(no subject)

[gabriel_tam]

He's planned for this discussion as carefully as he would for any business meeting. It's not entirely inaccurate in comparison: after all, in addition to being husband and wife, Gabriel and Regan Tam are something of a team when it comes to such matters.

And given recent developments, there are certain things of which Regan must now be made aware. This evening is as good a time as any for it; they have no social engagements, nor are there any other obligations or commitments that must be kept.

Save only for the one that he has made to himself-- for a variety of reasons.

Dinner is ending when Gabriel leans back in his chair, picking up his wineglass. "It was an excellent meal, Regan. My compliments to the chef."

Comments

[gabriel_tam]

"They have friends."

It's a delicate balance, deciding what to say versus what to keep back for the present. It's a very fine line indeed.

He's walked finer ones before.

"They're well." Gabriel hesitates, thinking of his daugher. "Not unwell, at any rate."

"But River--" Another hesitation, this one longer, and Gabriel's voice, although gentle enough, is a little strained as he says, "The effects of the Academy's work are permanent, I'm afraid."

[regan_tam]

"Effects."

Her voice trembles, in spite of all her efforts.

Her hands do not, but the one still raised to her forehead is pressing a tiny half-moon indentation for each fingernail, entirely unnoticed.

She feels ill, caught in a dizzy nightmare. Surely she'll wake up soon.

Surely.

Soon.

[gabriel_tam]

Unnoticed by her, but not by him. Gabriel tenses abruptly. Regan looks so like her daughter sometimes that it hurts, and now he can almost hear River's agitated mutter.

"Twenty needles in her brain - slice her scalp..."

He reaches out quickly and catches her wrist, pulling her hand away from her forehead and keeping hold of it.

"Effects, yes." His voice sounds odd in his own ears, too level and carefully controlled. "There were some."

[regan_tam]

Regan belatedly notices how tightly her fingers were clenching, and lets her husband pull her hand away.

She doesn't let her other hand tighten on the arm of the chair. She keeps control, now.

Everything still. Still as a stone. A childhood litany her mother taught her: I will be a stone, and nothing will touch me, because my center is steady stone. You fall back on these things, sometimes.

She breathes in and out, and her hands do not tremble, and she does not let them clench.

Effects.

Gabriel's voice: Just as they experimented on an entire planet with the Pax, they experimented on our daughter. And she is almost too caught up in her own shock to notice his reaction, but not quite. Not quite.

"What do you mean." Too flat, too thready with stress and horror; she can't make it question instead of demand.

[gabriel_tam]

"They... operated on the students." The words are still even, but his temper is rising-- and in a flash of sudden decision, Gabriel lets it show.

"They lied to us, Regan. Those heishŏudăng liúmáng-- they took our daughter, and I don't know how many other brilliant and beautiful children, and operated on them as if they were animals. As if they had the right to do so-- the same way they developed the Miranda Plan."

There is something of leashed fury about him now, something of cold, righteous rage as he says,

"It is not to be borne. It is not to be tolerated. It's wrong-- and I won't have it, Regan. I won't allow it, not if there's something that I can do about it-- and I can."

"I am going to stop them from doing this again, to anyone."

[regan_tam]

"Gabriel--" She meets his eyes. There's no matching temper in hers; only a sick, lost shock. "What they did to us..."

She doesn't know if she believes it yet. Doesn't know if she can. But he does, and right now for the sake of argument is a starting point, and she is desperately in need of those. Firm ground will come later. Or never, she thinks absently, because right now her whole world has become a whirl that doesn't feel as if it will ever settle into place again.

"They had no grudge. They had no, no reason to --" Except for Simon, except for inquiring too closely, except for anything short of full cooperation with authorities and all this is something Regan will not, cannot examine closely right now.

Low, precisely enunciated, and fraying-taut: "What do you think they'll do if you make these accusations public?"

[gabriel_tam]

It's a sign of just how tense he himself is that he very nearly snaps at her. Instead, Gabriel gets up and paces the room again, forcing himself to consider the question rationally.

From her perspective, it's a reasonable thing to wonder, after all. Perhaps even in general, and he'd better remember that.

"I don't know," he says at last. One hand is clenched tightly on the edge of the mantel over the fireplace, and his back is to her.

"But I think -- I believe, Regan--" He turns around, still gripping the marble as he adds, "I believe that if there's any chance of success, that it has to be done now."

"The entire system heard about the Miranda Plan. Anyone with Cortex access saw the wave, and is still seeing it. If there was ever a time when the balance of power might be swung, when people might be willing to listen-- that time is here."

He hesitates, and his knuckles whiten as he adds, far too calmly, "Besides, it can't be worse than what they'd do to them now if caught, under the cover of secrecy. Trust me, Regan. It can't. The public eye is as much protection as danger in this, I suspect."

[regan_tam]

Later, she will remember the white knuckles, and she will remember the too-even tone, and she will remember the Trust me, Regan. And, in the unspoken depths of the mind where horrible and unavoidable thoughts lurk, she will begin to wonder.

But for now she is still reeling. Her world, their family, shattered long ago, but she held enough of the pieces together with the glue of denial and self-control and memory and blindness to... manage. To keep going. It wasn't much, but it was enough.

That's blown apart, now. Blown to scattering shrapnel.

"Tiān xiăodé," she whispers. "You're going to do it, aren't you? Whatever I say."

It's not accusing; it's not bitter. It's blank but for dawning, bleak comprehension.

[gabriel_tam]

"I've already taken the first steps." Calmly still, yet there are depths to this admission and confirmation in one.

Gabriel crosses the room and takes his seat once more, leaning forward as he speaks now, his voice low and urgent.

"But I want you with me on this, Regan. I need you with me. Don't ask me to do it alone."

[regan_tam]

Regan closes her eyes, one hand rising to press cold fingertips to her temple.

She looks older than she did half an hour ago, grey and lined and tired.

"You always did have that fire," she murmurs, with a brief twitch of what could be a smile but isn't, quite. Too weary and heartsick for that.

"I need to think," she says. Only a fraction louder, and her eyes still closed. "Don't ask me to decide now."

Mirroring his phrasing isn't conscious.

[gabriel_tam]

It's only a momentary slip, that break in the line of his shoulders, the unguarded expression of weary disappointment on his face. It's gone by the time he sits back in his chair, long gone by the time she opens her eyes.

He had hoped-- still, perhaps time will change things. Gabriel tells himself to be fair; Regan has had a terrible shock this evening, one he can well understand.

"Are you a man of faith, Gabriel Tam?"

"All right." His answer is quiet. "We have a little bit yet-- take your time."

A beat and then he adds, "I don't think I need to caution you not to mention this to anyone, Regan-- but be especially careful, please, what you say and to whom, and where." Gabriel's smile is brief and very dry. "Consider us already in the public eye, if you would."

[regan_tam]

Regan nods.

Something to get used to. If this happens... there will be no time, perhaps, when they're not. Even in their own home.

And then she rises, and hurries blindly out of the room, arms wrapping over her stomach and hands clutching her elbows, as if with the pressure of her fingers on her raw-silk sleeves she can hold herself together.

Suddenly, she needs desperately to be alone.

[gabriel_tam]

Gabriel watches her go, and then he buries his face in his hands.

Several long moments pass, during which he remains silent and very still. The light, airy notes of the programmed musical selection continue to play, masking the emptiness left in the wake of Regan's sudden departure.

Eventually, he takes a deep breath and straightens, then stands. She needs time-- he'll give it to her. That much he can give. Meanwhile, there's work to be done.

With quick, determined steps, Gabriel Tam leaves the room for his office, shutting off the music as he goes.