NOTE: Some of the views expressed by Robin in this particular chapter, in association with her incident with Paz in the previous chapter, do not reflect any personal views. I personally have nothing against sexual activity between women (or men, for that matter—do you hear me, America, WHAT THE FUCK)…but bear in mind the environment Robin was raised in. Raised in a convent, where most any kind of sexual activity would be regarded as a sin—imagine her feelings of deviance and sin after having been kissed by a woman. I imagine she'd feel pretty screwed-up, eh? So, yeah. Don't read anything into my renditions of Robin's reactions and thoughts; it's just how I would see someone of Robin's beliefs and character responding.

………………………

The house was silent and gloomy, and running high with tensions that no one needed to voice; the silence in and of itself spoke volumes. The occupants of the house packed themselves away into their own little worlds in different rooms; Trygve, his family, and his maids remaining upstairs in seclusion—the seclusion interrupted only by the appearance of a doctor at the door, sporting a black leather bag and a derby hat, typically old-guard European. Some time later the doctor came back down the stairs into the main room, nodded to the three strangers from Japan who had gathered, awkwardly, to watch his departure, perhaps hoping to gather some sort of information from him.

Not even Amon had been blunt enough to speak up and ask for information. It was evident enough to all that something very bad had happened upstairs, that morning. It didn't need to be rehashed by asking about it.

Tomb-like silence continued. Amon and Nagira settled in the parlor, the stillness of the room and their own eerie muteness making it more like a mausoleum than a parlor. Robin, feeling saddened, depressed, vaguely violated, and somewhat frightened (the last two in association with her meeting with the committee the night prior), ambled about the house aimlessly for a bit before deciding that she would go outside for a walk around the grounds. Her stomach rumbled bitterly but she couldn't summon the nerve or the energy to go into the house kitchen and look for food.

She slipped out the front door without knocking on the closed parlor door to alert her guardians where she was going. Outside, the air was obtrusively cold, permeating her layers of clothing and sinking into her flesh, and the sky spoke of precipitation violence to come—rain, sleet, snow. Fog laid low across the earth like a whimpering, abused pet, creeping slowly across the frozen grass and undergrowth.

Her eyes were glazing as she stared blankly at her surroundings from the impressive front step. Remembering that she had come out to walk, she began to move her feet and moved off into the light forest near the house. Time for thought was needed.

Compiling a mental summary, Robin's brain worked quietly within her skull to assess the damage that had accumulated over the last day and a half or so. First and foremost, Sigrún had lost her child—so early in pregnancy that it had probably just occurred as a large movement of blood; Robin remembered living at the convent and seeing the poor local country girls coming to the sisters, crying and wailing about their lost children, not knowing what else to do while covered in blood and unable to go back to their fathers. Secondly, there was the pressing issue of the group of witches that formed the committee, with their plans for what Robin could only term as murder; a slaughtering of innocents simply because they weren't good enough. Thirdly was the obvious rift between Trygve and Amon that had begun the evening prior in the vehicle; Trygve trying to keep himself and his family safe and Amon unused to having to bow to anyone that he didn't at least respect, in some way. Recalling the ride back to the house, Robin remembered that watching Amon and Trygve fight from the backseat must have been like what a young child watching their parents argue was like. She'd felt small and helpless, and sad, yet had been unable to speak up and do anything to stop them.

All of these issues were completely aside from what she herself was feeling internally, issues that didn't so much pertain to the group as they did specifically to her. She experienced a curious double violation of her mind and her body. Robin wondered how the old man Teodor could know about her knowledge of the unknown deaths, so many years ago, on St. Valentine's Day. One thing was certain, though, the man knew. She'd felt him obtaining the information from her as plainly as if she was a file cabinet the night before, and the only conclusion that Robin could come up with was that the Romanian had some sort of scrying power. He'd touched her hands, even though there was no need for him to, and that's when she'd felt him seeing through all her defenses as if they were tissue paper.

That and her obvious and sudden aversion to him upon meeting him had probably led him to suspect her of something. Sighing to herself as she picked her way up a particularly steep, wet, icy hill, Robin knew that she was going to have to learn to conceal her emotions better. Perhaps if she hadn't acted so spooked by Teodor in the first place, he never would have suspected her of a thing. But now it was clear that he'd learned of her knowledge, and that he was connected to it somehow.

The fact that the old man she'd dined with could have been ruthless and cruel enough to cut off people's hands and send them to their families didn't exactly sit easily on Robin's consciousness.

Bodily, Robin felt repugnant and immoral. She could have backed away from the woman Paz, could have turned away, could have removed herself from the situation before it'd come to…had the older woman been trying to seduce her? Instead she had stood paralyzed by fear and intimidated out of her skin, and had allowed herself to be…used? Tarnished? Robin's mind reeled with the implications of having carnal knowledge of a woman, the ultimate sin and wrong that she had committed by even failing to defend herself against such an act. The svelte body walking through the forest shuddered under all the layers of clothing, and felt a chill that could not have been chased away by any warmth.

Paz, while beautiful and powerful, seemed as a snake to Robin. The image of her hands draped over the witch Oskari's shoulders, the memory of the way Paz had leaned against his chair, the way the brown eyes had studied Robin and Amon knowingly…and most of all, the remembrance of her dominance of Robin's body left a powerfully sour taste in the blonde's mouth.

Flopping down on the frozen, damp earth beneath a tree, Robin wrapped her arms around her knees fiercely and ignored the way the chill worked its way through her body from the earth up. The sour taste in her mouth was mutating into over-salivation, and most un-ladylike but not caring, Robin turned her head to the side and spit. She repeated this process several times, her mind still crowded with thoughts of sins committed and the vile, sinuous image of the Spanish woman who'd kissed her.

Abruptly, she became aware of the fact that she was going to vomit. Retching brought nothing, due to the empty state of her stomach, and in the end she leaned back against the tree feeling sore and breathless, her stomach now truly empty of everything, bile included. Useless, tired hands flopped down to her sides, nails clutching into the dirt lightly.

Minutes later, that was how Amon found her. He looked down at her from a distance, and she rolled her head over on a mostly-limp neck to look up at him. He swallowed.

"We were wondering where you had gone," he began. "I thought I would come to look for you outside since your coat was gone. Nagira was searching the house."

Words stuck in her dry throat. "I'm on a walk."

He nodded, hands stuck into the pockets of his overcoat. "Although you appear to be sitting now. Not much of a walk, is it?"

Casting her eyes to the trees across from her and away from Amon, Robin looked around vapidly. "How did you find me?" she queried, numbly.

"I walked until I found your footprints. When I lost track of those I followed your scent."

Still staring at the trunks of the trees across from her, displacing earth with her frozen-numb fingers, Robin nodded. "How did you find my footprints?"

"I asked myself where I would go if I was Robin." He drew closer to her and crouched next to her, looking at her. "You told me once that you liked to walk among trees. It made you feel humble and small."

Against her will, Robin's brows knit together as she stared, mouth crinkling. "When did I say that?"

"A long time ago. We were in the United States." He looked down at his feet, then up at the tops of the trees, squinting slightly. "I'm not certain why I remembered."

"I'm not either." She removed her fingers from the dirt and brushed them off on her skirt, the underside of her nails remaining gritty and black with soil. Turning towards him again, she blinked. They looked at each other for a moment.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked her eventually, blunt but careful. As always, he was direct with his words, but his voice wasn't the usual clipped baritone that it normally was.

Squirming, Robin sat up some. "I…threw up."

Amon's eyebrows rose slightly as if asking to confirm the statement. "Are you ill?"

Robin sighed and pushed herself to her feet, leaving Amon to look up at her from his crouched position on the ground. "No. I'm disgusted." Her formerly blank face turned bitter and pensive, staring down at the ground like it had done something wrong. "There was nothing in my stomach to come back up, anyway."

Standing, Amon leaned against the tree that Robin had previously been sitting against until she'd stood. He folded his arms over his chest, black-gloved hands gripping his upper arms. "Why are you disgusted?" his voice was calm, even; it reminded Robin of a psychologist speaking to a patient.

She looked up at him, timidly. "You know what a sin of omission is, right? What it would be?" Despite the fact that Amon nodded at her, she went ahead and defined it anyway. "I didn't actively engage in anything, I just didn't prevent it."

He looked at her for a second, reading her face. "Robin, if you're talking about Sigrún's baby, there is absolutely nothing you could have done. Just because you…feel like you knew about it in advance doesn't mean that you were obligated—or that you could have—prevented it."

"No, no." Robin's head shook vehemently and the horrible chill spread throughout her body again. Eyes downcast, her arms wrapped around her middle and her bony hips, Robin wet her dry lips. "This was something I could have stopped. I could have moved away. I could have prevented it. Instead…I did nothing. Part of me wonders if it wasn't because I somehow wanted it to happen, in a dark, horrible part of me."

The very air around Amon seemed to darken and intensify. He looked at Robin piercingly, searchingly, his jaw rigid beneath his beard. "Robin." That was all he said for a moment, and his next words seemed very carefully spoken. "Did someone do something to you?" he asked, flatly.

Robin was silent.

"Robin," Amon said again, his voice solemn. "Did someone do something to you?" His hands were gripping his arms more tightly.

"A kiss," she began, and Amon stiffened even more. "Last night, when I left the room to go outdoors with Paz, she…" Robin trailed off, wondering if she should have even told him. It was vile, and disgusting, and spoke of a lack of willpower and resistance on her part. Why hadn't she just left the balcony? "…we were talking, and she kissed me. She told me that I was helpless, that I should go home and forget about all of this…"

Amon was looking at her with the closest look to blatant shock that she'd ever seen on his face before.

"…she was so…" Robin clenched her fists against her sides, shrinking into herself. "…it was so disgusting. The things she said, the way she acted…she seemed more like a devil than a person. And I let her touch me. I just stood there. I did nothing; I didn't even try to stop myself from letting myself be a part of such sinful conduct…to know the flesh of the same sex, carnally…"

The man across from her was still in shock. "That woman kissed you?" His face was enraged, set in stone. "That woman even dared to touch you?"

Slowly, shell-shocked, Robin's hands moved from her sides to her face to press against her cheeks. "I can't believe what I've done," the young witch whispered, staring down at her feet. "I just…"

The sounds of heavy boots moving against the ground signaled Amon's movement, his gloved hands reaching out for Robin's huddled body. She shuddered and cringed against his touch, which made it withdraw momentarily as if he'd been burned by a candle flame, but then it alit upon her arms again with certainty and drew her to him, pressing her face in against the heavy black wool of his overcoat. "You've done nothing." His foggy breath was warm on the crown of her fair head. "That miserable woman overstepped her boundaries and none of it is your fault, at all." His arms remained tight around her as her own came up to clutch delicately at the fabric of his coat on his back. "I should have gone outside with you. I am sorry. I don't know what I was thinking, allowing you to go off by yourself with—" He cut himself off, voice shaking with seething anger. "I am so sorry, Robin. I shouldn't have let something like this happen."

The warmth and solidity of Amon's body against her own reminded her of how, perhaps, she did not deserve such kindness, how something that seemed so right might have been a sin as well. Her rebellious mind and body, despite their torment, squelched down the notion that perhaps she'd been sinful all along as she leaned into Amon further, limply.

"I'm sorry." Amon's gloved hands were tangling in tendrils of her pinned-back hair, stroking lightly at her neck. "Mark me here, Robin—I will never let anything like that happen to you ever again. I should never have left you alone with our enemies."

Robin tried to look up at him, to verbally deny that any part of it had been his fault at all, but her gripped her tighter—the closeness of the embrace physical pain bordering on emotional pleasure—and held her head against him firmly. "And I swear that the next person who ever dare to do something like that to you again—whether they are man or woman—will have their throat ripped out by my own bare hands."

"Okay," a weak, breathy reply; that was all Robin could manage. Did she deserve such protection and comfort? Her mind alternately bounced between asking herself that same question and wondering if the comfort she received from Amon, if the way she felt about him was a sin as well. Squeezing her eyes shut, she shuddered. It couldn't be; it felt so different and good, what she felt for Amon. They'd been brought together as a warden and a ward, and the basis of their relationship—whatever there was—had therefore been good, started in good intent. Amon had merely wanted to protect her, from others and herself.

And yet you stared like a child at a movie show the first time you saw him, the first time you passed him in the hallway of Harry's. You WANTED him before you could even have known what his intentions were at all, if any—you didn't even know who he was, then, he was just a stranger! Some stranger that you gawked at like a common whore!

Robin shuddered again and Amon's arms tightened yet more around her, putting a pressure on Robin's body that was unpleasant and pleasant all at once. It was what she deserved for even indulging herself in such actions.

They stood together like that in the middle of the cold outdoors for longer than was needed for simple comfort.

………………………………….

Amon, feeling like a benevolent father figure, had ushered Robin into the dining room upon their return to the house. Robin was reticent, small, somehow broken. Watching her through the open door, he tried to soften his face into the most comforting look he was capable of. She stared back at him blankly.

"Why don't you go into the kitchen and fix yourself something to eat?" he suggested. "It would help to calm your stomach, and I'm sure no one would mind. The maids are a bit too busy today to tend to meals…I don't think it would be considered rude if you fed yourself, today."

She nodded, and turned to move into the kitchen through the door slowly. Amon watched her and then watched the kitchen door close, and waited until he heard the sounds of a fridge door opening. Then he turned and stalked back to the parlor, opening the door forcefully. Nagira looked at him from across the room, hands on his hips.

"So she was outside, huh?" he said, his face becoming befuddled at the rage on Amon's. "What happened?"

Amon crossed the room and stood near the fireplace, which Nagira had lit in order to perhaps provide the room with something resembling light and warmth. He was silent, arms folded over his chest, and Nagira quirked an eyebrow. "What?" he asked of his irate brother.

"I let something happen. I let something happen to Robin." Amon was staring down into the fire, cheek ticking. "I let something really fucked up happen to Robin."

Nagira was next to Amon at that point, his face urgent and demanding. "What? What? Would you just spit it out and quit being so damned cryptic all the time?"

"Last night at the dinner I let her go outside, by herself, with this woman—a member of the committee," Amon said, lowly. "Just now outside Robin tells me that this woman kissed her, and said things to her or—" Amon cleared his throat and continued to stare into the fire. "I don't know. I guess this woman more or less forced herself on Robin."

Nagira's face registered the same shock that his brother's had in the forest, at Robin's admission. "A woman? Are you kidding?" There was silence from Amon. "Why?"

Amon looked over to Nagira, grey eyes meeting Japanese brown. "I don't know! Maybe because everyone on this so-called committee is an absolutely threatening sociopath!" Nagira looked away from his brother and down into the fireplace himself, folding his arms over his chest in what could have been an exactly identical manner to Amon. "In any case, it happened. It shouldn't have happened. What the hell was I thinking, letting Robin go off by herself with someone who is opposed to our very existence?" Amon's eyebrows lowered, his head shaking slightly. "That woman could have—Christ, I don't know, tossedRobin off the balcony. What's worse is that I would have just been sitting inside obliviously."

Nagira was looking at Amon again, intently. "This wasn't your fault, Amon. This could have happened no matter what. I mean, not like this is much of a comfort, but that's something that could have happened here in this house. You can't watch Robin every single second of the day. You can't protect her from everything. You shouldn't blame yourself, buddy—"

Amon made a noise like a scoff, looking disgusted with himself. "Well, she certainly blames herself for what happened, even though she's perhaps the least at fault of anyone. And—" Amon's face turned bitter, his eyes staring off unfocused into the fire. "—I look at her and I see the look in her eyes and I know that I failed, somehow. God, Syunji, I feel like a worthless—"

Both brothers turned to the door as it opened quietly and somewhat meekly, and Robin's faded maize head poked into the room, her eyes wide and questioning. "Um. I…made lunch." A hand holding a plate of what appeared to be sandwiches appeared from around the door to join Robin's questioning face. "I don't know if either of you have eaten yet, but there were enough things in the kitchen to make a couple of sandwiches…"

Amon appeared to have lost use of his vocal cords, so Nagira slapped a cheery look on his face and clapped his hands together. "Great! I'm so damn hungry that I was getting ready to cannibalize Amon. You saved the day, kiddo." Robin, a flickering little smile like the sun trying to break through clouds, came into the room with her plate of sandwiches. "Little Robin, bringer of joy and sandwiches!"

Robin was blushing then. "Well, I don't know about joy…they're not all that great of sandwiches."

Nagira didn't waste time, picking one up and taking a large bite of it. "Ah, cucumbers. Hats off to the chef."

The blush intensified as Robin preened her sandwiches, making sure they were all perfect. Amon had come over from the fireplace in interest to inspect said sandwiches. "I…couldn't find any loose meat around anywhere, only whole hams and whatnot. There's only vegetables and cheese on them," Robin explained, pointing at the sandwiches.

"And I got the one with the most cucumbers," Nagira sang gleefully around a mouthful of food. Amon looked over at him in momentary disgust. "I love cucumbers."

"We're Japanese," Amon said to Robin, even if he wasn't entirely. "I don't think you'll see us complaining about the lack of meat." He took up one of the sandwiches and took a bite, and after he'd finished chewing his bite and swallowed it, offered Robin a ghost of a smile. "Bean sprouts. They're better than cucumbers any day."

It was amazing how a little thing like complimenting Robin on her sandwiches could get such a big reaction—the sun of her smile breaking through the clouds of uncertainty and sadness on her face, lighting up the whole room.

……………………………

Some hours later, a haggard looking Finn came tromping down the main staircase. Amon, hearing piqued by the sounds of feet on stairs, looked out from the parlor where he, Nagira, and Robin had spent most of the day sequestered. Not too long ago Robin had gone off into the kitchen by herself, her confidence spurred by the success of her sandwiches that morning, to prepare some kind of dinner. Finn looked over at Amon, head shaking slowly.

He entered the room and took a seat next to Nagira, and then thought better of it and walked to a cabinet in the corner. With muted triumph he opened the cabinet to reveal a television which he turned on via a remote. To the other two men's shock, the TV was actually functional, with cable service.

"What a day," Finn said, flopping back next to Nagira. "I just want to sit down and let some TV numb my mind." He blinked. "As if it weren't already numb enough."

Nagira looked over at the American. "How's Sigrún? And Trygve?"

Finn let out a breath. "Sigrún's in pretty bad shape. She's mostly fine, physically, but mentally…not so hot. Tryg's pretty torn up, too. They're both convinced…"

Silence filled by the sounds of some sort of Danish comedy program ensued.

"…bah. I shouldn't talk about it," Finn said dismissively. "It's not really any of my business, I guess—"

"They feel guilty, don't they?" Amon broke in, in monotone. "They think they deserved it for what they did to Gróa." Finn looked over to Amon in disbelief, immobile for a moment, and then he nodded.

"Yeah. It's sad." His eyes narrowed as he stared at the television, as if in thought. "And to them, it's like Eirikur is the evidence, or something…I don't know." Finn began to flip channels, seeking a distraction. "Nevermind. I don't know why I'm talking about it. I guess…it's just kind of sad to me, too. I'm not exactly closely related to Siggy and Tryg, but they're still my family, and I don't like seeing them all torn up like this."

More silence filled the room; Amon not sure what to say, and Nagira mostly thinking about the situation. Finn, true to his words moments ago, appeared to be immersing himself in the television until he found something that he could get English subtitles with. It was some kind of documentary about cathedrals in Europe. Amon rose a few moments later.

"I suppose I'd better inform Robin that there'll be someone else for dinner." With that he left the room and Nagira and Finn sat in silence. Lighting a cigarette, Nagira discreetly stole a peek at his American companion's face. The face was frowning, slightly, staring at the television screen as if it was the only thing in the room.

Nagira knew how it was to feel like that, to watch family members in grief, to watch them in despair—even if they weren't full family members. Memories of Amon as a small boy came to Nagira unbidden; a stranger in a strange land, plucked from the life with his mother he'd known in Europe and sent to live with a father who regarded him as a reminder of his crazy, now dead ex-wife. At first Amon had refused to speak Japanese, refused to take his shoes off before entering the house, refused to eat with chopsticks, and wanted nothing to do with the rest of the family. Nagira's own mother had tried repeatedly to reach out to a shattered child-Amon, only to be rebuffed time and time again.

The shattered child-turned-man entered the room as if on cue and Nagira turned his head to look at Amon, who hovered near the doorway. His baby brother looked slightly…astounded.

"Robin's lending herself to quixotic pursuits in the kitchen," Amon explained, scratching at the back of his head lightly. "I never thought I'd meet someone who needed help in the kitchen more than myself, but I suppose…" He looked as if he felt very odd speaking the words that he was. "…I had better go assist in the kitchen."

Finn managed a half-hearted, absorbed in the TV snicker. "What's she doing in there? Getting pancakes stuck to the ceiling?"

Amon blinked. "No. But she is trying to cut a tomato with a knife about this big." He made a space between his two hands that indicated nothing less than a medium-sized meat cleaver.

"As chief warden, it's your duty to make sure no Robin-fingers end up in my meal," Nagira said with a chortle, turning back to the TV. "And make sure none of your fingers end up in it, either."

………………………………

Reznik Stojespal was multitasking. Over the years he'd grown exceptionally adept at juggling three or four phone calls at once while reading letters and or holding conversations with someone in the room.

At one point in time, it had been difficult for him to do so while Paz Loera Ayala was in the room, but now the woman was more of a familiar, nagging presence than an excitement. He looked at her then across his desk, staring back at him with her brown eyes that could have easily tricked someone into thinking they were of the big, brown, innocent variety. He knew better.

In his ear, Julien Torrilhon informed him of the fact that the Icelandic woman, Gróa Guðmundsdóttir, had finally been discovered dead in her home, along with two dead men. The men were SOLOMON agents, of course—they all knew this, and so did miserable little Robin Sena and her cohorts—but the public at large didn't know that. For now, the crime was being labeled as some sort of bizarre ritual killing involving drugs and a crossed lover.

Julien was, as usual, back in his home country of France, where he always was unless someone needed him desperately. "So SOLOMON is stepping in to assist the Icelandic police with their investigation?" Reznik queried, watching Paz pace the room in exasperation.

"Yes. They don't know it's SOLOMON—remember, not allowed in the country anymore—but they are." Julien's voice chuckled slightly. "And as far as I know, Trygve and his wife are simply trying to ignore the fact that the woman's dead at all. I don't know if they would even be particularly interested to discover that her body's finally been discovered."

Running a hand over his close-cropped hair, Reznik leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on his desk. "I think it's agreed that this was the last time we send SOLOMON's pathetic little Hunters out to do our dirty work, Julien. They managed to kill the woman—which is of absolutely no consequence to anything—but they seem to have neglected to get rid of our new friends."

A sigh came from the other line. "I practically put the loaded guns right into SOLOMON's eager hands. I'm not certain how they managed to botch the whole thing. Next time—"

"There's not going to be a next time." Reznik watched Paz light a cigarette in agitation, blowing her smoke uncaringly into the air of his office, where no smoking was supposed to occur. "I'm done with relying on SOLOMON to take care of this problem. If you want something done right, you've got to do it yourself. Of course, we can count on SOLOMON for temporary distractions to our new friends—they are wanted people, after all. But as for sending SOLOMON out after them, deliberately…I'm done with it." His face turned dark. "And I'm rather disappointed in your reliance upon those Catholic fools."

Paz was grinning, watching Reznik lay into Julien. Both of them could almost envision the thin Frenchman swallowing hard, his adam's apple bobbing up and down. "I'm sorry. I only thought it best at the time, and I did not think they would fail so—"

Paz scoffed, by this time draped over Reznik's shoulder to hear Julien's tinny voice through the earpiece of the phone. "Bah! Those Hunters couldn't even kill two witches and a human in a snowbound house. It should have been like walking right into a trap. How can anyone possibly screw something like that up?"

Julien was tittering on the other line and Reznik shooed Paz away in semi-irritation. Bristling, the woman sauntered away. "Has there been any word from the house?"

An audible sigh issued forth from the other line; Julien was probably more than relieved that Reznik had decided to stop taxing him about SOLOMON's failures. "Not yet. The word is that Sigrún is not well. Aside from the usual tales of stupid, drunken witches, I haven't heard anything else."

Reznik watched Paz, who leaned back against a chair and watched him. He didn't find her as interesting as he once had, but once in a while she was at least interesting enough to give a second look, or perhaps a second touch. As if sensing his thoughts, one perfectly groomed eyebrow arched upwards suggestively and her lips smirked. "Keep listening. I have some other things to attend to now…people have been less wont to stay in their places ever since the rumour of Robin Sena's existence was confirmed. Her very existence makes life tough for us."

"I know." Julien commiserated. The fool could barely stay on top of things in his own home country, let alone perform functionally as a member of the group. Reznik hung up without another word.

There were much more important things to tend to. Robin Sena, upstart street punk witches who decided they didn't have to stick to contracts anymore, and the Spaniard across the room from him were all more pressing issues at the moment.

……………………….

"They got their start, oddly enough, way back at the beginning of World War II."

Amon and Nagira sat sternly, in analytical silence as Finn spoke. Robin leaned forward in her chair eagerly, hoping that some of the answers to the questions she'd formed in her mind would be mentioned.

"I'm not entirely certain how that happened; there's a couple of different stories about the matter. I've heard that there were various families from all over Europe who were financially involved with the Nazis, I've heard that the Nazis had some sort of super-secret witch project going on, I've heard that their family members were Nazis. Who knows?" Finn shrugged, leaning back in his chair. He put his feet up on the dinner table. "Whatever the case was, that's when the ties with SOLOMON started as well, since good old Pius was in kind of tight with the Nazis, anyway. Far as anyone can tell, the beginnings of the committee were just some old bourgeoisie bastards who were witches, kind of involved in organized crime, and just happened to be in the right spot at the right time."

"If they were linked with the Nazis, how did they escape persecution at the end of the war?" Nagira asked, lighting a cigarette. Today, and today only, the whole house seemed to be a smoking zone.

"I'm assuming that most of them covered their asses really well or did what all good Nazis did after the war—fled to South America for a while. I'm not certain. It was at this point that the committee started to expand its interests," Finn narrated, using his hands to speak. "Russia. Well, more specifically, Russia and some of the countries that would become the Eastern Bloc. They started getting involved with the Communist government and keeping the Iron Curtain maintained. And I'm guessing they were making themselves rich and fat in the process."

Robin, shaking her head slightly, stared down at her empty dinner plate. "But why? Why were they doing all of this? I do not understand that part. What was their goal?"

Finn looked at her meaningfully; a trifle sadly. "I don't know. Sometimes people are just inherently screwed up, I guess." He sighed before continuing. "The organized crime bit continued on as well, and that was the way things ran for a while…SOLOMON popped in here and there, because they were witches, but I guess the old committee always had some sort of upper hand to keep SOLOMON off their back—money, military might, something. I don't know. It's all kind of foggy."

Amon's face was contorted with thought; his eyes spoke of attempts to make meaningful connections, but failing. "Perhaps due to the fact that the Church was still trying to rid itself of connections to the Nazi regime—perhaps that's why SOLOMON didn't press them too firmly? Perhaps some of the committee members were SOLOMON members themselves?"

Again, Finn shrugged and looked at a loss. "I have no idea. I'm telling you all I know, here, and it's still probably not going to make any sense after that. There's a big gap in my knowledge of their history, but this is the part that'll probably interest you the most."

All three people at the dinner table aside from Finn perked up, listening intently.

"At some point, about seventeen years ago, the committee became very interested in the concepts of genetic manipulation. Why, I'm not certain. Possibly because they wanted to figure out how to tamper with their own genetic code, that of their children, that of the population at large, whatever. Somehow, somewhere, the committee—the older members, mind you, of which there are only three left—made contact with SOLOMON somehow, and learned that SOLOMON had kind of been tampering with that kind of stuff themselves, through a man in Japan."

The faces of Nagira and Amon grew hesitant, as if something had just dawned on them. Robin's face became suddenly sad and almost wistful, and she looked to Finn with what could really only be described as shame. "Toudou. The man's name was Toudou, right?"

Finn nodded just as sadly, watching Robin avert her eyes and Amon and Nagira look to her with concern. "I think you know where I'm going with this, kind of. Toudou—your father, if you call him that—had been working on various genetic experiments for a while, and had recently become married to your mother—if you call her that—who was a daughter of a high-ranking SOLOMON official. She was also a witch."

"I know all this," Robin whispered. "Skip it."

Looking decidedly uncomfortable, Finn cleared his throat and took a swallow of his wine. "I think, originally, that Toudou's mission from SOLOMON was something completely different, and this you may or may not know, but he was also working for the committee at the time, on the same project. SOLOMON was willing to overlook it, the committee—at this point, their businesses had become so intertwined that SOLOMON was considering absorbing the committee for a while. And then…well, you know that Toudou kind of changed his mind about the whole affair, and witches in general."

Pausing for a moment to collect his thoughts and his breath, Finn stopped speaking. The room was dead silent.

"Both SOLOMON and the committee were rather irritated that such a thing had occurred, and that you…well, that you'd ever even been created," Finn said uneasily, gesturing vaguely at Robin. "This began the semi-schism between the committee and SOLOMON. SOLOMON wanted to use you, even if they didn't fully trust your entire existence, and the committee wanted you dead immediately. Guess who won?"

"These people have wanted me dead ever since I was first born?" Robin queried, frantically. "Why?"

Amon and Nagira were silent, processing information. Finn sighed.

"I dunno. I'd personally think that they'd be all for you, you being the genetically perfect witch and all, but…I don't know. Maybe because you were born perfect, and you didn't have to work for it and didn't have to carefully monitor your family line, marrying other witches…maybe just because your existence negated all their hard work." Finn looked over at the hunched girl across the table from him and put his feet back down on the ground, leaning across the table. "I…I don't have to keep talking about this, if you don't want to."

Shaking her head fervently, Robin looked bitter. "What does it matter? It isn't as if I haven't heard myself talked about as being a creation before, and not a person. It isn't as if I am not used to people wanting me dead."

Finn looked troubled, nonetheless. "Well, you know that SOLOMON changed their mind about you. You started getting too powerful, too dangerous…too much like Toudou had wanted you to be, a power to right all the wrongs in the witch world. They couldn't control you anymore. And that's when the committee and the Church started talking again, because they realized that perhaps they'd had more in common in the first place than they'd originally known."

Amon spoke up, after an eternity of silence. "How so?"

Finn gave a sardonic half-smile. "You know. Oh, it's fine and dandy to be a witch, as long as you're not making ripples, as long as you're landed and familied, and as long as you're going to be helpful in some way—or subordinate—then you're okay. Everyone else gets to die."

Rubbing at his eyes fiercely, Nagira groaned. "Ah, Jesus. I feel like I'm in sociology class again…are we talking about witches and whatnot or fucking Karl Marx's theories about the world?"

"Then came the rumours out of Japan. Well, for those of us with close enough ties to people who associate with the committee, we knew they weren't rumours. Unless you two had been ground into itty-bitty teeny-tiny little pieces when that building collapsed, you two had escaped and were on the run." Finn nodded to Amon. "And we rather startled to hear that you'd defected. You'd been SOLOMON's inside man, the one who was supposed to go in and clean up the mess that all the others had left behind. Instead, you were elevated to public enemy number 2, right behind Robin's number one."

Terse, uncomfortable silence was Amon's only reply for the moment; his face was distinctly clouded over and unpleasant looking. His eyes shadowed as if he was searching through his memory for something; perhaps the memories of his half-hearted Hunt of Robin. "People change," he said finally. "I'm no exception."

Looking to Robin, who still was in a state of wordless disgruntlement, Nagira watched her for a reply. None was forthcoming. "So now SOLOMON's crapping its pants because they made a mistake in letting Robin live, all those years ago, and the committee's…trying to…?" the lawyer asked.

"I don't know what they're trying to do. Remember that they had originally wanted Robin dead, when she was an infant. SOLOMON was the thing that kept her alive, and then they lost control of her…it could be possible that the committee will use Robin to scare SOLOMON for as long as they see fit." Finn calmly lit a cigarette and walked over to a low table against the wall where a decanter of some manner of amber liquid was. He poured himself a glass and took a sip even as Amon regarded him suspiciously.

"You seem to know an awful lot about all of this." The words out of the ex-Hunter's mouth were a polite accusation, a gentle reminder that he didn't really trust anyone. Without a word, Robin rose from her spot at the table and moved quickly to the dining room's exit, keeping her eyes downcast as she went. Amon's eyes betrayed feeling torn between staying to press Finn for more information and following his ward to find out why she'd suddenly made an exodus from the room. Nagira looked to Amon with a look of expectation on his face, as if silently questioning him as to why he was still sitting at the table.

"I don't see a point in being cloak-and-dagger about all of this stuff," Finn replied nonchalantly. "You've obviously been frustrated at the lack of information you've received from Tryg. I'm just trying to fill in the blanks the best I can," said the American, offering the critical ex-Hunter an eyebrow shrug in answer to his steely gaze. "Sorry if that seems suspicious to you. I'm just telling you what I know, and making guesses at what I don't know."

Nagira was still staring his brother down. "Hey, buddy, Robin seemed pretty upset. Someone should probably go check on her," he said, blithely continuing on despite Amon's look. "I'll go after I finish my drink and my cigarette, if you want, so you can sit here and play cross-examiner with Finn."

"No. I'll go now." Amon stood and left the room, not sparing either of the other men in the room a glance as he left.

……………………………….

Upon opening the door to Robin's room and finding her lying on her bed, staring heatedly at the ceiling, Amon sighed and folded his arms over his chest. Why did everything always have to feel like a broken home, or a damn after-school special?

"You are getting sick of my emotions, aren't you?" Robin asked baldly, not looking at him. He straightened up and walked into the room, closing the door behind him. The light in the room was somewhat dim, ambient, thanks to the fact that it was provided all by candles and oil lamps. Stopping near the edge of Robin's bed, Amon looked down at her evenly. "I think I would be, by now."

"If I was sick of them, do you think I would be in here right now?" He watched her almost roll her eyes.

"Sometimes I don't know." She frowned, harshly and sadly. "I seem to be nothing more than an object to people, you know?" Robin sat up on her elbows, looking down the length of the bed at Amon, her face vulnerable and accusatory at the same time. "I'm not even natural. Sometimes I feel more like someone's mistake than a human being. Everywhere I go I seem to cause strife and doubt. Factions have wanted me dead since my birth. Other factions have wanted to use me since my birth."

Amon looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Robin, that's not just you. That's everyone. There will always be people who want to use you, no matter who you are or where you came from, or how. There will always be people who hate you." His words weren't comforting at all and he kicked himself for it, but it was the truth. The world was a nasty place.

She looked skeptical, green eyes regarding him sourly. "There will always be people who want me dead?"

He was in the middle of a verbal land-mine field. "…Yes. But this is just the nature of your life. It's the nature of my life, as well, and Nagira's, and lots of other people's as well. Sometimes it's the nature of people's life because of their jobs, or the colour of their skin, or…" He looked at her meaningfully. "…or their genetic makeup."

A heavy sigh escaped Robin's lips, ruffling the choppy hair around her face and eyes. Her mouth puckered then turned downwards. "That is so…" Her head was shaking back and forth negatively as her mouth worked uselessly, searching for the right word. For a moment, Amon's mind envisioned her spitting out the word bullshit, because that was the word that he would have spit out if he had been in her shoes.

But Robin didn't swear, and he knew that. Sometimes, though, he thought that if she could learn the art of using a well-placed curse word every once in a blue moon that she'd feel that much happier for it.

"…stupid." The word didn't seem to have the oomph she wanted it to have, and she flopped back onto the bed, curling onto her side. "Whatever happened to the good, friendly world that God created?"

Moving around to the side of the bed, Amon sat down unobtrusively on the edge of the mattress. Robin's slight body bounced some with his weight. "It's not just stupid, Robin, it's bullshit. But the world seems to just be like that." He watched her slender ribcage expand and contract with breath, unspoken words. "As for God's world, I think it went wrong the moment he put humans into it."

There was silence as Amon sat and watched Robin, and Robin digested his words. She rolled over towards him after her period of thought. "Why can't I believe that?" she asked, sounding frustrated mostly with herself. "Why won't I just accept that the world is bad, even after it has tried to prove this to me over and over again? Why…" Breaking eye contact with him, she paused, perhaps wondering if she was saying too much and gauging his reaction; worried that he was just going to look at her and think she was rambling like a confused teenager. "…why do I keep thinking that one day it will all change? That someday, I might be able to have a normal life and get along with people?"

Amon didn't know what to say. He really didn't. Part of him knew that this was why he loved the girl lying on the bed in front of him, her enduring hope and goodness, and part of him knew that the sooner she learned to let go of idealism, the less she would hurt. In the meantime, while his brain worked and memories flashed before his eyes, Robin looked at him helplessly, lost, waiting for some kind of words.

Being a warden was fucking difficult. It wasn't just difficult because Amon harboured very unwarden-like thoughts towards his ward, but because he had to do a lot of digging through his own beliefs and thoughts, through his own memories. Sometimes he felt like he was making things worse instead of making them better.

"Maybe," he began, unsurely, "one day it will be different. But perhaps for now it would be better to accept that the world we live in is not different, and just carry that knowledge with us."

Robin looked at him sadly. "These things don't seem to bother you in the least."

Amon looked down at the covers of the bed, nodding slowly, his teeth grinding against each other lightly. "They do still bother me. The part of me that's bothered by these things is mostly numb, however."

More silence fell between the two and Robin broke it first by sniffling. Amon's eyes darted to hers immediately, searching for signs of tears but he found none. She seemed to sense him looking at her and she directed her gaze towards his eyes. She offered a faint little smile that was more like a sad frown than anything. "I like talking to you like this."

Amon's heart twitched. The familiar old urge in his stomach that told him to vacate the premises immediately started in with a fierceness but he stayed, as he usually did. "You think that I think you don't?"

Robin squirmed some. "No. We just don't talk like this very often." Thin fingers tucked at faded blonde hair as she scooted backwards some on the bed. "You…can sit more on the bed, if you'd like."

Try as he might, Amon couldn't keep a sliver of his brain from squawking like a fifteen-year-old boy. She wants you to get onto the bed.

"You're on the very edge. It doesn't look comfortable." Robin looked at him openly and completely honestly, and instead of scooting forward, Amon turned and pushed himself back onto the bed, lying down on his back. He folded his hands on top of his chest and looked up at the ceiling, aware of the fact that Robin's body was a mere foot away from him. Somehow he felt as if he was lying on a psychologist's couch, and that Robin was going to start coaching him to talk about his mother.

For her part, Robin said nothing about his sudden change of position. Instead, she went on, mostly in step, with their conversation. "Times like this I miss the convent. It…it isn't as if I was the best disciple ever, I suppose, but…"

"You have mentioned that before." Amon smiled very faintly. "Hair always sticking out from under your veil?"

A noise like a chuckle emanated from Robin. "Yes. I suppose that I don't miss all the rules and the strictness very much, but I do miss the…carefree nature. That probably doesn't make much sense; not many people would think of a convent as carefree, but…I guess I do. There wasn't much for me to worry about, just my chores and my readings, services, choir, charity work…and everything seemed so much better, so much more fulfilling because it seemed as if God was right there with me, smiling on everything I did. Even when I was getting in trouble, or I was late to mass, or I didn't sweep the hallway well enough..."

Amon hazarded a glance over at Robin, whose face was almost glowing in the remembrance of her past life.

"…God was there, and it was okay. I was still one of his children, and I was just trying to do his work. Everything seemed so much better when I didn't know anything, when life was simple." She chuckled again then, at herself. "Ignorance is bliss. Whoever said that was right, you know. I was perfectly happy with being an orphan, without knowing what I was, just living my simple life devoted to God. Now…everything is so complicated. I've sinned so much, and I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering if today will be the day I'm caught and I die."

Face softening to the closest thing to utter sadness that he'd probably ever shown her, Amon spoke. "Is that where you remember the notion of God's perfect world from? The convent? Was everything perfect there?"

"Well, no. There were a few little things here and there." Robin bit her lower lip, looking up towards the ceiling in thought. "We learned an awful lot about God's perfect world there, though. It seemed so nice. I would love to live in a place like that—a place where everyone appreciates each other and takes care of each other, where people are happy and people don't want each other dead."

The warning sirens within Amon's gut were wailing and telling him to get the hell out before he said stupid things that said too much in the lines between the words; before he turned to the girl next to him and spilled a whole novel of things that he shouldn't have been thinking in the first place. His body was immobile and he could not mobilize it no matter how he tried. "That'd be nice. I'd like to live in a place like that one, as well, but I fear I have no place there, Robin."

Robin sat up slightly, looking at him critically, with concern. "What do you mean? Of course you would have a place there. Everyone would."

"If there was a world like that, there wouldn't be any need for people like me," Amon said. "You take away violence and secrecy, people who do want each other dead and all general maliciousness and then you take away me. It's all I know, and I'm not the only one. There are people like me who rely on these things for their everyday life. Without conflict, I'm useless. I go insane. I stagnate and I do nothing. Sometimes," Amon wished to God he could shut his mouth and stop all the words that were coming out because it was entirely too much, "I think about what I would do if I didn't have to worry about keeping myself alive all the time. And you know, Robin, I can't think of a single damn thing. I'm a mercenary. I'm a spy. I'm a fighter. It is what I am good for. Outside of this, I have no idea what I am good at."

"Oh, but you're good at so many other things." Robin was looking at him with wide, plaintive eyes; the eyes that Amon knew well, the eyes that said I am so in love with you but you don't see me at all. "You have been through so much, and you have so much to offer and teach—you always have such good advice. You're intelligent and you're resourceful; I'm sure you could find something to do with spare time if you actually ever had any. You just think that you'd stagnate and fall into disuse. And you know, you are actually rather funny when you want to be—"

His eyes drifted closed, and he swallowed hard. "Robin. Stop."

He could feel her staring into his side, at the side profile of his face. "Why?"

Teeth grinding as usual, Amon's brain looked for words. "I can't sit here and listen to you talk about me."

"But…why?" Robin sounded confused, semi-hurt, and bewildered.

"I just can't." In his mind, the words went on. It's not right, Robin, don't you see that? Don't you see how fucked up it is for me to push you so far away and then come back and luxuriate in the way your eyes look at me, the way your words cradle me, the way you LOVE me and I just sit here the same as ever? The same asshole as ever; and every once in a great while I show a fraction of whatever that's left of me that's still a man and you go to pieces, and you come rushing, and for fuck's sake there's something sick in me that loves it. You forget whatever is wrong with you, and immediately your whole life is on pause because you're trying to find whatever pieces of me that you can and put them into all the holes to try to figure me out. Here we go, in the same demented dance we always do because you're too young to know any better and I'm too damaged to change it, and here we are acting in our little roles. I'm the big responsible man and I'm going to just keep having some sort of sick pleasure in the fact that I can lift up my thumb whenever I want and let you come a little closer, and then when I've had enough I can put my thumb back down and you stay put. For God's sake, little girl, don't you see how screwed up this is? Don't you see how bad I am for you? How can you not?

While Amon's mind had went on feverishly within its walls, Robin's eyes stared into his side sadly, her head sinking back down to her pillow slowly, hands folding under her cheek to support her head. "It's this situation," she murmured softly, more to the pillow than to him. "And it's me, isn't it? You don't want to listen to my silly attitude about the world, about our situation, and about you…and I can understand, I suppose if I understood things the way you understood them I wouldn't want to listen to a silly girl and her wishful, overly optimistic babble—"

The mental tirade was interrupted by the sounds of her hurried, timid explanation, and Amon felt like growling; once again, the thing that he never wanted to happen always ended up happening—Robin blamed herself, Robin saw everything as all her fault. He wanted to scream, wanted to growl, but instead he rolled over and grabbed the slight frame of the girl next to him and held for all he was worth, sensing her surprise. After a few seconds her body curled into his thankfully and appreciatively, in a way that felt frighteningly right.

"It isn't you. It isn't the situation." Whereas he'd been so verbose a moment ago, Amon found words hard to come by then. "I plan for failure before it even happens."

Robin's face was pressed into his neck, his chest. "You're so gloomy all the time. I feel like I am…irritating you, sometimes, with my thoughts—"

Amon closed his eyes fiercely, breathing in the scent of Robin's hair and the feel of her in his arms, and his hands were gripping the fabric of her sweater like a dangling rope. The day had been long, the day had been hard, and multiple things had been lost; Sigrún's baby, Robin's innocence and her faith in her own goodness, their hope for making good with the committee. Even still, God help him, Amon almost glowed with pleasure at the presence of Robin in his arms.

"You can never irritate me with hope," he said, his face in her hair, his face at her temple, and his face was moving and the warning sirens within him had reached a new fever pitch, and—

--they were looking at each other. Robin looked confused, sympathetic, expectant. Amon's mouth was dry, his heart beating erratically and hands gripping blindly. Round, shining green eyes looked up at him, completely guileless, tiny hands hooked lightly on the fabric of his shirt upon his back.

Oh, Jesus, I'm going to kiss her. Oh good Christ.

His face had moved perhaps a fraction of an inch towards hers when a completely alien sound came from the room next door, his room. The sound caused him to sit bolt upright, his arms still linked around Robin's svelte body, dragging it upward with him. She was startled, staring towards the door conjoining their room, and then she looked up at him with utter confusion and suspicion on her face.

The sound was the sound of his cell phone ringing. The only person who ever called that cell phone—who knew the real number—was Nagira, and why would he be calling it when he was in the same house as them?

Bolting up, all business, Amon stalked towards the connecting door, Robin suddenly hot on his heels. He yanked open the door and went through it, Robin right behind him. There, on the bedside table, was the phone; plugged into the wall still, why, Amon wasn't entirely sure. He snatched it up and scrutinized it momentarily, and frowned when he noticed there was no number on the caller-ID screen.

Robin hovered at his elbow, her hand touching it delicately. "Who is it?" she whispered, and Amon frowned severely, shaking his head.

"Someone who isn't supposed to be calling," he said simply. Robin was holding onto his arm then with two hands, peering between the phone and his face and for once he didn't care about her proximity.

Flipping the phone open Amon brought it to his ear, swallowing. Robin watched him intently in the corner of his eye, and he cleared his throat and looked at the wall impassively.

"Yes?"

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. This chapter was actually posted up at Geocities about a week ago, before I went home to Arizona for Thanksgiving, and I'm just now getting around to putting it up here...lo siento. I suck.

OHNOES ANGST WHAT THE FUCK. Will Amon and Robin ever make out? Will weird shit ever stop happening? Will I get a life and stop drinking wine? XD