The wail of sirens in the night was reminiscent of the primeval screams of the dinosaurs caught in tar pits, their violent and desperate struggles tinged with a deep despair, their cries full of the agonized knowledge that their attempts at escape were all in vain, and that they were doomed to slowly sink, suffocating in black ooze, choking, dying, luring others down with them...

Melina was glad to be rid of such noise, though the thrum of the plane's engine was another sound she found deeply and intensely distasteful. But it wouldn't matter for much longer. Soon it would all be left behind, just a bad memory fading away into the void of eternity.

She was leaving that place behind, and taking with her the one thing which she wanted above all else.

To her right, Robin lay unconscious and strapped to a gurney to keep him from sliding around. He looked so peaceful now, the poison in his veins was losing its grip on him. He was strong, but he was also blessed with good fortune, though he probably didn't feel that way now.

He had not gotten a full dose. A full dose would have killed him.

As it was, he had sweated, his body had been wracked by violent spasms, his lungs constricted as he fought for breath in a delirium. For hours he had fought for his life, but he never would have stood a chance if he'd gotten all of the poison in the vial carried by the dart.

Then it would have been over. Over so much quicker. And perhaps it would have been right. But Melina was glad it hadn't ended that way, that she would get the chance to show him.

She glanced over at him, lying almost as still as death, his skin pale as the sheets on which he lay, his breath coming shallowly and with a certain amount of effort, his hair matted with sweat. But his pulse was steady and growing stronger, it was as though he'd broken through a fevered illness.

He'd seemed so much larger than life to her, but now he was reduced to this. He seemed small, frail, the mortality of him as a human having been exposed. Helpless now, at the mercy of whomever chose to take advantage of him. He could not protect himself now, couldn't protect anyone.

More than once, Melina raised her hand and reached for his mask, each time stopping herself. It would do him no harm for her to know his identity, but she realized that to remove his mask would be a violation of his person, his self that would be unforgivably cruel.

She knew about such things from experience. She knew what it was to be violated, to be touched in ways you did not want to be touched, to be naked and helpless before someone more powerful than you. And surely removing the mask from a creature such as Robin would be little different from stripping him down to the skin, something she would not even contemplate.

No. Much as she was plagued by curiosity, she knew that she must keep her hands to herself.

The time would come when Robin learned not to fear her, but that time was not yet, and it was a choice he would have to make on his own. In time. Yes. In time.

"You did not touch me when you believed I slept, nor even gaze for too long upon my form. And, though I almost wish you had, I would think less of you now had such been the case. Because you showed respect to me when you thought me unaware, I now convey the same to you."

She knew he couldn't hear her, but it felt better to speak the words aloud. They solidified her commitment to keeping her hands to herself, in spite of temptation. To say aloud what she intended was to promise herself and Robin that she would behave.

And yet, she could not keep her eyes off of him as he had averted his gaze from her that night in the hotel room. But this was different she felt. She had saved his life. And besides, he was fully dressed, so modesty was not an issue. It was different. Or so she kept telling herself.

And yet, she could not entirely ignore a twinge of guilt that had plagued her this entire flight, which gradually built itself into a knot in her stomach. Each time it did, she would turn away and look out the window at the clouds and sky flying past without ceasing. But she would inevitably turn her head, looking again at the man who had saved her life, unable to keep him from her thoughts.

She felt that she was different from most people, for she did not consider Robin to be a boy. To her, he was a man, as great and mature as any, capable of anything, courageous and powerful of mind and body. If he was shorter than other men, she did not notice. He was still taller and heavier than she, though he did not look it now.

Perhaps the poison had revealed his mortality, but his triumph over it had countered that revelation. Melina wondered about the line between adoration and idolatry, wondered if perhaps she had crossed it at some point. But she didn't like to dwell on such thoughts.

Nobody likes to think they've crossed the line. Because once you've crossed over some lines, there's no going back. But most people, Melina included, like to believe that they will notice when they cross over, and that they can just go right back without being significantly changed and without anyone noticing that they were weaving across the road of life.

"You must have been so angry when you came to my hotel that night. Convinced that poor confused Melina was up to her old tricks again," Melina said, "But I've left Supay at home this time. This time it's different. You'll see. We'll get there, and you'll wake up, and I'll explain everything."

Melina heard the guilt creeping into her voice like a rising water line at high tide. She fell silent and looked out the window, determined not to let it get to her. Uncertainty was natural. Things were changing, and she was getting scared.

She'd never had control before, and never been more certain of what she wanted. It was only natural that she was terrified that it wouldn't work, that she wouldn't be able to maintain her grasp on the situation. Especially since some unexpected things had happened already.

But those things didn't mean anything. They were just flukes. It didn't change anything in the grand scheme. The scheme was hers, and she knew she had everything under control. Everything was going according to plan. At last, after a lifetime of sorrows and pains and tragedy, everything was finally going Melina Guevara's way. From here on out, everything would be good, everything would be right, everything would be perfect.

She told herself she believed that, that it was true. But still, in spite of what she could do to convince herself, she felt plagued by guilt and doubt, the thought that what she was about to do was very wrong. So wrong, in fact, that Robin would never forgive her.

She looked over at him again. He hadn't moved, of course, yet she felt that he must be quietly judging her, in spite of being deeply unconscious.

"I saved your life," she told him, of course he didn't respond to her, "I haven't done anything wrong."

But he wouldn't believe that. And neither did she. Not really.

To escape the hot flashes of guilt, Melina stood up suddenly and walked to the cockpit, where she would be unable to see Robin. It was his presence which had unsettled her, had shaken her belief in the rightness of her actions. She had been secure in the knowledge that she was doing nothing wrong until now. Even looking at him was forcing her to contemplate how he would react to what she was doing.

And she knew, in her heart, that he would not understand. He would not accept. In fact, she was fairly certain that he would actually come to hate her for what she was doing.

But she ruthlessly pushed those thoughts aside, trying to focus on the more pleasant fantasy that he would understand if she could just explain it to him. If she could just explain, then he would be sympathetic, as he'd always been before.

Except that wasn't true. He had not had sympathy for her when she unleashed Supay. He'd been angry with her, and clearly indicated that she was a fool, a selfish bitch. He was too chivalrous to say it in those words, but she knew he'd been thinking it.

And he'd been right then, just as he would be right in future when he told her what she was doing was wrong. But she couldn't help it, dammit. It's what she wanted. Didn't she deserve something she wanted after all the suffering she had endured in her short life? Didn't she deserve just a little bit of happiness?

Of course she did, and no one was going to deny her that. Not anymore. It was hers for the taking, it always had been, she'd just never realized it.

Robin would have to understand that. He would understand that.


William Bernard sat alone in his cell, writing on a scrap of paper with a pen he'd lifted from one of the policemen who had escorted him to and from the courthouse.

He felt a sedate depression, the kind one got from taking a long drink while thinking melancholy thoughts, the sadness in itself a kind of strange pleasure to wallow in. He was not drunk, of course, but lately he had been able to acquire the misty feeling of it just by wanting to.

He supposed it was a product of age, or perhaps it was a result of having been dethroned. For that was what had truly happened. He had been a king, ruler of a tiny empire, a king whose subjects had feared his wrath more than death itself, causing them to do anything he asked of them. He had been a creature of power, the truest power which few are granted.

But he had known, even then, that his reign was coming to an end. He had plotted to be deposed, had fully intended to be destroyed. He had known he was not long for the world, that he risked losing everything if he outlived his time.

But he had been conquered. Not killed, conquered. The Boy Wonder, the little bird, had taken everything from him. Robin had led the kingdom to ruination, had taken control of its subjects, and had humiliated their King before them. Robin had reduced him to nothing.

Bernard had never been sure how this was accomplished. Some days he thought he knew, some days his mind was muddled and he could not recall events with clarity. But he did know that Robin stood in his stead, and that there were those who would do anything to destroy Bernard's successor.

Or some drivel like that. It was what Bernard was writing, and it sounded like a good explanation.

The truth, which he did not put in writing, did not speak of to anyone, was that Robin had bested him at his own game, and thus had earned his admiration. And his respect. Something no one before him had ever accomplished.

He didn't understand how, and it did make him angry to realize that he had never had a keen grasp of the situation, that somehow Robin had known how to turn things in his favor better than Bernard himself, the old master of manipulation. But he had to take his hat off, and admit Robin was his better.

There were those, he knew, who would seek the steal what scraps of Bernard's once vast empire remained. Those who would seek to curry favor now that Bernard was being released, and those who would seek to end his life in order to get revenge, or attempt to gain what they felt was their fair share.

And, with his steadily deteriorating mental processes, Bernard knew he was in no shape to once again take up the sword and duel in a political or business ring. He had lost his edge, and was ready to call it quits. His cleverness and scheming had deserted him, leaving him alone in the solitude of his memories. And many of them were nice memories, so it wasn't that bad.

Right before his arrest, the day before in fact, Bernard had called his attorney. He had never written a will before, but he did then. At the time, no one had questioned his sanity. He supposed the will might be contested now, but that wasn't important. What was important was that he had made his statement, it was legal, it was in writing, it bore his signature, and nobody could change it.

After tonight, none of the players left on the board would matter. And, to Bernard's way of thinking, it would prove him right once and for all. He had the final say in how the story ended. It would be his final victory. It would be proof that the control he had always struggled towards was at last within his grasp. It would trump even the victory of the Boy Wonder over him. It would be sweet revenge.