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When left at an impasse, Ishiah retreats into his own mind for answers. Uncertainty remains one of the less pleasant aspects of being separated from the guidance he once enjoyed as an angel. As Ishiah leans against the window frame, he flexes his hand steadily, closing repeatedly around thin air; it's hard to clear old habits.

Manhattan as a backdrop has never been a view Ishiah felt married to. Instead, it's the hard-earned peace that he let himself sink into more than anything, and Darrow isn't so far off in that respect. There are no sides constantly waging wars, and privacy is easily earned. For more reasons than one, he's felt comfortable enough in Darrow to settle, and to think of a distant future spent there with Robin.

Right now, the question is how far he plans to meddle to maintain that peace.

Hearing the front door of the apartment open and Robin's keys jingling as he returns from his shift, Ishiah pushes himself away from the window. With his shoulders held back, he easily strides across the space of the room, waiting only for Robin to shrug off his jacket before enveloping him in a close, warm embrace from behind.

"Are you feeling better after having spent some time at the restaurant?" Ishiah asks, letting himself bury his face against the side of Robin's neck, lips delivering a soft kiss against warm skin.

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"I want a break from the tired circle I keep running in my head. I'm fairly sure I've landed on the eye of the storm, but would appreciate a sanity check from you," Ishiah admits, hand easily closing around the offered glass, wrist relaxed as he rounds the counter and seats himself at the dining table. The furrow returns to his brow before long, pronounced as he takes his first careful sip.

Sweet, as Robin likes it.

"I'm not hungry, but I also haven't eaten much today," shares Ishiah, setting down his glass and getting to his feet again, restless energy palpable about him as he heads into the kitchen. His eyes linger around the open patch of skin revealed by Robin's shirt. "So I should have something. I can cook. You've been working all day."

"I can't guarantee a sanity check, but I'll try my best," Robin tells Ishiah with warm amusement. It's true enough. If you were looking for sanity, a puck was a poor place to begin. But Robin knows his own strengths and he knows where Ishiah is coming from. Reaching out, he gives him a fond pat on the cheek, brushing his fingertips along the length of the pale scar that runs from Ishiah's chin to his brow.

"Shrimp scampi," Robin decides. "Over linguini. Simple, fast, and then we can have one another's full attention, for a little while. Do you want to tell me what little goblin your mind has been exercising all day, or should I start guessing?" The curl of Robin's mouth suggests that he doesn't mind guessing.

Ishiah doubles back to reach for his glass of port before striding easily into the kitchen, reaching in the cabinets for pots and pans. The sugar from the port lingers on his tongue as Ishiah readies a pot of salted water and turns on the electric stove. It doesn't have the same charm as a gas stove might, but it's cleaner, safer — a more practical design that Ishiah appreciates well.

"I'm sure that you're well aware of what I've been focused on these past couple of days. There shouldn't be any surprise. The situation involving Castiel and Dean Winchester has reached a point where it's hard to hold my tongue. I find myself working against my principles, and it makes me restless." With a sharp exhale, Ishiah turns around to the fridge, rooting around in the freezer for the shrimp he has carefully nestled away, shutting the tray afterwards with a brittle, forceful clap.

"You know that I don't have a lot of principles," Robin says from where he appears in the doorway with his own glass clutched between gentle fingers, a lidded look on his face He's happy to watch Ishiah work with the food, as good a show as any he could ask for. There is a lot to appreciate about Ishiah.

"So I can't say that mine are being particularly tried. But you also know that I'm not a complete sociopath, so I might as well not put up any fronts right here, between the two of us. I'm sorry that you're put into the position that you are. Truly. You never elected yourself for it, not really, and now there is no conscientiously refusing it. But you know ... if you break the kitchen, you'll only have two problems."

He lets the light of amusement shine in his eyes briefly before crossing the room and slipping still slightly cool hands under the fabric of the back of Ishiah's shirt, fingers working their way up the stiffness bunched around his spine where it cuts through the muscle on either side.

"Maybe not principles. Preferences," Ishiah says, frowning to himself as he tries to articulate the position that he sees Robin as coming from. That vocalization proves to be a valuable exercise when the both of them have different reactions to a situation, or a person, or thoughts towards a particular course of action.

He knows that Robin has thoughts on the situation unfolding in front of the both of them. Strong ones, judging by the length of time Robin spent at work, preferring to immerse himself in that particular brand of chaos.

"I confess I found it hard to determine whether or not you were angry on my behalf, or on your own. Much as I know to assume the former," Ishiah adds, letting his voice trail off as he reaches up with his clean left hand, deftly slipping a few buttons free on his shirt.

There are some types of shows he doesn't mind giving.

Robin's mouth quirked with something that was closer to a frown than a smile, though the expression was not one of ill-humor. He was more than happy to mold himself to Ishiah's back, fingers working at the opened collar of his shirt, where warm, pale skin was exposed to sensitive fingertips. Robin felt for the familiar rises and valleys of Ishiah's collar, smoothing his hands over warm skin as Ishiah worked.

"It was both. It isn't that I always want to be the center of attention and can't stand for it to be removed to someone else -- although that's true enough -- but I would prefer if people that I cared about would come to me for solutions, rather than pleas. What help can be offered at this rate? Moreover, it's you that he came to, not me."

Which truthfully gets Robin's proverbial goat. Partly because he sees himself as a better giver of advice than Ishiah (in his egotism) and partly because he feels as if he were being shown a severe lack of trust.

"I'm taking that as a slight about my judgment. Which is fine. You're more than entitled to your opinions," says Ishiah impassively, letting the remark roll off of his shoulders like water on oil. It's in a puck's nature to think themselves superior, after all. In the ways that matter.

The water for the pasta has come to a boil, and Ishiah carefully slides in the noodles before turning his attention to the shrimp, deftly cleaning them with quick turns of his wrist.

"You're right, though. If I were to pick one part of this ordeal that strikes me as the most frustrating, it's being asked to fulfill tasks in certain ways that I don't consider practical. Ironic, isn't it, that I would have trouble following orders," muses Ishiah, breathing in, letting his chest expand into the soft touch of Robin's hands. "But my loyalty to Castiel makes it impossible to disentangle unless absolutely necessary. And even then..."

His voice falls silent. Ishiah's done more than risk his neck before.

Robin lets his hands stray lower, deft fingers slipping buttons out of their holdings as he works down. Leaning against the broad back in front of him, he places a kiss between Ishiah's shoulders, nestling his nose against the warm, clean smell of him, a calm place for his senses to rest after the bustle of Semele's.

"You'll be fine, though. And hopefully, as will Dean and Castiel. Although I'm still not certain if that's the case, it will be because of either of us, so much as because it isn't the right time for either of them. But I know that you can't step away that easily, just as I know that I really could. But it's you that's keeping me here, you know. I can deal with that. Things aren't so grim yet that I'm headed for the hills."

He smiles against Ishiah's shoulders.

Ishiah turns to look over his shoulder, tossing a few sliced cloves of garlic into the pan with some oil, able to start sauteing without a single glance at the food. In moments like these, Robin's face holds more interest for him anyway. He isn't entirely sure what mental calculus Robin has worked through where Castiel and Dean are concerned; Robin's run away from less before, and even the knowledge that Ishiah is one of the anchors keeping him around isn't enough to completely set Ishiah's mind at ease.

Though it means everything.

"If things get messy, I do want you to run," Ishiah points out, in case there's any doubt. "You have much more to offer and much more to see beyond an angel whose mind has splintered under the pressure. I hope it's a non-issue, though. I'll do my best to be sensible, because I have someone to come back home to."

give me traces of your lifeblood flowing in a loving cup

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