"Sable reporting, Sir."

Veld started from a dead sleep, panic surging through him like electricity, jolting him awake. A pair of large golden eyes peered down at him from the ceiling. Reflex made him snatch the gun from under his pillow and fire directly between them. The shot echoed loudly off the bedroom walls. Beside him, Vincent snarled and thrashed, fighting his own moment of panic.

"Veld! What-?" He got no further. A yelp of pain preceded a muffled thud as something large and heavy fell on top of them. For a moment both of them grappled with the thing, arms and legs and bedclothes tangling.

"I got him!" Vincent cried, and the weight abruptly vanished. Veld fumbled for the bedside lamp, but it had crashed to the floor. Leaping over the fragments of the shattered bulb, he slapped the lightswitch and swung around to level the gun at the intruder.

"Nero?!"

Vincent had the boy in a headlock; one arm latched around his throat, the other twisting Nero's arm painfully behind his back. Shadows rippled up and down Nero's long body, but he remained in place. Blood, black and oily, trickled down the side of his face where the bullet had grazed him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Veld demanded. Vincent eased his choke hold enough for Nero to answer.

"Reporting," Nero gasped. "I'm required to report once a week. So I'm reporting."

"At 3AM? You'll need a better excuse than that, son."

Nero did not reply right away, fear kindling in his golden eyes.

"I'm… I'm sorry," he stammered. "I just… They said I had to report first thing and…" He swallowed, his sharp Adam's apple bobbing below his mask. "I'm sorry, Sir. I should have asked when would be the most convenient time. It won't happen again."

Vincent was eyeing the kid, an odd look on his face. Veld tilted his head to one side as if to ask 'What?'

He's scared, Vincent signed with his free hand.

Good, Veld signed back, pistol still trained on their uninvited guest.

"Veld," Vincent said gently, "he's not here to murder us."

Veld watched, eyes narrowed, as Vincent released Nero and stepped back. At once the boy grabbed his own shoulders, snapping to attention, yet somehow managing to hunch in on himself.

"I'm sorry to have disturbed you," Nero said again.

With a sigh, Veld engaged the safety on the gun and went to tuck it into his waistband- only to remember he wasn't wearing any pants. Snatching the throw from the foot of the bed, he wrapped it around his waist like a towel. Vincent, who had no shame, just stood there watching the boy.

"Don't they have doors in Deepground?" Veld grumbled.

"No," Nero replied.

Veld blinked. "Elaborate."

"Only restricted areas had doors," Nero explained. "The labs, the armory, the Mother's Gate… Oh." Dark gray blossomed on his neck, rising behind his mask to stain his cheekbones and the tips of his ears. "Excuse me, Sir. I did not realize this was a restricted area."

Valentine was actively struggling not to laugh. Veld shot him a look.

"Yeah, bedrooms are authorized personnel only," Vincent said. "Next time, just knock, preferably during daylight hours."

"Yessir," Nero mumbled, chagrined.

Sighing deeply, Veld rubbed his face. Dammit, this was not what he'd signed up for.

"At ease, kid," he said tiredly. "Valentine, put some godsdamned pants on."

Grinning, Vincent gave him a mock salute and retrieved a pair of pajama pants. It was only then that Veld noticed what Nero was wearing. A hooded sweatshirt that was at least two sizes too big and a pair of trousers far too short for his long legs had been thrown over his mako suit. He looked like a nightmare attempting to masquerade as a human teenager and wasn't doing a very good job. The WRO was supposed to be helping Nero look after himself, including two meals a day. However, even taking the incorrect sizes of the clothes into account, Veld thought Nero looked thinner than he ought to.

"Tell you what," Veld told him. "Go on home, get some sleep, and come back later. Say around 1800 hours. You can eat dinner with us."

Nero blinked, perplexity plain on his face. "Uh, okay," he said blankly, then shook himself, straightening to his full, lanky height. "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Veld couldn't help the smile that had crept up and installed itself on his face. "Dismissed," he said kindly.

"Sir," Nero saluted, stepped backward into the shadows, and vanished.

Veld dealt with the inevitable visit from Municipal Security. Vincent didn't hear what he said to explain away the gunshot; he stayed in the bedroom, still snickering, to clean up the fragments of the smashed lamp and remake the bed.

When Veld returned, Vincent managed to keep the grin off his face. "So are we being arrested for disturbing the peace?"

Veld just shook his head, shut off the overhead light, and got back into bed. Crossing his arms behind his head, he stared up at the ceiling. Vincent got the distinct impression that even in the dark, Veld could still see the bullet hole above their bed.

"Valentine," Veld said, "I don't think I've had a full night's sleep since you got out of the coffin."

"Hey, you can't blame me for this one! I didn't tell the kid to show up in the middle of the night."

"Maybe not, but we should have remembered that he doesn't come out much in the daytime. He told us he can't stand the sun. And he does take everything literally - much like you."

Vincent thought about that. "So you do think he's my kid."

"I do, but not because of that, or even the physical resemblance."

"Then why?"

Veld turned to face Vincent. Fine frown lines creased his brow, plainly visible to Vincent's Galian-sight, even in the dark.

"Because," said Veld, "you've stopped him twice when he tried to melt into the shadows."

"Yes…?"

"Don't you see? No one else has been able to keep hold of him."

Vincent shook his head. "The doctor that treated him did, and the guards who put the restraints on in the hospital."

"He was barely conscious then," Veld pointed out. "When he's fully awake and aware, he's untouchable. For whatever reason, you're immune to his shadows."

Immune to shadows….the phrase touched off another of those elusive memories of the battle at Deepground. Black waves rushing over him, muscles on fire with the strain of pumping enormous wings, Chaos's dark laughter as the shadows dissolved.

Chaos knew shadows, knew their power, gathered it to himself and threw it back with all the force at his command, flinging his enemy into the void. No such insignificant creature could hope to survive such a blast.

Except that he had. Nero had survived.

"Vince?" Veld's voice brought him out of his half-dream. "You still there?"

"Yeah." The memory faded, leaving one clear thought. "I think I understand. It's not so much an immunity, as an...affinity."

"An affinity for shadows?"

"If you think of them as...an element," said Vincent. "A type of energy. But why would Nero and I have something like this in common…?"

His eyes met Veld's, and they both spoke at the same moment. "Dark mako."