gabriel_tam | (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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"It's absolutely relevant," he snaps back. "It's the tāmāde point--"

Gabriel looks as if he wants to continue, but is forced to break off there, coughing wetly and gasping for breath between each tearing spasm.

When it finally subsides, he wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and lets it fall to his side. There's a tiny smear of red on his skin, quickly hidden when he shoves his hand into his pocket.

"... just how much trouble are you going to be in? I'd thought you'd managed--"

"I don't - fuck's sake, sit down. I don't know," Crowley continues shortly, with an irritable shrug. "He may not ever find out; he might already have figured it out. Thinking ahead wasn't exactly at the top of my list of priorities at the time."

A look of frustration crosses his face, but Gabriel compromises by lowering himself to the arm of the chair.

"Well, he hasn't done anything overt before now to break our alliance, if you will--"

A thin smile, at the chosen turn of phrase.

"-- unless you've had difficulties before of which I'm unaware?"

"Nothing beyond what's standard," Crowley replies, awkwardly stalled, hand still resting on the black wool of his coat. "But my being an ally of yours hasn't ever directly gotten in the way of his plans before. Not like this."

Nothing beyond what's standard.

Gabriel finds that he really, really doesn't want to know what 'standard' means in this respect.

"Not like this," he echoes, instead. "No. I rather think not."

A beat.

"If you'd consider resuming your own seat, perhaps we could figure something out against the possibility of discovery."

"In the event of discovery," Crowley deadpans, "I'll leave you my stash of scotch. Some of it's older than you."

It's not all that funny, really.

Still, Crowley isn't actually making further motions towards leaving.

Dryly,

"Only some of it?"

"Well, you have to keep stocking up and storing away if you want a ready supply of the old stuff."

"Planning for the long term."

A beat.

"Very effective."

"Yeah," Crowley says. "Super. Look, what I'm trying to say is - if Nic Rosse finds out I pulled the rug out from under his plan by helping save your skin, then there's not a bloody thing we can plan that'll be of any use if he decides he's pissed off with me."

He starts to say something, then pauses, thinking--

--and when Gabriel speaks, what he says bears no resemblance whatsoever to what he'd originally intended to say.

"Then let's hope he doesn't decide anything of the sort. I'd certainly hate to be without your acquaintance, to say the least."

"Gabriel Tam," Crowley says ironically, "I didn't know you cared."

"In the meantime, though," and now he's reaching for his coat again, shrugging it on (but not buttoning it), "I've got other skins to worry about than my own."

Gabriel raises his eyebrows.

"I suppose it's nice to know I'm still able to surprise you in something," he replies, with just as much dry, ironic humor.

"However, don't let me keep you, at present anyway."

"Yeah, you're just the spirit of helpful concern," Crowley mutters - very slightly mollified, now, but still not exactly best pleased.

He sets his hat on his head, and puts his hands in his pockets.

At the door, he turns, and says:

"I persuaded Raguel that you were a good man. Here's your chance, Senator Tam. What matters now is what you do next."

He slips into the hallway, and is gone.

He can't fail to recognize that particular turn of phrase.

Both of them, in fact.

A muscle works tautly in Gabriel's jaw, and his eyes are narrowed as he looks after the demon for several long moments.

Eventually, with precise economy of motion, Gabriel Tam picks up the file he was reviewing when Crowley first walked in and turns his attention to it.

He has work to do.

(On the table beside him, the two small tiles remain for quite some time exactly where Gabriel has placed them, lying side by side.)