Cockroaches Always Do


abby2_icon.gif gabriel_icon.gif

Scene Title Cockroaches Always Do
Synopsis No matter how much you stomp them.
Date May 2, 2009

A Ferryplace in Queens

He slept a day.

This might be a liberal interpretation of what occurred. There were moments of extreme thirstiness, followed by extremely needing to go to the bathroom, and that had been awkward and painful and humbling in itself. Staggering on the arm of someone, he forgets who, fucked up leg strapped into a plastic white brace, the wheeling of an IV drip. He's not sure if he made it or not. But in between all of that, a lot of sleep happened, half-dreams and fevers.

The next time Gabriel opens his eyes, he feels a little better.

His chest is miraculously clear of injury beneath the soft cotton of a borrowed sweater, which covers most of the mess of bandages and stitches, as do soft track pants, although around one leg is that brace. Plastic and padding, medical, futuristic white with Velcro straps, it keeps it straight but no less depressing to look at. Currently hidden beneath bedsheets. The air is cold, speaking of an early morning. His eyes feel like they're crusted shut, working them open with a lifted hand despite the sharp pain in his shoulder that accompanies it.

One line of black Frankenstein stitching, courtesy of Dr. Kinney, trails from his hairline and down towards the edge of his eyebrow. His fingertips dance up it, fleetingly. He doesn't even remember how he got that one.

"You shouldn't move. I'm not done" Hushed, near silent, soothing accent that may or may not be familiar to him anymore. He'd only run across her how many times? A handful.

Abigail's warm and gentle hands, the long thin fingers curl around his hand and try to pull it away from the line of stitches. "When I'm done, I can take them out for you. You won't have a scar Gabriel" She's slept in another room between healing sessions with him, being stuffed full of food and V8, protein drinks, swamp sludge. Everything to keep her in fit form to get Gabriel back into fit form.

Slow on the uptake, Gabriel watches dully as a hand goes around his and pulls his away from his own face— and two things happen. One, a dull, throbbing purple shines through the gaps of her fingers, and that warmth of self-revitalisation so key to Gillian's power begins to flood through Abby. That is, of course, until the second thing takes place and Gabriel jerks his hand from her's midsentence, hissing at the automatic pain response that comes from sudden— no, all movements, eyes squeezing shut as the dull ache of it fades back down into its constant, undercurrent throb.

You shouldn't move. Stay still. You're safe here. Don't talk. He's been giving a lot of the same instruction, lately. Consciousness demands he pay attention, head resting back against the pillow and forcing his eyes open, gaze swiveling around to Abby, slightly huddled away from her out of instinct. "A scar," he repeats, stupidly, brain sluggishly trying to keep up with current events.

"Some people are Vain Gabriel" She's a little breathless, more out of shock. The purple something she'd seen maybe two times in her life so far. "They said you have Gillian's ability. I guess you really do" She shakes her hand like she's been stung, not used to that feeling. It doesn't exactly stir up good memories. "I can wait. Before I heal you more. Your not gonna die now, but your still pretty hurt. Do you want some water maybe?" He's conscious, she'll leave it up to him now whether he wants more healing or not. She can always wait until/if he sinks into unconsciousness again. Red hair, blue eyes, she's parked on the chair beside the bed.

Blonde angel isn't so blonde anymore. But— no, he already knew that. Gabriel vaguely recalls slipping by, as much of a shadow as a solid man can be, to see what colour her hair was before he could attempt his good deed for the year. Yeah, that's right. Red hair. His memory just isn't what it used to be.

The hand he'd jerked away curls up against his chest, staring at Abby as if she were speaking Swahili, before things make a little more sense. Water. Not going to die. Oh, okay. That's news.

Like Gillian's ability. There's a pause as he tries to evaluate which shoulder feels worse, and it's on the other arm that he struggles to to sit up, some, a shimmer of a wince fleeting across his features that have otherwise gone harder with determination. An easier feat than it was the last time. "Gillian's ability," he says, testing the words out as if they were knew, turning that cautious gaze back towards Abigail. As if not really believing that she's here, and helping him. "That's not possible."

"raising a man from the dead isn't either, nor is healing and a great many other things Mr. Gray" Abigail murmurs, turning to try and pour some water for him, even going so far as to dump a straw in it. "But somehow, you have her gift and so far… I haven't seen your others" She takes a few seconds to slip on some of the latex gloves that Sonny left behind. Skin to skin contact now feasible without a repeat of the two seconds that she felt a few moments ago. "Here, water" It's held out to him, an offer to hold it if he needs her to. "Teo called me. He had someone patch you up enough that you'd live until I came"

Gabriel shakes his head in voiceless denial, gaze resentfully thrown towards the opposite wall even as she approaches him with water. The tip of his tongue touches the edges of his lips, dry as any African desert, so he doesn't refuse her. A glance to the gloves before he's relenting, leaning his head forward enough to sip through the straw. His throat works down a couple of deep gulps, hoping it might soothe a wounded ego as well as a parched mouth.

"I had her's," he says, voice a little less rasping, now, tilting his head back and away. "I don't anymore. I don't have any of them." Which is why he needs to get out of here before they descend on him like a pack of wolves— although. There is something to be said for the fact he's even alive now.

"You'll find out why Mr. Gray" Blue eyes tracking his every little movement. "You still have hers. You're.. resourceful" The healer has a small smile on her face as she says that. "You've survived much more than.. this" The glass of water's put to the side, even as she needs to pause, that little zing from him and Gillian's ability going off and licking at her own ability like some solar flare disrupting electrical devices when the sun releases it. "Can you keep a tight hold on it, the augmentation and keep doing that while i'm healing you or should we just dive right in and just get the last of it over with?" The healing that is. What else would it be.

He can't really deny the flare of purple that's so familiar to him. That slight drag of energy, beneath all the pain. But that distinct feeling, like he's missing a limb, or otherwise handicapped, is a pressure on his attention, as undeniable as the visual evidence of purple light. Uncertainty is written all over his features as Abby makes her request, brown eyes meeting blue.

There's some silence, Gabriel mentally rifling through where he knows powers are meant to lie, but he feels blind without his inherent ability to see how things work, to see how powers work. It had been difficult for Gillian, at first, too. "I don't know how," he finally admits, heavily. "To hold it." So dive right in, presumably, but he's not offering his hand just now, or giving his consent, verbal or physical. He has a question. "Why are you helping me? When you know— you're counting on me killing you?" His head tips back against the pillow once more, torso shuddering with a chuckle. "God, why are any of you…"

"I don't know about them, but I know that… The Hippocratic Oath. Because anyone in need, no matter their sins, is still a person in need. Because you saved me from the island and you sat in front of a live television camera and did for me, what I can't do, what I wouldn't do, and did so much." Abigail pulls off a glove, offering her hand out to him. "Because Mr. Gray, I am Abigail Beauchamp and I walk into strange homes because someone once fed birds with me, and because it's my solemn promise to god"

But it's not practical, he wants to spit. Oaths and prayers and trying to do good just can't cut it, if you actually want to make the world a better place. This is new, and maybe brought on from Eileen's sudden lashing out, post-traumatic stress or something, because never has Gabriel seen himself as a problem the world could stand to be cured of. As much as his body hurts, his head is clearer than it has been for a long time. He's changed, in some DNA-deep way, and it's making the world spin.

Still. Still he lifts a hand and wraps it around Abigail's, and his mouth parts in a gasp when that dark purple light glows from their joined hands, his eyes going wide and flooding with that same colour, as brilliant as it is dark.

PRactical or not, it's how she was raised and practicality has never been a strong suit of this redhead. If it was, she'd be living a very different life.

It's tens, hundreds, thousands times more when it's Gillian's ability. A prayer is not needed, somehow. She could make the reason that god knows what he needs, but she knows it has something to do with Gillian's ability that now rests in the other man. Around their palms the purple and wounds knit up faster that if it was just her doing it on her own. The light tingle now tenfold, the warmth, everything amplified and Abigails feeling it as well, even as her cheeks color with heat. her own gasp that trails out into a soft cry out joins and mingles with the former midtown man's but she doesn't let go. It'll stop, when there's nothing left to heal. Right? Maybe. She doens't know but she can feel all that energy just being consumed and devoured to heal him.

His hand grows tight around her hand when he's awash with that healing energy, warm and more of a relief than morphine could ever hope to be. Purple light mingles with a paler, pure light as Abigail's healing is given a visual cue. Gabriel's eyes fall shut, feeling the damage begin to close from the inside out. Pain bleeds out from his ruined shoulders, lending his arms that missing strength, and bruises diminish before Abigail's eyes, leaving behind his still pale skin, but clear of marks. So strange, to feel his own energy draining into his own show of power while getting it recycled back to him in this strange new way. Healing him like—

Like it never happened. Except it did. As if stung, Gabriel jerks his hand free of her's for the second time, the fatigue settling on him like a blanket as soon as her healing power cuts out, letting out a soft groan as he slumps back. At this rate, he'll live long, healthy years rather than a matter of hours. His leg, formerly broken in three different places, shifts restlessly in its brace beneath the bedsheets.

"It was as easy for her," he says, a little breathlessly, "as it is for you."

"No" Abigail swallows, grateful for the release of her hand. The other glove pulled off, hands shaking. Things more than a little fuzzy now and if she even thinks of getting up to walk out… well, she's not about to. He'll have to tolerate her presence for a little bit. "Not easy. I don't know… about her but for me" Abby shakes her head from side to side, letting her eyes slink shut, blonde lashes at odds with her red hair come to rest on her red cheeks. "I've had 8 years to ask him for it and to better myself in using it" And yet she's only come so far in it's control.

She wants to just kick him out of the bed and curl up on it, but blood loss is sure to still be something of an impact to him. "How do you feel?"

"Not Gillian," Gabriel corrects, shakes his head faintly. Doesn't matter. Not sure he wants to go down that road anyway, despite having taken a step. No neat to compare how easily it felt for Abigail to close his wounds back up as Eileen had been able to drag them open like so many loosened zippers. "Better."

He flings the bedsheets back, revealing the soft grey and navy of his clothing, and his space-age looking leg brace, which he sets about undoing with jerky rips of Velcro, but all the while he moves cautiously, never a hundred percent healed. Slowly, he eases his leg out of the cacoon of plastic and fabric, bends his knee cautiously. "Thanks," he murmurs, certainly not looking at her.

"Your welcome Gabriel" Even as she's attempting to push her ownself off the chair, use it to support herself, grab up a V8 that's been waiting for her. "Someone else will come take your stitches out" Blue eyes now seeking him out. "If something wasn't caught.. Teo knows how to get a hold of me" It's like someone attached lead weights to the center of her eyelids and she starts to shuffle very carefully for the door of the room. "Careful of Ivanov. He's looking for you. He thinks your alive because of something Eileen did."

His head snaps up when she starts to shuffle for the door, but stupid things to say are reined in— with effort. Power, it drains, and he wasn't spared, so Gabriel doesn't choose to stop her. The complete and utter lack of knowing what to do next is like a gaping void in front of him, however.

Well maybe he can sleep first. That might do. "Of course he is," Gabriel mutters, before he goes on to peeling off his sweater, to find useless bandages and let them fall away. Conversation, as far as he's concerned, is done.

It is. If he wants to talk he can come find her later. Probably guarded by someone while she sleeps, watched over by Teo as Gabriel was. Right now though, their thoughts are much the same. Sleep. So much so that she bumps off the edge of the doorway like a steel ball in a pin ball machine and likely to do the same off the hall walls as she heads off to wherever the velvet headed baby terrorist is waiting for her to come and tell him that it's done.

Gabriel Gray's gonna live.


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