The day goes by quickly, and he only thinks of Daniel once, when it is time to put on his face again. After that, he doesn't think about him again, letting him fade to a dim memory in the back of his mind, something that isn't really there. A week goes by without a single thought even involving his ex-partner, then two weeks, and before long it's been three months, and as far as Rorschach is concerned, Daniel doesn't exist anymore.

One afternoon, he has a nightmare, the likes of which he hasn't had since he was a boy. It's a horrible dream, populated with the ghosts of small girls, fire, the smell of death, and Daniel, Daniel, and when he wakes up, he can't remember any of it, and he doesn't know why there are tears rolling down his face.

"Sometimes

words

are not

enough."

-Lemony Snicket

AN: Thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, favorited, or watched this story as I wound my way through it. Words is officially complete, and I can't say I'm happy to see it end, but I will not do anything more under it. This is the ending I've had planned from the very beginning, and I hope everyone has enjoyed reading as much as I have writing. Doing this has brought me a much greater understanding of myself, Watchmen, and especially Dan and Rorschach, so I hope to be able to use what I've learned later in a few other, less structured stories. Again, this story was far more successful than I ever dreamed it would be, and I thank all of you from the bottom of my heart.

~Grieverwings