gabriel_tam | (no subject)

(no subject)

The Cortex terminal in Gabriel's home office is displaying the evening's newsfeeds and financial reports. Once again, the primary topic of discussion concerns the continuing reactions-- political, financial, and social-- to the Miranda Plan.

A running capture session in the background is saving and indexing pertinent items to file for later analysis. Gabriel is sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair as he watches the screen. Occasionally he jots a swift note, reacting to some item or other.

There's still a lot of preparation to be done, after all. The fact that work is also a very welcome distraction from other thoughts at present is beside the point.

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It's late in the evening when there's a soft sound at his doorway. Slippered footsteps on carpet.

Regan is there, still pale and drawn, wrapped in a long soft robe.

She's been in River's room, and Simon's. They're still maintained. Just as they were. She's not certain exactly how long it's been.

Her face is slightly damp. Freshly washed. So it's hard to tell if she's been crying.

She has been, of course. But she's composed now.

With a touch he pauses the current report, although he leaves the screen undarkened. Gabriel pushes back his chair from the desk, turning to her-- and as he takes in her appearance, something in his expression softens.

"Regan." A beat, and still watching her, he indicates an armchair nearby, with a reading lamp standing beside it. "Come in, won't you?"

She shakes her head slightly, still standing in the doorway.

Low, "I'm with you, Gabriel."

Beat.

"If... you're absolutely certain, without a doubt, without any chance of a mistake or misinformation--" Her voice is rising, growing firmer and fiercer, and then it drains away into weary bleakness. "Then I'm with you."

Slowly, he stands, taking a step away from the desk and towards her.

"I'm certain. There is no doubt."

It's said quietly, but not without sympathy. He's had rather longer to assimilate everything than she has-- and as it happens, he bears rather a great deal more of the blame, as well.

"And I'm sorry."

Regan turns away.

Not to go; not even turning away from him, really.

Just... turning to rest her shoulder against the doorframe, back mostly to Gabriel, and wrap her arms around herself again. Hunched.

Regan spends a fair amount of time making sure she ages gracefully. Right now she looks well past middle age, bowed and plain.

He hesitates for perhaps longer than he should, but then Gabriel moves forward, crossing the distance between them to lay a hand on her shoulder.

The physical distance, at least.

"Qin ài de."

She doesn't answer, for a minute.

Then one hand shifts, to cover his. Her hands are steady; her fingers are cool.

"How did we get to this?"

His grasp on her shoulder tightens, just a little, perhaps in comfort. Gabriel replies quietly,

"I don't know." He pauses, searching for words, and then simply repeats--

"I don't know, Regan."

Regan is silent.

But she doesn't move her hand away.

"It's been a long night," Gabriel says quietly.

A night that had originally started out to be one of their extremely rare quiet evenings at home, at that. He regrets it, regrets the necessity of what's happened-- but not enough to have kept silent any longer.

"Could you rest?" A beat. "I'm done here for the present, I think."

And tomorrow afternoon are luncheons and committee meetings for both of them, and tomorrow night is a dinner party.

Regan nods. Quietly, "Shì a."

Rest. Yes. Sleep, she's not sure about.

Without another word, Gabriel touches the sensor switch, dimming the office light, and then puts his free arm around her waist, guiding her gently out the door and toward their suite.

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