Someone was knocking on the door; not the main room door, but the door that joined the room he was in and Nagira's room. Therefore, his somewhat muddled-just-woke-up-slightly-pounding head deduced that it was Nagira. Amon groaned a little while bringing up a hand to rub at his eyes (which he had squeezed even more tightly closed at the sound of knocking), and groaned a little more.

"Come in," he called, hearing the door swing open. Then he opened his eyes.

Then he wished he hadn't told Nagira to open the door. Furthermore, he wondered why Robin had selected last night of all nights to crawl into his bed. Panicked, he jerked his head up slightly.

Then he realized that he had crawled into her bed. Oh, Christ.

He quickly looked over to Nagira, whom had stopped in the semi-center of the room, looking at Amon with a highly bemused expression on his face. Robin slept on obliviously, a mere lump of covers at Amon's side--disturbingly and amazingly close at Amon's side. The two brothers locked eyes for a few moments and then Nagira simply turned and walked out of the room with the same damnably amused look on his face.

Amon couldn't help but lay there in shock for a few more moments, trying to recall how such a thing might have occurred and failing. Truth of the matter was that he had absolutely no recollection of how he had ended up in Robin's bed, or whether or not there had been anything that had proceeded it. Rolling out of bed quickly but as gently as he could so as not to wake Robin and cause more awkwardness, he headed to his brother's room. Entering Nagira's room he found himself meeting the unchanged amused glance of said brother.

"I guess I don't have to ask how you slept," Nagira started, teasingly. Amon was not in the mood. It was too early in the morning, his body was protesting at a lack of water, and above all--he was irritated, disturbed, and somewhat embarassed at having woken up in such a situation.

"Don't," Amon warned. "Don't even start." His brain fumbled for some sort of rational explanation. "I was drunk and it was dark. I fell asleep in the wrong bed. Robin takes up so little of a bed when she sleeps that it's entirely possible that I laid down in hers and didn't even know she was there."

Nagira's eyes twinkled maddeningly. "You sure you weren't just lonely?" His only response from Amon was a stare that would have frozen the sun--or, at the very least, turned it to ice. "It was awfully cute, though."

"Not a word to Robin." Amon was fairly certain that she hadn't been awake, anyway. He hoped that he hadn't awoken her. "It would be better for her just not to know."

Nagira appeared freshly showered and more awake than he had a right to be--definitely infinitely more smug than Amon would have liked him to be. A quick glance at the clock told Amon it was approaching ten in the morning and a quick thought flitted across his brain: it wasn't like either he or Robin to sleep so late, even when he did go to bed at dawn.

Could it be that they actually slept better when in the same bed? His mind, which had only milliseconds before posted the question, reeled on itself in anger and squelched the very thought.

"Better for her or better for you?" Nagira asked, cunningly. His hands were reaching for a pack of cigarettes laid out on the table and Amon felt his jaw tighten. It was hard enough to deny how he felt to himself without Nagira nosing in it all the time as he was often wont to do. "'Cause after all, it didn't look like it was bothering Robin any."

"Better for all, including you, if it's not spoken of," Amon grated out. His teeth were grinding and he was helpless to stop it. "If you--" He stopped suddenly and Nagira favoured him with an inquisitive glance. Something tugged at the very edge of Amon's hearing; a bit more sensitive than it would have been, more than likely due to the fact that his blood pressure was rising uncontrollably the longer he debated with his brother. The sound echoed off his eardrums and put a vague feeling of what could only be described as panic into his heart.

Footsteps in the other room. Robin was awake. And, knowing his luck, she'd probably been awake the whole time. The sound of a door coming from the room that Robin and he shared pulled at his hearing, and, stretching it further, he heard the sound of what he figured to be running water. A lot of running water--she was taking a bath.

"She's awake," Amon said suddenly, instead of whatever he had been ready to say before. Nagira merely quirked an eyebrow at Amon, lighting a cigarette. "I can hear her moving around in there. Keep your mouth shut about this or I'll shut it for you, Nagira."

A snicker. "Uh-oh, baby brother's threatening me," the older brother practically sang through a cloud of smoke. "Fine. Fine. I won't say a word. We'll just..." Here, Nagira gestured with his hand in a circular motion as a filler for his pause while he thought. "...pretend it never happened because we didn't like it and never mention it again, in very you fashion." Amon did not reply to the slight jab and Nagira shrugged. "I've already showered and everything. I'm ready to go and meet this woman whenever you two are. While you two are doing your morning things, I'm going to go and see about renting us a car--unless you want to do that and I can stay here with Robin?"

Amon found himself very loath to leave his brother alone with Robin due to the fact that either Nagira would say something or Robin herself would say something (perhaps, he mused, a residual effect of his somewhat diminished trust in them). Even if it meant that he himself would have to stay with Robin and possibly face some sort of horribly embarassing confrontation and conversation, Amon preferred that his brother be sent out instead of him.

"I will stay," Amon stated, and Nagira nodded, cigarette dangling from his lips as he swept his coat off the back of the chair he'd been sitting in. Shrugging into it, he removed the cigarette from his mouth perhaps just so he could give Amon a wolfish grin.

"Suit yourself," Nagira said non-chalantly, heading for the door. "Here I was trying to do the buddy thing and give you an escape from the awkward morning after problem, but you turned it down. I swear, sometimes I just don't understand you..."

--------------------

Instead of waiting for Robin to finish her sometimes--rather often--lengthy bathroom ritual, Amon had gathered his belongings and showered in Nagira's room. Startlingly enough, after he had showered and shaved and re-entered the room he shared with Robin, Nagira had not yet returned and Robin had finished her bathroom ritual. It had been greatly shortened in comparison to what it usually was, and for some reason that filled Amon with a peculiar, nervous dread.

Not that he let it show. Silently he re-arranged his belongings in his ruck sack and laid it next to his untouched bed, then looked over at Robin's still mussed one. The blankets and sheets were rumpled and folded back where she had slept under them, and a slight rippling of fabric on top of the coverlet had indicated where his own body had lain.

"Damnit," he murmured very quietly to himself. He looked over to the bathroom and saw that the door was cracked open about a foot. He was not ready to face Robin yet. Turning, he walked towards Nagira's room to wait for his brother's return--

--and was stopped cold by the sound of Robin's voice. Not just the sound of Robin's voice, but the sound of Robin's voice saying his name.

"Amon? Is that you?" she called a second time from within the bathroom. With an almost inaudible sigh, Amon turned on his heel and walked towards the bathroom, appearing in the doorway. He did not open the door fully but instead pushed it open just a bit more, just wide enough for only his body to fit in the space.

Robin was kneeling on an ottoman, obviously dragged from within their room, in front of the mirror. One of her hands gripped the egde of the sink and the other held a small pair of scissors. Tiny tufts of faded-blonde hair adorned the floor and the sink's surface, and--Amon couldn't help but notice--her bare shoulders, since she had reclad herself in a sleeping-slip after her bath.

"What are you doing?" he asked her, neutrally. She looked back at him in that open, even way of hers.

"Trimming my hair," she replied. "My bangs were starting to get in my mouth." Amon's eyes flicked up to Robin's somewhat long, face-obscuring bangs, and then back to her face. Her hand that held the scissors opened them once, twice. "Did you shower in Nagira's room?" she asked.

"Yes. I thought that would be smarter than waiting for this bathroom," he replied, voice as neutral as before. "Nagira has gone to rent a vehicle for the trip today."

"Oh." Robin turned to look into the mirror for a moment, and reached up with her free hand to brush some of the short little clippings of hair off her shoulder. Amon tried not to stare at her lithe, slip-clad body and settled instead for looking at her feet, sticking out off the end of the ottoman in mid-air, rubbing slightly at each other. After a few moments she had said nothing else, and Amon figured she had nothing else to say.

Before he could even think to move his body, however, Robin turned to look at him again, her mouth slightly open.

His mind cursed. In a moment, he knew that she knew.

--------------------

Robin wondered how Amon could just stand there so coolly, so composedly--as if he hadn't woken up in her bed that morning. The wall was in full effect.

"Amon?" she began, quietly. "How did we end up sharing a bed last night?" she asked, after a slight pause. His face didn't even move, but she swore she could hear additional fortifications to the wall slamming down around her ex-partner.

"I'd hoped that perhaps you could have told me," he replied, devoid of emotion. "I do not know." He stopped, stare even and steely. When he resumed talking, it seemed that his voice was even more evenly-moderated than it was before, if such a thing was possible. "In either case, I am sorry for the intrusion."

She blinked. Did he think she was angry or offended? Disgusted or frightened, perhaps? "Amon, I--"

"It was wrong of me to do such a thing and it won't happen again." Amon's words cut right into the middle of her own like a knife through butter, and carried an air of finality to them. Realization sunk in--he really didn't want to talk about it. He was more than likely angry and disgusted with himself for letting something like that occur. Robin's heart sank.

So his trust in her really had been damaged, it seemed.

"It was fine, really," Robin murmured, and something flashed behind Amon's grey eyes before disappearing as quickly as it had come--so quick that Robin had not been able to determine what had caused the momentary shifting. She figured once again that it was either anger or disgust--or, quite possibly, discomfort. "But--if you feel like you need to apologise for it, then..."

Silence. He apparently had nothing to say or was waiting for her to accept his apology so he could end the conversation and leave.

"...but I don't understand," Robin finished instead, causing him to straighten a bit in his lean against the doorframe, obviously caught off guard. "It's not as if this is the first time that..." She felt suddenly warm talking about it, remembering how startled she had been to discover him in her bed. "...we've been in a bed--"

"I think it should be painfully obvious what makes it different in this instance," Amon said flatly, once again cutting into her words, effectively stopping them. "A boundary that should not have been crossed was, and perhaps I was being too lenient in allowing such things to have happened before in the first place. It isn't fitting, Robin."

Fitting of what? To whom? Robin's mind reeled, but she said nothing, only opened and closed the scissors in her hand dumbly. She had been right before--she could feel Amon's wall thickening with every word he said. She had damaged the trust between them, and he was reacting accordingly--pushing her away, far away, as he would have in the distant past.

Any progress that had been made, Robin felt, was being undone before her very eyes. Amon's sudden and fervent aloofness was the proof of it.

"In the future I would prefer that we not frequent the same bed again under any circumstances," he went on, echoing in Robin's thoughts. "I apologise for my actions." His face softened, if only momentarily--or so Robin thought, and his next words affirmed the possible softening a bit. "It was I who crossed the line, not you."

The scissors stopped moving in her hand, and she swallowed, clearing her throat a bit. She didn't know what to say, but Amon had not moved from the doorway. She suspected once again--knowing Amon and knowing Japanese culture--that he was waiting for her to accept his apology so the matter could be officially closed.

She didn't want it to be officially closed, though. If she allowed that to happen, Robin feared they would be back at square one. If she refused to let him deny that it had happened by accepting his apology, it would remain in their history. Their shared history.

"Your hair's looking a bit long, too," she said suddenly, and Amon's eyes were slightly irritated--wondering why she wouldn't accept his apology, more than likely. "If you'd like, I can trim yours for you as well, while I've got the scissors out," she offered, feeling her hand starting to open and close the scissors mechanically again. "I'm...rather good at it, by now."

He looked at her through his wall, face tight. "No. I can do that by myself, without assistance." When he'd spoken, Amon's voice had sounded as tight as his face. "Nagira will be returning soon. I suggest you hurry and finish and then get dressed." With those words, he disappeared from the doorway before Robin could reply.

She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Amon was Amon. He didn't need assistance for anything, it was starting to seem. And even if he did--he took it and then pushed you away.

Fine, her mind spat, a vaguely unfamiliar emotion boiling in her soul. Fine. If he wants to pretend like he's an island all to himself then let him do it. Robin, having experienced the emotion a few times before--but not many--eventually pinned it down as helpless, unbridled feminine rage. Let him do whatever he wants.

Something in Robin's heart (her head, as well) ached dully as she brought the scissors up and took another minute, careful snip at her bangs, which were starting to hang somewhere around her nose.

--------------------

In yet another odd reversal of their roles of power, Amon deferred the front passenger seat to Robin as they entered the vehicle, a Mercedes ML500 SUV. As far as Robin could remember, she'd never actually ridden in any civilian vehicle larger than a car, so having to step up to enter the SUV was a strange sensation for her.

So was sitting up front next to Nagira, unable to watch Amon or where he was looking. She thought that perhaps every once in a while she felt his stare on her shoulders like a bucket of bricks, but she didn't want to turn around to find out.

Traffic, for Reykjavík being such a small city, was horrendous. That was more than likely due to the fact that the streets were very narrow and winding, and the intersections poorly planned. The large SUV crept along at Nagira's gas-pedal-feathering insistence, and Robin tried to get used to looking down on other cars as opposed to looking up at them as the car--at Amon's lead-footed insistence--practically flew past them.

"Well, you two are a god-damned cheerful bunch this morning," Nagira said after quite some time had passed in complete silence. "Is it always this way? Because if so, tell me, so I can give into my temptation to find out what the radio in this country is like."

"Let's not and say we did," Amon spoke from the backseat, obviously adverse to the idea of enduring the Icelandic language in musical context. Robin looked over at Nagira, smiling slightly.

"I don't think I've ever ridden in a car this big before," she said, conversationally. "I mean...a truck. What is this thing?"

"It's called a 'sport-utility vehicle', and they're utterly impractical," Nagira replied, amusement written all over his voice. "It's probably why they're so popular. After all, doesn't every soccer mom in the world need a V-8 off-road capable vehicle in order to go to the grocery store?" He began to snicker somewhat at his own comments. "We, however, needed one due to the fact that I'm pretty sure the paved road is going to end within a fair amount of time outside of this place." Nagira looked at the no smoking sticker stuck on the Mercedes' windshield with disgust, and fumbled to light up anyway. Amon grumbled somewhat from the back seat and shifted towards the middle of the rear bench a bit more--presumably disgruntled at the way ashes that were meant to go out the window kept ending up on him.

"It's just odd," Robin mused, a moment later. "I've never ridden this far off the ground before. I'm not used to being able to look down at people in their cars."

Nagira looked over at her with a toothy grin at the next stop light, smoke swirling around the inside of the cab. "Makes ya feel powerful, huh?" Robin nodded slightly, and Nagira turned back to the road as the light turned green and traffic began to creep along again. "The silent man in the backseat would probably argue that no vehicle makes one feel more powerful than a super-responsive death-trap of a sports car, but I myself kind of like these big beasts. If it were practical to own one in Japan, I probably would."

"As if owning a Ferarri is any more practical?" Amon pointed out, from the back seat. Nagira shot Amon a figurative raspberry via his eyes in the rear-view mirror.

"I'm a lawyer," Nagira countered smoothly. "I have to live like a complete jackass. It's in the job description. So," he said, turning his attention back to Robin, suddenly, "are you driving yet?"

"Me?" Robin almost squeaked in surprise, eyes wide. "Driving? No." It didn't seem terribly difficult to do--that is, in certain cars. Operating a manual transmission may have been a bit out of her league, she suspected, but cars like the one that Karasuma had owned and the one they were in now, that basically did the driving for you...those couldn't be too difficult to operate, could they?

Nagira looked incredulous even as Amon managed to appear as if he already disagreed with the conversational turn from the back seat. "Not driving? Well, I think we should remedy that! Kids in the United States get their licenses at 16, you know--get their own cars and everything. Crazy, huh? But still, it can't hurt to have you knowing how to drive. How about I let you take over for a bit once we get out of the city, eh?" Before Robin could get words out of her mouth, Amon cut into them for about the fifth time that day with his own.

"Absolutely not." His words were like an arrow fired into the dash from a crossbow in the back seat. "This isn't even your car, Nagira. And she's never driven before in her life."

A shrug. "You gotta start somewhere," the lawyer reasoned, not sounding too concerned about the fact that he was driving a 50,000 dollar rental car.

Terse silence issued forth from the back seat, and finally: "No. That would be highly unwise."

The strange, unfamiliar roiling boil of emotion that Robin had experienced that morning suddenly returned in full-force and broke through whatever dam in her body that had been controlling it. Robin's usually neutral curve of a mouth downturned sharply, and her eyebrows lowered along her eyes sternly. She bit her tongue at the sudden torrent of angry protests that threatened to issue forth from her mouth, unbidden. Oh, Amon, I wish you'd make up your mind! her brain screeched, unbeknownst to the men in the car. One minute you're kidding with me, the next minute you're crawling into my bed, then you're acting like a controlling father, running around with a holier-than-thou crown on your head. She bit her tongue even harder. Just stop it.

"How old were you when you learned to drive?" Nagira continued the debate between his brother and himself, unaware of Robin's internal war between her sudden rage and Amon's behaviour. "Hell, I was right around her age--you were too, weren't you? Whatever nutcase gave you keys at fifteen needs to have their head checked."

Amon was unwavering, solid, stoic in the back seat as the SUV jounced along slightly on the roads due to stiff suspension. "It's true that I was fifteen and that perhaps it wasn't a very well thought out idea to give me keys," he admitted, but somehow his tone made the concession sound more like a pointed threat than anything else. "I still say no. What you and I did at fifteen is--"

Something in Robin erupted further, boiling over and sending her into meltdown. Releasing her tooth-grip on her tongue, she turned quickly in her seat, her normally glowing green eyes dark and glinting. "Do as I say, not as I do, right?" she accused, feeling helpless and frustrated and even more like the fifteen year old she was--throwing a tantrum, Robin, really, her mind chided somewhere in the background of the tidal wave of anger. Amon merely looked at her impassively, his mask impeccably in place. The look in his eyes, however, stated that he would sit there and take her onslaught but that he found it utterly ridiculous, somehow.

This only heightened Robin's feelings of rage, of despair, of emotional hysteria. "I'm never going to be more than a stupid little girl to you, am I?" she spat, her voice twisted and contorted into something acidic and venemous that she'd never heard coming from herself before. "From partner to Hunter to the saviour of all witches to...to...even if I was God," she went on, voice starting to shake with the force of the outburst--even though her voice never raised above normal speaking level, "you'd still treat me as if I was some kind of thing that happened to you! Why do you have to be so horribly hateful all the time?" she asked, and the only response from Amon was his continuing stare. Nagira, driving there next to Robin, was semi-shocked into silence, his cigarette burning away uselessly in his hand.

"I didn't ask you to give up your life to follow me or help me," Robin said, feeling the familiar stinging, burning sensation coming to her eyes--it seemed to be coming rather frequently as of late. Perhaps, her mind mused quietly, there was a grain of truth to the stories of teenagers and out of control hormones...how else could she explain her up and down moods as of late? "That was your choice and yet every day you act like I made you do it, Amon. I am sorry if you are unhappy with what you've done with your life, but stop--" here, the burning in her eyes became acute, "--stop taking it out on me. You're supposed to be my partner, not my master."

Amon's eyes pinned her then, devoid of emotion--almost as if he was willing/them to be absent of emotion; no one's eyes could be that blank naturally. Not even Amon's; Robin had forced herself to believe this before and she hadn't been proved wrong. "I am supposed to be your warden. That means I do what is in your best interest, whether or not you know it at the time, whether or not you like it."

"Just stop it!" Robin burst, her head starting to ache acutely, eyes burning but she refused to blink them--if she blinked them, the tears would fall and Amon would just stare at her coolly; somehow, he would win and she was so tired of him winning. "Stop it! Which one of us is the one who can't control our Craft? Which one of us is more in danger of doing harm to others or to ourself?" she went on uncontrollably, and Amon's eyes darkened almost immediately, his jaw setting. "I don't want a warden anymore. I want a partner, someone who's not always going to keep me a million miles away and under his thumb because he--"

Nagira finally snapped out of his shock and reached out with his free hand, now devoid of cigarette, to touch Robin's shoulder gently. "Robin," he murmured, interrupting her. "Calm down. It's not worth it."

"You can't always get what you want," Amon said, simply, and Robin's shoulders slumped even as Nagira gently turned her around, pushing her back into her seat as she immediately stared out her window and let the tears begin to fall. "I am only doing what is best for you. And given your recent actions, Robin, quite frankly I find it very difficult to place a fair amount of serious trust in you."

"Robin, calm down," Nagira urged soothingly, his hand rubbing at Robin's thin shoulder. The lawyer's eyes flicked up to the rear view mirror, back to his brother's eyes--Amon's face was unmoved, but his eyes had gone from reservedly cool to vacant and remorseful as soon as Robin had turned away from him. A large breath escaped Nagira as he stared at his little brother. "You're a real fucking piece of work, you know that?" he said, half-heartedly to the rear-view mirror.

Amon said nothing, but his eyes told Nagira that he didn't need the disgust of others--he was already plenty fed up with himself.

-------------------

It was a small cottage on a wind-wasted, green, rocky landscape that they stopped at when they finally stopped. A very old, white Land Rover with European plates stood next to the old-looking home, under the flat grey sky. Nothing else--no trees at all, no other homes, no nothing could be seen along the horizons with the naked eye.

Nagira put the Mercedes into park and turned off the car. Undoubtedly, the house's inhabitant was wondering who the hell was outside. He looked over at Robin and she looked over at him, and he noticed with a small pang of sadness in his gut that she looked wasted and wearied, her face still slightly red from the tears that she had cried silently and steadily for about twenty minutes after her earlier outburst. It was times like that that Nagira felt like acting like he was eighteen again, Amon home in Japan during a break in SOLOMON training; wrestling his little brother down into the ground, pummelling him mercilessly.

"Are you ready?" he asked of the tow-headed girl, and she nodded, no words escaping her. From the backseat, Amon shifted.

"What is this woman's name?" he asked suddenly, the first time he'd talked since the argument earlier. Nagira turned to look at him. He looked the same, save his eyes--they looked just as wasted and wearied as Robin's did.

Ah, young love.

"Gróa," Nagira replied, mouth feeling strange uttering the name. "Her last name's something barely human like...like...Gerrbleeeeh." Nagira knew he had butchered the woman's last name, but he had no clue how to pronounce it. It seemed good enough for Amon and he exited the vehicle, slamming the door resolutely on his way out. Robin exited as well, her door closing in a much gentler manner. Nagira was the last to exit, casually sliding out of his seat as both Robin and Amon stood near the vehicle--but far away from each other--watching him.

"Let's go," he said, and Robin turned on her heel and headed straight for the cottage's door. Amon looked mildly startled that she had taken the initiative and gone first, without him, and turned to follow her. She went right up to the door and knocked, not even waiting for him to join her on the step. Both brothers came up behind Robin and stood there, Nagira casting a glance over at Amon only to find Amon casting a glance over at him.

Robin only stared at the door. Some scratching noises were heard on the other side, and moments later the door opened a bit, revealing a tiny woman with very blonde hair--the woman was so short she was actually looking up at Robin, who was by no means a tall girl. The woman's light blue eyes looked first at the girl in front of her, and then to the two men behind her. She said nothing.

Amon had opened his mouth to speak, but Robin had beat him to it. "My name is Robin Sena," she said, quietly. "I am a witch. I've been on the run from SOLOMON for quite some time now. I'm fairly certain I'm their most wanted."

Nagira looked over at Amon, who looked as if he was ready to have a minor coronary.

"I want you to help me find others," Robin continued, unmindful of Amon's panicked state. "I hear that you can do that."

The woman sized Robin up for a moment, silently, and Nagira wondered briefly if the woman knew how to speak English. She smiled, suddenly, toothily--displaying the fact that her front teeth were slightly crooked. Amon did not relax and Robin did not seem to care. She did not break eye contact with the small Icelandic woman in the cottage in front of them.

"Ah, Robin Sena, witch," the woman said, a lilt to her bizarrely accented voice. "Your reputation preceeds you--at least in my world. I'd never expected to actually meet you, however. You all may come in. My name is Gróa Guðmundsdóttir." She opened the door widely and stepped back as Robin stepped in, not even bothering to look back at the two men behind her to see if they were coming or not. Amon, obviously immensely disturbed by Robin's actions, followed hot on her heels. Nagira nodded at Gróa with a smile and entered.

"And naturally," Gróa said, closing the door behind her and looking at the three people in her home, "you are probably wondering who told me about you and why."

"Naturally," Amon let out, and Nagira noticed for the first time that his brother was sweating. Not just sweating as a normal human would perspire; sweat had begun to run down his brother's face in rivulets. Robin looked over at Amon coolly, apparently she'd noticed the sweat as well, but immediately looked away and remained aloof.

"I think I know who you are as well, sir," Gróa said, smiling. "Your reputation preceeds you as well. Hello to you as well, Amon Novotne." The tall man and the very short woman had a staring contest for a moment, Gróa appearing mildly amused. "Do you know how rare your Craft is, Mr. Novotne?" she asked suddenly, even as sweat dripped off Amon's chin. "Among all witches, that is. Very few are blessed with your Craft; perhaps for a reason. Humans, perhaps, were not meant to sense things as Gods do."

"What do you know about my Craft?" Amon almost spat, sounding hoarse and shaky. His eyes were either narrowed or...squinting? Nagira had never known his brother to become so nervous, so uncontrolled as he saw him at that moment.

"More than you'd think. Enough to know what causes it, how it works, and that you can and will kill yourself with it unless you learn to control it," the Icelandic woman countered, still smiling. "I'd suggest you all have a seat. It appears as if we have much to talk about."

Nagira sat down on a well-worn cobalt blue recliner, gazing out the window next to the door as he waited for the other two to take a seat. Robin, whom had previously been doing her best to forget that Amon existed, couldn't help but shoot a concerned glance at him at the news of his Craft. After the glance, however, she sat down slowly on a worn recliner very similar to the one Nagira found himself in, save that Robin's was grey.

Amon remained standing.

"Mr. Novotne," Gróa said, her voice a strange mixture of compassion and condescension. Amon winced slightly at her voice, but set his jaw and stared at her.

Nagira sighed. Why in the hell was his brother such a hard-ass? "Have a seat, buddy. You look like you're getting ready to die."

Amon looked over at Nagira briefly, and Nagira would have sworn that Amon's eyes were glazed, and then he looked back to Gróa. "How much do you know about what's happening to me?" he asked of her suddenly, and she sighed, eyes closing.

"In due time, Mr. Novotne. I'd suggest you calm down and attempt to gather your...wits. For now, please have a seat," she urged again, indicating a couch near Amon that faced inwards towards Robin and Nagira. Nagira looked to Robin, who looked to Amon with--it can't be, Nagira's mind giggled--was that annoyance on her normally-so-docile face? Concern was present, that was for sure, but it appeared to be the concern of someone for a person who repeatedly rams their head into a brick wall.

Ah, young love.

"Amon." Robin's soft voice cut into the air of the room in a way that managed to be inobtrusive; as if Amon was the only other person in the room, but in a way that commanded attention, as well. Amon's head jerked to the sound of Robin's voice as if it was connected to the opening of her mouth by a wire. "Sit down."

Nagira concealed his highly inappropriate for the moment smile behind a hand as his little brother sat down on the couch at Robin's command, as willingly as any trained dog. It was as if Robin had exercised some sort of Craft on her erstwhile ex-partner; Nagira wondered if being the Eve of Witches entailed the power to control other witches. Interesting, indeed. Amon appeared to be attempting to rid himself of a massive headache when Nagira looked over at him again. His eyes were squeezed shut and his hands were at his temples, somewhat shakily. Robin watched him for a moment, as if to gauge his actions, and then looked to Gróa.

"Sorry," Nagira piped up, suddenly, turning the heads of the two women in the room to him, "I didn't introduce myself. The name's Nagira. I'm Amon there's older half-brother."

"Welcome to my home, Nagira," Gróa said with a small smile and a slight nod of her head, and then turned back to Robin, eyes intent. "As I said, I never actually expected to ever meet you...but when I think about it, it does not shock me that you located me. How did you manage to achieve that, by the way?" The tiny woman walked from the door, slowly, almost stockily--Nagira sized her up with his eyes, discreetly. She wasn't particularly attractive, at least not to him. Her body was very compact and petite, but very tight and built as well, broad-shouldered; she looked like a gymnast. Her face was rather plain and her chin a little too sharp, but her eyes were keen and benevolent. "The last I had ever heard of you--and yes, I was used to hearing about you two mysterious figures quite frequently--was that you'd managed not to make contact with any covens or circles anywhere in Europe, or anywhere else in the world. Naturally, everyone has been very curious about you two."

Nagira raised his hand, slightly, drawing Gróa's intense gaze to him once again. "I located you. My main profession is that of a lawyer, in Japan, but I also dabble in what one might call...oh, well, I guess maybe what you do, on a smaller scale. And perhaps, a bit shadier of a scale as well," he finished, with a grin.

Gróa looked at him for a moment, scrutinizing, squinting. "Perhaps I have heard of you, Nagira. Your name does sound familiar to me, now...especially when paired with the country of Japan."

"It seems that both you and I have a thing for witches," Nagira shrugged, sitting back in his seat. His eyes flicked over to Amon briefly, just to make sure that his brother hadn't died quietly. Amon's eyes were open again and he appeared to be mildly more lucid than he had been before. Quietly, Amon wiped at some of the sweat on his face and then pulled on his hair, attempting to draw it away from his face. It appeared as if a great deal of it was stuck to his face and neck due to sweat, however.

Robin somehow managed to suddenly draw all the attention in the room to her before she'd even said a word, leaving Nagira to wonder if she was exercising some sort of Craft power that he hadn't known about. "I've heard that you aren't a witch, yourself," she began, quietly. "How is it then that you know so much about them--all of them--all over the world?"

Gróa smiled like the Cheshire Cat, revealing her slightly crooked front teeth once more. "Well, for one, I used to work for SOLOMON in France."

Robin frowned. "It's odd that I never met you, then. I did part of my Hunter's training in France."

"I didn't work for a part of SOLOMON that you would ever know about," Gróa replied, grin still on her face. Robin absorbed this, and then leaned back in her seat, steepling her fingers beneath her small chin--Nagira couldn't help but smile for the billionth time that day. Whether or not she knew it, that was definitely a pose she'd picked up from Amon.

"Why not work for SOLOMON here in your home country?" Robin queried, and Gróa blinked at her.

"Why, I thought for certain you would have known that, already." She looked around to all three of them, eyes widening. "And to tell me that you and Mr. Novotne both worked for SOLOMON and you didn't know? Huh." The older woman shrugged, leaning back in her seat as Robin had done. "The Icelandic government--acting in its own best interests and those of its people--threw SOLOMON out of the country in 1982. Iceland and a majority of its people live very close to their old roots; old pagan traditions die hard." A slight chuckle escaped Gróa. "A majority of Iceland's governing class still lives close to its pagan roots. As I said before, this lies in direct contrast with SOLOMON's doctrine. Iceland had no desire to watch its people continue to die. March 1, 1982, SOLOMON and all of its agents within the country were issued an edict by the government--your power in this country effectively ends at midnight tonight."

"And?" Amon asked, turning all heads in the room to him. Apparently he felt recovered enough to speak.

"Well, it took a bit longer than that, but SOLOMON eventually left. This was only after many, many more killings--on both sides of the fight, witch and Hunter--and eventually the Icelandic government threatened to expose SOLOMON as well as it could to the entirety of the world."

"What good would that do? Most people in this day and age know of SOLOMON. It's not like fifty years ago, when no one knew that SOLOMON existed," Nagira asked, shrugging. "Do you mind if I smoke in here?"

The petite Icelandic woman waved him on. "Be my guest. The house more oft than not smells of mildew, anyway--I need to replace my walls. What good would it do, you ask?" Gróa looked directly at Robin then, smiling at her as a prompt. "My dear, tell me. Who did you do most of your Hunter's training under, as a child?"

Robin appeared confused by the question. "Why--well, Father Juliano, I suppose. A few other Fathers that he was acquainted with, as well. Why does that matter?"

"And you?" the older woman asked of Amon, and he looked over at her. His eyes were glinting; Nagira could almost hear the gears whirring in his brother's head as he lit his cigarette, staring at Amon through the haze of smoke.

"A great deal of Church officials," Amon said. He looked at Robin and Nagira, understanding on his face. "People know that SOLOMON exists, but no one--except those within the organization--know how closely tied to the Church it is," Amon shook his head, suddenly. "No. It is a part of the Church. Imagine the uproar all over the world if it were to be revealed that the Church had been funding, in no particular terms, genocide for years."

"Oh." Robin looked cowed. "I see."

Gróa was nodding. She rose and walked over to a window in the living room and drew back the drapes, allowing more bright grey light in the room. Amon winced suddenly, over-dramatically; apparently he was not quite over his little fit yet. "Precisely correct. But, that's not all. Apparently SOLOMON has even deeper ties that not even you two--three--know about."

Nagira's interest was effectively piqued. "And what are those?"

"Ignorance is bliss." Gróa seemed incapable of curbing her smile. Her answer did not satisfy Nagira but before he had a chance to press the matter, Robin leaned forward in her seat.

"You said that your former ties to SOLOMON were one reason that you'd heard of Amon and I," Robin said, cocking her head slightly, inquisitive. "What's another?"

Gróa paused by the other still-draped window in the small, homey living room, her eyes angled down toward the floor. She appeared...was it remorseful? Nagira was having a hard time pinning down the Icelandic woman's exact emotion; Robin appeared befuddled by Gróa's sudden reservedness. Amon simply looked on, impassively. No one said anything, for a moment.

"I'd hoped that perhaps the first reason would have been enough for you," Gróa said quietly, with a small laugh that sounded more sardonic than mirthful. She turned back to the window, her tiny frame turned away from them, her face unseen. She worked at uncovering the window, letting more light into the house.

"It has to do with a man, doesn't it?" Amon said suddenly, startling everyone in the room--including Gróa, it appeared. Nagira was less startled at the sudden sound of Amon's voice than he was at the appearance of some sort of sensitivity to emotion in his brother.

The drapery was already open, which gave Gróa nothing more to occupy her attention. It left her no choice but to turn and face the trio again. She turned and met Amon's even, composed glance head on, and nodded slightly. "What's the saying?" she queried, her accent otherworldly. "You've hit the nail on the...the head?" She shrugged. "How'd you know? Maybe it's an old story, or something. Men and women, you know."

Amon merely blinked at her. "Perhaps I am too used to leaving women like you behind," he replied, his deep voice reflecting a sort of remorse. Nagira let his mind skip back over his brother's patchy and sometimes strange love-life--and after a moment's reflection, Nagira realized that Amon had spoken the truth. The most recent, of course, had been Touko, whom Nagira sensed had cared for Amon with every fibre of her being. Nagira had also sensed that Amon had known this as well, but as in every other relationship he'd ever witnessed his little brother in, Amon appeared to simply will himself to not care.

And then came Robin. But that was another story entirely.

Robin herself was busy appearing mildly uncomfortable at Amon's statement about his frequent deliveries of heartbreak, and instead looked to Gróa. Perhaps she was imagining herself being horribly heartbroken--perhaps moreso than she probably already was--by Amon. "What happened?" she asked quietly, gently.

"To make a lengthy story short?" Gróa said, looking at Amon--and Amon only--as she picked idly at a fingernail, "I only hope that you never left a wife for her younger sister." She cleared her throat. "Only after you'd sired a child with said younger sister, of course."

Robin flushed red and turned away from Gróa. Apparently the tone of the conversation was growing too personal and uncomfortable for the young teenager. Nagira winced, outwardly and inwardly. "That's cold," he couldn't help but utter, and wondered afterwards if he should have. Amon had better not have done anything like that ever before, or he'd be answering to Nagira after the conversation had ended.

"I haven't," Amon replied.

Gróa nodded, clapping her small hands briskly. "Well, then, good! One less bit of evil in the world, I suppose! But what can you say? One's got to take what life gives them and roll with the punches, even if it still hurts, yes?" She sighed, shrugging her shoulders and looking at Robin. "You are too young, Robin Sena, to be traumatized by my bitter old maid's tales. In any case," Gróa continued quickly before Robin could say anything, "one can't carry a grudge forever--especially against one's own family. My ex-husband is the leader of one of--if not the--most powerful coven in Europe. Perhaps the world. And my little sister is now his bride. And their child, my nephew, is now the heir to the coven's seat."

"Thirteen witches, and it's the most powerful coven in the world?" Amon asked, incredulously.

"A coven needn't necessarily be exactly thirteen witches, Amon," Robin interjected, turning to her darker half, who looked back at her intently. Nagira watched them with interest and wondered how it could not be obvious to anyone who looked at them that they were madly in love with each other. "That's merely the traditional number. Nowadays, for protection especially, I'd think, covens are probably much larger."

Amon looked from Robin to Gróa, who was nodding. "She's right. A coven of only thirteen witches nowadays would have very little chance of surviving. To be honest, despite the tales of that one's power," there she pointed to Robin, who looked bewildered, "I'm shocked that two witches such as yourselves were able to survive for this long with all of SOLOMON looking for you. Especially with your Craft being so newly-awoken," she said, then indicating Amon. Amon bristled at first, and then seemed to relax, apparently having seen the futility in railing against Gróa; especially when she had so much information to offer.

Robin looked at Gróa, her eyes wide and her breathing quickened. Amon watched her suddenly with concern in his eyes; it appeared as if Robin was skating the edge of some sort of panic attack, or at the very least a crying fit. "But why?" she whispered, her green eyes focussing and unfocussing on some point on the wooden floor. "What tales of my power? If I'm supposed to be the all-powerful heir to the throne of the entirety of witchdom, then why am I so helpless to focus, to hone my powers? Why am I so...helpless still?" Robin asked, desperately.

"You're still young, Robin," Nagira reassured, just as concerned as Amon probably was that Robin was on the verge of bursting into tears for the second time that day. Where was the calm, self-possessed and self-assured girl that had sat down in the grey easy chair at the beginning of this conversation? The flinchless girl who had calmly ordered Amon to sit down and had him obey wordlessly? The determined witch who had marched from the car to the door of this very cottage, deciding her own destiny, taking her life out of her warden's hands and into her own for once?

That girl had fled and retreated back into the body of the slender, teenaged, quickly-becoming-watery-eyed-for-no-good-reason, Amon-obsessed Robin. And Nagira failed to voice his thoughts, but his mind told him that Robin would never fully come into her own as the 'heir to the throne of the entirety of witchdom', as she herself had put it, until she had learned to stop retreating within herself; learned to come out from behind Amon's shadow and to put him in hers; to accept the legacy of her power--which meant accepting all of it, even if she didn't know how to control it.

Gróa walked to Robin quickly and placed her hand onto Robin's green thick-coat-clad shoulder, and then smoothed the crown of her head almost maternally with the other. "Now, Robin. We'll talk about all of that after we have some lunch--both you and Mr. Novotne, I think, could take some air right about now, and a nice break. Why don't you go outside and take a walk? Mr. Novotne would do well to go with you." Gróa pinned Nagira with her fierce yet somehow comforting blue gaze, and smiled. "You, Nagira, can stay and keep me company and help me cook lunch. Normally I have to get out a stool to reach some of my pots and pans on the tops of the cabinets in the kitchen...but you, you look nice and tall, yes? You can reach them for me with no problem!"

Robin stood abruptly, her coat hanging off her in odd angles and folds, and headed for the door quickly. Nagira watched her go and he watched Gróa watch her go. Amon did less watching than he did sitting in stasis. Robin made a beeline for the door, fumbling with the hood of her jacket. One good tug on the handle from the obviously emotionally-distressed Eve of Witches and the door flew open, letting in a cold burst of air. That alone seemed to finally rouse Amon from his static slumber and he looked towards the door in sudden piqued interest--only to catch the blurred sight of Robin quickly exiting.

Without a word he rose smoothly and fluidly, crossed the small living room, and exited the door himself. It closed behind him with a solid wooden thump.

Alone in the living room with the Icelandic woman, Nagira had no choice but to look at her and smile largely, through his personal atmosphere of cigarette smoke. "So what's cookin'?" he asked her, jovially, using the familiar old cheer in his voice to disguise anything and everything that may have been running through it otherwise in undertones and currents.