Chapter Text
Laurie notices it for the first time after a Crimebusters meeting, when she sees Nite Owl bend down and whisper something into Rorschach’s ear.
Which isn’t unusual in and of itself; they’re always having weird little personal conferences with each other comprised of cryptic whispers and monosyllabic noises, half-shrugs, hand signals and other little various body tics that hold meaning only for them. It’s kind of disturbing, really, when she thinks about it.
But Rorschach’s reaction to whatever Nite Owl whispers in his ear this time is odd. He snaps a brief, indecipherable response back at his partner then looks the other way; his posture changing from hands-in-pockets relaxed to hands-fisted-at-sides uncomfortable. And as she watches, the shifting black patterns on his face stop moving and grow, black spreading across the white mask like ink dropped onto damp blotter paper.
At which point Rorschach wheels and abruptly walks out. Nite Owl doesn’t seem at all upset, though, that he seems to have mightily pissed off his partner. He’s grinning from ear to ear as he waves goodnight to Laurie and the others before following Rorschach out the door.
Laurie shrugs and dismisses it. But doesn’t forget it, because much as she tells herself that whatever’s going on between Nite Owl and his weird little partner is of no interest to her, she knows that she’s lying.
---
Now that she’s looking for it, she notices that Nite Owl seems to have started taking a real pleasure in winding Rorschach up to the point where his mask blackens with anger and he stalks off.
And it’s always after Dan makes some arcane reference to some mythical case they are working on, or some mythical clue they’re following up, which Laurie is positive at this point is merely code for something entirely different.
For example, at a meeting two weeks ago, Nite Owl was talking about a drug bust that he and Rorschach had just made when he gave his partner a sidelong look and with a weird little smile said, “We really need to revisit that Belgian artwork heist, though. Your work on that was brilliant, I’m still in awe.” And boom, there it went, black shadows spreading swiftly across the white mask. And there Rorschach went a minute later, up out of his seat and out the door.
It all seemed to be completely in fun on Nite Owl’s part---as always, he looked really pleased with himself after it happened. Then, as always, he took off in Rorschach’s wake; to apologize, she assumed, to his torked-off partner yet again for being a dick.
And while Ozymandias, the world’s smartest walking ego, may be all “I notice subtle body and facial movements, no human can successfully lie to me,” he’s still a man. And, as much as Laurie hates girly stereotypes, it’s true that women look for and notice things that men just don’t. And she’s the only one that seems to have noticed this new dynamic between the Justice Twins (as the Comedian refers to them).
Or maybe they all notice it too, but you’re just the only curious dumbass with no life of her own who gives a shit, Laurel Jane, she thinks.
Whatever it is, it’s weird. And, for some reason she can’t quite put her finger on, disturbing. And she wishes they’d just knock it off.
***
It finally clicks for her one evening when they are all sitting around the table playing poker.
The poker games are another one of Ozymandias’ dippy little team-building exercises. And since it’s the only one of Ozy’s team-building efforts that the Comedian will actually show up for, poker night has pretty much become a semi-weekly occurrence.
But it turns out that Laurie has an aptitude for playing poker, which for some strange reason seems to really please the Comedian, so she doesn’t really mind. Because the Comedian is just beyond cool and it’s pretty thrilling that he pays so much attention to her, although it seems to freak her mom out that he does. Laurie’s learned to just not talk about him in front of her mother.
In fact, the Comedian seems to have taken it on himself to turn Laurie into a card sharp. He’s been teaching her playing strategies and how to read people and learn their various strategies and ‘tells’, and it’s started paying off for her. She’s even managed to bluff the Comedian once or twice. Even with the dollar ante games they usually play, at this point she’s got three hundred and forty dollars tucked away in her private little poker winnings kitty (which her mom is not aware of).
So here they are on another Wednesday night. Laurie is sitting next to the Comedian. Ozymandias and Captain Metropolis are to their right, Nite Owl and Rorschach to their left. (Jon, of course, is not in attendance because he has a bad habit of forgetting that he shouldn’t mention who’s going to win before the hands are even dealt.)
Usually Nite Owl’s creepy little shadow can’t be bothered to participate in such useless and morally eroding practices as playing poker. But every once in a while Nite Owl evidently manages to wheedle his partner into coming along and playing, and tonight is one of those nights.
Nobody’s saying much, they’re all concentrating on their hands when Laurie glances up and sees black ink blooming across Rorschach’s mask.
She looks over at Nite Owl, curious because he hasn’t actually said anything; none of the usual cryptic references to nonexistent cases they use as code for whatever the fuck they’re really talking about that seems to piss Rorschach off so much. Then she notices that Nite Owl’s loosely gripping his beer bottle, sliding his hand slowly up, then down over the perspiring cold green glass.
Laurie shoots another look at Rorschach (who’s drinking Coke, no rum of course, through a straw slipped up under his mask because God forbid any of them should find out what his freaking mouth looks like). He’s shifting uncomfortably in his chair and the black has now spread in wide bands across where his forehead and cheeks and chin should be.
And all of a sudden she gets what’s happening. Nite Owl explained to her once how the mask worked, that it changes patterns by responding to pressure—and heat.
He’s blushing. Rorschach is fucking blushing.
She knows she’s right as Nite Owl slides his grip very slowly and suggestively up the bottle again, then absently moves his thumb in circles around the bottle’s lip and then slowly back and forth over the top a few times.
And Rorschach is looking distinctly uncomfortable now. His hat is canted slightly to one side and Laurie can see that the material over the tip of his ear is completely black.
It seems too bizarre, but there it is before her wondering eyes. Rorschach, the grim Terror of the Underworld, is squirming in his chair and blushing like a convent girl as he watches his partner administer a slow hand job to a beer bottle.
Wow. Okay. Guess I owe the Comedian twenty bucks.
And well, wow, because right up to this moment she’s never seen Nite Owl as anything more than a big Boy Scout/Poindexter science nerd.
Laurie finds that although she’s not blushing, she’s feeling a little flushed herself at the sight of him getting all pervy with his beer bottle. And speculating about what might happen between the two men later on this evening makes her feel even more flushed, as fucked-up as that is.
“Need to start patrol, Nite Owl.” Rorschach’s throat is evidently a bit dry; his voice is a little hoarser than usual.
“Whoops. Yeah, you’re right.” Dan folds his hand. “Sorry folks, places to go, malfeasants to catch, you know the drill.”
The Comedian snorts and gives them an offhand salute with his cigar. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t catch ‘em all at once, leave some for us. Evening, ladies.”
As Rorschach gets up to leave, Laurie’s thinking that the trench coat’s probably coming in pretty handy right now, covering a multitude of sins. Well, one particular sin, anyway. Dan’s costume is not so fortunately made, however, and even with the cup built into his uniform she gets a bit of an eyeful for a moment when he starts to stand up, just before he casually flips his cape around to cover up.
As they leave, she wonders if this might be an opportune time to step outside for a smoke.
***
Agh. Athletic cups and hard-ons really aren’t a comfortable mix, Dan thinks as he follows Rorschach across the parking lot toward Archie. He can’t wait to get into Archie and get the damn thing off, then get his hands all over his partner.
He’s just in an overwhelmingly good mood tonight, completely pleased with his world in general. As they near Archie, Dan’s high spirits spill over and with an ebullient laugh he slings an arm around his partner’s narrow waist and scoops him up. He throws Rorschach over his shoulder and carries him onto Archie, running a possessive hand up one of Rorschach's thighs and under the trench coat to fondle his ass as he does.
And really, the fact that Rorschach allows him to do it without a struggle should tip Dan off then and there that there’s going to be trouble. But he’s riding far too high right this moment to be analytical about anything.
Once inside Archie, he sets his partner down and grins at him. Rorschach quickly shucks off his trench coat and suit jacket, and then turns to Dan. He shoves his mask up over his nose, revealing a flushed chin and cheeks, and a tight grin of his own that Dan realizes an instant too late is actually teeth bared in anger. The other man pounces, springing up on Dan but not in the way that he’d hoped for.
Dan hits the floor on his back with 140 pounds of angry Rorschach perched on top of him.
“Going to kill you, Daniel, if you don’t stop doing that!” he hisses in Dan’s ear.
All Dan can concentrate on right now is the fact that as angry as he sounds, Rorschach is also very turned on. As he hisses in Dan’s ear he’s also straddling him and grinding a very obvious erection against him, and while it initially feels fantastic, it’s becoming very uncomfortable on Dan’s end because the edge of his athletic cup is being driven into his nuts, and dear God that hurts.
“Rorschach, move---“
“I mean it, Daniel.” His partner shifts his weight, unfortunately the wrong way.
“Get off, get off, get off, get off” is the only thing Dan can say now as he struggles frantically to push the other man off of him. But Rorschach’s got his arms and legs locked and isn’t going to be easily thrown off.
Dan really doesn’t want to punch his partner off him, because that’ll be a real mood killer, but things are rapidly getting desperate. He works his hands up under the vest and runs his knuckles harshly up and down his partner’s ribs, then squeezes the muscles at his sides, digging in. It’s a risky move because Rorschach’s usually not ticklish at all after he gets past a certain level of anger or arousal, but this time it works; it takes him by surprise and he snorts and twists away just enough to give Dan room to get his arm completely in between them and obtain sufficient leverage to shift his partner’s weight off Dan’s suffering groin and dump him onto the floor.
Rorschach immediately gets his feet under him and stands up, breath coming hard and fast between gritted teeth, fists clenched at his sides.
The first thing Dan does is readjust his cup so that it’s no longer killing him. Then he holds up a pacifying hand as Rorschach tenses, looking ready to launch himself at Dan again.
“Hey, okay, okay. Let me just take Archie up, okay? Then we’ll talk. Otherwise people are going to get a real eyeful if they come outside. These windows aren’t opaque, you know.”
It’s sort of both the wrong and right thing to say. The realization that someone could walk outside and see them keeps Rorschach from attacking Dan again, giving him time to get Archie started up. However, the realization that someone could have already walked outside and seen them is fueling Rorschach’s anger and bringing it even closer to boiling over again. Dan feels that it’s best to get while the getting is good and fumbles for the lift controls.
***
About seventy feet away from Archie, a tiny glowing ember winks in the darkness as its owner flicks ash off the end of her cigarette.
Laurie takes a deep drag and watches through one of the huge round airship windows as first Rorschach, then Nite Owl abruptly appear again, rising from whatever they were doing on the floor. Nite Owl slides into the pilot’s chair and fiddles with something at the console, and the airship rises up and arcs away from the building, disappearing into the dark sky.
“Believe that’s twenty smackeroos you owe me, princess. Told ya.”
“Jesus!!” She almost swallows her lit cigarette, and turns to punch the Comedian in the arm, hard. He grins at her as she grits out, “How the hell do you walk so quietly with all those metal buckles and armor and shit all over you, anyway?”
“Dunno. How the hell do you run so fast in those spike-heeled hooker boots?”