Title: Searching

Author: tarotgal

Fandom: Witch Hunter Robin

Rating: G

Pairing: Amon/Touko implied

Spoilers: Brief mention of a few moments in episode 5... and of the WHR universe and its characters in general. I like to set this between episodes 5 and 6, and it probably fits better in the beginning of the series rather than later on. But there's nothing too terribly revealing anywhere in this story

Disclaimer: Ha! As if! It's owned by Bandai I believe.

Summary: Still they search But for what, is the question. This is just a short little fic that explores Amon... and his relationship with Robin

Notes: Written as Friday Fic number 7

More Notes: I've only seen about half of the series, though I know some of what happens later on. As I started by watching the English version, most of the characterization and dialogue is probably based off that. If there are characterization differences between the dub and the original that are somehow extended here, please forgive me.

Searching

Three hundred and twenty years have passed since the coven sank in the dark. But still we hunt, seeking justice, seeking safety. There are those who would destroy the world as soon as take it. There are those who threaten, those who kill. There are those who use power for evil, who use power to gain more power. And though we fight, and though we capture, it is never enough. Still we hunt.

     The glowing screen flickered for a moment. The image of the witch with his weak jaw and beady eyes was suddenly gone and back again along with his accompanying case file. But Amon was looking at the face, not the words. His eyes swam up over the top of the briefing room's console to see Michael with a laptop connected, uploading files.

     Their eyes met for a moment, then Amon resumed his work. But his eyes took a moment to focus back on the screen, and for a split second he had a strange image float through his head of Robin escorting him to the optometrist. With a hefty sigh, he raised a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, rolling his head from side to side upon it.

     "You know, you don't always have to work," Michael said, not pressing the eye contact issue. "Unlike some of us, you can go home."

Amon did not answer, but hung his head in what appeared to be an agreeable manner. His hand snaked slowly down to end the display, when it quickly snapped up to his face and his face snapped down to it. "H'shhhh!" He gave a strong sniff and brought his hand down in a more flowing movement, closing the file with a click.

     Michael raised an eyebrow, watching knowingly but curiously. It had been a very long time since any of them had come down ill, but he knew for certain that the elder man did not have allergies. Looking down over the rim of his glasses, he frowned. "Go home, Amon." He said it flatly, with a bit of his usual light tone.

     Leaving it to Michael to sound logical about anything and everything, he nodded and pushed back from the console to rise. He seemed reluctant to make a hasty retreat, however. "What's the time?" he asked. His voice was low, husky. It needed clearing, which he did a beat after he finished speaking.

     Michael checked his watch. "Quarter to eight." Then, seeing that Amon registered the time but still did not seem eager to leave, he added, "Go home like everyone else. Today's case went well. But it's over now."

Amon lifted his head. He looked tired, and not the usual sort of tired. He buttoned up his long, black coat and tucked the Orbo beneath the neck of his shirt. After jamming his fists into his pockets, he turned to face Michael. "It's never over," he said, gruffly. Then, with a cough to clear his throat, he spun around and headed to the elevator.

     The night was warm but the rain cool. It had been raining rather much this whole week, and forecasts predicted it would continue throughout the weekend. Tonight's wasn't heavy rain. It came down softly but steadily, pounding against the sidewalks and streets but seeming lighter upon everything else. Wishing he had driven this day, he turned the already-almost-turned-up collar of his trench coat up and bowed his head before sticking his hands back into his pockets and facing the walk in the rain.

     "Quarter to eight," he muttered to himself as he walked, the streetlamps throwing his shadow this way and that against the wet concrete. "I'm too late to call." His footsteps were fast and heavy, but he refused to hurry. The night was dark and empty, even for as early as it was. All people with some sense had already dined and retreated to their warm, comfy homes for the evening. Amon stared down at his feet, not wanting to look up into the windows of the businesses and residences, where people worked and lived in ignorant bliss of what he was, of what he did, of what was out there.

     At precisely eight, his feet hit dry pavement and came to a halt under the overhang of a restaurant. By the time he looked up from the ground, he was not alone there. Her face was glowing, and her thick brown hair waving in the light breeze framed it beautifully. For a moment, he considered what to say more carefully.

     In that moment's pause, she smiled flirtatiously. "I hope you weren't waiting long?" She gave a light laugh. "You're always exactly on time."

Amon did not comment on this, simply stated, "We should do this another time, Touko." Then he brought his hand up to his face, cupping it delicately over his nose and mouth. "HuhShhh! KhShhhhh!" He sniffed hard to clear his nose, then coughed a few times into a fist.

     She watched him critically, and cocked her head. "Always so tough and strong and on top of your game. Don't suppose I can trust that you'll look after yourself while you're sick?"

     As he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and rubbed it beneath his nose, he looked up at her, his eyes deep and black but revealing just the same.

*

     Never overly fond of waking up, Robin headed out of her bedroom so sleepily that she almost did not notice Amon spread out across the couch. One of her hair ribbons was in her mouth as she held it with her teeth while both her hands were busy with the other. Her fingers fumbled with it a moment, rolling most of her hair on one side up, but she clenched her teeth to keep the other from falling. She tried to hide her look of surprise at his presence.

Amon, however, did a much worse job of hiding his surprise. He let out a cough and jumped a little upon seeing her. Then he snatched up the blanket and pulled it halfway up his chest to be sure he was properly covered.

     Robin's eyes twinkled in the dimly lit room as she noticed his movements. "Oh, good morning," she said softly. It was too early to be even a little cheerful. As she took up her other ribbon and began wrapping her hair on the other side with it, she said, "But you must have known Touko is my roommate?"

     He turned his head, looked away, but his expression showed that he had known, just had not remembered. He forced a cough, as though using it as an excuse not to answer her, not that he needed one. The one cough turned into two, and the two turned into two and a throat clearing. Then a sniffle. And then a sneeze. "hh'KShhhh!"

     Knowing that he did not want her watching as he sneezed, she looked around the apartment, or what she could see of it without any of the lamps lit and curtains drawn over the window to keep out the morning sunlight. Amon's black trench coat and under coat were draped over the back of one chair. Other layers of his clothing, including black pants and boots, were in a heap beside the couch apparently left just as they had been shed. The familiar smell of coffee filled the place, courtesy of the half a pot sitting on the coffee maker, still dripping to make it rich and strong.

     Robin, not taking her eyes off the coffee, spoke, "Has Touko already left for work then?" She knew her roommate had the sort of job where she had to leave early, but even this was a bit early for her.

     "D'no," he answered, then sniffed. He looked relatively annoyed with himself but not surprised at the way he sounded. "She's takig the day off. She just left for the store to get sobe thigs." Busy talking, he could not suppress a sudden, heavy breath. He lifted a handkerchief to his nose quickly. "huhShhh! h'Shihhh!" His head snapped down with each sneeze, and his back left the couch cushion upon which he was lounging. Feeling he had to clarify for Robin, who was now looking at him unblinkingly. "Thigs," he repeated. "Juice add..." Amon's breath left him again, and he almost nearly rolled his eyes in frustration at it as he fell forward again. "H'Chhhhhh! Add cold b'medicide." He kept his nose buried in the small handkerchief after sneezing. And after speaking through it, he gave a strong blow that was meant to convey that he was not at all in the mood for conversation. If she hadn't already deduced that he was sick, she certainly did now.

     "Oh, I see," Robin said and turned her back on him again. She walked to the small kitchenette and took down a cup from the cupboard overhead without looking at it. "Would you like some coffee then?" She slid the pot around so the handle was in a better position to grasp, then slowly poured a cup for herself. The dark liquid surged into the plain white cup with a thin wisp of steam. When he did not answer, she looked over her shoulder, the strands of hair not bound up in ribbons flying in front of her face as she did. Around them, she could see him cross his arms over his chest, clearly not interested in what she had to offer. So she slid the pot back into the coffee maker to keep it warm.

     She sat down at the table, cradling the warm cup in both hands and blowing into it. No cream. No sugar. She liked things pure. She liked things strong. There was no need for diluting or sweetness. With the first sip, she felt a familiar warmth and energy fill her. The taste was rich, but the aroma itself could wake her up.

     "Can't you just drik that od the way to work?" he asked, remembering a moment later that Robin still insisted on riding her Vespa and it certainly did not come equipped with cup holders. Wishing he had driven last night so he had his car to offer to her, he quickly shut up, but his look was still stern in the hopes of kicking her out of her own apartment as quickly as possible.

     Her answer was not precisely an answer. "The nearest pharmacy is an hour there and back. I'm not going to leave you here alone." She saw the flame of annoyance in his eyes. "I won't," she insisted. But he was her partner, and it wasn't as though she did not trust him. "You should be looked after when you're sick." He did not agree, but he did not voice an objection either.

     A small smile twitched onto Robin's face. She closed her eyes a moment, took a deep breath, then opened them, scanning the room from one side to the other without moving her body or even her head. The candles on the bookshelves, and the coffee table, and the end table, and the countertop all sprang to life with dancing flames. They lit the room with a soft glow, and by their light Robin could see that Amon really did not look well at all. "Don't tell Touko I did that," she said, looking back down into her cup of coffee. "She doesn't like me using my power in the apartment. I don't know why." She sounded every bit the gentle, innocent young girl of fifteen though just a moment earlier she had conjured flames from nowhere.

     "Perhaps she has cobbod sedse?" Amon replied, following the comment with a few sharp sniffs. "Besides, you should be wearig your glasses."

     "Not for that," she said, taking another sip. "That barely required concentration." Though the truth was, she probably should have used them, considering the problems with accuracy she had been having lately. But her power had increased with more practice, and it seemed silly to pull the eyeglasses out just to light a few small candles. She took another sip of coffee, staring at him over the brim of the cup and not breaking the stare. She crossed her arms on the tabletop and set her chin down on top of the long, black sleeves. Her few loose strands of hair fell over the side of her face that the coffee cup blocked. She could still see him with her other eye, and kept watch over the now sick man who had recently become her partner.

     Feeling her gaze upon him, Amon self-consciously pulled the blanket up a little higher. He leaned his head to the side, resting it against the back of the couch. Though he was never one for excessive comfort, he had to admit the couch was comfortable, even more-so than Touko's bed, or his own bed for that matter. He felt as though he sank into it and would never be able to get up again, or ever want to for that matter. And right now, that felt good.

     "Do you need another pillow or blanket?" she asked, still watching him. "Though I suppose you look comfortable enough. I sleep on that couch sometimes when I come in late from working and don't want to wake Touko up."

     He closed his eyes, but his head managed a miniscule shake of his head in response. He would have been happy for silence to have met that. He had nothing to say, and there was nothing he wanted her to say. The small flames flickering out of synch all around the room, giving light but casting shadows, were making him feel very sleepy indeed. However, silence was one blessing not bestowed upon him this morning.

     The problem was in the breathing. Half the time he had to cough, the breaths tickling his throat and seizing at it and his lungs. The other half of the time he had to sneeze. Instead of harsh, body shaking coughs he felt the need for sharp, shallow breaths that led up to sneezes. He tried his best to resist both, but neither was very easy to fight against, even for a strong fighter such as he was.

     Only a few moments after he closed his eyes, came another urge to sneeze. He rubbed a finger against the side of his nose and opened his eyes, coming to the realization that he couldn't hold it back. He lifted the handkerchief to his face, breathing into it in tiny gasps as the feeling built. Finally he fell forward with near fluidity, the sort of sweeping, graceful movements he used when fighting. "ehhhK'Shhhhh! hh'Chhhh! K'CSHhhhh!" The last was strong, pulling him far forward so he had to lean back again against the couch cushions. The handkerchief was small, but he refolded it best he could and gave a blow. Then he closed his eyes again, doing his best to forget how ill he was feeling.

"Amon?" Her voice was soft yet filled with the sort of inquisitiveness she'd had in her first days working at the STN-J.

"D'not d'now Robid." He didn't want to open his eyes. It wasn't so bad when he seemed more invisible. And if that was the solution, he would push for it. "Go to work."

     "Taking care of you is working."

     He shook his head. "You will be late."

     She smiled back. "I hardly think anyone will notice so long as I arrive before Doujima."

     This, it seemed, Amon could not argue with.

     Robin was pleased that he had finally stopped resisting her presence. "Now sit up and have some tea."

Amon opened one eye to see her standing there, bending over with a cup of tea and a saucer in hand. The white cup against her black dress looked entirely too cheerful to be appealing. And, yet, he was a little chilly. And there was no denying the scratchiness of his throat. "Tea?"

     Robin nodded, her few loose strands of hair swaying against her cheeks and over her face. "I drank this at the monastery when ill. It should make you feel better." He opened both eyes, staring back at her. "Please drink it."

     He waited another moment, then took the cup, being careful not to spill. He sniffed at it but, having very little sense of smell at the moment, did not let on that he felt nothing but steam. When he took a sip, however, it was strong enough to taste. He took several sips, then lowered the cup. Robin eyed him suspiciously, and though he avoided looking back at her this time, he gave a more defined nod.

     Robin was practically glowing and did not mind showing it to him. Though it was clear he preferred the cold approach and did not like her asking too many questions, he did not respond by opening up when she was equally cold. He was all but too happy to have people show him no emotion, so long as he was not required to show any back. But Robin knew that did not necessarily mean he did not want to be presented with emotions. She had lived in a monastery for too long not to know the kindness and desire to be loved hiding behind people who remained silent and expressionless. "Thank you for trying it. I'm glad you like it." She straightened up as he took another drink and nodded again, approving of the tea. She wondered whether her roommate had made him drink anything before she left for the store but hazarded a guess that she hadn't.

Amon's grip on the cup tightened, his strong hands seizing both cup and saucer as his breath caught again in an all too familiar sort of way. His dark eyes closed, and a weakened expression passed over his pale face. "hhh'CHhhhhh! K'Shiihhh!" He recovered quickly, transferring the saucer to one hand while he picked up the small handkerchief to try and rub his nose with it.

     Up close now, Robin recognized it at once. It seemed that while he would not accept Robin's handkerchiefs, he would accept Touko's. "That seems pretty well used," she observed, watching him sniffle wetly when he obviously needed to blow his nose. She pulled her own from her pocket. It was small, yes, but not dainty as Touko's was. She took the crumpled, used one from his hand and replaced it with her own clean one, thick, white, and much more substantial.

Amon did not object. Instead he set to work blowing his nose at once. When finished, he whispered stuffily, "I did't dow I was cobig dowd sick. I did't thick to carry bore thad ode of by owd."

     She understood of course, and nodded. She wondered if he would have accepted a handkerchief from Michael or Sakaki, or even Karasuma. Though he seemed comfortable with Karasuma, having worked with her for many years, Robin couldn't help but wonder if he might not return her handkerchief after using it, for fear she might sense something about him. His mere presence, it seemed, relied heavily upon mystery and being misunderstood but unquestioned.

     "K'SHhhhhh!"

     Robin looked down to see him clutching the tea lest he scald himself. He was a fighter, right down to the end. He did not have a chance or a free hand to rub at his nose, and sneezed again almost directly. "ehhT'chhhh!" Then, without so much as a pause for an extra breath, "HIHShhhhh!" The tea spilled a little as he shook from the force of the last sneeze, but only a few drops spilled over the rim of the cup and down the side onto the saucer and none of them near where his fingers were clenched around it. Miserably, he sniffled and rubbed at his nose, then gave it a short one-handed blow.

     During the mission the day before, he had not been feeling so great. Then at night he could feel the illness taking hold of him. But now it was hard for him to feel anything else but sick. Every breath was something he either dreaded or felt the need to fight off. His body felt tired, drained, and he had slept far too little the night before thanks to an almost constant series of coughs and sneezes.

     The light pressure of fingertips on his shoulder made him jump. He nearly spilled the tea as well, though his reflexes prevented the disaster. He looked up to see that she it was just Robin. Though he had been certain it could not possibly have been anyone else, it was still such an unexpected, sudden sensation. "Sorry," he said gruffly, and took another drink of tea. The sooner he finished it, the sooner he could stop worrying about spilling it. "Gut reactiod." Fire, it seemed, was not Robin's only talent. She, too, had one for compassion.

     "I should have warned you," she agreed. She lowered the rest of her hand to his shoulder, applying a little pressure in a reassuring way. Then she walked over to the end of the couch, so that she was standing behind him, looking down. She gracefully lowered herself to her knees and set her other hand on top of his head. He did not protest, though a sharp intake of breath showed that he wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation. Robin leaned against the arm of the couch, and began working her hand through his tangled black hair. The rain from last night had stiffened it a little, and the way he slept on it had done it no good. As his strong jaw was covered in stubble it was safe to assume he had not showered this morning either and washed or combed his hair. She ran her fingers through it, watching the candlelight bounce and reflect as it hit the glossy blackness of it.

     As she petted him, she felt him relax. His shoulders sagged, tension and surprise quickly fading. He finished the tea to the last un-spilled drop and used her handkerchief whenever he needed to. After a while, she felt him relax even more, and soft, congested snores sounded from him. Robin continued to pet, knowing well that comfort was just as useful to Amon in sleep as it was when he was awake. In his waking hours, she had always seen him searching, whether it was searching for witches or answers or something else he would not reveal to anyone. In his dreams, Robin could only hope that he came closer to finding it.