Chapter 4: Thank you

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I got out of bed at all

The morning rain clouds up my window and I can't see at all

And even if I could it'd all be grey, but your picture on my wall

It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad….

Push the door, I'm home at last and I'm soaking through and through

Then you handed me a towel and all I see is you

Even if my house falls down now, I wouldn't have a clue

Because you're near me

"Thank You" by Dido

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I didn't mean to snap at the girl, it's just that, unlike most of the people she hangs around, I'm not used to seeing people using their powers positively. I have to bite my tongue, really, because not only is Robin just a girl, but she's a nun, too. Still, I'm just glad she's got a good grip on her powers, or she might burn the apartment down. I know that was one of my father's concerns when he brought up the idea of me hosting the girl, but I told him I'd have a fire extinguisher handy. He'd only sighed, but I guess he felt relieved that I wouldn't be freaking out. Still, I don't mind if she uses her Craft at work, it's just unnerving to see it at home, and after a long day at work, too.

But I wasn't the only one who'd had a long day. Apparently, she'd ruffled a few feathers at work, or she wouldn't be looking like a lost, drenched puppy in her dripping gothic gown. And she's so honest and straightforward, I have to remind myself that despite her line of work, she's still a girl. An innocent, really, compared to some of her coworkers, or even the general populace here. I can't remember the last time I was that innocent. Certainly not in high school, and certainly not at Robin's age. So I try to cheer her up, bring her emotions to the fore, since it seems she's more likely to develop healthy relations than, say, Amon. She seems to take to it all right, charging back out into that horrible downpour.

I sigh. Was I ever that idealistic? I smile, shaking my head. Perhaps when I was a child, but my parents' divorce quickly shattered any notions of fairy tales coming true. Love didn't last forever, and, as I learned from my mother, you can't depend on kindly spirits or rich royalty to save you. All you can do is work hard, make realistic goals, and work harder. If you're lucky, and that's a big if, you might settle down with someone to share your bed on lonely nights. If not, well, good luck in divorce court.

Later that night, however, I woke up to a strange sound, only to realize it was Robin. She'd crashed on the couch again, and I bit back a sigh. She was considerate enough to remember to take off her shoes, but she was still holding an umbrella as she lay on the couch, covered by her coat. I remove the umbrella, putting it out in the small foyer, and cover her with her blanket. It still amazes me that they have teens, children, really, working such punishing hours. And all to keep the rest of Japan unknowing, sleeping soundly in their beds. As I should be. Now I sigh, and stumble to my bed, which has gotten cold with the chill weather.

The next day, as I leave to catch the bus home, a hand grabs my arm. I'm about to snap, when I realize who it is, and my mouth, unfortunately, hangs open as if I'm slow of thinking.

Clad in his usual trench coat and dark gothic clothes, he looks sexy rather than sodden, his hair hiding part of his face as if rain suited him. Perhaps it does. Amon, drat the man, looks as if he's expected that reaction, and says in his usual indifferent tone as he lets go of my arm, "Would you like to take a walk?"

I blink, and the small movement has jogged the blood flow back to my brain and breath back into my lungs. "All right," I say as calmly as possible, knowing how he hates a scene. Or any display of affection, but still, the suggestion takes me by surprise. I realize he has no umbrella, and, after brushing his shoulders free of stray raindrops, hold my red umbrella over him.

He puts up with my fussing, and, without actually touching me, leads me through a park. I wonder why he's allowing us to be seen in public together, but I suppose he knows his coworkers won't be around. I take what I can get, which is kinda sad, but walk through the city with him, as we carry on a semblance of a romantic stroll through the pouring rain. Funny, how I barely notice the rain, despite bitterly complaining about it earlier. As we approach his apartment, I shiver involuntarily, and he puts an arm around me, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. I almost gape at him again, but I'm not jinxing my luck. Maybe this last case has shaken some semblance of sentimentality in him.

As his hand twines through my hair, I look up at him. "Amon," I say in a hoarse voice. He kisses me before I can say anything else, and I find we're in his apartment.

Usually, at this point, we'd be shedding our clothes as if they were on fire, but he's taking his sweet time, kissing me slowly. By the time we reach his bedroom, we're still fully clothed. I find his actions are deliberate, as if designed to drive me mad, and I groan. A ghost of a smile crosses his face, but for some reason, I'm starting to enjoy this new, gentler side of him. Likewise, our lovemaking is actually lovemaking, an indulgent, langorous, even sweet declaration, rather than the wild, impassioned fury that shakes his bed and tests the soundproofed walls. When we're done, I don't know what to say to an experience I've only felt watching a beautiful dance performance, but place a hand on his face, stroking the unshaved edge of his jaw.

"Thank you," he says in a low voice, turning his head and kissing my hand.

Then his communicator rings, and his answers in a brisk tone, as if he hadn't been making love to me all afternoon. He glances at me, and I could almost swear there's a glimmer of regret in his dark, dark eyes. But he doesn't say anything, merely brushes my shoulder with his lips before heading for a quick shower. A few minutes later, he steps out, fully dressed and with no expression on his face as he looks down at me wearing only his blanket.

"I'll lock up," I say, holding the blanket to my chest.

He nods, and opens his mouth as if to say something. He seems to think better of it, turns on his heel, and leaves.

"There goes my paramour," I mutter, rolling my eyes before heading off to his shower. Still, there's a smile on my face in spite of his abrupt departure. It seems he's back to his old self, the businesslike Amon I know and, oddly enough, trust more than the chevalier I just slept with.

Episode 6: "Raindrops"