Disclaimer: I only own the scribbled notes I wrote at work while planning this story.

Meant to Live

by ShiroKitsune

Chapter 5 : Just to Be Alone

//

to: redivivus@kanshisha.net

subject: (none)

Amon,

I'm pleased to hear that you got to Zakuro's okay. She can help you far more than I can so try not to be so damn stubborn. Zakuro told me about the second group of hunters right after you had left or else I would have let you know. When it rains, it pours, ne? Zakuro said she's got her network looking into it and I'm hunting for information as well. As soon as either of us get any information, we'll pass it on. Until then just be extremely cautious. Take good care of my little Robin.

Nagira

//

And that was the crux of the whole thing. Robin. Robin was the reason why Amon had been sitting in the parlor and staring blankly at the laptop's screen for the past twenty minutes. She had left with Zakuro several hours ago and had yet to return.

// Of course, Robin is a girl, and girl's take longer to shop. //

// Then again. Robin was raised in a convent. I doubt she would shop as long as any other girl. So she should be back by now. //

And then that forbidden thought taunted him.

// What if she was caught? //

A curious twisting within his ribcage.

// No. They wouldn't be caught so easily. Maybe it's Zakuro who is holding them up. //

Abruptly, Amon stood up and strolled to the window for the twelfth time since Robin left. His hand lay upon the print of the time before and his breath fogged the same irregular circle.

Amon leaned further into the window to peer sharply down.

Was that a flash of blond down there?

Yes, but the blond was too light. A small towheaded child ran ahead of his dark-haired friend in a game of tag. The pair ran with innocent abandon over the cracked and dark stairs and cobbles. Were they witches? Unfortunates? Or normal children wholly unaware of the hunted in their midst?

And yet, no matter what they were, they were running around their neighborhood just like any other child would and playing tag just the same. Just like any two children they ran up a set of stairs and like any clumsy child, the blond made a mistake. The blond boy tripped on the last stair and found himself hurtling toward the weak railing.

// I have made my peace. //

His friend cried out and leapt after him.

The limbs of a child are not strong. The calves, thighs, buttocks, do not have enough strength to support the way an adult's would. The shoulders, arms, wrists, all thin and awkward. Clumsy and unrefined. Perhaps then, had the dark-haired boy been older, he might have had the strength to push off that final step with enough force to catch his friend.

But the body of a child is weak and the blond hit the railing and began tumbling over it. The thin delicate neck snapped back and the shoulders followed vainly. First his left foot rose lightly, and fell back to the ground. The tiny shoulders began to whip back forward and his back arched in balance. A slight bend of the knee. Only a bit more inertia and he would be fine.

Crack.

The railing protested and tore itself violently free. Raw splinters caught the blond boy's clothes and skin. Vengeance perhaps for the damage inflicted. The left foot rose again and with its determination, forced the right foot to slide back.

Back.

Back.

And then there was no place left for the foot to slide. Gravity was calling in its own inexorable way. There went his center of gravity backwards past his spine. There was no recovery now. The left knee bent, foot still on the balcony, a last attempt at control. The boy had no power, no strength of body, no gift or curse of talent.

But someone else did.

As Amon watched frozen and stunned a shrieking keened in his ears and the shutters outside the window assaulted the glass. The shriek was a terrible cutting cry. He dropped painfully to his knees and clapped his hands over his ears in desperation. Would it never stop? The angry pounding shutters pounded an emphatic 'no' inside his skull. Then, just as sudden as the pounding began, so did it stop and Amon was deafened by the silence.

He lay his frenzied hands on the window sill and struggled to bring his face back to the window. His eyes darted to the unyielding concrete below the balcony. There the broken pieces of the railing lay. Amon shot his gaze to the landing and his eyes fell upon the gasping yet unharmed form of the blond boy. The dark-haired boy looked at his friend in relief which quickly faded to confusion. He looked around for his friend's rescuer. The color and flush drained from his face as he found the savior. Amon traced the boy's line of sight downward.

Standing in the entrance of the alley, with wind still tossing about him, was the wiry man from that morning. He looked sharply at the two boys and opened his mouth as if to reprimand them when Zakuro stepped sharply from behind him. There was a awesome implacability as she neared the stairs and the boys scrambled to appear both contrite and blameless. She stomped her right foot on the bottom stair as though she were about to ascend the stairs and make bodily sure that the two boys would never attempt any kind of foolishness ever again. She did not, however, advance any further. Her mouth worked the boys over until their arms wrapped their torsos in shame.

Then, where there had only been the stark contrast of Zakuro's sickly white skin and dark brown hair, there was suddenly warmth and color. Robin lay her hand on Zakuro's bare shoulder and forced her down from the step. Her earnest striking eyes and patient lips coaxed the woman from her anger. The wiry man took over the duty of punishing the boys while the two women returned to the building.

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

When the two women had initially returned, they found Amon in the parlor working on his laptop. He had, obligingly, closed his laptop and allowed Robin to relate her purchases to him as though for approval. The clothes tended to be long skirts, which while still black, were not unusual enough to draw attention to them. She had, as well, chosen a few tops, a coat, and a robe. Apparently, and to Amon's approval, Zakuro had forced Robin to buy some comfortable tennis shoes and jeans citing that at times, swiftness and ease of movement would be their paramount concern.

Zakuro had professed her intentions for a similar outing for Amon the next day, and with a total dismissal of Amon's polite decline, she left the pair to their own devices until dinner. Robin had taken her purchases to their room then returned to the parlor to read. Amon turned the laptop back on and resumed staring at the same line he had been focused upon before. In that manner the couple passed the afternoon, relaxing in a companionable calm.

Dinner was a sedate and silent affair for reasons which Amon could not fathom. Granted, Robin was not one to fill the air with idle chatter, but he would be damned if the two women had said more than a half-a-dozen words since they sat down. There was something in the air, a pervasive disquiet, that made Amon wish to grab Robin's hand and leave. He strongly suspected the feeling had something to do with Zakuro and how only her broken eyes consumed the food before her while her hands lay useless in her lap. Amon shifted position for the second time in the past five minutes and looked questioningly at his partner. She had eaten a bit of her food, then laid the utensils crossed over the plate. Her hands lay in her lap as Zakuro's did, and her head was lightly bowed. She made no more move to eat or even drink.

"Robin," Amon said. "If you are finished eating, go and get your bath. Tomorrow," he cast a slightly dark look at Zakuro, "is likely to be hectic. Rest up."

Robin brought her eyes to his and he was taken aback to see a spark of anger within them.

Why? Why did he always order her around as though she were a child?

True, he had been her superior at the STN-J, and she had named him now as her Guardian, her Watch Dog, but did he have to be so immovable?

Did he have to be so abrupt?

Did he have to give up his old life to watch over her?

Robin winced at the last question.

//A child's selfish request. A child's selfishness.//

She rose, quietly nodding, and proceeded toward their room.

Who was she to complain when he had sacrificed so much?

She grabbed her new robe and headed to the bathroom. Within minutes the hot water was filling the tub and fogging the mirror over the sink. Her outline was alien to her as she stared at it's distorted reflection. How had she never seen it before.

At that moment she felt very small.

She slipped into the hot water and let it burn her whole being.

It was like liquid flames.

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

After Robin's swift departure, Amon had spent only a bit more time at the table before taking his and Robin's plates to the kitchen and excusing himself back to the parlor. His laptop flickered on once again and his hands flew over the keys checking his email for new information from Nagira. Finding no reply to his recent inquiry, and having become quite drained by the whole day, Amon closed the laptop in disgust. He rose stiffly and walked over to the window he had been so intimate with earlier. The alley was stunningly black in the night. It seemed the sconces beside the doors were too weak to cast any illumination further than the doormat. The concrete below was a black void melting into the walls. Occasionally, the flash of light in an animal's eye would bring some conceptual clarity to the alley but those moments were short and quickly returned the alley to a soundless void.

His breath fogged the glass before his eyes and he startled to see how fervently his body had been trying to come closer to the darkness. Suddenly, the room seemed to rapidly cool. Or perhaps that was simply the evaporation of the sweat from his brow.

No matter the cause, the outcome was simple and Amon decided the best thing to do would be to go upstairs and go to bed. He stopped by both the dining room and the kitchen in an attempt to find Zakuro. Anything to keep from having to go to that room. Unfortunately, she was nowhere to be found and he concluded she must have retired for the evening. It had become quite late sometime during his window-side musing. He found himself at the foot of the staircase, ushered by a sleepy body that was trying with all its might to impress upon his mind its desire for rest.

He hesitated for a moment. A great yawn forced itself from his lips with enough force to make his jaw pop. He winced and rubbed his jaw. He ascended the stairs, muttering dark implications to his rebellious body until he reached the door to their room. No hint of light crept beneath the door and judging Robin asleep he quietly entered and went about the business of stripping down to his boxers. He pulled on a pair of flannel pajama pants on and shuffled towards his bed fully intent on slipping beneath the covers and releasing himself to oblivion.

His intentions, and foot, collided with a lump of damp fabric on the floor. He dropped down and lay his hand on the terry-cloth edge.

Stupid girl. Leaving a wet towel on the floor.

Yet as he lifted it, he noticed the weight was too great for a simple towel. His hands traveled the fabric until he reached a sleeve.

It was her robe?

His eyes traveled to her bed. In the dim illumination of the city lights he traced the unbroken line of her shoulder. The line of her collarbone and the shadows of pressed flesh. Her shoulders were utterly bare above the blanket.

She slept naked.

Amon dropped the robe where it suddenly seemed to burn against his skin. He hurried to his own bed and slid beneath the covers keeping his back resolutely turned on his partner. His heart pounded in his ears.

Stupid woman. Why must she sleep like that?

His heart ceased it's angry pounding slowly and Amon thought for a moment that perhaps his eyes had tricked him in the dim light. Surely, Robin, high-necked-floor-length-dress-wearing-Robin would not be sleeping in the nude.

God. Let her be wearing a flesh colored T-shirt. Let his eyes have tricked him.

He rolled over and looked again at her sleeping form.

She was not wearing a flesh colored top. His eyes were not liars.

It was then that Amon hit a striking epiphany. God was not, could not be, the great righteous being of divine love and patience. No. For had He any mercy, Amon thought, He would not take such obvious and perhaps perverse pleasure in seeing Amon squirm.

He wondered if possibly Atheism was the best course of action.

God made man. God made woman. They began clothed in only their skin. Then they were tricked by the serpent and knew shame. Through that shame they covered their nakedness and were forced from Paradise.

Now, it appeared that at night, Robin was making her own bid to return to that Eden.

Amon rolled onto his back and stared hatefully at the ceiling, his faced still flushed with burning embers of an emotion he thought he had been safe from.

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

A/N: redivivus is Latin and means "come back to life."

I tried to make this chapter fun because the story is really going to pick up quickly now and there probably will not be as much chance for fun. I have the story in its entirety planned out now and hopefully I will not run into any issues to deter my writing. Hopefully.

Anyone noticed my love of metaphor and exposition? Wonderful.

Have I mentioned how much I love my reviewers? Every time I see another review I get a little flush of happiness. I am terribly happy that most everyone seems to be enjoying this fiction. I hope that the chapters to come will fill your expectations. I love hearing what you liked and didn't like in the chapters. It is quite helpful to me to see what is connecting with you and what you felt fell short. So, in homage, perhaps, to my wonderful reviewers, I plan on introducing Omake Theater to some of the chapters as a little bonus. In fact, the following (disturbing) Omake Theater is dedicated to one of them. Toadsly, this is for you. Be aware that my normal 'sarcasta-bitch' tone will dominate the following:

Omake Theater #1:

Amon staggered lightly down the street toward the apartment he was currently hiding out in with his partner Robin. He hadn't intended to come back so late but he had been abducted by Nagira and plied with liquor. As he drew nearer the apartment, he noticed a group of teenagers lounging on the stoop of the building a few doors before his. They were accosting men at random and waving money in their faces. Amon's now lopsided pout deepened a bit at the sight of the money. He and Robin had been a bit hard pressed for funds lately and here were these dumb kids waving it around as though it were nothing.

"Hey man," one of the boys grabbed Amon's arm. "Hey, you want to make a quick hundred?" Amon stared at the boy.

Now Amon was not the kind of man to simply do strange things for money but please remember that not only was he a bit drunk but his mind was only the strapped finances of himself and Robin. In that light, why his agreement to perform an unknown stunt for money, could only be viewed as kind and generous, correct? As long as there was nothing too unsavory involved, what was the harm in it?

And so, noble, kind, generous Amon agreed that he would indeed like to make a 'quick hundred.' The terms were simple but Amon hesitated. It was not, illegal, precisely, but more immoral. That hundred though, for Robin, was that not worth a little embarrassment. Amon felt that it was so and he awaited his chance to make his money. In a wonderful gesture of good faith, not at all influenced by Amon's gun, the boys gave him fifty of the dollars in advance. Amon turned to the building behind him and waited. His first opportunity came to him in the form of a blond, blue-eyed, busty American woman descending the stairs but Amon, perhaps with a slight lessening of the effects of the alcohol balked at the opportunity and let the woman pass. The boys, in another show of generosity, allowed Amon another chance. The next chance was an older Japanese woman and Amon wisely decided her obvious venerability as expressed by her gravity stricken body exempted her from any part in his 'mission.' The boys' generosity began to fade but after a quick look into Amon's terribly sincere eyes, their patience and generosity increased ten-fold. Amon had turned his back on the stairs at this latest show of brotherhood by the boys when the last opportunity began to descend.

"Hey," spoke one of the boys in a hushed tone. "Look. There's a perfect chance. We don't want to be out here all night. So take this one or give our money back."

Their money? No. Amon knew that money was belonged to him. And Robin of course.

Resolutely set, he spun around to face the challenge. He sacrificed his pride and pushed his head between the target's breasts. His head moved rapidly left to right and from his mouth came forth a slightly muffled sound of 'lubba-lubba-lubba-lubba'. His part of the agreement fulfilled he pulled away fully intent of apologizing profusely to the woman before him.

He stared up at wide bottle-green eyes that were staring at him.

Generous, sacrificing, noble Amon decided then that all of the money belonged to Robin.

- end -

A/N: *oro* That was…. wrong. Very wrong…