Disclaimer: I own about 672 hours of sleep debt if you really want to sue me for it.

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 4: Last Train Home

Amon sat rigidly as he leafed through the file Nagira had given him. There wasn't much information in the file. Nagira had enclosed a letter telling the pair that he was sending them to a contact of his who would be able to help them. Most of the papers were instructions on other contacts and instructions on how to get in touch with Nagira. The first contact was listed simply as 'Zakuro.' The page had a name and instructions on where to find Zakuro. It was however, according to Nagira, the most important contact they were to meet with. Nagira had said simply that he was sending them to someone who could help them more than he could. Someone who they could place their battered trust implicitly in.

And while Amon's personal feelings on that assessment were along the lines of 'Bullshit', Robin was willing to put her faith in Nagira's friend.

So here they were. On a train crawling north with only a piece of paper to guide them to safety.

And yet, she slept. Robin lay with her head against the window and her burgundy cloak over her like a blanket. That damned peaceful expression apparent once again.

He could have sworn it was his stomach that growled.

Robin jerked her head up at the sound, troubling her coat from her shoulders. Her muscles tensed for fight and she cast her half-focused eyes around for a few moments before she settled them on her partner's face.

Could it be that there was surprise there? A minute widening of the eyes? She thought it may be. Just a bit.

"Go back to sleep," he said and looked back at his papers.

Or maybe not.

She sat still with her eyes trained on him for endless instants. One tendril of hair worried the side of her neck and she shook her head to alleviate the irritation. At the flash of gold as her hair caught the afternoon sun, Amon looked at her again. The slanting rays failed to reach him and his eyes were frozen in an unyielding darkness.

"Go back to sleep, Robin" he said. This time he used her name, Robin, as though it were both command and rebuke. No words of reassurance passed his lips and he returned to stare hatefully at the papers pinched in his hands. Robin leaned her head back against the window and pulled her coat back over her shoulders. She slipped her eyes closed but the feeling of eyes upon her kept her from slipping back to sleep.

She lay frozen like that until the train pulled into the station

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Amon was becoming frustrated.

No wait. Amon was frustrated. He was becoming irate.

That cursed little piece of paper with the directions to Zakuro was the cause of Amon's anger. The instructions had seemed easy enough. In fact they were wonderfully detailed and Amon had yet to make a wrong turn. No, the directions were exquisitely precise. They were also, Amon was nearly convinced, endless. After leaving the station, the pair had taken a cab to the town named on the paper. They had gotten out of the cab exactly where the paper had said to go. Every twist and turn had been followed faithfully. Their destination appeared to lay deep in a place much like the 'walled city'. And yet, after nearly two hours of wandering, Amon was certain that this maze made the walled city look like a children's fun house.

He could tell that his partner was getting tired of the endless maze as well. Her steps no longer matched his as she lagged behind. Every few minutes she shifted her bag to the opposite shoulder as though that would alleviate the burden. Amon had made no offer to carry it for her. Indeed, except for a few curt instructions, Amon had not spoken to Robin at all. Robin, lagging without even the comfort of his closeness, was left confused and more than a bit weary.

The sound of their footfalls had long since ceased their confident staccato and had now settled into a curious rhythm where on foot would go confidently forward while the other would skim the ground slowly to meet the first. Robin watched her guardian closely for any signs that both feet would drag.

His shoulders were a bit bowed and his frown was a bit deeper. But there was still strength in his carriage and determination, though mixed with irritation, in his eyes. He looked at the paper and quickly confirmed the next set of directions. He rounded the corner and she hurried after him, her bag nearly pulling her off balance. She turned and all but crashed into her partner who had stopped just around the corner. No hint of distress was upon his face but she could feel the tense control of his body. She peered around his shoulder and saw the reason for his sudden pause.

Four rather unsavory men were lining the alley they had to go through. The closest one reminded Robin of a raccoon, with dark ringed eyes, mussed brown hair, and wicked cracked nails. The man beside him was small, compact, and strung like a wire. The two men on the opposite wall were remarkably ordinary. They were neither short nor tall, muscular nor skinny, handsome nor homely. Their eyes and hair were exquisitely dull shades of brown. They were two men forgotten the moment they strayed from sight. All four men were watching Amon with calculating eyes.

"Eh, who's he?" Asked the raccoon. No one answered but the wiry man shrugged in a curiously jerky motion. "Well if he got no cause to be here I guess we ought to shove him out." Robin shifted nervously and one of the blank men noticed her.

"Hold on. There's a girl," said the one blank man.

"Think 'ere the ones?" asked the raccoon.

"We could ask them, but they might just lie. I suppose we'll have to figure it out ourselves."

During the thugs exchange, both Amon and Robin's hands had been slowly searching for their weapons. Upon that last pronouncement Amon produced his gun and Robin flipped on her glasses. At that gesture however the four steadily advancing men stopped and drew back. They apparently had been told about Robin's glasses, a fact which put the two ex-hunters even more on edge. Despite the protectively restraining arm that Amon had placed before her, Robin edged closer to the inevitable fight with a miserable determination.

"Enough," a voice cracked out stopping all of the fighters. Standing in the doorway of the closest building was a pale woman with blazing eyes. "They are the ones. You know this already." The woman spoke and turned a scolding eye on one of the blank men. To the surprise of both Amon and Robin, the blank man flushed and lowered his head in obvious guilt. "Every moment they are exposed increases the danger they are in," she continued relentlessly. And then in a smaller voice, "Every moment puts me in more danger." At that last soft pronouncement the four men seemed to shrink in on themselves. They made a few hasty bows and spoke a few abashed apologies before walking away. No two left together.

"Quickly! Inside," the woman spoke to them. Robin began moving forward but Amon reached out and stopped her.

"Who are you," he asked with a slightly uncontrolled edge to his voice. The corner of the woman's mouth quirked up and she shook her head.

"Nagira said you'd be like that," she spoke half to herself. She lifted her face back up, looking notably amused. "Zakuro." Amon took in her appearance with a sharp sweep of his eyes. The still set of his jaw spoke quite plainly of his disbelief.

"No, you're right. I'm not Japanese. Nor am I even Asian," Zakuro said in approval of Amon's calculating look. "I am however, the Zakuro your brother told you to go to. Now, unless you intend to be caught by the hunters, I suggest you come inside." Zakuro turned back, opened the door, and stood expectantly beneath the threshold. Robin stepped forward with firm acceptance and after tossing a fleeting worried glance at his partner, Amon followed.

Zakuro closed the door quietly behind them.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The room they were led to radiated a peaceful warmth that immediately set about comforting their fraying nerves. The walls were a rich cream and adorned at random intervals with paintings in the newer movements of Magic Realism and Art Deco. The pop yellows and subdued blues made a easy contrast with the rich brown leather sofa and armchair. Zakuro dropped unceremoniously onto the chair and motioned for Amon and Robin to sit on the couch.

With far more grace than their host, the pair settled lightly on the couch. They sat closely with each of their bodies oriented ever so slightly to the other. Their shoulders were set with weary vigilance and their eyes seemed to rove the dark corners periodically. A small almost timid smile found its way to Zakuro's lips.

"Nagira told me that you two needed help. He said you needed help hiding until it was safe to leave the country, correct?" Zakuro asked. Amon nodded reluctantly. If this was his brother's Zakuro, then he had to grudgingly give her his respect. As he was sure that Nagira would not have entrusted them to anyone who was not as good as or better than Nagira himself at hiding people and gathering information. And from the way those four men had reacted when she spoke, Amon guessed she was a person of some mean talent though he was certain never to let any hint of those feelings pass his lips. With utmost caution he began to place his much abused trust slightly in the hands of someone other than himself.

// Or her. //

At that invasive thought Amon's ever present frown deepened. Somehow, somehow she had managed to make him break his promise to never trust, to never depend on anyone other than himself. Why? Why did she have to make things so difficult?

// I never could understand why anyone would spend their time frustrating themselves over a jigsaw puzzle. Isn't life complex enough with adding extra mysteries. – Ah but unlike life, these are puzzles that can be solved. You don't see the joy in putting at least one thing in your life in perfect order? Amon? //

She begged with her eyes the question that she would not dare to let pass her lips.

// Are you okay? //

"Are you okay?" came the unwelcome voice of Zakuro. Amon lifted his accusing eyes to meet hers.

"Yes," he grated. "I was just thinking." There was a measuring in her eyes. A kind of precise calculating and weighing of him. When all her calculations were complete, she smiled warmly though the smile reflected not in her broken blue-gray eyes.

"Fine," Zakuro continued unfazed. "This is how I see it. You two are on the run from Solomon. They're watching every airport and seaport all over the whole country. So right now you can only hide in the country itself. Then there's this second group of hunters. I haven't been able to find out who they are working for."

"Another group!" Robin leant forward in morbid curiosity. Zakuro seemed taken aback by Robin's sudden violence. She faltered a moment expecting a reaction from Amon rather than Robin. Amon paid less attention to the news of another group and more to the lowly quivering body of his partner. There was something more here than he had expected. One large hand reached out almost of its own accord to lightly pry her clenched hand from the folds of her skirt. Her eyes widened further and she turned to look at Amon.

// An' as ye hath been tainted by the abhorrent blood shalt thou bear thine own extent of the curse. Will ye, nil ye, thine fate wilt ere be bound to the Huntress. //

Amon's hand tightened unconsciously upon Robin's as he looked suspiciously at Zakuro. In a voice no more than whisper and yet with a rolling growling thunder he spoke.

"Are you a witch?" he asked. Four simple words. One simple question. And yet, the moment the words passed his lips he regretted them for both of the girls paled and looked at him stunned. Zakuro's eyes seemed further haunted but it was in the eyes of Robin that he found his pain most severe. With a gentle determination she took her hand from his. Her wide, pained eyes never left his face even as they lightly misted with tears.

That one single word. Witch. And how he said it so hatefully.

"No," he managed to croak out. His hands sought hers again and finding no resistance in her surprise, he clasped his hands around hers and leaned his forehead against them. "I didn't mean it like that." Amon said. Robin's mouth worked soundlessly.

Who was this strange and suddenly empathetic man who held her hands so fervently? She remembered the way he had taken her hand and carried her bag from Nagira's office to the waiting taxi. She recalled the way he had watched her while Hanamura undid her traditional pigtails. She remembered his steadying hand on her tired shoulder as she left her apartment for the last time. And she seemed to remember something else. A darkness and a choking cloud of dust. A warm protective body covering her, shielding her, whispering charms into her ear as the world ended.

No words for then, no words for now. Robin simply relaxed into his strange embrace and tried without words to reassure him. Of what?

"It's okay," she said with quiet confidence. He lifted his eyes to hers and it seemed there was a flicker there in his eyes. A shadowy wraith of unknown feelings. And that soft, contented smile reappeared on her face. With that smile she poured her faith, her strength into him. A strange and surprising thought passed through his mind, somehow her smile was the closest to heaven he was sure he would ever come.

"It's okay," echoed Zakuro. "I'm not a witch though. I am… an unfortunate." Both Robin and Amon turned their gazes toward Zakuro. Zakuro smiled a frozen bitter little smile before continuing. "Solomon doesn't only hunt witches. Sometimes they hunt those who are close to witches as well. Maybe if I had been a witch I might have been able to… stop them. No, I'm not a witch. I am an unfortunate. And that is also why I am your best hope of hiding successfully." Robin's eyes opened in understanding and Amon squeezed her hand almost imperceptibly.

"That's correct," Zakuro said with a wicked smirk, "I am being hunted too."

"That's how you met my brother," Amon said but Zakuro shook her head.

"No, I knew your brother from someone else. After… he…. was hunted, Nagira helped me to escape as was… his… instructions. This building, this network, they were all a gift."

"From Nagira?" Robin asked.

"No, no. They were a gift from my friend, the witch." Zakuro's head lowered slowly to her hands and her shoulders bowed as though crushed. She breathed a few rough gasps before lifting her head and her terrible broken eyes back up to the pair. She smiled weakly and in mute eloquence stopped any further questions the pair may have had. "Come," she stood. "I'll show you to your room. Then, Robin, I will take you shopping for some new clothes and some, shall we say, disguises."

Robin's brows pinched lightly together as she faced the prospect of getting back out of this maze-like city. Zakuro noted this and laughed a bit ruefully.

"No," she said. "Those instructions were long and convoluted to ensure no uninvited guests follow you. I have a car in the building behind us. It will only take perhaps 15 minutes to get to the store. So let me show you your room." She paused as she walked past them and suppressed a smile. "I had a number of surprise guests," Zakuro began, "so I only have one room open. I hope it's not a problem to share?" Robin shook her head and moved to walk beside Zakuro.

Amon lifted his face upward as though looking for a sign.

"Is there really any need for you to keep torturing me?" he asked of no one.

And no one answered.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Che! I hate OC's but Zakuro is kind of necessary. Trust me, there was no other way around it. Oh well. Damn that got mushy towards the end…

As for the hidden humorous symbolism in the last chapter, it's cheesy. Quite frankly, finding out may create in you a desire to hunt me down and beat me. Or maybe you'll just groan, laugh, and move along. So here is the explanation of the metaphor.

Amon is a very controlled guy. He is the leader. He makes the decisions and is used to being in charge. However, now he is on the run and in a totally new situation. As he stands, about to take the plunge into the unknown, the rug is literally pulled out from under him. The key lines are as follows:

1. He shuffled his foot lightly over the shaggy carpet beneath his feet. 2. …mover darted to pull up the rug. He rolled it neatly under one arm and stole away.

It was a short hidden metaphor, but Amon just had the rug stolen out from under his feet.

All loves 'til the next chapter.

Oh, and Amon wasn't watching Robin bathe last chapter. He was listening but he didn't see anything. You can judge for yourself whether he was imagining anything or not. The key line is "Rivulets of water tracing their way down." Good job to those who picked it up.

Random Rant: I hate people who say they won't update unless they get reviews, especially when those writers seem to be the less gifted ones anyway. If someone refuses to write unless they get x number of reviews, they aren't a real writer. You're supposed to write because you enjoy it, not for some kind of weak personal validation through others' perception of you. Pathetic.