Disclaimer: I own nothing. Please don't sue. I can barely afford my books as it is.

All right, it took me forever to update this. Sad, I know. Kept rewriting it, especially the latter part.

Thanks for all the wonderful review, guys. You're a great audience. Hope this chapter lives up to the rest of the story. I can't decide if I like it or hate it. Now it's in your hands. Compliment or flame, constructive criticism is desired. Hope you like it...

Oh, and you can thank the soundtrack from Cowboy Bebop and Witch Hunter Robin, Queen, Rufus Wainwright, Bob Dylan and Elvis Costello. Thanks, boys.

Chapter 5

A tall man stood in the doorway; his shoulders slightly stooped beneath his cardinal red priest's robes. Thick, white haircut in a bowl shape just above his ears framed wide set blue eyes topped with bushy gray brows. His nose was a smooth aquiline but for the slight bend in the middle, as if it had been broken at some point. High cheekbones and thin lips looked stern and authoritative, his cleft chin raised as he stared down his nose at them.

He swept his hand back, inviting them in while he continued his perusal. The monk gave a low bow before entering and Amon followed suit. When Robin didn't immediately move, he looked back and gave her a pointed glance. Hugging the borrowed coat close to her body, she turned her eyes downward to avoid those knowing blue orbs and stepped past him.

The room was square, windowless, rough stones climbing each wall. A glowing candelabrum hung from the ceiling, casting odd shadows. A huge bookcase lined two walls, its shelves stuffed with volumes and sheaves of papers tucked between texts and spilling on to the floor. In the center of the room sat a great oak desk, dark with age, its legs curving into clubbed feet. A 1920s style reading lamp hunched over a thick book, its pages torn and yellow with use.

Robin went to stand beside Amon. She fiddled nervously with a button on the borrowed coat until noticing a strange drawing in the fat text lying on the desk. A strange picture, she thought, five points…

The door closed with a loud click that made her jump and scoot closer to Amon's still figure. As the red-robed man sat down behind the great oak desk, the quiet monk followed to stand beside his chair, hands clasped.

"Ciò è il bishop di Firenze, padre Mauricio Benetello," the monk explained. "La sua Eccellenza potrà rispondere a tutte le vostre domande. Attenderò la parte esterna quando siete aspettate per andare in pensione ai vostri quarti." Bowing, he left the room.

Robin blinked owlishly and tugged on Amon's sleeve. Without turning, he said, "This is Father Benetello. He will explain everything."

Father Benetello sat forwards in the deep, black leather chair and steepled his long fingers beneath his chin. His pupils contracted until only a small dot of onyx black remained in a swirling azure sea. They locked with Robin's wide eyes like an electric current, taking in every feature. She wanted to blink, to look away. Her eyes burned worse than before and tears pooled. If felt like white-hot fingers poking through her eyes into her brain and opening hidden portals to peer inside. Finally, he blinked slowly and turned from her. Robin gasped roughly, realizing she had been holding her breath.

"You have done well, Amon. The Church appreciates your efforts. You will, of course, be amply rewarded once you reach your destination." Amon bowed deeply and rose at the father's command.

"Robin," she jumped at her name and swallowed before facing him. "Do you remember anything before you awoke today?"

She thought about the flashes of broken memories and odd understanding of the physical world. "I remember…strange things. I know this is Japan…"

"What do you remember?"

She licked her lips. "Well, I remember a girl with gold hair and someone standing at a stove. I remember candy, and…I remember a scent."

Benetello quirked a brow and folded his hands flat against the desk. "A scent? A strange thing to recall." His thin lips tightened in a wayward smile and then he asked, "Have your eyes been bothering you, Robin?"

Perplexed, she nodded and rubbed them absentmindedly. A subtle cough rumbled next to her, and Robin turned to see Amon's eyes narrowed and watching her. She lowered her hands and tucked them into the coat pockets. She had forgotten he was there.

The bishop stood up slowly, his legs creaking. He grimaced and massaged his right hip. Pushing back the chair, he walked to the bookcase and scanned the titles for a long moment before plucking a thick volume. Turning back to her, he flipped through the book and laid it on the desk. Pointing to a photograph, he said, "Do you recognize this?"

At first she only saw a stone circle, engraved in strange markings. Then, like a mirage in the distance growing clearer, she remembered. Glancing at Amon, her mouth agape, he only watched her, eyes solemn and empty.

"Yes. Yes, I do. It's the Phaistos Disk."

Amon watched her as she gazed down at the picture. His eyes met the bishop's over her head. It was only a matter of time before she remembered more.

"Good, Robin." Father slammed the volume shut, sending a cloud of dust into her eyes. She stumbled back into Amon, wiping her eyes and coughing. He caught her elbow and steadied her.

"I have something I want to give you, Robin. It will soothe your eyes." Father Benetello paused for a moment, eyes distant, before shoving the book back into place. "But I will wait until tomorrow."

"But Father-" Amon clamped Robin's shoulder in a hard grip, making her wince.

"You both need your rest. Go with the Brother outside. Goodnight."

With that he turned from them and seated himself again at the desk, fingers poring over the open text. Amon recognized the dismissal and steered Robin to the door, clasping the latch and pushing her through before she could say anything more. The Father was only so patient, even for Robin.

The monk stood outside, his patient expression breaking into a slight smile. Without a word, he led them down a darkened corridor, is head bent and a few paces ahead to give them the allusion of privacy.

"Amon, what was that object?"

Lifting a brow, he said, "You recognized it. Why are you asking me?"

A faint line appeared between her brows, and she rubbed her eyes furiously. "Because I don't know why I remember it! Just the name…I don't know what it means!"

"Maybe it will come to you in a dream, he said obliquely.

"A dream?" Her face suddenly turned from confused to angry. "What are you hiding? Why is everything so secret? Why did Father Benetello ask me about the stone?"

He walked silently for a moment. He could tell her. The Church had not forbid it. But if she were real, she would realize it herself.

"You'll know in the morning."

They followed the quiet brother through a stone arch cracking in the center and up a flight of narrow brownstone stairs.

Amon stepped lightly, listening for Robin's anxious steps behind him. Quick, quick until he swore he could feel the warmth of her breathe against his neck, and then silence and slow footfalls. She was scared. He didn't blame her.

The monk stopped before a closed door and swung it open to reveal a small bed and washstand. A lone chair sat against the far wall next to a wide window.

"Please, these are you quarters, signorina." Startled, Robin looked to Amon.

"You will stay here for tonight," he explained. Before should could ask, he said, "Wait here and some garments will be brought." He stopped suddenly and stared into those deep brown eyes, lost in the depth for maybe an eternity. Did she remember how she used to sleep? Half under the sheet, slim white limbs splayed across the bed. The lazily twirling fan stirring wheat strands fanned out on the pillow, lips slightly parted. Amon closed his eyes tightly at the sudden constriction in his groin.

Robin was speaking to him when his eyes opened. She looked worried, her green eyes bright. "I'll see you in the morning, Robin." He gave her back a helpful push into the room before closing the door on her confused face. Better if he couldn't see her.

Turning to the attentive monk, he pulled a small packet out of his pants pocket and handed it to him. "Brew this in a herbal tea. Have her drink it. All of it." The monk nodded quickly and left to do his bidding.

Sighing, Amon walked further down the hall, running his fingers along the rough stones. He opened a door identical to Robin's at the end of the corridor and entered his usual room. No one had disturbed it. His laptop sat on the small rickety desk, shirts and pants still flung carelessly over the back of a chair.

He shed his clothes down to bare skin, running hands over the tired muscles. Amon grimaced as he massaged his knee. Still tender even after all this time.

Amon grabbed a pair of gray sleep pants and pulled them on. The computer brightened to life as he slid into the chair, tapping the mouse pad. A blinking message sat on the desktop. New mail. He read the paragraph slowly, and then again. Shit.

He leaned the chair back until it balanced on the back legs and clasped his hands behind his head. Time was running out. Everything had to go smoothly tomorrow. He gray eyes flicked towards the window. Was she ready? It didn't matter. They were coming fast. Amon hadn't thought they would start the hunt so soon, but he had underestimated their blinding greed.

Slamming the chair back down, he rested his jaw in his hand, elbow on the desk, and stared out at the black night sky.

Robin stared out the window, chin in hand. She lay stretched across the bed, toes curling against the soft sheets. The night was pitch black. The stars hid behind thick clouds just barely discernable as the wind pushed them across the sky.

She didn't feel tired. How could she sleep when there were so many things to think about? She ran fingertips over her face, tracing the features and shape. Even this was foreign. A wrong twist of her arm and her right shoulder began to throb. Groaning, she rubbed the muscle hard, the ache reminding her of the day's events. Suddenly everything began to hurt.

A soft knock at the door made her turn awkwardly to look and she called for them to enter. The brown-clothed monk walked in holding a gently steaming cup in his right hand, a bundle of clothes pinned beneath his arm. Robin pulled the coat tight about her before sliding to the side of the bed. He extended his arm out to her, nodding emphatically for her to drink. While she sipped slowly, he laid the clothes neatly on the chair.

It was tea, maybe chamomile. Strange flavor, though. Her mouth quirked at the thought. Well, that was a memory. She wondered silently what kind of tea she liked until the monk moved to stand before her, hands tucked into his sleeves, watching her. Feeling uncomfortable, Robin quickly swallowed the hot tea, choking slightly as it burned her tongue.

He smiled and took the cup before leaving with a quiet click of the door. Licking the corners of her mouth, Robin slipped off the bed and pulled a dark garment from the pile on the chair. It unfolded into a shirt, sleeveless and thin. She found a pair of underwear and pants that looked too big for her narrow hips. Discarding the black coat, she let it pool at her feet and dressed in the borrowed clothes. The pants slid off her frame immediately, but she didn't bother to pick them up.

Turning on her heel, Robin stumbled and grabbed for the chair back. A strange, languid feeling had crept into her muscles. She felt loose and fuzzy. Rubbing her left eye momentarily, she wobbled to the bed and threw the sheet back. The world shrunk to a small dark circle and her breathing pounded in her ears. The window spun in place. Blinking rapidly, she fell into the soft mattress, barely pulling the sheet over her frame before she passed out.

She tapped her nails lightly against the steel desk as she lounged elegantly in the director's dark office. God, he had been worthless, she thought, tipping her head back and sighing. Now she had to clean up the insipid man's mess.

Rubbing her fingers over the shallow twin indentations in the metal desktop, she gingerly picked up the phone and dialed.

"Ouais?" A scratchy voice answered groggily.

"Patch me through to the boss."

"Est il vous attendant? You know what time-"

She gritted her teeth and spat, "Put me through, Boden. Now." Her last word rang echoed along the phone line and he stammered awkwardly. She smiled, white teeth gleaming in the darkness.

The phone rang four times before a heavily accented voice picked up. "Oui?"

"Bonjour, monsieur."

"Why, Mademoiselle Deveraux, I did not expect to hear from you so late. Was there a complication?"

She licked her lips nervously. A light sheen of sweat coated her brow. "I'm dealing with it, sir. I've already…disciplined the director."

"I hope you this can be resolved quickly, Major. Remember, you have a deadline."

"Of course." She leaned forward; her forehead almost touching the desk. "Everything will be ready for the solstice."

"Major, let me remind you that if this mission fails, I will hold you personally responsible." Her eyes bulged, trembling. "Remember that and take care, Major. Bonne nuit."

Hot breath fanned out over her neck, warm openmouthed kisses trailing up her throat, a wet tongue tracing the shell of her ear. Still half asleep, she moaned and turned her head until their lips met. Her mouth opened under the insistent pressure and his tongue delved deep.

Her eyes blinked open, squinting in the morning sunlight flaring through the blinds when he pulled back. He grinned down at her as he balanced on his forearms over her. Thick brown hair hung past his ears and hid the strong line of his jaw. Reaching up, she ran a light fingertip down his nose between deep blue eyes and over full lips, her finger sucked into his mouth before she could pull back. She giggled as his tongue swirled around the tip, her deep brown irises receding as his eyes locked with hers.

A door slammed and she gasped, pushing at his shoulder. "We have to get up! Stop!" she screamed as he grabbed her before she could leave the bed. Tickling her unmercifully, she laughed until they fell to the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around her.

A loud knock sounded on the door. "Come on! We need to leave."

Robin wiggled out of her lover's grasp, pushing his hands away when they tried to slide up her loose tank top. "No, James, I mean it! You're going to make Amon angry."

James made another grab for her, grinning when she let him hold her for a moment before pushing him away again. "He's always pissed off at something or other." He leered at her as she dodged his hands and turned on the shower. "We might as well give him something to really be angry about."

The knocking had grown louder. Leaving Robin to shower, he closed the bathroom door. "Damn it!" James swore as the door vibrated, swiping a pair of jeans and tugging them on before throwing open the door. "Jesus, Amon, what the hell? Are you trying to take the door down?"

Ignoring his younger brother's complaints, Amon peered inside the room, noting the tangled sheets and yesterday's clothing thrown haphazardly across the floor. "If you want to make it to Mom and Dad's by nightfall, you had better hurry up." He peered down his nose at his brother, taking in the wrinkled jeans and light shadow on his jaw. "We're leaving in 30 minutes. Be ready."

"What if Robin needs more time?" Amon stopped mid-step, and looked back out of the corner of his eye, his brother watching him with a look that made his chest tighten. "Then tell her to hurry up."

Robin stared out the window, watching the scenery fly by. The roads were mostly empty. A van rode up close on their bumper before speeding past and exiting. They had left the city behind miles ago and now the long roads were lined with dense forest and brush. She'd agonized over her wardrobe until James feigned death and laid on the floor until she threw a bottle of shampoo at him. She had pulled on a pair of dark jeans and a red shirt emblazoned with the San Francisco Chronicle's logo, where she worked as a features editor. Might as well try to impress them, she thought, tugging the shirt down when the wind whipped through the open windows. She laid her head back against the seat and half-heartedly listened to the two brothers sitting in front as they bickered about the radio and which way was the fastest route. Eyes at half-mast, Robin surveyed them, assessing each one in turn. James was the wilder of the two, always had been. Never failed to get into trouble and still messed up the laundry. His hair was habitually an inch or so longer than it should have been and he spent far too much time under the hood of his beat up '95 Ford F-150. He'd been perfect for her, though. He made her feel freer. Terrific in bed and at letting her scream at him until she'd worn herself out enough to listen to his side. Two years now, she had been perfectly happy…until a few months ago.

Her eyes shifted to Amon. Dark. That always seemed to fit his countenance. Handsome and reserved, his eyes spoke for him, an intense gray that saw everything. Taller than James, with a stronger build, he lacked his younger brother's ease with people. While James had entered the Air Force straight out of high school and advanced through the ranks with unaccountable ease, Amon had studied at UC-Berkeley, majoring in psychology. His inability, or unwillingness, to connect with people made a career in medicine unviable, so when the FBI recruited him, he readily agreed. Robin smiled at the memory of Amon pinning her to the kitchen wall, holding out his ID and giving the Miranda warning while James ignored them and continued flipping television channels in the living room. That had been the moment. His gray eyes too close to her brown ones, his breath slipping over he parted lips. What had started out as fun had turned into something else. Her stomach had clenched and her body tightened in all the wrong places. Amon had leaned in imperceptibly, his mouth suddenly so close she only had to shift to touch him. He stiffened then, pulling back just as James walked in, complaining about whoever let the Cheetos go stale. And that had been the beginning of the end.

Still fighting, Amon pulled the car into an empty gas station a few miles off the highway set back in the woods. James climbed out and slammed the door, yelling he'd be right back and disappeared into the convenience store. Robin opened her car door and sat with her legs out, watching Amon efficiently remove the gas cap and start filling the car. As if feeling her gaze, his gray eyes shifted to lock with hers. The tension was killing her.

"Amon, we need to talk." Her voice was a whisper, but she kept her eyes trained on his face, waiting for an answer. He stood still for a moment, his face its usual stoic mask, before nodding curtly and leaning his shoulders against the gas pump.

"Robin, I-" The sound of shattering glass jerked him off the pump and he was halfway to the store before Robin could round the car. Bullets pumped out of the windows, pocking the car and whipping past her ears. "ROBIN!" Amon roared, doubling back, "Get down!" He shoved her on to the ground, covering her body with his own. "Get away from the car," he whispered in her ear before crawling off her and racing cautiously around the side of the building.

Hands over her head, Robin huddled on the ground, screaming each time a bullet ripped through the air over her head. Trying to be brave, she walked on her hands and knees towards the thicket of bushes surrounding the gas station. She whimpered and cried, but didn't stop moving until she was ensconced inside the green foliage.

Peeking out, she realized the bullets had stopped. It was silent. She leaned out, wondering if it was safe. Suddenly, gunfire sounded again, but this time accompanied by someone's screams. A body tumbled out of an empty window, its shirt dark and gleaming. Clapping a hand over her mouth, Robin sat still, unable to move. An engine kicked and rolled and a dark blue van swerved out from behind the station, it's back doors open. Two men rushed out and into the store and she could hear crashing and the heavy thunk of flesh hitting flesh.

The same two men ran out again, holding a body between them. Robin squinted her eyes, and then gasped. James. Forgetting the danger, she fought her way out of the close branches and raced towards the van. "James!" she screamed, flinging herself at one of the men. He swore violently as she raked her fingernails down his face and neck, drawing blood. Reaching back, he caught her by the nape of her neck and threw her down hard, her head cracking against the cement curb. Robin watched James' still face until the van doors closed and she blacked out.

The first thing she noticed when she awoke was the blinding pain. Her skull felt like someone was splitting it in two, from the inside. Groaning, she touched her head gingerly as she staggered to her feet, stumbling over the curb and slamming into a wall. Her hand came away bloody. Blood? What…?

"Amon!" She tried to run, but her head swam and her vision faded in and out. Leaning against the store, she slid her way to the door, pushed through and tripped on a can, smashing her knee into the linoleum floor. Clutching her knee, she frantically hobbled down the short aisle, searching for Amon. He was in the last aisle, next to the freezer. He lay prostrate on his stomach, the freezer's shattered glass blanketed over him. Dropping to her hands and knees, Robin smoothed his hair back from his face, and spoke softly. "Amon? Amon, wake up. Please, Amon, wake up. Can you hear me?" She hunkered down close to his face and breathed a sigh of relief when she felt warm air flow against her skin. Shaking his shoulder lightly, she turned him so he lay on his back, his head on her thigh. Her skull was pounding. Lost in a haze of pain, she waited. It seemed eons before his eyes flitted open, pupils dilated.

"Oh, Amon, thank God. I wasn't sure you'd wake up," she cried, smoothing her hands over his jaw and forehead. "Are you all right? What happened? Where's James?"

Amon coughed hard, blood flecking his lips and chin. Wheezing, he said, "They took him."

Licking her lips, Robin nodded frantically. "I know, Amon. Who took him? Where is he?"

He seemed to fade away from her for a moment and she called his name despairingly, trying to bring him back. Opening his eyes again, the gray was clearer this time. "I don't know. I don't know," he whispered. "I don't know."

Robin bolted upright in bed, her hair sticking to her face, beads of sweat clinging to her arms and soaking her thin shirt. Her green eyes flared wide, her breath coming in quick gasps. She couldn't breathe. There wasn't enough air. Clumsily throwing off the sheet, she stumbled to the window and threw up the latch, letting in the cool night air. Her head was swimming; her muscles ached like she had been running. Robin clutched her stomach as it heaved and raced to the washstand, vomiting up water and thick yellow liquid. Still dry heaving, she collapsed to the floor, limbs sprawled out, and tried to draw in enough air.

What the hell happened?

That's it! And here's what the monk said-

Ciò è il bishop di Firenze, padre Mauricio Benetello. La sua Eccellenza potrà rispondere a tutte le vostre domande. Attenderò la parte esterna quando siete aspettate per andare in pensione ai vostri quarti

Tranlation: This is the Bishop of Florence, Father Mauricio Benetello. His Excellency will be able to answer all your questions. I will be waiting outside when you are ready to retire to your quarters.

A special thanks: Misora (you rock and you're the only celebrity I know) and Professor Burd for being so damn boring that I wrote in class.