Rorschach woke from dreams of dogs and blood and Daniel shattered at his feet to find one wing numb from having been trapped under him as he slept. Pins and needles shot through it when he flexed it, and he flapped it hard making the curtains blow around. He probably deserved the pain, though, he'd been so stupid. Thinking being miles from New York, miles from anyone but Daniel, meant there was nothing that could hurt him. Letting his guard down, starting to open up, as if vulnerability was a luxury anyone could afford. Much less someone like him.
He couldn't afford to be affected like that by the sight of violence, especially something as simple and innocent as fox cubs with a kill. Even if there were blood flecks on their muzzles and sharp teeth, even if the way they squabbled looked like…Rorschach bit down on the pad on his thumb without thinking, pain jolting him back from memory. Stupid. Couldn't afford to be incapacitated by memory the way he had been last night. From now on his defences would be staying up.
Daniel wasn't awake yet, Rorschach had woken up early, so he helped himself to sausage rolls from the fridge and headed for the roof. He wanted to be somewhere high. The view from the roof was calming, green fields that had once been farmland and were now a haven for wildlife. It was the first time he had looked at them through his face though, patches of translucent darkness falling over them like the shadows of stormclouds.
A kite was hovering above, and Rorschach felt an odd kinship with it. Daniel had pointed out the different birds to him on the first day there, trying to hide jealousy when he realised Rorschach could see better without the binoculars than he could with them. The effortless loft of its wings was something he envied, and it made him want to stop roof hopping and try to really fly. Later. He shouldn't jump into something like that at the beginning of the day, especially with one wing still tingling from being slept on.
The flight between the stable roof and the house was familiar by now. He stood on the edge of the roof facing the house, bent forward slightly. The wings had shifted his centre of gravity up and back, balance was harder and toppling in either direction far too easy. Knees bent slightly, wings spread, and he leant forwards to tumble from the roof, pushing off lightly just to be sure he was clear of it. One moment of weightlessness and then the downbeat, a few powerful strokes upward and he was above the house roof and could drop the few feet onto it with his wings still spread to set him down gently. It was a point of pride not to land on all fours, judging his balance well enough to touch down without having to fight to stay upright. His gymnastics teachers would have been proud.
Daniel came out after a few flights, giving Rorschach a friendly wave before disappearing into the workshop. Rorschach dipped his wings in response, startling Daniel's worried expression into a brief grin. Rorschach stood on the roof after he had gone, wrapping one wing forward around his body. Fingers trailed along the leading edge then down across his chest. It wasn't obvious except to touch but his chest was more solid than it had ever been, packed tight with the muscles anchoring his wings. It had only been three days, but he had been training solidly and he felt ready to try. He wouldn't go high, just a short, low flight across the fields and he could glide down when he was tired.
He tumbled forwards, off the front of the stable instead of the side this time, tucking his legs up against his chest once he was clear. Letting them trail behind him shifted the centre of gravity away from his wings, making flying harder than it needed to be. The sun shone through the clouds and they didn't have silver linings, they had linings like blue-shifted rainbows. Rorschach craned his neck to look at them, look at the vast and open sky. So easy to fall into it, leave everything behind and fly free as a soul. He was flying straight into the sun and he couldn't look at it but he could still reach for it. For warmth and light and beauty. Humans have always been drawn upwards, souls and angels both have wings.
It was only when his wings cramped, over-extended muscles protesting the hard use, that Rorschach realised how high he had gone. The fields were spread out below him like patchwork. Something bright and sharp inside him urged him to fly higher, as if he could leave trauma below him as he soared. Or as if it wanted to leave him broken in a field when his wings gave out. He pushed himself into a downwards glide instead, forcing his wings to hold the position as they tried to cramp inwards, and lost control barely six feet from the ground. Grazed hands and sore wings were the only harm from his misadventure, but he couldn't find the will to move from his position as he lay crumpled on the ground.
He didn't know how long he had been there when he heard Daniel calling, fear running through his voice like a ladder in silk. Dragging himself out of the half daze he had fallen into took effort, but he pulled himself to his knees and called back.
'Not hurt, Daniel.' Not quite true, his chest and shoulders hurt as well as the wings themselves. Mostly he was shaken, by his own carelessness and that sharp, reckless impulse he was trying to forget.
Daniel slowed from a run as he got closer, coming to a halt next to Rorschach and reaching out a hand to help him up. 'What happened?'
'Went higher than intended. Distracted. Able to glide down but lost control during landing.' Rorschach let Daniel pull him to his feet and leant into him, holding onto his shoulder. Pretending he needed support to stand as an excuse for contact. 'Lucky they're not made of wax.'
That got him a few seconds of silence followed by a startled bark of laughter. Daniel hooked an arm around his waist and they started walking back across the fields. Rorschach's flight had taken him a surprisingly long way.
'You have got to stop scaring me like this,' said Daniel.
Rorschach nodded against his shoulder, relieved the only reference to yesterday was that oblique. Daniel still wanted to know, of course, but as long as he didn't ask Rorschach wouldn't have to explain why he couldn't tell him. In a way it would be good to tell, spill it all out and stop bearing the horror of it alone. But knowledge was poison and he'd rather swallow that poison down every day for the rest of his life than risk it touching someone he cared about. A year, it had been a year, and none of the pain of the Roche case had faded. Maybe it never would. Rorschach leant into Daniel, suddenly tired beyond bearing. A year was a terribly long time, and he still had the rest of his life to go.