Chapter 1: If We Get Through One More Night
Author Notes: Spoilers for FGO: Salem and Abby's Interlude. This is a "re-run" of this fic, which was originally published on AO3 in the Summer/Fall of 2020. I have cleaned up some typos but there's no major changes to the story content.
The juxtaposition between Mata Hari's appearance and composure was her most terrifying trait, Robin concluded.
Physically, she lacked the uniform he expected of a woman who's legend was carved into the Throne of Heroes during wartime. Despite standing in a secluded room deep within Chaldea, dressed in an armor of lacy hair decorations and revealing clothing, the woman carried a quiet confidence. She was in her element right now. That was enough to make Robin on edge.
Mata Hari had tried to explain her circumstances to Robin one lonely night while they were trapped in Salem. He claimed to understand everything she said, but in truth it went mostly over his head. Something about a "War To End All Wars", which seemed more like a cruel joke than a literal truth. Still, her intimacy with war was enough to earn his respect.
"Alright. I don't think we were followed," Mata Hari said in a low voice as she tapped on the door lock keypad. A light at the top flashed white, then red, before going dark again. "After Sheba told me about her visions, I followed up with Chaldea's security team. I discreetly requested a change in staffing for the overnight shift."
"You fed them bad information, didn't you?" Robin scoffed. The one thing he could piece together about Mata Hari's past was she had been a spy of some kind, although on a much different scope than the ones he remembered from his lifetime.
Robin had wondered on the walk here how he fit into Mata Hari's designs. Rumours were circling through Chaldea's halls about more clairvoyant servants catching glimpses of something indescribable on the horizon. Something that neither humans nor servants had words for.
Well, most servants.
While matters of apocalyptic magic were right in Chaldea's wheelhouse, only a few had read the reports about cosmic terrors from beyond the stars. Even fewer had stood against them. Sure, Gilles de Rais ran around screaming about the Sunken Spiral Castle and demonic magic on the regular, but not many who overheard him actually believed him.
A small smirk crossed Mata Hari's lips. That was trouble.
"Intelligence operations are being covered by Mash with my guidance. You know Mash would never pass along information that was defective. Not with stakes being as high as they are. So, no, we didn't share bad intelligence."
Robin tilted his head slightly at Mata Hari's opaque comment. Maybe they didn't share anything? This super-spy-double-speak gave him a headache.
"But you definitely did something," Robin prodded.
"Staffing has been light since we stopped the incineration," Mata Hari explained with a shrug. "There was an unfortunate scheduling slip up where no one was assigned to cover tonight's overnight shift. I suggested your name, given your skill set. You'll be a backup if our plans to handle the situation peacefully fail."
Mata Hari extended a hand, a security card lanyard hanging from her slim fingers.
"Do we have a deal?"
Her request, as intentionally vague as it was, wasn't as terrible as Robin expected. Ideally, the other recruits would stop whatever was coming soon enough that it wouldn't manifest in this reality. If they wanted him to patrol the halls to make sure no one was shoving their nose where it didn't belong, no problem. Maybe he wouldn't have to see a single tentacle or angle that made him cross-eyed.
Robin nodded and took the black lanyard, cementing the agreement. "Sure, I can handle it"
"Wonderful," Mata Hari said, clasping her hands together. Her expression shifted to a warm, genuine smile. "It's great to have you back. Now that we don't need to be so coy, Sheba and Geronimo know there's a cosmic entity coming but want it resolved without violence. Based on the data from the pseudo singularity and their research, an entity this powerful should be intelligent enough to reason with us."
Yeah, reason. In a blink, Robin wasn't standing in Chaldea anymore. He was back in the Salem courthouse, gripping hold of a floor that didn't have edges a second ago, desperately trying not to stare into the abyss under him. The razor thin threshold of reality sliced into his palms as he dragged himself back to the ground. His nostrils were full of a vile scent that he would later describe in the debriefing as a "the space between stars, but more foul".
"But what if it doesn't want to?" Robin asked, snapping back to the present.
"Robin, do you think you're our only fail safe?" Mata Hari said flatly. The smile had fallen off her face.
He grimaced and looked towards the floor, fumbling with the lanyard. As the slick cloth slipped through his hand, Robin noticed for the first time that there wasn't just one lanyard.
"Wait, there's two?" Robin looked back up at Mata Hari. "Did you rope the Crown Prince into this?"
Prince Nezha could hold her own against cosmic monsters. Hell, her fiery self confidence meant she probably didn't have nightmares about how insignificant her existence was after coming back from the pseudo singularity.
Mata Hari folded her arms. "No, we have other plans for Nezha. I want you to convince Charles to join you tonight."
Robin had called Charles-Henri Sanson by his given name only once since returning from Salem.
It slipped out as he left the cafeteria to file his mission report. He had just finished breakfast with Sanson and Medea. The meal had been more awkward than he wanted, given that Medea just invited herself to the table and that Sanson was, you know, alive.
Medea dominated the meal's conversation, digging for any scraps of information about Circe's involvement with the mission. She would cling to the strangest details, like how her aunt insisted on cooking kykeon for every meal at the safe house. As Robin talked, Medea's focus would shift away from the cafeteria and to somewhere else, probably a place centuries away from where they sat now.
Sanson mostly sat with them in silence, reading over the plays the mission team performed in the pseudo singularity. Occasionally, he would speak up to validate casual observations Medea made about Circe's antics, which meant he was at least partly listening.
The conversation never swung over to what happened to Sanson in Salem. Medea didn't really have any interest. Sanson didn't prompt Robin for answers, either. The two of them acted as if it was completely normal for a dead man to be sitting at a table of, admittedly, long dead people.
Bringing up the topic seemed like overstepping. Sanson had mentioned that their master, Ritsuka Fujimaru, promised to explain everything that happened after her debriefing was done. Robin couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy deep in his chest; it wasn't like Ritsuka had been there for everything.
Medea didn't seem fazed as Robin excused himself from the table; she probably wasn't listening anymore. Sanson didn't voice a reply but he was fully paying attention: the script pages slipped out of his hands as he stared back in wide-eyed silence. Seconds felt like hours, until Sanson shifted his eyes to the papers now strewn across the floor.
Way to strike out at any attempt at reconciliation, Robin thought to himself as he turned away. Not that there was anything to reconcile.
There wasn't any use in apologizing for actions the other party didn't remember.
"I guess I understand the importance of it," Sanson said, flipping the security badge around and examining the inscription on the back.
The badge wasn't what got Sanson to join the shift tonight. Actually, Robin wasn't sure what got him to agree. He had merely passed along a message through one of the servants who he often saw socializing with Sanson, a young beauty who wore delicate pastels and a rapier. They seemed like the most normal member of whatever passed for Sanson's inner circle.
Sanson was waiting for Robin outside of the workshop at the start of the shift, security badge around his neck, no questions asked. While the other man was only slightly taller than Robin, his presence loomed much larger. The black long coat was a key factor in that; even without those stupid silver pauldrons displayed, it easily commanded all of the attention in a room. It wasn't exactly the most welcoming aesthetic.
"You're telling me that you didn't learn about this new-fangled equipment when you were summoned?" Robin asked as he looped his own lanyard around his belt. Mata Hari never said anything about making it visible. "I thought that was a prerequisite for those who upheld the law and those who broke it."
Sanson narrowed his eyes, silently processing what Robin said. Maybe he was looking for the insult. There wasn't one. At least, not intentionally.
"I was considering the visual significance, not that it's a key. I know it's a key," Sanson finally replied. His tone sounded mellow; he probably came to the conclusion that Robin's comment wasn't a direct attack. He let the badge drop against his chest, where it swayed back and forth for a moment before eventually coming to a rest. "It's like a policeman's badge."
Oh yes. Casual conversation was going to be so much fun tonight if this was the state of mind Sanson was in.
Not that there was anyone around to listen in on the dry chatter. Chaldea was silent tonight; the two servants' voices and footsteps echoed through the half-lit halls. Funding had slowed down in the same way staffing had. There was no use in keeping all of the lights on if people weren't busy saving the world.
In that sense, calling what they were doing an "overnight security shift" was overselling it. It was more like taking a very long stroll around the complex and observing its gradual decline. What would have been bright corridors full of staff several months ago were now, if Robin was feeling slightly sentimental about it, cold and forgotten.
Half filled boxes of equipment were left outside of open doorways, as if someone was trying to pack and gave up part way. Robin inquired about what the parts in one particular crate were meant for; in the low light, he could make out coils of different coloured wire, smaller cubes crafted from wood and cloth and a metal panel with sliders. Sanson could only shrug in reply.
"I thought you were the scholarly type," Robin said, leaving the crate untouched behind them.
"I'm more of a doctor, not an engineer." Sanson paused to slide the lid back on the crate, then increased his pace to catch up. A boring response but a predictable one.
"Then use your imagination. Tell me what you think it is," Robin suggested.
"What's the point of this patrol if we're busy speculating about what the organization is doing and aren't keeping vigil?" Sanson said, dodging Robin's request.
The point is to make sure no one else loses their damn minds staring at creatures that shouldn't exist, Robin thought to himself. Not that he was sure Sanson's mind could handle it. Mata Hari seemed convinced that it wouldn't be a problem, but she was safely squirreled away in a security office. That wasn't really reassuring.
The other man's footsteps stopped. It took a moment for Robin to register the change; he slowly looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the worst.
Sanson stood several metres down the hallway. He seemed, well, normal, if not a touch more distant than before. Bright moonlight pooled through the windows, casting alternating cool blue light and dark shadow along the walls and floor.
"What exactly are we looking for?" Sanson asked in a firm, calm voice.
Yeah. How to even begin to explain that one. Robin had tried doing that once, during the debriefing. He stumbled through adjectives that didn't link together and left the Chaldea staff more than confused than they had started. God, why couldn't this be easier?
"Nothing!" Robin burst out without thinking, then immediately regretted it. He coughed to clear his throat and gestured vaguely, as if he had lost the words he meant to say. "Really, we're looking for nothing. You know, ideally."
Okay, that was probably the worst cover story he had spouted this lifetime. Sanson probably felt the same way; he sighed and rolled his eyes.
"Look, you invited me out on this strange patrol, despite never really having a kind thing to say to me before," Sanson countered, then furrowed his eyebrows. Robin bit his tongue, holding off until Sanson processed his thoughts. "At least, nothing kind before the mission."
At least he noticed there was a change.
"Are you sure you don't remember anything about the mission?" Robin suggested.
"You're trying to get inside my head, aren't you?" Sanson snapped back. He didn't draw his weapon, but he shifted his feet slightly defensively, as if subconsciously anticipating something to happen.
So, that's it.
A fleeting moment of unnerving self awareness clicked together in Robin's head; the dual fears of sharing what was hidden and the horrors that could be revealed. The two of them had been at this crossroads before, once, even if only one of them remembered. It had started with almost the exact same words.
Robin was about to open his mouth to speak when something caught his eye. Behind Sanson, where the glass windows met the ceiling, there was a movement. The growing form looked faint at first; a hazy, almost hypnotic, flow. It reminded Robin of watching cigarette smoke drifting through the night air.
It took Sanson a moment to pick up that Robin was staring behind him. Before he could turn his head, Robin threw himself wordlessly at Sanson. The two servants landed in a heap of limbs, rolling across the floor until they came to a rest a few feet away. Robin quickly wiggled a free hand to unlatch his cloak, knock it off his shoulders and drape it over the two of them.
It was a risky play but seemed to hold for the moment; as long as they clung together under the cloth, whatever was coming wouldn't be able to see, smell or hear them.
"I don't think we need to be quiet but we should," Robin whispered. "Try not to breathe if you can help it."
Sanson didn't have a reply. His eyes widened in horror at something above them, looking increasingly concerned.
Slowly, as not to knock the cloak off, Robin followed Sanson's gaze upward, eventually coming face to face with a long, meaty snout. There was a hissing sound as the creature inhaled, flaring long rows of nostrils like gills on a fish. Then, a popping noise as a tube-like tongue flicked out.
Droplets of blue ickor splattered off of the tongue and on the floor, inches away from Sanson's face. He flinched. Robin tightened his grip on Sanson's shoulders, a desperate attempt to keep them both still just a little bit longer.
Okay, we're probably going to die, Robin concluded. Would have been nice for Mata Hari to warn him about that when she made her offer.
"What is..." Sanson said breathlessly. His eyes didn't waver from the creature above them.
"Shut up," Robin hissed back and chanced another look at the creature.
There was a reverberating snort through the monster's body as it lifted its long, winding head towards the ceiling. Its form blocked out the already dim light in the hallway, making it hard to gauge exactly what they were up against.
Robin could make some quick assessments: it was about as tall as a man at the shoulder and three times as long. It stood on four limbs that flowed like thick vines yet stood firmly like tree trunks. Locations where Robin would expect vulnerabilities, around the neck and the underbelly, were armoured with a carapace of sharp spikes. Definitely not the worst monstrosity he had seen, but the prospect of an Assassin and an Archer taking it on without the support of their Master or a battle plan seemed to be a losing proposition.
Whatever it was, it seemed more animalistic than what Mata Hari had expected. With a wide swing, it lumbered further down the hallway. It was almost too late when Robin noticed the razor-trimmed tail; this time, Sanson grabbed Robin's upper arms and pulled the archer directly to the floor beside him. The lethal appendage sliced through the air where Robin had been seconds before.
Despite the cloak now being knocked off, the hound-like monster didn't react to the two now-exposed servants. Maybe something else had found its attention.
"We need to do something," Sanson grumbled softly as he climbed to his feet, probably not aware of how trite he sounded.
"Obviously, but did you get a good look at it?" Robin muttered back, gesturing down the hallway. The creature had disappeared into the distance, swallowed by the shadows and endless corridors.
"If you aren't going to help, I'll do it myself." Sanson's arm braced slightly as it adjusted to the weight of his sword rematerializing in his hand. Without waiting for any reply, the man raced down the hallway, leaving Robin alone to listen to the footsteps fading in the distance.
This was another uncomfortably familiar position. The last time this happened...
Once a moron, always a moron. Robin let out a deep sigh and snatched his cloak off the ground. It wasn't the first time their survival wasn't guaranteed. If they both lived, it might be fun to explain to the actual security team tomorrow morning why the walls were peppered with crossbow bolts and the floors chiseled by sword strikes gone wide.
Robin followed before he had a moment to reconsider what a terrible idea this was.