What If?
-Meeko Melodie
Meeko: Hey you people. Sorry about the late update because I got stuck on some stuff and SOMEONE posted me a really rude comment on my other story that pissed me off for a while so I apologize for that. Oh, and if you want to see that rude remark, go to my story called 2032 IA. One thing I should add to those who review stories is that: I don't mind suggestions but please, don't start throwing rude sentences at me without any good reasons.
Thanks to the following dudes and dudettes:
lei : Ha-ha! I didn't think Amon look convincing being a defense lawyer as well, but oh well! Thanks for the comment.
AnimeReviewer790: Everyone is saying Amon doesn't look like a lawyer which I completely agree. Yay! My story is on a roll now. Thanks so much for the comment.
In True Meanings: What exactly do you mean when you say "I don't think Amon would just leave Robin like that"? Like, can you emphasize? Thanks for your comment again.
Witch-Maeve: Great suggestion but if Robin is caught by the STN, wouldn't she be send to the Factory or something instead? Anyway, thanks for your comment.
Tomorrow Sounds Good: Nope, I don't take your comment offensively and thank you for your comment. I'm confused, I mean about the part when you say I'm progressing a little too quickly because I think someone told me I'm going too slow.
Theaxeduck: Thank you for your comment.
Tweekgirl: Thank you for your kind comment and I'm glad you like my story.
He trusts her.
But what he does not know is that she lies to him.
She sees her reflection in his gray, slate eyes
as a criminal who hides her identity.
For life.
Chapter Four: Reflection and Wound
"What did you find, Michael?" Amon demanded, standing beside the young hacker who had his sunglasses propped in front to shield his eyes. Michael was holding out a clear plastic bag; inside was a silver ornament, shimmering dully under the strong lights of the STN-J office.
It was two days after his visit to Robin's place and he still had not gather up himself to see her again. What is wrong with me? Amon always had that question floating inside his head whenever he thought of Robin, which was really every thirty minutes if someone was actually counting for him. He didn't know the answer to his question; all he knew was that no matter what the situation turned out to be, he still needed to carry on his life and that included witch hunting.
Amon took the bag from Michael, holding it at eye level. The burnt leather string was shriveled, still giving out its strange odor even though the bag was zipped tight; the silvery ornament was actually a cross with very detailed markings here and there.
"The police found this laying in Rocco's room," Michael explained, typing on the keyboard and listening to pop music with his earphones. Impressive, the way Michael could talk, type, and listen to two sources all at the same time.
"Any fingerprints?" Amon asked, as he unzipped the bag and tilted it slightly, letting the necklace fall in to his outstretched palm. Amon shivered as the coolness of the metal trickled down from his hand into his bones.
"Nope, didn't find any," Michael replied, looking up away from the monitor, "the flames melted any fingerprints that might be on surface before. Only some of these weird scripting survived."He looked at Amon expectantly.
"Go see if you can find out what these scripts mean," Amon ordered, than without a word more, he walked and plopped down on his chair in front of his computer, putting his head between his hands while staring into white space.
Karasuma and Doujima came back from a case and they glanced at each other briefly before proceeding. Somehow, both of them knew what was going on: Amon staring off into space at the STN-J headquarters is not something you see every day; the only time he would do that was when he was doing some deep thinking, mostly of the cases in his hand.
Silently, Karasuma went over to Michael, tapped his shoulder and nodded at Amon's directions. Michael got her point but shrugged, meaning he didn't know what was going on in Amon's mind either. Well, nobody ever know what Amon was thinking, right?
"Hey Michael," Doujima, as usual, got bored of her paper work without actually looking at them; she looked over Michael's shoulder, "what are you researching on?"
Michael glanced sideways to Doujima, who had her innocent curiousness on her face. Michael sighed inwardly.
"Some kind of ancient scripts," he answered, facing the monitor again, "it's for the fire case." He added as a second thought.
"Oh." Doujima smiled slyly, saying in her sing-song voice, "Amon, you know you're not suppose to get any help from any of us?" She sat down next to the non-moving figure. How did he do that? Doujima truly wondered, not moving one muscle. Guess I'll never find out.
"Amon?" Doujima tried again but receive no reaction what-so-ever from the motionless Amon.
"Amon!" she yelled, all the staff looked over to them.
"What?" he snapped, his eyes a stormy gray.
He hated it when someone interrupted his thoughts, especially deep ones just the one he had seconds ago. Usually, he would managed when only Michael, Karasuma and Sakaki were around but one Yurika Doujima within ten meters of his radius? Na-duh.
With a swish of his dark trench coat, Amon was gone. Now in the office, Michael, Karasuma and Sakaki, who had just came back and witnessed the whole thing, all stared at Doujima, who blushed lightly with embarrassment.
"What?!" she finally cried out.
He needed to think; he needed a quiet, peaceful place where no one would be able to interrupt his thoughts. He walked quickly into Harry's, a diner where he spent most of his meal times in since he could not cook.
Settling on one of the bar stools, Amon ordered some strong stuff; he needed it to relax his mind and body. The lightly transparent brown liquid swam in the glass as the owner of the restaurant, Harry, put down the drink in front of Amon.
He drank half of it in one gulp and resumed to his thoughts once again. If Robin didn't start the fire, then why didn't she answer my question? Amon asked himself, holding the cool glass with his hand, but she looked so frustrated when she told me she was telling me the truth, his other side argued. So which was the god-damn truth?
He didn't know what to think or who to trust anymore. All these years, no one was able to open up his heart and hear his true voice deep within. Sure, Touko tried, but to Amon, she was just any other woman he met on the street. They didn't even talk much when they were together. Let alone telling each other's deepest truth.
Come on, Amon! He yelled at himself mentally, focus on the damn case! Okay, if Robin didn't do it, who did? That was the key question: who set the fire that night?
The tinkling of bells at the entrance told Amon that someone entered the restaurant. He paid no attention until he was that someone decided to sit beside him.
Amon was drinking the liquor when he turned slightly to see the light-brown haired craft-user sitting there; he choked with surprise.
Oh great, Amon swore while coughing as the liquid went up his nose, just the one I need to see and here I am, coughing my head off. Great timing.
Robin watched Amon with amusement in her green eyes and she actually had to bite her lip hard from giggling out loud. You've got to admit he expression was pretty funny at the moment.
"Amon, are you alright?" Robin's face was straight, but her emerald eyes were sparkling with laughter, not the teasing kind, just amused. Amon scowled.
"Yes, I'm fine," he replied, trying his best to return to his cool attitude. And why does Zaizen want her dead? The question suddenly popped into his head as he looked over at the ever-so-graceful girl. She looked harmless enough.
There was just so many things he could not understand.
Robin just smiled lightly and turned to Harry, ordering a her usual espresso. It was silent between the two once again; only the occasional dripping from the coffee machine sounded loud against the quiet background.
Each of them, at this moment, had something buried deep inside their hearts, ready to burst out; and yet, no words were exchanged between them. No words were needed to be exchanged because they enjoyed the quietness and peacefulness shared around their still atmosphere.
But one of them had to break the silence, and Robin decided she should be the one to do that.
"Do you have any progress for the case yet?" Robin asked casually; she wanted to know what the police found.
Amon wanted to tell her about the necklace but decided it was best to keep it a secret for now. Instead, he replied, no, but they're still suspecting you're the one who did it."
"Yea?" Robin was slightly angry now: why wouldn't they just let her go?
"You still haven't answer my question," Amon stated suddenly as he took another sip of whiskey. Robin looked at him in surprise.
"What question?"
"Where were you that night?" Amon repeated the question he had once asked two days ago.
"I told you," Robin replied softly, her eyes looking away.
"You never told me," Amon replied skillfully, "you only told the police."
"It was late and I was at home studying for a history test," Robin recited, with a tiny bit of impatience that was hard for people to detect.
But Amon could tell; he put that aside.
Robin looked at him with a determined look in her soft expression; he trusted her. That moment, he truly did as he was lost in those emerald pools of Robin's. Amon told himself to snap out of it. Yet Robin, seeing her own reflection in Amon's slate eyes, only shuddered for she she saw herself as a lying criminal who had to hide her identity from the only person she could turn to.
"But an old lady from the building claim she saw you at the crime scene," Amon challenged her, stealing a glance of Robin's expression.
That's impossible, Robin thought, her mind in a total mess though Amon could hardly tell the difference from Robin's facial expression, I didn't see anyone that night and I was wearing a hooded cloak, nobody could've seen me. Amon, he...he's lying, isn't he? Robin could only asked herself.
"She must've imagined it," Robin replied dryly, "or she wasn't seeing quite clearly." Her voice, confident.
"Really?" Robin chose not to answer.
Before either one could open their mouths again, Harry placed the creamy-while china cup in between Amon and Robin.
Robin started to reach for it, and at the same time, Amon reached out to help Robin though nether of them were aware of each other's actions.
Their fingers slightly brushed against each other's, but the chemical reaction was strong: both retreated their hands back and in process, knocking the steaming espresso down with a loud clang!
Dark brown liquid spilled out in every direction, staining the floor with a few broken china pieces still in rocking motion.
Robin was embarrassed; she bit her lower lip and muttered a sorry while Amon crouched down to pick up the broken pieces since Harry was nowhere in sight.
A few seconds later, Robin could hear Amon muttered a 'shit'. She could guessed what had happened and sure enough, Amon came back up with a bleeding palm. (Meeko: Nope, he didn't wear any gloves, he's inside drinking, okay?)
Robin took out a clean handkerchief and signaled that she would help him with the wound. Amon ignored her an tried to find some Kleenex in his many coat pockets, but found none.
Without hesitation, Robin pulled Amon's hand gently towards herself and tied the cotton handkerchief around his left to stop any further bleeding.
Silence dawned on them once again; only this time, it was a soothing silence. Her hands could feel his warmth, unlike his cold expression that he always wore on his handsome face.
Robin felt her heart thumping louder and louder each time as she worked on Amon's wound; she was sure her cheeks would be as red as tomatoes by now. She didn't know what was causing the suffocation essence on her chest but somehow, even with the discomfort, she liked that feeling. It was weird; foreign and all unfamiliar to her.
"All done," she announced softly, breaking the quietness.
"Thank you," Amon muttered quickly, putting down some money on the counter and practically fled the scene.
Amon needed to think, again. This time, his brain was cramped with one thing he had tried to ignore all his life and was so far been able to, until this second passing: emotion.
Meeko: I know it's short. They're all short updates from now on because I need time. Man! Time is just not enough sometimes, agree? Anyways, give me some comments or I'll get real pissed, at myself.