(no subject)

[gabriel_tam]

It had been a relief to leave the hospital at last. Gabriel had argued bitterly with the doctors about the chair they'd insisted upon, and compromised far enough to allow himself to be wheeled as far as the door. There-- in full view of the media's uncompromising eye, the reporters watched even more carefully in turn by a grimly determined security team -- he'd pushed himself to his feet and walked the few steps to the vehicle, waving once to the cameras before settling into his seat behind the now-tinted, bulletproof windows.

No one but Regan had seen just how much strain it had put on him.

Still, it's good to be home, even if things in New Mayfair aren't exactly the same. Gabriel's study is upstairs, as are his and Regan's room and the guest chambers.

It had taken them all less than a day to realize how much of a problem this would be. As a result, Gabriel Tam has been settled temporarily in the downstairs den, which has been hastily converted into a combination sleeping room and makeshift office, appropriately fitted for a recovering patient.

He hates it. He hates all of this, but there are times when a man simply has to make do with what he's got, and this would seem to be one of them.

Comments

[badinlatin]

Mal's never been to New Mayfair, though from descriptions by Simon and River this is definitely how Mal'd imagined things.

"I told the doc I'd be stoppin' by. You busy?"

Gabriel looks busy. Inappropriately so, probably -- moving around when he should be laid up.

[gabriel_tam]

He startles at the sound of Mal's voice and turns around a shade too quickly, letting the files fall to the table.

"Captain Reynolds. Nĭ hăo."

At this angle, the glow from the nearby lamp clearly illuminates the healing slashes on the left side of his jaw and his throat.

"I'm afraid I wasn't expecting you. Come in, why don't you?"

Gabriel's voice is a little hoarser than it used to be, and there's a rasping sound to his labored breathing, but his speech is clear enough.

[badinlatin]

"Thank you."

Mal's looking Gabriel over, now -- he'd gotten a description of events from Simon, for as much good as that did, and he doesn't show much of a reaction as of yet.

"Oh -- got you a present."

[gabriel_tam]

"That's certainly very kind of you. Xièxie nĭ."

Gabriel waves him towards a seat and himself moves slowly toward an armchair.

"I'm allowed to hope that it's not one of the hothouse bouquets that are currently deemed in vogue and appropriate for a recovering invalid?"

This is said with weary humor.

[badinlatin]

Scoff. "No. Think you'd've given me more credit than that."

Literally -- who wants to pay bits out the pigu for something like a bouquet for someone you aren't sleeping with?

"No, here --- "

It's a music recorder. "Somethin' called America: the Audiobook. Comedy about the politics behind a country on Earth-that-Was. Bar gave it to me."

[gabriel_tam]

"Well, considering you weren't struggling with overgrown greenery and multicolored flowers, I figured it was a safe enough guess--"

He accepts the recorder, looking at it curiously.

"Interesting. I'll enjoy this, I'm sure. Thank you."

A pause.

"Might I offer you something to drink, Captain?"

Injured and recovering or not, some things are so deeply ingrained in Gabriel Tam that he'd likely need to be unconscious or dead in fact to neglect them.

[badinlatin]

"You. Sit. I'll get 'em."

It's easy enough to find the sideboard, and it gives Mal the opportunity to turn away from Gabriel to hide any minute enjoyment he is taking from the chance to order around Gabriel Tam.

[gabriel_tam]

"If you're certain," he says dryly, but settles back.

Gabriel turns the recorder over in his hands, looking carefully at it for several seconds before setting it down on the low table in front of him.

"How have you been? It's been some time, I believe."

[badinlatin]

"More or less, two months -- in this 'verse, anyhow. Don't know how much you were aware of, with me bein' gone."

There's a few details offered -- Jack Sparrow, Tonks, how Mal came to return to Milliways -- but it's not what he's actually interested in talking about.

"...And I came back, so I suppose that means I've been well enough. Despite missin' a considerable amount."

[gabriel_tam]

"You and me both, it seems," Gabriel says dryly, once Mal's finished giving him the short version of the news.

"However, to each his own form of adventure, I suppose."

Very dryly.

[badinlatin]

"Adventures in piraty stupid," Mal scoffs, trying to maintain levity in the situation.





"So who did it."

Because no one's told Mal yet, and he knows Gabriel knows.

[gabriel_tam]

Any and all signs of wry amusement are instantly gone, and Gabriel studies Mal for several moments in utter silence.

"Why do you ask?"

[badinlatin]

"Between Crowley, Galadan, and the hordes o' folk I'm damned sure were between you and anyone potentially planning somethin', I'm willing to cast some good money that you already know more than people have been wishin' to tell me."

[aj_crawley]

Rat-a-tat-tat.

(and he came with his bag and he came with his)

Leaning on the doorframe, Crowley removes his hat, as the knuckles of his other hands rap on the rich varnished wood. It's a nice day (if, by the demon's standards, a little crisp); he'd wrapped up and made the walk from one end of New Mayfair to the other.

(It's... something, that he's still keyed to the front door. Crowley's not entirely sure what it is, but it's something.)

[gabriel_tam]

Seated in a nearby armchair, Gabriel glances up from the file he's been reviewing. It's propped a little awkwardly on one knee, and he's got a foot braced against the coffee table for support.

The way things are laid out on the surfaces around him -- so different from his organized upstairs office-- calls to mind words like makeshift and temporary.

"Nĭ hăo, Crowley."

His smile's a little crooked, but it's more due to the still-healing marks on his face than to anything else.

[aj_crawley]

"A marked improvement," Crowley says with a raise of his eyebrows, taking Gabriel's reply as an invitation to wander in. He perches his hat on the shoulder of an old, solid armchair, as he leans against the arm and unbuttons his coat.

[gabriel_tam]

"I'd certainly hope so," Gabriel replies, dryly.

"As the alternative would be exceedingly unpleasant. How are you?"

[aj_crawley]

"Muddling along," Crowley shrugs. "Life goes on in fits and starts. You?"

Half-seating himself on the arm of the chair, he tucks his hands into the pockets of a coat now hanging open.

"I'm told you received a visit from... an old friend who wasn't exactly on the guest list."

[gabriel_tam]

His smile, what there is of it, vanishes.

"Word gets around."

[aj_crawley]

"Well," he says. "So did I. Yesterday, in fact."

[gabriel_tam]

Everything about him stills.

"Did you."

It's not a question.

[aj_crawley]

"Mm." Noncommittal. "That's how I found out. Quite a font of information, that visit was."

[gabriel_tam]

"I expect that it might well have been."

His glance cuts to a book lying on a nearby table, one of the haphazard "desks."

Uncommon Grounds is printed along the spine, and there's a small unassuming square lying beside it.

[aj_crawley]

Crowley's noticed.

"'S the reason I'm here today, in point of fact, instead of this weekend, which was when I planned to drop by."


A long moment, during which Crowley removes his sunglasses, toying with an earpiece as his eyes play over the miscellany scattered about the room, returning again and again to that innocuous wooden square.


"You've met him, now," the demon resumes, abruptly. "He means you no more harm."

[gabriel_tam]

"If he'd meant me any more harm," Gabriel returns, "I wouldn't be having this conversation with you now."