WHR withdrawal is an excruciatingly painful experience! I've finished up to disc 5 ((with the exception of disc 2, which I ordered 4 months ago, and have never received)), but disc 6 – the final chapter!! – Won't be coming to me until the beginning of October. Going out of my mind. Sigh. At least I'm not completely at sea as to what happens, having read beaucoup de fics de Meris Ann on here!! Thank you, Meris, for filling the void in my life.
Alors, a post-series fic from one who hasn't seen the whole series. Comments on errors are, as a result, more than welcome; but please phrase them politely for my sake? Thank you very very much!
A/N: "....................." between paragraphs indicates a new scene, at a later moment intime, or a switch of character perspectives. Lyrics are between (( )). This isn't really a song fic... a pseudo song fic of sorts... Lyrics are from and are form the song Shell
Predominately fluff. I haven't written something fluffy in a long time.... I just thought this would be kind of kawaii.... Enough ranting.
September 9, 2004
Redemption
The streets were silent as they ran, shrouded in mist and midnight. An unnatural silence, heavy with rain to come; a physical weight that pressed down upon them, coats fluttering in the sullen air. Tendrils of fog clung to their skin, condensing in small clouds in front of their faces as they exhaled, hearts pounding, feet drumming the sidewalk.
She looked up at him as she ran, seeing the way his jaw was set in grim lines, his charcoal eyes brooding and watchful. His hand was an iron band on her upper arm, dragging her headlong through the nighttime streets. Glimmers of orange lit his dark hair, turning his eyes from black to grey as they past under remote streetlamps, luminescence muffled by the enveloping fog.
Ever alert, he felt her gaze, returned it swiftly, sharply. She looked down, glanced over her shoulder. Flames danced in her emerald eyes as shapes moved through the fog towards them. His hand twitched towards his gun as he pushed her behind him.
They had been gone from Japan for almost a year. Still, the Hunt continued.
---------
Robin sighed heavily as the heat of the apartment building wrapped around her like a warm blanket, instantly making her eyelids droop with exhaustion. It never became any easier, using the power against Hunters; people she would have once named ally. She was a witch, yes, the Eve of all witches... but she had once been a hunter as well.
Amon entered the room behind her; she could feel his presence as clearly as if he had shouted for her attention. He was like the sun, an aura that bathed her mind in pure light and blessed warmth, even when she closed her eyes.
Though Amon's aura was warm, his attitude was anything but. Robin flinched as he slammed his gun down on the table, tossed by the palpable waves of disapproval emitting from him. He didn't like her using her Craft to protect them, even if it was the last resort. Amon hated admitting that he was less than perfect in anything, up to and including taking care of his teenage charge.
"Robin."
He spoke quietly, but she could hear how his jaw was clenched with barely restrained anger. He was always mad at her for something, it seemed; she was never good enough, never smart or quick or inconspicuous enough for his exacting standards. It had made her cry often enough, locked in the private sanctuary of the bathroom, burying her face in her hands and running the bathwater to cover the sound of her tears. Tonight it only made her feel more drained, an empty husk that could just crumble into dust.
Better that than letting him see her cry.
Closing her eyes, she let his tirade wash over her, staring firmly into the middle distance, somewhere past those beautifully cold dark eyes.
"I can't believe you would be so reckless. Didn't I tell you that you were not to go anywhere on your own?"
Their eyes locked, grey meeting green; ocean waves beating against the hard, unfeeling rocks of the shore. She could easily drown in those eyes....
((I feel like I'll disappear the moment I look away...))
"I'm sorry."
He made a disgusted sound. "You're always sorry. One day your impulsiveness will get both of us killed. What will your sorry do then, hmm?" The corners of his mouth turned down sharply as he spoke, frown lines etching his forehead.
She couldn't face him, couldn't listen to the bitter dry sarcasm that fell from his lips when he spoke, couldn't bear the scornful aloofness of his expression. Her cheeks burned as she broke eye contact, staring down at her clenched hands as tears burned at her eyes.
Amon sighed heavily, shrugging out of his coat and going into his room, leaving her standing in the middle of the kitchen, head bowed, cheeks stained with tears.
---------
"I'm sorry."
That should have been enough. She had apologized, had meant it, truly... just like she had meant it the last time and the time before...
((It's like I've turned into someone I don't even recognize...))
Amon threw himself down on his bed, not even bothering to remove the hip holster that held his other gun. He blinked sleepily, and sat up quickly to dispel his fatigue.
She was sorry, and he was a prick. A prick whose greatest fear was that one-day she would do something stupid, and he wouldn't be there to protect her...
Not that she seemed to need his protection any longer. She had saved both of them tonight.
Thrown back against the wall by some incredible mental power, gun knocked out of reach, an invisible grip had smothered him, crushing his lungs until the world spun and bright lights flashed before his eyes...
Then... flames, leaping out of the shadows and burning away the enshrouding mist. Robin, eyes cold, face bright in the wheel of fire that shielded them both. Sparks floating to the ground around her as the Hunter was incinerated; none so brilliant in the darkness as her.
He knew he wouldn't be able to survive if she left, abandoned alone in the darkness without her spirit light.
He worried sometimes, like tonight, when her eyes turned so steely as he yelled at her; somehow seeing through them, shrewd, verdant eyes that haunted his dreams. He feared the day when she would call his bluff, demanding that he give her some freedoms lest she leave him. His conscience forbade the former; his heart, the latter.
He needed her.
Running water in the bathroom next door plucked at the edge of his hearing. There was a new sound, one he had never heard before, mixed in with the sound of the tub running. Quiet, muffled sobbing, a ferocious rebuke in its presence. He had always paused long enough to grumble at her habit of using up all the hot water, wondering what it was about women that prevented them from using the shower like normal people. He never told her of that fault though, unwilling to deny her that small pleasure. How many times had she wept in the bathroom, safely insulated from his irrational anger...?
She was crying because of him.
With a heavy sigh, he lay back on the bed, closing his eyes.
'I'm sorry.'
.... Because of him...
----------
Robin roughly towelled her hair dry, pulling it back in a loose bun to keep the damp mass off her neck. Steam clouded the mirror as she stared moodily into it, prompting her to scrub the back of her hand against its polished surface. Her face seemed strange to her, grown thin with months of worry, eyes seeming too large in her face. Huge green eyes, wet and reddened with tears, swollen and heavy-lidded with fatigue, bordered by deep purple shadows.
((Sadly, I've become so small...))
No wonder he treated her as though she were a child; her eyes betrayed so much. God knew Amon got a third the amount of sleep that she did. It was his habit to keep a silent watch throughout the night, only dozing for a few hours before dawn when the world was shifty and grey, full of spirits.
Somehow he never seemed tired. Robin had never once heard him complain, even when he was reduced to sleeping on the floor; the times when there was only one bed.
Robin sighed again. She truly was a child. Amon was so much stronger than she was....
Hearing movement in the other room, she swiftly grabbed for her pyjamas, hoping that she had left him at least some hot water this time. Very rarely had she drained it in a fit of malicious pique... not that Amon would know the difference. Not that he would care.
She frowned at the shirt in her hands. Pyjamas. She has never worn pyjamas before, and only did so now for Amon's sake. The one time she had seen him embarrassed was the morning he came in unannounced to wake her.... Fortunately, the sheets had still been over her, had it been summer, she would have kicked them off in her sleep. As it was, he had still flushed dark red, closed his eyes, stammered an apology, and had fled the room.
So...pyjamas.
Hearing no impatient foot tapping from the other side of the door, Robin snuggled the worn shirt to her face, breathing in deeply. It was his shirt, an old button-down affair. Black of course, and ridiculously large on her petite frame. It reached almost to her knees when she wore it, and the sleeves came down over her hands. She always felt like a little girl when she wore it, but it was his, so she wore it nonetheless...
((I want to be rescued, but instead of sighing,))
...Of course, to Amon, it was nothing more than an old tattered shirt he had once worn.
Robin closed her eyes as she slipped the shirt on, relishing in the smooth, cool feel of the fabric sliding over her warm skin. She could picture Amon wearing this shirt, his muscles rippling under the cloth as he moved. This indirect contact, wearing his clothing, made her pull her face into the collar of the shirt and smile. It was almost like a hug, if she thought about it.
It was as close to one as she'd ever get from Amon.
------------
He glanced up as she came back into the kitchen, bringing with her a cloud of steam that smelled of heat and flowers. His lips twitched into the vaguest suggestion of a smile as he watched her, the way she flicked her hands in irritation to move the too-long sleeves out of her way.
She loved that shirt, clung to it like a child to a teddy bear. It had become her security blanket; she even wore it when he managed to secure a two-bedroom apartment for them. In the dim lighting of the room, the jet black fabric made her pale skin seem to glow by comparison, turning her hair to fine – spun gold....
'Beautiful.'
He shook his head sharply, angrily, turning back to his laptop. There was work to be done.
"...Amon...?"
He looked up at the sound of that quiet, timid voice, but glanced away quickly. She was standing next to the table, hands resting on the wood, leaning forward slightly to look at him. The shirt had slipped downwards with that motion, falling sideways off one shoulder. That coupled with the fact that she hadn't done up the top two buttons....
...He stared fixedly at his computer, glowering at the lines of sharp black type against the glowing screen. SOLOMON, STN-J, the Hunt that was still continuing for them. Those were things to think about, safe things. Anything but the beautiful innocent who balanced on tiptoe next to him, trying to peer over his shoulder.
He watched her out of the corner of his eyes, allowing them to trace the curve of her jaw, the arch of her neck, hating himself for doing so every minute. Better to be cold, better that she think he was a prick. Better that she hate him that love him... for God help them both, he loved her too well. Intense, burning devotion, consuming him from inside, more heated than the fires that flared in her eyes. It would devour them both, if he weren't careful.
Better that she hate him.
"What is it," he injected all the exasperation that he could into his voice.
She jumped back, startled, as though she had forgotten his presence.
"It's...." she pointed solemnly to the display in the bottom corner of the screen. "It's my birthday today." She sounded amazed, as though a birthday was a privilege she didn't deserve.
He leaned back in his chair, cursing himself inside his head. It was her birthday. How had he managed to forget that? She was 16 today... "Sweet Sixteen", they called it in the United States, as though there was something especially significant about the number.
To them, it marked the boundary between girl and woman.
Dangerous thoughts.
"You're how old?" he asked diffidently.
She smiled at him, shrugging her slender shoulders, causing the black fabric to drop lower. "Sweet Sixteen." She spoke hesitantly, using the English phrase, her peculiar accent shining through.
Before she could inadvertently discomfit him more, he pulled her closer and quickly did up the remaining buttons on her shirt. She froze instantly, startled by the contact, gazing down at him wide eyed.
Feeling himself begin to blush, he looked away shortly. 'She's a teenager, for Christ's sake, why the hell are you getting so worked up?'
"You should have told me."
She giggled, rising slightly on her toes and bouncing faintly. He had to smile at her badly concealed excitement. "I forgot. I didn't know what day it was."
"I didn't get you anything..."
'Damn! Why did I say that?'
----------
Robin stopped bouncing at his words, staring at him incredulously. She couldn't believe what he had just said. Nothing much, certainly, any regular girl would have instantly berated her boyfriend for forgetting. From Amon, however... it was a warm sensation, a well being that suffused her entire being. It was an acknowledgement, an admission that she really did matter to him. She was more than just an obligation, after all. At any time in their turbulent relationship, such an event would have made her skip. After today's argument....
.... She felt like she could fly.
"You would have bought me a present, Amon?" she demanded breathlessly, unwilling to let her new found elation go.
He almost smiled, not so much with his lips as with his dark eyes. They danced, a mischievous twinkle that was so out of sync with his usually dour personality.
"A proper nightgown, no doubt," he remarked dryly, looking pointedly at her ragged attire. It made her giggle.
"What more could a girl ask for?" she replied gravely. "Other 16 year olds get a car, or a computer, or something like that. I would have received pyjamas." She frowned slightly, crossing her arms defensively across her chest, rubbing a fold of the black cotton between her fingers. "But I like this shirt," she concluded plaintively.
Amon pushed his chair back from the table, turning in it to face her. "If you could have anything for your birthday, Robin, what would it be?"
Robin stared at him blankly. He was being chatty. Amon never wanted to talk, not even about important things like to where they would escape next. Small talk was something completely and utterly alien to him. To hear him making conversation – especially after today's fight – was absolutely surreal. He was almost... approachable.
The fact that she knew exactly what she wanted made his newfound demeanour much more unnerving.
"Are you drunk?" she asked cautiously. Generally, there was nothing short of total inebriation to get Amon to loosen up.
He chuckled dryly. "No."
"Oh." She felt very small, under the force of that piercing stare. He could always make her feel so insignificant, without even seeming to try. Tonight, it was the exact opposite, as though he was scrutinizing every inch of her, making her the absolute focus of his attention. It terrified her – what if she didn't measure up? She was just a scrawny 16 year old in a too-big, second-hand shirt, hair pulled back haphazardly above enormous jade eyes. There wasn't a single thing about her that warranted such fixed concentration.
She knew that Tokou had been his lover, she had seen them together often enough, and she wasn't blind. Tokou was tall, elegant, sexy. She had been smart and witty... a woman, rather than an emotional teenager. Amon's type.
((I just vomited up my loneliness, and lay there, measuring it all up.))
It had broken Robin's heart. She would never be like that. He would never see her like that.
Why did he have to ask her what she would want above all things?
'I would want you.'
---------
He loved to see her smile like that, as though, with one kind word, he could make everything perfect in her world.
"Goodnight, Amon." She said in her quiet voice, still grinning at him.
"You never answered my question."
She straightened at his words, looked back over her shoulder apologetically. She shrugged, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. "I don't really know the answer to that... I..." she shook her head, "It's a stupid thing, anyways."
"Tell me." He wanted to know, wanted to know everything about her. It just never came out right; somehow... he always ended up hurting her feelings. She would never volunteer any information about herself; he needed to take advantage of this unprecedented opportunity.
She stared at the ground, her cheeks flushing crimson. "I.... I can't, Amon..."
He sighed, rubbing at his temple. It had been a very long day; and he was developing another major headache. He didn't really have time to pry the information out of her. "For God's sake Robin, are you going to tell me or not? I don't have time for these childish games," he snapped.
He head shot up, eyes snapping wide in shock. He winced, hearing his harsh words hanging in the air.
Silence.
"Robin...I..."
She would leave now; vanish into her room, where he would hear her crying herself to sleep again, unable to find the words to be able to comfort her.
She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes accusatory. "That was mean," she whispered.
Silence.
He was just a mean person; there was nothing else to it. He was a jackass, an insensitive prick. A damned soul who could only hurt the ones he cared about.
((Amidst this drop of time gone dry...))
"Go to sleep," he said firmly, turning back to his computer.
The moment was lost, he was mad at her again. This was her time to retreat to her room once more, to bury her face in a pillow and act like the child she was. That was what he expected of her, obviously. His face had gone back to being impassive, his eyes cold and hard.
"Go to sleep," he dismissed her, looking back at that damn computer that was more interesting than her.
"What would it be? If you could have anything, Robin..."
What would it be? Would she continue to behave like a child?
((My heart is drowning and writhing.))
She crossed the room to where he sat, placing one hand on his shoulder, until he turned to scowl at her.
Then she kissed him.
------------
He turned, feeling her presence behind him, her slender hand burning like a brand on his shoulder. He turned to berate her, to send her away before he did anything stupid.
She kissed him.
A brief kiss, a childish kiss; nothing more than the pressure of her lips against his for the barest of instants. God, but it was sweet. He closed his eyes as she backed away swiftly, wanting to preserve the memory of that sensation forever. For how long had he wanted to walk up to her one morning and kiss her? For how long had he managed to talk himself out of doing something so ridiculously random?
((These lies that make me dizzy,))
For how long had he managed to convince himself that what he saw in her eyes wasn't an echo of what he felt?
Robin scampered back as he slowly opened his eyes again, watching him warily. He would be pissed now; she had just crossed a line that marked the absolute boundaries of their relationship together. Now everything would be different between them, and it was her fault. Everything would be destroyed; every day spent building some semblance of trust between them lost. It was her fault.
She wanted to regret being so rash, but she couldn't. Not really. The startled look in his eyes was worth risking everything. For one perfect, crystal-clear moment, she saw directly into his heart.
It was wonderful.
((I took them and tore them up.))
--------------
He rose from the table slowly, as though unsure of his actions, crossing the room to stand before her. She gazed up into his charcoal-coloured eyes, feeling dizzy, as though she was staring down into the vastness of space. A universe captured inside his eyes... why had she never seen it there before?
She was dizzy, she couldn't think....
'This has happened before...'
Yes. She could remember that. At Tokou's apartment, after the attack. Amon... he had been there, she had looked into his dark eyes, and the world had spun beneath her feet.
She swayed on her feet, feeling strong hands catch her before she fell. His hands, calloused and rough, resting on her hips.
She breathed his name.
Amon....
He inclined his head until their foreheads touched, his raven-black bangs falling forward to frame their faces, brushing her cheeks like dark angel wings.
((And with that,))
"Robin..."
((I became lost...))
One hand rose to cup her cheek, the contact making her heart pound. Their lips touched again, and her heart soared. The adrenaline that seared through her veins cleared her head somewhat, but she didn't pull away. She wanted to stay in that moment forever.
---------------------
This was no chaste kiss. He could have forgiven himself for the one that came before, practically platonic in its utter lack of physicality. That it had meant more to him was not the issue – he could have pushed it aside, out of mind, could have convinced himself that it was nothing... that she had kissed him.
((I chose to come here, a cage into which I've locked myself...))
But now his arms wrapped hard around her waist, pulling her closer, holding her slender form tightly; even as his mind screamed at him to stop. This was wrong, very wrong. She was too young, far too innocent for him to sully with his touch.
But he couldn't let her go.
((And now there's no escape.))
Her lips parted beneath his at the gentle pressure of his tongue, his hands rising to her shoulders and caressing the length of her spine. She swayed against him, pressing herself as close to the heat of his body as was possible. Their tongues touched, lightly at first, making her gasp slightly. His hands clenched on the fabric of her shirt.
This was going too far.
How long had he dreamed of this moment, holding her in his arms, running his hands over her body, taking her and making her unalterably his, allowing himself to become hers. A sweet, sweet dream only, for nights when the world seemed so dark and haunted. When spectres from the past troubled his sleep, he would turn his thoughts to her. It granted him some peace. Morning always hurt, however, waking to find himself alone.
She was everything he had always wanted....
But he couldn't do this to her. Not without damaging what trust lay between them.
It had gone too far.
((...no escape.))
He pushed her away roughly, turning his back to ignore the sharp hurt that shone from her brilliant eyes, the eyes that whispered through his thoughts. They only echoed the shattered feeling in his heart.
"Go to sleep," he snapped, forcing himself to sound cruel and uncaring. "We're leaving the country tomorrow morning. Early."
"But Amon –"
"I said go to sleep," he shot her a harsh glare, saw her wilt, folding back into herself. It hurt.
'Better I break your heart this way, than have you waste your life loving me.'
He slammed the door behind him, impotently trying to vent some of his anger and utter disgust with himself. He had behaved like a fucking animal, trying to seduce an innocent 16-year-old girl, taking advantage of her unstable emotions. It was just stress that was all, he was pent up, needed some release... that was all.
That was all.
He flopped down on his bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling.
"Fuck."
He wished he could convince himself.
--------------
She stared at the closed door for a long time, pressing her palms flat against the rough grain of the wood, leaning her forehead against it as tears trickled their way down her cheeks. What had she done wrong?
"Amon...." she whispered, biting her lip hard. There was an ache in her chest, a sudden void that couldn't be filled. It would be so much easier if he told her he hated her, she would cry and mope, and then get on with her life. But this...?
She hated him for keeping her hanging, hated him for being so cold, so unfeeling.
She loved him.
------------------
He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw again the crushed look in those emerald orbs.
It was better this way, though, however clichéd that sounded to his mind. He would have made love to her, would have possessed her utterly, body and soul, for one night. Then what? He would have hated himself for it come morning, would have distanced himself from her so she wouldn't see the burning shame in his eyes.
He was incapable of loving anyone, Robin would come to realize that soon enough. He hoped she would see that, before it was too late. It had been far too late with Tokou....
((Scared of the approaching tomorrow,))
He wouldn't make that same mistake again.
Shadows collected on the ceiling, congregating in deep patches of midnight before spinning off across the ceiling to gather in the corners, driven by the headlights of cars on the road outside. Orange lights flickered across the walls, painting the cracked and chipped plaster with translucent flame. He watched the patterns shift and meld together through half-lidded eyes, thinking only of her.
---------------------
The stars were hidden, though the heavy fog of earlier in the evening had already dissipated. A strong breeze was blowing now, ruffling the leaves of the bedraggled tree outside her window. The bright city lights, etching night's canvas with garish swirls of neon colour, drowned them out. Here, tall buildings blocked her view of the sky, sparkling billboards shouted their message down to the sidewalks below in shades of red and blue. It was a strange, alien city at night, empty of the people that had thronged its veins during the day.
It was cold; she shivered as the wind picked up again, kissing her face with icy lips, running artic fingers down her neck. The thin shirt she wore was no protection from the chill, and she shivered slightly, but remained where she was. It would be dawn in a few hours, another move, another flight off to some new country, God-knew where. Only Amon knew that, and he certainly wouldn't tell her.
She frowned slightly, straining forward to breathe in the crisp air. Autumn was truly leaving, she could smell the frost of winter. She wanted to go somewhere cold, somewhere clear, where her breath would mist in the morning air, and snow would drift down in fat, lazy flakes. A place of white, where they could hide forever.
Somewhere far from here.
Closing the window carefully, so as to not wake the slumbering demon in the next room, Robin sat down on her bed and considered. Where hadn't they gone yet? SOLOMON seemed to be everywhere these days....
She rose from the uncomfortable mattress, bare feet making no noise on the bare wooden floor.
His door was open the barest crack, she could hear the soft sound of his breathing from within. As before, she paused with her hand on the handle, wary of disturbing him. He would be furious with her if she interrupted what little sleep he got.
"Robin?" he sounded weary, as though he had been disturbed once to often from deeper thoughts.
Hesitantly, she pushed open the door, sliding nervously into the room.
He was sitting up in his bed, blankets bunched around his waist. Cars whooshing past on the street outside his window trailed their brief lights over his skin. She was glad it was dark, concealing her blush... she had never seen Amon shirtless before.
((I cower and collapse.))
"What is it?" he didn't sound mad, not even vaguely annoyed, with her presence. She couldn't read his expression in the gloom – not that she would have been able to anyways, even if she scrutinized him under the most glaring of spotlights, Amon would prove to be, as ever, inscrutable.
"I couldn't sleep," she confessed, moving to sit gingerly on the corner of the mattress, ready to jump up at any indication of his disapproval.
"Neither can I," he replied softly, looking out the window with a distant look in his eyes, before giving her a wry smile. "I guess there wasn't much point in booking a hotel room with two beds then, was there?"
She laughed, moving around to his side of the bed, and leaning her head against his shoulder.
"No, I suppose not."
-------------------
He closed his eyes briefly as her hair, freed from its elaborate coiffure prison, brushed against his skin. It was still faintly damp from her shower, and smelled like springtime. He watched her with a smile, her eyes, heavy with sleep, flashing gold every time another car passed. He shifted, placing one arm protectively around her waist to support her as her breathing grew deeper.
When her eyes drifted closed, he scooped her up into his arms effortlessly, tucking her into his bed, pulling the covers up to her chin and brushing the stray bangs off of her perfect oval face.
"Amon...?" she murmured.
He paused, sitting on the floor next to the bed to speak with her. "Yes?"
"Where are we going tomorrow?"
He shook his head. "It doesn't really matter. Where do you want to go?"
She smiled happily, pulling the thick blankets tighter around herself. "Canada."
He stifled a groan, trying hard not to demand an angry explanation. "Why Canada, of all places?" he grumbled, standing and walking around to the other side of the bed. "It's fucking freezing – " he paused, shaking his head and continuing with an effort. "It get s very cold there in the winter Robin..." he trailed off, laughing in fond exasperation.
"We've never been there before," she stated distinctly, "and you were the one who said it could be dangerous to retrace our steps."
He frowned at her, unseen in the darkness of the room.
She knew, though, he could tell in the smug silence that radiated out from her. Her eyes were tightly closed, but he knew she was laughing at him. For once, it didn't make him angry. He gave the covers a sharp tug to remind her whose bed it was she was invading, then crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling, defeated.
"Canada it is then," he conceded, "As if you would have given me a choice."
She chuckled, curling up into a tight ball beneath the covers, ready to sleep now that she had gained her small victory.
He watched her sleep in silence, a faint smile tugging at his lips. This wasn't the first time she had crept into his room at night, though generally he slept on top of the blankets when she did, as far away from her as was humanly possible given the dimensions of the mattress. He always slept better with her near, though he would never admit that to anybody.
((But it seeks me out and whispers to me,))
Cautiously, he shifted closer to her, slipping one arm around her waist and pulling her closer. She groaned in sleepy protest, but turned to accommodate him, snuggling her head against his chest, tucked underneath his chin, hands drawn in close against her.
He smiled then, a true smile instead of the half smirks that were his wont. It felt... right, sleeping this way....
...Not that he would ever tell her that.
((This voice of thin darkness....))
Kissing her forehead softly, he closed his eyes, drifting off at last to sleep.
Owari!!!
Again, this wasn't meant to be a songfic.. thelyrics were added in later. Once again, this is the translation from , as they had the second verse where my DVDs do not!!
Please do review, mates, or I'll clap ye in irons! Arrrr, shiver me timbers, ahoy. (I'm trying to get into the whole lingo that would be associated with me nomicker, savvy?)
This is my first WHR fic ever, so please be kind. Not that anyone has ever been anything but kind to me when reviewing... I'm just a little antsy about this fic.
Let me know if this be a fair trade wind for a salty-sea dog to be pursuing or if I'm naught but a lubber in a gale when it comes to these characters. Should I be returning to me homeport of Gundam Wing?
Enough of that. Heh, I'm a spaz... (still trying to figure out how to do an eye patch on my little happy face thing there.....)
Xtine the Pirate.