gabriel_tam | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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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.

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.

"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."

"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.

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."

"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.

"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.

"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."

"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."

"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.

"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.

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

"Why do you ask?"

"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."

"I don't know what you know, Captain."

Gabriel's tone is unnaturally flat.

"And I... am not exactly unwilling to inform you, as I would prefer that you and your crew remain as safe as is possible to be. However, my question stands: why do you ask?"

A beat.

"Or more precisely, what do you intend to do about it?"

"You're assuming I'm goin' to do anything even if I'm capable o' doing so, and I can't even make that plain until I hear the whole tale. Most chances are that anything I'd do wouldn't do any good anyway."

Mal really does miss his holster. There's nothing to hook his thumbs onto otherwise.

"Just collatin' data. And it's taking me longer to do so seein's how I was gone for so long."

Gabriel studies him in silence -- again-- for several seconds.

"Very well." A thin, crooked smile; it's a painful thing to see, in fact.

"A question for you, first, if you don't mind."

Gabriel takes a careful breath.

"What is your opinion of those creatures commonly known as angels... and demons?"

It takes a long while for Mal to really understand what Gabriel's asking him. Questions of faith.

But is it faith? When you've seen them and shaken their hand and had them help you blow up a government facility?

"I believed in 'em, the traditional way. Then I didn't, the traditional way for that, too. Now?" A shrug. "Think it's possible that we are actually from the same image."

It's harder and harder for Mal to buy that 'ineffible' stuff.

"And in our own ways, perhaps equally flawed," he muses aloud.

"Mostly what I meant, shi a."

"I do have a reason for asking, Captain."

There's that crooked smile again; it pulls unevenly at the wounds on his face.

"The ... person... who did this to me was an angel. Once."

Mal stops, and his mind is scrolling through the very very short list of who it could be. Not the Prior, certainly not Crowley.

"But...who do you know that'd try 'n..."

Punish.

A sharp intake of breath, and Mal's eyes open wider. "Raguel."

"I take it you're acquainted."

Gabriel's glance on him is sharp and assessing-- and there's something resigned about the utter lack of surprise in his tone.

"Through Milliways, shi a." Mal's remembering an event, and his gaze loses focus as he describes it. "I invited him over to Serenity one time, and he weren't able to take three steps inside before he started screamin' and needed to turn 'round."

"Just as I imagine Tianshi and Crowley would, coming frorm the bar to here 'stead of their future selves."

"That... explains a few things, actually."

He sighs, and it's weary.

"In any case, the creature he is now, in this time, is very unlike the one you once knew-- you know -- from there."

A beat.

"And before you ask, I don't know when exactly, or why."

"Why he's different or why he attacked you?"