Robin had gone down to the sanctuary of the old convent to pray. It seemed to be the only constant

way that she managed to keep her mind sane. As she knelt in the pew, hands clasped before her and lips

murmuring a godly speech, Amon watched from the shadows. He stood at the back of the sanctum, near

the door and behind a pillar. The church was quiet, dark but for the few lit candles placed strategically

around the great hall, and very calm. To some it might have seemed stifling, but Amon felt safe, since

Robin was at ease.

As her lips ceased their movement, the ginger-haired walking contradiction rose and strode out of the

pew and into the aisle. As she made her way toward him, he began to walk, meeting her halfway. "Are

you finished?" At her nod he turned and led the way out of the grand vestibule.

As Amon reached his arm out to open the doors, they swung inward, forcing him to jump back. A

young girl stood in the entrance, her head bowed as she stared at a paper in her hand. Looking up, she

caught sight of them and murmured haltingly, "M-mi scusi?" It was half-question, half-statement. Noting

Robin's attention, she stared at the paper again, brows furrowed, and said, "I am looking for Padre

Barrow." Glancing up again, her eyes denoted anxiety.

Amon shot Robin a look that clearly stated, 'You deal with this.' The witch smiled and nodded as he

walked away, past the girl and out into the courtyard. Robin replied to the girl, "Down the hall," she

pointed, "and to the right there will be an office; he should be in there." The girl nodded her thanks,

accompanying it with a soft, "Grazie," before turning and hurrying in the direction she was turned.

Robin looked after the girl for a moment, concerned that she would get lost, then, satisfied, walked

down the grand steps and into the courtyard where Amon awaited her. The wind danced in front of her

eyes in the form of her hair, and she brushed it away. She smiled at the dark man upon reaching him.

Amon stared down at her, eyes softening. "Are you ready to leave?" When she nodded he turned

and clasped her hand, pulling her along with him. They walked slowly out of the sanctuary area, not

particularly hurried by anything.

Night came quickly for the two fugitives. They had spent most of the day in each other's company,

Amon playing the role of bodyguard and Robin simply enjoying the sights of her old home. As they

walked back to their room, hands firmly to themselves --an act instigated by Amon himself -- a shout

broke the still. "Pettirosso Sena!"

Robin turned to see the young girl from the sanctuary running to catch up.

"Signorina!" Robin's eyes held a polite question.

The girl stopped, bending double and gasping for breath, until her lungs bellowed normally.

Straightening, she smiled. "I am Marie. I have come from America to train to be a Sister here in Italy." She

glanced warily at Amon. "The Padre told me to ask you . . . would you consider giving me a tour of the

convent tomorrow?"

"Of course. I would love to." Robin felt Amon stiffen beside her, and she nudged him.

Marie's eyes widened and brightened and her mouth flashed into a smile. She ran off, calling, "Thank

you, Signora!"

Amon sputtered as Robin's eyes danced. She would correct the girl on the morrow. . . . Did it really

look as though they were married?

The two resumed their trek to their chambers. Once inside, Amon slipped off his coat and hung it

over a chair. Sitting on the bed, he looked at Robin as she unshod her feet. "That girl is strange."

Robin chuckled. "You're just nervous because you don't like to meet new people." Although his

eyes narrowed, she knew it was true. That, and the fact that they were on the run and needed to be

careful whom they trusted. "But, in all honesty, she is a bit forward."

Robin stretched leisurely, reveling in the relaxation of stiff muscles, completely unaware of Amon's

scrutiny of her. She bent, cracking her spine, then murmured between yawns, "I'm going to get ready for

bed. You should do the same -- you're worn out." As he gave her a darkling look and opened his mouth,

she held up a finger, forestalling his protest. "You are and I am. Deal with it." She smiled, then, softening

her words.

He grumbled, but subsided, and waited until Robin was in the small bathroom before changing into

loose sweats and puling off his tee. He slipped under the covers and turned out his light, drowsily

thinking, 'Okay, so she was right. Hn.' He sank into unconsciousness .

In the modest safety of the bathroom, Robin changed into black silk pajamas. They clung to her skin,

molding. As she gathered up her clothes and stepped out of the small room, she flicked off her lights. She

folded her clothes and put them into a bag. Tugging back to covers, she crawled in, shifting slowly and

gently, trying not to wake her companion.

The moonlight filtered through the archaic window. She stared at Amon's sleeping figure. He was

drenched in the silvery light, eyebrows and cheekbones highlighted against the shadows of his eyes. His

lashes cast long shadows onto his cheeks, dark hair tumbling around his carven face, and inky black

contrasting with the white of his skin. Wondering, thoughts drunk with moon and night, she brushed his

hair back from the side of his face, caressing the skin there. He shifted, and she pulled back sharply, but

when she did so his brows contracted. Hesitantly, her hand found its way back to his face, her thumb

smoothing over his jaw and the longer-than-usual stubble there.

She leaned forward, barely conscious of what she was doing, and buried her nose in his hair. He

smelt of spices and soap, and his own smell, a scent mixed of his sweat and blood and skin. She drew

back, eyes glittering and brows tightened, and she stared down at him. She cupped his face in her hands,

leaning her forehead against his. Her eyes drank him in, for she knew that, despite the seemingly lulled

atmosphere, it was merely the calm before the storm. It had been too long for her comfort, too long since

something had happened, some disturbance had rattled her sense of security. The longer the calm, the

harder the storm, and the more damage in the end. One or both of them might die. It was the blatant,

barren truth, and every night her subconscious reminded her of this in dreams.

Robin drew in a shuddering breath. She bent forward and pressed her lips to his temple, wavering

between pulling away and clutching him to her, but she pulled back and opened her mouth. She

whispered, "Amon . . ." Only the still night air received her words. She wanted to say more, to say what

she really meant, what she really felt, but she hesitated one second too long.

Closing her eyes, she pulled back, giving him one last, long stare before turning over and letting her

tears fall. She cried, until she finally fell asleep.

Unknown to her, Amon had awakened when Robin climbed into the bed. He had remained as though

asleep to encourage her to follow suit, but his eyes had almost been shocked open when he felt her lean

over him. She had run her hands over his cheek, his jawline, and had kissed his forehead. She had hidden

her nose in his hair, drawing in deep breaths as though her life depended on being able to remember what

he smelled like.

When she whispered his name, he had wanted desperately to comfort her and erase the pain he had

heard in her voice, but he was scared. He didn't know how to comfort an entity as important as Robin.

She meant so much to so many people, so much to him, and he was just . . . an ex-Hunter. He was a

nobody. He didn't know why she had whispered his name with so much urgency and passion and

wistfulness, but he was frightened to find out why. As he heard her turn over, he opened his eyes and

was shocked to find her shoulders shaking. He heard her sniffles and catching sobs, though all were

muffled.

Again, he recalled how she had spoken his name. It was the same way she had spoken her prayers

that afternoon. For her, his name was a plea to God and a plea to him. He waited, patiently and yet

impatiently, for her breathing to even out, then he slid up behind her and pulled her back into his arms.

He prayed that she wouldn't wake, and she didn't -- but she did roll over and press her tearstained face

right into his bare chest. His eyes widened fractionally and he felt as though he was going to implode

with the proximity of a certain beautiful young witch -- but he restrained his natural 'run away!' instinct

and wrapped his arms around her slender shoulders, letting his eyes drowsily close.

Sunlight shone in through the antiquated window and straight into Amon's eyes. He felt warmth on

his eyelids and lifted them, then groaned audibly and slammed them closed again. His brows contracted

-- the light still bothered him. He buried his face in the nearest substance, which happened to be right

under his nose. The creature in his arms shifted as his face invaded her hair.

Robin opened her eyes, too, and found herself staring at a very chiseled expanse of pale chest. She

nearly jerked her head back, but felt that she was supporting someone's weight, so she opted to tilt her

head back and see who it was. Her own green eyes stared into cobalt-gray ones, and long, dark lashes

brushed her brows. She felt her eyes widen as a realization hit her. Amon was holding her. They were in a

bed. And . . . he was shirtless. Amon was holding her, shirtless, in bed. Had she died and gone to

Heaven?

When she noticed that he was watching her stare at him, she blushed a lovely crimson and ducked

her head, twisting out of his arms. Her heart was beating quadruple its normal time, and her face was

burning. What a start to the day.

Amon's lips twitched, but he refrained from smiling. It would make him look like a wee schoolgirl,

simply because, against his will, he just knew that he was faintly flushed. It was wonderful to wake

up, holding Robin in his arms --

He did not just think that.

. . . Okay, yes he did. But it didn't mean anything. At all.

Shaking his head, he flung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching, wishing Robin

were watching as he did her last night, but knowing that she was fifteen and far too young and innocent

to be doing that. He grabbed the shirt he had tossed on the chair, pulling it on and further mussing his

hair. He turned as heard the bathroom door slowly open and a certain witch step out, in full Victorian

dress. Her eyes were downcast and her cheeks were slightly red. "I-I think I'll just go and find Maria . . ."

He nodded as her eyes flicked up to his face. She turned and rushed out the door, only pausing to

snag her coat. Amon almost allowed himself to smile -- almost. But not quite. Then he followed his charge

out the door and into the garden.

In between the sculpted hedges and tall sunflowers, Maria was welcoming Robin to her work. "Here,

Miss Robin, take these. I wanted to put them in the main hall of the convent." The girl beamed brightly,

eyebrows raised in hopes of an approval.

Robin nodded, bestowing a benefactorial smile upon the child, and murmured, "I think this will be

just enough. There is a vase in the kitchen, just big enough to hold them. It was a good idea."

Maria nodded eagerly. "Thank you, Miss. I'll just go put them in the hall. And . . . Um . . . Well, I

already got a tour from the Padre, because you were so long in getting up."

Robin flushed at the comment, but continued to smile and said, "Good. I am glad you did not wait for

me. I would have felt awkward, being waited upon."

Robin handed the flowers to Maria, who murmured a thanks, and replied, "Il vostro benuvento. You'll

be at home here in no time."

Maria smiled, a little twinkle of something in her eye. "Thank you; now go talk to your friend." She

pointed behind the witch, where the tall Hunter stood. Robin jumped, surprised, and blushed when she

saw who the girl meant. She didn't notice Maria stalk off.

"I-I'm sorry-"

"Robin." His voice was gentle, but inquiring. When her eyes eventually met his, he murmured, "What

was that, last night? Why . . . ?" He was at a loss for words, but he needed to know. "Why . . . why were

you so afraid?"

Robin ducked her head. "I-I don't . . . It was just . . ." She looked up at him, fear evident on her face.

"It could happen at any time." He opened his mouth, but she kept talking, oblivious. "It's been too long

since something bad happened -- since the Hunters attacked, or Solomon did something to scare us. I-I

don't like this, this calm before the storm. It's deceptive, and I'm scared. It's been so long -- I just know

that . . . one of us might not make it out alive."

Amon placed his fingers under her chin. "I won't give up quite that easily. You of all people should

know that." Then his lips quirked. "And you're the most resilient woman I've ever met." Her eyes

flooded, overflowed, and he brushed the tears from her cheeks. She smiled, almost, and they turned and

trudged out to the convent sanctuary, an unspoken agreement hanging in the air.

The halls were quiet. No one walked there. It seemed as though the entire convent were deserted.

Robin shivered as the shadows from outside played on the thick stone walls. Her shoes shiffed on

the smooth floor, while Amon's clicked, ominously low and tense. The giant wooden doors to the

sanctuary stood open, and as they reached the entrance they stopped, staring, for Maria stood at the

front, in the center, at the altar.

Her head was held high, but what they couldn't see was that her eyes were closed. Her voice, low

and melodious, and oddly familiar with the words she spoke, resonated throughout the vestibule. "In

nome del padre e del figlio r del fantasma Santa. Amen." She rose, steady, and walked over to the statue

of the Holy Infant, Jesus. Kneeling, she began to speak again. "L'OH il mio, credo, adore, mi fido di ed

amo il thee. Ele mosino il perdono tutti i coloro che, non adore, non mi figlio e non amo del thee." She lit

the candle that stood before the Babe, smiling, and crossed herself. Then she stood. Her head curved

around to stare at the two mysterious people in the back.

At Robin's soft 'Ciao!' she nodded, walking towards them and calling, "I was saying my prayers

before bed." The girl turned again, bowing to the altar and Infant, then said, "Buona notte," and walked

past them and out of the sanctum.

Robin looked over her shoulder at the retreating form, shivering. "That girl . . ."

Amon looked at her. "What?"

"She's . . . odd. As she passed me I felt as though she was . . . speaking to me, or something like

that." At his impassive look, she sighed. "I felt as though she knew something vital to us that we didn't

know." Then she looked at him, as though to say, 'Is that better?'

He stared at her. Moments passed, then he murmured, "Many people know crucial things that we do

not." His eyes darkened momentarily, but then he turned and asked, "Are you going to say your

prayers?"

Robin, confused, could only nod, and walked to the altar. She unconsciously hunched her shoulders,

for she knew that Amon would be watching her. She knelt, prayed quickly and handsomely, then rose

and strode back to him. She could not meet his eyes.

As Amon closed the doors behind them, Maria slipped out of the shadows and followed. The

darkened stone hallways provided plenty of cover.

Robin strode quickly down the corridors, not pausing, though she could hear Amon's uncomfortably

rushed gait behind her. She knew that she might fall if she kept the pace, but her skirts couldn't sway her

from her current course. She was suddenly afraid. For some reason, Amon's words had struck her as odd,

coming right after Maria's departure. She felt as though she was the one caught in the middle, and even

Amon wouldn't help her out.

As she rounded the corner, Amon shouted for her to wait. She halted, breathing hard, and placed a

hand on her heart and one on the wall beside her. She felt him come up behind her, and she immediately

straightened, carefully keeping her face void of emotion. When she turned to look at him, his brows

hailed as thunderstorms from the south, and his eyes were concerned.

"What is wrong, Robin? Why are you so afraid?" The meaning of the words struck home in Robin,

and she felt her carefully created masque crumple as tears flooded her eyes and she stood with her head

in her hands. She felt awful -- she was very afraid, he had been right, and now she was pushing her only

friend away. Every time she reconciled with one fault of hers, another would make its presence known,

and the tears kept falling. She couldn't seem to fell anything material -- merely what was inside.

When she opened her reddened eyes she found herself staring at a coarsely-woven coat, and felt

something firm beneath her head. Then, as she came back to reality, she felt something -- or someone --

stroking her back, and felt someone's breath whisper past her ear as that someone whispered

reassurances to her. She moved her head up, glancing to the side to see pale, pale skin and dark, dusky

hair. Amon. Amon was holding her for the second time that day. And she was crying. What was

wrong with her? . . . And why, in the name of God, was she berating herself for that?

Whilst she was lost in her thoughts, a cobalt eye had surreptitiously glanced at her and noted her

faraway look, and, judging by the day's events, the owner of said eye decided that it was time that they

went to bed. Amon heard Robin squeak as he swung her up into his arms, then she buried her face in his

shoulder, the faraway look still in place. When he felt that warm head nudge its way into the crook of his

shoulder, he immediately clutched her to him, spooning her tightly into his arms and walking faster until

he reached the oh-so-familiar door. He murmured to her, waking her apologetically, then gently swung

her down and, one arm still around her, opened the door. Robin's face was still buried in his shoulder.

Maria, around a dark corner, smiled heatedly as she saw the ex-Hunter and his witch girlfriend stop at

their door. She remembered Robin's words about her before: 'I felt as though she knew something vital to

us that we didn't know.' Maria's smile intensified. "Yes, little witch, prepare yourself as best you can.

Not even your tall, dark and handsome can save you now." She chuckled. "Something will happen. The

calm is just about over."

Robin lifted her head as Amon silenced his movements and stiffened. "What is it?" she murmured

sleepily. His eyes were focused at the edge of his vision, expecting to see someone behind him. It was

still too quiet.

Amon waited a moment in silence, before Robin murmured his name in confusion again. He sighed,

shaking his head, and pushed the door open. He opened his arm, letting Robin move out -- but she

stayed where she was.

He looked down at her and snorted. She was asleep. On her feet. He shook her patiently, watching as

her eyes opened. The green was hazy, sleepy, and she looked up at him with a confused expression. He

nodded her forward, and almost smiled as she practically sleepwalked to the bed. She didn't bother to

change, merely climbed in and pulled the covers up as Amon shut the door.

He pulled his coat off, then his tee, and sat next to her. She opened her eyes again, and looked a

question at him. He said, "What happened last night?"

She visibly flinched, whispering hoarsely, "We already talked about it."

His features hardened, and she knew that she would have to explain it fully. She sighed, sitting up

and rubbing her eyes. "Last night -- last night I was scared. I felt that . . . Well, things have been too

calm. It's been too long since something happened. My head told me that no matter how many friends we

think we have, they can always be bought." The sadness in her face was heartbreaking. She was so

young -- fifteen. "My heart told me that I could trust you, that you are the one person who wouldn't be

bribed. You've proven that multiple times, within the past few days alone. I just . . . I just felt so alone."

His face was impassive, though his heart ached for her. "Most of my family is all dead, either killed by

science or man, and those who remain are distant and cold." Father Juliano. "The few friends I have,

barring you, are far away, and they are in constant danger of being found out." Karasuma, Doujima,

Michael and Sakaki. "Those whom I think are my friends may not be, simply because I don't know them

well enough." Maria and the Padre. "I have only you, Amon. That's why . . . that's why last night I held

you." Her eyes were fixed on the coverlet in her hands, twisted and wrung.

Amon knew that he should do something, anything, but the only thing he could think of was to pull

her into a hug. So he did. He grasped her wrists and tugged her forward, wrapping his arms around her

lithe form, and sank back against the headboard, burying his nose in her hair, since she had done the

same. He lifted his body off the bed, reaching beneath himself and yanking the covers down. He pulled

them up around her shoulders, and tucked them in behind her back. She looked at him. Amon's eyes

softened, then he did a miraculous thing. He smiled.

Robin lifted her brows and the corners of her mouth. She basked in the rare phenomenon of his smile,

and laid her head against his chest, dropping off into the unjustly postponed sleep. Amon rested his lips

against her head, pursing them. Of course he didn't kiss her. Just . . . pursed his lips against her head. He

smiled again, and all through the night.

Maria, outside their bedroom door, grinned nastily. As she turned and skulked into the shadows, she

whispered, "Enjoy what little time you have left together."

Author's Note: Sorry guys that it took me forever to update but I'm having some personal problems right now. The next chapter might be a while so please, please just hang in there! This chapter is really all Katie's doing so please, Give her the credit for this chapter.Thanks Katie, I love ya! Thanks for all the reviews. I love you guys!