(no subject)

[gabriel_tam]

The Tam quarters on Londinium are just that -- quarters. They're fine and spacious, assuredly, but they're an apartment, they're not the estate, and they're certainly not a home.

This doesn't mean that they're not outfitted with the best in cryptography and call protection, of course. Andronicus Crowley would insist on it, even if Gabriel and Regan Tam did not. Multiple dedicated source boxes, multiple screens, mulitiple hubs, all protected to the standard that Crowley and Gabriel use themselves in their offices.

The Tam quarters are spacious, and they're not home, but the light in the rooms is close to that of the Tam estate: all soft yellow, near-ambient, illuminating every corner with only the barest and least threatening shadows. That's enough to make the Tam quarters livable.

Even now, days after the initial news, the blue light projected from every screen in every room is enough to tell anybody who might be watching, even assuming that they could with all of this protection:

Something is not right.

Gabriel stares at the screen in front of him, at the words that say in English and Chinese Transmission Ended, and he can't stop himself from focusing on the second word --

(this is the end)

-- before he forcibly snaps himself out of it, and stands.

No. There is a way. There has to be a way.

Comments

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

The silence drags on past the bounds of politeness.

And then Lucifer Morningstar laughs; the dark quiet laugh that's never really changed in all his ages of existence.

"Gōng xĭ gōng xĭ, Crowley. Your little puppet's got balls."

The smile that he gives is just as sharp - and very, very insulting.

[aj_crawley]

"Yes," he squeaks, eyes flickering towards Gabriel. It's a good thing Crowley doesn't technically need that heart, because he thinks that little stunt might have just caused it to stop entirely.

Slowly, a terrified rictus of a grin on his face all the while, he edges forward a little.

"So."

He coughs loudly.

"To what do we owe the pleasure?"

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

"I'm doing you a favour, Crowley," Lucifer says brightly. "I advise you to store this occasion away and treasure it."

[gabriel_tam]

He's silent now, as is Regan, by his side. This business, whatever it is, isn't theirs; this deal isn't for them to negotiate.

Together, the two of them stand, and watch, and listen, taking in everything that they can.

[aj_crawley]

"A favour," he croaks.

His hands, he realises to his horror, are twisting nervously in front of him, knuckles cracking in the thin fingers; he balls them into fists and shoves them in his pockets, caring nothing for the sleek line of his suit.

Crowley tries to look - to sound - grateful, but it isn't particularly easy. Not when you know better than anyone that a favour from the devil is often no manner of favour at all.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

"Valuable advice, more than anything."

And abruptly the danger is gone and it's just Nicholas Rosse's face, perfectly composed, continuing as though everyone involved is looking as relaxed as he is.

"We wouldn't want you to go and do anything stupid."

[aj_crawley]

Crowley had been on his way to wave Mal.



"Oh?" he asks.

That was difficult, too; it feels like his throat is closing up.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

He smiles.

"Sometimes it's safest to play by the rules."

[aj_crawley]

"Sometimes."

It doesn't, perhaps, sound quite like the concession it should have.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

Lucifer sighs.

"Here's the thing, Crowley. I know you. And Nicholas Rosse knows Andronicus Ji Crowley, and the places he goes, and the pies he has his fingers in, and the people he surrounds himself with. And no matter how many strings you have in your hands and however many ways you can think of to cheat in this game of humanity that you love so much, I have more."

The last three words are a whiplash.

"Don't pretend you don't believe me, because as well as playing dumb suits you -" a brief, unamused smile "- it's hardly constructive, and it's an insult to my intelligence as well as your own."

And the tilt of his head says: you don't want to be insulting me, Crowley.

[aj_crawley]

And the -

places he goes,

and the -

people he surrounds himself with

"You can't - " he blurts, ashen-faced, and then breaks off, teeth clicking shut as he tries to keep his heart from crawling out of his mouth.

Because he can.

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

There's a moment where -



- but the danger passes.

"Yes." That smile again. "I can. If I decide to destroy your carefully constructed identity, I can do that. If I decide to start handing down assignments that would keep you stirring up trouble on the Rim for the next two centuries, I can do that. And if I decide that Simon and River Tam should disappear and be found floating in the Capital City harbour, I can do that."

Nicholas Rosse does not seem altogether human any more. Something about the crackling shades of fire underneath his cultured accent; not-quite-Londinium, older and hollower. He ignores the gasp that Regan can't stifle in time, and the involuntary movement of Gabriel's hand, and fixes his eyes on the demon.

"Here's how this will work, Crowley. You will play by the rules. You will work within the normal bounds and pretend that you are nothing more than the successful CEO of Bentley Aeronautics...and I will do the same."

The echo of command hangs in the air.

"I think I'm being rather generous, all things considered."

[aj_crawley]

"You." His voice is wavering between fury and panic, both of them crowding in his throat until there's no room to breathe. "You touch, you lay a finger on any of mine, and - "

And what? What will he do, then? The smile on Nicholas Rosse's face begs the question. He could go after the Morningstar, go after the heishŏudăng liúmáng like long ago and once upon a time when there wasn't so much

(so many)

at stake and a 'no business' rule kept people safe, and what would it matter, in the end? Because it would be too late. And then nothing would matter, nothing at all.

Crowley looks like he's about to be sick.

"Yes," he corrects himself. "Sir."

"Very generous, sir."

[samael-diablo.livejournal.com]

"Yours?"

Lucifer's expression flickers with amusement and...something else.

"Always so invested," he murmurs. "And look how open it leaves you. Don't worry, Senator," he continues smoothly, finally looking back at the Tams. "Alien as the concept may seem to someone used to the political arena, I keep my promises. You just have to make sure that Crowley keeps his."

He bows, an impeccable gesture of respect that is entirely at odds with the careless power in his voice.

"Wăn ān, folks."

And then the screen blurs and Wanda Chen is swinging her hair and complimenting a B-list starlet on their outfit, and Nicholas Rosse is gone.

[gabriel_tam]

In the wake of his departure no one moves, as all three of them are frozen in shock and varying degrees of horror and disbelief.

It does not hold them long, however. Gabriel is the first to stir, striding to the screen and snapping it off in something of fury before he whirls on Crowley.

"Zhè shì shénme làn dōngxi? Generous? What precisely is-- is--"

Words fail him as he chokes on rage and fear, glaring at the demon as though he's the one to blame.

[aj_crawley]

"The devil," he shrieks, and it covers the fact that for half a second, looking half-afraid, he took half a step back.

"When he says he's being generous, you don't disagree. And - "

And then he takes the rest of those steps back, because it covers the fact that his knees are giving out, and drops into an armchair.

[regan_tam]

"What does this mean."

It comes out too flat, because she's making her voice not shake, making herself not shout, by sheer effort of will. Her face is white.

(The devil is a constructed personification of a moral concept, Regan knows this, and that's Nick Rosse, she's seen him at parties and even met him briefly and he's charismatic and even magnetic but that's all, except back there, his eyes...)

"For us."

By 'us' she really means 'Simon and River.'

[aj_crawley]

He runs his hands through his hair, once, twice, tries to keep his breathing regular and tries to think past

(the people he surrounds himself with)

the panic.

"If I don't do anything... demonic, neither will he. Nothing more than that Nicholas Rosse is - part of something bigger than stubborn Alliance b-bureaucrats."

It should say something, perhaps, that Crowley doesn't even notice the stammer.

"If, if I - "

(humanity that you love so much)

[gabriel_tam]

"Wŏ de mā," Gabriel breathes. "Why should he care?"

An upstanding servant of the Alliance, he hears again, Rosse's silken voice echoing through his mind. If I decide that Simon and River Tam should disappear and be found floating in the Capital City harbour, I can do that.

His hands clench into fists at his side, but he doesn't even notice it.

[aj_crawley]

"Because he's the devil," Crowley chokes out. "Because he's Nicholas Rosse. If this is some kind of - of conspiracy against you, nobody has more allies in the old establishment than Nick Rosse. If this is about the Academy - maybe he did have a hand in it, and, and I - didn't know. If - I mean, Lucifer likes to fuck with power-plays, he likes to be cruel - he could just be doing it because he's bored."

He glances up at them; his sunglasses have slipped down his nose a little, but it might not be a good idea to look at his eyes.

"I don't know."

[regan_tam]

Regan's arms are wrapped around her stomach. Her hands are clenched fists, fingernails digging into her palms and the crumpled linen of her tunic. She doesn't notice.

"So they're stuck."

Her voice is too flat, too strained; she's breathing just a little too hard.

"My children are stuck there, because, because he feels like playing games with promises."

She's not trembling. She's not trembling because -- because she's not, she won't, because if her fists clench tight enough maybe she can hold herself together. They have a job to do -- even if they can't do it, even if there's the, the rutting devil stopping whatever Crowley wanted to do, her children are back in the trouble their parents' blind negligence put them in, and there's a job to do and she can't fall apart.

[gabriel_tam]

"No, they're not," Gabriel snaps-- a touch sharply, but even as he regrets it he recognizes that it may be what's necessary to pull them all together.

"He's the devil. Fine. I don't care. If he sticks by these rules of his," he adds, his tone dripping with scorn, "then it doesn't matter."

"He backed Carson according to the 'rules,' and they lost. That means he--they-- aren't infallible. This is much more important, and we're not going to give up."

[aj_crawley]

"Could I - "

Crowley's voice is thick; it sounds as though he's speaking through gritted teeth, and that it might be to stop them from chattering.

He nods towards the nearest console, set into the wall. Five minutes ago, he'd been set to use it without even a thought to the contrary, but now, after -

" - please?"

[gabriel_tam]

"Dāngrán." His answer to Crowley comes tightly, but without hesitation.

It's not the demon he's furious at, and they've worked too long together for him to start doubting things -- especially right now.

Gabriel forces his fists to unclench and goes to Regan, gently taking hold of her arms.

"We'll get them back. We will."

[aj_crawley]

With a grateful nod, Crowley lurches to his feet and - narrowly avoiding a spectacular trip over the legs of the coffee-table - heads straight to the hub that Regan, not ten minutes previously, had been using to argue with another faceless Alliance bureaucrat.

(His hands are shaking badly enough that he enters the wrong sequence twice.)



Crowley, unsurprisingly, isn't given to praying. But whilst it's not an invocation to the God of Abraham and Isaac, there is more than a little of a plea about it, to anyone else who might be listening: please be back. Please, please, let him be back.

The soft, dulcet chimes continue. Nobody answers.