Disclaimer: I do not own WHR. Just borrowing it.
His gently unfocused eyes had a choice – they could see past the clear glass to the menacingly purple sky fighting between twilight and a thunderstorm, or they could coalesce to his smoke smudged reflection made visible like a ghostly shadow on the panoramic view. Finding his own image familiar and unremarkable, Nagira instead looked beyond to the roiling clouds choking out the last vestiges of light from yet another day.
The image of his face imposed on his apartment window seemed not nearly as accurate a reflection as the gathering anger and trepidation of the storm crawling on its dark belly across the jagged, crowded skyline of Tokyo. The distant growl in its throat promised rain, vaguely threatening, with electricity in the air that pressed a pillow to the regular street sounds at rush hour, made the breath still, and stood Nagira's small hairs on end. So too Nagira felt the need to growl in the deep of his throat, felt the tingle of muscles itching to do something, anything, hit or hold, smash or soothe. The power of the storm seemed to draw itself in, holding back as a wave that pulls from the sand only to gather and attack with startling strength. Yes, Nagira considered, his body hummed with the nervous energy that begged for release, roiling up to crush whatever or whomever was unfortunate enough to cross his path.
In one hand a cigarette burned, in the other a whiskey on the rocks sweated onto his parched fingers. Dangling the cigarette expertly from his bottom lip, he distractedly raked his nicotine scented hand through his excess of hair, smoothing the large sideburns absently with close clipped fingernails, puffing the smoke at his obscured image while trying to catch a running thought. It was eluding him and had for days, this idea which pricked him mercilessly only to flee upon the hint of further inspection. More and more often of late his nights had turned to this, pacing a silent apartment with stealthy bare feet, shirt removed, dress pants remaining. It was silly and absurd, but somehow the idea of drinking alone seemed less pathetic and potentially ruinous if one kept their pants on. To sink to naked solitary drunkenness was the benchmark Nagira held himself firmly away from. If and when they (they being an unspecified person or persons) were to find him here passed out face down on the rug, then at least he would be wearing pants. Yes, by God, at least he would have that.
He took hold of the cigarette again, a practiced movement long ago perfected, and studied the spiral of smoke drifting lazily upward to dissipate in the gathering dark. He might not understand his agitation, he mused with a sip of chilled whiskey, but perhaps he could explain it away. His logical mind, trained in the lawyer's art, simply could make no sense of the recent chain of events. All his training, that is to say the gathering of information into easily understandable categories to better spin them to his advantage, could not sort out the tangled thread that his brother had wound him in. Amon, would stood opposite Nagira on the battlefield that was witches rights, had apparently staged a defection when he chose to save the slip of a witch now sleeping in Nagira's office. But where was he now? What did it mean? What did Amon want Nagira to do other than hide her from Solomon?
And Robin… there was a tangled web indeed. His brain shied away from the green eyed likeness that sprang instantly to mind whenever his thoughts wandered to her, which they did more often than he would admit to. She was a puzzle, without question. Nagira had often watched her from the corner of his eye in the first days after arriving on his doorstep in the dead of night. What, he wondered, was it about this pale young hunter that had brought about the completely uncharacteristic actions of his half brother? Was it love? She was much too young for the sort of love that might arise between a man and woman, and Nagira's mind backed away from the idea for more reasons than one. Brotherly affection and protectiveness then? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was to preserve the extraordinary power Nagira had witnessed first hand only several nights ago when she had completely vaporized another witch in his defense.
He shivered at the memory, accidentally shaking loose from his nearly spent cigarette some ash which he absentmindedly ground into the carpet with his bare toes. The action turned his attention to his foot now covered in a fine layer of soot. If he were to put his shoes on now, he knew where his feet would lead him. The path between his apartment and office was well worn of late, often beginning with a drink as he was doing now only to walk the short distance in the dead of night to toss fitfully on the couch which sat just below Robin's borrowed nest. He had a justification of course. Since the discovery that Robin did indeed own the artifact witches were killing each other for, he felt the need to protect the office where it was now being kept. Yes, the fragment of wisdom was the reason for his late night vigils. Of course it wasn't for the girl upstairs, former hunter, fledgling witch with the haunted eyes. How absurd.
For the past several nights he could recall finishing his drink with one oversized gulp, similar to the one he just took, and then retrieving the shirt draped haphazardly over the back of the couch. He could see it all now as though it was happening. Slip into his shoes, grab his coat without bothering to put it on. The walk would be dark and the approaching storm would puff chilled gusts of wind against his face, fluttering his untucked shirt and unbuttoned cuffs. The sound of his shoes would be overloud yet strangely muffled by the oppressive rain scented air pressing against his eardrums. The office would seem a far distant hazy speck, measured only by the cracks in the pavement or the circular pools of light the street lamps spilled down at regular intervals, the even meter of his footsteps or the inaudible breaths he took. And then suddenly his destination would be upon him without even realizing time or distance.
And suddenly he was there. Nagira shook himself like a dreamer waking, blinking several times. The cool metal knob of the office door made his fingers feel feverish as they clutched it, and a faint hiss from the sidewalk confirmed the start of the rain that stood like dew on his shoulders. A moment of uncertainty and confusion stretched out, allowing the rain to splash and trace trails on his cheeks before he surrendered to the inevitability of going upstairs.
Reaching the door he found it already unlocked and he slipped inside. Framed in the light of the rain specked office windows Nagira discerned the silhouette of Robin, black and thin as a knife's blade, back to him, her head bowed. As if psychically sensing the presence of her unexpected guest she spoke without turning. "Forget something?"
"No, I just… needed a change of scene. What are you doing down here?"
"I wanted to watch the storm. I saw you walking just now." A flash of lightning colored her dark image for a moment, caught the turn of her auburn head and the emerald flash of her gaze as she unerringly found him in the darkness. "You come here often, late at night." The thunder following the lightning broke overhead, reverberating in Nagira's chest. "Why is that?"
The observation startled him, as did the question. "Hey, it's my office, isn't it?" he joked weakly, the smile disintegrating as quickly as it appeared. "I don't know, I guess I just end up wandering when I'm thinking, and habit leads me here."
The wraith-like silhouette nodded. "Me too," she admitted quietly, "about the wandering I mean. I don't sleep well at night anymore. I sit and I pace, and the thoughts keep piling up around me till I need to get away from them."
Without conscious approval Nagira's legs had closed the distance between himself and the girl and he found himself beside her. "You're not sleeping?" he asked with quiet concern. That at least would explain how she had known about his late night visits.
Again she answered with a single nod. "I'm so tired, and yet when I lay down to sleep, I can't. I can only fall asleep when the sun is rising." She paused and looked out the window with a gaze much further than was required to see across the street. The shadow of the rain running down the glass gave the eerie impression of tears streaking the ivory skin of her cheeks, forcing Nagira to blink hard in order to confirm the illusion. When she broke the silence again, it was with a breathy whisper. "I don't know how to explain it, but it's as if the darkness of night makes all my fears and doubts larger and more menacing. All the things I can ignore during the day suddenly become huge, louder than before, and I can't control them." Her expression, remote at first, was becoming pained with the force of the emotions pushing words from her throat. "The darkness is…"
"Heavy," Nagira finished for her, his understanding lending a truthful ring to the word. Robin pulled back her infinite gaze and turned to him now, her eyes' shining surface guarding the dizzying depth beyond. "That's what you mean, isn't it," he continued, searching for the confirmation in her eyes. "I know how you feel. It's like your head gets smaller but your thoughts get bigger, and it feels like your skull's gonna crack open."
Silence closed in again and Nagira felt at a loss. In any other circumstance he would now take this opportunity to crack a joke, or distract with a funny story, offer a drink, anything. If it were any other young person he would chalk up the present mood to simple teenage angst and be done with it. But there was something about Robin that could never be categorized as common, that dried up the amiable arrogance Nagira presented to others, replacing it with a soft compassion that was unnatural and at the same time cloying, comfortable. So rather than slap a happy face on the situation, he put a hand on the young woman's shoulder. "Maybe if you talk about it the demons won't be so big." His tone was soothing but not patronizing. "Voicing a thought sometimes takes away its power to control you."
Her large eyes slid from his face down to the hand resting on her shoulder and back again. "I wouldn't know what to say," she demurred, looking suddenly a little bashful. "I'm not used to talking to someone about things like feelings."
Deep in his gut he felt a pang of understanding and pity. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he murmured, "but why don't we try it anyway."
She looked thoughtful. "Is that what you do when something's bothering you?"
"Yeah, but I talk to myself, which might not be quite the same thing." The barest ghost of a smile brushed her face and then was gone. The silence stretched like warm taffy, which he took as a rejection of the offer for a friendly ear. "That is, unless you'd rather I went away and stopped bothering you."
"No, please," she replied with a quickness and volume that surprised them both. "Don't go."
The anxiety in her eyes made him want to eat his tongue for even suggesting it. "Okay, I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay."
Convinced he wasn't planning on slipping away into the night, Robin looked back out through the glass, frowning with the effort of trying to corral her thoughts into word form. Nagira waited, breath held as though the sound might distract her from work of jumping the communication barrier. Finally she spoke.
"It sounds too simple, the way I have to say it, but it feels like I have no purpose," she breathed, forcing him to lean forward slightly, fearful of missing her words in the sound of the escalating storm on the opposite side of the glass. "All my life I have had a purpose. Just one. Hunting witches is all I've ever known, all I was allowed to do. And when I was…" She swallowed the emotion that was forcing a tremble into her voice. "When…it… happened, I came here because Amon…" another breath, "because he told me to. But it didn't feel right. For the first time I wasn't doing what I was trained to do."
Robin took several quavering breaths, each less stable than the last, and Nagira stood patiently, silently trying to lend her strength. "Then Doujima found me, and I helped them hunt another witch. And that's when I realized that hunting, the only purpose I had, wasn't right either."
Nagira watched Robin wrestle with the quickly unraveling shroud of self-control she perpetually hid behind. "So now," he offered softly, "you feel like you don't know what to do."
Thin trembling hands reached out and clutched the windowsill. "I have nothing," she choked out past a clenched jaw. "Who am I if I'm not a hunter?"
Nagira tried to ignore the ache her words produced in his chest. "You're Robin," he reasoned emphatically, "and you have plenty. You are more than what they made you. There's more to you than that."
The tremor that had begun in her hands had now advanced upward to her shoulders. She shook her head slightly, brushing away his easy and obvious answers. "I don't know what to do," she admitted hoarsely, looking down at her hands.
Now Nagira shook his head. "It's okay. You'll figure that out. Give it time."
The look she gave him now increased the crushing pressure in his chest. "I'm alone." A tear threatened to escape but she fought it back.
"No," he countered. "No, you have me."
"I appreciate you saying that, but you don't even know me."
His smile was reassuring and sad. "Maybe not yet, but I want to."
"You only took me in because he asked you to."
"Sure, at first, but we're in this together now. I want to help you."
"It's dangerous for you to help me. I put you in danger."
"Nothing I can't handle," was his cavalier reply.
Incredulity seared through his bravado. "You almost died because of me." The guilt in her eyes belied the weight of it on her shoulders.
His look shouted amazement, and he took her by the shoulders, turning her to face him. "Robin, you saved my life!"
"By killing a man!"
The bony shoulders beneath his grasp shook violently in the effort of restraining the sobs before they forced their way from her thin body, tears threatening to spill over in a flood. With a voice cracking on the edge of control, Robin seemed so remote in her reasoning, yet so present in her pain. "I killed him, Nagira. I didn't mean to, I didn't even want to, but I did."
Nagira was fighting his own battle against the conflicting desires of pulling the girl to him and cradling her against his chest, or else clapping hands over his ears to stop out the words that were stoking his own turbulent doubts concerning the future and what it may hold. Doing neither, instead he tried to steady her with his gaze. "You were protecting me," he repeated stubbornly.
She continued on as though she hadn't heard him. "What is this power good for, apart from killing and destruction? How do I know right from wrong when everything feels wrong?" Her eyes burned into Nagira's, giving him the eerie feeling she was looking into his mind for the answers.
"He was supposed to be here. How am I supposed to go on without him? What if he never comes back, if he's dead? He should have come back by now, and I think that means he's not coming back. I can't believe it but I have to, and every night I sit and wonder if he's alive and I pray to a God that won't hear me to bring him back. I'm lost and I'm blind."
And finally all the tears broke through and her body convulsed around the single heartbreaking whispered cry, "Nagira, where is Amon?"
Nagira was shocked into speechlessness by this forceful display of emotion from such a self-possessed girl, the breath knocked from his body like taking a hard fall. What was there to say anyway, how could he make it right? Of course no words he could string together would undo her history, erase the trauma of the recent past, or frighten away the fear of facing a very alien world alone. Nor would mere words make him into the only person Robin wanted to see right now.
Tossing caution out into the turbulent night, Nagira pulled the girl to him and wrapped his arms around her. After a moment of rigidity she melted and clung, silently emptying her tears onto his shirt. They stood this way together in a dreamlike haze that distorted place and circumstance until there was only one crystallized emotion and one endless breath.
But as the thunder receded and the rain diminished to a soothing murmur, Robin too began to calm slowly. Nagira found himself drifting with her backward until he sat in the desk chair nearest them, pulling her onto his knee like the child she could have been if not for the circumstances that had forced her maturity. Her ragged breaths were evening out, and her body was becoming heavier as her muscles lost the weight of emotion, dragging her toward sleep.
He could have woken her. He could have carried her up to her bed. Instead he sighed and swiveled the chair to look out at the tail of the storm dragging slowly behind the body of the beast. A hand found its way to her hair and smoothed it gently. He shifted imperceptibly to position her curled form more comfortably on his leg. With sluggish surprise he realized that all the anxiety, all of his own doubts and demons that had driven him to late night wandering were chased away for the moment by the breath now tickling his neck. She needed him tonight, and he had to grudgingly admit that he needed her too. He couldn't be the man she wanted, but he could do this. He wasn't going anywhere.