Robin could never remember much about the first few weeks. For her, still exhausted from overuse of her craft, they were a unending blur of sleeping and running.
Each cycle—they could hardly be called days, time was so meaningless—started the same, with a grip on her shoulder. Always, she would awaken instantly, rise, and walk with the guardian out the door. She had no need to pack—they had nothing—nor to dress—she slept in her clothes—nor even to wash—there was no point.
Meals were a collection of box lunches and vending-machine snacks that the guardian handed to her as they ran. Perhaps for hours they would run, down dark streets and indistinct tunnels that Robin neither recognized nor even noticed. They never saw any threat, but it did not matter, for they lay under a shapeless dread of detection.
Then, they would reach the resting place—whether a hotel, or a homeless shelter, or the hold of a ship, it made no difference to her—and she would lay down to sleep, only to awaken when the hand gripped her shoulder again.
How long this went on she could never say, but eventually the times of running became more distinct, the alleys gained personality again. She began herself to observe, and take precautions as they ran, not simply hang onto Amon's arm and stumble along the city streets. The box lunches became fried rice, fortune cookies, and occasionally sushi.
And her guardian became distinct too. In a way he always had been, but now she began to notice things—how he chose each resting place with care, the way his eyes constantly darted back and forth, the fact that he continually had one hand under his coat. She noticed the sound of his firm step and his heavy breathing.
And there were other things that she noticed, that perhaps even he did not. She saw how he slowed when she stumbled, how he laid his coat under her head when they rested in an alley or cargo hold. She noticed that her box lunch always seemed to have more than his, and she noticed how they always went to hotels when she seemed tired.
And then, finally, there came a day when she awoke with the sun gleaming in her eyes. There was no hand that startled her into waking, no hurried rush out the door. Her guardian sat in a rough chair at the other side of the room, slumped over in sleep, one hand on his gun. Robin's mouth quirked in a smile, somehow she had imagined him like that.
She washed, for the first time in weeks, and dressed herself, and when she finally stepped out, she saw her guardian awake in his chair, apparently annoyed with himself for having slept.
He glanced at her as she emerged. "You're awake." He commented, and Robin thought she saw just a hint of satisfaction.
A/N: REVIEW PLEASE! It really helps! I had so many requests to continue, I actually hauled myself off my lazy butt and did this thing!
Yay for me. Here you have some more, this time from Robin's point of view. This started out as something about how good Amon was at hiding, but it turned into something just as cool, so I thought I should submit it. Stick around, I have one or two more in the works