Author's note: Watchmen belongs to Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons; I'm just playing with the characters.

Written for a Watchmen kink meme, although there's no porn. The prompt was: "I need some Nite Owl X Rorschach. The catch? It's Nite Owl I. I want a comfort fic where Hollis (so kind-f***in'-hearted) takes care of NewbieVigilante!Rorschach. Maybe Hollis makes some brownies for the littlest vigilante's sweet tooth..." My attempt at writing some not-so-serious fic.

When Hollis Mason had hung up his costume for the last time, he’d figured that his adventuring days were over. He was happy to retire into relative obscurity, fixing cars like he had in his youth and writing a book about his exploits during his heyday.

The first thing that had disrupted his planned peace was a letter from a young man who wanted to follow in his crime-fighting footsteps. The kid was a technology whiz, there was no doubt about that, and Hollis was flattered that he’d inspired the boy so much. The new Nite Owl was named Daniel Dreiberg, and Hollis looked forward to his regular Saturday evening visits. He was such a polite, nice young man, and his eyes grew large as saucers when Hollis dazzled him with tales of his adventures.

The second thing that had disrupted his retirement was the stray.

Hollis didn’t live in the best neighborhood in New York City; ever since Doctor Manhattan had perfected the electric car, there wasn’t much need for a mechanic who only worked on old-fashioned engines that required fuel to run. So, it wasn’t uncommon for Hollis to overhear some heated arguments in the alley behind his apartment, with a few evolving into fistfights.

In spite of the late night brawls that sometimes disturbed his sleep, Hollis didn’t have any qualms about strolling outside at night. Phantom, his trusty sidekick who had retired along with him, was getting old and tended to have accidents if he wasn’t walked several times a day. The dog wouldn’t be able to provide much protection anymore, but Hollis kept in good shape; besides, he did have the left hook that had once floored Captain Axis – not that most of the kids today even knew who that was.

So when a group of scruffy-looking teenagers started tagging along behind him one Friday evening, Hollis wasn’t that concerned. He knew nearly all of the kids in the area – and anyone under the age of thirty was a kid to him now, ever since he’d retired – and they were mostly a good bunch. Still, something didn’t feel quite right to Hollis, even though old Phantom seemed content enough to poke around like usual before lifting a wobbly leg to water a hydrant.

When Hollis glanced over his shoulder, he noticed that the kids had all stopped, too. Seven teenagers, one former costumed hero who could still fight, and one arthritic dog that couldn’t. Hollis didn’t like those odds.

Dropping the dog’s leash, Hollis tightened his hands into fists before swinging around to face the group. The kids were starting to approach him now, a pack of wolves hunting their prey. Hollis’ throat was dry, but adrenaline coursed through his veins. The fight might not be a fair one, but he was as ready as he’d ever be to roll the dice.

Phantom, apparently figuring out that something was wrong with his master, charged toward Hollis’ side as fast as his gnarled legs could carry him. The half-howl, half-bark the old mutt bawled out was so unexpected that most of the kids, and even Hollis, turned to look at the dog.

And that was when the stray quite unexpectedly landed in the former costumed hero’s life.

To be honest, Hollis had no idea what was happening at first. All he could see was a blur of white in the darkness, and all he could hear were cries of pain from his would-be attackers. Before he could quite make sense of the situation, the seven teenagers were on the ground, clutching at various injured body parts. One man stood in their midst, his limbs akimbo as he surveyed the area, his thin chest heaving. His savior was wearing what appeared to be dark pants, a trench coat, a fedora pulled low over his brow, and a white mask.

“You shouldn’t walk here alone at night. It’s dangerous.” The voice coming from behind the mask was a little raspy, but it sounded young too. That stung Hollis’ pride a little – as if he needed another reminder that he was past his prime – but he was too grateful to care that much.

“Ah, well, I’m obliged.” Hollis offered the boy a smile and extended his hand towards him. “I suppose I wasn’t thinking. Ex-cop, ex-costumed hero, end up thinking I’m invincible.”

The masked man tilted his head slightly to the left, as if studying him. It was only then that Hollis noticed that the mask wasn’t pure white after all; there seemed to be an ever-shifting pattern of shadows across it. “You’re Nite Owl.” It wasn’t a question, and the boy didn’t make any attempt to disguise the admiration that tinged the identification, either.

Before Hollis could answer (and before his chest could puff with pride), one of the teenagers who hadn’t crawled away into the night swiped at the vigilante’s right ankle. The masked kid was down in an instant, but he lashed out against his attacker even as he fell.

Hollis had never seen fighting like this, and he’d seen plenty of fists thrown in his lines of work. Most of his fights with criminals had been more like boxing matches than anything else, but this was a brawl, and the young man was damned good at it. His fists were pinwheeling like mad as he pummeled the teenager, and Hollis almost felt sorry for the recipient of the blows since the fight was so unfair. Almost.

Finally, the masked man stopped battering the teenager and tottered to his feet. It was obvious that he was favoring his right ankle now, and Hollis frowned as he took a step towards the kid. “Want me to take a look at that for you? You might have broken it.”

“No. It’s just a sprain.” His voice was hoarser now, and the young man had noticeably tensed as Hollis had approached him.

“Still, you should wrap that up, son.”

The young man’s posture was as taut as a bowstring now, and Hollis suspected that the kid would dart back into the night if his ankle could bear it. The boy reminded him of a feral cat, rangy and wary.

“I only live a few blocks away,” Hollis wheedled in his best authoritative voice, the one that he had used as a cop for years. “Besides, we masks should take care of our own, right? You helped me tonight, and I’d feel horrible if you don’t let me help you now.”

He could clearly see the kid’s hesitance to accept his help, but eventually the boy’s shoulders drooped slightly in acquiescence.

Hollis hummed a little tune to himself as he puttered around in his cramped kitchen the next evening, careful not to trip over Phantom. The dog had been shadowing him ever since last night’s events, as if apologizing for his inability to protect his master. Hollis reached down and scratched the dog’s ears before returning his attention to the pile of dishes in the sink.

He’d brought the masked kid home with him the night before, which had been a difficult undertaking. The boy had rebuffed Hollis’ offers to assist him, and the kid had hobbled along slower than a snail. Somehow – and Hollis still wasn’t sure how – the boy had managed to climb the steps leading up to Hollis’ apartment before collapsing into a recliner.

Hollis had bound up the young man’s ankle – scrawny and pale and dotted with red hair and freckles, Hollis had noted – as best as he could. He’d then asked if the kid a beer, but the masked man had refused, saying that he didn’t drink. The boy had accepted a cup of coffee and a handful of sugar packets, though, and he’d pulled his ever-changing mask up just far enough so he could sip it. From what Hollis could see, the face was as freckled and pale as the ankle.

The kid hadn’t had much to say, except that his name was Rorschach and he’d been a masked hero for almost a year. Rorschach might not be much of a talker, but he sure was a hell of a listener. After Hollis had somehow managed to convince the kid that he should sleep here for the night, Hollis had found himself retelling all of his greatest fights. Every time he'd tried to shoo the boy into bed, Rorschach had grunted in protest and asked another question about “the old days.” It was almost four in the morning before the boy had finally hobbled into the spare bedroom.

Hollis had spent most of the morning sleeping, and when he woke up at about noon, he was sure that Rorschach would be gone. When he’d checked on the kid, though, the boy was still curled up on the mattress. He hadn’t removed his mask, and even in sleep, the mask’s pattern changed, although the dark spots seemed to move more slowly now. Hollis had never seen anything like it.

Stumbling to the kitchen for his morning cup of coffee, Hollis had stared down into the mug and remembered how Rorschach had dumped six sugar packets into his own cup last night. The kid obviously had a sweet tooth, and so Hollis decided that it’d be a good idea to bake him some brownies. It was a small thank you for saving him some considerable trouble last night with that pack of teenagers, but he figured that they’d be appreciated. Besides, if there were any left over, he could foist them onto Daniel later that night.

Speaking of Daniel…

Hollis frowned as he looked at the clock on the wall as he dried his hands. It was almost seven, Daniel would be arriving in about an hour, and the kid was still sleeping. Hollis had checked on him several times, but he didn’t have the heart to wake him up if the boy was so exhausted. Patrolling the city while tired wasn’t a good thing for anyone to do; Hollis had seen plenty of cops make stupid decisions because they were half-awake, and a few of them had paid with their lives.

He cleaned up his apartment in preparation for Daniel’s visit, and although he tried to be quiet, his guest stumbled out of the back room when it was ten ‘til eight. Hollis smiled at the boy’s rumpled appearance; if he could see Rorschach’s eyes, he was sure that they’d be bleary and bloodshot. “Have a good sleep?” he asked as Rorschach slid into a chair.

Rorschach mumbled something, and Hollis placed a plate of brownies and a cup of coffee down in front of him. “Eat up, son.”

The young man’s head snapped up at the words, and Hollis wondered if the kid didn’t like being called son. Perhaps he thought that it was demeaning? He certainly wouldn’t like being called an old man all of the time. Hollis scratched his chin before grabbing a handful of sugar packets for the boy’s coffee. He didn’t want to offend his guest.

Rorschach hesitated only for a moment before tugging his mask up to his nose and shoving a brownie into his mouth. The boy didn’t have many table manners, Hollis observed with a wry grin, but he was one hell of a fighter. He’d never seen someone quite like him; Hollis was glad that he was one of the good guys.

And then an idea came to him, unbidden and yet completely obvious.

Rorschach was apparently very street-smart, but he’d need more than a pair of fists to fight crime in the long-term. Daniel, on the other hand, had all of the technology he could dream of but none of the experience…

Hollis glanced at the clock again. Five minutes until Daniel, the ever-punctual second Nite Owl, would arrive.

“Rorschach,” Hollis started conversationally, watching Rorschach continuing to shovel brownies into his mouth. “I have someone I’d like you to meet…”