Disclaimer: I don't own the Watchmen or any of its characters. Though a time share certainly would be lovely!

Warnings: This is a story that connects to the movie-verse version of Watchmen. It is meant to connect to the universe of this fandom before the Keene Act (Cannon 1977). This is a Daniel centric-fic, with Nite Owl II/Rorschach slash. Throughout this story there will be the use of adult language, and instances of adult situations. Not your cup of tea? I suggest you pass it by. Still with me? Fabulous!

Authors Note #1: Please read and review. I am excited to see what you all think. I am open to comments, advice, and constructive criticism.

Sweltering

Chapter 1

It was god damned hot.

It was the kind of weather that turned even the air into something close to sentient, coming out thick, murky, and oppressive. A sensation that only grew and grew until it finally morphed into something that was alive and breathing, something that squirmed inside your lungs and stuck to the skin like an unwelcome stranger. It was like an itch you just couldn't seem to scratch, an open sore that wouldn't close. A slow torture. It was the kind of heat that turned every breath into a chore rather then a necessity.

But next to the ferocious sensation, the word itself somehow paled in comparison. Because in all honestly they had surpassed "hot" nearly a week ago when the temperature shattered the cities previous fifteen year record. It was like living in a bloody furnace.

They had only just finished patrol, but by that time he was already skipping ahead, thinking reldiciously fond thoughts about the perpetual coolness of the Brownstone's basement and the very real possibly of indulging in a long, subzero temperature shower. Shrinkage be damned.

So really, the moment they had boarded Archie, practically slithering up the ramp in their own collective pools of stale sweat and overheated skin, he hadn't even thought twice about it when he ripped off his goggles and started peeling back the sweat slicked edges of his cowl.

Or, at least he hadn't until Rorschach had seen fit to get his nose in a knot about it.

In fact, just as he sighed in exaggerated relief, slumping back against the thrumming walls, Rorschach made a sound reminiscent of someone who was caught in between a horrified gasp and that sudden, age long moment of panic where one momentarily manages to choke on their own spit.

He spared his partner a half glance, too damned hot to be overly curious even as he let his goggles fall ungracefully along the grating at his feet. The goggles themselves were so slick with sweat that the straps left wet trials of perspiration across the pads of his gauntlets as he abandoned them to the free fall.

He grunted in frustration as his fingers skidded fruitlessly along the edges of his cowl, eventually getting fed up enough that he abandoned it in favour of working on unlacing his gauntlets. Almost desperate to shed the layers and feel air on his skin once again.

He couldn't help but shiver as the marginally cooler air chilled through the thick layer of sweat and grime that had accumulated underneath his gloves. This time entirely ignoring the disapproving "hrrumm" from somewhere off to his right, and definitely not missing the small squeak of expensive leather stitching as it rustled across damp trouser legs as his partner shifted in the chair beside him.

"What are you doing Daniel?" Rorschach growled. Somehow summoning up both the nerve and energy to sound utterly scandalized despite the oppressive heat.

He blinked momentarily at the censure in the man's tone before the rising temperature and obvious nature of his actions riled him up enough to answer. His growing frustration all too evident as he paused momentarily, struggling through an almost incomprehensible blanket of stifling irritation as he tried to find the right words.

'What does it look like I am doing? Mowing the lawn, you passive aggressive little bastard.' He snarked inwardly. Pleased in spite of himself when Rorschach tilted his head to the side, chin brushing against his shoulder in a clear sign of the man's confusion and growing discomfort. And as childishly irrational as it was, he couldn't help the little thrill that ran through him. Knowing he had put the implacable man soundly off balance.

Sometimes it was all too easy.

Rolling his eyes for good measure, he even went as far as to momentarily weigh the options on his chances of being able to stuff the man into the baggage compartment before Rorschach soundly removed his ability use all his extremities. Unfortunately the odds of that didn't exactly lean in his favour and he knew it. Rorschach was a quick little son of a bitch.

"It's hot Rorschach." He finally bit back. Not liking it one bit as his tone erred on the side of childish petulance before he shook the thought away. There was no need for that. Instead he looked the man right in the eye and unclipped the first buckle of his shoulder harness. The action cold cut and defiantly deliberate.

And quite unexpectedly, from there on in, every loosened cuff, every tug on a strap or peeling off of a binding felt remarkably like a dare. Like a risk knowingly taken.

Rorschach simply stared. His body held impossibly still as the swirling blots coursed across the inscrutable canvas of his face. The inky blackness tumbling and mixing together, trickling down along the lines of his lips like a confused grimace before shooting upwards to pool along the narrow lines of his cheek bones. Spreading there like a reluctant blush.

It was somewhere in between the last buckle and the heady screech of the shoulder piece hitting the deck grating, that Rorschach finally found his tongue. Feet shifting then tensing once more from his seat in the co-pilots chair. It was unaccustomedly restless. Even for Rorschach. With the movement itself coming out as edgy, looking more like the pacing of a caged animal then that of a man.

"Compromising identity.. Unprofessional.." Rorschach began, trailing off when the man realized he was clearly being ignored. Because instead of paying attention, he was too busy working on the waist snaps of his utility belt. Snapping them off methodically, with an exaggerated display, making sure the man heard every single one. The sound of Rorschach's hands tightening on the arm rests of his chair was almost breathtaking.

And when his fingers finally loosened the damnable thing, he let the belt fall into an unconcerned jumble. Not even noticing when one of his half moon crescents slipped loose of its bindings and fell through the grating. Instead he turned; sighing loudly as he finally met the man's potent stare for the first time in minutes.

"Like you don't already know." He shot back, patience noticeably fraying as his restless limbs, now shot full of irritation and some heady sort of emotion he wasn't quite sure how to define, drove him to stand. Rising until he was all but towering over the man. Refusing to acknowledge the little voice in the back of his head, newly risen and all but screaming for him back down. To let it go.

But he just couldn't. Not this time.

"Rorschach, you have been in my house more times then I can count and have likely investigated me to the point where you probably know my life's story better then even I do. So tell me, how much more compromised can a person possibly get?" He finished, arms crossing over his chest as he glared through his sweat damp curls as he watched the smaller man rise to his feet.

He could practically feel the furious glare…Like heat radiating outwards..

Rorschach's body language promised violence. It was all but palpable. Because mixed together with the stifling heat, frustration, and the almost unbearable tension was the desire to do something erroneously stupid. Something that would be met with the subtle impact of flesh sliding against flesh, a fully fledged symphony of overexerted breaths and sudden base sounds pulled deep from the chest.

Something to take the edge off.

Yet Rorschach did nothing. Remaining exactly where he stood, poised halfway between the two chairs. Hands already dug deep in the depths of his side pockets. And he wasn't exactly sure why, but he couldn't help but feel slightly disappointed, his tired muscles apparently yearning for action once again, despite their long, but relatively fruitless patrol.

It was almost as if he was just waiting for Rorschach to pick a fight..

He supposed though, that the real root of the problem lay in the fact that for the past two weeks, Rorschach had spent the vast majority of the time acting supremely unaffected. As if the ever rising temperature was somehow beneath his notice. He knew it was the heat and discomfort talking, but whenever the topic came up, and the man's masked face would tilt just so. All but dripping with that unmistakable emotion of self entitled smugness, he had never wanted to turn around the clock the man more. To send one of his fists flying front and center into that cool, sanctimonious face of his.

Because all else considered he knew for a fact that the man was just as affected as he was. Perhaps even more so given that underneath the impregnable nature of his coat, he had the sneaking suspicion that the man was wearing no less then he usually did. Christ almighty! How was he even still standing? He was going to cop out from heat stroke.

Regardless, the growing sweat stains seeping down from the neck to armpits of the man's trench were testament enough. Only the problem was that the stubborn little bastard wouldn't admit it. He wouldn't admit that he was just as human as the rest of them! Hell, he had his thin summer-style Kevlar on and he still wanted to die every time they suited up and left the Brownstone. Yet Rorschach wouldn't compromise. Not even by a single god damned inch!

And right now, caught smack in the middle of New York cities hottest heat wave in recent memory, sweating out his own weight with a partner that wouldn't acknowledge that it was even happening.. Well, it was downright infuriating!

Panting softly, he waved a hand in front of his face, vainly attempting to waft some of the air from Archie's vents over their way. Cursing himself six ways to Sunday as the criminally small breeze provided little relief. ..Perfect..

'Time for another system overhaul.' He thought with a grimace. Not relishing the thought of grounding the ship, and spending the next few days wedged ass deep inside blisteringly hot air ducts trying to increase the intake ratio on the air recycling system. Cause god knows that was going to be a hoot.

He turned his head slowly, angling it towards the nearest vent in a last ditch effort. The heat made his movements languid, sapping the energy right from the bones as he dropped back into his chair. It was just too damn hot for these dramatics. All he wanted was a cool shower and to get out of these clothes! He just didn't have it in him to butt heads with Rorschach today.

Sighing irritably he shook his head, forcing himself to bend as he motioned for the man to retake his seat. Ready and willing to forget the whole thing so long as they could make it out to the harbour and to the entrance to the sewer tunnels without another incident of near homicide.

Only Rorschach didn't move.

In fact the only outward indication that the man was even breathing at all was the steady ripple of muscles flexing underneath the perspiring layers of his clothes, balancing on the toes of his feet like a panther preparing to spring. Even the man's fedora looked remarkable wilted, with the material having gone loose and pliable in the pressing humidity.

..Son of a-

It was making him sweat just looking at him..

..But in fact.. What was more, was that it made him realize something else. It made him come to terms with the fact that he just couldn't…He couldn't do this anymore..It was just too god damned hot..

Without him even thinking the action through, he found his hand rising from his side, abandoning the weighty Kevlar for the freedom of the vicious air. And when his hand landed on Rorschach's shoulder, blunt fingertips only just scoring across the limp edges of the man's collar, he felt the small quake of the man's sudden intake of breath vibrate up through his very bones.

And like the last puzzle piece finally clicking home, his hands closed around the trailing edges of the man's cream colour scarf. Slick fingers alighting along the coarse, well worn material, sussing out all its flaws, all its imperfections and quirks, yet always coming back for more. And like a man possessed, a volatile mixture of adrenaline, terror, and something close to a manic sort of desire coursed through him. Burning hotter then any temperature mother nature could ever bring to bear.

Because suddenly, suddenly he just knew…

A/N #1: Please let me know what you think, and indeed if you think I should continue. Reviews and constructive critiquing are love!

"Some people change their ways when they see the light; others when they feel the heat" -Caroline Schoeder