Hello, hello everyone! I know it has been a LONG time since I updated, but in light of the recent Watchmen movie release I just had to post this.

I want you to know that I have been a Watchmen fan long before the movie even was being thought into existence, so I will be doing this fic based solely on the comic, trying to stay in character as much as I can.

This was inspired because my friend and I have realized that in order to do a good slash fic for Watchmen, you have to take the chance yourself. This isn't going to be easy, but hey, at least it's fun.

Rainfall. The steady drumming of the falling rain pitter pattered patterns all over the city, attempting to wash away the dirt from the previous weeks, set the slate of the city clean again so the citizens could have a fresh start at living. The rain could wash the mud off your front steps, give the parched flowers new life, even cleanse the smoggy air if only for a night. It was almost as if society was getting another chance to redeem itself.

At least, in a perfect world it would be that way. In this reality it was no so.

The rain collected trash and filth and poured them into the gutters, polluting the rivers and poisoning the earth drop by drop. This rain drowned the plants and washed the nutrients away from the hardened soil. The air was heavy with the putrid steam that rose off of each filthy individual being soaked outside, the mud just caking onto their worn boots as they stumbled and swore around lit cigarettes. Taxis could not operate in this weather, and even if they could, everyone knew that New York City was the worst place for taxi service. New York City, wallowing in its grief and guilt and murder, was the worst place for anything.

A single faceless figure glowered at the washed city below him, gloved fingers tightening on the rough stone of a gargoyle's wing beside him for support. Heights were rarely an issue with such experience as he had, but one had to always remember the simple mishaps that could instantly bring an end to it all. It would be a shame to slip on the wet stone and plummet thirty stories to meet the pavement without a final goodbye.

Yet, despite the disgusting mess of a city squirming below, he felt at home. This was his place, the hellhole he had been born and where he would most likely die, fighting back the world until he too became part of the filth under his feet. Tonight would not be the night for his demise, however, because he could already see that he had work to do.

Thirty stories below, disguised in heavy shadow, the few lowlifes out in the rain were hard at work. As far as his unclouded eyes could see there were two dark figures creeping up on a third, smaller, one, totally unaware of the silent watcher from above.

Like every night before, he could feel the anticipation rising within him, muscles tightening and mind becoming sharper, any disillusions quickly cast into the fire that burned in his very being. It was as simple as breathing: where there was injustice, there was him, and everything else was irrelevant. All he lived for, existed for, was to be the barrier between good and evil, dark and light, black and white. There was no in between, not for this world.

There was no going back, no hesitation for him as he took out the grappling gun and fired across the gap between the buildings. Once secured, he took one look down, stood on the edge, paused for a second... and jumped.

The trio scattered to the far sides of the alley, allowing the descending avenger to make the dramatic impact he more or less desired. Scaring the wits out of the criminals used to be fun, but now it was just another sign that, like everything else, what was once light in the world had been overshadowed by the rising filth that threatened to suffocate all who dared to hope.

To his left the woman screamed and raised her arms in defense as the muggers pulled their weapons on him, leaving any sense of honor back at home with their poor mothers. Not that it was a problem for him, oh no. There was no way the scum could touch him, the scourge of the underworld, not when he had his own skills to keep him alive. He almost pitied the poor fools, those who dared to act out against the moral judgments of humanity, almost felt sorry for the rapists and murders and politicians and whores who roamed the streets at night. Almost. Maybe in another world he could have felt compassion, but not now.

It was over before it even started, and without even looking at the woman he had saved Rorschach put his hands in his pockets and turned to leave. There was more work to do, never rest for those who sought to do right in this stinking world. His shoes brushed against a packet that had flown out of one of his victim's pockets and he crouched down, picking it up curiously.

It was a small, compact rectangle that was filled to burst with a familiar white powder that instantly set a fire to his soaked body. His mind whirling, Rorschach turned, ready to deliver the drug dealers an entirely new retribution that had nothing to do with the mugging he had mistaken the situation for.

"You bastard!" To his mild surprise the woman was aiming a gun at his tense form, the rain running off the familiar contours of the grappling mechanism attached to the end. One pull of the trigger and it would be lodged in his soft flesh, the rain sodden trench coat providing no protection for him whatsoever. A small flicker of fear coursed through him, cooling the pit of his stomach and making him freeze.

"That coulda been my money!" Her heavy mascara dragged sticky tracks down her cheeks as she sighted along the heavy tool turned weapon; even though she was weak there was no way she could miss at this distance. And yet, instead of the overwhelming fear clenching his mind he felt a certain calmness overtaking him.

Never compromise in the face of death. Never surrender. His body may be broken, but Justice never dies.

Rorschach didn't even feel the cold metal penetrate his skin, didn't notice the warm blood soaking his already bloodstained coat, didn't even think as he lunged at her, fingers closing around her neck. With an inhuman snarl he squeezed, rain and blood mixing with the mascara as her face lost whatever color life had given it. Finally her body stopped twitching under his, and with a small huff of air he let himself collapse against the brick wall, face upturned to the rain to let the blood wash off his spattered face.

How long did it take for the life to bleed out of him, he did not know. But slowly the buildings around him turned dark and swirled above him, mingling with the lightening skies but never mixing. It was like the world had taken on his face in his departure, and for the first time in a long time he felt himself smile...

Before the vision was complete, however, a dark form overtook him and suddenly the side of his neck was exposed to the cold, something warm pressing into his neck. With a strained groan he forced his mangled body to turn towards the shape, eyes struggling to focus on what could possibly not be there.

Yet it was, and the voice proved it.

"Damn it Rorschach, what have you done to yourself this time?" Daniel Dreiberg, an owl seemingly sent from heaven, crouched next to Rorschach in a bloody puddle, concerned gaze penetrating the spots washing Rorschach's vision.

"H-hello, D-Daniel." Rorschach's breath hitched in his throat, blood gurgling out the corner of his mouth. He tried to raise his arm but could hardly think. As if his old partner knew what he was thinking, Dan took his hands and held them, as if the small bit of contact could bring him back from the brink of death.

"Hey, don't give up on me. You're going to be fine... is that my grappling gun?" Dan's eyes widened and he ducked out of sight for only a second, but to Rorschach it was an eternity. Finally his friend's face swam back into view, pale but with that unmistakable gleam of determination in his eyes.

"I hate to tell you this, but the gun has slowed down the bleeding. You'll probably live, if I can get you some medical attention." An attempt of humor to calm the situation didn't work, but it seemed to be enough for Dan. With a slight sigh of disbelief of what he was about to do, Dan leaned down and slid his arms under his fallen partner, and with a gasp Rorschach felt his wound reopen in a blaze of pain, instantly covering him in an inky darkness, the terrified shout of Nite Owl ringing through his rain sodden mind...

Leave a comment if you want, I'll post new chapters as I go along.