Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Silk Gloves ❯ The Accomplice ( Chapter 7 )

No ownership here, nothing to see…

Kidding.

~^~

She sat back. The report had taken less time than she had thought it would; which was a good thing, as she had been forced to wait until after everyone else had gone home that day. It was nearly eight o'clock, even Michael had retreated to his apartment on the other side of the building. It was strange to be the only one in the office. For two years, the office had never been completely empty. There had always been a young man sitting at one of the computers, earphones turned up and fingers flying. She smiled slightly as she thought about Michael. It was interesting to think back to the scared fourteen-year-old he had been when he had first come to the STN-J. At first, they had all been skeptical. After all, he was fourteen; and completely human. How in the world could he possibly be useful?

Amon had abruptly found the answer a week after Zaizen had dragged him in by the arm, roughly introducing the hunters to the newest member of the team. They had been investigating an entrepreneur who they suspected was involved in a series of strange murders, which had been passed on to the STN-J. The problem was that he hadn't seemed to set foot in the office for over three weeks, yet memos to the secretaries still showed up from beneath his door, and he still held telephone conferences from an unknown location.

Amon had mentioned that he had tapped the phone lines, but could not trace the number, nor could he review the building's security camera tapes. It was a complicated system, he had said, much better than most other commercial companies. At this news, Michael had abruptly stood up, all awkward limbs and glasses, and sat down at the computer he had already deemed as `his', the wires coming from it had already increased by half. They had looked after Michael curiously, and then to Zaizen, who had smiled enigmatically and then continued with the briefing. Within ten minutes, the boy had come back and beckoned Amon with hand gestures and broken Japanese to his computer, which was displaying on one side a security camera feed, switching every few seconds, and on the other a phone number with an address attached. That night, they had apprehended the entrepreneur as he held a phone conference with his underlings.

It had been an impressive show of hacking skill, especially in the first week. Before, Amon had been their main source of information and computer expertise. Michael had him beat, hands down. Of course, it hardly mattered now, but it was nice to remember the briefly stunned look on Amon's face as a fourteen-year-old American boy showed him up.

As she hit the `print' button, she looked around quickly, making sure that she was alone still, and reached over to her desk, taking a pen from the holder and setting it in front of her. While she was here, she might as well get something else useful done. Peeling off her gloves, she first set a finger on her desk. Nothing. Then she put her whole hand on it, spreading her fingers over her keyboard and now-finished report. Still nothing. She smiled. With a lot of practice, she had regained control of her craft. Every idle moment had been spent like this, though, taking off her gloves and touching first one thing, and then more, until she could control her craft again with barely a second thought. The gloves she kept on more out of habit, now.

After it had been established that she was in control, she took a hold of the pen and closed her eyes, allowing herself to scry it. It was interesting. When her powers had first awakened, she had only gotten flashes of the last significant thing to happen with something. It had grown, while she was still in training, to be longer and more detailed flashes, and then receded to short flickers as the Orbo had been put into use more and more. Now, after this spike in power, she could suddenly maintain a state of scrying for as long as she needed, she could see the mundane things as well as the significant, and, amazingly, go back at least three or four months. As she scryed the pen, she felt no one but herself for a long time. Then, suddenly, what seemed to be Kenshio's presence, like ice on her back. `Gods, what an awful place.' That was the only significant thought, and a series of numbers that sounded suspiciously like the office phone. Confused, she was about to poke about more in the time that Kenshio had mistakenly taken a pen from her desk, when a hand on her shoulder startled her.

She gasped and jumped, looking up to find only Sakaki who looked almost as surprised as she felt.

“Sorry,” he said “should've just let you sleep.”

She smiled, and shook her head, replacing the pen on her desk. “No, it's all right. I was…practicing.” She frowned at her own choice of words. Surely one did not `practice' idly with their craft? She had never `practiced' at SOLOMON, only `learned control' or `studied her ability'. Well, different circumstances called for different terms.

Sakaki seemed to have the same reaction to the word as her inner self had had, cocking his head, eyes silently asking for an explanation. She fingered the pen, pensive as she answered. “Since my power grew, I've had to go back to actively teaching myself control again.”

“Then why were you scrying the pen? I thought you were doing a lot better,” he said, still looking confused.

She sighed. “I want to see…” she paused, thinking of how to phrase her feelings, “I want to know what I can do,” she finally said and frowned down at her hands in her lap. “After losing control, and then Single-Eye's attack, I realized that I could look back a lot farther than I could while training. I need to test that,” she smirked, “I guess I'm tired of surprising myself.”

Sakaki sat down at his desk and smiled at her, “I can understand,” he said, and, narrowing his eyes in concentration, lifted the pen from her fingers telekinetically, letting it rest in the crook of his ear. He grinned at Karasuma's floored look. “I've been practicing too, you see.”

She raised her eyebrows. “That was impressive dexterity,” she said, and cocked her head, “I often forget you're a witch, too. You don't use your power very often.”

He shrugged, turning to his desk and rummaging around in the top drawer. “There's rarely a need. Telekinetics aren't anything special, unless you need to throw stuff at people; and when you've got a gun, what's the use?” He smirked, a sarcastic note entering his voice, “I was sent to the STN-J to get experience with my powers on hunts. Ironic, huh?”

She nodded, a tiny smile alighting on her lips. “Have they grown?” She asked as he straightened, a small leather wallet in his hand.

He nodded. “Yes. I would have been able to take the pen from you, before I came here, but never could have done this.” He pointed to the pen, still behind his ear.

Karasuma nodded, and reached out a hand to retrieve her gloves. She caught Sakaki's sideward glance, and smiled. “I don't know why I still wear them,” she said as she pulled them towards her, “I guess I'm still nervous.”

He shrugged. “Old habits die hard,” he said, “I'm just glad to know you don't need them as much.”

She paused, glancing at him. He gave her an encouraging smile, and she smiled back; it was nice to have someone besides herself looking out for her. “Yes. So am I.” she said, meeting his gaze. The odd feeling of time pausing welled up again; the intimacy of the moment reaffirming to them both that their trust was well placed in one another.

“Ms. Karasuma?” The voice startled them both, their heads snapping to the source of the question. Kenshio stood just inside the door of the office, eyes darting between the two of them; as if there hadn't been a meter between them when she'd walked in.

Sakaki wondered what the replacement thought of the situation she had walked in on. Of course, even he couldn't make heads or tails of the situation she had walked in on, so the thought was completely pointless. What the hell had she walked in on? For a moment, he tried to describe it, justify it…but the complete idea eluded him. He was no simpleton; he knew for a fact that he and Karasuma were developing a relationship that was far beyond co-workers, but who could blame either of them? The last few months had been complete hell; it was good to have someone to talk to. Someone who could have an inkling of what you'd been through; what you were going through. It occurred to him that perhaps hunters were subject to the same taboos as regular folks; working relationships were meant to remain purely working relationships. Quite frankly, though, he didn't give a damn at this point. It was a little late to be worrying about something as trivial as social taboos.

Kenshio had stepped into the office further, putting down her purse and smoothing her coat. If Sakaki hadn't known better, he would have sworn she looked nervous. And since when had she used an honorific like `Ms'? She had always simply called them by their family names; nothing more, nothing less; in a clipped tone that suggested she was a part of the military.

Oblivious to Sakaki's thoughts, Kenshio looked up. “I'm having car trouble,” she said finally, voice clipped, “Could I have a ride to the shop?”

Confused, Karasuma glanced at Sakaki before replying. “You can call a tow truck from here, if you'd like,” she said, “I might be awhile yet.”

The woman shook her head. “No, it's better to wait. I know someone at a place by my apartment; he'll drive me back here and fix it; but the phone's been busy.”

Sakaki narrowed his eyes at his desk. He had a tendency to lean towards not trusting Kenshio; and after he and Karasuma had agreed she was probably a spy of some sort, the idea of letting Miho take her home by herself was distasteful, to say the least. He still remembered the wash of dread as they had all realized Karasuma had been left alone in the office the night he had been attacked. Not repeating the experience was one of the tops on his priority list. “If you want,” he said, “I can take you by now.” He held up his helmet, “I'm leaving now, just forgot my wallet.”

Kenshio eyed him with a hint of distaste in her gaze. There was something else too; it looked as if she were trying to formulate an excuse to be alone with Miho. But then it was gone. Still, he remained unconvinced as she said, “I am sorry, but I cannot stand motorcycles,” she said bluntly.

Sakaki conceded. He could give her the same argument he gave everyone that insisted his bike was a death trap; but he sensed it would fall on deaf ears. “Fine then,” he said, having to work very hard to keep an annoyed edge from his voice. He glanced pointedly at Karasuma, and said, “You have my number if you need me.” He made the statement sound as if it were to Kenshio, but knew that Karasuma understood it was directed at her when she nodded discreetly. Kenshio also nodded.

“I do. Good night.”

Sakaki allowed himself one last concerned glance at his partner, sitting in her chair with eyes narrowed in concentration, and then punched the elevator call button, throwing a muttered “you too,” over his shoulder as it opened. His last image of the office was Karasuma, turning back to the report on her desk with mock intensity. Her ankles were linked under the desk, knees at an angle, and she sat up straight. She stared down at her desk calmly, one hand curled around a pen, but it did not move. For that moment as the door closed, she was a still-life. The image stayed with him for much of the night.

~^~

Miho had stalled as long as she could; going over the hard copy of the report and ruthlessly editing it; going onto the computer and correcting everything, and reprinting it. Finally, there was nothing more she could do, and as deep golden light poured into the office, she turned off her computer and stood.

“Well,” she said, “I'm ready.”

Kenshio stood silently, nodding. She looked distracted for some reason, and Karasuma wondered again whether she was walking into a trap. She didn't like the thought; having already had the experience. At least this time, it couldn't be as bad. Kenshio wasn't torturing innocents using those under her. She wasn't … Karasuma clenched her jaw, forcing the thoughts from her mind. The elevator took them down to the garage, and she silently unlocked the doors and climbed behind the wheel. Stiffly, Kenshio sat down in the passenger's side.

“Which way?” Karasuma asked as she pulled from the lot. Kenshio gave her directions precisely, voice firm but quiet, leading them downtown. Karasuma frowned as she drove. Hadn't she decided that Kenshio lived out of town more? Yes; otherwise she would have never been able to make it to the hunt so quickly the night before. She supposed the replacement could have been out; but she'd had her weapons, and besides, the woman didn't strike her as the clubbing type. Yes, something was definitely wrong.

Soon though, they pulled up to a battered looking car-repair place. Kenshio instructed her to pull in the back, and got out of the car, going into the shop. Karasuma sat back, perplexed. She had half expected to be led into a complex maze of some sort, then be attacked from the side and wake up in a small white room; or something like that. Instead, she watched Kenshio through the window, giving her a glance and then walking in to a back room.

Shrugging, Karasuma shifted and started to back out, but Kenshio reappeared outside, waving for her to stop. She did so, and rolled down the window.

“I'm sorry, did you want me to wait?” she asked.

Kenshio shook her head, “It's not that. I noticed that your tire is flat.”

Karasuma tried to twist to see where the woman was pointing, but couldn't see. Sighing, she pressed the car into park and unclipped her seatbelt. If Kenshio was right, she was going to have a hell of a time getting home. This is a very convenient time for you to get a flat, her mind said as her hand gripped the door handle. She paused for just a moment, and then, ignoring her better judgment, she stepped out to get a better look at the tire in question.

The attack was swift and fierce. As she felt her legs swept from beneath her, she couldn't say that she was surprised. From the moment Kenshio had stepped into the office that night, she had known something was going to happen. Oldest trick in the book, she thought sardonically as she hit the ground. Kenshio leaned over, taking something - it looked like a cloth - from her pocket, and Karasuma suddenly felt anger well up inside her. The woman was going to try and chloroform her! There's no way in hell I'm going to go down without a fight, she heard herself think, and suddenly, her hunter training took over. One leg shot up, placing a sharp kick to the base of Kenshio's spine. The woman obviously hadn't been expecting a fight, because she gasped and fell forward. Karasuma caught her and flipped their positions; expertly pressing the other woman against the asphalt, pinning legs with legs and arms with hands.

For a moment, they stayed like that, both breathing hard. Kenshio did not struggle, and Karasuma considered scrying her; to see just what had been behind that attack, but then Kenshio spoke. “I didn't think you'd be such a good fighter,” she said.

“I've been a hunter since I was sixteen. You knew that.”

“You had the Orbo for most of it.”

“That didn't matter then, and it doesn't matter now.”

“Your powers have gotten out of hand because of it.” Kenshio seemed to think she was hurting her with the words, but Karasuma could only muster up a mild disgust for the woman underneath her.

“They're back in hand. Why did you attack me like that?”

Kenshio didn't answer her question, instead saying, “Tell me, do you enjoy killing witches?”

She nearly retched at the question. What kind of monster enjoyed killing? How could she ask such a thing? “What do you mean?” she asked, voice soft.

“Killing them. You've been doing it for so long. Why do you hunt, even after you've seen the hope of witches? Don't you have a shred of remorse, killing your own kin?”

Silence. What was this replacement doing? How could she describe what she went through, every time she pulled the trigger? What she had been through that night, when Zaizen had taken her to the factory and told her that she was the only one he could trust, that Amon had betrayed them, that had changed her entire outlook on hunting. When he had dripped untruths into her ear, spinning fragile lies about Robin's madness around her. She had sat in that glass enclosed office, listening to the sugar-spun deceit and slowly realized that her loyalties could no longer remain with the man she had served under for so long. Even before the undercover team had infiltrated the factory, the untruths had evaporated, the lies had shattered, and the deceit had melted; she had known Zaizen was wrong. It had taken another three months of pain to realize that, perhaps, not only was Zaizen wrong, but SOLOMON was, as well. She found that she couldn't answer.

“I thought so,” Kenshio said, and fixed the younger woman with a commanding look. “Let me up.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I can tell you now.”

Karasuma didn't move. “I'm tired of these word games. Who are you and what are you doing?”

“Let me up and I'll tell you.”

She hesitated for a moment, closing her eyes and reaching out with her mind to try to find a lie. Though it meant little, she did not find one. Finally, she rocked back, drawing her gun and training it on Kenshio at the same time. “All right.” She said, gun following the replacement as she sat up, “Tell me.”

Kenshio took a moment to settle herself, taking no notice of the gun barrel following her every movement. “I am a part of a witch underground movement.” She stated bluntly, “I came to Japan to awaken witches to their true power, and teach them control. I infiltrated SOLOMON to gain a position as a hunter and begin aggressive action.” She gazed evenly at a slightly stunned Miho. “The awakenings across the city have been because of me and my assistant. Most of the witches we have awakened are still leading normal lives; practicing control and remaining themselves.”

Karasuma took a moment to wrap her mind around this. When she had finally gotten over the shock of finding that someone had actually succeeded in infiltrating SOLOMON, her brain suddenly clicked into place. “Single-eye,” she said, lowering her gun and holstering it again, “You're working with Single-Eye.”

“Yes,” Kenshio said, “I am.”

“He makes them fear, and it awakens their powers, and somehow, you bring them back.” Karasuma paused, remembering the visions within the ball that she had caught. “How?”

“Human contact lessens the fear. Touch, shared emotions and warmth. You have found that out yourself, he says.” Kenshio stood, and continued, frowning. “And that is part of the reason that I am telling you this. There are things that my very nature makes difficult; and calming fears is one of them.”

Karasuma glanced at Kenshio as she also stood, leaning against the car. She suddenly wondered what it had taken for the woman to admit that she could not perform such a vital task in her own movement. From what little she knew of Kenshio, Miho gathered that she was a very proud woman. “You want help.” She said, “My craft allows me to do things that you can't.”

“Don't be fooled.” Kenshio said darkly, “I could do them fine without you. You simply can do it more naturally.”

Miho narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you doing this at all? Why not leave me in the dark? It'd be safer, wouldn't it?”

“Because I would not let her,” a voice said from the corner of the street, “I was tired of losing or almost losing people because of her stubbornness.”

Karasuma whirled, drawing her gun even though she knew who it was. “Single-Eye.”

He nodded to her, face serious. Kenshio glared at him. “I told you to stay out of this until she gave her answer.”

Single-Eye gave Kenshio one look of venom, and then turned to Karasuma. “I refuse to let you make her take on this job until you understand why I told you to tell her, and until she understands.” His face twisted, “I did not understand completely until it was too late.”

“You had little choice.” Kenshio said, “You are still in my debt for driving the madness from you.” She paused, glancing at Karasuma, “she has little choice,” she said quietly, “If she does not -“

“Madness is mind over matter,” Single-Eye interrupted matter-of-factly. “The only thing you did was tell me that I had the choice to be sane again.”

“It was more of a chance than they gave you.” Kenshio hissed, glancing once at Karasuma, who gazed back evenly.

Single-Eye glanced at Karasuma once, and shrugged. “They had orders. I can understand that. Witches are dangerous, when they're mad.”

Karasuma looked at the man, pole-axed. “You mean you don't resent the STN-J for hunting witches?”

“He is being foolish.” Kenshio said, “Of course he does.”

“Quiet, Kasu, and let me speak,” Single-Eye said. Miho's eyebrows lifted in surprise, not only at the use of her given name, but at the commanding tone of his voice. It seemed that Single-Eye had recovered his sanity and become a level-headed agent at the same time. She became more and more impressed as he continued, “Before the Eve came to Japan, the STN-J hunted without standards, simple going down a list of people with witch's blood,” he nodded towards Kenshio, “She did research before coming.” He took a breath as Kenshio's face contorted angrily. The spy had apparently wanted Miho as much in the dark as possible, but Single-Eye continued. “However, after the collapse of the building, the agenda changed slightly. Now, only those witches that have harmed others are hunted and killed, is that right?”

Karasuma nodded mutely, impressed.

“Even so, it is hard, no?”

“Yes,” she said quietly, “It is.”

Single-Eye smiled. “I knew it.”

Kenshio glared. “You take her word too easily,” she growled, and looked at Miho, “you shot Arimato effortlessly enough.”

“He was going to kill me. I had no choice,” she said.

“Yes, but you still-“ Kenshio started, but Single-Eye interrupted.

“Tell me,” he said, “I heard rumors after the main building was destroyed that they tried to make you hunt the Eve. Is that true?”

She looked down. “Yes,” she said. “The hunter originally assigned to hunt her turned sides, and she killed others sent for her.”

Kenshio looked confused as Single-Eye continued. “I also heard that you refused; saving both the Eve and her ward.”

Karasuma clenched her fists, remembering the anguish of having to listen to Zaizen for all of that time, nearly retching on the lies he was trying to stuff down her throat. “Yes. That is also true. They were wrong about her, and I knew that.”

There was silence for a moment, and Karasuma did not look up. She missed Kenshio's stunned look, and Single-Eye's proud face. All she could think of was Amon and Robin, their stunned looks of gratefulness as she'd cried for the tape to continue, and told Zaizen the truth. “You see?” Single-Eye finally said, “She can be trusted.”

Kenshio seethed, her fists balled at her sides. “You mean the fact that this girl has been hunting since she was sixteen doesn't bother you? Have you forgotten the countless lives she's taken?”

Karasuma wanted to step in and defend herself, but before she could speak, Single-Eye fixed Kenshio with his good eye and said, “You want to do things differently than them, don't you? Have you ever heard what the hunters say as they deliver the killing blow?”

Kenshio's face clearly showed that she knew. Karasuma remembered the words that many of SOLOMON's top hunters, sometimes including Robin, had uttered as their victims died.

“Yes, you know,” Single-Eye said, “You will not be forgiven.” He paused, and then quietly said, “If she can be trusted, then she can atone, and she can be forgiven.”

Kenshio's face returned to neutral, showing no sign of the anger she had once held, giving no hint that she knew she had just lost this war of words. “Fine,” she said, “We needed her anyhow.” She pressed a piece of paper into Karasuma's hand and turned, saying, “Call this number from a pay phone. We will meet later, and I will tell you more then.”

She walked away, taking out keys and pressing the unlock button on a pad. The next street over, a car flashed and unlocked, and she got it. Single-Eye turned and began to walk away, but as he went, Karasuma cried “Wait!”

He turned, giving her a curious look. “I'd think you'd want to be rid of me as fast as possible,” he said blandly.

She did not reply to the statement, not wanting to let him know how true it was. He was obviously different; but she couldn't quite forget the mad man they'd hunted all those months ago. “What you said, about the factory,” she said haltingly, “how did you hear that? No one that was in the room when I ... when I turned, survived the collapse. How did you hear that?”

Single-eye said nothing, only smiled enigmatically and shook his head. Then he ambled off into the alley, leaving Karasuma with her car at the dilapidated repair shop. She sagged against the door, staring upwards into the moonlit sky. She should have been worrying about what she had just gotten into; an underground witches movement, a true betrayal of SOLOMON. But all she could think of was how Single-Eye had known that she had refused to hunt Robin, and made her refusal clear. And how had he known that Amon had named himself Robin's ward? The assistant had died in the collapse, Robin had killed Zaizen. She had never told anyone exactly what had transpired in the room. That meant…

She took a breath, and let it out slowly, then turned to her car, swinging herself inside and turning the key in the ignition. It was nine-thirty. She needed to get home, get a glass of water and think over what had just happened. Unless she was sorely mistaken, her life had just taken a very dangerous turn.

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And BOOM, the plot takes off like a shot. ^.^ No. It really does.

The unbetaedness of this chapter is because the fic was entered in a Mini NaNoWriMo semi-sponsered by Harry's. If I was a good little fanfic author, I'd get a beta to go over these chapters before I post. Terribly sorry, though, that sounds like a lot of work. I will replace them, if they do get betaed.