A/N: Chapter has been edited.
And for the millionth time, I don't own anything.
HEART'S DESIRE
Chapter Seven: In the Drying Time
A Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fic
By Yuriko Tsukino
"I wonder what's going on there?" Robin thought aloud as she passed the yellow police tape.
She was in the middle of her Sunday ritual--mass and prayer at the church six blocks from the apartment, followed by a walk through the local park. Today, however, the peace was interrupted by police dogs and the harsh voices of investigators.
"Terrible mess," an old woman said as she passed, also looking at the crime scene.
"Excuse me, but do you know what happened here?" Robin asked.
"Oh, my," the woman replied. "Haven't you seen the papers? There was a terrible murder last night! Body all slashed to bits! One of several, I hear. No suspects, no weapons, no prints! Quite frightening. I would hurry home if I were you; the only reason I'm here is because it's eight blocks out of the way if I go around, and my knees just can't take it."
Robin nodded her agreement, but chose to say nothing. The two parted ways, and she continued toward her apartment. She passed a clearing, pausing to look at a familiar site.
There was a girl, around her own age. In fact, she was fairly certain the girl went to her school; a senior, perhaps; one she didn't see very often outside of the park. She was painting the landscape before her, and crows had gathered around her, as though as entranced by her graceful brush strokes as Robin was.
Taking a chance, Robin gathered her courage and approached her.
"That's a lovely painting," she said, after a pause.
The girl seemed started to find Robin peering over her shoulder. "Oh, thank you," she replied.
"Do you come here often?" Robin asked.
"Sometimes. It just depends on what mood I'm in," the girl said with a smile. "I like how peaceful it is." She shot a glare in the direction of the police officers. "Most of the time."
Robin smiled in understanding, and they chatted for a few more minutes before Robin went on her way. Now why can't everyone at school be that nice? she wondered.
The thought had no sooner crossed her mind, than it was broken by a wildly barking dog. Robin turned; one of the police dogs seemed to have gotten loose, and was on a collision course with the girl and her easel. An officer was chasing it, but he was several hundred yards behind the furry bullet, and could do nothing as the dog jumped into the air, muddy paws landing smack on the girl's back and pushing her head first into her painting.
Robin covered her mouth in shock as girl and artwork tumbled to the ground, the gigantic dog standing on her back howling while scattered crows screeched from the tree tops.
Suddenly the girl rolled over, screaming just as loudly as the birds. Her face was livid and her eyes seemed to have an unearthly evil about them as she yelled at the beast that had ruined her work.
Then, before Robin knew what was happening, streaks of blood appeared on the now whimpering dog, and it's black fur was ripped from its body.
She was vaguely aware of shouting, screaming, and gunshots as the police officers that tried to restrain the girl were given the same treatment as the dog, but her eyes didn't leave the poor hound as it lay dead on the muddy grass.
In her mind, the blood was lit on fire, and she felt the flames rising inside of her as she watched the mental image of the burning animal. She saw the evil of that girl's eyes mirrored in her own.
Suddenly unable to stand it-- stand the blood, the shouting, herself--she turned and ran, not caring where her footsteps took her, so long as it was away from what was in front of her. If she could have run right out of her skin, she would have; at that moment nothing felt more disgusting than her own flesh, nothing sounded more vile than her own fear-laced and disjointed thoughts.
She ran as hard as she could, for as long as she could. She would have continued to run, long after that, had nature not conspired against her.
One instant, she was running; the next, flying through the air, and a split second later, the ground was rushing up to meet her.
That wasn't there a second ago, she thought dazedly, staring back at the tree root that had interrupted her course. I swear it wasn't. It jumped up just now, her sluggish and still shell-shocked brain thought.
She heard footsteps. Nearby. The footsteps of someone trying extremely hard to be quiet.
I'm being followed, she thought, her mind suddenly running on hyper speed as she struggled to untangle her legs from her skirt and pull herself to her feet. She started to run again, but stumbled, nearly falling as her ankle gave out. It didn't seem to be hurt too badly, but she would have to walk off whatever she had done too it. And there was no time to hobble around getting her bearings when there was someone following her, getting closer all the time and--
A heavy hand landed on her shoulder, and Robin let out a yell, swinging one arm back as hard as she could. Her attacker caught her wrist, pinning it to her side. With his other hand, he clamped her mouth shut, cutting off her scream.
Panic set in as she struggled and fought, but he only pulled her closer; it felt like he was crushing her ribs. The fire started to rage inside of her, and she started to let it loose a little; anything to get free.
Then, through her wild thoughts and the blood rushing in her ears, she heard a voice. Deep, irritated, familiar, and welcoming.
"Robin, stop it! Robin!" Robin's body was slower at catching up to her brain, and she kicked wildly once, using all her strength as she twisted in her arms, her knee connecting with something.
Suddenly he let go, dropping to one knee with a groan of pain and clutching himself.
And Robin nearly screamed again as she stared at the pale, handsome man with the black hair and long trench coat.
"Oh! I--I am sooo sorry!" she cried, her face turning bright red with embarrassment.
Amon looked up at her, his face still twisted in a half glare, half grimace. "At least we know...that you can take care of yourself in a pinch," he said, managing to stand. In an effort to regain some dignity, he brushed himself off, buying a little time.
There was a burned patch on the sleeve of his coat.
Amon's hand froze over the spot for a split second. He wasn't sure if he should be angry (the coat was rather expensive), hurt (She tried to burn me), satisfied (he had figured out what was going on, after all, and this only confirmed it), or worried (Zaizen was going to kill them both. Slowly).
The moment passed for him however, and he managed to keep his face blank, except for a hint of shock at seeing his wonderful coat scorched.
For Robin, though, it didn't. She caught the brief look in his eyes when he put it all together, and was currently avoiding his glance, shaking like a leaf, and visibly torn between begging for forgiveness and making a run for it.
The silence stretched and grew unbearable, but Amon wasn't sure how to break it. If he said something coarse, she would run, and he would lose his trust and his fragile link to her personal life. Yet he couldn't ignore it. And to say something positive would be completely against his personality. And there was nothing positive about the situation.
Finally, Robin did the job for him.
"I'm sorry."
Amon pulled on his impassive mask, and decided that anger was the best choice. "Could you be a little more careful? Putting out fires is annoying."
Robin flinched and apologized again. She opened her mouth to say something, closed it, then tried again.
"Please, I—I'm sorry. I'll pay for it, just please, don't tell anyone!"
She looked up at him desperately with tear filled eyes, and Amons face softened. He couldn't refuse her. Not this. If he reported her, who knew what would happen to her? He had never seen the other students he had turned in after reporting them. They could be dead for all he knew.
"I won't," he said quietly. "I promised to protect you, remember?"
He watched in awe as Robin graced him with a smile. It was both conservative and yet the most expressive he had seen her. Then she did something that surprised them both. Closing the distance between them, she threw her arms around his waist, embracing him as she whispered a "Thank you," against his chest.
She pulled away at the sound of the police moving into the area. He shooed her off in one direction, and he took the other.
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Without thinking about it, Amon rubbed his chest where Robin's cheek had rested. His skin felt unusually cold without her there, and yet his heart felt warm for the first time in years. He wasn't sure if she remembered the promise he had made, but he hadn't meant it for just that day, for that one situation.
He meant it forever.
He allowed his feet to follow the familiar street back home. Nagira would probably still be at work, which was good. He was going to need some time alone to come up with a plan of action for Zaizen.
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Robin leaned against the door of the house, hugging herself and smiling. The fact that Amon was actually keeping his promise amazed her. No one had ever done that for her before.
And of course, her smile had nothing to do with having been so close to the man in question. It had nothing to do with the way she had relished resting her cheek against his chest, hearing his heartbeat, smelling the unique scent of Amon.
The only way it could have been more wonderful would be if he had hugged her back. She felt giddy just imagining the feel of his hands on her back. Or maybe if he had kissed—
Robin shook her head as though to clear it. She swallowed hard and tried to regulate the way her breathing had suddenly become shallow and erratic.
But she couldn't do anything about the racing of her heart.
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Amon knew he was in trouble the instant he walked into the school the next day. For some reason, the cement block building seemed to magnify every emotion and thought of its master, Zaizen.
He tried to stay calm as he hung up the class room phone and made his way to his superior's office. His stride was confident and even, but inside, he was shaking.
Zaizen sat calmly in his leather chair, reclined back slightly, cigar dangling from his lips. Normally, cigars seemed to calm him, but this morning he was glowering despite the nicotine.
Amon stood before him, automatically at attention, as though he had suddenly been drafted. He stared straight ahead as the principal extinguished his cigar and a smirk curved his lips upwards, though his eyes remained in a glare.
Fighting to keep his expression smooth and even, Amon thought, not for the first time, how ironic it was that his boss seemed to know exactly what was going on in the heads of those around him, while at the same time he was actively tracking, hunting, and presumably killing those with exactly that power.
The thought sent chills down Amons spine.
"Amon, for the last five years, you've been very loyal to me," Zaizen began, balancing his chin on his folded fingers as he leaned forward on the desk. "Never once have you failed me."
Wait for it…
"I believe it is time for me to reward that."
A sense of dread washed over Amon; he felt as though his stomach had been filled with ice and had suddenly dropped to his feet.
"Up to now, you have been merely a detective of sorts; gathering information for me. Now, I would like you to pursue the next step."
Amons heart leaped. He schooled his face to remain in its perfect mask while inwardly he could feel his heart racing away in his throat. It's a set up! He thought.
"Amon, I am putting you in charge of the Sena case. You have final discretion over everything.
"I want you to bring me Robin Sena.
"Dead or alive."
