The sun is bleeding its fires upon the mist
That huddles in grey heaps coiling and holding back
Like cliffs abutting in shadow a dead grey sea
Some street-ends thrust forward their stack.

On the misty waste lands, away from the flushing grey
Of the morning, the elms are loftily dimmed, and tall
As if moving in air towards us, tall angels
Of darkness advancing steadily over us all.

Ruination - D.H Lawrence

Chapter Two: Of Darkness Advancing

Amon found himself watching her, dark eyes coming to rest on her slight form as she sat on the couch, knees to her chest, seemingly absorbed in a dog-eared book of verses. They'd been sitting in comfortable silence for most of the morning, both reading, but Amon had discovered that it was getting increasingly difficult to concentrate. He seemed disturbingly aware of her every movement, ears straining for the scrape of turning pages, anticipating the gentle sigh she gave when a poem had pleased her.

In fact, he realized, looking down at his novel, he'd become so engrossed in Robin's movements that he hadn't read a single page in the last hour. He scowled at the open paperback, resting in his lap, the neat rows of characters like accruing threads of destiny strung taut between himself and his young ward sitting across the room.

No, Amon corrected himself. Destiny implies an absence of choice, a lack of control over what is to come. I chose this life. He glanced surreptitiously over at the fire witch. I chose her.

Which brought him back to his moral quandary of the previous week. The idea that he was…less than amiable had settled in his brain, seeping through the layers of tissue like an insidious poison. It had played upon his thoughts more than he cared to admit. He knew he wasn't a pleasant man, per se, but he liked to think he was a fair and honourable one, and really, actions were what counted with one's character. Weren't they? In the end, no one cares how well you couch things in nice words and pretty phrases. They only care about what you do.

There was little to no need for soft words and gentle assurances. Kindness was a luxury he couldn't afford.

But others deserve.

The sly thought took him unawares. He didn't consider himself unkind. Brisk, efficient and certainly not one to waste words, but not a complete monster. He set out to get a job done and did so to the best of his abilities. He worked hard, maintained a professional manner at all times, and managed to keep his own emotions and weaknesses away from the workplace.

He was never cruel to anyone undeserving. Or was he? Amon recalled, with some shame, how he had treated Robin when she first arrived. Like she was …small and insignificant, a nonentity to him. From the outset he had wanted her to see her own inadequacies and know that it wasn't a partnership, no matter what was expected. It was an unequal pairing, in which the skills and experience of one completely outclassed the other.

And which one was that again?

Robin…she was a mystery. She was the Eve of Witches, in addition to possessing the Arcanum of the Craft. Destined – that word again – to be the strongest Witch the world would ever see. Yet all that power simmered beneath the pale skin of a quiet child who slept naked, sighed at poetry, and downed espressos like there was no tomorrow.

She was a mystery. But he understood her. As much as she consistently surprised him, he could usually determine her motivations. It was all rather simple, really. She was good. She was kind. She was purity, personified. She was unselfish, and good-natured, and sympathetic to a fault. And if he could figure her out, anyone could.

Amon could lie all he wanted, really. There was no one to lie to. When he only had to convince himself, it was a fairly easy job. He performed a dual service – he protected the world, from Robin; and Robin, from the world. He'd sworn to subdue her should she become a danger, and taken this personal crusade upon himself, holy paladin to her virginal saint. He was saving her, certainly; but in the process, he sought to save himself. To find redemption by virtue of proximity. In her goodness, and kindness, her humanity, perhaps he could attain his own.

His eyes refocused. The book had slipped somewhat, ready to fall from his lap. He snapped it shut, eliciting a startled gasp from his silent companion.

Abruptly he stood. "Robin." She was looking at him, eyes wide. "Let's go for a walk." He stalked out the room, not waiting to see her response, knowing she would follow him.

I am a bastard.

They made their way through the park, Robin unwilling to ask Amon about his sudden urge for fresh air. It was a rare occasion indeed that he initiated any outdoor expedition, and she had no intention of spoiling the moment. The day was warm – they all had been, lately – so they had left their coats at home, Robin savoring the strange freedom of being without the oppressive extra layer. Her skirts fluttered about her heels in the playful breeze and she found herself smiling. It was just so good to be out!

Her smile faltered as she turned to look at the man beside her. Amon had…changed. Never a particularly garrulous man, over the past few days he'd become increasingly withdrawn, almost introspective, usually with a bleak look splashed across his features. She's noticed him watching her, when he thought she couldn't see, and the bitterness she's glimpsed in his dark eyes had twisted something deep inside. Does he regret?

The smile fell from her face altogether. She couldn't blame him, if he did. What could she expect? He'd essentially forfeited his life for her own, traded in his previous existence for their current half-life, sacrificing his apartment, his car, and his well paid job to play nursemaid to a fifteen year old.

If she was unhappy with being cooped up all the time, did he chafe at the bonds they had to each other? Did he mourn for the life he had lost, the life he had given up to watch over her?

Amon seemed to be an innately solitary person. He isolated himself with his appearance (dark and foreboding), manner (abrupt) and attitude (often sullen). Robin knew he thought he preferred it that way. But it was her rather limited experience that people who presented an unpleasant front to the world were either a) naturally unpleasant or, b) possessed of a complete inability to build and maintain relationships with others. It was difficult for them to make overtures of friendship, and so they chose not to, telling themselves they were better off without, that they didn't want anyone else. They kept people at arm's length, willing them to go away, to leave them to their own darkness.

He wasn't naturally unpleasant, she could tell. Habitually, purposefully – yes, but naturally, no. She didn't know why he acted as he did, but she knew that somewhere, deep inside, there was a good reason. There always was. Whenever Amon came to a decision, she knew it had been inspected and evaluated from every angle, that all the possibilities and eventualities had been mapped out in his mind. He did nothing lightly, a trait that gave his every action weight and meaning.

Robin liked his company; if she were honest, she had to admit she needed it. It had been like that since the beginning, seeking his approval, wanting to know he cared for her, in any sense of the word. They'd gotten off to such a shaky start – at times, she thought he hated her – but in the days before Factory's collapse they had worked together like never before, perfectly attuned to one another, instinctively knowing what had to be done. Since they'd gone into hiding, their forced closeness had inspired a kind of unspoken understanding between them, and while she didn't really ever know what he was feeling – who could? – generally she could determine his moods. But what had brought on this latest simmering acrimony?

She came back to her surroundings. They'd been strolling, quite without intent, in laps around the park. It was mid afternoon and most of their fellow park-goers had dispersed for the time being, presumably to have lunch. They were on a small bridge, traversing the chuckling creek, delicate tree branches stretching overhead, casting filigree shadows upon their already dark figures. Amon had stopped, for some reason, leaning on the rail, unreadable profile turned out over the water. She stood next to him, looking up into his striking face, half hidden behind a fall of dark hair, taking in the hard eyes and tightly pressed lips. Robin wondered what had made him this way, what could have possibly driven him to take all the problems in the world upon his broad, rounded shoulders. She resolved to find out, one question at a time. However badly he had treated her, in the beginning, she had to admit he'd always taken the time to consider her questions, whether he answered them or not.

"Amon," she began, a trifle hesitantly. He gave no outward indication he had heard her gentle query, but she knew he was listening. "Do you regret your decision?"

It was a deceptive question, referring to not one decision but many. All those opportunities he'd had to leave her, betray her, kill her. Yet he had stayed. He'd given up everything for her and she could not, for the life of her, remember having given him anything in return. So she watched him, and she waited, and she held her breath, torn between wanting to know and the terror of finding out.

He considered her question for a long time. Robin could almost feel him drawing up pros and cons lists, sorting facts, evaluating his life before she'd come into it, and juxtaposing it against the existence he led now. After what seemed to be an eternity, his eyes slid to her face, his expression uneasy.

"I do not," he answered finally. Their eyes met and suddenly Robin found it hard to breathe. The air seemed to stick in her chest, right about level with her heart, and her ribs seemed too big for her torso. She felt herself flush, slowly, the heat traveling up her neck and spreading across her face in a leisurely manner. Embarrassed, yet defiant, she held his gaze, watching in fascination as his eyes appeared to change, deepening, and darkening until they seemed entirely black. She was unable to move, like a deer in headlights, rendered immobile by something akin to panic as Amon pushed away from the railing and brought himself a step closer, near enough for her to feel the warmth of his body through her thick skirts. They stayed like that, frozen in time, shadow eyes boring into emerald ones, the world fading around them as she felt with a kind of thrilling certainty that although he hadn't moved any closer, he would. Then they would be closer than ever before, including that time he'd slipped Nagira's address into her hair as they fled the attack on Raven's flat -

When an unexpected weight barreled into the back of her knees, pushing Robin into Amon's chest and eliciting a surprised, "Oomph!" from the taciturn Hunter. She whirled, somewhat shocked and a little relieved, to find a small boy gaping up at Amon, awe and fear mingled on the young face.

"Shinji!" The child jumped at the sound of his name and ran off in the direction of a tall woman, who eyed Amon suspiciously before moving hurriedly away.

Robin felt Amon exhale and knew he was looking at her again, but the awful blush was burning her cheeks and she felt nervous and confused. After a moment she heard him turn.

"Come," he said. Obediently, she followed.

Kosaka Shintarou shifted irritably in his chair. His fingers tapped the armrest before making their way to his face and smoothing his moustache in a nervous gesture. He could feel the sweat beading on his crown and wished, for the umpteenth time, that the air conditioning worked.

"Hattori!" he bellowed, feeling somewhat isolated in the den of authority. Zaizen's office - no, my office, he corrected himself - seemed almost worlds away from the rest of the STN-J team members. Hurried footsteps made their way down the hall, and seconds later his aide poked his long face around the door.

"Yes, sir?" he queried, coming fully into the room. As per usual, he was juggling an assortment of files, folders and loose papers.

"Could you please make me a pot of tea?" Kosaka asked wearily, rubbing his forehead.

Hattori nodded, the movement nearly dislodging one of the folders balanced precariously in his grasp. "Of course, sir." As he went to leave the phone on Kosaka's desk began to ring.

"Oh, and there's a phone call for you on line one, sir," he called over his shoulder, maneuvering out the doorway with practiced ease.

Kosaka stomped over to the desk, looking at the phone blankly for a couple of seconds. He wasn't used to all of this, even after six months, and he was beginning to fear he never would get accustomed to it. He had always seen himself as subordinate material, the back up man, the second gun. Gun? Hell, he didn't even know how to use one. A paper-pusher such as himself wasn't fit to lead an organization like the STN-J. It wasn't so much that he lacked experience – his years with the police had hardened him, somewhat – but more that he didn't have the right attitude for the job. He didn't inspire confidence in his team members; didn't make them want to get out there, in the face of danger, and give everything they had for the merest chance of some sign of approval or encouragement. Zaizen had never motivated the team that way, Kosaka knew. In fact, only one man ever had.

Kosaka's predecessor hadn't really been a good leader. He had sat in his chair, smoked his cigars, and schemed away their lives without anyone noticing. Why? Because they hadn't cared. He had removed himself from their day-to-day operations to such an extent that the STN-J members were surprised to find him in the briefing room. They were unaccustomed to his presence. Zaizen had become a ghost of a leader, a distant threat in that faraway office, a man who pulled the strings of puppets that were never really his. The STN-J crew – no, the STN-J family – had silently pledged their loyalty to someone they had all looked up to.

Amon. It all came back to Amon. The dour Hunter had inspired trust and a kind of reverence, in spite of himself. The team might have questioned his motives, but they never doubted his judgment.

Kosaka wished he could have gotten to know the younger man better. He could have learnt a few things from him.

But thoughts of Amon led to thoughts of Robin and he didn't want to succumb to bitterness again at the tragic events that had cost them two promising young team members. Team members? The oldest and the youngest. The leader and the heart.

The phone was still ringing.

He snatched it up. "Yes?" he barked. At the cool tones of the voice on the other end, he felt himself pale. It can't be…

"Er, yes, no. Of course. I am very – yes. Right. I understand. I'll be there as soon as – I see. Er, do you know what I – yes, of course." The line clicked and the dial tone hummed against his ear.

Kosaka let the receiver fall gently back into its cradle before bracing his short form against the desk. It didn't matter how hard he tried, there was always someone more confident, more assertive, more suited to leadership than he could ever be. He closed his eyes in a kind of relief, imagining the sensation of freedom he would get by handing the reins over to someone else. He'd still be official leader, of course, but the rest would be up to him. The man on the phone. The man he was about to collect from the airport. The man who had reminded him of –

Angry now at the connections his exhausted mind had made, he rummaged in a drawer for his car keys, and then set off down the hall.

"Er, sir?" Hattori met him in the working room, a tray of tea at the ready. The rest of the team were in there as well, lounging at their workstations, not even attempting to look busy.

Well, that's about to change. Kosaka smiled - a grim, almost intimidating baring of his teeth. Sakaki straightened a little at the sight of it, and Doujima's face registered mild interest.

"You look happy, Chief," she said, tilting her head, obviously unable to work out his sudden mood. "I don't understand. I haven't done anything you could chew me out over lately, so how does that work?"

"Doujima," he returned, still smiling, "one of these days you will realize that the world does not revolve around you." With that, he straightened his shoulders. Nearly giddy with the thought of relinquishing command, he tossed some final words over his shoulder as he entered the elevator.

"I'm just off to the airport. I'm picking up the new Hunter." The elevator doors shut quietly as the room exploded into activity. Kosaka allowed his smile to turn smug.

-

He didn't feel so smug now, Kosaka reflected, driving back to the office. The silence between the car's two occupants was like a living thing, stretching out and filling up all the space until he, at least, felt smothered by it.

Allowing his eyes to slide to the side, Kosaka studied his companion. The resemblance is…uncanny, he thought, still unnerved by the new Hunter's appearance. When he had first caught sight of him, waiting in the arrivals lounge, he had thought –

A car hurtled past, horn blaring. Deep in contemplation, Kosaka had let the vehicle follow the natural slope of the road and they'd slipped into the other lane. Embarrassed, he returned his attention to the asphalt.

"Perhaps you should watch the road." The tone was amused, and slightly sardonic. It was also frighteningly familiar. Kosaka felt it would have been bearable if it had just been the voice, but coupled with the new Hunter's looks and manner of dress – well. He wondered how the rest of the team would take this new complication. And just when the wound was beginning to heal, too.

Michael Lee couldn't concentrate.

He was ostensibly investigating the reports of a new Witch - Craft unknown - but he was incapable of focusing. Everyone was being too noisy, for one thing. Haruto and Doujima were animatedly discussing the new Hunter; while Hattori - at a loose end in the absence of Kosaka - was pestering Karasuma about some new gun or the like. Michael's mind kept skipping back to the Chief's announcement, and from there, it was beyond control.

A new Hunter. He'd heard that before.

It was just like last time. Out of the blue they'd been issued with a replacement. He couldn't deny that the team needed the extra help but he also couldn't say that they appreciated this unexpected token of SOLOMON's regard. They were a close-knit group, the STN-J. He knew it could be difficult adjusting.

His fingers ceased their typing. How cold they'd been to the previous replacement. They'd acted, at various times, like she was a nuisance, a simpleton, a small child prone to getting underfoot. And she'd taken it all without complaint, saving their asses more times than he could remember. He recalled her hesitant overture of friendship.

He'd been watching the moon. It was strange. He didn't miss the day so much – he'd never been a particularly active boy, and besides, his pale skin burned easily – but the loss of his evenings was one he truly mourned.

"Michael?"

Turning, he saw her. Robin stood behind him, ethereal in the soft moonlight. Her face was shadowed, but her eyes had seemed to glow, pleading in the dim radiance. She proffered a small package.

"I've brought donuts." She'd laid them on his desk and gone off to make them both coffee. The first time, he'd been too surprised to react. The second time he'd tried her name upon his lips and it had felt like home.

Michael had learnt, in the course of his confinement, to watch people. To conduct character studies. There wasn't an enormous selection to work from, but he'd learnt a great deal about the group. Without the option of much human contact, or peer interaction, he had no choice but to make himself familiar with every nuance and idiosyncrasy his teammates displayed. It had provided him with entertainment in an arguably empty life.

And so it was that he'd seen Robin's inexplicable crush on the person who had treated her most badly. He'd seen it before anyone else – before perceptive Karasuma and super-spy Doujima, and it was quite possible he had known before Robin herself. He couldn't speak for Amon – the cool Hunter had never given any indication he'd known of her feelings. But Robin – Michael was prepared to wager that she herself didn't understand the depth of her emotions concerning Amon. He had certainly never been able to comprehend it.

He sighed. What did he know about attraction? The last two and a half years had been spent chained to the office. With a null and void social life he could hardly consider himself the relationship expert. It was most likely his own jealousy talking, anyway. Those burning looks Robin had directed at Amon had been difficult to watch, especially when he'd been coming to terms with his own impotent, unrequited affections. He had eventually come to accept that Robin would never feel for him what he felt for her. The knowledge, however, didn't make it hurt any less. Shaking his head ruefully, Michael resumed typing.

He'd immersed himself so fully into his work that he'd nearly forgotten Kosaka's errand until the elevator doors opened some time later. The Chief's officious voice reached the office before he and his guest did, which gave the rest of the staff a frantic moment to arrange themselves in relaxed poses that still provided ideal viewing of this unknown entity. Michael was amused to find even Karasuma affected by the anticipatory mood and watched her out of the corner of his eye as she perched negligently on the desk beside him, smoothing down her skirt and worrying the buttons on her jacket.

He was still looking at his monitor when Kosaka bumbled into the room, and was about to face him when Karasuma's shocked gasp sounded next to his ear. The nervous activity of the room had become a tomb-like silence. Michael was almost frightened to turn around, but he did so anyway. He felt the sharp intake of his breath, the quiet hiss, as if it were distant from his body. He felt his eyes widen as they took in the tall, dark-clad man slouching next to the Chief. He felt hope bloom in his heart for a tiny desperate second before it fizzled into the familiar hollow emptiness.

This, then, was the Hunter SOLOMON had sent to taunt them.

They were all thinking the same thing. They had to be. He couldn't have been the only one to have done a double-take. The man alongside Kosaka looked just like Amon.

Of course, on second inspection there were differences. He was slimmer, for one. Probably younger. His hair seemed a shade lighter, a touch shorter. But the way he held himself, the way his eyes skimmed dispassionately over the assembled team –

All Amon.

Michael shook himself. The Chief was in the middle of introductions, steering the new Hunter around the desks. In a moment they'd reach his desk and he didn't know what to do or say, how to act around this man he'd never met but felt like he knew already. And Amon, led to Robin, which stirred those restless butterflies in the pit of his stomach and he didn't need confusion at a time like this -

Then, they were there. Kosaka smiled that strange, brittle smile from earlier on and leant forward confidentially. "Michael, this is Jabez. Jabez, this is Michael, our resident computer expert."

The Hunter nodded, grim-faced. "Michael." Shit, they even sound the same! Against his better wishes, fighting an inner voice he didn't know he had, Michael looked up. He swallowed. Incongruous in that pale face belonging to another man from another time, were a pair of equally familiar green eyes.

Robin's eyes.

I hate to come across badly, but might I just add that I'm a review whore? I love to hear people's opinion of my work - good OR bad. Please give me some feedback, if you have the time, and I welcome constructive criticism. I will never improve if no one tells me how. Thank you for reading!