Working with Dr. Quinzel was a nightmare. During breaks, Walter hid away in the handicapped stall of the restroom, dunking his head in the sink and dry heaving painfully. He would sit huddled in the corner against the cold tile, shaking. He has another night of that to look forward to. Another day of feeling his insides churn and having her question everything he believes in. Having her stand to close, and smell like perfume and women's shampoo...

Usually, on the days when they work opposite shifts, Walter is ready for work and has things set up for dinner by the time Daniel gets home. This evening, however, he's still working out. Still trying to burn off stress. He's set up a chin-up bar in the doorway to the kitchen. He's already been doing push-ups and sit-ups for the past hour and a half. Now he's grunting through pull ups, freckled back straining with the effort as he sweats through his tank top.

There's Leonard Cohen playing from the stereo as he grumbles to himself in an attempt to get in a better mood about the coming work shift.
"W...won't break. ... Can't be broken... Stronger than..than that..."

Adrenaline is still burning its way up and down every vein long after the scum has been captured and handed over to the police. Rorschach and Nite Owl are real heroes, now. The Riddler will be locked up and see trial for his crimes and maybe, the two vigilantes will get a nod for their work. Either way, the laughter between the two of them for the whole trip home is still ringing in Rorschach's ears.

Daniel's gone to bed. He's shed Nite Owl and put the hero away because the man underneath --the good and honest and strong man-- has work in the morning. Rorschach is left awake and anxious in the living room, unable to rest, to settle, to sleep. He tells himself it's the rush of their success, but he knows that isn't all. The nagging feel of his pulse pounding out his needs like a telegraph of unbidden lust and the tight strain against his pants won't let him forget. He can't forget Daniel's smile exposed in Nite Owl's mask, panting with exertion as his suit shone with a light glisten of rain on his heaving chest. He can't forget the way Daniel's voice sounded --Nite Owl's voice sounded-- when he shouted for the Riddler to 'Quit his games. There'll be plenty of time to play in Blackgate' and how it sent shivers through him. ... He can't forget how sick he is.

He growls in frustration, in anger, in perverse need. Walter rips his mask off and tosses it aside. He pulls his gloves off as fast as he can, fumbling with them. Rorschach doesn't have these thoughts. Rorschach hands don't do these ...these things Walter wants to do. Less than a hundred feet away, Daniel Dreiberg is dreaming a hero's dreams. He's clean and noble and worthy of his place as one of this city's protectors. Not like Walter. Not like horrible, dirty, whoreson Walter.

Walter drops down pitifully on the couch --on Daniel's couch, dear god-- and lets out a small sound between a gasp and a sob as he runs a hand under his waistband. So many nights now, he and Daniel have sat together here. Side by side, poring over clues and riddles. Working as a team. He undoes his fly and rubs a bit more firmly. He moans quietly and leans back, head tilting back to stare up at the ceiling. He's fallen asleep in this position before. He's woken up here to Daniel's gentle voice and a soft touch on his shoulder. He wraps his fingers around the hot skin of his sinful erection.

I'm sorry, Daniel. is all he can think as his body shivers with the feel of his own touch. Walter rolls his head to the side. He can smell Daniel's cologne on the couch's upholstery. He lets the breath out, slow and shaking, as if his body is trying to hold that scent captive. All the while, Walter's hand pumps with a mind of its own. He thinks of the phone ringing and Daniel stepping out from the shower in nothing but a towel to answer. Standing there, wet and barely covered and paying Walter no mind at all. God, how he stared how his throat seemed to close and he had to turn his head. Walter turns his head and his back arches with the intensity of sensation, long denied.

No. He can't do this. He can't do this to Daniel. Walter can't dirty the man's home, his image, the thought of him... They're friends, and he's destroying it with the tool of his sickness gripped firm in one hand. Walter grunts and reaches his free hand up, pulling tight at his scarf. The fabric tightens, rather than slip free. This is what sodomites deserve. This is what abominations deserve. Walter wraps scarf around his hand twice and pulls again. Pulls harder. A quiet, choked, gasp gurgles past and two streams of slip down from the corners of two watering eyes. His face is hot and he can hear his pulse thudding like a bass drum in his ears. His lips mouth the word 'mother' as his body jerks.
He feels like he may explode in that split moment before the hot, thick evidence of his deviancy runs over his hand and stomach. Bright, white flowers bloom and burst in his vision and darkness encroaches from all sides. His hand and the scarf loosen enough as dizziness claims him for the last note of a strangled cry to escape his throat as Walter falls in a heap to lay, unconscious, sweaty, and soiled on Daniel's couch. Daniel's scent rises to him from the upholstery.

Did not get out of bed until late. Felt bad for wasted time. So much of life is wasted. Landlady is yelling about rent again. Need to remember to cash paychecks and end her screeching. I am not worst of her problems. She would not need the money as badly if she had fewer children or a husband to help provide for them.

Found an odd feather outside of my building. Brown and gray. Black spots. I've put it in the pages of a book to keep it from being ruined. Must remember to show it to Daniel and ask what bird it came from. Not just a pigeon feather. I think it may be from an owl. I thought it was interesting to find in the heart of the city. Daniel will likely find it interesting as well.

Almost do not want to go to work. It is becoming uncomfortable. Just the stresses of change I'm sure. I'll get used to it in time. I do not like my uniform.

Thought it would be good to go over some of Arkham's records before beginning work. The library has a good supply of old newspapers and microfiche, though Arkham records seem incomplete. Perhaps more can be found on premises? We will see.
There are an upsetting number of mysterious deaths on record. If this is what the public is permitted to see, what is hidden?

Still working to gain assistance in investigations. Daniel is my most likely candidate so far.
Information will be posted as it is obtained. It will probably be some time before they'll let a new employee work in the isolation ward. No contact with the "Joker" likely at first. He is not the only criminal protected by the excuse of madness, though. There are others to observe.

Must get to work now. Want to arrive early for evening shift. It should help to be a model employee.