Like I said on my other fic, so sorry I haven't updated in so friggen long. I completely forgot about my account. But now I'm updating, so Don't worry doodoodoo be happy doodoodoo R&R!!
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"Aw…shit…"
Michael awoke in a hospital bed surrounded by all different kinds of whirring machines. An IV poked at his arm, pushing healing chemicals into his veins. He grunted in disgust.
"So you're awake."
Amon stood against the door, his cool gray eyes resting on the hacker's thin frame. "I've been waiting for quite a while now. I thought you might have actually died."
Michael tried to raise himself up on his elbows. "What happened…?"
The dark witch hunter moved silently across the room to the bedside. A furrowed frown curved his features as he looked over the injured man. "Do you not remember?"
"Remember what? Amon, what are you talking--"
"Think hard. Do you not remember how you received that bullet? That ORBO bullet?"
Michael shot him a weird look then stared down at his hands. The charred skin was peeling in large flakes, revealing a sickly pale underlayer. The worst of the burns were concealed under layers of bandages.
"Robin…" he whispered. "Robin did this."
"That's right. But do you know WHY she did it?"
Hand traveling to the bullet wound, Michael grimaced. Then his head shot up as he glared at Amon. "You shot me!"
Amon sighed. "Yes, I shot you. Now answer my question."
"You shot me! You tried to kill me!"
"Will you shut up?!" Amon roared. "My bullet was the only thing that SAVED you, you moron! The orbo liquid in the gun protected you against Robin's witch power."
Michael dropped his eyes. "…but you still shot me…"
In one fluid motion, Amon drew his gun and pointed it at Michael's head. "Keep your head or I'll shoot it off. Answer my question."
"B…Because she's turning into…a witch…" the hacker stammered, edging away from the pistol pressed against his temple. "But Amon, she's just a craft-user. She's no witch!"
Satisfied that he had been answered, Amon tucked the gun away into his overcoat. "Michael, you're talking about a woman who tried to kill you."
"She didn't try to kill me!" he protested. "She just…just…"
"See, you know it's true. You can't even find an excuse for her."
"That wasn't her, Amon!" Michael exploded. "The Robin I know would never have tried to kill me! Something's possessing her, I know it! Whatever it is, we have to help her--"
"The only thing possessing Robin is her own power," Amon said quietly. "There is nothing we can do to help."
"But she's just a craft user--"
"And just what do you think a craft-user really is, Michael?"
Silence hung over the room as the hacker stared at his co worker. Amon stood with his hands in his pockets, his unwavering gaze boring holes into Michael's face. Slowly he turned his head to look out the hospital room window, his black hair falling lightly over his features. "Craft users are just witches who have yet to become a slave to their power. They are just Seeds who took an extra step before losing themselves in their craft. They will eventually progress into witches, nonetheless."
"So why are you helping her?" Michael whispered. "You swore you would kill every witch in this world after what they did to your mother. Is Robin any different, then? Tell me why you're protecting her if all witches are so evil."
"I have my reasons," Amon said icily, "and I assure you they are legitimate. But if you want to help Robin, you'll have to listen up. First of all, to everyone but me, you are dead. The doctors that have been helping you are sworn to secrecy. The STN-J has already been informed of your…accident."
Michael was silent. He couldn't think of any words that would quite fit what he was feeling right at that moment.
Amon started toward the door. "As soon as you recover, you will be helping me with Robin. I do believe we can help her pull through…somehow." Before any more questions could be asked, he walked out and shut the door behind him.
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Robin sat tucked away in the corner of her penthouse suite, her knees hugged tightly to her chest. What she had done to Michael had just hit home. Now tears ran down her cheeks onto her dress like a river flowing from a never ending spring.
"I deserve to die…" she breathed. "All witches deserve to die…Amon said so himself. But then why did he help me? Why did he save me?" She buried her head in her arms.
Maybe he feels like I'm his responsibility.
Her blue green eyes studied the floor. The scene with Michael was playing over and over again in her mind as she tried to find reason behind the madness. I completely lost it…I couldn't control anything I was doing…I…I tried to KILL Michael.
"I can't believe I tried to kill M-- Ahh!" The carpet at her feet had caught fire and was now licking at her ankles, cackling to itself. The forcefulness in her stare had ignited her craft. Quickly she got to her feet and stamped it out. "Why…why do I have to be a witch?!" As her fury grew, she stamped ever harder, even though the fire had long since gone out. Tears streamed down her cheeks now as little rivers of fire, and she batted at them heatedly. "I HATE BEING A WITCH!" She ran to the bathroom and into the shower, turning the cold water all the way up and letting it drench her to the bone, robe and all.
Over the sound of the water, she didn't hear Amon step quietly into the bathroom. He had entered the suite not moments after she ran from her corner and heard her cry.
"Robin," he said softly, pulling back the curtain to the shower. "Robin."
The soaked girl blearily met his gaze, her sea green pupils all but glowing against the red of her eyes. "Amon, I don't want to live as a witch. Please…use the orbo. Stop the pain. Stop this craziness." Slowly getting to her feet, she reached into his pocket and pulled out the orbo gun, setting it lightly in his hand. She brought it up so it was pointed directly at her heart.
Amon looked at the gun, cold slate eyes studying the lethal metal. "Robin, I…"
"Please!" she begged, trying to tighten his finger on the trigger.
"No!"
The gun fell to the shower floor. Amon had pushed Robin up against the wall, shoving his lips against hers. His arms snaked around her thin waist and clutched her tight as his tongue danced over her shock parted lips.
When he finally pulled away, both of them stood with their breath coming in short pants. Amon dropped his head against her breast, eyes wide.
Robin's shaky hands touched his shoulders. "What…?"
"Robin…" he looked up at her, eyes glazed. "I shouldn't. That kiss…made me a witch."