Gabriel's been quiet, in the few days since his last appointment with Dr. Navarro. "How did it go?" she asked, and "All right," he answered, and that was that
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Regan lets herself through the security system and doors with a nod to the guards outside the house, and ignores the way her own bodyguard (Tutayan Shay, who like many of their guards is both very nice and astonishingly muscular) fades back to join them. This is habit by now; she may never like the necessity, but that doesn't mean she doesn't appreciate it -- more so than ever, now -- and she's learned to ignore it.
"Gabriel?" she calls from the entryway, and sticks her head through the door of his converted study/sickroom.
He sets the paper and pen aside and pushes himself to his feet. It's easier for him to do than it used to be, far easier, although he still moves with deliberate and steady care.
"I can't quite recall -- you didn't have a lunch appointment today, did you?"
(And stops herself from moving forward and taking his arm to steady him, because he doesn't need that at the moment.)
"Today's a free day from now on," she says cheerfully. Then, more ruefully, "As free as it can be, of course." There's always plenty of work to do. "But no more appointments."
She does take his elbow now, if briefly, and give him a light and habitual kiss of greeting.
Taking advantage of it mostly means being able to have a leisurely meal and then chat idly and sit together while they work in the same room, but both are still a rare experience these days.
Gabriel's spinning a pen back and forth in his fingers as he concentrates.
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"Gabriel?" she calls from the entryway, and sticks her head through the door of his converted study/sickroom.
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"Is it afternoon already?"
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This, like the pen-twirling in thought, is an old habit.
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He sets the paper and pen aside and pushes himself to his feet. It's easier for him to do than it used to be, far easier, although he still moves with deliberate and steady care.
"I can't quite recall -- you didn't have a lunch appointment today, did you?"
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(And stops herself from moving forward and taking his arm to steady him, because he doesn't need that at the moment.)
"Today's a free day from now on," she says cheerfully. Then, more ruefully, "As free as it can be, of course." There's always plenty of work to do. "But no more appointments."
She does take his elbow now, if briefly, and give him a light and habitual kiss of greeting.
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"Now that's quite a rarity. Shall we take advantage of it?"
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Taking advantage of it mostly means being able to have a leisurely meal and then chat idly and sit together while they work in the same room, but both are still a rare experience these days.
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"Come on, then."
He moves well enough, now, if at a slower pace than he used to. As they start down the hall together, he asks,
"Do you ever find it all -- I don't know. Wearing, perhaps?"
The question's asked casually, but it's not at all an idle one.
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"All of what?"
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Considering the situation at the time, it's not exactly surprising, but the fact remains true.
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"Sometimes, I suppose," she says.
"But we were busy before, too. And we're doing good work. Important work. There's a, a satisfaction in that."
(But the memory of her husband, targeted, torn open and bleeding out and those awful bubbling gasps--)
She tilts her head sideways, the gesture small and rueful, like a shrug. "Sometimes."
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There's a pause before Gabriel says, carefully,
"I was thinking about scheduling a press conference soon."
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She doesn't miss that care.
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Simply said, although it's anything but.
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On the other hand: Regan knows her husband.
She absorbs that in silence for a moment, before she asks, "What level of work?"
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