Senzafine: #025 - To Touch the Devil is to Die
Challenge at 30_angsts
Title: Impure Heart
Author: lilhobbit
Fandom: Witch Hunter Robin
Prompt: #025: To Touch The Devil Is To Die
Rating: PG-13 (to be safe)
Warnings: none
Word Count: 2416 words
Characters: Amon, Nagira
Series: Senzafine
“I thought you were supposed to downplay your drinking?”
At first he thought of ignoring that voice speaking to him and just focused on the way the dim light reflected from the brown liquid and the rocks in his glass. At its brightest the sight only made him think about her hair unleashed on her shoulders, the way it shone in the sun like tainted gold. Her hair had become darker over the years hadn’t it? At first it’d been the purest light brown, so lovely, but then it’d begun dimming. Just as her smiles had been replaced with longing glances along the years; her eyes had been so desperate to say something he didn’t want to hear.
“There’s ice in the glass,” Amon mumbled softly, showing his glass to the person beside him lazily. His movement wasn’t as sharp as it’d been before; the delirium had slowly started to have effect. The highest buttons of his white shirt were open, the sleeves rolled up to meet his elbows. The tie hung around his neck lazily, its tip thrown over his shoulder as if to stay out of harm’s way. His hair was on a tight ponytail, not a single hair escaped it. He’d grown older, wasn’t that same young man everyone had trusted Robin’s life with.
His guest pulled a chair closer, sat on it and continued observing. Amon brought the glass to his lips again, prepared to drown it as usual, wishing it could actually keep those images from pouring in and out of his mind. The nuns had sent him another picture today. She’d been standing by a tall tree, leaning against it and inspecting her shoe. Its heel had broken but she seemed to embrace the information calmly, instead focused on some dark thought looming in the background. He’d tried hard not to witness the passing of time evident in that picture, but it’d felt like a cold blade in his gut. He missed seeing the fire dancing in her eyes.
“Do you miss her?”
“No,” he lied. What was the use of revealing how their distance had only made his thoughts circle her more obsessively?
He was a sick man with a sick wish and he’d liked nothing more than to be able to finally bury it. He wasn’t given release though - No, despite his wishes and requests a letter still arrived every now and then. It contained pictures and a short description of what’d been going on in her life for the passed few months. He didn’t even have enough self-discipline to keep himself from reading. The pictures were on his wall, looking back at him at night when he tried to get some sleep but was kept awake by his mistakes, his longing. She never smiled.
“I think you’re lying.”
“What’s it to you anyway?” Amon asked, suddenly rather curious of his guest’s obscure motives. He hadn’t stayed in contact with anyone, just barely Robin and even that was indirect. Amon hadn’t needed anyone in his life - not after he’d given up her as well. As heavy as solitude tasted, it was for the better. He wasn’t a good man by anyone’s measure.
“You took her in after the incident at the Factory, cared for her, gave her a life as normal as possible. Then all of the sudden you abandoned her and don’t even keep in touch anymore. Why, Amon?”
Amon ran his hand over the smooth wooden surface of the counter. Everything in this world had become crude and without detail. Everything felt like a rehearsal and he tried his best but kept failing. Why was that? - Because something was missing? - Because something was there to cut him down after every act? The unspoken and hideous thought that drew the lines for everything…
“She’s too young…” …For me.
There. He’d allowed himself to even think that thought; given it shape and form and thus power over his listless spirit.
“In what sense?”
Was there any other sense? Amon rocked the glass in his hand, swirling it around so that the ice sailed the alcohol’s surface calmly. If he was the ice, she was the liquid right down to the burning in his throat when he consumed it. He should know for he’d had his weak moments with her, allowed himself to taste what was forbidden once or twice. That was the cause of his change, why he was so stricken. She’d been very damaging to his calm upon a time, nearly brought him down for good. He’d won eventually though, cut her out and regained control.
Still she was a sweet memory despite the arguments and tears and regrets that he’d been inflamed with probably for many years to come. There wasn’t quite anything that could compare with the bliss that Robin brought along with a simple look, or a random thought spoken aloud, or - god forbid - an accidental touch. She’d been in love and unwilling to not act on it. He’d never allowed himself to admit he’d loved her too. She’d seemed to read his thoughts enough as it’d been. There was nothing quite as consuming as denial.
“It was not suitable for me to raise her, that’s all,” Amon finally said, rinsing the answer down his throat with a long gulp from his drink. The ice protested, but the alcohol went down smoothly and complimented him with the calm that followed. His body felt light, the tie was close to falling down from his shoulder and that picture of her still haunted his mind. He couldn’t even think her name, it felt like betrayal. He could admit to caring deeply for Robin, but to name his silent obsession was too disturbing.
“Curious, I thought you would do anything to be close to that girl?”
Was that a hint: A dry note as to his guest being fully aware of his ‘attachment’ to the little witch? Amon brought the glass to his lips again, pouring the last of the bright liquid down his throat, leaving the ice to occupy the glass alone. They no longer made any noises of protest, just stood there silently, giving up. Amon took another look at his highly unwanted guest, deciding that he wasn’t the only one who’d grown older. Although his guest was still exactly where he’d been when Robin had first entered their lives, Amon had at least moved on. He’d abandoned Solomon, hadn’t he? He now had a regular, boring job that paid well and supported his equally boring life brilliantly.
“I’ve been to your place,” his guest continued, throwing a marking glance over at Amon. “You haven’t furnished much. You’d think a man of your position could afford more than one plate?”
He ignored the sarcasm and the critique for his living conditions. What he focused on was the information that this person had actually had the nerve to break into his home to find out if he was doing as well as he claimed. If he’d been inside his home, he’d most definitely had to have seen her pictures on his wall. She was right there beside his bed, next to the only picture he had of his mother. He didn’t know why but the two were always side by side on his wall like sisters. They only shared one similar trait and it was their witch inheritance.
He’d watched them both give in to the temptation. One he’d lost for good and carried the scar most of his life - The second he’d been able to salvage through a lot of work. He’d tried opening his heart again but she hadn’t been just a devoted child, she’d wanted more - too much.
“What is your point?” Amon asked, the dark thoughts embracing him completely by now. He wasn’t irony anymore; indecisiveness had crept upon him and could easily be read from him. His guest noticed this chance.
“You won’t even say her name, Amon.”
True. It was easier to partly deny her existence when he didn’t use her name. It was easier to try and forget. He didn’t want oblivion though; just some peace of mind and the fond memories to remain without cutting him each time he opened his mind to them. It was a self-preservation thing, something that kept him together.
“You’re not living: Just clinging onto her despite the fact that it was you who sent her away.”
He drank coffee in the morning; its scent reminded him of her and how she used to make him his coffee in the morning. He went to work, missing the action and thrill of the hunt though he knew he couldn’t do it anymore. He missed her excited look when they prepared to go after a witch: That smug smile that affected even him. He came home to an empty apartment and saw her face on the wall and stared at the phone, unable to pick it up and dial the number.
“I’m going out, meeting people. Everything is just fine.” His voice wasn’t really convincing, nor did he need to be.
He didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He took full responsibility of his own decisions, but that was something his guest here had never understood. He was always second-guessing and probing into things that really were none of his business. This man was never sated, could never settle down, or live without the jolt, the excitement of the unknown. Amon just wasn’t like his brother. Constant change was his life; he didn’t get attached or addicted to anything.
“Really?” Nagira asked, his voice disbelieving to the core. “Sitting alone in a bar, getting drunk is sociable behaviour? When is the last time you’ve met someone other than a co-worker?” When he looked at Amon again, saw how his gaze avoided looking back and was looking at the selection of drinks instead, Nagira forgot about his question all together.
“So what if she was a child when you first met? She’s a young woman now, and rather foxy if the pictures are to be believed. You don’t have to waste your life because you think you did wrong by her all those years ago.”
Amon’s glare was burning when he directed it back at his brother. That old fool knew nothing about the situation and yet he couldn’t stop meddling! He didn’t want his help or advice! Nagira had no idea of what was going on, or what had happened. No one had asked him to step in and ‘save the day’ in his usual irritating style. Life just didn’t work like that. Not then, not now.
“Leave now.”
It was not a request; Nagira ignored it never the less. Amon had never been able to intimidate him the least. Sure his younger brother could cast the coldest looks at you, perform tasks of terrible atrocity without blinking and take in heavy violence with no complaints, but Nagira had always felt that Amon rarely felt anything beneath it all. He was just numb. He was not capable of passion, was he? He was just somehow disconnected. Somehow Nagira felt he’d be more stirred if Amon actually showed any emotion, but as usual he just settled to cut off everyone and mourn his losses alone.
“I’m not backing down this time.” Another empty threat that had no effect on its target.
Amon had grown attached to Robin though, even if it wasn’t a passionate kind of love. The fact that he’d brought her to Nagira and continued to protect her after he’d learned of Robin’s true history proved it. Nagira had never seen Amon care like that. Sure he’d been a loyal hunter and soldier to his boss and had many other people he’d looked up to in his life, but not once had he been so devoted. Nagira could only wonder what it was that’d made him suddenly decide he couldn’t handle being with her.
Amon had given his brother two warnings and he didn’t give a third. Before Nagira could react, Amon had already stepped forward and grabbed his him from the collar of his shirt, efficiently gaining his brother’s full attention. Nagira finally spotted that passionate burn in Amon’s usually dull eyes as well and was delighted to find it. It proved his brother still had that spark within him somewhere, even if it’d been buried for decades.
“I’m strong now but I wasn’t strong always. She suffered and I can never repay her. Don’t ask me to.” He’d really allowed himself to love her, despite it being all kinds of wrong. It was a crime, a sin so deep that it still scorched him at night. She’d been so young, so fragile. He hadn’t saved her to use her. He’d just wanted to do right by her, shelter her to show his appreciation. She’d brought life back in him and because of his mistake, that light had gone out again.
Surprise lingered on the older brother’s face. The grip holding him eventually loosened and Amon’s limb hands fell on his sides. The guilt on his face was intense, the clearest emotion Nagira had seen. The façade had fallen it seemed.
“I have work tomorrow,” Amon announced, grabbing his jacket from the seat and making his way past his guest. By now his chest was on fire and the hurt ran deeper than it had for years. He needed to salvage what he could. That was all he had left.
Nagira didn’t object. There was a lot to deal with after this night and its revelations, although knowing his brother he was probably making a lot of noise over nothing. He watched his brother go, contemplating everything that’d taken place. Knowing Amon, it was probably a misplaced kiss: A misinterpreted moment. In the eyes of an intolerable world something completely innocent could still be evil.
But despite his assurances even Nagira couldn’t be sure it was just that. All of his plans for reuniting the two were suddenly on hold as Amon’s terrible guilt made him exceptionally gloomy as well. He concentrated on the party that was known for her sincerity and clairvoyance: Surely Robin wouldn’t look at him like that in those pictures if she bore any grudge? And whatever the crime, hadn’t Amon already paid for it with this mockery of life he’d led ever since?
- fin