Nyar, Witch Hunter Robin. This is the beginning of a fic that I wrote, hated, left on my computer for a while, and then suddenly opened and re-vamped. I've been kicking plot bunnies around for a while (months), and I seem to have found one that actually sits well with me. The skeleton of this story worked well, so I tweaked it to be the beginning. Read and tell me what you think; I have ideas for upcoming chapters, but I have no idea when I'll be able to write them. So, updates won't be very timely ; It's set post-series, so it's bound to have some spoilers in it. Anyway, I'll stop blabbing now, read on.

EDIT: Er, I've done some editing. I've fixed some paragraphs that made little to no sense, added the elusive transitions, and I believe I've made an attempt at euthanizing some of the run-ons. I'd like to thank a couple reviewers for pointing out the fact that I was high on crack when I wrote this. It was actually 2 AM, and of course all of my writing made sense THEN. Did it make sense the next day? Not really. My sleep-deprived mind apologizes for not properly editing. ; If something else doesn't seem to work, or I've made another stupid mistake, tell me so I may correct it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Witch Hunter Robin or any of its affiliates. It would be cool if I did, but this is just fanfiction, I do not profit from this so...monkeys.

........................................................................................

The lights rushed by her, zooming, flashing. So fast her eyes blurred and her hands shook. She turned quickly, her skirts flying around her small frame, her gloves flying up in a natural defensive movement. Everything was flying towards her and,

"Robin!"

"Hai!" She jolted awake, confused for a moment, eyes wide, breathing fast, as she watched the cool façade of Amon hovering over her on the shabby motel couch.

She sighed, memories flooding back to her as the dim light from the adjacent room brought her senses into relative focus. Robin squinted her eyes shut against it and looked up at Amon tiredly. She felt the pounding of her head, and the weight of every limb hanging uselessly from her body. She glanced at the clock and groaned; she had only been asleep half an hour. Rolling over to glare menacingly at Amon she watched as he hovered above her. His sable eyes turned to little slits as he waited for her to respond to his presence in a more cognizant manner.

It was so very Amon; he had been flitting about her for days now, and as much as she knew it made sense, she was annoyed that he had not let her sleep. His gaze was always the same cold scrutiny, and Robin wanted to curl into herself and scream at his apathetic watchfulness.

Robin's own eyes narrowed into similar slits as she took in the appearance of her warden. His black shirt clung to him in a way that made it look cleanly pressed. She knew they hadn't done any laundry in quite some time and it annoyed her that he always managed to look refreshed and presentable.

Amon continued to stare and Robin finally relented, waving her arm at him in acknowledgement. She then pushed herself into a sitting position and seemingly satisfied, Amon turned away from her and strode back into the adjoining room, hard boots thudding heavily on the plush, clean white carpet that blanketed the entire suite like an ocean of fluff.

She knew he only endeavored to help but his efforts were succeeding in backfiring. Her body ached beyond anything she'd ever felt from a witch hunt. Robin's mind strayed to her evenings of contemplation at Harry's as she thought longingly of the small cups of steaming espresso that Master had served to her so fondly. Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, she scrunched her eyes again and glanced at his retreating form. She knew they would be moving soon.

Straightening her back and pushing herself from the soft couch, Robin rubbed sleepily at her eyes as she followed after him, desperately trying to smooth away the dark circles that had been lingering like a bad dream for days now. Reaching the door, left slightly ajar (Amon's way of requesting her entrance), Robin leaned herself against the frame heavily.

"Amon," she breathed, her voice heavy and laced with fatigue, sounding almost rough to her own ears.

"You were yelling in your sleep, it would have caused commotion." Amon paused for a moment, shuffling with something on the desk by his bed. "Be prepared to leave soon."

She stood there and looked at him for a while, finally, blinking and with a last questioning glance, Robin turned away. He hadn't even bothered to turn around, and Robin believed that Amon's back had said all it had to say to her for the time being.

Shuffling back into the main room Robin couldn't help but clench her small fists in agitation. She was usually a very accommodating person. She wasn't ever partial about where she was placed, or what the schedule of her day included, but sleep was something that she had held almost sacred. It was one of the few things that she actually allowed herself to lift above all others in importance. Right now her perception of rest was being skewed, squished, and stamped upon by the mighty foot of Amon. Sleep was no longer enjoyable, but merely something that the two of them resorted to when their bodies failed them, or when Robin absolutely insisted.

Robin dropped back onto the couch with a huff, her eyes already starting to close. He had not forbade her from sleeping, but another outburst could cost them dearly. Consequences that she knew neither of them had the faculties at that moment to avoid.

Along with a constant state of fatigue Amon had gifted Robin with a growing sense of paranoia. It was hard to remain optimistic when the only human in contact with you was convinced that everyone was out to kill you. Robin had given up fighting his paranoid beliefs long ago. As it was now, he was probably right most of the time, so Robin didn't see why she should waste the little energy she had in fighting something meant for her own benefit.

Fighting to keep her eyes open, Robin rolled onto her back and stayed poised, clenching her muscles to try and keep the energy from seeping out of her body into the couch. The sensation was very much like trying to fruitlessly keep oil in a leaking car. A broken car, that's all she really was anymore. She couldn't summon the energy to assist Amon in near anything, never mind trying to fend off the influence of some of his ridiculous beliefs.

Absolutely worthless.

She had left all the planning to Amon. She never complained about their frequent country hopping, or their place of board. Her body and mind were spent, and Robin really didn't wish to plan anymore of this incessant hiding. But what type of creature was she, if she couldn't even extract the energy to turn the gears of her own mind?

Robin flung an arm over her eyes, her own annoyance with herself keeping her awake, for now. Letting out a little breath Robin moved her arm an inch, glancing upward. The stucco ceiling was white, and the oblivion looked inviting to Robin's tired body, her eyes welcoming the soothing comfort the monotone shades of color offered. It was a poor substitute for the backs of her eye lids, but it would have to do for now. Keeping herself distracted seemed a chore to her now; no longer having the energy to find something engaging enough to tear her from her tired body for even a moment. The room was bland, and she had already used up what interest could be drawn from the lamp, the television, and even the couch patterns; it was all too much of a complicated blur.

......................................................................................

Night had finally fallen, and Robin and Amon were moving again. They stayed close to the wall, avoiding the searching glare of the street lights; friendly to a passerby, but a foreboding omen to be cast into for the two of them. The glare was bright, too bright, and the semblance of daylight was almost harshly sickening. Making sure to steer clear, they continued on. Their twin sets of black boots scuffing against the gray sidewalk that led into the distance.

It seemed as though they had trekked like that for days, stopping to rest but not really resting, merely waiting for night to begin anew. Robin dragged her feet, struggling to keep up with Amon's almost relentless pace. He never seemed to tire, his long legs holding stores of infinitesimal energy. Robin envied them as she watched their fluid movements, and she cursed her own body as the strings tying her legs to Amon's pulled tightly in her muscles once again.

She stayed close to his back, content to walk in his shadow and watch the black lines of his long coat shift beneath her gaze. The broad expanse of his back fascinated her, and she found herself attempting to visualize the hard muscle she knew lay underneath his concealing coat. Catching her train of thought Robin shook her head as she felt her cheeks twinge pink. It wasn't appropriate to envision Amon in such a way! Had Amon been able to see inside her head she doubted he would have liked that particular thought. Even so, it was at least enough of a distraction to keep her eyes from drooping and her body from stopping, yet still not quite enough to keep the tired wisps that were creeping up her spine tamped down firmly enough for her liking.

.......................................................................................

They were so close, one more jump, and she could rest, sink into sweet wonderful oblivion. She would be able to rest her aching body and soothe the creaks from her joints. She glanced up blurrily to the back of Amon's head, watching his head bob with the continued movement of the same stubborn perseverance that seemed to keep both of them trekking. His long black hair swayed rhythmically and it renewed her strength to see his long body in motion. Robin knew Amon was strong, and as she closed her eyes she could almost feel some of that strength seep into her. Even in her state of mindless fatigue, the feeling of Amon in close proximity was not an unpleasant sensation to have. The time of his steps kept the beat in her body, and the blood pumping in her veins. She glanced up at him with something near awe, shaking her head as it fell back down to slump against her collar bone, the emotion too heavy to convey.

Having turned her head back to less interesting things, like the pavement, Robin didn't notice the small, quick glance Amon threw over his shoulder. She didn't see the cold sheen of his eyes soften, didn't see him hold her steady with his piercing orbs, and didn't see him turn, just as quickly, to resume his concentration on their travel.

...............................................................................................

The cargo hold was dark, and dank, and cramped; but to Robin, it was the best thing she had seen all week. It had taken them four days to reach a port out of Russia, and even longer while they carefully bided their time, waiting for the proper ship. Amon had, with faithful stubbornness, kept their travels quick, their movements hurried, their sleep non-existent, and all Robin wanted to do at that moment was fall to the cold hard floor and pretend she was in a soft white bed back in the monastery. She could almost smell the warm scent of the native flowers drifting in through the window in her old room; almost feel the warm hand of the Tuscan sun tickling her senses. With that happy visual tantalizing her mind, she let the twinge of a smile grace her lips as she stood diligently in the middle of the hold, watching Amon systematically check their surroundings and finally close the door. Finally, Robin allowed the wonderful incomprehensible silence to take her. She could rest here, Amon would keep watch, she knew, but she still couldn't push away the sudden fear that Solomon agents would suddenly drop from the high ceilings on belay, guns at the ready, surrounding and subduing them in seconds. Robin squinted in Amon's direction. It seemed that she had been right in believing that his paranoia was rubbing off.

...............................................................................................

Having shut the door to the cargo hold Amon let out a sigh that seemed to have been bottled tight in his chest since they had entered Russia a week ago. The plan to move them here had been a disaster. The political climate in Russia was far from benign, and the social atmosphere was almost dangerous. The inhabitants of this country seemed to be coiled tight enough to break at the drop of a pin. Of course, this mentality suited Amon's current mental placement so he thought they'd blended in rather nicely. Of course once he thought they may have been able to consider staying for a while, it had, as it usually did, gone to hell. Not wishing to spend valuable rest time reminiscing about what could not be changed Amon settled himself against an odd-shaped piece of ship. He blinked sleepily once, taking an interest in the crinkles of his coat before he snapped himself back to attention and diligently turned to check on Robin. She was in his care now, more so than before, and Amon had been careful to remind himself of the stakes of their departure every time he happened a glance at her. He knew leaving Russia would be difficult for her. She seemed to have less and less energy every time he announced that it was time to go, time to move, time to leave more pieces of themselves behind.

Robin was falling apart at the seams. Amon had kept her awake most of the time, and it seemed to be taking its toll. Robin greeted every new place with less and less enthusiasm. If he kept quiet for several hours, with all the lights off, he would occasionally hear her sniffle. She was trying to keep it well hidden, but even Amon could plainly see that their running was destroying her inside.

Keeping his gaze fixed on her Amon took in her appearance. She was slumped, her small form leaning against some crates near the back wall. He could almost make out the waves of her clothing, wrapped around her and hanging limply as if they had lost all will to flow. His brow creased and he moved to where she sat, bending to her level to get a look at her face. His heart began to thud faster in his chest as images of ways that Robin could have been hurt began to flick through his brain. Attempting to stutter those thoughts Amon drew his mouth into a thin line and opened his eyes wide for a moment as he tried to get a better view of her through the darkness. Her head was lolling away from him at an odd angle and he could hear the small labored puff of her breath; but even so, he cautiously brought his hand to her face. Placing a gloved finger under her chin, he tilted her head carefully, her wisps of dirty blonde hair falling limply to the side as he did so. He breathed a little huff and he felt his chest un-clench, his facial features relax as he gazed down at her. Her eyes were closed and she looked almost serene; not a trace of pain or discomfort written on her features. Robin was merely asleep. Amon shook his head, berating himself for his poor treatment of her. She had been walking around like a Zombie for days now. The trek to the ship must have sapped her last reserves. He had succeeded in keeping them from harm's way once again, but how much of her was he actually preserving with his method of survival?

Amon gently placed her head back to the side, cupping her cheek to keep from disturbing her. Almost subconsciously, he let his hand linger there for a moment, fleetingly wishing that he could feel the softness of her skin and cursing his rough black gloves. Coming to his senses Amon started, and began to pull away, trying to push the feelings from his mind, but found his hand tucking a small stray golden lock away from her eyes before he was finally once again in control. Shaking his head as if to clear it, Amon retreated to his own corner, pushing the thought of Robin's face away from him for the time being. Settling down he finally allowed his eyes to close and his body to submit to slumber.

..................................................................................................

Amon jerked quickly awake, glancing hurriedly at his watch. His momentary panic quelling as the bold green numbers told him he'd only been asleep for a few hours. Good, there was still plenty of time. A cold chill had swept through the chamber and Amon shivered. Then, eyes turning, he glanced over at Robin. She had slumped a bit more in the past hours, but still appeared to be held tightly by the clutches of sleep. His features softened as he looked at her. Robin, little Robin. She seemed smaller, curled around herself, leaning against the large, monotonous brown crates. Gazing at her in her vulnerable state Amon felt that he could finally see her fifteen years poking through the many others that had been piled atop her. They graced her features in sleep, and he could almost see the child buried deep within her, little Robin; almost. Her brow was furrowed, and whatever child showed through at that moment was deeply troubled.

He watched as a quick little shiver ran through her body, and she whimpered as she pushed against the hard coarseness of the crate that was her pillow. Eyes softening towards her again Amon walked silently over, the sudden wave of guilt from his earlier thoughts suddenly compelling him to cater to her apparent need for warmth. He removed his coat and placed it on the floor. Then, with movements as slow and gentle as he could muster, moved her small body onto it. He splayed his hand against her back and steadied her shoulder with his other as he moved her to lie. He could feel her petite frame through the layers of clothing that were her norm, and almost flinched as he felt skin and bone. Robin was far too thin, almost dangerously thin. Amon's guilt continued to chew away at him as he remembered a specific instance from several weeks earlier.

They had stopped for a well needed rest at a motel in England, and Amon had left Robin to sleep as he went out to get supplies. He had been rationing the food, not knowing how long he would need to conserve funds. Not being a heavy eater anyway, Amon wasn't really affected. He had noticed that his clothing was a bit looser, but then again, hunger was the least of his worries at that present moment. Upon returning with his small bag of supplies Amon noticed the light was on in the bathroom. Setting down the bag, Amon walked toward it, thinking Robin still asleep and meaning to merely switch it off. Inside he was surprised to find her standing before a mirror, clad only in sleeping pants and a bra. She hadn't even noticed him come in, and Amon intended to keep it that way lest they both find themselves in an awkward situation. Even so, before turning away, Amon couldn't help but notice her reflection in the mirror. The bags under her eyes were pronounced, but what frightened him even more was the way the skin on her ribs seemed to sink in towards the bone in a way that didn't seem very natural. He had retreated to the door, careful to make lots of noise,'re-entering' their room, giving Robin enough time to make herself decent.

He'd been trying to feed her more ever since that incident, but Robin didn't seem to want to eat. Her sapped will was affecting every part of her, and Amon was beginning to worry.

Amon sighed, wrapping the turns of his coat carefully around her, bunching the sleeve to make a pillow for her. She rested her head against it as he placed it down cautiously. Robin sighed as she shifted in sleep, immediately responding and curling into Amon's offered warmth.

Amon stood away from her, too many thoughts buzzing through his mind. He watched the cargo hold stoically, letting the cold brace him, and wipe away the last traces of his fatigue. Crossing his arms over his chest, he watched from his place leaning on the wall, as Robin nuzzled her face into his coat, for now seemingly content.

.................................................................................................

Ok, chapter one. Next time I write something, I'll try to be awake and or caffeinated.