angelic_gabe (angelic_gabe) wrote in shadowlands_ic, @ 2018-03-08 21:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | bertie eden, gabriel allen |
Who: Bertie and Gabriel
What: Bertie comes by to apologize
Where: Gabriel's London home
When: 24th February, 1889 [backdated]
Rating: PG-13
Bertie knew where Gabriel’s residence was from the London Directory, and from visiting Miss Allen there on Night Watch business. He came unannounced and late, hoping that combination would find Gabriel at home and not unwilling to see him, himself a mix of hesitation and determination.
He handed his card to the impeccable butler, set down the hamper he carried, and clasped his hands behind his back to wait in the entryway, nerves rising again in the hush of the house. Gabriel had mended things between them once, graceful in his apology and care--Bertie would do so now in his turn, as best he could.
Unless he was mistaken, Gabriel had need of friendship, and Bertie could not let words spoken in the heat of anger and fear keep him from Gabriel’s side. Now that he and Dex had spoken, the lines were clear, and Bertie didn’t feel conflicted about his presence here--only fearful of his reception.
When he’d heard who was standing in his front hallway, calling late, Gabriel’d taken a breath before having him brought to the study.
Bertie was usually complicated, but the recent layers of Dex, Biddie, and his own sizable personal issues compounded it all into an impossible mess.
Their last encounter had been no end of fraught, and he knew he’d been blunt, and had wounded Bertie’s pride. Under any other circumstances, he’d be circling back around as he always had, with sandwiches and an olive branch, even though they could no longer fall back on the easy rhythms of intimacy that cut through the noise in a way that was uncomplicated and comfortable.
(He’d been missing that. Especially lately.)
He cared for Bertie, worried about him a great deal (especially after the latest incident at Market), and had taken rather substantial risks to ensure he’d have access to some instruction with Biddie, but while his first and strongest impulse was to track him down and both apologize thoroughly and shake him until his teeth rattled to get him to agree to go to Biddie, there was the poisoned letter burning a hole in his desk drawer that kept him at arm’s length. If he managed to taint Bertie with the same awful brush that’d consumed him and his daugher, jeopardizing Bertie’s happiness with Dex and his reputation, it’d be nigh unforgivable.
So he’d depended on Zipporah to steer Bertie to Biddie, and figured Bertie’d keep his distance, licking his wounds and taking solace in Dex, and give him room to sort his own house.
He really shouldn’t have figured, though. Because Bertie never went according to plan.
(He’d come over to the house, for the love of God.)
His eyes flickered to the hamper Bertie carried as he stepped into the study, and between that and Bertie’s determined yet nervous expression, something twisted in his chest.
“Why Mr Eden,” he said lightly, and he stood to make his way over to Bertie as his butler shut the door with a gentle snick. “Do come in. It is good to see you looking so well.”
Bertie's smile was pained, and didn't quite reach his eyes. "Are we going to be so formal?" he asked, striving for the same note of lightness and bracing himself for the answer. He set the hamper down on the floor and flicked back the wicker lid to reveal its contents.
"I brought sandwiches." Bertie straightened again to face Gabriel, who had come nearer. "I wasn't sure if you'd eaten already, but if you have, there's sweets and wine. And an apology, if one is needed." He hesitated, wondering if this had been a foolish idea, but offered, "I thought we could have a bohemian picnic. And talk."
Gabriel shot Bertie a complicated look. “At my house, in front of my staff, yes,” he said, quietly. He looked over to the closed door. “We can be assured of some privacy now. You’ll forgive my need for discretion, I hope. I am glad to see you,” he added, giving Bertie a cautious once-over. “I’ve been… I’ve missed you, and I’ve been no end of worried.” He put his hands in his pockets. “You brought sandwiches,” he added, a small smile appearing on his face. “A picnic would be lovely.”
He paused, looking over at Bertie. “And as long as you’re apologising, I believe I owe you one as well. In my concern, I quite… I was far harsher than necessary. My questioning of your judgment was as a result of what I saw as your reaction to the device, and I do hope you didn’t take it as a statement on your character.”
Bertie couldn't decide quite where to begin, and with the odd distance still between them, Gabriel closed-off and inscrutable, he ended up walking over to a chair, not quite prepared to sit on the floor and make himself that much more vulnerable.
"You can tell them I'm here regarding Miss Allen, if you'd like. Or let them infer it. I visited her once before on Night Watch business - nothing to do with her," he said quickly, realizing how that could be taken, "only I needed to know if she could identify a young woman in a photograph - and I know it would make my parents...well, anyway," he ended lamely, fidgeting with the twist of metal currently in his trouser pocket.
Bertie licked his lips. "And it depends," he said carefully. "I'm aware there is some room for interpretation, which might make an apology unwarranted. Did you mean that you don't trust me, don't trust me with ghosts because I've had one odd turn, or don't trust me with...someone you care for, deeply," he asked, voice lowered in case anyone outside the door might be listening. He'd grown accustomed to Dex's silent, invisible, well-trained staff and the rules in his house--he shouldn't have made the same assumption of Gabriel's.
Gabriel took a seat opposite, leaning forward in his chair.
“I’ll admit, I was… while I know your ending up at that particular offshoot of the Market was unintentional, your taking Cas along to seek an object you knew to be dangerous made me angry, but as long as he knew of the dangers and came willingly, it’s more a point of frustration than a violation of my or his trust.” He frowned, exhaling as he rested his chin on his hand. “I didn’t trust you in that moment, because I thought the object had a pull on you, and I became alarmed at your desire to touch it, to be alone with it, saw it as a temporary result of the object’s influence interacting with your unique skills. Your decision to bring Cas along, Cas’s decision to come with you…” he sighed. “While I would have chosen differently, you couldn’t have anticipated the full extent of what would happen, and that is something I have no right to pass judgment on regardless.”
"If I had thought it dangerous, I wouldn't have asked him," Bertie replied quietly, still carrying the guilt of his error in judgment. "I expected something...far different, and not to find the artifact at all--or if so, only to mark its location for the Sidhe. But you are right in that I knew such a thing would carry danger, and I invited Mr Finn into it knowing that. I should have revealed more to him, and not brought him to a place I myself had not already been. I should not have endangered him, and I am dearly sorry for it."
Bertie was silent a moment before saying, "He told me you quarreled, after." Badly enough for Caspian to remove the ring he wore, which Bertie had noticed late and understood the implication of only later, when he had held his own. Caspian's ring was entirely different, but unless Bertie was mistaken, the connection to Gabriel was more direct, and more significant.
Gabriel leaned forward further, his fingers brushing against Bertie’s arm, his mouth twisting. “That’s nothing to do with you, dearest,” he said, his voice low. “Please don’t blame yourself. Truly. The timing couldn’t have been worse, but it’s entirely on me, believe me.”
“And the apology you owe is to Cas,” he added, “but I accept, for my part, and trust you’ll take greater care in future, and that will do me a great deal of good.”
Bertie sat back, trying not to be hurt by Gabriel's assumption that he had seen Caspian and not expressed his remorse already. "I have. I realize I've erred, but I would ask...I would hope, I suppose," he amended, "that I could earn your trust, and ask you to have some faith in me."
He looked down at his hands. "I won't ask Mr Finn...I will not involve him," Bertie corrected himself, as Caspian had asked to go on adventures with Bertie, and Bertie would not deny him that, if it was what he wished. "Not in any Night Watch business, or known risks I undertake on my own. And I have promised to...practice...what skills I have, both old and new, in order to gain better understanding and control. I have some idea where to begin, and will do so without delaying."
“Dearest,” Gabriel exhaled, finding it near to impossible to sit still and see Bertie so miserable, and while he knew there was a certain degree of care to be taken due to Dex and his own blasted appetites all too near the surface these days, Bertie was here -- the damage to his reputation, if there was to be any, was already done. “Enough of this,” he said, standing and closing the distance between them and dropping to one knee next to him, taking hold of his hand and kissing his knuckles. “I am sorry beyond all reckoning that I’ve made you question my faith in you so. Truly, Bertie, please, you must know how I hold in you in high regard, how much I respect you, it is because the entire business was so out of the ordinary and unlike you that I was alarmed, and that’s over and done with, and we’re both heartily sorry, and forgiven, I hope. And while I do wish you’d take a similar degree of care with yourself as you would with Cas, I know you have your responsibilities.”
He looked up at Bertie, his expression carefully hopeful. “You’ve spoken to Zipporah?” He asked. “You’ll go to Biddie?” He rested his hand on the arm of the chair. “We’ve both done everything we can to bring her to heel, to ensure your safety, and believe she’ll keep her word, as the consequences she’d face are quite clear, but it is both their opinions that your mastery is beyond vital, that you…” he swallowed, a shadow of worry over his face. “That you’ll face far more hardship without it, and I couldn’t bear for you to go through that, not when there’s something to be done about it.”
Bertie was half-out of his chair, protests on his lips that Gabriel should kneel before him as if he were a supplicant, his hands grasping Gabriel's wrists to draw them together, though whether he should go down or Gabriel up to meet one another, he didn't know...
...and then all the feeling went out from his legs, and he sat down rather abruptly on the edge of the chair, his grip on Gabriel tightening. All he could manage was a single, breathless syllable. "...what?"
Gabriel frowned. “You haven’t been to Zipporah, then,” he said, quietly dismayed. He held Bertie’s hand tightly in his. “It is her opinion that the temporary measures she’s taken are inadequate, that you…” he added a second hand to cover their clasped hands, “that you are in significant danger without training, a danger I’ve seen first-hand, and that the dubious Mrs Linden is our best possible hope for you.” His voice was soft. “She has agreed under duress to help you, should you… should you wish it, and I believe she’d keep her word, given what is at stake for her should she take undue advantage.”
Bertie was aware his voice was high and strained, and too loud--with some effort, he restrained it after the first few sharp words. "She kidnapped you. She threatened you, and caused you harm--I saw the bruises," he reminded Gabriel, before there could be any protest to the contrary. "She caused whatever has happened to me in the first place. Would you really trust her, when it seems to me it would be an easy enough thing to claim my soul escaped under her guidance, and she could not save me to bring it back?"
His lips moved wordlessly for a handful of seconds before he could find his voice again. "And Miss Bakst agrees? You spoke to her about me? You...she really believes I won't be able to overcome this on my own?"
Bertie removed one of his hands to run it distractedly through his hair, taking Gabriel's hand almost unconsciously again once he'd done so. "It was Mr Kessinger to whom I made the promise," Bertie explained distractedly. "I told him I would work on discipline...I thought Jamie would help me, to learn to control it. And I thought I would ask you, if you could feel...any difference in me, since this has happened. Any change in...in energy," he elaborated, and the method of such study brought a light flush to his cheeks, which formerly felt as though they'd lost all colour.
“Zipporah believes your sanity and life is at stake,” Gabriel replied, his voice low, “and that her own methods would not be of use to help you. And Biddie…” his expression tightened. “Biddie knows she will be closely watched, that your well-being is tied quite closely to her own, and I…” he bit his lip. “Bertie,” he said, “if our choices are to trust she will keep her word, with substantial consequences in play from every possible front if she does not, given the alternative, yes. Yes. I would.” His mouth twisted. “I cannot do nothing,” he said, miserably, “and I don’t give a damn about what she did to me, or my pride. You can choose whether to take her up on it, and I hope to God you do.” He kissed Bertie’s knuckles again. “Talk to Zipporah?” He asked, his expression pleading. “It is not a matter of your character, Bertie, it is not a weakness, or a matter of will, or effort.”
Bertie's mouth had gone dry with unexpected fear, but he swallowed and managed some reassurance. "I know," he promised, the words your sanity and life ringing in his ears. "I understand. I'm sorry, I..."
He wasn't sure there was any point to explaining that he could be defensive about others having faith in him because so few did, or in saying he'd believed himself and others to be safe now, around him. Those thoughts faded into unimportance.
The memory of Gabriel's encounter with Mrs Linden as it had been related to him in such careful, diplomatic terms suddenly cast new light on words Gabriel had said not long past.
She has agreed under duress...given what is at stake.
Bertie squeezed Gabriel's hands tightly. "What have you done?" he asked, worry and fear weighing down his voice. "What have you given, or promised, or compromised, in order to secure her help for my safety? Please tell me," he begged. "Even more than knowing you have gone to such lengths for my sake, I cannot stand the thought of you bearing it alone."
He swallowed hard again. "Was that...Caspian?" He could think of little other reason for them to have parted, than that this had somehow required it, or Caspian had been angered or hurt by it.
Gabriel let loose with a small humorless laugh despite himself, the pressures of the last month hitting home. “No,” he said, shaking his head, his expression falling into seriousness again. “No, that is another matter entirely. It’s rather more personal, and nothing to do with you.” At least he hoped it didn’t.
He reached up to brush Bertie’s cheek with his fingers. “From the start of our arrangement, she was aware that you were one of the people I would not stand her harming. Given her earlier interest in you, I made that most explicit. While she’d painted your initial difficulties after the Masquerade as temporary, and her actions in the spirit of no physical harm, a parsing I was willing to let pass if it was truly a one-time misstep, in light of your ongoing issues due to her interference, I held her in violation of our agreement. I told her I would cash in my chips unless she righted things by agreeing to help, and that I would make her life very, very difficult.” A small smile ran quickly across his face. “I might’ve implied we were going to frame her for being the Ripper, among a few things. She insisted your emerging power wasn’t her fault, of course,” he added, “but that was rather besides the point. And really, darling, my own footing was in sore need of address -- I’d made my preferences quite clear, and if I’d let her run rampant over them, over you, I’d have little to no influence and couldn’t forgive myself besides. As it is, we’re on more even ground, and it’s thanks in part to the sturdy Miss Bakst helping to hold up my end of things. She really is marvelous.”
He looked up at Bertie. “We’re back to a stalemate, which is where I want to be, and while I don’t particularly like her continued involvement with you, she knows I and Zipporah both are prepared to bring a great deal to bear if she doesn’t do her due diligence.”
Bertie sighed, considered the situation, and moved himself to the floor beside Gabriel, tucked up close in front of the chair legs. "I worry for you," he admitted into the hush. "I know you have other lovers, and I won't ask about them, but knowing you had quarreled with two of us at once...I feared you would go hungry. I'm not here out of pity, or responsibility," Bertie said firmly, before such an inference could be made. "I'm here as a friend. You have fed me often enough, and done far more besides." Bertie reached out to touch the short hair at Gabriel's temple, fingers feathering over the hinge of his jaw.
Bertie lost himself briefly to thoughts and worries, and when he blinked himself back to the present again, it was with a softer sigh and a tentative smile. "So. I have brought more than sandwiches and wine, if...if you wish. Though I will respect any rules you wish to set, under your own roof."
This was where Dex would call Bertie out for changing the subject, and while Bertie didn't know whether Gabriel would do the same, it was enough to make him blush and return to the matter at hand, for which Gabriel had given so much. "I will speak with Miss Bakst," he promised quietly. "And...and with Mrs Linden, if she thinks it wise. Thank you, for showing such care for me. I've done nothing to deserve it.
"And don't say I have," Bertie chided, for this he knew Gabriel would argue, with all of his charm. "I only mean to say that I appreciate it, and am grateful, and would show you the same care, however I may."
Gabriel shuddered a little as Bertie’s fingers brushed through his hair, shutting his eyes against the unexpected turn. He really ought to have expected it, given it was Bertie, after all, and he had mentioned (while blushing) that offhand tidbit about his checking Bertie’s energies, but between Dex and the good Miss Bakst’s orders, they’d re-framed the boundaries of their friendship, and he hadn’t figured on it changing any time soon.
And he was hungry.
Oh, he’d made use of the whorehouses and Devil’s Acre to take the severest of edges off, but keeping away from his lovers had been more than a little difficult. It was a poor substitute, and he’d missed the tenderness and affection that those he cared for could bring to bear more than he could say.
“We make quite a pair,” he said, swallowing, “both of us worrying ourselves into knots about one another.” He opened his eyes then, looking over at Bertie. “And you are a friend, and a good one indeed, one I… I care for quite a bit, but I wasn’t…” he reached for him, his chest aching, his fingers resting lightly on Bertie’s arm. “I didn’t think that particular option was available any more.” He exhaled. “Yes. Please. I’ve… yes. You’re sure?”
It was no end of complicated -- and more than a little bittersweet -- he’d still have to keep Bertie at relative arm’s length, after all, until this business was properly sorted -- but he was already here, and wholly, ineffably Bertie, with that thoughtfulness that struck him to the quick and humbled him, and he could let himself be just a little selfish.
Bertie often found the same joy in lover's touches that he did in crafting words for poetry--the lightest trace of hands here or there was erotic in the way it teased, promising more at the same time it withheld. With Gabriel's hand at his arm, his own fingers dipped toward the hollow of Gabriel's throat, denied a place there by the collar of Gabriel's shirt.
"I've spoken with...Dex," Bertie murmured, for to call him Mr Kessinger while discussing intimacy seemed ridiculous. "He and I have made our own agreement. And I think you and I are both of the opinion that this--that what is between us is of a different nature."
Bertie leaned in to touch his lips to the corner of Gabriel's jaw, following the path of his fingers, his pulse beginning to speed up in anticipation.
"Take me to bed," he breathed, making that a soft tease as well, his breath across Gabriel's neck. "However you will." The smile touched his lips again as he leaned back enough to catch Gabriel's eyes, to break a moment from seduction. "If not here, then we can give your staff reason to believe I'm dragging you out with me gambling 'til dawn, and we can go to mine. But I think we should take our time. Certainly I hope to do so, with you."
Bertie touched Gabriel's lips with two fingertips, his eyes dark and sincere. "Take what you need," he asked softly. "All that you can. I trust you."
The roar in Gabriel’s ears and the slight tremble in his own fingertips was nearly enough to overpower common sense, Bertie’s gifts so clearly offered in a way he couldn’t help but be taken by. He let his hunger slip to the surface, his desire raw and clear and sharp, and he very nearly told Bertie everything right then and there, held back only by the slimmest of margins.
The calculus of what would be best -- to risk being followed if he left the house with Bertie, or to trust his staff -- required a moment’s thought. “Here,” he said, his throat thick and raspy, his fingers lightly brushing over Bertie’s thigh before reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “Right here, to start,” he exhaled, laughing a little. “Please. God I’ve missed you.”
Before he tipped over the edge altogether, he managed to pull himself back. “We’ll have to take a little care, is all,” he said, “I’m still vetting a new hire, but as long as we take precautions when you leave…” it wasn’t a lie, not entirely. “...And when we make our way upstairs,” he added, his smile quick and fierce, “if we get that far, that is.”
He knew he was being a little reckless, but he was very nearly past the point of caring. That, and he’d held his staff to a higher degree of scrutiny of late -- and he figured odds were far greater it came from Miss Lydia’s clients than the people he had working for him.
Bertie laughed softly on a breath, his own hands wandering over Gabriel's waistcoat and coat, staying true to his word of not rushing, drawing it out that Gabriel could dine as if at a banquet, or so Bertie imagined.
"You could always have me climb in your bedroom window," he mused. "And lower me out into the garden when we're finished. Start some rumor of your taking a mistress. Do you have a mistress?"
This last was innocent and curious, as Bertie suddenly supposed that as these things went, with Caspian and another of the merfolk Gabriel's true loves, Bertie might well be the mistress. He let his thoughts wander as his mouth did on Gabriel's jaw, his hands removed for the moment to let Gabriel work off his shirt.
"The power," Bertie murmured after only a moment, removing the ring from his trouser pocket and slipping it onto his finger to more firmly ground him here. "Do you want me to reach for it? I am anchored here," he promised, twisting his ringed hand into Gabriel's hair. "But if it would make some difference, I would channel it for you."
Bertie smiled, the ghost of a smile, appropriate for the topic at hand, and kissed the corner of Gabriel's mouth. "I can recite verses if you'd like, to reassure you I haven't wandered off. But I think you'll know that I'm still here with you."
That offer earned him a kiss, slow and sweet. “You are endlessly generous,” he replied with a warm smile once they parted, “but I’d rather not risk Miss Bakst’s wrath. Later,” he said, resting a hand on Bertie’s chest, his smile curling at the edges. “For science,” he added. “Once you learn more about what you’re working with. I can…” he exhaled, kissing Bertie’s exposed clavicle as he worked off the remainder of his shirt, laughing a little as the cuffs got stuck. “I can already taste the difference,” he said, going back for a second kiss. “It’s lovely. You’re lovely.”
Bertie laughed, a sound that faded into a contented sigh as his shirt finally came free and he peeled his vest over his head, chest bared to Gabriel's touch, already reaching to pull Gabriel close against him for another long kiss.
"Later, then," he promised, hands in Gabriel's hair, lips seeking his mouth anew. Bertie drew Gabriel down over him onto the rug, and ceased thinking of anything save the present.