Control the Storm Collection
Story 4

Title: Sing For Me/ Beside You

Author: Catherine Grissom

Rating: Still T.

Summary: I need you to sing, Sing for me my love, Sing the right from wrong…
And if your heart wears thin, I will hold you up, And I will hide you when it gets too much…

Warnings: Not nice happenings. But a bit of fluff.

Disclaimer: I still don't own WHR. Sunrise and Bandai still do. Songs belong to Tarja Turunen and Marianas Trench, respectively.

A/N: First off, I'd like to state, if I haven't already, that the oneshots in this collection are unconnected. So Amon hasn't awakened and he doesn't have whatever complex he had in Dirty...Or at least not as much of one. I wasn't going to write anything combining two songs, but these two meshed perfectly and out this popped. Both songs are amazing in their own right, though vastly different in craft and genre, and I'd recommend both, as with any of the music I've used. Hmm...Perhaps I should make a fanmix...

Inspired by Tarja Turunen's 'Sing For Me' and Marianas Trench's 'Beside You'.

She hadn't used her Craft in six days. They'd been here, a moderately-sized town in Finland, for five. Snowbound for two.

Amon, almost as if sensing the oncoming storm, had spent the first two days of their stay stockpiling groceries and splitting wood. Robin was fairly certain that the woodpile against the main room's back wall would outlast the storm, even if it were stubborn enough to hang around through the spring.

By contrast, Robin felt that she'd been nearly useless. She'd spent most of the days puttering around the small house, straightening rooms and pictures, keeping vigil over a single candle. This last was what drew her from her room now.

It was just turning to evening, or so she figured: she'd long since lost track of the time-zone and glances out the windows showed only slivers of an unnervingly pink-orange sky in gaps in the blinding white.

A fire crackled in the hearth, weakening slightly, but not weak enough to require additional fuel. Amon looked up at her as she entered the living room, pulling his attention from a worn, second-hand copy of The Historian. He'd claimed the living room as his own, choosing to sleep on the couch, saying that someone needed to keep an eye on the fire.

"Did you sleep at all?" His voice was low, as though he were worried that she'd flee if he spoke too loudly.

She considered answering truthfully, but settled for the less telling answer of "Some."

They'd been dancing on eggshells around each other since they'd been forced to flee London. Well, that wasn't entirely true. Amon had been on eggshells around her. She had very nearly closed down entirely…

Pushing everything from her mind, Robin approached the small table in the corner of the room. The small candle was no longer burning, melted wax having smothered the flame sometime during her absence. Next to it was another, waiting to be lit.

Amon was still watching her, she could feel it, probably wondering if she'd finally forgo the match this time. Kneeling in front of the table, she opened the small box, withdrawing a match and striking it before holding it to the untouched wick. Behind her, she heard a page turn.

Focusing on the small flame in front of her, Robin tried to pray. The Nicene Creed. The Our Father. A Hail Mary. None would come, only a litany of names.

David. Anna. Toby. Joe. Katherine. Stephen. Lizzy. Liam. Terry. Tristan. Mac. Geilie.

And then, a single word.

Dead.

A heavy, shuddering breath pushed itself past her lips and her eyes closed against the burning that would have signaled tears if she'd had any left.

They'd laughingly called themselves a coven, joking that they finally had their thirteenth, teasing that now one would have to leave. 'Fourteen's just too many. Everyone knows that.'

Their Crafts had been untrained, but that had suited them fine: they weren't looking to fight any grand wars. They had each other, a family.

Katherine, the de facto mother of the group, had welcomed the pair of rain-soaked travelers with open arms and a bright smile, calling Robin the most pathetic little kitten she'd ever seen, warning David to keep his hands off.

Mac, burly and aged and a complete sweetheart, had offered cherry cordials and easy conversation. The man had an amazing knowledge of everything from music to firearms and could transition from one to the next almost too quickly to follow.

Mismatched as they were, the group fit. Everyone had their 'job', which ranged from taking care of nearly everyone else to simply being happy. Everyone watched out for the elders, Katherine and Mac (who insisted that he did not need watching out for, thank you, he got around just fine), and the young ones, Tristan and Anna both of whom were barely Robin's age.

Another page turned.

Robin couldn't remember ever seeing her warden so…relaxed as he'd been in the five weeks they'd been in the company of the ragtag family. Amon had been caught up in good-natured 'arguments' with Liam (which could go on for hours as both men would switch sides to keep the debate going), being the unofficial moderator for Toby and Lizzy (who weren't siblings, but could bicker like it), being dragged to the market or the kitchen by Geilie (who had been all too eager to pick his brains about Japanese cuisine), and putting up with Stephen's hero-worship (which didn't seem to have any cause other than Amon's 'aura of cool' as the young man had put it). She even thought she'd seen a real smile from him when Joe and Terry had announced their engagement.

Would he blame her? He had warned her that London wasn't entirely safe, that SOLOMON was still active there. She hadn't listened, too enamored with the idea of being surrounded by friends, of having a family. She hadn't even realized the very real danger she'd placed the group in until Geilie, seized by one of her infrequent precognitive visions, had dropped the platter that had held dinner.

The redhead had turned so pale that her freckles had nearly vanished before turning startlingly blue eyes to the newest additions, speaking only one word, "Run."

Amon had been the first to react, followed quickly by Katherine, who'd murmured, "The attic," before heading to the stairs. Amon'd had to turn back, to call out to her, before she'd been able to move. He'd pushed her ahead of him, sidestepping up the stairs, wanting to be ready for whatever could come through the door.

Nothing had, at least until they were in the attic, shoved into a hidden room behind a nearly invisible door, given instructions to find the exit hidden equally well in the back wall, told to run and keep running. Then, and only then, did the front door fly open with a bang. They'd heard Katherine gasp through the wall before her footsteps retreated.

The gunfire had started by the time they found the back exit. 'A drug raid,' the papers had reported.

She hadn't needed to read the SOLOMON –approved body count to know that none of the coven, the family, her friends, had made it.

Her hand flew to her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle a whimper. Too many. Too many lost. She couldn't do this anymore. What was the point?

Suddenly and unsteadily, she forced herself to her feet, staggering away from the makeshift shrine. Air. She needed air. She couldn't breathe.

Whirling around, nearly falling, Robin found herself confronted with a familiar grey wall.

She wanted to push away, to head back into the room that served as her sanctuary, to say that she was fine, just fine. Instead, she could only choke out, "I killed them," and wasn't even able to put up a token protest when the wall enfolded her and pulled her close.

"I killed them," the choked statement turned to a sob, then to as much of a wail as she'd ever made. "I killed them. I killed them."

The wall said nothing: walls seldom did.

A near-hysterical laugh tore from her throat and the wall collapsed with her as her quaking knees finally gave out. Then, the wall moved, gently rocking her, smoothing her hair as she sobbed.

Robin didn't know how long she cried; she was willing to bet that Amon didn't either. All she knew was that, when she was finally able to calm her sobs to mere hiccups, his sweater was soaked and the fire was in desperate need of fuel.

"Am I doing the right thing?" she whispered, cursing the childish catches in her breath. "Tell me I'm doing the right thing."

Amon's hand stilled, holding her head to his chest with a gentleness that seemed almost impossible. He was quiet, though, and she almost thought he was going to chide her for being silly and stupid when he spoke.

"Katherine was right," he said simply and she pulled back to look at him quizzically. "You act like all you want is a place to be alone, somewhere to lick your wounds in peace, but you're more desperate for attention, approval, than you've ever been." He looked down at her then and the ghost of a smile lingered on his features. "You really are the most pathetic little kitten…"

Amon took her face in his hands, thumbs running across her cheeks, wiping away still-flowing tears, forcing her to hold his gaze. "I need you to listen to me: you did not kill them-"

And then she was trying to wrench away from him, protesting.

He held firm. "You did not kill them."

"But they died because of me," she spat, almost angry that he'd dismiss her guilt. "I as good as pulled the trigger."

"They died for you," he corrected, still infuriatingly gentle. "To protect you."

"And I was too selfish to help them," she concluded.

"If you'd gone back, you would have died."

"Then I should have died!" she cried, unsure of whether to pull away from him or fall into him and so she did neither.

He wasn't supposed to look at her like that. He was supposed to be angry, to spit out a "Fine, then," and leave her to her own devices. He wasn't supposed to look as if he understood.

"That's exactly why they chose to die rather than give you up," he gave her a lopsided smile that looked completely out of place on his features. "Now," his grip tightened slightly on her face, just enough that she couldn't turn away without concentrated effort. "I need you to listen to me, and I need you not to interrupt.

"It is not your fault that they chose to protect you. It is not your fault that I chose to protect you. Or that I was shot. Or that the others were shot. Or that Toudou was killed. Or that your mother died.

"None of that is your fault, and you need to stop blaming yourself for it. We all chose this. Not because you're some all-powerful Eve that could smite us if we put a toe out of line-"

She let out a watery giggle, but he continued.

"- but because you're you. You're Robin. Because you feel, you bleed, you cry- And if you need to stop for a while and just be you, that's fine. We can stop. But right now, you need to eat and you need to sleep, alright? And then you can swear holy vengeance, or demand a vacation, or decide to quit."

His right hand moved to tuck an errant strand of hair behind her ear and she realized that his hands were shaking. She swallowed and, not trusting her voice, nodded.

Amon let a heavy breath out through his nose and pulled her to her feet and towards the kitchen. Robin followed silently, ate silently, and then retired to her room with a promise to at least try to sleep.

Two hours later, she was back in the living room. The fire was crackling comfortingly and Amon was stretched out on the couch with an arm over his eyes. He'd left the bookmark, a receipt that had happened to be handy when he'd started reading, out of the book, and she almost moved to put it back in its place before she realized that she had no idea where that place was.

"Couldn't sleep?" his eyes were still covered, but there was the barest trace of a smile on his lips.

Robin opened her mouth to ask how he'd known she was there and he cut her off. "You fidget," his voice was gruff, but the smile grew a bit. "A lot, actually. You might as well come lie down; you're noisy when you try to stand still."

The couch was narrow, but soon enough, she found herself squeezed comfortably in between the back of it and the front of her warden (he insisted that he needed to be on the outside, just in case the fire needed tending) with his chin resting on the top of her head.

For a few moments, the only sound was the fire. Then-

"That was quite a speech," came the whisper.

"Don't be expecting more," he spoke into her hair, unconsciously (she chose to believe it was so, because why would he do it consciously?) pressing feather-light kisses into her crown. "I think I used up my year's quota on that."

Robin let out a quiet laugh, then said conversationally, "You left your bookmark out."

He gave what passed for a dismissive snort. "I know well enough what's going on."

She swallowed. Then, voice shaking, but clear, she informed him, "You never answered my question."

Amon was silent for a long while and she was very nearly asleep before she heard a very quiet "It wasn't my place to." An arm wound its way across her shoulders and pulled her closer, and a kiss that could not have been inadvertent was pressed to her forehead.

Robin was asleep before she could think more of it.

A/N 2: Things are about to get very hectic in my neck of the woods, so I'll post as much as I can before I go completely insane, but it may not be with anything resembling regularity.