YOUR CHILDREN DESERVE LEXCORP JETPACKS (yesthatnagia) wrote in _terzarima,
YOUR CHILDREN DESERVE LEXCORP JETPACKS
yesthatnagia
_terzarima

[Witch Hunter Robin] [Amon] [Rated M] Consumption (1/1)

Title: Consumption
Fandom/Pairing: Witch Hunter Robin; Amon
Rating: ESRB Rating of T for Teen < attraction, murderous thoughts >
Summary: He is haunted by a thousand little things. The real question is, who isn't letting go of whom?
Notes: After "Time to Say Goodbye," before Amon reappears.



Amon isn't getting enough sleep and knows it. He can feel the exhaustion seeping into his bones. He doesn't even think of doing anything about it; there's nothing to be done. Surveillance needs to be kept up, his gun needs to be cleaned, he has answers to find and injuries to tend to.

He's so tired it sours his stomach and sends him staggering toward the thin, lumpy couch in the seedy little hideaway he's been maintaining for years.

He should stand up.

His body refuses to cooperate.

Amon does not want to close his eyes. He knows what he'll see.

Her face, the confusion at his proximity, the tension of some red, throbbing string pulling at her as he slid the note into her hair.

That one moment. For the first time, physically and mentally near each other. With each other. No wall of professionalism.

He should stand up.

The desperation, the anguish, in her face as the passage slowly closed and she slipped into darkness.

He's starting to see her even without his eyes closed.

At least once a day, he asks himself why he saved her. No. That's not true. At least once a day, he asks himself why he isn't saving her now. Why he isn't stepping in and putting and end to this nonsense.

The memories are consuming him. Or is he consuming them? They're bleeding into his every moment, his every thought, and he welcomes them and hates himself for it.

Her smile.

He should stand up.

He doesn't stand, though. He yields to the inevitable. Curses his weakness. Closes his eyes.

The way she tilts her head when casting her flames.

He should do something. Idle hands, idle thoughts, the devil's workshop--SOLOMON is the devil's workshop, he thinks and then pretends he didn't--he should be doing something. Should be preparing. He has a long way to go.

The sofa is uncomfortable.

He doesn't move.

"You're not going anywhere," he thinks, partly remembering and partly realizing that he should have taken better care of himself.

In the silent darkness of his safehouse, he watches her fall to her knees again. Watches hope and relief and joy swirl across her face as he reaches out to her, takes her away from the intruders.

He can't seem to escape her. Escape his memories of her. Escape his understanding of what he must do. (Will she submit quietly? Will she burn him alive? Will she still be beautiful when the life has left her eyes?)

He's trapped. His own deeds, his past connections, aren't haunting him. They're eating him alive. He can feel their teeth on him.

It's a pain, he realizes, that he doesn't mind.

He blinks and remembers the way her bangs moved as she ran down the stairs, away from the Hunters in her apartment.

He doesn't want to kill her.

He mustn't let her live.

Amon puts his head in his hands and finally comes to a conclusion about what he needs.
Tags: amon, amon/robin, whr
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