Oh little girl
There are times when I feel
I'd rather not be
The one behind the wheel

Come
Pull my strings
Watch me move
I do anything
—"behind the wheel", depeche mode

)O(

Toulon, France

June 5th, 1:10pm

Sitting next to her in such a compact space, he was overwhelmed by the scents of her skin and loose, unbound hair—faint hints of green tea extract and lemon verbena from her soap and shampoo, respectively. It had been several days since he'd allowed himself to get so close to her; he'd nearly forgotten what she smelled like. It was a pleasing combination, he decided.

Her voice was soft and acquiescent. "Hold it where? Here?" Her hand moved and reached, grasping.

"Put your hand around it," he responded authoritatively. "No, not partially; all the way around it. Grip it tight." She did, and he gave a slight sigh. "That's better. Get a feel for it in your hand."

"It's almost too big for my hand."

Amon resisted both the urge to smirk, as well as to comment on her seemingly-innocent innuendo. Sometimes it was too easy. "Now keep your left foot firmly on the clutch. You're going to switch your right one from the brake to the accelerator, like I told you. While the clutch is depressed, put the car in first gear."

There was a grinding of gears as she did, and she winced at the sound. The small European sports car shuddered and then stalled. Robin expelled a loud sigh, glancing over at him apologetically.

He was patient. "It's all right. You shifted too soon, and you released the clutch too fast…try it again."

Grateful, she ducked her head and restarted the car, putting the gearshift once more in neutral. She wore a look of determined concentration as she settled her feet on the pedals.

"Clutch first," he reminded her gently, and watched in carefully guarded fascination as her small pearly teeth bit down lightly on her lower lip. It brought to mind another memory of her performing the same act in a much different, much more intimate setting; and Amon swallowed past a mouth gone slightly dry.

The engine of the Barchetta emitted a smooth purr. Robin held the gearshift securely and switched into first. She pressed onto the accelerator, releasing the clutch slowly, as he'd instructed her; and after a couple seconds of revving, the car abruptly lurched forward into gear. "Ah!"

Her ecstatic look was short-lived, though, as within seconds the engine began to whine with the increased speed. She swung a panicked glance at him next to her.

"Second," he suggested, with a note of urgency.

Robin nodded and attempted to comply, depressing the clutch and trying to shift. "Ungh, it's stuck," she muttered, and threw her body forward with the force of the action. She gasped in surprise as the movement paid off, and the car accelerated smoothly into second gear. She turned to him and beamed.

Amon allowed his features to relax slightly as his eyes met hers. "Bene."

She was positively radiant with the affirmation of his praise, and turned her gaze back to the road ahead of her. The Barchetta proceeded to traverse the circular driveway, picking up gradual speed. Without encouragement she shifted the Italian sports car easily into third, and Amon placed his hand on the back of her driver's seat, slightly nervous.

They were only going thirty-two kilometers per hour, but he felt it might be too fast too soon. Better to err on the side of caution—she would have plenty of time to practice her speed later on. "Now, downshift back into first."

"Downshift," Robin repeated mechanically, mentally rehearsing the scenario, and clutched again. She put the gearshift into neutral and attempted to relocate first, but the gears protested with a grind. In her confusion, her foot slipped from the pedal.

Amon's lips twitched. "Clutch," he reminded her sternly, drawing the word out in a semi-amused sort of way; but it was too late. The car shuddered and stalled. Robin abruptly stomped on the brake, lurching them both slightly forward.

She bowed her head toward the wheel, obviously embarrassed and frustrated. Amon watched her wordlessly.

"I want to try again." There was penitence as well as an iron-clad determination in her voice.

He regarded the view outside of the car before undoing his seatbelt. "I think that's enough for today, Robin."

She glowered to herself. "You're disappointed in me."

"Chigau." He shook his head, the slightest smirk on his face and evident in his perfunctory comment, and she turned to look at him in disbelief. "I thought you did very well."

Amon still hadn't become fully accustomed to the gentle, openly adoring gazes she bestowed upon him; but whereas once such a look coming from her would have unnerved him, he was much better equipped now to handle it. The sight of her half-smile sparked a hint of warmth, becoming a low simmer as an idea formed in his mind.

It's been a while. A week on the run, as they tried to temporarily settle themselves, had subsequently thrown him into soldier-mode; they'd barely had a chance to react to their new and infinitely more complicated situation following the events in Siena. He had stifled his emotions, having been preoccupied with securing transportation, necessities, and a safe hiding location. He hadn't let anything distract him for days.

Perhaps, as he'd done before, he was overdoing it.

"In fact, I recall having made you a promise," he deadpanned, turning his body in the passenger seat to face her directly. "A reward, for doing so well on your first try."

"Reward?" Robin looked at him quizzically, obviously not recollecting anything of the sort.

He leaned over the middle console towards her, deliberately unhurried, holding her gaze. She was frozen like a deer framed in headlights. Her lips were slightly parted in surprise at his actions, and Amon took full advantage of the fact as he cradled her head in his hand, brushing a chestnut-blonde lock from her face and behind her ear, tilting her chin up with his fingers before slowly bringing his mouth to hers.

Robin gasped against his lips as a shock of his hair fell like a curtain around her face. She hadn't expected the kiss, but it was not unwelcome; and she soon found herself closing her eyes, giving herself over to sensation. He deepened it, probing gently with his tongue, and she melted into a delicious paralysis—enough so that her foot left the floor brake, and the car began to slowly inch forward in a neutral roll.

Amon interrupted the kiss long enough to abruptly pull the parking brake, stopping the car with a slight crunching sound and a short lurch.

"Oh," Robin breathed quietly, sheepishly; and he let his lips curl into a gently amused smirk before undoing her seatbelt and then tilting his head back towards hers to resume what he'd started. She enthusiastically returned his kiss, bringing her hands to cup his face.

But even as she tasted his mouth against hers, felt herself yielding to it, drowning in it—something didn't feel right. Something nagged at her subconscious mind, dragging her reluctantly to the surface of awareness. She opened her eyes.

Slowly, gradually, Robin pulled back from the kiss, even as Amon's lips tried to follow hers in retreat. She studied his face as she held her own away from him, searching his features for something intangible, not even fully understanding what it was that she was looking for.

His eyes opened and widened slightly as he saw her expression, initial displeasure giving way to concern. "Robin?" he asked. "What is it?"

The words were barely out of his mouth before there was a sharp crack splitting the air—the sound of breaking glass from the rear windshield of the car—and Amon's neck snapped forward into the dashboard with the velocity of the bullet penetrating his head. Her face was spattered with a fine spray of his blood; it slid down her cheek, dripping into her eye.

Robin pulled back a horrified gasp, ready to scream—

And as if time had done a quick rewind and loop, she found herself hurtled violently back into the previous moment. Her eyes flew open in amazement. She was still kissing Amon.

She wrenched her mouth away from his, breathless with fear. He held her fast by the shoulders. "Nani?" he asked abruptly, but he could see the terror in her eyes.

Without answer she threw herself over the middle console and tackled him, pushing him down into a supine position in the passenger seat. He grunted his disapproval—but the sound turned into a hushed curse a second later when a sniper's bullet punctured the rear windshield, whizzing by the space his head had previously occupied.

He lay underneath her, speechless with shock, as Robin covered him with her body and panted for breath. "Amon," she whispered in quiet triumph, her soft breath and her hair brushing against his face.

More shots followed through the broken windshield, pummeling through the side windows; and Amon pulled her head into his shoulder, sheltering it from flying glass. The sound of multiple screeching tires could be heard nearby. SOLOMON.

As if she'd heard his unspoken thought, Robin wondered aloud: "How? So fast—"

Still covering her head, he pushed his legs over the console from underneath her to the driver's side. "I want you to buckle yourself in and keep your head down," he breathed into her ear, calmly and authoritatively, "and don't do anything until I tell you to."

"Let me drive," she whispered imploringly.

"Iie."

This was not just 'no', this was the negation that she knew brooked no argument with him. He pulled the lower half of her body over the gearshift into the passenger seat, simultaneously shifting himself into the driver's side, ducking his head as he did. His boots found the pedals, and the sports car's engine started up with a roar.

At the same moment, four dark unmarked sedans boxed them in on all sides and blocked their escape.

"Ch'kso," she heard him mutter, before he gunned the motor and the car pealed out, tires screeching on asphalt. They only made it forward ten feet, before they went crashing broadside into the sedan in front of them. Robin cried out at the impact, covering her head.

Still ducking as low as he could below the dash, Amon threw the car into reverse, pealing out in the opposite direction and smashing into another sedan behind them. She yelped again. Through the commotion Robin could hear shouts and bullets and gunfire, all of which rained down upon their Barchetta.

He angled the wheel as best he could, and rammed the car in front of them again. The force of the crash was enough so that the sedan lurched forward and sideways, giving them an exit—and he took it. Metal scraped upon metal as they squeezed past the dark car, taking off several layers of paint from both in the process. Amon gunned the motor and they sped off, out of the circular driveway and onto the road. Robin could hear the popping of gunfire and the shrieking of tires as the sedans gave chase.

She looked up at him as he sat upright again in the seat and watched as he threw the gearshift back and forth, the car speeding down the residential block, his eyes darting about the street as he formulated an escape route. His raven-black hair whipped his face as though in a wind tunnel; their passenger windows were nothing more than jagged chunks of glass on the door frames.

Her own hair flying about her wildly, Robin peered out from behind her seat at the rear view and spied the cars in hot pursuit behind them. She felt Amon's hand press down upon her head and shelter her, just as more gunshots tore through what was left of the rear windshield. "Keep your head down," he ordered, above the roar of the engine and the wind rushing past them.

"I can stop them with my craft," she reasoned, over the noise. He looked at her once more, and nodded his assent.

She turned back to the rear window to face the pursuing cars, her eyes fixed on the hood of the closest one; but in her peripheral vision she spied several people on the sidewalks near the street, staring in amazement at the car chase unfolding in front of them. Any damage to the sedans, and they'd go careening into the throngs of bystanders—

"I can't," she cried, turning back to him. "There are too many people on the road."

He nodded again, shifting into fourth gear at the same time, his attention diverted. Robin looked past him out at an adjacent street and suddenly gasped loudly. "Amon!"

He turned the wheel too late at her response, only seconds before another black sedan slammed headfirst into the driver's side. The sports car buckled at the side, fishtailing and nearly spinning out of control; but Amon regained the wheel and accelerated, leaving the black sedan crippled in the street, blocking a few of the other vehicles from pursuit. He grimaced as he clutched his rib cage with a free hand that came away stained with red. His driving became erratic.

Robin uncurled herself from the impact. She noticed his expression and reached to look at his injury, but a car pulled out directly in front of their path and he restrained her from doing so. "Hold on!"

Amon swerved again, and the sports car reared up onto a sidewalk, through a small wooden guardrail—manned by a security guard who tried his best to wave them down, shouting "Ècoutez! "—and into a thankfully-empty outdoor parking lot. The black sedans followed relentlessly, tires screeching over pavement. They accelerated through the lot, avoiding haphazard curbs, and finally ended up back on another residential road.

As they did, they could hear sirens. "We've attracted the police," Robin observed, and Amon could see the lights flashing behind them. Perhaps unaware of the nature of SOLOMON, more than one Toulon police car cut off a chasing black sedan. Robin watched in surprise as the sedans retaliated, smashing the bumpers of the French police, and shoving at least two of them out of their way.

There were fewer pedestrians on the street. She concentrated her aim, her green eyes flashing; and a split-second later two of the sedans' front wheels erupted in bright yellow flames. The rubber melted and exploded under the heat, and the cars fishtailed and spun out, now useless. Two sedans and three French police cars still followed.

Amon pressed the gas impatiently, pushing the Barchetta to 185 and then 190 km/h. Robin's grip on the door increased in tenacity. "Why are you speeding up? There are fewer of them, now…"

His eyes flicked to the rear view mirror and back to the road again. "The Toulon police are using the WRX model of the Impreza," he noted brusquely, a pained expression on his face. "Those cars are capable of speeds up to 240. If we don't get ahead, this chase will be over very quickly." Robin sat back in her seat, eyes wide.

The sports car flew through traffic lights, weaving in and out of lanes. Amon briefly consulted a crinkled section of a map, before tossing it aside and glancing at a road sign. "Boulevard du Commandant," he muttered, turning the wheel and accelerating onto an onramp. He glanced at his partner. "Head down." He sheltered the crown of her head with his hand, and she ducked obediently.

They burst onto the busy roadway, crashing through a freeway guard in the process. Cars honked and tires squealed; they narrowly missed broadsiding another small Euro car by mere inches. Amon's eyes flicked to the mirror again, to see the remaining black sedans and Toulon police continuing onto the roadway after them. The pursuing cars did not come out so unscathed; the black sedans crashed sidelong into cars, knocking them into adjacent lanes and causing even more accidents. The French police were more careful, only nicking the paint of some vehicles that were in their way.

"They're causing more damage than the police," Robin noted softly, frowning.

"SOLOMON doesn't care who gets caught in the crossfire," he reminded her; and she suddenly thought he looked very pale. He pointed at a sign up ahead of them. "We have a chance to lose them for good when we reach the connecting freeway, the Avenue du Marchand, up ahead. You'll have a few moments when the road will be nearly empty save for ourselves."

"Then I will take them out," she answered, and the steel resolve in her voice caused him to spare a glance in her direction.

The black sedans increased their pace, and within moments the sound of bullets pinging the car's rear windshield could be heard. Robin kept her head ducked low, below the headrest level; but she noticed Amon's breathing coming unsteadily, his face becoming ashen white, sweat beading on his forehead. He clutched at his rib cage again with a free hand, even as he pressed the gas pedal to the floor and accelerated the car, putting a good deal of sudden distance between themselves and their pursuers.

She took his forearm firmly in her grasp and spoke with an eerily authoritative calm. "Amon, you need to let me drive, now."

"Nani?" he panted incredulously, as he struggled to maintain his composure. To Robin it seemed as though he was aware that something was very wrong, that his will and his body were refusing to cooperate.

She climbed carefully over the center console, sitting almost in his lap between his legs. Amon's arms began to go slack at the wheel, and she took hold of it with first one hand, then both. They were headed quickly towards the Avenue du Marchand at breakneck speed.

"You're going into shock," she told him in the same measured, unruffled tone. "You need to let me get behind the wheel."

She felt his legs relax on either side of her, as well as the sudden deceleration of the car as his foot left the pedal. She replaced it with her own and pressed down hard, and the Barchetta lurched ahead, regaining its former speed. Amon's breath came in quick gasps as his eyes closed, his head tilted back against the headrest.

"Hold on, Amon," she whispered.

The connecting freeway was a five-lane, single-directional highway that spanned a quarter of a mile. The view through the rear-view mirror was now completely useless, as the back windshield had been completely mangled and distorted. But if I can manage to turn it around…

She braked and pulled the wheel hard to the left, spinning the small sports car around in a half-circle and accelerating through it. Up ahead, racing towards her in the oncoming traffic, were the black SOLOMON sedans and the Toulon police. The klaxons of the police sirens still blared. Agents leaned out of their passenger windows to squeeze off clean shots with semiautomatic pistols. Robin downshifted into second gear and punched the gas, heading directly for them.

Now I can see them, clearly.

Her eyes flashed fire as she approached them, and tires and hoods and engines of the vehicles exploded into flames. The blazing sedans and Imprezas went wildly in every direction, the passengers and drivers leaping out of their burning cars. Robin drove straight through the melee and off toward a roadside exit.

A dark-haired SOLOMON agent pulled himself from the wreckage of one of the black sedans, watching as she drove out of sight. He got to his feet shakily, straightening his jacket, and flipped open a cellular phone. "Signore," he gasped after a moment, between panting breaths, "we lost them."

)O(

Amon awoke in measured increments to the sound of running water nearby. He blinked slowly, adjusting his eyesight to the dim light of the room, and took in his surroundings. He was in a bed near the window, with blinds half-shaded even though it was twilight outside. Through the screen he could smell the salt of the ocean, and just barely hear waves breaking onto the shore. It was a peaceful and tranquil sound. The running water and a soft humming were heard from another room—most likely Robin in the bath.

He struggled to sit up, and groaned as he was made instantly aware of his injury on the left side of his rib cage. Although it had seemed more acute earlier, the damage was largely already healed. There was still stiffness and ache, but the excruciating pain that had taken his consciousness in the car was absent. He inspected the bandage covering his rib with detached curiosity; it was most likely Robin's doing.

The water in the other room abruptly shut off and Robin glided in, the white tank-top and long black skirt she was wearing drenched liberally with water. "Amon." She tore off her rubber cleaning gloves and went to his side, looking him over. "How do you feel?"

He gave her a halfhearted smirk, more because of her wet tank-top than anything else. "I've been worse." He glanced around again from the bed, not attempting this time to rise. "Where are we?"

"Le Mourillon, by the water," she replied softly, and reached a gentle hand to stroke a lock of his hair away from his forehead. "You were barely conscious from your injury." Her words held the faintest hint of reproach. "You should have told me earlier."

His eyes lowered apologetically. "Suman. I had underestimated it." He looked back into her eyes. "How did you move me? And the car…?"

"The car is gone, I've abandoned it. The owner of the inn helped me pull you from it," she said quietly, sitting beside him on the bed. "He wanted to transport you to a hospital, but I knew SOLOMON would be combing them, and I knew you would heal faster if you were left alone and just given rest—"

Amon's eyes narrowed, looked away from hers at some obscure spot in the dimly lit room. "So, you know, then."

She was silent, and he went on, "About my ability to heal."

"Amon, I have known since we escaped Factory that you are capable of regeneration. When you were shot with Zaizen's Orbo—"

His gaze returned to her, surprise evident in his features. His voice was soft with wonder. "I thought you'd forgotten that."

Robin shook her head gently. "I remembered that clearly. I was very frightened for you…until I saw you stand as though it hadn't bothered you, and I realized you weren't harmed." A hesitant but teasing half-smile appeared on her lips. "You're indestructible."

At her words he gave a low sigh. "I'd hardly call passing out while driving 'indestructible'." He struggled to sit upright, and she helped him, propping his pillow up behind his back. "There are still many things I don't know about my own abilities," he went on, thoughtfully staring into space ahead of him.

Robin leaned against the headboard beside him. "I think it will be as it was with my own powers; there are things you are capable of, but you may not be aware of them until the situation distinctly calls for them. You just need to be patient, Amon."

As it often did, her maturity left him momentarily speechless. Amon didn't dwell on the irony of Robin assuming the role of his tutor, where his own Craft was concerned; too many things had happened within the last couple of months to now put them on the same, level playing field. She was no more his instructor now than he had been hers long ago—now they were both simultaneously adults and children, learning and discovering together, like pioneers. Like the last of their kind.

Instead he allowed his gaze to roam over her, her chestnut-blonde head bowed in thought, green eyes lowered, the white tank-top having become translucent against her skin and revealing the shape of her body. "Now that we've been discovered, we should leave France as soon as possible," he stated quietly, more to distract himself from his own wandering thoughts.

"Where are we going to go?"

"Barring a few things I need to take care of first, I think it is time we returned to Sovana," he replied, carefully watching her expression. "Your grandmother told us that people will be expecting us there soon."

Curiously, she did not seem as enthusiastic about the prospect as he'd anticipated. She lowered her eyes again in thought. "Nani?" he asked, quietly.

"I'm anxious to see Jana again. But…these people that will be waiting for us, these Witches," she answered slowly, "they will want things from us." She looked up and met his eyes again. "What if they're not like us? What if they want things I cannot give them?" Her countenance became saddened. "What if they go against me?"

"They would be foolish to do that," he reminded her, reaching out beside him to run his thumb gently along her cheek. "And if they did, they would have to contend with me."

Her half-smile returned at his words, turning into a gasp of pleasure as he leaned in to touch his lips to hers in a slow, chaste kiss. He withdrew gently, as she almost protested, and wound his arm around her, pulling her head into the crook between his neck and shoulder. She curled her arm about his bare chest in response, hearing him sigh and relax against her.

A few moments went by, during which she listened to the comforting thudding of his heartbeat, the steady rise and fall of his breath, in contrast to the soft breaking of waves in the distance outside. She was content to remain like this for an eternity, if she could.

"Amon," she finally whispered, having garnered the courage to ask what she had meant to for days, "can I sleep next to you tonight?"

No response, save for his deep and even breathing; and Robin realized he was asleep.

She closed her eyes contentedly. I guess the answer is yes.

Italian/other:

bene: good
chigau: wrong, it's not like that (lit. "different")
iie: no
Ècoutez!: (French) look out!
nani?: what?
suman: sorry

Today is the last day to vote at the UFO (Universal Fanfiction Open) awards! The Burning Time is up for best in category, for Witch Hunter Robin fanfiction. The direct link is in my profile. Show your TBT support, and go vote before the end of August 31!

Stay tuned for more HG coming soon…the next chapter (chapter 2) will be posted here for an R-rated version, and will have an NC-17 version up at The Renewal site. I'll make sure to directly link to it in my profile as well. Til then!