Work Text:
What happened?
You quit.
In time Dan manages to recall the last days of Rorschach through a more time-fogged lens; he can forget things like the sour taste in the back of his throat, the inexplicable urge to run off down the tunnel and protest that it wasn't like that. In time he remembers that it was like that, and a brief return to masked adventuring did not speak for his overall resolve. The suit gathers dust, Archie growing old and obsolete beneath it, and the scorch marks on the floor still spell out random patterns, shapes Dan prefers not to identify.
What do you see? A mask? Too easy. Wearing one right now. Try again.
They don't get married, don't have kids. Laurie says she's happy the way things are, that they don't need ceremony or expansion, but Dan has a feeling that they both know the legacy they live with. The people best suited to save the world shouldn't try to coexist with it. He thinks of Jon those times, the man who ceased to be human long before he ever lost his place among them. He thinks of Adrian, rebuilding the world he devastated, reliving each sacrifice at night with a detachment that both exceeds and falls short of Jon's. Dan hasn't tried to contact anyone, and of the people he might have called, Adrian sunk low on the list when Dan discovered that Hollis had died in the last explosion. But Dan understands, and that is why his suit gathers dust.
He's not quite cut out for the human race, but he's no Adrian or Jon. And Dan has seen the only other routes to go – he remembers when they hauled the Mothman away. He remembers hearing of Eddie Blake spread-eagle on the concrete, the feel of a black and yellow pin, smooth except where blood dried. He remembers the bizarre and familiar shape of Rorschach, imprinted in the snow.
Much better not to go that route. So Dan kisses Laurie every morning with coffee on his breath, and goes to work, and sometimes they watch the news together at night, on the new couch. But more often they don't.
--
Dan has no illusions about Laurie. He knows that she loved and still loves Jon far more than she will ever admit to herself, and that her decision to leave him had nothing to do with a loss of affection or even attraction. He knows that she loves him in a far smaller and more comfortable fashion, and that this is why they work so well together.
They both know well, too well, how it feels to lose someone of such importance. When the world stumbled and nearly fell, the people too close to the edge skidded and slipped over, and some of them simply gave in and threw themselves away. The world is a better, brighter place now, but not everyone thrives that way.
When Dan remembers Rorschach he remembers dark alleyways and moonless nights, and the rustle of paper in the pockets of a stained and battered coat. He remembers the most honest mask ever worn by man, and the feeling of confidence overpowering fear because someone had his back. Dan thinks that he was the only person in the world who ever felt safer with Rorschach around.
You're a good friend.
He tried to be. But it was too little, too late, and this too is why Dan is content to let old habits lie, not forgotten but laid to rest. One October night, a comedian died in New York City. Dan got the joke right away, and that was how he knew he'd reached his limit for good, this time around.
--
Sometimes when he's working, or late at night when Laurie is asleep or elsewhere, Dan reads the journal. Rorschach's notes from years ago remain brief and concise. Rorschach always was stingy with his words. Dan reads about everything he discovered and the things he never knew, and sometimes when it's very late at night he wishes he'd left the journal where it was, waiting to be discovered by a desperate newspaper. But he knows better than to wish so for long; Adrian's peace came at a high cost, but it came. No matter how Dan regrets the events that brought it about, he doesn't want the sacrifices to have been made for nothing. He holds his tongue and reads the words of a man who couldn't, and that's normally almost enough.
But he has Laurie for the rest, and when he holds her, late at night or when she comes home or whenever he needs to, she never has to ask why.
--
In time, Laurie stops idly mentioning Jon in conversation; in time, Dan stops expecting her to. In time, Adrian Veidt finishes rebuilding his world and goes back to improving it. Sally Jupiter dies, and Laurie goes to the funeral and mourns both her parents. They both start meeting new people, normal people, and even make friends. In time, Dan understands that he will never actually feel normal, but that he can pretend enough to have a decent time with other people.
In time, Dan opens the journal less and less, and eventually the memory of Roschach's face freezes into one unmoving image. In time, he forgets the redness of the snow and the taste of a scream in his mouth, the way Adrian never punched back, the way no one gave him a reason to sustain his anger. In the end he even tried to hate Rorschach, just to hate someone. It didn't work. In time, Dan realises that he is not the kind of man who can hate his friends.
He settles for hating his suit and all it stands for. In time, he forgets where he put the keys to it. In time, he lets himself grow old with Laurie, and lets the past grow blurred. In time, he manages to convince himself that in the end he made the right choice, the only choice.
Though Jon may have said nothing ends, this seems close enough.