Chapter 3: Sapere aude

"Dare to know."

Her brother was always more polite than she, especially when it came to visitors, but she simply had no time—or patience, rather—for pleasantries. So while he had greeted Fink, she would be direct.

"Mr. Fink, I'm a bit astonished to ask why you're here." Of all days; of all the hours in this day, he chose now to arrive. Unannounced, unattended. He had better have a damn good reason for it. She was in no mood. Especially not when his eyes wandered, recognizing his generators in the corners of the room, following the wires to their destination in the main part of the house.

Fink bowed, slightly, and the keeping of his hat on his head did not go unnoticed.

"Please forgive my, ah, intrusion," he started. He looked between the two of them, considering their state; Robert's weathered flush and her tousled hair. "Am I interrupting something?" There was a quirk at the corner of his thin lips, discernible with the perking imbalance of his mustache.

"Nothing too important. Necessary trial and error, you understand," Rosalind brushed aside.

He nodded at their mutual work ethic. "All too well, my dear."

She was less irritated with his insinuations and more with his keen and interested eyes leering the Contraption. Robert seemed to be as well, for he cleared his throat and shifted to block the man's view.

"Let's discuss this in the drawing room," he gestured of the empty and private room to their right.

"No need," Fink brushed aside, just as deftly. "I'm just dropping by to give an invitation for the Christmas Ball. Flambeau's off taking care of affairs and I was visiting Comstock to discuss arrangements for the gathering and all that." From his inner coat pocket he retrieved a finely decorated envelope addressed to both of them. "Why, I told him that since I was, ah, in the neighborhood, I'd drop 'em off myself! Your appearance was sorely missed last year. Figured I try and convince you two this time."

The Christmas Ball? Rosalind actually raised her eyebrows at the unexpected news as she took the invitation from Fink.

"Yes, well, it was unfortunate that Robert was still recovering last year from his travels. I very well couldn't leave him to his illness while I took part in festivities." Partially a truth, and partially a lie. The main reason she had not gone was because she simply did not want to.

"I'm very much in better health since then," Robert interjected, eying her pointedly.

She arched an eyebrow at him. Really? She was sparing him from the trivialities of public social events.

"So you'll come?" Fink actually sounded excited. "It'll be a grand ol' time. I can vouch for it."

She glanced at Robert, letting him answer.

"Most certainly."

Fink clapped his hands together. "Good to hear!" he grinned, though she only saw it as a baring of teeth. "Well! I'd best be off. The weather's wailing like a son of a gun."

"Yes, absolutely dreadful. I was out there myself not fifteen minutes ago," Robert said, moving towards the parlour door to open it for him.

"Ah! Bet you've got your plate full then, making sure every thing's fine-tuned in these temperatures. I've got Flambeau making rounds doing that very thing."

"Mmm. This week's only been one minor incident, so that's a blessing."

Rosalind remained in the doorway of the parlour, and with distant regard, she observed the men conversing in the foyer. Professionally they got on quite well with Fink; the strictest of work ethics, the most efficient pragmatism. Their roles in the city were very similar, in that they were responsible and vital for its function. But there, the similarities ended. Their necessity to cooperate with Fink on all matters Columbia was just that—a necessity. She had no interest or desire to know him unprofessionally.

He was aggressive, presumptuous, obstinate. He was a whole manner of things she did not care to consider, but he was also insatiable, and of that trait, she took very careful notice. There was a balance to be held with him. Intentional provision had to be given at the appropriate moments to keep his curiosity tamed.

"Our observations from last year should help it stay within those parameters," she added to the conversation. "At least we have estimates to work from now."

His dark eyes flicked to her and he spoke with enthusiasm. "Yes," Fink agreed. "I can't bear the intangible. I've got to have something in my hands to grasp. Gotta have papers and numbers and prototypes. Otherwise nothing gets done."

Robert and she hummed their agreement in unison.

A brief silence fell as the three of them no longer had anything to discuss, business or otherwise. The wind whistled through the door, bringing in a seeping draft.

Fink fetched his pocket watch from his vest, glancing at it. "Well. I really should be going," he said again, extending his hand to Robert and giving it a good pump. He tipped his hat to her. "Madame. Again, do forgive the intrusion."

It was Robert who answered, thankfully, and he gave the man a polite smile. "It's not a problem. We appreciate the gesture. Have a good day, Mr. Fink."

"And you," he replied, finally stepping out into the cold.

Rosalind made very certain the front door sealed well, and she pursed her lips first at the empty desk and then at Robert.

"Why is the front desk unattended?"

The unexpected visit could have been handled much better if Miss Marlowe had been here. Hadn't he insisted they hire her? And where was she? This was exactly the reason she did not want extra help if she was to be concerned about their competency for the simplest of responsibilities. Quite disappointing as well. She had higher expectations of her—not too terribly high—she was a relative of a Founder, after all—but even then, nepotism had not garnered her the position in their residence.

"That is my fault," he replied. "I dismissed Miss Marlowe early."

"For good reason, I presume?"

He scoffed, looking slightly offended. "Of course. The weather is terrible." He brushed past her in the doorway. "Don't think I've forgotten about that blasted vigor."

She followed him as he passed her. "I wasn't thinking you had, but while we're on that, what do you make of Fink's visit?"

He shrugged. "Fairly straightforward, I'd say. And brazen."

"I hardly believe convenience was his true intent. He's very punctual that man; very meticulous. Nothing is ever out of place. He obsesses with that pocket watch of his."

"Clearly, we are worthy of his time. Especially on the day of his vigor introduction."

"But what does he want," Rosalind muttered irritably. She despised games; she despised losing. Fink had had the upper hand this time.

"He wants to see our reactions, our machines." Stopping to fall behind her, he let her enter the main room first on their way to the kitchen. "And on that note, this door should stay closed at all times."

"Or rather," she put forward, "Uninvited guests should not enter our house of their own accord."

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Or both."

They entered the kitchen again, back into the jumble that was the result of her experiment with the vigor. It was understandable now, slightly, his reaction to seeing her. A very sharp odor of smoke and what she knew to be her flesh hung in the room. She glanced down at her hands, noticing for the first time that they were reddened and cracked at the finger tips. Interesting that she not aware of them until now.

"So then," Robert started slowly, rolling up his sleeves, "Are you going to wait for me when you perform a possibly dangerous experiment, or do I have to worry constantly about being separated from you for bouts of time?"

It was her turn to scoff. "None of that, now. You'd have done the same."

"Yes, but I'd have waited for you," he shot back, lips thinning. For a long second, he simply stared at her, and her mood softened at the complexity in his eyes. He sighed and knelt to continue clearing the glass on the floor.

With a sudden understanding, Rosalind knew she had been ignorant of his feelings. He was her, but more often than not, she was less mindful that he was equally not her. Placing the invitation on the median, she retrieved the wastebasket to help him.

"I'm…sorry for not waiting, Robert." She was not so good at making apologies.

Robert paused, looking up at her.

"And for…for worrying you." She waited with bated breath, because she was also not one to forgive so easily.

A half-smile formed on his face. "In your defence, you did appear to have the situation under control."

She mirrored his smile. "Does it help also that I had not originally planned to ingest the concoction?"

"It does," he said, resuming his work. He chuckled. "Idle hands are the devil's playthings."

Reflexively, she curled her fingers to hide them from his sight, but the motion only drew his attention.

"It's nothing," she said quickly, already seeing a frown tug at the corners of his mouth.

"Nothing? Then why are you hiding them? Let me see," he said sternly, and he reminded her briefly of their father.

With reluctance she let him place both his hands on hers and turn them to examine them. His thumbs brushed over her palms and fingers. The examination was light, but it stung unexpectedly and she pulled away.

"How painful?"

"Not so much," she lied.

"Now don't give me that."

She had just discovered the true extent of the pain, and a swell of anger formed within her because of the pain and of her stupidity. Their work would fall behind, she would have to rely on Robert for the simplest of things while her hands healed-

Not wanting to meet his eyes, she looked to the window behind him instead, shaking her head. "It was foolish, I know."

"You are never foolish," he said calmly. He stood up and went to retrieve the stool on the other side of the counter for her to sit on. "Your curiosity simply got the best of you. And that is never a bad thing, especially when it's our best quality."

She thought she heard a smile in his voice when he said the last sentence, and she looked up to give him one, but he kept his back to her as he filled a bowl with water at the sink. Rosalind sat on the stool, feeling something like dejection. She did not often care when someone gave her a cold shoulder, the occurrence being quite frequent because of her profession and gender, but with Robert… it was such a terrible, terrible feeling.

"Are you cross with me?" she said quietly to her hands. She studied them more carefully in her chagrin.

The faucet shut off, and he was silent as he walked back to her, placing the bowl on the counter. "No."

Though he had finally answered, she continued to avoid his gaze and dipped her hands into the water. She seethed as the liquid chilled and seeped into her fingers. It would only be worse tomorrow.

"Are you with me?" Robert asked suddenly.

She furrowed her brows and glanced up at him. "No. Why?"

He reached across for the invitation she had placed down. "I know you don't want to go."

She watched him open it and go over the details. Perhaps it was the pressing of his lips together at the thought of some ill memory, or maybe it was the way he handled the invitation, but she had a flash in her mind's eye that social invites had not come often in his universe. And here, she was denying him the opportunity. She looked away, unable to bear his expression.

"Well, I didn't," she admitted.

"So we are going? The both of us?"

Rosalind turned to him again. She could not refuse the boyish excitement in his eyes, and she found herself smiling as well. "I never would have gone without you."

A/N: Hrrm, a bit domestic, this chapter.

Some questions:

-Fink's plan, er, visit revealed! Why the personal delivery?

-Christmas Ball. Good or bad or both?