Robin sat next to Amon's improvised bed on the floor of their tiny rented room. She hugged her knees more tightly to her chest and looked at the man sleeping just inches away. Some people seemed softer in sleep, younger, but not Amon. He looked less wary, but the hard planes of his face were unchanging.
Under her watchful eye, he shifted slightly, almost imperceptibly. Then, suddenly his eyes were open and he was looking up at her, fully alert. He swallowed hard, and in a sleep-roughened voice he said, "You want something."
Robin started slightly, answering in a quiet, almost guilty tone. "I...no..."
Amon closed his eyes again briefly, then turned his head slightly to see her better. "You're hovering," he said. "You only get this close when you want something, but are afraid to ask. What is it?"
"No Amon, I..." she paused, exhaling deeply. Then, sitting up a bit straighter, she continued in a firmer tone. "Can we find a church to go to for mass tomorrow night?"
He frowned slightly in response, leveraging himself up on to one elbow and turning to face her. "I've been expecting this question. I don't want to keep you from something so important to you, but you have to weigh that against the dangers involved."
"Yes," she said quietly, hunching back in on herself again. "But they are my trials to bear for my faith."
"So," he said in a flat tone. "You're no longer Eve, but one of the martyrs?"
"No" she said softly. "It's not that, but is faith really true if you let your worldly concerns, even personal danger, get in the way?"
"I suppose not," he replied, smiling lightly. "We'll find you a church, then. Merry Christmas, Robin."
She smiled broadly in response. "Merry Christmas, Amon."