Part Three: Atmospherics After Dark, Noise and Voices From the Past


Author's Note: When I originally wrote this chapter I used the Salem manga adaption to help track the early events in Salem and a playthrough video for the later events. You'll see a mention of a "resulting standoff" early in this chapter. It's a reference to when the team meets Hopkins on the first night, an incident that happens in the manga version but not the game. OOPS.

I decided to keep the references to an earlier Hopkins introduction in as a quirky artifact. Just imagine that the Salem that Robin is remembering is a fusion of the manga and game!


Salem, the first night.

"What exactly are we working with, boys?" Mata Hari asked with a grin. Despite the strange events surrounding their stage performance that evening and resulting standoff in the town square, the woman was in high spirits.

Servants were often expected to keep details like True Names and abilities closely guarded secrets. Most mages considered servants to be living weapons, not people. Revealing too much to your enemies could get you killed or worse.

That a servant could collaborate with a team of peers would have been an unimaginable dream, except that was Robin's reality right now: hidden deep in the forest, lit only by the traces of starlight that trickled through the leaves, trading personal information with a spy and an executioner. The atmosphere felt profoundly melancholic, as if Robin was longing for a similar moment in the past that didn't exist.

Mata Hari described their current complication as "The Medea Situation": the spy was adamant that their teammate wasn't who she claimed to be. Only Robin and Sanson had been invited to discuss the matter further.

"I guess we should start with Presence Concealment," Robin said. He wasn't accustomed to working with Assassins. Hell, he wasn't really accustomed to working with anyone. Still, he knew the worth of an Assassin was tied to how well they could hide themselves from others.

Mata Hari smirked and winked back. "You're funny, Robin. I like that about you."

What was that supposed to mean? Wait. Robin couldn't recall the woman whisking herself off into the shadows since they had arrived in the singularity. If anything, her presence reminded him of warm summer sunshine, not grim deeds done in dark alleys.

"But you're an Assassin. Isn't that what you do?" Robin asked, then looked back over at Sanson. There was nothing nearly as poetic about the other Assassin. He remained expressionless and simply shook his head.

"What the hell?" Robin grumbled.

"Think of me as a master of metaphorical backstabbing instead of the physical kind. The person who tells the hero information they overlooked," Mata Hari said, then snapped her fingers as a thought occurred to her. "Like the supporting characters in your legends."

Robin rolled his eyes. Not this again. "Yeah, those people didn't exist for me."

Sanson spoke up next. "If I were to hazard a guess, our unusual class assignments might have something to do with the Throne struggling to categorize edge cases."

Robin folded his arms and leaned back on one foot. "In your case, a lack of Presence Concealment because the aristocracy can't help but stand out in a crowd."

"The line between covert and cowardice is very thin," Sanson cut back.

"Which means we're going to have to rely on Robin for recon work," Mata Hari interrupted, dousing the sparks before any punches were thrown. If Robin's count was correct, this would have been the third time she intervened since this meeting started. "I'm happy dealing with anything that requires directly interacting with the locals. Charles might be best suited for situational work, especially given the new judge who arrived tonight."

The way Mata Hari casually dropped Sanson's given name caught Robin off guard. It was probably the first time he had heard anyone actually say it. Now that he thought about it, they had paired off together to investigate the town earlier.

"You two are on a first name basis already?" Robin asked.

Mata Hari didn't flinch. Sanson immediately looked at the ground. Robin sighed. He could guess what happened.

"It hasn't been 24 hours," Robin said, letting his discontent bubble up through his voice. "What about the mission? All of those people that went missing? Making sure our Master is safe?"

"Considering you're clearly aware of the stakes, being angry about us taking a moment to blow off steam is petty." Mata Hari rested a hand on her hip, her face still radiant. Robin didn't even need to pry to confirm his suspicions.

Robin started listing off the facts as he saw them: "We're trapped in a Singularity. We have no means of contacting Chaleda. We're in a village collapsing into madness. Our team has been compromised. And you stopped to get laid?"

Mata Hari leaned in and beamed. "If you're that jealous, you're welcome to join us next time."

"If we were anywhere else, sure. Not here."

"Why? It won't be the first time you've had sex in the woods."

Robin gritted his teeth at Mata Hari's relentlessness. Sanson's only explanation for himself was to awkwardly cough and otherwise remain silent.

"Let's discuss combat prowess." Confident she had won whatever skirmish just played out, Mata Hari moved on to the next topic. "While I think we're all in agreement that Nezha is the most capable of us, I don't think she's particularly well-suited to this arrangement."

"You don't trust her?" Sanson asked, finding his voice again.

"I do," Mata Hari said. "But I think she'll immediately reach for violence when she realizes our team has been infiltrated. It's a good defensive strategy but not a great offensive one."

The reasoning checked out. Robin thought back to how Nezha started a brawl in the town's tavern that afternoon. The remark that triggered the Prince's rage was minor and impossible to predict. Nezha finding out that she had been betrayed might end with Salem in flames.

"Direct fights aren't my thing," Robin admitted with a shrug. "Even if all three of us cornered the demon pillar, I wouldn't like our odds."

"We'd call for backup in that case," Mata Hari said. She fiddled with a strand of stray brown hair as she collected her thoughts. "Without Nezha with us, we'll need to depend on each other to defend ourselves until help arrives."

And that was absolutely not what happened in the days that followed.


Robin did one last spot check.

His cloak was securely latched around his neck. The bandages Sanson applied to his wounded shoulder held firm. His crossbow was locked in place on his right arm, for as much help that would be with the injury. Various hold out weapons lined his outfit: poisons, a handful of hidden blades and a garrote wire were in reach but out of sight.

The first rule of combat was to only pick fights you could win. If you knew you couldn't win, cheat so you did.

Their plan of attack seemed straightforward as Robin rattled it off in his head: he would lure the Time-Thief-Taker into a narrow hallway where it couldn't escape or turn around. Sanson, following from behind, would attack and preferably kill it in one strike. The Time-Thief-Taker should be completely focused on Robin. Something about rayshifting seemed to have pissed it off. That would give Sanson enough of a distraction to unleash even a Noble Phantasm if needed. The next morning they'd both be heralded as heroes.

It was a clean strategy in Robin's mind. Solid. Probably the best he worked with in a while.

He glanced back at Sanson. The other man gave a nod of acknowledgement. He was dressed as light as he could be; his sword was dematerialized and his trench coat left open. Their plan needed him to keep up as much as possible, not be armed to confront the creature directly.

With a firm shove, Robin rolled their flimsy medical supply cart barrier away from the infirmary door and smacked the door release button. As the panel slowly slid open, he stood in the centre of the doorway, making sure anything on the other side could get a clear view of him.

The display of bravado went against all of his gut instincts. Robin could feel his stomach recoil as he came face to face with the monster.

The Time-Thief-Taker stood outside in its full glory, its body a mass of pulsing muscles and sinuous limbs. Its pointed head loomed over Robin, the gaping wound in its mouth spitting blue sludge. A trail of the liquid traced its route down the hallway to the infirmary, leaving a growing puddle at Robin's feet. It was the same liquid that was flowing through him right now. Yeah, best not to dwell too hard about that.

"I can't say I'm excited to see you either," Robin snarked, then flipped up the hood of his cloak.

Reestablishing contact was important. Direct fighting, not so much. Hidden in the space between shadow and light, Robin wove his way around the creature, leaping over and around its drifting limbs.

His feet dodged the resulting splatters as the creature's head lurched. Its body rumbled with a sound like the rattle of dying cattle as it tried to scent the air.

Not that would do the Time-Thief-Taker any good. Robin had evaded packs of tracking hounds at least once or twice in his actual lifetime. That was before he had the faintest idea what a Noble Phantasm was and that his cloak could become one.

Robin sprinted down the tile-lined hallway, his footsteps and pulse pounding in his ears and nowhere else. His eyes adjusted quickly as he raced past pools of moonlight from the bright night sky outside.

The trick would be getting just enough space between him and the Time-Thief-Taker before luring it away from the infirmary. That's where Robin's mind should have been completely focused. He wasn't trying to think about Sanson. There was no reason to be worried about Sanson. All the evidence so far indicated that the Time-Thief-Taker couldn't sense the Assassin, even when they were standing in front of each other.

There was an abrupt shout of surprise from behind. The grinding of bone against metal and plaster followed. Robin's world stopped. He spun around, threw up his right arm and launched an arrow in response.

Robin's logic caught up to his emotions at the same time the crippling pain hit. His right arm pulsed from the recoil. He pulled the arm back down just as quickly as it had gone up. What a foolish idea that had been.

The arrow went wide. It figured; there was no way Robin could have aimed thoughtfully in his current state. It clipped the monster's back and landed in the ceiling panels.

The Time-Thief-Taker pivoted its dripping maw towards Robin. It didn't look directly at the Archer, only roughly the direction the arrow came from. The monster whipped its tail about, striking anything in reach. Clearly, it was searching the area for any attackers it couldn't see. It wasn't as stupid as it looked.

Sanson lay on the ground with his arms covering his head. Based on the way the Assassin landed, it was a defensive position and not the result of being struck down. That wasn't as reassuring as it should have been.

"Over here, dumb ass!" Robin yelled, tugging off his hood.

Robin didn't have as much distance he wanted. Sanson would lose time getting back up and have to race to catch up. They could work with that, Robin thought. The monster just needed to be lured away from Sanson as quickly as possible.

Pull it down a side hallway. That was still the plan, right? The Time-Thief-Taker seemed to have figured out that its attackers could hide their presences and that striking at the shadows was a valid strategy. With nothing left to lose, Robin shouted more curses at the creature and sprinted further down the main hall. A dull plodding followed behind.

First up on the right: the alcove where Robin found Sanson earlier. It definitely wasn't long enough to work and wouldn't buy them enough time. The Time-Thief-Taker would be on top of Robin before Sanson could catch up. The next opportunity, then.

Robin spotted what he wanted ahead: another hallway that intersected with this one, one that looked just wide enough to imply more use than the alcove. Based on his pace, he should be on top of it in seconds. He needed to decide now if this was where they'd slay the beast.

Chancing a glimpse over his shoulder, Robin noted he put some space between him and the Time-Thief-Taker. Sanson still trailed further behind. That was an easy enough problem to fix; Robin abruptly and sharply slipped around the hallway corner. The sudden movement should surprise the Time-Thief-Taker, keeping Robin a safe distance ahead while buying Sanson a precious few metres.

As Robin swung around into the new corridor, he knew something was off. The walls started tilting to the side. Wait. Maybe that wasn't the walls at all.

A curse slipped out of Robin's mouth as his left leg spun out. This should have been a simple maneuver, not one that led to him falling to his ass. Robin maintained the barest amount of control, just enough to fall with his left shoulder forward. The landing against the cold floor sucked, but at least it wasn't his right shoulder eating the blow.

"Do you feel any shortness of breath? Numbness in the extremities?"

Sanson's questions from the infirmary echoed through Robin's mind as he found himself staring up at the ceiling. Robin took in a deep breath of air as he reassessed. That still worked, for as much as a servant actually needed to breathe. Left arm? Sore but otherwise intact. Right arm? Let's not discuss that. Left leg? Hurts like hell, probably overextended. Right leg? Best limb for the moment. Being flat on the ground? Dire.

Robin lifted his head and scanned the hallway he prized seconds ago. A wheeled metal cart, about 6 feet tall and loaded with folded sheets, was just beyond his reach. That would do.

Fighting fair was overrated, anyway.

The scent of death that followed the Time-Thief-Taker filled the corridor. Robin didn't bother to look back; he yanked himself back up with his left arm and lunged at the cart. With as much strength as he could rally, Robin slammed the cart back into the creature.

There was an incongruous thump as the Time-Thief-Taker's lanky body twisted in and around the metal frame. Bed sheets tumbled off the top shelves as the creature howled and rattled the cart.

Robin grinned to himself as he realized what happened. The Time-Thief-Taker couldn't free itself nor escape into the corners of the cart. The cart was an accidental monster trap. Sure, it was an unsporting win, but Robin would take it.

The sound of metal grinding against ceramic interrupted Robin's moment of success. The top of the cart loomed closer than the Archer remembered it. The creature's limbs wound up the cart's frame; the cart's fall toward Robin gained speed with every passing second.

Stepping backwards, Robin's heel hit a wall. He had two options. Either load an arrow and try to go through the creature and the cart, or slip into spirit form and end up in whatever space lay on the other side of the wall.

Robin would never describe himself as "a coward" in those specific words.

He still took the second option.


Salem, the sixth night.

At least, that's where Robin assumed he was. It was very clearly no longer Chaldea.

Robin found himself standing in a tent more majestic than practical. The delicate fabric and opulent trims were suited more to a distant fantasy landscape than the dark forests of Massachusetts. He remembered not having a vote in the camp's design, despite the concerns he raised about the townspeople finding it.

The tent was a product of the Queen of Sheba's Territory Creation skill; that strange woman had ideas about living comfortably, even as everything else around them was descending into madness. You could always count on nobles to think of themselves first.

None of this explained why Robin was back here, though. The spirit realm should have dimly echoed the surrounding physical realm, not a place lost to time and space after the host singularity collapsed. Maybe he was dreaming? At least his right arm didn't hurt anymore.

The next question Robin had was if this illusion was based on his own memories or impressions of what could have been. What details would be lost on an outside force messing with his head? Oh, right. He should be naked right now. Robin glanced down. Definitely naked.

Linens rustled behind Robin. He looked over his shoulder, finding Mata Hari stretching out on top of a ridiculously ornate bed. Her bare body was partly concealed as it sunk into the cloud-like bedspread. The spy had adjusted to life in Sheba's camp like she was born to live in a royal caravan.

Robin frowned, recalling how their meeting happened tonight. Hopkins was dead. Sanson was arrested for the murder. Robin didn't mourn the asshole's death but Sanson's confession and the blood splattered scene the team found didn't add up. The only other witness was the Williams kid, who was conveniently sick with raging fever back at the safe house.

The future of the mission now uncertain, Robin sneaked out to the camp to update Mata Hari. The woman acted like she didn't carry any concern or guilt on her conscience. Robin followed her lead in what followed after. Maybe he hoped it would help things make sense. It didn't even help as a distraction.

"Why doesn't it bother you?" Robin asked.

Mata Hari rolled her shoulders toward Robin, her tousled hair sliding over her chest. Her intense eyes reflected the light from a nearby lantern. The expression reminded him of the silent fury he had seen on the faces of doomed soldiers back during his original lifetime.

Robin expected Mata Hari to reply by questioning why the situation bothered him so much, to which he would reply that she was misreading him. Then the topic would be dropped and the two of them would never discuss it again.

"Let me speak from experience," Mata Hari said instead, looking Robin directly in the eye. "If you have any remorse or regret for what's happened, you're going to have to deal with it tonight. Otherwise, you'll have to learn to live without closure."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Robin actually did have a pretty good idea of what Mata Hari was talking about.

"You wouldn't be the first man who's lied to me about being detached." Mata Hari rolled back into the bed, laughing quietly to herself.

"I don't understand why you find that funny." Robin snatched his clothes from the floor.

Robin could make out a smirk on Mata Hari's face, just peeking above the blankets. "Something about having your soul laid bare in court because some random man didn't understand the meaning of 'no strings attached'."

Robin silently nodded in reply. There was nothing more he could add to that statement.

"It doesn't bother me in the same way as you because I've been here so many times before," Mata Hari finally admitted. "I'm not sure why I expected things to be different. Maybe I was just hoping for something better. I guess I was more naive than I thought."

There was a weariness in her voice. It reminded Robin of the way Sanson confessed to the murder and the weight that he felt crushing down on his shoulders now: resignation.


It hurt to breathe.

Robin's sight shifted back into focus, adjusting to the new shadows and pushing against the pain returning to his body. Guess this part wasn't a dream. Would it have killed Sanson to have offered a painkiller or even a chunk of willow bark back in the infirmary?

He found himself now in a room filled with piled up furniture and mismatched pieces of technology. The filing cabinets and desks lining the walls were left with their drawers half open. It was hard to tell if the office had been abandoned or was still being taken apart. It could have been worse, Robin figured. At least he didn't end up in a closet. Or dead. Again.

The carpeted floor under Robin was damp and smelled metallic. Blood, obviously; not a lot, but just enough to notice. He slowly searched his body for a source. There weren't any fresh wounds from the last encounter with the Time-Thief-Taker. The bandage covering his shoulder was missing. It must have fallen off when he shifted into spirit form, given Sanson used a physical bandage. The security lanyard was gone as well.

"This sucks," Robin sighed. Nothing replied, servant or otherwise. Great, he had a few moments to collect his thoughts.

The Time-Thief-Taker had an ability to learn and adapt to their attacks. What did the monster know now? That Robin could phase into a spirit form would be brand new information. The creature must have noticed his cloak and the second attacker it couldn't detect from the exchange in the alcove. The other Noble Phantasms would still be a mystery, although using Robin's required solving the poisoning problem and Sanson's needed the other man to be here. Maybe Sanson cornered the monster back in the hallway and all this stress was pointless?

There was a beep from across the room.

Did the Time-Thief-Taker find his missing security badge and learn how to open doors? That was probably the anxiety talking. Still, Robin gingerly climbed to his knees and reached for a hold-out dagger hidden in his boot.

A tall man with short white hair stood in the dim blue hallway light as the door opened. Robin let out a sigh of relief.

"How did you get in here?" Sanson asked as he stepped up to Robin. He carried a wad of blood-stained bandages and a dangling ID card in his hands. His sword was still dematerialized.

"I made a tactical withdrawal in spirit form," Robin explained, gesturing to the far wall with the dagger. "Did you deal with the monster?"

"No." Sanson's eyes followed where the blade pointed. As the man continued and described what happened, Robin could pick up an uneven tone in his voice: "I heard the crash and found a tipped over laundry cart. Nothing else. No creature. No you."

The other man's expression shifted from its normal reserved facade to something else. Concern? Apprehension? Robin considered himself to be a fairly good judge of character but Sanson always seemed to be slightly out of sync with his expectations. That was true on the mission, too.

Robin looked away. There was a dull ache deep inside that had nothing to do with his injuries. He wanted his teammate back.

Nah, that wasn't quite right. Robin wanted his stubborn, weird friend back. The one who threw himself into the front line of a firefight without flinching. The one who effortlessly exchanged verbal barbs across a battlefield. The one who over-explained simple details during mission updates. The one who had compassion for Salem's paranoid locals. The one Robin buried in a New England forest after those same people had him executed. The one who looked exactly like the man who stood in front of him right now.

"You keep asking me about how much I remember," Sanson spoke up, even without Robin bringing up the topic. He looked down at the bandages in his hand, then shook his head.

"I don't know if this is the right time to talk about that," Robin reflected, then looked around the room to see if any shadows had shifted. This man's sense of timing was terrible.

"Is that honestly the case or are you pushing me away?" Sanson tossed the bandages on top of a nearby desk.

The office air stirred, then was filled with a shower of wood and plastic shards as the desk was torn apart.

Robin shifted back into his physical form as the debris finally stopped raining down. It was only instinct that drove him to immediately take cover in spirit form and avoid the blast. Across the room, Sanson lay in a pile of what was a desk seconds ago. Robin could make out a groan from his general direction; the man seemed to be alive, although he didn't make an immediate attempt to get back up.

Standing on the far side of the office was the Time-Thief-Taker, the bandages clenched in its maw. The vicious tail transformed the creature into a vortex of destruction. It tracked the blood on the bandages, Robin concluded. It was only sheer luck that Sanson tossed them instead of placing them down.

"I've had enough of this bullshit," Robin growled to himself, then called over to Sanson. "Maybe dying won't be as lonely this time?"

"What are you talking about?" The other man's voice was strained, but he was conscious enough to reply.

"I'll explain later," Robin promised, dragging himself fully back up to his feet. He kept his eyes on the Time-Thief-Taker. The monster seemed more fixated on finding Sanson than him this time. Big mistake.

Sanson brushed off chunks of the desk from his shoulders. Immediately, the Time-Thief-Taker swung its tail down, slamming into the ground where the wood fell. The wicked spikes on the end of the tail split the shards into even smaller fragments. The Time-Thief-Taker followed the shifting terrain that Sanson left in his wake, striking where the man had been seconds before.

Realizing that being slowly chased back would end with him pinned against a wall, Sanson planted his feet firmly into the wreckage and summoned his sword. The office was filled with an inhuman screech as the Time-Thief-Taker unwittingly brought its tail down on the blade.

That was Robin's opening. Against every voice in his head telling him that this was a terrible idea, he tossed himself on top of the monster.

Landing on the creature's neck wasn't exactly like landing on a branch; movement with intelligence was trickier than predicting a tree rocking in a storm and the deadly limbs only added to the difficulty. Robin wedged his dagger into the dense scales on Time-Thief-Taker's neck. It didn't cut as deep as he wanted. The make-shift piton wouldn't hold Robin's weight for long.

As the Time-Thief-Taker rolled its neck in pain, loose strains of the bandages stuck in its mouth drifted up. Robin snatched them with his left hand, then wrapped them quickly around his arm to form a more secure handhold. He pulled back firmly, getting a snarl of surprise from the monster. The Time-Thief-Taker's focus shifted, swatting aimlessly with its tail at the attacker on its back.

"Should have let go of them earlier," Robin insulted the monster, then yelled down at Sanson. "We need to kill it now!"

Pale blue eyes connected with Robin's own. The atmosphere in the office shifted; the electric scent of activated mana overwhelmed the Time-Thief-Taker's foul stench.

"Moving to enforce sentence!" Sanson cried out.

Noble Phantasms were a peculiar disparity between servants. Robin's own were small in scale and scope; a cloak that could hide his location and a bow that could accelerate and amplify poisons. Sanson, on the other hand, could call forth a massive guillotine from the aether. It was so tall that it faded into the ceiling of the office and, Robin assumed, metaphorically kept going into whatever lay beyond.

That was Robin's cue to get the hell out. With one last jarring tug for good measure, Robin grit his teeth, grabbed another hidden dagger from his belt and sliced off his handhold. The Time-Thief-Taker howled with its new found freedom. It twisted its head back, snapping at Robin's feet. The Archer returned the attack by kicking it in the muzzle.

"La Mort Espoir!"

The Noble Phantom's True Name was released. Robin could feel his cloak blow back as shadowy tendrils shot through the spaces between him and Time-Thief-Taker. Definitely time to go.

The monster didn't seem to see or react to the countless appendages surging forth from the guillotine in search of a target. Robin lept off, landing soundly on the ground between the Time-Thief-Taker's impossible limbs. As he was about to escape from the chaos, something grabbed Robin by his legs and pulled him back in.

Robin refused to believe Sanson's fears; his Noble Phantasm should hit his intended target. Managing to tilt his head to the side slightly, Robin could just barely make out one of the monster's vine-like limbs dragging him along towards oblivion.

"To hell with this," Robin cursed, then raised his right arm while bracing it with his left. Hitting a precise target in this state would be almost impossible, but the arrow just needed to hit something. Straining to keep his focus in the whirlwind of moving shadows and unspeakable terrors, Robin pointed the crossbow and fired.

The recoil wasn't enough to knock his shoulders back to the floor, but the pain was. Robin's cry was drowned by the Time-Thief-Taker's roar as the arrow presumably hit. The grip on Robin's legs was released.

Then, silence.

Robin idly raised his left hand up to his neck; his head still attached, thankfully. He rested his arm back on the floor and sighed. Mata Hari was going to get so much shit later from him after the custodian and actual security teams chewed them all out for this mess first.

Footsteps rushed up from the side, uneven and unsure. Sanson drifted into the edge of Robin's vision. The Assassin softly said something in French as he processed the scene. Robin didn't really understand what was said, not even enough to repeat it, other than it sounded like the other man was happy to see him alive.

"I may have doubted other parts of you, Charles, but I never questioned your aim," Robin quipped.


Sanson finished packing up the medical supplies and cleared his throat.

"I'll spare you the speech about what you should and shouldn't be doing with that arm. It's clear you're going to make your own rules."

"How much am I allowed to drink while recovering?" Robin asked with a grin.

Sanson made a face. It was so dramatically stern that it had to have been a joke. "How big of a glass can you lift with that injury?"

Robin didn't bother to ask about smoking.

Much of Chaldea was utilitarian in design. It was more a pseudo-military base than a comfortable home for mages and summoned heroic spirits. The space the two men found themselves in now was a small sunken seating area just beyond the medical department. The short walls surrounding them were curved without a sharp corner anywhere in sight.

The seating area was disused, much like everything else they encountered tonight. Sanson had to clear off a cardboard box full of empty three-ring binders from the couch before Robin had a space to sit down.

"I guess this is the end of our patrol?" Sanson asked. He stood back up and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"I'm not getting trapped in a closed room with another one of those things." Robin leaned back against the couch. He pointed at the injured shoulder, now freshly rebandaged. "Didn't you notice that I don't do so great in one-on-one fights?"

"I thought your actions were commendable given our circumstances," Sanson praised without any detectable sarcasm.

"Well..." Robin glared back at Sanson, knowing he couldn't hide the flushing in his face. He looked away before continuing. "Thanks. I rigged the perimeter while you were cleaning up the couch. Just some small bits of simple magic so we'll know if something tries to sneak up on us."

"You're always thinking ahead." The bright moonlight gave Sanson's white hair an unearthly glow. It was like looking at an undisturbed snowy field.

Leaning cautiously into the connection Sanson kept trying to form, Robin offered a small flourish with his cloak. Maybe it was the poison talking? Or was it venom? Whatever.

"I'd brag about how a lofty noble complimented a lowly commoner on his smarts, but you'd just interject about how you're not a noble."

Sanson slowly closed his mouth. Robin smirked back; the other man was absolutely getting ready to say exactly those words.

"I remember that," Sanson said instead. "How we fought in the cafeteria. I never told you before the mission how resentful I was that we were assigned to the same team."

"Believe me, it was as clear as crystal how you felt," Robin said, then looked at the empty space on the couch beside him. "Do you want to sit down or something? We have hours before this shift is done. I'll try to do my best to not die until then, but your legs might get sore."

Sanson's shoulders visibly tensed under his trench coat. His reply was sharp. "I don't know."

Robin scratched the side of his head. He thought of Sanson's reaction right before the Time-Thief-Taker attacked: the distance and the distrust the man displayed when Robin avoided his questions. That hostility melted away as the evening spun out of control. Robin wasn't sure if Sanson was making the change or if he was. In either case, it left the two men at a new, uncertain normal.

"As I see it, you have two options," Robin explained, holding up two fingers. "The first is to stay over there. We never have to talk again. You walk away from tonight with a weird tale about the time you fought a demon that stalked prey through corners. I'm sure it'll be a hit at your queen's next tea party."

Robin could feel his chest grow tight. As much as it surprised him to admit it, it definitely wasn't the outcome he wanted.

"What's my second option?" Sanson asked.

"You join me on the couch and we talk about anything you want," Robin explained. "Maybe that's nothing at all. I'm going to guess you have a lot of questions, though."

That was the invitation that Sanson apparently needed. Without hesitation, he pulled off his coat and tossed it over the back of the couch. The couch cushion shifted down slightly as Sanson sat down behind Robin. Rolling with gravity, the Archer leaned into the Assassin's side. It was comfortable there, warm in a way Robin hadn't expected.

"I should have asked first," Robin mumbled into Sanson's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"For leaning against me?" Sanson asked. He reached out and brushed the side of Robin's hair, as if to reassure the other man that any confused feelings in this moment were mutual.

"No. For everything."

Sanson sat in silence for a long moment before finally speaking.

"I've tried to piece together a narrative. Something to make some sense of what happened in Salem," he explained. "I read the after mission reports you and the rest of the team filed. I read the plays, too, but those seemed more bewildering."

"Uh? How were they confusing?" Robin asked. Given what happened later on in the week, the performances were tame in comparison.

"Have you read them recently? All three Jeannes on stage at once? Fighting Ozymandias and Karna?"

"Don't worry, you were great," Robin reassured the other man, pressing deeper into his shoulder. "If Mata Hari wasn't there, you would have been the town's favourite actor."

Sanson seemed flustered by the comment. "Uh, sure. Whatever you say, Robin."

Hearing Sanson say his name felt good. "Who else in the troupe was a doctor? The other commoners loved you."

"Master Fujimaru tried to explain to me what happened," Sanson continued, dropping the topic of his very brief acting career. "How everyone was incarnate in Salem and discovered that dying meant physically dying again and losing any memories of Chaldea. If the deceased managed to be resummoned, they wouldn't be the same people. They would be a fresh version from the Throne of Heroes."

Those facts were ones Robin was stuck on as well. Maybe suggesting that Sanson was the same person as the Sanson from before was overstepping.

"I know the Sanson who went on the mission was arrested for murdering Matthew Hopkins, of all people, and executed. But, I don't think I'm a different version of me. A new Charles-Henri Sanson from the Throne shouldn't remember things like stealing dumplings with Marie and d'Eon or..." Sanson stopped and frowned. "...other things. That raises the question of who or what am I?"

"You don't remember anything." Robin summarized plainly, rather than asked. He shifted to look up at the other man's face.

"Nothing of the mission, at least. All of the truths about the Sanson who went to Salem feel like clinical details presented with no context."

"What do you mean by that?" Robin asked. The man still talked like the Sanson he remembered, though. Talk about missing the forest for the trees.

"It's like listening to someone tell a boring story about yourself. I don't think everyone is lying to me about what happened in Salem, but I don't understand what drove those decisions. They become things that happened and nothing more. People can't remember my emotions for me. I think, though, I might be remembering emotional impressions. That or my brain is trying to fill in the details."

Robin could feel his eyes glaze over. "You've seriously lost me. Try telling it to me a different way?"

"Maybe examples might help?" Sanson suggested, ruffling Robin's hair. "I know before the mission I wouldn't be comfortable being open to people or even touching them. The way we're together right now wouldn't have happened. But it is happening and doesn't feel wrong. I can't explain why that's changed."

"Alright." Robin closed his eyes. "I can try to answer your questions. Where do you want to start?"

"What..." Sanson trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words. "...actually happened in Salem?"