Witch Hunter Robin Fan Fiction ❯ Binah (Understanding) ❯ All Summer in a Day ( Chapter 23 )

Robin went to bathe and dress, and Amon made eggs and coffee in the interim. She was obviously surprised when she emerged, clean and refreshed, to see the repast. “I could have done that,” she reminded him. “You went out and got the other food, the least I can do is-”

“You could have done it, true,” Amon answered. “But there was no reason for you to, while I was up.” She gave him an odd smile, a strange tilt of the head which said that she was thinking of something, wondered what he was up to. He opened his mouth to head her off. “You wanted to get a start on the day, didn't you?” he asked. “Did you think up anything to do?”

Robin still looked a bit poleaxed. She was confused, of course—it wasn't often that Amon asked her what she wanted to do; his typical M.O. was to tell her what they were about to do. It was, he reflected, as though he'd been killed and replaced by the pod people. Not that he thought Robin had actually seen the pod people movies, Invasion of the Something-Or-Other, but in all the idea made sense-

“The Bioparco,” Robin said clearly. “The zoo.”

Amon frowned. “There are zoos all over the world. This is Rome; don't you want to go see something…Roman?”

Slowly but surely, Robin lifted her tiny fists to her hips, affixing them there. Her chin came up. “You said I could have anything I wanted, and I said the zoo; therefore, the zoo is where we're going.”

He smiled. “I was just testing you.”

She shook her head, an eyebrow coming up slyly, playfully. “No, I was testing you.”

Amon gestured with a spatula. “I said you could have whatever you wanted; not that I'd always agree with you.”

Her lips quirked. “Where is my breakfast?”

“Are you conceding defeat?”

“I'm conceding hunger.” Robin sat at the table crossed her legs at the ankle experimentally, swinging the locked feet to a rhythm no one heard. He wondered if her bare legs and arms would need sunscreen. She watched him with bony elbows on the table and hair falling out of a bun.

He began serving; handed her a plate and a mug. “Is this what normal life is like?” he asked.

“I'm not sure. Do you think it's going well?”

“Try your eggs and find out.”

***

“I can't believe you can still get inside with the youth fare,” Amon commented.

“Well, I am sixteen, still,” Robin reminded him.

“Technically,” he groused.

“Technically.”

They had taken the Metro Linea into the Villa Borghese Park area, choosing to walk past the Museo Borghese, the artificial lake and the surrounding English-style gardens. For once, they took their time. Tourists paused before them to take in the tiny temple to Aesculapius, set atop a small islet on the water. Amon noticed that many of them were Japanese, and he watched them take out tiny, state-of-the-art digital cameras in unison before stuffing them into trendy carryalls of all sorts. Robin watched them with him, these stereotypical Japanese, citizens of Tokyo or other cities who had never seen the Walled City, who did not know of the war that raged beneath their apartment windows.

“There will be a gap in all our photo albums,” Robin had said contemplatively, staring at the statue of the Roman god of medicine, pirated from the Greeks. She leaned on the stone rail, knotting her fingers. “A place where our lives were supposed to be, and aren't. And when we flip the page, we will have aged, and no one will know how or why.”

“Like the Arcanum,” Amon replied. “It's a tesseract, in your growth.”

Robin was silent, seemingly considering his words. Abruptly, she pointed at the statue. “Did you know Aesculapius' mother was burned at the stake?” she asked. “Apollo loved Cronis, Artemis' sister. But after she became pregnant, she fell in love with another man. To spare her further humiliation, Artemis decided to burn her alive. But before she did, Apollo removed the child from her womb, and gave it the gift of healing.”

Amon leaned forward, squinted at the statue, and pulled back. “Cronis changed her mind, and for it, she was burned at the stake.”

Robin nodded. “She changed her mind.”

Amon thought of the cardinal. This morning felt like a week ago, so great was the contrast between these moments and those. Nowhere was the panic, the taut fear; now there was only a weight, the passage of time, knowledge that it was unraveling away from him and that he was powerless to stop it. This was goodbye. This was his last day with Robin. Robin, who had changed her mind about Solomon.

“You're not trying to be subtle about the zoo, are you?” he asked, teasing. “Trying to tell me that you'd rather see the Basilica, instead?”

“I've seen it,” she said airily. “And no, I haven't changed my mind. We're going.”

So, there they were at the zoo, surrounded by animals of all varieties; some of them in enclosures, the others of the tourist variety. They walked through the monkey house and watched children ape the apes, making their own screeching sounds and gesticulating gestures. Amon frowned. He looked at Robin. “Are you sure you want one of those?”

“A monkey, or a child?”

“There's a difference?”

She raised one eyebrow in answer, and turned back to the little spider monkeys. They were hopelessly cute in her estimation; Amon could tell from her eyes. She frowned at them, following them with her eyes. Amon settled in to wait. “Sometimes I think I can hear them inside my head,” she murmured.

“Monkeys, or children?”

Again, he was favored with the raised eyebrow. “Animals,” she said. “Mammals seem the easiest to understand. I'm beginning to wonder if the reason that that girl went mad was because birds have such small brains.”

It took Amom a moment to understand that Robin was speaking of a Witch that they had brought down and put in the Factory—the painter who had sat inside the park, secretly waiting for prey, giving the ravens a feast while she fed the depraved needs of her own psyche. They had solved a years-long case that day, shortly after Robin was given her glasses. As if remembering in tandem with him, Robin felt in her pocket; he saw her find the glasses and pat them, once, before letting her hand rest on the rail, again.

“I'd have thought that you'd leave them behind at the house,” he ventured.

Silently, Robin shook her head. She continued looking at the little monkeys, with their huge, paranoid eyes and great curling tails. “I'd never leave them behind.”

“Do they really help you?” Amon asked. He looked at the floor littered with candy wrappers and zoo ticket stubs, and brought his face up again. He watched the two of them in the plate glass. “Did they ever?”

“Yes,” Robin answered. She was focused on them, now, too, the monkeys playing forgotten behind their wall of glass.

“I don't know what I was really thinking,” he admitted. It seemed necessary to confess a few things, find a way to balance out the greater lie of what tomorrow would bring; half-baked penance for the sin of omission she'd likely never forgive him for. The glasses were an easy place to start. “I think I gave them to you because I'm a misanthrope.”

“You hate people?”

Amon took in the tourists around them. “By and large,” he said. “People aren't that great.”

“You're a person, Amon.”

“I'm not that great.”

Robin shifted uncomfortably at this. It seemed to bring to mind something that he couldn't quite read on her face. She sighed. She turned to face him. “I'm a person.”

“You're different.” Amon looked at the outline of the glasses in her pocket. Her dress was of something soft and cottony--jersey knit, perhaps, or something else that showed off her every subtle curve, everything in her pockets. “Didn't you ever consider that I gave you those glasses because I wanted to own you, to put a leash on you and not let go? That I wanted to make you submit?” He gestured, frustrated. “Didn't it smack of something…unsavory, to you?”

“Did you think those things when you bought them?” Robin asked.

“No. I don't remember what I was thinking.” He pointed at her pocket. “You should have been repulsed by those,” he added bitterly. “And instead you've kept them…”

She brought out the hornrims and unfolded them, held them out, inspecting them much the same way she'd done so long ago. “If I wanted to,” she said, “I could have melted them. You wouldn't have known the difference. You would have thought it was me being imprecise with my Craft, again.”

“It would have served me right.”

“Do you want me to melt them now, Amon?”

It was a test and he knew it. They were always testing one another like, in a hundred tiny ways—things he attempted to rationalize as loyalty or preparation for a larger battle but which were in reality awkward, furtive steps toward something neither of them truly understood. Only now, today, as of this morning, there was no longer any need for a test. He had a strange sense of peace about it, perhaps resignation settling like a mantle over his shoulders. There was no longer any need to compete. What aloofness he maintained now was only out of consideration of Robin's feelings, not his own. “Today's about what you want, remember?”

“Why is that?” she asked, turning sharply away from the spectacles to look at him. The frames hung in her hands. “Why today?” The monkeys watched the exchange, looked at two people trapped in an equally inescapable cage, and commented on behavior in chattering, know-it-all dialogue before moving on to other branches. “It's not very good timing, Amon. We're…wanted.”

“It's poor timing, but it's long overdue,” he replied. He brought up a finger. “And don't even think about telling me you don't like it.” Indignation rose up in Robin's face and he barely suppressed amusement. She was inarguably quite adorable when annoyed in just the right way, when her next move was so easily anticipated, and now that his sentence had allowed Amon to freely think such a thing, he found himself running with the idea. He brought himself back to earth, however, not wishing to stare. “We said we were pretending, today,” he reminded her. “Normal people with real lives aren't…wanted, as you so quaintly put it.”

Robin's face grew thoughtful. “I've never gotten to pretend with someone else, before,” she said. “It was always by myself, when I was small.”

Amon shrugged. “There's a first time for everything.”

***

They constructed false personalities, watching designer Italians eating designer food in designer clothes at the rooftop restaurant overlooking the giraffe paddock: “You look like you could be an artist.”

“It's the hair, isn't it?”

“Yes.” Giggles ensued.

“You could be a…schoolmarm.”

“I left those clothes behind ages ago!”

“It's the hair.”

“No fair! That's cheating. You can't use the same criterion twice.”

“Oh?” He paused and watched doves fly by over them, dappling the zoo-goers with shadow. “Well, we'll at least be poor together, a teacher and an artist.”

“I thought we made a lot of money,” Robin reminded him playfully. “Remember?”

“Oh yes. Of course. My distant, dead relatives with the Swiss bank accounts. How else could we afford your professional-grade espresso machine?”

Robin's jaw dropped. “Me? What about your BMW?”

Amon feigned hurt dignity. “You said you were tired of the Metro.”

Robin cooked up a reply; he saw the thought fermenting behind her slightly-dewy forehead. “Your custom car speaker system was a bit much, though,” she said with mock reproach.

“You said you wanted Puccini in the car!” Amon protested, doing his best to look shocked. “What, was I supposed to tell you that I find Madame Butterfly a profoundly unaffecting piece of white imperialist tripe, a symptom of Orientalism and all that's wrong with the West?”

Robin's eyes widened, honest now. “Do you really?”

“I'm not sure. I've never seen it.” He frowned. “We don't really listen to opera in the car, do we?”

Robin shook her head. “No.” It was her turn to frown. “We don't listen to J-pop there, either, do we?”

“Dear Christ, no.” Amon felt the urge to confess, again. “Well, maybe a little B.O.A.”

“She's Korean. She doesn't count.”

“Then no, we don't.”

“Well, I'm glad that's settled.” Robin was giggling. It was infectious; Amon began laughing quietly under his breath, too. They shared a glance and held it; there was no need to let it go. Robin's green eyes sparkled. He realized he hadn't seen that look in ages; she hadn't been this happy, perhaps, in months. Annoyed, she was attractive; happy, she was beautiful. Again, he did his best to remember—this would be gone forever, soon, this shared moment, lost to history but also to possibility; no more moments like this one ever again, not after today.

***

They stood at an intersection as light was dimming, washing the ancient buildings in rosy gold as the shadows went watercolor indigo. The stop signal was an intense red, alien and wrong, blinking slowly at the group of commuters, shoppers, and tourists. Robin's stomach made a hungry sound. Amon looked down at her. “Do you want to go home?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

The light continued blinking. And for no reason at all, simply because it seemed the right thing to do after a day like this one, and all the days preceding it, and the ones that would never happen after it, Amon put his arm around Robin. She leaned into him, in the crush of foot-traffic, and sighed. They were exhausted for a hundred different reasons. And today was a day for pretending, or perhaps for telling too much of the truth. Cautiously, but with a degree of certainty, Robin slipped her arm about his waist. They held each other. The light continued blinking. When it changed, and the crowd pulled away from them crossing the boulevard, Amon pressed his lips to her scalp, slow and contemplative. And she tightened her grip on him, pulled them closer together.

The crowd walked away, and the light changed back again, warning them of traffic. Amon stood kissing her and watching for spies, when suddenly she moved under him and his mouth brushed her forehead. She stared up at him, giving him the full benefit of her gaze. It held him pinned there, frozen but burning, hot and cold. The irony didn't fail to escape him. So, perhaps they had finally arrived at this moment, this frank, honest estimation of one another, the dare inherent in the other's gaze, blood ringing in his ears. Amon stared back, just like that first day in Harry's, watched her stand up to him, not brushing away, not ships passing in the night—standing together now, equally locked inside one another's grip.

“Is this…?” Robin began. “Is it…”

“It's the closest thing to normal either of us can ever have,” Amon answered.

The light changed. They went home, arm in arm.

***

The evening was still warm. It was one of those last hot September nights, and a yellowy harvest moon hung full in the sky. It was the only celestial body visible in the Roman night, what with the blaze of electric light and urban pollution turning the sky a curious blend of mauve and orange. Robin stood at the sink, watching the lights twinkling. Below, Pilade's was in full swing. Occasionally, Amon heard a triumphant cry that sounded very much like a won game of pinball. He imagined he could half-hear the chiming bells of the machine. The little shining ball bearing had finally made its way home.

Dinner was simmering away—something Amon couldn't really identify, although Robin had spent over an hour in the open-air markets finding the freshest ingredients. They dawdled, of course. Robin stopped for every dog and had to pet each one. They licked her palms and face. Now she was running her hands under the tap, staring out the window. He watched her shut off the water and bring her wet hands behind her neck, patting down the skin there. She sighed, closed her eyes.

Feeling very much like that ball bearing, that stubborn piece of steel moved helplessly by the forces of gravity and the desires of the player, Amon rose, and crossed to stand behind Robin. The kitchen was lit dimly, but he could still make out the droplets sliding down her bare spine. Having opted for a halter dress, Robin's back was naked, and it made the idea that was fermenting in Amon's head, the one which, really, had brewed there for quite some time, all the more appealing.

“May I try something?” he asked.

Slowly, Robin nodded. “Yes.”

Amon lowered his eyes, focused on her back. He let his concentration well up, finding it breathlessly easy now, and reached his right hand to the back of her neck. The skin frosted over where the water had touched it, and they both flinched. “I'm sorry, I didn't-”

“Don't worry.” Robin breathed, and the frosted skin blushed warm again, left water behind. Amon felt the Craft bounce back under his fingers, pushing where he'd nudged. He drew breath, thought about trying again.

“Would you like me to stop?”

Robin shook her head. “No.”

It was all the confirmation he needed. Amon let his Craft flow steadily, and drew his fingers ever-so-lightly over Robin's neck, and down between her shoulderblades. He was gentle, almost reverent, moving slowly as the second hand on a Friday afternoon timepiece. The electric tingle that usually happened between them radiated up his arm. Robin shivered. He watched her knuckles whiten on the lip of the sink, and continued, gently tracing the fingers down her spine to the small of her back, at which point she suppressed a shudder. Thankful that she couldn't see his face, Amon grinned openly. Revenge was sweet. And, he thought with the utmost in wicked poor taste, it was best served…cold.

She had done this to him, had subtly tortured him, whether aware of it or not. And now it was time to return the favor—there would be no other chance. So he could give her what he could now, teach her a little bit of what she'd already taught him. Amon ran the fingers back up her spine to her neck and splayed them, painted the lines of muscle there, a Jack Frost of the flesh. And that flesh was softer than he'd thought possible, every inch of it perfect, as far as he could tell. Amon wondered what it tasted like. Beneath him, Robin was trembling, and he knew it wasn't fear or anger or grief, perhaps only the strain of reining her Craft in; he could feel it there on the other side of her skin, panting to get at him, melt down its natural enemy to nothing. If they really let go, he wondered, would their opposed Crafts tear them apart?

Robin hissed softly as Amon began finding the branching-out places of ribs, cooling them, too. She curled up and into his touch, her pleasure obvious. Her skin was following him. It wasn't quite what he'd expected; somehow Robin had never struck him as so eager, but she was now, arching and curving and edging right back to meet him when he lightened the touch just a hair. He couldn't help but smile. Her Craft had flooded back into him by now, and he was pleasantly warm everywhere—like lying naked in springtime sun on perfect green grass.

As if hearing that particular thought, Robin's back tweaked upward and she stifled a little whine at the back of her throat. Amon smiled enough to show his teeth, now, and let his Craft hum smoothly through both of them. He was more deliberate. Now he stroked purposefully, up and down, watching Robin follow him. Her breath caught. She was shivering openly, now. Goosebumps had bloomed on her skin. He made certain to dip down to that sweet spot at the small of her back, and felt her Craft thud back into his every single time. And when he grew tired of simply painting her spine with his hands, he focused his energy there. Now Robin was almost writhing, and her voice sounded quietly at the back of her throat. Now Amon was free to close his eyes and imagine, to picture where else his hands could go, and how to tease genuine cries out of that closed throat. They'd moved closer together, and as his fingers made tiny light circles at the small of her back, she danced nearer to him and he smelled her hair, felt it brushing his lips.

At this sliver of distance, he could hear their mingled breathing, all the tiny catches in Robin's breath. His left hand found space on the worktop next to hers. Her little finger crept across his thumb. It seared the skin. Beside them, a stovetop timer began beeping wildly. Robin yelped and jumped with surprise, then lurched forward. Amon leaned his forehead against the back of hers. The timer continued its insane chatter. Amon and Robin breathed together. The lid of a saucepan on the stove rattled; the dish inside began boiling over.

“I…” Robin was panting.

“I know.” Amon sighed. “I'll…go have a shower.”

She nodded quickly, still unable to face him. “Right.”

***

Dinner was lovely. Robin had truly outdone herself, having fresh ingredients for her native dishes available. Amon had chosen a decent wine, and they polished most of it off in short order. After the tension at the sink, the conversation was scarce, but he could tell that she was still mostly at ease. She smiled when he praised her culinary skills. After dinner, Robin confessed a need for a bath, and took the rest of the wine with her. Amon cleaned the dishes, selected a book, and headed for bed. All in all, it was a satisfying day. He'd come away with it having the memories he needed to say goodbye to Robin the next day. It would not be easy, of course, but now he could at least say that he'd done his best with the time left for him. And after this, she would be safe. He hated the idea that she might sacrifice her leadership and her rights to it, just for him, but if he knew Robin, he knew she'd meditate for a long while now on what she wished her role to be. During that time, she couldn't be pushed around. He was content with that.

Not that he wanted to say goodbye. Down the hall he could hear her splashing in the water, and tried his best to memorize it. That sound would be gone for good after tonight. She would vanish from his life soon enough. Amon lay back and did his best to remember, to organize the visions of the day, from Robin's sleeping body on the sofa to the clinging bits of sauce at the corners of her mouth. Sifting and organizing the memories absorbed most of his concentration, so that he didn't hear her leave the tub, or pad down the hall to his room. Only a deep breath on her part alerted him to her presence.

“Amon?”

Robin was standing in a white linen shift, something primitive and virginal. He wondered where she'd found it. He frowned, until his eyes found her face. “Yes?”

Robin stepped forward haltingly. She seemed a bit unsteady on her feet. He wondered if it was the wine, or something else. A pair of clear green eyes came up to his. “Can I still have anything I want?”

The bottom fell out from under him. He hadn't expected this. A day in the sun, yes; frivolous expenditures, yes; teasing, yes—not this. There was an unbearable tension in her eyes, a weight to her gaze that pressed the breath from his lungs. They had finally arrived here, at this moment, the place he'd both feared and wished for, and had quietly assumed would never come. He felt his throat go dry. He reminded himself of promises made, and decided that he'd rather not live with himself if her first experience of a man was the one who left her behind forever the next morning.

Amon stretched out his left hand. “Yes.”

Robin took it. She gripped it hard, and adrenaline shot through him. Blood bolted to all the right places. Her mouth worked. “I was going to ask if…” Amon watched the linen that clothed her twitch and tremble across her skin. He enlaced their fingers. He squeezed her hand, and she squeezed back. Her voice was barely above a breath. “I didn't know it would be so difficult…”

“That's all right,” Amon whispered. “Take your time.”

“I want to ask,” she explained. She bit her lower lip. “I…” She gulped. “Have you ever noticed, Amon, that you only ever hold me when something goes wrong?”

Amon frowned again, and thought back. She had a point. They were only ever close when things had gone badly, when trauma called for it. “Not until you mentioned it, but it's true,” he said.

Robin's lips folded. “I want to be held,” she said baldly. “Not because someone's dead, or because I'm crying, but because I just…want it. For itself. I want to know what it's like, to have that, just because I want it.” Her eyes came up, demanding an answer.

Amon nodded. He pulled. “All night?”

She nodded in return. “All night.”

Wordlessly, Amon withdrew, pulling her with him, and folded back the sheet. Awkwardly, Robin crawled into bed beside him, coming to rest with some difficulty with her head on his chest and one arm around him. He wondered how much of him she could feel, and moved that question to the category of things that Robin could figure out for herself. Her hair tickled, and her skin felt wonderful, a living dream, the embodiment of bliss itself. He shut out the light, and closed his arms around her.

“Your heart's hammering,” Robin commented.

“I wasn't sure what you were going to ask,” Amon answered.

Time ticked by. He waited for her to understand. It came with the sudden freezing of her posture, and rigidity in her limbs. “You thought I…”

“The thought crossed my mind.”

Robin sat up abruptly. “I didn't mean-”

“I know you didn't.” Amon smiled sardonically. “It hit my target heart rate for the day. It's all right.”

She shook her head, looking miserable. “But…it's not as though I…” Her eyes flicked toward him, found his naked torso, veered away violently. “I think you're perfectly-”

“Robin.” Amon took both of her hands. They were trembling slightly. He enlaced their fingers again, and she seemed to calm. He watched her face, still so beautiful, even if it was troubled. “The Arcanum forced you to grow up fast enough,” he said simply, watching her eyes widen at the double-reference to her own dreams and ancestral memories that had discomfited them both. “There's no need to force any more maturity upon you, just yet.”

The line between her brows appeared. Her hands twisted together, bringing his with them. “I… But… I thought…”

“I would have said yes, Robin.”

Her eyes flew open. Silence spread between them. She blinked, and took him in anew. He watched her take in his every detail. He'd never quite felt so naked. At the same time, there was nothing to fear—he knew Robin loved him, or something very much like it, in her own way. She wasn't about to hurt him. Her eyes found his and were full of something, wonder, perhaps, or a sudden new understanding of what it meant to grow up. Her mouth opened. He decided to interrupt. “There will always be men who will say yes, Robin,” he whispered. “But that's no kind of reason to say yes to them, too.” He squeezed her hands. “Be selective. You can afford to be.”

She shook her head. “But I want-”

One of his hands let hers go, and a finger covered her lips. “Don't.” He sighed. “You're only thinking about this because I brought it up. It's a huge decision. Think about it some more.”

“But I already have, Amon,” she confessed. “I've thought about it…a lot.”

A hot blush prickled under his skin. “That's an honor I don't deserve,” he said.

“That's not true.”

“Then let me be a gentleman, for once!” His lip twisted. “I haven't had much chance to be noble in my life, you know.”

Her smile was forlorn. “You're noble enough for me.”

Amon spread a hand across her face, buried his fingers in her hair. “But not nearly noble enough for the women who came before you,” he answered. “And I refuse to make the same mistake again.”

She looked as though she were about to cry. “If it's a question of wanting-”

“You know that it isn't.” He pulled her forward a little. One hand found the small of her back. “Robin. You know that it isn't a question of wanting.” He sighed, and attempted to pull her closer. She didn't want to budge. “I want to wake up tomorrow morning with a clean conscience,” he said. “Is that so strange?”

Robin shook her head. She made as if to leave. “I'm sorry, I-”

“I didn't say I wanted to wake up without you,” Amon interrupted. “Stay.” He cleared his throat. “Please.”

She frowned, but leaned forward. “Are you testing yourself?”

No. I'm saying goodbye to you, and trying not to be a bastard in the process. Amon opened his arms. “I want what you want,” he said. “You were absolutely right. I'm only ever…open…to you, when something has gone wrong. You deserve better than that. And I'd like to give it to you.” He swallowed, and found her eyes. “Today was normal. Or as close to normal as we can get. So let's be normal tonight, too, and go to bed beside each other like normal people do, and toss and turn and kick and steal the covers like normal people. There's time enough for drama later.”

This bid for normalcy seemed to persuade Robin, and she crawled back down to him and settled beside him where she'd been only moments before, with her head on his chest. Amon closed his arms around her again. “This is different,” Robin commented.

“Yes, it most certainly is different; you've got quite a bit more knowledge than you had before. It's too bad you're no longer in law enforcement, you would have made a fine interrogator.”

Amon felt her smile on his chest. “I do know more than I did before, don't I?”

“Knowledge which will undoubtedly be my undoing,” Amon muttered. “You'll become a little seductress, and then what will become of me?”

“Oh, poor you,” Robin sighed sarcastically. He could almost feel her eyes rolling. “I finally…get the courage to say something, and you suddenly have an attack of ethics.”

“It's damnably bad timing, I agree.”

Robin was silent. She traced ticklish lines on his chest. “What now?” she asked.

“Now I wait, and watch you fall asleep, and kick myself for my moral uprightness.” Amon ran fingers through her hair.

“That sounds very self-defeating.”

“It's what I'm best at.”

She turned so that her chin balanced on her chest. The pose felt all too natural, reminded him of what he'd been missing all this time. “Will you really kick yourself?”

Amon thoughtfully traced the line of her face. “Undoubtedly,” he said. He smoothed hair away from her face. “You don't know how sorely I've been tempted, before.”

“Yes, I do.” Robin smiled and cuddled close to him again, hiding her face. “You didn't think I felt the same?”

He pulled a lock of her hair. “Oh, turnabout's fair play, is it?” He kissed the top of her head. “Yes, I suppose it is fair play,” he answered himself. He gave her a little hug. “Don't fight fairly, Robin. You have enemies enough. The game's been rigged against you from the beginning. Do what it takes to protect yourself.”

“You'll be here to protect me,” Robin said sleepily.

Amon nodded, caressing her hair. “It's a lifetime commitment.”

“That's why you have time now to be noble?” Her voice was fading into sleep.

Amon kissed the top of her head feverishly. “Yes. Now go to sleep.”

She tightened her grip around him. “I thought all of this would be more dramatic,” she said.

“We've only used euphemisms, so far. Wait until the real words come.” He settled his chin on top of her head. “Go to sleep.”

She nodded sideways, grinding her hair into his skin. In the morning, there would be tiny lines where it had rested. “Goodnight, Amon.”

“Goodnight, Robin.”

She slept eventually. It took her a long time; she wasn't accustomed to sleeping next to another person. Amon felt all of her muscles loosen slowly, relaxing into heaviness. Even then Robin's sleep was light, and she would occasionally awaken halfway and grip him tightly, as though to make certain he was still there. Amon kept his arms close around her, one hand tangled in her hair and the other smoothing her back. She seemed to still again upon sensing his presence. It was almost frighteningly natural. Amon fought to stay awake and remember it all. Soon enough, this serenity would have fled. There was something embedded in the pattern of her breathing that he knew he'd miss, later. There was something about the peace of the moment that would never come again, that would need to live forever in his memory if he were to stay sane in the days ahead.

***

Amon woke without knowing he'd truly been asleep. The room was full of light. Robin was stirring quietly, waking up piece by piece. He checked the watch on his bedside table. They had time. Or rather, he realized with sickening certainty, this was the only time they had left. He traced Robin's face, newly free to let his hands memorize the texture and warmth. Beneath his fingers Robin smiled. He chuckled quietly. “Sleep well?”

Eyes shut, Robin grinned, and nodded. “Mm hmm.”

Amon leaned down, kissed her temple. She purred, and inched closer. Amon squeezed her gently. Robin responded by digging into his chest, butting her head right up under his chin. Amon kissed her hair. “What about you?” she asked.

“Sleep?” Amon replied. “I was busy re-considering my return to moral rectitude.”

Robin giggled. “Were you really so different, before?”

Amon reached down and guided the side of her head upward so that she faced him. Her eyes were still sleepy, but powerfully green. She blinked. Amon tried not to think of her naked under her shift, and the way they had time, just enough time. He curled a bit of Robin's hair behind her ear. “Yes,” he answered. “I was.”

Robin swallowed. “How different?”

Amon's eyes flicked around the room, making certain that Robin's eyes took in the setting as well. They came back to rest on her. “I didn't do…this, before.” He played with the lock of hair behind her ear. “I left, early and often.”

Something dimmed in Robin's eyes. “Were there a lot of…um…”

“A fair amount.”

Her voice was small. “Did Touko know?”

“Sometimes.” Amon thumbed her face. “We were off and on.” He thought about how to tell her the next part. “I stopped…” He snorted, almost laughing at himself. “I don't know why I stopped. It was while you and I were Hunting a Witch, together. I did it over the phone. You were bringing me my dinner. And I ended it, between her and I, for good.”

Robin nodded. “You didn't open the door until you'd ended the conversation,” she said.

“She said she'd had a feeling that I'd end it,” Amon said. He let one hand tangle in Robin's fingers. “I wonder why that was.”

Robin squeezed their fingers together. “She knew you very well.”

“Or I was merely that transparent.”

Softly, Robin shook her head. “You could have fooled me.” She smiled ruefully. “You did fool me.”

“I fooled myself.” Amon drew her hand up, and kissed the inside of her wrist. “I wasted a lot of time, Robin.”

Her gaze softened. “We have all the time in the world, Amon.”

Mutely, he nodded. He felt something in his throat close. To soothe it, he delicately traced Robin's throat, barely touching it. He let two fingers wander up to her mouth, watched with half-lidded eyes as she kissed them. He felt his heart skip, and he swallowed. “Do we have time for a walk?”

She frowned. “You're not hungry?”

Amon shook his head. “No,” he murmured.

***

The walk was long. They barely spoke. They held hands instead. He walked with purpose, knowing the path better than she. Robin paused when she saw artifacts of her childhood; stopped to tell him stories. He imagined her younger, more naïve self, before her life and his changed for good. His heart had gone to lead.

On the promontory, overlooking the ancient city, Amon saw the van. The cardinal was there, standing with hands clasped behind his back. Toughs surrounded him, dressed in tourist gear. Amon knew where the guns were hiding, under their loose madras shirts. He kept walking. Robin began to balk.

“Mr. Nagira,” the cardinal said. “How nice to see you again.”

Amon nodded, acknowledging the other man's presence. “I wish I could say the same.”

The cardinal nodded slightly in Robin's direction. “Have you had enough time?”

“There is never enough time.”

“Amon…?” Robin tugged at his arm. He turned to face her. Her eyes were wide, confused. Something inside him crackled and split, letting icy wind whistle through. “Amon, what…?”

“I have to go now, Robin,” Amon said quietly.

Her eyes searched him. Tears began in them. She stepped forward, clasping his arms. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He held her arms. “I made a promise.” To his horror, he felt his throat start to smolder and his eyes begin to burn.

Her eyes wet, Robin shook her head. “You didn't promise me this,” she whispered. “This wasn't part of the bargain.”

“I made a promise to myself, too.” He leaned down, and brought her closer. “They knew, the whole time, Robin. They've been photographing us. They've observed us, every step of the way. Solomon-”

“Fuck Solomon!” she said tersely. “I'll-”

“They could have killed you a hundred times over, Robin,” he intoned. “And I couldn't have done a thing about it.”

Again, she shook her head. “You would have,” she insisted. “You've never failed me, Amon, never-”

“Robin.” Amon slid his hands up around her face. “I've failed everyone but you.”

Her face twisted into a grief-stricken snarl. “No,” she whispered. “No. Don't do this.”

“I have to do this.” He smoothed hair away from her face, smeared tears along her skin. “And you have to let me. Because they'll kill you, otherwise.”

She shook her head again. Her fingers were tight in his clothes. “I'll defeat them, Amon. I will. I'm strong, I can-”

“They'll leave you alone for good, if I do this.” He leaned their foreheads together. “I'm collateral, Robin. You can go and live the life you want. Be free. Live the life I can't give you.” He swallowed, and watched tears roll down Robin's face. “Have the children you want. Powerful, beautiful children, like their mother…” Amon began kissing her face. He started beneath her eyes and moved across her brow, came down the bridge of her nose. Robin cried harder.

“I can't do what I have to do, without you,” she wept. “I can't win this war, if you're not with me.”

“That's the whole point.” Amon's breath caught. “I promised to remember you as you are. I don't want to remember a general, or a queen. I want to remember Robin.” He kissed her forehead, between the eyes. “My Robin.” He leaned their foreheads together again. “The day you become the Witch you were born to be, I'll be dead,” he said. His eyes closed. “And I'll be so proud of you…”

Robin let an audible sob escape her mouth. “No…”

His eyes opened. “You have to do this without me, now. You have to prove them wrong.”

“I can't kill you, Amon!” She shook her head violently. “I said I'd never let you die…”

“I chose this, Robin.” He blinked, regarded her again. “Goodbye.” He broke away, prepared to begin the walk to the van.

“But Amon, I lo-”

“Don't!” Amon whispered hoarsely. He pressed his fingers over her lips. “Don't.” Robin's eyes were pleading. He let his own plead with her, too. “Don't make this harder than it already is. Please.” His eyes shut, and his lips almost found hers. “Please.”

She folded the hand open, and kissed his palm. She let it brush across her wet face. “Please,” Amon murmured. “Please, Robin.”

“This is why you wouldn't make love to me,” she whispered.

Amon wrenched her face to his, planting a hard, close-mouthed kiss on her lips. He could feel them trembling, together. His fingers tightened in her hair. When he let her go, she was stunned, silent. And then he began walking away. He turned, and walked toward the cardinal, and the van. He heard Robin drop to her knees, and flinched, but did not turn. “Don't do this,” she moaned. “Amon, don't…” He continued walking.

A high scream rose behind him. A car beside him exploded. He flinched again, and stopped. But he did not turn, he kept on walking. The trees lining the boulevard burst into flame. He plodded. “Amon!” she shrieked. Leaves and fuel sizzled in the air. “Amon…”

He heard a car door shut. There were footsteps on the ground. “Robin,” a creaky, broken voice said. It sounded as though it had not spoken in years.

“Amon…”

“Let him go, little one.”

The cardinal looked up at him, when Amon stopped beside the van. “You made the right decision,” he said simply.

“I know,” Amon answered.

“Amon…”

Amon turned. He looked first at the city, the old empire, laid out beneath him. Then he looked to Robin. Her face was a ruin of tears. Behind her, kneeling, gingerly placing his hands on her shoulders, was an aged man in a priest's robes. Juliano Colegui. The two men made eye contact. No words needed to be said between them. Amon bowed his gratitude. The other man nodded his own. Amon looked at Robin, and at her fires. He lifted a hand. The fires dissipated. They became moguls, little hills of ice, pieces of winter under the sunlight. He urged the Craft on, and the ice took shape, growing arms and legs and heads, until his hillocks were little people at play. Children. His own. The ones he'd never get to have. He looked at Robin one final time, and entered the van. She screamed. The door shut behind him.