A/N: SO! People, I rewrote part 10 entirely so you should all go read it and hail the silverfox for saving you from the baaaad that was my failing brain. It's much better and less rushed, and totally worth the time I promiseee. Also changes the tone back to what it should be.
Oh just go read it you'll see what I mean!
Oh and to clarify silver my wonderful new best friend, in this version she will ALWAYS be Daniel. It's not a girls name, just like Hanna is not a boys :P
Otherwise, just enjoy. AND DON'T BE HATING ON THE CHEESE AT THE END! :P
Daniel can't quite put into words, can't quite describe, can't quite comprehend the creation held before her. Unsure fingers twitching over the Kevlar as Rorschach waits for any sort of reaction, other than stunned silence.
The surface is stained almost black with blood. It's never going to wash off, Rorschach hasn't even tried. Instead he's worked the colour and smell of fear into something solid, something indisputably real. Something terrifyingly strange and strong. Out of the ashes of a Nite Owl he has created this walking nightmare for her to be.
Seeing every single panel stitched perfectly together in a new order. In a new shape. It almost brings her to tears as she traces the white chest piece, covering deceptively strong armour beneath, and sees the surface turn black under her touch. Ink trickling down like raindrops. He'd cut up one of his masks. He'd given her one of his faces.
"Why?"
[Because he is sorry.]
xxx
She cannot even begin to fathom how it fits. Sliding her feet through a mix of leather and Kevlar into a suit that prickled with anticipation, which of course was impossible. But as the zips closed in her skin, and clips clicked together, aided by his ever-present hands, she feels it like static. Of something visceral and unassailable biting into her being.
She remembered the first time she ever put on Nite Owl, but could not remember it ever feeling like this. Like an animal bearing its claws, stretching its bones out in the night. Consuming its kill in steady calculated bites.
She had never felt like prey to the being she was about to be. She had never been so willing to succumb to the madness that fuelled a vigilante onto the streets to bruise and burn.
xxx
"Daniel, is life fair?" Rorschach asks, pushing on her sleeves, smoothing out the shoulders, which arched at the tips, reminiscent of jutting bones.
["Life is what you make of it."]
"No."
"Still feel that everyone deserves their chance?" He turns her around and clips the swirling white over a band of Kevlar.
["Just because they made bad choices, doesn't mean we should judge them guilty. People deserve the chance to change."]
"No."
"Still want to cry for peace in an unending war?" He pulls in the hardened, shaped and detailed lapels, buttoning them down at the collar bone.
["I will fight this, to end it. So one day I can look at this city and know we're not needed."]
"No."
"Still feel guilt?" He helps her pull up the zip, over her stomach, hiding her entire body from view.
["Sometimes I feel bad, you know? That we do this to people, pound them so hard they can't speak their piece. We catch them in the act, but we never know why."]
"No."
"Feel like quitting?"He hands her gloves, with hardened tips, making talons out of her unsure fingers and Daniel vaguely wonders where he learnt to make these things, where he learnt to make any of it. Tailors surely had no need to alter armour.
["What's the goddamn point, Rorschach? It's never going to stop. We're holding umbrellas up to stop a tsunami!"]
"Never."
"Not Nite Owl anymore."
xxx
Rorschach is so close it almost hurts to keep still. He still cannot bring himself to touch her, though she knows he has tried. Has felt the warmth of his fingers over her face as she battles with sleep. Has seen him studying her. Has forced himself close as breath. God, he is trying so hard to accept what she is.
All she wants is to clutch his elbows, like she does in her sleep, and pretend he's not terrified of feeling her. Terrified to handle what she is now, instead of just seeing it. Daniel wants to lean in and press her forehead to his like so many times before. Back when they were normal, back when they were men, but Daniel is very much aware that Rorschach can only do this because he's closing her in, not tearing her apart. That the more layers he folds over her, the safer she is to be around.
Her skin burns with the absence of contact, as his fingers float past her ears and the world spins down to one very simple thing. Him. And it's terrifying because she knows Rorschach is not ready to be close to her, to be doing these things. To be feeling her heart pulsing hard by his chest as they almost touch noses and he pulls something up from behind.
Daniel knows Rorschach is pushing it, forcing himself closer, and straining his boundaries. Trying to be okay, but instead of feeling grateful, she feels frightened, a little on edge. She doesn't want him doing this because he thinks he has to. She doesn't want him to do this if it makes his skin crawl. She doesn't want him to feel obligated. She wants him to want her.
He fastens a hood over her head, clips it to her mask, and steps back, air rushing between them, swirling in the space. Letting them breathe again.
xxx
"So what am I Rorschach? A Mother Hen? " She laughs and the world seems to shudder, to linger on the long absent humour.
They savour it, revel in it. Remembering the feel of it like it is an old friend. They are lighter than they have been in a long time as Daniel plays with the tips of her new gloves.
"Not fluffy enough." Rorschach grunts, his shoulders rolling out into something relaxed.
It's taken him days, but he's finally stopped cringing at her voice. He can look her in the eye and she can touch him without a shudder, to an extent.
"A kitty then?" She teases scratching at the work bench with a grin.
"Cats have claws. You have talons."
The mood drops from its excitement and joviality as she picks up her new mask. Eyeing it carefully, with scrutiny and awe. It is small and it is shaped so beautifully. Curves and carvings, feathers by her eyes. She already has the plans for retractable lenses running through her mind. But the face is unrecognisable as she slides it over her hair.
Sharp and feral. She seems dark and predatory. An unknown creation.
"What am I then?"
"A Nite Hawk."