gabriel_tam | (no subject)

The hotel concierge had hastily arranged a private conference room for him, at least, but he's under no illusion that his own influence had anything to do with it. It's the fact that he's there as a special courier with an urgent message for Senator Gabriel Tam.

Cecil Andresson has just drawn one of the most unpleasant duties of his short career as an Alliance officer, and he knows it.

As the senator walks into the room, Cecil snaps immediately to attention, and tries to tell himself that Tam probably isn't the sort of person to blame the bearer of bad news.

He hopes.

"You're mistaken." Gabriel Tam's expression is set in hard lines, and Cecil feels his hopes sink.

"No, sir," he says, very respectfully. "I'm -- I wish I was, sir, you have no idea how much, but there's no doubt. The Shé Xuán hasn't responded to any signal whatsoever in the last two cycles. There's not even any other signal traffic in the area; none at all."

"Allow me to be perfectly clear on this point, Lieutenant: are you seriously telling me that the Bentley Aeronautics flagship has simply disappeared, along with its entire crew, including Andronicus Ji Crowley?"

Cecil straightens his shoulders, swallows the lump in his throat, and gives a single nod that manages somehow to be more miserable than crisply official.

"Yes, sir. I am."

A tense silence hangs in the air for several long seconds, long enough for Cecil to wonder dismally what it'll be like to be posted to the Outer Rim, before Gabriel nods.

"I see." He's already turning away as he adds, "Xièxie nĭ, Lieutenant Andresson. I appreciate you having brought word so quickly."

Cecil gulps in a breath. "It was no problem at all, sir... um, Senator? I hate to ask, particularly at such a time, but we don't seem to have a record of any official family contact for Mr. Crowley-- would you know if--"

The words break off in his throat as Gabriel Tam pins him with a look.

"I'll handle it myself, Lieutenant. Now if you'll excuse me, there are things I need to see to."

"Dāngrán. Of course, Senator." Cecil salutes and makes his way out of the room, breathing a sigh of relief as the door closes behind him.

Gabriel doesn't pay any attention to the young lieutenant's rapid departure, save only to take automatic note of the soft 'click' as the room's privacy lock seals itself.

He doesn't believe it. It's ridiculous; it simply can't be possible. Not him, not Crowley; certainly not.

There has to be some logical explanation, and even though he may not know what it is yet, Gabriel Tam knows exactly how to find out.

It's a simple matter to get the contact information, and almost as simple to initiate the coded signal over his private link. Unfortunately, making contact turns out to be much more difficult.

All in all, it's the next morning before the wave finally goes through.

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The novice that answers the wave hesitates when he hears the name that Gabriel requests. He recovers quickly, though, and vanishes obediently to fetch the Prior. It's still a few minutes before Aziraphael shuffles into view, wearing a strange expression on his face. Those that know him might describe it as wild hope. Those that didn't might say it was mania. Regardless, it's vanished by the time he takes a seat in front of the screen and dismisses the novice with vague thanks.

"Gabriel," he says, voice a little creaky. "It's good to see you."

"You as well, Prior."

He hadn't missed the other's expression, or how it had changed when he'd seen who was waiting-- or who wasn't, rather.

Gabriel can feel his hopes trying to sink, and he forces himself to take a slow breath and not to jump to any unwanted conclusions.

"I'm sorry to disturb you."

"No, no need to apologise," he says, waving a hand. "I'm afraid we're still floundering around in the Dark Ages here, as far as communication goes. It's not a necessity most of the time, you see."

He clears his throat, in the way that one does when recovering from a nasty cold.

"I hope you're well? Everything - things are going all right?"

"Wŏ hăo, yes, although..."

Carefully, so carefully.

"... I just received some troubling news."

A pause.

"More than troubling, really, if it were true."

"Ah," he says, "yes." His hands fold into his lap; under the table, where they can't be seen, they tighten against each other until the knuckles show white.

"About Crowley. Rumours, I take it?"

"Something of the sort."

This time, the pause is much longer.

"They are just rumors... aren't they?"

Aziraphael blinks a few times before he replies, but when he does his voice is more or less steady.

"I'm afraid not. The ship is gone. Crowley is... gone."

More blinking, then: "For now, that is. He'll eventually be back. He was discorporated."

The word sounds a little more sterile each time he says it. He's grateful for that.

No.

The word doesn't make it past his mind; Gabriel Tam is far too well trained in guarding his reactions for that. His reaction is only visible in the widening of his eyes and the sudden pallor of his skin.

"You're sure."

He's wrong. He has to be.

Aziraphael's eyes lose just a little of their steady focus and he swallows, shaking his head minutely. It doesn't mean 'no.'

(he does not want to be alone)

"There was a Reaver attack. And a gun. He was shot, but--"

A shudder he's too tired to completely suppress.

"I'm certain, yes. I wish that I wasn't."

"Tiān xiăodé..."

Reavers.

Gabriel swallows, hard.

"I'm... I'm sorry to hear that."

Far more than the words themselves indicate, but the horrible, sick expression on his face may serve in their stead.

Aziraphael nods, his eyes dropping momentarily to the rickety desk.

"You know, I believe that you really are," he says, lifting them again. "Crowley had such a surprising effect on people. It's quite remarkable."

Has, whispers his treacherous mind. Has an effect.

"Thank you," he adds.

"Of course."

The sentiment tastes like ashes in his mouth, but it's sincere all the same.

"Is there - is there anything I can do?"

"I would suggest trying to keep the uproar on the political side manageable, but I have a feeling that's not going to be possible," he says, wry.

"Take care of yourself. That's what you can do."

"I'll do what I can, at any rate," Gabriel assures him. "You may be certain of that."

"I know you will. And I'm grateful for that," he says.

"I suspect there will be others who need your support in the next few weeks; it's hit all of us rather hard. I'll be here, of course, if you -- any of you should need me."

"Dāngrán," he agrees. "And likewise; don't hesitate to wave me, Prior, if -- if there's anything."

He nods and tries a weak smile. Concerned that it looks as forced as it feels, he drops it.

"And even if there isn't," he says, "keep in touch."

And later, after the wave is disconnected and he turns in silence for the door, he's mildly surprised to discover just how sincerely he means it.