" I admit it! I killed her, now take me in!"

No. Rorschach thought. This filthy, fucking scum did not deserve to rot in a cell for life. If he even got that. Rorschach had to make sure of it. However he continued to struggle with himself, he thought he knew justice; he thought law enforcement did the right thing, and that he was just helping them a bit. Leading them in the right direction. But it wasn't enough. How could he be sure this one will stay in prison . . .? He can't. Not unless he finished him himself.

He grabbed the clever Gerald undoubtedly used on Blair. His prisoner began pleading and muttering something, but Rorschach was beyond listening or reasoning. He paced back and forth struggling with himself and his decision of what he knew had to be done. Gripping the object, getting a feel for it; his breathing started to quicken as his pulse began beating to dangerous levels.

Gerald was still muttering. Rorschach could no longer hear him.

He was furious not only with the terrified man before him. But with the system as well. He had been wrong. He had been too soft. The world was in black and white. He thought the justice system was with him on this notion. But if they did their job right would this scum have succeeded in killing the little girl that Rorschach promised to bring home? No, they are not right. The police are soft. The system is grey, murky, and unjust.

He made his decision.

With a blind rage he brought down the force of the clever to Gerald's head, killing him instantly. Anger filled his body.

"Men..." He managed. "Go to prison... Dogs... Get put down!" the first blow wasn't enough, he kept going. Kept chopping, tremors of impact shook his arm. Warm blood splattered his face.

He didn't remember stopping or even leaving the house, but he found himself in a secluded alley some distance away. He leaned against a building and slumped down to his knees. He removed his mask in a daze and studied it. Studied his 'face'. Black on white in a perfect balance, with sticky blood staining it. Gingerly he set it down at his side and rested his head on his arms.

He was too late. Blair Roche was dead, Walter Kovaks and his ideals died with her too. From now on only Rorschach. Rorschach, who knows that deep down criminals had to die when caught, not one day, not one hour or even seconds after wards.

Reality began to creep on him, and as much as he tried to avoid it, he cried. He cried for all the evil in the world, he cried for Blair Roche, he cried for Walter. He shoved his palms in his eyes and tried to hush himself. Tried to breath but his lungs betrayed him, his breath came in ragged gasps. He hated himself for being soft and showing weakness to the darkness. Finally he seemed to get control of himself and put his blood stained 'face' in its' proper place, abandoning his disguise. A single tear dripped off his chin before the mask could absorb it. It would be the last time he shed a tear for anything.

Rorschach woke up in what he was sure was Daniels apartment, he could feel and smell the leather couch beneath him. It would have been risky and inconvenient for Daniel to drag him upstairs to the spare bedroom after the ordeal.

Rorschach remembered being shot, he remembered struggling to Daniels apartment, and he remembered the pain as the bullet was being removed. He knew his throat was dry. Probably from sleeping with his mouth open.

He did a quick check of himself, without opening his eyes. He reached down and felt flannel pajama bottoms... He didn't own flannel pajama bottoms, he also noticed that they were a few good sizes bigger than him. He blushed. The thought of Daniel… changing him, taking off his clothes while he was unconscious. So far he knew that he didn't have any kind of shirt on, and in someone else's pajama bottoms but at least he was under a blanket. Thank god. He felt his mask in its rightful place, right where he left it, he could feel a cool breeze on the lower half of his face, a window must be open.

Why am I not wearing a shirt? Where are my clothes? He opened his eyes, he was right about the couch, and he took a quick inventory of the room. No clothes. Feeling naked. Damnit Daniel. "Hurm." He didn't like this. Where were his clothes and why was a he wearing Daniels pajamas?

Maybe he could have taken care of himself after the fight. That's ridiculous, he knew it, he's lucky he actually got to Daniels apartment. His own apartment was at least 6 blocks away, maybe further. He never bothered counting. On his way home from patrolling with Night Owl he often ran into trouble, he was never able to just go straight back to his place. He hardly used it any way.

"Rorschach? You're Awake!" Daniel yipped.

"Water!" He didn't hear Daniel walk in and took a mental note that he would have to do his thinking when he was surely alone. Careless! He heard Daniels footsteps disappear into the kitchen and turn into glasses clinking and cabinets closing and water running. Daniel returned with some water and a few pills.

Rorschach tried to sit up so he could drink, but pain and dizziness took over and reminded him what kind of condition he was in. Daniel helped him sit up (with reluctance from Rorschach) but he managed to prop his friend up and let him down the whole glass of water, forgetting the pills. Rorschach wouldn't have taken them anyway.

"How long?" He rasped.

"Have you been out? Of course um, close to four days now."

"Hurm." Not important he thought. Rorschach took note that he still didn't solve his missing cloths problem. But Daniel beat him to the next question.

"What happened Rorschach? How did you get shot? What the hell have you been doing?" Daniels face was wrought with worry and concern. It made Rorschach uncomfortable. He reached for his mask and adjusted it to its proper place.

"Clothes."

"What? No Rorschach answer my question first. You owe me that much damn it. You don't show up for a year then all of a sudden here you are! Bleeding all over my stoop and kitchen! Too weak to kick in the door even!... Well? How did you get shot?" Daniel demanded. He didn't mean to get hysterical. But there was a time when he thought his friend wouldn't wake up. Regret over came him on day two of Rorschach's unconscious state. He had the phone in his hand ready to call an ambulance until Rorschach began whimpering in his sleep.

"Well?" He tried.

"Mugging in progress. Intervened. Was... careless, got shot." He worded his broken sentence carefully. He didn't want to tell Daniel that he hadn't been eating very well for the past few months due to money being so tight; it was ether rent or food. He actually got dizzy while reaching for the criminal's weapon. He was too late. In truth though it was careless.

"Clothes." He needed to know. He felt naked. And was once again glad to have a blank face that couldn't show him blushing.

"No wait. You were never so careless Rorschach. My bet is, is that, um..." He could feel Rorschach glaring at him. His mask swirling faster, a sure sign of annoyance. He figured there was no easy way of doing this. "You uh... You're not taking care of yourself are you?" Daniel paused. The swirling mask slowed for a moment before returning to its "regular" pace. Yep definitely no going back now. "You're really, really thin Rorschach."

"Daniel?"

"Yes, Rorschach?" He half expected to have something thrown at him for getting to personal.

"Clothes." Rorschach said it as calmly and annunciated as clearly and precisely as possible.

Daniel sighed in defeat. "They're at the dry cleaners. I guess I should go pick them up. They should be done by now."

"Why at drycleaners?" Rorschach knew his clothes were dirty, he knew he was dirty too. Probably stank a little. But if he could help it he would go days without showering. Fluoride conspiracy not fully investigated. If he was going to die it wasn't going to be from cancer due to personal hygiene. In fact he shouldn't even have drunk the water, but he was so God Damned thirsty.

"Why?!" Daniel Repeated. "Oh I don't know! Blood? Dirt? The smell perhaps?!... Sorry." He looked at his injured friend lying on his couch, too weak to sit up on his own. He didn't feel right yelling at him. But he couldn't help but feel irritated… or concerned…both? Yes both. He always knew that Rorschach was built. Fit. The perfect fighting machine despite his size. But now he wasn't only built but terribly thin.

Without waiting for a response he took the empty glass back to the kitchen and again filled it with water. He didn't have much food on stock cause he ate out more often than not. But he managed to scrounge up two bananas, and half a box of crackers, and of course a few sugar cubes.

"Here, it's not much but I know you, uh... You're probably hungry after sleeping for four days." He set the water and random food items on a coffee table, making sure everything was within reach. Rorschach had shifted himself to face the back of the couch. Sleeping? Covered up in the blanket so nothing but his 'face' was showing.

He put a hand on his shoulder, Rorschach flinched. Daniel sighed. Poor bastard.

"I'm going to get your clothes Rorschach. There's some food and water on the coffee table. It's not much but it's all I really have right now. Don't think of doing anything stupid like leaving. I'll be back soon with your clothes."

"Hmm."

Daniel took that as an okay to go; reluctantly he left his ex-partner to his own defenses. Locking the door behind him.