Gabriel
Chapter Seven


Disclaimer, etc. in Headers


The Rocky Mountains
September 18, 2001
7:08 a.m.


A groan rumbled from his chest as he shifted in
the bed.  God, he hurt *everywhere* - even his
feet.  Slowly, he moved his legs and his arms,
and he was assaulted by a short-lived wave of
panic at the realization that he couldn't move
his left arm.  Sliding his right hand under the
covers, he felt the bindings and knew he'd been
injured... *again*.  Frohike was right - he was
an accident waiting to happen.  Not that he was
going to admit that when he saw Frohike at
breakfast...

Breakfast.  Something smelled damn good; not at
all like the Gunmen's cooking.  Not enough of
the vinegary odor of Tabasco...

His eyes went wide; he wasn't in the bunker.  It
all came back to him in a rush - she was here. 
Here, wherever here was.  He struggled to raise
his head from the pillow, then dropped it as a
man stepped forth from the shadows, his slender
form looming over the bed.

Shit!  Gabriel felt the blood drain from his
face with shock, then just as quickly return as
he drew a relieved, shallow breath.  It wasn't a
man - it was just a boy.  A *big* boy, to be
sure, but young nonetheless.  A shock of light
brown hair fell over curious eyes as the boy
colored, embarrassed to be caught lurking. 
Gabriel figured him to be seventeen or eighteen,
no more than that, despite his over six foot
frame.

"Easy," he said, hanging his head for a moment
against Gabriel's scrutiny.  His voice was
cultured, with just a hint of the King's English
softening the tones.  "I'm not going to hurt
you.  Gabriel, isn't it?"

How the hell did he know that?

The boy nodded at the pile of clothes in the
corner - Gabriel's clothes, torn and muddy. 
"Your papers.  You work for the company, don't
you?"

His papers... Jesus, the photograph... no, he'd
lost that, hadn't he?  With a twinge of sadness,
he remembered it slipping from his hand as he
was attacked.  He tried to speak, but nothing
came out but a painful wheeze of air.

"Your vocal cords must have been damaged by the
rope," the boy explained, moving closer, though
he still kept a safe distance, his hands hidden
in the pockets of well-worn jeans.  "My name is
Matthew, by the way.  Matthew Spencer."

Definitely not US born and raised, Gabriel
realized; either that, or the boy was schooled
abroad.  He nodded, bringing his hand up to rub
at his throat, feeling the sticky stuff under
his fingers.

"Don't do that!" One hand came out of Matthew's
pocket to punctuate the warning as he stepped
forward.  "I just put some salve on the rope
burns.  We thought about bringing you up to the
Ranch, but decided you probably didn't need to
attract the wrong kind of attention, if you know
what I mean."

We?  God, he was talking about... was it true? 
Had he really seen her?  Touched her?

Once again, Gabriel struggled to sit up; he had
to find out if it was really her and if she was
here with this man.  Matthew took another step
and Gabriel hesitated, not wanting to take the
chance on another rebuke, though he raised
hopeful eyes to his keeper.

"Got yourself into a fine mess, didn't you?"
Matthew asked, reaching for the water pitcher. 
"Here, I know you've got to be thirsty."

He was, but for more than water.  Answers, he
needed answers.  But he remembered his panic of
the last time he'd seen those big hands and he
didn't relish the idea of being pinned to the
bed again.  He took the glass of water and
sipped slowly, wincing with each swallow.

"Guess I'm going to have to fetch the bedpan,
too, eh?"

God, yes, Gabriel thought, giving Matthew a sigh
as he passed the glass back to him.  Matthew
didn't go far, just to a small room off the main
room where Gabriel could see a sink and toilet
through the door.  He returned with a white
porcelain pail and set it on the floor next to
the bed.  "Think you can stand?  Or am I
*really* going to have to help you?"  He threw
back the covers and stood, hands on hips,
shuffling his feet with an avoiding cough.

With a grimace, Gabriel swung his legs over the
side of the bed and Matthew pulled on his
outstretched hand.  He wasn't *that*
incapacitated.  Though he swayed a bit when he
stood, he managed to relieve himself as Matthew
chuckled and looked the other way.

"Never feel bad enough not to do that for
yourself, huh?"

Gabriel's face was dry and cracked, and it felt
even worse when the grin at Matthew's
observation blossomed.  It quickly died, though,
as he concentrated on remaining upright.  Which
was quite a feat; funny how all those times in
the hospital it had seemed humiliating to be
burdened with a catheter.  Now he knew why the
doctors insisted on those instruments of
torture... because a simple thing like taking a
leak became a monumental task when you felt like
you'd been run over by a truck.

After he was done, he sank back down to the
mattress with a gulp and watched Matthew take
the pail into the bathroom.  The toilet flushed
and over the din of running water, he heard the
boy comment, "No blood.  That's good."

Yeah, that was the only saving grace in a body
that was thoroughly worn out.  Gabriel took the
opportunity to inspect his wrapped arm, picking
at the white material.  It looked like it was
made from a torn up sheet; crossing tightly
around his chest and back, holding his elbow
close to his body.  At least he could move his
hand, though not more than an inch or two away
from his abdomen.  Despite its Civil War era
appearance, it was a professional job of
immobilizing his arm.  More proof, he hoped.

"Don't fool with that," Matthew said as he came
back into the room and headed for the small
kitchen to wash his hands.  "I don't think
you've got much to worry about - maybe just some
ligament damage.  But we figure you have to keep
it immobile for a few days, a week at the most."

We.  There it was again.  The plural when
Gabriel only counted one other in the room
besides himself.  He waved a hand at Matthew to
get his attention. <We?> he mouthed.

Matthew motioned for Gabriel to sit back against
the pillows as he came back with a tray.  "Me
and the Miss," he said, as if Gabriel's question
was ridiculous.  "Don't you remember?"

Remember?  Those precious few moments were
burned onto his brain forever.  But was the
'Miss' who he hoped it was?

Matthew balanced the tray with one hand while he
threw the covers over Gabriel's lap.  "We found
you hanging from a tree last night.  Just a few
more seconds and you'd have been dead.  What'd
you do?  Skip out on the company?"

Something like that, Gabriel nodded, though he
was pretty sure the men who'd accosted him last
night were not company workers or territorial
police.  They were outfitted for stealth and
terminal action, put in these woods to protect
something.  Or someone.

"That's the reason we didn't bring you to the
Ranch - the doctor would have notified the
territorial police.  I assume you wouldn't have
liked that, right?"

Gabriel shook his head with a rueful smile and
let Matthew place the tray on his lap.  The
plate of eggs and biscuits looked and smelled
delicious, but Gabriel's stomach turned.  He
knew he had to eat something, though, but first
he wanted one tiny bit of information.  Bringing
his right hand up, he signaled Matthew for a
pencil and paper.

"Umm... don't see any around here," Matthew
murmured.  "I'll bring some back later, okay?"

That wasn't good enough.  Gabriel ignored the
possible consequences and grabbed Matthew's hand
amidst the boy's surprised, "Hey!"  He flattened
out the palm on the tray, where he forced his
shaking fingers to write out the word, his dirty
nail scratching out a red line on the skin.

M - I - S - S?

To Gabriel's relief, the boy didn't fight back,
though he did retreat with a step back.  An
imaginary wall of protectiveness sprang up
between them, Matthew's friendly manner
shortened with a cautious, "The Miss - she lives
up at the Ranch.  So do I.  The Ranch, this
cabin... just about everything on this mountain
- it all belongs to my grandfather."

If 'The Miss' was her, then what the hell was
she doing up here?  And how did she get here?

"The Ranch is about three quarters of a mile up
the trail to the north.  You're in the cabin the
Miss uses as a studio."

Her studio?  Gabriel's brows drew together -
since when had Scully been an artist of *any*
kind?  Unless it wasn't her.  His heart sank;
maybe it had been a dream after all.

Matthew perked up at Gabriel's hesitation,
gesturing to the alcove nestled in the front of
the cabin as he walked toward the bay windows. 
"We have running water and iffy electricity, but
the Miss likes to paint up here because the
natural light is much better."  Throwing back
the curtains, Matthew smiled at the burst of
sunlight.  "The Ranch faces the afternoon sun -
the Miss, she likes morning sun.  And the peace
and quiet."

Gabriel squinted at the onset of light, then let
his eyes widen at the array of canvas and paint
scattered about the alcove.  He didn't have an
eye for art by any means - and this selection
wasn't exactly on a par with the masters - but
even from his seat on the bed, he could see the
emotion that rioted across every half-finished
picture.  Vivid colors on some, the stark black
of charcoal on others, they spoke of a tormented
mind.  In search of something indefinable, but
refusing to give up.

The tray was shoved to the side as he slowly
stood, grabbing the bedpost at the end of the
huge bed for support.  He had to see - he had to
know.

"You scared the Miss yesterday, Gabriel,"
Matthew continued, but Gabriel was only half-
listening as he moved closer to the one canvas
that seemed to be complete.  "Not that she'd
ever admit that to me.  But I could tell."

Just a few more steps, and the writing at the
bottom would come into focus...

"She sent me to see how you were and bring you
some food.  I told her if you promised me you
wouldn't scare her again, I'd take her back up
here.  She doesn't go anywhere without me."  His
chest puffed up with pride.

Damn it, the boy needed to shut up, Gabriel
thought, his legs becoming more unstable.  With
a last step, he made it to the cushioned chaise
by the window and ran his fingers over the dried
paint.

It was a representation of two women, back-to-
back, almost mirror images of each other.  Their
faces were blank in profile, though their tears
spoke of anguish.

"I have to go now," Matthew said.  "You need me
to help you back to the bed?"

No, he shook his head, giving Matthew a small
smile.

"You promise me you won't try to hurt the Miss? 
Because if you hurt her, I'll have to kill you." 
He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stood
tall, looking down his nose at Gabriel.

It was false bravado, delivered in a trembling
voice.  Matthew was tall but skinny, not having
matured quite yet.  But he had enough of the
typical sass of the teenager in him to throw his
weight around.  Gabriel knew he could easily
take him on a good day; but that day was far
off.  For now, he pandered to the boy's take
charge attitude and gave him what he needed to
hear.

<I promise I won't hurt her.> He mouthed the
words with a sincere nod and Matthew seemed to
be satisfied.  He let out an exhale and relaxed
a bit, moving to the other side of the room.

"I'll be back about mid-afternoon with more
food, Gabriel.  And a change of clothes, if I
can find any to fit you.  You might have to wear
mine."  He picked up Gabriel's pile of clothes
and tucked them under his arm.  "I'm going to
leave these in the woods for the bears - along
with a nice trail of hamburger blood."

For the men who might still be looking for him. 
Gabriel was amazed at the lengths to which
Matthew was willing to protect him and he let it
show on his face.

"The Miss isn't too fond of the company - she
says they're no better than slavemongers."

Gabriel nodded in agreement, remembering the
harsh taskmasters with little regret at having
skipped out.  As he saw Matthew move away,
though, he started.  His papers were in those
clothes and he'd probably need them again one
day soon.  Verifiable identity was a good thing
to have, even if you were now a wanted man for
skipping out.

Matthew was a step ahead of him, reaching into
his pocket.  "Your papers."  Handing them to
Gabriel, he added, "And this was caught in your
hair - you want it?"

The ribbon; it was a wonder it hadn't been lost
forever, he thought.  Gabriel took it from
Matthew and brought it close, nodding his
thanks.  Matthew's lips turned up in a lopsided
grin and he walked to the door.  "Try to eat and
get some rest." With that statement, he flung
open the wooden door and departed, shutting it
firmly behind him.

Strength had returned with a vengeance.  He
watched Matthew leave, saw him through the
window as the young man lumbered down the trail
into the woods beyond the clearing.

All was silent as he looked again at the
painting, blinking once and swallowing before
daring to hope the name wasn't a figment of his
imagination.

It wasn't.  He smiled, tracing the bold slash of
black with his finger.

Julia.


Undisclosed location
The Smoky Mountains
July 22, 2001
5:54 a.m.


Sometimes nothing works out the way you want it
to.

Frohike's words had echoed through the forest
and Mulder had ignored them - well, tried to,
anyway.  But they wouldn't leave him alone; and
though he thought he knew what Frohike had meant
by them, he had to make sure.

They stopped at the edge of a blacktop road and
watched the sunrise paint the mountains in an
orange glow.  This was it - the parting of ways.

Frohike turned to him and extended a hand. 
"Well, Mulder... good luck."

Mulder took the offered hand.  "Hope to see you
soon."  If was a remark tossed into the damp
dawn like an afterthought, but they both knew if
they ever saw one another again, it would be
under better circumstances.  No face-to-face
contact allowed otherwise.

Frohike nodded and averted his eyes with a shrug
before turning to head up the road.

"Frohike?"

His friend stopped and turned.  "Yeah?"

"If it's the chip - if she can never be who she
was again..." He left the sentence unfinished,
knowing Frohike would understand where his mind
was going.

"Your decision, man," Frohike answered.  "But if
you take it out, it'll kill her. *I'm* not going
to make that decision.  If I find her first,
it's staying in until you get there."

"Thanks a lot," Mulder muttered dryly.

"Hey - that's the price you pay for her favor,
dude.  Speaking of..."  Frohike reached into his
jacket pocket and Mulder saw his fingers pull
something out; it slipped from the gloved hand
to travel on the breeze.  It fluttered over to
Mulder and he picked it from the air.

Her ribbon - the yellow piece of satin she'd
given him that last night - wrapped around his
fingers.  He raised narrowed eyes to Frohike. 
"Did you steal this from me?"

"Found it on the floor of the control room as we
were leaving.  Jesus, Mulder... you need to take
better care of your things, you know?"  With a
smile, he turned and walked away.

Mulder fell silent, the heavy burden of life and
death dragging his steps as he, too, turned.


The Rocky Mountains
September 18, 2001
1:48 p.m.


It had taken him probably a half hour to get up
from his seat at the window and wrap a blanket
around himself.  He smelled and his hair was
stiff with crusted mud, but at least he wasn't
naked anymore.  The bed had looked awfully
inviting after that drain of his strength, but
he didn't want to succumb to the temptation of
sleep.  Not until he knew for sure.

Matthew had said she wasn't coming today.  He
couldn't really blame her; to have some hairy,
grimy thing clutch at you like a madman was
enough to frighten the bravest of souls.  Just
in case, though, he'd tried to wash some of the
dirt from his skin and had rubbed the washcloth
he'd found over his teeth.  The soap, despite
its feminine smell, had tasted awful and he'd
almost lost what little breakfast he'd eaten. 
But at least his face above the beard was fairly
clean, teeth and all.

He sat in the huge cushion-covered rocker by the
fire place and shivered, his gaze not wavering
from the door.  He'd drawn the drapes after
Matthew had left as a cautionary measure.  Who
knew if the men who'd almost killed him were
still out there?  And he'd not wanted to stoke
the fire for fear someone would see the smoke. 
Hopefully Matthew's diversion would make it
appear he'd been an overnight feast for the
wolves; only time would tell.

The wait was killing him.  He shifted his weary
body in the rocking chair and jerked his head up
when he found himself nodding off.  The rumble
of his empty stomach should have been enough to
keep him awake, but it wasn't.  He'd tried to
eat more of his breakfast after it had gotten
cold and his queasiness had settled.  But that
was hours ago... damn it, where was Matthew?

Where was *she*?

In the silence of the cabin, he could hear the
crackle of leaves outside.  Someone was
coming... Gabriel grabbed the arm of the rocker
with his good - his *best*, at the moment - hand
and tried to make his weak legs cooperate. 
Grimacing, he cursed the way his body seemed to
hurt more now than it had this morning - and
damn his knees for refusing to lock.

"Whoa."

Gabriel looked up to find Matthew at his side,
the door open to let in the sunlight.  For a
lanky fellow, he moved fast, Gabriel thought. 
Matthew grabbed his arm and helped him to stand. 
Gabriel knew he had anticipation plastered all
over his face, and Matthew's next words
reflected that.

"It's just me," he smiled.  Damn, Gabriel
thought - the kid must be at least an inch
taller than he was.  Would have been a hell of a
basketball player.  "Brought you some early
dinner and some clothes.  You can roll up the
pants legs."  Laughing, he guided Gabriel to the
small table in the kitchen and helped him to
sit.

Gabriel looked at the open door wistfully and
hung his head when he realized she wasn't
coming.  Not today, anyway.

"You sure can look like a lost puppy when you
want to, can't you?"  Matthew turned from the
table and opened the bag on the counter.  "Here
you go - just a few sandwiches.  But I brought
some more eggs and bread, and some coffee I
snuck out of the kitchen at the Ranch.  There's
canned goods over there."  He nodded at the
cabinet by the sink.  "We don't keep perishables
here, but I'll try to sneak out some meat every
day.  You can cook, can't you?"

Gabriel nodded, not really interested in the
conversation.  Shit.  He wanted to see her so
badly, it gnawed at his gut.

Matthew walked to the bathroom and came back
with an armful of supplies.  "Gotta check you
out - the Miss said that's number one on the
list.  After giving you the food, of course."

Crouching before Gabriel, the young man began to
clean the greasy goo off of Gabriel's neck with
a wet washcloth.  At Gabriel's wince, he gentled
his touch, saying, "I see you cleaned up a bit. 
Good.  You should be able to do this for
yourself tomorrow."

Gabriel's eyes shot up.  They were going to
leave him alone from now on?

"Relax, Gabriel," Matthew chuckled, his
attention focused on his task.  "You're just
gonna have to start doing some things for
yourself, that's all.  Me and the Miss - we'll
be by now and then.  When you're better, we'll
help you get out of here and away from the
company."

But here is where I belong, he wanted to scream. 
Instead, he sighed, his sadness at her absence
weighing him down with every minute that passed. 

"Eat, Gabriel," Matthew urged, finishing up by
applying a light coat of the salve.  His voice
lowered to a murmur.  "I know how you feel, you
know.  It happened to me, too."

At that, Gabriel raised a brow.  Had this boy
been attacked and left for dead, too?

"I'm talking about the Miss," Matthew explained,
as if there was no other subject as dear.  "I
wasn't near as bad off as you. I'd been living
here for a long time when they brought her here. 
Took one look at her and I knew she was
something special.  And that she was *way* too
old for me - I told my Grandpa that next time he
felt like being charitable, he needed to find me
a sixteen-year-old."

Grandpa?  Gabriel paused in the act of reaching
for the unappetizing sandwich and lifted a brow,
hoping Matthew caught his question.

"My Grandpa owns this Ranch," Matthew explained
with pride, then sobered a bit to add, "My
parents were killed in the invasion, though I
don't remember it.  Don't remember much of
anything, really.  Grandpa says it's okay not to
remember; the trauma must have been too much for
me.  I was pretty banged up, so he says.  The
break in my leg must have been wicked, because
it aches still when it gets cold.  I'm *not*
looking forward to winter."  He smiled and
squinted at his handiwork, smearing a last bit
of what Gabriel supposed was antibiotic ointment
on the rope burns.

This was interesting.  He picked up the sandwich
as Matthew stood, taking a bite, then another,
urging Matthew to continue with his nod.  The
boy moved to the sink and kept talking while he
washed his hands.

"Grandpa brought me here from Virginia right
after the invasion began... though like I said,
I can't remember much of it.  It was like the
trauma erased my past, you know?"  Matthew dried
his hands and turned.  "Want some water?"

Gabriel quickly swallowed, ignoring the pull of
bruised flesh, and nodded.  After Matthew sat
and handed him the glass, Gabriel gulped the
water down and mouthed, <Virginia?> The boy's
origins were *very* interesting, indeed.

"Yeah.  Dunno where exactly.  But we used to
have a ranch there, too, I think.  I remember
horses.  We even salvaged some photographs of
the place; got a really neat one of Grandpa atop
this huge stallion."  Matthew's voice became
sarcastic just a bit, and he added, "Of course,
he's got the ever-present smoke in hand.  I keep
telling him those things will kill him one day. 
He keeps saying he's trying to quit...."

Gabriel stilled, a shiver up his spine the only
electrical impulse in a body gone rigid with
fear.  The boy couldn't be speaking of - damn
it, he was dead!  Wasn't he?

"He comes and goes on business a lot.  One day,
he showed up with Miss Julia.  She was in pretty
bad shape." Matthew rambled on, oblivious to
Gabriel's sudden inaction.  "She was awake, but
not, you know?  Took her weeks to snap out of
it.  Some kind of waking coma, the doctor said."

Gabriel was listening to every word.  At the
'waking coma', he dropped the sandwich from his
nerveless fingers and reached for Matthew's arm,
alarm widening his eyes.

"She's okay," Matthew said, slowly pulling
Gabriel's hand away.  "She's just not happy
here, I can tell.  My grandpa told me all about
my life before, which helped.  But she doesn't
have anyone to tell her about hers.  Grandpa
said he'd found her wandering about the streets
of Denver; she was half-starved, like someone
had just left her to die."

His sandwich forgotten, Gabriel signaled to
Matthew for something to write with.  This time,
the teen obliged, pulling a small notepad and
pencil from his pocket, lowering his voice to a
whisper.

"Just so you know, Gabriel... the Miss, she
still has problems.  Bad nightmares, trouble
remembering.  I don't want you to upset her,
okay?"

Gabriel scribbled a few words on the paper,
trying hard to keep his writing neat.  It was
very difficult though, and it ended up a jumble
of letters he hoped Matthew could decipher.  He
had to know; but he also had to step lightly.

<Grandpa name?>

The boy's eyes narrowed, but he offered,
"Spencer.  Charles Spencer.  I thought I told
you my last name already?"

Oh, shit.  Spencer... Spender.  Couldn't be the
same man, could it?  Gabriel ground his teeth as
his mind raced.  No.  Just an eerie coincidence. 
The old man was dead; damn it, Gabriel himself
had put the bullet through the old bastard's icy
heart.  No way could he have gotten out of the
building - the wound had been mortal, he was
sure of it.

Stop this, he told himself.  Just because
'Grandpa' smokes and has a similar last name, it
doesn't mean he's the devil reborn yet again. 
Besides, there was the matter of the boy
himself; could Jeffrey Spender have had a
teenage son?  No way.  As for Gabriel, he was
pretty damn sure he'd never had any children. 
Though not from lack of trying on his father's
part, the fucker.  He shrugged off all the old
fears and hatred and looked at Matthew.

The boy was becoming suspicious of Gabriel's
line of questioning.  He could see it in the
murky blue depths of his narrowed eyes and the
way the boy backed away from their conversation,
his arms crossing as he slumped in his chair. 
Trying to allay Matthew's blossoming distrust,
he scribbled a few words on the pad, passing it
to the boy with an open, calm face.

Matthew took the paper from him and slowly read,
"'Why trust me?'"

Gabriel nodded.  Yes, why was Matthew trusting
him?  He could very well have been one of the
scum that combed the countryside these days,
just looking to kill for the hell of it.

Matthew laughed, his mood lightening as Gabriel
heaved an imaginary sigh of relief.  "Well, it's
not like you can do much of anything, now is it? 
Besides, you're just a stray... we know you
didn't get close enough to the Ranch to do us
any harm.  The Guards would've picked you up and
taken you back to town, like they do anyone who
gets close."

Take him back to town?  Yeah, right.  At the end
of a rope.  Who was fooling who here?  Matthew's
grandfather may have been a charitable sort, but
only when he felt like it.  And the boy didn't
know what the guards really did to intruders; of
course, he *was* just a lad.  It wasn't like he
needed to know just how dangerous the outside
world was.  If one had money - and it looked
like his grandfather had loads, from the size of
the fortress he'd seen last night - then it was
possible to isolate yourself and your loved ones
from the horrors of the past months.  The Rocky
Mountains were the perfect place.

"And face it, Gabriel - you look like you've had
it rough, all covered with scars.  I figure the
Miss, she felt sorry for you.  It's nice to have
some company for a change.  The people at the
Ranch - well, they're not the most friendly
sort, you know?"

People?  Gabriel scratched out on the pad,
pouncing on Matthew's opening.

"The workers.  They keep the place up for
Grandpa.  But they keep their distance.  Can't
really blame them, I guess.  Times have
changed."  He hung his head as a slight sadness
shadowed his eyes.  Clearing his throat, he
stood.  "Uh... I think I better go now, Gabriel. 
Gotta get back to the Ranch.  I won't come
tonight, but I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

Gabriel tried to stand as well, but it was slow
going.

"Don't worry about the lights and the fire,
Gabriel.  It doesn't matter who sees them - we
keep a light on pretty much all the time,
because we sometimes spend the night here.  No
one's going to bother you."  Matthew was already
at the door.  "I'll come back tomorrow."  With a
nod and a smile, he was gone, closing the door
behind him.

Gabriel finally had his feet under him and
through the kitchen window he caught sight of
Matthew slipping off the small porch.  She
hadn't come; she wasn't coming today.  The ache
at her absence grew and he hung his head in
defeat.  He tried to tell himself to stop being
so impatient - it was only going to get him in
trouble.  He'd have to tread lightly with the
boy.  Yes, he was in no shape to be a threat. 
Not yet.  But Matthew knew it was just a matter
of time before Gabriel was well again.  Best to
earn his trust completely before then.

As he turned to make his way back to the bed,
his ear caught a murmur, then another.

Shit... she was out there.  Fumbling, he held on
to the table and moved as quickly as he could to
the door.  But the voices were fading; with a
heave, he flung open the door, leaning against
its frame as pain shot up his arm.

Disappearing into the trees were a giant of a
boy... and a black-garbed figure that seemed
dwarfed by him.  Its hands were moving
impatiently and for a moment, Gabriel saw a
flash of bright hair slip out from under the
hood.

Jesus, she'd been there all the time.  Lurking
beyond the porch, but he'd been too stupid to
even get up and look.  He was slipping.

Sighing, he straightened.  It was okay; he'd
damn well be ready tomorrow.



End Chapter Seven