No. 2

The first time we hold hands, it is February of 1971 and fire is raging like a storm around us.

My skin feels like it's roasting into a peculiar dryness from the heat, my hair brushing like dry grass against my neck. The flames are like bulbous clouds, bursting bubbles around us, veined thickly with ochre. They are everywhere, and the cold and pale moonlight from the window catches me by surprise.

His lips are parted, and within the sharp contours of his mask, steel blue eyes are reflecting bloody reds and golds. In the blast of smoke and heat, I can barely hear his voice. Run.

I'm grabbing his gloved hands, his fingers strangely warm in my palm. Our fingers interlock as I feel, more than hear, the creaking beneath our feet as the floor begins to fall away. Together we sprint towards the grimy windowpane. Already the burning is gleefully chasing us, licking at our heels, singing my hair.

I think we won't make it.

The crystal sound of shattering glass is a beautiful contrast to the wind-roaring of the fire behind us. The blast of frigid January air shocks the skin on my cheeks. Midair, Adrian grabs me, pulling me up against his chest as we drop down the 3 floors towards the snow-lined pavement below. His arms wrap around me and I realize he's trying to shield me from the worst of the fall, and then-

The impact knocks the wind out of me and I'm sure I hear a bone break, making me scream before my teeth snap closed on my tongue and blood immediately pools in my mouth. Adrian is crying out, muffled groans of agony escaping him as he releases me. My head feels woozy and my brain strangely empty and wobbling, the hurt pulsing heatedly through my torso and up to my head. Breath is whooshing out of me and I spit out the copper in my mouth. It splatters in strange red shapes against the perfect whiteness.

A hand on my side, rolling me over so that I'm blessedly face down into the frozen powder. "Get down," Adrian chokes out, and then the upper floor explodes.

I am shrouded in darkness all of a sudden. Everything sounds muffled and I whimper, my head feeling too heavy for my neck. In the darkness I can barely make out the glint of his gold gauntlets on either side of my upper body.

And Adrian is crouching over me, covering me with his body and his cape as flaming debris falls around us like so many meteorites. I can feel the tears beginning to slide hotly down my cheeks as he groans again in obvious pain. His head bows and I feel the press of his jawline against my neck. He's muttering something softly in German, and his hand comes up to hesitantly touch my cheek.

"Shh, shh-shhhhhh, darling."

The air stinks of gasoline and sweat and blood and I sob again, my hands curling to fists as a slight movement jars the ribs on my side, another flare of pain. In the distance I can already hear the approaching sirens – but they're far enough that we can probably get by.

"Adrian, I'm going to—" I cough, spitting out blood, another quiet groan escaping me. "Gonna call Dan." It's then that I notice he's gone silent – I can't feel his breath anymore on the back of my neck, and his hand has dropped off my skin. The pounding of my heart makes my bruised ribs ache, and I swallow.

"Adrian?" He sways, and I tense as he falls, collapsing on top of me.

I cry out at the sudden added weight and it dies down to a groan as my suit grinds up against the broken pavement under us - he's crushing the air out of my lungs, adding more pressure to my injured ribs. Slowly, I crawl out from under him, wheezing. The fires on the top floor are still raging but the worst of it has passed, and so once I'm sitting again I focus my attention on him. His eyes are closed under his mask and I press my index and thumb under his jawline, feeling a steady pulse. Unconscious, but still alive. Tearing off my gloves, I hold my fingers under his nose and feel his breathing.

In the distance twin beams of white shine in the darkness far outside the factory and I curse, tugging the comlink out from a side pouch on my belt, the movement of my torso again creating a spiking pain up my side. The red button clicks when I press it, and I shove it back into the pocket before moving over to sit by his head. I grab onto his shoulders and crouch, trying to pull him over to the hole in the fence. The going is slow and I wince when I hear the roof begin to cave. Flames are pushing like liquid out of the windows and holes, dripping burning bits of wood and fabric into the air.

My fingers feel numb against the polymer-Kevlar of his suit, and my back is aching already from trying to drag about 200 pounds of solid muscle and armor.

The police sirens are wailing.

Somehow, in the myriad flashes of blue and red and orange I'm able to find the jagged hole in the fence. I cut my finger on a sharp end and swear again, sucking it into my mouth as pain blooms across my hand. The taste is metallic and I hiss, grabbing hold of him again and carefully dragging him across the dirty snow onto the patches of weed-filled grass outside the fence.

I hear the roar of an engine before the police car crests the small slope into the lot of the factory, and silently pray that Rorschach or Dan has received the distress call.

The lights stop flashing.

Car door slams.

Footsteps on the gravel.

Flashlight clicks on, casting an oblong beam of yellow light on the darker corners of the ground floor. The fire seems to growl at him as he nears the building.

"Gonna need backup. Fire at the abandoned Westfield factory. I don't think anyone's still in there. Over."

The sky overhead is the dark-reddish purple hue of clouds lit by the city lights. I lift his upper body and rest him on my lap. A laceration on my calf stings sharply when I slide my legs over to the side, and I hold my breath, trying to keep my back straight so as to not collapse onto my side. Quietly, I wipe away a smear of dried blood from his jaw. My bare fingers brush across his cheekbones – his skin is soft and warm under my touch. Carefully, I take his left hand and pull off his glove, taking his wrist and pressing my fingers against the soft skin there.

I'm too injured to do shit if the policeman sees us. But now, in the dying light of the flames, it all seems right.

He walks closer and closer.

My eyes close as I feel the gentle, thrumming pulse of his life under his flesh. His fingers twitch against my hand.

The light is growing brighter around the factory.

Not sunrise. Not yet.

"What in the hell…"

There's a sound growing louder and louder above us. I look up and see Archie flying towards the factory lot from the east, his headlamps glaringly bright. Two figures are standing, one in each large eye.

"Stand down, officer. We mean no harm." The voice from the owlship is loud and commanding. Archie lands and I hear the door whoosh open, footsteps on dry grass.

Dan runs over to me, and the policeman's flashlight beam lowers to rest on our figures. "Oh shit—" But he makes no move for his gun, only begins to back away, his face filled with fear. Soon he's running back to his car, his movements frantic.

"Requesting immediate backup! Four Watchmen sighted on the premises!"

"Christ," Dan whispers, taking us in. I shakily stand, feeling each and every muscle in my torso protest. I bite down on my lip as my broken rib contorts in my chest, the agony blinding me for a second. Another figure joins us, and I feel Rorschach place his hand on my arm.

"Will take it from here. Should go inside and rest."

I shake my head even though exhaustion is overwhelming me like a tidal wave. Not until my partner is safe. Dan motions for me to grab Adrian's feet, and he hauls the man up by his shoulders. Rorschach watches soundlessly as we carry Adrian back to the owlship, and when we finally lay him down I collapse by his side, sobbing a little from the pain. He's still staring at me as I lay my head down on me knees. And the dots on his face are moving in incomprehensible shapes.

Like fire in the wind.

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