It wasn't as helpful as it had been in the cemetery, mostly because Skulduggery's worry was a turbulent surface to the detective's soul. It wasn't so bad as to be paining--at least not paining enough for Gabe to want to risk trying to move away. Skul was still the least painful thing in the building, and so the Archangel clung.

He was vaguely aware that he was tearing up again from agony. Even the light seemed overly bright, even though it shouldn't have mattered. Like Gabe was forced into the physical more than he ought to have been.

Gabe kept his eyes shut, his face pressed into Skul's shoulder, and focussed on his breathing. It was a little bit shaky, but long and slow, and although it didn't help the migraine ease it made Gabe feel slightly more in control. Not enough to move, by any means, but enough to sense that someone else had arrived, someone he knew--Fletcher.

The Archangel was aware of conversation, felt Fletcher's hand on his shoulder, and realised too late that there was no way the Teleportation was going to be comfortable.

He was right. The movement of the world around him, the disappearance of Finbar's house, were so abrupt and jolting that they made the drill-like pain in his temples sharpen once more. For a moment Gabe went limp against Skulduggery, whimpering breathlessly, his head a-whirl with this and there and all the places in-between Dublin and the safehouse at which his mind had tried to snatch and failed.