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Michael shifted his arms, trying to settle the large binder and stacks of paperwork he was holding. The damn things almost seemed animate for all that they wanted to slip out of his arms and make a mess. Staring at the far wall of the elevator, the hacker sighed and shrugged. The machine seemed to be going slower than usual today and he shifted the papers again, purposefully, so that he could start reading the top one.
He was bored, after all.
'The Directory of Witches has been showing signs of being accessed for personal uses, especially by Doujima when she was checking out her potential dates. She has been spoken to on several occasions and it has not deterred her usage of the system...'
Michael smirked a little and let out a low laugh before pushing his gold lensed glasses further up on his nose and looking lower on the document. With Doujima's parentage it was obvious why she hadn't listened to the reprimand. It wasn't like she was in danger of losing her job, no matter what she did, you know, unless she suddenly manifested Witch powers and blew the building up. It was unlikely that she would, being that all the operatives for STN were checked out in the Directory before being cleared to work.
He ignored the sound of the elevator door opening, as it was not his floor, and recognized the dark form in the corner of his eye as Amon. The hacker nodded slightly, acknowledging his friend's presence.
The rest of the document was a list of statistics of how the Directory was being used and what for, including a list of all the times the Directory had been accessed. There was a petition at the bottom for the Factory to release more family trees to STN, as well as a record of blood types of captured witches.
Amon slumped bonelessly against the far wall of the elevator and peered out from under his fringe of dark hair at his co-worker. The hacker, who was the focus of his attention, kept shifting the large pile of folders and paperwork, reminding the Witch Hunter how young Michael was. Barely older than Robin, actually.
He remembered when Michael had been brought into STN. The Hacker had barely been thirteen and his computer knowledge was beyond anything STN had been able to procure or contract on it's own. The teen had hacked STN on accident, and a team of Witch Hunters had been sent out to storm his apartment and bring him in.
Amon remembered the apartment, the rock posters on the walls and the half eaten food rotting in take out containers. Clothes had been strewn everywhere, and as he kicked down the front door and burst into the room, Michael had stumbled out of his computer chair, barefoot and wearing only a ratty pair of blue jeans. Green splatters had covered Michael's chest, the force of the impact making the teen slump against the desk-top computer. When the Orbo had had no effect on Michael they realised he was fully human, cuffed him, and brought him back to STN for their boss to decide his fate. The boy had been offered a deal; if he became their computer specialist he could live. If he turned down the job he would die.
Michael had chosen to live.
The hacker shifted his papers again, rolling his slim shoulders to move the weight of what he was carrying. Amon idly wondered if he should offer to help, when his dark eyes caught Michael smiling at something written on the paper. At least the boy was being entertained as he waited for them to reach the right floor of STN.
Amon remembered the deal that the boss had cut with Michael, telling the Hacker he could never leave the building, except with permission and if he was accompanied at all times by a Witch Hunter. Needless to say Michael hadn't gotten out very often. It really was a pity, Amon mused, letting his eyes trace Michael's slim form. The teen made use of STN's training facilities daily, keeping himself in shape and thin when it was so easy to grow fat from computer work and junk food. There was something handsome about Michael, too, which made it doubly sad that you'd never see the boy in a club or out of work clothes.
Amon snorted and wondered, with Michael's restrictions, how much experience the teen had. If he'd even ever been kissed.
The idea came to him suddenly and Amon pushed himself away from the wall with a rustle of black cloth, moving to stand right in front of Michael. The Hacker didn't look up. Amon struck out, his strong hands landing on either side of Michael's face, pinning the younger man in place. Blue-green eyes snapped up in surprise as Amon leaned in and pressed his lips to Michael's.
Michael made a surprised noise but Amon ignored him, digging his pale fingers into Michael's jaw, until the boy opened his mouth and let Amon in.
The papers poured out of Michael's arms, like so many birds, and settled on the floor around their feet. Michael felt Amon's mirthful smile against his mouth.
The Witch Hunter stepped away just as the elevator bell rang and the doors slid open. He was halfway down the hallway and the elevator doors were almost shut before Michael's puzzled cry came to him. The Hacker stood in the elevator, one hand to his mouth and his cheeks covered in a brilliant blush, looking pole-axed.
"Amon!"
The door slid shut and Amon smirked again.