gabriel_tam | (no subject)

(no subject)

Time passes. Life goes on.

In the absence of Crowley, there's a great deal more to do these days in the way of managing certain business connections and relationships. It's not as though he's a stranger to any of it; Gabriel's years with Birnam have borne that much fruit, and a great deal more.

It's just that it all takes energy, not to mention resources.

When added to the life and strenous daily routine required of a Senator and Council member, well-- it's no surprise that Gabriel should have fallen asleep in his armchair in the den while reading the papers.

Even if he didn't mean to.

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Politics brought their family, and their marriage, back together; politics tore her husband apart. (Albeit with help, on all counts.)

Regan can never decide how she feels about politics. So she smiles and laughs, and ignores the issue as best she can.

As she grins this time, and says cheerfully, "Well. Perhaps you'll think about it, then."

"Perhaps I will, at that."

He stretches a little, and moves to stand.

"How was your day?"

"Fine."

She doesn't even think, any more, about the new habits that have her shifting to take her husband's arm and some of his weight, supporting him and helping him rise.

(Mostly she doesn't think about it, anyway.)

"Quiet. I had lunch with Anita, over at her place. Most of the day I spent with next month's schedules."

That means with his personal assistant, and with hers. It means going over her own schedule to remind herself of it and make changes as necessary, and it means going over Gabriel's to see how much of his workload she can pare down without setting off protests or vetos from him. His assistant, like Regan herself, has that down to an art by now.

"Mm-hmm."

He accepts her help, but once on his feet, slips his arm around her waist.

"I'm sorry to hear that, actually. I hope you didn't settle on too much with Mark, as it'll likely need to be redone."

Regan glances at him, a little curiously.

(And a little dubiously; her initial thought, perhaps inevitably, is that he's trying again to arrange for a heavier workload than he should.)

"Is something new coming up?"

"It very well may be," Gabriel says.

Knowing him as she does, he's sure she'll understand the subtle confirmation.

"Do you realize it's been two years since the IIGA passed?"

'May,' my foot, Regan is far too cultured and polite to say.

The sentiment might be evident in the dry look Gabriel gets, though.

"Yes," she says. "The implementation has been proceeding well, hasn't it?"

"Insofar as the reports indicate, yes."

A practiced hesitation.

"Of course, there's a great deal to be said for seeing for one's self."

Regan's listening.

(Regan is listening, with very eloquent eyebrows.)

"I thought I might do just that, in fact," Gabriel tells her. "On a tour, of sorts."

"A tour," says Regan, neutrally.

It's not that, under other circumstances, it would be a bad idea. Under other circumstances, it would be quite a good one; there's a lot of political mileage to be gained from in-person appearances. And it makes it harder to be fooled by reports.

But they're not under other circumstances.

(And she will never, ever forget a certain other low-risk speaking appearance he made.)

"Mmm," he agrees.

"I thought I'd leave as soon as the current session is over."

There are so many words Regan is biting back, right now.

"What kind of tour," she says carefully, "are you thinking of, Gabriel?"

"A tour of the IIGA project implementation sites, essentially," he tells her. "On the Border and Rim planets."

So... a big one.

Also a politically savvy one, but -- a big one.

For a few moments, Regan says nothing.

And then, carefully, "That's a lot of travel, Gabriel. Especially where facilities vary so much."

"I know," Gabriel says.

Quietly, but without any hint of anything that could be construed as uncertain.

"It'd have to be arranged with an eye to those details, of course, but-- it's important, Regan. Vitally so; I'm sure of it."

Regan's lips press together briefly.

He may even be right, but --

You will not make me lose you, Gabriel. You will not.

"What does Vincent say?"

"A great deal," Gabriel tells her dryly, "and very little of it approving."

"He's worried; I won't deny it."

"I should hope not."

It comes out a little more snappish than she intends. Regan's mouth tightens again the instant it's out, but she doesn't apologize.

Gentler, "I am too. Gabriel, the strain -- the political gesture's no good if you hurt yourself in the middle of it."

Or worse.

"I'll be careful, Regan. I promise I will. I'll even take the nebulizer apparatus along with my luggage, and I won't miss a single treatment."

A beat, and then -- awkwardly --

"It's going to be a long trip, though, I'm afraid. I know you're busy..."

Regan's eyebrows are slowly rising.

Anyone who knows either of their children would instantly recognize this look. It's the one that says Please don't tell me you're saying what I think you're saying, because that would be an immensely dumb thing to be saying.

His wry half-smile appears, acknowledging her reaction even as he keeps talking.

"... and I wouldn't want to take you away from that for such an extended period. Maybe we could arrange for you to join me on a few planets, though, as your schedule permits?"

"Gabriel," Regan says, calmly and conversationally, "if you're trying to demonstrate that you're thinking sensibly about this, you've chosen an extraordinarily bad way to go about it."

"... you understand that I had to ask, all the same."

He turns to face her completely, reaching out to brush the side of her face with a gentle touch.

"Wŏ ài nĭ, Regan."

...And just when she was getting up a nice head of irritation, too.

Regan breathes out, the corner of her mouth crooking reluctantly upwards, and tips her head slightly into his touch.

"I suppose."

She appreciates it, really. If grumpily, just now.

Slightly more tartly, she adds, "But that doesn't make the trip any better. I love you too, Gabriel, that's why I'm worried. It's a terrible risk."

And she can't--

She can, she could, but she refuses to even countenance the notion. Regan has her own core of stubbornness.

"It's a calculated one," he counters. "And it's worth it."

"Everything will be fine. You'll see."

Regan is silent for a moment, or two.

And then, quietly, "But what if it's not?"

It feels almost like playing dirty, to even ask that; to let anything show, on this. But it's not, because this is the truth.

Because he's her husband, and because she remembers his blood on her hands, and because everything will be fine, you'll see are words she will never be free of the guilt of.

"... then you and Vincent both will be entitled to say 'I told you so' until the end of time," Gabriel tells her.

For all that it's lightly said, the look in his eyes is dark with understanding and sympathy for her concern. He reaches to brush her cheek once more, then takes both her hands and squeezes, reassuring.

"I'll be careful. You have my word."

I told you so isn't what she wants.

What she wants -- what she wants, more than (almost) anything, is to be sure that her husband will still be alive in a month or a year to say I told you so to.

"This isn't careful, Gabriel." She knows there's a hint of pleading in her voice now, and she doesn't try to stifle it. (Much. She does have her pride.)

"I know you'll try, I do, but there's just no way to be careful if you're going to be touring half the Rim."

"I'll admit it's not the same as staying here, and there'll be some strain, but that doesn't mean I can't be careful," he argues.

For all that he's aware of her worry, Gabriel's determination is clear.

"And I will. Besides, if anything were to go so very wrong along the way, the rest of the trip can always be rescheduled."

Regan presses her lips together against the hundred things she wants to say.

None of them will be any use, and they all boil down to the same thing: Gabriel, your version of careful doesn't satisfy anybody else -- Gabriel, listen to yourself, listen to facts, please -- Gabriel, you're going to drive yourself into a grave. He's so stubborn.

She suspects he actually thinks he's listening to her.

"If Vincent agrees that your precautions are sufficient," is what she does say, tightly and after a long pause, "then I'll agree too."

Gabriel smiles, hearing only her acceptance.

"Xiexie ni, Regan."

He really does think he's listening.

"If," she says warningly, even as she allows Gabriel to begin drawing her down the hall again.

"I'll give him a wave."

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