(Untitled)

[regan_tam]

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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[gabriel_tam]

At the moment, he's leaning back in an armchair, studying a piece of paper with focused intent.

Gabriel's spinning a pen back and forth in his fingers as he concentrates.

[gabriel_tam]

"The new parliamentary session begins soon," Gabriel replies.

It's just a little too bland.

"I thought I'd pick up where I left off."

[regan_tam]

...Uh-HUH, Regan's face says. Delicately.

All she asks, though, is "Dr. Navarro approved that?"

He could have. She would love that to be the case. She wants her husband well again; she wants this whole nightmare behind them.

And for a moment, she can almost believe it will be. But Regan's learned some lessons about wishful thinking.

[gabriel_tam]

More than anything in all the worlds at this moment, Gabriel would like to be able to set Regan's fears to rest.

Would that it were possible.

"Vincent would prefer I took something of a different approach," he admits. "We're going to have to agree to disagree on the matter."

[regan_tam]

"How much disagreement, Gabriel?"

She won't let her voice sharpen.

Not yet.

[gabriel_tam]

"I'm not ready to retire, Regan."

His voice, roughened though it might be these days, is still firm and without any sign of uncertainty.

"There's too much left to be done, and I intend to see it through."

[regan_tam]

And if it kills you?

The thought is swift, unbidden and bitter.

Carefully, she asks, "What did the doctor say?"

[gabriel_tam]

There's a beat of silence that's just the barest fraction too long beore he says, smoothly,

"It's not what Vincent would recommend."

[regan_tam]

"Gabriel--"

[gabriel_tam]

He shakes his head, one swift motion -- ignoring the fact that it pulls at the scars on his throat -- and holds up a hand to forestall her.

"Regan."

There's no way around it, really; besides which, she needs to know.

Deserves to know.

"I'm -- it won't make any difference if I go back to work now or if I wait any longer, dŏng ma?"

[regan_tam]

"Won't it?"

She not raise her voice. She won't.

(She isn't. But there's the tension of worry and frustration in each word, however controlled.)

"You're still healing, Gabriel. You can't just shrug that off! A month or two more to ease back in -- that won't ruin anything."

[gabriel_tam]

Gabriel's half-smile is tinged with regret as he says, very gently,

"No. I'm not."

[regan_tam]

Regan's brows draw together in confusion.

Her stomach is abruptly an icy fist. That smile, that tone--

He can't mean what it sounds like. He can't.

(She's reading too much into it, letting stress run away with her. That's all. That has to be all.)

[gabriel_tam]

In the wake of that quiet statement, there's not much reassurance he can give, but he tries anyway.

"I'm not getting worse," he tells her. Gabriel reaches for her hand, squeezing her fingers.

(They feel chilled, to him.)

"Don't worry about that, ài rén. I'm not getting worse. It's just that -- we've come to the limits of what can be done in terms of treatment."

A beat.

"I'm sorry."

[regan_tam]

"But--"

Regan lifts a hand, pushing back her hair in an old nervous gesture. "All right, you, you'll heal more slowly, they can't speed it more."

That's what he means.

Right?

[gabriel_tam]

"It'll get easier, I think," he says.

The qualification of her statement is both careful and deliberate.

"As I get used to my ... limits."