gabriel_tam | (no subject)

(no subject)

It's late; it's very late, in fact.

All the guests by now have gone, with calls of thanks and well-wishes and assorted compliments, as well as the occasional invitation for some future event. The catering staff and additional security have finished their work and discreetly vanished also, leaving behind them a night's work well done.

The family, in turn, has retired upstairs. There, Gabriel had poured drinks for everyone as they all gathered to unwind from the events of the evening -- incredibly successful though it had been. Crowley, too, had stayed with them for a few glasses before making his excuses and departing.

Now, here at the end of the night, it's just Gabriel and Regan, Simon and Kaylee, comfortably settled in the upstairs sitting room.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Simon leans his head back against the comfortable chair's headrest and closes his eyes for just a moment. It's a tired look, but not an unhappy one.

"...what time is it?"

There's a clock over his head, one of the antique ones Regan's always liked. Clean dark wood, polished metal face, seven-level digital display. From her seat on the couch, Regan leans over for a better look.

"Quarter past two."

She's long shed her shoes in order to tuck her feet under her, and the comfortable flats lie forlornly next to the couch.

Kaylee has done the same. Only hers are heels.

Kaylee has discovered that she hates heels.

She's also in a chair, one near Simon's; three ribbons fell during the course of the party (part of a flower arrangement), and she's slowly braiding and unbraiding and braiding them again.

"Keepin' late hours," she observes idly, without looking up, smiling.

Gabriel's leaning back against the couch, one arm casually draped around Regan's shoulders.

"Or early ones," he replies. "Both, perhaps."

After a moment,

"Does anyone need anything? Another drink?"

"I think that might not be wise," says Simon, his eyes still closed and his diction just a little carefully precise.

He's smiling, though.

The general sense in the room seems to be: That went well.

And it did go well, didn't it. It really did.

"Probably not," Regan agrees, slightly regretfully. It's very good cognac.

Rather more amusedly, though, and with a sidelong glance up at her husband. It's very good whiskey, too, and he's had more than one.

"Think you can consider that thirded," Kaylee says. A little sleepily.

She'd prefer not to fall asleep where she is. That, and if she's the only one with a drink, that's a very good way to feel out of place.

And right now things are going well.

"All right," he agrees easily enough. He's had several more tonight than is usual for him, mostly in this semi-celebration afterwards.

Gabriel's arm tightens slightly around Regan, and he turns to press an absentminded kiss to her hair, afterwards adding,

"It's probably best I not try to make another amaretto sour at this point anyway. I never was as good a bartender as -- what was his name, ài rén?"

This is perhaps a little dry, but not unamused.

"Desmond-- no, Dennis, wasn't it?"

Simon's eyes open, and slide across to his parents with interest.

"Dennis, yes. Dennis Yun."

Regan's tone is mild. Regan's face, on the other hand, is entirely too serene.

It's the kind of serenity that pretty much shouts why yes, yes I do still find this memory hilarious, honey.

Kaylee has been known to have a slight interest in bartending.

Simon is not the only one eyeing them with interest.

"Dennis Yun."

Gabriel nods, leaning more comfortably against the back of the couch.

"Right."

Simon's now looking from one parent to the other, openly curious.

"Do we get to hear the rest of the story?"

Regan glances at her son, and then laughs, relenting.

"Oh, it's just--"

"Dennis used to tend bar at a place some friends and I used to go, back at academy." She takes a sip of cognac, and makes a small gesture with the glass. "The Jade Dragon. A little pub -- workman's sort of place, a bit seedy by Friedman-Chao standards. Which of course was why we liked it."

Kaylee is just inebriated enough to look a little bit smug.

Gabriel looks down at Regan, with a bit of an amused scowl.

"I'm sure it helped your impression of the place that Dennis looked after your interests so well, however."

A pause.

"Although I'll concede that they had a good setup for darts."

"They did," Regan says, serenely ignoring the first half of that.

To Kaylee and Simon, she explains, "That was half the reason we'd go, you see. Shuài bartender, and my friend Mathilde and I loved darts."

"Best reasons I can think of to go," says Kaylee, serenely, and not at all from her own experience.

Nope.

"You should have, considering how good you were at them," he tells her.

It's more than a little fond.

"...really?"

Simon is having a little trouble picturing his mother playing darts.

Regan shrugs, with a faintly self-deprecating smile. (Which is not to say she's not pleased that Gabriel mentioned it.)

"It was a knack, I suppose."

"Something of the sort," he says dryly. Gabriel turns his attention to Simon and Kaylee, explaining,

"She was pretty much a natural at it, dŏng ma? She won every friendly contest I saw her in there, at least."

"So ... what were you doing there, ba?"

Regan and Gabriel exchange glances -- hers amused, his resigned -- before Regan answers.

"We'd been seeing each other for a while by then, so I invited him to come along."

"It was my first opportunity to meet several of her closest friends," he says.

That look of resignation isn't going anywhere. Gabriel knows there's no way he's getting out of having this story told.

"Including Dennis."

"He was not one of my closest friends," Regan protests, laughter threading through her voice.

With dignity, "He was a friend. And a little protective."

"...I see."

Simon leans forward, hands clasped loosely, elbows on knees.

He's not grinning. Really he's not.

"What wound up happening?"

Oh, Gabriel gets to be the one to tell this portion of the story.

He gets a look cheerfully informing him of this fact.

The dry look that Regan receives in answer is speaking in itself, but he sighs, and explains,

"It seems that Dennis was particularly fond of your mother, not at all certain I was acceptable company for her, and of a nature inclined to play practical jokes."

A beat.

"I believe I already mentioned that he was an excellent bartender."

"...sounds like a fella we know," says Kaylee, particularly innocently. "Name of Mike." Beat. "So what happened?"

Nnnnnot looking at Simon. Because. Yes.

Also: story.

Simon's gaze drops to the floor; he's still grinning, but it's an embarrassed grin now.

Not saying a word, though.

"Well," Regan says cheerfully -- Gabriel, beside her, is back to deliberately dignified silence -- "Dennis eventually insisted that as a guest, he should try the specialty of the house."

"I think he made it up on the spot. I never did dare ask what was in the thing."

What Regan is not saying: Gabriel, at Simon's age, was at first endearingly awkward that evening, and thereafter proved to be quite an adorable drunk.

"And I still couldn't tell you." He's a little flushed with embarrassment at the memory, but here and now it doesn't matter. Gabriel finally laughs.

"However, your mother forgave me for my albeit-unexpected overindulgence, and also for my distinct lack of skill with darts." The look he gives Regan is very fond. "On the other hand, I'm not sure Dennis ever forgave me entirely for marrying her-- but he did attend our wedding, so that's something."

And so it goes from that point forward. A few more anecdotes are traded, a few more amusing stories told, covering far-earlier days as well as the near present. Eventually, everyone's tired enough that the two couples go their separate ways, and the evening comes to its natural close.

In later years, when he looks back on this night, Gabriel knows that he will always remember this: himself and Regan, Simon and Kaylee, comfortable and at ease and happy in one another's presence, there upstairs on the first family evening in the new home in New Mayfair.

One couldn't ask for a better housewarming.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only