gabriel_tam | (no subject)

(no subject)

The room is fairly nice, all things considered. There are several chairs, a porta-cot set up discreetly against one wall for visitors that for one reason or another are reluctant to leave, and it's clear that whoever designed this particular private room in the first place intended to make it seem as warm and welcoming as possible.

Of course, given that it's a hospital, there's really only so much that can be done.

Currently, the hospital bed is tilted upwards at an angle, with the evident intention of making the patient comfortable. It seems to be working, at least a little, because Gabriel Tam is asleep.

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

He's alone in the room when the attendant brings in the mail. She's cheerful and efficient and vanishes quickly. Gabriel's just as glad, really; he's tired of pretending to feel better than he does.

Five seconds after he reads the letter, there's no hope of pretending. The high, buzzing whine of a medalarm cuts through the air as the shock knifes through him, sending his heart rate jolting upwards at the same time that his breathing turns into a series of ragged gasps.

"Oh, believe me, I've no intention of doing otherwise."

Just as wry as his smile, and hers.

"I've no particular fondness for hospitals when I'm the patient."

Galadan was not precisely lurking in the corridor, but he can hear the medalarms well enough, and it is the work of a moment for him to slip inside the room.

There is no immediately visible threat, but that does not always mean much.

When the nurse finally leaves, assured that the Senator is in no danger of immediate death, Galadan steps closer to the bed.

"Gabriel?"

"I can tell."

A pause.

"And I won't ask, unless you want me to know."

Kaylee regards him thoughtfully. Judiciously.

Says: "Anybody ever tell you about Jubal Early? -- and if not, think I'll keep you in suspense until next time, 'cause it's a little long and not all that pleasant."

"Galadan."

Gabriel sounds tired. One fist is clenched tightly around something small, and there's a partially crumpled letter lying on the bedside table.

The letter is new.

Galadan reaches over, almost idly, and plucks it off the table.

"What seems to be the trouble today, Senator? More lung problems?"

The Wolflord's tone is conversational, but his eyes are sharp.

Very sharp.

"I'm afraid that's not a name I recognize," he says, after several moments' thought.

"Suspense," she says.

Very solemnly.

"I'm given to understand that I can expect to have those for a while," he says dully, then nods at the letter the other man is holding.

"You should read that."

"Like a mipian in real life," he says dryly.

Galadan does.

Gabriel will hear the growl that emerges from the Wolflord's throat, teeth bared in a sudden sharp smile.

He is anything but pleased.

"Would you care to explain this, Senator? I'm afraid I've no clue who this 'R' is."

He has guesses, but that is far from the same thing.

Sometime late in the afternoon, Aziraphael slips into the room, walking silently to sit in a chair just adjacent to Gabriel. After some hesitation, he lifts a hand and settles it on Gabriel's wrist, his eyes slipping closed, assessing the senator's condition for himself.

His color's better than it was immediately after the attack, and his breathing's slightly easier-- although there's still a strangely raspy, shallow quality to it.

Gabriel stirs at the touch and opens his eyes.

When he realizes who's there with him, he goes very, very still.

It's.

It's hard to smile, knowing what he knows about what happened to Gabriel Tam only days ago. Aziraphael just manages it, and squeezes Gabriel's wrist lightly. "Fortunately, I was already on my way."

Regan strokes back his hair again, her smile crooked.

"You never have any fondness for being sick."

"Prior Fell."

His voice is as harsh and raw as his breathing. Gabriel coughs, clearing his throat, and tries again.

"It's-- I hadn't imagined you'd--"

A careful breath.

"It's good to see you."

"And you," Aziraphael replies, edging his chair closer. "It is... unutterably good to see you looking as well as you do. How are you feeling?"

"I've been worse," he evades, with a crooked, wry smile.

(It doesn't touch the left side of his face, where the slashes are.)

"Very recently, in fact."

Aziraphael's eyes dart around the room, his voice lowering. "You could be even better, you know. I could certainly try to help -- not with the wounds that--" He breaks off, unsure, a guilty flush rising to his cheeks. "Not with the tissue damage in your lungs, but certainly I could help you with the other, more superficial injuries."

"I-- what?"

Gabriel stares at him in some confusion.

"But-- Raguel--"

"--is not here, if that's what's got you so worried," Aziraphael interrupts. "Unless there's some other reason you'd like to lie here with broken ribs and muscle tears?"

"But he--"

He takes a second, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it, and then tries,

"I can't even pretend that I understand any of this, what's behind-- why he's -- but I'd met him before. I do remember what his function is, as he put it."

He can't quite articulate what he's really trying to say, he knows.

"I wouldn't have thought that you'd want to -- to reverse those actions-- except I don't understand why Rosse--"

"--" Aziraphael doesn't say, his spine stiffening. He blinks rapidly through Gabriel's halting speech, and then, his eyes almost comically wide, he cuts the senator off.

"Shénshèng de gāowán-- You don't think." He swallows, sitting forward again, his hand firm on Gabriel's, comforting. "Raguel's function is no longer what it was. He is Fallen, long since."

"...shénme?"

It's suddenly harder for him to breathe, it seems. Distantly, Gabriel recalls Yuna's impassioned declaration.

Not all vengeance is holy.

"I-- I'm sorry, I don't understand--"

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Page 7 of 10