Amon reflecting on Toko, per say Episode 15.

-----------------------

The tall, slightly ominous looking man brushed through the door, entering the dimly lit room. The sound of the machines were a key reminder as well as a wake-up call as to why he was there in the first place. The emotion that he carried with him weighed heavily upon his usually hunched shoulders. A dark mysterious crossed his grim, tight-lipped features as he came upon the glass.

It seperated the two of them much like any other wall or distraction that came between them, though somehow, between the thin piece of clear material that shielded them from one another, it felt easier. Easier to look at her, easier to talk to her, easier to think about her. But why? After all this time, after all the late night rendevous where just the mere thought of her he'd discard from his mind, he chose now.

Maybe it was her inability to return his stare, or let alone, look into his eyes. He remembered every time, every damn time she forced him to look into her eyes. Those eyes...sometimes they got him into more trouble than he bargained for. The luscious pools of deep chocolate, just looking into them gave him chills. Yet just seeing her like that brought sorrow upon him now. A deep sorrow that he had never truly felt before. Sure, he had witnessed his mother's awakening, but that was not sorrow. No, that brought the hatred out in him. This woman that lay before him now, brought something else into his life.

How awfully fascinating one emotion can submerge one person; guilt. A feeling not too familiar let alone used in his vocabulary. There was never any need for it. What was there to be guilty of? Plenty, this time around. He had hurt her, maybe not in the deepest of sense, this time it was physical. Yet, how could he forget all the other times? She would call him, just wanting to hear his voice, no matter how cold and detached it was. Just to know that he was still alive and breathing. Just to know that he was still there.

The phone would ring and ring, yet never get answered. But he knew. No matter how many times her name would show up and he would let the cycle repeat, he knew. He knew that somewhere, even if it was just the most trivial amount, this woman loved him. She cared for him in a way that was not reflected upon his actions or in his words.

Guilt. The word kept fueling the pain he felt inside. The inner torture hurt tenfold times the gift he had received from her father the previous night. Was that what drove him to come here? No, of course it wasn't. He knew what drove him here. He just wanted to see her, just one last time. Even if she was lying there breathing through a ventilator, knowing that all too well he was the one responsible for it. He had screwed up, and screwed up he did. All for her to pay the price on his fear. His cowardice.

That look-that look of fear and complete pain, and it was all because of him. He had a job to do, to hunt his partner and her housemate, to kill her. But he just couldn't bring himself to do it. And who was lying in that bed suffering right now?

Her throaty laugh whisped through his ears, driving the knife into his hardened heart even further. He could feel the pain, the burning pain of loss. He had lost her, had given her up. Or so he thought. He recalled his last conversation with her, telling her that he could see her no more. He could hear a hint of anger, pain, perhaps even jealousy when she asked him that question. That damned question.

But it was too late for that now. It was too late for much. Yet all he could do, was stand there. She looked so pale, so helpless, so lifeless.

She could do better...She will do better...

He was not her first, nor would he be the last, that much he knew. Though that much, he wanted to forget. To forget this life and never look back. Forget about all the times they had made love, only then to have him run out to a late night hunt. For her to wake up in the morning, just wanting to look into his eyes before he left for work, to give him that good morning kiss; never happened.

He wanted to run his fingers through her hair, caress her soft skin. But those days were over, and they had been for quite some time. He knew how detached he had become in the last few months. Pushing her away until he could push no more. Only driving himself to think of her, and see her face. Then feel the guilt rush over him like a tidal wave consuming the sand.

He could feel the tears emerge in the corners of his eyes, feel them trying to burst right through his tear ducts and rain down his distraught cheeks. Yet he pushed them away, again and again. It was getting late, and he knew someone else would be here soon enough. Their chapter in the book of life was over; it was time to start a new one.

He could feel a sudden pang of guilt corrupt his soul, and a single tear rolled down his cheek. He could hear the words forge their escape, ridden with true emotion. His heart beat quickened, and with a single blink, the words broke free.

"I'm sorry."

A sudden picturesque view streamed through his brain, as though a movie were playing right before his eyes. He could see them, walking in the rain; it being as silent as they were. They moved in unison, in a synchronized way. They'd been each other's counterpart for quite some time. Though no words were spoken, he could feel her every emotion, burning through him. Though all too soon, he knew it was over. This was the end of the road. As he walked her to her door, knowing all too well who would be waiting upstairs for her, he leaned forward. Yet somehow, that final kiss evaded his lips, and he escaped to the comfort of the dark streets, leaving her there alone. Alone to say good-bye.

His thoughts returned, as well as his eyes, to their surroundings. But even then, he felt the pain. It didn't matter anymore. Without another word, he exited the room, knowing that was the last time he'd ever lay his eyes on her.