Adon’s sudden sobriety surprised Maggie and she wondered if she’d said something insulting without meaning to. It wouldn’t be the first time. Mags just preferred to pick and choose when she annoyed people, instead of being as surprised as the recipient of her insults.

Her own smirk fell as she watched the grave expression settle on his face. He mentioned Niobe – ah, that made sense. Niobe had never reported Cin’s threats toward her earlier in the year, which was one of the reasons Maggie had been driven to take revenge in the way that she knew how. Except she’d dug up more than she’d bargained for. Niobe had waited so long to confide in Maggie that Maggie hadn’t felt like it was her place to tell anyone else about it, so she, like Niobe, had tried taking matters into her own hands. It had backfired horribly. She’d be more careful next time. If she could convince herself to go after stories again.

“I wish she had too,” Maggie replied, uncomfortable with the thick tension in the room.

He went on to say that pestering could be a very bad idea and Maggie nodded, wanting to move beyond this topic. “I know,” she said, not bothering to hide her defensive tone.

The thud from the room above seemed to break some of the awkwardness and Adon smiled. Maggie raised her eyebrows, secretly impressed when he showed that he knew Circe’s tale. Just when Maggie was getting used to his carefree banter, the same woebegone expression that had afflicted him before flitted across his face. Was it her? Was it the case in general? She didn’t know. To cover her confusion, Maggie glanced down at the forms as she filled out the last few lines.

"So," he said, looking for Maggie's progress on the forms, "do we need to get the ottoman upstairs to fill out one of these? Victim of abuse?"

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” she rolled her eyes, studying his face as she shoved the completed forms back at him. “I’m done. I hope this is good enough.” Her tone implied that she wouldn’t add more information even if it wasn’t.

A pause. “Okay, out with it. You keep looking like I just yelled at you. I did that five minutes ago and you were fine then. So…?” She wondered, looking him in the eyes.

Inappropriate? Probably. That didn’t stop Maggie.

Adon realised, cursing himself, that he'd move far from his initial goal of making her laugh. She certainly wasn't laughing. She filled out the form hastily, shoving the papers at him -- every indication that whatever synergy had been there was now gone. And she was, once more, ready for him to be, too. He looked over the forms to make sure there were no missed fields, which would require another trip. Adon was quick with forms and was proficient in speed-reading. It only took a momentary flicker of the eyes.

"It's fine," he said, nodding. That seemed to be their favourite word today. But he confessed, he was a bit surprised when the question was put to him. Now he couldn't say it was fine, but he couldn't reveal the cause of his upset, either. Not to a victim -- not in this working relationship, and certainly not to a reporter. That was, after all, part of the problem.

What could he tell her? That he was thinking of -- and had pretty well decided -- that he was going to quit?

That he felt guilty and terrible and ashamed of not noticing his partner's fall to the Imperius? That he hadn't been there for her? For Gawain Robards? That he'd revealed her and himself to the press? That he missed talking to his brother -- the only person he felt he could really say anything to without having it come back to bite him? Or, perhaps, he should tell her that all this thinking of reporters made him think of his father, and now his brother. Both also wanted to publish a "truth" that was likely to -- or, in the case of his father, did -- get them hurt or killed. None of these were appropriate and, of course, Adon couldn't even go to Dree about the last one. He'd tried. That had been the start of the silence and this odd . . . brooding and sorting of angry and frustrated thoughts. Adon hadn't truly tried this before: keeping it back.

It felt very British. He didn't know how the people on this island kept from going mad. Was it something in the tea?

"It's nothing to do with this case," he affirmed. That would put her at ease, at least, regarding her. "I apologise; I've had a lot on my mind."

He dearly hoped she'd accept that. She ought to. It had nothing to do with the case, so it had nothing to do with her.

“No reason to apologize,” she told him with a shrug. He wasn’t letting whatever was on his mind affect his interactions with her. At least, she didn’t see it that way. He had no obligation to be chipper the whole time- she certainly wasn’t.

Maggie wasn’t so pushy as to ask him, an acquaintance, what made him look like she’d just kicked a puppy (or a recently transfigured ottoman). He said it didn’t have anything to do with her or the case. If she’d suspected that he was lying, she might have called him out on his own BS, but his behavior so far didn’t mark him as the type to blatantly lie.

She narrowed her eyes at him and gave him an ‘I’m onto you’ look that was more playful than intimidating. She hoped. Maggie never could tell.

He was full of surprises, that was for sure. He’d succeeded in pissing her off the first few minutes they’d met, then calmed her down just as quickly. He smirked and joked one minute, then acted grim and somber the next. A puzzle, really. When Colette had let him in, Maggie had expected the typical Auror stereotype (extremely professional, stick up the butt sort who’d foist forms on her and be on his way). Instead, she’d gotten this Auror Eleor. More friendly than professional. And their odd conversation about asses proved that he didn't have a stick up his, either.

She also got the feeling that he cared about doing his job well. He could have been gone by now if he’d wanted to be.

Her eyes flicked to the scars on his face. Without the forms to fill out (not that she missed the darn things), she didn’t have anything to do but study him.

“This is none of my business,” she began frankly. “And if you tell me to bugger off, I won’t ask again.” It was true. She had to ask, though. Whether it was because of her own experience, or curiosity about Adon, or both, she wanted to know.

“What happened to you four years ago? You’d mentioned it before, but I was… distracted.” Throwing a hissy fit. But yes, distracted!

“No reason to apologize," she excused and, for a moment, Adon hadn't realised he had. When it did strike him, he stifled a feeling of frustration. Really, there was no need to apologise for that.

The question might have caught him off-guard. At any other time, he would have visibly bristled. He did not like people asking questions about his scars -- an outward sign of incompetence and unpleasant memories -- especially if they were asking to satisfy their own curiosity. But it was, as he realised, a less harmful question than the others she might have asked. Like what he had actually been thinking about moments ago. Or, how hewas.

Adon had asked Maggie the same thing, but he wouldn't have liked that question directed towards himself.

Still, it wasn't a pleasant prospect, talking about the fight. "It is none of your business," Adon reaffirmed, face quite serious, but not closed off. He looked at her a moment, thinking. Not whether or not he would tell her -- there was no doubt in his mind that he would, for some reason -- but why he would. There was that lingering "but. . ." in the air.

But she did actually seem interested. Not morbidly curious. Or nosy.

He couldn't help but be somewhat concerned this might show up in a paper somewhere. Even if she didn't mean for it. But it might be helpful for her to know. There. That was the "but. . ." and why. He took a breath and said in a voice that was dull with its lack of emotion, "Four summers ago, my brother was in Israel with an assistant, doing some field research; got a bit . . ." he took a breath and swallowed. "--caught up in their work. I'd imagine it was beyond what either of them had anticipated. I came upon them in time to participate in the streetfight, but not in enough time. . ." He stopped and leaned forward in his chair, hand reaching out across the coffee table for the VIN paper but, with eyes on Maggie and not on his hands, missed it and groped around a bit aimlessly as he spoke. "When I came on the scene, I conjured Fiendfyre, and so did an opponent. It's the result of fighting fire with fire," he said with a bit of a remorseful smile before he felt his hands skim the paper and looking down at the victim sheet in his hand, running a finger along the edge. He pulled himself back up to sit in the chair. "I got these scars; here and elsewhere. And Dree made it out." He shifted back and reached down now for his bag, muttering quietly as he did so, face cast downwards: "The research assistant died."

People didn't like that word, died. Because it didn't place blame like "was killed," or "was murdered." It was simply something that happened to a person; it victimised a subject all over again, this time with words. But it was how it was. And Adon didn't flinch or whisper when he spoke it. Eldwynn Penn was dead. His father was dead. Gawain Robards was dead. These were the facts one dealt with.

"Well," he said, slipping the paper into his bag. He looked back down at this notepad. "I'm meant to ask you if you've had any new insight, new developments, or any contact with anyone else involved in this case. . ."

He agreed with her, saying that it was none of her business, and Maggie waited for him to change the subject, certain that she’d crossed a line and offended him. Maggie stifled a sigh- smooth one, on her part. First she’d yelled at the man and now she was probing into his life.

However, though she hated being on the receiving end of questions, she always felt the need to ask them. That was something that couldn’t be stifled. Like Niobe’s determination to find truth, it was a part of who she was.

But he surprised her. He took a breath and started talking in a detached way that told volumes about how much the experience had affected him. Maggie pushed away her surprise and listened, not daring to interrupt. She would keep the story to herself, if he was worried about that. Despite her brush with underhanded methods at the Chimaera, Maggie tried to make it clear when she was in reporter-mode and when she was just curious.

His brother had been there. They seemed close. He’d fought back with dark magic, which was understandable considering the situation, in Maggie’s opinion. Then, looking away from her and fiddling with his bag, he said the research assistant had died. Her eyes lowered for a moment and an awkward silence settled around them when he was done. What could she say? ‘Sorry’ or ‘That’s terrible’ didn’t do him much good. He didn’t tell her for her sympathy, though he got it anyway. Maggie tried to keep the sympathy out of her expression, feeling that he wouldn’t appreciate it, and just nodded, looking into his eyes again.

“Thanks for telling me.” Lame! It sounded ridiculous, but there it was. He quickly moved on and went back to the business at hand, asking her additional questions.

“No,” Maggie answered simply. No new insights or developments. Certainly no contact with Tawse, Briggs, or Dazmond.

“What’s going to happen to Tawse anyway, once he’s found?” He’d better be found, she thought. There was nothing she could do about the fate of Nate or Daz, and frankly, she didn’t care as much about what happened to them. But Tawse… if one good thing could come out of that horrific night, it’d be Tawse getting thrown back in the slammer. Of course, he could turn the tables and say that she shouldn’t have tried to bug the Black Chimaara, if he found out about it (she hoped the Aurors would keep that lovely little detail to themselves). However, what she’d done didn’t compare to his threats and kidnapping of her.

“I’m just a tad pissed about the whole kidnapping thing,” she said dryly. “If he hadn’t spent so much time waving the knife around and then apparating with me, my burns might not be half this bad. Oh, and taking my wand. He’ll face consequences for that, right?”

Maggie didn’t blame Adon or the other Aurors, though she might not have made that clear. Cináed, on the other hand, hadn’t cursed her or hexed her directly, but he’d certainly kept her from getting to St. Mungo’s quickly, and that loss of time had added to the damage she’d sustained.

Adon made no response to her thanks beyond a short, little nod; it seemed an odd thing to say, to be grateful for. He supposed she'd felt the need to say something. At least it wasn't an act of sympathy. At the present moment, Adon didn't want to be told that someone else understood something like that.

He'd much rather that no one in the world go through something like that. And yet thousands of soldiers across the world did -- Magical and Muggle. Gangs, crime organisations, legal enforcers . . . his instance seemed so small, fractionary in that light; but yet it felt so monumental. It just didn't make sense. And he didn't want to try to make sense of it.

He zipped his satchel briskly, as though closing off the thoughts on the previous topic that had been opened up. When he leaned back into the chair, he was more attentive and responsive. But not much more talkative.

“What’s going to happen to Tawse anyway, once he’s found?”

"Due process," Adon said. "There'll be a hearing, trial, all that. He held a wand, made threats, disobeyed and impeded justice . . . It will be for the wizengamot to decide."

Of course, if it was left for him to decide, the process would look rather different. There would be knuckles, elbows, knees.  . . Tawse still made him angry, and he took a breath through his nose, shifting in his seat, to clear the air of him; get him off his chest.

"You've a right to be angry," he conceded. He would give her that. He, however, could not. Not only was he now a part of the British System -- an auxiliary less capable of displaying emotion than a cyborg, and nearly as efficient -- he was a law enforcer. And they went for objectivity. For himself, Adon was frustrated at shutting parts of himself up; emotions could be constructive. They could fuel. They could, of course, impede, but all emotions, when vented properly, could achieve some ends.

What he was about to say would make him a bad Auror by some standards. But, Adon reasoned, he was not long to be an Auror anyhow. "I know I am," he confessed, watching her face for the reaction.

Maggie was relieved that Adon didn’t try to appease her or tell her it could have been worse. Obviously, it could have been. Maggie hated owing anything to Dazmond Wiedman, but if the woman hadn’t found her, she might have suffered worse than burns out there in that field. She’d had no wand and no way of using it in her state, anyway.

His shift in the chair and sudden intake of breath reflected what she felt inside- pissed off, frustrated.

She nodded. Of course she had a right to be angry. Maggie thought he’d move on to the next item in the checklist, but instead he told her that he was angry too. Her eyebrows rose for a moment in surprise. Aurors weren’t immune to feeling. Tawse was a dangerous ex-Azzie, one out of many that Adon and other Aurors had to deal with on a daily basis, so yeah, she supposed he could be angry like she was. Still... she hadn't expected him to admit it.

“You should be,” she replied, keeping her face neutral. “Tawse didn’t just threaten; he mocked your gun-slinging skills with a bad Western line and an awful American accent. There’s got to be some payback for that,” Maggie continued, letting her words hang in the air before she smirked slightly at him.

Adon had tried to crack jokes earlier. Maggie, in her own way, was trying to do the same. Perhaps it came off as inappropriate or ill-timed, who knew. However, if Colette wasn’t going to make another distraction upstairs, then she was on her own in the humor department. Merlin help her.

Adon broke his expression for a closed-lipped smile, breathing a silent laugh through his nose and nodding. "Yes; it was a bad accent, wasn't it?" Adon had a certain sort of pleasure in impersonations -- rather known for affecting his brother's, Deen's, and -- away from the office, Raynor's -- characteristic voices.

That she had referred to them as "skills" -- not, well, hazards, quirk, or even "habit" -- was more favourable than he'd expected. It was a cultural change, he was certain, from Israel to Britain, where all legal enforcers in Israel were heavily armed at all times. Here, only specialised forces had that permission granted; the day-to-day bobbies didn't carry them about with them.

Or were they called Peelers? And why?

Knowing this was not the time to consider such things, he consulted his sheet. He'd asked all the questions. He'd still not made her laugh. Though she was trying to lighten the mood. Adon would like to flatter himself into thinking, perhaps, he had been responsible for that bit of progress. Why, she was being downright conversational.

He checked his watch. He'd been here over the half-hour he'd anticipated; he wasn't sorry for it, but there seemed little reason, for now, to prolong the visit. "Well, Maggie," he said, reaching for his briefcase, "if you do need anything, let Chris or myself know -- he'll be in touch," he said before giving a roguish smile. "Well, he'll be lurking around at any rate." He paused. Perhaps it was beyond unprofessional to imply that surveillance was stalking. "I'll make sure he contacts you," he smoothed over, nodding. "Have a good rest of the night and enjoy all that home-cooking."

It was lame. It was trite. Adon didn't really know how to do goodbyes in general, much less do so under the mantle of his job while yet maintaining an appearance of sincerity. "And for God's sake," he added, "if your roommate is playing Circe don't drink anything she gives you," he added. "Or you'll go the way of the ottoman."

There, that was better.

Adon was now on his feet and moving towards the door, hand hovering over the handle to ensure that there wasn't anything else she required. He wished he had managed to make her laugh . . .

The smile on his face caused her own smirk to widen slightly. It had been a lame joke, but at least he humored her. When he checked his watch and stood up, briefcase in hand, Maggie stood too, though much more slowly and with plenty of colorful cursing in her head. She was due for another healing potion. How long had he been here? So much for her initial plan to kick him out early.

He told her somewhat awkwardly that Chris would contact her, and that she should enjoy the meals her mother had brought over. Maggie nodded, confusion and irritation flitting across her face. He kept mentioning Chris and not himself. The other Auror did live closer to her, and she had nothing against him (she didn’t even know him), but Adon was the one who had talked to her tonight. She’d actually talked to him, not just brushed him off. If she did have any problems, she was more inclined to contact him than the other Aurors.

“I’m sure I will,” she replied, blinking at his sudden shift to a more formal goodbye. Maggie gave him a searching look, ready to revert back to the not-quite-polite (okay, definitely not) but emotionally distant behavior she’d exhibited in the beginning of this meeting, when he threw in one last joke.

She cracked a smile and followed him to the foyer. “Nah, Colette would feel too guilty slipping something in my drink now. Wait a few weeks until I’m healed.” By that point, Colette would have probably lost patience for both the ottoman and Maggie’s attitude. Maggie was not a good patient.

“Well, have a good night,” she echoed his earlier statement as he reached for the door. She probably should have thanked him, but for some reason she couldn’t seem to.

Maggie closed the door after him, pausing for a moment before locking it. She felt a strange pang of disappointment. Strange, considering how she’d wanted to push him out the door when he’d started asking questions. Now that he was gone, the apartment seemed still and quiet again, though she knew Colette was right upstairs.

Colette, no doubt, would want to hear how the questioning went. Maggie rolled her eyes and began the slow climb up the stairs, preparing to tease her roommate about her transfiguration attempts. Colette would be mortified if Maggie told her they’d heard her cursing. All the more reason to inform her!